#vector brewing

[s-terashima]

今日のビール

[pallotdip]

sick ass vector pose to share with you all 🫶

[churino]

Design for liege maximo and g2 cybertronian troopers

they're the product of a failed experiment on ancient cybertron to raise soldiers inside a pocket dimension where every factor could be controlled from the outside. They escaped their dimension but their tethering to our world is tenuous at best

The functionist council didn't hold power over cybertron exclusively via the military, they also controlled the super computer vector sigma that monitored and regulated cybertron's systems, said to be able to see the future , explaining the transformer's humanoid shape.

The transformers were already creatures built rather than born but the government wanted more control over what kind of people made up their citizenship. And used vector sigma to simulate another world, they called it their g2 universe, later it would become the dead universe and later still. A fire dimension

Liege maximo was the leader of quintessa in this world, and in that reality, Cybertron developed into a galaxy spanning empire until it grew so big it began to rub against the walls of the simulation, as the leader if a "lesser" colony world, liege maximo was sent out to inspect the anomaly alongside his two liege centuro soldiers and as they pushed out into the walls of his universe they began to physically emerge out of vector sigma.

In panic the technicians shut down the simulation as liege maximo emerged which caused him and his soldiers to be torn between dimensions, becoming incorporeal in places like a ghost

The g2 experiment was deemed a failure and not wanting to waste a potential resource liege maximo was assigned a job based on his original alt mode, a military commander, but he grew bitter at the destruction of his home,

frustrated by the small size of cybertron's dominion in this reality. He secretly supported the revolution brewing under prima's leadership in the hopes of fetching power once the current society collapsed so he could turn cybertron into a galactic dreadnaught and conquer our world's version of quintessa, for sentimentaliy's sake and then regrow the cybertronian empire of his world

but the other leaders of the revolution didn't know that, and accepted him among their ranks like they would do to any other supporter for their cause, but liege maximo's true intentions would come to light upon the successful dismantling of the functionist council. And those loyal to him and his pupil megatronus became the first decepticons while those loyal to prima and her mentor alpha trion became the first autobots

[molinaskies]

in your educated view, what is the Sonic Cast’s go to coffee order?

LOVE THIS LOL

Sonic: latte

Tails: triple-triple (Canadian for a brewed coffee with three sugars and three creams)

Knuckles: black with a moderate amount of sugar

Amy: tea latte (not coffee, I know, but I don’t think she’d like coffee!)

Shadow: coffee beans to chew on (allegedly… I’d at least give him an espresso or an americano)

Rouge: mocha

Eggman: black dark roast

Cream: no thank you, sir

Vector: one cream and honey (don’t tell Charmy)

Espio: abstains because it makes him jittery and therefore a bad ninja

Charmy: EWW COFFEE

[omegaverse-anthropologist]

oh wow jp’s alive and yappin up a storm

for no reason in particular, ive been thinking about bitching, both as a method of transition for omegas assigned alpha at birth and a vector for abuse. in this post, i’ll just talk about ‘delta-omega transition’ and in another post, i’ll talk about transphobia and ‘bitching’ as a vector for abuse.

also heads up that this is less pseudo-anthropology/sociology and more fantasy omegaverse than i usually get into, again because of the ‘no reason in particular’ from my danmei fandom sideblog linked above lmao

delta-omega transition (bitching)

delta(d)-omega transition, colloquially (and often disparagingly) referred to as bitching, is a method for an alpha to transition to omega. the transition is hormonally based, and does not generate internal organs or conjure the ability for the alpha to become pregnant. the houghton (slick) glands become engorged and begin producing lubrication similar to someone assigned omega at birth, and the body’s natural hormone levels shift to a more omega balance than an alpha balance. d-omega transition is impossible without some level of medical support, whether that be traditional/plant-based medicines or allopathic synthetic therapies.

as long as humans have existed, transgender humans have existed. there are records of people of all birth-assigned dynamic sexes being described as ‘delta’ or using a modifier before their dynamic sex designation. delta is used to describe a person who was assigned one dynamic at birth that does not align with their internal truth. (e.g., a d-alpha would historically describe an alpha who was assigned a different dynamic sex at birth, and d-beta or d-omega would similarly describe beta and omega experiences.) in the modern day, ‘delta’ is only used as a modifier in legal or medical contexts where absolutely necessary. a person’s ID does not reflect their dynamic sex as ‘d-beta,’ for example, but simply ‘beta.’

the use of delta as a sole dynamic sex indicator (i.e., instead of referring to someone in a medical context as a d-alpha, they are simply described as a delta) is frowned upon as inaccurate, unhelpful, and bigoted.

d-omega transition

modern d-omega transition functions similarly to other forms of hormone replacement therapy. under a physician’s supervision, the d-omega takes agonists to suppress production of alpha hormones and genesic medications to induce the production of omega hormones. support from packmates is a positive indicator for ease of transition, but in cases where a d-omega is rejected by their pack, there is support in the form of therapy groups and community-led delta-transition support centers, which often provide materials marked with either volunteers’ scents or synthetic pheromones.

historically, d-omega transition was achieved through a multi-step process that could be undertaken over the course of one to three years. the d-omega in question would brew certain plants into a tea. when consumed frequently enough as to be a constant presence in the body, the chemicals in this tea would have a destabilizing effect on the d-omega’s natural hormone balance. without support from a pack, frequent ingestion of this tea could induce a state of ferality.

with pack support, however, the individual’s hormone balance would be influenced toward a state more in line with the d-omega’s identity. creating this balance required frequent contact with alpha packmates. the contact was not necessarily sexual, though there are descriptions of regular sexual contact being requisite for successful transition. (note: these descriptions would not stand up to modern academic scrutiny, but they were, like the miasma theory of disease, accepted as fact at the time.)

typically, interaction with alpha pheromones would trigger a minor increase in omega dynamic hormones, balanced by a decrease in alpha dynamic hormones and an increase or decrease in beta hormones as appropriate to maintain homeostasis. however, in the destabilized state of a transitioning d-omega’s hormonal balance, this interaction would cause a more pronounced shift. frequent induction of this shift would, in essence, train the body to a new homeostasis. eventually, the d-omega would down-titrate from their destabilizing dose of medication. once their body was able to maintain omega hormonal balance without assistance, the therapy would be halted, and d-omega transition would be considered ‘complete.’

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime, have you ever had a Headmaster partner?

Dear Aegis Agent,

I have indeed. Allow me to continue my tale of the ultimate Titan Masters, and I promise your curiosity will be satisfied.

While Arcee was tracking down the Titan Master hidden on Caminus, a separate mission was being carried out on the colony world of Biosfera—known to the locals as Eukaris. Grotusque, Twinferno and Repugnus journeyed there to find another Titan Master, this one believed to grant incredible fireblast. The Monsterbots were not Optimus Prime’s first choice for the mission, as he worried their bellicose disposition would create conflict with the native population—but with the so-called jungle planet having no roads to speak of, only Autobots with bestial alt-modes would be able to handle the terrain.

As Biosfera had been largely insulated from the Autobot-Decepticon conflict, the Monsterbots expected its inhabitants to be pushovers, who would do little to impede or expedite their search one way or the other. Instead, they arrived to find the planet on the brink of all-out war between the four major tribes. Something was terribly wrong: the kinds of weapons being amassed were beyond even those used by Cybertronians in their raw destructive potential. Still, the Monsterbots decided the brewing tensions were none of their business, and decided to focus on searching for the Titan Master.

It was at that point that I was forced to intervene. I materialized in their midst, which proved to be something of a miscalculation: they were taken by surprise, and turned on me immediately. Naturally, I am no lightweight, but I must admit the three of them had me on the ropes. I forced a time-out, separating us from physical spacetime, to allow us to communicate without violence. Once they were prepared to listen, I told them what I had seen.

In the future, Biosfera is an irradiated wasteland. Algorithmic engines crawl over the ash, feeding carbonized trees into immense furnaces, liquid metal pouring from foundries to coat the planet, constructing some kind of superstructure… to uncertain ends. The few survivors of the global devastation have shed the last vestiges of their organic biology, becoming purely robotic lifeforms in order to weather the potent radiation.

The Monsterbots refused to believe me without proof, and so I removed my head, Safeguard. Repugnus briefly swapped Dastard for Safeguard, and saw in his memory banks what we had witnessed of that apocalyptic future. Begrudgingly, the Monsterbots agreed to help us, and we separated, each to visit one of the four tribes.

High in the mountain eyries of the Cloud Walkers, Grotusque and Fengul discovered that they had forged a partnership with the Decepticon Fangry, who had given them a powerful attack jet. At the same time, Twinferno and Daburu found the Scale Walkers to be strategizing with Krok, who had armed them with an unstoppable armored tank. So too were the Wave Walkers consulting with the crab-like Squeezeplay, and as I discovered, the Fur Walkers had welcomed amongst them the ferocious Horri-Bull. It was obvious to us that the Decepticons had completely infiltrated the planet’s tribes, and were deliberately stirring conflict between them. Unfortunately, stirring conflict was the Monsterbots’ specialty, and they each started fights with the Decepticons on sight, leading to them quickly being ousted from the other tribes. Safeguard and I had the most luck, managing to convince the chieftain of the Fur Walkers that they were better off without the “guidance” of Cybertronians—though unfortunately, this included ourselves.

We regrouped, and the Monsterbots decided to resume their search for the mythical Titan Master hidden on the planet. I hoped that in the course of our hunt, we would stumble across a centralized base of operations for the Decepticons, which might produce the evidence we needed to sway the tribes. As it turned out, we were being followed: one of Twinferno’s heads spotted a bird flying overhead, and recognised it not as one of the Cloud Walkers, but as the Decepticon Wingspan. Twinferno almost flew up to take out the snooping Decepticon, but I was able to convince him to hold. We waited until nightfall, and when Wingspan left to make his report, we quietly followed.

He led us to a foreboding tower of steel, a weapons factory hidden in a barren valley. Inside, ensconced within the topmost chamber, we found the true mastermind behind the hostilities: the lost Titan Master, Scorponok. Once, he had commanded one of the Titans of myth, but he had been usurped by the alien Lord Zarak. Driven to madness by this defeat, he had begun traveling the galaxy in search of new evolutionary pathways. On this remote and primeval colony, he found them: and now, his machinations had brought him to the precipice of his return to power. In the fallout, once the biomechanical natives evolved into a purely mechanical existence to survive the nuclear winter that followed, he would use a planetwide relay to reach out and upload his consciousness simultaneously into thousands of bodies—becoming a gestalt lifeform on a scale that would surpass even the Titans.

Well, we certainly weren’t going to stand around and wait for that to happen! The Monsterbots made short work of Wingspan and Horri-Bull, but Scorponok was far from finished: he recalled the jet and the tank from the tribes, and they joined together to form the almighty Overlord. One Titan Master formed his head, while another plugged into his chest, right alongside Scorponok himself—giving the combined giant three times the power.

As it happened, deploying Overlord turned out to be a miscalculation: unbeknownst to us all, skillful trackers from the four tribes had followed us to Scorponok’s lair, and when they saw that the Cloud Walkers’ and Scale Walkers’ new weapons were in fact one and the same, they finally had proof that they’d been deceived. They raced back to their homes, to urge their leaders to begin peace talks. Unable to take down Overlord, we beat a hasty retreat, and he split into his individual components once more to menace the tribes.

Unfortunately, the nuclear submarine Scorponok had built for the Wave Walkers remained in play—and once he gave the command, it launched its payload, sending a dozen missiles up into the atmosphere. Converting to starship mode, I flew after them, and began an arduous process to disarm the bombs. First, I froze the missiles in time, halting their trajectories but maintaining their velocity relative to the planet’s rotation in space. Then, with a boost of power from Safeguard, I isolated each individual warhead, accelerating time to allow billions of years to pass in what was, from our perspective, mere cycles. During that time, the fissile material experienced many half-lives’ worth of radioactive decay… until finally, the payloads were rendered inert. Although I had saved the planet from nuclear fallout, the missiles still had enough raw explosive power to cause untold destruction—and I was powerless to stop them. The radiation from the warheads needed to go somewhere—and although spread over a short period, it was still a strong enough burst of gamma rays to cause a chain reaction, unleashing an electromagnetic pulse which knocked me offline and sent me plummeting into the ocean.

The rest, I heard after-the-fact, once the Wave Walkers dredged me up and brought me to shore. The Fur Walkers and Scale Walkers united, ambushing Overlord’s tank half, while the Monsterbots waylaid the jet—just long enough for the Cloud Walkers to intercept and destroy the missiles in midair, before they reached their targets.

As for Scorponok, he was able to slip away in the confusion. The Monsterbots were frustrated to have failed their mission, but after seeing the sheer destructive potential of his fireblast, they knew it was for the best that Cybertron would have to do without his power. They resolved that when Scorponok next appeared, they would be ready and waiting to settle the score.

Back on Cybertron, the situation had gone from bad to worse: Powerhouse’s seismic forces disturbed Trypticon from his hibernation, and he awoke very hungry indeed. After consuming several Titan Masters, including Powerhouse, and gaining their abilities, Trypticon lay waste to the Autobot defenses, felling Fortress Maximus. Just in time, Iron Apex arrived from Caminus, merging with Magnus Prime to form Omega Prime, who was able to drive the beast back to the Praetorus Wharf.

During the battle, I had been impressed by the bravery of Metalhawk, and so before returning to the Realm of the Primes, I entrusted with him the power of my spark—much as my father, Primus, had done long ago to create the Titan Masters in the first place.

[lente-ment]

~ Archon Cecil ~

An anti-tribu Lasombra in the service of a certain Ventrue Justicar as his resident investigator and torturer.

Archon Cecil is a side character from my VtM f/f fanfic titled I Wish I Didn't Crave You. You can read it on AO3.

Sketches and ramblings below ⬇

Despite being Embraced into a Sabbat pack, Cecil has been blood-bonded by a Camarilla Justicar to help him exterminate her own pack. Five centuries later, she is still happily serving that purpose.

This one has been brewing for a while but I wanted to get it out so that everyone can see how spoopy Cecil is! Iriam always gets shivers for the first few seconds when she meets up with her.

I think I'm going to have to make a pinned post for the art, because I realized the pieces are starting to pile up. Next one is probably going to be Laura again, in the same vector/flat style as Iriam and Cecil, and then I want to paint Iriam in the same style that Laura got. And then I also want to draw a cover for the story..... ;o; My art skills are way too rusty compared to my ambitions...

Anyway, here are the paper sketch and the digital lineart that helped me get to the finished artwork! :3

[dixonsdarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

AO3 link Wattpad link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of parent death (suicide, house fire), mention of scars (Daryl's), medical procedure (stitches), blood, allusion to child abuse (Daryl's), men being creepy, reference to sibling death, we got some big emotions in this one

Word count: 3.3k

Daryl and I began to get much closer after that second run. Eating dinner together became sort of a ritual of ours, other than the nights Daryl had duty in the watchtower. At first, it was him in the chair and me on the far end of the couch as I didn’t want to spook him. He never explicitly said it, but I got the vibe that he wasn’t big on physical touch. He always maintained at least a few feet distance between us, never getting too close. Eventually, I tested the waters and sat on the end of the couch closer to him, and that’d been our dinner arrangement ever since. Over the next few weeks, Rick had us go out on more runs. It was strange to me that I always heard about them from Daryl and never from Rick. I didn’t want to do anything that could get me in trouble, like leaving the sanctity of the walls when I wasn’t supposed to, but I was simply following instructions that I was told came from our fearless cowboy leader.

I joined Daryl once when he was working on his bike, and he showed me some stuff about it. Though he was so beautiful that day, I’ll admit, it was hard for me to keep focus. He was wearing one of his classic button-ups with the sleeves cut off, that angel-wing vest he loved so much, and a pair of ripped jeans that hugged his body just right. It was warm, so he was sweating buckets. I was practically drooling as I watched his arm muscles flex and relax as he worked. The way he glistened with sweat, the little hints of joy I heard in his voice as he talked to me about his motorcycle, his gorgeous accent…he was mesmerizing.

He still came and checked on me every night after I fell out of bed, another ritual of ours I suppose. It had evolved to a point where I would stay lying on the floor and give a thumbs up over the side of the bed when I heard the door open, then he’d leave. We’d sometimes spend mornings together, but usually one of us was always up and out before the other was awake, or if Daryl had overnight watch, he’d be just going to sleep when I got up. Typically, the one who got up first made coffee and left the rest out for the other. Sometimes, if he was coming back from an overnight watch, I’d wake up and go downstairs to find the pot just finishing up brewing.

It was obvious one of Daryl’s love languages was acts of service. He didn’t so much have a way with words, but damn he was good at showing how much he cared. Not just towards me, but the way he cared about the whole of Alexandria. He was always volunteering to go on watch, runs, hunts, you name it. He cared so much about the people here and would do whatever he needed to do to make sure we were all safe and protected. And that only made me fall for him even harder.

Though he typically wasn’t one for expressing his emotions with words, there was one morning when he left me a note. I came downstairs, and he was already out as he had gate duty all day. He had poured me coffee in a white mug with daisies on it that I once casually mentioned was my favorite mug of the ones in the cabinet, and there was a short but sweet note with it.

Have the best day

See you at dinner

I kept the note folded up in the back of my notebook where I kept some photos and a note from my brother.

Today, Daryl was teaching me how to hunt. Well, it was the start of that process. First, there was target practice. And I was getting to pick up and shoot that infamous crossbow.

Daryl had carved an X for a target on a tree, and my goal was to hit as dead center as I could. I knelt on one knee behind a fallen tree, which I was instructed to use to steady the crossbow and practice that way first. I could throw a knife over my shoulder and hit a walker square in the forehead. How hard could a crossbow be?

“Does this thing have recoil?” I asked as he handed it to me, “wow, it’s lighter than I thought it’d be.” I flipped the bow around and examined it, running my fingers over its smooth surface but was careful to make sure I didn’t touch anything that looked like a lever or a button. Didn’t wanna go causing any accidents right out the gate.

“Hardly any,” Daryl said, kneeling next to me. We were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. This was the closest we’d ever been, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach breaking free and trying to crawl their way up my throat.

“You ever kill anyone with this thing?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes, people are more dangerous than them walkers,” he explained, and I nodded. I was all too familiar with the dangers of other human beings during the end of the world.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. I rested the bow on the fallen tree and kept my gaze on the X carved into the tree in front of me. “I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t know if I could. It goes against the oath I took.”

"Hate to burst your bubble, but that don't matter no more."

“I guess not,” I shrugged, “but enough of that, let’s get to practicing.”

“‘lax your shoulders,” he said, gently placing his hands on both of my shoulders and lightly pressing to help me relax them. This was the first time he’d touched me on purpose. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster. “Geez, you’re tense woman.”

I wouldn’t be so tense if you didn’t make me so nervous, I thought. I propped the crossbow up onto my shoulder like I’d seen Daryl do a thousand times.

“It’s no good if ya don’t load it,” he said. He picked a bolt off of the front of it and reached around me to load it. His arm rested against my back as he strapped the bolt in. It was like he was testing the boundaries of physical closeness, though I didn’t know whether it was mine or his that he was testing. But I didn’t mind one bit. I steadied the bow on my shoulder and the fallen tree, aiming it at my target.

“Ya really gotta relax,” Daryl said, “can’t have this gettin’ in the way neither.” He took the end of my ponytail and draped my hair over my opposite shoulder, “damn, ya hair’s real soft.” I felt myself melting into a puddle, and my hands started to shake a bit as my heart rate picked up.

“Thank you. I grew it all by myself,” I laughed.

“How long'd it take ya to grow it out?”

“Oh God, I think the last time I got a drastic haircut was when I was like 13,”  I explained, “sometimes I think about chopping it all off because it gets in my way so much. And it feels like it weighs 20 pounds when it’s wet.”

“Ya should keep it long. Looks good.” I smiled and looked down at the ground, trying to hide that I was obviously turning red.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself again.

“Hey, you’re shakin’,” Daryl said, placing a hand on my shoulder in an effort to help me relax, “just take a breath. You’re good.” His voice was soft, soothing, and calming. Still laced with his gravely accent, but there was genuine caring and compassion behind his words.

“Nervous jitters I guess,” I said, taking another deep breath in through my nose. I lied straight through my teeth.

“Alright, look through the scope and aim it at the target,” he said. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

“Looks easy enough,” I said, perhaps a little too confidently as I did as he instructed.

“Once ya got it lined up, ya just pull the lever on the bottom,” Daryl explained, “helps if ya breathe out when ya do it.” I took a deep breath and fired, exhaling like he told me to. The bolt went flying right past the tree, not even grazing it. It landed far off in the grass somewhere I couldn’t see.

“I stand corrected on it looking easy,” I said, feeling horrifically embarrassed, “I missed the tree completely. How did I even do that?”

“It happens. Gotta get used to holdin’ it still. C’mon, I’ll show ya how to load it.” He gestured for me to hand his bow to him.

“At this point, I’ll just be happy to hit the tree at all,” I said, giggling a little to try to make myself feel better.

That’s how we spent the next couple of hours. Me attempting to hit the tree, somehow missing it completely or just grazing it, which was starting to feel like a win, and trying to find the bolts in the grass. He never seemed to get impatient or frustrated with me, even when I was starting to get frustrated with myself. He reassured me, helped me set up and reload, and tried to help me feel more confident.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally did it. I hit the very outskirts of the giant X target, but I hit it nonetheless. I about jumped into the air with how excited I was.

“Oh my God, I did it!” I cheered, nearly dropping the crossbow to the ground in surprise. A gigantic grin spread across my face as I looked at Daryl. “I did it!”

“Knew ya could do it,” he congratulated. He had reached out and was stroking the back of my arm with his fingers. His touch was so light, it felt like being tickled with a feather. I could feel goosebumps forming, but thankfully, my sleeve hid them. “Think that’s the first time I seen ya do that too.”

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Seen me do what?”

“Smile like that.” It occurred to me that he was referring to the fact that I was smiling with my teeth out. And he was right—this was the first time I’d smiled like that in months.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, I found myself working late in the infirmary. A couple of the kids had gotten into a fight, and while their injuries weren’t too bad, they still required attention. A couple of scraped knees and small cuts later, I was supposed to be going home for the evening, but as I was getting ready to leave, the infirmary door swung open one last time, and in came Daryl. He’d been covering gate duty for a couple of hours, and I figured he must’ve seen the infirmary light on and came to check on me.

“Hey, there’s my little Georgia peach,” I said, giving him a big smile. He looked at me with a solemn face, which concerned me a little. “Daryl…are you ok?” He didn’t say anything at first. He simply kept eye contact with me as he stepped closer.

“I, uh, need your help with somethin’,” he said. He took his bow off of his back and turned around. There was a sizable gash across his mid-back, his clothes stained with dried blood.

“Jesus, get your ass up here,” I ordered, gesturing to the exam table. I started grabbing things like gloves and antiseptic. “What the hell happened?”

“Couple of ‘em pricks was talkin’ ‘bout ya,” he said as he sat down on the table and scooted back to the edge. I froze and swallowed hard. I hadn’t really gotten to know any of the men who typically had gate duty, and the only times I saw them were when I was coming and going through the gate, and I was always with Daryl.

“You got this defending me? Jesus, I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” I continued grabbing everything I would need, like cotton pads, medical tape, tools for stitches, and antibiotics.

“Nah, jackasses had it comin’.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Roughed ‘em up a bit. Let ‘em know not to say nothin’ like that ‘gain,” Daryl explained.

“Do I wanna know what they were saying about me?”

“Probably not. Bein’ a buncha creeps.” The never-ending list of things they could’ve been saying swirled through my mind, and I felt sick. I suppressed the nausea that quickly made its home in my stomach.

“Great. Just when I was starting to feel safe here,” I sighed. I thought I’d finally found a place away from the prying eyes of creepy men, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder at me with kind eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let ‘em give ya any trouble.” I gave him a smile and a nod.

“Alright, I need you to take your shirt off. Then I’m gonna clean it and stitch it up. I’ll talk you through each step so you know what to expect since you can’t see it,” I explained. I slipped my gloves on after washing my hands thoroughly and scooted a stool over with my foot so I would sit higher up. Daryl fidgeted a little on the table, and he seemed nervous. I could tell he was in pain from his injury, but something else seemed to be bothering him.

“If you’re not comfortable taking your shirt off, that’s ok. I just need you to lift it enough so I can work,” I said, “don’t wanna go stitching your shirt to your back.” To my surprise, he lifted his shirt up and off over his head, letting it slide down his arms into his lap.

When he did, I understood why I’d never seen Daryl shirtless before.

There were scars all across his back. Not the kind of scars you’d get from being in a motorcycle or car accident, or burn scars, or from taking a really bad tumble as a kid. No, these scars were intentionally inflicted by another person. My heart shattered, but I kept my composure.

How could someone do something so awful to someone so good?

I made sure to utilize my calming bedside manner voice. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I have seen anything you can possibly imagine. Plus, I have scars of my own. I know better than to ask about anyone else's."

I grabbed a cloth soaked with some warm water so I could clean up some of the dried blood, and I gently started rubbing it on his back. “I’m gonna try to get as much of this dried blood off as I can.” He tensed a little bit under my touch, so I tried my best to be even lighter, but I could only press so lightly while still getting the blood off. I decided to clean just enough around the wound to make the process quicker, and he could take care of the rest when he showered.

“Alright, I have to clean it now so it won’t get infected. I won’t lie, this is going to sting a little. But I’m just taking a cotton pad with some antiseptic and patting around it,” I explained. I started patting his wound with the cotton pad, and he flinched just a tiny bit. I placed my other hand on his arm and stroked it gently with my thumb. “Hey, you’re ok. You’re doing great.” As I stroked his arm, I felt him start to relax.

My heart was breaking for him. The sensation of the antiseptic in his open wound must’ve felt similar to whatever created the scars on his back. I tried to think of something to talk about to distract him.

“I like your tattoo, Daryl,” I said, “does it mean anything?”

“Jus’ thought it looked cool,” he replied.

“I actually have a few tattoos of my own,” I told him, “I know, there’s something you didn’t know about me. I have a sternum piece with flowers on it, bumblebees on the back of each of my thighs, and a bouquet of daisies on the front of my right hip. I liked the idea of having tattoos that only certain people get to see. People that I get to choose." I hoped that, maybe one day, I’d get to show Daryl my tattoos. I set the cotton pad on the table next to him. “I’m done cleaning it now. Could you straighten up for me? I’m gonna stitch it up now. It’ll probably hurt a little, but it won’t burn like the antiseptic did.”

"They mean anythin'?" he asked as he sat up straight.

"I really like sternum pieces, so that's why I got that one. Daisies are my favorite flower, and the bumblebees are for my mom.” I got to work stitching him up as I talked. “Gardening was her favorite hobby, and we had a huge one in our backyard growing up. She taught my brothers and I about the different kinds of pollinators and how important they were. Bumblebees were her favorite. I got them a couple of years after she passed.”

“Lost my mom too,” Daryl said. It was the first time he’d mentioned his mom in any capacity. “What happened to her? If you’re ok talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“She umm…she killed herself a couple of months after Preston died. Hung herself in his closet. My dad was the one that found her.” I blinked back some tears. Stitching up someone’s wound was not the time to be crying. “Her mental health really declined after his passing. I mean, all of ours did, but hers was the worst. She couldn't stand losing one of her children, so she left the other three behind. At least that's what it felt like. The anger stage of my grief lasted a very, very long time.”

There was a heaviness that hung in the air as I finished stitching his wound. It felt suffocating, like it was a heavy weight pressing on my chest. I lowered the volume of my voice a little to keep myself from crying. “Alright, I’ve just gotta wrap it up and you’re done.”

“Mine was a house fire,” he started to explain, and as he talked, I continued wrapping his wound, using as gentle of a touch as I could and offering small comforting pats and strokes in between. I felt his muscles continue to relax into my hands as I worked. “I was a kid. Ran home after we saw fire trucks comin’ down the street. Finally caught up to the other kids and saw it was my house. Mom was inside. Some combo of her wine ’n smokes. Didn’t feel real for a long time.” Before I finished patching him up, I ran my hands over the back of his arms and offered small squeezes, like tiny hugs from my fingers. This was by far the most vulnerable he’d been around me, and I wanted to make sure he felt safe, seen, and comforted.

“I’m so sorry Daryl. You didn’t deserve for that to happen.”

"Didn’t deserve yours neither.” I ran my fingers over and flattened out the last piece of medical tape.

“There we go, you’re all patched up now,” I said, grabbing a small bottle of antibiotics and handing it to him. “you’ll have to change the dressing every day. I can help you with that. And you’ll have to take those for like a week. Make sure you stay on top of that.”

“Do I gotta? Didn’t think it was that bad,” he said, flipping the little orange bottle around in his hand.

I sat myself up on the exam table next to him, “Daryl, what kind of doctor would I be if I let you get an infection?”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

[inamindfarfaraway]

Team Chaotix in Sonic Prime

My headcanons for what Vector the Crocodile, Espio the Chameleon and Charmy Bee are like in the Shatterspaces.

New Yoke City

Vector’s variant is called Missile (a missile is a vector, having direction and magnitude). He embodies Vector’s responsibility, practicality and seriousness. He was trying to make a difference as a teenage detective when the dystopian city appeared around him four years ago and it became clear that, with the Chaos Council’s control of the new justice system and law enforcement, the person he aspired to be would never make it. Of course he wants to fight, but the Council is brutal and their absolute power seems impossible to overthrow. He soon ended up with two children in his care, one only a toddler. If he got arrested, killed or roboticized, what would happen to them? If the three of them had the Council’s protection, on the other hand, as per the contract of an exclusive, specialized detective agency who would do whatever dirty work they were ordered to… he knows that those tyrants are the reason his kids have nobody else. He knows that the vast majority of people he leads the robotic police to don’t deserve any punishment, and none of them could deserve the cruel horrors they get. He knows that he isn’t a hero - that he may even be the exact opposite. And he hates it. But any money that keeps his family alive is money worth having, he’s regretfully decided. Big concepts like good and evil are none of his concern. He’s just trying to pay the rent. It’s too late to back out now, anyway. Now that the people are rebelling en masse and the Council is busy exploring the Shatterverse, he’s desperately waiting for things to stabilize and daring to hope against hope that some positive change occurs. And that the citizens don’t recognize the collaborateurs in their midst and turn on them.

Espio’s variant is called Trace. He embodies Espio’s stoicism and pragmatism. His ninja training was cut short - and his village razed and everyone he knew killed or taken prisoner - when the Chaos Council remade the world in their image. But he’s gained plenty of experience in stealth, deception, infiltration, espionage and combat working in the Chaos Detective Agency. Dishonour means nothing to a ninja. That’s what he tells himself, at least. On the outside, he’s reserved and aloof, a cold, ruthless foe. He will only show his family the slightest show of emotion. Internally, however, his repressed grief for his old family, community, home and life; guilt, shame and self-loathing due to his service to the Council; and years of accumulated trauma are brewing into a storm that he barely keeps contained under the surface. He’s afraid of his feelings burdening his teammates and distracting them from what’s most important: survival.

Charmy’s variant is called Sting. He embodies Charmy’s eagerness to be helpful and fighting spirit. He can’t remember anything except New Yoke and doesn’t understand much of how his society works, but he knows that his family’s work is very important to them being alive and wants to be a part of it. He does notice their stress and the general unpleasantness everywhere and can infer that circumstances could be improved. But their work being dangerous is all the more reason he should help! Teamwork makes the dream work, right? Danger just adds to the fun of stopping ‘bad guys’. He’s also terrified that if they leave him behind, they might not come back. So he kept breaking out and running away when Missile and Trace went on missions until they agreed to train him and let him join them. He revels in the thrill of action and finds people getting hurt amusing the way a six-year-old boy can, not emotionally connecting to anyone he’s told they need to catch and earnestly believing that their enemies must be in the wrong. He often imitates Missile when trying to be tough and intimidating.

Boscage Maze

Vector’s variant is called Reed. He embodies Vector’s optimism, lightheartedness and musical side, and tends to have his coarser manners too. He, the other two and Cream and Vanilla’s variants are in a different small tribe to the Scavengers and haven’t yet met them, so Thorn Rose didn’t banish them to the emergent layer; they are nomadic and moving toward the Scavengers’ territory. He’s cheerful and generous, always ready to raise the tribe’s morale. He can be immature and irresponsible at times, more focused on enjoying life and entertaining his companions than applying maximum effort to practical tasks. He’s highly resourceful when it comes to instruments and has invented drums and a reed flute. He loves to play them and sing. He’s also bold enough to flirt with Vanilla’s variant and the casual first stage of a romance is budding between them.

Espio’s variant is called Berry. He embodies Espio’s caution, wisdom and love of art and culture. Yes, that’s in this dimension. The tribe took him in after they crossed paths when he was eight, him having previously been surviving on his own for as long as he can remember. He’s mature beyond his years, highly knowledgeable about the forest’s flora and fauna, wary and prepared to defend his tribe from any threat using his carved flint blades and hand-to-hand skills. He used to find it difficult to relax, but has learned to unwind through playing a shamisen-esque string instrument Reed built for him and painting with plant pigments. While acutely aware of nature’s hazards, he can still appreciate its wonder and majesty and respects it.

Charmy’s variant is called Honey. He embodies Charmy’s innocent kindness, friendliness and trusting nature. He and Cream’s variant are best friends and adoptive siblings, since his parents entrusted her mother with him when they left on an exploratory expedition in his infancy. They didn’t return. But Honey doesn’t mind. He has everything he needs right here. The one thing he can think of that would make his life better is a friend who can fly like he can.

No Place

Vector’s variant is called Bullion (because of precious metal and a male crocodile is a bull). He embodies Vector’s sharp intelligence, charisma, greed and courage. He left his home island in a modest but sturdy vessel, dubbed the Treasure Trove, to seek his fortune and established himself as a travelling merchant. Cunning, socially savvy and theatrical, he is willing to (if you insist on using such accusatory language) ‘scam’ customers and has an endless supply of get-rich-quick schemes. He and his crew live in a fiercely competitive, unpredictable environment full of pirates! Material wealth is essential! That being said, he isn’t all talk. He will brave high seas and stormy weather, chart uncharted waters and do business with anyone to obtain the best goods and things no other merchant is selling, and the genuine quality and rarity of a lot of his stock keep people endeared to him despite his rough edges and occasional bad deal. He takes pride in his competence as a salesman and seafarer and part of him is more fulfilled by honest work. Not that he’ll admit that. He’s very attached to his swashbuckling rogue self-image.

Espio’s variant is called Fathom (a measure of water depth and a verb for contemplative thought and understanding). He embodies Espio’s firm sense of morality and diligence. He met Bullion when the crocodile docked at his home island and, struck with wanderlust and needing a job to get by, Fathom offered to manage his finances with his advanced mathematical ability and do some manual labour. Bullion agreed, but it didn’t take Fathom long to figure out that he was both running a con and a broke mess. A weirdly likeable broke mess. In the aftermath of Fathom exposing the con, the customers angrily demanding refunds and the Treasure Trove being hastily undocked, they made a deal to support and protect each other, with Fathom promising to follow his boss’s lead on the strict condition that Bullion stayed on the straight and narrow. He’s a dutiful hard worker, patient and polite. He tries to remain calm and be civil to everyone no matter how wild things get. He grounds his crewmates, restraining their more energetic, eccentric and, most frustratingly for him, selfish and amoral behaviour. He knows they can be better. And when they are, it’s extremely rewarding. But they certainly test him - though he won’t deny that the motley crew all truly care about each other and would stick together through anything.

Charmy’s variant is called Dodger. He embodies Charmy’s mischievous, irreverent side. He was born to pirates and left at an orphanage on one of the larger islands, but could never follow the rules or be satisfied with a simple, mundane life in one place. He wanted excitement, and made his own by causing trouble and playing tricks. He totally wasn’t lonely. One day he stowed away on a ship. His plan was to steal all the stuff he could carry on him and fly off. Bullion and Fathom, the sailors who caught him, took a liking to him and were hesitant to send him back to his boring, miserable old home once he explained his life before. They were nice and cool and made him feel wanted and like he belonged more than anyone else ever had, so he hung around. Bullion makes him do chores, but respects his pranking prowess and nerve. Fathom is a great listener and playmate, albeit sometimes a killjoy.

[gynoidgearhead]

This post has been brewing in my head all night and I'm still not sure how to say this, so I'm just going to take a swing at it and hope it goes over well. This post is not specifically about any recent event.

It sucks that we keep making individuals the faces of various causes célèbres, because it inevitably leads to enormous scrutiny of those individuals and grasping at straws and straining for whether or not they "deserve" to be the face of that cause.

It means that it's easy for bigots to discredit an entire minority group by pointing at the individual's perceived (or real) misconduct, including when bigots find a way to coerce that person into performing unsympathetic behavior in a highly public manner to turn people against them.

It means that it's easy for one individual to completely co-opt an issue that affects a lot of people, including in ways that allow them to completely paint over abuse they committed.

Even if neither of these things happen, it puts a fuckton of pressure on whatever poor sap ends up in the position of being the tentpole for an entire political movement. I sure as hell wouldn't know what to do if I was put in that position.

But the human brain digests anecdotes better than data. The brain doesn't know what to make of a situation if one can't point to a specific nameable victim, and places sometimes undue weight on situations where a very specific picture has been painted.

Somebody who was almost certainly not Joseph Stalin once said: "A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic." And as a rule, we absolutely fucking suck at statistics. Some of the most persistent and pernicious evils completely slip by most people's notice because it happens to people who never get to speak of it; others, because they are only the proximate cause of someone's suffering, and no causal link can be established to the causal bystander's satisfaction - "okay, but did they PERSONALLY murder them?" after denying them medical care or shelter or refuge.

The fact that single vivid images are more potent to the human mind than the crushing weight of context is one of the key vectors of propaganda, and over and over again it sucks that it works.

[khanhannahlewis]

Circe, 3075.

“This is Agamemnon to Orbital, beginning insertion pass.”

“Copy Agamemnon, watch for ground fire along vectors Gamma 3 and 6.”

Hannah, waiting in her drop pod enshrouded mech hears her comms click.

“Star Captain Ulysses to Star Commander Hannah. Good hunting, Star Commander.”

She thumbs her mic key. 

“And safe flying to you, Star Captain. I will see you at exfil.”

“Copy. We are nearing periapsis. Standby for drop in 3. 2. 1. Founder be with you.”

There is a jolt as Hannah falls free from the cradle holding her inside the Broadsword dropship. Gravity overtakes her and her cockpit heat steadily rises as she falls to the world of Circe.

After a moment the plasma sheath abates and her drop pod’s external cams come online.

Hundreds of pods fall in every direction. Above her an Overlord dropship explodes after letting off only a handful of pods.

Then fire erupts from the ground, swatting pods and dropships out of orbit alike. A hidden battery on the ground had opened up, shredding into the combined Blood Spirit and Cloud Cobra forces.

Most of the fire is coming from a single hill. As Hannah herself falls towards the ground, a cloud of crimson mechs her computer identifies as Alpha Galaxy drops like stones towards the battery. The ground plummets towards Hannah and she fires her jump jets. Thick dust plumes up from her jests as she approaches the dry, hard ground. The two other mechs of her Star touch down, followed by the 10 Protomechs. Most of the first Trinary made it, Omnimechs carrying their precious cargo of Elementals. Second and third Trinary are not so lucky, having taken much higher damage. As the Cluster gathers, flames drop from the sky. Burning battlemechs and dropships crashing down to the sunbaked earth. Across the plain, battle sounds from where Alpha Galaxy had dropped. Around Hannah, the other Clusters of Tau Galaxy organize.

Once Ashes is satisfied that her unit is all together, she leaps over and perches her battlearmor on the shoulder of Hannah's Stooping Hawk.

At a click of her radio she raises her battleclaw.

“17th Crimson Guards! Advance!”

A line of Steel Viper mechs advances in the distance, and off to the north a towering dust storm brews.

[true-blue-sonic]

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening, Blue!!

12, 20 & 24 + Espio, Blaze & Gold for the Ask Game

Good afternoon ^-^

Espio

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

He's a boss when it comes to brewing tea. He likes ocha himself, I believe based on a Sonic Channel picture, and he knows all the intricate details about how hot the water should be and how long the bag should stew and what-not to get the perfect cup. After a long day of doing detective work or saving the world, he'll go sit somewhere quiet with a cup of tea and recharge.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

I'd say Silver, which surprises absolutely nobody :> While I think Vector is a good friend for Espio, the fact Vector is quite childish and spends a lot of his time arguing with a six-year-old compared to Espio's ice-cold collected ninja facade and deeply serious demeanour (at least on the surface lol) makes it difficult for me to see them as ideal best friends. Plus, I'd feel bad about throwing Charmy under the bus like that XD In that regard, I feel like Silver and Espio just have more in common: Silver is definitely the more immature between him and Espio, but not at all to a similar level as Vector is. Plus, they share a desire for justice, love for fighting, serious personalities, and a comparative lack of goofing compared to the rest of the cast, and in Rivals 2 I'd argue the two treat each other as equals as opposed to Vector bossing Espio around. So I'd say Silver would be the ideal best friend for Espio <3

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Oof, I can't answer this one for any of them, I fear. I'm engaged in like three fandoms total XD ....Yeah, no, for Espio I got nothing, sorry😅😂

Blaze

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

She's bad at cooking because she's too impatient to wait the necessary amount of time with the stove heated a proper amount; instead she uses her flames to "make it go more quickly", which is what causes the food to burn.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

Hmm, not sure... I haven't replayed Rush Adventure in a while so I can't say too much about Marine, but the ideal best friend she might not make. I feel like Blaze would be annoyed too much by her rambunctious nature, even after Marine's character development. I'd say Silver, were it not that I can see why people don't want him and Blaze to always be together. Perhaps Cream, then! I like their interactions in Sonic Rush and I think it's sweet how Cream helps Blaze open up more <3 And I'd argue that in Rush you can also nicely see how Blaze warms up to Cream too, culminating in her frantically rummaging through the wreckages of the Egg King to find her when Eggman kidnapped her. So Cream, perhaps!

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Rosalina...? Blaze is definitely more quick to anger, but they share the elements of loneliness and isolation in their backstories, I'd say. And perhaps also Zelda from BotW in their hotheaded nature and the responsibilities placed upon them🤔

Gold

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Silver gets her some clothing from the past: think more saris and other things she feels comfortable in. She adores long, draping, and lovely-decorated items that make her feel like a princess!

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

I'd say Silver here too, but that is mostly because she's only ever interacted with him out of the whole game cast. Still, I think they make a good pair! Silver's fierceness and sharpness nicely contrast with Gold more meek demeanour whereas Gold's got the planning skills and the smarts compared to Silver's reckless nature. And in Genesis, they share the goal of really wanting better for Onyx City/the future at large. But perhaps Silver is just friendshaped to me apparently XD

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Also nobody for poor Gold, apologies!

[gassybots]

How come we don't hear more about Glamour and Vector Taylor? C'mon, we gotta know where Chryssi got her ground-quaking gases from

I. IM STILL WORKING ON THEM I HAVE SOME DESIGNS I JUST NEED TO MAKE A FULL REF, but to be completely fair they don't have the same Bowel Issues that she does, Chryssi is regrettably an Ulcerative Colitis Girlie (like me!!) So her endless gas is a direct result of that and not of any hereditary properties (though this is not to say that her parents are completely prim and proper, they do have some absolute rank gases brewing between them)

[caffeineandsociety]

White cis gay men are often seen by mainstream society as the default face of The LGBTQ+ Community; this is both caused by, and feedback loops into, the way white cis men are privileged by society. When it comes to representing The LGBTQ+ Community, white cis gay men are often relatively privileged over other subgroups.

HOWEVER.

Gay men, regardless of race or AGAB, are...you know, still oppressed by society at large. In fact, many homophobic tropes about gay men have a uniquely gendered bent to them, from the "effeminate limp-wristed fruit", to the "burgeoning predatory bear", to the "devious AIDS vector" (which is also frequently aimed at trans women, thanks to popular bioessentialism and proximity to transphobic "deception" tropes), to the "greedy decadent hedonist who would destroy society as long as he gets his quickie at the club"-

And cisheteropatriarchal society FUCKING LOVES IT when people end up parroting these tropes in the name of "feminism" and "uplifting other queer subgroups".

Now, I want us all to think back to the ToddInTheShadows video about James Somerton for a moment. Remember what that video was calling out - the way Somerton's very limited original content was, primarily, repeating common misogynistic and transphobic tropes, but spinning them not as misogynistic and laterally queerphobic stereotypes, but as Very Common Bad Behaviors By Privileged Subgroups Of Oppressed Groups.

I want us to recall - he got away with this for years. He got well-meaning people, who nominally knew better, absolutely eating it up. He probably very sincerely believed it himself! How does that happen?

Consider the trope I highlighted. The "greedy decadent hedonist who would destroy society as long as he gets his quickie at the club".

Consider for a moment, how important it is to recognize how white cis men are relatively privileged over other queer subgroups - and how that kind of relative privilege can serve as a blinder to the suffering of other queer subgroups - and how, as a result, there are prominent white cis gay voices who don't see the problem with gentrification, or with highly censored rainbow capitalism; how that relative privilege can turn into throwing people under the bus...

And I want you to consider just how easy it is for criticism of that pattern to slip right into repeating that trope. Into an implication that every white cis gay man is Jeffree Starr or some shit. Into an implication that Jeffree Starr's flamboyant aesthetic is inextricable from him, personally, being a shitty I-got-mine sellout, especially if you can tie it to a critique of the misogyny in the makeup industry. Oops! We're now on a runaway train straight into homophobia town!

And the thing is, just like the example with James Somerton, you usually won't even notice it's happening. Look at how many people watched Somerton's videos. Again, he probably believed everything he said himself. We Live In A Society. We live our lives simmering in this toxic brew of stereotypes. We internalize them. After ToddInTheShadows pointed it out, of course, so many of Somerton's former viewers became thoroughly unable to unsee it - but before that? It was background noise. Of COURSE women fetishizing gay men is more of a problem than lesbophobia and misogyny! Of COURSE the presence of a single-digit number of wlw couples in children's media proves queer women are super privileged over queer men! Of COURSE trans people are being divisive by trying to distance themselves from their AGAB, that's TOTALLY inherently the same thing as denying the shared history of the communities! Because the assumption that women are just that airheaded and reckless and frivolous, and trans people are just playing pretend, is such a common set of beliefs in mainstream society, that it was just taken for granted until someone came along to shine a big, bright, glaring spotlight on it.

The lesson we need to be taking from that is not James Somerton Is A Bastard; it's the importance of being CAREFUL when criticizing lateral aggression from an oppressed group to make sure that it's not looping right back around into its own flavor of lateral aggression.

In the case of gay men, for example, we need to be careful NOT to reinvent the same old stereotype that's been around...presumably since the first time someone decided that the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah were the gay sex more than the closed-off cruelty.

[myneighbortokyo]

February 24th 2024

Weller

Lunch at Alaska Zwei

Shinjuku Record Shopping

Shinjuku Cute Shopping

Dinner at Ain Soph

Beers at Vector Brewing

[euphorial-docx]

ok i need help deciding what core class lily will like the most and excel at in my deadly class au.

i’ll break down the classes real quick before the poll:

assassin psychology — taught by mcgonagall. teaches students how to manipulate, disarm, and subjugate targets with psychology. also goes over the minds of killers and what might be going on inside there.

black arts — taught by dumbledore. teaches students how to find their targets and why they chose those targets, and gives them hands-on experiences with killing, plotting, and general illegal activities.

social studies — taught by cuthbert binns. teaches students the history of assassins and assignations. basically world history that focuses on crime :)

math — taught by vector. it’s really just math. nothing special here.

poison 101 — taught by slughorn. teaches students how to create effective positions ranging from gasses to brew, with intentions ranging from political messaging to painful deaths.

mixed martial arts — taught by moody. basically just many different styles of fighting and self defense are taught.

first aid — taught by pomfrey. teaches the kids how to treat any potential injuries they might get in their future career paths.