#i just needed to write this down

[agmapansa3008]

Some VegasPete Dynamic Thoughts

As much as I love the DomSub dynamic we got for VegasPete (because yeah, while Pete hated feeling like a pet/an object, I do still believe that he liked the actual submission part), I can’t help but wonder about certain situations were Vegas could enjoy being submissive for once. There’s an appeal to submission, a certain relief of letting go, of letting someone you trust take charge. One of the problems in the initial start to their (sexual) relationship was that lack of trust and, I could imagine, probably a lack of aftercare. Vegas isn’t a Dom, not an experienced one, at least I don’t read him as such. He will learn and he will be able to take care of Pete in the long run, because he wants to treasure Pete, so I think the aftercare will start to come naturally. But as of now, he’s not used to the softer sides of sex.

But back to Vegas being submissive. With his anger and trust issues, submitting won’t come easy to him, but I think where the show left off, we could see a possible development in that direction. Really, we saw it a little, before he got shot. He fought against Pete, but in the end, Pete made him turn around. Vegas wanted to listen to Pete.

So imagine a scenario where Vegas is incredibly high-strung. Something happened that triggered his anger, his restlessness, his anxiety. Imagine him walking up to Pete and just saying his name, stressing it, giving it a certain meaning. Let’s say this isn’t the first time it happens, so Pete knows what that tone means, what Vegas needs. This isn’t about Vegas fucking Pete to get rid of all the pent-up energy, which is also something they often do. No, this is about Vegas needing to be put into a certain mindset. So Pete just raises his eyebrows and when Vegas nods, he leads him to their bedroom. There, Pete gently coaxes him to lie down and slowly adds a binding (rope, handcuffs, something that holds his hands) and blindfolds him.

This doesn’t have to be about pain, I honestly don’t believe that Vegas would be into receiving pain (whereas I do headcanon Pete as liking it to a certain degree). This is just about Vegas letting go, letting Pete take care of him. Now there’s a lot of trust here. Lacking motion of his hands and his sight isn’t something Vegas is comfortable with, having essentially been raised as a weapon in a war zone. But he trusts Pete unconditionally and he knows that Pete won’t let anything happen to him. So he relaxes into Pete’s touch, lets his guard down, his voice out. 

Because Pete is safe and Pete won’t let him down.

[rowyngoldeart]

My father calls me tough. I can't express how much of a curse that is.

He doesn't bother offering help to me, because I've always been the one to offer the support. He thinks very highly of me, and finds himself confused when I break down. How can that happen? I'm so tough!

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being tough. Of fighting. Of surviving. It feels like whenever things settle down, and I'm happy, and I feel safe...

...something devastating shortly follows.

I don't want a hand wave, telling me I've got this without any other information to confirm that. I want shoulders to cry on. I want to talk to people who have been through it and survived. I'll be tough after. Later. During the recovery.

I can't be tough right now, and that needs to be okay.

[i-need-to-touch-grassss]

When you’re an asexual lesbian and you have to hear a certain something from the room over and you wanna puke but you have to be still in the hallway and not complain bc you’ll be heard and if you’re heard it’s gonna be really awkward AND ALL YOU DID WAS WAKE UP EARLIER THAN USUAL TO GET A GOOD START OF THE DAY

I can’t leave the hallway bc the floors are creaky plus me carrying my laptop, phone, headphones, and my school bag and the walls are thin so if I move I will be heard and maybe interrogated. I just wanted breakfast…I wasn’t prepared for this.

5 AM. THEY KNOW I GET UP AT 5 AM. AND EVEN THOUGH THEY KNEW THEY STILL

I’m disgusted and frankly, not okay.

Am I projecting?? I’m sorry if so

Actually if I think about that one breakdancing cat thing dancing to low quality funky town, it’s not that bad actually

NEVERMINF I WANNA KMS

I’m gonna cry, I don’t wanna exist rn, can I disappear?? PLS???

OH IM FINALLY SAVED ITS BEEN LIKE 20 MINUTES MY LEGS ARE SO TIRED

I’m going to slowly back away and into my room, I’ll just wait till later to go downstairs.

I hear them talking, mfs acting like nothing happened. What. What is life. I want death, forget breakfast, I’ve lost everything, including my will to live

Im also sorry for not posting, my laptop did the little delete thingy again and I lost a whole bunch of motivation for a while, I’ll get back in the groove soon but that was super discouraging (Dude I’m so pathetic)

[ashesofivory]

i want to love you today, and in the future, i want to fall in love all over again as we, as historians, discover the story of two lovers who loved each other endlessly.

[sucksinlosers]

I wasn't even going to watch JJK after the whole Gojo thing in the manga, and now Nanami?

I am... physically unwell. Like, actually, legitimately sad. Fuck.

[lumine-sm]

I’ve been programming to some extent for going on six years now. Why am I just now getting EXTREMELY emotional over “hello, world!”

Like, the first thing we’re taught to give to computers is a voice to greet the world with. The first thing I STILL give every program is a voice to greet the world with. We make everything alive; we make cold logical code alive like us, because we love it.

It could be anything. We could make the go to print message ANYTHING, and we chose to make it personifying. Idk I think that says smthn.

I need a minute…, and I need to write more code; I’m so sane; I’m not crying; does this make sense?

[sahelstudies]

uh.. hello?

my semester doesnt end and i am on my limit.

good part: got some books borrowed from my modern's history professor so i am deeply inspired to learn some more about french revolution (!!!)

bad part: on the otherside, not so confident about my assignments for ancient america's history. feel like everything i wrote isnt worthy enough and the professor doesnt help too!!! his comments are always so vague and confusing and when i try to talk to him about it, i left more frustrated.

i just keep thinking: do i really need this grade? (yes).

also there's teaching initiation project (?) i'm in and we are in the last discussions and reaching the end of it. there's going to be a presentation from all the groups for all the college campus in october and were still gotta write an review until february (from what i saw in the schools i've been to, their architecture, students relationships with school, teachers and envirowment).

but our research is stopped. why? i dont know. we dont have reunions anymore, we discuss things on groups chats and thats is it. no more news from the professor responsible for it or the supervisor from the schools that we've been. nothing. at least, we are still receiving our grant, which is the only reason i can still eat today.

not that i dont like the project, i do. this type of experience in schools, with the students and their worlds are going to be so important for me when i start intern in other schools. but.. i still dont know if i really to teach or just research. or both. or none.

the others grades (historiography, brazil's history and psychologic education) i pass with the highest score so.. mixed feelings about this semester.

did so well in the other grades but ancient america's history is bitting my ass, the project is kinda stopped and i feel so desmotivated and drained because of it.

i only want to sit in my desk and dont think about what this professor is going to say about me and my writing. or what i have to write for the review.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[emo-batboy]

A Wild Battinson (Social Media AU)

Part 43 (Masterlist)

(Part 44)

Me, to myself: I just think the series was better when I posted several times a week because the pacing felt more natural, and it translates better when people binge it.

Also Me, holding two jobs and a bat: If you try to post once a day again, I will disconnect your head from your shoulders—

@bruciemilf guess who’s back

Anyways, folks! :D So I'm thinking of a new upload schedule where I spend a bit preparing the next ten or so parts then post it all in two weeks? I think that would be fun (and much better for my creative process.)

I’ll be posting the next part very soon :) But it's going to be drastically different from what I've done before. Let’s see if anyone can guess why.

Yada yada don’t die LOVE Y’ALL

[laundrybiscuits]

(ETA: now edited and up on AO3)

Look. Eddie knows he can be a little uptight about these things, but. There are rules. If you become a vampire, you don’t need to go full gothic Count Von Dickhead or whatever, but you absolutely cannot just wander around in a puffy vest and light-wash jeans. 

“Why not?” says Steve. He’s leaning back in an armchair, sipping on a bloodbag like it’s a goddamn juicebox. “What, are the vampire police going to arrest me?” 

He pauses. “Wait. There aren’t vampire police, are there?”

“No,” says Eddie. “Probably not. I don’t know. But there are standards which you are refusing to uphold, Steven.”

“Thought you were all about hating conformity, Edward,” Steve says. He’s got an obnoxiously cocky little smirk, the smug undead fucker. 

Eddie grimaces. “Don’t call me that, asswipe. Don’t you feel, like—the call of the night? The siren song of life coursing through fragile human veins? A hunger for destruction that those paltry plastic bags of blood can never truly slake?”

“The bloodbags aren’t so bad,” says Steve, around the straw. “Better than protein shakes.”

“I actually hate you,” Eddie tells him. “Vampirism is wasted on you.”

Steve noisily slurps the last of the blood out of the bottom of the bag. “Come on, you can’t really picture me in some Dracula getup, can you?”

The problem, of course, is that Eddie really, really can. When Robin had read him in on the whole situation, obviously he’d been horrified and concerned—but also, a whole wing of his brain had immediately been cordoned off to work overtime imagining Steve in elaborate Dark Prince regalia, maybe leaning elegantly out of a castle window on the moors, gazing into the foggy dusk. Velvet might’ve been involved.

“...guess not,” says Eddie. It doesn’t sound incredibly convincing to his own ears, but Steve just shrugs and gets up to throw the bloodbag away. 

“There you go, man,” he says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he passes. “It’s the 80s. Vampires can be whatever we wanna be.”

———

It gets way too easy to forget about Steve’s condition, until Eddie ends up having to haul him out of a bar in Indy before they get banned for life.  

“Simmer down, buddy,” Eddie says, pulling him into the shadow of the van. “Let’s get those fangs packed away before any of the nice villagers wander by with torches and pitchforks.”

“I’m good,” pants Steve. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

Eddie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure, that’s why your eyes are glowing red and you’re, like, fully vamped out. Which, by the way, looks extremely dumb with the whole clean-cut vibe you decided to rock tonight.”

“Fuck you, I look great,” says Steve, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s not wrong, it’s just not relevant to how he also looks extremely dumb like this, wearing a pristine henley with fangs hanging out in the parking lot for anyone to see.

“So what the hell happened in there, man? I was finally starting to get somewhere with Todd, and…” Eddie trails off in dawning realization.

“Holy shit, am I—I’m like your territory, aren’t I? Your stupid vampire brain got all screwy and decided to loop me in with Robin and the kids as part of your freaky human coven.”

“Uh,” says Steve. He looks unhappy in a shifty kind of way. “Something like that, maybe.”

“Wait, so, are Nancy and Jonathan—are you okay with them because they’re both already in the vamp pack? Is Vickie gonna have to be inaugurated before she and Robin can bone down?” Eddie perks up. “Shit, is there a ceremony? We could totally do a ceremony.” He bets he can get the kids to liberate some velour curtains from the drama club. With a few candles, they could get some serious atmosphere going.

“No, shut up, nobody’s doing a damn ceremony,” Steve groans. “Vickie’s fine.” 

“Okay,” says Eddie. “So…you gonna tell me what all that was about, then? Do I have to start running guys past you first so your vamp instincts don’t wig out? Or…hm, maybe Argyle’d be down to mess around sometime.”

Steve lets out an actual snarl with weird animal echoes, then claps a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, muffled. The shadows around them seem darker somehow. 

“So I’m just not allowed to get laid ever again,” says Eddie slowly. “For vampire reasons.”

“Do whatever you want, man.” Steve’s still got his hand pressed tight over his mouth. 

“And it’s…just me?” Eddie peers at the tightness around Steve’s eyes; the way he’s scowling stubbornly at his feet. “Huh. Kind of…possessive, Harrington.”

“It’s—weird,” says Steve miserably, dropping his hand at last. “I know it’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, biting down on the grin he can feel tugging at his mouth. “Lucky for you, I’m into that shit.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “You’re…”

“Always wanted a vampire boyfriend,” says Eddie. “Like, are you kidding? I would’ve sold my fucking soul at 15 for something like that.”

“I’m starting to feel a little objectified here,” says Steve, but he’s smiling, and he reaches out to snag Eddie’s belt loop and tug him stumbling closer. “Just in it for the fangs, huh?”

“Well, you’re kind of a shitty vampire, actually.” Eddie drapes his arms over Steve’s shoulders. “So I guess I must just be in it for you.”

Steve hesitates, searching Eddie’s face. Stray red lights are still sparking like embers in Steve’s irises. “Okay, but—you’re in it? Right?”

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Bunnicula. I’ll send the vampire police after you, just watch me,” says Eddie, and kisses him.

[comradekatara]

ty lee is by far the most underrated atla character imo. as far as minor principal players, it’s easy to disregard her as the least fleshed out fire nation kid, the most underdeveloped. her role as a foil to any of the main characters is vague, and many people just assume she’s there to bring some sort of levity and humor to azula’s plotline. she’s dismissed as the pretty ditzy girl, or even (shudders) “the bimbo.” but when you actually make the effort to consider what we do see of her, to extrapolate from her few yet crucial scenes anything regarding her underlying motivations, you quickly realize that one of the most layered, multifaceted, compelling, intriguing, ambiguous, and perhaps even straight up insane characters in the entire show has been hiding in plain sight all along. and also that that’s the entire point.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[sweetsweatergirl]

November 14th, 2124

I have lived for 125 years on this earth, with my 126th birthday coming up on December 29th. To think I would live this long is beyond me, but there is only so much I can understand when living her on Earth. It’s also crazy to have seen the differences that have happened in my lifetime. I know that I have been asked by my great grand daughter to write about my experience in the world and how much it has changed, but that is far too much to go into detail about. I guess the bigger events are in the history books, but I guess the most important thing is to talk about the events that truly changed the way that I live day to day.

The biggest change I remember having experienced in my life was the biggest discussion that ever occurred in history. It was the idea about removing currency from the entire world. We have been so far engrained to work for currency, it was mind boggling, but it made sense. If we got ride of currency, the world would be better for it. It would be best to explain in more simpler terms what was covered. With how we run as a society, everyone wanted to earn currency since we needed currency to live in our everyday life. Everything cost something. We were making good progress as a society, but because of currency, there was greed. We couldn’t get past wanting to be greedy, or in the case of wanting to hoard the money so you could live and essentially do whatever you wanted with your wealth.

Now to the business side. You had to pay money for these goods or services that people would make or provide. We could invent something new, but we wanted to be compensated for it. We were progressing very fast, but we were kept from having the best quality of life because these businesses wanted us to come back with our money. They purposefully made faulty equipment that could have lasted for over hundreds of years, but they wouldn’t get any more of our money. They wanted more money year after year.

Because our progress as a society was hindered by currency, they discussed having it removed entirely, but it was a system ingrained in us for eons. We struggled to grasp it. What would we get for our services that we provided then? We had robots to be made to cover every service and position possible for our comfort. Okay, but what about all the robots invented? You were well known for what you were made. Each inventor would have their name on the patent, and they would be known as the core inventor, or inventors, whoever contributed. No currency needed. We did not put value to anything anymore. Everyone had access to everything that was offered. Society was turning around in a way that no one expected.

Now to the more interesting details. Currency was banned. It was considered to no longer have a value. It was an extremely big shock for the whole world to turn around and get ride of currency, but they made sure to cover all the details about removing currency, and suddenly, the world was free. We automated every position in the world as much as possible, but humans always took part in what they love. They kept up the hobbies, such as doctors working with robots to help diagnose patients during screenings to make sure that symptoms that cannot be seen were being included. Mechanics continued to exist and work on cars along side robots for the fun of it and to make sure that everything ran smoothly, even when a robot may miss a diagnosis on a car. Robots are fallible, like human, although working together brought about an easier balance.

Humanity started to bloom. We were not overworked; we were not burned out. We all went to school to learn about whatever we wanted because we were interested in it, and we wanted to provide for humanity, which involved STEM, and continuing the creations for the betterment of society and for ourselves. We also bloomed so much in the arts, creating so many masterpieces in a time that we needed it most. And life seemed so much better. I, myself, got to crochet and read book a lot. I also enjoyed traveling with my love and learning about the world’s history, right in their locations. The yarn I got was made straight from the robot, and all the books came straight from the library, which was fully automated by robots. All I needed to do was request a book in any format I wanted, and I got it as soon as it was available and ready, right to my home. This also worked with movies too. Traveling was great. Robots took care of all the processes of getting the luggage onto the plane, getting the plane prepped, and loading the plane. All hotels were made the same too.

As for housing, we all got uniformed housing for everyone that involved a house plan that worked with family members. It was built to always stack and add on rooms to what everyone calls the “infinite hallway.” When you needed more rooms, the end of the hall would open up and add two more rooms to either side, creating more space for those who needed it. The best part of the process was moving out, all you needed was the location of your home, and it would take your room and connect it there. All amenities were included, which was a robot for cleaning everything in the home, from your space to the dishes and laundry. They also included robots for cooking, as well as robots for prepping the bathroom for your needs, whether it was showering, bathing, both, there was no stopping these robots meeting your needs.

Looking back, there was so much backlash, especially from those who owned most of the currency in the world. They were going to lose the life that they had, but it was to create a better world for tomorrow. One where they didn’t have to worry about their heir’s running the family’s money and lifestyle into the ground. When the process started, they were allowed to keep their home and continue their lifestyle, all they had to do was switch out the staff for robots. It wasn’t anything that they couldn’t handle. Plus, society worked from the bottom up. Everyone worked together to get our universal homes made for the homeless and get them set up with food, clothing, and shelter. It was one of the greatest testaments to humanity during those years, eventually having everyone agree to the change.

Looking back, I think about the years I stressed out, trying to get through life, worrying about living and the cost. I was always so worried about everything in life. And yet, persisting in life, we eventually made a change where we as a society can enjoy traveling and seeing the world and living life with one another, and not dealing with the difficult parts of life that we had created over time. I hope that we can continue to progress as a world and make everyone feel happy and safe and enjoy life. And with all this free time, anyone can create anything. And I hope that I can rest knowing that my planet and life were filled with happiness and the ones I love, rather than trying to fulfill an empty promise that we created so long ago. And now, I can finally rest, having written out what I felt was a fulfilling message to my great granddaughter. May you learn everything your heart desires, and may this paradise make you feel fulfilled eternally.

Love,

Great Grandmama

[artbribery]

Danny is summoned but tells each different summoner that he is a different being. 

He just gets fed up with it and says:

“No, I'm actually the fairy godmother and you don’t qualify as cinderella, unless you’re a young girl who wants to go to the ball, are you?” 

“Sorry, I’m a genie and I just lost my lamp, very sorry, didn’t rub the bottle, no wishes for you.”

“For the last time, I am not the ghost king, the lines on the summoning circle are all wrong, see, that right there means I am not of the ghostly category, I’m actually- yeah you got shit calligraphy Chad, will you let me finish I’ve been planning this one for a while--”

“So yeah I’m the easter bunny, what, you think the easter bunny has to be a bunny just because of the name? Not everyone gets an obvious name”

“I’m Batman” 

This last one probably backfires one day when he gets summoned into a cultist’s basement in front of the tied up Literal Batman and he goes double dare on the death by embarrassment by saying that one is a fake and how dare they, for shame, this poor cosplayer--

Bonus: 

He was summoned into the Watchtower by the JL. Danny is wearing a spacesuit costume and goes “Uh.. Houston, we have a problem.” 

[arthursfuckinghat]

So, I was nosing around the gang's tents and I thought that it was honestly so sweet that so many of them have photographs of themselves or of family right?

Little baby Charles with his parents, a young Susan, young Hosea and Bessie, but then I found something interesting in that pile of junk down the cliff just behind Arthur's tent-

Dutch actually writes notes for his famous camp speeches.

And if you've seen the speech that these notes are referring to, Dutch seemed to simplify it a lot when he recited it, almost dumbing it down for the gang entirely?

Writing notes for an important speech isn't the strange part, but the fact he dumbs them down and that these notes are hidden/thrown away out of sight is really strange to me. It makes me think that this is possibly a rough draft or early version of what he wanted the speech to be, sort of implying that Dutch practices and revises his speeches.

Which, if he ultimately dumbs them down for the gang, then what is the point?

The likely answer is that he holds himself to a higher standard because he feels he's above the gang members, in a way. He's the visionary, the leader, the man in charge, the one who reads philosophy books almost exclusively, to say that Dutch didn't think highly of himself would be a lie. And because the gang is 'below' him, he simplifies his speeches for them - despite majority of the gang being well educated and understanding. He doesn't think that the gang is as intellectual as him.

I made a post previously talking about Dutch and his Evelyn Miller philosophies and how he argues with gang members that don't agree or understand. It's especially interesting how Lenny, also an avid reader, disagrees so strongly with Miller's writings when that's what most of Dutch's philosophies are based on.

It solidifies that Dutch was manipulative from the beginning, and probably long before too.

[mando-din-lorian]

✨ Manifesting Bobadin for the finale ✨