#meant in the third group of verbs'

[echo-s-land]

French verbs having way too many different possible endings when conjugated but at least they keep their verbal root:

Aller:

[broken-clover]

Analyzing the Naming Conventions in Bugsnax

I already forgot why I was doing this...

So, obviously to anyone who's played the game, one of the notable aspects of Bugsnax's worldbuilding is that Grumpuses all have very distinctly 'inhuman' names. While somewhat silly, they do help emphasize that this game takes place in a different place than ours, with different creatures and culture. However, despite the oddity, when looking over all the name characters there are at least a couple of conventions that pop up somewhat regularly. There's no perfect one method to it, but I still want to analyze the sorts of thought that goes into giving the grumpuses their names because...I can?

Note: I am not a linguist nor any type of language expert. I'm just really autistic

Given Names

Grumpus given names, at least compared to surnames, bear much more of a resemblance to human names. This is where I'd like to start the analysis, with the first group consisting of names that are more obviously based on real names and simply modified. This section, I believe, is the most obviously notable. Filbo, Beffica, Triffany, Shellsy/Shelda, Alegander, Bronica, Eggabell and Elizabert have a name that fits into this category. Chandlo may also fit in this category as well, but he'll be saved for the next section. These are more grounded, but still include a bit of silliness as to fit in with the rest of the world.

The next section is more of a miscellaneous one, names that may derive from existing words, include at last some familiar syllables, or may just be intentionally strange. Wambus, Gramble, Cromdo, Snorpy, Chandlo, and Clumby make up this category. Interestingly, outside of Snorpy's full name being 'Snorpington,' all individuals in this category have two-syllable names.

The last and easily smallest category are names that are simply existing words. As we will see down the line, this is a convention that is usually reserved for surnames, but there are a couple of outliers. This section consists of Floofty and Wiggle. It should be noted, though, that both maintain the sort of playful and whimsical feel that pervades all of the names in the game, so even though they are much simpler, they still fit.

Surnames

Though significantly sillier-sounding, grumpus surnames also generally follow a much more consistent guideline, with every character sans Cromdo fitting into the same fundamental structure.

In every instance of a character we're given, outside of Cromdo with his surname simply being 'Face,' consists of two words put together unhyphenated. That's a bit obvious. Fiddlepie, Troubleham, Wigglebottom, Fizzlebean, Woolbag, etc etc etc. However, there are still some other rules that go along with it. In most instances, the first half are attributive adjectives or adverbs- ie, describing the noun or verb that come after it, or are verbs themselves. The pie is fiddling, the ham is trouble, the bottom is wiggling, the bean is fizzling, the bag is made of wool. Sometimes there is a bit of an overlap- 'fiddle,' for example, can be itself a noun, but also a verb. Based on the consistency between characters, though, it indicates that in most cases it's meant to be interpreted as a descriptor

There are a few exceptions to the descriptor-noun rule, though none are as much an outlier as Cromdo. 'Gigglefunny' is a verb-adjective structure, differing from the others, but still not having a noun precede a verb or a descriptor. The second is 'Winklesnoot,' which can have a couple of explanations. 'Winkle' is a word, referring to a type of snail, making it a noun-noun structure, but it could also be a shortening of 'wrinkle,' with the R removed for the sake of the overall sound, making it a more typical verb-noun instance. The third deviation is 'Clumbernut,' which actually fits the general structure, but stands out in having no real-world descriptive word. 'Clumber' is not a proper word, though based on the '-er,' it can be inferred that it is meant to fulfil a similar role as a descriptor to the 'nut' that follows

(EDIT- upon second glance, 'Clumber' does actually have an origin, being a breed of spaniel dog who derive their name from Clumber Park in Nottinghamshire. I'm not sure if that was intentional, but in this case, it may or may not fit into the naming conventions, with 'Clumber' being a shortened possessive noun, as 'the nut belonging to Clumber' or 'nut from Clumber')

Still, overall, grumpus surnames never have a noun before the descriptor.

General Conventions

A common overall trait with grumpus names is that they tend to stick to very soft rolling 'rounded' sounds in their names. Letters like X, V, K, Z, and D are scarcely used in names if not entirely absent, while ones such as C, S, W, L and vowel sounds appear more frequently. Lots of boubas, not very many Kiki's. Often the letters that get switched/removed from grumpuses with human-adjacent names are the harsher-sounding ones, such as the harsh X being swapped for slighly softer G in 'Alegander' or the sharp Z being replaced with a soft Sh sound in 'Shelda.' Even when rare harsher sounds do appear, they tend to be encapsulated by or immediately followed by a softer sound, such as the D in 'Chandlo' being preceded by a Sh-sounding Ch and followed by a rolling Lo sound, and the Z in 'Elizabert' being followed by a long A. (Lizbert in general has a slightly-sharper sounding name than most of the other characters, possibly intentionally to show her more rugged nature)

This may go along with how grumpuses appear very approachable and friendly, as even with the visible fangs, they have rounded limbs, furry bodies, and heads that resemble muppets. Perhaps in that sense they were intentionally trying to draw inspiration from muppet names, especially ones from Sesame Street, as many of them have names with softer-sounding or rolling syllables, like Elmo, Grover, and Oscar. While actual muppets don't tend to have names as cartoonishly whimsical as 'Filbo Fiddlepie' or 'Floofty Fizzlebean,' it is possible some of the naming conventions could come from the same place. Grumpuses, much like the game they inhabit, come across as cutesy and unserious, with you only learning of the deeper issues as you play further.

[nouklea]

Just a scene...

English is not my native language, so this text will probably hurt the eyes of many of you with bad grammar and verb tenses mistakes... But I just had to try to write it down.  It's just a scene, I don't know exactly how to get there and what happens after.  And I have no idea how AO3 works so I'm just going to post it here.  Hope you enjoy. (And hope I'm tagging it right!)

General plot line :  The group found a way to neutralize the hyde in Tyler, but they know it won't last.  While they look for a permanent solution, Tyler is locked down in a cell they discovered in Nevermore's basement.

Right before the scene : Xavier shows up in the prison and threatens to kill Tyler.

-------

Tyler eared a gasp, and his eyes flickered from Xavier for a second.  Enid was standing on the doorstep, eyes wide, mouth open.  Color left her cheeks as she understood what was happening.

"Enid, get out of here!" he urged.

How far would Xavier go?  Would the jerk kill him in front of her?  Would he arm her?  That was bad...

"Xavier, what the hell?" was her answer.  She seemed to work to control her tone, keeping it light, but it sounded a little off.

"What does it look like?"  Xavier's voice was a snarl.  "Someone should have kill that piece of shit a long time ago!"

"Get out, Enid.  Please go!"  Tyler whispered, but the girl paid no attention to him as she took a step forward.

"Xav, please don't.  You're not a murderer..."

Her words were meant to calm him, but his anger seem to explode.

"You're right!  I'M NOT!" he yelled.  "Ironic, isn't it?  Seems like it's the only way to get some consideration around here, though!  This sucker killed Rowan, sent Eugene to the hospital, almost got you too, and here you are, babysitting him as if he was your little wonder.  We don't want to make little hyde unhappy, right?"

Tyler's throat felt tighter.  Xavier wasn't wrong...

Something suddenly shifted in Xavier's posture.  He was staring past Enid in disbelief, straightening himself.  Tyler's eyes followed his, and he caught his breath.

Wednesday was standing still by the doorstep.  Too still.  Her dark eyes were locked on Xavier, filled with cold fury.  She was holding a fireman's axe, classic wood handle and red blade, and later Tyler would wonder if it was hers or if she had grabbed it from an emergency kit hanging here and there in the halls.  For now, all he could proceed what how breathtaking she was.

When she spoke, Wednesday's voice was cold and sharp.

"Drop the bow right now, or you will lose a hand."

A memory rose in Tyler's mind.  The Rave'N.  Wednesday telling him she would have taken his prank much farther.  I'd do it again, had she said about those piranhas in her old school's swimming pool.  His mouth went dry.  She was an avenger.  That was bad... and also a little arousing, he had to admit.  I knew there was a reason I liked you...

Xavier made the mistake of shrugging carelessly, an ironic smile forming on his lips.  His face turned white a second later when Wednesday started to walk towards him with an angry determination.  He took a step back, then a second one, and realized she was serious.  He threw the bow on the floor and raised his hands as to calm her.

That did not stop her.  She was on the hunt.

His third step back was shaky and he felt on the floor.

"Shit!  Don't, please!" he yelled, trying to protect his head with his arms.

Tyler's heart seemed to stop as Wednesday raised the axe and snapped.  Enid screamed.  A loud unexpected sound resonated in the room and Xavier was suddenly still.

Time seemed to be suspended for a second.  And then Xavier lower his arms and looked up.

The axe had broken through the wooden floor, hard enough that it now stood by itself.  The bow was shattered, its pieces spread in the room.  Half crouched, Wednesday was staring at him, a carnal smile turning her face into something wild.

"Go away." was all she said.

Xavier was petrified, a deer facing the lights of a car...

"You're mad..." he whispered.

Wednesday stood up and towered him, her smile gone.  Her voice was ice.

"I said GO AWAY!  Now!"

Xavier seemed to wake from a nightmare.  He managed to raise and hurried past her.  Tyler noticed she turned slightly, never letting him out of her sight.  He had reach Enid when he stopped.

"You're a psychopath!" he spat, his voice a pitch to high.

"Thank you." was Wednesday's reply as he burst out of the room.

The prison went silent, as time stood still.

Then, slowly, Wednesday turned her head and looked at him, her face giving nothing.  Her eyes traveled along his body and back to his face, scanning him, looking for injuries.  He almost blushed.

Talk to me, Tyler pleaded in his head.  But the girl remained silent has they stared at each other.  Tyler was about to say something, anything, when she suddenly turned back and walked to Enid.

She acknowledged Thing first.  Tyler had not realized the hand had even  been in the room.  Wednesday crouched beside him and nodded, answering a silent question that Tyler did not understood.  Thing swiftly disappeared out of the room.  Wednesday watched him leave, then stood by Enid.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her tone almost gentle.  Almost.

Enid shivered.

"Yeah, I'm good." she answered with a shaky voice.

"Can you handle him alone, or do you need Ajax to come down here?"

She was doing everything in her power to stay as far as she could from him. Tyler already knew that, but still felt those words like a slap in the face. 

"I'm fine."  Enid's voice was almost back to normal, color returning to her cheeks.  Wednesday nodded and left without looking back at him.

The blond girl shivered and shook her head, before faking a smile.  She walked by his cell.

"Whoa!  That was intense!" were the first words she spoke to him.

Intense?  It was a sweet way to call what had just happened...

Enid started to hand him some packages through the bars.  He could feel she was recovering quickly, moving more confidently.

"Here you go!  Turkey sandwich, some fries, a coke and an apple.  Oh and I added a few chocolate cookies I baked this morning.  Sounds good?"

"Thanks", mumbled Tyler while taking his first bite.  Homemade cookies?  How long has it been since he ate his last homemade cookie?  Years.  Many years...  He felt a sudden emotion.  Enid was a good person.

Xavier's voice erupted in his mind.  You babysit him as if he was your little wonder.  We don't want to make little hyde unhappy, right?  The sandwich suddenly tasted wrong in his mouth.  Homemade cookies?  The damn jerk was right...

Unaware of Tyler's mood, Enid was back to chatting.

"Lucky for us... well mostly, lucky for you... that Thing was on the watch.  At least Xavier should keep his distances for a while.  He's stubborn, but if he doesn't let go now, then there is no hope for him.  Poor guy is usually nice, but damn, he's so obsesses with Wednesday..."

That last sentence took Tyler out of his sulking.  Enid caught his curious glance and seemed happy to go on.

"Well, you know...  After you left, Xavier was hoping Wednesday would finally fall for him.  It didn't happened.  And now you're back, and he can see how much she cares about you, and he's so jealous he's going nuts."

Jealous?  Anger burst through Tyler's mind.  His answer came out bitter.

"Yeah, who wouldn't want to take my place.  A monster responsible for the fall of his own mother, who was triggered and mastered by a psychopath, who can turn wild at any moment and attack anyone, even those he loves...  The damn asshole has no idea..."

He shook his head and went on.

"And Wednesday doesn't give a shit about me.  She has her own agenda and I'm just a tool."

Enid looked genuinely offended, almost angry.

"Oh come on, Tyler Galpin!  The girl is in love with you!"

Words had burst out of her mouth.  She made a sheepish face, as if she had said too much.  Tyler froze.  Her sentence was simple, but absurd...

"You're out of your mind." he answered blankly.  "She knows what I am, she knows what I've done.  She would never..."

Glancing at Enid, he suddenly felt like a kindergarten whose teacher was about to explain why it wasn't kind not to share that blue dinosaur...  Enid had a gentle smile on the lips, and spoke with a calm and soft voice.

"Sweetie, we're talking about Wednesday Addams here.  Do you really think that being a hyde, and a killer, would turn her down?  Haven't you seen how lethal she just went to protect you?  She's crazy about you, silly boy!"

Confusion washed over him as he proceeded her words.  It made no sense.  Wednesday hated him.  There was no way for her to have any other kind of feelings.  Or was it?  The boy's eyes flickered to the axe and what remained of Xavier's bow.  She had been so wild, and violent... and dazzling...  He tried to smash the seed of hope that was subtly taking roots in his head.  He could not allow it.

"She has not said a single word to me since she locked me up.  She sends you instead of coming here.  She can't stand to be in the room if I'm there..."

Enid sighted.

"You know her, she struggles with her feelings.  Nothing new about that.  But let me tell you something.  You can't know what's going on because you've been stuck in here for a while, and honestly I'm not exactly sure what she's up to since she doesn't exactly shares her plans... But Wednesday is literally unleashing hell out there, and she's doing it for you."

Enid had spoken fervently, and Tyler had no doubt that the girl truly believed what she had said.  Was it real, though, or just a fantasy of her? 

He did not replied, and Enid went silent, as if she understood he needed a moment.  She let him eat his lunch without a comment, and he felt grateful for that.  It was too much to take.  Between his own feelings and the pain he felt, he could not accept Enid's words.

The girl is in love with you.

She doesn't care if you are a monster.

She's unleashing hell for you.

Those statements felt like sharp blades breaking through the walls he was desperately trying to built around his fears.  He knew how he felt about Wednesday.  His mind constantly focused on her.  His body reacted every time he was near her.  Hell, even her dark eyes appeared in his dreams.  He had come to accept the fact that whatever they had shared was now gone and would never rise again.  He cursed Laurel Gates every night for that, and for everything else she had ruined in his life.  However, Enid's convictions had shaken him, and he felt like he was about to jump in a dark hole, not knowing how deep it was or what would wait for him down there.

He was done eating now, and Enid collected the trash.

"Do you need anything else?  Books maybe?" she asked.

We don't want to make the little hyde unhappy, right?

He hesitated.  Enid seemed honestly eager to help him.  Avoiding her gaze, he jumped.

"Do you think...  Could you...  If I wrote something, would you give it to her?"

Enid's eyes went wide as a grin enlighten her face.  She was delighted! 

"A letter?  This is SO romantic!  Of course I'll give it to her!"

She was clapping her hands like a kid on Christmas's morning, and Tyler wondered if he had made a mistake.  But it was too late, the damage was done...  He watch as she took her phone.

"Hey babe!  You're busy?  Ok cool!  Would you be sweet and bring me a pile of papers and a pen?  No, not to my room, down here...  Oh! And an envelope too!  Thanks honey!  Love you!  Hang up!  No you do it!  Love you too!  Hang up!"

Tyler managed to shut her voice out of his mind.  Enid was the kindest person he knew, and without a doubt the most optimistic, but in time like these he felt exhausted by her joy of living.  He almost felt dizzy. 

She finally hung up the phone, or had he?, and turn to him.

"Ajax is bringing everything you'll need.  So look, you spend your afternoon writing, and I'll take your letter upstairs when I'll bring you dinner.  Sounds good?"

She had taken full control of the situation, he realized.  There was no way he could back off now, she would harass him until he wrote that damn letter.  He sight.  It's not like he had something better to do, anyway...

"Sounds good.  Thanks."  he mumbled.

Ajax showed up a few minutes later.  His first move was to kiss Enid with an enthusiasm that made Tyler want to be elsewhere...  Then he handed the material, and the happy couple left, locking the prison's door behind them. 

At last. 

Tyler need the silence to clear his thoughts.  Too much had happened in the last hour, too much had been said, and he had felt too many conflicted emotions.  Fear of dying.  Relief of dying.  Terror for Enid.  Stupor and amazement and other feelings he should not allow himself to feel when it came to Wednesday.  Hope for an acknowledgement.  Pain from her silence.  And at last his world turning upside down with Enid's revelations.  He was exhausted. 

Gazing at the white sheets, he wondered if he could do it.  Find the proper words to reach her.

[annas-hair-donut]

Waffle Waltz

Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Background Elsa/Hans Characters: Anna, Kristoff, Hans, Elsa, Bulda Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Norway (Country), Waltzing, Folk Dance, Weddings, Light Angst, Eventual Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Good Hans Words: 4408

Summary: Anna travels to Tromsø, Norway to attend her sister Elsa's wedding, and ends up renting a room with Bulda and her grumpy and resentful son Kristoff, who is the king of waffles.

1. Waffle, Noun: (1) A soft indented cake cooked in a waffle iron; (2) Empty or pretentious words 2. Waffle, Verb: (1) Equivocate, vacillate; (2) To blather

Read the entire fic @AO3. Preview below the cut.

“Another waffle, Anna?” asked Bulda.

“Yes, please!” Anna responded in her heavy American accent. “We don’t have anything like this back home.  Well, I mean, we have waffles.  But they’re different.  Oh, but Norway is just beautiful!  I’m really loving it here.  And Oslo is amazing! Not that I’ve seen much because I’m really trying to graduate in May.  But I absolutely love the Norsk Folkemuseum and the Fram Museum.  And I can't wait to see Tromsø!  I was just a baby when we moved to Boston so I really don't remember anything.”

Bulda's son Kristoff grunted and slid Anna’s third waffle onto her plate.

“Takk, Kristoff,” she said, daring him to look at her.  He didn't, which was only mildly infuriating.  But he did say something in Sami, which she didn't understand.

Anna hadn't spoken Norwegian since her dad passed away several years ago, and her mom died when she was too young to learn Sami. She'd been hoping to strengthen her Norwegian and to learn Sami when she transferred to the American University in Oslo, but all of her classes were conducted in English and most of her classmates spoke even less Norwegian than she did. She'd gotten much more practical experience speaking Norwegian in just the few days she'd been staying with Bulda and Kristoff, neither of whom spoke English.  But Kristoff wasn’t doing anything to help; he spoke in Sami every chance he got.  And Anna's Sami language class got cancelled because she was the only person to sign up.  Anna even asked Kristoff to teach her, but she took his response in Sami to be a no.  At least she learned one word.

Bulda smiled politely, then noted, "You’re here a bit early for Waffle Day, unfortunately, but I’m sure your university will have a big event.  Anyway, we don’t need a holiday to indulge in my son’s specialty, do we?” she said intimately.

Then she passed Anna small dishes with whipped cream, fresh butter, and cloudberry jam, which Anna generously heaped onto her waffle.  "This jam is so good!" she got in between bites.

Bulda clapped her hands together, and said, “Good!  Maybe I can show you how to make it while you're here?  Cloudberries are actually a staple of Sami cuisine."

With her mouth full, Anna nodded at her host.  And when she was almost done chewing, she said, “I'd love that!"

“You know, you remind me so much of your mom," she said, and Anna looked down from embarrassment.  And on the way up she caught Kristoff's eyes for a split second and ruined the moment.

"I just loved that woman. Sweet, sweet lady. We actually used to perform in a Sami dance group together.  Anyway, we’re just so glad you came to stay with us,” Bulda said fondly before turning steely eyes to her son. “Aren’t we, Kristoff?”

Kristoff flipped his eyes reluctantly to Anna in a way that shook her with equal parts discomfort and intrigue.  His eyes were warm and intelligent and completely wasted on him; eyes like that were meant to be stared into and admired properly, and he seemed unable to make eye contact for more than a second at a time.

“Well,” Bulda said, “maybe you’ll think about staying in Tromsø a little longer after your sister’s wedding?”

Her tone was full of hope when she addressed her son, “Wouldn’t that be lovely, Kristoff?”

“Wonderful,” he said without any emotion so they’d know he didn’t mean it.

“Well, unless our guest would like any more waffles,” he said with just a bit of a bite, “I need to practice for the wedding.”

“Oh, ok,” Bulda said with downcast eyes.  “I was hoping you’d give Anna a tour of the town today.”

He scoffed, “Just because she’s renting a room with us doesn’t obligate me to be her personal tour guide.  I have things to do.”  

Bulda said something to him in Sami.  Then he walked off, leaving his mother and guest in a bit of a shock.

“That’s ok,” Anna said meekly, trying to cover up her hurt.  “I have wedding things to do with my sister today anyway, like picking up my bunad from the tailor.”

Elsa was actually still on her research trip to Svalbard and wouldn’t be back for another couple of days.  Anna probably wouldn’t even get to see Elsa until the wedding.  So she was on her own until then.

But Anna didn’t need a tour guide anyway.  She could just wander and see everything on her own like she was used to.  She didn’t need any grumpy boys with big brown eyes and two day old scruff slowing her down!

Continue reading @ AO3.

[rollsoffthetongue]

BAD ACTORS

Idiomatic Meaning: A person, group, or even a country who purposely and usually repeatedly engages in very bad behavior (such as committing crimes, causing harm to others, or behaving immorally); ill-intentioned, mean, ill-tempered person; individual or entity with a prior criminal conviction.

Literal Meaning:  One or more people with little or no talent, appearing in a theatrical production.

Usage:  Informal spoken general American and British English. Often used in legal cases as well as International Affairs.

Origin: Late 19th - early 20th Century – American English – “Actor” originally meant “A guardian, a steward; a person who acts on behalf of another,” The Oxford English Dictionary says. And though that meaning is considered “obscure” by the OED, doing something for something or someone else is still a part of “acting,” be it in grammar, where the “actor” is a subject performing the action of a verb; in law, where it’s the instigator or part of a legal action; or on the stage. Merriam-Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary traces the first use of “bad actor” to 1901. But an 1889 Sanskrit dictionary also includes a definition of the word with the synonyms “wicked” and “a bad actor.” [Thanks to the Columbia Journalism Review].

Why is this funny?  In the photo, we see three actors on a stage. Apparently, the scene has something to do with a farm because one actor holds a chicken, and another holds a balloon shaped like a cartoon cow. We also see the backs of the audience members’ heads. We can see the audience’s negative reactions. One says the play is terrible, another audience member says it is the worst thing they’ve ever seen, while a third member says it reminds them of some evil politicians. Obviously, these poor performers are bad actors, but they are also reminiscent of evil acting politicians whom we can also dub “bad actors”.

Sample Sentence: Countries which have refused to sign the Non-nuclear  Proliferation Treaty are mostly “bad actors” on the world stage.

[loverandservantoftheahlulbayt]

🍃🕊🍃 Question 11: Divine Tests

Question: If Allah (awj) is omniscient, why does He need to test mankind?

🍃 Brief Answer

As implied by the question, because Allah (awj) is omniscient, the purpose of His tests is not to unveil something hitherto unknown. Rather, the Qur`an and ahadith suggest that these tests serve two purposes. First, they comprise a Divine precedent (sunnah ilahiyyah1) that is in turn based on another Divine precedent that can be termed “universal guidance.”

In particular, Allah (awj) wishes that mankind, by obeying the divine law (shari’ah) and struggling through the various circumstances that he encounters in life, will blossom from potentiality to actuality, and will thereby attain the level of perfection that has been intended for him. One of the terms that is used for such tests in Islamic literature is fitnah (in this sense this term denotes a “crucible”).

Fitnah literally refers to the process of smelting by which gold is purified. In one hadith it is said that people are tested the way gold is tested. The mettle of man is gold ore that is purified in the crucible of Divine tests and guidance. It should be kept in mind though, that in the course of such tests, just as good qualities reach their perfection in the believers, bad qualities also develop to the utmost in disbelievers.

The second purpose that these tests serve is to awaken man from his sleep of heedlessness. The Qur`an explains that one of the purposes of tragedy and disaster is to test man and thereby jar him from his stupor of heedlessness. In a way, tragedy in man’s life serves the same purpose as the ridges that are embossed on some modern motorways and highways that are meant to wake drivers during the monotony of highway driving so they do not fall asleep at the wheel.

There are, in reality, two types of Divine will at play here. One is called the existential will (al-iradah al-takwiniyyah) and the other is called the legislative will (al-iradah al-tashri’iyyah). Allah’s (awj) existential will is that through Divine tests, both believers and disbelievers be able to actualize their good and bad potentials. On the other hand, his legislative will is that only good potentials be actualized.

🍃 Detailed Answer

Divine tests are not designed to unveil something hitherto unknown, since Allah (awj) is omniscient and needs no such unveiling. Rather, they comprise a Divine precedent, that is based on a second Divine precedent called “universal guidance.” By universal guidance, we mean Allah’s (awj) guidance of all creation (whether they be conscious or not), as it relates to man.

To clarify, we must first describe the three types of Divine guidance:

1. One type of guidance is intended only for the most pious people and has been negated from other groups in the following verses of the Qur`an:

“Allah does not guide the wrongdoing ones,”

and

“Allah does not guide the corrupt ones.”

The converse of this kind of guidance is misguidance.

2. Another type of guidance known as “legislative guidance” entails showing someone the path. This kind of guidance addresses both believers and disbelievers, but does not benefit inanimate beings. Examples of this kind of guidance are in the following verses: “We showed him the path while he is either grateful or ungrateful2,” and “As for (the people of) Thamud, we guided them, but they preferred blindness to guidance.”3

3. The third kind of guidance is universal both in terms of the beings who are guided and the resulting guidance and is also called existential guidance. This is the guidance referred to in the following verse:

“Our Sustainer is He who gave everything its existence, and then guided it.”4

This verse implies that Allah’s (awj) universal guidance includes all creation, whether conscious or inanimate. In another verse, the Qur`an states,

“who created and proportioned; who determined and guided.”5

Here, the verb “to determine” (taqdir) entails the facilitation of the appropriate means of a given thing so that it is “guided” to fulfil the purpose for which it was created.

All of creation - whether conscious or inanimate - attains its intended purpose through this third type of existential guidance. However man, who is more than just a physical being living in this material world, requires more than the existential guidance afforded to all creation. He can only attain perfection by choosing his path according to his free will. For this reason, Allah must on the one hand, provide a set of positive and negative commands entailed in the shari’ah (divine law) so that man can choose to either obey or disobey.

On the other hand, Allah (awj) must create “problems” at the individual and societal levels (some of which are caused by human choice and some of which are caused by natural means such as natural disasters) so that man can choose a course of action with respect to these problems. By choosing a course of action with respect to divine law and the aforementioned problems, man actualizes the potential that is hidden within himself, and either proves himself to be worthy of eternal felicity or chastisement. It is for this reason that both the divine law and human tragedy are referred to in Islamic literature by the terms “trial,” “tribulation,” and “test.”

To put it simply, Allah (awj) is like a scientist examining each individual human being. The parameters on which his experiments are based are the shari’ah and human tragedy. Through these two variables, a person’s station with respect to the level of perfection that was intended for him is determined.6

To recapitulate, Divine tests are based on the Divine precedent called universal guidance. Through these tests every person comes to know which abode he will enter: the abode of reward or the abode of chastisement. The Qur`an describes the purpose of these tests in this way: “…so that Allah may purify those who have faith and that He may eradicate the faithless.”7

In the course of repeated tests, the superficial faith and deceitful good qualities of the faithless and the hypocrites are extirpated. Another meaning of the “eradication of the faithless” is mentioned in the verse that says, “the (final) outcome will be in favour of the fear of Allah”8 and in the verse that reads,

“My righteous servants shall inherit the earth.”9

We can recap the positive effects of divine tests in the following two points:

1. They serve to actualize hidden potentials. Imam ‘Ali b. Abi Talib (ع) says: “It is in extreme circumstances that a man’s true mettle shows itself.”10 It is narrated from Imam ‘Ali b. Musa al-Rida (ع) that “People are tested as gold is tested, and they are purified as gold is purified.”11 The word fitnah refers to the process of smelting gold ore. Gold ore is melted so that its impurities float to the surface and are removed. Likewise the essence of man is like gold that Allah (awj) wishes to purify. Meanwhile, the presence of animal-like qualities such as anger and lust pose a major obstacle to his purification. It is for this reason that Divine tests are considered a means for the perfection of mankind.

In the military, soldiers are required to perform strenuous activities to build their strength. Likewise, Divine tests are meant to strengthen man’s inner self. Imam ‘Ali b. Abi Talib (ع) says, “Although Allah knows man better than he knows himself, (He tests him) in order to make manifest those actions by which he earns his reward or punishment.”12

2. They also serve to awaken man from his sleep of heedlessness. Allah (awj) tests man both through tragedy and hardship and by showering him with an abundance of blessings such as power, health, and wealth. Often these blessing deceive a person so much that they threaten to lead to his downfall. Allah (awj) sends tragedy his way, in order to jar him from his stupor so that he can once again discern right from wrong, and so that he remembers that all existence and blessings issue from Allah (awj), whom one should never forget and against whom one should never sin.

Many verses in the Qur`an speak of this aspect of Divine tests13. These verses generally use the terms tadhakkur (to remind), tadarru` (to show humility), and ruju’ (to return to the path). These concepts link together in the following way: to return to the path that leads to Allah (awj) one must first be reminded of Allah (awj); he must then humble himself before Allah (awj); only then can he truly return to Allah (awj) and better himself. Imam ‘Ali b. Abi Talib (ع) refers to this Qur`anic truth in the following way: “When Allah’s servants commit a sin, He tests them with hardship until they repent and cease committing sins and heed Allah’s admonishment.”14

If what we have said so far is true, then one might wonder why Allah’s (awj) prophets (ع), Imams (ع), and saints are tested? The answer to this question is found in a narration of Imam ‘Ali b. Abi Talib (ع) where he says: “The divine test is a form of discipline for the wrongdoer, a test for the believer, a means to increase one’s station for the prophets, and a means of ennoblement for the saints of Allah.”15

🍃🌺🍃~*~⛲️~*~🍃🌺🍃

🍃🕊🍃 Sources 🍃🕊🍃

1. A Divine precedent is a Divine action that

is not bound to any specific time, place

or people. Rather it is a sort of law the

Allah (awj) has issued for Himself in such

a way that from the beginning of time

into eternity, He always acts according to

this law. For example, one of the Divine

precedents can be stated like this:

“If a people rejects Divine guidance and

kills Allah’s (awj) prophets and it

becomes apparent that there is no hope

that even one person from among them

will submit himself to Allah (awj),

they must be destroyed.”

2. Surat al-Insan (76), (Verse 3)

إِنَّا هَدَيْنٌهُ السَّبِيلَ إِمَّا شَاكِراً وَإِمَّا كَفُوراً

3. Surat al-Fussilat (41), (Verse 17)

4. Surat Taha (20), (Verse 50)

قَالَ رَبُّنَا الَّذِي أَعْطـى كُلَّ شَيْءٍ خَلْقَهُ ثُمَّ هَدى

5. Surat al-A’la (87), (Verse 2-3)

أَلَّذِي خَلَقَ فَسَوَّى. وَالَّذِي قَدَّرَ فَهَدى

6. Surat al-Kahf (18), (Verse 7)

Also refer to: Surat al-Insan (76),

(Verse 2) Surat al-Anbiya’ (21),

(Verse 35) Surat Ali-’Imran (3),

(Verse 154) Surat al-Fajr (89),

(Verse 6) Surat al-Taghabun (64),

(Verse 15) Surat Muhammad (47),

(Verse 4)

إِنَّا جَعَلْنَا مَا عَلـى الأَرْضِ زِيْـنَةً لَّهَا لِبَنْلُوَهُمْ أَيُّهُمْ أَحْسَنُ عَمَلاً

7. Surat Ali-’Imran (3), (Verse 141)

وَلِـيُمَحِّصَ اللٌّهُ الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا وَ يَمْحَقَ الْكٌفِرِينَ

8. Surat Taha (20), (Verse 132)

وَ الْعَاقِبَةُ ِللتَّقْوى

9. Surat al-Anbiya’ (21), (Verse 105)

وَلَقَدْ كَتَبْـنَا فِي الزَّبُورِ مِنْ بَعْدِ الذِّكْرِ أَنَّ الأَرْضَ يَرِثُهَا عِبَادِيَ الصَّالِحُونَ

10. Nahjal Balagha, Short (Saying 217)

فِي تَقَلُبِّ الأَحْوَالِ عِلْمُ جَوَاهِرِ الرِّجَالِ.

11. al-Kafi, (vol. 1 pg. 370)

سَمِعْتُ أَبَا الْحَسَنِ ( ع)‏ يَقُولُ: اَلم أَحَـسِبَ النَّاسُ أَنْ يُتْرَكُوا أَنْ يَقُولُوا آمَنَّا وَهُمْ لاَ يُفْتَنُونَ ثُمَّ قَالَ لِي: مَا الْفِتْنَةُ؟ قَلْتُ: جُعِلْتُ فِدَاكَ الَّذِي عِنْدَنَا الْفِتْنَةُ فِي الدِّينِ، فَقَالَ: يُفْـتَُنُونَ كَمَا يَُفْـتَنُ الذَّهَبُ، ثُمَّ قَالَ: يُخْلَصُونَ كَمَا يُخْلَصُ الذَّهَبُ.

12. Nahjal Balagha, (Short Saying 93)

وَ إِنْ كَانَ سُبْحَانَهُ أَعْلَمُ بِهِمْ مِنْ أَنْفُسِهِمْ وَ لٌكِنْ لِتَظْهَرَ الأَفْعَالُ الَّـتِي بِهَا يُسْتَحَقُّ الثَّوَابُ وَالْعِقَابُ.

13. Surat al-A’raf (7), (Verse 94)

Surat al-Rum (30), (Verse 41)

Surat al-Sajdah (32), (Verse 21)

Surat al-A’raf (7), (Verses 30-168)

Surat al-Tawbah (9), (Verse 126)

14. Nahjal Balagha, (Sermon 143)

إِنَّ اللٌّهَ يَبْتَلِي عِبَادَهُ عِنْدَ الأَعْمَالِ السَّيِّئَةِ بِنَقْصِ الثَّمَرَاتِ... لِيَتُوبَ تَائِبٌ وَيَقْلَعَ مُقْلِعٌ وَيَتَذَكَّرَ مُتَذَكِّرٌ.

15. Bihar al-Anwar, (vol. 4, pg. 235, no. 54)

إِنَّ الْبَلاَءَ لِلظَّالِمِ أَدَبٌ وَلِلْمُؤْمِنِ اِمْتِحَانٌ وَلِِلاَنْبِيَاءِ دَرَجَةٌ وَلِلأَوْلِيَاءِ كَرَامَةٌ.

🍃🌺🍃~*~⛲️~*~🍃🌺🍃

🍃🕊🍃 al-Islam.org 🍃🕊🍃

.

[silkiemae]

Wing & Arrow by Piper CJ

warning: there are spoilers

I really don’t even understand what the point of this novella was, tbh with you. To give a bad representation of group dynamics? Gay men? Women in the army? There’s not one moment where we ever really get to know any of the characters in this little novella. All we know is that they all want to fuck one another. 

We start with Zaccai and Briar in bed. Briar is expressing interest in another soldier who is up for a promotion. She complains that she’s not allowed to sleep with people in her unit because then the dating pool would be so much larger. This honestly makes women in the military look so bad. Like she's only there to bone the whole army. It's never really expanded on why she decided to join the army in the first place, she merely is interested in fucking the battalion. The only other woman introduced in this short story is immediately suspected of basically the same thing. Gadriel sees her and assumes she has a crush on him or on 'military life', meaning she's basically an army groupie. That's a terrible way to depict women in the army, considering all of the women who are assaulted in the army all the time.

Briar suggests they add a third to their dynamic. This guy name Wren gets introduced, and they play fuck, marry, kill(bed, wed, behead), and would you rather. They get drunk and then bone. There is literally not even porn without a plot in this there’s not even badly-written sex to entertain me. I'm genuinely wondering why this was even written in the first place. You don't need to publish every single word you barf out, Piper. 

The funniest part about fuck marry kill is one of the options is the All-Mother and knowing that Piper literally commissioned a portrait of herself as the All-Mother just really ramps up her narc status in my eyes. Like, wow, let's portray myself as the goddess of my own book series. Okay. 

They play truth or dare. Wren has never been with a man alone before, so Briar dares Wren and Zaccai to sleep with each other while she watches and again, there’s a big nothing burger to this. Then Briar gets sent away to the front lines leaving Wren and Zaccai to continue their relationship alone. Again, there is nothing. No conversations between the two. No expansion of their relationship. We’re just told they fuck without kissing. (Wow, another terrible depiction of gay men.)

Then Briar returns, and Wren is pissed; he thought they’d ‘moved past her’. He tells Gadriel he thought "he saw him for him" (wtf does that even mean?) when he has literally never expressed interest in changing the dynamic to just the two of them. Like, did he just assume because Briar was gone, she would be naturally phased out?? Wtf? 

Briar dumps Zaccai, and then it’s revealed that Wren actually volunteered Briar to go to the front lines so he could have Zaccai to himself, and so they could sleep together without Briar. Zaccai gets pissed, calls this the most vile crime he has everheard of and has Wren arrested and imprisoned. Then years later, he sees Briar with her new husband, and that’s it.

That’s all that happens in this story. Don't know if Zaccai ever saw Wren again. Don't know if Wren was executed all because Zaccai's dick was so good. Don't understand what Zaccai saw in Briar in the first place for him to be so fascinated by her. This was a nothing burger. This was a waste of time and valuable paper. 

Zaccai’s dick was so good that Wren ruined his whole life for it LMFAO. 

Also, Piper. Dredges do not mean what you think it does. You mean dregs. Dredges is a literal verb; it means to clear something or bring something up, like dredging up a memory. Dregs are the remnants of a liquid in a container. That’s the one you meant to use. You probably should’ve gotten an EDITOR but I know you’re allergic to those.

[gendercensus]

Supplementary survey: they/them reflexives, The Sir/Ma’am Issue, and Spivak vs. Elverson

This short, clarifying survey ran from 4th until 24th April 2021. There were 2,998 usable responses. Unlike the annual Gender Census survey, this one was open to anyone of any gender, provided they lived in an English-speaking country.

It asked about two things:

They/them verbs and reflexives - basically whether people who prefer they/them pronouns prefer the reflexive to be themself or themselves, and which people feel is more “correct”.

Sir/ma’am/? - investigating why people use sir/ma’am in areas where it’s polite and common to do so, and whether there are any viable nonbinary or gender-neutral alternatives.

This blog post will also investigate the Spivak vs. Elverson issue, which was actually a separate poll that took place on two social networks.

~

THEY/THEM VERBS AND REFLEXIVES

Someone asked about themself vs. themselves, and it reminded me of some of the they/them issues that people ask about in feedback boxes and various confusions surrounding them.

Singular they - what is it, and when and how do people use it?

Plural they - what is it, and when and how do people use it?

What is the “correct” reflexive for each of these?

You can see the statistics in more detail here, but here’s the graph as an overview:

Participants were asked a series of questions about singular they pronouns. Everyone was asked a “which is correct” question, and participants who sometimes or always like to be called ”they” were also asked about their personal preferences.

The graph is a view of only participants who sometimes or always like to be called “they”.

Verbs. As you can see, participants overwhelmingly (94.3%) wanted people to use plural verbs (”they are reading a book”) when talking about them in the third person - even though the percentage of people who thought that was the most “correct” form was a little lower (81.8%). This was lower because 11.4% of participants who preferred “they” answered “both are correct”.

Reflexives. People were much more likely to say that both themself and themselves were correct (28.3%), and more likely to have no preference between the two (17.4%). However, themself was still more popular overall at 59.3%, and 47.3% thought themself was grammatically correct.

You as a control. I also asked all participants whether yourself or yourselves was more correct when addressing one person as a kind of control question, because they is almost grammatically identical to you - it can refer to one person or multiple people, it takes plural verbs even when referring to/addressing one person, and in that situation only the reflexive changes. Many people who say that singular they is grammatically incorrect have no issues with singular you, so it seemed like something that might be interesting to compare. In the graph above you can see that 93.6% of people thought yourself was more correct; only 4.2% of they-accepting participants felt that both yourself and yourselves were equally correct when addressing one person.

There were a couple of things that came up several times in the comments:

“They is” is common in African-American Vernacular English (AAVE), and probably in other dialects too. As I don’t live in the US I’m pretty unfamiliar with this dialect, but either way that seems fine to me. It’s part of why I also asked for participants’ locations, because I wanted others to be able to download the results and see if some regions were more likely to use some words/constructions than others.

There were some alternatives to themself and themselves presented, such as theirself and theirsen. Both of these points lead nicely to the third...

The idea that any language choice is more “correct” than another is quite prescriptive. What feels correct or natural varies depending on a lot of factors, such as where in the world you learned English, and there is no such thing as objective correctness when it comes to such a broad and variable language as English.

I am aware of and agree with that third bullet point, so my asking which phrases were more “correct” was a bit of a trick question. It was a good way to get a feel for people’s linguistic instincts.

I also thought it was interesting that participants who never wanted to be called they were slightly more likely to side with the most popular view on what is “correct” across the board, and less likely to say “both are correct”.

~

PLURAL VS. SINGULAR THEY

I actually ran another version of this survey first and then scrapped the responses, because it was clear that my survey design was leading to some pretty confused and unhelpful data! Among other things, it asked participants whether they preferred singular or plural they for themselves and then directed them to particular questions based on their answer, and the comments suggested that people either didn’t really understand the distinction or meant different things by those terms, even though I had added help text.

This is my understanding:

Singular they is they/them pronouns when used to refer to one person. Verbs are usually plural (i.e. “they are” rather than “they is”), and themself and themselves are both common. Example usage: They are getting themself a cup of coffee. They bought themselves a nice new hat.

Plural they is they/them pronouns when used to refer to two or more people. Verbs are usually plural (i.e. “they are” rather than “they is”), and themselves is almost universal (with the exception of regional variations such as theirselves). Example usage: They are getting themselves some coffee together. They all bought hats for themselves.

Some plural/multiple people refer to themselves as “we” and prefer to be addressed as “they/themselves” (which they call plural they) because they are a group of individuals sharing one body.

The reason I initially asked directly about singular vs. plural they is because I was concerned that plural/multiple systems would cause some statistical confusion. Many plural people have asked me to add plural they to the checkbox list of pronouns in the annual survey, but since it has never been entered by over 1% of participants I have never had reason to do so. As far as I knew, the only difference between singular and plural they is the reflexive (themself for singular and themselves for plural), so I wanted to be able to investigate non-plural people in isolation, and I was curious to know about any trends or differences. I wanted to find out if I should be doing anything differently to ensure that Gender Census statistics are helpful.

So, I swapped out the badly-designed question for a straight-up checkbox, a “check this box if you’re plural/multiple” type of thing, with a note that participants should fill in the survey once per body wherever possible, and then I made some graphs.

Here you can see that plural systems were still more likely to prefer people to use themself to refer to them rather than themselves, though the margin is narrower:

Plural participants were also more likely to say that they sometimes or never want people to refer to them as they, whereas non-plural people were more likely to want people to always refer to them as they (or they just feel fine about it):

There’s not a lot in it, though. It’s all relatively evenly distributed, with no strong leader in either category there.

For the curious: 8.2% of participants checked the plural/multiple box.

In conclusion: plural and non-plural people alike all prefer people to use themself when referring to them in the third person using they/them pronouns, and I feel that there is probably no need to ask about plurality or separate out data from plural people in future. (Asking about this and seeing the responses did in part prompt me to start an anonymous feedback form for plural participants of the Gender Census, though.)

~

THE SIR/MA’AM ISSUE

For several years participants have been asking me in the feedback box of the annual Gender Census survey to also ask about gender-inclusive or nonbinary-specific alternatives to sir and ma’am. I’ve largely not done anything about it, because when informally asking around I’ve generally had the response “just don’t say sir or ma’am, just leave it out altogether.” I live in the UK, where if someone calls you sir/ma’am you’re either looking at home in a fancy restaurant for billionnaires or you’re being made fun of - or sometimes both.

However, during this year’s annual survey while talking about it in a little more depth I learned that there are places in the world where sir/ma’am is very common, required for politeness, and basically inescapable. Nonbinary people in those areas are really struggling, because they do actually need a nonbinary-friendly stand-in for those terms - omitting the sir/ma’am isn’t an option.

Again, the location question was asked so that anyone else downloading the spreadsheet of responses can analyse by region to find out whether sir/ma’am is ubiquitous in particular regions and in which contexts it is used, and can even check whether there is a region-specific alternative to sir/ma’am emerging. I asked several questions about sir/ma’am, including about reasons/contexts and personal preferences, and some superficial analysis is included on the spreadsheet of responses.

But the juicy bit is the nonbinary-specific and gender-inclusive alternative words, right?

[The counting formula is case-sensitive so I made everything lowercase to make the count a little more accurate.]

Suggested gender-inclusive alternatives to sir/ma’am

mx - 4.1% (151)

friend - 2.2%

comrade - 1.2%

captain - 0.7%

ser - 0.5%

mate - 0.4%

m - 0.3%

per - 0.3%

boss - 0.3%

folks - 0.3% (9)

Suggested nonbinary-specific alternatives to sir/ma’am

mx - 8.3% (250)

mix - 0.7%

tiz - 0.5%

friend - 0.4%

ser - 0.4%

comrade - 0.3%

mixter - 0.3%

captain - 0.2%

ind - 0.2%

mir - 0.2% (6)

So it looks like Mx (pronounced “mix” or with a toneless vowel that sounds a bit like “mux”) is the clear winner in both categories. If you want to try to introduce a gender-neutral version of sir/ma’am in your area this one is probably your best bet.

~

SPIVAK VS. ELVERSON

This wasn’t part of the same survey! It was a Twitter poll and a Mastodon poll that ran for one week and ended today, and I’m putting it here because it has to go somewhere.

Sometimes people refer to the ey/em and e/em “versions” of the Spivak pronoun set, which makes my eyebrows do things, because they’re not both Spivak. They are distinct established pronoun sets with their own names.

Spivak - e/em/eir/eirs/emself - written about by Michael Spivak in the 1990s. [source: Nonbinary Wiki]

Elverson - ey/em/eir/eirs/emself - created by Christine M Elverson in the 1970s. [source: Nonbinary Wiki]

The Elverson set is older, but it’s less well-known for some reason, so they’re assumed to be variants of Spivak due to the similarity in spelling.

I was recently asked how we can know which is more popular, given the “oh this checkbox option is close enough, I’ll just choose that instead of typing in my very slightly different set” effect and the “hmm this checkbox option is very close to my set, I’m probably meant to choose this one” effect, plus the boost that checkbox options get with the “oh I hadn’t thought of that one but yeah, why not” effect. Spivak (e/em) is on the checkbox list of pronouns in the annual survey, so it appears to be much more popular than Elverson (ey/em)... but is it really?

I ran a poll on both Twitter and Mastodon, and then used a spreadsheet to extract the useful numbers. There were 141 relevant votes after one week. I wouldn’t usually make annual-survey-altering decisions based on a sample that small, but in this case the results are extremely decisive:

It seems that the highest proportion of people who like at least one of the sets are happy for both to be used, at 48%. 45% prefer ey/em (Elverson) and 7% prefer e/em (Spivak). This is pretty stunning! I’ve been presenting e/em (Spivak) as a checkbox option on the Gender Census annual survey for years, possibly since the first survey in 2013, and because it’s a checkbox option it seems to be consistently a lot more popular than ey/em (Elverson). That’s 4.3% and 0.6% respectively in the 2021 survey. But this poll suggests that actually ey/em (Elverson) is much more popular when the two pronoun sets are viewed on a level playing field.

When you remove all “I don’t mind” votes, you get this:

Over 6 times as many people prefered Elverson!

I will definitely be adding Elverson to the Gender Census next year, just so that we can split the e/em and ey/em votes and really get to the bottom of this.

Anyway, while we’re on the topic, ey/em takes singular verbs most of the time.

[circlique]

Hey! Could you do a short story about America and Young-soo in the Korean War? Ethier that or Korea finally admitting the pain he suffered under 2p Japan?

Yong Soo stared absently into the flickering flames in the shallow pit in front of him. The fire, started hurriedly from a hastily cobbled together pile of rubble from what used to be a nearby village, wasn’t doing much to make him feel better.

Then again, what could? He felt as if all warmth had been drained out of him the day his brother crossed the 38th parallel. All he could feel was a dull ache throughout his body. His heart, his mind...everything else just felt numb.

He felt eyes on him, and managed to glance up.

Alfred smiled at him.

“This will all be over by Christmas!” the bright-eyed American assured him.

Yong Soo could only stare back at him blankly. How could the American be so positive at a time like this? Yong Soo’s entire country...not even his country at this point. Ninety percent of it was in the hands of the communists now. Yong Soo’s men were backed up into the last remaining corner of this peninsula, huddled around this tiny fire in the ruins of the last village to have fallen—staked out trying to hold the “Pusan Perimeter,” as they called it.

It was so bleak, but Alfred still found some way to smile.

“K...keuriseumaseu?” Yong Soo asked in his still heavily accented English. He had been working on it, and his time spent with Alfred had helped, but studying simply was not on his list of priorities right now.

“Yeah! You know what Christmas is right?”

Yong Soo’s eyes drifted toward the ground. A Christian holiday, celebrating the birth of their savior...but he couldn’t remember the details.

“Yeah...” he muttered, more to get Alfred to shut up than anything.

Of course, Alfred could never take a hint.

“Yeah!” the American continued, leaning in and stooping down so that he could look into Yong Soo’s downcast eyes. “I promise! This will be over by Christmas! We can have a celebration at my place! We can make cookies, decorate a tree—oh! Do you know any Christmas carols, Yong Soo?”

Yong Soo’s blank expression slowly grew more perplexed. He was still trying to register all the strange words and make sense of them in his head. Carols?

“Uhh...” he started, but Alfred, sensing Yong Soo’s hesitance, continued before he could answer.

“Oh! I bet you know this one right?” Alfred said before turning to one of the American soldiers near him. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...!”

“A partridge in a pear tree!” the soldiers answered, their voices elevating in unison.

“On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me...!” Alfred continued with the next verse.

“Two turtle doves—and a partridge in a pear tree!”

“On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me...!” Alfred sang again, this time looking to Yong Soo and giving him a little nudge with his elbow.

His heart leapt. He didn’t know this song! But he couldn’t afford to look foolish in front of his American allies now, could he?

“Three French hens, two turtle doves—“ sang the Americans.

“—And...a par-teuridge in a pear tree,” Yong Soo managed to add in a faltering voice, as the rest of them sang with him.

The song continued through the rest of its dozen or so verses, each time Yong Soo managing to pick up a few more words than the last. By the end, he was confident in the first half of the strange, but somehow endearing gifts the song’s protagonist kept bestowing upon his lover, and he sang loudly along with the rest.

At the end of the twelfth verse, he waited with baited breath to see how this hapless, lovesick man could possibly best himself on the thirteenth day, only to see the rest of the soldiers clapping and congratulating each other for finishing. Oh...so it was only twelve verses then...

Yong Soo looked back to Alfred expectantly...and then realized he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. Alfred simply smiled back at him as always. Always smiling...even as they were backed up against a wall like this.

Then Yong Soo realized—he was smiling too.

He felt a few tears stinging at his eyes and quickly wiped at his face with his sleeve, trying to pretend it was just the dust and smoke making his nose run or something. He couldn’t explain...how much it meant to him that Alfred had tried to make him smile even at a time like this, and in a way that genuinely made him feel included and a part of the group when he felt like he had lost the only other person who mattered. Normally it would have been his brother doing such things, but, well—

“Alfred—“ he said, pausing for a long time, trying to sort out the English words in his head. What was he trying to say? That he admired the American’s unwavering positivity, his warm heart, his kindness? How could he express that he wished he could be those same things in such a bleak situation?

“I...I like you!” he proclaimed after some thought, watching Alfred for his reaction.

Some of the Americans around them chuckled in amusement, and slowly, though it was hard to tell in the flickering light of the fire, Yong Soo was sure he saw Alfred’s cheeks flush red.

Oh—oh god. His heart leapt again and he felt a deep burning of embarrassment in his own cheeks. Yong Soo ran back through the English words in his head. How did it go? Subject verb object... Wait, he was missing some words! He had meant to say ‘I want to be like you!’ But in the rush of thoughts and emotions whirling in his brain, he had simply missed a few words, boiling the sentence down to the most important parts instead.

“I—well, I’m glad! I mean—I think you’re pretty cool too!” Alfred said after what felt like an eternity—which was saying a lot for a semi-immortal nation like Yong Soo!

He let out an unconscious sigh of relief. The soldiers seemed to have gone back about their business, dividing up rations and lighting cigarettes, oblivious now to the two nations. Yong Soo looked back up at Alfred feeling a little calmer now. With Alfred here, he could almost forget the aches, the war, the emptiness in his heart. After all, now he had someone else who could make him smile.

“Alfred...” Yong Soo managed to ask. “Can teach me...that song again?”

[muwur]

If requests are open.. Suga x reader -3rd year student- where friends to pining where reader is a exchange student mid year -parent’s job- and reader is new to the school, can barely communicate Japanese and is too shy to meet new people.. reader is welcomed as a co-manager for vb club and all the other boys adopt her has their sister. She tutors them in their English lesson too.. also how would Suga help her open up from her shyness..

request: sugawara x fem! reader who is a shy exchange student!

another beginning.

✩ one-shot ✩ for sugawara bb

❧ fem reader

✎ 4.9k words

a/n: FINALLY GOT THIS BBY DONE, ty for being patient requester <3 i hope its ok, lmk if u would like smth different!

also curious but do yall listen to music when you write or read? i dnt always but when i DO i listen to some boppy music so i can shake mah ass (unles im depresso AHAHA) LMAO rec me some pls--

send me asks--

current listen: juicy by doja cat, gasolina by daddy yankee, 11 PM by maluma

A pencil dangled between two of your fingers, gently swinging back and forth as you tapped the eraser’s tip against your chin in thought. Looking over Hinata’s shoulder at the worksheet laying on the table, you extended your hand and made a neat scrawl on the page. “That’s good translating, Hinata! However,” you dragged your pencil across the surface, marking a line and arrow to point at a space near the beginning of his sentence, “keep in mind that although gerunds look like verbs, they act as nouns. So, this word should go here.”

Yachi, who was seated to your right, nodded in agreement. “I looked through his notes doodles, and it looked like they were going over gerunds in class!”

With narrowed eyes, Hinata scanned the page, muttering the sentence underneath his breath. Suddenly, his hazel eyes lit up in understanding and his lips morphed into a round “O.” “Ohhhh, that make a lot more sense! Thanks, (y/n), you’re a big help, especially in English! Also, look, guys!”

He rummaged through his cluttered backpack and fished out a slightly wrinkled sheet of paper with a red “14/50” marked on the top right corner. Holding it up proudly, he declared, “I got a better score than last time! By nine points!”

“That’s still an F,” Tsukishima pointed out, eyes glued to the pages of the book he was reading. Yamaguchi and Kageyama tried to stifle their snickers.

“Y-You’re not even looking!” Hinata defended. The ginger was met with a shrug. “I don’t need to see the score to know you failed.”

Before any fighting could break out, however, the door swung open, revealing the remaining third-years. Bags of snacks in their arms, the four of them stepped in. “We’re back! Your parent/guardian let us in, (y/n),” Sugawara announced, setting his bag down on the table. The rest followed suit and set the goodies down. Rummaging through one of the bags, Daichi pulled out a meat bun.

“Hinata, here’s your meat bun,” he said, handing the snack to the excited first-year, who had long-forgotten Tsukishima’s snide remark about his lack of intellectual aptitude. Kiyoko offered Kageyama his milk, the slight brush of their hands being enough to stir Noya and Tanaka into an envious craze. Asahi tried to settle them down, nervously reminding them that they needed to act respectful in your home, especially after your family had agreed to let you all study there. You stifled a giggle as Sugawara and Daichi joined in, scolding their underclassmen for their poor behavior and threatening them with a time-out.

With an exasperated sigh, Sugawara took a seat next to you on the mat. “Ah, I can’t help but worry about how Ennoshita’s going to handle both of them on his own.”

Giving a sidelong glance to the second-year, who was now forcing Noya and Tanaka to complete timed practice problems, your lips formed a small smile. “Looks like he does a pretty good job at it, though.”

Sugawara let out an amused huff. “Guess I’m worried over nothing. Oh, also,” he dug into the plastic bag in front of him, taking out your favorite snack and offering it to you. “Here you go.”

(can u tell from my stories yet that fav snacks aka actions are my love language--)

“Oh, thank you, Suga, I didn’t even ask for this…” you flashed him a grateful smile and took the package from his hands, suppressing the blush that threatened to overcome your cheeks as your fingertips brushed. He gave a sheepish smile and glanced to the side in response, giving the back of his neck an anxious rub.

“Ah, it’s the least I could do to thank you for letting us all come over to study. It’s really helpful. I appreciate it, (y/n).”

“It’s not much, really. I’m more than glad to help you all (read: Hinata, Kageyama, Tanaka, and Noya) out with English and offer my place. Having everyone together makes it easier. They need to pass these exams so you all get to play.”

Your offer to help the team with their studies may have seemed a simple gesture as both their friend and co-manager. On the inside, however, you really were more than happy to have everyone over for whatever reason. It left you with a feeling of awe. The last thing you would’ve expected 3 months ago was to be sitting in your new home in Japan, surrounded by a group of people who accepted you despite your poor Japanese and late appearance to Karasuno. Just 4 months ago, after you learned about your parent/guardian’s job transfer to Japan, you were left feeling an array of mixed feelings:

Anxiety – a whole new country? With a language you could barely even speak or understand? How was that going to work? Could you even make friends at school? God knows how long it took you to make the friends you have now.

Disappointment – you were looking forward to graduating high school with the friends you’ve made throughout the past few years. Having to say goodbye would be difficult, and you’d miss them.

Yet, you felt a sliver of hopefulness – new experiences were waiting for you. You had the opportunity to lead a new life in a foreign place. It filled you both with fear and exhilaration.

On the night before your first day at Karasuno, you could barely sleep after spending hours religiously practicing how to introduce yourself in Japanese. Having to introduce yourself to the class and speaking with your new classmates was inevitable, after all. And so the next day, you found yourself standing in front of the classroom, trying to suppress the nervous shudder that threatened to rack your body and ignore the prickles of sweat on your palms. Despite how much you mentally recited your introduction that morning, your current situation left your mind blank, unable to conjure any words. Fueled by the awkward silence, the numerous gazes focused on you, and the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach, what came out was a quiet, jumbled form of what you intended to say.

“Hello, (y/n) (l/n). I’m (insert your original country name here). I can’t Japanese, but I hope friends. Everyone, nice to meet,” you bowed, both in respect and so that you could hide your face, which was red from embarrassment. You knew you messed up, but you pretended otherwise, hoping that nobody would point out your mistake.

You straightened up after a few moments of silence, registering the confused looks of your new classmates and feeling another stab of shame. In response to your introduction, the teacher raised her eyebrows and blinked in confusion. Then her eyes warmed, and she offered you a smile as she spoke up. “Class, this is (l/n) (y/n). She recently moved here from (insert OG country here). She’s still learning Japanese; however, her English is perfect, so I’m sure you can all learn something from each other. Please make her feel welcome. Your seat is over there, (l/n).”

Shoulders sagging, you made your way to your desk, avoiding eye contact despite the pairs of eyes that followed you to your seat. Focusing on the lecture was a struggle. Not only could you barely understand anything the teacher was saying; worries about how the rest of the day would go also flooded your mind. This was only the morning; how could you navigate your way through the halls? Ask for directions? Would you meet people? Where would you eat lunch? How could you survive?

The remainder of the classes went by gruesomely slow. Too embarrassed from your slip this morning and too shy to meet new people despite wanting to make a friend, you successfully dodged conversation with any of your classmates. You were relieved that finally lunch came by, yet that presented another problem. You weren’t sure where to go, but you were sure that you were going to eat by yourself.

After a few minutes of walking around the hallways, you settled for eating lunch in the classroom. At least it meant you didn’t have to rush to class after the bell rang. Taking a seat, you pulled out your boxed lunch and set it out in front of you. Painfully aware of how alone you must have looked, you pretended to look really interested in your meal (am i the only one or--). You poked it, broke it into pieces, then brought each sliver to your mouth and chewed slowly. If only your family had switched your phone plans earlier, then you could at least spend time scrolling the internet or lament to your friends back home about how your day was going.

Still “engrossed” in your meal, you failed to notice a figure standing in front of your desk. Only after you saw a hand situate itself on the edge of your desk did you look up.

You met the chestnut eyes of a boy. He bore a warm smile that made a small crinkle in his eyes and beauty mark. Strands of grey hair draped naturally in front of his eyes and framed the sides of his face. Despite your unease, his soft features helped to calm your racing heart and mind. He seemed a friendly person; after all, he was able to approach you.

“Hey, you’re (l/n), right? I’m Sugawara Koushi, but you can call me Suga. I’m in your class,” he introduced in pretty darn good English.

‘Man, that means he heard me this morning…’ you thought miserably. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel some relief. Perhaps you hadn’t given others or yourself much of a chance before jumping to the conclusion that you were incapable of meeting new people.

Clearing your throat, you shyly extended a hand to him in greeting. “Yes, I’m (y/n) (l/n). Call me (y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Suga,” you replied hesitantly, finally using the correct words in Japanese that you had been practicing the previous night.

Shaking your hand, his eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Your Japanese sounds pretty good! You just moved, so you’re still learning, right? How about I help you improve that while you help me with English?”

You were about to nod eagerly in appreciation when you both overheard some snickering across the room. Two boys and a girl sat together, whispering quite loudly and sneaking oh-so-inconspicuous glances over at your desk. Taking notice that they were caught staring, they presumed to loudly munch on their meals and talk about the weather.

Suga only shot them annoyed glare and shook his head before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, those are my… Friends.” The strain in his voice after saying that last word made you question if they really were on friendly terms.

After that day, you found yourself spending every lunch period with Suga and his other third-year friends Daichi, Asahi, and Shimizu. You initially felt unsure of how to talk to them, but after Sugawara’s efforts to include you in his circle and some reassuring words about being yourself and not letting a small, temporary language barrier hold you back from making friends, you earned a bit of confidence. While you spoke a hybrid of English and Japanese with them, you eventually managed to pick up a lot of Japanese from talking everyday, and after these few months of constant exposure, you were able to hold decent conversations. Additionally, the extra help you sought from the teaching staff allowed you to be able to keep up in class, and your instructors were understanding enough to give you some leniency on your assignments during this adjustment period.

Hanging around your new friends often, it was only a matter of time before you were introduced to the rest of Karasuno’s boys’ volleyball team. It occurred one lunch period three weeks after you first arrived, when Asahi suggested that you join some club activities. You were discouraged, however, considering that it was already halfway through the year, you didn’t know enough Japanese yet to converse with just anyone, and you were a tad shy, which made joining clubs a bit difficult. At that moment, your new friends all made eye contact with each other, then looked at you.

“Why not join our volleyball club?” Suga asked. “Shimizu could always use the help. She’s our only student manager.”

Shimizu nodded in agreement, her blue gaze soft. “Your help would be really appreciated. There’s a lot to this job, so having someone to split the work with would be relieving. You can also help me look for someone to take my place when we graduate.”

Later that day you found yourself in the gym being blocked by Sugawara, who was protecting you from two crazed boys whose collars were held back by Daichi. A ginger-haired boy looked at you with curiosity, excitedly introducing himself as Hinata and pointing out the names of the other members on the court (“This is ‘Bakageyama’ and that guy’s ‘Four-eyed Jerk Face’—").

Upon their release (which was granted only after they promised to behave), Tanaka and Noya dashed over to you, tears in their eyes as they held your hands and expressed their gratitude for your presence. “Oh, (y/n), you kind soul, helping Shimizu with the managerial work. Better yet, now we have two cute girls to support us, this is amazing!”

And that’s how you found yourself sitting with your new friends in your living room and feeling grateful for their vibrant personalities, kindness, and acceptance. You couldn’t have asked for a better batch of friends to end your year with. Though, you were most grateful to Sugawara. If not for him, the last several months of your highschool experience may have gone by miserably, with nothing special to note and no new friends to celebrate with. His gentle, understanding nature had done nothing but support you and make you feel welcome. He helped introduce you to a new, comfortable life you had trouble imagining before your arrival to Japan. He dispelled your doubts and fears, instilling in you a newfound confidence in your abilities. It certainly helped that the team was just as supportive and patient with you.

You could recount the events of the past few months that brought warmth to your heart. These people were growing on you, making you feel like you could be yourself more each day. Daichi provided you a sense of security and leadership. Asahi was empathetic, quick to detect your feelings of uneasiness and asking you if you were okay. Shimizu made sure to make you feel welcome as a friend and fellow manager, even inviting you to a café over the weekend to brainstorm ideas on recruiting a replacement (who you both later discovered to be Yachi) and try out some desserts. Tanaka and Noya tried to teach you all the Japanese curse words they knew, initially lying to you about their meanings so they could see the rest of the team’s reactions when you would blurt things out in the middle of practice (Let’s just say that Daichi, Suga, Ennoshita, and Tsukki knew whose fault this was, and Asahi was real shook hearing a string of curse words from your mouth while you sat there, no ill intent emanating from you whatsoever). Ennoshita gave you a comforting, easygoing presence. Tsukki was… Tsukki (LOL). But he could carry on a conversation, often genuinely interested whenever you talked about the culture back in (other country). And you knew he was soft. Hinata was a burst of energy, and you found his bickering with Tsukishima and Kageyama silly and quite precious. You often stayed with Yachi to toss balls to Kageyama late at night, much to his appreciation. Yachi and Yamaguchi were some of the biggest sweethearts on the team, and all you could think about was needing to protect them.

There was definitely something different in your interactions with Sugawara, though. You found yourself closest to him out of everyone. It may have been because he was the first you talked to, or maybe it was because he was one of the most easygoing people you’ve ever met. That, and you found yourself wanting to get closer to him. You wanted to know more about him.

Sugawara chuckled in response. “I suppose you’re right. We wouldn’t have made it this far without everyone,” he said softly, a tinge of fondness showing in his brown eyes. He proceeded to take out his schoolwork and pen, resting his chin in his palm as he read the words across the page of his assignment. Occasionally, you glanced over at him, admiring the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration, and how his hair brushed his cheeks whenever his head shifted in its position. How the grey tips of lashes kissed his bottom eyelids with each flutter of his chocolate hues. You even took a mental note that his lips, currently pursed in thought, were rather smooth and full in appearance.

A rogue thought about how those lips would feel against your own flitted across your mind. It brought a small pang to your chest, and you had to mentally slap yourself back into reality. You noticed these new feelings were starting to become more prevalent the longer you hung around Sugawara. You consulted your friends back home about it, and in their excitement, they insisted you had a crush on this guy (and demanded photos). Heart palpitations, heat-flooded cheeks, covert glances, and a desire for closeness in all aspects possible? All symptoms of infatuation, your personal love doctors concluded. You recalled when these signs first appeared about a month ago, after he offered to walk you home when practice had gone late into the night. Initially you declined, not wanting him to go out of his way when it was already dark outside. However, after seeing the soft look in his eyes as he declared he wanted to ensure you got home safely and that he didn’t mind the walk, your heart couldn’t help but give in and agree.

It was a tranquil night, accompanied only by the sound of crickets chirping and a cool, whispy breeze. About 15 minutes after having left campus, you were both seated on an aged bench at a small park, snacking on recent convenience store purchases to satisfy your growling stomachs. A comfortable silence settled in the air. The nightly surroundings were illuminated by the gentle glow of several nearby lampposts and stars that burned lightyears away.

Your gaze followed the tracks of a small bug crawling across the sidewalk in front of your feet. It skittered soundlessly against the pavement, eventually disappearing in the security of a bush. A gentle sigh took hold of your attention, and your eyes flickered over to your friend, who was peering up at the star-dusted evening sky.

“Do you know what you’re doing after graduation?” he asked, a hint of wonder in his voice.

You shook your head. “No clue, to be honest. You?”

He pursed his lips and took a sidelong glance at you before focusing back upwards. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be a teacher…”

“Seems fitting. Your Japanese lessons have been really helpful,” you pointed out, smiling.

The tips of his lips curved upwards as well. “Really? I’m glad. You’ve improved a lot, too. You’re a quick learner.”

“Heh, well I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Another comfortable silence fell upon you two before he spoke again. “I was thinking about how to keep in touch with everyone after we left, and how it’s a shame we’re leaving so soon after you arrived. I would’ve liked to know you better, too, but there’s only a few months left...”

His genuine words left a rosy tinge on your cheeks. As you were thinking of a response, you looked down, noticing how close your hand lay next to his. Heartrate quickening, you stammered, “Y-Yeah, I wish we had more time, too.. T-To hang around each other, I mean. But graduation doesn’t have to mean goodbye, right?”

“That’s true... You always know just what to say, you know that, (y/n)?” he turned his gaze on you and held out an extended pinky. “Promise to talk to me after graduating, then?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and huffed in amusement. Taking your own pinky and intertwining it with his, you nodded. “So long as you keep your end of the promise, too.”

“Of course.”

Sugawara’s voice brought you out of your momentary flashback. “(Y/n)? Can I ask you a question?”

Blinking your previous thoughts away and calming the warmth on your cheeks, you responded, “What’s up?”

He slid his assignment closer to you, pointing at a section he was having trouble with. “Here. I’m not sure if I’m doing this correctly..”

You leaned in, scooching towards him and closing in on the gap between you. Focused on the homework, you failed to notice how the brush of your shoulders made Sugawara’s body stiffen slightly. With your proximity, your scent easily wafted to his nose, and he could observe the closer details of your appearance. The hair tucked behind your ear exposed your cheekbone, looking soft to the touch. Your determined hues scanned the page, and he could visualize your thinking through your small, occasional self-nods. You looked cute and comfortable in the casual hoodie you wore, bringing him a strange, mixed sense of bashfulness and ease. His mind wandered, trying to envision how you would look if you wore any of his jackets, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of your sweet voice and scribbles against paper.

“It sounds great, Suga! I just made a note there on how you can fix it; otherwise, it should be okay,” you gave him a reassuring smile as you slid his work back to him. You, however, didn’t shift back to your original position and instead stayed seated mere inches from the boy. Not that he minded, but…

“O-Oh, alright, thanks!”

It made concentrating during the rest of the study session a little difficult.

Occasionally you did get up, helping mostly the first and second years with some of their English assignments. His eyes would secretly (but c’mon, everyone but Hinata and Kageyama could tell) follow your figure, admiring the way you looked as you interacted happily with the others and did whatever you could to assist them. Yet you always returned to the same spot, near Suga. Close enough that everyone else on the team took notice (if they haven’t already), relayed the information via mental telephone, and secretly agreed to depart a bit earlier than they had anticipated.

“Oh, you guys are leaving already?” you asked everyone as they were packing up their belongings.

They all nodded in response, offering up their reasons for leaving earlier than the original time you set, which ranged from, “My parents wanted me home for dinner” to “My sister’s wasted and locked out of the house, nobody’s home—” (u good der Saeko)

Standing at your doorway, you waved to your friends, sending them off with a “I’ll see you at school!” as they waved back and filed out of your home. Looking over to Suga, who was still standing beside you, you wondered, “Oh, you’re staying?”

“Oh, yeah! I was surprised to see everyone leave so soon, but I was planning to head home in another hour. B-But I can go now if you need me to..!” he answered a bit shakily, waving around his hands in small, bashful gestures.

You shook your head and you waved your hand dismissively. “It’s okay, you’re more than welcome to stay for however long you need to.”

Settled back in the common area, you both tried to resume your schoolwork, but to no avail. Groaning, you leaned back, using your arms to support you from behind. “I’m tired of workingggggg.”

He sighed in agreement, resting an elbow on the table and propping up his head in a closed fist. “Same. Do you want to do something else?”

“Hmm..” you pondered aloud. “Do you want to see my room?”

Shrugging and responding with a “why not?”, you both stood up, leaving the common area to go to your room. You opened the door and stepped inside, Suga closely trailing behind you.

“Welcome to my room. Make yourself cozy,” you insisted as you sat on your bed and pat the spot next to you. He took your offer, taking a seat beside you and looking around your bedroom in curiosity.

“Something about this place really seems like you, (y/n).”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “Is it the messy pile of clothes in that basket or the neat desk I cleaned up this morning?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose you could say those are part of it. I just meant there’s a lot to you that you should feel comfortable sharing with others. People are complex and there’s so many sides to a person we discover along the way. I remember how timid you were in our first weeks of knowing each other, and now you’re getting along great with everyone and work hard to improve everyday. You were able to overcome a stressful repeat of entering highschool, but this time in another country, and adapted just fine! Your kindness and determination is admirable.”

Twiddling with your fingers, you felt a sheepish grin form on your face. “Aha, you’re too kind, Suga. You know I couldn’t have made these friends or adjust so well without your help. I was too worried about talking to anyone until you came up to me, so… Thank you.”

You risked a glance towards the boy, finding his chocolate gaze already set on you. If none of your interactions in the past month had set your heart ablaze, then certainly this moment would take the cake. Sugawara’s eyes flickered downwards briefly in a moment of hesitance, then locked again onto yours with a hint of an undetectable emotion lurking behind those irises.  Neither of you could bring up any words to say. The only sounds present were the soft hums of your breathing and the low creak of your bed as you found yourselves shifting your weight in order to inch closer to one another.

His mind flooded with a cacophony of emotions, from crippling nervousness to an allure for risk-taking. He could barely come to terms with the current situation and what might happen. Maybe he was overthinking it. Surely being this close face-to-face with someone who you just happen to like doesn’t automatically mean they like you back and want to kiss you just as much. Perhaps you were just leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder; after all, you did seem tired from the events of today. Or, you were scooting close for a better look at his face so you could point out, “hey, you got a little something on your face.” Perhaps a crumb from the cracker he had earlier?

But when he took note of the way your eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes caressing the tops of your dusted cheeks, his doubts began to waver. Maybe this was the chance he’s been seeking out lately. Once Daichi deciphered Sugawara’s affections for you, eventually the whole team found out and began to silently root for him. Thankfully, despite their blatant attempts to help him out, you hadn’t noticed a thing. It made him wonder whether you were oblivious, or just didn’t like him, or both. However, in this moment, when it appeared as though maybe you returned his feelings, he felt he should—as Tanaka would say—shoot his shot.

A sudden knock on the door sent you both jumping 5 feet away from each other. Frazzled and wide-eyed, you choked out a weak, “H-Hello?” in response to the interruption. The door opened, revealing your parent/guardian, who peeked inside.

“Dinner’s ready. Would you like to stay and have it with us?” they were asking Suga.

Heart still racing from the fear that gripped it, he blinked in surprise. He piped out a polite no thank you, reasoning that he didn’t want to intrude.

“Nonsense, we’re happy to have you. Come soon.”

They closed the door and left, leaving you two in an awkward silence that was soon interrupted by the sound of your cough. “We should, uh, get going…”

Standing up, you reached for the door with Suga in tow. The tension in the air remained between the two of you throughout dinner. Nevertheless, Sugawara was able to leave a good impression on your family by being a good conversationalist, even earning a few laughs from your parent/guardian. It made your heart swell at how natural it was for him to be able to get along with others.

After dinner ended and he packed his things, you stepped outside with him to send him off, closing the door behind you. He was about to salute you with a “thanks for having me over” when you gave him a peck on the cheek so sudden that he didn’t have time to react before you were already making your way back into your house.

“Thanks for coming, Suga! I’ll see you at school! Let me know when you get home!” you exclaimed animatedly, shutting the door quickly to hide your embarrassment from your sudden actions. You leaned your back against it, instantly regretting what you did with tightly shut eyes. ‘Oh gawd how am I gonna face him at school tomorrow dhefjkg.’

But on the other side of the door, Suga stood dumbfounded, hovering a hand over the area your lips had touch. Though highly embarrassed, he felt a rush of elation pass over him like a humongous wave that never stopped crashing against the shores.

He was starting to really think it was a good idea to introduce himself to the cute new girl in class. Nice one, Suga.

[elenothar]

Tolkien Gen Week Drabble #6 - Finrod learning the language of Men

Written for @tolkiengenweek. The sixth of my vaguely connected seven character studies of Finrod Felagund, who I have far too many feelings about.

DAY SIX: group dynamic

It had taken Finrod three weeks to become fluent enough in this language of men to communicate with them on a meaningful level.

The first week had mostly consisted of him pointing at things listening carefully to the corresponding word. That process had brought surprising amounts of joy to everyone in the camp, but particularly the young ones. For several days, Finrod was often surrounded by a gaggle of children, enthusiastically pointing at everything they could see and shouting words. They were hard not to adore, particularly for an elf – he couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen this many children in one place. Even in peaceful Aman, elves rarely had many children close together.

So he indulged them, even when the words started repeating, since there were only so many novel things to point at or mime easily. And while they laughed when his pronunciation of terms was strange, they did so joyfully, without malice.

Once a day, while most of the humans slept, Finrod settled himself under a tree and walked through the memories of his day and sorted through all the words he had learned until he started understanding the structure of different words, could differentiate nouns and verbs by their endings and put together much of the conjugations and declensions of this mannish language.

The next week was dedicated to more abstract concepts and required many gestures and broken sentences from him, trying to explain his meaning with the limited vocabulary he’d already acquired. Most of the children lost interest then, since many of those words were new to them, too, but some lingered in his presence while he talked to their elders.

One little girl, distantly related to Balan, whom Finrod had met first, asked shyly whether she might braid his hair, and that day Finrod walked around with flowers woven into a slightly lop-sided braid that fell over his shoulder.

Sometimes he was distracted from his linguistic studies by requests for music, which he was always happy to indulge. Whenever he sang and played the harp, Balan’s people gathered around him and listened with rapt attention, like their own music could not compare.

In the third week, Finrod worked on mastering the pronunciation – he would always sound “elvish” compared to any human speaking it, or so Balan told him with a smile (though he said it was a good thing, and then entirely failed to explain what he meant by it), but not to the extent that he should fear laughter. Now that his vocabulary had grown, he could also ask about aspects of grammar that he hadn’t been able to deduce on his own, though often the answer was incomprehension of the question. For Balan’s people language just was – they didn’t bother giving aspects of it names like the Eldar had.

In fact, his rapid learning had caused more than a little awe. Balan informed him that it was not uncommon for other men to need a year or more to grasp a language they had not spoken from childhood fully, and Finrod was well on his way within weeks.

When he asked around, others just shrugged and said they’d chalked it down to yet more of his elvish strangeness.

Balan, for his part, was still determined to learn Finrod’s tongue – Sindarin would be more useful for him, Finrod reasoned – but his progress was indeed much slower than Finrod’s own, though less hampered by lack of understanding between them.

A full moon journey after Finrod had first encountered the camp of Men, he sat at the fire and sang one of their long songs with them, understanding more than just the spirit of its music.

[kny111]

In the late summer of 2016, it was revealed that two sets of infants were switched at birth at the Norway House Indian Hospital in the mid-1970s. That this happened not once, but twice in the same year, remarked Grand Chief Sheila North Wilson of Manitoba Keewatinowi Okimakanak, is disheartening. “There should have been very thorough care for our Indigenous families even back in the day, and clearly there wasn’t,” she said. Former provincial NDP member for Keewatinook, Eric Robinson, who himself was born at the hospital, called for the federal government to launch an external investigation into the switch. Health Canada responded with “concern,” and a promise to cover the costs of confidential DNA testing for people born at Norway House in the mid-1970s. While distressing, this story is not all that surprising. Mistrust of health-care services, the suspicion of inferior treatment and structural anti-Indigenous racism, and the superficial, distant, medicalized, stop-gap response from Health Canada are common characteristics of the relationship between Indigenous people and health-care system.

Around the same time that the Norway House infants were switched, Indigenous nurses formed a group that identified and documented systemic inequality in health care, and made space for Indigenous interventions into the otherwise top-down, state-run Indian health system. The group lobbied the government for the improved health of Indigenous peoples and brought together a small but growing workforce of Indigenous nurses who saw in their labour a means of actively engaging with Indigenous communitie. Having recently celebrated their 40th year, it is a good time to reflect on the early history of this group – now called the Canadian Indigenous Nurses Association.

The history of Indigenous nurses in Canada was explored in my book Indigenous Women, Work, and History, 1940-1980 (University of Manitoba Press).  The following is an excerpt from the text:

———— In 1975, Indigenous nurses assembled to hold the first conference of what would become RNCIA (Registered Nurses of Canadian Indian Ancestry), now the [Canadian Indigenous Nurses Association]. RNCIA was the first organization of Aboriginal professionals in Canada, and its original objectives were unlike those of any other nursing organization. The primary goals of the organization were to improve the health of Aboriginal communities and to position professional Aboriginal nurses as critical components of the Indian health field. The organization also aimed to track and represent Aboriginal people in the profession; to bring to light problems related specifically to MSB (Medical Services Branch) nursing, including recruitment and retention of nurses; and to make visible the overwhelming under-representation of Aboriginal nurses in the profession. Another immediate goal of the organization was to promote health professions among Native students and improve their access to education. The founding of the organization was historically significant in terms of Aboriginal nursing, health, labour, and education, but it was not a starting point for the history of Aboriginal nurses. Rather, it was, as Jean Goodwill, a leading Cree RN from Saskatchewan and RNCIA organizer, put it, a “turning point.”

———— RNCIA formed in a period during which First Nations, Métis, and Inuit peoples organized formally for unmitigated and constitutionally based rights to self-government and status as Aboriginal peoples in Canada. Self-determination in health was an integral aspect of these larger efforts. In 1969, the Canadian government proposed to dissolve the special status and rights of Aboriginal people and abandon the Indian Act. The proposal, called “The White Paper,” moved to terminate federal responsibility and accountability and transfer all services to provinces in an effort to foster legal, social, and economic equality between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people in Canada. The vision of social equality was predicated on universal welfare programs. However, to Native people, social programs such as health and education are embedded in distinct historical relations and reciprocal treaty responsibilities between Indigenous people and the federal government. For example, the “Medicine Chest Clause,” negotiated into Treaty Six, meant that a comprehensive health plan that incorporates all aspects of present-day health care should be available to all Native people; Aboriginal rights to health care thus predate and pre-empt universal welfare programming. Glaring health inequities and poor health services became important symbols not only of the neglected rights of Aboriginal people to adequate medical care, but also of how marginalized Aboriginal people had become and of the constraints on their capacity to deliver services to their own people.

Indian Control

RNCIA’s early history provides an important Aboriginal nurse perspective on Indigenous labour in the Medical Services Branch at a time when Native nurses believed that that system would eventually be theirs. “Indian Control” was an important organizing principle for Aboriginal nurses in these years. What did RNCIA nurses mean when they referred to “Indian Control”? First, Indian control expressed the goal of self-determination and self-government in the field of health. Second, Indian control challenged the lack of consultation by governments with Aboriginal people in policies that affected them. Third, at a time when the federal government still sought integration, most pronounced perhaps in the 1969 White Paper, Indian control articulated Indigenous peoples’ difference in terms of their cultural and historical place within Canada and the rights and respect that derive from it. Indian control also took on more specific meanings within Aboriginal nursing; it referred to acting with authority in the areas of knowledge production, policy and planning, and education in Aboriginal health. The 1975 RNCIA objectives make it clear that “Indian Control” was about engaging in the myriad ways in which power is used in the field of health. Indian control was very much a verb.

———— The objectives of RNCIA seem so reasonable as to be perhaps commonplace today: to improve Aboriginal health by fostering education, data collection, and Aboriginal nurse participation in MSB programming and health-care provision. However, in the historical context of Aboriginal health systems and status, these goals were revolutionary. The goals of the organization were to transform the very nature of the relationships between Indigenous people and governments and reject the colonization of Aboriginal health. Scholars have argued that colonization is not simply achieved through military operations, land appropriation, and legal submission, but also through “processes whereby the cultures and institutions of Indigenous peoples were demeaned, made illegal or displaced.” Thus colonization involved a much broader social, cultural, and political agenda that included the organization of special services and programs for Indigenous people, including in the area of health.

1. To act as an agent in promoting and striving for better health for the Indian people, that is, a state of complete physical, mental, social and spiritual well-being. 2. To conduct studies and maintain reporting, compiling information and publishing of material on Indian health, medicine, and culture. 3. To offer assistance to government and private agencies in developing programs designed to improve health in Indian communities. 4. To maintain a consultative mechanism whereby the association, bands, government, and other agencies concerned with Indian health may utilize. 5. To develop and encourage courses in the educational system of nursing and health professions on Indian health and cross-cultural nursing. 6. To develop general awareness of Indian and non-Indian communities of the special health needs of Indian people. 7. To generally encourage and facilitate Indian control of Indian health involvement and decision-making in Indian health care. 8. To research cross-cultural nursing and cross-cultural medicine and develop and assemble material on Indian health. 9. To actively develop a means of recruiting more people of Indian ancestry into the medical field and health professions. 10. To generally develop and maintain on an ongoing basis, a Registry of Registered Nurses of Canadian Indian Ancestry.

Read Full Article via BriarPatch  by Mary Jane Logan McCallum

[kyberled]

Send a 🙌 and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse. || ACCEPTING

ANONYMOUS ASKED:

🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

Challenge accepted, Anon. (Most under the cut to save the dash).

The ‘Twelvers’, also called ‘Team Tasish’, is the name given to the group of clone troopers who served in the tunnels with Padawan Commander Braig following the Tasish XII Massacre. They were also called ‘the Gale’an Ground Crew’ (though this didn’t catch on like the first two names) or ‘Braig’s Boys’ by some of their vode, and ‘Tunnel Rats’ or ‘Moles’ by Separatist General Grau Tessk.

The Twelvers were survivors of the 423rd Flare Corps, originally lead by Regiment Commander CC-2331 ‘Dash’ and Jedi Master/General Dhissit Riloff, were a part of the Third Systems Army, under the command of Jedi Master and High General Obi-Wan Kenobi. They were easily distinguished by the vibrant teal they painted their armor with. They had a saying amongst them: ‘With Riloff and Dash, Seps are gone in a flash!’, and this was painted on more than a few of their LAAT/i’s. Unfortunately, for most of them, Tasish was their final mission. It was just supposed to be a relief mission. Something simple.

It wasn’t.

Grau’s invasion was quick and merciless. It wiped out most of the soldiers, and the locals and rest of the survivors were lucky to make it away when they did. Some weren’t so lucky. The less fortunate wound up either killed or in the slave encampments Tessk’s army had established about the planet. The more fortunate wound up in the massive network of tunnels that snaked through the planet’s crust.

Under the command of Lieutenant Commander ARC-4496 ‘Kriss’ (detailed in a separate report), Captain ARC-5012 ‘Boone’, and Padawan Commander Braig, the survivors collaborated with the locals in a bid to stay alive until rescue would eventually come. Whether or not they believed that would happen depended on the individual man.

The exact makeup of Team Tasish changed frequently, growing and shrinking as men were rescued from camps or slain in combat. Following the rescue mission carried out by Master Kenobi and the 212th (among others), Braig requested that the survivors be allowed to join the 212th to avoid having them separated from each other into different units, and as a testament to the skill they had shown during the time underground.

You can usually figure out who the Twelvers are pretty easily. Not only do they spend time together, they also keep splashes or accents of 423rd teal on their kit. Sometimes, they might use some of the Gale’ha they picked up to talk to each other. Braig encourages this, as he wants to make sure both they and himself are able to remember the language as best they can. They also like making ‘you have to cook it’ jokes - or any jokes involving the word ‘cook’ - at Kriss, and typically respond to group missions with ‘One more run, boys?’, which they often said before heading out on supply runs or camp raids back on Tasish. The ‘one more’ was always used to suggest, either sarcastically or otherwise, that this would be the last time before they went home.

THE SURVIVORS:

🙌 SERGEANT LONNIE, aka CT- 26-4017, was one of the last to join the survivors in the tunnels. He’d been on his own for a while. He hadn’t been one of the ones who’d been at the ‘base camp’ during the massacre. He’d been on the field of battle. He’s still not entirely sure how he made it out. He got knocked out by an explosion. Woke up in one of Grau’s slave camps. He knew what that was, what it meant for him. He was livestock. Even more so than in the Republic, he was no better than an Alderaan Grazer. It was pretty common to hear the droids comment to each other that ‘General Tessk liked his meat tough’. Always made Lonnie’s stomach churn. He refused to end up like that. He just wouldn’t. He’d either live to see what else was out there or die being a pain in the Sep’s shebs. Either way, better than being complacent. So he ran. He made a plan with Tanzer when the klankers weren’t listening. A bit of sabotage and a landslide later, and the vod were off running. Where to? He didn’t know. Didn’t care. There were better ways to die than here.

Thankfully for himself (and Tanzer), they were scooped up pretty quickly by one of the survivors’ supply run/scouting teams. Damn near shot Scratch’s head off before he realized who it actually was. His brothers were relieved to have him back, and he was relieved at having a chance at survival again (... And seeing them too). He was pretty surprised any of them had made it as long as they had, except maybe Kriss. He was especially surprised the ‘shiny Jedi’ (Braig, who was in fact a senior padawan and combat veteran and wasn’t fond of the nickname) hadn’t bitten it, yet. Full of surprises.

Though he didn’t pick up as much Gale’ha as some of his brothers (as he wasn’t in the tunnels as long), he did really like the word ‘Naha’we’, which loosely translated means ‘everyone will do [verb]’. He thought it was fun to say. He briefly considered changing his name to ‘Naha’we’, though most of the other Twelvers vehemently opposed this. Ironically, it was Prez’s enthusiastic endorsement that made him finally decide to stay Lonnie. If Prez thinks it’s a good idea, and it’s not related to combat or drills or the like, he’s not going with it. He’s learned better.

Physically, Lonnie stood at about average height and build for a Trooper (though he’d lost a few pounds by the time the other Twelvers found him). While he’s usually clean-shaven, he grew some decent stubble - almost a beard - over the course of the mission, and might just keep it. He kept the sides of his head shaved close, but the stubble was dyed in 423rd teal, while the top was a bit longer (still within standard regulation) and kept its natural black. He was very excited to get it re-cut and re-dyed when he got home (it felt weird to him long). He has a notch in his right ear lobe and a series of small scars on his finger tips; after his time in the slave camp, he had some lash scars on his back and shoulders, as well. He wore kama with his kit and had stripes painted on his arms, legs, and pauldrons.  (He had to salvage some of his fallen brothers’ kit  after the camp, and it took a few sonics back in the barracks to get the feeling off).  Upon return to the barracks, he gets his first tattoo - ‘NOT DEAD YET’ in Aurabesh, tattooed over the lashing scars across his shoulder blades. Lonnie carried two blaster pistols and a stun baton, and was most comfortable in close quarter combat.

On his off time, Lonnie liked listening to the radio and lounging on his bunk. He’d sometimes play sabaac with his vode, sometimes join in on teasing the others, but for the most part, he just wanted to do nothing. War was chaotic and stressful. He just wanted some quiet time to shut off. ... But he WILL arm wrestle just about anyone if he’s challenged. He uses it to put chores on his younger brothers when they lose.

He was cut down during the Great Jedi Purge (aka Order 66), and was silently grateful for the plasma blade that felled him.

🙌 TANZER, aka CT-26-4290, got lucky. That’s what he tells everyone. He should’ve been dead. He should have died. The battle should have killed him. The camp should have killed him. The escape absolutely should have killed him. If that didn’t, the jungles should’ve. He was in the same camp Lonnie was. He did the same labor. Heard the same comments. Felt the same pain. Had similar ideas. He wasn’t the one who came up with the escape plan, though; that was Lonnie. Always looking out for his little brother(s). He’d be willing to die for a lot of things, but for a lizard’s meal? No, no way, kriff that. He wanted out. So they ran. Tanzer got a weapon first; stole a pretty nice semi-automatic blaster off one of the B1s and made what he would call ‘a beautiful mess of things’ on the way out. Just cause some chaos and go. ... He did worry about the locals they left behind, though. They just didn’t have the fire power to save everyone. They barely got themselves out, as was.

It was rough out there. They didn’t have locals to guide them, like the boys in the tunnels did; not until they got picked up again. It was rough. Tanzer doesn’t know if he believes in the whole ‘will of the Force’ thing. Yes, he knows the Force exists. He works with Jedi, it’s hard to ignore. But he doesn’t know about it having a will. ... However, their escape and survival, and them being found by the other Twelvers, has made him consider something being out there. He’s just not sure what. Clones don’t really get taught about religion. Maybe it’s just sheer dumb luck. Upon being brought back to the tunnels, Prez tried to talk him into eating a raw Maguwe grub. Tanzer refused and asked ‘who would do that’, and it took him a minute to figure out why Prez and Boone were laughing and why Kriss looked so annoyed (or, at least, more annoyed than usual).

Tanzer was just a bit shorter than his brothers, but it wasn’t enough to be noticed unless they were standing side by side. Not enough for a ‘decommission’. He was still pretty self-conscious about it, though, and didn’t like having it brought up. He kept his hair in the standard cut, but grew his sideburns out a bit. While he was normally clean-shaven, he ended up with longer hair and some facial hair after his time in the tunnels. He didn’t keep it, and was relieved to be able to shave upon his return. Felt like being himself again. He promised himself he was never growing a beard again. His eyes were a bit lighter than his brothers, but again, you wouldn’t notice without careful scrutiny. He hates being the center of attention, though, and won’t take it well. While he keeps his armor clean, the paint on it is chipped and scuffed, and he considers it a mark of honour. Like Lonnie, he had to scavenge a new kit for himself after his escape, and he wasn’t happy about it. He spent more than a few nights holding the bucket he’d picked up against his chest and muttering apologies he thought nobody else could hear. On his own kit, he painted a slash across his eye shield, the backs of his hand guards, and a stripe down the front and back of his chest plate. He preferred blaster rifles over pistols, and was almost as good a sharpshooter as Trickshot.

In his off-time, Tanzer liked going to shooting ranges or spending time at 79′s. He’d also spend times in his bunk, double-checking his gear as he chatted with those others in the room. While never the life of the party, he preferred spending time with his vode to being alone. He never really liked quiet; put him on edge. As he often said, ‘silence means something’s about to happen’.

Tanzer fortunately, or unfortunately, didn’t survive to 66. He died only a month or so before, after taking a blaster shot to the chest from a B2.

🙌 STAFF SERGEANT PREZ, aka CT-25-499, has always been a bit of a joker. He likes keeping morale up. Likes keeping the brothers working together smoothly. In spite of this, he has a pretty gloomy outlook that he keeps under wraps. He’s big on gallows humor. He, like many of his brothers, has seen quite a lot during his tours of duty. He doesn’t expect things to end well for him. He’s come to terms with it. That doesn’t mean he can let his brothers feel the same sense of impending doom. That ties in to how he got his name: He has a ‘strong presence’ in the units he’s in. He’s hard to ignore. Some of his brothers love him for it, some brothers hate him for it. It doesn’t seem to bother him, either way. It’s what keeps him going.

Along with Kriss and Boone, Prez was among the longest-standing Twelvers. He’d been back at base camp helping the locals and Braig. He had to live with the knowledge that he wasn’t on the field when his General and Commander were killed. It weighed pretty heavily on him, even if he didn’t let it show as readily as some of the others. Out of all of them, aside from maybe Boone, he likes to think he got on with Braig the best. It was almost refreshing to get a taste of actual faith and optimism, for a change. Kinda nice. Plus, the magic healing stuff? That was pretty top. Prez was there for most everything that happened in the tunnels. He was there when Mal got shot. He was there when Kriss ate the grubs. He was there for a lot of deaths and struggles. He was there when they found out about the slave camps and when they decided to raid them. He was there for all of it. He didn’t think he’d be there to see a rescue. Kind of figured it would be the end of him there. But, hey, it wasn’t! And now he’s got a lot of stories to tell. Buy him a round if you wanna hear ‘em, cause they don’t come cheap.

Prez shaved his head bald. He liked it better that way. He felt hair got too itchy or sweaty under a bucket. Easier to keep clean too, if you just didn’t have it. He does have a soul patch, though. He takes great pride in re-shaping it when he gets back home. He had to vie with Lonnie for the mirror, but whether that was because they both actually needed that much time or they wanted to admire themselves, nobody’s entirely sure. If asked, they each accuse the other of vanity while claiming innocence. Prez also has a scar on the left side of his jaw, near his chin, that looks like three tiny scratch marks. He won’t admit to anyone how he got it, and tells a different story almost every time he’s asked. (If you want the truth, he tripped during a march back when he was shiny. His brothers teased him about it for over a month.) After returning home, he got a tattoo of both the Bespin and Naboo boloball team logos on his ribs on the left side, in honor of Royce. As he was never captured, he never lost his kit. It’s pretty easy to distinguish from his brothers. In typical Prez fashion, he was in the mood to cause a bit of chaos when he was first allowed to paint his kit. He took a paintbrush and all but threw it at his chest piece. Ever since then, over the many times he’s had to replace it, he always paints a messy, zaggy line from the top left corner to the bottom right. Aside from that, he painted the rest with neat lines down his arms, legs, and helmet, a contrast which used to drive Dash silently out of his mind. In spite of this, Prez’s talent as a soldier and ability to execute orders perfectly (on the field) kept him in their Commander’s good graces. Prez kept a regulation blaster pistol on his hip, like many, but kept a stock of charges and explosives on the other side of his belt. He liked to think it was part of his charm.

In his off time, you could usually find Prez at 79′s, or pestering his brothers. It was his own way of looking out for them, really. He often playfights and wrestles with the goofier vod’ike when they’re not on duty. He’s also huge on boloball, and thinks Bespin has the best team in the Galactic League. He used to get into pretty heated debates about it over drinks with Royce, who was a diehard Naboo fan.

Prez survived the Great Jedi Purge and went on to become a prolific storm trooper until he was gunned down in a battle with the Rebellion.

🙌 ARC-5012, known more widely as CAPTAIN BOONE, is the ‘good trooper’ to Kriss’ ‘stern trooper’. It used to be ‘to Kriss’ and Dash’s ‘stern trooper’, but, well. Things went sour. He misses Dash, too. Didn’t have time to grieve, though. They never do. Just keep moving. Keep going. Boone has always been a bit of a ‘mother hen’, keeping an eye out for the Vode he works with whenever possible. That’s how he got his name. Always a boone to have around. Always a help. He was well-liked by his men and his General alike. He balanced out the more rigid of the chain of command, and handled a lot of the more emotional issues the other men had. He took on almost more of a paternal than fraternal role, as clumsy as it may have sometimes been, and it was appreciated. He’d been back at the base camp, too. Originally, he was going to be deployed with the fighting force when the attack hit; however, it was quickly determined that his command and people skills would be needed to help evacuate the civilians. He was also meant to be protection, given that most of the troops were on the move. General Riloff had wanted most of the best men keeping people safe. Boone respected the orders at the time, but would often wonder to himself if things could have been different, had he been in the field - the same sort of thoughts he tries to council his brothers out of. Keeping the peace in the tunnels was a test of skill for him. He definitely didn’t envy Braig and Kriss, being the senior officers. He ended up playing a key role in helping Braig quell the fighting after Mal’s death. ... He also gave Braig his first-ever alcoholic drink. He didn’t necessarily think it through.

He’d been part of the crew who’d pulled Braig out of the ship following the Tessk fight. The kid looked rough. Rough, but alive, and that was what mattered. He was pretty damn surprised by that. Got him back to the tunnels, and medicine was basically nonexistent. He’d asked the kid about fixing himself up like he usually did, but that wasn’t an option for a few reasons. So, while Makula (the doctor from one of the villages) did what he could, Boone pulled a flask out and offered it to Braig. When asked why he thought that was a good idea, he shrugged and said he thought it would help with the pain. (It did not. Braig thought it was gross.) He’s still figuring kids out, but he’s doing his best. He also shared it with Cooper after they got him back (before the Tessk fight, of course). For the most part, he kept it to himself and didn’t mention that he had it, but, hey, sometimes you just need a drink. A drink, and someone to listen.

Boone wore his hair a bit longer than regulation, and kept it tied back into a neat bun. He always carried at lest two to three extra hair ties in his utility belt, and ended up sharing one with Braig when his hair got too long and started getting in the way. He started the mission clean-shaven, aside from a moustache, but, like the rest of the Twelvers, ended up with his fair share of scruff. He had a white plus sign tattooed under the outer corner of his left eye. He also had small black X’s tattooed along the knuckles of his hands. (He’d initially asked for stars, but the vod who did it had done x’s instead, and Boone decided he liked it better that way.) Like Prez, he wore his kit into the tunnels. His shoulder guard, pauldron, bracers, and shin guards were all completely painted teal, with a teal plus on the left side of his helmet, over where his tattoo is. On his right pauldron, he left a white patch in the shape of a star burst, in honour of the Flare Corps’ name. His utility belt was always well-stocked, and in addition to the pistols he carried, he wore a blaster rifle on his back. He didn’t really have a preference for close or ranged combat, as long as he and his came home safe. That’s all he ever wanted.

Boone is a man who likes a warm drink - caf or tea - and a simple conversation. Maybe a datapad or two. He’ll go to 79′s if invited, but it’s not something he generally does on his own. He also likes spending his time doing bunk checks on the rest of the Corps. Knowing that his vode were alright helped him rest easy. He’s also very good at cards. His winning streak had some in the Corps - especially Lonnie, Trickshot, and Hardwire - convinced he had to be cheating, but, no, he just knew them better than they thought (and he thought they all had terrible poker faces).

After the control chip incidents involving Fives and Tup (which he heard about as the 212th and 501st worked closely), he got suspicions of his own. These suspicions ultimately lead to Boone being killed by a med droid sent by those in the know, though his death was ‘officially’ listed as being caused by battlefield injuries.

🙌 ARC-4954 COOPER was another rescue. He’d had a pretty rough time, comparatively. Not as though anyone had fun in the slave camps, but, he was pretty messed up. The worst of it was his right arm. He’d gotten it crushed after resisting orders, and it was ‘amputated’ by Grau himself in a bid for information. Of course, Cooper didn’t know a thing. If Grau hadn’t used Master Riloff’s lightsaber to do the deed, Cooper might have bled out or worse. It was a cruel irony, to be sure. It still could have gotten infected and much worse if the raid team hadn’t shown up only a few days later. As it was, Braig was able to Force the wound to close over properly. He couldn’t regrow the limb, though. He apologized for that, and though Cooper said it was fine, it took him a long time to come to terms with it. One of his biggest fears was that now he was ‘defective’ and would be subject to termination upon return. Even with the assurances of his brothers and Braig that this would never happen, it wasn’t until he was outfitted with a cybernetic limb that Cooper finally breathed a sigh of relief. He was actually pretty pleased with it, and the fact that it would ‘hurt more when [he] punch[ed] osik with it’. He also used it to arm-wrestle Lonnie, and was very smug when he won. After the appropriate amount of sulking, Lonnie told him he only won because of his ‘new hardware’. If it was anyone else, they’d’ve gotten slugged for it, but Lonnie’s always been his best friend. Giving each other grief is what they do. Even still, it took him a while to get used to the prosthetic, and phantom limb syndrome and chronic pain stayed with him for a long while after.

Cooper didn’t go on many raids with the other Twelvers. This was both because he was brought on a bit later into the stay (though still before Lonnie and Tanzer), and because his physical and mental state had taken an understandable hit. He was instead usually left behind in the tunnels to act as security detail. Initially, this was a blow to his ego, but he soon came to take the duty very seriously. It wasn’t at all strange to find him waiting by whatever exit the survivors had stopped at, back to the wall and blaster drawn in anticipation. He did in fact take out a few droids during his security detail, and that did make him feel a bit better. All the same, a lot of the times he volunteered for night watch, it was just because he couldn’t sleep. Boone stayed up with him on a lot of those nights, as did Lonnie (they’d take turns to ensure proper rest). Braig did, as well, offering his services especially on nights Cooper’s injury flared up. It was this, more than anything else, that made Cooper appreciate and come to respect Braig as a comrade.

Cooper kept the sides of his hair shaved, but sported a teal mohawk. After seeing himself in the mirror on the return trip, he decided he kind of liked how it looked long and shaggy. Kriss thought it looked inappropriate for a soldier. They eventually reached a compromise: As long as Cooper kept it neatly brushed and slicked back during inspections and field work, Kriss wouldn’t harp on him to cut it. Cooper also only ever died the top ‘half’ of the mohawk, letting it face to its natural black around the roots. He typically had a bit of stubble, which grew into a beard over the course of the stay. This, he didn’t keep, and spent a while touching his face once he was done shaving. Felt good. He didn’t have any tattoos, but he did paint a few words and symbols on his prosthetic that Kriss was not willing to compromise on. The rest of the vode thought it was funny, though, so he still considers it a victory. He ended up painting it with LAAT/i racing stripes, instead. Sometimes he tries to hide the ‘banned words’ in the stripes. It rarely works. He still tries, regardless. He painted the shoulders and collar of his kit in 423rd teal, as well as the top of his boots, but left it otherwise plain. He liked dual-wielding pistols, and always kept a vibroblade on his person.

When he had the rare free time, Cooper could be found at 79′s - not for the alcohol, but to watch the podracing. He was fascinated by the stuff. He thought it was way more thrilling than boloball. He usually wound up in wrestling matches with Prez, and it was rare that there was a decisive winner. If he wasn’t hanging around where Lonnie was, or watching a holo, or training, he was probably in the hangers. He wasn’t typically part of the flight crew, he just liked the atmosphere better than the bunks.

Cooper survived the Great Jedi Purge. However, maintaining his prosthetic was not a cost the Empire was willing to bear, and he was terminated not long after.

🙌 ARC-4907 LOWSWIPE (’Swipes’ or ‘Swiper’ to his closer vode) is the last of the survivors. He was also another raid rescue. The camp he was in was hit pretty early on. He was pretty surprised by it, all things considered. He’d thought most everyone else was dead. He wasn’t wrong about that, of course, but he had no idea there was a group of their boys still running around in the first place. The first thing he said when he saw his brothers, he’s been told to never repeat around the ‘kid’ ever again. (Braig has decided, in the name of keeping the peace, to not inform them all that he knows all of those words already.) But he was relieved to see them.

Going forward, Lowswipe participated successfully in a number of camp raids and supply runs between his freedom and the Twelvers’ rescue. He had been one of the 423rd’s best recon specialists, talents that definitely came in handy in the Gale’an jungles. He was notorious for fighting dirty, and his brothers would gripe at him for it during drills and sparring. They didn’t complain when he used it in battle. His detailed reports saved a  lot of lives in a lot of ways. The extremely detailed, if not somewhat crass, stories he told at night kept morale up. If anything, it almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. This wasn’t the case, of course. He hated the tunnels. He hated the Seps. He missed his brothers and his general. The enjoyment he seemed to give off was really a sick satisfaction of knowing he was making Grau suffer, even if it was only in a small way. He wanted more revenge, but for the time, it would do. It was enough. It had to be.

Lowswipe had a pretty standard appearance for a trooper. Short hair, clean shaven. Managed to avoid most scars, save for one just over his right hip. This one came from the same encounter with Grievous that gave Kriss his most signature scar. It was usually covered by his blacks, so most people didn’t know about it. He had just one tattoo: A solid black line circling his left pinky, just over the top knuckle. The reason for this isn’t quite as deep as you’d guess. He was talking with some of the Corps around a fire on a mission, once, and the question of ‘if you had to lose a finger, which one would it be?’ came up. Lowswipe said his left pinky, since he was right handed and didn’t think pinkies were very important. His vode dared him to try and see how long he could go without using it, if he was so confident; the CO’s said if he was gonna do that, he had to wait until they were back at the barracks. When they got home, he got the mark tattooed on his finger to remind himself. He lasted about two and a half days before he dropped something. Given that people had placed bets, reactions were mixed. As for his kit, it was also pretty standard. Nothing too fancy. He wore a kama, which might’ve been the fanciest bit about it. He had the pretty standard paint job, too. He didn’t like being easily distinguished. Didn’t suit his purposes. He had a teal line down his arms and legs. The only truly ‘unique’ painting he’d done on it was in the upper left corner of his chest plate: a tiny, teal starburst, in honour of the Corps. He kept that there even after being inducted into the 212th Attack Battalion.

Lowswipe, surprising nobody, liked cards. Unlike Boone, he also liked cheating, and got away with it pretty often (but not against the CO’s, and never against a Jedi). Much like telling them to arm wrestle Lonnie, telling shiny members of the Corps to play a game against Lowswipe was considered a type of hazing. As long as it didn’t get (too) physical, Kriss and Dash saw no reason to stop it. Like Boone, while he’d go to 79′s if his favourite vode were there, he much preferred to take his drinks in the bunks. He’d also join Prez in causing mischief around the barracks, though then it was usually up to Prez to make sure it never got taken too far. In spite of how the staff sergeant often had to reign him in, the two of them still got along very well.

Lowswipe didn’t quite survive to Order 66. In one of the final battles of the Clone Wars, he was taken out by a Separatist explosive. If he’d known what would have awaited him in the future, he would’ve kissed the droid that planted it.

THE FALLEN:

🙌 MAL, or  CT-26-4527, was one of the more memorable deaths in the tunnels. He wasn’t killed in a camp. He wasn’t killed in battle. Didn’t get sick or anything like that. No, he died because he was shot by Kriss, nearly point-blank, between the eyes. His death caused a huge schism in the survivors, which resulted in a bit of infighting and some more deaths down the line. Kriss pretended it didn’t bother him to pull the trigger, but it did eat at him for a long while after. Why did he get shot?

He broke.

He gave up. Rescue wasn’t coming, he said.  We’re going to die here, he said. Why don’t we turn ourselves over to the Seps? What’s the worst that could happen? (It’s worth noting that they hadn’t found the camps - or Cooper - yet. If they had, it might have been much different.) Of course, none of the others took well to this. It didn’t help that he was in near hysterics. Braig had been in the process of healing Hype’s broken leg, so Kriss, Prez, and Boone had told him to keep at it while they handled the situation. The altercation quickly turned physical, and before Braig could intervene, Mal was dead. In Kriss’ defense, Mal had gone to draw on him first - he’d just never been as fast as his ori’vod. In the official reports, Mal’s death is listed as an accident. While Braig may not have agreed with the outcome, he understood why Kriss did it. He didn’t want Kriss getting court-martialed or worse. The only ones who know the truth of the matter are Kriss, Braig, Prez, Boone, and the surviving locals, though Braig would confide in Obi-Wan upon his return.

Prior to this, Mal had looked up to Kriss a lot. Not just as a commanding officer, but as a friend. It was actually in shielding a then-shiny Mal from an explosion that Kriss got his most distinctive scar. Ever since then, Mal took Kriss’ word as gospel. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hold up to the stresses of being a refugee. Some of his brothers tried to comfort themselves by saying they weren’t like him, and he must have had a defect. This caused even more arguments. It wasn’t pretty.

Mal kept his hair cut in the regulation length, but had a stripe of teal dyed slightly off-center on the right side. He had a few tallies inked over his heart (four, to be exact). These were to represent near-death experiences he survived. He was on the lean side for a clone - not weak by any means, but not as solid as some of his brothers. It suited him fine, as he was a bit more agile than them, too. Prez liked tussling with him best, since Mal was a bit harder to hold onto that some of the other vode. Made it more interesting. Mal also seemed to be in his own head the most, so, Prez reasoned he needed the most help getting out of a slump. Mal had the same tallies painted onto the chest of his armor. He had diagonal stripes painted on his pauldrons and the middle section of his helmet. He used a blaster pistol, but also kept a stun baton on his hip. He found they worked pretty well on droids. His brothers took it with them when they continued on in the tunnels. It served them well.

On his off time, Mal liked napping. It’s not super interesting, but he liked it a lot. Turn the world off for a little and sleep. He also liked listening to the radio, but not the holonet news. He doesn’t like knowing about any additional bad things in the Galaxy; he’s seen enough of it. He also didn’t like hanging out in groups too much; he liked his space. .... The tunnels weren’t made for him.

🙌 NADA, designated as CT-25-5342, was on Kriss’ side of the argument with Mal. Shut up, vod, they’ll be here. We’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine. He didn’t necessarily believe it, but he had to keep saying it. It was the only thing keeping him sane. And, besides, saying otherwise wouldn’t help. He figured, he wasn’t willing to lay down and die. Kriff it. Besides, there’s a karking kid here, can you relax for five seconds before you freak him out? (Braig was too busy trying to help heal Hype’s leg. It took a decent amount of concentration to fix an injury like that in the state they were both in. Braig never liked cutting off his healing work, as that can have... Complications. So he’d been doing his best to focus on his work, and hadn’t really noticed the initial rumblings). While he did try to resolve the issue, Nada didn’t exactly stop it from escalating. He was angry, he was grieving, he was frustrated. He was scared. Clone Troopers weren’t supposed to be scared. They were made to withstand any kind of stress, after all. And he was scared, and Mal was freaking out, and making everything worse, and how was that going to help? When he told Mal to not freak the kid out, it was almost just him finding a way to hide his ‘don’t freak me out’. It didn’t work. He was freaked out.

He defended Kriss after Mal was shot. Kriss didn’t have a choice, he said, made the right call. Kept them safe. Did what had to be done. It almost came to blows further, until the young padawan and the local chief - Goh - put their feet down. Nada stayed angry after, because being angry was safer than being scared. He used the anger to do some brutal things to some droids. He was part of the raid crew that rescued Lowswipe. He was on the raid crew with Hype when Hype died. He survived those. He didn’t survive a supply run. Maybe he was too angry, too scared, too tired. Maybe he’d gone too far in his vengeance. Whatever the case, he got caught by a patrol and turned his blaster on them instead of running. Whatever his motivation, he died that day, but distracted the droids long enough for the rest of the supply run to get away. Whatever disagreements they may have had, the rest of the Twelvers and the locals were grateful for his final sacrifice.

Nada had his head shaved and disliked the feel of facial hair. He had the number 423 tattooed on the base of his skull. He had a habit of dragging his left thumb nail along the inside of his index finger when he was thinking, and as such almost always had a faint scratch or two there. He had the top halves of his leg and arm guards painted in teal, with red accents above his wrists. He was another rifleman, and was pretty proud of his shot. He always had a blaster rifle slung over his back, and could sometimes even be seen wearing it around the barracks.

He was another vod that loved the shooting range, and a drink after. He also liked just leaning against the wall and watching his brothers about work. He didn’t much like listening to music, but might if it was on the quieter side. Lonnie egged him into a few arm-wrestling competitions early on into his time in the Corps, but he got bored of those pretty quick.

🙌 TRICKSHOT also - unwillingly - went by the number CT-25-5101. Like many of his brothers, he despised the notion of being a numbered thing. As soon as he got his name, and especially as soon as he was off Kamino, he refused to respond to his number. He’d never use it. He might be tempted to come to blows if you brought it up. Thankfully, that - and the Seps - were the main outlets for his aggression. It helped him keep his cool in many other scenarios. ... Except cards. He was a bit of a sore loser. The Corps had an unspoken agreement to not let him play with Lowswipe or Boone. Nobody needed that kind of fallout. Arm wrestling Lonnie was right out. (They tried it once or twice. It resulted in a scrap so bad Kriss and Dash had to scruff both of them and dress them down for a few minutes each.)

Aside from a hot temper, he was among the best marksmen in the Corps. People said he had a natural talent for it, and this got mixed reactions from his brothers. He ignored them, mostly. They were just jealous he was better than them. He’d originally started saying that to himself to make himself feel better, but it did contribute to the bit of an ego he developed. He had been another off those who’d been at the base camp, and therefore hadn’t been captured. He’d tried to pull Mal back when he’d started getting aggressive. He’d still been holding on to Mal’s arm when Kriss shot him. Even though he’d seen Mal going for his blaster, it still shocked him, and he was pretty shaken up after. He would echo Nada’s insistence that it was the right thing to do, but it took him a long while to get the taste of bile out of his mouth.

Trickshot ran in a few raid crews, a few supply runs. He had pretty good success, and it at least made him feel productive, kept his mind off of other things. Helped him stay on target. He didn’t like being on scouting and supply runs as much as the raids, though. He always liked being a sniper better than fighting in close-quarters. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it, though. Prideful as he was, he knew that their survival hinged on everyone pulling their own weight. It was on one of these supply runs that he died, but his death taught the others something very important about the fluctuating electro-magnetic fields of the planet: While formerly harmless, aside from a bit of static, the Separatists’ interference had somehow caused them to become lethal. Nigh-invisible walls of strong electrical currents that you’d miss if you didn’t know the signs. After his death, no group went out on supply and scouting runs without at least two locals, and the men were not to stray from them. This strained their numbers considerably, but was deemed vital to survival after Trickshot and Scratch’s deaths.

Trickshot had his head shaved, but let just enough grow back that he could have a bulls-eye shaved into the side of the stubble. He also had a full goatee that he maintained meticulously when he had time off. He didn’t have any tattoos, but he did have a scar across his nose from a mission-gone-wrong that he credited with his preference at long-distance fighting. He painted his neck guard teal, and the covers of his hand guards, as well. He also painted a straight line down the middle of his chest and stomach armor.

As mentioned before, he was proud of his marksmanship, and often spent time at the shooting range. He also liked going for runs, and made a point of staking out treadmills in the physical centers. He also spent a lot of time taking his weapons apart, cleaning them, and putting them back together. It helped him relax.

🙌 HYPE, or CT-26-4996, was as stubborn as they came. He never liked giving up, never liked sitting back, never liked admitting defeat. Always rushing onwards. Never slowing down. A real ‘guns-a-blazing’ type. It was his way of dealing with survivor’s guilt. Get out there and do everything you can, and maybe there will be more people coming home at the end of the day. It helped him sleep at night. Helped him look at himself in the mirror. (It gets even harder when you look like all of the people you failed.) His death, more than any other, Braig thought was avoidable. He’d told Hype to stay back. They’d argued about it. Braig said Hype was recovering and needed to wait until he was up to it again. Hype insisted he was fine, and they wouldn’t be able to hold a raid with the numbers they had. He was right, of course, but Braig still wanted him to stay back. Kriss ended up being the deciding vote (as this was the first raid they went on, he and Braig hadn’t yet learned how to see eye to eye). Kriss made Hype promise that he was up to it. Hype promised. They were all worried about their brothers in the camp they’d find, as well as the locals there, as well. They had to get them out, and to do that, you need as many of us as you can take. Kriss had mulled it over for a while before eventually agreeing.

Hype broke his promise. While the break had been healed, the muscle was still stiff from the limping, the moisture, and the sensation of being stitched together again. Unfortunately, it only takes one stumble in battle to get shot. Hype died in the first raid, and Kriss and Braig exchanged tense words about it when they got back to the tunnels. It wasn’t an argument, per se, but they definitely weren’t happy when they tallied up the casualties.

Hype shaved his head, but not as regularly as some of his brothers, so he usually had a bit of scruff on his scalp and about his jaw. He had two notches in his left brow and one in his right. He had a lightning bolt tattooed on his throat, but didn’t have a reason for it. He just thought it looked cool. He had similar lightning-bolt shaped lines painted down the arms of his armor, and a downwards triangle extending from the top of his chest plate to the middle. Like Prez, he liked demolitions, and had a few charges on his person along with his pistol wherever he went. He detonated one of these charges when he realized he wouldn’t be making it out of the camp, taking down a good few droids with him.

Hype lived up to his name in his off time, always willing to be the life of the party. He was always happy to regale his vode with the stories he embellished and twisted over a round at 79′s. If you paid, he’d let you pick which one he told. He knew almost every drinking song, and at least once had to be reminded to keep it out of the barracks if he didn’t want a boot thrown at him. Helped improve his reflexes, at least.

🙌 HARDWIRE bore the designation CT-26-4497. He didn’t really care about it. It was a number. He was not. That was the end of it. Aside from that, he was pretty big on regulations. There’s a proper way to do things, he’d say, so that’s how it ought to be done. Protocol was ‘hardwired’ into him. It made it harder for him to find common ground with men like Prez and Lowswipe. But, again, protocol was hardwired into him, so personal feelings aside, he knew how to follow orders. He could get the job done, so the others tolerated his rigid compliance to the rulebook, mostly. He’d get ragged on from time to time, but, hey. He was used to it. It’d been like that ever since he was a cadet - worse then, in fact. As long as the others did their job, he was fine with it.

He’d been held prisoner in the camp raided when Hype died. The men worried he might’ve said something (not that there was anything to say), and telling them to stop was possibly the first time Kriss and Braig were really on the same page. He appreciated the support, and was adamant that he hadn’t said a word (he hadn’t.) He had some pretty nasty scarring from the camp, but not much aside from that. He had been one of the newer members of the Corps, after all. Not new enough to be shiny, but only by a little bit. He still hadn’t completely grown out of the need to prove himself, which was his death. In perhaps the only defiance of strict rules and protocol he ever showed, he jumped on the back of a B2 to save a child local during a raid. The child was saved, but Hardwire and the droid fell to their deaths.

As was his nature, Hardwire didn’t differ much from what was regulation for a trooper. Short hair, clean shaven. He did paint his armor, though. Every edge was given a nice, neat coat of teal. He liked it that way; thought it looked respectable.

In his free time, Hardwire liked to read. He also liked taking walks around the barracks and maintaining his bunk and gear. He prided himself on never failing an inspection. He also had an interest in cartography, and would, when he could, study holomaps almost religiously. Had he survived, he would have been an incredible navigator.

🙌  CT-25-5501, better known as SCRATCH, had a nasty end to a hard life. He’d made it pretty far. He wasn’t sure if rescue was coming, but, hey. No way to find out if you don’t keep going. That was pretty typical of him. He wasn’t a pessimist, wasn’t an optimist. He called himself a realist. He resigned himself to existing. Honestly, he was pleasantly surprised by how long he’d lasted in the tunnels - how long all of them had lasted. If he’d lived, maybe he would’ve changed the way he thought of things. Might have finally made an optimist of him. Of course, the universe’s sense of humor is too cruel for that sort of thing.

He’d been on a supply run when he died. He’d been enjoying the space and privacy, of which there wasn’t much in the tunnels. a good chance to stretch his legs and breathe. It really is amazing what you can come to appreciate, living like they were. He wasn’t completely off his game, though. Just taking a bit of time to collect himself. Something moved off to the side, alerting him, and he’d gone to investigate. Unfortunately, being lost in a strange planet meant that there were strange predators better adapted than he was, and he was pounced upon by a large canine creature called an Umu’oke. By the time the rest of the party found him and shot the beast dead, Scratch had already lost a lot of blood. He bled out on the way back, and was dead by the time they made it to the tunnels.

Scratch wore his hair just long enough to be tied back in a small pony tail. It was all bleached to a pale blonde. He kept himself clean shaven, and had no tattoos. He did have a small scar on his right shoulder from an encounter with a slug thrower, but that was about it. He painted downwards-facing arcs on the upper part of his arm guards and chest plate. Like Mal, he liked keeping a stun baton on his person, but it was unfortunately broken when the  Umu’oke lunged at him. It could not be salvaged.

He was known widely for being a fairly lazy man about base. Don’t get me wrong, he did his job, but don’t expect him to do any extra work for inspections. Lonnie learned early on that pawning off chores on Scratch was worse than just having to do them, himself. His favourite activities involved napping and watching boloball, though he wasn’t nearly as die-hard in it as Royce and Prez were. It just kept his interest. He also liked watching his brothers play cards more than he liked playing himself. You could usually find him hanging around to offer commentary and conversation when the deck came out.

🙌 GRAZER (CT-25-6002) was an expert pilot. He was more comfortable in the skies and stars than on the ground. That was home, he said. He chalked it up to the Mando in him. He’d get playfully ribbed for this every so often, but nobody could argue his success in the skies. The only one of them better was Tailwind. During flight drills, it was pretty common to see the two of them trying to one-up each other and pulling stunts. They got away with it by nature of being Very Good At Their Jobs. As long as they kept being good, hell, let ‘em have their fun. He’d been back at the base camp when the massacre happened. He’d found a bit of grass, and, as he was wont to do, had been chewing it while he chatted with his brothers. He didn’t know how or when this habit started, just that it did. In truth, he had a bit of an oral fixation, and nutrient paste just didn’t cut it.

He, like Royce, Digger, and Tailwind, is considered an honorable mention among the Twelvers, as they never really made it back to the tunnels. When the attack hit, Grazer, Royce, and Tailwind had made for their fighters. They figured they’d get up, hold off some of the klankers, maybe shoot down some of the drop ships. Grazer did in fact manage to get up in the air.  He also managed to shoot a ship or two down. He had just seen how many more ships were jumping out of hyperspace when he was shot down.

Grazer had a standard haircut for the troops, but grew out his sideburns. He had two navy blue dots tattooed under each eye. He had arrows pointing up painted on his chest plate and leg armor. He had arrows on his pauldrons, too, but those were white on a teal background. He was happiest with a ship’s controls in his hands, but did carry a standard pistol on his belt, just in case.

On his off-time, Grazer could usually be found at 79′s, if only to have a straw to gnaw on. His brothers would often remind him not to chew the styluses for writing reports. He liked watching nerf races more than other sports. He liked animals, and had an impossible dream like Tones, though he kept it to himself: He thought he might like to have a pet, some day.

🙌 DIGGER (CT-26-4332) didn’t expect things to go this way. He figured it’d be pretty standard. In and out, home in time for life day, you know how it goes. He kind of liked the planet they’d been sent to, this time. Lots of greenery. Lots of room to move around. In other words, it was nothing like Kamino, so he liked it. At least, he’d liked it until the massacre happened. That put a rather understandable damper on his spirits.

He had been at the camp when the attack hit. He helped the others get the locals moving and away from the still-deploying droids. He volunteered to help take up the rear and watch everyone’s six. He watched Grazer, Royce, and Tailwind all die. He sort of figured at that point, he was going to die. There was no way they were all making it out of this. That was, in fact, part of the reason he had volunteered for the back. He wasn’t an ARC or an officer. His death would matter less than the others. He didn’t say any of this, of course; no time. He just yelled that he’d take the rear and nobody was in the mood to argue.

He made it pretty far, actually. Had made it into the tree line, and a bit farther then, before turning to loose a few shots off at the droids and slow them down - or, at the very least, thin them out. He got a few down before he took a fatal shot to the chest. Given that the last thing he saw was the rest of the survivors disappearing into the greenery, he died satisfied.

Digger had longer hair that he wore in a tight braid (Master Riloff had taught him how to braid it). He had the 423rd’s star burst tattooed in black on the inside of his left wrist. He also had a small scar on the underside of his right foot from when he stepped on transparisteel after someone had failed to properly clean up a mess in the barracks (he always secretly thought it was Scratch, but never knew for sure). He painted a braid down both the arms of his kit. He also had the star burst painted on the right side of his chest plate, like a badge. His weapon of choice was a gattling gun, and kriff, did he wish they’d brought one along for the ‘relief’ mission. Might have changed things.

While he did go to 79′s, he was very much a ‘leave me alone unless you’re also talking about the pod race’ kind of guy. Don’t get him wrong, he loved his brothers. Just, sometimes you just wanna have a stiff drink and watch kark go fast without having to think about anything or anyone else. He liked his space and his time alone... But this didn’t stop him from subtly warning Prez or Lowswipe when the higher-ups were going to walk in on their shenanigans. He’d just deny it, if you asked.

🙌 TONES (CT-25-9091) loved music. He liked to think to himself that, if the clones got to survive the war and had options, he’d become a musician. For the most part, the rest of the Corps humored him. Of course, that wasn’t possible for a clone. There was no future for them when the war was over. But, he was a nice enough guy, so the others let him dream. It wasn’t hurting anyone. Let him have it. He tended to find music in everything. Marching footsteps made a very nice, even rhythm. The beeps of ship controls booting up had a lot of interesting pitches. Even the clicks of cleaning a blaster could sound nice, if you did it right. He liked to think he knew how to do it right. He was usually the run drumming his hands on his lap during debriefings or on transport ships. as long as he wasn’t obnoxious about it, his brothers had learned to live with it.

He’d been in one of the camps that they found later. He’d figured he was going to die in the camp. He was a clone. Clones are expendable. Even if reinforcements did arrive... ... This was also about the time he accepted he would never get to live out his dream. He’d known, really, but it set in hard in the slave camp. That was it.

He was rescued, but unfortunately, his condition was too frail to survive for long in the tunnels. The other Twelvers did what they could for him, but there was only so much anyone could do. The locals sang to him as he passed, at the request of his brothers. One of their old songs. A story he couldn’t understand, as he never learned the language. Even still, he died with a smile on his face, surrounded by his first and only love as the music lulled him to sleep.

Tones kept the sides of his hair shaved short, with four lines clipped into each side to reference a musical staff. He had music notes tattooed across his clavicle. He had similar sets of four lines painted on the arms and legs of his kit, with a trebel-cleff on a staff over his heart on his chest place, with a few star bursts in place of notes. He liked heavy weaponry, but when that wasn’t available, kept a pair of blaster pistols on his hips. His keen ear made him a good scout, and as such, he wore a scouting-style helmet when out in the field.

As stated before, Tones loved music. He taught himself to whistle when he was a shiny (and his early attempts drove his brothers mad), and was often making up little songs for himself. He drummed with his palms or fingers on his lap, on tables, on walls... He loved listening to the radio. Anything like that. He always wanted to learn a real instrument, someday. In the mean time, he’d satisfy himself with marching and drinking songs with the boys.

🙌 TAILWIND (CT-27-0451) was the de facto flight captain of the 423rd. Yes, all of them knew how to fly. Yes, all of the COs were good at it. But the three of them preferred to be on the ground where possible. Right in the thick of things. Tailwind was their best pilot besides, and was very good at following orders and adapting plans to situations. The COs all agreed he had ARC Trooper in his future at the very least, if not an officer position, someday. He knew this, but didn’t make a big point of it. He was just glad to be of use. He liked helping.

He’d tried to help when the camp got hit, too. He’d made the call to get in the fighters. He figured it might be their best chance to help the others get to safety. Unfortunately, he never made it to the ships. He was close, but not quite. The Seps saw what they were doing and decided that wouldn’t do. A slew of blaster fire took Tailwind out, sending him toppling to the ground before another bolt ended his life. He’d been so close to his beloved fighter, but he was spared seeing it blown up by the same stream of fire that killed him, at least.

Tailwind kept his head shaved, but had a teal soulpatch. He had a small fighter tattooed under his right ear, and a few scattered stars under his left ear. As he was mostly in the air, he’d been spared any major scars. He had a downwards facing triangle painted onto his helmet, ignoring the ‘fin’. He also outlined the viewport of his helmet, had painted his pauldrons and knee guards, and had two stripes just under his pauldrons and on the tops of his leg armor.  Like the other members of the flight crew, he preferred a fighter to a blaster, but he kept a pistol on him, just in case.

Tailwind loved flying. His brothers used to joke that his personality was just the word ‘pilot’. He spent most of his off-time cleaning, maintaining, or re-painting his fighter. He was always the first to volunteer for flight dri.ls or similar exercises. He also spent a lot of time designing nose art, both for himself and his brothers, so he was getting to be quite the artist.

🙌 ROYCE (CT-27-0566) was a risk-taker, but, as he liked to call it, a ‘calculated risk taker’. He knew what he was good at. He knew how to keep being good at it. Or, he had. Everyone’s luck runs out eventually. With his daredevil antics, his actually held out pretty long. He was the last of the men who had stayed at the base camp. He’d been chatting with Grazer when the attack hit. As mentioned before, he never made it to the tunnels, and as such is considered an honorary Twelver at most.

He, Grazer, and Tailwind, as mentioned before, all tried to get airborne. Royce lasted the longest of any of them. He’d gotten into his ship and gotten into the sky. Taken out a ship or two. He saw the other ships coming in and managed to warn the others over the comm channels. He barely got the sentence out before he was shot down. But, at least he warned them about the blockade. He saved his brothers. He did his duty.

Royce had an undercut - shaved sides and back, longer top. He’d tried dying it when he was a shiny, but never liked it. He liked the natural colour better. He also kept a well-trimmed beard. He had a stripe painted around his vizor and a series of dots down the midsection of his chest plate. He had a straight line painted around the center of his back plate. He also had a diagonal stripe sliced through his vambraces. He didn’t do any tattoos, though. He disliked needles immensely, which his brothers thought was weird. Clones get a lot of needles. Whatever, Royce still never liked them. Like most of the flight crew, he preferred a fighter to ground fighting. Unlike the others, instead of a service pistol, he preferred carrying a snubnose blaster rifle.

He and Prez were both hardcore boloball fans, though they argued over which team was better. Royce was a diehard Naboo fan, and they got into more than a few bickering matches about it over drinks. Even so, the two of them both preferred watching the games together instead of apart. It was more fun, that way. Whoever’s team lost had to buy the winner drinks. It was kind of their ‘thing; in the Corps. He also joined Tailwind in the hangars a lot, and helped him paint a good few pieces of nose art in his time. He didn’t have the creative eye for it, he’d say, so he mostly just left the planning and design to Tailwind, but he liked the actual process of putting the paint down. He also liked going for flight drills, or walks around the city. He’d usually do this by joining a few of the vode he was closer to in the Guard on their patrols. He just liked getting out.

🙌 Jedi Master DHISIT RILOFF was the General in charge of the Corps. He was a Quarren who, like many other Jedi before him, came to the temple when he was young. He grew up there. It was his home, his family, his code, his oath.  He had been trained by an elderly human Jedi by the name of Sairees Liial. He was the last of Master Liial’s padawans before she retired from teaching, though he still saw her checking in on the creches from time to time. He imagined, when he reached his twilight years, that would be him, as well. He was proud of being a Jedi. Though he was a bit older, and a Master, he never sat on the High Council, and that suited him fine. Braig would later describe him as a ‘shut-in’ and ‘weird’, but overall very kind. He didn’t need to be a part of any grand goings-on to be happy. Meditation was his favourite thing to do in the temple, and if he wasn’t doing that, keeping up with his training, or off-world, he was probably in his room with a datapad. He wielded a long-handled lightsaber with a yellow blade. He commanded the 423rd Flare Corps, under the Third Systems Army and Obi-Wan. While he was older than Master Kenobi, Master Riloff respected his tactical prowess and ability as a Jedi, and had no problem taking orders from him when need be.

Master Riloff had trained a couple padawans in his time. The most recent was Sudic Draa, a young Nautolan male. Unfortunately, a year or so before the mission to Tasish, Padawan Draa had been killed by General Grievous. Both Dash and Kriss had ended up in critical condition, and Master Riloff viewed it as a grave failure on his part that he never forgave himself for. The Tasish mission had been the first time since Draa’s death that he had agreed to bring a Padawan along with him. As much as his heart ached for the loss of his student, he knew the score. The next generation would need to be trained, and, with the horrific casualties the Order suffered, they were running short on available teachers. He could not shut himself away forever. He had hoped this would be a way to help him come to terms with it all. Him, and the men. A senior padawan with the experience to be left unsupervised, but young enough to still remind him of the joys of teaching. A simple mission, too. From what he’d heard of the boy, it should have been just what they both needed.

Of course, it didn’t work out that way. Master Riloff fell to the droid armies defending the refugees, though not before taking down a significant number of battle droids. He knew that the Force was calling him. He could feel the men around him, his men, as they fell. It was not how he wanted to go, of course, but he was too old to be naïve. He used his last free moment to deliver his final warning to the base camp, then crushed the commlink to prevent its use in tracking the survivors. He died not far away from Commander Dash, saber in hand. ... Until, of course, Tessk came for the spoils.

🙌 REGIMENT COMMANDER DASH, CC-2331, lead the Flare Corps from its inception. He was proud of his boys and made sure they knew it - but he also made sure they knew it was a pride they had to earn. He worked them hard and rewarded the effort. As stern as he could be, it was his fairness that made his men respect him. He also made it clear he’d never ask them to do something he wouldn’t do, himself. A real ‘do as I do’, ‘boots on the ground’ type of guy. He was also very gruff, and not known to mince words. He said what was on his mind and felt no shame in it. No time for pussyfooting around in his Corps.

At the same time, Dash wasn’t especially talkative. He appreciated the value of quiet. He much preferred solitaire to sabaac, and preferred to drink either alone or with Kriss. He considered Kriss his best friend, and this was mutual. They’d grown up together - not batchers, but squad mates. On their off time, he and Kriss sparred together often. When they were younger, Kriss was the better grappler, but Dash was better at standing combat; with how often they trained together, they both helped each other even it out. Dash spent a lot of his free time checking reports, going over equipment lists and reserves, and holding inspections for the men. He liked making sure things were running smoothly, and that they’d be ready for anything. As mentioned before, he also spent a lot of time sparring. If he wasn’t busy, his vode knew he’d almost always be down for a scrap. That’s why he hadn’t been too interested in a relief mission. Yes, he got why it was important, but bonding with people outside of his Corps had never been his thing. The peace and quiet made him restless. In a way, he was almost relieved when the attack came. Or, no, not relieved: Vindicated. That was the word. He was made to kill Seps and protect his brothers and his Jedi (.... and the Republic, but, eh), and that’s what he was going to do. It’s what he did do, right to the last. Blasters blazing, teeth grit, barking orders and formations into his comms. It was just how everyone thought he’d be going out. His only comfort came in knowing some of his brothers would’ve made it out alive.

Like Kriss, he wasn’t sure what to make of the kid General Riloff dragged along. He wasn’t one to question how Jedi worked - he liked his General of course, but Jedi were meant to be weird - but it didn’t necessarily sit right with him. He didn’t know the kid, didn’t know how he’d work with the Corps. Yeah, he knew the kid wasn’t shiny-- Or, sorry, inexperienced - but he’d never worked with them.  And they hadn’t worked with him. And Dash was always awkward with kids who weren’t vode, so, oh well. Kriss’ problem, now (I’ll get you a round when we get home, brother). He figured they’d just handle it all, go home, and it’d be just the Corps again, like he preferred it. Nobody was more important to him than his brothers. Because of this, even if he was gruff, he was well-respected and fondly remembered by the Twelvers. Kriss would keep Dash’s name painted on his blasters, even up to the Purge, until he was stripped of the last bit of individuality he’d managed to hang onto.

Dash grew his hair just past regulation, and kept it slicked back. He was mostly clean-shaven, but occasionally had a bit of stubble from when he got too busy with work to clean it up. He had the numbed ‘423′ and the Corps’ star burst tattooed downwards, from his shoulder to his elbow, on both arms, in thick black aurebesh. He had a number of scars across his torso, arms, and legs from his time on the battlefield, as well as a small scar on his right cheek bone. He had two thin lines painted down his arm and leg guards. The fin of his helmet was painted in 423rd Teal, and he had the starburst painted over the base of his helmet’s transceiver. He also painted the mouth covering of his armor, his pauldrons, and his utility belt. As a commander, he was proficient in many weapons, but had a personal love for polearms. He was also the best unarmed combatant in the Corps, and his vod’ike all had stories of tasting the floor as a result.

🙌 SP-34//R, also known as Spear, was General Grau Tessk’s personal service droid. No, he wasn’t a tactical droid. He was a chef. Grau did his own planning, thank you so much. He had fun with it. No, Spear was there to keep Grau’s peculiar habit interesting. Spear knew over a hundred recipes for preparing any kind of sentient you could think of, with room to download at least a thousand more. He made sure to mention this when Grau mentioned how much human he’d be eating after they wiped out most of the 423rd - “If you worry about the taste becoming bland, I can hold many more recipes than those that you are used to”. He was the one who prepared Master Riloff for consumption. He didn’t see a problem with it; it’s what he was programmed for. It was whoever-it-was’s fault for going against Grau, anyway.

Spear was left unaware that Grau had been killed. He assumed his master was still out on the hunt, as he usually was. Spear was still preparing future meals when the Separatist base he was in was bombed by Republic ships.

UNRELATED TO THE TWELVERS:

🙌 FEENOR REDIIK was a Devaronian padawan at the Jedi Temple during the era of the Clone Wars. As an Initiate, he was sorted into ‘the Mighty’ Bear Clan; following his gathering, he wielded a green lightsaber with a standard hilt. Feenor had a pride about him that many would say was inappropriate for a Jedi, but he claimed he could easily back it up. For the most part, he was right. He was good at what he did. He had good scores in his tests and assignments. He was fairly proficient at sparring. However, his morality was something to call into question. Feenor was someone who believed, because he (and the rest of the Order) had been born with the ability to tap into the Force, he (and the rest of the Order) were superior to those who could not. It showed in some of his interactions with other people, but, given that he didn’t like most others, it wasn’t especially distinguishable from his normal disdain.

Though he and Braig (and by extension, Braig’s core group of friends) were the same age, they didn’t spend any more time together than necessary. They couldn’t stand each other. Not one bit. This was in part due to differing personalities, and in part due to some less than friendly encounters they’d had in the past. Braig thought Feenor was arrogant and selfish; Feenor thought Braig was soft and emotional. They learned to exist with each other, though, as everyone living in the Temple must. Feenor got a master before Braig did, which also didn’t help their relationship any. The fact that Feenor gloated about it made things worse. Feenor was taller and stronger physically than Braig, and often used it to his advantage. However, Braig grew to be a much better swordsman, and Hano grew much bigger and much stronger than most anyone in their year, so Feenor eventually (grudgingly) left them alone. There was still a bit of a rivalry and a lot of dislike between their two friend groups, but they mostly stayed away from each other.

Feenor was taught by a young Piton knight named Roshi Kudh. Knight Kudh was more compassionate than Feenor, but just as stubborn. Feenor was her first padawan, and she was determined to do right by him. Their mutual determination and unwavering resolve saw them through many a mission, and they had a very impressive record under their collective belts. Unfortunately, their grit could only carry them so far, and both student and teacher were killed in battle nearing the end of the war. They were 16 and 29, respectively.

🙌 HANO RHI was a Cathar padawan at the Jedi Temple during the era of the Clone Wars. As a crecheling, he became fast friends with Braig, and they would remain best friends until the Order fell during the purge. They were both sorted into Bergruufta Clan, which suited them fine. The two of them often play-wrestled, even as older padawans. They were sent on their Gathering together, and Hano was one of the ones who helped pull Braig out of the crevice he’d found himself in. He’d sometimes tease Braig about it later in life, calling him ‘Popsicle’ after Garak’s comment from that day (’Thought you’d be a popsicle’). Despite the differing species, the two of them considered each other to be brothers. Like Braig, Hano carried a somewhat unusual lightsaber; the bronze of its blade almost matched his eyes. The bronze crystals were drawn to those of great physical strength, and Hano did not disappoint. He hit the average height for a male Cathar - seven-foot-five - reaching seven feet before he was seventeen. His training and natural physique ensured that he was a wall of muscle, something he was quite proud of as he grew. In spite of his terrifying stature - and the ideas people have about Cathar men - Hano was mostly a gentle giant. He knew he was intimidating, and knew how to use that to his advantage when need be, but for the most part, he liked using his strength to help the men and temple staff with carrying or loading supplies, and to carry his friends around. Braig, Naweh, and Booda, the more physically affectionate members of their group, were his favourite people to just Lift, and Braig especially often rode around on Hano’s shoulders simply because he could. He was also able, especially later into the war, to carry a downed trooper back to safety with one arm without any serious loss of mobility. This was a talent he put to use many times, and some of the troops he served with joked that he was ‘the biggest little brother’ they’d ever had.

As kind as he was, Hano was also a troublemaker by nature. If he was around, you’d probably hear his master, Yokar Eedai, sighing an exasperated ‘padawan!’ from somewhere nearby. He loved cracking jokes and playfighting with his friends (thankfully, the control he’d learned in training prevented this from causing harm). He did his best to keep his lighthearted antics throughout the war, and for the most part, was able to keep smiles on peoples’ faces. He also disliked wearing a tunic (it’s terribly uncomfortable with fur, he’d say), much to his master’s irritation. Pants, boots, sash, robe, sure. He just disliked shirts. This casual state of dress, along with his usual personality, made it easy to underestimate his intelligence. He has been asked on multiple occasions if it bothers him. It didn’t; he was of the opinion that those who needed to know that he was smart did, and those that didn’t gave him the advantage of being able to catch them off guard. Hano also had a reputation of being very protective of his friends - a ‘dad friend’, in modern parlance. Whether it was scaring off someone who bothered them or bringing them food when they were laid up in the medbay, he liked knowing they were well cared for.

Hano did survive Order 66, but only barely, and only because of the sacrifice of his master. He was rendered unconscious after being caught in an explosive, pulled out by some sympathetic friends of his master, and hidden away before being shipped to the relative anonymity of the Outer Rim. When Hano woke up, he was blind, alone, terrified, and missing his left leg from the knee down. He didn’t know what to do. He was only seventeen.

He ended up spending many years in self-imposed exile, not ready to venture out into a galaxy that had taken everything from him. He learned to get around with sound, touch, and the Force, but the world was cruel and cold and he didn’t know how much was left for him. He did venture out eventually, and would - many years down the line - find Braig again. After that, he spent most of his time hanging around the shop, and slowly learning to have fun again by teasing and playing games with his new nephew and lifelong brother. It was the closest to being home again he’d ever felt since the Purge.

🙌 BOODA MALBO was a Gungan padawan at the Jedi Temple during the era of the Clone Wars. As an initiate, she was sorted into the Boma Clan. While they were in different clans, she was very good friends with Naweh, Hano, and Braig from an early age. She was also the one who introduced them to her friend, Lohata, who eventually became another core member of their group, and her girlfriend. (They liked to think nobody knew. The Gathering Group was fully aware, they just didn’t comment on it.) She wielded a light green saber with a standard hilt. Towards the end of the war - just before she was 16 - she had prosthetic arms from the elbow down on both sides. She broke them relatively frequently in the line of duty, but saw the bright side in that she got to change the colour of the exterior plating whenever it was redone. Sometimes, her friends would gather to paint little designs on them, too, and that always made her happier.

Booda was known for being extremely kind and compassionate; a real bleeding heart. She wanted to make other people happy. Her favourite thing to do was to help people. She liked smoothies, and sunshine, and swimming, and flying. Because her master - a Nautolan named Nid Arto - was also an aquatic race, a part of their training usually saw them at the bottom of the Temple’s lakes, meditating together. Her favourite class to study was cultures, and she and Braig often edited each others’ reports before they submitted them. As she got older, and especially when she began venturing out into the galaxy, she made an effort to stop using Gungan Basic and use Galactic Basic. She felt like she had to. She was pretty self-conscious about how the rest of the galaxy viewed Gungans, and did her best to try and present herself as proper and well-educated to combat this. She also felt very self-conscious if she had to make big speeches, and sometimes struggled if she was the center of attention. It was something she was trying very hard to get better at. It helped, having friends who knew what it was like to have their species looked down on. It made her feel understood.

She was incredibly acrobatic fighter, forgoing the strength Hano was known for in favour of being impossible to hit. Her fighting style was not vertical, was not horizontal, was not diagonal: it was all of them. She was always very good at jumping, so, why not? She hopped around when she was excited, too, but tried to keep it under wraps when she was in public. She also loved dancing, and incorporated that hobby into her combat abilities. When she wasn’t spending her meditative periods submerged, she was a frequent practice of moving meditation. She never really liked sitting still, unless she was with her friends. Even then, she was prone to bouncing one or both legs. It helped her stay centered. It was also a common occurrence (though they wouldn’t admit it) for her to hold Lohata’s hand under the tables during meals. Worst case, this could be dismissed by the fact that she was a very affectionate person in general. She especially found her warm-blooded friends comfortable to lean against. It wasn’t strange at all to see her cuddled up to Braig or Hano during study sessions, or on cooler nights when they were assigned to the same mission. It was a running joke amid their group that if she ever greeted them with ‘hey, you’, the correct response was always ‘hey, Boo’ in the same tone.

Booda did survive Order 66, physically. Emotionally, she was not so lucky. She’d been doing flight drills around Naboo with her Master and Lohata (Lo’s master was sick at the time, and was resting back at the Temple). They’d brought a few of the men with them, since they’d at first come to investigate an issue that had been quickly resolved. Nid had figured, well, they have time to kill, and the girls did seem pretty excited to be there. Why not have a bit of fun before going home? They’d had no way of knowing the troops would turn on them. Booda and Nid survived the initial assault that downed their ships; Lohata did not. Booda damaged her prosthetics trying to pull Lo out of the wreckage before Nid was able to drag her away. They took refuge under water, just like they used to for meditation. When the troopers started dropping depth charges, Nid shielded his padawan at the cost of his own life. His body floated in the water for hours before it was eventually retrieved. Booda was able to hide in an underwater cave with an air pocket for a few days, until she felt that the search had been called off. Even still, she was never able to venture far from the lake that had become her safe haven. Many decades down the line, she learned of Braig and Hano’s survival. She was able to send them a transmission, and after that, her old friends would make regular visits to her lake to check in on her. While she wouldn’t feel truly safe ever again, it definitely helped her to feel more at peace.

🙌 YOKAR EEDAI was a Mon Calamari Jedi Master during the era of the Clone Wars. He was known for being curt and stern, and nobody really knew how he and his padawan, Hano Rhi, got anything done with their differing personalities. In truth, while they didn’t always see eye to eye, Yokar never regretted his choice in pupil.

Yokar wielded a blue lightsaber with a shoto-style hilt. He was very steadfast in his beliefs, and he knew how to uphold them. He believed in proper behavior, proper diction, and a firm hand to keep the peace. A Jedi ought to be respectable. This is where he often found himself at odds with his padawan, as Hano was far more relaxed and jovial than his stiff-lipped master. Yokar’s favourite pass-times were meditation and going for walks around the temple, sewing, and reading. He also liked fishing, but he hadn’t had much time for that since the war started. He had a spot or two in mind to take his padawan to enjoy a cast or two, once the fighting had finished. He’d learned how to fish from his own mentor, Jon Jorathi, and had hoped to keep the tradition alive.

Despite what anyone else would think, Hano and Yokar not only got on well, they also cared for each other deeply. Yokar was never one to question his devotion to the Order, nor one to ever want anything else, but he did view Hano as the son he never got to have. Yokar was the last person to speak to Hano before he returned to Cathar for the traditional coming-of-age hunt of his people, and the first one to greet Hano upon his return. (He also gave Hano the following morning off of chores to rest up, which was most unlike him.) While he tried to instill proper etiquette in his padawan, those who knew Yokar would notice that Hano had the opposite effect on him. He would never become what someone would call ‘fun-loving’, but he did learn to lighten up a bit. Just a bit. The lectures on behaviour became shorter and less impassioned, he would turn a blind eye to minor shenanigans. Strangely enough, it was good for his blood pressure.

Perhaps, had things been different, he would have progressed further into the realms of knowing how to relax. Maybe he would have gotten to knight his padawan. This never happened.

Order 66 happened instead. Hano and Yokar had been on the way back to the Temple after some business about town. Nothing too terrible. Working with some contacts, cleaning up some loose ends. The Force shifted suddenly and it was all they could do was rush to the Temple to see what was happening. Of course, they were too late. Yokar knew that even as it left a horrible taste in his mouth, even as Hano refused to accept it. They had to run. He almost had to drag Hano the first few steps (brave, noble, foolish Hano) before they started getting away. They ran, but not fast enough. The explosion went off and Yokar knew that only one of them would make it out. He made the only choice that made sense.

In spite of what someone else might have thought, Master Eedai had always loved his padawan. And he always did, right even as the final blaster bolt went through his chest.

🙌 KASHNA was a wanderer who avoided making a name for herself after the Republic fell to the First Galactic Empire. As a Clawdite, she could look like anyone she wanted to. That suited her just fine. She didn’t like being acknowledged. After the Empire, that meant death. Before the Empire, it could mean death, or it could mean unemployment. Neither was great. Money made the planets revolve, you know.

In spite of that guiding rule, Kashna wasn’t greedy or materialistic. She just needed to survive. Like many of her species, she often found work as a spy or infiltrator, using her natural ability to hide in plain sight. She became much more comfortable in the skin of someone else, rather than her own. Besides, nobody liked a Clawdite being a Clawdite. They liked a Clawdite being someone else. She’d been young when she ventured out on her own; didn’t fit in with her family. Argued with her parents too much, had to get out, find her own way. For the longest time, she thought she was going to exist alone, and you know what? She was fine with this. ... Until she met Kuvora Niett of Clan Dranug. A young Mandalorian Cathar, the leader of Clan Dranug had sent Kuvora out on a journey that she had decided she needed a Clawdite’s help for. The two of them became good friends over the course of their adventures, spending evenings sharing stories over drinks and rations in the cockpit of Kuvora’s ship. It wouldn’t be the last time they worked together, and eventually, Kuvora sent a transmission inviting Kashna to meet the rest of her clan next time she was in the system. Kashna thought that would be fun. Then the Empire purged the Mandalorians. Kashna found Kovura too late, and made an interesting choice. Kashna didn’t like Kashna. Kashna liked Kovura. After giving her friend a burial, Kashna took the armor Kovura had worn.

She also took Kovura’s name and appearance. Kashna travelled the stars as Kovura, a proud Mandalorian, in both honour of her friend and dismissal of herself. Nobody had to know. ... Of course, Braig knew. The Force is an interesting thing. Clawdites and Cathar feel different. ... He also figured she wasn’t who she seemed because she didn’t fight like a Mandalorian did. He’d never want to pick a fight with a trained Mandalorian if he could avoid it; Kashna didn’t give him nearly as much trouble, when they were at odds over a data chip they both wanted. Braig had also grown up with Cathar, and Kashna didn’t move like someone who was used to being a Cathar did.

He didn’t kill her, which was strange, but she did feel humiliated by it all. She also didn’t get the job done, and had to lay low from her employer for a while. She’s going to carry that grudge for a long time, and next time, she’s determined to fight more like a Mandalorian.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 25

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This time: Thrawn tries to seek out Eli. Grysk poison claims lives aboard the Steadfast.

Next time: Un’hee tires of keeping secrets.

-/

Thrawn prided himself on his commitment and duty, his ethos as a warrior. Being back in his preferred type of position, under a worthy leader no less, was the homecoming he’d been waiting for. He did not mind being planetside, but his home was among the stars, aboard a ship, facing the enemy, poised for battle.

The crew of the Steadfast was eager to prove themselves to him, and there were no hiccoughs or bumps with having a human aboard the bridge - Jedi or otherwise - under Ar’alani’s watchful gaze. They, having experience working together, had an easy adjustment period, and Thrawn’s time away from direct command left better equipped to suggest rather than command his CO when he felt deviations from her orders appropriate. She didn’t indulge him often, and they certainly debated - sometimes in raised voices or dragged away into a conference room - many things. It was a challenge. More than that, it was rewarding.

But something was missing.

Ezra’s words had stayed with Thrawn. Thrawn knew Ivant was still on this ship. So why hadn't he seen him?

Thrawn felt an almost compulsive need to see his now former commanding officer. Ar'alani had mentioned during their discussion that she had recommended him for commendations again and been obstinately denied. It surprised her, but it said something about the state of the Admiralty and Aristocra. The Aristocra had begrudgingly agreed to a promotion for him. The Admiralty had rejected it outright, believing that Ar'alani's human officer deserved punishment, not reward.

If not for the more sinister reasons behind their refusal, Thrawn would have been glad for it. Right now, for the first time in their careers, they were on even ground.

It wasn't long before he found an in.

The Steadfast, despite being a large ship, had very tightly knit groups of officers, though the majority of the bridge crew did find themselves on opposite ends of whatever Aristocra squabble was on the agenda that cycle. Thrawn had expected to hear from the Navigators, but neither Un'hee or Vah'nya - both of whom were reportedly also still aboard the ship - had been anywhere to be seen. Admiral Ar'alani would not speak of any of them, and her replies to Thrawn's admittedly mild inquiries were met with tight lips.

The officer wasn't anything special. In fact, he was rather ordinary. Gossiped with the rest of the officers, was typically in the officer's lounge after hours drinking with the rest of the staff. But, he’d traded stories about Captain Ivant’s early days in the CDF with the rest of the officers. With him back on the ship, it was a means of taking credit for his part in the making of the man, obviously. He was older and towards the end of his career. Respectful enough but hardly looking for an expansion in his duties.

And he’d spoken within earshot of Faro.

Junior Commander Faro, who just so happened to find herself in Ar’alani’s shadow when she wasn’t off gathering intel. “Senior Commander Cinsar,” She mentioned to Thrawn casually one evening when she’d been leaving the mess as he’d entered with Ezra one step behind him.

His eyebrows had gone up, but Faro hadn’t said anything else. She hadn’t needed to. The slightest warmth in her usually deadpan gaze, the smallest quirk of her lips said it for her. She knew what he was looking for. He was hardly transparent, that much he was sure of. Outside of his inquiry to Ar’alani, he hadn’t mentioned Ivant, Un’hee, or Vah’nya despite his curiosity.

However, regardless of his well-concealed emotions, Ezra was concerned, which meant the young Jedi would leave no possible lead or ally alone, rallying them to his cause. Thrawn had no idea what his former protege and current… ward (protege came to mind, but he dismissed it) managed to discuss while he was out of commission. Ezra hadn’t been forthcoming on most of it, citing it ‘boring Imperial-speak’ and he’d be damned if he asked Faro for her recount of events He didn’t care to know that badly, nor did he care to give any more information to any more third parties.

He didn’t begrudge the fact that he had these emotions. Emotions and motivations could be powerful tools if utilized correctly so long as one was cognizant of both the potential strengths and weaknesses that came with them. Presently, his desire to know if he’d been correct was a far safer topic when compared to what he’d do if that was the truth. If Vanto was being censured, as his… subconscious self had so helpfully informed Eli (and unknowingly, Ezra), what was the nature of such a thing? That was what Thrawn wanted to know.

So, as if it were an innocent coincidence, he chose to sit at the same table as the Senior Commander, one seat left between them, and Ezra blissfully unaware across the table. Ezra asked a question, and his verb conjugation - while improving - was just suboptimal enough to draw Cinsar’s attention.

Thrawn saw pathways in the conversation, but he was content to let Ezra carry them while he supplemented the precise dialogue necessary to lay his subtle trap.

-/

Meticulously plotting a way for their paths to cross was, in the end, unnecessary. Three days after chatting up Commander Cinsar, Thrawn’s fellow captain made his way to the bridge midway through the second shift. He held a datapad in his hands, but made no effort to consult it. Instead, he carefully extracted Commander Velbb from his conversation with the Admiral about whatever complaint he’d had this hour and pulled Ar’alani aside for a quiet conversation.

Thrawn had been so preoccupied by the sight of russet skin and golden-brown hair in a sea of blue and black that he’d all but missed the appearance of Un’hee.

In an unorthodox move, she marched up to him wrapping her arms around his middle in a hug, her sharp chin digging in just south of his diaphragm. She tipped her head back to look up at him. The look in her eyes reminded him of that night, months ago, when she had sought both he and Ezra out for comfort. It was that alone that kept him from stepping back and out of her embrace. Instead, albeit awkwardly, he patted her back.

"You are back to normal?" She asked. "No lasting effects?"

He nodded, holding her gaze all the while. Still, one non-confirming eyebrow rose in increasing concern for her very affectionate outburst. Convinced, she released him, a dark flush lighting up her cheeks in the infrared. Her actions were impulse driven then, Thrawn supposed. "I hear you identified the poison. You have my thanks."

She smiled, her facial heat increasing even more. "It was nothing." She tilted her head, adding shyly, "And congratulations on your promotion, Captain."

"Thank you, Navigator Un'hee." He fixed her with an inquisitive look, more than ready to get back to business. "What brings you to the bridge?"

"I was accompanying Captain Eli," She said, looking back to Ivant and Ar'alani briefly. "Something has happened."

"What?"

She shook her head, and he escorted her to a vacant weapons station for privacy. "He would not tell me," Un'hee admitted. "We have not seen him recently. He has been hidden in his office for days, trying to find where and how things have been happening."

"Do you think he's found something?"

Fearful eyes looked up into Thrawn's, and the child Navigator nodded only once. "There are-"

"With me, Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Admiral Ar'alani ordered. Her tone indicated there was no time to argue.

The Navigator very carefully skirted around Thrawn, rushing back to Vanto's side. The Captain, who Thrawn could tell was positively exhausted, met his gaze. His pink lips quirked the slightest bit upward, and despite the cool professionalism lingering there, something in Eli's expression softened, just for a second. The moment broke as quickly as it came with Un'hee tucking herself under his arm and against his side. Thrawn made a mental note to revisit this moment in his mind's eye later.

Surprisingly, Admiral Ar'alani didn't comment on Un'hee's inherent clinginess. While she certainly had a soft spot for her Navigators, indulging such behavior (on the bridge, no less) was peculiar. He said nothing, however, choosing to observe as the Admiral gave her orders and led them from the bridge.

They passed Bridger and Faro on the way to their destination, both of whom wore matching grim expressions. Un'hee was left in their care, rather unwillingly. Whatever she'd been about to say was silenced with a brief, sharp look from Eli.

When they arrived at their destination, Thrawn understood why the Navigator hadn't been allowed to accompany them. They entered the medical quarter, but instead of turning toward the treatment area, they went to the morgue.

Three male and one female Chiss, their modesty preserved with sheets pulled to their clavicles. Even in death, their faces still held the slightest tension.

"Do not touch them with your bare hands," Ar'alani warned, confirming his suspicions.

"Blue death?" He asked, already suspecting the poison to be to blame.

"You have not seen it," She said. "Our medical reports are-"

Vanto, who had been silent this entire time, already donned gloves and had begun to peel back the sheet on the first of them. Then, he went to each subsequent body and similarly drew their shrouds down to just above the waistline. He stood back. Now, he wouldn't meet Thrawn's gaze. His gaze held hidden anger, and he kept it pointed at the floor.

"There was no time to administer the antidote?" Thrawn asked Ar'alani.

Ar'alani looked to Eli. Tension thickened the air. Eli didn't look up. Thrawn slid his eyes between them, trying to discern the meaning without giving his curiosity away.

"No," Eli said. His voice was worn, subdued. His gaze flicked from Ar'alani, something wordless there, then to Thrawn. "When it's done right, the poison kills quickly. Under ten minutes. The wrong amount takes longer, and causes more pain, as you no-doubt recall."

Ar'alani gave Eli a strong glare about something he'd said. He didn't respond. Interesting, he thought.

"The black spots?" He indicated the mess of acid-formed wounds on one of their chests.

"Where the acid comes close to the surface, almost eating through. It destroys the lung, and eats the bone. Metabolized through skin, and only grows more acidic by the chemical process of breathing. The color is blood and acid, beneath the skin," Ar'alani said.

"Even without an immediately fatal dose, it works quickly," Thrawn said. "I was unable to breathe within two minutes of Commander Wes'lash'andi dosing me with the poison."

Ar'alani hummed. "We are trying to find the reason why they were poisoned." She looked up from one of the bodies to Vanto. "Captain Ivant has been trying to figure out which families are involved. Un'hee's recount of events mentioned Copero. Commander Wes'lash'andi mentioned it to her before you showed symptoms. Considering when it happened, we pulled all of the ship's logs and all data from the shipyard from a month prior to our docking until the day we left."

"He would not be so overt," Thrawn commented. He examined the wounds more closely. They were ugly and odiferous, even despite the harsh chemical-clean smell of the morgue. "It was meant to deceive."

"It was," Vanto agreed. "Which is why I did more than that." He gestured to the datapad tucked between his arm and torso. "There was nothing smuggled in Copero, though that was a hint. He narrowed down our location." The human looked between them. "Commander Slasha was considered neutral as far as politics was concerned. However, he was seeing someone aboard the Steadfast prior to his transfer to the Compass. He gestured to the female Chiss. "Lieutenant Dorn'ati'vano. He talked about her often, and fondly."

Ar'alani sighed. "Her family is loyal to House Inrokini."

"Her grandmother is of that house," Eli confirmed.

"Are you suggesting suicide?" Thrawn asked, frowning.

"Not exactly." Eli sighed, and gave Ar'alani a significant look.

"There are more infiltrators aboard. We believe one group eliminated the other as a means to prevent incrimination."

"And the rest of House Inrokini's representation in the crew?" Thrawn wondered aloud. "That should be where we begin."

"They are here, Mitth'raw'nuruodo,” Ar’alani indicated. “Dead."

Thrawn's expression darkened. "Were they found together?"

"Yes," Ar'alani said.

The Chiss captain very carefully examined the deceased woman's fingernails. "Her fingers are damaged, like she touched the poison directly," He commented mildly. "And yet you insist this is not suicide?"

Eli cleared his throat. “No. This was done intentionally by outside parties.”

“Your evidence, if you please, Captain.”

Ar’alani fixed Thrawn with a look, as if to remind him that he wasn’t Vanto’s commander anymore. Vanto didn’t seem to mind. “The bodies were discovered hours after their death. It’s a little hard to tell what with the poison doing what it does, but they were dead for at least eight hours before they were found, seeing as they didn’t show up for their shifts.”

Thrawn watched Eli intently, waiting for him to expand upon his point. “This would look like a suicide, if one wasn’t aware of what they were working with, or all the details.” The human stood at attention, and despite his obvious exhaustion, cut a very confident, convincing profile. Now was hardly the time for Thrawn to consider attraction, but he could not deny that his fellow Captain’s combination of cool confidence and warm eyes, the way his lips curled around his Cheunh would be devastatingly distracting if there weren’t larger matters at hand.

“And those details?” Thrawn asked, voice low, coiled. Ready to see the patterns in whatever data Vanto had no-doubt collected. From the corner of his eye, Thrawn could see Ar’alani roll her eyes and put her hands on her hips. He didn’t have time to figure out what was exasperating her so.

Eli smiled. It spoke of momentary victory. A benchmark met. “We should have received a transport vessel at the end of the overnight shift. The manifest said it was supposed to deliver back up fuel and shield generators for the next cycle. It was a precautionary shipment. Someone waved it off.”

“These four?” Thrawn indicated the deceased.

“No.” His expression turned grim. “They were informed that the shipment was cancelled by someone else. Their communications, from what we could recover, indicated they were furious about it.” Ivant looked to Ar’alani, who nodded. “And it wasn’t until after their time of death that the ship was deleted from our logs. Whomever was responsible expected us to be tripped up at a quadruple suicide.” Chiss were prideful. Suicide, to them, was not an honorable death, and thus would be treated as an extreme exception, the indicators important to the families of the deceased as it would be considered a blight on their reputation.

Thrawn hardly cared about social stigma. “How did you know a shipment had been deleted? You did not say you pulled future manifests,” He said instead.

“I didn’t,” Eli agreed, shrugging, “Didn’t think I had to. I keep tabs on those automatically.”

Ar’alani said, “Captain Eli’van’to is obsessive about cargo and supply inventory, despite his express wishes to hold a command position,” For the Admiral, such a statement was practically an affectionate jibe. “Who am I to deny him his love of supply analysis?”

[leydoodle]

Ben 10 OC: Cassie Williams HCs

(Messy 10 minute scribble AHAHAHA)

A compilation of all the info I have written so far about Cassie/Mobius. She’s still being improved so some of these might change in the future but the general structure of her storyline is in here....!!

HCs under the cut!

General

Cassie is the granddaughter of Hugo from her mother's side. During his time-travelling journey with Paradox, he discovered the tragic future of Cassie from the abuse of his niece. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be alive by that time in order to save his granddaughter. Upon this realization, Hugo asked a favor from Paradox that if he sees anything bad happening to Cassie, he would take care of her. Many years later, Paradox would fulfill this promise.

Her telekinesis power comes from her father's side of the family. Her DNA came from a tribe that was said to have interacted with angels back in ancient times. In reality, these angels are actually rogue alien species who have come down to Earth and mated with the said group, giving birth to a special group of half-breeds that later on became strong historical figures such as kings, warlords, and many more. As time passed by, the genes of the alien race became much weaker to the point that only their enhanced mind and the ability to use telekinesis remained. Though there are possibly more people who have the DNA, only 14 have been documented so far, with Cassie being the most recent one.

 She was the cause of the infamous 'Mutant Catastrophe' in Bellwood. An event in Ultimate Alien where an upset Cassie wrecked havocked with her newly-discovered powers after getting fed up with the torment she was subjected to in her school. During the mayhem, Ben who was a newly-acknowledged hero at the time, decided to work with an underground organization who focuses on studying mutants, in hopes of saving his best friend. During the event, Ben was heavily conflicted as to whether he should fight his beloved friend or save the people of Bellwood. In the end, he chose to do his duties as a hero at the cost of his best friend's detainment in the organization's lab. Later on during the series, Gwen mentions that the sight of a chained Cassie being taken away is a sight that Ben is still greatly traumatized from.

Prior to Omniverse, the Plumbers were negotiating with the underground organization for Cassie's freedom. By the time of Omniverse, The process ended in the Plumbers' favor and thus was able to get Cassie back (despite some particular arrangements). Ben was greatly relieved from this news and wanted to reconnect with his friend again. Due to how they previously left things between them, Cassie was rather scared of the hero and avoided interacting with him, much to Ben's despair. After Ben's return from his months of banishment during the Frogs of War, they were able to reconcile in the aftermath, with Cassie saying, "Life's too short to be upset at your best friend." Ever since then, Cassie became the third member of Ben and Rook's team.

After her detainment in the underground organization, Cassie has developed an irrational fear against humans, only with the exception of some Plumbers. Her phobia has caused her to only be comfortable around aliens.

 Harangue has sensationalized Cassie as "Bellwood's Mutant Disaster". Due to her affiliation with Ben Tennyson, Cassie is often the subject for the journalist's smear campaign against the hero. His notable point would be that Ben being friends with such a destructive being meant that he could easily choose her side over saving other people. Due to Cassie's past action of causing destruction in Bellwood, people are actually very scared of her and believes that the journalist has a valid point.

Cassie loves to pair her smoothies with powdered sugar donuts. It's a tradition she does everytime she passes by Mr. Smoothy, even after she became a time traveler. As Mobius, she often buys smoothies and donuts during sunrise, when the people of Bellwood are barely awake.

According to Paradox, Cassie is always fated to be linked to a Tennyson in every existing timelines and universe, though he indicated that they won't always be friends.

Ship ( Ben/Cassie = Benssie)

Ben sees Cassie as a reminder of his much more simple life before he became a world-renowned hero. According to him, every moment spent with her was like being a normal kid all over again. Though he liked the powers and capabilities he got ever since he became an omnitrix-holder, being given the responsibility as the universe's hero at such a young age caused him to lose his 'innocence' in a sense. Because of this, he often goes to his childhood best friend to atleast experience being a goofy and geeky teenager for some time before going back into action. Alongside this, Cassie is someone who is very dear to Ben. Having grown up together, she is basically considered a 'family' to the hero. Because of this, Ben is extremely overprotective of Cassie to the point the latter became somewhat dependent on him.

Ever since they were kids, Cassie always had deep feelings for the young hero. It was only until they became teenagers that she realized that her feelings were romantic. However, since this was a point in time when Ben was in a relationship with Julie, she chose to repress and bury her feelings towards him (an action she continued to do so, even in Omniverse).

 At first, Ben saw Cassie as merely a best friend, someone special but not particularly a romantic interest just yet. It wasn't until Cassie got assigned into Ben and Rook's team that the young hero started to develop deeper feelings towards his childhood friend. Afraid of once again hurting his best friend, he decided to hide his feelings. Despite that, he was still very affectionate to Cassie.

Cassie's tarnished reputation and destructive powers is what makes her scared to be around Ben. She knows that he's a hero and that the public greatly trusts him. If anything, she's worried that her being around him is going to make the people turn against the hero. Though she tried to keep her distance away from her Ben, he still ended up chasing her, reassuring that no matter what the public thinks, she's still his dearest friend.

Hints of her 'death' were foreshadowed by Ben 10K during his visit in Let's Do the Time War Again. Upon meeting Cassie once again, he almost became sentimental until Paradox stopped him. After the whole ordeal against the Time Beast, the older Ben asked for a hug from the blonde, which the latter gladly offered. Upon arriving to his original timeline, he can be seen shedding some tears for his best friend and lost love.

Cassie's demise caused Ben so much pain to the point that even after many years it was something he had a hard time recovering from. His longing for Cassie was one of the reasons why the earlier years of his marriage with Kai was messy. After conceiving Ken, Ben made a promise to Kai that he will finally let go of his best friend for the sake of their future. Due to this promise, all pictures and memories of Cassie was locked away for the sake of the hero's family. Ever since then, Cassie's name has been a taboo to the Tennyson family.

Ben and Cassie are both absolute geeks for Sumo Slammers. Their love for the franchise is one of the many things they share a deep connection with. According to Rook, once they start talking about it, the two can go on and on for hours without stopping.

Their playlist consists of the following songs: all about you - taeyeon /  cornelia street - taylor swift / say you won't let go - james arthur / kids in love - mayday parade / cardigan - taylor swift / way back home - SHAUN / i will always think about you - bojack horseman / eight - IU (ft. BTS Suga) / futarigoto - RADWIMPS

Life As Mobius

Cassie's relationship with Professor Paradox can be described as familial-like. Due to the latter's lack of knowledge of his prior life, he sees the young lady as he describes, as "a sister, a daughter, and a granddaughter". Though he may have given her the role of a time traveler, Paradox aims to bring Cassie back to her proper timeline before the effects of time travel makes her fully immortal.  Overall, his purpose of 'adopting' Cassie was to fulfill his promise to her grandfather and his former assistant, Hugo.

Paradox aims to make sure that Cassie has let go of her grudge and massive hatred to herself before bringing her back to her proper timeline. On the other hand, though she knows the consequences of time travelling for so long, Cassie doesn't mind being immortal as long as it means she won't go back to Bellwood. Knowing that this is what she thinks, Paradox hasn't told her about his plans.

 Similar to her mentor, Cassie later on picked up the habit of mixing up verb tenses whenever she's explaining an event that's either to happen or has happened.

She mostly wears a large variety of dresses during her life as Mobius. Her reason for sporting this kind of style is because she wanted to 'be in touch with her feminine side more'. Growing up, Cassie was often deprived of decent clothing and was forced to wear hand-me-downs from Gwen. Though she was given proper clothing during her stay with the Plumbers, she never really knew the feeling of wearing 'pretty dresses'. Since then, she's been obsessed with collecting dresses from different time periods.  

At some point in her time travelling journey, in a certain campsite, she meets a lost child who she decides to help find his parents.  It's later on revealed that the child was a young Ken Tennyson who got strayed away from his parents. When Ben asked who helped him find his way back, his son merely replied with saying, "the lady in the big white dress" obviously referring to Mobius. According to Ken, ever since that encounter, he's started to believe in the supernatural, believing that Mobius was some sort of forest deity.

 After approximately a hundred years worth of adventure, Paradox ended up taking Ken Tennyson under his tutelage after the kid got grounded from using his own omnitrix. At first, this was an idea that Cassie was heavily against, though she was stating that the kid is 'incompetent' though deep inside she was very uncomfortable with taking care of the child of they guy she had always loved. Cassie ended up taking the kid under her wings after seeing his desire in being a hero (which heavily reminded Cassie of her similar childhood ambitions).

 When he was a small child, Ken was curious about the 'Cassie' that people always mentioned to his father. According to him, there was an incident back then when he brought up the name to his father that later on caused a fight between his parents. Ever since that moment, he's disliked the name, stating that it's a name filled with bad memories.

 Since Ben hid all things related to his childhood with Cassie, Ken has never actually seen the face of Cassie. It doesn't help that everytime he travelled to the past as Spanner, she would often be in another place. Due to this, he doesn't know that Mobius is actually the Cassie he's been long curious about.

 Ken sees Mobius as his 'cranky aunt'. His childish and impulsive nature often irritated the time traveler to the point that she would always scold him for being reckless. Despite that, he holds his mentor in high regards due to her intense dedication on heroism. Cassie, on the other hand, sees Ken as the spitting image of Ben,though she sees that the kid has the capabilities to uphold his father's legacy.

 After her thousand years worth of journey as a time traveler, Cassie does end up resolving her long grudge and self-hatred. However, she wasn't too sure of returning to a normal life in Bellwood, due to the fact that the flow of events have been proven to have a much better outcome without her. She's later on convinced by Ben 10,000 (who was brought in by Ken) to come back to his time, which she ends up doing. The outcome of her return remains unknown.

[neocab]

Translating the Cyberpunk Future

I'm a video game translator, and I love my job. It's odd work, sometimes stressful, sometimes bewildering, but it always provides interesting and inspiring challenges. Every project brings new words, slang, and cultural trends to discover, but translating also forces me to reflect on language itself. Each job also comes with its own unique set of problems to solve. Some have an exact solution that can be found in grammar or dictionaries, but others require a more... creative approach.

Sometimes, the language we’re translating from uses forms and expressions that simply have no equivalent in the language we’re translating to. To bridge such gaps, a translator must sometimes invent (or circumvent), but most importantly they must understand. Language is ever in flux. It’s an eternal cultural battleground that evolves with the lightning speed of society itself. A single word can hurt a minority, give shape to a new concept, or even win an election. It is humanity’s most powerful weapon, especially in the Internet Age, and I always feel the full weight of responsibility to use it in an informed manner.

One of my go-to ways for explaining the deep complexity of translation is the relationship between gender (masculine and feminine) and grammar. For example, in English this is a simple sentence:

"You are fantastic!"

Pretty basic, right? Easy to translate, no? NOT AT ALL!

Once you render it into a gendered language like Italian, all its facets, its potential meanings, break down like shards.

Sei fantastico! (Singular and masculine)

Sei fantastica! (Singular and feminine)

Siete fantastici! (Plural and masculine)

Siete fantastiche! (Plural and feminine)

If we were translating a movie, selecting the correct translation wouldn't be a big deal. Just like in real life, one look at the speakers would clear out the ambiguity in the English text. Video game translation, however, is a different beast where visual cues or even context is a luxury, especially if a game is still in development. Not only that, but the very nature of many games makes it simply impossible to define clearly who is being addressed in a specific line, even when development has ended. Take an open world title, for example, where characters have whole sets of lines that may be addressed indifferently to single males or females or groups (mixed or not) within a context we don't know and can't control.

In the course of my career as a translator, time and time again this has led into one of the most heated linguistic debates of the past few years: the usage of the they/them pronoun. When I was in grade school, I was taught that they/them acted as the third person plural pronoun, the equivalent of the Italian pronoun "essi." Recently, though, it has established itself as the third person singular neutral, both in written and spoken English. Basically, when we don't know whether we're talking about a he/him or a she/her, we use they/them. In this way, despite the criticism of purists, the English language has brilliantly solved all cases of uncertainty and ambiguity. For instance:

“Somebody forgot their backpack at the party.”

Thanks to the use of the pronoun "their," this sentence does not attribute a specific gender to the person who has forgotten the backpack at the party. It covers all the bases. Smooth, right? Within the LGBT circles, those who don’t recognize themselves in gender binarism have also adopted the use of they/them. Practically speaking, the neutral they/them pronoun is a powerful tool, serving both linguistic accuracy and language inclusiveness. There's just one minor issue: We have no "neutral pronouns" in Italian.

It's quite the opposite, if anything! In our language, gender informs practically everything, from adjectives to verbs. On top of that, masculine is the default gender in case of ambiguity or uncertainty. For instance:

Two male kids > Due bambini

Two female kids > Due bambine

One male kid and one female kid > Due bambini

In the field of translation, this is a major problem that often requires us to find elaborate turns of phrase or different word choices to avoid gender connotations when English maintains ambiguity. As a professional, it’s not only a matter of accuracy but also an aesthetic issue. In a video game, when a character refers to someone using the wrong gender connotation, the illusion of realism is broken. My colleagues and I have been navigating these pitfalls for years as best we can. Have you ever wondered why one of the most common Italian insults in video games is "pezzo di merda"? That's right. "Stronzo" and "bastardo" give a gender connotation, while "pezzo di merda" does not.

A few months ago, together with the Gloc team, I had the pleasure of working on the translation of Neo Cab, a video game set in a not too distant future with a cyberpunk and dystopian backdrop (and, sadly, a very plausible one). The main character is Lina, a cabbie of the "gig economy," who drives for a hypothetical future Uber in a big city during a time of deep social unrest. The story is told mainly through her conversation with the many clients she picks up in her taxi. When the game’s developers gave us the reference materials for our localization, they specified that one of the client characters was "non-binary" and that Lina respectfully uses the neutral "they/them" pronoun when she converses with them.

"Use neutral pronouns or whatever their equivalent is in your language," we were told.

I remember my Skype chat with the rest of the team. What a naive request on the client's part! Neutral pronouns? It would be lovely, but we don't have those in Italian! So what do we do now? The go-to solution in these cases is to use masculine pronouns, but such a workaround would sacrifice part of Lina’s character and the nuance of one of the interactions the game relies on to tell the story. Sad, no? It was the only reasonable choice grammatically-speaking, but also a lazy and ill-inspired one. So what were we to do? Perhaps there was another option...

Faced with losing such an important aspect of Lina’s personality, we decided to forge ahead with a new approach. We had the opportunity to do something different, and we felt like we had to do the character justice. In a game that's completely based on dialogue, such details are crucial. What's more, the game's cyberpunk setting gave us the perfect excuse to experiment and innovate. Language evolves, so why not try to imagine a future where Italian has expanded to include a neutral pronoun in everyday conversations? It might sound a bit weird, sure, but cyberpunk literature has always employed such gimmicks. And rather than take away from a character, we could actually enrich the narrative universe with an act of "world building" instead.

After contacting the developers, who enthusiastically approved of our proposal, we started working on creating a neutral pronoun for our language. But how to go about that was a question in itself. We began by studying essays on the subject, like Alma Sabatini's Raccomandazioni per un uso non sessista della lingua italiana (Recommendations for a non-sexist usage of the Italian language). We also analyzed the solutions currently adopted by some activists, like the use of asterisks, "x," and "u."

Siamo tutt* bellissim*.

Siamo tuttx bellissimx.

Siamo tuttu bellissimu.

I’d seen examples of this on signs before, but it had always seemed to me that asterisks and such were not meant to be a solution, but rather a way to highlight the issue and start a discourse on something that's deeply ingrained in our language. For our cyberpunk future, we wanted a solution that was more readable and pronounceable, so we thought we might use schwa (ə), the mid central vowel sound. What does it sound like? Quite familiar to an English speaker, it's the most common vowel sound. Standard Italian doesn’t have it, but having been separated into smaller countries for most of its history, Italy has an extraordinary variety of regional languages (“dialetti”) and many of them use this sound. We find it in the final "a" of "mammeta" in Neapolitan, for instance (and also in the dialects of Piedmont and Ciociaria, and in several other Romance languages). To pronounce it, with an approximation often seen in other romance languages, an Italian only needs to pretend not to pronounce a word's last vowel.

Schwa was also a perfect choice as a signifier in every possible way. Its central location in phonetics makes it as neutral as possible, and the rolled-over "e" sign "ə" is reminiscent of both a lowercase "a" (the most common feminine ending vowel in Italian) and of an unfinished "o" (the masculine equivalent). The result is:

Siamo tuttə bellissimə.

Not a perfect solution, perhaps, but eminently plausible in a futuristic cyberpunk setting. The player/reader need only look at the context and interactions to figure it out. The fact that we have no "ə" on our keyboards is easily solved with a smartphone system upgrade, and though the pronunciation may be difficult, gender-neutrals wouldn't come up often in spoken language. Indeed, neutral alternatives are most needed in writing, especially in public communication, announcements, and statements. To be extra sure our idea worked as intended and didn't overlook any critical issues, we submitted it to a few LGBT friends, and with their blessing, then sent our translation to the developers.

Fast forward to now, and the game is out. It has some schwas in it, and nobody complained about our proposal for a more inclusive future language. It took us a week to go through half a day's worth of work, but we're happy with the result. Localization is not just translation, it's a creative endeavour, and sometimes it can afford to be somewhat subversive. To sum up the whole affair, I'll let the words of Alma Sabatini wrap things up:

"Language does not simply reflect the society that speaks it, it conditions and limits its thoughts, its imagination, and its social and cultural advancement." — Alma Sabatini

Amen.