#i was considering adding a line about axis being like

[sixoclocker]

short comic revived clover and axis reaction bc ppl skip over his reaction so baaad in all the revived clover au’s i’ve seen i think it’d be nice☹️☹️

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

WC: 1828

Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, canon elements, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding, panic attacks, bondage, forced mating, dated derogatory terms

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo -Non-Traditional Alpha Traits @spnabobingo -Bed Sharing

A/N: This part has a couple of flashbacks in italics

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART IX

Partway down the drive, the car sputters and dies, rolling to a stop a few yards from the house. Bobby got up, mumbled idijits straightened his trucker cap, and heard the Impala’s squeaky doors simultaneously open; then Dean's voice was carrying on the night air, “If you’ve screwed up my car, I’m going to kick your ass!” 

Bobby marches towards the car and spits, “Stop giving your brother a hard time.” His rebuff dissipates when the elder brother's scarlet irises lock on him. Dean moves in front of a female sitting in the backseat like a predator protecting its kill and menacingly growls at him. 

****

Sam quickly rounds the car, blocking the Beta from his line of sight. “Dean, calm down, it’s Bobby. Remember when he'd play baseball with you instead of practicing with the shotguns?” Dean ignores Sam and tries to round-end his equally quick brother when a hand grabs his wrist. Dean halts and peers back at the O, who points to him, her ear, and Sam, who advises, “Listen to your Omega Dean."

Bobby’s jaw drops upon hearing the youngest Alphas' words. He sees the O wince as she holds her arms up and watches Dean quickly shift from aggression, something the younger man is prone to, to the gentleness he remembers from childhood. Once out, she scented the air before making the universal sign for Beta. “Yes, he is. Bobby, this is..," Dean strumbled over what to call her when she held up her hands and, with her fingers, indicated the number 4444968503.

“That’s a helluva lot of numbers for your name, little lady,” Bobby remarks, looking sternly at Dean. “Do I have to worry about you going for my throat while sleeping?” Thoroughly abashed by his reaction toward the man he considers a surrogate father, he responded No, Sir. “Good. We’ll discuss this," gesturing to Deans still scarlet-hued eyes, "later." Bobby peered around his darkened scrap yard. "Let's get inside. I feel like a crow waiting to be picked off here.”

Little did the seasoned hunter know how right he was as two celestial beings observed the group from the shadows.

"You know,” the one in a business suit said, “When they told me the apocalypse had gotten the green light and the job of watching over Michael and Lucifer's vessels to my department, I thought, this is it, this is what’s going to make me more than employee of the month for the fifth, no, sixth consecutive millennium. And I was this close," held two fingers centimeters apart, "To getting the key to the Axis Mundi and mano e mano with the big guy.” His features hardened, “Of course, that was before you. Care to explain why disregarded orders to get rid of that birth defect?”

The other looked across the yard at the parties retreating to the house while his unerring memory returned to the past. 

****

Castiel was assigned to watch over Dean from his conception. As his charge grew, he was in awe of the boy's perception of others' emotions and intuitive knowledge of how to comfort them.

Shortly before his fourth birthday, John and Mary told their son that he would be a big brother, showing him the ultrasound photograph and Dean got excited, saying he’d be the best big brother to his two siblings. His confused parents again explained there was only one pup but Dean skewed his little face into a fierce expression, continuing to insist there were two amused his father.

On the other hand, Mary felt apprehensive at her offspring's insistence, and the feeling grew throughout the pregnancy. A few months later, she was fixing lunch when Dean came running in and began talking to her middle, saying he would be the best brother in the world to them. He placed his tiny hands on opposite sides of her swollen belly, and Mary felt kicking directly under them.

Several weeks later, Deans bounced off the walls, saying his siblings would be here tomorrow. John and Mary reminded him it would be longer before his brother was ready for his debut, but in the wee hours of the following day, Mary’s water broke.

John found himself juggling a hospital bag, his son, and his mate to the car for the hospital. The angel sat in the backseat gazing at his excited charge and felt—regret, aware that fulfilling his orders to eliminate the extra pup would unduly distress the vessel.

But before Castiel could further analyze this sudden human emotion, he got distracted by the doctor saying there were complications with the pup. They needed John's permission for an emergency procedure. Not detecting any unnatural issue in the mother or pups, he quizzically followed to the delivery room where Mary, despite being drugged, had a quick delivery.

The angel watches the doctor evaluate the slightly sedated pups and deems them healthy before handing them to a nurse. But instead of taking them to the nursery, they detoured to the stairwell, and Castiel quickly realized they weren't a staff member but rather someone intent on stealing both pups. The angel intervenes and then finds him in a quandary. 

Saving Lucifer's vessel left him holding the baby—specifically, the unnecessary pup whose existence puzzled heaven. When the female gazes at him with disturbingly focused eyes, other emotions trigger in the angel, leaving him unable to complete his task. Momentarily searching, he transports her to another state and swaps her with another stillborn pup. 

****

"You disregard the plan that's been in place for eons because some reject made you feel?!" Zachariah barked out a laugh of disbelief and turned to his companion. “I’m going to ask and don’t lie. What made you grow a conscience this time? Strike that. I don't care. Now, who else knows about your screwup?"

"I told no one."

"Then we've got a mole within our midst." Zachariah is interrupted by the Winchester Alpha pulling into the yard. Pointing a finger at Castiel, the senior angel says, "This is your only chance to return to my good graces. Find out who is behind that thing's reappearance."

“Okay, thanks.” Bobby tossed the cordless on his desk. “Dr. Stevenson can get it, but it’ll take a day.”

“Good," John says, tossing back his third glass of whiskey. "The sooner that implants back in, the better.” Bobby sipped it on his glass, studying the other hunter he’d known for years. 

Bobby learned the day they meet that John Winchester was an obsessive bastard who’d do anything to get the demon that killed his mate, including dragging his two very young sons into the hunter life.

****

The first time the boys were left with him, Sam had just turned three and was curious about everything. Dean? Well, he found the seven-year-old rather odd. He would get out of sorts if his training schedule were changed but patient as Job with the toddler, answering every question, no matter how crazy they were, and caring for Sam as if he were his pup. 

One night, screaming woke him up. Rushing to the room the boys were sharing; Bobby stopped dead in his tracks. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking a howling Sam, trying to comfort him with tears streaming down his face. When he saw Bobby, Dean panicked and began apologizing, babbling on that Sam didn't mean to do it and he’d clean up the mess, confusing the Beta before noticing Sam had wet himself and the bed.

Reassuring Dean it wasn’t a big deal, Bobby gathered some clean sleep clothes and rustled them into a warm bath. Leaving Dean to watch Sam, he stripped the soiled bedding and tossed it into the washer, making a mental note to get a bed protector, grabbed a lawn bag, split it open, and placed it under the spare bedding.

He had just finished remaking the bed when Dean, carrying his sleeping brother, entered with a weary expression that made Bobby sad and angry. 

Putting on his kindest smile, he helped them back into bed, left a small lamp he’d found on, and told Dean to wake him if they needed anything, no matter how trivial.

****

Bobby returns to the present when John drops the now-empty bottle on his desk. Reaching into a drawer, he pulls a fresh one. Topping off his glass he remarks, "You wanna tell me why you failed to mention Dean has a fresh claimed Omega, let alone one beat all to hell." He stares John straight in the eye while sliding the bottle toward him.

John suppressed snarling for such an impertinent question, knowing he needed to stay on good terms with the Beta until Dean finished his mandatory probation and told him about Helms's establishment, Sam witnessing the O fighting with his Alpha lugs—explaining why it looked like it went three rounds with a vengeful spirit—to purchasing it for a dollar.

However, John couldn't hide the flash of guilt in his eyes as he skimmed over what happened at the clinic before admitting the judge's enforcement of the claiming statute was his fault, but didn't sugarcoat the details of witnessing Dean's claiming horrified Bobby.

“If everything is like you say, what'd you need Frank's help for?"

John looked directly at him, saying he needed the state order to take Sam erased if Dean failed to fulfill his probation. Bobby knew the Alpha was lying through his teeth but didn't call him out. Instead, he threw his drink back and headed to bed.

Passing the room the boys still occupied when staying; Bobby could hear them talking before loudly closing his bedroom door, giving John time to finish that second bottle. When he reopened it later, he could hear the Alpha's loud snoring, and carefully snagged the keys from his jacket, slipped out the kitchen door, and took the scenic route to the Alpha’s truck.

Bobby knows whenever John is hiding won't be in the regular places, i.e., in the glove box, over the visor, ect; began examining the vehicle's exterior and, finding nothing, opens the weapons catch. Nothing stands out when he spots a curse box and recalls John inquiring about creating one some time ago.

Bobby fiddled around with the unfinished box when, bingo, it popped open, revealing a bunch of rolled papers inside. He crossed to the garage and fired up a printer, making copies of the documents then returned everything to its original position because John would notice if anything were misplaced. Heading back to his room, Bobby noticed light still coming from underneath the boy's door and lightly rapped it before opening it.

The elder brother was spooning his mate from behind, which made sense since Bobby knew from personal experience that lying on bruised ribs dulled the pain. However, it was difficult for the man to process why his brother was sleeping snugly against her front, his fingers twined with Dean's, resting on her hip.

PART X

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva   @lassie-bird  @nancymcl   @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys  @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

[intersexfairy]

i have a question that i hope is not too vague to be answered.... if you have a trait that could be considered both within normal variation but also an intersex trait, and that is typically because in the intersex case it is because of an underlying medical reason and inner mechanism, would it not be possible for the case of it that does not have an underlying medical reason to be an intersex trait, mainly when you've had the weird reactions for it that's common from perisex people towards atypical sex traits and have been treated like you're bizarre for it (from medical professionals.....)? even if it technically is "within normal variation" with no medical component to it

(adding that i actually do not know which case it is for me yet and i already know i'm intersex for other reasons but this is just coming off like i have another intersex trait no matter which it is but its confusing since i have no clue if i have the actual medical reason behind it or if maybe just some of the medical professionals i've seen are just inexperienced)

**disclaimer: i am one intersex person. this is my view and other intersex people/communities may view this differently.**

this ask is a little confusing, and i can't really directly say yes or no without knowing what trait(s) you're talking about but... there are intersex people whose physical sex traits fit within the bounds of what's considered "normal," but still have an intersex variation. that intersex variation still impacts how their body functions - it's just to that, as far as appearance goes, it's to a much more subtle degree compared to someone who is visibly intersex (like me). but in someone without an intersex variation, traits within-bounds aren't intersex.. except for when they are. it's not a cut and dry line in the slightest.

i guess an example is me vs. my sister. i don't know if my sister also inherited the intersex variation, but odds are she did. and even though she passes as dyadic, she'd still be intersex. she's still struggled to fit within women's beauty norms, still experiences abnormal periods, will likely have fertility problems, still got (relatively) early puberty and maxed out at 4'11.. she's also hypermobile too (we may have CAH X Syndrome). although, of course, those are all things dyadic women can experience - it's just that if it's caused by an intersex variation, it adds an extra layer to the experience.

what marks intersex people is the fact our bodies (in appearance or function) don't conform to the sex binary and we have some kind of congenital factor that results in said sex variation (and often also reproductive disability). i know this is a medicalized view to some, but for me, it's more about embracing that intersexness is divergent on the axis of sex and ability - we're often not only oppressed for breaking the binary, but because our bodies do not function like dyadic, abled people's do. we face both queerphobia and ableism, due to a root cause (intersex variation/condition). we (as a group) don't have to disconnect ourselves from the "medical" side of our experiences to deserve rights (like, bodily autonomy and not being eugenics'd out of existence).

so yeah. maybe it's intersex, maybe it's not, but no matter what, your experiences are still important. intersex people aren't the only ones who struggle in regards to the binary (or the resulting discrimination and oppression that follows). i hope that, if you want it, you can figure out if you have an intersex variation. although, i will say that not every intersex variation has a diagnostic condition to back it... and sometimes intersex variation is as simple as the trait itself (like, clitoromegaly w/o a clear cause) which can make things even more confusing.

[jonathankatwhatever]

It’s 14 May 2024. I was working through gs counting bases. As I remember, we’d described the gsSpace generated using e as that which counts from 1gs to 2gs, making a Thing out of 2 Things through the combinations of its permutational potential, as that filters, channels, etc. Just realized how well this explains the concept of ultrafilters in both set theory and in order theory. The maximal part really leaps out.

This started me thinking about the concept of transfinite and how that became more closely synonymous with infinite. Just realized we generate those concepts. I don’t know why that wasn’t obvious before, considering the effort we put into demonstrating the creation of finite out of the infinite. We map infinite counts to gs and to szK. We then showed how ordinal in this notation maps to sK and cardinal maps to zK, with flat being the szK line, and that maps to different representations, notably of course the real line and the complex plane. The real line is both xyK as xK and yK and xyK in which yK is 0 and the axis is szK. I’m seeing this like a shade which you pull up or down to reveal the other. Pull it down and you see the complex plane with the vertical axis as szK counting complexity. Pull it up and you see the yK axis relative to xK in both gs and rs.

The cool thing is this can happen because we have the model in which these states exist and we have the mechanism by which these variations construct into existence. I’m sort of blown away by how great this is.

I started to think about how this hinges entirely on how much I believe in the construction I experience in you and with you to make 2. A mutual count across.

Oh that’s what we did earlier and it was completely gone until just now. It’s the connection to the M-set. And it arrived through a combination of Storylines, G and J and Ty, with the latter adding the a for the first time, and Joanie describing how the model diverges and thus defines a finite character because that infiniteness now converges to that description where it now diverges. Isn’t that abstractly wonderful? It’s the transfinite solution. That connects to the idea of a base, doesn’t it? We kind of have to go there because we were talking about bases and this came up and now it looks like a base in the same way that p-adics do. There is more subtlety in p-adic numbers than that statement may indicate. Individual numbers or statements about them generally, combinations, etc. It’s a full magilla.

Another way to say this is that this makes objects or structures.

I need a break.

[geometricalien]

I just thought of something: if "Alpha × Omega" is the acceptable default norm in A/B/O AU/Omegaverse, wouldn't that mean "Alpha × Alpha" & "Omega × Omega" are the equivalent of gay & lesbian relationships respectively?

[Edit: after an anon informed me of a racial slur I have added the appropriate slashes]

The short answer is yes I agree, alpha/alpha and omega/omega are examples of informal deviance against social norms or expectations in A/B/O universe just like how gay and lesbian relationships are contrary to the social norm of being straight.

The longer answer is, to an extent depending on how much emphasis a writer puts on societal values of the primary vs secondary gender in their world, like are there more privileges in being a male alpha than a female alpha? And likewise, does a female omega have more privileges than a male omega?

Because if so, then the name of the game is intersectionality!

Okay, another way to consider this is to try comparing irl sexuality and gender expression with a/b/o dynamics! Gender and sexuality are two spectrums measuring where you feel about yourself and what you may be attracted to. This is how I view it. There is the sliding line of masculine to feminine which is a 2D space and then on top of that is gender performance axis that makes this space 3D. Then you can have a bunch of other dimensions maybe about aesthetic or religious expression or whatever else that makes and defines a person. I believe that in a/b/o the secondary genders are another axis in this convoluted 14D chess game called gender and sexuality.

(I acknowledge that a/b/o genders overlap with irl genders typically the traditional masculine with alpha and traditional feminine with omega- but again hence intersectionality)

So for example, consider a female alpha who is only attracted to other females be it alpha beta or omega- she is a lesbian by our irl definition and "pandynamic."

Back to the beginning though, this all depends on if there is intersectionality in the author's world building. Is there any real societal difference in a female or male alpha? A female and male omega? Are high school sport teams separated girl and boy or alpha and omega? Is it pointed out specifically that it is rare for males to be omega and they struggle to get pregnant? Would a royal family cheer louder for a first born son or when the eldest presents as an alpha?

Through my eyes alpha/alpha and omega/omega or only equivalent to gay and lesbian relationships if our irl gender is completely replaced with a/b/o dynamics with the required societal changes to support this world with the changed values and principles, otherwise I think it would be a fun bit of world building to make some new labels for these relationships!

A/B/O is all about deconstructing our irl world and playing with gender in a funky way and that's what makes it so fun!

[faintvibes]

Oh BOY did this take a while!!!

Ramblings about my process are under the cut:

Starting, with the drawing on the outer edges, as it's what I completed first, I'll note that Germania's outfit is absolutely inspired by this post [1], and not necessarily what is most historically accurate. That's something I still need to do more research on, however (due to that being a more obscure field of study with limited easily available sources, and that image I liked being right there) I'm ashamed to admit the thought didn't even occur to me. I'll take the L this time, and try to be more thorough upon the next opportunity.

With Rome, there was more effort put into the historical accuracy.

To clarify the time: this image was intended to take place in the 400s or so. I tried to include lots of tiny bits of symbolism while working on this illustration (most of which are too tiny to be noticed, or make too much sense, but shhhh), and this is one point in this. This is meant to slightly foreshadow the Fall of Rome, where Rome himself is looking to Germania, when it is his descendants that will cause the fall, but Germania is looking to the next image in the line, which takes place in the future, indicating that he will go on to see things Rome will not. (Admittedly, I don't hc Germania surviving long enough to be alive to witness the time period in the image he's looking at, but the point is still there.) As an added little bonus, though I need to work on my ability to draw detailed backgrounds, the forest behind them is based off a reference image of Teutoberg Forest.

So, with all this considered, as well as the more easy availability of information about anything Roman, I put myself to work on finding sources on Roman armour in the 400s. The first source on Google [2] was very insightful, and included a very helpful little image at the top, though I unfortunately haven't been able to find the original source for it. If you view it on the link, however, you'll notice it bears great similarities to the outfit I've depicted Rome in.

I'll note here that this above drawing, as well as the following two I will discuss, were actually made over two months ago, with only the middle one being completed recently. As such, I might miss some details, or not understand why I made a certain creative choice as well as I might've months ago. I don't expect this to be overly intrusive, but just something to be aware of as we continue.

I did the next two drawings simultaneously, and they hold similar symbolic roles as well. Generally, in this illustration, there is a significance to the order and appearance of characters on the left -> centre side, as well as the right -> centre side, with both sides mirroring each other. Hungary and America here are both here as sort of 'successors' (I use this very loosely) to each ancient beside them, the imagery in their respective drawing showing both their continued existence (the flame of life still burning, or something along those lines) as well as being a reference to their personalities. Hungary I more use as a successor in the sense of being a state which rose after Germania's time, who held a similar warrior-like attitude to the one I imagine him having, and also being associated with Prussia and Austria, which connected her to Germania's descendants. America, meanwhile, is a successor in the sense of having success in a way similar to, and modelled after, Rome. Neither of them are meant to be true successors by way of inheritance, or passing the torch, serving more accurately as a reminder of powers long gone.

Hungary is depicted ~1200s, and her illustration is based off of an older sketch I had, where I was playing around with those years when she'd just realised that she was, biologically, female, and had to find out what that meant to her. And also what it meant to her people, and rulers! This specifically depicts her in feminine clothing, which is based off of this painting[3] and this painting[4] of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary/Árpád-házi Szent Erzsébet. I struggled to find resources for Hungarian, specifically, women's clothing around that time period, so I focused in on Hungarian women from the time, and attempted to find illustrations of them from as close to the era they lived in as possible. (If anyone wants to ramble to me about Hungarian fashion history, I eagerly invite you.) The cream-coloured background in her image is also a reference to this second painting, though I recognise that absolutely no one would realise that without me pointing it out. Additionally, I'll note that I depicted Hungary without a veil, when this is a characteristic feature of this period in European fashion- this is because veils were typically reserved for married women. Again, though, I cannot speak for Hungarian fashion specifically.

America's one also depicts him in a dress (of sorts), though to memory this isn't intentional. His is also based on a prior drawing, as I was reattempting an old project, where I depicted him in this same outfit, from a year or two ago. The general story behind this image is that I love the hc that he cross-dressed during the American Revolution to hide from England, and this is an outfit I found a depiction of and that I absolutely adore. It can be found in World of Art: Costume and Fashion[5], where in the 18th century section, there are a set of three sketches included by an artist drawing women he sees on the street. This dress is, then, actually from the 1730s, but as it so clearly depicts clothing worn by someone of low social standing, I doubt it would too out of place in later decades, beyond its wearer's clear lack of money. I don't have a particular scenario in mind where America would wear this dress, but I imagine that he would do so if trying to blend in on the street. As an added note: he's also grown his hair out a little, to make the disguise work better. (Why wouldn't he wear a wig? Don't ask my past self obvious questions :/)

And finally, we have the centre drawing. Technically, this image exists as part of its own little AU (which has lived in my head rent-free since I first thought it up while making this), it also occupies a strong place as symbolism in this overall illustration. Again, the character placements are important: Prussia and Germany finish the progression of Germania and Hungary, while the Italies are a callback to Rome. Both groups, unlike Hungary and America in the images to either side, have claims as the 'true inheritors' of Germania and Rome's legacies. Additionally, not only is this where both sides of the illustration 'come full circle', but the image itself depicts unity. This is the 1870s y'all!! Germany's unified! Risorgimento just came to an end! Double unification, both of which ring with reminders of the past!! Should Germany still be a kid? Probably! Why is Veneziano the only dude? I wanted to draw dresses! (Both a connected to the AU portion of this. If you're curious, dm me and unlock exclusive rambles. But I did also just want to draw dresses.)

For the references for this image, I drew the girls' clothes from this Harper's Bazaar compilation[6], which I found the link to on this glorious google doc[7], which I enthusiastically recommend. Meanwhile, Veneziano's outfit is mostly based off of references from this page[8]. Unfortunately, particularly for the girls, I saved all the specific images months ago, but did not save the particular pages I found them on, so if you're curious about anything in particular, you might have to go digging yourself.

The frames, of course, are references to the images they contain. The Rome/Germania frame is gold and decorated, to represent the legacies they (particularly Rome) left behind. (Yes, I know the frames are uneven, and the Rome-Germania frame doesn't line up. Allow me to have a couple vices in life.) Hungary's and America's represent the shape of their fire and sun, respectively. The middle four's frame is silver, linking it to Germania and Rome's, showing that they, too, have legacies of importance, even if they might not be quite as revered as their predecessors. The lines at the corners was just to be funky, and the flowers are a reference to those on Germany's dress and in her hair, not because of any particular symbolic reason, but because they're placeholder flowers since I wasn't assed to draw anything more detailed, and by the end I found that really, really funny. Did I mention that the middle drawing took half the total drawing time? I was really losing it by the end.

While working on this, I'd tried out a couple different ways to frame the drawings and provide a foreground, but ultimately this hallway setting was the only one I was satisfied. This is now where you are when you're looking at my work, I guess. Welcome to the blue hallway, Tumblr.

Edit: Totally forgot to mention!! This idea was originally inspired by a piece of fanart I'd seen before, so a nod to that for the idea!!

Sources:

[1]: Illustration of Germania, Gaul, Britannia, and Rome by Tumblr user Kuso Horreum, published approx 5 years ago

[2]: “The Advancement of the Late Roman Armor and Its Effectiveness”, by Hayden Chakra, published May 6, 2023

https://about-history.com/the-advancement-of-the-late-roman-armor-and-its-effectiveness/

(for some reason, inserting a link won't work for this one, so ig just trust me that I'm not posting a virus link or smth???)

[3]: "Santa Elisabetta d'Ungheria" by Pietro Nelli, painted circa 1365

[4]: Title unknown, artist unknown, presumably pictures the right person??, dated to the late 1400s

[5]: “World of Art: Costume and Fashion” by James Laver, published by Thomas & Hudson, published 14 April 2020 (there are earlier versions, but this one includes some edits, and it is the one I use)

[6]: “Victorian Fashions and Costumes from Harper's Bazar, 1867-1898”, complied by Stella Blum, published by Dover Publications, published in 1974

cuttersguide.com/pdf/19th-Century-Female/Victorian-Fashions-and-Costumes.pdf

(This is another link that tumblr just doesn't like... Fair warning that this is also a copy of this compilation that is available for free, however that might not necessarily be how the publisher wants you to view it)

[7]: “Claire’s Historical Fashion Reference & Resources”, created Apr 19, 2016, last updated 16 October 2022, created by Claire Hummel

[8]: “1870s Fashion”, by Bloshka admin, published 27 October 2022

[jimbo-capstone]

Week 9 - 12, November 1 - 29

I wrote this out earlier tonight, left to make food, came back and the site stoped being able to save/recognize my post and so I reloaded and the draft disappeared. This site sucks mega balls.

I was really proactive during November, I just found documenting a lot of my work was tedious and let my lizard brain get the best of me and avoided posting until now. 

I started out at the beginning of the month with creating the landscape the first scene would take place in. After that I started learning SpeedTree to create some 3D trees. SpeedTree is pretty complex but I was able to work through a lot of the basic tutorials and got a good understanding of the basic node based tree generation system. This was good because I wasn’t looking for anything particularly complex.

So here are the trees I created along with the textures I painted for each type. I'm using screencaps from blender because I was having trouble getting my SpeedTree files to run as they might be too big/broken right now, but it is fine as I have everything I need from them.

Birch Tree

Oak Tree

Old Decrepit Oak Tree

I used Blender for this project for a few reasons which I will touch on as later, but one reason was its texture painting work flow, which I found to much friendlier then C4D's. After using the landscape model to generate fallen leaves below the trees I imported everything into blender and painted the ground mesh.

I then went in and found some camera angles for the first few scenes that would take place in this location.

All together my project was looking like the following image and it was about midway through November.

I started working on the 2D character animation portion of the first scene next. I initially did some dirty rough animation but found I was having a lot of trouble so I scrapped it and spent the weekend of the 19th doing it again and came out with some pretty good results. This is the rough animation, done in a shorthand to capture the movement of the character quickly.

After this I did a cleaner version of the line-work, adhering to the character sheet I created for Ichabod, and then colored it. There are still in-betweens missing in this sequence, but seeing as that sort of thing takes more time then might be apparent, I decided to save that for final improvements and focus on getting more of the whole short done before returning to the in-betweens. I still have the in-between charts I drew in the 'final' frames I have here so I will not forget later this year when I return to it. I also added in some camera animation, I thought it would help build a bit of tension with the camera slowly creeping up on the isolated Ichabod, but also as a way of bringing attention to the 3D nature of the scene. This was easy to accomplish as the way the Grease Pencil works is by creating a plane that its in space for 2D drawings to exist on, so when pushing the camera in the scale adjusts accordingly with the scene. Another element of this sequence is the animation on the light, where after fading in it moves with Ichabod to mimic the movement of the lantern.

After this I created a hitching post for the horse to be tied to. I painted the post in Blender and added some detail like an outline and latch with the Grease Pencil. I also reanimated the reigns a bit to actually span the distance from the horse to the post in hopes of helping a bit with any perspective changes from the camera animation.

After this I worked to create the moon and passing clouds animation that would sit behind the character in nearly all the scenes in this location. I used the Grease Pencil to detail a sphere with an emitting texture. I then made a 2 long strips of cloud designs and had them animate slowly, on 2s, across the x axis in front of the moon. After the feedback I received at the crit I am considering remaking the cloud elements of this scene in order to capture more light from the moon. It will be fundamentally the same system, only the clouds will be created through geometry or fog volumes instead of Grease Pencil objects.

I then used the same system, only with a different brush, to create fog moving along the ground at Ichabod's feet.

This I also had some trouble with lighting, and I will be considering using a different method for this element as well.

After that I went and filled in birch forest a bit to help make the scene seem more full. Here I used Grease Pencil objects but to my defense the engine I was initially using, Cycles, lit them in a much more appealing way then which is shown in the video. I will go over why I had to switch over to Eevee shortly.

After this I animated the second scene, which is made up of a leaf being blown from the crooked oak tree in the center of the scene as the moon sits all cold in the background.

This was a fun scene to animate, as working in 3D is different than 2D and getting that change of scenery in what I was dealing with was nice.

However it was at this point that I realizes I needed to switch to Eevee. I learned that Cycles, a physically based render engine, would not render Grease Pencil Objects seen through opacity textures. It was a weird issue that required a lot of trouble shooting but the only solution I found was to abandon Cycles and work in Eevee, Blender's real time engine. Here is the comparison of the leaf with the clouds scene through its opacity. It was too much of a problem to ignore as not only did the leaf I was animating feature an opacity layer in its texture, but all the leaves in the trees made in SpeedTree did as well. (Right is Cycles | Left is Eevee)

After this I began work on a final short sequence to round out what I would be showing for the critique. This sequence follows the moon/leaf shot and is the set up for a close up on the lantern and candle. I decided to change the staging for this shot from what I had initially drawn in the boards to help set up the cut to close up better by showing the lantern bouncing around as Ichabod moved. This sequence is also not in-betweened.

I ended up changing the camera angle a bit, which caused some issues with the parallax from the perspective shift, but nothing too rough. I also spent a bit of time animating the plane the drawings animate on (shown at the end of the clip below) to have it actually move back and forth as he walks, helping to perpetuate the illusion of Ichabod moving within a 3D space.

After this I decided to create some small stone walls to help populate the scene more and take away from the smoothness of the terrain object. I painted these and used that painted texture as a bump map. I also went in with the Grease Pencil and drew in some moss to detail the stones.

All together, along with some rendering adjustments like depth of field and glow, here is the final sequence.

Overall it was a very productive month, and the crit went really well. My main take away was that I need to work more with the lighting of the 3D scene to try and take advantage of it. I have a few changes to this scene, but before I return to it I will be creating the next location's set to try and further practice and perfect the workflow.

[mypoisonedvine]

It’s Always The Quiet Ones... | college AU dark!Peter Parker x (slightly)naive!reader

for @nsfwsebbie​​‘s dream fic challenge, I was assigned to write something for @harryspet​​ which was vv exciting bc I love her stuff ;-; no pressure right? lol (also thank you to @evnscvll​​ for being my proofreader, sounding board, and partner for some very strange texting for the purpose of screenshots!)

Here is the prompt I got: peter is a dork and is weird and quiet, and the readers friends dared her to sleep with him. turns out he was really kinky and is really good at sex. can be dark.  And hoo boy, did I run with that.  I hope you like it!!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: smut (it’s consensual but with dubcon undertones, manipulation, and implied coercion/dubcon at the end), stalking, blackmail, voyeurism, and general creepiness.  Oh yeah and there’s some degradation and dacryphilia in there for good measure.

You and your friends were in the middle of your daily cafeteria lunch, chatting about the same sorts of small talk you always did.  

“Oh god, it’s that weird guy from class!” Jackie blurted out suddenly around a mouthful of fries, pulling you out of the conversation you’d been having.  Everyone at the table whipped around and your eyes went wide. 

“Come on, don’t look all at once,” you hissed.  

“Who is this guy?” Cody asked, looking around with confusion.

“The guy in the blue hoodie over there,” Jackie answered, motioning toward him with her head.  It was Peter, setting down his tray of food and opening up his laptop, putting earbuds in.  He was pretty much always on his laptop, it seemed like.  He took a bite of his pizza before getting back to whatever he was working on.

“He looks normal, or normal-ish,” Mia shrugged.  

“No, no, you don’t get it,” you shook your head.  “We have him in Computational Physics on Tuesdays and Thursdays--”

“Plus Friday lab,” Jackie interjected.

“--and he’s… kinda…”

“Creepy,” Jackie concluded.

“No,” you denied, “not creepy.  He’s just… a bit awkward, I guess.”

“And he stares at you, like, the entire time we’re in class.  But won’t even talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s weird,” Mia agreed with a shudder.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it’s kinda… sweet, maybe?  I mean, he’s just shy, right?”

“Oh my god you are such a slag!” Jackie teased, shoving you on the shoulder.  “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

“No!” you denied with wide eyes.  

“You’re just into the attention,” Cody rolled his eyes.

“I mean, it’s kind of flattering, isn’t it?” you admitted.  Jackie laughed.

“You should go over there and talk to him,” she decided.

“Nooooooooo, no way,” you shake your head.

“I kinda wanna see this,” Cody smirks.

“Literally just go over there and flirt with him, his head would explode,” Jackie suggested excitedly.

“I don’t even know how to flirt,” you chuckled.

“So you’re considering it!” Mia accused.

“I didn’t say that!” you squeaked.

“Pleeeeeease,” Jackie whined playfully.  “It’ll be funny.”

“I don’t usually sleep with people for comedic effect.”

“I’ll chip in $20 if you do it,” she offered immediately.  She turned to the rest of the table, “come on guys, we need to pool together and make her do it.”

“I’ve only got a ten,” Cody mumbled, pulling it out slowly before Jackie snatched it away.

“Okay, $30, who can make it $50?”

“Jackie, calm down,” you hissed.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t sleep with him for $50?  He’s cute!”

“I have $35 and 67 cents,” Mia counted, shuffling through her wallet.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, your head falling into your hands.

“Just do it, for me,” Jackie said, suddenly sounding oddly serious.  You didn’t understand why it mattered so much, but you decided it couldn’t be that bad if you just did it.

“Fine, fine, just shut up and don’t stare at us,” you instructed, getting up to a ruckus of cheers.  You didn’t even take the money.

You walked across the cafeteria, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, and hoped you wouldn’t totally make an idiot of yourself.  If you hadn’t already just by talking to a guy over a dare.

He didn’t seem to notice you when you stood by his table, still focusing on his computer.

“Um, hey,” you waved, and Peter looked up at you as he took out his earbuds.

“Hi,” he replied quickly.

“What… what are you working on?” you asked, motioning to the laptop.  He didn’t stop looking at you, and he didn’t say anything.  “I… we have comp together?  You know who I am, right?”

“O-of course I do!” he suddenly perked up.  “Yeah, I just…” he trailed off and turned to his laptop.  “I was just working on this model.”

“Can I take a look?” 

He smiled a little, and moved his backpack out of the seat next to him.  “Go ahead!”

You sat down and leaned in to look at his screen.  

“It’s-- it’s not finished but, basically I just put the kinetic energy of an object on the x-axis, the potential energy on the y-axis--” 

You used the laptop’s touch screen to move the model around, impressed with his work.  “And the z-axis is the conservation of energy for work done on an object,” you finished.  

“Uh, yeah, exactly,” he nodded.

“It’s beautiful!” you realized, appreciating the variety of colors as each data point was suspended in the graph.  

“Do you do any modeling?” he asked you, and for a hot second it felt like a line.

“Um,” you laughed, “no, not much at least.  Nothing extracurricular.”

“Oh.”

“I’m more into abstract math, if I’m being honest.”

He smiled.  “Oh, you’re one of those.”

You laughed, shoving him on the shoulder playfully, but regretting it as you saw his smile drop a bit.  “People are so judgmental about abstract math, as if it isn’t the study of the founding principles of mathematics.”

“So you think adding a pineapple and a banana is the foundation of mathematics?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Okay, there’s so much more to abstract mathematics than weird variables,” you frowned.  “Like basic functions on matrices!  Don’t act like it isn’t dope as fuck to add, subtract, multiply and divide matrices.  If you saw my whiteboard in my dorm you would understand.”

“If I had a whiteboard now I could prove to you that abstract math is overrated,” he countered.

“I’d love to see you try,” you scoffed.  You hadn’t really meant it literally.  

“I don’t have anything for the rest of the day,” he shrugged.  It took you a moment to realize he was suggesting to actually come to your room and talk about math.  You weren’t sure if that was even what would happen if you went back to your dorm…

You opened your mouth to say that you were busy, that you couldn’t, that you shouldn’t, so you were a little surprised when you heard yourself say “sure” instead.

And that was how you ended up sitting on your kitchen counter with Peter Parker between your legs, kissing you like you’d never been kissed before.

It sort of happened all at once.  He just grabbed you and you were confused but went with it, because life is short and he was cute and his hands felt unexpectedly wonderful as they gripped your back.

You gasped a bit when he started to pull your shirt over your head but he didn’t slow down, quickly removing his own-- oh, hello there six-pack, nice to meet you-- kissing you again as he wrapped his hands around your waist and slid you off the counter, guiding your legs to wrap around his hips.  He carried you to the bedroom with unexpected grace; he was so much stronger than he looked.  And he looked different than he ever had before as he tossed you down onto your bed and started to kiss his way down your abdomen while his fingers slipped under the waistband of your shorts.

“Oh god, Peter!” you yelped as he kissed along your thighs, pulling down your shorts and underwear and tossing them to the side.

“Say my name again,” he demanded before instantly latching onto your clit, sucking and licking directly onto the bundle of nerves.

And you really had no choice in the matter, his name pouring from your lips over and over, accentuated with a yelp as he shoved two fingers into you, finding and massaging your g-spot before you could even process everything you were feeling.

“Oh my god, fuck, Peter!” you hissed, your head falling back onto the mattress so hard it bounced a little.

You were barreling towards an orgasm faster than you probably ever had before.  This was nothing like the few other hook-ups you’d had since starting college-- it wasn’t even like the times you’d been alone with your hand or a vibrator.  This was like an assault on the senses, so powerful that you couldn’t even really keep track of the sounds you were making or anything that wasn’t his mouth on you and his fingers in you.

“I’m gonna come, oh my god, I’m gonna come don’t stop please--” you moaned as your words turned into mostly incoherent nonsense.  How could you be expected to form a sentence in these conditions?

Thankfully, he didn’t stop.  He kept lapping at your clit as if he hadn’t even noticed your pleading, his fingers twisting inside you even as your walls clenched so tightly around them that it became difficult to keep up the pace.  Your hips involuntarily bucked against his face, your legs quivered as he refused to give you any reprieve from the sensation, but he kept going.

“Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck Peter I can’t-- it’s too much-- oh god,” you babbled, but it fell on deaf ears.  A small part of your brain was confused why he wouldn’t stop-- you hadn’t told him outright to stop but it was kind of implied, right?  Wasn’t it some amount of not okay that he was still going?  It made your gut sink in a way that was equal parts disturbing and erotic.  

You were trying to pull away but his arms wrapped around your thighs and held you down.  God, he was strong.  He looked kind of skinny in those hoodies he was usually wearing, but now that he was actually exerting some force he was clearly muscular.  You felt helpless and it, oddly enough, turned you on.

“Peter, please, oh my god, slow down I-- I can’t take any more,” you whimpered; your voice came out all high-pitched and squeaky and it would’ve been embarrassing if you had enough brainpower left to care.  

He groaned against your skin but said nothing, using his teeth to lightly graze your clit.  Your whole body jerked at that, a sob tearing from your lips suddenly.  It felt like you were past the point of orgasm now and just lost in some sort of aggressively intense world of pleasure-- it neared pain, really.  You had never been pushed to your limits like this; you hadn’t even realized that there were limits which one could be pushed to this way!  It was exhilarating and exhausting and overwhelming.  You fought tears from forming because it would be so embarrassing to cry right now, and he would probably freak out and think you were hurt or something… maybe you were hurt, you couldn’t even tell at this point.  But at this point, it was unstoppable.  You were fucking crying from the overstimulation and he hadn’t even put his cock in you yet.  Your face was so hot that your own tears felt cool as they poured down your cheeks.

Finally, he stopped when he heard your sobs.  But instead of concern or fear or confusion, his expression was simply joy.

“Oh, you look so cute when you cry,” he cooed, sliding back up your body to kiss your tears away as they fell.  Then he kissed your mouth, open and sloppy and aggressive, and the taste of yourself on his tongue made your head spin.

Before you could collect your thoughts, he pulled back and made quick work of his jeans and boxers-- fuck, he was big.  

“You’re too kind,” he grinned, discarding the clothes and stroking his cock a few times.

You hadn’t realized you had said it out loud, and you felt a little nervous but then he was on you again, kissing you roughly and forcing his tongue into your mouth.  You felt him reaching down, gripping his cock and rubbing it through your folds.  You were soaked, and swollen, and nearly sore.  Every time the tip slid over your clit, you jumped a little.

He pushed into you ever so slightly, moving the head of his cock inside you and nothing more.  You whined with confusion and anticipation, but he continued on teasing you.

“Please,” you whimpered into his kiss.

He pulled back and looked down at you, his eyes blown so wide that they looked like they’d gone black.  “What was that?” he asked, and you sighed because you knew he could hear you the first time.

“Please, Peter,” you repeated, louder, “I need more.”

“More…?”

You sobbed with frustration, and desire.  “Fuck me, please.”

He thrusted forward and you groaned as his cock stretched you open.  It was like night and day, how he went from slowly teasing you to slamming into your eager walls.  You cried out and gripped at his arms, just trying to steady yourself and maybe stop your skull from whacking the headboard if possible.

“You love it, don’t you?  You love my cock,” he growled.  His voice was lower, gravelly.  He sounded like an entirely different person.

“Yes,” you replied weakly.

“Say it,” he demanded.

No one had ever talked to you like this before and it made your cheeks burn.  “I-- I love your cock,” you stammered.  

He smiled and you hoped you’d done it right, and that he wasn’t smiling at your obvious nervousness or lack of experience.  You didn’t understand how this was normally supposed to go, because you didn’t normally hook up with people so casually-- you had just never really been interested in it.  But now that he was fucking you so hard you could barely breathe, you were starting to get the appeal.  God, your last boyfriend hadn’t even made you come in five months of dating, meanwhile five minutes with Peter had made you a sobbing mess.  Even now you were biting your lip to hold back your tears from the sheer intensity of the sensations you were experiencing.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he pouted condescendingly.  “You don’t wanna cry but you can’t help it, huh?  You’re my dumb little crybaby aren’t you?”

You tried not to react to that but you knew he felt your walls clench suddenly.

“You like that?  You like being my stupid whore?”

“S-stop,” you begged weakly, feeling beyond humiliated.

“But you like it, angel, I can tell.  Don’t lie to me.”

He reached down to swirl his thumb over your clit, laughing at the way you tensed up and tried to squirm away.

“Is it too much princess?” he asked, but the nickname read less sweet and more mocking.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?  You asked me to fuck you.  Begged me.  Now you act like you can’t take it, like you’re this delicate little flower and not the dirty fucking whore I know you are.”

“I-- I’m not a whore,” you denied even as you struggled to suppress your obvious arousal from the derogatory nature of his words.  You felt a little guilty for being into it, and slightly insulted, but fuck if it didn’t make your back arch and your throat dry and your pussy so excessively wet.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he scoffed.  “But, maybe you’re not playing.  You really are dumb, aren’t you?”

You logically knew that it was too late to deny anything he said, but you still clung onto your dignity as best you could.  “N-no!”

“Not all the time, just when you’re wet.  Isn’t that right?  You get so desperate for cock and you don’t wanna be smart, you just wanna be somebody’s brainless fuckdoll.”

That sounded so appealing in some forbidden, filthy way and all of a sudden you were going to come again, any second now.

“Yes!” you nearly screamed, falling into your pleasure.

“Come on my cock, baby,” he encouraged, “come for me.”

You didn’t even sound like yourself with the noises you made, or maybe it was just that you’d never had the chance to make noises like that before.  Either way, your orgasm crashed through you and nearly punched the air out of your lungs.  Your toes went numb.  You didn’t even know that could happen.  And most important of all, your walls tensed and fluttered so hard that he began moaning into your ear.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come inside you.”  You couldn’t tell if it was a warning, like he was asking permission, or if he was just informing you of his intentions which you would be powerless to stop even if you told him not to.  You didn’t have to find out because you were on the pill, but it made you realize all too suddenly that you should’ve had him put on a condom-- how could you have forgotten?

His moans turned hoarse and with a growl and a tightened grip on your hips, he spilled deep in you, coating your walls as his length flexed and twitched inside you.  For a moment you were just stuck like that, his weight holding you down as he caught his breath, and finally he rolled to the side and you could breathe cool air again.

“That was…” he began but trailed off, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder.  “You’re amazing.”

It was quite the shift from how he had been talking before.  It was comforting, but you were still a little confused.  “Really?”

He laughed softly.  “Did you not notice?  God, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

You were curious about where he was going with that, but then he suddenly sat up.

“Do you want some water?” he offered.

“Uh, yeah,” you smiled.  “The cups are in the cabinet just to the left of the microwave.”

He nodded and gave you a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out of the bed, slipping his boxers on over his still-hard cock which was now coated in your come and his, and dashing out of the room.

You were mostly content to just lay there, although you felt uncharacteristically sore between your legs, and quite… sticky.  You glanced over to your whiteboard and realized he never had any intentions of talking with you about abstract math.  Was this just a one-time thing, or was he going to come back and ask you out?  Were you boyfriend and girlfriend now?  Or were you just a clueless romantic who thought that sleeping together meant more than it really did?

You rolled over and saw Peter’s phone resting on the bedside table.  He must have set it there when he was stripping quickly while you two had been making out-- or that’s what you were pretty sure the order of events had been, it had all happened so fast…

At that exact moment, the screen lit up with a notification.  You were about to roll back and not look at all, until you got a glimpse of the words.

PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14

You furrowed your brow.  It looked like an alert for an upcoming class, except that this was your class, the one you had with him, and it wasn’t until tomorrow.  No assignments due today, either.  And what was with the row/seat thing?  Peter didn’t sit in the third row… you did.

You picked up the phone just enough to angle it to see the rest of the notification.  It wasn’t a calendar alert; it was a text message.  “PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14” was the contact name.  You could only get a preview of the message…

okay, it’s done isn’t it?  can you please delete those pic….

You were curious, or maybe just concerned.  Was the seat number supposed to be the person texting him?  How were you supposed to keep track of who sat where to know who it was?

It had to be somebody from your row, but it was just you, Jackie, and a bunch of random dudes that Peter had never seemed to have any interaction with.

You assumed you wouldn’t be able to unlock the phone to even try to snoop, which you didn’t want to do anyways, but when you slid your thumb over the screen, you gasped when it opened straight to the conversation.  Who didn’t put a password on their phone?

okay, it’s done isn’t it?  can you please delete those pictures now?  I did what you asked.  I won’t tell anyone.  just send me proof that the photos are gone, please.

You felt a little sick.  You had no idea what this meant but it scared you.  You saw the conversation from before but it didn’t make any sense.  You scrolled back up to try to figure out what they were talking about and gasped when you saw a picture Peter had sent to the contact.

It was Jackie.  But she wasn’t alone.  She was on her knees in the lab room, and you gagged when you realized what she was doing-- or really, who she was doing it to.  

She’d told you she had a casual thing with a new guy but refused to say who it was.  You realized why now.  She was fucking your professor, and you just knew she was doing it to get a better grade.  You had been trying to figure out how she was earning higher marks than you but never seemed to be able to discuss the class material.  It all made sense now, but it wasn’t a comforting feeling.

You scrolled down a bit to see the conversation after the photo, and your blood went cold as you read it.

You saw several more messages but you couldn’t bring yourself to read any of it.  You knew everything you needed to know.

You weren’t sure what inspired you to open his camera roll… of course you wouldn’t find anything comforting there.  But you had to see for yourself.

It was just a list of folders, so many you could keep scrolling for ages.  Each had a label and a thumbnail image.

The thumbnail of Jackie on her knees jumped out first.  PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14.  45 images.

A girl in a lacy bra posing for the camera.  PHYS 509, row 1, seat 8.  12 images.

Two girls making out in a crowded room, holding red solo cups.  ENGL 104, row 12, seat 5.  6 images.

A nude selfie in front of a mirror.  PHIL 108, row 2, seat 2.  14 images.

And then the one that made your heart stop.  It was a picture of you in a bikini, taken by a friend on spring break.  PHYS 507, row 3, seat 13.  1 image.

The second you jumped up, dropping the phone, he was there with your promised glass of water in hand.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.  Just a second of silence was enough for him to pick up his phone from the floor and realize what had happened with a grin.  “Oh, that,” he sighed, slipping it into his pocket after looking down at it with a sort of loving look, like he was proud of his work.  “I suppose it’s my fault for leaving my phone right there, without a password, knowing I would get a text from Jackie any minute.”

“You wanted me to see it,” you grimaced, “you wanted me to see what you did to my friend.  What you did to all those girls.”

“I didn’t do anything.  They do all the heavy lifting, I just hack them and get pictures of it.  Or, in your friend’s case, I hack them, find out they’re fucking the professor, and follow them to their next rendezvous.”

“You’re fucking sick,” you spat, and he just shrugged.  “You’d better delete those photos of Jackie.”

“I will, don’t worry,” he soothed.  “It’s a shame though, she was pretty prolific.  You, on the other hand, you’re a good girl.  You even had pretty good security, I respect that.  Here’s a tip: your ISP creates the intranet that your wireless webcam uses to connect to your laptop.  It’s password protected, but it defaults to your phone number, and most people never change it.  Including yourself.”

You shivered.  “You watched me with it, didn’t you?”

“Well, I had to since you didn’t have any good photos of yourself.  And you do a decent job of erasing your porn history… but not a perfect job.  You watch some interesting stuff.  And you look so hot with your hand stuffed in your panties, rubbing yourself to whatever nasty shit you’re watching...”

“Shut up,” you demanded, covering your ears, “stop, please.  This is so fucked up.”

He laughed a little.  “You look better in person though.  A webcam could never capture how perfect you look when you come.”

“Please just stop,” you sobbed.

“Stop what?  I’m just telling you the truth.”

“I should’ve listened to my friends.  You’re a freak.”

“Hmm, you seemed to like it before.”

“Just delete those pictures of Jackie… and let me go…” you seethed.

“I will,” he promised.  “But, I need something to make up for the loss of some great spank bank material.”

You felt sick.  But what else was new?

“I need to finally get some good pictures of you.  Come on, isn’t it sad that your folder is so empty?” he pouted, pulling the phone back out from his pocket. “I could ruin a lot of lives with these folders.  Just let me take a few photos and you can spare them all the humiliation.  Nothing I haven’t seen you do before.”

You really really wanted to just deck him, but you knew he could probably release those photos with just one push of a button.  He was prepared.

“Don’t post them,” you pleaded.

“You’ll be good?”

You clenched your jaw.  “I’ll be good,” you answered through your teeth.

“Oh, look at you,” he cooed, “such a sweet girl you are.  Helping out your friend even after she threw you into the lion’s den to protect her secret.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way.  A pit formed in your stomach.

“Now come over here and get on your knees,” he grinned, turning on the camera.    

[abtheb]

BOTW Rito Devblog (Part 1)

After going through my 2021 art files, I thought it could be interesting to do some sort of timelapse/process for how I make models - not that I expect anyone would actually be interested, or to suggest that I, in any way, know what I'm doing. If nothing else, it would be fun to look back next year/later at my silly past practices and enjoy seeing my progress in retrospect.

I'm entirely self-taught thanks to youtube tutorials, a lot of trial and error, and very patient and incredibly wise developer friends who dummy down their answers to my questions about the more tech-side of this hobby. I started around two years ago with the mindset that, much like being a meaty beef man irl, it's all about making the time to put in effort and practice consistently, and enjoying what you do.

Hence, the joy of playing/replaying old games with an artist's eye and making models from them. Dragon Quest 11, World of Warcraft, LoZ Majora's Mask, Banjo Kazooie - it's been a lot of fun to re-experience these games from this new perspective, and a lot of good practice to make models based on the work of vastly superior artists.

So all that to say, that this is a brief, incomplete, amateurishly-considered process for how I made the Rito I posted the other day using Blender 3.0.

References

Play a game, find a neat model, take screenshots of it - from the front, sides, back, close-ups of the face, cutscenes, whatever. I chose Teba because he's neat and because I don't trust my skills enough to do Kass the justice he deserves.

I try to ensure that for the front/side/back references, the scaling of the subject is as close to identical as possible. It's worth taking the time to take good in-game screenshots, as it will really help make things easier throughout the whole process.

2. Shape a torso cube

We start with the torso, and ultimately used one cube for the entire model's mesh - except the clothes, which I would add at the end. We also mirror the cube along the middle, as Teba is photogenically symmetrical.

Using front-orthographic view (shortcut: Numpad 1) to align the cube with the torso, we make a few loop cuts (shortcut: Ctrl+R) and start shaping the silhouette as seen from the front, grabbing the edges (G) and moving them along the X axis (shortcut: X). If viewed from the side, the above/below would still look like a square.

Grab edges and move them along the X axis to create the form

Swap between front and side orthographic view (numpad 3) and repeat the process. However, since we want to keep the front silhouette accurate, we move the vertices rather than the edges. X-Ray mode helps to line up the proportions.

Grab vertices and move them along the Y and Z axes

The mirror will act as an additional edge, so the end result is hexagonal when viewed from above.

Top orthographic view (Numpad 7)

In my unfortunate experience, it can be easy to get carried away and start making tons of loop cuts to try and refine the shape to a high detail early. Since this model will not be very low poly, some extra loop cuts are needed to round out the torso and prepare to extrude arms and legs - but practice and trial and error (mostly error) has shown me that fewer is better, and that each cut should be made thoughtfully.

Thoughtful loop cuts

To that end, we make 1 loop cut across the front, and 2 across the side - then continue to refine the shape. Swap continuously between front and side orthographic views, turning X-Ray mode on and off as needed. Using a combination of Grab (G), Edge Slide (GG), and locking grabs to axes (X, Y, or Z to lock in the respective axis), we can move each vertex in place until we get a shape we are happy with. Keeping the vertex count low by avoiding too many loop cuts makes this process quicker and more manageable - though I ended up adding a few additional loop cuts along the height to get the curvy figure just right.

Our immediate goal is two-fold:

Complete the general profile of the torso

Anticipate the location of, and prepare those areas for, extruding arms, legs, head (I forgot about the tail until the model was basically done, but luckily the topology was clean enough to extrude it painlessly right at the end)

Predicted arm location

Moving these vertices into place and cleaning the topology of the mesh is a bit painstaking, but (imo) it is also meditative and very satisfying when you get the shape right. Take your time, because the cleaner the mesh is, the fewer problems you will have later when extruding limbs, texturing, and rigging the model. Though that being said, don't lose your mind getting the vertices just right - because you will inevitably come back and make topology adjustments throughout the modeling process anyways.

When you've reached a shape you like, shade it smooth, save your progress, take a step back, and enjoy your cube.

Completed torso

I'll post the next parts of this under the "rito art devblog" tag.

[potteresque-ire]

Here’s my response to @pussyibo, who tagged me on a post about Gg’s Li-Ning brand endorsement. 

First of all, I’d like everyone to please read @accio-victuuri‘s wonderfully written, detailedly researched post on the Li-Ning brand, the Xinjiang cotton support rally on Weibo, and the narrative the state has spun on the issue. I would’ve provided similar information in my response as well—although no way I could’ve laid it out as clearly, as to-the-point as @accio-victuuri did—because this background is critical in explaining my thoughts on this issue.

I haven’t reblogged the Li-Ning ads, but I must confess that the decision had little to do with politics. I’ve always leaned towards re-blogging art than real people.

That said, however, Gg’s Li-Ning ads have, of course, crossed my dash. And I’d be honest and say this as well: I haven’t really found them—or by extension, the idea that Gg was endorsing the brand—offensive, precisely for the reasons @accio-victuuri laid out. Li-Ning is a legend in China; a highly decorated olympic gymnast, he was the national pride chosen to be the final torch-bearer and torch-lighter for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. His company, established in 1990, was among the first Chinese brands with name-recognition overseas and has won high-profile international sponsorships—rare achievements among Chinese-owned enterprises, even to this day. 

Based on Li Ning’s identity and his company being a National Brand, I’d be more surprise if the Li-Ning brand doesn’t use homegrown, “patriotic” cotton, before even considering the practical reasons—Xinjiang cotton being a domestic product that eliminates the costs of shipping, tariffs etc; that it’s of such superior quality that international brands touted its use—a reversal of the usual downplaying of their products’ Chinese origin, due to the common associations of “Made in China”=“Bootleg”,“awful quality”; that makes up ~20% of worldwide cotton production—ie. most Chinese families are probably already using products with cotton from the region (blankets, for example). 

From that perspective, therefore, I’ve viewed the endorsement as little more than a case of a high-profile Chinese celebrity endorsing a high-profile Chinese brand, named after a national hero and targeted towards the local market. I breathed a little sigh of relief for Gg, admittedly—imagine if his new endorsement over those same few days had been for a brand under the Better Cotton Initiative; he would’ve been flayed alive, if the antis’ words were knives.

(And who said they aren’t?)

As such, I also haven’t considered the Li-Ning brand as “morally inferior” to Gg or Dd, or, the other way around, that Gg or Dd are “morally superior” to the Li-Ning brand. I haven’t considered drawing a moral ruler along this axis. I either believe they’re all doing what their sociopolitical environment has taught them, guided them, demanded them to do, or I don’t. Li Ning (the person and the brand), Gg, and Dd all have a celebrity status attached to them. They’ve all flourished in that one sociopolitical environment—that one they also call home.  

Ultimately, Gg and Dd belong to China. They’re the product of the country, its all powerful, all controlling regime. No one can be isolated from their backgrounds—my background colours every word I say here; likewise, there’s no place I can draw a line and separate Gg and Dd from the Communist Red behind them. I wouldn’t have posted about China’s sociopolitical environment, researched on it as a GgDd fan otherwise. 

I either walk away from them all, or I don’t. I either stay a fan, or I don’t. The latter is my choice. Every minute.

Have there been instances in which news about Gg and Dd make me especially uncomfortable? Yes. Photos of Gg in PLA (People’s Liberation Army; Chinese army) uniform for AT, or Dd in police uniform for BAH, for TTXS still give me stomach churns every time I see them. A violent squeeze of the heart.

Visceral reactions that come from, I suppose, the amyglada. More organic, primitive than thought. 

I’ve seen those uniforms in RL action—uniforms worn by those who’re truly responsible for the labor camps and mass surveillance, the torture, the unreported deaths, the disappearances; uniforms Gg and Dd have expressed support outside their drama, their host roles:

Translation: #I support Hong Kong Police too# (On red banner) “I support HK police. You can beat me up now.” What a shame for Hong Kong.

(Dd reblogged the same post originated from People’s Daily, the State-Controlled Newspaper).

I’m going to go on a quick detour and provide the backstory of this red little box, this piece of propaganda that is much more blatant than a clothing ad. I’ll explain why in a bit.

Here’s an article that explained the incident from which the quote was drawn, that occurred on 8/13/2019 during the Hong Kong Protest and the airing of The Untamed. Essentially, a Chinese state media reporter was suspected to be a spy among the protestors after taking photos, refusing to show his press pass (he was found to have one but not his own), and possessing a “I love HK Police” shirt; he was tied to the luggage cart and beaten up. The reporter said the quote in the red little box; he suffered mild injuries and was soon discharged by the hospital.  What was the background of this story, however? Why did the protestors beat up someone who could be from the press—who, regardless of their affiliation, protestors know should be protected? The protests began in June, 2019. Hong Kong had had another large scale protest in between September to November, 2014 (aka the “Umbrella Revolution”). Spies had always been an issue. Why didn’t a spy beating happen earlier?

Here’s an English-subbed documentary (warning: violence) that offers insight of the background—the fear and fury of the protestors. The subject is what is now known as 721 Yuen Long incident, or the evening Hong Kongers—even those who had not been involved, who had been unsure about the protests—lost their trust of the Hong Kong Police, once known as “Asia’s finest”.

That evening went like this. On 7/21/2019, the local mafia violently attacked the passengers of a late night train in Yuen Long station—passengers who weren‘t protestors (who wore black)—while the police ignored the multiple emergency calls from locals who’d spotted something suspicious, and didn’t show up on the scene while the beatings occurred. Evidences, which the documentary detailed, pointed to the Hong Kong Police, and the government that backed it, endorsing the beatings, therefore working with the local mafia to deal with the protests. 

By 8/13/2019, therefore, protestors were convinced that their opposition wasn’t beyond using very low blows to get their way. One could argue that they overreacted to the spy-reporter; the Western media, who had long trusted HKers to know what they were doing, expressed its disappointment, and the protestors soon apologised. The Chinese propaganda machine, of course, jumped at the chance of casting the protestors as bad people, and the online rally on Weibo ensued (It lasted for at least three days; Gg and Dd reblogged post about HK between 8/14/2019-8/16/2019).

That was, briefly, the story behind Gg and Dd’s Weibo reblog.

Why did I make a detour and write up this story? Because I’ve actually posted blatant propaganda on my blog—the Weibo post, with its red little box. However, does it still feel like propaganda with the story?

Therefore, I haven’t, and don’t plan on pressuring anyone to stop posting and re-blogging specific pieces of GgDd information—be it an ad as in this scenario, or propaganda material from films, series, government/state-controlled media announcements etc. That I believe everyone should set their own boundaries, be their own judge of what they’d like to share on their own blog aside, I think—and this is where my opinion may deviate from many—“canceling” falsehoods often isn’t the best way to deal with them. 

This opinion is likely, again, coloured by my background.

My observations have been this: “cancelling” is effective only if the cancelling force is, overall, significantly stronger than the force being cancelled. In the scenario that prompted this post, making Gg’s Li-Ning ads disappear from the dash is only possible if there are more fans who ignore the ads than those who post and reblog them. “Canceling” is therefore a competition of headcount, with tactics for sidekick—the side with more people, and people who are good at disseminating information, decides the outcome: whether the intended-to-be-cancelled material go viral within the fandom, or whether they die out.

I’d like to highlight this word: headcount.

This isn’t the most favourable kind of competition to participate in, therefore, if the potential opposition belongs to the populous country in the world, its members, people who may have participated in fan circles, which are essentially fan armies who’ve been used to organising, battling on social media for their idols. I’ve previously set up a hypothetical scenario, in which Dd’s supertopic members were encouraged by their government to scale the Great Firewall to Twitter, spread their support of Xinjiang cotton—a scenario that is not totally unrealistic, given that the Chinese government has previously mobilised fans for propaganda purpose. 

We’ll use this thought experiment again ~ please bear in mind, once more, that this is SJD; a figment of our imagination.

Since we’re talking about Li-Ning brand, let’s add Gg’s supertopic members to the mix. The total supertopics member count is 6.11 + 8.34 = 14.45 million, as of today (2021/04/04). 

Let’s say, only a tiny, tiny percent—0.01% of them are mobilised; that’s 1,400 people.

Is it possible to cancel the voices, the retweets of 1,400 in Gg and Dd’s i-fandom? Cut down another 90%, reduce the opposition headcount to 140. Is it possible?

There are also overseas Chinese who do not intend to spread propaganda, but believe in the story and have no qualms disseminating the information. There are also fans who wish to remove politics from fandom and pass all information along.

Here lies the frustration of those who’ve tried to raise their voice of concerns re: the policies and practices of the Chinese government on social media; and this is why I mentioned that my background informed my opinion. On social media, where headcount and whoever shouts the loudest, retweet etc the most wins the exposure game, it’s nearly impossible to win against the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)’s propaganda machine, if the party chooses to have the machine running. 

Their side has so many people.

One more RL example: here’s a scholarly article detailing how Diba (帝吧), an old, popular online forum in China with 20 million members, mobilised, collectively scaled the Firewall and engaged in a cyberattack of the Facebook page of Taiwanese President Tsai Ing-Wen on January 20, 2016 — the day of President Tsai Ing-wen’s first inauguration; they left a total of 26,000 comments against Taiwan independence, using Simplified Chinese (which China uses) for their font instead of Traditional Chinese (which Taiwan and Hong Kong uses)—ie, the commenters didn’t even pretend to be not from China. They were proud and open about their "Expedition”.

(China’s state-controlled tabloid Global Times—yes, the same one involved in the Hong Kong airport incident above—”concluded the campaign was a “fun normal incident” that showcased young people’s passion for politics”)

Is it possible to try to cancel something of that scale? Is it realistic?

Personally, therefore, I’ve always advocated for “immunisation”: rather than protecting a fact by wiping out its associated lies—the idea behind “cancelling” a message, not having it show up on the dash—I prefer to do so by allowing it to be visibly challenged, until observers are no longer easily swayed by falsehoods. I used Gg and Dd’s Weibo reblog re: Hong Kong police as an example—is the red little box propaganda, a challenge to the protests? Yes. Is it information that I deeply disagree with, something I wish I’ll never see again? Also yes. But by providing context to it, I’m hoping to turn it into a vaccine—something mimicking the virus, the potentially viral piece of information, but doesn’t function the same way anymore. 

Hopefully, this vaccine will also encourage stop-and-think moments that boost future immunity; hopefully, with a few more boosters, questions will come automatically with such red little boxes reappear— questions about the context, the purpose, the message. 

Questions like these, for this incident: why did the State media make this incident the “Gotcha” moment in the Hong Kong Protests, important enough for People’s Daily to make a rally-starting meme? Why was the reporter, Fu Guohao hailed as a hero, when he’d just got ... beaten up? 

What did People’s Daily, and the government behind it, want people to find when the red little box popped up everywhere on Weibo, including the Weibo of the fastest rising stars from the hit summer TV series? What belief could be expected to be instilled into the audience with this photo, published by China’s state TV station (CGTN), of the reporter tied up to a luggage cart and surrounded by black-cladded protestors?

Who looked like the strong, evil side? The meek, good side? Why, finally, was the tag about the Hong Kong Police, when the conflict was between the protestors and an alleged Chinese state media reporter?

By then, Hong Kongers were already suspicious that the Hong Kong Police had been infiltrated by China’s law enforcement arm, from hints from the different dialects the police used, how they handled the protestors etc. It was the start the final break down of Hong Kong’s autonomy. Their suspicions were not wrong. Now, with the National Security Law having taken effect since July 2020, Hong Kong’s transformation into a police state is well under way.

What does the tag #I support Hong Kong Police too# mean now?

[Please excuse my using many examples from HK because 1) I’m familiar with the details; and 2) it’s the only instance in recent history in which the outside world can see, with relative clarity, a large-scale protest against the Chinese government and its outcome.]

Here’s my humble wish: next time, when a government-sponsored memes like this get translated and posted, be it originally reblogged by Gg, Dd, or other c-ent stars, be it on Twitter or Tumblr, the vaccinated, immunised will pause and wonder: What’s the story? What’s being told inside the Great Firewall, and outside? 

If this happens, red little boxes on my blog, unpleasant as they are, are 100% worth it.

The Li-Ning ads are therefore worth it too, IMO, if they spark a conversation, a dissemination of facts and perspectives. To me, the latter is especially precious in this fandom, where significant language and cultural barriers exist.  Fans who move Gg and Dd’s news and candies from Weibo are the pillars of this fandom. Sieving through that website is hard, translations harder; it’s unfair and unrealistic to ask them to also be the background knowledge deliverers. 

I’ve tried to do a small part, but I’m ... slow. Very, very slow. However, even if the background isn’t available, I’ve found being careful, skeptical about the information is already a very good thing. At heart, this is no different from the lessons from media literacy here, except there are even more falsehoods and half-truths to wade through given the country of origin of Gg and Dd’s material, and trustworthy sources are not always available. Li-Ning brand is an example that things do not need to be blatant propaganda to carry a pro-CCP message. 

What can i-fans do then about the Xinjiang cotton situation, if competing against the Chinese government propaganda machine on social media appears to be a losing game?

My thoughts are these, at the moment. First, please consider not dwelling on the competition, especially within fandom. Remember: getting several fewer fans to buy Li-Ning brand isn’t going to change the big picture.

Instead, if this is an area of activism you choose to participate in—please consider channeling your effort to watching the companies in your country. Put pressure on sustainability & good practice certification companies like Better Cotton Initiative, make sure they don’t, can’t have it both ways. Xinjiang cotton is either certified or it isn’t. There’re suspicions of forced labor on its production or there aren’t. The answer should be a simple yes or no, not whether the office is in Geneva or in Shanghai.

This is an answer that we, as consumers, have the right to know. Transparency in China isn’t for us to demand; we can, however, demand transparency in our own country. Remember too: it makes a far, far greater difference for one international company to re-consider its cotton source, than for one fandom to do the same. 

Meanwhile, and again, this is my humble opinion—please do whatever you’re comfortable with, that is within your ability, to fortify your stance. Should you choose to speak out online, you’ll likely meet opposition. Responses on current events from the Chinese Foreign Ministry (you can also find the spokespeople on Twitter) can offer a glimpse of the counterarguments you may meet. How will you answer them? Here’s a clip of one of the spokespeople arguing that the US used to use black slavery to pick cotton in the past. If you’re American and this is presented to you—what would you say? (Does mistakes by one country in the past mean mistakes by another country in the present is automatically acceptable?) The opposition may also use vicious words, the most extreme of which is probably “racist”. If someone call you racist—if many Twitter users scream racist!!!!!!!! at you at the same time for your critique—can you stand firm? 

[The pro-CCP camp has been taking advantage of the West’s effort to move forward from its racist past to stop any criticism of the Chinese government. It already knows the easiest way to silence the criticisms is to call whoever makes them racist.]

[If everyone fears the racist allegation, allows the conflation of Chinese government and Chinese people to take root, will there be more or less anti-Asian sentiments in the long run?]

[I’ve been called racist by writing these metas.] 

The last thing I’d like to say is this: please be kind to your fellow fans who’ve kept mum, or been hesitant about making their stance known. Some may be closely connected to China, others may not be in a psychological / health space to deal with the politics. Also, and here’s my default way of looking at this: I disagree with the idea that anyone owes anyone else a declaration of their political beliefs. I can’t imagine this issue to be an easy thing to think about for many Gg and Dd fans, myself most definitely included ~ as a (former) Hong Konger, a uniformed Gg or Dd gives me an unpleasant visceral response, but at the same time, it also means I’m used to accepting, even genuinely liking people on the other side of this political ... Grand Canyon. I can imagine the conflict, the pain this issue may have caused some fans who’re not accustomed to the latter, as being a fan, IMO, is never purely logical ~ and I mean that in the best of ways. 

Passion is the magic ingredient that separates a fan and a consumer. It’s also what makes choices difficult, when conclusions from logic, political stance included, conflict with it. Some make the hard choices quickly; some, slowly. Some make them in one go; some, piece by piece. Some never make them, let time be the decision maker.

As Dd said so famously and wisely, about the conflict between passion and logic: 愛就是這樣，沒有辦法 Love is like that. Nothing can be done.

The only common denominator is this: we’re all made to love.

❤️.💛.💚.

[angelrider13]

A Barren Sea of Sun-Bleached Bones

Sooooooo this is something that I’ve been thinking about off and on for a while now and given that I’ve had literally nothing better to do at work because everything has gone cuckoo bananapuffs, have some rambles! (*pokes @hamelin-born because it sounds like you’re also having a rough time lately and could use a pick me up*)

-

When Thalassa wakes up in a desert with twin suns beating down on her, her first thought is ‘this might as well happen’. Her second thought is ‘why the fuck is this happening?”

(Titan, brother, why would you do this to me? When did I wrong you???)

She has no idea where she is and eventually she succumbs to the heat. When she wates, she finds herself in the care of a woman who introduces herself as Shmi Skywalker and explains that her husband, Cliegg Lars, found her unconscious in the desert.

She’s in Star Wars. On Tatooine of all places. Because of course she is. In her first life, Thalassa wasn’t overly familiar with story - she’d seen the first 6 movies, a few episodes of the various cartoons here and there, but she knows that there is a wider knowledge base that she never looked twice at and is therefore missing.

What she does know is this: Tatooine is run by slavers.

Tatooine is a slave planet and everyone knows but no one cares enough to stop it.

Well then.

Thalassa settles in and recovers and gets to know her rescuers. With Shmi married to Cliegg (happily so and by her own choice, Thalassa checked), it’s clear that the timeline is somewhere between Episodes 1 and 2. Something she doesn’t particularly care about much aside from the fact that it means war has not broken out. Yet. Meaning that larger entities will not yet be putting much effort into winning the Hutt’s favor - which in turn means that no one will be looking to closely at the Outer Rim desert planet. Or that, if they do, they will look the other way. As always.

So Thalassa stays and watches and explores and learns. She helps around the homestead, walks through the cities. She makes note of who owns slaves and who doesn’t. She observes any slave quarters she comes across. She grows close with Shmi and Cliegg ad teases young Owen about his budding romance with Beru.

And sometimes, she just walks out into the desert and disappears for days, weeks.

There are echoes, you see, all round the desert. A song on the wind, screams in the shifting sands. Tatooine wasn’t always a Desert. Many, many, many, moons ago, it was a Sea. And that is not something easily forgotten. Deserts aren’t so different after all - their shifting sands hide treasures as easily as waves and their memories stretch just as long.

It is for this reason that Thalassa has lasted as long as she had. In another life, perhaps this planet could have been Hers. In this life, it is the echoes of that past that sustain her when she is so far from her own Sea.

Shmi frets over her whenever se returns from these wanderings for Thalassa’s skin is perpetually dry and cracked, splitting open whenever she so much as twitches. Her hair is bleached and brittle and the sands have carved deep lines into her face. (She hasn’t dared changing shapes since she arrived - she suspects she would simply fall apart if she tried.) Shmi continues to rub salves into her skin and Cliegg tries to caution her against further trips, to at least make them shorter, to take more water, something.

And Thalassa smiles because they care, but their little moisture farm would never produce enough water to sustain her. Besides, she can’t stop yet.

“I’m searching for something,” she says.

“What?” Cliegg asks as Shmi bandages her arms, worry shinning in their eyes.

Thalassa smiles wistfully. “A memory.”

-

She finds it eventually. It takes her two years of looking and waiting and listening, but Thalassa finds the heart of the memory, of the Sea. The entrance could have been great once. A temple, perhaps. Or a palace. Or probably none of those things and something else entirely. But is was something once. Something grand. Now it is little more than weathered stone - nothing other than a natural formation if one doesn’t know how to look. It’s a maze of caverns deep underground and Thalassa can see were once great arches and painted tiles and etched columns. The echoes that were only faint whispers on the wind are stronger here - louder, firmer, solid. Real. She can see what once was and what now is. What was once a vast Sea is not little more than a well. A small pool no longer deep or large enough to flow through underground riverbeds.

There is still enough water for Thalassa to submerge herself completely. The water is soothing against her dry, cracked skin - an ancient, dying Sea welcoming one of its own. Thalassa opens herself to this strange-familiar Sea, lets it see all of her and in turn it grants Thalassa the same.

Tatooine was once a water planet - vast and deep and blue. But time marches on and things change as they always do. The slightest of shifts in the chemical makeup of the atmosphere, the gravitational axis tilting a single degree to the left. Small hings. Little things. But a single change is always enough and Tatooine began to dry up until it became as it is today. Thalassa can feel the boundless rage of this dying Sea at the state of its domain today. Not so much the state of its waters - change is what it is and there is no escaping it - but the state its people. Because Seas, regardless of time and place and origin, are the same. Seas are free. And Tatooine has been chained and branded and bound for so long that its people have forgotten any other way to be.

But the Sea remembers.

The Desert remembers.

And it rages at this slight, at this betrayal, at this abomination that has been allowed to fester at among its people so long unchecked.

Very well, Thalassa promises, The infection will be cut out.

Tatooine’s Sea is grateful and offers what is left of its dying depths to the liberation of its children.

Thalassa’s skin knits together, the ever present rash in her throat fades, the dryness in her lungs vanishes. She takes stock, considers, and changes. Scales, claws, a tail. It feels good. The water is not deep enough, vast enough for Leviathan, but she changes anyway, filling the cavern with her massive form. She stretches and twists and basks in her ability to be once more. She changes. Again and again and again. An old woman bent with age, a young boy with scraped knees, a Zabrak male, an elderly Rodian, a Twi’liek woman, a Jawa just because she can. It has been so long. Tatooine’s Sea is laughing at her, she can tell, but she doesn’t mind.

The Desert greets her when she finally emerges, its voice a twin of the Sea’s, different that what she is used to but no less welcome. It reminds her of her stone brother.

-

Thalassa returns to the Lars-Skywalker homestead and Shmi is already pulling out medical supplies before she registers the shine of Thalassa’s hair, the unblemished skin of her face.

“It was a gift,” she explains when Shmi strips her down anyway and runs her hands over smooth skin she swears was falling apart only a week ago.

Thalassa lets them fuss for two days before she wanders off again. She made a promise after all and she’s had time to observe. She knows who is rotten and who is not. The Hutts for one. The most obvious blight. But to cut them out so soon, so quickly, without any plan or safety net would do Tatooine children no favors. One day. But not yet. She must start small. She knows where to go first.

There is a man who live in Mos Entha with a dozen slaves to his name. Thalassa does not claim knowledge of all the races this universe has to offer, but she knows children when she sees them. All of them are young. All of them are pleasing to the eye. All of them are dressed in little more than scraps of sheer cloth.

The man dies that night.

In the morning, Thalassa returns to Shmi and Cliegg with a dozen children of various races peeking out from behind her legs.

“She was like you,” Thalassa tells the children of Shmi before she ushers Cliegg out of the room when Shmi pulls out a scanner and Beru starts setting up medical supplies.

(Thalassa has seen the scar on Shmi’s hip. She knows what used to live under Shmi’s skin.)

Cliegg sets up rooms for the kids without protest and the farm gains a dozen helpers. Owen is a gruff, but protective, older brother. Shmi and Beru are both gentle and patient even when the children finally feel secure enough to start testing boundaries and act out.

This is how it starts.

-

Thalassa cannot bring everyone back to the homestead, of course. But she’s watched. She knows. Slaves are never content to be slaves. And here they are survivors born of both the Desert and the Sea. They will find a way. Secret languages. hidden paths, safe houses. Thalassa does not have to be a member of their community to know.

Slavers start disappearing. The smugglers, the mercenaries, the masters. No one dealing in the trade of sentient beings is safe.

Shmi finally confronts her about it he third time she brings home a group to be de-chipped. Shmi would never turn them away - that’s not in her nature - and Thalassa has provided them with enough funds for the extra mouths (The Desert and the Sea both have their secrets and guard treasures well from outsiders. But not from on of their own.), but she does wonder what, exactly, her friend thinks she’s doing.

“Tatooine used to be a Sea,” Thalassa says when she asks as she looks out in the desert. “Do you know what a Sea is?”

Shmi may have lived in a desert all her life, but she is not stupid and she is a little indignant that Thalassa thinks she might be. “A large body of water,” she answers, keeping the frown out of her voice and off her face.

Thalassa smiles. “You’re not wrong. Most people would agree with you. But I asked what a Sea was, not how to describe it.”

Shmi blinks, thrown by the direction this entire conversation has taken.

“A Sea,” Thalassa continues without looking away from the vast stretch of sand, “is freedom.”

Oh, Shmi thinks.

“Tatooine used to be a Sea,” Thalassa says again, “And such a thing leaves echoes. A Desert is not so different, after all. They are no place for chains and brands and chips.” Thalassa spits the last word as if it is the most vile poison and Shmi wonders if she truly understands what such a life is like to hate it so.

“There is a Sea inside of me,” Thalassa says, turning to look at Shmi with glowing gold eyes, “And it is raging at the way your Sea and Desert have been bound. The have been screaming for so long, Shmi, so long. I will free them even if I have to cut down every slaver myself.”

Shmi believes her. Not only that, but she believe Thalassa ca do it. Her friend has always been an odd one. Human in appearance, but never quite right. Something easy to pass off in a universe such as theirs. But the way she seems to whither in the desert is like nothing Shmi has ever seen. The cracks that once carved themselves into Thalassa’s flesh - and still do whenever she ventures out too far for too long - had never seemed as simple as a reaction to the body’s lack of water or exposure to heat. And then one day Thalassa healed. She healed and she stated wearing different skins. Shmi has heard people start calling her Quyllur of the Many Faces. They have stories about beings like her - whispers passed down in he dark of night while huddled together for warmth. Thalassa does not know these stories. She does not know their language or culture or history. She is something different. But she is something similar enough.

-

Thalassa cleans Tatooine of filth one slaver at a time. None of them can quite figure out why they are being hunted, only that they are. Some try to flee or buy protection. Some even petition the Hutts fir help. But Thalassa is an ancient, death-touched Sea with a pair of twins - a Desert full of screaming winds and barren Sea full of sun-bleached bones - at her back. She can be patient. Water goes where it will and Death come for all in the end. Thalassa will get her way.

-

It happens slowly, quietly, but it happens.

Most people don’t notice at first because they aren’t looking. Who pays attention to slaves after all? That is their first mistake. A slaver should always pay attention and never be comforatable - a slave is never content to be a slave. All it takes is a single moment, a single detail, a single second. But people who assume they have all the power never think like that. And it is always, always, their downfall.

-

The slaves are freed.

The masters are killed.

No one notices.

And then the first Hutt dies.

[hoodedwing]

Inhisar

Summary: After an hour of waiting, Dick goes to hunt for Tiger who didn’t make an appearance. Tiger isn’t just fighting a migraine but something else he refuses to meet head-on with.

Characters: Tiger King of Kandahar, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd (mentions), Damian Wayne (mentions), Bruce Wayne - as Batman (mentions)

Warnings: Mentions of a knife but no blood, gore or anything. 

Additional notes: 80% of the fics I see revolving Dick and Tiger are usually Tiger looking after Dick but because I’m a sucker for hurt characters who’ve been through hell and refuse to open his/her/their mouth, I swapped the roles and did something hurt/comf ish. I’m also setting up my ao3 where I’ll transfer my fics there too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,801words

-

inhisar - reliance 

***

Dick waited at the rooftops for close to an hour already. He couldn’t shake the buzz from his body as he did a few backflips to shake the feeling off. He was supposed to meet Tiger here close to thirty minutes ago but he hadn’t shown up. It was strange of the usually punctual man who promised some vital information on Dick’s current case. The extremely resourceful man never ceased to amaze Dick although he came off rather cold sometimes. 

No matter, he thinks as he shoots his grapple towards the neighboring skyscraper and swings with ease. Metal after metal building appeared in the backdrop of the neon Wayne Industries signage, a testament to Gotham’s cry of need. Dick snorts at the idea before heading over to Tiger’s small place in Gotham. His usual residence wasn’t here but Dick insisted he take one of his safehouses (to which Tiger begrudgingly agreed to). It was one of the smaller ones Tiger argued about since one man doesn't need too much space, idiot.  

He nimbly sweeps down to the window and sees it’s dimly-lit, almost dark inside. Frowning at the fact that it was ajar, he pushes it and rolls in silently. He flashes out his escrima sticks, lightning blue and making the crackling sound he’s accustomed too and sneaked to the obvious occupant on the couch. He’s about to swing when he realizes-

-its Tiger.

Asleep?

Dick has to hold back laughter. His previous anxiety was ill-seated as he cheekily leans against the armrest of the sofa.

“Excuuuuse meee?”

He starts, in a fake and airy voice that’s loud but not enough to somehow wake Tiger up who just changes his position and curls deeper into the leather couch, pulling himself up in a small ball.

Dick’s eyes are up at him like a wolfhound. He knows that Tiger is indeed a very light sleeper and he should be awake right now and calling him an idiot and realize he’s the bigger idiot for missing their meeting. He lazily curls himself in a painful-looking position and waits on him.

Sensing the pressure change, Tiger suddenly opens one exhausted green eye and looks at a smiling Dick in civilian clothing. Blinking and clearing his sleep-ridden eyelids, he tosses a cushion at Dick who caught it easily.

“Idiot-”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you didn’t make to our meeting so as a friend-”

“We aren’t friends”

“-okay, okay whatever but hey I gotta make sure you didn’t die out there.”

“I’m not incapable, Agent-”

“-I’m in civvies! You can’t just Agent 37 me.”

Dick retorts, smiling widely. Tiger mutters something under his breath before swinging himself up but his vision spins before he falls back on the couch, angrily staring down at the floor. His head is pulsating again wildly. He only hears the roar of gushing blood in his ears.

Dick is still talking in the background, probably a lecture about something Tiger couldn’t care much about right now. He just needed to make sure he’s not about to kneel over and possibly embarrass himself.

“WIll you shut up for a minute?!”

He hisses, head in his hands, pressed tightly as he tries to filter out the remainder of the supposed light present. Dick is immediately silent before he asks, undisguised concern in his voice.

“Are you okay?”

“Sit down,”

Tiger tests his limbs, and slowly gets up before half-stumbling to the small attached kitchen. Dick had worry etched all over his face as he tossed his jacket onto the vacated couch before switching on the television. He knew no matter how much he insisted, Tiger never told him what was wrong.

He chose to keep to himself, quiet and only spoke when needed. Dick was the one who added life, chatter and still kicked ass alongside the man. Don’t get him wrong, Tiger was a brilliant fighter but he was too quiet, more than usual. Dick was usually good at reading people, seeing the truth in their eyes and figuring out what’s wrong before they can.

Dick cannot say the same for Tiger. He remembered when he met him for the first time. Tiger was unreadable, almost neutral and it threw him off balance. The few things he figured out was his upbringing in war-torn Afghanistan, his love for really hot qehwa and Medjool dates as well as his preference for darker colors.  Belatedly, that was it. The rest of it was shut behind cold, emerald eyes almost similar to Damian’s ones. Tiger was a man with calculation, precision and silence, that much Dick knew. 

Speaking of silence, it had been ten minutes since Tiger left the couch for the kitchen. Dick decides to go there anyway, at worst a pan might hit his head. He enters the sparsely furnished kitchen and the first thing he registers is a man leaning against the counter, lost in space as he absentmindedly swung a paring knife and his trigger finger constantly twitching. Tiger hadn’t worn his shemagh so Dick can see the ebony hair and slight curls . 

“Yes?”

Dick is now slightly afraid of the paring knife in Tiger’s hand so he makes sure he’s a safe zone away from him. Still absentmindedly flicking the knife, Tiger looks at Dick questioningly and with deadly ease, throws the knife at a poor apple sitting on the countertop.

“You didn’t answer me back there, Tig..”

“Hm?”

Hands in his pocket, Dick tries to start a conversation but Tiger pinching his nose bridge stops him from opening his mouth. He observes his silent friend lean a little more against the cold exterior of the marble countertop as the water boiled with lazy wisps of steam trailing near the surface. 

Pity washes over Dick who lowers the blinds at the kitchen window and sees some tension from Tiger dissipating. 

The water is whistling, bubbles frantically escaping and Dick steps forward to switch it off. Tiger looks up and Dick can see him clearly. Exhaustion, frustration and irritation all rolled up in one impressive eyebrow raise.

“Go back, I’ll finish this. I’m sure you trust me enough to fuck this up.”

He doesn’t bother with a jibe, just heads back to the couch and loses all track of time. Face buried in the leathery couch, everything was tilted off its axis. He vaguely registers throwing a warm jacket left there off the couch before sinking into the cold surface.  

A strong smell of qehwa enters the room as Dick balances both cups at a ridiculous angle. Setting them down, he feels Dick sit beside him on the carpet, cross-legged and rocking back and forth.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Minor inconveniences”

Is all he says as he buries his face deeper into the couch, blocking all light because it was making his head worse and then Dick had to come here and be an annoying prick. He woke up that morning with a dull pressure from his neck and decided to sleep it off since he had no urgent things to do, blessedly. However, he swore he did set an alarm two hours in advance before their meeting-

Oh no.

“I can give it now and you can be headed on your way.”

Dick stops rocking and narrows his eyes at the figure on the couch, wondering what Tiger meant before a slow grin starts appearing on his face.

“You can’t even walk straight to the kitchen so I’m staying. It’s like a sleepover and don't feel bad about missing our small reunion. It’s okay to feel like absolute shit sometimes.”

He helpfully suggests as he passes a cup of the hot beverage to the man whose face is still planted on the couch. Tiger points one finger at the small coffee table and shakes his head, the action making everything worse. He doesn’t understand why his stupid little... headache isn’t leaving him but he doesn’t care anymore. 

Dick had been watching his actions the entire time, evaluated if his chances of dying were high and then gently but softly asked Tiger.

“Migraine? Seems pretty bad. I’ll be back.”

He gets up to hunt for some Imitrex and grabs a cold compress before turning off the lights completely on the way back to the lofty living room where Tiger had already fallen asleep in a very still position. 

He has no heart to wake him up because he knows he gets only so much sleep. Gently tapping his shoulder and shaking out a tablet, he probes him again.

“Sit up, I got you some meds. It should help.”

A small groan comes from the couch and then a reluctant turnover as he faces Dick blankly, eyes squinted and Dick instantly feels terrible for waking him up.

“Tell me about one of your inane adventures.”

Tiger asks quietly from where he’s still laying with Dick hovering over him, pill in hand. Confusion momentarily graces his face before he launches into some story about a mission with Damian.

Dick is animatedly whispering about the entire thing as his unconscious hand reaches out to ruffle Tiger’s thick hair. The heavenly head scratches surprisingly comforted Tiger who leans ever so slightly to the touch. It felt nice to be treated like this for once.

Don't get sentimental.

He faintly ignores that voice and reaches out to his primary need of relief and comfort. Dick had gone on to his second story about Jason and how he loved reading. He joked about how he’d spit lines from plays and shoot with equal jest. There was a wistfulness in his tone and a small part of Tiger hated himself so much for being so soft and vulnerable and letting Dick comfort him but it felt normal and everything else considered. He’s unnerved by this unfamiliar experience and he has to get it to stop before he’s caving in and dependent.

He can’t do that.

It’s incredibly stupid and dangerous in his line of work.

What if one day he’s gone?

What would he do?

“Are you feeling any better?”

Dick asks kindly, softly smiling at Tiger who’s trying to suppress all the new emotions Dick stirred up and it somehow warmed him a little but he doesn’t show it.

“Thank..you?”

He fumbles slightly, awkward and the usual firm line on his face was replaced with one slightly curved at the ends. Dick is grinning wildly.

“Did I make the great King smile?!”

Tiger is trying to hide his face before Dick lets out an ecstatic yell.

“You’re smiling! I didn’t know your facial muscles allowed for that action!”

Another cushion was thrown at Dick who’s caught it again before sticking his tongue out at Tiger.

“Agent 37, still childish as ever.”

Tiger doesn’t mind, he really didn’t mind, even if his qehwa turned cold.

[jonathankatwhatever]

It’s 5 Nov 2023, either 5AM or 6 if you didn’t put the clock back an hour. An entire musical number about her choices erupted in my head as I thought about what time it might have been when I went to bed. Oh, there’s the cat again. Why won’t he stay out longer?

There is that, oh, there is that moment oh when it’s right, and you know that in darkness comes creation because that spark illuminates, and you know those little triangles form another one as the expression of the rotation of the bT into a single 1-0Segment. And that means D4 is formed by adding and subtracting any of the fD to the fT. To translate that into words, when we think of a Triangular rotating, we can think of an object in 3D whose location is fixed to a center by the intersection of x,y, and z, and then imagine that object’s continued existence exactly as it is consists of an identity which is maintained over a series of moves so it appears stable to our perception. By perception, I don’t mean as interpreted; I mean that we perceive, like rocks hurt us. Perception is the processing of information across and at each layer, which is defined sensibly now as a series of inner and outer models, literally the edges of Boundaries. This is true for the tangible, for the tObject, as well as the intangible: a 3D object can be considered as having a lot of those axes to account for each piece’s orientation and for each combination to the total image, and that’s a lot of structure to move.

That localizes gs construction, stuffs a lot of decisions into a smaller area, etc.

Trying to get back into this. The idea is that when we spin the bT, the state of the fT, then forms the same thing, another level fT enclosure, and that next enclosing level is the pull of 4D to the 3 existing fD formed at the smaller fT level. That is, it forms an fD with the entirety of a D3 structure, and it does so in any direction or along any axis. That’s a description of D3 and D4 generating, and you can see time now as this fT flickering. Let me try to get that out.

Mechanically, this means we generate D4 by creating an fD which stretches into the fT which is half that formed fD, so the Thing defined by the Triangular exists in a field similarly defined. That means we attach two 1-0Segments, with those being the paths to the 3rd End of a Triangular. Thus D4 is literally the Attachment of a 3rd End to a Thing, meaning the Thing is treated as a 1-0Segment, and that is another 2, another pairing which invokes 2, which invokes the orthogonal 2, which invokes a grid squares grid.

And note that D4 and D5 appear on the way to D6, which completes each cycle. You can then see D7 requires sliding and thus distorting to get the overlap shoved over to make the count of the next Winding visible.

Do you see what has happened? I’m now able to process all those diagram, geometric shape image lit up things I see in my perception, which I have always considered as coming from you because they are so simple and the action of flickering is basic, and thus they would make highly loadable communication symbols or signals. Like I was standing outside with the cat and I watched the fT draw and then it turn into an fD with the smaller flicker appearing so it looks like a line appears up the middle of each larger fD, like the line on a leaf.

So, let’s say you’re counting down: then you Wind the count down to D3, which happens across scales, across lots of Things within a Thing. That idealizes to reduction to the lowest or smallest component, which one could say is the barest D3, which is true because all Things factor, which is another way of saying they construct using common pieces and common methods so therefore they must factor in the ways allowable by what constructs them. That was a longish way of saying some things can be reversed, like you build a Lego castle and take it apart, because the act itself is abelian because Lego are constructed to be reused into shapes that make castles.

That’s finite construction within a larger process, still finite until you reach the ideas of abelian groups and other ways of describing the infinite process which encloses and which encodes the finite processes within. By encodes, we mean a few things. One of them is that any Thing has a signature in the larger dimensions, with that signature determined by the orderings inherent in its Windings. This is behind the notion of innocents going to heaven. Another is that this signature generates over 1-0Segments, meaning it manifests in how your particular Thing Winds, how it counts each pairing, and thus how each piece of you connects internally and externally. In drawing tems, this becomes a 1-0Segment drawn along the edge of an fT, or any larger Extent at scale, and that reduces to a point or intersection where that 1-0Segment is rotated a quarter turn.

Need to go back to sleep. I literally tipped over when I became dizzy. Mentioning the quarter turn did that in my head. Trying to reset my balance. Was dancing around a lot earlier and reached even better balance control in movements. Amazing how well that is meant to express pain free movement idealized.

[captain-cerrillo]

Captain. I just wanted you to know that you are the best superior officer I've ever served with. And Captain Malin is like a father to me, so that's saying something. It has been, and will continue to be, an honor.

~Commander Miller

continued from x

Isaac hung her note next to every other letter and drawing she’d ever given him on the wall next to his bed before he turned to the stuffed animal. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Fuzzy.” He reached to shake the closest of the tattered bear’s paws before he sat down with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you have any insight into how to make the waiting easier?” He waited a heartbeat. “Alright. I just thought I’d ask.”

“You know, there’s a kid -maybe-I don’t know.” He huffed. “An operative on this ship who has a husk friend. Well. A husk head friend.” He paused, glancing at Mr. Fuzzy with a smile. “Oh, he’s not so bad. Apparently, he likes Salarian meditation videos, and I just bring it up because I need to take a shower and I thought you might like them too?” He paused. “Worth a try, right?”

Isaac tinkered with his omnitool until a holo screen illuminated the space at the end of his bed. He lifted a brow at the first few lines of monologue, suddenly unsure if he misunderstood the whole point. “I will… get some recommendations.”

He hauled himself off the bed and started to peel off his stiff blue shirt, pausing at the thought of his new roommate. He waited until the bathroom door closed to slip out of his clothing.

-

“Commander.” He went with a voice call so she wouldn’t see the way he wrapped around Mr. Fuzzy in the middle of his suddenly too big bed. He put tension in his voice to make things seem Super Serious and smirked, a little, at the startle in her voice.

“Captain?” He could hear how tired she was. “Is everything okay?”

“Burgaw has the deck.”

“Sir?”

“Why are you still in the CIC?”

“Oh. I- uh. Is this about the message?”

“It is. And we need to talk.”

-

“Sir?” She quirked an eyebrow at the battered stuffed animal in his lap as he sat curled on the far end of the lounge in his quarters.

“His name is Mr. Fuzzy and he’s my very best friend,” Isaac said seriously. His brow furrowed as he stroked the top of the creature’s soft head, considering his next words carefully. “There’s no shame in seeking comfort, Miller. Nobody can be everything all of the time.”

He looked at her with soft eyes. “It’s terribly unprofessional of me but, I think of you like a little sister. One could say that I’m invested in your well-being - beyond the professional sense.” He hesitated, considering if more charges of indecency would be added to his court martial in the inevitable future. Why were words so hard when they mattered so much?

“Sir?” She asked again.

“I. Ah.” Isaac sighed, rubbing the back of his aching neck with a tired hand. “Are you okay, Marie? Because I’m concerned.” He sputtered at the way her features twisted, raising his voice as he continued quickly. “Not about your job performance. You’re as on it as ever. I just.” He sighed, leaning back against the lounge and hugging Mr. Fuzzy closer.

“The best metaphor I can come up with is a singularity. For Eva, I mean.” He paused, collecting his thoughts as Marie watched him quietly. “She doesn’t just tilt the axis of my world, she turns it upside down. Gravity doesn’t exist because the only law of nature I know is getting closer to her.” He blinked at the floor, mouth twisting into a satisfied smile. “It’s all very romantic but I am aware that the lack of… let’s go with gravity, isn’t ideal for my position as the commander of this ship.”

He held up a hand as she started to protest, cutting her off. “Which is all to say that I appreciate you and your efforts more than I can tell you, Marie. There’s not a soul alive I’d rather be sharing this post with, and your message means everything to me – no matter how distinctly I disagree.” His eyes crinkled with his smile. “But enough about me. Is there anything I can do to help you? Lighten the load? Do you want to talk about it?”

[nyodrite]

@a-world-in-grey @illusorygardens @sparklecryptid @hamelin-born @secret-engima because each of you seemed interested in this idea

so.

the entire thing is 30% Nyx's fault and 70% Ramuh's fault. because a non-Lucis Caelum wielding the Ring of Lucii left it's mark and made things.... incorrect in terms of Nyx's death

the Ring kind of laid claim to Nyx's soul and, instead of going to the afterlife he was supposed to be at, was trying to drag him into the Crystal

which Ramuh decided nope, not going to happen and just pushes Nyx's soul into the reincarnation cycle somewhere outside of the Crystal's influence

so eventually Nyx Ulric is reborn in a galaxy far, far away as Jango Fett which, with Ramuh kind of... intertwining with the Manda/Force/whatever, means he'll be able to go where he's supposed when he dies this time

of course when people find out about Nyx being reborn elsewhere many decide that they have to follow him

and more were tossed into things as a kind of... rehabilitation program?

the Fetts

only Arla and Jango are reincarnations

Selene winds up reborn first because detangling Nyx from the Ring took a bit longer

she isn't born Knowing, none of them are, but when Jango is born and Arla holds her brother for the first time she Knows

Jango spends most of his childhood unaware. He finds it a bit odd why Arla seems to be both amused and oddly delighted each time he calls her ori'vod but his sister is weird so he just goes with it

then their parents are killed and, amidst blood and fire and death, he remembers

then Jaster is dragging him away and he fights because he just got his sister back, just remembered what it was like to lose her and have to live without her, he's not letting it happen again

and he warps

(Nyx doesn't have magic, not like a true Lucis Caelum, but the Ring - for all that Ramuh severed it's connection to him - left... echoes.

He can still warp, it's familiar and easy as breathing to him, and he can reach out and share magic with someone but he has no armiger, he can't make potions or elixirs, what shields and elemental magic he can do is limited

but it's enough)

Nyx tosses the blade - a kukri, like he used to have, like their mother owned and taught them to uses as children in Galahd - his sister got him and warps back into the burning house

Arla - Selene, he knows it in his bones, can see it in how she switches from shooting a blaster to using a kukri to dig into the gaps of the armor as easily as she breaths - is fighting two Death Watch, she's holding them off but more are coming they just have to wait

so Nyx doesn't

He darts in, wraps an arm around his sister - has a moment to see horror cross her face - before he is warping them both out the house

the - king - Mand'alor definitely has questions when they appear so suddenly but there are more pressing matters and Nyx has time to figure out an answer

(Nyx never has to answer those questions, the Mand'alor always has a special connect to the Manda and Ramuh makes use of this to explain enough to satisfy Jaster

and if Ramuh hints at Jaster adopting both Fetts, despite Arla being technically old enough to be considered an adult, well that not favoritism that's just logic)

Jango and Arla become bounty hunters, though it's less of a full time thing and more of a I'm done dealing with politics I'm gonna go hunt something thing, and because they've no need for subtly decide to "hide" who they are by going by Nyx and Selene Ulric when on a job

technically both of them are in line to be the next Mand'alor and there pretty much even in terms of who the people want to be the next one

however, neither of them want the responsibility - or the politics, or the paperwork - and so basically try to... talk up the other as the better candidate

Nyx neatly solves this by taking on a bounty that leads to him getting a job on Kamino. and sure, it sounds super shady but there's no way his sister will be able to find him in time to keep herself from being declared Mand'alor

this holds out until the Alphas are made and then Nyx has a moment of oh shit i am a dad of a hundred and counting now

there is much panic and flailing, the comm message is basically incoherent

Selene starts praying for Libertus to show up because she left her brother unsupervised for one job. ONE. and this happens? clearly he needs his proper braincell back

and on that topic, let's head to the other, non-Ulric reincarnations real quick

Libertus is either Obi-Wan or Feemor, it depends entirely on how much I want Obi-Wan to have a proper big brother and Libertus to fuss over Obi-Wan's self-care, self-esteem and just everything really

if Libertus is Obi-Wan then Titus is gonna be Feemor, if Libertus is Feemor then Titus is going to be Dooku

which, you know what. I like that. Libertus is now Feemor, Obi-Wan gets his big brother and Titus is Dooku

so when that mission to Galidraan comes up, Dooku goes and sees Jango for the first time and suddenly Titus comes rushing in. and he's confronted with what is clearly TWO Ulrics before him

he is a Sigh

on the upside the mission ends mostly peaceful, none of the True Mandalorians are killed by Jedi and Death Watch gets dealt with

and there is now a, kind of nebulous, alliance between the Jedi and Mando

Titus!Dooku returns to the Jedi Temple and decides to reconnect with his lineage instead of isolating himself because clearly that kind of stuff didn't work the first time

and then he meets, after much scolding of Qui-Gon, Feemor who he can already tell is Libertus just waiting to wake up

he promptly tells Feemor that he should pay a visit to Mandalore as soon as possible and meet the future - because Nyx definitely saved Jaster on Korda 6 - Mand'alor

and Feemor may have intended to do so, however begrudgingly, but then he found a padawan and didn't really have time for a side trip to Mandalore

(which is good because he definitely would have stopped the clones from happening)

as for the rest.... well Crowe is Asohka, of course. For some reason I really like the idea of Luche as Xanatos du Crion?

Sonitus is Mando, not sure if he's reincarnated as someone already, but he's the kid of an armorer. Tredd I'm thinking Pre Vizsla maybe?

Pelna I'm thinking him being over in Corellia, not sure if he's a Corellian Jedi or if he winds up as a senator. Axis... I have half a mind for him to be Maul — or maybe Feral?

anyway, everyone only remembers when they see Nyx, hence why Titus!Dooku is trying to get Feemor to meet Jango

Sonitus actually remembers before Titus does, he's the son of one of Jaster's armorers and runs into Jango when he's old enough to start helping his buir

after that, Luche is actually the next to remember — because if I recall, Jango is only three years younger then Xanatos and the year Xanatos became a padawan was the same year that a some kind of pandemic spread through the galaxy, starting with Mandalore. so that sounds like a good set up to a potential mission for Jango and Xanatos to meet

next would be Tredd, which happens because Tor Vizsla dies via two protective Ulrics and so the Maat Mando'ade take in most of Death Watch after killing a bunch of the higher ranked ones

and then the few of Death Watch who got away set up Galidraan to try and wipe out the Haat Mando'ade and Titus remembers

Pelna and Libertus actually run into each other and make friends before remembering then, shortly after Feemor leaves Corellia, Nyx arrives and then Pelna remembers

honestly, Libertus is one of the last to remember but with multiple instances of where he just almost runs into Nyx

Luche!Xanatos finds Axis!Maul, drags him to meet Nyx and remember, then promptly returns to the Jedi Temple declaring he has a new padawan

then the clones happen and Ramuh gives Selene a break and reveals that Feemor is Libertus so she goes marching up to the Jedi Order and lowkey kidnaps Feemor - and his padawan who is having the time of their life right now - to drag him to Kamino

and then Feemor meets Jango and seconds later Libertus is yelling at Nyx over dying - then he finds out about the clones and yells some more over that

Crowe is the last one to remember timeline-wise but that's just because she's born later, she basically remembers as soon as she's taken to the Temple because Libertus is on creché duty with Nyx and she sees them

thats all I remember so BACK TO THE CLONES

the clones are raised as both Mando and Galahadian, and they get to choose—

choose if they feel more Galahadian, or if the want to swear to Resol'nare and be a proper Mando'ade instead of a Mando-raised Galahadian

of course there are those who are both, who have their armor painted in clan colors and clan braids not only in their hair but on display - in braided leather strips hanging from their armor

the clones also get to choose on if their names - not just if they want to name themselves or if they want Nyx to do it (and if they'd want a Mando or Galahadian name) but also if they want to be a Fett, Ulric or any combination of the two, or even something else entirely

after Selene finds out, and drags Libertus into things, a plot is hatched to kidnap the clones

Titus gets dragged into things because he's an older and respected jedi, and might be on the council, and basically changes the "order"

so the four of them wind up taking all the clones, now into the thousands with the oldest - Alphas - being preteen age?, and just flying first to Mandalore then straight to the Jedi Temple

they head to Mandalore first so that Selene can officially declare them citizens, Jaster gets to learn he's a grandfather thousands of times over and Nyx gets yelled at again

then they take any clones that didn't decide to stay on Mandalore over to the jedi temple where they waltz up to the jedi council and inform them about the army ordered for them

eventually it winds up with the rest of the clones getting added to the creché, in their own clans though raised along the jedi younglings

things get restructured a bit since most of the clones are not Force-sensitive, though some ARE because that's cool, and there's no way Nyx is going to be kept from visiting his kids

so you got some retired Mandos now in the creche with entire clans of clones that they've adopted, doesn't matter if they're a Fett or Ulric

you also got clones that straight up adopt various jedi so there's that too

anyways, Luche!Xanatos is the one who figures out about the chips which ignites all the protective rage and an investigation over just who ordered the clones though that winds up a bit of a dead end for a while

misc.

I'm not entirely sure if the Clone Wars happen here? if it does occur then it's not gonna be Republic vs Separatists because there's no Dooku to be a puppet leader — instead I think that winds up with the Sith Empire actually being reformed?

(which, has many a reincarnations seething because they already dealt with an evil empire and now there's another)

if that happens then Dathomir gets raided at some point for Sidious and Plageuis to steal Nightbrothers to raise as acolytes to help with their war

which in turn leads to some Nightsisters to side with the Jedi/Mando side because that's their future being stolen — also so Crowe!Asohka can learn about their magic and stuff because that'd be amazing

ANYWAYS

the ffxv world, i think the planet is still called Eos in it?, does in fact exist. it's just a planet floating in wild space

it is also a very, very long time since the happenings of ffxv

not sure if there's still people on planet or not, but it's definitely wilder and less tamed, all overgrown and filled with creatures

not sure which reincarnation finds this... let's say Pelna because I barely even mentioned him

hhhhhhh

Anakin Skywalker... I am not sure — he's brought to the temple young because there's no way anyone is gonna let slavery slide and Ramuh might have noticed his birth and started poking at someone to go investigate

Shmi winds up free and adopted, Shmi Skywalker-Ulric maybe? she works with Selene and both take the Senate by storm whenever they have to visit

Anakin winds up and Ulric by virtue of being Shmi's son

Libertus, purely out of self-defense, promptly adopts Obi-Wan to braincell for the newest Ulric - or, well, Obi-Wan may already be adopted by then and Lib just yeets his baby brother at the little Ulric to braincell

.....i think that's all the thoughts i have right now

[joezworld]

Deeply Specific and Very Long Ocean Liner Headcanon

So, most boats, ships, and vessels of every sort are normal - or as normal as a sentient seagoing vessel can be. 

With one big exception 

The Transatlantic Ocean liners were considered to be an odd bunch on the best of days, and got seemingly nuttier as years went on and ships got larger. While ships like the RMS Olympic might have had some personality quirks, moving on just 20 years brought about ships that were just eccentric. 

Take, for example, the SS Normandie. 

The pride of the French Line, the ship made a name for herself in the interwar years for being bigger, faster, more luxurious, and downright prettier than any other liner at sea. She took her appearance very seriously, and many of her initial eccentricities were missed under the assumption that she was vain, not nutty. 

But nutty she was, and this became especially evident during The War. 

Most French Line ships scattered to the four winds, running to any port who might protect them from the incoming German threat. Not Normandie, who called her fleetmates cowards and kept to her scheduled sailing dates until September of 1939, when she sailed into New York harbor and requested asylum for herself and her full complement of crew. 

The Americans were more than willing to provide protection, but at a cost - Normandie would have to become a troop ship for the allied war effort. According to the vessel, she had been expecting this, but had been more than willing to do her part for the war effort. 

That is, right up until the US Navy announced that they would be stripping her of her fine furnishings and painting her in dazzle camouflage. This was a line in the sand that Normandie  refused to cross, as she knew that the Americans would likely ‘appropriate’ her elegant art deco décor for its scrap metal content the instant it hit the dockside. She refused, and left immediately for the open ocean, opting to serve her native France in a different way. 

What was that different way you might ask? 

Well, first she sailed to the French Colony of Guadeloupe in the Caribbean, intending to serve as the island’s supply ship in order to keep it from starved out by enemy U-Boats. 

This plan lasted about a month, before a U-Boat sank another vessel virtually in front of her. Equipped with high-tech radar and many other navigational aids required for a safe transatlantic crossing, the infuriated liner bore down on the surfaced U-Boat and rammed it, sinking it instantly. 

To quote the ship’s 2011 autobiography: “It was at that moment, surrounded by the oil and debris of my first kill, that I became a warrior. My mission - to destroy the enemy by any means possible.  None would escape me.“

Normandie would spend the rest of the second world war as a one-ship wolf pack in the Caribbean, chasing down and sinking any and all vessels - military or otherwise - flying the Axis flags. 

A typical day for the Normandie was captured in the logs of the U.S.S Plymouth - which sighted the ship several times during a Convoy Escort mission in September 1942. 

Log entry - Sept. 9 42 - sighted Periscope off port bow in early morning (approx. 09: 30) - dropped depth charges to no effect. Sub made attempt to torpedo convoy - missed by significant distance. Sub fled. No further sightings until after noon.

- Recon aircraft out of Guantanamo observed what appeared to be a German sub tender and Sub two hundred miles due east of Havana. Moved to intercept at 13:04 ship’s time. 

-13:51 Sighted large contact on radar, moving fast to intercept from SW. Radar says that contact is bigger than any ship known to be in area. 

-Large contact made no attempt to intercept - made beeline for approx. location of sub and tender. Crows nest observed a huge liner flying the French flag at 14:39.

-15:04 All ships visible - contact revealed to be liner Normandie - flying biggest French flag ever seen. Sub Tender - unknown freighter flying Italian flag- attempted to flee while sub dove. Liner lowered French flag to reveal equally large pirate flag and charged the sub - ramming it and sinking it at [COORDINATES CLASSIFIED] 

- 15:12  rescue effort made on sub crew - 3 survivors. Normandie bound NNW in pursuit of sub tender.

- 18:26 rejoined convoy - prisoners in brig to be transferred to Guantanamo Bay.

- 23:11 sighted Normandie again. Received Aldis lamp  transmission from liner. “Two Sunk. Success.”

- 23:19 lost sight of Normandie.

At the war’s end, the Normandie had accumulated a whopping 37 confirmed kills of German, Italian, Japanese, and Vichy French vessels, making it one of the most decorated warships of either side had it been commissioned into any navy. 

Following the war, Normandie resumed transatlantic services until she was replaced by the much larger SS France in 1962. 

Now lacking anything to do for the first time in her long and illustrious life, Normandie elected to sail more or less for pleasure, spending several years sailing about the Caribbean in order to properly mark out her ‘kills’ to West German survey vessels, before circumnavigating the earth in the company of the SS United States, who had been retired following the collapse to the United States Lines in 1964. 

Although both ships are immensely private about the nature of their relationship,  the addition of a gold band to each vessel’s lead funnel - a traditional sign of marriage - in 1972 did not go unnoticed.

Since then, both liners spent the tail end of the 20th century living lives of leisure punctuated by mild adventure. 

in 1979, both ships attempted to evacuate residents of the Dominican Republic ahead of Hurricane David. They failed to do so, and were forced to ride out the storm at sea, reportedly reaching the eye of the storm in the process. 

Following the attack on their close friend SS Atlantic Conveyor during the Falklands War, both ships led a flotilla of other retired liners in an effort to significantly hamper the Argentinian Navy’s assault on the islands. The success of this still debated, however it did show that the Normandie is not alone her ability to hunt down submarines, as the United States and the former German/French liner Liberté  successfully hunted down  and sunk the ARA Santa Fe during the conflict - much to the shock of all military forces involved, who had thought that the liners were joking when they began to participate.

In 1985, following the SS France’s abrupt ‘retirement’ from Norwegian Cruise Lines, (NCL had wanted to ruin France’s lines by adding more cabins on her upper decks - she refused and was shown the door) The United States and Normandie joined in a venture to provide even better cruises - so that they could beat NCL at their own game. The resultant company was one of the largest cruise lines in the world, and  was the highest valued travel stock in the world after its IPO in 1991, causing all three ships to become immensely wealthy when they sold the company to  Carnival Cruise Lines in 2000. 

All three liners have left the public eye since the early 2000′s - becoming eccentric billionaires instead of eccentric vessels. Most sightings of the Normandie and United States have been in increasingly unusual places for them to go, like the Arctic, the Antarctic, the US Great Lakes, and even off the coast of Siberia. They claim that they’re just doing touristy things, but most of the world’s submarine fleet has doubts.