#at which point i had to come up with a way to explain it and i'm totally ripping some inspo from an episode of chicago med

[lulujamesspencer]

I think for sensitivity/authenticity readers you need to approach it like any other outside reader or editor: approach it as you would a therapist and pick one that fits with your style of working, actually reads and likes your genre, and will be able to give their edits/critiques in a way that is accurate AND kind. This is especially important for neurodiverse folks (solidarity fist bump to my RSD neurodiverse folks).

Story: About 10 years ago, I graduated seminary and had an idea for a theological non-fiction book on mulit-faith spirituality, which also strayed into politics and other issues. I wrote an introduction that I thought was good and interesting, so I sent it to someone who I thought would give me good advice on some of the topics, since she had experience in those areas, and maybe point out if I'd gone too far afield with some of the topics.

When I got their comments back, it was devastating and soul crushing. They ripped it to shreds, and, in areas I thought we shared similar opinions they shredded my manuscript as if they put it in a wood chipper then stomped on the mulch. Much of it the shredding was due, I think, to a mininterpretation of my wider neurodivergent thinking, but it may just be that I didn't explain myself right or... well, I just don't know, since it was hard to get past their criticisms and telling me how I was completely stupid and wrong about all of it. Now, if their comments were more like, "I don't think I agree with this statement. Did you mean for it to come off saying XYZ?" of "This doesn't happen in my experience, could you explain what your thought process was here?" I probably would have been fine, but instead they were angry and mean and assumed I didn't have knowledge about certain areas when I actually did have extensive knowledge. It was my first foray into non-fiction and as I said earlier, it was soul crushing. I really wanted to write that book, and still wish I could, but to this day I can't even start writing non-fiction without thinking about that and getting extrememly anxious. (And yes, I go to therapy, etc etc) For my fiction stuff, I'm much more careful about who I let read my early drafts. My Wife is my first reader/listener and she loves scifi and fantasy and she's able to give me feedback that's constructive, but also kind and compassionate. I have a great editor who is also very good at giving me constructive edits and feedback, but is also very kind and compassionate in the way she does it. I have a lot of friends from different experiences in life that I am comfortable asking questions of if I need to check things and I'm also very good at research. This, so far, has worked for me, and now I have 5 books of fantasy and science fiction out.

This is also why I self-publish. The constant rejection of traditional publishing would stop me from writing all together. I still can't write non-fiction in book form and that was from just one person who didn't really think about how their criticism would effect me. I also don't do writing groups, as many writing groups use a model that would absolutely ensure I never write again. So, if you are an editor, beta reader, part of a writing group, or even an agent or publisher, know that your rejections, harsh criticisms, or tough love, doesn't improve most writers, especially neurodivergent writers. Know that a lot of writers DO want to do justice to characters from experiences that they don't have experience in. I've heard stories like mine with really mean sensitivity/beta readers, and a number of those people will never write again, or never write publicly again. Please be aware that you can kill someone's passion and talent, possibly permanently.

And writers, be careful who you ask to read your stuff, and if someone has been mean, know that it's not you or your writing. Try not to give up, or give in to the tapes in your head that tell you you're horrible. Find better people to read your stuff.

On sensitivity readers, weakness, and staying alive.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power. 

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives  (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.  

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes. 

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can. 

But I don’t have to stay in one place. I can move on. I can change. Change is how we show the world that we are still alive. That we are still able to feel, and to  learn, and to be aware of others. That’s what “sensitive” means, after all. And it is nothing like weakness. Living, changing, learning – that’s hard. Playing dead is easy.

[wigglesdtuff]

I think I saw you say that Robin’s post-TS hairstyle was part of her character development reflected in her design (if that wasn’t you, my bad!) and I’d love to hear your expanded thoughts on it, and how that ties in with her Elbaf haircut now! After my friend said that her post-ts was just Croc’s ‘do but longer I haven’t been able to unsee it lol

That almost definitely was me because I feel very strongly about Robin's design journey and how Oda landed on the design he did and the way misinterpretations of her character because people want her to be nothing more than a hottie baddie femme fatale and *takes a deep breath* I know it's not that serious, but it means a lot to me!

Disclaimer: This is my personal interpretation, and I'm very passionate about it so take it all with a grain of salt!

So! Without further ado!

We can infer a lot about her haircut when she's introduced. Her face is covered/often in shadow from the hat which is intended to lend to the mystery of just who this woman is. We then see her first bounty poster. She's been wanted since she was 8. That's really fucking strange! Not only that but her haircut is nearly identical.

When she joins, she explains that she's more or less been on her own since she was 8, so you can infer that she's been cutting her hair like this herself. She's holding onto that moment where she had one friend she could rely on. She's literally stuck in the past. It looks almost choppy too, which to me tells me it's a quick utilitarian thing. It does not go past her shoulders.

Until she's been with the crew!

You can tell as early as Skypiea and through Thriller Bark, but it's super noticable in Sabaody just how long it grows to me. It's gotten super long!! She's letting them in by this point, she's found her home!

So when she comes back after being separated...

That change has fully taken hold! She's no longer covering her face either with a hat or her hair! She's more relaxed, she's almost always smiling unless something requires her full attention and even then she's Most Likely to Giggle and Verbally Heart Emoji. Her face is more open, it's softer. She's. Happy. She's changed in every meaning of the word! And she did it for her friends and for herself.

It's the most apparent to me in Zou. Like look at that face. That's the embodiment of joy. She's comfortable, she's relaxed. She's not hiding anything!

Then we hit Wano!

Miss Demonio dons the same old bangs and embodies the moniker her pursuers gave her. It is. Quite literally. The best of her and the worst of her. It is what she will do for the people she loves and who she has accepted love her. That is. Incredibly complex and beautiful to me.

Then we get some huge news...

Saul is not dead. The person who saved her and gave her hope and gave her the chance to get to where she is now, safe and happy and chasing the dream she picked up from the people of Ohara, so close she can almost taste it. He didn't die. He didn't die saving her.

She has

Come full circle. She has accepted her past and she is healing! Her bangs are the same, but her hair is still different! It's still longer, but it has a connection to that little girl who was lost and lonely. She also let someone else cut it, and not just anyone, but BROOK. The man who has kept his afro safe for 52 years so HIS friend could recognize him. To me, her hair in Elbaf is incredible. I take issues with the notion that "she's back" as if she ever left. This is new, this is different, and this is beautiful.

Thank you for reading my mini essay about her hair, but I really do think that character design means something. I don't think she's supposed to be a cold, badass. That was always an act. She just wants to love and be loved and she always has, and I think that her journey is portrayed beautifully by her hairstyles throughout the years.

[kukustreehouse]

MAYBE ITS FATE?

・❥・Shin Asakura x reader

{VERY SHORT AND VERY AWKWARD >_<}

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Business was slow today.

But to be fair, it was a rainy monday.

Lu was asleep somewhere and Sakamoto stepped out with his family for a bit. So, with no customers coming in and no one to talk to, Shin occupied his time by watching the raindrops race each other. Eventually, that got boring, so he made paper airplanes out of any paper he could find; post-it notes, regular paper, even old flyers.

The more the time ticked, the more he felt his motivation leave his body. He felt like he was a kid again stuck at the lab to do whatever minus the people he could bother. A sigh escaped his mouth before he leaned against the wall behind the cash register, eyes closed.

‘Oh, a convenience store, perfect!’

Swiftly, he opened his eyes and returned to his typical spot. It was about time he got something to actually do. The moment you walked in was the moment he questioned everything about himself, from inside and out. His sight was glued onto your every move. Anyone else would assume you’re stealing something by how much he stared! But honestly, could you blame him? The way how your h/c hair still managed to look flawless in this kind of weather, your sense in fashion, your beautiful s/c skin. Everything about you caught his full attention.

When you finished picking out your items, you approached him with a small smile on your face; greeting him with a soft “Hello!” as you placed the items down on the counter. He blinked before turning red.

“A-Ah, hey! My bad, I uh, spaced out!” he stammered. You laughed gently, reassuring him that you didn't take offense. As he rang up your things, you took a peek at the downpour outside.

“Gloomy day we’re having huh?” you added to the conversation.

He placed his hand on the back of his neck before chuckling.

“Geez, tell me about it…” He sighed, “And it’s a monday too, just horrible!”

You laughed again. ‘I’m glad I stopped by here, this guy is making my day much better…and he’s cute.’ You thought to yourself as you watched him put your things in a bag. Shin became flustered again. Gosh he felt like a pot boiling over! An attractive person- heavensent probably, complimenting him.

“Hopefully your day gets better.” He sputtered out, trying to keep his cool as he slid the bag to you.

“How much do I pay?”

“Ah, right! It’s 10 dollars.”

You huffed out of adoration. As you took out your wallet to hand him the money, you silently cringed at your impulsive thoughts;

‘What if I gave him my phone number then leave? That would be weird…I wouldn’t wanna make him uncomfortable… a guy like him probably has a lover already.’

That was when you remembered.

“Wait, you told me you hoped my day would get better- How’d you know my day was bad?”

Shin gulped. Sweat began racing down his face and he failed to hold eye contact. He was selling! How embarrassing. There's no coming back from this one, huh?

“Your tone kinda gave it away…it sounded as if you were forcing it to be mellow.” he explained off the top of his head (Which was complete bullshit. It was either that or come out as a clairvoyance.)

‘My tone..? Is it really that obvious?’ you shook it off, putting your questions behind you and focusing on the real world; storing your wallet back where it came from and getting ready to say your goodbyes.

Shin went to war with his mind. There was no way he was gonna stand by and let someone like you walk away without his contacts!

“You know, I would love to see you more,” He called out. You turned around to see him writing with a pen on a post it note, before holding it out for you. “Here’s my number, call me sometime, ‘kay?”

Truly, you were at a loss for words. At this point, you had a face of a barbie doll with how long your smile was staying on your face.

“Will do!” You chirped, promptly taking the post it note and putting it in your pocket. After you left, Shin let out an exhale of relief, smirking to himself as he thought about you.

“Man, Sakamoto would be proud.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

[gloryofroses19]

A Sure Thing

Pairing: Aaric Graycastle x healer!OC (Dinah Halliwell)

Warning: Iron Flame spoilers

Riorson House was alive with activity. The relocation of the students of Basgiath left the rooms and halls teeming with people. People with freedom of different Quadrants to mingle. 

Entering the room, Violet was nearly hit with Garrick’s arm as he gestured wildly. Apparently, Bodhi had failed as his partner and Garrick was making it known he needed to rectify that mistake. All the while, Sloane Mairi and Dinah Halliwell teased as they waited for the next round of their Tyrrendorian card game to continue. 

Taking an unoccupied seat, Violet sat next to the person she had been looking for. She had expected her seating to draw his attention and yet Aaric continued to read. “Don’t you care?” She asked, deciding to force his attention. 

Looking up from his textbook, Aaric finally regarded Violet. “Don’t I care about what?” 

“That Bodhi calls Dinah ‘princess’.” Xaden had explained to her that Bodhi had always called Dinah princess. That despite her being a daughter to a General, she had no royal blood. Yet the nickname persisted all these years of their friendship. A friendship that was born when they both were mourning and wards to Duke Halliwell. 

“Why should I?” Leaning back in his chair, Aaric was the picture of boredom. 

But his look of apathy didn’t last long as Dinah’s laugh rang out in the room. Like a moth to a flame, his gaze turned to Dinah and his captivation was palpable. 

“Because she’s your….” Violet didn’t know the word for what they were. The rumors around them circulated regularly. Even before coming to Aretia, his frequent visits to the infirmary raised a few eyebrows. Violet herself had found them bickering in the stairwell between the Riders and Healers Quadrant. And now that they were in Aretia, they were inseparable unless other obligations pulled them apart. And that didn’t even cover how affectionate he was with her. Nor did that even consider their history. One in which Violet had a front row seat to since Cam talked incessantly about Dinah when she used to visit the castle. “Because she is your Dinah and Bodhi calls her what many people consider a term of endearment.” 

Removing his gaze from Dinah, Aarric analyzed Violet. Aaric figured this might have to do with her own relationship than his. Jealousy was an ugly monster and he wasn’t above it. He envied those who got to spend time with Dinah, who made her smile  and kept her safe when he wasn’t around. But this, this wasn’t a point of jealousy for him.  

So instead a smug grin settled over Aaric’s face.  “He can call her princess all he wants because I’m the only one who will actually make her a princess.” Feeling Violet’s shock from his declaration, Aaric enjoyed the satisfaction. “I don’t mind if other people recognize her station in life.”

“How can you be so sure?” Violet questioned disbelievingly. The optimistic perspective felt so unwarranted. But maybe it was the way of royalty, Xaden carried a similar surety. Maybe you believe everything will work out when you’re raised being told you can do whatever you want. 

Not needing to think of his answer, Aaric still took his time replying to Violet’s question. There were far more interesting things to do. Such as catching Dinah’s gaze as she consoled a fuming Sloane and winking at her. “Because it’s us.” Aaric’s voice spoke with the utmost conviction before chuckling at Dinah sticking her tongue at him. 

Finally moving his gaze back to Violet, Aaric regarded her dully. “Do you need more thinly veiled relationship advice or can I go back to studying?” 

Scoffing, Violet gave him an unimpressed look. As much as he can see through her, she could see right through him. “Studying physics or studying her?” 

“Funny, did you practice that in the mirror?” Standing up, Aaric closed his book. Walking across the room, Aaric stopped by the card game. Without saying a thing, his left hand cupped Dinah’s cheeks  squeezing lightly before placing a kiss on the top of her face. 

From her seat, Violet watched Aaric walk off with a satisfied grin as Dinah’s eyes followed him out of the room. “Yeah, definitely studying her.”

A/N: Feedback is appreciated! Song Inspiration: Left of Me by Andrea Bejar

[di-loves-coffee]

I cannot stop thinking about this, sooo here’s something that’s in assumption that Danny’s still going to school… a bit more of a father-son aspect here

I’m using some language that’s a bit on the coarser side in this, trying to get into Waylon’s mindset. Also because this mentions racism and racial slurs that I was… not too happy to research. [Don’t worry, neither Waylon nor Danny are saying them, but they’re still mentioned]

•—•~•Called To The Office•~•—•

Damn this kid, making trouble in the second week of school?

They called Waylon to come pick him up for fuck’s sake! What did this twig do!?

Waylon had managed to squeeze himself into a nice pair of pants and shoes to help make a good impression despite his face. Gotham Prep was a ‘prestigious’ school after all. Don’t need his record ruining his kid’s.

Squeezing through the doorframe and awkwardly explaining to the secretary (who looked scared enough to piss herself) that he was there for his son Danny.

Thankfully, she managed to shakily point down a hall— assumedly where the dean’s office was… they called the pretentious pricks ‘Deans’ here, yeah? Rich people probably did stupid shit like that.

Waylon padded down the hall, trying to be mindful of his larger size.

This place felt stuffy and small, like pretentiousness and entitlement�� smelt like it too.

He made it to a too-fancy door— probably hard-wood if you asked someone— with a plaque adorning it at what would be an average adult’s eyesight.

It read the words Dean Wilcox in bold lettering, colored bronze as if it was meant to make it feel more important.

Waylon took a moment to steel himself before lifting his clawed hand— clutched in a loose fist— and rapped on the door twice.

“Come in Mr. Fenton,” A masculine voice called from within, sounding older— late forties at just a guess.

Waylon froze for a moment as he fully processed the words. Fenton?

Did they think he was Biologically Danny’s father?

Oh boy, this’ll be a meeting.

Waylon opened the door with a careful grip and squeezed inside, speaking before anyone else could process the shock of him being there.

“I’m- ah—here for Danny? I’m caring for the boy”

“O-oh, well Killer Cro-” “Jones.”

Everyone in the room glanced at the skinny boy— holy shit was Danny bruised?— in confusion after he piped up. Gazes silently questioning the boy’s words.

“He’s Mr. Jones” Danny— the little shit— just doubled down on his previous statement. Not leaving a single millimeter of room for argument.

“W- well, Mr. Jones,” The man— sat behind a large desk— sounded nervous. Which… was probably a good thing depending on the situation, even if Waylon didn’t want to have to play the ‘bad guy’ role, “Daniel… got into an altercation with another student.”

At that news, Waylon glanced down at Danny. Silently asking the boy what happened.

“He was being a dick to my classmate Damian, said some really racist shit.” The little squirt— like always— told it like it was and left no room for argument.

“W- while it may seem that way from the boy’s perspective,” Waylon’s gaze moved back to the Dean, causing him to swallow and look like he just ate too many hot peppers, “young mister Markham didn’t say anything of the sort”

“He called Damian a ‘Dune Coon’.” Danny’s words were said with a flatness that revealed an underlying rage that Waylon himself was beginning to feel himself. “And said he was ‘Unpure’ and a ‘Half-Breed’”

Waylon found his gaze hardening with the newfound information, a harsh fire building under his skin.

“That’s not the matter at hand.” The Dean foolishly tried to salvage the situation. “Your- your ward punched Mister Markham”

“From what I understand here.” Waylon started, eyes carefully watching the Dean as he shifted like a scared hare under his sharp amber gaze, “The Markham boy chose his actions and was made to suffer the real-world consequences of them.”

That had the older man blubbering, trying to save his version of the story.

“It seems to me that your school tolerates racism and discrimination among your student body.” Waylon fixed the man with a dangerous glare, “Now, you can punish Danny however you like, but I won’t be punishing this behavior. And I warn you, if this happens again, I will not be so flippant.”

With that, Waylon deemed it a good time to leave, fixing Danny with a short ‘C’mon squirt’ and squeezing out of the door. The small teen cheerfully following behind him.

So, Waylon adopts Danny.

•—•~•—•Crocodile Dad•—•~•—•

Waylon wasn’t quite sure how he acquired a kid.

In fact, Waylon doesn’t even think he had actually chose himself to keep him. Instead he thinks that this kid chose him.

Right now, the small and skinny black-haired boy who’d inserted himself into his life was sat at the table his weapon’s engineer used to work. Tinkering at the bits and pieces scattered over the messy surface while Waylon himself hovered nearby.

“Are you sure that’s safe for you to be messing with kiddo?” The large, scaled man called to the boy, a hint of concern peeking through the southern twang in his accent. Elongating is ‘O’s and ‘E’s and ‘A’s.

“Yeah, it’s fine, I used to work on my parents experiments in their lab all the time,” The boy called back, and— unironically— it didn’t soothe his anxiety.

“That don’t make me feel any better squirt.”

“Well? Too bad.” This twig was going to be the cause of all Waylon’s fictitious gray hairs, he was calling it now.

Instead of lecturing the kid on safety, Waylon simply ruffled his hair with his large, clawed hands and left him to his devices.

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow x GN reader

All cramped up

Shadow finds the one thing he can’t fix for you

Warnings: reader is on period, severe menstrual cramps, mentions of nausea, hurt/comfort

Note: so a fun (not really) fact about me is I suffer from debilitating menstrual cramps to the point where I can (very rarely) lose my ability to stand so this is based off of that

“I’m sorry honey I can’t go out tonight I’m not feeling well”

As you sent the text you felt a wave of guilt and frustration wash over you. Once again your body had decided to ruin plans and upend your life and for what?

The scraping in your lower abdomen continued as you waited for the ibuprofen to kick in you waited a half an hour, then an hour still nothing.

You clutched the heating pad close hoping it could soothe the cramp that you so desperately needed relief from. not caring weather or not it was starting to burn, so far it was the only kind of relief you could feel.

Just then you heard a knock at the door. You were too tired to move so you figured you could ignore it. let whoever was on the other side think you weren’t home , but then they knocked again.

Your phone chimed a text from Shadow appearing on the screen.

“Let me in I’m here to take care of you”

You heaved a sigh you should have known that he would be coming, he wasn’t going to let you suffer alone, even if he didn’t quite know that you weren’t suffering from any illness rather a particularly cruel joke from Mother Nature.

steeling yourself you got up from your couch making your way over to the door each step more taxing than the last. eventually you made it to your door.

❤️

Shadow stood patiently at your door anxiety flooding through his system, he hated when you got sick. he always made sure to do everything in his power in order to get you healthy again and today was no different, or so he thought.

You opened the door greeting him with a soft "Hey".

much to his surprise you looked just fine, no apparent signs of any fever, no runny nose or sore throat. aside from looking a bit tired you seemed just fine.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Yah, I just don't feel like I can go out tonight."

"Are you sick? when was the last time you took any medicine?"

"Well I took some ibuprofen about an hour ago, but I'm not exactly sick."

"what do you mean?"

"Well I- it's sorta like." you seemed hesitant to answer like you were embarrassed or ashamed of what the problem was. he waited for you to continue.

but before you could give any proper answer you collapsed to the ground.

❤️

the sharp pain took your breath away like you had just been impaled the pain from your uterus now radiating through your spine forcing you to double over in pain. a bout of nausea twisted your stomach as you began to shake.

Gentle hands caught you as he called out your name panic laced throughout his voice. "Are you alright? what's going on? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

"No, it's alright." you stated trying to clam his nerves. "trust me the hospital won't do anything."

"Why not? You're clearly suffering with something."

"Yes and that thing is having a uterus. I'm on my period." You explained through groans. "and I just so happen to suffer with really bad cramps. the most a doctor will do is send me home with some pain killers, which I already have, and tell me to do the same things I've been doing since this whole stupid thing started."

Shadow stared at you not really sure on how to proceed.

You sighed "Can we please move over to the couch I really don't want to have this conversation on the floor."

"Of course, can you stand?"

you began to rise carefully halfway up you felt a twinge of pain letting out a cry as you retreated to your previous position.

"Here let me help you." He scooped you up in his arms carrying you over to the couch.

as he carried you over you couldn't help but feel guilty. not only did you ruin his night but you caused him serious worry over you and now you were making him take care of you.

as Shadow gingerly placed you on the sofa all the frustration and guilt bubbled to the surface, tears began streaming down your face soft sobs escaping your mouth.

"I hate this" you started. "people have been doing this every day for thousands of years. going to work, living their lives, and I can't even stand up. I’m so sorry I really didn’t want to ruin your night, you already do so much for me and now this. I feel so pathetic.” Another wave of pain shot through you making you wince “I just want tit to stop”

Shadow just stared at you for a moment unsure of what to do. He’s never seen you like this and it scared him. He’s seen you fight off plenty of foes, seen you sustain many injuries that you simply walked off. He never expected to see you brought down, and by your own body nonetheless.

Questions formed in his head unsure of how to ask them. Did this happen every time? How come he hasn’t seen this yet? How could he fix this?

The last question rang in his head the loudest. Memories of his past flashed through his mind, his purpose what he was created for. Was this another failure for him? Was there truly nothing he could do for you? The only thing he could do right now was watch you while you succumbed to your pain.

He had to do something but what?

Taking a breath he helped you lay down on the couch. He rested his hand on your shoulder in a gentle voice he said “it’s alright my love, just give me a minute.” He turned on your favorite show hoping it could distract you in his absence.

Exiting your apartment he called the only person he could think of.

“Hey handsome, what’s going on?”

“Rouge, it’s Y/N. I need your help” Shadow explained the situation he confessed he was in over his head and didn’t know how to proceed.

“Oh, the poor thing” Rouge commented “Alright big guy here’s what you do.”

❤️

Shadow had been gone for thirty minutes now. You felt horrible thinking you must have scared him off.

You should have explained your situation earlier before all of this happened. You thought you were getting better, your past few cycles had been manageable. You should have known better than to think the problem would go away on its own.

The next time you saw Shadow what was that going to be like. Did he think you were weak now? Did he pity you? You couldn’t stand the thought of shadow looking down on you.

Before you could spiral Shadow came through the door shopping bags in one hand and take out in the other.

He unloaded the contents of the bags onto the coffee table. Pulling out your favorite snacks and candies one by one. He brought a tub of ice cream to the freezer presumably for later. Coming back with some silverware he handed you the takeout.

“Here, I don’t know if you’ve eaten today so I got your favorite. If you don’t want it I also got some ingredients to make your favorite comfort food as well.” He pulled out a plushie in your favorite color and placed it in your arms.

“What’s this?” You asked the question being more rhetorical than anything.

“I don’t particularly enjoy them but I know you like your plush toys, you don’t already have that one do you?”

“No” you gave him a weak smile as you hugged your new squishy friend “thank you”

Shadow kissed you on the forehead climbing behind you on the couch wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to him.

“Where does it hurt?”

You guided his hand to your lower abdomen resting on the source “Right there”

Shadow delicately worked his hands on the area giving it a gentle massage, untying some of the knots left behind by your uncaring reproductive system.

“Does this help at all?”

“Actually yes, it does, a little”

“Good” he continued his gentle movements. “ I want you to know that I take care of you because I want to, you’re not a burden to me and I never want you to feel like you are. If you’re in pain let me know I won’t think any less of you for it. You are such a strong and amazing person you don’t have to hide your struggles from me.”

“Okay, I promise I’ll tell you next time”

You felt some of the tension in his body melt as you snuggled further into his arms.

“I heard that new movie you wanted to see is streaming now do you want to watch it?”

You nodded

As the movie began to play you began to feel more at ease some of the pain finally slipping away disappearing into nothingness.

“Shadow”

“Yes?”

“Thank you”

“Of course my love, anytime.”

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi, happy Wednesday 🩵

I like the idea that Alec consistently gets a bunch of death threats/attempted poisonings/etc to the point that he treats it as just another tedious part of his job. I'd love to see Magnus coming to realize this and reacting to it. Thanks!

hi happy Wednesday!!!!

i also really like this idea and while it didn't go quite how I planned I am really enjoying it in a different slightly darker and less humorous way than originally intended and I hope you like it too! <3

lumine

-

rotted at the core

Magnus is ashamed to say that he’s not sure just how many attempts he misses. It’s months into their relationship that he starts to catch on, when Alexander pauses on their way out of the Institute, sniffing the steaming cup he’d brought with him out of his office.

“Izzy make it?” Magnus guesses, knowing that while a variety of shadowhunters deliver drinks to Alec’s office like clockwork, his sister sometimes tries to surprise him.

“No, despite her disasters in the kitchen, Izzy knows her poisons.  She wouldn’t put it in my food and she’d notice if someone else had before she handled it.”

Alec says it so nonchalantly but Magnus’ ears feel as though they are ringing, gongs in his head as he preserves the cup and its contents from where Alexander was about to pour it out.

“Darling it’s evidence.” Perhaps he’s not explaining correctly, or maybe Alexander is just as in shock as he is as Alec chuckles.  To have his love poisoned in Alexander’s own Institute is beyond infuriating and shocking since as far as Magnus knows, there are no visitors.  

“Magnus, I don’t need evidence. I just need to weed out the rest of the spies.” Alexander shakes his head, reaching out to take Magnus’ hand and give his knuckles a reassuring kiss.

“What?”

“Evidence won’t do me any good right now. They’ll just get recycled back into the Idris pool of hunters and end up nurse a grudge against me. Instead, I’ll make sure to return the favor granted.”

“Who, darling?” Magnus has a feeling he knows, however he wants to hear it in truth, from his beloved.

“It’s a little game that the Clave likes to play with me.  One day, they’ll run out of fodder, or I'll run out of patience.” Alexander’s smile is so soft, his eyes just as adoring as always but with a determined glint.  A determination to survive, Magnus realizes.  Against the very organization that he serves and who in truth, gives him orders.

“So you see, the evidence isn’t needed, Magnus.” Alexander’s hand reaches to pluck the cup from the magic enveloping it and finishes pouring it out before burning the paper cup with a rune. “Because before they can make a new attempt, they’ll be dead on a mission. My Institute’s statistics can take a few hits.  Now and again.”

Magnus swallows, bile and rage an unpleasant flavor yet he manages all the same.  

The amount of assassins it would take to shake the life expectancy statistics of Alec’s Institute, it’s far too high a number.

“I was thinking breakfast for dinner,” Magnus smiles just as sweetly as he slyly plots. Champagne is perfect at getting Alexander to spill the secrets he thinks so obvious to the world around him.

Or the secrets he hides in order to mistakenly protect Magnus. Distract a tired Alexander with some berries and a flute of champagne and he’d be tipsy and in two bottles and basket of fruit within half an hour.  

Magnus would sober him up and finish feeding him after he figured out what exactly Alec was hiding from him.

There was no life in which Magnus would allow a threat to his beloved to go unknown and unpunished. 

-

i was going to have a long, sort of mock humor about murder attempts but i realized that would only work in this eldritch delight and at some point Magnus would get jealous of all these people trying to murder his man because Alec comes home like 'someone tried to kill me in an interesting way' and it would be like that's his man to lovingly and adoringly threaten, no one elses.

mostly just because in any other universe Magnus would never let himself live it down if he missed more than one semi-obvious attempt on alec's life in front of him. and he doesn't need that in his life. so it's more or less that Magnus will look back and see a picture to a puzzle he didn't know he was working on until the box the puzzle came in got thrown at his head. most attempts happen in the institute or on patrol and Magnus isn't there to see them and Alec only mentions them offhandedly.

magnus is like: do we need couples therapy? communication is key to relationships alexander. THAT MEANS YOU TELL ME WHEN YOU ARE THE TARGET OF ASSASSINATION IN YOUR WORKPLACE AND HOME

alec *literally is just so used to the clave's fuckery that he forgot to share*: ... next time I will?

magnus-next time? did he just say next time?: okay well you're living with me now so that's a temporary problem solved. don't give me that look, I can't trust you with your own life at this point what do you expect from me? *muttering to himself* next time. as if i'm going to allow there to be a 'next time'.

[siggiedraws]

i come to you about new official content once more... new changes to the character bios on sonic channel, i wanted to hear any thoughts you had on it

https://x.com/Sephys00/status/1904938734480404664

the most outstanding one to me is "shadow doesn't care about good or evil" which feels like is directly contradicted by his actions throughout the games, even in shadow gens. i feel like calling his methods unorthodox or sometimes antagonistic, but still caring about doing what he thinks is right would be a better way to describe this?? lmk if im wrong though

Oh, interesting! I feel a little out of my element here because I actually don't see anything wrong with this, so the animosity towards it on Twitter is a little shocking to me. I hope I can try to explain well why I don't see anything wrong with the sentiment of Shadow not being interested in good or evil. Shadow is a character who's very focused around character development and I'm aware he's not the same as he used to be so I'll avoid using evidence from games like SA2 and Shadow.

So, the way I'm interpreting this is that Shadow isn't interested in morality and what is seen as good or evil. When he acts, he doesn't care about whether it is considered a good or evil action. Shadow's bio brings up how Shadow is hard-headed and willing to do anything to achieve his goals, which plays into the "good and evil" bit. He will defy what is seen as moral or the right thing to do, with no boundaries on what isn't okay to do, and Forces actually has a good showcase of this in action. Shadow, with the goal of destroying Eggman's facility, kills the Jackal squad because they were hired by Eggman to defend the facility. Then, Shadow even makes a taunting remark after killing them. He doesn't feel any remorse for it. So, I think Shadow not caring about what is morally right makes sense. He's so determined in his goals that he will not compromise or pull any punches. They were in his way, so he killed them. Simple.

Shadow is amoral, yet he is also considered a hero because he does the right thing most of the time. Since we've established Shadow does what he wants to achieve his goals no matter the consequences, the reason why Shadow often does things seen as heroic is because his goals align mostly with the interests of those around him. As implied in his Wallpaper Cover Story and by Iizuka in this Anime Expo interview, Shadow's main goal is to protect the planet Maria loves. To elaborate on this, Shadow doesn't necessarily care about what happens to people. He doesn't care about helping others. He cares about the planet. When the planet is in danger, he will save it, which happens to also save people's lives. This may be what causes confusion about his morals, because he's often shown doing heroic actions that save other people, and the vagueness makes his morality hard to pin down.

(you can certainly make a case about how the word "justice" is unfitting for Sonic but the main point I want to focus on here is Shadow)

In Rivals 2, Shadow works with Eggman, which is an example of Shadow still aligning with evil after SA2/Shadow. Shadow explicitly teams up with Eggman because he is told that the world will be destroyed if he doesn't. If we established that Shadow's goal is to protect the planet, he will do anything to achieve his goal, and he is unconcerned with good and evil, then logic reasonably follows that he will align with someone seen as evil if he believes it will achieve his goal of protecting the planet.

In '06, Shadow doesn't care about the world seeing him as evil and persecuting him in the future. He will fight like he always has.

I can see where you're coming from with Shadow Gens and the narrative's focus on the dichotomy between light and dark, with Shadow being tempted by darkness (Black Doom) and ultimately turning to the light (Maria) at the end. Shadow's heroic actions and association with light can be seen as him caring about morality when I think that isn't necessarily the case with Shadow. Near the end of the game, Shadow reemphasizes that he is fighting for Maria's wish for everyone to have a chance to be happy, which fits in with his goal of protecting the planet, which is ultimately an action aligned with heroism and light. It is important to remember that Shadow does it not out of any moral sense of good or evil, more so that his goals happen to align with moral goodness. Maria's virtues have influenced the path Shadow has chosen to take in life, but Shadow isn't Maria. He will fight for Maria's wish via whatever means necessary.

I don't have as much confidence with talking about Shadow's character, but this is how I understand him to be. It's fascinating to consider his mind and way of thinking, and how that informs his actions! I also hope this explanation makes a little bit of sense. I'm more concerned with the "pure intensity" part of his character bio being removed, because I think that's a really good way to describe how Shadow acts and behaves. He's so uncompromising to the point of being dangerous, and I find it really interesting that it's described as "purity." Perhaps that includes being pure of any moral reservations.

Thanks for your ask!

[howdeepthegrave]

Rio is working at Home Depot and one day in comes the woman (Agatha) dubbed "ultimate Karen" by their coworkers.

Oh this I can maybe handle this, whoever you are Heads up for autistic!Rio and some general weirdness And if anyone knows of any Parks and Rec fic like that mentioned herein, please send LINKS

-----

"Oh, shit. NO!"

Alice scurried past, nearly knocking Rio over, and Billy ducked down behind the paint desk so fast that he might as well have disappeared.

"Wha?" Rio squeaked.

"It's her," Alice said, tone heavy with some meaning that Rio simply could not pick up.

"Who's her?"

"The cruel one. She who brings dread and destruction in her wake."

"Alice, while I appreciate your attempt to sound like a fantasy novel, I am not fully comprehending..."

"She's like the ultra Karen!" Billy hissed, his eyes barely peering over the desk. "Once, she complained the receipt paper was 'subpar.'"

"The ultimate Karen," Alice nodded. "The alpha and the omega of Karens."

Rio blinked. Alice's wording drew her not to thoughts of the most complete bitch, but rather of that one browser tab she kept meaning to close on her phone. The one with all the A/O April/Jen fanfic. At some point Parks and Recreation had morphed from simply a comfort show to something that taught her things about herself in ways that she was vaguely aware other people would probably be super uncomfortable with. Really, it was less a matter of...

"Excuse me‽"

Startled, Rio looked around, realizing that at some point, Alice and Billy had both managed to entirely vanish. There was a customer in front of her, staring at her with a look that made even Rio's fleeting comprehension of eye contact dissipate.

"Uh," Rio grunted.

This woman was attractive, in an intimidating way. The kind of woman who, if this were a work and not a social situation, Rio would take one look at and flee the scene while her friends squawked at her to "Just talk to people!"

"So I'm just wondering if you can help me today," the woman said, and Rio blinked at her.

"Hi, welcome to Home Depot. How can I help you today?"

"Well, if you're even as baseline competent as anyone else I've dealt with here, you won't be able to help at all. I was here last week, just for a few things, and there was some teenager who didn't know up from down from left from right and couldn't help at all."

"Oh," Rio nodded, "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe if you can just..."

"I need a few things," the woman said, producing a list from her purse.

A handwritten list. Okay, that was pretty cool. A lot of people just typed stuff up on their phones these days and...

It was a rolled up list. A rolled up list that, when unrolled, literally ran from the woman's hand to the floor.

"Uh, I can certainly try to help you with that, ma'am."

"Excellent!"

Rio reached out to take the list, but the woman held it back and headed off into the bowels of the store, clearly having at least some idea of where she should be heading. Maybe.

For an hour and a half Rio was marched through her workplace, led to places that she was not certain she had ever seen before, which was weird, because she had worked here for five years now and had spent some time in nearly every department. Luckily, despite all the confusion and despite the customer's seemingly endless demands, they did manage to get most of the items on her list. What items were not available could easily be ordered or where simply waiting fresh stock. Each time Rio explained this, she expected some angry tirade and calls for a manager, but instead the woman would just nod along with her words.

"Right, excellent. Sounds fine."

This woman did not seem so bad. If you were just straightforward and direct with her, she seemed... Almost pleasant. In a teachery sort of way.

"So, ma'am, I think you have everything we could find today," Rio said. "If there's anything else..."

"No, no. You've actually been very helpful, Rio."

"Th-thank you."

"I particularly liked your suggestion that I might need professional help with some of my little home renovation projects."

There's an edge to the customer's voice now, and Rio wonders if this is the moment she'll finally see an explosion of rage. She tries not to visibly cringe.

"I only meant, ma'am, that it seems you have a lot on your plate, and that sometimes..."

"Oh, I understood what you meant. You're probably correct. It can be very daunting, basically redoing a whole house from the cellar to the dome."

Rio knew that was an old expression, but she had to wonder if the woman's house actually had a dome. Somehow, it seemed like if anyone's house did...

"I don't suppose you know of any good sources for said help?"

"Oh. Uhm, well... I... I can... Probably think of some, with time."

"Ah, well, I'll be on my way. Just you get in touch with me if you have any suggestions."

"Okay."

It was not until well after the customer had left that Rio wondered to herself how she could be expected to get in touch. Was this yet another new social cue that people had made up? Shoving her hands in her pockets, she wandered off toward where she suspected Alice and Billy might be hiding. The moment they saw her, they raced to her sides as if she were a long-lost pet.

"Oh, thank God she didn't eat you alive!" Alice cried, hugging Rio tight.

The hug served to shove her hands briefly deeper into her pockets, and something like paper brushed her fingertips.

"Was it awful?" Billy asked. "How much did she yell? Did she get physical? How many times did she ask to speak to the manager? Was she..."

Rio lost track of what he was saying, having tugged the paper from her pocket to stare at it. It was the list. The long, ridiculous scroll of a list, made out in that neat, sharp handwriting. There was something on the back too, something Rio was sure had not been there earlier when she had seen it in the customer's hand.

Thanks for all the help. Agatha

Below that, there was a phone number. Rio stared at it in bewilderment for a while, until both Alice and Billy noted that she had zoned out and they once again crowded up into her space. Rio looked left, looked right, and shrugged.

"Is that... Her number?" Alice asked.

"I... I guess."

"Oh wow!" Billy crowed. "Autism? More like Autrizzm."

"That... That is not a thing," Rio said, quickly rolling the paper up and shoving it back into her pocket.

[anotheroceanid]

because you're my writing inspiration, i've decided to pester you with questions about it! >:) if you don't mind ❤️

what's your creative process look like? what normally comes first to you, the idea for a plot, specific moments, vibes/themes, world building, etc.?

what type of character is your favorite to write? what's your favorite relationship dynamic to write?

how do decide a character needs to die? (like a named, known-by-the-audience character, not Red Shirt #3 lol)

favorite type of comment to receive? don't say "any comment" >:) longer, more WTHB-centered questions:

WTHB is shaping up to be a very long story juggling a lot of characters that spans YEARS(i'm obsessed with it—so excited), how do you even begin to break down and organize the story beats for something this big? do you picture it like a series of movies or novels? like tv show episodes? or does it truly just all come together as one massive plot arc in your mind? summing such a large work down into one concise summary sounds daunting

any advice on writing romance? Percy and Apollo have barely appeared together in flashbacks even, most of their love story has been off-screen, but you make them so compelling! i feel their yearning in my soul T-T

i find this question hard to ask for some reason. WTHB!Percy is a mother currently being held hostage, do you ever worry that people will think she's been relegated to a damsel in distress or just "the mom" character?

This will be a long answer but I got soooo excited with this ask

Soooo

1. Yk how people categorise themselves as plotters and pantsers? I think I’m a plantser 😅

Like, my first “inspiration” can be anything (I’ve literally dreamed with things that then became stories), so when I get some idea banging on my head I start to imagine how it’d look like as a story, so I set the tone I want before I write anything.

From then, I start imagining important scenes that will drive the plot. One of the first scenes I imagined for WTHB (once I had defined who the kids would be, because I spent a lot of time making up kid ocs until I ended up with the triplets, with Luke being the only one I was decided from the start) was the boys being taken scene, then Hector meeting Jason, then a few scenes between Annabeth and Milo that didn’t happen yet.

So, like I said, I am a plantser, which means I do plot (a lot) but I still like to keep some things open so I can change if I figure something out while I’m writing.

What I do, I set the main plots and it’s narrators (if there is more than one), since I’m using WTHB as an example, rk we have these

The Greek Arc (Annabeth & Milo)

The Roman Arc (Jason & Hector)

Percy’s Arc

Apollo’s Arc (which is also the god’s arc)

So, these arcs affect each other. What character A does in Place 1 can affect Character B in place 2 and vice versa, so even if these characters aren’t interacting directly, they still cause things to happens in each others lives.

This is relevant because rk almost all characters of WTHB are separated geographically, but their stories are interconnected.

What I like to do, is write each characters arc but using a mind map, so I make a linear mapping using some structure (heroine arc, hero arc, seven plot structure, you can pick whatever you want, I usually use heroine’s arc even for men).

You can use obsidian, miro, or even draw it at hand.

But the mind map give you a visual way to develop your plot, so you can see when each plot point takes place. And the thing is, not always the characters are synchronised, so I organise it in a way that events happening more or less at the same time are aligned, and if some event from A affects B I draw a line connecting them or even explain what happened.

I don’t have my laptop with me rk, but it is more or less like this:

This way, you can figure out the main events of the story without having to write EVERYTHING that will happen. If you need to change something, you know more or less how it’ll affect every characters.

I also make a timeline of events (this because I’m dealing with a lot of worldbuilding, so I better know when things happened even if I’m not using it directly on the story). I also, sometimes, write down some topics like I live in that world and I’m giving myself a class about those events.

Another thing I like to do, is organising the chapters even before I write them. I use scrivener to write, but you can do it on obsidian to (I use scrivener for worldbuilding only). Each character have a different number of chapters, it depends on the arc. Like, Percy and Apollo are the only narrators of their arcs, but both the Greek and Roman arc have two narrators, so the narrators share the amount of chapters.

This is it, then I write. If needed, I go back and re-do something. I’m always re-reading the chapters I already posted, because sometimes I forget a few details.

Sometimes I draw to inspire myself to write, this helps too 😂 and vice versa. I think the hardest part is when you’re dealing with a large geographical space, and your characters are all scattered, specially when they have to move around and you have to make math so it makes sense, specially when it’s not your own country 🤒

2. I like writing the “colateral effect” characters. Like, using WTHB as an example again. I love writing Percy, Apollo, the triplets, ofc I do. I love them. But there’s something so enjoyable about writing Annabeth and Jason because, while they did a not of horrible things, they were thrown in that mess and they’re just dealing with it.

3. 😵😵😵 Okay, harsh. But usually, since I keep going back and forth and imagining different outcomes, so I play with killing characters. Then I consider the impact of their deaths to the other characters and to the story as a whole.

4. As you can see, I love talking. So I loooveee comments I have to answer topic by topic. But I still appreciate all of them, it’s just that I like interacting 😅

5. I kind of answered this one in the first topic, but I make myself a lot of content where I can check my own work. And yeah, I imagine as a show 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ as a novel 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ as an animation 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ as a Bollywood movie 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ as a broadway musical 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ as a lot of things.

But nope, even though now I can’t tell the whole arc as block of text if needed, I think that’s counterproductive to me. So I work with mind maps, I use the actual map to have an idea where the characters are and where they’re going, I make sheets sometimes, and ofc, the timeline (I mean, I always say that, but the timeline of the story ain’t linear, so things are happening in different times for different characters, and I need to know 😂)

6. Actually romance is actually hard to me, I just focus in creating a meaningful connection between the characters through their similarities and their differences. I’m a sucker for friends to lovers, so I try showing how character A and B learn things from each other, and appreciate each other beyond a physical sphere. Idk if that makes much sense, but this is it. And to antagonise it, their own faults (in the case of Percy and Apollo, both have terrible self esteem and are always expecting the worst to happen, which lead them to jump into conclusions waaaay to fast).

7. The “damsel in distress” or “just the mom” character usually carries a lot of “why is this female characters who’s obvious in a vulnerable situation don’t get out” that comes from a misogynistic point of view. It’s always the double standard: male characters are manipulated, female characters take dumb decisions, male characters are, among other things, fathers, female characters are mothers, sisters and/or lovers.

So like, I try being truthful to the character because IK this sort of interpretation will exist either way. Ik that Percy, despite being in that state, isn’t reduced to none of those. While she may be way to believing of Gaea, she doesn’t jump into the conclusion Orion and Medea are good people just because Gaea had them on their side. She’s in a place where she have to deal with the circumstances that she had, not with the circumstances that were ideal. From her standpoint, she doesn’t have any other allies.

And yeah, her main focus right now are her three sons, but is she meant to say “yup, not my problem” when they get kidnapped? Like, in canon, Percy was ready to die for his friends and etc. fem Percy too, and now she’s ready to die for her sons. It’s a very male Kronides x Female kronides situation. Demeter? Obsessive, awful mom who wouldn’t let Persephone do anything. Hades? Well, he was in love. Hera? Crazy women. Zeus? Oh, he’s just a man of his time.

So like, maybe some people think she’s falling into mom or damsel in distress trope? Maybe. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I just enjoy my time writing, because it’s not as if any of those people are paying me to write the character arc THEY want to see.

Btw, thanks for this ask. Hopefully it made sense, because I know I tend to talk a little more than necessary 😆

[withthecolorizedkennedys]

Plaese make a jfk x reader smut

A Night At The Opera

sypnosis: jack kennedy invited you to the opera for a night of high culture. but between the velvet seats and heavy curtains, his idea of refinement turned out to be far more hands-on.

word count: 1.8k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader

rating: 18+; includes depictions of fingering and handjobs

author's note: sorry this took a little longer! i couldn't think of a good scenario that was not done already or a bit generic...

The theatre’s gilded dome shimmered above, a relic of old-world splendor that stirred something familiar—a memory of Vienna, not in likeness, but in feeling. You’d walked halls like this before, heard music rise beneath glittering chandeliers. But London's Royal Opera House had a weight all its own. The chandeliers hung lower here, the velvet seats felt deeper, heavier. And beside you, Jack Kennedy sat beside you with his program folded into precise quarters, his attention already wandering before the curtain had risen.

You'd known Jack for nearly a year now, ever since his father's appointment as Ambassador to the Court of St. James's. At twenty-one, Jack was restless energy personified, his lean frame never quite at ease in formal settings. Tonight was no exception. La Traviata had been his suggestion—a surprise, given his usual indifference to music that wasn't played in dance halls.

"My father says I should cultivate an appreciation for the finer things," he'd explained when he invited you. "And I can't think of anything finer than spending an evening with you."

Now, as Violetta's aria filled the theater, Jack's knee bounced with barely contained energy. His fingers drummed silently against the program in his lap. You placed your hand over his to still them, and he turned to you with that smile that made something in your chest flutter.

"Is it terribly boring?" you whispered.

"Not boring," he whispered back, leaning close enough that his breath warmed your ear. "Just... predictable. She'll die tragically. They always do in these things."

You suppressed a laugh. "That's rather the point of tragedy, Jack."

His hand turned beneath yours, his fingers intertwining with your own. "I prefer comedies," he said. "Or at least stories where people get what they want before the curtain falls."

The way he looked at you then made heat rise to your cheeks. You'd been careful with Jack Kennedy—the Ambassador's son wasn't someone to trifle with, and despite his casual charm, you knew his family had expectations. But there was something in his gaze tonight that made your careful boundaries seem suddenly arbitrary.

The box seats had been his father's idea—or so Jack claimed. "Dad insists we maintain a certain appearance," he'd said with an eye roll as he helped you up the private staircase. Now, with the theater lights dimmed and the box's heavy curtains partially drawn, you understood the true advantage of such privacy.

Jack's hand slipped from yours, coming to rest lightly on your knee. The touch was innocent enough, but the intent in his eyes was anything but. You gave him a warning look, which he answered with feigned innocence.

"Jack," you whispered, "behave yourself."

"I'm being perfectly well-behaved," he replied, his fingers making small circles on your knee through the silk of your dress. "I'm appreciating the finer things, just as I promised."

His hand inched higher, and you caught it with your own. "We're in public."

"We're in a box seat," he corrected, his voice a low murmur that somehow cut through Violetta's soaring notes. "No one can see us unless they're in the opposite box with opera glasses trained directly on us."

You glanced across the theater. The box opposite was occupied by an elderly couple, both seemingly entranced by the performance.

"Still," you insisted, though with less conviction.

Jack leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear. "Still what? Still worried someone might notice how your breath catches when I touch you? How your cheeks flush?" His hand moved again, sliding just slightly higher. "How you press your thighs together when you want more?"

Your breath did catch then, and you hated how well he knew you. Three months of stolen kisses in gardens, of hands wandering during cinema matinees, of whispered promises in the back seats of chauffeur-driven cars—it wasn't nearly enough, but it was enough for him to learn your tells.

"Jack, please," you whispered, not entirely sure if you were asking him to stop or continue.

He seemed to interpret it as the latter. His hand slipped higher, fingers tracing patterns on your inner thigh. On stage, Violetta was rejecting Alfredo's advances, citing the impossibility of their love. The irony wasn't lost on you.

"Tell me to stop," Jack said, his voice husky, "and I will."

You should have. You knew you should have. Instead, you found yourself shifting slightly, allowing his hand to move higher beneath the cover of your dress.

"No one will see," he promised again, his fingers finding the edge of your stockings, then the warm skin above. "Just keep watching the stage. Enjoy the music."

It was impossible to focus on anything but the sensation of his touch. His fingers traced the edge of your underwear, teasing but not yet crossing that final boundary. You bit your lip, your eyes fixed unseeing on the stage.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his lips now against your temple. "So ready for me."

When his fingers finally slipped beneath the silk of your underwear, you had to stifle a gasp. Jack's smile was triumphant against your skin.

"Jack," you said softly, "we shouldn't—"

"We absolutely should," he countered, his finger sliding through your wetness with practiced ease. "God, you're perfect."

The orchestra swelled as Alfredo declared his love, and Jack's finger pressed inside you in perfect time with the crescendo. Your hand gripped the armrest, knuckles white.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice barely audible over the music. "Just like that. No one knows. No one but me."

You turned your face toward him, seeking his mouth, needing something to silence the sounds threatening to escape your lips. He met you halfway, his kiss deep and consuming as his fingers worked steadily between your legs.

"You drive me mad, you know that?" he confessed against your mouth. "Every time. Every damn time. The way you look at me, the way you press against me when no one’s looking. Christ, I can’t sit beside you without wanting to touch you..."

His thumb found your most sensitive spot, circling with deliberate pressure as his finger curled inside you. Your hips shifted involuntarily, seeking more.

"Jack," you gasped, breaking the kiss. "I can't—not here—"

"Yes, here," he insisted, adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. "Right here, while they sing about impossible love and tragic endings. Show me how it feels. Show me what I do to you."

The tension was building rapidly, your body responding to his skilled touch despite the public setting—or perhaps because of it. The risk, the impropriety of it all, only heightened every sensation.

"That's it," Jack encouraged, his forehead pressed to your temple, his breath hot against your cheek. "Let go. I've got you."

The climax hit you with unexpected force. You turned your face into Jack's shoulder, muffling your cry against the fine wool of his jacket. His fingers worked you through it, drawing out every tremor until you were boneless beside him.

When you finally lifted your head, the stage was transitioning to a new scene. You'd missed Violetta's decision entirely.

"Welcome back," Jack murmured, pressing a kiss to your flushed cheek. His hand withdrew slowly, and you watched, mesmerized, as he discreetly wiped his fingers on his handkerchief.

"You're awful," you whispered, though there was no heat in the accusation.

"Awfully in need," he corrected, taking your hand and guiding it to his lap. The hard ridge beneath his trousers was unmistakable. "See what you do to me?"

You hesitated only briefly before your fingers traced his length through the fabric. His sharp intake of breath was deeply satisfying.

"Now who's being awful?" he whispered, his voice strained.

"I learned from the best." You squeezed gently, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

With newfound boldness, you worked at his trouser fastenings, your movements hidden by the dim lighting and the angle of your bodies. When your fingers finally wrapped around his length, Jack's head fell back against the seat.

"Christ," he sighed. "Your hands are so soft."

You stroked him slowly, reveling in the way his composure fractured. Jack Kennedy, with his Harvard education and his social pedigree, reduced to silent gasps and aborted thrusts by your touch.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your confidence growing with each stroke. "To sit here in your father's box, with half of London society below us, while I make you come?"

His laugh was strained. "I didn't plan quite this far ahead, but God, yes."

You increased your pace, your thumb circling the sensitive tip just as he had done to you minutes before. His hand covered yours, guiding your movements, showing you exactly how he liked to be touched.

"Like this?" you asked, twisting your wrist slightly on the upstroke.

"Exactly like that," he groaned, too loudly. An elderly woman in the next box glanced in your direction, and Jack immediately straightened, adopting an expression of intense interest in the opera. You continued your ministrations beneath the cover of darkness, biting back a smile at his struggle to maintain composure.

When the woman's attention returned to the stage, Jack sagged in relief. "You'll be the death of me," he whispered.

"A tragedy worthy of Verdi," you replied, squeezing him firmly.

His breathing grew more ragged, his hips shifting restlessly against the seat. You knew he was close. With your free hand, you reached for his discarded handkerchief, anticipating the mess.

"Look at me," you commanded softly, and his eyes—dark with desire—met yours. "I want to see your face."

That seemed to push him over the edge. His expression contorted in pleasure, his mouth opening in a silent cry as he spilled over your hand. You caught most of it with the handkerchief, your strokes gentling as he shuddered through his release.

When it was over, Jack slumped against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "Jesus," he breathed. "That was..."

"Worth sitting through the opera?" you suggested, carefully cleaning your hand and helping him tuck himself away.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your neck before straightening. "Worth sitting through a thousand operas."

On stage, Violetta was singing of sacrifice and societal expectations. Jack's hand found yours again, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

"We should do this again," he said, his tone casual but his eyes serious. "The opera, I mean."

You smiled, knowing he meant much more than that. "I'd like that."

"Next time," he added, his voice dropping to that register that made your stomach flip, "we could skip the performance entirely. My father's residence has plenty of private rooms."

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through you. "Ambassador Kennedy might notice our absence."

Jack's smile turned wicked. "Let him. I'm cultivating an appreciation for the finer things, just as he wanted."

[lakeshorediving]

more of the raven cycle au bc I can't stop (also all these ideas are half baked at best with me remembering vaguely BOTH series so a reread is in order methinks... anyway).

I keep thinking about how Andrew would be different in this au since he didn't grow up in the system, but instead w/ Tilda. Since Aaron didn't exist, there was only Andrew to go back for, which Tilda did do. I don't think he'd be nearly as closed off as he is in canon, but he's not all smiles and giggles either. Perhaps when they're younger, he's nicer to Aaron, showing him the ropes and how to predict Tilda's increasingly volatile moods. However maybe as he gets older he realizes that he spawned a person from his dreams and 5 year olds aren't that great at personalities- so maybe he pushes away a little, tries to find differences, to give Aaron agency. Only problem is that he's also caught between not wanting to let Aaron go- to protect him because despite his best efforts, from both himself and Tilda, there are things Aaron just doesn't quite get. Aaron isn't a ditzy airhead. Not even close, but he's a little more willing to just let things happen to him in the sake of love (because- at it's core- that's what Aaron was made for- a brother that would love Andrew). Maybe they still have some sort of deal, one that isn't as rigid as canon, but that still allows Andrew to keep his brother close and protect him. Andrew is going to make sure his brother is tough, can survive, wants very desperately for Aaron to prove he has a personality to prove he's his own person and not just a life sized doll that just so happens to be able to breathe. Not sure if all that makes sense. Very subject to change but the point is that I think Andrew's drive for protection is definitely still there, just different.

Second thought is that Andrew doesn't actually know much about the world of Dreamers. He knows he can bring things from his dreams, things beyond his wildest imagination. Sometimes they're alive, horrid screeching nightmares that Tilda used to kill, until that job was foisted onto Aaron when he came around. Both twins get really good at digging shallow graves quickly. Tilda doesn't know much of the dreaming world either. Andrew's dad was a Dreamer. She knew that. He wooed her with magical gifts, charmed her with fantastical objects that would dance and glow and sing. She fell hard and fast for a Dreamer, who left her when she was pregnant. As for the things she does know, she's not forthcoming with information. Only time she does offer anything is when she's screaming at Andrew for bringing Aaron from his dreams, shrieking that he has no idea what he's done. "What do you think happens to dreams when the dreamer dies, Andrew?" Aaron had slept through her hollering, oblivious. Other than that, Tilda is a useless as a well of information, and there's really no one else to teach him anything. And Andrew isn't bringing back anything big enough to garner attention. He knows it's not normal, so he lays low, not wanting to become some sort of lab rat or locked up for psychosis for trying to explain that his dreams come to life and try to kill him from time to time.

Tilda is harsher with Aaron than she is Andrew. Aaron is not her son. He's a cheap imitation. A dream. Not human. And to Andrew, this is unforgivable. (even more unforgivable is that Aaron doesn't hate her, can't hate her, because he wasn't dreamt that way).

Kayleigh Day was a Dreamer. Kevin Day is not. But he knows Dreams. Knows them well. He clocks Aaron almost immediately, once he gets to Palmetto (not when he was trying to recruit them with Riko). It's one of the first things he says to Andrew when they're alone. "Your brother is a dream." And the knife he gets to the throat is swift. The knife presses harder when Kevin has the gall to ask "who's the Dreamer?" Kevin and Andrew have their deal still, but it's more 'I'll protect you in exchange for information' type thing. And Kevin teaches Andrew all about the world of Dreamers and Dreams, the dangers, the Fairy Market and how the Moriyamas fit into all that.

Neil isn't a Dreamer either, but knows the Fairy Market even better than Kevin because he was practically running inference on the Fairy Market until his mom yoinked him out of it. Neil that was doing bounties with his dad to get Dreamers. A source of frustration for Andrew bc on one hand, Neil is hot but on the other hand has brough the very people that want to kill him and subsequently kill his brother to his doorstep. But Neil is useful for his knowledge and Andrew isn't going to let him run away until he has answers

[rave-rz]

Those critiques were everything I hoped they would be. Now tell us about MHA.

Are your grievances the same as our grievances? Where'd the show lose you? What arc had the glasses come off?

A lot of my issues with My Hero Academia are pretty easy to find on tumblr, I reblog some of my favourite posts from time to time but the posts I tend to agree the most about are from Justatalkingface, Bibibbon and Saphhic-Agent, as well as A List Exists on Youtube. This is gonna be hard to explain my thoughts on so LONG RANT Incoming lmao. My thoughts ended up going everywhere so nothings really all that ordered rip.

Regarding when the show started to lose my interest? It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but I started off enjoying my time but once we got to the Sports festival I started to lose the wind in my sails. I already have loads of issues with Bakugo but my main gripe with him started during the sports festival, how a big of a deal the story made his fight with Uraraka. How he was taking her seriously from the very beginning. Except that's hard for me to believe when this is pretty much the only time I can remember him ever fighting the way he did during the manga, standing still and waiting for his opponents moves. When does he ever do that?? Starting at this point in the story you realize Horikoshi has favourites and you can tell which ones lol. It's Aizawa, Bakugo and Endeavor. Now I understand these are the characters that people love and they make money but still, if I can feel your favoritism through the pages? That's not good. Horikoshi has a habit of stating things and just sorta expecting the readers to deal with it? Like there's no easing into anything it's just 'this is happening, I hope you accept it cause we're moving on, now turn the page'. He states there was GENOCIDE that happened towards people with mutant quirks, moving on. He implies quirkless people are also discriminated against, moving on. He introduces the quirk singularity and the possible end of the world, we're moving on. Hell he kills off his main 3 antagonists, having his 3 main characters effectively fail and yet we still move on, only Uraraka got to actually react to anything and even then it's not great since she's blaming herself for getting stabbed.

He also seems to develop a hatred for introspection as the series goes on? By the end we're left mostly speculating on major character's thoughts and motivations, we don't really know why Deku decided to become a teacher or what he thought of Shigaraki and what happened to him, we don't know how Dabi felt in his last moments, or more importantly how Shouto felt about the ending of the fight (I mean, he specifically invented a move to beat Dabi without hurting him (cold fire, sure) but not only is his brother going to die but his 'failure' caused his other siblings and mother to step in and get permanently injured, how does he feel about that??). Characters slowly become a hivemind towards the end, all having the same opinions on the events (Everyone reacted pretty much the same to Aoyama's traitor reveal, despite no one ever really interacting with him and if they did, they didn't seem like him all that much). Characters just aren't allowed to be wrong it feels, in the sense that if they come to a conclusion and it's not the factually correct one, it's pretty quickly corrected by another character like Deku. Admittedly this one might be spotty since I remember thinking this but at the same time my mind cannot come up with a specific example, it might be in the todoroki family sub arc.

Now when it comes to the characters, I actually like the idea of characters more than the actual characters since I don't like how Horikoshi decided to write 90% of his characters. Like Hawks could've been really cool if he wasn't regulated to a sidekick by the end. One character I have very strong opinions on is Dabi, I hate how he was written and by extension Endeavor and the rest of the Todoroki subplot.

Now uh, here is a hot take: I didn't like Dabi's dance (as a reveal). As a chapter it was really cool! But as a reveal of Dabi is Touya it felt less like a reveal to the characters and more of a confirmation to the readers that they were right and this chapters a little treat for waiting so long for this reveal to happen.

Cause let's be honest, almost everybody pegged Dabi as a Todoroki, even before people knew Shouto had multiple siblings and Touya was revealed to be 'dead'. It was practically treated as canon for fanfic writers. But as the manga went on it never brought up Touya or the traitor at all until the last sprint and boom we got Dabi's dance and THEN we'll get his backstory. Because readers got Dabi first, tying him to Touya who we don't get any info on until after he's revealed to be Dabi. A lot of their reactions end up being

because logically, why should they care? Who Touya was has been essentially a non-factor to the entire story. No one has every talked about him, we know absolutely nothing regarding who he was until after Dabi's dance. The reader's opinion on Dabi has been made by this point in the story (290 chapters in) and it's too late to change it with just a sad backstory. (haine-Kleine made a really good post regarding it). Not to mention everything Dabi did meant literally nothing since not a damn person reacted to him brocasting that he was 1. a murderer, 2. the #1 hero's supposed dead eldest son (now a murderer), and 3. abused by said hero along with the rest of the family. Like nothing came from that at all, even the main character told him that Endeavor's trying to change as a rebuttal. So nice going Dabi, your on roll with failing lol. Onto Endeavor cause I'm gonna be quick lol. His atonement arc sucks since not only did he not really do anything to acheive that. He just kept repeating how he intends to atone, and the best (and probably only) way to work towards that would be for him to confront Touya as a father and not a hero. Except no, he not only sends Shouto to deal with Touya (so he and hawks can fight the more important thing), but when he does deal with Touya it's cause he had too (and it was done as a hero). In the end he just sorta lost nothing of significance? He's in a wheelchair yeah but that's not really what I call a concequence to his shitty behavior. He retired as a hero sure, but he was always gonna do that. Bro could've been cool if the story kept him as a heavily flawed individual who actively tried to improve knowing he'd lose more than he'd gain, but instead every character gasses him up lol. This is getting too long so I'm gonna touch briefly on 2 more things and that's it lol. The ending 'solves' most of it's issues by essentially saying 'our people are in charge so we're doing it right'. Hawks is HPSC president and he's just better at it I guess, Uraraka is expanding quirk counseling (despite not know what the issues were? And also just not mentioning Toga ever) and Shouji is helping stop the heteromorph racism peacefully. Again, we're back to 'we're moving on' since these guys are fixing these issues! How? Don't worry about it, turn the page. Finally, a I would've loved to see more focus on the 'academia' part of the story. Despite Horikoshi clearly being uninterested in UA as a concept. He tries to make you believe 1-A is this found family which given their interactions, I don't believe for a goddamn second. We know barely anything about the any character and any tidbits we do know are from character sheets outside the story. The 'academia' in My hero Academia could've been the time to learn about characters and develop them/their relationships. Learn why each of them wanted to even be there. Cause every character is quite literally a 'good person' in the 'I wanna be a hero to save people' way. Which isn't inherently bad but if every character is like this? No thanks. This is why I don't like Stain (Man showed up in the end, was a hinderance and then died), he's introduced along with the idea that people in this world choose to be heroes for multi reasons. Some do it to save people but some also do it for the paycheck. Yet every character we see has that 'instinct to save those in danger' no matter their attitude, the only exceptions to this are Endeavor and Mineta. One of which is admired as a good hero or person who's trying to be good by the cast and the other is someone no one takes seriously. Even Uraraka was introduced as being in it for the paycheck, but pretty quickly overshadow by her learning how much she wants to help others. Okay I'm cutting myself off there lmao. But yeah, A lot of my complaints are pretty common I think. I started having issues with the story starting at the Sports festival/Stain arcs but Overhaul was awful. Final arc was even worse lol.

[yellowasasunflower]

Steel Beast

(Alternate LaDS x BG3 Oneshot—Caleb x MC)

Warlock Caleb is canon to the LaDS x BG3 series! Under Raven Wings is officially Caleb’s fic for the series.

In the meantime, here’s an abridged version of what would’ve been had you picked Steel Watch Caleb instead. Some of you were still interested in this concept, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to flesh it out just a little.

Pairing: Caleb x MC/Reader

Word count: 700

**This oneshot is unedited and short. Sorry if it’s a little rough with grammar/spelling or pacing

———

He took every job that came his way; no questions asked.

It didn’t matter how heinous, how cruel, how vile he had to be, he did it.

He was a ruthless beast whose only allegiance was to whichever criminal offered the most pay. At least, that was how it had seemed to anyone who wasn’t you.

It was different with you. It was for you.

He’d come home, drenched in the day’s dishonest work, and a smile would cross his face when he saw you sprawled out in front of the door, having waited up for him… as long as you could, anyways.

He would clean himself up, and carry you to bed.

The next morning, you’d wake up to a fresh, shiny apple on the bedside table.

You’d walk to the kitchen, snaking your arms around him from behind, nuzzling your face against his back.

His body rumbled with laughter as he reached back to pat your head.

”Breakfast is almost done,” he’d said.

You let go, and he’d missed your touch the moment it was gone.

You sat down at the small table, and noticed the water damage on the ceiling.

“It’s been a while since we talked about Waterdeep” you commented, poking at the food on your plate.

”Soon,” he promised. “I’ve got one more job that needs to get done before we can go.”

”Then do it fast, okay? It’s not a quick journey.”

“I promise. We’ll go as soon as I’m done.”

When he left, he was cloaked under dark clothes and the prospect of his promise. And it was the last time you’d seen him.

He’d taken on a job from one Enver Gortash. Not that you’d known that; Caleb was never forthcoming about his jobs with you. He didn’t want you to know. All you did know was mourning when he hadn’t come home that night… or any night after. And you swore to uncover whatever job had killed him, and to avenge him.

Despite your mourning, though, he wasn’t dead. He wished he was, for all that he endured.

Or… a part of him did. He remembered you groggily; faintly… his memories of you were… incomplete. He knew he loved you, he just didn’t know why…

Pieces of him were gone, replaced with steel and wire. He was instructed to be obedient—to serve Enver Gortash dutifully as a part of his Steel Watch.

And he did, pushing the memories of you away.

That is, until you found a lead. You confronted Gortash, and Caleb saw you from underneath his steel helmet.

As Gortash had you removed, some of Caleb’s memories began to return. Slowly, then all at once. His memories were in conflict with the programming, and he began disobeying orders. Gortash determined he should be… disposed of.

Caleb fought for his life, faking his death and disappearing into the shadows of the Lower City.

From those shadows, he watched you for three years—afraid that you would reject the ghastly steel beast he had become… but all too selfish to leave you entirely.

He kept you as far away from Gortash as he could, until one day he noticed the deep circles under your eyes. After all this time, you hadn’t given up…

So he created a lead to point you to Waterdeep, to take you where he’d promised. It was there that he would reveal himself and explain everything.

Then it was the day you’d planned to leave… and when the Nautiloid flew over Baldur’s Gate. And this time, he lost you.

He had a feeling Gortash was involved. Because that fucker had his grubby hands in everything.

In spying on Gortash, he learned about the Cult of Astra—which he joined to track you down, unaware of the consequences of that decision… that he would be lost again.

You broke down in tears when you saw him at the goblin camp. It wasn’t hard to sway him away from the cult’s grasp. At first, he’d thought you were an imposter—but he knew deep down that it was you.

And you embraced him; metal monster that he was, and he was safe for the first time in years—despite everything that was about to happen.

[bellaxgiornata]

Hey, I love your fics! I just wanted another perspective on this:

Do you think Foggy and Matt are codependent in any sort of way? (Especially Foggy?)

Hey, friend! I'm glad you've been enjoying my fics! ❤️And I'm so sorry it has taken me so damn long to answer this ask, I've had it on my mind for weeks now, but I've been nonstop sick for months, so trying to sit down and write up an answer with a coherent response has been difficult. I didn't want to just give a brief little response to this question (and we all know I'm always long-winded) because I mean...that's a big topic. I'll give a longer answer beneath the cut on this, but I will say, since we have DDBA out, I will be giving my thoughts with DDBA spoilers below the cut. So do not read below the cut if you don't want spoilers!

My shortened answer to this (solely based on the Netflix and Disney show versions, I haven't read enough of the comics to comment), is that I think yes, they do have a codependent relationship. Foggy with how he pushes away his own needs and comes running to help Matt whenever he needs it, and well...Matt with everything when it comes to Foggy. But I believe it's Matt who is mainly reliant on Fog instead of the other way around. I'll explain more beneath the cut (with DDBA spoilers! this is my last warning 😆).

So in regards to Foggy in particular, I can definitely see it. I mean, they somehow intern at the same place after law school. And maybe it was just luck they got accepted together because of their grades, but I'm guessing they both applied there intentionally wanting to keep being around each other. Then they open a law firm together, and they're always spending all their time together. Besides Karen, we don't often see them spending a lot of time with anyone else as friends--and Karen is BOTH of their friends. Though, Foggy at least eventually has Marci, and Matt, well, I guess he gets Elektra and Frank? If you squint really hard?

Now, when it comes to the law firm, they have differing views. Foggy clearly is the one who wants to take on cases that are going to make them money, but Matt is the one focused on helping people in general--which leads to them not really making money to pay their bills. And Foggy has expressed his thoughts on that in the past, but yet he still follows along with Matt's vision of the firm. Foggy could've easily gone his separate way at least career-wise to better himself, but instead he keeps himself tied with Matt. Even after he learns Matt's big secret and they briefly end the friendship and the firm, they still eventually reopen Nelson & Murdock back up together because Foggy clearly can't just walk away from Matt.

We also see Foggy rushing to help Matt whenever he needs it after he discovers Matt is Daredevil--finding him on the roof in season 2 and making sure he got back to his apartment without being seen, making sure Matt gets medical attention from Claire, bringing him the suit when he goes into Midland Circle, covering for Matt on cases when he's clearly distracted and being a bad business partner. All things that're putting Foggy out or putting him in a bad position, yet he does whatever he needs to anyway for Matt.

There's countless times that Foggy puts his own needs on the backburner to help Matt in the show. So yes, I definitely think you could argue there's a level of codependency there, and I think Foggy excuses it in himself because of Matt's dependency on him. Because of Matt's tragic childhood and fear of abandonment, Foggy seems to feel the need to go above and beyond to not be another person to abandon him. But I think the way they respond to losing each other says the most, and to me really points at Matt being the codependent one in the relationship. I've often seen Foggy as more of just the best friend who's maybe a little codependent, but mostly just a little too empathetic because of their friendship. Matt is the one who absolutely needs Foggy to live and breathe.

When season 3 starts and Matt is believed to be dead, Foggy accepts it. He's grieving, yes, but he moves on and lives his life. We don't see him spiraling or questioning anything like Karen. We don't see his life somehow upended. Instead, Foggy gets a good job at a good law firm and seems to get closer in his relationship with Marci. Whereas in contrast, when Matt loses Foggy in Born Again, he's a mess. On the outside, yes, it seems the same. Matt has a nicer law firm, nicer apartment, steady girlfriend. But he's literally given up half of himself, he carries Foggy's funeral card in his suit coat pocket every day, and he cannot even say Foggy's name. He is a mess inside that he is just barely carefully holding together because he lost the one person he needs. I think it could be argued that he becomes so fixated on being the Matt Foggy wanted him to be to try to cope with the grief and guilt, but also I think he does it as a way to handle the loss of that person Matt relied on to feel whole. It's like his way to still somehow feel connected to Foggy because he still needs him.

I think it becomes very obvious how much Matt needs Foggy in Born Again more than Foggy ever seemed to really need Matt in the same way. Whenever Foggy isn't in Matt's life--even just when they lose the friendship over his secret in the beginning of Daredevil--Matt falls apart entirely while Foggy keeps thriving and living his life. That doesn't mean Foggy isn't grieving and struggling, but honestly, I feel like Foggy doesn't respond in the way I feel like someone would when they lose their "crutch." Matt is the one who uses Foggy as his emotional crutch, I don't get the feeling that it's the other way around.

Those are my thoughts written as briefly as I could get them, hopefully this answered your question a bit and made sense! I'm still getting over yet another illness and I could have probably sat down and written an entire essay more in depth on this, but I was trying to be more straight to the point about how I view their relationship. This already got pretty long, but honestly, there's a lot to analyze when it comes to Matt and Foggy. And I know there's little details I'm missing because I haven't had a full rewatch in a bit, but I was trying to cover what I felt was the most important! But there's clearly an imbalance in the relationship, and I think we all know who is really relying on who in that friendship.

[grimicarus]

Stumbling onto cold stones, leaning heavily on Violet’s shoulders- tiny Violet, a foot shorter than you and half your weight, with weak still-developing muscles, forced to carry your weight as you trip over your own feet. There’s a trail of blood behind you, consistent dripping from the leaking hole in your belly that could be traced all the way back to the dorms.

“You can’t just give up on me know!” She hisses, and it’s music to your ears, even as your vision gets fuzzy around the edges and your hearing goes in and out inconsistently. Pretty Bird. Pretty Violet. Brilliant, beautiful, clever Violet. “Stop calling me that!”

“Jus’ the truth,” you slur, a crooked grin painting your cheeks as you spit a mouthful of iron onto the ground. These cobbles have seen worse.

She huffs in outrage, and adjusts her grip to support you better, which is helpful because you’re starting to lose feeling in your legs.

It takes an uncomfortably long time for you to notice the newcomers to your late-night party, and even longer to realize who Violet was bickering with. “Riorson?”

His gaze snaps to you, dark eyes taking in your hunched form. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be so much shorter than him, and you try to straighten up, to match his height the way you usually did when you weren’t pouring buckets of your life on the ground. “Come ‘ere often?”

“What happened.” His tone is flat, no-nonsense, and he doesn’t respond to your flirty tone, even as another arm hooks itself on your other side, taking some of your weight off of pretty Violet, who’s seething like a spitting cat. Cute.

“Well,” you drawl, long and slow and strained as your vision spots out again. “I was havin’ a lovely dream ‘bout our pretty bird here.”

Your fucking accent. Gods-be-damned, you caught enough eyes on you for it when you kept it tightly under wraps, little hints of it seeping out every now and then, but now the thick drawl of an unfamiliar world is unmistakably and obviously foreign. And you might be leaking blood, but not so much that you don’t recognize the way Xaden’s eyes narrow, or the way the new arm around you tenses momentarily.

“‘N then I woke up, wet ‘n leakin’ all over the sheets.” The grin is painful and sharp and ugly as it stretches across your face, explicitly revolting and full of implication even as another cough wreaks your form, blood splattering on your front. Distantly you hear Violet calling you a “fucking idiot” but that’s neither here nor there.

Lolling your head to the side reveals Bodhi holding you up, and to the other reveals that Garrick had replaced Violet at some point and the pair had you sandwiched between them, dragging you towards the infirmary as Violet fretted and hovered with Xaden trying to pry information out of you.

“Look,” you interrupt, groaning as you stumble and aggravate your wound just a little bit further. “it ain’ so big a deal, jus’ gotta… gotta…”

You frown, furrowing your brow as the words slip away from you, and your head drops. And between one moment and the next, you go from the edge of the courtyard to the middle of a hallway, and Violet’s still spitting mad, she refuses to leave your side and abandon you to the upper years who had every reason to kill you (because of her, because she was a Sorrengail).

“Pretty bird,” you drawl, struggling on the inhale as you loll your head to the side to watch her over Bodhi’s shoulder. “Don’ do nothin’ stupid now, ain’ worth it, lovey.”

“They stabbed you in your sleep!” She hisses, and gods-be-good, you loved that voice. “It’s a violation of the Codex, you-“

“Lovey.” You cut her off, stumbling over your feet a little again as you try to get them under you. Had they been dragging you? “I’ll sort it, yeah? Don’ worry your pretty little head abou’ it.”

“As wingleader it’s my responsibility to-“ Xaden starts to explain, like you didn’t know it already from your pretty birds rambling, and you roll your eyes, huffing and glancing over at Garrick.

“You hearin’ tha’? Big man thinks he go’ any place in my bus- busin- busy- fuck.” You curse, dropping your head as the word trails away from you, darkness stealing you once more, and the next moment you’re in a different hall, closer to the infirmary.

“You’re gonna be okay.” She whispers, your pretty little Violet. Far more resilient than a flower, sturdier than any frail petal.

“Pretty bird?” You slur, mouth full of wet and iron that dribbles down your chin.

“I’m here.” She says, reaching for your hand over Bodhi’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“Big man?” You ask weakly, gaze flickering for Xaden who you couldn’t see anymore, but you don’t get a response before your vision fades again, for the final time that night.