#'I'm not wealthy - all I have is my incredibly expensive house'

[butch-reidentified]

<33333 you're wonderful, amazing, and incredibly strong and resilient. you've done more for lgbt people than all of the people throwing hate at you combined.

thank you, love ❤️ I know this for a fact. I know for a fact I've done and STILL do more for trans people than ANYONE on here coming for me 🤷 I've personally arranged and/or paid for healthcare including expensive HIV medications, housing, food, doctor's appointments, clothing, and more for homosexual AND TRANS people in need in my community. I've used my connections to get welfare resources for homosexual AND TRANS people they otherwise either couldn't access or would have had to wait months for. I've paid for and legally facilitated the name change of more than one trans acquaintance. I have opened my home to unhoused gay AND TRANS young adults to ensure they had shelter and food and safety and access to medicine, and paid for motel rooms for unhoused lgbt people for weeks or months while they waited for an opening in the shelter (which I also got them on the list for, sometimes when they didn't even technically qualify, using my connections as a Pulse survivor).

I've helped several LGBT young adults in need learn adult skills including how to drive, how to find and then apply & interview for jobs, how to check their vitals and what the dangerous ranges are, basic first aid, CPR certifications, harm reduction in cases involving substance misuse, how to find good medical providers & advocate for themselves to doctors/insurance, how to obtain and navigate medical insurance, how to apply for an apartment rental, how to apply for college or in one case even grad school, how to set boundaries and speak up for their needs, how to get documents changed, and much more.

I'm not wealthy, either, I did all of this while living paycheck to paycheck and struggling to feed myself. I did all this voluntarily, separate from charity organizations or guidance, on my own initiative. I found ways. I always found ways bc it mattered to me. I routinely used my unique connections as a Pulse survivor (esp connections to the lgbt resources who assisted us in the aftermath, but also to politicians like Carlos Guillermo Smith and Anna Eskamani who most of us survivors know personally) to help lgbt people in need. and what do the people who claim to be the real trans activists/allies do? harass and threaten me & women/girls like me - most often online as anonymous cowards, but even IRL (usually still anonymously) with courageous tactics such as doxxing, bomb threats, bombarding their employer's or school's phone line with hypocritical bootlickers calling for her to be fired or expelled.

What can the homophobic, misogynistic, self-proclaimed "pro trans" assholes (who are actually causing harm to & reducing public support for actual sex-dysphoric/GNC people) in my inbox honestly say they have done for trans people? Sent dozens if not hundreds of rape fantasies & death threats to a feminist lesbian who actually does meaningful and materially measurable work for the population you claim to be defending bc she says sex-based oppression is a real thing with material consequences from which all women and girls (50% of the world's human population) deserve liberation? 10/10 insane thought process.

I'm tired of it.

EDIT 12.28.2023 - Please see full version of this post with my vitally important follow-up reblogs here.

[lazyworksinprogress]

A very long post about No One Is Going to Save You (2023)

I have been proccupied after I watched it yesterday so I'm just going to braindump. The superficial conversation has been about the minimal dialogue in the movie but I have been thinking about the visual language.

The house and costuming expands on the main character, Brynn's abilities and motivations in very satisfying way.

***Spoilers for No One Is Going to Save You (2023) follow***

I saw this interview with the director where he speaks about the house as the co-lead of the movie.

"This is a girl that watches ‘Far From Heaven’ and is like ‘I wish I lived in that world,’” Duffield said. “And then was like ‘I’m gonna antique shop, I’m gonna build dresses, I’m gonna do all this stuff. I’m not gonna have relationships outside my world, so why can’t I live in a Douglas Sirk wannabe world?’ And then you see there’s a flat screen and a laptop and she drives out into the world and you see ‘Oh, this girl’s kooky.”

I watch a few doll house hobby channels and Brynn's character would fit in. The "final girl" qualities of resourcefulness, creativity, and persistence are all around her home making this kind of characterisation some neat foreshadowing for her attitude through the film. From the incredible bird houses to the macrame - quilts - embroidery - and then vintage dresses, Brynn clearly has time, energy and a wide range of skills. And anyone who knows, knows that making things requires a certain potential for violence.

The decor and costuming is a very smart piece of work because there are some vintage and antique pieces, but many of them are also retro recreations or updated vintage. This is consistent with the character of Brynn, who is building an idyllic, anachronistic life for herself. Her home is a reflection of the disparate time periods and influences informing her tastes. The extension of her fantastical nostalgic anxious inner world (the home) is invaded by an external futuristic existential threat (alien burglars). All the contradictions and then retrofuturistic juxtaposition adds to the unsettling experience of the movie

It fits into the It Follows (2015) ambient/nostalgic horror space. I think it has a connection to the post-modern idea of the decay of moral clarity and escapism.

It's also got things to say about money. The house and her shoes and her studio/palace are visibly expensive. When Brynn runs away from the aliens she is wearing the Tory Burch Hank court shoes that are an elevated basic take on "70s classic sneakers" or a take on the (celebrity favourite) Onitsuka Tiger Unisex Mexico 66s or the American version of the Adidas Samba ... In any case, they are luxurious vintage recreations which is true to the whole wealthy American look of the film.

Horror and scifi media can be used as didactic tools for understanding fear (don't believe me, believe Joanna Russ) and I think the movie is doing a fable on escapism in the face of disaster.

"Ours is indeed an age of extremity. For we live under continual threat of two equally fearful, but seemingly opposed, destinies: unremitting banality and inconceivable terror. It is fantasy, served out in large rations by the popular arts, which allows most people to cope with these twin specters. For one job that fantasy can do is to lift us out of the unbearably humdrum and to distract us from terrors, real or anticipated—by an escape into exotic dangerous situations which have last-minute happy endings. But another one of the things that fantasy can do is to normalize what is psychologically unbearable, thereby inuring us to it. In the one case, fantasy beautifies the world. In the other, it neutralizes it." - Susan Sontag

[delightfullyatomicfest]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in Melody Maker, 20 September 1969

JOHN LENNON HASN’T had a royalty cheque for two years. 

And, believe it or not, he’s feeling the pinch. The man whose group has again been voted top in both the British and International Sections of the Melody Maker poll told me that The Beatles’ own company, Apple, has become something of a monster which is out of control. 

“The problem is that two years ago our accountants made us sign over 80 per cent of our royalties to Apple,” he said. “We can’t touch any of it, and it’s a ridiculous situation. All the money comes into this little building and it never gets out. If I could get my money out of the company I’d split away and start doing my own projects independently. I’d have much more freedom and we’d all be happier. I still feel part of Apple and The Beatles, and there’s no animosity, but they tend to ignore Yoko and me . 

“For instance, [Radio One DJ] Kenny Everett recently made a promotional record for Apple which was played at the big yearly EMI meeting. It plugged James Taylor, The Iveys and so on, but it didn’t mention the things Yoko and I had been doing. And I think that what we’re doing is a lot more important than James Taylor. Apple seem to be scared of us. They didn’t want to have anything to do with our Two Virgins film, for instance. 

“The Beatles’ wealth is all a myth. The only expensive things I’ve ever owned are my house and cars, and I just haven’t got anything else. Don’t even break even on the films we make, and that worries me.” 

I asked John about his recent evening of films at the ICA. (A selection of John and Yoko ’s films, including Ono’s Bottoms and Lennon’s Self Portrait , which detailed the rise (and fall) of his penis, were shown at the New Cinema Club, Institute Of Contemporary Arts, September 10, 1969.) Why, for instance, did he feel it necessary to make a film like Self Portrait, with its highly controversial content, when Andy Warhol did the same thing years ago with his films Empire State and Sleep ? 

“It’s not like Warhol at all. He’s negative and we’re positive. I can’t stand negative things, and our attitude is completely different. Self Portrait has vibrations of love, and it has an immediate message of humanity. 

“When Yoko showed me her Bottoms film I thought it was ridiculous, but she explained it to me and I was convinced - I don’t remember how. I think it was the humour of the film, and that’s what we try to keep in our films. If we’re going to get these films shown, we’ve got to get into the scene. We’d like to make a film that wasn’t so underground in concept, but we wouldn’t do something like Barbarella or 2001 - although that was a lovely trip. 

“Films are moving ahead so fast - much faster than music or anything else. We’re hoping to have talks with a big production company which I shouldn’t name - oh well, why not, it’s United Artists - who seem to be interested. We’d like to get on at the West End.” 

Yoko, who was sitting by John’s side, chipped in, “We don’t know how to go about it. We’re sussing it out at the moment.” 

John continued, “It’s not like films, it’s more like TV. Dylan was right - it should be less important. Our films, and the Beatles and Stones albums, shouldn’t have so much noise made about them. The process of production is so slow. We’d like to speed the process up, and get a new album and film out every month. For instance, we haven’t been able to get our Wedding film out yet. And the trouble is that people will say we copied Jane Birkin on one track, but we didn’t. It’s just that we couldn’t get ours out fast enough. 

“Most of our films are like portraits. For instance, Smile is simply a portrait of me sending out love vibrations to Yoko, who’s on the other end of the camera. People say it’s boring, but they’ll look at Van Gogh, which doesn’t move at all, and they’ll have it on their walls.” 

I suggested that perhaps the audience at the ICA had been dissatisfied because the environment was wrong. 

“Yes, it would probably be best if people had the film at home and could show it on their walls and look at it when they felt like it. The ICA night was too long- but they asked for five hours of film and that’s what I gave them.” 

Wasn’t the work of John and Yoko coming to resemble an open diary, I asked? And don’t most people keep their diaries in their desks at home? 

“Yes, but who doesn’t like to read other people’s diaries? ” he replied. “That’s exactly what it is-but you must realise that The Beatles’ albums, and Dylan’s for that matter, are all diaries. We’re just bringing it out into the open and making it more honest.” 

Does this theory inevitably lead to disposable works of art? 

“Yes, that’s what we’re aiming at,” said John. “Yoko’s having her book of poetry, Grapefruit, reprinted and at the end there’s an instruction to the reader to eat the book.” 

Yoko added, “When you keep things they become tombstones. The world would be clogged up with useless objects.” 

Have they any new ideas for their well-publicised campaign for peace? “There’s this Peace Ship plan,” said John, “which is very strange because I recently read a book which contained almost exactly the same idea. There was this bloke in a white ship from which he broadcast peace messages, and then when I’d read the book a real guy came to me with the plan for doing it. Someone’s also given me some ideas for doing things in Nigeria and Biafra, but I can’t talk about it at the moment.” 

Does this suggest a more direct involvement with war and peace? “Not really, because I think that what we’ve done already, like staying in bed for peace, has been very direct. It wouldn’t do any good, for instance, if I was to go to Vietnam and get shot. That proves nothing, but it’s what people are always telling me to do. 

“We’re after people’s minds. If we go to see Nixon, for instance, it wouldn’t make him down tools, but we think we could find out what he thinks and tell other people. We’d know where he was at. 

“You can’t change anything by violence. You have to be aggressive, that’s part of everyone and I’m aggressive, but we have the machinery to challenge it. We don’t have to get involved in other people’s games, and I think that all the killers should be allowed to take their tanks into the desert and kill each other off. But I don’t want any part of it, and we’ve got the power to do something about it.” 

With two albums in the can Abbey Road and Get Back [sic] - would there now be a lull in The Beatles’ recording schedule? 

“The trouble is that we’ve got too much material. Now that George is writing a lot we could put out a double album every month, but they’re so difficult to produce. After Get Back is recorded in January, we’ll probably go back into the studio and record another one. It’s just a shame we can’t get more albums out faster.” 

Richard Williams

Source

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hello! Hope your week has been well. I’ve just watched the show for the first time but unfortunately my Hindi is a little weaker than I would like so I’m not sure if this has been covered on the show or maybe in your asks? I’m sorry if this is a repeat question. I was just wondering if we know about the Raizada family specifically, in terms of whether they’re meant to have generational wealth/is the house ancestral or if Arnav built it. Arnav is “self made” but I’m not sure whether we’re meant to understand the Raizadas as independently wealthy or if the wealth we see is all due to AR doing well as a company. For other Gul shows I’ve noticed class differences are shown thru dialect but Nani seems to be speaking the same dialect as the Guptas so is hard for me to tell. Thank you!

Hello there!

Welcome to Jalebi Weds Bluetooth <3 I love your ask!

I do think I have answered something regarding this but there's never been an in depth answer to this so I'm glad I can think about this!

LONG ANSWER ALERT

Regarding The Raizada's Wealth

Arnav comes from generational wealth from both sides of his family. The Maliks and the Raizadas are incredibly wealthy. I'd say the Raizadas wealth comes from textiles and land. There's nothing concrete here but in Anjali's party Mama-ji does refer to old clients and there seems to be discussion of land, mills in the little business conversations we have in the show.

We know Arnav and Anjali have no wealth from the Maliks' end as Arnav's uncle fraudulently claimed all assets after his brother's death and squandered that away. And I guess by the time Devyani (Nani) brought the kids to her place, the Raizadas were suffering financially as well.

The Raizadas were rich, rich enough to send both the kids - Akash and Arnav - abroad for education (I assume Akash went as well). Harvard is an expensive university - even if we consider Arnav and Akash got scholarship for their degrees.

So I think with the failing wealth of the Raizadas, Arnav probably set up his business idea early on - leaning into the textile background of the Raizadas - and capitalized on that by making a high end fashion brand. And we also know that Mami sold all her jewelry to back Arnav's idea. I'd assume he started thinking of this when he was 18-19. I also feel Arnav never had a childhood after the death of his parents and was very much invested in establishing financial security with the Raizadas ever since he was a teen.

Every memory Arnav brings up of childhood are of days before his parents died, even the ones with Nani and Akash and in the earlier episodes Akash often stated in subtle ways that Arnav grew up very quickly.

So, in the show, Arnav re-establishes the economic status of the family (the Raizadas have always maintained a social status, they never quite disappeared like the Maliks). Arnav only strengthens the social status even further.

Shantivan is a new house. I'd assume the previous Raizada properties were either as a guarantee for loans, sold off or are much smaller compared to what Arnav built for his family.

In the show it is stated several times that Shantivan is Arnav's house (that he bought it) and in lieu of that he is the pseudo head of the family. Which is why Arnav's approval matters so much. And it is also incredibly interesting to watch the struggle Arnav-Nani have at the beginning for she's morally the head of the house, but financially Arnav is.

Also one thing I firmly believe is right in the beginning of the show Arnav is riding on newly found success. He's almost like a young lion who has tasted his first blood. Unlike Shivaay from Ishqbaaz, Arnav's arrogance and fixation with money and status doesn't stem from generational pride and elitism. It stems from financial and social insecurity. His hatred towards conniving middle class people is a direct repercussion of the people he's had to deal with and his own uncle.

Yes, Arnav has never been poor to get to the streets.

But he has faced his assets being stripped away, his family giving up all their money for his education and business idea, and an insecurity over everyone's financial future.

No wonder he was pushed to ensure his family just doesn't get rich, but filthy rich for seven generations.

He is a self made man. Yes he had resources, contacts, backup - but let's simply say that if Arnav didn't exist then the Raizadas wouldn't be having the financial status they had today.

So yes, every sign of wealth we see today is due to Arnav and the empire he built. I think it's very clever how he incorporated his family's textile business.

It's a pity the show really didn't explore this part because it's fascinating! (And Arnav should've been 28 because 26 is an unachievable age for this! If he was a tech guy I'd get it!)

Coming to dialect, I think all the elders in the Raizada household have a strong Lucknowi/UP accent - which is similar to what all the Gupta elders have. While Anjali doesn't have an accent, her Hindi shows her to be very well educated and well versed with the language. She doesn't switch much to English and actually has an incredibly polished Hindi.

Arnav and Akash, Arnav especially, have a very 'returned from abroad' accent that speaks for itself. You know these kids didn't just study at an excellent private school, they definitely went abroad. However, their Hindi is clear enough for you to know that they were raised in India for a significant time.

Also you made an interesting observation about all the elders having similar accents regardless of status. And I think we could factor in what influences accent. I don't think the Raizadas interacted much with foreigners, and learned Hindi in Lucknow - hence the strong Lucknow/UP accent. Definitely they're well versed with English, but prefer not to use it. So since they're usually speaking Hindi - we see their accents. Mamiji tries really hard to speak English because of her fixation with status but we know it works quite the opposite!

Since they all speak Hindi and were very much in their Lucknowi roots, we can see a strong overlap between the way they speak and the Guptas!

The class difference is understandable in the difference of the younger generations' accents. There's hell and heaven difference between Arnav and Khushi's accents. Arnav's Hindi was originally much stronger in the show (in fact there was quite a bit of Urdu there), but he definitely doesn't have the fluency Khushi has (he struggles to read complicated words) whereas Khushi's English has a thick accent and she struggles to speak it fluently (I guess because she had none to speak that language with, you can notice her English get better as she spends time with Arnav because she absorbs a lot with him). Just through dialogues alone you can sense the difference in status between Arnav-Khushi.

However that's not the case with Akash and Payal. Akash has a stronger grip in Hindi and Payal has a stronger grip in English that makes it audio-wise impossible to understand their class difference. Which probably explains how and why their class difference didn't come into the way of them falling in love. It was so easy.

And the Raizadas and Guptas not having a dialect barrier explains why they gel together so well.

Also in other Gul shows it is established that the ML family is established in a metropolitan city for ages which is why their Hindi is incredibly posh while the FL family's dialect is influenced by their locality.

And what's most interesting is that the class difference between the Raizadas and Guptas isn't in their accent but in their vocabulary. Devyani's language is more commanding, direct, polished. She's like "sab ke sab kahaan marr gaye, waqt se aage mat jayiye" - a lot of polished, wise metaphors.

Buaji/Madhumati is like "Sasur ki naati, naas piti, haye re Nandkisore" - phrases that an elite family simply won't utter!

Last thing I love about the language in the show is how Arnav gets better in speaking, wording his emotions over time (especially in Hindi, he usually reverts to English when he's very passionate) and how Khushi absorbs his vocabulary, accent and tone (ugh talk about Sanaya's FANTASTIC acting).

Ok I had A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS.

I hope I made sense?

Best,

JWB

[mindofasupernova]

The Inventor Part 2

Kaz Brekker x reader

Description: A killer is on the loose, eliminating Kaz's informants. In a desperate attempt, Kaz meets a certain inventor that has his mind racing, trying to figure out the complex puzzle she is.

Hope you like it, let me know what you think.

Kaz

A corpse? That's what she wanted? Did she think that he just kept all the bodies of his deceased workers in his room? How the hell was he supposed to get his hands on the corpse of one of his poisoned informants?

One day after meeting the young inventor, Kaz had sent Inej to gather answers to the Y/LN Manor. And just as promised, the girl had already identified most of the compounds, but due to "careless and messy manipulation", clearly referring to Kaz's pouch, she had been unable to determine a specific substance that acted as a catalyst. Inej returned to the Slat with Y/N's message asking for a meeting and a request Kaz wasn't exactly expecting.

According to Y/N, it was of the utmost importance for her to examine the body if she hoped to pinpoint the missing compound not to mention it provided a perfect opportunity for Kaz to tell her about how the poison had captured his attention.

Inej had returned later than usual, smiling and carrying a small brown bag that wafted a sweet and delicious scent. When Kaz had raised his eyebrows in question, Inej had told him Y/N had given her some recently baked cookies. He grunted in response and kept working, but his mind kept drifting back to the cookie bag and what that small act meant.

Inej was cautious but he also knew that she always searched for kindness in people. That snack could have been simply just a gift but Kaz wouldn't have made it this far if he considered all people as kind-hearted. Y/N was a stranger, a rich stranger from the highest of ranks of society who probably didn't care if Barrel rats like him lived or not. Y/N hadn't asked for a favor nor did she need money, she just wanted to know, that unsettled Kaz more than he liked to admit.

He had spent the day gathering information about her, her personal life, hobbies, and all the rumors he could find. He had found absolutely nothing that could give him an insight into the girl's intentions, he had finished empty-handed with the information he already knew: she was the only daughter of one of the richest men in Ketterdam, the perfect personification of a wealthy royal daughter, an innocent and pious little thing that went to Church with her family. Kaz scoffed at that, the defying look she gave her at their secret rendezvous accompanied with her enthusiasm for carving a corpse open proved she was far from innocent.

No, until he had more facts he wouldn't let his guard down. And yet, a small part of him yearned for her actions to be good-intentioned. Stop, hope is a dangerous thing. He had already made the mistake of hoping when he was nine and look where it got him.

Kaz returned his gaze to the papers in front of him, huffing in annoyance, he started writing down orders to get a corpse for Y/N.

_______________

Y/N : One day after the meeting

Y/N was quietly sitting at her vanity, a soft smile adorned her face, gaze completely lost on her new device when Inej, soundlessly crept inside her bedroom.

After Kaz Brekker had left the shop near the Church of Barter, she no longer felt the giddy spark she had when she left her manor. She couldn't blame Mr. Zhang for telling Mr. Brekker about their association, he was an old jumpy man who wished no trouble upon no one. She had left all the concoctions that Mr. Zhang had order, but she didn't show him her latest joy, she no longer felt as excited.

This new invention she had come up with consisted of a music box. But it was no ordinary music box, far from it. Y/N had noticed how most of the music boxes got damaged with time when the metal rusted and the music no longer sounded like a melody but more like a haunted house. So, instead of depending on metal to play music, why not use water vapor. Yes, she had spent four days perfecting the pressure at which each piston released the water so it was a perfect copy of one of the melodies in the Komedie Brute. Four days making sure that the amount of heat the flame distributed was enough to transform the water into vapor but not so fast it was gone before the song ended. And now, here it was, a vapor-based music box with a decorative firebird in the center that literally caught fire, warming the water below.

Mind too caught up on the mechanics of her own work, that, when the Wraith materialized from the shadows behind her, Y/N sent a rain of screws and nuts toppling down the floor when Inej's hand landed on her shoulder.

Wide-eyed, Y/N turned around to face the apparition in her room. The Suli girl raised her hands, to show she intended no harm and in a kind voice spoke:

"I'm not here to hurt you. Kaz Brekker sent me to check up on your progress."

With a sigh of relief, Y/N straightened relaxed her posture. "Why, of course, should have assumed Mr. Brekker would send someone. Please, take a seat. " with a small smile, she gestured to a plush burgundy armchair.

"As promised, I have successfully identified most of the compounds. However, I fear identifying the catalyst agent won't be possible unless I conduct a thorough autopsy on the unfortunate victim. The needle I was given was in an atrocious condition, too many foreign compounds had already interacted with it." Y/N answered, finishing with a hopeful tone.

Inej nodded her head and responded, "I'll let Kaz know, thank you Marchioness Y/LN." Inej turned around, making a bee-line for the window.

"You must not be thinking of going out in this beastly weather. Please, stay until this horrendous downpour ceases." Y/N quickly called back, wrapping her silk shawl around her petite frame, as if the thought of stepping outside was enough to send a chill running down her spine.

Inej hesitated, directing a fleeting glance at the crying sky outside, she resumed to her previous seat.

"Would you like a piece of Cinamon-coated Pavlova? I guarantee you won't regret it, the caramelized peaches are sinfully appetizing!" and before the Suli girl could respond, Y/N was rushing out of her room, the dainty patter of her heels clicking down the stairs.

Her room was exactly what Inej had expected: luxurious and overly grand. But there was something about it that Inej couldn't quite place, her room was tidy to the extreme, all the expensive perfume bottles lined up, gaps between that appeared as if they had been measured with a ruler. Nothing in her room showed a preference or indication of what she truly liked, at first sight, the room would have seemed like the perfect fairytale but now, upon close observation, the room looked generic, hollow, and cold. The spy wondered if all the riches were worth living into a life as impersonal as hers.

Y/N returned, carrying a tray full of fancy desserts Inej couldn't even pronounce.

"The baker proclaims himself a master of crème brûlées. I prefer his fruit-stuffed truffles, though. Mouthwatering" Y/N commented, gingerly placing the tray on her small mahogany table.

Y/N waited for Inej to take a bite out of the coffee tiramisu, after the Suli girl let a soft hum of appreciation, Y/N smiled and questioned: "I hope I'm not being too invasive, but how did you manage to climb all the way to my window? There are no nooks where you could have possibly held onto, you must have an incredible balance to perform such a feat."

And that's how Inej told her about her life as an acrobat, proudly sharing brief glimpses to her past, seeing no harm in the girl next to her. Y/N was more than happy when Inej started talking, she was glad the bronzed-skinned girl didn't treat her with timid whispers afraid of offending her royal title. It felt nice to have a normal conversation, being able to share honest opinions instead fake smiles and condescending words at galas, afraid that if the wrong statement slipped they'll become the next party gossip.

____________________

The morning after, Inej returned bearing Mr. Brekker's message agreeing to a nightly meeting where she'll be able to examine the corpse.

Saying that Y/N was thrilled, was an understatement, apart from a chance to put her brain to good use, it gave her the perfect opportunity to try a device she had specifically designed for creating an alibi while she was sneaking outside at unlikely hours.

Y/N hated piano. Don't get her wrong, it wasn't the instrument, it was the music, her music. Because for an unknown reason, her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own whenever she tried to. She admired the focus and dedication of musicians, she really did, but her mind easily got distracted thinking about her latest reading material instead of focusing on the notes. So, she had created a system capable of pushing the tiles as if her own fingers played the music. She knew it was wrong to fool her parents in such a way but it gave her a perfect cover to go in secret missions her parents would never approve of.

Proper ladies don't get excited over knowledge, much less probe in repulsive matters such as corpses. Look at you, Y/N, what would future suitors think if they discover you all cheerful over someone´s murder? The scandal! Zia Francesca's reprimanding voice resonated inside Y/N´s head. But she could care less about what the whole Ketterdam thought about her, science was her passion, and she would abandon it until the day she died.

Already outside, a navy blue scarf wrapped around her head to shield her delicate features against unwanted attention, Y/N waited for Inej at their chosen meeting point.

The sly girl slipped into view, with a grace greater than the one of a feline, leaving the shadows as if she and the night were one. With a brief nod, Y/N followed the girl into the awaiting hands of darkness. Leading her towards the Barrel, a place where monsters lurked behind every corner impatiently waiting to pounce any minute. Nonetheless, Y/N felt ecstatic, warm excitement pulsing through her veins, a river waiting in anticipation to break the thin modest facade she kept up to let her curiosity resurface in search of enigmas to solve.

When they arrived at a place named "The Crow Club", Inej went to get Kaz and some "others" and told her to wait. Y/N observed the lively atmosphere, seeing customers from different countries around the world when her eyes landed on a familiar head with wild red curls.

"Mr. Van Eck?" Y/N questioned in disbelief, the boy perked up at the sound of his last name, locking eyes with the hooded girl.

Never would she have imagined finding Wylan Van Eck down in the Barrel. She was shocked, Wylan supposedly should be in a music school outside of Ketterdam. Both belonging to affluent families, Y/N had met Wylan Van Eck at several parties. She hadn't gotten to know him very well, but she liked the quiet boy who shared the same look of misfortune Y/N had every time they were thrown into a classy social event. When his father had announced he was leaving to study abroad, Y/N was happy for him although she would miss being silently miserable together. But it appeared Wylan had been doing something far from studying, now sitting next to a tall Zemeni boy with his arm slung around his shoulder.

"Marchioness Y/N, I never imagined...W-What brings you here?" replied round-eyed Wylan, confusion, and astonishment written all over his features.

But before Y/N could respond, steps and the tapping of a cane interrupted their little meeting, Inej small silhouette trailing behind Mr. Brekker.

"So, you know Wylan?" he interrogated in that characteristic rasp, coffee eyes scrutinizing Y/N's form.

"Yes, Mr. Van Eck used to come to our social gatherings."

Wylan just nodded shyly while his long-limbed companion kept drowning shot like they were water.

Dirtyhands humphed in acknowledgment "Nice, know that we are all together let's go to...Jesper, I don't pay you to drink the bar dry. Get your ass down here and let's get moving so our dear inventor can examine the body, shall we?

"Wait, she is the contact you talked about?" the Zemeni, Jesper, questioned. Eyes going from Kaz Brekker to Y/N, as if this was some kind of joke.

"Wylan called her Marchioness? You asked for a royal's help?" Jesper asked, an incredulous mocking smile on his face. "Who are you and what have you done with Kaz?"

Mr. Brekker scowled at him and without another word turned around not even waiting for them to follow.

"Well, nice to meet you, my lady. The name's Jesper Fahey," he said, bowing down and kissing her hand, sending her a mischievous wink.

"Very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Fahey. And please, there's no need for formalities, just call me Y/N." she comforted, as they finally reached the others. Glancing at the rest while finishing her last statement, prompting the rest to call her by her first name.

________

Kaz

Y/N radiated waves of elation, her whole face lighting up at the thought of an adventure, a star amid the tumultuous dark waters of Ketterdam helping him find his way to the shore.

Kaz wore an amused expression at Y/N's amused gaze roaming the dirty streets of the Barrel, a new unknown world full of carnage and sins. She isn't fit for the Barrel thought Kaz, her eyes dancing in amusement at every little detail that caught her interest despite her efforts to put on a serious face and regal posture. She probably saw wonderous adventures while Kaz saw the Barrel for what it really was: a ravenous, savage beast waiting to swallow the weakest whole and drain the lives of the ones who survived its ghastly bites. And somehow the concept that she didn't belong in this world, his world, made Kaz's heart wrenched a little.

During their walk, Kaz shared the details about the latest killer on the loose and his dead informants, all the while, Y/N remained quiet, evaluating every one of his words.

When they arrived at an abandoned building, a single man was stationed outside, leaning on the tainted wall with a tired look in his eyes. Kaz nodded at the guard who gave him a set of keys and trotted out of sight. Kaz guided them inside, careful no prying eyes had followed them. Kaz turned on the lights, briefly disconcerting his companions, and pointed to a table with a big bulk covered by a dirty cloth.

"As you requested, the unfortunate victim" announced Kaz as Y/N placed a small suitcase she'd brought with her forensic equipment and tenderly pried the cloth covering the thing that once had been alive.

Y/N didn't bat an eyelash when she saw the corpse's face, not even when Jesper started gagging or when Inej turned around and started quietly mumbling prayers to her saints. Kaz focused on her face, the calm inquisitive look of a scientist, he had expected a gasp at least. Kaz was impressed by her cool analytical demeanor when a simple glimpse of the man was enough to send Kaz back to the ocean, rotting flesh beneath his fingertips. Kaz shuddered at the thought, forcing down the vomit rising in his throat.

"If you need an assistant, Jesper is willing to help" Kaz stated, stabilizing his voice so it wouldn't show his true feelings.

"What?! Me? Umm..no...I...Helping isn't a Jesper talent." Mr. Fahey said, a fearful look in his eyes, face white as a sheet. Kaz hoped he didn't look as terrified as him.

Y/N stopped her scan, looked up at the two boys, and with a small smile spoke: "I appreciate it, but there's no need. I'm certain I can handle it on my own."

Quickly discarding her coat and scarf, pushing back the sleeves of her rouge-colored blouse, and pulling long laboratory gloves over her hands along with a white apron over her head, she set up to work.

Kaz stared at her features, as she transformed into an eager forensic, light illuminating her face, falling in the right places giving her an otherwordly glow. Rebellious strands of hair framing her forehead, a pink hue staining her cheeks indicating her joyous state. The sight before him would have put any masterpiece to shame, Kaz wondered how she could stare at a corpse and find glee in such a morbid image. But Kaz liked it, the brilliant gleam her eyes portrayed, her childish joy at the promise of adventure.

The spell was broken when she started pulling out scalpels, syringes, and other items Dirtyhands couldn't bother to learn the name of. Pulling the flesh taught beneath her fingers, Y/N made a Y incision, skin splaying open.

Cold lifeless hands gripped Kaz's throat. his brother's icy whispers brushing his skin. He turned his head away and as if perceiving his discomfort, Y/N's bewitching doe eyes stared back at him.

"You can wait outside if you prefer to, I'll notify you when I'm done." her gentle voice reached and Kaz couldn't have been more grateful.

With a sharp shake of his head, Kaz limped towards the exit, Jesper, and Inej quickly following his movements.

--------

After Y/N finished, she eagerly started explaining her findings, a prideful gleam emanating from her.

"Well, Mr. Brekker I must admit this case is a peculiar one. The simplest ones always prove to be the most challenging."

"Here I thought that after years of fancy tea reunions you'd know the meaning of a vast number of words. I'll be sure to buy you a thesaurus." mocked Kaz, a wolfish smirk creeping onto his face.

The inventor frowned at his comment, racing her chin higher, and started her rant, thoughts racing to prove her point.

"Oh no, Mr. Brekker do not confuse simple and easy. Simple is straightforward, plain facts to the observer. Ordinary details are hard to pinpoint, effortlessly found everywhere, which makes it harder to find unique characteristics that could serve as means of identification since their nature is so elementary." Y/N spoke swiftly, pacing around the room, eyes never faltering from Kaz's.

"And that's exactly what happened in this case. As I had mentioned, my extraction wasn't entirely successful, for an essential reactant was missing. However, it wasn't the only reason why I insisted on examining the body, no, a very simple and ordinary substance appeared when I separated the poison: Helianthus annuus or more commonly known as sunflowers." Y/N paused glancing at their surprised faces, clearly pleased with their reactions, she continued, the corners of her lips tugging upwards.

"You can imagine my surprise when I found sunflower pollen as the main component of the poisonous agent. I ran several more tests and the result remains the same, our killer is using these lovely flowers as a weapon. Now, back to the catalyst, the easy part of the equation. This component isn't as fastidious as the previous one, why, you may ask. Well, its vast majority consists of average materials but a small percentage of it contains alloys that are only produced in Ketterdam, that combined with the peculiar way they were fused, suggests a Grisha alkemi made this solution." Y/N concluded, grabbing a piece of paper and hastily writing before she handed it to Kaz.

"There are no signs of struggle, meaning either they knew the attacker or they were taken by surprise. A swift prick to the femoral artery, a clear pathway for the poison to reach the bloodstream, infecting the body within seconds."

"It shouldn't be very hard to find the alkemi. They aren't very popular and most of them are indentured. Here is the list of all the reactants, the specifics, and where I believe you might find them. " finished the girl, looking at the trio expectantly.

"If you don't mind, I have taken a sample to examine more carefully at my house. I'll try to find any details I might have overlooked."

Briskly reading the list, Kaz frowned and then pocketed the small scrap of paper. "First thing tomorrow morning, ask around for an alkemi who might have bought these materials. "

Kaz turned to look at his fellow crows, content with their nods of approval, grabbed his cane, and sauntered towards the door. Her chemistry knowledge was astounding, a marvelous domain of anatomy, and an even more gifted engineer from what he had heard. Hers was an indeed beautiful mind, not that he would ever tell her.

"Mr. Brekker?" her light voice shattered through the gloomy night. Kaz craned his neck, gaping back at her in question.

"Is there perhaps a place where I might be able to tidy myself up?" Y/N questioned, Kaz finally looking at her messy red-stained apron and her exposed arms displaying strokes of red all over them.

Kaz hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should bring the girl back to their home. "You can use the restroom back at the Slat." The girl had risked her reputation sneaking out on ill-advised affairs to help them, it was the least he could do.

"Thank you" Y/N replied as she carefully peeled her apron, attentive at not brushing her arms against her blouse.

___________

Once she had freshened up, Y/N stumbled upon the young Van Eck talking with a couple. The green-eyed girl was about Y/N's age, a generously carved complexion, holding the hand of a tall Fjerdan.

Y/N inclined her head as a form of salute, "I never pegged you for the rebellious type, Mr. Van Eck. I never thought you hated music lessons that much to run away." she told him in a joking tone.

"And I never thought you were the type to sneak out at ungodly hours just to play detective. " Wylan replied, a grin beginning to form on his face.

"Well, I suppose everyone has secrets."

"You must be Y/N, Inej told me you were the help Kaz so desperetly needed. I'm Nina, he's Matthias and well you already know Wylan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Inej had briefly mentioned them, she knew now that Nina loved food, maybe next time she'll bring those exquisite truffles she had so eagerly talked about. If there is a next time Y/N reminded herself, she desperately hoped so, but now that her work was done she wasn't so sure Kaz Brekker would ever seek her again.

"Well, you have saved me the introductions." Kaz sarcastically glowered at the green-eyed girl, Nina kept talking as if she hadn't heard him.

It was one thing for Kaz to admire her intelligence, it did not mean he trusted her, though. Pieces were still missing to the intricate puzzle she was and until that changed Kaz did not like the way she rapidly befriended his crows, her intentions were still blurry to Kaz, and even though he would never admit it he cared deeply about their well-being.

"You should stay a little longer, we could go for waffles as a way of thank you." prompted Nina.

"Your offer is very tempting, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I should be returning home." Y/N declined, grinning at Nina, blissful someone had invited her for waffles.

Kaz stared at her and wondered how many times someone had done something similar, not to thank her but rather to use her, so that such a simple gesture put her in a joyful state.

"Scared of what your parents may do if they found out the truth?" Kaz quipped once his crows had left the two of them alone. A teasing tone masking true concern.

"Terrified. Someone may notice I've been playing the same four songs for the last couple of hours, always missing the same notes every time and they might get ideas of checking up on me," she confessed, mischief coating her features.

"Good night, Mr. Brekker. I'm happy I could be of assistance. Please, let me know if you find your killer or if my experience is needed again."

Kaz just bowed, signaling for his Wraith to get Y/N back to her manor in one piece.

Both girls disappeared into the night, leaving Kaz pondering what the hell she had meant with playing the piano.

___________

Y/N

Almost two weeks had passed, no signs of Kaz and no visits from the Wraith, well not that she was aware of. Y/N caught herself glaring at no point in particular, she readjusted her expression and plastered a well-practiced look of keen interest, trying to focus on Lady Stathos' rant about the attractiveness of the Viscount of Chagny.

Y/N politely excused herself, with no intention of making a fool of herself if Lady Stathos posed a question related to her gossip.

Too busy drowning in her own sorrow, knowing that Kaz had probably captured the culprit and was happily celebrating his success and no longer needing Y/N's help, that she stumbled forward, barely catching herself when someone bumped her from behind.

When Y/N turned back around, searching for that someone, she was met with a sight she had only seen once in an abandoned warehouse late at night. One that made her mind scream: Helianthus annuus.

Mercher Dupont's eyes were deranged, veins gruesomely popping and blood spilling from his lips, before toppling in the middle of the dance floor, taking his final breath.

[sailingintothenight]

“WANNABE.” T.H. Imagine.

And what if after years of chasing each other like a cat and mouse, you and Tom started to wonder if you wanna be something else in each other's life?

A/N: I am posting a one shot after weeks of writer's block. I hope you like it. It's 9:30 pm in Peru and it's still April 28, so it's still my birthday! Give it a try. Pleaseeeeee! And yes, I borrowed a scene from Mean Girls (Because I loveeee that movie)

“Hello God, it's me again, (y/n). What's up? I know we haven't talked much lately, but, hey, listen, I have a favor to ask you- I have behaved well, I haven’t gotten drunk at any crazy party of any Hollywood star and I haven't accepted drugs, ever: I'm afraid my grandmother will appear in my room as a ghost and pull my blankets in the middle of the night, plus, I haven't make out with any Stone-cold Hollywood hottie, and trust me, I've had more than one chance. Anyway, about the favor–”

"Yes, but (y/n)'s grandfather invited us to his birthday party..."

Tom's voice startles you and cuts off your internal dialogue, turning you back to the reality.

It’s 6 am. The sun shines in the clear sky, and you are on a flight back to England in a luxury privet jet that is about to arrive at the airport, while Haz, Harry, Tom and you are sitting in comfortable velvety seats, with the view of morning sky on your left side. 

The exciting memory of your last recording still seemed to run through your veins, too exciting to let you sleep. Because that was the end, the goodbye after incredible months. All your efforts from the past months were hidden behind that last performance that looked like a fantasy, except for the kiss, ugh, you had to erase it from your mind. But now, you're going back home, ready to take a break away from the set-up bridge and blue and green backgrounds, away from the makeup artists who gave your face the final touches of the magic of Hollywood, far from the suit of a superhero who had just won her last battle and who got the cute boy, Peter Parker.

But not far away from Tom Holland.

Because evil takes a human form in Tom Holland, your lifelong neighbor.

How do you even begin to explain Tom Ho– Stop, people say that if you pronounce his name 3 times a curse falls on you.

But fans say Tom Holland is flawless, you heard his curly hair is insured for 10,000 dollars, his favorite movie is “Spider-man Homecoming”, duh, and very soon, “far from home”. One time he met Robert Downey Jr. in his own village and he started hyperventilating, and once he threw a fan's phone on the floor and she said it was awesome.

"Please don't tell me you're going to his birthday party." You complain, because you can't help it.

"Would that bother you that much, darling?" Tom smiles, tilting his head back so that his tender smile fits perfectly with his tender face. “Then of course I will go. Also, your grandfather still has the hope his granddaughter would get a man like me.”

"Ew. Why would my dear grandfather want me to be with someone who enjoys keeping a frog in his mouth?" You ask, earning yourself an Oscar for best actress with the innocence you exude and the seriousness you manage to put on your face, even when Tom's eyes narrow from the attack you just launched, while, enjoying the show, his friend and his younger brother laughs, shaking heads with a familiar expression on their faces because of the familiar discussion between you and him that happens, every two or three days. "Seriously, Tom, give the poor Henry a break."

"Henry?" Tom asks with real confusion, his accent thick, while the other male voices ask it in a collective whisper too.

"I named your frog Henry, hope it doesn't bother you." And you laugh, victorious to feel how Tom exhales the air through his nose.

“Seriously, (y/n), when will you confess that you are in love with me? You don't have to be so shy, darling.” Tom laughs too, using his finger to tap your nose, because he knows perfectly well that you don't like that, just as you don't like being called darling anymore. “Ray is a wise man, you should listen to your grandfather."

"Yes, if you like skinny ones."

"I'm not skinny. I have the perfect body.” Tom defends himself.

"For now, but in a couple of years you will named your big belly as your dad does after drinking with mine." You laugh like a little girl because you love Dom, because he's warm and funny, because he loves his wife and children, and because of how funny he is when he and your dad have had too much alcohol, like the time they started a cartwheel contest in the middle of the street. "Who's there? It's Dom Junior.”

"Shut up! My dad is still sexy!” A heavy silence falls over the small place as everyone looks at Tom with furrowed brows and true confusion, but that's when he realizes the choice of words he used to refer to his dad. "That's not what I meant!"

You raise your hands in a sign of peace, your gaze avoiding his as you stop yourself from laughing and mocking him.

"That's so wrong, Tom." Harry says, with a certain bittersweet taste on the tip of his tongue. "Now because of you I won't be able to see dad's belly the same way."

Harry and Haz chuckle at Dom's expense.

But when the jet landed smoothly on the headlight-lit runway in the early hours of the morning, the heavy hours from the past months feels now as if they weighed the same as a feather, pain and exhausting sleepless nights disappeared in the blink of an eye, and now, there is no oceans that could make you feel far away, because in the end, you always came back home.

"Besides..." You say to finish that conversation, your backpack on your shoulder before making the victory path towards the stairs to get off the plane. "I would like a boyfriend who can grow a mustache, not like the failed attempt on your face. Thank you very much."

"Hey!" Tom frowns as you pass him by, and his voice rises even higher than it already is. "My doctor says it's just a hormone problem."

"Damn, bro..." Harry laughs as he puts an arm around Tom's shoulder, giving him a brotherly hug before walking out to the car waiting outside. “(Y/n) will be hard to catch, you know? But try it, maybe you will make it in this century."

Harry laughs, and then, walks out of the plane.

"What does that mean?" Tom asks Harrison, who is still waiting by his side.

"I think he meant that you are in love with (y/n), but you haven't noticed it yet."

Harrison chuckles, but after patting Tom on the back, he rushes to place a hand on his best friend's shoulder to stop him.

“Hey, mate… you, uh…” Tom's eyes soften, almost to the point where his brown eyes resembled the gaze of a little 5-year-old boy, sad, and lost. “You haven't told anyone why we came back, right?”

“Of course not.” Harrison says, and his gaze smiles just like his lips. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? We are home, you are home. You can take the time you need to rest.”

Tom nods, unsure, but tries to be strong as they both get off the plane. 

The gray autumn clouds hang with invisible strings in the sky as Tom Holland, actor, handsome, wealthy, and the loneliest person in the world, releases a deep breath that is lost among the sounds of the world, because his world is no longer sparkling or velvety thanks to the cameras or a red carpet, and while his new movie is a box office hit that never in his best dreams he would have imagined, something wasn't right for him.

That’s why he is back home.

The car ride is silent as some sleep, except you and Tom, because your eyes seem to recognize the streets you grew up in, because your hearts recognize your home. But for Tom, he recalls tilting his body to the left and a camera captured his best actor pose a week ago, but since then, his body has felt null, as if floating in the air and no longer responding to his orders. He was crystal clear, but a few people seemed to see clearly through him. Tom tries to convince himself that the tickling in his hands is his body's response to tiredness and not his anxiety, because he suffers it too, but he feels that something is eating his soul.

"Are you okay, Tom?"

Among a sea of ​​people, Tom Holland has always pretended to be an interesting person, but now, he takes a deep breath and looks at you, nervous, lost in the middle of that huge world, but you, looking back at him gives him peace, because he doesn’t feel alone anymore. 

What did you think? That someone is interested in knowing if you are really okay? Of course they care, right?

“Of course, darling.” Tom smiles, as if in a snap of fingers, everything is fine.

But there, he catches a movement of yours.

You tilt your head to the side, like his beloved Tessa when she is curious about something, but he doesn't say it out loud because you would take it the wrong way, but the movement in slow motion worthy of a Hollywood scene and the serenity of your gaze makes Tom hold his breath, that breath that previously didn't fit his chest with so many problems that he carried inside.

But suddenly he can breathe again, finally.

“Okay.”

The minutes pass until the car stops on a street that you two recognize perfectly. When everyone is out, the car leaves, but because your favorite boys are about to leave, too, you hug everyone as the promise to celebrate Harrison's birthday next week hangs in the air. You love them so much, because they are beautiful people who helped you to save yourself from the storms of doubts and fears, each of them in their own charming way, and for that, you were grateful.

"My friend Danielle is coming so I would like you to meet her, Haz." You chuckle adorably before leaving, noting that Harrison's smile is as real as his desire to meet her.

"I'm looking forward to it, darling."

"Wait, why he can call you darling?" Tom says, and for a second, you see a sparkle in the brightness of his eyes, but as the door of his house opens and his beloved Tessa runs to receive him, the confusion disperses like the morning haze.

"There she is the only darling you will ever get, Thomas."

And the moment you turn around, because the door of your house opens too, you lose sight of Tom's honest smile and the question that he hides behind his sweet eyes. Was he in love with you all this time without realizing it? And what if he wanna be your boyfriend? 

Oh, right. The favor that you were going to ask God for? To get you a boyfriend, a cute one, a hot one... maybe like Tom. Weird, isn't it?

Tag list: @galaxies-of-the-heart​

[moonythejedi394]

Mating run: I'm picturing mutual pining- Bucky would love to claim Steve but Steve is super into omega equal rights, trying to get the run banned. Steve is skinny and smol, thinks Bucky deserves a better omega. Both stupid in love. Bucky going to run to help drive off other alphas since Steve has managed to insult and anger every big alpha knothead in town by running his mouth and sticking up for other omegas. Alpha knotheads who could catch Steve and force a claim. Bucky won't let them.

y’all

if we’re thinking the same things, let’s think extra. let’s go big. let’s go – 

dystopia.

be warned, there’s something even worse than a dystopian society below the read more – math

the mating run is definitely an infringement on omega rights. it’s pretty much the hunger games. omegas ages 18 to 22 are gathered by force mostly, stripped naked, and tossed into an arena with simulated forest habitats. alphas pay to run in the game, and that shit is expensive. this is why bucky can’t run with steve; omegas younger than 22 must be mated during the run, literally, elsewhere omegas and alphas have been ripped apart, alphas executed, and omegas just given away to other more wealthy alphas for the crime of loving outside capitalism. 

bucky is dirt poor. him and steve have been in love since they were babies and every second leading up to the run is spent plotting ways to keep steve from being caught and mated in the run, bc let’s be blunt, if he’s caught, they lose, steve has no voice in being mated by the alpha that catches him. their only hope is that steve can last all 4 years without being caught, or

bucky can win the lottery. every year, like five dirt-poor alphas are given the gift of being allowed to run. in every lottery, one alpha wins the opportunity to run alongside the top 10%.

granted, they gotta pay a bunch go buy lottery tickets, like one entry is $1, 1 entry out of all the middle and low class alphas out there. normally I say that the population is divided by 60-40 to Alpha/Omega genes or Beta genes, then both of those percentiles are cut in half for male Betas and female Betas then Alphas and Omegas, so that’s roughly 30% of the population that are alphas. but, real quick, why are omegas suddenly being so drastically policed?

let’s say there was a massive outbreak of disease that targeted omegas, the previous 30% population that were omegas were cut in, let’s just say fuck it, half. sure, lots of people died, but mostly omegas. like, there are 327.2 million people in the US right now. this disease, let’s say, killed 30%, that’s 98.2 million and of that number, 80% of them were omegas. the population is now 229.04 million and the omega gene is overrun by Betas, and as we know, dystopias are racist, Betas are largely people of color and clearly, the nazis in the white house don’t want to have babies with women of color.

so the population is now 60% Betas, 30% Alphas, and 10% Omegas. *(there are a lot more male omegas these days, small upside?) but anyway, original math, with 229.04 million people, 30% are Alphas, let’s be generous and say 10% of them can afford to participate on the mating run on their own. that leaves 1,236,816 in all 50 states that can’t afford it. 

so that’s bucky’s odds of winning the lottery, 1 in 1.2 million. sure, he can buy lots of tickets, but so is everyone, in order to really significantly change his odds, he might as well spend the money to participate in the run, which we’ve already established he can’t do.

so bucky’s odds are shitty, steve’s odds are not much better. there’s more than one run in every state; for new york city, there’s 603,610 omegas according to my bullshit math, probably about a thousand fit into the age bracket of 18-22. steve is one of a thousand omegas. how many alphas fit into the incredibly generous top 10% of alphas in new york city that can afford the run?

181,083‬. nearly 2 to 1 against Steve. bucky’s odds are 1 in over a million, but steve? steve could feasibly survive all 4 runs, come out the other end, and be allowed to mate with bucky. 2 to 1, but as we all know, when it comes to Steve Rogers, you’d better put your fucking money on the underdog.

still, bucky’s gonna blow like $100 a year on the lottery. and while we’re putting our money on the underdog, somebody’s gotta win the lottery. and i’m in charge here. that 4th run, steve’s survived three, and then the day before, bucky’s given his winning ticket to the lottery.

*cracks knuckles* let’s get down to business, kids

[unholyhelbig]

Always incredible writing! Can't get enough of your storytelling and I'm sure many others can agree. Keep up the amazing stories. Prompt idea for ya since I've just been Netflixing tons of movies after work lol: Movie Tulip Fever, oldtimeAU Beca is a lowly painter who has been hired to paint a portrait of a wealthy man and his new much younger wife. She has married him to support her family. They fall in love. Btw the movie was pretty shitty lol, but I thought it would be a fun/diff idea for ya!

[A/N: Thank you so much! This movie would have been so much better if it was gay… Anyway, this is a big prompt so I could only fit so much into it. This is longer than I usually do. So if you guys want to see a part two, send me an ask about it!]  

The candle gave a soft light to the crowded room. It was an arc of brilliant yellows that was cut with a horrid orange. However, the two colors worked together in an almost therapeutic way- one tiny combination of wax and wick giving a new life to the smallest room in the house.

That was no feat; the mansion was massive- coated in royal reds and cobalt blues. Nothing was spared when it came to Garret Beale. His family being ahead of all the trade on their small island- often taking a page out of the colonist’s books and resorting to working with the men of the sea. Men who pillaged and brought back three times what this home was worth, only keeping a small portion of it to get the great law of the king off their flame-heated trails.

He was a handsome man, one with charming stature and the best-assembled clothes. Garret carried himself as such- royalty that didn’t have a true bloodline, but enough to get everything he desired. Including the woman who stood with a hard stare in front of him. His deep Irish eyes were scanning over her figure, taking in the small stature that she carried. In fact, she reminded him of one of his men; not a nationally regarded painter.

She wasn’t traditional, a pair of grey slacks and a black shirt hugged her figure, her eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky. Different colors of paint popped against the fabric; it made her look more like a street beggar than anything. But he had seen her work- seen the way she made use of the canvas and vibrant colors given to her. She was an artist, one like no other.

“I’ve seen your work,” Garret said, quite dramatically as he leaned backward in his seat. It creaked and groaned in irony. A man with that much wealth should have a better place to sit. Maybe there was some semantic value, but the woman didn’t question him. Instead, she lifted her chin, keeping her jaw tensed. “it’s good.”

“Just good?” She finally spoke, lifting her eyebrows. She leaned heavily on his hand-crafted desk, annoyance sparking within her stomach. He had more money than he knew what to do with; Beca running her fingers over the carved edge. It was done well. Better than his chair. “I mean no offense, Mr. Beale, but I have spent years studying under masters of artistic ability. You’ve pulled me from sea two weeks ago, for what? To design your walls?”

“Garret, please.” He seemed unphased by her annoyance. The man knew that she wasn’t happy, practically being pulled onto his family’s property. She agreed, having to travel weeks to even get to the home. He offered up a project, one that peaked her interest. “If I wanted to have my walls recolored, I would not send word for you, Miss Mitchell, have a seat.”

She drew in a soft breath, that skeptic look still in her deep stare. However, she eventually lowered herself into the chair pushing at the back of her legs. It was cold against her spine, making her swallow back a shiver uncomfortably. She waited patiently, despite questioning the man’s privilege.

“My wife,” he drew in a long breath, “She is quite exquisite.”

Beca pressed her lips together in a frim line, instantly finding discomfort in the man’s words. The whimsical look in his eyes solidifying just how much he cared for this unnamed woman. A small smile played at the corners of his expression. “I have yet to find someone who is talented enough to capture her beauty, which is why I called you.”

“To paint her?” She eased out, “I paint what I feel, Mr. Bea- Garret.” She corrected herself last minute. “There is no rhyme or rhythm to my work. It’s near impossible for me to construct something when I feel nothing.”

“Ah,” he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk. “I assure you, Miss Mitchell when you see my wife it will be highly unlikely that you won’t feel a thing.”

She gave him a jarring look. This man was quite clearly in love with this woman. So much so that he would invite a near stranger into his home to paint a fine picture of her. He had apparently done so before, many times, but was never happy with the outcome. Men, she was sure, men who drooled and didn’t focus on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why he hand-selected her. It couldn’t’ just be based on her work. He was a picky man.

“Are you insisting that I should fall for this woman?”

“No, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively “I merely suggest that you form a bond with her before you even sit down to draw your first stroke. I’ll pay for it all.”

She lifted both brows, her head resting on her hand as she kept her fingers on her lips. She watched him carefully. “How so?”

“You can stay here, for as long as you need. I certainly have the room to spare.” He stated plainly. “I just require that you spend time with my wife enough to know exactly what I need to be portrayed in her portrait.”

“Her essence,” Beca said as more of a statement than a question. “Not just the way she appears to the human eye.”

It was interesting, something Beca had never done before. She was more into taking an edge of charcoal and sitting on the bow of a boat- sketching the way the waves ate at a flat-lined shore. But if this woman, whoever she was, took so much captivation from the world, then it would be a certain challenge.

“Do we have a deal, Rebeca?” He held out his pale hand, firm and strong.

“It’s Beca.” She took his grasp in hers, squeezing it with force. “And how could I say no?”

The warm spring day changed the atmosphere in the usually dark house. There seemed to be no such thing as vibrant yellow, and unforgivable violent the night before. Beca having an uneasy sleep in one of the cold master bedrooms. It was far from comfortable- but still too fancy for her taste.

She woke up to a long ray of sun pressing against her gaze, birds chirping incessantly on the balcony. The stone balcony that was warmed by the very star that stirred her from her snooze. Regardless, she pulled herself from the clutches of the duvet, flinching as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Begrudgingly, the talented artist slid on a pair of black pants and a loose fitting white shirt- not ever bringing more than that with her. She was fairly simple, hating the wire corsets and edged dresses of the time. They were too heavy and nice for her to paint in.

After lacing up a pair of brown leather boots, Beca made her way to the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t too far, Garret had set the place up like a maze, although, she was at the edge of it. He gave her a half-hearted tour before fleeing from the property himself, claiming of some business he had to do. It was close to three in the morning, there was nothing he could busy himself with at that hour- but again, the woman didn’t question his generosity.

She was close to the service quarters, residing in the same sector as the staff; she was staff. Having been hired for a job. To paint a wealthy man’s wife in exchange for room and board. Part of her wanted to drag it out to its full extent, the other part hating the idea of spending one more minute in this place.

A sickly-sweet scent coated her lungs the moment she walked into the kitchen. It was large, set up and built like a room from the Spanish colonies; complete with deep yellow walls and terracotta tile with intricate suns and moons. Natural light seeped in from the grassy courtyard. It was good work, just like Garret had said, no expense spared for his family.

There was a woman leaning heavily over a mass of dough, she was tall, almost tall enough to bump her head on the chandelier, it hung low enough. Flour coated her fingers and clothing as a strand of dirty brown hair fell from the bun on her head, sweat forming on the woman’s brow.  She glanced up with deep charcoal eyes at the change in atmosphere.

“Oh!” She let her folders fall back, moving her eyes down her smock as a certain heir of heat pressed against her cheek. She reached for a dish towel. “I’m sorry Miss Mitchell, I didn’t see you there. The dining room is right through the left corridor.”

This woman, whoever she was, looked petrified. Like she had done something wrong against the curiosity of the young artist. Beca having noticed the same thing as she cocked her head to the side slightly- like a lost puppy.

“I’m not looking for the dining room.” She stated simply from the doorway, trying not to scare the taller woman off. She was young, a simple look of amusement finding a way to her face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The stranger let out a soft breath, pushing the base of her palms into the moldable dough. “Mr. Beale often hires new artists to tackle capturing the enigma that is his wife. Many of them leave after the first few days. They’re not very social.”

Her slate eyes flicked up towards Beca, almost as if asking a question.

“I’m not either,” She relented, a small smile on her lips. “But I know proper manners. I take it none of them have ever been back here?”

The woman grimaces, shaking her head as she struggles to blow the strands of stray hair from her gaze. She was becoming more comfortable with the conversation, with the presence of Beca in general. This was her kitchen, the woman knew not to overstep her boundaries.

“Never, Miss Mitchell.” She held back a snort. “Wouldn’t give the staff a second glance. A bit like Mr. Garret himself, if I might add.”

“Beca is fine.” The smaller girl said, shoving her hands in her pockets as the woman gave her a kind smile. She was different than the rest of them, actually making conversation and not attempting to rush the other way. She made eye contact and didn’t hold her shoulders along the straight edge of a metal plate. Instead, she looked calm and collected. Strong, even. “And you are?”

“The chef.” She answered on instinct.

“I figured that.” Beca elicited a small laugh. “I meant your name.”

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, a genuine smile finding it’s way to her flour specked face. “I’m Stacie Conrad.”

The Conrad’s were a fun group of people, a family name that Beca recognized almost immediately. She had met a man in the Pacific with the same surname, almost the same features as the chef that stood in front of her; a strong and seducing fella with a great sense of humor. If this woman was anything like her bloodline, Beca would get along great with her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stacie.” Beca reached out to shake the woman’s hand, reaching over the island, not hesitating a bit as the taller girl produced a powder covered one instead. She shrugged sheepishly- taking it regardless, Stacie’s mouth falling open. “What’s a little dirt?”

“Ah,” She nodded softly “Miss Chloe will love you.”

“Chloe huh?” The name rolled off of the artist’s lips. It was the first time that she had actually heard it. She was always proclaimed as Garrets wife, or even the woman no one could really paint. But she hadn’t met Beca yet. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“You two haven’t met yet?” Stacie raised a pointed eyebrow.

“I got in around three last evening,” Beca explained, following that ashy stare towards the courtyard. It was a feat in its own; large hedges shielding the home from the outside world, lush green grass coating the full area, even a tall tree that produced bright fruit like that of a flame. Yellow and sharp. “Mr. Beale took me right to my quarters. After a tour, of course.”

“A fine man that’s proud of his home.” Stacie grimaced, stepping away from her task as she rounded the large counter. She was just as tall as Beca though, both of them turning towards the large doors, leaning heavily against the island as they stared out into the yard, Stacie crossing her arms over her chest. “Every morning, you can find Miss Chloe out here.”

“Reading?” The tiny girl still couldn’t see much but the yard- assuming the woman of the hour was situated on the other side of the large tree, back against the bark as she perused some ancient form of literature.

Stacie scoffed. “You wish.”

Beca threw her an odd glance before turning her attention back towards the area. Struggling to focus her hearing. She had been so focused before- not paying much stock to the little patch of outdoors. She noticed the taller woman first, at least she thought it was two women. Both in form fitted white suits- mesh masks over their faces. Fencing.

This woman who everyone raved bout was battling it out loudly with another, stepping gracefully against the grass, unlike any high-class girl that Beca had seen before. Both grunting as the metal of their foil’s clanked with each fluid hit. The shorter of the two took a step out of bounds, her partner not sparring a second.

“Avertissement” Beca scoffed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Aubrey never plays fair” Stacie spoke without tearing her gaze away from the pair. “I’m sure she does it to keep Chloe on her feet. You fence?”

“I used to.”

The two burst into laughter, muffled by the door that separated their spectators. Each woman panting with a purpose as the taller of the two removed her mask first- face red from the labor as she struggled to catch her composure. Stacie cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, cheeks maintaining their rosy complexion. “That’s Miss Posen.” She informed the small girl. “I swear, Chloe and she are joined at the hip. Protective, that one is.”

Aubrey went to remove her chest guard, but Beca didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the blonde. Instead, she focused on who she deemed to be Chloe. The mask was removed, a bout of coppery locks fell against her shoulders; she shook her head trying to free them from the heat of the island day. Her own chest was heaving, cheeks a bit red as she tucked her weapon beneath her arm. An angelic smile pressed close to her lips, a thin layer of sweat coating her collarbone.

“You’re drooling, Beca.”

“What?” The brunette snapped her mouth shut, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek, checking to make sure she was in fact, not drooling. Stacie was right, she could catch flies the longer she stood there, each passing second, she stared at Chloe made a heat press near her core. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Hmm,” Stacie nudged her new friend. “There is a reason they call Chloe Beale unpaintable.”                              

[babaleshy]

Something I May Need to Stop Doing...

I'll be venting in this post, but this is about the desire to move out of a desperate want for change right now even though such a move is not meant to be.

On occasion, I go onto zillow's website and check out houses around Pittsburgh out of curiosity just to see what houses are going for what price in what kind of condition. I've noticed something incredibly enticing: there are some houses going for under $100,000 and are technically livable. It's just got flaking/chipping paint, may need new rugs, and other general clean-ups. The only "major" thing I wanna do to any of these houses falling under this criteria is the fact that I feel more comfortable with a tin roof.

These houses that I find are within city limits, most of these houses I've shown an interest in are close to sidewalks. This means if I were to move into one of these houses, then I'd have a chance to properly commute!

Ah, but why exactly am I making this post? What is it that I'm venting about? And what did I mean earlier when I said "not meant to be?"

Back in 2014 (autumn, specifically), my husband and I had to move out of our apartment in downtown Pittsburgh to my parents' farm in Ohio. Two reasons made us do this: one was the skyrocketing rent prices when HUD sold our building, causing rent to go from $539/mo to $720/mo. My husband worked at a casino, and was making $10/hr, so when rent prices went up like mad, we really began to struggle to survive. The other thing was bedbugs. The building manager laughed at our discomfort and said, "What do you expect me to do about it? Where would everyone go for the building to be treated?" Like, you're a shit manager if you haven't come up with those contingency plans.

Paying $720/mo for a bedbug-infested apartment (bedbugs are fucking hard to get rid of) and living in a constant state of itchy breakout made us decide it was time to move in with my parents. Because we literally could not afford to live anywhere else, and our student loan debt fucked up our credit scores, so we couldn't even get a house (and we were looking for one at the time!).

We used to think living on this farm was temporary until reality set in, that there is absolutely no possible way for us to make it on our own now. My husband has ADHD and anxiety and is still struggling to practice to get his driver's license (it's hard when my dad is a major source of my husband's stress; my dad's an asshole and gets worse by the year), and I'm Autistic, so I can't hold down a regular job, and nothing else is hiring.

In terms of getting a job for me at all, either I'd have to go to school for my special interest for the job (ecology, entomology, and/or paleontology) or I'd rather work in a library.

Welp, college is far too expensive for me to pay out of pocket, and my already existing student loan debt is barring me from getting any sort of financial aid to go back to school at all. As far as the library is concerned? Remember when I said my husband is currently struggling to practice for his license? (He doesn't get much practice because my dad is a stressful asshole that makes my husband have a horrible headache and anxiety after he drives). We have 2 vehicles, one my mom uses to get to work, and the other my dad uses to take my husband to work as well as do errands in like grocery shopping and shit like that.

I can't get a ride.

Can't ride a bicycle, either. It's definitely not safe (I live in America, if you couldn't tell). My parents' farm is deep within one of the back roads with one of the properties on this road being an oil rig. The oil workers drive like assholes, not caring what animal they hit, speeding through here. There are dirtbikes and four-wheelers that speed through here, too. There's no room for 2 vehicles to pass one another, and nothing but pure fucking hill the moment you step off the side of the road. I literally cannot bike here.

But let's pretend I got onto one of the main roads on either end of our road. It's even worse! And STILL no room for bicyclists! This goes for fucking miles until you reach a residential area! Except for a nearby little village-town that has the closest library branch. It's the village my husband grew up in, but there's a lot of sketchy turns, corners, and again, no room for bicycles. This includes main roads.

With all this in mind, I actually considered the possibility of moving to that village, because the village itself is actually safe enough to bike ride in. The problem is: I'm not guaranteed to get a job at the library at all. I tried getting a job as a library clerk at the Carnegie Library in Pittsburgh, got interviewed and everything, and didn't get the job for whatever reason. In fact, I'm not guaranteed a job at all at any library branch, regardless of the neighborhood. So moving to such an area depending on the chance of being hired there is not worth it.

Such a village is actually rather unfriendly, and that goes for a lot of communities here on this side of Ohio. You'd think this was one of the southern states from its people and what flags they fly.

So why not Pittsburgh? Why not move there if we could?

Well, I thought about it. It has all the perks I could expect such as public transportation, somewhat safer bicycling areas to commute to school and work, and more importantly: THINGS TO DO.

Living in the middle of nowhere blows when you want to, on your own without relying on someone to drive you, go and do something, such as buying fabric or art supplies for future projects, or going to the library, or anything, really! Yeah, I do want to garden, but I don't have the means to do that on a damn farm (long, frustrating story that made me stop believing my parents' promises).

Not to mention, I still have friends in Pittsburgh, If I wanna see them, they don't have to drive an hour and 45 minutes (and that's if they have a car) to visit. I got 2 friends here in the area, and they're busy with their work's demanding schedules. When we do hang out, Cards Against Humanity, Uno, and D&D can only do so much until it gets old and boring and you wanna do something else that isn't hanging out at a dead mall. There is truly nothing to do here. Pittsburgh has the museums, libraries, parks, and far more interesting establishments to lurk in.

So again: why not Pittsburgh?

Because that city has changed and is still changing compared to when I was last there. My regular watering hole (The Beehive) is no more. There are neighborhoods being gentrified (meaning I'm not guaranteed to keep my home even if I pay it off). Businesses are closing, meaning people will be losing their jobs, and some of the other places hiring (like libraries) are not guaranteed to hire me, especially when I haven't had a job since 2010.

There's also my cat to consider; she gets stressed at the sound of a lawn-mower (I don't blame her). She wouldn't be able to handle the sounds of the city. Unless we found a place not too close to downtown, such a move is a no-go.

I've daydreamed about living in Pittsburgh again. I'm homesick for Pittsburgh. I've realized only recently that that city was my home. Not this farm, not even the house I grew up in. I felt like a person who didn't have to rely on people for rides and such. It's the only place where I've truly lived on my own and enjoyed it.

I've actually considered moving out of this country and found that even more impossible. No matter which country you pick, no matter what language you learn, not only do you have to pay for your things to be shipped, for your plane ticket for a one-way trip, or whatever you need to become a citizen there, you still have to pay at least $2,000 to revoke your American citizenship or else you will be forced to pay American taxes despite never setting foot on American soil ever again.

Thanks to capitalism, America has made it fucking impossible for the average person to leave for good. If you are born here, you are financially enslaved here unless you're wealthy enough to leave.

So... What's the plan?

Well, for now: not much. The pandemic has set plans back a bit, but my parents have a lien on the house thanks to my private student loans my mom was bullied and forced into co-signing for. She... I guess?... is almost done paying them off? I don't know. My parents don't like communicating need-to-know info with me and then get mad when I don't absorb it through osmosis. Once the lien is taken off the house, mom wants to move north to be near her sister, and she said she'll try finding a farm for sale near Kent State so it'll be an easier commute (be it by bicycle or by car). My intention is to enroll there to be able to get a job as an ecologist (focus in entomology, specializing in arachnology) with a minor in paleontology.

Once I've gotten that all taken care of (as well as my husband going back to school for what he wants), we move to the pacific northwest, mainly just north of Seattle somewhere.

I hate Ohio. I hate running into people I've gone to school with that I try to avoid (more like I see them, but they don't recognize me? At least I hope not?). I hate this place so much. I hate this climate, being near people I don't want just randomly showing the fuck up. And what's the use of living near family when they don't want to bother visiting you? I hate hearing my mom tell me so-and-so that I obviously want nothing to do with told her to tell me they said hi. I'm tired of fearing I'll run into someone that abused me in the past because now they're back in the fucking area again apparently.

I've got my fingers crossed that something is gonna give and college to some level (community college?) will be free for residents or something. It'll give me a chance to go back to school for something close to what I wanna do so I can maybe get a job? Completing something at a community college would at least make it easier for me to get enrolled at a university.

My husband and I picked Seattle (or close to Seattle) for its climate. It's (usually) not blistering hot every goddamn year, and it's not horribly cold thanks to the mountain range (I'm quite cold-intolerant). We both enjoy overcast weather and rain. We'd rather take our chances with volcanoes than earthquakes or hurricanes in areas where these things are guaranteed to happen yet nobody ruling these areas wants to invest in infrastructure that helps stand a chance against them. Seattle also has a nice combination of city and wilderness side-by-side. Not much of that with Pittsburgh.

If I was forced to only move to Pittsburgh and no other city, I wouldn't mind, especially since I'm more familiar with Pittsburgh than I am with anything in my current local area (because I had to travel on foot instead of relying on a car to get to places!). Fuck, my mom wouldn't even let me do anything by myself out of the yard when we lived in the village I grew up in because she was a paranoid fuck and by the time I JUST STARTED gaining independence for having a bike and bicycling to the post office everyday, we moved to this farm.

Oh, this isn't a roof over my head I should be thankful for. My parents got screwed. Our water is full of iron and calcium that no filter can fix, so we constantly have plumbing problems, the post and internet connections are questionable at best, we get ant infestations from 2 species EVERY YEAR, all for a farm my mom wanted for horses she always wanted and eventually got but has little next to no energy to spend the time she wants with them and she refuses to admit her age has a lot to do with it on top of her working so she sits in the living room on THREE DIFFERENT DEVICES sucking up bandwidth to religiously watch every fucking livestream of a country singer she likes (and complains if she's missing it for any reason!), scroll through Facebook, and play a fucking shitty app game!

Our internet out here? The physical equipment is outdated (copper wires instead of fiber-optic cables) because the fucking company doesn't wanna spend the money to upgrade it.

So instead, we're stuck here, with my husband losing his sanity bit by bit by the day at his shitty retail job (every other available job offering would be worse in this area) and I sit here and hope that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I could start gardening soon.

I miss Pittsburgh. I really do. But despite all of its benefits it would give me and my husband if we moved back, I don't think it will happen.

In the off-chance that we don't move north, that my dad's assholery intensifies and he decides to remain here (he has to legally agree to sell this house in order for my mom to move north; dad's reasons keep fucking changing), Pittsburgh is a nice back-up plan. Pitt University actually has the major I'd want to go back to school for, as well as what my husband wants to go back to school for, and we'd already be familiar with the city and what to expect of it. However, we're aiming higher, and hoping to move to the pacific northwest, instead.

But I think to avoid losing my sanity, I should stop daydreaming about a future that may never be.

Fingers crossed!

[ernmark]

Hi I love all your penumbra metas. In the latest episode I'm still confused by what actually went wrong with the dome, was it the society or the dome that didn't work?

Is this gonna be a thing I do?

I am totally cool with this.

Again, major detailed spoilers for Promised Land under the cut.

And an anon asked:

Thanks for explaining the end of the episode! I’m a little confused about what happened with the dome in the first place. I mean, I know the free dome wasn’t real. And Erin tried to get her son(?) to get it to work and he was a giant dick trying to torture people looking for it. Did Erin set up the dome stuff prematurely? Did it ever exist? Marshall’s son felt really bad and wanted to warn everyone. Where did the hallucination gas fit in? Did Erin and company think they had it but didn’t?

One thing to keep in mind is that we’re deliberately not given the full story, so all we’re left with is bits and pieces that we can glue together to kind of get a vague impression of what happened, but the way I put them together won’t necessarily be the way you put them together. 

So let’s get to it, shall we?

Why was the Free Dome important?

Real estate on Mars is expensive, outside of super low-income neighborhoods like Oldtown, The Boiler, etc. 

This is because 90% of Mars’s surface is uninhabitable. If you want to live somewhere, you better be willing to fork over a ton of cash for a tiny place, or else you’re going to be buddying up with your immediate family/seven of your closest friends/etc. 

JUNO: Mars only has a couple cities and a few desertoutposts cuz the radiation will bake you like a potato if you stay out theremore than a few hours, and Domes can’t be built just anywhere. So if you want anew city, you’ve got to figure out how to build a place to build it. You haveto invent a better Dome.

Life cannot exist underground, because the ambient radiation is just too strong:

PILOT: A lot of space in this subway. I wonder why I neverbuilt anything down here. Some housing or something.

PIRANHA: People lose their marbles if they live under Martianground too long. Radiation burns, Brainswell…

STRONG: You know whatbeing under all this radioactive sand too long does to you? Drives you crazy.Makes you see things.

This is likely why the subway has been closed off everywhere except Oldtown– most likely it wasn’t safe for the people working there, or for the people using it for transit.

Oldtown was the only part of Hyperion City that still had a connection to the Old Subway, behind a boarded-up door in a nondescript office building. (Stolen City)

This is probably also why the only thing that lives in the sewer are giant mutant rabbits. 

Notably, though, both the subway and the sewer system are in fairly good repair because they’re both under Hyperion City and its protective dome. The same doesn’t hold true for structures built outside of that protection:

People hadbuilt things down here, signs and lights and tracks, but the radiation hadclearly done damage even this deep below the surface. Fixtures corroded. Trackslike time had taken a blowtorch to them.

Even the existing domes are fragile. We know that Hyperion City’s has some places that are protected better than others.

RITA: Well… sounds like a pretty bad sandstorm is gonna hit this afternoon. You’ll probably want to be out of Oldtown by then; the shield over there’s about as strong as used tissues. They went into lockdown three times just last month. (Day That Wouldn’t Die)

Our Man-Who-Wasn’t picked a good neighborhood to set up shop in: the Old Industrial District, a place blasted by sandstorms and cosmic rays so hard that not even the roaches would live there anymore. The shields protecting the rest of Hyperion didn’t reach this far, and so neither would most of its citizens. It was the perfect place to do bad business – so long as you didn’t mind a tumor or two. (Prince of Mars)

That’s important: You can’t build domes just anywhere, and the domes that do exist have to be heavily shielded from sandstorms and cosmic rays. 

If you can solve those two problems, then you can build a dome wherever you want, you can build as many of them as you want, and all the unclaimed land on Mars is effectively yours for the taking– and that means that you now have the power to decide who gets to live there and who doesn’t. Do you give affordable housing to anyone who wants it, like Erin Marshall D’Arc? Or do you do like Pilot wanted, and make the hyper-wealthy pay top dollar so they can have their own personal golf course? Either way, that’s an incredible amount of power.

The Family D’Arc

So we have three main characters in this story: Erin, the scientist; Marshall, her son; and his kid, Domer 3 (they’re never given a name, but that’s what the script calls them).

We started in a reception hall that didn’t lookprepared to receive anybody. There were portrait frames on the walls, but mostof them were empty, and the ones that weren’t just showed family photos. A momand her son –- the D’Arcs, probably. The kid all grown up, moody, wild-eyed.The only full portrait in the room had the face scratched out – and theydidn’t look like Erin or Marshall. 

Erin was a military scientist who thought she had a solid technology on her hands, and believed in it enough to run away with a group of other believers. Erin was an optimist who seemed to genuinely believe in her Utopian dream.

After her death, her son Marshall took over leadership of the dome.

MARSHALL: Cuz Ma might’ve had allthat crap about everyone being her neighbor or whatever, but guess what? She’sdead.

The character descriptions in the script talk about how Marshall was a believer who wanted desperately to be good enough, but neither he nor the Free Dome ever lived up to expectations, and that broke him.

But all of that is background information. From what we see in the episode itself, Marshall was… not a nice person. His tests were murderous, sadistic, and full of gaslighting and victim-blaming, and the way he addressed his prospective “neighbors” was nothing short of abusive. 

So you’reprobably wondering why I stopped you out in these irradiated badlands, with allthe oogidies and the boogidies waiting to getcha. I’ve got three answers forthat. Answer one: it’s none of your business. Two: my testing materials havegot to last a long time, forever probably, and it’ll help wear-and-tear if lessof you make it to them. Three: it’s still none of your goddamn business.

“Anyone whowishes to enter the Free Dome must be generous, and give more of themselvesthan they can afford. So sit upon this Chair of Charity and give to us… fromyour blood.”

Congratulations.You’re a very generous idiot. Here’s the Dome… and here’s your blood back,weirdo. Just do me afavor: if you feel like you’re gonna bite the big one, show yourself out,alright? We’re already behind schedule without cleaning up your carcass.Marshall out.

That’s it!Easy, right? Just hold the Dome and walk straight. No matter what. You hear me?No matter what. (AN UNDERCURRENTOF DARK, DARK ANGER) And if youknow what’s good for you, you’ll listen.

That’s way beyond unreasonable. But it wasn’t just toward the test-takers. His kid flat out tells us that this was regular behavior for him.

Dad was a good guy, too. I mean… well, no hewasn’t. 

I never met her, but Dad… Dad wasn’t good beforethe radiation either.

(Notably, this is the same kind of language that Juno uses to describe his own mother.)

We don’t know Domer 3′s name, but we know that they lived outside of the dome with Marshall long enough to know him (and his abuse) before the radiation made him worse; we also know that Erin didn’t live to meet her grandchild. 

After Marshall presumably died, Domer 3 seems to be the last person here. They recorded warning messages to keep everybody away, and encoded a kill switch into the final recording so that once it was activated, nobody could enter the Free Dome again.

There is a fourth character here, but we only know them incidentally. I don’t know whether they were Marshall’s ex-partner or his co-leader, but Marshall really did not like this person:

MARSHALL: … a test tosee how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Notlike that weasel Malvin, I swear ifyou’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

Alright, fine.Test of Faith. You’ve got to do whatever I say exactly, right? That’s how youprove you can be faithful. That you’re going to listen when I tell you to dosomething. That you’re not just going to run out. Malvin.

I suspect Malvin is not Domer 3, because otherwise Domer 3 would have been given a name in the script. Also because Malvin clearly left on their own terms, whereas Domer 3 was clearly the last one there.

So what went wrong?

As near as I can put it together, there were two main problems, one structural and one societal.

Structurally, the dome tech just didn’t work.

I’m sure it did in the short term– after all, the dome sample that Pilot received was powerful enough to protect them from most of the dangers of the third trial, and it was stated to be a much less powerful version of the real thing. 

I genuinely believe that Erin set up her city on the other side of those doors in the end. But what worked in a lab setting just couldn’t hold up to the brute force of sandstorms and constant cosmic radiation. As soon as the dome failed, everybody had to rush back into the relative safety of the underground areas on the other side of the door. The ruins of the city were likely warped by radiation and ground up by sandstorms until they were reduced to nothing at all.

Underground, Erin kept trying to fix the dome tech, and then brought in her son to give it a go. Both of them failed.

I wish they made it. I wish it was possible. Erin, I think she really thought, even if she couldn’t do it… maybe Dad could. She believed in him so much. And when he realized he couldn’t make it work, he just… (BIG SIGH) It was bad. He was… bad.

They were underground in the facility long enough that they started to hallucinate death millipedes, undercrows, and from the sound of it, the functioning dome itself:

I don’t know how it happened. The undergroundradiation, maybe, making them see things, or… maybe they just wanted to see it. 

What exactly happened to them isn’t elaborated upon, but the implication is that they assumed that the tech worked and walked into the desert unprotected, which killed them within a few hours.

(Just to clarify: there was never any hallucinatory gas; the hallucinations were a result of the brainswell, which was in turn a result of the underground radiation.)

But there were some societal issues at play, too.

I’m gonna step back for a second into the real world: historically, there have been a handful of experimental Utopian colonies over the years, with varying degrees of success. A common thread, though, is that a lot of them tend to fall apart when people stop dividing things evenly and start hoarding and hiding an unfair share of the goods for themselves (among other things). The test of charity suggests that this is one of the things that went down here. Once again:

MARSHALL: … a test to see how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Not like that weasel Malvin, I swear if you’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

But it’s not the only thing that went wrong. 

Erin’s answer to a galaxy-ending conflict wasn’t to address any of the existing problems that broke the world, but to just pack up and move somewhere else.  Which is not that great of a strategy.

Your wholething is that the world’s a train wreck, so you open up a new city and just letanybody who wants walk in? That’s not anew world. That’s not a utopia. That’s the old one all over again. Justsmaller.

Erin’s strategy was apparently to please everybody, which is also not a great leadership strategy, especially in a small place with limited resources. Marshall had a lot of things to say about that, but he wasn’t much better. Apart from being seriously abusive, Marshall wasn’t the kind of leader that could command respect, which he clearly resented. 

… what isthis, second? Uh, Test of Faith, how about that? Listen to whatever I say.Somebody’s got to. Somebody should.

Hey, you listened. Nice work. If you’re alive. Which you probably aren’t. Because you probably didn’t listen. Nobody does. Why would you? Why would anybody? 

On a societal level, the Free Dome was doomed to fail even before the brainswell started making people hallucinate and taking away their ability to think rationally.

From the sound of it, people stopped listening to the D’Arcs, they started hoarding things, and then they started leaving or dying, until the only ones left were Marshall and his kid. And then it was just Domer 3, who shut down the whole thing and walked away.