#sorry for taking so long...its been a day™

[aufgrundlagedeinerlikes]

i would LOVE to hear about vicky lore thank you

SO, since I already detailed her backstory here, u will now hear about her beautiful red bull academy days...

She signed with them pretty early (...no doubt because of her being Austrian and the Austrian branch of the company wanting someone in the team), along with Alistair. So up the two went at an age far to young, moving to the UK. being 15/16 the both of the decided to share a flat.

To this day they are still wondering how they survived on their own between Alistair 'certiefied rich kid' Acher and Vicky 'can bake but will burn your kitchen down while cooking' Falkenstein. Somehow they pervailed.

during this era some beautiful inside jokes started, as well as Vicky's beef with Pierre, (Alistair, being an amazing friend, immediately made out with Pierre at the next party) and they traumabonded with Yuki about the horror that is Helmut Marko.

It's still a wonder Vicky hadn't gotten outed during that time, with the amount of women she snugged at Partys. (She also dressed and behaved a lot more stereotypically masculine than she does at the present day (the pink hair did exist tho at that point)

after they gave Alistair the toro Rosso seat (even tho Vicky won the f2 championship), she dropped out the academy, her grandfather cursed out Helmut Marko on national TV, and than joined McLaren as a reserve driver.

[thelaundrybitch]

Donnie Kisses

Turtledoves, it's been a fabulous day!

And I thought I'd share a little sugar with you...

➡️ Aged-up, adult turts

this may or may not have gotten a little out of hand I'm so sorry

Sweet and spicy - you've been warned.

Let me introduce you to Mr. Romance™

While Leo is going in for the kill, boyfriend here is just gonna be killing it.

I'm a firm believer that Don is Mr. Romance. And he is going to keep you on your toes. Chase you. Make you wonder…

He's gonna go from that little kiss kiss kiss to absolutely fucking manhandling you while you two are arguing.

You know the kind… 

Don is going to wait. He's going to make sure that this strange pull to you is worth risking his friendship with you. He's going to research. Calculate. He’s going to ask all the right questions and say all the right things. Tiptoeing the line of…  Suggestive… Or sarcastic? And right when he’s close enough with that flirty Don look on his face, he’s going to start speaking softer and softer so you have to lean in closer to hear him, so you’re hanging on every word and he’ll just lean forward and close the distance, brushing his snout alongside your nose to test. When you don't back away he will just barely touch your lips with his. With the lightest kiss… kiss… kiss… before he slants his mouth across yours and massages his lips against yours.

He’ll be busy. Sitting at his desk. Working on something. And while he’s interactive with you, you still aren’t his focal point. And it’s nudging at your patience.

Little do you know, you do indeed have his utmost attention. He’s doing it on purpose.

He’s waiting. Feeling you out. Seeing how long it takes until- 

Your leg stretches over his hips so you’re face to face with him, and your arms move around his neck as you lean against him. But he just dodges your head, looking around you as he continues to type lines of code. His brain working a million miles a minute, smiling internally that he has you… Right where he wants you. And it’s not until your voice goes from irritation that he’s ignoring you - to whining and pleading, that he stops mid-keyboard click and locks his eyes on yours, a smug smirk making its way across his lips. Hands abandon his coding and move to your waist as he rolls his chair forward and traps you between him and the desk. As his face gets closer to yours, he pauses and whispers, “Need me to run your lines of code too?” Then he laves the crease of your lips with a flat tongue, one of his hands moving to the back of your head to keep you still so he can absolutely devour you.

You had brought him to the rooftop of your building, having set up a date night. A blanket spread out with his favorite foods and some purple fairy lights as some romantic lighting. The pair of you sat and ate. Talking about everything. You were waiting for the meteor shower to begin, unbeknownst to him. Your smile grew wider as the time approached.

But then the clouds moved in, not only blocking your perfect view, but spitting down at you and ruining your surprise. Donatello jumps up and quickly starts to clean up the mess, but you can't stop the tears from falling along with the stupid rain.

He stops what he's doing immediately, hurrying to you.

As you vent out your frustration over the rain, he can't help but fall more in love with you, with each tear that makes its way down your cheeks.

Suddenly his mouth is on yours, coaxing your lips open, slow and firm. His tongue moving against yours in a dance of give and take.

The rain beats down harder and harder, adding some extra glide to your lips, and making him moan into your mouth the longer he tastes you.

You're out of breath and pull back, but his lips chase yours, his hands trapping your face in a cradle… because he needs more.

You had made it down to the lair before the guys got up. Peeking into the lab you see your boyfriend half asleep in his bed as he slappity-slaps at his phone alarm to stfu. Giggling, you head to the kitchen to start the coffee maker for him.

He comes out to the smell of newly brewed, fresh coffee, and follows the enticing scent to the kitchen.

Back to him, you're standing at the counter making him his morning coffee.

And something about the scene just sucks the oxygen from his lungs.

He's so in love with you.

His body moves on its own, and he quietly walks to the counter, grabs your hand and spins you like you're his dance partner. He spins you into his arms and dips you, his lips falling to yours while he holds you tight to him in that dip. Teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulls it into his mouth for a little tantalizing suction. 

And as fast as it happened it’s ended.

A flirtatious smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as he pulls back with a sultry quirk of a brow ridge, stands you on your own two feet, and strolls out of the kitchen, his coffee in hand.

He hasn't slept in days. The fate of the world is dependent upon his intellect to get them out of the current shit show.

Out of concern you tried to talk him into sleep, but he got nasty.

And a screaming match ensues.

Arms flung out and glaring as you yell back at him, you don't realize that this whole argument is doing it for him.

Your voice is strained and cracking as you bite back tears that threaten to spill, “Why are you being such a fucking assho-”

But the words die in your throat as he storms forward, crashing his mouth on yours as he scoops you up by the thighs, situating your spread legs around his hips. 

Your ass hits his lab table and he's crawling on top of you, pinning your hands above your head with a single hand while the other has a bruising grasp on your hip.

His tongue pushes through your lips only to pull back immediately with intense suction, your tongue swept into his mouth with his current of his lust. He does it over and over because he wants - no needs - to erase those dirty words from your pretty mouth. 

He never meant to get you that upset and now he needs to make up for it.

“I'm sorry for being an asshole… Let me make it up to you.”

He doesn't give you a chance to answer. He just takes those kisses from the top to the bottom, and lets his tongue love you with just as much passion below as he did above.

Please don't steal my work. Reblogging for others to enjoy is highly encouraged, though🤩

~tags~

@leosgirl82 @gornackeaterofworlds @t-annuki @scholastic-dragon @luckycharms1701 @ninnosaurus @flaminglily @fyreball66 @avery73 @leoandraphssoulmate @iheartchv

[anyasathenaeum]

Hello! I feel like I might have already requested this before your ask box was wiped, but how about a virgin!Knives x Reader smutfic?? I love how you characterized him as shy and flustered over the idea of sex in that one crackfic you wrote 😵 I hope you have a great day and life is treating you well!! You're one of my favorite writers regardless of what you write :D

A/N: Hey anon! Yes, I remember this request! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to it, but here it is! This is my first (serious) attempt at smut with Knives, so uhhhhhhhhh please don't come for me, I tried my best. I've decided to start with some headcanons followed by the fic itself, apologies - it's long. Also, anon - thank you SO much for your comment, you're super sweet and I'm sorry I took so long to get to this. All the best! Warnings: MINORS DNI, Virgin!Knives, AFAB!reader (female terminology is used), hinting towards plants having "heats", a touch of yandere-ish behaviour (it's Knives, so not entirely surprising) penetrative sex, P in V sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), reader is submissive in this one, rough sex, marking, a little bit of a breeding kink, Knives being a Loser™, he's kinda in love with you but the fucker definitely refuses to admit it, name-calling (Knives calls reader things like "slut" and such) Word Count: 3.3k

Virgin!Knives is definitely not nearly as confident and as ruthless as he is in all other points of his life - he might seem like he knows what he's doing, but deep down? Man is SHY, but he'd rather die than have anybody realize that

Seriously, you won't ever hear him talking about sex, and he doesn't even use the word if he can afford to outside of the bedroom

When it comes to his first time, he likes to make it seem like he's in charge and like he fucks all the time, but he's literally just a hair breadth away from cumming the moment you touch him for the first time.

Would absolutely make you ride him (mostly because he has no idea what he's doing), but he plays it off with cool indifference and because he "just wants you to please him".

He tries to make up for it, trying to be more forceful or rough with his thrusts, talking dirty to you and calling you names, but it's a double-edged sword because the moment you're crying out his name and squeezing around him, he sees stars and cums WAY too soon.

Basically, Virgin!Knives is a mess and wants to seem like he's still in charge in bed, but with a few thrusts of your own, driving him deeper and deeper into you, you'd have him falling apart beneath you in moments.

But, of course, because he's not human, his stamina is INSANE and the moment he cums for the first time inside you, it unhinges him (do I sense a breeding kink???) and suddenly he's chasing orgasm after orgasm using you, and you're definitely not gonna be leaving his bed for the next few days.

Full fic below! Enjoy!

"Are you sure this is what you want, Master Knives?"

The question slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. You just couldn't believe what you were hearing.

Millions Knives, the independent plant who you'd been working for for years, had had you brought to his chambers in the middle of the night so that he could ask you something important.

"Are you questioning me, pet?"

The way Knives glared at you, his gaze cold and calculated, made shivers course down your spine, and you quickly bowed your head.

"No, Master Knives. Not at all. I was merely surprised by your request. I apologize."

Knives simply raised his eyebrow as he continued to gaze at you, taking in your form as you stood before him. You'd initially been just some filthy human he was forced to keep around due to your utility and your skills, but over time, as much as Knives refused to admit to it, you'd grown on him. You were one of the more intelligent of your species, it seemed, and one that seemed to know its place whenever you spoke to him. But, in the end, you were still just a lowly, miserable human, part of the plague that threatened Plants across the planet.

So... why?

Why did Knives feel this... pull towards you? Why did he have to fight the urge to be near you each and every time he spotted you, the urge to tuck you against him with his wing and whisk you away, out of sight and out of reach of all others? Why did he feel rage boiling up within him whenever you smiled or laughed at something somebody else had said? A fair share of other henchmen had lost lives and limbs just for speaking to you (not that you knew that, of course - they just conveniently "disappeared" during a mission).

Beyond just those moments, Knives had also noticed... other things. A warmth that seemed to bloom from whatever part of him had brushed your skin, spreading through the rest of his body until it became full blown heat. This heat was unbearable to resist and made him feel as though it were burning him alive from the inside out, unquenchable even when he took matters into his own hands time and time again.

Knives wasn't a fool. He knew of the lust and the need to reproduce that his kind often felt, but he'd never experienced it himself ever before. Not until you showed up. But, you were part of the very thing Knives had sworn to destroy, so why did his body call to you in this way? Why did his body betray him so? What was it about you that made him feel this way?

"You heard me, (Y/N)," Knives spoke slowly and quietly, his gaze not leaving you for a moment as he lounged on his bed, "I wish for you to stay the night."

"Yes, Master Knives."

"You will not speak of this to anybody," he continued, his voice scarily level, "Or I shall ensure you are permanently silenced."

You simply bowed your head again, your heart pounding frantically in your chest.

You had always had an interest in Knives - asides from being somebody who was hired to work from him, you found him a truly interesting being. An independent plant, more beautiful than any living creature you'd ever seen before, hellbent on exterminating the human race to save his sister plants and trying to find his twin brother, another independent plant. He was always transparent of his end goal, and despite it all, you had still agreed to work for him. After all, humanity was a mess and it wasn't going to get any better - you'd seen proof of that time and time again throughout your life.

So, here you were - working tirelessly so he could achieve his goal.

Although, you hadn't expected to be summoned to Knives's chambers so late in the night, and you certainly hadn't anticipated him to wish for you to stay the night. You'd been summoned to his chambers several times in the past, sometimes for work purposes, other times simply on a whim, and you weren't ignorant of the way you felt around Knives.

His presence made you feel simultaneously safe and on edge, as if something was always just about to occur. As though there were always words hanging in the air between you two, just waiting to be spoken but never truly acknowledged.

Despite his reputation of being unforgiving and ruthless, you'd never been on the receiving end of that side of him, somehow. He could be harsh and sharp with his words and his actions, but he'd never caused you any true harm. You couldn't ignore the way your skin felt as though electricity coursed through it whenever Knives accidentally brushed against you, or the way the heat rose to your cheeks whenever you found him watching you intently. He never looked away immediately whenever you caught him staring at you, simply maintaining his gaze and ensuring to keep eye contact with you for a couple moments before looking away almost lazily, as if he'd grown bored of you. But the fact that he did it so often... could it mean?...

You didn't dare let yourself hope. It couldn't possibly mean anything. After all, you were just a human. Unworthy of him in every possible way.

And yet, here you were, summoned to his chambers in the middle of the night and told you were to stay with him overnight. Your mind was in overdrive, trying to figure out what this meant.

"W-Where am I to sleep, Master Knives?" You inquired softly, not daring to look up at him.

Knives would've scoffed and laughed had it been any other person standing before him, but this was you. His pet, of sorts. And as much as he refused to accept it, you softened him. You weakened him.

"We'll address that later, pet. Come here."

Before you could process everything, you found yourself approaching Knives's bed, stopping right before it and waiting for his commands, not wanting to overstep.

"Did I not make myself clear? Here, pet," Knives all but hissed, making it clear he wanted you right on the bed next to him.

Blushing slightly, you quickly followed his demand, crawling into his bed so you were right by his side. You could feel his gaze on you, and you risked a glimpse at his face - his expression was surprisingly calm, almost curious as he studied you as you sat there next to him on his bed.

"Don't move," Knives whispered quietly, bringing his hand up to your face.

Immediately, you froze, almost afraid to breathe.

"So obedient," you heard Knives chuckle, clearly amused, "What a good pet I have."

Without further comments, you felt Knives's fingers beginning to trace over your skin, skimming lightly over your cheeks and making his way over the bridge of your nose, then down over your lips. His touch was surprisingly gentle, more gentle than you ever thought him capable, but you remained silent as he continued his barely-there touches.

You struggled to ignore the beating of your heart and the roaring of your blood in your ears, your whole body feeling like a livewire. You had to remind yourself not to let your mind wander and make your hidden desires obvious, but something in the way Knives was watching you made you believe that he already knew of your hidden desires. You felt your face heating up even worse than before as you looked away from Knives, suddenly finding the threading of the bedding very interesting.

"I don't understand you."

Knives's sudden voice startled you, making you jump slightly as you sat there next to him. However, you remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Look at me, (Y/N)."

Slowly, you brought your gaze up to look at Knives, trying not to let your heart beat straight out of your chest as you did so. His icy blue gaze was steady as it trained on your face, still studying you even intently.

"What do you not understand about me?" You asked quietly, steeling yourself as you held Knives's gaze.

After a couple moments, Knives replied quietly, "I don't understand what it is about you that makes my body feel this way. How you, a mere human... are the only one who has the ability to set my soul and my body aflame. I get no rest because of you."

You felt your heart stop for a moment before it began to thunder violently in your chest, your eyes widening in surprise. There was no way that he meant what you thought he meant.

"Master Knives, I-"

"Nai."

You looked at him curiously, and Knives simply continued, "In here, I'm not Master Knives. My name is Nai. You use my name, here and only here."

"Yes, Nai," you replied softly, testing out his name on your tongue.

"I think you know why I've summoned you to stay the night, now. Don't you, (Y/N)?"

You nodded, making Nai smirk slightly, "Clever pet."

Without a second of hesitation, you felt Nai's hand cup the back of your neck, pulling you down against him and slotting his lips to yours in a passionate, lustful kiss.

You let out a small, muffled yelp as you fell forward onto him, your lips pressing against his and your eyes wide in surprise. His taste was surprisingly bright, and you found yourself melting into the kiss, eyes closing and matching his passion in the kiss within moments. You felt Nai's hands burying themselves into your hair as he pulled you on top of him, holding you close to him as he continued to kiss you lustfully, his desire for you overwhelming his typically-controlled self.

Despite the kiss being lustful and filled with desire, you found that Nai's kiss still felt as though he were holding something back. Was it simply due to him not being as invested as you believed him to be? Or was it for some other reason? Regardless, you found your hands coming up to cup Nai's face gently as you continued to kiss him, his hands resting firmly on your hips and holding you in place.

You could feel Nai's hands pressing your hips down hard against him, and underneath his robe and through your clothes, you could feel something hard rubbing against your core. A wanton moan escaped you as Nai continued to force you down onto him, getting you to grind on him as his hands guided your hips. You could feel your pussy beginning to soak through your panties, and your whole body shuddered as Nai pulled away from you, a string of spit connecting your lips together.

You watched as Nai's knives suddenly appeared from him, slowly approaching you. Your eyes widened in fear, and you tried to figure out what you'd done wrong, your whole body freezing and your blood turning to ice. However, the blades of the knives didn't touch your skin, instead the tentacles slowly working their way under your clothing, cutting piece by piece loose and letting the scraps of fabric fall from your body. The tentacles of knives glided across your skin almost tenderly, continuing their work diligently until you found yourself completely naked in Nai's bed, your clothing nothing more than strips of fabric now.

"Worry not, pet. You'll get new clothes," Nai spoke quietly, his eyes eagerly taking in your naked form.

Nai could feel himself getting riled up the moment he laid eyes on your bare skin, his cock hardening beneath his robe as he took in every part of you. You were beautiful, he supposed, for a human.

As he gazed at you, Nai couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like for him to finally take you, to stake him claim on you and to feel you around him for the first time. Of course, he'd never let you know that he'd never done any of this before, instead maintaining his façade of cool indifference and superiority, as if he'd done this so many times that it almost bored him.

Reaching out towards you, Nai pulled you back on top of him, his robe dissipating and allowing you to finally see him, his cock rock hard and throbbing, a glob of pre-cum leaking from the tip. You could see that the same plant markings that sprawled across the rest of his body were also on the shaft of his cock, as well as his tip. Just the sight of him, laid out before and below you like this and clearly wanting you, had your pussy dripping wet. You couldn't believe just how badly you wanted him inside you.

"Well? Go on, pet," Nai commanded, watching you carefully, "Please me."

"Yes, Nai."

You couldn't believe this was happening, but you found yourself feeling excited by the fact that you actually got the opportunity to sleep with Nai. As much as you wished that it could've been more than just sex, you were happy to have this, at the very least.

Slowly, you settled yourself in his lap, your hand wrapping gently around his cock and aligning him with your pussy, letting the tip just barely rest against your entrance. You were surprised to hear Nai hiss as soon as you took hold of him, feeling his body tense and feeling something warm and wet dribbling over your fingers.

"A-Are you okay?" You asked softly, looking at Nai with slight concern, hoping you hadn't hurt him or made him uncomfortable.

"Fine," Nai gritted out, "Don't question me. Remember your place, pet."

Then, suddenly, you felt Nai's hands tighten on your hips, grabbing onto you firmly before pushing you down onto his cock hard.

You let out a cry at the sudden stretch, your pussy stinging at the feeling of being split open so deeply for the first time in a long while, trying to adjust to the feeling of Nai inside you. With him sheathed inside you, you could feel just how big he was - even without moving, he was pressing against the most perfect spot inside you, pulling a whine from your lips.

"Quiet, slut," Nai growled, his hold on your hips bruising your skin as his fingers dug into your flesh.

What you didn't know was that Nai was struggling worse than you were at the moment - he'd never felt such warmth and tightness before, especially not around his cock, and he was trying so hard not to cum then and there. He hadn't expected you to feel so good around him, or for his body to be this sensitive.

However, as he held you against him, you let out a soft whine of pleasure and began to roll your hips desperately, pushing him just the slightest bit deeper into you. Nai's grip tightened on you, and he was about to growl out another command when his orgasm suddenly washed over him.

A choked "Fuck!" slipped from his lips as he involuntarily bucked his hips up into you, wanting nothing more than to bury himself into you even more than before as his seed coated your walls, painting them in white and claiming you as his in a way nobody ever really had before. You let out a moan and clutched onto Nai's shoulders as you felt the warmth spreading within your abdomen, and you couldn't help but continue to roll your hips as you chased your own release, wanting to feel more of Nai inside you.

"N-Nai, please," you whined, continuing to thrust your hips against him, "Want more... need more of you... please..."

Hearing you plead for him, for his cock, to give you pleasure made something in Nai snap.

In a flash, you found yourself laying back in the bed with Nai above you, his cock still buried inside you and still hard as ever. However, now, you could see a fire in his eyes as he gazed at you, his hand coming up and squeezing your breast. The mewl that came from you as Nai touched you made him feel more powerful than ever before, his instincts beginning to take over.

Leaning down and pressing his lips against yours hungrily, Nai began to thrust into you with urgency, his thrusts powerful and deep, pulling moan after moan from you as he continued to fuck you into his bed. He couldn't care less that this was his first time - nothing else mattered right now except for cumming inside you over and over again until you knew nothing but his name and that you belonged to him. He allowed his instincts to take over, the instinct to claim, to mate, to breed, to fill you up until it spilled from you endlessly.

"You're mine, slut. You hear me? Mine."

The growl that came from Nai made your whole body shiver, and the way he sunk his teeth into your neck and left a dark bruise to show that fact to the world made you scream out, partly from pain and partly from pleasure. You were his now, and nobody else would ever have you.

"Say it!" Nai commanded, thrusting into you harshly without stopping. "Say-" thrust "you-" thrust "are-" thrust "mine!".

"Y-Yours!" You cried out, feeling your own orgasm wash over you stronger than ever before as Nai continued to fuck you through it, "'M yours, Nai!"

"Mine!"

Nai slammed his cock into you one final time as he came yet again, filling you to the brim with cum once more. As he recovered from his orgasm, Nai continued to leave marks down your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, working his way down until he was ready to go again, wanting nothing more than to continue this until he could no longer stand it.

"Prepare yourself, (Y/N)," Nai growled into your ear, pulling your body against his hard, "You're to stay with me all night. And I'm nowhere near done."

[springsylph]

Touch and Agree | Charles x Reader

charles smith x f! reader | no warnings | 2.1k | ao3 |

was trying to get back into writing but i was struck with an indescribable sadness once i thought about how useless charles must’ve felt after burning his hand in blackwater. so. i raise you unknowingly touchstarved reader versus Charles™

The horses have slowed to a trot by the time you press your cheek to the frosted window.

You hear Arthur shout some muffled declaration of success as he and Charles’ shadows curl around the front of the stable. The gang is likely aware of their return, senses now heightened by hunger and the frigid winds of Colter. But you feel the need to relay the message to the few still silently huddled in the corners:

“If you’ve been praying, today’s your lucky day.”

Tilly, arms crossed tight over her torso, is the first to pipe up from her spot near the fireplace. “Micah finally saw his sorry behind off the nearest cliffside?”

“Miss Tilly!” Grimshaw hisses, scandalized. The only thing stronger than Grimshaw's personal gripes are the exigencies of the gang. “No more of that. You know we need all the hands we can get.”

Karen, squished next to Mary-beth and a now slumbering Sadie on a wooden bench, scoffs. “Didn’t think we counted meat hooks as hands.”

That gets a snort out of John, who realizes too late that his body isn’t quite healed enough to handle said snort. A flick to the forehead from Abigail quiets him down in his cot before she turns to find you still gazing out the window.

“I’m assimin’ Arthur and Charles are back?”

You nod. “With one…two deer, by the looks of it.”

Your inhale is sharp when Charles pulls his catch over his shoulder with a jerk, beckoning Arthur to follow after him to mask his discomfort. The tension leaves your spine only after the last dregs of his shadow disappear into the stable.

Half-turned to Abigail, you mumble, “Does Charles look a little...off to you, these days?"

"Off," she repeats. The darkness under her eyes colors her words. "Off how?"

"You know," and you make as though to say something of substance before your eyebrows pinch together, "off.”

Abigail looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “If you’re waitin’ on Charles to scream bloody murder, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a burn to do him in.”

Another brick is slotted into a broken wall. 

“I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Charles. I think his hand is botherin’ him again.”

Abigail’s sigh dusts the cold air with its warmth. “I…suspect most things might look a little off since we've been cooped up like this. But we’ve got O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on the prod." She looks at Jack, now sitting cross legged at her feet and fiddling with the corner of John's blanket. Abigail had given up on herding him toward the fireplace some time ago. She strokes a featherlight hand over his head. "No sense in stressing yourself out over somethin’ Charles would’ve told us ages ago. It's good that he’s up and movin' though, ain't it?"

Your momentum stalls.

It should be. It should be.

Blackwater has left none unchanged. If you weren’t dead, you were shot, and if you weren’t shot, you were waiting for it. Hands bound. Body trammeled by fear and constant surveillance. From anyone else, this haste would be a blessing. A miracle, even, in light of all that'd been lost.

From Charles, it reads more like a warning.

But you don't think your feet have been planted here long enough to question their habits.

You say nothing and return your still numb cheek to the window. Will it always be like this, you wonder? The second guessing. The wary eyes. There’s a certain degree of trust that you aren’t privy to yet. Somehow, it feels worse knowing that everyone is making an effort to be so kind to you despite it. You know plenty who wouldn’t do the same.

Better dead than dead weight. 

The creed still lingers. Subsisting on what little you've gleaned in the short time you've been running with Dutch's group. Perhaps that's the root of this peculiar sense of worry. Of pity. You and Charles don’t speak often—there's a general lack of overlap in duties, for one, and he mostly keeps to himself. But you've always been one for actions over words. Charles was frighteningly capable, and more than willing to prove it time and time again.

To him, the burn he’d suffered may as well have been a bullet to the leg.

Your only issue is that no one else seems to see it.

You’re tracing shapes into the windowpane when movement just outside startles you. Charles, bow in hand, stalks toward one of the smaller cabins before veering off toward the small stream that lies just behind the stables.

You're springing up and stumbling out the front door before your brain has time to temper your heart. Someone shouts after you—likely Grimshaw, from the way it rakes over your ears. But you ignore it in favor of grabbing handfuls of your skirts and pushing through the powdery snow.

When you round the corner of the stables, breath short and chest tight, you find that Charles hasn’t gone very far at all. He's leaning against a crooked tree, face all taut lines as his fingers fumble with the grip on his bow. A frown plays at your lips when you notice the path of his footprints, stretching a few paces farther before it loops back to where he stands.

“Charles?”

You think you hear him exhale through his nose before he meets your gaze with the same smile he usually does. Bright. Unwavering. A little squinty, since the sun is in his eyes. “You good?”

Right. The usual pleasantries. You've conversed with him in your head for much longer than you have in person.

“I’m uh, fine." You blink stupidly. "Are you?"

“Mhm. Right as rain.”

Your eyes can't help but slide to the bow he clutches just out of sight. He doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest.

“…I’m just holding it, for now. Till my hand heals up, at the very least.” Charles holds up the offending appendage. “Not like I have anything better to do."

It's hard to tell if he's intentionally skirting around the point, or if he really does think there aren't any better uses for his time. The frown you'd been fighting off finally gets the better of you once Charles returns to adjusting his injured hand on the bow's grip.

"I don't think you should be doing that," you insist. Because he really shouldn't be. At all.

"Afraid I can't do that," he replies. "I'm one of the few here who can hunt worth a damn in this weather. I get sloppy, we starve.”

“Is that what you think?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“It’s what I know.” He says it with enough certainty to make you almost believe him. “Go back inside and warm yourself up. 'Preciate you checking on me, but if you freeze to death, they’re gonna laugh knowing you came out here without any gloves on.”

You clench your fists. Feel the ice that's settled there begin to splinter under the pressure and breach the thick skin of your palms. Fine, then. You’ll speak to him in a language he can understand.

Though your march over is less than graceful, he parts with the bow with surprising ease. Charles’ warmth, much like the rest of him, is tailored to perfection. Your fingertips graze remnants of the finery on the parts of the parts of the bow that his hands have warmed.

His eyes flick over you. Placid. Confused, too, on account of the ever-tightening grip you have on what you hope isn't a prized possession. His vexation becomes clearer once you step away, full hands now hidden behind your back. You have to take an extra step back for your own peace of mind.

“Charles Smith,” you begin, “I’d like to strike up a deal.”

“A deal.”

“I won’t repeat myself. We’re losin' daylight here.”

Chin tipped upward, you don your favorite facade.

Confidence.

"You focus on takin’ care of that hand, and I won't tell Arthur and Hosea you've been messin' with your bow."

His face belies a slew of unvoiced expletives. But you know Charles to be the—somewhat—gentle sort, so there’s no need to brace yourself. Even if he isn’t entirely convinced, you can at least hope that he’s found a little amusement in all this.

“You said ‘strike a deal,’” he says slowly. “This smells like a threat.”

“Deal, threat, whatever strikes your fancy.” It didn’t matter so long as he stopped stretching himself so thin.

He seems to mull over your words for a bit, no longer leaning up against the tree. There is, however, a small chance that he’s trying to find the right assortment of words to get you off of his back.

“We’ve got two deer.” You continue. “If Pearson is as frugal as I remember, that’ll keep us all for about a week. Should be more than enough time to get your hand back in order, right?”

“Hm.”

There’s a moment where Charles’ uninjured hand begins to stretch towards you. You just barely remember to lean out of the way before he drops his arm with a defeated sigh.

“So no bows—”

“No knives or guns, either. Unless absolutely necessary.”

“—Then how’m I supposed to keep up my strength? Can’t just sit idle, you know. We’ve got people here who need taking care of.” He takes three steps forward, and you take three steps back. “We’ve all got weight to pull out here. I’m of no use to anybody if I’m sitting out over a little burn like this.”

There goes that nasty word again.

Use.

You can joke all you want, but that’s what this boils down to.

“Well, you…just need something to pull on, right? Keep your hands busy?”

You hold out your hand.

The corner of Charles’ lips twitch downward. "I’m keeping my knives on me—"

"Take it."

"…What?"

You laugh. Loud and exaggerated enough to shake the snow off the trees. "Some gentleman you are, lettin’ a lady’s hands grow cold.” You flex your fingers. “My hand. Take it."

You use the awkward silence that follows to explain yourself.

"I figure it's got a little more give than a bow. And it’s got enough resistance to scratch that itch. You ever feel like shooting, ask for me. Hopefully it’ll have you feeling stupid long enough for your hand to heal up."

He brings a hand up to block the sun from his eyes, and you find yourself strangely missing the gold it cast on him. "That's not something I should be asking of you."

"Works out great, don't it? You're not asking, I'm offering, so there's no problem." Or, at least there wouldn't be if things go the way you know they will. It's no well-kept secret that Charles isn't too keen on extra company during his downtime. No one faults him for it, either.

Any chance of him taking you up on your suggestion is slim.

The wind is thunderous where Charles is quiet, snaking through the empty trees.

"Whether you take it or not, I'm walking off with this bow. But I'm not about to let you run yourself into the ground."

You flex your fingers again, and they tremble.

Charles shakes his head, and you're sure you've won—

"Alright. I'll do it."

Well, that's not good.

Violently off track and suddenly very unsure of how to proceed, you drop your hand. Charles, evidently resolute in his decision, says nothing more as he approaches.

You stumble back a bit as his body nears, wishing that the head you house on your shoulders was screwed on a little tighter. You think it's begun to spin when he takes your hand into his own; gently, as if scooping up a wounded bird from the forest floor.

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it, brows furrowing as he inspects your palm.

Something is loud.

It's your heart, you realize. Stuttering with each squeeze of his bandaged fingers. Consequences are not beneath you, it seems.

You allow him a few more experimental squeezes than you would've liked, but you can't quite shake the strange tremor that races up your throat the longer he holds you.

Nothing is said until he pulls his hand away.

“And I can do this, whenever?”

Your tongue is miles away. “I, uh. No.” Wait. Voice crack. “I mean—yeah. Yes. Whenever.”

Charles makes no note of your vocal blunder, instead taking one last look at the bow you hold before beginning to make his way back to camp.

He taps the hand at your side as he passes. Leans to talk right into your ear. “Keep these wrapped up for me, will you?”

He’s gone before you have a chance to tell him that you would’ve done it without his say-so.

(Damn it, you think. Palm tingling. I’m in some deep shit.)

[strifetxt]

My Stupidest Intro Yet! | Hermitcraft 10 read on ao3

This is a story about love. About drama. About murder. About being really tall and handsome. A story about clicking the subscribe button. But mostly, it's a story about Joel. (written for @extremetimedchallengeexchange)

The scene opens on Hermitcraft Season Ten. We see the wide expanse of Magic Mountain, and the glittering cyberpunk city that rises from its face. As we zoom in closer, he comes into view: our very tall, very handsome, very talented protagonist.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Oh, [FAMILY FRIENDLY CENSOR] off. Let a man take a break, would you!

The audience may note that it’s been nearly a week since our protagonist’s last video went out, and that Editor Joel has bills to pay.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Look, I worked hard on that last recording! Do you see the size of that skyscraper? It’s the biggest thing I’ve built all season, and gathering all those materials took blummin’ ages. Can’t you bother some other Joel for a change?

Tragically, there are no other active Joels at the moment, so Hermit Joel will have to pick up the slack.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: What?! There’s no way that’s true. Oi, other Joels, what are you lot all doing?

GOD JOEL: Don’t look at me. My series ended ages ago, remember? Some Lore™ happened and I ascended to heaven to be tall and sexy for eternity.

KING JOEL: Same here. Season over. Definitely wasn’t because of anything bad happening though.

GOD JOEL: You literally got so sad you died.

KING JOEL: Hey, I wasn’t the one who made that canon. You did that.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Okay, I get that neither of the Empires Joels are available, but surely there’s someone else. How about SOS Joel? He's been active at the same time as me, right?

SOS JOEL: Oh, did you not hear? I blew up.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: What? You had such an easy job, you were just there to do challenges and goof around! You barely even had to do any building! What do you mean you blew up?

SOS JOEL: Look, the server was going to be ending soon anyway, so I figured, may as well go out with a bang. And boy, did we! Took out nearly the entire rest of the server too; I still don’t know how they managed to get the coins to bring all those people back.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Okay, fine. How about you, Life Series Joel? Surely it’s about time for you to have a go?

LIFE SERIES JOEL: Nope. Grian says he’s still working on it.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Ugh. Well, when you get there, can you try to at least make it to the finale again? Give the people some more content, come on, seriously.

LIFE SERIES JOEL: I don’t care how far I get as long as I can finally outlive Scott.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Fine, whatever. What other Joels are there?

Look, you’re just going to have to face the facts. You’re the only Joel active right now, which means you have a video to record. Do you want the Joel who tells people to subscribe to starve?

JOEL WHO TELLS PEOPLE TO SUBSCRIBE: [sniffles] Please subscribe?

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Oh, god, don’t cry, Joel who tells people to subscribe. I promise I’ll get to it, but— Listen, it’s a lot of pressure, being the main Joel! Surely there’s gotta be one other Joel out there with an active series.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Wait a second...

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Where’s Hardcore Joel?

Er, sorry, don’t know who you’re talking about. You mean 100 Hours Hardcore Joel?

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: No, not blummin’ 100 Hours Joel, I know he’s dead. I mean singleplayer Hardcore Joel. Remember? Over two thousand day world? That huge End Island transformation? That Joel?

Riiiiiiight. Um. Yeah, he’s not here.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: What do you mean he’s not here?

Listen, it’s not my fault. You’re going to have to talk to Editor Joel about that one.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Aren’t you Editor Joel?

God, no. Could you imagine, me being that idiot?

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Well, then, who the heck are you?

I’m just the Joel who’s narrating this scene.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Whatever, just get me Editor Joel on the line. I demand to know where Hardcore Joel’s gone!

Time freezes, as it is wont to do while Editor Joel speaks.

EDITOR JOEL: Editor Joel here. I can’t believe these idiots have made me step in. I know what you all think of me, but I do have a life, you know. I had a lovely day hanging with Oli just now, in fact. We went to a nice cafe. But no, none of that matters because I have to fix all the other Joels’ stupid problems before they’ll record any footage. Whatever, they can’t hear me since I’m speaking from the future. I’ll just put Hardcore Joel in and let him explain himself so I can go spend time with my wife.

Time resumes, and Hardcore Joel appears.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Wow, thanks, Editor Joel, I’m sure whatever you said was really stupid and useless like it always is. Anyway, hi, Hardcore Joel. Fancy seeing you here.

HARDCORE JOEL: Oh, yeah? I’m sure it is, since you basically killed me.

There’s a murmur of ‘oooh’s from the other Joels present.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: What do you mean I killed you? You never died! You left off your last video saying you were going to be doing another huge project and then just disappeared!

HARDCORE JOEL: Yeah, I did. Because you know what happened the next month? Yeah. You were born.

The other Joels gasp dramatically in shock.

HARDCORE JOEL: That’s right. As soon as you started Hermitcraft, there was no more time for me. I mean, do you have any idea how long it takes me to record a video? The last one wasn’t even a major project, and it still took more than 150 Minecraft days over the course of, like, weeks! And I had to keep stopping in the middle to AFK at my own farms that I built, and gather my own materials by hand! You have no idea how easy you have it with your stupid shopping district—

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Hey now, the shopping district only helps when people stock their blummin’ shops. Also, I’m poor. Do you even have a concept of being poor without an economy?

HARDCORE JOEL: [shakes his head] Look, I’m not trying to fight here. The point is, your whole existence basically took me out of the game. You can’t afford to disappear from Hermitcraft for weeks at a time just so I can grind out some ridiculous megastructure in a single episode. You get way more views by doing way less. That’s just numbers, baby. In fact, with how long Hermitcraft runs, you might just have to be the main Joel for a long, long time.

There’s a moment of silence as the Joels contemplate this harsh reality.

HARDCORE JOEL: Shut up, Narrator Joel. God, you’re almost as bad as Editor Joel.

[muffled grumbling]

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: But...surely there’s room for more Joels somewhere, right? I can’t be the only Joel forever!

LIFE SERIES JOEL: Hey, man, don’t worry. I’ll still pop up from time to time, as long as Grian keeps making games.

GUESS THE BUILD JOEL: I might get to make a video here and there!

KING JOEL: My series might be over, but I’m still around, one way or another. They even put me on a TCG card!

GOD JOEL: I’m still incredibly sexy.

MCC JOEL: I’ll be even stronger once we finally replace our Starlink Internet!

HARDCORE JOEL: I know I said you killed me, but really, it’s not so bad not being an active Joel anymore. And who knows, maybe if the inspiration hits just right, and we get some time here and there to chip away at it, I might come back now and again.

And so, Joel of Hermitcraft learned that even if he might be the only Joel currently making videos, he would always be supported by every Joel that came before him.

JOEL OF HERMITCRAFT: Aww, thanks, guys. You’re the best Joels a Joel could ask for. Especially you, Joel who tells people to subscribe!

JOEL WHO TELLS PEOPLE TO SUBSCRIBE: Subscribe!

[bitethedevil]

Its colinrobinsonscardigan, don’t mind the Death Note main lol

I love your Raphael takes, I completely agree that he has set himself on being The Perfect Devil™, and I did read your post on his morality (and Devil morality as a whole), but I was curious as to whether you think Raphael would describe himself as a good person/sees himself as a good person?

I assume that he sees stealing the Crown of Karsus a good move, at least far as Devil-morality goes, because obviously the Hells will blossom under his new, super amazing leadership, but torturing Hope (as an example) was a) definitely evil, b) not really in service of the blood war, or the Hells in general, and he must know that Devils are Evil-Aligned.

Anyway, love your posts, you’ve definitely made me think about some things (like his portraits and his relationship with Korilla) in a new light

Raphael’s Moral Alignment (According to Raphael)

He has his iconic line when you first meet him: "Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. A saviour? Now that's for certain" 

He can potentially be your friend, if you listen to him, take the deal, and generally do something for it. He can conceivably be an adversary, which I understand as him saying that it’s more likely that you would expect that from him and it’s not unlikely that he will be if you fuck it up. However, it’s completely certain (in Raphael-land) that he will be you only hope.

Raphael genuinely does believe that he is your only hope. He sees himself as a savior. He even thinks he’s being completely fair with his deal, which is illustrated by this note you find in his house (sorry about the horrible quality, idk what happened there):

Despite him seeing himself as a savior and despite devil morals being twisted because of the goal of winning the Blood War, I would probably not go so far as to say that he sees himself as a good person. I do think he sees himself as the lesser evil, however.

Our theatrical cambion is an actor at heart, and to be a believable actor, you have to believe in your own bullshit. I definitely think he does.

He sees himself as merciful, which is a luxury in the Hells. It’s not exactly stupid either. The full-blooded devils and archdevils show no mercy, but they primarily deal with other devils in their day-to-day and then ruthlessness is an advantage. Raphael, being a cambion, can go to the Material Plane to make deals (not all devils can do this). Raphael knows that mortals are stupid and work against their best interests sometimes, so he gives people second chances, and he is less rigid than the full-blooded devils of the Hells.

Full-blooded devils want you to bow and scrape for them while Raphael likes when you put up a fight. Don’t get me wrong. Raphael wants you to bow and scrape too at some point, but not before he has proven to be the magnanimous savior.

He might not see himself as a good person per se, but he certainly thinks himself fair. That is until you piss him off of course, and then he is his father’s son in temperament. His ‘strict’ morals are only relevant as long as they fit him. That’s also why I always see him as a bit less Lawful than your typical devil. Raphael’s ‘order’ is whatever he decides it is, rather than the traditional sense of order in the Hells.

When he has been ‘fair’ and you then still screw him over, he revels in the cruelty and evilness of your punishment, but you had it coming after all…

I think he does lean more ‘good’ for devil standards. Which really isn’t saying much, to be honest. I think other devils see his lack of rigidity and ‘mercifulness’ as weakness as well, while Raphael would argue that it is an advantage. That is solely because his skillset is adapted to working with mortals rather than other devils though.

You say that torturing Hope is evil, and while I obviously would have to agree, Raphael would maybe not strictly think so. He has offered her so much, after all. Why can’t she see it? He can’t just take away her choice (he would never!), but he has to make her see that she is meant for this.  In his mind, she already belongs to him. He just has to make her see that. He even lets her have control of the house too. Super nice of him, right? His obsession with Hope is super selfish, yes, but he still sees himself as fair in his dealing with her.

(Thank you for the ask <3 This was such an interesting question and thank you for your kind words.)

[botboots]

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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

Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :] 

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

[dianneking]

The Bet - Brienne/Reader bookshop AU

Hi dears, in case you wanted some trashy, slightly angsty romance bookshop AU starring none other than the majestic Brienne of Tarth as well as yourself...well, look no further cause you're in the right place! It is with great pleasure that I present you

The Bet

Tags: Alternate Universe - Bookshop, Out of character, Angst with a happy ending, POV second person, Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Misunderstanding, Panic Attacks, Hints of past violence, Swearing. Word count: 5423.

AO3 link in the title above.

"Hello?" 

You did a double take when you lifted your eyes from the monitor. You didn't mean to, but the woman in front of you was not the kind of person that usually found her way to your tiny bookshop. 

She was...well, she was imposing , to begin with: taller than you'd ever seen a woman be, with broad shoulders that the t-shirt she was wearing did nothing to hide...and she looked clearly out of her environment among the shelves, standing with her back ramrod straight and her hands clasped in front of her, shifting from foot to foot, a frown taking over her face the more and more you looked at her without saying anything. As if she was waiting for your reply...

Oh!

Right.

"Oh uhm sorry, yes? Uh hi, welcome! What brings you to our bookshop today?" You cringed at your own awkwardness, but her expression didn't change too much from her frown.

"I lost a bet."

"A...bet?" Well this was unexpected. Surely your little shop was not so scary that getting into it was a dare? And this woman in front of you looked as if she'd be afraid of very little. She looked more disgruntled than scared anyways, light eyebrows corrugating over those piercing, beautiful blue eyes, lips pressing together as her nostrils flared out. She looked like the type of woman who spends more time in a gym than in a bookshop but apart from that, you had no idea what kind of bet would bring her here. Not that you were complaining. 

"Yes. I lost a bet and now I have to buy a book here. Surely you can provide me with one." She enunciated, as if she was talking to the dumbest person alive. You didn't care. Her accent was melting your insides into a pile of goo. 

I'd like to provide you with my number , your mind dreamily suggested as a reply, but you squashed it ruthlessly down. Not every woman with muscles is interested in other women, you reminded yourself. And even if she were, it didn't follow that she would be interested in you , anyway - the woman was the definition of Out Of Your League, with her short blonde hair, her chiseled jaw, her strong arms crossed on her chest…and you had lost your train of thought once again. 

"Hmmmm yes sure. Uhm not a fan of reading?" She bristled as if you had insulted her.

"Of course I read .” She scoffed “I make time to read daily. I simply don't waste my time with all of this..." she gestured around her, vaguely including the manga section and the horror shelves in her speech "...this fiction ." She spat the word as if it had offended her by its own existence.

Right.

If you had to be completely honest, if it had been anyone else insulting your beloved books, you'd have been all up in their faces. These weren't just books, they were your babies, your companions during the long days at work and your even longer sleepless nights, they were your best friends in a way no human ever could aspire to be. From the moment you had understood that in those pages lied countless stories, adventures you could partake in, emotions you had never felt, you were in love with reading already.

That's why you were working here, day after day, smiling up at the shelves filled to the brim, cursing the paperwork and cleaning and everything that kept you away from cracking open the newest release and losing yourself in its pages.

You loved your job because you loved books.

So anyone insulting your papery companions would be treated to your Cold Stare™ and Dismissive Attitude™.

And yet...you guessed this woman was clearly misguided in her dismissing all fiction with such a sneer. The fact that her sneer was so damn attractive didn't absolutely play any role in your sudden conciliatory attitude. Absolutely not. Nuh-huh. Not at all.

"Hello? Are you still there?" 

Well, fuck. Daydreaming of a client when they are in front of you. Great way to appear professional, and to make a good first impression on a gorgeous first-time client.

"Huh. Yeah, uhm sorry, I was thinking of possible recommendations that would suit your needs. What are your general interests?" You tried to patch things up only to be once again met with her frown.

"That is a useless endeavor. I will not enjoy wasting my time reading it anyways. Just give me one." 

"But you will read it?" 

"Of course! I did give my word."

Her word . Who said that nowadays? Giving your word? That was the stuff of old, of knights, of epic tales of heroism, of... fiction .

Oh.

You might have the right book for this hard, formal, stunning woman.

You stood up, surprising her with your sudden movement, but you didn't notice the way her eyebrows shot up, nor the way her eyes followed you as you made your way to the book, rising to your tiptoes to reach it.

You presented it to her like a hunter presents their caught prey.

"This." 

She gingerly caught it between her fingers, as if it could bite her, or worse, contaminate her with the debauchery of reading for pleasure.

"This?" 

"You'll like it." 

"Haven't you listened? I said I don't like fiction."

"I heard you. You didn't say you don't like it. You said you don't read it." You didn't even know where the confidence came from, but you were sure. This was the right book for her.

She seemed to be surprised by it. Surprised enough to give up her fight with a huff. 

"I guess I might as well get this since you're so sure about it." 

She started skimming the first pages as you rang it up for her, and you could see her frown slightly easing up.

You hid your smile, feeling it pulling at the corners of your mind as she absent-mindedly handed you her card, paid and wandered out the shop, her nose still in the book.

____

"So about that little bet we had, did you get the book?" 

Brienne didn't like admitting she was wrong. She sure as shit wouldn't admit that to Jaime of all people. She wouldn't hear the end of it.

But no matter all of her misgivings, she was enjoying that book. The plot had captivated her against her will, and more than one time she had found herself up until the early morning hours glued to the pages, lost in the description of adventures that had never happened if not in the fantasy of the author.

Such a far cry from her usual dry, factual fare of nonfiction books. Boring , some would call them, practical , she’d counter. You see, Brienne was a practical woman and she happened to like that about herself. And if people found her boring, it was their fault, not her own.

"Yes, I did get that" she replied in a bored tone, hiding her excitement below her well-polished mask.

She thought of the excitement on your face as you got the idea of suggesting this book to her. Of how smug you had looked when handing her the volume.

So sure she'd like it. And the most shocking aspect of it all was the fact that she did. 

And maybe, maybe in the privacy of her own mind she could admit to herself that she also thought of the way your shirt had risen as you reached for the book, exposing a sliver of your midriff as it did so. And the way your eyes had sparkled when you had handed her the novel, challenge and amusement and confidence mixing in your gaze. 

She had liked that too, just like the book, and just like the book she had liked it almost against her better judgment.

________

"How did you do it?"

Your heart skipped a beat as she charged into the shop, the bell ringing behind her long after she had entered, a thunderous frown on her face, the copy of the book she had purchased from you tightly held in her slender yet strong fingers.

She had gorgeous hands too…some people were just blessed with beauty, you thought. And you were blessed with being able to see and talk to such beauty.

The smile that climbed to your face was not your usual customer service one, but a warmer one, a special one just for her.

"So, did you like it?" 

She looked taken aback at your warmth, and you could see the faint beginning of a blush on her cheeks.

"I did, if you must know it!" She looked offended at the very thought. It was adorable.

"Oh I am so glad to hear that! The author is an emerging one, only has another one published, if you liked their style you might enjoy this too!"

"What for?"

"Why, as your next fiction book, of course. Isn't that why you came back?"

"I…maybe."

This time your smile got a definite hint of smugness in it.

"Are you going to fight me over this one too? Should I dare you to read this as well?"

"Listen here, don't get cocky. You just got lucky there. It won't happen again."

It did.

As a matter of fact it kept happening, and you fell into a sort of beautiful bookish routine. Depending on how long the book was and how busy she was, your favorite client would grace your shop with her presence once every couple of weeks or more, always putting up an offended front at having liked the fiction book you had suggested and yet always asking for another one.

Slowly but steadily she would start opening up about what she liked in them, allowing you to start collecting tidbits of information about her as well - she loved historical fiction, and fantasy too. She wasn't so keen on sci-fi and urban fantasy unless the plot was somehow worth it. She loved strong female main characters and complex character arcs. 

During the day she was kept busy from her work (law enforcement, she told you on one occasion, and didn’t go in more detail, you wondered if she was just a regular cop or maybe something cooler), but she found time to read in the evenings ("Mornings are absolutely for working out, no way I am skipping that for a book. Even if it is a good one.” she had stated, as if it was the law, and you had nodded dumbly, once again mesmerized by the intensity of her gaze, even if you woke up with a book and read it during breakfast and on the commute to the shop and couldn’t think of a better way to start the day). 

_______

“And I loved the world building in this one, the interaction between the characters, and I can't wait to read the second part and understand where these mechanical enemies are originating from!” 

You looked up at her as she agitatedly waved her copy of Clockwork Boys in the air, trying to express how much she had enjoyed it. You found it hard to believe how different she was from the hard, reluctant person that had first set foot in your shop. Mesmerizing. Just as she was. 

Suddenly you felt brave, braver than you'd ever thought you could be.

“In two weeks the author is going to be at our local book fair, if you'd like…maybe we could…go together?” you stumbled on your words a little and you could feel your cheeks getting hotter but that didn't change the fact that you had managed to ask your crush out!! 

And she didn't say no! She looked a bit stunned for a second but then she ran her free hand through her hair (oh it looked so soft and silky, you wanted to bury your hands in it too).

“Sure! Is it going to be Tuesday in two weeks, right?”

“Y-yeah.” Had she just…?

“Cool, I have the day off anyways, so it works like a charm.” She… She…

While your brain was still reeling, unable to process the fact that she had said yes , she grabbed the stack of post-its and pen and started jotting down something.

You blinked at her, unsure of what to make of the string of numbers you were seeing until she straightened up and handed you the sticky note with a…was it a shy smile pulling her lips up? Her eyes had never looked so big before, of that you were sure.

You looked at the sticky note. It was a pink one, and you had to resist the childish urge to draw hearts all around the numbers. You just were so happy! You thought as you went to save it into your phone, only belatedly noticing a glaring tactical error on your side. 

You still didn't know her name!

You felt like hitting your forehead on the desk. How was this even a thing? Who doesn't know their crush’s name? You, that's who. Too busy ogling her and inviting her to book fairs to remember to ask her her frickin name! 

Hehe. But you did ask her out and she did say yes. That had to count for something, right?

You looked down at your phone and then typed up “ My Knight 🩷 ” in the name field, struggling to contain the giggle that threatened to escape your lips. In another world she would have totally been a proud knight, protecting the defenseless and fighting for justice, you were sure of it. And she would have looked gorgeous in armor. 

Tomorrow, you told yourself. You'd text her to work things out tomorrow. Surely you could resist that long. The fair was ages away anyway. You could resist a handful of hours to avoid seeming desperate, surely you could.

You texted her that same night, of course. 

But she did reply almost instantly, and you managed to start a conversation beyond the bare minimum details of your…was it a date? It had to be a date, right?

She told you about her dinner, and how she had already started on the sequel of the book she had just finished. You could almost feel her excitement through the message.

You fell asleep with your phone beside you on the pillow, dreaming of soft blonde hair and armor  and book fair dates. 

____________

"Are you the one who's been selling Brienne fiction?" 

You were pretty sure you had never seen the man who had just entered your shop as if he owned it. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"You know, Brienne? Tall, blonde? Hates all fiction books except the ones you've been selling her?" 

So that was your knight's name! And what a roundabout way to learn it! Just like in the best novels, it seemed that you had been spared the humiliation of asking her for her name after you’d known each other for months. 

Brienne.

You liked the way it sounded. 

Brienne.

It sounded like the name of a warrior, a strong, hard-headed and hard-working woman who'd stop at nothing to achieve her dreams. A knight. 

“I am Jaime by the way, nice to meet you. So are you the one?" He offered you his hand, you took it mechanically, trying to answer his question without giving too much away. Your knight’s reading habits were none of this dude’s business,that’s for sure.

"I don't know if I am the only one. Maybe she just doesn't tell you about all the fiction she enjoys."

"Nice try to defend her honor. I see why she likes you."

She liked you?

Butterflies erupted in your stomach and it took all of your self-control to avoid bursting into a happy dance.

She liked you!! Shelikedyoushelikedyou.

She liked you. 

She liked you.

She liked you !

The man in front of you kept talking, oblivious to the cheering going on within your brain.

"Listen, I know Brienne, okay? She's a lovely girl but I had to bet with her to make her unwind enough to consider reading something for pleasure."

“Well she probably didn't find the right book until now.”

“Or the right book dealer… so are you hers or not?” 

"Maybe I am…But why do you want to know that?"

“Well if you were , I'd owe you a huge thanks and possibly a round of drinks, cause she's been in a downright good mood for the past months, and especially in the past week or so. As her partner, I spend most of the day with her, and believe me, I am beyond grateful for the change.”

Oh.

Her…

Oh.

Of course.

Of course she had a boyfriend. No, a partner. That's even more committed, right?You had been so stupid. Stupid and stupidly hopeful. So hopeful and you'd once again mistaken friendship for something else, just like you did so many times in the past. 

You tried to swallow around that piece of news, you kept on a brave face while he still waffled about something or something else, but you had no idea what he was talking about.Nor did you care, all the joy that had taken over you had just as quickly dissolved, leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You didn't remember him leaving, but you knew that you were quick to lock the door after him and close up shop.Only then, surrounded by your beloved books, you allowed yourself to break down and cry all of your tears.

____________

You didn't cancel on Brienne, even if a part of you wanted to do nothing but stay home and mope. Yet you were sure you'd regret it for the rest of your life if you didn't go. 

And she had looked so happy when you had invited her. She probably didn't have a lot of female friends, you thought. When she talked of her hobbies, it had always been things that she did on her own. Working out, reading, jogging. 

She was probably glad to have some company. Someone to talk to that she vibed with. That was that. It had always been that, and you reading more into it didn't change the harsh truth.

Your heart was beating faster when you pulled up to the parking lot of the venue, but it was more due to trepidation than happiness. You had been preparing yourself mentally for a bookish date with your crush, not for…an outing with a friend. You weren't sure how to behave now, your mind too busy going through every single interaction the two of you had had, dissecting each word, each smile, each playful joke at each other's expense. When did you start thinking you could have a chance? At what point had your hopes become delusions?

Your phone started buzzing as you got out of the car. “My Knight 🩷” appeared on the screen, and you had to swallow against a hard knot. 

You know you should have changed the name. You knew her name now, and she most definitely wasn't your knight. And yet…you still hadn't.

With a sigh, you picked up, trying to be optimistic despite the dread pooling in your stomach. You could do this. Friends. You could hang out with your friend that just happened to be the hottest woman you'd ever seen. It was going to be okay. 

_____

It was not okay. 

It was anything but okay. 

Who thought that Brienne was going to be the kind of straight girl that gets all touchy-feely with her female friends? She had hugged you when you two met up and you thought you would die on the spot, surrounded by her arms and her perfume and the happiness of her voice.

And then as you walked through the venue, weaving through the stands, checking out books (you couldn't remember a single one you'd seen, preoccupied as you were with your companion) her hand kept finding excuses to touch you, once on the shoulder to get your attention, once wrapping around your elbow to direct you to a certain stand, once simply splayed on your back as you discussed cover designs.

It was torture. Every time her warm hands touched you, your heart would start racing, still stubborn in its hopefulness. But then you’d remember that it was all in your head and your heart would painfully constrict because oh it would have been so nice if it had just been true.

By the time you sat down in the auditorium where the author panel was about to start, you were a jittering mess. 

You kept replaying each interaction you had with Brienne, trying to rationally explain to your heart why, even if it might seem like she was coming onto you, she had a boyfriend and therefore it had to be her way of being friendly. 

Yes, even when she placed her hand squarely on your knee as the authors started their introductions.

To be honest you weren't sure what had been said at the panel. You mechanically laughed when you felt others do the same, and studied Brienne’s profile out of the corner of your eye. She had a soft smile on her face. As if she was enjoying herself. As if there was nothing wrong with the way her hand was resting on your leg, absentmindedly stroking lazy patterns with her thumb. Driving you mad. 

You were so engrossed in your thoughts and in her touch that you hadn't even noticed that the panel had ended, and most of the spectators had filed away, leaving the two of you alone in the auditorium.

You did notice Brienne shifting in her seat to turn towards you. Mainly because that caused her hand to climb slightly up your leg, putting it decidedly in the thigh area. Clearly an oversight on her part, but you could feel your breathing getting slightly quicker, and looking up to see her stunning eyes trained on you with laser-sharp focus didn't help you with that.

How unfair.

How terribly unfair for her to be so close, and yet unreachable.

How crushing that her hand, searing hot on your thigh, was not a promise of something more.

How sad that you'd never get to kiss those lips even if they were getting closer as Brienne leaned towards you…you could see her blonde lashes fluttering slightly, the small scar on her upper lip, her breath light on your face…

Suddenly she was too close.

Your heart jumped in your throat, and it felt like it had cut off all of your air supply. 

There was a ringing in your ears, and your skin was crawling hot and cold at the same time. 

You could see the little scar on her lip almost flickering, as your vision swam with black, and you knew without any doubt that you had to 

GET OUT OF HERE!! 

______

"So this is where you've been hiding." Brienne's voice was not warm anymore. You guiltily looked up at her from your spot on the bench. She wasn't smiling at you anymore and you wanted to hit yourself for that. It wasn't her fault that you had misunderstood all of her cues and kept seeing what your wishful thinking desired, and yet she had been the one to go through the pains of searching for you while you hid away to work your way down your panic attack.

She sat down beside you, a heavy sigh on her lips.

"I need to ask you something."

Oh. There it comes, you thought. The direct questioning that preceded the gentle let down. The 'I'm flattered but I don't feel the same' speech. As if you had never heard it before. Your heart remembered the pain as if it had been yesterday, and valiantly tried to brace itself for the inevitable rejection.

"Why?"

Huh? That…that was not what you expected her to start with, but she kept talking, and you had no choice but listen. "Why ask me out if you're so clearly uncomfortable with me? Is this some sick joke? It wasn't enough to prove me wrong over and over again? You wanted to humiliate me, too?" 

You could only stare open-mouthed at Brienne as she rained down harsh words on you, anger and pain mixing on her face. She was so beautiful. Even when angry. She looked like a vengeful angel, the righteous hand of God, coming to punish you for daring to hope too much .

"I-I'm sorry." You tried to explain yourself, but she didn't let you, her voice hard and cutting and relentless.

" You are sorry ? Is that all you can say? That's not enough for me. Especially when it's clearly bullshit. Do you think that's the first time people make fun of me? That someone thinks that going out with Brienne The Beauty is the funniest prank on Earth? Did you do it for a laugh, hm? Didn't expect me to say yes when you asked?" 

"No, actually I did not."

"You! The fucking nerv-"

"I didn't dare to hope you'd say yes because you're out of my league!" 

A stunned silence met your words. You didn't know where the strength to interrupt her came from but you had to. You couldn't let her go on thinking you had asked her out to make fun of her or something. And once you started talking, you couldn't help yourself. The truth had to come out, so you pushed on: "Which clearly you are. But you said yes and I…Brienne, I am so sorry. I tend to live in my head and you were so nice to me and I thought…but clearly I shouldn't have. Thank goodness Jaime told me before I made a fool of myself. Which apparently I still did. Fuck. I am sorry for that, I promise you I am enjoying myself today and I am sorry I am awkward and I understand if you don't want to see me anymore after this." 

"Jaime? What does he have to do with all of this? Did…did he set you up to do this?" You could hear the betrayal seeping in her voice and you couldn't bear it. If you couldn't have her, at least you could do your best not to have her break up with her boyfriend over a huge mess of a misunderstanding that you did all by yourself. By thinking you had a chance with this goddess.

Better if she hated you instead. Which she would do anyways. If she didn't already.

"No. Nono he's been nothing but friendly. He just dropped by the shop because he was curious about the books you've been reading." 

"Then why did you bring him up?"

"I didn't know, okay? When I asked you to come here, I didn't know."

"What didn't you know?" Oh she wasn't making it easy on you, was she? 

"I thought…I thought you might be interested in me - which I now realize is ridiculous. That's why I asked you out. I asked you and you said yes and you gave me your number and I thought it meant…I swear I didn't know! But then he told me and now I can't help but be awkward because I had thought this was a date and now it's not and I didn't want to ruin it for you which I guess I did anyways. I swear I didn't know when I asked you."

" Know what ? What did Jaime tell you?"

"That he's your…That you're his…That you two are together. Which makes sense, because you are so well assorted and you look perfect for each other and I am sure he can make you happy in ways that–" 

"WHAT?" The roar that came out of Brienne's mouth was almost feral.

"What 'what'?" You babbled back. You looked worriedly at her shaking hands. You knew she was going to be angry at you once she found out about your silly crush. But you still hoped she wouldn't hit you or something. She didn't seem like she'd be the type to take out her anger on you but…but those hands looked like weapons, clenched as they were into tight fists. 

"WHAT DID HE TELL YOU?"

You flinched away. You couldn't help it. The loud angry voice booming next to you, the hand shooting out towards your shoulder…you flinched away, your hands instinctively coming up to shield your face. Trying to make yourself as small as possible. Just as instinctively, apologies started dropping out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" 

Silence.

Well, not really silence but the soothing pitter-patter of rain on the tin roof above you. 

But no words.

No more loud anger.

And no new pain blooming on your body.

You dared to open your eyes and peer beyond your hands. 

Brienne…well, she was beautiful, as always. But she was also white as a sheet, her deep, blue, stunning eyes wide open and bright with unshed tears. Her whole face a mask of hurt as her gaze took in your shape, as far away from her as the small bench allowed you. Her hand was still in the air, but it had lost all the strength, it was just hanging, palm half-opened towards you as if to show you it was harmless. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a broken whisper.

"I…I wasn't going to hit you."

"I…huh…I'm sorry."

She sighed and straightened in her seat, tearing her eyes away from you to settle them on her hands, now clenched in her lap. Her back was once again ramrod straight. Just as she probably was , your mind cruelly reminded you.

"No. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, to make you think that I was…unsafe. I guess that with how I look, it's an easy assumption to make."

"Beautiful."

"I'm sorry?" 

"You said 'with how I look' and that's beautiful. You're beautiful, Brienne. He's a really lucky man."

It wasn't her fault and you knew it. You couldn't blame her for this huge misunderstanding, you couldn't let her think that she or her appearance was to blame for your reactions.

You put your hand on top of hers, trying to get her eyes back on you, to show her how truthful you were. Her hands were so cold. She still didn't look at you.

"He…We huh we're not together together." Her whisper was so soft that you thought you had misheard.

You had to. 

"I'm sorry?"

"Jaime and I are not together." 

"You two…are not?"

"No! I don't know why he would…wait. What did he say? What were his words?"

"Huhhh I don't remember exactly. He said something about you being his partner." You tried to keep the accusation out of your voice. She didn't seem like the type to try to cheat on her partner, denying she was in a relationship at all. Gaslighting you for her own ends. And yet, you didn't dare to hope that…

"Oh for fuck's sake! Is this where all of this came from? He's my work partner . Not my romantic partner!"

"Your… oh . Fuck."

"Yes, fuck. And since we're on the subject, when you asked me, I thought it was going to be a date as well, that's why I gave you my number!! But then we were here and you kept avoiding me and you tensed up every time I touched you and when I tried to kiss you you just ran away and I thought…I don't know what I thought."

"Could you maybe…try that again?"

"Try what?"

"To kiss me. I promise I won't run away this time. Or have a panic attack."

"Just like that? That's not how it's done! The moment must be right and mmmmph–"

You didn't let her finish her sentence. You threw yourself at her, lips on lips, slightly smashing your noses together in your haste. 

But neither of you cared, lips moving against each other, her hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck, and both of yours coming up to cradle her face. You didn’t care, because unbeknownst to the other, each one of you had dreamed of this moment so many times, and yet now that it was happening it was better than any fantasy. 

Comments are always welcome. If you want to read more of my fanfictions, here's my masterlist.

[beloved-of-john]

Hi, I'm sorry if this comes across as trying to debate your faith, that's not my intent but as someone who was raised Devotely RC, and left the church after realising my queerness, I'm kinda curious what led you to join the church as a queer man?

That's a very valid question, and I really do sympathise with your experiences. I of course agree that the Catholic church is not great™ in its stances on queerness (and some other social issues). Maybe it's my hope that things will slowly improve, although I don't expect to see that in my lifetime.

I think at the end of the day it's the theology for me. I already had a Christian faith before I decided to convert, but when I started to read more into Catholic theology, it connected so much more with me than the Protestant ways of explaining things that I was used to. My personal experiences of God aligned much more, eg. things like having spiritual experiences with the Eucharist. I also loved the traditions, observances and the style of worship. All I can really say is the Catholic way of doing things connects me to God in a way nothing else does.

With my reasons for wanting to be Catholic laid out, I then had to consider my queerness. My godmother is a devout Catholic and so was her husband, and they had always been some of the most supportive people in my life of me being trans, so I knew that a queer-affirming version of Catholicism was possible. I was still scared of not being accepted though, so my godmother told her priest about my situation and he told her that it didn't matter if other people don't accept me, because what matters is that God does. And that did it for me really. I've been used to just living being an act of defiance for a long time now, so what else is new? If there's a space I'm not wanted, that's a space I'm going to take up. Especially if my own happiness stands to be gained. That's the priest I go to now for instruction, and while we haven't really discussed my transness, it makes a big difference to my confidence to ask questions knowing that I'm safe with him.

I think it probably helps that I realised and accepted my transness and queerness long before I felt a calling to religion. Going through that vulnerable point in my life while dealing with institutional transphobia/homophobia from the church would have certainly made things a lot more difficult when it comes to my relationship with religion. I have had bad experiences with religion growing up, and I do consider myself to have religious trauma, but I went from a very religious primary (elementary) school to a completely secular high school, and the queer stuff all went down at the latter, and my parents weren't and aren't religious. I do think God showed His presence in my life when He knew I'd be ready for it.

To sum it all up really, Catholicism is the version of Christianity that connects with me the most, I know a queer inclusive Catholicism is possible despite whatever the Pope says, and I am secure enough in my queerness and my faith that no amount of being told off is going to make any difference to me. God made me incredibly stubborn (and trans) so the haters can take it up with Him!

[oops-all-concrete]

Xmen fans, I'm having The Thoughts™ and I'd like to share a small scene, written basically as a screenplay script (And this totally isn't from the Xmen fanfiction I need to write up and post one of these days)

Kurt, walking into the kitchen one evening to eat/talk with Logan: "Oh, good evening students! How go your studies?"

Jubilee, Bobbie, Kitty and Anole, looking at eachother.

Kitty: "All good, Mr.Wagner."

Kurt, wanting to be helpful: "Is there anything I can help with? Shakespeare is a hard study, I'd be happy to-"

Kitty, while Bobby, Anole, and Jubilee get up and start leaving: "That's quite alright, I think we're just going to take this to the library and study there. Goodnight!"

Kurt, in uncomfortable silence: "...That keeps happening"

Logan, not having looked up from his plate: "What, the kids taking a walk whenever you show up?"

Kurt, nodding: "I don't understand. I know I've not been teaching very long but, surely they will have adjusted to my face by now, yes?"

Logan: "Ain't the face, Blue."

Kurt, sitting: "Then what?"

Logan: "Jubilee's had their fair share of Jesus crazy Foster parents, Bobbie was born to some, then Kitty and Anole have their own stories too."

Kurt, looking down at his cross chain: "...Oh"

Logan, still not looking up: "Yeah"

Kurt: "...I'd never do that to them, surely they know that, yes?"

Logan, looking up finally: "Give em time. They just need a reason to believe that you're different"

Kurt, tucking his cross into his shirt and standing: "Then I will"

//Next evening//

Kitty, Bobby, Anole and Jubilee look up to the sound of knocking at the small library doorway:

Kurt, leaned in said doorway: "Forgive me, but might I have a word?"

Students, all nervous, nod:

Kurt, taking a seat on a nearby table and taking a breath: "I-"

Jubilee: "We're sorry, Mr.Wagner, about yesterday. Logan told us you seemed upset and we didnt mean to-"

Kurt: "Ah, that is unnecessary. I'd actually like to apologise to you, if I may?"

Students, looking at eachother, confused.

Kurt: "I've heard about your bad experiences with people of my faith, so I know your unease around me is well founded. I'm more upset knowing there are people out there who judge you. Not just as mutants but as people that are also different in other ways too."

A nervous pause.

Kurt, smiling: "I mean, the bible is pretty long, but with the ten commandments, basically footnotes for the whole thing, they've no excuse to judge, it literally says right there"

Kitty giggles, Bobby smiles.

Kurt: "The point of this is- while I can't erase that some people think of themselves like He who died on the cross, despite their sins and judging you, I can assure you that I will not be like them."

Another pause.

Kurt: "You are safe around me. Regardless of who you love or how you express your souls. The only people that are not safe around me, are people that threaten you. That includes people who share my faith. There is not a single teaching that could justify you being persecuted for something you did not choose."

Jubilee, Bobby, Anole and Kitty all fall quiet, looking at eachother.

Kurt stands and turns to the door, having said his piece: "Right, I shall leave you to study. Apologies again for-"

Kurt pauses, feeling arms around his waist.

Anole and Kitty, hugging Kurt: "Thank you"

Jubilee and Bobby get up too, joining the hug.

Kurt, smiling: "Mein Gott, the bar really is in Hell for us isn't it? All I said was you won't be hate crimed in my presence"

Cut to Logan standing outside the door, hearing the quiet laughs of the students, smiling, before walking away. Kurt leaves eventually, closing the door behind himself, seeming a little misty in the eyes. He looks down to where is cross is still tucked away before pulling it out and letting it rest above his shirt proudly once again.

//Scene//

(I will write this in its entirety, I promise)

Being a fruity gentleman with a long history of bad experiences with the Catholic Church and catholics as a whole (I bare no ill will to the community) I struggle to feel safe among believers in God (Christians and Catholics specifically) and I've got plenty of friends in my generation who feel the same. And I was just thinking how Kurt would respond to that in the students at the Xaviers school.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can you do Gary x a neurodivergent reader that he keeps trying to indoctrinate, only for them to want to be friends?

The whole "I'm a normal human, just like you" wouldn't work on me personally. I would assume he was autistic or had some form of ptsd and some very interesting interests because of it. Either way, picturing him trying to get a reader to join his cult, only for them to assume he's neurodivergent too and try to be friends with him is just extremely funny to me.

Bonus points if the reader's special interest just so happens to be demons

This is brilliant tbh,,,,just ND to ND communication hshhfhaw

.......

The Eternal Order of the Second Death (EOSD) was keeping tabs on you for a while, noting your frequent visits to the local library.

A thrall masquerading as a staff member had access to your account's checkout history and saw that you only take out books on the occult/demonology/etc.

It's a fixation you usually keep to yourself, not saying much and silently thanking them for not giving you any strange looks (although you never notice their unnerving smile as they wish you a good day).

It's not long before they let Gary know about you, mentioning your fascination with the demon Malphas and the Unspeakable.

He planned to indoctrinate you and show you all the things you could learn and experience within the Order.

Even if you don't become a vessel for the Unspeakable, he believes you'd make a good acolyte in no time.

So he invites you to a "bookclub meeting", where you're taken to a hidden chamber beneath one of the study rooms.

It has its own library with a plethora of forbidden books on demon summoning, instructions for certain rituals, and more (plus a demon who prevents them from being stolen).

Minus the stench of death and the demonic blood sigils on the walls, you're very much intrigued.

Then Gary appears before you and offers you a chance to join them, explaining how long they've been keeping an eye on you.

When he puts down his hood, you could see his flesh is scarred and glasses hiding his eyes, as well as the red eye painted on his forehead.

"...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Who are you, again?"

"I'm Gary, a normal human being just like you." He smiles in a way that's not-at-all human.

It only takes a second for you to connect the dots.

And not in the "oh he's a demon pretending to be human" way, but instead the "oh he's neurodivergent pretending to be Normal™" kind of way.

It just made sense. Why else would he insist on being a "normal human being"?

He was just like you fr

Again, he offers you a position in the lower ranks, believing you had potential to work your way up to a "greater purpose".

But you only express interest in being friends with him, never really getting the hint that the EOSD didn't rally "friends", but willing sacrifices and worshippers ready to throw their entire lives away for him and his cause.

Gary is fully aware of how you perceive him, but he goes along with it, finding you intriguing.

You're allowed to visit the hidden bookclub, where you might find him a few times, always ready to make his offer.

But you often distract him with long chats and infodumps of demons you've read about.

Even all the things you knew about Astaroth surprised him, and it's quite flattering.

They can go on for a while, and sometimes when he's called to attend to other matters, he abruptly leaves..but it never bothers you.

You get it. Conversations must be exhausting for him and drain his social battery. You'll note to keep them brief next time.

As far as joining the cult goes, you're not a big fan of large groups....so you always say you need "time" to consider.

Regardless, he's not gonna stop trying to convince you. But he wants you to stay interested in the demons, firmly believing you'd be a reliable asset.

[verseandrhyme]

'Azama's gift to his daughter was allowing her to sleep in.'

... She probably wouldn't stop to be grateful about that one though, huh? Tsk. She'd probably gotten complacent, too, being left to her own devices without her personal wake-up alarm Azama™ but oh well! Azama certainly could not begrudge the girl enjoying a good nap.

Probably it was deeply ingrained in her genes, even, whether she liked it or not.

This did beg the question, however... of what she would want to see on her doorstep on this oh so special day.

(Certainly not his ugly mug. He could be more sure of little else.)

Their sensibilities in haiku certainly differed, but that didn't mean he couldn't put an effort in, right? There's already been something there, percolating, stewing...

But garbage left to sit overnight does not a diamond suddenly make.

She was well surrounded, as far as he could see (from definitely not spying on her on her birthday, no), and that alone sparked many a variety of emotions in the otherwise unflappable priest: fondness, gratitude, guilt, jealousy,

Ahem.

Fingers tapped at his quill, willing it to move on its own.

Azama's didn't really know whether he believed in such nonsense as writer's block, but, well, sat here faced with a blank slate-- gods preserve him.

* * *

Sat by her door some time after dinner is a lone candle, rosy in hue -reminiscent of the sakura blooms back in Hoshido. That said, it is not particularly ornate, signalling it as perhaps more functional than stylish. Its flame flickers gently, inviting company.

A card sits nearby. On the front half reads a greeting, solemn, but heartfelt.

For when inspiration should strike in the dark.

And on the back, a small thought:

dear deer daughter mine, surrounded by warmth, replete! father, elated.

(... if one went to blow out the candle, they might find it not so easy a task. Sorry if you happen to like the lights out.)

...he did not come to see her.

Which was. Fine. She was not so vain as to think the simple coincidence of her birth a day worth uprooting all else for. No one had to come see her.

But...he had not.

And it is not as though that is an unfamiliar result. Birthdays of the past had often been little more than an indulgence at dinner from her caretakers. Still.

It was one thing for it to be missed due to magic influences and war. It was another to know that he was here, at the same place as her, and still choosing not to see her.

She did not want to let it bother her. She did not long for company, or others stopping her with well wishes. It was not as though the day was spent alone.

But the day passed on, and it was harder to smile, and the weight settled more firmly, and the stars started dimming.

The light was returned by the sight of a candle at her door. Morbid, as though mourning her spirit's end before she had even passed. Mitama laughs to herself at the thought as she picks up the card.

...oh.

...it should not...it is not the same as actually seeing him but...

Mitama uses her sleeve to wipe at her eyes as she brings the candle in her room.

(The trick does not take long to figure out. She rolls her eyes, but then digs out a little tray for the candle to sit upon. At the bottom, she places a charm that should curse the candle and prevent it from moving if not moved by her. Only her father would gift her a permanent fire hazard.)

[professor-amaryllis]

:{ A video file is embedded. This post has been helpfully translated from Kantonian to Unovan using Poryphone™ translation technology!

It is... beautiful here. The trees still clad in the greens and golds of late summer sway gently in the breeze and the sound of chimes drift ever so faintly through the air. As the camera pans over this seemingly empty cemetery the shapes and sizes of various tombstones and monuments are what initially catch the eye. Creeping moss covers some of the older stones, obscuring some of the epitaphs carved so carefully in Kantonian. It creates a somber, weathered spirit to this place, almost timeless in it's serenity.

The camera watches a pair of Stantler walk slowly among the monuments for a moment, before finally turning about and focusing on a figure that sits quietly on the grass. You don't recognize them at first, faced away from the camera and lost in their own thoughts, the clothes that they wear are so... different from what you might expect. The leather jacket is beautiful, the leather well cared for, the stitching careful and the metal spikes on the shoulders placed meticulously, hand painted patches scattered here and there. It's the design on the back that gives them away, the glare of a familiar Arbok's hood almost daring anyone disturb this scene.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, looking at a particular stone. The name is hard to read at first but with a shaking hand they brush away the dirt and dust of the years. Taylor 'Fable' Morris, 1986-2013. When they finally do speak, the voice is theirs, soft and melodic, but the accent is wrong- no trace of the usual Johtoian dialect, their Kantonian is fluid and easy, the urban Saffron accent heavy and tired.

"... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry for what happened to you and- and I'm sorry for leaving you behind. I hope you know that I didn't want to... That if I had had my way i really would be right there with you still, just like we promised. ...You didn't deserve any of this."

They wipe their eyes with a small sniffle, adjusting to rest their elbows on their knees. There's a long pause.

"You wouldn't believe how things have changed... how I have. I'm a Professor now. Me. Fuck, I've been on tv. Can you believe that? People like me, i think, not fear, not respect. Well, they like the person they think I am, anyway. There are a few though... a few that know and still stand by me. It's... hard to believe. I'm even married. Hah, I bet you never would have seen that coming... I'm lucky, i think. Despite everything. I never really thought that I would have people that loved me, aside from you i guess. I think you would like them. I hope you would. I do."

"... I wish I remembered more. I know enough to know that you were kind, that people liked you. Hell, someone had to have been taking care of this stone, at least to keep the moss off... I know that you were the reason I learned sign. I know that you were the most important person in my life... I know that i loved you." There's a waver in their voice and they swallow, pausing a moment to gather themselves.

"I wish I could remember you. I wish I could remember your face, your laugh. You were everything to me, my best friend. It isn't fair that that was taken from me... I lost everything that day. My life, my language, my culture, my family. You... I know it was my fault. I should never have opened my mouth but... to loose even the memory. It's... cruel. I know some of these things, i can get... closer to them when I drink. But it isn't the same as remembering. I'm so sorry. I'm so- I'm so sorry Taylor."

Their voice breaks, a small sob ripped from their chest, and the Echo within the camera seems to shift, whether discomfort or distraction is unclear, but as she turns away from the professor a second grave right next to the first is revealed for a moment. The dark stone is covered in dust and moss and broken into a few large, jagged pieces. Its hard to make out the name, but with effort it's possible.

Aiko "Melody" Mori 1988 - 2013

Video Ends. }:

[gith-egg]

I still have no finished art of my lil gith dude but I want to share him with yall so fuck it I'm making a post about him anyway

Drik ▪︎ Githyanki ▪︎ Ranger

Pronouns: He/They

Age: 22

Height: 6'0 / 184cm

Build: Scrawny, even by Gith standards

Alignment: Chaotic Tired™

Weapon: Heavy crossbow that looks comically way too big for him to use (and almost is)

Companion: Barley, his "cat"*

*half-undead half-gremishka half-cat

Long backstory below cut

In a crèche nestled deep in the Sunset Mountains, a young githyanki was condemned to death. Barely into its fourth year of living, the child had been frail and sickly almost from the start, and would not have been coddled even this long were it not for a particularly lenient custodian. It had become clear the child would not be fit to work, much less fight; to cull it now was as much mercy as it was pragmatism.

And then the child disappeared.

The ability to skim the boundary of the Astral Plane to achieve feats of great mobility is hallmark of githyanki warriors. This is a skill honed through years of disciplined training. Little wonder, then, that the toddler accidentally accomplishing it for the first time in the sheer panic of impending slaughter did so directly into a freezing river.

Perhaps a greater miracle that a dwarven merchant caravan was passing close enough for the sorry thing to be retrieved still alive. With no common language and no knowledge of the nearby crèche, the traders did the only thing they could and took the child along with them.

By the time they reached the next destination on their route - the city of Scornubel - it had become plainly apparent this would not be a permanent addition to their family. Even if the open road had been a suitable stage to raise a young one, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 one ate enough for three and kept getting into places that should have been impossible. Everyone knew the stories of "lost" fey children finding their way under a friendly roof and effecting utter chaos. The child had to go.

Conveniently the issue proceeded to solve itself: the child, again, disappeared.

* * * * *

Almost a decade later, a headstrong adolescent prepared to seek his independence. He was weary of life in this city - tired of the hostile gazes and quickened strides he was met with on a good day, while the others his age found work and opportunities. Drik (as his caretaker had dubbed him: a bug, a meager and invasive crawling thing, how astute) was keenly aware he was not welcome here.

Aishnak, the designator in question, seemed to regard this as a matter of little importance. The kindly old baker assured him there was no need to attain a job or an apprenticeship as there would always be space at his table. This was patently untrue - it seemed like every other week a new orphan showed up on his doorstep - and also, beside the point. Drik did not want to stay in a city that did not want him.

Just give it a few more years, said the old man, you'll find your niche. Just be patient. You're not ready to fend for yourself yet, you're still a kid, the wilderness is no place for one so young, you take the safety of civilisation for granted. Drik had heard it all. He'd also been training with a crossbow for a whole year now, and he knew how to butcher an animal and how to cook and follow a map and, not to be vain, but he was really very good at staying hidden when he didn't want to be found. Better than anyone else he knew. He was ready, and he wouldn't hear otherwise.

Within a week he was back at Aishnak's door. In Drik's defense, which he was very ready to give, this was not because he lacked the skill to keep himself alive. It was because he'd been careless with the life of another.

A feral cat, shot for dinner without difficulty. A litter newly born, discovered after the fact. A heart much less hardened than he'd given himself credit for. Now here he stood with an armful of kittens and a faceful of tears, begging relief from consequences like the child he was.

Aishnak had the grace to refrain from stating the obvious. He promised the kittens would be cared for - save one, as he picked out the runt, the tiny creature already limp and unresponsive. Keeping it with the others will make them ill, he explained; there's naught to do but bury it.

Drik understood. It was a miracle any of them had survived, being so small and left untended. He asked to take the dying kitten back, put it to rest himself. It was only right. Aishnak let him go.

He bundled it against his chest, walked it all the way back out to the place he'd found it, the nest its mother had made in the remains of an old farm shed. He dug a hole, deep enough so that only the worms and plant roots would have the body. He held the sad little scrap of meat in his hands, over its grave. And he cried. He cried and cried and he curled up on the dirt and cradled the thing he'd come here to dispose of and he couldn't do it.

Of course, there was really no alternative, and eventually he had no tears left in him to shed. He had no choice but to pick himself up and finish his work. It was then that he became aware of two things: firstly, that standing up was proving difficult, which was frustrating but not especially out of the ordinary. Secondly, and much more unexpected, the lump of fluff enclosed in his hands was wiggling and making quite a bit of noise.

Drik chanced a peek at the dead kitten and immediately confirmed it was not, in fact, dead, by the metric of it being able to prise its way past his fingers and stumble mewling across his thorax. He didn't have a chance to consider what to do about this though because the next thing he did was fall unconscious.

* * * * *

Another decade come and gone. Lounging in a forest clearing, Drik admired his most recent prize in the morning sunlight: a lavishly jewelled pendant, sparkling not just with the lustre of the gold and stones but with the unmistakeable radiance of magic. Barley corroborated his assessment with greedy scrutiny from where she perched atop his knees. The traveller they'd filched it from hadn't seemed anyone special at a glance, but that just went to show the folly of judging books by their covers.

Offering Barley a quick mental apology - for disturbing her seat and for denying her custody of this latest find, to both of which she shot back a tepid psychic grumble - Drik rolled to his feet and pocketed the necklace. It'd be worth a small fortune, to the right buyer. He was due for a visit home.

[cowboylikeyouu]

For the WIP game, No Other shade of blue but you, please!

oh my, i completely forgot the wip game ahahah sorry for the wait, here you go:

i started working on this THREE YEARS AGO???? it's not even THAT long, but i always forget it exists for like 6 months before writing another 1000 words and then forgetting it again.

the premise is basically: steve & tony had a Thing™ during that period when pepper & tony had broken up, but then civil war happened and yeah. pepper & tony get back together, get married, have morgan, endgame happens as usual BUT: instead of tony, pepper dies. which is. . . cruel, i know, but hey, she was canonically part of the final battle so in theory she could've been the one to get the stones & do the snap lol. anyways, then it's just a lot of depressed tony taking care of morgan and refusing to accept help, until he caves in and calls up steve one day and yeah, then they have their very very slow getting back together arc, while they're raising morgan. there're gonna be a lot of shenanigans with other characters bc tony's slowly letting other people back in his life, so it's actually just gonna be a shit ton of avengers family feels. i also have a fully planned out winterhawk spin-off to this fic lol. idk if i'll ever finish writing it tho, i have about 15k and most of it was originally written in german. i DID translate it and i wrote some of the later stuff in english, but i'm still SUPER unhappy with it. i love my german writing SO MUCH, but it tends to lose its flow when i translate it :/

here's a small excerpt, the grammar might suck as well, my english skills were even poorer back then than they are now lmao

Steve ignored his words and pulled out a burner phone instead, placing it on the counter next to Tony. Only one number was registered in it. Tony paused momentarily and regarded the phone with an unreadable look before swallowing hard and turning back to his plate.  "Haven't we been through this already, Cap?" He said quietly as if his voice would fail him if he spoke louder.  The movements of his hand holding the sponge became increasingly erratic, and Steve couldn't stand it anymore. Without thinking much, he put one hand on Tony's arm in an attempt to soothe him and stop his movements before using his other hand to carefully pull the plate from his clenched fingers and place it on the towel next to the sink. This time, Tony didn't even try to free himself from Steve's grip. "Maybe you're gonna use it this time," Steve responded and pushed the phone a little closer to Tony with his free hand.  Tony looked up from the phone to meet Steve's eyes, a sad smile on his lips. "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think you and I were on such good terms the first time," he said, even more quiet than earlier.  Brown eyes that stirred so much more in Steve than he would ever admit stared into his, and for a moment, it felt like 2016 all over again. Like the time when Pepper and Tony had broken up due to personal reasons, the time when Steve had spent his days in Tony's building and his nights in Tony's bed, wasting time on kisses and sex and late-night promises. Like that brief, dreamlike period when everything had been okay for a few months. The calm before the storm that the Sokovia accords brought to their lives and their relationship. Then Tony looked away, and the moment shattered.  Steve found himself back in the present, where Tony and Pepper were no longer together because Pepper was simply no longer there, where the peaceful intimacy existed only in memory, and where the events in Leipzig and Siberia and the months without contact that followed continued to stand between them like an impassable wall. Steve didn't regret siding with Bucky at the time. He didn't regret wanting to protect his best friend, who had returned after seventy years, he’d do it again without thinking twice. But he regretted the naturalness with which he had thrown away Tony and all they had in the months before. He regretted more than anything not giving a rational thought to find a compromise that would allow him to keep them both in his life.

send me more asks about my wips if u want !!

[66sharkteeth]

Hey there, 66! Hope you're doing great. I have been going through your account for the past few hours (this reminds me of that one time I stayed up till 2 am as I appreciated all the artworks on your Instagram) so I know you've heard this several times, but I wanted to say it myself too: your work is wonderful. Believe me, I absolutely love it!

I found City of Blank years ago, during its first season. I read it all, and was quite impressed with the concept, intrigued by the plot, and in love with the characters. But before the next season started, I dropped out of reading Webtoons completely, as far as I remember. Long story short, I revisited Webtoon recently, read a few episodes of City of Blank, and was hooked. Yep. I binge-read the entire rest of the episodes in... three to five days?

So I want to commend you on your amazing concept, beautiful and eye-catching art, plot that keeps me reading late into the night (and at the dining table, between my studies, every single chance I get), the characters (really, they're very well-written — please don't doubt that — and unique, with different stories and personalities, I just love them), and the themes too (incorporated nicely, and it does make me wonder what it means to be a human). The way you write grey characters is one of the best things in your story, I feel.

(I feel like I should give you specific examples of what I like, but I have a tendency of talking too much, as you can see, so this will get way too long, I think... and sorry about the already huge chunks of text. but I hope this make you feel happy somehow)

Alright, now onto my actual questions. They're actually not related to the webcomic itself, since I really can't think of anything interesting... But your story is really good, so here are some queries I have about writing in general.

Do you have any tips for thinking of ideas? About concepts, plot, whatever; how to really get your brain in that mode, you know.

How do you create such vibrant characters? My characters are so similar... there are at least three pairs of nearly-identical characters. And how do you make them flawed yet still so likable?

They are pretty general questions, my apologies. It's just that, you know, since I'm getting to interact with the creator of one of my current favourite stories, why not learn something from them? You can just answer with your personal processes or whatever, I just wished to know how you do it.

I'm really looking forward to the next episode (but take your time, I'm okay with waiting). Pretty sad that this is the last season though. I'll miss it. Could you maybe tell me the estimated date of return and how many more episodes we'll have? Just a rough idea will do too.

That's all. (At this point it'll come as a relief to you 😂) Have a wonderful week ahead, lots of love, and know that there are lots of people who genuinely enjoy your work, you adorable shark! ❤️

(also, don't know why I'm telling you, but this is my first ever interaction on Tumblr with literally anyone) (cool site, I like the easy formatting)

(If you've read this entire thing, thank you. Did I bother you too much? I hope not.)

Hey there! Gonna do my best to answer this since it's been in my inbox for a while, but apologies if it's not the most coherent as my head's still in a bit of a fog from a cold.

First off, thank you for the kind words. I remember they made my day when I first got this ask, but they made it again as I'm waking up w/ a throbbing head ache and coughing my lungs out from the NYCC 2023 Con Crud™.

Anyway, gonna answer your questions the best I can, especially because I'm not entirely sure what the best way to answer these kinds of questions are-

Do you have any tips for thinking of ideas? About concepts, plot, whatever; how to really get your brain in that mode, you know.

I think one thing I like to shape a lot of my concepts around is making something unordinary ordinary. I've talked about it before, but one of the inspirations behind blanks is shadow people, like the ghosts. They're so horrifying and creepy to me, and I thought it would be neat if I made a world where the most creepy and scary thing to me was just...super ordinary and mundane. Like a world where you go into your living room and you're like "Man, that shadow person is still standing in front of my tv. How obnoxious."

A lot of my upcoming ideas kind of focus around this concept too. What if we lived in a world where demons were just every day citizens that went to work and school with us? What if we lived in a world where nobody feared death and was excited for it? What if we lived in a world where half the population was in prison? I can't say every single story idea I have falls into this, but I'd say a lot of them do and I find it's often a kick off point for a lot of my ideas.

How do you create such vibrant characters? My characters are so similar... there are at least three pairs of nearly-identical characters. And how do you make them flawed yet still so likable?

Do I make them likable? Sometimes I can't tell when I look at characters like Lyss haha. Because I think she's a victim of how I write characters, which is just... I dunno, write them like they're real people. Everybody is mad at the decisions Lyss made but... I'm sorry. I'll forever die on the hill that everyone are hypocrites and 90% of people would have done the same thing in her shoes. Only a flawless, benevolent, and frankly kind of stupid, person would have just...let Rex go in those circumstances, evil other half be damned. He was still a danger who proved he couldn't control himself, and the same way you'd probably report your best friend who was driving raving drunk after he just smashed into someone, she reported a dangerous person. Even if people hate her for it, I wrote what any person would have done in that situation. And that's how I try to write all my characters, for better or for worse. A lot of Rex's stupid decisions are dictated by his anxiety and depression, and I know from firsthand experience how being in that state of mind can influence your decisions and overall outlook on life and the people who love you, despite what you may think. I guess my advice is just to give them human flaws. A lot of people don't like Nia because she's manipulative, but I write her as a character who 100% practices what she preaches. Yeah, she "gas lit" Rex into joining Blan Corp, but she also 1000% believed it was the best thing for him.

Desmond probably comes off as the more "flawless" characters, but his own self-loathing and... catholic blank guilt is a big part of what pushed Rex away. In the time when Rex was questioning and hating himself for being a blank, why would he ever go the one person who hates himself for being a blank more than him? When he could go to the person (Nia) who celebrates him being a blank, and reminds him he can be loved for being one.

Anyway, that's enough rambling for now. Hopefully that gives you some to chew on.