#“do you understand what a pack bond is like?” yOU KNOW I DONT DOC DON’T PLAY WITH ME I AM AN UNLOVED ORPHAN

[theworld-accordingtocasey]

Poor me :c (yes, again…)

“Jungwoo is the one to collect you, your body still trembling with a mixture of hysterics and blinding-hot rage–mostly at the fact that you continue to submit after the third and fourth command.”

Hysteric like when ppl are crying inconsolably? :c

“Make sure to feed the freak”

UMM HELLO THATS SO RUDE?? Why’d he call me that?? Isn’t that too much??

• What did he lie about ? & does “He brushes your ear with his nose, scenting you from behind. ‘Don't you want to see?’” mean he wants me to smell like him or he wants to smell me?

Side note just thought of jaemin always sniffing jeno hahah

❓Did Johnny destroy everything while I was trying to get into Ty’s pants? Like he could sense it even though he could see it and got angry..and then left?

Or is this weird black market surveillance like sex-less voyeur porn in a way ? 🤨 like he was watching me for why??

Flavor? Realism? Why tase ?

THIS IS BULLYINGF

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 9: secret

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security]

wc: 4.2k

chapter warnings: [redacted] is a menace

"Send me back to the Dome," you say, trying to sound authoritative rather than a beggar. "I need cryotherapy."

Taeil pauses in the middle of checking his screens, face limned in a gradient of green to red.

"You'll just wake up in heat, again." He says, not looking at you fully. "Like I said, it's a stopgap.  Not a full stop."

"There has to be some way." You try not to sob, wiping snot away from your face with a microscope lens cleaning tissue. "They can isolate me better there."

"Taeyong risked exposure bringing you here." The doctor sounds more terse than usual, raised light pen highlighting specific data points on the glass screen. "If you go back they'll know you aren't being mated."

"I'm not!" You can't help the pitch change, voice cracking as you cycle through the latest round of humiliation. "He doesn't really want me, none of you want me. I'm just an inconvenience and a joke to you."

"No," he says, shoulders slumping. "You're not. Not a joke, at least. Inconvenience, maybe."

"But you just made a joke." The wetness flooding your nasal cavity makes you splutter rather than laugh. 

"I wasn't trying to."

You fall apart at that, actually laughing. It devolves into hiccups as you lie down on the cracked couch next to his station. The stained vinyl sticks to your cheek, blessedly cool.

"Can at least one of you have a normal response to this?" 

That earns you a sidelong glance. "I'm not sure we're clear on what a normal response to this situation is supposed to look like."

"A hug would be nice," you say, meekly.

"Not exactly standard Imperial protocol." He adjusts his glasses, mouth opening and closing before he decides whatever he's going to say next isn't worth the effort. "We're looking out for your safety."

"I don't care." 

"You will when this is over."

"I said, I don't care." You roll over, circled to protect your vulnerable belly but also to indicate your displeasure. Your tail flops against your leg.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Did you get enough sleep?"

"I dreamt about him." Bitterness drips from every word. "I always dream about him."

You have the impression from Taeil's sigh that he might tell you that he's not that kind of doctor. Maybe, like Yuta, he'll ask you to pay by the hour. You'd had your share of what the Imperial college considered psychiatric treatment, parts interrogation and parts reconditioning–you don't want it from him. You fold closer to the seatback, sniffling. 

"I was there, you know." He says, instead.

Your entire body goes rigid, shivers racing up your spine. "I don't remember."

"I was younger than you are now. We all were." He pauses, sucking in a breath. "Just kids."

You don't turn over but your jaw follows the direction of your ears, looking back at him. You know how old they were all too well–the same cohort as Johnny. Old enough to vote and die in a war, not at the age where they still slept with the dolls they'd been given for their last birthday celebration.

"And I was thirteen," you say. "Why does he treat it like it's my fault? Why is he angry at me?"

"He's not angry at you."

Your hackles rise at his words, fingers digging into a hole in the upholstery.

"I feel hate," you say. "I feel resentment."

"We all feel it. You just feel it the most." Taeil's hand ghosts over your head. "Do you understand what a pack bond is like?"

You shake your head, letting his fingertips graze your scalp. After a moment he indulges you, blunt nails scratching the place where your ear's fur blends into more human hair. He stops when you begin to lean into it.

"It's like what you can do through your own bond, in a way. Takes more time and exposure but once you fall into a routine your needs and the pack's start to blend together. Some of us chose Johnny, some of us chose Taeyong. Once they established a bondmark it didn't make a difference."

You sit up, swaying a bit with how dizzy you feel. The sedatives you’d swallowed were wearing off already, heat metabolism burning through everything.

"Who did you choose?"

"Does it matter?' He refuses to answer, going back to his work, but your stare remains fixed on the side of his face. Puzzling out what had bothered you about him for the past few days hadn't been easy but one thing is right there for you, now: the scars.

"Did he mark you, too?"

You watch him freeze, face grim. "No."

"But wouldn't something like that cause–"

"I said, no." Taeil's usual air of disinterest breaks, his voice raised. "It doesn't work that way."

It doesn't matter to you. You reach out to touch his face, nails trailing down his jaw. He needs a shave, skin dry but much more warm than you expected. Taeil is out of reach a few seconds later, chair rolling away now that he's stood out of it. 

"What are you doing?" There's a bit of menace in his tone. "Stop it."

You expect the order, shifting back on your knees. The room is suffusing with a clean, sweet flavor as you breath through your mouth–like pear or another white fruit with a hint of burnt sugar from his anxiety. 

It doesn't matter if it's coming from you, or him. The effects are transparent in the way he's mirroring you, breaths coming more rapidly as his pupils dilate. He removes his glasses, wiping the instant sheen of sweat from his face.

"You're all cowards," you say earnestly. You flex your muscles, unable to spring up but stuck in place. For now.

He frowns but doesn't speak, reaching for something on the desk as you twitch and test the limits of his order's hold.

"Hiding behind your prime like none of you can make a decision for yourselves," you continue, making it off the couch. You sink to the floor for a moment before you find strength in your screaming leg muscles. Taeil is busy rotating a glass ampoule into his syringe gun, but he has enough sense to try again. 

"Be still," he says. 

You stand up only to lurch forward, hands colliding with the tiled floor. 

"If you stick that needle in me again, you'll regret it," you pant. You let your body lose tension, your tail the only thing rigid as it extends behind you.

"This isn't for you," he says. You look up, confusion fleeting as you watch the device disappear into the crook of his arm under a rolled-up sleeve. "At least one of us has to be in control." 

You cackle, hiccuping again. "Oh now that's funny."

Jungwoo is the one to collect you, your body still trembling with a mixture of hysterics and blinding-hot rage–mostly at the fact that you continue to submit after the third and fourth command. 

"You alright, Doc?" he asks, cheerily poking you with his nightstick.

"Nothing I can't sleep off," Taeil answers from the other side of the room. "I recommend she get some rest, too."

"Oh that should be easy enough." You flinch when he pulls you up, the floor much more appealing to your animal brain after the continuous reminder to stay down.

"Come on," he says, holding you by the neck when you can finally stand on your own. Under any other circumstances you'd balk at being led this way but the alternative of the weapon in his other hand has you compliant. Some instinct tells you he wouldn't hesitate to use force, however nice he might seem.

You swivel your head when you pass by the commons, catching Mark sitting at a table eating something from a bowl. He doesn't acknowledge you, nodding to Jungwoo instead.

"Y'all good?"

Jungwoo's thumb strokes your spine, making your tail bat against his leg. 

"Passed her checkup with flying colors," he says. "No Containment, yet."

"Good," Mark says, going back to the faraway look that indicates he's reading again through his AR. "Switch off at three."

"Yuta's still dealing with the situation downstairs. I'll have him get the next meal."

"I thought Taeil was cooking?"

"Old man needs a nap," Jungwoo says. "Make sure to feed the freak."

You stay wordless through the exchange, skin prickling at the constant pressure beneath your hair. 

"Such a good little pet," he says quietly once he's back to leading you upstairs, hand splaying over your back. You can't help but feel a little warmed by the expression, even as fear has your pulse racing.

"Why did you lie?" you ask. 

"I'll be honest with you if you indulge me in something," he says. 

You have no reason to trust him but the possibility of not having to return to your cell is too delectable to pass up, soothed by his easy manner. You give him a careful nod.

"Good, let's take a little detour."

Your legs are burning by the time you make it to the fourth level, surprised by the shift in layout even past the second. Here the open space is widened, walls no longer gray industrial synthetics but a rich dark wood slotted together modularly, doors spaced apart and lined by glass and soft lighting. The plants here are mostly fake, you notice–tasteful reconstructions mixed with statuary, the occasional nook between rooms exposing the glass edge of the building.

"Are these all your rooms?"

"Doyoung and Taeyong live up in the presidential suite," he points. "This floor is for the high-ranking Felids. They're territorial like us, of course."  

You follow him to the far end, a strangely open door beckoning. At a closer range you see the thick slider has been forced open, bent so far outward it's cracked on the curve.

"Is that . . .?"

He brushes your ear with his nose, scenting you from behind. "Don't you want to see?"

"No," you murmur. You feel weak, trying to fight the contradictory emotions of fear and curiosity that have you pushing back against his willowy frame. 

"Silly." He nudges you forward. "What are you afraid of?"

"Is this some kind of test?" You panic, looking back at him. Jungwoo has the nightstick raised like a conductor's baton, tapping it thoughtlessly against his shoulder.

"Maybe," he says, walking past you towards the door. "Maybe I just want to help you."

"Why?" you ask, with no answer. You're drawn to follow, finding his green scent a welcome thread in a tapestry of the rich leather and wood smells that have settled over the area, most of them emanating from the open door.

Just this once, you think. He won't know.

You slip into the residence behind him, avoiding the jagged edges of the broken door. The lights are dim and the glass filtered to maximum opacity, which makes the apartment seem smaller than what the space belies. It takes up an entire corner of the building, two floors opening up once you're in, drifting past the scattered wreckage of broken furniture and glass partitions to a common room centered around a circular biome aquarium that's blessedly still intact.

"A bit of a mess, isn't it," Jungwoo says, turning off a floor autocleaner thudding useless between a wall and what looks to be a broken bar cart. The contents of the kitchen counters are cleared, dry goods exploded over the marble and walls like manic art. You smell coffee and flour and fried electronics, but most of all the citrusy scent of a distressed feline.

"Was this all because of me?" you ask.

"Of course," Jungwoo says, already halfway up the floating staircase leading to the loft. 

There's a more lived-in quality to this space, minimal as it is, the low bed flanked by an out-of-place VR station and industrial cabinetry. Your chest tightens seeing the human traces in the unmade bed sheets, the towel abandoned on the floor leading to the modular bathroom.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Everything here is yours," Jungwoo says, sitting down at the VR station, legs stretched out. "Take what you want. You'll need your mate's scent to get through your heat comfortably."

Your nails dig into your palms, a violent buzzing in your head. The circular mirror over the bed reflects a much smaller, meeker person than you imagined yourself to be, hunched down and ears pinned.

"I can't. I don't belong here." 

"Come here." Jungwoo beckons. 

You approach a little more quickly than you would under normal circumstances. Compulsion isn't necessary when your fox needs to be soothed, discomfort electrifying you from head to toe. The Canid recognizes it immediately, stroking your head and neck until you're more calm. 

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he murmurs. "I'm going to show you something I found when I did a little digging."

He hands you the wired headset from the desk. You find it difficult to put on, allowing him to bring it over your ears gently and tighten the straps to keep it from wobbling.

"They don't let us use these in the Dome," you say aloud, feeling vulnerable with the sudden blindfolding effect as he lowers the visor for you, soft lights blinking on your peripheral vision. 

"Don't worry, I'll guide you," Jungwoo says, powering it on. You turn this way and that when the virtual console appears, displaying a minimalistic view of the surrounding room. A red warning flashes to indicate you're an unauthorized user, quickly blinking away. 

You're not sure how he's controlling the deck remotely, but then he lifts your hand to bring one of several access points to the forefront. The file markers and previews indicate reconstructed scenarios, something you knew from crime melos as detailed analysis tools. It was the norm to record certain events such as meetings or ceremonies. What you'd seen was more sinister: surveillance and evidence capture.

"Don't be scared," Jungwoo whispers, noting the way your body goes rigid at the thought of being exposed to something overwhelming. "These are very boring immersions."

He helps you move through a series of environmental reconstructions before finding a nondescript file without a preview, last access timestamp a week ago. An encryption key table appears as soon as he taps it with your finger and he chuckles, vibrating you both.

"What is it?" you ask, jerking at the sudden sound.

Jungwoo guides your finger to trace characters and numbers, each highlighted entry bringing you to a clearer understanding. 

"How do you know my real birthdate?" you ask. It wasn't recorded, wasn't ever shared with anyone. The registered, publicized version had been chosen for astronomical significance, just a number to you. 

"The other half of the encryption are the geo coordinates of what I suspect might be your birth location," he says. "Are you ready?"

"No." You squirm. "I don't understand." 

"If I just told you about this you'd never believe me." 

Jungwoo pulls you down onto his knees, pinning you by a hand around your waist. You're forced to finalize the entry, green pulse indicating the key is correct.

The environment builds in layers, schematics to colors to overlay textures, finally resolving with light when the time-matching settles on the right point in the recording. You didn't need the additional details–recognition in a sketch of a place so familiar to you that tears are springing to your eyes seeing it again.

"I don't understand," you repeat, much more sadly. 

"It's more common than you think. One of your staff sets a few microcameras, collects them the next shift. Usually smuggle them out by swallowing them. No transmission, so the censors can't catch them. Temporary enough to miss their sweeps."

You're standing in your Palace residence again, your garden beckoning through the sheer curtains, moved by a manufactured breeze. The bridge to your isle in the canal system leads to a much less resolved external view of the rebuilt Imperial city, the accuracy blurring a landscape you know like the veins in the back of your hand.

"There's an incredible market for this stuff," Jungwoo says, showing you how to navigate without moving, spreading your fingers. "Some of your kin cut out the middlemen and release their own immersions. Fully staged and edited of course." 

You squeak at the strange sight of a figure moving past you, unresolved with details outside of a basic skin. The person looks monstrous with flattened features and jerky movements.

"This is raw–not a lot of scrubbing. Whoever finalized the recording had a clear target."

You're turned to face yourself–not a reflection, but a fully rendered simulacra. You're curled into your favorite armchair, a daily scroll of events and schedules abandoned in your lap as you talk to someone ignored by the reconstruction.

You can't hear anything but you can read your lips–this conversation had taken place only a season ago, confirmed when you move closer to parse the pixelated images on the scroll–each colorful invitation burnt into memory with the detailed preparations in costuming and social ceremony.

"How did you find out about this," you ask. The sensation of viewing yourself in this way is akin to hundreds of insects crawling over your skin, your heart thudding in your chest.

"Oh he's careful. Just not careful enough at home." Jungwoo rests his chin on your shoulder. "Don't worry, this is a private collection."

He scrubs through the immersion, prompting a jump to another–this one a few years ago by the drastic change in decor and your own styling. The flash forward makes you dizzy, watching the ghost of yourself move around your home-turned-panopticon, reading a dog-eared 21st century romance book.

You spread your palm to freeze the experience after the Dome's sun sets to be replaced by a now doubly artificial moon. 

"Do you want to know the most watched parts of these recordings?"

You can't stop him from following you into your bedroom. Even going back in time there's nothing obscene here; the recording area didn't appear to include your bathing chamber, in a different building entirely. No, here you merely sleep–curled into thick pillows without a whim as to the eyes drinking every detail in.

"You're cute when you're chasing something in your dreams," Jungwoo observes.

"They're nightmares." You pull free of his grasp, fighting the headset. You've seen enough. Once you're out you find a ghostly version of the feed projected across the surfaces around you, including his amused features.

"Why show me this?" You twist to snarl at him. "It means nothing."

You're met with self-satisfaction. Jungwoo's tongue darts over his bottom lip, distracted by your face inches from his. His hands raise in a gesture of surrender.  

"I'm on your side," he says. "Even if Johnny doesn't want to admit it, you're our pack's omega already. You should know it."

"Ours?" You feel a twinge in your chest. Still wary, you test his conviction by adjusting on his lap, nose brushing against his. He isn't caught off guard in the slightest, slender hands engulfing your cheeks. 

"You should be taken care of. Treasured." He says, searching your face. 

You enjoy the sound of that more than you expect, unable to keep yourself from purring in agreement. You're wary of his motives but you need the touch more than oxygen.

"And you'll be the one to do it?" your voice goes husky. "Won't you get in trouble with the others?"

His scent response is sharp. The crushed hemp odor is a relief from Johnny's all-pervasive presence, making you feel lighter.

"You're not the only one they underestimate." He grins wickedly. "Do you think you can trust me?"

"No," you say, remembering Yuta's admonishment. "I don't trust you."

He pouts a little, brushing your lips with his thumb and making you shudder in pleasure. "You're such a funny little thing. Why deny yourself what you want?" 

There's an irony in his words, seeing lust reflected in his eyes under the fall of his thick lashes. He's a very beautiful creature; it would be simple for your fox to roll into this seduction and take what you want. Perhaps you'd even enjoy it, losing yourself in his soft voice and his crooked smile. 

But you recognize a fellow mesopredator, and unlike Taeyong or Haechan he's more of a threat to you and your long-term survival. 

"What do you want to do to me?" you ask, slipping out of his hold to lean back against the desk, gripping the edge until your nails hurt. "Do you think you can claim me?"

"Claim isn't the word I'd use. Maybe instead . . . please you?"

He bumps your chest with his head, scenting you. Whether it's the surroundings or the warm bloom of arousal in your stomach you let him explore you through the fabric, teeth catching on your undergarment as he nips at your breast. Your breath hitches, back arching to bring yourself closer as warmth spreads through your core.

"Does that feel good?" he asks.

"Yes . . ." you whine. 

It's a dangerous game but you're wound tight, hoping to get a little relief before you're forced back to your cell.

Jungwoo follows the lead, head dipping into the unmarked side of your neck, tongue slipping over your sensitive skin. Your knees threaten to give out as he presses his lips to your gland between gentle licks, touch wandering lower to sneak under the edge of your shirt.

His hands are cool against your flushed skin, and the shock breaks the spell.

"Not here. I don't want to do this here," you say. You're surprised it works—he pauses to breathe hot against your collarbone.

"Why not?" 

"It's my first time," you say. Your face is burning, heartbeat loud in your ears. 

"Again, why not?" He peers up at you charmingly.

"I'm scared," you say. You mean it, even if it's making your fox all the more intrigued.

"How about just a taste instead," he says, hands digging into your hips. In an instant you're pushed further on the desk, toes slipping off the floor as he forces your legs apart, burying his head between your thighs. You cry out, somewhere between protest and pleasure at finding his face against you through the thin material.

Icy fear melts into something dangerous as his tongue flattens against the moisture already there, more springing up in response as pleasure courses through you. You don't have the sense to stop him, fingers disappearing into his fluffy hair as he traces the shape of you through your clothes. 

"So sweet," he says, muffled. "It's too bad you're not ready."

He breaks free with a final, long swipe ending in a tug of his teeth that makes you curl around him, legs twitching.

"Don't stop–"

"No." The word has a little more edge to it as his hand closes over yours. It's then you realize that you've grabbed the nightstick abandoned on the desk. "Let go."

"I wasn't–" you begin to say, the weapon wrested from your limp grasp. 

"You don't have to lie to me," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your body tells the truth."

He kisses the edge of your frown, pulling aside when you try to follow with your lips. His forehead bumps against yours, hunched over to circle his hips into your groin so you can feel the hard, long line of his arousal. If you'd been fearful of the toy he'd brought you, you're terrified now.

"You're not ready," he repeats, arched nose pushing against your cheek. You can smell yourself on his breath as he huffs, slightly bitter. "You’ll know when you’re begging for it."

The contact is too much of a relief for you to cringe away, your legs wrapping around his hips to try and bring him against you again. Despite everything screaming at you to stop, the pressure is incredible, your sex throbbing with each roll against him.

"Please, you said you'd help me," you blurt out.

Jungwoo has the nerve to laugh at your attempt, extricating himself and turning to look at something over your head.

"You called?" 

Yuta's voice is a shock. You'd half-expected it to emerge from your agent, the emergency call you'd snuck through still pulsing red with no response. Instead you find him leaning casually over the railing from the stairs, gaze narrowed and assessing. 

From his bored posture, he's been watching awhile. 

"I didn't want to be alone with him," you say. "He can't control himself."

"Looks to be the other way around from here," he drawls. 

Whatever hope you'd had that he'd be upset at the situation disappears in an instant. You slide down with your legs firmly pressed together, feeling exposed.

"She called you? Smart." Jungwoo sniffs, only a little displeased. 

"Not really." Yuta says. "What's the story, then?"

"Well, she slipped out. Couldn't help herself but run here," Jungwoo says, tapping away at his hand with the rod. "When I came to get her she tried to get into my good graces, as you can see."

"But you brought me here to show me . . ." you don't continue, watching Yuta nod towards the other man with no acknowledgement of your rebuttal. Your heart sinks in your chest. 

"Might want to add some flavor. A little realism."

"Sure thing, boss." Jungwoo jabs the nightstick into your hip, hesitating only a second to let you understand what's about to happen. You freeze, trapped against the desk, adrenaline slowing time down to a horrible crawl.

"Sorry we couldn't play more," Jungwoo says. 

Then he activates the power switch, obliterating any thoughts or words you might have in an explosion of pure pain.

[previous] [next]

[jayykesley]

ALL OF THEm and Derick and Rosalyn for the specified ones?

i feel like a lot of Derick’s answers are depressing? because he hasn’t gone through much character development yet and i dont want to spoil anything, so thats why.

Again, copy and pasted from a Word doc, so i greatly apologize for the formatting

What OC has the biggest family? How do they get along?

Already answered!

What OC has/is a mentor?

Both Anaya and Victor are greatmentors to the people around them, especially Rosalyn, Roswell, and Carson

What OC has a huge group of friends?

Roswell considers nearly everyperson’s he’s had a conversation with his “friend”. He’s very friendly, and hejust wants to be around people!

What OC has a small, close group of friends?

Rosalyn. She’s somewhat picky aboutwho she considers a friend. Carson and Roswell are in, Lorelei is a strongmaybe, and Derick is a “probably not”

What OC has, like, one friend?

Derick. At the moment, his only realfriend is Ragsy, his cat.

What OC is the Mom Friend?

Lorelei might be it. She’sconstantly worried for her friends’ safety, always offers to mend theirclothing, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to pack each of them a lunch.

What OC really needs the Mom Friend around?

As the certified Dad Friend, Carsondoes best when he is complimented by the Mom Friend.

Which OCs are an old married couple (literally or     figuratively)?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

What is your favorite platonic relationship between your     OCs?

Carson and Rosalyn are really fun towrite, since their personalities clash quite a bit, and there’s that “I hateyou but youre my family so not really” element

What is your favorite familial relationship between     your OCs?

Robin and Lorelei. Lori obviouslyacts protectively and motherly over Robin (due to their large age difference),but she also understands where Robin is coming from, more so than their motheror father might.

What is your favorite romantic relationship between     your OCs?

Already answered!

Which two OCs are the most different from each other?

Derick and Rosalyn are probably themost polar opposite at the moment. Rosalyn is brash, aggressive, and takes whatshe wants, while Derick is very meek, pacifistic, and would rather be invisiblemost of the time

Which OCs complement each other the best?

Due to their already establishedfriendship, Lorelei and Carson know each others’ strengths and weaknessesintimately. Where Carson is impulsive, Lorelei is rational and helps him take amoment to figure out a plan. Where Lorelei can be controlling and anxious,Carson is lax and has been known to convince her to take a chance on occasion

Which OCs get along the best with each other?

Lorelei and Carson

Which OCs get along the worst with each other?

At the moment, Rosalyn and Derick,but that will change as the two grow and become more familiar with each other

Which OCs don’t know each other, but would get along     great if they did?

I could see Andromeda getting along greatwith Rosalyn, or Carson with Paris

Which OCs don’t know each other, but would hate each     other if they did?

Answered!

Which OCs would make the worst couple?

Rosalyn and Carson, because 1) theyconsider each other siblings, and 2) certain parts of their personalities just wouldn’tmake for a healthy romantic relationship. Both are impulsive, which leads topoor decisions that don’t benefit either of them. Carson needs someone incrediblypatient to work with him and his adhd, and Rosalyn needs someone who invokesher more gentle and protective nature. Plus, Rosalyn hates puns, and that’s justa huge deal-breaker for Carson.

What’s the strangest way two (or more) OCs have met?

Well, Rosalyn and Carson literallykidnapped Derick from his home, so

Which non-related OCs have known each other the     longest?

Victor and Carson. Victor knewCarson’s parents before he was born, and he raised Carson after they died.

Which OCs knew each other the shortest time before     becoming close friends?

Roswell and Lorelei. He alreadyconsiders her a friend, and she is happy to listen to him talk

Which OCs spend the most time together?

Lorelei and Carson spend a good dealof time together. So do Lorelei and Robin, and Lorelei and Val. Lorelei justlikes her friends/family, okay?

Which OCs have fought with each other the most?

As siblings do, Carson and Rosalynfought a lot when they were younger.

Do any OCs have friends they haven’t met in person?

Dr. Faulkner’s soulmate, Dr. CindyHartford, lives in another country! They send letters to each other through CaptainZulu, and have never actually met in person.

Do any OCs have imaginary friends?

Not anymore, but Robin had quite afew when she was younger

Does OC have a hard or easy time making friends?

Derick: Hard, he was isolated a lotas a kid (parents were ashamed to have a Lacking child), and he’s naturally shyand introverted

Rosalyn: hard, but not for lack oftrying. She can talk to strangers no problem, but people don’t usually like hermore aggressive nature

How did OC meet their best friend?

Derick: She crawled right into hisarms after he found her hiding behind a dumpster in an alley

Rosalyn: She had just escaped withRoswell from Knox’s facility weeks before, and ran into Carson in the Burjeok forest.Naturally, the two were suspicious of each other, but Carson was happy to havesomeone his own age around and brought them back to Victor.

How did OC meet their worst enemy?

Derick: She birthed him

Rosalyn: Knox plucked her off thestreet after a fight, impressed with her tenacity

How did OC meet their significant other? If OC does not     have a SO, do they want one?

Derick: Does not have one atm, but wouldn’tmind a gf?

Rosalyn: Does not have one atm, andfeels like life is too chaotic for a boyfriend right now

How does OC get along with their parents?

Derick: no…

Rosalyn: maybe, if I ever actuallygave her some

Does OC have siblings? Do they get along if they do? Do     they wish they had some if they don’t?

Derick: no siblings, parents didn’t evenwant one child. Derick would have liked a sibling.

Rosalyn: absolutely adores herbrothers, misses Daniel like crazy, even though she is often rude to carson sheloves him dearly too

Does OC have or want kids?

Derick: Doesn’t dislike kids, but he’sboth 1) incredibly awkward around them, and 2) terrified of being eitherself-absorbed like his mother, or passive and uncaring like his father. Despitethat, wouldn’t hate the idea of being a parent if he ended up having kidsanyway

Rosalyn: feels like the world is tooawful to bring her own child into, secretly afraid she would be a bad mom, butwould love the child and try her best if she ever did have kids

Is OC/Would OC be a good parent?

Both would actually be greatparents, if they could ever get over their fears and hangups about parenthood

What is something unusual OC has bonded with someone     over?

Rosalyn and Derick could actuallybond over growing up in Cirsca!

What is the most important relationship in OC’s life?

Derick: hasn’t happened yet (hislife wont always be sad and lonely, I promise)

Rosalyn: Her relationship withRoswell, as it is the one thing that kept her from becoming hard-hearted andtruly uncaring before she met the gang

How has OC been affected by their friendships?

Derick: his few-and-far-betweenfriendships, growing up, led to his becoming socially anxious and overall insecureabout himself

Rosalyn: They make her stronger emotionally,and give her a reason not to give up

How has OC been affected by their family relationships?

Derick: badly

Rosalyn: the death of Daniel and herneed to continue protecting Roswell

How has OC been affected by their romantic     relationship(s) or lack thereof?

Who does OC consider they have learned their most     important life lesson from?

Derick: his mother (“You are only asvaluable as what you can offer other people”)

Rosalyn: Dr. Anaya Gatling (“Youhave to choose good, over and over.”)

Who motivates OC?

Derick: Ragsy, he just wants tobuild a good life for his cat

Rosalyn: Knox, she won’t rest untilshe gets her revenge

Who would OC do anything for?

Derick: Ragsy

Rosalyn: Roswell

Who would OC do anything to not have to deal with?

Derick: basically anyone in authority,they give him the heebies and the jeebies

Rosalyn: originally? Derick. Now? She’snot so sure

How does OC meet most people?

Derick: its usually forced throughcompany meetings and elevator small-talk

Rosalyn: through some mystic force,because she’s not going out of her way to meet new people

How long does it take OC to open up to people?

Derick: years, unless he’s drunk,then minutes

Rosalyn: it depends on if the otherperson is going through something similar to what Rosalyn has experienced. She reallydoesn’t have anything to hide, except the people she’s killed

How much do OC’s friends know about their private life?

Derick: not much?

Rosalyn: she’s fairly open, so probablya lot

How does OC act differently after they know someone     better?

Derick: He may talk about himselfmore, or might ask them questions he deems “stupid” because he feels morecomfortable around them

Rosalyn: She’ll offer morecompliments, but also more insults (which she considers a good thing, as triesto tell the truth as often as possible, out of respect). She also might startreferring to them by their title (i.e. she calls Victor “Mr. Pike”, and Anaya “Dr.Gatling”, but only refers to Commander Knox and Chancellor Woods as “Knox” and “Woods”.)If she’s really close with you, she’ll even call you by your first name.

Who is OC’s favorite person?

Derick: Marni, as she was the only personin Cirsca he felt comfortable around

Rosalyn: Victor, as she considershim a great leader and mentor

Who is OC’s least favorite person?

Derick: Snite, as he makes Derick’severyday life so much more painful than is necessary

Rosalyn: Other than Knox? People wholeave flyers in your yard

Is there anyone OC used to be very close to, but no     longer is?

Derick: nah, he was never very closeto anyone to begin with

Rosalyn: Daniel, but he ded

What aspects of OC have, consciously or unconsciously,     come from someone else?

Like, from another OC, or from me? BecauseDerick’s whole demeanor and his inner monologue come directly from me, which makeshim a very easy character to write. Rosalyn, I guess my semi-confusion withnonverbal societal cues and tendency to get angry (I’m working on it).