#i just have theories to depend on to keep me occupied

[l0ganberry]

How tf did I get Bob Velseb brainrot???

AGAIN!?!

[thelibrarian1895]

If your sibling is a rogue then make the best of it

I would like to think that Jason is very Hondo Onakha about kidnapping, very dramatic, fairly polite/chill to the one he kidnapped, minimal trauma, very professional overall but also very theatrical. Out of anyone in Gotham to have as your kidnapper, Jason aka the Red Hood is by far the very best person.

ALL of Jason's family whether they be legal, biological, emotional, or honorary, will absolutely try to convince Jason to kidnap them to get them out of some stupid civilian event. Whether or not Jason will go along with it will depend on several factors such as:

Does this benefit Bruce and get him out of a boring civilian event too? Then so sorry, you're just going to have to suffer!

How busy is Jason at the moment? Because being a drug lord and vigilante is actually pretty time consuming and kidnapping can be a lot of work for potentially very little gain.

What does Jason get out of it? Yes money is all well and good but Jason is rich by his own merits and can just steal from Bruce whenever, there's got to be more to it!

When is the last time Jason has kidnapped this sibling? He can't do it too often or it gets less effective. He has a reputation to maintain after all!

It may also depend on which sib is asking and what they need to be "saved" from.

Dick asks to be kidnapped from a bachelor auction charity? Ha! No chance, sorry Dickie! He will be there though and take pictures and laugh. (And also join all the other siblings who are stalking Dick and the winner of the auction in the event the winner wasn't one of the Bats or an invited member of the JL or Titans using Bruce's money) Dick asking to be kidnapped from a gala or some opening night of trendy place he's at to maintain civilian status? Maybe but the bribe has to be considerable. And it cannot benefit Bruce. Dick's normal bribes consist of taking some tedious part of an investigation over for Jason or getting intel from JL databases for Jason and the Outlaws.

Cass? Anytime and always, favorite sister who can beat him up has special kidnapping privileges, though they did stop for a very long time when some weirdos put out the theory that the Red Hood was in love with Gotham's Princess. (idk if Cass is considered Gotham's Princess in any version of canon but she is to me) Cass does still repay Jason in the form of Black Bat keeping an eye on Jason's territory when he's out of Gotham for any significant length of time.

Tim? He does owe the kid for several incidents and Tim normally doesn't abusive the privilege so he'd probably do it but there does have to be some sort of bribe for appearances sake. Tim usually gets Jason to agree in exchange for pictures of Batman tripping over his cape or in some other ridiculous position. Bonus in Jason's mind if Tim requests a kidnapping when Bruce is off world or otherwise occupied, therefore giving Brucie Wayne's reputation a hit. However if Tim wants to be kidnapped from something where Bruce is also suffering as Brucie, Tim is SOL (Tim might get revenge by getting Kon to wear Red Hood gear and "kidnap" Tim from the event if Jason refused. Kon will do it because Tim asked and also I would like to think that Kon isn't too fond of the guy who beat his best friend/boyfriend nearly to death and will mess with him if given the chance) Since kidnapping normally interferes with things that Tim wants to do however, he may instead bribe Jason to not kidnap a sibling that has asked to be kidnapped. Jason usually obliges this no kidnapping request.

Barbara? Sorry, no, he doesn't want to stress the Commissioner like that. He will, however, kidnap other people for her if she asks.

Stephanie? No Stephanie, he doesn't care what you offer, he's not kidnapping you so you can avoid your finals! Stephanie has, however, worn various wigs and been various hostages who died at the hands of the Hood in order to maintain his reputation. She gets paid in baked goods for her service.

Damian? Damian considered the idea ridiculous and proclaimed he'd never stoop so low and he would carry out his duties no matter how onerous! Damian then had to go to a Gotham gala. Damian is trying very hard to figure out a suitable bribe to get the Red Hood to kidnap him often enough that Bruce will be forced to keep Damian away from galas because of the ongoing security threat. So far it hasn't worked because Damian is very bad at bribing Jason, Jason thinks Damian forced to interact with normal people is funny, and Tim is successfully bribing Jason to ignore Damian's bribery attempts. The Red Hood has "kidnapped" Damian once, as a treat, when he thought the kid was looking particularly down about something.

Duke? Duke has yet to be made to attend any society gatherings as the solo Wayne (normally that falls to Bruce, Dick, or Tim) and can usually be spotted hanging out with Cass by the snack table at any gala or trendy event. He's not at Cass's level of reading body language but he's pretty darn good and he and Cass have reached a new level of being able to avoid annoying rich people while at parties. Duke is Cass's favorite gala buddy. Duke hasn't felt the need to ask Jason to kidnap him yet but Jason will allow the first one to be free of charge, no questions asked. After that Duke hasn't figured out suitable bribes for Jason but has realized that all of his siblings are hyper competitive and that Jason would absolutely wager a kidnapping in a competition or for a bet.

Alfred? If Alfred asked then Jason would without any caveat. Alfred will not ask however but might ask on behalf of someone else and Jason will comply.

Bruce? Jason just laughs. And if someone else is planning on kidnapping Brucie Wayne from a particularly boring business meeting or gala? Jason will actively thwart the kidnapping to force Bruce to continue to deal with social activity.

Jason usually splits a portion of the ransom money into bonuses for his goons since their original job outline is drug dealer/enforcer/mobster and not kidnapper. If they're going to get major felonies on their records, better make it financially worth it. All of Jason's goons are masked during any kidnapping event. The rest of the ransom money goes towards a charity of Jason's choosing.

Jason has also kidnapped people who are not his family or family adjacent. Barbara thought her dad could use a vacation at one point but he didn't have the PTO for it so Barbara had the Red Hood kidnap him. James Gordon experienced the weirdest kidnapping of his life that included some of the best food he'd ever eaten, an extremely soft bed, his pile of books that were on his reading list, and access to the sports games he'd meant to watch. The ransom was successfully paid after he had a week to relax. Gordon was then, as per protocol, allowed time to relax after his "harrowing" event. Barbara forced him to take the time. Strangely enough, some politicians who had been giving the Commissioner a hard time were suddenly very quiet when James Gordon came back, well rested, well fed, and ready to get back to the grind. It, of course, had nothing to do with the very polite emails with pictures attached that they all received while the Commissioner was very publicly out of the way.

Oliver Queen, when he was visiting Gotham, was kidnapped by the Red Hood. He was released after the ransom was paid and specifically he was released back in Star City. Mr. Queen was unavailable for comment after the incident but some sources say that he was cursing bats for some reason.

Lois Lane found herself kidnapped by Red Hood and ransomed by the Daily Planet while Superman was off world. Lois Lane returned safely to Metropolis and published a shocking expose on Luthor's latest scheme. Her sources for the article remain a secret.

Bruce is very grumpy about the whole thing, not just because Jason won't help his poor father get out of the stupid social event, but also because Jason being technically a rogue like this makes it very hard for him to successfully argue that Jason should let himself regain legal living status.

[sophieinwonderland]

fun question, how would a body swap between a person who is plural and a person who is not work? Would the alter fronting and the other person switch? Would all of the alters switch with the other person? Would only some of them do so? Even better, what about two people who are plural?

Body swaps are just system hops for singlets! 😉

It's a really interesting topic though! Obviously, because we're dealing with magic here, it depends on how that particular body swap is written.

The most boring possibility is that the whole system is swapped. This plays out pretty similarly to a normal body swap story but there are still some pretty interesting things that could be done with it.

A new body can change how a system interacts with their body. Male headmates from a female system might feel more at home in a male body. They might even enjoy being in this other body so much that they don't want to leave, putting them at odds with other members of the system and creating conflict for a story.

But the alternative, the single-headmate transfer, is way more interesting to me.

Imagine your system's collective knowledge as a vast web. Every headmate's personality and memories occupy a space on that web. And as a system, you have a special power that lets you access memories in other parts of that web belonging to different headmates, even if you feel detached from those memories. This is what some call "emotional amnesia." Even if you have severe dissociative barriers for some memories, you can generally access others with only the feeling of detachment present.

But now imagine that some magical force has SNIPPED your web. Everything that you are is forcefully ripped from your body and flung into another. You're suddenly alone. And not only are you separated from your system, you're separated from their web of memories. All you have left is your own memories and experiences from your own part of the web. You'll try to remember something you would be able to in your own system. But it's gone now because that memory remained in a completely different body with the headmate who formed it.

How bad this is will depend on what headmate gets swapped. A longtime host with tons of life experience of their own might manage fine aside from the loneliness. But what about a headmate who hasn't fronted since they were a child and has few or no memories of their own?

And it doesn't get any better for the singlet or the system they're now bonded to.

The system just lost someone they cared about and access to all their memories. And remember how I said a host would do the best being swapped to another system? While that might be true, the trade-off is that the system lost their host. That also means they're suddenly separated from all of the host's important memories.

At the same time, the singlet is suddenly having to grapple with sharing a brain with all these different people. People who, by the way, can read their mind and learn their deepest darkest secrets.

Even once they switch back, the system will still know everything they learned about the singlet. And likewise, the singlet will remember everything they learn about the system. In a long-form story, this can be used to create drama even after they switch.

One cool thing though about the memory sharing is that this can also allow skill sharing.

If a singlet is a chemist, then in theory, every headmate can access their knowledge of chemistry once they're in the same system, even if the singlet isn't the one fronting.

One good idea for someone writing this is to give the singlet strong dissociative barriers in the beginning that slowly erode as they become more integrated with the rest of the system.

This also means that if the singlet has a secret they're trying to keep, you can drag out the other members of the system finding it out. The gradual integration into the system is a ticking clock in a story to create drama, where if they don't switch back soon, their secret (whatever it may be) will be revealed to the system.

There are so many fun ways one could approach this topic! 😁

[wholesomefluffdaddy]

Okay. So. What if Enid finds out that, due to her shifting during the Blood Moon, she’s somehow linked to the Big Bad Wolf of fable and myth?

She learns this through some cryptic prophecy or perhaps an ancient pack superstition. The details are sparse, with much of it apocryphal, but this much is true: she’s begun to have strange dreams.

In them, she is a different sort of wolf. Monstrous. Ravenous. All teeth and maw and urge to hunt. There is forest in which she prowls, hunting a flicker of red.

Each night she dreams, and each night the hunt progresses. That flicker of red grows into scarlet swaths through dark foliage. Until one night, in a dream more nightmare than not, Enid sees the source.

Wednesday. Her morbid girlfriend. In red upon red upon red.

Cloth? Blood? She can’t tell from the dreams. All she remembers was upon waking us the terrible hunger. That relentless craving to feel flesh between her teeth. To bite down and consume her prey whole.

Enid is terrified. Even in waking, she can sense the gnawing need. Her gums itch. Her mouth pools with saliva. Her senses alight with every note of Wednesday’s dirge. Pulse. Breath. Sweat and scent. Hers.

So Enid has a dilemma. Does she really believe the superstitions? Is Wednesday truly her Red Riding Hood? Is she somehow destined to devour her girl? Oh gawd, what is she going to do!?

— — —

As for Wednesday, she is alarmingly fine upon learning of the so-called prophecy. She has her theories. She keeps them close to her heart, so as to not frighten her beloved. Because she has her suspicions.

The sweet rainbow wolf. Gentle and tender. Her valiant Enid. She has a monster in her that may only be tamed through exploration and acceptance. And Wednesday is prepared to help her with that, regardless of the risks. She would gladly place her bare neck between Enid’s jaws. Anything for her beloved.

Wednesday’s plan? The tales hint that the fables are but an indication of a cycle that must be repeated. Yet a fable is just a story. The setting has been defined by dream. The important players cast. But there’s that wiggle room in interpretation. Who’s to say that the designated prey can’t set it all in motion? Guide it. Shape it. Her own little orchestra, with her as the dark conductor in a bright red hood.

— — —

Whoops. Suggestion spiraled. Sorry! It’s really a concept of Enid finding out she’s the Big Bad Wolf, but being terrified of what that means. Themes of dealing with urges that she’s reluctant to accept. And Wednesday just truly wants to help, but in her own macabre and overly-dramatic fashion.

Silly and fanciful or tense and dramatic? Whichever! Can be SFW or NSFW depending on interpretation of the urges. Writing could have creative moments where sections are told like a fairy tale as they re-enact parts of the fable. I dunno! Your experimentation with A Raven and the Writing Desk made me think you’d enjoy playing around with something like this.

That’s my suggestion. 😅

This… This is gonna occupy my mind until I write it down.

[blueskittlesart]

feelings on the ‘link who went into the shrine of resurrection isnt the same one who came out’ theory/hc? apologies if this has already been clarified

sigh. this theory occupies the exact same niche in my mind as the "link is dead in mm" theory tbh (by which i mean its the bane of my fucking existence.) Technically, i believe it is possible within the preestablished lore of the franchise. However, I think the only way you come to a conclusion like this is by deliberately ignoring a lot of the writing of the game.

in my opinion, loz as a franchise is at its best when it functions as a thematic narrative. my favorite games in the series all function as narratives on two levels--the first is the obvious one, the hero's journey story that the player actually physically plays through. the second level is the one that really hooks ME on these games though, and that's the thematic level. oot, for example, is essentially a story about a young boy going on a journey to save his kingdom. But on a thematic level, it's about the relationships between adults and children and the trauma of growing up. breath of the wild functions similarly. essentially it is a story about a boy waking up with no memories and saving a princess from a monster. but on a thematic level, botw is a commentary on trauma and growth and healing.

the gist of the theory you're talking about is that the original pre-calamity link was unable to be resurrected and the shrine of resurrection just made a new one in his place, and that's why he has no memories. depending on how deep into the theory you go, some suggest that everyone the original link knew pre-calamity is in on this conspiracy and are deliberately gaslighting the new link into believing he is the same person as the original. to be entirely honest, i think it technically works on a purely literal level. COULD the shrine of resurrection have probably made a new link? yes. COULD zelda and everyone else be conspiring to convince link he's a real boy? sure. technically yes. there's not REALLY anything wrong with this from an in-universe standpoint. it's all technically possible. but imo the only way to come to this conclusion is to ignore the fact that botw functions on a secondary level as a metaphor.

I think there's a tendency among a certain type of superfan to forget that media is created by PEOPLE, and that writing decisions are made deliberately. especially in a game as vast and immersive as botw, it's admittedly easy to forget sometimes that the world and the narrative were crafted by human beings and therefore narrative and worldbuilding decisions were made for a reason. but if you take a step back and analyze it from a writer's perspective, botw's thematic narrative is almost richer than its face-value story. it's built into the characters, the world, the lore, EVERYTHING in the game is structured around its central themes. this is part of what i believe makes botw such a successful and relatable game. Its central message, that it's never too late for growth, that healing is possible, that just because things are broken doesn't mean they can't be fixed, is woven so beautifully into the very bones of the game. There's a REASON that link wakes up with no memories, and it's not because he's a victim of a kingdom-wide conspiracy about his own death. it's because he is meant to seem broken beyond repair. he wakes up on the near-abandoned great plateau--DELIBERATELY abandoned, because the player is meant to view the world as broken beyond repair at this point in the story, with no memories, no heart containers, no stamina. A shell of the warrior he once was. and the rest of the game is dedicated to the discovery that he can heal. he can find his memories, he can grow stronger, he can form new relationships and he can do better. hope was not lost when he fled hyrule castle 100 years ago. hope is never lost so long as there are people who are willing to keep trying to rebuild. hyrule is not a dead, abandoned kingdom as it first seems when you awake. Hyrule is ALIVE. there are cities and stables and merchants and travelers and people living and dying and continuing on every single day.

to suggest that link didn't actually survive requires you to, at best, deliberately ignore all of that thematic setup, and at worst, retcon it out of existence. if link isn't really link, if the whole world is conspiring against him, then that means that the original link really was doomed. that he can never heal from what happened to him. that he was exactly what he believed himself to be--a failure who doomed hyrule to a century of suffering. it removes link's agency and his impact as the main character of this story--if he was never hurt in the first place, he has nothing to heal from. there's no message there, nothing to be learned. he's just going through the motions of the story because he's been told to--arguably falling into the exact same trap that the original did.

again, is the theory technically plausible? yes. in-universe, the groundwork exists for it to have happened. but if you refuse to look at a narrative outside of its own governing universe, it's easy to forget that people tell stories for a reason. botw is written the way it is because its writers had something to say. Why does link lose all his memories after the shrine? In-universe, this is a mystery, yes. to someone who is only willing to examine that plot point within the confines of that universe, yeah, it seems like a plot hole, and yeah, this theory might explain it. but from a writer's perspective, it's not a plot hole at all. it's a clear, deliberate writing decision. just because a story asks you to suspend your disbelief a little bit for the sake of the greater narrative doesn't mean that the writers are actually secretly plotting a conspiracy and link isn't really link. it means you're being asked to either willingly suspend your disbelief, or examine why you're being asked to do so from a writing standpoint.

[ratwithhands]

I'm curious. I've seen your art and something that's come to my mind is what actually got you attached with the Subway brothers. Your narrative on their different AU forms is so unique which is what brought me to that question

Alright, rat history time.

So basically back in 2021-2022, I was working on an old OC storyline (about 3 years old by then) and I was in grade 9 so I was like “A new Pokémon game? Pfft, like I care” and just didn’t watch any of the stuff related to PLA when it dropped. I still got recommended Twitter posts about it on Instagram and I ended up seeing this one.

I tried looking up Ingo cause I was like "oh, funky design, looks like a captain or something" but I didn't end up finding anything so I didn't press further. Anyways in March break of 2022, I got bored and decided to put some game streams on in the background while I drew. I saw Alpharad's PLA video and decided to watch it for a bit when I saw Ingo.

I was like "Hey you're the guy from Twitter!" and since I knew his name now, I looked him up and found his Bulbapedia article. I found him much more interesting than the rest of the PLA cast since he had history outside PLA, and I ended up reading up whatever I could find on him. I also by extension discovered Emmet this way, which only served to suck me deeper down the rabbit hole. By the end of March break I had a fan OC and 2 AUs made with more on the way, as well as a YouTube recommended page with nothing but theory videos on Ingo and decade old Submas content.

Around May I decided to decommission my OC storyline for personal reasons, and by this point Submas was starting to occupy more of my creative work anyways. Since I didn't have my storyline to put my energy into, I started funnelling literally any story ideas into Submas. This led to nonstop content for a shockingly long time, and ofc I'm still coming up with stuff now.

Long story short, I got attached to them by accident! It was a "right place, right time" sort of thing since they came in as I was starting to get sluggish with my original content and I ended up being more interested in writing for them.

As for narratives, I am effectively playing dolls with these guys. Usually the kind of stuff that I write for them is meant for OCs, but I dumped the 60+ person cast so I put that energy into them instead.

Most AUs will either have a core theme, an out of pocket idea, or both to make things interesting. Usually I just come up with a dumbass idea like "what if we brought ReBURST back for a rerun" or "what if Emmet signed a contract with an eldritch space spider" or "what if Submas could see into the future" and stuff like that, then it picks up themes as I keep writing. For some silly examples:

Burst is based on Pokémon ReBURST and the idea of human-Pokémon fusion, but there's focus on skill, how characters misperceive it, and resentment as a result. There's also a spotlight on inferiority complexes, bottled up guilt, and blind confidence depending on which main character you look at

Journal is about a diary that helps Ingo to regain his memories, and it focuses on remembrance and regret as a result of him reading it. Spotlight on lacking awareness vs hyper awareness and the monotony of living as people around you leave

Oracle is exactly what it sounds like, with the twins being able to see into the future. It focuses on cooperation and the importance of working together, but also learning how to work alone. The spotlight's on jealousy and gratitude for this one, though the latter greatly outweighs the former in this case

I also just have AUs I made to try deranged shit for funsies, like Sapioflora, Cybernetic/Z-Λ, Team Supernova, and Idol. Those are mostly for exploring goofy ideas that may or may not go anywhere.

Right anyways basically I just saw Submas after watching PLA gameplay and found the twins more interesting to write about than the project I'd exhausted by then. The narratives are like that because the AU ideas I make are actually OC concepts that I modify to fit Pokémon specifically for these two or ideas about the two that I'd like to explore. Hope that answers the question ^^*

[rjalker]

it's just so fucking funny. Oh my gods.

A Square explaining how allowing disabled people* to exist in public would bring about the downfall of civilization

[ID: The meme of someone standing in front of a wall covered in red string connecting dots in a conspiracy theory, with the person replaced with A Square, a Flatlander seen from above. He has a grey exoskeleton, and insides of various shades of pink and purple. End ID.]

= = =

For context, Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, is satire of Victorian England's bigotry, written in 1884. It's also about math and the theory of other dimensions. ("Romance" back then meant "adventure")

Read and download it for free from Project Gutenberg.

An amazing and hilarious audiobook on the Web Archive.

10/10 highly recommend. In the process of "translating" it into casual 2023 English so more people can read it easier.

This is the original text below. I keep getting distracted from "translating" it because it's so funny.

The entire thing is written to show you how absolutely absurd and ridiculous bigotry is.

= = =

Section 7. Concerning Irregular Figures

Throughout the previous pages I have been assuming—what perhaps should have been laid down at the beginning as a distinct and fundamental proposition—that every human being in Flatland is a Regular Figure, that is to say of regular construction. By this I mean that a Woman must not only be a line, but a straight line; that an Artisan or Soldier must have two of his sides equal; that Tradesmen must have three sides equal; Lawyers (of which class I am a humble member), four sides equal, and generally, that in every Polygon, all the sides must be equal.

The size of the sides would of course depend upon the age of the individual. A Female at birth would be about an inch long, while a tall adult Woman might extend to a foot. As to the Males of every class, it may be roughly said that the length of an adult's sides, when added together, is two feet or a little more. But the size of our sides is not under consideration. I am speaking of the EQUALITY of sides, and it does not need much reflection to see that the whole of the social life in Flatland rests upon the fundamental fact that Nature wills all Figures to have their sides equal.

If our sides were unequal our angles might be unequal. Instead of its being sufficient to feel, or estimate by sight, a single angle in order to determine the form of an individual, it would be necessary to ascertain each angle by the experiment of Feeling. But life would be too short for such a tedious grouping. The whole science and art of Sight Recognition would at once perish; Feeling, so far as it is an art, would not long survive; intercourse would become perilous or impossible; there would be an end to all confidence, all forethought; no one would be safe in making the most simple social arrangements; in a word, civilization would relapse into barbarism.

Am I going too fast to carry my Readers with me to these obvious conclusions? Surely a moment's reflection, and a single instance from common life, must convince every one that our whole social system is based upon Regularity, or Equality of Angles. You meet, for example, two or three Tradesmen in the street, whom you recognize at once to be Tradesmen by a glance at their angles and rapidly bedimmed sides, and you ask them to step into your house to lunch. This you do at present with perfect confidence, because everyone knows to an inch or two the area occupied by an adult Triangle: but imagine that your Tradesman drags behind his regular and respectable vertex, a parallelogram of twelve or thirteen inches in diagonal:—what are you to do with such a monster sticking fast in your house door?

But I am insulting the intelligence of my Readers by accumulating details which must be patent to everyone who enjoys the advantages of a Residence in Spaceland. Obviously the measurements of a single angle would no longer be sufficient under such portentous circumstances; one's whole life would be taken up in feeling or surveying the perimeter of one's acquaintances. Already the difficulties of avoiding a collision in a crowd are enough to tax the sagacity of even a well-educated Square; but if no one could calculate the Regularity of a single figure in the company, all would be chaos and confusion, and the slightest panic would cause serious injuries, or—if there happened to be any Women or Soldiers present—perhaps considerable loss of life.

Expediency therefore concurs with Nature in stamping the seal of its approval upon Regularity of conformation: nor has the Law been backward in seconding their efforts. "Irregularity of Figure" means with us the same as, or more than, a combination of moral obliquity and criminality with you, and is treated accordingly. There are not wanting, it is true, some promulgators of paradoxes who maintain that there is no necessary connection between geometrical and moral Irregularity. "The Irregular", they say, "is from his birth scouted by his own parents, derided by his brothers and sisters, neglected by the domestics, scorned and suspected by society, and excluded from all posts of responsibility, trust, and useful activity. His every movement is jealously watched by the police till he comes of age and presents himself for inspection; then he is either destroyed, if he is found to exceed the fixed margin of deviation, or else immured in a Government Office as a clerk of the seventh class; prevented from marriage; forced to drudge at an uninteresting occupation for a miserable stipend; obliged to live and board at the office, and to take even his vacation under close supervision; what wonder that human nature, even in the best and purest, is embittered and perverted by such surroundings!"

All this very plausible reasoning does not convince me, as it has not convinced the wisest of our Statesmen, that our ancestors erred in laying it down as an axiom of policy that the toleration of Irregularity is incompatible with the safety of the State. Doubtless, the life of an Irregular is hard; but the interests of the Greater Number require that it shall be hard. If a man with a triangular front and a polygonal back were allowed to exist and to propagate a still more Irregular posterity, what would become of the arts of life? Are the houses and doors and churches in Flatland to be altered in order to accommodate such monsters? Are our ticket-collectors to be required to measure every man's perimeter before they allow him to enter a theatre or to take his place in a lecture room? Is an Irregular to be exempted from the militia? And if not, how is he to be prevented from carrying desolation into the ranks of his comrades? Again, what irresistible temptations to fraudulent impostures must needs beset such a creature! How easy for him to enter a shop with his polygonal front foremost, and to order goods to any extent from a confiding tradesman! Let the advocates of a falsely called Philanthropy plead as they may for the abrogation of the Irregular Penal Laws, I for my part have never known an Irregular who was not also what Nature evidently intended him to be—a hypocrite, a misanthropist, and, up to the limits of his power, a perpetrator of all manner of mischief.

Not that I should be disposed to recommend (at present) the extreme measures adopted by some States, where an infant whose angle deviates by half a degree from the correct angularity is summarily destroyed at birth. Some of our highest and ablest men, men of real genius, have during their earliest days laboured under deviations as great as, or even greater than, forty-five minutes: and the loss of their precious lives would have been an irreparable injury to the State. The art of healing also has achieved some of its most glorious triumphs in the compressions, extensions, trepannings, colligations, and other surgical or diaetetic operations by which Irregularity has been partly or wholly cured. Advocating therefore a VIA MEDIA, I would lay down no fixed or absolute line of demarcation; but at the period when the frame is just beginning to set, and when the Medical Board has reported that recovery is improbable, I would suggest that the Irregular offspring be painlessly and mercifully consumed.

[samueldays]

Me in the harbor as we're setting out for a family vacation somewhere rural: I shall purchase this 1800-page collection of the works of H. Beam Piper for my kindle, that should keep me occupied for a week

Day 3 of vacation: I have finished reading 1800 pages of the works of H. Beam Piper, it was great

Day 4: I have walked up the nearby mountain, played dice, rowed boat, painted house, carried ladder, fetched water (the vacation spot is so rural it lacks plumbing), reread several of my older books, why did I not bring more new books?

Day 5: Boredom is just another way of saying no distractions, which is a wonderful opportunity for new insights. When a family member said something tangential to grammar, I thought of an article I'd read on animacy in Indo-European languages, and eventually formed a theory of the highly irregular three-gender system of Norwegian grammar as possibly resulting from the fusion of a masculine-feminine distinction with an animate-inanimate distinction long ago.

Context: A standard textbook on Norwegian language will tell you that the language has three genders: masculine, feminine, neuter (m/f/n), with neuter also called "sexless" in bad translations.

There is no obvious rule for which nouns have which gender, which frustrates a lot of people learning the language, and I think that's because part of it wasn't a gender system originally and the name is misleading. Some examples to give you an idea of how wild the assignments are:

en dør (a door - m)

et vindu (a window - n)

ei klokke (a clock - f)

en måned, en dag, en time (a month, a day, an hour - m) but et år, et minutt, et sekund (a year, a minute, a second - n) and for some reason ei uke (a week - f).

A standard textbook will also tell you that you simply need to memorize it, and advise you to speak one of the Norwegian dialects which has ditched the feminine gender, converting all feminine nouns to masculine, so you only need to memorize the neuter nouns, which are fewer than 20% of nouns.

Now this next part might already be in the advanced textbooks, but I don't remember being explicitly told it, so I'm satisfied to have spotted something that looks like a pattern where the exceptions probe the rule.

1: all common animals take the masculine, unless you are specifically using the word for a female of the species (like høne, "hen"), in which case they take the feminine.

1B: but two rare-in-Norway animals specifically take the neuter gender, regardless of the animal's sex, muldyr and mulesel (mule and hinny). These are sterile.

2: all specific relations take the masculine: father, mother, sister, brother, son, daughter, aunt, uncle, niece, nephew. Female relations may also take the feminine article depending on local dialect, but never neuter.

2B: but most abstract classes of relations take the neuter: et barn (a child/offspring), et søsken (a sibling), et søskenbarn (a nibling, lit. 'sibling-child'), et avkom (a descendant) -- except en forelder (a parent - m), oddly.

Combining the above two, abstract classes of animal also take the neuter: et dyr (a generic animal), et beist (a beast), et insekt (an insect), et pattedyr (a mammal), et reptil (a reptile), et menneske (a human).

3: terrain features are one of the more common classes of neuter noun: et fjell, et stup, et vann, et tre (a mountain, a cliff, a lake, a tree - n)

3B: but en elv, en foss (a river, a waterfall - m) which are two of the more animate-seeming terrain features around.

These are not strict rules. Exception for animals: et pinnsvin (a hedgehog - n, lit. "quill-swine") and exception for terrain features: en dal (a valley - m).

But languages are irregular and drift accumulates over centuries, so I think I have some leeway and I'm onto something with the theory that the so-called neuter noun gender in Norwegian grammar originated as an inanimate noun class.

[senlinyu]

do you read WIP or do you wait until the fic is done? i was thinking about how reading a WIP (LTDI) sucks because theres a lot of waiting but its good because its something to look forward. rn im at a place in my life where things are starting to suck and i use LTDI as this little treat to be excited about bc i cant really read or watch as much as i used to. so i was wondering what is the perspective of an author on it. sending hugs to you and your babies 🫶🏼

I don't know. It really depends on the person. I don't follow many fics anymore just because I'm not very fandom active aside from writing, but I tend to think that reading decisions like that are specific to each person. If waiting for updates makes you anxious, then bingeing is better. However, there's also a specific build up and anticipation that happens in the process of a reading a story in progress and having the mental space to theorise in private, or (if you're more fandom social) to interact with other readers or read through the comments and track developing theories.

Personally, wips I followed, or fics I read when they were still incomplete and had to wait for the last 5 or so chapters tend to stay in my head more because they occupied a place in my mind for longer than WC divided by my resting WPM rate; I develop theories and would review everything I knew trying to predict how everything would tie together. Whereas fics I binged when they were complete, I can remember the overallish plot and maybe a couple scenes, but the details get vague after a while and unless I reread, they eventually they only occupy a little blurb in my mind. But not every fic is right for holding a lot of space in people's minds. I write kind of stressful stories that definitely fall into this category.

As a writer, comments and the thoughts of my readers along the way are really special to me and help me keep going when I'm writing the umpteenth version of a chapter, but I am comment shy myself as a reader, I get really bad anxiety when I try to write comments and so I usually don't. So while it's something that I appreciate, I don't expect it from anyone.

Fanfic is supposed to be something that makes you happy, brings a little bit of beauty and colour to life. If it begins feeling like a job, or a moral crusade, or something anxiety inducing, then something has gone wrong. I spent fifteen years lurking in fandom, too nervous to do more than read, if I'd felt obligated to interact in specific ways or only read fics as dictated by other people, I probably wouldn't have lingered long enough to ever start writing. Do what suits you.

[arctic-hands]

I have to reorganize my whole state of my being when I go out with the cane now, especially with the way my rheumy told me I should be using it 😭 it used to be left front pocket: inhaler, hand sanitizer, MP3 player and headphones, whatever misc little things I need on my immediate person. Right front pocket: wallet. Back left pocket: cellphone. Right back pocket, keys, with or without Wild Kat (depending on where I'm going–medical and government buildings are a NO GO for Stabby Cat).

In the Before Times when I could carry a backpack I had my first aid kit with whatever meds I needed on the go and emergency Crohn's kit (i.e. a spare change of clothes), and sometimes art supplies and journal or my tablet, or whatever I need to bring to the hospital when I need to go.

I got cool belt bags when I need them because I used to and still sometimes have trouble putting on pants and the loose skirts I could pull over my torso or wrap around and tie usually don't have pockets.

Then I was told to never carry a bag again and got my Rolly Bag for all of that, and very nearly got a custom bumper sticker to put on saying "my back is too fragile to carry a bag stop fucking asking me if I'm going on vacation" because I was constantly getting comments by people? By strangers? It was so annoying.

But now with the advent of Cassandra Cane, Rolly Bag is in retirement. I started carrying a medical binder/bujo in a zippered padfolio. I got a lil mini travel sketchbook and started using passport sized journals, and both of those fit quite neatly in the padfolio. Unfortunately medical bujo doesn't have a handle and I got it a month before I got the cane and it's a bitch to carry in one hand and use my cane in another. So now I have to afix a handle to it somehow because I like the layout of the padfolio too much to replace it.

And to top it all off, after using the cane for a few months before being able to see my rheumatologist again, she tells me I've been using it on the wrong leg for my particular case. So now I've got to occupy my right hand, my dominant hand, with it. I had my wallet and keys/Stabby Cat in my right pockets for easy access, now I have to switch sides. Meanwhile my phone being in my left back pocket made it hard to get it out or into said pocket when using the cane, and I'm gonna have that same problem if I just switch it to the right. So with my dad having helped me buy a new (SafeLink, discounted) phone I shilled out for a wallet case for it, which means I only need to put both in my front left pocket. Also I'm carrying a ear-piercing self defense whistle now, for both extreme situations (let's be honest, even with Stabby Cat in one hand and a metal cane in the other, I'm losing that fight), and for when ableds get to annoying/grabby

Meanwhile, I got a Cane Buddy which. Uh. Great in theory, piss poor in execution. It attaches to the cane with Velcro, and the makers forgot that canes are usually smooth so like. It keeps sliding down as I use my cane. But it holds my first aid kit/medicines, some Larabars, pads and wipes, a spare mask, my lil sketchbook and lil journal when I don't need to take the whole bujo with me, and other misc things, so I just deal with the frustration.

I still have no idea what to do about carrying a spare change of clothes tho 😭 it's a source of anxiety with the way my intestines have been lately to go out without them.

Anyway, anyone have any other ideas on how to adapt to this? The stuff in my pocket is stuff I Really Need if my various iterations of a bag are snatched, so those stay on my person at all times. Everything else would suck if stolen, but more easily replaceable and not an immediate threat to my life if taken (such as the inhaler).

[averycanadianfilm]

The Occupiers and The Occupied

The Occupiers and The Occupied If only a song could change the world/ spacetime ripples and folds/ a foretelling, foretold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold// the stakes of this game/ are not guilt or shame/ the occupiers and the occupied/ bout who lives and who dies/ about the fate of the system of the world/ the occupiers and the occupied/ to live in this system I tried/ but to my heart I lied/ that so few rich and so many poor I felt was wrong/ better for me to write and sing songs/ I tried to live a life of distinction/ but was riddled with contradictions/ as my heart slowly died/ this world system I just couldn't justify// if only a song could change the world/ spacetime ripples and folds/ a foretelling, foretold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold// Neptune in Pisces/ requires actions that are decisive/ it's not about class warfare/ or hatred and fear/ or right and wrong/ or weak and strong/ but about how different peoples ought to get along/ if ya want this global civilization to continue for long// if only a song could change the world/ spacetime ripples and folds/ a foretelling, foretold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold// why so few rich/ why so many poor/ it's a theme I've explored before/ I'll keep writing about it until no one is poor/ or this body exists no more/ the extinction of poverty/ a goal most worthy/ on this earth, no more poor/ for that to happen first eradicate war/ in known human history wealth always percolates to the top/ to change this war has to stop/ in a patriarchy/ in a monarchy/ in a corporate oligarchy/ there is always an extreme wealth hierarchy/ a patriarchy depends on a military/ the military supports the industry/ an guarantees the currency/ the entire system is backed by disputes settled violently/ if ya don't believe me just check history/ a series of violent conflicts causing great misery/ if ya think this is inevitable ya don't know what humans can be/ an equitable wealth distribution/ what's the solution//

if only a song could change the world/

spacetime ripples and folds/ a foretelling, foretold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold// The sad thing is there's more than enough for everyone/ but it won't ever be equitably distributed in any system backed by the gun/ civilization based on death/ never results in real wealth/ just the material prosperity of a few and continual revenge and retribution/ life on earth can't afford this extremely inequitable wealth distribution/ when the many raise their voices in protest/ the few quickly resort to violence/ this global system will inevitably dissolve in unrest/ cause this global civilization is putting nature to the test// if only a song could change the world/ spacetime ripples and folds/ a foretelling, foretold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ life has a will and power of its own/ its full manifestation thus far here on earth unknown/ those who value life will prevail/ those who use the gun will fail/ a global economy/ conventionally thought to be based on the myth of scarcity/ can't currently be described mathematically/ it's a nonlinear dynamical system, strongly coupled/ inherently unstable/ to account for it, theory is not able/ that won't stop the few thinkers from theorizing/ while the many poor are suffering and starving/ a problem not adequately specifiable/ is a problem in principle not solvable/ while civilization crumbles to rubble/ while the few at the top exist in their blissful state of denial/ while the many struggle for their survival/ is there any reason for optimism/ while the many are driven by the few to extreme consumerism/ an nature cries/ while life dies/ an nature cries/ while life dies/ an nature cries/ while life dies/ Yes, Yes, Yes/ cause the many have the power within them/ now asleep but will soon awaken/ now asleep but will soon awaken/ If only a song could change the world/ spacetime ripples and folds/ a foretelling, foretold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ I've seen it behold/ behold, behold, behold/ Words and Music by Hubert Hugh Burke. Copyright by Hubert Hugh Burke Peace Y'all. 

[retrievaldivision]

comparing how we've seen dispatch operate in manga canon to the BITE model for cult identification <3

putting this all under a readmore for thorough discussions of cults and suicide . heres my meta everyone

so basically. imho dispatch operates like a cult and will grelle ron and othello need to dip asap and ut had the right idea for leaving. this is basically evidence for my theory that at some point its going to get revealed that the "higher ups" are uhhhh. fucked up actually and the squad is getting emotionally manipulated. alright lets get to it

starting off w behavioral control letsgo

"promote dependence and obedience"

-so the big thing that signifies this in canon for me is the fact that . as sascha talked about in ch 105 (#brainwashedgirlqueen) the reapers are dependent on dispatch and the higher ups for forgiveness of their sin. if they dont play by their rules theyre not getting out of punishment purgatory

"modify behavior with rewards and punishment"

-remember when grelle was gone for an arc and then came back in campania and was like haha yeah ive been on suspension . i mean. there it is. theres definitely an argument to be made here about the fact that grelle was killing random ppl and like yeah definitely wld call for uhhh not being in public However-- why i kept this in was bc like . yeah she was being suspended for doing some mass murder etc-- but she was also being suspended bc she fully left dispatch during that time. like she was off with angelina pretending to be her butler not @ hq literally in disguise and thats why will had to come get her ass in the first place. which i think should be pointed out here

"dictate where and with whom you live"

-keeping this on here tentatively bc we dont know specifics but like. HQ. i think its important to point out that they all have this building where theyre all supposed to be

"control clothing and hairstyle"

-the suit uniform swag period.

"restrict leisure time and activities"

-again pointing out saschas monologue. the part where she points out theyre all supposed to be "worked to the bone".

-in the extended version of the BITE model they also talk about weaponizing keeping a cult member busy thru tasks bc if they are so pre occupied with tasks it leaves them w less time to question whats going on and . Yeah .

moving on to informational control

"deliberately withhold and distort information"

-pointing out how in campania ron and grelle had no fucking clue who undertaker was even tho he was supposed to have been a Huge Deal while he was at dispatch. why werent ron and grelle privy to this info why did they have to hear it from ut himself . unless ur deliberately withholding shit it makes no sense as to why they shldnt know abt the guy who destroyed half of HQ even if it happened before their time

"forbid you from speaking with ex members and critics"

-this is in purple and only half credited bc the strongest example i can think is from tmbd and not the manga but i still do want to bring it up (and i think is worth mentioning bc yana did draw those bitches into the manga when talking abt deserters so) but the whole. will monologue in tmbd where hes like yeah ur name will be stricken from the records . its a little uh. yeah its coded

"divide information into insider vs outsider doctrine"

-yeah so remember when the fight was about to happen in campania and grelle was like this is shinigami business stay out of it outsider to sebastian. like literally called him an outsider. its the vocabulary.

"encourage others to spy and report on others' 'misconduct'"

-for this i am citing the entirety of management div and the fact that its a thing. it can def be argued that management is also there to intervene during like very fucked situations where just retrieval div cant handle it as we've seen will do. but also like. it does seem esp w ripper arc that management div is there to narc on ppl for not following rules etc.

-Also for this one wanted to point out that in the extended BITE model they talk abt using buddy systems so like. u arent truly alone there is always someone who can rat on u . and how thru most of the arcs w reapers present theyve been in groups of two (ron and will in circus, ron and grelle in campania, sascha and ludger in green witch, othello and grelle during the whole ut standoff). again this can also be argued that theyre there for helping purposes in terms of fights But Also. its a little coded u guys imho

moving onto thought control

"instill black vs white, us vs them & good vs evil thinking"

-going to be talking abt this again for the second point but the way that specific language is used to moralize what the higher ups r asking the reapers to do. the way that the reapers describe what theyre doing as "collecting" souls whereas demons "hunt" souls even tho they are both. Taking Someones Soul. the fact that this paints their actions in a morally better light even tho it is the same action

-also wanted to point out a moment in the training ova even tho its not manga canon bc it is worth mentioning imo. will's whole monologue when hes getting his glasses where hes like. going to be "protecting" ppls souls and all of this stuff. and that these r Glasses Of Life. all of this pure morality and saviorism the reapers are being taught to attribute to them being in dispatch. Yeah.

"use loaded language and cliches to stop complex thought"

-thinking abt the v specific terms both will (current member of dispatch) and ut (ex member of dispatch) use to describe demons when they call them "vermin" like it is the Exact Same Word that they use. its again the repeated vocabulary to other and condemn demons even though they are Both Entities Who Take Ppls Souls Away. its . hmmmm. why does this not apply to u guys.

last one!

"install irrational fears (phobias) of questioning or leaving the group"

-based on the 105 info, if u leave dispatch, u r never going to be forgiven from ur "sin." even though. we've never seen this "forgiveness" ever actually happen and none of the reapers have ever indicated that anybody they know has ever actually been forgiven. its the irrational fear of not being forgiven even though attaining forgiveness has not, as we seen, been proven to actually be a real thing

"label some emotions as evil, worldly, sinful, or wrong"

-wld like to briefly point out wills monologue to ron in circus abt how having empathy is like not something that should be done

-also the whole . again with the 105 drop. the fact that dispatch is labelling having mental illness as A Sin. lol

"promote feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness"

-again going off of 105 . the whole reason they are there and working for the higher ups is bc they have killed themselves and feel the need to get forgiven for it. The Entire Model Of Dispatch Runs On Guilt

"shun you if you disobey or disbelieve"

-circling back to previous points made abt ut being a big deal and ron and grelle only finding out abt him when he literally spelled it out for them . like he was. all info of him was gone that wasnt firsthand witnessed once he deserted. also rons whole moment in campania i believe while hes talking to ryan where hes like i have no respect for ppl who meddle w death. and dispatch has rules against meddling w death.... hmm...

"teach that there is no happiness or peace outside the group"

-bringing up 105 again. there is no forgiveness outside of dispatch that is why they are still there this is the only way they can get forgiveness and presumably peace bc theyve righted their "sin"

in conclusion, the higher ups are fucked up and will grelle ron and othello are getting played <3 i do think this is going to be blatantly revealed at some point like. with everything ive talked about in this post . i do think there is foreshadowing directly pointing to this idea. and i think there will be a moment where will ron grelle and othello realize this . thanks for coming everyone

[xxruinaxxmcu]

What lies Beneath, Chapter 18

Jack Thompson x Reader (Finale)

Masterlist

Their relationship had never been picture-perfect – starting with their friendship. There had always been hiccups along the way, from unsaid things and suppressed emotions. In a way, Y/N and Jack were too similar to avoid these incidences – and yet, it was the similarity that had helped to bridge the differences again and again. They never blindly agreed on anything, nor did they ever insisted on being labelled as friends, despite having stuck together through high school and university. It would have been very unlike both of them to now jump right into a relationship that was openly shared with the world. Additionally, neither of them particularly looked forward to the moment where it would become clear that the SSR turned into a pretty successful dating agency – so if, as Vernon Master’s had predicted, the organisation would become obsolete, they had at least this alternative open. Secret Spies Relationships or something, instead of Strategic Scientific Reserve. They started cautiously, with staying behind when the other one had the misfortune of the nightshift, and go to dinner whenever it could be arranged for no awkward comments arising from colleagues. It was a type of chess with the other agents. And of course, keeping a secret from agents trained to uncover secrets was bound to be difficult.

However, with them having been assigned files from East Berlin, Y/N actually had a fantastic alibi as to why, on this day, she had a reason to stay. She had the best possible skillset for it. It felt strange reading the documents, not because they felt in a strange way both immensely familiar and absolutely foreign, but because it made her wonder how they had ever managed to work side by side with the Soviets. It described the setting-up of a new secret police, which had the very original name – Ministry for State Security. Short, Stasi.

She had just finished up the report on it when Jack emerged from his office. His eyes landed on the documents, which, despite being unable to read them, he could correctly identify as German.

“It’s strange how quick the former underground fighter can become the next enemy”, he commented, and Y/N only raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not even been three years and it already looks like this situation is more than fragile.”

He dragged a chair over to her desk and sat down.

“Tell me, what was the worst event for you in your time in Europe?”

The question didn’t startle her, after all, he had given her a pretty good look at his worst moments at war. Still, it came a bit sudden.

She thought about it. “Depends on the definition. Worst thing I’ve seen? 1942, Poland. German soldiers probably didn’t understand, or didn’t care, about their own laws around racial purity. Went after a girl, must have been around fourteen, fifteen. And I could do nothing because I had to make sure that my cover would remain absolutely intact until my target there was neutralised. I fed intel to the resistance. That was my first job over there. It would end in success. They managed to kill Heydrich in Prague just a few months later. But that girl. She still haunts me.” Y/N looked at her hands: “The worst thing I have done? Actively? That’s harder. Maybe the one train we blew up. Turns out, aside from the officials, their families had been on there too. I suppose that’s collateral. The hardest was to decide who gets to live and who gets to die. We managed a few rescue missions in the occupied territories, but we couldn’t take them all. We had to leave many behind, knowing pretty well what their destination would be.”

“Did they talk openly about the camps?”

That was right – in the public, there was still a debate around that. They didn’t know just how open they had talked. “The Nazis had a way of speaking that functioned like a stupid form of code. You’d say something, which in theory has a harmless meaning, but everyone in your group knows what it means to them. Like Sonderbehandlung. It means special treatment. But it meant execution. And the execution of Jews, well, that wasn’t called execution, but final solution. And that, yes, that was widely spoken about. And the longer the war went on, actually, ever since the invasion of the Soviet Union, the killings were just too obvious to be overlooked by anyone. Only a section of all victims even made it into a camp. Many were simply shot in a pit… then again, as it turned out when I was there, that wasn’t a uniquely Nazi thing.” She reached for a map, pointing to a place in Poland: “They discovered a mass grave of Polish men here, near Katyn. And another one right there. The corpses were too far in their decay to have been Nazi victims. The Soviets had gotten them first.”

He remained quite for a while, drumming his fingers onto the top of her desk. “You know, all things considered… thank God we were born on the right side of the divide.”

Y/N laughed. She wasn’t delusional – America was far from what it made itself out to be in the movies. But it sure was a hell of better than most places at the moment. It hadn’t been ravaged by war. It didn’t incentivise its men to join a war against humanity. Though those were low bars to pass, in times like theirs, those bars were cleared only by a lucky few. She had a job. She had friends. She could even settle. Eventually. So many had been robbed of that. She often wondered how it happened that in so many different countries, even different continents, ideologies had arisen that disrespected humanity. She was no devout Christian, did not grow up in a household that often went to church. Jack’s family did that much more – and even got concerned about her, so they’d take her with them.

And sitting in a church next to Jack, who wanted to be anywhere but there, was as awkward as it sounded. But Christianity – like many religions – taught that there was strength in weakness. That there was a purpose in being good. These secular religions, which is the way she thought about Fascism and Communism, didn’t really have that. There were the good people, the strong ones, those who had seized power by force, and that gave them the right to dominate the others. She did not find God in the mud of Poland, but she found solace.

“Share it.”

“What?” She frowned, not knowing what she had to share.

“You’re bruting. And I want to know what you’re bruting about.”

“I’m not bruting”, she retorted, “no, I just… long story. I thought about Church. How much you hated sitting still.”

“You know what I hated more about it? Listening for over an hour without saying anything but Amen.”

“Did you pray on Iwo Jima? On Okinawa?”, she asked. He tilted his head, his fingers slowly stopping the drumming.

“We had a mass before we left for the shore of Iwo. So in a sense, I did. When we made it off the island, and I could walk when almost all my friends were dead, I said to an older Marine that this could only mean that there was no God”, he paused, “He disagreed. Said that those who didn’t would be rewarded up above in ways that go further than anything we could imagine. Not sure if that convinced me. But something kept me going.”

“Well, if it was God”, she gave him a smile – this time, it was a sincere smile, “then I am grateful to Him.”

“If you let my ma hear that, she’ll drag you right back in that church”, he replied with a grin.

“How are your parents, anyways?”, she asked, thinking back to the times when Mrs. Thompson would beg her to let her braid her hair, and Mr. Thompson, who’d always try to get them to care about the stock market. Lucas Thompson was a well-off banker for JP Morgan and perhaps one of the few in the industry who loved the trade.

“They’re good”, he pulled a face, “I mean, they got a son back from the war, he’s still able to work if he isn’t busy getting shot.” He grew quiet for a while, contemplating whether or not to say something. Y/N only raised her eyebrows as an indication for him to spit it out.

“Angeline has asked what happened to you. If you moved to another state with a man, or if we had a falling out.”

“What did you say?”, Y/N asked back.

“I told her the truth”, he shrugged, “At the time. That when I returned from war, we just couldn’t reconnect. She doesn’t know about your service.”

“That’s in the interest of everyone involved”, Y/N remarked dryly, but wiped the cynicism away, “But you’re an idiot for never mentioning that we work together now! Just how awkward will that be if we ever have to do a public speaking event again like the one for Stark? We just ‘accidentally’ realised that we worked together? In an office of like 10 people?”

“I must admit, I did not think it through in the long run”, he rolled his eyes at her obvious criticism of his strategy, “false backstories are not my forte.”

“Well, tell her that I’m alive and well, and did not move without first saying goodbye. She must think I’m an ass for falling off the face of the earth!”, she complained.

“First”, he raised a finger, “I doubt my ma even knows how to call someone an ass, and second, she adores you. If you walk in that door again, she’ll probably send pops after me for not reconnecting sooner.”

Y/N was incredibly glad that the topic of her own parents didn’t need to come up – it didn’t have to. Her parents had enabled her the education that gave her the life she had lived and that she still lived, but it never had been a picture-perfect household. Her mother died shortly after Y/N had left for Europe – car accident. Her dad remarried, which was for the better. He was a great many things, but capable of a household was not one of them. And she did not have the time to assist. Besides – unlike her, he actually did move halfway across the country.

“You hardly see them”, she commented, “Why? I mean, I get that you’re no kid anymore, but they’re your parents. They literally live under an hour away.”

“I visited at Christmas.”

“Wow”, she laughed, “Well, yeah. Otherwise you would have sat here, bruting, I assume.”

“What the hell did you do on Christmas, then?”, he shot back with irony.

She shrugged: “Actually, I was with Peggy. Neither of us had family in New York, so we founded the community of the spinsters.”

“Sounds like loads of fun.”

“You can’t imagine. Maybe, if you’re very lucky, you’ll get a first-row seat to it one day.” If sarcasm wasn’t allowed in a conversation, probably neither of them would be able to say a word.

“I doubt that spinsterhood of yours has a future, though. I give the two of them not even half a year. Actually, that is generous. Let’s say, three months till engagement. I fear you’ll have to search for a new arrangement.”

Y/N could practically see his lopsided grin without even looking at him. Hint taken. Though, well, it really wasn’t that much of a hint, was it? Regardless, Y/N fiddled for a letter in her handbag and placed it on the desk: “Are you going?”

He tilted his head to read the insignia, as she had almost entirely covered the seal that would have given the purpose away with her hand.

“Alumni gathering”, she said innocently, “It’s next weekend.”

Jack scoffed: “Yeah, like hell I’m going there.”

Y/N remained silent for long enough for him to catch on. “You’re not going, are you?”

“Well”, she said ominously, “I was personally invited, so it is incredibly tempting.”

Jack wasn’t dense. He remembered the group from Cornell well enough that he had a pretty good hunch as to who it was who had invited her. “Son of a bitch.” He grabbed the letter and got it out of the envelope. He would have recognised his way-too-neat handwriting from three miles away.

“I’ll tell Luke you said hi.”

“Like hell you’re going there alone.”

 There were many things Jack Thompson hated – or couldn’t handle. Like crying women. However, if there was one thing Jack Thompson truly hated, it was small talk. What was there to talk about? ‘Hey, did you have a good war?’, didn’t seem like the accurate way to do it, and neither did talking about his career. Though he wasn’t really an undercover agent, and at this point one of the few faces the public knew from the SSR, he hated talking to strangers about it because he would never, not as long as he is alive, disclose something of merit.

And still, here he sat, in his car, in front of Y/N’s house, wondering how he’d survive the next hours of awkward conversations. In his dread, he had almost missed her leaving the building. But truly, he couldn’t have missed her. Not on an ordinary day, and definitely not now.

If he had to describe the women on the cover of these painted war-time posters, wives waving goodbye to their soldier husbands, he would have described her exactly like this. Her y/h/c curls were smoother than usual, more brushed out, and whilst her face retained the natural beauty it held, her lips were as red as blood. In the best way possible. Her dress was deep blue – all that was missing was something white, and she would literally have been a human version of the American flag. Then again, blue and red just go well together. The dress had stones placed at its neckline, which dipped low enough for everyone to see her collarbone. (Just imagine a nice cleavage. Whatever you’d be comfortable wearing. Personally, I love a deep neckline, but that’s the beauty of imagining – you can choose!). The sleeves went just up to her elbow, and the skirt ended right on the knee. She looked stunning – then again, she almost always looked fantastic. She had even looked fantastic when she had woken him up in her chemise – scrap that. There, she looked amazing.

“You look like you’d pay good money to turn this car around”, Y/N joked when getting in.

“I can think of about a million things more fun than an Alumni event.”

“There’s always a tomorrow”, Y/N replied with a grin as he started the engine.

“You sure about that? I’d say I’m about to enter a room where about every other person could or will hold a grudge towards me.”

She rolled her eyes at his overdramatization: “You were… polarising, not the big bad wolf. And I’m sure the last years have put such petty feuds into perspective.”

“Yes, as long as you wore the same uniform. The second that is off, you’d be surprised.”

 He halted the car on the half-filled parking lot. They were a bit late, which was typical for Jack with regards to things he didn’t really care about. Only then did he allow himself to be late – it was a conscious decision. Out of spite.

A few people were gathered outside the entrance smoking, a habit Y/N was thankful Jack either never picked up, or ditched in the foxholes, and were eyeing the latecomers. Most, however, were already inside the hall of the event, a bar with a huge dancefloor, just a few footsteps away from campus. For fancy events, the university would rent it. So everyone knew their way around.

After Jack had stopped the car, Y/N leaned over to open the door, only to realise that she couldn’t open it. “Security?”, she asked offended. Jack’s grin gave away that this was by no means an accident, but carefully pre-planned.

“Remember, I did not want to come”, he said before he got out of the car, shut the door, walked around the vehicle to open her door and present her mockingly gallantly his arm, “So you’ll have to tolerate me having my fun.”

“I did not force you to come”, she replied, shaking her head, “I just said that I would go.”

“Same thing.”

“Is it, now?”, she asked back, but went along with whatever he had in mind. She had the feeling it would end with someone being humiliated, and that someone would not be called Jack Thompson. The scene had been visible to the group of smokers, who now followed the odd pair with their eyes from the car to the entrance. Y/N vaguely remembered some of their faces. The tall fellow was from Maine, Hugh, if she remembered correctly, and had a booming voice that you could hear from afar. He nodded at the two, and Y/N responded with a quiet smile of acknowledgement.

“Are we not saying hello to them?”, she whispered amusedly.

“If I want to be smoked, I’d stand next to a campfire.”

“There he is, the famous devil dog!”, someone’s voice rang through the hall, and the heads turned to the person who had exclaimed it. Michael Simmons, one of the guys Jack had actually considered to be his friend at the time of their university courses. His voice had easily managed to overpower the band.

“They didn’t take me”, the brunet said with a grin, lifting his chin, “too short.” He shook Jack’s hand before turning to Y/N. She could practically see him going through names.

“Y/N”, she jumped in, “most times we met, only one of us three was sober.” He grinned, took her hand and brought it to his lips. She always found it strange when she was greeted so… formally. In her job, even the most misogynistic men had graduated to give her a normal handshake.

“I’d bet good money you wouldn’t show”, Michael said to Jack, looking back at his companion, “But I didn’t know what you’d be able to enjoy.”

The mixture of crudeness and strange elegance was so widespread amongst those who had just left the Armed Forces a few months ago. On the one hand, they were drilled to adhere to very strict and traditional forms of exchange, on the other hand they had just spent months amongst each other – amongst fellow young men – which obviously did not help their smoothness in tone.

Michael didn’t look like a member of the Air Force, and given the comment, he surely was no Marine. She decided to make a guess, given her chances of being right by saying Army were pretty decent. “So, you’re drafted into the Army?”

He nodded: “Earned my money in Monte Cassino. 34th Infantry Division.”

“The Red Bulls”, she said with a tilt, “I always found your motto to be so incredibly unimaginative. Attack, attack, attack.” She saw, to her immense delight, that he was very taken aback by her knowing his division so exactly. She only gave him a smile.

“Y/N”, Jack pulled her hand, “honour me with a dance?” His voice had a joking tone to it, but Y/N didn’t mind the idea. She hadn’t danced in ages, and was neither good nor bad at it, that always came down to the one who led.

“If you’re a good lead.”

“I’m the best of leads. Got dance classes as a kid, remember?”

She had to give him that – he was actually good at leading. She was grateful that, contrary to what was most commonly played, the band settled for waltz – probably more fitting for the gathered ensemble of people, all members of the well-educated, who preferred the more aristocratic waltz over the common-place swing.

“You dumbass”, she whispered when her head moved past Thompson’s, “let me guess, is the reason for this dance on 3 o’clock?”

“I’ve got many reasons.”

“Liar.”

On 3 o’clock was – surprise! – Luke. He was standing with another former student, but it was more than obvious that he wasn’t really paying attention to his friend.

“You’re a child, you know that?”, Y/N whispered with a supressed smile, to which Jack only raised his eyebrows before skilfully, albeit overdramatically, dipped her.

“Thompson!”, she hissed through her teeth, but there was no point in trying to persuade him to play nice. He disliked Luke. He really disliked him. And he enjoyed this very much. Immensely.

The performance carried on for a good few minutes – until the band ended their song and the opportune moment for a break arose. “You dance very skilful, chief”, Y/N remarked as they made their way to the side of the room.

He only snorted at the title. Right now, it felt like lightyears away.

“Y/N!”, came from the side and with an octave lower followed a bit more chilly, “And Jack. No surprise to see you two together. Although I doubted you’d show.” Luke’s eyes rested on the man next to Y/N who was a good bit taller than the man who had just joined them.

“If I remember correctly, I was at most parties back then”, Jack shrugged, “Wouldn’t know why my record would indicate I’d let her into this cesspool alone.” And it started off so well – only to end in a subtle-not-subtle insult nonetheless. Y/N clenched her jaw. Oh dear.

It felt like two roosters fighting. Not even many words were needed.

“I remember her being more than capable to manage her own”, Luke retorted, not even looking in Y/N’s direction.

“Capable, without a doubt, but just because you’re able, doesn’t mean you should. That’s the gentleman I am.”

Now, Jack Thompson was a great many things. He could even be a gentleman if he wanted to. But he was not here because of gentlemanliness. He was here for a mix of ego, pettiness and arrogance. And, in a way, he was here because of her.

“Did she have to follow you to war, too, so that you wouldn’t run head-first into fire?”

Oh no. Y/N felt her lungs deflate – war territory was dangerous territory. She glanced over to Jack, praying that he’d understand her telepathy through which she was urging him to just let it go.

“I doubt MacArthur would have let a woman even near Iwo Jima”, Jack’s voice was as sharp as a razor, “But then, you wouldn’t know, would you? After all, you didn’t have to leave your ship.” Y/N hadn’t known that Luke had been in the Navy, but apparently, Jack did.

“Well, at least our efforts captured an inhabitable island, rather than a few rocks.” That’s when Y/N knew that she could only pray that no one would lose a tooth today. She would have bet a good sum on Jack dislocating Luke’s chin. Subconsciously, she reached out to hold back his dominant arm. But he didn’t. Though tense, he didn’t lash out.

“Yeah”, he said, dry as sandpaper, “Say that to the thousands who never got to leave that island. Tell that to their mothers and sisters. Luke, there was a time where I might have envied you for your wits, but by God, that must’ve been your casualty of war.”

“You d-“

“Boys”, Y/N interjected, aware of the curious stares around them. This would not end in a bar fight. “Play nice.”

There was a tense pause, Jack’s stare attempting to murder the man in front of him, but thankfully, it remained only an attempt.

“So”, Luke cleared his throat, “I see you’re not married, Y/N. Are you still in the workforce, then?”

“Yes. Just like I said back then”, she tilted her head, “I’d like to continue that for a good while.”

“Where are you working? If I remember correctly, you worked part-time as a librarian.”

“That was handy because of university”, she shook her head, “No, I now work in law enforcement.”

“Law enforcement?”, he raised his eyebrows, “Where exactly?”

Y/N had a prepared response to evade his question, but Jack intervened curtly: “The best there is, the SSR.”

Luke seemed to think about his response for a few seconds, contemplating whether he’d choose the escalatory or de-escalatory route. “I sure hope he’s giving you less grief than back at Cornell, Y/N. I remember your… annoyed temper.” He gave her a slim smile, nodding at her for goodbye: “You’d deserve better than that.”

It took all of her strength to keep her companion in place, and to make good on her promise that this would indeed not end in a bar fight. “Not necessary”, she whispered through her teeth, “he’s talking nonsense.”

Luke left them standing there, and for a while, Y/N was silent in disbelief that this did not end the way it had historically always ended, and Jack was silently staring after the man who he, in all fairness, still wanted to kick in the face.

“This went… better than I imagined it would”, Y/N stated cynically, her eyes moving over to see Jack’s face.

“You should not have given him that money for the coat”, Jack simply stated dryly, causing Y/N to roll her eyes.

“Please”, she moved to the side so that Jack, rather than staring after Luke, now faced her, “We pay people all the time to keep their mouths shut. I’d say he was my first case of hush-money.”

“Well, I was right”, he stated, “he was a creep, and is a dumbass.” Y/N let it stand, deciding that it was best to let this case rest.

“Let it go”, she said with a smile, “and try not to continue looking like you’d want to blow this bar up.”

He took her arm: “Then you’ll have to dance for a while.”

She huffed amusedly – to be fair, there were other women he could have danced with. After all, he had been popular for dance nights all throughout university. So she really had no real choice, now, did she? After all, as much as he did not want Luke in a ten miles radius of Y/N did Y/N not want any of his former admirers in his vicinity. “Like I said. As long as you lead.”

When the two of them left the gathering, it was shortly after ten. It wasn’t feasible to stay longer – the next day was the Sunday that Thompson had to man the office. And even if they could have stayed longer, Jack really had no interest in doing so. He had come here to achieve one thing, and that, he had done more than thoroughly. Made it clear to Luke to never ever try his luck again.

“One a scale of one to ten, how bad did you find it?”, Y/N asked, getting in the car.

“Bad enough to not want a repeat, bearable enough that I could get through it sober.”

“To be fair, then it wasn’t that bad, surely”, she replied with a grin.

When he stopped the car in front of her building, Y/N again tried the door whilst he was preoccupied with putting the first gear in.

“Jack, the door is still locked.”

He looked over and rather than simply unlocking it, he got out of the car to open the door again. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Ever so charming.”

“You bet.”

He accompanied her to the entrance and when she got her key, she said: “Thanks for coming. I know how much you hate these events.”

“Oh, I do hate them with a passion, but I hate to be there less than knowing that I’m not there when you are.” He said it with a joking tone, but both of them knew what he meant by it. She smiled.

“Ditto.”

For a second, they simply stood there. Saying goodbye had been a moment of slight awkwardness for the last weeks. They were too close for handshakes or any of the sort.

Hell, they had done it all together – go to school, university, mass, she had waved him off to war, they worked together, she had saved his live, hell, they had even slept next to each other. What difference would a kiss make in that equation?

It made all the difference. It was a point where rejection would be blatantly obvious. A moment that you can’t ever take back. And both of them were incredibly guarded when it came to their hearts. So making that step was, for them, the emotional equivalent of crossing the English Channel with a rowing boat.

In the end, Jack plucked up courage. After all, it was only a stupid kiss, right? It wasn’t like falling on one knee. It was a hesitant kiss, soft, expressing all the uncertainty, the fear, the pent-up emotions both of them knew so well. It was a kiss that displayed the fear of feeling love, but even more, the fear of being loved. They had their baggage, their scars. Giving love was hard, but accepting it, feeling worthy of it might just be harder.

Y/N exhaled, smiling brightly. Of course, when going to war, one does it for one’s country. But that’s so vague, every individual breaks it down into something tangible they could fight for. Something that lay beneath the image of country. What lay beneath for them had been this.

“It’s funny”, he said silently, “rationally speaking I’ve done a million things more terrifying than this, and yet, it doesn’t feel that way.”

“I know exactly what you mean”, she affirmed, “But we’ll learn. I’m sure we’ll learn.”

A/N: First of all. Wow, I found a spark in the last days that produced this in a matter of hours. Thanks so much for the great feedback on the last part, and as you might have seen, I updated my Masterlist. Took goddamn hours because, as it turns out, I made a mistake initially with the chapter numbers. It is now all in order on the masterlist, thank god. And yes, this chapter marks the end of ‘What lies benath’. Now, I do have a sequel in mind, to which I can tag those who want to be tagged (e.g. I’ll probably just copy those who have been tagged on this series). However, I wanted to bring this to a (hopefully) satisfying close, as it does mark the end of the re-building of their friendship, as well as the establishment of something more. Yeah. It took me 18 chapters to do that, I am very slow. The sequel would include the development of their relationship, as well as some SSR-action, of course. Do let me know if you’re up for that!!

@abysshaven

@deathofmissjackson

@okkulta

@briskywalker

@elleclairez

@ultrarebelheart

[bimswritings]

Savage Opress x Reader: Pt.2

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Yandere Themes, Language

PT.1

Presents and Possessions

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Life aboard the ship of the Zabrak brothers wasn’t what you had been expecting. 

Savage had told you that you were to serve him, be there for his every call, but so far he had neglected to have you do anything. As far as servants went, your duties were next to nothing, and you hardly saw him on a regular basis.

His appearances were sparse appearing every other day. There were times when you would go days, even a week without seeing him. When you did he was, for a lack of better words, clingy.

The first few nights he had to wrestle you to get you to lay down, struggling against your squirming figure even with his superior strength. At first you had feared that he would try to pull something, leaving many sleepless nights for you as you remained stiff and on guard. As time progressed without incident, you found yourself becoming more relaxed, falling into a routine of sorts.

You would spend the day doing whatever it is you could find to occupy yourself in the room, be it reading one of the stray books he would bring or trying to maintain your physical skills and strength earned from years working in the mines. That strength could be your saving grace if you need to fight your captor, should he decide to flip the script and try to pull something one day. Then, at night or random intervals during the day, Savage would return. He would spend a majority of the time ranting, pacing back and forth across the room as he complained about one thing or another. All the while you would sit on the bed, silently listening.

On particularly rough days, he would forego any words and just drag you into his arms, holding you there for hours and not saying anything. It was as if the rest of the world was shut out to him at those times, ignoring your squirming as his horns poked into your skin, all the while his face remained bruised in the crook of your neck.

Even with having to deal with the clingy Zabrak, you were far from mistreated on the ship.

Visits with your brother were held once a week, either in your own room or in his own barracks. Sometimes he would even lead you to one of the various training rooms, excitedly bouncing up and down as he showed you whatever new skill he had learned from the Mandalorians. Savage would come along on those trips a few times, watching from the corner of the room in silence as you caught up with one another. Jay seemed to be in better health than he was back home, even putting on some weight between the regular meals and all the training he was doing. His strength was ever growing, and you had to put in some actual effort when wrestling with him.

Now that he wasn’t an enemy in their eyes, he was quick to earn the other warriors respect, often earning greetings as you walked side by side through the halls. There was still some bad blood between you both and some of the soldiers, namely the same blond man who had injured you back on your planet, but it was only to be expected. They never dared to bother you though, resorting to scathing glares as they walked past, Jay leading you through the halls with practiced ease, something that you found yourself slightly jealous of.

The only times you ever really left the room were to visit your brother, neglecting to explore more of the ship even though the doors remain unlocked. The fear of getting yourself into trouble or stumbling upon one of the guards with ill intent was too real in your mind, and the unknown territory did nothing to put your mind at ease. After spending the majority or your life on the same planet, in the same village, following roughly the same routine year after year, it made you cautious around the unknown simply because you didn’t know how to deal with it.

Unfortunately, the behavior didn’t go unnoticed by Savage as you had though. Hoping he just didn’t care about what you did when he wasn’t around, or that he was providing ample time to acclimate to the new surroundings, all theories were crushed after he broached the topic a month into your stay.

“Why do you never leave this room? The doors are unlocked, and you are allowed to wander. It’s not as if you could escape, even if you wanted to.” He spoke, turning towards you and pulling you from the daze you had been caught in. 

The question came out of the blue, and you had debated on lying to him. There was no point though, as withholding the truth did nothing to better the situation. So, with a small shrug of your shoulders you answered.

“I know no one here but my brother, and he finds himself more and more busy each day. If I were to run into anyone or get into any trouble, I fear what might happen. After all, I doubt the others, especially your brother, have any such fondness for me. I have no position on this ship.”

He said nothing, only staring at you a moment longer, eyes narrowed, before turning back to resume getting ready for bed.

You shrugged it off, figuring that he would drop the subject now that he had his answer. There was no reason he should have any concerns over your behavior further than that, and he acts no different when he pulls you into his chest that night, letting out a sigh as you begin humming lightly. Something you had done for Jay whenever he had trouble sleeping, and while trying to sooth yourself in the early nights of your forced companionship you discovered that he enjoyed it as well. The better mood he was in, the better things were for you, and you would be lying if you said that all the nights spent with him hadn’t warmed you up to the large Sith a bit, even if rationally you knew it was just a result of dependence and Stockholm.

Sleeping soundly as ever, it comes as almost a shock when he wakes you in the morning. Normally he would leave without so much as a word, so to be greeted with the sight of him standing above you, already dressed and shaking your shoulders roughly, was a bit of a surprise.

“Get dressed.” Is all he says, throwing the clothes in his hands into your lap before turning around to wait, facing the wall as you slip from your sleeping garments.

You do as he says, shedding your clothes and quickly slipping into the ones he had given you. The material was softer and nicer than anything you had ever owned, though still thick and heavy, providing warmth from the ever present cold of space. Upon closer inspection, you notice some stitching running all over the black fabric, which suspiciously resembles the same markings of his own skin. 

How long had he had this? And why was he giving it to you now?

Before you can put too much thought into it, he’s turned back around. Golden eyes give you a once over, a small lift to his lips as he takes in your form before turning back to the door.

“Come.” Is all he says before exiting, leaving you to scramble and catch up as you pull on your shoes before running after him. 

Once you do catch up, you still struggle to keep pace with him. His longer legs cover the same amount of ground as two of yours and he’s no slow walker. Taking place just behind him to his right, you catch him looking back over his shoulder to you. Now, certain that you’re following along, he begins pointing out different areas as you pass. Meeting rooms, offices where more notable figures could be found, even the control and engine rooms.

After a time of walking around the ship, you follow him to one of the previously mentioned training rooms to find Maul waiting for him.

“I see you managed to coax the little lolth out of her den.” His eyes flicker to you, practically burning into your skin and prompting you to hide behind Savage’s larger form. Said man ignores his brother’s words, instead directing you to stand by the door and out of the way as he removes some of his bulkier armor. 

For the next two hours they spar, switching between simple hand-to-hand combat and using their lightsabers, which crackle and spark with every clash. Not only was the sight of such weapons enough to amaze you, having never seen anything but simple weapons and the occasional blaster from traders, but the strength that both Zabrak possess. While Maul is clearly strong, he still relies on his superior agility to remain out of Savage’s grasp, who’s not as jumpy but just as dangerous, crushing metal floors and walls a plenty with both raw strength and an invisible force.

You can’t help but watch with wide eyes at the display of raw power, unaware of exactly how much both men were showing off. Savage in earnest, taking secret pride in the way you watched, and Maul in more of a teasing way. He knew what his younger brother was doing, bringing you with him, and while he might have found it annoying if it was anyone else, he found it quite humorous in this case.

After both men conceded and caught their breath, Savage approached and took back the armor you had been holding for him until then. All the while you tried to avoid watching the way his now uncovered chest stretch and pulled with every movement, soon hidden beneath his many layers of clothing once again. At least you were able to confirm the theory about the markings, with identifiable parts matching up against the ones on your own clothing.

Despite the embarrassment of the subtle claiming, it was also a bit infuriating for him to do so without even telling you. It’s not like you could complain though. He technically owned you through the twisted rules of conquest.

The day wasn’t done however as you soon found yourself surrounded by others in the middle of what you surmised was a war meeting, standing just behind Savage as he discussed their next move with the others. No wonder he always came back so wound up. Just listening to all the arguing going on was enough to give anyone a headache, just like the one that was quickly coming to surface and pushing behind your own temples painfully.

Even with all the arguing going on, you were still aware of the stares you received and the whispers that followed. You tried not to pay them much mind to it, knowing they wouldn’t try to pull anything or speak out with Savage there. The same couldn’t be said for Maul, who did nothing to hide his disinterest as he continuously stole glances your way, clearly relishing in the discomfort he caused you. 

By the time it was over, your legs were ready to fall off, feeling like jelly after spending hours standing during the meeting, which had stretched into late afternoon. Savage, seeming to sense your exhaustion, swept you off your feet and over his shoulder, all the while you were too tired to protest. Before you even made it back to the room you were out, the excitement of the day taking its toll and leaving Savage to deal with you, leaving both of you in your clothes from the day as he situated you in bed before curling his own form around yours.

If you had thought that your little adventure was just a one day thing, then you were dead wrong, treated to the same rude awakening, rushed out the door and forced to follow Savage around as he goes about his task.

This pattern repeats day after day, and he gradually begins giving you instructions and tasks. You’re led all over the ship, sent from one end to another on various orders for different people. Slowly, you start to become more comfortable and familiar with the surroundings. Finding your way around the ship is no longer a daunting task, with dark and ominous hallways that all looked the same becoming a well visualized mental map.

During the entire time you were learning, Savage was surprisingly patient. Not once did he get angry if you got lost, or took a while finding your way back. He simply just reminded you or where or what was needed in the same short tone he always used.

It took longer than you would care to admit, but eventually you caught on to what he was doing. He was getting you more familiar to the ship in his own way, practically forcing you to know the layout and interact with its occupants while turning you into his unofficial assistant. Thinking about it though, it is what he had said you would be doing in the first place.

Despite recognizing it as a form of slavery still, it made you feel lighter inside that he went out of his way to introduce the concept slowly, instead of just throwing you in headfirst. The feeling was quickly washed away as you remember who he was, beyond his interactions with you. A warlord and Sith who brought nothing but ruin to other planets, seeing them as nothing more than another part of their conquest and unfeeling for those he killed. Your planet was just one of the many to fall to their march.

Becoming familiar with the ship, there were obviously places that became your favorite to visit when there was time. Finding Jay, just to simply watch him progress while he trained and catch up, was the first thing you would do when given the time. Being around him also meant you were around the other Mandalorians, and you grew familiar with some, even friendly as they now extended their own greetings when seeing you run through the halls. It was comforting in a way, not feeling so isolated anymore.

Still, there were times where you simply wished to be by yourself. To take a break and attempt to forget the current situation you were in. The best place to do that was the large view port near the front of the ship.

It was a large window, spanning the entire length of the wall. You had discovered it by accident after getting lost once, taking a half hour to find your way back as there was nothing of importance close by and as a result there was little foot traffic. The lack of people made it perfect for thinking, and provided a beautiful view of the space beyond. It helped the wanderlust you held for the galaxies beyond, places you had never seen, nor had you ever thought you would see.

It was here you currently found yourself, relishing in the dim light of the stars passing outside and the atmosphere that came along with it. Savage would be expecting you back soon, but you could stretch it out a bit longer. Even if you were a bit late, he would only give a side look without saying anything against it.

So lost in the view beyond, you didn’t hear a set of footsteps approaching. Not until he speaks do you realize he’s even there.

“Nice view, eh?”

You jump, turning to face the young Mandalorian who holds his hands up in defense. Having never seen him before, even among the ranks of those who regularly populated the barracks and halls.

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” He smiled lightly, eyes crinkle at the action. “Just saw you standing all by yourself and figured you might want some company.”

Not really, you think to yourself. You came here to be alone after all, but there was no reason to be rude, especially since he had only approached with concern. Why not humor him with some small talk?

“It’s alright.” You smiled back, relaxing against the wall once again and content to continue the conversation. His questions are harmless, hardly even bordering on personal, but the way he seems to grow closer by the second puts a knot in your stomach, prompting you to slowly inch away. If he notices your discomfort he doesn’t mention it, only continuing his actions as his questions quickly turn more personal. Things such as ‘’do you have a boyfriend’ and ‘Which of the rooms are you assigned to?’.

“Listen, it’s been nice talking to you, but I really have to get back to work.” Sidestepping, you try to move around him, only for his hand to latch onto yours. You try to pull away, only for his grip to tighten painfully.

There’s no one around to help nor hear your struggles, and you curse yourself for allowing such a situation to occur. It’s one of the things you had been fearful of in the first place! There was still little you could do about the situation, fearful of the repercussions if you actually hurt him. But then again, Savage wouldn’t let them touch you, right? Surely he of all people would understand the need to protect yourself. He might even be glad you stood up for yourself! With that in mind, you swallowed thickly before drawing your arm back.

“Let go!” You cry, bringing your free hand down to deliver blow after blow. Each strike only bounces harmlessly off his armor, and it's only when you clock him across the face with a force that snaps his head back does he react.

He grunts, one hand coming up to staunch the blood now flowing freely from his now crooked nose. Long gone is the friendly smile, and in its place is a teeth gritting snarl as he tries to pull you closer.

“Listen here you little bitch! Why don’t you jus-”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Instead, he’s lifted into the air by seemingly nothing, eyes wide in shock, before being thrown against the wall with a force that shakes the ground.

It all happens in a split second, leaving no room to process what had just happened before your attention is drawn to thunderous footsteps approaching.

Savage’s aura is dark and menacing, almost tangible as he gets closer. It reminds you of the Rynic back home. Dangerous beast with razor sharp horns and needle like teeth. They were ill-tempered on the best of days, and it was better to just avoid them, should they take you as a threat and charge. 

He was like that now, the intention to kill glaring, seeming more like his brother than ever before.

He says nothing, not even sparing a glance at the dazed Mandalorian who’s still pinned against the wall, bleeding nose now the least of his worries as the angry Sith comes closer. It's now you realize that he’s using whatever he had when fighting Maul. The Force, you had heard him call it before. Not something you were well versed in to give a lecture on, but knew enough about from the whispers of traders and those aboard the ship alike.

“How dare you.” He growls. “How dare you touch what is mine!”

It’s now you notice his clawed hand, fingers constricting even tighter in the air as he approaches and prompts more choking noises from the trapped man. His own hands pull uselessly at his throat, trying to free himself from the invisible force preventing him from breathing. His efforts are to no avail, and he’s left at the mercy of the enraged Zabrak as you helplessly watch.

Within seconds his skin is turning blue, color creeping in and spreading like a virus from his lips and eyes, which themselves have become webbed with red, bloodshot and panicked as they dart around the room before landing on your own frozen form.

‘He’s going to kill him.’ You realize with a chill. You knew he was violent, murderous, but he had never killed in front of you before. The sight of which had shocked you, but which was gradually wearing off. If you didn’t do something quick, he was going to die, and while he had assaulted you just moments ago you still felt no desire to see his life slip away before your very eyes.

So, with all the strength you could muster, you launched yourself at Savage’s back, throwing your arms over his shoulders and around his neck in a choke hold. He shook, trying to rid himself of your weight much like a dog would a flea, and while he almost succeeded dug in deeper, legs barely managing to reach around his wide waist, and locked your ankles together.

While one arm remained locked around his neck, the other reached out in an attempt to pull his extended hand down. Maybe if you managed to drag it away from its current position pointed at the Mandalorian, it would break some sort of connection.

It's almost laughable how little you can do against his vastly superior strength, and any hope that you can actually do anything is a pipe dream, leaving you nothing but words as you plea for him to stop.

“Savage! This is crazy!” He seems to not hear, only grunting in mild annoyance as his only response.

By this point the man has stopped struggling, his once struggling form slowing to a stop as his kicking legs simply dangle alongside his hands. He looks like a corpse already, and if not for the occasional jerk of his chest as he tries to suck in air still. 

“If I’m anything to you, if I've ever been anything to you, then stop! Spare him!”

Something in your words seems to shake him, his head tilting lightly to catch your gaze over his shoulder. He pauses, hatred full eyes softening just a fraction, before his arm drops. The man’s body follows suit, falling the four feet to the floor, unconscious yet alive. There’s no time to be relieved however, as now with the advantage of both hands, Savage reaches around and grabs you by the collar, easily pulling you over his shoulder where he then proceeds to drag you along the floor, ignoring the way you kicked and struggled as he made his way through familiar halls. Anyone you saw did nothing, content with ignoring what was going on before their very eyes as you made your way to your destination.

A sense of dread filled your stomach as he roughly tossed you onto the bed of your room. There wasn’t even time to bounce off the soft surface before you were pinned down. Large hands worm their way under your clothes, discarding the layers and sashes with ease.

“S-stop! Stop!” You squirm, finally managing to pull away and spin around to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His face is a mixture of anger and confusion, as if he can’t believe the way you’re reacting. 

“What am I doing? I’m protecting you, that’s what I’m doing!” His finger stabs accusingly in your direction, voice tinge with disbelief. “You’re so weak and defenseless! If I hadn't come along then who knows what might have happened.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Did he really think that you were so incompetent, so incapable? New rage burned through your veins, emboldening you as you stood chest to chest with him. Your neck was tilted at an uncomfortably angle as you glared at his towering figure.

“Helpless? I got along just fine before you came and kidnapped me! Now I’m living on a foreign ship with people who killed my entire village and two psychotic Zabrak, one of which has some weird obsession with me and has reduced me to nothing more than a glorified secretary!” 

He stiffened, aura growing increasingly menacing with every second. His hands flexed, clenching and unclenching by his sides. All of which was lost on you, too far gone and fed up with being ordered around without a choice. Now that the dam had burst, there was no holding it back.

“I would have handled the situation myself! I’ve dealt with far more handsy and stronger men than him! Furthermore I am not some toy to be fought over by grown men acting like children!” You pushed your finger into his chest to emphasize the point, feeling his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath. It's too late that you realize your mistake, and you doubt any amount of groveling will get you out of this one.

Instead, you back up slowly, wearily watching as you back away from his still form. His markings shine in stark contrast in the dim light of the room as he squares his shoulders, blocking any room for escape as he approaches. You’re forced back with every step, retreating until you find yourself backed into a corner. Fleetingly, your eyes dart around the room, landing on the door that seems light years away. If you could just make it there and out in the halls beyond then..then..

Then nothing. You were trapped. Even if you managed to escape, where would you go? He would find you, stuck on this ship, eventually.

Quicker then you’re able to process, one of his arms whips forward, cutting off any route of escape and causing the metal to vibrate with the impact. The ear closest rings dully, and you don;t even have to look to know that he’s left a dent. Hot breath fans across your skin as you stare wide eyed at the floor, not daring to look up and meet his gaze. Heart racing so fast, its amazing you can still hear over the thudding in your ears as he speaks.

“Has the lull of space dulled your senses, or have you forgotten what I said when I saved you from that pitiful little planet you called home. The one so barren and empty that you had to import all your goods. Where you were forced to do back breaking labor in order to survive, if that's what you want to call it.” 

The words are like daggers, sinking deeper the longer he speaks as you're reminded of your previous circumstances. You had survived, yes, but could you really consider it living? Then again, how was it any better than your current situation? Instead of having the freedom to provide for yourself, you were forced to bow under the will of others and hope that they were kind enough to keep you around and alive.

He draws closer, leaving you nowhere to go and feeling entirely too claustrophobic. 

“You. Belong. To me. I saved you! I'm your protector! And I can do whatever I want to you.”

His once quiet tone has risen to a yell, seeming to shake the very air and finally breaking your resolve.

A whimper leaves your quivering lips. Hardly louder than a whisper, but in the deathly still room it’s like a blaster shot, prompting the sith to freeze. Slowly, his hand raises. Ignoring the way you flinch away as he grips your jaw, he forces you to look at him directly. The calloused skin of his hands scratches at your own as he wipes away the tears now flowing freely. You hadn’t even realized you were crying, but the discovery breaks a sob from deep within.

He rears back like he’s been stung, leaving you feeling cold in the absence of his scorching skin. Stepping forward once again only results in a choking sound escaping your throat, freezing him in his tracks.

“I-I didn’t…” Words fading, his gaze moves from his own hands to your shaking frame and back again. A silent war goes on within him as the voices in his head fight for dominance. All the while you’re left to watch in fear for his next move.

With one last angry growl, he turns on heel and storms out of the room. The familiar beeping of the lock sounds, sealing your fate and you in the room.

Savage doesn’t return for seemingly hours, though it's unknown how long exactly as there was no way to keep track of time. All you know is that, after getting your tears under control and fixing your clothes back into place, you climbed onto the cot and fell into an exhausted sleep, constantly tossing and turning with your nightmares, yet forgetting them the moment you wake, drenched in sweat and shaking.

When you're woken once more, you nearly hurl yourself off the bed as bleary eyes spot a shadowy figure standing above. A hand clasp your ankle tightly before you can even move, pulling rough and dragging you to the edge where they then proceed to hold you in place with their legs alone. The entire time you struggle, kicking and squirming, which is quickly brought to an end as a startling familiar large hand grasps you by the nape, forcing your face into the blankets as he speaks.

“Hold still.”

It's Savage, you realize with a start. The shock of which stills your motions long enough for him to slip something around your neck. The foreign object was stiff, yet not uncomfortable apart from the fact that it was too tight to ignore.

Once in place, he released his grip, allowing you to escape and stumble your way towards the bathroom. The luminescent light was nearly blinding as it flicked on, revealing your latest accessory in the reflective surface of the mirror.

A collar. He had put a collar on you, like you were some sort of pet.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, hand ghosting over the offending wardrobe addition. The majority itself was made up of a thick black material, almost like steel woven fabric. Tilting it forward for a better look, you could see a thick layer of cushion-like material that you assumed was to keep from rubbing the delicate skin of your neck raw. In the very center was the only addition to the otherwise minimal design.

At first you thought it was a tooth or claw of some sort, the rough cone coming to a sharp point. The edges had clearly been smoothed, though you hated to think of how sharp the end was before receiving the dulling treatment.

Movement from the edge of the mirror disrupts your pondering, drawing attention to the lurking Savage. Not wanting a repeat of your last encounter, you're quick to exit the small room, ducking under his sweeping arm as you go.

“What is this!”

You seethe, keeping careful watch and making sure to keep ample distance as you circle the room. He seems unconcerned by your rage, simply watching with a hint of smugness to his heavy features.

“A gift.” 

A gift? Was this some kind of sick joke for him? A punishment for what happened yesterday perhaps?

As if sensing your confusion, Savage indulges you and explains further.

“You’ve made it clear that you wish to retain some form of independence, as laughable as the idea is. That,” he gestures to the item around your neck. “Is one of my own horns. As clear of warning there can be, since you seem so against me killing the fools who think to oversteps boundaries.”

You blink owlishly, hand moving to the organic charm. Taking a closer look, you saw that he was indeed down one of his normal crown protrusions, sawn cleanly from his right side. 

“Come. You’ve sulked long enough.” He leaves the room, not even sparing a glance back to see if you were following, which of course you were. While he framed it as being for your own benefit, you knew what it really was. 

A claim. A warning. However you wanted to phrase it. It all boiled down to one thing; you were his property, and this was his way of showing it. More merciful, and less humiliating, than other ways he could have done so, you surmised.

So, with great reluctance you followed him, feet shuffling and head down.

____Bonus_____

Few things in Maul’s life had given him the same amusement he felt now. From across the room he watched as you sulked after his brother, clearly unhappy. Your displeasure was easy to detect even for those that weren’t force sensitive.

The ‘necklace’, as it was kindly called, rather than the collar it more closely resembled, was already in place and on full display for all. Clearly you were unaware of the implications of what Savage had given you, otherwise your reaction would be of a highly different kind.

The broken horn fragment gleamed, and he noted that he had dulled it just as advised. Though he would have gone for a different design. Something more elegant, and less flashy. It did the job though, screaming his claim and ensuring only an idiot would dare to question his claim, lest they attempt to challenge him for the right to court you. If he didn’t know Savage any better, he might have thought that he was moving extraordinary fast in his advances, but he was one for action first and thinking later, just like when he had those robes made for you.

One thing was for sure, and that was how much he was looking forward to the ensuing chaos. After all, Savage was no ordinary Zabrak, and these were no ordinary circumstances. It was highly unusual for his kind to take mates outside their species after all.

[junicai]

Aria at Award Shows

Iconic Outfits

2020 AAAs NCT Daesang Award  

Peoples’ jaws dropped when they saw Aria sidle up alongside the other 23 boys, strolling out like she owned the building. The heels gave her enough height to be nearly level with Renjun - something she wouldn’t let the boy forget - her hair dyed back to a natural black like it had been during NCT2020 promotions. It was rare that Aria didn’t look slightly apprehensive about stepping out onto a red carpet, but the confidence was rolling off her in waves. As she walked, the slit in the dress seemed to keep on going, trailing up her leg and changing the otherwise classy dress into something that left the innocent bystanders in the first row suffering from a high chance of a heart attack.

tldr; Aria’s hot and people are Noticing.

2019 Show Champion NCT 127 ‘Superhuman’ 

NCT’s second win with Superhuman left a huge divide in nctzens; a rift between those who were ot21 stans and ot22 stans (sans and plus Aria). Up until then, there had been rumors around whether Aria was to leave NCT now that there was a new girl group supposedly debuting under SM. Their management team had refrained from publishing a response - but that only lead fans to create their own speculations and theories. This outfit played perfectly into the growing rumor; with the large circular pendant on Aria’s bracelet having two chrysanthemums etched into the gold. The flower symbolized happy endings and goodbyes, with nctzens taking this as the proof that Aria was truly set to leave NCT in the coming months. 

tldr; nctzens need to learn how to Chill.

2017 M! Countdown NCT 127 ‘Cherry Bomb’

Unfortunately, this era was the cause of a lot of strife for Arizens; the stylists either hit it out of the park and Aria was drop dead stunning - or she ended up looking a little like a bratz doll a toddler had gotten their hands on. Unfortunately for Aria, their first win with ‘Cherry Bomb’ left pictures of her in a plastic, obviously dyed blue skirt and cherry pink hair to match immortalized on the internet forever. 

tldr; arizens hoped that her stylist got fired after this era. the plastic skirt wasn't the worst thing they'd done.

Other Iconic Outfits

Seating Arrangements

Depending on the venue, idols are normally sat on straight rows of chairs and benches, or at round tables. Given the choice, Aria would always prefer to sit at one of the tables, as not only does it give her a chance to not have to worry about her legs being seen while being covered by the tablecloth - if there is one - but it lets her keep everyone sitting near her in her direct line of vision. 

However, should she have to sit in one of the main rows, she’ll normally end up squished beside one of three boys - Donghyuck, Yuta and/or Renjun. Should one of those three be unaviliable, Doyoung and Jeno are usually quick enough to fill in the empty space. 

Donghyuck would always be her first choice, was it not for the boy’s incessant energy that sometimes left her nerves fried before their performance. Most days she adored the company - adored him and his efforts to get her mind off their impending songs with various games and ways to pass the time (they're not allowed play footsie anymore though, because Aria stomped on his foot with her heel once) - but other days she just needed someone to hold her hand and say nothing. That’s where Yuta and Renjun come in.

As Aria’s found out over the years, for all the man’s tactile affection and loud displays of love, Yuta’s highly perceptive to when she needs some silent comfort. Now, she’s not sure if he’s that perceptive to everyone or just her - but either way she’s not complaining. 

With Dream, Renjun is the one she’ll sit with and doodle on the white napkins that are laid out on the table for lord knows what reason. After being bored out of their minds for their first few award shows, Renjun had snuck two black ballpoint pens into the venue in the inside of his red suit jacket. The drawings had become somewhat a tradition, and the best doodle normally is uploaded to bubble shortly after the show has ended. 

All in all, Aria’s normally quite content to sit in the centre of the large group of boys - split over several rows or tables, boisterous and bubbly with energy. The only real downside to it all is the lack of blankets available to protect her modesty once she is seated. 

Most venues split the idols fairly evenly between the boy and girl groups - with blankets being allocated especially for the seating of girl groups. This meant, unfortunately, that when NCT files into their seats and sits down, there is rarely something in the close vicinity that Aria can borrow quickly without causing a fuss.

Sometimes she gets lucky - other female idols might spot her and are normally kind enough to hand over one of their cushions or blankets, content to share with their neighboring member. Occasionally though, Aria has no such luck and is left to either pull down her dress multiple times per minute to cover the prickly feeling over the tops of her legs when she felt like eyes were boring into her, or wait for some kind of break so she could go find a spare covering.

Aria supposed after the third time something like that had happened, her members were getting fed up with it all. 

At first it was their plan B: should some type of cover-up not be available in their immediate vicinity, Johnny or Lucas or Jaehyun - once, even Dejun - or another member who ran hot near-constantly would shrug off their jacket and fold it over Aria’s legs, pulling it up and then lifting her hands to place them in her lap to hold their jacket there. 

Eventually it became their plan A however, now commonplace for Aria to go looking for the member who was wearing multiple layers and who wouldn’t suffer from the loss of their outermost one.  

Iconic Moments 

Twitter: [180821] and people rly say nct doesn’t care abt aria :/

Red carpets were always something to dread, in Aria’s eyes.

The cameras flashing bright enough to blind you, and the knowledge that if she stumbled or - god forbid - fell it would be immortalized forever on Koreaboo’s newest blog post. 

However the worst bit, was always the footwear. High, stiletto heels that left her teetering around on nothing more than her tippy-toes, precariously balanced as she made her way up and down stairs, over carpet and tiled flooring alike. 

Aria was used to wearing heels, but the one’s she performed in were usually fitted with various types of ankle support and a thick heel to give her balance. Wobbling around on a heel the same width of a piece of uncooked spaghetti was not something she’d willingly choose. 

Not to mention the blisters. 

Designer shoes were gifted to the company on a regular basis - shipped over just in time for Aria to slip into the pair before stepping out of the van into the sea of bright flashes and reporters. It always seemed like designers were too pre-occupied with making a shoe look good rather than making them actually wearable. 

The first time Aria had been gifted a set of heels - early 2018 - she made the mistake of assuming that they would be in similar comfort as her performance heels. 

Two hours later and with a wad of bloody tissue stuffed into the back of them, Aria had learnt her lesson. 

From then on, it was commonplace for Aria to bandage her heels before she went out to shows - not quite as heavily as she normally would for a performance, but just enough to stop the skin splitting under the constant abrasion. 

She’d only been caught out badly once - but it was all caught on camera by a fan sitting close by, and spread over twitter like wildfire. 

Aria had limped her way back over to where NCT 127 was sitting, lips pressed together in a tight line and hands clenched in the tight material of the leather trousers she had been given to wear. The trousers stopped a few inches above her ankles, so the red mess of her heels was clearly visible as she hobbled over and sat down with a thud onto the seat. 

Donghyuck placed a hand on Aria’s shoulder, leaning in so that he could see her face behind the curtain of hair that she had let fall to hide her tear-filled eyes from him. 

“Riri?” Donghyuck whispered to her, thumb beginning to rub soothing circles into her arm. “Hey, Riri? What’s going on?” 

Aria only shook her head, gesturing to the pair of torturous heels on her feet.

Donghyuck inhaled sharply when he saw the blood trailing up her leg and soaking into the back of the heel. He turned to his side to elbow Doyoung, grabbing his attention.

“Hyung. Hyung.” He hissed, Doyoung turning around with an over-exaggerated sigh. 

“No, Hyuck, I told you I’m not going to-” Doyoung cut himself off upon seeing Aria’s pain-filled face. “Aria? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

Donghyuck slid off his seat onto the ground despite Aria’s protests that the floor wasn’t clean, get up, and explained what had happened to his hyung. Sliding her heel off as slowly as he could to not pull at the skin more, he muttered apologizes to Aria as she inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling it on a small, wet cry. 

“Hyung, did you bring anything for Taeyong-hyung’s shoulder that we could use?” 

“Yeah, yeah I did give me two seconds.” Doyoung bent into the small bag that he had tucked underneath the seat, pulling out a length of bandage that was stowed away in the outermost pocket. 

Donghyuck took it from Doyoung’s hands with a small ‘thank you’, moving to kneel back down in front of Aria and taking her ankle back into his lap.

“Hyuck, no I got it, c’mon the ground isn’t clean-” 

He silenced her with a look. Aria settled back into her chair - defeated - and Donghyuck wrapped the bandage around her heel as quickly but as painlessly as he could manage. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [190323] HSHS ARIA IS A CARAT WE’VE WON LADIES N GENTS

Maybe Aria should have been paying more attention to the camera that was slowly panning around the idols, projecting their faces up onto a large screen beside the stage, but she was too engrossed in the current group’s performance. 

“그렇다고 네 맘이 작다는 게 아냐,” Swaying gently side to side and mouthing along to the lyrics, Aria was happy enough to smile along to the song and move her hands in a small mimickery of the choreography she’d taught herself off the group’s dance practice video she’d watched only a few dozen times. 

It wasn’t until Mark poked her in the side that Aria broke out from her own little bubble, twisting her head to look back at him and then up at the screen when he pointed. 

There, her face, staring back at her from the big screen was enough to make her mouth drop open a little bit and her eyes widen. She clapped a hand to her mouth before turning to hide her face in Jaehyun’s shoulder, shaking with embarassed laughter. 

Aria could hear Taeyong’s teasing laugh in return, before a hand came and ruffled the hair on top of her head, that she swatted away.

--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [170911] lmao same aria

Aria knew she was there. 

She knew that she was sitting right there and that she was in one of those really skimpy dresses stylists loved to put girls in because apparently female idols don’t deserve modesty and Aria knew that she had a blanket for once and she should share it but oh my god.

It was Chungha.

Aria was going to pass out. 

Taking side glances every few seconds only confirmed the fact that Chungha was pulling down her dress to cover as much of her legs as possible, tucking her ankles together and underneath the seat.

Ok.

Ok, she could do this. 

Aria took a steeling breath, before shifting on her seat to face Chungha on more of a diagonal. She lifted her hand before lowering it slighly, looking away. 

Should she- no ok she’s doing this. 

Without giving herself time to talk herself out of it, Aria moved to rest her hand on Chungha’s arm. The older woman jerked slightly - startled - and Aria was quick to apologize. 

There was no audio in the video uploaded - the original poster having been too far away to capture much - but the two women talked for a moment before Chungha pointed to the blanket and then herself.

Aria nodded emphatically, and Chungha’s face crumpled into something fond, bowing her head in thanks before they unfolded the blanket another time and Chungha scooted an inch closer to Aria so they’d both fit. 

Chungha sent Aria another grateful smile before refocusing on the performances - apparently not noticing, or perhaps choosing not to comment on the rather obvious red tinge that the younger idol’s cheeks had taken on.

[fuesch]

Interpreting all the cars at Agatha's house

I preponed this post, because there's a day on which we need hope, it's the Bohnerversary.

So I'd noticed the curious thing about the cars at Agatha's house: In the 1x08 flashback to right before the Hex, the house looks in good condition and there's a car in the driveway and one on the curb, so you'd think someone does live there. All the cars on Wanda's street look like they're the same color inside and outside the Hex, except for the one in Agatha's driveway (the one on the curb isn't there in the Hex). It was white or silver, but in the Hex it's brown and then golden.

First let me prove that the other cars' colors remain the same in real life as well as throughout the eras inside the Hex. Yeah, a year after I first presented that theory (on LJ/Dreamwidth), I finally bothered to put together a picspam of proof:

The most direct example is this grey or silver car, which we saw keep its color as the Hex receded:

Lightblue car at the "round-about" house (with the eternally mowing neighbor):

Well, the car is dark, that much is clear. While in the first cap it appears blue, let me point out that according to Assembled Monica's outfit is grey. So instead of in-story weirdness what we have here is just the production side going overboard with the blues and cyans, as is the fashion these days:

On to Wanda's car and note the Proctors' medium blue one. I can't tell if the car in the 1st cap is blue or grey (and in that case the one we see driving past in the last cap):

Then we have the curious case of a brown car in Wanda's driveway in 1x02. You could argue they it doesn't matter, because the episode was in black and white (but the car was seen in the show in color when the beekeeper emerges from the sewers in 1x04) or that they had a parking mix-up with the neighbors' car (which is otherwise silver):

Now to the cars in front of the house Agatha occupied:

Before the Hex there were 2 cars at the house and they're both still there in the Hex in the 50s & early 60s, and the one we get to see in color hasn't changed its.

It's a bit hard to make out in the last cap above, but the curb car is still there and presumably so is the other original car. Combine that information with Wanda's mysterious brown car from the same episode and we can infer that Agatha hasn't taken over that house at that point.

Before "Pietro"'s arrival the car is brown, that color definitely stands for Agatha's presence, so by 1x05 she had set up camp in the house. It even seems to be still the same make in the following episode:

Still a Volvo apparently, but now that Wanda had kicked out "Pietro", the car in front of Agatha's house changed color and the license plate is an anvil-sized hint:

I had noticed the P8M and that the letters would stand for Peter's initials, but I couldn't make sense of the 8. Until a few months ago when I came across this post, which helpfully pointed out that P8 would be pronounced like they say Piet(ro). No wonder I didn't think of that, I pronounce it differently. And I thought the car was just gold to not be the obvious silver (or maybe opposite of obvious, as among cars it's a very common color), but I like @mcu-fietro's idea much better.

As the Hex closes in, the Peter-indicating car is still there (although, who can tell the color with this lighting - it might as well be brown and Peter's already home), so my hope is that his presence was dependant on the Hex (OMG, imagine it's dependant on Agatha - and her magic was just taken! ...Although her loss of it might have sent Peter home?), so that's how he got home again.

Maybe the real-life cars in front of Agatha's house belonged to a realtor and a possible buyer? When "Herb" was free from Wanda's mind-control, he told her that he just wants to go home. He might be that realtor or potential buyer!