#best social injustice books

[obsessedwithceleste]

Mattheo Riddle Headcannons

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Being the son of the Dark Lord is no easy task. Obviously.

Growing up, Mattheo had very limited contact with other people, which stunts his social skills a lot, especially with his peers

Once he breaks out and has the ability to meet other people, he's 100% an extrovert because he feels like he has to make up for everything that he missed out on

Growing up alone though made him very independent and self sufficient

Lots of trust issues, lots of abandonment issues

But he's also very bad at picking up on social cues, and reading other people's emotions

He grew up being outwardly judged by everyone around him, which caused him to develop a sort of apathetic attitude as a buffer

This gives him a sense of freedom because if he doesn't care about other's opinions, he can do whatever he wants, they'll judge him either way, so why not do what makes him happy

Mattheo also has a deep internal rage

Like, level 11 out of 10 on the scale of anger issues

He bottles up all his emotions and frustration with the world, often lashing out and exploding at the smallest triggers

His frustration mostly stems from the fact that it's not fair that he's suffering for the actions of his father. Because at the end of the day, he's still innocent in all of it

This is also why he's particularly spiteful and disdainful of authoritarian figures

He simply doesn't owe them anything

At Hogwarts it's hard for him at first. It's pretty clear that he didn't have much of a childhood and that he was forced to grow up much too fast

And once again, he finds himself being judged by everyone, so nothing new

His biggest pet peeve is when someone complains about a minor "tragedy" from their childhood, because he's absolutely certain that he had it worse

Lowkey victim complex™️

He's able to eventually bond closely with Theodore Nott, sharing a lot of similar childhood trauma (we <3 trauma bonding) and surprisingly Lorenzo Berkshire who shares his fuck-all mentality

Many assume that he's a malicious bully, based solely on his last name, but he's really more of a chaos instigator

He rebels against authority and stands up for what he might find to be an injustice, but he'd never go after someone without cause

Hogwarts is one of the first places he's able to truly act his age

He joins the Slytherin quidditch team,

He's a beater (which is kind of therapeutic as it allows him to let out a lot of his anger)

Often skives off of class,

He's not book smart like Theo, but makes up for it with street smarts

And likes to pull Theo into the fray simply because he can

This is also how he gets his reputation for frequently sleeping around to put it nicely

Mattheo grew up with a distinct lack of affection from those around him which causes him to search out any hint of it that he can find

He doesn't really use girls per se, he just doesn't quite understand the concept of love

But when Mattheo falls, he falls hard

The first time he catches feelings, he's absolutely terrified that he's under the influence of a love potion

Very confused, very upset, and denies it to the ends of the Earth

But once he comes around, he's all in

He doesn't like to think of himself as jealous, just territorial.

Jealousy is when something isn't yours and you want it. But you belong to him, and he'll be damned if he doesn't defend his territory

He also isn't shy at all when it comes to PDA, simply because he wants everyone to know what's his

Definitely love bombs, but he doesn't know what that means

Won't bat an eye before hexing someone for looking at you too long (will act innocent and pretend it wasn't him)

Honestly probably would not be the best partner initially because he's so used to being independent

And would likely try to hide a lot of his anger and emotions from you because his biggest fear would be being judged by someone he loves

It would take a lot of time and effort to work through, but Mattheo would be willing to put in the work because he's determined to have the one thing his father never could

[gatheringbones]

best books I read in 2023:

sophie strand, the flowering wand: rewilding the sacred masculine

alex iantaffi, gender trauma: healing cultural, social, and historical gendered trauma

matthew desmond, evicted: poverty and profit in the american city

betty dodson, sex for one: the joy of selfloving

ching-in chen, andrea smith, jai dulani, the revolution starts at home: confronting intimate partner violence within activist communities

robin stern, the gaslight effect: how to spot and survive the hidden manipulation others use to control your life

nick turse, kill anything that moves: the real american war in vietnam

lori fox, this has always been a war: the radicalization of a working class queer

arline t. geronimus, weathering: the extraordinary stress of ordinary life in an unjust society

roxanne dunbar-ortiz, not a nation of immigrants: settler colonialism, white supremacy, and a history of erasure and exclusion

eyal press, dirty work: essential jobs and the hidden toll of inequality in america

rabbi danya ruttenberg, on repentence and repair: making amends in an unapologetic world

michelle dowd, forager: field notes for surviving a family cult

starhawk, the empowerment manual: a guide for collaborative groups

betty dodson, orgasms for two: the joy of partnersex

timothy snyder, black earth: the holocaust as history and warning

kidada e. williams, I saw death coming: a history of terror and survival in the war against reconstruction

judy grahn, another mother tongue: gay words, gay worlds

jennifer m. silva, coming up short: working-class adulthood in an age of uncertainty

susanna clarke, piranesi

megan asaka, seattle from the margins: exclusion, erasure, and the making of a pacific coast city

starhawk, truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery

laura jane grace, tranny: confessions of punk rock’s most infamous anarchist sellout

molly smith, revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex worker's rights

richard c. schwartz, you are the one you've been waiting for: applying internal family systems to intimate relationships

timothy snyder, our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary

peter levine, trauma and memory: brain and body in search for the living past

kylie cheung, survivor injustice: state-sanctioned abuse, domestic violence, and the fight for bodily autonomy

timothy snyder, bloodlands: europe between hitler and stalin

joan larkin, a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories

cj cherryh, hammerfall

[your-regular-toast-enjoyer]

The only one: Yandere Damian Wayne x reader

Damian Wayne x reader or Damian Wayne/reader

Yandere!Damian Wayne x reader or Yandere Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 11 368 words

TW: GN reader, Yandere, kidnapping, adult Damian Wayne (inspired and mostly based off of Damian in Batman beyond & Injustice 2: Gods among us), toxic family relations, obsession. Other than that, there's no s*x or anything of the like.

This was requested by @simligul

“How lovely…” Damian sneered.

You were all standing together in the Titan tower lobby, ready to go out to eat dinner, and Jaime had just explained to the green-eyed Robin how he had booked a table at a steakhouse, which didn’t serve any vegetarian dishes other than salads.

“I mean, you could just get a salad and instead focus on hanging out with us”, Jaime attempted to argue, it was clear that he didn’t want Damian to agree though. Damian was already annoyed and blew his team members off with a rough, “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just stay back.” You felt bad for him. It was unlike the others to be so non-accommodating, but they seemingly always had it out for the team’s leader, and you had yet to be let in on the reason why. Sure, he could be rude! But was that really rationale enough to treat him like the plague? 

You were new to the team, Black Canary’s long-time protégé. 

Dinah had been apprehensive when it came to letting you be on the Teen Titans. She had always acted like a protective mother-hen, and as your mother’s best friend, she felt obligated to keep you safe, despite your work as a vigilante. Both your mother and Dinah had been worried about you becoming a vigilante sidekick all those years ago, but with your growing meta-abilities, giving you the ability to control and create ice, it had seemed like the best way to help your then-ten-year-old self. You had been shipped far away from your mother and over to Dinah. The blonde hero had pretty much taken care of you ever since. You would never admit it, but Dinah was the first person you thought of when asked about your mother, not the woman who gave birth to you and whom you only ever saw for the holidays. It was a sad reality, but you realised why your mother, who knew nothing of how to handle superpowers, couldn’t deal with a child running around and freezing all her furniture to the ground, all her food into icicles and risking one day freezing a person to death. Oliver had handled the legality of it all, ultimately, money does speed up the process of a partial adoption, just a smidge. Eight years later, though, you were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Still, being next to a seasoned superhero and being in a team led by a boy no more than a year older than you were two very different things. Your mother had argued this point up and down, pushing it through your ears and hoping it’d stick in your mind. You didn’t care though, you wanted to be part of the team. 

You had always seen how all the other sidekicks had such close bonds and yet the only other sidekick... Well, ex-sidekick… You ever managed to befriend was Roy Harper. He often came by Dinah’s place, which was your home too, when his mentor wasn’t there. However, Roy was more than ten years older than you, he acted like your older brother, not your friend. On top of that, he had a kid and was technically his own hero now. You couldn’t relate to him. Your classmates in high school were of no solace either. None of them knew anything of your secret double life. On top of that, it was hard to keep any friends among them, since you were constantly absent, (off on a mission with Dinah). Academically you did great, Dinah taught you herself whenever you were away, but socially? You were failing miserably. As an eighteen-year-old, your youngest friend isn’t supposed to be a decade older and fathering a kid. 

You had become desperate to find company amongst the other sidekicks. You had practically begged Oliver one evening to help you convince Dinah to let you join the Teen Titans, (which didn’t actually contain a lot of teenagers anymore, but they were still within a relatively close age range to you). 

The blonde-bearded hero had relented after a while, (having known you since you were a kid, he had never been very good at denying you anything). However, he only did so on the condition that you’d deal with some of the more mindless paperwork related to Queen industries. He had been sure that your dedication to being part of a new team wasn’t as big as your disdain for the asinine task of sorting, filling in and shipping off hundreds of reports. Yet, you had, and he had been obligated to hold up his end of the deal. Oliver spent hours buttering up Dinah to finally make her relent, but she was still on high alert and had even offered to buy you anything you’d want if you just stayed with her. However, you were determined to form new bonds with fellow young vigilantes, it was time to break out of your shell after all these years.

When you entered the large T-shaped tower along with your mentor, you felt a strange mix of total horror and unbridled excitement bubble in your lower abdomen, like the first time you fought alongside Black Canary. On the outside, however, you appeared unimpressed, perhaps even disgruntled. The other Titans had assumed that you were being forced to join, a comically ironic departure from the truth. Still, as you packed out your stuff in your new room, a secret smile betrayed your true feelings about the situation.

You met the team as it currently stood, it had gone through many iterations, but this was your team, the one that you would fight alongside.

You first met Jaime Reyes, he was a few years older than you but was ultimately a sweetheart. You had caught both him and another young man, Garfield Logan, playing a video game which you recognised from Roy’s apartment. Garfield was friendly as well, perhaps a little too friendly… He had jumped to hug you upon first meeting you, completely forgetting about his game with Jaime and crossing any personal space you might’ve wished to uphold. You let him though, it was nice feeling welcomed. 

As Dinah walked you further through the tower, she introduced you to Rachel, who had simply given you a court nod, before returning to one of her leather-bound spell-books. 

Koriand’r, Victor Stone and Dick Grayson had been next up on your list of members to greet, all being found together conversing. Technically, Dick wasn’t part of the team, however, since Kori was and she spent most of her time at the Titans tower, so did Dick, at every chance he got. He was like a puppy who couldn’t stray too far away from her side, lest he be lost forever. They all gave you warm smiles and firm pats on the back, they were all in the middle of their twenties, far older than any of the others, but still, they remained on the team. Koriand’r mostly being there as a mentor and a much-needed adult presence, whereas Vic simply couldn’t remove himself from the team, which had picked him up from his lowest points more times than he could count. 

It gave you a sense of security that actual adults were part of the team, not just a handful of seventeen to nineteen-year-olds. It felt like a much-welcomed safety net, just like Dinah had always been for you. 

The last on the list had been the team’s official leader, Damian Wayne. He had been in the position since he turned thirteen and had kept it well for over six years, it gave prestige to his name and it made you look forward to meeting him. However, as Dinah let you into Damian’s office, (a small room at the end of the hallway containing the bedrooms), you quickly realised that he would be the most unpleasant aspect of working with the Titans. He had simply given you an annoyed glance before referring to your teacher, “I suppose you want me to take your little sidekick under the team’s wings?” 

Dinah had scoffed, uncaring whether Damian heard it or not, “Me? No, I’d prefer to keep my sidekick by my side, but Olli thinks it’d be good for them to interact more with people their own age”. Damian had raised one thick dark eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to let out a sarcastic insult, but decided against it. Dinah was, after all, a member of the Justice League, Bruce would have his tongue if he offended the blonde hero. “Fine, but I’ll send them back to you if they don’t have the skills required for our team”. Dinah had agreed to his conditions with a frown, she knew that they’d keep you, no matter how much she was going to miss having you by her side, she had to let you go and let you go on your own adventures. 

Damian hadn’t ended up being very pleasant to you for most of your stay at the Teen Titans. He wasn’t a bully, but he never let his opinions pass through a filter. As a confidante, he would be horrible. Still, you respected his fighting and leadership abilities, and just because he wasn’t easy to get along with, didn’t mean that he was a bad person. The other young titans didn’t seem to grasp this concept, however.

“If you’re going to be so dramatic about a restaurant choice, then it’s probably better anyways”, Jaime spat at Damian. His aggression towards your leader shocked you, never had Jaime even come close to raising his voice at you, much less sounding so spiteful.

“Whatever” Damian shrugged, turning around and starting to walk out, gently whispering under his breath, “كل قهرا (Kol Khara)...” No one except you heard it, and his tone of voice made a pit form in your lower abdomen, tucking on you to do something, anything, to stand up for the young man. Right before Damian left the room, you exclaimed “I’ll stay back too”. Garfield tried to argue, “No, y/n! Come on! I’m sure Damian will be fine on his own!” His coercion didn’t work on you, and you stood your ground, shaking your head firmly. “No one should be left alone in the tower. Besides, I’m not too into steakhouses, anyways.” Garfield seemed deflated at the thought of you not joining them, looking pleadingly at the others for backup. 

Victor or Jaime would’ve usually helped Garfield convince you. However, when your eyes briefly met Jaime’s, your scowl made your disappointment in him clear, and he backed down with an apologetic look. Victor tried to push out some statement that might change your mind. However, by the time he had found the words, you were already waving them off and walking over to Damian’s side.

As the rest of the Titans slowly filtered out of the tower, you turned to Damian. The shy smile that you had previously worn around the others slowly melted into a deadpan. You knew Damian would find your smile mocking, so you didn’t force yourself to hold up any pretences. “Pizza?” You asked as you dug your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. The young man’s green eyes studied you briefly, searching for any hidden meanings behind your act of kindness. “Why did you do that? I can be on my own, no problem. You don’t have to babysit me.” He spoke through his teeth, making him resemble a robot as his lips barely moved. “I don’t like steak-”, you shrugged nonchalantly, “-Did you want pizza or not?”

Giving you a suspicious look, Damian shook his head, “Sure. I’ll pay”.

You knew that Damian had a hard time letting others pay for him, he despised the feeling of being indebted. That was the most profound thing you knew about him, which you honestly found concerning, you practically knew nothing of your team captain. Calling up the nearest pizza place, you had them deliver the pizza to a corner close to the tower. Neither Damian nor you could risk anyone knowing your secret identities, and you didn’t feel like getting into your costumes just for a pizza delivery. 

Slowly trudging down to the agreed-upon corner, you forgot to keep an eye on the traffic as you passed the road to the corner. Suddenly, you felt a harsh yank on your arm and a rush of air beside you. As per instinct, you fired a fist towards the direction of your assailant, only to have your hand caught by Damian. He had been the one to pull you back, and as you gave him a confused look, he flicked his index finger into your forehead. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?!” You exclaimed, massaging the affected area with the fingers of your left hand. Damian seemed agitated as his grip on your arm tightened, “What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You almost got run over by a car, you idiot!”

You slowly blinked at him, letting out a quiet, “Oh…Thanks”.

Damian scoffed, tugging you across the road, still holding your arm in an iron grip, “Don’t worry about it”.

Damian was still holding your forearm tight when the pizza delivery guy arrived. The teenager in the blue pizza-place uniform gave the two of you a wary glance. It looked as if Damian was holding you against your will as you both held agitated facial expressions and the green-eyed man simply pushed the money you owed into the delivery guy’s hands, taking the pizzas and pulling you away. In reality, Damian had claimed that he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t get yourself into danger again if he let go of you. You supposed that it was a kind gesture, but your arm was starting to ache and Damian’s sour countenance made it look like you had just killed his new puppy. 

When you and Damian re-entered the Titans Tower, he finally let go of your arm, setting the two steaming pizzas on the kitchen counter, before he started to rummage through multiple cupboards, looking for a pizza slicer. You discreetly rubbed the area that your team leader had squeezed so firmly. You didn’t want to complain to him, afraid he might make fun of your weakness. Still, he seemed aware, despite having his back turned to you. “Did my grip hurt you?” His voice was precise yet a certain calmness rounded his otherwise harsh tone. “Don’t worry about it”, you tried to reassure him, but he refused to let the topic go. “I didn’t ask you whether I should worry or not, I asked if your arm hurts?” 

You stared at the dark tufts of hair at the back of the man’s head, a sense of bitter annoyance filling your throat. Why did he need to know if it hurt or not when you had already told him that it wasn’t a big deal? “A little, but it’s nothing compared to any of the injuries I get on the daily from sparring with Kori”, you giggled softly at the thought of how Koriand’r often left anything from tiny burn marks to black and blue bruises of varying yet considerable sizes. You had often wanted to spar with someone more on your level, like Garfield or Jaime, but you and Koriand’r were natural sparring partners. Her ability to shoot rays of fire perfectly contrasted your snow-themed meta-abilities. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you”, Damian muttered as he finally found the pizza cutter, turning around and meeting your eyes. For a second you were rendered gelid, his eyes were the deepest shade of forest green you had ever seen, with specks of a minty blue and rich gold spread throughout. You almost breathed out a woah, but managed to catch it mid-air by taking a deep breath. You had never realised that eyes could be so stunning, they almost seemed artificial. Forcing your gaze away from Damian, who himself had stood still, staring into your eyes, you turned to the food. Walking to the counter and unpacking the pizzas, you tried your best to ignore how Damian’s searing gaze was burning holes into your backside. It almost felt like he had aimed a laser at you while you were trying to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of him. “Can I have the pizza cutter?” You requested airily, it felt as if your team leader’s wonderfully green eyes were sucking out the oxygen from your lungs with their intensity. Making his way to your side, Damian pushed you away from the pizzas, “I’ll do it. You’ll just end up cutting yourself”. Finally, his fierce gaze dragged off you and onto the food in front of him. A chill went down your back and you realised that you had accidentally cooled down the entire room with your powers. You could’ve facepalmed at yourself, thinking, ‘that’s probably why he looked at me like that. I was literally turning the entire kitchen into a freezer!’ 

Calming yourself down and letting up on the use of your powers, the room slowly heated up once again. Damian didn’t comment on the sudden temperature changes, instead platting three slices of both your pizzas and taking them to the dinner table. Standing still for a while, seemingly pondering something, Damian finally put down both of your plates next to each other. “Come over here”, he commanded softly, dragging a hand through his thick hair, the muscles under his golden skin flexing in turn. With hesitant steps, you made it to the chair where your pizza had been put in front. Before you could drag out your chair, Damian did it for you, gesturing for you to sit down. Giving him a suspicious glance, you acquiesced. It wasn’t like Damian to be such a gentleman, or at least you didn’t think it was. Truth be told, you didn’t actually know much about how he usually acted. Damian always kept to himself or hung out with Dick when he was there, he hadn’t given you much of a chance to get to know him on any more than a surface level. When your thighs hit the pillow of the seat, Damian gently pushed the chair in place, before taking his place beside you. You ate in silence for a while, until Damian suddenly spoke up, “Thank you, by the way”. You were confused, why was he thanking you? Because you stayed silent? That wasn’t much to thank you for, your lack of social experience usually kept you relatively quiet. Deciding to be bold and ask him, you almost faltered as you turned to see Damian staring at you again. “What are you thanking me for?” 

Raising a single mocking eyebrow, Damian tried not to sound harsh as he explained, “For staying behind to keep me company. I know that you didn’t just do it because you dislike steakhouses or whatever. It was nice of you, thank you.” His use of short and concise sentences almost made every word he spoke sound like an important disclosure, like something you’d expect to come out of the mouth of a scientist explaining the danger of a chemical substance.

“Oh, no worries. They were being arseholes anyways, they usually aren’t that way, I don’t know what happened with them today-”, Damian interrupted you with a loud scoff. “Perhaps they’re nice to you, but to me? They’re always like that, I’m not even surprised anymore”, his tone seemed like a mix of scorn and lament. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know”, you had no idea what else to say, what could anyone say in that situation? It was a lie, obviously, you were quite aware that your other teammates didn’t treat your leader particularly well. What you didn’t know, however, was that it actually affected Damian. He had always seemed like this indestructible wall, no emotions, all logic. You had never resented him for that, you had honestly respected it, but what you had never done was consider him human like the rest of you… well, except Koriand’r.

“Don’t apologise for others. You’re being kind to me… As the only one”, the last part barely came out as a whisper, it was clear he didn’t want you to hear it, but had to let it out, or else he’d burst. 

Taking the last bite of your third pizza slice, you took the plate to the sink. You had no idea how to deal with Damian at that moment, you had practically grown up with Dinah, a licensed therapist, and yet you had no idea how to tackle the Wayne boy’s display of emotions. It was such a rare occasion, you knew, and with his hardened composure, it was obvious that he hated being vulnerable. You wagered that he’d probably have preferred to have this minor breakdown with anyone else except the newest member of his team. However, since you were the only one there, you supposed you’d have to do. Roy did always tell you that you were a great person to rant to, lending your ears to anyone willing to speak their woes.

Going over to Damian, you offered him your hand. He looked almost offended at the gesture, with his eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched all the way up. Still, he gently placed his rough palm in yours, forgetting his last pizza slice. Hoisting him up, you lead him to your room in complete silence, except for the thumps of your feet hitting the floor. Closing the door behind you, you led him to your bed, and plopped on top of your duvet, dragging him down with you. “Speak”, you gently suggested, hand still intertwined with his. “What?” Damian questioned, looking at you like you were mad. “Talk about how you feel about the others, please. It usually helps to get it out. I promise, whatever you say in this room, stays in this room”, you requested with a sweet smile, urging him to open up, if only a bit.

“No.” Damian refused immediately, he wasn’t the type to share his worries and woes, so why was it any of your concern that he felt unfairly treated by his teammates? That he already preferred you, the newest member, over the others, because the others always assumed the worst about him and simply treated him like a robot sent to make their lives difficult, despite him just trying to keep them all safe?!

“I can see why that’d make you feel alienated by them”, you muttered peacefully, your thumb rubbing calming circles into the skin of his hand, just like you had always done with Roy.

“Shit-”, Damian breathed out, he had said all of that out loud. ‘Way to go Damian!’ His mind screamed at him. He felt exposed and vulnerable like he had just ripped his skin off and presented you with all of his bleeding organs. It was disgusting and he felt the need to backtrack. Yet, the rhythm of your finger tracing lazy shapes on top of his skin made him enjoy the moment just a bit too much to let it go.

“Why are you doing this?” Damian asked with no small amount of scepticism.

“Everyone deserves someone to listen to them, that’s what Dinah always says. Besides, my best friend is literally Roy Harper”, you answered casually. Your last sentence made Damian laugh, despite himself. It was no thunderously bellowing laughter, as you knew his brother had from the few times you and Jason Todd had visited Roy at the same time, but rather a contained yet harmonious chuckle. Still, your argument was valid, Roy’s mental instability and former partiality towards drugs were infamous within vigilante circles.

Damian considered you for a moment, before leaning in closer as if what he told you was a rumour to be whispered. Starting off slowly and carefully, Damian admitted feeling as if had no one at the Titans to speak with, as if they all compared him to his older brothers and were disappointed. He felt as if he was oftentimes the only one who saw matters logically. As evidence of this claim, he cited incidents such as Terra’s traitorous nature slipping through Kori’s fingers because the woman refused to do background checks, or how just last week Jaime had almost gotten all of you killed because he refused to attack a crying henchman soliloquizing about his family, who turned out to simply be acting to divert the team’s attention from the bomb planted close by. He was frustrated by their idiocy and the way he spoke so passionately on the issue, you were able to deduce that what really frustrated him was the fear that the team would get themselves hurt. 

You let Damian vent out all of his frustrations until the sound of the front door opening harshly followed by Jaime and Garfield’s yelling filled the entire tower. Damian shut his mouth like a clamp immediately, yet he sent you a grateful smile, which revealed the deep dimples on the side of his cheeks. “Thank you for listening to me, صديقة/صديق, (Sadeek/Sadeekah)”, Damian squeezed your hand one last time before sneaking out of your room, unseen. A weight lifted off his shoulders and a curious pit formed in his stomach.

You and Damian started talking sporadically after that, it was never in front of the other teammates, but Damian seemingly always managed to catch you alone for a few minutes every few days. You’d exchange a few hushed jokes or comment on the latest mission. It almost felt as if your newfound friendship was illegal. As if the others couldn’t know that you found Damian’s company pleasant and almost refreshing compared to the hyperactivity of Garfield, Jaime’s constant laments about his previous friends, Brenda and Paco, or Kori’s disturbing lack of filter. Damian was a delightful contrast to the constant tumult that the others provided and you felt as if he already knew you better than yourself. His music recommendations were always bangers, his favourites in everything from food to movies always seemed to match up perfectly with yours, and if a particular teammate had been an irritation that day, he always commented on it, which felt nice as it confirmed your own feelings on the matter. It almost felt as if the two of you were made to be friends.  

The truth was, Damian did in fact know you pretty well. It was hard not to after having hacked into your computer and phone, looking through your google searches and favourite music, and sneaking into your room while you were on patrol, going through all of your things, as well as discreetly observing you whenever you were in the same room as him, (had he not been a trained assassin, he was sure that he would have been caught staring by at least one of your team members).

After your earnest kindness during that evening when the others had left for the steakhouse, an unfamiliar feeling had started to spread through his body. At first, he had thought he got sick, but after having gone to the doctor and been cleared for any physical ailments, he had started to panic. What was going on with him?! The image of your face never left his mind, a strange pain went through his chest every time he was far away from you and whenever either Jaime, Garfield or Victor touched you, he experienced a rage unlike any other. 

He had gone directly to Dick the moment his brother visited. The older man had chuckled at first, explaining that it was probably just a crush, but Damian disagreed vehemently. The green-eyed man had experienced crushes before, he once had one on Rachel and even some of his fellow assassin trainees as a kid, but this was entirely different. 

Dick had shrugged and waved it off as Damian’s first time falling properly in love, comparing it to how he had been with many women throughout his life because he was attracted to them, but he had only ever been in love with Barbara and Koriand’r. Damian hadn’t really understood the explanation, but he did gather that he could perhaps have with you what his brother had with the two red-heads, just… more exclusive. 

Maybe Dick would have been more careful with his explanation had he known his brother’s obsessive tendencies. In later years Grayson would defend himself with the phrase, “Who assumes that about their brother?” But at that point it would be much too late, after his talk with Dick, Damian had gained a new insight into himself. He was definitely in love with you.

Still, Damian had felt the need to do as many background checks on you as possible, hence his first visit to your room without your permission. He refused to let his feelings turn him into danger, ever the sceptic. Yet, when all came back green, he let his heart guide him for the first time in his entire nineteen years of life. It felt freeing and he became deathly afraid of losing the feeling.

Still, this overwhelming sensation came with its drawbacks. Never had Damian felt so jealous of anyone or anything, not even Tim. Most of his jealousy was aimed at his green teammate, the man going by the moniker Beast-Boy, Garfield Logan. His newest enemy, in a long line of them. The man was clearly your best friend on the team, always plastered right by your side. It was cruel how you were so open with your friendship with Garfield, but hid away your affiliation with Damian. On top of that, it was so obvious that the little green freak had a crush on you, it was almost too much for Damian to bear. Garfield didn’t deserve you, Damian did. The green-eyed Robin was simply looking for a reason to do away with the beastly man. No matter the severity.

It was a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, you were relaxing on your bed, reading a book that you had recently lent to Victor, but never gotten around to finishing yourself. It was on these days that your ice powers were the weakest, you had barely been able to shoot a single beam of ice at Koriand’r during training earlier and had needed to resort to hand-to-hand combat within the first ten minutes. It had you exhausted and your powers totally drained. So tired were you, in fact, that you hadn’t even bothered to pack away most of your melee weapons. Knives laid on your desk and bedside table, out in the open, it was against almost every rule in the protocol. However, you were just so exhausted that you would rather deal with the consequences of getting caught leaving your weapons out than stand up and do any work for a single second more.  

A loud knock ripped you out of your reading. A shame really, you had just reached the good part. 

“Come in!” You urged with a deep sigh, and the door opened to reveal Damian. 

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, displaying a smug smile, knowing you wouldn’t mind his light teasing. 

“Just my book reading. What’s up?” You replied as you sat up properly. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d slid so far down with your back, your neck practically leaning against your bed’s headrest.

“Just wanted to hang out with you, and thought you probably wouldn’t mind”, Damian made his way into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, making sure that none of the others saw him enter.

You hummed in confirmation as Damian lifted your legs, plopping down on your bed, before laying them over his lap, not changing your previous position.

Relaxing your body again, your eyes drifted to the page you had gotten to, continuing to read the story, but Damian had a different idea, plucking the hardcover from your hands and turning the pages towards himself. You dragged your legs back towards yourself and leaned closer to Damian, trying to grab your book back. However, once you had gotten relatively close, the green-eyed man leant back as well, a clear smirk bending his plump lips. You continued to pursue your book until Damian was on his back, book covering his face, and you leaning over him, an arm on each side. From behind the cover of the book, you heard his muffled voice, proud and taunting, “My, my, Y/n. I didn’t know you felt that way-” Your face started to burn like a fire, unaccustomed to the flirtatious tone in Damian’s voice. Using your powers, you attempted to cool your skin down before your friend saw, but it was too late, as Damian had already moved the book away from his face. “Wow, Y/n. Is it that bad? You’re getting all worked up”, his smug expression worsened, which told you that he had planned for something like this to happen. Yet, as you were examining his face up close, you were momentarily caught off guard. You had never realised how beautiful Damian actually was. You knew that Bruce was considered attractive by pretty much anyone who was into men, heck, even you could admit that he was good-looking. And from the few pictures of Talia that you had seen on the Justice League supercomputer, you could confirm that she was gorgeous. So, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Damian was absolutely stunning, but still, it somehow surprised you how everything on him just seemed visually appealing. His eyes, which were so green that you’d think he wore contact lenses. His thick dark hair, currently spread out on the foot of your bed like a mini halo. His skin, which held such a beautiful golden colour, even if it was dimmed significantly from being inside writing up reports for the Justice League most of the time. Reaching forward slowly, you let a single finger trace along his nose, roman in shape, which gave his face character along with his sharp jaw. He was like a Greek statue. Damian’s gaze was focused on you, eyes blown wide. Yet, as you continued to trace your finger down his face, as if in a trance, his long eyelashes started to flutter, gradually closing his eyelids and enjoying the sensation of his face being caressed. He wasn’t used to physical affection and had been sure that he wouldn’t like it, even if he got it. However, when it came from you, it just seemed so gentle, so… correct? Like you were supposed to touch his face like this. Like if you didn’t, the world would go down in violent flames. But as soon as the moment began, it ended. When you realised what you were doing, your hand sprang away from his skin like a frightened spider. You almost pulled away, but Damian’s strong hand grasped your wrist, eyes still closed. “Don’t stop, please”. If your face hadn’t been warm before, it surely was now. How could he be so casual about asking for that? Was this not too much for a pair of friends? Well, you actually weren’t too sure... You hadn’t really had an actual friend since you were ten, maybe this was entirely normal friend behaviour. Who were you to say?

Letting Damian guide your hand back to his face, you gently allowed your palm to brush his right cheek. Leaning into your touch, Damian made a content sound from the back of his throat. Both of you were surprised that he was capable of such a thing. Putting his free hand between your shoulder blades, Damian coaxed you closer, getting you to put your weight on your elbows instead of your hand and wrist. You were so near each other, all one of you had to do to meet each other’s skin was to lean a little up or down, depending on which of you took the initiative. After you had continued your tender ministrations on the right side of your friend’s face for a while, Damian carefully moved your hand to his jaw, turning his face and leaning up to meet your lips. His attempt at a kiss was broken when your bedroom door swung open to reveal Garfield standing in the opening. A beat of silence occurred and if anyone had dropped a pin, it would have made a resonating clatter. 

The green boy stood still, shocked at the scene and with a look of outrage on his wide-set features. “What the heck are you doing to them?!”

Looking at your position, you understood how this could be perceived as Damian forcing you upon him, especially with his hands placed controllingly on your hand and back. Couple that with Garfield’s total lack of knowledge of your friendship. It wasn’t a pretty look for the man under you. 

You quickly tried to explain Damian’s innocence, but the man himself jumped in to defend himself, or so you thought. Instead of explaining the situation to Garfield, who stood in the doorframe, ready to turn into a tiger and maul the green-eyed Robin on the spot, Damian simply spat out an annoyed, “Get out!”

Garfield didn’t move, however. He instead entered the room, slamming the door behind him. “No! Let them go and get away from them!” 

Again you tried to explain, but before the words even reached your lips, Damian tugged you closer, burrowing your head in his shoulder and sending his green comrade a challenging look. “Or what?”

Garfield was taken aback, he didn’t expect things to escalate this far, but he adored you, thought of you as a dear friend, and there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his friends, which he decidedly didn’t consider Damian to be. “I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to touch anything again”. 

Realising how bad things were getting, you attempted to push Damian off you to diffuse the tensions, but he kept you in place and you began beating on his chest to let you go. “You’re just acting like this because you want them for yourself! You’re trying to take them away from me!” Damian sneered at Garfield as he sat both of you up, still keeping you close to him. Both you and your fellow team member were shocked at Damian’s words. They came out of the blue. “What?! No- That’s not- You know- I don’t-”, Garfield was too stunned to speak, but Damian wasn’t as he again commanded the green man, “Get out”. The man in question growled, “No way! Let them go, you psycho! I’ll tell Grayson how creepy you are!” The mention of his brother made something within Damian snap, he carefully let you go, making sure that he didn’t hurt you, the last moment of silence. Before you even had time to react, Damian grabbed a pencil from your desk, currently ignoring the knives abandoned next to it, and swung at Garfield. The attacked was able to jump away in time for the lead-cored writing utensil to just narrowly miss his head. It still bore deep into his shoulder, though, and he let out a howl in pain. You attempted to run to your friend’s aid, but both men told you to stay out of it. You wanted to race out of the door and get some of the others to help you, but the two men were blocking your path. You attempted to freeze both of the men’s feet, anything to keep them from each others’ throats, but your powers gave out on you and barely made a pfft sound as two puny clouds of snow emerged from your palms. You were panicking as Garfield turned into a verdant lion, right before your very eyes. You screamed for the two of them to stop, for one of them to just leave, anything other than fighting. You knew that a showdown would only result in someone getting seriously hurt and you wanted that for neither of your friends. You practically begged them to end the fight, but they both ignored you, with Damian grabbing two of the knives on your desk, and entering a fighting stance. 

You tried to run into the fight but were pushed down to the floor as Garfield jumped at Damian, who expertly sliced open the side of the green animal. A roar of pain filled the room and you wondered how none of the others had shown up yet, wishing with everything in you that Kori would come or even Victor. Any grown adult that was older than twenty. The thought of calling them briefly crossed your mind, but your phone was on the desk, which was being obstructed by the two men fighting. As a last-ditch effort to get help, you screamed your lungs out, “Kori! Victor! Anyone! Please!” Your throat became sore, the skin inside it felt ripped and inflamed, and yet you continued your screaming, like a mantra. But none came. 

What you didn’t know was the reason Garfield had gone to your room was to tell you that the others had gone to see a movie, one that both you and the green man had expressed disdain for. Garfield had planned a movie marathon for just the two of you, but now? Those plans seemed like a far-off dream.

Garfield was wounded, severely. Damian hadn’t even gotten a scratch. The dark-haired man considered his opponent as they circled each other. He scoffed, Garfield should’ve known he’d never stand a chance in a fight, but it was nothing if not a net positive for Damian. He got to get rid of the green boy who always clung to your side, so obviously having a crush the size of the moon. Disgusting, Damian thought. Did Garfield not know how beneath you he was? What made him ever believe he’d deserve you? He probably didn’t even love you, you were just someone he’d play around with until he got tired and then he’d throw you away. So far from Damian’s more respectable intentions, from his true and deep love which ran through his blood, getting pumped in through his heart and out through his veins. His love for you was his entire being. So, Damian was happy to get rid of the little green obstacle.

When Garfield jumped at Damian again, he felt a sudden shock as a knife was stuck in his chest. He shook and had to focus his entire being on not turning back into a human, if he did that, the wound would leave a much bigger impact. He didn’t get to ponder on it too long as Damian pushed him to the ground, sitting firmly on his lower abdomen, threatening to stick the second knife into Garfield’s throat. The bleeding man looked for you. If he had to die like this, he’d want to see you one last time. But he couldn’t find you in his sights. Suddenly, the weight on top of him was pushed off.  Trying to see who his saviour was, he caught a flash of your shirt. “What is wrong with you two?!” Your voice, you were practically hissing, hoarse beyond measure. 

Garfield gasped, and you quickly found your phone, calling your emergency number. You had a special one for the vigilantes, a measure to protect all of your identities.

After ending the call though, you felt something hard collide with your head, and you fell to the ground, blacking out at your back made contact with the floor, an incoherent scream in the background.

Damian had knocked you out with the book you had been reading previously, it had laid abandoned on the bed. He realised what he had just done would mean. He hadn’t considered the ramifications while in the heat of the battle, but now, all he could think about was how he’d lose you if he…when he was kicked off the team. There was no way that they’d let him stay after almost killing a teammate. So, he’d leave on his own accord. His mother would probably be mighty happy to see him again, she wouldn’t mind him bringing along his beloved. 

Leaving behind a screaming and bleeding Garfield, Damian picked you up and took out his phone from his pocket. He was surprised that it had stayed in there during the brief fight. Calling up his mother, she picked up immediately, it had been years and yet she was more than a little desperate to hear him utter the words she had waited so long for. “I’m coming home and I’m bringing a friend”. 

Dinah was inconsolable. Bruce had already tried to get her to calm down, but any time he opened his mouth, the blonde hero would cry about how this was his fault for raising a lunatic. Oliver also blamed Bruce, even going as far as to suggest making Damian their number one wanted enemy, a decision thoroughly backed by all except Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. 

“He’s a confused boy!” Clark had tried to defend, but Dinah would have none of it.

“He kidnapped my kid, my Y/n! He’s a psychopath and he’s dangerous! Look what he did to Beast-Boy!” The blonde had gestured to the photos of Garfield’s extensive injuries. He had survived, but barely. There was heavy doubt about whether or not he’d ever be able to get back to his vigilante duties. The damage was the worst around his stomach area, where Damian had practically gutted him like a fish. 

It had been Garfield that explained what happened. How he had walked in on Damian forcing you upon him, the ensuing fight and your kidnapping. While his story wasn’t entirely true, it got the point across well enough. It had left Dinah and Oliver furious and out for blood. 

No matter how much Bruce attempted to convince the other Justice League members that he could convince Damian to give you back, it was hard to take him seriously when they, firstly, had no idea where the two of you were and, secondly, when looking at how he had almost snuffed out the life of a teammate.

The Doom Patrol demanded retribution as well, or at the very least reassurance that Damian would never return as a hero after what he had done to their former mentee. Rita Farr had almost been as devastated as Dinah when she had seen her adoptive son, racing to her green man’s side as soon as she had gotten the news, she still had yet to leave him for any substantial amount of time, barely letting herself get any food. 

“I want my sidekick back! Your boy took them from me! That makes it your responsibility too!” Dinah had hissed, letting her mouth hang open for a second, a clear warning that she would have no scruples about blowing up both Wayne men’s heads with her canary cry if she didn’t get the young hero, whom she saw more as her own child, back.

The Justice League had voted on whether or not Damian and Y/n should be hunted down, and it had been an overwhelming five to three in favour. 

After the vote, Oliver guided the fishnet-wearing heroine out of the tower to cool off. Slowly, most of the members followed, leaving only Bruce and Clark. Superman placed a hand on his friend’s back and gently rubbed circles into Bruce’s latex-clad back. “We’ll get them to see sense, don’t worry. It’s probably all just a misunderstanding”. Bruce knew that it wasn’t. He always had a feeling that something was off about his youngest son, he had simply ignored the signs in favour of training up yet another young vigilante, fit to take over his legacy.

“It’s not,” Bruce stated bitterly, letting his guilt take over his heart.

Months later, on the other side of the world, in the palace barracks of Eth Alth'eban, you sat next to Damian at a vast breakfast table. It had been so long since he took you with him, you presumed that no one had any idea where you were or that they simply weren’t looking. 

Damian hadn’t bothered taking any of your possessions along as he fled with you, so, when the clothes you had been wearing that damned Saturday had gotten sufficiently dirty, you let him outfit you in the deep green robes associated with the Al Ghuls, of which he wore a similar one himself. 

It had been long enough for you to give up hope of ever getting rescued. You had tried to escape, multiple times in fact. With your powers, (weak as they were in the beating sun), it was relatively easy to get away from the regular guards, meant to keep you within the palace’s walls. Damian was a completely different story, however. The moment he got news of your escape, he’d instantly know where you’d be heading, he knew you better than anyone else, after all. And as much as you tried to fight back against Damian, it was no use. He was too good of a fighter. So, you resigned yourself to your fate.

“What would you like to eat, beloved? I won’t let you skip a meal”, Damian questioned gently, while holding your hand tightly under the table, tracing figures of eight into your palm. You shrugged, you didn’t like the idea of taking food from your kidnappers, it felt like an admission of consent in the entire matter. Damian’s face hardened, “You have to eat something. I’m not repeating myself again, beloved.” His tone left no room for discussion. He had taken up the unfortunate habit of talking to you like one would a child, entirely incapable of taking care of itself.

“Maybe some fruit? I don’t know”, you stuttered out, which seemed to please Damian immensely.

“Of course”, he smiled as he reached his muscular arm over the table, fishing up a small assortment of colourful fruits, some of which you had never even seen before, and putting them on your plate. You observed his arm carefully, watching the muscles flex under his skin, which had gotten a much healthier golden glow since you arrived at the League of Assassins’ lair. 

Talia sat opposite the two of you, her eyes inspecting you with scrutiny. Her gaze made you want to shrivel up and hide behind Damian. She truly was as beautiful as she had seemed on the Justice League computer, if not even more. The computer hadn’t been able to capture just how sharp her green eyes were, nor how said eyes could make you feel like the smallest person in the entire world.

You sent Talia an apologetic smile as if to say, ‘I don’t want me to be here either, we’re in the same boat’. You had no idea if she got the hidden meaning, you doubted she would care, even if she did.

“I’ve taken time off from my duties today, Y/n. Perhaps we could walk through the gardens, or would you rather do something else?” Damian’s voice cut through your thoughts, he was observing you bite into the fruits he had picked out for you, so fresh that their juices dribbled down the corners of your mouth. Looking up at the youngest  Al Ghul you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to put a napkin over your lips, wiping away the stickiness left behind on your chin from your breakfast. 

“All better”, he muttered as he leaned over and pecked your cheek. Your face heated up. You couldn’t deny that you were attracted to him, but his treatment of Garfield, whom you presumed dead, kept flashing in your head every time you felt ready to forgive him, or at least try to. It made ever moving on with this new life of yours near impossible. “What about the library?” You suggested nervously, Talia’s presence usually did that to you. Leaning close and capturing your tepid lips with his, Damian hummed in agreement. Your eyes went to his mother, who was looking at the two of you with an emotion which was hard for you to decipher. 

As you strolled around the library, hand in hand with Damian, you picked out books which caught your interest. The League’s library truly held everything, there was at least one copy of every fiction and non-fiction book you’d ever heard of. “It’s important to have access to all information”, Damian chuckled every time you were surprised that the library held the book you’d ever asked for, no matter how new. You almost suspected that they held the unfinished versions of books, just to be sure that they didn’t miss out on the writer’s process. Despite the gigantic library holding so many books, very few were actually present except you and Damian. “Most assassins are too busy to read often”, a shame you thought, what was the point of having all these books if they never got read?

Deciding on a book to read, you attempted to walk towards a closed-off area with deep green couches, but Damian stopped you, pulling you back, and making you collide with his hard chest. The green-eyed man laughed loudly at your confused expression, his voice carrying across the many bookcases and returning back to you as an echo. Effortlessly plucking the book out of your hand, Damian kissed the crown of your head, whispering into your hair, “let me read to you, beloved”, it wasn’t a question nor was it a command, you couldn’t quite place it as anything other than a statement of fact. 

When you reached the sofas, the green-eyed heir pulled you towards him, urging you to sit between his outspread legs, an invitation which you were nervous to refuse. Settling down, you leaned back against his chest, letting the warmth of his body fill you up as he wrapped his free arm around your midsection, before starting to read out loud.

The book itself was disappointing, with one-dimensional characters and a boring setting, however, Damian’s raspy yet clear voice rang out perfectly without vibrato or mistakes in his pronunciation. Like melted chocolate and soft butter, his weirdly mixed accent was smooth and enchanting. You would have listened to him read any book, even a dictionary, for all of eternity. You never realised how musical Damian’s voice indeed was, his chest rumbling along with the words as you slowly started to relax in his grip. At one point the sound of his reading stopped. You opened your eyes, which you hadn’t even realised had closed during his reading, coming face to face with Damian’s eyes gazing down at you, you returned the gesture. He honestly looked like he had been carved by a renaissance sculptor. You wondered if he knew how breathtaking he really was. “You’re gorgeous”, the words tumbled from your lips like rocks over a cliff. Damian’s eyes softened, never had you seen him so vulnerable yet relieved, “Nothing compared to you”, he whispered reverently, moving his hand up your body and caressing your jaw softly. It hurt, not physically, but rather your mind. People usually said that emotions were centred in the heart, but you’d disagree, it was all in your brain, pulsing with the thoughts of Damian’s sweet touches, his attack on Garfield, the forced relationship and how you’d been infatuated with him ever since the evening that you two had gotten pizza. You had never been one to cry, you had grown up as a vigilante, and as a meta, you had been forced to put up a hundred proverbial walls, guarding your emotions and opinions with an iron fence. Still, as the pounding in your head got worse and Damian’s touches gentler, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears sprang from the corners of your eyes, and despite you biting down on the inside of your lips hard, almost drawing blood, you couldn’t keep in the body-wracking sob that pushed its way from the deep depths of your stomach and out through your mouth.

Damian took less than a second to react, lifting you up and turning you around, holding you close and letting you burrow your head deep into the deep green fabric covering his shoulder, soaking up the silky material with your salty tears.

Damian hugged you tightly to his body, trying to comfort you, whispering endearing reassurances into your ear. When it did nothing, you came to realise that your outburst wasn’t even caused by what Damian did, that was simply the spark that lit the fuse. It was everything else as well. Your mother practically gave you up to Dinah because she couldn’t handle that you weren’t just a normal kid, being thrown into the throngs of vigilantism at the age of ten, (even younger than any of the Robins which Bruce had taken on), and you had just been expected to be cool with it, to enjoy it even! You felt as if your childhood and teenage years had been robbed from you by Dinah’s never-ending ‘adventures’... yeah, that had been what she’d called it, “adventures”, it made it seem more fun than “missions”, less demanding than “potentially world-ending crisis needing immediate attention from two meta-powered humans, one of which being a child”. You were eighteen and you had never even gone to a school dance, never been to a party, never had a boyfriend… Well, now you did. You supposed it was only fitting that the only romantic relationship you had ever experienced was so intense and anything but childlike, it seemed to fit your life perfectly. You were filled with a burning hot rage, not aimed at Damian, but rather aimed at your mother, at Dinah, at Oliver and at anyone else who had supported the pillaging of your entire youth, all in the name of justice… What justice?! Certainly not any justice for you. Of all the people who had mistreated you, Damian was the better of two evils. At least he loved you, adored you even, he didn’t make you shoot ice beams at dummies for hours until your arms burned with the fury of a hundred suns and then demand that you run for hours afterwards. He treated you well, he made sure you ate, he read for you and now, in your darkest hour, he comforted you. 

Tightening your grip on the green-eyed man, you whispered softly into his neck, “Marry me, please”. If Damian was the best you could get, then you would make the best of a bad situation and love him back.

Damian was shocked, just this morning you had apathetically evaded his kisses and now you wanted to marry him. He was ecstatic, of course, but sceptical at the same time. Regardless, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. If you were planning something nefarious, he’d deal with it swiftly. “It would be my greatest honour”, he exhaled, kissing the top of your head.

You sat there for what seemed like ages, his steady breathing calming yours, as well.  

Your moment was broken when one of the assassins dropped from the roof of the library, giving you a shock, yet not even surprising Damian. “Speak.” The Al Ghul heir commanded. 

“The Justice League have located us, they’re here to take back the royal consort Y/n”, the assassin had spoken loud and clear, in that peculiar way that they were trained to do.

“Prepare for a large-scale defence”. Those were the last words you heard before being hauled into your room by Damian, left with a searing kiss on your lips, the first one you ever reciprocated. How tragic.

It had been hours since the invasion by the Justice League, and you had no idea how either side was doing, the only window of your room was facing away from the palace barracks, which you supposed were where the fight was currently being held. Your thoughts went to Damian, you felt nauseous at the idea of him getting hurt. The image of his beautiful feature caved into a broken skull made you cringe and the very idea of losing him made you dizzy. You had situated yourself in the corner of the room, legs pulled to your chest and forehead resting on your knees, waiting for something you weren’t quite sure what was.

When you heard the sound of a cape blowing in the wind and the click of heels hitting the tiled flooring of the room, you glanced up. Outside your window floated Superman and in front of you stood Black Canary, tears streaming out of her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots. “Oh, Y/n!” the blonde cried out as she wrapped you in her arms, the leather of her jacket was cool against your exposed neck. 

“Why are you here?” You uttered in distaste, not returning the hug of your former mentor. 

“We’re here to save you, Y/n! Oh, I’m so glad to have you back next to me! You have no idea how much I worried for you!” Dinah could barely keep her emotions in, something which was entirely different from her usual laid back personality. As the leather-clad heroine tried to drag you towards Superman’s waiting arms, you pulled back. You didn’t want them here. Everything had just fallen into place. You had technically just gotten engaged with a man who you were pretty sure that you loved, at least a little bit. 

You were slowly forming your own adulthood, you didn’t want Dinah to take this away as well, locking you up by her side forever until you would inevitably take her place. That wasn’t the life you wanted, you just desired a ‘normal’ existence with a husband and a home, why were the Justice League even here when you didn’t need to be saved anymore?

“Go home”, you commanded, copying the tone of your fiancé when he talked to his subordinates.

Dinah didn’t get what you were asking, instead happily grabbing your face and wiping non-existing tears from your cheeks. “Yes, darling! We’re going home! No more of any of this! We’ll be back in Star City, safe and sound! Oh, Roy even prepared a large brunch for tomorrow to celebrate your return, just you, Oliver, Roy, Lian and me”. You cringed at the idea, she was treating you like a child, as if you were still the ten-year-old kid who had stood on her doorstep, confused and in need of a mother’s guiding hand. Did she ever stop seeing you like that? You couldn’t help but wonder.

“No, I want to stay here” You tried to reason in an even voice. Dinah’s face fell.

“What?! Why?! No! You can’t! You’re just experiencing Stockholm Syndrome! It’ll all be better tomorrow!” The blonde tried to tug at you again, but you stood your ground. “No, I like it here, I want to stay. Damian treats me well, a-and I’ve been in love with him for longer than I’ve been here”, you argued, only to be met with a scoff.

“You don’t know what love is, Y/N! You’re so young, Damian just took advantage of your crush! That’s why he tried to force you upon him! Garfield told us, no need to explain! I understand!” Dinah was frantic at this point. You were her little kid, she couldn’t lose you!

“Damian didn’t force me upon him! I wanted to kiss him! Garfield came in and interrupted us! I-I don’t know how to make it clearer to you! I don’t want to leave Damian!” You were screaming at this point, and Dinah shook her head, blonde locks hitting both of your faces. She couldn’t accept that her sidekick would want to engage romantically with someone, you were too young! Too immature! Damian had to have taken advantage, right? He was only a year older than you, it suddenly occurred to her… but still, he had never occurred to her as a kid, always so adult. You two, together? It just seemed so… wrong.

“No, y-you’re too young, it’s… You’re… Please, Y/n! He’s a psychopath, he kidnapped you, and he hurt Garfield!” Dinah was struggling to find the words, her hands sliding from your face to your shoulders, needing something to steady her. She was clearly feeling unwell. It stabbed your heart, no matter how angry you were at her, she was still the person who had raised you for half of your life. You loved her as a mother, of course. But you couldn’t let her inability to let go ruin your life any longer.

You could feel your own tears dropping off your chin as well now. You were sobbing softly, much less visible than the woman in front of you, but still, it made your words shaky as you spoke again, quiet as if you were afraid to disturb a sleeping bear. 

“I’m not a kid anymore! When will you realise that I grew up! You’ve kept me in the role of a child for my entire life! But I’m an adult now and I’m engaged! I beg you, please let me stay, mom-”, you stopped and Dinah’s eyes widened and surged to find yours. Something within her stirred. It was somehow the first time either of you had verbalised the unspoken bond between the two of you. Yet, while it had always been a clear subtext in your relationship, to have it out in the open made Dinah feel so incredibly moved. It was true, though. The blonde heroine had always been a better and more true mother to you than your own. A revelation that made you pull her closer. “-I’m sorry.”  

The leather-clad woman shook her head, “No, don’t apologise. I’m the one who is sorry. I never realised.”

A beat of silence fell upon you two as you rested your head on each other’s shoulders. Breathing in shakily you recognised the perfume Dinah was wearing, it was the same one she had been wearing for the past five years and something about it made you feel nostalgic. You imagined this was how others would feel when they returned to their old childhood bedroom.

Looking towards the window again, you realised that Clark had left momentarily, probably not wanting to be caught in this familial dispute. 

Dinah was the one who broke the silence with a witty comment, “So, am I invited to the wedding or not?”

“I’m not sure Damian will want you here after you attacked his organisation.” You chuckled.

“Well, he’ll have a hard time refusing if I throw the Justice League on him again.”

“Maybe. Does that mean you’ll let me stay?”, you muttered with a smile, slowly pulling away from your former mentor.

“Yes, although it will mean that you can never rejoin vigilante circles. Damian has been totally blacklisted, are you prepared for the same to happen to you?” 

You thought about her question. It took you a moment, but every time Damian’s green eyes and teasing smile emerged in your mind your heart would beat like a morning alarm. You had no clue if it was the right choice…No, you were entirely sure that it was the wrong one, as a matter of fact. Especially as Garfield’s mangled body interrupted your rosy imaginations of your fiancé, but you felt bound to Damian and you weren’t sure if you would survive leaving him, you felt too dependent on his love. “Yes”, you pushed out shakily, your final answer.

Dinah had left with Superman, taking the rest of the Justice League with them. They had done minimal damage to the League of assassins, it had mostly been a fight for distraction, after all.

You felt entirely unsure of your decision as you stood by Damian’s side looking at the heroes retreating. But with Talia’s sharp gaze forcing you into submission and Damian’s warm hand rubbing calming circles on your shoulder, you realised that there really hadn’t been a choice. Even if you had left with your blonde mentor, your green-eyed fiancé would never have let you stay with her. So, perhaps, this was all for the better. At least you had a friend and lover around your age now, which was an improvement… right?

A/N: Yes, you can just ignore this, it's mostly for the user who sent in the request. Thank you for this great idea! I know you had to wait a while for it... but it was also a lot to write, which made it take way longer than I had originally planed...hehe... Anyways! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn't disappoint with the long wait, I tried my best to honour your request!

[specialagentartemis]

Black Women writing SFF

The post about Octavia Butler also made me think about the injustice we do both Butler, SFF readers, and Black women SFF writers by holding her up as the one Black Woman Writing Sci-Fi. She occupies an important place in the genre, for her creativity, the beauty and impact of her writing, and her prolific work... but she's still just one writer, and no one writer works for everybody.

So whether you liked Octavia Butler's books or didn't, here are some of the (many!!! this list is just the authors I've read and liked, or been recommended and been wanting to read) other Black women writing speculative fiction aimed at adults, who might be writing something within your interest:

N. K. Jemisin - a prolific powerhouse of modern sff. Will probably have something you'll like. Won three Hugo awards in a row for her Broken Earth trilogy. I’ve only read her book of short stories, How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? and it is absolutely story after story of bangers. Creative, chilling, beautifully written, make you think. They’re so good and I highly recommend the collection. Several of her novels have spun out of premises she first explored through these short stories, most recently “The City Born Great” giving rise to her novel The City We Became. Leans more fantasy than sci-fi, but has a lot of both, in various permutations. 

Nisi Shawl - EDIT: I have been informed that Nisi Shawl identifies as genderfluid, not as a woman. They primarily write short stories that lean literary. Their one novel that I’ve read, Everfair, is an alternate-history 19th century that asks, what if the Congo had fought off European colonization and became a free and independent African state? Told in vignettes spanning decades of political organization, political movements, war tactics, and social development, among an ensemble of local African people, Black Americans coming to the new country, white and mixed-race Brits, and Chinese immigrants who came as British laborers.

Nnedi Okorafor - American-Nigerian writer of Africanfuturism, sci-fi stories emphasizing life in present, future, and alternate-magical Africa. She has range! From Binti, a trilogy of novellas about a teenage girl in Namibia encountering aliens and balancing her newfound connection to space with expectations of her family; to Akata Witch, a middle-grade series about a Nigerian-American girl moving to Nigeria and learning to use magic powers she didn’t know she had; to Who Fears Death, a brutal depiction of magical-realism in a futuristic, post-war Sudan; to short stories like "Africanfuturism 419", about that poor Nigerian prince who’s desperately sending out those emails looking for help (but with a sci-fi twist), and "Mother of Invention" about a smart house taking care of its human and her baby… she’s done a little bit of everything, but always emphasizes the future, the science, and the magic of (usually western) Africa.

Karen Lord - an Afro-Caribbean author.  I actually didn’t particularly like the one novel by her I’ve read, The Best of All Possible Worlds, but Martha Wells did, so. Lord has more novels set in this world—a Star Trek-esque multicultural, multispecies spacefuture set on a planet that has welcomed immigrants and refugees for a long time, and become a vibrant multicultural planet. I find her stories rooted in near-future Caribbean socio-climatic concerns like "Haven" and "Cities of the Sun" and her folktale-fantasy style Redemption in Indigo more compelling.  And more short stories here.

Bethany C. Morrow - only has one novella (short novel?) for adults, Mem, but it was creative and fascinating and good and I’d be remiss not to shout it out. In an alternate-history 1920s Toronto, scientists have discovered how to extract specific memories from a person—but then those memories are embodied as physical, cloned manifestations of the person at the moment the memory was made. The main character is one such “Mem,” struggling to determine who she is if she was created from and defined by one single traumatic memory that her original-self wanted to remove. It’s mostly quiet, contemplative, and very interesting.  (Morrow has some YA novels too. I read one of them and thought it was okay.)

Rebecca Roanhorse - Afro-Indigenous, Black and "Spanish Indian" and married into Diné (Navajo). I’ve read her ongoing post-apocalyptic fantasy series starting with Trail of Lightning, and am liking it a lot; after a climate catastrophe, the spirits and magic of the Diné awakened to protect Dinetah (the Navajo Nation) from the onslaught; and now magic and monsters are part of life in this fundamentally changed world. Coyote is there and he is only sometimes helpful. She also has a more traditional second-world epic high fantasy, Black Sun, an elaborate fantasy world with quests and prophecies and seafaring adventure that draws inspiration from Indigenous cultures of the US and Mexico rather than Europe. She also has bitingly satirical and very incisive short stories like “Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” about virtual reality and cultural tourism, and the fantasy-horror "Harvest."

Micaiah Johnson - her multiverse-hopping novel The Space Between Worlds plays with alternate universes and alternate selves in a continuously creative and interesting way! The setup doesn’t take the easy premise that one universe is our own recognizable one that opens up onto strange alternate universes—even the main character’s home universe is wildly different in speculative ways, with the MC coming from a Mad Max-esque desert community abandoned to the elements, while working for the universe-travel company within the climate-controlled walled city where the rich and well-connected live and work. Also, it’s unabashedly gay. 

And if you like audiobooks and audio fiction (I listened to The Space Between Worlds as an audiobook, it’s good), then Jordan Cobb is someone you should check out. She does sci-fi/horror/thriller audio drama. Her works include Janus Descending, a lyrical and eerie sci-fi horror about a small research expedition to a distant planet and how it went so, so wrong; and Descendants, the sequel about its aftermath. She also has Primordial Deep, about a research expedition to the deep undersea, to investigate the apparent re-emergence of a lot of extinct prehistoric sea creatures. She’s a writer/producer I like, and always follow her new releases. Her detailed prose, minimal casts  (especially in Janus Descending), good audio quality, and full-series supercuts make these welcoming to audiobook fans. 

-

Nalo Hopkinson - a writer who should be considered nearly as foundational as Octavia Butler, honestly. A novelist and short story writer with a wide variety of sci-fi, dystopian futures, fairy-tale horror, gods and epics, and space Carnival, drawing heavily from her Caribbean experiences and aesthetics.

Tananarive Due - fantastical/horror. Immortals, vampires, curses, altered reality, unnerving mystery. Also has written a lot of books.

Andrea Hairston - creative and otherworldly, weird and bisexual, with mindscapes and magic and aliens. 

Helen Oyeyemi - I haven’t read her work but she comes highly recommended by a friend. A novelist and short story writer, most of her work leans fairytale fantastical-horror. What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours is a collection of short fiction and recc’ed to me as her best work. White is for Witching is a well-regarded haunted house novel. 

Ashia Monet - indie author, writer of The Black Veins, pitched as “the no-love-interest, found family adventure you’ve been searching for.” Magic road trip! Possibly YA? I’m not positive. 

-

This also doesn’t include Black non-binary sff authors I’ve read and liked like An Owomoyela, C. L. Polk, and Rivers Solomon. And this is specifically about adult sff books, so I didn’t include Black women YA sff authors like Kalynn Bayron, Tomi Adeyemi, Tracy Deonn, Justina Ireland, or Alechia Dow, though they’re writing fantasy and sci-fi in the YA world too.

And a lot of short stories are out there in the online magazine world, where so many up and coming authors get their start, and established ones explore offbeat and new ideas.  Pick up an issue (or a subscription!) of FIYAH magazine for the most current Black speculative writing.

[traumatizedpomelo]

so i just finished watching nimona right

yes, I know it's been like a year since it came out. Sue me. I never had time to watch it.

But, uh. I can't stop thinking about how Nimona - even as an outsider - gets to watch things change. Gloreth doesn't fight for her when her parents call Nimona a monster and try to kill her, but Ballister yells and fights when they electrocute her and pin her down. The first time, she is attacked and almost killed by her own best friend, but the second, she finds something in the realms worth saving, and almost dies of her own accord.

she gets to see how the world evolves and grows and even though it's still not great - it's getting better. She's willing to sacrifice herself for a future where things are better. Yes, she thinks she won't actually die, and she changes into the form with maximum chance of survival, but it's not like she's actually tested this before.

the Nimona movie is special. the book was really good, but it was written in a time when a lot of marginalized communities, particularly the queer community, were hurting, and Nimona was meant to portray the complex struggles of that; how things can't just be fixed like in a fairytale, and the rot has to be torn out. It was a lot more cynical and was meant to inspire outrage at the injustice of a system built on corruption

however, I think the movie fits better for the current political and social climate. it's about how oftentimes, it's the system and not necessarily the people in it that cause harm, about what could be and how people can change, rather than tearing everything down. It gives people the chance to be better, instead of throwing everything out like in the book. I also think we need a happy ending free of guilt or sadness or questions - we have enough of that in our daily lives.

Anyway, I just finished it and absolutely cried. Ta, everyone.

[harvardfineartslib]

Behind the scenes, our Creative Arts Archivist Max Goldberg has been busy this summer.

In August, Max spent five non-consecutive days at the Harvard Depository and went through all 270+ boxes in the Stephen Lee Taller/Ben Shahn Archive for the Fine Arts Library, which holds the collection of materials to the American artist Ben Shahn (1898–1969) compiled by Stephen Lee Taller.

Dr. Taller was a friend of Ezra Shahn, Ben's oldest son. The archive contains thousands of items related to the artist's work, including books written by and illustrated by Ben Shahn, magazines in which his work was featured, exhibition and auction sales catalogs, commercial work such as book jackets, record jackets, and advertisements, interview transcripts, and newspaper clippings.

As you can imagine from the sheer volume of this archive, it was a massive task to review the contents of all the boxes. Everything was cataloged at the item-level in a database by Dr. Taller, and Max estimates that there are approximately 10,000 items. We’re so grateful for all his hard work this summer. The first two photos in this post were taken by Max while he was working at the Harvard Depository, and the last image shows some examples from this archive.

Ben Shahn (1898–1969) was an American artist, best known for his works of social realism, his political activist work, and his series of lectures published as The Shape of Content. Through his work, Shahn challenged the status quo in the society, focusing on themes related to modern urban life, organized labor, immigration, and injustice, among others.

Today is Ben Shahn’s birthday.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

June MC of the Month: Eva Archer

Please welcome June 2024's MC of the Month: @dutifullynuttywitch's Eva Archer

Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

Learn more about Eva below

1- In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.

She’s an idealist, preoccupied by social justice. While at the Tower, she constantly fought the authoritarian leaders, which resulted in her and her sister needing to flee so she wouldn't ���get disappeared’. Now that she’s leading her own colony, she is still trying to find the right balance, ensuring everyone’s voice is heard and feels welcomed.

2- Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

I think we both lean towards social justice and fairness in our decision-making. And I definitely gave her some of my musical tastes! (Though I have more grunge and alternative in my repertoire.)

But other than that, Eva is much cooler than I could ever hope to be!! 🙂 She’s a fighter, brave, willing to put her life on the line for others.

3- What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?

Eva is not the bravest, but she is fiercely loyal to her friends. Being forced to leave her fatally injured sister Brynn, her only family, behind after narrowly escaping The Tower was the hardest thing she’d ever done. It left her deeply scarred. She refuses to lose anyone else she's close to and will put her own life on the line if she can save her friends or members of her colony.

Her friendship and frequent quests with Eli and Angel help her gradually feel more confident in her fighting skills. As a leader of the newly established Olympus Colony, she speaks up against injustices and tries to be conciliatory. What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

She despises cruel, self-centered people. Unfortunately there are too many in her post-apocalyptic world, who will do anything, kill anyone just to survive a day longer.

While she generally loves Troy’s easy-going attitude, she absolutely loses her temper when he shirks on his chores - which he unfortunately does regularly.

4- If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

She would find a cure for the parasite that converts people into zombies. She’s in no way a scientist, but she wholeheartedly supports her best friend Shannon Fox in her ongoing investigations.

5- What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?

Wild Horses, The Rolling Stones.

It’s a bittersweet reaction, really, having lost both of her fathers in a horrible way (one became a zombie and killed his husband), and more recently her sister. She holds on dearly to the lyrics that “wild horses couldn’t keep me away”. It’s how she feels about Troy, and her friends Eli, Shannon, Angel, little May…

Her favorite quote is more inspirational: “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” – Emily Dickinson

6- Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC?

I adored the Choices book Wake the Dead. Such an interesting, dark concept, where your choices matter, with tons of potential for world-building… I wanted to create a character that had lived through terrible things, resulting in deep-seated trauma, but at the same time could see the light in the world and continue to strive to better her life and that of those around her. This is how Eva was born!

7- Other facts about Eva

Eva was born close to Reno, Nevada before the zombie apocalypse.

She previously worked in pest control from the age of 18, then became a scout at 25 at her former colony, The Tower.

Eva is dating Troy Hassan, her childhood best friend from her Tower days. This was a slow burn, friendship to love. Troy’s an absolute charmer, knows her better than anyone and is her emotional support. He’s much more carefree, which brings out her lighter side – necessary with all the stress and pressures of running a colony during an apocalypse!

She dearly misses her sister Brynn, who died shortly after escaping the tower. Eva admired her fierceness and how she bravely ventured out as a scout every day to support the colony. Eva hopes to become as tough as her sister.

Thank you so much for reading through my MC profile, I had a blast sharing Eva Archer with you!! And thank you @choicesficwriterscreation for giving us the space to gush about our fictional babies!!

[oldmannapping]

HC Batfam sexualities. NSFW.

Note: I’m aging everyone up for this. Damian’s 17. Not gonna put a label on a 9 year old.

Bruce: Considers himself straight.

Considers any non-straight feelings or experiences he’s ever had as “interesting” and adds them to his personal file on himself.

Ardent believer in the Kinsey scale as a literal measurement tool and takes the test every 18 months to monitor any sexuality fluctuations so they aren’t an unknown variable that might impact his Batmanning.

Dick: Apologetically straight.

Aware of his huge LGBTQIA+ following as Nightwing (and to a lesser extent, as socialite Dick Grayson). Passionate supporter of LGBT+ rights and vocal patron of many charities and organisations.

Experimented thoroughly during his teen years and regrets some unfortunate paparazzi pictures taken during that time, as he worries that he was inadvertently queer-baiting with his public persona.

Loves love, loves to see it, accepts everyone. Oldest-child guilt for not being queer because he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone.

Told Bruce to stop making them all do the Kinsey scale because it’s creepy and invasive.

Jason: Doesn’t think about it.

Is pretty sure he’s straight, but has definitely had at least mild crushes on a few male figures in his life and in the media over the years. Has jerked off thinking about guys but never analysed it.

Sex isn’t his priority but he meets his needs when he has to, same as eating and sleeping.

Feels anger more than lust. Sees people as threats or targets more than sexual beings. Gets in his own head about the injustices of the world and doesn’t realise he has an unrelated boner.

Duke: Identifies as straight.

Has dated a trans girl, would be open to dating non-binary people, considers himself straight because he’s not into labels and considers trans women real women with no asterisks.

Romantic to his own detriment. Can come on too hard and fall too easily.

Can’t jerk off to someone he has a crush on in real life because he thinks it’s creepy.

Tim: Memorised every single sexuality definition and read seven books before settling on bisexual.

Thinks the Kinsey scale is outdated and irrelevant. Drafting a 350-question sexuality spectrum test for Bruce to use instead. Will recommend its implementation twice a year.

Forgets to think about sex until something minor triggers it and then he can’t focus on anything else. Obsessive.

Overthinks sexual encounters and is highly likely to read - and take the advice of - Cosmo sex tips. Bernard got him listening to Savage Love which was much more helpful for their relationship.

Steph: Has privately identified as queer for years but never bothered coming out.

Had some revelatory experiences with other women. Generally prefers men but her best orgasm was with a woman.

Owns an impressive and practical range of vibrators. Always packs one in her go-bag for missions, next to mace and her spare lockpick.

Is deeply glad she never slept with Tim because she thinks he’d overthink it and it would have been awkward, and made their friendship weird.

Damian: Thinks of himself as “currently straight”.

Likes to stand out for his skills and superior bloodline, not for his position outside mainstream social norms.

Doesn’t care about fitting in but doesn’t want to announce his sexuality in a crass way like Drake.

Is giving himself until he’s 21 to discover if he’s not straight. Refuses to engage with Dick or Bruce on “birds and the bees” talks. Put a sword through his tablet when Bruce sent him the Kinsey scale when he turned 16.

Cass: Lesbiconic. Steph coined the term and Cass loves it.

Lesbian. Never questioned it. It never mattered because her body was a weapon, not designed for pleasure.

Has three vibrators, two from Steph and one from Harper, that she hasn’t used yet but has inspected thoroughly.

Not interested in dating but will hook up with people so discretely that you won’t even realise she’s left the room.

Efficient at sex. Learning to not be overwhelmed by body language cues. Meditation is helping.

Alfred: Goes buck wild on cruises twice a year. Usually tells Bruce he’s visiting family in England.

Has seduced many married women away from their husbands, and charmed the husbands into shaking his hand afterwards.

Too powerful.

The world is lucky he prefers to remain in the shadows.

Considers labels a curious thing. Has primarily slept with women but would do what he had to for the mission.

Thinks Bruce and his Kinsey scale are adorably naive.

[akirathedramaqueen]

No better than any royal

It's an analysis regarding classism in Helluva Boss and Blitzø's part in it.

Warning: Apology Tour spoilers. Be advised if you haven't watched the episode yet. And also it's big as hell itself, I am not good in being laconic thing.

I wanted to write a post about the thing which bothered me for some time already, but I wasn't sure how to articulate it properly. Now that the 'Apology Tour' has come out, and we've got another parallel on the same thing, I think I need to grab my shit together and try to analyze this to the best of my abilities.

See, something tingled in me a while ago when I noticed that Fizz, when stating in the 'Oops' episode, "If you think you are superior to anyone, then you are no better than any royal.", was looking at Blitzø the majority of the time. And, of course, he specifically says "neither of you", so... yeah. No doubt he was addressing both Blitzø and Striker.

There is an opinion going around that Striker as a character is designed to be compared to Blitzø. They are both prejudiced towards privileged people (here you can read a wonderful take from @tealvenetianmask on the class rage Blitzø experiences to get deeper into his reasons), with Striker taking it to the extremes as far as killing them with joy, while Blitzø... well, hurting one particular royal in his own way.

Then there's the next person, who says Blitzø's behavior resembles that of Striker, in the "Apology Tour" newest episode.

He says that right after Blitzø throws an accusation that Stolas has just a turn-on for people he looks down on. I like, by the way, how the camera moves up to Stolas, showing their significant physical difference in height and symbolizing their gap in social status.

Which is him, by the way, doubling down on a similar statement in the 'Oops' episode.

I am with you on this one, Fizz :.)

Stolas is very upset about it, and very justly so - Blitzø is putting words in his beak, assuming his mindset, demeaning his feelings, and disrespecting his wishes that he was very clear about. Blitzø means it, unfortunately, and, my take is, he is as much of a classist as the rich assholes like Stella whom he hates for the same very reason.

Just hold on with me for a moment. Look at this.

They are all the same. Stolas is the same.

Blitzø is treating Stolas unfairly based on his social class. Blitzø has a negative opinion of Stolas based on his social class. That's pretty much the definition, although more often than not it's referred to people of lower social status. Still counts in my book.

Don't get me wrong. Stolas is not innocent. He is raised in the privileged world and he takes advantage of it. He is treating his workers unfairly (remember that stressball imp guy?), and this also needs to be addressed... But it does not change the fact that Stolas's genuine feelings got mocked by Blitzø because the latter is so adamant in his superstitions, he does not believe anything the prince says.

And, to add to that, I think Blitzø takes great pride in being the 'I-made-myself' guy, running a successful business they said is rare for an imp. He is insistent in letting everyone know he has a transaction with Stolas, not a relationship. An exchange. A business deal. A fair trade, however stupid and twisted does that sound. He hates privilege, and he is afraid, insecure even, to be associated with it. He does not want to become like them.

And Blitzø, like Fizz said, thinks he is superior to ones who mingle with blue bloods and take from their riches. He thinks he is superior to blue bloods themselves because he earned everything he owns, and they got a birthright to hold onto.

Which, essentially, makes Blitzø no better than any royal.

That does not make him irredeemeable, though. He has plenty of reasons for behaving like that. He suffers every day from injustice. He is at the bottom of the food chain, he has to wait for 5 years to get an appointment for an essential vaccine, he gets ridiculed all the time for just existing. For just being an imp.

Blitzø just needs to understand, that, however privileged Stolas is, he is as fucked by this system as Blitzø is. Stolas had the whole life planned for him, he had no choice even in whom to marry, and he had to put up with years of abuse and trauma to hold an image. He did not have parents and has no friends. He struggles to survive in the environment where people like him are not welcome. He suffers because of the same system as Blitzø does, albeit differently.

I am not trying to compare who has it worse. The only point is that Blitzø is oblivious to the fact that Stolas can get hurt. Physically and emotionally.

Blitzø needs to understand that Stolas is different. Blitzø needs to give Stolas a chance to prove he is wrong. Blitz needs to let their relationship flourish. And through Stolas, he will eventually see that there are probably more royals who are not so horrible as he thinks. That everyone is different regardless of their social status.

As a closing note, I want to say that I wait for Striker's return. I think that there will be a point where they will meet again, but that time Blitzø will mature and prove that he has changed. And no one will dare to say that Blitzø is just like him ever again, which would be a perfect closure for the class conflict.

[shelbeetaylor]

Character Introductions (Part 1)

-> story masterpost

moodboard by @singingslayingsoprano

Cassandra Ravenwell

Most people call her Your Highness or my lady, but her friends call her Cass. Only Evie is allowed to call her Cassie.

Cassandra uses she/her pronouns.

Cassandra is 21 years old at the beginning of the story, and her birthday is on December 1 which would make her a Sagittarius.

Cassandra is the Crown Princess of Nevernia, but she also unofficially holds the title of the best fighter in the kingdom.

Likes: hanging out & sparring with the knights, drinking, and talking late into the night with the physician's apprentice Terran

Dislikes: obscenely optimistic people, assholes, and the thought of being married to a man

While it is not uncommon to see Cassandra partaking in spars and mock warfare with the knights or taking rides on her horse Artemis, she is also a big fan of the ballet. Both to appease her mother and to feed a secret wish of hers, Cassandra takes private lessons to study the dance form.

If Cassandra lived in our world, her favorite song would totally be "My Kink is Karma" by Chappell Roan, but her top artists would be Billie Eilish and Halsey.

Cassandra has been dealing with the age-old struggle of mother versus daughter her entire life, but more recently some self-realizations have led to serious complications  in their relationship. Cassandra's known for years that she was attracted to women, however, living openly queer is punishable by death in her kingdom as perpetrated by her family for the past few generations. Within the past year, she has also discovered that she possesses magic which is not necessarily illegal, but openly practicing magic is just as dangerous as being openly queer.

Face Claim: Katie McGrath as Morgana Pendragon in BBC Merlin

moodboard by @singingslayingsoprano

Evie Ravenwell

While her full name is Evangeline, she likes everyone to call her Evie.

Evie uses she/her pronouns.

Evie is 18 years old at the beginning of the story, and her birthday is on March 21 which would make her a Aries.

Evie holds the title of Princess of Nevernia since she is the daughter of the late king's brother, but she certainly doesn't appear to be the usual princess with refined manners who adheres to the rigid rules of society.

Likes: music (plays piano, sings, and composes), books, flowers, friends, and her horse Apollo

Dislikes: mean people, her friends being sad, and death

One of Evie's weird hobbies involves trivia, a game in our world that she would dominate in. Due to her photographic memory, love of reading, and need to learn, she has a great knowledge of history and has a ton of random facts stored in her head.

If Evie lived in our world, she would absolutely love music by Laufey and Lizzy McAlpine.

After losing her family and friends in the rebel invasion of Wystwillow, Evie is brought to Vale Serine to live with her aunt and cousin, the Queen and Crown Princess of Nevernia. Living in a new castle all alone is hard enough, but she's forced into a foreign society of rigid social rules and separation. Evie will have to adjust, however, she's determined to change some of the ways the Ravenwell Palace works.

Face Claim: Elle Fanning as Aurora in Maleficent and Lily James as Ella in Cinderella (2015)

moodboard by @singingslayingsoprano

Theodore Valennard

Everyone calls him Theo, even the queen, but Evie is partial to Teddy.

Theo uses he/him pronouns.

Theo is 21 years old at the beginning of the story, and his birthday is on May 5 which would make him a Taurus.

Theo has been knighted for several years now and has been designated as Cassandra's personal guard, but the arrival of Evie has forced him to take up a more unofficial role as her protector as well.

Likes: teasing banter with Cassandra and the knights, hunting, and the sea

Dislikes: war councils with the idiotic General Valseras, injustice, and losing to Cassandra (in literally anything)

Though a lot of Theo's career and life revolves around death with his defending the kingdom and his love of hunting, Theo enjoys raising animals. He's raised every one of his hunting dogs, and he's been with his horse Poseidon for most of the horse's life.

If Theo lived in our world, he would listen to various types of rock music including songs by Metallica, Iron Maiden, Volbeat, and Paramore.

Though Theo has been away from his blood relatives since he was twelve, he is still dealing with the aftermath of living with them. His father was the one who sent him away to Vale Serine at such a young age, and for some reason every one of his accomplishments as a knight is still a way for him to try and make his father proud. He also grew up in an extremely anti-magic household and has carried that prejudice with him in his career.

Face Claim: Bradley James as Arthur Pendragon in BBC Merlin

[fiercynn]

palestinian poets: ibtisam barakat

ibtisam barakat (pronunciation) (arabic spelling: ابتسام بركات ) was born in jerusalem, and grew up in ramallah, palestine. she came to the u.s. for an internship at the nation magazine in new york city.

she holds two masters degrees, one in journalism and one in human development with focus on creative writing's effects on self-understanding. she has taught language ethics at stephens college. she is a life-writing coach and the founder of "write your life" seminars for groups and individuals who want to turn life stories into literature and books.

she authors in both english and arabic, and her work centers on healing social injustices, especially in the lives of young people. her writings exist in numerous translations.

IF YOU READ JUST ONE POEM BY IBTISAM BARAKAT, MAKE IT THIS ONE

OTHER POEMS ONLINE THAT I LOVE BY IBTISAM BARAKAT

Curfew at universe of poetry

A Poem Made of Water originally published in Interpretations

Palestine originally published in Arab World Geographer

Scribbles on the Poverty Line at Poemist

Tea Invitation at Best Poems

When Palestine is Free I Will... at her website

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By; Andrew Doyle

Published: Feb 28, 2024

Many years ago I gave a talk at the London Metropolitan Archives in which I outlined my reasons for rejecting the then fashionable theory of social constructionism in relation to human sexuality. In the coffee break that followed, I was approached by a lesbian activist, who claimed to have chosen her orientation as a means to oppose the patriarchy. She demanded to know why I would not accept that sexuality had no biological basis, even though I had spent the best part of an hour answering this very question. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’ve already explained why I don’t agree with you’. ‘But why won’t you agree?’ she shouted in response. ‘Why?’

Primary school teachers are familiar with such frustrated pleas. The anger of children is so often connected with incomprehension, a sense of injustice, or both. When it persists into adulthood it represents a failure of socialisation. We frequently hear talk of our degraded political discourse – and there is some truth to that – but really we are dealing with mass infantilism. Its impact is evident wherever one cares to look: online, in the media, even in Parliament. Argumentation is so often reduced to a matter of tribal loyalty; whether one is right or wrong becomes secondary to the satisfaction of one’s ego through the submission of an opponent. This is not, as some imagine, simply a consequence of the ubiquity of social media, but rather a general failure over a number of years to instil critical thinking at every level of our educational institutions.

To be a freethinker has little to do with mastery of rhetoric and everything to do with introspection. It is all very well engaging in a debate in order to refine our persuasive skills, but it is a futile exercise unless we can entertain the possibility that we might be wrong. In Richard Dawkins’s book, The God Delusion (2006), he relates an anecdote about his time as an undergraduate at Oxford. A visiting academic from America gave a talk on the Golgi apparatus, a microscopic organelle found in plant and animal cells, and in doing so provided incontrovertible evidence of its existence. An elderly member of the Zoology Department, who had asserted for many years that the Golgi apparatus was a myth, was present at the lecture. Dawkins relates how, as the speaker drew to a close, ‘The old man strode to the front of the hall, shook the American by the hand and said – with passion – “My dear fellow, I wish to thank you. I have been wrong these fifteen years.” We clapped our hands red’.

This is the ideal that so few embody, particularly when it comes to the unexamined tenets of political ideology. We often see examples of media commentators or politicians being discredited in interviews or discussions, but how often do we see them concede their errors, even when they are exposed beyond doubt? There is a very good reason why the sociologist and philosopher Herbert Spencer opened his First Principles (1862) by asserting that there exists ‘a soul of truth in things erroneous’; but such concessions can only be made by those who are able to prioritise being right over being seen to be right. Too many are seemingly determined to turn difficult arguments into zero-sum games in which to give any ground whatsoever is to automatically surrender it to an opponent.

The discipline of critical thinking invites us to consider the origins of our knowledge and convictions. A man may speak with the certainty of an Old Testament prophet, but has he reached his conclusions for himself? Or is he a mere resurrectionist, plundering his bookshelves for the leather-bound corpses of other people’s ideas? Hazlitt expounded at length on how sophistry might be mistaken for critical faculties, noting that the man who sees only one half of a subject may still be able to express it fluently. ‘You might as well ask the paralytic to leap from his chair and throw away his crutch,’ he wrote, ‘as expect the learned reader to throw down his book and think for himself. He clings to it for his intellectual support; and his dread of being left to himself is like the horror of a vacuum’.

The natural human instinct for confirmation bias presents a further problem, one especially prominent among ideologues. Anything can be taken to bolster one’s position so long as it is perceived through the lens of prejudgment. We can see this most notably in the proponents of Critical Social Justice, who start from the premise that unequal outcomes – disparities in average earnings between men and women, for instance – are evidence of structural inequalities in society. They are beginning with the conclusion and working backwards, mistaking their own arguments for proof.

Worse still, such an approach often correlates with a distinctly moralistic standpoint. Many of the most abusive individuals on social media cannot recognise their behaviour for what it is because they have cast themselves in the role of the virtuous. If we are morally good, the logic goes, it must be assumed that our detractors are motivated by evil and we are therefore relieved of the obligation to treat them as human beings. What they lack in empathy they make up in their capacity for invective.

Again, we must be alert to the danger of cheapening argumentation and analysis to the mere satisfaction of ego. One of the reasons why disagreements on social media tend towards the bellicose is that the forum is public. Where there is an audience, there is always the risk that critical thinking will be subordinated to the performative desire for victory or the humiliation of a rival. In these circumstances, complexities that require a nuanced approach are refashioned into misleading binaries, and opponents are mischaracterised out of all recognition so that people effectively end up arguing with spectres of their imagination. The Socratic method, by contrast, urges us to see disputation as essentially cooperative. This is the ideal that should be embedded into our national curricula. Children need to be taught that there are few instances in which serious discussions can be simplified to a matter of right or wrong, and fewer still in which one person’s rightness should be taken as proof of another’s wrongness. In the lexicon of Critical Thinking, this is called the fallacy of ‘affirming a disjunct’; that is to say, ‘either you are right or I am right, which means that if you are wrong I must be right’. One cannot think critically in such reductionist terms.

To attempt seriously to understand an alternative worldview involves, as Bertrand Russell put it, ‘some effort of thought, and most people would die sooner than think’. In the study of psychology this is termed the ‘cognitive miser’ model, which acknowledges that most human brains will favour the easiest solution to any given problem. These mental shortcuts – known as heuristics – are hardwired into us, which is why being told what to think is more pleasurable than thinking for ourselves. I remember an English lesson in which I had initiated a discussion with my students about the representation of Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost, a topic that routinely comes up in exams. I wanted to know what they thought, and why. One student was sufficiently bold to ask: ‘Can’t you just tell us what we need to write to get the highest marks?’

This was not the fault of the student; there has been a trend in recent years, most likely influenced by the pressures of league tables, for schools to engage in ‘spoon-feeding’. Schemes of work and assessment criteria are made readily available to the pupils so that they can systematically hit the necessary targets in order to elevate their grades. The notion of education for education’s sake no longer carries any weight. I have even seen talented pupils marked down by moderators for an excess of individuality in their answers. In such circumstances, even a subject like English Literature can be reduced to a kind of memory test in which essays are regurgitated by rote.

It is hardly surprising, then, that pupils who opt for Critical Thinking courses at GCSE or A-level often perceive it to be a light option, a means to enhance the curriculum vitae without too much exertion. Courses are generally divided into Problem Solving and Critical Thinking, the former concerned with processing and interpreting data, and the latter covering the fundamentals of analysis and argumentation. Pupils learn about common fallacies such as the ad hominem (personal attack), tu quoque (counter-attack) and post hoc, ergo propter hoc (mistaking correlation for causality), along with others derived from Aristotle’s Sophistical Refutations. The Latin may be off-putting, but in truth these are simple ideas which are readily digestible. If one were to discount arguments in which these fallacies were committed, virtually all online disputes would disappear.

That said, the existence of Critical Thinking as an academic subject in its own right might not be the best way to achieve this. As the psychologist Daniel T. Willingham has argued, cognitive abilities are redundant without secure contextual knowledge. Critical thinking is already embedded into any pedagogical practice that focuses on how to think rather than what to think. The increased influence of the new puritans in education presents a problem in this regard, given that they are particularly hostile to divergent viewpoints. Any institution which becomes ideologically driven is unlikely to successfully foster critical thinking, and this is particularly the case when teachers are at times expected to proselytise in accordance with fashionable identity politics. The depoliticisation of schools is just the first step. Critical thinking requires humility; this involves not just the ability to admit that one might be wrong, but also to recognise that an uninformed opinion is worthless, however stridently expressed. Interpretative skills are key, but only when developed on a secure foundation of subject-specific knowledge. This is the basis for Camille Paglia’s view that art history should be built into the national curriculum from primary school level. In her book, Glittering Images (2012), Paglia explains that children require ‘a historical framework of objective knowledge about art’, rather than merely treating art as ‘therapeutic praxis’ to ‘unleash children’s hidden creativity’. Potato prints and zigzag scissors have their place, but we mustn’t forget about the textbooks.

When I was a part-time English teacher at a private secondary school for girls in London, one of my favourite exercises for the younger pupils was to ask them to study a photograph of a well-known work of art for five minutes without speaking, after which time they would share their observations with the rest of the class. So, for instance, I would give them each a copy of Paul Delaroche’s ‘Les Enfants d’Edouard’ (1831), which depicts the two nephews of Richard III in their chamber in the Tower of London just prior to their murder. My pupils knew nothing of the historical context, but after minutes of silent consideration were able to pick out details – the ominous shadows under the door, the dog alerted to the assassins’ footfall, how the older boy stares out at us with a sense of resignation – and offer some personal reflections on their cumulative impact. To create, one must first learn how to interpret.

The kind of humility fostered in the appreciation of great art could act as a corrective to the rise of narcissism and decline of empathy that psychologists have observed over the past thirty years. According to the National Institutes of Health, millennials are three times more likely to suffer from narcissistic personality disorder than those of the baby boomer generation. Writers such as Peter Whittle, Robert Putnam and Shaylyn Romney Garrett have traced the rise of hyper-individualism in Western culture. One particular study revealed that in 1950 only 12 per cent of respondents agreed with the statement ‘I am a very important person’. By 1990, this figure had risen to 80 per cent and the trajectory shows no signs of stopping. One of the ways in which this trend manifests itself is the now common tendency for arguments to deteriorate into accusations of dishonesty. After all, it takes an extreme form of egotism to assume that the only possible explanation for an alternative point of view is that one’s opponent must be lying. In order to think critically, we cannot be in the business of simply assessing conclusions on the basis of whether or not they accord with our own.

An education underpinned by critical thinking is the very bedrock of civilisation, the means by which chaos is tamed into order. Tribalism, mudslinging, the inability to critique one’s own position: these are the telltale markers of the boorish and the hidebound. A society is ill-served by a generation of adults who have not been educated beyond the solipsistic impulses of childhood. At a time when so many are lamenting the degradation of public discourse, a conversation about how best to incorporate critical thinking into our schools is long overdue. Our civilisation might just depend on it.

This is an excerpt from The New Puritans: How the Religion of Social Justice Captured the Western World. You can buy the book here. It’s also available as an audiobook.

[justforbooks]

Elias Khoury

Lebanese novelist best known for his 1998 book Gate of the Sun, which he said was an act of love for the Palestinian people

Throughout his life and in his 14 novels, the Lebanese writer Elias Khoury, who has died aged 76 after a long illness, explored his region’s contemporary history, whether it was identity politics, social inequality and injustice, or the expulsion and dispossession of Palestinians that he witnessed first-hand.

His best-known work, Gate of the Sun (1998), translated into English by Humphrey Davies, is both an epic love story between a husband and wife, and one of the first novels to describe the 1948 Palestinian Nakba, giving faces, names and histories to the voiceless.

Khoury used stories that he had collected over seven years from Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, and testimonials from Palestinians who remained in the Galilee region, today part of Israel. Gate of the Sun was an act of love for the Palestinian people, Khoury said, and in it he wove those stories together to give the full sweep of Palestinian history. The novel has been translated into 14 languages and in 2004 was made into a film by the Egyptian director Yousry Nasrallah.

Khoury was part of what is known as the civil war generation of Lebanon (1975-90), which includes writers such as Hanan al-Shaykh, Hoda Barakat, and Jabbour Douaihy, all of whose works were a significant departure from earlier Lebanese authors through their modern style and content. Khoury experimented with narration and form, as well as the way he wrote in fus’ha, or classical Arabic, bringing the language as close as possible to the spoken word, increasing its fluidity.

His first novel, On the Relations of the Circle (1975), was published the year the civil war began. He participated in the war with a leftist alliance, and was injured, losing his sight temporarily. In between fighting he wrote his second book, Little Mountain (1977), which describes the early years of the war through the eyes of three characters. In White Masks (1981), Khoury wrote about the social fragmentation and disintegration of Lebanese society undergoing the complexities of a civil war.

Born in Beirut, into a Christian middle-class family, he was the son of Adèle Abdelnour and Iskandar Khoury, who worked for Mobil Oil. He came of age in the 1960s and early 70s, when the city had become a flourishing intellectual and artistic regional capital. However, this was against a backdrop of sectarianism and profound economic inequality, deeply influenced by regional tensions.

While studying history at the Lebanese University in Beirut, in 1967 Khoury travelled to Jordan to work in a Palestinian refugee camp, then joined the Palestinian Liberation Organisation. In an interview with the Paris Review in 2017, Khoury said: “We trained in Syria, in the camps at Hama and Maysaloun, just off the Beirut- Damascus highway … Later on, we worked in the south of Lebanon as well as around Beirut.”

However, Khoury decided he wanted to become an “intellectual”, leaving for Paris in 1970 to study social history at the École Pratique des Hautes Études. There, he worked on a thesis about the 1840-60 Mount Lebanon war between the Druze and Maronite communities that provided a base for his subsequent writings on the civil war.

Two years later he returned to Lebanon where he worked at the Palestine Research Center and for its journal, Palestinian Affairs, where he became editor-in-chief in 1975. He was culture editor of the Lebanese daily As-Safir from 1983 to 1990 then, once the civil war ended, he ran the cultural supplement of the An-Nahar newspaper.

Khoury was actively involved in the region’s secular, leftwing intellectual scene, working with the poets Mahmoud Darwish and Adonis, and the writer and critic Edward Said in New York, where Khoury taught Arabic literature at Columbia University (1980-81), then held the title of global distinguished professor at New York University (2000-14). He also taught at the University of London, and universities in Switzerland and Lebanon.

According to his French-language translator, Rania Samara, who worked with him for 25 years, Khoury was “someone who lived his Arab society to the fullest with his political positions and commitments. He was courageous and frank about everything he thought, and all this was reflected in his work. There was no dissociation between life and the man.”

Although he always supported the Palestinian people, Khoury never hesitated to criticise Arab leaders, including the PLO, and he sought to understand Israel, teaching himself Hebrew and reading Israeli novelists. Indeed, his Children of the Ghetto trilogy (2016-23) is set in Lydda, Palestine, which becomes Lod, Israel, where his Palestinian characters speak Hebrew, but also in New York and Warsaw, where Jewish and Israeli histories are explored.

The trilogy characteristically follows a form of circuitous storytelling – Khoury spoke of his love for the One Thousand and One Nights, and the infinity and continuity of Scheherazade’s stories. His own stories often feel as if each narrator is passing a baton to the next. The protagonist of the three books in the trilogy, My Name Is Adam (2016), Star of the Sea (2019) and A Man Like Me (2023), Adam Dannoun, is a complex character whom Samara thought that Khoury most resembled, saying: “He didn’t know if the character resembled him or if he was the character. We no longer know who the author is and who the reader is. The reader is the author’s mirror. He loved this dizzying kind of game.”

In A Man Like Me, the character of Khalil, who originally appeared in Gate of the Sun attempting to revive a comatose leader of the Palestinian resistance by telling him stories, resurfaces, circling back to Khoury’s previous work.

As well as his novels and articles, Khoury wrote a collection of short stories, three plays and a number of literary studies.

Throughout his recent illness and nearly year-long hospitalisation suffering from ischaemia, Khoury wrote articles for the London-based Al-Quds al-Arabi newspaper. He was also the editor of the Arabic Journal of Palestine Studies and was working on a novel set in contemporary Beirut.

Two months before his death, Khoury wrote in Al-Quds al-Arabi: “Can he whose ordeal has been rooted in the land since the beginning of the Palestinian resistance lose heart? Gaza and Palestine have been savagely attacked for nearly a year, yet they continue to resist, unwavering. A model from which I have learned to love life every day.”

He is survived by his wife, Najla Jraissati Khoury, a writer and researcher whom he married in 1971, his daughter, Abla, his son, Talal, a grandson, Yamen, and three siblings, Samira, Souad and Michel.

🔔 Elias Khoury, author, editor and journalist, born 12 July 1948; died 15 September 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[ghelgheli]

Stuff I Read In August 2024

bold indicates favourites

Books

Minima Moralia, Theodor Adorno [link]

Joseph Stalin: A Political Biography, Marx-Engels-Lenin Institute

Exordia, Seth Dickinson

The Racial Contract, Charles W. Mills

Short Fiction

Esse est percipi, Jorge Luis Borges & Adolfo Bioy Casares [link]

The Proper Study, Isaac Asimov

2430 A.D., Isaac Asimov

The Greatest Asset, Isaac Asimov

The Jaunt, Stephen King [link]

There Will Come Soft Ruins, Ray Bradbury [link]

Harrison Bergeron, Kurt Vonnegut [link]

Billenium, J. G. Ballard [link]

The Food of the Gods, Arthur C Clarke

The Star, Arthur C Clarke

Tantie Merle and the Farmhand 4200, R. S. A. Garcia [link]

Queer &c.

Kill the Couple in Your Head, Anonymous [link]

Gender without Gender Identity: The Case of Cognitive Disability, Elizabeth Barnes [link]

The Woman Question, Lori Watson [link]

Being Your Best Self: Authenticity, Morality, and Gender Norms, Rowan Bell

Reimagining Transgender, Robin Dembroff [link]

Yep, I’m Gay: Understanding Agential Identity, Robin Dembroff & Catharine Saint-Croix [link]

Forgotten lives: Trans older adults living with dementia at the intersection of cisgenderism, ableism/cogniticism and ageism, Alexandre Baril & Marjorie Silverman [link]

Dementia and the gender trouble?: Theorising dementia, gendered subjectivity and embodiment, Linn J. Sandberg [link]

Pol

Moving Towards Life, Marina Magloire [link]

Rosa Luxemburg Foundation please note: ‘A time comes when silence is betrayal’, Haifa Zangana [link]

Beyond Orientalism and Islamophobia: 9/11, Anti-Arab Racism, and the Mythos of National Pride, Steven George Salaita

On misogynoir: citation, erasure, and plagiarism, Moya Bailey & Trudy [link]

Other

“Democratizing AI” and the Concern of Algorithmic Injustice, Ting-an Lin [link]

What is a (social) structural explanation? Sally Haslanger [link]

The Importance of `Godzilla' Cannot Be Overstated, Charlie Brigden [link]

The Special Effects in Citizen Kane, Wesley Tilford [link]

For Friendship to be Revolutionary, Sever [link]