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betweensceneswriter · 4 years ago

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Island Hopper-Chapter 28b: Just Add Water Part 2

Shots and the ‘Shungle’

Previously on Island Hopper: Chapter 28: Just Add Water Some things are instant. Not usually sons.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1)

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2)

FanFic Master List

The days blended into one another after that. Mornings began with waking a reluctant child to give him his long-acting insulin. Jamie started taking Perkaj into the stall with him after I was done with my shower, washing Perkaj’s hair, wrapping him in a towel and sending him in to me. While they were out of the apartment I would rush into my own clothing. On Perkaj’s arrival back in the apartment I would dry him off, brush his hair, and give him a little privacy while he dressed.

He was amused by the bustle and pace of our household. If we ever tried to rush him, he would respond after a deep sigh, “Oh, Mama Peach, I am lazy,” or “Oh, Baba Shamie, I am lazy.” Jamie assured me that ‘lazy’ didn’t have the same negative connotation in Majel, but it still made me laugh every time Perkaj said it.

Perkaj was also surprised by how often we bathed, but after a few days Jamie said the boy had started to industriously scrub his skin with a washcloth and soap while Jamie washed his hair.

Breakfast was when he would test his blood sugar and give himself injections with an amount based on his level and how hungry he felt. In the beginning he turned up his nose at the steel cut oats we would usually have for breakfast, but he was delighted by bread with honey or jelly and peanut butter. Eventually with a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar, we were able to coax him to eat the ‘porridge’ as well.

Jamie had to leave for school a few minutes early so he could drop Perkaj off at his house, or if he was running late I would take him. There the little boy would be fussed over by his family and then walk to school with his brothers and sisters. His mother would pack him a lunch to be eaten at school, when he would check in with Jamie for testing and another dose of short-acting insulin before joining the other kids on the lawn for lunch & recess.

After school, Perkaj would come home with Jamie. They would test his blood sugar to make sure it was high enough for play and family time and give him a snack if it was on the low side. Most days of the week Jamie would walk him the rest of the way to his house, returning to our apartment to do grading and planning for the next day. Around six I would take my turn to travel to Perkaj’s house, supervise as Perkaj would prick one of his poor fingers again, and then the little guy and I would assess his dinner plate with his parents & auntie, talking about the insulin amount needed before eating.

At 7:30, one of Perkaj’s family members would walk him to our house where we would tuck him into bed with a story. One more test and snack or insulin would finish his long, eventful day.

After Perkaj headed to bed was when Jamie and I made sure to cuddle up to each other, having a little contact while reading or writing letters by the warm light of the bedside lamp. More often than not one or the other of us would nod off accidentally and wake up only when the other person turned off the lamp. Jamie or I would rouse long enough to climb under the sheet and turn to the other for a goodnight kiss before we would drift back into slumber.

Our life felt strange, broken up into little chunks like this-- repeated interruptions and moments of being apart when we would normally have been together. It wasn’t easy, but I steeled myself with the fact that there weren’t any other good options. This—serving the health of the islanders—was why I was here; not marriage, not sex, not selfishness.

“Ijab konaan,” Perkaj cried, sitting at the table with his tester and insulin pen in front of him. “Emetak.” He rubbed his face with his hands, smearing the dust from an afternoon of active play into gray streaks on his skin.

Of course he didn’t want it. Of course it hurt.

Jamie looked up at me, his eyes full of compassion and desperation. We had to get Perkaj to buy in to his own health if we were ever going to get our own lives back.

All of a sudden I had an idea. I grabbed a syringe from my black medical kit and a vial of sterile saline.

“How many carbs are you going to eat, Meester Shamie?” I asked him. He eyed the syringe and then looked back at me, narrowed eyes giving way to a tiny smile of understanding.

He took a deep breath, looking at the soup and muffins on the table. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “I know I’m hungry, and I’m lukuun kilep, so I’ll have five servings… some noodle soup and three muffins. How about you, Miss Peachay?”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” I responded. “When it’s hot like this, ijab konaan moni, so I’ll have three.”

Without looking off to the side at Perkaj, I picked up the tester, a strip and a lancet. “I wonder what my blood sugar is right now,” I mused. I pricked my finger, the sudden shock of pain giving me shivers, then pressed the drop of blood to the testing strip. “Eighty-five,” I remarked. “That’s good for before a meal.”

Jamie took the tester I offered him and did the same. He winced and stuck his finger in his mouth after he’d touched it to the testing strip. “Seventy-six? No wonder I’m starving!” He passed the tester on to Perkaj, who had grinned at Jamie’s over-the-top reaction to the prick of the lancet and blood on his finger.

“Okay,” I said. “Five servings means five units.” I held the vial up as I inserted the syringe and drew out several milliliters of saline. Then I handed the syringe to Jamie.

Up until then he’d been playing along with me. When I handed him the needle his face drained of color. His raised eyebrows communicated clearly, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Perkaj had tested his sugar and was already clicking the units into his insulin pen.

“One for being little high,” he murmured to himself. “And tree for carbs.” He screwed on the fresh needle tip and looked over at Jamie. “Why you waiting, Baba Shamie?”

Jamie frowned. “Ijab konaan,” he said, his eyes showing some genuine fear. “Enaj metak.”

Perkaj’s response was adorable. He patted Jamie’s arm like I’d seen my husband do to him countless times over the last few weeks. “Is okay, Baba,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head. “It not hurt forever.”

After that, there was no way Jamie was going to let his fear of pain stand in his way.

“Let’s do it together,” he said. “Will you count?”

“Juon, ruo, jilu,” Perkaj counted. On ‘three’ both boys jabbed themselves with their needles and pressed down on the plungers. They made faces at each other as they did, and when the syringe and insulin pen were returned to the table, Jamie pulled the little guy in for a hug.

“You’re so brave!” He exclaimed. Perkaj grinned and grabbed a muffin.

Out of necessity we discovered that about five minutes after Perkaj fell asleep he would be dead to the world for a solid fifteen minutes. If we’d saved enough energy, we could engage in a clandestine lovemaking session, covered by the bedsheet, trying to keep the bed frame from squeaking or the headboard from banging against the wall.

Unfortunately, I was gun shy after our ‘coitus interruptus’ and Jamie seemed to be internalizing the stress of parenthood even more than I was. He was still affectionate, and would frequently wrap his arms around me for a hug, come up behind me when I was doing dishes and rub my shoulders, or pull my head to his chest when we lay next to each other in bed reading. But after my experience being married to him thus far, it wasn’t like him. It was surprising that Jamie wasn’t lusting after me, wasn’t taking liberties with my body, wasn’t making it clear he wanted nothing more than to have me naked.

Perhaps even more disturbing to me, I was okay with the lack of sex. I tried to reassure myself. Jamie and I were still cooperating with each other, accomplishing an important thing. We were still working together, laughing together. Despite the inconvenience, Perkaj was adorable and Jamie was adorable with him. But both of us were exhausted at night. We were all sleeping in the same room; less alone time meant fewer opportunities when the same idea would strike both of us, when raised eyebrows or a simple caress would be the snowflake that started an avalanche.

But as my dad had said, this was ‘just a season.’

And what a season. Along with the hot, dry conditions that made it challenging to keep my garden healthy and brought the mamas to clinic fanning themselves and telling me they were lukuun bwil, the level of the catchment continued to drop until the bucket would scrape against the cement bottom of the tank when we drew our drinking water.

One afternoon after school Perkaj announced that he was going to stay and help Baba Shamie cut the grass. Apparently he and Jamie had been talking on their walk home and Jamie had shared his plans for the afternoon.

“Ikonaan jibaneke,” Perkaj said. “I want help you!”

Perkaj helped me water my plants and then used the hand-held grass clippers to assist Jamie by trimming the grass near our outbuildings and well. Jamie used an old school scythe to cut the grass, a wicked looking curved blade on a long wooden handle with two grips. When he held it on his shoulder as he headed out to the field, he looked like a tropical themed version of the Grim Reaper, with khaki shorts, a tee shirt, and flaming red hair.

I followed the boys as they worked, using a rake to heap up the grass and lift it into our wheelbarrow. Jamie had decided that composting was a necessity to increase the quality of our soil, so we were layering grass clippings with palm fronds and kitchen waste in a heap in the back corner of the property.

I was across the yard when two girls walked hesitantly up to Jamie. He leaned on his scythe, giving them his attention.

“Meester Shamie,” one of them said, “we no have water to drink. Our catchment is emmat...empty?

Jamie looked at them, at their water container, and at the big jug by the still, three quarters full from the days’ filtration. He glanced at me.

“Of course,” I insisted, “we have enough to share.”

As Jamie poured water into their bottles, I crossed the yard to the well. Someone would need to draw more well water to refill the solar still.

Through the sunny hours of the day while Jamie was teaching, I had taken it upon myself to keep the reservoir of the still filled with enough well water to keep the trickle of distilled water constantly flowing. When one water jug was filled, I would transfer the hose to the next jug and place the cap on the now-full container.

“Jibaneke?” The little voice asked from behind me. “I help you, Mama Peach?”

Perkaj might have been only seven, but he was an expert at the wrist flick necessary for getting water from the well, and the rapid hand -over -hand motion to bring up a full coffee can. He filled the five gallon bucket in half the time it would take me, then beamed up at me as we carried the bucket together to pour into the solar still.

He stood up on his tiptoes to peek through the sloped glass cover. “Well water enana?” he questioned, brown furrowed.

“Is it bad?” I responded. “Not bad. Just doesn’t taste good for drinking .”

“But Mama Peach,” he said with his forehead wrinkled, “Aolep well water,” Perkaj said.

It was all well water? I didn’t understand what he meant. Rupert had brought the lower grades over to teach them a lesson about the solar still and evaporation, so I had seen them peering in interest at the setup. I was sure Rupert had explained how the process removed minerals, salt, and impurities from the water.

“Ke?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He showed the motion of the water with his hands -- the upward wafting of moisture, at which he said, “Well water,” then indicated the abrupt stop at the sloping glass, “Well water also” and then showed the drops falling into the collection channel. “Aolep well water,” he finished, holding up his hands as if to encompass the whole water cycle.

“Well, not exactly,” I tried to explain, hesitantly trying out my baby Majel. “This is a small version of how the earth makes fresh water. When the water goes into the air, it leaves behind germs and salt and bitter minerals. Do you see the white crust on the black fabric? That's the bad part-what was left behind.”

Perkaj peered into the still through the condensation -covered glass curiously. “Oh.” He exclaimed, wide eyed. I wasn’t sure he’d understood, but at least I’d tried.

The day stayed hot past sunset, the air barely holding any humidity. Without a breeze, the house didn’t cool off even when it got dark. Jamie had tried to cuddle me, but any place our skin contacted we would stick together, and any movement would feel like trying to detach from an octopus.

Perkaj was snoring quietly in his bed when Jamie got up and headed to the door, shoving his feet into his flip flops. He headed outside without an explanation; I figured he needed the restroom.

I was lost in my book when I startled at a faint sound behind me. Was that shifting gravel outside the window? I paused to listen. We’d opened the curtains because it was so damn hot, but that meant anyone outside would be able to see me… and could see that Jamie wasn’t here with me. Still, none of the island men would even try to bother me. I wasn’t a single woman anymore, and they wouldn’t dare insult Meester Shamie…

“Tssst tssst,” a voice hissed from outside the window. “Tssst tssst.” I pretended not to hear them, hoping inwardly that Jamie would return any minute and this person would fade away into the night and stop embarrassing themselves.

“Miss Peachay,” the voice sang, “I want to talk to you. Tssst tssst. You want to go to the shungle with me? Kwe konaan bwebwenato?”

As the invitations continued, I turned slowly to squint out the window. The light from the apartment shone faintly on the pole supporting the short wave radio antenna. There was a large hand gripping the pole, and next to the hand… there was curly red hair.

“You dip wad!” I hissed. “I nearly peed my pants!”

“Shhhh,” he responded. “Grab a quilt. Come to the shungle with me.”

Perkaj was sleeping, so I figured what the heck. I obeyed, grabbing a quilt and the mosquito net, turning off the lamp, shoving my feet into zories, and joining Jamie on the road in front of the clinic.

“Come on,” he whispered, taking me by the hand and leading me across the road. There was only a little sliver of moon, but it was enough to keep us from crashing into trees as we wove deeper into the ocean-side palm forest.

We got far enough that we couldn’t see the clinic light anymore, and giggled as we spread out the quilt and covered ourselves with the mosquito net.

Out of the house it was actually cooler, and I sighed in relief as I looked up at the stars, Jamie’s arm behind my head.

I couldn’t help it, laying on that quilt, covered by that mosquito net, looking up at those stars. “Oh, Frank…” I breathed.

My husband froze, and then he reacted. “Oh, you did not just call me Frank,” Jamie exclaimed. I giggled as he rolled over on top of me. “You take that back,” he ordered, his hand forcing its way under my tank top.

I laughed again, meeting his lips with mine, helping him peel off his shirt, wriggling out of my shorts and panties.

It had been so long and the circumstances were so novel I was fully engaged, blissful at his hands on me, kissing his neck, reaching for him with my hand. I attempted to change positions, to urge him inside, but he seemed determined to dominate me, insistent.

His hands were on my breasts and then his mouth was, teasing my nipples, biting them gently. His hands were on my thighs and he was between my legs. But he seemed to just be teasing me, pressing his pelvis towards me but then pulling away as I opened to him.

I realized he was waiting for something.

I took a deep breath. “I know who you are,” I whispered. “Jamie. Soulmate. True love. Partner.”

He paused, relaxed against me, kissed me gently between phrases.

“Provider,” I continued. “Protector. Gift of Providence. Father of my babies. Friend. Jimjeran.”

When we joined, finally, I was crying. I reached up and found his face, placing my hands on his cheeks, keeping his lips on mine as we moved together, as we connected, as we bonded ourselves together once again.

The whine of mosquitoes chased us inside, but not before we heard a wolf whistle from Anni and Kona’s yard as we crossed the road in front of the clinic. “Miss Peachay, Meester Shamie!” She exclaimed. “You go to shungle?”

We headed inside to the sound of her laughter.

The next morning as we were getting ready for work and school, I noticed Jamie scratching himself rather intently on the ass.

“Hey Meester Shamie,” I joked, “How did you get a mosquito bite?”

He grinned at me adoringly. “I wonder, Miss Peachay.”

#jimjeran #BetweenSceneswriter #Marshall Island #claire x jamie #Outlander #outlander fanfic #new canon

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theonlinemuse · 4 years ago

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Twenty Questions

I was tagged by @freckledpianoman

1) What do you prefer to be called name-wise?

Karu, Shami, or my real name if you know it

2) When is your birthday?

June 14

3) Where do you live?

Toronto

4) Three things you are doing right now?

Binge watching Queer Eye, reading Chinese transmigration webnovels, watching funny animal videos

5) Four fandoms that have peaked your interest:

Prodigal Son, One Day at a Time, The Owl House, Stargirl

6) How has the pandemic been treating you?

Job hunting during this time remains the worst, but at least I have more time to rest during chronic pain episodes?

7) A song you can’t stop listening to right now?

Postmodern Jukebox’s version of Shoop by Salt-N-Pepa.

8) Recommend a movie.

Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse or Thor: Ragnarok

9) How old are you?

30, I’m still in denial over my age.

10) School, university, occupation, other?

Unemployed at the moment since my contract as an archive research officer just ended.

11) Do you prefer heat or cold?

Heat because I inherited the family’s intolerance of the cold. That and I can have ice cream.

12) Name one fact others may not know about you.

I once sprained my neck while I was playing football in high school. I was part of the after school sports program at the local community centre for my volunteer hours. One minute I was doing a pass, the next I get hit in the neck with a football.

13) Are you shy?

Yep, I have really bad social anxiety so if you want to talk to me, it’s better if you message me first.

14) Preferred pronouns?

She/her or they/them

15) Biggest Pet Peeves?

People who talk over other people and take up too much time when other people still have questions. I’ve had a few guys like this in class while I was still in school.

16) What is your favorite “dere” type?

The only reason I know what this means is because I lurk on TV Tropes. I don’t really have one, but yanderes is a definite no-no for me. I do have a soft spot for kuuderes.

17) Rate your life from 1-10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be.

6.5 on a good day.

18. What’s your main blog?

This one

19. List your side blogs and what they’re used for.

I don’t have any, but given all the fancasts and headcanon posts I do, I might have to make a separate blog just to keep track of everything.

20. Is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends?

I’m really bad at reading social cues and between the lines so you have to let me know if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable. And sometimes I need a reminder that you don’t hate me.

Tagging @lembeau @rob-anybody @faeriviera @glintglimmergleam @castledisneyfan @lesbianmaxevans @canary-warrior and anyone who wants to give this a shot

#tumblr memes

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shadowsong26fic · 5 years ago

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The Family of Spies AU

AKA ‘Shadowsong should not have unsupervised access to multiple fandoms at once: Exhibit A.’

I kid. Mostly.

Anyway, it’s that time again--time for an AU Outline! It feels like forever since I’ve done one of these. …and by ‘forever’ I mean the last one was the SPN/Person of Interest crossover back in January.

This one is, uh, also a fairly niche crossover. It’s inspired and helped along by @tigerkat, who introduced me to one of the two fandoms and whose Star Wars OCs I’m borrowing to make it work. (Also, one or two bits in here are more or less lifted from our IM conversations on the subject

Basically, the short version is, I’ve been watching Nikita, and TigerKat and I have put together this whole extended family for Kallus and Zeb and one thing led to another, wires got crossed in my brain, and here we are.

Welcome to my Star Wars/Nikita fusion.

So, first, some relevant background:

In everything TigerKat and I developed, Alex and Zeb end up collecting/adopting four kids. (TigerKat, feel free to correct me on any details that are Off in any way!)

First kid they adopt is Mirah, shortly after the events of ANH.

Mirah is Human, and around three or four at this point; her parents were part of an extremely pacifist sect, of the kind where even defending yourself against someone trying to kill you is Not Okay. The sect was wiped out (probably not by the Empire, last I heard?) and Mirah was the only survivor; she watched her parents died right in front of her. Alex ended up there on an unrelated mission, and brought the little girl back to base.

Turns out, she’d gotten Attached and would not sleep without him close by.

(I mean. He’d gotten Attached as well but there is a Conversation to be had here, and he and Zeb haven’t actually had it yet, so…yeah.)

So, that’s how they get Kid #1.

Mirah later grows up to be essentially a mob boss/puts together a semi-legal syndicate. She doesn’t have a whole lot of faith in the law.

Second kid is Orryn, something like a year or two later, I think?

Orryn is a Donogh (species name subject to change; they’re basically like human-sized rabbit hobbits), and four or five years older than Mirah. His father and older brother were killed when he was born, and his mother eventually found her way to the Rebels after that. Donoghs tend to have very large families, so the fact that he’s an only child is a little Weird.

His mom is a friend of theirs, and when she dies, Alex and Zeb take Orryn in as well.

He is very Soft, both physically and metaphorically (like I said, rabbit hobbits), and like the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet.

(Mirah learns very quickly to weaponize her brother’s Sad Eyes. She’s very good at getting what she wants.)

The other three kids all end up taking Zeb’s last name; Orryn keeps his original one (his people are matriarchal and matrilineal).

He grows up to be a mechanic, and has a more typical family for his species with nine kids.

Third is Shamie, who’s roughly halfway between Mirah and Orryn; they get adopted a month or so before ESB.

I’ve written about them here; but the most important bits--

They’re Human, agender, and a former street thief/pickpocket. They help Zeb out when a mission goes sideways after his local contact fails to show up, and Zeb decides to keep them, because he really can’t leave them there for a long list of reasons. They’d been on their own for close to a year at that point, and were roughly eight or nine.

(The conversation where Zeb checks in with Alex about this is very entertaining, because he texts to confirm that a third kid is okay in the middle of a firefight. Alex is less than thrilled.)

Shamie and Mirah are basically platonic soulmates. There’s just a sort of click when the two of them meet.

They grow up to be a priest of a sun/fire deity.

Fourth is Hanula, better known as Hanny.

She’s a Lasat baby who they adopt a few months after Endor, after Zeb mentions to the elders on Lira San that he and Alex have been considering a fourth kid, maybe starting with an infant this time, and maybe someone of his own species this time…

Some time not too long after that, Hanula is placed in his arms and he’s told ‘good luck.’

She’s stabby, as in she likes to Stab Things as a baby (usually with, like, a fork), which later gets translated into cooking--she ends up as a Chef.

While she does turn up, of course, she’s not super relevant for this crossover, but she’s Delightful so I thought I’d share anyway XD

(There’s also Alex’s sister and her sons, plus, uh, the various grandchildren, but they’re also not super relevant to the crossover. I can share details about them if anyone’s curious, though.)

As a note, I’ve only seen like half a season of Nikita at this point; so while we’re starting from the same basic premise, I don’t really expect this to converge with actual future plot points like at all. So.

Also, as a result of that, this outline will probably also take on a certain resemblance to Alias and/or other similar Spy Dramas.

Anyway. So. Let’s get this show on the road.

Kallus takes on Nikita’s role in this--Death Faked For You; trained to be a super spysassin by a Shady Black Ops Group from his late teens/early twenties. Much like Nikita in her canon, he meets someone while on an extended cover assignment and falls in love.

Division is less than thrilled with this, and so arrange orders Zeb’s death.

(Obviously, this doesn’t take, because I am Not About That. But Kallus genuinely believes Zeb is dead, which is what pushes him to break free, much like Nikita’s reaction to Daniel’s murder.)

(Zeb also thinks Kallus is dead; he, of course, got picked up by the Ghost crew, but more about him later.)

Mirah will take on Alex’s role (which is why I started referring to Kallus that way, even though in my head and in this outline up to this point he’s mostly Alex XD).

Probably a blend of the two backgrounds--her parents/the sect she grew up in were taken out by Division; probably with the cover story that they were a Dangerous Cult, but the exact reason was more likely Profit or something. Since they mostly weren’t? At least not in the ‘need to be dismantled’ sort of way.

Kallus, like Nikita, was on hand and made sure that the little girl survived, but wouldn’t/couldn’t follow up since he was still a mostly-loyal Division agent at that point. He tracks her down after he breaks free, and they start working together.

She eventually talks him into the idea of her infiltrating Division, as that will better suit their plans to dismantle the organization.

(…really, most of this early part is not super different from Nikita and Alex. Mostly summarizing for anyone reading this who’s unfamiliar with the show.)

Shamie is an older/prior recruit; they’ve been here a few months. Their marksmanship is pretty much bottom of the barrel, so far as the current crop of recruits go, and their hacking skills could use some work, but they’re one of the best at hand-to-hand/other close-quarters combat, and they’re probably top third with explosives and other detail work. And they’re generally a pretty phlegmatic person. Not many of the other recruits keep cool under pressure as well as they do.

They’re probably fairly close to being evaluated and promoted to full Agent status when Mirah is brought in.

The two of them, as in their normal lives/timeline, immediately click. Mirah reports back to Kallus, confirming her infiltration was successful, and also mentioning Shamie.

“Remember what I told you about making friends,” Kallus warns her. “Losing them will be hard. And you can’t know how loyal this person is to Division. Be very careful.”

Mirah internally rolls her eyes, because she’s not dumb, she knows that.

A few more quick parallels, for the Higher Ups at Division:

Arindha Pryce stands in for Percy.

She just has the right blend of Genuine Competence buried under Not As Good As She Thinks She Is to match up with him.

Founding member and leader of Division.

Thrawn stands in for Amanda.

Like, okay. The two of them, for a variety of reasons, have vastly different management styles.

But in terms of his actual skillset and the role Amanda plays, at least on paper? Which is to say, supervising training/constructing covers/monitoring recruits and agents and their mental states?

(Plus, the whole…resident torturer/interrogator/etc. thing…)

Yeah, he could pull that off.

Pellaeon stands in for Michael.

Because I love him.

Also the Vastly Different Dynamic between the Head of Division, the Whatever Amanda’s Actual Job Title Is, and the 2iC/Head Field Operative with these three as opposed to Percy, Amanda, and Michael entertains me.

(Pellaeon is more loyal to Thrawn than Pryce, but only if it came down to an Actual Contest between the two of them would that ever be relevant. He’s extremely competent, but occasionally a little too involved with the recruits, in a fairly paternal sense. Especially since he’s probably a good twenty years older than Michael. But I digress.)

So, Mirah is successfully inserted. That goes pretty much the same as in Nikita canon, completely with Kallus making a splashy return to Division’s radars.

(Probably not at Zeb’s grave, though; if Zeb even has an actual grave.)

She starts interacting with other recruits, including Shamie. The two of them click pretty quickly, all things considered, but given the circumstances…yeah, they keep a certain level of distance, at least for now.

…well, at least on the surface, anyway. Mirah is even more determined to burn Division to the ground if they breathe harm in Shamie’s direction.

(For their part, Shamie may or may not start to notice a few anomalies, but they keep that knowledge to themself for now.)

For a few months, it’s pretty much the pattern the early S1 episodes have--Mirah will get details on an official Division op, pass them along to Kallus, he’ll be on hand to foil it. She gets activated briefly once or twice, but is mostly just working as a regular recruit for her cover.

Plus, you know, evading Thrawn’s suspicions; all that good stuff.

Pellaeon does take a liking to her--she reminds him of Kallus, who was one of the better recruits, and he keeps an eye out for her, much like Michael does for Alex in canon.

Shamie gets activated for their final evaluation/first kill mission about two or three months after Mirah gets recruited. They succeed, but some of the aftermath/followup confirms their previous suspicions about Mirah, and they’re left sort of struggling with what to do about it.

On the one hand, they’re a fairly loyal Division agent at this point, and what Mirah’s doing is probably going to get a lot of their fellow agents, maybe even some recruits, killed. And they know that probably some of what’s been reported as Kallus’s activities is exaggerated, or at least spun to make him look Evil and Division look better, but they know there’s a grain of truth to it.

On the other...they spent a few years, as a child, working for a thief-runner/gang. This was…not a good situation. Gotta keep the baby thieves in line. And they’ve seen other recruits get canceled before. As much as they don’t necessarily want to go against their superiors in Division (again, gotta keep the baby thieves in line; they know what the consequences of that would be), they also know that that loyalty does not go both ways. They are expendable. All of the recruits and agents are.

And they like Mirah. And if they don’t look out for each other…well, who will?

Besides. It’s not like they have any actual proof. Bringing this to Pellaeon, who likes Mirah, or Thrawn, who likes no one--let alone Pryce--seems like it’ll backfire.

So, they stay quiet about what they’ve guessed, and wait, and watch, and work.

Things change when Orryn is recruited.

Mirah and Shamie both take one look at this sweet, gentle boy and have the same thought--he won’t last. He’ll be cancelled within a month. Maybe sooner.

Pryce questions the choice of bringing him in, too; it was Thrawn’s idea. No, he’ll never make field agent, but the boy’s good with mechanics, and computers. If he can survive the training process, they can put him to use there.

Sort of considering him for Birkhoff’s role.

Shamie, even as a full agent, doesn’t have the access or the tools they need to spring Orryn, as much as they want to.

But Mirah--Mirah has Kallus, and a way to contact him.

“This isn’t about my friend. This is about a sweet kid, too sweet for Division, who will be killed or broken if we don’t do something,” she says. “And isn’t that part of what we’re doing here? Trying to make sure that doesn’t happen to anyone else?”

Kallus is torn. Because, on the one hand, she’s absolutely right--it’s why he was reluctant to send her in undercover (oh, yes, the thought had occurred to him) until she suggested it.

But on the other hand, getting a recruit out of Division without compromising Mirah’s emergency exfiltration strategy is going to be Hard. And as much as he wants to help this kid, he also wants to help/protect the one he has already.

He tells Mirah, eventually, that he can’t promise anything, but he’ll start working on a plan.

Mirah…

Remember what I said earlier, about Mirah tending to get what she wants?

Mirah gets to work on her end. The way she sees it, if she figures out a way to get Orryn outside somehow, whether it’s getting him temporarily activated like she was that one time, or some other excuse, then Kallus won’t have a problem rescuing him.

Of course, she’s just a recruit herself, and she can’t muck around with that without compromising her cover. She’s half-tempted to just shove Orryn out her escape tunnel, her own exit be damned, but Kallus specifically told her not to do that, so she holds back.

The opportunity comes when one of Mirah’s prior breaches is discovered, two or three weeks after Orryn’s brought in.

Possibly the shell program she and Kallus have been using to talk; possibly something else and she didn’t cover her tracks quite well enough (i.e., breaking into Pryce’s office). No one’s tied it to her, not yet, but things are Tense.

Kallus asks Mirah if she needs an extraction, and she again brings up Orryn. “I’m good,” she says. “But the sweet kid I was telling you about…”

“We talked about this,” he says. “And I am working on it, I promise.”

But before either of them can do anything, Orryn ends up at the wrong place at the wrong time, and one of the guards is convinced he’s the mole.

Thrawn points out that this doesn’t make much sense--the serious breaches started well before Orryn was brought in.

Pryce agrees, but insists on letting the situation run its course, to see if it can flush out the real mole.

And Mirah has a Thing about people she’s attached herself to getting hurt.

Mirah manages to somehow get Orryn out of wherever he’s being held. She sends a quick message to Kallus--“Sweet Kid coming out, they think he’s me”--and takes him to the exit tunnel.

They are pursued, of course. By the overzealous guard--and by Shamie.

Mirah gets Orryn into the tunnel and prepares to stand her ground.

Shamie catches up first.

And handles the situation Very Differently from the way Thom does in Nikita canon.

“I’m not turning you in,” they say. “You got Orryn out?”

“Yeah.”

They nod. “Good. Okay. They think he’s the mole, but they’re gonna realize someone helped him escape, unless--”

And then the guard catches up.

There is a Fight. The guard manages to shoot Shamie (not seriously; through-and-through in the upper arm), who tosses Mirah their gun, and she fires back, putting two in his chest.

“…we can work with this,” Mirah says, pressing her hands onto where Shamie’s bleeding. “If we…if we stage it so he pointed the finger at Orryn to cover his own crimes…”

“You have any evidence we can plant on him?” Shamie says. “M’good at that. Planting evidence.”

“Yeah,” she says. She has a key card, and a few other bits and pieces. Shamie, hands shaking slightly, positions them appropriately. “And Orryn…”

“Was also a plant,” Shamie decides. “Sent in when the guard’s cover got shaky, to extract him. But he managed to get away in the confusion. We underestimated him.”

Mirah thinks about this for a minute, then nods. “I think I can sell that,” she says, as more guards start heading their way.

“Good,” Shamie says. “…talk later.”

Mirah nods, and Shamie blacks out, leaving her to spin the lies they need to survive this.

A few hours later, Mirah touches base with Kallus to confirm Orryn got out safely, and to inform him he has another inside agent.

So, the situation has improved somewhat! Unfortunately, it’s also been damaged--since the shell program was found, Kallus and Mirah don’t have secure communications. That first message she got out, about Orryn and Shamie? Yeah, she can’t use that route again, or she’ll establish a pattern.

On the other hand, Shamie is a full agent, which means they have an apartment and the freedom to move around and set an in-person meet. Which Kallus wants anyway, to evaluate Mirah’s friend.

(And, if they check out, to spoof their tracker and give them freedom of movement. Always a plus.)

So, Shamie and Kallus use another one-off communicator to set an in-person meeting, so they can talk.

“You did help Mirah and Orryn,” Kallus acknowledges, after they’ve run through their prearranged confirmation signals. “That counts for something.”

“But you think it could just be me establishing a cover,” Shamie said.

“The thought occurred.”

Shamie doesn’t say anything right away. “I hear all kinds of things about you,” they finally say. “Some of it seems true. Some of it seems exaggerated. I know you’re Division’s enemy, but that…” They shrug. “I trust Mirah. And she trusts you. That’s good enough for me.”

“And Division?”

“I know how gangs work,” they say, flatly. “I used to work for one--they ran a bunch of kids, pickpocketing. Thing about gangs is, most of them do some good in their community--take care of external threats, or whatever. That’s how almost every gang started, anyway. Division may have more money and fancier gadgets and a bigger community, but they work the same way. And most gangs, even if they keep helping their communities sometimes…somewhere along the line, it turns out to be about profit and power more than anything else. But that’s not the issue. The issue is…you can tell, when a gang’s leadership, the loyalty they demand from their members…you can tell when they reciprocate.”

“And Thrawn and Pellaeon and Pryce don’t,” Kallus says.

“Pryce for sure,” they say. “Pellaeon does, but he’s more loyal to Thrawn than the rest of us. Thrawn…is harder to read.”

Kallus considers that for a moment. “You know, what we’re doing--it’s dangerous. I can’t protect you. I burned my one extraction route getting Orryn out.”

“All of my choices are dangerous,” Shamie says. “But like I said. I trust Mirah. She trusts you. I don’t trust Division.”

Another moment of silence. “Here’s our communication protocol,” Kallus finally says. Because Mirah trusts them. And I trust Mirah. If I don’t trust her--what am I even doing here.

Shamie also, as it turns out, has valuable information Mirah didn’t have access to. While not as successful as Kallus, there’s another group working to take Division down; getting involved and throwing off some of their ops.

“Should we reach out to them?” Mirah asks, when this filters back to her.

“No,” Kallus decides. “Most likely, they’re another mercenary group. Trying to be another Division, another Gogol, and take out the competition. There’s a slim chance that they’re actually on the level, but if they’re not…Best to stick to ourselves and avoid drawing in any outsiders.”

The kids agree, because he’s the expert, and drop the subject.

He does, however, ask Shamie to keep tabs on this other group as best they can without compromising their cover. Which should be easy enough.

(Of course, Shamie can only tell him as much as Division knows about them, which isn’t much. They’re a small group, probably a five- or six-person team, and they tend to ghost in and out of situations without leaving much evidence behind…)

The other new advantage they have is Orryn.

Remember why Thrawn wanted him recruited? He’s good with tech and gadgets?

Orryn gets a look at Kallus’s setup, particularly when he’s trying to figure out how to re-establish communications with Shamie and Mirah.

“I can fix that,” he offers.

Kallus blinks. “Plan was, establish an identity and get you out of the country, into hiding,” he says. “Which I will do, I’m working on it, but--”

“Division hurt me, too,” Orryn says. “And Mirah and Shamie are in trouble, and so are you. I want to help.”

Kallus eyes him. He knows, just as clearly as Mirah and Shamie did, that he cannot take this kid into combat. On the other hand…he would’ve been recruited for a reason. And Kallus is well-trained and skilled, but there might be something to said for raw talent and an expert touch.

“All right,” he finally says. “We’ll prep an exfil for you, just in case, but it’ll be some time for me to put it together anyway. We’ll see how things go.”

Orryn nods, and gets to work.

And so pass the next few months, with Mirah working her way up towards qualifying and passing the information she has access to, and Shamie and Orryn supporting Kallus in the field.

Eventually, Mirah goes on her qualifying evaluation, and passes with flying colors. She’s an interesting counterpart to Shamie--she’s a sharpshooter and just as deadly as they are in hand-to-hand, but she doesn’t work as well with the explosives and so on.

Meanwhile, Shamie is a very tactile person--if it’s a hands-on task, especially one that requires a lot of detail work (such as setting up a bomb), there are very few people who can match them. But they have issues with distance kills and with the computer stuff.

Mirah is set up in her apartment, not too close to Shamie, but enough that they can meet. They’re in the same city.

The two of them, on their own, are pretty terrifying assassins.

Shamie is fairly innocuous-looking; dark hair, dark eyes, skinny, blends into a crowd. They’re also the most chill/calm person in the known universe, so people tend to gravitate to them in a crisis. And they’re kind. Genuinely kind, in a way that invites people’s trust.

This is what makes them an excellent priest in another life. And in this one…Beware The Nice Ones is a trope for a reason.

Mirah, on the other hand, is much more overtly intimidating. Unless she’s making an active effort to pretend otherwise, she exudes Danger. She is ruthless and practical.

She is also extremely skilled, good at manipulating people, and very hard to convince to back down.

Now imagine the two of them working together.

Unstoppable and terrifying.

And Division (and Kallus) are both aware of this.

So, they actually end up partnering quite a lot.

The four of them are circling closer and closer to closing in on Pryce and taking her out permanently--Thrawn as well, and Pellaeon as a third priority, but Pryce is their top target--when things Change again.

Mirah and Shamie are put on a wetworks op that requires a team. Probably similar to that one prince dude and the museum.

They feed Kallus the intel, as always, and he comes up with a plan to foil it.

But there are a couple of issues.

He needs Orryn for this op, for one thing. And not just as background, on-site.

When he scouts around to do his own prepwork, there are some technobabble things he need handled, but they need to be within range. Twenty yards, twenty-five on the outside.

So, his first priority--well, maybe not first, but certainly Up There--is to plan out Orryn’s escape route if things go wrong.

The second issue is that Shamie thinks this might be another mission the Unknown Third Party may also crash. Since they still don’t have a lot of intel, that’s potentially another five or six people coming in.

And that’s if they’re correct in that it’s the mystery team, and not Gogol or someone already on the radar.

But the opportunity to interfere with Division and save a life or two is too good to pass up, despite these problems. Kallus plans his counter-mission, and they get to work.

Phase One of the mission goes fairly well. Shamie does confirm a third party is involved, but at first, their presence doesn’t cause too much difficulty for either Our Heroes or Division.

Shamie gets the assassination target pinned down somewhere Kallus and Orryn can extract them; Kallus gets the victim to the prepared escape route, and then returns to deal with the secondary objective; the one that required Orryn--some sort of hacking/virus/Planting Evidence type thing.

Well.

So my Art Skillz are far from up to par, but here’s a general overview of the layout of the scene where they do:

...so I can’t figure out how to make tumblr embed it without throwing off all the rest of my formatting so, click the link.

Where things go wrong is when Kallus gets a good look at the closest member of Team Unknown.

Who is very, startlingly, distractingly Familiar.

And he does the worst possible thing he can do in this situation.

He freezes.

Naturally, another member of the Division team sees the opportunity and takes it.

He gets hit three times in that second--chest, abdomen, upper thigh. Serious injuries.

Mirah immediately runs to him, laying down cover/suppression fire at her supposed Fellow Division Agents.

(…yeah, remember that whole bit about her parents dying in front of her? She’s. Uh. She’s come to view Kallus as a second father. This is Not Okay.)

Shamie follows, of course; she gets to Kallus.

They hesitate for half a second. “…get him out of here. I can handle this. Go.”

Mirah nods and drags Kallus back to the van--

--only to find that Orryn has been taken.

She can’t--she can only be in one place at a time. She’s good, but she’s not that good. And Kallus, her teacher, her unofficially-accidentally-adopted dad, is dying in front of her.

She gets into the driver’s seat and books it.

Shamie fires after her, but…well, marksmanship has never been their strong suit, so they fail to stop her.

This is basically Mirah’s worst nightmare made real.

Her dad is dying.

Her brother is missing.

Her other sibling is trapped and about to be probably tortured.

She is holding together by a thread and the only thing keeping her going is if she falls apart now, Kallus will die.

Okay. Time to do something about that. She can’t do much, but she can do even less about the other things, so. Time to do something.

She gets a tourniquet on his leg, pressure dressings on the other wounds, but she’s pretty sure his lung’s collapsed and she doesn’t know how much other internal damage there is. Her training in field medicine/dressings Will Not Cut It on this one.

Now, Kallus has a contingency--he always has contingencies, he loves contingencies--but Mirah doesn’t know his medical contingency and he’s too unconscious and bleeding-out to tell her.

She can’t take him into an emergency room, obviously, but there’s an urgent care center close by. And Orryn’s stuff is still in the van. Which means she can hack into their records find out who’s coming off shift--because there will be someone coming off shift--and stick a gun in their face.

Which is exactly what she does.

She drags the doctor into the van and points her at Kallus.

“Fix him,” she snaps, but she stops pointing the gun at her at this point--she needs her attention elsewhere to drive and fend off Division agents in pursuit, among other things, and surely this doctor will be overcome by that whole Need To Heal thing. Hippocratic oath. Whatever.

Doctor stares at him. “He needs a hospital, I can’t--” Even as she moves towards him.

(Because there’s that whole Need To Heal thing. Hippocratic oath. Whatever.)

Mirah starts the car. “I’m not gonna tell you again.” She tosses the doctor their first aid kit--which is pretty Extensive. Not on the level of the one at the safehouse, but still impressive. “Anything you need that’s not in there, I’ll get at a pharmacy. Now. Do your damn job or I swear to God.”

The doctor looks at Mirah one last time, then turns her attention to Kallus, and opens the kit.

“Good,” Mirah says.

(And then, while the doctor is stabilizing her dad, as soon as she can pull over for a second, she gets rid of her tracker. She has the standard one, in her thigh.)

(And probably kills a Division agent or two pursuing them along the way…)

When the doctor has finished patching Kallus up as best she can with the supplies on hand and what Mirah stole from a convenient pharmacy, she says, “He really should be in a hospital. He needs a transfusion, and should be on IV antibiotics. And I think there was damage to his femur I couldn’t fix without imaging.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Mirah says. Note to self: rob a blood bank. And a hospital. Saline won’t cut it. I wonder how hard X-ray machines are to steal…

“I’m guessing you know how to change the dressings, and how often to do it,” the doctor says.

“Obviously,” Mirah says. She grabs a handful of money, and shoves it at the doctor--she did her job, she should be paid for it; people should always be Appropriately Compensated for the things they do and in this case that means actual money--as well as the badge she’d pulled out of the doctor’s purse. “You can go. Oh, and, Doctor Sloane? This never happened. You never saw us.”

“Right,” she says.

“Because if you say anything,” Mirah says, “I will hunt you down and kill you. Clear?”

“…crystal,” she says, and takes the money and walks away.

Mirah takes a few more distracting turns (with a couple pit stops for those last few Necessary Supplies), a very roundabout route, and eventually makes it to the safehouse. She gets Kallus set up as comfortably as she can, under the circumstances, on one of the beds, manages to take thirty seconds to check for any messages from Shamie or Orryn, and then curls up in a corner and just…melts down.

Like I said Mirah’s Worst Nightmare.

Let’s check back in with Shamie, who is about to have an extremely rough several days.

Because they get to go spend some Quality Time with Thrawn in full interrogator mode.

And they get the works--torture, hallucinogens, manipulation, everything. To figure out how much they know about Mirah’s compromised loyalties, back to Orryn and everything.

When that comes up, they repeat their older story--that they spotted Mirah pursuing Orryn and the guard, and followed. They got there, there was shooting, and they were sure it was Orryn, or the guard, but maybe it was Mirah. They know she killed the guard, and Orryn was never good at combat skills, just tech…

After somewhere between three days and a week of this, Thrawn can’t get Shamie to admit anything incriminating, and leaves them in a cell to report back to Pryce.

“I would estimate there’s somewhere between a twenty and fifty percent chance that Mirah managed to turn them,” he says.

“So, we cancel them,” Pryce says.

“We could,” Thrawn says. “But that is not my recommendation.”

“Oh?”

“I recommend surveillance,” he says. “My prior sessions with Shamie indicate that they’ve had very little human connection or affection in their life. Even we, for all we provide them, have a tendency to view our recruits more as tools than as individuals. It is absolutely within their makeup to latch on to the first person to treat them and value them as an individual. Which may mean they joined Mirah and Alexsandr’s crusade--or may mean that affection blinded them to things they should have seen in Mirah. If the former, they will lie low for a while, but eventually grow complacent and reach out to their partners. If the latter, they will redouble their efforts to prove their loyalty. And their skillset is not one we can replicate at this time--there’s one recruit showing a certain promise, but they’re very new, at least a year away from graduation. Assuming that particular recruit actually lives up to their potential.”

“So,” Pellaeon cuts in, “letting Shamie live, either way, we gain something valuable.”

“Precisely,” Thrawn says.

Pryce considers for a moment. “Very well, I’ll bow to your expertise. Shamie can return to their prior status. Add more cameras to their apartment before sending them home. And I want to upgrade their tracker.”

“I agree,” Thrawn says. “This would be an excellent time to test out the kill chip program.”

So, Shamie is kept in medical for another day, to have the surgery for the new implant and patch up some of the more significant damage from their interrogation.

They use one of the Contingencies to send a quick message to Mirah and Kallus, confirming they’re alive, and that they have a new tracker and may not be able to keep in regular contact for a while.

So! Let’s see what became of Orryn in the meantime, shall we?

And to do that, we actually have to jump back five years, to the night that made Kallus leave Division and vow to bring them down.

Zeb was military, special ops. He met Kallus when the latter was living on extended cover, and Zeb was about to get out.

They met in some kind of dojo/gym/whatever, and had one of Those sparring matches.

(You know the ones I mean. Where it’s like 30% fight and 70% foreplay?)

They danced around the issue for a while; Zeb knew Kallus works for the government somehow, and is pretty sure he’s either CIA or NSA under some kind of NOC (non-official cover). Eventually, though, they get together.

They have about six months, with Kallus staving off Division as best he can, and Zeb going through the process of finishing out his military service/resigning his commission--as soon as he wraps up one last investigation--and then he proposes.

And, yeah, he thought about waiting until he was completely out, but then he figured--there’s only so much time in a life, and why waste it?

Kallus is getting everything together so the two of them can disappear, when the Cleaner comes.

I’m…not sure exactly how this all works, so we’ll handwave all this. Basically, each walks away thinking the other is dead, and can credibly believe this without a body.

I think probably Kallus saw Zeb go over a cliff or something after getting shot, and Zeb found a whole heck of a lot of blood when he climbed back up to where he’d fallen from, and figured it was Alex’s.

Ooooh, better idea--while he’s climbing back up to help Alex--he thinks this attack has to do with him. With that last investigation, which was actually into some kind of Hinky thing that was either Division or Gogol…

And now the building is on fire. And Alex was still in there.

He tries to run in, but the building is too unstable, and the entrance collapses in front of him. Burying Alex--or whatever’s left of him--completely.

Kanan finds Zeb kneeling in front of the rubble, and takes him home.

He and Hera patch Zeb up, and basically explain what they do--which is something to do with trying to uncover groups like Division; essentially terrorist/assassination/murder-for-hire organizations that operate under a thin veneer of government officiality.

“Modern-day privateers,” Hera says. “Only we’re not at war, and these people commit atrocities at least as awful as the ones they’re supposedly trying to avert.”

“We work in secret,” Kanan adds. “Because when we try to work out in the open…”

(Yeah, this is how Depa died in this AU. She started this operation, possibly with Cham Syndulla, and things went Badly.)

“We think you caught on to the operations of one of the groups we’re trying to identify,” Hera said. “We don’t have a name for them, but they’re US-based, with ties all over the world.”

“Most of…most of what I had on ‘em was in the house,” Zeb says.

“So, we start again,” Kanan says.

“But…at this point, Zeb, you’re legally dead,” Hera says. “We all are. You won’t have the access to intel that you used to.”

“I don’t care,” Zeb says. They killed my fiancé. What does it matter if they killed me, too? “I wanna bring them down.”

Kanan smiles, and offers him a hand. “Welcome to the Ghost Crew.”

So, for the next two years or so, the Ghost Crew, along with Zeb, does more or less the same thing Kallus has been doing--try to suss out Division operations and interfere with them as best they can.

Of course, they don’t have insider information.

They don’t even know the name of the organization they’re hunting.

Plus, Division isn’t their only target, even if it’s the one Zeb’s most interested in. They also interfere with Gogol when they catch on to their missions, and a few other organizations throughout the world.

So there’s only so much they can do, and while they are certainly a nuisance to Pryce et al, they don’t have the same level of impact that Kallus does when he comes out swinging.

Naturally, things shift a little when a mission goes slightly less than as planned.

It’s mostly under control--it was primarily surveillance at that point; Zeb was in a restaurant scoping out their target. Unfortunately, one of said target’s bodyguards ID’d him; maybe not specifically as Ghost Crew but certainly as a Threat to their principal.

That’s about when the shooting started.

Zeb can’t get to the front door; the bodyguards now actively trying to both kill him and extract their principal are in his way; so he heads for the kitchen instead.

Yeah, he could try to pursue and complete his objective, except it was a capture mission, not a kill, and he can’t get through that many guards and get out with the target. Not by himself.

He yells at the staff to get down and stay down, and most of them listen. There’s a couple of cooks, a waiter who was grabbing a couple plates to run out, and a kid washing dishes.

Of course, Zeb loses his footing somewhere along the line and skids. He recovers fast, but the closest guy chasing him did not have that problem and is too damn close for--

--or Bad Guy could get smacked in the face with a soapy cast-iron skillet, courtesy of Dish Washing Kid.

Split second to consider the consequences, but there are two other shooters in pursuit; so Zeb does the sensible thing and grabs the kid so she doesn’t get hurt, and finally makes it to the exit. Steals the first convenient car he sees, and books it.

Once he’s pretty sure they’ve lost pursuit, he turns to the kid, who’s--shit, he’s not good at guessing kids’ ages. Maybe twelve? Shit--anyway, an actual kid, which complicates things.

“Uh. Sorry about back there,” he says. “Listen, I’ll take you back to your parents in a couple hours, after the heat’s died down, I promise.” Pretty sure the bad guys aren’t gonna hunt you down if they couldn’t grab you right then and there…

“Foster parents,” she corrects. “They’re okay, I guess, but it’s not like they actually pay attention to me. They own the restaurant.”

“I should still get you back to them,” he says. “Better for you in the long run, kid.”

“Hanny,” she says. “My name’s Hanny.” She looks at him expectantly, but he doesn’t respond in kind.

“Right,” he says instead. “In the meantime, uh…” He pulls off--they need to switch cars anyway--and takes a second to text Hera.

“So I accidentally kidnapped someone.”

“…accidentally.”

“Yeah, there was shooting, had to run through the kitchen, she hit a guy with a frying pan, couldn’t leave her there.”

“Right,” she responds, after a few seconds where he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “How much of a fuss is she making?”

“Uh. None at all, actually.”

“All right. Bring her here, we’ll figure out how to handle this later.”

“Thanks, I owe you another one.”

He gets Hanny back to the safehouse he and the Ghost Crew are currently using.

Hera glowers at him for a minute, then makes sure Hanny is settled in an inner room before going out to have A Word.

“Zeb? That’s a child. An actual child.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zeb says. “Still couldn’t exactly leave her there. I’ll take her back to her parents…well, foster parents…”

“Our rule is, we don’t hurt kids!” Hera says.

“Does she look hurt?” Zeb says. “Look, this wasn’t my fault. I went through the kitchen, she got involved all on her own. Not like I told her to bash the guy over the head with a skillet!”

“I know,” Hera says, and takes a breath. “I know, sorry. I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you. But you need to take her back sooner than later. Tonight, if you can.”

Zeb nods. “Uh. Soon as I get her to actually tell me who her parents are. She said they own the restaurant, but…”

“Yeah, you probably don’t want to go back there.” She considers a minute. “I’ll see what I can dig up, get you an address.”

“Good,” he says.

“Why can’t I stay here?” Hanny asks, from the door.

“…because you’ve got parents--”

“Foster parents.”

“Who are probably worried about you,” he finishes.

Hanny snorts. “No, they’re not. They’ve got six of us, and mostly use the money they get from the state to keep their shitty restaurant afloat. They won’t miss me.”

“That’s a shitty situation, I get it,” Zeb says. “It’s still better than staying here.”

“Why?” she demands.

“Because I’m legally dead, for one thing,” he says.

“But you’re not actually dead,” she points out.

“I also do a lot of really dangerous things,” he says. “What you saw in that kitchen back there? Ordinary Tuesday for me.” Which is, yeah, a bit of an exaggeration, but…

She rolls her eyes. “Not like I’m asking to come into another shootout with you. Just stay with you instead of the Smiths.”

“Why do you want to stay with him?” Hera cuts in. “And ‘because he’s not the Smiths’ isn’t a good enough answer.”

Hanny chews that over for a minute. “I like him,” she says. “He actually gives a damn about something other than his stupid restaurant, or self-image, or whatever. And he apologized for kidnapping me, which is sort of weird, but nice, I guess? I don’t know, I just do.”

“…that whole bit about doing dangerous things,” Zeb says. “I can’t really look after you.”

She rolls her eyes again. “I’ve been looking after myself for ages anyway. Besides. I’m seventeen.”

He and Hera stare at her.

“…would you believe fifteen?”

Zeb’s less sure about that one, but the look on Hera’s face is answer enough.

“Okay, thirteen, but still. Plus, I cook. I’m really good at it, too. Especially when I have access to decent knives. I’m guessing that’s not a problem here?”

Well, okay, it’s not like they have a lot of kitchen knives floating around, but he could--

…shit.

Zeb turns to Hera. “…sorta running out of counter-arguments here…”

Hera looks from him, to Hanny, and back again. “…fine. I’ll babysit when you’re out in the field.”

Jumping back to the present!

So, Zeb doesn’t actually spot Kallus at this point.

Or, rather, he sees that another party is involved, and does out of the corner of his eye spot the guy going down and then Division agents running at him, but not enough to actually identify him.

He alerts his team to the presence of the Third Party--who they’ve been aware of, since Kallus and his team went active a few months ago.

(It was Sabine’s idea to nickname the team Fulcrum. Since they seem to be a pressure point that really gets to the Shadow Agency they’re chasing, and might be enough pressure to move the lever and make actual progress…)

(Look, it made sense in her head at the time, whether or not the others bought the reasoning, and it stuck.)

Of course, they’re not sure if Team Fulcrum is actually on their side, or just looking to cause Generalized Chaos. Or take Shadow Agency down to take its place. After all, they seem to have an almost personal vendetta against the Shadow Agency and some of the tactics they’ve used…

Ezra and Kanan slip around to the Fulcrum van, and find Orryn inside. They see this sweet kid, assume he’s a hostage, and extract him. There’s no way their team will get through the firefight between Division, Mirah, and the reinforcements intact, so Kanan calls Zeb back, they get Orryn into their vehicle, and they go.

They get Orryn back to their base, and he makes it Very Clear that he was not, in fact, a hostage.

“The people that had you in that van--”

“Were not Division,” he says. “They’re the ones who rescued me from Division, after I was recruited.”

“…I’m sorry,” Hera says. “We made a mistake. Division--they’re the government agents who were attacking that building back there?”

Orryn blinks. “…you didn’t know that?”

“We’ve never had a name for them,” Kanan says. “Maybe we should start from the beginning. I’m Kanan, this is Ezra, Hera, Zeb, Sabine.”

“Orryn,” he says. “…you’re trying to bring Division down, too?”

“Damn right we are,” Zeb says.

“…okay,” he says, and fills them in on what he knows.

Which is, comparatively, not all that much. He didn’t see too much of the internal structure--he wasn’t there for long enough--but they have names and so on to attach to them.

He tells them how Division recruits people in their late teens/early twenties, and trains them as assassins. He tells them how Mirah went in as a double agent, and she and Shamie and Kallus broke him out. He tells them how they tried to get him into hiding, but he offered to stay and help with their tech, which is what led them here.

(He doesn’t, of course, know Kallus’s real/full name--not something shared readily; and even if it was, that might not be the full name Zeb knew him under, so Zeb remains in the dark.)

(Part of why Orryn’s being so open about this is because he’s gotten a pretty good idea of the kind of team Hera and Kanan are running here; he also…it’s something to focus on other than the Very Strong Probability that Kallus is dead, likely Mirah with him, and Shamie, and…)

(On the other hand, if his new family is somehow still alive, they could use all the help they can get. And maybe Kallus would’ve been more cautious, and Mirah would’ve been more suspicious, and Shamie would’ve held back a little more, but Orryn knows how hard this fight will be, and how much they need genuine allies. And so he makes the first move/takes a leap of faith.)

So, to sum up the last few sections before we move on, here’s where we stand after the FUBAR mission where Kallus finds out Zeb is still alive:

Kallus has been badly hurt--near-fatally--and is more or less out of commission for the foreseeable future; not to mention whatever long-term/permanent damage he might have sustained.

Mirah’s cover is blown, and while she pulled herself together after her meltdown once Kallus was safe, she’s still teetering a little on the edge, especially as more and more time goes by without hearing from either of her siblings.

Shamie is fighting desperately to maintain their cover, still deep in Division, but now with little to no support.

Orryn is with Zeb and the Ghost Crew, with no idea if any of his family is still alive, and missing a few Key Pieces of Information that might help smooth things over.

(Yeah, this day went Super Well for everyone.)

After a couple days, though, a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel--Kallus wakes up.

Okay, technically, he’s sort of half-woken up a couple times, but this is the first time he’s been lucid enough to actually process being awake and/or interact with Mirah.

She sees him trying to sit up and is instantly there.

“Stay down, you’re hurt.”

He sinks back without too much argument, and she takes a second to make sure he’s really awake, really back with her, and then, as people with her particular personality and background are likely to do, covers up her fear with “How dare you.”

“Mirah…”

“You got yourself shot! You froze!”

“I know, I--”

And then the look on her face, she’s clearly just barely holding back from bursting into tears (which, she’s done enough of that over the past three days damn it) and he just…wordlessly holds out his arms, offering a hug.

Very, very carefully, she curls up next to him and clings, and she does burst into tears at that point, and stays there until she’s cried herself out.

“…sorry,” she says, when she gets her breath back.

“It’s fine,” he assures her. “And…so am I. For scaring you.”

She nods. “I know it wasn’t on purpose.”

He laughs a little, which is a mistake, because that hurts, but manages to get out, “when I get shot on purpose, it’s generally not this…bad.”

“I know,” she says, then hesitates before blurting out, “Iloveyou.”

He’s taken a little bit by surprise--he was her handler as much as her friend, and that’s not exactly conducive to…but he can’t deny that he’s come to think of her as a favorite niece, or maybe even a daughter, and…

Between being caught off guard, and the pain, and the bloodloss, and the drugs she’s probably got him on, he can’t find the words to respond.

So, of course, she tries to backtrack.

He cuts her off, “love you, too, Mirochka.”

(LOOK fandom has decided he’s a Space Russian ANYWAY so for this AU either one or both of his parents was a first-generation Russian immigrant so FAKE RUSSIAN DIMINUTIVES FOR EVERYONE. Also it makes me smile. So there.)

She brightens and clings again. Very, very carefully.

But he can already feel the room start to spin and blur at the edges. “Probably gonna pass out again. Don’t be afraid.”

“Okay,” she says. “Just don’t die.”

“Of course not,” he says, already fading. “Still have work to do.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not allowed to die when we’re done, either.”

“Right,” he manages to say, before he’s out again.

The next time he’s fully conscious and lucid is just after Shamie finally managed to send word they’re alive.

Which is, naturally, his first thought. To ask about Shamie and Orryn.

Mirah tells him--Shamie’s at least alive and free enough to make contact, but Orryn is still missing.

Kallus, at this point, is half-convinced he hallucinated Zeb--it would make more sense, obviously; Zeb is dead, he knows that, he saw him die, and yet…

On the other hand, he finds himself desperately hoping it wasn’t a hallucination, for more than just his personal needs. If Zeb has Orryn, then he knows Orryn is safe.

“I tried to get him,” Mirah says.

“I know,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was.” It was mine.

“What happened?” she asks, and the question had to come sometime, but he’s not sure he can explain. Not sure he should, as on-edge as she is already.

But she’s asking, so he does the best he can.

“I thought I saw…someone,” he says.

“…interesting pause there…”

“A ghost.”

“…cryptic. Are you gonna keep doing that, or…?”

He looks away. He can’t bring himself to say his name. “It couldn’t have been…I know it couldn’t have been, but I saw him, I was sure, and for a moment, I…I lost control. Again.”

I let you all down.

“…again?”

He struggles for a moment, then says, “I told you, before you went into Division…I told you why I left, didn’t I?”

It takes her a minute to get it. “…oh.”

“I only…I only saw him for a moment, and I may have been seeing things.” He takes a shallow, shaky breath, and blinks rapidly for a moment. “But if it was real, and Orryn’s with him, then he’s safe. I am certain of that.”

Mirah nods. “Then I’ll go find out.”

“Be careful,” Kallus cautions. “Division will be out in force, looking for you. And Shamie can’t--they have to keep their head down. Even if they’ve managed to satisfy Thrawn for now--” He starts to get up, because he needs to hit the ground running on this one, pain and shakiness be damned--

“Don’t you dare,” Mirah snaps, pushing him back. “I’ll be careful. Trust me. Papa.”

“I do,” he says; his head is spinning again and he’s gone chalk-white. “Just…don’t get overconfident.”

“I won’t,” she promises. “Go back to sleep. I’ll text every hour.”

“Please,” he says.

“I will,” she promises, and by the time she’s out the door he’s unconscious again.

Of course, by the time she gets back, he’s somehow managed to muster the strength to get himself over to the computer.

“What did I say?” she says, annoyed.

“I did sleep, for a while,” he says. A little breathless, but he’s still conscious, and it doesn’t look like he’s torn any of his stitches, which is probably a goddamn miracle.

(Of course, they are long overdue a miracle or two.)

“I found footage of the incident,” he says. “Target had security cameras all over. I wanted to see if��see if I could track Orryn that way.”

“And?”

He shakes his head. “But I can be sure Division didn’t take him. I accounted for all of them.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” he says, then hesitates. “Nothing more from Shamie, which…I don’t know. You find anything?”

“Maybe,” she says, and hands him a blurry photo, of Orryn--with Zeb.

The world spins around him again, just like it did back in that firefight, because there’s no mistaking it this time.

Mirah mistakes his reaction for him being about to pass out again; he vaguely hears her mention going to kidnap Dr. Sloane again; he cuts her off.

“No, it’s…it’s him.”

“Oh!” She considers for a moment. “Good. I’ll go get him.”

He nods; he can feel his heart beating erratically and knows he should probably do something about that--relaxation exercise, get horizontal, something--but first thing’s first. “Tell…no.” He can’t think of a good verbal code, but he has something even better.

Using the chair to hold himself up and keeping as much weight off his injured leg as possible, he starts over to the wall.

“Let me--” Mirah starts.

“Wall safe,” he says. “Keep forgetting to program your fingerprints.”

She makes a face. “And you’ll go to bed as soon as you get whatever it is?”

“Yes, fine,” he says. He makes it to the safe, and opens it, pulling out a fist-sized stone and handing it to her. “Show…show him this. He’ll know you’ve seen me.”

“I will. Now, bed.”

“Right,” he says. But his head is spinning and it seems so very far away right now. I possibly overdid it. “I’m just going to…sit here for a moment first. Catch my breath.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I know.”

There is, of course, a slight problem with sending the meteorite instead of some kind of verbal message. One that, if Kallus had been firing on all cylinders, so to speak, he would’ve figured out.

A verbal message can’t be pulled off a dead body, after all.

…yeah, Zeb pulls a gun on Mirah when she shows up.

She restrains herself from responding the way all her training has told her to respond to a gun in her face, because she knows how important Zeb is to Kallus. “Rude,” she says instead.

Zeb snarls at her. “Where the hell did you get that.”

“From Papa,” Mirah says, like it should be obvious. “Are you going to let me in?”

Papa? Zeb had never imagined the monsters that killed Alexsandr--who did the kind of things Orryn described--would have children. “…no,” he says. “You’re going to take me to Papa.”

It’s the best, most solid lead he’s had in forever, more concrete than Orryn in terms of tracing back to the specific people who killed his fiancé, he finally has an actual agent, a string to pull to unravel Division and end them.

“Well, yeah,” Mirah says, because that is the plan. But not right now.”

Zeb glares at her. “No. Now.”

Mirah sighs. “ORRYN!”

Orryn, who heard the commotion and was already on his way, joins Zeb at the door. “She’s okay, Zeb. Really. This is Mirah, I told you about her?”

Zeb is…not at all sure what to make of all this. But he lets her in while he tries to figure it out.

(Keeping her covered with the gun, of course. As much as he can when the first thing she does is wrap Orryn in a flying tackle hug.)

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Orryn says, clinging back so hard. “I was worried.”

“You were worried!” Mirah says. “You know what you’re supposed to do in a firefight! Keep your head down, and wait for Papa to come get you!”

“I know,” Orryn says. “But I saw him go down, and then…” I got grabbed, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do.

Mirah nods. “I already yelled at him about that.”

Which is not what Orryn would’ve done, but he knows his sister, so he’s not surprised. “And…and Shamie, are they with you? Are they okay?”

“They’re alive,” Mirah says. “They got in touch. But they’re still undercover. We’re working on it.”

“Touching as this reunion is,” Zeb interrupts, “you need to tell me where the hell you got that rock.”

“I already told you.”

“Not enough.”

“Well, then ask,” Mirah says. “I don’t know what you know.”

“Who the hell is Papa, and how the hell did he get that meteorite?” Zeb asks.

“No idea where he got it,” she says, which is true. “He just told me to give it to you.”

Zeb stares at her, for a long moment. “What the hell kind of sick joke--”

“What?” Mirah says. “Explain, because I have no idea what the hell you mean.”

“He’s taunting me,” Zeb says, flatly. “Whoever he is.” ...on the other hand, that means I’m close…or they know I have Orryn. He frowns, then shakes his head. “But to use this to lure me out…”

Now it’s her turn to stare. “Lure you? You’re the one who demanded I take you places!”

“Because you turn up, out of the blue, on my damn doorstep, holding that!”

“Because Papa told me to!” she says. “What’s so important about it, anyway?!”

“It’s something I gave to--” He stops. “Your people, Division, they took it off him after they killed him. I’ve spent the last five years trying to track down the bastards who did it.”

And SUDDENLY EVERYTHING IS CLEAR.

“You didn’t see him,” Mirah realizes.

“…what.”

“Okay,” she says. “We can go see Papa now. But leave your gun behind, he’s been shot enough this week.”

“No, seriously, what the hell,” Zeb says. “Saw who?”

“Papa,” she says. Obviously.

“You still haven’t told me who that is!”

“Because I love him, but he’s sometimes a secretive jerk and I don’t know his full name and that’s embarrassing, okay?”

Zeb just stares at her for a moment.

Mirah sighs, exasperated. “Orryn, do you know Papa’s full name? I don’t have any pictures, and I don’t want to wake him up by calling.”

Orryn shakes his head. “Never had that much access to Division’s computers, and you know he doesn’t talk about that stuff. …Shamie might know, but…”

“I’ll text,” she decides. “They won’t get it until it’s safe.”

“Like hell I’m waiting for that,” Zeb says. “Take me to him. Now.” “First, leave the gun behind,” Mirah says, and there is No Room For Argument in her face or her tone.

Zeb considers this for a moment.

He’s dealing with one guy who’s apparently been shot all to hell, and one baby agent…he’s got the raw physical strength to overpower her if it comes to that. Besides, she didn’t say anything about other weapons.

“Fine,” he says, and ostentatiously puts both the gun he already had out and the backup from his boot on the table.

“Thank you,” she says. “Orryn, you coming?”

Orryn hesitates for a second. “…someone should probably stay with Hanny.”

“Who’s Hanny?”

“My kid,” Zeb says. “…kinda. Long story. Can we go?”

“Sure,” Mirah says. “Hanny can come, too.”

“Hell no,” Zeb says. “I don’t bring her into potential danger if I can avoid it.”

“If you say so,” Mirah says. “Just a suggestion.”

So, Orryn and Hanny stay back at Zeb’s place. Mirah texts Kallus to let him know they’re coming.

He. Uh. Wakes up on the floor by the wall safe when his phone buzzes. Never quite made it back to bed…oops.

Part of him thinks he should probably correct that, but on the other hand, standing up sounds like Work right now. He’ll just…wait here. Gather his strength.

Oh, right, I should text back. “Fine, see you soon.”

As they approach, Mirah once again warns Zeb that Kallus has been shot, so he is not allowed to get him worked up or let him out of bed.

“Yeah, you mentioned.”

“It bears repeating,” she says. “And he is not allowed to die.”

“Copy that,” Zeb says, though he makes no promises. Whoever Papa is, he had Alexsandr’s meteorite, which means he Knows Something about the people who killed him.

She opens the door to the safehouse. “PAPA YOU HAD BETTER BE IN BED.”

…well, at least he hasn’t moved from where she left him last?

Mirah gives him her best Aggrieved and Disappointed Face.

“…I think I fell asleep here,” he says, wearily.

And then Zeb has a Moment.

Because he couldn’t quite see Mirah’s papa from this angle.

But he knows that voice.

“Did I or did I not tell you to go back to bed,” Mirah says, but she knows it’s gonna be a lost cause for at least a few minutes. “…I’ll lecture you later.”

“Alex?” Zeb says. Whispers. It takes him a few seconds to actually get the name out and it comes out strangled and disbelieving.

And even though he already knew Zeb was alive, he’d seen him in person and then the picture, something about it…he’s here now, it’s real--

Fortunately, before Alex can try to get up, Zeb is right there.

“You were…you were dead, I thought--”

For his part, Kallus cannot form words right now. He just reaches up, hand shaking, to touch Zeb’s face.

(Mirah, in the background, discreetly texts her siblings with an update.)

(Orryn, upon reading the text, asks Hanny if she’s ever seen The Parent Trap.)

(“Because I think your spy dad and my spy dad used to be together. Wanna go join them?”)

(Hanny doesn’t need to be asked twice.)

Zeb, at that point, just scoops Kallus up and, very gently, puts him back in the bed.

“Oh, good,” Mirah says. “Now we need to keep him there.”

“No arguments here,” Zeb says.

And this had better not be a dream, he adds, in the privacy of his own mind.

Of course, there’s a lot more catching up to do from there, and a creepy organization of spysassins to take down, but I think we got enough here for one outline, lol. XD Future developments, of course, involve Team Fulcrum (who keep the nickname because Why Not) teaming up with the Ghost Crew to actually take down Division and shoot Pryce in the face; getting Shamie’s kill switch removed; and then…whatever adventures the Family of Spies might have in the future. Maybe head down to Miami, run into another team of former spies. Or up to Boston, run across a team of thieves…

The point is, they’ve found each other again. The rest…well, the rest is just Details.

#shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong writes crossovers #shadowsong writes self-indulgent bs #au outlines for the win #tigerkat24

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soulvomit · 6 years ago

Text

I’ve reinvented myself several times, but there’s one reinvention that could never “take.”

I was in some groups that had traditional-adjacent viewpoints a long time ago. I hoped that somehow I could learn to be socially “normal.” I thought that what I was learning in these groups could map to same-gender relationships as well since I’d gotten about half of the same critiques and policing from LGBT culture with the main difference being the hair and clothing styles they preferred women to have. The idea of having to pick one specific gender expression uniform and wear that same look day in and day out, is something I ran into in BOTH settings. LGBT culture gave me a few different ones to choose from where mainstream cookie cutter Stepford Wife culture gave me only one, but it still felt like prescriptivism. I’d already gotten a lot of “bad woman” messaging from homosocial LGBT environments so figured that at least the hetero version of “bad woman” programming would be something I could be resigned to and get the majority of the culture’s support. (I wonder if this is what’s going on sometimes with ex-LUG women who suddenly go whole hog into really conventional hetero culture. “I’m a bad woman anyway and will always be a bad woman, at least I can still have hetero passing privilege since my basic badness can never be fixed.” Yet performing “good woman” didn’t get me any of that. It just made me feel worse about myself. I wasn’t trying to date men, or really trying to date *anyone* at that time - I was just trying to feel “normal,” and figured that this performance would make me more “normal,” because they sure did represent themselves as normal. It was initially about being part of a singles culture that could teach me how to perform Womanhood(tm), whatever Womanhood(tm) was. It was before these groups started to really radicalize, it was during a really fucked up point in my life, and I wasn’t involved that long (about six months?). Both groups were some of the most toxic groups of women I’ve ever been in, but they internalized their toxicity as “we are the NORM, and learning to be part of the NORM is painful.” I wondered at one point if my dating preferences (toward women) were because I was “performing womanhood wrong” and if only I performed it RIGHT, then more men would like me, and I could just choose one of them, right? (The irony is that I got about 50% of the same messages in homosocial LGBT culture, with some minor changes in flavor!) Here are some of the things I learned: * always fake more social capital than you have because social capital is 100% of why men marry some women but only date or sleep with other women. (These women believed this.) * Only one style of dress is acceptable. There is a “look” that books like The Rules and quasi-trad matchmakers like the Millionaire Matchmaker, tell women to wear. There was practically a branded Rules look and it consisted of a blouse with a pencil skirt, flat ironed hair, ALWAYS going out with makeup on (in case you meet Mr. Right in the produce aisle). Later, I learned that this dovetails into traditionalist men expressing that they do not like trendy or “fashionable” clothing on women (but don’t like single women to look like prudes, either). So basically that left me doing a once over of “too sexy? not sexy enough?” every time I left the house even though I wasn’t really interested in dating anyone. * Don’t talk about your own aspirations or interests. * Don’t be too excited about anything of your own. * You have to always be dating whether you want to or not, because you have until 30 to lock someone down who will be a good provider (which is what you should always and only be looking for), and if you’re over 30 then you have to look even harder. You should be dating two different people a week and not commit to monogamy until you get a marriage proposal. * Men do not like trendy or “fashionable” clothing on women unless it adds to the man’s level of social capital. * Men don’t respect you once they know you have a sexual history * What other women in a room are wearing, REALLY REALLY MATTERS. Be sure to wear a skirt and heels everywhere, and if other women in the environment are wearing jeans then it just brings down the environment somehow. * If the other women in the room are somehow not doing all these rules then it drags the entire environment down and you should move somewhere else, because the men won’t treat you right. * The slut-shaminess of it all! There was a real belief that relationships and sex had some kind of market rate and that women were in a bidding war. In this framework, other women’s sexual preferences and habits and history really, really matter and have anything to do with whether or not *you* will find love. If you’re being treated like shit, it’s not men who ruined it for you, it’s other women, for setting their standards too low.

* If you’re over 35 then you are only attracting people who are settling for you, and no one will ever REALLY have strong sexual feelings for you unless it’s somebody horribly broken in some way. (This is the one big thing that LGBT culture didn’t have, it’s ageist, but not ageist in the same way that hetero culture is.) * Men who aren’t sleeping in their mother’s basement only want women who meet these really narrow requirements (the irony being that after I left the groups, the opposite proved true over and over.) * If you attract someone *into you* and you’re "undesirable” (not having an ideal body, not being white enough, not being “normal” enough, being a nerd) then it means anyone attracted to you, is also “undesirable” in some way. If a man likes a woman who doesn’t meet these women’s standards of social capital then it’s open season to mock the couple, and it’s open season to try to find something wrong with him. (This REALLY fucked me up. It played into a lot of fucked up self image issues I already had.) * Faking a whole personality is okay. * The moment you start dating someone, there’s a timeline you have to abide until you get married. If the other person doesn’t propose to you in a year (you are NEVER supposed to bring up engagement or marriage) then you should dump them. * NEVER bring up your own wants, never bring up marriage or your future plans. Date the person who “surprises” you with what you actually want. * One group consisted mostly of professional women who seemed to be engaged in perpetual class warfare with other women. This group seemed to be more about women describing their dates and the clothes they wore with an obsessive focus on how they looked, and how many compliments they got. * Meeting people in friend groups is never okay because they will never “value” you the way they “value” a total stranger they’re chasing. This is a weird belief I’ve seen in the dating world for decades, going as far back as my teen years, and I bought it myself for a while. And then when I finally got into a GOOD relationship, that DID have mutual “valuing” as the groups expressed it but also had passion, which the groups expressed wasn’t supposed to exist in “good” relationships - it was somebody I’d been friends with for years, where we knew each other really well. * Strong sexual attraction to your partner in the beginning is taken as a red flag that he’s probably “bad” * Get with someone who is far more attracted to you than you are to them so that you can leverage their feelings to get what you want * Getting commitment is about negotiating * If a woman dates men who don’t propose marriage, it’s the woman’s fault somehow, and the assumption is that ALL WOMEN want to get married * If you end up in a relationship with someone of another race, or with someone who is a smidge younger, or with someone who has basically normal middle class levels of social capital, it must mean something is wrong with you. (There are a lot of women in these groups who considered being an average person who gets with an average person, to be settling horribly - it’s practically a mirror assumption to those that male incels often have.) And according to these groups, this is NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. Yet when I was in the *real world* talking to *real people* away from internet groups, most people seemed to have good relationships. There was also an undercurrent of racism in one of the groups (not the other, which was pretty diverse) and that’s the reason I finally left one group and that’s when I learned that traditionalism and fascism are often fellow travelers. Which started the whole unravelling of a lot of American traditionalism for me. Also, women’s actual feelings about anyone - like my feelings about women vs men - were completely irrelevant because women were supposed to just respond to men’s feelings anyway and not have feelings of our own. (With that in mind, a lot of these women couldn’t wrap their mind around women being lesbians, because women aren’t supposed to have those kinds of feelings toward either men OR women, amirite?) What I noticed after I left the group is that most relationships I knew in real life, did NOT form the way that any of these groups thought they formed. I also noticed that if you do all the things these groups asked you to do, then it actually attracted the WORST men - it was practically a step by step how-to on how to attract the most misogynist, controlling men. It was easy to fall into this kind of thinking because it’s what my mom’s always believed, and the complaints these women had about other women were the same ones that my mom often had about me, and their assumptions were the same ones my mom has. So I thought that “fixing myself” to fit my mom’s rules and having a support group to do it in, would fix the rest of my life. I didn’t go very far with my “trying to walk away from being LGBT” because at some point during this, I developed intense feelings for a woman friend that lasted for some time. (We didn’t get together, but this did break me out of wanting to do a whole personality reinvention and makeover.) The funny thing is that once I walked away, I stopped seeing the world that way. I noticed that in real life, most people’s relationships did not meet the standards of these women’s. They were taking ideas that really only apply to the culture of very rich white men, and trying to map that to the rest of the world, when it’s really only how the very most entitled, privileged men see the world, and you don’t have to be a Barbie doll if you’re not looking for someone who’s looking for that. The Rules DID teach me how to pull off a more polished look and more polished behavior in professional settings, for what it’s worth. This is something I’d had a problem with for a long time, because I got into work that expected professional standards of women yet I’d never really known how to look and act the part. (The gender-prescriptive part of “being professional” is especially bad. Especially now that I’m middle aged with chronic pain and just don’t want to do heels, girdles, and nylons. There isn’t a single traditionally female shoe style that I can wear anymore. If I can’t be professional in pants and walking shoes then fuck it.) But if this was the NORM, then why did MOST people I knew, manage to be happy enough without doing ANY of these things? And these ideas seemed calibrated to only a particular type of ideal romantic partner (the “high type clean cut” as old school employment ads used to call him) as if no other people even existed.

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tzifron · 6 years ago

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So apparently landlords want to be called “rental housing providers” now....

Don’t want to link to the National Post, but they came out with an article on September 23rd 2018 about how landlords want a rebrand because of their “good work for the community.” The article also wants to say, essentially that “See, since landlords aren’t actually medieval lords they shouldn’t have such a bad reputation,” which is about as disingenuous as Donald Rumsfeld getting indignant that people were comparing Abu Ghraib to a gulag because gulags were Russian.

Firstly, as a discipline medieval studies at the University of Toronto is notoriously conservative (a bud of mine is a medievalist who worked in a different department in part because of the political climate there). Even then, the way Shami Ghosh’s comments have be integrated into the article is pretty janky, and makes me wonder how that interview really went down. Many peasants, while they did have feudal obligations, were much more autonomous than todays wage labourer. (See, for instance, Eda Sagarra, A Social History of Germany: 1648-1914 (1977), 140-54.)

Secondly, while it is admittedly later than the middle ages, late feudal peasants actually fought and died resisting the turn from feudalism to capitalism because they realized that landlords were actually far more mercenary than regular lords when it came to having a stable place to live and work.

““A lack of land made this group [day labourers] less subject to the juridical authority of the lord, while the growing availability of employment in rural industry further increased their independence from seignorial control. The landless laborer’s relationship to seigniorial authority was far more ambiguous than that of the peasant, whose plot of land concretely defined his feudal obligations. The day laborer’s contacts with his noble employer were likely to be more sporadic, less formalized, and mediated by economic subordination to his more prosperous peasant counterparts. A rural laborer often lived under the immediate authority not of a seignior, but a prosperous peasant who employed him as a farm servant. This sometimes worked to the lord’s advantage: During peasant uprisings, lords were occasionally able to play on the antagonism between prosperous peasants and the rural poor. In general, however, the sheer number of the ‘masterless’ persons in eighteenth-century Austria and Prussia raised alarming questions about how authority was to be exercized in the countryside. […] the growth of a class that owned little or no land and whose relationship to seigniorial authority was less direct posed a clear challenge to traditional paternalist assumptions.”

[...]

“Raising grain prices, especially after the mid-eighteenth century, also undermined the ideology of seigniorial paternalism. Historians have examined this phenomenon most exhaustively for Prussia, where the resulting increase in the value of estates produced a tremendous speculative boom in land. In some regions of Silesia, the value of estates increased by 90 percent or more between 1700 and 1780, while in areas of East Prussia it was not uncommon for estates to double in value between 1705 and 1770. As estates changed hands with ever-increasing frequency, observers voiced concern about the disruptive impact of land speculation on lord-peasant relations. […] Von Reibnitz, a Prussian official in Silesia, noted with dismay that ‘the condition of the peasantry worsens every year because so many nobles have cast aside the hallowed belief of their ancestors that a lord should be a father to his subjects, and instead prefer to carry on like bankers and userers.’” 147

Source: James Van Horn Melton, Absolutism and the Eighteenth-century Origins of Compulsory Schooling in Prussia and Austria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988.

As for the National Post article:

A group of property managers and apartment owners in Hamilton wish to be called landlords no longer, arguing the term, haunted by its medieval history, has too many negative connotations.

“It just has a bad ring to it,” said Arun Pathak, president of the Hamilton District Apartment Association. “It’s the two words together: Somebody lording over the land.”

The term landlord conjures an image, Pathak said, of a callous and wealthy man collecting cheques each month and doing little else. But in reality, he said, “there’s a lot of work.”

“We’d like to try and find a term that works better,” he said. As of now, the group is offering this: rental housing provider. It works, said Pathak, because it isn’t gender-specific and points out they’re providing a service.

“Hopefully, over time it will catch on.”

The group has discussed this rebranding for several years, and did so again at a meeting last week of its 250 members. Changing the name landlord has become a small facet of their plan to deal with a public relations crisis.

Property owners, Pathak said, have been vilified after several high-profile landlord-tenant disputes in the area. (Most notably, a renters’ strike against an apartment complex in Stoney Creek has dragged on for months, with the Hamilton Spectator reporting on a neighbourhood barbecue in August where children beat a pinata emblazoned with the face of the executive behind the rent increases.)

“It’s been a very one-sided story,” Pathak said, stressing that trying to change the term landlord was a minor part of the group’s public outreach plan.

“It’s not a big rich landlord who’s doing all this,” he said. “A lot of it is just a guy in the street, a guy who’s been working at his other job for a long time.”

[...]

Manitoba’s Professional Property Managers Association deliberately eschews the term landlord because they feel it isn’t the most accurate summation of their role. “We manage apartment buildings. We don’t lord over land,” spokesman Avrom Charach said, noting that the PPMA would support Pathak’s idea.

[...]

The dynamic has virtually no resemblance to the modern version, he said: “The medieval lord had far more power over the daily lives of the tenants than in a modern sense.”

Starting after the Norman conquest, a king generally bestowed land on a nobleman in exchange for fealty and military service; that nobleman gave land to tenants in exchange for rent by way of crops, livestock, or money. There appears to have been two extremes of the medieval landlord: one as the linchpin in an idyllic rural harmony, the other a domineer who approved marriages between tenants, demanded free labour and took the best animal from a family when their head of household died, as a payment for settling the dead man’s affairs.

“This medieval concept of the landlord who has a corrosive relationship with the tenants may never have existed in Canada, and certainly not since Canada became an independent country,” said Shami Ghosh, assistant professor of medieval history at the University of Toronto.

“I fail to see how that’s going to affect the image in Hamilton right now.”

#Landlords #class war #Labour History #labor history #Hamilton #Medieval peasant

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hadarmarkin · 6 years ago

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Encountering a tiger by the Well: Stories from Rural Yemenite Communities

Now comes the story of a community that is so distinct and fascinating that it deserves its own blog. The Yemenite Jewish community is large in size and presence, and historically and culturally different from the general Sephardic diaspora. However, for various reasons, mainly the human need to classify, Yemenite Jews are often included under the Sephardic umbrella.

Living in a fairly remote location shaped the distinct folklore, liturgy and cuisine (more on that later) of the Yemenite community. And although Yemenite Jews were not detached from the major events happening in the Jewish world, local factors such as Yemen’s history, diverse terrain (jungle, seaside or dessert) and wildlife were the most influential. Another striking characteristic of the Yemenite Jewry is its demography: the majority of Yemenite Jews resided in villages scattered around the land - often one or two families per village. However, despite being surrounded by a (frequently hostile) Muslim majority, Yemenite Jews maintained a very observant Jewish lifestyle. A book that portrays this arduous and yet unique existence in the first half of the twentieth century will be reviewed later in this post entry. But first, here is a brief overview of the Yemeni community.

Historical Glance: From Queen Sheba to Zionist Aspirations

Jewish Monarchy in Late Antiquity

Yemen’s current status as a poor and divided nation obscures the country’s glorious past as an ancient civilization known as the fertile oasis of the Arabian Peninsula. Jews immigrated to this promising land fairly early. Biblical texts (Book of Ezra) indicate a Jewish settlement in Yemen circa the destruction of the First Temple (587 BCE). Another legend says that Yemeni tribes converted to Judaism after the Queen of Sheba's visit to King Solomon.Yet, historians assert that the Jewish immigration took place later, starting in the second century CE. Regardless of this dispute, all sides consent that Jews were a key political and economic force during the pre-Islamic era.

A prime example of their power occurred in the 6thcentury when the kingdom’s aristocracy converted to Judaism. Some sources suggest that the king himself, Joseph Dhu Nuwas,was zealous for Judaism.According to these sources, Dhu Nuwas sought to convert Yemeni Christians to Judaism, but they refused to renounce Christianity. What exactly happened afterwards remains murky given the conflicting accounts. Yet, it appears that Dhu Nuwas died as part of the religious rivalries. His death ended the Jewish hegemony in Yemen.

Maimonides and Messianic Aspirations

The 7thcentury Muslim conquest of Yemen marked a negative shift in the history of the Jews in Yemen. Historical knowledge about these early stages of the Muslim reign in Yemen is limited, but several sources from the Cairo Geniza indicate that the Jewish community was in a plight. The new Sharia law defined Jews as Dhimmis- or second class citizens. In essence, Jews were granted with freedom of worship but were subjected to additional tax and other (often humiliating) restrictions.

Although Islamic law categorized Jews as a protected minority, Jews suffered ongoing persecution under the various Muslim rulers. From the 10thcentury on, the living conditions of Yemeni Jews deteriorated significantly as the relatively tolerant Sunni sovereign was overthrown by the radical Zaidis (a Shia sect) dynasty. In the 1160s, the local ruler Iben Mahdi forced Jews to convert to Islam. As a result, a false prophet arose, proclaiming the amalgamation of Judaism and Mohammedanism. This messianic revival evoked the concern of Maimonides. The latter addressed the Jews of Yemen in an epistle, entitled Iggeret Teman,in which he urged them to remain faithful to their religion. The intervention of a scholar of that scale had a great impact on the Jews of Yemen; the false prophet was condemned, and thename of Maimonides was added to the Yemenite version of the Ḳaddish prayer. The defeat of Iben Mahdi in battle in 1173 and the conquest of Yemen by the brother of Saladin brought relief to Jewish community and those who had been forced to convert reverted to Judaism. Around this time, two sub groups were formed among the local community: theShami, who partly assimilated into the Sephardic culture and liturgy; and the Baladi, who followed Maimonides, especially the rules in his “Mishneh Torah”. Both sub groups fostered the mysticism prominent in Sephardic traditions.

Above: Maimonides

The Modern Era: Zionism as the New Messianism

Fasting forward to modernity, the 19thcentury brought dramatic change in the life of the Yemenite community. At this time, the population was divided between the minority, who lived in urban-gated centers (such as, Sana and Aden), and those who resided in remote villages surrounded by Muslim neighbors. Commerce and craftsmanship (including carpenters and blacksmith) were common trades. Regardless of location and profession, the life of the average man was rough. The community was subjected to the jurisdiction of the local Imam (Muslim Zaidileader), and suffered from endless restrictions, limiting their transportation and monetary transactions.

The most notorious act enforced by the Zaidi rulers was the Orphan’s decree, which mandated the Zaidi government to take under its protection and to educate in Islamic ways anyJewish child whose parents had died when he or she was a minor. Accounts from this period portray numerous cases of abduction and forced conversion of children. As a measure of protection, child marriage became increasingly prevalent. Another consequence of this plight was yet again intense messianism, including three incidents of pseudo-messiahs in the second half of the 19thcentury.

Under these circumstances, Zionist ideology spread by emissaries from Palestine found a good nesting ground. During the period from 1881 to 1914, about 10% of the Yemeni Jews immigrated to Palestine (the rest immigrated in the late 1940’s and 1950’s). Many died during the dangerous journey, and those who made it were recruited to work as cheap labor in the new Zionist settlements. They were housed in barns and provided with meager food and water. The exploitation of Yemenite Jews reveals an ugly chapter in the history of the early Zionist history. This tragedy opened the path to even more horrifying cases of discrimination, and mainly to the explosive affair of the possible abduction of Yemenite babies and toddlersin 1950’s Israel. According to this controversial case, the abducted Yemeni children were sold or given to Ashkenazi families, mainly to Holocaust survivors who could not have kids. The State of Israel firmly denies all allegations.

Above: Yemeni workers in Kinneret

Sapri Tama Tamimaby Sarit Gradwohl

In the context of the turmoil of the first half of the 20thcentury, the book Sapri Tama Tamimaby Sarit Gradwohl offers a fascinating lens to explore the world of rural Yemenite Jews and their uneasy immigration process to Israel. Gradwohl recorded the personal accounts of her grandparents (mainly her grandma) and weaved them into a captivating novel. Gradwohl’s family memoire begins in a small isolated village in Yemen. Her grandmother, Hamama, is then a young child curious about the world. Through her childhood memories, we discover the rough existence, including constant harassments by Yemenite soldiers, the limited food and the presence of wildlife. One of the saddest stories in the book is the death of Hamama’s younger sister from a heart failure after encountering a tiger by a well.

As Hamama matures she falls in love with her cousin, Hassan, a resourceful and fervent Zionist. Soon after their marriage, they embark on the treacherous journey to Israel, then mandatory Palestine. In 1942, they finally made it to the Promised Land, only to be placed in a transit camp by Haifa. Then begins their second adventure. They face many challenges, including living in tents for several years and suffering from prejudice by the Ashkenazi population. In addition, coming from traditional households, they are also bewildered by secular Judaism and cannot grasp how the Kibbutznikim and the Zionist leadership strayed so far from Jewish law. Yet, despite the barriers and through hard work and perseverance, Hamama and Hassan built a happy life together with a strong sense of family.

Last November, I had the pleasure to meet with Sarit Gradwohl in her house in Skokie. In our fascinating conversation, Gradwohl shared additional insights about her grandparents’ immigration to Israel. From her perspective, they acknowledge that they were mistreated in certain times, but they never labeled these experiences as discrimination nor did they harbored resentment towards the State of Israel. They remained, she proclaimed, innocent in heart and faithful to their core values: the love for Judaism and the land of Israel.

Above: Gradwhol and her Grandfather

Lasis-A Dish Worth Fainting

When I met with Gradwohl, we talked more about her grandma’s special delicacies, particularly Asid Va’zom, a dairy soup/ porridge eaten at the end of Yom Kippur, and her aromatic lentil soup. She also told me about her grandma’s Jachnun making techniques. This dense pastry dish became a Shabbat breakfast staple in Israel, served savory with mashed tomato and hardboiled egg or sweet with honey. Some buy it frozen, but it is best homemade cooked overnight on the Plata (the Shabbat hot plate).

Despite the popularity of doughy Yemeni dishes, such as Jachnun and Malawach,Gradwohl debunked the common misconception in Israel that the key ingredient in Yemeni food is starch. Backed with academic research, Gradwohl argued that traditional Yemeni cuisine is mainly composed of fish, legume and grain dishes. The use of puff pastry type dough was a later Turkish influence. Gradwohl also added that Yemenite families did not suffer as much as Ashkenazi families during the austerity period in 1950’s Israel, in which eggs and dairy products were rationed. Since Yemenite women were skilled in making beans and lentils dishes, they were able to create nourishing meals using simple plant based ingredients.

Above: Jachnun

An example of a basic legume dish is the Lasis, a slow cooked bean dish served on Shabbat. One of the most endearing stories in the book is the anecdote about little Hamama marching for hours with a jug of Lasis on her head. When she finally arrives home, her siblings falsely accuse her of stealing the favorite dish. Infuriated she runs away outside of the village, where she is nearly attacked by monkeys. Overly excited she runs back home, and receives the Michva treatment- a tribal remedy used to calm the agitated. After the hot iron rod is placed on her head, she faints.

Lasis might not be a reason for a family drama, but it is definitely worth making at home. It is easy to make, satisfying and delicious. Below, is a recipe recommended by Gradwohl. Slow cooking the beans overnight definitely helps to accentuate the flavor.

Lasis

Ingredients

2 cups - red kidney beans

0.5 tsp - baking soda

Salt

water

4 hard-boiled eggs

Cumin

Schug(Yemeni hot sauce)/ Jalapeno based hot sauce

Making

1. Soak beans overnight with baking soda

2. Drain and rinse beans

3. Place beans in slow cooker or pot with hard-boiled eggs and salt, cover with water and let it cook very slowly

4. Serve with a generous sprinkle of cumin and drizzle some chug

Above: Lasis in the making

The Great Yemeni Cultural Contribution

This blog entry would not be complete without paying tribute to the rich cultural contribution made by Yemeni Jews to Israeli society. From the colorful Hinna (pre wedding) celebrations to Yemenite folk dancing, Yemenite Jews deeply influenced mainstream Israeli culture and particularly Israeli music. In the sea of great artists, I would like to highlight three particularly inspiring ones.

Zohar Argov (1955-1987)

In his short sad life Zohar Argov redefined the Israeli music scene. His distinct sound brought the Yemeni Piyutim (liturgical chants) from the synagogue into the ears of every Israeli, and created the genre widely known today as Muzika Mizrachit (Oriental Music). Initially, his music was turned down by the local radio stations, but through pirate cassettes and unforgettable performances Argov became a legend during his lifetime. Despite the catchy tunes, Argov’s lyric are often somber, addressing drug addiction and loneliness. Fame did not cure his mental issues, and Argov put an end to his life at age 32. However, his legacy is long lived by many Israeli musicians today, who still refer to him as HaMelech (the King). Below is his most famous hit- Ha’Pereach Be’Gani, a must have in every Israeli wedding to bring people onto the dance floor.

youtube

Ofra Haza (1959-2000)

Ofra Haza was one of the most popular singers in Israel in all times. Having a sweet tender voice and being extremely beautiful, it was hard not to be a fan. During the 1980’s and 1990’s she was everywhere: kids TV shows, movies, national ceremonies and on teenagers walls. In 1983, she touched the entire Israeli nation when she performed the song Chai (Alive) in the Eurovision Song Contest in Munich Germany, only 30 kilometers from the Dachau Concentration Camp. Haza was also a renowned artist outside of Israel, taking a lead role in the Ethnic Pop wave in 1980’s Europe. Her breakthrough as an international singer happened in 1984 after she released the album Shirei Teiman (Songs of Yemen), which consisted of songs she had heard in childhood, mixing authentic Middle Eastern percussion with dance bit rhythms. Throughout her career, she earned many platinum and gold discs and was nominated for the Grammy award. Like Argov, Haza died young at, at the age of 41, of AIDS - related pneumonia

Below is the song Im Nin’alu a prime example of her ability to combine an ancient liturgical poem with a catchy tune. The beautiful video clip was set to emulate the landscape of Yemen.

youtube

Adi Keissar (born 1980)

Adjectives, such as provocative, uncompromising and straightforward, do not begin to describe the pungent poet Adi Keissar. Born and raised in Jerusalem, Keissar is using her poetry to criticize Israel social illnesses, and to spread her own agenda of prompting the culture and civic rights of Mizrahi Jews. Keissar strongly objects to the elitist reputation of poetry, and therefore she established the Ars-Poetica club, where poets from different walks of life come to share their words. Besides poetry, the Ars-Poetica club offers a fun celebration of Mizrahi culture, including belly dancing performances and Sephardic food banquet. Because of her sharp tongue and natural charisma, Keissar made poetry relevant again. People memorize her poems by heart, and she inspired so many others to follow her path. Below is a video clip of one of her inspiring poems.

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rgbcn · 3 years ago

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Ottoman, based on @aprilinparisfanfic fanfiction "The Cruciverbalist Courtship”. Uncensored version on my Patreon. A little sequence I did last month of the famous and awesome chapter I’m sure all of you already know, aka the ottomam, I knew I had to draw it since I read it! Check the full comic (uncensored) here —> https://www.patreon.com/posts/ottoman-final-61692845 I’m so proud of the background I did for the time I was able to spend on it. For me it was important the ambiance of the scene, more than the “action” per se. But I did a zoom for my patrons for the rewards lol. Hope you like my take on it! Swipe to see the lineart and the first rough draft!! you can find these on my rewards pack btw, the lineart to color it yourself and the first sketch so you can see how I work on the concept. The timelapse too (art club and up) Read the fic here! Please remember to review! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13918354/1/The-Cruciverbalist-Courtship The drawing and wallpapers, outlines to color and video timelapse are be included in my Patreon February pack. Don’t miss it! Your support makes my drawings possible! If you want to support my work, check my Patreon.com/rgbcn, you get access to all my work and every little help is a huge difference for me, and you have complete control of your pledges all the time! Ask me if you have any questions! Thank you!!! ‪‪‪‪‪‪.‬‬‬‬ ‪‪ ‬ ‬ ‪‪ ♥️ Support me and get my art on Patreon.com/rgbcn ‪‪‪‪‪‪.‬‬‬‬ ‪‪ ‬ ☕️ Invite me to a coffee on ko-fi.com/rgbcnart ‪‪‪‪‪‪.‬‬‬‬ ‪‪ ‬ ‬ ‪‪ ⚠️ Please don’t use, copy, edit or repost my drawings without my permission. ‪‪‪‪‪‪.‬‬‬‬ ‪‪ ‬ ‬ ‪‪ 💬 Join my discord, it’s fun! ‪‪‪‪‪‪.‬‬‬‬ ‪‪ ‬ ‬ ‪‪ #shamy #jimparsons #mayimbialik #tbbt #bigbangtheory #sheldoncooper #amyfarrahfowler #procreateart #fanfiction https://www.instagram.com/p/CaSurIXMXMy/?utm_medium=tumblr

#shamy #jimparsons #mayimbialik #tbbt #bigbangtheory #sheldoncooper #amyfarrahfowler #procreateart #fanfiction

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s-c-i-guy · 8 years ago

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A Cosmic Burst Repeats, Deepening a Mystery

After a surprise discovery, astrophysicists are racing to understand superenergetic flashes of radio waves that sometimes beep out from distant galaxies.

“A minor point of interest regarding the Spitler Burst.” The email subject line popped up on Shami Chatterjee’s computer screen just after 3 in the afternoon on Nov. 5, 2015.

When Chatterjee read the email, he first gasped in shock — and then sprinted out of his Cornell University office and down the corridor to tell a colleague. Twenty-eight minutes later, when he started to draft a reply, his inbox was already buzzing. The email thread grew and grew, with 56 messages from colleagues by midnight.

For nearly a decade, Chatterjee and other astrophysicists on the thread had been trying to understand the nature of short, superenergetic flashes of radio waves in space. These “fast radio bursts,” or FRBs, last just a few milliseconds, but they are the most luminous radio signals in the universe, powered by as much energy as 500 million suns. The first one was spotted in 2007 by the astronomer Duncan Lorimer, who together with one of his students stumbled upon the signal accidentally in old telescope data; at the time, few believed it. Skeptics suspected interference from mobile phones or microwave ovens. But more and more FRBs kept showing up — 26 have been counted so far, including the Spitler burst, detected by the astronomer Laura Spitler in data from 2012 — and scientists had to agree they were real.

The question was, what causes them? Researchers sketched dozens of models, employing the gamut of astrophysical mysteries — from flare stars in our own galaxy to exploding stars, mergers of charged black holes, white holes, evaporating black holes, oscillating primordial cosmic strings, and even aliens sailing through the cosmos using extragalactic light sails. For scientists, the FRBs were as blinding as flash grenades in a dark forest; their power, brevity and unpredictability simply made it impossible to see the source of the light.

The email alerting Chatterjee and colleagues to a “minor point of interest” changed all that. Its sender was Paul Scholz, a graduate student at McGill University in Montreal and a collaborator of Chatterjee’s. He was performing astrophysical “due diligence,” sifting with the help of a supercomputer through all the telescope data that had been collected from the part of the sky where the Spitler burst originated, to see whether the source might send a second signal. According to Chatterjee, after two years of doing this and seeing nothing, expectations had dimmed, but “it was just part of a regular rotation; you put in a few minutes to look for it anyway just in case.”

And suddenly, just like that, Scholz had spotted a repeater. The discovery was “both amazing and terrifying,” Chatterjee said — amazing, because “everyone knew that FRBs don’t repeat,” and terrifying because of the gargantuan energy required to produce even one of these bursts. Perhaps the only thing fiercer than emitting the energy of 500 million suns is doing it again.

The discovery instantly killed off a large number of the previously proposed models — at least, as explanations for this particular FRB. Any model that presumed a one-time cataclysm, such as a star’s dying flash or the merger of stars or black holes, was out. Still, many models remained, some pointing to sources within the galaxy, and others in galaxies far away.

As the repeater narrowed down the options, Scholz took a stab at guessing the source: “Extragalactic magnetar” he wrote in his initial email, referring to a young neutron star with an extremely powerful magnetic field. The first person to reply, Maura McLaughlin, an astrophysicist at West Virginia University in Morgantown, wrote: “WOW!!!!!!! Extragalactic radio magnetar sounds right to me.” It quickly became the most popular theory, but not the only one, and one not without difficulties.

To reveal the true nature of the burst, the scientists had to figure out the location of the source. But that wasn’t easy. To detect an FRB in the first place, a telescope must happen to be pointed directly at the area of the sky where it originates. This may explain why only 26 have been spotted during the past decade — with telescope time in high demand, there aren’t enough instruments available to watch every patch of the sky and wait. But even when an FRB is detected, scientists can’t pinpoint its origin within a telescope’s field of view. To localize a burst, they need to detect it with several telescopes and compare the signals to determine its exact position.

Now, though, there was a chance, provided that the repeater would flash a third time.

Flashes in the Dark

Within hours of Scholz’s email to a team of around 40 scientists — collaborators on a project called the Pulsar Arecibo L-band Feed Array survey — members of the team managed to secure time on the Very Large Array (VLA), the group of 27 radio telescopes in New Mexico made famous by the movie Contact. The VLA is large enough to make the combined measurements needed to localize a burst. At first, the team asked for 10 hours of VLA time, during which they planned to scan the relevant region of the cosmos every few milliseconds, hoping to catch the FRB flash. “It’s like making a movie of the sky at 200 frames per second,” said Chatterjee, who is one of the collaboration’s leaders. “And we made this movie over 10 hours and we saw absolutely nothing.”

They put in for another 40 hours of VLA time, and made yet another movie of the sky in the radio spectrum at 200 frames per second. Again, they saw nothing. Worried, the researchers had to beg for yet more time. They managed to persuade VLA management to give them another 40 hours on the telescope. This time, during a first test run, they spotted their flash.

“It looks like the fast radio burst came out to play today,” Casey Law, the researcher monitoring the VLA in real time, wrote in an email to the rest of the team.

The repeater would go on to make eight reappearances. Bizarrely, the bursts seemed to be totally random. After 50 hours of seeing none during previous observations, the team now spotted them frequently, including, one time, a “double burst” of signals only 23 seconds apart.

The repeat signals allowed the team to localize the source. To nearly everybody’s surprise, as reported in January in the journal Nature, the bursts originated in a small “dwarf irregular” galaxy, one about a gigaparsec (just over 3 billion light years) away. This made the strength of the signal and its frequent repetitions even more astonishing. “If you’re detecting a bright flash from a gigaparsec, there’s an awful lot of energy associated with it,” Chatterjee said. “The more energy you associate with each event, the harder it gets to explain the repetition. Basically, what’s recharging the battery so quickly?”

Magnetars Imagined

In February, experts gathered at a conference in Aspen, Colorado, to discuss FRBs for the first time since the repeater’s location was identified. Most astrophysicists agreed that both the source’s distance and setting are consistent with the theory that it is a magnetar. It’s one of the few candidate sources capable of producing such a strong signal from so far away. And, according to Laura Spitler, namesake of the Spitler burst and a researcher at the Max Planck Institute for Radio Astronomy in Bonn, Germany, magnetars generally form from stellar explosions called Type-I superluminous supernovas. These events occur disproportionately often in dwarf irregular galaxies, which are thought to be similar to some of the earliest galaxies that populated the universe.

Each successive generation of stars that have lived and died since the Big Bang has fused protons and neutrons together into heavier and heavier elements, increasing what astronomers call the “metallicity” of the universe. But dwarf irregular galaxies are likely to have formed from lightweight hydrogen and helium that remain pristine from when the universe was young. Their low metallicity allows these tiny galaxies to produce more massive stars, and, probably because massive stars have stronger magnetic fields, their explosive deaths can leave behind highly magnetized neutron stars, or magnetars.

However, magnetar proponents like Brian Metzger of Columbia University acknowledge that it would take a very special magnetar to unleash such monstrous FRBs in quick succession. “A neutron star bursting at this rate for thousands of years would quickly run out of fuel,” he said. His best guess is that the repeater is a very young magnetar — probably less than 100 years old.

If the young-magnetar theory is correct, then — according to one possible version of the story — we have to envisage a newborn, superdense neutron star cloaked in a powerful and highly unstable magnetic field. This magnetar also remains embedded in an expanding cloud of debris from a supernova explosion. As the newborn magnetar’s magnetic field changes and reconfigures and reconnects, it pumps energy into the surrounding gas and dust cloud. This in turn absorbs the energy and then occasionally experiences shocks, releasing sudden, gargantuan bursts of energy into the cosmos.

This story is still just hypothetical, but astrophysicists point to a piece of supporting evidence: The FRBs are coming from the same vicinity as a steady source of radio emission — possibly the background signal from the expanding debris cloud that surrounds the young magnetar. Bryan Gaensler, an astrophysicist at the University of Toronto, said that as this debris expands, the properties of this background signal should change. “If we see this happen, it is more support for the young magnetar model,” he said, “plus it gives us information about the magnetar’s environment and birth process.”

However, Gaensler warned that there are some issues with the magnetar model. For starters, why have we not seen any FRBs from magnetars that are much closer to Earth? For instance, the magnetar SGR 1806-20 in the Milky Way gave off a giant gamma-ray burst in December 2004, yet no FRBs. “If it had produced an FRB as powerful as the repeater,” Gaensler said, “it would have been so bright that we would have seen it even through radio telescopes that were pointing in completely different directions at that moment.”

On the other hand, he said, maybe magnetars produce FRBs in narrow beams or jets. “We’d then only see the FRB when the beam is pointing right at us. Maybe SGR 1806-20 produces FRBs all the time, but pointed in a different direction. We don’t really know.”

Either way, if the researchers fail to spot a dimming of the steady radio source associated with the Spitler burst, then the whole magnetar theory may be ready for the astrophysical scrapheap.

Another idea floating around is that FRBs are emitted by active galactic nuclei, or AGNs — superluminous regions at the centers of some galaxies. AGNs are thought to be powered by supermassive black holes, and many of them have jets that could beam FRBs into space. Yet this theory is less popular, said Metzger, because AGNs usually exist in bigger galaxies, not dwarfs.

There are other possibilities. “New theories are continuing to show up,” said Emily Petroff, an astrophysicist at the Netherlands Institute for Radio Astronomy. “Every time a new observational paper about an FRB comes out there are a few new theory papers that rush in to describe it, which is kind of a fun place for the field to be because it’s not often that observations jump so far ahead of theory in astronomy.”

One key question is whether the repeater is representative of all FRBs — in other words, whether all FRBs repeat. It’s possible that they all do, but that most of the time only the first, brightest bursts are seen. “The current data cannot lead to a firm conclusion,” Chatterjee said.

The Very Large Array, a group of 27 radio antennas in New Mexico that has been in operation since 1980, allows data from each 25-meter-wide antenna to be combined electronically to localize signals.

Array of Possibilities

The repeater may have created more questions than it delivered answers. To know more, scientists need more FRBs, and more repeaters. They hope to localize more bursts to see whether they usually live in dwarf irregular galaxies, and whether they all appear alongside steady radio sources, both of which would support the newborn-magnetar theory. They also plan to keep monitoring the steady radio emission from the vicinity of the Spitler burst to see if its properties change in time, as expected based on that theory.

It might turn out that more than one astrophysical mechanism can make an FRB. Upcoming next-generation radio telescopes, such as the Square Kilometer Array, slated to be the world’s largest radio telescope, and a suite of smaller planned telescopes called “light buckets” should help astronomers sort out the possibilities. The light buckets will act like floodlights in reverse, pulling in radio waves from a huge swath of sky. According to Gaensler, they should spot more FRBs in one day than have been found in the past 10 years, providing ample opportunity to look for repeaters and localize signals. Other future telescopes, including the VLA equipped with a feature called Realfast, should be able to pinpoint the locations of FRBs even if they don’t repeat.

As patterns emerge in the locations of FRBs and their origins become clear, scientists hope to use the signals to better understand the nature of their host galaxies, and to more precisely map the distribution of matter in the universe. If they can locate FRB beacons sitting at different cosmological distances, then according to Bing Zhang, an astrophysicist at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, it should be possible to measure the amount of matter spread out in the vast emptiness of space between us and the sources of the flashes. This might help confirm simulations that suggest the universe is rather clumpy, with clusters and voids. And it could give researchers a better handle on the distribution of the invisible “dark matter” that also seems to pervade the cosmos, Zhang added.

“The breakthrough with the repeating FRB came from being able to measure its precise position,” Gaensler said. Now, scientists are eager to pin down more and more bursts. “The results and advances will be spectacular,” he said.

#science #Astronomy #sciblr #gif

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faisaldfstuff-blog · 6 years ago

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India’s first ever series win in Aus was bigger than world cup - Really?

The test series win against Australia in Australia was surely a matter of pride. After all, never in the history of Indian cricket was such a feat achieved. Despite that I’m not convinced with the brouhaha over it.

Our Series Win

So, we did it! Our first series win against Australia in their own backyard.

Back in 1999, I remember getting up in the mornings almost scared at the thought of playing Australia in a Test in their own conditions. Besides Sachin Tendulkar, there weren’t any players of considerable repute at the time. Ganguly and Dravid had just come in (about two years) but this was their first tour down-under. We were blanked 3-0 with Sachin being the only player from India to have done well. He was the highest run-scorer in the series.I remember the decision to announce him as the Man-Of-The-Series didn’t sit well with the Aussies. I don’t know if I agree with that decision either but his was truly the most remarkable performance in the series, albeit in a losing cause.

After that series, we have improved, of that there is no question. With at least a win or a draw in each of the series that followed the 1999 tour. This performance in 2019 is surely the hallmark, our best performance without a doubt but let’s get the elephant out of the room - two of the most prolific batsman Australia (probably ever) in Warner and Smith weren’t playing. Let’s analyse this a little bit:

We won the first test match by 31 runs

Australia won the second by 146 runs

We won the third by 137 runs

The last test was a draw predominantly because of rain

The Difference:

In my opinion, the first match was the difference maker as the second and third tests went - one to our side and the other to theirs almost by the same margin. Assuming Warner and Smith had played and I know hindsight is 20:20, do you think the result would have been different?

I think the result of the first test, at the very least would have been different. What would’ve the scoreline been if the odds were reversed,India losing by 2-1 ? It would have been another lost opportunity much like our tours of a full strength SA (with ABD, FAF,Philander) and England (with Root, Anderson,Broad).

I understand the result of the test series against England (which we lost by an unfair margin of 4-1) was not a true reflection of what happened and Root even acknowledged that in a chat immediately after the 5th test with Kohli. It sure was closer but the difference between the two sides was England’s never-give-up attitude and our new-found weakness of not being able to finish off the tail. I’m not sure if we can confidently say that we have taken giant strides in crippling the opposition or cleaning up the lower-order either. Australia got as close as they did in the first match because of their lower order who never gave up. It is this latter quality of Australia that almost convinces me of our defeat if they Australia had the services of Warner and Smith.

If Australia were to win in India when we are without Kohli and Pujara, would you think of it as huge? I know I wouldn’t. This is the thing with statistics, they tell you a lot but they don’t tell you everything.

Kohli and Shastri have said that this is their biggest win ever, including the ODI World Cup victories which they were a part of in 2011 and 1983 respectively. Something about that just doesn’t sound right.

I think its the emotion of finally have gotten there for the first time in 70 years and their subconscious literally telling the whole world “Don’t forget, we got here first”.

It’s almost like their legacy would be defined by this win and they want to be remembered for this especially when they weren’t captain of their respective sides in 1983 (Kapil Dev) and 2011 (MS Dhoni).

I would love to know if they would still call this series victory their biggest win ever if India go on to win the 2019 ODI World Cup (which most likely will have Warner and Smith).

The Positives:

Our fast bowlers:

The biggest positive that has come out of our cricket this season has been the emergence of our fast bowlers. Bumrah, Ishant, Shami, Bhuvneshwar with Yadav playing a supporting role.

The number of overs they have bowled and the fitness levels they have maintained (minus Bhuvi who was out injured for a little while) is truly commendable and the comparison with the great West Indian fast bowlers is not an exaggeration (although the quicks from windies created an aura based on their consistency to find such bowlers for an entire era). I wish and pray that we find such bowlers when our current quartet has played their time.

Cheteshwar Pujara:

Pujara has clearly taken his game to another level. His ability to bat, bat and bat is probably making Australia think - how do we find a player who wears the baggy green to possibly bat like this? No Smith or Warner can match the style of a Pujara. His ability to grind and concentrate for long periods of time is truly unique and equally commendable.

The negatives:

Our Openers:

Our openers issue still hasn’t been resolved. We thought we’d open with Shaw and Rahul - two-aggressive Aussie like batsman who love the ball coming onto the bat. Unfortunately, Shaw got injured and Rahul is clearly not the player that played the IPL 2018 (or even when he came on the Aus tour last time when he got a hundred in only his second match) . .

We were almost forced to stick to Rahul and Vijay (who is clearly past his prime and most likely would hang his boots in a year or so) .. Then came Mayank Agarwal !

The way he played, he reeked of confidence, self-belief and courage.

Given, that he has only played two test matches so far but he has shown that he belongs at the top level. The Australian bowling with their menacing pace bowlers and their shrewd off-spinner is quite possibly the best in the world (with the only other comparison being India) and to have made your debut here in trying circumstances was probably one of the main reasons we won the series.

Vihari’s performance shouldn’t be discounted, he survived about 20 overs and allowed the Kohlis and the Pujaras to have formidable partnerships in the third test. That really shifted the tide in India’s favor however it looks like Vihari’s elevation to being an opener was a stop-gap arrangement as he was immediately replaced with Rahul in the next match when Rohit Sharma was unavailable (I think him leaving after being conveyed the news that he had become a father was unprofessional unless of course his wife or daughter’s life was in danger. This was the series decider after all).

It seems like the way-forward would be Shaw and Mayank . . BUT there are some problems.

Shaw is yet to be tested in foreign conditions, Mayank is just two matches old, Rahul is not even half the player he was, Vijay is nearing retirement and is big time out-of form, Dhawan is a flat-track-bully.

Where is the stability?

Spinners:

Who exactly is our #1 spinner?

I’m talking about away series where in most cases, you can only play one. Ashwin is clearly not because he can barely remain fit. He breaks up at the drop of a hat - we saw it in SA, England and Australia. Is he only restricted to showing his magic and top fitness standards in India when he’s picking a bucket full of wickets? Jadeja is great, bundles of energy, ability and discipline but he’s someone, like most finger spinners, needs the pitch to help him. Kuldeep Yadav is good and is a very different type of spinner but not currently at the level to be our #1 spinner.

I understand that its always horses-for-courses i.e. we will pick the spinner based on conditions but the question of being #1 spinner has to be sorted fast especially when playing outside of Asia.

Inconsistency of our #5:

Rahane has blown hot and cold this whole season.Don’t recall him scoring a century in a very long time now.

An odd inning here and another one there is not enough. Needs to be more consistent. It seems like he no longer knows what his game is or what to do. The third test, where he scored an impressive 70 and another fifty before that, saw a very different version of him. It was almost like Rahane was trying to break the shackles and intentionally be aggressive because didn’t know any other way to claw out.

Warner and Smith:

Warner would have replaced Aaron Finch and Smith either Shaun Marsh or Travis Head (or both based on how good Smith is and how susceptible Marsha and Head looked).

In my honest opinion, India played really well to take 70 wickets this series and we owe most of those wickets to our pace attack but if Smith and Warner were around, I don’t think the result would have been the same.

Add that to our issues with the openers, the lack of a #1 spinner, our inconsistent #5, our clear inability to finish off the tail - What do you think the result would've been?

To rank this series’ win above our ODI World Cup victories is definitely an exaggeration and was said in a state of emotional euphoria.

Case Closed.

#Warner #Smith #IndiavAus #Biggerthanworldcupisanexxageration #SHastri #rochak kohli #commercial #Brouhaha #Indian Cricket #Analysis #Rahane #Ashwin #Jadeja #Kuldeep

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linda6788 · 8 years ago

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The Umbrella Adjustment

A/N: Hello everyone. I couldn't resist and wrote a small fluffy Shamy fanfiction based on a drawing from rgbcn from last October, I was so inspired when I saw the drawing and I had an idea in my head, which you can read below :). Rgbcn will post tomorrow a drawing related to the story.

Thank you so much Regina for the new version of this drawing. It means a lot to me. Also thank you for the daily drawings, the live sessions, the kind words and all the joy you bring us every day. This story is for you!

A huge thanks to my Beta darzyfitz. I couldn't believe when I ask her to be my Beta and she said yes. Thank you for helping me with my first story. I'm feeling really honored.

It's my first fanfiction ever and English is not my first language.

Please enjoy it and tell me what you think!

"What shitty weather." Mumbled Penny, as she entered the foyer. She rolled her eyes when she looked through the entrance door window, seeing the heavy rain storm.

She shook out her umbrella and some rain drops landed on her face and jacket, and with a shift of her arm she wiped the drops from her face. Her shoes were soaking wet and squeaked on every step as she climbed the stairs up to the 4th floor, with a big green umbrella and a trail of food in her hands. As she reached the 3rd floor as she heard a voice.

Amy´s voice. Amy´s very loud and angry voice. Penny couldn't see what was happening, but if Amy's tone was any indication, it must not be good. She tried not to eavesdrop, but Amy's yelling was making it difficult.

"Sheldon, I can't understand you! This is so ridiculous. We are living together, we share a bed and a toothbrush holder. We even sleep together. Why can't you try it? For me?" Amy begged.

Back upstairs, Amy paced back and forth in their apartment in a huff. During her speech, her angry green eyes looked Sheldon up and down as she came to stand in front of him. He sat on the blue couch with a comic in his hand, lowering the book and gazing at Amy in confusion as she glared at him with hurt shining in her eyes.

"Why are you getting so upset about such a silly thing?" He asked her innocently, hurting her even more.

Amy bristled at his lack of understanding for her feelings.

"Sheldon…why can't you hold my hand or give me a small kiss in public or when we are with our friends? We've been a couple for more than 6 years and we should try such things. Or better you should try this!" She said in annoyance.

Sheldon opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when Amy starts to once again admonish him.

"I know you don't like it very much, but this can't be the only reason. You never say you love me or give me even a peck in front of our friends. And today, it hurt a lot at the lunch when you ignored me. I could see that you wanted to kiss me, Sheldon. So why did you take a step back?" Amy asked, her voice softening in fear for what he'd say.

Sheldon frowned. How could he make her understand?

"But Amy, it's weird to kiss in public with all of those gawkers watching us. It's just… just...I don't like it." Sheldon whispered. "I said I loved you in front of our friends, but you didn't hear it."

His voice was small, but Amy overheard anyway.

"I need some fresh air!" She said, clearly upset even with Sheldon's explanation.

Sheldon still looked confused at her outburst as she turned around and without so much as a goodbye, walks through the door before slamming it with a loud bang. It took him a moment to realize that she actually left, before he jumped up and opened the door in a panic.

"But Amy, please come back. You forgot your purse and your jacket." He yelped to her retreating form, afraid to go after her and afraid not to. He still didn't understand why she was getting so upset about this.

Penny was still standing in between the 3rd and 4th floors, frozen to the spot as she listened to her friends fighting. Amy stomped down the stairs angrily, not even watching where she was going which was surprising for her.

"Ames, what's going on?" Penny asked with concern, finally unfreezing from her stupor.

Amy glared at her friend.

"Nothing, Penny! I'm not in the mood to talk about it yet." She said grumpily, nearly crashing into her as she zoomed past her down the stairs.

Penny turned around, trying to stop her.

"Amy! Please tell me, why are you so angry?"

Amy didn't stop her momentum as she was now rounding the 2nd floor landing.

"I said, not yet!" Amy screamed, in a rush to get out of the building. One tear streamed down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily, grateful Penny couldn't see it. She heard her blond friend's concerned voice filter down to her from where she stood upstairs.

"Amy, a big storm is coming. It's raining badly already. You have nothing with you." Penny said with concern.

Amy shook her head in annoyance.

"Yes, I realize that." She said, but in her mood she didn't understand Penny last words. The only thing she could hear was her pounding heartbeat and the thoughts inside her head.

"The only boyfriend I've ever had in my life, and he doesn't want to show me any affection. Argh! It´s so frustrating and it hurts so much." She mumbled to herself in agony as she stormed out of the building and into the rain.

"Oh no." She thought in resignation, upon realizing how bad the weather actually was. "This is not my day. First the drug addicted monkeys at work, next the weird situation with Sheldon in the cafeteria, and now this."

She looked up to the sky as the heavy raindrops began to fall on her.

"Whatever." She said sadly, not even caring anymore as she began walking aimlessly, soaked to the bone within moments.

_______________________________________________________________________

…A few hours earlier in the Caltech Cafeteria.

Raj, Howard, Leonard and Sheldon were sitting at the same table they normally occupied for lunch. It was like any other day; the four men chatting about work and their personal lives alike. Howard said something particular funny about baby Haley when Leonard looked up and noticed that Amy was walking towards their table, her tray in hand.

"Sheldon, Amy is here." Leonard teased, grinning at his best friend. He knew that since Sheldon had moved in with his girlfriend, things had progressed with them in the physical department. While they were still pretty tame in that regard, Leonard knew Sheldon had come a long way.

Sheldon turned his head to watch as his girlfriend approached them, absorbing her fully.

"She looks so hot in her white lab coat. She should wear that at home." Sheldon said happily, prompting his friends to raise their brows.

With a smooth move and a sly grin on his lips, Sheldon stood up to greet her. She smiled at him and lifted her head to give him a small peck on the lips, like she did every day at home. He seemed like he was about to do the same, but then he took a step back and looked uncertainly to his feet before looking back again to his girlfriend.

Amy stood still in her position, lowering her head in confusion at Sheldon's dismissive behavior. He sat back down and clearly expected her to do the same by the way he ushered to the free seat beside him. She sat down beside her boyfriend and began to eat her sandwich, but she had suddenly lost her appetite.

The guys began to chatter again around her, even trying to include her in the conversation. But Amy could only nod and bite her lip as she was sad, angry and injured at Sheldon's actions. It's not like if he kissed her back that the cafeteria occupants would think they were about to engage in coitus right there! It was merely a gentle peck on each other's lips to cheer her up after a long and stressful morning in her lab. But no. He still had this strict policy of no public displays of affection.

Amy loved Sheldon, quirks and all, but sometimes she wished he would cast off some of those quirks and just act like her feelings mattered.

After a tense and silent lunch on her part in which she finished earlier than normal, Amy rose to leave and offered the guys a friendly wave goodbye.

"See you later." She said quietly, picking up her tray.

The guys returned her sentiment with waves of their own.

Sheldon stopped eating mid bite, turning to give his girlfriend a peculiar look.

"Amy, why are you leaving so early? We still have 20 minutes until the lunch break is over." Sheldon pointed out eagerly.

Amy offered her boyfriend a tight lipped smile.

"I…I have a lot of work to do back in my lab. I'd better get back. Sorry, Sheldon. I'll see you later." She said quietly.

Without a word and with glassy eyes Amy went straight back to her lab.

The table fell silent as Sheldon's friends gave each other knowing looks. Sheldon was still watching Amy's retreating form, utterly bewildered.

"Well, that was strange. I wonder what made her leave so soon." Sheldon said, obviously confused.

Raj and Howard dared not say anything, focusing on the remainder of their lunch instead. It was Leonard who spoke up, knowing he had to point out Sheldon's fault to his best friend.

"Buddy, I think she's sad. I think that's why she was so quiet and why she left in such a hurry." Leonard said quietly.

Sheldon took a bit of his sandwich, his brows narrowing.

"Why should she be sad?" Sheldon asked, completely confused.

"I think it's about the kiss." Howard said reasonably, finally speaking up.

Sheldon's face displayed his bafflement.

"Which kiss?"

It was Raj's turn now to pipe in, and he rolled his eyes, ever the romantic.

"The kiss she wanted you to give her when she lifted her face to yours and you refused, you clueless jerk."

Sheldon gasped, his mouth falling open.

"What?" He bellowed in disbelief, certain his friends were wrong.

"That's why she was sad. You basically scorned her after she clearly wanted to kiss you. We saw it. You wanted to kiss her too, but at the last moment you hesitated and took a step back. Why?" Asked Raj, his tone less condescending.

Sheldon stared straight at his friend, his mind trying to formulate an answer.

"I don't like public displays of affection and what everybody thinks when I kiss Amy. It's none of their business anyway." Sheldon said quietly.

Leonard chewed his lip thoughtfully, sitting back and openly regarding his friend.

"Buddy, you never cared before about what other people think, especially about you or Amy. Why should you care now? A little hello peck isn't going to get the gossip mill going." Leonard pointed out reasonably. "Besides, you kiss her at home, don't you?"

Sheldon frowned, his lunch forgotten.

"But it's different at home. No prying eyes or nosy people staring." He said defensively.

Raj raised a brow.

"What is the difference?" Raj asked, as he took a forkful of his salad.

Sheldon shrugged, crossing his arms.

"Well…here, there is an audience. I don't like it when they see me and Amy show each other affection. That's private." He pouted.

Howard rolled his eyes at his friend, shaking his head.

"Sheldon, the woman wasn't asking you to shove the food off of the table and ravish her. She only wanted a little peck."

Sheldon had had enough of trying to justify his action to his friends. Standing up, he swiped his tray before glaring at each of his friends.

"Gentlemen." He said haughtily, storming away.

Yet on the way back to his office, he began to see the reasoning in Amy's logic. Perhaps he had overreacted when all Amy wanted was a small show of affection.

Maybe I should try to kiss her next time. A small peck is not the same as what we do on the couch every evening, after all. What could it hurt? He thought to himself.

With a small smile on his lips, Sheldon made his way back to work.

____________________________________________________________________

Sheldon came back to the couch after Amy's abrupt departure, in a bit of daze. Moments passed, before he finally came to his senses and bolted back up.

"I need to follow her." He said frantically.

Flinging open his door, he was startled to find Penny standing there in the hall between their two apartments. She looked at him oddly which put him on edge even more.

"What are you doing here?" He ask the blonde Nebraskan, his voice strained.

Penny raised a brow, shooting him an incredulous look.

"Me? I live here. The better question is, why did Amy run away like her life was in danger? She looked very angry. And hurt." Penny said with an accusatory tone.

Sheldon's eyes widened at that.

"What did you do to her?" Penny asked, pointing at him with her umbrella.

Sheldon's face fell at Penny's admonishment.

"Nothing." He sputtered defensively, yet a seed of doubt was beginning to form in his mind.

Penny rolled her eyes.

"Nothing? Well, it didn't look like nothing. It sure looked like something." Penny said dryly.

Sheldon bristled, crossing his arms.

"I might have hurt her feelings earlier." He admitted quietly, pointing out the obvious.

Penny narrowed her eyes.

"How?" She asked simply, her tone letting Sheldon know that she meant business.

Sheldon sighed, thinking back to not only the cafeteria scene, but at what the guy's had said afterwards.

"I…pulled away when she tried to kiss me in front of everyone. I think I made her feel like I was embarrassed of her." Sheldon said, the words making him realize how awful his behavior looked.

Penny pursed her lips, nodding at the same time.

"Huh. Well, now everything is crystal clear." She said matter-of-factly.

Sheldon tilted his head to gaze at her.

"Why is that crystal clear?" He asked, his typical clueless tone shining through.

Penny rolled her eyes again at her friend.

"Sheldon, you need to do something and not nothing." She said seriously, hoping he would finally get the hint.

For once, Sheldon understood Penny's verbal cues.

"Give me your umbrella! I need to find her. She rushed out of here without her jacket or an umbrella." He said, stating the obvious since Penny had seen the state Amy was in when she left.

Penny smiled at Sheldon, handing him her umbrella.

"Here, bring our girl back home." She said kindly.

Sheldon took the green umbrella from her hand, mumbling a hasty "Thanks" before running like a madman down the stairs as fast as his long legs would carry him. Hopefully he could find his Vixen and explain.

______________________________________________________________________

The rain hadn't let up as Amy wandered aimlessly, her long hair soaking and obscuring her vision. She knew if she kept going she might get chilled and possibly sick, but she had so much adrenalin that she hadn't realized how far she'd walked until she began to grow tired.

"I need a place to think." Amy mumbled to herself, and her feet knew exactly which place it would be. The small Pasadena Library was one of her favorite places and not much further from where she was. The smell of old and used books was calming and familiar.

_____________________________________________________________________

Sheldon couldn't believe how heavy the rainstorm was. Pasadena wasn't prone to such violent storms, but it only seemed fitting that it happened right now.

"Oh Amy!" He said aloud, his worry for her growing as he imagined her practically drowning in this downpour. It was all his fault and he had to find her and make things right. He had walked for what seemed like miles already, but there was still no trace of her in any of their usual hangouts. Stopping at an intersection, he looked left and right but had no idea in which direction he should go. A big gust of wind apprehended under Sheldon's umbrella and drew him in the right direction. After a few seconds of holding the umbrella in his grip he saw her.

She was a street over standing at the intersection, totally drenched and with her crossed arms over her chest. His heart sank at how miserable she looked, and his annoyance at her disregard for putting herself in harm's way melted away at the sight of her.

'I should catch her on the next traffic light. I need to go faster'. He thought and started walking at a faster pace once the light changed to red, allowing him to cross.

"Only one crosswalk left and I'm safe. I hope they have something resembling a towel for me." Amy murmured to herself.

She stopped at the traffic light and waited with some other people until the lights turned red. Some of them stared at her because of her soaking wet clothes and the sad expression of her face, and the fact she had no umbrella. Amy began to quiver as the rain suddenly slowed down, granting her a reprieve. She couldn't get any wetter, but it was something. She looked up to the sky to see that the storm was moving on, thankfully. Glancing around her at the rain drenched streets, it was no longer blinding rain she saw but a green umbrella. Amy turned around completely and looked surprised to be staring into Sheldon's ocean blue eyes.

Letting out a little gasp of shock at not only to be seeing him but that he'd found her at all, Amy tried to compose herself.

"What are you doing here?" She spat at him, no real venom in her voice but it sounded a lot like pain.

She tried to turn around but Sheldon had another idea. He grabbed her by the waist with his right hand, still holding the umbrella in the left. Sheldon moved the hand that was gripping her waist slowly up her side, to her arm, and finally to Amy's cheek. He cupped her face with his hand while his thumb caressed her cheek. Tightening his grip, he leaned in against her. Amy was as still as a statue as Sheldon gazed intensively into her eyes, ocean blue meeting jade green.

"Amy, I'm sorry. I never wanted you to be sad about a thing what we enjoy. I love kissing you. I do. I just…you know how private I've always been, especially about affection. Old habits die hard, and I guess you just surprised me today when you wanted a kiss in front of everyone. I know that you didn't do it to upset me, but because you love me." He whispered, his thumb stroking her cheekbone tenderly.

Amy looked stunned, staring at her boyfriend in wonder. His tender actions and soft voice touched her greatly.

"Shel…"Amy began, but before she could say anything his lips meet hers. Totally overwhelmed by his actions, Amy tried to move away from him but it was very difficult when he pulled her closer and moved his lips over hers sensually. It was a sweet, chaste kiss but Sheldon knew that he wanted more. Amy deserved more. And oh, it felt so wonderful kissing her out here in the crisp, damp air that he couldn't help his next actions.

'Now or never', he thought bravely, his hand moving from her cheek to clutch the back of her neck as he dragged her totally against him.

Deepening the kiss, his tongue slid over her lower lip to ask her for entrance. She allowed his tongue access and in that moment she slipped her eyes shut and melted against Sheldon's lips. It started out very slow and sweet, but as the seconds went by it heated up to an incredible battle of their tongues as they explored and tasted one another. It was a kiss unlike neither of them had ever shared; full of power, love, passion, and apology.

Breathlessly Amy and Sheldon pulled apart as he leaned his forehead against hers.

Amy giggled, the shock of their public display suddenly making her self-conscious. No one had ever kissed her like that before, especially out in the open. The fact that it was Sheldon made her heart race out of control. Calming down a little, she nuzzled her nose against Sheldon's sweetly.

"Sheldon, we are in public! I can't believe that you did that." She remarked, her voice registering her shock at his total lack of abandon.

Sheldon smiled widely, pulling away a bit so that he could look her properly in the eyes. His eyes were shining brightly with love, passion, and mischief. Amy loved it. He looked like a little boy that got caught doing something naughty.

"I know we're in public! And look, we have an audience. Some of them are shamelessly gawking at us. Isn't it wonderful?" He asked excitedly, crooking a finger in the direction of the small crowd gathered around them watching their tender moment.

Amy shyly turned around to face the people Sheldon had alluded to, offering them all a sheepish smile.

Sheldon looked away from their audience and turned his head back to his Amy, growing serious.

"I´m really sorry about today, Amy. It was not my intention to make you angry or hurt your feelings." He said sincerely.

Amy titled her head, smiling softly at the man she loved. She knew deep down that Sheldon would always be Sheldon. Shy, reserved, and hers. She truly loved him, quirks and all. And she would have patience with him, because she knew how hard he tried for her and much he'd changed for her, too.

"I´m sorry…" She began, but he hushed her with a finger to her soft lips.

"Shh, don't say sorry. It's my fault. Please forgive me. This will never happen again. I promise!" He said lovingly.

Appeased, Amy nodded silently and gazed at Sheldon's sweet face. He smiled down at her before lowering his head and giving Amy a tender kiss on her lips again. It went on and on and Amy began to feel her cheeks heating up from this new side of Sheldon.

After kissing her senseless there on the street for the whole of Pasadena to see, Sheldon pulled back and gazed into her eyes intensively. He hooked his arms around her possessively, green umbrella forgotten on the sidewalk besides them.

"Amy…if it's okay, I would like to get you home and out of these soaking wet clothes." He whispered, his voice dropping an octave.

Amy shivered at his suggestive voice, which had nothing to do with the rain and cold. She cleared her throat, meeting Sheldon's scorching gaze.

"That…that's a good idea, I'm so cold." She squeaked out, suddenly shy at the look he was giving her.

Sheldon leaned in and nuzzled her neck, his lips just inches away from her ear. Amy shivered violently as a thrill run up her spine.

"Well I have the remedy for that, little lady. You need to take a hot shower…with me." He whispered seductively, his hands reaching down to grip her waist.

"Sheldon…" Amy murmured, her hands coming to rest themselves on his strong biceps as Sheldon pulled her flush against him.

Sheldon smirked with pride and arousal then, because his favorite word in the world left Amy's lips at that moment. And it had never sounded sweeter.

"Hoo."

The End…

#umbrella rgbcn shamy shamykiss rain fanfiction

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