#they’re not really engaged in this though

[majinael]

DEFENDING HIS EGO

"But seriously, that Kaiser guy is way too arrogant. I can't stand him. I don’t get how anyone can be friends with a guy like that."

The words cut through the chatter in the cafeteria as I sat with a few of my teammates and their friends. My ears perked up, and I couldn’t help but glance at the speaker like he’d just declared the sky green.

"If I were a player like him, I'd probably act the same way, to be honest," I replied, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

I hadn’t planned to engage, but the comment was too ridiculous to ignore. My response made him pause, glancing around at his friends for backup before shooting back with a sneer.

"Oho, does someone have a little crush? Should I remind you he doesn’t even know you? And if he did, he’d probably treat you like his little lapdog… what’s his name again? Ness, right?"

My jaw clenched. I’d spoken to Kaiser before—briefly, as a novice trainer—but it wasn’t the nightmare everyone made it out to be. Few had the chance to interact with Bastard München’s ace, so how would they know? What really got under my skin wasn’t the trash talk—it was the insecurity practically dripping from his words.

"Alright, on that note, I’ll leave you to your mocking and shit-talking better players. Maybe that’s the secret formula for you to finally score something."

I stood up and left quietly, knowing any further discussion was a waste of breath. With guys like that, the conversation would only circle back to their egos.

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

Later that day, I found myself in the nursery, discussing recovery with a nurse about a player I was supposed to train. He’d injured himself during a match, and we were listing through what to avoid. As I exited, someone familiar slipped into the room behind me. I didn’t get a chance to see who it was before the door closed.

Turning back down the corridor, I stopped short. Standing in front of me, as unmistakable as ever, was Bastard München’s Number 10.

Kaiser.

It was rare to see him wandering these parts of the facility. I could only assume whoever had entered the nursery was connected to him somehow.

"Unusual of you to wander around these boring corridors, Kaiser," I said casually, my gaze flicking to his face. His cold expression softened slightly, though his cocky smile didn’t fade.

"Sometimes they’re not so boring," he replied with a shrug.

"Oh? How so?" I asked, looking around theatrically, searching for whatever "interesting" thing he was referring to. When I looked back at him, I caught him pointing at me, and my brows furrowed in confusion.

Before I could say anything, he reached out, placing a hand on my head and ruffling my hair.

"I can’t lie—defending me like that earlier? Didn’t expect it. I surely didn’t know you cared so much," he said softly, though the teasing undertone was unmistakable.

My face betrayed me instantly. My ears burned, and my cheeks flushed hot.

He overheard that? Does he think I’m some kind of fangirl now?

"I-I... If it were any other good player, I’d have said the same!" I stammered, trying to regain some composure. But I didn’t move away as his hand slid down to my chin, his fingers brushing my cheek. The touch only deepened my embarrassment, my cheeks now practically glowing.

"Denial... how cute," he said, his voice low and almost amused. "But I never said I hated having a little fangirl."

There it was.

With a smirk, he let go and walked past me, heading into the nursery, likely to check on whoever had summoned him here in the first place. I was left standing alone in the empty corridor, completely flustered, already overthinking our next interaction.

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

HIIIII ! This is my first fanfiction on this blog, very short and simple but I think a very good training to not get Kaiser OOC, I'll try my best to keep it up, aswell as I'll try being as gender neutral as possible in the future (if possible) but for this one I really wanted to use the term either fangirl/fanboy, the term sounds so ridiculous and it definitely is something Kaiser would say imo. I hope you can still dive into this short fan fiction by replacing the word for whatever works for you. Byyye <3

[zippityzap]

Still Sonadow brained at the moment and have some thoughts-

I don’t think they’d have a big formal wedding ceremony or even really a formal engagement, I could see them fighting together in the middle of a battle and going “hey let’s get married” and then yelling at Knuckles to officiate because he has that authority as Guardian or whatever lol. They’d have a potluck with their friends afterwards to celebrate though.

On a more general headcanon note, I don’t think marriage is as formal and regulated in mobian culture as it is among humans. If two mobians say they’re married then they’re married, no need for paper work or official notice to the government to say that. Although traditions might indicate that a respected person in the community like the mayor or a village elder should lead the proceedings.

[venluming]

Meltdown (Petrigrof)

Wordcount: 2.05k.

Type: One-Shot, SFW

Warnings: None, really.

Summary: After a long, stressful day, Simon has a meltdown and Betty helps him through it.

Extra Notes: Hello, hello! I’m writing again, yay!! I felt proud enough to post this little one-shot of Petrigrof! I don’t see enough fics that depict Simon as autistic, so I wrote one myself! And… it’s him having a meltdown, haha— but hey, it’s something! This is also based on a personal experience of mine, so there’s that. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

With the gentle pattering of rain against the window and the warm air flowing through the heater in the corner, Betty sank into the covers of her bed, bundled up in her favorite brown, woolen blanket. Beside her was a hot mug of lemon balm tea that she occasionally sips to help her go to sleep.

In her hand, she held a sketchpad with small sketches of random objects around the room, assumingly for an art project, or maybe just as general practice. She had recently begun picking up this hobby again, as she had been so busy with other things, such as her expeditions and research papers for other minor classes she had. Betty enjoyed making pieces for herself, although she very seldom mentions her love for art to others for reasons of… well, no one really cared enough to ask.

Well, all except Simon.

Speaking of Simon…

It’s just about 8 PM right now. It’s pretty dark, and Simon still hasn’t come home from his afternoon class. Betty mused on where he might’ve gone. Perhaps working a bit later than usual, which was a somewhat common occurrence with him. He’s known to be quite the workaholic…

‘I wish he wouldn’t push himself so hard…’ Betty thought, frowning slightly.

No matter, she’ll have to give him a good “scolding” when he arrives home.

…Well, not an actual scolding. He hated getting those, as it always triggered his PDA.

After a bit of time passes, she’s finally finished and decided to put a pin in it for tonight. Her main worry seems to be her lover who still hasn’t arrived yet. What was he doing?

“He’s probably just working a little late, Betty. Nothing to worry about..” Betty mumbled, taking a sip of her tea and letting out a soothing hum. What a wonderful, serene-feeling taste.

Just then, Betty heard the front door slam from downstairs. Betty quickly turns towards the bedroom door and begins to climb out of bed but pauses when heavy footsteps start trudging up the stairs, then stopping momentarily. She waited quietly for any sudden movement when the quiet steps grew louder as they approached the door.

As expected, the door swung wide open, which startled Betty a little. Standing there was a… sopping wet cat who seemed to have, unfortunately, been caught in the storm of the hour. His clothes were drenched in rainwater, dripping onto the floor. His tousled hair cast downward as it stuck to his cheeks and forehead— but he desperately wiped the stray hairs away from his wet face. He looked… terrible —with his vest and shirt slightly unbuttoned to where the collar barely touched his neck, his bow tie clenched tightly in his hand.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment with his head hung low. It felt like, as soon as he stepped through, he just… fell apart. His hands found his head and he gripped a fistful of dark brown locks, then an exasperated and strangled groan tumbled out of his throat. Betty immediately ran to his side, attempting to touch his face but he jerked back from her, vigorously shaking his head. Betty was a little confused and slightly perturbed at first, but upon observing him more, his body language told her everything she needed to know. The way he trembled in front of her, arms up in a more defensive position like a scared little kitten despite having his hands tangled in his hair. Betty knew what this was.

“Okay, no gentle touching, alright.. uhm ,” Betty made her way to one of the lamps in her room and turned it off. “Here, I’ll turn off some of the lights for you, okay?”

Simon nodded, running a hand through his soggy locks. Glob, he was so glad to be home, home to his lover. She always knew what to do when he had these moments. Moments where his body shut down and wouldn’t cooperate with him no matter how hard he tried. Moments where every single article of clothing on his body felt like sandpaper scraping against his skin. How much it hurt to utter a single word. No matter how much he might’ve wanted to, it felt like walking barefoot on pins and needles while everyone else but him came prepared with steel-toe boots.

Simon’s wet clothes clung to his shivering body. He hated the feeling of wet clothes, he hated it. He desperately peeled the clothes off his body and they hit the floor with a gentle ‘thump ’. Betty scrounges around in the closet for his favorite blanket while glancing back at her lover every few minutes. She could feel him trembling from afar, even as warm air encircled him, and in those moments, she wished that she’d been there when this first started so she could have helped him through it.

“Okay, let’s get you wrapped up,” Betty pulls out the navy blue blanket and scurries over to him. He seemed to have already stripped himself of his clothes, to which she wrapped the soft blanket around his shivering body and led him to their bed. “I’ll get you some water… do you want some water?”

Wiping his tear-stained face, Simon nods and tries to bask in the warmth of his blanket and the heat from the heater, now that he laid closer to it. Betty opens the door and glances back at Simon with a gentle smile before closing the door and running down the stairs.

Not long after, Betty comes back with the water and places it on his bed stand. He seemed to have dove under the covers again with only his head poking out from his blanket. Betty chuckles, climbing over to the other side of the bed and laying beside him. Upon observing him closer, his scleras were bloodshot red, like he’d been crying for a while. Simon scooted closer and stared into her eyes for a moment before looking at the sketch pad in the space between them. Betty slowly turned to the book and picked it up, placing the pad in his lap. She figured he might want to say something without straining his voice since he’d gone non-verbal.

Simon’s hand snakes out from beneath the covers and he takes the pencil attached to the pad then flips to a blank page. Betty watches him curiously as he begins to write something down in a slow, gradual manner, his face softening the more he writes. He flipped the page over and she couldn’t help it when the corners of her mouth rose to her cheeks.

“Thank you, I love you”

Betty resisted the urge to take him into her arms and pepper his face with kisses. Alternatively, she takes his free hand and squeezes it firmly.

“I love you too, Simon.”

Simon flips the pad back around and begins scribbling something else.

“I need more pressure”

Realizing what he meant, Betty nods and begins climbing on top of him, aligning the side of her face with his own, and dropping most of her body weight onto him.

“Howzzat? That enough for you? Twice for no, once for yes.

Simon taps her once and she smiles against his face. She looks to him for permission, which he does give, then proceeds to wrap her arms around him and give him a firm squeeze. A small giggle escaped his lips as Betty held him in her arms.

After a while, Betty found herself growing more drowsy by the hour. Really, she had only been rambling to Simon about her day and other miscellaneous things. Only after a few minutes of talking did she hear the gentle snoring of the man who’d curled up beside her with the slow rise and fall of his chest. She thought that now it might be a good note to end off for tonight.

Leaning over the sleeping man, she pulls the cord to their dimmed lamp light then snuggles up against him. With a soft glittering of her eyes, she drifts into a soundless, serene sleep.

────────────────────

“Mmhh… five more… minutes…”

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips as he shook his lover once more. Betty stirred but her eyes stayed shut. After a few more gentle shakes, Betty groaned, rubbing her eyes before sitting up slightly and opening her groggy eyes to look at him. She sighs and gives him a tired smile.

“Ah, morning… how’d you sleep?”

Simon pressed his lips against her forehead. “I slept alright, you?”

Betty’s smile only grew when she heard his voice. Ever since last night, he’d been quiet as a church mouse, so hearing his voice again, it quelled that lingering anxiety she didn’t realize she had inside.

“Heyyy, you’re talking again! And I slept alright myself. I’m assuming you’re feeling better after your meltdown last night…”

“Indeed,” Simon lays against the bed frame, his bare chest exposed to the warmth of their room. “Thank you, again… last night was really… stressful— for me. I—uhm… glob, I was suppressing that for a while…”

Betty pouts, gently jabbing him in his side. “You dumb-dumb, why did you suppress it? You know that’s not good and… you can step out of class, you don’t need to prioritize your work if your nervous system is donking out!”

“Ahm— I was doing another presentation, and a lot of smaller things kept building up… and before I knew it, it almost happened— in the middle of it. That same guy threw another… book at me today. Starting to reconsider this whole thing, honestly…”

Betty huffed. “Again?? Who was it, was it the same guy? I should really teach that guy a lesson—“

“No, no… it’s okay,” Simon waved his hands. “You don’t… it’s fine. Please don’t.”

“No, because what’s this guy’s fascination with throwing shit at you??”

Simon shrugs. “No idea, but it’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“Simon…”

“I promise it’s fine, dear. If it’ll make you feel better, the next time it happens, I’ll give them a lecture on presentation etiquette, how does that sound?”

That was mostly a joke.

“You sound like you want a book to be thrown at you.”

Simon chuckles, scratching his nape. “Alright, bad joke.”

Betty chuckles right along with him until they’re both laughing at his really stupid lecture joke. The laughter soon died down though as the two climbed out of bed, raising their arms to stretch.

It only took Simon a few seconds to realize he wore only his underwear, which he remembered was a result of yesterday where his damp clothes lay bundled still near the doorway, so he made his way towards the closet to search for his spare PJs he’d leave here in her room.

Betty, being her usual self, stares lovingly at his backside, especially towards the lower region. She folds her arms and smirks to herself.

“Hey, are you working on your glutes?”

Simon blinks, trying to process what she just said. He slowly turns around, perplexed. “What?”

“Like… glute exercises.”

It took him a minute, but it finally clicked and his cheeks began to burn at the question. He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, haha . Ass joke, funny. I don’t… workout, that’s just how it naturally looks.”

“That just makes it better!”

“Betty.”

Betty giggles, embracing him from behind and nuzzling into his cheek. “Okay, okay… I get it, too early…”

He huffs. “Way too early…”

“Apologieees— I’ll go make us some breakfast while you change . What’re you in the mood for?”

Simon finally finds his blue and white-striped pajamas. He slips on and buttons the shirt and then the pants. “Pancakes.”

“Cool, cool!”

As Betty quickly exited the room, Simon stood beside the closet, pondering over the events of last night. How fast she was able to catch onto his symptoms, how loving and caring she was during the ordeal, how safe he felt when he finally let himself break down in front of her, which he hadn’t done in a while.

His lips curled into a warmer smile, feeling content.

He’s really happy to be with such an amazing person. He wouldn’t trade her for anything else in the world.

“I should help her with breakfast…” He finally said, closing the closet door and making his way downstairs to his soon-to-be wife.

[tariah23]

One of the main reasons why I used to avoid Isekai’s, and fantasy works in general, like the plague is because of how over saturated they’d become with things that didn’t feel like they even belonged to the genre to begin with… it’s not too hard to find works that stand out but so much of those works have been pushed down and forgotten, it just sucks.

[artsymephy]

How would modern Philip look like with long hair?

Like the sweet boy he used to be (:

[itspileofgoodthings]

School is going so great and also I am so exhausted and also I am having an existential crisis

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

https://www.tumblr.com/hotvampireadjacent/731711141796085760

Is Kaiju Tegu ok? People get so bad with Tegu care

I’ve never cared for tegu so I don’t have enough information to comment on if something is or is not safe for them other than “please don’t leave groceries where your reptiles can reach them because reptiles don’t always choose edible to reptiles items” since that’s just a general rule of keeping any animal free-roaming in your home.

I haven’t kept up with that blog since they decided to tone police me in a very rude and condescending comment so I don’t really have much to say on the person or the lizard here.

[jitteryjive]

i’m actually very fond of the autistic detective trope but my issue is that people never take an even somewhat cool route with it. the most common example i see is like ‘omg this detective (usually a man) is a savant and sooo smart and meticulous!!!!’ which also other things make it obvious the writer thinks autistic people are super-genius aliens. a more realistic and also interesting exploration can be something like the detective getting overstimulated a/or triggered easily and setting up unique accommodations to avoid said stress, or due to fixating on the ‘incorrect’ values (like case-irrelevant dates, numbers, people), they find solutions to help associate more with case-relevant values. also not to mention being neurodivergent and having things like OCD, tourette’s, or other commonly related disorders can also factor into making a really interesting character without being annoying with the trope. imo there are ways to make it an inclusive archetype rather than a neurotypical’s trope-y idea of how autistic people function

[quicktimeeventfull]

supernatural conventions are objectively the funniest things on earth bc they provide you with nothing but the various actors doing things & the saddest artist alleys in the universe. CW doesn’t allow artists to sell supernatural merchendise at their supernatural conventions because it would violate their copyright so it’s literally just a room of like, two brave artists selling technically generic art with vague allusions to supernatural (bracelets with squirrel and car charms, pictures of impalas, etc.) i love them dearly

[ccorinthian]

I’m tired of posting

[hopelesscalico]

Spacehey.... I wanna use it more but like. Despite all the users it feels SO barren and the forum/community aspect just feels like it doesn't exist. I have an account on there but god at that point I might as well just use a WYSIWYG website builder and post into the void.

I joined a couple groups but no one does anything in themmm at least old forums had ACTION

THIS IS MY BIGGEST ISSUE WITH SPACEHEY ToT i used it religiously for a period of a few months but there just reeeeeeally isn’t enough of an active userbase on there to make it feel like people are engaging with anything you post … it might just be me having grown up on algorithmic forms of social media but man how am i even supposed to find people to talk to on there??? you can’t really get anyone but your friends to engage with anything u post unless u get like a smash hit blog post but even then the blog page is soooooo crazy and unmoderated… idk idk

[letteredlettered]

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[anam-mana]

It fascinates me that Alistair gets lumped in with the “Chantry Boys” in discussions about Dragon Age Archetypes because it’s just. Very untrue. But it’s an idea the text actually pushes you to connect with in a way I think is purposeful.

This guy introduces us to the lore of the Blight by asking if we want “the chantry version or the truth.” If we ask if they’re not the same thing he smirks and says with some attitude “they rarely are.”

He sums up his religious beliefs saying he’s “not especially” Andrastian, and that “believes in the Maker well enough.”

He’s actually LESS religious than Zevran, who describes himself as fully Andrastian with a regular prayer routine in optional conversation branches.

The things that people use to categorize Alistair’s supposed “Chantry Boy” boy status all have non-religious motivations.

For example, the big one, his virginity, is because 1. He’s nervous around women, which is the gender he finds most attractive 2. He’s actually the youngest Party Member, being freshly 20 years old. 3. And most importantly, he correlates sex with love and was brought up to see them as requiring the other and so feels uncomfortable having sex without what he sees as “true love.” And he just hasn’t been in love yet.

Another example would be his reaction to the Urn of Sacred Ashes. He reacts with wonder akin to Leliana where many others react with a contrasting blasee attitude. Even the Andrastian Zevran.

But you gotta read between the lines here. Zevran doesn’t hold remains as sacred. He’s an assassin. So his prophet’s body is in that urn. It’s a body. The least remarkable and most mundane, perhaps even the hardest to swallow, thing she could ever be to Zevran is a corpse. Kinda takes the wonder out of faith for an assassin if she dies and rests just like any one else.

But Alistair is fascinated, in awe. 1, probably because the Chantry he doubts so much now has some kinda proof that something they said was true, unlike what he previously believed. 2, Alistair is WAY more patriotic than he is religious and we gotta remember that the Fereldans pride themselves on Alamari heritage, and Andraste was probably the most powerful and influential Alamari person to ever live. 3, he’s actually a giant history buff. He info dumps history on you often, with the memorized readings of whatever question you ask. If asked about the King and Loghain before the betrayal at Ostagar, he shows respect for Loghain’s service in the War for Independance, and knowledge of his tactics. And when speaking about his time in training with the chantry as a child, he says the education was actually what he liked most. And a lot of his gifts are things like replica soldiers, Fereldan historical things, maps, (along with his interest in magical artifacts but that’s for another day.) etc. Given his patriotism and love of learning history, yeah, the Urn is a big deal to him.

I have more things I could say, but really, I just find Alistair to be one of the most misrepresented by fandom characters. His character has a TON of subtext that challenges you to look beyond what others represent him as and the low opinion he holds of himself.

The perception of him as Andrastian and devout is one pushed on him by people like Morrigan (and others to some degree) who fights Alistair more like a straw man representing society than she engages with him as himself. She sees him as a Templar even though he left the order specifically because they abused him And he fundamentally disagreed with their practices, The Harrowing specifically being what pushed him to fight to leave.

There are, textually, two ways to interpret Alistair. Through face value aesthetics and symbolism pointing to association with the Chantry and by observing other’s opinion of him. Or through actually listening to what he says and watching what he does.

And it’s just interesting to me that a lot of people get caught in the trap of what he represents aesthetically rather than who he is.

[adieutristana]

getting married headcanons / arcane women x fem! reader

the thought of marriage and weddings have been on my mind for weeks now and i’m not sure why, but i’m a sap like that. i also haven’t been able to find many fics in the arcane tags about marriage so i figured i’d write my own :)

i’m getting to requests as quickly as possible! my first final is this friday and i’m kinda freaking out. things should speed up once im on winter break!

summary: headcanons of what it would be like marrying arcane characters.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

tags/warnings: fluff. SO much fluff. mentions of (happy) crying, mentions of drinking, s2 spoilers / mentions of death (caitlyn), slight hurt/comfort

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* you had spoken of marriage before, and every time you did, jinx became incredibly emotional. the girl had never seen marriage as something in the cards for her. a master criminal, a symbol, a living martyr? sure. but never a wife. so when you brought up the fact that you one day wanted to marry her, she was inconsolable in the best way possible.

✧.* to think that someone loved her enough to want to marry her, to want to spend the rest of their life by her side was unreal. she never thought she would have that.

✧.* so naturally, when you got down on one knee in front of jinx and opened a velvet box, presenting her with a shining diamond- jinx was in hysterics. she immediately broke into a fit of tears. blubbering, she nodded frantically, shakily taking your hands in hers. you felt a few tears of your own fall from your eyes as you slipped the ring onto her finger.

✧.* "yes, yes, yes- oh god, yes, i want to marry you. are you sure, though? i mean... will i make a good wife? are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody like me?"

✧.* "yes, jinx. i want all of it. all of the chaos, all of the mischief and adventure. all of you."

✧.* jinx immediately makes it a point to show off her brand-new, shiny ring to absolutely everyone. she’s engaged now, and she’s gonna make it everybody’s problem. she would go into sevika’s usual spot- a local casino just to track her down and shove her hand in her face. sevika would just raise an eyebrow, and look back up at jinx. seemingly unamused.

✧.* “i’m a fiancée now! see?”

✧.* “i can see that.”

✧.* “you can at least act like you’re excited for me!”

✧.* jinx’s favorite part of being engaged is probably planning the wedding. she makes almost all of the decorations herself- centerpieces, messy tablecloths, colorful banners. they’re crude and chaotic, but they’re jinx.

✧.* you do manage to talk her into letting a friend make flower arrangements and cater, though.

✧.* while jinx wants to look nice for her big day, she doesn’t really put that much thought into what she wears, instead wanting to hear your input. if you want her to wear a suit, she’ll do so! if you’d rather see her in a dress, fine by her. however, i can’t see her in an extravagant wedding gown… probably something simple.

✧.* she does insist on wearing her hair in a single braid, though.

✧.* jinx wants a small wedding, at a local empty hall she can decorate however she pleases. close friends and (your) family are the only guests welcomed.

✧.* when the day of the wedding comes, jinx is both ecstatic and a nervous wreck. a million thoughts are swirling through her mind, whispering to her from every angle. what if you leave her at the altar? what if you get cold feet? but the fact that you are there, she knows you’re here for the long haul, is what grounds jinx.

✧.* jinx somehow convinced vi to walk her down the aisle.

✧.* it actually wasn’t hard at all, she’s just exaggerating. despite the strains and tainted history between the two, vi wouldn’t miss the chance to see her little sister get married for anything in the world.

✧.* when she walks down the aisle, she’s the first one at the altar. twiddling with her thumbs, eyes darting around the hall.

✧.* when she finally sees you being walked down, though, jinx isn’t able to hold back her tears. it starts out small, then a dam breaks. you just look so beautiful.

✧.* it comes time for the reading of vows, and jinx’s voice is trembling. bless her, she’s sniffling and trying through shaking hands to unfold the paper.

✧.* “i’m not good with words, you know this. i never have been. but you make it so easy. i’ve never felt more like myself with someone, never felt so loved and cared for. i still wonder why you chose to marry someone so chaotic, a ‘master criminal,’ as the pilties put it. but i can’t explain how grateful i am. you love me for everything that i am, and everything i’m not. it’s you and me, always. i love you.”

✧.* after exchanging rings, jinx is practically pouncing on you to close the distance between you. the exact moment the officiant says ‘you may now kiss.’

✧.* jinx is completely different during the reception. the music selection is so perfectly her, but also so you. she’s (horribly) dancing, tugging your wrists to invite you to dance with her. whooping and singing along to the music. this is the happiest you’ve ever seen jinx. your wife.

vi;

✧.* vi is also someone who never saw herself getting married, honest. she had a prison wife at one point, but that was just to get her through each grueling hour at stillwater. the girl never saw herself being married for real. until she met you.

✧.* she first began calling you her wife playfully. vi is a sucker for pet names, isn’t she?

✧.* “i’m home! how’s my wife doing? i didn’t keep ya waiting long, did i?”

✧.* but the more she called you her wife, and the more positive your reactions to the nickname became, it dawned on her that she actually could see herself marrying you. that option had just never clicked in her mind.

✧.* the two of you never properly talked about marriage per se, but it was silently agreed that it was a possibility.

✧.* however, it still caught you completely off guard when vi proposed to you.

✧.* it was in the middle of a field, which already struck you as odd. vi wasn’t one to go exploring in nature typically, but she said she wanted to see the stars with you, so you didn’t ask any questions.

✧.* you’re side-by-side with vi on a shared blanket, while your girlfriend uses her finger to point out each constellation. she’s wrong about the name of the majority, but you don’t have the heart to tell her that. she’s just too cute.

✧.* however, at the end of the night, when you’re occupied with folding the blanket, you glance over your shoulder to see vi on one knee. your hand claps over your mouth and the blanket falls onto the ground.

✧.* “(y/n), i love you. you know this. i tell you every day. but we’ve been together for a while now… and i think i’m ready to take the next step. i call you my wife anyways, why not make it official?”

✧.* with tears welling in your eyes, you nod again and again. hands covering your mouth and one shakily stretching to let vi slip the ring onto your finger.

✧.* it’s a simple ring; a silver band with a rectangular alexandrite in the center. but you can tell from the shine that vi had been saving for this purchase for a while.

✧.* vi wanted to get a ring worthy of you. a ring that showcased her endless devotion to you, and damn, she did a good job hiding the ring as long as she did.

✧.* vi doesn’t waste any time when it comes to planning. she wants a small wedding, but still intimate and romantic.

✧.* almost everything is done by the two of you, with minimal help from jinx. vi does centerpieces, invitations, and the music, while you take care of the catering, flower arrangements, and guest planning.

✧.* jinx likely just makes a few light coverings to give the illusions of different colored lights during the reception.

✧.* your girlfriend fiancée wears a tailored black suit, with a maroon vest and tie. she put a lot into being able to rent it, so she wants to make sure she looks perfect for her soon-to-be wife!

✧.* the day of the ceremony finally arrives. vi is nervous, but she does her best to keep herself grounded. it isn’t until she’s stood at the altar waiting for her bride that anxiety truly sets in.

✧.* yet, all of that anxiety melts the instant she sees you walking down the aisle. your eyes light and full of adoration, only for her. the smile on your face is enough to light up the entire universe on its own.

✧.* it’s then, when she takes your hand as you step up to the altar, that she begins to feel tears pricking at her eyes.

✧.* vi has her vows memorized. she made a habit of reading them aloud every night at least twenty times, over and over again. but she still manages to stumble over her words; something you can’t help but giggle to.

✧.* “my love for you has always been clear. since the day i met you, you’ve never left my mind, or my side. i love all of your cute habits, all of the things you think i don’t notice, the sound of your voice, your smile, those eyes… i love all of you. i promise to love you now, and forever. you complete me.”

✧.* vi is fully crying by the time she finally gets to cup your cheeks and press her lips to yours, holding the kiss longer than she probably should. but she just can’t help herself. you’re her wife now.

✧.* she doesn’t get shitfaced during the reception, but your wife is definitely pretty drunk on the dance floor. busting out moves you didn’t even know she had.

✧.* she feels free to let loose now, have fun, with you by her side. dancing with her. singing along to the music without a care in the world.

mel;

✧.* with mel, marriage wasn’t really a conversation the two of you had, instead, it was a given from the beginning.

✧.* mel takes relationships very seriously and sees anything casual as a waste of her precious time. marriage is the end goal when mel gets into any relationship, so it wouldn’t be any different for you. she loves you, and you love her, the natural thing to do is to get married.

✧.* however, she is a patient woman and willing to wait for whenever you’re ready to commit to marriage. she is busy after all, she can wait as long as needed.

✧.* when you finally are at a place in your life- financially, mentally, emotionally, to be able to comfortably get married, mel wastes no time proposing to you.

✧.* you figured it would be the other way around, and actually did begin window-shopping for a general idea of what ring you’d purchase for your girlfriend.

✧.* but mel has a way of knowing things, and she tells you that she’ll buy it.

✧.* “i know you’ve been browsing around, here and there for a ring. be patient. i’ll handle that, okay?”

✧.* when mel proposes, it’s in a small, intimate space in her home. the woman goes to plenty of galas and parties as a councilwoman, but she wants this moment to be only between her and her girlfriend.

✧.* warm candlelight fills the room, the scent of peonies and baby’s breath subtle. you’re unsure of what’s going on for such decorations- was there a holiday that you forgot? your anniversary wasn’t for another few months, so surely-

✧.* a soft voice from behind you pulls you back to reality. the sight of mel, on one knee, holding open a violet velvet box.

✧.* “my dearest. i know i tell you regularly, and i know you’re aware, but i love you. i love you more than life itself, and i want nothing more than to make the next commitment to you. i need to marry you, (y/n).”

✧.* and god, the ring itself. the stone is practically a boulder. it’s a gold band with a cluster of diamonds framing one big diamond in the middle. yes, mel is the most wealthy woman in piltover, but she’s truly outdone herself.

✧.* you’re in tears, mumbling out choked ‘yes’s as your now-fiancée beams. she takes extra care, gently slipping the ring onto your finger. letting you know just how beautiful it looks on you.

✧.* as much as mel would love to be thoroughly involved in planning the wedding, duty calls. so you have creative liberty- she trusts you. she also does hire a professional wedding planner to get most of the difficult work done. the last thing mel would want is you worrying your pretty head before marrying her.

✧.* a grand hall, with gold interior, fountains, high ceilings and glass chandeliers was selected for your wedding. a place which many former high-ranking members of piltover’s society have been married in years prior.

✧.* as for a dress, mel chooses a grand, white gown. silk with lace trimmings, and a cathedral-length veil. she doesn’t mind what you wear, the only thing that matters to her is your comfort.

✧.* naturally, the majority of piltover is invited to the wedding. it’s not every day that the most high-ranking woman in your city gets married.

✧.* the day of the wedding comes. mel is an expert when it comes to keeping herself calm on the outside; stoic and poised. but internally, she’s a mess.

✧.* mel medarda, getting married? it’s always been something she’s wanted, but now that it’s happening, it’s hitting her what she’s about to do. yet, that makes it so much more exciting.

✧.* her worry is more about what how she’ll be perceived by the public, and presenting a much more vulnerable side of herself.

✧.* when mel walks down the aisle, bouquet in hand, orchestra plucking strings, she’s taking deep breaths to ground herself. this is really happening.

✧.* she sees you walk toward the altar, and she immediately has to close her eyes. only for a second. you look absolutely divine- it’s overwhelming. so many emotions: love, adoration, gratitude, all swirling in mel’s chest.

✧.* mel has her vows memorized. she’s always had a good memory, but she can’t stop her voice from cracking and breaking every few words. the moment is just all-consuming.

✧.* “my love for you is eternal. it always has been, and it always will be. to be stood before all of piltover, making this promise to you is an opportunity i am honored to have. i promise to fiercely love you for as long as you will allow me to, and as long as you will love me. (y/n). my love, my light, and now my wife.”

✧.* she has to wipe away a few stray tears from her face afterward, but she giggles and tightly embraces you. just before brushing your lips with hers, a moment she wishes she could stay in forever.

✧.* the reception is refined and calm. although others may be getting a bit tipsy, mel would much rather slow-dance with you on the floor. stand beside the cake, champagne in hand, just admiring you for all that you are. she swears you’ve never looked more beautiful.

sevika;

✧.* sevika has never given marriage a second thought. for other girls? sure, but never her. she had a job to do, a city to protect, and that was her priority.

✧.* until you in passing mentioned being old and married in jest. that statement hit sevika like a bag of bricks.

✧.* trying to lay her head down to rest, your voice plays on a loop in sevika’s head. being old and married. married. married to each other.

✧.* she simply can’t shake the thought. again, she had never given marriage a second thought, but sevika could truly see herself marrying you. that was how loyal and devoted she was to you, how much she loved you.

✧.* sevika doesn’t mention it, though. that’s the kind of woman she is, isn’t it? moving in silence, but with intention nonetheless.

✧.* however, one day, sevika slips out of your shared home to take care of ‘business.’

✧.* “be back soon, love. i won’t be long. -sevika”, reads a note left on your dresser.

✧.* where sevika is actually going is to a metal smith in zaun, a humble craftsman in a shared space with various other artists. she wants your ring to be perfectly you, and she wants your ring to be one that nobody else possesses. so custom-made is the only option.

✧.* a thick silver band with an amethyst in the center, and engravings on the inside. it takes about two weeks to finish, with sevika checking in about twice every week in the wee hours of the morning. this is one of the most important projects she’s ever overseen.

✧.* once she finally gets it, sevika will not let go of the ring box. a heavy maple wood box housing the most important possession she has, soon to be yours.

✧.* of course, sevika fiddling with her left pocket doesn’t go unnoticed by you. but she brushes it off, tells you that she wasn’t sure if she left something in there from the day before.

✧.* her proposal is spontaneous. she tries to plan it, but she simply cannot wait any longer. she takes the ring box out of her pocket, presenting it to you and slowly opening it.

✧.* “i don’t… i don’t do this stuff. i don’t know how to, i’m sorry. but i… i love you, and i can’t stop thinking about what you said before. about being old and married. i want that, with you.”

✧.* it’s so rare that sevika is completely unguarded, even in private. she’s a soft lover, but you can tell that right now, all of her walls are down. poor woman, she’s even shaking.

✧.* you just grab her hand, a stray tear falling down your cheek, and whisper, “yes.”

✧.* sevika has no idea where to start when it comes to wedding planning (or event planning to begin with.) so you take on most of the responsibility for planning, occasionally enlisting help from friends.

✧.* of course, sevika is still very involved in terms of observing and helping you make decisions.

✧.* you choose a small hall, enough to hold a handful of guests. sevika doesn’t have many people to invite, granted, but there needs to be enough room for her playing mates at the casino, jinx, and your guests.

✧.* your fiancée chooses a dusty plum suit, tailored to her body and the smallest golden hoops in her ears. (you didn’t even know she had her ears pierced until the day of the wedding.)

✧.* the day comes, and sevika sees you walking down the aisle. she stares at you in nothing short of awe, pure joy. her mouth hangs open.

✧.* when you finally step up to meet her at the altar, it takes everything in the woman to not simply whisk you away then and there. patience, sevika, she tells herself.

✧.* she has her vows written down, despite trying to memorize them. she’s just filled with too many emotions. nerves, mostly.

✧.* “standing here now, i realize more than ever how much i love you. you’ve brought something to my life i never thought i’d feel: unconditional, unwavering love. i don’t know how you do it, but you make every day better than the last. you’ve gotten through to my heart. i swear to love you, to be loyal to you, and to protect you.”

✧.* she doesn’t even wait for the officiant to say that you may kiss, she’s immediately closing the distance between you as soon as you finish exchanging vows, kissing her wife again, and again, and again.

✧.* sevika doesn’t do much during the reception, mostly drinking little sips of whine and gazing at you with that longing expression you’ve come to know. if you try to drag her out onto the floor to dance with you, she’ll playfully groan and roll her eyes. but you know she loves it. she loves you.

✧.* “come on, sev, dance with me!”

✧.* “i don’t dance.”

✧.* “well, you do now!”

caitlyn;

✧.* the topic of marriage is a difficult one for caitlyn. as a member of one of the highest-ranking houses in piltover, it’s an expectation that she will one day marry. not necessarily from her parents, but from piltover and tradition.

✧.* honestly, she was indifferent. if she found someone she’d like to marry, great. but if not, she wasn’t going to hold her breath or beat herself up over it.

✧.* when you came into her life, caitlyn could feel her perception of marriage slowly changing. it was still indifferent at best, but she now understood why marriage was so common. why it was a thing, even. her love for you grew stronger by the day, and she wouldn’t be opposed to marriage- if it was you.

✧.* not married because she has to be, but because she wants to be.

✧.* caitlyn is transparent about all of this with you, telling you that while she’s okay with the idea of marriage, she doesn’t expect it. it’s the least she can do: be honest.

✧.* ultimately, the decision is in your hands, and you decide that you undoubtedly want caitlyn to be your wife.

✧.* so you browse every single jeweler in both piltover and the undercity. looking for any hidden gems amongst them. independent jewelers, chains, even heirlooms from your family. but in your search, you find a sole jewelry dealer in the undercity. selling a silver engagement ring with sapphire clusters that perfectly match caitlyn’s eyes.

✧.* you’re in the family’s garden, cait looking off into the distance. observing… the leaves, the flowers, the way the light hits them? you’re unsure, but you decide now is your opportunity.

✧.* “caitlyn.”

✧.* caitlyn quickly turns her head to you, looking the slightest bit concerned. “hm?”

✧.* that’s when you drop to one knee and take out a ring box. caitlyn’s eyes blow wide, both hands clapping over her mouth. she can’t believe the scene that’s playing out in front of her.

✧.* “i can’t contain myself anymore. caitlyn, the time i’ve had with you has been wonderful. the most amazing time of my life. you are the epitome of grace and diligence, consistently leading. you bring out the best in me day after day, and my life feels complete with you in it. caitlyn kiramman, will you marry me?”

✧.* bless caitlyn, she’s trying so hard to keep the tears threatening to spill at bay. she only nods, once, then twice, then over and over before bringing you into a deep kiss.

✧.* when you slip the ring onto her finger, you wish you could freeze time and frame this particular moment. the adoration in the woman’s eyes is one you can’t describe.

✧.* when it comes to wedding planning, cait wants to be as involved as possible. of course, she has a job to do, so that does prolong the planning. but patience is a virtue she learned early, so she doesn’t mind.

✧.* “what’s another few months? we have all the time in the world, dear.”

✧.* the two of you choose to have a small and intimate wedding, inviting her father, a few council members, and anyone you’d like to invite.

✧.* caitlyn chooses a sleek v-neck black dress, fitted to her form with a long train. she opts to wear a small tiara instead of a veil.

✧.* upon further examination, you notice that it’s the very tiara cassandra wore on her wedding day. silver, with small rubies delicately placed. caitlyn honoring her mother in this way brought a whirlwind of emotions to you, but you knew she would be happy for her daughter.

✧.* and for that very reason, among many others, caitlyn’s wedding day is an emotional one for her. she’s elated to be finally marrying the woman she loves, but she wishes more than anything that her mother could be there to see it.

✧.* seeing cait walk down the aisle does wonders to you. waiting at the altar for her was excruciating as is, but you almost have to pick your jaw up off the floor as your fiancée makes her way closer and closer to you. she looks otherworldly.

✧.* she chuckles and beams at you once she steps up to the altar. taking a moment to just admire you. she reaches a slim hand out to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in her hand for only a moment. her sapphire eyes full of adoration.

✧.* caitlyn has her vows written down, in that annoyingly perfect penmanship of hers. she reads from the paper, glancing up at you constantly while having to wipe her eyes.

✧.* “(y/n), i didn’t know if this day would ever come. but i’m so glad that it has. my love for you knows no bounds, it festers and grows and builds onto itself every day. it’s exhilarating, as is every day by your side. to call myself your wife will be my greatest honor. and to welcome you into the kiramann family, an even greater honor.”

✧.* she’s fully crying by the time she finishes reading out her vows, looking up at you with the best smile that she can muster. she’s so overcome with love, she can’t help it.

✧.* the moment the officiant says you may kiss, caitlyn is placing one hand firmly on your waist and the other wraps around your lower back. holding you close and brushing her lips against yours.

✧.* cait’s reception is rather relaxed, with a selection of mostly classical and contemporary music playing quietly over speakers. however, she insists on having several slow dances with you. she’s surprisingly good, which makes you suspect she’s experienced with this.

✧.* guiding you back and forth with expertise, her head buried into the crook of your neck. holding you impossibly close to her as she hums in contentment.

[360iris]

Feeling as though Rook is secondary to Neve? You shouldn’t, not really at least because Rook is irreplaceable for the same reasons people are holding animosity towards Neve.

‘Neve gets him without doing any of the hard work.’ Rook is the only person alive who could even be able to. That’s the whole point.

Saving Minrathous results in the Inner Demons quest never happening.

Meaning an unhealed Lucanis never makes peace with Spite.

Meaning he goes on to enter a relationship with a woman (to no fault of her own) who could never, and would never, force him to face his fears and give him the unyielding encouragement needed to live without compartmentalizing every important thing to ever happen to him.

Without Rook completing that quest— Lucanis remains chained down by his debilitating fear of disappointing Caterina, the shame of being made into an abomination against his will, the guilt of being the one who got off easier than Neve and the pain and anger Illario’s betrayal brought onto him.

“Thoughts live here. Ideas. Feelings.” Disappointment. Shame. Guilt. Betrayal. All of which Lucanis felt were too big, too messy to face.

Solavellan is Rookanis’ foil. Except Rook is if Lavellan had succeeded in persuading Solas to face his regrets.

And what was the crux of the replacement Fade prison Solas crafted for the Evanuris? It was a prison built on regret, and the only way to leave would be to face them. Which Ghilan’nan and Elgar’nan would never be able to do.

Spite says “Lucanis is here. Behind locked doors. I can’t break through.” But Rook can.

In his mind’s eye, Lucanis makes Caterina, Harding, Neve and Illario his jailers of negative emotions in a prison of his own creation.

And in all that inner turmoil, his idea of Illario says, “Rook, you’re too good to be here.”

Rook isn’t one of his jailers, not because they don’t matter enough compared to the others, but because Lucanis’ thoughts, ideas and feelings for Rook are too good.

Rook opens doors, they’re not a jailer who throws away the key. In Lucanis and Spite’s eyes, Rook is the key. They are a liberator, a hero, the only one he’ll listen to.

Love, understanding, the unwavering promise of companionship (platonic or romantic) despite the risk to themselves sets Lucanis free.

I’ve seen people who are disappointed in his storyline complain that it feels as though ‘Rook strong arms him into a committed relationship’ that he somehow ‘feels obligated to indulge’ and engage in as a result of saving Treviso. I believe these claims just end up ignoring the really good diamonds in the rough we’re given in terms of Rookanis relationship development.

A romanced!Lucanis gives way to lines like “I don’t know what Rook sees in me. I’m happy to just be around them.”

And paralleling scenes like when Caterina chastises a kneeling Illario with “A Dellamorte never kneels.” Only for Lucanis to later walk over to a post-Fade trapped Rook and literally kneel at their feet like they’re the only deity he cares to worship like this is Take Me To Church by Hozier.

And what is Rookanis as a ship, if not Rook teaching him it’s okay to assert himself, which leads to Lucanis reclaiming his humanity through an act of love? Just saying. Given time, and love, he turns into a Gomez Addams sort of romantic figure.

If Rook were associated as any feeling to Lucanis then they’d be love. Affection. A state of understanding. Purpose? Freedom?

Better yet, Rook could be determination. After all, Rook’s defining characteristic is that they ‘just can’t seem to quit’— in the face of the man they care about saying ‘give up on me, i’m damaged goods’ why wouldn’t they win him over in the end?

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten. 

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close. 

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back. 

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear. 

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide. 

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

 But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show  up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore? 

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t–”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf. 

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they