i’m gonna say this as plainly as possible because i’m tired of watching people bend themselves into pretzels to sound polite about it:
some of you treat fandom like a moral purity contest and it’s fucking exhausting.
like genuinely when did “i don’t like this” turn into “this is evil and anyone who engages with it is a bad person”? those are not the same thing. they have never been the same thing. they will never be the same thing.
you just decided your discomfort is a universal law and now everyone else has to abide by it or get dogpiled.
and the whole “depiction = endorsement” thing is such a bad-faith take i can’t even pretend to respect it. by that logic, no one should ever write conflict, toxicity, violence, obsession, anything messy, because god forbid fiction actually explores something complicated instead of being a sanitized little after-school special.
it’s fiction. people are allowed to poke at weird dynamics, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, whatever, without it being a fucking manifesto for real life behavior. engaging with something does not mean co-signing it. reading it, writing it, analyzing it, none of that means “i think this is good in reality.” it means “i find this interesting to explore.” that’s it.
and what really pisses me off is how this shit kills actual discussion. no one wants to say anything nuanced anymore because the second you do, someone’s ready to twist it into “so you support [insert worst possible interpretation here].” like congratulations, you’ve created an environment where the only safe opinion is the most boring, surface-level one imaginable.
that’s not protecting anyone. that’s just making fandom dull as hell.
also this constant need to moralize everything? it’s performative. i’m sorry, it is. half the time it feels less like people actually care about harm and more like they care about being seen as the most correct person in the room. you don’t have to think, you don’t have to analyze, you just have to say “this is bad” loud enough and suddenly you’re winning.
cool. great. love that for you.
meanwhile everyone else is either shutting up or getting pushed out because they don’t want to deal with the harassment over liking or even just talking about something you’ve decided is off-limits.
idk. block what you hate. curate your space. no one is forcing you to engage with anything. but stop acting like your personal line in the sand is some objective moral boundary the rest of us are obligated to respect.
Disclaimer: I do think that fandom only works if people stick to the Three Laws of Fandom, i.e. SALS, DL;DR, and YKINMK. I am anti-anti and I believe that writing problematic things does not make you problematic in real life. Basically: I'm on your side, fellow fic writers.
But there is a caveat. We have to remember why the Three Laws exist. They are there so that fandom is a safe space for everyone. So it can be a place we all come to and feel respected and heard. But this undoubtedly privileges White people.
The Three Laws of Fandom will inherently protect White people's safety because we don't have to worry about unconscious bias or racist conditioning towards our race or ethnicity. The Three Laws of Fandom do not inherently protect People of Colour because White people in fandom will have forms of racist bias that we have to unlearn. Therefore, the Laws only work if White people choose to be actively anti-racist and listen to POC in the fandom.
Let's expand on this.
This is not saying that writing racism, or writing racially-charged themes, should be censored or off-limits to White people. But when we do write them, we need to remember that the Laws also only work because fandom operates on a comprehensive tagging system. We are able to enforce DL;DR because we have tags showing us exactly what is in the fic. Therefore - don't like age difference? Don't like non-con? Don't like violence? You can opt out!
But if you write racially-charged themes and don't give appropriate content warnings, then you aren't giving POC the chance to opt out. In fact, you are endangering their mental and emotional safety by pulling them into subject matter that has real-world implications for them. And yes, entering fiction always carries a risk of reading something that you don't like - but is far more dangerous for POC than for White people.
It is one thing to accidentally read a fic that depicts a kink you don't like, it is another for a POC to read their own experiences being depicted in a way that makes them out to be no big deal, and not even a big enough deal to be appropriately tagged.
It is also important to note that a POC alerting you to racist themes or passages in your work and asking you to appropriately tag or consider the way you wrote them isn't the same as them flaming you. In fact, it shows care. This person thinks that you are worth their time and effort to try and have a conversation with. If you shut that down and prioritise your right to write anything you want above someone's safety, that is a racist act.
This type of racism results in people like Stitch's Media Mix taking a hard line against the Laws altogether, as they are so regularly used as excuses by White people to justify racism. While I disagree with Stitch's ultimate conclusion, can I blame her for how they got there? The Laws have certainly never been leveraged against me to dismiss my lived experience or concerns, and have only contributed to fandom being a safer space for me. But Stitch is Black and speaks about antiblackness and racism in fandom - and gets barrages of death threats and hate mail for doing so, from fans participating in these spaces.
How are we supposed to tell POC that the Laws keep their spaces safe when they so clearly do not?
On a related note, I think the prioritisation of ✨positivity✨ over any sort of critique or conversation is another mechanism to protect Whiteness. It's important to remember that particularly in slash fandoms, the majority of fans tend to be white queer AFABs or genderqueer people, so the normal structures of patriarchy and heteronormativity that we navigate in our regular lives don't enter into fandom as pervasively. Whiteness, however, is the oppressive structure that tends to persist in slash fandoms, and therefore we need to be cognisant of how this can marginalise and isolate POC fans.
If you avoid difficult, race-based conversations because you only spread "positivity", then you do not actually care about everyone in fandom having a positive experience.
Paraphrasing from 'Conflict is Not Abuse' by Sarah Schulman, conflict isn't inherently bad. It's productive. It shows care. It's growth.
The Laws of Fandom can and should work for everyone. But we are the actual enforcers. We have to recognise the potential ways people can abuse the Laws to marginalise, threaten and isolate POC fans.
People of Colour deserve a seat at the table of fandom. They deserve a safe space. They deserve to feel wanted and seen and respected.
I don't have all the solutions for this - I'm White and recognise that everything I'm saying here I only learned from POC and have probably not said it as well or as eloquently as they have been doing (but no one's listening). I welcome any additions, critiques or insights from POC to this post.
The type of fandom I want to cultivate is safe and inclusive for everyone, and we need to start thinking about what that actually means.
Summary: Bobby has fallen in love and finds a new kind of courage along the way
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Canon Era, Confessions, First Kiss, Frottage, One Shot
Words: 2367
A/N: dedicated to @arokel based off recent conversation lmaooooo
-
AO3
or
Bobby is a mess.
Papers are scattered across the small dorm room, books thrown on the floor, and Bobby is face down on his bed.
Practice was supposed to be business as usual and it was, but Bobby had let his mind wander. Never before had he so intently watched Don’s movements, feeling every exhale, the strain of his muscles. It was beautiful and for a minute too long, Bobby was lost.
“Where are you taking the boys, Bobby?” Ulbrickson had called from the boat next to them, snapping Bobby from his thoughts.
Now, Bobby has to deal with the aftershocks. With the realization that he’s fallen in love with Don Hume.
None of this would be so bad if it just wasn’t Don. Bobby can’t risk ruining a friendship, someone who knows him better than he knows himself. He can’t break up the team, can’t mess up one of the few good things in his life.
The opening of a door makes Bobby lift his head and he says nothing as Shorty stares at the upended room.
“This how you get ready for parties?” Shorty’s eyes dart around and he gingerly steps around Bobby’s mess.
“Just had to get something out,” Bobby mutters, dropping his head back down on the mattress.
“What, don’t you yell enough at practice?”
Bobby only grunts in return, wondering if he can turn into a slug if he stays here long enough.
“I can just tell the guys you’re not feeling well. You don’t have to go tonight.”
“No,” Bobby jumps up. “I want to go.”
He needs distraction. Even if Don is there, at least he can talk to the other guys, focus on anything but his own lovesick thoughts.
“Alright,” Shorty shrugs. “But if you get drunk I’m not cleaning up your shit.”
Bobby waves him away, kicks and shoves what he can into a pile before getting ready for the night.
By the time he reaches the dance hall, Bobby is in better spirits, and he falls easily into casual conversation. To his relief, Don is caught up with a couple of students he doesn’t recognize, leaving Bobby to his own devices.
Which is how he ends up at a table with Joe and Joyce, feeling a little like a third wheel. He glances away whenever the two lean in close and tries not to imagine what it’d be like if that was him and Don.
“I’m going to grab something to drink. Keep my girl company, Bobby,” Joe claps him on the shoulder before leaving the table.
Bobby nods with a grin and he and Joyce get to talking about all sorts of things. She really is a charming girl. Maybe if she were single, Bobby would ask her on a date. Maybe he’ll ask the next girl that catches his eye to dance.
And maybe Bobby is just fooling himself.
As the conversation continues, Bobby’s eyes drift around the room. Roger and Chuck are in some heated debate with Jim, while Gordy, John, and Shorty mingle at another table.
Then, there’s Don. Alone, watching the room, and a picture of perfection. Bobby thinks back to their last win, the jubilation of winning overcoming all else as they held onto each other. Bobby traces his palm, remembering the roughness of Don’s hands, how easily they had fit together.
“You really love him, don’t you?” Joyce breaks Bobby’s thoughts.
“Hm?” He’s slow to turn to Joyce, and her words haven’t quite caught up yet.
“Don,” she points. “You love him.”
The color drains from Bobby’s face and he tries to shrug off her words. “Sure. He’s a pal.”
Joyce rolls her eyes, laughs a little at this. “You’ve got it bad.”
Nausea rises in Bobby and he grips the tablecloth, trying to steady himself. If Joyce can figure him out in just one night, then he’s walking a dangerous road.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Joyce offers a sympathetic smile. “Not even Joe.”
Bobby relaxes at this, but still his nerves get the best of him. He’s been doing all he can to deny his feelings, to hide himself, and it hurts. He’s jealous of Joe and Joyce’s love, the freedom they have just to be themselves. If it were a different world, he would march up to Don right now and confess everything.
“I think Don could use a little company.” Joe is back at the table, drinks in hand for Joyce and himself.
Bobby quirks a brow, spares a glance at Joyce who has taken to nursing her drink. “That so?”
Joe shrugs. “I mean, now or never, right?”
Bobby and Joyce’s expressions match as they stare at Joe with suspicious eyes. He only gives them a grin, toasting Bobby before he takes a sip from his glass.
“You aren’t subtle, Bobby,” Joe finally explains. “The guys, me, we’re okay with it.”
Bobby watches Joyce’s mouth drop open as his own heart thrums in his chest. This all has to be some cruel joke.
“You mean…?” Joyce starts.
“Anyone gives you trouble, we’ll give ‘em hell,” Joe nods and he’s serious, the same stare Bobby has seen right before a race.
Tears sting at the corner of Bobby’s eyes and he takes a shaky breath. He’s never talked about this out loud. It could be the end of all things, but Bobby is close to bursting. He wants to trust Joe. Wants to believe there’s some good in the world.
“What if he hates me?” Bobby all but whispers, unable to look at Joe and Joyce.
“He won’t. You’re his best friend,” Joe leans in. “Cross my heart, Bobby.”
Joyce’s hand rubs Bobby’s forearm, her eyes shining with a kindness Bobby thinks only exists once every century. He drums his fingers on the table and looks over at Don, still sitting alone. He’s folding a cloth napkin, twisting it as if he’s figuring out a new design. It makes Bobby smile, his heart thuds in his chest.
Inhaling deeply, Bobby glances at the couple and his spirit is renewed. Maybe they’re right. With a nod, Bobby gets to his feet and approaches Don before his mind convinces him otherwise.
“Hey, Donny,” he sits next down to the other man who jumps at his greeting.
“Bobby,” Don smiles with realization and Bobby tries to ignore the fireworks igniting in the back of his mind.
He wonders if this smile is reserved only for him as he leans in close to Don, almost too close. “Having fun?” He points to the crumpled napkin Don’s been fiddling with.
“Oh….yeah. Loads.”
Bobby chuckles at this, taking the napkin and letting his fingers brush against Don’s hands. He imagines the shiver that leaves Don, surely, and sets the piece of cloth on the table.
“Want to get out of here?” He motions with his head to the door.
Don nods and Bobby grabs his coat before they leave the dining hall. All the way to the dorms they’re silent. Bobby thinks to break it, opens his mouth a few times but his fear gets the best of him.
Finally, they reach the door of Bobby’s room and his hands shake as he tries to unlock it. He swears to himself, shoving the key in with such force he nearly snaps it in two and he wiggles it around as if that will make any difference. With a grunt, Bobby kicks the door in, which swings open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. He winces but no one comes running and Bobby lets Don in first. Once he’s inside, Bobby shuts the door with a white knuckled grip on the knob, attempting to collect himself.
“Shorty should be out for a while,” Bobby speaks at last.
Moonlight spills into the room and Bobby can just see Don's profile in the dark. He could just stay like this, admiring from afar, never speaking the truth in his soul. Then, there’d be no heartbreak, no chance of utter devastation.
“You look good tonight,” Don suddenly says and Bobby tenses. Don swears, shakes his head. “That came out wrong.”
Yet he doesn’t continue. Bobby takes a hesitant step forward, trying to meet his eyes. Even in the low light, Bobby can see the racing thoughts behind them. With a small breath, Bobby reaches out, lets his fingertips brush against Don’s.
Don snaps his gaze to Bobby, questions washing over his face. Bobby’s own fear rises in his chest and he just wants to run. Instead, he takes in a deep breath, overriding all sensibility.
“I like you, Don. Not as friends. Like Joe and Joyce. I want us to be like that.” Bobby can’t listen to his own voice as he spills everything. “You’re the first person I want to see in the morning and the last at night. I don’t want to know what it’s like to spend a day without you. God damn it, I just need you.”
Bobby expects a shove or an excuse to leave, but when his face gets buried in Don’s chest, strong arms encasing him, Bobby can only grip onto Don for dear life.
“I love you, Bobby,” Don whispers in his ear.
Every worry, every doubt washes away. In Don’s arms, Bobby is safe, seen. He’ll be damned if anyone tries to take this away from him. Don pulls back just a little to place a hand on Bobby’s cheek, his eyes shining with a love Bobby didn’t even think was possible. He’s breathless, at a loss for words, and he can only hope his own stare matches Don’s.
He doesn’t miss how Don’s hand traces from his hair down his face, careful as if Bobby is made of porcelain. When Don tips up his head with gentle fingers under his chin, Bobby’s eyes flutter shut and Don closes the distance between them.
Don kisses like he rows. Focused, sure, strong. Bobby’s knees almost buckle as a firm hand presses on his lower back, the two of them coming ever closer. Bobby’s hands are trapped on Don's chest and he can feel their heartbeats sync, their breaths becoming one.
Bobby nearly whines when the kiss ends but when Don kisses his cheek, moves his lips down to Bobby’s jaw, Bobby loses himself. Throwing his arms around Don’s neck, Bobby keeps him there, bites back his moans as Don leaves a mark close to his collarbone.
In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have thought of this. Don is attentive and careful, but there is a darker side underneath, one Bobby wants to bring to the surface.
“Can we…” he breathes, unsure of how to ask.
Don reads his mind easily and before Bobby can react, Don picks him up, hands firm as Bobby quickly wraps his legs around him. He won’t be able to watch Don’s rowing the same way ever again.
“Shit, Don,” Bobby bites his lip. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Don grins at this and just kisses Bobby as he brings them over to the bed. He lays down with Bobby sitting on top of him and Bobby lets his hands trail along Don’s chest.
“Have you ever done this before?” Bobby asks, suddenly nervous.
“Not…all the way,” Don admits. “Just a few tumbles here and there.”
Bobby pauses, thoughts colliding in his head. He wants this to go right, wants it to be perfect.
“Can I try something?” Don says just above a whisper. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.”
Bobby’s shoulders drop with relief and he nods, a nervous smile on his face as Don sits up. Now chest to chest, Don starts to undo Bobby’s trousers, tracing his fingers among the outline of Bobby’s hardening cock.
Bobby can only watch, stifle his moan as Don pushes down his trousers and underwear. The hand on his cock is warm, gentle, not what Bobby was expecting.
As Don strokes him, Bobby rests his forehead on Don’s shoulder and watches intently. Don works the buttons on his own trousers with his free hand, releases his cock and Bobby gasps as Don wraps their members together in one strong hand.
He holds onto Don’s back, melts as Don presses a kiss to his temple. Don’s hand speeds up and Bobby thrusts, relishing how Don’s cock feels against his own.
“Don, Don,” Bobby begins to repeat, a prayer for what’s to come.
“I’ve got you,” Don holds Bobby close.
Teeth graze along his neck and Bobby shivers as Don bites his shoulder. He loves that it doesn’t hurt, that the sensation only drives him further into his pleasure. With heavy moans, Bobby’s nails dig into Don’s back, needing, craving his release.
A familiar heat coils in Bobby’s stomach and he whimpers as Don’s hand continues its ministrations. How every stroke is perfect is beyond Bobby.
“I’m—I’m close,” Bobby gasps.
Don doesn’t slow down, not until Bobby is shaking and crying out Don’s name as he succumbs to his orgasm. With a few shallow breaths, Don follows, his hand coated in his and Bobby’s seed.
The room is silent as blood pounds in Bobby’s ears. He’s about to cry and he buries his face in Don’s neck, trying to stop the waterfall.
He’s elated, there’s a spark of joy he thought was long gone. As the first tear slips out, Don cleans the two of them up, grabs another tissue to wipe at Bobby’s face. Bobby smiles through his tears, not wanting to worry Don, but with Don’s adoring gaze, Bobby is at peace. He lets himself cry, lets himself be held until at last, the world starts to make sense.
Bobby and Don readjust their clothing, lay down on the bed facing each other while the night sky offers a layer of protection.
Their hands hook between them and Bobby, for the first time in his life, doesn’t want to say a thing. It’s strange, he thinks, how different he is with Don.
His worth doesn’t need to be proven. All he is, Don knows, sees, and would never ask him to hide.
In this quiet room, Bobby is free and it’s all because of one Don Hume.
(Yall have been warned: this is dubcon. Dont like, dont read. Dead dove, all those warnings that this is what you are going to get. If I get a call out for this drabble, I'll be disappointed in yall)
Winter’s breath hitched as she felt a claw from Cinder’s grimm hand trace around her neck, almost careful to not draw any blood. She sat quietly as she watched the fall maiden smile at her and pull her hand away. Just a few short hours ago, Cinder was trying to kill her. Now, she sat chained against a wall, unable to focus enough to use her semblance to summon anything to help her.
“You know you want this just as much as I do,” Cinder said as she turned away from Winter, her voice calm as she made her way to a table. “If you didnt, you would fight back more. Where are those grimm you like to summon? The glyphs you use to give yourself an advantage? You’re rested enough to use them, so why dont you?”
Winter grunted as she tried to free herself from the chains, only able to rattle them. Small glyphs started to form around her as she tried to summon her grimm, each glyph shattering before anything could form. “When I get out of here-”
“If you get out of here.” Cinder grabbed a collar from the table and grinned at Winter. “You still cant get out of those chains, can you? Why fight this when you know this is exactly what you want?”
“I want to be free!” Winter grunted as she pulled at the chains once more, wincing as she felt the cuffs on her wrists start to cut into her. She relaxed her arms, listening to the chains rattle once more as she put her arms to her sides. “What do you even want with me?”
Cinder gently put the collar around Winter’s neck, locking it. “Cant I just want you? You want me, dont you?”
Winter looked away, unable to answer Cinder without saying yes. She wanted Cinder dead, she wanted Cinder to pay for what she had done to Penny and to Atlas, for breaking her family apart. But she knew that was what Cinder wanted her to say. To say yes and give into whatever it was she wanted. “You have me, you can take the winter maiden powers, why do you need me anymore?”
“Because I want you.” Cinder smiled as she used her hand to make Winter look at her once more. “And now, you’re mine.”
Winter wanted to argue, but was quickly stopped as she felt Cinder press into a kiss with her. Her body trembled as it gave into it, pressing into her captor for a touch she never knew she craved. As Cinder broke the kiss, she felt herself wanting more, a blush crossing her cheeks as she tried to convince herself that she hated this. Her words still wouldnt leave her lips as she felt Cinder cut her clothes away, feeling the cool air on her skin.
“If you dont want this, all you have to do is tell me to stop. Yell at me, use a glyph to stop me, threaten me.”
Winter swore she could feel the collar start to tighten around her neck, keeping her from speaking as she tried to protest. But no matter how much she tried, she couldnt. She wasnt being forced into any of this, but she couldnt say no. She wanted to pull away as Cinder groped her, but only moans would escape her lips. Even the smokey taste of Cinder’s lips was intoxicating to her, and once she was able to speak, only a single word escaped her lips. “M-more.”
“More?”
Winter slowly nodded, holding back a moan from Cinder’s touch as she felt the woman strip away the last of her clothes, leaving her naked and wanting. Her legs rubbed against each other in anticipation of feeling Cinder again, her breath trembling as she felt her kiss her neck. “I… I need you.”
Cinder grinned and nipped at Winter’s neck. “Then you’ll be my pet with no turning back.”
Winter felt a shiver of pleasure run down her spine as she felt Cinder’s breath against her skin, her body continuing to betray her as she felt Cinder press into her. No longer was she thinking about trying to get away, all she wanted was the pleasure that she could get. A moan escaped her lips as Cinder pinched a nipple, biting her lip to try to stifle it.
“You know you dont need to fight this anymore,” Cinder said as she removed her own shorts, grinning as she freed her cock and pressed it against Winter’s stomach. “You’re my pet and I’ll take care of you.”
Winter felt her legs open, lust starting to build up inside of her as she panted as she stared down at Cinder’s cock. She licked her lips, almost begging to have a taste of it. For a brief moment, clarity came to her mind and all she wanted to do was yell at Cinder to go away. She created a glyph once more at her fingertips, gripping the talons of the nevermore she started to summon… feeling it all slip away the second Cinder’s cock entered into her.
Cinder grinned as she thrust into Winter, pressing against her. “There’s no need for any of that now, pet.”
Winter nodded as the glyph shattered just in reach of her, all will to fight leaving her as she started to fall into a fit of moans, back arching as she felt Cinder thrust into her over and over. Pangs of pleasure ran through her body as she started to move her hips in rhythm with Cinder, her fingers reaching for the source of her pleasure, straining against the chains that held her. Just as she felt herself start to get desperate to climax, she felt Cinder pull away and a small whine left her lips.
Cinder smiled as she stood up, bringing her cock to eye level with Winter, gently tapping the tip against her lips. “I know you want a taste.”
Winter slowly kissed the tip, succumbing to the feelings of lust that ran through her. Her body ached to feel Cinder inside of her again, her lips gently wrapping around the cock in front of her as she began to bob along it, taking inch after inch as she felt it twitch against her tongue.
Cinder slowly started to undo the cuffs around Winter’s wrists, smiling as she put a hand on the back of Winter’s head. “This is what you truly wanted, why I could never leave your mind. Always at the back of your thoughts, and now, now you’re mine.”
Winter swallowed as she felt Cinder cum down her throat, slowly pulling away and gagging at the taste. Every bit of this was wrong. She needed to defeat Cinder, needed to get revenge for what she did to her family, and yet, all she wanted was to be close to Cinder, addicted to the taste that she had gotten.
Yet another shameful snippet from the shamefully yet-to-be-updated WIP "Now and Then" which I am polishing up as we speak. I am having fun. I promise, it's coming.
[[context: From Archilochus: "The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing."]]
Damian says something in his stupid, fictional language.
“You’re not allowed to insult me until I’ve had my coffee.”
“How do you know it’s an insult?”
“Well, as the hedgehog, I do know one big thing.”
Damian stands, stretching his shoulders back, a slow smile making its way over to Tim. “And what would that be?”
“That given the opportunity, Damian Wayne will insult me in any language he can muster.”
In a few seconds, Damian’s far enough into his space that Tim has to back up against the counter.
“I can muster quite a few.”
“You’re not the only one fluent in a fictional language, you know.”
“And I thought you only knew one thing, Drake.”
Tim clears his throat and tries not to shred it over the spiky, harsh, glottal consonants that come spitting out of his mouth.
Damian glares sharply. “That’s not Tolkien.”
Tim grins, Eat shit, Demon!! “Yeah, I thought you wouldn’t know that one.”
“It’s probably Klingon.”
Damn.
“Maybe. You’ll never know.”
Damian glares sharply-er. “You insulted my mother.”
Damn.
“Honestly, I think it’s more of a compliment for humans.”
Damian hums, his expression clearing to mild appeasement. He leans in a fraction, making Tim’s heart jump a few beats ahead of schedule, before reaching all the way up above Tim to the unseeable space on top of the cabinets.
Tim’s breakfast blend is held before him, the bag a little dustier for its trouble.
“You got it all dirty.”
Damian pulls the coffee back, pivoting to angle slightly away from Tim. He makes a show of inhaling deeply before he blows the bag clean, dust motes dancing through the afternoon sunlight. He shoves the bag back to Tim’s chest.
“Better?”
“Yep.” Tim should have just stayed in bed.
“Sometimes you just have to blow on it,” Damian turns with a wink, leaving Tim in the kitchen to his own stupid thoughts.
Tim takes a deep breath in through his nose and holds it. He isn’t a fox and he isn’t a hedgehog.
Could you do a Maridami paring head cannon please.
I am sorry for being so inactive lately, I’ve slowly been falling out of the Miraculous Ladybug fandom. However, that does not mean that any of you should be neglected, and this seemed like something easy for me to do, so here you all go!
-_-_-_-
Marinette and Damian meet when Marinette transfers to Gotham Academy with a scholarship, right after Hawkmoth was defeated.
In all honesty, Marinette and Damian probably don’t get along great when they first meet. Damian is incredibly proud, and I could imagine Marinette comparing him to Chloe.
For them to get together, Marinette would need to do something that would seem impressive and worthy of respect in Damian’s eyes, something that even he would admit to taking skill.
With Damian, he would probably do something Marinette would find charming and kind. Maybe something chivalrous. It would definitely happen after Marinette gained Damian’s respect in some way. The scene could honestly even be like in MLB and he gives her his umbrella.
Damian would 1000% be the one to confess. We all know, Marinette is capable of a lot of things, but confessing? Nah fam, Damian’s gotta be the one to do that.
No one, and I mean absolutely no one in the batfam will believe that Damian has a girlfriend at first. It just- Damian? With a girlfriend? Nah fam, not in this Minecraft server.
But then they meet her. And boi, they are shooketh.
Marinette probably came to the manor, maybe so they could study or something, idk it’s not that important, what’s important is the family’s reaction.
“Demon spawn actually has a girlfriend? Blink two times if you’re here against your will.”
“I will end you, Todd.”
Marinette will be a shy and clumsy mess as always, fumbling a bit with her words, probably tripping more than normal as she tries to not look like a fool in front of her boyfriend’s family.
This leads to a lot of comically well-timed saves from Damian however, and the family just sort of... looks in awe as this weird pink hue surrounds Marinette and Damian, Damian having his arm on her waist in what looked to be a dip.
Tim will look dubiously at his coffee cup before squinting at the scene in front of him.
The more Marinette comes to visit, the more comfortable she’ll be around the family. She would help Alfred bake, play video games with them, all that good stuff.
It was all going fine and dandy until one day, Jason looked for something in her purse, and found a tiny, little, red pocket god, letting out what he would call a very manly not scream.
Boy did Marinette have trouble explaining that one...
On a rare occasion I've received reviews from people who loved the fic but at the same time reveal their homophobia. They love the main story, but why did I have to hint that Angeal and Genesis are boning behind the scenes? Like, they have nothing against the gays, of course, but they don't think it's fair to Genesis to write him as one of them. Like of course those rumors about Sephiroth couldn't be true, he's not a f**. I've been going with a long-ingrained diplomatic approach, grinding my teeth and letting them go about their way. But I'm done. I am so done.
