#Carpentry work will be no different here

[pedgito]

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Teacher’s Pet

Chapter Summary: First day woes and a difficult semester ahead, you find solace in your caring, attentive creative writing professor who shows you just a little more attention than everyone else, or so you think. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), mentions of infidelity (not by joel), sarah doesn't exist here, background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, talks of literature and lots of random writing topics, dream smut, gratuitous descriptions of mr. miller's body and personality.

note: thanks to @planet-marz1 for the last minute beta.

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There’s a deafening silence that surrounds you when you step into the lecture room, not nearly as big as your other main course classes, it’s intimate. Close. If you kicked a foot out from the chair you were sitting in you could touch the professor’s desk. 

Part of you wonders if you were the only person taking this class, sitting for a few minutes alone, not another person in sight—until one files in, then another, until there’s about ten of you seated sparsely in the small space. It’s mostly bare aside from the few books shoved away on a nearby shelf, antiquey books that, no doubt, had a thick layer of dust. 

The problem with the class was that you weren’t sure if it was ever going to be a real thing—applying you had the expectation of who your teacher would be, what you could expect from the coursework, and just how manageable it would be amongst the rest of your classes. But, there was little known now. 

All you did know was that they had to find a replacement quick, which they did, and you were sure that a sign of their lacking punctuality was a great start, tucking your chin over the bag placed on your desk as you waited in silence amongst simmered voices, feeling starchly out of place.

You didn’t know this place—it was new, Austin. You moved clear across the country on a whim, wanting a new start in a place you’ve never seen before. You’d plucked a community college out of the bunch, not worried with the semantics of applying to some big, ivy league school. You wanted something manageable, something attainable. This seemed like the easiest option, unsuspecting and unknown, you could slink by and go about your life peacefully. 

That is what you wanted, after all.

Until you meet Mr. Miller.

Joel could’ve pursued music, or carpentry, or about a billion other things he was skilled at—yet somehow, teaching seemed to be the easiest option. It gave him the familial feeling of caring and guiding that he did enjoy, molding young minds and helping them bloom. He worked at a local high school in Austin for years—fifteen good, long years. 

But, he too needed a change. His life was slowly crumbling in on himself.

He sees the job opening on the last weekend of summer, still teetering with the option of returning to his teaching job at the high school—it isn’t as manageable as it used to be, finding that in his older age that dealing with the behavior and arguments with ill-managed kids was more of a hassle than it needed to be for the pay he was receiving. 

So, fuck it. He applies.

He gets a call the following Monday and he’s officially added to the staff by the end of the week—and of course, he’s never stepped foot on the campus until his first day. So, he’s lost. Joel realizes how unprofessional it looks, scrambling with his bag as he throws it over his shoulder and haphazardly adjusts his tie, hoping that his hair wasn’t too askew and wild, despite the wind flying through his hair in the chilly bite of the autumn weather.

Things couldn’t have been off to a better start.

-

There’s the slightest trickling of a thought that you should leave, give up that this class might be an ultimate failure but then he’s walking through the door. You knew his name, but that was as far as your reach extended. Mr. Miller. J. Miller, to be specific.

James. Justin. Jonathan. It was all a mystery to you.

You find that his appearance is less than prepared, mostly disheveled and he seems breathless as he offers a subtle nod of awkward acknowledgement as he slings his bag onto the desk. Thankfully, he seems to understand that there was a tinge of urgency with him being late and he quickly reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of papers.

Class syllabuses. He hands them off silently to the person on the farthest side of the room and hoping they would get the idea, pass them off until they reach the final person. It’s crisp, stark white paper covered in a boring black-inked text. Nothing seemed out of the norm—different methods of writing you would try over the course of the semester and specific assignments that would pop-up throughout. You enjoyed the predictability of it. Though, there is a significant surprise when your professor begins to speak, pulling your attention to the front of the room.

He’s gathered himself rather quickly, assuming he’s had his fair share of time in the field.

He writes his name out in clear, dignified letters on the board.

Mr. Miller, the screech of a solid drag as he underlines his name.

“I know I’m not who you all were suspecting.” He begins, placing the chalk down, hand wrapping around a balled fist as he cracked his knuckles, walking slowly until he can lean against the edge of his desk, soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“And I’ll admit, I’m new to this,” He waves vaguely around the room, “I’m used to public school and the shittiness that comes with that—so I hope that if I can take this seriously, you all can extend that gesture too.”

You notice how comfortable he seems in group settings, relaxing his broad shoulders as he crosses his arm, glancing around the room casually, never lingering for too long.

“I won’t pester you too much today, given I already wasted some of your time,” Someone snickers softly toward the back of the room and Mr. Miller cracks a subtle smirk, seemingly embarrassed but not offering anything to pick at. “But, I’m willing to answer any questions you have while we have the time today.”

Questions flow in easily: what the semester would consist of, more elaboration outside of the syllabus, some of Mr. Miller’s favorite pieces of literature—part of you expects him to inject the usual ‘around the room introduction’ scheme, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into the more engaging questions asked, answering as freely and as interested as he can.

He loves Robert Frost, which makes sense. You’re not sure why, but it is predictable. 

He is predictable. Sipping on a large mug of what you can only assume is coffee, the smell permeating toward you with where he’s resting against his desk, only a foot or so away. You haven’t managed to catch his gaze yet, which you’re partly thankful for. It allows you to study him, examine his expressions—admire…No.

And while he can continue his talk about favorite authors for days—the class draws to a close sooner than you expect, and you move lazily as most of the class disperses at the first opportunity with it being their final class of the day.

You’re throwing your bag over your shoulder when you hear his voice, addressing the only other person in the room.

You.

“Intimidating?” Your face screws up in confusion, head tilting his way as your eyes connect for the first time. “Oh, uh—sorry, I’ve just been doin’ this a while. I can tell when someone is anxious in class.”

And, while it wasn’t necessarily anxiety—it was more the idea of adjusting. This was new, this place wasn’t familiar and you were just trying to settle in. Mr. Miller seemed like the guy to have deep roots planted into these grounds, familiar with this town like he’s been here his entire life.

He has, but that wasn’t the point.

“No,” You answer indifferently, shrugging your shoulders, “I think your radar might be a little off.”

Joel chuckles softly, tapping his fingers against the leather cover of his bag as he leaned the tops of his thighs against the edge of his desk, “You know—you didn’t partake much in class discussion just now.”

You weren’t sure where he was driving his point, gradually stepping toward his desk, fingers wrapped around the straps of your bag, pulling against the tight material of your shirt as it stretched over your breasts, “And you were about—fifteen minutes late, too.”

Touche. He nods, lips pursed together.

“Just, fair warning—class discussion is a good chunk of your grade, participation and all that. I want you to feel comfortable enough to join in so…however I can help with that.”

Your eyebrows knit together, thoroughly thrown off by his forwardness—or well, so you assumed. He quickly realizes his misstep.

“No—not like…I mean, if there’s anything that you like or are interested in that you want covered over the semester, let me know. I don’t want it to be so focused on stuff that only appeases a few people. Alright?”

You think on his words, chewing at your bottom lip quietly. 

He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s standing on the edge, waiting impatiently for your response—but when you do, it feels like he can breathe. Joel didn’t want to fuck this job up and he already felt like he’s stepped off on the wrong foot.

“Alright.” You confirm simply, nodding politely. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He nods in response, the smallest twitch of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Have a good day.” He bids kindly, waving at you haphazardly as you left.

And now the day felt even weirder than when it started.

-

The first few weeks of class are actually…a delight. You find yourself looking forward to them as the weeks grow on and drag out, slowly making your way through the day and finding that Mr. Miller’s was the only class you could successfully relax in, not so pressure to participate because it was as equally engaging on both ends.

Mr. Miller liked to talk and argue just as animatedly as most students who had a point to prove—and you see why he must’ve been hired on a whim, the ability to charm and wit himself in and out of any scenario he wanted. It was…mesmerizing in a way that intoxicated you and infected your body and mind. He had you locked in every time he opened his mouth, finding your eyes dragging along the planes of his face and his well-kept appearance now that he arrived on time, sharp. Never early, never late. 

He was as punctual as they come, slowly littering his classroom with more and more personalization. More literature books, smaller books of poems, packets of some of his favorite script writings and a few non-fiction pieces he thought to be intriguing. 

But, the most interesting thing you notice is the small tan line around his ring finger. The advantage of the small classroom allowed for such details to be revealed, alongside knowing when he had taken a certain morning to do a fresh shave of his facial hair or spill a small spattering of coffee against his shirt, dull brown staining the white, crisp button-up he usually dawned alongside the occasional navy blue or black.

So, he was married—you assumed. He just didn’t wear his ring.

The more you indulged in him, the more complex he seemed. The ever mysterious J-something Miller, finding that no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t seem to find any information on him or an inkling of what his first name might be.

He must be a private person—no socials, no good deeds leading to news articles about him, or anything of tangible evidence to allow such information to seep out to the public. He was good at hiding, integrating himself in places he might not belong. He was a natural chameleon, much like yourself.

And you’d like to think you were good at writing considering you were attempting to pursue a career in it, mostly focusing on the aspect of screenwriting and film, not entirely sure what you were after but knowing that was where you wanted to go. You were great at convoluting things and empowering your far too creative imagination—often dangerous. You were never lacking in ideas, but your first assignment is a struggle.

It was something pertaining to non-fiction, a boring topic that Mr. Miller wanted to be intrigued by—he wanted something so mundane to be eye-catching and page-turning. Hanging on the edge of his seat, as he’d said so menacingly.

So, here you were, writing about the monogamous lives of certain breeds of penguins and they’re mates—whatever the fuck that was all about. It’s like he picked obscure topics for this very reason, the difficulty and the need for assistance. He wanted to help and you learned that quickly.

You could’ve been stuck with global warming, so it wasn’t all that bad. 

Mr. Miller is leaning against an empty desk as he’s talking to a student a few desks away—yeah, the unlucky one who snagged the global warming topic. His expression is sour, tapping his pencil against the desk rapidly as Mr. Miller talks quietly, nothing that you can make out. He travels around the room gradually, eventually landing on you with a raised eyebrow, seeing that you had some, if not very little outlined.

He looks amused, knowing how you were pulling an absolute fat nothing over this topic. You could sit there and lay out the facts, but that’s not what he wanted. He wanted it to be explained in a way that held you close and dragged you along. It all came down to wording, at the end of the day, and as much as you wanted to prove you were a decent writer, you still had a lot to learn.

“This is so stupid,” You gripe, looking up at him briefly before you continue to stare daggers into the notebook you were scribbling in, “—pardon my language, but what the fuck is this topic?”

Mr. Miller chuckles deeply at that, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll let that slide but try not to make it a habit,” He comments, acknowledging your foul language and understanding the frustration, “—it’s meant to challenge you. The obscurity of it. It’s not complicated, but you don’t want to just write a research paper.”

“Isn’t that…exactly how non-fiction works?” You ask curiously.

“You’ve read biographies, right? Auto-biograhpies and all that?” 

You nod quietly.

“And I’m sure some of that caught your intention, right?” He asks and you respond with another nod, though meeker than before. “Non-fiction work is just as important as story-telling. Do some more research, explain why monogamy is sacred to them, explain their mating patterns, the behaviors—are you following?”

“Yeah—because some penguins mate for life, right?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking him such an obscure question. “At least, I thought they did.”

“Most do.” Mr. Miller nods, “If you find yourself learning enough about the topic and actually finding some interest it won’t come out so…bland. Just look into it and write something you’d find intriguing to read, don’t stress over it that much. It’s just one assignment.”

It eases your worries slightly, but still, the frustration stuck.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Thank you.”

Mr. Miller offers a soft pat to your forearm as he nods silently in acknowledgment.

You were determined to make that assignment your bitch. Plain and simple.

-

Class discussion days are much easier. You switch between a certain selection of poems to snippets of scripts that Mr. Miller has pulled apart for the class to dissect and mince the words, learning how to write screenplays in a way that was both descriptive but directive and still managed to somehow keep the flow. Poems always seemed a little silly, but it was nice to debate the meanings and nuances of it all, always finding that you preferred to sit back and hear the thoughts of others until Mr. Miller decides he’s had enough one day—two months into the semester when he finally calls on you directly.

It was something he didn’t do often, but you find yourself going wide-eyed. He was always so polite to you, even when he’d catch you staring or lingering on his form for a moment too long, like he knew what you were thinking.

He was tall and—as was glaringly obvious, broad. His shoulders were immense and large as he extended his hands out and talked animatedly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks stretching over taut, tight muscle as he planted a foot in a nearby chair or stretched his stance out slightly as he stood—often finding it hard to stay still the longer class drew on.

You pull your attention to him, an innocent gaze glazing over your features.

“Why don’t you read the next poem?” He asks curiously.

“Oh—um,” Your eyes flick toward the poem book held tight in your grip, flitting to find the the place where the class last left off, so distracted you find yourself scrambling, but Mr. Miller is quick to lean over without much show or way of embarrassing you, pointing out the spot where the class last left of, blunt nail scratching against the paper as you follow the trail of his finger, you clear your throat and start:

“How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.”

The point was to interpret the words and form an explanation for why they were used, what they were trying to explain, but you lose any sense of thought when your eyes drag up to meet Mr. Miller and he’s staring right back, allowing you all the attention in the world.

Like no one else in the room existed. It was all a delusion in your own head, something you weren’t privy to then, but you believed whole-heartedly in the moment. He was just allowing you the floor and sharing you the same attention he had with everyone else. 

At least, that’s what he tried to do.

Mr. Miller clears his throat to subtly bring you back down to earth when he notices your mind fleeing from your body, asking an easy, “So, what do we think about this one?”

No one answered, staunchly disinterested as they stared at you, waiting for a response as you were the only one who had avoided participating all day.

“Uh, it—it sounds like the love isn’t being returned,” You start slow, dissecting the words in your brain as Mr. Miller nods, “but that person is willing to show up and offer more to make up for it, maybe even to their own…undoing, I guess.”

“There’s really no right or wrong,” He addresses the class as a whole but pointedly acknowledges your observation, “and that’s the best thing—you’re allowed to think as individuals and come up with your own conclusions. Good job.”

The final part is directed at you. It makes you feel warm, gooey—like you were being given a star for good behavior or gentle praise under the guise of friendly language.

You despise how hard it is to stay focused some days with how often Mr. Miller likes to pick on you and point you out—but he sees potential there. Real potential. Not to say that it isn’t within the rest of the class, he just sees…more. And it intrigues him in a way that feels dangerous, but he wants to ensure that you are given the proper support needed, even if that means a little extra attention.

It was harmless, after all.

-

Your first big assignment comes three months into the semester.

It’s a simple writing assignment but tactful and heavy, given a week to complete it before you were due to turn it in for a final grade. A collection of self-written poems, the outline for a possible script idea for a scene, and a small creative writing assignment that must include some kind of supernatural element. You appreciate the Mr. Miller never allowed things to lay stagnant with his work, always giving you something to think about.

And everyone loved him, that much was blatantly obvious. He was, easily, one of the hottest professors at the college for someone his age—you could only assume he was somewhere in his late 40s. But, there remained the unknown of if he was married, something people debated often, but you examined in the privacy of your own mind.

There was no indication of another—no pictures lingering on his desk as his classroom continued to collect belongings, no screensaver on his phone or laptop (because yes, you were observant) that gave you any idea of what his partner looked like. And he never mentioned anything outside of his own interest in literature. The curiosity with no discovery was only slightly disappointing, because despite that, Mr. Miller showed his attention toward you like you were the only person in the room.

And maybe it was like that for everyone, but it felt special to you. There was always a little extra to give to you that he didn’t offer to everyone else.

You turn in your assignment a few minutes before it is due, well into the late hours of the night.

-

Mr. Miller, unbeknownst to you, smiles when he sees the notification on his computer as he sits in his office at home, scrolling down the deep troves of porn in the darkened space, quickly clicking away to another browser as he hears the door creak, his wife poking her head through the crack with a smile.

“Hey, it’s late—you comin’ to bed soon?” Tess asks, eyes ringed with a deep exhaustion.

Joel nods, scratching at the side of his face, blinking tiredly. 

“Yeah. In a bit,” He excuses, “Just tryin’ to catch up on these assignments and then I’ll be done.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Things had been rough since the affair—finding that Tess had been sleeping with her boss at her law firm for a few months, something she swore meant nothing, despite how long it dragged on in secret. Joel forgave her, mostly. They were managing, attempting the idea of marriage counseling, but he still couldn’t bring himself to put his wedding band back on, despite how proudly she wore hers still.

He had his own reservations on the matter and while he was trying to work things out, he wasn’t sure they could ever resume the same rhythm they had before, thinking that this was something he had for life, slowly crumbling and falling between his fingertips.

This was why he needed a change of pace, something different.

And maybe he was stupid for entertaining the obvious affection you showed toward him—he definitely was, but he does it anyways. It was playful, so meaningless and harmless that he didn’t even think twice about it. He could see you craved the attention and while he couldn’t be bothered to save that energy for Tess anymore, he could try to offer it to you.

Because you—you had so much potential. It was refreshing, seeing so much of his younger self in you, drive and dedication. The willingness to question stuff without fear.

He clicks on the email notification with your assignment, opening in a separate browser as he rises to lock his office door quietly, before returning to his other browser as he sat and unbuckled the thick leather belt around his waistband, a dignified zip that echoes throughout the confines of the office, reverberates and reminds him of his own loneliness.

And he shouldn’t picture your face as he finds himself aching and fucking deseprate into his fist, soft gunts muffled behind clenched teeth. But, he does. And he loves it.

He’s so fucked.

-

The comments on your assignment come a few days later, curled up in your bed in the small apartment you rented out, scrolling desperately to find out any further information on Mr. Miller but coming up with absolutely nothing. What a fucking ghost he was.

You’re curious, though—so you quickly switch to your emails to check his response and what your grade ended up being after how hard you worked to make sure it turned out perfect. Better than perfect actually. You hoped that with his obvious relationship woes he would appreciate the angst and underlying meanings in your poems, a bunch of bullshit you couldn’t relate to but hoped, on a whim, that he might.

‘Way to press on the idea of heartbreak, well done. Very expressive and real. Thank you for pouring those feelings into your work, though I hope no one has ever broken your heart that bad. Wonderful job.’

And he scores you a 90/100.

Which—whatever. You could accept it. Still, you wondered if those lingering ten points lied with him and his own bitter dealings. You’re fingers are curled around the laptop, ready to close when you get another notification blaring through your speakers.

You lift the laptop to stare at the screen, seeing an email come in from an unknown sender—though, the name grabs your attention immediately. First name, last name, followed by a series of number you can only assume is a birth year—not the school email Mr. Miller had previously sent you a response from.

You perk up, legs crossing over each other as you take a peek at the contents of the glaring email, seeing that it had links to a few books, followed by:

‘I hope you don’t mind my emailing you like this. But, I have a few pieces I think you may enjoy and would help with some of what you’re trying to convey in your writing. You have a beautiful way of expressing feeling and you should harness that. Let me know what you think. :)’

In hindsight, Joel should’ve never sent it. But, there was an urge there he couldn’t fight.

Maybe it was out of spite for his life and his wife betraying him, his urge to try and do some real good for someone, seeing that potential in you no matter how inappropriate it may be to go around school ruling and message you from his private email.

But, now you had a sliver of information. A peek into who Mr. Miller—Joel Miller, was.

It sends you down a spiral, searching and scouring for any information available online.

You find out that he’s 48…or 49, not entirely sure of his actual birthday. Only going off the year designated in his email. And that he’s a published author, but nothing of significance. He used to be a high school teacher and he was…or is, married. It’s all vague and unassuming, but it has your mind stirring. Wondering what was so interesting about him, what part of him had crawled into your mind and refused to get out.

And him messaging you on a private email—complimenting you with unnecessary eagerness, even when it wasn’t needed. You can’t be this delusional. There’s something there, even if neither of you have spoken on it explicitly.  

The faint touches and smiles traded, the hard-gazed looks and glances over his shoulder as he does a sweep of the room, always spending just a smidgen of extra time over your desk when you ask for help. 

It makes you feel special. And that’s exactly what you need.

-

You fall asleep that night with a wild idea in your head, wondering just how brave you could be in this situation. It burrows into your mind and seeps into your dreams:

You’re pressed against the edge of a desk in a dark office, the solid wood pressed flat against your cunt as you lean forward and capture the lips of the person in front of you, a shaky breath coming from their mouth.

“Want that pretty mouth ‘round my cock.” He says—your heart skips, nearly stops. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised to hear Joel’s voice, but it clears your mind and his hazy face finally comes into view in all of it’s intricate detail, right down to the soft crinkle of skin around his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls away to look at you, lips puffed from the kissing and seeming so innocent as he spoke in such a depraved manner.

Delicate fingers drag along the shape of your lips, stopping at your cupid’s bow before he’s pressing two fingers inside, grabbing the hand relaxed at your side and pressing it over the front of his slacks, the hard line of his cock pressing against the zipper.

There’s no other word to offer than intimidating, his size morphing any idea that you might’ve had–which, you did. His slacks are well-tailored, form fitting, and if he stretched just the right way in class you could see the head or outline of his cock press against the fabric for a split second….and you observed. A lot.

“Wanna stuff your mouth, huh?” He asks, eyes rolling back as his fingers press down on your tongue, quickly pulling out as he grips your face, spit spreading across your cheek, gasping at the suddenness of his movement. “Think it’ll fit?”

He sounds so condescending, eyeline over you but downcast on your figure from where your perched against his desk, idle hand exploring the soft, plush skin of your thighs as he drags his fingers along the full expanse of your cunt and it sets your whole body on fire, like you’re feeling everything dialed to an impossible level, every nerve in your body coming to life.

You shake your head meekly, gasping when he yanks you forward suddenly.

“Guess we’ll have to train that filthy mouth then, won’t we?” His eyebrow quirks up salaciously, earning a less than subtle grin as he presses his fingers into the wet spot of your underwear, not breaking the barrier but allowing you to feel the pressure.

And just as you feel yourself grabbing onto something tangible, hands gripped in the lapel of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, you’re startling awake with a gasp.

You could feel your imagination mixing with reality, falling lazily back against your bed as your chest heaved hurried breaths, palms pressed over your chest in an effort to calm down, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was hot, too hot to feel comfortable anymore.

Your lip pulls between your teeth, chewing thoughtfully at a bad idea.

You reach blindly for your laptop laid out near the end of your bed, opening the device with a swiftness, squinting at the blinding screen that burned at this time of night.

Nearly two in the morning—this was pointless.

But, you hit reply on his email anyways and slowly type out a response.

‘Thank you for noticing, Mr. Miller. It’s greatly appreciated and I will definitely look into those sources and give you a full, detailed review. :) I appreciate you thinking of me as someone so esteemed. I would love to talk more about literature, if that feels appropriate.’

The lines were already blurred. He’d blurred them. You were just smudging them a little more.

You never said that starting fresh meant you had to stay on your best behavior. Because really, there was nothing innocent about what game was developing between you both.

It was a game of chess and you felt a million moves ahead, nearing a checkmate—and you would do anything to have Joel Miller in the way you craved. Anything.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedrostories #professor!joel miller #miller's girl #my writing

[nibbelraz]

SQH + An Ding Idea

-An Ding runs similar to a sort of college campus, everyone writes about An Ding basically doing everything for the whole peak.

(Architecture, Accounting, Business, Operations, Textiles, etc. etc.)

There's no way every disciple can learn all of the things An Ding does, and be able to perform them to a high quality.

So, perhaps SQH is the one who starts it because he realizes how kind of fucked the An Ding mechanics are. (Or system helped out, or possibly SQH god powers because that little guy is real busy and instituting all of these plans would take a whole long time)

But An Ding ends up running like some sort of campus, with a bunch of disciples specializing in different areas. Younger disciples take all of the essential classes, and then pick one or multiple areas of study/specialization. And they get real good at them, because specialization and not covering a million jobs at once means quality goes up. And I think SQH would just take in kids at the masses, just gathering up pretty much any kid with no place to go even if they have no real cultivation potential. Because running An Ding means they need a large number of disciples. He has a recruiting system or something, so there's a little girl in the street who fashioned her rags into a slightly cuter skirt. And an An Ding person is like 'hey, you like fashion? Textiles? You can do that for as long as you want if you join An Ding.' room, board, safety all for people who enjoy these sorts of trades to be able to specialize them and produce all the things the sects need. Street kids who are good with numbers or good with carpentry get taken into An Ding, no cultivation potential needed just kids who have passions but no way to enjoy them in their current situations.

This would also mean so much less outsourcing for the peak, much easier to work in house if it can be set up correctly.

Do the An Ding kids still get pushed around and shit on by other peaks, yeah for sure none of those peaks ever appreciate all the work An Ding does. But these kids are fine anyways because as soon as they get back on An Ding their solid, their doing what they enjoy and what they're good at. Who cares if some buff bai zhan kid teases them for being An Ding, they get to go to woodshop after this and the hall master is teaching embellishments and decor carving!

(one of the req. Classes would be a year long 'how to deal with Bai Zhan' training)

OH MAN OHHHH MAN I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH??? OHHHHH THIS IS GOOD YES YES A THOUSAND PERCENT

Qinghua running the peak that has each category to specialize in is great. They handle literally everything for course they need more man power and of COURSE THEY NEED PEOPLE TO LEARN SOME THINGS THAT ARE VERY SPECIFIC INSTEAD OF A THOUSAND THINGS AT ONCE ohhh OH I love the does that he takes in just anyone

I wonder if he takes in whoever doesn't make it from the other peaks. "Trust me you don't want to be at Bai Zhan peak. You actually get to do what you like here" also I feel like there has to be a group that does the heavy lifting from all the stuff they get so there IS a group that are ready to fight anyone who picks on the other An Ding kids

This means An Ding must have the most disciples of course its HUGE, imagine if he doesn't tell the other peak lords

He's just like "fuck it what are they going to do? Tell me I can't when efficiency has SKYROCKETED AFTER MY SYSTEM!"

Yes YES i would read a fic with this premise so FAST I absolutely love this idea

Wonder what the whole "campus" of kids think when Mobei Jun starts popping in randomly

#svsss #shang qinghua #sorry responses to asks are slow ive had a LOT happen #bUT GODDD I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH IM SHAKING WITH HOW GOOD IT IS #CAMPUS AN DING EVERYONES HAPPY AND HES HELPING ALL THE KIDS THAT DIDNT HAVE A CHANCE GODDD #perfect #anon im obsessed with this #going to be in bed thinking about all the possibilities #nib text #ask

[charminglyantiquated]

So, I’m seriously looking into getting into tall ship sailing (waiting on follow-up from an interview rn) and I’m wondering for getting into it more long-term -

what do people do after sailing tall ships? Like, it’s a pretty physical job, and I’d assume there’s a point where your joints just can’t keep up with it.

Are there other jobs in the industry that people move to? I’m not really keen on the idea of moving up in the ship’s hierarchy- admin and being someone’s boss both aren’t really my thing. Do people retrain in completely different careers? Go back to whatever they were doing before they started sailing?

Anyway, I know your sample size might not be super large so I’d appreciate anything. Thanks a bunch!

This is hard to answer directly - on the one hand sailing tall ships is such a niche industry that there are limited pathways for straightforward advancement. But on the other hand, it overlaps with such a large number of other industries, and requires such a jack of all trades skillset - tourism, carpentry, history and preservation, hospitality, marine electronics, etc. etc. etc. - that there's a lot of ways forward for what I guess I'd call lateral advancement: moving to another job which uses most of the same skills. So there's no one answer, but if it helps, here's some things my tall ship deckhand friends have ended up doing, after no longer deckhanding tallships:

Get a captain's license and keep sailing. Captains often have it a bit easier physically (balanced out by the mental stress lol), and are paid better. Owning your own boat is optional; plenty of companies hire captains by the season to sail the boat, while the management of the company is dealt with by the actual owners. (This is what I did! I don't have the sail-hauling arms I did as a deckhand, but my knees and bank account are both in better shape).

Bosun, first mate, engineer, some other specialized non-captain crew member, usually involves licensing or other education that's useful down the road if you switch to an adjacent career

Racing yachts

Captain for hire on private vessels

Outward bound guide, other wilderness education programs

Harbor cruises, lobster tour guides, and other motor-powered tourist boats, both as captain and as crew - you have the patter and the safety skills but you don't want to deal with the hassle of sails

Water taxis, ferries and other passenger vessels

Lobstering, fishing, aquaculture, tugboats, other non-tourist waterfront industries

Marine surveyor, marine electrician, other specialized technician

Working in a shipyard - good fit for all the fit-out skills of sanding, painting, varnishing, covering and uncovering the boat

Cruise ship hostess

Train conductor (the passion for the early 1900s carried over well)

Working at a a museum focused on local maritime history

Tour guide for local buses, walking tours, etc

Boatbuilder (IYRS, Wooden Boat School)

Teaching the captain's license courses (nota bene: there were obviously some other steps between deckhand and teacher, notably ten years of being a captain in between. But this is what they settled into when they decided sailing was too physically taxing, so I want to include it).

Carpentry, house painting

Designing and selling custom made van-homes (apart from the technical skills, living on board a ship helps familiarize making use of every square inch of space)

Sailmaker

Of course there's other friends who went on to try something completely new and unrelated - I think because so many of the people who start sailing tall ships are here for something completely new in the first place, that's not an intimidating prospect so much as an exciting one. But many of them did make use of tall ship skills even when moving on from tall ships, so I hope the above list is helpful in giving a broad sense of what can follow!

#schooner bum life #i am probably forgetting some tbh #for fun. some unrelated post-sailing jobs: #artist #dog mushing in alaska #cheese making #sword maker #chocolatier #orchestra conductor #model #looking at that i think there's probably also something to be said for the confidence it takes #to pursue something you find interesting #even if it means starting from scratch #the same leap of faith that gets you on a tall ship can take you somewhere else

[haggishlyhagging]

“It is a truism in the literature on working wives that although the husbands of working wives do help with household tasks, all too often wives continue to have responsibility for running the household. They rush home from work, shopping on the way, in order to have dinner on the table by six. They clean and tend to the laundry and do whatever has to be done in the evenings or on weekends. This is not role sharing.

The husband may promise to do his share, and increasingly he does or, at least, agrees to. But he can make his contribution so grudgingly as to force the wife to conclude that she would rather do it herself. Pat Mainardi has shown how such reluctant sharers of the burden manage to renege. She has translated all of their dodges. Eleven are standard:

“I don't mind sharing the housework, but I don't do it very well. We should each do the things we're best at." MEANING: Unfortunately I’m no good at things like washing dishes or cooking. What I do best is a little light carpentry, changing light bulbs, moving furniture (how often do you move furniture?). ALSO MEANING: Historically the lower classes (black men and us) have had hundreds of years experience doing menial jobs. It would be a waste of manpower to train someone else to do them now. ALSO MEANING: I don't like the dull stupid boring jobs, so you should do them.

"I don't mind sharing the work, but you'll have to show me how to do it." MEANING: I ask a lot of questions and you'll have to show me everything every time I do it because I don't remember so good. Also don't try to sit down and read while I'm doing my jobs because I'm going to annoy hell out of you until it's easier to do them yourself.

"We used to be so happy!" (Said whenever it was his turn to do something.) MEANING: I used to be so happy. MEANING: Life without housework is bliss. No quarrel here. Perfect agreement.

“We have different standards, and why should I have to work to your standards? That's unfair." MEANING: If I begin to get bugged by the dirt and crap I will say, "This place sure is a sty" or "How can anyone live like this?" and wait for your reaction. I know that all women have a sore called "Guilt over a messy house" or "Household work is ultimately my responsibility." I know that men have caused that sore—if anyone visits and the place is a sty, they're not going to leave and say, "He sure is a lousy housekeeper." You'll take the rap in any case. I can outwait you. ALSO MEANING: I can provoke innumerable scenes over the housework issue. Eventually doing all the housework yourself will be less painful to you than trying to get me to do half. Or I'll suggest we get a maid. She will do my share of the work. You will do yours. It's woman's work.

"I've got nothing against sharing the housework, but you can't make me do it on your schedule." MEANING: Passive resistance. I'll do it when I damned well please, if at all. If my job is doing dishes, it's easier to do them once a week. If taking out laundry, once a month. If washing the floors, once a year. If you don't like it, do it yourself oftener, and then I won't do it at all.

"I hate it more than you. You don't mind it so much." MEANING: Housework is garbage work. It's the worst crap I've ever done. It's degrading and humiliating for someone of my intelligence to do it. But for someone of your intelligence. . . .

"Housework is too trivial to even talk about." MEANING: It's even more trivial to do. Housework is beneath my status. My purpose in life is to deal with matters of significance. Yours is to deal with matters of insignificance. You should do the housework.

"This problem of housework is not a man-woman problem. In any relationship between two people one is going to have a stronger personality and dominate. MEANING: That stronger personality had better be me.

"In animal societies, wolves, for example, the top animal is usually a male even where he is not chosen for brute strength but on the basis of cunning and intelligence. Isn't that interesting?" MEANING: I have historical, psychological, anthropological, and biological justification for keeping you down. How can you ask the top wolf to be equal?

"Women's Liberation isn't really a political movement." MEANING: The Revolution is coming too close to home. ALSO MEANING: I am only interested in how I am oppressed, not how I oppress others. Therefore the war, the draft, and the university are political. Women's Liberation is not.

"Man's accomplishments have always depended on getting help from other people, mostly women. What great man would have accomplished what he did if he had to do his own housework?" MEANING: Oppression is built into the system and I, as the white American male, receive the benefits of this system. I don't want to give them up.”

Jessie Bernard, The Future of Marriage

#jessie bernard #heterosexuality #housework #weaponized incompetence #male privilege #female oppression #male entitlement #mental load

[askrichterandco]

Ask Richter and Co. is now open for business!

Somewhere, hidden out of sight in a dingy apartment in Tokyo, lurks a creature of the night... What will you ask of him?

You can find Richter's full story here. Character descriptions under the cut!

Richter Belmont

Age: 262

Species: Vampire

Occupation: Pretending not to exist

Hobbies and interests: Woodworking and carpentry, model building/gunpla, cooking, video games, listening to music, watching movies

While Maria and Alucard were successfully able to free Richter from Shaft's influence, his sins- unwitting though they may have been- did not come without a price. Castlevania's dark energy changed Richter, cursing him with an illness few other than the legendary Simon Belmont have ever overcome. Seven days later, Richter was dead; Seven days, several minutes, and a drop of blood later, Richter was undead. 

Though Richter's family pledged to support him despite his newfound monstrosity, he knew his presence would only put them in danger. In order to protect his wife, Annette, and their young children, Richter left home, accompanied by Maria and their new friend Alucard. The three of them took up residence in Berkeley Mansion, an abandoned manor in the woods outside the town of Veros. There, the three were able to carve out a comfortable (if unorthodox) life for themselves.

Alucard and Richter soon became close friends, and stayed together through Maria's death, the burning of their home, numerous Dracula-related events, and finally, Alucard's pursuit of Dracula's reincarnation. The two now reside in a small apartment in Tokyo, where Richter spends his time attending to household chores and pursuing his hobbies. 

Up until recently, his existence was kept an absolute secret; he's now known to several of Alucard's associates, but still avoids the Agency and their landlord.

Alucard (Legal name: Genya Arikado)

Age: 577

Species: Dhampir

Occupation: Office worker/paranormal investigator/vampire hunter

Hobbies and interests: Fashion, magic, literature, illustration, listening to music, video games

It seems the long-suffering child of Count Dracula can never have a moment's peace. Though Dracula is no longer a threat, and Alucard has long since come to terms with himself and his family history, he's now terrorized by an entirely different type of horror: employment. Gone are the days of galavanting through Europe, sword in his hand and sister at his side; now he endures miseries such as emails, meetings, and rent.

When he's not working or sleeping, Alucard can generally be found spending time with his friends and family, or participating in the local goth and visual kei scene.

Soma Cruz

Age: 19

Species: Human

Occupation: College student

Hobbies and interests: Video games, manga, magic and the supernatural, fashion

There are those who have expressed concern over Soma, the reincarnation of the dark lord, being left to his own devices. Those who know him, however, know that Soma's no more of a threat to humanity than your average young witch whose enthusiasm far exceeds their experience. Though he wholeheartedly condemns his past life's decisions, Soma is fascinated by all things related to vampires and magic; he is eager to learn all he can, and maybe just a little bit bitter that he can't turn into a wolf. 

For many years, Alucard and Richter kept Soma at a distance, afraid of what would happen if he were to learn of Richter's existence and the truth of Arikado's identity. Fortunately, Soma took the revelation in stride. He greatly looks up to Alucard and Richter, and can often be found at their apartment, playing games or nagging them to teach him new spells.

Other Friends and Family

Mina Hakuba

Soma's best friend, a miko at Hakuba Shrine. Mina is no stranger to the supernatural, as her family’s shrine has long played a role in the fight against Dracula and other threats; though she lacks combat skills, her ability to keep a level head in the face of danger is impressive. Her kind heart, polite manners, and relentless determination have earned her many friends.

Julius Belmont

Richter’s great-great-something-or-other grandson. Though Dracula himself is no longer a threat, Julius is still active as a vampire hunter, dividing his time primarily between Japan and Romania. He can sometimes be a bit rough around the edges, but is a loyal friend nonetheless.

Yoko Belnades

Richter’s extremely distant cousin, a witch who works at a Latino-Japanese interfaith church in Tokyo. Yoko is a chatterbox and a bit of a gossip, but she knows how to keep a secret when need be, and is quite sharp-witted. Richter finds she often reminds him of Maria.

Maria Renard

Richter’s beloved little sister. An expert vampire hunter and powerful witch, Maria lived a long and eventful life, eventually dying of old age. Her spirit is a frequent visitor to Alucard and Richter’s apartment, always eager to stay involved in the goings-on of her lifelong housemates.

Annette Belmont

Richter’s wife, a headstrong woman who bravely defied Dracula. Though they lived separately for most of their lives, Richter and Annette maintained a devoted love for each other, and Richter has always regretted the pain his mistakes caused her and their then-young children. 

Juste, Lydie, and Maxim

Richter’s parents. A rowdy yet inseparable trio. They accepted Alucard into their family just as openly as Maria, and though he was already an adult by the time they met, Alucard views them as having been far better parents to him than Dracula ever was. However, Juste is by far the most nosy of Alucard and Richter’s ghostly houseguests, and has a tendency to complain about any interior design choices that he finds distasteful.

Trevor, Sypha, and Grant

Alucard’s very first friends, and Richter’s distant ancestors. A rough-and-tumble group of misfits from medieval Wallachia. Though their visits are less frequent than others, they’re fascinated by “the future”, finding it both amusing and disturbing.

Dante

Alucard and Richter’s long-distance friend. A cambion devil hunter, and talented guitarist. He was Richter’s first (and, for many years, only) friend after Maria’s death. His carefree attitude belies a dark past not unlike Alucard’s own.

#Castlevania #Akumajo Dracula #Richter Belmont #Castlevania Alucard #Soma Cruz #Sorry for shamelessly recycling part of Richter's character description from my profile for him on Artfight lol

[thatweirdnoise]

Ok I wanted to do this before but i forgot to-

Qsmp One Piece au:

The groups of players (French, Brazilian, etc) are pirate crews, but the first two groups of Hispanics and English speakers are not. I'll explain one by one (of the characters I thought of, I haven't adapted everyone yet), but there's a lot to unpack so this post is about the brazilians!

Their ship doesn't really have a captain, Forever and Cellbit got together to form a crew so the two of them are seen as joint leaders by other brazilians. Both are from the mink tribe but Forever only recently left the elephant while Cellbit has been traveling the world since childhood. Forever is after the One Piece and Cellbit wants to know the Real History of the World (4ever is also the navigator).

Tazercraft are ship engineers but Mike is the only one who knows carpentry among them, while Pac is more versed in working with ship cannons/sails and takes charge of the helm, both human. They rescued a giant metal machine from the sea that appears to be a robot from the lost century, they teamed up with Cellbit cuz they want to understand the ancient technology and perhaps replicate it.

Felps is the ship's cook and also a devil fruit user (the only one on this ship for now). His devil fruit allows Felps to be able to see into the future, but not in the same way that Observation Haki allows, the glimpses of the future he sees come randomly and they could be days, months, years in the future. He is never sure. And he's just vibing on the ship.

Bagi is the ship's doctor, she has a dream very similar to Cellbit's but for a different reason. Apparently, she was sent from the past to the future by a Devil Fruit user and now she wants to understand what happened in her past to know why she ended up here. Her last memory was waking up in front of a giant rock in the underground of Alabasta, a rock that apparently has a dead language written on it that she can read.

Later they'll find Richas... but that's for another post...

I can't think of a name for their crew tho, or a flag... if you have suggestions pls do tell me

#qsmp #qsmp au #qsmp brasil #cellbit #forever player #tazercraft #bagi cattuzzo #felps #my peaks of creativity #for the two people who asked me!! #qsmp one piece au

[gravegrime]

I remember sharing this thought on twitter about storytelling as a meme like a month ago and ever since then I’ve wanted to expand on it somewhere that had the character limit for it.  Somewhere like here!  lol

This is a long one lads so feel free to skip on by if you’re not interested in all the very opinionated things I have to say.

Storytelling fills me with a firey passion that very little else does.  Being whisked away to a world full of interesting people I can observe going about their lives is something I don’t think I can ever get tired of.  With this passion, as it always does for me, comes a deep desire to analyze and understand the process on a fundemental level.  This process of discover has lead me down an interesting path that I feel many in the communities I swim will find controversial; which is a shame because I do believe the conclusions I’ve come to are true and correct.

I lead my little rant with this preamble because I want anyone who ends up reading this to know that I’m not here out of malice or contempt for the artform.  Storytelling is my life and I feel that people’s good intentions may be hurting the craft as a whole.  If you do end up reading the whole thing feel absolutely feel to argue against me or whatever you want.  Having and breeding discussion is something else I live for!

On this journey I’ve had analyzing the storytelling craft I’ve come to the conclusion that there are things about storytelling that are good practices and bad practices.  I wholeheartedly reject the pervasive ideas in the art and writing community that there is not better or worse story and everything is just different.  Honestly I’m a bit insulted by the notion.  You should have pride in your craft and try to hold the quality of your work high!  If you feel your stories don’t reach that quality bar you’re looking for work to get better at what you do!  I don’t understand how someone could claim to, ‘strive to always be a better story teller’ while also believing stories have no intrinsic values outside of what an individual reader might feel about the work.  The only conclusion that can be came to is that stories do have intrinsic qualities within them that can be judged accordingly.

Of course this invites the idea that because people value different things their standards for what makes a good story would differ.  This is true but only on a scale of personal enjoyment.  I propose that there is a standard one can apply to their work outside of individual enjoyment that can be used to judge the quality of a work.

Much like in carpentry you’d judge the quality of a chair based on it’s materials, sturdiness, and mastery of the craft, you can also judge a story by a similiar metric.  Consistency is king when it comes to stories.  Rules not being broken is essential to not having stakes and payoffs fall flat.  Characters need to stay consistent to their ideals and goals if there is to be a character at all.  Goals and ideals can shift over the course of a story of course, but how well crafted a transition is entirely predicated on the consistency of the information we’re provided.  It would be poor storytelling to have a character randomly shift goals without some established impetus.  Storytelling quality is essentially how well one can juggle consistency with the complexity of the story they’re telling.  It seems perfectly reasonable if you had two stories that are equally consistent but one is more complex it would be a better work because they achieved more.

I can, and likely will at some point, go on for hours and hours and hours about how complex and intricate the craft of storytelling is.  Like I said it’s one of my biggest passions.  I think I’ll leave this little rant establishing my basic standard here though.  I hope it might spark some interesting discussions about the craft or at least give someone some food for though :)

#ramble #writing #storytelling #thoughts #I think a lot about this shit #genuinely believe if you start looking at this stuff as a craft with objective good and bad executions your writing will improve #not a fan of the constant demand for positivity that persists in the art world #how many times am I going to have to edit this for spelling mistakes I wonder?

[archivistofnerddom]

The Bad Batch and arts and crafts hobbies

It’s October, and I’m in that mood. Here we go.

Hunter

If you guessed that he’s into carpentry, woodworking, and whittling, you’d be absolutely correct. He likes working his hands, and he’s good with knives. The amount of detail work involved with these hobbies helps him calm down and focus his senses.

Hunter likes to make intricate pieces for his family and friends, especially as gifts to mark significant events. The rest of the Batch all have tables and bookshelves that he made for them as they settled into a more peaceful life. His earlier efforts are rough, but his siblings love them regardless. Omega especially loves the (somewhat lopsided) desk that he made for her to do her schoolwork on.

He also picks up pottery as another way to focus and calm his senses down. Hunter is surprisingly good at working with clay and etching detailed designs into the pots, bowls, vases, and cups he creates. While he’s not going to be a standout master of the craft, he finds the process to be very therapeutic.

Crosshair

Crosshair can draw like there’s no tomorrow. (He designed all of the Batch’s tattoos.) In his retirement, he’s the most content with a sketch pad and some pencils, charcoal, or watercolors in hand. It’s not uncommon to find him stretched out somewhere and capturing something in his sketchbook.

While he has many sketchbooks tucked away on a bookshelf, Crosshair doesn’t always love to show his work to those outside his close circle. It’s a sign that he likes someone when he gifts them a personal sketch.

Crosshair is also an origami nerd. He appreciates the detail work that goes into folding paper into intricate shapes. This is a skill that he picked up many years ago and rediscovered in retirement. It becomes an open recurring joke that you can always find Crosshair by the trail of origami designs he leaves in his wake, if you look close enough. (He won’t say it out loud, but he likes the way people light up when they happen upon one of his little designs. Seeing his little efforts find new homes makes him happy.)

Tech

Guess who turns out to be good at glassblowing? Of course, it’s Tech. He finds the whole process to be fascinating and full of interesting possibilities. Tech can visualize what he’s going to create (and then actually create the thing) in a way that’s almost supernatural. The results of his efforts are always unique and beautiful.

He often enjoys talking with other glassblowers to learn about their processes and different methods. A byproduct of this effort is the growing number of little glass objects that rotate through the Batch’s house(s). Tech is always down to share his efforts with anyone who is expresses an interest in this hobby.

Tech also gets into metalwork. It’s a natural crafty hobby jump from glassblowing. Once he feels like he’s mastered it well enough, he starts combining them with his glassblowing. It’s not uncommon to find him putting up new pieces in trees around the neighborhood, situating them in ways that will catch the light.

Wrecker

Oh boy, Wrecker can sew with the best of them. You wouldn’t expect that from a man of his size, but he can. Sewing is something that requires him to slow down, stay focused, and be gentle with his efforts. He loves sewing so much and is often times found making puppets, toys, and other little things for the kiddos in his life. Things that he makes are extremely durable and have a habit of lasting for a long time.

Any time someone he knows welcomes a new child into their family, said new child gets a special blanket and little stuffy from their honorary Uncle Wrecker. (The stuffy design is always based on his Lula. That’s okay, because every kid loves Lula and should have their own.)

Wrecker also gets super into collages and scrapbooking. All he needs is a general idea for something and he can create the most perfect product. He pours his whole heart into preserving his family’s history. Making a collage or a scrapbook for someone is a sign of much he loves them.

Echo

Echo likes cross-stitching. He usually has some project tucked away somewhere to work on during lulls between missions and on long flights. It’s a good way to pass the time and to let his brain rest from the amount of electronic data he’s got going through his brain at any given time.

He likes creating little samplers of his brothers’ unique helmet designs and giving them those samplers. (It’s a mark of honor to get one of these from Echo.) Doing this is also a way he can memorialize the brothers they’ve lost over the years.

Echo is also a calligraphy nerd. Oh boy does he enjoy this craft as a hobby. It started as a way to train the fine motor control in his left hand after he got rescued from Skako Minor, but soon expanded from there. Being able to create a beautiful piece of calligraphy takes time, patience, and skill. Echo appreciates everything that goes into that and finds practicing this art to be rewarding. The fact that his efforts usually result in ridiculous puns and little shit insults is often left unsaid.

Omega

Omega didn’t have much external stimulation before she met the Batch. She would entertain herself by looking at images from anywhere that wasn’t Kamino and Tipoca City. Once she joined the Batch, she discovered the art of photography and never looked back.

It took her brothers a while to get used to being her initial subjects. They weren’t used to having someone take their pictures. However, that wore off when they saw the candid photos Omega took of them. She captures them as they are away from the battlefield and when they’re happy as a family. Her favorite subjects to photograph are people who are just living their lives. She loves to show how wonderful ordinary people and lives are.

Omega also takes up crocheting as a way to pass the time during long flights. She’s a growing kid with a lot of energy, so having something to occupy her hands and mind really helps her. Plus, all her brothers wind up with many special blankets from her. She’ll often hang out with Wrecker as he’s sewing or mending something. (He cries when she gives him her first successful crocheted project, a rather lopsided replica of Lula. Wrecker doesn’t mind that this crocheted doll is a bit lumpy in places. Omega made it for him, and that’s what matters the most.)

#the bad batch does arts and crafts as therapy (and as hobbies) #they enjoy themselves #star wars #the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb omega #Lula #bad batch headcanons #headcanon

[king-magppi]

PLEASE tell us more about the camper parents/guardians, they have so much personality already but I'm curious as to your thoughts on them!!!

OK SO. Here's a little info on some of the pairs! I based some of their backstories and "parenting" on how their children behave in Psychonauts 1 and on what little insight into the campers' home-lives we are given by their Campster pages if any at all (there's a web archive link to it on the Ps wiki when you look for "Campster" if you ever wanna check them out! Lots of interesting stuff on there! I've also tried to add it here!). They don't all have names yet, but soon enough they will!

⚠️ALSO! Before we start: a quick content warning for mentions of child abuse, alcoholism, and neglect. Not all of these kids live happy lives.⚠️

The Canolas: Don Canola and his wife homeschool Maloof and get him private tutoring in the subjects he needs help in. They're actually one of the more stable families of the bunch despite being a crime family.

Ms. Foote: Her and her Ex-husband share custody of Clem. Their relationship is extremely rocky and the only reason he even gets to see his son is because of the intense fear she has of him. She finds it hard to have a relationship with her son because of his unwillingness to show interest in anything at home. She tries her best to indulge in anything Clem seems to enjoy, but she feels like she barely knows him.

The Phages: Ms Phage is a widow and now single mother to Milka Phage. Her husband was an alcoholic that stormed off after an argument over his addiction one day and just never came home. The police found his body with several stab wounds under a bridge somewhere days later. After this death, Ms Phage went into a severe depression. During this time, she would become irritable when she saw her daughter and told her to "dissappear" because she couldn't stand to look at her (she looks a lot like her dad). Milka became so good at disappearing on command that sometimes her mom just straight up forgot she was there. During these times, Milka would help herself to whatever was in the fridge and hang around for however long she'd like. Well, at least her cat could see her.

Ms. Snagrash: The single mother to Crystal (never married). She hasn't gotten the memo that she can't go out drinking and partying all day anymore if she's a mom. Because of this mindset, she sees Crystal as a burden and make sure she knows that. She's never had Crystal in a stable environment and is always with some new guy she more than likely wants to leech money from.

The Bulgakovs: Mr. and Mrs. Bulgakov are Mikhail's parents! They live in Kazan, Russia, but sent little Misha over just so he can make some friends over in The States! Mr Bulgakov looks stern and serious, but enjoys a good bear fight. Mrs Bulgakov wishes the boys would get some different, more productive interests like carpentry or archery or something...

The Tripes: Mr and Mrs Tripe love to tell Vernon stories! They encourage him to make his own and think he'll make a great author one day (with A LOT of practice, of course). Sometimes, they'll tell Vernon a story, and he'll try to tell the same one to kids at his school but with HIM as the main character. They have an old little dog named "Lady" that Vernon likes to take on walks.

Ms. Fir: She is the single mother of Elton who works at a brothel by the seaside (this is also where she met his father). While she isn't with her son 24/7, she still makes an effort to provide what she can for him in their situation. Elton spends most of his time down by the docks talking to the marine life in the sea.

The Hedgemice: Mr and Mrs Hedgemouse are the parents to Quentin Hedgemouse! They are probably one of the most loving and supportive pairs in this bunch! Mr Hedgemouse used to be in a band himself in highschool (it wasn't very good or well known, but he had fun!) and thinks it's great Quentin's got one too! He often jokes about trying to join "The Levitators". Nowadays he works as a simple book shop clerk. Mrs Hedgemouse is a stay at home mom who enjoys baking and making treats! She dreams of one day opening her own bakery!

The Loves: Mr and Mrs Love are still new to learning about their psychic powers. They only recently got into it after finding out that Phoebe shared this gift and was having problems controlling it.

(P.S. I'm really glad a lot of you seem to enjoy them so far!!!!! Like I'm seeing a bunch of positive feedback for them and it makes me 😭😭😭/pos)

#magppi meeps #psychonauts #psychonauts oc #psychonauts ocs #im actually surprised like i didnt expect people to actually CARE about these guys???? #thank you actually im happy that people genuinely enjoy my silly little guys!

[heldhram]

Thanks for the ask! I'll let Aubrey himself answer these questions ;)

Aubrey: Huh? What kind of things should I say about myself? Hmm... well, here goes...

"1. My mother tongue is Portuguese, my family originated from the Açores. It's the language I use at home with my dad. I learned English from school but wouldn't say that I am super fluent in it. I also know some swear words in French and Italian... yeah that's about it.

2. I taught myself how to play the guitar. My friends and I formed a band together when we were in high school called- oh man this it is so embarrassing to say it out loud- "The Hot Lobsters". We were mediocre singers, but we still got to play at some bars here and there in town. It would have been nice if we were paid in real money and not booz- uh! I mean, sodas! Yeah, we were given free meals and drinks, non-alcoholic ones of course, heh.

3. After I left high school, I had worked three different jobs before settling down as a carpentry apprentice: Fishery worker with my dad, helped out on harvesting grapes for the wine at the local vineyard, and delivered newspapers on rainy days. It's tough work, but at least I earned enough to support dad and I.

4. Oh, can you also tell that I absolutely love the outdoors? 😊"

(he missed the 5th one, so here it goes: Aubrey's secretly a big cuddler, but is too shy to admit it).

#sims 3 #sims 3 screenshots #my sim: Aubrey #Aubrey answers #oc background #yes ten years later I'm finally doing those tagged games now sorry ._.

[transmascutena]

What do you hc are some of utena & anthy’s specific n mundane favorite things about each other?

I.e Utena having a subconcious habit of always circling a couch once before she plops down on it to watch tv, or anthy’s hands often smelling like the specific brand of cat food that anthy swears by even though there’s no difference between it and the rival brand, and how anthy’s improved a good bit at cooking since ohtori, but for the life of her she can never manage to fully manage frying eggs, so the edges are always a bit burnt when utena eats them, and utena’s taken up wood working n carpentry as hobbies, and she ends up seeming to trail the slightest bit of wood shavings everywhere, with a habit of having one hand gloved and the other not so she can do whatever it is she took a break from the wood working for

aww i love all those examples :)) i actually included that exact thing about the burnt eggs in one of my fics, so that's a fun coincidence. here are some more:

anthy has a habit of humming songs she likes while doing any of her hobbies (painting, writing, cooking/baking, gardening, etc etc) and even though it's always slightly out of tune, utena loves listening to it

utena has a habit of falling asleep on the floor in the exact same way their cat does which anthy finds both funny and endearing

utena loves anthy's laugh more than anything in the world, especially because she was so unused to hearing it back in ohtori

just in general she appreciates anthy's openness, whether she's rambling abouta cute bug she saw or expressing her annoyance at someone she had to interact with earlier (even when that someone sometimes is utena herself.)

she also always enjoys it when anthy is really passive aggresive to people neither of them like. they can both be kinda mean and petty sometimes, but usually it's to people who deserve it

anthy likes the feeling of the callouses on utena's hands when she holds them. there's a scar on the back of her hand that she likes running her thumb over

utena talks in her sleep occasionally (kind of canon already) and sometimes it wakes anthy because she's a light sleeper. she thinks it's sweet, if a little annoying at times

when anthy concentrates really hard on something she gets this expression on her face that utena finds adorable

anthy thinks utena's clumsiness and tendency to trip over things is cute

#i'll be honest i don't think i'm great at coming up with specific headcanons especially when it comes to small mundane things like this #so this was a bit of a challenge. like i have this pretty cohesive idea of what their lives and relationship looks like in my head i just #don't really know how to put it into words. and when i do i do it in the form of writing where the headcanons are weaved naturally into it #and not in the form of bullet points i have to come up with on the spot. #THAT BEING SAID . i love receiving asks like this because it makes me think about them being happy and that makes me happy :) #and i don't usually talk much about them post-ohtori otherwise even though i want to #headcanons #utena and anthy #asks #m #don't be afraid of this world where we'll meet

[aita-blorbos]

Am I the asshole for attacking a shopkeeper for not having fair prices?

You people have called me the asshole before (I still stand by the fact that my boss and his new work partner deserved to be stabbed) so I don't know how much I trust your opinions but here we go.

As you may recall, I'm a master craftsman who works on wood, and I needed some new tools. So I went to this one shop, but the shopkeeper was charging 10 GOLD on a full set of carpentry tools. 10 GOLD!!! That's straight up robbery!

I let it go at the time but I couldn't take that asshole out of my brain. Some time later, I had to leave town so I decided to pay her a little visit. Leave a mark, y'know? At night, I slid down the chimney of her shop (got that idea from my old boss) just to give her a little scare.

At first it was your standard stuff, I sneaked around her whispering things, saying how important it is to charge fairly for their wares. But... I kiiiiiinda let it go to my head. There's a different side of me now, and he wanted to hunt.

So I let the wolf out. I slashed her across her arm and she uuuhhh... She lost a lot of blood and you could see her bone exposed. But! I cauterized the wound! Sure, she got even more scared seeing a werewolf with flaming claws, but I even gave her a healer's kit, so all's well, right? She shouldn't been charging that much for starters.

A lot of stuff happened after that. I got roped into saving the world and stopping a god devourer. Standard stuff. So I had completely forgotten about that occurrence until I came back to town months later. I was overwhelmed by the greatest smell ever and next thing I know A BOUNTY HUNTER is throwing a SILVER net over me. My friends managed to free me, but the audacity! We were even! She charged too much, I gave her a warning, end of story. It's been months, she should have let it go, right? But I don't know. The hunter was all talking about how I was dangerous and... Now I'm wondering if maybe I went too far? Am I the asshole?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[dykepuffs]

Every now and then I am so angry at the loss of my local community centre.

Up until my early 20s, the local community centre was in an old secondary school - It had been replaced by two others after a new estate had been built, then turned into an Approved School, then finally closed - but still belonging to the local authority, so they turned this 1000-pupil school, with an assembly hall with a stage, two gymnasiums, a dance studio, dozens of classrooms and a canteen, into a massive community centre. This wasn't unique either, there was another one similar to it on the other end of the estate, also in an old school (this time, a Victorian one with no field but a big yard), and one in a purpose-built community centre building, of comparable size, about a mile away, and one in an old drill hall maybe two miles away. But, this one was "ours".

And pretty much everything happened there. Every member of my extended family had *something* that they did there, so there was always a chance of running into some auntie or second-cousin and a bunch of their friends too, so a two-hour evening class might end with us all walking up the road to the workingmen's club for a few pints after.

And it wasn’t just sports clubs either (Though, there were sports clubs, both leagues where you could compete and classes where you could learn), there were things like mother and baby groups, support and befriending groups for various people, amateur dramatics (both to play and regular shows for the public to attend), a pictures club that showed classic films on a huge projector screen, loads of language learning ranging from "Spanish for holidays" via "Hindi for your british-born grandkids to get some immersion" and "German for (Local German tech firm)'s employees who intend to work abroad" to "Classical Kurmanji for poets", straightforward further education and night classes where you could learn typing or carpentry or study for your A-Levels... Basically, because the building was vast and already owned by the council for the good of the people living on the estate, it didn't cost much to rent a room for an hour a week and run a club, so all sorts of people would do it. There were the stalwarts that always ran (Children's tap dancing, football, karate, photography, knitting circle) but effectively anyone with £12 per week to spare could hire a room for an hour, run off some posters on the photocopier (2p per page, 5p colour) and have a club - And since it was all in one place, people would read the poster on the signboard and already know where the club was and how to get there - In fact, if they were already here at 5 for Watercolour For Beginners, there was no real reason NOT to hang around for half an hour afterwards, get a coffee in the cafe, then try out Labyrinthine Meditation at 7. All the classes were cheap (the most shocking expensive one was black-and-white photography, at £3.50 a session, because you had to chip in for the chemicals to develop your films and print your prints, and they had sole use of a store cupboard as a darkroom) and so was the cafe and the very small lounge bar.

I moved away pushing 20 years ago and I miss it to pieces, and now it's closed down and the land has been sold off to develop into flats. And the people living there won't have it, and the town I live in now doesn't have anything like it, our village hall is a single room and it sold its cricket pitch decades ago. And with just one room there is a lot more pressure on only having the most popular clubs run, the ones guaranteed to run for 12-week terms with at least 15 participants per session, with "broad appeal".

I just wish there were still more of these in the UK. We have lost a whole lot in losing it, and it remained popular right up to closure... But local authorities are skint and land isn't cheap and maintaining these mid-century buildings that are either falling apart or full of asbestos is expensive.

But think how different our queer culture could be, if this kind of place still existed commonly and universally all over the country!

#community centre

[clonemedickix]

Rating: E

Word count: 834

Pairing: Captain Rex x OC General Lara Lin

Warnings: clone SMUT - Under 18 DNI, foreplay and banter, P in V sex, breeding kink, alcohol consumption on the beach

Excerpt Summary - A little sun bathing, some appropriate liquids for that activity, Rex wants to appreciate what’s under Lara’s bikini more closely

Link to full chapter on AO3 here

If you’d like to be tagged for new posts, click here

@blueink-bluesoul @523rdrebel @anxiouspineapple99

Rex returned a few days later from his trip with Primer and Cody, bearing more refugees. The population of Nidhogg was increasing at a fairly steady pace, thanks to all the clones being rescued. Some didn’t stay permanently, but others decided to take the opportunity to settle down on the beautiful planet. It was a haven, a complete change from everything they’d ever known, and while they knew the Dragons continued to train and mount missions agains the Empire, life was so much better there it was hard to choose to leave it behind.

After heading for his hut and stowing his gear, Rex went in search of Lara, finally finding her laid out on a towel on the beach with a big container of red sangria sitting in the sand at her head and small cup of it half drunk next to her. She was laying on her stomach, soaking up the rays in a two piece suit. Rex noticed there were other females on the beach - the wives and girlfriends of clones doing the same as Lara. Smiling to himself about the peace and contentment of the scene before him, Rex sat on the sand near Lara’s head, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, then placidly watched the waves roll in.

“So this is what you meant, by needing a towel and some sangria to be happy at the beach?” Lara could hear the smile in his voice.

Turning her head she smiled up at him, and reached a hand up to take his. “It’s for sure not a bad way to spend an afternoon. We’ve built furniture and worked at one of the new huts all day. I think I was due a little relaxation.” Lara paused and gave Rex a slightly harried look. “Besides, tempers were starting to flare a bit over ‘creative differences’ regarding how to best to design and construct some of the items in question. I needed a break from all the amateur engineers and their input.”

Rex laughed and then nodded to her pitcher of beverage. “Bad enough that you made a trip home for your choice of booze, I see.”

“Uh… yes, and some Scotch. It was necessary.” She sat up and took a swig of the beverage in question and then offered the cup to Rex, if he wanted a sip. “I’m pretty sure they did a better job without me here to offer opinions, seeing as how they managed to throw so many buildings up by their wee selves. Maybe they’re showing me I’m irrelevant.”

Rex took another sip of the sangria and then drained the cup. The stuff really was good, he had to admit. “Mm. This is good. I’ll give you that - you were right about it, that day on Floston.” There was a small moment of silence between them as they thought back on that beautiful planet, destroyed now in the aftermath of the coming of Morgoth. There had been happy days spent there. “Lara, you know you’ll never be irrelevant to any of those men. Carpentry isn’t leading men in battle, or in life. Maybe you need to spend more time being their leader, rather than their job boss.”

Lara turned and sat on the towel, bringing her knees up like Rex and wrapping her arms around them. “You know, it’s rather annoying when y’all start to make sense and I’m not in the mood to agree.” She heard Rex snort in amusement next to her.

“I guess you can take comfort that it’s not very often.” He reached over to the large thermos and held it up to pour more sangria into the cup, then sealed it again. “Remember when we were all alone on Floston? Nobody there but us and Baiulus, and he didn’t care what we did?”

Lara laughed at that. “You know, y’all always forget that dragon is sentient and smarter than most humans. He might not ‘care’, but he damn well knows what we were doing.” She gave Rex a little mischievous grin and some side eye, and saw he had a strange, thoughtful look on his face at that information.

“Well. That being said, would you care to come be alone with me in our hut? In our bed? Perhaps… with no clothes on? You’re not exactly wearing much at the moment anyway.” Rex did his best to deliver that offer with a rather innocent face, like he was truly proposing to help her with something.

“You could help me look for sand fleas?” Lara asked with an arched eyebrow.

“What in dank ferreck is a sand flea? It’s not related to those stupid tick things on Earth is it? Those are so creepy!” He’d been horrified to find the little crawling bugs on his skin one day after walking through the woods of Lara’s farm. She’d given him a thorough inspection once home to make sure she got them off of him, but he’d never recovered from the horror.

Lara started giggling and sang out “‘I’d like to walk you through a field of wildflowers, and I’d like to check you…for ticks.’ Come on Brad, let’s go make sure we are both tick free. And sand flea free.” Lara gave him a huge smile and a wink and stood, reaching to get her towel and sarong. While she was bent over Rex reached up and smacked her on the butt once, lightly, and heard her give a snort of laughter. She straightened back up and tied the sarong around her, while Rex reached down for the thermos of sangria and the cup.

“Don’t forget this! Hope you have more of it hidden away somewhere.” Rex seemed to be a convert to the fruity, citrusy drink.

“I can always get more, my love.” They walked back to their hut together happily, content with each other’s company. Soon as they walked inside and barred the door behind them, Lara dropped her stuff to the floor and turned, throwing her arms around Rex’s neck. She looked him in the eyes and then leaned in and kissed his lips gently, feeling him return her kiss. She felt the tip of his tongue brush her top lip and knew he wanted more, their mouths opening slightly and the kiss deepening suddenly. Rex’s hands held her at the waist; she felt his thumbs caress her sides and then he moved one hand up to the center of her back, pulling her closer, untying her bikini top at the same time. Lara’s hands moved to his chest, sliding along his sides to his back, then down to grasp his backside firmly. She heard Rex give a little grunt of need, and he started to walk her back towards their bed, pulling her loose top off and dropping it to the floor.

Lara let him guide her backwards carefully, breaking off their kiss to look him in the eye. She suddenly felt this day was different than others. There seemed to be a rising power within her, an answer to his need that was like that first night spent on Floston. She hadn’t felt her power return to her like this since that horrible day she had battled Morgoth, what felt like so long ago now. Really, Lara had had little to no interest in the Force since then, rather blissfully ignoring it and trying to be a normal person for a while, only using it occasionally. Now, she felt it flooding back to her, filling her like a cup, and she gasped, almost like she was drowning.

Rex looked back at her steadily, a slight note of confusion and concern in his eyes. He could see her skin starting to glow, the luminescence of her power shining from her very pores, and her eyes were lighting up like they always did when she was feeling high emotion. She hadn’t shone like this in many months, not since that last day on Floston. It was almost like holding onto a star. He could see she wasn’t doing it on purpose, and that the rush of the power returning to her was sudden and slightly overwhelming. “Lara, are you okay?” He finally asked her, worried at how she appeared to be struggling a bit before him.

“I’m…” Lara had to take a breath to steady herself. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Oh my god I need you so bad, Rex. I need you to take me, fill me up.” She was breathing hard now, almost gasping, and her voice was a bit husky. “Like, now. Now now.” She tugged at his hand a little, pulling him towards her and the bed. Lara started to help him get his clothes off quickly, throwing the discarded items in the floor with abandon, ripping her bikini bottom off at the same time. She reached back to pull the blankets down on the bed, and sat quickly, scooting back to the center and making room for Rex.

Rex followed her down onto the bed quickly, crawling towards her and straightening out to lie next to her, getting his arms around her. He pulled Lara’s body to him and immediately kissed her, passionately, his left hand reaching down to pull her leg over him. He could smell the salt of the beach on her skin, the spicy floral scent of her curly hair drifted to him as she shifted. Lara could feel he was ready, his cock stiff and warm between them. She reached her hand down to grasp his erection, running her hand over the length of him and caressing his balls softly. Rex gasped at her touch, pressing himself into her hand and kissing her even more deeply. He rolled to his back and pulled her fully on top of him, looking her in the eyes and pushing her back to mount him properly. Lara seated herself over his cock, feeling him enter her, stretching her deliciously. They both sighed softly, relishing the feel of their joining. Lara started to move her hips slowly, taking him deeper and pressing herself against him, her hands on his chest for balance. She leaned forward and kissed him again, raking her teeth over his bottom lip lightly, pulling on it. She felt him give her his tongue and she ran her own over his, all the while the movement of her hips became more and more assertive. Lara’s hands moved over his body, his shoulders, his waist, back up his chest to his face, cupping his jaw with her right hand, while she braced herself with her left. The lightest rasp of his stubble on his jaw was a contrast to the smooth skin over his muscles, save where she felt the irregular texture of battle scars here and there. She was no stranger to the scars, her own collection having only grown in the time she’d known Rex.

Suddenly Rex rolled her onto her back without pulling away from her, holding her leg against his hip. He could see her light was getting brighter, an atmospheric air glow surrounding her like a halo. He’d only seen her do that once before, and he stopped his motion for a moment, waiting on her to focus on him. When she opened her eyes to look at him, it was like gazing into the heart of a star. “Lara, are you sure? I can stop. We don’t have to do this now.” He was momentarily panicked, at the thought of was about to happen, the conclusion that would follow their making love right now.

Lara could see his fear, and she felt it in her heart as well. They’d lost so much before. Could they stand to try again, with the memory of their little boy on their minds? A part of her realized they were being offered this second chance by Fate. The Force was telling her it was time. It had been nearly two years since Floston, and the exchange of her son’s life for her own, and Lara had always known they would not be able to avoid the coming of the Child of Promise. She looked into Rex’s eyes steadily, and reached up for him, pulling him to her for a soft, loving kiss. When they parted, she nodded to him and said, “It’s time Rex. It is the will of the Balance, that this happen. Join with me, put a child in me. This time I will not fail you, nor the Child.”

Rex sighed a little brokenly at that, and gave her a stern look. “Lara - you have NEVER failed me. In any way. Please never say that again.” He took a breath, feeling a deep need to fuck her until she cried out; he could already feel the response of her body in answer to him, how she would arch her back, how her body would clench around his. He placed his forehead against hers for a moment to steady himself and took a breath. “I want to see you heavy with my child, more than anything. I want to see you bring it into this world, hold it, feed it, hear you sing to it. I want to put a child in you, Lara. But are you ready for that?” Her answer to him was to wrap her legs around his waist and pull his face to hers for a kiss, pushing her hips against him and taking him deeply inside. Okay then, Rex thought, immediately thrusting into her and kissing her back passionately. He rode her hard, wanting to feel himself as deep as he could get, wanting to plant his seed as close to her center as he could. Lara’s light grew brighter as she neared her climax, and her breathing got slightly ragged, before she suddenly arched her back beneath him, closing her eyes and gasping in ecstasy. Rex felt her body contract around him and it spilled him over into his own orgasm, powerfully finishing within her as he too cried out. They rode that wave together, finally reaching for each other to kiss again, knowing their work that day would yield results. Rex held her for a long time, kissing her, nuzzling her and holding Lara’s body to him, running his fingers through her thick curls; he’d always loved them, how they had bounce and would spring back into shape when he straightened them. Rex spent time simply looking into her captivating eyes, the color reminding him of the oceans on Kamino, when that place had been the clones’ home. The two of them wouldn’t surface from their hut for the rest of the day, making love through the night, slaves to their powerful attraction and devotion to each other.

#worksbyclonemedickix #captain rex #captain rex x original female character #original female character #star wars fanfiction #starwars fanfic #sw tcw fanfic #sw tcw fanfiction #clone thirsting #clone smut #myloveforthesemenisnotnormal #rexismyhusband

[askmadcomcrew]

if everyone could have a different job/profession other than their current/past ones what would you rather be doing

Hank: I guess I'm technically not a solider. I'd be one of those.

Sanford: I'd probably work construction or something, they always need guys who can handle the heavy lifting.

Deimos: Considering how popular I already am, I'm sure I could make it big as an influencer. Imagine, my face on a T-Shirt. They'll be flying off the shelves!

Doc: One of these days I do want to go about getting my PhD proper. I do quite enjoy medicine as it is.

Tricky: OH, THAT'S EASY!!! I'LL DO BIRTHDAY PARTIES!! EVERYONE LOVES IT WHEN THE CLOWN JUMPS OUT OF THE CAKE AND SHOOTS SOMEONE IN THE FACE!!!

Jeb: Carpentry. I already do it as a hobby, anyway. May as well make a living off it.

Crackpot: My current profession is more than enough for me! Why would I ever want to change it? It's either this or going back to being a nexus scientist, and this job has significantly less people yelling at me about things that aren't my fault!

Sheriff: Who knows, I might just get into actual law enforcin'. May as well fully commit, y'know?

Auditor: Perhaps if Nevada no longer needs me, I could stay true to my name. Become an actual auditor.

Phobos: Obviously I would rather be God Emperor of the Multiverse than...Sitting here, fruitlessly searching for a way out of Hell.

#everyone answers #questions

[polyamorouspunk]

Little bit of a different post:

So, I've gotten an ask while my anon is off, and they asked to remain anonymous, so I'm going to answer here and then send it to them, but I think it's a good post to make, and I would love to hear any input anyone else like @safety-pin-punk has.

Hey so like, I never got to look the way I wanted when I was younger in terms of fashion, and in the past few years that's been changing and I'm coming into my own but something I've noticed is that it's really hard finding alternative fashion for larger men. I'm ~250 lbs and 5'6", and it's pretty discouraging that the only punk fashion I tend to see of guys my body shape is the bear community which I totally love but don't myself identify with. I've never been good at sewing and leather working skills, I'm much better at cooking, carpentry, and computers, so I was wondering if you or your many followers had any resources for guys like me? Etsy shops or something. I don't know, I feel like I can't be the only big guy who wants to look punk in addition to being punk.

There definitely is a skinny white majority you see in the punk scene along with honestly, I feel, like any other scene.

The bear community is great! But it's also just that- a community. And with any community that means that a lot of people are looking/dressing/acting very similar, so if you don't really relate to that then you don't relate to it.

But, a big part of the punk movement is also thrifting! There's this post I remember seeing on here that was criticizing a TikTok of someone being like "I bought these ugly giant pants at a thrift store and tailored them to look cute!" and they took like 3XL jeans to fit them (skinny). But that's what you can do! Go to a thrift store, get a pair of jeans that fits you, and start just making patches for them or whatever. Throw on some safety pins. Etc. My battle jacket is actually a 3XL biker jacket I got from the thrift store. I took some of the patches off and I painted over them to make my own. It was actually really easy to find that biker jacket, I'm really lucky, but I mean even just sweatshirts and sweatpants can be altered easily! That's what the whole punk movement is about! I have a shirt I found that was exactly what I was looking for at the thrift store my grandma works at to make a cryptid patch shirt for.

Etsy shops are great for getting the additions you need, like spikes or if you want someone else's patches, or if you want some button pins that aren't from Hot Topic, etc. Etsy is great for when you want to support independent, often minority creators with accessories for your own clothes, but thrifting is a great way to get plus-sized cheap clothing.

I feel like I myself even don't fit into "punk" the way I really want to. Not so much from my size but just how I really don't feel like I even come close to passing as a guy. I'm also very isolated (rural North Carolina) but I work in the city, but like even in my store I definitely don't fit in. I don't know anyone else punk geographically close to me except one trans guy in my art class who ended up dropping out. And he like. Passed way better than me and was way hotter than me. Does that matter? Literally no but I understand not feeling like you fit in both with "normal" people and with other "punk" people because I just don't feel... attractive enough? Like trust me I KNOW how stupid that sounds but especially in a gender sense when I look at punk guys I'm like damn I wish I looked like a dude but oh well.

Anyway I hope some of this was helpful and I'm sure Key will have something a lot more insightful to add. And I'll be sending you this post as well.

#punk culture