#<- tagging all my original posts this this year

[noctivagant-corvid]

went insane thinking abt hideduo bc one year confession anniversary but like. listen ok.

i know, logically, that the reason c!hideduo ended the way it did was bc the server abruptly shut down. however. i think they have tragedy potential.

to reiterate what i said in the tags of my original post: q!fit is a character from the cruelest place you can imagine. a place that- in fanon (*cough cough* they're facists but they'll respect your pronouns *cough cough*)- is ripe with homophobia. he has been placed in an enviorment that is not only safe and warm but also homonormative. and when his body relaxes from the constant fight or flight he's lived in for the past twenty some years, he starts to think about things he's had buried for a longgg time. he meets a beautiful man who's kind to his son and he goes oh. and then he shoves that oh down again- or tries to- but this place is so nice and there's nothing really to be scared of, not here, and it keeps bubbling back up again and one night he's sitting in his bed thinking "oh god, i'm in love with him." and then, a few minutes later, whispered like a confessional- "i'm in love with a man." (it takes him a few more weeks to say 'gay'. he gets there, though.)

q!pac might not be stuggling with his queerness, but he's struggling with just about everything else. he's stranded on an island with the man who ate his leg and he doesn't know when he's going to snap again- because it's a when, not an if- and so he lives in this state of fear. he knows he won't win that fight. he knows he's the weakest, the most pathetic, the easiest to manipulate. his brother is missing. his son is missing practically every other week. and he has his friends, sure, but he knows they'll leave him. if given the chance, they'd all leave him. but then there's fit. fit doesn't leave. even in purgatory, fit doesn't leave. he calls pac strong, and it doesn't sound like a lie, not coming out of fit's mouth. he fights to bring pac back from the pills, promises to keep him safe, and pac finds himself relaxing around him-despite his better judgement. he's cute, too- gets all stuttery and red when pac flirts with him.

fit stumbles through "gosto de voce" like a nervous teenage girl and pac laughs and they're both stammering, smiling, bright red, and it isn't perfect all of a sudden- fit still has to tell him about the quest, mike's still missing, and they both still have their issues- but it's good. it's so, so good.

for a moment, fit and pac get to live in a blissful world. a world with a sweet and quiet and beautiful family that fits in all the right ways and leaves them both with constant dopey grins. a family that has both of their jaws unclenching and laughter coming easier than ever and everything seems that much brighter, that much warmer. there is a very brief moment in time that fit and pac get everything they've ever wanted.

it's like a collison course. two lines that intersect once. there is one moment where everything is perfect and then nothing but sobbing by the moonlight when your children hopefully can't hear because ramon's already having a hard enough time he doesn't need to hear pac sobbing his eyes out. nothing but cold detachment, a deep cavern filled with faceless corpses- or have you just been staring at them so long their faces have blurred together? who knows. who knows. here's what you do know: in every universe, there is a brief moment where everything is good. everything goes downhill from there. it's quicker everytime-only a day in arkanis. only a few hours hour in the realm. there is a brief moment. you have to treasure it.

[the-sinful-voice-witch]

Here's my SONIC 3 input:

Ehem, first: KYAAAAAAAAA SHADOW AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MARIA KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA POST CREDIT SCENE KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

And now... To hell with the theories I wrote years ago after the second movie because I didn't write a single thing right 😂😂😂, well no... I got one wish coming true at least, Keanu reeves as Shadow 😍😍😍 .

Now I'm going to comment about how the thing with Shadow and Maria was handled and I'm going to theorize a bit again about the next movie... See if this time I get something right🥲🥲🥲 well anyway the old posts are still in my profile if anyone wants to read an alternative storyline and now... Spoilers under the cut:

I should be mad given how adamant I was about this but I'm not because thankfully everything made sense and it was well written though I can't help to feel a bit disappointed... I'm a shadamy fan what did you expect 😂😂😂? But no shadamy for us because it wasn't Amy the one who changed Shadow's mind but fortunately unlike that disgraceful time in Sonic X this time there was no tag along human involved, it was Sonic himself who did it and in this context it was perfect. You see the movie version of Maria wasn't even a sick girl, she was a healthy cheerful kid that... To me had a personality that felt like a combination of Sonic's (movie version) and Amy Rose's (current Amy in general because we don't know yet about her movie version) personalities like for real all the silly things she does is something Sonic or Amy would do, is like if Sonic and Amy had a kid she would have this version of Maria's personality 🥰🥰 and girl... Unlike the original, Maria doesn't even get to say any last words to Shadow before dying because this time the shooting instead caused an explosion that killed her instantly 😭😭😭 somehow that made it even worse! And she wasn't sick! She had all live ahead of her and G.U.N motherfuckers took it away! SHE PLAYED THE GUITAR 😭 Shadow remember her playing! This was a massive heartbreak...💔💔💔💔

Anyway... Shadow hurts Tom thinking it was another specific person (also feel bad about him, he actually tried to stop the idiot from shooting and considered Shadow a kid like Maria), that triggered Sonic into wanting revenge and somehow Shadow in a way feels validation on his vengeful feelings and accepts his fate wanting Sonic to finish him but Sonic obviously won't give him that satisfaction and instead teaches him about focusing and validating healthier feelings: Even though Maria and Longclaw aren't here anymore the love we had still remains and Shadow then remembered the conversation he had we Maria watching the Stars, even though the star is gone it's light remains and that's how he changed his mind so yeah no Amy no Shadamy but how can I be mad at this?🥹🥹🥹🥹 It was perfect. So even though there's no Shadamy... at that doesn't mean there's no Amy because.... THIS HAPPENED IN THE THE POST CREDIT SCENE: 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

OMG I CAN'T BREATHE! THAT ENTRANCE!!! YESSSSS MY GIRL AMY ROSE IS OFFICIALLY PART OF THE MOVIES KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SHE IS SO CUTE SO CUTE🥹🫠🫠❤️ I LOVE HER!!! I HATE WE CAN'T SEE HER FULL OUTFIT😖😖😖😖

Finally finally FINALLY ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥, well she finally here so is time tooooooooo THEORIZE!!!😂😂😂, she if I get something right this time:

Well first Amy wasn't the only one showing up in that scene... We also have the introduction of Metal Sonic and that means everything makes sense and is connected my guess is that next movie could be a mix between the Sonic game in which Amy and Metal Sonic were introduced and the game Sonic heroes.

So, in the games Amy and Metal Sonic were introduced together and Amy was waiting in a specific place because the tarot cards told her and then se meets Sonic and metal Sonic, last one kidnappes her, Sonic saves her and then she falls in love with him and in the Sonic heroes game Metal Sonic shows up again and Sonic team along other characters team has to defeat it, then what exactly happened in the post credit scene? Multiple Metal Sonics attack him and he is struggling because he is outnumbered and then Amy Rose steps up and using her hammer as a boomerang saves him.

We have some changes, obviously Amy has her movie version of her current games version and not the look she had when she was introduced in the games though they might show us that look in a flashback or an eater egg, then this time instead of facing one metal Sonic we have a group of them and instead of Sonic rescuing Amy it's her who helps him being already a fighter, I'm going to assume she knew where to go thanks to her tarot cards like in the game what I don't know is if she is simply there because the cards guided her and after seeing what was happening she wants to help or if she has an specific mission. Another guess is that she is not going to fall in love immediately, I think Sonic will be the first one crushing for the sheer factor of Amy being the second Hedgehog he ever met but the first female hedgehog and she probably has seen other hedgehogs before 😂😂😂 so with the personality he has in the movies I think he will be: "I wanna look cool to her but I'm being a clumsy fool, earth swallow me please" 🫠🫠🫠like... Movie Sonic is a freaking teenager actually acting like a teenager, Amy will like him too but she won't be as obvious as she used to be and she won't be that clumsy because she looks like she's probably used to interact with other alien furros.

As for Metal Sonic, seeing his robotics clones is like he is taking Shadow's place in Sonic heroes who is you don't remember had multiple robotic clones of him, probably none of those clones were the original Metal Sonic also his existence makes an excuse for Omega to exist and wanting to eradicate all eggmans robots as revenge for setting him aside when obviously he is the superior robot 😂, we love you Omega 🥰🥰 also at the end of the movie we know that Shadow is alive as you remember he was still super Shadow and was hit by the explosion in the space and that must have knocked out all the chaos emeralds and spilled them around the universe and that will be the reason for ROUGE my dear waifu to appear! She probably found one and as the treasure hunter she is she will want to gather all of them as a result we have all the pieces we need for TEAM DARK! I don't think we're going to have team rose, we'll have to accept Team Sonic and Team dark, I think that's enough for a good Sonic heroes references along metal Sonic who obviously will be the final boss becoming a giant robomonster at the end.

I'll add an extra, I expect Knuckles to tease the hell out of Sonic because of his crush on Amy only to get the tables turned on him when they meet... The sexy bat thief ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 and Tails complaining that they're gross 😂😂😂 and obviously I want Amy to show interest In Shadow and I want Sonic jealous... I'm not asking too much 🤡🤡🤡

End of theories, hope you like them, see you in another post 🤪🤪😂😂

[motorsportbarbie13]

New Series Announcement!!!

I am so excited to start on this project and so glad you've found this post! Track Limits is my fully original novel I wrote this summer set in the cut-throat world of Formula 1. While all of my characters are original, they are based on and inspired by your favorite F1 personalities. While I'm not quite ready for this to be widely published, I wanted to let this baby out into the world somehow and since I've recieved such amazing support and feedback here, I thought maybe my followers on Tumblr might enjoy reading this new little project I've been working on for almost a year now.

You can find the main navigation post HERE or on my MASTER LIST

Now..lets get better acquainted with our two main characters and introduce you a bit to the story, shall we? :)

Celine St. Gerard is heiress to the St. Gerard fortune, which just so happens to include one of the oldest and most storied Formula One racing teams on the grid. When tragedy strikes, she finds herself back in the cut-throat world of F1.

Theodore Highgate has been with Evans Racing for his entire career but as the seasons tick by, his lack of consistent success has his contract renewal for next season up in the air. He's always been known as the 'paddock playboy' and has a reputation that precedes him. After a meeting with his terrifying team principle though, Theo decides it's time to do away with the distractions and focus on winning races.

Until he lays eyes on Celine St. Gerard for the first time.

When Celine and Theo meet for the first time, sparks reminiscent of a bottomed out F1 car fly, igniting something dangerous that could ruin them both. While there's obvious chemistry between the pair, there's one singular problem: St. Gerard and Evans Racing have the longest, most intense rivalry on the grid and Celine's father is not one to suffer scandal.

Will Celine once again play the obedient heiress like she's done for her entire life and follow her father's orders to leave Theo alone or will she risk it all for the playboy race car driver? What will happen with Theo's own team betrays him and he finds himself not trusting the team that he has around him? Will Celine and Theo be able to make it work despite everything working against them?

This story has fast cars, secret hookups, tragedy, and even a sprinkle of spice for good measure. I know this is different from my usual posts, but I'm hoping you all enjoy this type of writing!!

I'll be posting new chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on my main page starting January 6th. I'll also be continuing on with my normal F1 Fanfics that you've all come to know, so no worries about that content going anywhere!!

I'm also going to be doing a separate tag list so if you'd like to be added to THIS ONE SPECIFICALLY, please leave a comment on this post or any of the future chapters.

xoxo MSB

[wholahoop]

The year ahead

The lovely @tackytigerfic tagged me with the questions what are you proud of going into 2025, and what are your plans for the year ahead.

2024 was a funny year for me! I've been on the fringes of fandom for a few years now, mostly lurking rather than actively taking part, so I haven't created much for a while.

A good chunk of the year was taken up with some (long awaited, and positive for the future!) surgery, and recovering from that. Boring but necessary! But I found myself pining for writing, so when I felt up to it I decided to focus on finishing up some of my WIPs. So I only have one fic for a round-up.

Best Nightmare Come True: 170k, E, SK8 the Infinity / Matchablossom.

This is a truly self-indulgent omegaverse fic that's full of the tropes I love - boys being stupid, epic miscommunication and inability to say the hard stuff out loud, OTT pining, and I really leaned into the romance and the feels. I kind of wrote it for myself in the end, and that was a really nice experience, as I could really let myself go and just wallow in the emotions. It might have been better shorter - but I didn't want to make it shorter :D

I'm not sure about my aims for 2025! I want to write more fanfic, for sure, and be more present in fandom - I'd like to make more friends <3. I'd like to read more fic and look at more pretty art too!

In terms of my own writing, I have another SK8 fic I want to finish up. I feel nostalgic about H/D yes I know we all call it drarry these days and I do have a smutty WIP from a thousand years ago that I might finish up. Maybe I will do Erised again for old times' sake when the time comes.

I also would like to write some original fiction this year too! My problem has always been indecision - too many ideas, so I dither between what to write and end up writing nothing.

I'd also love to learn to write short, and have my outlines be realistic to the word count I'm aiming for, but I think that might require literal magic to achieve!

Not tagging anyone because I suspect everyone's done their end of year posts already, haha, but if you haven't and you're reading this, do it and tag me in!

[shoshiwrites]

New year, new pinned post! Hi there, I'm Shoshi, or Sho. I write OCs for WWII shows and reblog lots of historical photography and fashion. This blog is generally 18+, and I try to tag and label original posts accordingly.

My main OC is Jo Brandt — she currently features in a WIP I'm working on for Masters of the Air (title TBD), where she's paired with Bucky Egan. Jo originated in a Band of Brothers fic back in my baby's first fic days (When the War Came), featuring her and Joe Toye. This fic is getting a rewrite, currently simmering on a low burner on the back of the stove.

My inbox is always open for chatting about war shows, writing, and pretty much anything else! There are a lot of prompts, AUs, and snippets floating around featuring many characters. If something doesn't make sense, please don't hesitate to ask (in fact it will make my day if you do).

Please feel free to stop on by — I'll put the coffee on ☕

Writing tag » OCs (to be updated) » Ao3

Completed works under the cut...

zonnestraal — a young seamstress has an encounter in Eindhoven on the day of liberation. Grant/OC.

In Bloom — homecoming for a WAC proves something new.

February — on the homefront, Ruby wonders about a boy she knew.

sidera — a graduate student with the MFAA finds herself observing more than the art. Christenson/OC.

so many miles and so long since i've met you — a train station meeting. Tab/OC.

I also have a collection featuring Jo and her best friend Frankie (some explicit, some not, not all on Ao3 yet), a Liebgott character study, and more!

[whoatherebigguy]

Alllllright, well, now's a good a time as any to do an announcement!

I don't really know how to lead into this in a more dramatic or "professional" way, so I'll just get right to the point.

In short: Part of the reason I've been posting less the past few months is because I've been working on a much larger comic. It's an adaptation of Gamera vs. Zigra and it's looking like it might get finished sometime later this year. [hopefully, if all goes well]

In long: I started this project back in September. I wasn't going to say anything about it until I was at least mostly done the prep work, since I wasn't sure if I would even be able to handle the workload. And honestly... I'm still not sure if I can, but I'm going to give it my best shot. I'll probably be posting occasional progress updates for it on here and I'll do my best not to spoil too much. [although, the plot isn't too dissimilar to the film and it's far from unpredictable lol]

Aside from that, I'm going to try to be fairly transparent about the status of this project. The working title for it is: Rapid Ascent and that's the tag I'll be using for in on my blog. The entire outline is finished and I'm almost done the script, along with the page thumbnails. It'll be in black and white with screen tones and it should end up being around 50 pages. Additionally, it should be much more faithful to the original film than [both of] my usual characterizations of Zigra.

i don't have a clever closing line here, but yeah, that's what I've got in the works right now!

[really-fanny-longbottom]

@shadowsingercassia, thank you so much for the tag. i loved doing this! 🫶🏻

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

none, actually! i don't have an account on ao3 and i think the website it's complicated for me.

2. How many fics have you completed this year?

15! which is literally all my fics since i only started posting since may.

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start did year?

honestly, i don't even know. ongoing, i think it's about two or maybe three. on progress? that's the million dollar question, i have this problem where i start writing new things before even finishing the others that i already started. i have too many (5x) fics on my drafts.

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

without a doubt, never yours and only in my dreams. these fics are sooo different from each other, but i absolutely loved the process of writing them, i think it was when i felt the most motived.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

i will have to say, tears in pages. it was the most challenging fic i ever wrote and it's different from the others. it was also the one where i had to force myself to stop, otherwise it would be a book and not a fic.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

only in my dreams!!! in both ways, actually. when i started writing it that was not the original plot, the ideas just came to me while i was writing and the development that came after too. also, when i posted, i was shocked to see how many people liked it and requested for a part two. it was one of the best moments i had here.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

yessss! tears in pages and echoes of the past, i loved writing them because of how different they are from all of my other works and it made me a little upset when i saw they didn't get the same attention as the others, especially tears in pages, i really loved that one.

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

most of my time here is spend on fics, so, i don't really know many artists but i love @cafekitsune dividers. they're so good that i use them all for my fics and page. they're really amazing.

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

@daycourtofficial was the first page i found here. i literally read all her fics in one night. they're so good, the plot, the writing, truly amazing. before i start writing, i asked for some advices (anonymously at the time because i was too shy) and they helped me so much and gave the courage to post and it's one of the best decisions i ever made. so, thank you 🫶🏻.

@azsazz was the second page i found and i also read all of the fics in a space of hours. the amount of spam i must have given, my god. i loved the creativity and how she managed to explore so different ideas and worlds. i was so captivated by the majority of them, so good.

i'm always looking out for your new fics, and both of your pages are some of the ones i always come back to read and reread. 🥰

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

@itsswritten, absolutely amazing, i love all the fics, especially the wings universe. it's so magical.

@writingcroissant, i could read those fics over and over and over again, completely amazing.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did i start?

i have not.

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

that i found my courage to post and share my ideas and writing. i was so nervous at the begin and now it's one of my favorites things to do. i just wish i had started sooner.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

that it can be a safe space, we can do it just for fun and enjoy it. we can share our own art and support the art of others as well.

14. What is your advice?

believe in yourself - it's the best advice i've been given.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

try to finish those fics i've already started without starting new ones (oops) and try to get them out of my drafts. also, improving my writing, i feel like it already had some improving but it's not quite where i want it yet.

no pressure tags: @daycourtofficial @azsazz @itsswritten and anyone else who wants to do this!

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

Thank you so much @velarisdusk for the tag! 🫶🏻

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

I don't have anything published on AO3 simply because I still don't know how to use it even though I do have an account. But here on tumblr, it's 92.878

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

49! I've never counted them before and never realized just how many they were omg

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Ongoing only Bound By Secrets. In progress apparently 10? I thought I had 3 WIPs. I completely forgot about the other 7 lol

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

UGH how do I choose one? A Helping Hand has a special place in my heart because it's the first fic I wrote and posted. Night and Days is one of my favorites because I love the banter between Azriel and reader, and I also have to mention Say My Name because omg I loved writing that one and I know I might be biased but I was giggling and kicking my feet while writing.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I'd say the first few things I wrote rather than one in particular for the simple reason that in Italian I tend to write very long sentences because it's normal, but in English sentences are usually shorter so it took a bit to get into that mindset. As for experimental, I'm trying to write a fic from two povs at the same time, sort of like an omniscient narrator. We'll see how it turns out.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

Many fics surprise me while writing because I don't plan them out that much other than a few things I want to happen and then I see where the story leads me. As for reception, Bound by Secrets. I didn't expect so many people asking for a part 2! (I'll write it, I promise)

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

The Path To Healing and on a happier (and smutty) note Alcohol and Giggles. I cried writing the first one and laughed writing the second one.

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

I love every single fanart by madschofield and elizianna.the.one!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

@writingcroissant was the first author I found on here, the literal reason I created an account was to read her fics, and @illyrianbitch was the second. I love everything they write and it made me want to write again.

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

@shedoessoshedoes and @duskandcobalt! I'm going to read all of your fics so don't be surprised if you see me in your notifications for the next few weeks 🥰

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start

Nope, no collaborations.

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Kinktober! I decided to do it two weeks before it started and didn't think I'd be able to write all 31 one fics but I did it!

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

When I started posting, I kept opening tumblr every five minutes to see if there were any new notes/comments/etc. Now I don't do that anymore. I still care about people enjoying my content of course and any kind of feedback is always super appreciated, but I don't need to continuously check to know that my writing is valid and good even if I get only a few likes.

14. What is your advice?

I'm the wrong person to ask this to, but I guess write what you like and what you want to read. I know it's basic, but never before I realized just how true it is. Feedback and appreciation for your work is awesome, but you have to be the first one to like it or it's probably going to turn out bland if you push yourself to write something you don't like or are not interested in.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

Finish working on all those WIPs apparently lol. And I have an idea for a series that I want to work on as well.

No pressure of course, but if you'd like to @azrielslittleslut @anarchiii @shedoessoshedoes or anyone else who wants to do it!

[freckliedan]

jam. listen. i know its a joke in the new dapg but dan asking phil ”would you say you’re a man now” and phil Strongly replying ”no!” is doing something to me

SAME! god. i have so much to say about the ways phil fails gender actually. it's a different way of navigating gender than dan's, which. i think i have made it deeply clear how much dan's way of navigating and exploring gender means to me. but like!!!

gender is socially constructed. man and woman are categories that most people fall into, and the way those categories are defined is decided collectively. and like—the most broadly accepted definitions of man and woman in western society include heterosexual attraction and presenting gender in a way that is appealing to the opposite binary sex/presenting gender in the way most acceptable to patriarchy. that makes all queerness gender nonconformity.

there's different degrees of it, of course—i'm not saying there's no cis queer people, or that all lgba+ people are actively gender nonconforming. there's self determination in claiming trans & nonbinary identity! that's not something i'm going to apply to people who don't claim it. and there's assimilationist lgbta+ people of all identities putting a lot of energy into conforming to cishet expectations of gender performance.

what i'm saying is that in the eyes of many, to be anything but cishet is inherently a failure to perform gender "correctly". on a really base level, that's why the misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia can't be effectively fought against in isolation, and why our liberation can only be acchieved through solidarity.

which like. this is perhaps not the point of my reply to this ask, but it's the framework that allows me to articulate WHY i'm so insane abt phil and gender, even if his is a quieter transgression from expectation than dan's?

like phil's emphatic "no!" on whether or not he's a man? it makes sense! he's not, not in the way manhood is defined by so, so many people. phil's gender is that he's gay. i don't think he personally registers that as something besides cisness, but like, it's something deeply relatable to me in my transness! it's a cool queer way of existing and identifying!

idc if it was a joke in the video! that's also some real shit! welcome to den does gender studies about dan and phil. please keep talking to me about these things forever.

in conclusion. wrow. phil's gender is faggot just like me 💛

[sentientcave]

Masquerade

You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.

Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.

See end for Notes

~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI

“My, don’t you look exquisite,” a voice purrs in your ear.

You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.

His heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Don’t muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, you’re simply predictable. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldn’t have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolf’s jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, because it’s worth a try at least, but he’s laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from it’s depths, watching you.

“Oh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.”

“Your invitation?”

“Yes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.”

“To kill you,” you remind him hoarsely.

He chuckles and takes your hand. “Perhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You haven’t danced all night.”

You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I don’t dance,” you tell him sharply. “Let go of me.”

“You’re a liar,” he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you don’t have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. “You forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your father’s halls? I have seen you dance.”

It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. “You failed to make an impression,” you tell him sharply, although it’s not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.

Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadn’t so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-place’s iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.

“I knew you were mine from the first,” he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. “My lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.” He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m certain you remember that, at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The only unfortunate part,” he says patiently. “Is that I did not take you as my mate that night.”

His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything he’s done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.

The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolf’s eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, you’d probably break your leg, and then you’d be helpless.

“What do you think of our home?” he asks. “Have you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure you’d have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found them already.”

“I have been busy with other preparations,” he says mildly. “But I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.”

You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. “Preparations for what?”

“Your homecoming. The king has made it clear that it’s time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.” He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. “I’ve been too lenient with you.”

“Lenient?” you ask, incredulous. “I’ve been trying to kill you.”

“Those who attempt such things do not usually live long,” he reminds you. “I don’t often show mercy. I’ve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.”

You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you can’t see.

He’s always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with it’s heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.

Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.

You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks. “Stubborn creature.”

He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.

“What are you doing?” you ask numbly.

He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. “Just returning your pin,” he says, smirking. “Why do you seem so flustered, darling?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know he’s capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. You’ve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if you’d been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You don’t know how to stop anymore, you don’t know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. “I’ll never stop.”

There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. “I never could,” he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. “I begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.”

“I’m not innocent anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’ve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.

“You have it regardless,” he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. “And someday I will earn yours.”

“Never,” you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you.”

He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. “If you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?”

“I’m afraid of you,” you snap.

He laughs harshly. “No you’re not. You’ve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.” He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.

But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolf’s jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that he’d shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.

His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like you’re a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. “You have become worthy of me,” he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. “I would have kept you like a bird in a cage if I’d taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the king’s sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”

“I used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.”

“You killed my father,” you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.

“He was a traitor. I had orders.”

“And what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?” you ask, sneering up at him. “What will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?”

“I’ll never see you again.”

You aren’t sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

“What do you think it means?” He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. “It means I would pluck my own eyes out before I’d kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down I’d stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neck—” He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. “Loyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, he’ll ask another.” He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. “I hope it does not come to even that.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!” he snarls. “You had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what it’s like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.”

“But you let me go,” you say numbly. “You said—”

“Let you go?” He laughs, striding back towards you. “Oh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldn’t kill you does not mean I didn’t try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain I’ve placed upon you. I’ve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.”

“You called it a game—”

He inclines his head towards you. “I did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. It’s good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.” He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. “Besides. We’ve both made our marks upon the other.”

“I’ve gotten you more times than you have me,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously. “Two or three times I really thought I’d finished you off.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

You think about it. “Yes.”

“Care to make a wager, dearest? If you’ve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.”

You draw in a steady breath. “And if I lose?”

He grins. “Not so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you needn’t worry. You can name your own penalty.”

“How magnanimous.”

“I can be,” he says. “Now, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but it’s not revulsion that you feel, it’s something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all it’s legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but it’s only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but it’s winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. “Ah, yes,” you say nervously. “Perhaps somewhere more private.”

“And warmer,” he adds. “As stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.”

As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, you’re struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldn’t be ten years your senior. You suspect it’s much less than that.

It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, stepping in close again. Although you’ve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, he’s full of restless energy, moving away and back again like he’s tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.

You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. “I was just thinking. You look so…” You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.

“Handsome?” he suggested. “Strong? Irresistible?” He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.

“I was going to say young, actually,” you say. “I was wondering what sort of boy you were.”

He holds a hand out to you. “I’m sure there’s a portrait somewhere, if you’re curious. Now come along, pet, I don’t want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.”

You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. It’s been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someone’s hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolf’s. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.

Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, it’s become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.

His fingers close around yours, and you realize that you’ve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and he’s smiling in a way you haven’t seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.

He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.

Despite that small reassurance, you’re grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps it’s that you aren’t on constant guard for the wolf. He’s already here, holding your hand, pretending that he’s not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.

The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder if he feels like he’s won already, but there’s none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that you’ve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.

“Do you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?” he asks.

You laugh. “I was just thinking about it. Why?”

He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. “Do you think you’ll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?”

“That depends on whether or not you tie me up again,” you quip back.

“Don’t say such things,” he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You’ve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didn’t already have ideas,” you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like you’re old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. “I live in hope.”

The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isn’t as stark as you’d always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isn’t something that has ever come up before.

The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat you’ve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.

“You have a cat?” you ask, because it seems unlike the picture you’ve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.

“I don’t have a cat,” he corrects you loftily. “Smudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.” He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. “She isn’t usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.”

“I’m not much of an assassin, I’m afraid she’d be terribly disappointed in me. I’ve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.” You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure her record is much more impressive.”

He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. “Have you never taken a life?”

“I’ve tried very hard to avoid it. You’re the only person I ever wanted dead, and I— I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense of…” You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. “Oh I don’t know. Righteousness, I suppose.”

“So sweet that you wanted me to be your first,” he teases.

You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. “Perhaps I still do,” you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. “My first kill— Not— Ugh.” He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Stop laughing!” Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolf’s ears don’t hear you perfectly. “That’s not what I meant!”

He snorts. “I know, pet. It’s a bit late for that, I should think.”

You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Darling.” He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never taken a lover.”

“There was never a good time,” you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when you’d been sorely tempted to share someone’s bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses you’d shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.

He sits back with a groan. “You’re always throwing wrenches into my plans.”

“How on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?” you ask hotly.

“Darling, don’t be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.”

“Too easy!”

“I would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.” He smiles ruefully. “But seduction isn’t fair if you’re a virgin. I’ll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” You stare at him, incredulous. “What, you’re going to court me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. “It’s the long road, but you’ll find I’m usually more than willing to take the scenic route.”

“You’re insane,” you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. “You must be.”

“Must I be? Like you said, I’ve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.” He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. “Do you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? You’ve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, children— Do you want none of those things?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.” He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. “Ugh, I hate wine.”

“I know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass you’ve been waving around.”

“I just wanted to indicate that it wasn’t poisoned.” He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. “Just in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.”

You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps she’s simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.

You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechless— getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like you’ve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.

You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you haven’t eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, you’ve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.

“You’re staring,” he says without cracking an eye.

“How would you know? You haven’t opened your eyes in ages.”

“And how would you know that, if you haven’t been staring?”

He has you there. “Alright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about… about before.”

He opens his eyes. “How long? We do have a rather storied history, don’t we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.”

You smirk. “I bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.”

“I was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didn’t have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t even let me feed myself,” you lament, though you can’t help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. “It was terribly humiliating.”

“Revisionist drivel!” he snarls playfully. “I did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.”

You blink. “I suppose I did.”

He leans closer. “I suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.” He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. “That’s one, by the way.”

“I only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,” you reminded him.

“Ah, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? There was just this moment when I touched your lip…” He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadn’t. “Are you still too proud, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. “Will you let me kiss you?” He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes.”

At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. “Not so fast, my darling. You’ll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.” He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. “Two and three, respectively,” he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. “You’re a better swordsman than I,” he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. “I might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didn’t you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or I’d have lost far too many good men to your blade.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Is it working?” He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. “This one is my favourite,” he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. “The first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldn’t have made it to a proper healer in time. It’s partially why there’s such a scar. He’s always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jon’s your man.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.”

“It is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,” you say mildly.

“Oh yes, I imagine it is.”

“So is it really just the five scars?” you ask. “That’s all?” Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.

“There’s one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably don’t want me to take my pants off.”

You do want him to take his pants off. “Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you say instead. “I suppose you’ve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.” You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. You’re covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like you’ve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.

The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

“You’re just trying to get me out of my dress,” you say hotly.

“Obviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ll be a bit disappointed.”

“Never. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didn’t erode my affections, what could?”

“Oh I don’t know,” you say thoughtfully. “I could have scales, or a tail—”

“I have a tail,” he reminds you. “And I’m quite positive that you’re human, so I’m not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. “It would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,” you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. “There are so many of them.”

He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. “I’ll have it fixed,” he says hastily. “And I’ll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.”

You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. “I— I don’t want— I won’t stay.”

He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.

“I won’t,” you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They don’t.

“I already told you, darling, I won’t make you stay. It’s up to you.”

He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. You’re riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.

“I wondered if I’d bitten you that night.” He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. “You never turned, so I wasn’t sure.”

“It doesn’t always take,” you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. “I think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. “I can’t say I’ve thought about why some bites take and some don’t. I’m not as observant as you, my love.”

Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. It’s not his observations that are the problem, it’s the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. He’s faced so few consequences in his life that it doesn’t come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake you’ve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if you’d done it all just a little differently.

You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. “This one’s only indirectly your fault,” you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. “When I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.”

He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. It’s just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.

There’s no halting the soft “Oh” that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. There’s no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. “You shouldn’t show me any more,” he tells you. “I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you won’t stop me if I try.”

You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. “Would that be so bad?”

He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. “I am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.”

You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.

You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.

“Come here, you little minx,” he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when you’ve made so many overtures in such a short time.

You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and there’s no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.

“I rescind my earlier statement,” he says.

“Which one?”

“You don’t have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that you’re too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isn’t fast enough to stop.”

You huff. “Is this your way of asking for another?”

“It’s my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,” he says. “There is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.”

He’s a ridiculous kind of man. You’d always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though you’re the sunrise and set, like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky.

You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. There’s nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.

You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.

The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?

He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.

You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” you admit. You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I don’t see what difference it makes, really.”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve taken enough from you, I don’t want you to regret it.” He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.

Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."

"Darling…"

"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."

"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.

“I know.”

He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but you’re still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.

“Don’t,” he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. “Don’t apologize. You won’t hurt me.”

His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. There’s a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.

He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. “You are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.” He stands in a smooth movement, and you’re untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.

You shed the garment as soon as you’re able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.

He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what you’d find, you’ve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, it’s hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.

“We don’t have to do this, love,” he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. “If you’re nervous—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I want to. I’m just— I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that darling. It’s your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you don’t.” He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. “And if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.”

It sounds so simple, put like that.

“Besides,” he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. “You’ve always been a quick study.”

Well, he’s right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.

He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Can I taste your pretty cunt, darling?”

The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.

A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. He’s doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.

To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what he’s directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.

The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways you’d never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. It’s too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. It’s too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.

If he minds your writhing, he doesn’t show it. You can’t help the sounds he pulls from you, but he’s louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.

His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that you’re surprised you don’t break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm that’s been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You can’t see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.

He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.

You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. “How was that?” he asked.

There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but they’re beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.

“Only nice, hm? I suppose I’ll have to work harder.”

“Better than nice,” you assure him. “I— I liked it a lot.” It’s still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

He does, after a long moment. “Are you ready for more?”

“There’s more?” you ask. “Or— for you? Do you want me to—”

“No, there’s no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.

You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. There’s no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.

The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. “Hello, pretty thing,” he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well you’re taking him, how good you feel around his cock.

Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.

He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until you’re shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that you’re certain you’ll leave permanent marks.

He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesn’t pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.

His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Sex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once you’re both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.

You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like he’s had his fill of you. There’s a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and now…

He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. “You’re too far away,” he tells you, voice a warm purr. “And you’re thinking too much.”

It’s still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.

“What happens now?” you ask at last. “Do we go our separate ways?”

Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. “Is that what you want?”

There’s raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldn’t work so hard to hide his feelings if he didn’t care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.

The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him won’t bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldn’t admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.

It’s so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, you’re not sure you mind.

“I’d like to stay,” you say at last.

He’s on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. It’s hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.

In the end, with all the history between the two of you, what’s one more mess?

It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)

C. T. Cutter

(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)

Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: a comic about Voltron characters set in a Gravity Falls au.

Keith, outside the mystery shack, picks up a stick and throws it. A large canid runs after it.

Pidge, sitting inside and looking out the window, disturbed, asks "Is that a wolf."

Lance leans over her and says "This is why I keep telling you to investigate Keith."

Pidge shoves him away, saying "This again? Keith's not an alien, Lance."

Lance says "What? I'm serious!" Pidge looks unimpressed, and he adds "Not about the alien thing." He presses his face to the window and says "But he's so mysterious. Why's he so weird."

Pidge opens a can of soda and asks "How old are you?"

Lance, counting on his fingers, lists "1. Nobody knows where he lives."

Pidge interrupts, "I don't know where YOU live."

"You're just antisocial. Matt's been over," Lance tells her, and continues "2. Does he even work here."

Pidge hides her face in her soda and says "uh."

In flashback with a much simpler style, Pidge asks Coran "DOES Keith work at the Mystery Shack?"

Coran: Why, I couldn't say!

Pidge: One way to tell is if you pay him.

Coran: Oh yes, I suppose so!

Pidge: WELL?

In the present, Pidge continues, "I still haven't been able to figure that out."

Lance narrates a few one-panel scenes of Keith being weird. He says, "Remember that time Hunk found him in the woods at night?" Hunk, carrying a telescope and looking spooked, says "H-hey, dude." Keith appears to be dripping wet, is all in shadow, and has glowing eyes.

Lance continues, "And that time he robbed a convenience store?" Lance in the past spots Keith emerging from a store and says "Oh, hey Keith." A cashier says "Stop! Thief!"

Lance adds, "And that time-" before being cut off by Pidge, who waves her arms through the scene, dissolving it. She says "OK, OK, I see your point." Looking thoughtful and a bit evil, she continues, "We'll have to stalk him on his next day off..."

Lance, startled, says "I didn't say STALK!" End ID.]

For those of you who don't remember, which I imagine is everybody, i made a gravity falls au of voltron a while back! Pidge and Matt are Dipper and Mabel, Coran is Grunkle Stan and is actually a family friend of their parents and not their uncle, the rest of the paladins sans Allura are collectively Soos and Wendy, and I went with the name "Mystery Shack" for the building instead of Castle of Lions because Castle of Lions is too cool for a tourist trap.

The vld gravity falls au tag, which i haven't updated in one hundred thousand years and which i should get around to talking more about, especially because i have the entire main plot planned out and never talk about it

[kieshartzishere]

I see alot of different stuff on the notes but I want to clarify on a few things seeing as I have been stuck here for a fucking minute now but do bear with me since I don't get to watch their streams often. I can go by what is posted that I will be sourcing from Puffer bc he actually posted consistently unlike everyone lmao.

Group Name:

Frouse as a group is kind of a loose idea. Back then it is considered to be Grizzy, Bigpuffer, ElasticDroid, Pezzy, Smii7y, Kryoz, and BlargmySchmoople. A few may also consider like Rectrixx, Elilikesrice, or Fl0m

Another name was Smii7y+ house which was lowkey not as liked but stuck for a bit:

I once saw a post claiming he didn't like the name frog house but like I didn't see a clip of it so lmao. Here he says it's fine.

The exact source of how it was named is unclear, some say it may be an artist who didn't like the name smii7y+ house or smthn. But one can find videos of where frogs were the popular animal usage in jokes, specifically in the Warzone days. This seems to be further popularized by the likes of Mattercell's animations with the jokes of frogs and nowadays the likes of Pezzy, Droid and Puffer say "Youtube frogs" when talking about youtube viewers.

I do believe that since the launch of the podcast, Clooless, it has been overlapped again as a subgroup. Clooless exlusively includes Pezzy, Droid, Puffer and Grizzy but they are not excluded on tags of Frouse. What tends tohappen is clooless is also tagged with Frouse when its these 4. Depending on the piece of media, some may just have a frouse tag.

It is similar to the inclusion of Blarg in Frouse as he is a member of The Goons (Blarg, McNasry, TheDooo, and Soup). Frouse stuff with him in it and not the other Goons don't usually get tagged as The Goons.

Living Together:

They never once all lived together. Grizzy has lived with all of tbem before, Puffer has only lived with Grizzy before.

Order of how I recalled it:

Grizzy (from Florida) moved to Texas to a house with Puffer (born and raised).

Grizzy moved out and lived with Droid (born and raised Texan) and Pezzy (from Pennsylvania).

Grizzy moved out again and lives by himself still.

Droid and Pezzy continued to live together for another year in a different house.

Droid moved out to a different place.

Finlly, Puffer, Grizzy and Droid bought houses in 2024. Pezzy continues to rent atm (tbf he got his sick motorcycle in 2024 too. He aint that liquid).

Other notes:

Puffer is living with Megan, his partner. He has 2 cats, Calcifer and Lyla (redeemed cat hater), and a dog, Ellie.

Droid is living with his new german shepherd, Oso, and idk if the mf is still around but he had a pet squirrel named Walter. Occasionally you'll see his family dog too, Max (funny when yoh realize some things)

And of course Pezzy still lives with his cat, Sly.

Grizzy is off by himself–

Oldish clip but here on the "Content House":

I believe it's mentioned in the podcast too but I'll have to find it again some other time.

-

Overlapping Groups:

Honestly, the extension of other groups is fucking confusing but to lay down some things here is the idea

• Banana Bus Squad/Vanoss crew (latter was bc Vanoss was just the most popular. Bbs bc it was a popular joke wayyyy back sang by Tyler and it was a big recording session.)

-Puffer used to work for Marcel (BasicallyIdoWrk) as his full-time editor! He's also been in contact with em for a hot minute.

-Smii7y and Kryoz have recorded with em a handful of times. Honestly bbs is how I segwaged fo Smii7y and then all of frouse!

• Clooless (Podcast), exlusively Pezzy, Droid, Grizzy and Puffer.

• The Goons (again, Blarg, McNasty, TheDooo and soup)

-Blarg is officially a group with em but is also heabilg affiliated with frouse. Plus the rest of the goons also play with frouse alot! Not as often though.

-gamers and podcasters

• The Group Chat (Yumi, BigT, Isaacwhy, Larry, Softwilly and Grunk)

-Honestly the biggest reason is Yumi who often plays with Frouse and The Goons. But Frouse knows them quite well :]

• Misfits (Fitz, iNoToRiOuS, McCreamy, SwaggerSouls, Toby on the Tele, Zuckles) (may be wrong or incomplete I don't know em too well.)

-Grizzy, Smii7y and Kryoz have played with them quite alot, especially in csgo. They still occasionally play together.

-You may catch the likes of Fitz being in a Pezzy video too or promoting Smii7y's gsupps flavor lol.

-hard to say their still a group bc of what happened with their manager. But none of the acfual members have beef w/ each other. Its just what happened. They still hang out and play together

...

There is still alot with the likes of Rectrixx, Eli, Fl0m and badger crew because of Heavenlyy. But yk.

God this is my longest fucking post ever but yeah. Hope this helps. Correct me please if needed :')

hey, ive been coming back to the fandom after many years, i was wondering what frouse is, and whos contained within that group? ty !

It was basically a content house, I believe. Also I'm not entirely sure how the name came about because I wasn't in the fandom when it started (or ended, for that matter lol). But it includes Pezzy, ElasticDroid, Grizzy, and BigPuffer, all living together. Banana Bus Squad and Frog House kind of overlap, to be honest lol.

Hope that helps! :)

[italyveneziano]

Old redraw of an even older drawing ☺️ They are the father and son ever. To me (please don't tag as ship!)

[chell-min]

redrawing an oc from 2020! 4 and a half years of art evolution through my little guy reed :)

[sforzesco]

BROTHERS

The river Weser ran between the Roman and Cheruscan forces. Arminius came to the bank and halted with his fellow chieftains:— "Had the Caesar come?" he inquired.​ On receiving the reply that he was in presence, he asked to be allowed to speak with his brother. That brother, Flavus by name, was serving in the army, a conspicuous figure both from his loyalty and from the loss of an eye through a wound received some few years before during Tiberius' term of command. Leave was granted, and Stertinius took him down to the river. Walking forward, he was greeted by Arminius; who, dismissing his own escort, demanded that the archers posted along our side of the stream should be also withdrawn. When these had retired, he asked his brother, whence the disfigurement of his face? On being told the place and battle, he inquired what reward he had received. Flavus mentioned his increased pay, the chain, the crown, and other military decorations; Arminius scoffed at the cheap rewards of servitude.

They now began to argue from their opposite points of view. Flavus insisted on "Roman greatness, the power of the Caesar; the heavy penalties for the vanquished; the mercy always waiting for him who submitted himself. Even Arminius' wife and child were not treated as enemies." His brother urged "the sacred call of their country; their ancestral liberty; the gods of their German hearths; and their mother, who prayed, with himself, that he would not choose the title of renegade and traitor to his kindred, to the kindred of his wife, to the whole of his race in fact, before that of their liberator." From this point they drifted, little by little, into recriminations; and not even the intervening river would have prevented a duel, had not Stertinius run up and laid a restraining hand on Flavus, who in the fullness of his anger was calling for his weapons and his horse. On the other side Arminius was visible, shouting threats and challenging to battle: for he kept interjecting much in Latin, as he had seen service in the Roman camp as a captain of native auxiliaries.

Tacitus Annals 2.10-11

there's a lot going on in there! Arminius switching to Latin is a detail that always makes me feel a deep kind of sadness, especially with how it's preceded by mention of their mother. I wonder what she thought of what became of her sons, on opposite sides of everything but still, inescapably, brothers. even when they want to kill each other. there sure are a lot of fucked up and unhappy brothers around. and Arminius asking about Flavus' injury............I also had a whole thing typed out about the horror of imperialism and colonization and the trauma of assimilation but I think this sets the tone better

Rome's Greatest Defeat: Massacre in the Teutoburg Forest, Adrian Murdoch

and also this, just for fun

(ibid)

this post is already a mile long, so lets add another mile to it: a little scene at the start of their conversation! tfw you go in for a hug and your younger brother who also ended up being taller starts roasting your hair style

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app⭐ko-fi

[dammarchy211]

THE COMMITTEE FOR RAPACIOUS INTERLOPERS AND MANIACAL ESPERS !

drawing dump I definitely can’t fit all of them in but here’s most of em lol. Neo Cortez the founder and Head of C.R.I.M.E. Got a complete redo which I actually Like now so’ll probably expand on him more

[katabay]

L'APPEL DU VIDE

okay so. jack! jack. what a collection of guys. the overlap between jack and the beanstalk and jack the giant killer, though. that sure is something! sometimes king arthur is there, which always takes me by surprise.

this. specifically. is an idea I've been kicking around. jack and the beanstalk is not a story I've ever enjoyed, as a kid it was probably my least favorite to read. as an adult, I was INTENSELY fascinated by reading j.g. ballard's the drowned giant. I think about it frequently, and somewhere during a re read of it, I ended up revisiting jack.

combining different versions of jack into one character is not a new concept, but it IS a fun one! the version I've been assembling together plays less with the fun elements of a jack story (and adjacent folklore stories), and focuses more on the potential for tragic elements with the addition of the usual grim and jagged narrative edges that I personally enjoy.

jack with the backstory of the devil and the three golden hairs, only jack doesn't find love, he's TIRED, all he wants to do is go home, but there isn't a home to go back to. what is the point of being born lucky if this is what it gets you? jack the giant killer, only he doesn't want to kill giants, jack who saw a body of a giant when he was a small child and cannot bring himself to do as a king commands. jack, who climbs up the beanstalk and stops halfway to look down. etc.

to go back to the drowned giant real quick, both to set the tone about jack seeing the body of a giant as a youth, and also because I've been haunted and obsessed with this excerpt of it ever since I read it:

J. G. Ballard, The Drowned Giant

anyway! this was originally like, a two illustration concept to get out of my system. however. I'm halfway through outlining a narrative. so. maybe it will also be several illustrations and also comic.