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dudethatsmyundeaduncle · 3 months

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DP x DC AU

Danny's gonna adopt all the Halfas in Gotham whether he wants to or not, and it's gonna start with the little dead girl he found after crawling out of that portal in the league base.

Pt 2 here. My Au Art

...........................

There's a dead little girl sitting on the rug in front of Danny's coffee table curiously eating Cheetos.

Well, she's not all the way dead, only half, could even be a little less then that, Danny would know he's sort of the leading expert on being half dead.

Her skins blue, like comic book mystique blue, vibrant and impossible to miss. Shes got these big black eyes and a nasty split going straight through her upper lip to just under her right eye.

She's also missing her nose, it's just gone, no cartilage left over just the gaping nasal cavity like skulls have.

The little girl looks dead, she is dead, or she's at least as dead as Danny is which is almost exclusively in name only.

Her name is Curaré, Danny only knows it because it's been branded into the skin of the little girls neck, just under the curve of her bald skull.

Curaré is terribly thin, the little toddler sized T-shirt she has on hangs loose around her torso where baby fat should fill it out.

She's horrible to look at, a tiny nightmare, her corpse like coloring doing nothing to mitigate the appearance.

Curaré was neither a healthy nor normal little girl, there was no way Danny could have left that league facility without her.

Oh and she almost exclusively spoke in Spanish which made finding her dinner hard.

Not that Cheetos are really dinner, little kids need to eat more then that Danny was pretty sure, like 89% sure. Although they did have a lot of calories...

Danny tilts his head absently as he looks at her, the little demon being illuminated red and green by the glow of the TV. She's enraptured by the Scooby doo rerun Gotham's only spanish language channel is playing tonight.

As if she can feel his eyes she turns to him and tilts her head the same way.

Danny blinks at her, Curaré blinks back.

" Uh- " Danny starts, trying to remember anything from his Spanish elective from sophomore year. God, his teacher had been right he had needed to study more. " The Cheetos, you like them? They're uh...bueno? Oh! Son Buenos?"

He points his finger down at the snack sized bag in her grasp, her fingers are tiny , they must be so fragile, looking at the desperate grasp they have on the bag makes Danny's chest hurt. How could anyone be so small? Had Danny ever been that small?

Curaré blinks again, long and slow, processing Danny's words. She looks down at her Cheetos and back up at Danny then she carefully holds the bag out to him.

" Oh no that's ok they're for you kiddo" Danny insists.

Curaré shakes the bag at him, like enticing a stray cat with treats but he only shakes his head again.

She gives up after that, shrugging and turning back to her cartoons.

Inside her chest Danny can feel her ghost core vibrate placidly as Scooby and Shaggy run across the TV in a panic.

Danny's own core can't help but try to match it's frequency, a low contented humming echoes between them, safe it seems to say.

Curaré can't be older then 4, which means she was resurrected young and that she died even younger. Danny doesn't know how any of it happened, halfas aren't created easily, the amount of energy needed...

She's so small.

He hopes it was fast, whatever it was that did this to her, made her like him.

Danny also hopes that her injuries aren't permanent. Some ghosts keep the carnage of their corpses well into the after life but as a Halfa Curaré should heal, even if she got those injuries during her ressurction. For her sake it'll be much easier to find some sense of normalcy if she isn't always actively bleeding, even if the blood itself is just an ecto-echo of real blood.

Danny curls his knees up to his chest and hides his face for a moment just trying to breathe. He's too young to be taking care of a toddler, he's still six months away from turning 18 and hes got school on Monday. His eyes burn and his throat constricts as he tries to swallow.

No one else but Danny would know how to take care of Curaré, and she's got no family to try and stumble their way through it. Danny can't take her back to the league and he sure as hell isn't going to search for whoever put that brand on her neck.

Even if he dropped her off at the fire station Gotham only has one Meta focused orphanage, it's state run and all the kids in it have to wear little prison style jump suits. And the food sucks, Danny can personally vouch for that.

She doesn't have a home, she's just as out of place here in Gotham as Danny is. Danny really wishes, not for the first time, that he had an adult here. Like Jazz or hell even Mr. Fuckin Lancer.

Just anyone. Anyone who could tell Danny what to do about this. Who could help him out with the child he's suddenly acquired.

He wishes anyone else was here so it wouldn't just be him and Curaré. Two dead kids sitting on the floor of a studio apartment in the Bowery watching cartoons.

What a pair the two of them will make, oh God. Danny laughs as a few tears stain his jeans.

Curaré makes a curious little noise that has Danny forcing his head up. She's reached the inevitable end of her snack sized bag and she looks absolutely devastated. She turns to look at him, tilting the empty bag towards him as if to say ' can you believe this shit!'

Danny can't help but give her a watery smile, no more crying Fenton, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

" Okay, one thing at a time." Danny tells himself. " You finished your Cheetos and now it's time for dinner, right? Stop me if I'm wrong."

Curaré just looks at him.

Danny's not worried, they're gonna have all the time in the world to teach her to appreciate humour and also English.

" I'm going to take that as a yes. " Danny hops up off the floor and goes to find his phone, nobody does dinner like the local Batburger.

Little foot steps follow him into the hallway, he'll have to get used to that sound he's going to be hearing it a lot.

Food first, everything would be better after they ate.

...............

For BG I imagine he's been living in Gotham for a few months and found Curaré while popping in and out of different portals in Gotham. (Who woulda guessed that some portal in Gotham leads right to the lazarus pit)

Note: if u wanna see cool art for this AU it's all in the Danny and the little dead girl au tag on my pg!

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #batfam #gotham #batman beyond #if yall didnt know curaré is an assasin from batman beyond #not an oc baby this isnt deviantart circa 2005 #i just imagine the bats meeting Danny and him eventually introducing them to his “kid” and just producing this little gremlin #and dannys all like “ isnt she adorable!”#and like yeah shes objectively terrifying looking but also the power of ecto babies is strong #and the batfam is weak #they will adopt jason into their halfa gang dont worry #dc x dp #danny and the little deadgirl au

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motherlvr · 10 months

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hi:D can you do miles!42 with a reader who doesn't really like getting told "watch who ur talking to" or smth bc most fics abt miles!42 is like that and nooo i won't ever let a man say that to me😭 and they like, know how to defend themself so they're pretty independent if thats alr ofc!

ngl i loved writing this, tysm for the req!

wc: 2.1k

pairing: E-42 Miles Morales x Strong, Independent! f! reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of rivalry tbh, cursing, Miles is mean in this one, but gets character development, reader knows how to fight, baddie ong, reader doesn't take miles' bs

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"You gotta be shitting me." Mumbling under your breath, your eye involuntarily twitched. You glared at Miles like it was his fault for putting you in this situation.

Your glare was reciprocated as he said, "I ain't happy about it either, princesa." You hated when he called you that. It rolled off his tongue with such distaste. "Yeah? Glad we got that in common then." You snipped, irritated.

Miles Gonzalo Morales was a dick. To put it kindly.

He was a stuck-up, close-minded dick. It's like his sole purpose in life was to irk you. The two of you have never been on good terms. He tested your patience every waking moment.

But unfortunately for both of you, your Spanish teacher paired you up as partners for a major project. It would count for a good portion of your grade, so not doing it wasn't an option for you. You had less than two weeks to finish the project, and you weren't going to waste it.

You'd much prefer to do the project alone. One thing you've learned is: if you want something done correctly, do it yourself. And to never put it solely in the hands of a man. But the project was a requirement for the class, so you had no place to argue about it.

Thankfully, today was just a planning day. So it wouldn't be as painful, you hoped.

You showed him a plan you had thought about within only a few minutes and asked, "Thoughts?" He took a short glance at it and told you, "That's trash." A vein almost popped out of your head. You snapped, "You got any better ideas then?"

"Yea, anythin' other than that." He told you mindlessly. You had half a mind to make his braided head become real familiar with the cold surface of his desk. Around ten minutes later, he had finally come up with something. It wasn't that great, but at least he was semi-cooperative. You took one look at his plan and decided to turn the tables on him. You said, "You couldn't have come up with anything better? Shit's worse than my idea."

You could see him grip his pencil just a bit tighter, no doubt irritated by now. "Nah, watch your mouth." He told you, and you were unsure of how serious he was being. "Watch my mouth? You needa watch how when you turn around, one of your precious braids will be gone." You said as you made a snipping motion with your fingers. He protectively grabbed onto his braids, "Yo chill, ma."

As Spanish class progressed, everything only went downhill from there. He always seemed to hate every idea you had or had something to say. He groaned, "Woman, I swear. Your ideas are shit." Your former hopes of a peaceful partnership were long gone.

His choice of words alone irked you as you replied, "See, that's what you're not gonna call me. And if we're gonna be partners, you need to act decent for once. Get it together, Morales." You set clear boundaries as you pointed a finger at him. Surprisingly, he obliged. He looked like he made a revelation as he shook his head. "Nah, you right. That was outta line." The moment was oddly tranquil until he opened his mouth again. "I meant: I swear, your ideas are fucking terrible."

From that point further, the hopes of having a normal, mature, conversation were fleeting. The majority of the class was spent bickering rather than working on the task at hand.

You were one of the very few people that tested him. You gave him a challenge, while most people wouldn't utter a single complaint.

Eventually, at the end of the class, the two of you finally landed on an idea to carry out. A true miracle.

The next week in Spanish class passed and the days were cutting it closer and closer to the deadline. But there was still much work to be done. So, begrudgingly, you both had to work on it out of school. After Spanish, you were packing up your things when you asked him, "My place or yours?" His response was immediate. "My place. I'll give you my address. Come over after school, 'ight?" He said, writing down his address and handing it to you.

You accepted it and said, "Alright. Are your parents good with me coming over?" You questioned if he even had the decency to check first. Although you couldn't stand him most of the time, you didn't want to intrude on his family. He shrugged it off, "Yeah my ma's good with it. Already told her."

He wasn't about to tell you that his mother demanded the project was done at his house so she could keep a keen eye on the both of you.

You were dreading the final bell of the day. Spending more time than legally required with Miles wasn't your ideal image of fun. As the school day ended, you walked over to Miles' house.

Knocking on the door, it was soon opened by no one other than Miles' mother. She was expecting you, as a smile adorned her face. You greeted her, "¡Hola, Señora Morales! Gracias por invitarme a tu casa." (Hi, Mrs. Morales! Thank you for inviting me to your house.)

She widened her eyes at you, "¡Claro! ¿Cómo estás?" (of course, how are you?) She asked you with a sweet smile. You replied and reciprocated a smile, "Bien, ¿usted?" (good, you?) To which she responded, "Muy bien, gracias." (very good, thank you) As you put down your things, you noticed Miles was standing only a few feet away. His mother pulled Miles to the side and whispered, "She speaks Spanish, I like her." Not wanting to give away that she was a loud whisperer, you concealed a small laugh. It's a wonder how Miles turned out like that. His mother's wonderful. You knew she raised him better.

After his mother was done speaking to him, Miles led you to his room. His mother called out, "¡Deja la puerta abierta!" (leave the door open!) "Si, mami." He said back in an unusually nice tone.

You previously believed Miles Morales was a universal dick. But you soon realized you were somewhat wrong. He was a dick. To everyone except his mother, it seemed.

As you both settled down to start working on the project, you grinned at him like you had just found out a Federal-level secret. "You're such a momma's boy." You said.

His head whipped to you like you knew something you shouldn't. "No one would believe you." He said. You teased, "Oh, everyone would. Trust."

This was the most civil conversation the both of you have ever held within your whole history of knowing Miles. The afternoon was sprinkled with light-hearted jokes here and there, and it wasn't as painful as you initially believed. Needless to say, being forcibly confined in a space with Miles went much smoother than you could've ever anticipated. The project was progressing for once. And so was your relationship with Miles.

A few days later, you were in a better mood than regular. Within the past few days, Miles has been more tolerable. Maybe even likable. Apparently, you were in too good of a mood. You must've appeared too approachable today.

As you were walking in the hallways of school to your next class, a guy you didn't recognize slung an arm around your shoulders and said, "Hey, what's good jit?" You immediately pushed his arm off. He reeked of an excessive usage of cologne. You winced at his stench. "Don't call me that." You assertively said. But he only took it as a challenge. He said with a wink, "You tryna play hard to get? Alright, I'll play along."

"I'm not 'playing hard to get'," You mocked with air quotations. Dumbing it down, you continued, "I don't want you." Could a girl make it any more obvious?

Your words went straight over his oversized head. He said with a disgusting smirk, "I can change your mind." Your face visibly grimaced at his desperate attempt, "Not even baby Jesus could change my mind."

He was starting to get agitated at this point, "Nah, why you trippin', girl?" he said. You immediately retorted, "Why can't you take a damn hint?"

"C'mon, I know you want me. Gimme a chance." He said. You were sick and tired of this interaction, so you just decided to walk away. Turning your back, you tried to escape this conversation. But he grabbed your hand to prevent you from leaving. "Aye, where you goin'?"

You tried to be patient. And where did patience get you? Nowhere. In your mind, this guy was way too testosterone-deficient to be talking tough to you. There was nothing worse than a teenage boy. More importantly, a boy that didn't know what 'no' means.

And in an instant, the sound of a slap resounded throughout the hallway.

He looked like he was about to start crying. Holding his cheek in pain, he sneered, "Fuck you, bitch. You ain't shit anyway. I ain't even want you." But as you tried to walk away once again, he placed a tight grip on your shoulder to prevent you from escaping.

Miles was skipping class and wandering in the hallways when he saw you. From your body language, he could tell you were uncomfortable. His eyes glanced toward the guy's grip on your shoulder, and Miles suddenly understood the situation. He could see where this was heading. Or at least, he believed he did. Miles was about to intervene when within the blink of an eye, you had flipped the guy on his back and onto the floor.

You told the boy on the floor, "Don't try that shit again. With me or any other woman, got it?" Groaning in agony, the guy whimpered in response, and you took it as a 'yes'.

The guy was no André the Giant, but it impressed the hell out of Miles nonetheless. Since when could you do that? He questioned himself. Miles had to prevent his jaw from dropping. He was suddenly glad he never pushed you that far. You walked away unbothered as if nothing had happened. He gained a newfound respect for you. But that would have to stay unspoken.

Once Spanish class rolled around, you realized it was the second to last day you had to finish the project, so you were working extra diligently in Spanish class. You told Miles, "Alright, I finished decorating it. What do you think?" showing him the project. Not that you cared what he thought, but it would make this whole process much easier if he wouldn't shit on your every move. You've had your daily dose of asshole for the day. Almost an overdose, really.

A few moments passed by where he stared at the project, and then back to you. Fully expecting Miles to be his usual asshole self, you said, "Spit it out. What is it?" You waved your hand in front of his face. He swatted your hand away and replied, "I ain't gonna hold you, it's a pretty solid project so far."

You raised a brow at him, and suspiciously asked, "Really?" This was the first time he didn't have any retort to say. "Yeah, I think you're great, ma." He said. You cheekily grinned at him as he tried to correct himself, "I meant, great at the project. Yeah. The project." He almost stumbled on his words. He never did that. He was always collected. What was up with him? It was definitely a sudden change, but you weren't complaining.

There was only a small portion of the project left to do by the end of the class, so Miles suggested finishing it at his house.

This time after school, the both of you walked together to his house. As you worked on the project in his room, you noticed he wasn't getting much done. It seemed like he was in his head, whatever goes on in there. As you glanced up, he locked eyes with you. You hadn't a clue what he was thinking.

You originally would've preferred to do the project yourself, but if you had to have a partner, you believed the work should be divided equally. You weren't going to carry the whole project on your back.

"Why're you slacking, Miles? Our time is limited, y'know." "Ion know. Mind's elsewhere." He shrugged. It was subtle, but you noticed his glance travel to your lips. You grinned and took the opportunity to tease, "What, you want a kiss or somethin'?" You said it mainly as a joke. Sure, maybe you liked the way he gave you a challenge everyday. You wouldn't blatantly admit it, but it was refreshing to be with someone that actually cared about their work. But much to your surprise, he ran his hand over the back of his braids and said. "Shi, maybe it would motivate me. You feel me?"

Not expecting him to agree, you said, "I mean, alright. If you get off your ass, maybe I'll give you one." You tried to say as casually as you could. But you couldn't deny the fact that you were growing fond of him. You were internally conflicted as you wanted to hate him, but couldn't. In reality, it was far from hate.

Miles couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment his detest for you faded away and was replaced with something different. An emotion he rarely felt. Seeing you singlehandedly take on a guy was only fueling it for him. He quickly started working harder on his part. You mentally praised yourself. After a few silent moments, he spoke up, "Yo, I'm basically finished."

He was bullshitting, and you knew it. As you looked at his part of the project, he still had a good chunk to finish. But you caved and moved closer to him. Holding a hand to his face, you peppered a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely avoiding his mouth.

As usual, he had something to say, "Don't play, mami." He resisted the urge to press his lips to yours until they were numb. You simply smiled at him and replied, "Yeah? Keep workin' and you'll earn a real one."

Immediately, Miles got right back to working on his part of the project without another complaint. You've never seen him work so studiously.

Pleased to say, with your motivation, Miles was more productive that day than all the other days combined.

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taglist! please lmk if u want to be added 🫶

@l5byrinth @iamspooderman

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 5 months

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The Turkey Baster Experiment

Summary: Her cousin just had a baby via turkey baster, supposedly. Robin had to find out if it actually works. Based on this.

A continuation of me cleaning out my drafts.

1990, Chicago, Illinois

The Rockie Harrison Apartment (named in combination of all of their names)

It was Robin and Eddie's day off of work, so they were busy lounging in their pajamas watching Scooby-Doo. Their partners hadn't been so lucky. Steve was working as a middle school teacher, so of course, he didn't have a day off during the week. Vickie was working in a library at a different school, unfortunately, while she worked on also publishing her own book. Eddie worked as a mechanic. Robin worked at a bakery while also tutoring kids with their Spanish and French on the side. Some of them were rich kids, so occasionally, she could afford to take a few days off like she was now.

"You're such a Velma," Eddie said with a shake of his curls.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Robin said. "Velma is very cute."

"That would make Vickie Daphne?" Eddie asked.

"Duh, she can be such a Daphne sometimes," Robin grinned fondly.

"Steve is such a Fred," Eddie sighed dreamily.

"You're definitely a Shaggy," she said. "And the kids are definitely all Scooby."

"Robin. . .I'm feeling that empty nest thingy again!" Eddie exclaimed and pouted.

"It has been almost a year since they've graduated, and we moved here. Weeks since they've called us. It's not like we practically raised them or anything," Robin pouted. "Do you think they've forgotten about us?"

After the kids graduated high school, Steve and Robin decided to move to Chicago with their partners, who were happy to move anywhere as long as it wasn't Hawkins. It was in Chicago that they found a lovely abandoned old firehouse. It took some TLC, but it was liveable, and it housed them all perfectly. Plus, Eddie loved the pole that went down to the first floor, specifically when Steve used it as a stripper pole. Vickie and Robin had vowed never to use it once they learned what they did with it.

"Rob, they're in college now. El, Lucas, and Max are starting this new relationship. Will and Mike are still dancing around each other since Will broke up with Gareth. They're probably really busy," Eddie shrugged and then paused to wail, "They have forgotten about us!"

Suddenly, the phone rang, and Robin nearly broke her neck, jumping over the back of the couch to answer it.

"Oh, hey, mom," Robin said.

Eddie sighed and crossed his arms, pouting in his seat.

"Darn kids," Eddie muttered.

He focused on the show as Robin talked with her mother. Occasionally, he lifted his head when he heard Robin gasp about something. When the phone call was done, the episode of Scooby-Doo was finished, and another one was starting.

"What was that about?" Eddie asked Robin.

"My cousin finally had a baby. Although she didn't tell anyone that she was pregnant and it's crazy how she got pregnant in the first place," Robin said.

"Not the normal way?" Eddie asked in surprise.

"Well, she and her husband have been trying to have a baby for a while, but it hasn't happened, so she decided to take matters into her own hands," Robin said.

"She fucked another guy?!" Eddie gasped.

"Nope," she said.

"She fucked another girl?" Eddie asked in confusion.

"Dingus! No! She used a turkey baster and get this: she didn't use her husband's sperm to do it. She used his brother's!" Robin exclaimed.

"There's no fucking way," Eddie scoffed.

"She did. Her husband only found out because he went to the doctor and discovered he couldn't have kids," she said. "She told him the truth when he confronted her."

"No, not that. There's no way she got pregnant using a turkey baster," Eddie said.

"She did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't!"

"I'll prove it," Robin said.

"Fucking how?" Eddie asked.

"You have a turkey baster of your own. You should be able to understand the concept of how she did it," Robin said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"No, I mean how the fuck are you going to prove it?" Eddie asked.

"Well, we have a turkey baster, and I happen to be ovulating," Robin said.

"Okay, so what happens if you do get pregnant?" Eddie asked.

"Then you get a baby like you and Steve have been talking about," Robin said. "Although Vickie's been kind of broody lately too."

"So, this kid would have two moms and two dads?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah," Robin said.

"This kid is either going to be the queerest kid ever, or we're all so queer that they're going to be the straightest person alive," Eddie snickered.

"Either way, because of us, they'll be the fast talking son in the west," Robin said.

"It could be a girl," Eddie said.

"No, it's play on words for - never mind. Are we doing this or not?" Robin asked.

"Hmm, maybe Steve and Vickie are right. Maybe we shouldn't hang out without them," Eddie said.

"Coward," Robin said.

Eddie and Robin stared at each other for a while. Eddie glared at her.

"Do it," Eddie said.

"You're up first, big guy," Robin said.

"Right."

Robin gave him a cup and shoved him into the bathroom. She waited rather impatiently outside the door. A couple of minutes later, she heard him groan in frustration.

"Problems? Just think about Steve at the beach when he ate that vanilla ice cream cone, and it started dripping into his sweaty, hairy beast of a chest, but instead of you gawking at him like an idiot, you reach over and start licking - "

"Okay, it's up! Stop helping!" Eddie shrieked.

Eddie glared at her when he walked out of the room and handed her the cup. She took it, and the turkey baster into the restroom, her head held high. He leaned against the wall, smirking when he heard Robin complain loudly.

"Well, if I didn't know I was a lesbian before this, this is definitely what would turn me. Disgusting!" Robin exclaimed.

"I've heard no complaints from Steve when he swallows!" Eddie exclaimed cheerfully.

"Gah!" Robin exclaimed as she came out of the bathroom. "It's done."

"Now what?" He asked.

"Now we wait," Robin said.

She threw herself down on the couch, turned herself upside down, and threw her legs over the back of the couch.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asked.

"Helping your little guys find their way," Robin said. "Plus, it's a cool way to watch Scooby-Doo."

Eddie shrugged and copied what she did.

"Now, we wait," Eddie said.

An uncertain amount of weeks later. . .

Eddie was alone in the apartment while Vickie took Robin to a doctor's appointment. Steve was at work. Eddie was working on writing music when the door to the apartment burst open. Vickie stared at Eddie while Robin stood nervously behind her.

"Did you get my girlfriend pregnant?" Vickie asked.

"It was her idea! She seduced me!" Eddie said.

"How?!" Vickie asked.

"She called me a coward!" He exclaimed.

Vickie giggled and threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"It's hard to stay mad at the mother and father of my child even if it was reckless of you guys," Vickie laughed again. "Just wait until Steve comes home."

"Oh God, Steve," Eddie realized, his face pale.

Eddie waited around nervously for Steve to come home. When he finally did, he walked in with a smile on his face. Oh good, he had a decent day. . . It was a decent day that Eddie was probably about to ruin. He walked up to Steve, greeting him with a tight hug and a kiss. He snuggled into Steve’s side, his cheek pressed against his. Eddie traced patterns in his chest.

"Hi," Steve said, looking at him in confusion.

"So, how mad would you be at me if I got your platonic soulmate pregnant?" Eddie asked.

"What is this now?" Steve asked with wide eyes.

"Robin's cousin got pregnant by turkey baster, and I called bullshit on that, then Robin wanted to prove it. I jerked off into a cup, and Robin squirted it up her hoo-ha with the turkey baster. Then, several weeks later, here we are," Eddie said and paused. "So, how was your day, sweetheart?"

Steve sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to wrap his head around Eddie's ridiculous description of the situation. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and plopped down at the table.

"So, how are you feeling about this?" Steve asked Vickie and Robin.

"Excited," Vickie grinned. "We're all going to be parents."

"So, all four of us, huh?" Steve asked.

"Yes," Robin said.

"We're having a baby," he said softly, and then he grinned. "We're having a baby!"

"Three bisexuals, a lesbian, and a baby!" Eddie exclaimed, and they all looked at him. "What? Spock directed that film."

Steve laughed, pulled him into his lap, and kissed him.

"I'm happy this happened, but maybe next time you want to get Robin pregnant, maybe get all of us involved," Steve grinned.

"Hey, I was just trying to prove Robin wrong," Eddie said and smiled softly. "I'm glad I was the one who was wrong."

"I just realized this baby is going to part Robin and Eddie," Steve said.

"Oh god!" Vickie laughed.

"Hey! You guys are supposed to love us!" Eddie exclaimed.

"This baby is going to kick the shit out of me, aren't they?" Robin asked, holding her stomach.

Several months later. . . after many shenanigans during which Robin discovered that she could use Steve and Eddie as her willing puppets. . .

"Wednesday, huh?" Steve asked as he held the baby in his arms.

"You said we couldn't name her after a Scooby-Doo character," Eddie said defensively.

"Besides, you always said you love Wednesday because she reminds you of Max," Robin said.

"I'm not complaining, I love the name," Steve said grinning.

Wednesday Elizabeth Munson-Buckley had started arriving sometime during the middle of the night, much to Robin's annoyance. She had been busy sleeping. Wednesday had arrived that afternoon, surrounded by doctors and all of her parents. Now, here they were in Robin's hospital room, with Eddie and Vickie cooing over Steve’s shoulder.

"You did great, baby," Vickie said tearfully. "She's beautiful."

Vickie kissed Robin deeply before going back to gazing at the baby.

"You want to go next, don't you?" Robin asked her girlfriend.

"What?" Vickie asked.

"If we ever decide to give Wednesday a sibling, you want to be the one that's pregnant, don't you?" She asked in amusement.

"Ooh, both her and Steve could go next," Eddie said.

"Let's just see how this one goes," Steve said, laughing. "But probably."

"Oh, I called Uncle Wayne. He cried like, well, a baby when I told him I wanted to give her a w name in honor of him. He's going to call everyone else and let them know. So, we're probably going to have a full house sometime in the next few days," Eddie said.

Steve grinned and passed the baby back off to Robin. She smiled and stroked the top of Wednesday's head.

"Oh, I want her to have the whole world," Robin said.

"So, you want her to be an evil super villain hellbent on world domination?" Eddie asked.

"It's what she deserves," she said.

"She'll succeed where men have failed," Eddie said proudly.

"Yeah, that's a no," Steve scoffed.

"We're just keeping her options open, Stevie," Eddie said.

"It's not set in stone," Robin said. "We're just letting her know that we'll love her no matter what."

"I'm not supporting our daughter becoming a super villain," Vickie laughed.

"I guess we know who the fun parents are," Eddie said.

It certainly wasn't an everyday situation, and most people would call it abnormal, but to the four of them and the people they loved, it wasn't so strange. Wednesday would grow up to be well loved with four supportive parents and with an extended family to match. Stranger things have happened than a child growing up loved and isn't that the most important thing of all. . . That the child was loved?

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greekmythcomix · 7 months

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How I teach the Iliad in highschool:

I’ve taught the Iliad for over a decade, I’m literally a teacher, and I can even spell ‘Iliad’, and yet my first instinct when reading someone’s opinions about it is not to drop a comment explaining what it is, who ‘wrote’ it, and what that person’s intention truly was.

Agh. <the state of Twitter>

The first thing I do when I am teaching the Iliad is talk about what we know, what we think we know, and what we don’t know about Homer:

We know -

- 0

We think we know -

- the name Homer is a person, possibly male, possibly blind, possibly from Ionia, c.8th/9th C BCE.

- composed the Iliad and Odyssey and Hymns

We don’t know -

- if ‘Homer’ was a real person or a word meaning singer/teller of these stories

- which poem came first

- whether the more historical-sounding events of these stories actually happened, though there is evidence for a similar, much shorter, siege at Troy.

And then I get out a timeline, with suggested dates for the ‘Trojan war’ and Iliad and Odyssey’s estimated composition date and point out the 500ish years between those dates. And then I ask my class to name an event that happened 500 years ago.

They normally can’t or they say ‘Camelot’, because my students are 13-15yo and I’ve sprung this on them. Then I point out the Spanish Armada and Qu. Elizabeth I and Shakespeare were around then. And then I ask how they know about these things, and we talk about historical record.

And how if you don’t have historical record to know the past, you’re relying on shared memory, and how that’s communicated through oral tradition, and how oral tradition can serve a second purpose of entertainment, and how entertainment needs exciting characteristics.

And we list the features of the epic poems of the Iliad and Odyssey: gods, monsters, heroes, massive wars, duels to the death, detailed descriptions of what armour everyone is wearing as they put it on. (Kind of like a Marvel movie in fact.)

And then we look at how long the poems are and think about how they might have been communicated: over several days, when people would have had time to listen, so at a long festival perhaps, when they’re not working. As a diversion.

And then I tell them my old and possibly a bit tortured simile of ‘The Pearl of Myth’:

(Here’s a video of The Pearl of Myth with me talking it through in a calming voice: https://youtu.be/YEqFIibMEyo?sub_confirmation=1

youtube

And after all that, I hand a student at the front a secret sentence written on a piece of paper, and ask them to whisper it to the person next to them, and for that person to whisper it to the next, and so on. You’ve all played that game.

And of course the sentence is always rather different at the end than it was at the start, especially if it had Proper nouns in it (which tend to come out mangled). And someone’s often purposely changed it, ‘to be funny’.

And we talk about how this is a very loose metaphor for how stories and memory can change over time, and even historical record if it’s not copied correctly (I used to sidebar them about how and why Boudicca used to be known as ‘Boadicea’ but they just know the former now, because Horrible Histories exists and is awesome)

And after all that, I remind them that what we’re about to read has been translated from Ancient Greek, which was not exactly the language it was first written down in, and now we’re reading it in English.

And that’s how my teenaged students know NOT TO TAKE THE ILIAD AS FACT.

(And then we read the Iliad)

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tardis--dreams · 2 years

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Oh no, my new boss addressed me with the informal you and my first name but because i had never spoken to her before i addressed her with her title and last name and used the formal you and now she replied to me doing same and now i feel like i was incredibly impolite for some reason

#It's just #Last week our Spanish teacher talked about how if you used the formal you in Spanish it meant you wanted distance between you and the other #Person. And that that was impolite #I'm not speaking Spanish of course #And i always feel like the formal you is the safest way to communicate with people you don't know (and who are higher in 'hierarchy')#I'm cool with professors calling me by my first name and using the informal you #But if they don't explicitly ask me to use the same for them I'd feel so impolite to do that #But also you could interpret her addressing me informally as an invitation to do the same for her #And me addressing her formally could be interpreted to be rude because i didn't accept that offer #Whhhaaaaaa i hate language #Being a linguistics major focusing on politeness does Not help At All #I overthink Everything i say #And what other people say #Oh god #It's not good #Sorry #Had a breakdown over that #I'm normal about it now #shut up amy

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tarjapearce · 9 months

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Lips anon! Projecting a little bit of childhood tramua, but imagine a teacher complaining that Benji's hair is "messy." Aka too curly for her liking cuz some teachers be assholes like that. Miguel is offended, and Mama goes full rabid on her, calling her to a teacher's conference over some dumb shit like this lol

Mama tells Benji that his hair isn't messy and his teacher is a puta. He's just a handsome curly boy 💕

Not. With. My. Benji. >:(

(To y'all curly babes out there, including me, Our hair is gorgeous ok? we gorgeous ❤️❤️)

Benjamin fiddled with his fingers, chewed the inside of his cheek and stole little glances here and there to you and Miguel. He didn't know if he was in trouble.

He had to tell you that one of his teachers wanted to speak directly with you and Miguel as soon as possible. He was a first grader, maybe she wanted to talk about about something to improve Benjamin's weakness in certain areas.

Miguel had taken a day to attend the meeting, teacher came in and Benjamin recoiled even further next to you, almost hiding behind you. You frowned.

"Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara, thank you for coming today." She started with a polite smile, you followed.

"Benjamin told us that there was something you needed to discuss with us. Is Benjamin doing ok?" Miguel spoke, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh yes. You see, Benjamin is a good student. He has a bit of trouble speaking loudly when it's required to. He's still a bit shy, but overall, he's good."

"Right, so," You stared at her as she looked with squinted eyes at Benjamin.

"Is there any real issues that needs to be addressed? It's fine if he's a bit shy, it's a new grade for him. New classmates, new experiences, it's normal to feel a bit overwhelmed."

"Correct. Look, we have this... image code that applies to everyone and I believe that Benjamin isn't following it."

She spoke and you and Miguel blinked at her words. Confused at first but a bad feeling sunk into your gut.

"What's wrong with Benjamin dress code?" Miguel expression hardened when Benji's hand held onto his sleeve, like saying 'stop'.

"It's not about the dress code but more his, image."

"There is nothing wrong with my son, Mrs. Charles." Miguel's brow rose, his arms crossing on his chest as you spoke. He'd usually would try and calm you to then get a less heated approach, dialogue. But this time he just watched, not liking one bit where this was going.

"Maybe if you could cut or comb his hair a bit-"

Miguel rose and placed his hands on his waist. The hulking figure had startled the teacher. Good.

"You made me skip a day of work just for you to say my son has messy hair and you don't like it?" He almost hissed the last words.

You finally understood why Benjamin had been spending some time looking himself in the mirror the last past days.

"Do you understand Spanish, Mrs. Charles?"

"I do, ma'am. This is... just-"

"A mi hijo lo respeta, señora. Muy maestra puede ser usted, y aún así le queda grande el puesto, pero con mi hijo no se meta." ( My son is to be respected, ma'am. You can be a teacher all you want and still you're unworthy to be one, but you won't mess with my son.)

Miguel picked up a very distressed Benjamin and left. Your spanish had improved considerably thanks to Miguel.

"Mi hijo pasa un buen rato viéndose al espejo por culpa suya. Y no le voy a permitir que esté proyectando sus inseguridades en él. Si vuelvo a saber que usted o que alguno de sus compañeros lo molestan, voy a tomar cartas en el asunto. ¿Entendió?" (My son spends a good amount of time looking himself in the mirror because of you. I won't allow you to project your insecurities on him. If I know of this again from you or that his classmates are pestering him because of it, I'm taking hands in the matter. Got it?)

You left the classroom with a slam on the door, didn't even let the teacher speak.

"Vieja puta." (Fucking Bitch)

Miguel held Benjamin tighter, covering his ears at your cursing.

"Who the fuck she think she is?! Making us waste our time." Benjamin rubbed his eyes, his nose was getting red, his reaction only made your anger to boil.

"Benjamin, baby?"

He looked at you as Miguel put him down.

"I need you to listen to me, okay mi amor?"

He nodded as you wiped his tears.

"There is nothing wrong with your hair, okay? Your hair is beautiful. And many other kids would give anything to have it."

He hiccuped.

Miguel kneeled and slicked his hair softly.

"Don't listen to her, champ. Probably the lady is just jealous you have more hair than her"

Benjamin couldn't help but giggle.

"What do we say at home, baby?"

"I am kind"

"Aha, what else?"

"My voice matters"

"Of course it does, Mi amor" You hugged him and peppered his face in kisses earning more giggles from him.

"And you are beautiful, okay. From these lovely bouncy curls, from these speedy feet, okay?

He nodded.

"Wanna go for an ice cream?"

Miguel put him on his back, his little legs dangling on his neck as you all left.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #💋 anon #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#wife reader #t writes✨#miguel o'hara fluff

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