#that's how much he meant to me in some way--there's more in his story and play style and leadership--although i won't be able to express it

[wroetolando]

𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗮/𝗻: hey guys! so sorry I haven’t been posting recently. I’ve been super busy with school with finals and graduation coming up! will be a lot more stories being posted during my spring break! april 7-11!

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x chronically online! reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where the chronically online reader gets publicly exposed by lando, roasts him on stream, and swears they’d never fold

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: cloud 9 - beach bunny

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You had a reputation. Not in a bad way—at least, not to you. Some people called you “chronically online,” but that was just a fancy way of saying you were really, really good at the internet. You were the first to catch onto memes before they went mainstream, you knew every streamer’s latest drama, and your Twitter feed was a masterclass in unhinged yet somehow lovable posts.

Lando, however, did not fully understand the depths of your internet obsession. He was online, sure, but in a different way—his world was filled with F1 updates, Twitch streams, and the occasional chaotic group chat with his fellow drivers. Meanwhile, you lived in a universe where knowing whether a brand was about to get canceled was as essential as breathing.

And yet, somehow, he was absolutely in love with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It started with a joke. Or, more accurately, it started with a tweet.

@yourhandle: “if lando norris ever called me babe i would simply evaporate”

He saw it. He saw it, and you knew he saw it because his little gremlin self had the audacity to like the tweet. He didn’t reply, didn’t quote it—just a simple like that sent your notifications into a frenzy.

Your friends went feral.

BESTIE, HELLO??

Did he just acknowledge your existence???

This is basically a marriage proposal.

You tried to act normal. Failed. DMed him something casual like, “did you just publicly expose me?”

To which he responded:

“Just testing a theory. Should I call you babe and see what happens?”

And that was the beginning of the end.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in Lando’s world—whether that meant sitting on his stream, half-distracted while scrolling your phone, or joining his Discord calls just to roast his gaming skills. The internet loved your dynamic.

“Lando getting cyberbullied by his own girlfriend is my Roman Empire.”

“Y/N being a menace online and Lando just going along with it is peak relationship goals.”

“Her: ‘He’s so dumb but he’s my dumbass.’ Him: ‘I just work here, man.’”

You two were a content goldmine, even when you weren’t trying to be.

One particular night, you were both curled up on the couch, Lando setting up for a Twitch stream while you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. You weren’t paying attention until you heard your own voice.

“Guys, I have a very special guest today,” Lando said in his usual mischievous tone. “My girlfriend, who is currently ignoring me for Twitter.”

You didn’t even look up. “That’s crazy. What’s Twitter saying?”

Chat immediately erupted.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN LOOK UP LMFAO.”

“Peak chronically online behavior.”

“Lando, blink twice if you need help.”

Lando fake pouted. “See? She doesn’t love me, chat. She loves her parasocial relationships more.”

You finally glanced at the screen. “Why would I need a parasocial relationship when I already have you to annoy in real life?”

The clip went viral within minutes.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Despite all your time spent online, you did, in fact, exist in the real world. And the more time you spent with Lando, the more you realized how much you liked his world too.

There was something peaceful about watching him work on his racing sim, focused and determined, even when he was grumbling under his breath about understeer. There was something nice about walking into the McLaren garage and seeing how the team operated, how much they adored him.

And there was something absolutely dangerous about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Like right now.

You were at a race weekend, standing just outside his driver’s room, eyes glued to your phone. He was supposed to be reviewing data, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Lando,” you said without looking up, “why are you staring at me like that?”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “I think I’ve figured out how to get you off your phone.”

That made you look up. “Oh? Do tell.”

A smirk curled at his lips. “No.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No?”

Instead of answering, he took two long strides forward, gently plucking your phone from your hands and placing it on the nearest table. Before you could protest, he had you backed up against the wall, his hands resting on either side of you.

Oh.

Oh, he was serious.

“Lando,” you said, a little breathless, “are you—”

“I like your little internet world, I do,” he murmured, voice warm and teasing. “But sometimes I think you should focus on this world. On me.”

You swallowed. “That so?”

He nodded. “Yeah. And right now, I want your undivided attention.”

Mission accomplished.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You weren’t going to lie—you had expected the internet to roast you once they realized that your whole brand was being chronically online, and yet Lando had somehow turned you into a simp.

And they did roast you.

“So you’re telling me Y/N was ‘if he calls me babe I’ll evaporate’ and then Lando hit her with a real-life slow burn fanfic moment???”

“POV: You thought she was a keyboard warrior but she’s actually a simp in disguise.”

“Lando pulled a ‘look at me, I’m the main character now.’”

Lando, of course, thrived off the reactions.

You were sitting next to him on the couch when he turned his phone toward you. “Look at this one—‘Y/N has spent her entire internet existence roasting men, and yet all it took was one good wall pin for her to fold.’”

You glared at him. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No, you don’t.”

You groaned, shoving his face away playfully before burying your head in your hands. “I will never live this down.”

He pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Nope. Never.”

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to check your phone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[bonus-links]

Hello! Could we have a director’s commentary on Ruins pt.11 please?? It drives me insane 🥺🥺

YEAHHH this is gonna be a long one. link to the update

this is also one of my favorite updates (and 100% my favorite dialogue in all of ch.1, possibly the whole comic so far) but I'm glad I waited to do a commentary bc I think this is actually really relevant to the latest update

cause like the conversation Loft has with botw Zelda here is very similar to the one he has with Ganondorf, though he's much less snippy during it

I wanted to give Zelda a chance to be bitter and share her grievances with the gods. Her entire story in BOTW is largely about how the legends and the expectations put upon her by them fail not only her personally but the entire kingdom. And yet she's made to feel like it's all her fault.

A lot of his comic focuses on the legacy of the Hero, but I don't want to leave Zelda (or Ganondorf) out of the conversation. The cycle makes victims of all three of them in various ways, and while I can't do everything at once, it's still my goal to explore that. The Zeldas in particular are all in interesting positions as members of the Royal Family, because they're at once always thrown in peril by it with little agency, and expected to be the facilitators of its success as the people with the closest proximity to the gods. Much to think about.

on that note BOTW Zelda is my favorite Zelda. she is my babygirl. she is my everything. I will die a BOTW Zelda defender. we haven't seen the last of her in this comic i promise :-)

okay on to actually analyzing the comic. This top panel is framed like a diptych, two paintings hinged together. these are often (though not always) associated with religious paintings and are often altarpieces. I use a triptych format in the newest update :D sidenote I think it's very cute that some of the Hylia statues in BOTW have been decorated, so i gave her a little flower crown

I imagine praying starts to feel a little strange when you are dating ur god. yeah. Also I think it's interesting that Skyloft seems to mainly worship Hylia, with the other gods being more distant. It makes sense given the whole "she personally raised us up into the sky to save us all" thing. Even though Loft is the very first hero sent on a personal religious quest directly by his goddess, I've always imagined him as kind of,,,,casually devout? In that way that it's all you've ever known. Like obviously his beliefs are deeply ingrained, but he's not as into the formality of it all as other Links we might meet later.

I think about Zelda in that freezing pool on Mt. Lanayru all the time. RAHHHHHHH

I've posted this before but close up of Slate running their errands, the errand being talking to the Great Fairies about if they've noticed anything weird going on lol. I actually wanted to make it a whole update on its own, but I cut it for time and also because. I don't think the Great Fairies really have any information that was necessary other than "no I don't know what's going on". So u get this panel.

I like this shot of that little statue towering over the both of them, and I mimic it a little bit in the new update here. something something about why we build monuments and what they stand for.

negative sim interaction

Loft still has to believe that Zelda and Slate's negative experiences had to have been some sort of misunderstanding. If Hylia could have helped, she would have. Knowing and loving your goddess on a human level also makes you want to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I actually really love that in BOTW Zelda resents Link for having some sort of access to the divine that she just can't reach. She has her arc about it in the game, but especially now she's come to understand that having the gods' favor is a double-edged sword. Also, that's not really meant to be Peony, but I like the idea that Champion also had an affinity for fairies. :-( Intentionally the same pose as Slate at the fairy fountain, though Slate is so tiny I probably didn't need to bother lol

that was a lot of rambling lol but i have. so many thoughts abt the subject matter of this update. this is the shit about LOZ that makes me froth at the mouth tbh

[dior-luxury]

https://www.tumblr.com/dior-luxury/778931380458536960?source=share

Could you continue with the other characters please? It doesn't matter if it's random <3 I loved your work.💗😭

You Call Them A Different Name To Get Their Reaction

Pt.1

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] trey . jack . jade . kalim . epel . lilia

- [𝐩:𝐬] jealousy . some talk of physical fighting

Note: Thank you so much for enjoying my work anon!! (*¯ ³¯*)♡ And I shall do your request!

Trey Clover

Trey had always been the composed and easygoing type. He was the kind of boyfriend who didn’t get riled up easily, who always met your antics with a chuckle and a warm pat on the head. But today was different.

You had been lounging in the Heartslabyul common room, waiting for Trey to return from baking in the kitchen. The scent of fresh strawberry tarts lingered in the air when he finally walked in, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Here you go, made them just how you like," he said, setting the plate before you.

You grinned up at him, your heart warm with appreciation. "Thanks, Riddle!"

The silence was immediate. You didn’t even realize what you had said at first, too busy reaching for a tart. But when you noticed Trey standing still, his smile slightly frozen, your stomach dropped.

Riddle?

Your eyes widened. Oh. Oh no.

Trey let out a small chuckle, but there was something almost imperceptibly strained about it. "Riddle, huh?" he repeated, sitting across from you, his usual calm demeanor still present—just a little quieter than before.

You scrambled to explain. "No, wait, that was an accident! I wasn’t even thinking, I—"

He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Nah, I get it. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately. Guess my name just slipped your mind."

There was no outright anger in his voice, no bitterness. But the way his fingers lingered on the rim of his teacup, the slight downward tilt of his lips, told you that it did sting. Trey wasn’t the type to make a fuss, but that didn’t mean he was unaffected.

You reached across the table, taking his hand in both of yours. "Hey. I promise it was just a slip. There’s no one else but you, Trey. You know that, right?"

He looked at you for a long moment before finally exhaling and squeezing your hand back.

"Yeah… I know."

He smiled again, this time more genuine. But later that night, when he kissed you goodnight, there was something just a little more possessive in the way his lips lingered against yours—like he was silently reminding you of exactly who he was to you.

Jack Howl

Jack was a lot of things—stubborn, loyal, and fiercely protective of you. He wasn’t the kind of guy who let small things get to him. But this? This got to him.

You were in the courtyard after classes, talking to Jack about your day as he listened attentively, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"And then Ace was being an idiot like usual, and Deuce—oh! Leona, can you believe he actually—"

You paused mid-sentence, your words catching in your throat. Jack’s ears, which had been relaxed just moments ago, twitched. Slowly, he turned his head to you, golden eyes narrowed slightly.

"What did you just call me?"

The weight of your mistake crashed down on you all at once. Your boyfriend’s name wasn’t Leona. It wasn’t even close.

"Jack! I meant Jack!" You held up your hands in a panic. "It was just a dumb mistake! I was thinking about how Leona skipped class again, and—"

But Jack had already turned away slightly, exhaling through his nose in that huffing way he did when he was trying to hold something back. His tail, usually so expressive, was still.

"I see."

Just two words, but they made you feel awful.

"Jack," you stepped closer, trying to see his face, but he kept looking away. "Come on, you know I’d never mix you two up. You’re you. No one else even compares."

He didn’t answer immediately. For a few long moments, the only sound between you was the rustling of the wind.

Then, he finally spoke. "...Do you like him?"

Your eyes widened. "What?! No! Jack, of course not!"

Jack was still for a moment before he finally let out a low sigh. "I know you didn’t mean it, but…" He rubbed the back of his head, ears still stiff with tension. "I don’t like it."

You stepped closer, pressing a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath. "I don’t like that I made you feel this way," you whispered. "Jack, you're the only one for me. I swear it."

Jack studied you for a moment, then let out another breath—this time softer. He finally let his arms drop to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his warmth.

"...Alright," he muttered, pressing his forehead against yours. "Just don’t do it again."

Jade Leech

Jade was someone you could never quite predict. He was charming yet unsettling, affectionate yet always holding something back. And that was what made your mistake all the more dangerous.

It had been a peaceful afternoon in the Mostro Lounge, and you had been sitting at the bar while Jade prepared a special tea blend for you. His movements were graceful as always, his gloved hands handling the delicate porcelain with practiced ease.

"Here you are, my dear," he said, placing the cup before you with that ever-present smile.

"Thanks, Floyd," you said absentmindedly.

The moment the name left your lips, you felt it. A shift in the air. A silence that pressed down on you like the depths of the ocean.

You looked up slowly. Jade’s smile was still there. But his golden eye, sharp and assessing, gleamed with something unreadable.

"Oh?" His voice was smooth as silk, but there was something distinctly unsettling about the way he tilted his head. "Floyd, you say?"

Your stomach twisted. "Jade. I meant Jade."

He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. "How peculiar. Do I remind you of my dear twin, then?"

"No!" You waved your hands frantically. "It just slipped out, I swear!"

Jade leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. His expression was still pleasant, but his gaze was razor-sharp. "Hmm. I wonder what Floyd would say if I told him about this. You do seem quite fond of him, after all."

Your breath hitched. "Jade."

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying your distress. "Oh, don’t look so alarmed. I am merely teasing."

But there was something possessive in the way his fingers brushed against your wrist, something dangerously alluring in the way he murmured, "Still… I do wonder how I should punish you for this little slip."

You swallowed. "P-Punish?"

Jade smiled wider, leaning impossibly close, his breath ghosting over your ear.

"Relax, dear. I’ll simply have to remind you who I am."

And with that, he took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—soft, yet full of silent warning.

There would be no more mistakes after this. Not unless you wanted to see what lay beneath that polite, charming mask.

Would you dare let it slip again?

Kalim, Epel, and Lilia React to Their Girlfriend Calling Them a Different Name

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim was someone who exuded warmth like the desert sun—bright, energetic, and ever-loving. He never failed to shower you with affection, always bringing you little trinkets or inviting you on wild magic carpet rides just to hear you laugh.

So when you called him by another name—Jamil’s name, of all people—it was as if the sun had momentarily been eclipsed.

It happened during one of your regular visits to Scarabia, where Kalim had been showing off his newest imported sweets.

"Here, try this one! It’s made with real golden saffron—super rare!" Kalim beamed, holding a small pastry up to your lips.

You giggled, taking a bite. "Mmm! That’s amazing, Jamil!"

The second the name left your lips, the room went silent. You didn’t even realize what you had said until you noticed Kalim’s expression—his wide, ruby eyes blinking rapidly as if he had misheard.

"...Huh?" He let out a small, confused chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Wait, what did you just call me?"

Your heart sank. "Kalim! I meant Kalim! It was an accident, I swear!"

But even though he was still smiling, there was something… off.

"You called me Jamil." His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. Not mad. Not even sad. Just—confused.

And that was the worst part. Because Kalim adored you with every fiber of his being, and it never even crossed his mind that you might think about someone else like that.

"I—It just slipped out!" You rushed to grab his hands. "You know I love you, Kalim. I wasn’t thinking. You’re the only one for me, I promise!"

He studied your face for a moment, and then—just like that—his blinding smile returned.

"Hehe, okay!"

Just like that?

You blinked. "Wait… you’re not mad?"

Kalim shook his head, squeezing your hands. "Nah, I know you didn’t mean it! Besides, if you were thinking about Jamil, maybe it’s because he’s been helping you with something, right?"

You almost wanted to cry from how pure he was.

But then his grip tightened just a little. His smile was still warm, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his usually carefree gaze.

"Still… I wanna make sure you’re always thinking about me, y'know?" Kalim leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "So how about I spend even more time with you? That way, you won’t even have the chance to mix me up with someone else!"

His laughter rang in your ears like golden bells, and suddenly, you realized—you might have just signed up for never having a moment alone again.

Epel Felmier

Epel had always been fighting against people’s assumptions about him—his delicate features, his small frame, the way others (Vil) constantly made him practice "refined manners." So when you—his girlfriend, the person who was supposed to see him for who he truly was—accidentally called him the wrong name, it hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

You two had been hanging out in the botanical garden, resting against one of the large apple trees. The air smelled of fresh fruit, and Epel had just finished carving a wooden trinket for you with his pocket knife.

"Here." He placed the small wolf carving in your palm, a faint blush on his cheeks. "Made it for ya. Thought you’d like it."

Your heart melted at the sight of it. "Epel, this is beautiful! You’re amazing—seriously, Vil should let you show off your skills more!"

Epel scoffed, crossing his arms. "Hah, like he’d ever—"

"Right, Rook?"

Silence.

Epel’s whole body tensed. His grip on his knife twitched. You, on the other hand, immediately felt your soul leave your body.

"I meant Epel!" You blurted out in a panic. "Epel, Epel, Epel!"

His violet eyes snapped to yours, narrowed and sharp like a predator who had just been challenged. "Tch. Rook?" His voice was low, unreadable. "So ya think I’m like him now?"

You grabbed his hands. "No! I don’t even know why I said that—I was just thinking about how he always praises you, and it just—just slipped out!"

Epel clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. "Hmph." He pulled away, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. "That’s real annoyin’, y'know?"

You felt horrible. "Epel…"

For a moment, you thought he might storm off. But instead, he turned his back to you, exhaling sharply before muttering:

"I gotta make sure you see me as me—not anyone else."

The next thing you knew, he was pulling you up into his arms, pressing a heated, almost desperate kiss against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, and when he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged.

"There," he muttered, his face flushed but determined. "Now you won’t forget who I am."

And with that, he stomped off—probably to go punch a tree or something.

Lilia Vanrouge

You should have known calling Lilia the wrong name was dangerous.

The moment the name "Malleus" left your lips, you swore the entire atmosphere of the room changed.

Lilia had been casually floating upside down in your room, strumming his guitar when you had absentmindedly asked:

"Hey, Malleus, can you hand me that book?"

The strings of his guitar let out a warped, discordant twang.

Slowly, he flipped right-side up, his glowing red eyes peering at you with eerie amusement.

"…Malleus?" Lilia repeated, his tone light and playful—but oh no, oh no, oh no, something about it sent a chill down your spine.

Your breath caught. "I-I meant Lilia! LILIA! It was a mistake, I swear!"

Lilia tilted his head, his fangs peeking from his smirk. "Fufufu~ how interesting… I didn’t realize my little human had such a wandering mind."

He vanished.

Your stomach dropped. "Lilia?"

Suddenly, cold fingers brushed against the back of your neck.

"Right here, darling~"

You spun around, only for him to disappear again, reappearing behind you with a chuckle. "How careless of you to let another name slip, hm?"

"Lilia, please—!"

He let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his chest. "Ah, what is an old fae to do? Must I remind you exactly who your boyfriend is?"

Before you could respond, Lilia scooped you up effortlessly, twirling you in the air before pinning you against the nearest wall, his smirk widening at your flustered expression.

"Hm, yes, I think some proper discipline is in order~"

You gulped. Oh, you were in danger.

And knowing Lilia, he was going to make sure you never made that mistake again.

[jesncin]

I'm known for my Superman fancomics, but Martian Manhunter truly is my favorite superhero. Not because J'onn is better written or anything (he's very much underutilized and flawed as a character) but because the way his character evolves really speaks to me.

Alien invasions, alien body snatchers, alien shapeshifters? All of that came from the American fear of immigrants. Foreigners "invading" your home, "stealing" your jobs, marrying into the country, wearing clothes to assimilate into American society? Not expressing themselves the "right" way, all this so they can "plant more of their seeds" on the quest for "world domination". Horrifying right.

A character like Martian Manhunter is clearly built from these fears, but the incredible thing about how his character evolved is how he became a story of empathy. So much of modern J'onn stories are about his fascination with human kind and his desire to understand them. This narrative was further strengthened by Black creatives- especially Carl Lumbly (bringing his immigrant experience into his performance of J'onn in Justice League) and David Harewood (bringing conversations of racism to the forefront in his version of J'onn in CW Supergirl).

The alien who doesn't pass as human the way Superman does and has to shapeshift into layers of identity to be passable, still picks a marginalized form because he identifies with it. Personally, I deeply relate to being the outsider even among marginalized spaces and having to put up so many masks to pass as some nebulous norm. Being less palatable. The unfeeling alien trope meant to terrorize people in the Cold War days? Well when J'onn struggles expressing himself in a way normative to Earth, fans identify with that feeling of alienation as a form of neurodivergence. "He's just like me!"

All this to say. Absolute Martian Manhunter simply isn't doing it for me. Yes the art is stellar. But the "wacky sci-fi" aspects of J'onn aren't why I love him so much. I actually don't care about John Jones being some government white guy feeling alienated and described as a "martian" from being a workaholic or whatever. All this feels like a nothing burger step back from the narratives built about J'onn. And in the larger meta sense, an insult to the Black creatives who brought the most endearing aspects of J'onn's character to the forefront.

[seleneprince]

Thanks you for answering!

NOW i'm more curious about Dick and N!D . You say that he's one shz hates the most,why? Is this because of the whole incident with Damian or is it because something else?

And i 'm really expecting the moment when everybody will finally know that N!D hate them so much (or is distant wirh a lot of them). Who will be the most hurt/angry about that? I think that will be a hard blow for Dick because it seems to me that Lucia try to be civilised with him and as he didn't pay too much attention to her ,did he think they on good terms ? How will he react with her if he know?

Sorry if there are too much question but i really love this concept/wip(?) And i'm eager to see your other ideas or blurb for this😊!

Oh boy, i'm so glad you asked that..👀😈

She feels this way with Dick for many small reasons, but the main one absolutely revolves from the murder attempt from Damian. Because Dick, although not maliciously, he handled it terribly. And I mean, terribly.

Before that, N! Daughter admired Dick, even. He was the main reason she took gymnastic classes and tried so hard on them. To impress him. To bond with him. Everyone went on and on about how he was the golden boy, such a good big brother, and she saw it too. She just wished he paid her the same amount of attention and care he had for the others..

But the thing is, Dick doesn't know how to bond with normal people. He can handle Jason, Tim, Damian and everyone else because, despite all their differences, they're the same: Soldiers. Vigilantes. All of them at some point trained and fought under Batman's shadow (some still do). They share similar stories of wounds, certain missions and the whole "risking their lives everyday at night to fight crime". That's the kind of trauma-bonding that this whole mess of a family has been built upon...and for someone who hasn't been through the same stuff as them, who doesn't understand their mission or has wore the mantles, well, Dick is clueless on how to approach them. And they might be unconsciously pushed aside because none of them know how to handle normal people. How could they, when they themselves haven't been normal in their whole lives? When they people they usually hang out with and interact are just like them?

In Dick's eyes, N! Daughter has the privilege of a safe, comfortable life, away from the danger and violence of theirs. She doesn't know the worst of it. And it's fine. But Damian, little terror, he hasn't had the same luxury. Sure, he grew up in a palace with servants, but he was also forced to train from the moment he could walk and bleed for his grandfather's approval. He was never allowed to be a child. Constantly bleeding, suffering and enduring pain to be molded into the perfect little assassin his family wanted him to be. Dick feels sorry for him, and we know he becomes very fond of Damian and sort of his guardian.

Which makes him prioritise the boy's needs and emphatise with him a lot, expecting people to do the same given his traumatic past...even if it comes out at the worst moment.

After the Damian tried to kill her and left that scar, when she was recovering from the still fresh wound, holding a bloodied bandage over her neck, Dick visited her at her room. She wasecstasic, so happy to have her big brother that she admired back then check on her. He sat beside her and told her the this:

"(Name), look, what Damian did was a terrible mistake. He didn't meant to, but he’s had a very difficult life with some awful people. It's not really his fault. I promise you that he won't do it again. Just please, forgive him."

As he spoke, a ringing began to grow and grow in her ears, until she could no longer hear him. Her mind going over and over what he said. She just nodded silently, the pain of the wound keeping her from talking (but also because she didn't trust herself to talk without insulting and cursing him) She didn't even feel when he retracted his hand from her shoulder as soon as she nodded. "Thank you (Name), knew you would understand. He's not really a bad kid, you'll see. He just needs some love and proper guidance to change his ways. We'll talk again when you're better, okay?" He said, moving away from her, obviously distracted. She didn't bother nodding again. She already knew he wouldn't come back.

That's what cemented her disgust for him. Not only the fact he spent the following days spending time with Damian (who by the way, never apologised or shower remorse for what he did), but how he just stood there and told a girl to her damn eyes who had just suffered a murder attempt in her sleep that she had to "be understanding" and basically be the "bigger person" with her attacker. With the blood still in her bandage.

That conversation didn’t just hurt, it broke something inside her. She realized then that no one in the family would choose her, that she only had her mom and the twins. And, in her mind, Dick wasn’t just complicit; he's a symbol of everything wrong with their dynamic.

The first time she tells this story is to Duke, when he gathers courage to ask her why she can't stand Dick, why she always tenses when he talks to her and avoids looking at him, despite being apparently the reliable, loving big brother of all. Needless to say, he's shocked…and angry on her behalf.

"I was holding my neck together with a damn bandage, and instead of asking me how I was feeling, instead of holding Damian accountable, he asked me to understand him."

In her mind, it sounded like:

"You’re the sacrifice. You’re the one who has to be stronger. You’re the one who has to forgive and move on. Because he’s more important"

And best part? Dick has no idea how deeply he hurt her. He thinks of that moment as a difficult conversation where he tried to make peace between his siblings, to what was best for everyone because Damian was still fresh out of the League's influence and he didn't know better. He doesn’t realize that it was the moment she gave up on him, and maybe the whole family.

He's used to be everyone's reliable big brother, the sunshine boy, so you can guess his surprise when he realises his sister avoids being in the same room as him and never smiles around him. When the little girl he remembers always lighted up when he spoke to her and went out of her way to get his attention...what happened? Where did that adorable little girl go? Can he get her back?

[1982grapejuiceblues]

The Lingering I

Official Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

The Wrong Pitch Part 3

Summary: In the quiet aftermath of their almost, Harry and Y/N navigate the silence of what wasn’t said. Through unsent drafts, pacing thoughts, and overthought messages, one of them finally reaches out — and the other answers. It isn’t grand. It isn’t dramatic. It’s careful. Intentional. Honest. And it’s enough to change everything.

A/N: AHHHHH These two are back!! I really love this story and the slowburn of it, The Lingering is going to be at least three parts, I have it all written out its just the editing that takes FOREVER. I do it in batches though so thats how I'm able to upload these so quickly! Let me know what you guys think so far!

Warning: Anxiety spiraling / overthinking | Emotional hesitation and vulnerability | Unsent texts and delayed communication | Fear of saying the wrong thing | Internalized self-doubt | Extended emotional tension (but no conflict) | Slow pacing, realism-focused inner monologues | No physical intimacy (just yearning and care)

Word Count: 3.5k

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Saturday — 6:42 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

Y/N didn’t turn on the lights when she walked in.

She didn’t like the way switches filled the room too fast. There was something about the soft, creeping dusk she preferred — the natural fade of light across her hardwood floor, the dim orange glow of a streetlamp just starting to warm the sidewalk outside her window. It gave her time to land. To figure out who she was again, alone, after being something else in someone else’s company.

She slipped her shoes off one by one, the way she always did — toe to heel, heel to toe — and left them by the door. Her coat slid down her shoulders in a single movement, familiar, practiced, and landed on the hook like it had been trained to return there.

Everything about her flat was warm and quiet and intentionally hers.

Usually, she liked that.

But right now, it felt a little too quiet. A little too much like a place that expected her to think.

She padded into the kitchen and turned on the kettle out of instinct. Not because she wanted tea — not yet — but because she didn’t know what else to do with her hands. She moved slowly, methodically: mug, spoon, tea bag, water. Not committing to it, just lining up the options.

She wasn’t hungry.

She wasn’t tired.

She just felt… untethered.

The moment she sat down on the couch, the silence hit her square in the chest.

It wasn’t harsh. But it was immediate.

The kind of quiet that creeps in when you realize someone else’s presence had taken up more space than you thought. That Harry had taken up space — not just in her periphery, but in her head. Her day. Her body, somehow. Like his voice had carved out a rhythm and her breath was still matching it.

She hated how much she noticed the absence.

She hated even more that it didn’t feel like an absence at all — just a… pause.

A question mark.

She reached for her phone almost reflexively. Unlocked it. Didn’t open anything yet.

She stared at the home screen for a few seconds, as if some app she hadn’t downloaded yet would offer a solution.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she tapped into the message thread.

Harry Styles.

The name felt strange every time she saw it written out. A person who had once been a complete stranger — someone with a name that meant nothing to her, just a man sitting at the wrong table — was now… something else. Undefined. Quietly insistent.

A presence she couldn’t unfeel.

She scrolled up.

Read what she had sent. What he had sent back. The part where it stopped.

Thank you for saying that.

I was scared too.

Still am.

But I’d rather be scared with you than wonder if we missed it.

That last line hit her harder than she expected. Again.

She had read it before. She’d felt it earlier, in the booth, in the quiet between them. But here, in her flat, in the silence of her own space, it felt sharper. Heavier. More true.

And still, she hadn’t answered him.

She opened the keyboard.

Typed:

Are you home?

Deleted it.

Typed:

I haven’t stopped thinking about earlier.

Deleted that, too.

Tried again:

I want to see you again.

Her thumb hovered.

She knew what that meant.

She also knew she couldn’t send it yet.

Backspaced. Cleared the screen. Let her fingers rest over the glass.

What was she doing?

Why was this so hard?

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped around her phone like it might reveal something if she just held it tight enough.

And then she whispered it out loud — just to herself, in the soft, safe dark of her apartment:

“I liked being with you.”

The words surprised her. Not because they were true, but because of how much they meant. How heavy they sounded in her own voice. How simple they were, and yet how deeply they landed.

She rested her phone on the couch beside her. Let her hands fall into her lap. Stared out the window as the last of the daylight bled into blue.

She thought about the way he had looked at her when she walked into the café again.

Not surprised. Not alarmed.

Just… relieved.

Like she had made a choice he hadn’t wanted to ask her to make.

Like he had hoped — quietly, without pressure — that she would come back.

“You already are,” she had told him, when he said he wanted to show up.

That sentence had stayed with her all the way home. It was still here now, in the room, in her hands, in her mouth like a thing she might say again if he were sitting beside her.

But he wasn’t.

And she didn’t know when he would be.

Or if she’d be brave enough to ask.

7:09 p.m. — Harry’s Flat

Harry had stared at the same sentence for thirteen minutes.

It wasn’t even a complicated sentence.

It was just the close of a paragraph — something small and transitional. Something that should’ve taken thirty seconds to finish and forget. But instead, it was sitting there like a brick in the middle of the page, daring him to make it sound like he believed it.

He leaned back in his chair and pressed his knuckles against his temples.

Focus.

The cursor blinked at him.

It wasn’t the writing. He could write. Had written better speeches than this one in worse conditions. It was the space he was writing from — the place in his head that felt suddenly unfamiliar. Crowded. Warmer than usual.

Full.

Which was ridiculous. They’d only seen each other again this afternoon. They hadn’t even kissed. Had barely touched. Had said maybe two sentences that could be considered emotionally intimate.

But God, the silence after?

It felt like it carried weight.

He pushed the chair back from the desk, stood up too quickly. Pacing helped. Usually.

He ran a hand through his hair and crossed the room toward the kitchen, trying to remember what he even came in for. Opened the fridge. Closed it again.

There was a time when a quiet Saturday night like this would’ve felt like relief. A long exhale. A moment to recharge.

But tonight, it felt like too much room.

Too much space to think about what he should’ve said when they were standing at her door.

Or what she hadn’t said.

Not in a way that made him second-guess her — he didn’t. He just knew that she was trying. That she was letting herself feel this in real time, and he didn’t want to be the reason she retreated.

He didn’t want to fill the space too quickly. But he didn’t want to leave it empty either.

He opened their text thread again. Not for the first time. Not even for the fifth.

It wasn’t that he expected anything new.

He just wanted to remember the way her words sounded.

Even when they were just black text on a white screen.

“I was scared too.”

“Still am.”

God, that had floored him.

Not because she’d said it — but because of how much he’d believed her.

He hadn’t had that in a long time. Someone honest enough to admit fear, but steady enough to still show up anyway.

He wanted to tell her that. Not poetically. Not dramatically. Just plainly. Just… truthfully.

But every draft he started felt like it leaned too hard in one direction — too casual or too intense. Too soon or too vague. Too much or not enough.

He hated how much he cared about getting the tone right.

He hated how much he wanted to get it right.

He sat back down at the desk. Pulled the laptop toward him. Tried to re-engage with the speech. Something about unity. Shared vision. The usual stuff.

But even those words felt hollow.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her — sitting on her couch right now, probably. Maybe drinking tea. Maybe overthinking this the same way he was.

And maybe she wasn’t.

Maybe she had already moved on from the softness of the afternoon. Maybe he was reading into something that had already cooled.

But then he remembered the look in her eyes when she walked through the café door.

The way she looked at him.

It wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t over.

It was something waiting.

He typed a new message.

Let it sit on the screen.

I’m not going to crowd you.

But I do want to see you again.

Read it. Reread it.

Then deleted it.

Too soon.

Or maybe not soon enough.

He stood up again and rubbed his palms over his face. Walked to the bookshelf. Pulled out the small notebook he kept on the second shelf, tucked behind the short story collections.

It was older. More scribbled than sorted. Just fragments, mostly — moments, half-thoughts, things he couldn’t shake.

He opened to the last blank page and scribbled one sentence.

I don’t want to be afraid of this before it even starts.

Then closed the notebook.

Slid it back into place.

Walked away from the desk and sat on the couch.

He didn’t touch his phone again for a long time.

But he didn’t stop thinking about her, either.

8:14 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

She hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes.

She was still in her jeans. Still sitting at the edge of the couch. Still staring out the window like something might happen if she just stayed still long enough.

Her tea had gone cold.

She hadn’t touched it.

Didn’t even remember making it.

Everything around her looked the same as it had this morning — the blanket folded neatly at the corner of the couch, the stack of manuscripts on the dining table waiting for her notes, the email inbox she hadn’t opened once.

But she wasn’t the same.

And that realization — as soft and quiet as it was — made her sit up straighter.

She felt unsettled in a way that didn’t have a name. Not anxious, exactly. Not regretful. Just… aware.

Of how much had shifted in such a short span of time.

Of how little it took for someone to take up space again.

And how badly she wanted him to stay in it.

She picked up her phone and stared at the blank message screen.

Typed:

I made it home.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Typed:

I haven’t stopped thinking about the booth.

Deleted.

Then she did what she’d been trying not to do all evening — she opened the notes app. Scrolled past her work drafts. Her to-do lists. Her grocery reminders. Until she found the untitled one from earlier this week.

It was a draft of a message.

One she’d written but never sent.

Dated two days after she left him sitting in that café alone.

I don’t know why I left the way I did.

I panicked.

You were kind and good and you didn’t deserve the silence.

I haven’t stopped thinking about that conversation.

About you.

She read it twice.

Then hit select all.

Deleted it in one tap.

She didn’t want to send him something old.

Not now.

Not after seeing him again. Not after the warmth of the afternoon. Not after the quiet understanding in his eyes that said, You don’t owe me anything, but I’m still here if you want to try.

She opened the thread.

Typed:

Hey.

Waited.

Then added:

I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

Deleted that.

Typed:

Is this still okay?

No, not that either.

She let her hands fall into her lap and stared at the screen for a while.

She thought about what she really wanted him to know.

What wasn’t performative or clever or distant.

What she would say if he were sitting right here, across from her on this couch.

And slowly, carefully, she typed:

I’ve been thinking about earlier.

About how easy it felt.

And how hard that is to find lately.

I don’t know what this is.

Or if I’m supposed to know yet.

But I’d like to keep figuring it out.

With you.

She stared at it.

No emojis. No qualifiers. No softening the landing.

Just truth.

She hit send before she could overthink it.

Then set the phone down, facedown this time, and stood up.

She turned on the light in the hallway.

Went to the kitchen.

Poured out the cold tea.

Started boiling the water again.

She wasn’t going to wait around watching the screen this time.

She already knew she’d hear from him.

8:51 p.m. — Harry’s Flat

Harry was lying on the couch with a record playing low when his phone buzzed.

He almost didn’t check it.

Not because he wasn’t waiting — he was, in the quiet, resigned way people wait for things they know might not come. He’d done it before. Had entire evenings pass with his phone untouched, just to prove to himself that he could.

But this buzz felt different.

It wasn’t the group chat. Not a push notification. Just a single, simple vibration against the wood of the coffee table that made his eyes flick open and settle on the screen.

And then he saw it.

Y/N.

He sat up too fast.

The message preview was just a few words, cut off mid-line — but his chest tightened before he even unlocked the screen.

I’ve been thinking about earlier…

He blinked.

Held his breath.

Opened the thread.

And read.

I’ve been thinking about earlier.

About how easy it felt.

And how hard that is to find lately.

I don’t know what this is.

Or if I’m supposed to know yet.

But I’d like to keep figuring it out.

With you.

It took him three full reads to stop blinking.

Then he exhaled — loud and uneven, like it had been building all day and only now found a way out of his body.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Just held the phone in his hand, let his eyes trace the words over and over. Let himself feel every inch of what she was offering: not certainty, not resolution — but permission.

A beginning.

An opening.

A reach.

His first instinct was to reply immediately.

To give her what she’d given him — honesty, vulnerability, forward motion.

But then the overthinking kicked in.

What tone? What length? Was he allowed to be excited? Should he be measured? Was there a way to say me too without sounding like he’d been waiting by the phone all evening?

Because he had.

But still.

He opened the keyboard.

Typed:

You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Paused.

Backspaced.

Tried again:

Me too.

Too short.

Tried:

I’d really like that too.

And I think maybe we don’t have to know yet.

We just have to keep showing up.

He stared at it.

Nodded to himself.

Then, instead of hitting send, he set the phone down beside him and stood up.

He walked to the kitchen.

Opened the cupboard.

Pulled out the tea he had no intention of drinking — just needed to move. Think. Let the weight of her message land.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the sweeping-movie-score kind of way. It was grounded. Measured. Real.

But it meant something.

And the way it made his hands shake a little as he poured water into the kettle — yeah, that meant something too.

Back in the living room, he picked up the phone again.

Read the message again.

Still hit him like a warmth in his chest he didn’t know how to name.

He typed:

Can I see you tomorrow?

Then paused.

Edited:

I know it’s soon.

And I know we said we’d take it slow.

But I think I’d like slow better if you were next to me while we figured it out.

He didn’t overthink this one.

He just hit send.

And leaned back.

And smiled.

Not because he was confident.

But because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone in the wanting.

9:03 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

Her phone buzzed right as she was pouring the hot water over the tea bag.

It was quiet, almost tentative — like it didn’t want to assume it was important.

But her body stilled anyway.

She reached for it with one hand, the other still holding the kettle mid-pour, and nearly spilled it when she saw his name.

Harry Styles

I know it’s soon.

And I know we said we’d take it slow.

But I think I’d like slow better if you were next to me while we figured it out.

She didn’t breathe for a full second.

Then she exhaled all at once.

The kind of breath that felt like she’d been holding it for days.

She put the kettle down.

Left the mug where it was.

Walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, phone in both hands, rereading the message over and over.

She smiled.

Then bit her lip.

Then sat down on the couch and tucked her legs under her, trying to figure out why this — this exact combination of words — was hitting her so hard.

It wasn’t flowery.

It wasn’t performative.

It was just… him.

Direct. Earnest. Just vulnerable enough to feel real.

He wasn’t asking her to give him certainty. He was asking to sit in the uncertainty together.

And she wanted that. Badly.

She typed:

You’re very good at this.

Paused.

Backspaced.

Tried:

I think I’d like that too.

No.

She wanted to be sure. She wanted him to feel it.

She typed:

Yes.

I’d really like to see you tomorrow.

And I think you’re right.

Slow might feel less terrifying if it’s next to you.

She stared at it. Her fingers trembled a little.

But this time, she didn’t doubt it.

She hit send.

Then she dropped the phone in her lap and just sat there.

Let herself feel how good it was to say yes to something that didn’t demand her to be perfect — just present.

A minute later, her phone buzzed again.

I’ll make the plans.

She didn’t even realize she was smiling until she saw her reflection in the window — soft, lit by the glow of the lamp behind her, eyes tired but bright in a way she hadn’t seen in a while.

Okay, she thought.

This is something.

Let it be something.

Sunday — 9:03 a.m. — Y/N’s Flat

Y/N woke up before her alarm.

Not with a jolt, not in a panic. Just… aware. Like her body had been keeping time without her.

She stayed under the blanket for a few minutes longer than usual, watching the light crawl in through the window. It was that kind of golden pale that made everything look like a film still. Like the city was trying to convince her to say yes to things before she could think of reasons not to.

And for once, she didn’t try to talk herself out of it.

9:17 a.m. — Harry’s Flat

Harry stood at his kitchen counter, eating toast he hadn’t meant to make.

He kept glancing at the clock like he was going to be late for something, even though there was nothing scheduled. Nothing formal. Just a maybe. A sometime today.

But it felt like a thing he didn’t want to miss.

He’d already checked the weather (mild, clear, cool breeze). Already shaved. Changed his shirt twice. Put on the one that didn’t look like he was trying, even though he definitely was.

He didn’t know where they were going yet — not exactly. He just knew he wanted it to feel easy. Low pressure. Like an extension of the café booth, but out in the world.

Like something real.

10:14 a.m. 

Do you trust me to pick somewhere?

As long as there’s coffee involved.

I’d never disrespect you like that.

Then yes. I trust you.

That last part wasn’t just about the coffee.

She hoped he knew that.

She had a feeling he did.

11:08 a.m. — Somewhere on the Northern Line

They weren’t meeting in the city proper. That had been a conscious choice on Harry’s part. He figured a smaller street, a quieter café, fewer things pulling at their attention — it might give them space to just… be.

He had no idea if it was the right call.

But when he got off the train and stepped out into the soft, sun-filtered morning, he felt like it might be.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, checked his phone again.

No new texts.

But she was coming.

That was enough.

11:26 a.m.

She saw him first.

He was leaning against the wall just outside the café entrance, phone in hand, one ankle crossed casually over the other like he was built for waiting. Like he didn’t mind it.

She stopped just short of being in his line of vision.

Took one second.

Then walked forward.

He looked up just as she reached him.

And smiled in that small, surprised way — like something he’d been hoping for had just appeared in front of him.

“Hi,” she said, soft.

“Hi,” he replied, quieter still.

[joeloverture]

whist i get what you are saying about confederate flag, why is it deemed completely okay to write about joel saying that he would have fucked his 15 year old daughter given the chance. this isn’t trying to be hateful, i’m just genuinely curious

okay hi! thank you for being sane about this and actually approaching from a place of wanting to widen your scope. id direct you to @whataperfectwasteoftime for more on the confederate flag stuff. they made a well developed post on that for a much more aggressive version of this ask.

im sure u can guess what’s under the cut so heed any triggers you may have and put u first.

i want to make something clear here that i previously haven’t. i don’t think this fic belonged on tumblr. it’s ambiguous in its TOS whether its actually a violation or not, but since tumblr operates in areas where writing csa is illegal, it was never meant to be here in the first place. ao3? sure. whatever. but this is stirring things up because it was in an unexpected place. tumblr has more rules whereas ao3 is the scarcely contained Wild West of fanfic.

furthermore — i wouldn’t say it’s completely okay. these things have nuance. i read the fic, because I saw something like this coming from down the road considering the fandom climate. i do think the fic was stylistically written in a way that was self aware of the characters mutual destruction of each other. i also think it was intentionally inflammatory in some ways. however, everything was adequately tagged. people were free to move on if it caused discomfort, which i also want to make clear is a normal feeling. whether it be interacting with eroticized fanfiction or fiction in general, it is an inherently uncomfortable feeling sometimes! it’s up to us to determine what agitates our personal limits. i don’t think others should be held responsible for our consumption. what joel said in that fic was repulsive. it was meant to be! i also want to reiterate here that darkfic isn’t for me. dark fiction, though? that’s my shit — and i don’t mean dark romance or a little life, but the same theory can apply to those.

if we begin to crack down on eroticized fanfiction, the terminology they use will bleed into other areas of literature. suddenly the language used to describe a minor in an erotic work (and trust me, the thought of this does nauseate me — emphasis on this not being for me) is forbidden in a work that is raising awareness or telling a story. these may seem like far jumps, but loopholes like this exist everywhere in the law. it is why worries about rights to privacy emerged during roe v wade. especially with the right, famously laden with pedos and their enablers, they will pretend to be protecting people by silencing any dubious erotic work, then trans and queer voices (notice how they are constantly called pedos), and then real csa stories will be suppressed so they can get away with more.

id direct you to a pending law in tx, in which any obscene depiction of a minor or someone who looks like one. (senate bill 20)

big win, right?

nope. it’s far too up to interpretation at the prosecutorial level. scotus actually deemed this unconstitutional in 2003.

it is legal to marry a child in texas. these lawmakers use fiction as their scapegoat to avoid the moral consequences of actions they participate in. laws like this may start at the level of, say, anime or manga. but it very rapidly will spread to appropriate television, art, etc that depicts trans and queer people. and even beyond that.

i worry where this goes. if we don’t speak up now, who will speak up for us when they come for us? because they will.

additionally, fiction ≠ reality. this is an important distinction. fiction can be a powerful tool to explore what we fear, what we have experienced, and what we wish would happen. i cannot police what others do. only what i write and how i respond to their words.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, Im writing two autistic characters and I would like some advice for their backstory. I myself am autistic and Im using them to project my own experiences, but Id like to ask for some outside opinions as well. The two characters are twins, the sister was always better at masking than the brother, who also had really bad sensory issues. In the future they ended up having a falling out when their friend group all goes out to a concert, and the brother can’t enjoy it because the noise hurts his ears. Afterwards they go to a restaurant and they have an arguement because the brother can’t eat the food due to his sensory issues (keep in mind neither of them are diagnosed) and they’ve been on not the best terms since and low contact. The main reason why its such a big deal is because it was meant to celebrate one of their friends (brother’s best friend) getting into their dream college.

Their story basically tackles the brother learning that he isn’t a burden on the people around him, while the sister also tackles her own internalized ableism.

Hi asker,

So their backstory seems to me, based on the information I have from this ask, that the sister is generally being at least somewhat ableist towards her brother. And since they are both undiagnosed, there's also an element of not understanding sensory needs (especially the brother's) because they aren't necessarily attributing it to being a disability trait. Since the sister masks more than the brother, perhaps she is seeing his sensory issues as something he should be able to control or something of the sort. And the event you describe is kind of the tipping point for their relationship.

Please correct me if I'm wrong there, by the way.

So, I'm not sure on advice on what specifically you want regarding the backstory, but it does seem like a pretty realistic situation, especially in regards to the way you want the story to go. It seems like it's open for character development for both the characters, and probably the friends too.

As a note to your story, not the backstory, internalized ableism is mostly about being ableist to yourself. Disabled people can be ableist to other disabled people, sometimes as a result of internalized ableism and sometimes it's just entirely externalized ableism. The sister does I bet have internalized ableism about herself, and can be ableist towards her brother and his needs. If you want her to address her internalized ableism, she should probably address ableist behavior she's had towards her brother, too.

Some general questions I have that you might want to ask yourself are:

what exactly bothers the sister so much about this? yes, it's about their friend getting into their dream college so i can get that she's mad they didn't celebrate 'accordingly,' but is there anything else?

what does the brother say or do when he gets invited to things like the concert or the restaurant where he can't eat anything? did he know he wouldn't be able to enjoy them? was he hoping to anyway? did he not know and is just finding out how hard that was going to be for him?

what does the brother feel about how his sister has acted? likewise, what does the sister feel about how her brother acted?

do either of them ever figure out they're autistic?

what do the friends feel like about the falling out? they were there. and the way the friends feel and react likely affects how Brother and Sister feel and react as well -- friends can take sides, try to stay out of it, etc.

you say the sister is better at masking than the brother. how does she feel about that? how does she feel about masking? what exactly does she have to mask?

how does the brother feel about his own masking ability? about his sister's ability to do the same?

also, do either of them understand this as masking or is it more of a "i'm sure everyone's doing this all the time. whatever" type of situation?

By the way, I put these questions not because I think you haven't posed any of these questions to yourself already. You probably have asked yourself at least some of them, and know probably many of the answers even if you haven't specifically asked yourself the question.

Mostly I'm putting them out there because answering them and/or knowing you already have the answer can help you like, feel comfortable in how you are telling the story and characterizing these characters.

You currently seem to have a pretty reasonable starting point that makes sense within the story you want to tell. This feels like something that, yeah, that could just happen in real life, and probably has. I think that's likely what you were going for, from what I can gather, so, that would work out!

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[tessarionbestgirl]

I'm absolutely sick of every ship in HOTD being about Rhaenyra.......... Even Alicole is paralleled with Rhaenyra/Criston, IT'S SO TIRESOME. The creators emphasize that Alicent lives in the same room, she drinks tea in ep4 of the season just like young Rhaenyra in the first season, hell, she even probably thinks about Rhaenyra while she has sex with Criston, why not... Rhaenicent, Daemyra, Rhaesaria, Rhaewin. We get it, Rhaenyra is the center of the show, but it gives off a Mary Sue vibe when everyone is in love with her, even her enemies switch teams for her, because she is sooo wonderful and special. Is this an adaptation of a YA novel or a GRRM work? It's especially annoying when there are other interesting characters and relationships that could have been explored, but won't be because the writers can't move past Rhaenyra and her romantic and sex life:

- Jace's potential romances have been cut, Sara Snow is not in the show and his relationship with Baela is more of a friendship, they don't look in love. Also Baela's interest in boys was removed.

- Daemon/Nettles. Cut from the show because Rhaenyra needs to be the center of Daemon's universe. GRRM is particularly mad at this one, I'm sure.

- Helaena and Aegon. Not saying it's a romance, but they could've still had scenes together.

- Aemond and Alys. It's unclear, but Alys is team black or team prophecy in the show, so she is also Rhaenyra centered.

I really don't understand this even from a marketing perspective. Everyone should just be a fan of Rhaenyra, there are no other option. GOT had so many characters, ships and dynamics that you could pick anyone to follow. And the whole thing for HOTD is "stan the rightful queen or go away". I used to like Rhaenyra after the first season before I read the book, but after reading the book, I started to dislike and borderline hate her because of how the showrunners push her as the lead and center of every character's life, it's just frustrating. Rhaenyra already has 4 hours of screentime in just 18 episodes which is equal to or even more than Dany's entire screen time, by the end of the show she'll probably have 8 hours of screen time, it's insufferable. This story that is meant to be an ensemble cast was turned into a one person show.

Olivia tried to distance alicole from Rhaenicent, but in the inside interview of the episode Ryan was so much implying that.

So you are right anon. In everything you said. And this goes beyond relationship too. It affects even small scenes. Like, I saw and heard so many complains about tb council scenes in S2, because the writers start from the premise that Rhaenyra has to come out as right or look good. She needs to stand out on her team. And this probably a condition that Ryan or Sara set for the writers. So all characters around her suffer from it.

That is why all tb characters are less and have no particular motivation. With Daemon as a exception, because he never stay in one place for to long and that includes interacting with Rhaenyra.

Is not that Tg had way better written in S2. It was just that they are not interacting with her so they suffer less from this problem. So the writers have more freedom to develop them as individuals even with the small screen time.

Now regarding the relationships. I think S2 was the biggest disappointment for me in this sense too. That is why people asking me about Alysmond, i know they will fuck up, because all their relationships are either focused on Rhaenyra or is read in a incredible cynical way .

Baela and Jace have more siblings energy than Helaena and her brothers.

Alicent and Cole, had some good moments but started to bad. Besides the weird parallels to reminds us of Rhaenyra. Alicent as character wouldn't just have sex with someone so casually. Sure there is a lot passion on the act, and sure they do have feelings for each other, but the way the things led to this moment makes no sense when you consider Alicent in s1.

Helaena and Aegon/Aemond: I had this conversation with someone a long time ago. And this person ask me, who do you think won more in S2, Helaegon or Helaemond? And to me both lost in ways. Because Helaegon has the most complex dinamic but is not romantic at all. They are strictly platonic. And Helaemond is framed as one side love based on Aemond ideology of Targaryen supremacy. And I enjoy all their scenes but when I think about it. I realise how poorly explored they are.

Actually that is my biggest fears for S3 when comes to Alysmond because I think they will frame as a rebound relationship.

The only relationships frames as good are Rhaenyra relationships.

And oddly enough the only one out of the curve is Alys and Daemon but it because at end served Rhaenyra.

[cheshireliam]

"Once More, An Evil From Which You Can't Return" Story Event: Ring END

Roger Barel & Ring Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

⇦ Chapter 2

━━━━

Ring and I reenacted the first hug we supposedly had at this location. 

(His heart is racing… does this mean he truly has feelings for me, his lover?) 

I felt an affectionate swell in my heart at his gentleness when I realised his heartbeat quickened due to his emotions. 

He put his arms around me, but he hesitated to go all the way and stopped just before his hands touched my back. 

Kate: Are you conscious about people seeing us? 

Ring: No. It’s just that your scent is drifting around and distracting me. 

Once again, his words sounded nothing like what a lover would say. 

Kate: If that distracts you, how did we normally hug?

Ring: W-well… uhh… like this! 

All of a sudden, Ring pulled me into a tight embrace and squeezed me so hard my back arched—

(...—!)

In that instant, my vision blurred and turned white, even the sight of Ring’s face before me vanished. 

(... I remember now—)

(Ring and I aren’t lovers at all…!)

In fact, I never had a lover to begin with. 

Ring: Kate, you suddenly went silent. Don't tell me, did you recall something?

(Why did Ring lie about being my lover…?)

Kate: …

Ring: Kate? 

I stared intently at Ring’s facial expression, trying to grasp his true motive, but all I could see was an innocent and pure gaze. 

(I have no idea what Ring is thinking at all. What should I do…? Oh!)

Kate: Ring! I remember everything now. We really were lovers! 

I decided to pretend I believed his lie, to see how he would respond. 

Ring: W-wait a minute. You really remember? 

Kate: Yes, every single thing. 

Ring: … 

(He looks confused. Let’s give him another nudge.) 

Kate: It’s all thanks to you, Ring. Please let me thank you properly. 

Ring: You don’t have to. 

Kate: Don’t say that. We’re lovers, right? So there’s no need for you to hold back. 

Kate: Come on, let’s go somewhere I can properly express my gratitude.

Ring: H-hey— 

Ignoring his protests, I forcefully pushed his back and led him towards the main street where the street lamps had just been lit up. 

…

Kate: This is my favourite restaurant. I’ll give you a treat. 

Ring: No, you really don’t have to thank me.

Kate: Then take it as we’re celebrating me regaining my memories. Shall we head inside? 

While saying that, I purposely wrapped my arm around his and clung to him. 

I wanted to see how he would react if I acted like I was really his lover, even though we weren’t dating. 

Ring: F-fine, just don’t cling to me so much… 

Even after we were seated, Ring’s face was still slightly red. 

Kate: Can I order my recommendations? 

Ring: Yeah, I’ll leave that to you. 

Shortly after I placed my orders, our food was served.

Kate: The meatloaf here is top tier delicious. 

Kate: It’s so tender, it practically melts in your mouth. There’s a specific technique to scoop it up, so let me do it for you. 

(This is kind of embarrassing… but anything to find out Ring’s true intentions!) 

Kate: Ring, say “aaaah”.

Ring: Wha—.... what are you doing? 

Kate: I always feed you like this when we’re on a date, right? 

Ring: Y-yeah… that’s right. You do, but… not today! 

Kate: Why not? We’re lovers, aren’t we? 

Ring: W-we are, but… ahh, fine… 

Ring reluctantly took a bite of the meatloaf I offered to feed him.

Ring: … It’s good.

Kate: Fufu, glad you like it. Here, have another bite. 

(About time he reveals the truth.) 

I gave him the sweetest smile I could, one that was meant for a lover, and hoped it’d push him even more. 

Ring: A-another bite…!? 

Ring: Uwaaahh, my heart can’t take it anymore! … I’m sorry, but the whole lovers thing was a complete lie!! 

Kate: I know. 

Ring: It surely must've shocked y—... wait, you knew? 

Kate: It’s true my memories came back when we hugged at the station.

Kate: But it was also at that point where I realised you were lying. 

Kate: So I decided to play along and find out your true intentions.

Ring: … I did think something felt off after a while. 

Having been completely exposed, Ring let out a huge sigh.

Ring: I wanted you to get your memories back, but I didn't know how to help.

Ring: When I asked Darius for advice, he said that a strong mental shock might work…

Ring: My plan was for you to be so shocked when I claimed I was your lover that your memories instantly come back.

Ring: But it ended up taking way longer than I expected. 

(So that’s what happened…)

Kate: Thank you for worrying about me and thinking of a way to help. 

Ring: Of course I’d be worried.

Ring: You’re always so kind to me. You never give up easily, even when the situation seems hopeless, and that’s something I really respect about you. 

Kate: Ring… 

Ring: I could go on and on about all your good points.

Kate: T-that’s enough! 

(It was terrifying to lose my memories and the past I had with everyone.) 

(But it wasn't entirely a bad experience, because something good came out of it too.)

(... Because I got to know more about Ring than I ever did before.) 

[deceptionpasses]

:( </3

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[mx-paint]

.

[meticulousmaker]

another random thing that stands out to me rewatching Steven Universe as an adult:

throughout the show there's this clear Vibe that Steven has inherited some big magical destiny, right? and it makes sense narratively: he's the son of Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion, now being raised by her friends who were the last remaining survivors of an interstellar war. he's like a human child in most ways, except he has magical powers that start to become more obvious as he's getting older. no one like him has ever existed before. it's a big deal. raising him and figuring out how he's going to grow is its own unique challenge, because nobody knows what to expect. so of course there's this magical destiny vibe, given all that.

What's interesting to me, though, is that this magical destiny is in no way literally, physically present in the story, it's just something everyone kinda feels. Like, there's not some ancient prophecy about a half-gem, half-human savior. He's not the Chosen One in any literal sense, he just happens to give off Chosen One vibes. And I say that's interesting because it means that the fact he was kinda raised with this Chosen One vibe is completely a decision everyone around him made, for better or for worse. And the show is aware of this, because the weight of Rose's legacy and everyone's expectations of him is a constant theme, and as Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all grow and develop, they also realize the downsides of them putting those expectations on a child. Like, Steven spends his whole childhood being told about how great Rose was, and how because he's inherited her gem he will probably inherit her powers - and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Imagine how awful things could have been if Steven had no exposure to the Gems and no knowledge of what they were or how they worked, and then his powers started coming in? It was hard enough even when he was surrounded by the most qualified Gem Experts on Earth. But being primed for all of this "you're going to have your mother's magical powers" stuff put a heavy weight on his shoulders, and then the fact that nobody else quite knew how his abilities worked meant he was constantly faced with the adults in his life looking to him with concern because they didn't know what was happening with him. That's gotta leave an impression on a kid - and, well, throughout the show and especially in SU Future we definitely see that it does.

I like the way the show handles the pressure that's put on him, and the fact that everyone is just... trying their best in a completely unprecedented situation. Nobody knows what to do or how to raise this kid, and that inevitably causes problems but everyone is trying. And Steven can feel that everyone is trying without knowing what to do and he just wants to help and not be a burden and none of his caretakers have said that he's a burden but he can feel everyone's confusion and concern and the expectations he's not living up to and he cares so much, about everyone, about everything. He's in an extremely unique position that grants him opportunities to help that nobody else has, and he feels like he's failing everyone if he can't fulfill that, and in the end it never should have been his job to fix things but somebody had to try. Somebody had to try, and he was one of the only people with the ability to stop the Diamonds, stop the war, stop the lies, stop his world and everyone on it from being destroyed... and he was just a kid.

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Orc x fem!reader— cum eating, dry humping, fingering, voyeurism, rough sex, clitoral stimulation

Pt1

“Hey neighbor, I was just talking about you,” your hot Wolf Hybrid neighbor says as you walk over to his little group hanging out in his driveway.

His Orc, Naga, and Wolf friends all flash you a knowing smirk, their varying fangs glimmering sends a heat in your belly before you quickly stop yourself. You had to tone your horny ass self down. You didn’t wanna make a bad impression on a new city of people by being desperate for everyone’s cocks. You didn’t think that would fly here. As they stare your cheeks begin to heat up in a way you know is noticeable.

“Mentioned how I wanted to bring over a cup of coffee I made you,” he adds as if sensing your thoughts and trying to reassure you.

So he wasn’t going around talking about you to all his friends? Something tells you that’s not exactly true as his eyes gleam with arousal. You imagine it as you take the cup of coffee from his hands. Your hot neighbor sitting around with his equally hot friends, going over every little dirty detail. Raving about how good your tight cunt felt around his thick cock. All of them growing hard as he recounted the noises you made and how desperate you were to be filled while imagining it was them with you instead.

A choked whimper escapes you that you quickly try and hide beneath a pleased hum. You try your best to look casual as you subtly rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. But you’re briefly brought back to reality as your hot neighbor hands you the mug of coffee.

“Thank you for this, but—“ you say as you bring the mug to your lips only for your neighbor to brush a clawed finger along the edge of the cup and tilt it up, forcing you to take long gulps of the nicely warm drink. You meet his burning gaze, unable to look away, the tension simmering between you. And in front of all his friends. Fuck you can feel how wet you’re getting.

When he finally removes his finger you lower the cup with only a bit less than half left. Your mouth smacks as the taste bursts across your tongue. It was bitter as you expected coffee to be but also a bit sweet and… salty? It was certainly creamier than you expected it to be. You liked it. Probably more than you liked whatever blend you usually get. You’ll have to ask what his special ingredient is later.

“Thank you again but I was wondering if you guys could give me a ride? I’m in a really tough spot and I just need someone to get me going,” you say, voice strangely huskier than normal.

You clear your throat, glancing away, and look back up to all four of these damn fine men staring down at you as if they’re about to pounce. Your pussy flutters, clamping down around nothing at the thought of them actually doing just that. Their claws digging into your plush form, fangs grazing your sensitive skin, their big tongues ravaging your body to prepare you for their giant cocks.

“Work that is,” you add, voice growing husky all over again.

Your Wolf Hybrid neighbor chuckles darkly, the sound shooting right down to your core. He glances at his friends and a silent conversation passes between them. Then all of them are moving toward the car as if suddenly eager to get in.

“C’mon, sweetheart. We’re headed to work ourselves but we’ll get you off. Who are we to deny someone as cute as you?” He says smoothly, his raspy voice making that sound much more suggestive than you think he meant to.

Your hot neighbor rounds the car, taking the drivers seat. While his Wolf Hybrid friend quickly takes passenger. As if he didn’t want you getting to it first.

“You’ll have to ride in my lap though,” His Orc friend immediately says with a smirk as he hops in the backseat of the car. You follow after him, not wanting anymore seats taken from you.

“And why would I do that?” You ask, not wanting him to know how much you like the idea.

Just as you’re about to sit in the middle seat instead, the Orc’s giant hands are gripping your waist and plopping you down in his lap. Before you can argue or pretend to complain, the Naga gets in last and he curls half his long rattling tail into the middle seat while the rest takes up the remaining one.

“There’sss no more room,” the Naga says, forked tongue slipping out as he speaks and a second later his eyes dilate.

You blush, knowing he can probably taste your arousal in the air. In fact, they all probably can. The realization has you blushing deeper and growing wetter on the hot Orc. Especially as the Orc tugs you closer to his chest and you can feel the distinct bulge of his half-erect cock pressing deliciously along your clothed slit.

Hot neighbor starts on his way and you share your new place of work with them. They’ll know exactly where you are now nearly every day. It sends a strange thrill through you. Wolf Hybrid neighbor tells you that it’s on the way to their place so they’ll drop you off first but that it might take a little longer. They usually like to down the back roads.

You find that you don’t mind as you’re a lot more than just comfortable sitting in the hot Orc’s lap. That is until they actually start driving down the back roads and their… bumpy terrain.

A small grunt escapes you, eyes widening as the car starts rocking. Each jolt of the car has the Orc’s hardening length rubbing right up against your pussy. Your throat tightens as you try and choke down your moans. The Orc feels huge and he’s rubbing over every inch of your cunt. You swear you feel him rocking in sync with the rock. But what would be crazy.

Small talk fills the car and you’re grateful no one seems to be able to notice your inner torment. Small whines leave you as you practically bounce on the Orc’s clothed dick. It sends shocks through your system and you quickly grow more and more needy. The need to be filled and stuffed full itching at your skin.

“I think you’re wet enough f’me now, sweetheart. My patience grows thin. Fuckin’ need to get inside ya,” the Orc says, breaking you out of your lustful daze. It’s only then you register his panting breaths and the way everyone’s eyes shift toward you in the car.

“W-what?”

You yelp as the Orc jerks off your slacks and panties in one swift move and hooks your legs over each of his knees, spreading you wide for the whole car to see. Your glistening folds spasm as they’re exposed to the cold air.

Thoughts run through your head at a mile a minute. You should want to stop this. To scramble off this sexy Orc’s lap. But you only get more turned on, your arousal gushing out of you at the thought of him so suddenly taking you.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been wantin’ to fuck me since your fine ass walked over. That’s how this place works, right?” The Orc asks, almost mockingly.

His words wash over you, clouding your mind, as his hands explore your body. Slightly clawed fingers trail down and dip into your soaked folds. A low moan leaves you and instead of trying to get away you melt back into his chest, hips rolling with the movement of his fingers. He takes the time to prep you for his length and it slowly has you becoming an absolute mess in his lap. And you haven’t even had his cock yet.

You suck in a sharp breath as the hot Orc’s fingers leave you only to replace them with his thick angry tip. His pre-cum creating an even bigger mess of you. Your mind threatens to gain clarity again but then the Orc is pushing you down and splitting you open on his cock.

“Nngh! Ooh… Oh fuck,” you cry out, throwing your head back. The stretch of his girth forcing your gummy walls to accommodate him has your eyes rolling back. The deeper he goes the more you swear you’ve never been filled this good in your life.

The fact that you’re in a car full of men shifts back to the front of your mind and you lift your head to see them all still watching you with a fierce intensity.

Your hot neighbor continues to drive but you notice the way his eyes keep flicking back to you in the mirror. While his Wolf Hybrid and Naga friends each have all their cocks out, languidly stroking them to the sight of you stretched pretty on their friend’s cock. You whimper, basking in the attention, and a second later the Orc starts slamming you down on his massive cock.

“Fuck, dude, you were right. What a perfect pussy. They’re drenched f’me, just slipped right in. So warm and tight. Poor thing won’t get a moments rest in this place,” the Orc huffs and the car erupts into soft breathless laughter.

Aha! You knew your hot neighbor had talked about you with them. The praise is all you focus on and it has your walls squeezing the Orc’s length, wanting to make him go mad. A low growl vibrates from his chest to your back as he feels you get even tighter. His claws sink into your hips as he starts using his grip to fuck his cock up into you at a bruising pace. His thrusts syncing up perfectly with the rocky jostling of the car that only seems to be getting worse.

You cry out as the car’s movements also deepens the Orc’s momentum. You swear you can feel his dick all the way up in your throat. He’s stuffing you so full of him you don’t know if you can take it. You arch back into the Orc, putting on a show for him and everyone in the car. Through hooded eyes you watch as they furiously pump themselves to the sight of your body. It gets you so fucking hot. Their lustful eyes raking over your form. All of them wanting a piece of you, all of them jealous of the one who gets to fuck you.

The Naga flicks out his tail, the rattle on its tip moves in between your legs, wanting to do anything he can to give you more pleasure. You wait with bated breath and shriek as he rattles his tail, the vibration sending sparks throughout your body. The Orc snarls in your ear and picks up pace, jerking up his hips and meeting your thrusts in a way that has your toes curling.

“How do they look?” Your hot neighbor growls, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and sounding borderline feral. His cock aching against his slacks.

“They look so fucking sexy, man. Their tight pussy can barely take him,” His Wolf Hybrid friend moans, his hips twitching as he jerks himself off even harder.

“But they’re doing ssso well. Pretty thing will be ruined for anyone else,” the Naga adds, roughly rattling his tail against your clit. He thrusts up into each of his hands that pump at both of his dicks. You mewl, vision blurring at the intensity that wracks through you.

“Fuck, I think they’re about to cum!” One of them shouts but you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to focus on which one it is. But then the Orc’s hot breath is curling around your ear and your mind clears enough to hear his rumbling voice.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuckin’ let go and cum on my cock. Squeeze the damn life out of me, you can do it.”

The cord snaps and jaw drops, fierce screams echo throughout the car as you explode all over his cock. Waves of ecstasy wash over you and you try your best not to pass out. The sight of you coming is a vision of pure art and none of the other men can hold on much longer.

The Naga lets go first, shooting his cum over any inch of bare skin he can reach. The Wolf Hybrid is close to follow in his friend’s footsteps as he cums all over you two. Seeing you all wrecked and messy quickly has the Orc slamming into you, burying himself to the hilt and shooting spurt after spurt of his cum deep inside you.

“Such a pretty slut you are, sweetheart. So easily made a mess from our cocks. You’re perfect,” the Orc rasps in your ear and you preen under his praise.

The rest of the car ride is spent with the monsters cleaning you up as you lay limply in the Orc’s lap. You take the time to regain your strength and you hope you’ll be able to feel your legs enough to walk into work.

When you arrive your hot neighbor gets out and greets you as the door opens. He helps you out and you immediately melt into his embrace. Your Wolf Hybrid neighbor laughs, leaning down and kissing the crown of your head.

“Next time, darling. Now get into work,” he murmurs intimately in your ear. Giving your butt a nudging pat.

As you walk in on wobbly legs, you glance around the lobby, looking for the headhunter that recruited you. He was meant to meet you and show you the ropes of the job. But he isn’t anywhere to be seen and you wonder what you’ll do next. You could ask the Demon Guard by the door where you could find him, head down the closest hall and hope you find the headhunter down one of the rooms, or you could head to your Minotaur Boss’ office and hope he can show you around.

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Nimona, showing Nimona, a small white girl with red hair, grabbing the right prosthetic arm of Ballister, a knight in black armour with black hair and light brown skin. He is holding a broken bottle in his prosthetic hand while Nimona admires his arm. Overlaid on the screenshot is white text that reads "Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic" /End ID]

In a lot of media, prosthetic limbs are portrayed as these devices that act as a near-perfect replacement for a character who has lost, or was born without a limb. So much so that in a lot of cases, the use of a prosthetic has basically no impact on the character beyond a superficial level or their appearance, or it's portrayed as something that's even better than the old meat-limb it's replacing. This trope shows up most often in Sci-fi, but it shows up in all kinds of stories outside of that, even otherwise very grounded ones!

If a story isn't depicting the loss of a limb as the be-all-end-all worst thing that can happen to a person, they almost always default to a perfect prosthetic, functionally curing the amputation with it. But the reality is that prosthetics are FAR from perfect, and as someone who has used them for their entire life I don't think they ever will be. Limb difference is still and always will be a disability, regardless of the prosthetics available, and this really isn't a bad thing.

Why is this trope so common?

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair handing out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better. 

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Despite the very real harm tropes like this can do when it's overused, I don't think it should go away entirely. Some of my favourite pieces of media even use the perfect prosthetic trope and there are even some kinds of media where I even think it's somewhat unavoidable. Characters with perfect prosthetics in kids media in particular, especially when talking about side characters, can help to correct some of the other stereotypes kids may have seen elsewhere - such as prosthetics being "creepy" or "scary" - in a way that is casual and easy for them to understand. The problem with the trope, in my eyes, is it's excessive overuse. It's the fact that it seems to be the only representation amputees and people with limb differences are getting now. Not every story with a limb-different character can or even should delve into the reality of what using prosthetics is actually like, but we need at least some stories that do, without it being this majorly depressing thing.