#space solution

[bevanne46]

No space for an ironing board? Put an Ironing Cover (found on Temu or Amazon) on your Washing Machine or Dryer.

[thqqube2024]

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[justsomestuffreally]

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

[lovebunnie]

i simply enjoy drawing radio tv solutions alot

[galacticlamps]

the way Edwin's immediate reaction upon seeing the misery wraith in the Devlin house is to grab Crystal and cover her mouth, even while he's explaining (apparently calmly) that it hunts by sensing negativity and pain - presumably instead of using sight or sound

and the way that he does the exact same thing to Charles when they're reunited in Hell, but here he urges him specifically to be quiet (in what must be the most barely audible line of dialogue in the whole show) because he's found that's the only way he can get a short reprieve between bouts of torture from the spider thing (to the point that when he ran into Simon earlier he - rather nonsensically - believed the sound of tearing paper behind a closed door was also a big risk)

All I'm saying is, it doesn't look like it was actually all that important he stop Crystal from making noise in the Devlin house, and as much as that scene originally read as Edwin kinda having his shit together while Charles & Crystal were both more affected & then literally incapacitated, his head couldn't have been half as clear as it first seemed if his immediate reaction was reverting to Surviving Hell Tactics even when they weren't really helpful or applicable here

[i-like-forcefem]

Some little boys always knew they wanted to be little girls

But some little boys grow up before figuring it out, you can spot them quite easily

Maybe the way they avoid looking in the mirror, their discomfort at pools, maybe it’s just the way they linger in the girl’s clothing isle

It is such a tragic sight, a beautiful woman is waiting to be born, but she’s still trapped in her own wilful ignorance

So what I like to do when I find “boys” like this is to press them onto a corner

Force that skirt on them, stake their pride on whether they dare put on lipgloss, give them no other option other then confronting their true selves

Make them internalise that:

Yes, you want to wear petty clothes

Yes, you like wearing make up

Yes, you enjoy being “mistaken” for a girl

Yes, you WANT to be a girl

And Yes, that’s all you need to BE a girl

[thegoodmorningman]

Good Morning!!! We need solutions not excuses!!!

[goddess-of-frot]

In the midst of all this I cant help but wish there was some dedicated online community space for transfems (Please do not invite me to discord servers)

[saintsisko]

Malcolm Reed and Jonathan Archer in Star Trek: Enterprise, 2.3 Minefield

[yippee-optimistically]

ive seen like 2 actual episodes of the loud house but i watched no time to spy last night. they kind of cooked i cant lie

[sonicblooms]

monroe was seen‼️

[marlynnofmany]

Handy Tools

For some people, an afternoon spent blasting across a desert on a hoverbike with the passenger behind them wrapping tentacles around their waist would be a charming date. For me, it was a work day, and our delivery was about to be late.

I yelled over the wind, “Am I going too fast for you?”

Mur’s voice was muffled against my shirt. “I’m just glad I don’t have to steer at these speeds. Keep going.”

I went faster. Now that I’d been officially trained on the hoverbike, I was going to enjoy every opportunity to use it. Especially since it turned out that most of my coworkers didn’t actually like seeing the scenery flash past at breakneck speeds, with the wind in their hair (or lack thereof).

Their loss. I caught some air going over a low sand dune, and allowed myself a whoop of joy. Mur didn’t hold on any tighter, but that was because he had all his other tentacles suctioned onto the bike. Nobody stays in their seat like a Strongarm who’s properly motivated. He reminded me of cats I’d known who spent trips to the vet with their claws sunk into whichever soft surface was in reach. All that was missing was the yowling.

A gust of wind buffeted us sideways, but the bike’s auto-balance function kept it upright. With a thought for how much I would have liked that kind of technology in my childhood bicycle, I steered us back on track toward the distant buildings on the edge of the desert. The plan had been for our client to come meet us at the spaceport, but something had come up on their end, and they still needed the package in a hurry. Luckily for all involved, it fit in the storage compartment of our courier ship’s speedy little hovercycle. And I was happy to deliver it at high speed to a building that the ship couldn’t land near.

Eventually we’d be weaving through city streets and I’ve have to slow down. All the more reason to make up time with the high speeds now.

But of course it couldn’t be that easy. As I crested another rise, a herd of small things on the ground swarmed toward us out of nowhere.

I swerved hard, but no luck; there were far too many to avoid. With the wind behind them, they flowed under the hoverbike and onto its lower parts, where a bunch of the round little whatevers stuck fast.

The bike coasted to a stop, despite my efforts to urge it faster. The rest of the things ghosted merrily away, looking more like inanimate objects blown by the wind than like living creatures. Dozens of them were stuck to the bike.

Mur swore loudly in his own language, a series of rippling pops that sounded like someone going to town on a bunch of birthday balloons. Which seemed pretty appropriate, actually.

“What are these?” I asked, turning off the engine. They looked like little sand-beige balloons with leaves at the bottom. Were they plants?

They were.

“A muddy problem is what they are,” Mur said, loosening his tentacles and opening the storage compartment. “Seed pods famous around here for gumming up electronics by getting stuck where they shouldn’t. You can’t just pull ‘em off; you have to pop them.”

I got to my feet, careful to keep my legs away from the things. “Are they dangerous to touch?”

Mur climbed halfway into the storage compartment, digging with his tentacles around the package. “No. Just hard to puncture. Where is the toolkit?”

I had a sudden memory of our ship’s mechanic saying something about borrowing it while I was talking to the captain about the delivery. Uh oh. “I think we left before Mimi put it back.”

With an angry tentacle slap against the bike, Mur dug faster. “There’s got to be something pointy in here. Maybe in the medkit?”

While he pulled that out and sifted through the bandages, I got a closer look at the seed pods. They reminded me of pufferfish: a little spiky, and rubbery when I poked one. Oddly enough, it didn’t stick to my finger, just the bike. Seeds rattled inside.

Further pop-swearing told me there wasn’t anything particularly sharp in the tiny medkit. Mur shut it with a snap and looked around at the desert. “See any sticks?”

I did not. “There’s probably something at the town, but that’s a bit of a walk. Are you sure we can’t just rip them open? Are they toxic to bite?”

“Definitely don’t bite them,” Mur said. “I’ve heard stories of what those seeds can do to a digestive system.”

“By hand, though?” I tried to pinch one, but it was like trying to tear open an over-inflated kickball. Thin material, just without enough give to dig my fingers in. A pushpin would have done it. I kept trying anyway. “I see what you mean.”

Mur started tugging at various parts of the hoverbike. “And of course we can’t take off a sharp metal bit without tools either. And neither of us have claws. What around here is pointy?”

“Well, I almost have claws,” I said, looking at my fingernails. “Maybe I could bite one into a point. Or actually—” The nail on my middle finger was the longest. I dug a thumbnail into the corner and ripped the end off, then handed the tiny crescent to Mur. “Is this sharp enough?”

“What’s this?” He took it in his tentacle, surprised.

“Fingernail,” I said, waggling my fingers. “Mine are soft enough to tear off pretty easily. It’ll grow back.”

Mur blinked in surprise but didn’t comment. He just grasped it firmly with his most dexterous tentacle, and popped a seedpod with it.

“Hooray!” I said as seeds rained down and the pod deflated. To my surprise, it promptly detached from the bike as well.

“We might just be on time after all.” Mur started popping with a vengeance, swarming over the bike to get everything within reach.

I sacrificed another fingernail — ring finger this time — and joined in. Between my long arms and his maneuverability, we soon had all of the troublesome things collapsing onto the sandy ground.

I wondered briefly about the biology at work; maybe the outer surface of the pods would decompose into nutrients for the seeds. But then Mur was climbing back onto the seat, and we had other things to worry about.

“I’m going to make sure that toolkit goes back where it belongs the moment we get back,” Mur said. He opened the storage compartment and dropped the fingernail inside. “Keeping these, though. Gimme the other one.”

I handed it over with a smile and got back into place while he shut the compartment. The bike started as if there had never been anything wrong. I was a bit curious about that too, but figured it was something for Mimi to figure out when he gave the bike a checkup later.

After we delivered our package, that is. I kicked it into high gear, and with Mur holding on for dear life, I blasted off across the desert once again. The wind in my hair felt great.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[bumblingbabooshka]

Every time I watch the cold open of Memorial and B'Elanna tells Tom about how she ASSEMBLED a 50's television set from SCRATCH just to surprise him (there's no reason beyond that - just an incredibly sweet and thoughtful gesture) and replicated popcorn for him to eat while he watches and Tom says "They didn't have remote controls in the 50's ♥ Also where's my beer?" I contemplate murder ESPECIALLY because B'Elanna responds cheerfully to it - GIRL!!! LEAVE HIM!!!!!! IS HE SUPPOSED TO BE CHARMING IN THIS SCENE????

[starryarchitect]

okay yeah yeah villain but the diagram is so cool you guys

Wall I made for this (featuring: Russian, Spanish, toki pona, DNA code, women's script, a few alphabets, some geometry and arithmetic, and a language that I invented, among other things. I had fun with this)

[bitegore]

Let me pose a thought experiment to you.

You are a powerful reality-warper who has the ability to mind-control people, travel through space unaided, survive almost any physical conditions, and change shape at will (though you have to go through a year-or-so long process to change what those forms are). You can, essentially, do anything you want. Except this is also true of everyone else around you, because this is just kind of how your species is built. (Everyone isn't necessarily built like this, of course - aliens are aliens. Some aliens are much more powerful reality-warpers, and some are much less, or they don't warp reality at all.)

You want Ultimate Power™.

There are only a few ways to get it, because mind-control is frowned upon for political expedience in the broader galaxy, and there are more than enough people hitting above your weight class that you can't just waltz in, force people to agree with your whims, and walk out with Ultimate Power™. You'll get thrown into the Space Hague in like, five minutes, if someone doesn't outright kill you for the insolence. Not everyone can shake it off, but enough people can, when you're getting into the realms of Ultimate Power™

Similar laws govern the legality of using mind-control to rig elections and semi-legally get you involved in the political arenas that get you involved in Near-Ultimate Power (which is, natch, good enough for you). You can't do that either.

If you really want Ultimate Power™, you have to work with a coalition, which is true of basically everyone after Ultimate Power™. This isn't the end of the world. Having a coalition working for Mutual Ultimate Power™ means that you guys can all share in the spoils, once you have them. The problem is still having them. Even working together, it's still difficult to successfully grab and hold power, isn't it?

There are very few ways to take power, and doing it legitimately is a sucker's game. The only accessible pathway to true power is through building a majority party that will acquiesce to your demands within a pre-existing intergalactic governing body of planetary and planet-system governments (we'll call it the Inter-Galactic Senate, ISG for short; this is backstage so no names are set in stone). Representatives in the ISG get their votes for each member state they represesnt. You want to gain position in the ISG by being "elected" as a representative. You can be the representative for multiple planets or planetary systems, but pretty much every member so far is already spoken for.

The obvious move is to find a non-member planet with aliens on it and convince them to elect you their ISG representative. Or, you know, "convince", and, you know, "elect". Heh heh. Whatever gets you your Ultimate Power™.

And naturally - the more the merrier. Every planet you can pull under your sway gets you a little closer to the goal.

Any overt use of mind-control will still get you tossed into the Space Hague.

You have essentially-unlimited material resources, including money for mercenaries, aid, and organizations. You have all the time in the world.

There are only two conditions.

You cannot appear "evil" (no force-backed dictatorships beating votes in favor out of people)

These people must not only back you at exactly the right moment, but every other time they're called upon, they must always stay in support of you.

What do you do?