#so it's then up to you to decide how vital these stories are in your life

[not-poignant]

Pia! I need some advice. There's a writer on ao3 whose fics I really like (well, 'love' would probably be a better word) but I've just found out they are a TERF 😭

I had no idea because they don't post anything personal or political on their main tumblr and they don't write fics that reflect these views but I found their side blog and its full of terf and redfem stuff

Now I'm feeling guilty for enjoying their work and also sad because a part of me just wants to keep reading their works despite this because they really are a good writer and have kept their personal views out of their stories but...... UGGHHHHH TERF 😭😭😭

What should I do? Should I stop reading? Should I block them? Or should I separate the artist from the art and just enjoy the fics?

I am not cis btw so I feel really selfish for just wanting to ignore that stuff and keep reading.

Hi anon,

I'm sorry you've found yourself in this situation. There's no point feeling guilty about something that you could never have possibly known until this moment, though I understand that the guilt still happens, it's not like you can be expected to know this stuff when you're just trying to enjoy fics on the internet, y'know? The main thing is you know now. Guilt is a good feeling for getting us to stop and pay attention, and now you're doing that.

As for what happens next, I can't really answer this for you, but I can talk around a few points which might be worth considering re: continuing to read the fic/s or not.

Separating the 'artist from the art' is almost always hugely misinterpreted, and it often doesn't mean 'pretend the artist doesn't matter so I can keep enjoying their content.' Ultimately you have to decide for yourself what you will or won't accept, and that will be down to your personal ethics or values, and how you express those ethics or values.

If my favourite fanfic author was suddenly revealed to be a TERF (unlikely as they're trans, but y'know, it could happen), I personally couldn't enjoy their writing anymore. I wouldn't be able to escape into their stories or characters, knowing the person who wrote this thing I love doesn't believe in my right to exist as I am, and wants to constantly debate my human rights. I can't suspend my disbelief that much.

But then, on the other hand, I can still watch the films of Harvey Weinstein, a horrible fucking human being and scum on earth, and justify this by knowing that many of the people who made that film are not horrible fucking human beings and he is not the only person to consider. Some people would disagree with my choice. Others will understand.

That's me, but everyone is different on matters like that, and so then it comes down to how you show support. If you continue to read this author but never give them a platform, never like their fic, comment on the chapters, interact with them in any way, rec it to another person (not without 'you should also know they're a rabid transphobe'), be a 'silent consumer' etc. and consider this the way that you demonstrate that you don't support this person's beliefs/views, that's also valid. You still express your values by lending nothing to this person that they can then benefit from. This is how some trans people still consume the works of JKR - making sure she never sees a single cent or benefit under the proud flag of piracy - for example. There are going to be other trans people who disapprove of this, or don't like this, who even make good arguments against it, and tbh, I'm on the fence about it myself, I can just understand why people come to this place with it.

Some of those expressions of our values can be problematic - paying for the work of someone who is transphobic (which you're obviously not doing in the case of fic) directly benefits a transphobe who is publicly transphobic. That's just...straight up harmful. That doesn't really express your values. In fact it may express opposite values. Reccing the fics of this author for example, knowing other trans readers might find the side blog one day and feel deeply wounded and betrayed, expresses opposite values - this would be problematic.

You might be someone who sends them a message anonymously or similar, to let them know that their views are hurtful/hateful and ask how they feel knowing that trans people are reading their stories, and see if they respond to you. Maybe they've never thought about it before. But you don't owe them that kind of labour. You may also want to consider naming/shaming them, to at least do fellow folks in your community the courtesy of avoiding a transphobe. The fact that you've gone out of your way to protect their identity even in this anon, is not something you owe them.

There are going to be different ways you make peace with this situation anon, and don't be surprised if they change over time, depending on how you feel about it. People can only tell you what they would do based on their values, and you must sit down with your own values and decide which actions support your values, and which go against them. We don't all express these things in exactly the same way. As long as you're not expressing harmful or opposite values, you're generally going to be okay, and there is sometimes room in that to still enjoy the fic, if that is something you're able to do.

(Please see the tags since I address this in a bit more detail - although the tl;dr there is - have you considered that instead of continuing to be entertained by the works of a transphobe, maybe if you stopped reading them, you'd find someone you liked just as much, if not more, who will replace them? Sometimes the harm we do is simply in giving our time and energy to someone who wishes we didn't exist, and is actively protesting against our existence - when we could look for others to entertain us who don't expect horrible ethical quandaries from us just to enjoy what they're creating).

(Also, for the record re: other folks reading (I kind of wish I hadn't been forced to respond to this publicly lmao and I'm still in two minds re: whether I'll keep it up), I'm also trans, so I feel like I can talk about the grey area more in this specific issue. I am not advising or advocating for example that white people actively read and engage in the fanfiction of known racists. This is very much - I am talking about this one thing, from a trans person to a trans person, about transphobia in the community and in the works of creators we might enjoy - and I very much want to stay focused on that).

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 II

Part I Part III Part IV

Thank you so much for the love for the first one! 💞 There are so many ways I can imagine how this story can go and it's hard to pick one or try merging all the ideas. Nonetheless, I hope this meets your expectations!

CW: Stalking, Breaking and entering, Violence(Being stabbed, beating up a thief), Blood, (Menstion of past) Kidnapping

You had officially moved into your apartment in Bludhaven

Everything has moved so quickly and now you can finally relax

You gave up connecting with your family, got kidnapped, died, came back to life and moved out

It may be a bit much to pick the farthest college from the manor but you’re clearly unwanted there

Your family has neglected you and didn't do anything when you were kidnapped, so you have every right to be as far away from them as possible

It was honestly quite lucky that you were already accepted into a college in Bludhaven during your senior year. If you had applied after your kidnapping, the chances of you getting in would have been low.

But you’re here now and can finally feel happy. Well, if you don't count some of the nightmares you get from when you “died”.

Sometimes you do wonder how you survived that gunshot. Were you not hit somewhere vital? But then, where was the hole?

A part of you was curious and wanted to replicate the injury but that would be painful. You surviving the gunshot also could have been a one-time thing

You never ended up going to the police or the hospital because what were they going to do? You don’t have any proof that it even happened because your injury is gone, the blood left at the abandoned building is likely dried up and doesn’t look fresh, and Bruce probably threw away the ransom letter.��

The only proof you have that it even happened is your memories and you telling your friends. But the police or doctors would just look at you and say “You look fine now, no need to look into the situation anymore.” 

But enough about that though, you’ve got a few more hours before it gets dark and you want to get to know about the area.

It is still the middle of summer so your college classes haven't started yet. You could have waited until class started to move but you wanted to be out before Alfred returned from his vacation.

Alfred was the closest thing to family in the manor. But he and Bruce have never felt like safe adults to share your problems with. 

He should be back from his vacation now, has he found out about your kidnapping or did Bruce cover it up? He probably did to avoid getting news out. You should probably look into how you can change your surname.

Just as you finish your thoughts about the manor, you use your laptop to find interesting places in the area before heading out the door with directions in a notebook

Bruce and the rest of the family may know where you are currently, but bringing you back home was the hard part. Alfred had to convince Bruce that if he wanted you back, he shouldn’t just barge in all of a sudden. 

You’ve been hurt by the family's actions and won't return without a fight. 

But even then, Bruce has to see you. The entire family needs to see you with their own eyes at least once.

With this in mind, the whole family decides to take a small road trip to Bludhaven. They’d find you and figure out the best way to approach you without scaring you off. 

It was almost sundown when the family got to Bludhaven. They change into their vigilante gear so it’d be easier to hide in the shadows

Tim loads up the tracker on your phone and leads the way. It seems the tracker you have isn't the best because once the family gets close to your apartment, your phone just says your laptop is nearby instead of its exact location. 

No problem though, Tim can easily hack into the computer system for the apartment and find which room is yours.

Once your room is found, the family takes a peek inside. You’re nowhere to be found, which is a little worrying.

The locks on your windows are broken as the family opens them and sneaks inside. Your living room and kitchen are littered with boxes but that’s it. They each take a look around to find you but come out empty-handed. If you were here, they may do exactly what Alfred discouraged and just take you home. However, because you aren’t home, the only other place you could be is outside. Where it’s dark out and you’re alone.

Worried for your safety, the family immediately goes on another search for your

Because you could be anywhere, the family decides to split up to find you

You look around as you walk back to your apartment, a few small bags of food and snacks in your hands. Because it’s getting dark, you do begin to pick up the pace. You’re so focused on not getting home that you don’t notice when a person peeks over at you from a rooftop.

You’re just about to pass a convenience store when someone runs out and knocks into you. The person curses as they quickly get up and reach for their bag of stolen goods. Filled with adrenaline, the thief takes out a knife and stabs you. They were aiming to kill you so there weren’t any witnesses but ended up putting the knife in your shoulder. As the thief makes a run for it, a certain vigilante quickly blocks their path

Nightwing goes full force on the thief. How dare they hurt his baby bird. He refuses to make the same mistake of leaving you alone and hurt.

Your heart is racing as you attempt to pull the knife out of your shoulder. Your eyelids feel weak but you refuse to fall asleep. Unlike before, you aren’t restrained and can still escape.

You pull the knife out and let it fall on the ground next to you. After a few breaths, you do your best to stand up. You take a small glance at Nightwing before quickly running back to your apartment. 

Once inside, you almost collapse on the floor but try to get your first aid kit.

Your bandaging may not be that good but the best but it’s enough for you to feel comfortable sleeping for the night

Nightwing got a few swings in before he heard the sound of something falling onto the ground

He looks up to see that you've pulled the knife out of you and about to stand up

Before Nightwing could help you, his opponent throws a punch while he was distracted.

The vigilante shifts his attention to the thief when you suddenly make an escape. Night wing attempts to call out to you but it appears you didn't notice.

He sighs as he handcuffs the thief. This guy was such a hassle that Nightwing almost forgot why he was in such a hurry to wrap up the whole situation

The vigilante turns to where you were but only finds a bloodied knife and the bags you left behind. He carefully picks up the bags and knife while he considers where you have gone.

Spotting a trail of blood, Nightwing quickly follows it, contacting the rest of the family as well

The family gathers at the same spot near your apartment and finds you sleeping in your bed. Wanting to help you, Nightwing comes up with an idea

You lay on your bed, waiting for sleep to consume you when a knock comes from your door. You try to ignore it but the knocking continues. The only thing that gets you up is the realization that the knocking is too loud to be from your door. Opening your eyes, you realize that someone is at your window. 

Getting up, you pick up your pepper spray as you slowly walk towards the window. You have your curtains closed so you try to peek past them to see who is there

Who you see is Nightwing and it gets you worried. Does he think you were involved with that other person? He must have seen that the thief stabbed you at least

Not wanting to make the vigilant wait, you open your window slightly. Only enough so you can hear what Nightwing has to say

Nightwing happily greets you and shows you the bag of items that you left behind when leaving the scene.

Surprised, you thank Nightwing and open the window. Making sure to not open the window more than necessary, just enough to collect the bags

Just as you reach for it, the vigilante points out your bandaged shoulder. He goes on to say the importance of properly handling injuries and offers to rebandage your arm.

It takes you a couple of moments before you agree to his help.

Like a big brother, he sits you down and redoes the bandages. Honestly, it makes you wish your actual big brothers would care for you in this way. Even though one of them is right in front of you

Once your shoulder has properly been bandaged, you thank Nightwing for his help. He offers to stay the night but you tell him that you’d be fine. Plus, doesn’t he still have to take care of Bludhaven

You make sure to close and lock your window once Nightwing leaves before going back to bed.  As sleep consumes you, your whole family watches from a distance. You didn’t seem to recognize Dick as Nightwing so it may be possible to get you to trust them before taking you home

[anantaru]

— cute things they do unintentionally

including tighnari, scaramouche, alhaitham, kaveh x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack??, very sweet and loving, they adore you

— tighnari + his ears twitch and he blushes easily around you

the usual self assured and poised tighnari had a lovely habit of being all over the place in front of you— after all, he‘s unquestionably in love with you, wholly, and he adores you.

on the treacly occasion of that— when you decide to casually meet up for a tranquil walk with your sweet forest ranger or a serene spending at home enclosed by his arms, you can clearly see a diverse change in mannerism, yet one detail in particular outshines the others abundantly.

it‘s when he reacts at one of your jokes, but not just that, it can be a random notion or story you would happily talk about, what you happened to do these past hours you had been apart— perhaps a pretty rose catching your attention, its sprouting scent squaring over your nostrils, each petal so beautiful and soft— but his cheeks then idly bristle with a fire-like convulsion when you drift off into your day dream while hugging yourself into his chest, and tighnari shelters a pink color on his face.

regardless of how, his ears then, you called it! twitch.

once, twice, it's frantic, far and wide— but he knows what that feeling is too, he knows better than to desperately fight against it so instead he swiftly averts his gaze from you to recollect himself, somehow.

for tighnari, it was clear as day that this task was challenging, at bottom you were simply irresistible to him— you meet him and his breathing shortens, but he is content with you, yet wholly engulfed that it left him bereaved of required oxygen.

of course, well, this was indeed happening to him right now, but he asks himself, then grunts in frustration, not again, why must it always happen on the most burdensome times for him to lose himself, especially when he was just growing tired and had attempted to fall asleep surrounded by your consummating scent and weightless traces?

"is something the matter?"

it wasn't unusual for you to point out a dissimilarity of his habitual behavior, and your eyes were webbed with transparent worry that tighnari felt immensely guilty over, because it was him who inflicted it upon you.

to flip the coin into a distinct course of action, he says your name— a little breathy, silk-like— but it translates into the language of your heart and exudes into your body.

"i‘m alright, *cough* just caught something in my eye."

— scaramouche + gets all happy and excited when he tells you stories

scaramouche's velvety, smooth voice plays in your head on repeat, when he talks to you it's a sign of love, a sign of i want you to know this, or to elaborate further, it's evident to;

'i need you to know this because you're important to me and only you matter.'

you're fixated on his ecstatic sewn pupils and you openly admit to yourself that you cannot get enough of all the witty stories he would tell you on a daily basis— it did not matter to you how minuscule or of little importance they may be, what truly mattered was that scaramouche had begun to be more open and forthcoming towards you.

what your charming boyfriend was not aware of nor fathomed, was how contrasting his behavior would turn whenever he's thoroughly meshed in his story telling mode.

true feverishness and a drastic hurdle of thrill settles in his mannerism as he excitedly continues his own personal anecdotes of the passing day.

but those eyes, those spirited indigo eyes were vitally euphonious to the concealed dimples on his face that split larger after each new word spelled out, around the corners of his mouth to be exact, therefore accentuating his doughy, handsome physical responses.

extending far down, scaramouche was acquainted with undoubtable sureness that it was you who helped him grow, who showed him an escape route from the blooded thorns of his past.

"hey!" wow, what a way to snap you back to reality.

scaramouche sounded like he was in dire need of some attention from you and his hands were awkwardly tugged to each side of his body— though, let me get you in on a secret, the secret of all secrets, he actually longed to have them drawn on your frame, in effect, glissading them over your soft skin to pull you into a hug afterwards.

"are you even listening to me?!"

"of course i am!" you're lying, you're not.

in actuality you leaned into the delicious easement of your thoughts again— precisely about comforting memories from your boyfriend, even though he was right in front of you, in all of his splendor beauty, feeling understood even in your silence.

"okay, so what did i just say?"

"uhm."

damn you scaramouche and your refined ability to look right through someones skin and capture a glimpse of everything he needed to know.

"okay okay." you lean back into your chair— defeated, hands dramatically throw up in the air while fighting back the urge to say something that would drive your boyfriend off the edge.

but, at long last, you go in anyways, "you're just very cute." and it's the same again, his eyes widen in eternal radiance— rivaling celestial bodies in outer space while kuni seals his lips together in frustration because you managed to catch him off guard again.

the man huffs before erratically coughing out, attempting to distract you from his flustered face, but we all know he won't manage to accomplish that.

— alhaitham + scrunches his brows together when he complains about something

alhaitham abominates working. the end.

precisely supplemental hours of his existing work tasks that mostly focus on him aiding helpless akademiya scholars in their failing research.

while— being in a relationship with the acting grand sage of the sumeru akademiya naturally came with a lot of things, both good and bad feats— as might be expected the goods always outshine the negatives, you despite that understood your boyfriends increasing urge to get rid of his current title as fast as possible.

alhaitham was a busy man now, even busier than beforehand— and he regarded it with disgust, throughout-going abhorred it, that he couldn't come home at his routined time to spend some additional hours with you, his sweet significant other.

what alhaitham does know was that whenever he did arrive from a fatigued day— you will always, heavy emphasizing on the always, earnestly wait for him with a giant hot cup of tea being planted on the kitchen counter, on stand by and ready to be tasted by the man you loved like nothing else on this world.

"you're home later than usual."

a gasp of surprise evaporated from within as you began to point out the obvious, excitedly strolling towards alhaitham to gift him a proper welcome home, accentuating the passion filled gesture with a little peck on his warm cheek.

"it's unbelievable, isn't it?" someone must've woken up a tilt grumpy today, you figured, but let him carry on with his words.

"—and one might think that if there is nothing to do, i can simply take my leave." he continues, kicking his boots off his feet, one by one, while breathlessly sinking into the giant couch.

before the tea would turn cold, you decided to gracefully hand him the home made beverage, but not darting yourself off him, listening eagerly to what he had to say.

"but no, they need me for every. minuscule. task."

and alhaitham's eyes twitch, again— though his brows, they were pressed together so damn tight, if you didn't know any better you would've expected him to pop a blood vessel by now.

"do i look like i am interested in social interactions?" he asks you now, yes, dead serious while pulling you in with his hypnotizing eyes— although lifted with some serious eye bags, they continued to hold a graven significance that had you drawn to him the most.

but this situation was wearing thin, at least alhaitham was alarmingly more tested than usual, but at last you couldn't help yourself and work against your honest reactions, laughing at how awfully adorable he could be at times, without smiling— but it's so sudden, his face was showing so much emotions and it only encourages the sharp sting inside of you to giggle once again.

but do not get those particular things messed up nor into wrong directions— because seeing alhaitham have a hard time at work wasn't the humorous part at hand, it was the way he had told them to you— nose held up high while he repeatedly huffs away the bothering hair strands falling into his face, which only adds fuel to the burning frustration in himself, or his eyes a touch nudged together and rolling into the back of his head at each of his own sentences spoken.

an outer perspective would ultimately determine that he's in reality talking and agreeing with himself.

"have i unintentionally said something humorous?"

"no." you immediately snort back at him and swiftly rub over your saturated eyes, because yes, you indeed laughed yourself to tears.

"or maybe you did." and you idly lean next to him while keeping one hand on his thigh, "but you're home now, please rest."

perhaps this was what alhaitham had wanted to hear all this time— as the second you said it he exhales deeply, through his parted lips but greatly, he doesn't think he has any more energy left in his body if he was being honest.

but that's it now, it was the ideal time to rest, nothing matters, not the past nor the future. he was in the precious, safe confines of his home with the person he loves the utmost (and his roommate napping next doors).

"you're right, apologies." you immediately know alhaitham's embarrassed when he's muttering his words, but he feels his heart audibly beat in his chest and so do you.

"nothing to apologize for, my love."

— kaveh + searches for your touch whenever you spend time together

kaveh's heart blossoms throughout the entire day with an immediate segment of impassioned love the trifling moment he catches onto your silver like voice musing into his ears— thank the archons you‘re here, because he might‘ve lost his mind if he was about to stay without your company for much longer.

in point of fact, it's beyond easy to forget the pressuring hardships he has experienced in the past when he looks into nothing but your fascinating eyes— it's spellbound, featherlight.

on the other hand, in his own imagination, kaveh was sure that in reality he had nothing to offer back to you— even with you kindly assuring him that he’s nothing but the best and perfect in your eyes, over and over until it’s carved into his damned skull, he continues to harvest that deep rooted insecurity in him. although regardless of his broadening insecurities, he continues to treat you like you deserve nothing but the world.

it can be spoken with enormous confidence that he can‘t get enough of you. kaveh didn't think of wanting to show you off— or maybe he did but not in an over the top way, he was just so much in love with you and had made it his own personal achievement to make the entirety of sumeru know that you're taken, yes it's true, everyone keep their hands off you because you are taken, and he was the one who captured your heart.

now with that out of the way, whenever you would decide to go out on a walk or grab a beverage to go, kaveh would unintentionally plant his palm on your lower back, keeping it there.

or when you're enjoying a warm day outside, finding great comfort in the beautiful panorama of sumeru city with the gratifying scent of padisarah establishing in your nostrils, he'd cautiously flicker his fingers against your own while interlocking them in the process, so he could hold your hand and be with you, even closer than before, and experience those little things that had him weak on the knees and indisputably giddy.

he needs his hands on you— around your shoulders, scattered on your back, coupling fingers into each other or a fine-drawn peck on your cheek before entering the cafe together.

while he does most of those things unintentionally, you will push him over the edge the moment you initiate those things yourself, when it is you who does it to him— it's when his lips slightly part and his eyes are blown out with both surprise and deep rooted love, when you cheekily smile back at kaveh while taking his hand to walk and rush him towards another precious spot you had been made aware of in sumeru city.

"you'll love this place baby, trust me!"

you assure kindly, cheeks prickling a warm cradle with your belly welcoming the sweet butterflies courteously— pulling kaveh to the desired destination and by the matching reactions of your connected bodies, he does the same to you.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ekebolou]

I get that people have complicated relationships with higher education, and that's 100% reasonable, but there's something I want to point out.

when you hear a popular podcast or youtuber or history show or see a popular history book or article say it's 'revealing' or 'uncovering' or 'bringing to light' or 'reevaluating' some story of the past, it's usually doing so off of academic history work done by people in academia.

Journalists and your average YouTuber are generally the worst about not crediting this work,* but it's there in the background, nonetheless.

That work - academic research, particularly of this kind, and the articles, books, and other information it produces - doesn't get done without institutional support. That is, like with everything, sure some enthusiasts will keep at their particular interests hell or high water, and rich folks can peruse to their hearts' content - that's what fueled the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries' ever-increasing investigative output.

And that should be concerning, not comforting.

Not because all of that output was wrong or terrible or misguided - a lot was, but much of it is still essential, foundational, exceedingly rigorous and useful - but because much of modern history work, twentieth century on, has been a century-long battle to correct some of deeply culturally embedded beliefs an almost wholly dilettante pursuit of the past generated. It's kind of a joke in English-language scholarship that the Victorians ruined everything, but like, for real, y'all, the Victorians left us some BURDENS, from fake relics created for ~the aesthetic~ to defaced and destroyed historical documents.

Academic research in itself is not some kind of panacea. we're not shitting on dilettantes (I am very much a dilettante, in my way) and so-called 'amateurs', who are vital and excellent contributors to knowledge. We're also not saying institutions are always perfect and good and don't need to change. I'm saying that robust, diverse, in-depth, careful, broadly reaching, and most of all interesting and new scholarship requires something on the scale of institutional support.

This is not just because that's where your historians live, but because in a very practical sense, that's where your archives live. You do actually need a big building stuffed with Things Of The Past well-maintained and with a core of well-trained and extremely cool (like librarians, all archivists are extremely cool in my books, even if they're kind of assholes, as long as they are good archivists).

Archivists are currently doing a lot with very little support - like a lot of academics and librarians, really - because that's what people do. When they care about doing something, they get along, they scrape by, they suck it up. But they need buildings, they need climate control, they need continuing training and new people coming into the field - if the idea is that we have so many documents from the past extant today because archives DON'T need institutional-level support, then you are severely misinformed about how much of the past has survived to the present day. And if the idea is that we'll preserve the IMPORTANT bits of the past regardless then you're also sadly misinformed about how good we are at determining what's important, and how frequently (and with growing frequency) disasters of various kinds wipe places out (Lisbon 1755, for example), and how robust any of our documentation (often ESPECIALLY the 'important' stuff) is in terms of long-term survival.

There's a theory going around that THIS period - like the 2000s through today and into the future - will produce a 'dark age' for future historians because the digital infrastructure which not only underpins almost all of our day-to-day lives but is how we've decided to 'save space' - by preserving things digitally rather than in hard copy - is so unspeakably vulnerable and weak. Everyday folks have already, for the most part, lost access to things like CDs, which have a lifespan of something like 100 years at the most. Proprietary softwares, black box devices with irreplaceable parts, flimsy modern materials with difficult to preserve features mean a whole of information that drives our lives today will simply become inaccessible in, actually, a very short time.

Archives - vast storehouses under careful supervision full of well-organized stuff that might potentially be important one day - need institutional support, but also, on their own, are kind of... well, let's just say, Historians will also say shit like they 'uncovered' a 'hidden history' in a previously 'lost, unknown' document that some archivist put in a special box on a special shelf and carefully catalogued for prime findability. It's a symbiotic relationship that doesn't always get its due. An archive on its own can be very useful to a local community, an individual business, a specific family, all kinds of things - but to get History out of it, you need some Historians or suitably rabid individuals of other castes. You need both, or you end up with the pseudo-histories of nineteenth-century rich folk that then get to determine what we believe is possible for the future by what we are told of the past. It's a bad scene.

Again, there are further steps to take - not over here defending institutions as they stand. We were, at one point, on our way to accessible higher education, meaning everyone had a chance to go to pursue their interests, before we started seeing Universities not as a social good and social resource but as job training and profit centers and cut social funding as demanded by business ghouls. Higher education and academia as it functions now has done a lot of damage to people's lives.

But institutions are much harder to build than to change, and change is hard enough. Once an archive is defunded, its collections distributed or destroyed, you typically don't get it back. Like certain species of sea creatures with long gestational periods, once you destroy the mid-range of the population - the bit that raises up the next generation - your population collapses and its very hard to get things back on track (historians and other academics who require lots of investment and training and time and experience are like the sea creatures, you see).

You can, of course, start new. We've done that a lot, as a species. It's always possible. But it's a bit like running out of a fire empty-handed instead of grabbing your wallet as you go. Sometimes you just gotta go, and that's always safest - sometimes you just can't think or there's no time to think and you couldn't get to anything useful if you wanted to - but if it's matter of looking at the wallet in your pants pocket and dipping down to grab it (and maybe pants!) while you bolt then yeah, ought to try. Maybe the pants catch fire and you've got to abandon them anyway to save your life. That's reasonable. (This is just an analogy - fire safety generally says to get ye gone with your life and health intact ASAP, just for the record - don't stop for shit and don't go back in).

The point of this is that next time you're enjoying some popular history content (please save me from this word) or learn some cool fact about the past, think about the fact that none of that get down to you without a big chain of people all joined together doing different things. And that big chain needs nice big social supports to exist. The social supports are hard to change, but the chain is easy to lose without them. It's a group effort all the way, even that little fucker who didn't credit the work they used to make fun videos is important.

That content doesn't happen without the structure to support it - or even worse, that content lies to you. Makes stuff up. The stuff it makes up isn't going to be fantasies of freedom and equality, at least going by what's been made up before.

Hate the academy, want it to change, act to reform it - all very good, go for it, no desire to stop you (except maybe the hating part, try to hate more specifically, like individual actions or aspects of the academy, if you're going to hate on stuff, but, like, hate can be unhealthy, get some peace in your life if you can). Things are bad enough without also feeling like you have to take on a crusade to save archives or other institutions - though honestly just participating in your local history scene, giving them time and attention, is really valuable help - so that's not really the call to action here. The call is just asking you to notice the big structures that enable these small joys.

Don't let yourself be convinced that they somehow happen in a vacuum, that they'll just persist somehow like getting Deliveroo at your off-grid mountain cabin. A lot people helped make that stupid podcast about Marie Antoinette's toenail fungus happen - and there's way more than that waiting! If we can just keep letting people make archives, study stuff, fuck off on fruitless searches for things that were never there and instead find stuff we never KNEW was there. There's so much of that to be done! The more the merrier on who should be doing it! But if we want that, we got to figure out how to support it, to keep what we've got, build more of it, or it'll be the same shit about Marie Antoinette over and over and over and over and over because that'll all we'll have to build from.

Anyway, if you've never done it, take a ghost tour. Visit a museum nearby. Pop into an archive and just ask them some stuff. Get on these web pages that do things like recreate Angkor Wat as a virtual tour, go watch a Youtuber do a frothing-at-the-mouth defense of Charles Lightoller, or even better, read this reddit thread about whether Dua Lipa would have survived the Titanic sinking based on her music video. And just think - holy shit, isn't it cool that we have a society, a whole social structure, that could produce such a thing? And it's right here, at my fingertips, ready to disappear.

*there are reasons for this, some related to format and legibility/accessibility that still shouldn't eliminate the need to credit others' work and others cowardly excuses for parasitism

[secondhandsorrows]

Some Vital Scenes to Include in a Romantic Subplot, pt. 1

I’ve been in the plotting stages of a novel I’ve been working on for some time now. It’s not a romance novel, per se, but the romantic aspect is very prevalent… dare I say important. Anyway, so as I was working on my scenes and character arcs, I began to realize that I didn’t have enough fleshed-out about romantic arc, nor deepened the protagonist’s love interest or their connection, for that matter. This led me to devise up some scenes that I felt were crucial to the story if I wanted to keep this romantic angle to it, and now that I’ve most of them arranged, I find now that I’m way more excited about my characters’ love story. 

These tips will be unnumbered because, obviously, the sequence of these events and how they will fall into your storyline will probably be different. Also, you don’t have to use only one scene for every suggestion that will be mentioned, as you can have multiple scenes of flirtations or deep conversations, for example. They usually blend all together into the narrative at this point. Just remember that there should be some relevance to the plot at hand in some of these scenes as to not derail completely from the main narrative or other conflicts.

I was going to post this all at once, but decided it was too long and wanted to split it into two parts to go more in-depth and for easy reading. /-\ Enjoy ~

- The meet-cute, or the meet-ugly:

Ah, yes, the first encounter. Or, as we sometimes like to call it: the meet-cute, or the meet-ugly if you’re feeling a little unconventional or perhaps mischievous. Though we may enjoy setting up our star-crossed characters in a whole range of moments from awkward to swoon-worthy, the initial meeting is what’s important (if your characters haven't already met before the beginning of the story, ofc, but this is useful to have in mind). Let us quickly define the two:

Meet-Cute: A charming and serendipitous first encounter between the characters in question that sets a positive, memorable, and oftentimes romantic tone.

Meet-Ugly: An unconventional, awkward, or disastrous initial meeting that adds a unique twist to the start of the romantic connection, often leading to unexpected chemistry and an added intrigue on whether or not they’ll get together.

You don’t have to nail your characters’ first encounter into a label or bubble such as these two examples, but I like bringing these up for a general idea. 

- Bouts of flirting and/or banter:

Just as the title suggests, these are scenes containing the flirtaious communication between the two characters. These kinds of interactions will, of course, develop over time and deepen the bond or relationship. Playful interactions, gazes, and witty exchanges between the characters can create a lighthearted and flirtatious atmosphere that hints at their growing attraction.

The way they might flirt or tease can reveal their personalities. For example, one character might be more sarcastic, while the other responds with quick wit, or quiet bashfulness. There’s an element of subtlety, as flirting lets the characters express their romantic interest without explicitly stating it (unless one of your characters lacks subtlety in general and prefers to shout their undying love from the rooftops, which would make for an interesting dynamic, but I’m only spit-balling). 

Banter, teasing, and romantic tension underscoring heated debates or loathsome gazes suit just as nicely, especially if you’re writing with enemies-to-lovers or rivalry tropes in mind. But be careful! A little goes a long way: too much all at once can repel any growth for the characters or narrative.

- Initial conflict or struggle:

Depending on your story’s big-picture conflict, the introduction of challenges or obstacles can create tension between the characters, adding depth to their relationship and making their eventual connection all the more satisfying. This might include cultural or class differences, opposing goals or values, history of past heartbreak, personality weaknesses such as stubbornness, or external pressures that threaten to keep the characters apart. Even a nosy family or a disapproving mother can be considered. How the characters navigate and resolve these conflicts contributes significantly to the overall emotional impact of the romance subplot, as well as allowing for some exploration of each character's strengths, weaknesses, and resilience. 

- Shared vulnerability:

This kind of scene involves the characters opening up to each other about their innermost fears, insecurities, past trauma, or personal struggles. Shared vulnerability goes beyond surface-level interactions. It involves characters revealing their authentic selves, exposing their emotional vulnerabilities, and allowing the other person to see them in an honest — and sometimes new — light.

This is a symbolic gesture of commitment we’re talking about, here… something that requires trust. As characters share their fears or past traumas, they are entrusting the other person with sensitive information, fostering a sense of trust and emotional intimacy. It might be scary, it could be out from left field, but they will end up learning something new about themselves, their situation, or about the other person, and thus deepen their connection, little by little.

[adascore]

Hello! Not sure if you’re taking requests but would you consider doing an addition to TSS where young!arsenal reader was starting before Beth and Viv came back and has been benched majority of the time since (Kyra core☹️). Maybe during like the west ham game was one of the subs thrown on halfway through and after the loss made a snarky comment about “being thrown on to unfuck everything” type of thing to another teammate and Viv/beth overhear and think she’s talking about them (maybe they’re already a little insecure about losing such an “easy” game, self doubt post ACL) and things are super frosty and weird at home until one of them snaps and makes a comment about how they still wouldn’t have won even if R started. Hurt/comfort angst but with a happy ending!! Not sure if any of that strikes your fancy but I had the thought and you’re so talented:) no worries if not!!!

To Jump The Gun(ners)

pairings: arsenal x teen!reader / meadema x teen!reader / kyra cooney-cross x arsenal!reader

warnings: the west-ham match. swearing. angst. awkwardness.

author’s note: OMG LOVE THIS IDEA ! like this was right up my alley I felt like 😭 thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy the story!

masterlist

February 4, 2024 - Essex, England

It had become a routine, seeing her name and number on the bench. She took a glance at Kyra, a knowing look in her eyes.

The young Arsenal homegrown wondered where it all had gotten wrong. Well, she knew the answer, but it wasn't exactly something she could say out loud to anyone.

She was transported back to the 2022/23 season, where she would warm the bench until either Vivianne or Beth were too tired or they needed to be rested for the next match.

Their injuries had changed everything.

Y/N not only became a regular starter, but became a vital part of their game. Her absence would be noticed.

She scored the goals that got them to the semifinals of the Champions League, keeping them level with 2x champions Wolfsburg.

However, Beth and Vivianne were back now. Alessia's arrival also didn't help much, the former Manchester United player having cemented herself into the starting line-up.

It also didn't help that Jonas was not a fan of rotating. Only in specific Conti Cup matches or against what he deemed 'weaker' teams in the league would he make changes to the usual starting XI.

In other words, she was back to step 1.

That's why it was hard to watch her teammates falling 2-1 behind against West Ham, with no one seeming to find an answer or any will to turn the game around. It was a painful spectacle.

In the 63rd minute, Jonas decided to throw herself, Kyra and Cloé in the match, and take out Vivianne, Victoria and Beth. It was a desperate attempt, and the three Gunners found themselves on the pitch, tasked with the challenging mission of trying to fix everything that had gone wrong so far.

Y/N and Cloé quickly created some chances but the West Ham defense or the swift reflexes of Mackenzie Arnold saw them go in vain.

The teenager could see the expressions of her teammates on the bench, visibly frustrated with how the match had unfolded since Alessia's successful header.

Vivianne couldn't hide the discontent in her eyes as she sat with a subtle shake of her head. Her partner, sitting beside her, noticed and Beth patted her thigh, offering silent support as they continued to watch their team scramble for a late equalizer.

As the final whistle blew, the disappointment within the team was high. Y/N did her usual post-match routine, and congratulated all the West Ham players on their win, while giving and receiving solace from her own teammates.

The teen found Kyra again, someone who she had found a friendship in over the months the Australian had joined the Gunners.

''You alright?'' The midfielder asked her, a dejected tone in her voice.

Y/N nodded. ''Yeah, you?''

''Not too great, but there are worse things in life.'' Kyra responded, trying to put the loss in perspective.

''True,'' the striker agreed, ''I can't believe he keeps putting us in these positions.''

Kyra nodded. ''You think he would learn after Tottenham.'' She sighed.

''Apparently, we're not good enough to start, but when he needs us to unfuck everything that happened, then he knows who we are.'' Y/N said, her frustration evident. The unfair treatment of some players during the season lingered in the air, leaving a bitter taste after the defeat.

As the youngsters continued their conversation on their way to the locker room, Vivianne and Beth, unintentionally overhearing their discussion, exchanged puzzled glances.

''Did you hear that? 'Unfuck everything'?'' Beth repeated her housemate's words to her partner.

Vivianne's brow furrowed as she processed what was said. ''Yeah,'' the Dutchwoman breathed out, ''not very nice.'' A hint of sadness lingered in her voice. It stung that their efforts were being discussed in such terms, especially by the young girl they were living with.

They didn't say much else to one another as they strolled through the corridor.

The atmosphere in the locker room was subdued, void of any banter and entertaining chats. Most of the players were already there as the couple walked in.

Beth took a glimpse at Y/N and Kyra who still seemed in a discussion with one another, although they were whispering now.

''Girls, we're a lot better than this.'' Kim broke the ice, a neutral expression on her face.

Everyone nodded at the captain, the collective disappointment from the match was visible. ''Well, it's done, we can't change anything about it. So, everyone just do a reset, try to get some sleep or distract yourselves on the bus, and I expect everyone with fresh minds and legs at training.''

The team nodded and weakly applauded Kim's small speech.

As the team began to disperse, Y/N caught Beth's eye, offering a faint smile in greeting. However, the winger's response was noticeably strained, her usually warm demeanor replaced by a subtle tension.

"Everything okay?" The younger one ventured, her concern evident.

Beth's smile faltered slightly, her gaze flickering away before returning to meet Y/N's. "Yeah, everything's fine." She replied, though her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

The striker's brow furrowed further, a flicker of uncertainty clouding her features. "Are you sure?" She pressed gently, not used to this awkwardness from her teammate.

"I... yeah, I'm sure." She retorted, her voice tinged with irritation.

"Okay..." Y/N trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. Sensing the dismissiveness between them, she offered a hesitant smile before turning back to where she had been talking with Lia.

As her housemate walked away, Beth's expression hardened, a pang of guilt gnawing at her conscience. She knew she shouldn't act like this towards her, but her words had really struck a nerve for some reason and it was hard to pretend it didn't.

The drive home on the bus wasn't that different, though the atmosphere was more subdued due to the loss. Y/N and Kyra were seated next to each other, Katie and Caitlin sitting on the other side of them.

''You alright, Y/N?'' Caitlin asked, noticing the youngster's quietness.

Y/N looked up, glancing away from her nails to the older Australian player. She hesitated answering, not knowing if it was appropriate to say anything about her interaction with Beth.

She sat up straight and motioned for the three of them to huddle together over the small table. They got her message and did just that.

''Did anything happen on the bench or something? Cause I had this weird exchange with Meado, and it's just stuck in my head.'' She explained, her voice hushed.

They all frowned at her words. ''No, she was just frustrated about the game, but so was everyone else.'' Caitlin responded.

''What happened?'' Katie chimed in, curious to know about this exchange.

''I don't know. She was looking at me in the locker room, and I smiled at her, but she, I don't know, just looked weird at me. I asked her if she was alright, but she was kinda distant with me? She responded a little irritated so I left her alone, but it was weird.'' Y/N gave a small summary of the interaction.

"That is strange." Kyra mused, breaking the silence that had settled over their huddle.

They nodded at her words, agreeing with the young Australian.

''I didn't notice anything.'' Caitlin said with a pout, feeling sorry she couldn't help her younger teammate out. ''Me neither, kiddo.'' Katie added, a similar expression on her face.

Y/N smiled sadly, disappointed she wasn't any wiser on Beth. Katie rubbed her arm once she noticed her dejected expression. ''Hey, I wouldn't worry about it. It's a tough loss.''

The youngster nodded at the Irishwoman's words. ''Yeah, you're right.''

Katie was not right.

As soon as she got in the car with the beloved couple it was clear that something had gone down for them to act in such a sour mood. Vivianne's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, while Beth stared out of the window, her expression unreadable.

Sensing the palpable tension, Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The youngster wanted to break the silence, but the words wouldn't come out. It felt like they were stuck in her throat.

The drive home felt like forever. Every minute made the atmosphere worse. Y/N tried to catch Vivianne or Beth's eye, hoping for some sign that things would get better, but there was nothing.

Car rides after losses were never filled with much conversation, but it had never been like this.

A wave of relief went through her as the car was parked in front of their apartment complex, longing for the comfort of her room where she could hide from whatever the situation was.

Y/N couldn't even come up with a guess on what had transpired. Did they have a fight? Did she do something? Did someone else do something?

She had absolutely no clue.

However, the tension seemed to follow them into their shared home. The silence had become even more deafening with each step they took.

Beth disappeared into her room without a word, while Vivianne headed straight for the kitchen, her movements stiff and mechanical. Y/N stood in the hallway, feeling like an outsider in her own home.

Their behaviors made her feel anxious, feeling that knot inside her stomach. What had happened during the game? What had caused them to retreat into themselves like this?

Unable to handle any of it longer, Y/N tentatively approached the Dutchwoman in the kitchen. "Um, Viv?" She began, her voice small.

Vivianne glanced up, her expression guarded. "Yeah?” She replied, accent heavy.

The younger girl hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject. "I, uh, did, uh, something happen at the game?" She stammered, her words stumbling over each other in her haste to get everything out.

The striker's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?” She asked, her face neutral.

Her response only added to the youngest one's confusion. It seemed as though they were both dancing around a subject neither wanted to address.

"I-I just... noticed things were a bit off between everyone after the match," Y/N explained, her voice barely above a whisper, "and, well, the car ride home was... a bit weird, you know.”

Vivianne's expression softened slightly, though her guard remained up. ''Don't worry about it. Just… frustration from the game.''

But Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than just frustration. She wanted to press further, but the fear of causing further conflict held her back.

Instead, she offered a hesitant nod. ''Okay, good.'' She murmured to the floor, retreating back to her room with a heavy heart.

The Arsenal homegrown player pulled her phone out of her pocket, searching up Kyra's contact. It only took a few rings for the Australian to pick up, she was probably already on her phone as she was called.

''Hey.'' Her accent momentarily bringing a smile to Y/N's face.

''Hey, you're home?''

''Yeah, just arrived. What's up?''

There was a brief pause before Y/N continued. ''Things have gotten a bit weirder since, uh, on the bus.''

''Shit. What happened?'' She asked, her voice filled with genuine worry.

''It's just... the tension at home is almost suffocating," she explained, ''it was completely silent the entire time we were driving home, and when we got home, Beth immediately went to her room. I tried to ask Viv about, but she told me it was just frustrations, but it clearly is not just that.''

There was a moment of silence as Kyra processed Y/N's words. "That doesn't sound good," she finally replied, ''you really have no idea what might have happened? Maybe they had a fight or something?''

Y/N shook her head, even though her teammate couldn't see it. "No, that's the thing. I'm completely lost." She admitted, frustration lacing her words.

''Same. I wish I knew what to say to help.'' Kyra said softly.

''It's alright, Ky. Thanks for letting me ramble.'' Y/N chuckled, appreciating the opportunity to unload her worries onto her friend.

''It's fine, honestly. It must not be fun to be in this situation,'' the Matilda replied, feeling for her friend, ''if anything else happens you can always let me know, okay? I'm gonna have some dinner now.''

Y/N smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Ky. I really appreciate it.”

''Anytime. Take care, I'll see you at training.''

''You too. Bye, bye.'' They bid each other goodbye before hanging up the phone.

Y/N prepared to leave her room again, wanting to check if Vivianne had started dinner yet or not.

Just as she stepped into the hallway, she nearly collided with Beth, who was coming out of her room with a tight-lipped expression. The sudden encounter caught them both off guard.

''Shit, sorry.'' The younger one apologized first, giving her housemate an awkward glance.

''It's alright,'' Beth brushed off, ''uh, were you on the phone just now?" She asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

Y/N nodded. ''Uh, yeah, with Kyra.''

Beth's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. "Oh, Kyra." She murmured, her voice tight.

The younger girl simply stared at the winger, not knowing what to say to her words. "Is everything okay?" Y/N ventured, her voice hesitant as she searched Beth's face for any sign of what might be bothering her.

Beth's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought. When she finally spoke, her words were tinged with a hint of irritation. ''Everything's alright.''

Y/N offered a small, uneasy smile and nodded. "Oh, okay." She said, though her words felt hollow even to her own ears.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Beth turned to walk away. As she watched Beth disappear around the corner, she wondered if it had been something she had done. However, she couldn't recall saying or doing anything that day that would have provoked this kind of demeanor from the couple.

The young striker walked into the living room, noticing Vivianne bustling about in the kitchen. But what caught Y/N's attention was the hushed whispers exchanged between the couple, Beth and Vivianne not being subtle about their gossiping.

A sense of discomfort washed over the youngster as she hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt or retreat unnoticed. But before she could make a decision, the Dutchwoman glanced up and caught her eye, her expression inscrutable.

''Hey, dinner is almost ready. Just some leftover pasta from yesterday.'' She informed Y/N, her tone somewhat forced as she attempted to maintain a facade of normalcy.

Y/N forced a smile. ''Nice, thanks, Viv.'' She answered, trying to ignore the awkwardness that hung in the air.

She retreated to the couch, feeling as if she wasn't welcome in the small space. Something was off, and she couldn't help but feel like she was on the outside looking in.

She scrolled on her phone for a few minutes before Vivianne called her to the table as the food was ready. As they gathered around the dinner table, the atmosphere remained strained, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Vivianne served up the leftover pasta, her movements brisk as she avoided making eye contact with anyone. Beth sat across from Y/N, her expression unreadable as she picked at her food.

Y/N tried to focus on her food, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach made it difficult to swallow.

For a few moments, the only sound was the clinking of forks against plates, the silence punctuated only by the occasional awkward cough or clearing of throat.

Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Y/N opened her mouth. "So, um, what did you guys think about the match?'' She asked the pair, her voice coming out more high than she had intended.

As if on cue, Vivianne and Beth glanced up from their plates at the same time.

''It was tough, but it shouldn't have been tough. We lacked a clear tactic.'' The experienced striker answered, filling up the silence.

Y/N nodded, relieved at least one of them responded to her attempt at conversation. She took a peek at Beth, who did not seem amused in the slightest to talk about the surprising defeat earlier that day.

''It was just another match of us fucking everything up, and you kids having to unfuck it all.'' Beth said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

The youngest's eyes widened slightly at the cutting remark, not expecting those words to come out of the Brit's mouth.

Vivianne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, casting a quick glance at Y/N before fixing her gaze on her partner. "Beth, that's enough.'' Her voice was stern, warning Beth that this was not the way to go about this.

But Beth ignored her girlfriend, her eyes fixed on Y/N with an intensity that made her squirm. ''No, she needs to learn to not talk about teammates that way, especially the ones that have just gotten back from serious injuries, and need time to reintegrate into the group.''

Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, she cast a desperate look at Vivianne, silently pleading for her to intervene and diffuse the situation before it escalated any further.

''Beth, I wasn't-''

''You weren't what? You weren't talking shit to Kyra about us right after the match? You weren't talking shit about us to Kyra on the phone just now?'' The oldest continued in an accusing tone.

Vivianne let out a sigh, her frustration evident as she attempted to defuse the situation. ''Beth.'' She said firmly, her gaze shifting between the two other people at the table.

''I wasn't talking shit about you guys. I would never do that.'' Y/N managed to let out, offended at the mere idea of her not appreciating the two women who'd let her move in with them a 1,5 years ago.

''Y/N, we heard you. On the pitch after the match, with Kyra.'' Beth responded bluntly.

Y/N swallowed hard, slightly ashamed of being caught. ''We were just... we were just frustrated, okay? That comment wasn't directed at any of you guys, it was more at Jonas, to be fair.''

The couple grew silent at the admission, realizing they had greatly misunderstood the two young girls' conversation. ''About Jonas?'' Vivianne repeated, her voice carrying a note of embarrassment.

The young striker nodded. ''Yeah, me and Kyra have just been a bit upset with our game time, that's all. It felt like a repeat of the Tottenham game.''

Beth and Vivianne exchanged a glance, coming to a silent understanding. ''We're sorry for jumping the gun on that one, darling. We really thought we needed to teach you some manners.'' The Brit nervously apologized with a chuckle.

''It's alright, we probably should've been a bit more discreet.'' Y/N brushed her apology off with a hand gesture.

''No, you two are in your full right to complain.'' Vivianne retorted, agreeing on the playing time matter.

The teenager waited a few moments before elaborating. ''I don't mind sitting on the bench, it's great to get rest, you know? But it almost feels like he doesn't trust me to get the game starting or something. I like to think I did great last season, so this kind of sucks.'' She opened up, not having voiced these thoughts to anyone but Kyra.

''You did amazing last season, you stepped up when we needed someone and the team will never forget that.'' Beth smiled, squeezing the youngster' s hand.

''It seems that Jonas forgot.'' Y/N muttered bitterly, looking down at her empty plate.

The couple silenced themselves at her mumbled words, not knowing what the appropriate response would be to cheer her up about the situation. They were indirectly responsible for the young girl to not get as much game time anymore, so whatever they would tell her, she would most likely not feel much better afterwards.

''Just focus on what you're doing right now. Show up to training, recover well, maximize everything in the minutes you do get. Show him that he should trust you to start, and that you deserve to have that spot in the line-up.'' Vivianne chimed in, her voice soft but resolute.

Y/N nodded at the older woman's words, though her demeanor still seemed dejected. ''Yeah, I'll continue to do that.'' It came out somewhat passive aggressive.

''I know it doesn't fix the situation, but you're my personal star girl, regardless whether you play or not.'' Beth softly smiled at her.

The teen managed to crack a small smile back, appreciating the sentiment. ''Thanks, Beth.''

''You're mine too.'' Vivianne added.

''Hey, that's my compliment for her! Find another one if you want to be cute!'' Beth scolded her partner, dramatically feigning annoyance.

The Dutchwoman frowned. ''Everyone calls her ‘star girl'! You're not original either!'' She pouted back.

Y/N couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the banter between the couple, happily accepting the momentary distraction from her frustrations.

Beth playfully rolled her eyes. ''At least I'm complimenting her!''

''Sorry that I was just giving useful advice, Bethany.'' Vivianne retorted.

''Useful.'' The Brit repeated, her voice heavily tinged with sarcasm.

Vivianne's mouth gaped, pretending to be offended. ''It was useful! That's what I would have wanted to hear at 19 year-old.'' She defended herself.

''19 year-old's want to hear praise, Viv. They want to be called star girls, not receive a lecture.'' Beth quickly replied, with a smirk.

''Y/N, it was useful, right?'' The older striker turned towards the teenager.

''Yeah, Y/N, tell Miss Miedema how useful her advice was.'' Beth chorused her words, grinning from ear-to-ear.

The youngster simply glanced between the two of them, before picking up her empty plate and standing up from her seat. ''I'm taking this as my sign to leave.''

She ignored their pleas with a satisfied grin, making her way to the kitchen to dump her plate, and walking back to her room.

The couple watched her depart, sharing a knowing look, a hint of amusement dancing in their eyes. ''She's gonna call Kyra, isn't she?'' Vivianne chuckled.

''She so is.'' Beth agreed with a laugh.

requests are always welcome!

[ennn]

Jac Schaeffer on Agathario, Rio as Nicky's dad, Rio' scar speech

Some highlights from the Jeff Goldsmith Podcast.

Jeff: That brings us obviously speaking of relationships to Agatha and Rio, you have a very interesting foundation and I know if stuff was cut, you wouldn't be able to speak exactly on some of it, but I'm curious, was there more there? It's good to leave your audience wanting more. And people have speculated as to whether or not there was more of a flashback between them and more of their history.

Jac: There was more in the writer's room. There was never any more on the page. We sort of, it was our story instinct, I would say, that getting too far into their backstory would sort of be too much of a counterweight to the Nicky material. And so we really included what we felt was vital to this chapter. But we, we certainly talked about it at great length of how they met and what their relationship was and what it looked like in happier times and all of that.

And I didn't anticipate that the shippers would be so fervent that there would be, you know– and I–it feels foolish for not – you never know how anything is gonna land and you never know if people are gonna care.

And the amount that people care is staggering to me. And it's my hope that in the MCU there's more unpacking of the Agatha and Rio backstory.

Jeff: You were talking about the shipping group, like was there ever anything about Nicholas's father or is there any credence to the concept that it could have been born as the love child between these two?

Jac: Yes. I mean, we talked about a lot of different versions of who is the father of Nikki. And we ultimately decided that for Agatha's story, it wasn't relevant to the story we were trying to tell and we didn't really wanna get into the weeds of if it was magical or, y'know – that's again – it's sort of more rules.

We certainly considered the idea that Rio is the father. I wonder if I should ask the writers if they sort of still hold that in their hearts. It's something that I certainly thought about a lot and, and like to sort of contemplate. I enjoy that it is left to fan interpretation.

I also feel that I know how the MCU works and I don't think it serves anybody to sort of for me as the creator to emphatically tell you something that isn't on screen. Because, you know, like I said, it's my hope that these stories continue.

So, so perhaps there is a later chapter that will address this, but I, but I will say that, that when we were casting, sometimes we were like, "Does that kid look like Rio? Does that kid look like Aubrey Plaza?"

Jeff: So it's a path that, that is...

Jac: Fans and viewers, yes, are– I think they're picking up on our brainwaves for sure.

Jac: [on the toughest scenes to do] And then Rio's like little speech by the campfire was really hard.

So Giovanna Sarkees wrote a beautiful monologue that was quite long. And then it was one of those things that on the day Aubrey was doing it, and it wasn't Aubrey's fault, but it just wasn't clicking. It didn't feel right for what Aubrey had brought to the role. There's so much economy in what Aubrey does, you know, like she accomplishes so much with her physicality and her very being, that this long speech just felt wrong to me.

And I changed it on the day –which is always a risk – I changed it in the moment and the "she is my scar" I came up with, watching her do that.

[cece693]

could I maybe request something for a male reader and hannigram? something where the reader is always really quiet and generally avoids people so everyone thinks he’s shy, but one conversation with him shows that he is NOT shy—he’s just on the verge of murdering someone constantly. ‘Never plan a murder out loud’ type shit

so idk like quiet, anger issues-y type of reader? anyways thanks :3

On the Tip of Your Tongue

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader isn't who he seems, hannigram is supportive, no murder today, short but sweet, kinda au

You’ve always been the quiet type—or at least, that’s what everyone thinks. You’re the coworker who slips in and out of the office with barely a nod in passing. The neighbor who’s so hard to catch in conversation that people decide you must be shy or painfully introverted. After all, you rarely speak unless spoken to, and even then, it’s usually just a few carefully chosen words.

But Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham know better.

They see the way your eyes linger a second too long on potential threats. They hear the deliberate pace of your breathing when you’d rather lash out than listen to unwelcome commentary. They’ve witnessed how your fists tighten and then relax at your sides, an exercise in self-control so you don’t do something you’d regret—or maybe something you’ve been itching to do all day.

No one suspects that you’re coiled tight like a predator, mentally skirting the edge of violence at every sharp word or rude glance. Well, no one besides your boyfriends.

You live with Will and Hannibal in a large, old house on the outskirts of Baltimore. It’s tastefully furnished—Hannibal’s touch, of course—with warm wooden floors and richly colored walls. Tucked into a corner near the fireplace is a battered armchair that’s Will’s favorite spot. When you get home from work tonight, you find Will curled up there, jacket tossed over the chair’s arm, while Hannibal stands by the mantle, hands clasped behind his back.

“There you are,” Will says, sounding relieved. “Busy day?”

You loosen your tie with a quick tug and hang it over the coat rack. “Something like that.”

“‘Something like that’?” Hannibal repeats with a faint tilt of his head. He steps forward, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “It’s rare you come home so tense.”

You offer him a crooked half-smile. “I had a run-in at work.”

Will sits up straighter, frowning. “Everything okay?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you say, your voice low. You’re aware, in that moment, that anyone else would have shrugged it off with a polite, noncommittal phrase. But you don’t bother hiding the edge in your tone. Not in front of these two men. “Let’s just say I gave someone a wake-up call.”

It’s Will’s turn to smile, the corner of his mouth quirking with interest. “I’m guessing there’s more to the story than that.”

You shrug. “Maybe a bit.”

Earlier That Day

You work at a forensic consulting office attached to the FBI. You’re not a profiler—Will’s got that covered, and so does Hannibal, in his own capacity—but your role is instrumental. You file case reports, cross-reference data, catalog evidence, and do some background research that often proves vital. It’s not glamorous, but you do it well. Quiet competence, that’s your calling card. Nobody expects the seemingly shy, unassuming coworker to have sharp claws.

Apparently, Joseph Sykes in the archives department was in the mood to push buttons today. He’d made an offhand remark about your “lack of communication skills,” implying you were borderline useless in a high-stakes environment. Maybe if you were more gregarious, you’d climb the ladder faster.

You could practically feel your temper thrumming. There’s a little tingle in your fingertips, that familiar rush of heat across your temples. The darkness that’s always lurking on the edges of your mind wanted to creep in, to let you imagine just how easy it might be to…

No. Not here. You repeated the same mantra you always do. Never plan a murder out loud, and never lose your cool so publicly.

Instead, you turned to face him slowly. You allowed the silence to stretch until Joseph got a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet enough that only he could hear, but laced with a menace that forced him to pay attention.

“Joseph,” you said, leaning in slightly, “I don’t need to be loud to get results. If you want to see me really speak up, keep trying to push me.”

His expression froze as he realized that, beneath the polite exterior, something lethal flickered behind your eyes. You gave him a small, dangerous smile, then calmly walked away. He was left standing there, mouth slightly open, unsure of what to say.

Back Home

Will’s eyebrows lift as you finish recounting the incident. “You put him in his place without even raising your voice?”

“Didn’t have to.” You shrug, crossing the room to where Hannibal stands. He places a hand lightly on your shoulder, warmth radiating through his long fingers.

“We all have our own ways of asserting dominance,” Hannibal murmurs, a private amusement in his tone. “I’m glad you didn’t escalate things. Though, one day, perhaps you’ll indulge me and share how you control that hunger.” His eyes flick over yours, curious and admiring.

“I don’t know if you’re the last person who should be encouraging that or the best person,” you tease. “But it’s not about control so much as picking the right moment. I’m not going to waste my time or energy on something that small.”

Will stands, padding softly over to the two of you. “That’s what I love about you,” he says. “Everyone thinks you’re just quiet and shy, but the reality is far more interesting. You’ve got more bite in you than half the people at the Bureau combined.”

You offer a wry smile, stepping closer so that Will can take your hand, and Hannibal, your other. “There’s a lot they don’t know, that’s for sure.”

A small silence settles over the three of you—comfortable, warm. Even with your smoldering anger from earlier, you can’t help but feel at peace here. In their presence, your edges don’t feel quite so sharp. There’s an understanding that hums beneath the surface; you don’t need to watch your every word or apologize for the way your thoughts naturally veer. Will and Hannibal know who you are in your quiet moments and in the moments where the darkness tries to seep out from behind your eyes.

And they accept you, entirely.

Later that night, you’re in the kitchen with Hannibal. He’s slicing vegetables for a late dinner, and the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board is almost hypnotic. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a lazy sort of fascination.

Without looking away from his task, Hannibal speaks up. “There’s a question on your mind.”

You exhale slowly, pushing off the counter to stand at his side. “I’m not sure it’s a question so much as an observation. Everyone at work still thinks I’m meek. Even after all this time. When someone like Sykes decides to test me…some part of me wants to prove them wrong in a very, very final way.”

Hannibal’s lips curl into that refined, knowing smile. “The instincts we share can be…difficult to restrain. But you have an advantage: clarity. You know when to yield, and you know when to stand your ground. That’s more power than you realize.”

He sets the knife down and meets your gaze, eyes dark with a fond, predatory glint. “And perhaps you enjoy having them underestimate you.”

Will appears in the doorway then, shoulders relaxed. “Dinner almost ready?” he asks lightly, though he picks up on the electricity in the air. His gaze dances between you and Hannibal, reflecting his quiet understanding of the unspoken tension you both carry.

“Almost,” Hannibal replies, returning to his slicing.

Will moves close enough to rest a hand on your lower back. “And you? You alright now?” His tone is gentle.

You let out a tight breath and allow yourself to lean into his touch, if only a little. “I’m fine.” Your voice drops, turning wry. “Calmer than I was earlier, anyway.”

“Glad to hear it,” Will says. He presses a light kiss just behind your ear. It’s casual affection, but it’s enough to smooth out the last of your lingering frustration.

You smile, truly smile, for the first time that evening. Because this moment—this comfortable, domestic moment with Hannibal and Will—is what keeps you anchored. You can keep your secrets and your darkness close, but never alone. You can unleash your quieter, deadlier side at will, knowing they won’t turn away from you. If anything, it only draws you closer.

[blacktabbygames]

Something I've been curious about were you guys always going to plan the stranger having her own special ending before you got to the final stranger? Or was that something you decided after you finalize the stranger?

A lot of the narrative design work on Slay the Princess came from following things to what felt like their logical conclusions, and letting the pieces fall into place as they clicked. Given the looping nature of the game, it made sense for the "final" encounter to be with the "first" Princess, taking you right back to where you started and asking you to make the same choice you had to make at the very beginning of the game, but now with all of the context that comes with playing through the game. The Stranger stuck out like a sore thumb there, since if you do her route first, she's the first Princess you meet, rather than Chapter 1's Knife!Princess or NoKnife!Princess. So it only made sense to give her a special ending, which also balances out how short/linear her route is overall (even if, in terms of game logic, she had far and away the most complicated chapter to code.) The Unknown Together ending in general was another piece of the puzzle that just happened to fall into place near the end. In the earliest draft of that ending sequence (in my brain only) you would arrive at the final cabin knife-already-in-hand, since you'd only get there by resisting the Shifting Mound. But as we started actively working on that part of the script, it felt more compelling to set up that final situation as a more direct mirror of Chapter One.

And because we wanted it to be a reflection of the beginning of the game, it made sense that whether or not you take the blade with you downstairs should be a huge decision. Almost a little test for our players — did you realize by the end of your runs that the knife doesn't, like the Hero suggests, "always seem to give us more options than not?"

But needing to include that choice raised the question of, "well, what happens, metaphysically, if you don't bring the knife?" And the answer that was most compelling to us was "we don't know, and the fact that we don't know is what makes the choice so compelling." One of those bits where it's wild to think about how late an addition that ending was, since I think it's vitally important to the themes of the story. If the nature of death is a major thematic through-line of Slay the Princess, The Unknown Together is the only ending that truly confronts its terrifying mysteries, and it does so by abandoning fear on the floor of that final cabin.

[jayaury]

Marrying the Maid

More archive short stories. Get more on my P*treon. Enjoy! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

---

Baron Lukas Instaf fell into his office chair with an audible groan.

Yes.

His office.

He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. To think, he would inherit the barony at a mere twenty years of age. It was quite a bit of pressure, he had to admit.

He found himself looking back at the imposing portrait hanging over the mantle of the fireplace. His father’s picture was of a grim, sullen man with dark hair and a face of hard, disapproving lines.

Lukas had inherited the man’s hair, if not his rough features. He was slimmer than his stocky father. Many said handsomer, and certainly younger. He flexed his hands on the arms of the chair uneasily and scanned the study. He didn’t much care for the decor. But that had always been his problem, as his father had frequently berated him. He was indecisive. Weak.

Well, Lukas had best start getting decisive. For this was his home now.

Well, mostly.

The door swung open with a bang. “Good morning master!”

He sat up sharply as a familiar figure bounced into the room. Clarissa, the family’s maid of two years, was a forceful personality in the house. She filled every room she stepped foot in with her presence and somewhat unconventional character. Lukas had no idea why his father had kept the boisterous redhead.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had a good idea. Two of them, actually. Clarissa was bustier than some holstaurs. In fact, there were rumours that she was one of those bovine maidens, but had filed down her horns. Lukas wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he did know that she did attend that new cow goddess church that was making waves. And she was unbelievably brash and forceful for a servant. Not to mention teasing. He’d often been at the receiving end of her attentions, leaving him flustered and annoyed.

And she was wearing scent again, he noticed with a sigh. Honestly, it seemed like every day she wore a new kind of perfume. The current one was jasmine, and was shockingly potent. Well, at least it was better than the rosemary she used to wear around his father. In fact, it was almost… pleasant.

“Clarissa!” he sighed, forcing himself not to stare at the maid’s impressive bust. “You-”

“Here with your tea!” she said, sliding the tray into place before him with a wink of her long lashes. “Starting off the morning well, as the big, strong baron should!”

“Clarissa, really. You can’t just-”

“Not to worry, my baron! There’s plenty of cream. I know how much you like it,” she added, picking up a pitcher and pouring a generous helping into his cup. “And you’ll need it today! Because we have quite a bit of work to do.”

In the midst of tidying his papers, Lukas paused. “We do?”

“Of course, my lord! Now that you are baron, we must decide on your betrothed.”

“M-my what!”

“And I have them right here!” Clarissa chimed, lifting a folder out from some hidden recess of her scandalously short skirt (it had to be custom. No other maid in the estate had such a revealingly tight uniform). “Shall we take a look, my baron?”

“Wh… Hold on now, I can’t just-”

“My baron!” Clarissa cried in mock horror. “Surely you realize the importance in choosing your bride? The barony cannot be left without a mistress. Not only for the hard work running the estate, but also the vital work of carrying on the family line! Which means we must choose the most ample, breedable, lovely wife for you.”

“B-breedable? Clarissa! That is-”

“Not to worry, my baron. I’m sure you can manage that. Why, any woman would consider herself lucky to be bent over your table as you thrust home, stuffing her full of your droit de seigneur.”

Lukas’s face burned as it always did whenever Clarissa got going like this. Not to say she was wrong, unfortunately. She was absolutely right. He did need to get married, but it still seemed so early to be shopping for a bride. “Clarissa, really. I-”

“Early to start, my baron! We must be. Once word gets out that Baron Instaf is not only single, but such an adorable, impressive, handsome piece of stud meat, why, we’ll be besieged by eligible young ladies looking to have you mount them like a prized mare! And whichever does will be lucky to have you. Take my word for it!”

“Clarissa! This is… that sort of talk is hardly-”

“You’re so right, my baron. Here I am, chattering away, and you haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the choices! Let’s take a look at the candidates, shall we?”

Lukas sighed, finally giving up. It was near impossible to stop Clarissa once she set her mind to something, though by gods he would soon. He’d have to talk to the head butler about firing her. She treated him far too casually. But for now, he supposed the best thing was just to get this business with the portraits over with.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s take a look…”

“How wise, my dear baron,” Clarissa chirped merrily as she opened the folder to the first page, propping it up just underneath her immense bosom.

Lukas cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at the portrait and not the impressive pair of breasts just above it. “And this is…”

“Mirria Mable. Daughter of a lord in the southern country. Quite the pick specimen. An attractive if air headed young thing. Pretty, but not terribly bright. And not nearly as endowed as me, hm?”

“Clarissa! That’s hardly appropriate,” Lukas said, though he had to admit it was true, and his eyes did quickly steal a glance at Clarissa’s chest as if just to make sure of that. Gods, the room felt suffocating in the perfume she wore. He should open a window, though the scent wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was a bit… soothing.

Clarissa giggled. “Very true, my baron. We cannot judge a woman less blessed than myself in that respect. Some of us were merely born with a generous bosom. Perfect to lay one’s head upon.”

Lukas rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks warm at the thought. “I ah… Well, what about the others?”

“The others? Of course, my lord,” Clarissa said, turning the page, her chest bouncing as she did so.

The sight made Lukas realize quite suddenly his mouth was very dry. With haste, he picked up a teacup and took a sip. Mm. Normally he wasn’t a big fan of cream in his tea, but wherever Clarissa got hers, it was delicious.

“Now then,” Clarissa said. “Lady Blumen from the duchy of Clausen seems like a perfect match for you. Nearly as busty as I am, and I know how important that is for you, my baron.”

“Not that important…” he mumbled.

“Ho ho!” Clarissa laughed, the throaty mirth making her breasts bounce most distractingly in her tight top. “How droll you are, my baron! But I know how much you value an impressive pair of breasts. You can barely keep your eyes off mine!”

Lukas flushed again, realizing he had been staring at her chest. He hastily took another sip of tea. Gods, he was feeling a bit light headed. “I ah… What else is there about her?”

“Why, only that she is something of a black widow, my baron. A nasty piece of work. She delights in wedding rich men, then crushing them beneath her heel. Nitpicking them until they don’t dare breathe without her approval. And what a cruel thing, my baron! Why, she cannot understand true love. The love of a good husband willing to do anything for his darling wife. Adore you. Worship her! She’s only in it for the quick cash! No sense of adoring her new spouse like the good boy he is.”

“S-sorry. Good boy?” Lukas said.

Clarissa giggled, her long lashes fluttering again. “Oh yes, my baron. A husband must be assured what a good boy he is. What a good, obedient, lovey dovey dummy he is to his beloved wife. Otherwise, he might get the most silly ideas in his head.”

Lukas felt his cheeks redden at the degrading words, even if they weren’t addressed to him. And he found his eyes looking at Clarissa’s breasts again. Big and soft. The subtle heave as she breathed. Or rather, the not so subtle. Looked like she was as into the discussion as he was.

“Er, right. Sure,” Lukas said, taking another sip of tea, sinking back into his seat with a sigh. “So, not her.”

“Oh no, my baron. You deserve so much better. So much bustier! So much more loving and adoring. A sweet wife who would show you what a good boy you are. Who would let you adore her like the happy, dopey husband you were always meant to be.”

“Er, yes. Yes. But uh… Who is the next one?”

“Oh yes, my baron. That would be the Countess Francesca,” Clarissa said, turning the next page. “But she wouldn’t make an appropriate wife for you either my lord.”

“Hm?” Lukas said, taking another sip, barely paying attention as he watched Clarissa’s breasts bounce. “She wouldn’t? Why… why not?”

“Oh my baron! Why, she does not want children.”

“O-oh,” Lukas said as he took another long drink of his tea. “Yes, that might… might be a problem. Need an heir…”

“Oh no, my baron. Not just one.”

“S-sorry?”

Clarissa gave him a knowing look. “Why, my dear baron, your wife must bear you many children! A dozen at least. A dozen happy, lovely children. Your wife needs to be very eager to take your virile seed. Because I know, my dear baron, that you’re far too much a stud to be satisfied with just one child. That you would like nothing more than to breed your beloved wife at every opportunity. To make her breasts so big… so heavy… so creamy and soft that you can’t help but play with them and kiss them every night.”

Lukas stared at her breasts. Gods, he could imagine it. Imagine those breasts bouncing. Heaving. Wobbling and Clarissa positively glowing from… from…

But… but no. He… he needed to only think of… of his wife like that. Yes. Only his wife. His beloved wife, whoever… whoever it turned out to be.

“I uh…”

“Oh dear, my baron,” Clarissa sighed, closing the folder dramatically, crossing her arms beneath her jiggling bust. “This just won’t do! It seems like there isn’t a noble woman in the land who can satisfy all your needs. A woman so busty. So loving. So beautiful and fertile to satisfy your very high standards.”

“I… y-yes. No one…”

“Oh!” Clarissa suddenly said, brightening visibly. “But then, of course! How silly of me. I didn’t think of that at all! Why, you don’t need a noblewoman for your wife.”

“I… I don’t?” Lukas said, frowning a little, brow wrinkling in concentration. Didn’t he? He was under the impression that was important…

“Oh no, my beloved baron,” Clarissa cooed as she planted her hands on the table, climbing onto it and crawling towards him, pendulous breasts swaying teasingly, her eyes hot, molten with something that made Lukas’s pulse quicken and pound. “Not at all. Why, if the noble stock isn’t up to the standards, then we must simply find another who is. One who is capable of seeing the greatness in you. The handsomeness. The virile… powerful… studliness in you.”

Lukas found himself instinctively retreating, pressing into the back of his chair, watching his maid move towards him like a she-wolf on the hunt. “Wh-who?”

“Now that is the question, isn’t it, my baron,” Clarissa giggled, straightening so she was kneeling on the desk in front of him, her hands cupping her breasts, fondling and massaging them teasingly. “She’d have to know your domain inside and out. She’d have to have every servant in the house already under her thumb. She’d have to know the ways you love things done. She’d have to be so pretty… so clever… so very… very… busty that you just couldn’t say no to her. Every idea she had would just seem like the bestest idea ever. Oops! Did I say breastest?”

“D-did you?” Lukas said, fairly drooling as he watched her bounce and mold her breasts together.

“Maybe I should have, hmm?” Clarissa said. “Because I know how much my baron loves breasts. Big… bouncy… soft breasts. That’s why I know he’ll make the right choice. I know he’ll decide on exactly the right person to be his baroness. To be his loving wife. His devoted mistress. His gorgeous… bouncy… beautiful bride. But who, my baron? Who is busty and smart and beautiful enough for that.”

“Wh-who?” Lukas gasped.

“Think hard, my baron,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas tried to. He really did. But his mind just didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Every thought he had swirled and squished and bounced and wobbled like Clarissa’s breasts. He whimpered, biting his lower lip, trembling with need as his maid continued to massage her breasts, her buttons straining against her ample tit flesh until… until…

“Mmmm,” Clarissa moaned, tearing open the front of her uniform, her ample, pale breasts spilling into the open. Bouncing with heavy softness. Nipples dark accents to their creamy slopes.

Lukas gasped, jolting like from a physical blow as her breasts bounced free.

“Whoops!” Clarissa giggled. “Did I do that?”

“Y-you… you…” Lukas stammered.

Clarissa’s smile widened. “Me, my lord?” she said coyly. “You want me to be your gorgeous baroness?”

Lukas blinked blankly, his sloshing thoughts struggling. “I…”

“Well, it is true, my lord,” Clarissa cooed, her leg extending, foot pressing against his chest and pushing him and his chair back with a squeak. “I am so very smart. So very beautiful. So very…” she breathed, sliding off the desk, into his lap, Lukas groaning as her weight settled on the hardness of his tenting cock. “Very…” Clarissa moaned as she leaned forward, her ample titflesh pressing against his face. “...Busty…”

Lukas shuddered, inhaling, breathing in the heady scent of Clarissa’s breasts and body. A scent so potent and strong it made his toes curl. Sweet. Heavy and wonderful. Something so real. So potent. The jasmine stuffing his nose. Suffocating his thoughts. And with… with just a faint hint of cream…

“Oh, but whatever would society say,” Clarissa groaned, her hips rocking, rubbing herself upon his thick cock, making Lukas moan and pant under her as his cock throbbed with need. As her breasts squished his face between them and Clarissa’s weight ground him under her. “They might say such terrible things…”

“Ohhhh,” Lukas groaned.

“You’re so right, my baron,” Clarissa giggled. “True love overcomes all odds. And oh, but you do love me, my baron. You do love my big… soft… breasts. And I love you. Loved you so much I tried all sorts of alraune perfumes before I found the one that just. Makes. You. Melt.”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned as he inhaled deeply.

“And you love my wonderful, clever mind, don’t you?” Clarissa cooed as she gave her breasts a bounce, swirling his thoughts again to a lather. “So smart to think of buying that holstaur cream for your tea. So clever to know how malleable it makes a good boy. How needy and aroused by big breasts it makes him. How adoring and dumb. How needy and horny and obedient.

“But there is something bigger than my breasts, my baron,” Clarissa moaned as she squeezed her tits around his head. “Oh yes! Believe it. And that is my warm, adoring heart. Perfectly made for my darling baron. Utterly devoted to him. Because I know, my beloved baron, how haaaaard it is for you to think with me around. How distracted you get from a big… soft… pair of breasts. How hard it is for you to rule. You’re not suited for it, my lord. You’re just suited to be a lovey dovey bimbo. A perfect, obedient stud to your darling wife. And oh, my baron, do you really want me? Do you really need me?”

Lukas whimpered beneath his maid, his mind whirling. Drunk on lust and love and heavenly cream and her body. His hands trembled as they touched her, stroking her hips and rump. Touching her back and causing Clarissa to lean forward and bounce teasingly atop him, his chair creaking.

“Oh my baron. If you begged me, then, well, maybe,” Clarissa giggled. “If you told me how much you loved me, how much you need me, then maybe I’d believe you. Maybe I could be convinced to make you my adoring husband. My sweet, brainless stud of a man who’d do anything his busty wife said. Shall we try, my baron?”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned into her breasts.

“Let’s,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas gasped as her breasts came off his face. He blinked dully as he found Clarissa smiling down at him, gaze smoldering and smirk hot with desire.

“I…” Lukas said.

“I want you, my baron,” Clarissa breathed. “Don’t you want me too?”

The note of hot passion in her tone dashed any effort of resistance from him. Lukas’s mouth trembled and he nodded, the truth escaping him in a panting gasp.

“Y-yes,” he said. “W-want you.”

“Do you, my baron?” Clarissa cooed as her hips rose, her hands teased down his chest and to his crotch, Lukas gasping as her fingers played with his bulge, undoing his zipper. “Do you want to fuck your beautiful bride? Propose to her and fuck her and breed her glorious pussy?”

“Y-yes!” Lukas whimpered, his cock springing into the open, a shock of pure ecstasy surging through him as her fingers wrapped around his length. “C-Clarissa, I… I…”

“Oh my baron,” Clarissa giggled, leaning in closer, her molten eyes hot, her rouged lips soft, enunciating every word as he felt his cock guided under the tickling hem of her skirt, brush the smooth skin of her inner thigh, drawn towards the heat of her naked pussy. “Just say… I do.”

“I… I… d-dooooo!” Lukas groaned, head falling back as Clarissa’s body eased down, his cock swallowed in the warm tightness of her pussy. His face buried again under the buxom softness of her ample tits.

“Mmmmm!” Clarissa moaned, her hips rocking, riding her atop his cock with slow, passionate motions that sent throbbing ecstasy radiating through his body and manhood. “Ohhhh my baaaaron! Yes! Yes! I will! I’ll be your baroness! I’ll be your gorgeous wife! Your perfect lover! Your loving, breedable bride. Ah. Ah! Oh goddess yes! Fuck me! Fill me with your cock!”

Lukas groaned beneath her, his lips kissing and licking her breasts, lost in the creamy valley of her tits, trapped in the ecstasy of her figure and the seemingly endless ampleness of her bouncy breasts. His cock throbbed in her, squeezed by her adoring inner walls. Heat consumed him. Pleasure subsumed him.

It was so good. So perfect. He couldn’t break free. Couldn’t resist. The need to cum surged within him. Devoured him. Urged him towards the inevitability of climax. He panted, gasping, moaning under her.

“Yes!” Clarissa gasped. “Oh my baron! Oh my husband! Yes! Fuck me! Fill me! Stuff me full of your cum! Ohhhhh my baron! I neeeed it! Need your mnnn! Your cum! Ah. Yes. Yes! Cum in me, Lukas. Cum in your bride! Fuck me! Breed me! Now! Breed me… nooooow!”

Her voice rose, a crescendo of shameless pleasure, her inner walls tightening, flexing, squeezing his cock with the glory of her peak. As her breasts shuddered around his head, Lukas cried out, surrendering to her pleasure, his cock throbbing, his balls tightening.

And he came.

Blessed release seemed to burst within him. Sear him. Devour him. His cock surrendered to her, filling her in sharp bursts of heady pleasure.

Lukas moaned, lost in her breasts. Lost in the pleasure. Floating in a sea of creamy ecstasy and delight, his mind sinking under waves of soft, bouncy bliss.

Atop him, Clarissa cooed, giggling as she felt him sag, lost beneath her breasts. Her arms wrapped around her new husband’s head, pulling him deeper into her bosom as she looked about the study. Ugh. Such depressing decoration. She’d have to get it cleaned out. And the room would make such a lovely nursery too.

She giggled, admiring the dazed expression of her former master as she smothered him beneath her breasts. She couldn’t wait for the wedding. Especially since she promised that holstaur priestess and her alraune friend they could be her bridesmaids. After all, when one was looking for a husband, one needed a foot in the door. And she just knew her beloved betrothed had some friends in need of busty, brainwashing brides.

Clarissa hummed contentedly, lazily rocking her hips, feeling Lukas’s cock stir anew within her, ready for round two.

Mmm.

All too easy for a clever, busty girl like her…

[alvfr]

🌹 hii! Any Marvel content?

Btw the Rot snippet!! Amazing!

Aaah, thank you ❤️ And I thought for sure I had some Marvel-writing laying around, but I couldn't find it so I decided to act on my impulses and write this little thing I've had in the back of my mind for a while. It went slightly beyond a snippet, but I am who I am unfortunately. also I headcanon that xavier does not read minds unless permitted, which is in line with how this movie ended originally. paring: logan | james howlett/reader cw: fem mutant!reader, no use of y/n, set after days of future past, implied memory loss or time travel shenanigans, profanity, no smut wc: 1.9k

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

It is considered cliche to start a story with someone waking up, but that is nonetheless where this story begins. When everything you knew or thought you knew about the world changed. And out of every way your life could be turned on its head, you never thought it would be to the soothing tones of Roberta Flack playing on the radio. From the depths of your subconscious rose a tiny voice asking a question. What radio?

Roberta’s voice overpowered your internal one and became the first thing to wake you from a deep and comfortable slumber. Too deep and too comfortable, perhaps, compared to what you were used to. The same went for the bed — too soft and too warm and too nice smelling. A part of you tried to piece it together and failed. What bed?

For several long seconds before you fully woke, you pondered if you had died sometime during the night and woken up in heaven. More and more of your body stirred, though, indicating vitality. Including your eyelids that blinked open only to immediately squeeze shut at the incessant sunlight streaming in through the window. Faint alarm bells chimed in the back of your groggy mind. What window?

Still, not enough to break through to the rational part of your brain, you settled further into the fluffy pillow and closed your eyes again. A slight breeze tickled the back of your neck though and you twitched in annoyance. You twisted your head this way and that, but the tickling continued so you tried turning around to pull the covers up over your shoulder. Except you found yourself locked in place by something warm and heavy. Someone warm and heavy whose breath continued to tickle the back of your neck.

Your eyes burst open, and your entire body froze, not daring to even breathe. Your mind finally caught up to the unnatural warmth that came from the way your body slotted together with someone else’s in the large, comfortable bed you had never seen before. In a room you had never seen before. You twisted your head to peek at the person behind you, the one pressed flush up to your backside. With their hairy legs entangled with yours, with their scruffy face nestled into your neck, and with their muscular, heavy arm splayed over your midriff. 

First, you saw nothing but large tufts of dark brown hair, but your movement must have woken him. Definitely a him. Sun-blessed skin, a solid, rugged jaw covered in something that went way beyond a five o’clock shadow, and deep-set, weary eyes that remained closed for now. He grunted and groaned as if wordlessly admonishing you for disturbing his peaceful sleep, and his arm around your waist tightened. Much like yourself, he squeezed his eyes shut first and rubbed his face back down into the pillow and your neck, scratching his scruff onto your bare skin. Shockwaves spun through both your mind and nerve endings when he absentmindedly placed a kiss on your exposed shoulder.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, not really sure why you had not bolted from his grip. It was almost like that even if your mind could not comprehend what you were doing in this strange bed with this strange man, your body had no qualms about it. “What the fuck?”

“Hng?” the man grunted again and took several tries to blink his tired eyes fully open. Unfamiliar hazel eyes stared at you, and you stared back, watching his lip curl in irritation and his heavy eyebrows pull down to a scowl. Somehow, the sight of you did not seem to disturb him, quite the opposite, in fact, as he leaned over with eyes half-closed and kissed you right on the mouth. Soft, chaste, warm. Familiar in a completely unfamiliar way and gone before you could even comprehend what had happened. A sound vibrated through the man’s chest, almost a growl before he promptly closed his eyes and laid back down. “Hrmm.”

Every part of you burned, a hot blister running everywhere you still touched and where you had touched. Your mouth hung open from where his kiss had landed, a hint of wetness on your bottom lip that chilled in his absence. Both the intimate act itself and the strange nonchalance with which he did it made you want to implode. 

You held your breath, unable to either inhale or exhale, with your head reeling at the idea of being kidnapped by some weirdly cuddly pervert before his grip on you tightened and his eyes snapped back open. The confusion shone off of him, and you stared at each other, both unblinking and unmoving.

His voice came gruff and heavy with sleep, “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?”

His focus danced around the room, not settling on either you or the interior. He tilted his head backward in the direction of the radio but did not fully turn, probably because you pinned him down with the way you lay. “What year is this?”

“What year is this?”

Now he did turn around, flipping over so you fell back onto the mattress. The movement tugged down the covers, revealing his hairy muscular chest that your fingers itched to run your hands over, and you dug your nails into your palm instead because what the fuck? You didn’t even know this guy, and even so, you could feel the way your stupid body pulled toward him. 

For some reason, the man stared at the fancy radio that declared it was playing ‘Golden Oldies’ on the holographic display and let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Twenty-twenty-three?” he asked you as if that was the most important question where you lay half-naked in bed together. “Is this twenty twenty-three?”

The earnestness of his question made your own take the backseat for a spell. You sat up, noting how you had on an unfamiliar black t-shirt, and rubbed your face. “I thought it was, but with the way you’re asking, I’m not sure anymore.”

“Is everyone,” he swallowed, and you noted the way his throat moved, “alive?”

“Define everyone,” you mumbled, but something glinted on your hand, and you pulled it away from your face to look at it. That had not been there last night, either. A ring. A simple, nondescript golden ring. Almost like a wedding ring. “What the fuck is this?”

The man raised an eyebrow, seeming unconcerned, and ran a hand over his scruff. “Hey, no judgment.”

Ignoring him, you pulled off the offending object and gave it a critical glance. “Who the fuck is,” you squinted at the tiny text, “James Howlett?”

“What?” His panicked tone spoke volumes, and you turned to stare at him. Was he James Howlett? When you said nothing, his voice grew tighter. “What did you just say?”

He had frozen with his hand still up by his face, and you both noticed it at the same time. The disturbingly similar ring on his finger and you wrenched it off him before he could protest. It was the same cut as the one you had, just larger and thicker, and with a different engraving, this one containing your name.

“What the fuck?” you snapped and tore out of the bed, mind overriding your meddlesome body as you hurled the rings at him. Then followed with the books from the overfilled bookshelf by the window. “What kind of disturbed, twisted, pathetic loser are you? You kidnapped me to live out some—”

He dodged the incoming projectiles, sounding more weary than angry. “Hey. Hey! Calm down!”

“—stupid handmaid’s tale bullshit fantasy—”

The man grabbed a book from mid-air and yelled, “Hey! I didn’t drug you or kidnap you, okay? I’ve never even seen you before!”

“Right! Sure! You just happened to have a ring lying around with my name on it in case I happened to wake up in your bed for some reason? You’re sick, mister! Sick!” You reached for another book but grabbed hold of a picture frame instead and were about to fling it at him. Except you caught sight of the picture, eyes widening to an unnatural degree, and held it up. “What in the ever-loving reverse Stockholm syndrome is this?”

The picture showed you, in a wedding gown, next to him, in a suit. Remarkably realistic, down to the genuine smiles on both your faces and the flurry of confetti that rained down over you from beyond the frame. 

“Whoa, hey, I’ve never seen that before. Lady, listen to me, last thing I remember, I was in 1973 trying to fix the future.”

“Oh my god, you’re insane. You’re completely out of your mind! I’m leaving and so help you god or anyone else if you try to stop me! I’m a mutant, you know; I can kick your ass seven ways to Sunday!”

The man’s face locked somewhere between confusion and amusement from where he sat in the bed, surrounded by books and messy covers. It did not occur to you that you should have been scared of him before you strode across the room, heading for the door. Almost as if your body overrode that particular feeling, as if deep down you knew this man would never hurt you.

Your brain was fully onboard with the getting-the-hell-out-of-here-plan, however, and you tore the door open only to reveal a hallway you had never seen before filled with kids you had never seen before. All kinds of kids, really, some of them obviously mutants and some at least human-looking. The myriad of noises and displays of powers momentarily distracted you from the bald man in the wheelchair right outside the door that you were sure you had seen before.

“Good morning,” he said with a polite smile, fingers steepled in front of him. “I’ve come to inform you that we’ve regretfully had several students complain about noises from your room. Again. I must ask you, again, to please keep it down as long as you are staying here near the dormitories. I know this is an inconvenience, but the refurbishment of the teacher’s lodgings is expected to be completed within a few more days. We have, wisely as it seems, included several layers of soundproofing.”

“Charles?” 

“Holy shit, you’re Charles Xavier.”

“Language, Professor Howlett,” Charles fucking Xavier said with a raised eyebrow. To you. He called you Professor Howlett and you could not even think of a reply while he raised a wrist to check his watch. “Speaking of, don’t you both have classes to teach?”

You only stared and let out a strained whispered, “What?”

“Charles,” the man behind you — presumably James Howlett — repeated, and you heard the rustle of cloth as he got out of bed. He sounded breathless when he said, “You did it.”

“Did what, Logan? ” 

Okay, maybe the man was not James Howlett? Either way, he came to stand next to you but paid you little attention from where he stared at Xavier. Open-mouthed, in awe, relieved, happy?

When Logan said nothing, Xavier gave you both a short nod. “Just keep it to an acceptable volume, please. Everyone knows you are happily married; there’s no need to remind everyone quite as frequently as you are. And get dressed, please! Class starts in five minutes.” 

-------------

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[lanawinterscigarettes]

hiii i just found your blog, I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE, and if i can request like an angsty story about house and wilson with reader, and the reader has like some disease that'll kill her😭😭😭😭😭im just craving angst

YOU ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU 💞💞 it's been awhile since I've written a good angst fic so this is perfect for me

Your Last Breath (Greg House x gn reader x James Wilson)

Warnings: talk of hospitals/medical procedures, reader has a mystery illness that kills them, they/them pronouns used a few times to refer to the reader in a gender neutral way, hurt/no comfort, heavy angst, main character death (spoiler: it's you)

The doctors had been trying for months to figure out what was wrong with you. Months of invasive tests, months of going back and forth with possible explanations, months of being put on temporary treatments that seemed to work for a short while before you eventually succumbed to whatever was causing your problems again.

Everyone was stumped, and by everyone I truly do mean everyone. Not even House could figure out what was wrong, something that frustrated him to no end for multiple reasons. And by the time he was finally able to figure out what the cause was, it was already too late.

The disease had progressed too far along on its course for the doctors to be able to treat it properly. The best they could do was make you comfortable for the few weeks you had left to live.

Usually he liked having cases he couldn't crack, he liked figuring out the puzzle of what was bothering his patient, he liked being able to go to Cuddy and say "I told you so" when it ended up him being right and everyone else was wrong. But not this time.

This time all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. If only. He'd gladly give up both of his legs if it meant you'd get better.

Meanwhile, the resident head of oncology wasn't taking the news very well, either. It was normal for House to shut himself away for extended periods of time, but not Wilson. He barely left his office anymore, not to check on his own patients, not to accept a request for a consult, nothing. In fact, the only time he ever did leave was to visit you.

Most nights were spent with either him or House at your side, checking your vitals and fetching whatever it was that you needed. You ended up having to beg the both of them to go home at some point, even if it was to just shower and change, but they still refused, choosing to stay at the hospital instead.

Occasionally one of the ducklings would stop by if either of them couldn't for some reason, whether that be due to another patient needing attention or because you finally convinced them to take a break for once.

Foreman was solemn, talking about arrangements that could possibly be made for your body after death if you hadn't decided already. Cameron was sympathetic, reassuring you that they'd make sure you wouldn't be in any pain during your last days on earth. Chase was playful, trying to take your mind off things by cracking a joke or two. And Cuddy was surprisingly very nurturing when she managed to make the time to check in on you.

The whole thing was very bittersweet. While you appreciated everyone caring so much about you, it hurt to know why they were doing it.

Your final day was surprisingly quiet, with no nurses stopping by to check on you every hour or so like they had been for the past couple of weeks where you'd been bedridden almost completely. You suspected someone had requested for that, so you could have a bit of peace in the last few hours you'd be alive for.

House stood at the foot of your bed, watching as you slept. He looked like he was about to say something when Wilson suddenly spoke up from the armchair beside your bed.

"Don't even think about it, House. You're not waking them up right now."

Despite Wilson's firm tone, House couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like it matters much, they're going to be dead soon anyway."

It took everything in the oncologist not to snap and strangle the man in front of him. The only thing that managed to stop him was the sound of you letting out a hacking cough as you woke up. Even with the oxygen machine, it had become increasingly more difficult for you to breathe.

"Guys, don't fight," you tried to make your tone stern as you lectured them, but your throat was dry and therefore made your voice weak and raspy when you spoke.

"Hey, hey, don't speak, it's alright," Wilson gently reassured you as he reached out to take one of your hands into his. Your skin felt clammy, but he didn't care.

House had a pained look in his eyes as he watched you, but he did his best to cover it up with his usual snark. "We were just talking about you. Trying to figure out who should get your stuff when you die."

Wilson gave him an evil look, but you simply laughed. At least, they thought you laughed. It was kind of hard to tell given how sick you were.

"You guys are funny."

If it were any other time, House would've beamed with pride and joy at being able to make you smile with one of his quips, but this time he just felt empty inside, knowing that it was possibly the last one you'd ever hear. He quietly observed as Wilson helped you drink some water out of a small paper cup, one hand helping you hold it up to your lips while the other rested on your shoulder.

"Thank you," was the only thing you managed to get out once you were done, your breathing stalling yet again when you tried to speak. The three of you knew it was getting close to when it was going to happen. The problem was that only one of you had accepted it, and it wasn't either one of the two doctors who were in the room.

"I love you guys," ended up being your final words, a bittersweet smile on your face and tears in your eyes as you took your last breath. You hoped they knew that you meant that. You hoped they knew that you didn't blame them.

And you hoped that your death helped to bring them closer together rather than tearing them apart. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but who really cared? It's not like you'd be around to witness it anyway.

End notes: I rarely ever finish a request this early so please don't expect this to become a normal thing 😭 I just got really into writing this for some reason and once I started I just couldn't stop

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[prodigal-explorer]

how to write children's personalities

(this is part of my series, how to write children in fanfiction! feel free to check it out if you want more info like this!)

this is the main aspect of writing children that i see people mess up so often, especially in the fandoms i'm in (sanders sides and undertale). children are not adorable little noodles with no brains and no concept besides being cute and silly and crying. children are beings that are just as complex as adults, and they deserve personalities to match. this will make them way more interesting to read about! let's get started!

since there are so many aspects to personality to talk about and i don't want to sit here typing for ten years, we're going to do this guide a little differently. i'm going to divide these issues into archetypes, write a short description, and then make a list of do's and don't's for each one!

archetype one: the cute little baby

okay. babies are cute. we all know this, and i'm not saying it's a bad thing to make your babies cute. a lot of people love reading about moments with adorable little babies. but here are some ways to step this kind of thing up, and some things to avoid if you want to improve upon writing this archetype.

do's:

give the child character another archetype besides this one. though "cute" is the foundation for a lot of child characters, it's not a personality. and if a character is vital to your story, then it needs a personality. that's just a rule. you will read more about other archetypes further along in this post!

make the moments symbolic. though it doesn't seem like it from an outsider's perspective, basically everything a baby does is for a reason, and every action a baby makes can say something about their personality. if you want this baby's personality to be energetic and curious, have them crawl around and explore things, and laugh a lot, and babble. if you want this baby to be more sullen and shy, have them cry quietly instead of wailing, or have them squirm when being held by new people.

make the actions of the baby's guardians affect the mannerisms of the baby. babies act differently depending on how the people taking care of them act and react. for instance, if the baby's guardians are very busy people, then maybe have the baby cry very loudly whenever they want something, since they know that it's the only way to get the attention of their guardians. stuff like that can add depth to a character and to a general story.

don't's:

decide that the baby is cute and call it a day. sweet little babies are cool and all, but they get very boring to read about after a while. this can barely even be considered an archetype because of how bland it is when it's by itself.

keep this archetype around for too long. as babies turn into toddlers and then children, they don't act even remotely the same way. it's strange and off-putting to read about a seven year old acting like a two-year old, unless it's a very clear character choice that is a result of explicit actions and events.

make the baby know that it's cute. realistically, children don't understand the concept of cuteness until they're around toddler age. if then, you want to make the kid be like "i get what i want when i'm cute, so i'll act cute!", then sure, that's hilarious. but when they're two months old, they're not batting their eyelashes because that's their personality. they're batting their eyelashes because they got something in their eye. the main thing that makes a baby cute is that they don't know they're cute. they're just figuring out how to do ordinary things.

make everything a cute moment. while babies are awesome, raising them isn't always sunshine and rainbows. make the baby do something wildly chaotic, because babies do wildly chaotic things all the time. not only does this make things more realistic, but it makes things very interesting!

archetype two: the shy kid

as a former shy kid, i know good and well that these types of children exist, and they are very real and valid. however, there are certain ways i've seen them written that are just terrible because once again, this archetype cannot be considered a full personality on its own. let's get into the do's and don't's.

do's:

make their shyness a deliberate choice. kids aren't usually naturally shy. kids are usually more curious than cautious. is there a reason why the kid is shy? there doesn't have to be a reason why the kid is shy, but there could be a reason why the child is NOT outgoing/curious. try and give something like this some deliberate cause, instead of just making them shy so they can seem more precious and infantilized.

make their shyness manifest in diverse ways. not all shy kids cling to their guardian's leg and sit alone during recess. there are different ways to be shy. you can be aggressively shy, or fearfully shy, or shy due to general unwillingness to change.

make their shyness have realistic consequences. someone who's shy is probably not going to have many friends, if any. not all shy kids magically meet an extrovert who adopts them. someone who's shy probably has underdeveloped social skills, which can lead to them being less emotionally intelligent down the line. this makes the shy kid archetype a lot more three-dimensional than just a wet noodle of fear.

don't's:

infantilize shyness or treat it like it makes the kid some sweet, precious angel. not only is this very uncomfortable for shy people to read, but it's generally unrealistic. shyness doesn't affect how good or bad somebody is - it's a neutral trait.

use shyness as a tool to make characters seem younger. shyness does not indicate age. fear manifests in many different ways, and shyness is not the only way.

rely on cliches. not all shy people have the same journey, and the idea that a shy person becoming more outgoing is the "goal" is not only a bit offensive, but it's very cliche. shyness is not always an obstacle to be overcome.

archetype three: the happy-go-lucky kid

oftentimes, the reason why children characters are written into stories in the first place is to give a little bit of lightheartedness and innocence. to add a unique voice among all the cranky, stingy, burdened adults. but you have to be careful when writing this archetype. i personally really dislike this archetype as a whole, but i'm going to put personal feelings towards it aside because honestly, there's no valid reason to dislike it besides opinion.

do's:

give the kid a trademark. maybe this kid makes a lot of little jokes, or maybe they always see the best in a situation. give the kid one thing that makes them happy-go-lucky instead of just giving them everything because nobody is endlessly happy all the time in every way.

go deeper. while happiness is very often genuine, sometimes, it's a mask that hides something else. this can be an interesting way to sort of spice up your happy-go-lucky kid character. maybe the kid is hiding a big secret behind all those jokes.

don't's:

make the character always happy. while children tend to have simpler thoughts, they don't have simpler minds. this child needs to have thoughts, real, genuine thoughts that aren't just happy things.

see happy-go-lucky as a trait that is exclusive to children. comparing happiness to childhood and viewing them as the only places where the other can exist is just wrong, and it's kind of depressing. maybe give happy-go-lucky kid a happy-go-lucky adult to exchange jokes with!

---

those are the archetypes that i see a lot. but now, i'm going to suggest a few child character archetypes that i LOVE that i don't see enough in fics! feel free to use any of these that you like. alter them, combine them! these are, in my opinion, some of the most fun child character personalities!

the spoiled brat: "i want this, and that, and that, and- why aren't you giving it to me?? if you don't give me what i want, i'll tell on you!". spoiled brats are so fun to read and write about, especially when they have absolutely no reason to be spoiled given the current situation (think riches to rags). they've got everything, humor, angst, and best of all, lots of pockets for personality. think about why the child is spoiled. were they enabled by their guardians? did they grow up rich, with access to everything they wanted? think about whether you want the child to stay spoiled. does something change? do they learn how to improve their materialistic and selfish tendencies? there are so many opportunities to play with the personality of this child!

the know-it-all kid: while i do see a lot of know-it-all kids in media, oftentimes, they don't actually have personality besides bossiness and intelligence. i love know-it-all kids who have depth to them. kids who are constantly spouting information because of their sheer love to learn. kids who have one specific thing that they know everything about, so they never stop talking about it. kids who tell people what to do and act like they know best because they don't have a lot of control over anything at home, so they grasp at whatever control they can find elsewhere. i think this archetype could open up a lot of ideas for personality further down the line. it also has a lot of variety with humor and angst, and general depth.

the serious child: this is an archetype that i cannot get enough of. i love a child that doesn't think they're an adult, per se, and still enjoys kid things, but just has such a calm and regal air about them that isn't learned. it's just natural. think of the kid that doesn't really get excited about things conventionally, but you can tell they're happy by their faint smile. the kid that seems to live in slow motion, and doesn't mind this fact at all. the kid that sits alone at recess just because other kids scare the birds away, and they want to see how a bird acts when it doesn't think its being watched. i love kids who have poignant thoughts, because their thoughts are so creative and different from adult thoughts.

the adult-ified child: now this is another archetype i can't get enough of, but it's for a different reason. this child, on the other hand, does think that they're an adult for one reason or another. maybe their guardians forced them to grow up too quickly. maybe they just wanted to grow up quickly by themselves. but this child has thoughts that are too big for their little bodies. they explore things that aren't meant to be explored when their brains are still so small. they do everything too quickly, they stumble through life as if a clock is ticking somewhere. to me, they're just haunting to read about. it feels wrong and dangerous to just watch them do things that hurt them because they don't know any better, but they're on a page. nobody can stop them. it's just so tragic, i'm obsessed.

the prodigal child: this archetype isn't really as deep or detailed as the others, but i do appreciate it. this archetype is for a child who knew who they wanted to be from an early age. a child who wanders into a ballet class and finds out they're better than the ten year olds by the time they're five. this archetype often pairs really well with the know-it-all kid or the adult-ified child because usually, children don't experience what it's like to be the best at something until they're a lot older. this is just a really cool archetype when you aren't quite sure what to do with that main character's little sister.

the chaotic child: this archetype is so much fun to read and write, to be honest. this is a child that just does as they please, whether it's out of curiosity or for pure enjoyment. think of the crazy stories that your guardians have about you or your siblings being absolutely insane. scribbling in a book and then demanding that the library publish their version. trying to ride the dog like a horse. cutting up clothes in an attempt to be a fashion designer. this one is just plain fun!

---

now, there are so many more archetypes out there, but those are just my spotlights and recommendations! i hope after reading this, you feel more equipt to write child characters that have real, engaging, interesting personalities!

[steviewashere]

CW: Infertility (Coming from my own experience just...with a uterus.)

Thinking right now about Steve who wants his own family really bad, but finds out he's 100% infertile.

He only finds out after a failed marriage. His first marriage. Has a beautiful, wonderful, just absolutely incredible wife who accepts everything about his past—stuff he won't talk about and otherwise. Yet, the one thing they knew for certain was a definite in their relationship was children. However, for some reason (that I don't have), his wife rejects the idea of adopting children. So they try. They try and try and try.

Eventually, they get their eggs and sperm analyzed. Her eggs are healthy, her uterus is fine, no complications associated with her ovaries.

Steve, in his next visit, finds out he's infertile. It's not genetically caused. His parents were very fertile, just decided to have only one child. And—maybe due to some Upside Down bullshit; bat bites being untreated, injuries being too traumatic—his sperm production and his sperm vitality are completely destroyed.

He's devastated, of course he is. Brings it up to his wife. They agree to go their separate ways because this was something they both wanted, but now can't have.

And then he just floats about for a while. Quiet and disheartened.

He goes back to Hawkins and bumps into Eddie. Now, I'm thinking, personally, that this isn't some romance story. They're strictly platonic in this scenario (for now).

They get to talking and somewhere in the conversation, Steve's infertility comes up. Eddie tries to gently explain to him that there's other options to have children. "Foster care," he says, "it's where I was for a while. You can adopt from an orphanage, from a hospital. There's always the option for surrogacy, y'know. A lot of different"—

"Eds," Steve interrupts, "I appreciate this, but I...I don't want to talk about it anymore. It hurts too much to think about."

"Sorry," Eddie apologizes.

Steve just shakes his head, resigned. "It's not your fault," he murmurs, "guess I'm just upset that my body doesn't work the way it's supposed to."

"Not everybody's works the way it's supposed to, Steve."

"Yeah," he whispers, "but I was sorta hoping my own would."

There's a lull in the conversation. A long while of just silence and a cigarette being passed and the gentle rustle of trees around them. Outside, in the Forest Hills trailer park, staring down a set of rusted swings.

"How do you think I should handle this, Eddie?"

"Hm?"

"This...this body issue. What am I supposed to do about it? I'm, like...like grieving over nothing."

"You grieve, Steve," Eddie answer simply, "you get angry and you cry. That's all you can really do."

"I don't want to be angry, though. I want...I want to be happy. I want my dream to come true! I want"—he sighs and swallows and looks on ahead of him. To a place he once visited constantly when he still lived full-time in Hawkins, not just passing through. Out on a town that he once called home, a place where he couldn't be the person he wanted to be. Couldn't get what he needed.—"I want to love my kid in a way I never got."

And Eddie looks to him. To his profile. Shuffles closer, cigarette out on the porch. Arm wrapping over Steve's shoulders, tugging him in. "I know," Eddie whispers, "I'm sorry, Steve. I'm really, really sorry."

"It's not your fault, Eds."

"It's not yours either."

He keeps staring out. To a place that was hopeful. Where his dreams bared new. When things seemed reasonable and he could face everything head-on and knew exactly what he wanted for himself. A future of laughter and soft lullabies and hugs warm enough to soothe the world.

There'll be other chances. But not now. Not when he's like this.

"I know," he merely mutters, "I know."

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Do you think the kidnapping was the last straw for age gap!reader and that’s why she decided to become a housewife??

Not quite.

When you did faint, for real instead of pretending, Clark is not surprised. Your heart had started racing again and you were trying very hard to stay composed and sweet.

He was just glad he was there to catch you and keep you from cracking your head on the pavement when the rookie cop closest to you was too busy being start struck to realize you were about to collapse. EMT's were called and you were taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital.

He only hoped Bruce had a plan. And a damn good one. Because, as he looked at the sad little cell the would be kidnapper planned to keep you in his stomach turned. If it hadn't been for the tracker to put in your sneaker, they might never have been able to find you.

__________________

"Sweetheart," Bruce said, rushing into the room, "My god, I'm so sorry! I came as soon as I got your call."

The nurse taking your vitals again glanced up and sighed internally. She'd HAVE to tell the desk to pay attention. Your Agent, some co stars, managers- jesus a parade of people had traipsed through this room. Even a particularly intrepid tabloid journalist. But- At least this was one visitor that you didn't seem to mind.

"I'm okay, I think," you tell him. "I- nothing really had time to happen. I just have some bruises and a concussion."

"Do you need anything?" he asked, crossing the floor, smiling briefly at the nurse before kissing your forehead. "Are they keeping you or-"

"The doctor is just waiting on some x-rays," the nurse told you when you looked at her questioningly. "Once we have all our tests back you should be good to go."

"Thank you, Nancy," you tell her, "Could I have some more water when you get a second?"

"Absolutely," she answered. Mollified somewhat when Bruce set himself to fussing over you in that endearing, clueless way that men had. Uselessly fluffing pillows and petting your hair.

"What were they x-raying?" Bruce asked, perching on the end of your bed. Between you and the door.

"My abdomen. I had stomach pain and they wanted to make sure I wasn't bleeding or something- I don't know if it was a knee of a foot but-"

"I should have hit him harder," Bruce growled.

"Bruce-"

"I'm taking you back to Gotham tonight," he murmured. "And Alfred is working on your security as we speak."

You blink for a second and bite your lip, "I have work and contracts-"

"Not to stay," Bruce hummed. "But I pointed out that you would need a couple days of rest to recover. And pointed out that making you work would be "a bad look" once the story broke. They agreed. And decided to shoot things you weren't in for a couple days."

You look at him confused and Bruce smiles a little, "I'm having the security revamped in your Apartment while you're with me. And being a little selfish- I missed you."

"Brucie, you don't have to do all that."

"I do though," he murmured. "It scared me, that phone call. And I don't like being scared."

_______________________

That night, in his bed. Finally feeling safe enough to let go, you let Bruce take you. It was tender and sweet- even while both of you were desperate.

Cleaving to each other for comfort. Craving the sense of belonging that you felt joined together. No secrets, no lies, only met desires and realized longings.

Bruce smudged soft kisses on every bruise and nuzzled every sore spot. Lavishing attention on your sore stomach. Careful to read your body language. If you pulled away, he would stop. But you clung onto him. Worldless pleading. Telling him. Don't leave me.

"I'm here, Princess," he breathed. "are you okay?"

You nod and lean up to kiss him, "How do you do it?"

"Do what, beautiful?" he hummed, sliding his cock along your entrance before sliding inside you.

"Make me feel so safe, all the time."

"Is that how you feel now, sweet girl?" he hummed, "Safe? Loved?"

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you.

He smiled and rubbed his nose against yours as he bracketed himself above you, "Marry me?" he blurted, "Let me make you feel that way forever."

"You- Bruce- I-"

"I mean it," he breathed. "Marry me? Let me keep you safe, Sweetheart. Make me the happiest I've ever been?"

"How could I say no to that?" you ask, stroking his cheek as you kissed him.

[dailyhmsw]

what are The Gang's thoughts on darrell? the Chicken.

mind and the chicken he Didn't Want...... why... does darrell almost remind him of heart? Feathers and Wings and all? how does he feel that They have a chicken of all things?

when did darrell even come into play? wwas the Chicken Always there? has Resident Heart ever seen darrell? what does heart think of a fellow Bird Thing.....

was darrell just found One Day and soul just Picked him up and decided he wanted that damn chicken? Is there a Story to Darrell?

how often do they Dress Darrell Up in stupid outfits this ones important

i have So Much to ask about your thoughts on these Creatures but don't want to bombard you :)

YAYAYAYAYAYYA DARRELL ASK I GETTO SHARE HEADCABNONS I WOULDNT SHARE OTHERWISE OKOKOK

SO outside of universe i know darrell's origins.. i actually read a fic once back when i was still new to the fandom about the Losers finding and getting used to darrell, wherein soul just. conjures him. which is really funny to think about and i adore that fic so much if i can remember the title i'll edit this post to add it

but something within me just REALLY wants an explanation that aligns with the rest of the story. there needs to be MEANING BEHIND THE CHICKEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and so i present you with this:

he is technically of soul's creation, coming from a want for comfort and unity. but soul didn't create him on purpose, he just came out of his room one day in the middle of the night to find a feathered ball waddling around the living room. darrell is very soft to the touch and unbothered by most things, and he's more than happy to be cuddled and touched for long periods of time. soul doesn't remember when he first saw darrell but it's been so long it's like he's always been here.

as i've shared before, my design for him is based on a barbu d'uccle.. he's a fat little brown chicken with little mottled spots and feathers covering his little feet...,, he's also a hen. he has laid. eggs. but hms don't really seem to care about that too much

the thing is that everyone loves darrell..,, he often gets referred to as "soul's chicken" but heart and mind love him just as much. he's almost a part of them in his own right; a little beacon of hope, as stupid as that might sound. his presence is designed to be comforting and warm, like he's meant to evoke a feeling of wholeness.....,, soul especially sees him and his brown, almost orange-y feathers and feels an odd connection.

BUTANNNYWAYS to answer the other questions!!!:

mind relates all things animal to heart so he was a little apprehensive of the chicken at first, and the reasoning soul gave for his existence (being a comfort animal of sorts) didn't make much sense to him.,, he came around because having a pet to take care of and nurture felt very good for him, and in exchange he gets to hang out with a creature that Isn't Bothersome [even though it's a chicken, a farm animal - why couldn't it have been a dog or something?]

heart LOVES darrell and he has since the start. he's a very tactile person so, if the chicken is near, he is PETTING thoise FEATHERS. and he does find a little comfort in the beloved pet sharing so many physical similarities with him. unfortunately heart has never seen him, but soul has described darrell to him many many times. he pictures him as a big fluffy brown chicken with dumb little curious eyes and huge wings like his own and he loves darrell so much.

amd OBVIOUSLY they dress him up in dumb outfits OOBBBVIOUSLY it is a pet owner's DUTY to do so at least once!!!! often for holidays and stuff they give him little hats yknow . it is Vital for their Harmonization.

tldr god they LOVE HIMMMM he's sweet he's comforting and he provides them with the motivation to take care of both him and themselves C: and his existence comes from a desire for harmony.. he's the only thing that they will always love together