#I think I'm generally level-headed about it

[avelera]

There's three qualities in point-of-view characters that I find extremely rare in fanfiction and I think it colors why some characters feel OOC and why often, in original fiction like YA fiction or protagonists written by younger authors often seem overly passive and thus struggle to move the plot, and those qualities are:

Self-Confidence

Assertiveness

Determination

These qualities in a protagonist or point-of-view character help move the plot and create characters that people actually want to read about, but they are surprisingly absent in a lot of fiction. Below the cut, I'm going to dive into why I think young writers struggle with writing characters with these qualities and offer what advice I can for how to develop the capacity to write these qualities even if you lack them yourself.

I've written elsewhere at length about how fanfiction writers often seem to struggle or deliberately eschew certain common characteristics of male characters who were created by male creators, especially masculine pride, and I think the causes for the above characteristics being absent might correspond with that absence as well.

Basically, my theory is this: most writers tend to be introverts who spend a lot of time alone and inside their own heads. Fanfiction writers tend to skew younger and often skew female. There's a lot of big societal conditioning trends that make introverted young women not particularly self-confident, self-assertive, or determined, and fiction is an escape for such people and they often inevitably project their own qualities onto the characters they are writing.

For example, in fanfiction, projecting profound levels of self-doubt onto a character who, in the original canon, might be relatively more assertive is pretty common, especially since statistically popular media is awash in male characters written by male creators and male characters made by male creators tend (big generalization) to be more determined and self-assertive than your average young female writer curled up writing alone in their room. Perhaps in part because male power fantasies tend to involve projecting onto a determined, assertive, and self-confident character (or characters who achieve those qualities) and so because popular media tends to be aimed at the wish fulfillment of young men, these characters tend to be very visible and present and take up a lot of space.

But that is not the only reason fiction tends to be dominated by assertive, determined, and self-confident characters. The other reason is because passive characters who want nothing and do nothing are absolutely fucking unbearable to watch and/or read because they are so fucking boring.

I'm not criticizing those who struggle to write self-confident or detemined characters, nor am I saying that every character needs to be self-confident or determined. However, many an an arc is made by characters who have self-doubt overcoming that self-doubt to become more assertive and self-confident, in part because a character who stays passive and riddled with self-doubt is very difficult to watch or root for.

Generally speaking, audiences like characters who eventually find their way to achieving what they want and that requires a certain level of actively pursuing their goals despite obstacles, which requires them achieving some level of determination and self-confidence (perhaps through lack of other options, for example, when saving the world it's really hard to be bothered by things like whether or not people will like you if you are too assertive with them when the planet is going to blow up if you don't. Plenty of plots have moved shy characters into being assertive characters by placing a literal or figurative time bomb under them that forces them to achieve those qualities or die if they don't act fast).

And just as another note, none of this advice is coming from a place on high where I claim I've never struggled with writing self-confident characters. I know for my own part I've written my fair share of self-confident, determined, often male warrior characters as suffering from profound levels of self-doubt in my own earlier works (like Thorin Oakenshield in my fic Prayers to Broken Stone, as one commenter noted) and a writer can't help but project onto the characters they write.

It should be noted of course that determined, heroic characters can be riddled with self-doubt, indeed it can be a powerful motivator but, I would argue the difference between a strongly and a weakly written character riddled by self doubt is whether that self-doubt motivates them to take action (a thing most audiences want to read) or makes them to collapse into paralysis and inaction while they feel sorry for themselves (a thing most audiences swiftly find unbearable after a certain relatable period of inaction has passed).

The reason I often circle back to this question of why there are so many passively written protagonists when audiences tend to prefer characters who take action and want things is because I caught myself writing these more shy and self-doubting characters and in an effort to get better at writing active characters, I began to actively work on how to write determined, self-confident, heroic, and yes, often male characters so that my fics actually reflected their canon selves. To develop a voice inside me that says, "Maybe I wouldn't thrust myself forward and challenge the gods themselves in a moment like the one this character is facing, but by golly, his willingness to do so in canon was what drew me to him so I'm going to develop a voice inside me as this character that can spit in the eye of the gods themselves if it means this character getting what they want and, also, move the damn plot forward."

This attempt to craft more assertive and often (but not exclusively) male characters also makes me take particular note when fics tend to make these canon assertive characters more passive, more shy, more unwilling to take active steps to achieve what they want, less motivated, less determined, and more riddled by self doubt. Again, not as a criticism, but in my own ongoing study trying to understand this trend, how canon differentiates from fanon, how to write more active assertive characters myself, and inevitably, what I would do differently to achieve this.

In the absence of some catch-all answer for other writers, I would say this: not all characters of course need to be assertive, determined, or powerfully motivated. No writing advice can or should be applied to all writers.

However, the major difference between the canon characters people are drawn to writing into fanon, and the fanon copies that are created, is often in the level of craft. And one element of the level of craft that professional writers tend to have mastered over fan writers is motivated characters.

In professional writing, especially script writing, it is a maxim that a character should have a goal in every scene, they should always want something, even if they are literally chained hand and foot, suspended in a jail cell, physically prevented from achieving any kind of goal, they should still rail against their circumstances, plot ways to escape, and dream about getting out of there.

Passive characters who don't want anything are everywhere in fiction and they are almost universally unbearable to read after a certain point, because even the most powerless character in the world should want something, even if it's a sandwich they just can't achieve no matter how hard they work. At least if they want a sandwich and can't achieve it for some reason we have the makings of a plot arc, probably a comedy.

And if you as a writer struggle with the little thing called "plot" it's usually because the characters don't have a goal they're trying to achieve because the act of trying to achieve a goal and facing obstacles along the way is what tends to create your average plot, even if that goal is just to make a sandwich and being continuously thwarted by missing ingredients and constant interruptions from nosy neighbors. Many a Looney Tunes sketch has been crafted from something as simple as someone wanting a sandwich (or a meal in general, see Coyote and Roadrunner) and not being able to achieve it.

Saving the world is just a bigger version of trying to make a sandwich (ie, achieve the reward) to gain what you want (presumably, in both cases, to live a bit longer) and in both cases, the more concurrent motivations you can layer on top (save the world AND get the girl!) the more developed and interesting your story gets (ex. save the world, get the girl, AND get a cool leather jacket as your personal life's ambition! idk lol).

So my advice, if such a thing can be of any help, is to sharpen the voice inside you that wants things, even if it's just for your characters. A voice that is determined, a voice that will Kool-Aid Man smash its way through any prison walls that get in the way of their goal.

Because I swear to god if I have to read one more shy passive protagonist sigh and whinge their way through doing absolutely fucking nothing and doubt themselves every goddamn step of the way, while all the characters around them do more interesting stuff, I'm gonna lose my damn mind.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 59

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1500

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Half sitting up, I sighed:

"What do you want, Jules? I'm a bit busy here!"

He made a doubtful face from his 6’3” frame.

"You’re busy?"

He wasn’t wrong. I was lying in the grass, alone. He sat down next to me, keeping some distance between us. A silence settled, which he broke after a few seconds, speaking to me while still looking ahead.

"I know I went a bit too far tonight..."

Jules, repentant, unbelievable. I laughed bitterly.

"Tonight? The past few days too, Jules..."

He crossed his arms around his knees, still looking at the horizon.

"At the same time, do you think it’s easy for me? When I said what I said, it was to provoke. Hugo just killed me there..."

He paused for a few seconds, then continued:

"Mom, she didn’t say anything, but her look was sad... I think that was even worse. She just asked why I reacted like that, and I explained what happened last night..."

"Yeah, our little argument..." I added.

A new silence fell. Jules grabbed several blades of grass, breaking them mechanically, showing a tension he was trying to hide. I wanted to listen to him and let him speak, let him open up.

"I don’t handle it well, so I react like this. Hugo’s cool, he doesn’t care, but I can’t do it. The fact that I knew you before, that I liked you, and then you’re with my mom... and maybe you’re doing all of this for her in the end... the internship with you, and everything else..."

I shook my head. So, he thought I did it all for him just to please his mother.

"No, Jules, I did it because I wanted to. Because I like you. And you’re really good at it too. Trust me, I wouldn’t have taken Hugo for an internship in my office! He’d manage to build me a house with round corners!"

Hugo hated numbers, math, except when it came to cooking, his passion. I often teased him about that, which he always took with good humor. Jules cracked a smile at that mention, then resumed a more serious look, turning to face me, looking at me for the first time in our conversation, with his light blue eyes. The same as Lucy's.

"And then, you know, it’s not always easy having a mom at that level of politics. You get comments sometimes, at school, from teachers, friends who don’t agree with what she’s doing or saying. I can’t even imagine what people will say when they find out… when they find out what..."

I helped him finish his thought.

"When they find out she’s with a woman…"

"Yeah, exactly... I knew my parents were going to divorce, but that’s never easy to accept. And then, she gets with you…"

He took a breath.

"I mean, I’m not against gay people, really not, I have gay friends!" he added.

I knew that well enough. Jules was tolerant and open-minded. Very sensitive too.

"But my mom... I don’t know, it feels weird..."

He lowered his head, looking for his words.

It was me who picked up the conversation again.

"I understand, Jules, let’s not lie, the situation isn’t the easiest. It hasn’t been for your mom, for me, and I understand it’s not for you either... We don’t all react the same way to the same situation..."

It was my turn to think, to weigh my words.

"But I think that’s sometimes how life is. There’s not always clarity, or logic. It just hits us. Of course, there will be remarks, looks, I can’t tell you otherwise. I’ve experienced it myself..."

"And how did you handle it?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"It’s hard, it’s difficult, but I promise you, you come out stronger! Either you take it all too much to heart and ruin your life for people who aren’t worth it, or you move on! And I’m not just talking about this specific situation, I’m talking about life in general..."

"You’re probably right..."

"It’s not easy, I know Jules... But, here’s the thing, I sincerely love your mom, so what do I do? Am I going to give up all of this for looks and words?"

I left my sentence hanging, my throat tight. Another silence settled, allowing me to collect my thoughts. Jules turned slightly more toward me:

"I’m going to try to make an effort, accept it, stop being such a Twat!"

In his attitude and words, he had taken a step toward me. I smiled at him.

"You’re not a Twat, Jules, I was just pissed off..."

"No, but sometimes, a little bit, you’re right!"

Jules' piercing blue eyes seemed a little calmer at that moment. The wind blew a little harder. In the distance, the voice of the announcer announced the arrival of the last band of the evening.

"I... I need to meet some friends to listen to the band, one of my friends is the guitarist..."

"Of course, go ahead Jules… It was really good that we talked, you know..."

He nodded, then stood up, adjusting his sweatshirt and brushing off the blades of grass from his jeans. Before leaving, he asked me this question:

"We’re going to be okay, right?"

As if to reassure himself, and me.

I smiled at him, a smile tinged with a hint of worry.

"I’ll tell you yes once I’ve talked to Lucy again..."

"You two had a fight?"

"A little more than that… well, especially me!"

Before leaving, he slipped me this phrase, a smile at the corner of his lips.

"You know, very few people raise their voice at my mom, she’s just not used to it... And it doesn’t do her any harm! She must love you for that too, Ona..."

I smiled back, though it didn’t ease my doubts about the consequences of our argument with Lucy. As he walked off toward the concert, I felt lighter for having talked to Jules. I lay back in the grass. 

Of course, such a story also has consequences for those close to us. Especially an adolescent. We were both stuck in our own thought patterns, categorizing our reactions, not trying enough to understand each other, or to communicate. Jules wasn’t a bad guy. He was very sensitive, asked himself a thousand questions, had imagined a lot of things on his own.

I looked at my phone: No message from Lucy. I wasn’t sure what to do anymore, whether I should write her, call her, or wait... I too was asking myself those 1001 questions. I sighed, I wasn’t going to spend the whole night lying on this grass, overthinking! I decided to join my friends and listen to the last concert. Whatever happens!

---

I found them quite quickly, standing next to the main bar, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. Alexia was surprised when she saw me, thinking I had left. She pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tightly.

"So happy to see you, my beautiful!"

The rest of the group smiled at me, half curious, half awkward, not knowing what to say about the incident. Of course, they’d figured it out. I decided to get ahead of them:

"Well, I think you all know now, with Lucy..."

I left the sentence hanging. Excitement quickly spread among our little group.

"Unbelievable! I can’t believe it!" Margot exclaimed with a big smile.

"When I think about what I said earlier, international shame, you must’ve wanted to crucify me right there!" 

It was Rémi, the principal, who did indeed seem somewhat embarrassed. I gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"No, because you don’t stand a chance!"

The whole group burst out laughing.

"Oh, come on! Still, what a catch, you’re really a little sneak!" he added.

"So when’s the official introduction?" asked Mathis with a mischievous eye.

"Well, I don’t even know if we’re still together..." I added with a weary tone.

Alexia shrugged.

"Of course you are, stop! Don’t listen to her! Their story is a bit like *Santa Barbara* but it always ends well!"

"Because you knew from the start, right?" asked Mathis, now with a more inquisitive look.

"Not exactly, but almost! And it has to be said, it’s thanks to me!"

Olga raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"Always so modest, darling..."

The conversation was lively, in a little hum, with questions flying around. Even though I wasn’t the most comfortable, being the target of their many questions, I was happy to share this important part of my life, this story that had started two years ago, with my friends.

Suddenly, I spotted Lucy, several meters away from me, moving from person to person, shaking hands, greeting people, starting conversations here and there. She was smiling, hiding any sign of her potential emotions. My heart tightened, and I didn’t take my eyes off her, listening to the others with a distracted ear.

As she was talking to a couple, our gazes met. She lifted her face toward me, her piercing blue eyes not leaving mine.

My heart started to beat a little faster.

[sweetvixen1996]

Kiss the Villain, Moodboard Picture Analysis: Part Nine (Forbidden Relationships: 30/90)

So we've know from the beginning that Kayden and Gareth would be in a secret, forbidden relationship, even before the trope list was released. Now, to be painfully honest, student/professor is my favorite fantasy (never in real life, of course) and one of the most interesting relationship dynamics to read about. I'll leave you to determine what that means about my relationship with my parents. However, as hot as the power differential and forbidden aspects can be short term, they almost never end well. So lets check out some pictures.

And what other secrets do you have, my friend?

Also, who do we think is sending this text? We know Gareth is keeping secrets from his family and the other Heathens. However, it is safe to say that Kayden has more than his fair secrets, too. That and the secret of their relationship being more dangerous to Kayden makes me think it's him.

I have a scene in my head were Gareth say something along these lines around Killian, and that's what tips his brother off that something is going on in Gareth's love life. After all, part of the Scènes à faire of student/teacher relationship stories is people in their lives slowly but surely finding out.

However, this could also be Kayden's thoughts on Gareth and the idea of being in a relationship with him.

So I really like this line, its a bit funny and a bit naughty. However, I'm pretty sure it's about murder (or really just crime in general). I did a bit of research and it doesn't seem like Gareth and Kayden's relationship would technically be illegal -especially since Gareth is well over the age of consent. However, just about university in England has roles that (at the very least) professors cannot date students directly under their tutelage.

I debated adding this one here but ultimately decided to included since the scales represent the law and justice, both of which are important to the background and inherent dichotomy of Gareth and Kayden's relationship. Gareth is a law student, Kayden is a law professor and yet (even putting aside the illegal activity they're both involved with) their relationship is something that, while not strictly illegal, is somethingly highly discouraged by the law. Also, check out the level of the scales. They're uneven. No matter how much of a Little Monster than Gareth turns out to be, so long as he is Kayden student, the power in the relationship will always be uneven.

Considering how spicy Rina Kent says this book will be, yes, I imagine Gareth and Kayden will doing many, many creative things they shouldn't. Likely in places they shouldn't be don't be doing them too. I might be creating a KtV BINGO card, which will include a lot of the spicy elements I think will be included. Once again, I like the double meaning of a lot of these. Specifically, how they can refer both to Gareth and Kayden's romance and broader criminal activity.

So this one is fun since it takes on a different meaning depending on who is saying which line. If you believe Gareth is speaking first, then Kayden's reply is an ominous warning of what their relationship will be like. However, if it's Kayden speaking first, then Gareth's reply is a reminder that -all extracurricular crimes aside- Kayden technically has more to tangibly lose when their relationship is undoubtedly discovered. While Gareth would suffer from the scandal, Kayden would likely lose his job.

[gnomewithalaptop]

Rereading the Our Worlds at War tie-in again and God I miss their friendship every day

[wonder-worker]

Any judgement on [Richard III's] reign has to be seen as provisional. The critic of the reign only has to consider how the Tudors would now be regarded if Henry VII lost at Stoke, to realize the dangers of too many assumptions about the intractability of Richard’s problems. But it would be equally unrealistic to ignore Richard’s unpopularity altogether. The fact that he generated opposition among men with little material reason for dissent, and that the disaffection then continued to spread among his own associates, says something about what contemporaries regarded as the acceptable parameters of political behaviour. There is no doubt that Richard’s deposition of his nephews was profoundly shocking. To anyone who did not accept the pre-contract story, which was probably the majority of observers, the usurpation was an act of disloyalty. Gloucester, both as uncle and protector, was bound to uphold his nephew’s interests and his failure to do so was dishonourable. Of all medieval depositions, it was the only one which, with whatever justification, could most easily be seen as an act of naked self-aggrandizement.

It was also the first pre-emptive deposition in English history. This raised enormous problems. Deposition was always a last resort, even when it could be justified by the manifest failings of a corrupt or ineffective regime. How could one sanction its use as a first resort, to remove a king who had not only not done [nothing] wrong but had not yet done anything at all?

-Rosemary Horrox, Richard III: A Study of Service

[dangoulains-devotion]

yuffie has many interesting elements to her but people refuse to move past "i find energetic kids annoying" and it makes me sad

[running-in-the-dark]

I'm really tired, I'm thinking about Jenkins, I'm having a weird time

[welcometogrouchland]

Currently battling with some psychological barriers regarding posting my art on here but just know that the piece I'm working on currently is a banger and I am excited to share it w you guys

[corvidiss]

#smile at people #a majority of the time people will smile back and you win Human Points #learn how to compliment people and do it often #Normalcy is a perspective that changes depending on who is looking but kindness and a positive attitude shows the same view to everyone #basic politeness with a little extra effort is amazingly difficult at times #but it goes MILES

Genuinely good advice from @aroace-get-out-of-my-face

can someone recommend some beginner normal behaviors for someone looking to become normal

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than paper

I've been making a lot of builds on Monster Hunter, but some weapons that I want to play don't need any/many skills to work, just a charm and/or a few decorations, so the armor doesn't matter. I decided to make a generic armor set, and wondered what skills to put on it for 2 seconds before I remembered that this game has a million ways to stun you, so I made a build that's immune to them all*

[kilegriel]

.

[here-there-were-dragons]

and god help you if you're not binary trans and then god DOUBLE help you if you're not nb "the right way" aka "so basically i'm a third binary gender that looks exactly half way between girl and boy also i'm completely 100% human and 100% desire to be human and only human and just as invested in picking Gender Team to be on as everyone else because we all know the only thing that exists or matters in the universe is baseball and exactly what baseball team role you define your existence by permanently without ever even considering anything else right?"

the Trans Experience in our society is being treated like schrodinger's gender. you're a woman when they wanna deny you agency and a man when they wanna deny you support. this is an experience that unites nearly all of us, whether transmasc, transfem, or something else.

[ubeb0nes]

NSFW Sevika HCs

𖢻 ~ ~ ~ 𖢻

A/n: i haven't written any smut in god knows how long so pls go easy yall 😭

𖢻 ~ ~ ~ 𖢻

This is a dom

I love indulging in the bottom!sevika content when i come across it, it's beautiful, showstopping

But bby, you only get to do what she lets you do. Even when she's on bottom, you're never really the one in charge, no matter how you might try to convince yourself

She's a terrible tease, and has an absolutely filthy mouth. Loves watching your jaw drop slightly when she whispers things in public, and how you scramble to gather yourself

Her self-control and patience is absolutely insane. She's not one to jump your pants at the first tease you give her.

She'll let you have her fun, all while running the tip of her tongue across a canine and plotting her revenge

Gets a big head/ego if you call her mommy. Nearly loses her mind and reputation for restraint if you call her daddy

A lot of her turn-ons are things that aren't inherently sexual. I like to think she's attracted to both masc and fem-presenting people, and anything leaning deeper into these characteristics will get a rise out of her.

Ex.'s -> watching you put on makeup in the mornings, specifically lipstick/gloss. Conversely, how your thighs look and your face hardens when you manspread while striking a deal. When you look up at her and rest your hands on her chest. When you lean back and rest your arm over the back of her chair

Particularly masculine and particularly feminine things. She eats up both

Absolutely a bit of a sadist/madochist. We know this from the whole cait thing

She's obsessed with your mouth in particular. The marks you leave, the shapes it makes with certain sounds she pulls from you, how your lips wrap around her fingers when she teases your mouth open with them

She rarely ever has you on your back because she wants to watch your tongue loll and your eyes roll

Goes crazy for certain things you say when you start to reach melted brain levels of fucked out; "baby, it's too much…" "Sevi, i can't keep going" "no, baby, no more…" it's like a second wave. And, (always) only with your emphatic consent, she'll proceed to push your body even more

Her favorite position is missionary i'm sorry lmfao. Vanilla in theory, but definitely doesn't feel like it when she's slinging that shimmerstrap LOL

I HC she's generally pretty gentle with you, at least lovesick!sevika is. In the sense that she's not tossing you around or slapping your ass purple.

Rather, she'll wrap her hand around your throat but not really squeeze. And she'll push her fingers down your throat until you're teary-eyed, but she won't fuck your throat until it's raw and sore.

She prefers using her hands and her mouth, but her strap game is insane. That stroke would be hypnotic to watch.

Her eyes read clearly when it comes to intimacy. The way they darken and narrow when she's about to pounce on you, and how they always get so glossy and self-satisfied (if not a bit smug) as she watches you cum.

Her crows feet crease as she smiles down at you, whispering "good job, baby" and "there's my girl, you're okay. I've got you."

Always insists on taking care of you afterwards, but won't fight you on it if you flip it on her and make her lay back so you can clean her up

In fact, please do this. She'll think about it for weeks

Cuddles you afterward like she's trying to burrow in your skin. Can't get enough of the smell of you post-sex, burying her nose in your neck and your hair

Yeah, she's never sharing you. Everything about you is too precious, too hers.

She demands hickeys/lipstick marks on her chest- over her heart- because your claim over her deepens her own.

[writers-potion]

Writing Female Fighters

The Heroine Must. Fight.

Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.

Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.

Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.

Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty

The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.

A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.

On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.

She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.

A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.

In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.

In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.

Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.

More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness

In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.

Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.

Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.

A female pre-fight conversation may be: "If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be." "What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -" "But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?" "Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?" "Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"

A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter: "Who's the coward now?" "You're wrong." "Prove it." "Bastard."

Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.

She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.

When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.

Plausible Skills and Backstory

In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.

For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.

It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.

It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.

Inexperienced Female Fighters

A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:

Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.

Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.

Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)

Pull hair

Scratch.

In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.

Plausible Weapons and Clothing

All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).

Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.

When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.

For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.

For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.

A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.

She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.

She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.

Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.

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[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EPILOGUE

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[lunarharp]

more phoenix wright situations