#i'll talk about what i think core classes look like another day

[iaus]

okay after seeing the student count of aguefort courtesy of idonthaveanyurlideas... this was originally going to be me talking about the classes, but i got fixated on the schedule LMAO.

anyway.

i will be using california school standards simply because that is what i am familiar with. and using the (erroneous) assumption that aguefort has any sort of state/education board requirements...

listen. i love applying stupid, horribly mundane realism to ridiculous fantasy.

Now. In California you have some credit/class requirements for graduation. I'm not bothering with the specific classes (like Algebra and the types of history) because we are going to be making some fantasy requirements up.

But okay bare bones, to graduate high school in California you need:

3 years of English

2 years of mathematics

3 years of social science

2 years of science

2 years of physical education (wish someone had given me this fucking memo)

1 year of foreign language OR visual and performing arts

So. Let's get started on what your 4 years at Aguefort could look like.

Let's preface this with the fact that probably every Class teacher probably has to have at least one or two periods of a core subject (and they probably grumble the whole time about it).

Now let's do some "equating" of those core subjects to fantasy core subjects.

English Language Arts = Common Language Arts

Mathematics = Same. You need math no matter what. Suck it up.

Social Science = Split up into history, government, and geography.

Physical Education = The idea of wizard/sorcerer PE is making me lose my shit so yea let's add this in here.

Foreign Language/Arts = Largely the same. I'm assuming these would be your languages, tools, weapons, armor proficiency.

Okay we got our equivalencies.

Now I'm going to once again do some speculating on high school schedules based on my time teaching in middle school (very similar structure) and the high schools around me. Please don't doxx me with this information.

TYPICALLY in my experience you will have 6-7 classes each will be about 50 minutes each with a 40 minute lunch. We’re gonna use 6 classes for this because when you do 7 classes things start getting really fucked.

Now schedule-wise, some schools will do a "full" day where you go to all your classes and then switch to block (attend your odd classes/attend your even classes).

Some schools do certain days as block schedules while still having a M/F "full" day so students can go to all their classes. I'm gonna operate on the assumption that Aguefort does a fucking mind splitting version of this but we won’t get into that in this post.

So, let's make a sample schedule for... let's say a freshman because freshmen always get the short end of the stick because they hardly ever get to actually have electives because of all their core classes they have to knock out.

Period 1: CLA: Common 9

Period 2: Math: Introductory Adventuring Math

Period 3: Physical Education: Non-Martial Option

Period 4: Science: Introductory to the Bestiary

Lunch

Period 5: CLASS SPECIFIC

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now, the thought here is to ONLY have a class specific class after lunch so that way the last 2 hours of the day, no matter the scheduling day, are dedicated to working on honing your class skills. So, if you do a standard go to all class you are still spending kind of a "home room" with your class which might switch off.

Like, for example if you're a fighter your class specific period 5 might be an extra physical education with Coach Daybreak (yikes) and a bunch of other general martial students, but your period 6 is then lecture/basics/fundamentals with Corsica. This also would align with MCAT kids because period 5 might be with your "primary" class and then period 6 is with what you've multi-classed into.

HOWEVER, this class schedule is missing some of the required classes.

So, this student, for example, does not have at a glance a language/art elective or social science. This is generally pretty common for freshman. You get jack shit because you gotta do your prelims before the fun stuff.

I'm imagining that language and arts would probably be more a junior/senior year thing. Sophomore if you're lucky.

Class specific classes also might double into that.

Ambitious students also might ask for a zero period, a lunch class, or a period 7 class (with parent/admin/teacher approval).

Now, using this same student let's make a sophomore year schedule.

For the record, to meet their grad requirements they need:

2 more years of CLA, 1 more year of math, 3 more years of social science, 1 more year of science, 1 year of phys ed, and 1 year of language/art.

This is also assuming that the student "passed" every class with at least a D and earned their credits. (Popular chant of my high school history teacher who I hated: D is for diploma.)

Now, I have a lot of moving parts so I'm not gonna move periods around but let's say we have:

Period 1: CLA: Common 10

Period 2: Math: Basics of Adventuring Mathematics

Period 3: Social Science: Geography of Spyre (Semester 1)/History of Spyre (Semester 2)

Period 4: Science: Advanced Bestiary Sciences

Lunch

Period 5: Phys Ed: Non-Martial Option

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now, I'm imagining as a sophomore you might have a bit more “leniency” to take more non-class classes since you've presumably mastered the "basics" of your class. So sophomore year is when you start getting into more rigorous academic work and you sacrifice one of your class specific classes so you can start getting your social science credit out of the way.

This means that you are spending less time doing class specific things, but you are expanding your horizons as a student. This also means that this student gets to knock out the following requirements for graduation: Math, Science, and Physical Education.

So, this means they now have 3 extra classes to devote to either their MCAT, their primary class, and/or other graduation requirements. Let's do a check on what they need now that they've cleared 3 grad requirements:

1 more year of CLA, 2 more years of social science, and 1 year of Language/Art. Plus whatever other class specific graduation/party requirements might be set in place at Aguefort.

Let's do their junior schedule:

Period 1: CLA: Common 11

Period 2: Social Science: History of Solace

Period 3: Language/Art: Forgery 1 (for non-rogues)

Period 4: ELECTIVE

Lunch

Period 5: CLASS SPECIFIC

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now juniors will have more elective options AND the option to go back to having two periods of class specific classes or a second elective. This student is on track for graduation as long as they are passing with Ds.

So, now all they actually need is 1 more year of social science. I remember my high school did this very deliberately. They wanted us to take government and economics in our senior year and that was literally the ONLY requirement for graduation (plus the high school exit exam). But if you were trying for college, you would probably take another year of language arts, another year of science, another year of something so it looks better. Now, let’s do senior year schedule:

Period 1: ELECTIVE/Free Period

Period 2: Social Science: Economics of Spyre and Neighboring Countries (Semester 1)/Government of Spyre (Semester 2)

Period 3: ELECTIVE/Free Period

Period 4: INTER PARTY DYNAMICS COURSE

Lunch

Period 5: CLASS SPECIFIC

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now, again, just doing some vague assumptions here but I think your senior year at Aguefort would be about that final fine tuning of going from student to adventurer. You’d probably have some party dynamic classes you have to take that would be an equivalent of the high school exit exam. Senior year, typically, is a breeze from the seniors I’ve talked to. I don’t think Aguefort would do it, but I know I’ve substituted for senior English which was mostly them practicing composition needed for college.

But. Anyway. I was going to make a post more on what I think class sizes look like, but this came out.

I have no real ending thought here except for the fact that I find the idea of Aguefort Academy having to at least pretend to function like a real high school, so the state doesn’t swoop in and shut it down infinitely funny.

I don’t really want a senior year but if there is, please, AAA losing their accreditation or revealing that their degrees actually mean nothing would be SO FUNNY PLEASE.

[autisticrosewilson]

Hello to the one blog I've been loving to read for the past few days :) <3

Just wanted to add a little something that I started thinking abt after reading a few of your really cool posts, I think we should also discuss abt how Bruce's argument abt killing (with Jay) are often framed with "you're not the judge, jury & the executioner" which is really telling of who he thinks can exersise this legitimately? ? ?

I think it'd be constructive to actually properly discuss this aspect of Bruce's philosophy too. Plus, we get more nuanced Bruce characterisation. (Also keeping in mind uh... comic book propaganda of the writers and DC themselves)

YES ABSOLUTELY! Like what if someone is given a death sentence by a court of law? Does Bruce still care? I'm sure most writers would tell you no because Bruce has become a cop allegory. He's a violent enforcer of the law, and he seeks to uphold the law. Which is a recent switch! Batman comics used to be more radical, but now they're being written by old white men. So it's another one of those things where you can ignore it for your PERSONAL INTERPRETATION but you can't say that it's not A Thing because it's been like this for at least a decade.

His argument would likely be that everyone deserves a fair trial, that everyone has the right to be seen in court. Something which I do think Jason would agree with because when he's being written well he's not just shooting petty criminals! Jason's stance comes in with the big players, the disgustingly rich or well connected upper class who get away with murder. This has been true since the Garzonas case, the whole point was that Felipe was virtually immune to the law, and Jason couldn't allow that.

I think what it comes down to is whether they believe in reformative justice or punitive Justice, and I can most assuredly say that Batman believes in the latter. You can argue that Bruce is an advocate of prison reform but we don't really have evidence of that. He considers himself a punishment for criminals, he considers himself an equalizer but that's not true because he just delivers criminals into a system that is fundamentally corrupt and unfair. Do you actually think a trial in GOTHAM of all places is going to look at a rich man vs a petty crook the same way? That rarely happens even in real life.

And I don't think that Bruce does what he does out of inherent malice. Bruce is a deeply empathetic person, the core of Bruce Wayne is that he cares. But that's not enough, Bruce was allowed to grow up sheltered and it gave him an intrinsic idealism. He only has a Birdseye view of what the common people go through, that is not enough to stand there and say that he understands . Because he doesn't. He literally can't. And I think this bias, certainly one projected by the writers but that's another issue, comes through the most with Jason and Steph.

As far back as Jason's Robin era - widely regarded as Bruce's peak of being a good dad - he still makes some pretty big mistakes. Because he finds this homeless kid whose family has been ripped apart by the corrupted systems, who has actively experienced the worst Gotham has to offer, and he comes to the conclusion that if he doesn't take Jason home Jason will inevitably become a criminal even after Jason explicitly says he doesn't like stealing. So he takes Jason in but he makes that position as his son synonymous with Robin. And this is where we have to talk about meta because Jason is intrinsically tied to meta narratives. I'm not sure if you saw my other posts about Robin, as a concept, but I'll summarize here.

Child sidekicks are fine, in early comics. When things were campy light hearted whodunnit mysteries with a few action sequences, when you always knew that the child hero would come out unscathed, would always live till the next issue. And so when Bruce makes Jason Robin you have this veil of suspension of disbelief. But Jason's era is where you start seeing these kids' storylines get worse. More gruesome, more violent, more cruel. They start really testing the limit of Bruce's morality.

Batman: The Cult - Robin Jason has to crawl through a pile of dead bodies and while Bruce is having a mental break this MAYBE 14 year old is trying to get them out. The Diplomats Son - Jason watches a rapist be let go, because he's powerful and his dad has money. He sees exactly the kind of damage it does to the victims, he's the one who finds Gloria Stanson. A Death in the Family - Jason is murdered. Tortured and murdered and betrayed. He's dead and he was always intended to STAY dead. And all throughout Tim's run and then into Steph's the writers retroactively change everything about who Jason was because it has to be HIS fault, because if it's not Jason's fault then it might be Bruce's. Because how can audiences see Bruce as just and good for taking in new kids after what happened to the last one?

The suspension of disbelief shatters. Because now Jason is back and he's angry. Because maybe we as readers know that Tim, and Steph, and Damian need to be Robin because Robin makes money with young readers. But you know who doesn't know that? Jason, who no doubt assumed that his survival depended on being Robin. Who was sold out because he was Robin. Who was badmouthed and disgraced the entire time he was gone by people he loved and trusted. Jason doesn't know that he's in a comic book, but I argue he knows he's in a Batman story.

If not from his first appearance then definitely in recent ones. What can you do besides lay down and forgive and keep coming back when you know that the universe revolves around one man? How do you get rid of the terror and anger at realizing that you can never leave, that no matter how much he hurts you the universe will bend itself in half so that he is still just and right? When you realize that the love that has defined you is a disease rooted so deeply that to rip it out would be to kill yourself, that you can't even stay dead because Bruce does not want you to be.

And they couldn't even stick to Jason being the problem! Because then Steph dies. And all I could think was "Of course she did. She's an East End girl whose been compared to Jason constantly. Or a version of him. Of course she would be tortured to death trying to get Bruce's approval." Here we are, history has literally repeated itself, and...Tim is Robin again. Why? Because this is a comic book, and Batman needs Robin.

But what do you think everyone in-universe thinks? What do you think that looks like? How can you possibly still call Bruce a good parent under these circumstances? Bruce calls Robin a blessing, a gift, a necessity. He relies on Robin, physically to watch his back and emotionally to keep him in line. He trains them, he molds them, he loves them.

But sometimes love just isn't enough and the good Robin does shouldn't negate the harm they get in the process. Robin then becomes this horrible force of change, you get it and you know that this has doomed you, one way or another. Because Bruce believes that suffering is noble, that pain can reform people. It's baked into his character. Even if he doesn't intend to hurt his kids, it's not like we haven't seen him justify it to himself and others. "I love you, I did this for your own good, I thought I could help you, it was your fault I did that, it won't happen again, I lost control of myself but only this once, we can be a family again if you just come home." It reads an awful lot like an abuser trying to convince you or himself that he's not in the wrong.

This was longer than I intended it to be, but I guess my main point is that Bruce and Batman can't ever be fully separated. Something that I think his relationship with Cass shows us he's aware of but chooses to ignore. We know that Batman is dangerous, that he wouldn't hesitate to hurt his kids, we saw that with Zurr-Batman (WHO BRUCE ADMITTED WAS A FACET OF HIMSELF YOU CAN'T SAY IT WASN'T HIM BECAUSE HE HIMSELF SAID THAT IT WAS). So why try and act like it's this impossible out of character thing for Bruce to be harmful? For his kids to feel angry and hurt about his actions or for their feelings to be as or more valid than Bruce's. Batman has and will hurt his kids and Bruce will try to rationalize it all away because he loves them, he would never want to hurt them. And the narrative will tell us that Bruce is right, that this is good and fair and just, that Bruce's perspective is the correct one, that his kids deserve this, because this is a comic book and outrage sells. Or they'll retcon it and pretend it never happened. Or they'll just never bring it up again. Or Bruce will be forgiven regardless just to hammer home how good and right he is.

Because this is a comic book about Batman, and Batman is a hero, he is our protagonist, and so he is reliable and we should never doubt him, or call him out, or be mad at him. Naturally.

[ilikemicrowaves]

I'm normal about Carnelian (I say as I read her wiki for the 7262763 time)

Anyways, I here's all my hcs off the top of my head that I have. I'll probably add more or make another post with. But any ways, there's A LOT so under the cut

• She calls Turtle, Tortise and Kinkajou monkey because she forgets their names or wants to be a brat

• Her and Winter talk shit 24/7, 365. Mostly about Qibli and some of the gold winglet.

• hates the other skywings except Flame she fw Flame and thinks hus scar is badass (he doesn't believe her, womp womp)

• The only dragon she doesn't name call is Winter, Moon, and Umber. Qibli gets called sand muncher or Kibble.

• after a while she call Moon moron out if affection.

• Hated Scarlet not just because she was awful but tried to execute her for being friends with Peril at one point

• Hunting (or rather killing) is her unhealthy coping mechanism

• Truly dislikes Kinkajou and can't stand her

• likes Bigtail

• HATES Webs. She would have killed Webs during the invasion if she knew

• Prefers the dark

• Really idolized Tsunami and thinks she's pretty cool

• keeps trying to convince Tsunami to add a combat class and mentions it frequently

• rain makes her mad

• allergic to pollen. Blud is not smelling the flowers during spring

• Trying to convince Clay to let her and Flame wear matching Spike collars (he's scared she's gonna use it to kill someone)

• temper issues

• bad memory from ptsd effects

• orphan (parents died lmao)

• Is scared of Onyx (wtf is there an adult here???)

• wants ppl to think she listens to heavy metal but really she likes depressing hypepop and speed core stuff

• speech problems, struggles pronouncing L and S. (S sound like "sh" and L sounds like "y"

• Steals a lot of ppls food when she's to lazy to kill smth (usually from Qibli or one of the skywings)

• hates being looked at

• always squinting her eyes and RBF

• hates her name

• gave herself a nickname that nobody uses (Carnage)

• would wear a lot of baggy clothes and denim (her and Flame are pretty similar when comes to clothes)

• Pretty selfish but she's learning to be slightly nicer (it's not progressing well)

• reluctant to tell people about her nonexistent parents

• what would beak her? An explosion (😀)

• human!Carnelian would have a perm that almost hangs over her eyes and lots of face piercings

• has a husky and hoarse voice.

• HATES the noise of ppl tapping their claws (she does not understand adhd dragons 💔)

• Even though she was in the camp that believed Scarlet was deceased, I think she more of hoped than believed

• She misses her battalion a lot (they miss her skill, but not her.)

• out of her 14 battles, one was the invasion to the summer palace. She killed atleast 20 seawings

• She has a few broken teeth

• Her breath smells like ass (doesn't like brushing her teeth because her broken teeth hurt.)

• Her favorite color is actually maroon

• I based her design slightly off of a Harris hawk

• her and Flame have matching copper bracelets they made in art class.

• has Moonwatcher help her with the homework and reads to her

• Wishes Peril would talk to her (Very self-conscious about it and thinks Peril hates her)

• says dipshit a lot

• She thinks she's badass (she's not in most aspects)

• She looks a few years older than she is because of her squinted eyes and muscular build

• Mad JMA wouldn't let her bring in her spear

• skips music class almost every day

• Would refuse to go to any school dances unless Flame or Moonwatcher would ask her to go. (Most the time it's Moonwatcher, Flame hates the dances too.)

• hates all of the seawings but Turtle (DONT TELL ANYONE!!)

• wants to knock out Pike but restrains herself for Flame. (She's a little jealous of there frenemy-ship)

• Umber/turtle/Carnelian trio!!!!

[icyowl]

Idk if your taking request if not discard! lol but uh >< could we get some Vash & Wolfwood A/O/B head canons? What do you think their second genders would be? and how would they be w reader?

A/B/O Headcanons (Vash, Wolfwood)

Pairings: Wolfwood x reader, Vash x reader

A/N/: always up for ABO. Always.

As my bio says, I'm not open for requests per se, but if an ask strikes my fancy, I might get inspired!

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

WOLFWOOD

An alpha through and THROUGH

very growly. It's deep and slow and rumbly and he loves using it on others or using it on you and catching you off guard. He smells the effect it has on you through your scent glands and his eyes key in on the tiny shaking it puts in your knees. You alright there, ankle biter? Lookin' a little unsteady he says with a wicked grin. Even the cigarette bounces with mirth.

Whatever class Wolfwood was going to be, the experiments done by the Dr. turned him into an alpha. It's done on purpose because alphas are more goal-oriented and driven, and because its pretty easy to keep them in line with a steady dose of hard-core suppressants. Getting Wolfwood to detox from them was definitely an exercise in building trust. The ensuing rut you had to help him through was. . . intense, to say the least.

Puts out his cigarettes when you're around. Just because he can cancel out the ill-effects by drinking his vials doesn't mean he has to subject you to it.

Say his first name nice and softly with some of those omega hormones pushing out into the room and watch his whole shoulder line gradually slump until he's putting his head on your shoulder and licking the oils from your scent glands.

Look, its fact that at some point he will use himself as a human shield to keep you safe because, again, he's got those vials to help him recover. The first time he got, for all intents and purposes, murdered in front of your eyes was a horrifying experience. Even after he'd made a full recovery (another mildly disturbing moment when he seemingly came back from the dead just as quickly as he joined it), you'd lost many nights worth of sleep. When he found out, you had a long discussion about his ready-fire-aim tendencies.

It came as no surprise you began to have nightmares. Try as he might, he wasn't good at consoling you at first. It took time for Wolfwood to realize slapping you on the back like some bro and telling you the vials taste like candy wasn't the way to make you feel better.

Has gotten your group thrown out of a number of establishments after holding a man at gunpoint for so much as flirting with you. Very clearly used the moment as an excuse to show off in front of you.

Definitely gives you the talk about worrying about yourself before others or before you make stupid choices that might put you in harms way. Gets you a gun of some kind, something manageable, and maybe it won't obliterate some of the things that are coming after you but it'll give you a chance to get away or at least buy time until he can get there.

“Whatever Blondie does, you do the opposite, you hear me?”

Also chew you out if/when you put yourself in danger. Doesn't matter why. He'll get in your face and yell and interrupt you at every turn. “I don't care that you were saving some kid! Drop kick him out a window for all I care! The next time you do something like that, I'll kill you myself!”

Loves showing off your relationship in front of others. Favorite thing to do is, whenever you go to sit by him in a public place, his arm snakes around you (whether its your arm or waist or a part of your clothing) and simply yanks you to his lap.

This man. This man would not touch a healthy relationship with a ten-foot pole. Like, we can agree his most stable relationship is with his gun, right? So totally expect him to be a little lost when it comes to taking care of you emotionally. It never occurred to him how many days had passed without him scenting you; just figured you were dealing with something or had a change in hormones when you began to smell sour.

On your end, you're freaking out. There has to be a reason why he's not doing it. Is he over you? Do you smell bad? Is something going on in his life you don't know about? Is there someone else? How do you bring it up without sounding accusatory? Should you just drop it?

When you finally lean in and just go for it, fisting his shirt and burrying your nose under his chin, nestled right up against his pulse, and purr, he does nothing for several seconds. Meanwhile your heart is skittering wildly. What you don't realize is you've positively short-circuited this poor man. Could his heart always beat like this? So fast, so erratically? A low rumble escapes him and encases you in an embrace.

He realizes this is the first time he's ever purred.

VASH

could legit be any class. I'm sure most of y'all see him as an omega, but for funsies I'll make him an alpha for a change!

Like, come on, you can't tell me those canines from the last episode scream anything else but alpha. Plus, we all know how determined he can get. Just imagine that you're the one he can't turn his instincts away from, you're the one that makes him feel the most like a regular person, you're the one that elicits such a visceral reaction from him.

Three words: PRO TEC TIVE. If you got with him hoping to break him of his savior mentality, you've gotten with the wrong person. His habits include but are not limited to: keeping watch every time you sleep (even at the risk of his own lethargy), repositioning you to where he perceives to be the safest spot (picking dining tables closest to an exit, putting himself between you and strangers, ensuring an unobstructed path to you and his gun, etc.), scenting your clothes every morning before you wake to keep other alphas from bothering you, smiling in such a way that he shows off his canines to anyone that bothers you, and coming up with lame excuses to get you away from anyone that bothers him. Vash is mostly polite about it, but you know what't up. Nuzzle into him and watch him melt into you and purr gently.

Yo his glyphs pulse when his alpha instincts come to the surface. Defending you from another alpha? Needing to scent you to feel calm? You got him riled up? All those will do it and its sometimes been a close call to hide it from strangers. You love it when it happens in the dark of a room and he literally lights up the space.

Seeing you in his jacket sends a shiver up his spine and makes his pupils expand considerably. He's soooo attentive to you. The slightest change in your scent due to your emotions — whether they be fear or jealousy or loneliness — and he's on you, nuzzling into your scent glands to try and calm you and offering to get you someplace private for a scenting session. Don't be surprised if he completely ignores your protests and excuses the two of you from the rest of the group.

One time he was so caught up in the moment of battle, so fearful when he saw a gun aiming for your chest, that his cybernetic hand grabbed for your arm and yanked you aside. It almost hurt him as much as if you'd been shot when he realized his fingers left dark bruises on your skin, and he'd carelessly flung you into a bookshelf where you'd knocked the back of your head against the corner, causing wet blood to rush into your hair and face.

He refused to touch you for days after that. Thankfully, in the dead of night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, you found him leaning bodily against the wall at the end of the hallway, resisting his hormone-fueled delirium on sheer willpower alone, and were able to convince him to give in to the bond. Oh how he wanted to scent you and be scented, how his oil glands wetted themselves feebly, desperate to touch your scent glands. You had enough when he tried to escape you again; one gentle press to the gland on his wrist and he finally gave in — pupils expanded, eyes glossed over, canines descended. Vash pinned you against the wall, chuffing and nuzzling while you tried to keep your head on straight. His pheromones were positively overwhelming.

Vash reverently touched the bandage on your head and the bruises on your arm, apologizing with whines and whimpers. The poor man could hardly speak with the hormones buzzing through him, but he tried to convey the pain he felt at hurting you, even unintentionally. You soothed the guilt with gentle words and a steady stroke to the gland on his neck.

Because of his biology, he has a very unique scent. It's clean and fresh and everyone takes notice. You've had to fight off a few omegas during your time together. My man's totally clueless.

Like, he can smell you're frustrated, but why? Those ladies were just helping him get directions to the next town? Oh, they were holding his arm as they pointed to the horizon? He never noticed. They were just being nice. Why were you glaring at them? Whatever the reason, he can tell you need his pheromones and floods the space with them accordingly.

Sooooo hesitant when it comes to marking you, or really even allowing his mouth anywhere near your supple skin. He doesn't trust himself not to lose control or get carried away. Vash knows what being bound to him would mean; the danger, the running. To him, it's no different than painting a bullseye on you. It takes time, and a lot of trust and coaxing, but eventually he gives in to the trance tugging at his brain. Eventually, he gives himself over to it. His nibbling teeth and laving tongue don't leave your skin for some time.

[scarlettsandmaroons]

she doesn't think of me | n. romanoff

about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist

pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader

chapter two | chapter three: midnights like this

chapter summary: your professor is targeting you and neither you or your bestfriend are having it. she however, doesn't seem to care about you at all.

warnings: natasha is mean.

a/n: this was rushed, i'm sorry! should've posted this last night, but i was so busy i just decided to squeeze writing this chapter into my schedule. it's really short too, rest assured, the next one will be better!

you were on natasha romanoff's radar. and you want so badly to get out of it.

"oh i'm sure she'll soften up! mrs. romanoff is nice!" billy insisted, but you carried on basically dragging yourself into yet another dreadful hour with mrs. romanoff.

"it's been three months, billy! i don't know what to do," you threw your arms up and then caressed your face with your hands, wanting so deeply to cry into it.

the two months being mrs. romanoff's favorite student hasn't exactly been the easiest. after handing off a couple of late assignments, which you had stacks and stacks of from her, you were surprised she hadn't pulled some strings to suspend you.

she would very often tear your paper in front of you. she would call you into her office just so you can watch her tear the last 15 hours you spent in pieces before throwing it away. she never lets you off of class without calling you at least 3 times. never leaving out some commentary after you answer that would make you embarrassed to the core. she pointed out your shortcomings in class. she made sure to always always let everyone know what and when you're doing wrong. and after all that humiliation, what aggravates you is how she doesn't, at all, acknowledges your existence outside of class. you would pass her by the halls, you would see her near the gate, never once would she make eye contact, or even look in your direction. she wouldn't even do so much as breath in your direction!

to her, it's nothing.

"do you want me to talk to her?" billy asked. she's been the subject of almost all your conversations with billy. and he has so patiently listen to your every rant about her.

"how would you even," you were hopeless. you would leave, but you're already too far into it. she had humiliated you way too much to back out now. you didn't go through months of torture just to leave. to her, you're not even relevant. you're just another student who couldn't withstand her. leaving would hurt your pride more.

so you straightened your back, and marched like someone truly eager to learn. "i'm sick of her nonsense. i'll show her what i'm made of."

you certainly didn't show her what you were made of when as soon as your name rolled off her tongue with strength and almost anger, you folded. you curved. you balled. whatever one might call it. you caved. you gave in. all sense of even an ounce of bravery was washed away by trembling fear. intimidation. you'd come to learn of that feeling the very first time you met her, it still surprises you how you've yet to get accustomed to it.

you stood up, slowly. here it comes. you know it’s coming. you have a visual bulleted list of everything you could’ve possibly done, everything you have done that she has yet to shame you for. just yesterday, you bumped into her in the hall. literally, bump into her. the moment you felt the impact of her shoulder against yours, you made sure to avoid her eyes at all cost. you walked away like your life depended on it. you weren’t going to be subjected under one of her condescending gazes again which sheer sharpness of will have you begging for her forgiveness in seconds. you didn’t acknowledge her, or that it happened, not out of pride, but out of fear. she was already scary enough, and until yesterday, you hadn’t really done much to piss her off.

before that however... you've done a few. for example, in class a few days ago. you know she saw you. you hadn’t slept in so long that day, you couldn’t keep your eyes open. billy was there to offer you his car to sleep on the moment you got off mrs. romanoff’s class. he fixed the back seat; set up his air bed and everything. that was the best sleep you had in days. the only sleep you had in days. you were surprised mrs. romanoff had yet to give you shit for that though. especially, when you’ve made eye contact with her the moment you woke up.

somewhere last week, you also handed a late assignment. the very first one she hadn’t called you to watch her tear off and throw away. you also have an overdue paper you hadn’t even got the privilege of a free time to start doing. and you’re sure she hated the heels you wore two days ago from the judgmental look she shot your way after getting a glimpse of the maroon stilettos.

mrs. romanoff is like a ticking timebomb. one that could go off over something so obvious yet unforeseen you’d hate yourself for not thinking of. that’s what created your visual bulleted list of everything you had done for her to humiliate you, everything that she might embarrass you for, everything that you can choose from as to why she must hate you that very moment. it helps to have a list. to be able to predict what’s making her mad again. what about you today infuriates her? it’s like a game.

today, you’re guessing one of those three. of course you had done more. some you know, some you hadn’t realized she hates you for doing, some you don’t even realize you did.

she stood up and crossed her arms. you were so far from her; so many people in between. yet the way she stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. not in a good way. in fact, in the worst way. it’s like being left alone with a beast.

“you’re failing my class.”

you weren’t in high school anymore. that much was clear when she announced it to the whole class where a high school teacher would never go so far as too doing. but the line between high school and college became a blur when what were a few snickers became a full blown laughter of which mrs. romanoff only basked in. you wouldn’t be surprised be there was some kind of pride in her as the class erupted in laughter over her embarrassing you.

that was very on-brand of her. but it hurt you nonetheless. your heart dropped continuously until you can feel a dragging weight on your chest. to even make it out of the classroom was such a challenge as you could barely carry the weight that pulled at your heart. you held in your tears as you walked down the hall. you needed billy. it was an hour before lunch, billy’s in mr. barton’s class but you texted him nonetheless.

‘sos’, you sent him.

it was barely ten minutes later. by then, you were already sitting on a bench just outside of your campus building when he came running to see you forcing everything in until he was able to sit beside you and pull you to him. “i got you, y/n.” he says as he held your head against the crook of his neck where you just exploded in tears. you cried heavily against his shoulder; the three month worth of pent up frustration over your studies finally breaking free from your system. “let it all out.” he whispers while a hand rubs over your back and the other plays with your hair.

muffled words escape from your lips; complete incoherent. billy pulls you off of him, holding your shoulders and taking a good look at your face; red nose, eyes, and lips, all puffy and plump from crying, snot on your nose, tear stained cheeks, and wet eyes. he hadn’t seen you cry like this since you failed math in junior high.

“okay, now tell me. what’s wrong?”

you sniffled hard before running the back of your hand against your nose. you were looking past his shoulder as tears continue to pour from your eyes. “i failed english…” you cried.

“what?! but you’re an english lit girlie!” he says. “remember? and i’m a math wizard. how can you possibly fail english?!”

that made you cry much harder, pushing through the arms that held your shoulders so you can return to your place with your head against the crook of his neck. crying all the much more. “mrs. romanoff failed me…” you cried, lifting your head slightly so your words doesn’t come muffled. “but she tore off my homework! she refused to accept anything i submit her—"

“okay, that’s it.” billy stood up rather abruptly, holding you by the hand and marching off back to the campus.

you sniffled, trying to clear your sinuses. “what are you doing…?” you ask. he was holding so tightly on your hand, you could barely feel it as he drags you through the hallways and straight into mrs. romanoff’s office.

you weren’t able to stop him—you didn’t even know what he was going to do! and by the time everything was finished processing in your mind, billy had already started yelling at your professor who only watches intently from behind her desk. “how could you fail my friend!” he yells at her.

you were taken aback. you didn’t know what to do. you’re already in here, he already yelled at her, knowing mrs. romanoff, you both would suffer the same consequences as if you would have stopped him.

“goodmorning to you too, mr. maximoff.”

her chin was resting on the back of her hand. she was looking at him so intently, as if she was interested in everything he has to say—as if she’ll hear him out. you were getting the strongest sense of déjà vu. you’ve been here before. you knew how this was going to end. you knew how much this would amuse her. you knew because this happened to you.

“y/n doesn’t deserve that.”

you can hear it in billy’s voice. he was infuriated. he hated her perhaps maybe more than you did. it’s always been this way—the two of you. he’s always been the man who protected you; who shielded you; who fought for you. and you were always there holding his hand as he does so, ready to back him up.

“how come?”

but with mrs. romanoff, against mrs. romanoff, it was different. her eyes were trained on him and him only. she did nothing to acknowledge your presence—you wouldn’t even be too surprised if she hadn’t realized you were here. but from the slightest chance that she might be watching you, from the slightest chance that your hand holding billy’s were caught from her peripheral, you slowly withdrew your hand, and took just the smallest step away from him so your skin doesn’t touch.

you know billy noticed this but he seemed to not have given it much thought. he was in here fighting for you knowing full-well he’s risking his future, and yours, in this university. you holding each other’s hand and being mistaken as a couple is not going to help your case. you deserve to be here. and you don’t deserve what you were given. and billy knows that. the last thing you want is for mrs. romanoff to further disregard your efforts, or any of the very little chance you have of winning this because she thought billy’s only doing this because you’re “his girlfriend”.

“she was the best in our grade!”

“i think you mistake this university for a small-town public school in west view,” she fixed her posture, straightening up when she pushes her chair further into the table and her hands rest on her desk.

“she doesn’t deserve this, and you know that! she worked day and night for your subject,” billy insists.

“i fear for her future if that’s the best her entire day’s work is worth for.”

you shrunk. you slowly hid behind billy though you were aware they both noticed. you wanted to cry. to scream into a pillow. she belittled you. and she did so without even acknowledging you at all, your presence to her was nothing. if you couldn’t see the way you hand was trembling, you would think you were invisible. from the way they were talking about you, to the way they were exchanging arguments as if you weren’t there. the very sole reason they’re even arguing, they almost pretend to not be here at all.

“that’s unfair. maybe you’d see how it’s worth if you’d even take the time to look at what she gives you before throwing it off.”

“why would i even give time for an output worth nothing more than what i throw in my trash can?”

“you are unfair! you give her all these work—,” billy’s voice raised to an extent you’ve never heard of, and even you were almost scared, but of course, mrs. romanoff wasn’t even fazed, if anything, she seemed to be getting bored of this whole thing.

her hooded eyelids dropped halfway, and her eyebrows tightened by the smallest bit. her patience was growing thin. and from the way her jaw clenched, you knew she was over it.

“and you are being disrespectful, mr. maximoff.” she said sternly.

“you’re biased. you humiliate her in class, you embarrass her, you pick on her. i don’t see you doing that to others. at least not to the same extent you do her. you’re wearing her off!”

by then you knew this shouldn’t go any further. he was blatantly disrespecting a professor, who as much as you hate, shouldn’t be disrespected by a student. at least, not to the extent billy was going for.

“and you, come in here accusing me; questioning me, a professor, with absolutely no regard for the inconsistencies and rather meritless of your argument.”

“i demand to see your grading sheet, because i assure you, you are making a mistake.”

mrs. romanoff abruptly stood up, placing both hands on the surface of her desk as she leaned towards it with anger painted across her features. “and i demand!... mr. maximoff,” her voice raised, and something about it, the coldness, the sharpness, the loudness, the entirety of it, almost made you cry. you were scared, your rapid heartbeat was evidence of that. “…that you leave. you have exhausted my patience. and i assure you, you will have no office of mine to barge into, or a university to attend if you further push your luck which i guarantee you is not more than what you’d have when you’re standing on very thin ice.”

“you wouldn’t…”

you put a hand on his shoulder. he was really pushing it. and mrs. romanoff wasn’t someone who you should be pushing it with. mrs. romanoff follows through. that much is evident as she consistently tore off your paper, without fail, every time you submit it.

“oh i’m sure you wouldn’t love to see me try.”

billy gave into her warning, but more so into you. you tolerated him—this, to a certain extent, especially since he was only fighting for you. but there’s a line, and with mrs. romanoff, it’s not something you should ever dare cross. billy listened to your implied warning too. he always listened to you. so with a scoff, he took your hand and prepared to leave, but as he was approaching the door, you pulled your hand from him to look at mrs. romanoff who, for the first time since you came in, finally was looking at you.

“are you going to continue being like this?” you asked. you weren’t as mean as billy was. you weren’t demanding. you were just sad. hopeless, almost.

“being what, miss y/n?”

“unreasonable.” you whispered but you know she heard you.

“if you see a reason for me not to be, then i wouldn’t.”

“don’t you think about how that might affect my future?” your voice was soft, kind.

“oh, i don’t think about you at all.”

her voice wasn’t. she was cold, almost proud; condescending.

a feeling inside you brewed. something about her eyes. how delicate they are. how enchanting. it couldn’t possibly belong to what a wretched-hearted woman she seems to be. she’s inviting, enticing. something about her pulls you in. intrigues you. now more than ever. now since ever.

you want to break mrs. romanoff. you want to see who she really is. not for revenge, not to hold it against her. simply because you’re curious. you’re aching to see mrs. romanoff—natasha. she couldn’t possibly just be that. mean.

she is not just that.

[carsonian]

Steve/Tony fic recs | theme: "SOFT"

I've read a decent number of SteveTony fics and I wanted to give an indecent amount of love back to the writers who put out such gawrjus pieces. The theme for this list is "SOFT" in capital letters because it's not your average erectile-dysfunction soft but some real silk-scarf soft shit. You know, the classics: the diabetic stuff, the ooey-gooey stuff, the puddle of feelings stuff...

Now I don't want NOBODY saying, girl, I've read that, are you being for real? Because guess what? I am always being for real and these fics are real, and you can always re-read them. So spread the love. Respect!

"There's an App for That" by Annie D (scaramouche) (@no-gorms) - I know you're looking at me and saying, aight look Carsonian, whatchu takin me for? You think I'm some greenhorn mark to put down a flag for SteveTony witout cracking Annie D's stash three times whole? Well, to that I raise: my glass. Cuz samesies. But truuuuust me, this fic is worth the re-read. It is a stroke of genuine AU brilliance that doesn't get the hype it deserves (a billion kudos of hype pls!). Super solid set-up, refreshingly quick lines, the kind of easygoing falling together that is just jazzy to relish. This fic is like a date with an almond huddled inside. Sweet and mushy but with a surprisingly solid bite at its core. Summary goes:

Thanks to the modern gig economy, Steve is the successful owner of a break-up service, i.e. people pay him to break up with their partners for them. One day, he gets the first break-up request for Tony Stark.

😏 Uh-huh. Oh okay. Meet-awkwuuurd time. J.A.R.V.I.S., cue up "Start of Something New" by HSM. 😏

"The First Time I Went Dancing Sober" by schemingreader - This fic is like good wine; it ages like a beauty. This month will make it ten (10!!!) years since it was published but by God does it hold up. It holds me up. Like a firm but comfortable back brace. Summary goes:

Steve Rogers is a great physical therapist who works with sick kids. Tony Stark is a damaged biotech engineering genius who really wants to be one of the good guys.

You.... you know the vibes, don't you? You--uh, you catch the flow? Yeah, you do. C'mon, read this fic and give me a hug, brother. I'll clasp you close and whisper homoerotic sweet-nothings into your ear while we hug, partner. It'll be silly romantic, bro.

"we pick ourselves undone" by laramara (@commandersteverogers) - Another old-but-gold fic. Hang on, read the summary first:

It might appear that award-winning surgeon Tony Stark, the head of neurosurgery at Shield Hospital, well and truly has his life together. Now if he could only figure out how to tell people that his father, world class neurosurgeon Howard Stark, is locked away in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s, devise a way to get Chief Fury off his back for good, and work out what the hell he’s going to do about the weird on-again-off-again thing he has going with the head of cardio, he’d finally have everything sorted.

Now that's what I'm motherfucking talking about. This fic is also ten years old et voilà: a certified historical moment. When I first read this, I thought about quitting fic writing; it's that good. And then I re-read it and life was okay again. Tee El Dee Arr: I want to give this fic a smooch on the mouth and a sincere insurance plan.

"for better or for worse" by earliebirb (@earliebirb) - This is the fic you re-read when you want to remember why you're into Steve/Tony. It's iddy, it's tender, it's achey but beyond all a that, it's SOFT. Soft like whipped cream. Soft like a vanilla ice cream milkshake. Soft like Tony's tush and Steve's tits. R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Summary goes:

Sitting quietly like this, Tony can almost pretend that nothing has happened, that this is just another normal day of Steve waking up in bed next to him. Married and in love with no threat of divorce looming on the horizon. Of course, that is before he catches sight of Steve’s bereft ring finger. He wonders how long it has been since Steve’s ring finger is empty. He wonders if he should start taking off his own, too. He wonders if Steve wants him to take it off.

I know, I know, you're going: Carsonian, wyot the hell, this sounds like angsty stuff. Shhh. Shhhhh. Shhh. I'll get my hand off your mouth just as soon as you start listening. Sport, this is the ooey-gooey stuff. All of the angst is the hot chocolate fudge. It's what makes the milkshake so bloody damn good. Now get da fuck outta here and read this fic!!! Or re-read this fic!!! It's worth it! (Just like Steve & Tony's relationship in the fic, shhh no spoilers.)

Warmest and Brightest by ishipallthings (@ishipallthings) - Naww shuddup I don't want to hear any accusations of favouritism. Yeah I think Jen is aces, but I'm not speaking from a place of bias when I say her fics are aces too. It has been scientifically proven. By Tony. And me. Here's the source. Also, I read this WAYYYY back when, and put it down in my list as "sitcom/hallmark set up with stevetony charm". So if you're into that, you know what to do. And if you're not into that, get da fuck outta here!!! You can not NOT be into that. Okay but if you're seriously not into that, no judgement. Okay, a little judgement. With 100% love. Summary goes:

It’s Christmas Eve, and Tony’s supposed to be getting decorations ready for his and Rhodey’s Christmas bash in their new apartment. Instead, he’s stuck in an elevator with the hot guy from 12A Steve, who doesn’t seem to be in much of a festive mood. It turns out to be a bit of a holiday miracle.

Y'know what else is a miracle? How I got through this fic without kicking my feet up like a gleeful teen in a 2000s romcom. Y'know what else? I totally didn't get through this fic without doing that. Maybe the miracle is in the friends we made along the way 🧑‍🤝‍🧑(that's me n u, babey, holding hands as we watch Steve and Tony debate superior rom-coms into a relationship).

"One Last Christmas" by Captain_Panda - Speakin' of Xmas miracles, here's another fic that is super soft and set during the Christmas holiday period. And YEAH I'll admit it FINE FINE. I'm deffo playing favourites here....but as we all know, I am a Captain_Panda fan first 😤❗, a SteveTony fic enthusiast second. Respect!!! Summary goes:

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. The year is 2012. Cuddly-as-a-cactus Tony Stark is throwing a Christmas party for his fellow Avengers. It's all going really well--except for Tony, who is quietly succumbing to his own demons.

You see how the summary says "cuddly-as-a-cactus"? Well, it don't matter because the fic will cuddle you anyway. Tony gets cuddles, we get cuddles, the world gets a cuddle. It's all cuddles in here and you best believe I'm weeping at the slumber party. In this fic, the world is soft and rough-edged and love is worth losing for. It's beautiful. Gawly I'm weeping again. Last time I read this fic, I wrote this in my comment and it still holds true.

And that's all she w"rec"ked!

Go forth: SteveTony lovers, fuckers, ambassadors, champions, perverts, freaks, losers, dreamers, legends! Read, re-read, kudo, comment, spread legs and spread love.

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter five: go ahead and pull the pin | read chapter four

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5.1k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

You get the spare key to Tim. The rest of your weekend is slow, relaxed. He comes over on both Saturday and Sunday and you two do your usual thing.

Each day — and Friday evening — he volunteers to change the dressings on your injuries.

You let him.

It’s easier now, not just because he had already done it the day it happened and because you two talked about it, but because you are starting to see how nice it is to have someone take care of you. Everything between you two is better. More comfortable, more… secure, now that boundaries have been discussed.

He drives you to work for the first couple days of next week, until your knee is good enough for biking again.

You had some reservations about getting back on your bike, not because you hadn’t been on it for a while — though that was a thought — but more because you hadn’t been on it since your accident happened.

You worried it might be uncomfortable for you, but aside from some… renewed fears of falling over, it’s okay. On Wednesday, you get back to it, and by Friday, it’s like nothing ever happened. 

You do have a few unsettling dreams about the incident, mostly the kind where you didn’t walk away from it. But you remind yourself that you did, that it was just an accident at the laundromat that caused everything, and not, you know, the Joker blowing up the block. A freak accident, that’s all. 

Soon enough, it is Friday, and you, Ms. C, and another class of sixth graders alongside your own are on the ferry, crossing Gotham Harbor, heading south for Metropolis. 

The field trip hadn’t been for the zoo there initially; it was Gotham’s, then sudden reports of animal cruelty and mistreatment came out and Poison Ivy’s wrath quickly followed, closing down the zoo with her deadly flora and fauna protecting it. The police arrested the staff but they didn’t catch her. No matter, you think. Metropolis’ zoo is probably better. 

But the kids weren’t looking forward to that. Mostly, they were looking forward to being in the same city as Superman, many of them raving about the chance to see him. You personally would be quite fine with not seeing him, since, you know, the only way you could was if you were all in terrible danger and that would be hard to explain to the parents. 

So, naturally, on the day of the trip, you expect the kids to be buzzing about it — about being on the ferry, dark waters gliding beneath the ship, the breeze carrying sprays of saltwater. 

But nope. Not even a peep about Superman. Instead…

“The Titans? What about the Titans?” you ask, puzzled, leaning against the railing. Ms. C on your left and Amir, the aide for the other class, on your right. The teacher for that class, Mr. Chu, promptly became seasick a few minutes into the ride and stepped inside to get away from it. 

Ms. C hums distantly next to you. “Who knows?”

Amir blinks. “You guys didn’t hear?”

She shrugs and turns to look out at the waves, apparently not wanting to know, either.

You do, however. “Hear what?”

They shake their head, pulling out their phone. “It’s been all over the news since yesterday. The Titans announced that one of their core members is stepping down. Well, they were cornered into it, really. Someone got a source and spread the rumor about it, so the Titans had to hold a conference about it.”

“Who was the rumor about?”

“Red Robin.”

Oh, he’s one of Gotham’s. Huh.

“Really? Why?”

They type a few things on their phone, then hand it to you. 

You cup your hand over the speaker to hear what looks to be a press conference, with a primly-dressed woman standing up at a podium. The banner reads: TITANS’ RED ROBIN STEPS DOWN. 

“Oh, here.” Amir leans over to turn on the captions, then turns sharply as someone yells. “Woah, hey, Brianna, don’t do that! No, I don’t care if you can swim, we went over this! You aren’t allowed to jump overboard…”

They step away to continue lecturing the pouting girl standing by the railing.

Your eyes find the captions at the bottom. 

“Red Robin is not retiring. He is simply taking a step back from the team and this is perfectly fine, as the team has many members to fill in for him. As for Gotham City itself, we cannot speak for it, though the Titans would like to emphasize that the city remains well taken care of regardless.”

Amir returns to your side, smoothing a hand down their clothes. 

“So, he’s stepping down,” you say, handing their phone back.

“It’s not surprising, since some of the older members have done the same, like Nightwing. They’re still involved on occasion, but they’re not out there, you know, hero-ing.”

“What about Gotham, then?”

They shrug. “People see Nightwing in New York sometimes. That’s probably what’s gonna happen. But later, I think. With this news, a lot of people are thinking things might get a little crazy around here.”

“Ah. Assuming they can try their luck?”

“Most likely.”

You feel for Red Robin in that moment. It’s not too much to ask for, to return to the other side of his life, only for those plans to be pushed off even longer as those here want to try and take advantage of his absence. 

You couldn’t do it, you think. Live that kind of life, constantly sacrificing yourself. Makes it all the more important to appreciate the ones that do. You’re partial to the League but the Titans are equally as important. Without them, earth would be conquered multiple times over. And that’s just not fun at all.

The rest of the trip goes well. The kids get excited about Superman again when the ferry finally docks in Metropolis. They even get a treat when they glimpse him in the sky, accompanied with the sound of him breaking the sound barrier as he rushes off somewhere. Despite that worrying you a bit — who knows if it’s something simple, like a cat stuck in a tree, or much more dire, like aliens invading — everything is fine. 

All of you are running around making sure no one gets left behind or lost, leaving you exhausted by the time you return to Gotham at five. Then you have to wait even longer to make sure each kid gets picked up. 

You get back to Rose Oaks at seven. Tim had texted you two hours ago letting you know he had fed the boys and told you to come by his place for dinner. 

Not one to say no to free food or being with him, you stop by your place to shower the day away and change into a pair of shorts and an old softball t-shirt, then head to his place. 

 “Starting to think I should just give you a spare,” he says when he pulls the door open, a spatula in his hand, lips quirking when he sees you. 

“Well, you do have mine,” you agree. “Unless you did weird stuff with your unsupervised access to my place.”

“I didn’t install cameras in your bedroom or steal your underwear. Scout’s promise.”

“You were a Boy Scout?”

“Not even a little bit,” he says easily and you laugh, stepping inside.

You slip off your slides and leave them by the door. He started to implement that rule a little while after he met you. Said it just makes more sense and makes cleaning easier. You think so, too, but the fact that he did it because of you makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. 

“How was Metropolis?”

“Meh. Metropolis.”

“What, not a fan?”

“The city itself is fine. But their baseball team?”

“The Metropolis Monarchs that continue to beat the Knights without fail every time they play each other?” 

“It’s just perfect,” you grumble. “They don't have a Joker and they always beat us. So not fair.”

Tim chuckles, returning to the kitchen. “So, when and where are they playing each other?”

“Two weeks. Here. Can’t wait to hear all the Monarch fans complaining about having to come here. Pretentious jerks.”

He laughs and resumes his work at the stove. 

The TV plays in the living room. You flop onto the couch with a grunt, glad to be off your feet. 

“You can change the channel,” he calls, looking to be flipping something on the stove. At his elbow on the counter is a plate of what looks to be freshly-made chocolate chip pancakes. Your stomach rumbles at the sweet smell wafting over to you. 

You turn your eyes to the flatscreen, where GNN plays. 

You read the news banner at the bottom. GOTHAM CITY LOSES RED ROBIN. Looks like they’re still talking about it. 

“That’s rough,” you comment, leaning back into the cushions.  

“What?”

You relay it to him. 

“I mean, that is sort of what’s happening, isn’t it?” he asks, shutting off the burner and moving the pan aside. 

“I dunno. I guess. I just think it must suck for him.”

“Isn’t it his responsibility?” Tim asks, his back still to you as he pulls two plates from the cabinet. “So, you know. It’s only fair for people to be wondering that. To be upset.”

“I don’t agree. I mean, I don’t know this guy’s life story but he’s sacrificed a lot to do what he has, right? I don’t think it’s too much to ask for us to let him go and return to his life. ‘Cause it’s kinda crazy what people like him do.”

“They have to do it, though. Especially here.”

“Well, that’s the government’s fault. It’s good he and the others step up, believe me, but it’s also not really a sustainable model for the rest of your life, is it?”

He shakes his head. “In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need them. But we do. And now this guy is just leaving.”

You purse your lips, not used to this stubbornness from him. No, that’s not the right way to say it — you know he is stubborn. It’s more like… Tim is compassionate. Empathetic. You’ve always been supportive of the superheroes of your world and he’s agreed with you. But he’s never been like this. Uncompromising in his disapproval. Almost like it’s personal. 

“Come on, Tim. Don’t be like that. I think it’s gonna be fine. Things will be crazy for a little while but when aren’t they? Let Red Robin off the hook. And give him a break. I’m sure he gets enough shit for sharing his name with a restaurant and now this.”

Tim lets out a surprised laugh and you smile, feeling the tension ease. Not just between you over the course of this discussion, but the tension within him, too. You can’t possibly understand what bothers him so much about Red Robin but you don’t think either of you can condemn him. No one can. 

But of course, that is not how the world works and you know this by the heated debate going on between the hosts on the news, some strongly disapproving of Red Robin stepping down, some supportive, and others downright severe about his existence as a vigilante in Gotham in the first place. 

You switch it to one of the many streaming platforms he has, navigating to The Spongebob Squarepants Movie. 

Your phone vibrates with the familiar chime of your email. You groan silently, predicting an email from the school, but when you look at it, it’s from the rec center, from the instructor, Hana, who runs the pottery classes you attend bi-monthly. 

You skim the message. It’s for the class next Friday. Something about… Oh. Bring a friend and you get an extra slot for the kiln and the friend gets one, too. Ohhh, very nice, actually. 

See, you pay for those classes and with that, you get to use their clay and paint, as well as one free slot for the kiln each class. It’s usually enough for you but you won’t say no to two slots. Not at all…

You eye Tim’s back. 

You’ll think about it. 

Inviting him, you mean. 

He knows you do it, having seen some of the figures and pottery you have, usually expressing his admiration for some of the more complicated pieces, like that one bowl you have with a carved squid. 

“You should be an art teacher,” he had said, looking over the bowl with an impressed gaze.  

“It’s just a hobby I picked up when I moved here. Had to get out and stuff and the classes were the best way to do it. I prefer my social studies. I mean, it would be great if I could, like, teach and paint and do otherwise art-related things but I don’t think admin would let me. Not unless I was a full teacher and that won’t be for a while.”

“But not impossible, right?”

“No,” you laugh. “I guess not.”

Ah, you’ll think about it. 

For now, you get up and help Tim assemble your dinner. Then you two settle down for the movie, which he hasn’t seen. You’ve gotten him through the first few seasons of Spongebob — everything until season six is solid; everything after is… okay — but he still hasn’t seen this, which you think is a crime. You have fond memories of this movie from when you were a kid. 

When you finish your food, you set your plate on the table and snuggle back into the cushions. Tim finishes his, then leans forward to do the same, moving them out the way so you both can put your feet up. He leans back, closer to you this time, your arm pressed to his. The contact goes straight to your head, your heart starting to pound. 

To distract yourself, you gesture to the TV and say, “We absolutely need to try and make a Triple Gooberberry Sunrise.”

“You’re insane,” he says, but pauses the movie to pick up his phone and pull up Instacart. “Alright. I have the vanilla ice cream and bananas. What else do we need?”

You huddle closer, leaning your chin against his arm. “We need the candy for the face. And the chocolate. And cherries. Ooh and the cup it’s in. If possible.”

“If possible,” he scoffs, typing quickly. “The only way we’re doing this is if we have all the right tools to create an exact replica.”

“An exact replica? Should probably get another carton of ice cream. Also, I don’t think the laws of nature allow for that. I mean, not totally.”

“Hey, if they can do it underwater, we can do it in real life.”

“I like your attitude, Tim Drake.”

He shoots you a grin that makes everything inside of you heat up and you look back at his phone to try and recover, nudging his shoulder with yours. 

“Do you use your actual name for orders?”

“Nope. And with that said, you mind grabbing it when it gets here?”

“No. But if the driver murders me when I do, I’m haunting you.”

“I want to say the danger involved with our Instacart driver is very low but unfortunately, we do live in Gotham, so the chance isn’t totally off the table.”

“Such is life. Well, you better tip good anyway.”

“Of course,” he says, slightly affronted, mostly because it is known that Tim tips exceedingly well. Stupidly almost. But you say almost because you live in a capitalist hellscape where most food industry workers rely on tips so, there’s no limit there, you think. Especially if you have as much money as he does. 

He places the order, you rewind to a frame with the ice cream on display, then you two try to get a plan of action in order. 

You fetch the groceries when they arrive and Tim takes out the ice cream. You did manage to find a frosted blue ice cream bowl that looks eerily similar to the one in the movie and together, you two shape the body of the Triple Gooberberry Sunrise with spoons. It’s a lot of ice cream and ice cream melts, so despite using spoons to shape it, your fingers are still sticky by the end of it but your lower back aches from all the laughing you two did while sculpting it, having been shooting insults at each other over your abilities to sculpt. 

You shove the ice cream in the freezer in the meantime, then work on the features. You use M&Ms for the eyes and nose, then deconstruct those chunky Twizzler ropes for the smile. Tim works on the banana, cutting one in half for the arms, then another in half for the head. He offers the other half to you, which you take a bite out of, and he then finishes. 

You snap a few toothpicks in half to pin the cherries to the tips of the bananas, then bring out the ice cream again to add the finishing touches. First, though, you need to add the chocolate shell at the top. Like a hat of sorts. 

“Don’t blow it,” he says, watching you pop the lid on the chocolate syrup. 

“I’m not gonna blow it.”

So, naturally, you do blow it. 

And that sounds dramatic, you know, but it’s not. It’s just, you hold the bottle above the top of the mound of ice cream, the face already made with the M&Ms and a single Twizzler rope, and the syrup comes out more syrupy than you expect. So, you squeeze it out and it immediately drips down the face. Like right down the middle, and you both look at it for a second, then each other, and then you’re laughing so hard, you have to hold onto the counter. 

Tim manages to get it together before you, finishing adding the hard shell, though it drips a little more down the sides, then adds the bananas. 

And it looks…

“So stupid,” he laughs, holding onto the counter. “So, so, so stupid.”

You’re still laughing. You can’t stop laughing. But you can’t help but think he looks beautiful like this, cheeks flushed, blue eyes bright, a smile permanently etched onto his lips as his laughter fills the kitchen. 

You can’t help but feel something so big, so full of warmth, ballooning in your chest until you think you might explode with it. That he gave into your wish to make the stupid ice cream in the first place. That he is always willing to indulge you. And the thought chokes you, too much to handle here, so you set those thoughts and feelings aside and look at the stupid ice cream again to get back to where you were, more mirth taking over you. 

You list into him and he catches you, laughing, too. 

You think that despite it looking stupid, the fact that it was made with so much joy makes it taste that much better. 

(Though neither of you can finish it and you two end up in an ice cream coma on the couch, resuming the movie, and it is with great reluctance a few hours later that you peel yourself from his side and go back to your place. 

This time, however, with his spare key and with the surety that he has carved out his own spot in your heart and that no one but him can fill it. 

That that doesn’t matter, anyway, because you want only him.

But with that thought comes the acknowledgment that he most likely doesn’t feel the same and that’s okay. 

You want him in any capacity that you can have him. 

And this is enough. 

It has to be enough.)

Tim is busy the next day, hanging out with friends, which is fine. You don’t mind the alone time. 

You laze around for most of the day. Do some grading you still have but they’re easier assignments you finish quickly, marking them up with your blue glitter pen and making the usual smiley faces and little notes. You take a moment to appreciate the easiness of it. With it being late April, the end of the semester will come up quickly and you’ll have deadlines for final grades. 

But you won’t worry about it yet. 

School lets out in June, then you’re home free for the summer. That’s the nice part of working for the school. Your breaks coincide with theirs, so you get a nice summer. Nice breaks in general.  

At ten-thirty, you prepare your dirty clothes to take them downstairs. You slide your basket to the living room, then step into the kitchen to grab detergent. But when you open the bottom cabinet with your supplies and reach for the tub of detergent, you find it decidedly empty. 

You groan. You completely forget. You had run out of your pods and needed more. You were supposed to do that… yesterday? Probably. But after making sure the kids were picked up then being dogged by hunger and achy feet, it slipped your mind. 

Ah, no matter. Tim should have some. You hope. Speaking of, you should ask to borrow his Costco card again. It’s hard to go back to buying single packs of detergent at the store. Some things just need to be stockpiled. 

(Mostly so situations like these don’t happen.)

You heft your laundry basket to your hip, pull on your sandals, then grab your keys and step out. 

You take the elevator one floor up, finding Tim’s apartment easily. He didn’t respond to your texts about the detergent and you don’t know if his friends are still there, so, despite the new key on your key ring, you knock. 

You only get one in before the door swings open quickly and you jump. At the abruptness of the motion, then at seeing someone you definitely do not know standing there. 

With unruly ginger hair, a freckled face, and an undeniable air of mischief, he grins at you in a way that has you on guard immediately. 

“Hi. Are you Tim’s new teacher friend?”

“Um —”

“Bart! You can’t — oh —” Tim says your name, a little panicked, and he shoves past the guy — Bart? — giving him a look and shooing him away. 

He backs off, only for two others to peek around him. A pretty girl with short, cropped blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes, then an equally pretty guy with short black hair and blue eyes. They look very curious at your appearance and you feel terribly underdressed in a pair of old workout shorts and a ratty shirt from high school. 

“Guys,” Tim hisses. 

They wave at you and, with a fair amount of uncertainty, you wave back. 

Seemingly satisfied with that, the three of them disappear into the living room, hurried, hushed voices reaching your ears. 

“Sorry,” you breathe as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I’m so sorry, Tim —”

He waves his hands, stopping you. “Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for?”

You wince. “Interrupting your time with your friends? It’s just, I ran out of detergent, so I was wondering if I could borrow a pod or two.”

“Of course,” he says immediately. “Give me a sec, alright?” 

You nod and he disappears from the entryway. You hear the sound of a kitchen cabinet closing, then he’s returning, passing you two pods. 

“Let me come with you,” he says, slipping socked feet into a pair of slides. 

“You don’t have to —”

“It’s okay. I haven’t seen you today.” Of course, he says that with the implication that because he hasn’t seen you, he must take this opportunity now, because he —

Missed you?

Well, shit.  

Your face flares with heat at the thought. Your fingers grow sweaty from holding the basket. You try to compose yourself as Tim shuts the door behind him and locks it. 

“Anyway,” he goes on, turning to you, the two of you starting for the elevator. “Bart didn’t say anything weird, right?”

In safer waters, you can relax.

For the most part. 

“He just said something about me being your teacher friend. So, no.”

Tim visibly relaxes, pressing the button to go down as you stop in front of the elevator. 

“Good. He can be… a handful sometimes. The other two you saw were Cassie and Conner.”

“Well, tell them it was nice to meet them. Sort of.”

He exhales a laugh, running a hand through his hair. He’s in a forest green t-shirt and jeans. Simple clothes, by any means, yet devastatingly handsome as usual. Man.

Ding. The doors slide open. A man steps out and you two step in. He presses the button for the ground floor.

“You do yours today?” you ask, wiggling your basket in indication of your question.

“No, I’ve been with the others pretty much all day. I’ll have to do it tomorrow. Or later tonight when they leave. If they ever leave.” He says the last part mock-exasperated, rolling his eyes, but you can spy the fondness tugging at his mouth. 

“Be more grateful,” you tease.

“Say that when you’ve handled them all day,” he shoots back. 

You chuckle, turning to watch the numbers tick by. 

“So,” he starts a minute later, regaining your attention. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About stepping back from WE. I think… you’re right.”

“Yeah? Gonna try, um, wedding photography?”

“I’m not that desperate yet,” he chuckles. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure what I will do. Get back into photography, yeah, maybe some tennis, but only if someone agrees to play with me…”

“I’ll play tennis with you if you play catch with me one of these days.”

“Done,” he says easily. “Anyway, I’m still trying to figure it out and I told Lucius I wasn’t completely out of it. If R&D needs help, I’m happy to, but… no more office visits.”

“Probably for the best. Was your family okay with it?” And by family, you specifically mean Bruce.

“They were okay with it. I think they might’ve expected it,” he admits, a tad sheepish. “In any case, I just wanted to let you know that you were right.”

You shake your head. “All that matters is that you’re happy, Tim. Anything else is —” you wave a hand “— whatever.”

“Well, still,” he says, and his voice is soft, and so is the look in his eyes. “Thanks.”

You smile and look away, cursing the way your heart stutters at the expression on his face being directed at you. 

It’s quiet the rest of the ride down. You start humming Ocean Man when it get too quiet. 

His eyes crinkle with a smile when he recognizes it. “I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” 

“It’s a good song,” you say. “Like the kind of song you play driving down the coast. But, like, the coast coast. Not whatever Gotham’s got going on.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the backdrop of our polluted waters will go with it too much.”

You snicker. 

He holds the laundry door open for you and you nod your gratitude in response, heading for the washers. 

“If you wanna head up, you can,” you tell him, opening a few and inspecting the inside to see which is good enough for you.

He shrugs, hands tucked in his pockets, leaning on the washer next to the one you decide is good. “Like I said. Haven’t seen you today.”

Well. You’ll hardly complain.

“And I was thinking,” he starts, a forced kind of nonchalance in his voice that gets your attention, even as you dump your clothes into the washer.

“That’s never good.”

He rolls his eyes, wry grin tugging at his lips. “Well. I know you expressed some grievances over the Monarchs coming to play the Knights…”

“Yeah?” you ask, eyebrow raising. You toss in the pods, then pull out your phone. They finally fixed the app, so you no longer have to go the old-fashioned way. You still prefer it, but one does get tired of their hands smelling like coins. 

“And,” he goes on, blue eyes twinkling with something that makes warmth spool in your chest like cotton candy. “I thought, since when we went the Knights won their first ever Opening Day match… maybe we should go to this game, too.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” he says, pleased, pulling out his phone and brandishing an email, confirming a purchase of two tickets to the game in two weeks, on Saturday. 

“Tim!”

“Hey, I’m just doing my due diligence in making sure the Knights have a fair shot at beating the Monarchs.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, flabbergasted.

He shrugs, smiling still. “Well, since it was your first ever game for them and they won… doesn’t seem too far-fetched to say you’re their good luck charm.”

“That is not how that works,” you say, and yet, you’re unbearably happy, mostly at the thought of him doing this for you. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve paid for my ticket —”

“No, no, this is my — what do you call it? My civic responsibility to society as the son of a billionaire.”

“That was — a joke…” For the most part. Funny how it’s easier to say that when you don’t know him or his family, but when you do, it’s almost uncomfortable.

But of course, it is not exactly incorrect, either. 

Tim has a lot of money. Bruce Wayne has a lot of money. You do not. 

Your face burns with heat. “Thanks, Timmy. That’s… really nice of you.”

Too nice, maybe. Much too nice. 

“I don’t mind,” he says and it sounds like he means it, too, that soft look in his gaze again. Your stomach swoops like you missed a step going down. 

“Besides,” he adds, the two of you heading for the door again. “I was thinking we could get something to eat beforehand. Something light since I know you said no baseball game is complete without a hot dog… but in that case, you can pay for that.”

“I will pay for that,” you mutter. 

He laughs. “See? Fair’s fair.”

Easy for him to say.

But you’d be lying through your teeth if you said any of this displeased you. 

It’s Tim, after all.

With him, you’re weak, like putty in his hands. He doesn’t know that, you think. Doesn’t know how much he means to you, how much you would do for him. 

But he can’t know. Because knowing that means knowing the depth of your affection, too, and that is a secret you’ll keep locked away until the end of your days.

(Thinking that is dangerous, you know. Because it’s Gotham and nothing is impossible in Gotham and you hardly want to tempt fate.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.)

━ end notes

1. i know they really try to pass batman and the others off as urban legends these days but. it doesn't make much sense when you consider the notoriety of say, the justice league or as seen here, the titans. you can't just have a team of superheroes and not have the public not knowing shit about that. however, i will say i do think they can still balance fear and myth while being well-known. bruce definitely can anyway

2. on that note, it always made more sense to me that the justice league, the titans, and basically all the superhero teams have to have some kind of pr team/department. they're super-powered or otherwise very talented but i think both the distance of a pr team is needed, as well as the fact that, well, that's strictly their job, to get the teams out of any messes they create. additionally, there has to be some kind of bureaucratic element to all of it, at least regarding who joins on missions and what not. basically, i don't think they would let teams of superheroes run around without supervision. not to say they're, like, extensions of the government because That Would Be Bad but... you know? gotta have accountability

3. the early seasons of spongebob are great and so is the movie. peak childhood moments for me and still now tbh. it's just very nostalgic. also as we all know food just looks so much better in cartoons and the triple gooberberry sundae is one of those things too. also kind of insane that they made him, like, drunk off it. old 2000s childhood tv shows are just insane in general

4. ocean man is a deeply excellent song and i was first introduced to it through the spongebob movie and i still regard it dearly. even if its silly its fun and catchy ok

reblogs are appreciated!

[maaenyo]

To be or not to be an RPG.

I'll be blunt about it: not liking a videogame does not mean it isn't part of the genre it claims to be, that's just you not liking it. I may not like a poem but that alone wouldn't make it not be poetry, get it? Same principle. So as someone who's been playing games her whole life i do think i have sufficient knowledge, experience and the authority that both grant to define a few things.

Specifically, RPGs. What does an RPG make, big question these days. Goalpost moving has become a new sport lately, it's not one i enjoy at all, and i think that other than really bad faith it comes from not having clearer parameters when talking games because sure, games can be anything and we're all always looking forward to the next big title, the next great innovation in this media. So at it's very core, what makes an RPG an RPG?

First, acronyms, Role Playing Game. A Game where you the player Play a Role. The most basic, literal definition, it applies to pretty much every game under the sun, we're always playing as someone or something else, so what makes RPG games particular? Focus. What the game is about, what is it for, the creature we move around in a videogame setting has a role to play within said game, and we're playing it, but what for? To explore a different world, to relive historical events, to solve puzzles, run races, play war, fight god, oh so many possibilities. But we have puzzle games, and racing games, war games and combat games abound. While considering this, let's also weight the difference between game genre and game mechanics. They're often tied together, but don't have to be necessarily one single package. The only way to get new games eventually is through mix and match. Adventure games have puzzles and could have enough of them one could wonder, is it an adventure game that includes puzzles, or is it a puzzle game using adventure as the setting to puzzle solving? Is that a game about historical events or a FPS?

When it comes to RPGs there's no one single way of doing them. They can have combat, or not, and if they do then it could be turn-based combat, action combat, tactical combat...and that's the thing, the one thing that keeps changing shouldn't be the one defining the genre, we should look at what's always present, not what comes in and out a revolving door depending on the franchise. And in RPGs, what they focus on, is storytelling and characters, worldbuilding, the lore. RPGs are about telling a story in a specific defined setting, and another defining trait is some level of player agency. Unlike other games, in RPGs we get a say on what role we play or how we play the one we're given. Oftentimes this means a character creator, or diaogue options to set tone or personality, and choice making that will hopefully reflect in gameplay as we progress in the story. We play as Mario in Mario games, but we can't change Mario, Mario is just Mario. We play as Jill Valentine and shoot zombies down, but there's not much say we have in her story, her character, her skills. Roles in other games are mostly fixed, because the story, if there's any, it's also fixed. RPGs offer a bit more freedom, we choose how our character looks like, what's their class and skills, who they talk to into joining in their crusade against the gods and we choose to postpone the main quest because we feel like decorating our camp or picking herbs is more entertaining at the moment, the end of the world can wait a bit, y'know? RPGs allow that, sometimes, and that's part of what sets them apart from other types of games.

Narrative, character creation and development, worldbuilding.

The core of RPG games is not combat mechanics, it's not traditional literary genres like horror, thriller, romance, sci-fi or fantasy, and it's not absolute freedom either. We're presented with a story that unfolds in a predetermined setting and requires characters with certain skills we can choose from a limited array. There's always limitations, there is always some form of invisible wall that prevents us players from doing what we feel like, and that's not really an issue, that's part of the bargain. We get entertainment in exchange for a bit of our beliefs suspended, and a bit of our whims thwarted. And there's no perfect RPG game because no single game can accomodate and indulge millions of wills. It's simply not feasible.

So if a game is presented as an RPG, let it be an RPG. It can have realistic graphics or pixel sprites, it can have turn-based tactical combat over a grid, or real time hack&slash, it can be open world or have closed areas, it can be set in a fantasy world or out in space, it can be about finding your protagonist's beloved or about avoiding interstellar mass extinction, or most likely about killing god, or gods. It can have a cast of 50 shades of pale, or have purple people, that's not what defines an RPG.

Does it have a story to tell? Does it offer character creation or customization? Does it present characters you can interact with and build bonds with, who can join you or oppose you as the game progresses? Does it give you some wiggle room when going through a questlog? Does it have a story to tell while allowing you to become part of it? That's an RPG, and you can't change that. Your first and final freedom is whether you decide to play it or not. And whether you like it or not, approve of it or not, feel disappointed or deceived by it not being what you expected, that's all a you problem. That RPG is still an RPG, irregardless of how you feel or think about it.

Same goes for franchises, whether you liked the game or not, The Game 2.b: Electric Boogaloo Redux Deluxe is till The Game. As players we are also consumers, but as such all we have power over is where we put our money, end of story. Don't like it, don't buy it, don't play it, move on and focus on finding something you do enjoy and want to invest time and money into.

I promise you all, take it from someone who's been gaming for 33 years, it really is that simple. Games are supposed to be fun, so go find your fun rather than try to constantly piss on other people's. You'll have a better time and a much healthier experience.

[brown-little-robin]

Writers Truth & Dare asks:

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

hi thank you!! nice questions!

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

I consistently adore fics where people who are bad at being functional human beings but (critically) just good enough at functioning that they fly under the radar for a while—have to learn what "living" and even "thriving" look like. Preferably with messy breakdowns and even messier rebuilding processes. Who would write it best? AUGH, I have multiple favorite authors and can't honestly choose just one, BUT. @phantomrose96 is doing like. THE absolute exemplary job of a longfic with a core theme of healing, to me, in A Breach of Trust. (if you're seeing this, sorry for tagging you in a post that's mostly about me. I talk about ABoT regularly and I thought I'd tag you this time. ok love your work bye)

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

I'm on spring break!! I get to be with my family for five days!

Slowly but surely, I'm learning Japanese, and it's giving me SO much enrichment you have no idea. not only does it make anime and manga way more interesting, it's also just...... such a complex language and culture to try to immerse myself in. I could work on this for a lifetime and never master it. what a gift.

I'm in a creative writing: worldbuilding class and it's fabulous. I get to make powerpoints about the bureaucracy of portal spirit travel as homework. incredible

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Hmmmmm, that's hard...... the most esoteric might be the symbolic meanings of different colors and patterns of koi! Black represents fatherhood + masculinity and red represents motherhood + femininity, in case you were wondering :}

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

ohhhhhhhh man ok I must preface this with: I love all of them. But for me, in terms of sheer "yay!!" emotions, it's a three-way tie between:

incoherent screaming and/or emojis

intellectual/thematic analysis of one or more specific moments from the chapter

and the rare but extraordinarily powerful "hey your fic made me go get diagnosed with something so uhhhhh thanks I guess"

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

well. not to get too personal, but—I've been trying to be nicer to myself by not making every day into a "failure" versus "success" scenario. It's a stupid long, hard process to unlearn that, because that was a coping mechanism that got me through a lot of teenage and young adult years, but I'm working on it. and it feels better, if less clear-cut, to do things out of love or joy or even logic than out of.... the kind of desperate, shameful... survival mentality, of thinking every day HAS to be categorized into a success or a failure.

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

I never do these games but for you, Rebekah, I'll do it. here goes.

ok I've written on my current wip but I'm not comfortable sharing because the writing is Not Settled Enough Yet. so you'll just have to trust me <3

Still taking asks from this list! but if I get another rollerblades I make no promises lol

[mcl-mia]

//another day, another route completed! this time we have nox, and amazingly, i don't think i have too many thoughts on this one, mostly because a lot of them cover... multiple bases. i'll try to explain that the best i can. blah blah blah, beware of spoilers.

okay, so i actually briefly started nox's route when it was first released, but i had to abandon it because... well, it was a bad idea to do that when i was so behind on routes in the first place, so it's not like i was going in 100% blind. this did not lead to a detrimental experience lol.

so.... nox. look. he's hot. i like his stupid little mullet and his very charming blue eyes, okay? he's hot and i'm not going to pretend that he isn't. it is still annoying to me though that you can REAAAAAALLLY tell that he was drawn by a different sprite artist. one of the best parts of the night class is that they ARE drawn by the same person, so it makes the cast look AND feel cohesive. not the biggest complaint, but it DOES bother me very slightly every time i look at nox when he's on screen with another character.

i've expressed this before, but nox's outfit as "nightmare" is... not great and knowing that it is COCO'S fault? absolutely hilarious. nox, i'm begging you to never take fashion advice from a cat again. i can fix you.

coming off that note, i know that there was budgeting issues for WH at this point in time (i believe nox's route came out around the time obey me got released, so... yikes), but i REALLY wished that they would have given nox a different pose or SOMETHING to hide that it was nox a little better. something like how the day class boys have different sprites for when they are holding their wands. i know that they basically stopped doing this after the night class boys (unless your name is alfonse), but.... sigh. come to think of it, i don't think even klaus had his front-facing sprites re-touched with the new ministry clothes. can't believe i didn't realize that until now.

i do also appreciate that they make sure to mention that nox's voice DOES change while he's in costume. i was wondering about that for the longest time lol.

speaking of chocolate cake, i am very glad that coco was a very minor character. coco is so one-note, which is disappointing because i think coco has a fantastic design. weird how that works out.

overall, the route itself is... fine. it's very day class-core, in which liz and nox get together very quickly. i mean, they TECHNICALLY get together only in the final chapters, but the quickness of both nox and rex falling in love with liz... goodness. y'all have known each other for like, 5 days. chill.

okay, i can't NOT talk about the love triangle. look, i'll be honest, it's so hard to sell a love triangle in an otome game. like, narratively, liz by the point in time rex's route begins, doesn't even reciprocate rex's feelings. it's funny to me in the moment knowing this, but it is a little annoying in practice. imo, if your love triangle is unable to become a reasonable threesome then don't write a love triangle. imo, nox and rex lack that kind of chemistry, so it's not the Good Shit. not to say that i don't think nox and rex shouldn't be hate-fucking each other (because they should, we love rivals to lovers here), it's just that they don't know how to fucking share and it would be way too distracting and nothing would happen. do you understand what i mean by this. i can't wait to get to gray's route so i can see liz turn the both of them down.

i will never tire of lucious being such a good friend.

genuinely, this puts a smile on my face. like, all of the night class boys do, but lucious being the first person to notice when liz falls in love is so important to me (ESPECIALLY BECAUSE AMELIA!!! IS STILL!!!!! BARELY HERE!!!!!!!!!). i love that liz has another person to talk about boys with. it's so delightful.

i do appreciate that nox has a good reason for being the phantom thief, but... come on, man. you're REALLY telling me that NOBODY is going to figure out that you're nightmare? let's just compile the evidence for a sec:

works in a magical tool shop (strike 1)

said magical tool shop SPECIALIZES in roger nigel's tools, which nox is an expert on. like, at some point you have to wonder where they're getting their stock, even if nox keeps the important ones hidden.

while nox does use his mother's maiden name, i'm pretty sure that anyone that looks into roger nigel in ANY capacity is going to figure out who roger's wife was. i would not be surprised if rex, who is literally a reference dept. worker, would have access to this info. this would expose his relationship to roger immediately.

the way nox does his calling cards for the cast is dangerous. rex picks up on the fact that nightmare had "convenient timing, like he was listening in on their conversations" (which... lol, he was). there is a point where he literally sends one while in the SAME ROOM as everyone else (especially rex, who 100% has him figured out). ballsy, but unnecessarily risky. i'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he doesn't do this with all of his calling cards.

if liz can look into nightmare's eyes and be able to tell it's nox, i'm sure the other people who spent many years with him would be able to do do the same.

like, come on man. be a better phantom thief LMAO.

actually, i want to talk about rex for a second. because i will admit, i don't find him nearly as attractive or interesting as nox, but i have to respect the HUGE big dick energy play he did in nox's happy ending.

LIKE. HOLY SHIT. ACTUALLY GREAT TWIST. i actually gasped lmao.

the 'our little brothers' comment does certainly solidify to me that rex already figured it out, though. i'm curious to see why he hasn't turned nox in yet... but i'm sure it has something to do with their rivalry. whatever it is, i think it's a selfish reason, since i doubt rex would know the real reason why nox is collecting the tools.

overall it's not a bad route, it's just not very remarkable. since there's no big bad threat looming over the narrative, there's less stakes. i get the feeling as though this mystery series (and possibly the next two, but i hear that clive's route has some particularly juicy dramatic bits so we'll see) is going to feel like a filler arc. not a bad thing by any means, it's very welcome, but just not as fulfilling as some of the other routes in the game. again, it's very day class-core, so it does evoke some nostalgic feelings in that way.

[femme-foucault]

I am not angry at that student in the last post btw, but he does actually have the honor of being the one student who did get under my skin for a few seconds....and then actually now it's pretty funny because of what happened next.

I preface I would not go into teaching if I did not genuinely like and respect myself. Even the girl who I probably should have started marking absent because she was being too cruel to other students and I should have just not tried to Make Everyone Get On Well I don't hate or even dislike, just kick myself for not handling it better because I was less authoritative. I don't even dislike this kid it's just maybe one of the weirdest and not-funny-but-kinda funny student evals I have ever had. There is a lottttt of context leading up to it but in the sake of anonymity, I am omitting it all. I'll just say no I don't think he was neurodirvergent, definitely had energy to have an internship in another which was fine it was a remote class and I don't blame him for being psyched about it even if he went without a mask in a public airport but this was a bit of a doozy.

First of all, I think this is the only student I have ever met who passed a class in a subject that, by the way, is MANDATORY for ALL students in this university to pass. You can test out of the lower level one but not this one. Not this subject in particular, but one with an extensive writing component. It's a writing intensive class. That is why it is called a writing intensive class. Hey look, I hated algebra but I didn't take it out on my algebra teacher. I'm kinda used to some students just not seeing why they need to take the course and don't take it personally though actually contrary to what you'd think, the pre-med kids, the engineers, computer science people...yeah I may be a tech person but I don't go too much into that in an intro class and we had all majors. So I get not wanting to take a core class but I don't....think he actually ever truly understood what an argument was vs an opinion. That was day 1. And no, he was not stupid. I think it had to be deliberate.

He accused me falsely of showing up to class drunk. I was sober at the time bc I was on some new meds that I didn't mix with alcohol and I would never do that anyway. He also admitted "I have no proof."Now, I definitely showed up to class TIRED and drinking a lot of coffee and not wearing make up. But sure, someone who looks like a woman doesn't wear make up

HOWEVER I found out from three other instructors all of THEM were also falsely accused for the same thing so I guess that's just the thing they think they can say? Finding out students falsely accuse professors of being under the influence to Report to the Manager is sad...was that the thing they did on Reddit?

....but the punchline is, someone I know this happened to....is a devout Mormon. Lol.

He said that I was discriminating against him for trying to use Joe Rogan as a peer-reviewed source. I know you skipped half the classes because you were in LA or something (not depression or anything). But we literally went over this. I actually meet with my students in office hours one on one several times a semester to talk with them about the project of that semester's unit and talk about revising it for the larger essay, which is longer and is graded more strictly. And if you didn't turn in the smaller essay, well you might lose some points off your overall grade, but I encourage them to come in anyway even if it's a rough draft so we can brainstorm together and come up with an outline and I can give suggestions and most of them take me up on it. It is so labor-intensive, and I did it four times this class, not three. Again -- it was NOT a depressive issue and he was pretty clear about that.

The one thing this kid said that I admit got on my nerves is he felt I was not giving him a good grade because I politically disagreed with him. Actually aside from liking Joe Rogan I don't even remember him talking about politics, I think he just jumped to assumptions bc queer trans and assigned Ta-Nehisi Coates and Trish Roberts-Miller and Umberto Eco. But the reason that annoyed me is actually I have gotten along very well with conservative students. I am not kidding. It's different than with adults because 1) you are in a position of power over them as an instructor you should not abuse unless they threaten you in some way 2) many students who come to college conservatives begin to ask questions about the world around them in new and interesting ways. You cannot make anyone change, but shutting them down when you are in a unique position of authority is not productive either. Besides, I would never abuse my position as a teacher to arbitrarily down grade someone who met all the assignment parameters. I guess if you don't see how I give feedback and a lot of feedback for revision behind closed doors you wouldn't know that but that did actually get on my nerves. Not because I care about what a guy who I think genuinely does not understand the concept of an argument (in a rhetorical sense) despite ostensibly taking a course about them for reasons that I really don't think are related to intelligence (he was having some internship or something and that's fine, I had part time jobs, a lot of my students' do, so it wasn't that or stress). It annoys me when people won't take responsibility for their own actions and assume if they aren't succeeding at something that it HAS to be someone else Out to Get Him.

So yes, a student did actually get under my skin for a minute but not because I care what he thinks about me or thought anyone would take that seriously, but even though no one would believe that for a number of reasons (there was a LOT of other awful shit in that eval....and I haven't gotten to the punchline yet)....it was more about just not really having much patience for that kinda thin-skinnedness and paranoia. There is a bigotry level I suspect too, but who knows? Then I realized that's a teaching lesson that you just can't care about That One Student when you got tons of emails thanking you for the class.

The punchline, however, and the reason I knew that I was okay when he complained that it was "impossible" to pass this class and I was "making it hard on purpose" (Yes, because I have a chance to share the subject I love and find important to a young audience and therefore I am going to....not do that? Look I know some teachers don't care about teaching but I do. I want you to get something useful...). That "no one likes it and is doing well in it" which I assume he said bc he knew I knew they had a GroupChat. It was very deliberately "ooooh I am bringing up we all hate the professor in the group chat?"

Which didn't work because....

I know that is not true bc while I don't read their GroupChat I did have a good relationship with most of the students in that class. I do feel like it was a depressing course to teach online but it's COVID so we were limited but I always find more balanced feedback from students who fall in between the extremes to be most useful and they don't fill evals out :(

"No one likes it because no one is doing well and it's too hard" doesn't hold up even on paper because....

....I gave out more A's in that class than I ever have before or since. I have a few theories why. It was NOT because I did a curve. I don't believe in curves UNLESS I think I made a mistake or something too hard and that's only happened twice (and once I guess was more COVID's fault than mine but still). I didn't need to. They all knocked it out of the park. It was a AWFUL semester bc of COVID. So much suffering and pain and yeah I know it wasn't fun to learn an interactive thing online so I actually understand the mixed reviews. But yeah, if you are going to accuse someone of making it hard on purpose and then high school "the group chat hates you because it's too hard" and I KNOW that is not the case than Reddit needs to come up with a different thing to say to a teacher you don't like.

Now how do I explain that without sounding...like this

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Consort - Chapter 11 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Finn

Class is unbearable.

All throughout the lecture Professor Adams' eyes find their way over to me, their expression nerve-rackingly curious.

I revert back to my old ways, not engaging in classroom debate or questions.

Fiona sits beside me.

Despite a shower, the smell of stale cigarette smoke lingers on her skin.

With a sideways glance, I peer down at her notes.

They're not as neat and orderly as they usually are.

Even her beautiful penmanship is crooked and broken.

I lean across her desk and push her hand to the side, writing a note in the corner of her notepad.

'What are you going to tell Leo?'

She blinks at the note before furiously scribbling out my words.

I slump in my chair, trying to remind myself that this is all part of the process of healing.

According to my mom, anger is an obstacle all on its own, a beast to its very core.

I set my pen to the side, checking out from today's lecture.

My eyes move along the full auditorium, lazily glancing at the back of my peers' heads.

One of them looks like he's probably sleeping.

He's slumped down in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses drooped down on the bridge of his nose and his head slowly falling forward.

I wonder if that random student knows about the revolution happening right under his nose?

Or is he as oblivious of it as I was a few days ago?

A soft breeze escapes through the small space of the opened window.

The smell of Nature herself fills my nose and my thoughts begin to drift.

Somewhere out there Brayden and Kelly are running free.

Maybe they're in the main square of the Village, touring Kelly's new home and meeting any immortals they pass along the way.

Then again, maybe they're both at Bogdan's house in the forest.

I imagine Brayden doing an inventory of the remaining blood in his refrigerator, grabbing the two oldest bags for Kelly and him to have for lunch.

When they drink it, maybe they're sitting on the very couch I slept the night Brayden held me captive.

I sigh in longing.

It would be dangerous for me to be with them but I can't think of any other place I'd rather be.

"...for next class, I'll expect you to electronically submit a two-page paper on your stance on the Old War. Any questions?"

The groans of my fellow peers over this new assignment pulls me out of my dangerous daydream.

No one raises their hand and Professor Adams dismisses us on que.

Chatter picks up throughout the auditorium.

Fiona swipes her notes from the desktop and stuffs them in her backpack.

She twirls her hair into a loose bun and slides her pen in the middle to keep it in place.

"You ready?" she asks.

I can feel Professor Adams' eyes on us.

"I think Leo wants to talk to us."

Her jaw tenses but she doesn't say anything.

We wait for the rest of the class to filter through the large doors, their chatter a constant, droll buzz colliding against one another like drunken bees.

I start making my way to the front of the lecture hall and can feel Professor Adams eyeing me from head to toe.

It's weird being in his presence knowing all I do now.

A month ago things were far simpler.

Professor Adams was still a far-fetched fantasy, I hadn't met my vampire and I was blissfully unaware of all the turmoil around me.

Now it feels like my grip on reality is slipping through my fingers faster than crumbling sand.

"Welcome back to class, Fiona," Leo says when we reach his desk.

"Thanks, Professor."

Leo glances to me and then nods to the door, silently requesting for me to close it from all the ears that might overhear what's to come.

A piece of me wishes that his head nod was a dismissal.

I don't think I want to be a part of this conversation and I definitely don't want to tell Leo that Kelly is dead when, in fact, he is very much alive.

I tug each door closed and the smooth, cold handle brushes against my palm.

My hand tingles and parallels the touch of this inanimate object to the feel of Brayden's skin.

It's the type of skin you'd imagine watching a ballet.

The slender skin of the dancers is so flawless and smooth, you'd almost expect them to be made of finely spun glass.

I back away from the door.

My infatuation with the immortal needs to stop.

No good can come of it.

"...haven't felt myself lately," Fiona says to Leo.

"And Kelly," Leo inquires, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"What's the status?"

Fiona eyes flit to me just briefly.

"He didn't make it out alive."

Her voice is angry, a melancholy bitterness that's reserved for only the saddest songs.

It's drowned in a sea of pain, a pain she feels is just as powerful if Kelly was actually dead.

Leo tsk's under his breath and reaches out to pat Fiona on the arm.

"I'm so sorry, Fiona," he says and it sounds genuine.

"Just know he gave his life for a good cause, a cause we all believe in."

Leo's eyes sweep over to study my reaction.

Is he waiting to see if I approve of their anti-vampire cult?

This vampire population they so wish to absolve includes an immortal man who saved my life in addition to my former best friend.

If he's looking for a green light, he'll be hard pressed to find it.

"He will be remembered for years to come," Leo promises.

"For being one of the first to take a stand to get our freedom back."

I suck my lips into my mouth and bite down to keep from talking.

Fiona awkwardly adjusts her backpack.

Leo's speaking of Kelly as a heroic man now gone.

What neither of them realizes is that despite his memories being wiped clean, the soul of Kelly is still intact.

Yes, it may be in a new form but the Kelly we knew and loved is still in there.

Somewhere.

"I'm sorry," I say, backing away from the two of them.

"But I really need to leave."

Leo's eyebrows knit together.

Since Fiona is here, the two of us keep our relationship strictly professional.

His hands twitch slightly at his sides in an effort to keep from reaching out and touching me.

"Before you go," he starts to say but a piercing scream drowns out the rest.

The three of us turn towards the doors leading out to the hallway and I instinctively crouch down.

Another scream crashes against the first.

The cement floor beneath me shivers with a tremor large enough to make my knees rack together.

I stare at the door with wide eyes, watching in horror as college students run past.

Their expressions are filled with fear.

What's going on?

"Both of you, hide," Leo instructs in a clipped tone.

"Now."

He crouches over and tiptoes as best he can to the door without being seen.

He glances at the chaos just inches from him and locks the door.

Then he flips off the lights.

The sequence of his actions makes everything worse.

Bile churns in my stomach and my breathing starts to spiral out of control.

Darkness engulfs me, its spindly fingers wrapping around my torso in delight.

Loud footsteps echo in the hallway, each one reverberating across the floor.

A man's voice begs for help somewhere in the distance, his cry a painful wail until its silenced by a nightmarish gurgle a moment later.

Fiona whimpers and runs to the coat closet in the corner, jumping in and closing the door behind her.

My crouched position in front of Leo's desk is doing little to protect me but I'm too overcome with fear to move.

Leo glances at the coat closet before kneeling down to my level and cupping my face in his hands.

"There's a big trash bin in the back," he whispers.

"Climb into it, cover yourself as much as possible and don't make a sound until I come and get you. Understand?"

"What's going on?" my voice sounds so distant and far away, a timid mouse refusing to face the cat lurking around its quarters.

My professor pulls me into his arms.

His warmth consumes me, the strength of his fingertips pushing me into a web of security.

I don't want him to let go.

He strokes my arm and leans back just enough to place a soft kiss near the edges of my lips.

"Please," he says again.

"Go hide."

His touch vanishes.

I have an odd moment of déjà vu, remembering a time when I believed there was a monster that lived in my hallway.

There were nights I'd have to dash from my room into my parents' room, it was always a dreaded task.

The end result brought me to safety but having to run through the hallway was terrifying.

Every second felt like an eternity and I could never shake that feeling of being watched by something evil.

That same feeling of anxiety-riddled dread resurfaces now.

I swallow hard and crane my neck back, staring at the large garbage bin.

[casspurrjoybell-28]

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 27 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

"Mommy, are there any potato skins left?" I ask into the void.

"I'll take anything."

No reply.

I feel cold hands closing around my neck, obstructing my airway.

I struggle, clawing at the but nothing I do can loosen their grip.

"You think you deserve to eat? Do you think you deserve anything."

My stepfather's voice growls.

Help.

I want to scream.

"Well, you don't. Your good for nothing mother dumped you on me. You should be six feet under, just like her."

I shake my head, still not able to see anything but the blood-stained cement floor of the basement.

"You should be grateful I put a roof over your head. If I didn't, no one else would care for a worthless runt like you. You hear that? You're worthless. WORTHLESS."

The word roars in my ears, piercing my brain as I scream in agony.

Make it stop, Make it STOP.

PLEASE. PLEASE.

I CAN'T BREATHE.

PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

My body is slammed against the ground, the face of my attacker finally in view.

But it's not Alpha Ferix.

No. It's Daemon.

He looms over my figure that lies on the floor, eyes glowing with hate.

"You thought I changed?" he says, an evil sneer on his face.

"That I liked a pathetic Omega like you?"

He lifts his boot-clad foot over me. Dread fills my core, fear consuming me.

No, Daemon wouldn't, he wouldn't hurt me.

He brings it down, smashing my right hand under it.

I scream out in pain, the sound of the bones shattering ringing in my ears.

It hurts so much.

I don't stop screaming, my body convulsing as I beg for it to end.

********

It's not real. It didn't happen.

I chant this to myself, flexing my throbbing hand.

Even after all this time, I can't close my fist perfectly.

Why did my mind make me see Daemon smash it?

My stepfather was the one who did that, not him.

I hate the fact that my dreams can turn even people I trust against me.

I massage my hand, trying to soothe out the aches.

I still remember the day my stepfather stepped on it.

It's probably why I'm still so shit at drawing.

My hand isn't steady like it was when I was younger.

It's damaged, permanently.

Yet another thing he's stolen from me.

I shove my face into my knees, curling into a ball.

"Don't think about it," I say to myself, rocking my body.

"Don't."

I go to the bathroom and douse my face in cold water.

I grab my medication and pour some into my hand, gulping it down.

Shit but I already took it last night.

Ugh. I don't care.

I look at the clock and see it's already time to wake up anyway, so I drag myself to get ready.

I'm extra drowsy the entire day, probably because of the medication.

Jay is pretty worried about me but I tell him everything's fine.

Because everything is fine.

At least I'm pretending it is.

But I can't even bring myself to draw in art class, my hand is hurting so much.

Why is it acting up just from a dream?

Lylah and I go to the bathroom at lunch, finding Wren there too, washing his hands in the sink.

"Wren. Enough is enough. When are you going to talk to us again?" Lylah confronts him, putting her hands on her hips, brow furrowed sternly.

"Did you tell Jay I like him?" Wren asks.

"No. This is not about fucking Jay."

"I'm just not ready to..."

"Ready for what? To stop being a bitch? I... I got a mate. And I couldn't even go to my bestie since kindergarten to tell him," Lylah's voice cracks and it hurts my heart.

Wren looks alarmed.

"I'm sorry..."

"No, you know what? I can't do this anymore."

Lylah runs out of the bathroom crying.

This must have been her breaking point.

She's already been very emotional since finding her mate.

I go to follow her but a grip on my arm stops me.

"No, I'll go after her," Wren glares at me.

"She needs me right now. Not the ditz who messed everything up."

Then he runs out, too, leaving me standing there dejectedly.

I rush into one of the stalls, crashing to my knees as I empty my guts into the toilet.

Not that there is much to empty anyway.

All I managed to eat today was a few carrots.

I look at the disgusting orange mess floating in the water and flush it down.

I wipe my mouth with some toilet paper, trying to swallow down the burning taste of acid in my mouth.

I sit down on the toilet, head in my hands.

I let myself break down, crying silently into the sleeves of my sweater.

My phone dings.

I see it's from Daemon, again.

Oh well, what do I have to lose at this point?

Might as well just look. 

Sunday

Daemon: Did you get home safe?

Tuesday

Daemon: Why no answer?

Wednesday

Daemon: Do u regret it? That why you ran off after we did it?

Thursday

Daemon: Why the fuck won't you talk to me?

I sniffle, trying to type out a reply.

What do I mean to you...

No, why did you kiss me?

No, why does Theo say...

Fuck. None of this is working.

I backspace on all of the potential message and shove my phone back in my pocket.

I know I jumped to conclusions by myself.

But I just hate me so much right now, I don't even have the capacity to see myself as someone Daemon would actually care about.

Why would he like me?

Why would anyone?

[mannishboywrites]

What the hell is going on?

The internet has been pissing me off lately. It seems like it's impossible to log into my Twitter account (fuck off, Elon, I'm not calling it X) to say "ratio+L+get gud" to a journalist without being shown some blue-check misogynist with a marble bust avatar telling me that I must save my sons from the degenerating forces of public school, Netflix, and indoor plumbing. I can't open Instagram without seeing a LinkedIn evangelist telling me that the only way to success is to start your day with a five mile run at 3am and block off two hours before lunch for something called "deep work" in between liquid meals that will run you $50/day. I just wanted to watch videos of some guy showing me how to play "Supernaut" by Black Sabbath on the bass. Instead of three hour video essays about one specific armor piece in Dark Souls 2, YouTube wants me to watch two guys with questionable hairlines sit in a studio and debate how high a woman's body count can be before she has been gone from NPC to refuse in their eyes.

It may sound like I'm complaining about The Almighty Algorithm, but I really hate the idea of being that boring. As someone who has a working understanding of Marxian social theory, I promise that I will be more annoying than dull. As such, what has really been fueling my consternation has been the feeling that nobody really knows why they're doing what they're doing, nobody knows where they are going, and everything feels like an artifice. Other people are not people in the way you are, they're obstacles, foils, marks, rungs on a ladder, predators, or prey. Seeing them as anything other than an object with a use value at least and ideally an exchange value is a sign of weakness best avoided.

If you've spent even a second on the internet, you've certainly seen the various hacks that people smarter, sexier, richer, and more skilled than you have to offer, all for the low price of a Patreon subscription. It's not a get rich quick scheme, it's an optimization method. It's not how to make friends and influence people, it's how to become an Influencer with a powerful Brand. You're not having a crisis of identity, you're just a Beta in need of some guidance on how to develop the Sigma grindset. You have so much to learn, and a bald man with HGH gut can probably teach you.

Until I forget or lose interest because I started another character in Elden Ring, I'll be exploring the various ailments of what Marx would call alienation and how they manifest on social media in the form of content (another concept I'll probably talk about because I hate it so much) designed to be consumed, regurgitated, and consumed again in a cycle that not only radicalizes the viewer, but the creator themselves. In post-industrial capitalist society within the Imperial core, people have lost the concept of class as a scientific term. We don't share spaces with people we don't already think we'll get along with, we don't bond over things that aren't commodities, and we don't have relationships that aren't transactions. When you've been steeped in that brew from birth (usually sometime in the Reagan administration or after), it's not hard to see why Andrew Tate isn't rejected as a psychopathic cancer to a civilized society or why Jordan Peterson's vapid, half-baked Jungianism can't be laughed off as the mumblings of a charlatan. The fact is, people are desperately looking for something that just isn't there, and when they aren't armed with a truly social set of ethics or basic media literacy, anybody with any confidence or semblance of authority will do as a surrogate role model.

I can't say this blog is going to be well-planned or even well-sourced all the time. Hell, I'm not even sure how long I'll keep up with it. Hopefully, I'll get some of you thinking about how dangerous it can be to distance yourself from your fellow people. At the very least, we'll get to gawk at some real freaks. That's what the internet should be for, I think.

[doodleybugg]

fem!reader and Sirius Black having angry sex after a fight?? Sorry if this is weird lol I'm going through some stuff 😀

dw lol it's not weird :)

MINORS DNI, 18+ please

Tags: smut with a small plot but I don't know how well it follows, degradation, language, yelling, my writing, fingering (female receiving, penetration, choking, kinda rushed, lots of dialogue despite my not-being-so-skilled at it, let me know if I missed any

You'd knocked, but there wasn't an answer. You knocked again before you heard some movement and the door swung open. He was wearing grey sweatpants with no shirt. His hair was sticking up in different directions, and his eyes looked... Sad?

"Y/?" Sirius asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Can I come in?" you asked quietly while eyeing him up and down.

He hesitated for a moment, like he was thinking something through. Or fighting his mind. He made a 'come in' motion and sat on his bed, waiting for you to talk.

"Why have you been ignoring me?" you asked timidly.

Sirius looked up at you, his beautiful blue eyes were misty with tears.

"I haven't" He said sternly.

"I haven't seen you in three days, Pads. Three fucking days. Have you not wondered why I haven't been in class?" You asked, your tone getting a little harsh.

"Figured you were busy, didn't think you needed me."

"Are you fucking shitting me?!" You yelled, stepping towards him.

"What?! I didn't think you wanted to see me!" He yelled back.

"Fuck you, Sirius! I need you!"

He took a step towards you, towering over you and looking down with lust-filled eyes. He was just staring down at you.

You took a step back, and he followed you. You took another step back, until your back collided with the wall. He pushed both his hands on either side of your head, trapping you.

"What was that?" He whispered. His breath fanned you neck, making you shiver.

"I said... Fuck you" you spat.

In one swift motion, he wrapped a hand around your neck. You sucked in a breath and he craned your neck so that you were looking up at him. His eyes narrowed.

"Don't speak to me like that." He said sternly.

Your noses were touching, and his left knee was pushing itself between your legs. Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt the friction of his knee against your heat.

"Or what?" You mustered out.

"Or I'll fuck you so hard against this wall until you beg me to stop." He whispered into your ear, sending chills down your spine. Your core ached for him, for his touch. After everything you two just went through, were you still willing to risk it?

Absolutely.

"Fuck. You." You muttered, silently preparing yourself for what was about to happen. He looked at you with dark eyes before moving back to your ear to whisper again.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you" Sirius breathed in your ear.

You stood on your toes and whispered "Do it"

That was all it took.

He crashed his lips to yours and pulled your body right against his. The kiss was aggressive, like you hated each other. His tongue forced its way into your mouth. His hands trailed down your body before they wrapped around the back of your thighs. He hoisted you onto his hips and pushed your back up against the wall, causing you to moan into the kiss. His hands were greedily roaming your body, leaving burning trails behind them.

He broke the kiss for a second to pull your shirt over your head, and you resumed the heated make-out session as he unclipped your bra with one hand. You held onto his neck to prevent yourself from sliding down as he undid the drawstring of his sweatpants. He walked the two of you over to his desk without breaking the kiss, the papers and lamp falling to the floor, but both of you were too distracted to care. He sat you on the desk and stood between your legs. He leaned down and sucked purple marks on your neck and collarbone before trailing them down your breasts and stomach before reaching the waistband of your shorts. He dragged them down and kissed your thighs, sucking dark hickeys on them.

“Please, Siri…” You whined.

He was just teasing at this point, driving you mad. He looked you up and down before removing your shorts and underwear, spreading your legs. His hot breath fanned your heat, making you gasp quietly. He pressed a kiss to you clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. You arched your back and moaned loudly, making him smirk to himself. He circled his tongue around the sensitive area, and your threw your head back. He teased your entrance before pushing his middle finger in and curling it, making you gasp and grip the end of the desk so hard that your knuckles turned white. You felt a heat course through your body, you was nearing my release when Sirius felt your walls flutter around his fingers, making him pull away. You groaned at the empty feeling.

"Only good girls get to cum, Y/N" He whispered, pulling his boxers down to his ankles. He lined himself up at your entrance, teasing you with his tip. Both of you were too stubborn to make the first move.

“P-please…” You moaned, and he snapped immediately, coaxing himself inside you.

"Let me know if it hurts, or if it's too much" He breathed.

"Pads... R-ruin me"

He looked into your eyes while he began to rock his hip. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were hooded over as he began rocking his hips faster. You breathing was ragged, and you were sure you looked like a mess.

"Fuck- you're so tight- shit!" He moaned, snapping his hips even faster, making you moan loudly. He looked down, watching himself move in and out of you, and you followed his gaze, the mere sight making you blush a deep red.

"Fuck- Faster, please" You moaned into his neck.

He obliged and sped up, making the desk rock. You felt his hand push down on you lower abdomen, making him nail your happy-spot over and over.

"Do you feel me in there?" He moaned while pressing down even harder. You cried out and he brought his hand down to rub your clit.

"Y-yes, Pads- fuck..." I moaned back.

He began circling faster and faster while picking up the pace of his thrusts, which were getting sloppy as you felt him swell inside of you. You were getting close to your orgasm, and so was he.

"Fuck- I-I'm cumming!" You moaned into his neck.

You could feel his heartbeat between your legs as the heat traveled down your stomach. You released myself and, with one final grunt, he did too. Sirius rocked his hips a few more times before pulling out and pressing his forehead to yours.

“I-I love you” You whispered.

[florchuvila22]

How do you want me to call you?! Daddy?! | Stiles Stilinski.

Requests are open

Who I write for, what I write, masterlists.

◇TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST◇

Summary: you and Stiles have been hate each other since ever, and when professor Harris put you together in a group for a school work a fight become into something... better.

Warning: smut, Daddy kink, unprotected sex, choking, oral sex (male!receiving)

★★★

You were in professor Harris class, he was talking about a group job. You weren't really excited about it because in that class you had no friends.

"I'm gonna choose de groups" Harris said, "McCall with Lahey, Martin with Argent," and like that he said every surname of the students except two. "Finally, Stilinski with y/s"

"Fuck" you sighed. Everybody knows that Harris hate Stiles, and everybody also knows that you hate each other.

"What?! Why?! There's so many people in here, couldn't you put me another partner?!" Stiles yelled to the professor.

"Shut up, Stilinski, or I'll give you extra homework"

You made a paper ball and threw it to his head, he looked at you and you give him a sharp look. With that he shut up.

The bell rings and with your bag in your shoulder you walk forward Stiles' desk, "your house or mine?" You asked.

"I don't know, mine"

"Fine. Today, after school. The sooner we're done with this, the better" you said and went out the classroom.

"Gosh dude, I really hate her" Stiles complained in the moment you were gone. "I cannot stand her"

"Why? She's not that bad" Scott said.

"What side are you on?". Scott couldn't do anything but laugh. "She has something that... I don't know I just don't like her!"

The school day ended and you were waiting for Stiles to come up with an appearance.

"Finally" you replied to him when he appears.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up and come with me". You both went to do his car, the Jeep.

Already at his home, you started with the job, talking as little as possible and when you did it, you were sharp and sarcastic.

"Do you want something to drink?" Stile asked out for nothing but pure courtesy.

"No, thanks Stilinski" you responded.

"Do not call me like that, I hate when people call me by my surname" he replied. You left the pen in the table without patience a d looked at him.

"Well, what about Mieczyslaw?" You asked with mockery.

"That's worse, and haw did you know my real name?"

"i hate you, Harris hate you, and I get well with Harris so..."

"I thought it was impossible, but I think I hate you more now"

"So you don't like Mieczyslaw too. Can I call you Stiles?"

"Definitely not, you're not my friend"

You sighed out in impatience. "And how do you want me to call you?! Daddy?!". He looked at you with a certain darkness in his eyes that made your knees shake. You instantly knew what you did, and you liked it.

"Hiw did you call me?" He approached you slowly, leaving inches between you two.

"I call you daddy" you teased. He grabbed you by the neck roughly, making the ecxact pressure to drive you crazy. He looking at your eyes and your lips repeatedly times, "c'mon do it, I know you want to" you whispered and he groaned in response.

He kissed you roughly, sticking his tongue into your mouth. You put your hand in his nape, pulling softly of his hair. He grabbed your hips and sat you on the table, hanging between your legs. You could fell his growing cock in your pussy.

"Already hard?" You put your hand in his cock, he groaned.

"Already wet?" He touched your core under your skirt and panties, and slipped a finger inside. You moaned at it. "You know? I think I love skirts now"

He slipped another digit and started pumping. You pulled the hem of his shirt up, making him pull his fingers out of you. You stripped his shirt out and he did the same with yours, living you in your red bra. He looked at your tits and licked his bottom lip, instantly unbuttoning the bra and throwing it somewhere.

He catched one of your boobs in his mouth and the other one with his hand. Sucking so hard you're sure ir would leave a deep bruise.

You undone his belt and unzipped his jeans, "God, look how desperate you are" he pulled you forward to him.

"Stilinski, please do something or I'll go crazy!" You said throwing your back.

"How did you call me?" He took you by your neck again and put his other hand in your sensitive clit, starting to move slowly to tease you.

"S-sorry. Please daddy, do something" he groaned and push his finger into you one more time, pumping hard and fast.

"You like that, baby girl?" He groaned in your ear.

"An-another..." you sighed, "another daddy, please"

He smirked at you and did what you asked. The two digits pumping in and out of your core, driving you a whimper, moaning mess. You took the hand that was on your neck and put two of his fingers as deep as possible in your throat, living him hypnotized.

"Shit" he slurred the word.

Your legs started shaking, you could feel your orgasm building up in your low stomach. "Daddy... I'm gonna cum, don't stop!"

He pumped harder, adding another finger. You let out a loud moan, "c'mon darling, come for me"

You took him by the neck and kissed him as you came all over his hand. Your breathing was rough.

You put your hands in his shoulders and pushed him to sit him in the chair next to him.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a smirk, looking at how you kneeled between his legs, pulling his trousers and black boxers down, releasing his hard-rock cock.

You licked the tip and he groaned. You licked the vein that went from the base to the tip and put it all into your mouth, making him moan. You deep throat him making you gag. He grabbed you by the hair, making you move your head a little bit faster. You let out a deep moan, knowing that vibrations would drive him crazier.

"God baby girl, continue like that" your saliva dripping all over his cock. He started moving his hips, trying to fuck your face. His head fell back in pure pleasure. You could feel his dick twitching in your mouth. His eyes were closed and he was a moaning mess "fuck I'm gonna cum" and with that you took his member out of your moth with a pop. "Shit! I was so close. Why did you stop?" He grumbled.

You sat in his lap and without saying anything you fell in his cock, feeling how he filled you. You both moaned loud. You sterted moving your hips in circles he grabbed you by the waist hard. You knew that it'll probably leave marks, but you couldn't care less. The lunges become faster and you were already whimpering, "bloody hell, daddy, you're so big", your legs got weaker and he noticed that.

"Do you want to change the position, baby girl?" He asked squeezing your ass, you nodded vigorously. He smirked and stood up with you in his arms, going up stairs to his room.

"Wow daddy, didn't know yo could be that strong" you teased.

"There's so much things you don't know about me" he threw you in his bed. "Get in all fours, babe", You did what he said and then he slammed into your core, making you moan loud, "fuck, you're so tight" he moaned in your ear.

"I'm close, don't stop!" You whimpered.

"Not yet" he ordered you. You sighed. Maybe you could take it for a little longer, but not for to much.

"I... I don't know if I-"

"Oh yes you can. Don't. Cum. Yet" he groaned in your ear and that was the drop that overflowed the glass. Your orgasm involved you making you squirt all over his cock. You let out a large, loud moan a d your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure.

"What did I say?" He didn't stop thrusting into you.

"Don't come" the overstimulation made your legs shake like jelly.

"And what did you already do?" His lunges got sloppy. He was on the edge.

"I came all over your cock"

"You know I'm going tu have to punish you, right?", you nodded, "shit, are you on the pill?" He asked desperated.

"Yes, fill me up daddy" and with that he came all inside your tight pussy.

He fell in the bed next to you and also you. "That was..."

"Hot" you finished.

"Yeah..." he agreed. "Don't tell anyone about this" his breath was agitated.

"Don't worry, don't gona tell anyone..." you stood up and went forward the door, he only looked at your body, "daddy". He smirked and you went down stairs.

When he came down your things were not there and you were already gone.

At the next day, at school, Stiles was talking to Scott.

"Dude, you smell different" Scott said.

"What? What does that means?" Stiles asked to his partner.

"I don't know, you have this rare scent. What did you do yesterday?"

"Nothing but working with y/n" he said closing his locker.

You passed next to them and winked at Stiles.

"Wait, she also smell different... oh shit! Did you two-"

"Shut up" Stiles interrupted him.

"Oh my God, you did it! I thought you hated her" he whispered the last part.

"And I do, I'll always do" you looked at him, "... but she has something, I don't know what, but she's different"