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outeremissary · 10 months ago

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I believe this is the news article being referred to in this post- I highly recommend it to anyone who hasn't read it already. It should be required reading for anyone who has contact with any form of online discourse.

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

#isabel fall #I feel kind of weird about this post framing this as a Fandom Event but at the same time I was on twitter when it happened #and on some level it was. it was very much something that was coming to me via people who were really involved in promare discourse #and at that time everyone seemed to have gotten sucked into pro/anti discourse whether they wanted to be there or not #because not declaring a side would be branded taking a side by people inclined towards harassment #the fandom logic that drove the explosion of 'anti ship' content on my TL had a lot of crossover with non fandom stuff #sometimes targeting large well known cishet male authors but often seeming to target small independent marginalized authors #who were writing from very messy and personal places and being given absolutely no grace #idk what else to say. shit's dark and also isabel fall is a higher profile example of a thing that happens all the time online #part of the larger narrative of online rhetoric around the moralizing of discomfort and complexity #and the ways that moral stain are used to remove people from public life

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luna-azzurra · 10 months ago

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How to Write a Ruthless Character

A ruthless character is all about the endgame. They don’t care how they get there, lying, cheating, using others, it’s all fair game as long as they win. When writing them, show how they can cut off any distractions or emotions, making decisions that others would hesitate over.

These characters don't let feelings get in the way. Compassion, guilt, regret? Nah, they don’t have time for that. Show how they can turn off their emotions and make choices purely based on logic. They’ll do things that seem heartless to everyone else, but for them, it’s just another part of the plan. It’s not that they don’t feel anything, they just choose not to.

Boundaries? What boundaries? A ruthless character doesn’t care about rules unless they can bend them to get ahead. They’ll do things no one else dares, crossing lines others are too scared to even approach. The more uncomfortable their actions make people, the more it emphasizes just how far they’re willing to go. For them, pushing limits is just another day.

They don’t act on impulse. Every move they make is planned, and every risk they take is calculated. They weigh the pros and cons before acting, and they’re always three steps ahead of everyone else. Writing a ruthless character means showing that they’ve already figured out how to win while everyone else is still trying to figure out the rules.

Betrayal is their go-to move when things get tough. Friends, allies, even people who trust them, no one is safe. They’ll turn on anyone if it benefits them. And the best part? They’ll sleep just fine afterward. Show how others react to their betrayals, shocked, hurt, furious, while your ruthless character shrugs it off like, “It had to be done.”

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #character development #writing advice #oc character #writing help #writer tumblr #writblr

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cottonlemonade · 6 months ago

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Thinking about how Atsumu turned all pouty whenever he saw his teammates getting a jump hug from their partners after a game.

“Why can’t we do that?”, he whined and looked at you with big puppy eyes.

“Because I would hurt you.”, you replied patiently.

“Nuh-uh. Why do ya think I go to the gym?”

His sage logic aside you only chuckled, still fairly certain he wasn’t serious.

“A layman might think it’s for your job.”

“Not anymore!”, he countered, “Been meaning to tell ya. I’ve long ago abandoned the dream and am now solely focused on giving ya the lovin’ ya deserve. Up against a wall.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, honey, but that will never happen.”, you patted his cheek and turned to join the crowd in their slow migration towards the exits.

“Why not?”, he whined, catching up with you.

“Because I will not be responsible for the end of a pro athlete’s career, that’s why.”

“That’s so unfair.”, he stepped into your way, “I want a jump hug. With impact. I want us to almost bang our heads together and only narrowly avoid a major concussion.”

Chewing your lips you looked down at yourself, at the chubby tummy and thick thighs that Atsumu loved to use as a pillow for his naps.

“How long would it take me to talk you out of it?”

“My funeral.”

And so you sighed. “Fine.”

As you put some distance between you and him for a good running start you bumped into a few people and thought more and more about what an incredibly stupid idea this was. But then you saw your boyfriend roll his shoulders and widen his stance, so very ready to catch you.

“Don’t be scared, baby! I got ya!”, he called and unfortunately pulled several surrounding eyes onto you.

When you finally ran at him and jumped, you closed your eyes waiting for him to tip over but your man stood strong. Not even a wobble in sight. You clutched at his biceps, still sweaty from the game, and squinted at him hesitantly.

A wide cocky grin was spread across his face and he adjusted his grip on you.

“Told ya I gotcha.”

#atsumu x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagines #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #msby atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #miya atsumu

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hana2750 · 8 days ago

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STRAY KIDS REACTION THEIR S/O STAYING OVERNIGHT FOR THE FIRST TIME

Pairing: stray kids x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Humor, Domestic Vibes, Established Relationship

Word Count: 3,600 words

Warnings: Mild language, kissing, implied cuddling, reader stays over innocently, domestic intimacy, light teasing

Disclaimer: this blog is a fanfiction haven, and everything posted here is purely a work of fiction. The characters, settings, and worlds belong to their respective creators unless otherwise stated. No copyright infringement is intended.

Bang chan

You hadn’t planned on staying the night. It was supposed to be a movie, some snacks, then heading home with one of Chan’s hoodies hanging off your frame. But it was 2:14AM, your bus had stopped running, and Chan looked at you like you were an idiot for even suggesting going back out.

“Are you kidding? You think I’m letting you walk out into the *streets of Seoul* at 2AM just ‘cause you didn’t bring a toothbrush?” he said, already tossing you one of his flannels like it was a blanket.

You blinked. “I mean… maybe?”

He just gave you a long-suffering sigh, then softened. “You're lucky you're cute.”

The sleepover takes place in his **studio apartment**—not his 3RACHA cave, but the one he barely uses except when he’s feeling too tired to go back to the dorm. It’s dim and warm, filled with scattered notebooks and a desk overloaded with cables. Somehow, it still feels like home.

Later, after you’ve changed into his oversized shirt (that falls to your mid-thigh), he watches you crawl into the bed like you’ve done it a hundred times.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs as he slides in next to you, hand searching for yours under the covers.

You nod, then lean your head on his chest. “I like it here.”

He kisses your forehead and hums, voice muffled into your hair. “Then stay whenever you want, alright?”

Lee know

It starts with a thunderstorm. You’ve always been a little skittish during storms, and Lee Know, of all people, somehow knew that.

The two of you were curled up on his **living room couch**, watching a dance competition on TV when the lightning cracked a little too close. You flinched, clutching the blanket a little tighter.

He didn’t say anything at first—just got up, walked away, then came back with his softest hoodie and a smug little look.

“You flinched,” he said. “Stay the night.”

You blinked. “That’s your logic?”

“No, my logic is: you’re scared of the storm, the rain’s too heavy to call a cab, and I like seeing you in my clothes. So, really, it’s all pros, no cons.”

The night passes with warm tea, cuddles, and the two of you buried under three layers of blankets as Lee Know softly talks to you about his cats like they’re royal guests.

“You can sleep in the bed,” he adds later. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You pout. “We can share.”

He smirks, walking over and flicking your forehead. “You’re bold when you’re sleepy, huh?”

But he does join you. And he lets you tangle your legs with his under the sheets without complaint.

Changbin

You’re both coming back from the gym, sweaty, exhausted, and high on post-workout endorphins. You’re at his **dorm**, and you were supposed to shower and leave—but the rain’s come out of nowhere, hard and aggressive against the windows.

“You’re not going out in that,” Changbin says, practically shoving a towel into your arms. “What if you catch a cold?”

“I’ll just run for it,” you say, half-joking.

“*Babe.*”

You pause. His tone is so serious you turn around, only to find him already pulling out a drawer with some clean clothes—his clothes—for you.

“Stay. Just for tonight. Please?”

You hesitate, then smile. “Only if I get to steal your protein pancakes tomorrow.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Deal.”

Later, you’re curled up in his hoodie, freshly showered, watching him carefully make you hot chocolate like it’s a high-stakes science experiment.

“You’re making it way too complicated.”

“This is *themed* cocoa,” he says, offended. “Romantic vibes cocoa. Respect the effort.”

Hyunjin

He’s the one who invites you.

You’re lounging at a late-night café downtown, your conversation stretching into the early hours. You’re in the middle of a sleepy rant about socks when he interrupts.

“Just come over. It’s late. I want to keep talking to you.”

You blink. “Is this your smooth way of asking me to stay the night?”

He shrugs, sipping his Americano with the ease of a romcom protagonist. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin’s place is an **art-filled, plant-infested apartment**, the kind that smells like paint and peppermint. The moment you walk in, you feel like you’ve entered a Pinterest board. He tosses you a pair of slippers and starts boiling water for tea.

“Where do I sleep?” you ask.

“With me. Unless you’re shy now.”

You flick his arm, and he laughs, holding the kettle like it’s his scepter.

When you finally lie down beside him on a futon scattered with mismatched pillows, he turns to face you, hair half tied and eyes glowing in the low light.

“I like this,” he whispers.

“What?”

“You. Here.”

Han

You accidentally fall asleep on his bed while waiting for him to finish a recording.

When he finds you, curled up with one of his hoodies as a pillow in his **bedroom at the dorm**, he freezes in the doorway, mouth parted like he’s seen a baby deer in his room.

“Holy sh—it’s happening,” he whispers to himself. “This is peak romcom.”

You stir awake, groggy. “Hmm?”

He immediately panics, flapping his hands. “NOPE go back to sleep I didn’t say anything—! You’re good! Perfect! The most beautiful sleeper I’ve ever seen!”

You laugh softly, patting the bed beside you. “Come sleep too, drama king.”

Later, as the two of you lie there under his EXO blanket, he gets uncharacteristically quiet. Then:

“Can I be gross for a sec?”

You raise an eyebrow. “When are you not?”

“Fair. But like… I like this. Having you here. Even if you drooled a little.”

You chuck a pillow at him.

Felix

It happens after baking.

He’d insisted on teaching you how to make brownies "the Aussie way,” which just meant more butter, according to him. You're both covered in flour and chocolate and giggles when the clock hits 1:30AM.

“Oh no,” you mumble, checking your phone. “I need to go—”

Felix frowns immediately. “Stay.”

You blink. “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, leaning against the **kitchen counter**. “You’re already wearing my shirt. Might as well complete the fantasy.”

You look down—you are, in fact, wearing a stolen Felix flannel.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

He grins, walking over and bumping his forehead to yours. “Do I have to be?”

You stay. You both clean up, brush your teeth side by side, and fall asleep with your legs tangled on the couch bed. In the middle of the night, you wake up to him whispering:

“I’m really happy you’re here.”

You smile against his chest. “Me too.”

Seungmin

He acts like it’s no big deal.

“Oh, you’re staying? Cool,” he says, casually tossing you a pillow in the **guest room** of his apartment.

You pause. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m a man of foresight,” he replies, already halfway through brushing his teeth. “I knew this day would come.”

But later, when he thinks you’re asleep, he lingers outside your door. You hear him shift his weight, then knock twice.

“You up?”

You turn over. “Yeah?”

He opens the door, peeking in. “Do you… want to watch that documentary you like? The whale one?”

Your heart melts a little. “It’s 1AM.”

“Exactly. Peak whale time.”

You both end up watching it under a blanket, his arm slowly sliding behind your back. Halfway through, he mumbles, “I like this version of us.”

“Hmm?”

“Quiet. Soft. Sleepy. Still us.”

You press your cheek to his shoulder. “Me too.”

Jeongin

It’s totally by accident.

He invites you over to hang out, not realizing how late it’s gotten. It’s only when you check the time—past 1:45AM—that he sheepishly looks at the door, then at you.

“Uh… do you… wanna just stay?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you allowed to do that?”

He flushes. “I mean, probably not, but who’s gonna know? Felix? He *ships* us.”

You both end up setting up a makeshift bed in the **living room** with every spare blanket you can find. It’s chaotic and full of laughter—until it’s not.

Because once the lights are out, and he’s lying beside you whispering jokes into your ear, the moment stills. He looks at you, eyes wide and open and unguarded.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits.

“Had someone stay over?”

“No. Wanted someone to.”

You reach over, take his hand. “Me neither.”

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satanfemme · 2 months ago

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I think critiques of conservative politics that go "conservatives have said for a long time that they care about the family and family values, but look at them now, elon musk doesn't care about family he just cares about breeding his dna into as many kids as possible" are missing something big which is that when conservatives talk about The Family they aren't necessarily speaking straightforwardly about "two parents and their kids in a single family home" and nothing else. yes, that nuclear family image is often a part of it, but ultimately the Family structure is a Power Dynamic, and it's so ingrained in our culture that most of us fail to see it for what it is. the dynamic of the family structure is a tool of patriarchy, white supremacy, youth oppression, anti-lgbt sentiment, and christofascism. if you spend any time following conservative arguments and debates, these statements should not be a surprise to you, "traditional family values" has been used as a weapon of oppression for longer than we've been alive. so, conservatives who speak about the importance of traditional family values then moving ahead to abandon their wives and kids and focus solely on pro-natalist breeding projects as if they're an employer and their partners their employees is not a divergence from their core beliefs and values, but rather the next logical step in further the hegemony of the Family under capitalism. it is the Family taken to the extreme. it is in many ways a ridiculous extreme that exposes their hypocrisy but it's still just the Family streamlined and given infinite resources and made as efficient as possible. and even if it is more blatantly abusive than the families you may be familiar with in your personal life, it is likely the same dynamic and distribution of power at its core. if you don't understand family abolition maybe drawing this comparison helps.

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alex-just-vibing · 1 year ago

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Are you a student who is unable to donate to Palestine, but still want ways to show your support?

Me too! Unfortunately, searching up ways for students who can't drive, spend money, or drop school for a week to show solidarity for Palestine just comes up with "centrist" (if not blatantly pro-israel) articles for teachers telling them how to stay neutral during discussions with students. So! Here are some ways that I've thought of to bring pro palestine sentiment into your school and community! You are more than encouraged to add on any ideas of your own!

Wear shirts, pins, or anything outwardly pro palestine. If you can't find something, make it.

Email your representatives. Email Congress. Email the White House, or whatever your country's equivalent would be. Let the people in charge know you want a ceasefire

Talk to your local library about holding an educational night about the genocide, and/or about Palestinian culture.

Talk to your peers. Find people who share your views. Create a fuss together.

Talk to your teachers about it. Having an authority figure on your side could make things so much easier for you.

Make stickers, posters, pamphlets, etc to put up around your school, town/city, anywhere you can.

Educate yourself on anti-palestine talking points and how to refute them in a calm and logical manner. (Palestinian Toolkit is a great website for that)

Speak up! It's fucking scary, but if you can, don't let people's bigotry go unchecked. (You can use knowledge from the last point to make it easier to talk)

But also, know when to give up. It sucks, but not everyone is worth wasting your time debating. Some people won't change their mind no matter what.

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max1461 · 1 year ago

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Everybody does the exact same stupid shit. That white nationalist anon I was getting a while ago would send me story after story of some random black guy or immigrant committing a violent crime against a white person. Well, yeah, people are violent, you're gonna find those if you go looking for them. And there's a lot of racial animosity in the world, so you'll even find racially charged ones if you go looking! No shit, Sherlock. We could play this game all day. You find me a news story of a black guy killing a white guy, I find you a news story of white guy killing a black guy. This does no one any good.

TERFs are identical. News story after news story of a trans woman raping somebody. Yeah, the world is an awful place and people rape each other. I can find you a news story of a cis woman raping a teenage boy and getting three months in jail. I can find you a news story of a cis mom killing her disabled kid cause they're too much work. But I don't want to. The world sucks shit, why gorge yourself on the tragedy?

Zionists come up with news story after news story of pro-Palestinian/BDS/whatever protestors being antisemitic. Yep. A lot of people out there hate Jews. And there has been a genuine rise in antisemitism since the Oct. 7th attack, and that's awful. There are no excuses for that. Do you know what else has happened since then? The Israeli military has slaughtered tens of thousands of Palestinians, including huge numbers of innocent civilians—men, women and children.

People are often terrible to each other. Welcome to Earth. If you go looking for bad actors in a big enough group, you are guaranteed to find them. How about this. What about all the black people who didn't kill a white little girl? What about the black little girls? What about their hopes and dreams? What about their chance at life? What about all the trans women who didn't rape anybody in a bathroom? What if they just want to go about their lives, without constant public scrutiny of what genitals they have (as a cis woman, can you empathize with that? Constant public scrutiny of what you're doing with your genitals?). What about the 30,000 Palestinians who have been killed, and the 70,000 who have been displaced from their homes?

Fear has made you a monster. Fear has driven you to demand slaughter and oppression of innocent people because they look like guilty people you read about on the news, and since they look the same to you, you feel fearful—how can you tell whether these are the innocent ones or the guilty ones? Best to oppress and slaughter them preemptively just to be safe. I am here to tell you that this twisted logic of self-defense does not hold. I do not care if you feel safe—I do not care if you are safe—if the cost of your safety is innocent life. The world is a risky place. I am not going to deny that. Horrible things could happen to any of us. If we go around preemptively attacking other over it, we do not make it a bit better. And, needless to say, danger comes from everywhere, from every group of human beings, and oppressing the people who make you nervous will not, in fact, deliver you from danger. It just makes you a monster.

#society

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spywitch · 2 years ago

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Its so hard trying to find out how to just feel feelings instead of intellectualizing them. Like ppl always say thats what you need to do but thats like telling someone who’s constipated they just need to shit… like YEAH ok awareness of the fact that its not normal to only shit once a week and have a really hard time doing it every time is the first step in fixing it, but then you need to learn what diet changes and maybe pelvic floor related exercises you should be doing, and in some cases laxatives and supplements you need to make it so you Can Shit. So like what are the ways to Feel emotions fr

#like. ‘meditation’ probably is actually a good answer but like fr i think ppl need different kinds of meditation and we need guides on how #to do it. besides just counting breaths #but fr like some of us are I wanna say like. just TOO smart but in a way where we are very good at just rationalizing everything. even when #we are kind of Wrong or using backwards logic or overthinking like we’ve got our whole thought process already laid out and its too complex #to get us to step away from that and recognize its flaws #like I think of my friend who is like me a lot in that way we’re both prob on the spectrum a bit #and recently they have made some decisions in relationships i find Questionable but like in her explainations of the situations they already #had laid out all the pros and cons and rationalized their decisions and thought processes to themselves so like. that makes it hard to #actually squeeze in any concerns bc theyve already been ‘rationally’ dismissed. irrationally #i dont even know what im talking about anymore but yeah this is exactly it lmao how do u get ur brain Not to be analyzing everything always

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wowgrim · 1 month ago

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As someone who was living in Europe and the US during the apartheid era, I'm honestly trying to remember, and failing to remember, a single time I heard any activists in Europe or the United States call for completely dismantling South Africa as a country because it was committing crimes against humanity.

South Africa became a nation in 1910. When it started apartheid in 1948, it was about 38 years old. By the time apartheid was dissolved, around 1991, it was ~71 years old. Under international law, apartheid is a crime against humanity, and the South African government committed other crimes against humanity, as well.

The international campaign against apartheid focused on delegitimizing South Africa's white supremacist government and supporting the development of democracy in South Africa. It did not call for South Africa's dissolution or destruction.

Why am I thinking about this?

I keep seeing US and European leftists accuse Israel of crimes against humanity and then argue that Israel must therefore be dissolved. Besides, many of these people say, modern Israel has only been independent for 77 years, so it's not really valid as a country because it hasn't been around that long.

Even though South Africa had been around for much less time during the entire anti-apartheid movement, there was not a significant contingent of Europeans and Americans arguing that the international community should just dissolve South Africa because it hadn't been around that long.

Do I think these arguments for dissolving Israel are made in good faith? No, maybe, and yes. I don't think the people who originally came up with these arguments did so in good faith. I think those people don't like the idea of a country with a largely Jewish population, because they don't like the idea of Jews. I think those people would want Israel to disappear no matter what it did.

But I think a lot of the people who repeat these ideas somehow think they're valid, legitimate arguments rooted in logic and not prejudice.

So for anyone who considers themselves pro-Palestinian and thinks that necessitates the dissolution of Israel, I'd ask you to think about why you consider that to even be an option. It's a highly unusual demand for the international community to make. What makes Israel different from any other country whose government may have done unethical things?

#if you come on this post to be an asshole it's an immediate block #israel #Palestine #free palestine #i/p #south africa #apartheid #international sanctions #international law #crimes against humanity #antisemitism #bad faith politics

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kenobers · 3 months ago

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quid pro quo | jason todd x sionis!reader 18+

the official beginning of the jason todd x sionis!reader timeline you have an argument with your piss poor excuse of a father, only this time, it results in him draining your bank account. angry and freshly broke, you use the only logical coping mechanism; you fuck his rival's sexy son. tw: mndi 18+, problematic reader, daddy issues, oral sex, p in v sex w/ fem!reader, top!Jason, voyuerism (rooftop sex), brief daddy kink, jason is a little ooc but it's for the plot. reader doesn't know jason is red hood here. a/n: it's the prequel, baby !! quid pro quo | pride & periods | is this love? | tremble & shake | scorn to change my state

"Are you sober?"

"Am I what?"

You and Jason Todd were meant to be rivals. At least, you considered him a rival. He had never seemed to care. Granted, he was presumed dead for most of high school, taking any hope for legitimate academic competition with him. By the time he reappeared in Gotham, your father had already decided you weren't cut out to destroy anybody - although he hadn’t failed to remind you of what could’ve been the entire time Jason owned the Penguin’s hangout.

You still hated the guy. His apparent death had killed all the worth your father saw in you. For him to have been alive this whole time was a major slap in the face.

Secretly, you always thought your father wanted you to destroy Jason because he wished you were Jason. Was it really so fair that Bruce Wayne really had everything handed to him, including all the sons he could want. What was Roman Sionis stuck with? A squeamish daughter with no ambition, who couldn't even prove she was better than some adopted street kid.

Now you exist as more of a pet to him than anything else. Something for him to own, something he could keep leashed at his side, something he could brag about, as if he had any real pride for you. Which was why a single, sham threat to change your last name was enough to have your personal bank account closed.

Well, if you don't need daddy's name, you don't need his money either. It's just a lesson in responsibility.

Yeah, right. Like he wasn't going to find a way to keep you from making money of your own.

But, you could still prove your ownership over yourself. After several minutes of staring blankly at the wall when you realized your father hadn’t been bluffing, you dug to the bottom of your laundry to locate the cherry colored dress that got you into anywhere for free. You weren’t sure what it was you were aiming to accomplish, but the damn dress was going to ensure you didn’t need the Sionis money or name to get what you wanted. Your feet moved with a mind of their own right into your favorite bar, right into the perfect tall, dark and handsome ride.

You hadn’t recognized him at first. You hadn’t seen him in person in God knows how long, not since you were 15, probably. There was nothing special about his jeans, Mickey Thompson t-shirt and leather jacket. He didn’t look like a prince with the lazy way he slouched against the counter at the far end of the bar. From the entrance, his face blended in with all the others, unremarkable and unimpressive. Until the slight tug of his upper lip suddenly had you back in freshman year English, pouting as the teacher praised your would-be rival’s take on Romeo & Juliet.

Finally, a six-foot-something, Wayne branded plot began to formulate.

Of course, now you're rolling your eyes at him. You hate having to repeat yourself, even over the loud buzzing of the bar.

"I said, 'are you sober'. You look sober. Are you?"

Jason Todd blinks, like he still doesn't quite understand the question. He straightens his posture, jostling the untouched pint of something between his middle finger and thumb.

"I-yeah, I am. Are you?"

You cross your arms, roll your eyes again and ignore the question. Obviously, you're sober.

"Do you know who I am?"

He looks you over thoughtfully. His gaze conveniently lingers on the pop of your hip and the cleavage peeking out of your ruby neckline. Exactly where you want it. You snicker; so maybe he's a little slow, but at least he doesn't seem to be blind.

"You're Sionis' kid, aren't you? It's been a hot minute," Jason leans forward a little, magically more invested in the conversation. The ginger man standing next to him pauses his attempts to woo a brunette to raise an eyebrow at you.

"My dad hates you."

He scoffs, taking a half hearted sip of his beer.

"And bears shit in the woods, what else is new?"

You don't remember him having that stupid white streak in his too-well-tousled hair. It was sexy. You hated it.

"Fuck me."

IPA dribbles down his idiotically strong chin. His mouth goes a little slack as he blinks once again, harder and longer this time.

"What?"

Ugh, again with the repetition.

"Fuck me. Have sex with me," you reiterate as nonchalantly as if you're asking him to move over.

The redhead next to him starts cackling. Jason glowers at him, shoving the drink into his hand with one arm while pulling you closer with the other. It only takes him a gentle tug to pull your chest to broad chest. He leans down so his lips brush against your ear, his crooked nose nudging the side of your head.

"Hey, you sure you're sober?"

The warmth of his breath in contrast with his mouth, still cool from his glass, sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm dead sober."

"Okay, you see how I might doubt that given you just walked up to me and asked me to have sex with you."

You push him away and it's like pushing into a brick wall. A very muscular brick wall. "Look, Wayne-"

"Todd."

"Whatever. Even if I wanted to drink, I couldn't because my father drained my entire bank account."

Jason tilts his head, causing a lock of white hair to fall across his crooked nose.

"And why'd he do that?"

You hum amiably, curling your pretty maroon nails around his thick forearm.

"I'll tell you if you fuck me," you promise, batting your eyelashes as you place your other hand over his heart. Much to your frustration, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His sharp face has lost its earlier shock. He looks at ease, pleasantly entertained, with a slight smirk and a cocked slitted eyebrow.

"I think that's called extortion, baby girl."

"It's only extortion if I'm threatening you," you snap back. You should know, your father's an expert in it. You take a small breath, smoothing out your tone again, "I'm just keeping my business to myself. So, I'd call this more of a quid pro quo."

"It's a quid pro quo if I'm getting something substantial out of it," he says this but at the same time, two large hands are sliding over your hips with a featherlight touch. His nails briefly press into your skin.

Something in your belly tightens. Maybe he’s a more worthy opponent than you’d initially assumed.

You tip your head up as you stand on your tiptoes and sneak your much smaller hands under his jacket, brushing up his warm sides. He sucks in a sharp breath.

"If you really had no desire to fuck me, this conversation would've ended by now,” your voice is dripping in something venomously sweet. “And I'm not going to claim I have any idea of what's happening in your own business, but if I had to take a wild guess as to who in this room has the most to gain from fucking Roman Sionis' daughter, you'd be at the top of the list. Even if it's just for the bragging rights."

"You should know you’re worth more than just bragging rights, princess,” he says, rolling a fold of your dress between his fingers with a condescending shake of his head. You wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from underneath.

"Prove it."

"...and you're sure you're sober?"

"Wanna test my breath?"

He snorts at your bad line, but his index and thumb are already caging your chin between them. He considers you for one more moment, then kisses you.

You can taste the single sip of beer, but it’s not as strong as the fading taste of a cigarette. His lips move against yours with intent, as if seeking out a falter in your sobriety. Their search comes up empty, leaving behind nothing but a thin string of spit and the overwhelming desire for more of him.

"What's your plan then? Risk it in a bathroom stall?"

You loath how utterly girlish the grin on your lips is.

"Nah, I know a spot upstairs."

***

"You're freaky, you know that?” Jason teases as you push open the roof access.

"The cameras up here have a delay. My dad's people won't be able to snitch until tomorrow morning, so we have all the time in the world,” you smirk at the way his eyes bug out, tugging on the collar of his jacket with a sly wink. “Don’t worry. The cameras don’t pick up anything that happens on the ground. Plausible deniability.”

He gestures to the roof set-up. The ledge comes up high enough to hide from peeping neighbors, but a string of yellow Christmas lights keeps the spot well illuminated.

"Yeah? And what about other prying eyes? You aren't worried Batman's gonna show up and scold us for public indecency?”

The mental image is funnier than you let him think. You give him an amused little hum as you press yourself against his chest, walking two fingers up his ridiculously prominent bicep.

"Hmm, technically this is private property and besides, this is Red Hood's territory."

"Red Hood? You really are freaky.”

His lips are twinged ruby from being a human breathalyzer. A thin sheen of your lip gloss reflects the warm light surrounding you. Little scars decorate his hard face like freckles. You trace over a recent nick under his eye.

"Please fuck me, Jason.”

His arms are still at his side. His fingers twitch, either from anticipation or anxiety.

"You're sure you want this?"

"Fucking positive. Do you?"

The green of his eyes are shadowed by his hooded eyes. His unflinching gaze is locked in on you. There’s a weight to it that seems to put pressures on all the right places.

"Oh, fuck yeah, I do."

He doesn’t stop to think this time before he kisses you. It’s harder than earlier, his hands roaming your body. He had his moment to explore your cherry flavored mouth, now he’s taking what he wants. What you both want.

There’s no shared breath between you as you suck on his bottom lip, ensuring your lip gloss is smeared everywhere. A large hand snakes its way up your spine to grip the back of your head. You gasp as fingernails dig into your scalp and Jason takes advantage of your parted lips to run his tongue over yours.

You rack your nails over his stomach, catching the muscular grooves of his abdomen to make his shudder. You flatten your palm to sneak it downwards when he retaliates by grazing over your tailbone. You quiver under his touch, feeling that obnoxious smirk on his face.

“Tell me,” he pants between wet smacks, “if”, smack, “if anything’s”, smack smack, “too much.”

This gives you pause. What a chivalrous sentiment from a man who’s about to ram his cock into you on the dirty ground of a bar rooftop where Red Hood might see just to trifle with your father. Actually, you weren’t sure anyone had offered you that sentiment before. It has you rubbing your thighs together.

Something unmistakable and hard pokes your belly as your hips meet. His tongue feels along the ridges of your lips before licking between them, once again filling your mouth with him.

Cigarettes have never tasted so good.

The arm around your waist slides to fill his free hand with your ass. You alarm yourself by letting out a muffled moan when he squeezes. He’s going to make a mess of you much quicker than anticipated.

It’s just because the cameras are picking this part up, you think to yourself, I’m still in charge, Jason Todd isn’t going to get the best of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the hand on your ass rounding your hip. Two fingers play with the hem of your short dress and pull the skirt up to reveal the skimpy thong underneath. Jason finally pries himself away from your mouth to get a good look, letting out a low whistle as he admires the coordinating colors.

“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” He croons in a much gruffer voice than he’s been using. The rough pads of his fingers knead circles into your thigh, making you keen. “Daddy must really be stressin’ you out, baby girl. You’re so tight, need to unwind…”

You let out a little breath as the hand on your head moves to cup your chin. Jason’s lips are satisfyingly swollen and a rash of scarlet has started to spread across his cheeks, although it’s nothing compared to the heat rising in yours. The fingers at your thigh skim inward, ghosting over the elastic of your underwear.

“This alright?”

Later you’ll curse yourself for not saying something snarkier or dirtier, for not grabbing the outline of his cock and reminding him whose idea this was…but right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than for this man to touch your pussy.

You nod, “Please, Jason-”

“Please, what?”

Oh, this fucker with his little smug expression.

“Please…Please touch me, Jason.”

Although every time you say his name, his chest tightens up beneath your palms.

He cups your sex, feeling along the thinning string keeping you covered. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s clinging to your lower lips. His index and middle fingers are cold against the thin fabric of your thong. It's a sharp juxtaposition from his hot breath on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck.

Dagger-like canines whet the skin of your throat. The tip of his tongue drags a straight line down your jugular while the tips of his fingers trace circles over your flimsy underwear.

“So wet,” Jason lets out a pleased hum, snapping the string with a thawk to make you jolt. “And in these pathetic excuse for panties? I wouldn’t be surprised if you left something behind in the bar.”

Your natural instinct is to retort, but you don’t have a chance to get a word in before he’s pushing the flimsy fabric aside and swiping his middle finger through your slit.

“Daddy makes you mad and the first thing you do is parade yourself around with your fucking pussy out. You just went out looking for trouble, didn’t you.”

“Nuh-ah-uh,” you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders for support. He’s massaging your lower lips with false mercy. “Wasn’t looking for anything until I-ah-until-ahh-til I saw you.”

His canine bites down as his thumb presses your clit like it’s a button. Two fingers slip inside you with an embarrassing amount of ease and you whine as they scissor you open.

“You really know what you’re doing,” you huff, a half hearted attempt at a joke. He pauses, as if he’s surprised to hear you say that. His fingers freeze up inside you, then start to pump in and out carefully - cautiously even.

“Maybe that’s just what you needed, hmm,” he muses into your skin, planting another wave of kisses along your jawline. “Someone who knows what he’s doing to help you loosen up.”

He’s straining painfully against you. It seems unfair to let him do all the work when he’s also begging to be fucked to shreds. You reach for his cock, only for his fingers to retract from your cunt and curl around your wrist.

You whine, both at the sudden lack of him inside you and your foiled attempts to gain some control. Your knees nearly buckle as he removes his arms all together to shrug off his jacket. But he merely tuts, “None of that, princess. Why don’t you lay back down? I think the cameras got enough.”

Well, fuck it. You told him to treat you like a trophy, no point in confusing the man now.

He drapes his jacket on the ground before twining his arms around your waist and shoulders to lower you down on top of it. The inside is surprisingly soft against the exposed parts of your back.

“You just gotta let me take care of you, baby,” Jason coos, gently grabbing your ankles to move your legs apart. He takes his sweet time dragging your panties off, letting each callous on his hands hit your smooth thighs. “Look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

Taste?

“What’re you-”

“Shh, trust me,” he says, coming up to kiss you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, stopping to rub your hip affectionately. “You’re gonna be glad I did this. We can stop if you get uncomfortable.”

He kisses either thigh as he dips his head between your legs, his black hair tickling your skin. You suck in a breath of anticipation, but he steals it when he places an open mouth kiss on your slit.

You crane your head to look at him. Not a single other person has done this to you before. You were beginning to think it was just some sort of myth, but the way Jason licks from your hole to your clit with a blistering, flat tongue is suddenly very real - and very good.

He blows a harsh breath on your clit before delving back into your cunt. He licks his way into you, filling you with a new strange, wet sensation. His tongue is hot on your already burning core and you think you might melt into a puddle. You bite your lip, but it’s not enough to stop the pathetic cries that come out of you as Jason Todd, your alleged nemesis who never paid you any mind, the son of the dull pain in your father’s ass, eats you out.

The sound is obscene and loud, masking your soft pants. The wet noise echoes off the high walls of the ledge while Jason works your cunt with a stupid amount of precision. His mouth is sloppy, engulfing you whole. But, his tongue is tactical, taking its time to draw out a map of all the places that make you moan and squirm.

“Oh God, oh God!” You cry out, your hands flying to grab a fistful of black and white hair as he laps at you. His arms hook around your knees to yank you closer. He’s unreal, unrelenting in his dining. When he switches to deliver kitten licks to your clit, two fingers take his tongue’s place in your hole.

You buck upwards as his fingers curl inside you, easily stroking at that sweet spot just out of reach of your own fingers. His free arm pins your twitching hips down, and that’s when you officially relinquish all control to him.

“Jason, ahhh” you groan, every muscle and nerve in your body quaking. “Jason, I’m gonna…please let me…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sucks down on your button, letting his teeth graze the nerves in just the right way to send that unforgiving twinge up to your belly until it whites out your vision. Your orgasm floods his face, but he keeps licking until it stops. Only then does he pull away, giving you a shit eating grin dripping in more than just lip gloss and beer.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl, asking so nicely. And so damn sensitive, it’s cute.”

Your heart races at being called a good girl. You should be spent already, but something about the fact that he made you cum in only ten minutes makes you want even more.

He rises to his knees and you stare at him in awe as his body towers over you, blocking out anything but the hungry gleam of his eyes, the carnivorous bite of his lip, the mounting sweat of his skin. Anything but him.

The lights glow gold behind him, crowing your own personal Apollo with his halo. His pupils are blown out, but his stare hasn’t lost its cool. You, on the other hand, are trembling beneath him, your pussy clenching at the sound of his zipper coming undone.

Your eyes bug out to match the size of the cock he pulls from his jeans. It’s stiff as it fills his grasp, already leaking into his palm. He grins proudly at your awe.

“See why I wanted to warm you up, pretty girl?”

The adrenaline of the moment gives you the strength to sit up and press your worshipful lips to the ruddy head, revealing in the way it twitches. The remnants of your lip gloss add to its shine. Jason mixes it with his spit as he spreads it across his veiny flesh.

“You’re a God, Jason Todd.”

He bends down to reward your praise with a kiss, a briny tang replacing the burn of tobacco. Your hands come up to caress his jaw before dropping to his shoulders, proactively digging into his t-shirt. Your lips pull away from his to connect to his neck, repaying him for the bruises he decorated you with earlier.

He hums in pleasure, tipping his head to give you better access. He smears your lipgloss residue onto his hand and lubes his cock with a Lime Crime Wet Cherry and spit cocktail.

You’re so wrapped up in leaving a toothy imprint in the junction of his neck that you miss the hard switch in his expression. You yelp as he grips your thighs and hooks them over his hips, pinning you beneath him. Your torso flies back, but he reflexively catches your head before it can smack against the concrete.

He continues to cradle you, steadying himself as he drags his tip along your slit excruciatingly slow. He tuts and taps your clit when you bite back a moan.

“Don’t hold back now, beautiful,” he taunts, prodding your entrance with his blunt head. “What’s the matter, worried Red Hood might hear you?”

You try to grind against him and snarl when he pulls his cock away, “Don’t fucking tease me, jackass.”

Jason slaps his cock against you, then rests it on your belly. He lets out an amused scoff, “Wasn’t I a God thirty seconds ago?”

“Forgot to mention I’m an atheist.”

You cross your arms like you aren’t flat on your back with your legs up, but no poker face can hide the desperate squirm of your hips.

The bastard shakes his head and the weight of him shifts over your gut, “You just can’t help being a brat, can you? And to think, you were being such a good girl f’me.”

“Only because you were being nice-”

“I can be nice again, sweetheart,” his voice is low as he spits out the pet name. “But you gotta be patient.”

“I wasn’t raised to be particularly- AH!”

The head of his cock bullies its way past your labia and sits at the ready. You can already feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. It’s just the tip and it’s already bigger than anything you’ve ever had.

“You ready?” He whispers. You nod with a strained whine, but it’s not enough for him. “Take a breath, I gotta hear your voice, pretty girl.”

“I-”

Your heart pounds so fast, it stops for the split second that those sharp greens irises soften. His thumb rubs a circle behind your ear.

“Yeah,” you suck in one last breath. “I’m ready.”

“Just - hmm - Just tell me if you need me to stop.”

Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in. When you first saw his size, you had expected it to sting. But instead of sharp pain, he fills you with an instant and, based on the snail’s pace he’s moving at, neverending pressure.

“Oh, baby…Oh, that’s it, that’s it, nice and slow.”

It’s so much. It’s so good. Every bump and groove makes itself known as he buries himself inch by inch, rubbing against you.

"Fuck, you have a big cock," you groan, letting your head fall back on his jacket. He has the audacity to snort as he sinks the rest of himself into you, until his hips finally grate against yours.

The hand holding your head slips out from under you and pulls down the strap of your dress. Your already stiff nipple becomes absolutely statuesque when it meets the night air.

"Yeah? Well, you got a big fuckin' attitude, asking a man you barely know to come fuck you on a rooftop. You do this a lot?"

The edge of a callous catches your nipple.

"No! Just f'you!" You squeak with a jolt.

The callous turns into an entire paw, squeezing your entire breast harshly. You push upwards into the base of his palm, brushing your nipple against the defined lines.

"Just for me? Just had to have me?"

Jason leans in closer, so you can feel each hot strained exhale.

"Had to have you!"

There’s little more than a hair between your noses. That big strong hand finds its way to your throat.

"No one else pisses off your daddy as much?"

You have no explanation for what slipped out of you next.

In your entire sexual experience, you had refused to speak them. And more determined men than this one had tried to squeeze it out of you.

But something about the hand on your throat and the breath on your lips had you shouting,

"You're my daddy!”

Something flashes in his eyes and for a moment, you’re worried you fucked up. He freezes up. His face falls blank and his mouth goes taut as he considers your words. The hand supporting his weight jerks next to your head while you pant anxiously. You get the sense that this is a first for him too.

Then he lets out a breathless laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm your daddy.”

He pulls out of you without warning or sympathy. Your hips chase his blindly, your hole weeping for his cock to come back. He sits back on his knees and hauls your ass over his thighs, spreading you open on his wide lap.

"You holding on tight, baby?”

You waste no time securing fistfuls of his shirt, the white logo distorting in your clutch. He lines himself up to your entrance again, brushing the sweat off your brow.

"You tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

“Of course, daddy.”

He grins, his sharp canines glinting. “Good girl.”

He abandons his slow and steady routine to shove himself into you. He so graciously gives you a moment to re-welcome him with a little squeeze before he’s pounding into you, ramming in and out of you at an unforgiving pace.

You make a valiant attempt to move with him. Really, you do. But the man is actively reducing you to a huffing and puffing ragdoll. The angle he has you at leaves you nowhere to go but the end of his cock. You want to say something, to egg him on, however all that tumbles out of your gaping mouth is a series of choked uhs and ahs.

That is until he hits a spot you didn’t even know existed and you let out an honest to God scream. In your defense, the speed at which he fucks you is utterly inhuman. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was Superman taking his fill of you.

He slows, moving just enough to rub up against that sensitive point. He revels in the way your legs crush his sides, your trembling knees digging into his ribs.

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it, baby,” he groans. He plunges in as deep as he can go, lifting your hips like you’re made of clouds. Something in you pinches and burns as you open up even more for him.

He readjusts you with a grunt and sets a new brutal rhythm; fucking you fast and hard, then easing up when he strokes something that makes you shudder.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters, “Good girl…so good…so so fuckin’ good…”

Like clockwork, you gasp every time he slows down and drags his cock in or out of you. He lets you feel every minute detail, graciously allowing you to appreciate what he's giving you, before he's striking every sweet spot like lightning again.

“Come on, let Red Hood hear you.”

White, red and gold flashes before your eyes. Your mouth falls open dumbly as you cry out for your former woud-be-rival. Although there was ecstasy exploding from your core to your belly, the best feeling was him gasping your name in turn.

He pulls out of you just as he finishes, your name still falling from his swollen lips. With a heave of his chest, he rolls off of you and lands with a thump at your side. You pant together, waiting for the stars to pause their dancing.

“Gonna tell me why your dad took your dough now?” He finally puffs out.

“Fuck, I don’t even remember,” you laugh hoarsely. Jason snaps his head up to look at you. Dumbfounded is an adorable look on him.

“So you lure me into making a sextape for you, then conveniently forget your end of the bargain?”

“It’s not my fault you fucked my brains out,” you shrug as you sit up. You take an agonizing moment to stretch so you can enjoy the glare on his face. “Why do you wanna know so badly anyway?”

He sits up next to you, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair, “I’m gonna need another deal if you want me to start revealing my secrets.”

Jason Todd’s a quick thinker, you have to give him that. You consider him, consider the possibility of extending this hook-up into a full fledged thing. There has to be more to gain than lose. If you play your cards right, maybe you can beat your father to destroying the Wayne legacy. Or…maybe you can get your revenge by weaving yourself into it. Either way, you’ll ensure you come out on top.

“Tell you what,” you say, standing up and trying to ignore the way your legs shake. “I’m free tomorrow night. Do that thing with your tongue again and it might jog my memory. I’ll do something with my tongue and see if that doesn’t inspire you to share.”

He scoffs, “You’re a little business mongrel, y’know that?” You roll your eyes, but extend your hand out to help him up. He looks at your hand for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he accepts it, cautiously wrapping his large hand around your smaller one like he’s handling a snake. “No more rooftops,” he decides. “And no more up close cameras.”

You nod, “Fair. But I’m not calling you daddy again either. That was a one time thing.”

Jason laughs. It’s just a short bark, but it’s genuine. “No problem. It’s not really my thing either. I just appreciated its dramatics for tonight’s purposes.”

The corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“So…We have a deal?”

He gives your hand a firm shake, although it doesn’t betray the suspicion in those unnerving green eyes.

“I think you said it best yourself, princess. I think we have a quid pro quo.”

Something heavy settles in your chest like a weighted blanket as you shake his hand. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, it’s just that you sense Jason Todd is going to be around for a long time. And you’re going to get everything you can out of him.

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