#Ten's OCs: Novel

[tenander]

Doing the Which of your OCs... asks for my homemade blorbos. Part 1: Question 1 - 13. (If you want to know more about these guys, check out their tags on my blog!)

has the best hair? As a certified impossibly-pretty-hair-enjoyer, that's a difficult pick. I'm gonna say Corzian, whose hair is ridiculously long, wavy and looks perfect all times even though he spent his entire youth sick in bed and now adventures daily with little to no time spent on its care. Elven privilege.

uses/would use the most products? Definitely Crim, he enjoys the ritual of pampering his own body and will happily take an hour to indulgently and thoroughly apply oils and creams and powders.

frustrates you the most? Zaphir, hands down. He is emotionally stunted, in a permanent state of paranoia and old enough to be very stubborn about his beliefs, and I want his story to be about finding inner peace and comfort and genuine companionship... but his story is the story of BG3, which is not conductive to overcoming trust issues. Hhhhhhhh....

makes you smile the most? ALL MY BLORBOS MAKE ME SMILE A LOT But Solstice's overflowing love and kindness is kind of infectuous, and sometimes he is also just really really funny in the most wholesome ways.

is the happiest? I think that'd be Qursa, now that he's reunited with his brother. He is with his family and they're doing good for the galaxy, that's all he ever wanted.

is the saddest? *slaps Crim* this bad boy can fit so much grief in him. He lost everyone he ever loved, as well as himself, and has to worry about losing more every single day. (He'll get better eventually.) I also have a yet unnamed guy percolating in my skull-raisin who is hella unhappy.

is/would be the first to die in a Horror scenario? Yukiro. He's a good fighter and a good sneak, but he is also in bad health and is the kind of man who would tell his team to "Go, I'll hold them off".

has been with you the longest? Making OCs permeates my life, so it's a bit hard to tell sometimes, but I think if we assume AU versions of an OC to still be the same character, then the OC I have had the longest and who has gotten new thoughts added within this year is Meredith, my Saints Row Boss. OG Meredith is basically retired (in a satisfying way), but there is a New Saints Row version of him.

is your newest? Fully existing, that would be my SWTOR Inquisitor, Ru'lonn, who will drag the empire into a new age of alien power even if he has to do it at forcelightningpoint. Still in larval form is unnamed guy, who achieved immortality in the worst possible way.

has the best butt? According to reliable and professional sources, Zaphir. He has been a Monk all his life, he could probably kill a man with his buttcheeks.

is/would be the most likely to get caught committing a crime? Novel would a) absolutely commit a crime for the sake of his townspeople or his temple and b) be really bad at it and get himself caught immediately.

likes/would like animals the most? It's a toss-up between Novel, the Ranger who was saved as a baby by ravens and is never without his own bird friends and loves all of nature, and (surprise) Qursa, who discovered that he is an exceptional healer because he can feel the pain of other living beings by noticing and healing injured animals as a youngling, and who still deeply cares for them now (except certain bugs, bugs are freaky).

can/could cook the best? I have had to realise that nearly all of my OCs have cooking skills ranging from "eh" to "oh god please no". In the context of this unfortunate trend, only Yukiro stands out as someone who can make a decent meal from nearly any ingredient he has available at the time, and makes amazing inarizushi.

[altfire]

thinkin abt writing a Normal Fic bc i cant find what im looking for,,,,, things r dire

[boffinhillem]

something I like to do is look at old doodles.. I don't remember the context for this, but I just love the sudden turn of Mint's expression here

[karasu4life]

Man I love my snookers, my cutie pie, my cinnamonroll covered in frosting, blue glazing and fading in light purple. I love my man, my pookers, the love of my life, my everything, I love Tabito more than my life.

God, loved him since I saw him for the first time. I love you Karasu, I've read every single one of his fanfictions (shout-out to Five ways to kill a Crow), I've analyzed him more than four times in my mind when I was bored in class, I've never been more delusional. I absolutely adore him, I absolutely want him.

I've watched every single episode of the second season since he's been animated, I have screenshoted EVERY SINGLE FRAME he's in, I don't care if he looks ugly, I don't care. I've read Hiori's light novel and Nagi's episode more than ten times because bro, HE'S THERE.

I'm not just a horny someone, my feelings are genuine for him. When I am a poor old woman in the future, my last words will be "I love you, Karasu Tabito".

Y'know what hell yeah

Fuck I even made an oc x canon. He's going to be the death of me

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

i think part of the reason shang qinghua transmigrated as a baby is because he needed more time to think of the story’s world as real. everyone was either his oc or a background character, so he felt a sense of ownership over everyone. so for him to transmigrate as a character whose backstory he may have only had in vague impressions, it probably forced him to interact with characters he didn’t ‘own’ for a long time before he met the ones that were his.

after ten, eleven, twelve years of relying on characters who probably didn’t even exist as faceless nobodies in his novel, he had no choice to think of them as real. watching his parents celebrate the birth of his younger brother and then grieve his death, feeling the way their relationship became strained afterward, seeing them trying to start over with their own new families… the similarity to his first life wasn’t lost on him.

these people were real, their emotions were real—their potential to hurt and to be hurt in exchange—all of it was real.

when he had to be shang qinghua, character and traitor to the sect, he fell back on trying to convince himself that it was all a story anyway. he’d been lying to himself treating it all as real—it was just a novel he wrote decades ago. no reason to ache when he saw the terror in his shizhi’s eyes, their bodies mangled on the ground. no reason to feel sick from the guilt. he had to do it. it was just a story. none of it was real, none of them were real.

shen qingqiu’s grief after the immortal alliance conference was near-legendary. there were stories and poems and songs written about the pain of a seemingly cold master kneeling at his precious disciple’s sword mound and calling out for him day in and day out.

shang qinghua’s grief was buried in productivity. no one commented on how efficient an ding peak was after the conference. how mistakes decreased, processes were streamlined, fewer tasks were delegated away from the the peak lord’s desk. how shang qinghua woke up in a cot on qian cao more often than he’d ever admit.

he wasn’t grieving his lost martial family. there was nothing to grieve. they weren’t real.

maybe soon, he’d start to believe it.

[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

[luv-indigo]

okay so, redesigning nadine for the third and (hopefully) final time. i felt she looked too similar to soraya (my keyframes fall mc) so i changed nadine up a bit. also!! i was trying to find oc templates to fill out for my visual novel ocs and although there’s so many out there, none were exactly what i was looking for soooo…. I made my own! i’ll post my other our life ocs with them soon but first, nadine ! (again)

I’ve also changed my own mind. Nadine will be my MC for Qiu’s route.

Nadine introduction <3

Nadine spent much of her early childhood moving from place to place, all within her home state of California but oftentimes in different cities. Moving around so often made it hard to keep in contact with friends and after a while made it especially hard making friends in the first place.

When Opal tells Nadine they‘re moving once again, Nadine is surprised to learn they’re moving to Oregon, their neighboring state. This time, she learns it’ll be a more permanent location. Nadine doesn’t know exactly how to feel. She’s so used to moving around that being in a place for so long sounds foreign, weird and new. However, part of her can’t help but feel excited, especially since she gets her own room now! But no matter what, she knows mama will be with her every step of the way.

Upon meeting Qiu and Tamarack, Nadine quickly feels they can be the best of friends. Nadine has always been more of a quiet person but not necessarily shy. Spend enough time with her and you’ll find she can talk quite a lot. Yet she’s perfectly content with simply listening as well.

Nadine is mostly a rule follower. Rules are there for a reason right? She prides herself on being neat and orderly. All her belongings are pristine and in their place because that’s just how she likes it. During step 1, Nadine strongly dislikes getting dirty. Which can be difficult to avoid if you’re playing outside in the woods.

Step Two !!

After four years, Nadine has adjusted well into her new home. Although Nadine needs glasses she very much prefers to use eye contacts instead. It’s also the most convenient when ice skating. She’s taken on ice skating as her main past time and she’s fairly good. Her transportation of choice has been rollerblading so it makes sense she got into ice skating as well.

Her other hobbies are more on the creative side. She enjoys crafting and drawing on occasion. Cosplaying is also one of her major hobbies. For years she has worked on making her Halloween costumes with the help of Mama.

During this time Nadine becomes more of a shy person. During her earlier childhood, she had no problem voicing her thoughts and opinions but it seems now that sort of thing gets harder to do as you age. Thankfully, she has her two close friends to turn to whenever she needs a hand, and in turn she will be there for them as well.

Step Three !!

Nadine has less and less time to do things she wants. If this is how adult life is she wants zero part of it </3

Nadine has always prioritized their studies (although that became much harder to do when middle school started due to her procrastination habits). Now college is weighing on their mind. Nadine still very much enjoys ice skating yet she struggles to make time to practice. Similarly, cosplaying has turning into a year long project (for Halloween of course). Doing multiple cosplays a year is something she doesn’t have time for anymore. Although they are often busy, Nadine will always make time for a special someone and her best friend, Tamarack.

Step Four !!

Nadine’s all grown up </3

Throughout many years Nadine has learned things about themselves and grown into the person they are today. Her experiences and the people she has been around since she was ten years old have impacted her life to mold her into who she is, for better or worse. And honestly, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

And finally this little thing I made with all of Nadine’s doll icons. I had to edit many of them to fit the hair style and clothing options I wanted and it literally took forever </3 ouGh

Also, I apologize for the quality. I tried to preserve it as I was inserting the drawings into the template but resizing may have messed up the quality </3

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Family love(less). Prologue

Self-Aware! Platonic! Yandere! BSD Characters x GN! Child! Abused! Reader

Description: You are unwanted by your family because of the circumstances of your birth. Your only company are Internet and Books.

You want to escape from this place. You want to have friends and real family.

One night, something strange happened.

You woke up on streets of Yokohama.

And a silver-haired man was looking at you.

But you didn't get here alone.

Tags: Found Family, Isekai, Spoilers for Bungou Stray Dogs Anime, Manga and Light Novels.

Warning: OOC, Platonic Yandere, Bad Relatives, Abusive Family, Bulling, Hurtful comments about Reader and about BSD characters, Physical punishment. BSD Cast want to deal with bad relatives accordingly. English is my second language.

A/N: Multi-chapter fanfic. There will be named OC. All similarities with real people are accidental. This fic wasn't created to mock or to insult anyone. I just want to write something about Platonic Yandere. Hope you enjoy.

Prologue. Storm

School bell rang. The long day of studying was finally over. Students started to put their stuff back in their backpacks. It was time to go home.

You were on a mission. You needed to leave school as fast as you can, without getting the attention of teachers and other students.

You hoped that today you will be lucky enough and no one will notice you.

You quickly grabbed your backpack and hurry to the school's exit.

Getting from class to the corridor - SUCCESS!

Getting from corridor to school exit - SUCCESS!

Getting across School Yard - SUCCE....

"Out of the way, Thing!"

Someone shoved you forward. You lost your balance and fall. You tried to stand up or, at least, rolled on the side.

Someone stepped on you. They continue walking, like you were a part of the road.

Cousin Janie...

Second person followed.... Then third... Then fourth...

Bill... Lily... Jack...

You saw, how adults just moved past you. They pretend, that they didn't see, how children just walking all over another child.

It was nothing new to you.

Miss Agatha... Mister Frank...

You were glad, that, at least, adults wasn't trying to step on you.

Finally, the last of your classmates walked away. You could finally stand up.

Slowly and carefully. Your body was sore. You were dirty. All your clothes were covered in shoe marks. Your hair was dirty. Someone spit on you, you were sure of that.

You start walking home.

_____________

To get home, you need to walk near the park. Small green 'island' in your little town.

"Hey, little rat, were you playing in the dirt again?"

Your Big Brother Steve was waiting for you here. You hoped that he already was home.

Steve was grinning. His tone of voice was full of poorly hidden hate.

"Little rat, you can't go home like this. Little Pig like you need to take a bath. Don't worry, your Big Brother will help you."

He was too strong. You could never overpower a seventeen-year-old.

There was a river in the park.

And Steve threw you and your backpack right in the river.

You were glad, that river wasn't deep.

But now you were completely soaked.

"Now you really are a Rat. A Wet Dirty Rat"

Steve is gone.

You still need to go home.

__________

You reached your home.

________

Ten slaps on left cheek for been wet.

Ten slaps on right cheek for been dirty.

Spanking for trying to leave the school without been noticed.

_______

You were tired and sore.

After the shower, you limp towards your room.

The only place you can be somehow safe.

You barely manage to get into your room. It was small. You had a bed here. A shelf for clothes and books. A small table.

And no windows.

____________

You were a middle child.

Your older siblings were called gold siblings.

Smart, beautiful, handsome, future of the family.

Your younger siblings were called rays of hope.

Cute, precious, hope for the family.

And there were you...

You were you.

For some reason, no matter, what you do, it wasn't good enough for your parents.

No matter, how good your grades are, or if you've won anything.

There were always 'Don't bother me' or 'You don't matter'.

You aren't enough.

Other adults in your family ignored you. They didn't care about you.

They don't see anything wrong with your parents' attitude towards you.

It's not like you are their child.

Besides, your parents never hurt you... much.

Every parent discipline their children.

Your cousins and siblings on the other hand...

They hate you. For some reason.

They saw you as a toy or a servant.

Because adults never tell them to stop bothering you.

They learned, that they can do anything they want to you.

Your family don't care.

Under the influence of your younger siblings, other kids start treating you worse.

In good case scenario, you were ignored.

In worst case scenario you had to run away.

Teachers in your school don't care.

They have better things to do, than dealing with your problems.

__________

You learned few things.

First, always be quiet. Don't draw attention to yourself.

Second, hide important things in your drawer. Your family won't search through your underwear.

Third, there was some wrong with your birth. Something was different. Different in a bad way. You tried to learn more, but no matter who you ask, they didn't tell you anything.

Maybe, one day, when you are older, you will find the truth.

Until then, you need to live in current day.

Right now, you need to have dinner with your family.

With every member of your family.

Today was the first day of Family Reunion.

And it will be hosted in your parents' house.

_________

"[Y/N], eat slow. You are not a pig."

"[Y/N], eat faster. Don't make us wait."

"[Y/N], eat less. You are already fat."

"[Y/N], eat more. You look like a skeleton. People might think that you are starving. Your parents will be in trouble."

"[Y/N], don't you dare shout at your younger siblings! What do you mean, they deserve it? They are younger, then you, they want to play. Yes, even if by play they mean throw food at you."

__________

After taking another shower, you finally were back in your room.

You lay down on the bed. You had some free time.

You need some energy.

You open your phone.

They bought it for you to make neighbors shut up and stop gossiping about your family been so poor, they can't afford to buy a phone for a kid.

You open the app that helped you during bad times.

Bungou Stray Dogs Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

________

You learned about BSD from your siblings.

Almost all of your cousins of all ages were big fans of anime.

They liked to watch anime and manga together during video calls.

Bungou Stray Dogs were among many titles they have watched.

And they have a very strange relationship with this manga.

They hate it and love it at the same time.

They love character designs, you were sure about that.

But you are also sure, that they hate the fact, that characters were based on writers.

You remember, how your cousin Ralph failed a test about John Steinbeck. He was on a video call with your older sister, and you could hear how he was cursing Steinbeck from manga... For some reason.

You can't understand your older relatives.

And you remember, how angry your older sister Jane was on Gogol from manga. She decided to read real world Gogol works. She bought books. When she realized, that books weren't funny, she wanted to drop it. But, because your parents already knew that 'their dear princess' start reading serious literature, she couldn't do it without disappointing them.

So, she cursed character, instead of telling parents the truth.

___________

Despite the fact, that your family has a bizarre relationship with Bungou Stray Dogs and you were too young to read it, you wanted to watch BSD too. Or read it.

There was no problem with watching it. You managed to find a website where you could watch it for free.

But, no matter how hard you try, you couldn't find a way to read BSD for free.

There were all Manga volumes and Light Novels in your house. Your older brother and sister have their own copies.

And you can't ask them to let you read their copies. Because they don't like you. Because they will laugh at you. Wondering, how someone as stupid as you can read.

You can't ask your parents to buy you manga. Because your family don't care if you want something. Phone was necessary. Internet is needed by all family members. There's no law that said that parents must provide a source of entertainment for a child.

But, one day, you were in luck. A very strange luck.

Two months ago you got a whole set of BSD manga and light novels.

_____________

Your Older Brother Steve and Older Sister Jane were... very impulsive.

They tried to stay in trend. To be loved by their classmates. To stay popular in school.

So, when another popular school group decide, that Bungou Stray Dogs manga was for nerds, because cool kids don't read anything, where they can find information about real authors, your brother, sister and your cousins (who attended the same school and were 'loyal' to your older siblings) threw away their BSD Manga and Light Novels. Before that they rip some pages out, tear apart a few books, try to drown them and dance on the poor books.

Then they tell you to throw the garbage away. That's how you manage to salvage the books.

They were in need of some serious repairs, but, you could do it by yourself. And your family wasn't that petty to count, how many tapes you were using or if you take the scissors.

You spend three nights repairing books. You were searching through a big pile of manga and light novels copies for pages in good condition. You use tape and glue on pages to make them whole again.

With great care, you manage to make yourself a full collection of BSD Manga and Light Novels.

After job well done, you were finally able to read manga. You were looking forward to that moment.

__________

In BSD World. Two months ago.

__________

BSD Characters were gathered in the Meeting Room of Port Mafia.

All of them looked tired. They were on the verge of a breakdown.

They don't know why they deserved it.

But they hated that terrible creatures, that called themselves Real People.

Time and time again, they were forced to relieve the worst moments of their lives.

And every time they have heard THEM.

Many different people that were mocking them. Laughing at them. Saying disgusting things about them.

"Why this crybaby Atsushi even here? If he suffers so much, why won't he off himself?"

"Is Chuuya really a Mafioso? I mean, he is mourning the death of the Flags. Aren't mobsters supposed to be cold and emotionless?"

"Ha! Think, what you want, but Oda's dub in this scene make brats' death hilarious."

"I think that Yosano's backstory should be more tragic. Right now it's bland. Her favorite solder killed himself and called her an Angel of Death. It would be better, if Mori was..."

"OH NO! The Clown is alive! Why?! Just Why?! He is a stupid character!"

Comment. After comment. After comment.

About how terrible they are. How useless they are.

How real people wish that BSD cast suffer.

Cursing them for having similar names with some other people from their world.

And now, they did something with them.

All BSD characters feel pain. Someone was tearing them apart. Someone was trying to drown them.

And they can't do anything to protect themselves.

And then another Kitsunebi¹ appeared.

This one was purple.

So, real people decide to end them.

No one from BSD Cast has power to fight. They were waiting for their end.

"Well, I have everything I need. Let's start with the first volume..."

_________

This one was healing them...

BSD characters feel, how their bodies wasn't sore anymore. How they're getting their strength back.

For three nights, Purple Light was taking care of them.

And talking...

"Okay, this goes here... Here we go, good as knew."

"Wow, this page will be beautiful again, when I finish with it."

"I can't wait to read BSD from the beginning. It must be wonderful. Anime was good."

BSD cast were confused. You...

Why this one was different? Was that a trick? Are they going to curse them?

The time reset again. Time to relive their lives. Again.

_________

In Bungou Stray Dogs World. Nowadays

________

"Our Dear [Y/N] are opening the App! Everybody ready?" called Yosano, finishing adding another ten power up materials in her present to you today.

The choir of "yes" was an answer to her.

No one can tell, that two months ago they all were broken and could barely stand.

Dear [Y/N], their precious Guiding Light, saved them.

Not even once they say something hateful about anyone of them. There was only love and understanding. And warmth. Warmth of a child who loved them unconditionally.

All of them cherished [Y/N]. Because they were the only one, who saw, what a great child [Y/N] were.

When they got access to [Y/N]'s phone, they heard it all.

Bullies. Relatives. Siblings. Parents.

Their comments. Their hate, that was aimed at [Y/N]. A defenseless, innocent child.

BSD Cast hate [Y/N]'s family. For what they are doing to them. And for what they have done to characters themselves.

Soon they will be in Real world. They will save Their Dear Guiding Light.

But, before that, they need to punish everyone, who wronged [Y/N].

The Portal was almost ready.

They only need to wait until Midnight.

_________

In real world

_________

You spend an hour playing BSD Mayoi. You got many notes from characters. They were cheering for you. They mentioned that they love you.

You were happier, than before.

At least someone was glad, that you exist.

You hopped that one day you will escape from your family. And find a real family and friends.

You looked at the clock.

Almost 11 pm. You need to go to bed.

Dozing off, you hear, that storm has begun. Raindrops start falling down from the sky.

_________

At the midnight, your phone start glowing white.

The lightning struck.

White light fill all rooms in your house.

When it faded, the house was empty.

And pages of your BSD books start glowing white.

_______

Time resets.

Fukuzawa Yukichi was a thirty-two years old bodyguard again. His client died recently. But right now, he has more important things to do.

Fukuzawa Yukichi was cradling a sleeping eleven-year-old child.

And, for now, he was ignoring the four people laying on the ground at his feet.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of both Worlds (part 1)

Tw: yandere oc guy, but i dont think this chapter shown that yet, but readers a fuckin stalker loser this time, university horrors

Okay guys so this story im literally pitting Yves and Montgomery together, gonna be a little slow burn but we r gonna get 2 da conflict like eventually

Also da settting in university cuase its da most relevant 2 me 💯

Enjouy

PART 2

He's so beautiful and ethereal. The man has been plaguing your mind for the entire week, you're being distracted from your assignments just because of this unbelievably gorgeous man with silky, long hair and dressed to the tens.

You grinded your teeth and scratched your skin, you know where he frequents. The university's library. And you obviously want to get closer to him after he caught you from falling. You slipped on a sheet of paper that you dropped and this mysterious stranger was there to catch you by the waist before your body could make any devastating impact. Unfortunately, your stacks of textbooks and other miscellaneous documents were scattered to the ground.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice was smooth and pleasant with a unique, suave accent to it.

You were reduced to a nervous, stuttery mess. He gently brought you back up to your feet, he helped you gather your things and even arranged it by size and weight, so that it would be less likely for it to topple over. The man took a further step to smoothen the frizzles of your hair, fix your collar and sleeves. He even zipped your backpack up, you were unaware that it was open in the first place, adding to your embarrassment. You couldn't really push him away because your arms are occupied with your belongings.

It was hard to look into those stunning emerald eyes without flustering yourself even further, so you looked away while you stammered a "thanks" to him.

"Be careful." He said as he tilted your head by the chin to make direct eye contact. You know that you're as red as a tomato, but he didn't comment on it. The man lets you go before walking away, he fixed the handles of his luxury bag on his shoulder. Luscious curls bouncing with every step.

You felt like you wanted to explode right there and then, it took you a while to regain composure, other university personnel wondering why you're just standing in the middle of the path like that. Aren't you tired of holding all that stuff? It looked heavy.

You were snapped back into your senses when someone who you assumed had a bad day, told you to get out of the way. You scurried along the traffic, having the incident fresh in your mind.

You wonder who that man is, a student? A professor? A staff member?

You came to know that he's in the library for a few hours every weekday afternoons. He doesn't have a particular spot, the mystique spontaneously appears in random but fairly secluded reading spots in the library.

You felt like a stalker, but that's what you are. Too shy and afraid to talk to him, yet content with watching from afar. His ears are covered by his hair, so you don't know if he had any earbuds in. Fuelling your hesitance to make any contact first.

He could be reading a thick novel, handwriting something down on his notebook, or he could be typing away on his sleek, black laptop. In either instances, you have no idea what he's doing, it's either in a foreign language, full of numbers or completely made up of technical jargon.

You don't know why you're doing this instead of studying for your midterms. You're never like this to any of your crushes, not this obsessive over a real person, so why now? What compelled you to become this... creep? It's like you can't stop. You're scared of rejection but you can't get rid of the butterflies in your stomach.

You had no one to talk to about it because university is a very lonely place. At least, for personality types like you. You didn't want to bother your other friends, they have their own problems to worry about.

It reaches a point that you tried following him out of the library, wondering where he will go next. Before you could step past the automatic sliding doors, you looked at the book in your hand.

'Wait a minute, this is fucked up.' You thought to yourself. This isn't like you, exams are in spitting distance and you're subjecting this poor person to this harassment just because of a singular interaction.

You made a 180⁰ turn and marched back to your all-time favourite seat. Which happened to be occupied by the stranger earlier, maybe that made you a little peeved because you "claimed" it first at the start of the year. But he took it for the day.

To your surprise, there lies his notebook on the ground. He must have accidentally left it. You picked it up and looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then you flipped through it.

You were blasted with numericals, diagrams, words you weren't sure if it was written in English or otherwise and even floorplans of a building of some sort. You couldn't understand anything.

"Excuse me."

You whipped your head to the whisper. It was him! Your blood ran cold as he caught you snooping through his item. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

You struggled to form a coherent sentence as you pointed at it, you're done for, you're going to be confirmed a creep. But he only watched you with the utmost patience.

There came a point where you gave up, placed the closed book on the table and pushed it towards him.

Luckily though, you didn't have to say another word.

"You found my notebook. How careless of me to have dropped it." He pulled a chair opposite of you and sat down. You watch him place his handbag on another chair.

He elegantly picked the journal up and slid it into his bag. You were sweating at this point, the dread is about to make you vomit on him and that's not great. You wished that he would go away now, but seeing that he's locked onto his seat, it's highly unlikely.

You prayed hard for it though, he finished his business for the day. There shouldn't be any reason for him to linger.

"Thank you for keeping it safe. I hope you found whatever it is you were seeking from me." He continued, crossing his legs and resting his hands on the table.

What.

You asked what he meant by that.

A teasing smile made its way to his rouge lips.

"You were watching me." You grew pale and you scrambled to explain yourself, but he raised his index finger to signal you to let him continue.

"Your tact could be improved upon; I could see you trying to hide behind the shelves, I could hear you mumbling to yourself, and you shouldn't think so lowly of yourself." He propped his head up on one elbow.

Your cheeks felt hot. That is true, you were berating yourself for being too wimpy to go ahead and talk to him. You just didn't think you were that loud.

"I would have enjoyed having a chat with you. I wouldn't have thought that you were-- and in your own words, a 'creepy, loser-freak'."

Oh. He heard that too. You wish that you could disappear this instant.

"I'm flattered that you thought highly of me. However, I was disappointed that you thought that I was intimidating." He pouted playfully. "I won't bite." He twirls a lock of his hair around his fingers.

Your nerves are frazzled as he leans in. You didn't know what to say or what to do. He seemingly picks up on that and continues leading the conversation.

"Let's start with names. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." You felt his shoe brush against your leg.

You almost forgot your own name as you watch the bead of sweat drip down your nose in horror. He must think you're a stinky slob.

But all he does is stare straight into your soul while drumming his fingers against the table.

You told him your name, with a severe stutter. Each passing second felt like a serrated knife slicing through your flesh.

He repeated it, syllables rolling through his tongue wonderfully. He pronounced it correctly on the first try despite your cripplingly anxious enunciation.

"Yves." He replied. Finally, you have his name. You're totally not going to use that to dig for more information on him.

"You have a beautiful name." He complimented.

You nervously returned the compliment and let out an awkward laugh. Trying your best to ignore the growing sweat stain between your pits.

"How charming of you, (name)." He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table. Yves collected his bag and turned his attention back to you.

"I'd love to talk longer, but I must go now. I believe you have an exam to prepare for. Best begin your revision now, I hope our brief conversation has helped to quell your worries."

...and you mumbled that part about yourself too. It's pretty safe to assume he heard all your thoughts.

Yves extended a manicured hand to you. Taking this as a clear request for a handshake, you accepted it.

Only for him to bring it up to his lips, tenderly and fleetingly kissing your knuckles. This entire time, his piercing gaze never left your eyes.

You wanted to claw yourself out of your flesh and die out of embarrassment.

"Study well."

He lets your hand down and presses it momentarily with his larger ones.

You watched him saunter away with his back turned against you.

You brought the back of your palm to your sight.

There is a faint, reddish tint on it. It must have been from his lipstick.

You're not sure if you ever want to wash your hand after this.

[tenander]

Decided to do this NSFW questionnaire for my four current main Tavs.

Since it's massive, I gotta do it in four (!) parts.

Part 1

What is your Tav’s sexuality/orientation preference? Crim is exclusively attracted to men. He is not put off by people of other genders in a sexual context, but there is zero attraction. Solstice can find anyone attractive, but he prefers men to be with in any meaningful way. Zaphir can't think of anything less important than gender or parts, but he has had his better experiences with men and prefers them.

What are their biggest ‘NOs’ they will never consider doing during sex? Crim: ravishment or any other activity that combines sex with coercive aggression Solstice: being 'mean' aka humiliation, degradation, punishments, whether through words or actions, even if it's just pretending Zaphir: used to not have any specific ones, but due to recent developments, mind control, whether real or pretend, is now a hard no.

Are they a Top/Bottom/Switch? Crim: Tops from the Bottom by telling you exactly what he wants you to do to him and you're gonna like it Solstice: Complete Service Top, there is nothing better than doing your favourite things that will make you lose it for you Zaphir: A Switch in the sense that he doesn't care about his position as long as he gets off

Favorite Position? Crim: All of them, but being horizontal is nearly always better than vertical. Solstice: Anything that has him being able to see his partner's face is chef's kiss. Zaphir: He likes riding a guy a lot.

Do they prefer giving or receiving? Crim: Receiving, hands down. Solstice: Giving, hands down. Zaphir: Receiving, it's just more practical and easy.

Tits or Ass? Crim: Tits are great, he likes to put his face in. Solstice: Okay, if he were forced at gunpoint to NOT say face or mouth… ass is fine. Zaphir: He quite appreciates a nice tight ass. Novel: He likes a nice tiddy alright.

How experienced is your Tav? Crim: So-so… he has tried a lot of things at least once in the span of about a year. He knows what he wants, but he doesn't know much about the variety that comes with varied partners. Solstice is at once more and less experienced than he has any right to be… he has done everything you can think of (and probably a few things you can't) at least once, he has had the time to explore many of them very thoroughly, and he has put a lot of thought and care into it all. … but all of it with one person, over a century ago. Zaphir: Pretty experienced, he has had countless partners, paid and not. Novel: He has barely done anything at all yet that's why he isn't in most of these answers =B

Do they have any traumas around sex? Crim: Not at all, at least as far as he knows. Solstice: He's had some minor mishaps in the past due to his physical strength that have left him a little overly-cautious in the present, but nothing bad enough to call trauma. Zaphir: No, but he is basically living with ongoing trauma that does heavily colour his sex life as well.

Do they have any taboo kinks? Crim: Nope, his most daring kink is Halsin's shapeshifting. Solstice: No, he's honestly quite tame as far as kinks go. Zaphir: He doesn't have time for kinks in the first place.

Would they want a polyamorous relationship? Crim: You better believe he does, he's in one. Solstice: I can't just do the PotC quote again… Zaphir: He got jumpscared by the 'amorous relationship' part and roundhouse-kicked it. Novel: He thinks that sounds fun to try out.

How do they feel about voyeurism? And would they do it? Crim: He doesn't really get much out of doing it, but being the subject of it is pretty hot. Solstice: Loves to watch, and doesn't mind being watched. Zaphir: Why the hell would he watch someone else fuck, who the hell would want to watch him fuck. Novel: Sounds exciting!

How big is your Tav’s sex drive? Crim: Yes. Solstice: God yes. Zaphir: Bigger than he'd like to be. Novel: He's starting to get a lil pent up, to be really honest…

How many rounds can they last? Crim: Yes. Solstice: However many his partner wants, he's a healer, he can make it work. Zaphir: Generally one or two… not for lack of stamina but because he gets antsy after a while Novel: Let's be real, probably one for now.

[saintsenara]

How do you come up with names for OCs?

lots and lots of them are lifted wholesale from writers like agatha christie [the source of myrtle's frenemy, henrietta savernake, in bookbinding] or p.g. wodehouse [the source of the bank robber, catsmeat williams, in inhuman resources].

others are deliberate references to specific characters or historical figures, which make sense within the story i'm telling. romilda vane's sister in one year in every ten is named harriet, after peter wimsey's love interest in the detective novels by dorothy l. sayers, harry's colleague ngaio marsh is named for the crime writer; one of percy's colleagues in subluxation, who has also fallen under rodolphus' spell, is named clarice starling.

for the rest, i try to follow the naming principles we see in canon:

charactonyms: several people on the list of men in the pub brawl voldemort mentions in chapter six of scylla and charybdis have names meaning "thief"; several characters in dum spiro spero have names which reference "hope"; the owner of the owl emporium in one year in every ten is archimedes bubo, after merlin's owl in the sword in the stone and the latin word for owl; any healer i write has a name which references medicine and/or the body - edwin rheum, mariarita patella, david lancet; the head of the vampire liaison office in subluxation is named theophania westenra

unusual first names with common surnames: sekhmet mulholland, fungibus mcguinness, themistius selwyn

historical names: unusual anglo-norman surnames [anquetil, vavasour]; arthurian names [leodegrance tremblay]; the deities and mythological figures of various ancient societies [meretseger montague, sandraudiga rowle, autonoë dashwood-brandon]; notorious historical figures [romulus augustulus lestrange, for the last, and worst, roman emperor]

names which make clear the person in question is irish: philomena cole, aloysius milmo

and really leaning into names which just feel enjoyable to read and to say: bohemond kneebone, edith scrying-glass, reginald chive, mick quicke, seraphina holliday etc.

or, more succinctly, canon has great fun with names, and i think we should take that for ourselves.

[skyfallscotland]

A year ago today, I posted the first chapter on AO3 of a story called Fury.

A few months before that, I'd picked up A Court of Thorns & Roses. It was the first original work I'd read in years and when I finished Silver Flames a week later, I turned back to AO3, desperate to read more about these characters I'd fallen in love with. I couldn't find what I wanted. Feysand fic was all well and good, but there wasn't much of that, and Azriel didn't appeal to me, which ruled out...well, most of the archive.

Original character fic gets a bad rap and that's mostly because OC fic can often be an author's first foray into fandom and writing in general, making the quality hit and miss, but that's what I really wanted in the end—I wanted to read about other characters in this world and I wanted to flesh out the world itself. I had questions about Windhaven, about siphons and magic and all the things that had been mentioned and glossed over. I couldn't find fic that answered those questions. So I wrote one.

I'd written before, basically my whole life, but never finished anything. This time though, it was like something clicked in my brain. I wasn't back on Tumblr yet and I had no one to talk to about it, but I wrote and wrote and wrote. I'd been writing for months, in secret, not telling a single soul. I'd completely written both Fury and Siren, the second in the series, before ever posting a word of it.

I almost didn't write it, really. Almost didn't post it. I figured no one was going to read it with the way people look down on original character fic. But I felt compelled to write their stories, so I did—night after night. I actually think they might be the best stories I've ever written. The statistics don't reflect that, but I didn't have a storyline to follow, a framework to back me up, like I did later with Remi's Version, just a world and some characters and I'm very proud of them.

Remi's Version came after. I'd started writing it by September, but didn't start posting it until late October (that anniversary is next week) and I almost didn't write that either, because I thought maybe it was too much, too self-indulgent, too unbalanced. It's funny to think now, that I almost never wrote her at all.

I don't know why I'm writing this essay. Maybe just because it feels...some kind of way, you know? It's been a year, but that year felt like a decade, and it's been hard. Picking up ACOTAR was an act of self-preservation when I was at my lowest and Fury and Siren and everything that came after pulled me from somewhere I never want to be again.

It's been a year. My word count on AO3 is now 1,088,097. (That's like, twelve novels!). I've published 11 works. I've written a lot, I've laughed and cried and made friends with so many of you. I'm alive.

I guess I just wanted to say thanks, and to mark the milestone somehow because it feels like I've lived ten lives since October 17th, and in all of them, this was the high point. Happy Birthday, Tessa 🖤

[boyincel]

DATE WITH DEATH

hi :3 I wanted to finally publicly share somewhere a little passion project of mine!

date with death is a fictional slasher franchise invented by me! I’ve never really considered it to be an oc universe, more like movies that existed in an alternate universe, so it is meant to be as period accurate/realistic as possible. it has a tiny fandom of my friends but is always open to more members :) under the cut I’ll talk more about it and my plans. I will be talking about it like it exists so mild warning for unreality if that kind of thing bothers you

If you have any questions PLEASE ask away

date with death has three films, date with death (1995), date with death 2: summer break (1997), date with death 3: school reunion (2005).

the films revolve around a masked killer with no name, but sometimes referred to as john doe or nicknamed masky, as he wears a prom suit and a white bird/plague masquerade mask. in the films, masky stalks and picks off various popular teenagers in cliques in a twisted display of love

date with death: in the days leading up to prom in a small town, teenagers in a popular clique are getting mysteriously picked off, their bodies displayed in strange and grotesque ways. as the teens fight amongst themselves, revealing petty rivalries and secrets, can they come to their senses in time to make it to prom, or will the killer find his perfect prom date?

date with death: summer break: gracie returns to her old town to take care of her ill mother over summer break, and with the killer dead there should be no threat, right? when more murders begin, gracie tries to leave, but finds herself stranded. will she be able to face her past at the biggest party the teens of the town have to offer, or will her killer return to take her as his prom queen?

date with death: school reunion: past memories bring gracie back to her highschool for the ten year school reunion. despite living a peaceful life now, her old friends missing at the event stir up former fears, and that night she goes to dig up the killer’s grave just to make sure. to her horror, it’s empty. the killer is back, and he’s picking off all the popular, bitchy, self absorbed no-longer-teens he missed the first time around. will gracie finally escape the killer from her past, or will it be til death that they part?

some other stuff!!!

the DWD franchise also has a graphic novel based around april fools and one based around valentines day. i have various trivia about the behind the scenes of the films and also about the fandom surrounding the movies. I have details about all the characters in the first movie and the actors that play them, and some details about the songs in the film (more notably, I think we’re alone now by Tiffany plays in an iconic scene in the first film)

future plans!

I really want to write up actual full film scripts off the films and potentially novel adaptations since the full plots exist only in my brain right now! I wanna draw thumbnails of shots I have in my brain and I have a film nerd boyfriend who wants to help me with some photography and short segments of filming! I doubt I’ll ever create it fully in the way that it is in my head but it’s an ongoing dream of mine :)

I’ll elaborate more on this if asked!! I may post random stuff on this blog like it exists so uhhh yeah! feel free to join the date with death fandom!!!!!

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 20/? Word count: 2858 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 18. Statement

"Buongiorno," Charles greeted his colleagues when he entered the engineer's truck. His eyes scanned the people who had already sat on their spots. He missed one person, but she must be getting some tea or coffee.

His colleagues greeted him back. Charles sat down in his designated spot next to Matilde, who usually would sit at the head of the long table. It would give her an overview of the team. Charles noticed how her seat was untouched, her notebook and laptop weren't there, just like the tangerine she always ate every morning. It had only happened once that she was late and that was on her first day. It became normal to arrive and see Matilde already sitting there. She was the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Carlos entered the room. "Sorry for being late. There are so many fans out there," he apologised. He sat down across from Charles. He looked at Matilde's spot. "Where's Matilde?" He was surprised.

"Late," an engineer replied.

"Oh. Weird."

Even though the meeting had to begin when Carlos entered the room, people were still busy with preparations. Some didn't mind having a few extra minutes, but it was unusual.

Ten minutes had passed the designated starting time and Matilde was still nowhere to be seen. Members started to exchange puzzled glances. Even if Matildle was a minute late, she would tell someone about it. Her being ten minutes late already, was not right.

"Did someone try to call Matilde yet?" one of the engineers finally suggested.

"I already tried. No answer," someone else answered.

"And Galileo? Did someone try to contact him?"

"Shouldn't we just begin? We need to get this done before we run out of time."

"No, let's just wait for a bit longer. She must be on her way," another voice chimed in, hope lingering in the words.

"I texted Galileo," someone else mentioned.

Just seconds after that, Galileo and Silvia entered the room. Their presence alone was enough to signal that something was amiss. The usual smiles were absent, replaced by expressions of concern. They were never at a briefing like this.

"Can I get everyone's attention, please," Galileo's voice cut through the room, making sure everyone stopped with whatever they were doing. He took a moment to survey the room. "As you have noticed, we are missing the team principal today. Matilde will not be present today, tomorrow, and Sunday," he announced, causing eyebrows to raise in collective surprise. She had never missed one day of work.

A murmur of questions and confusion rippled through the room. Carlos, unable to contain his worry, spoke up first. "What? Why? What happened?"

"We are only allowed to share with the team that Matilde is hospitalised for a personal reason," Galileo responded somberly.

More questions were being asked about the situation.

"Her family has kindly requested that we not contact Matilde until she reaches out to us herself. We will not have a replacement for this weekend, so we must do it together."

Silvia nodded in agreement, her usual vibrant energy subdued. "We will publish a statement in a moment, written by Matilde's family. Charles and Carlos, when talking to the media or someone else who asks about it, you will say she will not be here at the track until further explanation. There will probably get some fuzz around it, let them be, but don't say anything about the hospital. Galileo and I are informed about the situation, but the media doesn't have to know it yet. They asked not to share it because they are still waiting on some results and do not want to share it yet. But do know that she is fine and not in a life-threatening situation. It is a private matter and for you, a team matter. For your further information, Christian Horner and Toto Wolff were there when it happened, but they have also been requested not to share anything with anyone. For now, that is all we know and all we can share. When we get an update, you will be the first to know about it. For questions about it, you know where to find me."

A sense of collective shock settled over the room, the usual camaraderie replaced by an atmosphere of uncertainty. The team members were left with more questions than answers, their concern for Matilde was palpable.

"May I ask why Matilde's family is in control of all the communications? Just curious to know..." one team member ventured, voicing the questions that echoed in the minds of many.

Silvia exchanged a glance with Galileo before responding. "Matilde's family is handling the situation because they value their privacy, and we respect that. Matilde's brother is a press officer and will be dealing with this for now. Let's focus on the tasks at hand and wish Matilde a swift recovery. Updates will follow when we have them."

"We do have a card, so if you would like to write something down, please, do it," Galileo mentioned and gave a massive 'Get Well Soon' card to Charles.

"Can it be stress?" Charles worriedly asked. He knew he had created a lot of fuzz and stress last week. He was worried this could be his fault.

"That's something we cannot share, Charles," Silvia weakly smiled.

He silently gasped for air; he had caused this. Fear flickered in his eyes. "Okay," Charles mumbled and opened the card. As he grabbed a pen, his mind became blank. He stared at the empty card, processing the situation.

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of the unknown casting a shadow over what should have been a routine morning briefing. The Silverstone weekend had begun under a cloud of uncertainty, and the Scuderia Ferrari team found themselves navigating uncharted territory without their leader.

- press statement -

Official Statement from the Family of Matilde Jørgensen and Scuderia Ferrari

Dear Scuderia Ferrari and Formula 1 Fans,

We want to inform you that Matilde has been admitted to the hospital for a medical concern that requires some attention. We want to assure everyone that she is currently stable and receiving the necessary medical care. We understand the desire for more details, but we kindly request your understanding and respect for our family's privacy during this sensitive time.

At this time, Matilde needs some space for rest and recovery. Consequently, she will not be present for the upcoming weekend, and we appreciate your understanding regarding her absence. The medical team is taking good care of her, and we are hopeful for a swift and smooth recovery.

As always, we are grateful for Matilde's support and love from the Ferrari family, the Formula 1 community, and fans worldwide. We kindly request respect for our privacy during this period and will keep you updated as necessary.

Thank you for your understanding and warm wishes.

Sincerely,

The Jørgensen Family and Scuderia Ferrari

* * *

It didn't stay unnoticed that there was one team principal missing during the Friday at Silverstone. The news travelled fast through the paddock and beyond. As the morning unfolded, whispers of concern reverberated through the media centre, press rooms and social media platforms. The press release from the family and team confirmed some of the rumours, and photos and videos that were taken last evening - a few fans spotted the rushing ambulance leaving the paddock in the evening, causing so many rumours - but it was Matilde who was taken to the hospital.

Reports were exchanging speculative theories about Matilde's sudden absence. Twitter and other social media channels became flooded with questions and speculation because the statement provided minimal details. It confirmed her hospitalisation, but left the reason shrouded in mystery. Fans and media were craving information about the young team principal. The lack of information became a breeding ground for rumours and speculation.

The week began with all its focus on the huge sporting event in the weekend, but it quickly shifted to the missing and hospitalised team principal.

The whispers and speculations reached a crescendo when fans began piecing together the timeline of events. Fans witnessed the fallout back in Spielberg last weekend, could that be a reason for the absence? The realisation that Matilde was taken from the track to the hospital stirred a wave of anxiety among the Ferrari faithful. Concerned messages flooded the team's social media accounts, asking for updates and offering words of support.

The team was just as affected as the fans were. The first free practice was full of mistakes, especially by Charles. He was distracted and that was noticeable; messy mistakes in the corners, delayed reactions and the times were off. He blamed himself for Matilde's absence and it weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had been a pain in the arse to her, he gave her a hard time. What if he went too far?

Throughout the entire day, he kept reading the speculations on social media. He didn't know what kind of impact it had on the fans, but it was probably caused by the not-saying-much press release.

Tweets:

"MATILDE IS HOSPITALISED??? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER???"

"Just heard a theory about Matilde's absence at Silverstone - some say it might be stress-related burnout. Hoping for her speedy recovery!!!"

"Heard some dark whispers about Matilde leaving due to internal team clashes. It might be the reason why Matilde collapsed during the team principal's meeting. Hope it's just wild speculation!"

"Ferrari is no good to their team principles. Maybe Matilde collapsed due to all the fights within the team. Everyone does what they want to do in the team. What is going on?!"

Nobody in the team was aware of a sudden departure, but to Charles, it kinda wouldn't be a surprise after the way everyone treated her, including him. Gossip travelled fast through the paddock and over the internet, just like wild theories.

However, the day continued and Charles still had to see the media after the free practices.

"Charles, tough day out there on the track. Can you walk us through your day and the challenges you faced?" F1TV asked.

"Yeah, it was a bit of a tricky one today. We struggled a bit with the balance of the car during the first practice. We were trying some new setups, and it didn't go as smoothly as we hoped." Charles honestly replied and looked around while talking, he never looked the interviewer in the eyes during the interview. "The car felt a bit unpredictable, especially through the high-speed corners. But we have collected enough data, so we will work on it."

The interviewer nodded. "We saw during the second practice that you improved some runs. It seemed like you had it under control."

"Yes, we made some adjustments and it did feel better, but we're still not where we want to be," Charles replied. He was glad the man was only asking about the practices. It felt like he finally could answer properly and think about something else. "We are working hard to analyse the data and find some solutions for tomorrow, for qualifying, and of course, for Sunday." He showed a brief, but promising smile.

"The world is all thinking of Matilde's absence, did it have any impact on the team's performances today?"

Cheered too soon. "Well, it's certainly a bit different not having Matilde around. We all miss her, and I think it's been a bit of a challenge for everyone."

"Fans are speculating about Matilde's situation. Some say it's a reaction to your clash last week in Spielberg, that it caused her to be overstressed and perhaps even burnout. We've seen quite some moments that didn't go smoothly between her and the team. Do you have anything to say to that?"

Charles took a deep breath, recollecting his thoughts. "Uh... I wish I could provide more information, but honestly, I don't have my details. Matilde's family and the team have asked for privacy, and we respect that. All I can say is that we're sending our best wishes her way, and we hope to have her back with us soon," he replied. It was a scripted response, he had to learn that from Silvia and so far, it worked well. "But," he said before the reporter would ask his next question. Charles wanted to share that they made it up. He didn't have the chance to say it to anyone. "About the situation in Spielberg, we talked about it, and we're fine. I also spoke to Carlos and Max, we're all fine now. It was an unfortunate moment, and I'm not proud of it, but we have to look ahead of us, not behind us."

"Thank you for sharing this, Charles. We wish Matilde the best, and we hope to see her soon again."

"Thank you," Charles nodded and returned to the Ferrari hospitality.

"You didn't have to say the last part," the press officer mentioned.

"I wanted to."

The entire team made themselves ready for the debrief again. The engineers were already sharing some points with each other, others were enjoying an espresso, and some people were scrolling through special media.

"Guys," one of the engineers said. "There's a tweet going around that Matilde collapsed due to an addiction issue."

Silence fell in the room, and looks were shared. It was like someone pressed the pause button, no one was moving or saying anything.

"I heard a reporter say that the hospitalisation is linked to high blood pressure due to an unconfirmed pregnancy," someone else added.

Charles sat down on his chair, he was lost in the sea of rumours, the uncertainty gnawing at him.

One of the engineers noticed the unease in the room and took charge. "Alright, people, let's focus. For whatever reason Matilde is hospitalised, it still doesn't change the fact that we will support her. Whatever is circulating out there, is just speculation. We will hear from her once she is ready. But we have a job to do, and that's what we'll do now."

Everyone shifted their attention back to the technical details, the debriefing starting, but Charles remained distracted. The rumours circulating about Matilde's conduction were like a storm in his mind, each one more unsettling than the last. As the debrief continued, Charles had ups and downs regarding his concentration. When he needed to be focused, he was focused, but when it wasn't about him, his mind drifted away.

Luckily for Charles, the debrief came to an end quickly. He had to find Max, perhaps he knew something more about Matilde. He walked to the Red Bull's hospitality like he had one goal and one goal only.

"What are you doing here?" Max confusedly asked, he was walking around with his dinner, trying to find a spot to eat.

"Matilde... Do you know if she's okay?"

Max glanced around, making sure no one was in earshot. He signed to Charles that he could enter the cafeteria. They sat down in the corner of the area, where they had some privacy. "I don't have all the details, mate. But from what I've heard, it's serious enough that they're keeping it all under wraps. Toto and Christian were there when it happened, but even they are tight-lipped."

"But you are close to her..."

"I tried to call her, but her brother picked up the phone, not giving much information."

Charles felt a lump in his throat. "What do you think happened?"

"No idea. But you know Matilde, she's tough. She'll pull through."

Charles nodded, trying to hide the worry etched on his face. "But all those rumours," he breathed. "Stress, burnout, depression, clashes in the team. Maybe I'm the cause, maybe I pushed her to the limit and now she collapsed because I am a dickhead. And the rumours about an addiction, or unconfirmed pregnancy. I even heard that she had a miscarriage because of the stress I give her." He looked and sounded hopeless, a side Max hadn't seen of him yet.

"Don't blame yourself for things you don't know," Max replied.

"I just can't shake off this feeling that I could've done something differently."

"We all have those moments. But right now, she needs our support. If there's anything you can do, it's to stay focused on the race, keep the team together, and give her the strength she needs when she comes back."

Charles looked at Max, making eye contact, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and distress. "I hope she comes back."

"She will." Max observed Charles' body language. Charles had a hard time hiding his emotions, and the situation was taking a personal toll on him. Max could see that Charles genuinely cared about Matilde, and the worry for her well-being weighed heavily on his shoulders. It was a stupid thought, but perhaps that was the reason why Charles couldn't get along with Matilde.

"You care about her, don't you?" Max asked, his tone gentle.

Charles sighed, not attempting to mask his emotions. "Yeah, I do," he whispered, running his hand through his hair. "More than I probably should, given our position. She's my team principal. The entire team is, was, shocked, but they can handle it. I...I just can't stop thinking about the things I've done to her."

"She'll be fine. And none of this is your fault."

Next chapter

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc

[eroscomet]

Echoes of the Past

Chapter one- The Unexpected Hour

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Paring: Wednesday Addams X Fem!OC

Context: During her winter break, Wednesday Addams notices a strange girl entering the empty house next door, claiming it as her own. Intrigued, Wednesday confronts her, only to uncover eerie inconsistencies in the girl's story that hint at something far beyond the ordinary. As the girl’s strange familiarity with the house clashes with Wednesday’s reality, a chilling mystery unfolds, leaving Wednesday to question what forces might be at play.

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Word count: 2.3k+

A/N: Hey lovelies, it has been a while since I have been active. I made a different post somewhat explaining why. I am back though and ready to write! While I was gone, I got more ideas of different stories! Let me know what you guys think! This will definitely be a series and I hope you guys like where this one goes. I think this will be a bit of a slow burn.

Not proof read

╰┈➤Series Masterlist

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Nevermore had gone on their Christmas break, meaning Wednesday was back home in the Addams' manor with her family. The original Addams manor was known to be alone atop a hill, secluded from all those who were anywhere near normal. Alas, Gomez and Morticia felt that it was time for a scenery change, so they had moved when Wednesday was about ten years old, long before she had been sent to Nevermore.

This manor was just as brooding and perfect for the family. They had accommodated to the home quickly as their last. They familiarized themselves with their neighbors, though they wanted nothing to do with the strange family. All but their neighbors next door, the Walters. They were an old couple who didn't know much about what was going on around them half of the time. This made them almost as strange to the neighborhood as the Addams. The Addams were most friendly to the Walters over the years as they had been just as kind to them since the beginning. 

Wednesday found that winter break was the perfect time to catch up on her writing, especially since her family knows not to bother her during this writing time. She spends her time in her room using her typewriter to finish her novel. Feeling like she could never finish it at Nevermore due to Enid's constant need to express herself on the form. Whether it be music, talking, inviting people over to their dorm, or gossiping, Wednesday had found it exceedingly difficult to focus on her work.

Again, like any other day, she was writing. She always had her desk in front of her window to peer out every once in a while. As she was typing away on her typewriter today, something had caught her eye. A girl? Wearing odd clothing that seemed far too old-fashioned for these times. Wearing a white collared shirt that seemed to be a button-up shirt, a black tie with a v-neck dark green colored jumper, a pair of black pleated pants, accompanied by a pair of black boots, and a black leather jacket. 

The girl wiped her hands on her trousers as if she had just jumped the fence that guarded Walter's home. Her boots made a trail of shoe prints in the snow, almost as if she had come out of the woods behind the home. Wednesday, never in her time in the neighborhood, had seen or heard of the Walters having a daughter. They had only ever said they never had children and couldn't have them even if they wanted. Given that, the Walters were out on a Christmas vacation, and they had been for over a week now. 

They don't have any pets that need tending to... Then who was this? A vandal? A thief? Is someone coming to rob the poor old couple's home? Wednesday's thoughts were cut off by the girl reaching the opening in the backdoor that seemingly was left unlocked by the couple. Just then, the girl had disappeared into the home, out of visible sight from Wednesday's window.

Her curiosity had been piqued, who was this girl? More than that, what was her purpose in breaking into her family's dear friend's home? Wednesday stopped her writing, closing the lid to her typewriter. Taking another glance out the window to the new 'character' in Walter's residence, narrowing her gaze as she did her best to get a good look at the girl.She glared out the window with her arms crossed while she debated whether or not she ought to investigate.

Her curiosity had gotten the better of her in the end, and after a good moment of thought, she decided to pay the girl a 'visit' next door. Grabbing a coat and slipping out of her bedroom as well as out the manor's back door. As she walked across the snowy grass and swiftly exited the Addam's family manor's backyard through the gate. Her footprints followed behind her on the snow as she followed the girl's footsteps past Walter's back gate. 

"This better be good.." Wednesday had grumbled under her breath as she neared the backdoor of Walter's home.

Surprisingly, when she had turned the knob. The door opened without a hitch. She didn't waste any more time as she walked right in, closing the door behind her. The girl was in the kitchen, back turned from the backdoor, which she didn't realize she left unlocked when she entered. The footprints of her boots on the door's mat. Her eyes had been scanning the kitchen, brows knitted together in a confused state.

"Quite the trespasser, aren't you?" Wednesday's voice broke through the silence of the house. She had taken slow and measured steps toward the girl, a smirk on her face.

The girl had acted quickly, as she heard Wednesday speak up, her hand reaching to grab a knife that was slid inside ofthe rack. She turned around quickly to face Wednesday.

"No, what are you doing in my home?" She said defensively as she pointed the knife towards Wednesday's direction, her eyes scanning over the brooding girl's figure.

Wednesday's eyes flickered down to the knife in the mysterious girl's hand, but she didn't make any effort to back away. Instead, she leaned against the nearest counter, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head to the side with her usually daunting smirk,

"Your home? Don't be ridiculous, you're a burglar."

"This is my home! I just came back from a walk through the woods!" She had said back defensively as she shook her head.

"Look, my other pair of shoes are right by the door!" The hand that held the knife pointed at the kitchen's doorway, nothing there. Her eyes had been trained on Wednesday, not noticing that her shoes weren't there.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to pull, but they're not there. Do you expect me to believe you somehow teleported into your own home, unannounced? No, you're a thief," The Addam's girl said as she pushed herself off the counter, taking a step closer.

The other girl's expression hardened as she looked over by the kitchen doorway, realizing that her shoes weren't there.

"What the..? They were just here!" She said in confusion as she stared at where she knew her shoes had once been.

Wednesday couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she continued to watch the girl look around the kitchen in confusion.

"So... What? Are you claiming that that just vanished into thin air? That's impossible, you and I both know it."

"I live here, I'm telling you!" She replied as she shook her head, putting the knife back into the rack before speaking again,

"Look, if this isn't my house, then how would I know that the living room has a dark green rug and black leather furniture?" She crossed her arms, leaving the kitchen and entering the living room where the rug was instead a red and gold color with an old design, along with brown furniture that wasn't leather.

"What..?" She said in confusion as she looked at the living room. She slowly stepped forward, looking at the living room in utter confusion and shock.

Wednesday, who had followed her into the living room, not far behind her with her arms folded across her chest. A dry laugh that sounded almost like a scoff escaped Wednesday, her suspicions slowly being confirmed.

"I knew it. You're a trespasser, and you're a very bad one at that. No good thief would make such a stupid mistake."

"What the..." The girl had muttered out breathlessly, unable to focus on the words leaving Wednesday's mouth. All she could focus on was the living room that had drastically changed for her. Her eyes searched every inch of the living room.

"Where's my mom's lamp and painting? It was just...here....and so was my father's wrenches that my mom begged for him to put away.." She said as she eyed the coffee table and the room. Her eyes landed on the flat-screened television in the home.

"What the hell is this?" Her hand reached out and continuously pressed on the screen as if something was going tohappen.

The Addam's girl only watched quietly as the girl paced the room, more amused with every second that passed. As the girl looked at the television and tried to interact with it, Wednesday had to bite back a chuckle.

"That's a television... Surely even you know what a television is. What, are from the 1800's?"

"What? Where's the RCA CTC-11? My dad worked overtime just to afford it for the family.." The mysterious girl said as she ran her hand across the television's screen, watching as her hand left a trail across the screen. Her eyebrows only knitted together further into confusion.

"We could never afford something like this.."

"RCA? The television you speak of is very outdated, especially when we have this." Wednesday replied. The girl's confusion was a bit strange, and Wednesday was growing more curious by the second. She could hear the slight hint of disbelief in the girl's voice as her hand had retracted from the television.

"What? How could the RCA be outdated when it's 1964 and the television just came out in 61'? That doesn't make any sense." She said so confidently as if it were true, looking at Wednesday as if she were in the wrong.

Wednesday's eyes had slightly widened for a brief moment, her mouth agape in disbelief. 1964? No, something was wrong with this girl, and the more she spoke, the more Wednesday was beginning to understand. She paused for a moment as if processing the information she just received.

"..1964? You're sure of that?"

"Yes!" The girl exclaimed, looking at Wednesday as if she were crazy, "I was just here! My family was just here!"

"And what year were you born in?" She asked as her eyes darted over the girl's face, searching for any sign of deceit or a hint that she may be lying. But there was nothing. The girl was confused, and she firmly believed what she was saying. Wednesday's curiosity peaked again.

"1947? Why?" The mysterious girl had said in confusion, "Are you the new neighbors or what?" 

"No, I'm not a recent neighbor. We've been living right next door for quite some time now.."

"What? Surely I would have known of you?" Her eyes scanned the brooding girl's figure before returning to her face, "This feels like someone is pulling on my leg. Where did everything go then"

"This is going to sound like a strange question, but just humor me for a minute," Wednesday said as she followed the girl into the kitchen, keeping a few feet of distance between them. "What's your name?"

"Alex Davis- Well, Alexandra, but I always hate when people call me my full name. My family bought this house in 1951." Alex muttered as her hands ran over the new counters, she was utterly confused.

"Alex Davis.." Wednesday repeated to herself as she searched her mind for any remembrance of the name but nothing came to mind, "How old are you, currently?"

"I'm seventeen?" Alex said as she looked out the kitchen window over to the Addams' manor, eyeing it for a moment. "Huh, someone painted the witch's nest. Looks newer than before.."

"I was only gone for a couple of hours." She added as she continued to look at the manor. Wednesday's eyes darted across the girl's body and clothing, taking in every detail. She couldn't recall a time when she had seen someone around here wearing anything like this, let alone someone her age. It was outdated and began to confirm her thoughts.

"A couple of hours. How much time do you usually take on your walks?"

"I don't. I had an argument with my parents and ran out from the back gate and into the woods. Just to cool off for a couple of hours..and now I come back and everything is...gone, replaced.." Alex muttered her eyes darting down at the sink, trying to wrap her head around everything.

"Everything has been replaced?" The Addam's girl repeated as her mind began racing with potential answers for the situation: time travel, magic, a dream. It all sounded unreal but she knew that one thing was for sure, Alex was being genuine.

"This is my house, but everything is just...replaced." Walking back over to the living room once again, reaching down to grab the photo frame on the coffee table. The photo consisted of an old couple, The Walter's, but she hadn't recognized them.

"You're certain you don't know them...? You sure you didn't just run into a different house?" Wednesday asked, her voice still monotone now with a more serious tone to her voice. 

"This is my house!" Alex said now more urgently as she shook her head, her hands now balling up into fists at her sides. 

She quickly began walking upstairs, walking down the hallway, and opening every door. She opened the door that once led to her little sister's room, which was once painted with pink walls, now has grey walls and is an empty guest room. Shaking her head, she angrily walked over to her parent's room, opening the door and only finding, once again, differently painted walls, and now the bedroom belonged to the old couple she saw in the picture downstairs. 

She shook her head again, walking further down the hall to the restroom and slamming the door open. It was also differently painted and looked as if it was an entirely different bathroom. She walked backward, her back hitting the hallway wall as her head began spinning. Her family was no longer there. 

Her mind raced with all kinds of thoughts: Where did they go? Did they leave her behind? Were her parents so upset with her and the argument that they left without saying a word? If so, then why is everything so different all of a sudden? How did these people buy her home and quickly renovate it?

┗━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┛

[factoryfileshorrorseries]

The Factory Files: A Mascot Horror Series . . .

[ 16+ Blog for Gore & Violence — Minors Proceed at your own risk I will not be liable to your choices/actions this is your only warning — No DM’s ESPECIALLY under 18 — Comments / Likes / Reblogs / Asks are Welcome ]

Factory Files Vol. 1-5

Five Nights Before Dawn / Echoed Escape / Infected Within: Breached Archives / Radio Waves / Circus Row

Vol. 1 / Vol. 2 / Vol. 3 / Vol. 4 / Vol. 5

(More info listed in each description, these are the cover arts for each volume)

Series Synopsis . . .

A ten year passion project that has been carefully cared for and curated for the enjoyment of each fandom. An epic story that features the Five Nights at Freddy’s Franchise, Poppy Playtime, My Friendly Neighborhood, and Indigo Park.

Drawing from the lore we hold so dear to our hearts in order to create an epic tale of murder, grief, revenge, and most importantly love. Illustrated and written by yours truly, join me on my adventure as I attempt to write hopefully one of the best crossover fan fictions of all time!

About the Story:

Hello, hello! My name’s @cookiecrumbles52 and welcome to the Factory Files Blog! Down below will be all of the links to our most important posts. Please feel free to leave a like and a comment if you enjoy what you see!

🐻 🐰 🐤 🦊 ☎️

I’ve been working on “Five Nights Before Dawn” since I joined the FNaF’s fandom in middle school. Back then there were a million names and a million ideas that never made it past the notes app on my phone. And really over time it became something amazing when I had the brilliant idea to make a Crossover Au with not one, but three other mascot horror games.

In an attempt to get myself to actually write the dang thing I’ve created this blog to get the hype going as I know many of you fans have been dying for some new content! That being said every now and then you’ll get snippets of what’s actually being written within the descriptions of my sketches, illustrations, and overall dorky doodles.

I try to keep to a normal posting schedule but I won’t promise anything as I’m running several other art blogs, writing & illustrating my own novels, working a part time job, and really just trying to survive life. But I figured since it’s already been ten years I might as well give it another go!

I’m always open to new ideas especially for ongoing projects like Indigo Park, so if you have anything please give me a shout and maybe your ideas will make it into the story!

That being said if it wasn’t for the fanbase I don’t think I’d be typing this all out at 4:33 in the morning. Seeing what people can create out of nothing has always been inspiring to me and every year I try to better myself with what I make so I can pass on what I’ve learned onto newer fans. Keep creating, that’s all I’ve gotta say, because someone somewhere is watching whether you know it or not!

Links:

Meet the Cast

FNaF’s / Poppy Playtime / Indigo Park / My Friendly Neighborhood

Lore Bits:

FNaF’s / Poppy Playtime / Indigo Park / My Friendly Neighborhood

Polls:

Oc’s:

FNaF’s / Poppy Playtime / Indigo Park / My Friendly Neighborhood

Memes:

Story:

Vol. 1: FNBD (FNaF)

Vol. 2: Echoed Escape (Poppy Playtime)

Vol. 3: Infected Within: Breached Archives (FNaF: SB)

Vol. 4: Puppets & Parlors (MFNH)

Vol. 5: Circus Row (IP/FNaF/MFNH/PP)

Writing Scraps:

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME — This is a FNaF’s / PoppyPlaytime / My Friendly Neiborhood / Indigo Park AU, in no way is this canon to any of the OG storylines or Lore. ]