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vhstown · 1 year ago

Text

time out (part 1)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, description of (boxing) injuries, self-destructive behaviours, briefly implied death, pov switch (yay), gtranslate spanish

word count: 3.9k

a/n: ive never written 42 miles before but he's a cool lil guy split into two parts cuz it was too long 😭 semi-edited (for the millionth time)

PART 2 → / THE AU

"Just six rounds in, Miles Morales knocks out the Vulture!"

Screams and cheers exploded from your phone as you laid in bed, watching the recap of your boyfriend's boxing match. Your eyes were straining from how close you were holding the screen to your face; this was probably the third time you’d watched Miles’ win. After training to hell and back, he’d made it to the national league with you and Aaron to support him. He did more than just “make it”, in fact. His “revolutionary” victory was plastered all over social media and the news. Everywhere you looked was: “17-YEAR-OLD NYC BOXER OVERTAKES LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION ‘VULTURE’ IN US NATIONALS”. Miles Morales — your boyfriend — had made boxing history.

The giddy grin on your face only grew wider as he came up again on screen, sporting the stoic expression he'd perfected over the last few months behind the overly-done editing and animations of the recap. As much as you'd wanted to go out and see him live (though begging your family to let you go to Vegas wasn’t exactly feasible), he'd made it clear he didn't want you, or anyone for that matter, in that arena. It was something about having "total focus" — and it must've worked, you thought, as you watched him give his post-fight interview.

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

Despite his boyish, adrenaline-fuelled shout at the mic, the quiet laugh you let out was one of pride rather than embarrassment. He had every right to celebrate, and you were watching, even if it wasn’t live. Everything he'd done up until this point was well worth it: the constant training, sparring, the late nights and early mornings — maybe even the countless unanswered texts and missed calls too. Miles had worked himself to the bone, and while it might've worried you at the time, it was nothing compared to the satisfaction you felt while watching him on screen. He knew what he was doing; Miles was semi-professional at this point. You had to let him do his own thing, even if that meant letting him go for a while.

Right now, though, Miles was home from Vegas. Tapping out of the video, you scrambled to your messages. The last ones were from you, sent weeks ago, a "good luck" and "i love you" read and without a response. Your fingers kept missing the keys, and you frowned at yourself until you finally were able to hit send.

CONGRATS BABY!!! Not delivered

IM SO PROUD OF YOU Not delivered

You tried resending them, only to be met with the same red message.

why arent my texts sending Not delivered

miles??? Not delivered

Not delivered? It'd almost been three days since the tournament; Miles always had his phone on.

"To leave a message, please press one—" The call went to voicemail for the third time. Your stomach swirled with something like uncertainty. It didn't even ring at all. Miles made it a habit to always be available, so why...?

Boxers needed time to recover, he was probably just tired and turned his phone off. Or he could be busy with an interview; Miles Morales was sort of a celebrity right now — who wouldn't want to talk to the 17-year-old boxing prodigy? You knew you wanted to, prodigy or not.

It was probably because you hadn’t seen Miles in so long, but possibilities kept forming in your head, disappearing just as fast. What if he blocked you? Or he could’ve changed his number. Were you over? No. Nope. No way. Not like this.

There was one other reason that made some sort of sense, but you decided to think against it. Miles had made it to the semi-finals in entire the National League. It was over; he'd gotten what he wanted. He was supposed to be resting right now.

Miles wasn't that stupid, right...?

You pulled up Rio's contact. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Riiiiiiing, riiiiiiing…

Better for him to be safe than sorry — or stupid.

"Hello?"

"Hola, tía, uh, could I speak to Miles?" You felt just a little crazy as you held the phone to your ear, but there was no harm in calling his mom.

"Ah, he's not home right now — said he was going out with his tío."

"Oh… Do you know where they went?"

"I'm not sure. Something important. About a... contract?"

"Contract…?" you muttered to yourself. “Okay… thank you.” It wasn't like you knew anything about a contract, though it wasn't like Miles would tell you anyway. At least he was safe, and with Aaron. It was probably important, official — something that didn't involve you. Not a lot of things in Miles’ life involved you, it seemed.

"How have you been?” Rio's voice interrupted your thoughts. You had called her out of nowhere, and after a while. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Oh, um..." The last time you'd talked to Rio was… right before Miles had left for Vegas. Well, you hadn't exactly talked. All you remember is just comforting her in silence. "Yeah, tía. Have you?"

"I have, but I've just been all over the place recently. So many reporters…" Rio's voice lifted up slightly in exasperation. You could only imagine what it was like for her. Your feelings suddenly felt a lot less significant, and you were back to your comforting mode all over again.

"I see. Must be exhausting." You attempted a polite laugh, which came out more like a sigh. If only you could be as patient as Rio…

"I'm so proud, though." Her voice warmed with a smile. If your chest ached with melancholy or empathy, you didn't know. "I didn't want him to leave home so soon. I still think this whole… professional thing is a bit too much, but… I want to trust him also."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, tía. If he's in the nationals already, he's probably getting a lot of support." It was more like you were trying to convince yourself. "I'm sure he has great coaches... and he's got me and Aar— uh, his uncle, too."

"I know…" For a moment, you weren't sure if either of you had anymore to say.

"…If not, I'll have to go there myself and give them a piece of my mind, eh?" she continued. You weren’t sure if it was a joke, but a smile formed on your lips anyway.

"Yeah…" A quiet laugh leaving your mouth at the image of Rio cussing out Miles' poor manager, in two languages no less. No wonder he was such a good boxer — Rio must have passed down her fighting spirit. "Maybe you'd even get signed,” you joked, the image of that even more amusing (and a scary possibility.)

Rio let out her own laugh, and your smile only grew; talking to her always made you feel better. "Me? Boxing? Nunca (Never.) — I'll work in that hospital until the end of me."

There was another stretch of silence. You thinned out a sigh, trying not to let the smile leave your face, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

"Come over for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell Miles to come and get you."

"Sure, tía, I'd love to." He probably just needed a break. Not from you specifically, but in general.

"You know tú y Miles sois mi vida, ¿bien?" (you and Miles are my life, right?) It wasn’t often Rio said that, but you always remembered every time she did, and how it made you feel — like you were family. Rio was pretty much a second mother to you. It made you wonder what Miles' father would've been like.

"Well, it's getting late, and I have a lot of laundry to fold." Rio's tone had a fake sort of enthusiasm — tiredness? You couldn’t really tell with her; the woman was always upbeat. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will." It was late, you realised, and the sky outside your window was a lot darker than it had been before. "You too, tía."

“Descansa, ¿sí?” (Get some rest, yes?)

“Sí, tía.”

The call ended, and you were left facing your messages, a bittersweet feeling hugging you from behind. Right now, Miles was out with Aaron, about some contract, probably to do with boxing…

But why weren't your texts going through?

miles are you ok? Not delivered

im really proud of you Not delivered

i wish i couldve seen you live Not delivered

It wasn’t like there was much point, but…

i love you Not delivered

Maybe it was just out of habit; maybe you just missed him. Your reflection frowned at you behind the messages, thumb hovering over the power button to shut your phone off, until your phone pinged with a notification — Aaron was texting you.

Hey man

Out of town

LMK if miles breaks in

You sat up immediately, fingers floating uselessly above the keys for a moment.

sure Read at 11:24PM

are you out of town already? Read at 11:25PM

Ping!

Yeah

@ Queens

Miles was with Aaron about some “contract”... and Aaron was in Queens?

You knew Miles hadn't blocked you, or turned his phone off — he had no signal. And there was only one place in Brooklyn you could think of that had no reception, and that MIles had any reason to be in. It was also the one place you didn't want him to go to: that damn warehouse.

The place he’d spent training all those weeks — what reason did he have to be there right after finishing the tournament? Putting on your jacket, blinking back the sleepiness and collecting the fleeting remains of patience you had left, you could only hope that Miles had even a shred of common sense with him.

THWACK! THWACK! THWA— Crack!

"Mierda..." (Shit...) Miles hissed, drawing his glove away from the punching bag. His hand was paralysed for a moment, a deep, gnawing pang running through his fingers down to the rest of his arm. The tight gloves only suffocated him more, doing nothing to ease the pain as he gritted his teeth and waited for it to dull down.

Why was he even here? It was over — that Norman bastard had blown him off hours ago. It felt like a couple minutes, the words still fresh in his mind. Searing pain shot through his hand when he tried to flex his fingers, the rest of his muscles starting to ache too. This was going to hurt after the adrenaline wore off. Damn it, Morales.

The walls flashed white all of a sudden, a faint rumble of thunder interrupting the pounding of his heartbeat as he tried to straighten himself out. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the incoming storm. The playlist he was listening to had finished ages ago — your playlist. If he didn’t want to think about you, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Rain blasted quietly against the windows, and Miles’ eyes stung with dryness as he squeezed them shut. There was no way he'd be able to go back now, not to you, definitely not to his mom. She'd probably go on and on about how he should've taken his jacket, how he ruined his hair in the rain again, maybe how he wasted his damn time being a boxer...

It was probably fair; his mom had enough on her plate trying to support them both — especially him right now. She’d done everything in her power to make sure he got to Vegas, and he’d just left her alone again right after. But how was he meant to face her now? He was supposed to make her proud, make his dad proud, but it wasn’t like he had any pride left after he’d lost his contract. The Green Goblin had probably set the record for fastest knockout when Miles lost to him. Of course just the semi-finals weren’t enough; Norman Osborn was the big shot of boxing, and if Miles lost to some rookie in just about 15 seconds, then maybe he wasn’t worth the investment.

It didn’t make sense — nothing about The Green Goblin (or “Harry”, whatever they liked to gossip about) made sense. He’d just debuted, but didn’t even look like a boxer; he didn’t stand right, his style was inconsistent, his head movement was all over the place, but his punch had almost knocked Miles’ brain straight out of his skull. It was almost superhuman. Even with no openings, the freak of nature had forced his way through like an animal. And he was scrawny, not nearly as built as Miles at least, like he should’ve been in the weight class down. Either way, the asshole was being celebrated, and Miles was out of a contract.

And Miles had just stood there, while Norman berated him and tore Miles’ dream apart right in front of his very eyes. Maybe he’d hoped too much as an “amateur” boxer. That’s all he was, apparently — no matter how hard he worked, or what he achieved, or what he promised.

“Why should I keep you? The Vulture was destined to lose at his age.”

“Even rigged matches wouldn’t get you anywhere.”

“I mean, you’re as good at fighting as one of those street kids.”

“That’s all you were before I decided to give you a chance, no?”

The image of the Norman’s uncanny, sneering face sent his good fist reeling towards the punching bag. Should’ve pummelled his pelirojo (redhead) ass to the ground—

"Miles!"

The glove crumpled mid-air against the bag, arm going rigid. It was silent as he let out a breath through his teeth — he wasn’t hearing things, was he?

The rush was starting wearing off, his mind starting to cloud and pain faintly radiating again from his other hand. His good fist tightened inside the glove, pushed against the bag which was still and awkwardly tilted.

You’re losing focus, just punch the damn thing—

"Miles, what the hell are you doing here?"

The noise of the door shutting made him turn around, floor squeaking under his stumbling feet. It was you by the door, breathing just as heavily as him and dripping head to toe with rain, in a jacket that was way too thin for any sort of weather.

Dios... (God...) He knew he couldn’t be hallucinating that disapproving look on your face.

Rain was pattering gently against the glass as he pulled his arm away away from the bag, letting it swing in front of him before his eyes met yours.

"It's midnight, what are you..." A sharp intake of breath interrupted your words — a shiver.

"What’re you doin’ here...?" Miles asked instead through a grimace. His voice came out wrong — hoarse. Cold sweat was clinging to his skin, and his throat was dry and tightening. A mess — that’s what you were talking to right now, barely your boyfriend. All he could do was stare as the rush died down and his senses were coming back to him. The fog in his mind made it hard to speak, even harder to look at you.

"My texts and calls weren't going through— You weren't with Aaron or your mom, I just..." You sucked in another breath through your teeth; raindrops were glistening on your skin. He should’ve just stayed home, damn it. "Was just worried."

Well, he certainly looked worrying, even more so than you. Swallowing back his breathlessness wasn’t helping; it was like he’d ran a marathon with his fists. The pain from his knuckle was starting to bleed into the rest of his hand so much so that it might’ve been broken.

"'M good... You, though?" He let out a bit of a growl to clear his throat before deciding to cut straight to the chase: you’d come here in the middle of the night, in the rain, by yourself. As much as he was being an idiot right now, the amount of times he’d told you to not do any of those things, pleaded with you even, was making you look like the delirious one in his eyes. Miles was being stubborn, but he knew you were worse.

“You insane…?” he muttered, taking a step away from the bag. “Did Aaron tell you to come here or sumn’?"

"No, he was supposed to be with you," you shot back, eyes narrowing at him from under your hood before thunder bellowed from all around. The rain was growing into a loud static noise, and your voice was muffled as your expression grew more exasperated. "You came home 3 days ago and you didn't even text me. Yeah, I probably should've texted you, and I tried, but now you're here training alone again when your mom thinks you're with Aaron and—"

"You come here to scold me?" His jaw crunched a little as he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Miles wasn’t trying to be mad at you — he was just mad in general. It just so happened to be in your direction right now.

“Huh? No, I came here because you scared the hell out of me — and Aaron told me to not let you break into his place.”

If it was supposed to be funny, the laugh he let out was anything but amused. At least Aaron wasn’t here for him to disappoint too, or get a weirdly-phrased life lesson from, or both. “Well I’m not breakin’ in, and I told you, I’m good, so I don’t get why you’re still here.”

You stepped a little closer, and Miles’ heels dug into the ground to keep himself from moving. “Isn’t it obvious? Or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

“Difficult?” he mirrored dryly, trying to push back the growing exhaustion clouding his head.

“Can you not just take a break for once? It’s over, Miles; you already won—”

“I didn’t win.” The walls echoed with his voice, words having escaped on their own. It wasn’t at you, but he didn’t know what he was mad at, resolve fading as he watched your face straighten with realisation.

“Don’t tell me that’s why you’re here…”

His fingers unconsciously clawed into the boxing glove, pain shoot through his hand. Nothing came out of his mouth, but his silence was loud — incriminating. That was the reason, right? That he didn't win?

“Kid didn’t stand a chance.” What was the point of you being here?

“A one-punch concussion — on a newbie, no less.” It was over, like you said.

“It’s a shame, I bet on him too.” Everyone had given up on him.

“You should be resting right now— you’re shaking, Miles.” So why wouldn't you?

“No ‘m not…” is all he could muster, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably. Your hand was on his arm before he could realise, and he was met with a stern look as he tried to keep his gaze from shaking too.

The velcro on his gloves crunched as you started undoing them, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. It’s not like he had the energy.

“You coulda’ got hurt on your way here.” The croak in his voice made him sound more hopeless than reprimanding as you slipped off the first glove, pausing half-way down his palm. His bare palm.

“…I could’ve got hurt?” Miles held back a sigh as he was made to look at his own hand. Bruised, blackened, branded with anger — it hurt more to look at it than anything. “You didn’t wear your wraps?”

The other glove slid off, revealing the fresh, festering swelling coming from his middle knuckle — the aftermath of that sickening cracking noise. You took his curled hand, easing up his middle finger and making him hiss under his breath.

“Think you can straighten it?” you muttered, gently trying to do it yourself only to lose his hand from your grip.

“’S gonna be fine,” he mumbled, eyes fixed to the side as his hand closed back up.

“It won’t if you can’t move it properly.”

“You a doctor now?”

“Nah, but your mom’s a nurse.” You carefully held his hand by palm, thumb tracing over the tender, split skin, his fingers wrapping around the side of your hand in futile protest. He’d have to bother his mom again — he didn’t even think about that. “You basically just punched yourself.”

Everything you were saying was right — it always was. He hated that fact.

“You a boxing expert too?” he thought to retort.

“Thought that was supposed to be you.” Miles’ eyes narrowed, and yours narrowed in response. “I don’t get it, baby...” you sighed, shaking your head a little as you put down the gloves to the side.

Baby. His breath almost hitched. You were dating, and it didn’t even seem like it anymore. Not after all those weeks apart. The word didn’t even feel endearing, it was condescending, like he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was being a baby, and maybe he always had been. You were the one who always had to drag him out of this make-shift gym. Right now was no different, except…

“…Why are you still doing this?” he heard you mutter, still turned away with his hand in your grip. You didn’t even know the half of it.

“Why are you still here?” His hand tried to slip away again, but you only took it by the wrist instead, now facing him.

“Why won’t you answer my questions, Miles?” Your voice deadened into a whisper, only serving to frustrate him.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” He let out a quiet huff, staring at your hand when your grip ceased to relax.

“I care because you look like you’re about to pass out and I can’t let my boyfriend kill himself over something stupid—”

“I’m not killing myse—” A pained groan escaped his mouth as you ruthlessly pushed up his injured finger.

“Don’t push me, Miles.” Oh, you were serious.

“You’re pushin’ sumn’,” he strained through gritted teeth. “Mierda… quit it already.”

The pain tore on another moment, and he was just now realising how bad it actually hurt. All you were doing was staring at him, brows knitted together. “Cariño, please…” he whispered, a wince forming on his face.

Your hand loosened, and he let out a quiet, frustrated, somewhat relieved sigh.

Still a sucker for nice words... He didn’t say them as much as he would’ve liked.

“You need to take a time out,” you stated after a beat of silence. The expression on your face was serious again, killing any sense of tenderness you might’ve shown.

He freed his hand from your grip with the opportunity, before giving you a dubious look. “Like, for kids?”

“Like for boxers, dumbass.” Your gaze followed his retreating hand for a moment before falling back on his eyes. “But if you want me to treat you like a kid…”

“I’m good.” Another roar of thunder rang out before he could add anything, and the rain was so heavy that anything you could see from the windows became a blur.

“…You got your jacket?” you suggested, without much hope.

The idea only made Miles’ eyes squeeze shut again. A shallow exhale left him, and he tried not to let his fatigue cloud his judgement. If he kept talking stupid to you, he’d probably have worse to worry about than a broken knuckle. “You think imma go outside?”

All you could do was sigh. It seemed like the two of you would be in “time out” for a while.

🕸️🔭👾

thank you for reading part 2 soon but then again its not my fav fic in the world 💔 i rewrote this like 8 trillion times and it still wasn't clicking for me 😭 idk i just got sick of editing it again and again

this isn't as short as my usual fics because i felt like i needed to add context... I've never written an au or anything remotely original so this is just yeah... im tryna figure it out! i have . too much lore for this au

reblogs appreciated lmk if you did like it (i hope this is someone's cup of tea lmao)

catch my atsv masterlist here !

#miles 42 x reader #42!miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles 42 #earth 42 miles x you #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse #atsv x you #42!miles x reader #atsv #prowler miles x you #prowler miles x reader #prowler miles #vhstown

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littledead-ridinghood · 1 year ago

Note

sorry if this is a weird question to drop on you you were just the first person I thought of who might know but do you know if it's canon/canonically-based evidence that jason is physically stronger than other bats because I always see people say jason is the one with "brute strength" and I can't remember if that's based on anything besides people saying that as a nicer way to call him a brute(maybe it was on lobdells stuff? but I wiped most of those out of my memory)

You thought of me first? <333333 I'm blushing. And it's not weird at all! Even if it was, I love answering weird shit.

Anyway:

So part of Jason being considered "the muscle" of the bats comes from the fact that Jason's currently the biggest of the robins. (Adult!Damian is usually drawn as the tallest of the kids when all is said n' done (that's vague for "age")).

Well, how big then?

I always go with this chart which was released while UtRH was being released:

(I Love this! I wish DC still did little info things like this within their comics. Or maybe they do and I'm just blind. But Look! Canonical Information!)

So canonically speaking, at least when running around pre-crisis, Jason is 6 feet tall and 180 pounds. (Also note criminal mastermind and put a pin in it)

But you've probably heard 200 & 220 thrown around a lot. Those numbers are specifically pulled from two different DC character encyclopedia books which I don't trust at all because there notoriously filled with false information and are dubbed as not canon all the time.

Personally, I use the 6', 180-195 pound range which estimates for fluctuating weight, the passage of time, muscle mass, and minimum bulk & cutting (which I assume is part of most superheroes' training to stay in fighting form, but please recognize that vigilantes are more athlete than bodybuilder) because it's from a canon source (Canon is "king" and all that). No shame to people who use the other numbers or even headcanon something completely different, but again, vigilantes are predominantly running all over cities day after day, not stagnant weight lifters. Cardio vs weights body compositions are quite different even if both are healthy. (And it's not all "swimmer's body illusion" either (they have that body because they swim? No, they swim because they have that body.)

How much muscle mass a person can maximally obtain is up to your genetics. But that max only comes with constant maintainment. It's not feasible for Jason to be doing all that cardio and also have that much muscle mass and fat. Cardio burns "fat" (calories), weights build muscle. We constantly see the former and former-adjacent workouts more than the latter with him. Jason is running across rooftops, flipping off them before falling into a shoulder roll onto the next roof over chasing after bad guys every night. The number of calories he'd have to eat and time put into lifting weights (too many reps a week lead to damage, not growth) to maintain his max (max being what a lot of weights category athletes try to achieve which Jason just hasn't been shown to be (except in his jailbird phase where he could literally only lift weights, read, and avoid being killed to pass the time)) isn't possible.

Using comic art to "prove" how much he weighs doesn't work either. Firstly, because everyone wears weight differently. Two people can be the same height, weight, and sex and look completely different. This is due to different body types, composition, genetics, diet, (what kind of) exercise, and many other factors. Assuming someone thinner is automatically "super light" doesn't factor in different body compositions (fat, muscle, bone percentages). (yes, I know it's stupid to apply science to comics. There's my digression. let me live). Secondly, Jason (just like everything else about him) isn't drawn consistently at all. Sometimes he's pretty damn massive, but we also have Twink and Twunk Jason (DC can't even decide on hair color? Do you think they're gonna decide on his body?).

So, comic book art isn't super reliable as evidence unless we want to theorize if, how, and why he seems to fluctuate between weights all the time (<- Which I have a whole headcanon about if anyone's curious), especially in comparison to the others because, seriously, it's totally a Jason thing. Most characters are pretty consistent in body type. Anyway, someone could argue "See! he is 210!" but it's also not for a long enough period to stick around :/ Again, hard to consistently maintain that much weight as a 6-foot-tall, cardio-based athlete.

Also note: DC is horrible when it comes to weight-to-height lineups. A woman hero can be ~5'7'' and then we're told she's 110 lbs which Fact 1. is considered underweight for this kind of height-to-sex ratio, Fact 2. probably isn't factoring in the fact that muscle is heavier than fat, she just "looks thin", and 3. Usually, totally, absolutely is just blatant sexism.

Really, the numbers don't seriously mean anything of actual substance because their comics, are unreliable, and also usually just...scientifically wrong. But Jason's perception on page, as well as the information we've been told, is one reason he's considered "brute strength first and foremost."

Furthermore, Jason has been shown repeatedly to be on par with Bruce (even when Jason, most of the time, plays defense in their physical fights) but many people chalk this up to him and Bruce having similar physiques making it "easier". Again, counter-productive argument because Bruce and Jason have been drawn very similarly before in stories as well as completely different from each other in others. Also, this purposefully, blatantly ignores Jason's actual skills. No one chalks Dick Grayson or Cassandra Cain beating Bruce up to their body types. Moreover, when Bruce and Jason are drawn similarly in body, no one refers to Bruce as "Brute Strength" either. Bruce gets to be tactical, strategic, clever. (Also Also: In Pre-Crisis, Bruce, Dick, and Jason are deliberately drawn to look similar (height, mass, looks, etc.) to get that Brothers in Blood effect. Still, No one chalks the formers up to all strength. Just Jason)

And that brings us to your question, Anon: Is there canonical evidence for Jason being stronger than the other Bats?

Remember how I told you to put a pin in that "Occupation: Criminal Mastermind" note? Well, first off, Jason creating jobs for his community. Go off, king. Second off, and more importantly so, "Mastermind": a person who supplies the directing or creative intelligence for a project (Merriam-Webster).

When Jason was first re-introduced, what made Jason dangerous was that he was highly skilled and smart. He was playing with both Black Mask and Batman like a cat batting a toy mouse. He orchestrated an entire "slow-growing" takeover of Gotham's underworld (he was actually very quick about it). Jason controlled the situation and planned so well that he had the villains and heroes who were both after him fighting each other so he could slip away and do what he actually needed to do.

Throughout Jason's history, he's always had tools with him when he fights. To the point that Bruce says to Jaybin "You won't always have this" cutting his utility belt, insinuating he relies too much on it, which Jason returns the favor to on his return and fights B hand to hand <3 Love a cocky callback. Furthering this, he knows many, many different fighting styles and techniques both from life experience and from extensive training. Jason's a quick learner by nature and is incredibly adaptive. Guns; knives; swords; pens; sets bombs to specifically implode, not explode; makeshift gadgets; a baseball bat just laying around; a tire jack that one time; brains. I could go on. Jason doesn't just hit things. He uses what he has as a means to an end. He's canonically known as one of the best strategists in-universe and is incredibly creative with his surroundings. Jason isn't just great at extensive, long-term planning either. Bruce himself has remarked on the fact that Jason thinks incredibly quickly on his feet, he's really good at improvisation. Concisely, he has plans A-G and if all those fail, he can pull something out of nothing. Contrast this with Bruce who needs to have a plan for everything. Even if it doesn't look like he's following a plan, Bruce is. Opposed to Jason who can go with the flow and figure it out along the way.

Jason even said this in present-era in TFZ:

And that's the whole point, isn't it? Jason is strong. Incredibly so. He's big and tall and has gorgeous thighs. Not to mention, has a mean right hook. But just because Jason's strong doesn't mean he isn't a bat first and foremost who relies on his brain before anything else. He died 4'6 (on his death certificate, his height varies depending on what source you pull) and famously had to defend himself his entire life ever before being Robin. Being young and small and forced to survive shaped Jason into a quick thinker who could either get away or take enemies 10x his size down. Nowadays, he just has a longer reach.

In Event Levithan when Damian says: "Jason Todd is one of the Great Master fighters of all time" He doesn't say strongest because Damian doesn't mean strongest. Damian means adaptable, smart, capable, and well-rounded in skill.

While I don't doubt that Jason is most definitely one of the strongest Bats due to his size, what makes Jason dangerous is not his body, but the fact that he knows how to use it. It's not "Brute Strength" as many people like to say, it's Strategic Strength. He knows just because he's stronger than someone doesn't mean he'll always win. A la see panels above. Jason knows throwing his body around won't do anything of real, long-term substance. That it's just blindsided and stupid.

I'm sure if I looked I could pull panels where other bats and/or vigilantes refer to Jason as the muscle, brute (strength), all brawn (no brain), other such implications, etc, but whenever people do, it's always to undermine Jason's skill. Because it's not actually about his strength. Jason, with his taller, more built form, makes walking quiet seem easy. And it looks easy because he's good. Jason himself knows his skill set, it's everyone else that undermines him time and time and time again. (Again, Event Levithan, Bruce doesn't agree with Damian's statement even though Jason just outsmarted the six or so people who all just tried to take him down (for something Jason didn't even do, mind you))

But, again from Damian, Jason's not known as "the muscle," he's "the emotional one" also usually used to...degrade Ja--We can't have anything nice apparently is what I'm saying. But yes, when people refer to Jason as "Brute Strength" it's usually them trying to find a nicer way of saying Brute or "thinks with his fists" or "Jason hits first, asks questions later." It's in the same vein as when people say "Jason likes books" as short-hand for "see, he's smart at something" rather than acknowledging that Jason achieved a degree's worth of knowledge in comp-sci by age 13.

Anyway Smart and Strong Jason, my beloved. I wish DC & others loved you as much as Rosenburg and the teams of artists he's been working with do.

#jason todd #jason todd meta #every thought I have has a 2nd secret thought behind it and I've been trying to be better about not rittling my metas w 2nd thought->(...)

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creatingblackcharacters · 1 month ago

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Hey! Thank you for all of your work with this blog. I have a Black character who wears his hair in long, thick twists. He also spends long amounts of time on the road, and some time as effectively an outlaw while he fights the evil government. This is all a pseudo-medieval fantasy setting. A few questions I had about hair maintenance on the road:

I understand that wash day is usually a big deal once a week, but how would he care for his twists quickly while he's got bigger stuff on his plate and next to no resources save the occasional stream?

The twists reach about the center of his back when let down. When wearing a durag would he tuck this long hair up into it? How does it feel to sleep without a silk cap? How does it affect your hair the next morning?

How would his hair degrade over time on this reduced schedule? I'd like to show him progressively losing more and more focus on himself and his wellbeing as he puts all of his energy into saving the world, and think this would be a good point to hit.

There's a turning point where he loses a lot of confidence in himself and writes off the need to care for himself. I'd like to represent that by him getting fed up with needing to care for his hair and roughly cutting off his twists. this last one is just to make sure I haven't missed some cultural context that makes that super offensive. It grows back magically later lol. bc my baby deserves to take care of himself etc etc.

Thank you so much! Sorry for the long ask, he's my baby and I want to use his hair to help represent his emotional journey through the story. Have a great day!

I'm gonna answer these in sections.

1) if he doesn't have the time, he wouldn't. Twists might not be feasible if he cannot maintenance them as necessary. They'd start to tangle after a while, and grow out of the style.

2) 🤣 this one offended me a little bit, I won't lie. durags are not for twists. Durags are scarves, meant to keep things flat. He'd need a bonnet if he wanted to keep his hair covered at night at all. The feeling is subjective; I would be uncomfortable without a cap, but some people wouldn't care. The twists would be frizzier the next day. It just feels like sleeping regularly, with something covering your head. No hair in your face because it's in the bonnet.

3) depends on the life he's living. It would do what any type of hair would do, which is show signs of lack of care like dirt, tangling, maybe matting if it's been that long. But it'd just grow back into an afro.

4) cutting off your hair because you can't maintenance it is regular. If his hair matters a lot to him, which is a human experience, he will of course express that in the writing. If he is a part of a culture or religion where hair length is important and hair should not be cut, then it will really show just how low and sad the situation is for him.

#creatingblackcharacters #thatsjusttips #black hair

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buriedpentacles · 2 months ago

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hi! since i've really leaned into witchcraft and spirituality, i became much more appreciative of the earth and i've been talking to her lots but i want to also become more sustainable in my daily life to help the environment even in small ways. do you have any ideas for simple things to do or habits to change to be more sustainable?

I do indeed!!

I think some the best things you can do for sustainable living is develop sustainable skills:

Learning to sew allows you to:

- fix holes in clothes

- adjust the height/seams/etc of clothes

- crop or add to items of clothing

Which means that clothes have a longer lifespan in general!

Learning to garden (even if its windowsill gardening!) helps you:

- spend less on certain herbs or plants (an easy way to start is regrowing spring onions in water)

- grow more native plants in your area

- encourage more insects into your garden

Learning to cook and bake can actually be super helpful because:

- you don't rely on takeaways or ready meals as often

- you can have more control over where your food is sourced and what you're eating

- you can meal plan and prep which saves time and money

- you can learn how to make your own jams, pickles, syrups etc! And you can get pretty creative with it!

Learning simple diy skills is super beneficial as you can:

- make things unqiue and suited to yourself (I.e. perfect sized shelves or a cabinet that fits perfectly in that gap between your bed and wall)

- restore thrifted furniture (staining to a preferred colour, cutting off legs to shorten it, fix the wobbly door etc)

- recycle old furniture, cabinets or similiar unused items into something else (I've turned a old cabinet into a small outdoor storage unit) rather than throwing them away

Learning basic maintenance for things you own is a money saver and:

- means you can fix your bike chain or replace your car's oil and filter without needing to call anyone or spend extra money

- can keep you safe and at a lower risk of motor accident (knowing how to do basic maintenance checks can help you see warning signs for damage)

- means that simpler things like clogged drains, non-flushing toilets, leaky taps etc no longer require calling and paying for a plumber

Of course you don't need to be an expert in any of these, I'm certainly not! But I can cook myself a decent meal, sew some new buttons on an old shirt or fix a hole in my jeans and restore an old wardrobe into something usable.

I love Pete Seeger's quote:

"If it can’t be reduced, reused, repaired, rebuilt, refurbished, refinished, resold, recycled or composted, then it should be restricted, redesigned or removed from production."

Basically it's so important to be aware of your consumption - avoid overconsumption, buy quality over quantity, thrift and reuse things, trade with people. Throwing things away should be a last resort or a necessity, rather than a "I don't know what else to do with it".

And, while recycling isn't quite the saviour people think it is, it is so important to get into the habit of sorting your rubbish correctly!!

Other important sustainable habits include:

Changing your eating habits. If it's feasible for you, try:

- reduce meat and dairy consumption (including fish, as they're massively overharvested)

- prioritise locally and ethically sourced animal produce (local butchers can be a great place to start for this)

- eat more seasonally (its not really feasible to only eat seasonal foods, but try to learn about them and incorporate them more)

- reduce food waste with composting, food donations, meal planning/prepping and learn to love leftovers

- invest in a tap filter and reusable water bottle (drinking tap water is not always safe depending on where you live so research first!!!)

- use public transport (or walk) where possible!

- connect with other people near you who also care about sustainable living: trade services and items and knowledge!

- learn about your local area and ecology!! I sound like a broken record saying this, but the BEST way to start living with nature, is to understand it. You can't help your local wildlife if you don't know it, you can't take steps to protect your environment if you don't know the threats.

All of these are just a few tips and ideas, they may not be feasible for everyone for numerous reasons but it's important to remember that it's not about being perfect, it's about *trying* and doing what you can.

There's so much more I could get into here, from foraging to activism to how and what to thrift vs when to splurge on new items but I think this post is long enough! Let me know if there's anything you want expanding or going into more depth on!!!

#buriedpentacles #buriedanswers #queue-tie pie #witchcraft #witch #witchblr #witch community #mother nature #nature #pagan #paganism #green witch #nature witch #sustainable living #sustainability

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

A Fresh Start [2]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: none? reader is still hiding secrets of her past, mentions of like depressive symptoms without using that specific word though

Word Count: 5,940

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn't meant for everyone.

Chapter #02: ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY BEAR?

Chapter Summary: You’re settling into a new city, and the Marshal lowkey thinks about firing you twenty minutes into the job.

“make sure

that the walls

you build

to protect yourself

do not become a prison.”

⏤yung pueblo

There were three small neighborhoods that surrounded Nevarro, and the Marshal lived in the one closest to main street. After meeting the Mandalorian and his son, Nima took you back to her house. You planned on staying with her through the night and then starting your trial period today. You considered bringing your belongings with you but decided against it. What if you failed after a measly 24 hours? What if you were so terrible that Mado sent you home before dinner? It’d be embarrassing to carry all your stuff out after just carrying it in.

You admired the houses as you passed them looking for the address Nima had supplied you. It was a nice neighborhood. You weren't sure how an area settled in a lava plain could look like a place someone would want to settle, but this neighborhood was on the same side of a volcanic spring which left rivets of spring water all throughout the collection of houses. The homes were made to match the town itself and the white stone was a sharp contrast to the glassy, black ground that wasn't already paved with gray foot stones. Not much could grow in the ground underfoot, but planters had been designed all around with greenery and plant life. Despite it only being a little after 7 in the morning, the neighborhood was awake with movement. A man working on a fence around his home waved at you as you passed him. Two houses down, a mother checking her mail, infant in arms, greeted you as well.

It took a few more minutes to come across the house you were looking for. It looked similar to all the others. A small, one story home with shades of light and dark blue decorating the white rocks. The shutters on the large round windows matched the blue tones. There was a planter in the front yard where a thick tree resided. Gray stones led up to the front porch where a bench sat off to the side. It wasn’t the kind of place you could imagine a Mandalorian calling home. Not that you had a mental image of what a Mandalorian should call home.

Nervously, you straightened your clothes and pressed forward. The Marshal said he liked to get to work about 8:30 so you wanted to get here early enough to help out with Grogu while he got ready for work. You jogged onto the porch and knocked on the door.

A minute or so passed before the wooden door swung open revealing the same towering form covered in silver beskar as yesterday. Today he didn’t have on the baby carrier that lessened his intimidation factor. Your spine stiffened involuntarily, but you forced a smile and nod. “Morning!”

“Good morning.” He stepped off to the side. Quickly, you stepped in and let your eyes glance over the foyer. There was a small dining area to the left and a set of closed, glass paneled doors to the right that looked like an office. Ahead was an open kitchen and living room. The living room had tall glass windows to let in natural light, and there was an archway on the other side of the kitchen that you assumed led to the rest of the house. It was a neat and clean area with simple furniture, but little aspects like the folded clothes sitting on the couch and the stuffed animal lying on a rug next to some knick knacks made it feel lived in. “Did you have trouble finding the place?”

“No,” You said quickly, “It was easy enough. Sorry if I’m late.”

“You’re fine. Grogu is eating breakfast, but I do have to head in a little early.”

You followed him through the wide arch that took you from the foyer into the space that sat between the kitchen and living room. Hidden from initial view, Grogu sat in a high chair between the kitchen counter and island. His tray was covered in fruit and scrambled eggs. The child paused in eating to lift his gaze to you and gave a small wave. You chuckled and waved back. Grogu began to babble, but he was quick to return to eating.

“The bedrooms are down the hall and so is the fresher. I haven’t completely finished with a space for you yet, to be honest.”

You chuckled and waved your hands. “Don’t even worry about it. This was all sort of short notice-ish, right?” He nodded once. “I didn’t even bring my stuff with me yet so… um, anything I should know before you go?”

“Do you have a frequency number?”

“Oh.” You blurted. It was on your to-do list to get one, but you had completely forgotten. “I don’t actually. Mine broke when I was leaving Tatooine, and I planned on getting a new one while here."

Mando walked past you back toward the front of the house. You followed him with your eyes, but stayed stuck in place. A little laugh made you look over to Grogu who was reaching out to you⏤ his tray now clear of all food.

“You ate that stuff really fast.” You mumbled. When you reached out to hold his hand you realized the kid’s grip was sticky from the fruit he had eaten. “Oops, hang on.” You searched the kitchen and found a rag to run under the sink. Once damp with warm water, you came back to the kid and began to clean off his hands and around his mouth. “Messy little boy. Where’d your dad go? He’s not gonna kill me for not owning a communicator is he?”

Grogu giggled in response to your question. That wasn't a 'no'. The sound of approaching footsteps made you turn, and the Mandalorian returned with a new item in hand. He held it out for you, and you set down the rag on the high chair tray to take it. It was an older communicator built into an arm band.

“Thank you.” You said and struggled to attach it to your forearm.

“Those are tougher to break.” Mando’s words sounded like a teasing joke, but it was hard to get a read on the helmeted man. So you just shot him a smile in response. He wasn’t wrong. Granted, you broke your communicator throwing it into a wall after a fit of anger when news of the trial's most recent update had reached you. Since you didn't plan on checking in on anymore updates, any communicator in your grip was probably in safe hands. “It already has my frequency programmed into it. I’d prefer if you only called if there’s an emergency, but…I’d also like message updates. If you could.”

You nodded. “Absolutely. Is there anywhere he needs to be or anything specific that needs doing today?”

“No.” Mando shook his head. “He doesn’t start school for a few more weeks.”

“Well, alright. We’ll just hang out then.”

Mando stepped closer, toward his son, and you backpedaled so you’d be out of his way. Mando rubbed Grogu’s head lovingly, “I have to go, ad’ika. I’ll be back for dinner. Be good today.” He pointed a finger at him. “No trouble.”

Grogu grasped the finger with his hands. His eyes glanced over at you before returning to his father. He began to babble as he usually did. It was hard to tell, but it seemed like Mando’s shoulders slumped a bit. Was he nervous about leaving his son with you? You could understand the sentiment. You cleared your throat and hoped to reassure him. “I’ll keep a good eye on him, and we’ll have a fun day!”

“Alright. Thank you.” Mando nodded. He leaned down to lightly tap his forehead against Grogu’s. The child preened in excitement, hands batting at his helmet, and Mando chuckled in response. “Don’t hesitate to call if any issues arise.”

Mando left, giving Grogu one last glance over his shoulder, and you heard the front door close. With a steadying breath, you glanced down at the child who was staring up at you with curious eyes. He grunted out a chirp and you shrugged in response. “Now what?”

“Sorry, I’m late.” Din huffed as he hurried into the room. Cara sat at her desk while Mayfeld stood off to the side throwing darts at the board pinned to the wall. “Where’s Karga?”

“Just missed him.” Mayfeld responded without looking over at him. “He got tired of waiting.”

“I’m two minutes late.” Din argued.

“I’m just the messenger, boss man.” Mayfeld whistled. The man had drifted to Nevarro a week or so after Din accepted Karga's offer to be Marshal. As a 'dead man', all he had to do was stay out of the attention of the New Republic. Considering Nevarro was being advertised as a trade port truly independent from any well known bureaucracy in the system. It made sense for him to drift here, and once Din saw him he offered him work. Pirates and hunters still showed up here and there, and Din needed more than just himself and Cara. "He went back to his office."

Din resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Karga had said it was important they spoke this morning. He had rushed out of the house at his friend’s request, and it annoyed him that Karga wasn’t here. If this meeting was getting postponed regardless he could’ve just stayed an extra half hour with his son.

Cara chuckled from where she sat. “How’s the new nanny?”

“You hired a nanny?” Mayfeld turned, dart in hand, with wide eyes.

“He sure did.” Cara answered. “Nima’s not cousin.”

“What’s a not cousin?” Mayfeld furrowed his brow. He crossed the room to sit on the edge of Cara’s desk.

“A cousin you’re not actually related to.”

Din sighed with a shake of his head. “I think I have to let her go.”

“Seriously?” Cara sat up in her seat. “What happened? What’d she do?”

“Nothing.” Din responded quickly. “She’s…nice.”

He felt bad for even bringing it up. Cara and Mayfeld both stared at him waiting for him to elaborate. It wasn’t that Din had a problem with you personally. Yesterday's meeting had gone well. He had gotten a good feeling. You seemed trustworthy, smart, and kind. Din trusted his gut explicitly and his gut wasn't warning him of incoming danger. That was the best kind of recommendation a person could get.

However, this morning Grogu had held back. He chose to babble rather than use basic or Mando’a. It was a little thing, Grogu not referring to him as ‘buir’ when he said good-bye, but it sat wrong with him. Their home was a safe place. Din still wasn’t sure why his son was so peculiar about when he chose to speak and when he chose to babble, but he knew Grogu was comfortable enough to do it at home with him. He didn’t want to risk losing that. Not to mention, how would he take his helmet off with a stranger wandering around his house?

“We have a system. I don’t want to risk ruining that.” Din said.

Cara shook his head. “That’s not a good reason to fire Nima’s not cousin.”

“It’s not firing.” Din sighed. “We agreed on a trial. So, technically…”

“Poor, poor girl.” Mayfeld shook his head with a cluck of his tongue. “She didn’t stand a chance, did she?”

Din set his hands on his hips in annoyance. He reminded himself that firing his team would just mean having to find new people to help him watch over the city. Cara rose from her seat and clapped her hands. “Let’s go see Karga. I can lecture you on the way there.” He sighed while Mayfeld just chuckled and went back to throwing darts. While Cara and Din went to city hall, Mayfeld would man the station in case anyone came running in with an emergency. “Come on, Mando.”

The Magistrate's building wasn’t a far walk from the station. They could’ve taken the speeders if they wanted to, and saved themselves fifteen minutes, but Din liked walking around the city ensuring everything was in order. He hoped it brought comfort to those establishing their lives here that they were safe. The more Nevarro grew, the more risks came into play. Pirates, wild animals, hunter, and bandits. There was a list of dangers to keep an eye open for. Those reasons aside, Din also knew Cara wouldn’t pass on an opportunity to tell him he was being an idiot.

“You do realize it’s a bad look to promise a trial period to a woman then decide to fire her twenty minutes into her first day, right?”

Din shook his head and kept his gaze on the buildings around them. “I haven’t made a decision yet.”

“The fact that you’re even thinking about it though…”

“Grogu is settled in our routine. He’s doing so well, I don’t want to mess that up.”

“I think this might do him some good.” Cara argued. Din waited patiently for her to explain her thought process. He valued his friend’s opinion and though any topic about his son was a touchy one, he’d always hear them out. “Up until now, who all has been watching him?”

Din shrugged. “Peli mostly. Ms. Jeelk from the flower shop. You and Karga in short moments.”

“The kid needs to meet new people to grow. It’s why you’re so excited for him to start school. Isn’t it?”

“Well, yes.”

Cara nodded. “It might take the little guy a minute to warm up to her, but introducing him to different people is probably a good idea. It’s just an adjustment period.” Both her and Din returned the warm greetings of a few people they passed. “He’s safe here, you know.” Cara reached out to punch him in the arm with a grin. “You did good, Mando. You made him a home. The fight is over.”

They continued on to the Magistrate's office, and Cara gave him the time to mull over what she had said. She was right. This was the safest they had ever been, but it was hard to shake the fear. It was less than a year ago that he was on the run with Grogu avoiding the Moff Gideon and the Imps who wanted to hurt his son. Grogu’s nightmares may have stopped, but Din still found himself looking over his shoulder waiting for their bubble of safety to pop.

As they neared the end of the road, the statue of IG-11 came into view. Coming down from the stairs of the building was Greef Karga as he spoke to the Captain of the local fire station.

“Maybe,” Din spoke up and both of them stopped a few feet from the building, “I’ll give her a better chance.”

“A better chance than the twenty minutes you’ve already given?” Cara teased.

Din chuckled. “Yes.”

“Mando!” Karga cheered. As he drifted toward them dressed in his Magistrate robes of gold and red. His assistant droid meandering behind him. Cara and Din gave a quick good-bye wave to the fire captain as he left. Karga pulled the attention back to himself. “What took you so long, my friend?”

Nanny dilemma aside, it was time for him to focus on work.

“Personally, I’ve never been a fan.” You continued to color on the paper laying on the floor in front of you. “Some of the dried fruits just have a weird texture to me. You know?” You lifted your gaze to point your crayon at Grogu who was alternating between drawing and snacking on a bowl of dried apricots that you had rustled out of the pantry. “But something tells me that you eat just about anything. That’s the vibe I’m getting.”

Grogu chirped out an acknowledgement.

Since Mando had left, the day had gone fairly easy. Grogu was cute and keeping him entertained had been fun thus far. You had been busy with him playing with his toys, snacking, running around the backyard, snacking, drawing⏤ and of course, more snacking. The kid was like a black hole. You thought after preparing him a lunch of a sandwich and chips it would’ve kept him full, but only an hour later he was gulping down apricots while drawing.

“Am I supposed to be feeding you this much?” You asked. “How much does your dad feed you?”

Grogu babbled his response without looking up at you. He was working hard on a picture of his dad and what looked like some kind of bulky ship behind him. It was pretty good for a kid. All the papers he had colored on were of either him and his dad or a collection of other people you didn’t recognize. One was another Mandalorian but in different colored armor. You wondered if this armored man lived in Nevarro as well, and if so how many Mandalorians this place had in total.

“Who is that?” You reached out from where you rested on the floor to point at the picture of his father. Grogu lifted his head to give you a curious look. His head tilted comically and you grinned. “Who is this, Grogu?” He babbled in response. You didn’t spend a lot of time with kids and it had been ages since you practiced any kind of pediatric medicine specifically, but you remembered enough. Developmentally, you knew talking to a kid in full sentences with an actual vocabulary was better than baby talk. It was also good to ask them questions for them to answer. “Who is that?”

Grogu lightly slapped his hand against the paper while he chirped out nonsense.

“Is it your dad?” You asked. “Da? Daddy? Dada?” You weren’t sure what the kid called Mando if he knew how to say anything at all. “Father?”

Grogu grew quiet for a moment, staring at you, and you just offered him a soft, patient smile⏤ giving him the time to offer a response in any way he could. Finally, Grogu carefully set his hand on his father’s drawn chest tenderly. “Buir.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the new sound. “Who is that?”

“Buir. Buir.” Grogu gave the page a soft pat and he said the word slowly as if he were trying to teach you now.

“Boo-uur?” You tried to repeat. “Byu⏤ Are you trying to say bear?”

Grogu shook his head, ears whipping around him, and he leaned forward the pat your chin. “Buir. Buir.”

“Buir.” You repeated the sound he made. Grogu beamed and bounced in place. “Okay, buir.” He ate another apricot and went back to drawing. “So you call your dad ‘buir’. Is that Mandalorian?” You paused. “It’s not called Mandalorian. He’s a Mandalorian. I can’t remember… Mandai? Man…” You shook your head and colored a bit more on your paper. “Buir. Interesting.”

Both of you colored in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before Grogu tossed his crayon aside and began to waddle away. You tilted your head to try and see where he was going, but your view was blocked by the couch as you laid on the floor. “Hey,” You called out, “Are you going to the toilet?”

You learned quick that Grogu was potty trained which was great. He had his own little toilet in the bathroom that you just needed to empty after use. Grogu stopped in place and turned to look at you. He pointed in the direction of the front of the house and grunted out a sound. You pushed up from your spot to go to him. Grogu held his hands up in a grabby motion.

“What is it you want, buddy?” You scooped him up. He tapped your arm then pointed and you followed. Inside the office, parked to the side, was a floating egg shaped pram. Curiously, you tapped the button on the front of the top opened up to reveal cushioning and blankets. Grogu didn’t hesitate to leap from your arms into the pram and with ease he somehow began to navigate it himself. The pram floated past you and stopped at the closed front door. You nodded, “Alright, we can go out and walk around the neighborhood, but you gotta promise not to float away from me. Deal?”

Grogu bounced in place. “ ‘lek.”

“Just wait there, let me grab us some water.” You hurried back to the kitchen fridge to grab two bottles. On the way out, you scooped up a light blue, soft doll in the shape of a cartoon frog. You handed it to Grogu who set the stuffed amphibian beside him in a way where it looked like the frog was the co-pilot of the pram. You set your hand on the doorknob then paused to turn to Grogu. “No floating away. Right?”

“‘lek, ‘lek, ‘lek, ‘lek.” Grogu bounced with each sound.

You hoped that was a sound of acknowledgement and agreement then opened the door. It’d be really awkward if you lost the green ball of energy the first day you had him.

All day long you had continued to send Mando updates as he requested. A quick message about lunch, a quick message that you were out in the backyard playing, another message that you were feeding him for the twelfth time that day. He hadn’t actually responded to any of your many messages, but you assumed no response was a good thing. At least he wasn’t calling you demanding why you were doing something or another. That was probably a good sign.

You trailed a step behind Grogu as he drifted down the sidewalk in his pram⏤ letting him run the show. The watch version of a communicator was kind of a pain in the ass to type on, but you were beginning to get mildly decent at it. It was the little victories, after all. You fired off another quick message letting Mando know that you and Grogu were walking around the neighborhood.

Not even a minute had passed before your watch beeped with an incoming message.

‘Okay. Please be careful.’

Your eyes widened at the first response you had garnered all day. Did this mean he was upset you had brought him out? Maybe upset wasn’t the right word. Nervous? Mando didn’t demand you take him back inside immediately so it must not have been too awful of a crime. Still, getting a response at all made your stomach flip. Seeing Mando interact with his son was sweet and it softened his image significantly, but you still found yourself intimidated. He was a Mandalorian. Yes, all you truly knew of his kind came from stories and legends, but if any of those stories were even remotely true they were something to be feared. Hardened, seasoned fighters capable of unbelievable feats. Warriors who, once upon a time, hunted Jedi just for the hell of it. Add all of that to the faceless nature of the man who gave you chills. You weren’t sure of the rules of his helmet, you had heard conflicting stories of that, but it felt odd not being able to see the expressions the man wore. It added to the mystique and fear factor.

‘We will!’ You typed back to send and grimaced at how dumb the simple statement sounded. It was embarrassing how long you contemplated using the exclamation point or not. You were definitely overthinking this.

The sound of unfamiliar cooing made you look up from your new accessory to see Grogu had drifted close to a fence with buckets of flowers hanging from it. A young woman, wearing a large sun hat, working in the yard stood on the other side wiggling her gloved fingers at him.

“Well hi there, cutie! Wook at you and your wittle froggie.” Her words turned to unintelligible babbling that Grogu copied with gusto. You chuckled in amusement. “Oh yes yes yes, you are such a good wittle boy and good wittle boys get pwesents!”

The woman plucked some flowers from her hanging pots and handed them to Grogu. You inched closer to the scene. Had you suddenly become invisible? When you saw Grogu’s eyes light up, flowers in hand, you snatched the plant away right before he could swallow a mouthful of purple petals.

“Whoa, little man, we don’t eat flowers. We smell them.” You held the flowers out to him again. “Can you smell them? I’ll give them back to you if you can.”

Grogu bobbed his head in excitement and you handed him back the flowers which he took happily. His eyes glanced at you questioningly and you raised an eyebrow at him in warning. In response, he buried his face into the flowers without eating them. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Who are you?”

Your eyes snapped back to the woman who was staring at you with a frown and furrowed brow. Apparently she could see you now. "Oh, I'm Soran." You introduced yourself with a smile and a small wave. The woman seemed unimpressed by you so you cleared your throat and added. “I’m Grogu’s nanny.”

“The Marshal hired a nanny?” She gasped. You nodded. “Well, he didn’t have to do that.” She turned back to the pram with a wide grin. “I would’ve been more than happy to watch this cutie.”

“I’m sorry. I never caught your name.” You chuckled.

“Torlee.” She responded without making eye contact with you. Torlee rubbed the top of Grogu’s head. “You tell your daddy that Torlee gave you those flowers.”

Grogu babbled once then began to drift down the path once more. You chuckled and followed after. Over your shoulder you tossed out, “It was nice to meet you.” Torlee didn’t return the sentiment. It was a bit of an unusual interaction, but you didn’t put much stock into it. “Those flowers are really pretty, aren’t they?”

The kid had set aside the flowers in his pram, but at your words he plucked one up and held it out to you. He cooed and pointed to your face as you took it from him. Understanding what he was asking for, you tucked the flower behind your ear. Grogu laughed and clapped his hands.

If there was one thing he could alter about his job, it was the paperwork. Din never had to file a report on bounties. He got the puck, caught the quarry, then collected the reward. Easy, simple. However, establishing a new town was filled with busywork. Him, Cara, and Mayfeld were still in the process of setting up security protocols and mapping out the region for safety reasons. He took a step back from his desk, hands on his hips, as his eyes scanned the map on his desk. Something didn’t look right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Din sighed in irritation and resisted the urge to pull off his helmet so he could rub his hands over his face. As if that could solve his exhaustion.

“Hey.” Cara knocked on the door frame.

“Yeah?”

“I got a message from your neighbor Torlee.” Cara chuckled. Din tilted his head in confusion. Torlee. That name was vaguely familiar. Despite not seeing his expression, she must have realized he was struggling to place a face to the name. “Like three houses down from yours. Short black hair. Human.”

“Yeah, I think I know⏤”

“Gardens in her front lawn. Definitely wants to fuck you⏤”

“Okay, okay.” Din waved his hand at her. “I said I knew. What about her?”

Cara chuckled, “She called in to talk to you, but when she couldn’t get through she just messaged me.” She came into the office, communicator in hand. “Torlee wanted to know if you hired someone to watch Grogu because she was concerned someone was stealing your kid.”

Din’s lips twitched up in amusement. Now that he remembered who she was talking about, he knew Torlee had a tendency to overreact. “Did you let her know Grogu wasn’t being kidnapped?”

“I did. But before I explained your new nanny situation she sent me a picture of the perp in question.” Cara held up the communicator for him to take. Din let out a light laugh at the picture sent to her. The picture must have been taken from across the street. You were knelt down by the side of the pram holding a bottle of bubbles while helping Grogu blow out of the wand. A large purple flower was tucked behind your ear. Cara hummed. “It’s a good thing you’re letting her go today.”

Din sighed and handed the phone back to her. “I said I was going to give her a real chance.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop making fun of you though.”

You stayed out with the kid for about an hour exploring the neighborhood, and he was making out like a bandit. Every single person you passed had to stop the two of you to chat and many handed out small gifts to him. Other than the flowers he had collected a few snack foods, a pinwheel, and a little bottle of bubbles that one mother had shared with the two of you as she was out with her own small children. All the interaction must have worn him out because Grogu passed out for a little bit which gave you the time to clean up any of the messes made in the house.

There were some dishes in the sink from breakfast and lunch, plus all of Grogu’s toys were scattered about the living room. Cleaning up didn’t take very long. You even stuck all the art the kid had created on the fridge and set the purple flowers from Torlee in a vase on the kitchen counter.

Grogu stayed in the pram while he slept, you didn’t see the point of moving him and risking him waking up. While he slept, you took the time to walk through the house and explore the bits you hadn't seen. The hall attached to the kitchen broke off to the right where a tiled room designed for washing clothes sat. It had a set of glass doors that led out onto the back porch. Further down the hall were three doors. The first door was open and you could see that it was a bedroom. All you could see from the doorway was a half made bed and dresser. You didn’t spend too much time looking since it was obviously Mando's room and looking felt like an invasion of privacy. The next door led into a simple bathroom, and the last one was a smaller bedroom. This one felt less lived in.

A bed frame sat in the center with a clean but uncovered mattress. There was a small nightstand made of the same light colored wood as the bed frame. There was no dresser but a side door led into an empty closet. This must be the room meant for you. That left no separate room for Grogu. The kid probably slept in his father’s bedroom then, but you didn’t want to look further into the room for Grogu’s little bed.

Faintly, you heard Grogu’s voice and hurried back down the hall in time to see him wiggling out of his pram in the living room. You were halfway to him when he turned with his arms outstretched.

“Did you have a good nap?” You picked him up and Grogu didn’t hesitate to snuggle into your chest⏤ still drowsy from sleep. Lightly, you rubbed his back and swayed in place. “Aw, you want some cuddles, kiddo?”

“Mhmm.” Grogu mumbled as he began to drift off again.

The kid was incredibly cute. More so than you initially thought, and you came into this thinking he was super cute. For the last couple months, you had limited contact with anyone. You kept in touch with Nima, of course, but that was about it. This time last year, you had a very active social schedule. You had been thriving. Then, the night had happened. The worst shift of your life. Things had spiraled from there and you grew distant from your friends. Months passed and just as things were beginning to get better, you nearly died.

Your hand drifted away from rubbing Grogu’s back to trace the scar along your collarbone once more.

The attacker had gone on trial while you were in the hospital, and it was still ongoing today. After your release from the hospital, it was recommended to you that you rely on your friends and go to therapy, but you had done the exact opposite. You fled Coruscant, found a shitty little apartment in Mos Espa on Tatooine, and disappeared from everyone’s radar. Nima was the only thing that kept you human. On nearly a daily basis she’d invite you to visit her, but you always turned her down.

Holding Grogu in your arms right now, you wondered if you finally accepted Nima’s offer because of how much you missed interacting with others. It only occurred to you now. This was your first non-Nima hug in Maker knows how long. You smiled to yourself and went back to lightly rubbing the dozing child’s back.

“Thanks for hanging out with me today, kid.” You mumbled softly.

Close to 7PM, the sound of the front door opening interrupted Grogu from whatever story he was babbling about as you stirred the pot on the stove top. He was seated on the counter a safe distance from the open flame playing with a small, silver ball.

“Buir!” Grogu shouted. You caught him before he leapt from the counter and carefully set him on the floor. He waddled out of the kitchen as fast as he could. “Buir! Buir! Buir!”

You chuckled and lowered the heat on the stove and covered the top with a lid. Grogu’s voice was so excited and when you turned the corner into the foyer you saw Mando holding him in his arms listening intently as the child spoke. Grogu slapped his hands lightly against his father’s helmet.

“I know, ad’ika. Not yet.” Mando said. His helmet rose until the t-shaped visor was facing you rather than his son. “How was your day?”

“It was great!” You replied. “We had a lot of fun. Grogu was very well behaved.”

“Very well behaved? That’s a first.”

You motioned to him. “How about you? Good day at work?”

“Yes.”

There was a beat where only Grogu was speaking. He had gone back to tapping on the helmet with his small hand. Mando held his hand to stop the motion and Grogu responded by nuzzling his head into the crook of the Mandalorian’s neck. Again, it was hard to be intimidated by the Marshal when his child was in his arms.

“I, um,” You cleared your throat, “I made dinner. Just some stew⏤ nothing fancy.” Mando nodded and you crossed your arms. “I told Nima I’d get dinner with her tonight. I figured you’d want some time alone with Grogu anyways, but if you need me just call and I’ll come running.”

“It's okay.” He said. “I’m not on call tonight so you don’t need to worry.”

“Great.” You stepped past Mando toward the door then awkwardly hesitated, not knowing if you should say more before leaving. “Same time tomorrow?”

Mando shifted so he faced you. “Yes, please.”

“Got it.” You tilted your head and waved your hand. “Goodnight, Grogu. I’ll see you in the morning. Can you say good night?”

Grogu lifted his head from his father’s shoulder and beamed at you. “Ca!”

Maybe this week you'd work on teaching him easy words like 'yes' and 'night' and 'bye'. Mando’s head snapped down to stare at him though, and you found yourself wishing you could see what expression he was wearing. It was so hard to gauge the Mandalorian’s mood. You moved to leave, hand on the door, but Mando’s voice calling out your name forced you to pause.

“I was thinking…” Mando began. “I’m on call tomorrow night. Maybe you can bring some of your stuff in the morning? I can show you your room.”

You smiled and gave him a small nod. “Yeah. Sure. See you tomorrow, Mando.”

“Good night. Thank you.”

When you stepped out, there was still light in the sky. The sun was only beginning to set, but you knew it’d be dark before the clock stuck 8. It wouldn’t take that long to reach Nima so you weren’t too concerned. Besides, walking after dark in a city this small and cozy had to be safer than Coruscant. You swung your arms by your side as you walked feeling lighter than you had in quite some time.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Female reader #mandalorian and grogu #grogu is a little shit #an adorable little shit tho #protective din djarin #good dad din djarin #nanny!reader #nanny AU

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max1461 · 3 months ago

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Two takes I see that don't make much sense are as follows:

From SWERFs, "sex work is exploitative to women, therefore it should be illegal".

From pro-lifers, "abortion is exploitative to women, therefore it should be illegal".

Never mind that the pro-life argument which says that abortion is exploitative to women doesn't make sense on its own. The more essential point is: if some group is being exploited by a given practice, you want to solve that by criminalizing the activities of the exploited party? That just seems odd; it's unclear how that is supposed to help. "Sorry, we're here to arrest you for getting exploited". What is the logic here?

For my own part, I think that sex work probably is exploitative most of the time, but I can't imagine that making it illegal and forcing it underground helps much with this. Sex work is still widely practiced even in places where it isn't legal, this much is obvious enough, and the illegality impedes effective strategies of combating exploitation such as unionization, which is an imperfect but extremely powerful tool, tried and true in a wide variety of industries.

I know that SWERFs resist comparisons of sex work to other industries, but their arguments mostly seem to focus on the idea that sex work is uniquely harmful to practitioners and never really seem to answer the substantive question of why the tools developed to combat exploitation in other industries should not be expected to be useful also to the sex worker. I think this is because they are guided by this feeling that all discussion of mitigating exploitation is small potatoes, since sex work is so harmful that it should not exist at all. But even if this is true, that is clearly not a feasible situation to bring about via criminalization, as the widespread practice of sex work even where it is illegal should make obvious! It's like these people are more interested in officially registering their viewpoint that "sex work should not exist" (giving it legal codification and therefore legitimacy) than they are in actually reducing real exploitation in the real world. For a comparison: I think heroin addiction should not exist, but I do not think that throwing heroin users in jail is probably the best way to achieve this, nor do I think that it constitutes particularly just treatment of said heroin users!

I guess this is the same conversation that the left has been having with the right about drug decriminalization and harm reduction for many years. You need to make an argument better than "this thing is bad, therefore it should be illegal". That's like, a child's understanding of how the law should work, it's more complicated than that.

Now I will say that I know that there exist people out there who do sex work and enjoy it, and do not consider themselves exploited, just as there exist drug users (although probably not heroin users) who enjoy it and either are not addicted or are addicted but view this as an acceptable trade-off. To these people I say that I do not have any interest in telling you how to run your lives, and if you genuinely do these things voluntarily I think that is fine and good. You are also my allies on this front. I think that very probably the majority of sex workers are exploited, and very probably the majority of hard drug users are trapped in a vicious cycle that they would be better off escaping from, and in policy discussions around these issues I think these concerns should take highest priority. Still, though, if you just have some deep passion for fucking people for money or whatever, a priori I desire a world in which you can do that; my discussion of sex work as something to which harm reduction is a reasonable sociopolitical approach should not be construed as opposition to your ends.

#society

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veganagenda · 7 months ago

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🐄

if you want to get very quickly and efficiently radicalized against the dairy industry, search the name of any dairy breed and read a cattle farming organization's article on them to see what they have to say.

once you notice it, the language they use to talk about living animals is sickening.

here are some from a cattle website's article on the Holstein breed, known famously as one of the 'highest producing' dairy cow breeds:

off to a great start - this article quietly walks around the fact that cows' lifespans are irrelevant to this topic and they should only technically be measured by the years they spend being 'productive' to the dairy industry. (because they know they won't live any longer than that, anyway.)

notice how these animals are reduced to mere numbers and statistics - how many pounds of milk, butterfat and 'protein' they can 'produce' per year. notice the fact that the dairy industry has historically had nothing but a vested interest in testing and pushing these numbers as far as they can go, beyond what is naturally biologically feasible - even demanding testing programs and constant genetic investigation to do so.

the implication that these animals can 'adapt' to farming situations they are forced into. the advertisement of these animals as being fully 'adaptable' to whichever method of explotation is chosen for them, including 'intensive farming.' think about how animals live in the wild for a moment. think about what 'intensive farming' entails. what animal could possibly 'adjust' to that?

furthermore, when these animals encounter heat stress and disease as a result of being put in an unsuitable environment, the only thing worth commenting on is their 'reduced production capacity.' no mention of their distress or wellbeing beyond that.

notice how factors that could be considered biologically unnatural, such as rapid growth and early maturity, are celebrated here, only for their benefit to the process of the dairy industry's purposes for calves.

notice how this article describes them as overwhelmingly easy to 'handle' - livestock farmers have little to no patience with 'misbehaving' animals, who exhibit 'difficult' behaviours. this article also offers the assurance that these animals are 'resistant to stress' - since it knows fully well that these cows will be encountering highly stressful environments in the dairy production industry.

noting that they exhibit herd bonds is as close as this article gets at any point to showing any kind of interest in them as what they actually are - living animals. this is the sole instance of that.

of course, in the dairy industry you should naturally expect that any sentence starting with 'Holsteins are more than just a dairy breed...' should end with 'the animal also contribute to the meat supply.' these cows have no worth in this industry's eyes beyond their bodies - what they can produce, what we can consume -- what they can sell to us. all under the convenient pretense that these animals are doing a 'service' to us by 'contributing to our supplies.'

can you imagine if your biology textbook suddenly started describing the quality, the texture, the 'fattening sectors' and 'fine fibres' of meat that compose the animals you were reading about?

and here we have one of the most horrifying sentences I've ever read:

it's self-confessional - the dairy industry is the meat industry, because dairy farming creates the 'byproduct' of useless male calves. so even under dairy circumstances, cows are still bred with beef breeds so that when they're forcefully impregnated, they can give birth to tastier babies.

the way it says all of this through pure implication is absolutely insidious.

and of course, on its final note, this article once again offers merit to these cows purely based on their milk productivity - their 'unexcelled production,' the 'greater income' they offer to the industry weighed against how much it costs to care for them. the obsession with their genetic 'qualities' goes far beyond disturbing here. their sperm, even frozen embryos are sold and exported as 'products' all around the world. just imagine what that looks like for a moment - what that requires. what a horrifying thing to do to an animal.

and how typical is it of the dairy industry to pretend that this is being done in the name of 'improving foreign food supplies' in the very same breath as celebrating how it also improves 'dairy producer incomes'? how convenient is it that the fabricated, false pretense of global necessity for dairy and meat products just so happens to make those industries one of the wealthiest on the planet?

how can anyone write or read an article like this and not instantly come to realize what kind of an abusive, exploitative, and downright dystopian system they are participating in? for the animals born and trapped within this industry, and for all the other living creatures subsequentally affected by this industry's neverending drive to increase its own profits, this is man-made, capitalistic hell in its purest form.

#cows #cow #cattle #vegan #veganism #animal liberation #environmentalism #environmental activism

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gayferrari · 13 days ago

Note

"except you ravish me" director's cut

Thank you for asking!!! I had so much fun writing that fic I love that I get to chat about it.

except you ravish me, 15k, rated E. omegaverse AU.

that's. look that's the chastity belt fic. u all know it. charles/seb, charles/bryan, charles/others.

This one was written for a kinkmeme prompt. When I saw it, I'd never written omegaverse before, never felt the impulse to, and I was a bit intimidated by the #lore, so shoutout to all the people whose brains I picked asking for feedback about anything from omegaverse anatomy to preferred tropes. And yes as u can see from my blog. I've been on the omegaverse train a normal amount since.

This was written before the Bryan/Charles of it all really took off. I was like, I need a hook to write terrible workplaces practises, and I didn't want to focus too much on driver x driver ships because I wanted the vibes to be, like... Charles and Ferrari's dirty little secret :3 So I wrote like 5k of Charles having a weird TPE thing with his new handsome race engineer and then they started flirting on radio #my impact

I almost named this fic "company car", except there's already a sebchal fic with that name and so I went with this one instead — not that I am arguing fic titles should be unique only, BUT within the same ship, and if the ship is small enough that I have read the other fic, I personally like to use something else. The title is from John Donne's poem Batter my heart, three-person'd God because I thought it was a funny title for a fic that could, generously, be described as "character driven smut" and at worst as just "15k of porn." The relevant lines are:

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

knot. ahaha (I am 13).

Some line-specific thoughts under the cut

“Do you have it here? On you?” “On the keyring with my car keys. I know it’s important to have it on hand, and…” His car keys, Christ, like Charles is a fancy engine he gets to take for a spin.

What if you lived inside a porno?? The whole point of this fic is the pornification of *gestures vaguely* fucked up workplace BDSM that's treated as the best course of action by everyone involved.

This is 1) because it's the best way I could make the prompt work but more importantly 2) I think it's hot and 3) also kind of funny to consider. I usually write fics based on "how much I'd enjoy reading this, as a reader" so things that are funny to me personally feature heavily in anything I write.

Officially, only a handful of omegas have ever driven in Formula One. Charles always wondered how many more there have been who kept themselves hidden, back in the day when it would have been feasible to keep up a ruse that huge. He is only the third omega to debut in F1 this century, which makes his rookie season somewhat of a novelty.

As with most omegaverse fics u get to play "who on the grid would be what" etc etc. I didn't think very deeply about who' else's the third omega (officially) to debut in F1 in the 2000s, but it's somebody who didn't have a very long career. And some RPF favourites who I headcanon as omegas for the purposes of this AU either didn't get to F1 at all (Yuki) or had considerably shorter careers — I couldn't fit this in, but omega Lando has his rookie season in 2021 instead of 2019, and is NOT the Mclaren number 1 driver in 2024.

Again, I didn't want to go into the worldbuilding but my worldbuilding for this fic is that it's highkey a dystopia. WITH SEX <3 so it doesn't matter how #unfair it is bc everyone has orgasms.

Charles imagines asking their team doctor for a new chastity belt so he can get fucked better when he’s dying for it. The thought makes his head spin — he squirms on his back, cunt gushing with slick, and Seb’s low laugh makes it worse. “Oh, you like that,” he says, teasing just on the edge of mean. “Don’t worry, they all know already that you’re dying for it. Engineers talk, too.”

TERRIBLE MENTOR OMEGA SEB. HI. I'm going to make a separate post about the Seb of it all because someone else also asked, but I will say I had so much fun getting to use Seb to flesh out the worldbuilding.

This is a smut fic and the setting is just there to flavour the porn; buuuuut I wanted this world to look lived-in. Bad Workplace Boundaries Omegaverse is ALL AROUND THEM. Charles's POV is limited and single-focus and claustrophobic by design but it's not just Ferrari; things have been unsettlingly horny for Seb before he got there and will keep being unsettling horny after he leaves. He's kind of a cautionary tale of what Charles's future in this AU might potentially look like, which Charles is very deliberately ignoring. Absolutely normal mentorship dynamic (Seb fists him regularly and ignores him in public)

I made up an OC gross team doctor to perv on Charles in this one because I could never in my worst moment bring myself to write Charles/Binotto. At one point I considered it but it simply would not have been sexy

He can tell when Carlos finds out about the whole situation because he starts acting weird, not quite meeting Charles’s eyes, getting flustered way too easily and, once or twice, sniffing when he walks into a room like he’s trying to scent him. Once, he even sees Carlos’s gaze drop down his body like he’s trying to see through Charles’s clothes, only to stop immediately when he catches himself doing it.

CARLOS IS THE ONLY NORMAL PERSON IN THIS FIC. This is very important (and — again — funny to me personally) I didn't want to write Charles/Carlos bc it would become the focus of the whole fic. Instead, Carlos is just baffled. He's alpha though he's bad at it. So are both his parents. He's never had an omega teammate before and has never considered this weirdness. He cannot believe HR would sign off on that (don't ask him what's going on at Mclaren with the bratty omega rookie who just replaced him and Zak Brown) In-universe, Carlos refuses to see some things. From a meta point of view, he's an audience POV.

“It doesn’t hurt?” “No.” It’s not a question Charles was expecting. “It is designed not to. It’s like seat fitting, yes?” The model has been revisited over the years as his measurement changed, as comfortable as any cage can get. “It’s just… It’s a lot.”

Clapping myself on the shoulder for this part.

The whole "everyone tells Charles it's for his own good so he keeps believing it" part is like. just porn logic. so clearly I had to throw it in like 4 or 5 different times

One of my favourite parts was writing the part where Fred arrives to replace Mattia and Charles doesn't even let himself consider that maybe things are going to change. And then Fred is like :) yeah good solution carry on! jovially omegaphobic of him. Also this bit

Pierre was one of the first people Charles went to after he presented, scared that his designation meant he’d never make it as far as he wanted to. [...] Pierre, an alpha who’d never considered anything like that for himself, obviously thought that Charles was overreacting, but he was kind enough to listen anyway, and try to understand. Charles wonders sometimes if Pierre feels vindicated now, as if Charles’s success is proof that he didn’t need to worry so much back then, but he’s never asked. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

me @ me: Piarles in this AU would be INSANE

He’s thrilled beyond belief still, humming as Bryan fusses with the fucking chastity belt. He thinks about the rows of journalists waiting for him — they’ll be able to smell the sweet scent of an omega who’s just about dripping for a good fuck. Seb was infamous for it, back in the day.

Seb haunting the narrative. He was not having a good time back in the day (or ever) but he wanted very hard to have people THINK he was <3

me getting to the end of my own fic. hit by memories. yeah I sure did

THANK U AGAIN!!!! for asking I had so much fun making this post. Also AO3 tells me this fic has now a ratio of private/public bookmarks of 70/30 which makes me very happy too <3

#askbox games #writing tag #fic: except you ravish me

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paingoes · 3 months ago

Text

Rubies

Settling

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioning, past abuse, brief hanging/death mention, brief nsfw talk)

“Home sweet home,” Apollo coughed up the dust that had rained on him just as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. Delta trailed quietly behind him.

Despite Apollo’s warnings about the house, Delta couldn’t find much wrong with it. Apollo had assumed he was very accustomed to the luxury that Empire’s elite resided in and had been rather apologetic about the downgrade. That assumption was correct, but Delta had very rarely been inside anyone’s actual house before. He had no real point of comparison. For what it was, it suited him just fine.

The verdict had been passed down just yesterday. Iza’s crew were all free to go; they had just been following her orders. Iza herself was on unpaid leave for a month, after which she would probably be reassigned to somewhere in Antartica until Levon decided she’d had enough. Kitty and Apollo had both been given two months of unpaid leave. Delta was to stay with them during that period.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world,” Apollo had said to Delta when the two of them were alone, “Me and Iza have somewhere to stay. He’s just docking our pay, which wasn’t that much to begin with. It’s kind of a fucked up thing to do to Kitty, though. Levon knows she doesn’t have a place.”

Delta nodded. The same conduct within Empire would invariably be met with death by hanging. He did not mention this.

Kitty dragged the suitcase into the house just after them. She sneezed the same way kittens do — a sharp, soft sound.

“Bless you. Yeah, it needs to be cleaned,” Apollo acknowledged, “I really didn’t think it’d been that long since I stopped by. Time flies, I guess.”

Delta nodded. It would be difficult with his arm in the cast, but he was used to working through injuries. It was more common than not, as of recently. He drifted around the kitchen island and knelt down to retrieve the chemicals from the sink. Apollo and Kitty had both disappeared by the time he rose up again.

He dampened the cloth, careful to avoid wetting the bandages. It was easier to start with the counters; all the excess dust would get onto the floor where it could be vacuumed. He winced. It would be really painful to scrub the floor tiles the way his ribs were now. It had hurt enough just to bow; maintaining that position for several hours might not be feasible. One thing at a time, though. He focused solely on the granite surface. The shine immediately returned to it as soon as he pressed the cloth against it, highlighting just how bad the rest of the kitchen had gotten. Two hours, minimum. He bit his lip, forcing his own patience.

“Babe, not you,” Kitty said, popping back into the kitchen, “We’ll do it. You’re injured.”

He failed to see the relevance of that last part, but was grateful nonetheless. He put the cloth down gingerly. She had indicated that he follow her. He did so.

There was a single downstairs bedroom. Apollo was drawing back the curtains. He twisted abruptly around like he was surprised to see them somehow. He wiped his hands off on his jeans.

“I thought it would be easier for you if you take downstairs. You wouldn’t have to move around so much. I’ll try to make the room less impersonal? But you can take me or Lun’s room upstairs if you want. Your call.”

Delta blinked. No, it wasn’t. It was Apollo’s house. He’d go where he wanted him and it was obvious he wanted him here.

“Yes, sir.” He lowered his eyes. He’d been muttering a lot, recently. He knew he wasn’t supposed to. The words just kept getting caught somewhere.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Apollo said hurriedly, “And this’ll be the last move for a while, I promise.”

The exhaustion must have shown on his face. From the battleship into the jet into the safehouse into the jet into the base into the shuttle into the house. Half of it had spent in delirium, the other half spent in its afterglow. Delta felt as if he had been tripping for a week straight.

“Do you want to lay down for a little bit?” Kitty asked. Her tail flickered into a question mark shape behind her.

“Yes, miss.” His voice did not come out any louder, no matter how hard he tried. “Please.”

============

He woke up into darkness with only a few strands of moonlight to illuminate the room. Again, he was momentarily panicked, without any idea where he was or why it looked different. He sat up in the darkness. He could hear faint voices coming from the other room. He did not feel the subtle movements of a ship. Grounded, then. Right. Sunny’s house.

He relaxed a little. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. The door was closed. He assumed it was locked and did not move to check otherwise. The doorknob was the kind that would rattle if he turned it. It’d be much too conspicuous. He had not been given permission to leave and he wouldn’t attempt to — definitely not so early on.

Still, there were voices. He slid silently off the bed to press his ear to the door. He would not give up the eavesdropping habit, not for his life.

“-I always thought it was like, a sex thing. But then I tried it and I just got really bad burns all over my mouth.”

“That sounds like oral allergy syndrome.”

“No, but we BOTH got it.”

“So what happened to the worm?”

Delta pulled away from the door.

He sat back on the bed. He realized for the first time that he did not own anything anymore. Every single one of his possessions had been left back on the Thorn. Iza and Apollo had cut off the clothes he had come in with; they’d been too waterlogged to wear, even if they weren’t so impractical. He didn’t have any of his books. Most importantly, he did not have the laptop. He felt a small twinge of fear as he thought of who would find it when they inevitably cleaned out his room. It would have been locked up tight enough that its contents remained hidden, but its lone physical presence would be cause for concern.

Maybe they’d think nothing of it. He tried to imagine who would actually know what to make of the find. Martino was dead. Delta had personally made sure of that. Paris was dead — presumably. Simon would still be alive, though. He’d know Delta wasn’t supposed to have the laptop, but Delta doubted he’d be able to piece together the story afterwards. He’d just promised to quit, anyway. Something sharp pinched at Delta’s heart. He had never gotten to say goodbye to him.

It had to be this way. He knew it. It didn’t matter what he had wanted or wanted now. What mattered was getting out to somewhere that he would not be forced to kill in Empire’s name. He was here now and he had not planned any further ahead.

Without the laptop, without his books, without anything of substance in the room, he had nothing else to think about. It was so dark in the room. He’d been subjected to sensory deprivation before, both as practice and as punishment. At times, it had been badly needed. Other times, it would just send him deeper into a spiral. He could not decide which way it was leaning this time.

Delta had been sitting upright on the bed in complete darkness when the door cracked open.

“Oh!” Apollo was clearly startled to see him like that, “How long have you been up?”

No clock. He didn’t know, didn’t respond.

“Do you want to come out?” Apollo hung in the doorway, “We’re just chilling.”

Delta’s head fell a little bit, more from exhaustion than anything else. He didn’t think he understood the question. He didn’t think he understood much of anything anymore. He did not like to be left alone in the dark room with nothing to do, though he’d accepted that position as gracefully as he did anything else. Still, it was so draining to be around people. It wasn’t any fault of their own. It was simply the way every interaction came with its own set of rules. Delta had gotten used to the baseline exhaustion it caused within him. He had learned how to manage it with his teachers, with his handlers, with the Emperor, with Paris. But he did not like the idea of having to sleuth out the new terms of engagement with them, re-entering that rough adjustment period, and of risking punishment because they would not simply tell him the rules. He’d rather just stay in the dark.

“…Do you want something to eat?” Apollo asked.

Delta realized he had not said a single thing aloud. He’d been told how creepy it was when he stared off into space like that. He felt a sudden twinge of shame at having slipped into it so early with Apollo.

“Yes, sir,” he answered softly.

===========

Perhaps sensing his agoraphobia, Apollo brought the food into his room for him. Delta had barely eaten at all that week. He’d been unconscious or sick for most of it. They had tried to coax him into drinking broth while in Galatea’s medbay, but it hadn’t been enough. He wasn’t trying to be difficult. He just didn’t feel well enough to keep anything down.

The meal he’d been given was mostly sprouts and proteins. It was surprisingly nutritionally balanced, despite the general state of disuse the kitchen had been in. Delta remembered that Apollo was actually a medic and — at least partially — knew what he was doing. It was kind of reassuring. He’d gotten to be very wary of doctors, to the point where he’d deliberately hide his illness to avoid seeing Martino. It would be nice to not have to do that anymore.

Apollo’s words seemed to contradict the thought, though.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get you settled. The last couple days have been way harder than they should’ve been. It’s my fault everything got so haphazard.” He tapped his neck, “Levon said I should apologize too, but I was going to do it anyway. We got really out of our depth with this. I know it could’ve gone smoother. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Delta was quiet. It still felt so incredibly unnatural to have someone apologize to him. It had felt strange even through the screen and it was a million times worse when Apollo was actually in front of him. It all seemed a bit besides the point, anyway. He’d been out like that before. The powers were rough and unpredictable even when constrained; it was not the first time they’d made him feverish. The timing was unfortunate, but he could hardly blame Apollo for that. He felt like maybe he should be the one to apologize for making their lives so difficult. It had taken an entire professional team to care for him when the powers had first kicked in. Asking the same thing of a hastily assembled and ill-informed rebel group wasn’t fair to do.

He’d forgotten to respond, again. He was truly at a loss.

“It’s okay, Delta. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Apollo said, catching the worry in his expression. “…Are you sure you want to be called that?”

Delta. He’d seemed upset when he’d said it the first time. He hadn’t challenged it, but he also hadn’t used it. None of them had. It was just a call sign, after all. He didn’t technically have a name. But all the other Δ assignments numbered 0 through 500 had all been felled or buried. He knew he was the only one who still had claims to the title. He still liked the way it sounded.

“I do,” Delta said. It was the strongest he’d gotten his voice to be all day.

………………..

tags:

@catnykit@indigoviolet311@snakebites-and-ink@vivulapom@scoundrelwithboba@whatwhump@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper

#whump #whump community #whump scenario #whump prompt #living weapon whumpee #conditioned whumpee #hurt/comfort #recovery whump #conditioning #past abuse #death mention #delta #kitty #apollo #rubies

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procrasimnation · 3 months ago

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Tips on how to build ancient village on a lot. Working a doing a version of the exodus in sims 4. But not sure how to the egyptian/hebrew quarters

Hello! Sorry it has taken me an incredibly long time to answer this, I'm in the middle of changing jobs and my brain is mush.

Full disclaimer: I'm not much of a builder. These are all things that works for me, but YMMV.

So, for basically any large historical lot, I use this broad principle:

In the main lot, I always build the stuff I actually want to use - normally with bb.moveobjects off as much as possible - then clutter the shit out of the edges. Some recent examples:

This street looks really cluttered, but it's all against the walls and doesn't impact on routing. There's a progress shot here which shows the progression of this.

This lot has a clear route down the middle of most fields, then a bunch of clutter in areas that sims won't be walking in anyway, then a wall obscuring the view of the edge.

At the edge of any lot, basically the only thing I care about is how to most effectively disguise the fact my sims actually live in a world set in a North American desert - e.g. the blue area here, which is a load of nonsense from any other angle.

Inside, I try and (a) use the minimal amount of space possible, partially because the vast majority of houses were very small back then but mainly because I hate decorating big rooms; and (b) keep it incredibly minimal, because otherwise I will get bored and give up.

If they aren't grotesquely rich - stone floor, some kind of plaster wall, minimal wooden furniture and some relevant clutter. I think this formula broadly works for numerous geographic locations and time eras.

If they are grotesquely rich - same thing, but with more colour, rugs and pottery. I'm not a huge stickler for historical accuracy within certain limits (because it is simply not feasible for this time era in this game), but you'll find a loooooot more CC specifically built for rich Egyptians!

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the-irken-pony · 2 months ago

Text

THSC Meta Voice Potential Backstory + Additional headcanons

Because my first post about them was long enough and also because there's a lot more headcanon than actual lore meat this time around.

Edit:

[ID: The "So that was a fucking lie" meme. End ID.]

I do go a bit in-depth with explaining some of them at the end, but I'm starting with the headcanons themselves. I want to focus on the headcanons rather than having the long explanations dominate the entire post. It's a bit of a different format than I usually do, but it's one I want to try out. (That and not all of them have explanations beyond "vibes" so I'm giving myself some leeway there.)

Starting with the "shock twist" headcanon: I do genuinely believe them to have once been a stick figure who lived in the THSCverse like Henry, Charles, Dave, etc., rather than having always been a disembodied string of text.

They were most likely a superpowered stick figure like Henry, but they probably had weaker, downgraded versions of their current timeline-stopping abilities (the FAILs).

Their other abilities (eg conjuration) arose as a result of their integration into the fabric of their reality, rather than being part of their default abilities.

They used to be a gadgeteer, and still engage with gadgetry off to the side.

Said gadgetry profession may be directly related to their disappearance, or their merging with their reality. No solid headcanon on what caused whatever happened to them but I do have a potential idea.

They had a criminal history before Henry, and have a kleptomania problem of their own.

They don't age, at least not anymore. They stopped after they integrated into the game.

Their attachment to Henry is in part because Henry is the only one who can actually see them anymore.

Road rage

As for explanations behind them, I’m breaking it into sections since it’s. long.

Gadgetry

First off, I wanna discuss their affinity for gadgetry (smth that @/stickthinks brought up in their THSC live blog that I've been fixated on ever since).

While the meta voice knows more about the various people and locales seen throughout the game than any one person in the universe feasibly could, their knowledge isn't limitless. Many of their comments seem to be guesswork rather than actual knowledge. Furthermore, for how much they seem to know, their attitude toward people in general is rather... blasé, and doesn't seem to be too partial to who Henry aligns himself with.

What they DO show a vested interest in is the various gadgets that Henry uses. The first example is actually the first two instances of the Teleporter in the remastered Breaking the Bank and in Escaping the Prison. In Breaking the Bank, they state that the teleporter uses new technology and is optimistic about its potential, and assume the fail in EtP is Henry not knowing how to use it.

[ID: Fail screen for Breaking the Bank’s teleporter option which reads “it’s emergent technology. I’m sure it will get better!”]

Their first hint of actually knowing how stuff works comes from the Opacitator, in which they mention a Beta Testing phase; both words are specifically capitalized, implying that this is a formally named stage of development (I mean I would hope so).

[ID: fail screen for the opacitator fail which reads: “you’d think something like that would come up in the beta testing.” The words beta testing are capitalized. End id.]

Where it's really revealed to have in depth knowledge is in the Wormhole Rifle fail, where we get its iconic info dump moment, where it gives a detailed run-down of the mechanics and makeup of the gun.

ID: the fail screen for the wormhole rifle, which is a wall of text in a small font. It reads:

“I'm surprised you weren't able to get down there with that amazing portal technology. It's pretty strange how those portal guns work. I mean it combines the top scientific processes of our time. the portal gun contains a flux quantum generator which propels energy blasts with energy volumes of 4.23 GW with an average speed of 25 m/s. this speed is most effective because it allows the energy to be conserved while still maintaining a speed that is appropriate. The external plastic coating on the portal gun is constructed of a high polymer fireproof carbon fiber. this prevents the intense energy of the portal gun from burning the hands of the user. The intense energy causes intense heat. Oh by the way if you want a medal/achievement click here. I've heard that scientists still do not know what happens if two portals are placed on top of one another. The last time that was attempted... Well I'm sure you heard about it on the news.” End ID.]

What's interesting is that it mentions that there actually WAS an attempt to place two portals on top of each other, but doesn't go into detail about what. This could either imply that they simply consider it common knowledge not worth repeating, or it could imply that the subject is uncomfortable enough that they'd rather avoid it. The latter option could be an indication that they were actually present for the attempt.

Going further, they may have even directly worked on the Jetboots. The fail message is specifically a production note.

ID: fail screen for the jetboots option, which reads “jetboots production notes: find lighter material to construct boots out of.” End ID.]

Their Original Form, And Why They Changed

The reason I wanted to go over that one first is because it ties into some other stuff. For instance, it proves that they’re more tied to the THSCverse than to our world. Especially given that, in the wormhole rifle info dump, they specifically say “it combines the top scientific processes of our time,” when the concept of a portal gun is still completely fictional in our world.

Additionally, they question our apparent inability to distinguish visually near-identical stick figures (indirectly acknowledging the player as not a stick figure by proxy).

[ID: fail screen for the Toppy option which reads “they could tell you don’t look like Henry. What, you think all stick figures look the same??” End id.]

Thus, it’s reasonable to conclude that the meta is not only originally part of the THSCverse, but also that it is, itself, a stick figure (unless it became something else after their “ascension”.

As for other arguments proving their mortality, or pseudo mortality, they allude to three very notably organic behaviors:

1) they take a bathroom break during the calculator fail in std, suggesting a need, or at least the capacity, to eat food and drink fluids.

[id: fail screen for the calculator option, which reads “sorry, I was in the bathroom. What’d I mi— Where’d… Where is everyone?” End id.]

2) they mention having a nightmare similar to the g-inverter effects, proving that they used to sleep, if they don’t continue to do so.

[id: fail screen for the g-inverter option which reads “pretty sure I had a nightmare like this.” End id.]

3) they complain about their ears hurting from the Sonic pulse fail—direct proof that they can feel pain, even if they can’t die from injury.

[id: fail screen for the sonic pulse option, which reads “That hurt my ears! >:C” The “>:C” is a drawn, angry frown that is right side up. End id.]

As for what happened to turn them into what they are now, I don’t have any solid ideas, just a possible suggestion. It ends off its info dump by mentioning an experimental attempt at putting two portals on top of each other, but trails off and dismisses itself with an assumption that Henry “heard about it on the news.” This could be its usual nonchalance, or it could be the exact opposite: discomfort. It's possible that they were there for the attempt, and the incident was traumatic in some way (either through the process of changing into what we know them as now, or the change itself).

Adjusting to New Powers

Even with the notion that they weren't always in this form, it's worth noting that they seem fairly competent with actually triggering a fail. We don't get any fails triggered on accident (the fake fail in EtP is deliberate as they directly reference the fact that you won't be able to read it all at once), nor do we get particularly awkward cutoffs (the closest being the Shovel fail, which is only there to give you enough time to stop the car). However, the specific style of the fail screens changes with each game, implying some amount of experimentation. This is amplified in the Breaking the Bank remake, in which the fail screen sound effect changes for each fail, which could suggest unfamiliarity on their part.

Furthermore, their ability to interact with the world and the game itself is slim to nothing until Fleeing the Complex, in which they access a command line. They also learn to interact directly with the player via pop ups. They do get a little carried away, though.

[id: the fail screen for the slingshot option. The text has been replaced with a blue pop-up window reading “whoa! How did this happen?” The button is labeled “shrug”. The pop up window is split in half, with its left half on the right edge of the screen and its right half on the left edge of the screen, as though wrapping around to the other side. End ID.]

Their abilities get more advanced in Completing the Mission, in which they access a transform menu, have a voice clip, speak in text outside of a fail screen, and even summon objects into the world.

[ID: Henry Stickmin trapped within a holding cell on the Toppat clan orbital station, holding a Bobby pin. Henry stares at an out-of-place lock on the metal cell door. Narration text reads “> Fine!? You want a lock? >THERE! There’s your lock!” End ID.]

Criminal History + Kleptomania

The fail screen in Midnight Surprise alludes to some past that we don’t actually see. The closest we get are the Explosives fail in BtB and C4 fail in ItA.

[id: fail screen for the midnight surprise fail. First line reads “ah, just like old times.” Second line, in smaller text, reads “that was a poorly thought out plan…” end id.]

In general, they’re nonchalant about Henry’s crimes and sometimes try to give pointers to help out. Its comment on Henry’s failed bribery attempt even suggests they’ve committed briberies before, and multiple times.

[ID: the fail screen for the bribe option. Text reads “Strange… That usually works.” End ID.]

As for their kleptomania, the multiple collectible-based achievements in the series aren’t just collectibles found in isolation of one another, they’re usually things that belong to someone else (Assemble the Crew may be an exception depending on interpretation, but a crewmate is seen in the Toppats’ vault so it could count as stealing). Additionally, they don’t serve any benefit beyond ticking up the achievement progression.

It’s worth noting that this is all done through the player’s hand and is entirely optional, but given that various fails give achievements, including via interactions with the fail screen text itself, we can most likely assume that the meta voice is at least partially responsible for divvying out achievements. Weak evidence? Perhaps, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

There’s also the pickpocket fail in which they cheer on Henry’s decision to take all of Isaac Binderson’s “loot”—immediately after questioning whether he really needed to.

[ID: fail screen for the pickpocket option. First line reads “did you really need all that?” Second line, which is written with much smaller text, reads “No loot left behind!” End id.]

Road rage

Half joke

[ID: The fail screen for the Hijack option, which reads: “AND you forgot to signal. Sheesh!” End ID.]

But also not

[id: fail screen for the shoot option, which reads “eyes on the road man!” End ID.]

#thsc fail text #henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #thsc #mine #headcanon #long post

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therealvinelle · 1 year ago

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Tom Riddle but he takes time after school and gets a muggle science degree through sheer stubborn determination, because damn if he isn't going to learn how all those bombs work. Still Voldemort?

Those who remember my Tom, possible creator of requirement rooms (or who have read this blog at all) post, will know that I like my esoteric Tom theories.

In other words:

Who's to say he didn't?

A bit about Tom's prospects

As an orphaned child growing up in poverty in the 1930's, Tom would have had no prospects, no future, nothing whatsoever. Being the lowest of the low in a rigidly classist society he was never going to get into any of the good schools, no matter how well he applied himself, and he wasn't going to get a prestigious job, nevermind a well-paying one.

If he hadn't been accepted into Hogwarts, I imagine he would have ended up on the fringes of society, using his abilities and underground network to become that guy you pay to make your problems go away. I... can't think of a more lucrative, nor a more probable, venue for Tom, not when every conventional path would have been infinitely harder and with less payoff.

I also imagine that he knew this even then, that even if he hadn't formed the specific plan of becoming the neighbourhood witch he knew he was going to have to figure something out if he wanted to live a comfortable life.

Along came Hogwarts, however, and with it the promise of a future Tom could never have hoped to touch otherwise.

When plots thicken

Tom would have had two problems, though.

The first: Hogwarts does not teach a Muggle curriculum, nor does it provide diplomas the Muggle world would accept.

The second: Expulsion leads to the confiscation of your wand, and the student is forbidden from practicing magic. In other words, the past few years' worth of education will be completely wasted, and the student will be unemployable in the wizarding world and completely without qualifications in the Muggle world.

To a pureblood, or even half-blood child, this would be harsh but survivable: I imagine the student either finds work the way Hagrid and Filch did, doing something non-magical within the magical world, or they become the family hanger-on, the one who never moves out but who, in a world where food can be duplicated indefinitely and expansion charms exist, never becomes much of a burden either. Put differently, if expulsion ruined the lives of wizard children irrevocably, it would only have taken one pureblood child being expelled for the rules to be changed (remember, the school board and the Wizengamot are made up of the wizarding world's most influential, and Wizarding Britain being what it is, these people are all related).

To a Muggle-born, however, there would be nothing. Their only network in the Wizarding World would be their peers, who themselves are teenagers and can't take responsibility for them. They would have to return to their Muggle parents and- figure something out, it's not the Wizarding World's problem.

An expelled Muggle-born is, essentially, made Muggle again. (Make of that and the punishment for expulsion being what it is what you will.)

Tom Riddle, having no family to take him in should he be expelled and having been told in no uncertain terms by Albus Dumbledore that Hogwarts has a no-tolerance policy, and being from the working class which is disproportionately punished by law enforcement, would realise in time that attending Hogwarts means putting all his eggs in one basket. If he gets expelled, his options would be the sea or joining the mob.

But if he doesn't, then he loses out on the greatest opportunity to come his way and declining the school invitation might get his wand confiscated and him prohibited from practicing magic anyway. Certainly, the Wizarding World won't be as forgiving of him practicing magic openly among Muggles the way they were when he was a child. In other words, making a living off his magic in the Muggle world is no longer a feasible future for him.

He has to attend Hogwarts, and hope to God that he doesn't get expelled (cut to Dumbledore side-eyeing his spotless behaviour because way to be a sociopath, Tom).

(And let's keep in mind that everything went well for Tom at Hogwarts (basilisk incident excepted). He made prefect, Head Boy, and had top grades in every class. He still wound up working at Borgin and Burkes in the "So you thought merit mattered in the Wizarding World" of the decade, and only achieved greatness under a different identity with no ties whatsoever to Tom Riddle.

There was never a future for Tom Riddle in the Wizarding World.)

And this is where we enter headcanon territory: because I think Tom, who famously made a horcrux when he was fifteen and then five (or more! Who knows!) more horcruxes just in case, would have a backup plan.

Mrs. Cole, can I attend summer school?

I don't know what Tom might have said, how he did it, or anything, really. I don't know enough about how British schooling in the 1930's and 40's worked, period, if private exams were offered and how much they might have cost. Considering how there have always been children sick or otherwise unable to attend ordinary schools, I should think the possibility would have been there, though difficult if not impossible for Tom to attain.

Or it might have been as simple as telling Mrs. Cole that the school is teaching him nothing useful and clearly only exists for the wealthy to network, and hopefully he'll be able to network himself into a job that pays the bills but uh it would be nice to have actually learned algebra. Please sign him up for private exams.

Or something.

Regardless of the how, I believe that Tom would have done everything within his power to get exams in Muggle subjects. He would have had to study on his own, and perhaps not get any exams at all while he was at Hogwarts but be knowledgeable enough that he could take them as an adult: should Hogwarts for whatever reason not work out for him, he would depend on this.

My, that fellow's magic is quite something, isn't it?

Purely headcanon now: but Tom is noted again and again as being a true visionary, someone whose magic is unlike anything anybody has ever seen before.

I therefore raise the following theory: Tom's mysterious years where he was completely under the radar and no one knew where he'd gone, those years where Dumbledore could only shudder at what dark arts he was leaning, might just have been spent learning the wicked ways of physics.

Quite relevant to this theory is my belief that magic in the Harry Potter is not at odds with the laws of nature, but laws Muggle scientists haven't uncovered yet. But as wizards have become further removed from what magic truly is, choosing instead to swing their wands and spout nonsense Latin hoping it'll make their chair levitate across the room, their understanding of magic and ability to form it becomes increasingly distorted and obscured.

Tom, who would have the background for this (And who screams STEM. You don't become a powerful wizard and innovator if you wouldn't in some other universe be a programmer or a physicist), who would find himself in a world where every source of knowledge he sought out was less able to answer his questions than the next, might just have decided to find his own answers.

And what better place than to start with the basics, learn what the Muggles have uncovered and build from there?

I'm a Tom Riddle has an MA in physics truther.

#tom riddle #harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanons

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piracytheorist · 1 year ago

Text

Episode 31 reactions!

Okay, first off, mind. blown. There's some VERY good action in this one!

Yor's coworkers are at the "Well, we're still better off!" jealousy stage. It's a small thing but something I can definitely see people like them do. Sharon seems to be the most passive-aggressive one, so it was a bit revealing that she was the first one to go like "Hey I got beer and sausage, I'm not jealous at all!" Our truest selves come out in the hardest times...

A very beautiful shot of the ship!

By the way, if Yor's coworkers knew what she was going through, they'd definitely stop being jealous.

Yor appears a little too nervous, if you ask me. Granted, we only saw her once before working, and when she was imagining what she'd tell Anya she sounded quite secure in her abilities. But now that she's been living in a family, her way of work has indeed changed, if anything else because she's worried they may find out the truth about her.

At first I thought McMahon had kicked her in the shin, but upon rewatching I realized he kicked the leg of the chair. I'm sure if it were the Shopkeeper he'd probably kick her leg, if not stomp down on her foot just to get her to focus.

Gram was sneezing again? Should I pay attention to this or is it just a baby being a baby?

Yor is smart to try and think how the enemy would think in order to be prepared for their plan, but she doesn't take into account the fact that some of the assassins are actual psychopaths who don't care about taking innocent people's lives in their effort to do their job. That's what being too kind of an assassin will do to you XD

And it's driven to the point even more with Yor being cute like that - and probably remembering the times she played with Yuri when he was little - and Olka saying she doesn't look like a criminal. She really doesn't. Sweetest assassin ever <3

The "mmm" Yor made at the end was the exact same "mmm" Anya made while stuffing up her face with food XD

Loid is not impressed, and this is only the beginning.

It's so fun having the actual, physical copy of the manga in front of me as I watch the episode! I notice here that when Anya talked about Yor missing, she also told Loid "You miss dinner all the time", but the anime omitted that. STOP DENYING US THINGS!

Anyway, Anya calls him out for catching feelings, and Loid is quick to drop his voice a couple octaves to show how secure he is.

I AM NOT LONELY I AM NOT.

Sure buddy, sure.

The office guys are on the opposite side of relaxing and actually enjoying themselves on this trip, going out and drinking a little too much, while the "Greys", Yor and McMahon are walking on eggshells.

The anime team obviously had enough time available for this chapter, as they have a couple of added lines from the office guys, so I doubt they omitted Anya's line about Loid missing dinner due to time issues. I wonder what might be the reason - it's not like they're trying to make us think he doesn't miss dinner? We know the guy's schedule is tight as a drum.

Anyway. Assassin-ing time and holy shit.

I'm pretty sure I gasped at this.

And the rest of the scene, of course!

Obligatory mention that it's been proven time and again that torture is not an effective means of interrogation. People can and do lie while being tortured for information, so the things they say may or may not be accurate. Torture may make them speak, but whether they speak the truth or not is another issue, unrelated to torture itself. So while there can be various goals of torturing someone (illegitimate, of course, like punishment, making an example out of a "traitor", or in very few real-life cases, gratification), obtaining information has proven to not be a feasible one. I understand the point of the scene was to show McMahon's abilities and to establish that there are multiple people on board after Olka, I just needed to say that.

I've been certain they'd go the "dumping bodies into the ocean" route. A cruise is a great setting for that!

The knock on the door was intense! Especially since it's put right after the scene of McMahon and Furseal walking back to the room, but just those few seconds of slowed down tension make you think "Oh no. It's not them. It's them".

I expected the "Oh, it's just room service!" and of course, I expected the "I didn't order any" reply.

Great animation of the attack and Yor protecting Olka and Gram though I'm begging the animators to look a bit into trigger discipline, at this point whenever I see a gun my eyes go immediately on the trigger and I go D: whenever there's a finger on it that shouldn't be

But oh, McMahon is good, and resourceful!

The assassin points his gun at them, Furseal freaks out while McMahon marches on.

We also finally see one (1) eye under the reflection of his glasses. I get that the reflection makes it easier in animation and such, but still I appreciate this detail, especially in such a moment.

And more action! Yor being a badass and at the same time caring for the baby!

"I can excuse murder in self-defense but I draw the line at scaring a baby"

THE GUY WAS STILL WIGGLING. WHILE HE HAD A DAGGER THROUGH HIS SKULL.

(probably last uncontrollable movements from his dying nervous system but still. it was fucking chilling and I love it)

Also, I can understand Yor being strong enough to break the door. But I think it takes a different kind of strength to throw an object, even a sharp one, and make the object break through the door, a human skull, and then latch onto a wall. Absolute unit.

Seeing the body was freaky, too! If I'm correct, I think this is the very first time we see a person being murdered on screen in the story.

Ah no wait we do see a guy in the second episode getting a dagger to the back and falling down. But it was much more palatable than seeing a dagger go through someone's skull and practically nailing him to the wall.

I'm gonna think about this for a long time, lmao. It was brutal!

I just noticed this on my rewatch! McMahon is wearing a ring in the shape and place of a wedding ring! He then goes on to tell the ship's services that the "mister and missus had a fight" though in the manga he says "me and my wife" so is his cover that he's on board with his wife?

And here's the same thing that shows Yor's side. She sees assassins as people doing their job and "cleaning out trash" especially in her case, not people who do this job just because they have no issue killing.

I mean, I don't want turtleneck guy to defeat Yor, but he's got my respect for now.

He also says there are other members from the gangster family on board? Just how many people did manage to get on this ship XD

The eavesdropping guy tells turtleneck guy that he sells his information equally and practically tells him good luck getting ahead, so now I'm thinking, there's another eavesdropping guy, or is he selling all his intel to other assassins that weren't there in that scene?

Also, good luck getting them to work together without getting greedy and/or paranoid, lol

Furseal was actually blushing while wearing the mask XD and the plague doctor mask on the baby!

The poison guy thinks he's some dude. He has no idea who he's dealing with.

This arc will be perfect for creepy shots of Yor, won't it XD

Furseal asks for his button back and dude! Priorities much? This button saved all your lives XD

Blonde mask guy tries to go for Olka right in the middle of the crowd like wtf and the moment Yor grabbed his hands I went like "BREAK THEM. BREAK HIS FINGERS." And then she did <3 We stan <3

That's it. That's their dynamic in one shot.

While Anya is having an overdramatic tantrum, we see how even when Twilight is trying to not be on the lookout - he even says he just has to stay away from suspicious people - his skills are so fine that they kinda work subconsciously. He spots the listening devices (I mean, there are a ton of them) and notices all the suspicious people even if he doesn't make a conscious list of all of them.

Then Twilight has a fucking breakdown over one (1) silly keychain. I mean it is a skeleton keychain so his mind immediately went "IT'S EITHER THAT OR MY OWN DEATH" is anyone even surprised

Anya is still learning how easily Twilight overreacts. And like the scene with the sandbox in the hospital, she realizes she caused him a little too much anxiety and tries to take some burden off.

This entire tension is going on and Twilight is still stuck on whether he should buy a stupid keychain. This man is incapable of relaxing, you tell him to relax and he goes like "Okay spy mode on standby, parent with anxiety mode is on".

I love how this reads a bit like "Papa considers hating frogs as much of a dealbreaker as being an assassin!"

It's so weird - though fitting - to think that Anya believes she can keep this up indefinitely. She has no idea how easily they could discover each other's identities and believes she can stop that from eventually happening. It makes sense for her age, though.

It's also a bit sad, how quick she is to think that she would be abandoned if they found out about each other. It's probably what makes her go "I have to keep this up as long as possible". Her young mind can't comprehend an alternative.

And oop! Taking part of the next chapter too, I see!

I might have lost it during these shots.

"You go around having battles" is definitely something Anya would come up with. It's why she's so hard to write and why Endo should receive an applause for how accurate to her age and experience he writes her.

Next, Twilight's biggest foe; the unreadable expression of a five six year old who is trying to take responsibility for her actions.

I love how when Twilight is facing actual danger and difficult missions he's all cool and collected. Meeting Desmond? Piece of cake. Taking down entire groups of people aiming guns at him? No problem. Anya acting unpredictable? THE WORLD IS ENDING.

However funny the scene is, it slowly drifts into a sadder territory. Twilight actually worries over Anya's mental state, and though he has no idea Anya is having the time of her life, there must be a part of his understanding of her trauma that is true. Now why he undermines completely his own trauma... It's projecting, isn't it?

Anyway, he concludes that the Handler knew from the beginning that Anya needs some vacation in order to recover from her trauma, and for some reason, instead of going like "Yo give her a break" she conjured up this entire idea for a vacation... But in reality, the Handler was only saying that in order to justify his time off in paper.

Like, the man can be so off sometimes that I want to shake him and then hug him because god I cannot imagine going your entire life like this and not even comprehending the idea of actual time off.

Anya: Have fun! Twilight: Cannot compute!

Like yeah it's funny but how am I supposed to not feel just a little bit sad with how he's completely unfamiliar with the concept of relaxing and having fun 😭😭

This is going to be a disaster XD

Anya prepares to run for it, realizes he can change and wear everything within seconds, and freezes... But then Overanalyzing TwilightTM takes control and he starts spending long minutes in front of the mirror freaking out about how his weird ensemble will manage to fix Anya's mood.

This truly is his most difficult mission. Anya is the perfect age to teach him about how sometimes he cannot control how people will react to his manipulations... and then there's the mind-reading, too.

Anyway. I love how Anya goes like "That's not how I expected to win some time but it works" and just steps back into the corridor XD

OH MY GOD

I love me a good fight choreography! Here Yor pushed Olka down from the shoulders, and at the same time pushed Furseal's knees to the front so they'd bend and he'd go down just enough to miss the sickle. Awesome!

The guy just starts a fight right in the middle of the crowd. And Yor has no choice but to stop him, Anya has to hide and also keep Loid from coming out of the store...

That IS a very interesting cliffhanger! I nearly screamed when it ended there, lol. It even ends in the middle of the page! I had to cover it with my hand to avoid spoilers XD The things I go through in this crazy experience XD

Overall, awesome episode! Though I felt that the Twilight panicking scene dragged on a bit. I don't know why. Maybe it's just that I'm an angst ho and I wanted a bit more angsty vibes from that scene. It's not bad, but maybe I still haven't realized just how much on comedy the show belongs in. It has a peculiar but for some reason very efficient balance on everything.

#Spy x Family #sxf reaction

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