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johannestevans · 4 months ago

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What’s In A Uniform?: Imperial Attitudes Reflected in Starfleet’s Uniforms

Relationships with imperial attitudes reflected in uniform and costuming in Star Trek

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A press photo of the TNG cast, via TrekCore.

Introduction

Star Trek, Gene Roddenberry’s vision of a post-war and post-scarcity future filled to the brim with infinite diversity in infinite combinations, is often posited as a luxury-filled communist utopia in space.

In the 24th century within the United Federation of Planets, the need for wages and money has broadly been eliminated; everyone can choose to embrace whatever education, craft, or career suits them; no one within the Federation’s bounds is denied shelter, food, or other necessities in exchange for labour or some other pay.

Therefore, no one is press-ganged or forced into service, and there is no obligation or expectation that people join Starfleet. People do so because they want to.

Why do they want to?

Unlike here on Earth today, no one in Starfleet is joining up in order to send money home to their families, in order to get a university degree they couldn’t hope to afford otherwise, in order to feed themselves, house themselves, in order to escape their homes and their families.

Many of them are scientists or would-be explorers. They want to meet new people, and be of service to them, and to the Federation of Planets. They want to help others. They’re curious about the broader universe, desire to seek out new species and new civilisations, new worlds.

They want to go boldly where no one has gone before.

That phrasing was an update in Star Trek: The Next Generation and other Treks from The Original Series —in order to enfranchise Trek’s philosophy of gender equality within its world and universe, “no man” was changed to “no one”, to make it gender-neutral.

But the core of that phrasing still has its problems — to boldly go where no one has gone before?

Which is it? Are we seeking out new species and new civilisations, or are we going where no one has gone before? What is it, by the way, that makes these species and civilisations “new”? Many of the species and civilisations crews in Trek make contact with are just as ancient and established, if not more so, than the peoples of Earth.

I’m being pedantic, of course — of course they don’t mean “new” as in freshly birthed or developed, but new to them, to the crews of the Enterprise or the other star ships. They’re not implying those peoples or planets are lesser or younger, merely that they haven’t met before.

What about that use of the word “explore”, then? This phrase, “strange new worlds”? What about “to boldly go”?

What makes those worlds strange? What makes the crews of Star Trek bold?

The word “exploration” is a very fraught one, when considered in an imperial context.

Countless hundreds of “explorers” in our relatively recent history have traipsed into what they have written home and called wilderness, because it did not resemble what they thought of as agriculture, because it did not resemble their expectations of fields and farms, but in actual fact was carefully balanced agroforestry.

They have called land “pristine” and “untouched”, have perhaps made reference to the idea that no human beings have been there before, or that no human could live there… When many indigenous peoples were and had been there previously. When those same peoples might well live there today, or would do, were it not for the colonial invasion of and theft of the land.

When we talk about “exploration”, we’re typically speaking about someone entering a new and foreign environment to them, studying it, learning more about it, and a certain authority is placed upon a term like explorer.

People still celebrate Columbus Day, still refer to America as “the New World”, when Christopher Columbus came upon a continent scattered with different and diverse peoples, spreading all manner of disease and sickness to them whilst he and his men worked to enslave, torture, and murder those people in their thousands; people still refer to in regular conversation to the likes of James Cook, the white British explorer who was rightly and justly executed in Hawai’i after decades of exploitation; to Francis Drake, who enslaved and trafficked thousands of Africans, was assisted other English forces in massacring hundreds of Irish on Rathlin Island, and carried this experience in thievery and human trafficking when we approached his raids of Spanish ships during his world’s circumnavigation.

These men are referred to as “explorers”, and a certain romance is placed on the word, where an “explorer” is often thought of in the same breath as “hero” or “founding father” or other iconic figure.

Attempts are made within Trek, though, to bear this history in mind and take efforts to distance itself from it — the Prime Directive demands that crew do not expose civilisations to Starfleet’s advanced technology before they have developed sufficiently to meet Starfleet with technology of their own, ostensibly to prevent these peoples and civilisations from being exploited by a more powerful civilisation.

This non-interference policy — when it’s actually adhered to — protects these cultures from seeing Starfleet or its people as superiors or saviours, should prevent them from being pedestalised or from interfering where they shouldn’t in a more vulnerable culture’s history, politics, and its people’s lives.

Other diplomatic policies are established — first contact protocols expect Starfleet personnel to defer to the other culture’s norms and social expectations during initial diplomatic proceedings; offers of assistance and gifted resources are frequently made by Starfleet, so long as they feel like it, and so on.

Efforts are made, in short, to approach the wonder of exploration and the United Federation of Planet’s expansion throughout the universe whilst making efforts to distance themselves from the violence of colonial explorers’ legacy.

Much of the desire in creating Star Trek’s initial cast was to show a variety of diverse people within the core cast, to create and hone a vision for the future —yes, Spock himself is a half-Vulcan, a literal alien on the crew, but more than that, to have a Russian on the bridge, signalling the long-time end of the Cold War and its animosities, was a clear and intentional choice; also to have characters like Hikaru Sulu and Nyota Uhura in the core cast in senior crew positions, enfranchising racial diversity within Star Trek’s crews from the very beginning, even before they had the first interracial kiss on television.

Throughout each Star Trek series, attempts are always made to introduce, enfranchise, protect, and champion diversity in all manner of forms — different Treks have of course been criticised for going about this at times in the wrong way or for not going far enough, for failing in certain areas, but the purpose of this essay is not to criticise it for the imperial legacy in the show, or the presence of colonial ideas and biases reflected in its uniform choices.

I myself am of course very anti-military and opposed to these colonial attitudes, but this piece is less about directly criticise those attitudes and is more about interrogating our biases both as viewers of and the primary audience for Star Trek and similar sci-fi shows, and therefore as creators.

What do we see when we look at the uniforms in each of the Star Trek series? What do those uniforms tell us as viewers about each individual character, and about the vessel and crew as a whole? What do these uniforms symbolise, and what biases might we be bringing with us when we interpret the presence of them, positive or negative?

What do these uniforms indicate and communicate to crew members and civilians within the diegesis of each show, and what are their purposes? Is every uniform on every crew in each show worn with the same purpose?

What’s in a uniform? Who and what and why is it for?

I’m going to be analysing each of the crews’ uniforms, what we can take from their appearances, the broader meaning of symbols and connotations included within these uniforms, the philosophy of uniforms in the first place, and then later discussing more at length audience and creator bias around these philosophies and how we might shift or set them aside, if we wish to.

I’ll be discussing these in both diegetic (within the Star Trek universe, by its internal boundaries and expectations) and extra- or non-diegetic terms (outside of the Star Trek universe, by our own expectations).

Because this sort of critical analysis of visuals and symbols is inherently about semiotics, or the study of how meaning is created, it might be helpful if you’re not familiar to read a primer on semiotic terms, such as this one from the University of Vermont.

The Historical Roots of Naval Uniforms

Costume designer William Ware Theiss and Gene Roddenberry specifically wanted to move away from a militaristic design in the crew uniforms for Star Trek: The Original Series (Star Trek Costumes: Five Decades of Fashion from the Final Frontier, by Terry J. Erdmann and Paula M. Block), and instead evoke stripped-down naval elements.

This desire to evoke the navy over the military might serve in some eyes to distance Trek’s crews from being interpreted as an invading or more aggressive, antagonistic force, to indicate that there is a command structure without it being made up of soldiers.

Before I go into uniforms within Star Trek, I want to talk a little about the history of naval uniforms themselves.

The uniform for officers in the Royal British Navy was not introduced until 1748 — before this, there were British military uniforms, which were the traditional “red coats”.

Before the English Civil War ending in 1651, this uniform started out as red jackets worn by certain ceremonial guards and limited forces, and over time as a distinct English army was cultivated and built up, their wearing of these red jackets became standardised. By the late 1600s, soldiers primarily wore these red jackets, and more complex and ornate uniform elements were often added ornamentally for officers in different military forces.

The reason for the introduction of naval uniforms in 1748 was actually out of a desire for better appearances — naval officers were concerned that military officers were perceived as more respectable than themselves in part because of their uniforms. While officers would appear “formal” and “respectable” in portraiture or for formal and notable appearances, they did not have a specific uniform.

These dress uniforms started out in blue, contrasting the military red, but mirrored the white shirt, gold buttons, gold edging and lamé present in military uniforms.

After the introduction of the uniform, it was edited and cultivated over time, both by the naval forces adding to and developing standard uniforms elements and also by rich or fashionable members of the naval forces who wished to edit and embellish their uniforms to make them more handsome, more impressive, or seem more commanding.

The amount of embellishment on a uniform might loosely indicate the rank or importance of the officer wearing it — lesser officers might have no golden embroidery at all, but not all decorative elements were optional additions. There were more standardised elements, such as in the gold banding around the sleeve of a jacket to indicate rank — a rear-admiral might have one ring of gold around the sleeve, a vice-admiral two, and a full admiral three.

Notable are the introduction of epaulettes, which were added to the standard British military uniform in 1795, although they were previously added for reasons of fashion and appearance by some officers. Epaulettes were added to the British Naval uniform having taken inspiration from the French, and this adoption was criticised in parts.

Swords were part of uniform elements as well — the swords used by naval officers in battle were generally short swords or cutlasses, as these officers would have been fighting in close quarters with other men close by; in portraiture they were depicted with more ornate ceremonial swords, such as long swords or other dress swords with decorative scabbards.

Other elements of the uniform were medals and other honours — apart from medals given to men in the form of brooches or hanging coins to be worn on the breast, they might have worn other elements such as sashes in certain colours to indicate their knighthoods or similar titles; many officers might have worn similar signet rings, cufflinks, or other jewellery to one another, and their seals, which were metal dies or engraved gems used to place wax seals on their letters or correspondence, might also have been worn as decorative elements, especially visible in portraits.

Gene Roddenberry famously wished for the Star Trek uniforms to be sleek, simple, and cut-back of extraneous detail, he hated zippers, he didn’t want crewmen to have pockets, didn’t want there to be messy or additional extraneous details.

This is of course in stark contrast to the history of the British naval uniform which later went on to inspire the developing American naval uniform — almost everything I’m describing is about aesthetics rather than about practicality.

Official uniform standards often demanded breeches worn with stockings and shoes for its officers — these were attractive, handsome, showed off the calves of the officers, met the expectations and desires of the Admiralty, but were ultimately far less practical than trousers, which could be pulled on immediately in a pinch, or stripped off in the event of injury, and boots, which provided far more protection to the foot and calf, and were more secure than shoes.

Non-officers were not expected to wear uniform with colours or aesthetics in mind at all until much later in the history of the navy’s development. Their clothes were expected to be well-kept, clean, and in good order, but more particular and specific uniform elements weren’t expected for ordinary seamen and other non-officers until a good deal later.

It’s worth asking ourselves, then — what was the point of these uniforms and their elements? What were they conveying?

Military uniforms can be said to exist for very simple reasons — if two armies are on a battlefield, they need to have elements that distinguish the two armies from one another so that when you bash someone’s head in, it’s the enemy’s head and not your friend’s. This could be as simple as wearing different colours (ideally colours that don’t change too much when stained with blood) or different shaped helmets.

As warfare has evolved and become more complex with time, additional elements have become standard in military uniforms — beyond wanting to know who’s on your side and who isn’t, you might want to know from a distance who’s the commander on the field, what weapons someone might be using, who is a medic.

A naval ship, however, is not a battlefield.

It’s self-contained, separate from civilians, let alone enemies. Uniforms were initially requested by naval commanders, after all, because they wanted to look more impressive in portraits and at parties, and they wanted to be recognisable at a glance as naval officers, important within the naval structure and separate from military or artillery officers.

The secondary purpose of these uniforms remain important — you want to know who your superiors are, might wish to be able to guess their speciality, if they’re a medic, or similar, but this need for appearances goes beyond simple vanity.

Uniform within the British navy did appeal to officers’ vanity, yes, particularly when additional embellishments or ornamentation was their focus, but the purpose of portraiture in British and broader Western society was not as simple as depiction. One’s portrait did not merely serve to stroke one’s ego and boost one’s marriage or promotion prospects — portraiture was political.

Yes, it might serve an individual’s hope of attaining office or promotion, but these portraits also served the needs and desires of the British Naval Admiralty and therefore the broader British Empire.

The admiralty demanded certain aesthetics because of how they contributed to the British Navy’s reputation as a whole, aiding the admirals’ ability to leverage certain political power and command in all forms of political life, and contributed to the perspective of British Naval officers as respectable, commanding, powerful, and worthy of any and all political office.

As time has gone on, these needs for aesthetic and the political worth and value of a uniform has only increased — by the 1960s, the inspiration Roddenberry and Theiss were working with was not edited and specific only for portraiture.

Images via Naval History and Heritage Command.

In the American Navy they were inspired by, uniforms were standard for all crewmen, not merely officers, and these uniforms had been edited and carefully designed over centuries to balance practicality with appearance. The above military uniforms are attractive and in line with formal expectations of dress, such as in the use of ties, shined leather shoes, skirts for women, pressed trousers for men, each of these garments having been ironed and worn with clean, straight creases —the colours present, blue, white, or khaki, are used for different variations of dress intended to bear in mind not only department or service rank but also climate, and we see the use of gold stripes on the sleeves as used in Star Trek to indicate rank.

We also see other indicators of rank and service history — particular hats for certain ranking crew members with especial insignia; shoulder patches that might indicate squadron or department; coloured bars worn on the breast are everyday edited versions of any service medals or honours they have received so that actual medals can be reserved for dress uniform; golden rope worn over the shoulder (aiguillette) indicates service as an attaché or aide.

These are of course separate from the expectations for dress uniform which was more ornamental and might be worn for special occasions, parades, or, as in history, portraiture — much of what we see in service uniform are more concise or succinct expressions of the information encoded more elaborately in these dress uniforms.

Why all this information encoded in the uniform?

The stars, the insignia, the service ribbons — a great amount of information is encoded in the uniform itself, visible at a glance for those able to decode or recognise it.

An officer can walk through a crew and know just by looking at someone’s uniform their department, their rank, their squadron or unit, they might be able to see their service history and any honours they’ve received, and so on.

Helpful to get all that information without asking them or reading a file — helpful, too, in figuring out who a crewman was in case of death, if their face is damaged or no one recognises them.

Elements of the Starfleet Uniform

A photo of the Spock and Kirk, via TrekCore.

The original uniform as presented in Star Trek: The Original Series is fairly simple and straight forward — we see the three departmental colours, gold for command, red for engineering and security, and blue for medical and science, spread across each of the uniform jerseys, which each have a black lining around the collar. For those crew wearing mini skirts or dresses, the collar is worn lower and bares more of the neck and upper chest, but retains the black lining.

Sheer tights are worn for those in dresses and skirts, and those in trousers wear a loose three-quarter length trouser with a flared hem that can either be tucked into the calf-length boot or is worn loosely over it. These black leather boots are tight to the foot and leg and mostly have a slightly pointed toe.

And then are the additional elements — each crewmember has the Starfleet insignia sewn over their breast, with the central insert in the insignia indicating department; we also see the golden bands around the sleeve, indicating someone’s rank, three bands for captain, two for first officer or department chef, et cetera.

These uniforms are simple and cleanly designed with very few extraneous elements.

The lack of zips mean no one gets caught in them or, if caught in phaser fire, presumably, no zippers are going to be fused or burned; the lack of jackets, ties, or other hanging or removable elements mean that none of these can get caught on or in machinery or similar; presumably, temperature is kept at as comfortable a level for all crewmembers as possible.

So, what are the elements communicated by this uniform, for other crewmembers or civilians familiar with Starfleet protocol? The uniform immediately communicates:

crew member’s department, visible from a distance by colour coding, and then communicated specifically up close by the insignia

captaincy or other command rank visible on the sleeve (one reason that cropped sleeves have been criticised in women’s uniforms in other Treks is because to do this immediately removes those women’s visible presence within the command structure)

crewmember’s gender (until TNG onwards, only women wear the miniskirt or wear the more revealing collar)

Some of the female crew wear earrings, but we don’t typically see anyone wear necklaces, rings, or bracelets, and these elements are presumably not permitted within uniform guidelines, but crew are permitted to cut and wear their hair as they choose.

Janice Rand’s ornate beehive hairdo and Nyota Uhura’s hair are obviously more carefully cared for than that of most of their male crewmembers’, but in general we can extrapolate from visuals that crew are expected to keep their hair either short, cut to be ear-length or shorter, or tied up and fastened out of the way, and that crew in the course of TOS’ original series generally are to be clean-shaven. Judging by Joseph M’Benga’s hair, there is no expectation or requirement that Black crewmembers or other crew with tightly coiled hair relax their hair or shave their heads.

Once we get to the original films, and especially as we get to The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager, these uniforms do begin to change and evolve.

A photo of the Spock and Kirk, via TrekCore

We retain the colour coding for department in these new uniforms, although the colours have changed around — red is now for command, blue remains for science and medical, and gold is for engineering and security.

Black is now more incorporated into the uniform, and we see higher Nehru collars with visible pips to indicate place in the command structure — these are far more visible on a comm screen than someone’s sleeves, and can also communicate more information than the sleeve bands, with the number of gold pips indicating rank in the command structure, and black pips can indicate that someone is a junior or a lieutenant of their rank.

The jackets in these uniforms remain tightly tailored to the body, but can now be stripped off or worn open over the vest or undershirt underneath; instead of an embroidered insignia, we now see the introduction of the Starfleet comm badge in place of the handheld communicator, a brass shine that mirrors that of the pips.

The men’s boots have alas lost their sexy pointed toe and are now squarer — these boots are more comfortable with more foot room. Women’s boots retain the pointed toe and also have a block heel. I might argue that a diegetic reason for the TOS crew to retain the pointed toe for all crew might have been to make it a bit easier for crew to easily hook their feet into narrow ladders, much like cowboy boots have a pointed toe to make it easier to hook one’s feet into stirrups, although realistically it’s just a fashion update.

We’re also seeing the introduction here of more non-crew uniforms — being a counsellor and outside of the chain of command, we see Deanna Troi in a jumpsuit without any pips; we also see the likes of Wesley’s cadet uniforms, which feature a softer corded wool around the collar and shoulders, and have him in that pale grey to show that he, too, is outside of the command structure.

We see more diversity in people’s hairstyles and uniform wear; men begin to appear in skants alongside women, albeit primarily in the background; we see more varied hairstyles, including longer and looser hairstyles; we see more beards and moustaches.

These uniforms communicate the same data the original uniforms do with further detail, and without the same strict gendering present in TOS’ uniforms. They’re nicer uniforms, better constructed, more practical, more flexible.

And yet there’s more, isn’t there?

Rather like a naval captain wearing a sash to indicate his title, we see Worf wearing a baldric to denote his position in the House of Mogh, and this allowance is allotted him to ensure his Klingon identity is not denied him just because of his membership in Starfleet.

But when Ro Laren is invited to join Starfleet, she’s told not to wear her earring, of religious and cultural significance to Bajorans much as Klingon houses are of cultural importance to them. Why? What makes the Bajoran earring inappropriate within Starfleet uniform protocol, and not the Klingon baldric?

Is it because Worf is an officer of standing, but Ro Laren is an ensign or less? Is it because Worf grew up on Earth, raised by humans, and his attachment to the Klingon empire is not one that might undermine his loyalty to the United Federation of Planets, whereas Ro Laren understandably thinks of Bajor before she does Starfleet and the Federation? Is it because Bajor’s culture is respected less than that of the Klingon Empire’s — is it because the wearing of Bajoran earrings is explicitly tied to Bajoran religious beliefs and often marked with their castes, and these two cultural aspects are thought to be at odds with Starfleet’s predominant ideology?

These questions beg another — what is a uniform for? Why do Starfleet crew wear a uniform?

To show that they represent Starfleet — so that others can see they represent Starfleet. Their actions are Starfleet’s, and Starfleet is expected to take responsibility for any actions of their crewmembers whilst wearing their uniforms and operating their vessels; crew represent, in Starfleet uniform, Starfleet’s interests, and moreover, the interests of the United Federation of Planets.

Even more so than on a naval vessel, crew on a spacefaring vessel do not need to be wearing a uniform for the sake of people knowing who not to shoot at — these uniforms are useful for internal reasoning. They have rules and regulations, and a psychological advantage.

Uniforms, aptly, promote unity. Remind a crew that they operate as one body, and that that body represents a larger whole. Wearing a uniform creates a sense of equality and shared experience among the crew during working hours; it removes any distraction; it ensures that all clothing worn on shift is fit for purpose, safe, and appropriate.

Ro Laren’s earring, via TrekCore.

Why was Ro Laren’s earring a concern? Because a uniform is meant to eclipse the personal identity of the crewmember.

Klingons have a storied and often antagonistic history with the United Federation of Planets. Most members of Starfleet, and indeed, most members of the Federation, will recognise a Klingon on sight, and they will have ideas and opinions, assumptions, about aggressive Klingon culture. Klingons are not expected to be members of the United Federation of Planets any time soon — their culture is not going to be subsumed underneath the Federation’s liberally multicultural identity. It’s too strong, too different, too discrete from Federation values.

What of Bajoran values?

Throughout Deep Space Nine, a central question is whether Bajor is going to join the United Federation of Planets — before that, in The Next Generation, a central question is if Starfleet is going to help Bajoran refugees, Bajoran survivors, Bajoran captives, out from beneath their Cardassian aggressors. Starfleet condemns Cardassia’s actions, but their hands are tied. The Federation is already at odds with the Cardassian Empire, but they can’t risk all-out war just for Bajor.

For the wormhole, later on, that’s different — the wormhole is beneficial to them. Bajor is strategic only because of its connection to Terok Nor / DS9, and therefore the wormhole.

Bajor itself has had its natural resources plundered by Cardassian oppression, the planet blighted with drought, illness, filled with orphans. Where is the benefit in adding Bajor to the United Federation of Planets? What value do they bring to the Federation?

Their poetry? Their ancient technological breakthroughs? Their music? Their architecture, their art, their highly developed freedom fighting tactics?

What does Starfleet need with any of those? Especially when they come attached to religious beliefs?

What’s a uniform for?

We’re human beings on Earth in the 21st century, and when we see a Starfleet uniform, we make certain assumptions about it. What do we think about when we see a uniform — when we see a naval uniform, a military uniform?

A naval or military uniform is neat and tidy and orderly. It’s respectable. It’s often called a service uniform, the naval and military service called as such because “serving your country” is viewed as noble, honourable, and yes, respectable.

What assumptions do we make, when we see someone in a service uniform? Do we make positive or negative assumptions? Do we think that person is punctual, neat, obedient, commanding, intelligent, focused, diligent, hard-working? Do we see a crisply ironed service uniform and think of them as sloppy, foolish, disrespectful, messy?

Do we look at a uniform and think of national service? Think of that person volunteering in their community and helping lay sandbags during a flood, cooking at soup kitchens or packaging boxes at food banks?

Do we look at a service uniform and think of its wearer as “serving their country”, protecting its freedoms and its culture from foreign threats, or do we look at a service uniform and see a murderer serving the interests of oil barons and arms dealers?

For members of Starfleet, it’s valuable that Starfleet uniforms indicate at a glance where someone’s place is within the chain of command. You can tell whose orders you should be following, and who should be obeying your orders. Obedience to one’s superiors is important, and is even considered an indicator of respect. Why?

Because Starfleet believes in equality, yes, and believes in unity, but only certain individuals are appointed deciders of action.

Your actions as an ensign are up to you until your superior commands otherwise; that lieutenant’s actions, and those of their inferiors, are up to them until their chief decides otherwise; that chief’s decisions and their inferiors are up to them until the captain decides otherwise; that captain and their crew’s decisions are up to them until an admiral or someone else further up the chain of command decide otherwise.

Why is a chain of command important?

Someone might say it eliminates confusion in the field; it lets everyone know what their place is, and who they should go to with questions or concerns; it prevents people from struggling with conflicting orders or instructions; it eliminates time taken for discussion or debate under pressure, as the most important decision is made by a designated commander.

This is a cultural idea. It is a perspective that comes from a culture that believes in top-down power structures and social stratification that matches those power structures.

Living on Earth in the 21st century, we are continuously surrounded by these cultural ideas and these perspectives, and we carry those biases with us when we see Starfleet uniforms.

Let’s look at them again and try to do it from an outsider’s lens.

What Does The Uniform Mean?

We are an alien species, and we are introduced to a Starfleet crew. They say that they have come from the United Federation of Planets, a union of planets in the Alpha Quadrant who share resources and ideas.

What can we tell from them by looking at them, assuming we know nothing of Human, Vulcan, Klingon, or other Federation species’ cultures or appearances?

We see a variety of people of approximately similar sizes. They are all solid, warm-blooded, and as a rule, they appear to have two legs, two arms, two eyes, a nose with two nostrils, a mouth. They broadly breathe the same air, eat similar if not the same food, have similar needs and requirements as far goes gravity and temperature, and the majority of them rely on five senses — sight, hearing, physical touch, scent, and taste, with some of them also having a telepathic or empathic sense.

Their heads sit on a neck, which sits on a torso, and while their organs may rest in different places and there is a diversity between their individual internal organs and discrete biological make-ups, each primarily seems to have a ribcage that houses some organs and a softer lower half.

Genital make-up is different between certain species and there is a diversity of genitalia — size, function — between individuals within a species. Roughly correlating to their genitalia within species — although not in all cases, and not universally, we might see differences in body hair, facial pigmentation, bone and muscle density, fat distribution, vocal range and resonance, and so on.

Their bodies might be different, but what unites them is the uniform they wear — much as it might be separated into three distinct colours, the uniform styling is the same for each crewmember, tailored to the size and shape of their body, made of the same materials. To us, in the event we know nothing of uniforms themselves and come to this meeting from a wholly different cultural perspective, what does this uniform signify?

That these people have a united purpose? A united origin — the same union of territories, if not the same specific territory? A united set of values, perspectives, cultures, ideas, beliefs?

What might we assume the colours of their uniforms symbolise? What interpretations might we make of the colours they wear, bringing our own cultural ideas with us — assuming we can see colours at all? Are some of these colours desirable to us, and others not? Some of them important and others less so?

If Starfleet’s culture and its ideas, if the United Federation’s ideas, are truly wholly foreign to us and hitherto unimagined, how do we interpret such an idea as “the chain of command”?

A captain leads their crew: the captain’s orders, when given, are obeyed.

What does this signify?

From our perspective, familiar with a military or naval service, familiar with top-down power structures, we understand the idea of power and decision-making being concentrated at the top of a pyramid and disseminated in smaller and smaller parts as one works further down that pyramid.

But from an outside perspective, how might we interpret a captain?

What makes other people obey that captain’s orders or instructions? How does the captain make those decisions? If the captain has a telepathic sense, are they acting on the shared desires and ideas of the other crew? Are they representing the mutual ideas of the whole? Are they making their own decisions unilaterally? If so… why? How?

What gives that captain more of a right to make those decisions than their subordinates? These pips or these bands on the sleeve, are they the source of someone’s power? If two people swap uniforms, do their positions and levels of command change? No? This means that the pips represent something in the individual, and that the power is not concentrated in the pips themselves.

How are these pips administered?

Are they allotted to crew members based on their age? Based on their species, sex, their place of birth, the circumstances of that birth, their parenthood? Their level of performance in some sort of exam or tournament? Their number of sexual partners? Their number of achievements in one area or other? Their number of children? Their innate strength or some other personal biological or genetic component of their body or person?

Is it up to a vote, who gets certain pips? A committee? What decides this vote or committee? What creates this democratic process?

In the original imperial chain of command, the top-down structure all the way to the top went to the prevailing monarch — in the British navy, the king or queen. This king or queen was given rule by birthright — by Divine Right.

With time, the chief of these services in the West has broadly changed from the monarch, decided by random circumstance of birth, to a democratically elected president, prime minister, or other political leader, but the rest of the chain has remained the same.

We can infer from different series that the President of the United Federation of Planets is democratically elected, although we don’t know how long a president is in office for or what the process of electing them looks like, who is permitted to vote and who isn’t, and who is permitted to run for office. Are presidents sponsored by political parties or pressure groups? Is it required that a president has experience in Starfleet, the ambassadorial core, or some other aspect of service? Is diversity in presidential candidates prioritised or in some way protected?

Democracy as we define it in the West is typically a matter of individuals casting votes for candidates.

In the UK and the USA, this democratic process is simple — a winner is decided on a basis of who is “first past the post”. In short, whichever candidate gets the most votes wins the post for which they are running. The candidates voters are able to choose between, the ones which are written on a ballot, are put forward by registered political parties within the geographical area where votes are being put forward. Presidential or prime ministerial candidates are not voted for directly by individual voters — instead, individuals vote for candidates within their voting constituencies.

As each of these individuals belongs to a political party, presidential leadership — or leadership in the House of Commons — is decided based on the winning political party, the one with the most individuals elected, but this process is widely criticised.

What do we do if voter turnout is low? If only 45% of eligible voters turn up to vote, only 45% of voters got a choice in the decision — Australia has made voting compulsory to avoid this. What if some voters wish to vote, but are unable to — if voting booths are inaccessible, if voters are disabled, if they’re at work on the day of the election? Many countries institute national holidays for elections, allow postal voting or forms of e-democracy.

What if two constituencies have wildly different populations? Does a person in one constituency get more power over a decision because there are fewer other voters living nearby? Many countries institute a form of proportional representation to get around this, as well as working to combat gerrymandering as a political tactic.

In the UK, a strong and stable government on election day is a descriptor of a House of Commons in which at least one political party — or a union of parties — dominates the house. This is defined as a strong government because bills they wish to put forward are easily able to be voted through by their representatives. When there is no dominant party within the house, this is sometimes referred to as a “lame duck” government, and parties typically form coalitions in order to be able to dominate the house even with insufficient votership to do so directly.

In Germany, political stability is not defined by the same expectations — one political party dominating all others and being able to make unilateral decisions would be seen as a sign of an unstable government, as coalitions of parties have been crucial to Germany’s political process for some time.

And yet for all I’ve mentioned different Western countries and their differing expectations of democracy — the US, the UK, Germany, Australia, and for all I might mention others, Ireland, France, Spain, Belgium, Canada, and countless others, within their militaries and their navies, they still have a chain of command.

Democracy is antithetical to a chain of command — choices by committee are made with an assumption of equals contributing to a whole, but choices within a top-down power structure are ultimately decided by those at the top.

When Ro Laren joins Starfleet, and when other Bajorans initially join Starfleet, it is under an expectation that they leave certain elements of their culture behind — these expectations are later relaxed, and Bajorans are permitted to wear their earrings just as Klingon service members are permitted their baldrics; just as Scottish members of crew are permitted to substitute trousers and certain dress uniform elements for sporrans and kilts; just as Nog and other Ferengi are permitted to wear a veil at the back of their heads to emphasise the size of their ears; just as one background member of the Lower Decks crew is permitted to wear a hijab.

The key word here is “permitted”. They are given permission by their superiors to alter their uniform in this manner. It is not a right: it is a dispensation.

In its original introduction to the navy, the purpose of uniforms was to make commanders and officers appear more respectable and be perceived as more respectable. Later on, the uniform became itself a sign of respect, and adherence to that uniform a sign of respect. Customisation of that uniform was no longer to be done on an individual basis.

To customise a uniform is to introduce disparate or unique elements to that uniform, and therefore, to potentially interrupt the chain of command. What if someone interprets an alteration to that uniform as a sign that that person is a separate individual who can disobey orders or give orders outside of the command structure?

What if that individual is an individual, not not in service of — and beholden to — the collective?

The United Federation of Planets believes in equality and protects the rights of the individual until they join the Federation’s naval wing, and then, their individuality is subsumed by the expectations of the whole — some individuality is permitted, is given dispensation for, and some is not. Some individuality is an interruption or a threat to the chain of command, and some is not.

Ergo, some individuals are simply more acceptable than others.

Who decides which are more acceptable? The person higher up in the chain of command. Power comes from the top.

How does one get higher in the chain of command?

By being the most acceptable.

The Wider Ramifications

Star Trek is a set of series and shows about exploration, which, as I said in the beginning of this piece, is quite the loaded the term. Starfleet crews expand outward from the boundaries of the United Federation of Planets — their core of command — and they seek out new ideas, new cultures, new resources. Some of these are subsumed into Starfleet’s ideals, and the ideas or resources they enjoy best are dispatched back to the core to be enjoyed by those there.

This is also a top-down process.

Bajor can be mined for resources by Cardassia, and mined for crew by Starfleet, refugees taken into crew, their information used in the war against Cardassia, their militia employed against Cardassia and the Dominion, but this is not a mutual exchange.

Bajor is under Starfleet’s protection. Starfleet can withdraw — and will withdraw — that protection whenever they see fit. This is leveraged as a threat multiple times throughout Deep Space Nine, most notably when Bajor seems to be returning to their caste system, which is understandably seen as a threat to the United Federation’s beliefs in equality.

Within the United Federation’s core, resources are freely available for all, but this privilege is not extended to the people of Bajor. They have not joined the Federation of Planets and put aside their planetary identity for the Federation’s.

Many Starfleet crew, and Starfleet’s own command, step back and allow the rape and destruction of Bajor’s people, its culture, by the Cardassian Empire: it is only when the Dominion threatens both Bajor and the Federation itself that Bajor is seen more seriously, and treated with more seriousness.

How often does this play out in different Star Trek episodes? Native Americans are forced from their ancestral homelands to new planets, and then they are forced from those and pushed to new ones. Planets are mined for resources, and peoples and cultures die.

Sometimes, Starfleet intervenes — sometimes, they watch.

Star Trek is a product of its creators and its viewers — it was originally made primarily by white Americans in 1960s USA as a vision for the future, of unity and equality for all, reaching out for other peoples across the stars. Each iteration of the Star Trek series has evolved and explored more what this utopian vision means, what its limitations are and what its most beautiful ideas might be.

Deep Space Nine is of course the classic Trek most critical of these ideas — it asks point blank questions about religious and cultural intolerance, about the limitations of the United Federation’s liberal multiculturism, where not everyone is truly accepted or even truly tolerated, despite the philosophy that every crewmember would like to believe in. It interrogates the biases that Star Trek holds and those that define it, most famously in episodes like Far Beyond the Stars, but also in episodes like The Abandoned, which interrogates and break down the anti-Blackness ever present in Star Trek’s attitudes and perspectives on the Jem’Hadar. Today, new Trek interrogates and considers its own past and the changes it makes to its universe, in Lower Decks and in Discovery, most of all.

But even they still have the uniform — how could they not have the uniform?

What would Star Trek look like without those uniforms? How would it work, how could it work?

These uniforms are not only pieces of cloth and leather — they represent a whole power structure and philosophical paradigm. We look at people in uniform like theirs, and many of us assume we’re looking at the good guys. That they mean well, that they’re doing good things, and care about each other.

That people without uniforms like theirs must be lesser, more backward, less disciplined, less moral or ethical, less controlled. Less together, less cohesive — less valuable.

The belief in a top-down power structure, ever present as it is, infects every part of our perspectives and our views on the world, every bias that we hold.

Picard and Riker in naval uniforms in Generations, via TrekCore.

One of the most iconic moments in Deep Space Nine is Garak and Quark’s infamous root beer conversation, where they talk about how Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets are quite insidious in their cultural domination, that bit by bit, they affect others to take on their cultural values and ideas.

Starfleet in many ways is more insidious than the Borg — at least the Borg says outright that assimilation is their goal and their mission, and tells people what’s going to happen to them. Starfleet doesn’t do that.

It holds back certain privileges and protections until people put aside the parts of themselves and their cultures that make them undesirable to Starfleet, until they work to assimilate within Starfleet’s boundaries and desires, and then they turn around and view that as a sign of the Federation’s ideological and philosophical supremacy in the first place. Why else would people change themselves to fit, after all?

They never forced anyone to join, never threatened violence.

Star Trek is, after all, a show written by white Americans, and American cultural hegemony is even more wide-reaching today than it was in the 1960s — the world over, people watch American shows and television, English is the predominant lingua franca, people are expected to accept US dollars and value the US dollar.

If the US decided to go to war tomorrow, it would affect everybody else in the world, American or otherwise. The US decides embargoes, has military and naval bases in most every territory on the planet, commands much of the world’s economy and money, such that American politicians and individuals can have devastating effects on elections or markets or any other aspect in various other countries throughout the world.

This is not to say that other countries in the West are not complicit and active in this sort of imperial domination, particularly the UK, France, Australia, and Canada, and that the impacts of this domination are most of all pushed and felt within the Global South, the better to exploit and oppress people, governments, and systems — merely that the US has the largest media output in terms of books, film, television, news, and structures of dissemination thereof.

If Starfleet is based loosely on the US Navy, and in Star Trek we primarily see those speaking American English, holding modernised American ideals, with a similar structure of command, a similar top-down power structure, and a multicultural philosophy bound by its liberal limitations, what is to be said for Starfleet’s own values, and the cultural hegemony of the United Federation of Planets itself?

These things aren’t said explicitly because these aspects form the whole of someone’s world views, these biases often carried within us, examined or unexamined, but we can see them reflected in signs and symbols around us when we interrogate them down to their root, which was the purpose of this piece.

I love Star Trek a great deal and have since I was a child, but the older I get and the more I watch, the more I become acquainted with its flaws and its weaknesses, and none are more striking than how monocultural it seems at times, and how often other cultures are so automatically dismissed as violent or lesser or somehow a threat to the whole, even when the opposite is true.

Every episode of Star Trek has someone exploring and seeking out a strange new world, and so often, that world is expected to change because of what Starfleet has done, what they’ve requested, and yet Starfleet rarely changes its culture or its methodology in the same huge or explosive ways, even from series to series, the top-down power structures stay in place, everyone still wears uniforms, and so on.

A uniform is more than shared costume — it represents shared values.

What becomes important to ask when we see a uniform like this in sci-fi or in our more magical or fantastical or utopian universes, is why people wear the uniform, and how much choice do they truly have in the values it represents?

How much can they change them, if they wish to — and how much are they allowed to wish to change them at all?

#musings #star trek #deep space nine #the next generation #the original series

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the-typing-dragon · 1 year ago

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ok idk why i did the poll thing you're getting a rant about magic in monster hunter. So first I want to specify a seperation between "magic" in monster hunter, and just funky monster biology. There are absolutely some monster abilities, like spines and Rath fireballs, that are just kinda funky biology and are generally mundane. Conversely, there are also many abilities like kirins summoning lightning out of midair, kushala with it's tornado manipulation, and many others that really make it difficult to consider them being a mundane, biological source. This is where the magic of monster hunter kicks in. Magic in monster hunter is a lot more subtle in monster hunter than it is in many other series. It's not wizards casting Nuclear Meteor (unless it's a monster), it primarily crops up in the forms of Alchemy and Enchantment magic style. Hunters harness magic when the parts from monsters are then utilized to create equipment that is imbued with the properties from the monster, or when simple crafting materials are used to create the consumables that can do such insane things as pulling you from the brink of death in a second, causing you to passively regenerate, and an insane number of other things. First I am going to discuss the magic that monsters use. For this I'm primarily discussing World magic, as it's my primary game and explains it quite well (for a mh game) in my opinion. In World they discuss a material called "bioenergy" that flows through monsters and ESPECIALLY elder dragons, who coincidentally are also the monsters that are generally the ones doing the random monster magic, and also are the ones that have the most magically enchanted armors. The elder dragons in question are able to generate and weaponize the magic, performing such insane feats as firing beams of pure vibrations, causing near nuclear explosions, summoning tornados, and many other insane things. Non elder monsters are still certainly able to use and harness bioenergy, however they usually either use it to a lesser degree, while supplementing their skill sets more with weird mh biology. So to summarize, bioenergy is:

• in higher densities in the monsters with more magical abilities

• has a physical form that can be collected and utilized

• is something that hunters are aware of and can utilize

Next I am going to discuss the elements in monster hunter. Most elements are just "normal" elements, however there is a specific element called "dragon" element. This dragon element is seperate from thunder, ice, fire, and water int he fact that it's not representing some normal state of matter or other mundane thing, instead seeming to be pure energy (or perhaps bioenergy). Dragon element is also more effective on elder dragons, even causing them to destabilize in certain situations. Last but not least, I am going to discuss the enchantment magic involving the equipment in monster hunter. First there is the simple fact that we are able to utilize the materials of these monsters, and then imbue otherwise mundane weapons with elemental abilities. Note that while there are also ailment weapons such as poison and paralysis, these can be more easily explained by more mundane functions. By covering a sword in the pelt of a Kirin, it is able to unleash raw electricity with every swing, never reducing in energy or effectiveness. The second part is the actual function of some of these weapon classes. While a greatsword or a hammer is generally straightforward, you soon begin to see these magical effects coming into play with other weapon classes, which has a couple examples such as: • Switch axe and charge blade being able to hit a monster of any type, and build up elemental damage "phials" or "gauges", which can then be used to consistently cause pure elemental explosions of varying strength. Charge blade specifically is able to cause waves of pure elemental energy from these hits • Hunting horn being able to play notes in a certain order than can cause varying effects from increasing attack damage, to ignoring wind pressure, to even restoring health. • Bow and bowguns being able to fire projectiles that unleash charges of pure elements upon contact with a monster. • Insect glaive being able to effortlessly fly and double jump through the air, without any visible forms of propulsion. Finally I'm going to discuss the armor and decorations in monster hunter. By crafting armor and decorations out of the remains of monsters, hunters are capable of imbuing themselves with effects ranging from hitting a little harder, to increasing damage when the monster is angry, to entirely negating hunger, to constantly passively regenerating, and an insane number of other effects. While a couple of effects might be explainable via mundane means, most of these are almost certainly some form of enchantment. so yeah. There's magic in monster hunter.

#the dragon types #long post #dear god this is a long post #mh #monster hunter

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steampunkforever · 2 years ago

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Finally got around to it and watched Glass Onion just as it faded out of the required viewing cultural zeitgeist enough to be judged on its own. It was enjoyable, sometimes in spite of itself, but overall not Rian’s best film either.

I’ll preface this with the admission that if literally anyone else tried to make a pandemic film like this I’d do my best to hurt them physically, but Rian Johnson pulls it off with overall charm and grace. I’ll extend that grace to Rian as well and note that the pandemic era had everyone acting like caricatures of themselves, so the cartoonish figures in the movie can be explained if not totally pardoned.

This is really the greatest flaw in the movie. The characters were jarringly 2D compared to some of Rian’s previous character work, if you note the writing in Brick or Looper or even parts of that one Star Wars movie we like to forget about. Every character in Brick is wacky and unnatural, but it works and we get the idea that these people aren’t just hollow puppets for furthering the plot. They’re weird but somehow still real. Glass Onion, on the other hand, did not ring true.

Knives Out had this problem to a lesser degree, but you still could feel that the Conservakiddie twitter/4chan troll cousin was more of a strawman than a real exploration of what drives this new generation Ben Shapiro wannabes. That said, the fantastic cast balances out Knives Out, while only some of the players in Glass Onion are saved by all-star talent. I digress.

As a sequel, Glass Onion was nigh perfect. This Knives Out trilogy (?) is setting up to be distinctly enjoyable in the tradition of Columbo or Matlock, where a quirky detective solves crimes around a cast of weirdos and each installment has very little impact on the next. This of course means that all the development from sequel to sequel takes place outside of plot and deep character development, because those things reset for a functional audience once the credits roll.

Glass Onion does this for us by developing a world where the crazy rich people from the first movie are extrapolated out to crazier rich people who display 1 of 1 Porsche 918 Spyders on the roofs of their mansions because their private islands don’t have roads. It gives clues into our favorite detective’s love life, but establishes it outside any certain continuity so that you can watch them in reverse order and the only thing that changes are the political views of the stawmen that only the most disingenuous Adam-McKay types will actually enjoy dunking on.

It’s a really tricky tightrope to walk, and even as it has its wobbles, Glass Onion makes it across. Sure, it lacked the novelty of the first one, and now that a pattern’s established some of the shine is taken from the first as well when you can see the thematic bones of a series, but it was perfectly serviceable and furthermore made me have fun even when I went to it truly jaded by bad tumblr analysis.

The second act 2 twist, where things heat up significantly from the first, is what saved the movie for me. Sure, I basically had the plot solved in my head by the time we got to the second discussion by the pool, but the extra, semi-red herring (pink herring?) twist took a mystery I’d already solved, let me still keep it solved, and then let me continue to wonder where it was going even as I knew how it ended. Only Rian could do this and also make it an enjoyable pandemic film.

Then they put Ed Norton in the Tom Cruise costume from Magnolia and the movie was sealed. Not Rian’s best, but not bad either.

#glass onion #filmposting

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self-winding · 1 year ago

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I recently watched the first season of The Sandman show. It's been a long time since I've read the comics so I don't remember how it compares, but I enjoyed it. There was one self-contained short story in particular that struck me, though, because it's about a struggling writer. He's had one successful novel but is having trouble coming up with another one, so he visits an older writer he admires and discovers that the key to this writer's success is that he has kidnapped a Greek Muse and is keeping her in the basement. The younger writer makes a bargain with him and gets the Muse and begins producing successful work again.

Of course, things don't work out for him, and in the end, his captive (with the help of the titular Sandman) escapes and gets revenge. It's an entertaining premise for a story, and since the Muse is female and the author is male there's some implicit gender commentary in this. But what struck me about this self-contained story is that it doesn't feel like a realistic representation of the actual hurdles that most writers face.

Most writers I know have plenty of ideas. There are cases of writers not having the skill or diligence to really flesh those ideas out and bring them to fruition, but for the most part, the hurdles we face are structural: the literary gatekeepers, the agents and acquiring editors, and (to a lesser degree) the well-known critics and reviewers. And this holds true even for writers who have already had some successes. Even if your past books have made money, if you want to say anything remotely daring or risky with your next work, you are going to have to argue with some bean-counter about it, and if your past books haven't made a ton of money? Forget it. There is a pervasive skepticism about any book's ability to make a profit, a push to ride on the coattails of existing trends in order to minimize financial risk, and this is what dictates which stories make it through the sieve and into the sphere of public consciousness.

The notion that ideas are what make or break a book feels idealistic and naively meritocratic to me. I mean, I wish we lived in that world, but I'm not convinced we do.

I feel like a more interesting/relevant version of the story (to me personally, anyway) would've involved a Muse who, rather than stimulating the mind of the creator, influences the minds of cultural gatekeepers to make them believe a creator's work will be profitable and popular. Which then, of course, becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy because they will promote it more, and this kind of cultural inertia plays a major part in anything's success. And hey, this also introduces an additional ethical problem because not only are you holding a Muse captive, you're forcing it to use mind-control on others. Tell me a story about a struggling creator who is passionate about their ideas but who constantly runs into walls of "this kind of thing just doesn't resonate with readers these days" or "this is way too problematic, it would piss off the Twitter mobs" or "it's certainly unique, but that's the problem; I just don't know where I would place it in the market," or "editors just aren't acquiring steampunk anymore" or "I'm afraid you're just not the right person to tell this story."

I mean, I could write it myself, but no agent would rep it.

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capricioussun · 1 year ago

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And now it’s Glitchedswap’s turn

You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever…actually properly talked about GS before! In the VF note I’d mentioned GS originating from an idea with Void so I suppose I’ll start there.

I often get lots of imagery involving Void and many others whenever listening to music, all varying a lot in tone and intensity. In one idea, he’d needed to take refuge in a safe verse he was familiar with, where he heads to the house in Snowdin and the door in answered by a young Chara who’s very happy to see him again. Then he’s fondly greeted by brothers Sky and Uno (Sans and Papyrus respectively). I’d seen them all so clearly and was surprised by there sudden existence, especially considering they even came with the nicknames which is unusual for me, as I tend to struggle with those haha

But I quickly became attached to them and started piecing together more of their world. This resulted in a Swap AU that had experienced a massive coding issue, preventing Chara from being able to complete their run or reset. Or rather, it’s too dangerous to reset, as it started affecting the monsters negatively whenever they did, worsening the glitches caused by the initial malfunction.

While most monsters still don’t remember the resets, they’ve all started to develop a sense of deja vu, or feeling like some big change is coming soon, and things will change for the better. They don’t, not really, and the brothers as well as Toriel and Asgore have a better awareness of this, Alphys and Undyne, too, to a lesser degree.

That was how they’d met Void. One of the many facets of his job entails fixing coding issues, but one so large scale is tricky. If you do things in the wrong order or don’t finish something completely before moving on to the next, it can have grave consequences. So it’s a very slow going process of working away at it over a period of time, with rest periods in between so as not to destabilize the AU either, but even with all that, there’s no guarantee he and his allies won’t eventually hit a dead end. There’s no guarantee they’ll ever be able to free the monsters of that underground. And without resets, and time flowing normally, the monsters are still aging, still losing hope.

As a stand alone AU without MV interference, I haven’t honestly decided if I’ve wanted to give them a happy or tragic ending, and having mostly just thought a lot about the monsters’ glitches and what their underground is like (still relatively normal seeming, aside from a few things that make it stick out as a little broken).

But yeah! That’s GS! Chara is very close with the brothers but primarily lives in the Ruins with Asgore, and everyone else…just goes about life as normal, for the most part! It’s a bit slice of life-y, with a touch of existential horror I suppose agdhhsjs

#glitchedswap #sky and uno the beloveds <3 #sun spots

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inhexe · 4 months ago

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on witches, magic, and religion.

the classic division in anthropology between magic and religion relies on an idea of "authorization," about whether or not an act is sanctioned by official or widely-recognized religious structures; if it is outside these structures it is "magical," like an act of divination by an average person, who asks a god for help, versus a temple priestess who asks a god for help at the altar, which is "religious." religion is also frequently tied to the apparatus of the state.

oz does not have a single unified religion as such. it has spiritual principles primarily centered on honoring one's ancestors, but there is not a widespread idea of a creator god or a pantheon of gods. there are local deities specific to regions of oz, where, for example, a group of southerners may worship a god associated with their local grove. this isn't unusual; it is more unusual for someone to "take their god with them," that is, to move out of the south to the east but still worship a god that lives in a specific place hundreds of miles away. even then, it's not offensive or outright bizarre, just quirky.

to this end, because of a lack of organized religion, to discuss "magic" is to dispense with some of the traditional division. it is certainly a magical act to cast rune stones asking the grove god for guidance on something, but it is also religious, and, again, not offensive or bizarre. moreover, magic is widespread and incredibly tangible in oz, whereas the presence of gods is less so (except to their particular believers); although it is not ordinary in the sense of unremarkable, it does play a part in day to day life.

the landscape of oz is imbued with magic. many animals develop speech and become autonomous members of society, with a queasy division between themselves and animals used as livestock. trees and other plant life may be alive, that is, sentient, to a greater or lesser degree. the deadly desert is magical and widely considered to be alive. most of life goes on comfortably and without disruption, but it is a fact of life in oz that one needs to avoid the forest where trees throw apples at you, and so on.

just as the natural world has a range of magical possibility, so do human beings. the average person in oz does not have magic, but maybe one in ten people will have a spark: a little bit of clairvoyance or a green thumb that's a bit too green. much less common are people who have enough magic to consciously exercise it as a sixth sense or external power: these are witches.

witches, too, have a range of abilities and strengths. the majority of witches in the general population can complete small transfigurations and minor accurate divinations on their own, as well as various small practices we might call superstitions (sweeping in such a way as to keep luck in the house, for example) which become efficacious because a witch is practicing them. witches of this grade can perform larger spells (such as summoning rain for crops) by combining their powers with others, usually in the form of a coven. because magic runs in families and can become concentrated in populations if they, for example, drink from magical aquifers or eat food from magical fields, it isn't hard for a witch to find a coven despite the relative scarcity of witches in the general population.

ruling witches are a different order of witch. i will deep-dive into that subject in my next post.

#. worldbuilding tag

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waspsinyouryard · 11 months ago

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I’m curious how everyone’s year was so please tell me what you favourite ----- from this year was! Answer as many or as few as you want! (Feel free to send this to other people and change it if you want)

Favourite Movie/Show you watched:

Favourite Album you listened to:

Favourite thing you learned:

Favourite book/comic:

Favourite project you completed:

Best impulse purchase?

Funniest joke you heard?

Strangest building you went in?

New food you discovered?

Most memorable conversation?

Prettiest sunset?

Favourite new outfit?

What are you proud of this year?

Favourite Memory from this year:

Anything you would change?

Anything you’re looking forwards to in the new year?

~Gumi

I'm going to try and answer all of these but I can already tell that some of these are going to be difficult:

1. Favorite movie/show

I don't really watch movies out of my own volition and I'm like the one Tumblr user who doesn't watch TV shows (and my memory is bad, so I could also be forgetting something) so my options are very limited:

The FNAF movie (which was laughably terrible)

Stranger than Fiction (a 2006 movie that was just. not good. I didn't like it.)

Rio 2 (a kid sitting next to me for a substantial amount of time was watching it and I could hear the audio)

Out of those options I'd probably have to say the FNAF movie was my favorite because it was bad in a funny way and also recency bias.

2. Favorite Album

My music consumption is almost exclusively video game soundtracks and I haven't really found any games to love the soundtrack of recently anyways so

3. Favorite thing I've learned

I can't think of any one piece of knowledge that stands out as my favorite. I'm just happy to know things tbh

4. Favorite Book/Comic

I read quite a few books (mostly the Warriors series, near the beginning of the year) but my favorite probably still has to be Love and Limerence by Dorothy Tennov. I reread it this year so it counts.

5. Favorite project I completed

Probably this ridiculous 14k word Wings of Fire fanfiction where the world ends tbh. It's kinda very rough, but I had a blast making it.

6. Best impulse purchase

A greenish-blue Hawaiian shirt

7. Funniest joke

Unironically this

youtube

Leave the poor woman alone :(

8. Strangest building

Probably the church I took those photos in tbh. I get that it's not that strange overall but it was for me

9. Best new food

I can't think of any new food, but I did discover that French fries and (to an admittedly lesser degree) saltine crackers make surprisingly good additions to toppings and/or fillings.

10. Most memorable conversation

This one's memorable in a bad way.

Essentially, it was a conversation between myself and a friend about a Minecraft server we were on where said friend told me that I managed to piss off every single other member of the server. Of course I was a bit distraught about this, and I decided that I just wouldn't play on it anymore. Before that I was basically the most active member by far.

The reason I remember it so well is because I'm still so baffled about why what I did (kill the Ender Dragon on the first day of a new world (after rules regarding doing so were specifically abolished) and kill the Wither like a week later) enraged these people so much that they called for my friend to ban me (he didn't, btw).

11. Prettiest sunset

All of them. Unless I'm trying to go west and the sun is shining in my eyes.

12. Favorite new outfit

The Hawaiian shirt I mentioned previously.

13. Things I'm proud of

Here's a list, not in any sort of order:

Writing that fanfic I mentioned earlier

Figuring out Tumblr API stuff so I could improve @postsofbabel. And I guess it in general.

My progress on a new fanfic set in the Warriors world, where being sold to 1D is a major plot point.

Surviving, tbh

14. Favorite memory

15. Anything I would change

I would change a lot about 2023, but I simply do not think I would have the ability enact a lot of these changes if I could go back through this year again.

16. Anything I'm looking forward to

World of Goo 2. Probably more that I can't think of at the moment but World of Goo is excellent

#ask

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sarahstarlinetents · 2 years ago

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The 5 best pop up tents

Choosing the right tent for your next trade show can be that one factor which can turn your event into a great success.

Key takeaways:

There are 5 factors to choose the right pop up tent for you next trade show. They are Durability, portability, Size setup simplicity, Price.

Custom printed Umbrella can be a smart hack replacing tents for entrepreneurs.

Companies where you can get these pop tents are Starline tents, branded canopy tents, custom tent with logo.

Any event or trade show requires the best pop-up tents. For companies wishing to advertise their goods or services, they offer a practical and simple-to-install alternative. Choosing the best pop-up tent can be difficult, so we looked into and tested a number of variables to come up with the top 5 choices.

The factors for choosing the right pop up tent can be:

Durability,

portability,

Size

setup simplicity,

Price.

Having an attractive and sturdy tent may make a world of difference at trade shows and other events. In addition to offering a polished and attractive appearance, a well-designed pop-up tent can enhance your clients' overall experience. With the correct tent, your clients may interact with your items while remaining protected from the elements.

Additionally, having a strong and dependable pop-up tent will ultimately save you time and money. Your efficiency can be increased by using a tent that is simple to set up and take down, which will free up your time to concentrate on other crucial elements of your event or trade show. Additionally, a lightweight, portable tent can make storing and moving it much easier.

So let’s see all those 5 tents and make the right tent choice.

#1 Tent package | Starline tents

Specification:

Display Material: 600 Denier Polyester

Wind Resistant: 30 mph / 50 km/h

Package Dimensions & Weight: Deluxe - 40mm - 42; LBS Premium - 50mm – 67: LBS (Heavy Duty)

Frame Construction: Deluxe - 40mm: 1.25" thick with Molded Foot: Premium - 50mm: 2" thick with Molded Foot

Clearance Height: Deluxe - 40mm: 73" - 85.5"h (from floor to bottom of canopy); Premium - 50mm: 71.5" - 84"h (from floor to bottom of canopy)

Price:

$845

Coupon:

ST25$OFF; ST35$OFF; ST50$OFF

Reasons to buy:

Have a complete package for your needs.

Package deal makes it more affordable

High degree of customization

Strong and long lasting

Quick response from the company

Reasons to avoid:

You can buy only one tent at a higher price if you don’t need a package.

Explore:

They have been in the market for the past 7 years and have exceptional customer service. They are operational in the USA and Canada and provide 100+ varieties of pop up tents. You just have to chat with them and send them the design. They will deliver the tent very fast.

#2 Single pole star tents | Branded canopy tents:

Specification:

Height: 19′ 8” (6m)

Clearance: 6′ 11” (2.1m)

Centre Pole: Aluminium

Fabric: 600 Denier Polyester

Weight: Pole Weight: 66lb (35kg)| Poly Roof Weight: 92lb (42kg)

Price:

$1875

Coupon:

BCT25$OFF; BCT35$OFF; BCT50$OFF

Reasons to buy:

Looks very unique in the entire trade show

Great warranty on Fabric and Frame.

Good Ventilation

Reasons to avoid:

Tough to use in rain.

Explore:

Star tents are set up on a single pole and so are very quick and easy to setup. They look unique and attractive in the eyes of your customers. Single pole tents frequently have exceptional ventilation thanks to their construction, which lowers condensation and improves the comfort of the tent. Single pole tents are typically lighter and more transportable than other types of tents because of their lesser weight and smaller size.

#3 Inflatable canopy tents | Custom tent with logo:

Specification:

Head clearance: 6.2'

Peak height: 7.5'

Packed dimensions: 44"x30"x30"

Weight: 39.68 lbs

Price:

$1215

Coupon:

CTL25$OFF; CTL35$OFF; CTL50$OFF

Reasons to buy:

Strong and sturdy

Easy to transport.

Unique experience

Reasons to avoid:

Requires a pump to set up

Explore:

In addition to providing a quick, simple, and comfortable trade show experience, inflatable tents also have advantages including more internal room and effective insulation. Deflating and packing inflatable tents into a small space makes for simple storage and transit.

#4 Small back wall tent | Starline tents:

Specification:

Assembled Dimensions: 59"W x 84" - 117"H x 59"D

Display Material: 600 Denier Polyester

Wind Resistant: 20-28 mph / 50 km/h

Frame Construction Standard: 32mm: 1.125" thick with Molded Foot

Price:

$745.00

Reasons to buy:

Small and sturdy

Easy to store.

Light weight

Reasons to avoid:

Not for heavy duty use

Explore:

#5 Umbrellas | Custom tents with logos:

Specification:

Umbrella Size: 4.2M Diameter Octagon Shape Umbrella

Frame: Lightweight Anodized Aluminum Frame

Packing Details: Frame with Umbrella: 295x23x23cm Weight: 35.93lb

Price:

$495.00

Reasons to buy:

Easy to install

Easy transport

Brand with custom made umbrellas.

Reasons to avoid:

Again, not for heavy duty use and bad weather

Explore:

Umbrellas can be a great hack for affordable tents. With the simple-action rope and pin mechanism, opening and closing your umbrella during trade exhibitions and gatherings is a breeze. We can do branding and attract the attention of customers easily with this.

How to choose the right pop up tent?

See factors like Durability, portability, Size setup simplicity, Price. For example, if you have a high budget and need a heavy duty tent then go for the complete tent package from Starlinetents. If you need portable tents with unique design, go for star tents from branded canopy tents.

Use coupon codes to get bonus discounts and I’ll suggest you chat with these companies to enquire about your requirements.

Author’s Profile:

Chinmay Dhiman has been in the trade show and event industry for the past 5 years. He has consulted many companies to choose the right tools for their outdoor events and attract thousands of visitors.

#Tradeshow #event #tents #Starlinetents #USA #customtents

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youarejesting · 4 years ago

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Sly like a... ? - Part 1

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 1.6k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Next]

Humans always strived to be better, faster, and stronger. So it was only natural for them to turn to genetic manipulation. Splicing the human DNA with that of animals. Bringing about a new half-human, half-animal race called Hybrids. They were like most things humans deemed different, scary, and an abomination. They were not allowed to be independent in fear of rebellion against the elite pure humans. These Hybrids were soon seen as lesser compared to the pure humans and were quick to be sold as servants to the rich and shady, and pets to the common families. The only problem was when the families no longer wanted their designer pedigree hybrid they were either abandoned, sold, or worse.

Hybrids didn’t have a voice. They were not allowed to live on their own unless they were fully educated with a bachelor’s degree. Due to these standards, many were sent back to the adoption agencies to be rehomed again and again until they reached a certain age. Then they were put down to make room for more returned hybrids.

You were working with the government on a program that could fix the hybrid rehoming issue. Having presented your idea to the board they seemed interested and were willing to grant you a small fund if you could give them the results they needed. They gave you a handful of Hybrids, one being Jimin the poster boy for the government. He was genetically modified to create a male calico with the classic calico print which was only found on females.

They succeeded and though Jimin was a male his features were more on the feminine side making him seem too androgynous but not what the market wanted. He was left to be used as a model on new billboards and television advertisements for government services and legislations regarding Hybrids.

Another participant was your neighbor’s hybrid, Taehyung. He was a golden retriever and was volunteered by his owner, an older gentleman who recently lost his wife. He was worried for the young hybrid that one day when he shall pass he will be alone and scared. You were quick to guarantee him a place in the program to help him become more self-sufficient in case anything should happen.

You were currently packing your things, not that there was much, living in such a tiny apartment. However, you were preparing for a call within the week regarding moving into a larger government-funded home where you could comfortably house the number of new participants of your trial program. The place was fully furnished with everything a large family of hybrids would need, all you had to bring was your clothes. Everything else was paid for to create the perfect environment for the hybrids. Rent, utilities, food, and anything the hybrids needed were all reimbursed by the government.

Since it would be a few days before you would hear anything, you thought it was best to start thinking of activities for the hybrids to get to know one another. Whilst also basking in your last moments of freedom before devoting yourself to the program.

On that note, you had finally finished packing and decided to spend your hybrid-free moments treating yourself to some food. Pulled from your thoughts of a delicious omelet by a loud ping from your jean pocket. A reminder on your phone in bold letters.

H-week!

Today marked the first day of your heat, this explained the nagging twinge in your back you had been ignoring, you thought it was from hunching over to pack. Searching your top draw you saw the empty blister packet of heat suppressants, great another thing to add to your ever-growing to-do list. The pharmacy was a little further than the restaurant you wished to visit but not too far out of the way. So you set off hoping to get back in time before it gets too dark, your eyes did funny things at night.

See you weren’t exactly human yourself, you were an experiment. The world was creating new hybrids and well, you were genetically modified within the same year as Jimin. Supposed to be the new designer breed the ‘Fox-Hybrid’. The problem was it didn’t work, you were born entirely human. Sure you were a bit more agile, and your ability to hear and smell things was better than normal. You were still essentially human.

Once a month since you were thirteen, you would get a strange feeling in your lower abdomen. When you discussed it with the scientists for your check-up, they had explained it was a heat. Whilst foxes usually had a heat once a year lasting three days, yours would happen once a month lasting three days but a lot milder.

Since that day you have taken a low dose heat suppressant to nullify any pheromones. You were grateful because it wasn’t as painful or as long as a human period, but it wasn’t as debilitating or humiliating as a real heat.

You had grown up seeing Jimin on occasion and were familiar with how debilitating hybrid heats and ruts were. Even so, the two of you became friends, both failed attempts at modification.

Though you never understood why they said fox hybrids didn’t exist, you had seen them. Sometimes in grocery stores, restaurants, or nightclubs. They would be there, they would wink at you or wave, give you a smirk with a twitch of their ears or a swish of their tail. Were they mocking you for being a defect?

The only good thing accompanying your long journey was the music humming softly in your headphones. Used to drown out the loud sounds of the city, as your ears were sensitive. It also helped you ignore the side-eyes from Hybrids who would not so subtly sniff the air as you passed.

You caught a flash of orange and looked across the street. A simple fruit shop that had a colorful awning flapping in the gentle breeze.

Moving around the store was a shopkeeper in a green apron, shirt, with his bronze hair sticking out underneath a matching cap. He was putting down a tray of banana’s and as he stood, a pair of ears and a bottle brush-like tail were visible, he turned as if sensing your presence and locked eyes with you, tipping his cap. He dusted his hands on his apron, leaving you shocked. A Fox hybrid in public! No one else seemed amazed or even spared him a glance. How could no one see this?

It was like a scene from a movie, as a truck drove past leaving the man looking completely innocent and human talking to a few ladies. He was quite good-looking and charming, but there was no sign of a tail. The women were quick to fall for him, purchasing an oddly large selection of fruits and vegetables. You turned back to the path ahead of you shaking your head in disbelief, before continuing on your way to the pharmacy.

The pharmacy catered for humans and hybrids alike and was never too busy. Which made it your favorite store to collect your script from, as there was little to no waiting time. Handing over the script, you strolled around the store wondering what you would need for these Hybrids. Toothbrushes? Combs? If they had a lot of body hair would they need the silky coat shampoo formula or the soft fur body wash? Placing the hybrid shampoo and body wash back on the shelf you shook your head honestly this was overwhelming.

Rubbing your aching stomach, you were too uncomfortable to really get into hybrid care right now. You wouldn’t have to worry about any other heats apart from your own as it was decided with the board they would all be male hybrid participants. This stemmed from Taehyung being already a willing participant from the start, they thought it best not to mix male and female hybrids.

You would however have to deal with their ruts, albeit once or twice a year. You chewed your lip in thought pausing in the makeup section of the store. You caught your reflection in the small mirror and preened thoughtfully, your eyes were expressive and angular, your hair due to the modification was a brilliant copper.

You were quite beautiful, eerily so, like the man at the fruit shop. Your features were so similar. Even though you were a defect and he was the real deal. “Ma’am your order is ready.”

Turning surprised you grew hot in embarrassment, stammering to make an excuse, “Sorry, I was just thinking about a really strange fox hybrid at the fruit shop.”

Many occupants in the store turned confused and you heard an old man say, “Fox hybrids don’t exist, they are sinister creatures and not to be meddled with”

“She must be a conspiracy theorist,” one woman whispered to her hybrid snake who was donating venom for anti-venom.

Paying for the medication you left quickly and took one of the small pills as you stepped out of the store. Why didn’t anyone else see them?

You headed back towards your home, not forgetting the reason for your trip. You were excited about an omelet at your favorite restaurant when two apples came rolling across the pavement.

They rolled towards you, quickly picking them up you carried them inside the store, “excuse me, sir you dropped some of your apples,” You saw his shadow in the darkened store, two pointed ears, and the flick of a tail.

“Are you a fox hybrid?” You asked curiously and he laughed. It was strange like snickering but at a pitch that was not fit for a grown man, like a child’s giggle sharper with a few squeals, or like a bird chittering. You know the sound. He was Gekkering like a fox.

“Thank you,” he took the apples gesturing you over to the side, “let me get you some blueberries, they are my favorite.”

“Oh thank you, sir, how much do I owe you?”

He shook his head, thrusting a black plastic bag into your hands, “It’s okay, we have to look out for one another.”

What a strange man…

How can I save this to receive and read updates?

‘Follow’ and turn on ‘Notifications’ so you never miss an update

Add your name to a ‘Tag’ list [HERE]

‘Reblog’ this post with the hashtag #BTSsly

Or you can ‘Like’ this post (but good luck trying to find it a week later, we both know how many things you like a day, perhaps we will meet again in the future.)

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lockefanfic · 4 years ago

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Business Trip: Pt 42 - Plan

From the moment she stepped into the car you knew what Minatozaki Sana wanted.

You couldn’t say you were surprised - not given her open and declared desire for you. Nor could you really blame her, given the circumstances - you were both young and just so happened to be well-dressed and in a fancy car; not to mention being on the verge of yet another important operation. The adrenaline was high. So was the sexual tension.

She was wearing a short, black velvet dress that looked more like an elongated blazer than anything else. It left her long, creamy legs bare, making it difficult for you to keep your eyes on the road - especially when she began to touch herself.

Again - you weren’t surprised. You had assumed she would make her move at some point later in the evening, perhaps afterward, perhaps even at the cocktail party itself. She wasn’t one to hold back. She wasn’t one to give a damn about slipping a finger beneath the tiny black shorts she wore under her dress, even as she sat in the passenger seat of a car driving through the busier streets of downtown Tokyo.

When you pull up to a stop light you knew that was when she would try to take the next step. You knew she would try and steal your attention away from the ridiculously expensive high performance car you were driving through one of the world’s most beautiful cities. You knew she didn’t care about the cocktail party, or looking for leads on Seulgi and Yeri. You knew Minatozaki Sana well enough to know that she wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted, and what she wanted right now was you.

You knew what she was doing, could see her legs squirm and writhe softly in your peripheral vision. But it wasn’t until she let the first soft gasp of pleasure escape her lips that you took your first glance over at her.

Those long, perfectly sculpted legs of hers quivered slightly under your gaze, sending delicious looking shocks of movement through those full, round thighs of hers. She was wearing black lace gloves when she stepped into the car, but one of them was on the floor now, her naked right hand busy between her legs.

Your gaze travels up her body, past the gleaming gold buckle of the wide belt at her waist and the black blazer wrapped tightly around the curves of her chest, past the thick black choker over her long, graceful throat - until you reach her face.

Sana always had full command over her expressions. She could look like she stepped out of an anime one moment and then suddenly become a sultry seductress the next - a switch to be flipped at her whim. You found her adorable and cute most of the time, although admittedly, so were most of the girls in your life, to one degree or another.

It was in her sultrier moments that Sana’s facial expressions were unmatched. When she was seducing you, during foreplay, and especially during sex itself - sex turned Minatozaki Sana’s face into one of the beautiful sights on Earth. Mouth slightly open to gasp or moan or shriek; eyes half-lidded, sometimes shutting in the deepest throes of pleasure; full cheeks flushed and rosy, like a visual representation or indicator of the pleasure coursing through her veins. No one else came close. No one else could even try.

She catches your eyes and holds your gaze. You couldn’t have looked away even if you wanted to.

The gasps leaving her full lips quickly turn into soft moans as her fingers slip even deeper into the flesh between her thighs. After fucking herself with her own fingers for a few long seconds, she lets them slip out of her, shiny and glistening in the dark interior of the car. She slowly begins to circle her clit with her slick middle finger. Her other hand, still gloved in thin black lace, reaches over the centre console and to the belt at your waist.

The stoplight turns green. You press down the gas pedal. So does Sana.

Her right hand works with remarkable, impressive dexterity at your belt, quickly undoing the buckle. She pulls down the zipper - almost scarily quick - and she quickly slips her slim, still gloved hand into your boxers.

You gasp. Sana moans. Her fingers slip once more inside herself.

You sigh as she touches your rapidly hardening shaft, the sensation of the thin black lace against your cock a new and novel sensation. Her slim fingers give your cock a few rubs over its top before sliding her fingers under it and pumping it slowly. She wastes no time. Your cock, quickly stiffened to full attention, seems to share in her eagerness.

Sana pauses her handjob for only a moment to pull your boxers down, roughly, as though she were angered that the cloth had the gall to keep her from what she wanted. Your cock springs free. An airy gasp of need leaves Sana’s throat at the sight of it, as though she were seeing it for the first time.

Her gloved hand returns to it, her grip warm and tight.

“Please,” she says, her first word to you that evening. It is light and desperate and needy. “Pull over. I need you now.”

Lesser men might have found as secluded a spot as was possible in the bustling downtown core of Tokyo so that they could give Sana what she so desperately desired. An especially reckless man would have pulled over right at that moment and let the mewling young woman have her way with them, right there in a flashy car next to a busy sidewalk.

But you were not such a man. You weren’t some stranger to Minatozaki Sana, new and unwise to her wiles and her plans. You had history with this woman. Her history with you and your work was deep and tumultuous, but it was the way she projected one image to her colleagues and the general public whilst wearing another one behind the scenes that frustrated you the most.

There was no better example of these masks than the way she treated Momo; ostensibly appearing utterly devoted to their friendship but in reality only insofar as it did not relate to you - when it did, the fangs came out, even if the older Japanese woman had no idea she was being bitten. It angered you, the way she treated Momo. It infuriated you.

But she was also a top tier member of your team - smart, reliable, and dependable. She was friendly, bubbly, always enthusiastic and eager for a good time shared with friends. And that was saying nothing about her beauty - cute and adorable one moment, sultry and sexy the next. Sublime from head to toe. Minatozaki Sana was as close to perfect as was seemingly possible.

She was a beautiful spider in a perfect web. It was easy to get caught up in the complex, sticky strands she was continually weaving. Everyone else saw only the brilliant, shiny strands of diamond-laced silk and thought it a beautiful work of art even as they found themselves caught up in its strings. Only you knew of the venom she was hiding beneath it all.

She was simultaneously someone you wanted and someone you wanted to keep away. She was attractive and repulsive, soothing and vexing, good and evil all at the same time. She loved you and she hated you and she wanted you for herself and no one else; a part of you wanted the same.

And it made you want to see her work for what she wanted.

“No,” you say, softly - and Sana’s grip tightens around your cock.

“What?” she gasps, “please… I need it, I need you, please-”

“No, Sana.”

“Why not!?” she cries, the words sounding more like a plea than a demand. “I need you… oh! I need you inside me, right now oh god please, oh god, oh god-”

“No,” you repeat, even as the pumping of the mewling Japanese girl’s hand on your cock and the quick movements of her own hand between her legs intensifies.

“Why, please, fuck, oh fuck, I need your cock in me, I’ve been such a good girl, fuck I need you to fuck me right now, make me take your cock oh god-”

“Not until you make yourself cum first,” you state, plainly, as though you were giving her a new assignment at work.

It doesn’t take her long to follow your order. She must have been right on the edge. Your demand must have thrown her over it.

“I, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck I need you so bad, I need your cock in me I need it fucking my wet little pussy oh god I’m so wet for you, so wet and tight oh god oh god oh god fuck!---”

When she orgasms the sound she releases fills the small cabin of the Ferrari with a wordless, beautiful sound that comes close to music - light and airy, high and low notes, a song sung by a siren who had achieved, at least temporarily, a respite from the need that had been building in her body.

But as her song ends its last notes turn into notes of longing. The respite was temporary. The need remained, and she needed to fill it.

“Are you done?” you ask, as nonchalantly as you could. You shift gears. You change lanes. You do your best to ignore the woman a foot away from you, still trying to find her way out of her post-orgasm haze, her hand still wrapped around your hard, leaking cock.

“No,” she answers.

She unbuckles her belt, and with the grace of a black widow gliding along the intricate diamond strands of its web, she leans over the centre console, grasps your cock with her right hand, and takes you into her mouth.

The feel of her hot, wet mouth and that skilled, quick tongue on your shaft causes a spasm of pleasure to shoot up your spine - and it causes your foot to involuntarily straighten on the pedal, sending the car speeding down the thankfully mostly empty street.

You cruise for a few blocks, uncaring now of ensuring you were on the correct path to your destination - caring only about making sure the car wasn’t swerving into other lanes or crashing headlong into a wall or tree. To say it was difficult, given the bobbing of the young woman’s head on your cock as she took you in and out of her mouth, was an understatement. It was dangerous and reckless - and ridiculously arousing.

When you mercifully reach the next stop light you let a long sigh escape your mouth. To the driver in the car next to you you must have looked like some tired young executive eager to get home after a long day’s work. Your sighs of pleasure could have been mistaken for sighs of weariness, your expressions of bliss for those of exhaustion.

You let your eyes drift closed for just a second as Sana’s tongue works its magic in your lap, swirling around and under your head, just the way she knew you liked.

Pedestrians cross the street, mere feet from you, each of them seemingly unaware of the lewd act taking place in the seat of the expensive red car they were passing. Were they to look closer they would have only seen a young man at the driver’s seat, sighing at the prospect of waiting another few minutes for the light to turn green again.

Inside the car, your sign turns into a groan. Her head keeps bobbing. Her tongue keeps working.

“Fuck, Sana,” you hiss, not quite able to finish the sentence.

If she heard you, she must have ignored it. Or maybe she did, because her only response to your expletive is to redouble her efforts. Her hand, still slick with her own juices, joins the party. She fondles your balls with wet fingertips, teasing and cradling them.

The light turns green. The car gathers speed. So does Sana.

You last only another block before you begin looking for an alleyway or parking spot. You were well and truly trapped in her web, now. The black widow claims another victim, and was now merely waiting for the right moment to finish it off.

You find a dark alley, as hidden as could be from the main, bustling street you were currently on. You throw the car into park.

Sana lets your cock slip out of her mouth. In a frenzied rush she strips the black shorts off her hips and kicks off the black heels she is wearing. She quickly undoes the belt at her waist before sliding over the center console and straddling you in the small, cramped driver’s seat.

She unbuttons her blazer. No bra, no panties. Only her.

Eyes glazed over with need and lust, she reaches between you to point the tip of your slick cock at her dripping folds. She dips her hips, takes you inside her, and you both feel the air rush from your lungs.

Ferraris, it appeared, prioritized performance and speed on the road over a comfortable sexual experience. Who would have thought? But not that you gave a damn, not that you cared as Sana ground herself against your hips, taking your cock in and out of her wet, hot, slick pussy as fast and as quick as she could given the cramped space of the sports car’s cabin.

No build up, no slow ramping of speed or intensity in her movements. From the second you are inside her she is riding you as though her life depended on it, fucking herself on your cock with smooth, fast movements, as though reaching a mutual orgasm was the only goal she had ever wanted in her life.

She crushes your lips with hers in a frenzied kiss, caring little for subtlety or affection. She wanted her tongue in your mouth and yours in hers. Nothing else mattered, not your comfort nor any last shreds of resistance in your mind about the propriety of what you were doing.

The fangs were in. The venom was spreading.

You slip your hands into her open blazer, eager to partake in the wonders of her beautiful, perfect body. Your questing fingers quickly find her round, soft breasts, squeezing them none too gently, extracting some measure of revenge for the liberties she was taking with you. She responds with a deep, needy moan straight into your mouth, her tongue following closely behind as it continues its duel with yours.

You find and pinch both of her taut, tight nipples. You continue to squeeze her breasts roughly, enjoying the feel of the warm mounds of flesh filling your palm and the little gasps of pleasure and pain that escape her lips because of it. Her nails dig painfully into the back of your scalp and the nape of your neck. Her pussy tightens and pulsates. She moans. You sigh. The response of your bodies is to seek more and more - always more.

Sana finally releases your mouth as your cock reaches a new depth inside her. She lets out a long, loud moan directly into your ear. You couldn’t have cared less if people walked in from the street and watched you two fucking. She could have opened the car’s quickly steaming windows to scream out her pleasures directly into the alleyway for all of Tokyo to hear, and you wouldn’t have given a damn about it.

She straightens her torso as best she could - she wanted to give you a show, wanted to put her body on display for you, as if you weren’t already completely and utterly enraptured by it, weren’t already rendered completely helpless by the silken strands of her web and the poison in her bite.

Your hands push the blazer from her shoulders, exposing more of her body to your hungry eyes. Perfect, creamy vanilla skin; round, bouncing breasts; full, thick thighs flexing with effort as she rides you faster and harder with each bounce of that perfect body. She was beauty and perfection and lust incarnate.

You knew she wasn’t good for you. You knew you had to struggle and fight your way out of the sticky, entangling strands of her web before it was too late and escape was no longer a possibility. You knew the pleasure she had injected into your veins was in reality a form of venom - a venom that bent you to her will and made you powerless to fight her charms. You knew you had to fight it.

But it was so easy to let go, so easy to lose yourself in the pleasure and the beautiful silken strands of her web, so easy to give in to her charms and indulge in her body - so easy to let the black widow have her way, just one last time. You could stop her the next time she tried, surely. One more time couldn’t hurt. How could you resist, how could you stop, when you were already as far as you were? Just one more time, one last time, then you would stop her, set her straight and tell her to stop playing her games. One last time...

She nears her peak first - mercifully, because you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum all over your fucking cock oh god oh god-” she hisses, the filthy words escaping her mouth in a breathy hiss. Her pace, bouncing up and down and grinding forward and backward - doesn’t stop or slow down. It increases. It speeds up. She rides you harder and harder, her softly bouncing breasts and warm thighs and tight, slick pussy beckoning you to join her in bliss.

“Oh fuck, god I’m so close, you’re so big in me, you’re stretching out my pussy so much oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum oh god cum with me cum inside me please oh god fill me up, fill my pussy with your cum, oh god, oh!!-”

The filth coming out of her mouth is interrupted by your hand at her throat. You start with a soft grip, your fingers wrapping around the black lace choker she wore - but when the startled look in her eyes is quickly replaced by perverse pleasure, you find your grip slowly tightening around her windpipe. Not nearly enough to keep her from breathing - but enough to cause her pussy to tighten even more around your thrusting cock as its owner is aroused even further by the imagined threat of losing consciousness.

It said a lot about Sana, you thought, that she was so much into choking - particularly when she was nearing orgasm. It was probably the same reason she loved having sex in public, if your previous liaisons at her apartment, the resort in Hawaii and in a public washroom in Seoul were any indicator. She loved playing dangerously. And a dark part of her loved and craved the possibility of being caught doing it.

That was what turned her on the most - the possibility that others might see how wanton and lustful she really was under the friendly and adorable facade she usually wore. It was why she was always ramping up the intensity of your sessions, choosing ever more public and ever more dangerous times to seduce you. The threat of that side of her being revealed to others, others who only knew the cute, bubbly side of her - it aroused her like nothing else ever could.

She orgasms with a strangled cry that barely leaves her constrained throat - and you follow her willingly. The feel of her body tightening and pulsating around you suddenly becomes too much for you to handle, and your cock spasms as it sends thick streams of hot warm cum deep into the slick walls of her pussy.

The feel of you cumming at the same time as her - the feel of your pulsating cock spurting hot semen inside her body to splash wetly against the walls of her pussy - intensifies and multiplies the pleasure overtaking Sana’s body. For a moment she blacks out. Your grip around her throat tightens involuntarily as you cum, and her moans are cut short in a frightening gasp. Her mouth is held open in a wordless, soundless ‘o’, her eyes shut unwillingly. For a moment you thought you’d hurt her, caused her to pass out. Her body trembles at the pleasure. You feel your body do the same.

For long glorious seconds only the feeling of Sana’s body wrapped around you is all that exists in the world. When it is over Sana slumps onto your chest, sapped, at least temporarily, of the energy she usually possessed in limitless supply.

For a single, dark moment you consider walking away from it all - quitting on the operation and your job and all your other responsibilities. You consider taking her back to your hotel room and spending the rest of your life happily entangled in her web, doing nothing more than fucking and indulging in every single one of her whims. Perhaps those two things were one and the same.

But something deep inside you convinces you to fight her venom. The realities and responsibilities of the world return, unwelcomed, to your mind. Even as she is no more than a sweaty, breathless body atop yours, you realize that every time you gave in to her whims you risked becoming ever more entangled in her web. You had to fight back, had to resist the spider’s bite while you still could.

But each time she bit her fangs dug just a bit deeper, and her venom became just a little harder to fight.

It took Sana a while to find the black lace glove she had torn off her hand before she started to touch herself. It was a dark alleyway and the Ferrari didn’t have any cabin lights that could help, so you ended up having to use your phone’s flash to help her locate it.

“Yatta!” she exclaims upon finding the elusive glove. She slips it back on her hand with a wide smile at you, her eyes large and bright, like some character in an anime or manga.

She did so with her blazer still open, revealing plenty of the creamy curves of her breasts - in addition to the fact that the sinful evidence of your recently sated lust was still warm and wet between her thighs.

But such was the dichotomy that was at the core of Minatozaki Sana. She was at once both an angel and a devil, and sometimes she wore the clothes of one while in the world of the other.

“Sana,” you begin, wanting to finally begin a conversation.

“Yes?” she asks, her tone innocent, even if she replied whilst tucking her breasts back into her black blazer and buttoning it up.

“We need to talk. About-”

“Let me guess,” she interrupts, letting out a sigh and turning her head quickly to get rid of a lock of messy hair that had fallen into her eyes. “This is about why I’m here, and not Momo or Mina?”

“Well, yes,” you reply, caught somewhat off guard by her forthrightness.

“You’re wondering what underhanded scheme I’m pulling, and what I had to do behind the scenes to make sure Momo is at the airport and Mina is busy with an unexpected phone call, leaving me the only option to come with you?”

“Yes,” you admit. Momo had left for the airport an hour or two ago for some business related reason, and Mina was busy with a legal matter that had arisen with JYP’s legal department in Europe.

Sana finally finishes buttoning up her blazer. She brushes stray locks of hair aside and smooths down her clothing, trying to make it look like she didn’t just have rushed, dirty sex in the driver’s seat of a car mere minutes before.

“I’ll let her explain to you herself,” she says with a soft sigh. She reaches for her purse and retrieves her phone, dials a number, and passes it to you. The screen indicates that it is Momo she is dialling.

“Go ahead,” she says, a sad look in her eyes, “talk to her.”

You take the phone, not quite sure what this was leading up to.

“Hello?” comes Momo’s voice on the other end.

“Momo? It’s me.”

“Oh, hey. They just touched down. We should be there on time. Has Sana filled you in on the plan?”

You look over at Sana, but she is looking out the window, seemingly avoiding your eyes. You cannot see much of her face, but from what you could tell from her body language she seemed a little upset - and perhaps a little hurt.

“She was just about to. Do you wanna start?”

“Sure...” Momo says, a little confused by what was going on on your end. “Anyway, I’ll meet you guys at the venue for the fundraiser. I’ll be bringing guests. We have intel that a very important potential target for us will be there…”

Momo goes over the outline of the plan with you in deep detail - it takes almost half an hour for you and her to hash out the specifics. When you end the call, you hand the phone back to Sana, who takes it and shoves it back in her bag. There is still a look of hurt disappointment on her features.

“Someday I hope you’ll start to trust me,” she says, a hint of sadness in her voice.

---

It wasn’t difficult to differentiate the legitimate attendees from the gangsters.

Everyone was dressed to the nines, but the gangsters each stood out, in their own way. Some were covered in intricate, detailed tattoos; others wore expensive silks and furs; some seemed to carry an entire small country’s gross domestic product in jewelry on their fingers, ears, and necks. They had a swagger, a confidence to them that the other law-abiding attendees did not have.

It also helped that they all seemed to congregate on the second floor of the swanky restaurant that had served as the fundraiser’s venue. A particularly scary looking bouncer stood at the only visible set of stairs to and from the balcony, arms crossed over his large barrel chest, looking a bit like a miniboss that had to be fought before one gained entrance into the final dungeon.

“At least it’s easy to see where we need to go,” Sana remarks, taking a couple of champagne flutes from the tray of a nearby server and passing one to you.

You had arrived at the party a half hour or so earlier and you had both made attempts to make small talk with fellow attendees, hoping to find a lead on Seulgi and Yeri - it was clear, however, that there wasn’t anyone on the ground floor who might have known anything about the two fugitives.

“Yeah. That dude at the stairs might be a problem, though,” you reply, taking a sip.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to distract him. Follow my lead.”

“Wait, Sana. There must be another way up there. Maybe we can go around back and-”

Minatozaki Sana was having none of it, though, and before you knew it she had already looped her arm in yours and had begun dragging you towards the stairs.

“Wait here,” she says to you under her breath as you both near the guard, who was momentarily distracted by something else in the crowd.

You watch, curious, as Sana begins to walk towards the guard. Almost immediately her entire demeanor changes - gone was the thoughtful, determined colleague of a moment ago. Now she was all sexiness and allure, taking care to accentuate every single step of her long, perfect legs with a generous swing of her hips. She casually brushes her hair over her shoulder. On her face is the look of slight annoyance that fashion models wore on runways. It was a determined look. A look of a woman who knew precisely what she was doing.

Until she tripped over her feet a few metres from the guard.

“Eeek!” she shrieks as she falls to the floor, looking a bit like she’d just been shot by an unseen cartoon supervillain. The flute of champagne in her hands crashes to the floor, the loud crack of the glass breaking attracting the attention of every pair of eyes in the vicinity.

The guard at the stairs immediately moves to help her, seeming genuinely concerned and perhaps feeling a little lucky at the prospect of helping a gorgeous young woman in distress. You smile, slyly, as you slip past him and up the stairs.

You make eye contact with Sana before you head up the stairs. She shoots you a wink before immediately making as big of a scene as she could.

---

Finding the target was simple. It wasn’t hard. In a group of loud, raucous type-A personalities, she was at the centre of it all. The queen bee atop her hive of drones. Despite the dangerous and intimidating auras of those around her, it was obvious at first glance who was in charge.

Roseanne Park - better known simply as Rose to those in her line of work - looked for the most part like any other high-class, well-dressed attendee at the cocktail party. She was young and beautiful, with a lithe build and cute, innocent-looking features. In her sparkly, short pink dress she looked much like any other girl in her twenties, out at a club looking for a good time.

But as you stood there and watched her interactions with those around her, you saw past that. There were glimpses here and there, in the glares she gave others when they weren’t looking, or in the obviously forced and faked reactions she gave to the underlings that buzzed around her, trying to gain her approval. Glimpses of who she really was. Glimpses of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface, less of a bee and more of a shark that was quickly growing tired of the small fish that circled her, oblivious to the danger she posed to them.

Momo had told you they had intel Rose would be here. As one of the members of Blackpink, you knew she would have the best chance of knowing anything about Seulgi and Yeri.

Your approach to her corner booth, where she sat with a half dozen of her underlings, is blocked by a man that you took to probably be her bodyguard. If they had ever decided to make a live action movie out of Overwatch, you’d found their Hanzo right here.

He raises his right hand to your chest to physically block you from moving any further.

“I’d like to speak with Miss Park,” you state, as strongly and firmly as you could. This was the type of guy who could smell weakness. You knew if you wanted to have a shot with speaking to Rose that you had to get past him first, and he was unlikely to let you pass if he was even slightly suspicious of your intentions.

“Is she expecting you?”

“No. But she’ll want to hear what I have to say. I’m from JYP.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes as he searches for a sign of weakness in yours. You feel your inner self wither under his gaze, but you somehow keep up the front long enough for him to feel satisfied that you weren’t a threat to his boss.

“Wait,” he states. An order, and not at all a request.

Hanzo walks over to Rose’s booth and steps past the loud, raucous drones to whisper into her ear. Her gaze finds and settles on you as Hanzo informs her of your presence and intentions.

The girl takes a sip of the glass at the table. For a brief moment, there is a wicked flash in her eyes, like that of a shark that had finally found worthy prey. She says something softly to Hanzo, who returns to you a moment later.

“Your phone,” he states. Again, not a request - a demand that implied there was no choice in the matter.

You slip your phone from the inner pocket of your blazer.

As you do, you make note of the text message from Momo that informed you that she had arrived with the guests.

Clearing it from your lock screen, you hand the phone to Hanzo and he inspects it briefly before he motions with his head for you to follow him towards the booth.

“All of you, out,” Rose states as you approach, words firm and direct, eyes locked on you and not even bothering to care about the inconvenience of her underlings. Another order. In this world, it seemed, nothing was ever merely a request.

The drones get up and leave, brooking no questions. Each of them gives you a dirty look on the way out, unhappy with being so rudely interrupted. Rose’s eyes remain locked on you.

“Come, sit,” she says, her charming tone and Australian accent lending her words a soft, inviting tone, even if there was an underlying venom to it all.

You take a seat next to her. Hanzo leaves your phone on the table, face down, before giving Rose a short bow of respect and returning to his post.

“I’m told you’re from JYP,” Rose begins, taking another sip from the glass at the table. She crosses her long, thin legs in front of you, slowly, turning her body to ensure you could see her every action. She holds the glass in her lap, ensuring she is pushing her small, cute breasts together with her upper arms. There is a sly smile on her lips that reminds you, strangely, of Sana’s.

“I am. And I’ve heard things about you.”

“Is that so?” she answers, pretending to be at least a little surprised. “And what exactly have you heard about little old me?”

“I’ve heard of your work with Blackpink. And your involvement with Red Velvet.”

At the mention of Red Velvet a slight, barely noticeable change appears in her face. It is small and fleeting - but unmistakable.

“I’m not quite sure I follow,” she lies, “I don’t have any involvement in that world.”

“That’s too bad, because if you were at all interested in that world I would have something to offer you.”

“And what might that be?”

“I’m relatively high up at JYP,” you state, looking off into the distance where the cocktail party was still in full swing, trying your best to appear nonchalant. “I could, much to my dismay, become the victim of a hack into my phone that could then give you access to all of our servers and the company secrets within them.”

Rose sets the glass back on the table. Her smile widens slightly. You’d gained her attention, it seemed.

“And in return, what would you want from me?”

“We’re tracking two fugitives from Korea - former members of Red Velvet. Boss says I have a promotion waiting if I bring them in. I’m sure either you or people you know have either found them or know where they are.”

“It’s your lucky day, I think,” she answers with a small chuckle. “I happen to know exactly where they are - or rather, my girls in Blackpink do.”

“Then I think we can arrange something,” you answer. “You give me Seulgi and Yeri, I give you access to the JYP servers.”

“We could,” she says, her gaze finally leaving you and returning to the half-empty glass of amber liquid at her table. “Or we could take you and your date and force that information out of you both.”

She motions with her head towards her bodyguard - who is holding Sana in front of him with a firm grip on her upper arms. Sana struggles against his grip, but it was obvious there was no way she was going to escape his clutches.

Rose chuckles. It is a laugh with little mirth, and plenty of implied threat.

“This is quite hilarious, I must say - did you really think you two could waltz in here, two complete strangers, and start sniffing around hoping to find Seulgi and Yeri? Did you really think we didn’t know who you were the second you stepped through that door?”

The conversation had taken a turn for the worse - but you were still confident in the evening’s plan.

“Alright, there’s no need for this. Let her go, she’s just a date. She’s not involved in any of this.”

Rose smiles to herself, and then at Hanzo.

“You and the boys go have fun with her,” she hisses, all trace of humor leaving her face in an instant to be replaced with a dark and sinister smile. “Just make sure no one can find what’s left of her afterward.”

Hanzo begins to drag Sana away, but the loud jingle that leaves your phone stops him from going any further.

“Ah, right on time,” you say, picking up your phone from the table where Hanzo had placed it. You bring the phone to your ear.

“Ah, yes, Officer Miyawaki. We’re upstairs, on the second floor. Corner booth. Yes, she’s here. Pink dress. See you soon. Okay. Bye.”

Rose and Hanzo are struck in momentary confusion.

“Officer?” Rose repeats, “What the hell is-”

The sound of a loud commotion erupting from the stairs to the second floor interrupts her mid-sentence. You smile as you watch three women approach the booth. Hanzo releases Sana to confront them - and as she catches your eyes Sana lets a smile appear on her lips as well.

At the head of the group of three is Sakura Miyawaki - following her are Nayeon and one other woman you didn’t know. As Hanzo raises his hand to stop her, just as he did with you, Sakura bats it away sharply with the back of her hand. The bodyguard looks stunned, as though suddenly not knowing quite what to do, his tough front having no effect on the tiny but determined woman confronting him. Hands on her hips, Sakura speaks sternly with a raised voice in Japanese, and while you couldn’t understand what she was saying, the fact that the man quickly backs away sheepishly implies that whatever she said had certainly put him in his place.

Sakura approaches the booth with a look of serious determination on her cute features - a look you had not known she was even capable of.

“My name is Officer Miyawaki Sakura, Tokyo PD. Are you Roseanne Park?” she questions, firmly.

“Y-yes,” Rose answers. The haughty, confident demeanor of the young woman had begun to crack in the face of this unexpected turn of events. “But you can’t do anything to me here. I haven’t committed any crimes in this country.”

Satisfied that you’d led her to the right person, Sakura turns to let a second woman approach the table - a tall, beautiful young woman who looked to be of mixed descent. While dressed in casual clothes, the holstered pistol at her waist and the credentials she flashes from a folded leather wallet soon make it clear who she was, even before she introduced herself.

“Roseanne Park, I’m Staff Sergeant Somi Douma of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I’m here on behalf of the governments of Canada and the Kingdom of the Netherlands to place you under arrest for the crimes of invasion of privacy, illegal surveillance with intent to blackmail, and willful, malicious, and repeated harassment of individuals.”

“The Netherlands? Canada? What are you talking about-”

“We have evidence of you committing crimes in both countries. Please stand.”

Rose hesitantly stands on shaky legs, but the look of shock on her face remains, even as Officer Douma approaches her, gathers her hands behind her back, and places handcuffs on them. She begins to read the confused young woman her rights as she leads her out of the restaurant, Officer Miyawaki leading them both and clearing a path through the look of confused attendees.

A wide smile on your face, you rise and give Sana and Nayeon high fives as you leave the booth.

You briefly think about giving the confused and shamed Hanzo a cheeky one-liner on your way out, but you settle instead for raising your palm to his chest, just as he did to you - before turning it into a patronizing pat on the shoulder before you walk away.

---

You had to admit that you felt more than a little proud of your role in capturing the first of the four members of Blackpink. You smile widely as you watch the still-protesting Rose being forced into the back of a waiting police cruiser by Officer Douma, before she herself gets into the passenger seat. Sakura takes the wheel, and the car heads off, presumably to the Tokyo PD central precinct.

You meet with the rest of the team in the parking lot of the restaurant - along with a former colleague.

“Boss!” Park Choa says, her face gleaming and bright in the dark Tokyo evening. She rushes towards you and envelops you in a hug, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing tightly. You reciprocate, happy to be near her once more.

“This wouldn’t have happened without you,” you say when you finally part.

“Oh, I didn’t do much. It was getting pretty lonely in Europe... but I heard about how you got involved with Blackpink, and after I heard that one of them was wanted in the Netherlands, I thought JYP might want to know. After we found out Rose was here in Japan, JYP put this plan together. Mina was happy to take care of the legal issues and ensure the right authorities were informed,” she says with a nod towards Mina, who had met her at the airport. “JYP was the real brains behind this operation.”

“But how was Canada involved? That officer was a Canadian,” Jihyo asks.

“Rose was the one who harassed and threatened Wendy’s family in Canada in order to blackmail Irene into doing their bidding,” Momo explains, “and she’s wanted there too. I guess Rose was in charge of all the overseas intimidation and threatening that Blackpink was behind. She just hid behind the fact that she didn’t actually commit any crimes in Korea or Japan.”

“Officer Miyawaki has assured us that we’ll have time to question Rose about Seulgi and Yeri,” Nayeon notes. “It will be a matter of time before we crack her and she squeals about where we can find the rest of Blackpink, too.”

“Well, tonight sounds like a win,” you state, finding agreement in the smiling faces of the girls around you. “I think we deserve to celebrate.”

The girls cheer loudly before starting to find cabs that would take them downtown to party the night away. As they leave the parking lot, Momo grabs you by the arm and leads you quietly towards the black sedan that she had used to pick up Choa from the airport. Nayeon waits nearby, an unreadable expression on her face, as though she were anxious to see your reaction to what Momo had to show you.

“We have one more guest tonight,” Momo says. “You’re probably wondering how we knew that Rose would be at this party.”

“Now that I think of it, yeah,” you admit.

Momo gives you a slim smile before opening the rear door to the sedan.

In the backseat is Irene, her face bandaged, hands handcuffed in front of her. There is a determined look on her battered features.

“She’s volunteered to help us find the rest of them, too,” Momo states.

Author’s Note: Happy New Year!

The plot thickens! I had to think long and hard about how I wanted this chapter to go. I was tired of the OC being constantly screwed over and backstabbed so I wanted him to have an active role in actually getting a win lol.

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twicesmut #twice sana #minatozaki sana #male reader #pov smut #twice #twice smut

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unmaskedagain · 4 years ago

Text

Remember You Young

I answered this ask because I thought it was adorable. I loved the show they wanted me to do, and I want to see who could guess it before it became obvious. Its a one-shot .

She was being followed. At first it had been daunting when she realized it, and Marinette had done everything she could to shake them off her trail. Then she realized she was being stalked by kids. Literally kids. None older than ten or eleven at best.

They had been terrible at hiding, rarely ever whispered, argued constantly, had the most outrageous costumes but somehow managed to keep up with Marinette’s every move... most of the time. They ran around with toy guns and pretend walky talkies.

It either said the best thing about the kids’ skills, or the worst thing about Marinette’s.

There was a husky boy who ran around in a blue shirt and goggles. He never took off the old pilot’s hat he wore. He was also… always eating cheese. Or candy. He liked puns that caused his friends to groan constantly.

There was an Asian little girl who wore an adorable green sweater that was too big for her and the arms of the sweater went well past her hands. She was girly and seemed to be the sweetest of the bunch. Honestly, she was the happiest girl Marinette had ever seen in her entire life. The only time the kid had gotten upset was when she had cried when couldn’t find the stuffed animal she wanted in any of the stores. Marinette had been heartbroken for her. The bluenette didn’t know what a “Rainbow Monkey” was or why it had to be French but she was going to get it for the girl if it was the last thing she did it.

A bald British boy seemed to be the leader as everyone took direction from him. Marinette had never seen his eyes due to the black glasses he wore. The kid seemed to believe himself to be some sort of superspy. He had a fierce take-charge attitude and barked orders like a pro and preferred to a treehouse their hung out at as headquarters. He didn’t smile often.

A pretty black girl seemed to be the one with the most sense of the much, and the most style. She wore her hair in a long braid, a blue shirt-dress and an old red cap. The girl had a natural charisma and coolness to her that made Marinette feel awkward in comparison. She seemed to second-in-command .

The smallest of the bunch was a blond boy with an unfortunate bowl cut and a bright orange hoody. He was loud, brash, and was the “tough guy” of the bunch. He picked a fight with nearly everyone. A fierce little guy that called Marinette a “Ruddy Teenager.”

However all the kids seemed to dislike adults and teens to some degree. They cast suspicious glances at everyone thirteen and older no matter how nice they were. None of them ever called each other by their names, always opting to follow the rules of whatever game they were playing and called each other by numbers. And always mispronounced the word: number.

Numbuh 1. Numbuh 2. Numbuh 3. Numbuh 4. Numbuh 5. Marinette hadn’t gotten close enough to figure out who was who but she did suspect the numbers were ranking order or anything. They were probably just random.

After over two weeks of being stalked, Marinette still hadn’t been able to figure out what they wanted from her. Only that they didn’t know she was Ladybug. It was frustrating.

She finally got answers one day while walking home from school when she got attacked by an evil cat lady who weaponized her pets, a deranged dentist who put braces on everyone, and a man dressed like toilet. They attempted to kidnap Marinette and raise all out heck on everyone around them. They weren’t Akumas. They were just crazy people.

The kids fought them back. They saved the day. They saved Marinette. The villains ran with their tails between their legs.

…Suddenly everything the kids had been doing didn’t seem like a game anymore.

…Then the kids kidnapped Marinette. The kids jumped her, hogtied her, gagged her, and carried her back to their tree house… which Marinette now realized was way more advanced than any tree house should be. EVER.

As soon as they got to there, and Marinette was uncharitably tossed on to the couch, the kids panicked.

“We shouldn’tve done this!” Goggles boy chimed. “We weren’t supposed to make contact. Moonbase will decommission us for sure.”

“And let the adults have her, Numbah 2,” The bald boy said. “I think not! We can never let the adults win. Its against everything the Kids Next Door stand for.”

The black girl nodded, “Numbah One’s right, we can’t let Father have what’s in her brain,” She said. “It could destroy the KND!”

“But that’s not possible, Numbah five, we all know that!” The girl in green said. “She got decommissioned. Her brain got all wishy-washy. Right, Numbah Four?”

The blond boy huffed, “Yeah! Numbah Three’s got a point. And what’s so important about some ruddy teenager anyway? Tell you what! We should drop her artic ocean and never look back.”

Numbah five groaned, “Are you stupid, boy? They sent Numbuh 274, I mean Chad, after her. And CREE! They wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t important. The supreme leader wouldn’tve sent us to stop them from getting her! Ya moron.”

Marinette frowned at that. Chad, the handsome foreign exchange student that came to Marinette’s class a few weeks ago. All the girls in school thought he was so dreamy. Even Marinette, even though she had been perplexed at the sad, almost wistful looks he would shoot her when he thought he wasn’t looking. And at the stories he told about his childhood, and woud look at Marinette like he was waiting for her to jump in and finish them. Almost like he knew her. Or expected her to suddenly remember him.

The same with Cree, a foreign exchange student in a grade above Marinette’s, but to a lesser extent than Chad. The older girl liked to make sly remarks about what being a teen meant where she came from. She cracked what seemed to be inside jokes at Marinette and looked crestfallen when it was clear the bluenette didn’t understand what she meant. Then Cree would grumble about stupid kids ruining everything.

“But WHHHHYYY?” Numbah Four whined. “We got sent a like bajillion miles away to a city where they force kids to eat bugs and smelly cheese all to protect a teenager. A TEENAGER! And they don’t even tell us why.”

Numbah Two frowned, “It is kind of strange. I mean we hate teenagers! They’re the worse. Why save this one?” He looked at Marinette like she was specimen in a jar.

“Because team,” Numbah One announced loudly, pausing for, what Marinette knew was, dramatic effect. “She is Numbah Seventy-Two.”

Gasps rang through the room. The kids reared back as if struck. Their eyes went wide and they started at Marinette in awe.

“…Or at least she used to be,” Numbah One added.

“Woah,” Numbah Four said, looking at Marinette with newfound respect.

Numbah Two sqeauled, “This is the best day ever. You have to sign my Yipper card.” He told Marinette. “It’s an ultra-rare collectable. Only three still exists. The rest were destroyed.”

“But, but, but how?” Numbah Five asked, removing her hat. “All records of Numbah Seventy-Two was struck from the history of the KND. Only the supreme leader and her team ever knew what happened to her.”

“They pinky-swore not to tell anyone what happened!” Numbah Three added. “No one would ever break a pinky promise.”

“That’s true,” Numbah five nodded. “No kid ever would. Expecially not her team. She saved us. She saved the KND. She saved the world and made it better for kids everywhere.”

Numbah One nodded. “Exactly. No kid would ever break the solemn oath. But do you remember just who was one her team?”

Looks of realization appeared on the kids’ faces, and then anger.

“Numbah Two Hundred and Seventy-Four,” Numbah Five said bitterly. “He was Number Seventy-Two’s second in command for years. And He betrayed her. Why am I not surprised?”

“But why?” Numbah Two asked. “I mean if she was still Numbah Seventy-Two I’d understand. She stopped Principle Boutface from ending summer vacation forever. She stopped Father from making Halloween adults only forever and ever. Name a bad guy, and I can guarantee she kicked their butts! And most importantly she even beat…” Numbah Two paused, clearly afraid. “well you know. She’s done loads of cool things. But She can’t remember anything. So why? Why come get her now?”

“She beat who?” Numbah Four asked. “I don’t know. Who’d she else did she beat? Why were they so important?”

Numbah One and Five looked away. Both remembered but neither wanted to say anything.

“We were still just little babies when it happened,” Numbah Three answered seriously. “Still finishing training. We never really knew what was going on. Too little for anyone to tell us. We just knew it was bad. Kids were always scared, always hurting…”

“It was a dark time,” Numbah One agreed. “Before Father took over, there was another in charge of the evil adults in the world. But he worse than Father could’ve ever dreamed of being. Kids were scared to go to sleep. They were afraid of their closets and what was under their beds. OF every shadow. No kid would be caught out after dark. They were too scared. Nowhere was safe. No one was safe. Not from him. Not from…”

“The Boogieguy,” Numbah Five finished. “The most powerful leader the adults ever had. The strongest, most evil villain you can imagine. But Numbah Seventy-Two refused to back down. She was the only who could stand up to him. The only one to ever beat him.”

Numbah Two nodded, “Legend says the Boogieguy had a nasty plan to open a portal to unleash meanest, nastiest monsters another world to get kids to behave better. But Numbah Seventy-Two heard and went to beat him once and for all. And she did too. She trapped him in his own trap. He’s been there ever since!”

Numbah Three added, “Numbah Seventy-Two finally defeated the Boogieguy, she locked him away in a place so scary, so terrifying not even the adults would be willing to go near it. Which it means it has to be really, really, REALLY, scary. Only she knew how to get him out. She used a super-secret password that only she knew. And then, and then she, she!” Numbah Three burst into tears.

Numbah One placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her down, “To stop the Boogieguy for good, and to make sure no kid ever had to suffer his wrath again, she decommissioned herself. She was only eleven.”

“It was a hard sacrifice, but one kids everywhere will never forget,” Numbah One vowed. “And the Global KND didn’t let it be in vain. We fought back harder than ever before. Her team-”

“But, but,” Numbah Four look around, “She wasn’t even a teenager, why’d she go and do a stupid thing like that for?”

“To save us,” Numbah Five answered, and put her hat back on. She looked at Marinette with hard eyes. “To save the KND, and protect kids everywhere. Because of her, the KND finally turned the tables on adults. We weren’t scared of the dark anymore.”

“Was never the same!” Numbah Five snapped at him. “None of them were ever the same after fighting Boogieguy, after what happened to Numbah Seventy-Two. They couldn’t handle being around each other anymore. They are transferred to different teams. Their entire sector was retired. Number Three Hundred and Sixty-Two. Numbuh Sixty. My sister- Cree! Numbah Two Hundred and Seventy-Four, UGH! Look what they became. Ya don’t need to be decommissioned to not recognize them anymore.”

It went quiet. The kids not knowing what to say. Marinette had never been so confused in her life. Had she been some sort of Spy kid? Had her memories been erased? What was going on?

And if everything, the kids were saying was real, and Marinette decided that it was, then she was a little peeved at Chad and Cree, her old teammates apparently, for going against everything this KND had accomplished… That Marinette had apparently sacrificed herself for. And what for? To side with some evil adults?

“…The KND have figured out a way to destroy Boogieguy forever,” Numbah one said. “Unfortunately the adults have also become aware of the Boogieguy’s location and want release him. In order for either side to succeed in their mission, we need Numbah Seventy-Two.”

All eyes turned back to Marinette.

Numbah Five cast a sad look at Numbah Seventy-Two, Marinette, “Chad and Cree will come for her.” Of that Numbah five was certain. The lone picture of ABC that sat next to Cree’s bedside nightstand was proof enough of that. It was the only thing her big sister ever kept of her KND days, apart from her memories. The only “little kid” thing she didn’t scorn. “They won’t stop until they get her. I don’t think Cree or Chad ever forgave the KND agreeing that Numbah Seventy-Two should erase her memories.”

They never forgave themselves for letting her, Abby didn’t add.

“She was decommissioned, hello!” Numbah Two reminded them. “She can’t remember anything.”

Number One took off his glasses and looked at the teenager who, in another life, had been everything he ever dreamed of being in the KND. She was a legend. A hero. She had, once, been the best of them all. “She will.”

#marinette dupain cheng #ml fic #codename knd

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