#but the point is that they set out to do very different things here

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

You know

While of course, as always exceptions exist

as @softness-and-shattering pointed out so correctly

I feel like a lot of the time it really doesn't matter what the autistic person does and doesn't do

What they did is used afterwarts as an excuse why it was O.K. to treat them like garbage

But they would have been treated like garbage regardless

Becasue they are autistic

Now, it's very important to note that these thin slice judgements are because of how humans evolved. This is not some allistic hatred of autistics and secret eugenics. These studies are done by letting the allistic view the autistic person without knowing they are autistic. And we set off alarm bells. This is a social disability, remember. Humans evolved to quickly look for signs if a person is safe or not safe by signals, body language, facial expressions etc. Which many autistics either struggle with or can't do at all. When the people were informed that the person they were viewing was autistic, that distrust dropped significantly.

So

It doesn't work

Autist does something -> NT is annoied -> treats Autist accordingly

It's

NT dislikes autist for being autistic without being able to put a finger on whythey dislike this person -> Looks for a reason to justefy the bad treatmen, since humans are usualyl social creatures and feel bad if they treat something bad without due cause -> Finds a reason (becasue there is aways something) -> treatds them like garbage becasue obviously it is justefied

It's like how black people will always be considered more agressive from teh get go which then of course calls for a more agressive response

Even if they wher just calmly minding their own business

Simply by existing while black they are marked as bad, agressive etc ...

And simply by existing on teh autism spectrum people are marked as bad and untrustworthy and therfor obviously guilty of something ...

Becasue thing is

I have seen people not minding behaviour X in one person and really minding it in another person

The only difference?

One was "marked" as bad (by being a women or queer or disabled or not white etc ... ) and teh other person wasn't "marked" as bad ...

All that is not to say that a more open communication isn't good or anything

Of course it is

I am 100% with OP here

And of course it is a good idea to speak up before one blows ones lid

But it will not solve the problem

The problem is that people on teh spectrum are, through no fault of their own, stuck in teh uncanny valley and people outside the spectrum will always be creeped out by that and act accordingly

Some more, some less

But it's a kneejerk reaction

One can be aware of it

One can fight it

But the onus here is on the NT to fight their naturall instincts on top of not sending mixed signals

I saw some snippet of a callout post for an autistic trans woman where they list social faux pas she committed, and I think we allistic people should all feel 100x more ashamed of not telling people in the moment how we feel about what they're doing. I think its extremely evil and cruel to not only lie to an autistic person and blame them for it but also to feel justified shaming them for your behavior. And it's currently the social norm to do that

[dduane]

Hi, *insert childhood adoration here* just got home from work and don't really have access to true coherent thought. Um. Okay.

Do you know why sometimes, books in a series, from the same publisher, will be in two different sizes? My sister and I figured out that sometimes the exact same book from the same publisher will have two different thicknesses of paper and so one will be slightly thicker, but we can't work out the height and width thing. Same cover design type, like, same edition. Just. One of them is bigger. Do you know why?

Thanks for the wizard books that first made friends of my cousin and me.

First: you're very welcome. I'm glad to have been of service.

On the size question, though: This is one of the Great Imponderables that drives books' writers at least as far around the bend as their readers.

Now there are some explanations that make at least some kind of sense. Sometimes, for example, even within a single edition of a single book, there may be difference-in-thickness issues for some concrete reason: the challenge is discovering which reason (assuming the publisher hasn't themselves told you about it, which is likely to be the case about 99% of the time). ...A common problem is when, for some reason to do with ongoing geopolitical crap or national/international crises, the price of paper changes suddenly. This will cause publishers to try to reduce costs on a book by (the next time it goes back to press) changing the paper quality for something thinner. One of these changes might come between volumes of a series, which is why you might suddenly get a difference between the paper quality of book 5 and book 6 of what's otherwise supposed to be a unified set.

(There's also a similar weirdness in which going up a level of paper thickness will allow your publisher to shove a book of a given length into a slightly higher price point. So, whammo, it happens, and no one bothers consulting you about this detail.)

Or alternately: All of a sudden, somebody at your publisher decides that your series needs to be packaged in a slightly different format that—for reasons that possibly no one in the field even fully understands—is becoming associated with better sales at some other publisher (or some other imprint at your own publisher). So, bang, between one book of a series and the next, the next volume to come out is a quarter inch taller or half an inch wider. And/or 15% thicker (because the pulp of the paper involved has had more air pumped into it than previously). And your books will continue to look like that until some other fad or trend at the packaging end affects them.

(Or alternately, it doesn't affect them, because your publisher's focus has changed in some inexplicable way—or the in-house accountants have crunched their numbers in some new manner—and they've decided your books aren't worth spending the format-change money on.)

(sigh) Tl:dr; There's no damn telling. (It's vanishingly rare that anybody tells us, anyway.) And I wish I had a clearer answer for you than this. Apologies. :/

[traincat]

what's the unreleased uncanny avengers fic 👀 (I love when you do fic that's set at a very specific point in canon, I'm always dying for more of that in comics fandom)

So I have four different Uncanny Avengers fic in this folder, and upon investigation two of these I finished and posted:

Echoes, which takes place immediately post Uncanny Avengers #12, which is the end of its Hanktron plot.

He was having a time.

Keep the Fire Burning, which takes place after Uncanny Avengers #20, where the Red Skull mindcontrolled Johnny and Peter reacted. Strongly.

[Sunset Boulevard voice] We had comics, then.

The other two are also in the Uncanny Avengers #19-22 time frame, because there was just a lot going on. Under the cut! Johnny having a Bad Time, Generally.

Uncanny Avengers #19 fixit fic, based on the fact that the Red Skull makes Johnny hallucinate his family's return and then imagine himself burning them alive. We have fun here. This one was intended to be a get together, but then I think Uncanny Avengers #20 came out and I was like well I have other things to focus on.

***

“It’s that farkakteh team you’re on, running around, getting abducted by psychic Red Skull,” Peter said, pacing the floor in front of Johnny, waving his hands about. “Back in my day we settled for the regular model and we were happy about it.”

Johnny didn’t say anything. Peter sighed, stopping in front of him and dropping his hands to his sides.

“Torch,” he said. “Talk to me.”

Johnny shook his head, the briefest of motions. Peter dropped into the chair across from him, leaning forward a little, until their knees were almost brushing.

"Don't touch me."

It was the only Peter could get him to say, ever since he’d insisted they cut out on the clean-up. He’d swung them both to his apartments in the Baxter Building, Johnny silent and unresisting, clinging to Peter’s shoulders. Peter almost missed that – at least that was contact. Now Johnny sat on the sofa with his head in his hands and his shoulders all hunched up and said "don't touch me" every time Peter so much as thought about reaching out.

It was horrible. All Peter wanted to do was hold him.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice coaxing. He wanted to fix it – wanted to take Johnny out, somewhere high up. Wanted to wrap Johnny up in blankets and keep him indoors. All his attempts at affection always felt so clumsy where Johnny was involved, like it was never what Johnny really needed.

“Don’t touch me,” Johnny repeated.

“C’mon,” Peter said, aware his tone is getting a little tetchy. He knew wasn’t the world’s most patient man at the best of times, and besides, words were cheap, easy, a dime a dozen where he was concerned. He’d always communicated best with Johnny through touch. How could he help if Johnny wouldn’t let him smooth a hand over his back or throw an arm around his shoulders?

Johnny had never shied away from touch before, not once in the fifteen years Peter had known him.

“What’s a little mind control between friends, huh?” Peter joked, inching a little closer, on the edge of his own seat so he could sway a little into Johnny’s space. “We’ve been here before.”

Johnny shook his head slowly. Peter dipped his head, but he couldn’t see his expression. He sighed, restless.

“Hey, buddy, you gotta talk to me here. You’re scaring me a little…” he said, dropping a hand to Johnny’s knee.

He yanked it back before he could make real contact, spider-sense buzzing like he just tried to touch a hot stove. Johnny was blazing -- it wasn’t noticeable, except for a sheer scant inch from his body.

Peter had never really marveled over his control before. “Johnny?”

“You can’t,” Johnny said, voice hitching, “touch me, okay, Peter?”

“Johnny,” Peter said, gentling his voice again. He got up and moved to Johnny’s couch instead, leaving enough space between them that he couldn’t feel the heat Johnny’s putting out. “Hot stuff – literally. What’s going on?”

All he wanted to do was put his arms around Johnny, and Johnny wouldn’t let him.

Johnny just breathed for a few long moments, ragged. Peter had already tried to ply him with water, with coffee, with that one bottle of very old-looking scotch someone else must have put in his kitchen. Johnny didn’t seem to want anything.

“Pretty boy,” Peter cajoled, the old nickname that never failed to get him a pleased smile. “What’s so different about this time?”

“My family came back,” Johnny said, and Peter’s whole being lurched.

“What?” he said. It wasn’t possible – if the Fantastic Four were back, he’d know, surely. And if the Fantastic Four were back, why would Johnny be curled in on himself like this, hiding out on Peter’s couch?

“My family came back,” Johnny repeated, voice a little steadier. He pulled his hands away from his face – his fingers trembled – and slid them through his hair. His eyes were red. He was white as a sheet. “And I lost all control of my powers, and I burned them to death. My family.”

Peter worked his jaw for a minute, speechless. Johnny finally looked at him, eyes all damp. Peter couldn’t stop staring at the dark gold sweep of his lashes, his wet cheeks.

“That’s what the Red Skull made me see, anyway,” he said with a watery, fake smile. It was like a bucket of ice water down Peter’s back. The arm of his chair gave way under his fist, viciously, and Johnny almost jumped.

He reigned his own anger in for Johnny’s sake, buried it deep down where he kept every other injustice he couldn’t do anything about, all the unfair things. He breathed out, slow.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Johnny, still wide-eyed at Peter’s outburst, said, “I know.”

“It wasn’t real,” Peter pressed on, inching closer. His hand hovered above Johnny’s knee, but still there was that blazing heat. It hurt, that Johnny wouldn’t let him hold him. “It didn’t really happen.”

“I know,” Johnny repeated, miserably. Peter hadn’t thought his heart could break for him anymore than it already had.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said, desperate to take Johnny’s hand in his own. Johnny would never forgive him if he burned himself on him. Peter would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. “It wasn’t real, Johnny.”

(...)

“Hey,” Peter said, inching closer. He can stand the heat, at least for a few minutes. “Lower the thermostat.”

“What?” Johnny said, looking up at him.

Peter made a loose hand motion, rolling his wrist. “An expression, Torch. Johnny, hot stuff – turn it down.”

Johnny shook his head, stubborn. He was tired, Peter could see that now. He needed rest, food – and he wasn’t letting himself have anything, because of something that had never even happened.

Peter knew that feeling.

“I promise you,” Peter said, “you want to turn down the body heat for this one. Johnny, trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”

After a second, Johnny nodded.

It wasn’t how he had wanted to do this. He’d wanted to wait, to do it right – take Johnny out someplace nice, someplace romantic. Let him catch on little by little. He’d wanted to kiss Johnny for the first time with the skyline at their backs, underneath the stars.

On his couch with all the blinds drawn and Johnny so miserable Peter felt like crying too was what it was going to have to be, though. Peter couldn’t think of anything else.

“You’re either going to love this, or I’ve been reading everything wrong,” Peter said, softly. He touched his fingertips beneath Johnny’s chin to hold him steady. “In which case you’re going to have the time of your life laughing at me.”

Johnny’s soft inhale was all the go-ahead Peter needed. The first brush of their lips was quick, testing – Johnny’s lips were soft and full. Peter wondered if he tasted slightly ashen all the time, or only after he’d spent most of the day flamed on. Maybe only when he was sad.

“Peter,” Johnny said, sliding one hand along Peter’s neck. His eyes were closed.

“Yeah?” Peter teased a little, lips just brushing Johnny’s.

“I’m not laughing,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Peter said. He hummed and kissed the highest point of Johnny’s cheek, nosed at him softly. “I guess I need to try harder.”

Johnny nodded, tilting his head. Peter kissed him again, and again, and again, until Johnny’s mouth opened under his and Peter was licking into it and Johnny was making soft little sounds that had nothing to do with being sad at all.

“Is this okay?” Peter asked when they broke apart. Johnny was breathing hard, looking a little dazed. Peter reached up very carefully to brush his hair back.

***

And the Uncanny Avengers post-#21-22 fic, which was established relationship:

Johnny was in his bed again, on his side facing away from the door. Peter sighed fondly, shoulder meeting the doorframe as he leaned in it for a long moment, tracing the way the moonlight illuminated Johnny’s form.

He hit the light and Johnny groaned, dragging a pillow over his head.

“You’re not naked,” he said, climbing onto the bed and palming Johnny’s hip, right over the yellow patch. “<i>Before</i> we got together, I got you naked.”

“You didn’t get me anything,” Johnny mumbled, voice thick. “I got myself naked and you screamed.”

“I didn’t scream, I yelled,” Peter corrected, rubbing little circles, stroking his way down Johnny’s thigh and back up again. He counted out the panels on the yellow patches, walking his fingers up and down. “It was extremely masculine and not a pitch only dogs could hear at all.”

Johnny snorted, grip on the pillow loosening. Peter gave him another moment before he rolled him over, bracing himself over him on one hand.

“Hey, hon,” he said, tracing the dried tear tracks on Johnny’s cheeks. His eyes were still a little red. “Rough day at the office?”

Johnny snorted, reaching up to fidget with Peter’s collar. “Something like that.”

“But everything’s peachy-keen now?” Peter asked. “All Red Skulls safely off the streets?”

Johnny nodded, face pensive. (...)

“The fist bump?” Peter said, sounding amused. “Really?”

“I was trying to play it cool,” Johnny said. “Casual, you know.”

“I have never,” Peter said, kissing Johnny once, twice, three times, “ever bumped your fist before. Not one time.”

"Liar."

[coffeeman777]

Thank you for your concern.

I quoted here from the Living Bible, which is one of my favorite paraphrases. I think it captures the meaning of many Scripture passages very clearly. I'm just as happy to use the NKJV or the ESV (I'd use the ESV before the NKJV personally, but either is good).

I disagree with your assessment that the same passages quoted from the NKJV has a different vibe. Both translations are saying the exact same thing, albeit with different terms. John very clearly draws a contrast between genuine Christians and false converts. Paul, Peter, James, and Jude also make these distinctions. They do it (and so should we) in order to warn false converts about their situation. The point isn't to look down on anyone, but to warn everyone.

Jesus warns in Matthew 7 (and I'll quote the NKJV for you),

"15 “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves. 16 You will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles? 17 Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. 18 A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Therefore by their fruits you will know them.

"21 “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. 22 Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ 23 And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’"

Wouldn't you agree that a person who thinks they're saved when they aren't is in a terrible position? Would it be more loving to warn those who, based on a multiplicity of Biblical passages, seem to be in that position, or to assume that they're all set and going to inherit eternal life because they say they're Christians, despite their practice of unrepentant sin?

If there is no such thing as a false convert, and everyone who claims to be in Christ definitely is regardless of all else, what is the point of what Jesus says in Matthew 7:21-23?

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Optimus was finally starting to come to, he kept his optics shut however, making a grumbling sound as he talked to himself, ignoring the fact that there were others there.

Because no there wasn't, because he was at home, because he didn't visit Wheeljack today on a fragging whim and then get blasted to who knows where.

He was going to deny everything until it was real, because he was too damn tired to be dealing with this scrap.

He exhaled speaking quietly and firmly to himself, as if by saying it , it would absolutely make it real.

"Wheeljack didn't blow me up. I didn't get blasted, the mech with the fine faceplate structure was just a dream, just a really, real dream- I'm going to open my optics and none of it is real."

His ear fins twitched. His jaw tensed, Optimus closed his eyes tighter, please if there was a Primus...

He opened his optics and there he was that mech with the faceplate with sharp edges that only defined his features further, one optic ridge raised and looking at him.

Optimus closed his eyes again and sighed, a long heavy sigh.

"Of course you're real and just had to be there. "

"You are certainly in a mess and answered a few questions without my even asking, so you're from an alternative universe, that certainly explains the appearance...though with these bright colours I must wonder are you from a pleasure District where you come from?"

Optimus's cheeks turned deep purple at the mere suggestion, he held nothing against such places, but the very idea of himself performing at one with everyone staring...that voice....all raspy, gravelly even saying that....no, not the time to be thinking like that.

Sitting up, he found his wrists and ankles were bound and glared with such a fire at the silver mech . He was sure he'd burned him and smirked at the thought.

Megatron however was simply staring, the fire, the fight in those eyes, there was something akin to a wild animal in them that wanted freedom, he momentarily felt the desire to tame such a thing...but perhaps in that want age set them apart.

If Optimus had heard these thoughts and not noticed the Decepticon symbol on the mechs chest.

He instant response would be

'No it didn't. '

Optimus pulled at the restraints again and heard another mech working the medical computer behind him.

There was no mistaking that structure, despite a few differences

Frowning he stated the name of the mech

"Soundwave."

Soundwave unfazed by him simply waved a hand as if to say yeah yeah I'm busy working don't bother me.

Prime turned his head and then looked at the one beside the med berth and chuckled, that damn cannon should have instantly made it obvious who he was.

Megatron folded his arms, he did not appreciate the mocking tone in that laugh.

"Pray tell, what do you find so amusing about my image."

"Compared to the Megatron in my world, you're tiny."

Optimus grinned, oh he knew he was dancing with Unicron with that comment but the way Megatron shifted and placed his hands on his hips , unsure of what to say before he was pointing at him and scolding him as if he were a sparkling.

"Boy, despite my size I have battled and won against Cybertronians Omega Supreme's size, I have no problem dealing with prisoners or upstarts."

Prime wondered a moment if he should pull a page from Bee's book and antagonise him, that berating tone might almost be worth it.

Optimus decided to go with a tactic that he knew was merely a joke... but he couldn't girlboss, mansplain, definitely not man slaughter his way out of this, he was on his own here.

Primus he couldn't believe he was about to do this.

"So which one am I, Lord Megatron?"

He purred leaning in closer.

Man whoring it was.

(Previous part)

(First part)

[saintsenara]

read Scylla and Charybdis today loved it! Very excited to see how it continues. I have a question for you as someone for whom the intricacies of the British class system are still a bit misty. Aren’t Snape and Lily both from Cokeworth? They’re almost neighbors, right? They’re able to run into each other at the swing set after having walked there at age nine or so. So how is it that Lily’s family is sooo much better off financially than Severus’s family? Or is that even true? Would they not have similar accents and similar ignorances at Hogwarts compared with their classmates? And Lily is muggleborn and a woman, so she has those disadvantages to deal with when Severus doesn’t. 

It feels like Severus is taking for granted that his situation is far more difficult than Lily’s. Is that a reasonable assumption on his part, or is he not seeing past the end of his own nose? From where I’m sitting, it seems like he feels so sorry for himself about his (def seems pretty grim) background that he decides to do terrorism about it and he sort of resents Lily for not grasping that. But she has a very similar background as far as I can tell? Or are things really that different a few streets away? Or is it specifically because Severus was raised by his drunk, deadbeat, abusive father that his outlook is so bleak? 

Like yes Lily can afford ice cream and it doesn’t occur to her to treat Severus (Harry is maybe a better friend than she was in some ways?). But being able to afford ice cream kind of looks trivial when compared to the prospect of trying to fit into magical public life after Hogwarts when a looooot of the population seems in agreement with Voldemort that muggleborns should definitely be treated as second class citizens? Kind of like what Remus says about how Harry’s view on his lycanthropy is rose colored by having only seen him under Dumbledore’s protection. Tho on the other hand, there are the muggleborn hiring quotas that Severus would probably point to. 

if the answer is just Yeah Severus is an insightful person but he also has a severe case of sees-what-he-wants-to-see-itis like that’s fine, I just suspect there are some cultural nuances I am missing as an American. 

thank you very much for the ask, pal! i'm delighted you're enjoying scylla and charybdis.

snape and lily's respective class backgrounds are something i've gone into more detail about here, but the summary is that they're both from working-class backgrounds, but that there's a hierarchy of sub-backgrounds - each with its own behavioural nuances - within each class bracket. from an outside perspective - that is to say, from a separate class bracket - these sub-hierarchies might not seem particularly profound, but they matter enormously within their specific brackets.

snape - who lives in victorian slum housing, is visibly destitute, has a father who's presumably unemployed a lot of the time [and who, when he does work, is presumably - since the text really hammers home the connection between his house and the mill - a mill-worker], and has a family who seem to have a reputation for not being respectable [petunia knows who snape is when he first meets lily, and she's clearly been advised not to socialise with his sort…] - is a level of working class below lily. i doubt she comes from a background which is rich by any means. but she was clearly raised in a family which was both much more financially stable and much more socially stable - and, therefore, much more socially respectable.

and these class nuances clearly repeat themselves in the wizarding world [the wizarding class-system - for the doylist reason that jkr didn't want to flesh it out so she just made it the same as the real-world version and the watsonian reason that the way class functions in britain has roots which stretch back well before the statute of secrecy - is a mirror to the muggle one...]

they're just obscured in canon by the fact that so few of the main characters we encounter in the text are working-class. as i've gone into more detail about here, hogwarts is an institution which is pretty homogenous class-wise, but this isn't because the wizarding world is more egalitarian in terms of social class [we meet lots of characters - especially in manual or service roles - who are transparently intended to be understood by the reader as working-class and, therefore, to be understood by the reader as harry's social inferiors], it's because hogwarts exists in order to mould its students into people who conform to the social conventions of the wizarding elite, before it shuffles them off into state jobs to maintain and enforce the class system.

the teenage snape is one of only two students we ever meet - from any blood-category - who looks working-class [the other is hagrid]. he also appears to sound working-class - the swearing which prompts james to wash his mouth out is how the narrative communicates this, while the text's implication that everyone else at hogwarts sounds fairly homogenous is another way the school trains its students to be the elite - and to comport himself in a way which is similarly understood as a bit rough...

and this is very interesting, because it's a manifestation of one of snape's character traits which comes up again and again across the series - that he detests people who have had [or who he perceives to have had] everything handed to them on a plate.

he's not somebody who's naturally deferential - he will defer to people he believes have earned their right to consider themselves his superior [such as voldemort and dumbledore] but he's totally unwilling to defer to people whose only superiority over him comes from things like their class background [hence him responding to sirius implying that he's lucius malfoy's bitch by pointing out that he's actually the one who needs to worry about what lucius could do to him], their connections [hence his "ironic bow" when umbridge is trying to threaten him by referring to his relationship with lucius], their social status [hence literally every interaction he ever has with harry] or their wealth [likewise].

and this results in him being the only hogwarts-educated character we ever meet who doesn't play the class game while at school [voldemort - while he rejects the patron-client dynamic with slughorn which was clearly the only way he'd be allowed to enter the ministry - clearly makes the effort to speak and behave like a pureblood during his teenage years, which is exactly why everyone finds him turning down slughorn's job offers to be so shocking]. but, aged sixteen, the snape we find on the page isn't making any effort to embrace the social conventions which are his only hope of escaping poverty in a world with such a restrictive class system. he wants to become successful on his own merits.

this is a pretty admirable thing, in and of itself. but it gives him a series of absolutely enormous blind spots in his relationship with lily.

because lily does play the game. she's one of slughorn’s favourites, she's one of dumbledore’s favourites, she marries and takes the name of a pureblood man, and when she turns on her working-class friend [which she does for the very, very good reason that he's just called her a slur]... she does so by pointing out her superiority to his poverty.

from snape's perspective, this is class-treachery… but this means that he never bothers thinking about why lily might want to - and, indeed, need to - engage with wizarding society in a more conventional way.

[we also see this in half-blood prince, when harry, ron, and ginny find the idea of hermione attending the slug club to be ridiculous. none of them think for one moment about why a muggleborn woman might want to obtain the support of a well-connected pureblood man who clearly likes her…]

it's clear in canon that the only real way for muggleborns [and for part-humans - all of this also applies to lupin] to give themselves a modicum of protection from a state and a society which regards them as an underclass is to stick as rigidly to respectability politics as they can. they need to cultivate pureblood and half-blood connections and behave in ways which are deemed acceptable by the pureblood world and so on, so that when the state is seeking to oppress them, they have someone ready to defend them as "one of the good ones".

indeed, i'm always struck in deathly hallows that - when the trio infiltrate the ministry - reg cattermole [really ron in disguise] is told the following by yaxley:

"But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood," said Yaxley, "- not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth - and the Head of the Department ofMagical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do that job, Cattermole. Do you understand me?" [DH 12]

and this phrasing is really important. because it comes with the implication that being accused of being muggleborn is an accusation which can - on occasion - be beaten.

it's apparent in the text that being accused of being - or found to be - muggleborn [and therefore "guilty" of the "crime" of "stealing magic"] is more likely to happen to you if you're somebody the regime wants out of the way.

we see this in the case of dirk cresswell, who's clearly identified [correctly! we know he is one because slughorn tells us so in half-blood prince] as a muggleborn in order to benefit two men who are death eaters or death eater collaborators...

this bloke:

The wizard leaned toward Harry, leering, and muttered, "Dirk Cresswell, eh? From Goblin Liaison? Nice one, Albert. I'm pretty confident I'll get his job now!" [DH 12]

and runcorn, who would presumably receive some sort of job-related boost for "catching" as many muggleborns as possible:

The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, "I hear you laid information about Dirk Cresswell." [DH 13]

runcorn is also the person who submits mary cattermole to the commission - and i have always believed that he does this because reg cattermole [who's someone arthur weasley clearly knows reasonably well] is known to have anti-voldemort views...

because hermione says something similar, when she points out to ron that him teaching her his family tree to help her pass as a pureblood would do nothing to protect her from the commission - the reason she's on the list of muggleborns who are wanted for questioning is because of her connection to harry [DH 11].

and ted tonks says that he refused to attend his registration hearing "on principle" [DH 15] - undoubtedly because he's aware that, as the father of an order member and the husband of a blood-traitor whose sister is one of the highest-ranking death eaters, he's someone the regime intends to kill, and he'd like to make doing that as difficult for it as possible...

but there's a subtext to all of these cases. if mary and dirk weren't people the regime regarded as expendable, or if ted and hermione weren't people the regime regarded as enemies, they'd have a chance of being safe. the commission would find some "proof" that they weren't muggleborn.

[perhaps by claiming that muggles traffic magical children and they'd been stolen from their real families, which would also handily stoke anti-muggle sentiment...]

yaxley is telling cattermole that the same thing could happen for his wife… in the right circumstances.

and so the lily of the 1970s is seeking to give herself as many of these right circumstances as possible. she's in the extraordinarily difficult position of wanting to fight voldemort - to the death, if need be - and having to set things up for herself in a way which enables her to keep fighting for as long as possible without attracting either voldemort or the state's ire, and having to deal with the fact that - when the anti-voldemort cause is victorious and the dark lord's dead - she's still going to be at risk from the state because she's a muggleborn.

financial worries are going to be less potent for her - james is wealthy; so is sirius, who she could presumably expect to help support her in a scenario where james was dead or imprisoned or in hiding; her relationship with dumbledore and slughorn could easily be leveraged into a high-flying job - and she's also [very probably] not going to stand out in terms of appearance, behaviour, or understanding of social convention from her hogwarts-educated pureblood and half-blood peers, which enables her - much like lupin - to move through the world without being instantly clocked as a target.

she's also protected - to some degree - by gender conventions. the married women we meet in canon prior to voldemort's defeat [the only exceptions, it seems, are tonks and maybe fleur] all take their husbands' names - and so lily acquiring a pureblood surname for herself offers her an additional, socially expected way to blend in which muggleborn men [or half-blood men with muggle fathers...] lack.

but these things are - of course - protections, rather than advantages.

snape just refuses to see it like that.

his focus is purely on the way he's discriminated against - and he is; he's not invented the grievance - due to his class background and financial status. and voldemort is the only person who takes this class aspect seriously - both in scylla and charybdis and in canon.

[this is why he has enormous support among werewolves and goblins. this is why the snatchers are all written as working-class young men. this is why there's a populist undertone to his regime.]

but voldemort is also treading a fine line. he can't declare himself to be seeking to destroy the class-system by which the wizarding world functions... because then the elite supporters who think his aims are pureblood oligarchy would abandon him and the ministry would be less willing to make concessions [after all, the implication of canon is that - if he'd just stayed away from harry - the first war would have been wrapped up by the ministry coming to the table…].

but he also needs to keep his popular support... so he can't be seen to be someone who's in favour of oligarchy.

but he also needs to keep those of his supporters who are drawn to him precisely because of his promise of violence happy... so he can't come across as someone who's perfectly happy to take over the state and its institutions and keep them running broadly unchanged.

but he also needs to keep the support he has among part-humans and non-humans... so he can't do anything which will have him dismissed as someone who's advocating for the same old wizard-supremacist violence.

but he also needs to keep both his elite and his popular wizarding support by not even remotely suggesting that he's seeking to replace magical people with werewolves and goblins…

he needs a scapegoat he can turn all of these disparate groups' ire on, in a way which prevents them from realising that he's lying to them all and that what he actually wants to do is to rule as an immortal absolute monarch with everyone else cowering at his feet.

and he finds that scapegoat in muggleborns.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

There’s always been something that bothered me about whenever I try to explain the concept of Hatoful Boyfriend and most people’s immediate reaction is “oh! Like Doki Doki!”. My response is always just “…I guess?” because I could never quite explain why that felt wrong to me but I think I finally can put a finger on it now.

(To be clear, I’ve played and enjoyed both games. They’re both fun - this isn’t a criticism at all! I just think they’re, at their cores, two very different things. Also I don’t spoil anything for either game here beyond the obvious; that is, that these games are not what they seem to be at first glance, which I’m pretty sure most people know going in. If that amount of spoiler still bothers you, then stop reading here and play the games first!!!)

When people compare the two games, I 100% understand where they’re coming from. It’s the same gimmick I suppose: cutesy looking or joke visual novel actually turns out to be a smokescreen to hide the horrors within. But. Like. I feel like that’s where the similarities end.

See, DDLC’s whole point is to be shocking. It’s intended to make you jump and disturb you. It’s primarily a horror game with you, the player, as its focal point, and as a result the characters are only really there to be used by the story. The majority of the characters, with the exception of one, are pretty straightforward and lean heavily on the tropes commonly used in dating sims so the game can later distort them in increasingly horrific ways - with the intent of shocking and scaring you. The characters are more tools to be used to tell the story and create the experience than fully fleshed out people, which I think works out well thematically for DDLC. It’s effective in the sense where the characters aren’t really what draws you in, but rather the premise and the anticipation of getting a good scare out of it, with some existential stuff mixed in there for a pretty cool experience. You came to get scared right? Well that’s what you got.

But Hatoful is very different because its intent is not to shock or scare you necessarily. Hatoful, since its initial development, has been designed to make you care. Hato Moa made the game intending for people to start it because of its ridiculous concept, but then to discover it’s depth along the way. Hatoful doesn’t want to jump scare you. It wants to tell you a story. It delves into horror, that’s true, but the horror is much more psychological and it stems from the character’s actions. It’s a character driven story at its core, and it does this by taking itself seriously. It knows it’s completely absurd and leans into the absurdity, but the character interactions are real, so that when actual plot begins to happen, you’ll wonder when you started getting so attached. The characters twist typical dating sim tropes again, but this time to ask “hey why is this character like this? maybe it’s not so straightforward as you think”. And then the game goes a step further and reveals that there is an actual in-universe reason for its insane setup of “a human girl goes to bird school which is for birds and dates pigeons”. Hatoful is less tongue in cheek and more completely unabashed about it’s ridiculous premise and plays it straight - which in turn makes its serious moments shockingly genuine. That, to me, is why it works. The point is to delve into the characters. The plot is driven by the characters. It’s horrifying at times because the characters will sometimes make or be forced to make horrific choices. It’s not a gimmick. It’s a cohesive story. It’s just asking you to dig into it a little further to get there.

Tldr; DDLC is a cutesy facade and Hatoful is unabashedly absurd. DDLC wants to scare you and Hatoful wants you to care. DDLC uses its characters as tools for the experience while Hatoful’s whole point is the characters.

Editing based off a reblog that made me aware I was not completely fair with DDLC here (again, still trying not to spoil too much): The experience in DDLC is heavily based on its thematic content. When I say “the characters serve the experience” and “it wants to scare you” I don’t mean this shallowly, and I think it can and has been frequently misinterpreted in this way. In DDLC, the horror comes from the situation. In that sense, it’s thematically appropriate that the characters are tools in that way - that’s actually part of it and you are meant to feel bad for them - their situations, issues, and personalities are thematically relevant and sympathetic. I shouldn’t have juxtaposed “to scare you” and “to make you care”; that was far too simplistic a summary to the point where it is inaccurate. They both want you to care - a story only has power if you care about it. But I do still feel strongly that DDLC’s draw is the terrifying situation it impresses on the player, and the self-aware questions it asks (in which characters are put through the existential oppressive wringer to emphasize these themes), while Hatoful primarily relies on you slowly but surely acclimating to the absurdity so it can tell what is simultaneously an off the walls story that is also genuine and believable for the characters you’ve grown to know.

[thenexusofsouls]

"That was different. You were lied to. You also weren't a giant space crab," Tony said, somehow managing the last bit with a straight face. He didn't like the idea of Wanda going in there with this clearly unstable alien creature, but he also knew he couldn't control her every move, much as that might have set his own mind at ease. If she really wanted to go, he knew he couldn't and shouldn't stop her. That didn't mean he wasn't going to be a mess until she got out safely again.

Pilot really wasn't sure about having someone else enter his mind, especially someone he didn't know, but Zhaan said it was alright, and he knew she wouldn't let someone hurt him. Her presence in his mind was very different from Zhaan's, but not necessarily bad. His eyes closed as he focused on her words of comfort and the soothing influence of her magic. His sadness and disorientation were so potent, however, that he still found it difficult to remain calm.

Zhaan was having a hard time keeping her own composure too, seeing Pilot's wounds. The end of his abdomen was in tatters where he'd been attached to Moya, and he was bleeding at an alarming rate. She was about to ask for things she might need to bandage his wounds when she looked up and saw the blood tricking out of Wanda's nose. "Oh. Oh, my dear... you must stop, you're hurting yourself," she said, rushing to her side.

"Hey, honey, no no no..." Tony said, having noticed the blood as well, Forgetting his fear of Pilot, he rushed in the cell and grabbed Wanda. "Enough. We gotta go. Come on. This isn't working."

Pilot's eyes opened and, seeing Tony, someone he definitely did not trust, he whimpered and tried to push himself away from him.

"Be still, Pilot, try not to move. It's alright, I'm here," Zhaan said, laying her hands on his cheeks. She needed to do something about his wounds, but she also needed him to stay calm. "Goddess help me, I cannot do everything..." she muttered under her breath.

Tony started leading Wanda out of the cell. "Time to close it up, let her stay with him if she wants to," he said, one thousand percent done. At the point at which Wanda was injured by this, he wasn't about to let it continue.

"Can you at least provide me with medical supplies or some sort of doctor to help me stop the bleeding and get these wounds treated?!" Zhaan said, exasperated by Tony's ability to simply turn away from Pilot's pain. "I am sorry she was injured, I'm not certain why that happened, but I fear Pilot may die without help!" she insisted, her tone desperate and pleading. "Please!"

"Let me look," Tony said, ignoring Zhaan as the cell was sealed up again. He cupped Wanda's face and looked at her nose. "Are you in pain, is your vision alright, talk to me." Before I panic here...

Zhaan huffed in frustration and turned her attention to Pilot, holding his face again. "I need you to be very strong, alright? As strong as you possibly can," she said before moving to the back of him.

"W-what are you going to do?" Pilot asked, his fear mounting again.

"I need to stop the bleeding," she said, tearing strips of cloth from her robes. She blinked away her tears. "This is going to hurt, and I am truly sorry for that, but it may save your life. Deep breaths, Pilot. As soon as I am finished, I will share in your pain, I promise you."

Pilot whimpered in anticipation of intense pain, and when Zhaan began to tie tourniquets onto his wounds, he cried out loudly in agony.

"I'm so sorry, Pilot!" Zhaan said, barely able to see for all her tears. His blood soaked into her clothes, making things slick and difficult to grab hold of, but she worked quickly, getting the worst of the blood flow stopped.

Tony could see that Wanda still wanted to help Pilot, but he was adamant that she not place herself in danger again. "We need to get you to the med bay to get checked out, honey, this... this is not okay," he said, wiping blood from her upper lip and trying not to look as worried as he felt. He could see that it was going to be a battle, though, to get Wanda to leave the situation unfolding nearby. Sighing, Tony looked back at the two very odd aliens as one attempted to help the other.

Zhaan had moved to Pilot's head and was now attempting to share some of his pain.

"Okay, fine, theoretically... what would you need to... help him?" Tony asked.

Frustrated and a bit angry at the lack of empathy for Pilot, Zhaan sighed sharply, even as she cradled Pilot's head. "I do not suppose you are technologically advanced enough to be able to generate tissue grafts from genetic samples?" she asked, not expecting a real reply.

Tony's eyebrows rose in slight offense. "Um, excuse you, we are."

"You are?!" Zhaan exclaimed, looking at Tony in shock.

"Yeah. We'd just need his genome to input into the tissue generator. We can get that from a blood sample," Tony said.

"How long would it take to process the sample and create the tissue grafts?" Zhaan asked.

Tony shrugged. "Few hours, maybe, I'm not sure."

Zhaan's face fell. "Pilot likely does not have that long..." she whispered through the pain she was taking from him.

- - - - -

Aeryn got the distinct sense, listening to the way this man spoke and the way he carried himself, that she wasn't the only trained soldier in the room. Not that that bothered her, she was used to being around soldiers, but it did make her relate to this man a bit differently. "Actually, I answer to no one but myself at present," she said. "I guess you could say I was... decommissioned by my former captain."

"She's a fugitive, like the rest of us," Rygel said.

"I'm sure that'll build trust with them, you idiot," she said.

"Perhaps it will." He looked to Steve. "May we request sanctuary on your fine planet? Until such time as we can be reunited with Moya and our companions?"

"I don't think you're in any position to bargain, Rygel," Aeryn said.

"Bargaining is all we have!" Rygel insisted.

Aeryn's brow furrowed at Steve's question. "Chitauri? What's that?" she asked, genuinely bewildered. It was not a word or name or anything she'd ever heard before.

"A race?" Rygel guessed.

"One you've heard of?" Aeryn asked him.

"No," he said, shrugging. "You?"

"No," Aeryn said, shaking her head. Her gaze returned to Steve. "Leviathans are biomechanoid megafauna native to space, sentient beings comprised of the perfect fusion of organic material and metal parts," she explained. "They're large enough to act as transport vessels and to be able to comfortably house several smaller beings inside, like us. We live aboard one named Moya. But she's no threat to you or your planet. Leviathans have no weapons capabilities and no capacity for offensive attack, only starburst as an evasive maneuver whenever they're threatened."

"And we don't even know where Moya is, at present," Rygel added.

"There is also that..." Aeryn said with a sigh of frustration. "Pilot isn't answering me. We can only assume we are out of range for communication."

"Frelling fantastic," Rygel complained. "How the yotz do you know a god? What sort of god is he, anyway?" he asked Steve.

"What difference does that make?" Aeryn asked.

"We may as well attempt to understand our captors!" Rygel insisted.

“Are you friend or foe?” (For Zhaan)

Zhaan looked up at the young woman from where she sat inside her holding cell, not unlike the one used by Loki years prior. "Given our respective positions on either side of these walls in which I find myself imprisoned, I would say... at present... neither. But there is time yet for misunderstandings to be cleared and injustices to be set right." Her tone was not antagonistic, but it was guarded. She did not appreciate being incarcerated yet again after finally escaping Peacekeeper oppression after a number of years, yet she could hardly blame this woman for that. Still, trust was something that would have to be built.

The wormhole that had facilitated the invasion of New York City was not to be the only such anomaly to occur, it seemed. Another had just been detected, though this time, the results had been far less... dramatic. Something had come through, however. Perhaps several somethings. Both SHIELD and the Department of Defense were still attempting to determine exactly what.

One being had been captured thus far. A Delvian, apparently, by her own admission. No one had any idea what a Delvian was, or what such a being was capable of. For now, she was being contained at the Avengers compound, both because of the unknown level of threat she posed and for biological containment purposes. She could be carrying pathogenic microbes, after all.

Zhaan had been both interested and concerned to discover that she was on the planet Earth. It was John Crichton's home planet. How agonizingly ironic that she should be sent here and not him. Still, it was a planet entirely unfamiliar to her, and for that reason, she had to remain cautious. Although most of the humans who encountered her seemed unwilling to treat her as anything more than a caged pet, an oddity on display, or a test subject to be poked and prodded, there had been a few who had bothered to actually speak with her. Through them, she had learned where she was, at least, but was no closer to being able to gain her freedom.

And now... this young woman had chosen to speak to her. She did not look like the usual soldier or government official that had spoke to her - no, interrogated her - up until this point. That gave Zhaan some hope that perhaps this might be a different sort of interaction. Slowly, she rose from the bench she had been sitting on and walked closer to the glass. If the relative age of Crichton was to be any basis for comparison, this woman looked very young indeed. Then again, all humans were young ones compared to Zhaan. Eighty years... That was about how long Crichton had said the average human lived. Zhaan had already lived ten times that long.

Standing closer to the woman, inasmuch as the glass was still dividing the space between them, Zhaan's polite smile faded into a look of concern. Despite her situation, she was still an empath and a tenth level Pa'u, and for those reasons, she found it impossible to ignore the pain of others... even that of her own captors. "My goodness... There is such a heavy sadness that follows you," Zhaan said, her voice gentle and almost pained, as if she was feeling it too. It felt like... grief to her, but with humans she could never really be sure at first impression. She simply wasn't as familiar with their minds and emotions yet. "Are you alright?"

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 6!!!

[britneyshakespeare]

obviously i can't enforce proper rules of what people "count" and i wouldn't wanna really gatekeep, but :D in my opinion! loosely i believe that if it is recognizably the same story, if it could keep the same title without it being problematic for the reader, i believe it does count. like i personally would allow for most comic/manga adaptations of shakespeare plays, even if they're abridged, to be "reading the plays" (even if not as plays).

perhaps maybe also with an asterisk on the amount of early-modern text honored versus original content infused by the new creator. like, i might say a novelization or prose retelling of the plays is different from comics, which as a form, all you really need to adapt is the dialogue and add your own visuals (which actors, directors, and stage crew already have to do for every production, even the most "faithful" ones). tales from shakespeare by charles and mary lamb, for example, might be a gray area, because they present the stories faithfully but in an entirely different medium, with necessary original narrativizing around it. but while not everyone may agree, i would consider the manga shakespeare series (which abridge but maintain the original language, and take liberties with their visual setting, as many directors do) to be essentially the same as reading the text or watching a stage adaptation—which are already two very different experiences with a theatrical work, and i chose to conflate them in this poll in order for maximum inclusivity.

and then there's the confounding factor of translation. some people talk down about the sparknotes no fear shakespeare series and other prose/modern "translations"—i never particularly enjoyed them myself, even as a beginner, because i think more general-reader-friendly series like barnes & noble shakespeare and the folger shakespeare series were better at helping me (emphasis on just me) appreciate the poetry of the plays and approach the difficulties of the language. perhaps i could've been a little bit snobbish about it; the sparknotes series does not aim to bastardize the verse, and it's still there on the adjoining page. yet, not everyone reads the verse to compare. but, if they're still reading the same story, in the same structure, but the text itself is totally altered, is that not still reading shakespeare? it's a philosophical question, but for the wider purposes and ideals of this poll, i would have to say yes, i think it is.

and obviously, obviously, translation into languages other than english must count. that's just common sense. not everyone can or should read or see the plays in the "original" language—but one can say that about that about 'modern translations' too, right? and philosophically, most artists and language lovers agree that in translation, something is always sacrificed; more is also added; all depending on the will and sensibilities of the particular translator. there will never be such a thing as a definitive translation of poetry. translations are arguably, in their own right, as much original works as any other adaptation or abridgement; they are changes to the text. still i think they count for this poll, unquestionably.

another interesting thing people have brought up is adaptations in children's literature, which i see most people discrediting if it's their own experience with the plays, but it probably depends on the book, imo. like i said, retelling something in prose narrative makes it fundamentally different to me, but i think it's wiggly where the line is, since there are a lot of children's works based on the plays that aim to preserve shakespeare's language, and many that purposefully do not. like sparknotes' no fear series versus folger editions, i think both should exist because they suit different purposes.

on the topic, though, i do wanna shout out shakespeare's first folio: a children's edition (2024) released by the shakespeare birthplace trust. i got a copy for both of my nieces for christmas this year. they're still a bit too young to read it with (both are under 2), but i just had to get it. the goal of the book isn't just to preserve the language, but they're actually formatted as playscripts! i find that to be such an interesting choice, and i can't wait to act them out with them and their toys someday. they are, however, suuuper abridged, like 10-15% of the original text at most, and certainly a lot of the magic of the full pieces is lost by boiling it down to its bare essentials, but its simplicity, obviously, is meant to benefit the young readers as much as possible.

would it count? would it count? i don't know! i'm certainly gonna say hell yeah it counts, when im playing cymbeline and the two gentlemen of verona with my little girls. but will it still count retroactively, when i hopefully get to view the plays more fully with them someday? i'm sure the first time i take them to shakespeare in the park, they're gonna feel like what they watched is substantially different from what's in their book, and in comparison, they might not feel like they've still experienced them in that medium that was perfectly sufficient before.

abridgements can certainly count, though, if you had a fulfilling engagement with it! there is always more to get out of these texts, and they are also often reduced to serve a particular audience or medium. there will never be an end of the ways to read shakespeare, so consider for yourself whatever is meaningful to you.

I'm curious about people's levels of familiarity; I intend no judgment or elitism and it's absolutely fine not to be a completionist, btw. I didn't think I would've intended to have read them all at age 25; it just sort of happened that after I passed the halfway point in the middle of 2023, I came out of a reading slump and was motivated to finish. Fwiw I consider myself a hobbyist (I am not involved in academia or professional theater) but I realize that that label is usually attributed to people with less experience.

I also have always loved seeing other bloggers' Shakespeare polls where they put certain plays or characters up against each other, but I'm often left wondering if it's really a 'fair' fight all the time if you're putting up something like Hamlet or Twelfth Night against one of the more obscure works, like the Winter's Tale. It's not a grave affront to vote in those polls if you don't know every play, but I am curious about it.

Please reblog for exposure if you vote; I would appreciate it a lot. Also feel free to elaborate on your own Shakespeare journey in tags, comments, reblogs, because I love to hear about other people's personal relationships to literature.

[strifetxt]

here's something silly that i haven't seen anyone point out: y'know this section of grian's world tour? the bit where he gives himself a tour of the permit office and puts himself on hold?

so like, how did he do this exactly? it's clearly not just a cam account, since it's recorded from the pov of a player in survival mode, and it'd be pretty bonkers for him to be controlling two minecraft accounts at the exact same time.

as you can see by the icon in the corner, the pov grian stays muted during this whole segment, so the pretty clear conclusion is that grian got a different hermit to put on his skin and record their own pov, and then got them to send him their footage.

but which hermit did he get to be his body double? to solve that mystery, we can use this brief moment from the beginning of the segment where we see the pov grian's inventory.

weirdly, this person has a bunch of netherite tools in their hotbar, but also a full set of diamond tools in their inventory. what's funny is that if you look at the clip immediately following this segment of the tour, after we return to the actual grian's pov, the contents of the hotbar match up.

so clearly what happened is that grian tossed the body double hermit his own tools/the contents of his hotbar to keep up the verisimilitude. which is kind of adorable.

anyhow, back to the body double's inventory. the other notable thing, and the most identifying feature there, is that we can see a set of diamond armor trimmed with lapis! and who wears lapis-trimmed diamond armor, uses diamond tools as opposed to netherite, and also happened to be the very next person in the video to do their base tour?

[phagodyke]

trying to watch all of us strangers and it's just making me cry really hard this is why I don't do romance movies WAH

[thevoidstaredback]

A funny thought just came to me, so here's a new writing prompt:

The Justice League doesn't think that Batman has a civilian identity. For the most part, he only ever comes out at night, adding to the nocturnal rumors, but he has been seen during the day when there are huge problems or bigger rouge attacks.

And, because the JL don't think he has a civilian identity, they naturally assume that none of the other Gotham Vigilantes do, either. Signal, the only consistent day shift, is obviously a different breed than the rest. All of the others are nocturnal.

Extra points if they think they're a group of cryptids.

One day, Bruce and Tim are needed to help set up at WE for a press conference. One that Lois Lane is covering. At the same time, the JL Is having a meeting. Normally Dick would put on the Batman suit, but Nightwing is needed at the meeting, too. They can't say that Batman is off world, because all of those trips are logged and followed by the Lanterns. So, the next logical thing to do is for Nightwing to tell the JL that Batman and Red Robin were needed as civilians, but he will make sure to pass the information on to them, as well as record the meeting.

"Batman doesn't have a civilian identity," Is the response he gets. "None of you do, right?"

Nightwing, for all his training, doesn't react outside of his smile getting slightly bigger. "You don't think we have secret identities?"

"No, we kinda just assumed you all just hid away in a cave or something when you weren't needed or on duty."

Oh, these sweet summer children. Nightwing is trying very hard not to laugh at them. "We, we do have secret identities, we don't do nothing when we aren't in costume."

"Are you sure?" That's the Flash. "'Cause I'm pretty sure we'd recognize you guys out of costume." Kudos to him for being so confident about that. "Most of you only have tiny masks over your eyes. That's not enough to cover an identity."

Nightwing takes a glance at Superman, not that anyone can see his eyes move behind the domino mask. The alien's eyes have shifted left.

"I've been to Gotham plenty of time," Green Arrow speaks up, "I know I haven't seen everyone in the city, but I'm pretty sure I'd recognize your build. It's pretty distinct."

Bold. All of the Wayne Clan have met Green Arrow in and out of costume. They've actually met most of the JL in and out of costume. Should he tell them? Nah, that's not funny. He can't wait to tell the others.

[goddamnitmahtin]

A Smooth Criminal

(A dc x dp prompt)

Danny moved to Gotham after high school. Went to college. Got a degree. Found out the thing he got a degree for wasn’t able to hire him because his vitals looked half dead and he couldn’t just tell them he was in-fact half dead. Danny was never going to be an astronaut. Not only that, he had massive college debt. Well fuck.

So Danny started doing odd jobs until he found a more stable income at a psychic reading service of all places. Obviously Danny couldn’t see the future. So he only took clients that wanted to talk to dead people. Which was something he could do, given he had an object that might have had some ectoplasm on it or one of the ghosts that typically hung out in the shop knew where to find the person the client was looking for. Being that this is Gotham, not many people that die here actually cross over into the Ghost Zone. Danny was going to have to look into that at some point. But for now, it meant he had only ever once had to tell a client he couldn’t help.

Now Danny before coming to Gotham, hated psychics on principle. Most were lying and telling their clients utter bullshit. But his current boss seemed to be different. Her name was Lilith and she was very much legit when it came to precognition. She often would tell him ahead of time if a client was going to be difficult and who to watch out for on certain days. On more than one occasion, one of her warnings saved him from a mugging or kidnapping.

So, Danny learned to like his life as a medium and used the money from his job to pay his rent and pay off his college debt. Lilith paid him well and the shop had enough customers to back it up. His hours were based on appointment most of the time so he had more free time to do other things if he didn’t have many appointments for the day.

The only time that the hours went to an 8 hour shift were when one of them left to go on vacation or visit family. Thats where Lilith was this week. Out of town visiting family. Because of this, the shop’s services were limited to Danny’s medium appointments. The shop almost never had walk ins since it was so busy. The only time it ever really happened was when Lilith was gone. And most of the time it was someone wanting to buy a crystal from the window display. Nothing Danny couldn’t handle.

Except that was until Red Hood walked in, oozing with toxic ecto and a shattered mess of a core, tossed a set of pearls at him and told him to get reading.

Danny tried to help, he did. The pearls were covered in ecto and seemed to be from a tragic event but there was no ghost attached to them. Whoever they belonged to had passed on to the Ghost Zone or wasn’t dead. Danny said as much and asked Red Hood if he knew his core shattered. Danny then offered to help repair it. Red Hood did not like that. Danny got punched in the face. And he did not get paid.

*that night on call with Sam and Tucker*

Danny: And then he punched me in the face! Can you believe that?!

Sam: Given that he is a crime lord? Yeah I can.

Tucker: ….

Danny: Tucker I don’t like your suspicious silence.

Tucker: *starts giggling mischievously*

Sam: Tucker what are you doing?

Danny: Tuck-

Tucker: So what you’re saying is that- you’ve been hit by, you’ve been STRUCK by- a smooth criminal. *starts playing Smooth Criminal by Micheal Jackson except the name Annie has been edited to the name Danny*

Danny: I hate you so much

Sam: *laughing hysterically*

Tucker: *singing* Danny are you okay? Are you okay Danny?

Danny: *looks into the metaphorical camera like Jim from the office*

…

Red Hood: *nearly falls off the fire escape he was using to spy when the guy from the psychic shop looks right at him*

[pucksandpower]

Nothing to Prove

Charles Leclerc x Vettel!Reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time — every female sports fan has been told to “prove” her fandom at least once in her life — but the man quizzing you quickly learns the error of his ways

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the bustling paddock, your destination the familiar red and white of the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with pre-race excitement, mechanics and team personnel darting about like worker bees in a particularly colorful hive.

You’re so focused on navigating the crowd that you almost don’t notice the young man who steps directly into your path, phone held aloft. His grin is a touch too smug for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, voice dripping with false politeness. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my TikTok?”

You hesitate, torn between ingrained courtesy and a gnawing sense of unease. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he insists, already hitting record. “So, tell me, what’s your favorite thing about Formula 1?”

The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his tone that sets your teeth on edge. Still, you decide to play along for now. “Well, I love the strategy, the technology, the way the whole sport pushes the boundaries of what’s possible-”

He cuts you off with a laugh. “Come on, be honest. It’s the hot drivers, right? That’s why most girls watch.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his blatant misogyny. “Excuse me?”

“No judgment!” He says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it, they’re all rich and fit. But let’s see how much you really know. Who won the 1976 World Championship?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he barrels on.

“What’s the difference between understeer and oversteer? How many points do you get for fastest lap? Come on, if you’re a real fan, this should be easy!”

Your initial discomfort has morphed into full-blown anger. “Look, I don’t have to prove anything to you. My knowledge of the sport isn’t-”

“Ah, so you can’t answer,” he says, triumphant. “Just as I thought. Another pretty face here for the-”

“Is there a problem here?”

The smooth voice comes from just behind you, followed by the warmth of a familiar body pressing against your back. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and you instinctively lean into the embrace.

The TikToker’s eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in the newcomer. “You’re ... you’re ...”

“Charles Leclerc,” your boyfriend finishes for him, voice deceptively mild. “And you are ...”

The young man sputters, clearly thrown off his game. “I’m ... I mean... I was just asking your girl here some questions about F1.”

Charles’ arms tighten fractionally around you. “Is that so? Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like an interrogation.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting Charles’ gaze. His green eyes are blazing with a protective fury that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “He was just leaving.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the TikToker, who’s looking increasingly desperate to be anywhere else. “You heard the lady.”

But the young man, perhaps realizing his video is about to become internet gold, rallies. “Wait! I mean, no offense, but how do we know she’s not just with you for the fame? Can she even name your teammate?”

You feel Charles tense behind you, but before he can speak, you’ve had enough. You step out of his embrace, squaring up to the TikToker.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.,” you say, voice hard. “Currently P4 in the championship. And since you’re so keen on quizzing people, James Hunt won in ‘76, understeer is when the front of the car doesn’t turn enough while oversteer is when the rear steps out too much, and you get one point for fastest lap if you finish in the top ten. Any other burning questions?”

The TikToker gapes at you, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. Charles, for his part, looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“I ... but ...” the young man stammers.

You press on, building up a head of steam. “Oh, and fun fact — my brother has four World Championships. But I’m sure you knew that, being such an expert and all.”

The TikToker’s face drains of color as realization dawns. “Your brother? You’re Sebastian Vettel’s sister?”

Charles can’t contain his amusement any longer. He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I tried to warn you. You’ve awakened the beast.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re not helping.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Far be it from me to interfere with your righteous fury. Please, continue.”

The TikToker looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I ... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“That women can be genuine fans?” You interrupt. “That we might actually understand and love the sport for its own sake? Or just that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on their gender?”

He winces. “All of the above?”

Charles steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but there’s steel in his voice when he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go. And delete that video while you’re at it.”

The young man nods frantically, fumbling with his phone. In his haste to retreat, he trips over his own feet, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. Charles moves to help him up, ever the gentleman, but you put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Let him sort himself out,” you mutter. “A little humiliation might do him some good.”

Charles chuckles, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

As the TikToker scrambles away, face burning with embarrassment, you allow yourself to relax into Charles’ embrace. The adrenaline of the confrontation leaves you feeling a bit shaky.

“You okay?” Charles asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Just ... frustrated. Why do people still think like that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew. It’s not fair, the assumptions people make.”

“It’s not just about me,” you say, turning to face him fully. “It’s about all the female fans out there who get treated like this. Who get quizzed and belittled and have their passion questioned at every turn.”

Charles nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. It’s a bigger problem than just one idiot with a TikTok account.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever change,” you admit, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

Charles cups your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. “It will,” he says with conviction. “Because of people like you who stand up and call it out. Who refuse to let ignorance go unchallenged.”

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

He grins, some of his usual playfulness returning. “I have my moments. Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laugh, the tension finally starting to dissipate. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Charles leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “The way you handled that ... it was impressive.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Absolutely,” he says firmly. “You were brilliant. Fierce. Passionate.” His voice drops lower, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Incredibly sexy.”

You swat his arm playfully. “Behave yourself, Leclerc. We’re in public.”

He affects an innocent expression that doesn’t fool you for a second. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

You snort. “That’s what worries me.”

Charles laughs, the sound bright and carefree. It never fails to make your heart soar. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s get to the motorhome. I think we both could use a moment of peace before the craziness really begins.”

As you walk hand in hand through the paddock, you can’t help but reflect on the incident. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but there’s also a spark of hope. Because for every misogynistic TikToker, there are countless fans — of all backgrounds — who love the sport for what it is. Who appreciate the skill, the strategy, the sheer spectacle of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, standing up to ignorance one interaction at a time is how change really happens.

Charles squeezes your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

You smile, leaning into him slightly as you walk. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. To be here, doing what I love. To have people in my life who support me and believe in me.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The luck goes both ways, mon cœur. You make me better, on and off the track.”

As you approach the Ferrari motorhome, its bright red a beacon in the sea of team colors, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. There will always be challenges, always be those who try to tear others down. But with love, determination, and a refusal to back down from what’s right, anything is possible.

Even changing the world of Formula 1, one small interaction at a time.