#making a list of simple demands for the universe

[amrv-5]

Day 2 of wishing soooo badly I had some freaken sourdough some apple slices some butter right now. Also I’m adding that I want hot spiced apple cider a 58 degree day and a new set of pajamas

[67bottles-of-milk]

And they were roommates

You and Jason had a pretty good grocery agreement for your university dorm. 

~6k words

Part 2

—

Going to university with the explicit goal of teaching maths to high schoolers may not have been the brightest idea but you were going to see it through. Mostly out of spite. Your mother had told you the moment you told her of your career goals she didn’t think you could last even three months. So yeah, you were going to get your maths degree if it killed you. With the way the course was going so far, it very well could. If Gotham didn’t do that first.

At least you didn’t have to worry that much about affording food. See, you had managed to find the only other kid in your dorm building who wasn’t from the Bristol area of Gotham. As such, you had both worked out a pretty good deal where you’d pool money for groceries. It was cheaper than shopping separately and buying two of everything and end up having half of it go mouldy before even reaching the end. So you pooled money and bought the larger versions of things to last you both the week. It was convenient and really saved the two of you money.

In the beginning of the agreement, you had a shared grocery list in a google doc the two of you shared (they had a paper one but some other guy was putting stuff on there without even offering to pay you back for it with his allowance from his, frankly, fucking loaded parents. Stingy bastard). When you ran out of something or needed it, you’d add it to the list. Whoever went shopping next would then delete the list as items were bought. Cash was given in passing and responsibility alternated every other week as long as no one had any exams they were busy studying for or large projects that demanded large amounts of time and attention. 

But a few months in, something changed. There wasn’t a reason for it, it just seemed to happen naturally. You were cooking dinner, making just a simple pasta bake you could shove in the oven while you folded the washing that had been sitting on your bed for the past three days. Without even realising, you had pulled out two bowls and only when the serving spoon was hovering over the second bowl, already dumping pasta in, did you realise what you had done. Why two bowls? Was it homesickness? Did you subconsciously make a second bowl for your mum too? Glancing over your shoulder, Jason was sitting with his headphones in, cross legged on the sofa and typing away at his laptop. Might as well. 

Jason was startled slightly from the depths of his music by the hand placing a full bowl on the coffee table in front of him, a fork sticking out of the top of it. Was it that late already? Oh. It was 7.30pm. The last time he looked at the clock, it was only 3pm, was he really focused for that long? Well damn. 

You sank into the sofa next to him, focusing entirely on your meal. You barely heard the muttered “thanks” from the man next to you as you both sat quietly, listening to your dorm mates going about their evenings. Charlotte was late for work but couldn’t find her uniform, Keith had a paper due by midnight, Ollie was trying their damndest to make toast but still couldn’t figure out the toaster. 

“Wait guys, why isn’t it working?” Their distress was clear as the sound of the lever frantically being pushed down over and over scratched through the kitchen. A glance over the back of the sofa showed that it wasn’t even plugged into the wall. Rich kids. You and Jason shared exasperated looks across the sofa before resuming to mind your own business.

From then on, it was a sort of routine. Whenever one of you cooked dinner, if the other was in the vicinity, you would make an extra portion for each other. It was a wordless agreement with no clear reason for beginning. But it was comfortable.

But then it evolved even further. One day, Jason hadn’t come out of his room since he got back from his 9am lecture and it was now nearing 8 in the evening. Honestly, he had barely left his room outside of lectures for at least two weeks now. He definitely wasn’t eating much, you barely needed anything from the weekly grocery run. Not nearly as much as usual.

Since you had more than enough for two portions, you knocked on his door to see if he wanted any food. A non committal grunt was all you got from the other side so, taking that as an invitation, you pushed the door open to find him curled up facing the wall. And then you noticed things. 

The lights were off, the curtains pulled shut, clothes covering the floor, the desk a mess of pens and books, his laptop was sitting on his desk chair, a couple empty water bottles and wrappers were scattered across the floor. Jason didn’t seem that much better, the only visible part of him being his head, the rest of his body completely wrapped up in his heavy duvet. It was incredibly clear that Jason wasn’t doing well at the minute. Depression? Burnout? Whatever he was going through at the minute, you wanted to help.

“I was gonna cook but you wanna order take out instead? We could get a chinese?” you offered, leaning against the door. 

“Usual order.” It was mumbled, hard to hear. But you caught it and pulled your phone out with a nod. 

“Yeah, I got you. Wanna shower while we wait for it?” You didn’t know what he was going through but you knew for certain that when you feel bad? A shower. Fixes like 80% of your problems or at least pushes you in the right direction of feeling better. He grunted and rolled over onto his back, letting you see his face properly for the first time in ages. Definitely not sleeping properly. A heavy sigh (or was that a choked sob?) was released before he pushed up, moving slowly and pausing momentarily stopping to accommodate being upright for the first time in what was likely hours. “Oh, before I forget, I need to wash my work uniform but I don’t have enough for a full load, can I put some of yours in with it?” Your uniform was clean and ironed but Jason didn’t need to know that. 

“Uh. Yeah. Just.. everything on the floor I guess.” He made gestures behind him as he rummaged through his drawers for clean clothes. You nodded and moved back to your room to grab a basket to pick up the clothes with. 

As soon as the shower turned on, you were as quick as you could be to pick up the clothes, leaving them in the hall for a moment. Then it was the stray bits of rubbish, putting them in the bin before changing the bin liner and putting the full bag of rubbish in the hall next to the washing. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and take the bins out when you went to the bottom floor for the washing machine. You didn’t really want to move much around his desk in case that’s just what it normally looks like and how he likes it but you at least put his dead laptop on charge and made his bed. All in all, you had tidied his room in record speed. 

When you came back up to Jason’s room from downstairs, hot chinese food replacing the bin bag and washing basket, he was sitting back on his bed with his phone in his hand. His attention focused entirely on you when you walked in. A beat. 

“You cleaned my room.” His voice was neutral, not devoid of emotion. It carried a tinge of surprised gratitude, almost disbelieving if you read further into it. “You didn’t have to, I would’ve eventually.” 

“Nah, it wasn’t a big deal, I was going downstairs for the washing anyway, might as well take your rubbish out for you since, as you may not have realised, you are the one who’s paid for dinner tonight.” A cheeky grin spread on your face as you plonked on the end of his bed, spreading the containers out between the two of you and passing along the cheap plastic forks that came with the food. 

“Fair enough.” 

Jason supposes that was when he fell for the first time. I mean, he thought you were pretty, sure but his relationship with you was superficial and mutually beneficial. Your grocery arrangement saved him money in the long run and cooking for each other from time to time was just a way of acknowledging the ways you guys helped each other out. Camaraderie of sorts. But then you went out of your way, making it seem so effortless in the way you knew every little thing he needed without a single word from him. 

He knew your uniform was clean, he saw you ironing it after coming back from his lecture one afternoon. And yet you tried to make sure he wouldn’t feel bad about you essentially doing his washing for him, disguising it as something more convenient for you rather than an askless favour for him, all so he wouldn’t feel bad about it. He certainly hadn’t expected you to clean up the rest of his room either. And leaving his desk alone? The best part of it all, honestly. Walking out and seeing the floor clear, he was so worried his desk would be tidied away too, his papers and files all thrown out of and yet not a single pen had been so much as nudged. His laptop was even on charge, something he continuously forgot to do every time he tried to use it. You were a blessing in disguise, he swears. 

It started a small tradition of sorts. If one of you was struggling, the other would come and do small things to help like spell checking homework, cleaning bedrooms. folding clothes, the sort. 

But then started the casual closeness.

You two no longer kept to yourselves, there were invitations to the library together, going for coffee after classes, grocery shopping together rather than separate. It wasn't a sudden change, just like everything else, it was something sparked from a single event that came to be a regular part of your routine.

As you made your way from your classroom, you collided with a solid mass. Oh, it’s Jason! He seemed to be coming from his class just like you. By now, you had a vague idea of his schedule and could guess that he had nothing until his lecture in two hours’ time. 

“Hey, Jay,” that was something that came with the quiet comfort too, friendly nicknames, “I was on my way to get some coffee, did you want to join me?” He pondered the offer for a moment, nodding and pivoting to follow alongside you.

“Yeah, I could go for a drink. Might get something to eat too, did you have breakfast?” You shook your head, you had barely woken up on the third round of your alarm, there was definitely no time for anything more substantial than the cup of water sat on your bedside table from last night. “I get the food, you get the drinks?” 

“Not if you’re ordering that abominable custom order you got last time.”

“Fine, I’ll get drinks, you get the food? That seem more fair?” Much more fair, what Jason ordered barely passed as coffee after the extra milk, hazelnut syrup and caramel drizzle he got. Even if he always got at least two extra shots of espresso, the drink barely tasted like coffee. 

“Definitely. Whatcha want? Something light or actual lunch?” Another moment of thought. 

“My brother wants me to take him out when he finishes school today so I’ll just get something light. He’s definitely going to want to go out for food. He’s going through a growth spurt and, as such, seems to be ravenous these days.” That was also a new development since the event with his room a few weeks ago; he’s started opening up more about his personal life. 

“Oh, how old is he?” 

“Thirteen and an absolute menace because of it. Not only is he eating our father out of house and home, his attitude has gotten even worse which is saying something. He literally tried to stab his older brother as soon as he moved in with us.” The way he said it so flippantly 

made you do a double take. 

“Dude, no offense, what the actual fuck. I mean, yeah, I’ve kind of figured out your family is a bit odd but he tried to STAB someone? Insane.” Jason just shrugged and held the cafe door open for you. 

“Eh, family.” 

Following the increase in closeness, you eventually transitioned into hanging out in each other’s rooms regularly. Accompanying each new development in your friendship with Jason, you’ve come to learn major things about him. 

With the cooking, it was that he had awful eating habits and would often go half a day without eating anything and not even notice, other times, though, he’ll clear out half your guys’ cupboard space in just two hours. With the Room Event, it was that he often had bouts of depression that made it hard for him to do much more than drag himself to class and doom scroll on his phone when he was at the dorms. With the regular hangouts, you learned about his family and the complicated relationship he had with them. He was on rough terms with his dad, his older brother was too invasive and pushy for Jason’s tastes, he absolutely adored his grandfather. With his younger brother, he was neutral since he was abroad when he was adopted into the family. He was closest with his youngest brother, Damian, since Jason was abroad to help Damian’s mother to raise him.

So what did you learn by hanging out with him in his room? He was clingy. And a cuddler. 

Any chance he got, the second the door was closed and you guys were situated with a movie playing on his laptop, he had you tucked under his arm. You were reading a book or scrolling your phone? He’s laying across your thighs. He’s got homework to do? His legs are crossed over yours, a blanket thrown over you both so your feet don’t get cold. It soon became commonplace for you to come back from work to find him curled up in your bed, sleeping in it better than you ever did. Although, you’d be lying if you didn’t start doing the same damn thing after the first few times he did it. 

With the casual insertion of each other into your lives, the boundary between friendship and something more was being pushed further and further. Private affection became public affection. Interlocking arms in bed became interlocked fingers in hallways. Shortened names became terms of endearment. Kisses at the end of messages became kisses on the cheek. That was your favourite.

Ending every conversation with ‘xx’ was something you had done your entire life but with Jason, it felt like it carried more weight to it. When he kissed you on the cheek for the first time, he seemed to freeze immediately afterward, almost as though it was an reflex he hadn’t even realised he had. The same way as when you made that first meal for him. Something you both hadn’t even realised you were doing until it was done. Something that was so natural to the two of you, instinctual even. You didn’t acknowledge it past returning the favour with a kiss to his forehead, pushing back the white strands and standing on your toes to reach properly. Although he caught on and leant down enough for you to meet halfway. 

It was a wordless transition; you two began dating. Sure, you didn’t have a concrete date for it since it wasn’t something put into words but Jason saved the date of the first kisses shared in his phone, even if they weren’t what Dick would call ‘proper kisses’. Not that he was in much of a position to comment on other people’s relationships.

Coffee runs and lunch outings became dates rather than hangouts, you stopped turning over in bed when the other was changing, hands wandered beneath clothes when cuddling, and, arguably the best part was the kisses. 

By the gods was Jason a good kisser. He was sweet with it, always holding the back of your neck and/or waist, migrating from your lips to your cheeks, to your jaw, just absolutely peppering every part of your face with heart warming affection. He’d pout if you didn’t kiss him when greeting him, and would always insist on hugging you as tight as possible when one of you was leaving. Even with his sweetness, he was not above slapping your ass whenever you got up from bed. Fine by you since, at every opportunity, you were grabbing his pecs and biceps, giving them a good squeeze. 

To say Jason was in absolute bliss would be an understatement. He had literally the girl of his dreams. Not only was she drop dead gorgeous, kind beyond belief, she also let him exist without any worry. He never had to second guess his words, never worry about being too clingy, and he certainly never had to worry about being too broken since she held every piece of him with so much care in her hands. 

At the end of your year at university, you had to reevaluate your accommodation. You could either apply to stay another year or just look for an apartment close by. Staying in the dorms would be fine except, the university preferred first years so it was only a slim chance you’d even manage to get a room. Although you didn’t have to think over it for very long. 

“Hey, which one do you prefer? I like the kitchen for this one more but this one’s got a nicer bathroom and a balcony. I’ve been through pretty much every single other apartment building in the area and chose these two so now the final choice is yours.” Jason was an absolute angel at times. 

“Oh my god, I love you, have I told you that yet? I reckon the balcony one. The kitchen isn’t that different, the other one just has an island. However… balcony.” Your verbal thought process went entirely ignored by Jason who sat utterly shell shocked. 

“No,” He said, decisiveness embedded in his tone.

“No? Alright, I guess if you’re that set on the kitchen island.” You shrugged, missing the point of his word entirely.

“No, uh, I mean you haven’t, uh, you haven’t said that before.” Now he was feeling a bit awkward, leaning back on the bed. “I love you too, though. Just… so you know.” 

“Well that’s good. I love you more though,” you replied, giving him a cheeky grin. A pillow was swung at your face, knocking you back from the force. 

“Absolutely not, I definitely love you more.” 

“Alright, whatever you say, pretty boy. Not true but I’ll let it slide since I want the balcony.” If Jason’s face went bright pink at the nickname, that was between him and the wall. 

Moving in together and adjusting to your new schedules together felt as natural as breathing. It was like nothing changed except now, you always shared a bed and cooked meals for each other. Any issues revolving around chores and other small grievances you had for each other’s habits were rational and calm discussions. 

The most heated argument you had ever had was a complete turning point in your relationship. You had caught on to Jason sneaking out at night and disappearing for hours at a time. Whenever you asked about it, he would always refuse to tell you where he was going, insisting it wasn’t any of your business and you should just stay out of it.

“I swear to the gods, are you fucking cheating on me? Is that it? You’re sneaking around with some other girl, leaving me alone all night, just using me as a live-in maid?” You were in tears by this point, your cheeks soaked and hot with fury, hands trembling even as you swung them around while making wild hand gestures to emphasise to Jason just how furious and hurt you were with him.

“What?” Jason, up to that point, was getting just as agitated, trying to stay calm even as green creeped at the edge of his vision (that was something he never wanted to happen with you). He just wanted to keep you safe out of it, you, oh so sweet and gentle, had no business dealing with the rough harsh world he slipped into in the dark of late nights spent in alleys and on roofs. But what you were saying? It broke something in him. It was a slap to the face. His face went slack with hurt. Even with how heartbroken he looked at your accusation, your disposition never faltered. Frustration pooled in your eyes, settling between the tears clouding your vision. 

“Baby. No, never in a million years, you are my love, my life. I would never do that to you.” He held your face so sweet, the words he spoke settling into stone as nothing but the truth. You believed him but you were still so hurt. You crumbled into his arms and just let it all go. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you sweetheart.” 

Calming down from the rush of the argument, Jason sat with you and spilled everything. It was hard and even more emotional than the fight you just had but it was comforting now. You held each other and cried and shared pain that weighed unbearably heavy. By the morning, you were both exhausted from the talking and the emotion and the crying. Grateful it was the weekend, Jason took you to bed to lie in bed, curtains pulled to show the rain pittering against the glass, a comforting rumble of distant thunder lulling the two of you into a quiet comfort. You traced shapes on his arm as he did the same to your thigh. 

Things changed from there but only for the better. 

As it turned out, Jason’s family had no idea he was even attending university. The contact they had with him was always on his terms. If he wanted to see them, he went to them. They didn’t even know where he lived. And they wouldn’t until he told them. It wasn’t even like they could track him since only your name was on the lease. It was something he had asked of you, knowing that just because they hadn't found anything about his address yet, it didn’t mean they weren’t still looking. The only exceptions were Alfred and Damian. Alfred was told because Alfred gets told everything, he can keep a secret. Damian was told because Jason understood needing space from the Bat family sometimes and he wanted to provide Damian a safe place where he could go for that space. 

Damian and Jason were arguably the closest of the siblings. Jason had practically raised Damian afterall. Damian held a fondness for Jason because of this. He was a role model and someone he seeked the approval of in addition to his father and mother. More than that, however, Jason was someone he felt he could be the child he is around and not be judged for it. Afterall, he was in no place to judge when his favourite snack at 22 years old was animal crackers. At the end of the day, Damian had a key to Jason’s apartment and was allowed to swing by whenever he pleased. The only rules were to stay out of the bedroom and knock before entering the place. Damian was unsure why these rules were in place but he would respect them nonetheless. 

And that was how you met Damian for the first time. 

You were out of the lecture late, the lecturer running overtime a bit and your phone dying on the walk home. Unfortunate since you had barely managed to see that you had a text from Jay before the screen shut off. You brushed it off as him likely saying he would be home late. You’d find out when you got home anyway so it wasn’t a big deal. 

However, you were a bit shocked to come home to find a young teenager standing on a chair in your kitchen and raiding through your cupboards. 

“Uhm. Can I help you?” you asked, a bit skeptical. He was unlikely to be a threat to your safety, given the fuzzy socks and Jason’s stolen Wonder Woman hoodie. 

“I should be asking you that. What business do you have in this apartment? Are you a nosy neighbour? You should leave at once.” He was demanding and accusatory. 

“I will not, thank you very much. Not for as long as I’m paying rent since, y’know, this is my home.” You crossed your arms, taking an equally defiant stance. You weren’t sure if it was your tone or your words that surprised him more. 

“You live here? With Todd?” You nodded. 

“Uh, yeah, I have done for like what? Four months?”

“That is surprising. Todd has not mentioned a roommate. I was not even aware this was a two bedroom apartment.” 

“That’s probably because it’s not. We share a bed since, y’know, dating and all.” His eyebrows shot up as he stepped off the chair finally. 

“Todd has not mentioned a domestic partner. How long has this been a thing?” He was no longer accusatory and now genuinely curious. 

“You wanna sit with tea or something and hear the whole story?” you offered, gesturing towards the sofa in the living room. The teen responded with a solemn nod, unnecessarily serious for the conversation at hand. 

It wasn’t until after you finished recounting your entire relationship with Jason up to the present moment that you introduced yourselves. 

“Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.” He stuck his hand out, an offer you took gladly. 

“Oh! Jay’s talked about you a lot, this entire situation is making a lot more sense now. It’s good to finally meet you though. He mentioned like a week ago that you had some big test week? Is that over? How did it go?” The two of you spent the next two hours engaged in conversation, just overall getting to know each other, sharing stories of Jason and enjoying tea and snacks. You were enjoying your conversation so much you had completely neglected to charge your phone.

Jason wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got home. Especially since you hadn’t responded to a single one of the fifty some texts he had left you from the time your lecture finished until ten minutes ago when he finished his own. You had never met Damian and Damian didn’t even know you existed, as far as he was aware so he could only hope that either you weren’t home and were out with friends or Damian had left before you arrived. Though he definitely didn’t anticipate finding the two of you so engrossed in conversation that neither of you acknowledged him past quick greetings. 

“Welcome home, Jaylove.” 

“Greetings Todd.” 

And then you were both straight back to looking at pictures of Titus on Damian’s phone. Sighing a breath of relief that his favourite people were getting along fine, he headed to the bedroom to change into pyjamas so he could crash on the sofa and sprawl over you. Within five minutes, he was lying, head on your thighs, face buried in your stomach, an arm tucked behind your back. 

“You were not exaggerating when you said that he was rather clingy in his physical affections with you.” Damian’s tone, despite the nature of the words being judgmental, was light and teasing. 

“Shut up, Brat, you are exactly the same. You get it from me.” Jason was entirely muffled by your stomach. 

“We are not even related by blood, how is it possibly a trait inherited from you.” He wasn’t even denying the allegations which sparked an idea in your mind. 

“I raised you for like five years, dipshit, you’re gonna pick up something from me and since all your killing intent comes straight from your mother, my gift unto thee is the craving for physical touch.” As the two bickered back and forth, you moved quick and calculating as you wrapped your arm around Damian’s shoulder, trapping him in a one sided hug that left him leaning against your side. Both you and Jason had expected him to pull away, hissing like a cat or something. Against both of your expectations, he curled into your side instantly, not even missing a beat. 

And thus, Damian was your second best cuddle buddy. Even when Jason wasn’t home and wouldn’t be for a few days, Damian would find time to stop by or even stay the night on weekends just to spend time and fulfill his need for physical affection that he seemed unable to get at the manor due to his ‘image that must be upheld as the blood son’. Sure, Dick would give hugs, but those weren’t cuddles and he was not about to have to swallow his pride to ask for them when he could simply come to you and get them without any need for more than a “hello” uttered. 

Both you and Jason were incredibly endeared to see Damian acting in such a way. Come your first year anniversary, Damian was just as enthusiastic as Jason, if not more, about having you in their lives. Although something he would not admit to a single living soul besides Titus, you had quickly become almost his favourite person, never quite able to top Jason simply because of how deep their bond ran. 

With the passing of the second year came Jason’s realisation he wanted you in his life for as long as you would have him. He wasn’t going to propose, not until the two of you had finished university at the end of next year, but he was sure he wanted to introduce you to more of his family. However, he wasn’t going to just tell them he had found who was quite possibly the love of his life, his soulmate. No, they would have to prove their titles as the world’s greatest detectives. As such, he had conspired with Damian and plotted for the two of them, in addition to Alfred, to make comments in the presence of Bruce, Dick, and Tim to how long it took them to figure out about you. 

“Todd, when can I come over next? I wish to see the beloved.” Okay a bit odd, Bruce thought, but perhaps Jason has taken in a stray that Damian is fond of?

“Master Jason, I have prepared another batch of the requested brownies. Please be sure to share.” Dick thought Jason lived alone, who would he share with? Unless he meant Damian whenever he visits. 

Tim didn’t get a comment, he was given ample chance to get a look at Jason’s phone lock screen, a photo of a woman’s hands making a finger heart. Separately, the comments weren’t enough to tip them off that there was someone in Jason’s life but when Damian got in trouble at school and Alfred couldn’t pick him up, they were expecting Jason to be the one to pick him up. Tim did not expect to look out his class window to see Damian walking side by side with some random woman he had never seen. The teen looked entirely at ease talking with her, indicating a familiarity that was stronger than whatever connection Damian had with the rest of his family. 

Then came the digging. Tim confronted Dick and Bruce in the cave one evening, asking if they’d heard or seen anything odd. 

“Am I really losing that much sleep or has Jason got a girlfriend?” It had been bugging him all day. “I think he does and Damian knows. I mean I hope so otherwise some random woman picked him up from school today.” Dick and Bruce looked over, surprised at the question with it written all over their faces. 

“I mean, Damian did say something weird at the table the other morning. He was asking Jason to see ‘the beloved’. I assumed it was an unnamed stray Jason was keeping an eye on for him. Though now that you say that, I suppose that could be the case.” Bruce was thoughtful with his answer.

“Alfred told him to share the brownies he made for him the other day so if he did have a girlfriend, I guess she lives with him? Or at least goes over to Jason’s often enough.” Slowly the three of them were connecting dots in behaviours and comments made by the other three members of the household. 

They were now left with two options; investigate and snoop around Jason’s life without him knowing, or confront him and ask him directly. Out of fear of pushing him further away, Dick was the one to take on for the team and was going to ask Jason directly. 

The opportunity to ask presented itself the next day when the two found themselves alone in the kitchen. Jason was leaning on the island, attention drawn to his phone. Dick had walked in, ready to just ask. 

“So…” He was trying to be casual. He was not casual. “Got any news you want to share with the family?” Jason looked at him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Wanna be more specific?” Dick deflated with a sigh, leaning fully on the opposite side of the island. 

“God why do I have to be the one to ask? I’m just gonna be blunt, do you have a girlfriend?” 

“Yeah. Two year anniversary was like a month and a half ago. Why?” Jason was calm. Dick was not. 

“WAIT WHAT!? You’re telling me you’ve had a girlfriend for two years and not told anyone at all? That’s cruel, man.” 

“Actually that’s a lie. I told Alfred like as soon as it happened and then Damian found out when he met her.” Jason shrugged, pocketing his phone and stretching. “Not my fault you guys literally never asked.” 

“Well how am I supposed to know to ask when you do literally nothing all day. How did you two even meet?” Dick was indignant now. Jason had literally never even hinted at being romantically involved with anyone nor had he ever shown an interest in relationships. 

“Not telling. I like my privacy, Dickie-bird, you get to know she exists. That’s it. Maybe I’ll think about letting you all meet her if you’re nice about it.” Jason then left Dick standing, utterly stunned. 

At least he had an answer for Tim and Bruce.

—

I haven't written anything to post since like 2021. This is also the first DC fic I've ever written and it was done in a six hour stint. Please be nice to me guys </3

[marsmaximoff]

💔; crimson pain -a different kind of blood

content warning: gn!reader who plays as number 028. (dating) angst. mentions of death, financial struggles, vomit, blood and fainting.

word count: 1935. i got a bit too carried away 😬

author’s note: finally, here it is. i’ve had this idea for so long but the universe wasn’t on my side, it seems. i really wanted to post it sooner 🥲. as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, and i apologize for the mistakes (english is my third language). oh, and tysm for the support on the jun-ho headcanons post! what do you mean over 1000 likes? that is insane 🤧🤧. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too. 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the sugary umbrella lays on your shaky hand, under the excruciating yet unmasked gaze of the soldier. once the ‘pass’ is given, you stand up ready to get out of there. “you made it!” the voice of the one that has become the closest thing to a friend you could have in here relaxes you ever so slightly. “i almost didn’t. can’t believe i’m adding umbrellas to my traumas list.” having chosen the hardest doesn't surprise you much, not with unluckiness being a part of your life since you can remember. “well, im just happy you did. i thought the square was simple, but now i feel like we should have just chosen the triangle instead, you know? take a look at the survivors; most of them chose it and….” his words fade as an eerie feeling takes over your body, like something’s wrong. turning around, you’re met with one of them, staring right at you completely stiff, not even holding the weapon, merely some feet away.

“is he looking at us?” he can sense the uneasiness too, it seems. “let’s just go.” you can still feel his unfamiliar gaze on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

the doors opening break the silence and the rare calmness of the room. “player 028?” your body freezes completely. a stomach drop follows, and your heart rate skyrockets. no. nonono. you’ve done nothing wrong. is it the dalgona? the figure was perfectly carved out; you made sure of it. are they gonna kill you? two soldiers stand by the entrance, waiting. with a final glance at your friend, who is most definitely thinking the same, you reach the pink guards. you don’t even know what to say, should you beg for mercy? try to stay as cooperative as possible? “be quick.” what? the other one grabs your arm and begins to lead you somewhere. “i-i don’t-” your hands are shaking. “please, i didn’t do anything wrong...” begging it is. “keep. walking.” the words are almost a whisper, tho demanding. a hint of desperation can be heard as well. “okay, okay, ok-” wait. why did those words- no. you’re going crazy. it’s just the anxiety, the fear. 

the stranger takes you to the bathrooms and quickly closes the door. you step back. again. and once more. what now? he wouldn’t shoot you here, right? and why the hell does he look so tense? his hands move to his mask and make it disappear, and with it, the remaining bit of sanity you had.

the nausea from a few seconds ago comes back stronger, maybe you will die today. “jun-ho…” your voice is almost unrecognizable, tho a miracle, given the struggle breathing has become. “what are you doing here?” “i could ask you the same thing.” he’s angry, of course he is, but the hurt in his eyes pains you the most. “no….you need to get out of here.” god. you can feel yourself spiraling. nothing makes sense. “i will. and im taking you with me.” “h-how- when did- i-“ cold sweat has completely taken over your palms. “wait….wait. was it you?…. this morning?” he nods. “i found the damn card they gave you at yours and my brother’s house” what? “in-ho…?” why does everything keep getting worse? “have you seen him?” surely you would remember something like that, “n-no. maybe before the first game…..” you heed your legs’ warning to give up and sit down. “why are you doing this? i dont understand.” it’s not like he could. “they let you out. and you didn’t seek me. you hid yourself. again. i had to learn what was going on from a random man at the station. not you!!” silence between you had never felt this suffocating before, nor the atmosphere so uncanny. “don’t you realize how dangerous this is? they are killing innocent people! haven’t you realized?! 79 have died today. just because of a stupid cookie? what do you think you are doing?! you could have gotten yourself killed! you have no idea how worried i’ve been.” you don’t look at him. this shouldn’t be happening, he wasn’t supposed to find out.

“please, honey. this is insane and you know it. let’s get out of this madness.” the change in his tone of voice is evident, bordering the plea. it’s obvious he’s making an effort to remain calm, to use less confrontational comments. “i can’t.” “yes, you can. we’ll leave the same way i got here, don’t worry. no one will see us.” but you really can’t. you know that well. he sighs, “why didnt you tell me? how could you hide something like this from me? i thought we trusted each other.” 

distress seems to have replaced the blood running through your veins. “i would have helped you, always. i can still do it. if you need money, i’ll give it to you, it’s not a problem.” he keeps going after your negative. “i will. we can find another way-” “there isn't.” “of course there is. i have my savings, we’ll use them. i can ask for a raise. mr kim owes me after all this time. and i could do more hours-”

“its not FUCKING ENOUGH!” the sharpness of your words cuts all over his face. pain flows out, dripping a bloody red. more silence. you could drown in it. well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“my parents’ house is gonna get seized.” a burning throat accompanies the confession. “i messed up like crazy.” the expected embarrassment doesn’t show up, instead, regret does. “it’s not your fault.” how can he say that? “it is. i got them into this, I'll get them out.” “and you think risking your life here is the only way to do it? thats not true. god, why didn’t you tell me?” you rub your temple. “that doesn’t matter now. you-you need to get out, all this is suspicious.” you are not only trying to avoid the question, the guards could notice at any moment. “i told them you were gonna throw up.” “vomit or not you’re still in the bathroom with a player.” for some seconds, the only noise that can be heard is the shatter of your heart. “honey, listen to me. your parents wouldn’t want this. they don’t even blame you, im sure. how could they ever wish for something at the expense of their daughter’s life?” but the guilt is too heavy, too imprinted on your mind. “it’s not about me. if it were my house, i wouldn’t care, but it’s theirs. i would never forgive myself for not doing anything.” “and there are so many things you could do that don’t need you participating in some psychopaths’ games! do you really not see how dangerous and demented this is? please leave with me.” “jun-ho. think about it. if i ended up here, even after they gave us a second chance, it’s because i want to. no one forced me, and i’m old enough to know what i’m doing.” your replies are getting colder, which you hate. but it’s the only way to make him understand. “besides, they’re all kids' games. they’re easy.” you can only hope he won’t sense your attempt at self-persuasion. “they are shooting people. you could be dead. and i would have never seen you again, or known what had happened.” the urge to cry gets stronger with every word, to dive into his arms and finally feel some sort of calmness, warmth, love.

“i’m sorry that i hurt you, that i made you worry and feel like i couldn’t trust you. but i won’t apologize for being here.” “i don’t want you to apologize. i only want you to get out of here and not die.” his desperation has increased so much it’s swallowed your own distress. “i’ve already won two, i can make it to the end.” you refute. but you read him easily, he is planning to get you out without your agreement, somehow.

“please.” now it’s you that pleads. “if you love me, let me stay.”

his eyes widen, you see them watering. his heartbreak drowns out yours. you are aware you’ve never said anything as painful before. it hurts. more than anything they could do to you here. perhaps you are already dead. “how can you ask me something like this?” maybe you’re desperate, or too blinded by the blame that’s rotting on your insides. or perhaps it’s love. “get out of here. stay safe. and don’t tell the police, jun-ho. don’t even think about stopping the games. i need this, don’t ruin it.” god you don’t recognize yourself anymore. how nice it would be to go back when things were easy. when remorse didn’t control yourself, and you were happy with him. “what do you expect me to do if you die?” “i won’t” “you can’t know that! how can i let the love of my life risk it all when i know i could do something?” understanding such perspective is effortless. if it were the other way around, you too would act like he is.

you approach him for the first time, god how you craved it. your hands cup his pained yet beautiful face and a tear drops. “i missed you.” he says quietly, unable to stay angry at you for long. “i missed you too.” you answer back, wiping the tear. “i missed your face, your voice, your touch. i miss your kisses.” things already ache enough like this, so you give in. the kiss is soft, so fragile, like a bit more intensity would make it disappear. “i love you.” he whispers resting his forehead on yours. “i love you too.”

a knock on the door destroys the illusion. shit. “lay on the floor.” “what?” “lay on the floor”, he repeats, walking towards the door while putting his mask back on, “and play along.” the door opens and the same voice from earlier speaks. “what do you think you’re doing in there?” may that unluckiness give you a rest for some minutes. “she passed out. she was taking too long and not answering back so i entered and found her unconscious.” footsteps grow louder. “player 028…. i don’t remember any health issues on the file… fuck.” you stay as still as possible, it sounds plausible, given the stress. “take care of it, i’ll let the boss know. and don’t take longer.” with that, he exits the room, and you thank his unwillingness to deal with sensitive issues.

sitting back up, jun-ho kneels to your level. “you look good for a faint.” a hint of a smile appears on your face. “are you mad at me?” “i was. mostly worried. i don’t like this at all.” you grab his gloved hands. “i’ll be okay, believe me.” he doesn’t. he can’t. “please, be careful. and think about it. if you change your mind, i’ll be waiting.” you won’t. you wouldn’t let yourself. but you nod. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i hope you’ll carry that with you. i love you so damn much.” his voice breaks, and you tell yourself it’s time to go back, this conversation can only get more and more devastating for you both. you offer the bleeding and broken pieces of your heart. not meaning to cut him this time. and he takes them. how could he not treasure them? you kiss again. it tastes different this time. like farewell. 

and when you get out of the room, you both know that was the last time you’ll see each other. 

[leighsartworks216]

In Your Arms

Sylus x gn!Reader

Huge huge huge shoutout to @blueroseava for steering my "Sylus isn't used to gentle touches" thought into this fluffy little thing. This one takes place in the Raven universe (the same MC as Lap Dog and The Raven), but I may write another one with a softer MC later. Thank you again for sharing this idea bc now I cannot think straight I just wanna cuddle this huge man so bad <333

Warnings: fluff, cuddling, some biting, established relationship, selectively mute reader, reader is the only one who can boss him around like this

Word Count: 898

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Every single deal this week fell through. Every. Single. One. It wasn’t even because the deals were unfair or that he was being duped. No. It was worse. His competitors swept the deals right out from under him.

As a result, Sylus was irritable and quicker to snap than usual. Not at you, of course. He was upset, but he didn’t have a death wish. The twins were mostly the outlet for his bad mood, alongside his punching bag.

You find him in his office, the knuckle of his finger brushing against his upper lip as he read a series of documents. You don’t bother knocking before you enter. He doesn’t look up, but you know he notices your presence. He always does, even in a crowded party.

You walk behind his chair and press your hands into his shoulders, digging your thumbs against the tense muscle at the back of his neck. He sighs, lifting his head up from his work to encourage you. You kiss the back of his head.

“The sun is up and you’re still here.” You drag your thumbs along the sides of his spine before moving back up again.

“Is my kitten missing me?” he teases. His voice is rough with exhaustion, low and slightly airy as you massage him. You lean down to bite his neck. He chuckles at your way of scolding him. But, he finally relents.

The papers in his hands land carelessly on his desk, no longer worth his time when you’re here trying to drag him off to bed. Your magic touch abandons him as he stands. The tension seems to return tenfold when he looks down at you, neck strained once again from the simple fact of his being taller than everyone else.

You grab his hand, holding it to your face briefly to press a kiss to his palm, before intertwining your fingers together and dragging him out of his office. Luke and Kieran are nowhere to be seen or heard. Mephisto is off spying for Sylus, gathering intel that could turn his hand back against his competitors. He sighs. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

You’re already dressed for bed, but Sylus is still in the nice dress clothes from his meeting earlier that night. He lets your hand go so he can change. When he comes back, the soft pajama pants are hanging low on his lips, but you don’t even spare them a glance.

You’re sitting up, back against the headboard. It’s his usual position, or it was until he found someone worth laying down next to. Someone he knew full well could slit his throat, but who chose to protect it anyway. Any intruders who dared to break into the Onychinus base and make an attempt on his life would be praying they were never born without him ever needing to worry.

“You’re in my spot,” he points out, raising his eyebrow.

You pat your lap. “It’s my spot tonight. Lay down.”

“So demanding.” He crawls up the bed until he can rest his head in your lap. It wasn’t a completely foreign position, when the roles were reversed. It’s the first time he’s ever been down here, looking up into your face. Your thighs as his pillow, keeping him from straining his neck any more. It… feels nicer than he expected it to.

Fingers which have taken lives without hesitation, that he’d seen pull apart guns in seconds just to put them back together equally as fast, traced delicately along his cheek. Soft, tender touches that felt along his jaw and brushed down the bridge of his nose. At one point, they close his eyes, with an accompanying huff of annoyance from you.

“Sleep,” you command.

He chuckles. “Of course, sweetie.”

The gentle caresses tempt him to bite your fingers when you brush them over his lips, but he resists, if only to avoid pissing you off. He doesn’t expect the groan that’s pulled from his lips when your other hand drags through his hair. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, his hair sliding through your fingers like silk.

It’s so different to when your hands are usually tangled in his hair. Usually, it’s rough, grabbing fistfuls of white locks and pulling hard enough to sting, commanding his head to be where you want him. This is the closest to heaven he’s ever felt.

He exhales and the tension in his body goes with the slightly shaky breath. You drag your nails from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, praising him for letting go so easily in your care. Your other hand glides down his neck and arm until you can lace your fingers together once more.

As his exhaustion takes hold, his trust is implicitly and wholly in your hands, peaceful in the knowledge that he will make it through the night even in such a vulnerable position.

In the morning, he’s on his stomach, arms wrapped around your back and face pressed tightly against your belly. Your hand is still tangled in his hair, limp as you sleep, but sturdy in its willpower to stay there. He’s the first to wake, disoriented and slow to piece together how he ended up here. But then he closes his eyes again, nuzzles like a cat into your welcoming heat, and drifts off.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans One Shot Rec List

here you will find all of my favourite chris evans + characters fanfiction recommendations, i have many more to add and will continue to update this list. Please don’t forget to reblog these amazing writers fics as they deserve so much love!💘💘

Walk On The Wild Side - @hansensgirl

you just wanted to go for a stroll down the road—but he wants you to take a walk on the wild side. (Dark!Chris Evans)

You Better Not Pout, Better Not Cry - @hansensgirl

they know if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. (Dark!Multi character) - i would add every single one of her fics to this list if i could💘

Sinful Devotion - @evansbby

Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words, Lloyd pops your cherry)- my favourite writer in the whole universe💘

Smothered With Bliss - @whereireid

Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

The Night - @misshoneybee

Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Little Miss Red - @anika-ann

Ransom’s looking for a good time tonight, when you walk through the door, he knows he’ll get it. And you? Oh you’ll get it too. He's going to make sure of it.

Unholy Errand - @buckets-and-trees

You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss. (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark! God The Bounty Hunter + Ransom Drysdale)

What A Shirt Can Tell - @justalonelyslytherin

5+2 times Colin asked 'Is that my shirt?' plus the one time he got asked it. Aka a look through the journey of Colin and his girl, each in which his shirts play an important role.

Start Again - @wkemeup

A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath (Steve Rogers)

Daddy’s Little Pet - @sinner-as-saint

You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Good Girls And Skype Calls - @youre-deadangel

chris gives you a treat for behaving.

Afternoon Delight - @christowhore

you're steve's live-in housekeeper and find your boss and his friends having a bbq on a heatwave stricken afternoon. they invite you to join them and show you all the pleasurable ways to cool down from the sun. (SoftDark!Steve Rogers + Sam Wilson + Bucky Barnes)

Got You - @hispeculiartreasure

The two of you had grown close over the last year; first as teammates, then as friends. You had been distant at the start, just as he had. Slowly, agonizingly - blood, sweat, and tears were definitely involved - walls were dismantled. A current of trust ran between you, one which caught Steve by surprise. As dense as he could be about matters of the heart, suspicions of his blossoming romantic feelings being mutual had proven true with a simple kiss. (Sex Pollen, Steve Rogers)

Golden Boy - @bucksfucks

you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but. (Roommate!Steve Rogers)

It Must Be That Old Evil Spirit - @vonalyn

There’s something unsettling about his demeanor but you can’t quite put your finger on it. As if there’s something hiding beneath the surface just waiting to pry its way out of the tight shirt across his broad frame and tear your throat out. Maybe it’s your general unease around others when you’re traveling alone, or maybe it’s just him.  (Jack-O-Lantern!Ari Levinson)

Stupid Kitty - @onsunnyside

Your father wrongfully entrusted Lloyd to care for you—it’s too bad he’ll never get you back. (Lloyd Hansen x Cat-Hybrid!Reader)

Manners- Or Lack Of Them - @rogerswifesblog

Ransom wants you, the sweet girl at the bar…but you’re not what he expected you to be. (Sub!Ransom Drysdale + Mommy!Reader)

Shadow Boxer - @mypoisonedvine

you’re stuck in the same destructive cycle with ransom, but maybe you don’t want to get out of it. (Angst + Smut, Ransom Drysdale)

It’s Not A Challenge - @gagmebucky

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. (Boxer!Steve Rogers)

Pretty Princess - @frostironfudge

Andy Barber gets jealous when he presumes you shared a room with one of his associates.

Over And Over - @frostironfudge

Ari Levinson is a possessive man, he'll punish you till you apologise.

Such A Good Boy - @lilacevans

You and Ari attend a business meeting, and at the beginning the other boss you're meeting with just assumes that Ari is the one in charge; however, that's not the case. While you look dainty, angelic, like you couldn't even hurt a fly, you're the one who runs the family and will not hesitate to fuck up anyone who stands in your way. (Puppy!Ari Levinson) - one of my favourite fics EVER.💘

Breathe - @buckyownsmylife

The one where the new co-star is obsessed with the idea of making Chris hers, but he makes sure to show her you’re the only one for him.

Justified - @dbnightingale24

Ransom has always been the center of your world you’ve always been the center of his. However, when he can’t change his ways and you’re tired of the heartbreak, is it really so bad if you think it’s best to walk away? Ransom thinks so. - one of the sweetest most talented writers i have ever met💘

My, My, My - @1800jjbarnes

Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

All The Time - @geminixevans-stan

He is one of the most powerful men on earth but there’s more worse than him (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark!Nick Fowler)

Snack - @katherineswritingsblog

he just wants his snack- which is you.

Watchful Eyes - @espinosaurusrexex

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself. (CEO!Steve Rogers)

Cherry On Top - @dcllbows

you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work. (Ddlg, Daddy!Andy Barber)

Voracious - @arilevinsons

The first time he set eyes on you; you were his sudden infatuation. (DarkProfessor!Ari Levinson)

Best Friend’s Dad - @imyourbratzdoll

you've been pining over your best friend's dad and decide to take your chance, knowing he's out and your best friend is asleep, you be a little bit naughty and touch yourself on his bed, not knowing he's coming home early.

The Breeding Ground - @fl0werfae

To others, Ari’s house was a breeding ground for him and his omega, but to him it was just fulfilling her purpose of carrying his pups. (Alpha!Ari Levinson)

My Sweet Pea - @mavsstar

Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much. (Trailer Park Au)

Like A Movie Scene In The Sweetest Dream - @worksby-d

Johnny’s always been on your “no” list, but you've finally agreed to work with him. (Pornstar!Johnny Storm)

Easy As Pie - @navybrat817

You bake pies for Andy, but you're still his favorite treat.

[necrotic-nephilim]

@sasheneskywalker i love when you enable me to ramble about things because oh my god do i have thoughts.

so recently, i made a post discussing the phenomena of DC x DP and DC x MLB crossovers and why they exist and part of that post was discussing how largely speaking, at least half, if not more of the Batfamily fandom doesn't read the comics. if they interact with canon DC material, it's adaptations that are their own sequestered universes and oftentimes not remotely comic accurate or seeking to be. the most obvious example is the Young Justice cartoon. i'm adding a cut to this post because it just got so long i'm so sorry.

a lot of times, when people are discussing the "why" of this oversaturation of fanon-only fandom, they blame Wayne Family Adventures. and i think, to a point, i agree WFA is responsible for a boom in this fandom. but as someone who's been in the fandom long before we had WFA, to me it's the other way around. WFA was DC's way of meeting the demand for this easy-to-get-into, easy-to-consume content about the Batfamily that predicates itself on the comics just enough to be vaguely the same characters, but has a more sitcom, slice-of-life sort of vibe so DC could profit off of this section of the fanbase that otherwise wasn't consuming its primary material. and well, it's definitely worked. not only that, but i have a weird theory that the decline in the MCU also led to the rise in the Batfamily fandom. when you consider the fan content that made the MCU popular within fandom, it's that 2012 "they all live in Avengers Tower and Thor is eating poptarts and Clint is in the vents and there are movie nights every Friday" sort of vibe. those were the fics that were a hallmark of the fandom. and as the MCU has strayed from well... quality content in general, but specifically well-thought-out crossover content where characters can have their own arcs but also exist in a wider story where they clearly care about each other, that fandom was sort of homeless. so where do you go, if you like a superhero found family where you can have villains for angst but also stick them all in one big family-like home for silly crack and have a plethora of options for gay ships? well. you go to the Batfamily. if you write a crack/fluff Batfamily genfic with silly vibes and low stakes instead of say, a fic about a very specific comic issue even if it's a popular comic, you're *going* to get more traction for the former. because the fanbase largely just isn't reading the comics.

and i feel... complicated about this. because on one hand, Don't Like Don't Read has been a tenet of my fandom experience. i'm very pro-fandom and that includes fandom content i don't like. and to an extent, i do think this sort of should apply to Batfamily fanon. i enjoy having my moments with other comic purists, giggling over exceptionally painful OOC headcanons or even facepalming in pain over some content but it is on me to not interact with that content. you don't make fandom a better place by being hostile to fans who engage with canon in ways you don't approve of. and frankly? we as comic readers are not going to get non-comic fans to read the comics by being asshats to them. no one is going to want to pick up any comic if we get a superiority complex about it. and also, i feel like we're all lying to ourselves a little bit insisting comics are so, so easy to get into. they're not. we can just all agree, they're really not. i've been single-handedly helping my sister get into comics, specifically Wonder Woman and no matter how simple i make it, i watch her get frustrated trying to understand what pre-Crisis and post-Crisis and New-52 and Flashpoint and all these things mean and what a retcon vs a reboot is and what a Crisis Event is and what the hell Diana's current backstory even *is*. sure, you can give someone a beginner list of comics to start with and slowly dip their toes in the water but sooner or later, *something* is going to confuse them. comics as a medium straight up aren't going to be everyone's cup of tea. and if someone *just* wants to read silly fluffy fanfiction about the Batfamily, i can't entirely begrudge them for not wanting to take the hours and hours out of their day to understand this medium. it's not an accessible medium to get into. "read this and this, but this run is out of print and this run wasn't collected in trades at all but also make sure you read that event in order and this is a good comic but the backstory in it is retconned and you *have* to read this it's so important but it's also really bad because the author kind of sucks" sounds. ridiculous for someone who like. just wants to read some stuff about Nightwing. sometimes, we all make reading comics sort of sound like a chore, not a hobby.

so my point is, i do extend some grace to Batfamily fanon for existing. i think my biggest gripe is, as i said in my other post, misuse of tags (if you're not creating content about comics, maybe you don't need the comics fandom tag on Ao3, just the all media types umbrella tag) and my far bigger gripe: when panels are taken out of context to support fanon only headcanons. if i could impart *anything* onto the Batfamily fandom as a comic fan it'd be this: if you haven't *read* the comic, don't spread the panel. if you don't even know what comic it's *from*, don't spread the panel. it's fine to use comic panels to discuss your headcanons, but so often i see someone spreading a comic panel from a comic they haven't read, and when asked where it's from, they can't source it. a silly example that comes to mind is a post going around, taking a panel where Dick, in his internal monologue goes "here comes the sun. do do do do." and the post is claiming it's from him getting buried alive. when that panel comes from Nightwing (1996) #140, and he gets buried alive in Nightwing (1996) #127, two completely different moments frankensteined together. if you're going to not read the comics, that's completely fine, but unless you're sure of the source and the context, panels shouldn't be spread around. i'm sick of this specifically happening to Red Robin (2009), with ppl claiming Tim has totally killed people because he blew up some of Ra's' bases, when those panels within context, make it clear he gave everyone time to escape. and in a later arc in that very comic, Tim grapples with the idea of murdering Captain Boomerang, and *specifically chooses not to*, because he doesn't agree with murder, even against the person who has hurt him the most. if you'd like to write fanfiction where Tim is pro-murder and has done some sketch things, i'm totally on board and would probably like to read it. but there's no need to pretend it's canon from a few panels you saw out of context.

beyond that, i think it's not *entirely* correct to say that fanon is harmless. whenever i see very WFA-positive posts, they often default to the argument that WFA is fun and silly, and comic fans are killjoys for not liking it. which. i think is complicated because the issue is, WFA and fanon don't exist in a vacuum. if you like WFA power to you, i don't think it's the worst thing ever, but i do think it's degrading to these characters because honestly? they feel incompetent in the webtoon. it's one thing if WFA was solely a slice-of-life sort of deal, just having silly episodes where Bruce is taking on a PTA mom or they're all fighting for the last cookie. but when WFA attempts to take on more serious plots with these characters, it *fundamentally* falls flat in understanding them. i get it, Bruce comforting Jason having a panic attack because a noise reminded him of the crowbar felt cute in a microcosm, but i'm so serious when i say that storyline destroyed how like. half of this fandom understands Jason Todd's relationship to his trauma. it doesn't understand how he reacts when he's triggered, what coping mechanisms he seeks out, and how he would handle Bruce comforting him. even if i can believe for a brief moment Jason *would* be triggered by something like that, him running and trying to hide and then getting a hug from Bruce to make it okay is just. painful. WFA needs everything to be wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow. so even when it starts to tackle interesting concepts, it makes them fall flat with its need to be soft, low stakes, hurt/comfort. there was a two-parter episode that dealt with the complicated mutual hatred/jealousy between Tim and Damian that *almost* really interested me because for once, it felt like the webtoon wanted to explore canon messy dynamics. but of course, it had to be fixed with one conversation and a hug. you don't mend the *years* of issues these characters have like that. WFA isn't in character because these characters are hyperbole cartoonified versions of themselves to fit within the medium and be a cute happy family.

because that right there, is the crux of it. the Batfamily fanon seeks to simplify the Batfamily and force them into a nuclear family. there are so many fantastic posts on here discussing how the nuclear family-ification of the Batfam is eroding decades worth of complex histories so i won't go too far into that. but what i will say is that there's this need, in the Batfamily fandom, for the Batfamily to exist as a unit. they are a *family*. (honestly i think calling it the Batfamily is a misnomer and has been for years but we're in too deep now.) they exist to each other first, and any teams or friends they have come secondary to this family unit. you can *specifically* see this demonstrated in what headcanons are becoming popular these days. i have an entire lengthy meta in my drafts about how i *loathe* the "the Batfamily meets the Justice League" genre of fanfic because it makes no *sense*. in order to have this genre of fic exist, you must operate under the assumption that no one in the League, or adjacent to the League, knows the Batfamily exists and are thus utterly shocked to discover Batman has kids. and to make *that* work, you have to strip *every single Batfamily member* of such important dynamics and friendships so you can lock them all in Gotham for their whole lives. Dick can't have the Titans, Tim can't have Young Justice, Duke & Cass can't have the Outsiders, Jason can't have the Outlaws, Damian can't have the Supersons, Babs can't have the Birds of Prey, and so on. because if they had these relationships, they would be known to the League. the Batfamily fandom doesn't care about this, it's just "silly fanfiction", it's not trying to be serious. but how can you say you like Dick Grayson as a character if you don't understand the Titans *are* his family? at some points of his life, moreso than the Batfamily even is. it is constantly repeated to us in most comics with Dick how much the Titans mean to him. he *needs* them to be who he is. the same extends to every other Batfamily member, most of which have been full League members at this point. but in fanon, that doesn't matter. the Batfamily are a sequestered unit first, and all of those side relationships are secondary and easy to toss away, if it makes your fanfic work better.

and because they have to be a unit first, you have these forced relationships that dump years of actual canon material for the sake of making them get along. the Batfamily fandom has its favorites and well. it's no secret it's usually the boys. Jason and Tim by *far* stand out as fandom faves so, their dynamic is a heavily explored one. it does matter that in canon they don't tend to get along and especially don't see each other as family. what matters is that you can push dynamics onto them. and so fanon gets all twisted up about which Robin Tim actually idolized as a kid (Dick) and what member of the Batfamily is pro-murder but still an older sibling figure to him and looks out for him (Helena, or if you want the dynamic of once tried to harm Tim but they've reconciled, Jean-Paul) in favor of who's the most popular. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are always going to be the standouts for popularity, but it's specifically Jason and Tim who are getting fanonized the most. and that's because really, we don't have much canon content of Tim that *isn't* the comics. for Dick you've got Young Justice (tv), for Damian you've got the DCAMU, for Jason you've sort of got the Under The Red Hood movie, but Tim sort of lingers in this limbo. (yes, he's in Young Justce (tv) and Titans (live action) but in neither is he the main character nor given much depth) so, he gets a *lot* projected onto him and has become fanonized. and even with Jason's animated movies, you don't see him interact with Tim, so people build it from the ground up how they want to see it, disregarding of canon comics. i think it's what makes him so popular in the first place- he's malleable into whatever you want or need him to be.

and of course, the fanon ignores other characters in the Batfamily it doesn't know about. i feel like you could create a tier list of Batfamily characters by their popularity, going from the fandom main characters: Tim, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian. to the underrated: Steph, Duke, Babs, Cass. to the forgotten about unless they're convenient for a story: Kate, the Foxes, Helena Wayne, Carrie, Selina, Harper Row, Maps, Minhkhoa Khan. to the absolutely unknown: Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, the Clovers, Julia Pennyworth. it's not lost on me that the ignored characters tend to be women and people of color. which is both a canon and fanon problem, DC will continue adding interesting characters to the Batfamily, play with them for a few years, then drop them to default to the "Batboys" again. and it's a vicious cycle of the fandom only caring about the "Batboys", and thus people entering the fandom via fanon osmosis won't have content about the other characters, therefore, they won't be interested in those characters enough to create it, and it's just this ouroboros consuming itself, no matter how much canon content we have of these other characters. and it's ridiculous just how large the Batfamily is becoming because of this, which is why i'm a pre-Flashpoint fan, because then the Batfamily was contained enough to actually feel like a family with every character having nuances relationships with each other, but i digress because those thoughts could be their own post.

and the thing about fanon is it doesn't exist in a vacuum. DC has started turning the comics to accommodate for what fans are asking for, because fans will beg and beg for content they're not going to consume. Tim Drake: Robin had Tim as a coffee drinker because that's the fanon accepted headcanon. and the resolution of the recent Gotham War arc was for Bruce to buy this new manor for everyone to move in and call him. nevermind that most of these characters have their own homes and have zero reason to be moving in with Bruce. Tim had his marina in Tim Drake: Robin, Dick has Bludhaven, Cass and Steph have their little side of town in Batgirls (2022), and so on. these characters are being forced together as a unit, as one big happy family living together, to appease what non-comic fans want and it's damaging comic relationships. Robin: Knight Terrors saw Jason and Tim team up and working together, which i've seen varying opinions on but i personally despised. their interactions made zero sense for any of their canon history, but it appeases them being this close sibling relationship that fanon acts like they are. also the fears they faced in their respective knight terrors didn't make sense for either character and *only* worked as a moment of bringing them together so they could reassure each other and have this weird dreamscape bonding moment. the canon is bending itself to the will of fanon rather than building on the pre-existing complex relationships. Tim barely even gets along with his most important team in Dark Crisis: Young Justice because it seems the only important relationships the Batfamily can have is with each other. and when we do see them outside of the Batfamily, it only seems to be to relive the glory days like with World's Finest: Teen Titans, instead of developing them as they currently exist. this isn't recent in the comics, it feels like you can trace it back to the New-52, but it does feel a *lot* worse over the recent years. WFA is fine when it exists in its own bubble, but the simple truth is, DC content never exists on its own. the adaptations will reflect back onto the comics. (the damage the Young Justice cartoon has done to some characters should honestly be studied) and so it does frustrate me a bit when fanon-only or adaptation-only fans act like we're being nothing but killjoys for being frustrated with this. since they don't read the comics, they don't see how the comics are suffering as a result of this.

people argue about what's out of character for the comics they don't even read. i'm sorry, but "bad dad Bruce" is consistently canon. that man is just kind of shitty. when you take someone who has the drive he has, who has this need for the Mission first, who needs a teenager in spandex next to him to keep him off the ledge, that guy is sort of going to be a shitty father figure. he just is. not on purpose or with malice, but when you compare him to any other dad in a big DC family, he sure takes the cake. it's why characters like Oliver Queen tend to *really* fucking hate Bruce for how he treats his kids. Bruce loves fiercely, but he doesn't do well with putting that love first. and his love is a controlling one, he is very particular about controlling how others in the Batfamily are "allowed" to operate. it's what drives the wedge between him and Dick, it's why Steph is never a true daughter to him. (besides the reason of her needing to be a love interest to Tim first, anyway-) i've never understood the massive outcry of people reacting to Bruce kinda being shitty in comics they're not reading. there are some moments that get ridiculously OOC with how cartoonishly evil he is (the whole Gotham War arc and that... complicated mess with Jason) but largely if you want sitcom loving nuclear father Bruce, you have to accept that is a fanon thing, not a canon one. the Batfamily being a nuclear family in *general* is fanon. most of the "Batkids" don't actually see Bruce in a particularly fatherly light and begging for moments where he calls them his kids or they call him dad outside of incredibly specific circumstances is just OOC.

it's getting harder and harder to exist peacefully in this fandom it feels like, if you don't comply to the standard fanon has set. i'm happy people are having fun with their blorbos, even if in ways i dislike, but that "harmless fandom fun" does ripple it's way back to canon, eventually. so i end up pretty tangled with my feelings because are fans at fault for DC making these poor decisions? probably not, but it certainly feels like an unfortunate cause-and-effect situation whether at the end of the day, nobody is happy. and of course, i know some fanon-only fans are striving to be more canon accurate and care about canon dynamics more than others, but for them it's always going to be an uphill battle with the above-mentioned out-of-context panels thrown around and ever-pervasive fanon overtaking anything that's truly seeking to be canon compliant. so really, it sometimes feels like we're all losing.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Carmen

| "...the boys, the girls, they all like carmen, she gives them butterflies, bats her cartoon eyes. she laughs like god, her mind's like a diamond...baby's all dressed up with nowhere to go, that's the little story of the girl you know. relying on the kindness of strangers, tying cherry knots, smiling, doing party favors..." |

| this drabble contains sexual content ;) | the 2nd edition to the 'Born to Die' series |

As Soarynn Nightingale climbs the steps of Clemensia Dovecote's apartment building, she sometimes forgets that some people don't live in townhouses, that some people are crammed into giant buildings with hundreds of other families.

What a terrible way to live.

Soarynn is more than used to living a life of luxury, the life she deserves if she's being honest. Her father has seen to it that she's always been taken care of, in school, in public, and even in private.

She's a Nightingale, and she'll be treated as such.

Soarynn can only think of one other person who shares a similar mindset to hers when it comes to carrying the family name. This other person, however, is the most arrogant, cocky, and annoying person she has ever met in her entire life.

And she's known him since she was five.

Coriolanus Snow.

Hopefully, he's not at this party. Clemmie said it would be small, intimate, and exclusive. Soarynn was obviously invited, top of the list like always. She's never missed a social event and can't wait to graduate from the Academy so she can attend University parties.

She's greeted by the doorman, who is more than used to seeing her face. Soarynn has been in and out of this building hundreds of times since she and Clemensia became steadfast friends when they were little. Clemensia lives on the Corso with all the other important Capitol families.

Soarynn and her father are the only people in the elite circles of the Capitol who don't live on the Corso, choosing to live in a more private residential area on Cornelia Street instead. She's heard it countless times from classmates and friends, how lucky she is to have a whole house to live in rather than an apartment.

The only other person that comes to mind when she thinks about living in a house is the President. She's not mad about that comparison at all.

Soarynn makes her way into the elevator, pushing the button to take her to the fifth floor. Clemmie doesn't live in the penthouse, unfortunately. When the doors open up, Soarynn is standing tall, demanding to be respected. She walks out into the hallway, ten apartments are on each floor, and Clemmie lives at the end of the hall.

One person waits outside the Dovecote's door, desperate to get inside. She spots her friend standing outside, caught up in an argument from the looks of it. "...for the last time, Sejanus, you're not invited!"

Soarynn rolls her eyes at the pitiful thought of Sejanus Plinth trying to get into a party like this. Sure enough, he's crowding the door, trying to peer inside at the fun. "What's the problem?" Soarynn asks sweetly, looking up at Sejanus, who sprouted up like a beanstalk during their sophomore year.

Sejanus looks down at her with solemn eyes. Sometimes she feels bad for the kid, forced to move here when he was young so his father could pursue his business from the Capitol side of the border rather than the District side.

He's always been an outsider, and although Soarynn does her best to maintain her sweet persona, she's never gone out of her way to make Sejanus feel included.

He's not one of them, simple as that.

Sejanus goes to explain, but Clemensia holds her hand up, silencing him. "Sejanus here thinks he was invited, but I know I didn't send him an invitation," Clemensia snaps, glaring daggers at the boy.

He slouches, "You won't even know I'm here, Clemmie," he insists, causing Clemensia's face to twist in disgust. "Don't call me that," she says, grabbing Soarynn's arm, pulling her inside, "and don't come to my parties! I don't mingle with District."

Soarynn offers Sejanus a sympathetic look even though she's with Clemmie on this one, he doesn't belong in the Capitol and certainly not in their party. "Maybe next time, Sejanus," Soarynn lies, batting her lashes up at him, "I promise you're not missing anything." Another lie, but who's counting?

Clemensia doesn't give him a single second to say anything else, slamming the door in his face and scoffing, "The nerve of him, showing up to my residence like some creep!" She tosses her sleek ponytail over her shoulder, and Soarynn nods in agreement. "It's honestly sad to watch," she muses, looking around the entryway. "I don't even know how he found out about this."

Clemensia guides her down the hall, the noise of the party grows louder and louder. "Who knows how he found out, I still don't know how he and his family slithered their way into the Capitol. That whole family is one big mystery."

Soarynn, already tired of talking about Sejanus, chooses to change the subject. "Did you get your nails done?" Clemmie visibly brightens at the question, holding her hand out for Soarynn to see. "I did! They look like little snake scales, see?"

Soarynn would never say it out loud, but she thinks the designs Clemensia gets on her nails are so heinous. They're always so trendy, not classy at all. She'll never find a husband with those nails. They're also so sharp, whereas Soarynn's are short and always painted a light shade of pink, the same as her toenails.

"So cute," Soarynn gushes, leaning into her friend, she might have shitty taste in nail designs, but she's one of her best friends. "Who's here? I assumed the usual guest list?"

Clemensia is known for her parties, everyone wants an invite, but she only invites people in their inner circles, the richest, the people who will decide the future of Panem one day.

"Oh, the usual, you, Livia, Persephone, Urban, Felix..." Clemensia goes on and on while Soarynn peers around the corner into the living room, where everyone is already mingling. The girls are sporting short dresses, too short to wear in public without being ridiculed but perfect for private things like this. The boys are more relaxed as well, in button-up shirts and pants, no need for a suit or uniform.

Soarynn's dress is absolutely perfect for tonight, black and tight with a very low back. It'll be sure to drive the boys wild tonight which is her favorite thing about these parties, showing people what they can't have, girls and boys alike.

They all like Soarynn.

"...and Coriolanus."

Soarynn's eye twitches upon hearing that cursed name. She was hoping he wouldn't be invited, and if he was, then she hoped he wouldn't come. Of course, he's here.

"Oh, he's here?" She asks casually, craning her neck to see if she can spot his tall blonde head amongst the crowd. "Mhm, I know you don't really like him, but Persephone wanted me to invite Festus, so obviously, I had to invite Coriolanus." Soarynn nods, she gets it, public image is everything, and not even Clemensia Dovecote is immune to the power someone like Coriolanus Snow has in their circles.

It's best to be on his good side.

Unless you're Soarynn Nightingale and don't care what he thinks.

He hates that about her which only inspires her to keep it up.

"It's fine," she sighs, checking her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. "It's for Persephone." Their good friend Persephone Price is madly in love with Festus Creed, an unfortunate choice in Soarynn's opinion. Festus isn't ugly, but he's not her first choice, not by a long shot. Persephone says he's sweet and makes her laugh.

Since when was that important?

Soarynn is well aware of what's actually important. She needs to find someone rich, someone important, someone who will provide for her, someone ambitious.

Someone like Coriolanus Snow.

It pains her to admit it, but he's the smartest boy in their grade; he's aggressive and competitive, always saying "Snow lands on top" whenever he wins something. It's so stupid, but in a way, she admires his grit.

If only he weren't some upright asshole who thinks he's above everyone else.

Soarynn likes to think she was put on this earth to humble him, put him in check.

She'll be sure to step on his toes tonight, just for the fun of it.

Soarynn takes a deep breath before plunging into the deep end of the social pool, walking into the living room where several pairs of eyes land on her. Felix lets out a low whistle, he has no shot with her, but because his father is the President, she remains so very sweet when talking to him.

"Wow Soarynn," he says, rising from the sofa, "you clean up nice." Soarynn tries a soft giggle, leaning in so he can kiss her cheek, a friendly greeting for the elite Capitolites. She looks over Felix's shoulder and sees that Coriolanus is watching their entire interaction, callous as always.

"Well, I knew I'd be in the presence of greatness," she playfully jokes, earning her a few laughs. Felix is only important because his father is important. Soarynn needs to marry someone who's always important, despite their father's position in the world.

"Oh, Soarynn, you're here!" Persephone says, teetering into the living room with two drinks, one in each hand. Festus follows behind her. Soarynn wonders what they were doing before she got here. Nothing good, from the looks of his smug face.

"I am," she agrees, hugging her friend, "and your hair looks fabulous."

The girls exchange kisses and quick gossip about Sejanus Plinth, who was pathetically trying to gain entry to their exclusive party. "He was here?" Persephone asks with a hushed tone, her eyes flitting to the boys on the sofa, "I can't believe he even came! I mean, did he really think we'd let him in?" Her last words are caught by Festus, who has never had an issue butting into other people's conversations.

"Who tried to get in?"

All three girls go quiet, none of them feeling that this is newsworthy information. Finally, Clemensia crumbles, "Sejanus Plinth," she sighs as if remembering the whole exhausting ordeal, "showed up at the door, practically begging to be let in."

Coriolanus adopts a more guarded expression, he's made it very clear that he doesn't like Sejanus. Soarynn remembers watching Sejanus limp out of the boy's locker room one time, with Coriolanus right behind him, a smug grin on his face. They were both questioned at the Dean's office, but Coriolanus got off scot-free. Apparently, his father, Crassus Snow, threatened to pull out all his donations to the school if they tried to punish his son.

Coriolanus gets away with murder so long as his father is there to back him up. Soarynn doesn't mind Mrs. Snow half as much as she minds her son. Mrs. Snow always welcomed her with open arms, whispering about how she'd be perfect for her sweet little Coriolanus. The woman is obviously blind to how her son really acts, but Soarynn won't be the one to pull the wool off her eyes.

Crassus has always remained indifferent towards Soarynn whenever they've crossed paths, but she knows why.

She looks just like her mother.

Father told her about it one night. Soarynn had gone with him to a gala, and they ran into the Snows. She had been around sixteen at the time and hated Coriolanus as much as she does now. Some things never change. They greeted each other and exchanged polite grievances, but Crassus seemed to be on one that night; too much champagne is what his wife wrote it off as.

He kept staring at Soarynn, to the point where she began to wonder if there was something on her face. His son was also staring at her, but that was nothing new. Coriolanus has never shied away from blatantly staring at people he either likes or hates.

Soarynn falls into the second category.

She asked her father about Crassus Snow's strange behavior once they got home, and he told her all about how Crassus Snow was madly in love with her mother when they were all younger.

"He was smitten with her," he explained, "besotted, couldn't go a day without seeing her. But your mother didn't return his feelings, she didn't long for a life with a Snow."

That confused Soarynn. The Snows were the richest family in Panem, her family was right under them, and the rest followed. Why wouldn't her mother take advantage of such a great opportunity?

"She didn't wish for a life of fake plesantries; she wanted more freedom and less societal pressure. I'm sure she would've run off with some District bloke if it wouldn't have lead to public shaming," her father mused. "Marrying Crassus meant conforming to his idea of perfection. Always having to meet his standards. It's not easy to be the wife of a Snow."

Having never met her mother, Soarynn only knew about her from stories and everyone telling her about how identical she looked to her. Soarynn has seen enough pictures to confirm this popular belief. She is Cera Nightingale's twin. No wonder Crassus can only stand to be around her for so long.

"I never thought I had a chance with your mother," father admitted. "I felt she was far too perfect for me, but I made her happy, made her laugh, let her do what she wanted to do. In the end, she chose me over Crassus. It caused quite a rift in my relationship with him. It's only been repaired in the past ten years, and we have you children to thank for that."

Soarynn had never been so confused in her life. What did she and Coriolanus have to do with their father's relationships? Nothing, nothing at all...unless...they thought there was a chance they'd get married and mend the rift.

Marrying Coriolanus Snow, ugh.

"Your mother wanted a little girl more than anything, she was so excited for you to come. We both were. You're the greatest gift she ever gave me, honey."

Soarynn knew as well as anybody that her mother died giving birth to her. She was able to imagine what her father went through, but that new information led her to wonder what Crassus went through. Watching the woman you once loved succumb to death while birthing the daughter who could have been yours. Coriolanus had been born months before she was, leading their parents to believe it was fate.

Or just bad timing.

Either way, it couldn't have been easy for Crassus Snow. And now, instead of forgetting the woman he once loved, he gets to see her daughter all the time. At least she's not in love with his son, that would be awkward. Soarynn can't stand Coriolanus, so cocky, so stuckup.

"Fucking Plinth," he seethes from the sofa, gripping his glass of posca, "I'm telling you, they think they're one of us. Just because you bought your way into the Capitol doesn't mean you belong here." Everyone nods in agreement, even Soarynn. He's right, Sejanus does not belong here.

"Next time, let me know," Festus says cooly. "I'll take care of it."

Soarynn snorts, ignoring the look she gets from Persephone. "Sure Festus, just like you took care of Titus the last time you two got in a fight." Festus immediately turns red when she reminds him of the very recent fight he got into with Titus Fenton. Titus is all muscle and no brains, he's an idiot, to put it plainly.

Soarynn knows how much Persephone likes Festus, and that's all fine and dandy, but it doesn't mean that she has to like Festus. He's best friends with Coriolanus which is dangerous territory for her.

"Well, what have you been up to this summer, Soarynn? Keeping busy with your gentleman callers?" Festus is playing with fire by trying to embarrass her. Soarynn gives him a smile all too sweet to be true and Coriolanus chuckles, bracing for the worst to be bestowed onto his friend.

"Oh, I've been keeping busy alright, Festus darling," she purrs back, "I've been helping out at the school, and I came across the most interesting file the other day. It had your name on it and said something about you almost failing last year's classes? Perhaps I misread the words."

Felix lets out another low whistle, and Coriolanus covers up his laugh with a cough. Festus is furious, it serves him right, too, trying to play with Soarynn Nightingale.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Soarynn," he replies, though not with the same amount of confidence he had moments before she delivered the deadly blow.

Soarynn hums, she makes it her business to know other people's business. It's easier to use it against them that way, to stay on top. "Then why don't you stay out of my business?" Festus lowers his gaze, no longer challenging her. "Fine."

She clasps her hands, wearing a pleased grin now that she's won this fight. "Good! Now, what's everyone doing for their last week of summer?"

꧁ ꧂

They're about an hour into the party when Persephone whispers in Soarynn's ear. "Did you really have to light into Festus like that? He was only teasing Soarynn." Perspehone has been blinded by love, it's painfully obvious to Soarynn, who doesn't have time for such frivolous things.

"The boy's an idiot, Persephone," she whispers back, glancing across the coffee table where Festus is spread out on the sofa, currently in a conversation with Clemmie and Coriolanus. "He nearly failed physical education! Do you know how hard it is to fail the easiest class the school offers?"

Her best friend scoffs, too blinded to see the truth. "He just gets stressed," she explains, taking a sip of her drink, "he's got a lot of pressure on his shoulders right now."

Soarynn doesn't buy that for a second. "Like what? Because he looks very relaxed right now."

"Once he graduates from the University, he'll have to make a name for himself, he has to carry the Creed lineage. This is very stressful stuff, Soarynn."

If Soarynn had to place bets on which boy has the most pressure on him, she'd bet on Coriolanus Snow. If he's anything like his father, he'll want the best and only the best for himself and his family. Festus doesn't come close to touching Coriolanus Snow.

Soarynn slyly looks over at where Coriolanus is sitting, his legs spread, taking up so much room. His fingers are wrapped around his glass of posca, his shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves rolled up. She sees that his curls are a bit unruly tonight, broken free from any product he puts in them.

It's very unfair how good he looks right now.

She's so focused on looking at him that she doesn't notice him looking at her. Not until Persephone nudges her and Soarynn looks directly into his piercing blue eyes. He looks smug to have caught her staring, and Soarynn scrowls, standing up, "I'm going to get another drink, want anything?"

Persephone looks longingly at Festus, "I'm fine for now, Festus will get me something if I get thirsty." Soarynn stops her eyes from rolling to the back of her head. If she ever gets to be like this because of a boy, she'll have Clemensia push her into oncoming traffic.

Ignoring his penetrating stare, Soarynn makes her way into the kitchen, glad to let her guard down for a few minutes. In a world where one is always trying to beat the other, it's imperative to always keep your guard up and remain sharp and tactile.

She helps herself to some punch that's gone untouched, most of her peers preferring alcohol as they get older. Soarynn glances around the kitchen, the Dovecotes have an impressive apartment despite it not being a penthouse. Mrs. Dovecote has kept it lavishly decorated over the years, never going too overboard with the small details.

There are two types of wealth in the Capitol: new money and old money.

Sejanus Plinth and his breed are the perfect example of new money. Their wealth dates back to two decades ago when Strabo Plinth started making a little bit of money.

Should his business run dry, he'll have nothing to fall back on.

Soarynn and her family are the perfect example of old money. Their wealth dates back several generations to when one of her distant relatives made his fortune and passed it along to his children while setting some aside.

Should her father's business run dry, they'll have something to fall back on.

There are other ways to decipher the two, such as furniture for example. Old money has dated pieces passed down from generation to generation. New money buys from catalogs. Old money has family heirlooms such as jewelry or paintings. New money goes to a gallery or jewelry store for something new.

Some might argue that money is money, but they're probably either poor or come from new money.

Soarynn and her friends are well aware of the differences and see themselves and their families above those who have just come into their fortunes.

Soarynn drums her fingers against the marble countertrops; she can't believe that her last year of attending the Academy is so soon. She still has one big summer event before the school doors open up for her one last time. The horse races. Her father usually prefers to stay home but she managed to convince him to go this time, and she can't wait to place bets.

Soarynn is all for being traditional, but she has no issue stepping into the male-dominated space every once in a while, especially to prove them wrong.

She's so focused on what she's going to wear to the races that she doesn't even notice Coriolanus sneaking up on her. "Lost in thought?" Soarynn snaps out of her daze, glaring storms at him without a second thought. He stands on the other side of the counter, an amused look on his annoyingly handsome face.

It's even worse because he knows he's good-looking.

"Yes I am," she answers haughtily, "but you wouldn't know much about that would you? You don't tend to think much when it comes to anything."

His jaw ticks, she's got him right where she wants him.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he announces loudly, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear him.

Soarynn watches him stalk down the hallway, already pissed off and she hasn't even gotten started yet. She waits one beat, two beats, three beats. She finishes off her punch and goes down the same hallway, glad she's familiar with the layout of this apartment.

Soarynn can see the bathroom light through the door. She looks over her shoulder to confirm that no one's followed her before knocking once, then twice, then once again. The door opens and she's looking up at Coriolanus Snow, the boy she hates and also fucks from time to time.

"You really should be taught some manners," he hisses, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her inside. He slams the door shut, locking it so no one can find them scandalously entangled like this. Soarynn stares up at him defiantly. Some people might be scared of Coriolanus Snow, but she's not.

He's just a boy.

She's seen him at his most vulnerable moments, buried balls deep inside her cunt, whimpering like a dog in heat. "Maybe you need to learn to pick better friends," she snaps back, not batting an eye when his hand comes up to grab her by the jaw.

Coriolanus is notoriously rough in bed, so rough that most girls have only slept with him once. But Soarynn likes it rough, that's what makes her so special. She doesn't mind being thrown around or manhandled. It turns her on, which turns him on.

It's a win-win situation.

Soarynn first discovered his sexual fantasies and desires one day in a storage closet at school. He had dragged her in there to have a private argument, which led to his lips on her lips, and their clothes quickly made their way to the floor. Ever since that fateful day, they've been having these secret little meetings, getting their stress out, and then going their separate ways.

It's made it a little more diffcult to act like she hates him so much, which she does, but she also loves his fingers inside of her, the curve of his cock, how big his hands are, how good of a kisser he is.

He's like this poison that she can't help but take, only for the three minutes of bliss she feels before she slowly starts to whither away.

"Maybe you need to learn how to keep your mouth shut," he fires back, looming over her. And he's tall, so, so tall, even when she's in heels, he's taller than her.

"Why don't you make me?"

That's all he needs to hear to press his lips to hers in a fiery kiss fueled with lust and held-back frustration. Soarynn hadn't planned on him being here tonight, but she still came prepared with her lacy black thong that he'll be sure to love.

Soarynn whimpers into the kiss when his hand slides down to her throat, applying enough pressure to make her dizzy with desire. His other hand comes to rest on her bareback, slipping under the fabric of her tight dress.

"Baby's all dressed up with nowhere to go, huh?" He teases, squeezing her waist, "Thought you'd get some attention wearing this? Thought some Capitol boy would come sweep you off your feet at this party?"

That's probably the thing she likes most about Coriolanus, he doesn't try to act all good and noble when they're having sex. He's his authentic self: degrading, rude, and arrogant. Neither of them has to pretend to be someone they're not for the other person.

It's all out in the open.

"I did," she says in between kisses, "unfortunately, you showed up instead, so I had to settle." He lets out a throaty chuckle, they're too evenly matched when it comes to their words and hatred for one another.

Soarynn can't believe people think they should get married.

He lets go of her throat and grabs her waist with both hands, lifting her up as if she weighs nothing. Soarynn gasps in surprise, only relaxing when she feels him set her down on the bathroom counter. Now, they're a little more even when it comes to height. Soarynn wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back down to her so she can get in a few more kisses.

While he kisses her, his hand slides between her thighs, headed to her most sensitive area.

Many things can be said for Coriolanus Snow, but he is a very good lover. He's gone down on her more times than she can count, not even expecting her to return the favor. He's the most dangerous type of man in her opinion, the man who enjoys eating cunt for the fun of it, out of sheer enjoyment.

He eats her out like he's fucking starving.

Soarynn rolls her hips the second his fingers brush against her clit, barely covered by her panties. Coriolanus has teased her about the lingerie she wears one too many times. He says they barely cover anything. She says that's the whole fucking point.

It doesn't help that he likes to break things, including her bralettes when he can't get the hooks undone. One time, he did it at school, and she chewed him out about it for a good five minutes while he tried not to laugh.

Thankfully, she's not wearing a bralette today.

"So wet for me," he teases, biting her bottom lip with his teeth, "just sitting across from me gets you off, huh?"

Soarynn tries to scoff but it turns into a whine when he pushes her panties aside to rub her clit, elicting the most wonderful sensations. Most boys his age don't even know what the clit is so he's a mircale in that regard.

"No," she gasps, arching her body into his, "but arguing with your friends does. Maybe I'll let one of them finally taste me before the summer's over."

His change in demeanor is remarkable. He goes from cocky to pissed off in a matter of seconds. His lips latch onto her neck despite her very clear instructions to leave no marks when they have these little rendezvous. They must come back the same way they left.

Soarynn moans when she feels a finger slip inside of her. It's been a few weeks since she saw Coriolanus and that was at a charity auction. They snuck off to a dark corner where she gave him a blowjob and he returned the favor by making her cum in less than five minutes with his nose.

His nose!

He says she tastes good, smells good too.

Soarynn doesn't know how to feel about that.

"You won't let anyone taste you," he growls, sucking on the tender skin of her neck, "we're exclusive, remember?"

In the midst of the pleasure, Soarynn finds enough strength to roll her eyes at his possessiveness. After the first time they had sex, Coriolanus had proposed an arrangement to continue to secretly meet in exchange for mind-blowing sex.

They've never done it at their respective homes, too risky since they aren't officially courting. But he was very insistent on them remaining exclusive, loyal to each other. Soarynn saw it as greed and insecurity, whereas he claimed it was for the sake of their sexual hygiene.

Soarynn thinks that if it smells like shit, it probably is shit.

"How could I forget?" She taunts, reaching down to palm him through his pants, "You'd rather kill yourself than share me."

Coriolanus gives her neck one last suck and pulls away, breathless and his curls are tussled. "Correction, I don't want to share your cunt, not you, darling." The petname goes straight to her core, he called her that once and got a visceral reaction from it. He's used it on her ever since. It's both coddling and condescending.

He presses a row of kisses to her jaw, "You can throw yourself to the dogs anytime you want, Soarynn, but we both know you'll just come crawling back to me when you're done."

Angered beyond belief, Soarynn takes a firm grip of his hardened cock, making him groan. "You're a dog too, Coriolanus, the only difference between you and them is that I have you on a leash."

There, now they're even.

He's mad, she's mad. There's only one solution to this.

"Turn around and bend over."

Soarynn does what he says, not because she listens to him, but because they have a very limited amount of time before someone comes looking for them. Soarynn arches her back, pressing her ass against his crotch, smirking when he lands a slap to her ass. Coriolanus pushes her dress over the curves of her back, swearing under his breath when he sees the panties she wore tonight.

"It might make you less of a whore if you started wearing less provacative panties."

Soarynn smiles at him from over her shoulder, "What makes you think I want to stop being a whore?"

They have such a way with words.

Coriolanus merely glares at her while unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Soarynn rests her hands on the sink, preparing for a good fuck, a hard fuck. She feels the tip of his cock pushing at her entrance, it slides in seamlessly and they both moan at the feeling.

Coriolanus buries himself to the hilt before pulling back out so he can slam back into her. Soarynn has to clench her teeth so she doesn't moan too loudly. Coriolanus is relentless with his thrusts, hitting her sweet spot every single time with amazing accuracy.

"You're only a whore for me though," he grunts, slapping her ass again, "only fall apart on my cock, my fingers, my tongue. No one else can make you feel this way."

He's right, no one on earth could piss her off as much as he does.

Soarynn tries to come up with something snarky to say, but her mind is clouded with lust and pleasure. He seems to pick up on that and brings a hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit in tight circles. Soarynn cries out, and her legs begin to shake.

She's already getting close to her orgasm which is going to be a new record for them at the rate he's fucking her.

She's so, so close when she hears footsteps getting so, so close to the bathroom door.

"Soarynn? Are you in here?"

Both their eyes go wide, and Soarynn quickly turns on the sink. "I am," she calls, reaching behind her to grab Coriolanus, he's still fucking her and it's going to blow their cover.

"Have you seen Coriolanus?"

Soarynn wishes Clemmie would buzz off, but she's a good hostess who, unfortunately, cares very much about her guests. Coriolanus leans forward, brushing his nose against the shell of her ear, "Lie for me baby, be my good girl and lie for me."

Soarynn whimpers, she can feel something dripping down her leg, and it's not water from the sink.

"I...I, I think he went outside," she croaks, her eyes fluttering from his fingers on her clit.

"Oh, alright, let him know we're looking for him if you find him first," Clemmie calls. Soarynn nods even though her friend can't see her, listening to her receding footsteps.

Coriolanus doesn't miss a beat and starts pounding into her even harder than before, taunting her. "Such a fucking slut, lying to your friend. What would she say if she found you split open on my cock Soarynn? Would she call you a whore? Would she be jealous? Would she go tell everyone that little Soarynn Nightingale likes it hard and fast?"

"Fuck...you," she gets out, going limp when her orgasm finally washes over her. Coriolanus holds her up, riding through her orgasm so he can reach his own. Soarynn is more and more grateful for her implant each and every time they do this.

Coriolanus loves to finish inside of her.

They're both panting, sweaty messes in the Dovecote's bathroom. Neither of them says anything, sometimes they leave without saying a word. There's nothing to say.

He finally breaks the silence, tracing a finger down her spine. "I like this dress," he mumbles. Soarynn looks at him through the mirror's reflection. Sometimes, he actually looks sweet, like someone she'd want to court.

Then he says something mean and ruins the whole fantasy.

"I wanted to look nice," she says, straightening up, "presentation is everything, as you know."

He nods, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Every time they do this, she wonders if it'll be the last, if one day she'll see him with a girl and know that it's over. Whatever is between them is over.

She'll have to leave first, she decides. In a world like this, you either leave or get left behind.

"Well, this was fun. You should head out first since they're looking for you," she throws out, hoping he'll catch her hint to get the fuck out. He does, thank goodness. She sighs when he pulls out, suddenly feeling so empty, and it's not because he isn't inside her anymore.

Coriolanus quickly cleans himself up, handing her a wad of toilet paper to make due with as well. Soarynn takes it and wipes between her legs, at least her panties are still intact. She's about to pull them up when he gets down on his knees, causing her to stop.

"What're you doing?"

He shakes his head, a grin now on his lips. "Just trust me," he says, sliding her panties down her smooth legs. Soarynn doesn't know why she listens, but she does. He slides them down to her ankles, and Soarynn carefully lifts one foot and then the other so he can take them completely off.

Coriolanus holds her panties in his hands while she waits with baited breath, no clue as to what he plans to do with them. He rises back up to his full height, and that bastard stuffs them into his pocket!

Soarynn gasps, punching him in the chest, "Give those back!"

Coriolanus laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, "You gave them to me. It's like a souvenir, something that says: 'I visited Soarynn Nightingale's cunt and lived to tell the tale.'"

She's going to kill him.

If she wasn't mad before, she's furious now.

"Give. Them. Back."

"No."

Coriolanus unlocks the doors and opens it, fresh air is gladly welcomed into the confined space. "I'll give them back," he says, flashing her that infamous grin, "eventually."

He leaves before she can say or do anything else, left to deal with the mess he's made. Soarynn scowls, slamming the door shut so she can finish wiping up. The nerve of him! That asshole!

She'll get even.

She always does.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn finds herself sitting across from Coriolanus again, the only difference is that she's missing her panties.

He looks so proud of himself, smirking while halfheartedly listening to the conversation taking place in front of them. It seems that Festus and Persephone got into a fight while they were fucking and it's still not over.

With everyone's attention on those two, Soarynn decides to lean back into the sofa, spreading her legs the same way Coriolanus does to take up as much space as possible. He glances at her once and then does a double take when he realizes that her cunt is on full display.

Soarynn tilts her head all innocent-like, pretending nothing is wrong with this picture. It's so satisfying to see how angry he gets, how he grabs a throw pillow so tightly, how his face gets red and his cock begins to harden all over again.

'Close your legs,' he mouths to her.

Soarynn pretends not to see him. If he wants to steal her panties then that's fine but if he wants to call her a whore, then two can play at that game. She'll gladly be the girl who keeps her legs spread for all to see.

He clears his throat in an effort to get her attention, but she ignores him entirely. In a final attempt, he launches the pillow at her, catching everyone off guard. Soarynn shuts her legs and glares at him, "What the hell was that for?"

They get quite a few looks from their friends who are well aware of their rivalry but unaware of what lies beneath it. To them, this is normal, everyday behavior for Coriolanus and Soarynn.

He shrugs, pleased to have gotten his way, "Just felt like it."

Soarynn nods, setting the pillow down next to her. She slowly leans forward, grabbing her fresh glass of punch, "Well, since we're doing things we feel like doing, have some punch, Coriolanus." She jerks her arm forward, splashing the punch at him with precise aim.

Not a drop lands on the furniture or the floor.

Just on Coriolanus.

All the girls gasp, and the boys cover their mouths with their hands. No one makes a move. Coriolanus uses his hand to wipe the red punch off his face, looking down at his stained outfit in disbelief.

"You fuckin-" He's cut off by Festus who sharply elbows him. Soarynn is sure they talk about sex in private, but they're in the presence of ladies right now.

Although Soarynn is no lady.

The tension is broken by the front door being opened and the Dovecotes walking into a soaking wet Coriolanus Snow. "Coriolanus dear," Mrs. Dovecote gasps, "what on earth happened to you?"

He wipes some more punch off his face, "I spilled."

Soarynn smirks, he'd rather lie than tell the truth and be more embarrassed than he already is. Public image is everything, after all.

"Did you get any on the sofa?"

"No, Mrs. Dovecote."

The older woman lets out a sigh of relief, "Oh, thank goodness. We just got the sofas cleaned. And Clemensia, darling, make sure your friends use the coasters for their drinks. Your grandfather paid good money for that coffee table."

Mrs. Dovecote casts Coriolanus one more curious glance before heading to her bedroom, leaving the children to sort out their differences. "You're so wet," Soarynn observes, remembering how he said those words to her in a very different setting, "maybe you should dry off Coriolanus."

He abruptly stands up, and if looks could kill, she'd be dead.

"It was lovely seeing you all tonight," he spits out, casting her one last glare before stomping to the hallway. When they hear the front door close, Livia lets out a laugh, "I can't believe you did that, Soarynn! He's going to kill you!"

Soarynn shrugs, if anything, the sex will be great the next time they see each other. "He had it coming," is all she says.

She can already hear Coriolanus venting about this to his father and then to his friends, complaining about her. "Only seventeen, but she walks the streets so mean."

He'll get over it.

With things like this, you either get over it or under it, and Soarynn knows Coriolanus will choose to get over it.

It's etiher that or stay at the bottom.

And as he likes to say, Snow lands on top.

| 'Born to Die' |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

{Companion: 'This Is What Makes Us Girls'}

| taglist: @lovelylove268 @kickmybark @iswearicanfixhim @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf @evilmenarehot @cervvsq @snowgirl12 @matcha-muses @anisangeldust @snowsgames |

[andromeda-nova-writing]

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?”

Fem!Reader Words: 1742

AN: Is it a sequel to the last fic or a request from @isekyaaa? It's both! I hope I've done the prompt justice for you

Y/N’s classroom was silent as she shuffled papers around trying to clean up what was now a shared classroom. To say it was her classroom wasn’t a good way to describe the room. It was a room that she had been thrown into over a month ago on the other side of the campus. The classroom was cramped, lights would flicker in and out, and the heat would never kick in. It felt as if the university just wanted her to quit. Had her rightful complaints of poor treatment got her into this? Or maybe it was the fact she wasn't afraid to critique their golden boy? 

At least she had already completed her final class of the day and with no meetings, all that was left to do was to go home. Hopefully, the next teacher here will be satisfied with her cleaning. With the knock on the door, she assumed that was who had shown up.

“I’ll be just a minute. I’m almost done in here.” Y/N placed the last of the papers within her bag, eyes not even making contact with the door frame. “I just have to clean the whiteboard.”

There was a man’s sigh followed by footsteps and a binder landing in front of her on the desk where she sat. It was a plain purple that felt way too familiar. Looking up at its owner she shouldn’t have been surprised. “What do you want Ratio?” Her question came off in a mix of annoyance, tiredness, and ready for a fight.

“Open it.”

“Your hands work.”

“Will you just open the binder?” A question that sounded more like a demand

She rolled her eyes before doing what she had been asked. There was no sense in fighting every little thing. Looking at the paper on top, it was just a simple list of grades over time. There were two sections highlighted about a month apart from each other with a noticeable improvement. It was small but clear to see. “It's a start at least. Is this all you have to show me?”

He flipped to the next page. It was the start of a thesis for what he must have been currently working on. The page was covered in red ink of his handwriting over the text he had printed out. It had been a bit odd to see knowing how much he had preferred to work in digital. He had on plenty of occasions spoken a snide comment to her about how he did not need to leave to grab a notebook and that he had access to everything he needed at all times. There were too many times when he had given her a side eye even on just running out of ink.

“You do know I’m in an entirely different field of study than anything you’ve done? I’m not sure if you really want me to read this over. It may be best to find someone else.” She closed the binder, rejecting his request before getting up to clean the whiteboard behind her. “I teach art history. I’m doing a fashion history course at the moment!” She emphasized as began to wipe down the whiteboard, clearing it of a few things that had been required for her students to take note of. 

“You are able to not hold back on giving critiques which is a skill in itself.” One that others at the university he found were lacking. “I do not require someone who has a similar knowledge as me. It’s harder to understand where my writing doesn’t make sense when someone has an easier time following along with the subject matter.”

Y/N dropped the cloth in her hands, turning around. “That is not the compliment you think it is!”

“And it wasn't an insult either!” He pinched his nose in an attempt to remain calm. “It's a rough draft. There are still things I would like to add but I want you to read through it first.”

She leaned against the clean side of the whiteboard that was behind her. “It would be better to find someone else to read through it. What part of that do you not understand?”

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” He had said it louder than he had meant to, emotions taking over for a brief moment. Perhaps the same emotions that had derailed his train of logic led him to even ask her for this favor.

“The part where you are the one who is saying it. I’m bound to say something that will start a debate and derail your work. Or better yet I help you only end up teaching in a closet next.”

“You act as if I am the one who put you in here.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You even yelled at me over this a month ago.”

“I wasn't yelling.” 

He had crossed his arms giving her a side eye.

“You are misremembering. I was annoyed yes but yelling no.” 

“If you can remember that you can remember your own actions then. You waltzed in and blamed me for the actions of people higher up than me.”

“I,” she sighed remembering back on it more, “I did do that didn’t I? To be fair, your lack of teaching skills left me in a room where I feel like I'm going to turn into an ice cube. How are you even standing in here without shivering?” Y/N asked as she looked over the more revealing aspects of his attire. 

He shook his head at the lack of an apology. “They do keep most of the servers within this building. That's still no excuse for why this room is so cold.”

“Every time I ask about it I'm told either the heat is out or that it's on low. I was told it was going to be fixed but I’m pretty sure that was a lie now. Most of my students started bringing blankets to class with them. They are just recording the lecture instead of taking notes and I can tell they aren’t going back to listen to it cause the grades are just dropping now.” Y/N complained with defeat just washing over her. 

“Have you made it known that these changes are affecting your class?” He asked the obvious as if she couldn’t think of it herself.

“They will make changes off of things you say because the complaints come from you. Your name carries weight. No matter how correct I am, because I even dare to point out a flaw of yours I am to be ignored and tossed aside so as to not ruin what your name brings to this place.” Her eyes drifted to the floor. “I’m clearly being punished. If I speak about what is going on anymore who knows what I may lose next? The arts remain to be disrespected even when used to teach about the history of different worlds. I must face the fact that I am not wanted.” It hurt a bit to admit it allowed. This had been a dream job of hers and it felt horrible to see it ripped from her over a lack of general respect from those above her.

“I want you.” He repeated once more with softness and desperation leaking into his voice. “As annoying as your critiques can be, listening to them has forced me to take a look at myself and bring improvement. Trying to improve myself without the input of another only works for so long. I’ve seemed to have forgotten that.” Perhaps he had grown too similar to some of those who worked here in that aspect. The distance between them was breaking as he moved closer into her space. 

Her laughter filled the small space between the two of them. One that was genuine, not filled with their usual sarcasm and jabs back and forth. “Are you hiding a literature degree there? I've never heard anyone beg for a critique like this before.” She teased.

“It’s not begging. I am just asking what I know you are capable of. You would have given your thoughts without me asking, wouldn’t it be better to invite those thoughts instead?” 

“I suppose it would but I'm not quite sure about it still. My critiques of you haven't ended well for me. What's to say this time would be different?”

“I believe I have met your requirements to discuss what is considered life-changing once more.” The grades rising just by points didn’t meet what she had asked of him and yet it was enough to take his advances seriously. 

“I wasn’t sure you would follow through on what I asked of you. Have you found a definition or have you found a different example?” She looked up at him, it took everything to not lose herself in how he was staring at her. His eyes tethered to her lips watching every movement. Part of her wished he would go through with the example she had put a stop to last time.

“It would seem that day in the library was example enough for me. The memory won’t quiet in my mind.”

“Perchance have you put that brain of yours to work figuring out what would quiet it?”

“It is less a matter for my brain to solve.”

“But you have found a solution?” Her eyes kept darting between his normally cold eyes and his lips which appeared so inviting. Maybe if she had paid more attention last time she would have noticed that before.

“I have.”

“I must ask, do you want me for a critique or do you want me?”

“If it’s both?”

“Then I would implore you to show me what you considered life-changing that day. It may persuade me to say yes.”

It was only a matter of mere seconds before Y/N found herself kissing the man she had been blaming for some of her issues with this university. However, she mostly laid the blame for those issues starting with his teaching style, but it was hard to focus on his flaws when he was being so loving at the moment.

Was it loving or more an act of desperation? Something that she would decide later as for now it was quite enjoyable being pinned against a whiteboard making out with a man she could have sworn was just a thorn in her side.

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

12 shoot for the stars. where you celebrate ushijima’s signing with a tokyo team

<< 11 star-crossed.| >> 13 hello, tokyo.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader word count: 1.6k warnings: nothing much tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers @brokenscaredakira @whosmarjj -- (inbox me if you want to be added to the tag list)

december, third year

the weather turns cold, ushering in the snowy winter days. you realize it will be the last winter you share with ushijima if you don’t end up going to school in tokyo next year. 

“let’s go to tokyo together” you remember his words, clear as the night sky the words were spoken under. ushijima had stayed true to his words, choosing to accept an offer to play with a v-league division one team based in tokyo. 

the ball is quite literally in your court now. 

your hands shake as you rip open the letter from the university of tokyo, the thin envelope almost foretelling the results. your eyes scan the words quickly. thank you for your application… we receive thousands of applicants… each goes through rigorous and demanding standards… we regret to inform–

the paper slips from your trembling hands.

cruel is the fate that dealt you your hand. you glance at the vision board balanced atop your dresser. the collage of letters torn out from magazines spelling out ‘university of tokyo’ mocking you like a cruel joke. 

you bite your lip, swallowing the tears welling in your eyes. life goes on, and you have a party to get to. 

ushijima’s celebration party is in full swing by the time you arrive. people chatting in groups, laughing, holding glasses of amber liquid. you recognize some of them, the players on the volleyball school team, a handful of classmates scattered across the sprawl of the first floor of the large house. a good portion of adults and strangers, who you assumed to be his mother’s friends or family. 

you are late, but late is better than never. it seemed like the universe is against you getting here on time today. you had decided last minute that the outfit you had prepared could be too casual, rummaging through your cabinet for something more. and when you were done, you could not find the gift where you left it, causing you to be even later than you already were. 

now weaving through the upscale crowd, looking for ushijima’s tall figure, you are glad that you went with a more formal outfit for the occasion. ah, there he is.

you stop dead in your tracks when you notice who he is talking to. 

because looking up at ushijima with a gentle smile, hair pinned back carefully, is a stranger clad in a simple and elegant dress. you rack your brain, going through the students at your school but came up short, so she probably doesn’t go to shiratorizawa. you wouldn’t forget someone like this. 

it is not just that, but also the two older ladies who are with them, presumably their mothers, that makes you pause. 

there is a feeling that you can recount on one hand the times you felt it settle over you. the indescribable feeling of witnessing something pivotal happening before you know what it is. once when your parents came home from the doctors when you were a toddler, the biggest smiles on their faces. you later found out that it was the day they learned your mother is pregnant with your sister. the other time was when your father packed his bags for a week long business trip in tokyo after your sister’s funeral. that turned into two weeks, then a month, and a permanent role change and only seeing him on new year’s day and emergencies. 

you twist away from them, ignoring that feeling that once again nudges itself against you. 

“hey” semi finds you easily by the drinks pouring yourself a generous amount of the bitter liquid despite being underaged. 

“you look good.” you nod your head in appreciation of the classy white button-up semi opted for.

“thanks, you talked to ushijima yet?”

“nah, he’s swarmed.”

he chuckles, “tell me about it.”

“want some?” you offer the cup to him. 

“i thought you hate the smell of alcohol.” semi scrunches his nose at you.

“today’s a special occasion, isn’t it?” your hand tightens around the glass. 

this is a celebratory party, you remind yourself. you had dropped off your gift at the entrance alongside the rather large pile of congratulatory presents, feeling out of place carrying the wrapped box around the party. 

you knew that ushijima came from an influential family in the miyagi prefecture, but this far outweighs the picture you had in your head of how affluent they are. they had a whole coat check for guests in the foyer. 

semi furrows his brows at your words. “shit, you heard back from tokyo today, didn’t you?”

“it has been decided, yeah.” you look away, finding ushijima making his way towards you. “let’s talk about this another time. tonight, we are celebrating.” 

you lift your glass, inclining your head at the star of the night. unfamiliar faces gravitate towards him, stopping him on the way, smiling and congratulating him on his new position with the v-league team, pulling him into conversations. 

the world has always kept its eyes on him, you think.

“yet his eyes are always on you.” semi comments, making you flush with realization that you spoke out loud. 

“i don’t know if i want things to change. what if it all goes wrong?” you shake your head, understanding what semi is implying with his words. 

despite coming to terms with the fact that the feelings might be mutual, you still have the irrational fear of having a fallout so catastrophic that you would lose him. that, and neither of you ever got around to addressing the shared moment during tanabata. you definitely were not putting it off as long as you could.

“what if it doesn’t?” what if it doesn’t? you have been unlucky your whole life that you know good things like that don’t just drop into your lap without some pre-attached conditions. lady luck has never been on your side, why would she start now?

“i don’t know, eita,” you shake your head. “it’s getting late, and i have an early morning practice tomorrow. i don’t think he’s gonna make it over at this rate. say hi to ushijima for me?”

your escape does not go unnoticed, for a moment later, ushijima catches up to you putting your jacket on in the foyer. 

“you’re leaving already?” he frowns at you. 

“yeah, sorry. i didn’t want to intrude since you seemed like you had your hands full.” you smile sheepishly at him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “i know you've heard it plenty tonight but i’m gonna say it anyway. congratulations! i’m so proud of you! i did get you a gift, it's on the table over there.” you gesture at the table laden with bags of every size and carefully wrapped boxes. 

“that’s not what i care about. did you hear back from tokyo? today is the last day the admission letters should arrive, right?” his hand finds yours, easily enveloping your relatively small hand. you are acutely aware of his warmth at the contact of his fingers around yours. 

“maybe we should talk about this another–” you try to delay the news, but a stern voice calling his name grabs both your attention. 

“we have guests waiting to talk to you, wakatoshi.” you recognize the older woman from earlier. her eyes narrow at the sight of ushijima holding your hand. “and don’t forget our agreement.”

“yes, mother.” she only gives you a curt nod before disappearing back to the party. 

you exhale, blowing out the breath you weren’t aware of holding. she reminds you of ushijima’s stoic countenance. of course he got it from his intimidating mother. 

ushijima turns to you, “before you go, i wanted to ask you if you want to share an apartment in tokyo. i found a nice two bedroom apartment, and i want to secure—”

you do a double take. flatmates? that is either the worst idea ever, or the best. but you didn’t have heart to knock him off his high tonight, nor did you want to put a damper on his mood by telling him about your rejection from the university of tokyo. 

but it must have shown on your face, because he broke off halfway, concern clouding his eyes. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing to worry about,” you quickly cover. “that sounds nice, but let’s talk it over before we make it official.” you nod, chuckling quietly at the excitement ushijima is exuding as his eyes widen and fucking sparkles. fuck me sideways, how can i ever say no to him? 

ushijima reluctantly releases your hand, looking back towards the party at the sound of his name being chanted. “i’ll see you at school on monday?” 

“of course.” semi’s words earlier echo in your head, so you tiptoe, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek before you think twice and lose your courage. “good night!” 

you basically sprint out of the front door. 

it doesn’t occur to you until much later, that you probably shouldn’t have done that. it was a selfish action, spurred on by semi and the girl that ushijima was talking to. 

it was unfair to ushijima, considering the letter of acceptance with a scholarship offer from Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris sitting on your desk at home. one that you went over agonizingly with your limited but growing french vocabulary. 

a snowflake lands on your skin, allowing you to admire its six-pointed crystal lattice momentarily before it melts from your warmth. you look up at the night sky filled with snow flurries dancing to the wind. a bittersweet smile hangs on your lips. 

it is the last winter you will share with ushijima. fate brought you together more than two years ago, both of your lives intersecting for a short period of time. now, it will see your paths diverge again. 

to paris it is.

a/n: maybe some foreshadowing but you didn’t hear it from me <3

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[jasmineoolongtea]

| amusement park date with gojo satoru ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

out of all the places you would expect to be at on a tuesday afternoon, an amusement park was definitely at the bottom of that list. scratch that, it wasn't even on the list until, half an hour ago, your boyfriend, satoru, had the brilliant idea to try and convince you (with large amounts of bribery on his behalf) to ditch your last lecture of the day to spend time with him at an amusement park. unfortunately for your attendance and fortunately for satoru and his arsenal of candy that he keeps with him at all times, you caved into his demands.

"toru," you murmur as you fidget with the red bowtie around your collar, trying to get it to stay straight instead of weirdly off to the side as it just so happens to seem inclined towards. "this is stupid." as soon as the words leave your mouth, a dramatic gasp escapes him, eliciting some confused looks from the park goers around the two of you, as he spins around to face you. there's an almost offended look on his face, albeit highly exaggerated, as he places his hands on your shoulders, lowering himself to your eye level.

"sweets. we're enjoying ourselves and having fun." he states as if it were a simple fact, one as clear as the sky above you two. "how is this stupid?" satoru asks, his previous expression of shock, and borderline offence, now morphing into a pout. his lower lip was jutting out in a way that made his crystalline blue eyes sparkle even more with a tinge of faux sadness, a look he knows always pulls at your heartstrings.

a sigh escapes you, it wasn't like the idea was not enticing, especially with satoru by your side, but you had some small hang-ups that were making you slightly hesitant from throwing yourself in this with reckless abandon. "we're university students and instead of being at class, we're here playing dress up at the same place parents bring their toddlers with way too much energy." you comment, narrowly avoiding falling face first to the ground, thanks to satoru's quick reflexes saving you from that fate, as one of the aforementioned hyper-active toddlers crashes into your knees. now pulled against his chest, you lean into his touch, your shoulders sagging slightly as you contemplate your current situation.

"plus, don't you feel weird when wearing these outfits?" you gesture to yourself in the full-length mirror right in front of you. "feels like we're back in high school again and the teenagers around us aren't helping that feeling." right next to the entrance of the park, there was a costume rental area that park guest could use and immediately after spotting it, satoru pulled you towards the racks of various different school uniform designs. now, you were dressed in a slightly wrinkled white button-up, a red bowtie around your collar, a plaid skirt that fell just above your knees and a brown cardigan to top it all off, however, feeling overgrown despite only being out of high school for no less than 2 years.

tightening his grip around your waist, he starts swaying side to side which causes you to move along with him, a childish whine present in his voice as he speaks. "but babee, that's the beauty of it!" sensing that your scepticism was growing with each second, he pokes your cheeks, eliciting a small smile from you as it always does when he does this. "think about it. i know how stressed you've been with your workload and what better way to destress than to take some time off by travelling back to our high school days and relaxing with your amazing boyfriend." he suggests, making sure to emphasise the last two words of his sentence as if to showcase how proud he was of that title to anyone who was in the fortunate or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it, earshot of the two of you.

"you chose these outfits on purpose didn't you?" you already knew the answer to your own question. it was undeniable. the outfits you were wearing were almost identical matches to the ones you wore during your own time in highschool. quietly, to yourself, you thought about how good satoru looked in his fit with his broad frame filling up the navy blazer with ease, maybe even better now than when you first saw him in those long corridors.

as if he noticed how your gaze was lingering on him, his grin grew even wider as he placed a chaste kiss upon your cheek. "don't people say nostalgia's one hell of a drug?" he quips back at you, already intent on dragging you out to explore the expanses of the amusement park.

finally, you acquiesce to his demands, letting yourself be pulled along by him as you fight the urge to giggle at his antics. "fine, satoru. but you better make it up to me for making me miss my lecture by making this an amazing date."

he's only further emboldened by your request, slowing down his speed to match yours before bringing your intertwined hands to his lips. "anything for you, sweets."

to no one's surprise, satoru is a man of his word and brings you around on a carefully curated visit to what he deems to be the highlights of the park's attractions. first, he takes you to the tallest rollercoaster in the park and not so secretly enjoys it when your grip around him tightens with each drop. next stop is apparently the large ferris wheel in the middle of the park grounds where he slips the attendant some yen to allow you guys to cut to the front of the line, much to the complaints and annoyed stares of the rest of the people queueing up for their turn. while you are busy admiring the atmosphere and scenery of the park from a much higher perspective thanks to the ride, satoru manages to successfully steal some kisses from you and snaps many discrete photos of you that will definitely appear as his lock screen very shortly after today. once the ride arrives at a stop, you spot a cart selling colourful wads of cotton candy and without even needing to say a word, he gives you a nod as the two of you sprint to buy some. you get a blueberry-flavoured one while he gets a strawberry flavoured and somehow, those colours end up staining your tounges with them even miraculously turning purple as the day goes on.

when you start to inevitably get tired from the constant walking around, satoru eagerly offers to carry you around to which you can barely mutter a small protest before he sweeps you up in his arms and onto his back. he did try to offer to carry you around in a princess carry but already after fighting off moments where you felt like your heart was going to give out from his teasings and flirtations and withering stares from the single people that passed you guys, you successfully bashfully turn him down.

finally, or what you assume to be the final stop, satoru leads you to the carousel as the two of you lean against the barricade of the ride. tired, but not exhausted, from the day's activities, a wistful sigh escapes you as you watch the fluorescent lights of the carousel twinkle while it spins. he turns towards you, his classic sunglasses on the verge of falling off his nose.

"so, are you having fun and feeling more relaxed now?" he asks, eagerly awaiting your response. you give him a simple nod and grin as you take the sunglasses off of his face, allowing you to drink in his features and the youthful glow that tints his face, sliding them onto your own head. watching your small antics always makes his heart flutter and his smile grows wider, no matter how small or silly the act is. he soon spots a couple passing by, flagging them down, much to your confusion, as he hands them his phone before asking them to take a photo for you guys as a keepsake. as they start the countdown for the photo, satoru suddenly lifts you up into a sudden kiss as you melt into his touch instinctively. once he slowly drops you down back to your feet, they hand him his phone back and wish the two of you the best. before you can even ask to see the picture, his expression suddenly drops as he notices the time.

"wait! we have somewhere to be!" is all he says before taking your hand into his and breaking off into a light sprint in god knows what direction.

obviously struggling to keep up with his pace with his long limbs making him move at what feels like an impossibly fast speed and still confused from the sudden change in pace, you manage to ask. "what do you mean, toru?"

seemingly paying no mind to your question or the crowd in front of the two of you as he pushes his way through the crowd, with you trailing behind him. in the midst of the evergrowing noise, you hear him shout back at you "it's a surprise! come on, we need to get a good spot!"

deciding that you're probably not going to get an answer until satoru finds the so-called "good spot" that he is looking for, you let him pull you through the crowds right to the front of the pier overlooking the lake of the park. with his arms on either side of you, he gives you a gentle nudge before whispering in your ears "look up." as you do, the evening sky suddenly breaks out into an explosion of colours as a bunch of fireworks are launched above the park, the clear lake beneath it creating a mesmerising reflection of the nighttime show above. you can't help but let a sound of awe escape your lips as you watch, transfixed by how the dark blue of the evening sky is the perfect backdrop for such a display.

"it's perfect, satoru." you remark, "thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

the look on your face and the glimmer of joy are absolutely priceless and in that moment, satoru thinks to himself how he would forever immortalise this moment in his memories. "like i said earlier, anything for you sweets."

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 HEY LADIES, WANNA BE LESS THAN A 4 BUT STILL BE A PERFECT 10?

(Here's the cheat code you weren’t supposed to know.)

You wanna be a 10? Even if you’re not the prettiest? Even if you’re not the smartest? Even if you’re not some Barbie-ass genetic lottery ticket?

Good news.

It’s not the face. It’s not the dress. It’s not the filler in your lips.

It’s who you are when a man imagines life with you — and death around you.

🧠 The Secret Is Simple:

Be the woman a man would die protecting. Not because he has to. But because he wants to.

Not because he’s expected to. Not because society claps for it. Not because you demanded it with a PowerPoint presentation and a list of demands.

Because something in his ribs —older than speech, —older than poetry, —older than civilization itself

tells him:

"If she falls, the whole world falls with her."

📉 Real Talk:

You don’t get protected just because you exist. You don’t get loyalty just because you reposted feminism infographics.

Protection isn't a social program. It's a biological holy war.

🛡️ Here's How It Works:

If a man wants to die for you?

It’s because you represent something bigger than yourself.

It’s because you move like someone worth defending.

It’s because your existence feels sacred, not transactional.

You can be:

Less than a 4 in "hotness"

Mid in height, weight, whatever the hell else they grade women on

And still be a 10 in a man's war drum.

Because no makeup trick will ever outshine the woman whose soul makes him want to stand between her and the bullet without hesitation.

🔥 Brutal Self-Assessment:

📝 Ask yourself:

When you walk into a room, do good men square their shoulders without knowing why?

Do you radiate trust, loyalty, magnetism — or just neediness wrapped in Instagram quotes?

If the sky fell tomorrow, would anyone instinctively move to shield you — or step over you?

The answer is not aesthetic. It’s existential.

🧬 Biological Reality Check:

Beauty is what makes men look.

Sacredness is what makes men fight.

You don't need to win the genetic lottery.

You need to move like someone who knows:

"If I fall, something holy falls with me."

And the right man would rather rip the throat out of the universe than let that happen.

🤯 TL;DR

Pretty fades. Protection lasts.

Hotness is optional. Sacredness is mandatory.

Be a woman worth the war drums, not just the thirsty glances.

You don't need to be a 10 in selfies.

You need to be a 10 in survival instinct.

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you know the real rating scale is written in blood, not pixels. 🛡️ Save this post if you’re done chasing attention instead of commanding allegiance. 🔥 Send this to the woman who thinks "hot" is stronger than "holy." 💥 Bookmark it for the day you realize the real currency is loyalty, not likes.

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is cultural commentary, psychosexual warfare disguised as literary performance art, and protected under the sacred right to remind you that survival beats social clout every goddamn time.

If you're offended: Good. You just met the part of yourself that wants to be worth dying for — and it’s hungry.

[beardedmrbean]

Two Jews, employees of the Israeli Embassy in Washington, DC, were murdered in a terrorist attack Wednesday night outside the Capital Jewish Museum.

They were young, a couple. The man had bought a ring and was going to propose next week.

In the coming days, we’ll learn much about the shooter and the path that led him to walk up to two strangers enjoying a night out on the town and assassinate them in cold blood.

But the details hardly matter: The killer already told us everything we need to know.

As he was being detained, he shouted the words that have become the soundtrack to so much American suffering: “Free Palestine.”

The murders were a reminder, as if we needed another, that “Free Palestine” is not about the war in Gaza, not about Israel’s response to Hamas’ atrocities on Oct. 7, not about the well-being of Palestinians or any other living beings.

“Free Palestine” is the rallying cry of a terrorist operation that is funded by foreign governments and designed to sow chaos, fear, and violence in America’s streets.

This violence always begins with Jews, but it never ends there. Free Palestine’s real target is America.

Shortly after the grim news broke, President Trump spoke to Israeli Ambassador Yechiel Leiter and promised him to do whatever it takes to fight this deadly hatred.

But serious and committed as the president may be, the fight ahead of us will require greater resources than even the American government has at its disposal.

Because the fight we face isn’t merely against a gaggle of violent radicals; it’s also the fight against all those who worked assiduously to get us to this murderous moment.

It’s a fight against the international organizations peddling modern-day blood libels, as the UN’s humanitarian chief, Tom Fletcher, did when he went on the BBC earlier this week and argued that unless the world stops Israel’s murderous spree, 14,000 Palestinian babies will die in Gaza in the next two days.

That this, if true, would be the equivalent of 27% of the death toll for the entire war, all babies, and all perishing in 48 hours, didn’t seem to trouble reporters and editors in major news outlets, who amplified Fletcher’s outlandish claim uncritically.

Our fight is against them, too: Long after it was obvious that the assassination was a terrorist attack targeting Jews, American media outlets, with very few exceptions, still spoke vaguely of a “shooting” claiming the lives of two unspecified victims.

On college campuses, our fight’s been going on for nearly two years now. We fight it even as university presidents and professors rush to defend thugs who assault Jewish students, disrupt classes, and disseminate terrorist propaganda.

The list of terror’s witless enablers is long. But there are still many more of us, normal Americans who refuse to accept a reality in which Jews are targeted and attacked by a death cult and in which Washington or New York or Chicago becomes just another Beirut, a bloody battlefield thick with jaunty jihadis.

How might we win this fight, the fight for American and Western civilization?

The answer is as simple as it is urgent.

We win by giving the Free Palestine brigades no quarter.

By rejecting candidates for office who support their cause and make excuses for their brutalities.

By demanding that institutions that foster them be denied any form of public funding and support.

By deporting every foreign national clucking about globalizing the intifada.

By demanding that our law enforcement authorities treat these keffiyeh-clad thugs as domestic terrorists deserve to be treated.

When a gaggle of rioters stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, 6,000 agents were assigned to work the case.

The murder in DC this week is every bit as fundamental, foundational an assault on American democracy, and deserves equal or greater resources.

This shouldn’t be a hard concept for us to grasp. In 1871, facing another murderous, Jew-hating militia, the Ku Klux Klan, Congress passed the Enforcement Act that gave the government wide power to do everything necessary, from deploying federal troops to suspending habeas corpus, to defeat these homegrown terrorists.

It did so because Americans could unite behind the elementary idea that the Klan was pure evil and profoundly un-American. The same is true of Free Palestine.

As we mourn the victims, it’s safe to assume that many on the woke left and the woke right alike will unleash a torrent of bad-faith arguments, from laying the blame on Israel to lashing out at Trump.

The rest of us know better: Pro-Palestine is anti-America, and Free Palestine means death. We must fight it with everything we’ve got. 

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

By Liel Leibovitz

“Free Palestine” is the rallying cry of a terrorist operation that is funded by foreign governments and designed to sow chaos, fear, and violence in America’s streets.

This violence always begins with Jews, but it never ends there. Free Palestine’s real target is America.

Shortly after the grim news broke, President Trump spoke to Israeli Ambassador Yechiel Leiter and promised him to do whatever it takes to fight this deadly hatred.

But serious and committed as the president may be, the fight ahead of us will require greater resources than even the American government has at its disposal.

Because the fight we face isn’t merely against a gaggle of violent radicals; it’s also the fight against all those who worked assiduously to get us to this murderous moment.

It’s a fight against the international organizations peddling modern-day blood libels, as the UN’s humanitarian chief, Tom Fletcher, did when he went on the BBC earlier this week and argued that unless the world stops Israel’s murderous spree, 14,000 Palestinian babies will die in Gaza in the next two days.

That this, if true, would be the equivalent of 27% of the death toll for the entire war, all babies, and all perishing in 48 hours, didn’t seem to trouble reporters and editors in major news outlets, who amplified Fletcher’s outlandish claim uncritically.

Our fight is against them, too: Long after it was obvious that the assassination was a terrorist attack targeting Jews, American media outlets, with very few exceptions, still spoke vaguely of a “shooting” claiming the lives of two unspecified victims.

On college campuses, our fight’s been going on for nearly two years now. We fight it even as university presidents and professors rush to defend thugs who assault Jewish students, disrupt classes, and disseminate terrorist propaganda.

The list of terror’s witless enablers is long. But there are still many more of us, normal Americans who refuse to accept a reality in which Jews are targeted and attacked by a death cult and in which Washington or New York or Chicago becomes just another Beirut, a bloody battlefield thick with jaunty jihadis.

How might we win this fight, the fight for American and Western civilization?

The answer is as simple as it is urgent.

We win by giving the Free Palestine brigades no quarter.

By rejecting candidates for office who support their cause and make excuses for their brutalities.

By demanding that institutions that foster them be denied any form of public funding and support.

By deporting every foreign national clucking about globalizing the intifada.

By demanding that our law enforcement authorities treat these keffiyeh-clad thugs as domestic terrorists deserve to be treated.

When a gaggle of rioters stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, 6,000 agents were assigned to work the case.

The murder in DC this week is every bit as fundamental, foundational an assault on American democracy, and deserves equal or greater resources.

[lillaydee]

Matchmade

Millionaire! Joel Miller / Reader

Having experienced traumatic, life altering events, a freshly divorced Joel worked to repay his debt to the person he owed his life to.

WARNINGS:

Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Character Death, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut.

SERIES MASTER LIST

---

Joel couldn’t sleep. For the life of him he couldn’t sleep. His mind kept replaying the look on his wife’s face as she left the room last week. Well, his ex-wife now. She hated him, after everything she had done to him, she hated him. Him, and everything that had to do with him, including Sarah. He couldn’t fathom it. What did Sarah do wrong? Where did everything go wrong? More to the point, when did everything go wrong?

Was it when they broke up the first time, because he had to take whatever job he could get to make sure his brother could go to college since his family couldn’t afford to send both of them? Was it when they broke up the second time, because he couldn’t give her all his attention since he had gone back to school for his own degree once he was a bit more stable? Was it the third time, when he had just started his own company, and got too busy trying to expand it, leaving him with hardly enough time to entertain her?

She stayed when they got together again, once his company had expanded. He was making good money, was successful enough to delegate to Tommy, who had graduated himself, and could afford to get them a nice house to live in, with plenty to spare to help his parents live a better life after working multiple jobs trying to feed him and his brother all their married lives. Sarah was a planned baby. Liz had insisted they try to get pregnant. When she gave birth to Sarah, who, to Joel’s eyes, was the most perfect little girl he had ever seen, Joel was over the moon. But Liz never connected with Sarah, despite quitting her nursing job at her own insistence to be a stay-at-home mom.

She demanded a full-time housekeeper, supposedly so she could give Sarah her full attention. The housekeeper, Mrs Adler, quickly became the nanny too, since she needed time for herself, for her mental health, every day. All day, every day. Her days were filled with mani-pedis, hair appointments, massages, yoga, shopping; coming home barking at Mrs Adler to order in for dinner. Joel honestly couldn’t recall the last time he had a home-cooked meal that wasn’t had at his parent’s. Sarah was never in her arms, never in her thoughts, but when she found out Sarah had started calling Mrs Adler Mama, she fired her on the spot, sending Sarah to his parents, supposedly to let her connect with her roots. Joel was out of town on for business, and Liz had left Sarah at his parents for three whole days without notice, calls and texts unanswered.

His accountant warned him of her spending. Thousands upon thousands of dollars spent daily without a single care in the world. Joel put a limit on her credit card, causing her to go berserk on him. He’s worth millions. What did it matter? She berated him for his frugality. Still driving a simple pickup truck when he could afford Ferraris, still living in a simple three bedroomed bungalow with a small pool and pool house instead of a mansion, still buying off-the-rack when he could afford tailor-made. Heck, his subordinates wore suits more expensive than his, a fact that always humiliated her at company events. When was he going to give up the stupid flannels?

Sure, Joel could afford all that. He worked hard every single day to make sure Sarah had everything she needed. He and Tommy grew up with nothing. He didn’t want that for her. He spared no expense when it came to Sarah, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to grow up spoiled.

His parents, brother, sister-in-law, the company lawyer, Maria, and his right-hand woman, Tess had always been aware of Liz’s pattern. She always came back to him after breaking up with him, but every time, it was because he had made significant financial advances. She would dump whoever she had left him for, and came back to him, spent his money, before dumping him again for someone with more money than him, always with the excuse that he wasn’t paying enough attention to her, when all he was doing was working his ass off to provide for her.

But when he really became successful, she stayed long enough to enjoy his money, so much so that they persuaded him to make her sign an iron-clad prenup when he proposed to her. She took offense, of course, but for once, Joel didn’t back down. Sign the prenup, or the wedding and the relationship were off. She signed it without reading it first, to prove to him that she was not with him for the money.

Personally, Joel was relieved when she did, thinking that his family was wrong, but he couldn’t blame them. They were looking out for him. He thought of tearing the prenup, but Tess and Maria persuaded him not to. Just to be safe. He thanked God he listened to them.

Joel had been patient through all her antics and demands, but when she fired Mrs Adler and left Sarah at his parent’s, he hit his limit. He came back early from his business trip to confront her, only to hear moaning from the bedroom. He couldn’t believe how calm he was when he heard them. He made his way to the bedroom, his phone out, recording everything, and found her in bed with an older guy, one of the married men that she was seeing while they were broken up.

She didn’t even react badly, just got off the man, who apologized profusely and ran out with his clothes in his hands, and arrogantly told him she wanted a divorce, and he’d better be prepared, because she was going to take him to the cleaners. She cheated because of emotional neglect, she claimed. She was lonely. He was always working – which was bullshit. He had been home every day at 5.30 without fail, save for a total of 34 days since Sarah was born. 34 days in three years.

She packed a bag and left, only to scream profanities at him when she discovered that the prenup had stated that she gets nothing in the event of infidelity. Joel had taken pity on her and deposited some money in her account, which had a substantial amount in it to begin with. She was, after all, Sarah’s mother, and the woman he used to love.

But after the signing of the divorce papers, she handed him a separate document. One where she signed away her parental rights to Sarah, not interested in the least to see her, parent her, love her.

That was what got Joel. Not her cheating, not her betrayal, not that she hated him. It was the fact that she didn’t want Sarah. An innocent little girl.

Joel spent the last week with Sarah, who, sadly, never even asked him for her mother. Such was her neglect to Sarah; the little girl didn’t even notice she was gone. She did, however, ask about her Nana and Papa, so Joel took her to their house, and decided to stay there for a bit, getting his mind straight.

Truthfully, he felt dumb. So stupid that he kept taking her back in over and over. He had never been a player, and Liz was his first serious girlfriend. He was in love with her. She was indeed a sweet young lady back in the day. When she started training to be a nurse, she started going out with her friends more, whereas he was often out at sea, working for days to weeks at a time. It was then that she met the upper class and began to see Joel as one of the lowers, a mere coolie who spent his time living on a smelly boat and touched fish for a living.

Joel remembered the early days of working as a deep-sea fisherman. He was scared at first, of course he was. But over time, he found the work fulfilling. Enough to take him out of his mind. The job was dangerous, requiring his maximum concentration, so he found that working helped him get through his heartbreak every time Liz dumped him, working himself to the bones to get her out of his mind. And yet, every time she came back, he took her in, blinded by the romantic notion of a happily ever after with her.

These days, he no longer goes out to sea as much, only doing so when absolutely needed to, and as a way to connect to his staff. He owned the company now; he had people to do the job for him. But today, he found that he needed to do this, to get his head down, and just work. It was supposed to be a short trip, just a few days, in the area, albeit way out at sea. The weather was supposed to be exceptionally fine. It was a newer boat. His parents had agreed to watch Sarah. So he kissed her goodbye and went off to sea.

Which brought him to where he was now. One week after his divorce, the ring line still on his finger, laid out in his cot, the boat swaying in the gentle sea, unable to sleep, wondering how his life had gotten to this point.

Somehow, he fell asleep, thoughts of Sarah and his future of raising her as a single father in his mind.

---

Joel woke up, his head throbbing. The sun was beating down on his wet body unforgivingly. His skin felt raw. His mouth dry, but his body wet. So wet. Uncomfortably so. His clothes were sticking to his body, he could feel water lapping on his feet. He was lying on his back, confused as to where he was. He was in his cot, where was he right now?

He was having trouble breathing, something was lodged in his mouth. He put his fingers in his mouth and felt something in it, he pulled. And immediately retched. A piece of seaweed came out, along with sea water and God knows what else. There was sand everywhere. On his person, in his nose, his mouth, his ears, underneath his clothes.

And all over.

He stood up with much difficulty and surveyed his surroundings. He was barefooted, on a beach. His sweatpants weighing heavily on his hips, plastered onto his legs. He tried to yell but instead, retched again. More seaweed came out, along with sand and seawater.

A searing pain came over him. A piece of wood was sticking out of his belly, and mindlessly, he pulled it out. Blood immediately came pouring out. He panicked. He took his shirt off and began tearing it into strips, plugging the wound, screaming from pain, leading to another retching episode, knocking him down to his knees. He laid back again, breathing heavily, the pain consuming his entire being. He bunched up some of the torn strips and plugged the wound again, almost passing out from the pain, before tying the plug in place with more strips. He laid there a while longer, eyes closed, trying to ignore the pain, before crawling his way to the shades from the trees a little way above shore, passing out again as soon as the sun was out of his face.

He woke up a few hours later, the sun lower now, no longer blazing hot as it was. The pain in his stomach was still there, but he had to move. He needed to know where he was and what happened. He got up, taking his time, the pain burning hot in his stomach with every single move he made.

Once he was as upright as he could get, he began to look around. At one glance, he could tell. He was on a small island, trees growing sparsely all over. Small enough that he could see its entirety from where he was standing.

Fuck.

What happened? How did he get here?

Sarah.

Shit. What had he done? He needed to get home to her.

How long had he been out? How long since he was on the boat?

The boat. Fuck, he could not get his thoughts clear.

His watch had stopped working.

He didn’t have anything on him. He was sleeping.

Fuck.

He followed the waterline, mindlessly picking up the odd bottles and pieces of clothing that seemed to have washed up along with him.

Think, Joel, think. You need to think.

He could not. He didn’t have any energy left. He went back under the trees, dropping the bottles and shirts he had found, and laid back down, the pain in his stomach taking over. His skin was on fire. It was peeling from sunburn. He was parched. He couldn’t hang on any longer. He fell back asleep.

---

“Hey, old man! Wake up!”

Joel must be dreaming.

“Wake up old man!”

He groaned.

“Hey! Wake up!”

His face was wet. It was dark. Joel opened his eyes, a blurry shape forming, someone was hovering above him. A girl. Ponytail.

“Get up!” she was screaming at him.

He lifted his head slightly.

“It’s raining. You should drink. You’re going to dehydrate.”

She watched him sit up. He cupped his hand immediately, collecting rainwater, drinking as much of it as he could, his thirst getting the better of him. He drank long and hard. The girl sat next to him, watching him drink his fill. She pointed to the bottles he collected when he stopped.

“You should fill those up. Who knows when it’ll rain again.”

Joel didn’t question it. He took the bottles and aimed them at a particularly heavy stream of water coming down from the leaves on the trees, washed the bottles as best as he could and filled them. He planted the bottles next to him and turned his attention to the little girl. She pointed to his wound next.

“Might want to clean that.”

He acted in pilot mode. He just did what she told him to do, untying the strip he had used, and using his remaining shirt to clean the wound as well as he could, before plugging and securing the wound back.

“Drink some more. You need it.”

And he did. He drank, and drank, and drank, until he could drink no more, and fell back asleep.

Joel did not realize in the darkness that the girl remained dry, while he was soaked to the bones in the rain.

---

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was shining high in the sky. His body was hot all over. He might have a fever. The little girl was still there. She looked to be a young teenager. Friendly little face.

“Hello, congratulations, you’re still alive.”

She watched him sit up and asked him to drink some more water.

“Where did you come from?”

“What do you mean?”

“I went around the island yesterday. I didn’t see anyone. Where did you come from?”

“You sure you didn’t see me? Cause I saw you.”

Joel thought about it for a moment. He was delirious. In pain. Panicked. Maybe she was right. But what the hell was a girl like her doing on this island, alone? Maybe she came from the surrounding islands? If so, he could go with her when she left, in whatever way she got here.

She pointed at a bright red shirt he had picked up yesterday.

“You need to tie that to a stick. Use it as a flag.”

Again, Joel just did what she said.

“Are you from the surrounding islands? How did you get here?”

“You need to stick that where people can see it. At the beach. Come on, I’ll show you where.”

She got up and started walking. Joel scrambled to his feet; his face contorted in pain.

“A little help, here?”

“Nope.”

“I’m in pain here, why can’t you do it for me?”

“I’m not your task monkey old man. Get up. Toughen up, it’s just a stab wound. Not like you were clubbed in the head or anything.”

She waited for him to get to where she was.

“What’s your name?”

“Joel. What’s yours?”

“Allison, but people call me Allie, with an A. I hate that though; I wish it was spelt with an E.”

“What’s the difference?”

“My teacher likes to call people alphabetically, by their first name. I always get called first, and sometimes you need a minute you know? To answer? Or make up an answer?”

Joel was perplexed by this girl. Talking about school and names, but what the hell was she doing here?

“Stick that here.”

She pointed to a spot on a beach that had less tree lines behind it.

Joel did just that.

“I saw a packet of something over there. You should get it. Maybe its food.”

The pain in his stomach was really bothering him now, and he was really out of breath just from sticking the makeshift flag into the ground.

“Can you please get it for us? I don’t think I can walk anymore.”

“Oh, come on you big baby. ‘Tis but a scratch! Come on old man!”

Joel followed, his sight almost whitening from the pain, but persevered. They got to the spot she mentioned, and sure enough, there was a packet of crackers washed up. She asked him to pick it up. Go on, old man.

He did so, with much difficulty, before following her back to his sleeping spot. She made him tie another shirt, the yellow one this time, to another stick. She made him drink more water, before asking him to eat some of the crackers.

He offered her some of both, but she declined. She’ll be alright, she said. He needed the energy. He’s the injured one. He kept asking her where she came from, and she kept deflecting. He ate maybe two of the crackers, and a few sips of water, wanting to save the rest, in case he got stranded longer, but she made him eat and drink more.

By the end of the five crackers and the few extra sips of water she made him consume, his eyes were heavy again. She watched him fall back on his back, wincing as he did so, and told him to rest.

“I’ll keep watch, old man, don’t you worry. I’ve got ya.”

And Joel fell back into a deep, deep sleep.

Allie watched him sleep, his eyebrows scrunched together, probably from the pain and his worries. She could see him. Really see him. The man that he was, the man that he could be. He’s perfect for what she had in mind.

---

“Joel! Joel! Wake up!”

Joel stirred.

“Wake up Joel! There’s a boat!”

Joel opened his eyes.

“There’s a boat. You need to go to the red shirt and wave the yellow shirt. Get up. Now! Now! Hurry!”

Joel got up as fast as he could, screaming in pain. He tried to grab Allie’s hand for help, but she moved away, towards the red shirt. He followed her as fast as he could, clutching the yellow shirt in his hand. She pointed to the sea, a boat clearly in the distance. She yelled at him to wave the yellow shirt, while it was still light.

So he did, as rigorously as he could. He screamed at the top of his lungs for help, certain that no one could hear him over the sounds of the waves, but he screamed, nonetheless. Allie was cheering him on, telling him to keep waving, keep screaming. Go on, old man, don’t give up! Wave! Scream!

His wound was killing him, he could feel it bleeding heavier and heavier as he waved the stick around, but it was working. The boat flashed its headlights at him, speeding towards the island.

Just as the boat was about to reach the shore, Joel collapsed, all his energy drained from his person, spent.

He laid there in the sand, as he heard men screaming his name.

His brother Tommy got to him first, a few men with him. They lifted him up and brought him to the boat. Someone placed a blanket over him, and gave him some water, which he drank thirstily.

Someone restarted the engine of the boat. Joel sat up suddenly and looked around. The man who was tending to his stomach pressed down, trying hard to stop the bleeding.

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Allison, Allie. The little girl who was with me.”

They gave him blank looks.

“There was a little girl on the island with me. You’ve got to go get her Tommy. We can’t leave her here. She’s just a little girl.”

They cut the engine of the boat. Tommy jumped down, along with another man, they ran to shore and looked around. The island was small and rather sparse. They could see the entire island from one spot. They ran around calling for Allison.

The man on the boat screamed at Tommy to come back. Joel was fading, his pulse weakening.

Tommy and the man came back, the engine was restarted.

“No, we have to bring her back.”

“Joel, there is no one here.”

“She was right there with me when I collapsed.”

Tommy stared at his brother, worry on his face.

“Joel, I saw you. We all saw you. You were alone. No one was with you.”

---

Part 2

[baeddel]

long post abt accessability in games, DMC3, DS1, and control schemes

games like God of War or Devil May Cry can be inaccessible because they have inputs which require button mashing, which is difficult for someone with arhritis or other problems that affect their hands and wrists. but these inputs are generally not required to beat the game; you have a lot of options, so you can just avoid using any move that's too difficult. the main issue is that these games become more demanding the further into the game you want to go; keeping a combo going in DMC requires a very high apm and use of the entire controller, so a person with a motor disability will hit a wall eventually.

this is a design problem which i think is difficult to analyze. DMC starts from a very unique design—it has a huge number of moves, almost all of which are accessible out of neutral rather than hidden at the end of an attack string—which it has to pay for by using a large number of unique inputs (forward + attack, back + attack, forward then back + attack, hold shoot to charge, hold devil trigger to charge [charges can be buffered]). it introduces a lot of complexity, but it's actually less complexity right away than other action games; instead of having to memorize a long list of complicated strings (cf. Bayonetta's Punch, Punch, Kick, Kick, pause, Kick, which is different from Punch, Punch, Punch, Kick, Kick, pause, Punch [click]—have fun with those!), you can learn attack, shoot, devil trigger, then forward attack, hold shoot... etc., one at a time, and mix them into your play and find out when they're good. its combo system is not just complex but also discoverable; players can try out how its different pieces fit together without opening the movelist.

but once a player already knows all the moves, the game starts to ask more and more out of them. not only do you want to use all of the inputs one after the other very fast (try jump cancelling Beowulf's Killer Bee into another Killer Bee for the first time—pretty tough, right? and all you're pressing there is X and △! the inputs get harder!), but since your charge moves can be buffered, you also want to hold O and L1 to charge your shot and devil trigger for when you might need them, and you might also want to lock-on by holding R1. when watching a really good player playing with an input viewer it's not uncommon to see every single button on the controller light up at the same time. doing that stuff is really fucking hard.

so far we don't have any problems; it's a picture perfect picture of a system that's 'easy to use, hard to master,' right? but because the thing thats hard to do in this case is input a lot of buttons at once on a physical controller, we've just frozen out any players with hand/wrist problems or motor issues from high level play, at least without adapting the game somehow. this is a problem that's difficult to predict, difficult to foresee, and difficult to design around; i don't see how you could fix it without making DMC a completely different game than what it is.

so if you started from the premise of designing a game that was accesisble to people with hand/wrist and motor issues (including suckers like me who played a bunch of high apm games like DMC and Runescape and fucked up their wrist), you'd have to come up with something pretty different at a very fundamental level.

this is why Dark Souls is, in a lot of ways, a VERY ACCESSABLE action game. what do i mean? its control scheme is extremely simple. once you press every button on the controller you've learned everything you're going to learn about it (apart from one very non-obvious hard-coded universal cancel, but don't worry about it). all you have to do is dodge or block the other's guys attack and then hit him with yours.

there's a lot of ways that DeS/DS1 approached the action genre differnetly to other games, but right now i'm only going to highlight one: the kind of 'questions' DS is asking its player. if you think about DMC, what is DMC trying to get the player to do? while you can beat the game with one or two simple combos, the system is obviously made in a way that encourages freedom and flexibility, and the game has systems to reward long, varied combos (the 'style' rating). and that's all it wants you to do (apart from in a couple of levels where they want you to do platforming—ugh!). to accomplish this, they lock you in a room with some enemies and only let you out when you beat them all.

in Demon's Souls the main thing they want you to do is navigate complicated dungeons that are full of traps; some levels have mazes in them, and lots of traps kill you instantly. it's similar to Kings Field, which its a spiritual successor to, but it's also similar to other early 3d RPGs: Deathtrap Dungeon, Die by the Sword, Dungeon Lords... (in one interview Miyazaki said part of his job was to play a bunch of 'open world RPGs' for research, and i imagine that included some of these old, weird games; the first dungeon in Dungeon Lords has a rafter-walking section with projectile-shooting enemies, chain-pulley mechanical elevators and highly damage-resistant slimes). they also want you to kill enemies. but the game never forces you to kill these enemies; you're never locked in a room until you kill all the enemies, and enemies never have items that are necessary to progress in the level. enemies are just one obstacle among others. consequently, enemy encounters are designed in a certain way that makes avoiding them difficult and approaching them complex. an enemy that throws firebombs will stand at the top of a long, narrow staircase, forcing you to dodge them on the way up; two enemies will stand behind a doorway and, if you run in blindly, will both attack you from behind. things like that. it was hard to avoid enemy encounters in Demon's Souls because the levels involved suffocatingly narrow corridors and the enemies followed you forever. but it was possible and sometimes desirable. in DS1 running by enemies is often preferable and, with foreknowledge of the level, always possible. it's also a lot easier as enemies don't follow you very far anymore (this change was patched into the game after release).

running and jumping both consume stamina, as do dodging, blocking, and attacking. getting hit costs hitpoints, and falling off a ledge costs all your hitpoints. both aspects of the game (navigation and combat) use all of the same resources, and engaging in combat is generally one of a few options the player has to navigate an area. it is, a lot of the time, by far the easiest option, but most players will find a few areas that they hate enough to always run through. one of the messages players can leave to each other is 'try dashing through.' the game rewards you for killing enemies by giving you souls and loot drops, but it also punishes you for making mistakes by leaving you down on resources—less health, fewer estus, and fewer spellcasts—so the best thing to do at any given time is difficult to analyze.

the questions DS is asking its players, therefore, is to familiarize themselves with the level, come up with a plan, conserve their own resources and make it out with the loot. at lower levels of play the game is mostly about succeeding at lots of combats and navigating lots of traps over a long distance without making too many small mistakes. then, at high levels of play, the gameplay is mostly about movement, exploiting the game's verticality and taking advantage of holes in the enemy placement. but the change from low to high levels of play mostly takes place in the mind of the player, not their hands; they understand the levels better, they are better able to respond to things which were previously unpredictable to them, and they have more confidence in their ability to do what is needed of them.

so our game not only starts off very accessible to players with hand/wrist or motor problems, but it finishes there too. although, i've gone a little too far: the player's hands will change a bit as they improve at the game. like Monster Hunter, the best way to play Dark Souls is to have a claw grip in both hands; the thumbs should operate the analogue sticks, the index finger should operate the d-pad (for toggle escales, the universal cancel i mentioned, as well as changing spells) and the face buttons (for rolling, using items, interacting with doors and items), and the remaining digits manipulating the shoulders/triggers (for attacks, blocks and parries). while running, you want to hold L1 (block) so you can roll (circle) out of a run without jumping. this might be hard for you depending on your condition, but i don't think it's that much worse than holding a controller the regular way.

anyway, the point is this: you might want to think about making your game accessible not just to the general player with disabilities, but to the 'hardcore' player with disabilities. do you want disabled people to not only beat your game, but be really good at it? how would you design systems to accomodate that? i've talked about hand/wrist and motor issues here because it's what i was thinking about (and some games, like Runescape, aren't really accessible to me anymore thanks to my wrists, at least in the way i used to play them), but there are other disabilities you could probably design around. imagine a player who has CFS or ADHD in a way that keeps them from practicing consistently; could you make a game that is rewarding for such a player to try and get really good at nonetheless? Runescape (conceived of competitively, ie. racing to the leaderboard &c) was good for players with certain kinds of disabilities and neurotypes since it required a huge amount of time and dedication, it really rewarded being unemployed, LOL. but what if there was a game that somehow rewarded inconsistency? who knows...

anyway, i'm saying how i tend to think about it as a rebuttal to the way i see most people talk about accessibility in games, which is merely playing games. thus Dark Souls can be criticized for being difficult for a new player to complete, for example. but this always struck me as a bewildering way to talk about games. plenty of disabled people don't just want to complete games, they want to be good at them. and disabled people can and do become good at games and compete and win at them. so the question for me is not so much 'how do i make a game someone with this disability could play?' but 'how do i make a game someone with this disability would want to master?'—a game which doesn't create headaches for them, which works with rather than against them, and which they actually enjoy at all levels of play.

[saintarthur01]

✩Writeblr Intro✩

✩About the Author✩

Hello there ! I am Arthur and I am a writer who decided to make a separate blog just for my works and such. My main blog is @saintv0id if you are interested for whatever reason. I go by either Arthur or Void on here whichever is fine. I go by she/her and am also demiromantic

I like anything fantasy and fiction, and other such things like renaissance festivals, the medieval and renaissance periods, I like collecting bugs and bones, and I love musicians like Hozier, Tamino, Florence, and Noah Kahan

✩About this blog✩

• This blogs purpose is for my writings/stories and whatever relates to them, like OC intros, lore revealing, or really whatever takes place in my world

• I am open to any asks, questions, or msgs, or even recommendations if ya wanna know anything or submit something, please do so

• All stories and writings on here are all within the same world/universe that i have built, they are all connected one way or another

✩About how my stories work✩

• Again all of my stories take place in the same world, which I have called Allra, so all of my stories together will be called The Chronicles of Allra

• If you are interested in the basic lore and history behind Allra, I will soon have a post up with all the info, I will add the link here once updated and completed

• Allra is heavily influenced and based around Norse mythology, although all characters and lands are original, they are inspired by the norse mythos and the norse mythos are even implemented into the world’s history somewhat

• Some stories will be multiple parts and others will be just short stories involving random characters within the world and some will have a bigger impact then others

✩About my WIPS✩

Prince Killer:

• Genre: Fantasy & Adventure

• Warnings: Murder, hints of emotionally abusive family (will update if the list expands)

• Tropes: Magic, found family, retelling with a twist, major angst, royalty, fighting against prophecy & destiny, morally grey MC, family rivalry, major symbolism

• Main & Side Characters: Locke Ambrose, Caradoc Ambrose, Kailen Skaesun, Elwin Ambrose, Toke Ambrose (There’s more but those 5 are really the ones that need to be noted)

• Summary: In a world that was reborn after the events of Ragnorak, history seems to repeats itself as the King of Konunheim hears word from one of his trusted prophesiers that his son, Caradoc, will die by another’s hand by a simple arrow made from a harmless plant and if this were to occur the world may break out into another war and destroy itself. Assuming his last born, Locke, may be the killer due to his certain ways and dislike of his brother, he demands for his punishment and a way to keep Caradoc safe. While the other nine courts are splitting apart over the idea of a apocalyptic war, the two brothers now have to find a way for one of them to be pardoned and the other to not die while also preventing a war, and maybe even find out if Locke actually has intentions to kill his brother and follow through with prophecy or keep Caradoc safe…

(other works are in progress, I will update this list as I work on them more)