fanfic

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

shafiq28:

1971:

When the villagers heard from their city-based family about the massacres of 25 March 1971, they knew that the fate of Bidesh was at risk.

East Pakistan was disregarded as being “too Bengali”, uncouth and uncultured. This too extended to jadu: The jadukara of Maghribi (West Pakistan) decried the Bideshi ways for their reliance on what they saw as impure, unreliable methods based on silly superstitions. Their language was too clumsy for elegant magic, not like the beauty of Urdu or Punjabi. Their stories were messy and rambling. Their jadu weak and flimsy.

Those poor dears, they just didn’t know better. Assimilation would help everyone, can’t they see? Can’t they see the light? We only want to help them. We’re doing them a favour.

The villagers of Bidesh did not fall for any of that. Being Bengali, being steeped in the stories and language and lore, that was how they survived. The source of their jadu. Their livelihood.

The first deaths were of a number of teachers in Dhaka University. It would only be a matter of time before their Jadukara Cadet College would be a target. Some of its elite students and teachers took the hint and fled to safer pastures. Typical, thought many of the common folk; they claim to protect us, yet when our survival is really at risk, they only think of themselves. Just as selfish as the Maghribi.

Some, however, stayed behind: the few commoner students who had earned scholarships to the Jadukara Cadet College in the hopes of earning better lives for their families, the teachers that were aware of the true source of their knowledge, the outliers of the Shafiqs who were never quite comfortable with their privileged distant lives and knew that the real threat to their lineage were not the people the dainee had entrusted them to protect.

The dainee. They must know. They need to know. They’ll know what to do.

The elders of the villages came together for a communal jadu ritual: a rarity, as they tended to stick to their own clusters of families, but times of war call for unity. They tapped into the dangerous and difficult arts of shopnojyoti, dream magic – a complicated process involving draughts of rare spices and herbs accompanied with hours of precise tantramantra and rings of nazar battus for protection. As they closed their eyes, surrounded by all-night duas on tasbih and namaj for ishtikara and protection, they dreamt of a story:

A well-educated man hires a boatman to take him across the river.
Along the ride the well-educated man asks: Oh simple boatman, do you know of vedic astronomy?
No, sir, says the boatman. I only know of seeing the stars as I sail through the river at night, my only light in the darkness.
Ah, you are a simpleton, scoffs the well-educated man. I know how to read the future in the sky. Your worth is only half of mine!
The boatman says nothing, but travels along. Further along the well-educated man asks: Oh simple boatman, do you know of ayurveda?
No, sir, says the boatman. I only know of the bark that my mother told me to chew on when I was sick, and which I still chew when I ail and tire.
Such a simpleton, replies the well-educated man. I know how to brew potions that will keep weariness and illness at bay. Your worth is only a third of mine!
Again the boatman says nothing, but travels along. Further still the well-educated man asks: Oh simply, simple boatman, do you know of tantramantra?
No, sir, says the boatman. I only know of the prayers I make before each journey, asking for direction and clear passageways.
Oh you really are a simpleton, exclaims the well-educated man. I know how to manifest anything I desire with just a few words! Your worth is only a quarter of mine!
As he made his proclamation he jumps up and down the boat, kicking a hole on the side. The boat begins to capsize as it fills with water.
Tell me, sir, says the boatman. Do you know how to swim?
Not at all, says the well-educated man in a panic.
I know the worth of my life, replies the boatman, and so I know how to rescue myself through cyclones and other treacheries of the water. The boatman pulls the well-educated man to the edge of the other side of the river.
The well-educated man is humbled and attempts to pay the boatman more than his original charge. The boatman refuses.
You do not know your worth, says the boatman, but I know your worth is the same as mine.

The very next day, everyone collected all the boats they could find, and built more with the strongest wood they can find. They cast their tantramantra, set up the nazar battus, and chanted duas. These boats will be their new homes, able to withstand the treacheries of war and water. These will be their schools, passing on the lore about jadu to the generations they hope will survive the genocide. This will be their shelters, not just for those with jadu, but for anyone who needs it – times of war call for unity, and the protection of a shared culture meant protection for everyone, regardless of borders or statutes of secrecy.

Borders and statutes were the invention of colonizers who saw separation and division as modes of power. Liberation from colonizers meant breaking those divisions.

On 4 December 1971, hundreds of Bengali’s brightest minds were rounded up and executed by the Pakistan army. Some of them were expert jadukara captured by the Maghribi before ransacking Begum Indrajala’s school. Those on the boats managed to sail away to safety, some of their passengers safeholding what’s left of her legacy.

The very next day, the people of Bidesh joined their jadunai familyon the battlefield, chanting and casting together: 

Joy Bangla!

[[picture source: Shidulai floating schools, a non-profit serving about 70,000 children in Bangladesh
The story is an adaptation of Sholo Anai Micche, a comic poem by Shukumar Roy
dua, tasbih, namaj: prayers, rosary, Islamic prayer ritual. Like most Bangladeshis, the Bideshi are largely Muslim, with an approach to Islam that is comparatively less orthodox than in many other regions of the world. Their Bengali cultural heritage, including jadu, is still an integral part of their being.
ishtikara: consulting, finding guidance for a situation
Maghribi: the Pakistani equivalent of Bidesh, their magical enclave. West Pakistan used to be known as “Maghribi Pakistan”.
shopnojyoti: dream fortune-telling – the idea is directly from livesandliesofwizards, but obtaining wisdom through dream is pretty common in multiple indigenous and marginalised cultures]]

Tags:

#stories #probably technically set in the Harry Potter universe but having no involvement with canon whatsoever #Bangladesh #floating schools

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

tehjai:

steel-plated-hearts:

itsvondell:

a kid at hogwarts who just wants to get a proper education but can’t focus because of all of the shit harry potter and his friends keep getting themselves into

Jenna B. Lacey, age eleven, knew exactly what she was going to do with her life.

She was going to go to Hogwarts, get top grades, and be the youngest female Minister of Magic by age 35.

It would have been a good plan, if she hadn’t been in the same year as Harry Potter.

*   *   *   

Year one started out great. She was sorted into Hufflepuff, did well in all her classes, and aced the exams.

A troll smashed its way through the study room she was in on Halloween, but that wasn’t going to deter her. 

*   *   *   

Year two was a disaster. People were getting petrified, and worse—the teachers had to herd them from place to place, which severely cut down on her library time. She had to study in the common room, which meant instead of a nice, quiet atmosphere, she got a soundtrack of nervous Hufflepuffs.

And on top of that, exams were cancelled. It was a disaster.

*   *   *   

Third year, she started to notice a trend.

First the troll, than the petrifications, and now dementor guards and escaped convicts. What did they all have in common? Potter.

After Black broke in and everyone had to spend the night in the Great Hall, interrupting Jenna’s last minute studying for a test the next day, she took to giving Potter angry looks in every class.

He did not notice.

*   *   *   

They announced the Triwizard tournament at dinner the first night of fourth year, and Jenna almost started crying.

Potter was going to take this one over. She just knew it.

And she was right.

Voldemort rose at the end of the year. She honestly didn’t know what she had expected.

*   *   *    

Fifth year brought Umbridge. She joined the DA because she was going to need a better background in defense, but that didn’t mean she was any happier about Potter.

She imagined it was him she was hexing instead of Zachariah Smith.

But, by the end of the year, focus on her studies was impossible. After Dumbledore left, it was complete anarchy.

Potter’s fault. Of course.

*   *   *   

Sixth year she started volunteering in the hospital wing. She needed a backup plan in case Potter fucked it up.

All seemed quiet, until they brought Malfoy in. It was apparently Potter’s fault, which surprised everyone except Jenna.

Later, she was peacefully studying in a little nook on the third floor when some Death Eaters and some other adults started dueling right under her nose.

This was the worst fucking school, honestly.

*   *   *   

They were calling it “The Final Battle.”

Jenna ran through the hall, dodging in and out of the children evacuating, until she saw him. 

“POTTER.”

He turned, startled. “Um—Jenna, right? We’re sort of busy—”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up until he was eye level with her. “If I’m not Minister of Magic by age 35, it is going to be entirely your fault and I’m going to hurt you.”

She dropped him and stormed away, leaving him to whatever he was doing. She had to fight this goddamn war so she could go back to her fucking studying.

*   *   *   

She became Minister of Magic at age 36.

Fucking Potter.

I think I just found the best Harry Potter fanfic

Tags:

#Harry Potter #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog

The Real World: Avengers Tower

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

unpretty:

Interviewer: So what’s it like living with Tony?

Bruce: When I moved in, he insisted on funding all of my research. Except, you know, ever since The Incident, all my work’s been theoretical. It’s not actually that expensive. I’ve started just spending all the extra on fruit pies, just to see if he was keeping track. He isn’t. There are a lot of unused rooms in this building, and at least three of them are stacked floor to ceiling with fruit pies. He hasn’t said a word.

Natasha: It turned out Pepper and I both speak French. Tony doesn’t. Now, whenever he walks in, we just start whispering in French and giggling. Half the time we’re just exchanging recipes. He pretends not to be eavesdropping, but the other day I caught him asking JARVIS what ‘des oeufs’ meant.

Clint: I bought this big bag of little plastic flies, right? And whenever he’s not paying attention, I throw them into his drink. Half the time he doesn’t even notice and just drinks the damn things, but the other half? He starts checking all the house filtration systems, the exterminators, the works. He can’t figure out where all these flies are coming from. He’s fumigated three times in the last month.

Thor: I attempted to provide assistance with a project, but Stark assured me that it was ‘very technical’, and that I would not understand the intricacies. I can see why he would think so, as I am a mere Prince of Asgard, taught such basic engineering when I was a child and his ancestors could not yet walk. It has been five weeks, and he still has not corrected the misaligned condenser coil causing the problem.

Steve: I don’t know what Howard taught that kid, but he seems to be under the impression that homosexuality was invented in 2000. He keeps leaving magazines and pictures lying around like the sight of two men holding hands is going to give me a heart attack. I don’t have the heart to tell him about the Greeks.

Interviewer: So how are things in Avengers Tower?

Tony: How are things? I have no idea. I really don’t. There’s some kind of insect infestation in the vents and I think a spy is trying to seduce my girlfriend into moving to France. I tried to prank Captain America with gay porn, but him and Thor just started trying to reverse-engineer workout routines. The other day I went into one of the spare rooms, and I found some kind of one-armed sex hobo sitting on a throne of empty fruit pie boxes. I just walked out and closed the door. I don’t even wanna know.

Tags:

#Avengers #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog

Firefly Headcanon

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

seananmcguire:

animatedamerican:

seananmcguire:

animatedamerican:

villainny:

Zoe and Wash, while deeply forever ridiculously in love, are not drift compatible.

Zoe and Mal are drift compatible.

Kaylee and Wash are drift compatible, and they have the best piloted, sweetest running jaeger ever been seen in the ‘verse – the best piloted, sweetest running jaeger ever to run away from a kaiju.

SECONDED

(also, the sudden thought of River Tam in a jaeger is rutting terrifying)

She hung from the ceiling, a perfect, motionless sculpture of a girl in the process of becoming a fruitbat.  Simon glanced up at her periodically, both checking that she was still present, and reassuring himself that the grind of the machines overhead would keep her from hearing what he had to say.  It wasn’t that he was keeping secrets from her; River knew everything about her condition, sometimes more than he did.  It was that she didn’t like being talked about, and he respected that.

“They weren’t trying to unlock psychic powers or anything like that, no matter what the rumors say,” he said, his voice shaking slightly.  Kaylee shifted her weight from foot to foot, disturbed by that tremor in his words.  Simon Tam was the best K-scientist she’d ever worked with.  For him to sound scared…

“Those people, those monsters…” Simon paused to take a deep breath, relaxing a little at the taste of oil on his tongue.  Enough time spent with Kaylee had turned grime into perfume.  “They were trying to set up a neural bridge inside a single mind.  They wanted to do away with the need for drift compatibility, and privatize the Pilots.  Imagine being able to market Jaegers for domestic and commercial use, because you only needed one Pilot, and that Pilot was so doped and dependent that they could never leave you.”

“That’s horrific,” whispered Kaylee.  “They…they messed up her brain tryin’ to do something as can’t be done?”

“Oh, it can be done,” said Simon grimly.  “They succeeded.

“My sister is in constant Drift with herself.”

asdlgkjas;fdjk

YOU GET ME THE BEST PRESENTS <333

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

I hate that moment between “I will write fic to amuse a person” and that person responding because WHAT IF I WROTE IT WRONG.

Tags:

#Firefly #Pacific Rim #crossovers #fanfic #(I’ve never actually seen Pacific Rim) #(and for that matter until last autumn I hadn’t seen Firefly) #(so I know just how far popculture osmosis can get you)

Fic: Things [Star Trek: TNG, DS9, Voyager, daemon AU]

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

singlecrow:

Things (9468 words) by Raven
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager, His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Kira Nerys/Odo, Keiko O’Brien/Miles O’Brien
Characters: Kira Nerys, Odo (Star Trek), Benjamin Sisko, Curzon Dax, Jadzia Dax, Julian Bashir, Miles O’Brien, Keiko O’Brien, Kirayoshi O’Brien, Jean-Luc Picard, Data (Star Trek), Deanna Troi, Seven of Nine, Phillipa Louvois, Kathryn Janeway, Beverly Crusher, Geordi La Forge
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Daemons

“Needs must in a time of war, sir.”

Starfleet and its daemons. 

(as with so many things, written with the kind assistance of silly-cleo!)

Tags:

#daemon AUs #awesome #Star Trek #DS9 #recs #fanfic #dear gods this was fantastic

cosmictuesdays asked: The DD9 translation of TNG has it as a fancy French restaurant, which I think is called Chez Enterprise – so coming up with new and exciting sorbet and ice cream ideas for the summer menu wouldn’t exactly be in Data and Geordi’s job description, but neither is it NOT in there.

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

singlecrow:

“Kid,” Kathryn says after a while, “your parents didn’t actually christen you ‘Data’, did they?”

“No.” Data smiles up at her. “It is how I think of myself, however.”

“I’m not judging, honey. Seven’s the same. Fresh juice for you, right, and coffee for Geordi? Latte?”

“Thanks,” Geordi says, and when she goes to get their order, “Data, I feel like you’re not taking this seriously. I figure, we get this right, we can do a pushcart on the sidewalk and get foot traffic in. Ice-cream by Chez Entreprise, you get it. ”

“An admirable objective,” Data says, and gets up to pace; Kathryn knows he does that mostly when thinking. “However, the flaw in the plan…”

“Is the plan,” Seven murmurs under her breath; she glances up at Kathryn and grins. Kathryn shushes her, not very seriously. It’s a beautiful day, the winter sun filtering through the window glass and falling into pools on the tiles.

“Is the plan,” Data says, and Seven laughs very quietly into the sound of milk frothing. “Geordi, no one wishes to eat wasabi mocha ice-cream. Nor…” – he stops pacing, peers at the list in front of Geordi – “saltwater bubblegum.”

“People eat saltwater taffy!” Geordi says. “Chilli chocolate goes down a storm!”

Data nods and turns around, making another crossing of the glass. They’re one of only a few customers; the morning commuter rush is over and the hipsters haven’t gotten up yet. “Saltwater taffy,” he explains, with the air of a man addressing a small, confused child, “is not made with saltwater.”

“It isn’t?” Geordi leans back in his chair. “Huh. Next thing you’re gonna tell me Swedish Fish aren’t made of fish.”

“Also,” Data continues, “people actually want to eat it.”

Kathryn laughs, properly, and goes back to their table with a tray. “Coffee for you, Geordi – to the left a bit” – Geordi’s hand lands on the cup – “that’s right. Data, honey, the juice of the day has grapefruit in it, I figured you couldn’t have it. I got you an americano instead.”

“Thank you, Kathryn,” Data says seriously, and Kathryn shakes her head and smiles. They’re sweet kids, she thinks, but they work too hard.

Seven looks up from the coffee machine as she comes behind the counter.”Grapefruit?” she asks, and Kathryn nods, pleased: Seven never misses a thing.

“Interactions,” she says, waving a hand around her head.

“I will remember” – and Kathryn knows she will. Seven sets down the jug she’s holding, marches with all determination out into the space of the cafe and says, “Inedible ice-cream from a pushcart is inefficient. Perhaps you both should stop sublimating your true desires.”

“Seven!” Kathryn says, waving her arms around, then gives up.

“Ice-cream is available for sale at a number of establishments between here and the boardwalk,” Seven continues, “and the sun is out, and the day is…”

Geordi laughs. “Young and bright, like us. Data” – he grabs Data’s hand – “come on. We’re going out, you and me.”

“We are, are we,” Data says, sounding amused, and of course it’s him who remembers they haven’t paid for their coffee, and does so before the two of them disappear into the sunshine; Kathryn watches them go with a small smile before turning around and saying,

“Seven, you’re a damn hypocrite.”

“Please explain.”

“No.” Kathryn smiles and puts a hand on her shoulder. “But I promise we’ll close up before the sun goes down.”

Tags:

#fanfic #Star Trek #Deep Dish Nine #fluffiness

Anonymous asked: Can you write about seven finding a kitten on voyager and then naomi helping her hide it and look after it?

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

mylittleredgirl:

“Ouch!” Naomi tucked her feet under herself and glared at the kitten, who looked rather put out that the toes he had been attacking were no longer in reach. 

“The animal requires rest now,” Seven said. “It should be sleeping.”

“Well tell him, not me,” Naomi said. “I was just sitting here.”

Seven looked at the wriggling beast with growing unease on her face. “The biological library information provided by the Antelorians clearly stated the amount of active play time required for a feline of this age, and this kitten has now exceeded that amount by seventeen minutes.” 

“It’s not a computer. I don’t think you can predict those things down to the minute.” A few years ago, Naomi might have hesitated before correcting Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of unimatrix zero-one, possessor of encyclopedic knowledge and an attitude that was… well, a little scary, before Naomi got to know her.

Seven glared at the kitten. The kitten apparently didn’t find her scary at all, because he ignored her and started pouncing on the edge of Naomi’s shadow. “I am not prepared to indulge the unscheduled whims of this life form,” she said. 

Naomi extended one foot again toward the kitten to give it something real to wrestle. It didn’t hurt that much. Then she got an idea: “If you don’t want it,” she said, turning her face up to Seven with the pleading look that had won her a spot on three recent Delta Flyer adventures, “you can tell the captain to take it away. It’s okay that I’ve never had a pet. I’m sure it’s not critical to my emotional development.”

“My research into early childhood development suggests that it is… beneficial to have a dependent lower life form present.”

Naomi grinned. She knew that someday she’d be able turn Seven of Nine’s library computer obsession to her advantage. “Okay. Can we name him Three of Three?” She indicated with her finger that the three of them were a complete unit. Having a pet was one thing, but having a pet with Seven of Nine was even better.

Seven looked like she was going to object, so Naomi made the face again.

Seven reached out one silver-tipped finger to stroke the kitten’s head. “I do not believe the captain will approve of our giving this creature a Borg designation, but… the captain does not need to know.”

Tags:

#Star Trek #Voyager #Seven of Nine #Naomi Wildman #fanfic #adorable #Naomi would totally give her cat a Borg designation