#challenge social constructs

[limetarte]

Waiting for the time more people realize that we don’t have to follow made up rules and never change them.

We can change definitions as much as we want, we don’t have to follow definitions either.

Why limit ourselves to made up rules?

We don’t have to follow social constructs. We can make new things up too.

[quietwingsinthesky]

I DONT KEEP GOING INTO THE ASSASSIN’S CREED GAMES WITH THE INTENT OF FINDING OUT WHETHER OR NOT THEY’RE USING CHILD SOLDIERS AGAIN ITS JUST THAT CONSISTENTLY I KEEP RUNNING INTO CANON EVIDENCE THAT THEY’RE DOING THAT. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE GOOD GUYS. STOP THAT.

[batdiangelo]

I fear it's gotten to be that serious

send help. I'm losing sleep working on this.

[uhhhitsme]

[head in hands heart in stomach very very close to tears] hahahahahhahaa. that was fine. this is fine. all of this is fine

[agnesandhilda]

writes many many words to explain why I'm fascinated by stories examining the dovetailing of personal and political/systemic violence in families and how it's rooted in patriarchal worldviews when I could just post "tfw there is no ethical way to be a paterfamilias" and leave it at that

[ulyuxe]

In the past fifty years, fantasy’s greatest sin might be its creation of a bland, invariant, faux-Medieval European backdrop. The problem isn’t that every fantasy novel is set in the same place: pick a given book, and it probably deviates somehow. The problem is that the texture of this place gets everywhere.

What’s texture, specifically? Exactly what Elliot says: material culture. Social space. The textiles people use, the jobs they perform, the crops they harvest, the seasons they expect, even the way they construct their names. Fantasy writing doesn’t usually care much about these details, because it doesn’t usually care much about the little people – laborers, full-time mothers, sharecroppers, so on. (The last two books of Earthsea represent LeGuin’s remarkable attack on this tendency in her own writing.) So the fantasy writer defaults – fills in the tough details with the easiest available solution, and moves back to the world-saving, vengeance-seeking, intrigue-knotting narrative. Availability heuristics kick in, and we get another world of feudal serfs hunting deer and eating grains, of Western name constructions and Western social assumptions. (Husband and wife is not the universal historical norm for family structure, for instance.)

Defaulting is the root of a great many evils. Defaulting happens when we don’t think too much about something we write – a character description, a gender dynamic, a textile on display, the weave of the rug. Absent much thought, automaticity, the brain’s subsconscious autopilot, invokes the easiest available prototype – in the case of a gender dynamic, dad will read the paper, and mom will cut the protagonist’s hair. Or, in the case of worldbuilding, we default to the bland fantasy backdrop we know, and thereby reinforce it. It’s not done out of malice, but it’s still done.

The only way to fight this is by thinking about the little stuff. So: I was quite wrong. You do need to worldbuild pretty hard. Worldbuild against the grain, and worldbuild to challenge. Think about the little stuff. You don’t need to position every rain shadow and align every tectonic plate before you start your short story. But you do need to build a base of historical information that disrupts and overturns your implicit assumptions about how societies ‘ordinarily’ work, what they ‘ordinarily’ eat, who they ‘ordinarily’ sleep with. Remember that your slice of life experience is deeply atypical and selective, filtered through a particular culture with particular norms. If you stick to your easy automatic tendencies, you’ll produce sexist, racist writing – because our culture still has sexist, racist tendencies, tendencies we internalize, tendencies we can now even measure and quantify in a laboratory. And you’ll produce narrow writing, writing that generalizes a particular historical moment, its flavors and tongues, to a fantasy world that should be much broader and more varied. Don’t assume that the world you see around you, its structures and systems, is inevitable.

We... need worldbuilding by Seth Dickinson

[rottingmalice]

gender essentialism on the dash

[lapdogchase]

u challenge the idea of amatonormativity and alloromanticism being the norm even slightly and alloromantics get really upset bc they're not used to even the slightest bit of pushback on their beliefs about romance bc of how culturally ingrained it is. like aros aren't coming for ur dream of personally having one (1) partner you're legally bound to for ur whole life you're still not only allowed to do that but encouraged to do that by literally the entirety of society. if the idea that that might not be an innate desire and might be socially constructed somewhat upsets u that's a u problem

[stillnaomi]

most western socialists have a very low level of socialist consciousness. they've learned that capitalism is exploitative and unstable, and how a socialist society could function better, but the idea of socialism they have in their mind is one of advanced socialism: there's no state, no poverty, and no money. it doesn't include the necessary adjustments to being under constant siege from the capitalist world. it doesn't include the problems that any society must face as it develops its economy in the middle of the global capitalist system. it doesn't take into account the history of the countries involved but demands instead that they meet the socialist's pure vision. they take their ideal and compare it to real world socialist projects, which are still early in their development, and reject the project for not matching up to their vision. the construction of socialism is messy and happens in real countries, with complex histories and complex current challenges. demanding purity means rejecting the only real world struggles for socialism that actually exist

[iyoonjh]

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader

synopsis: Soobin has mastered the art of invisibility—quiet, reserved, and perfectly content staying in the background, only socializing with his small circle of friends. Y/N, on the other hand, is the campus It-Girl: popular, effortlessly cool, and someone Soobin has only ever admired from a safe distance.

But when Y/N unexpectedly walks into the tiny manga shop where Soobin works, his carefully constructed world glitches. She’s not lost. She’s not here on a dare. She’s actually into this stuff? As Soobin struggles to process this plot twist, he quickly realizes that Y/N isn’t just different from what everyone assumes—she might actually be just like him. And, worst of all? He might actually have to talk to her now.

genre: social media au (smau), strangers to friends to lovers, nerdsoobin x itgirlreader, fluff, crack

status: on going

warnings: profanity, sexual jokes, crack humor, suggestive, weed consumption, alcohol consumption

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

See You, Space Cowboy... Or Not (4370 words)

Soobin.exe Has Stopped Responding

I Want to Know More About You (But I’d Rather Die Than Ask) (2297 words)

My Criminal Record Can't Be Expunged (But At Least He Was Cute About It)

Re: I Am the Main Character? (2836 words)

Nothing Happened (Except Everything Did)

Every Protagonist Needs a Support Party (Even if They’re Clowns)

Is This a Shōjo Moment or Am I Just Delusional? (4930 words)

A New Challenger Approaches! (It’s My Feelings, and I’m Losing the Battle) (2624 words)

A Legendary Showdown: Soobin vs. Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO (4075 words)

The Stroker Mucus Has Entered the Chat

Filler episode but it's at Papa John's

The Party Arc Nobody Trained For (except for that guy in a bikini by the pool) (12932 words)

Hueningkai owns an iPhone 15 now and Niki merged with the forest creatures

Over 1,000,000 Heartbeats Per Second, but Jesus Christ who let the dogs out? (6536 words)

From Dungeon to Deck Chair: The Fellowship of the Beach (2082 words)

author's note: hey hi hello everyone! this is my first au ever, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it! btw english is not my first language! taglist is open!

[reasonsforhope]

"As 3D-printing methods continue to evolve, it’s not uncommon to see this method employed for various engineering projects, especially in the construction of affordable housing, structures, and schools.

In Ireland, a first-of-its-kind social housing project has been built from the ground up, using 3D printing as a time and money-saving solution.

In fact, it’s Europe’s first 3D-printed social housing project, fully compliant with international standards. In Grange Close, Dundalk, the three-unit terraced build is now a milestone achievement in eastern Ireland. It was created by Harcourt Technologies Ltd (HTL.tech) and assembled using COBOD’s BOD2 3D construction printer.

The unit is 3,550 square feet and is divided into three separate homes, each measuring 1,184 square feet.

The use of this technology allowed for a 35% faster construction process, which took 132 days from start to finish. During that time, the 3D-printed superstructure itself was completed in just 12 printing days. 

Conventional construction methods usually require more than 200 days, according to COBOD, meaning this method could be transformative in quickly scaling affordable housing options.

“Ireland’s housing crisis, driven by a decade of under-construction and rising demand, has reached critical levels, leading to widespread protests and influencing national elections,” HTL.tech shared in a press release.

“The rapid construction made possible by 3D printing offers a promising solution. The homes in Dundalk demonstrate how this technology can address housing shortages by dramatically reducing construction time and costs.”

In the 132 days it took to go from initial site preparation to handing over keys to the client, builders say approximately half of the time savings came directly from 3D printing. 

Additionally, during the project, COBOD upgraded the concrete hose of its printer, which increased its output by 40% and significantly increased the printing speed. With this upgrade, the company estimates that printing times for similar structures would be reduced to nine days instead of 12.

“We continue to improve our technology,” Henrik Lund-Nielsen, general manager and founder of COBOD International, said in a statement, “and although a hose update can be seen as a small step, the numbers from HTL.tech proves that it is not.”

Now, the client — a local housing council — will finish furnishing the homes and will rent them to social housing tenants at an affordable price.

It’s a success that will surely have ripple effects.

“As the first 3D-printed social housing project in Europe, the Grange Close development sets a precedent for future housing solutions,” a press release from HTL.tech explained. “With countries like Sweden and Germany also experimenting with 3D-printed homes, this technology is poised to become a standard approach for addressing housing shortages.”

The statement also added that governments across Europe may increasingly adopt 3D printing to “deliver faster, more cost-effective housing solutions for low-income residents.” 

“This project not only showcases the potential for rapid, sustainable construction but also serves as a blueprint for other nations facing similar challenges,” the statement concluded. “As 3D printing technology evolves, its role in shaping the future of housing construction looks increasingly promising.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, January 23, 2025

‍

[communistkenobi]

the thing that is endlessly frustrating when discussing transgender issues in public is that the people arguing against you - and in this case I am specifically referring to ‘progressives’ or otherwise self-identified leftists - are speaking from a place of hegemony, something that they do not acknowledge, and even more fundamentally, they mistake that hegemony for objective truth. to say “sex is biological” is to reflect the beliefs of those in power, to reflect the status of sex assignment in both domestic and international law, in administration, in medicine, in the labour market, in public space, in civil society, in virtually all aspects of social and political life. if you don’t like what a random transsexual is saying about gender on television, on a blog, or in a classroom you can - and I mean this unironically - simply go outside and be reassured your beliefs are correct by every facet of society that exists around you. You are granted the privilege of not requiring evidence for your beliefs; the current configuration of the social world acts as a replacement.

in contrast, the statement “sex is socially constructed” is treated as an immediate disqualifier from all public discourse on gender and sex; to announce such a belief in public as a trans person is to demonstrate your fundamental insanity and sexual perversion. If I want to articulate a theory of my own social position in the world I am called a deranged lunatic. this is not because society is constructed around scientific, objective facts that the transsexual is refusing to accept, but that the very fact of transgenderism as a social position is a challenge to the seemingly objective world that exists around us. My transgenderism is a site of truth that is irreconcilable with the present configuration of a deeply gendered society, and the only two conclusions to this problem are to either change society or to make life impossible for a transgender subject. To continue to argue that “sex is biological,” even from a progressive position, is to argue in service of the latter position, because it is the central organising principle of not just transphobic policy but all policy regarding sex and gender. I have yet to hear or see any sensitivity to this basic political fact whenever this argument goes around. Perhaps the reason transgender people are so emotionally invested in the answer of what sex “really is” is because the answer structures the possibility of our own existence.

But this is still somehow not enough for the progressive! Hegemony is insufficient; they are insecure with even that level of intellectual reaffirmation, and will only be satisfied until the very last insane transgender sjw also agrees with the hegemonic viewpoint. only then will the public square finally be a rational space where ideas can flourish

[satorurize]

He wanted them three rounds, DC had to come help him

Pairings: Established relationship, bf!gojo, reader is AFAB, a little lovesick gojo, he's overworked :(

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, freaky!gojo, marathon sex, p in v, (multiple) creampies and orgasms, squirting, feral gojo, sex in general.

Gojo Satoru is a freak..

Rumors about him being an absolute slut is true, but there is no bigger example than Satoru who is a slut and a virgin, a walking contradiction, before he met you.

Satoru looks at you in almost apprehensiveness when you give him a soft gaze at the revelation. This wasn't a look of disappointment, it looked like....pity. And Satoru hated being pitied more than anything.

He's a little embarrassed, although you reassure him that it's something you will never care about.

"You are literally juggling too many things with barely three hours of sleep, and virginity is a social construct anyway.." You shrug, looking up at him hovering over you, his tip nuzzled between the ingress of your sopping pussy, and oh how he thought that the pity would make his cock soft but it didn't, it just made it harder. It was a little pathetic, the way his cock was so easy that mere words of care and tenderness and acknowledgement for his furious schedule has got him rock solid, with the pearls of his precum clustering on the exterior of your sweet cunt. He was that love starved.

It took everything to not give your pussy mauling thrusts already, he was never the one to talk about how he indeed wanted a break sometimes and he wouldn't even now, especially being this horny and excited that he felt like a dog in heat. He had more than a good idea of how to go on about it, he had seen it in the bad porno that never appealed to him.

"Sweetheart..just let me put it in, I feel like my cock is gonna explode..I don't want to think of a bunch of blobs that I exorcise, not very hot.." He chuckled cheekily, leaning into your cheek, looking at you with the periphery of his eyes with a lecherous gaze, planting hot, open mouthed kisses onto your jaw and neck while he ached.

"Always a brat.." You sighed, grabbing his endowed cock from the base, pushing it into your velvety walls with a look of challenge and amusement laced onto your face.

After that, all hell broke lose. There was nothing that would stop Gojo Satoru now, not even if he was to be kept caged within his infinity. He would break it, just to discern your sweet, sweet cunt.

The challenge that was plastered onto your face just vanished, your assumption that Satoru would stop just after the first round with the orgasm that hit him with the speed of light, which made him finish so fast that it was deplorable, was so so wrong. He went on, and on and on.

And Gojo Satoru was innately confident, the fact that this was his first time didn't matter. He was always explorative, always excessive. Bold of you to assume he understood the concept of moderation.

"O-oh..fuckk..Toru.." You looked up to him with your glassy, nearly red rimmed eyes from the nth orgasm of the night, your cloying moans just made him keep going. Your was pussy puffy and clit violently engorged after being fucked this thoroughly.

"U-uh-huh..yeah, you like that..fuuuck baby, look at you.." He cooed with a feral grin on his lips as he steadily moved his hips, keeping your legs hoisted up on his shoulders, getting the hang of it. His hip movements no longer uncoordinated. He had always been a fast learner. He stills his hips with a series of whimpers as he came with hot white, thick ropes into your womb, pulling out with a lewd pop that spilled the cum stuffed inside down to your ass. You moaned softly, hazy and a little disoriented as your fluttering pussy pushed it all out.

He hummed at the sight, tapping and massaging his now agitatingly red tip onto your clit, he himself could feel his brain seem afloat, reverberating to take you again even after the multiple orgasms. He was dead set.

He hissed softly with widened eyes, in surprise and amusement, a full blown throaty laugh echoing his throat when you squirted, gushing out like a dam. He vigorously rubbed his sensitive cock on your sloshing pussy, his cock unbearably hard again. He was hooked, addicted. To you.

He grasped your hips, pulling you forward which made you mewl at the suddenness. He pressed his hefty weight on your body, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. If he had a laceration on his brain from the way this image of you burned in his head, sprawled underneath him, all flushed, sweaty and a mess, just for him. He would die rather than using his RCT.

"God baby..you washed my cum away, gonna hafta, fill you up again.."

©𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

Plagarism not authorised.

m.list!

[hrts4-jay]

✘☙Romantic Solitude❧✘

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Reader(Yunji)

cw: 3.1k words (yes, I was desperate.)

A/N: listen to Call Out My Name by The Weeknd while reading this ;)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

The air in Kanghak High School hangs thick and heavy. Every corner holds a potential ambush, every glance a challenge or a dismissal. You were just like a ghost, a shadow hugging the edges, hoping to remain unseen. Your uniform is neat, your gaze fixed on the worn covers of the book clutched in your hands.

You. A shy, quiet, the kind of 'loser' who is easy to overlook. And that’s exactly how you like it. Your life exists between the pages of novels and the lonely, cavernous rooms of your parents’ mansion. They provide the privilege that affords you a place in this brutal school, Their indifference makes you feel completely alone.

Your routine is a carefully constructed defense: arrive early, jot down notes, find an empty corner in the library or a deserted classroom, read until the bell, attend classes keeping your head down, leave immediately. Avoid eye contact. Avoid crowds. Avoid them.

They are the Union, The leaders of the school’s social and physical environment..

And he is their leader, Geum Seongje.

You’ve seen him, of course. Everyone has. He’s impossible to miss. Broad-shouldered even under the loose uniform jacket, a face that could be handsome if not for the permanent set of his jaw, his smile. And the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. His reputation precedes him like a wave of fear – brutal, efficient, utterly merciless.

Today, your carefully constructed peace shatters.

You’re in the library, nestled in a back corner, lost in a scene where the finally confesses his tormented feelings. The world outside the pages has vanished. That’s your gift, or maybe your curse – total immersion.

The worn pages of your romance novel trembled in your hands. You huddled deeper into the corner of the Kanghak High School library, This place is a peaceful escape from the hectic life at school.

Another stolen moment, another page turned, another fictional love affair devoured. Your heart fluttered as the characters confessed their undying devotion. You, Yunji, the shy, bookish girl who blended into the background like a misplaced comma.

A shadow fell across your book. You flinched, startled, and looked up.

Geum Seongje.

Your breath caught in your throat. You scrambled to close the book, the lurid cover suddenly feeling like an open confession of your most embarrassing secret.

"What are you reading?" His voice was a low rumble, He was undeniably teasing you, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk that danced across his face, revealing a playful glint in his eyes.

You stammered, "N-nothing. Just… studying."

He didn't seem convinced. He reached out, his fingers, calloused and violent, brushing against your hand as he plucked the book from your grasp.

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

He examined the cover, a slow smile spreading across his lips. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Romance, huh? You seem like the type." he laughed. This is so embarrassing.

He knew. He knew the kind of stories you lost yourself in, the fantasies that entertained your sleepless nights. Shame burned in your cheeks.

He didn't say anything more, just handed the book back to you. As he turned to leave, he paused, his shoulder blocking the sunlight.

"See you around, Yunji."

The way he said your name, like a secret promise, made your skin crawl. It wasn't a friendly farewell; it was a claim.

The suggestiveness, the sheer audacity of the implied comparison, makes your breath catch. You just stare at him, wide-eyed.

The tension in the air doesn't dissipate immediately; it lingers. You watch his retreating back, the way his shoulders shift under the uniform jacket. Shit, even his back looks good. Only when he’s gone do you dare exhale. Your heart is still racing.

The encounter is brief, maybe two minutes at most, but it lodges itself in your mind. Why did he approach you? Why the questions? How does he know your name?

For the rest of the day, you find yourself constantly scanning the hallways, anticipating another encounter. Every shadow seems to lengthen, taking on his form. You jump at sudden noises. You’re walking down a crowded hallway between classes, your book once again your shield. The usual chaotic energy of the school is intensified here – shouts, laughter, shoving.

Suddenly, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Seongje is coming towards you, his minions trailing behind him like a dark cloud. He doesn’t shift from his path. He walks straight through, demanding space with his presence.

You freeze. Instinct tells you to step aside, press yourself against the lockers, disappear. But you’re caught in his direct line.

He reaches you. His gaze, cool and possessive, locks onto yours. He doesn't stop or slow down. His shoulder brushes yours as he passes, a deliberate, almost gentle contact in the midst of the hallway's rough and tumble.

It’s just a touch, fleeting and seemingly accidental, but it feels like a brand. His touch lingers on your skin for a moment, electric and unnerving. He doesn't look back. He just keeps walking, leaving you trembling slightly against the lockers, the hallway noise washing over you as you try to regain your composure.

He’s marking you. That’s what it feels like. A quiet, public declaration of interest that you never wanted.

The small interactions don't stop. They become a new, scary pattern in your school life.. He doesn't corner you again in the library, but you catch his eye from across the cafeteria, a long, assessing stare that makes you drop your fork. You would see him lean against the wall near your classroom door, watching you as you leave, his arms crossed, that unreadable expression on his face. He doesn't speak, doesn't approach. He just is there, a constant, looming presence.

It’s psychological warfare. He’s letting you know he sees you. He’s letting you know he's interested. And in the world of Kanghak, the Union leader's interest in a 'loser' like you isn't flattering; it's an intro to trouble.

One afternoon, as you're hurrying towards the school gate, desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere, a voice calls out your name.

"Yunji."

It's Seongje. He's leaning against his motorcycle, parked near the school gates, a picture of casual menace. His minions are scattered nearby, keeping a respectful distance, their eyes on him, periodically sweeping over the other students hurrying past. Everyone gives him a wide space.

You stop, your heart sinking. There’s no ignoring him here.

He pushes himself off the bike, walking towards you with that predatory stride. "Where are you rushing off to?" He asks with a smirk, a cig between his teeth.

"Home," you say, your voice quiet. You grip your bookbag strap tightly.

He stops a few feet away, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His eyes travel over you, lingering on your face, then moving down your body in a way that makes you acutely aware of your skin beneath your clothes. It's the 'pervert' gaze you’ve heard whispers about, though directed at you now, the intensity of it making you feel exposed and vulnerable.

"Home," he repeats, eyes dropping to the ground, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more intimate, more private, despite the public setting.

"Such a boring place." He steps closer, reaching out. Your instinct is to recoil, but you hold still, frozen by fear and a strange, morbid curiosity.

He doesn't touch you. Instead, his fingers lightly brush your hair, pushing a stray strand behind your ear. The gesture is deceptively gentle, but his eyes are still hard, possessive.

He lets his hand drop, but his fingers linger near your face for a moment too long before falling away.

The message is clear: I see you. I want your attention. I want you out here, where I can reach you.

He takes another step closer, closing the remaining distance. He’s right in front of you now, your personal space completely obliterated. You have to tilt your head back slightly to look at him. His gaze holds yours, intense, demanding.

"You need a ride?" His lips curl into a smirk, and his voice drops to a sultry whisper, laced with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine.

You pause, the invitation hanging in the air like a thick fog. Should I accept this offer? A wave of exhaustion washes over you, making the idea of surrendering to his charm all the more tempting.

He raises a hand again, this time letting his fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly light, almost feather-like, yet sending jolts of pure dread through you. You feel trapped, cornered, even here, on the edge of the school grounds. Yet part of you wants more.

His thumb moves slightly, just barely brushing your lips. You can feel the rough skin, the calluses from countless fights, surprisingly gentle against your soft skin. It's an incredibly intimate gesture, made all the more disturbing by the predatory look in his eyes.

"You're pretty when you blush," he says, his gaze fixed on your face. "Like you're hiding something." His voice drops further, becoming a low, unsettling purr. "I like secrets, Yunji. Especially when I'm the only one who gets to uncover them."

His eyes move down again, lingering on your chest, then back up to your face. The 'pervert' aspect isn't just in his gaze; it's in the way he uses his power, his position, to make you feel vulnerable, to assert his creepy dominance, wrapping his desire in layers of threat and possession.

He leans in closer until his breath brushes your ear. "Don't run away anymore," he whispers, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "I don't like it when you try to hide from me."

He straightens up abruptly, the intimacy of the moment snapping. He gives you one last, lingering look, that possessive spark bright in his eyes.

"Will you take the offer or not?" he says, his voice back to that casual tone, but the underlying threat remains.

You remain rooted to the spot, trembling. The scent of him seems to linger in the air. You touch your jaw where he touched you, your lips where his thumb brushed. It feels unreal, a scene ripped from a dark, twisted romance novel, but terrifyingly real.

You cleared your throat. “I-I’ll go with you.” You said with no regrets.

He nods slightly, turning to stride confidently back to his motorcycle. You trail closely behind him, a little girl caught up in the thrill of the moment. The engine roars to life, echoing in the air and sending a thrill down your spine, a powerful reminder of the freedom that awaits on the open road.

He didn't just notice you. He's claimed you. In his own possessive, unsettling way.

You climb onto his motorcycle, the engine purring beneath you as you settle into the plush, leather seat. He carefully places the helmet atop your head, his warm hand gently patting the exterior as if to ensure a secure fit.

“Hold tight.” He says, starting his motorcycle. You wrapped your arms on his waist, heat creeping up in your cheeks.

The wind carries a hint of adventure, brushing through your hair as you secure your arms on his waist, feeling the vibration of the powerful machine ready to roar down the open road.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

The school gates feel less like an exit and more like the entrance to a world you've just been forced into. Your heart hammers with fear, but beneath it, a tiny, unsettling knot of something else begins to form – the terrifying realization of a feeling you didn't want to believe in.

The days that follow solidify this new reality. He doesn’t approach you at the gates again, but his presence is a constant pressure. You learn his schedule without trying. He knows where you’ll be. He doesn’t always look at you, sometimes just passing close by, a silent reminder. Other times, his gaze finds you across a crowded room, intense and unyielding, holding you captive for a moment before you manage to look away, heart pounding.

The small interactions evolve. They move from simple presence and intense gazes to more direct, unsettling gestures within the school walls.

One day, you’re sitting alone during lunch break in a deserted corner of the courtyard, trying to lose yourself in your book. You’ve barely taken a bite of your sandwich when a shadow falls over you.

It’s Seongje. He’s alone again.

He doesn't say anything. He just sits down next to you on the stone bench, his presence immediately shrinking your world. He doesn’t smile. His gaze is fixed on you, unwavering.

You stop eating. Your book lies open in your lap, forgotten. The tension stretches, heavy and awkward.

"Why’d you stop eating, hm?" he says tilting his head, his voice a low command.

When did he become such a caring person?

You hesitate, then slowly pick up your sandwich. You can feel his eyes on you as you take a small bite.

"What are you reading today?" he asks, a different tone this time, less like a demand, more… curious? Or perhaps just checking.

You show him the cover without a word. Another historical romance, and passionate, complex relationships.

He takes the book from you, your hand freezing as his brushes yours. He examines the cover, then flips through the pages idly. He doesn't seem to be reading the words, just scanning, his expression unreadable.

"Same old," he mutters, closing the book. He doesn't give it back immediately. He holds it, turning it over in his

hands. "Always escaping, huh? Don't you ever want to deal with what's in front of you?"

His eyes lift from the book to meet yours, and the intensity is back, sharper now. "Like me." He smiled widely.

Shit.

The bluntness, the sheer confidence that he is something you should be 'dealing with', is staggering. You feel a wave of heat rise to your cheeks.

"I… I just like the stories," you say softly, trying to explain, to distance yourself from the implication.

He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. "Or maybe you like the idea of someone chasing after you. Someone who won't give up." He taps the book against his palm.

His interpretation is unsettling, twisting your simple love for reading into something about him, about his purpose. It feels invasive, like he’s looking into the private corners of your mind.

He places the book on the bench between you, but his hand stays on it, resting lightly. "This world is shit, Yunji. Those paper heroes won't protect you."

He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air. Then his voice softens, becoming alarmingly tender, a contrast to his usual roughness and the perverted possessiveness you've felt from him. It’s this switch, this unexpected softness layered over the threat, that is a bit disturbing.

"Maybe you need someone real," he murmurs, his eyes holding yours. "Someone who knows how to handle things. Someone who won't let anyone touch what's theirs." He smirks, poking his cheeks while looking at you.

Theirs. He already thinks of you in terms of possession. The neediness surfaces here, not as weakness, but as a demanding, controlling desire to own you completely. He needs to protect, to control, because in his twisted view, you are already something that belongs to him.

He covers your hand on the bench with his, his fingers warm and strong. The rough calluses are there again, a constant reminder of the violence he is capable of. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that should be comforting or romantic in your books, but from him, feels utterly predatory and terrifyingly intimate.

"Let me take care of you," he says, his voice low, a promise and a demand intertwined. "Stop reading about it. Let me show you."

His perversion isn't just sexual; it's a form of 'love' or 'care' that is rooted in dominance, possession, and a complete disregard for your independence or feelings. He sees your vulnerability, your shyness, your escape into fantasy, and it seems to trigger a twisted instinct mixed with a potent desire to dominate and corrupt that innocence. He wants to be your reality, to fill the void left by your neglectful parents, but on his own brutal, possessive terms.

You can feel the blood pounding in your wrist under his touch. You want to pull away, to run, but you’re trapped by his gaze, by his hand holding yours captive on the bench.

"I don't… I don't need anyone to take care of me," you manage, your voice trembling slightly. It’s a lie, perhaps, or at least a desperate refusal to admit the need that makes you so vulnerable.

He smiles slightly, a slow, knowing smile that sends a chill down your spine. "Stop lying, Yunji. You know damn well." His thumb continues to stroke your hand, back and forth, a constant, unnerving contact. "I think you need me."

What a cocky asshole!

He doesn't give you time to respond. He squeezes your hand gently, possessively, then releases it. He stands up, leaving your book on the bench, but taking the silence, the peace, with him.

"Finish your lunch," he says, his tone back to normal, as if the intense, intimate interaction never happened. "Don't want you getting weak, babe." He smirks and winked at you.

He walks away, leaving you alone again, trembling, your hand tingling where his touched it. Your sandwich sits forgotten. Your book lies there, its familiar pages now feeling less like an escape and more like the reason you’ve been targeted.

The small interactions have escalated. They are no longer just glances or brief touches. They are direct confrontations, invasions of your personal space and your attempts at peace.

Seongje isn't just a looming presence anymore. He is a direct threat, a disturbing force that has fixed its sights on you, pulling you from the shadows into the harsh, dangerous light of his world. Yet part of you yearned for it.

You are caught in a story you didn't choose, with a protagonist who is brutal, demanding, and sees you not as a person with your own desires, but as an object for his twisted need and possessive protection. The pages of your romance novels offer no guidance for surviving this.

The school bell rings, a jarring sound that pulls you back to the immediate reality, but you know, with a sinking certainty, that the bell doesn't signal the end of this interaction, only a pause before the next.

Seongje's story with you has only just begun.

[alyakthedorklord]

Batman the Playboy

Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.

The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, (or hit with some kind of drug while out saving the world) and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.

Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“

Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”

Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”

Green Arrow: (offended noises)

Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”

Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”

However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)

So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”

Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”

Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”

———

Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.

GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”

Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”

Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”

Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”

GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”

Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.

Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”

Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”

Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”

Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”

Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”

Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻‍♂️

“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”

Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!

The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.

And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.

(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)

Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.

[rapplesart]

Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.