Hello! It's the "bagel cream cheese side down" anon. I showed my mother some happier art of Machete (+ Vasco) and she was very pleased to see he's not always frowning like he dropped his brunch and said that Vasco reminded her of a little porcelain loppy eared dog her nan had given her as a child saying it would protect her from evil fairies. I asked if she thought it was odd to draw animals like people and her response was "well at least they're wearing pants and not with their gentleman bitties all out".
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not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram
the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis
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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
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Because I have just seen this specific thing for the second time, I would like to say:
If I reblog your art, I do not expect you to reblog (or share!) my fic in return
If I comment on your fic, I do not expect you to comment on (or read!) mine in return
My enjoyment of anyone's work does not come with strings or expectations
My friendship is not a bill that you will have to pay later
That's it!
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Reverse Robins AU where everyone is their canon ages but Bruce gets them backwards
And Sooner, thus smaller
Cass: David Cain makes the mistake of letting Bruce know of Cass. Bruce comes back to Gotham with an infant while David Cain resurfaces years later with a case of broken spine. Alfred is torn between pride in his son and exasperation at his newfound hobby of dressing like a furry. (Cass's first word is "bat")
Damian: Talia looks at Bruce (and his ruthlessness in child protection), likes what she sees, and decides he's her new baby daddy. She then spends the next few years in a push-pull seduction trip with Bruce (consensually, fuck you) while simultaneously building up her power base, weeding out her father's men, and plotting his downfall. However, when she becomes pregnant she vanishes for several months only for a baby to appear in Bruce's bed; swaddled in a beautiful blanket and tucked next to the wickedly sharp knife she murdered her father with. Cass is eight years old.
Tim: Bruce doesn't adopt Dick, he doesn't become Robin, thus Tim never connects crazy acrobatics between circus child and traffic light. He's still a baby stalker with an interest in Gotham's nightlife, but here batman works alone. He eventually figures it out anyway, but not before getting involved in something he really shouldn't have which leads to Bruce looking into the Drakes much sooner. By the time they fly back from wherever the hell they've been three months later, Tim's already living with the Wayne's and Bruce has legal blackmail a mile wide. Nine year old Cass has a new little brother big enough to dance with, One Year Old Damian is decidedly unimpressed as toddlers can be, and Six Year Old Tim is starry-eyed at living with the actual batman.
Jason: is eight years old when one of Batman's rouges explodes the building he lived in with his mother and Willis. (Something that wouldn't have happened if he had another pair of hands to help and distract with a quip and a laugh) Bruce Wayne finds him stealing his converter while visiting the memorial he set up in Park Row for his parents. (Jason doesn't know what this rich idiot with more money than sense wants with him; probably as a "playmate" toy for his three spoiled brats no doubt, but at least he'll be off the streets.) One kidnapping later and Jason is of the firm belief that he's still a rich idiot with more money than sense, because all his sense was beaten out of him in that fursuit. Jason turns nine with a seven year old stalker, a two year old demon, and a ten year old shadow as siblings and he's never been happier.
Dick: Oof. The scales of fate aren't fucked with lightly. His future siblings may have happier lives, but only because he suffered instead. Here's the deal: As in canon, the Graysons came to Gotham and died when Dick was nine. However, Bruce never went. Cass was sick, so Bruce never saw the Graysons fall. The Court of Owls did. And the rest, they say, is history. (Until the Kidnapping of Jason Todd, "Street trash" sullying the Wayne name, cracks the Court's disguise and Batman finds an immortal sixteen year old Assassin in the depths of Gotham's oldest cult.
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"What a strange pair. A Mandalorian and a Force-sensitive youngling, hmm... Who is in need of a master to guide him and help him to come into his full power, yes?"
Any time Maul comes across a Force-sensitive youngster: "Is anyone going to claim this apprentice as his own or do I have to do everything around here?" and doesn't wait for an answer. (Grogu is safe tucked away in Din's satchel, don't worry)
Din accidentally turns up with Obi-wan's keepsake in his pocket once, and Maul doesn't only fly into an episode of blind rage and super melodramatic monologuing, but he also gives him a boon that is nothing but trouble and chaos of epic proportions.
Bonus background detail/close up, because while I didn't redraw the full thing, I'm quite proud of my modifications:
More of the Star Wars meets Hades AU (I’m trying to give monthly updates on my progress with it)
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it's here!!!
my fic for @zukkabigbang2024!!!!
thank you so much to @syciaralynx for beta'ing and to @umossu for making the wonderful art for this!!
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