#you are overlooking SO many incredible books

[snoweylily]

does anyone else ever see the words “TikTok made me read it” and just immediately put the book back down again?

[thecharacterchronicler]

Muse || Benedict Bridgerton x reader || Smut

GIF credits: @vengerb3rg

Outline: Your husband wants to paint your portrait but you feel a bit insecure about yourself.

Word count: 2’939

Warnings: parenthood with a newborn baby, insecurities/self deprecation about post-partum body, explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt # 25 as requested. It gave me a whole new obsession for Benedict Bridgerton. Yikes.

You sat on the sofa, trying to focus on the book you were reading but couldn’t help but glance in Benedict’s direction instead. You were always eager to see what beautiful paintings he may be working on but tonight, it felt all the more special as his model was sound asleep in the crib next to him. A little over a year ago, when you had said your vows and became Mrs Bridgerton, you were absolutely certain that it wouldn’t be possible for you to love him more than you already did, you were head over heels for him, in admiration in front of his artistic talents, in adoration of his personality and unconditionally in love with every part of his soul… Yet, watching him so focused on his task, as he carefully observed his son before painting his traits on the canvas in front of him, eyes so full of tenderness for the sleeping infant and a smile that told the world how incredibly proud he felt to be a father was making your heart melt.

Even if you didn’t want to disturb him in his work, you couldn’t help but stand and saunter up behind him, to take a look at the progressing portrait. Your husband was blessed with a rare talent for art, his paintings always captured a beauty overlooked by most and displayed emotions in the most poetical ways, the first portrait of his son was no exception, already a masterpiece in your eyes.

“Perhaps it was preposterous of me to think myself capable of painting his portrait, I fear that, no matter how much time I spend on it, I’ll never do justice to how angelic our baby looks.” He said, as he added some pink hues to the image.

“I think you are doing well, it looks beautiful.” You reassured him, your arms coming around his shoulders to hug him from behind. He placed his palette on his lap to bring a hand up to touch yours, his thumb stroking your wrist as he leaned back against you.

“But look at him, no one could possibly paint such beauty accurately.”

You both turned to look at your baby, both of you sighing in admiration in unison as your son yawned in his sleep.

“It is true that he is particularly gorgeous.” You admitted, still having trouble to believe how blessed you had been to bring such a healthy and beautiful child into this world.

“It’s because he looks like you.” Benedict replied, without hesitation. “Ethereal beauty just like his mother.”

You blushed and hugged him a bit more tightly.

“He takes after you too.” You added, because it was the truth. If Benedict found your son beautiful because of the features you had passed on to him, you thought your baby was extremely handsome because of how much he resembled the love of your life too. “He has your eyes and your smile. The ton better be prepared for such a devastatingly handsome gentleman.”

Benedict huffed a laugh and planted a kiss on the back of your hand. He tilted his head up to look at you, with a familiar spark of mischief in his eyes.

“How about we bless the ton with a few more of our divine offsprings ?” He suggested, his fingers already trailing up your arm in a tantalizing caress. “Or perhaps I could paint another nude portrait of you tonight ?”

“Wouldn’t that lead to the same result ?” You playfully replied, which made him laugh loud enough to cause the baby to grimace and stir in his small crib. “I don’t think we need another portrait of me - especially naked - there are already too many in this house, and if anyone sees them I’ll be mortified.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling, the nude ones are for my personal enjoyement only.” He said, standing up from the stool and turning around to plant a feverish kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back, arms around his neck as he stepped forward with the intention of guiding you to the couch. But you stopped him with a hand on his chest, turning your head before he could press his mouth to yours again.

“He is sleeping like an angel, I do not want to wake him.” You told your husband, glancing in direction of the crib.

“You are right, we do not want him to wake up to the sound of his mother’s screams.” Benedict nodded, leaving you to go back to his son.

“Excuse me ? I do not scream.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to look vexed by his remark.

“Oh you do scream, my darling. I don’t think you realize but you are very loud when you’re enjoying yourself, it’s my favorite thing.” He confirmed, a laugh escaping his lips when he noticed how you blushed at his words. “So I’m going to bring little mister Bridgerton back to his room, where he hopefully won’t hear you and then I’ll make you shout louder than ever.”

You exchanged a smile with him, your heart melting once more as you watched him carefully and gently pick up the baby from the small crib, cradling him in his arms with tenderness. He walked in your direction so that you could place a kiss goodnight on your baby’s forehead before he left the living room with him, already humming a soft lullaby to keep him sound asleep.

Once he got back, he stopped on the threshold to speak to one of the employees of your estate, requesting to not be disturbed for the rest of the night. You felt yourself blushing yet again at how painfully obvious what he was up to might be for your staff.

He closed the living room doors behind him with a satisfied smile but it instantly disappeared as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened at the sight of you, waiting for him with your dress already off.

He sat back on the stool in front of his easel, carefully placing the portrait of your son next to him as he switched it for a blank canvas. He looked over at you with attention, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

You did your best to pose, not daring to do it as suggestively as you used to back when you were newlyweds. Benedict had painted some filthy scenes involving you, and sometimes him too, and kept those paintings locked up in his office upstairs, making it a gallery devoted to his passion for you.

However, despite him being very clear on how much he loved every part of you, you couldn’t help but feel self conscious since the birth of your child. Your body had changed in ways you weren’t prepared for and, if your husband had seen you without garments on since, he had not painted your portrait in a while. The way his eyes were scrutinizing you, tracing round curves and long lines on the canvas, made you feel increasingly uncomfortable.

“Could you rest your arm over the edge of the sofa ? And perhaps part your legs slightly ?” Your husband asked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

You positioned yourself as requested, unable to silence the trembling breath that escaped your lips.

“Is something wrong, darling ? You seem tense.” He remarked, letting go of his pencil to fully focus his attention on you.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” You assured him, forcing a smile but he looked at you as if he could see straight through you.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” his tone was playfully severe, but hearing him call you by your new last name - his last name - sent a wave of emotion through your body. “If something - or someone - is bothering you, I must know immediately. I will not tolerate for my wife to be upset about anything as I vowed to care for you, always.”

“And you do it perfectly.”

“Then tell me, so I can take care of this issue too, whatever it is.” He pleaded.

“It’s nothing, really. I just don’t feel comfortable with the way I look lately.”

“The way you look ?” He repeated, standing up to keep the canvas from stealing his attention away from you. “What do you mean ?”

“I mean this.” You placed your hand on your belly, the skin not as firm and elastic as it used to be. Then, you moved it to your chest to point at your breasts, swollen and hanging lower than they used to. “And this.”

“But these are some of the best things about your body!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked that you could be so rude to yourself.

He walked to you with determination, getting down on his knees next to the sofa to level his face with yours, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face and heartbreak in his eyes, as if he was hurt about your own feelings about yourself.

He brought his hand to your belly, gently caressing it like he used to do when it was round and stretched out by your baby’s kicks..

“You grew a healthy and particularly gorgeous son in here.” He told you, tenderly. Then he moved his hand upwards, until he could caress the tender flesh of your breast. “And these are even bigger and softer than before, there is really no reason to feel so bad about yourself, you are a goddess, darling, you created life within your body.”

“So you’re not disappointed that I don’t look like I used to anymore ?”

“Absolutely not, how could I be ? I adored your body then, I still adore it now. I could fill a museum with my paintings of you, you obsess my every thoughts, you’re the only one I want to worship, for the rest of my life.”

“Benedict…” You breathed, your heart swelling with the intensity of your love for him.

“If you don’t believe me, darling, then I can show you exactly what the sight of your perfect body does to mine.” He suggested, his familiar somewhat mischievous grin returning to his face. He approached the couch on which you were lying down and began undoing his trousers, an eager expression on his face.

“Did you not want to paint me ?” You playfully asked him, with a knowing smirk.

“Always, darling. You know there is nothing I enjoy more than to look at the alluring curves of your body for hours but right now, I believe I’ll do a better job if I get my muse to relax a bit first.”

He pushed his pants down, his erection gloriously swinging up in your direction, hard and ready. It always amazed you how, knowing some of the promiscuous things he did in the past, the mere sight of your bare skin could get him in such a state. Sometimes, it happened during dinner, when you’d lean over the table slightly too far and he’d catch a glimpse of your décolletage. Sometimes, it was more inconveniencing, like when you shared your carriage with someone and the simple proximity of your body pressed up against his caused the blood to flow down to his shaft, always so alert and ready to take you, no matter if alone or not.

You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he loved your body as it was now, his puppy eyes and his gentle smile told you everything you needed to know when it came to his sincerity. Yet, you still felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’d feel better if you were naked too.” You suggested, and he didn’t hesitate an instant, popping the buttons of his shirt one by one and letting it fall down to the luxurious carpet that covered the living room floor.

He dropped back on his knees next to the couch, his hands careful and gentle as they caressed your thighs, very subtly positioning you so that he could have access to the most intimate part of you. When, finally, your last bit of restraint faded underneath the warm kisses he pressed against your thighs, you allowed him to spread your legs apart and bury his face between them.

You instantly felt his tongue swirling around your clit and hungrily sucking on it until a moan fell from your lips. The tip of his tongue then continued its downward slide between your folds, tasting your arousal and mixing it with his saliva. Once he was as far down as the couch allowed him to go, you felt his tongue tentatively exploring your entrance, as if he was waiting for another moan to confirm that he was on the right track.

He placed his hand over your center, pressing down on your lower abdomen and flicking your clit with his thumb as he pushed his tongue past your tight walls, gently penetrating you with delight. His other hand went up to your chest, finding hold of your boob and squeezing it between his fingers as he increased the speed of his movements to follow the rythym of your whimpers that now were filling the room and his ears.

When you looked down at him, your head swimming from the intense jolts of pleasure he kept provoking inside you, you saw his gaze fixed to you, attentive to your reactions and sounds to tailor his next actions. They were filled with lust and adoration, as if you, writhing in front of him while he relished in your taste, was the most beautiful image he had ever had the privilege to witness.

You couldn’t help but buck your hips up in tune with his tongue, trying to get him in deeper. Since it still wasn’t enough to give you some relief from the intense pressure building in your core, you reached down to him, your hands pushing his head against you, probably suffocating him but you couldn’t help it, you needed to feel the bliss only he knew how to give you immediately.

Your orgasm suddenly washed over you, your entire body becoming oversensitive to eveything as it trembled and tensed. You squeezed his head between your thighs to stop him from continuing, unable to take it anymore, your chest heaving and your sounds of contentment still resounding in the room.

“Look at you, my darling. You’re absolutely bewitching when your pleasure makes you blush and your eyes shine with grateful tears.” Your husband said, freeing himself from the snare of your thighs around him. “There’s only one thing missing.”

You opened your mouth to ask what but you still were panting too rapidly to say a word. He rose to his feet, stroking his impressive cock in his hands a few times and you noticed how the pink tip glistened with precum, his thumb gently spreading its wetness along his entire length.

Then, he pressed his tip at your entrance and thrusted his hips forward, making you gasp from the sudden sensation. He buried himself entirely inside you, effortlessly, thanks to how soaked he had made you.

His rythym started out slow and gentle, giving him the opportunity to lean down to lovingly kiss your lips. But his speed progressively increased. You were already close again, the sensitivity between your legs still persisting, intensifying every sensation.

When his thrusts grew deeper and brutal, you had to hold yourself to the couch, your finger digging into the expensive fabric for support as you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. His mouth was still on yours, tugging at your lower lip and swallowing your moans each time they uncontrollably dripped from your mouth.

His eyes were still on you, intense and focused, as if he was trying to memorize every single inch of you so that he could paint it later on his canvas. You reached another orgasm, mouth wide open as you gasped but no sound made it to his ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling from the power of your climax, wondering if such extreme pleasure could kill you, because sometimes it sure felt like it.

“There it is, the way your mouth hangs open when you come for me, with your lips dark and swollen from how hard I kissed you… You are a masterpiece, my love.”

As soon as he said those words, he groaned and released himself deeply inside you, his body suddenly growing weak and numb.

With one more kiss to your lips, he pulled out of you with a satisfied sigh and a tender smile.

As if on cue, the cries of your newborn son suddenly pierced the brief moment of silence in the house.

“He probably misses us.” You said, and attempted to get up but Benedict stopped you, desperate.

“No, no, no! Don’t move, you’re perfect like this, that’s exactly what I want to immortalize on my canvas.” He pleaded, quickly putting his clothes back on. “I’ll go see him and make sure that he is okay. But please, stay exactly like this.”

He left the living room with his shirt roughly tucked in his pants and his hair disheveled, a sight making what you both had been up to pretty clear to all the employees he may meet on the way.

Eventually, the cries came to a stop, meaning that Benedict had probably reached your son and managed to soothe him back to sleep like only he knew how to. So you relaxed on the couch, still naked and ready to shamelessly pose for your adoring husband, already wondering if it would lead to another passionate moment of lovemaking later on.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[nieded]

RR has quickly become my one of my top goto comfort fics (series in this case). I wonder what are yours?

hello! this is a really lovely ask. i'm happy that #rr is a comfort fic for you! i also found a lot of comfort writing it for personal reasons.

i think a highly overlooked fic in fandom that i love is (Slow) Burn, Baby Burn by orchidlocked, E, s1 canon-compliant, 278,780k. i think about this fic a lot, how prior to season 2, it fit so seamlessly into canon, how it made my heart ache, how i related to crowley from the opening chapter just from the way he listened and processed music. there are a lot of challenging things in this story that made me feel uncomfortable but in a good way. in many ways, it made me feel seen.

for other long fics i love dearly, i must also include The False and the Fair by @princip1914, E, AU, 173,064k. it's a captivating story that is brilliantly written. the author is a master at using literary devices and good foreshadowing, so it's technically exquisite as well as just being an incredible story. there's a point in the story (if you know, you know), where i had to put it down, scream, and take myself for a walk.

and

stalwart sun, wily moon by @dustandhalos, M, AU, 369,969k. do you want an incredible art heist story with well-thought-out plot twists, its own accompanying illustrations, and beautiful prose? well, this story is for you! i actually had the pleasure of reading this for the first time as a printed book, which was a special and amazing experience in and of itself.

these two fics above are rec'd a lot (and for good reason!) so here are two more that i rarely ever see.

Curse of the Witchfinder by KitschyKit, M, s1 canon-compliant, 2,244k. i have had many bi people reach out to me about #rr to say they were glad to finally find a fic with good bi representation. well, Curse of the Witchfinder was that for me. and on top of that, i love reading about an older queer because we don't see that in media today. in part, it's because young and sexy sells, but also, we lost a whole generation of gay men to the AIDS epidemic. there's something about this story that undoes me and leaves me completely exposed in so few words.

and

side effects by @darcylindbergh, E, canon-compliant, 7,704k. this is a story about being loved in spite of illness or disregard for illness. it is amazing to me how this is a story about supernatural beings, and yet it feels so human. it's as if someone laid me flat under a microscope.

and so i guess a theme to these recommendations is that i find great comfort in stories that bear the ugliest and most frightened parts of me with love.

[cilil]

Hi, do you have any advices for budding writers on AO3 or here?

Hey! :)

I've given this some thought and compiled what I hope might be some helpful pointers, but if there's anything else or anything specific you want to hear more about, feel free to ask again. Also I'm assuming this is about the amazing craft of fanfic and not, uh, building a platform or whatever (I wouldn't be very helpful with that, I'm a nobody x)).

Share what you feel comfortable sharing.

So since you're asking about budding writers on AO3 and Tumblr, I take it you're at a point where you feel comfortable sharing your writing online, which is amazing. Nevertheless, I feel the need to once again mention (just for anyone who may be in the same or a similar situation) that it's completely alright not to be comfortable with it (yet) or not to share everything you write. I share almost everything simply because I'm annoying and it makes me feel accomplished and since I've grown pretty comfortable with it, I might as well; but not everyone feels that way and feelings also change. It's completely alright to write just for yourself or a small circle of friends.

Don't worry too much about "being good".

I will be the first to admit that I deeply relate to struggling with perfectionism when it comes to writing (and other creative pursuits). However, as someone who's been reading fic for many years, tends to be into quite niche and obscure things sometimes and is rarely spoiled by big fandoms' abundance of food, I want all writers, especially new ones, to know that you don't have to write the most amazing, perfect, publishing-ready pieces. What matters is your passion and creativity, which will show in your writing regardless of skill level. Not to mention that fic is free and in fact a tool for many to experiment.

That's not to say you can't strive to improve or be good - by all means, I find it admirable if you want to hone your craft and make progress as you continue to write. Just don't let perfectionism ruin your fun and stifle your creativity.

How to get better without trying overly hard.

Aside from just writing, writing and writing (that is the most important part though), how do you improve without making it a point to do so? Well, if it works for you to read/watch guides or you enjoy specific writing exercises, that's great, but one thing that I find gets overlooked a lot in writing spaces is simply: Reading. Just reading for fun.

I find that I often discover little things in other people's writing that I really like and then I think to myself "wow, that's really neat how they did that, maybe I could take a page out of their book" (pun intended) and make it a point to pay attention to these things when I write. Essentially, it's like creating a nice patchwork blanket which is your style, made up of your own voice and preferences as a writer and cool stuff you picked up on the road.

Let me just name some examples, which, yes, are also an excuse to shamelessly blow some writer friends of mine a well-deserved kiss of appreciation. @sauron-kraut writes incredibly polished short stories with beautiful wording and atmosphere that have a lot of little hidden things to discover and dissect, and I want to steal her ability to set the stage and hide those easter eggs. @a-world-of-whimsy-5 is an absolute legend when it comes to writing medieval and medieval-adjacent stuff, and I learned so much from her fics. @i-did-not-mean-to has a way of writing with such esprit and wit that I always end up in a good mood after, a style of narrative voice I've adored for over a decade, and I've greatly improved my humorous writing in particular thanks to her. @crackinthecup has the marvelous ability to craft extremely emotionally evocative scenes, which have encouraged me to be more courageous and experimental in my sentence melody and structure. @tragedybunny has a way of writing that reminds me of coming home to a warm and comfy place, and I will find out how she did it and how I can do it as well.

So as you can see, it can be super helpful to compare notes with your fellow writers. Never be discouraged by someone else's ability; instead learn and expand your own.

Feedback, criticism and community.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: You don't have to take criticism from everyone. Or at all. As far as I understand, the fanfic community has come to to agree that we're doing this for fun and don't give criticism unprompted/when we aren't sure it's wanted or welcome. As a general rule: Take criticism from those you would also seek advice from. Ask for feedback if you feel comfortable, and if not, that's a valid boundary to have and I will gently smack anyone who presumes to pick apart writing that was made for fun and generously shared with the community for free.

The community aspect, however, should be taken into account on other fronts. While I won't tell anyone they have to interact and believe that, in an ideal world, everyone's writing would just speak for itself, it is helpful to engage with the community. Things you can do (both on Tumblr and AO3 if also applicable/possible) include: Respond to people interacting with your works, interacting with other people's works (for example while you're doing your reading sessions and looking at other writers' styles) and just overall being present, being talkative, going with the flow.

Again, this is not a must. But I will say that pretty much all of us want positive responses and interactions on their work and that just won't work if you expect everyone to show up for you all the time and never show up for anyone else. Engagement, passion and community are our "currency" in the absence of money and reciprocity is an important element of that. A lot of friction and complaints in the fanfic community regarding lack of interaction or entitlement are rooted in misunderstandings of this fundamental principle.

But don't take this in a cynical manner. Seek out what you enjoy, share the joy and passion and you'll make friends just accidentally - which is the part that I find makes fandom on AO3 and Tumblr so much fun! (I don't even want to be a "traditional" author anymore, I want this instead😁)

Find your groove and groove along.

Lastly, make sure your writing is fun for you or else it'll become a chore and eventually get ruined for you as a hobby. This is unfortunately a continuous task as your needs and interests shift - for example you might be in the mood to do an entire drabble challenge one month and during another month you feel so drained that you couldn't do another one. Or you might want to write something different for a change. Or whatever it may be.

Either way, one recent lesson I've learned is that I got too tied up in obligations and it left no space for spontaneous inspiration, so I never got to write what I wanted to write in the moment and it pushed me quite close to burnout. Do yourself a favor and always hold that space for yourself. In practice, this could for example mean that you do one event and on the side write this cool new idea you had, instead of doing three events - which is fun and games until it starts getting too much and you don't have time for your passion projects.

Finding your groove also includes the whole technical aspect, such as which writing programs you use, which device (or none at all), where you write, how to make yourself comfortable, how to get in the right headspace for things. I would also like to encourage all of you to be a bit crazy and whimsical about this: For example I've gone to the perfume store, picked out a scent for a specific character in a specific scene and sniffed it while writing the description several times now. Do what it takes. And say goodbye to your squeaky clean search history - you will research some weird stuff just to get that one line right.

So yeah, these are just my random thoughts on fic writing and what has been helpful in order for me to have lots of fun with this hobby. Happy writing!

[bitsbug]

good evening rainworld community. look at my ocs NOW

YOU CAN ASK THEM QUESTIONS BTW. please do I’ve been marinating them for months. finely cured.

multiple paragraphs introducing each under the cut !

Curtains Drawn Over Bone - he/him

The first of my iterators, and frankly the most developed. Curtains is incredibly young for an iterator, made at the tail end of the last generation, and was subject to some.. negligent planning during his construction. He was placed in an area of dubious rain quality and worse ground stability; the conditions were considered acceptable back then, but millions of cycles later that's no longer the case.

 Despite this glaring issue, he's been handling it better than you'd expect. Having recognized the long-term affects of his placement early on, Curtains took an interest in maintenance and optimization in order to survive, completely disregarding the Great Problem. He's broken some taboos in the process, and surprisingly didn't contract rot while doing it. His efforts have paid off with a suite of purposed organisms and a significantly more advanced, upgraded facility.

 Some things would be impossible to address, though. Despite his best efforts, erosion and earthquakes now threaten to topple his can; something he's scrambling to fix.

 Curtains is generally regarded as a finicky, flighty person by his group. He's a recluse and a workaholic, driven by some desperate ferver to avoid the worst. When he does appear in chatrooms, he seems constantly wound up, often vanishing as quickly as he arrives. He was like this long before his current situation. But do not mistake his nervousness for ineptitude, because Curtains is very meticulous and dedicated in his endeavors, backed by his thorough understanding of iterator anatomy and a genuine passion for his work.

Twenty Taken in Vain - they/them

The only iterator in this damn group who isn't a social recluse. Built in the golden age of the Ancients, a time of prosperity and uneventfulness, TTiv found their place in the bustling global communities of their kin. They're of the belief that research is best done collaboratively, and constructed their workflow around this frame.

But, really, they never much cared for that work or their purpose. Devoting themself to tireless research for something likely impossible just wasn't a good use of time, nor did they find the process very interesting, so they sought to fulfill their life in less desolate ways. As much as a sentient, static building is able to, at least.

In particular, Twenty Taken in Vain pursues a variety of art forms! There's a critical lack of artwork made with iterators in mind (While interesting to discuss, most Ancient books can be read in less than a second for example), so they seek to fill that gap. Their main passion is literature, but they do dabble in many other subjects, such as digital painting, textile weaving, 'false memory' qualia fabrication, and DMing a tabletop roleplaying game for their local group.

Their social proclivities haven't served them well in recent years, because the global communications decay has left them more isolated than ever before. Losing contact with multiple close friends has drained them of motivation, and made them fearful of losing those they do have left. Imagine like, depression but on a supercomputer scale.

In personality, TTiv is as chatty as you'd expect of them, but without the energy associated with extroversion. Their charisma is carried in their nonchalance and humor, with an undertone of snarkiness - only occasionally with any bite to it. They're adaptable as well, without a fixation on one subject and a willingness to introspect. Since the comm failure, they've become a lot quieter and more irritable, stress they've barely kept under wraps.

Anxiety Practice - it/xe

Polite and inoffensive, AP is an easily overlooked iterator. It appears frequently in chatrooms, but always in the shadow of its kin, and rarely draws attention to itself. Despite this demeanor, xe certainly aren't shy or nervous - that's already taken by Curtains - xe just prefer xer distance and privacy.

 As it currently stands, Anxiety is the only member of its group actively working on the Great Problem. It prefers exploring more unorthodox theories for ascension, with a fixation on Karma flowers and their properties. As part of its experiments, its created a few.. curious organisms hybridized with the flower. It also collaborates closely with Distant Humming for information on the grander Cycle and general advice. Thus far, it's made a few fascinating discoveries, but predictibly no breakthroughs on the Triple Affirmative. Oh also, sometimes xe put karma-affecting drug cocktails into xer water intake. normal iterator behavior i promise.

 Even at xer most comfortable and nonchalant, AP keeps an aloof, almost stoic nature. Chronically icy cool, xe seem incapable of expressing anything besides calm indifference. This isn't true, of course, xer composure is just nothing to scoff at. It even uses its reputation for comedy at times, usually through deadpan delivery or 'breaking character'.

Distant Humming - she/Her

An anomaly in existence, the first iterator to almost reach ascension. Distant Humming became an echo by her own hand, using heavy adjustments to her retaining wall and filter pumps to essentially bathe her facility in void fluid, solving the issue of her kinds' distributed conscience by just addressing all of it. at once.

 Her subsequent failed ascension left her systems broken and mutated in impossible ways, but she functions nonetheless in her ethereal, undying state. The warping irreparably affected her memory and personality though; she considers herself a different person from the Humming before.

 Despite her uncanny nature and haunting appearance, Distant Humming is a surprisingly amiable person, if vague or foreboding at times. Her detached state of existence allows her the breathing room to appreciate the world for what it is, and insight into the Cycle that'd be impossible to gain from within it. She's happy to share her observations with anyone who'd listen.

 About once a year, Humming's karmic cycle aligns with that of her local group, affording her a limited time to speak with them. She appears totally non-existent outside this period.

THAT’S ALL BYEEE

[throwaway-yandere]

𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑵𝒖𝒐𝒗𝒐 (Yandere!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: I love Dainsleif with every fiber of my being, do you guys know that? Anyways, just like all Dain-fics, this one has illustrations (I hope they give Fairytale book vibes). I’d like to thank @meimeimeirin cuz this was an idea we were laughing abt at 4am and somehow I made something out of it HAHA.

Unreliable Synopsis: “Fairytale worlds follow fairytale laws. There’s always a protagonist burdened with impossible tasks who will experience the rule of three, witness transformations, find talking animals, and learn the power of kept promises. So, before you embark on your journey, "princess" (Y/n), have you heard of the Ugly Duckling’s tale?” 

CW: light yandere themes, fairytale!au just for the hell of it. HURT/NO COMFORT. Late/Advanced happy birthday, Dainsleif.

"The destined knight is late," the great dragon clicked his tongue. One would expect that an inferior creature such as an ugly duckling would quake and shrink while perched on the Dragon King's hand. But their expression was nothing short of serene. There is a veneer of calm that the great Dragon Ongri did not overlook. 

The "duckling" had the eyes of an old gentleman with worldly disinterests. 

He was longing for death.

𝕺nce upon a time, there was an ugly duckling who was abandoned by both their siblings and mother. Oftentimes, he was pecked by his peers, sneered into thinking his big head and scarred face. were both a reason for his survival and misery all the same. The ugly duckling thought himself unloveable no matter where he went. The small waters he was born in had no room for miscreation, and when he traveled to an elderly's house elsewhere, the chickens thought him useless and undesirable. Normally, the story would've been a happier bedtime story if he had gone to meet the Royal birds and begged for them to end his life. Maybe then, he would've realized that he had not been a duck but a swan all along. But alas, our poor ugly "duckling" found his feet at the hands of the great Dragon King- Ongri's mercy.

"Will you kill me?" The ugly duckling asked calmly. "You need to release your anger, and I can be but one of many casualties."

"I am not a creature of impulse."

The divine dragon scowled. "After Bars' and Fein' deaths, the concept that this realm dubs as Time and Moments is now under my jurisdiction. I've no use for wasted breaths."

As it happens, the dragon was in a troubling situation. There is an immediate need for a substitute. Sensing the urgency of fate's call, Ongri unleashed an ancient incantation. Feathers singed into flesh, wings clipped into arms, and in a burst of radiant light, the "ugly duckling" was reborn as a human knight. His body had scar-like spots from the Divine Dragon infusing him with magic, albeit the metamorphosis was far from flawless. Even as a human, he was imperfect. Mysterious dark blue "burn lines" traced his neck and arms. With the new human's eyes still closed, the dragon spoke to him, the last for a long time: "Forget your past and this whole affair." He commanded. "Go, find and protect your princess."

It mattered not if this was the last breath Ongri would tell him, besides…

When a god applies a curse, it takes effect at a higher level of reality than the person themselves.

“(Y/n)…”

“It’s me, Dainsleif… Can you… still remember my voice?”

“…”

“I… understand that once a person reaches this stage of the curse, their senses get muted. The remnants of those who once dwelled here must have been the catalyst of your ailments worsening..”

“… I’m sorry. I am incredibly sorry that I found you at such a later time. It did not occur to me that you would be here in the Chasm.”

“In our next fairy tale, I’ll—”

“No… I cannot subject you to any more empty promises… But know this:”

“I will keep you safe from now on.”

“So, do not leave my side ever again.”

And the new knight opened his eyes.

Memories of the dragon vanished from his mind. He was now a being of larger flesh and bones without recollections of his past. Should another human take his shoes, they would know that it was a fresh awakening. His first breath tasted like rich champagnes. Golden. Even the sun shone in such resplendent light that made the world seemingly revolve around him.

His legs wobbled. Sliding onto the grassy area, he caught a sight of his hair. Blonde. Like hay— they were golden threads silkily strewn about. He soon noticed that the rest of his complexion was a light pinkish-hued color, as did the hands that prevented his head from taking a serious fall.

The reborn “ugly duckling” may have forgotten why, but he felt alienated from his own body. And he has the Divine Dragon to thank for his new vessel and plain armor.

“Help! Someone, HELP!!!”

His ears perked up. It was a scream with a fervor of a “damsel in distress”. Vent clamor as she may with her whole throat, nothing would come out of it.

But fate will not allow this untimely demise. Quick on his new feet, the new knight dashed towards the sound. No cavalry— just a single determined mind. After running for some time, the unnamed knight did not come across any souls. 

That is, until he found the young maiden he was “fated” to save. She was on the ground, clinging into her wrist as though she burned her hand. In the ground laid an iron sword, begging to be drawn.

At the sight of the wild animal bearing down on her with frightening speed, the “knight” took her weapon and charged towards the scene, raising it in front of the menacing beast. He gazed at the bear that towered over him, displaying its slobbery maw and long, pointed claws. The untamed creature snarled and dropped to strike. 

Perhaps the Divine Dragon saw his noble pursuits, perhaps he was naturally gifted in combat, but the bear was unable to rake the man’s body. Miraculous it was that not a single nasty laceration was left on his person. He lacked the strength to take it down in one fell swoop, but the speed he had made up for it. Like swans that swerved through the wind and flow of water, he dodged all its attacks. With a few strikes from his blade, the bear falls...

He breathed out, shaking in his boots though he tried not to show it. Straightening his body, he met the maiden’s gaze. His blue eyes met hers in a piercing gaze, nearly taunting her as his new opponent. The young lady exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

“T-Thank… you…”

Subconsciously, he circled the shoulder that recklessly swung the sword around. The new “knight” tilted his head. For what? He wished to ask, but words did not come out.

“For saving me, of course.”

The maiden gracefully stood. Her garments had lost some of their value due to the soil and dirt, but she herself was not affected in the same way. She exuded a fierceness that suggested anyone who ventured to hurt her would be receiving more than they bargained for. Instead of tucking her hair to the back, she pulled them forward, hiding her ears.

“Do allow me to introduce myself, kind knight.” She cleared her throat softly. “You may call me Princess (F/n), daughter of King Regan and current crown princess— heir to the throne upon the late Prince Pierre’s demise. May I know your name?”

…

… Silence…

The princess tilted her head. 

"... Does my savior have a name?"

"... Name?"

The young man paused.

He couldn't remember his name. In actuality, he had absolutely no memory of anything. His mind was a bottomless pit with little to no air. With wide eyes, his hand moved slowly to around his neck. The act of conjuring up his supposed name left him terrified for reasons unbeknownst to him.

Does he… not have a name?

“... You must be joking.” The princess deadpanned. “How can one not have a name? Were you not baptized under the Divine Dragon’s light?”

She sounded incredibly upset by this fact. Whatever she ranted on about, it must be a human tradition. 

“Do you not know how important names are—” The princess sighed, “Never mind. I shall assume you are one of those orphaned folks. Besides, if what you say is true, bestowing you a new name is a power much more potent.”

“I… want a name.” The man spoke up rather shyly, voice almost inaudbile.

"I know, I know… Huh, I usually take names rather than gifting them," the princess chuckled. She seemed wholly aware of his dilemma. "Hmm… Let me see…"

She examined his features closely. He was dressed in the traditional knightly fashion, albeit slightly altered. The holy kingdom's knights, of course, never donned masks—especially not half of one. He was strange, but there was an innocent genuineness about him. The blonde man doesn't have a polished appearance. He looked like a lost duckling.

It was rude to stare at the peculiar blue wounds on his face far too long so the princess’ eyes trailed above his hair.

"Leaf…" She pointed upward. "Leaf."

The knight blinked.

What a peculiar sounding name.

"Understood." He nodded and bowed politely. "I shall now be referred to as Leaf."

"No, I meant—" The princess cut herself off and chuckled. "Oh, well. I meant the leaf on one's head. But certainly the name Leaf does suit you fine."

“Do place your iron sword away, Leaf.” She added, cringing. “It is unbecoming of a knight to point a sword to their princess.”

“May… May I ask as to why you were attacked by a bear?”

“Quite bold of you to inquire a royal about a recent assassination attempt,” she humored him with a smile. He safely assumed she would not enact punishment for his assertiveness. “If you must satiate your curiosity, it is exactly that. An assassination attempt. They believed since my brother had fallen so easily, I myself must be an easy game since I adore wandering around the forest.”

“And they seem to be right,” Leaf muttered, wittily referring to the incident prior that arranged this fated meeting.

“Oh?” She scoffed, her polite smile remaining intact. “You’ve quite the tongue. Are you from the valleys?”

“I do not know.”

She squinted.

“Hmm, I see.” The princess exhaled and shook her head disapprovingly. “Then I am to presume that I should also use my wits to cleverly weave a background for you much like your name, Leaf?”

“You wish for me to serve you, that I can tell, and for that to happen I would need your equal assistance,” Leaf spoke solemnly. “I do not recall anything of my past, but you can always make one for me.”

Leaf knelt in front of her. Silence ensued.

“You are deadly calm for a man who wished his history be erased…” The princess muttered.

Leaf was a strange man indeed. He was perceptive, yet he spoke like fate’s pawn. That is to say, the princess noticed he only ever says the truth. His countenance conveyed little desire to adopt rebellious ideologies. To be honest, there was nothing in those contrivedly starry eyes. It was bare. A false sky. 

It almost made the princess worry for his lack of self-preservation had she not been the same. Lies were always at her hands’ disposal, and she greatly hoped it was not what her heart would contain in her last pages. She didn’t wish for a life of deceit. The princess's survival solely comes from her ability to “doublespeak”.

“I see your promise. You are made of self-mettle. Although your blunt tongue may mar your fortunes sooner before you could gaze upon His Majesty, I wish to prescribe you with new duties.”

She took a deep breath.

“This directive shall not be withdrawn in the name of the Divine Dragon. Leaf, a young knight from the Valley of Gaciea who will shortly be appointed retainer to the Royal Highness, Princess (F/n), kneels before me. Until the end of time, he shall be my sword, and I will be his master. Will you keep your word and uphold the oath— the promise?”

“I will.”

Not a moment did he hesitate. Not for a second did he think there was more to life than this. It was nearly bitter. His life sounded so simple to her tongue.

But it was a contract nonetheless. 

A promise that must be fulfilled.

“I find myself stirred in restless days without you my by side. You haunted me so diligently this past 500 or so years.”

“Humor me, won’t you… my b-beloved?”

“Why have you hid away from me? Why did I have to find you in this state? Furred and mute. Didn’t you take a breath to think about how much your pain would mean a greater weight for me? Have you not a second thought about how much it pains me to see you like this— bearing the fangs of the abyss and the claws of the cursed…?”

“The only sigh of relief I can release is that at least in this new sky, Ongri— no, he calls himself Zhongli these days— would get between us no more.”

“This new fairy tale… For how long do you expect me to keep this promise, (Y/n)? How many more stories must we get through for us to reach a happy ending?”

“Please… I’m begging you… Say something!!!”

“…”

“… Speak… Please… Anything…”

“Tell me about our past rendezvous. Seduce me with your musings. Anything… can't you try, just for this special day?”

“Please… don’t turn your mask away from me…”

“Do you find time to flow as quick as the waters by the stream? I am inclined to believe this sentiment. I find it astonishing that we’ve spent eleven or so moonshines joined at a hip. Time ages us but we are none the wiser.”

Leaf grunted, heaving Princess (F/n)’s inventory as she spoke. He didn’t seem distressed by the weight and his princess appeared not at all troubled as well. At least, that what it seemed on the surface. Royals must make their superiority known. Leaf knew (F/n) wanted to also carry some of the bags, but he refused.

There were several notions Leaf refused that noon. When (F/n) entertained the thought of going out as herself and by herself, he disapproved with haste. Leaf had to know where she’s going, who she was going with, what she’s going to wear— just about everything. His voice alone overwhelmed the princess enough that you’d mistake him for the king. The knight practically ordered what she would wear and what route she’d have to take if she wished to see the ongoing festival. 

Being herself was a safety hazard and being alone by herself was a death wish.

To his eyes, at least. He had always been a twinge too overprotective.

It was a hectic morning with a picture-perfect, almost cliche scene of bustling streets and frolicking kids on a medieval setting. While children would swerve around adults' legs to avoid getting tagged, adults walked slowly to hear each gossip. One kid had nearly hit the princess herself, but Leaf would not allow it.

Leaf pulled (F/n) away by putting an arm over her waist. The smell of her sweet perfume surprised him. Her smell reminded him of the forest. For the knight who professed to guard her innocence, her warm body lightly pressed against his was a fleeting but almost immoral moment. He set her down slowly, gasping quietly. The princess chose not to draw attention to the troubled expression on her most reliable retainer.

It was better not to acknowledge his growing romantic interests.

To her, he is only a sword.

Even if he is a friend, at the end of the day, he’s only a weapon to be used.

The princess quickly pulled the cape down further to hide her face— mostly her ears. For reasons unknown to him, she seemed to find that part of herself worthy of great insecurity.

He cleared his throat, face dusted in a pink hue.

“You say that time affects you, but you haven’t aged a day.”

The princess laughed.

“Finally, a compliment from a man as stoic as you? Oh, what a day to rejoice!”

Leaf shook his head with a small smile.

“I had given you one on several occasions.”

“That may be true, but random bouts of flattery from you are scarce.” The princess hummed. “I vaguely recall how getting anything out of you was like trying to get a frozen little duckling to quack. Who am I? Your mother duck?”

The smirk on his face was quick, but (F/n) definitely saw it.

Several staff once questioned Leaf’s ability to speak. Many, including (F/n)’s father, were convinced he was mute. Everyone in the castle knew of the princess’s peculiar tastes and thought Leaf’s recruitment was a mere byproduct. His masked appearance and strange scars added more fuel to those rumors. When Leaf defended (F/n) from another assassination attempt in front of the king and inquired about her condition, King Regan nearly toppled from where he stood. 

After being bombarded with questions, Leaf merely said he refrained from speaking since he saw no use if he wasn't talking to the princess herself. (F/n) still finds it absurd that she has to give orders for him to talk to other people.

For Leaf, it was simple: he just didn’t see the point of forming other interpersonal relationships.

(F/n) was the only one that mattered in his eyes.

Only her.

Only she is worthy to serve and protect.

“You truly are like a little duckling following his mother’s tail,” Princess (F/n) sighed. “But you have vastly improved in our time together. That, I can commend.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Leaf laughed softly, mocking her tone in his signature subtle way. “Oh, what a day to rejoice.”

She playfully gave him an elbow nudge. “Do not copy me, Leaf.”

“My apologies.”

Princess (F/n) was meandering around because the harvest festival was drawing closer. With her own eyes, the princess intended to see how her people were faring. Rarely did she change into a more "common" outfit and styled her hair with simplicity. Though, if you were to ask Leaf, seeing her in her most simple clothes made her far more youthful than the garbs and crown that wrinkles her smile to a frown.

“Madame, would you be interested in buying your lover here a brooch?”

Both of them stilled as a merchant called out. The undercover royal pointed to herself.

“Yes, yes, of course I’m talking to you, gorgeous!” The merchant grinned. He had silver hair that slightly covered one of his blue eyes. “Do you want matching rings instead? We’re selling for fifty percent off!”

Leaf’s gaze was stern. Despite his reservations, he knew the merchant as Alfstan, another young knight who hailed from a family of vendors. Two moonshines ago, Leaf was (forcefully) placed on training duty and had the fortune of mentoring this aspiring knight. 

Mind you— nothing was particularly dubious of his wares. Leaf just simply despised having another man brazenly take your attention away. He did not find their previous exchanges pleasant. Not when Alfstan often joked about replacing his position one day.

What hubris.

While he busied himself glaring at the poor man, the princess awkwardly laughed and dismissively waved a hand. “Oh, no, he and I— we are not—”

“Haha, I know, I was just pulling your leg, Your Highness.” Alfstan grinned, giving Leaf a quick nod. “Morning, Sir Leaf! Were you showing the princess around?”

“Shhh! Be quiet!” (F/n)'s eyes widened.

He protectively wrapped an arm around (F/n) again, this time far more confidently. 

“Yes.” Leaf spoke, voice as solid as his resolve.

“Mind if I tag along?”

His stare sharpened. “I would very much mind, now return to your stall.”

The princess shook her head, poorly judging her retainer’s possessive words as acts of protection. Instead, she dwelled on their attire. “Drats, was our disguise that fragile?”

Alfstan assessed her from top to bottom, which made Leaf even more tense. “Eh, you’re really gorgeous that no cloak can hide your beauty, Your Highness.”

“I have to agree,” Leaf said stiffly, clearing his throat. “Perhaps I should hide her in a hay sack. WIthout your prying eyes.”

(F/n) raised an eyebrow. “And what? And be suspected of kidnapping me instead?” 

Leaf shrugged. “Does that sound like an offense I would commit?”

Alfstan rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously. Besides, the only way you wouldn’t get caught is if you hid her in something as small as a teapot.”

And he would be right. But it will take eons to prove those suspicions as truth.

“Going back to your wares, Sir Alfstan,” (F/n) digressed. “These iron-framed tassels, are they made by your hand?”

Alfstan's respect for the princess grew.

“Yes, how did you come up with that conclusion? Most passersby believed I had ‘em commissioned from the East.”

(F/n) smiled crookedly. Leaf caught a glimpse of discomfort, but it was gone in a bat of an eye.

“I… I admire your skill with molding iron.” To the untrained ear, (F/n) sounded flustered and embarrassed. To Leaf, he was certain that she was unsure of herself. “It is commendable, how you smith your very own weapons, that is. I know many of our soldiers come to you when their blades are chipped.”

“You’ve heard of my skills?!” Alfstan beamed proudly. “Really?!”

The princess nodded. “Y-Yes…”

It was odd. Despite her high praise, her wariness remained. She looked at the blonde man. “He had also made your new Ulfberht sword too, right? It certainly pierces much better than his old one.”

Leaf didn’t bother with a reply, Alfstan made it for him.

“Yes, Your Highness. I thought it would make for a thoughtful birthday present!”

“Speaking of presents…” The princess gazed down, analyzing the items he sold once more. “What do you recommend as a gift for someone important?”

If Alfstan was elated by her earlier compliments, he could practically jump over the moon at her newest proposition.

“Oh? OH?!?”

Leaf gave (F/n) a strict yet gentle glare.

“Your Highness…”

“I still won’t let it slide!” (F/n) huffed. “I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with just new sets of armor. Alfstan, by my order, suggest a pleasant gift for the stubborn knight beside me.”

“On it!”

Without delay, the two bent down to select the ideal accessory for the man who vehemently refused. Alfstan was the only one touching the gems and (F/n) refrained from doing so. Tiny flecks of gold and iron infused the tassels, but she feared she would handle the stones carelessly.

Leaf palmed his face with one hand as the two chattered. Still, despite Leaf’s disapproving looks, he finds (F/n)’s enthusiasm to make him happy a wonderful notion in itself. To think that (F/n) would continue to insist on a present for a birthday that had since passed… She was more stubborn than he was.

“So troublesome…” He muttered with a soft smile. “I see no point in this, Princess (F/n). Serving you is a miracle enough itself—”

“Halt! Speak no more, Sir Leaf!” (F/n) exclaimed. “There! That one, Alfstan— that gem resembles his eyes, does it not?!”

“You have great tastes, Princess (F/n)!” Alfstan nodded eagerly like a motivated student. “That does look like his shade of blue— and so quick to find it among the pile, too! Are you sure you’re not some sort of custodian of natural treasures?”

Princess (F/n)’s awkward and stifled laughter can be heard again.

“What? Haha, what nonsense.” She shook her head. “Everyone calls me Princess (F/n), any other name would surely sound terrifying and mismatched.”

A nonanswer, but that made the conversation more humorous.

“Here you go!”

Alfstan reached his hand out with the tassel. (F/n) stared at him, silent and unsure. He blinked and snapped his fingers.

“Oh, right, you need a box— my deepest apologies, I was too caught up in the moment!”

The princess sighed in relief.

Leaf crossed his arms. “You’re doing well for your first time setting up a stall, Alfstan.”

“This isn’t my first and you know it, Sir!”

(F/n) laughed.

The merchant wrapped the gift she brought with care. The hush looms large around them as the merchant boastfully goes about his business, his tone comforting to her ears. The Princess walks over to the gift box once the merchant has finished. She can't help but smile because she can feel the tassel inside.

“Not exactly a surprise since Sir Leaf is here, but the packaging adds some charm, right?” Alfstan asked.

The princess couldn’t hold back a smile as she looked at the knight behind her.

“I think most of the charm comes from the person who’ll receive it,” (F/n) chuckled.

“Don’t you think so, Leaf?”

She wouldn’t know. And she’d never know a lot of things.

She never got the chance to ask her most precious knight if he liked that gift.

And she never will. No matter how many days, months, years, centuries— eons Leaf would wait, he would never hear the princess ask that same question again after this.

It would not matter if he was a judge, a prince, a knight, or a mere animal— it did not matter how many sweet new styles he would take. In the end, his arms will always be empty. Everything was pre-ordained. Dying in his arms, whether it’s slow and painful or mercilessly quick— will remain as the last line. He will always hold on to your corpse, warmth draining. 

This was your fate, (F/n)— no, (Y/n) (L/n).

This was just the first of many branches of the Irminsul. The first of its many reiterations, possibilities, or better yet, alternate tales or "universal resets". 

Princess "(F/n)" coughed, wetting the side of her lips.

"I haven't been able to p-personally attach that tassel on your s-sword, b-but… but I can spare you enough seconds to fly away…"

"Don't make haste!" Leaf gritted his teeth as he applied some pressure down her stomach. "This is not your decision to make!"

She didn't reply to his desperation, but she silently disagreed.

In her palm was the tassel, out of its box. The blue threads darkened with the taints of her blood. The metallic scent was nauseating. It weaved in a disorganized fashion around her fingers. 

What a beautiful and tragic loom of fate, to love someone you were bound to hold with ruin. 

It would’ve hurt less if it weren’t in his colors too.

"This marks the worst day of my life," the “princess” smiled, tucking the stray hair behind Leaf's face. "And even if given the opportunity, I wouldn't dare c-change not even a minute detail about it."

As if she— as if you— have the power to change destiny.

You're not a descender.

You're just a pawn.

That's when Leaf realized how fragile life ultimately was. With the curse undoing itself, he recalled and reflected on his animal days. He understood the Divine Dragon's intense frustration over a lowly duckling's will to perish. The curse of becoming human meant knowing the greed men had, but also the beauty of their kindness. 

His small bird heart was not meant for this much sorrow. His life was meant to be simple. To learn that he was not a duck, but a swan. 

How was he supposed to cope that the woman he had sworn to protect was not human, but a fae?

Everyone in the kingdom knew that the king would sooner disclaim his paternity than allow the crown princess (F/n) to truly lead— but they never had any real reason to support the king for this. The princess’s words were always more kind and ponderous than that of her supposed father’s. They thought him mad. They thought him deplorable. They thought him old and senile.

But he would not be king if he were not sharp.

Why, oh why, would the princess make great efforts to constantly hide her ears? Why would the princess utter roundabout ways in speaking her “own” name? Most of all, why would the princess fear the touch of iron?

There was a simple answer: she was not the princess, but a liar.

And yet, Leaf was the sole person who did not care, for he thought himself as the worst sinner or “quack” in comparison.

The kingdom won't learn the full truth for some time after this, but the fae made a bargain with the real princess. The real princess would elope with a farm boy and, in return, the fae would take her name. The trade was not malevolent. The two women were secret friends since childhood and neither wished the other harm.

But the townsfolks had little patience. They would sooner throw pebbles and stones than kneel for a false princess.

The moral of the story, like most Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales, was simple: virtue will be rewarded, iniquity will be punished. The storytellers do not care beyond that, no matter how dark it sounds to the children who will hear it. The fae lied, therefore the kingdom shall rightfully punish her.

They better thank the dragon they oh-so admire that the court fae did not think themselves evil. They better sleep soundly, knowing that they have slaughtered a well-intentioned guardian.

For he will not and never will.

Not even with a change of title, name, and universe. Whether the land he walked on was called Gaciea, Fodlan, Belobog, the Continental, or Teyvat— what the world steals from him, he promised to take back.

There the two were, back to where it started. The same forest and patch of land where the bear had attacked her. Fate had a funny way of telling tales. Leaf can only scoff at how unimaginative it could be, sometimes. 

Why couldn’t fate think of more comfortable deathbeds for the one he loved?

"You cannot allow this! I cannot allow this!" The knight gritted his teeth. "You will not die— you cannot die. You and I have a promise… You cannot break that one promise!!!”

“(F/n)” grinned.

The look in her eyes disturbed him.

She knew. It is finished. She knew that it was the last page of the book. Just living in these immortalized pages for the fae was well worth the want she had wanted.

“Consummatum est.”

Consummatum est…. 

Leaf gasped shakily.

“Did my life… even have meaning to you as well?”

Her expression was enough to tell him the words “who knows?” She surely did not. Her mind was buzzing and her thoughts were fizzling out. No one knows anymore. Maybe the Divine Dragon would but he would not accept any offering or prayers for these two heretics.

This is fine… He’ll forget his tears soon, surely…

He’s only a sword at her side… She never asked him to be anything more…

He should be okay, once she’s gone…

She grinned, lifelessly tracing her thumb across his cheeks. The curse is undone. The loom of fate was slowly disintegrating. Soon enough, he shall return to his original form. That of an animal. That of an ugly duckling. That of a swan who will forget his human memories. 

It is finished.

On the book’s final page, there is only ever a fae’s corpse and an elegant bird watching over them. With its wings clipped back, curiously watching the light leave their eyes, he will return to the nearby riverbanks and forget what had happened. As retribution for stealing another’s identity, there will be no one left to remember who she truly was.

And that was all there was to it.

With the fae banished, the Kingdom of Gaciea lived happily ever after. THE END.

Dainsleif closed the book and lovingly looked at the “person” beside him in bed. He stroked the “person”’s light brown hair— its color reminiscent of the bear he had slain in his first life.  It’s a shame he had to reunite with you in this condition. But it’s not like he would stop loving you. He doesn’t care if you’re a fae, a sinner—

Or a hilichurl.

He scooted closer beside you.

"So, does the story ring any bells, my beloved?"

Zhongli, upon recalling what happened and the curse he had inflicted on both of you to fulfill some children’s fairy tale, sought the “ugly duckling” and the “false princess”. Retired as he is, he cannot undo the fate you must play nor terminate his contract with Celestia. For consolation, he merely offered the Khaenri’ahn a teapot. Unlike the Chasm, the teapot was forever peaceful and serene. The brightness of lumenstone ores was not as comforting as the adeptal light that peeks through the drapes. This is your current place of residence. Whether you liked it or not.

"To think Nicole would entail the story of our past life." He laughed softly. "And these names... Hah... Are those the best she could conjure up to bypass possible erasure…? I suppose I should still thank her for her best efforts. I can see how challenging it would be to document our story, given how we lived through so many resets."

There’s a slice of cake paired with wooden utensils on the nightstand. If your mind had not deteriorated, you might’ve assumed they were gifts from the aforementioned Nicole and the Geo Archon. Unfortunately, forming a coherent thought required a mental fortitude akin to iron. You currently do not have such willpower. 

“Alfstan— no… Halfdan was right. There will come a time that he’d protect you from harm and not I…” Dainsleif mumbled defeatedly, his eyes burning with tears he couldn’t let out. Far too tired to dwell on it. “He must’ve forgotten his old jests in his previous life because as far as he’s concerned, he’s simply doing his duty as a Black Serpent Knight…”

He pecked your forehead, closing his eyes.

"Did you remember, my beloved? Vacation may not have any business being in my vocabulary but it is my birthday today…" Dainsleif leaned his forehead against the cold stone that covered your face. "I know you— do not feel guilty over your lack of gifts. It is not as if I bothered to count my age since the cataclysm. I didn't want to celebrate this occasion for the past five centuries. Not when you weren't at my side..."

The blonde man turned his gaze to the floor.

How many times will he have to “reincarnate” just to see a happy ending for the both of you?

"Happy birthday… to me…" He sang weakly. "Happy birthday to me…"

The man— the former sentimental judge— the former tyrant prince— the former "ugly duckling"— and now the current bough keeper, observer of fate in this new fairy tale, trembled…

“Happy birthday, happy birthday…”

… And sobbed.

You, in your ungreedy husk of a body, tilted your head in innocence. Pain coursed through every nerve now that the Abyss Order’s cleansing equipment broke. The man before you was no different from the shadows you fought and hid from that would terrorize the dark and cold places in the Chasm you’ve instinctively called home. But somewhere deep down, you carried a complex weight that hilichurls wouldn’t normally have. 

That weight was a human emotion dubbed as "pity."

You pitied the shadow that loomed and embraced you.

And your lone reluctant arm that wrapped around him was enough to make him fully break down.

His throat constricted as he cried into your inhuman shoulders. Your scent was like that of a wet duckling, and he preferred that over the blood that disgraced your form several "fairy tales" ago. Dainsleif caressed the golden band on his finger. It was the most important ring between the two that Pari Zurvan found him clutching whilst unconscious in the wilderness.

At the very least, you were safe.

And you being alive today was a good enough present for him.

You tilted your head down, feeling his warmth one last time while Dainsleif took a deep breath, singing with more air than a proper tune.

Though it was barely discernible, he could just about make out the words you muttered a phrase from the old language of Khaenri'ah. Or at least, he deluded himself that that was the case. In his catatonic mind, you spoke the words:

Happy birthday, my beloved.

"H-Happy birthday to me…"

Taglist: @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl @kitkareen @dxprived4-starboys

[swan-of-sunrise]

Let It Out, and Let It In

Summary: Spiraling under the immeasurable weight of his trauma, Steve desperately seeks out the company of his girlfriend and, after experiencing a panic attack in her presence, unexpectedly finds himself opening up to her about his mental health.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a detailed depiction of a panic attack and a frank discussion about Steve Rogers’ trauma

A/N: Hi guys! I've been an MCU/Steve Rogers fan for damn near a decade now, and it hasn't escaped my notice that Steve's trauma has a tendency of being overlooked and overshadowed. So today, we'll be getting a glimpse of his ongoing mental health struggles (I promise you it's not all angst!) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Let It Out, and Let It In September 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“Should’ve called ahead, Rogers,” Steve chastised himself under his breath as he knocked three times on (Y/N)’s front door. He shoved the hood of his sweatshirt off his head and roughly combed his fingers through his hair, the poor attempt to straighten up his appearance for his girlfriend doing very little to distract from his spiraling mental state.

Like many, Steve didn’t exactly have fond memories of high school. While everyone around him seemed to struggle a little as they transitioned from awkward adolescence to mature adulthood, he always felt as though he was one massive step behind them without any hope of catching up. One aspect of high school he did appreciate, though – apart from his friendship with Bucky and his beloved art – were his English courses; he devoured each of the novels, plays and poems that they were assigned to read and thoroughly enjoyed writing themes that analyzed their deeper meanings. One of his favorite books had been The Great Gatsby and even eighty years later, he could still recall the telling exchange that Jay Gatsby shared with Nick Carraway towards the beginning of their friendship: ‘You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me.’

The brief line of Gatsby’s dialogue managed to stick with Steve long after he’d finished reading the book, initially because he couldn’t imagine how one’s life could become so lonely but eventually, because he’d come to understand Gatsby’s words all too well; he suffered the loss of his mother and Bucky, went into the ice in 1945 and woke up to find that nearly seventy years had passed him by, grappled with the losses of all his fellow Howling Commandos and helplessly watched as the last personified tie to his past slowly succumbed to dementia. Like Gatsby, Steve preferred the company of strangers; they made it easier for him to ignore the crippling loneliness because they never bothered to try and get to know the traumatized twenty-seven-year-old man behind the red, white and blue shield.

Things began to change for him not long after the Battle of New York. He befriended Natasha, one of his fellow Avengers, and she tried her best to acclimate him to his new life; maybe it was a result of all she’d suffered at the hands of the Red Room or because she was just incredibly adept at reading people, but Nat knew that he was struggling and in her own unique way, she did everything she could to be there for him. He met Sam and (Y/N), leaving his apartment for his usual morning run around the National Mall wearing a serious scowl but departing for his S.H.I.E.L.D. mission afterwards with a truly happy smile on his face; Sam soon became one of his best friends, the VA trauma counselor understanding his difficulties with adjusting to his new life but never treating him differently because of them, and he found himself falling in love with (Y/N), the historical-fiction novelist bursting into his life like sunshine on a cloudy day and making him feel truly seen for who he was instead of the larger-than-life mantle he carried. And with the help of (Y/N), Sam and Nat, he grew closer to his fellow Avengers, even finding himself beginning to view them as his family and accepting the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

But while Steve had slowly grown to love and appreciate his new life, there were still some days when the reality of his situation would weigh heavily on his mind and it was only a matter of time before he’d break down into a full-blown panic attack; he did his best to hide his struggles from his girlfriend and friends, not wanting to hurt their feelings or make them feel that they weren’t enough for him, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pretend that everything was all right. It was one of those awful days that saw Steve impulsively asking Nat to land the Quinjet at Joint Base Andrews on their way home from a mission in Argentina; the assassin did as he asked without question, but he could feel her concerned gaze following him as he walked down the ramp and marched across the airstrip alone. Ignoring the mounting pressure in his chest, he elected to do what he’d often do before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and take a walk through the streets of D.C., following in Jay Gatsby’s footsteps and surrounding himself with strangers to avoid addressing the memories of his old life that were clawing their way to the forefront of his mind.

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face and his hands shoved into its pockets, Steve trudged down North Capitol Street with his eyes downcast, prolonging his return to his dark and impersonal apartment and the panic attack that would inevitably follow. Dusk had already fallen and downtown, the city’s nightlife was beginning to ramp up; restaurants were packed with families visiting the historic city and cheerful groups of friends pulled one another into the bars and nightclubs, while couples walked arm-in-arm and took in the glimmering lights that illuminated the city’s imposing monuments. It wasn’t until Steve walked past a bookstore and caught sight of (Y/N)’s debut novel, For Queen and Country, proudly displayed in the window that he felt his mind beginning to clear and a small smile tug on his lips. In that instant, Steve was engulfed by an overwhelming need to see his girlfriend and he continued walking down the street at an increased pace, spurred on by the sunshine that might succeed in breaking through the bleak isolation he found himself consumed by.

Steve forced himself out of his musings just as the door swung open to reveal (Y/N); he was pleased to see that she was dressed for a comfortable night in, with a well-loved Lauryn Hill concert t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, but it was evident by the white strip adhered to her nose and the hair towel balanced on her head that he’d interrupted her evening. “Steve!” (Y/N), unaware of the guilt he was experiencing for interrupting her relaxing evening, smiled broadly and opened her door wider. “I’ve really got to stop listening to Sam; that lying Birdbrain told me you guys wouldn’t be back from Argentina until tomorrow.”

“The mission wrapped up a lot quicker than we’d initially anticipated, so Sam’s off the hook fir lying this time,” Steve replied with a small smile as he shoved his fidgeting hands into his pockets. “I, um, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call or text you before coming over, but I was on my way home and I…anyway, I can leave if I’m intruding-”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not intruding!” Standing the side, (Y/N) allowed him to step through the doorway and closed the door before turning to give him a sheepish smile. “After spending all day going over my book’s first draft with Greg, I treated myself to a bubble bath and I may or may not have fallen asleep in the tub; I woke up in lukewarm water and my fingers were all pruney, but it was a damn good nap.”

“You’ve been working hard on your novel, sunshine; if anyone deserves a little rest and relaxation, it’s you.” Steve slipped off his sneakers and neatly placed them near the entryway table, straightening and chuckling when his girlfriend launched herself into his arms and nuzzled her face against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

(Y/N) nodded and tightened her arms around his waist. “I always miss you whenever you’re away on a mission, sweetheart.”

Steve’s heart melted and before he knew it, one of his arms was holding her close while his hand was guiding her face upwards so that his lips could meet hers; their kiss was slow yet passionate, with each of them doing all they could to savor their rare moment of peace, but his initial reason for visiting the historical-fiction novelist made its presence known in his mind and saw him give her one last kiss before pulling away with a forced smile. “Me too, baby. I just…I really needed to see you.”

(Y/N)’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied him but to his surprise and overwhelming gratitude, she didn’t ask him what was wrong or if he was all right. Instead, she took both of his hands in hers and playfully swung their arms while giving him a coy smile. “I was about to try my luck at cooking dinner and since my culinary skills aren’t exactly up to par, I could really use the assistance of a big, strong Avenger. Do you know if any of them are brave enough to accept this dangerous mission?”

“I think I’m up for the challenge, ma’am,” Steve impishly replied and his overstated authoritative tone made (Y/N) giggle as she led him into the kitchen to prepare dinner. “Can I, um, ask what’s on your nose?”

“Oh, it’s for unclogging oil and dead skin cells from pores! It’s a little gross to remove but at the same time, kind of satisfying. Did you want to try one out for yourself?”

“…Sure, why not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While helping his girlfriend cook dinner wasn’t quite as dangerous of a task as she’d made it out to be, Steve certainly had his hands full with making sure she didn’t over-season or burn anything in her eagerness to prove her minimal culinary skills; most importantly, however, cooking alongside (Y/N) helped to take his mind off the incapacitating loneliness that drove him to her doorstep in the first place. They sat at the dining room table to enjoy their chicken parmigiana with angel hair pasta and broccoli and (Y/N) even brought out a pricier bottle of red wine to enjoy with their food, a gift she claimed was sent by Tony and Pepper to congratulate her for winning the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. Steve listened to (Y/N) talk about the last-minute touches being placed on what would soon be her second published novel with rapt attention, voicing his amazement when she revealed which of her favorite authors would be joining her at an upcoming writing convention and chuckling as she told him about the playful argument she’d gotten into with her publisher about certain spelling choices in her draft.

After they finished their meal, they cleaned up the sizable mess they’d made in the kitchen, with Steve washing the dirty dishes and (Y/N) drying and putting them away; they fell into a comfortable silence while they worked, and he found himself focusing on her soft humming as he deliberated over whether or not to open up to her about the complex emotions he was fighting to control. He loved his girlfriend with all his heart, but it was because of his love for her that he hesitated to fully open up and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why: he was not only afraid that he’d hurt her feelings if he told her that he still struggled to acclimate to the twenty-first century, but he was also afraid that the truth would only serve to drive her away. The memory-wiping device from that Will Smith alien movie Tony made me watch could solve all of my problems in the blink of an eye, he sullenly thought with a sideways glance at a blissfully unaware (Y/N) putting away their dishes, you can’t miss something that you don’t have any memories of.

With the kitchen scrubbed clean and the comforting sound of a light rainfall outside echoing throughout the cozy home, Steve and (Y/N) took to the couch to watch some television. The historical-fiction novelist dissolved into a fit of giggles after applying a cleansing strip to Steve’s nose and he happily indulged her by posing for the selfie she all but begged for his permission to take. After she took several pictures and disposed of their cleansing strips, he pulled her into his arms and soundly kissed her, finding that the dark cloud that hung over him was slowly but surely dispersing the longer she kissed him back.

“Do you feel like watching a movie?” (Y/N) breathlessly asked after they’d finally separated for air. A knowing smile was beginning to spread across her face as she realized they’d moved positions during their impromptu make-out session; the historical-fiction novelist was lying flat on her back while he held himself above her and as he deviously grinned down at her, she twirled her fingers around his sweatshirt’s drawstrings and shrugged offhandedly. “Not that I have any problem with continuing our current activities, of course-”

“Neither do I.”

His girlfriend’s smirk widened at his hasty reply. “But TCM’s been airing a really good screwball comedy marathon all day, and I was thinking that we could give it a watch. I guarantee that my world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction pairs excellently with a glass of top shelf red wine and 1935’s Top Hat, so how ‘bout it?”

Steve’s smile instantly dropped at her otherwise innocuous statement. His lungs began to restrict, his vision blurred and it was as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside of his hippocampus; all at once, jarring flashes of cloudy memories flooded his mind and overtook his vision.

Bucky dragging Steve along on another double date and insisting that this one would be different than the other failed dates he’d arranged…his throat constricting as his date scowled at the sight of him…sitting in a darkened theater beside the highly displeased woman and throwing his best friend an envious look as he smoothly draped an arm over his smitten date’s shoulders…trying his damndest to enjoy the hit Astaire & Rogers musical-comedy so that his night wouldn’t be so miserable…

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

Fists tightening in anger when he saw a furious-looking man dragging his date up the aisle while she begged him to calm down…staggering to his feet in the alleyway behind the theater and throwing another punch at the laughing man, only for him to easily dodge and shove him against the nearby dumpster…fighting to catch his breath as he crumpled to the grimy ground and panicking when he recognized the tell-tale signs of an oncoming asthma attack…frantically grabbing at his pockets in search of his asthma cigarettes, fully conscious of Bucky’s shouting and his date’s frightened scream but unable to stop the black dots from invading his vision…

“You’re having a panic attack, Steve, so I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me? C’mon, sweetheart, just breathe.”

Bucky’s hand colliding with his bruised cheek and stunning him back to consciousness long enough for his best friend to practically shove a lit asthma cigarette between his lips…inhaling the smoke and clutching his ribs as his body was wracked with a violent coughing fit…calling out for his mother the moment he regained his breath, only to break down into heaving sobs when he remembered that she’d been gone for nearly six months…

“Steve, look at me.” The sudden feel of his fingers pressed against a soft warmth finally forced Steve’s eyes open; although he was crouched in the corner of his girlfriend’s living room instead of a dingy alleyway behind Bay Ridge’s Alpine Cinema, his chest was still heaving under the strain of regaining his breath and his entire body was trembling. He focused on the blurry figure and realized in a flash of fear that it was (Y/N) kneeling on the floor before him, looking calm and composed as she held his hand against the side of her neck and gently spoke to him. “Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, like this.” The historical-fiction novelist completed the breathing exercise and nodded in approval when he shakily copied her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. What are three things you can see?”

“You,” Steve automatically replied, making his girlfriend smile as his eyes darted around in search of two more items. “Sam’s bowl of wine corks…the lamp that you found at that estate sale a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good, good, but don’t forget to keep on breathing. What’re three things you can hear?”

He took another deep breath and released it before answering. “The rain falling on the rooftop above us…the refrigerator’s ice-maker refilling itself…the ticking of the clock in the entryway.”

(Y/N)’s eyes searched his and he spotted the flicker of trepidation that briefly flashed across them while she studied his features. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Now, can you touch three things for me and tell me what you feel?”

“Y-Yeah…” Steve swallowed thickly, his stiff fingers slowly flexing against the skin of his girlfriend’s neck as he focused on all he could feel. “Your pulse. It’s strong and steady. I can feel the warmth of the blood flowing through your veins.” Emboldened by her encouraging nod, he brought his other hand up to rest flat against his chest and stretched out his fingers along the material of his sweatshirt. “My sweatshirt’s soft, and my fingers catch on its embroidered logo…” He lowered his hand to touch the living room’s hardwood floor and winced at the unpleasant sensation. “The floor’s cold. All I can think about is the moment I crashed the Valkyrie into the ice.”

The historical-fiction novelist raised her arms but suddenly halted her movements. “Are you up for a hug right now?” Instead of answering, Steve wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace; he buried his face in her neck and squeezed his eyes shut as her arms draped around his shoulders, savoring the weight of her warm body pressed against his and practically preening when her fingers rhythmically carded through his hair. “You can talk to me, Steve. Whatever it is you have to get off your chest, I’ll listen.” He could feel her press a kiss onto his hair. “And if you want to just sit here and enjoy the silence, then I’ll be more than happy to oblige you. I…I don’t want you to be afraid of letting me in; you deserve to feel safe enough to express yourself, sweetheart, no matter what.”

Steve didn’t know how long they sat there in silence before he rested his chin on her shoulder and stared unseeingly at her cozy living room as he finally found his voice. “The first thing that people told me after coming out of the ice was how lucky I was. They told me that surviving the crash and the ice was a blessing in disguise and that I’d have a shot at living a better life – and they were all so damn pleased with themselves as they were saying it, too, like they could claim that they did their one good deed for the day by convincing Captain America that he was better off in the 21st century – and none of ‘em could understand why I wasn’t as happy as the rest of the world was. Fury arranged for me to see a therapist, but I stopped going after the first appointment because I could see that it’d be more of the same ‘be grateful for what you’ve been given’ shit; there was no one I felt that I could talk to, and then after Loki and the Battle of New York happened…well, most everyone stopped trying to get to know me after that. The lack of any genuine companionship meant it was easier for me to hide and even numb my feelings, but when I found myself bonding with you and Nat and Sam, I…I started to become afraid of driving you all away.”

Steve pulled back far enough to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, only realizing he’d started to cry when her hands delicately cradled his face and her thumbs brushed his drying tear tracks away. “Were you afraid of how we’d react if you admitted that you still think about your old life?” There was no hint of judgement in her expression or hostility in her eyes, only patience and consideration, and Steve found himself silently appreciating his girlfriend’s kindhearted nature as he nodded. “Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me very carefully: depriving yourself of emotions is to deprive yourself of humanity. You’re human, Steve, and you’re allowed to feel however you feel. The people who love you love you for who you are and while I can’t speak for Sam or Nat, I want you to know that I’ll never, ever ask you to repress your emotions for my sake.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve softly started as one of his hands moved to caress her cheek. “No matter what, I’m always gonna have these memories of my life without you in my head. I have no way of knowing when or even if I’ll be settled into my new life. Doesn’t that…doesn’t that bother you?”

His girlfriend smiled patiently and shook her head before countering his question with one of her own. “If our roles were reversed and I was the one who’d come out of the ice instead, would you still love and accept me for who I am?”

“Of course I would, sunshine,” Steve replied with conviction.

“Then believe me when I say that I’ll always love and accept you, sweetheart, no matter what.” With tears beginning to well in her own eyes, (Y/N) leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Please, please believe me.”

Steve’s heart nearly broke at the desperation that laced her plea and he hurriedly nodded. “I believe you, baby.” He gently coaxed her to look up and into his eyes; the unabashed love that he saw emanating from her tear-filled eyes melted something deep within him, encouraging him to rest his forehead against hers and brush the pad of his thumb along her flushed cheek. “I believe you.” They stayed there for an undetermined amount of time, with their arms wrapped around one another and their eyes closed while they relished the warmth of one another’s embrace and listened to the steady patter of rain outside. When Steve felt his heartbeat slow to its usual pace and his limbs stop their trembling, he trailed his hand down from his girlfriend’s cheek to rest against her chest, in the space directly over her heart; he wasn’t sure why, but the steady beating of her heart against his palm was soothing to him. “Thank you for helping me through all of that; if I’d gone through it alone, I’d still be spiraling right about now.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, about how often do you go through a panic attack?”

Opening his eyes, Steve considered her question for several moments as he took in the consideration that was written across her face. “A couple of times a month,” He replied with a wistful smile. “They started right after I came out of the ice, but they’ve been happening a little more frequently lately.”

(Y/N) offered him a sympathetic smile. “You know, I may not be a Certified Kick-Ass Counselor like Sam is but if I learned anything from working with him down at the VA, it’s that acknowledging your feelings can be a great first step towards healing.” He hummed thoughtfully and took in her words as her fingers smoothed down his rumpled hair. “When you start to feel another panic attack coming on, you can always give me a call and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through it, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not sure how it’ll live up to this…” Steve’s arms wound back around the historical-fiction novelist’s waist and pulled her in close with a content smile on his face. “But I promise you I will.” The familiar jingle of their local ten o’clock news sounded throughout the living room, causing him to give his girlfriend an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, we’re probably missing that screwball comedy marathon you wanted to watch, aren’t we?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just head down to Barnes & Noble one of these days and buy the Blu-Rays. Besides, I think that now’s the perfect time to introduce you to one of favorite comfort movies, but only if you’re up for it.”

Steve, touched by the consideration she was continuously showing for him and his mental health, swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed a chaste kiss onto her lips, pulling back after a moment with a playful grin. “I’m up for anything, so long as it’s with my best girl…and her world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” (Y/N) readily agreed as she fought the smirk of amusement that was threatening to spread across her face; after extricating herself from his embrace, she hopped to her feet and offered him her hand, lacing her fingers around his once he stood and leading him into the kitchen as she continued. “We’ll make my not-so-secret recipe, pop open another bottle of pricey wine, and then we’ll be all set to watch 1978’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!”

“That’s the Beatles, right? So, does that mean the movie’s about the album?”

“…You’ll see.”

Needless to say, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was one of the strangest movies Steve had ever seen, but it was also one of the most entertaining movie-watching experiences he’d ever had; he chuckled at all of the corny yet earnest moments, watched in admiration as his girlfriend sang along to each and every one of the Beatles songs that played and even caught himself tearing up at the few emotional moments, all while indulging in some delicious popcorn and wine. Steve’s arms were holding (Y/N) close while they lounged across the couch and it was then, as the historical-fiction novelist in his arms sang her heart out to the film’s absurd yet catchy version of ‘Get Back,’ that he realized he felt more grounded in reality than he’d felt in a long, long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Steve was returning to his room in the Avengers Facility after a long intelligence briefing with the rest of the team when he spotted a box sitting in front of his suite’s locked door. I don’t remember ordering anything online, he thought to himself as he cautiously picked up the box and brought it inside; their mail was regularly scanned and checked for explosives and biological weapons upon arrival and while Steve was fond of bidding on used vinyl records on Ebay, he hadn’t logged into his account since well before his mission in Argentina.

“Please don’t be another ‘Over The Hill’ shirt from Tony,” He sighed under his breath, setting the package down onto his bed and retrieving his pocket knife from his dresser drawer.

Steve carefully sliced through the packing tape and pushed open the cardboard flaps, his head tilting to the side when his eyes landed on a misshapen bundle of bubble wrap inside. His interest piqued, he unfurled the piece of bubble wrap and his brows rose in surprise when a large stuffed black and white cow tumbled out onto his comforter; a small card was attached to the sky-blue bow around the stuffed animal’s neck, and he wasted no time in detaching it and reading its brief contents.

Sweetheart,

Meet Buttercup the Cow! I did a little research and found out that weighted stuffed animals can help reduce feelings of anxiety and even ground someone who’s experiencing a panic attack; whenever you begin to feel yourself spiraling or getting lost in your memories, hold Buttercup and imagine that I’m right there with you, giving you the biggest hug imaginable.

With all my love,

Your Sunshine

Steve’s eyes prickled with unshed tears as he placed the heartfelt note down on his dresser, right beside the framed sketch he’d drawn of his beautiful girlfriend long before they began to date. He picked up the stuffed cow and tested its weight in his hands before hugging it tight to his chest; he could already feel his shoulders relaxing and when he nuzzled his cheek against the soft fabric, he realized that the clever historical-fiction novelist had sprayed some of her perfume – Design by Paul Sebastian – onto the stuffed cow. Breathing in the familiar notes of tuberose and jasmine, Steve briefly closed his eyes as he smiled to himself and thought about how much he loved his girlfriend and her kind heart.

A brilliant idea suddenly came to Steve’s mind and after setting Buttercup down on his pillow, he pulled a jacket on, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and scooped up his motorcycle’s keys, hurrying out of his suite and down the hall to the common room; Sam was in the middle of making a sandwich while Wanda and Vision sat together on the sofa debating their favorite sitcoms, the counselor looking up from his half-made meal and flashing him a welcoming smile. “Hey, man, we’re gonna do a little team bonding and watch Modern Family while we eat lunch; you want a sandwich or a wrap?”

“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ve gotta go run an errand,” Steve replied with an apologetic look and twirled his keys around his finger. “Do you happen to know where the nearest Barnes & Noble is?”

“Um, I think there’s one up in Kingston…?”

“1200 Ulster Avenue.” They both looked over at their android teammate as he nonchalantly continued. “According to all available data, the store sees low to moderate business around this time, and the traffic appears to be light.”

An impressed Steve gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks, Vis.”

Their exchange caught Wanda’s attention, causing her to look up from her box set of DVD’s and arch a curious brow. “You usually detest going out on errands. Is everything all right?”

“Yep, I’ve just got some Blu-Rays I need to buy.” He flashed his befuddled teammates a grin as he brusquely headed out of the common room. “I’ll see you guys later!”

As he jogged down the steps and crossed their private parking lot towards his motorcycle, the cell phone in his pocket chimed; he swung his leg over and sat as he pulled his phone out to check his text messages, chuckling to himself after reading his friend’s brief message.

Sam: If you show up at Booksmart’s doorstep with a box set of old Cary Grant flicks, she just might ask you to marry her on the spot 😂

Glancing up towards the floor-to-ceiling window in the common room and spotting an amused Sam watching him, Steve grinned and gave the counselor a teasing salute before revving up the engine and taking off. I can’t think of a better outcome than that, he thought to himself as he sped down the road, a truly happy smile spreading across her face at the mental image of someday marrying the love of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there we have it! I promise, the next one-shot will be a little happier and although I haven't decided which movie/show I wanna tackle next, I'm sure that little series will be happier too! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​​​ @lahoete​​​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​​​ @momc95​​​​​ @savedbystyle​​​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​ @hufflepeople​​​​​ @becausewelie​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​​​ @username23345@crist1216​​​​​ @capswife​​​​​ @lilmschild​​​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​​​ ​​​​​@groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

[saintsenara]

As someone who isn't the biggest Hermione fan and keeps it quiet because greater fandom LOVES her, I'm honestly gagging for more of your Hermione takes. Especially your takes on fanon Hermione, who I can't STAND. Have a good one x

thank you very much, anon - there are dozens of us!

hermione is certainly the character i struggle to find common ground with the most - and this has been the case since i first read philosopher's stone as a child.

[which has actually been a really fascinating pop-culture experience - i think we tend to overlook, both because the media landscape and its representation of child and teen girls has changed since the 1990s and because of jkr's increasingly harmful views on gender, just how groundbreaking hermione was as a female protagonist in media which wasn't marketed primarily or exclusively towards girls. there is a reason why so many girls and women identified with her when the books were coming out - and it was very interesting for me growing up to not be one of them.]

the cause of my beef with hermione is for the incredibly petty reason that i find people who possess many of her more... striking traits quite difficult to deal with in real life, particularly if they don't acknowledge [which people in the hermione vein often don't...] that these traits are things it might benefit them to work on in their interpersonal relationships...

but this doesn't prevent me recognising that canon!hermione [and any real person like her] is interesting - and that her more annoying traits work well with her more straightforwardly admirable ones to create a fully-rounded character who, from a fanfiction perspective, is a great vehicle for all sorts of tropes, themes, and storylines.

which brings us - of course - to fanon!hermione...

fanon!hermione is, at her core, another brick in the wall of mary-sues. she's beautiful, and so clever she can solve millennia-old puzzles without batting an eyelid, and she's preternaturally emotionally intelligent, and she's morally spotless, and she's always right, and the story's preferred romantic partner worships the ground she walks on, and anyone who doesn't like her is punished.

i don't think - to be clear - that there is anything wrong, per se, with people wanting to write fanon!hermione [nor, to be frank, with other flawless fanon versions of female characters, oc mary-sues, or self-indulgent self-inserts - i'll defend the right to have fun with characters to the death]. this is a hobby, and people's way of engaging with that hobby doesn't have to appeal to me - it's fun escapism sometimes to write a character who is wonderful and perfect and beloved and has a sexy partner; and when it comes to accusations of writing someone "out-of-character", let she who is without sin cast the first stone...

but i also think - and [sigh] here comes some discourse - that fanon!hermione is part of a slight... girlbossification of female characters in the harry potter fandom [and presumably in others, i just don't follow closely enough to know] which i've always been a little uneasy about.

i understand why this happens - this fandom, like many, has an overwhelming preference for making blorbos of male characters and for imagining these characters in slash relationships. the treatment of female characters in slash subfandoms - i.e. tonks in wolfstar spaces; lily in jegulus spaces - is often straightforwardly misogynistic, and even in cases where it isn't, female characters are often shuffled quietly to the sidelines, except when they pop up - often suddenly in a queer pairing of their own - to benignly cheerlead the male couple.

and i think it's good that this is challenged - as i also think it's good that the heteronormative vibes of a lot of slash are challenged - and that we, as a fandom, are increasingly interested in female-centric works [whether focused on a romantic pairing or otherwise] and discussions. i hope these continue to take up fandom space.

but i have also noticed that the way female characters are written and talked about in these context is - as i've said - quite #girlboss in its approach. the focus is on women as clever and competent and feisty and unruffled and brave.

[including female villains, there are a lot of girlboss bellatrixes knocking around...]

and great! it should be! - but from what i've seen this also comes accompanied by a resistance to the idea that women can also be boring, unintelligent, self-infantilising, vain, arrogant, ignorant, talentless, meek, domestic, rude, dislikable, conservative, incurious, complicit in their own victimisation, plain wrong, and so on, and not only still be worthy of exploration, but be worthy of these characteristics not being automatically considered bad things for someone to possess and it not being seen as letting down the sisterhood to explore a woman who possesses them.

and, sure, hermione cannot be described as many of these things - but she is...

self-righteous; cruel; petty; from a privileged class background in the muggle world which blinkers her understanding of the class structure of the wizarding one; stubborn; terrible under pressure; shown by the text to be intelligent largely due to an ability to rote learn; a people-pleaser with a tendency towards a slightly hagrid-ish blind loyalty; extremely deferential to authority and willing to tolerate cruel treatment from authority figures [i.e. snape]; the most childlike of the trio [she takes her schoolbooks on the run and reads through them for comfort! she's an enormous animal lover!]; interested in one of form of stereotypical femininity [knitting! wearing pretty dresses!] even if she rejects the form of stereotypical femininity liked by e.g. parvati and lavender [and anyone who thinks she's not going to get along with her mother-in-law because molly's a housewife is dead wrong - she's having the time of her life helping put together a sunday lunch at the burrow]; possessed of a filthy sense of humour [i will never understand why emma watson said that the key to playing her was to be prim...]; someone who obviously wants to be liked and to be loved; and so on...

[and also, by the end of the pre-epilogue narrative, eighteen. she's often written in fics in a way which makes her sound like she's seen a lot of life - especially if the fic wants to claim she's "too mature" to bother with men her own age... but she hasn't - she's a teenager, and the reason she's so unpolished and abrasive is because literally all teenagers are unpolished and abrasive. it's just one of the mortifying agonies of growing up.]

we should love this. it makes her thorny and messy and mixed-up and human - and i am perfectly delighted by explorations of her character which delve into unravelling this tangle.

i just like her less as someone who is there to be right and beloved and uncriticised.

unless it's by ron. everyone should be uncomplicatedly adored by their wife guy.

[tossawary]

Someone responded, "Howl would do chores for Sophie! He loves her so much!" to that Prince Turniphead house-boyfriend post about the "Howl's Moving Castle" movie where I said that Howl wouldn't reliably help around the house. And... no. No, I said RELIABLY, that's a really important word here, but also no.

Nothing about his home setup (the mess of the kitchen in the beginning, the RAINBOW BATHROOM, his cluttered bedroom) suggests that he's in the habit of picking up after himself. I don't think he's purposefully a slob, but I do think he's too distractible and thoughtless to do the required regular cleaning. I think he's a "I'll put this down here for now and deal with it later *proceeds to walk around this object every day for the next three years while doing more interesting / immediate things*" person at best. Being in love does not suddenly change all your habits as a person or your personal interests! I think Howl would definitely try (important word here) to do better for Sophie, but I think it would take a lot of work and he's kind of lazy about these things!

I do think he cooks. Movie Howl IS shown cooking with Calcifer and I think he and his fire demon could have fun with that task, very cute, and leave a mountain of dishes behind them in the process.

Also, (trying to limit referencing the books for those who haven't read them, but I can't resist here) Book Sophie is... kind of controlling and loves to complain? And can also do magic herself? When I said that Howl can't be trusted to RELIABLY do chores, it's partly because I don't think he'd be doing them to 1) Sophie's exacting standards and 2) in the EXACT way that Sophie wants it done. I think Sophie would in many cases decide that it's easier just to train Howl to better stay out of her way, honestly.

Especially because HOWL IS A WIZARD!!! You can't fucking trust those assholes with a simple chore! It doesn't occupy their brains enough and they're ALWAYS going to think, "I bet I could invent a spell to do this for me," and that's how you get floating dishes or animated broomsticks or a fucking water spirit in your house. It's the hubris! Can't smack it out of wizards with a stick!

Howl swallowed a star and made a deal with a fire demon! He built a giant walking castle that was holding together JUST using magic (it completely fell apart at the end of the movie) and wandered freely around the country! He was pretending to be two different people to run businesses and then abandoned the buildings when the government caught up to him! I'm pretty sure he used a magic spell to SQUAT in Sophie's family's former hat shop! He impersonated the king! He dodged the draft literally afterwards in an airship battle! He nearly irreversibly turned himself into a bird monster and fought bombing airships by HIMSELF - and there's no way that Sophie wasn't confusedly picking black feathers off the floor. He summoned the spirits of darkness and started turning into ooze because his hair dye came out the wrong color!

Howl would TRY for Sophie, I believe that. I just also think that he'd rather use magic to completely renovate the entire house than actually scrub floors. I think he would invent an incredibly ugly magical vacuum cleaner for her and Sophie would love it so much that she would choose to overlook the fact that it tries to eat the carpet and curtains and the dog sometimes. I think that if Book Sophie was told she could melt wizards with a bucket of soapy water with a little bit of lemon juice (like the Enchanted Forest Chronicles), she COULD DO IT by choosing to believe it, and Howl hides from her and that bucket because he loves her but she's TERRIFYING.

If Sophie's sister Lettie was visiting and Sophie was panicking because she hadn't had the time to dust on top of the guest room wardrobe... whatever the magical equivalent of shoving all of your stuff into a closet at the last minute to make the place LOOK clean is, THAT's how Howl would help.

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- Fade into you

A/N: Honestly I never expected Mina to win this poll but I'm glad she did 🫶🏻 this is some soft AU Mina fluff

tw: mild mention of scoliosis, mild mention of sickness (temperature, flu), mention of pain medication, fluff

word count: 8k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay , @whitelotus00 , @ninaahs , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @paulsonsratched , @stepintomyworld , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometime , @ohrwurm26 , @wastdstime ,

Wilhemina Venable was many things, incredibly smart, sassy, not afraid to hold back when someone annoyed her with their stupidity, she was an introvert, living in her own little life that she enjoyed including her routines. However she definitely wasn't outgoing, she wasn't one to consciously go to a social event, meet people voluntarily unless it was somehow included in her job for the company she works for.

And so it really was a surprise when you spotted her at the book club meeting at the library you had been working at for quite some time now. It certainly wasn't a career, but on the way to your degree, it certainly was a quiet part time job, paying the bills, while you got to be around the things you had always loved most- books. Your shift was almost finished, setting up the chairs and a little tea station for the book club meeting, people slowly drawing in from outside to discuss one of their favourite authors. And that's when you spotted her again, the mysterious woman with red hair, the sound of a cane echoing through the usual silent library following her wherever she went, as well as the color lilac that coated her beautiful features.

,,Wilhemina'' you think to yourself, your photogenic memory reminding you of her name when she first signed up a few months ago and how captivated you had been by her ever since. She was a regular at this point, at first really only coming in to get some books before disappearing again, always bringing them back on time, mostly a few days before she was meant to. Before she eventually spent every Wednesday afternoon at the library, assuming that must be her day off from work. It was undeniably a surprise to see her here tonight, as throughout the last few months you had never seen her engage with anyone before, always quiet, never exchanging too many words with you but you could see a depth behind her brown eyes that you definitely had gotten lost in a few times by now.

Through the dimly lit library, you watch as she approaches, the soft glow illuminating her features, wearing a lilac long skirt, matching jacket and a slightly darker shade collar, her heels and cane dancing on the floor, echoing through the quiet library, before more people draw in, blending out the noise. As she takes a seat, book neatly in her lap, you feel as her eyes linger on you, despite working on your tasks of neatly setting down the cups and biscuits for the book club members. While the meeting begins, you consider whether to join, having of course read the book, but deciding against it as you still had a pile of assignments to finish. However, before signing out from your computer, you decide to stay a little longer, retreating upstairs to the gallery, overlooking the library and ultimately book club meeting, typing away quietly on your computer, while still observing carefully.

Despite your best attempts, you couldn't stop glancing at the scene downstairs, hearing them chat, laugh and read some pages, your eyes always darting back to the mysterious woman named Wilhemina. And whenever your eyes averted them, focusing your attention on your screen and work again, you missed how the same mysterious woman would glance towards you, having of course noticed your absence and where you had retreated to, unaware that she was equally captivated by you. Some time passes, enough time for you to mostly finish a draft for your essay, and so glancing at the time, you collect your things, knowing you would have to do this all over again tomorrow, arrive at work for the early shift and having to balance your assignments.

After heading downstairs, you catch one last glimpse of Wilhemina, still engrossed in her book, her expression unreadable. You can't shake the feeling of curiosity about her, about what she's like beyond the surface, beyond the walls she put up around herself. As you pass by the book club members, you exchange polite smiles and nods, but your mind is elsewhere, still thinking about the redhead woman. She was like a puzzle, one you can't quite solve, a mystery waiting to be unravelled. Nevertheless you head towards home, her gaze following you as you exit the library, wanting to urgently catch up on some rest before returning tomorrow.

As the sun begins it's descent, casting a warm golden glow over the city, you find yourself once again at the library, preparing for another day of work. Today is Wednesday and for some reason you can't shake the anticipation of seeing Wilhemina again. Her presence lingers in your thoughts since last night, her mysterious aura captivating your mind.

The clock ticks closer to the afternoon, and it's no surprise as you hear the familiar sound of the library door opening, heels and a cane tapping softly against the flooring. There she is, Wilhemina Venable, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of books. Her lilac attire stands out against the muted colours of the library, her presence both ethereal and comforting.

,,Good afternoon Ms Venable'' you greet her as she approaches your desk, your features soft. She carries a stack of books in a bag, before retreating them one by one and passing them to you, including her pass with an equally warm smile ,,Good afternoon'' she greets you.

,,Returning these?" you ask softly, internally scolding yourself as it was quite obvious that she was returning those. The redhead woman nods, causing for a rush of nervous energy to course through you.

,,Not much of a crime fan?'' she startles you as you scan her pass, the woman pointing towards the book you had been reading next to your computer. Your eyebrows furrow, before she speaks again ,,I couldn't help but notice your absence last night'' she fills you in before your mouth forms an O shape in realisation of her words.

,,Oh, I.. I had some work to catch up on'' you reply, a hint of sheepishness in your voice. ,,Essays and assignments, you know how it is''. As you speak she listens intently to your every words, reading each one of your expression as if she was equally studying you like some book. As if she wanted to read every page, unravel each little thing about you.

The woman simply nods understandingly as you pass her back her library pass, a glint of something in her eyes, a curiosity that mirrors your own. ,,Perhaps next time'' she suggests, her lips quirking into a small smile. As your surprised eyes meet hers, the shock of her invitation quite literally written across your features, she is quick to add ,,It's always nice to have a new perspective in the discussion'' causing you to quickly force a polite smile.

,,Definitely Ms Venable'' you assure, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you at her words. You watch as she leaves, retreating to the usual shelves of books that must be her favourite genre to read before she disappears in the maze of the library, the countless shelves, thousands of books and people blending in the darkness of the library, despite the soft glow around, mixed with the beginning sunset.

The atmosphere in the library feels charged with the energy of the woman's presence, her departure leaving you with a sense of longing and curiosity. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to spend more time with her, to unravel the layers of mystery that surround her. As the day goes on, you find yourself lost in thoughts, your mind wandering back to the woman. Despite the tasks of shelving books and helping people, her image almost vividly lingers on your mind, her lilac presence haunting your thoughts.

When your shift finally comes to an end, closing up for the night before heading out the library, the golden rays of the sun setting, cast a long shadow on the sidewalk. As you make your way home, you can't help the feeling of excitement that bubbles within you, the prospect of seeing the woman again, filling you with anticipation.

The days pass by in a whirlwind of work, study and the occasional thoughts of Wilhemina. Each day, you find yourself eagerly anticipating the next book club meeting, the woman lingering in your mind like a sweet melody. As the week progresses, you make sure to read up on the book that the club will be discussing, spending your evening lost in it's pages, in the world of the story, eager to be prepared for the discussion.

Finally, the day of the book club meeting arrives, again stacking up the little tea and biscuit table and setting out the chairs neatly. It doesn't take long before the usual group of book club members gather, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. You spot Wilhemina sitting in her usual spot, book tugged on her lap in the same usual way. Taking a deep breath, you join the group, feeling a sense of belonging wash over you as you take your seat. The discussion begins and you find yourself eagerly participating, sharing your thoughts and insights on the book.

As the evening progresses, you find yourself drawn to the redhead woman sitting across from you, the two of you occasionally exchanging glances and subtle smiles as the conversation flows around you. You could tell she wasn't too pleased with one of the members, named Karen who's opinions are definitely controversial, noticing the grip around her cane tighten whenever the woman spoke and even the occasional eye roll, going unnoticed by the group but not you, ever perceptive. You find yourself chuckling silently at her antics, taken back by the captivating redhead.

After the meeting comes to an end, you find yourself reaching for a little to go cup and filling it with some tea, knowing the journey home would be longer today, considering you missed your usual bus connection. While the noise from the members leaving, slowly draws out, you are a little startled as you hear cane taps echo behind you, causing you to turn around and catch a glimpse of Wilhemina. ,,I'm glad you could make it'' she remarks, giving you a warm smile before the two of you opt for walking out together. ,,Thank you Ms Venable'' you remark, your heart beating fast and loud against your chest as the two of you make it out of the quiet library and into the jungle of the city, filled with noises and cars and people rushing past you both.

,,Usual shift tomorrow?'' she questions curiously, her brown eyes meeting yours. ,,Yes'' you confirm with a warm smile, before she nods. ,,See you tomorrow'' she remarks before the two of you part ways with a polite nod. You linger for a little longer, watching as she disappears into the crowds, before turning on your heels and making your way home, the puzzle pieces finally adding together. Tonight you had learned that just like you imagined, she was incredibly smart, she didn't speak all that much during the meeting but whenever she did, she managed to read and study the characters and story in a fascinating way, her words chosen with a depth that touched you. And you also learned that she was polite with you, however not holding back her disapproval of some other members who spoke much less composed than her, much less smart and engaged than her.

As the following day at the library unfolds, you find yourself stealing glances at Wilhemina whenever you can, your mind swirling with thoughts of the captivating redhead. Despite the steady flow of people coming in and out of the library, she remains in her usual spot, engrossed in a book.

You can't shake the feeling that you want to talk to her, to engage in conversation beyond the usual polite greeting you exchange. But a nagging voice of doubt in your mind holds you back, reminding you of the professional boundaries you should maintain. You had no idea of the woman she was outside of the library, the life she was living, the possibility of people in that said life and her relationships, not wanting to burden her with your presence.

Yet, as the afternoon wears on and the library grows quieter, the urge to speak to her becomes overwhelming. You find yourself making your way over to her corner, your heart beating a little faster with each step. ,,Ms Venable'' you start, clearing your throat nervously as you approach her. She looks up from her book, her brown eyes meeting yours with a curious gaze.

,,I hope you don't mind me interrupting you'' you continue, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. ,,I couldn't help but notice you've been reading quite a bit lately, are you enjoying the book?''

The woman's lips curve into a small smile, and she nods then. ,,Yes it's been quite... captivating'' she replies. ,,In fact, I was wondering when the second part of this series is expected at the library''

You feel a wave of excitement at her question, grateful for the opportunity to engage in conversation with her. ,,Oh, let me check that for you'' you say eagerly, disappearing for a moment as you pull up the library database on your computer. After a quick search you find the information she is searching for, before returning.

,,It looks like the second part is due to arrive next week'' you inform her, glancing back up to meet her gaze. ,,Would you like me to reserve a copy for you?'' Her smile widens at your question, before she nods appreciatively ,,That would be wonderful, thank you'' she replies. ,,I'll definitely be looking forward to it''. Walking towards your desk again, she follows you, her library pass needed to finalise the reservation. ,,Thank you Miss-'' she begins, but you quickly interrupt her ,,it's Y/N'' you offer and she nods before smiling at you ,,Wilhemina''.

A few days pass, and as Wilhemina returns to the library, she notices your absence behind the desk, figuring it must be your day off today. She settles into her usual corner with her book, the familiarity of the library's surroundings providing her comfort. The truth was the redhead never had a lot of free time, mostly only her evenings, her career as HR demanding both physically and mentally. She eventually demanded a regular day off per week, wanting to focus more on herself, getting a decent hobby besides reading every night when she returned while the history channel played in the background. And so she had opted for the local library, reading about the book club meetings and regular events and she had enjoyed it ever since, despite not being the outgoing type.

As you step into the quiet space, your eyes find your coworker first, Janice, she was considerably older, should have retired by now but enjoyed working there regardless. You fall into some easy conversation with her, as she scolds you for showing up on your day off but telling her you just had some quick business. Wilhemina can't help but notice your presence, the sight filling her with a sense of warmth and you can't help but smile as you approach her.

,,Hi'' you greet her, your voice soft, yet filled with genuine warmth. ,,I hope you don't mind me stopping by on my day off'' you announce. Wilhemina looks up from her book, surprise flickering in her brown eyes before a small smile graces her lips. ,,Not at all, it's a pleasant surprise'' she admits, setting her book aside. ,,Is everything alright?'' she asks almost with a hint of concern in her features.

You nod before speaking ,,I just came by because I have something for you'' you explain, feeling a rush of nervous energy course through you, before retreating a book from your bag. ,,Is this?'' she questions, her eyebrows furrowing. ,,Yes it's the second part, I managed to get my hands on a copy a little early'' you explain as you pass it to her.

Her facial expression changes from a warm smile to almost an unreadable one and you worry whether you had upset her somehow, whether you had crossed a boundary with her. ,,Thank you, I appreciate it truly'' she thanks you, unaware that her reaction was due to her feeling deeply touched but the redhead woman not used to anyone going out of their way in order to do something for her.

,,Would you like to take a seat? that's if you're not busy?'' she offers, pointing towards the chair across from her. And you take it, sitting down opposite her. ,,What kind of books do you enjoy?'' she asks curiously.

And so, the two of you engage in a lively conversation about books, exchanging recommendations and discussing your favourite genres and authors. You quickly learn that Wilhemina enjoys both history books, as well as mystery and crimes, even the occasional romance and horror book. As you talk, you find yourself drawn to her passion for literature, her insights and recommendations sparkling your own curiosity. Before you know it, time seems to slip away, the library around you growing dimmer as the sun begins to set.

,,I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm just closing up'' Janice informs you both, startling the two of you a little. ,,Of course'' Wilhemina remarks, the two of you quick to retreat your things. ,,Do you need any help closing up?'' you ask politely before your coworker chuckles ,,No darling, it's your day off'' she speaks before ushering you out. Wilhemina can't help but think about your kindness, as the two of you part ways, deeply touched by the gesture of you getting the book early for her.

Another week passes, and you find yourself in the all too familiar library, logging out of your computer before getting ready to close up, as you gather your things, you are startled when you hear the all too familiar sound of a cane and you instantly turn around as you watch the redhead approach. ,,Wilhemina'' you greet her politely, as you watch her glance around the empty library. You watch her eyebrows furrow before you recall the reasoning for her being there ,,Oh I'm so sorry, did you not get the memo?'' you ask, glancing at the note that explained this weeks meeting was cancelled due to the usual person running it being sick. She glances at it as well, scolding herself for not signing up for the newsletter that you had recommended, as she didn't want any spam emails. ,,No, I'm sorry'' she chuckles, her cheeks coated in a slight red. ,,I was just going to close up'' you announce and she joins you as the two of you walk outside and you locking all the doors.

,,I'm really sorry you came here for no reason'' you apologise, frowning a little as you feel bad. ,,It's fine'' she speaks softly as she takes in your features and notices some hesitation on your face ,,I don't suppose you-'' you begin but quickly stop yourself, fighting the rest of the words back as doubts fill your mind. She tilts her head curiously at your statement, her eyes encouraging you to go on ,,Do go on'' she speaks as her brown eyes pierce through you. ,,Would you like to get some coffee?'' you ask, quickly adding ,,We could talk some more about the book then, have our own little meeting you know?''. As you struggle with your words, covering up for the fact how nervous you are she can't help but smirk ever so slightly, as you avert her eyes. ,,I would love to'' she speaks, taking you by surprise as your shocked eyes meet her own.

As Wilhemina agrees to join you for coffee, you feel a rush of excitement and nerves coursing through you. The thought of spending time with her outside of the library fills you with both anticipation and a hint of anxiety. The two of you make your way over to a nearby cafe, the cool breeze of the evening refreshing against your skin as you walk and chat along the way. Once inside, you find a cozy corner and settle in, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air.

As you begin sipping your drinks, you find the words flowing naturally between you and the redhead. ,,So what did you think of the last book club meeting?'' you ask, trying to gauge her thoughts.

Wilhemina takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee before responding ,,It was interesting, to say the least. I always find it fascinating to hear different interpretations of the same story, you know?''. You agree nodding, ,,It's amazing how people can read the same book and come away with completely different perspectives'' you remark.

She smiles then, her eyes sparkling with intrigue ,,Exactly, that what makes literature so captivating, don't you think?''. You agree again ,,Definitely'' you reply, feeling a sense of excitement building between you two.

,,Although I couldn't help but sense your annoyance towards Karen'' you chuckle before her eyebrow shoots up in surprise. ,,Ugh don't even get me started'' she remarks, causing you to chuckle further.

,,So, what are you currently reading?" you ask curiously, before she leans back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. ,,I'm delving into some classic literature at the moment, as well as the second part of the book you got me, It's always been a passion of mine'' she explains as you listen intently to her every word.

,,That sounds fascinating'' you comment, genuinely interested. ,,I have always wanted to read more classics, but I never seem to find the time'' you admit. ,,Well if you ever need any recommendations, you know where to find me'' she says with a wink, and you can't help but chuckle at her playful tone.

,,So tell me a little bit more about yourself Y/N'' she ushers and you could tell she seemed much less tense, much less formal and taken back the way she usually was at the library.

,,I- well I study at university at the moment, close to finishing my degree and I work at the library part time, I live close-by actually'' you explain, a little unsure what she actually wanted to know.

The conversation continues to flow effortlessly, as you fill her in on what you are studying, your age, the things that you enjoy. She tells you about the company she works for, that she also lives close-by. With each passing moment, you find yourself drawn deeper into Wilhemina's world, feeling a connection growing between you that you can't quite explain yet.

Despite knowing you shouldn't, you can't help yourself and so the words quite literally blurt out of you ,,So what about you, are you in a relationship, married?''. Her eyes widen before she chuckles lowly ,,Me married?'' she scoffs then ,,Definitely not, dear'' and you can't help the blushing of your cheeks or ignoring the smirk playing on her features. ,,You?'' she asks curiously before you shake your head, feeling almost a little shy.

After some more conversation about your lives, the library and literature, the two of you part ways, both needing to head home for the night as you realised it was getting late. ,,It's been lovely'' you remark, causing the redhead to nod in agreement. ,,I feel the same way, We should do this again sometime'' she remarks, causing you to again blush under her gaze. ,,I would like that'' and with those words the two of you part ways.

On your way home, you can't help the big smile lingering across your face and spreading across your features. You feel yourself considerably drawn closer to the redhead woman, especially after learning more about her, your first instincts correct about her as she was utterly smart, even poetic at times and lovely to spend your time with. The fact that she wasn't taken only adds to your excitement, despite you not being able to ignore the almost self loathing way she answered your question and you quickly brush the thought away, assuming she couldn't see you in that way, despite the butterflies in each others stomach telling the opposite, but you totally unaware that she shared the same interest and feelings yet.

Within the next few months, the seasons slowly changing, both you and Wilhemina had grown closer, not only making the weekly book club meetings a thing but evenly your usual book chatter over coffee, weekly when your schedules allowed it. And you enjoyed it, feeling like becoming her friend, despite not being able to ignore the way your heart both beat and ached for her. You felt yourself drawn close to her, often awake at night wondering what it would feel like to hold her hand in your own, what it would feel like to be held in her arms, what it would feel like to capture her lips into your own. What it would be like to belong to her, to be hers but you knew it couldn't happen, your hopeless romantic side truly showing and the fact you had read too many romantic novels lately. You were unaware that the redhead felt equally drawn to you, a small voice in the back of her mind telling her that she shouldn't, that you are too young, too free to commit yourself to her and the burdens she carried with her.

Despite the love you felt for each other, neither of you felt like voicing it, or making a move and so it became the quiet love. Glances exchanged, her eyes meeting yours when you are working and stocking shelves with books, her eyes following as you balance on your tip toes with such ease to complete your task. Knowing glances at the book club meetings, knowing afterwards for your coffee date, you would make fun of Karen. And it remained a quiet love, sharing glances, falling into easy conversation, feeling complete when the other one was nearby. The only time when you grew hopeful had been a few days ago, when the rain was pouring down on you both after her usual afternoon at the library and you locking up, how she offered to drive you home, not wanting you to get caught in more rain and having to take public transport and you agreed reluctantly but she insisted, she drove past her house, pointing out that she did indeed live closely before dropping you off. But that was it, and despite you considering inviting her to your apartment, you felt like you couldn't, still thinking you had been reading this wrong and slowly accepting having her as a friend, a person to look out for and would equally look out for you.

However, when almost another week passed, not seeing Wilhemina at the book club meeting or her usual afternoon at the library, you grew increasingly worried. She never missed one of those, only having to miss the book club meeting once before for a work commitment and she let you know beforehand. And as you pack up tonight, you couldn't shake the anxious feeling in your bones and running through your veins. The rational side of your brain was telling you that she was probably caught up with work, given her career, or she simply didn't feel like it today. However your heart told you something was off, texting her in the afternoon after you had exchanged numbers a few months ago and frequently texting back and forth about books and other things.

Opting to walk home tonight to clear your thoughts, letting the sun slowly setting, illuminate your features, breathing in the fresh but cold air, your thoughts trail around her. What if she had given up on the book club and library? What if something was wrong with her? What if she needed something? You couldn't shake the thoughts as your brain kept circling around the same questions and when you turn into a now familiar street, you pass her house, internally scolding yourself as your heart probably led you there on purpose. And you know you shouldn't, despite feeling much closer to her than at the start, it felt wrong to simply show up unannounced, maybe she even had company. But you couldn't just walk past the house and so you carefully approach her front door, making sure you got the right house but by the name on the doorbell printed in purple it quickly confirms that it was in fact her house.

Carefully you knock on the door, waiting for a few moments but not hearing an answer and so you turn on your heel, figuring she must simply be busy or still at work. However just before you are out of reach, you hear the front door open and turn around quickly only to see her standing there, your eyebrows knitting in concern as you see her state. Her nose was red, eyes tired and even a little watery and for a moment you fear she had been crying before her voice breaks through the quiet air ,,Y/N?'' she asks, the sound of her voice broken and you could tell then that she had fallen ill. ,,I'm so sorry Wilhemina for just showing up like this but-'' you stop yourself then, trying to put your words in order and not embarrass yourself. ,,I was worried not seeing you yesterday or today and I just felt the urge to check on you'' you explain, checking her features but they remain neutral. ,,I'm sorry if I'm overstepping'' you quickly apologise before she gives you a comforting smile.

,,You're fine Y/N, I'm sorry I-'' she begins to speak but another wave of nausea and the lingering fever knocks the words from her lungs. ,,Are you okay?'' you ask, concerned etched on your features ,,You don't look so well'' you remark, taking a step closer as her expression grows a little paler. She simply opens the door, offering you to follow her before she is quick to walk back over to her sofa, several empty tissue packets on the floor, before she slumps back into the sofa, the exhaustion creeping up on her. ,,I seem to have fallen ill'' she remarks, scrunching up at the statement, as she hated admitting weakness, despite you not seeing it as weakness at all. As you glance around her house, you can't help but notice how both comfortable, clean and beautiful it was, several houseplants, a luxurious spacious kitchen, a lot of purple and lilac details and artwork and you are sure to have seen some cat toys lying around as you stepped inside.

,,May I?'' you ask carefully as you step closer and she simply nods and watches as the back of your hand reaches for her forehead, gasping as you notice the lingering fever. ,,Do you have a thermometer somewhere?'' you ask carefully and she nods, before pointing towards a cupboard. Without any words, you make your way over, seeing the many pain medications and ignoring that before retrieving the thermometer. It feels like an eternity as you gently usher her to open her mouth and she reluctantly complies, feeling too exhausted to argue as she usually wouldn't allow anyone to do any of this ever. Once the beeping rings through the room, it confirms your suspicions and you glance at her as her eyes softly close, sleep washing over her. ,,I'll be right back'' you whisper softly, before walking back into her hallway, reaching for the set of spare keys dangling on a nearby wall. You aren't sure if you are overstepping still but you didn't care, her health and wellbeing more important to you than any of that right now.

And it doesn't take long before you usher home for a moment, getting some supplies before stopping at a nearby pharmacy and your usual take out place. You return a little while later, placing the keys back where you had gotten them before placing the medication gently on the table where she was still sleeping. In a swift motion and without going through her stuff, you tidy up a little, getting rid of the tissues everywhere, doing some dishes that she must have not had the strength to clean, before you watch a little black cat approach, rubbing it self near the wall leading into the kitchen. ,,Hi there'' you smile as you bend down carefully and hold out your hand. He melts right into your touch as you stroke him carefully, noticing his bowls and searching for some food and water and filling it, before emptying the litter box nearby.

When Wilhemina awakens next, she watches you from afar, praising the thing closest to her heart for finishing his food, even playing a little and her heart melts at the picture. ,,Y/N'' she calls out, glancing around the room and you are quick to walk over to her as she attempts sitting up. ,,Hi there'' you greet her warmly before passing her a glass with water and some medication. ,,Here'' you offer and her brown glassy eyes look up to meet your own. She takes it before glancing around her living room and kitchen, noticing how it was spotless, her heart melting at the gesture, despite feeling like it's a little too much considering she didn't know how to accept the help, let alone ever thank you for it. And you can see it in her brown eyes, knowing her long enough now to know she felt uncomfortable ,,I picked up some soup for you, you can take these every 4 hours'' you announce gently before reaching for your bag. You smile warmly at her and she gives you a thankful smile before you walk out of the room, offering that she could call if she needed anything at all. ,,Bye little fellow'' you give her cat one last stroke before walking out her door, content with at least having checked in and looked after her.

The next few days you continue going on about your days, both working at the library and on your days off working on some assignments and going to your lectures. It had worried you that Wilhemina hadn't reached out to you yet, hoping she was feeling better and at the same time worried you may have overstepped or upset her in some way. You find yourself, both daydreaming and lost in thoughts as you stock up some shelves, thinking about a book in particular that you held and how she would probably love it. A sound startles you and as you turn around you knew your mind wasn't playing tricks on you as you were sure you heard the echoing of her cane. ,,Wilhemina'' you remark, your features instantly filled with joy as you see her looking much better than a few days ago. ,,Are you feeling better?'' you ask as her eyes meet your own. ,,I do, thank you'' she smiles warmly at you before noticing something lingering behind her brown eyes, her lips twitching a little, knowing it meant there was something on her mind.

,,Is everything okay?'' you ask after a moment of silence, noticing her hesitation and the grip around her cane tightening. ,,Why did you-'' she stops herself then, her eyes closing unsure how to finish her question. ,,I'm sorry if I overstepped, I just wanted to make sure you are alright'' you apologise again. There is a moment of silence before she speaks again ,,But why did you?'' and it breaks your heart a little, knowing just what she was thinking, how no one ever probably has looked after her and all you want to do is give her the biggest hug. ,,Because I care about you Wilhemina'' you admit, the admission coming out quiet, almost whispered as you meet her eyes. And then you see the surprise in her eyes, as if your actions didn't make it obvious, as if she was oblivious to your feelings and the way you look at her.

Wilhemina's eyes widen in surprise at your words, as if she hadn't expected such a heartfelt confession. For a moment, the air around you feels heavy with tension as she processes your admission.

,,You care about me?'' she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity. You nod at her statement, feeling your heart pounding in your chest ,,Yes I do, I- I've grown to care about you a lot'' you admit, despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to stop.

A mix of emotions flicker across her face – surprise, disbelief, and perhaps a hint of vulnerability. You can see her struggling to find the right words, her fingers tightening around her cane again. ,,I don't know what to say'' she finally admits, causing for a lump to form in your throat. ,,It's okay'' you reassure, avoiding her gaze as you glance at the front and noticing a little line forming by where you are meant to be sitting. She glances behind her as you apologetically nod at her and quick to resume your work. Her eyes don't leave yours for a second, feeling awful for the way the conversation went and not being able to tell you that she was truly grateful for what you had done for her. But she couldn't stay as it wasn't her usual afternoon and she had to catch up on some work, and so with a heavy heart she leaves, glancing at you one more time while you check out some customers, pretending not to see her as she glances at you one more time, sure you would cry if you took another look at her in this moment.

On her way out, her words and your reaction replay in her mind over and over again, contemplating whether to turn on her heels, apologise, anything to make this better. But she couldn't as she had to go back to work, despite the thoughts lingering on her mind until the next day. Wilhemina wasn't sure what to think of your statement, she truly didn't mind you coming to her house, appreciating the gesture and the cleaning up you did as well as looking after her cat as the sickness caused her to lose the ability to do so. But she wonders what this was, were you simply friends? Wilhemina never really having friends in her adult life before as she prefered to spend her time with herself and her cat. Or was it more? the woman definitely wasn't oblivious and not a stranger to love and romance and she knew what your admission meant, in her heart anyway, despite her head and rational side reminding her you couldn't have possibly meant it that way but she felt horrible, wanting to talk this out with you as the thought of losing to have you around truly killed her and caused for anxiety to fill her usual calm and composed mind.

As she makes her way to the library, her eyes search around the quiet space, members of the book club already meeting and finding your coworker Janice rather than your usual presence. Despite a part of her not really wanting to do this, she approaches the older woman, remembering her well from some book club meetings and around the library. ,,Hi there'' Janice greets her, remembering the redhead quite well and you sometimes mentioning the woman to her. ,,Hello'' Wilhemina greets her, her features a little tense before she speaks quietly, wanting to make sure the other people don't hear ,,Is Y/N not working today?'' she asks causing the older woman to shake her head no. ,,Poor darling called in sick today'' she admits, before Wilhemina's features tense a little further. ,,I see, thank you'' she remarks before turning on her heels and getting ready to leave. ,,Aren't you staying?'' Janice asks a little confused, knowing the redhead to be a regular member of the meetings by now. ,,No- I uh.. have some other commitment'' she remarks before leaving, her cane echoing through the silent library.

Now you weren't truly sick, just not feeling like going to work today, considering the countless assignments piling up on you and feeling the strange urge to avoid Wilhemina. After yesterday, your heart had broken a little, feeling shame even at hearing her words, unaware that she simply struggled with these things. Your brain had somehow tricked you to believe that she didn't care for you in the way that you cared for her and that you had made an utter fool of yourself and so you opted for staying home, not being in the mood to go through the torture of a whole book club meeting on top of it all. Sitting on your sofa, cross legged, laptop tugged into your lap, you type away, working on an essay that was due next. You are startled when you hear the sound of a knock coming from your apartment door, assuming it's a neighbour, before opening the door.

As your eyes lay on Wilhemina you gulp, expecting a few things but not her showing up and confused as to how she would have gotten upstairs, unaware that a neighbour was just leaving and she slipped inside. ,,Wilhemina?'' you ask a little confused, your cheeks coated in red considering the state you are in, messy bun, sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It takes her a moment to recognise you as she really hadn't seen you like this before, usually always dressed well and hair styled perfectly. ,,I heard you aren't feeling well'' she remarks, before holding out a lilac shopping bag and passing it to you. ,,Thank you'' you smile warmly at her, the bag exposing some type of food in a container and a book and your heart melts at the gesture, unable to form any words.

,,Would you like to come inside?'' you offer before she declines politely ,,I'll leave you rest but let me know if you need anything?'' she asks before you nod eagerly, thanking her one more time before you watch her walk away. As you close the door, you lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath that you held in for a while, feeling relief that she didn't actually come inside as your place was a right mess. Carefully, you walk over to your sofa, putting the container and book on your sofa table, before taking a look, exposing the same soup that you had gotten for her before, feeling your heart ache and beat faster at the sweet gesture. Retreating some headphones, you listen to some music, while finishing your essay, finishing the soup in the meantime. After several hours, you take a look at the book and you had never heard of it, remembering the author from your work at the library but never reading his works before.

As you open the book, you check the first page for a library stamp but there is none, meaning she must have either purchased it or it belonged to her. ,,For Y/N- Love, Wilhemina'' it reads and your heart melts again at the sweet gesture. For the remainder of the night you get lost in the book, a book about two characters, one more mysterious as the other one, captivated by the similarities and the poetry. As you read countless pages, the darkness of the night already consuming the world around you, your heart begins beating a little faster as you begin understanding the true meaning of the story, and how the main character had been afraid to commit, afraid to allow the other ones feelings despite feeling the same way and it startled you. Quite literally shaking you awake as your eyes fly over the written words, wondering whether this was her way of telling you, despite the rational side of your brain still trying to convince you that this had been some kind of accident.

For the remainder of the night, you lay awake after finishing the book, some words lingering and repeating on your mind, your thoughts trailing back and forth to Wilhemina, wanting nothing more than to talk to her, thank her for the book and ask her about it's true meaning but you couldn't as it was the middle of the night. And so you try to find some sleep, despite it being broken, before the morning sun washes over your apartment, causing you to wake, your thoughts instantly lingering around the redhead. That morning, you are very early at the library, opening up hours before it would even open, unable to do anything else at home as your thoughts kept circling and you wanted to desperately distract yourself.

A few hours pass, where you lose yourself in your passion, unboxing a few new shipments with books and neatly placing them in the shelves, also working on a new display shelves with some monthly book recommendations. You are startled when you hear one of the doors opening before politely shouting ,,Sorry still closed, we open in about thirty minutes'' while bending down. However as you hear the all too familiar cane taps and heels echoing, you are quickly on your feet, glancing around the corner and noticing Wilhemina's presence, her features soft as she makes her way over. ,,Closed? even for me?'' she chuckles a little, causing you to blush. ,,Definitely not'' you remark before walking over, now a few steps apart from the redhead.

,,Would you like some coffee or tea?'' you ask politely before she finds herself smiling again ,,Coffee please'' she requests and you nod, offering her to sit before you retreat to the back room and making some coffee for the two of you. A few moments pass before you make your way over, by now knowing how she takes her coffee and passing her the warm mug. ,,I take it you are feeling better?'' she questions and you nod before speaking ,,Thank you so much for the soup and- the book'' the last two words more quiet as they fall from your lips. As the steam from the coffee forms little patterns in the air, she studies your features before carefully speaking ,,Did you get a chance to-'' but you are quick to cut her off ,,I read it'' you reassure before her eyes meet yours ,,The whole thing?'' she questions, a little taken back as you nod.

Silence fills the quiet library, not necessarily an unpleasant one, the two of you simply lost in thoughts, eyes still locked onto each other. ,,What made you choose that one?'' you ask curiously, your hand reaching around the mug soaking in the warmth it provides. ,,I like the message'' she admits, still keeping your gaze. ,,Want to tell me about your interpretation?'' you ask, almost causing her to smirk a little as the two of you often studied books and their true meanings together. ,,What was yours?'' she asks, wanting to make sure you got the silent message and her confession. ,,I think it's about two characters that fall in love, a silent love though, one where one is utterly in love with the other but the other one struggles to admit their feelings, preferring a love in silence while the other one wants to shout it from the rooftops'' you explain, losing yourself in the meanings of the words a little.

Her eyes close then, understanding and relieved that you got the message and as your eyes meet again you speak again, your words hushed and quiet ,,Is that why you gave it to me?'' you question ,,Because you care about me too?''. As the words flow from your mouth, your hands begin shaking, unsure where this sudden boost of confidence came from but your brain ultimately telling you that this wasn't a coincidence anymore. ,,I do Y/N'' she finally admits, her eyes sparkling a little as you notice her posture much less tense than before, her features almost seeming relieved at the admission of her feelings. ,,I never thought you would like me too'' you admit, almost in that same self loathing way she had once spoken about herself. ,,Hey'' she tries softly, before reaching for your hand and holding it in place. ,,Of course I do'' she reassures, tilting her head to the side a little.

Your silence and peace is interrupted when a few people enter the library, causing you both to pull away, before you stand up, walking over to some people standing by your desk wanting to return some books. Wilhemina watches in quiet awe and adoration at your movements, your politeness and she feels her heart fluttering in her chest. As people leave again, slowly more people walking inside, she walks back over to you, hovering beside you before you glance up at her ,,What's going to happen now then?'' you ask curiously, your cheeks coated in a slight red shade. ,,How about we start with dinner tonight, little one?'' she offers, causing you to blush at her statement even more. ,,I would love that'' you admit before your attention is needed working again. And for the remainder of the day, Wilhemina chooses to stay in your company, stealing glances at you as you go about your tasks with practiced ease. The excitement for the evening ahead lingering on your features whenever you lay eyes upon each other.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Could you do Felicia Hardy smut headcanons please?

Felicia Hardy x GN!reader

*Danielle Rose Russell used as fancast*

**I think about sex with Felicia far too often* *

● Felicia's sex drive is off the charts

● seriously, she needs to cum at least twice a day to feel even remotely satisfied

● and if you aren't there to make it happen she has plenty of toys to get the job done

● she owns quite the lingerie collection

● so many black lace pieces

● her favorites are see through bras because she knows those drive you particularly crazy

● "see something you like?" She'll say standing in the doorway of your bedroom in nothing but a revealing lace bra and panty set

● and it drives her crazy when you worship her tits

● sucking and toying with her nipples

● making her cum just from stimulating her chest

● having her ride your thigh while you're lavishing her breasts

● and leaving hickies all across her skin

● she melts when you call her a good girl

● you will be in the middle of a heist and she'll pull her zipper down ever so slightly to tease you with her tits

● "better pay attention love don't want to set off the museum alarm now do we?"

● "how the hell am I supposed to focus when you're taunting me like that?"

● "what can I say? I have great assets"

● "you sure do Felicia, you sure do"

● there's nothing she loves more than oral

● doesn't matter if she's giving or receiving

● you frequently wake up to her settled in between your legs

● and she works you like a pro giving you an incredible start to your morning

● and you always make sure to return the favor

● spending hours between her legs leaving your bedsheets absolutely soaked from how many times she cums

● anytime you run into her ex Odessa it ends in you two bringing her back to your place for a threesome

● Odessa always praises Felicia for finding someone so good in bed

● "at least I know you are being well taken care of Felicia"

● "you haven't even seen their best work"

● anytime you score huge on heists you have insane celebratory sex

● fucking on every surface of your apartment possible

● bringing out your special occasion toys

● speaking of, your toy box is full of contraptions that most people have never even heard of

● Felicia's got a list of kinks so long you'll never run out of new things to try

● and she introduces you to positions that shouldn't be humanly possible

● mid heist quickies that get your adrenaline pumping

● her bending over for no real reason just to show off her ass in her tight leather suit to turn you on

● you have no problem when Felicia flirts with people to either get intel or to steal something from them

● no one can resist her and she gets her prize every time

● "what do you think this watch is worth? 15-20k?" She grins walking back to your table after swiping a watch off some rich guy at the bar

● "whatever it's worth it's definitely paying for our next trip to Europe" you say kissing her proudly

● it's honestly pretty hot watching people hit on her knowing you're the one who gets to take her home

● but when certain people get a little too handsy with her she will drag you somewhere more private to ensure you that you are the only one she wants

● you guys have a nice big apartment that overlooks New York city but it is fun to break into penthouses and luxury hotels for a change of scenery every so often

● and when you travel you book the nicest hotels to screw around in

● fucking her on balconies with breathtaking views

● everyday is an adventure with Felicia

● and you wouldn't give it up for anything

[poitcast]

Moments from "Once Upon a Studio" that I adored

Mickey kindly offered Oswald to take first place in the group photo, telling him "After you!". Oswald happily thanked him by tipping his head to him.

That entire ending was perfect. I love how the "When You Wish Upon a Star" number began with Alan-a-Dale strumming his lute on top of the building, and then Scat Cat, Mirabel, and Junior join in before the singing begins. The build-up to Jiminy Cricket was great.

Belle and Beast singing together! In the original film, they had separate verses in "Something There" so it was nice that they shared a small duet. Paige O'Hara and Robby Benson did a great job!

Quasimodo singing! I'm glad to hear Tom Hulce in the role of Quasi again. James Baxter did a terrific job animating him once again.

Scuttle interrupts Ariel's verse only for Baloo to shut him up and share a sweet bonding moment with Mowgli.

There's something incredibly poetic about Snow White holding hands with Mulan and Asha as they sing together. Disney Studios owes a lot of its success to its princess characters, and it was cool to see three generations of female protagonists (the original, the Renaissance era in the 1990s, and the most recent era).

Winnie the Pooh's presence in general. I love how Christopher Robin and the others have to help him out of the picture frame, recreating the rabbit hole scene. Also, Pooh singing "Fate steps in, and sees you through" at the end and Tigger pouncing on him really got to me.

Cinderella and Prince Charming going down the stairs and Charming loses his shoe. The role reversal was cute enough, but after snatches the shoe, they go into silly mode with Prince Charming shouting "Eric, get your dog!" and Cinderella enabling the situation by saying "Go, Max, go!" It's incredibly endearing to see Prince Charming have a sense of humor and Cinderella happily going along with the shenanigans.

Antonio with the other animal characters and telling Joanna not to eat Jacques and Gus. Pluto coming in to save the mice was nice too.

Incorporating the archival audio from Robin Williams's recording as Genie.

The fifteen puppies watching the "Night on Bald Mountain" segment from Fantasia and Chernabog pops out of the screen. I also noted the various "Art of" books of their feature films on the cabinet surrounding the television.

Hearing Nathan Lane as Timon again and calling Olaf "Frosty".

Robin Hood and Little John snatching Scrooge McDuck's money bags and reveling in their victory. Oo-de-lolly!

The Wreck-It Ralph cameos! Vanellope on her race car, Ralph calling Mickey "Garfield" and Fix-It Felix fixing Goofy's camera. All in character and perfect.

Mickey's gang having their time in the spotlight. Donald trying to go down a crowded elevator, Goofy working as the photographer (may or may not be a subtle nod to his occupation in A Goofy Movie), and even Clarabelle has a moment.

It was nice seeing some representation for their shorts (Ben and Me, Johnny Appleseed) and their overlooked films (The Black Cauldron, Home on the Range, Chicken Little, and Dinosaur). Even if they didn't have any dialogue, their presence alone certainly counts.

Highlighting the artists that contributed to the studio. Burny Mattinson's cameo at the beginning was nice, and though Walt Disney himself was very much a complicated person (staunchly anti-union being one of them), the moment of Mickey staring at his portrait was genuine enough (Mickey says a simple "thanks" before he joins the rest of the characters). The framed photographs of various artists throughout the halls was also nice (I'm sure the actual building has those framed pictures of their former employees). I would have been a lot more critical of the short if many of the presence of the other artists weren't felt in the studio.

Overall, it was a great short! It was a beautiful love letter to the animation studio and its characters. I'm glad that they didn't incorporate any Pixar stuff and even flaunt their acquired assets (Star Wars, Marvel, etc.). It was just about celebrating their original animated works and the large catalog of characters. The animation was also fantastic and it was cool seeing the 2-D characters interact with the CG characters in a way that felt natural. I greatly appreciate the effort and love that was put into the short.

[river-in-the-woods]

i have a similar situation - i'm struggling to make my own correspondences, and i'm trying to draw from my pagan practices as well as my ancestral asian practice. i'm having a bit of difficulty with systematically going through a small dictionary, but maybe this can provide some ideas (and of course, if you have any critiques, i'm totally open to that as well!)

I usually just pick up any reference book and choose whatever I like the sound of and can get my hands on. I have a copy of The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by J.M. Greer which I use a lot because it has minimal tangential waffle and is neatly laid out. I like Llewellyn's Charms, Spells and Formulas for the same reason.

For culturally relevant things, I like chinasage which has a symbol index of various flora and fauna. I'm not aware of similar resources for other parts of East Asia, apologies.

While I do think that different materials are endowed with particular virtues, I also think this is another area of magic where people get a little obsessed with categorisation.

It's not like Pokemon where lavender has +10 sleep magic points and chamomile has +12, or roses are exclusively for love and attraction and black pepper is only for cursing and banishing, and so on... It's a little more like cooking where there are many possibilities of creating a satisfying meal and yet it still depends on the individual tastes of who's partaking in it.

Cypress, yew and asphodel are strongly associated with the underworld; mugwort and wormwood are associated with night-time and dreams, but these plants will still die without the light of day. Sunflowers and oranges are very solar, but they still have roots that reach into the earth to anchor them. Chilli peppers are incredibly fiery, but they still die without water. Yarrow is for youth, love and beauty, except when you're allergic to it.

Every herb is a herb for protection, and wealth, and attraction, and fertility, and banishing – and so on, because every plant has its own strategy to survive, thrive and proliferate.

(And that's just plants, not even touching on the properties of minerals, animals, elements, colours and so on.)

They do have their specialisations, yes, and I wouldn't use mint to call on the element of fire, nor would I use coffee beans in a sleep spell... What I'm trying to say is: they're all multi-faceted, so set aside the reference books now and then, and just observe and make connections intuitively.

Reference books might tell you that basil or cinnamon or citrus (or whatever) have wealth-drawing properties.

But grass, plain old common grass, completely dominates the greenery of the earth. Crops like rice, wheat, barley and corn are staple foods that support the world's population. And dandelions, with their solar and ouranic qualities and how quickly they proliferate across an open field, are oft overlooked.

These never get listed in books, yet their literal and symbolic powers are undeniable.

Put these – grass seeds, rice grains and dandelion seeds – into a wealth working with a simple prayer. "Bless me with as much wealth as there are blades of grass on this earth, as there are grains of rice that sustain humanity, as there are dandelion seeds that fill the air in spring."

Correspondences are only part of what makes magic work. There's also your own ability and experience, the spirits you call and the relationship you have with them... I strongly favour the relationship part because reference books become less and less important, when you can just ask and the spirits will tell you what to use. Or even better when you don't have to do a spell at all, because you have spirits to take care of it in exchange for some cake.

It took me a long time to open myself up to receiving that kind of inspiration, but... honestly, don't overthink it. You know a lot of correspondences already because you interact with the world every day.

Good luck 🌿

[vexy-hexy]

I hope this isn't a hot take, but Scott Cawthon is a shitty writer

The reason the lore makes no fucking sense is because he just randomly adds or retcons things with no explanation and, at this point, I think he just enjoys watching people (especially MatPat) go crazy theorizing

Like, the man may as well have confirmed dream theory a few years ago, only to go "wait, never mind, here’s Sister Location and everything is real, I promise"

I doubt even Scott understands his own story because it was written with the same grace and talent as an edgy middle school kid trying to write the next Jeff the Killer, so they shove everything they think is cool into the story, whether or not it fits

People say "oh, he didn't realize it would be more than (however many) games. He didn't plan that far ahead," but that excuse should only get you so far when you are writing a story

It's pretty clear that after at least game 4 (some say game 3, so I'm being nice), he stopped caring about the story and began just duct taping things he thought were interesting into a story that could've been wrapped up with MAYBE 5 games (1, 2, 3, 4, and pizzeria Sim with something in the other four to explain Baby and Molten Freddy, or get rid of them, I don't care), but instead it's a cluster fuck of weird details that DON’T MAKE SENSE

Look, I think a lot of us, myself included, can sometimes confuse a good CONCEPT with a good STORY

The storytelling of FNAF is dog shit, but the concept is just SO good, which is why people like the FNAF VHS tapes so much: these people are able to take a terrifying and interesting concept and make a truly good implied horror story with it in the way Scott NEVER could

And don't get me started on the books: First, they're not canon, then they're canon, but also, some stories may only be canon in another alternate universe or something, but if you actually want to understand something, you need to read some of the books

Your story should not have to be told across multiple different media for it to be even SLIGHTLY coherent. It's fine if you want to add in details that aren't too important to understanding the entire thing (like, we don't specifically need to know the names of each kid William killed, but it's a cool fact to know. Or maybe expand on how Freddy's and the incidents affected different people), but, as cool as it was, Golden Freddy being possessed by two children is a pretty crucial point to the rest of the series to be in just some activity book that so easily could've been overlooked as something fun to do related to FNAF (IMO)

Not to mention, we apparently can't even agree on the name of the Crying Child who, I think, was the catalyst for this entire story (because we can't even seem to agree if Elizabeth or CC died first)

TL;DR FNAF is a great concept, and it's been shown that it can make a great story by people who are much more skilled than Scott Cawthon (or maybe they just care more about this series than it's own creator, I don't fucking know)

Also, sorry if I'm incoherent or get anything wrong, I typed this while I was incredibly tired, but I did try to edit it as much as I could the past few days

[fkapommel]

A Rant about Bridgerton s3 from a person who doesn't care about Bridgerton

I'm just a hater who is an optimist at heart. On Polin, the Mondrich's, Michaela Stirling, and Cressida.

I haven't read the Bridgerton books, and I don't believe there is any validity to a "but this isn't book accurate!" argument because Bridgerton the Show was marketed as a diverse, representational adaptation that liked the bones of Quinn's idea but made something better. And I, a lay person, have never seen as much virtroil and hatred towards the showrunners as I have seen this season using that exact argument that has never been uttered before because, near unanimously, all fans agreed that the showrunners were making a better story that 90s Quinn ever could. So many people, readers and non-readers alike, were disappointed with the handling of this season.

Peneolope and Colin

Polin was ignored during THEIR season for conventionally "pretty" and "thin" romances. There was zero character growth for either Penelope or Colin individually and as a couple in their own season. We are never shown why Colin loves Peneolope or why he has grown to appreciate her Whistledown project beyond dialogue - "I've learned that they are both you" what the hell does that even mean. Most of the season is spent with them physically apart making dumb faces at each other at dances with no cinemagraphric tension being built - few body closeups, boring musical cues, meaningless and repetitive body/facial choreography (I'm looking at you, open-mouthed contoured Colin) - when all this and more were utilized successfully in Anthony and Kate's season. People were thirsty as fuck to watch a white man get fucked by a darker skinned woman (as was i), but not even the showrunners could be assed about the romance between their only plus-sized character and a Bridgerton. We spent more time building up Francesca's relationship with Kilmartin over penting up Peneolope's romance - her feelings of tragedy, hopelessness. Peneolope has always been overlooked and truly believed that was her fate forever - even nearly agreeing to a marriage that would literally leave her ignored for years on end - and that was the central tension of the season. She knows who she is, she knows that she is love-worthy, talented, and intelligent, but will Colin? DOES Colin? Oh, he does, and he randomly decides that mid-way through the season. And then fumbles her so hard to the point of insulting her very character - calling her manipulative and scheming after they slept together - when the true authorship of Whistledown is revealed. There was not enough tension built nor sustained to carry his hatred for his wife during those episodes, and no, a couple shots where he looks at his very hot wife and thinks "damn, she is hot" is enough.

This season we should have seen what his mother told him - that he is incredibly self-sacrificial and puts other people's (his quoted siblings') happiness before him - in action during Pen and his plot to get a suitor. That device could have been both means and method of Colin's realization that Pen was his true match all along by being forced to list her accolades, scrutinize her face and body for physical compliments and inticements in order to hype her up for other suitors and recognizing her intelligence and manner of speak in Whistedown because of their newfound constant proximity instead of having to be told about her authorship and realizing off-screen their similarity (which, I'll mention, has never been demonstrated in all three seasons. As a person who writes very different to how they speak, I understand that there is some grace to be had here, but Penelope's dialogue does not include any Whistledownisms at ALL and there absolutely should be some demonstrable similarities, especially this season.) That's how Colin could have NOTICED her. In all, their romance was extremely fumbled in favor of having "prettier," "skinnker" bodies on screen because the showrunner had no faith in Nicola's verified abilities in being a leading lady in a larger body (which isn't even plus-sized UGH different argument). Pen has been in love with Colin since the Featherington's "moved in next door" - where was any of that? We learn more about Kate Sharma's childhood in her season than we do about Polin's, the season where its plot important. No flashbacks, no reminescing, no reasons given why Pen even liked Colin in the first place (could he have done something for her, perhaps noticing her in some character-important way, and thats why she developed a crush? No. He's simply a cute guy next door.) We don't even reminisce on Colin's recent worldly travels that, at the start of the season, have completely transformed him into a lady's man or taught him how to assume that character-type. We don't see Pen's life without him to contrast with her life with him back, but different. We don't see the strain on Colin trying to hold up this facade of being a confident womanizer, nor do we see any consequence of his womanizing, just distant shots of jealous Pen. Why be different, why be different now, what shaped and taught his transformation? Did he think of Pen when he was gone? All important questions that would've better characterized him.

Colin magically realizes he's been tortured for a few days seeing Pen talk with Debling a few times (who is completely forgotten about in Pt 2 holy shit I totally forgot about him), then is so mean to her realizing she's Whistledown, then magically falls in love with her again, and then oop- there's babies. Which i guess wasn't a surprise, but rubbed me the wrong way as neither of Polin has talked about wanting kids at all. In all other seasons, we see our pair demonstrate their abilities as viscountess or duchess, and we see them discuss the importance of having children plus an understanding of what it's like being parents. We didn't get any of that from Polin and seeing them suddenly thrust into parenthood was a shock to their characterization. They're love story is allowed to be juvenile, girl-/boy-next-door fantasizing, and rushing past Penelope's pregnancy and their transformation into parents was needless, leaving more questions than answers.

Mondriches

Why, the hell, was the Mondrich's selling their bar so goddamn important to this season?? This show is called Bridgerton, about the Bridgertons, but we have sacrificed necessary screen time on Colin Bridgerton's characterization and romance with Pen for filler than ultimately means nothing! He sells the bar anyway! This show was billed on meaningful representation of its diverse cast. You can't just make a nothing burger conflict about if this Black family suddenly thrust into being titled when the husband is weirdly attached to a bar where he serves whisky to his majority white clientelle. A Black family suddenly needing to learn the rules and decorum of the nobility is an interesting storyline in the world of Bridgerton, which characterizes itself has post-racial. Learning all the minute rules of etiquette is crafted to be impossible to an outsider, so how does this family of outsiders learn it? Where is the conflict that their inheritance rests on their child becoming the legal head of the family? There is so much to be explored here. In this concept rests a meaningful and emotionally convincing plot, but all we got was "Dude you need to sell your bar." "But I don't wanna! ............... I sold my bar." If youre going to waste screen time on one of the very few depictions of a plus-size character finding love that doesn't center her weight in its conflict, at least make it not so fucking boring.

Michaela Stirling and Francesca

And finally. Here we get to Michaela Sterling, who, based on the audience reaction, came on screen, showed her whole vag, killed beloved character Michael Sterling with a chainsaw, and hypnotized innocent Francesca Bridgerton in lesbianism. Good God people. Get a grip.

As a person not in the fandom, I have never seen this level of disgust and anguish over an adaptational change than to the introduction of Michaela Stirling. To anyone who hates this change and loves Mr. "Im going to tie you to the bed until you get pregnant": you already have that. No one is taking the books away from you. But a television adaptation of the books is not FOR you, it's for a whole new audience that pays homage to the original readership. If you cannot handle this change, stop watching.

To all of the television viewers who make a monolith of this outcry, accusing all nay-sayers of homophobia: get a grip. It is indeed emotionally difficult to see your beloved books get a poor adaptation or when screen adapters make changes that you see will make the narrative weaker. Literally every fandom that has had an adaptation has acted this way once or twice. And readers make some important concerns for the impending narrative! By introducing Michaela right after an entire season of this slow, easy, quiet romance between Francesca and John, the show has retroactively trashed every time that Fran has assured her family that she is truly in love with her now-husband (a fact that is important when that said husband is to be lost in the coming seasons). Fran and Stirling were demonstrating a real, true love that differed from the steamy, bodice-ripping lust the concept of Bridgerton was founded on. Their love was, may I remind you, incredibly popular to neurodivergent viewers who saw many traits of ND represented in Fran's character and her relationship with John. Her constant conflict with her mother and the queen who doubted that their love was valid because it did not behave in the same sensual way theirs had and then Violet's eventual approval of their relationship is important representation for love not based on lust and sexuality but on shared psychologies and interests. So far in Bridgerton, it has been illustrated that the only correct and long-lasting type of marriage is one based in wanting to fuck the pants off your partner; JoFran complicates this narrative. By then introducing Michaela and having Fran stutter over her words in compliance to Violet's memory of "forgetting the most familiar of words" when meeting her husband completely erases everything JoFran fought for and meant. "Wait, on second though, everything that these two characters stood for was in fact wrong and being so horned up that you forget your name is the only true start to a fulfilling relationship." This alludes to an eventuality that Fran's personality will be altered even more, that more parts of Francesca are indeed wrong and need to be changed for her to live a fulfilling marriage. (Yes, I understand that this has not happened yet, but the complete reversal of her relationship that she championed for an entire season makes one wary that even more is on the horizon). Further, Francesca's narrative is centralized around grief. How can that be actualized in the show if she falls out of love with her husband before her marriage night, when she's already lusting after her cousin by marriage? The Micheala introduction as it is in season 3 completely rewrites Francesca's character in the show and foreboding for an even greater change in seasons to come. There is an in-narrative issue with Michaela that is not reducible to homophobia but a genuine concern for the narrative.

Secondly, I have seen some people state that miffed viewers are upset about Francesca's bisexuality but not Eloise's implied lesbianism because they were comforted by Eloise's adherence to gay stereotypes, such as her "militant" feminism, her "not-like-other-girls" black sheepism, her hatred and disgust of men and the institution of marriage, and her constant, deep, near-homoerotic relationships with women. Francesca, in contrast, is princessly, beautiful in the same manner as Daphne, modest and sexually inhibited, concerned with feminine pursuits including marriage, and has not expressed an interest in women until her introduction to Michaela. To these people I say this: stop giving television showrunners so much grace. Michaela's introduction was meant as a shock to the audience. It was not meant to retroactively construct Francesca as a bisexual, locked in a tower of heterosexuality. It was meant to drum up just as much media buzz as it has. It is a hook for the next season meant to draw in new viewers - a queer audience scrounging for representation in the carpet hairs - and their run-of-the-mill audience member who pointed at their TV, exclaimed WHAT!?, and who is now hooked to discover how this new plotline will play out in the next season. It will keep their audience curious for however many years it takes for B4 to come out. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you were not surprised by Fran's sudden bisexuality. There is a reason that Eloise's stereotypicality is shorthand for gay, and the fact that Benedict and now Fran have been confirmed as bisexual if not homosexual lessens the probability that Eloise's narrative will be queered. Bridgerton creators do not care about true representation, they care about providing for a wide enough audience. That's why we only got canon queer characters (and queer sex) until the end of s3 - when people were already hooked. But they can only include so much before people are turned away. Think to yourself, why has there been no main dark-skinned, or truly plus-sized, or blemished, or disabled, or asexual, or poor, or effiminate man, or butch woman, or trans* love interest? It's because diversity and representation have limits.

Queer people deserve good representation, and we deserve for that representation to be narratively treated well. We do not deserve shock marketing or the ruining of hard built plot and characterization so that creators can win Diversity Bingo. (Likewise, this goes for racial diversity as well).

Forgotten Cressida

And lastly, and most shortly, what the fuck did they do with poor Cressida. I have never been more let down by the show than how they villanized, then sympathized with, and then shipped off Cressida to a doom of her worst nightmares when her storyline could have genuinely be salvaged by inhabiting the Whistledown role - being an outcast, but a respected one that is still flits about society - or by allying herself more with Eloise and leaning on her for support. But no. She is forgotten by society, by her family, and the only person she has ever called a friend, who was in the perfect position to be a queer provider for her. That shit hurted.

[sixth-light]

I've been thinking a lot lately* about how artistic works are so intimately products of their moment and in conversation with it, and how easy this is to overlook both in terms of discussing a work and in terms of anticipating or considering new additions to an older work.

The first is important because so many judgements that can be made about a work are only meaningful when you know what their context was. What readers need or want to see, particularly in terms of representation, is hugely mediated by what else is available to them at the time. Yeah this is about stuff like "Rocky Horror was progressive when it was created" but also it's about stuff like "the John Carter movie bombed because it was regarded as derivative", when in fact the source material originated a bunch of the 'derivative' scenes and tropes that were then used by better-known movies before a John Carter movie ever got made.

The second is important because...even if you come back to a work, as a creator, you can only make new parts of it as the person you are now, in conversation with the world and genre as it is now, not as it was when you started. Taking a mildly-infamous-among-fantasy-fans example, Melanie Rawn's unfinished Ambrai trilogy; she's often said that she can't finish it because her life has moved on and...as sad as I am it was never finished, I think that's probably smart! She could write a third book one day, maybe, but it never could or would be the third book she would have written in the 1990s. And even if she did manage that somehow, the genre has moved on in such a way that it would feel weird and probably quite offputting to read a book doing with gender and feminism what the Ambrai books were doing in the '90s, because they are/were inherently in conversation with an era of fantasy that is now past.

All of which is to say that:

as a reader (or watcher) I think it's good to hold in mind, when engaging with a work from a time and/or place unfamiliar to you, the extent of what you don't know about the context of the work

as a creator, I think it's good to be very realistic about what you're going to actually achieve when you are making something over a long time period or coming back to something you left unfinished. You can totally do that! It can be incredibly rewarding! But the thing you make now is not the thing you would have made then, probably not even the thing you imagined you were going to make then, and that's just the nature of art.

*The reason I have been thinking about this is partly books I have been reading (Mara of the Acoma, you are my blorbo) and partly a very fun podcast I have been listening to which has re-read The Ruins of Ambrai and done a lot of discussion about its context, finishing up with a great interview with Kate Elliott about writing fantasy in the '90s (and writing it now, as she is still writing great but different books!). Anyway go listen to the Hot Nuance Book Club, it's a good time.