#snowglobe mountain

[humornaut]

Hey, @basil-daisy here.

I just wanted to drop by because there's something that has been eating my insides for a long time and I can't get it out of my head.

I wanna talk about the scenes in Black Space, more precisely the scenes in the Church of Something, both the Sunny route and Omori route, although the Omori route one was really the one that made me think.

Have you ever thought about how the scene where Omori finally finds and "saves" Basil in the Omori route feels strangely like... A wedding?

It's not only the bridal style way Omori catches Basil. It's the way Basil lightly complains about Omori being late, the way they stop as Omori gives Basil his flower crown back and how directly after the act is interrupted by Stranger, who objects the whole "thing". A spectacle a bunch of "guests" witness.

I was always really curious about the church symbolism. For example the way Basil is stuck at the top of the church. I've tried really hard not to think about what usually is in the same place in churches because that comparison is making me die inside, even if it weirdly makes sense (Basil died for your sins U^U).

Besides that we have Sunny's interesting relationship with religion. Mainly that he probably feels insanely guilty. He feels judged by all the religious statues, moreover the snow angels, which are also one of my favourites, don't need to have the game tell us Omori feels judged by them. You feel it just by looking at their eyes.

The fact that Basil is in a church of all places is so telling too. Besides masses churches are known for holding weddings and, well, funerals. And in case of Faraway town's church is has a graveyard right behind it, where Mari lies.

I wonder if the scene in the Omori route is supposed to feel like a wedding but also double as a funeral (considering it marks the end of Stranger and his admittance of defeat that is actually a premonition of Basil's death in real life). It's one of the few scenes between routes that changes drastically and what it represents is absolutely fascinating.

What is really interesting also is that in the Sunny route the scene feels is completely different. It no longer feels like wedding. If anything it is just Basil begging for forgiveness, which does of course ties well with religion. But he's not begging for God's forgiveness, no, he's begging for his best friend's forgiveness.

I imagine this might be another way of showing us that Basil idolises Sunny as well as telling us that Basil feels really bad (what an understatement).

I also question if the Omori route scene is there to mirror the Sweetheart marriage scene somewhat, but I think I would need to dwell a bit more on that to come reach a proper conclusion.

Anyway, I hope you're having a lovely day! 💜

Wow, this is a really good ask! I'm going to break it down into a few different parts.

The Symbolism of the Church of Something

I think you are right on the money in how things go down in the Church of Something in the Omori route. The entire scene does almost play out as a wedding! Not just as a marriage to Headspace Basil, but as a final marriage to Headspace in general. After Sunny moves, whether or not he ever finds out about the fate of the real Basil, he has wholly become Omori. Stranger's objection does represent the last vestige of Sunny's mind trying to stop him from doing this; after all, saving the real Basil is the only loose end that Sunny really feels a responsibility for in a way that he can fix. He may want to see his other friends again, but he doesn't feel guilty for not doing so, because he feels he doesn't deserve it. Basil's a different story, because he knows he did Basil wrong for the selfish reason of protecting himself from his past.

To deepen the significance of this "wedding to Headspace Basil, and with it, a marriage to the concept of Headspace itself", I also want to point out that there is an implication that the end of Black Space in the Sunny route is not an end to the loop of Headspace, which won't happen until Sunny decides to shatter the light bulb on the next night. There is Stranger dialogue in the hub area that makes clear that killing the Basil that has seen the truth in Red Space is something that usually happens, and when you go there, you can find multiple of Basil's bodies littering the area. Instead, it's the Omori route that "breaks the loop of Headspace", via Stranger choosing to attack Sunny for abandoning Basil and the others.

That's not even mentioning the things that happen after this in the Omori route.

The flower crown that Headspace Basil gives to Sunny in the last Headspace Night in the Omori route provides twice as much HEART as the next best charm in that department (with those charms being the the Pretty Bow, a charm tied to Aubrey, and the Tulip Hairstick, a charm tied to Omori). The use of the word "precious" is also used in the Sunny route, in the description for Basil's Photo Album:

All three of these charms are only accessible in the Omori route, as well. The Pretty Bow item is only receivable after defeating Abbi, and is explicitly described as "too flashy for your taste".

Finally, so long as we are talking about weddings in Headspace, there is another thing that we would be remiss not to talk about. To go along with your mention of the Snow Angels (who have another interesting connection that I will go over later), the charm that you get from completing this area is the Wedding Ring.

As I've mentioned before, there are three different charms that allow the wearer to start happy, and they generally have fairly romantic connotations. First is the daisy, which both you and I understand is likely tied to Basil, but also has a romantic connotation due to the context of being a reward for assisting a character acquire a gift for their crush.

The second is one that I would also tie to Basil.

The Heart String is such an interesting little item, and the way it is tied to Basil isn't as immediately obvious as the Daisy. First off, this item is really easy to miss. You have to grab it during the chase section within Humphrey, and you can't go back to grab it afterwards to get it. There is also another item in the same area: the Blender weapon for Hero. This item immediately sets off alarm bells in my head, because smoothies (the only snacks in the list that are made in a blender) are snacks that are pretty clearly tied to Basil. Why make these two items into two of the only completely miss-able items in the game? And it doesn't evade my notice that shortly before Humphrey, where you find these charms, you have the Branch Coral, who makes another connection to Basil using the romantic image of a string.

Finally, the wedding ring is tied to Basil in another way, and that is what's going on in the area that you find it. Obviously, there is a negative association between Headspace Basil and the cold/snow, but there's also the fact that the ascent up Snowglobe Mountain is reminiscent of the leadup to the Church of Something in general, with the stairs and the snow. And regarding the Snow Angels, aside from the religious connotations behind them, there is another neat association. Take a look:

this was pointed out by someone in a discord server that I am in, and I unfortunately do not remember who at this point. Let me know if you see this and want credit!

I would argue that this similarity was intentional, as an older version of the game had White Egret Orchids looking much different, though I can't find a beta picture of Basil's house at this exact moment. These Snow Angels serve much the same purpose as Stranger in this route: being embodiments of Sunny's guilt for abandoning Basil and refusing to take responsibility for his sins. This takes place on the final night before Sunny moves, the same night that the real Basil chooses to end his own life. These are his final thoughts following Sunny into his dreams (whether you take this as literal or figurative).

One last thought on Basil in the Omori route before moving on: the Basil Rush, and how it’s the most explicit the game ever gets about how Sunny imagines his Basil's closeness.

Like, oh my goodness. The TAG photos didn't even need to exist, but they were put in anyway! And a little detail that goes unnoticed a lot, is that the hand-holding TAG photo is one in which Omori has initiated it! I think part of the tragedy of the Omori route is that it is most player's second playthrough (if they ever play it at all) and it is when the idea of Sunny and Basil having romantic feelings for each other starts being implied way heavier than before. Congrats! You got some heavy romantic subtext between the two boys. One of them is dead in the real world because you didn't save him.

Moving on!

The Religious Connotations of Headspace Basil

You didn't want to go into it very heavily, but I will: among other things, Sunny's dreamworld has turned Headspace Basil into a Christ-like figure.

Of course, there is his position in the Church of Something, but that's not all. He constantly wears a Flower Crown (crown of thorns, anyone?). In fact, Omori has to give Basil the Flower Crown back in the very first Black Space area, the Watermelon Area, seemingly as a preface for what's going to be happening with Headspace Basil throughout that portion of the game.

Look at what he says during the hide and seek game:

There's also the fact that in the Sunny route, we are looking at a game that takes place over three days and three nights after Basil disappears from Headspace, which I'm sure I don't have to point out the significance of.

This is a connotation that Sunny is making himself. Basil did not choose to take on Sunny's sins in real life, he expected that they would always be together. It was Sunny that decided to throw the responsibility of both of their sins on Basil, by choosing to forget. Basil will literally die for Sunny's sins in the real world.

Which brings us to the Flower Crown that Basil gifts to Omori after being rescued. Whether Sunny knows it or not, Basil has decided to end his own suffering in the real world. By gifting the flower crown to Omori, Headspace Basil has symbolically indicated that the situation has been reversed. Basil is no longer suffering for Sunny's sins, but Sunny is about to start suffering for Basil's. We are told numerous times throughout the game that Headspace is on its last legs. It's running out of places to hide the truth. We see Black Space leaking through almost everywhere, and the Basil Rush ends in a direct reminder of the day of the incident.

All that is to say, Headspace is seemingly going to fail, and soon. Black Space has grown too strong. If you ask me, it's only a matter of time until news of the real Basil's death has reached Sunny in the real world, and that will be the tipping point. From there on, assuming Sunny even decides to go on after that point, he will be living with the same weight that Basil did for those four years after Sunny left him, and there won't be anyone to save him.

The Sunny Route and Sweetheart's Castle

Finally, you mentioned how the scene goes in the Sunny Route. It should be noted, right after Stranger merges with the version of Basil there is the first time in the entire game that a version of Basil in Sunny's head refers to Sunny exclusively as his best friend, and from that point on, we will see that repeated in Sunny's mind. The room that Omori and Basil fall into prior to Red Space is one that we will see during the truth sequence, but it also appears in the Omori route, in a manner that we should discuss, as it ties into what you said about Sweetheart's Castle being connected. After all, the room that Omori and Basil falls into is the same room that Sweetheart's Castle turns into once you accept the Keeper of the Castle's deal, as I noted in my post about Sweetheart's Castle previously.

Sweetheart herself represents Sunny; both in his quest for presenting a perfect version of himself and his broken understanding of love, both of others and himself. Spaceboy represents the more "Omori" part of him; someone claiming to be above his emotions, but ultimately ruled by them. He even changes his name while he is in a relationship with Sweetheart. From this interpretation, we can extrapolate that their wedding in the castle is a representation of the Omori route's ending, right down to ending up on Snowglobe Mountain.

I also want to point out what happens right after this. You don't immediately just jump on down to the Lost Library. You try to leave, but right before you exit the area, you get the cutscene showing Stranger on the stage, leading you into the hole, meaning you literally need to walk down the aisle of an area explicitly designed for a wedding to follow Stranger into the Lost Library.

Whether or not you interpret Sunny and Basil as having romantic feelings for each other, this seems very symbolic of the fact that accepting and following Stranger (who I have previously described as the individual in which Basil's love of Sunny resides, be it romantic or platonic) is how you get to the truth. It's as if Sweetheart and Spaceboy's wedding represented the ending of Black Space in the Omori route, while what happens right after represents the ending of Black Space in the Sunny route. And like most of the ways Sunny remembers aspects of his history, the library is tied to Basil. Where the real Basil would provide books for Sunny to read, Stranger leads him to an entire library filled with books depicting his memories, both good and bad.

I hope you found all this interesting! I haven't really gotten the chance to talk about these things before, since I haven't really found the motivation to talk about them in their own post before! I hope you have a wonderful day as well! Time to go back to packing for my flight tomorrow!

[spacetodd68]

O' lord of divorce, have you any wisdom you may be able to spare for a mere criminal who broke into your home to ask you this?

climb a mountain if your depressed and be cold. pure. like ice.

[putting-spaceboy-in-places]

put him on the mountain. You know the one

Space Ex Husband is on the mountain.

(SPECIAL GUEST: The Omori kids!)

...oh. oh no. Let's just get him down before Pinkbeard scolds me again..

[neoitem]

[ekholocationn]

inquiry: who is the best character in omori (doesn't have to be main cast)

captain spaceboy

[maeshelix]

So I made this fanart of Omori Mari and now I believe there should be a Summer themed headspace AU

(Art not great but I like how it turned out)

"art not great" the hell it isnt. this art is fucking amazing and you did a great fucking job with it.

and yeah that could be a good au. genuinely dont know how you make headspace more summer since its basically already got the vibes of a giant summer vacation already but i can definitely see that au being good.

[0m0-0m0]

What's your favorite area?

The Vast Forest is quite nice. It’s relaxing.

[mooneln0ne]

-Hiken is back and isn't gonna get rest anytime soon unfortunately due to some brainstorming ideas invading my thoughts!

Regarding the "modern" situation I believe it wouldn't make much of a difference since we've seen that in the manga there's advanced technology but its existence didn't exactly make much of a difference to most villagers except for the den den mushis and some other small creations. Besides having the story set within the canon timeline would make even more interesting, if anything it can be dragged onto adulthood. sunny was just lucky to have Kel and the others to pull him out at the time and his house provided everything but in op universe Ace's gonna have to deal with the guilt for over 10 years.(he's guilty and he knows it) if I had a hand in the plot I'd include some of the whitebeards .

As for the headspace I believe the amount of violence would either be toned down or the damage done can never actually harm a character but tire them out instead (like Luffy bouncing every time he fell or was punched cuz he's rubber and all) as I believe that even the smallest amount of blood would trigger what I call "static distruction". One thing I've always thought about is how would a world crumbling down would look and sound like much less its effect on a person's mentality. I imagine ace shutting down at the smallest peck of blood on a comrade in-battle.then I may as well suggest the _self sacrifice mechanic_ which is pretty self-explanatory. Ace would rather be the first and only one to fall in battle than have his allies and loved ones hurt. Maybe even -protect "character"- but he probably won't have the option to protect himself.

there's still a lot more that awaits you dear creator if you wish we could have a long discussion. I must say I'm quite passionate at doing what I love but it really helps a lot to tell what's on your mind. Let go of the load if you get what I mean.(I've got to go now)

-Hiken bids you farewell for now 😊

Ah I just woke up! I'd say I'd just make two separate versions, one in a moderns setting and the other in the canon timeline so I don't loose anything from it XP

Ace and Sabo dealing guilt for 10 years? Sheesh poor brothers, I really wonder how that would affect their adventures, That Self Sacrifice mechanic is pretty interesting but mostly sad the more I think about it since it implies a lot,, The violence being toned down I think is a nice touch, the headspace battles would probably feel more Silly and Lighthearted I think... Though I'd like to also think the Bosses-- Yamato, Uta, and Law would have some symbolism in the headspace tho... I'm thinking maybe of scenarios where the bosses would act like the negative sides of who Ace sees fit (Idk really I just want to spice things up XD)

I really do wonder how would Ace and Sabo grow up in this version of the au, In the modern version I did plan some important things for them like a few religious themes enhancing the guilt... But this version seems to intrigue me, Feel free to tell me more!

[sorchasolas]

I would like to say i had a wonderful time @ the themepark i was at

Since I’m at a theme park Right Now, i want to share my thoughts on SLA characters in a theme park (like, rollar coster heavy theme park)

Kaladin would absolutely LOVE roller costers (obviously) like tell me he wouldn’t make a mad dash for the biggest ride in the damn park

Shallan, similarly, would love roller costers, but would have a bit of reservations— “kaladin are you sure about this??”— but once she’s on the ride she’s have the time of her LIFE

Adolin absolutely despises Roller costers. He’ll refuse to go on any costers and if Shallan & Kaladin coax him onto one hes not having fun, he shuts his eyes and screams (not in a good way) and literally like sobs and gets all nauseous. (And honestly literally me) Shallan finds it hilarious, Kaladin is concerned (but lowkey amused)

(Dalinar & Navani going on a mellow little love boat ride— Dalinar’s genuinely enjoying it and Navani is the one who built the ride (/hj)

(Szeth & Kaladin going on all the big rides together bc Adolin refuses and Shallan is consoling him)

[theemporium]

[13.2k] the chalet was your home away from home in the festive season. but this year it may become the place you fall in love with the last person you expected. ft my very limited knowledge on how skiing works. (very lazy smut included)

.

Your family had always gone to The Chalet with the Montgomery’s for as long as you could remember. 

One spontaneous ski trip decades ago led your parents to start a tradition that would last through the generations. Every year, both families would fly out to the mountains of France to enjoy the festive season in the homely ski resort called The Chalet. Owned and ran by an elderly couple, it was the kind of place you would see in hallmark movies, or maybe even in a snowglobe. It was a place beyond your greatest winter wonderland dreams and imagination. The Chalet didn’t feel like a real place, and that was why the getaway every Christmas made the holiday so magical. 

It was your home away from home, a safe haven. It was the one place in the world where you could disappear from reality and embrace the isolation from society. 

At least, that was what the three weeks in the ski resort usually felt like. 

And after a year of moving away from home, starting a new job at the bottom of the food chain and dealing with more social circle drama than you ever intended to deal with, you craved nothing more than the simplicity and enjoyment The Chalet had to offer. You needed the break away from your life, a break away from the life you weren’t totally sure you had under control. 

You just wanted your home away from home, and instead when the families arrived at the resort, you were met with crowds of strangers swarming the place like a colony of buzzing, irritating bees. 

“What the hell?” You muttered once you had stepped out of the car, looking at the throng of people lingering outside the main entrance to the resort. 

“Apparently the place is booked out,” your mother noted from somewhere behind you as they began to unpack the bags from the boot of the car. “Madame Blanchet reserved our usual rooms when she started getting more and more bookings.” 

“Since when was this place overbooked?” You commented, a little blunter than intended. But it was hard to mask your surprise. A part of The Chalet’s charm was that it was a small, unknown ski resort hidden amongst the many that were established in the French Mountains. For as long as you could remember—hell, even before that—there hadn’t been more than ten or so families staying at the resort over the Christmas period. 

“Maybe Madame Blanchet finally learnt how to make a website,” a voice remarked from beside you, sounding quite amused by the mass of people, which shouldn’t have really surprised you. 

And just like you expected, you turned your head to find Harper Montgomery grinning widely at the crazy crowd like she was expecting it. She stood beside you with her hands on her hips, something about the bright ski suit looking so out of place, not that she acted as much. Every year, you swore The Chalet wasn’t ready for her and every year you were proven correct. 

“Considering the woman still has a dial phone, I am going to doubt the sudden online advertisement,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe this will be the Christmas we make new friends,” Harper noted, her head tilted to the side and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. “I am pretty sick of Mrs Hartford beating me at scrabble.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Maybe you should stop challenging her then.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Never.” 

“I still don’t get why so many people are waiting outside,” you grumbled as your eyes fell back to the crowd, noticing the way they were buzzing with some sort of excitement. “I don’t even think the lodge has enough rooms for this many people.” 

Harper hummed. “Maybe—”

“OH MY GOD!” 

Your eyes widened in alarm as you turned your head, seeing Evan standing a few feet away from you and Harper. The older Montgomery was gripping his phone, eyes full of adoration and awe as he grinned at his screen like a madman. He let out a high-pitched squeak, catching the attention of both families as they looked at him with varying looks of concern.

The blond finally lifted his head, oblivious to the worried looks as his grin seemingly widened. He thrusted a phone towards you and Harper, almost buzzing in his spot. “He’s here!”

Your brows furrowed together. “What?”

“He’s here!” Evan repeated, just as enthusiastic as the first time. “He is in our ski lodge! He’s here!” 

You still looked equally confused. “Who?” 

“His little man-crush,” Harper noted as she glanced down at his screen. 

“Charles Leclerc!” Evan sighed, almost dreamily as he hugged his phone to his chest. “We are spending Christmas with Charles Leclerc!” 

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pushing past the boy to grab your suitcase so you could finally go check in. “For fuck’s sake, not your little driving guy.” 

“Hey,” Evan frowned. “He’s more than that.” 

“I have to listen to you talk about him for nine months of the year,” you remarked, though even that felt like an understatement. “Christmas is meant to be my free time from your little obsession. We made a deal.”

Evan blanched. “That was before I knew he was here!” 

“And now he’s ruining Christmas,” you grumbled bitterly, letting out a wince when you felt a pinch to your side.

“Don’t be such a grinch,” Harper teased. “Let him be a fanboy and spend his days on the slopes hunting the guy down. Don’t let it ruin your holiday.”

You snorted. “That will be hard when he is talking our ears off about Charles’ pretty green eyes or the way his hair looks after a race.”

“It’s fluffy!” Evan defended. “It’s unreal after a two hour race in a helmet!” 

“Whatever,” you muttered as you patted the boy on the chest as you moved past him. “You have him all to yourself, you won’t see me complaining about it.” 

Evan puffed his chest out. “You just can’t appreciate greatness.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you waved him off. “I’m here to ski and relax. As long as this Charles guy keeps you and his little fanbase far away from me, I don’t care what he does.” There was a pause and Harper gave you a questioning look when she saw the glint in your eyes. “Even if he is overrated.”

Evan’s jaw dropped. “You did not just—”

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” You called out behind you as you grabbed Harper’s hand, dragging her towards the main entrance with you and letting your laughs echo through the reception as the boy swore up and down behind you.

…

You could have said that your resentment towards the Ferrari driver was purely based on how much Evan spoke about him during the racing season, but that would be a lie. 

It had started off that way when the boy finally made it into Formula One. Evan had been a motorsport fanatic from a young age, always eager to ramble away to you and Harper on various championships and seasons neither of you particularly cared about. As you got older, you learned to become more accepting and tolerant of the fact your Sundays would always be hijacked by whatever grand prix was occurring that weekend. 

However, when a young hot shot joined the sport that Evan had been following through the lower leagues, you didn’t realise just how quickly that tolerance would disappear until he was yapping your ear off after every single race. 

And truthfully? You didn’t get it. You didn’t get the sport in general, you didn’t understand what made a driver good or bad, and you didn’t understand the world’s obsession with Charles Leclerc as the years passed. To you, he just seemed like a pretty boy who enjoyed the spotlight of being the face of the sport. To you, he seemed like nothing more than a show pony. 

And no amount of debates and rants from Evan would change that. 

You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to say you hate Charles Leclerc, but you would say you were coming pretty damn close since you arrived at The Chalet.

The Chalet was bustling from the moment you opened your eyes to the moment you fell asleep. Wherever you went, it felt like you were pushing through a crowd to get from point A to point B. And the amount of times you had fans gripping your arm as you walked past, asking you if you had seen the Monegasque driver was starting to make you want to rip your own hair out. 

Yet, despite the buzz around the driver being in the lodge and the amount of fans circling the place through various hours of the day, you had yet to see the boy himself and that was something you were perfectly content with.

You had managed two blissful days before you crossed paths with Charles Leclerc. 

You had been taking too long to get ready so you assured Harper and Evan you would meet them at the slopes, insisting there was no need for them to wait for you. Both Montgomery’s—stubborn as ever—scoffed and told you they would be waiting for you in the lobby instead. 

You had been in a rushed state when you made your way towards the equipment valet, eager to just quickly hand your locker number over and collect your equipment. However, your path seemed to be blocked by a man standing in front of you, nose buried in his phone as he muttered in a language you didn’t quite understand. 

“Excuse me, do you mind if I just—” 

“Fucking hell,” the man swore, causing you to pause and frown at his back. 

You were taken aback, not expecting that response or the scoff that left his lips afterwards. And when he turned around, you were even more shocked when you realised you knew exactly who the rude man was—none other than Charles Leclerc. 

“Look, I appreciate that you are a devoted fan and I am grateful for the support, but I really don’t have time for pictures right now,” Charles continued and, to his credit, did look a little empathetic. Though, that didn’t take away from the underlying hostility in his words. “I am just here to enjoy my break. Please let me do so in peace.” 

You blinked, absolutely flabbergasted by his assumption. “Huh?”

The smile he gave you was almost condescending. “As a fan, I am sure you’d understand that I’d want a few days just free from the media and—”

And it seemed like only then did your brain catch up with the situation. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, I am not a fan,” you stated as bluntly as you could, watching the boy’s face morph into something quite like confusion. As though he genuinely couldn’t compute the fact somebody wasn’t a fan of him. 

“What?”

“I was just trying to get my skis and you were standing in my way like a douche,” you said simply, watching as his brows furrowed closer together. “Which I would have felt bad for calling you before I realised who you were.”

“Who I was,” Charles repeated, still baffled as you pushed past him to do just as you said. 

“Hot shot who thinks everybody who breathes near him cares about who he is,” you supplied, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you now stood before him with your skis in hand. “Have a great day, Charles Leclerc.”

And the boy didn’t get a chance to say anything as you walked away, your mood positively ruined by the time you reached Evan and Harper in the lobby. They took one look at your sour mood and raised their brows in question, but you simply grumbled and waved them off, in no mood to repeat your interaction to Charles’ biggest sympathiser. 

Fortunately for the Montgomery siblings, your mood eased up by lunchtime and you were (mostly) over the whole interaction. 

…

Or at least, you were over the interaction until dinner came around. 

Dinner at The Chalet was like one massive family meal. With a large hall dedicated as the dining area, the Blanchet’s had set it up quite like a buffet system. There were tables of food bordering the room with tables dotted through the middle. Everyone sat on the round tables, in their little families and looking like a picture perfect scene for the final meal of the day. 

So of course your final meal of the day had to be ruined by an arrogant Monegasque who grinned at you like you two were old friends. 

“Ah, you! I’ve been looking for you.”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even realised he was talking to you if it weren’t for the fact the boy had stopped right beside you, practically looming over your shoulder as you tried to help yourself to some macaroni cheese.

You raised your brows, giving the boy a once-over before returning your attention to your plate. 

“Uh, hello,” Charles tried again, his brows furrowing together a little at the cold shoulder you gave him.

“Hi,” you stated simply, not wanting to spend any more moments with the Monegasque than you had to. 

“I wanted to apologise for earlier,” Charles continued, seeing your response as an open invite to a conversation. 

“Do you now?”  

“Yeah,” Charles nodded, a smile making its way onto his face as your sarcastic tone went completely over his head. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—this is my holiday and I had no intention of my location being leaked. I just wanted a break from everything, you know? And I guess the frustrations of being bombarded for the last few days just got to me.” 

And truthfully speaking, a part of you sympathised with the boy. Though his fame reached levels you would never understand, The Chalet was your haven away from everything. It was a place where reality never seemed to touch, a place to escape. You could understand better than anyone what it was like to crave that feeling in your life. 

But just as you opened your mouth to say as much, Charles seemed to remind you exactly why you disliked him in the first place.

“And I just wanted to clear things up with you before the media found out and—” 

“So, you’re only apologising because you don’t want me running to journalists and ruining your image?” You interrupted, catching the boy off-guard as he gaped at you for a few seconds.

“Well, yes, it wouldn’t look good if I was harassing fans,” Charles said.

“But I’m not a fan,” you corrected him, gripping your plate in your hands. “And I certainly don’t care about shattering someone’s image for fifteen seconds of fame, no matter how much of a douche they are.”

Charles frowned. “I—” 

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Charles,” you said, that sickly sweet smile on your face once again as you turned around to find whichever table your family were sitting at. But a hand reached out to softly grip your elbow and you turned to find Charles looking at you with a helpless expression. 

“I am sorry,” Charles said to you, something in his voice that you didn’t really understand. “But I also care about my image. Surely you can understand that.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted as you tried to tug yourself free from his hold. 

Charles opened his mouth to reply, but a louder voice caught the attention of both of you. 

“STORMY! OVER HERE!” 

You felt your face heat up as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Evan sat amongst your family and his own as he waved you down. He had a shit-eating grin on his face (most likely from the fact he used the one nickname that he knew pissed you off more than anything else in front of everyone) and looked like he was about to do more when his gaze shifted to the man beside you. His jaw dropped, a comical expression on his face as he looked between you and Charles Leclerc.

“Stormy?” Charles repeated, looking over at you. 

You ignored his questioning gaze, instead narrowing your eyes at the hand still gripping your elbow. “Can you let me go now or is there more to your shitty apology?”

Charles opened his mouth once again, yet another person interrupted him before he got a chance.

“Charles? What’s taking you so long?”

Your eyes wandered to the girl who saddled up beside him, her expression light until she turned to look at you. Her gaze was calculated, her blue eyes seeming to size you up and something about the all white attire made you wonder if she was really playing into the Ice Queen vibes. 

“Another fan?” She sighed, as though your presence was the biggest inconvenience to her. “Honey, he can take pictures with you after dinner—”

“That’s fine, we’re done here,” you quickly corrected, ignoring the patronising tone in her voice or the way that Charles still looked like he had more to say. “I won’t be bothering either of you anytime soon.” 

You turned on your heels before either one of them had a chance to drag out the interaction any longer than it needed it to be. You weaved through the tables before making your way towards the table your family had chosen, settling yourself in the free seat beside Evan.

“That was Charles Leclerc!” 

You hummed, grabbing your fork as you began to dig in. “Unfortunately so.” 

“Dude, what the hell!” Evan hissed, pinching your side until you let out a small squeak and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

You frowned. “I don’t.”

“You were talking to him for ages!” Evan countered. 

“He was just being a dick,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Plus, that was probably the last time I’ll ever talk to him.” 

Harper snorted. “And you didn’t even get him an autograph.”

“Not that I would ask,” you prefaced before shaking your head. “But I doubt he would have given me one anyways. We…got off on the wrong foot.” 

“It’s Charles Leclerc,” Evan scoffed. “There is no wrong foot.” 

“Keep it in your pants, dickhead,” you teased, lightly pinching his side back in retaliation. “Even if I did get you an autograph, I would have shredded it after the Stormy stunt you just pulled.”

“But that’s your name,” Evan grinned.

“No, it’s what you called me for seven years because you couldn’t remember my name,” you retorted. 

“No, he remembered,” Harper piped in, a grin on her face that scarily matched her brother’s. “But with a temper like yours, Stormy just fits so much better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You both suck and so does Charles Leclerc.” 

“At least wait until dessert before you start insulting Evan’s boyfriend in front of him.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

…

You had expected that was the last time your path would ever cross with Charles Leclerc and, for the most part, it was. 

A few days passed and other than some awkward shared glances in the dining hall, you hadn’t found yourself caught in a conversation with the Ferrari driver after his attempted apology and you were intending to keep it that way until the end of your trip. You were happy to continue on with your holiday, even if you swore you could feel a pair of eyes watching you sometimes. 

However, it seemed like the universe was on a mission to get your hopes up before crumbling them back down again—and this time, it was in the form of another involuntary meeting with the Monegasque. 

You hadn’t even noticed the boy standing a few feet away from you with a group of his friends. You were stood next to Harper, listening to her ramble away as you waited in line for the ski lift to take you to the top of the mountain. It was fairly early, most of the resort residents still enjoying their breakfast inside which meant the queue wasn’t very long. You had been eager to get out on the snow early after being one of the last in the passing days. 

However, whilst you failed to notice the driver, it seemed like Harper had. 

She watched the boy continuously glance over at you, like he was eager to catch your eye. She watched as he slowly shuffled closer, like he was trying to gain the confidence to jump into the conversation. She watched Charles Leclerc act like a hopeless fool, and it was somewhat endearing to witness.

And maybe—just maybe—she was in the mood for some drama that the vacation in the ski resort very rarely gave her. 

You were already settled in your spot when you felt someone shuffling in the seat next to you. You felt the comfort bar come down and you turned with a smile, ready to continue your conversation with your best friend when you realised your best friend was not the person sitting next to you. 

No, it was Charles Leclerc. 

Your head whirled around, finding Harper standing in the queue with a grin on her face. You shot her a look, one that spoke more than a thousand words on just how you felt about her betrayal. However, the girl just laughed and waved you off as the lift began moving and it was far too late to get off. 

Your attention shifted to the boy beside you again, noticing the sheepish expression on his face and you let out a sigh. 

It was fine. Totally fine. The ski lift took around ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. That was hardly anything, practically a blink of an eye if you were being honest. It would be a quick ride up, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him and you could easily ignore him by the time you made your way back down the mountain. It was all going to be so, so fine.

“So, uh, how are you this morning?” 

And suddenly, even a second felt like ten years passing. 

You kept your head facing forward, hoping the boy would catch the hint that you weren’t interested in small talk and would also remain silent. Though, considering the fact he was fidgeting in his seat, you doubted the boy could keep quiet for longer than thirty seconds.

“The weather is great, right?”

Your brows furrowed together. The weather? Really?

“The pancakes were also really good at breakfast this morning. Did you have any?” He continued, only pausing for a moment when he realised you were making a point of not answering him. “Stormy?”

One simple word and that was enough for you to break your silence.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a little harsher than you truly intended but the sentiment remained.

Charles blinked. “You don’t want me to call you your name?”

“It’s not my name,” you replied. 

He blinked again. “But in the dining hall—”

“It’s a nickname—one that Evan likes to wind me up with because he thinks I’m moody,” you explained before realising the boy didn’t really deserve an explanation. Not when you were adamant to keep this conversation short. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I can see where he gets it from,” Charles said with a small snort. 

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

Seeming to realise what he said and just how it sounded out loud, it was almost comical to watch Charles’ lips part before he awkwardly gaped at his previous comment. “Not like that! I just meant—”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you turned to face forwards again, pleading for the lift to somehow reach the top of the mountain already.

“Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I intended this to go,” Charles admitted, almost sounding a bit pained when he said it, as though he wasn’t used to admitting he was wrong. “I wanted to properly apologise. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brushed it off as anything except how you felt.” 

You paused, brows furrowing together as you turned to face him with a curious expression.

Charles blinked. “What?”

“I was just waiting to see if there was a ‘but’ coming,” you confessed.

“No buts,” he assured, pausing for a moment before his cheeks burned pink. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.”

You let out a sigh, wishing that some part of you was suspicious about his apology but you weren’t. He sounded genuine, and as much as you wanted to—and still partially did—believe he was a bit of a pompous prick, you couldn’t fault that his apology seemed sincere.

“I accept your apology,” you said, your voice a little strained before you continued. “And I’m also sorry for being a bit of a bitch.”

Charles’ lips parted. “Oh no, you weren’t—”

“I was a little,” you said, your lips twitching upwards as the boy gave you a nervous smile. “I can assure you I won’t be telling any gossip pages about what an asshole Charles Leclerc is.” 

He actually laughed in response, despite the fact that alone would probably make his PR team bury him six feet under before the next season started. “I appreciate that, Stormy.”

You glowered at the nickname, but it only seemed to make the Monegasque laugh harder. 

…

Despite the exchange of apologies on the ski lift, you expected that to be your last proper interaction with Charles. 

You were also quickly realising that every time—so far—you had assumed as much, you would find yourself face to face with the driver once again. And this time was no different, except it came much earlier than a few days. It happened later that very same day.

You had made your way into the dining hall, grabbing a plate and beginning to survey the large buffet when you felt the warmth of another person standing beside you. You felt a hand brush your arm and turned to find Charles smiling at you. 

“Bonjour, mon ami.” 

You blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “It means—”

“No, I know what it means,” you quickly corrected, shaking your head a little. “I just…didn’t realise we were friends.”

Charles’ brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t we be? I thought we had made up on the ski lift.” 

“Yes but, other than that, we are strangers,” you said to him like it was obvious—and to you, it was. Beyond a few misunderstandings and awkward apologies, the man in front of you was as much a friend to you as any of the other guests in the lodge.

“Well, we can change that now!” He said, and that smile returned to his face. “Turn over a new book or whatever the saying is.” 

Much to your own surprise, you found yourself laughing a little at his response. “Charles, I—”

“STORMY, HURRY UP OR I AM DRINKING YOUR WINE!” 

Both your and Charles’ head snapped over to Evan who was holding a wine glass in each hand, a large smile plastered on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that promised mischief. His hair was still wet from the shower he took before dinner, meaning it was slick back and giving him an almost wannabe Bond villain look. 

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to look at the driver. Only you found Charles still looking in Evan’s direction, something contemplative and almost begrudging in his gaze. 

“You okay?”

Charles turned to face you, and it took a mere second for the glare to disappear and be replaced with his bright smile once again. “Yeah, of course. It seems like you’re wanted elsewhere though.”

“He’s a menace,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes but the fondness was clear in your voice. “I love him even if he’s a pain in the ass.”

Charles only let out a contemplative hum as a goodbye as you headed towards the table where your family and the Montgomery’s were sitting. And maybe if you looked over at him as much as he did with you over the course of the dinner, you would have seen Charles looking a little too bitter every time your eyes were on Evan instead of him.

…

A week had passed in the resort and the Christmas spirit was starting to truly spread as the festive holiday quickly approached. 

Your parents and the Montgomery parents had decided to pass on the slopes, instead choosing to visit infamous glacier caves that had been advertised and talked about by some locals in the lodge. You, Harper and Evan had declined the offer to join them, though the excitement of no parents being around—despite the fact all three of you were firmly in your twenties—seemed to spark a shift in energy in Evan that could only be described as childlike. 

“I have a proposition.” 

Harper already let out a groan, tilting her head back as she did. You couldn’t see her eyes beneath her goggles, but you imagined she was rolling them. “God, no.”

Evan frowned. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“Your ideas are shit,” Harper said to her brother. “And usually dangerous.”

“No, they aren’t,” Evan scoffed.

You shrugged. “You don’t have a great track record, if we are being honest.”

“Whatever,” Evan grumbled before grinning at the two of you. “First two to reach the bottom wins. Sabotaging each other’s run is allowed. Loser has to do the forfeit.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s the forfeit?” 

“Loser has to streak in the snow,” he grinned.

“I am not streaking in the snow,” Harper scoffed.

“Then, you better hope you win,” the older Montgomery countered with a grin. 

And begrudgingly, you and Harper agreed to his childish idea.

It wasn’t the first time a silly competition between the three of you got out of hand, and you truly doubted it would be the last. With no rules set and no parents to even try to intervene, it didn’t take very long before the competition got dirty and the run down the slopes became more chaotic. 

You had been running behind Harper, secure in second place and watching her movements closely to look for any weakness that you could exploit. However, you had failed to realise that Evan—who had been running behind after he almost skied into a group of people—was quickly catching up on you. 

You didn't realise until it was too late.

You let out a noise of surprise when you found the boy right by your side, one that quickly became a series of curses when you realised what he was doing. You tried to move away when you noticed him turning into you, but you were too slow and it only put you in a worse position when his pole lodged itself between your skis. 

He was long gone by the time you tumbled into the snow, cackling loudly as he went. You let out a groan of frustration as you turned until you were lying on your back. You winced a little as you tried to awkwardly scramble up onto your feet in hopes of catching up with the Montgomery siblings, but the second a bit of pressure was placed on your ankle, you were crying out in pain and your ass hit the snow once again.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you sat in the snow, tears welling in your lash line at the shot of pain up your leg. 

“Cherie!” 

You lifted your head when you noticed someone skidding to a stop beside you. You blinked at them in a moment of confusion, but the second they removed their goggles and pulled down their mask, you found Charles—or at least, a very worried and concerned version of him—looking down at you. 

He took you in, noticing the glossy sheen to your eyes before he turned back to look over his shoulder, letting out a string of curse words that you were certain were not in English before his attention returned to you.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Is something broken? Should I call for them to send a helicopter—” 

“Charles,” you quickly interrupted the rambling boy. “I’m fine. I’ve probably just sprained my ankle.” 

“Yeah, because of him,” Charles grumbled, mostly under his breath like he had no real intention for you to hear the snide remark.

“It was a joke,” you waved him off, but that only seemed to upset the boy further.

“A joke?” He repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurt. It’s hardly a funny joke.”

“Charles, calm down.”

The boy just scoffed, shaking his head before he lodged his poles into the snow, keeping them off the main trail before he turned to you and offered his hand. 

You looked at him expectantly. 

“Let me help you get down to the lodge,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. 

“Charles—” You began, but he wasn’t having it.

“No, cherie, I am not going to leave you here when you’re injured and alone,” he said, emphasising the last word in particular as he glanced around, almost like he had to remind you that Harper and Evan were most likely at the bottom of the slope by now. 

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, taking his gloved hand in yours as you allowed him to pull you up, keeping your weight on him with ease. “This doesn’t mean we are friends though, Charles.”

He only grinned at you, the first time he seemed a little more like himself since he stopped to check on you.

“Whatever you want to say, Stormy.”

…

As expected, you had sprained your ankle and were advised to take it easy for the next few days. 

And you were banned from hitting the slopes in fear of making the sprain worse. 

You wanted to be annoyed about the situation—and a small part of you was—but honestly, a few days in the lodge with some peace and quiet seemed like a dream. As much as you loved your family and the Montgomery’s, you needed a break from how loud and giddy and excited they were.

And as the days quickly approached Christmas, it felt like a nice relief to have some time to yourself before the festivities truly took over. 

You had waved them off after breakfast with a smile, teasing them not to miss you too much as they headed towards the slopes. Evan had offered to stay inside with you, even just for today, because of the guilt that he was the one to put you in the position. But you just rolled your eyes, assuring him you were more than happy to sit by the fireplace by the foyer and enjoy a day where you didn’t have to fall flat on your ass in the snow. 

You had been a few chapters into your book, curled up on the couch with your ankle elevated on a pillow with a blanket thrown over you when Charles and his friends made their way downstairs, prepped and ready with the intentions of heading out to the slopes. 

But the boy spotted you and found his feet moving in a different direction. 

“Stormy!”

You lifted your head, unable to even find it in yourself to be annoyed by his constant use of the nickname when he had a pretty smile on his face whenever he said it. He was bundled up in layers, probably on his way to the equipment kiosk before he headed for the lift. He looked comical next to the fire.

“My knight in shining armour,” you greeted, a teasing tilt in your voice but the boy missed it as he took in your appearance. “You look warm.”

“You’re staying in today?” 

You nodded. “Doc’s orders.”

“Alone?” 

You nodded once again. “I told the others they could—”

“I’ll stay with you!”

He said it so quickly that it took you a few seconds before you realised just what he had said. You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re at a ski resort and you don’t want to go skiing?”

“I’ve been skiing every day since I got here,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I can handle not skiing for a day.”

You flashed him a smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” he countered, the words passing his lips with ease.

You hated the way your chest tightened a little at his words. “Oh.”

Charles smiled at your response. 

“Charles, hurry up!” 

You missed the way his brows furrowed together at the voice when you turned to look at the woman standing a few feet away, looking impatient and slightly annoyed. It was the same woman from the other week, the one that looked a little too much like the cold weather personified. You had learnt over the passing days her name was Melanie, but that was about as far as your knowledge on the woman went, other than her clear attitude. 

Charles let out a sigh before he replied, a slightly more strained smile on his face. “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay in the lodge today.”

Melanie frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Charles stated simply, and the repeated words made your chest feel funny again. 

Melanie glanced over at you and then Charles, and then back to you again. Her eyes were narrowed and her glare felt icy, but before she could even think of saying anything, a friend from the group was calling out to her and she had no choice but to join them. 

Charles turned back to you, an easy smile on his lips once again. “So���what’s the plan?” 

You snorted. “To sit here because I’m practically bedbound, unless I want to hobble somewhere.” 

Charles pressed his lips together. “Well, sitting by the fire with no hot chocolate is sacrilege.” 

Your nose scrunched up. “But I don’t have cookies. Hot chocolate by itself isn’t fun without homemade Christmas cookies.”

“Then we will make them,” Charles said.

You rolled your eyes. “And where are we making them? In our rooms with a kettle, tap water and no other ingredients?”

“Please,” Charles said with a scoff, a glint in his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud glint in his eyes. “I am Charles Leclerc. I have my ways.”

You weren’t sure what strings he pulled, who he bribed or just what he blackmailed the lodge owners with, but you were filled with a sort of unease when Charles returned twenty minutes later. He had changed out of his heavy ski gear into a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked insanely cosy. And he had told you that he needed you to close your eyes, to trust him enough to carry you to the destination with a promise that all the drama would be worth it.

He looked so damn proud when he brought you to the lodge’s kitchen with bowls and whisks and ingredients sprawled across the counter—it made that funny feeling in your chest return. 

“How did you manage this?” You asked, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips when he sat you on the counter. 

“I’m Charles Leclerc, I can get anything I want,” he said, and once upon a time, you would have rolled your eyes and thought he was a pompous dick. You still thought he was a little cocky, but it was an endearing trait now. 

You raised your brows. “Do you, Charles Leclerc, know how to bake?”

“Nope,” he said honestly but he was still smiling. “But I am sure I can make something edible with you guiding me.”

“Smooth,” you snorted. “Don’t blame me if they taste like shit.”

As it would turn out, Charles had an overbearing need to be in control of everything. You guessed it came with the lifestyle, the fact his life is always in the palm of his own hands whenever he sat in a car that raced hundreds of miles an hour. However, it seemed like it also extended to the Monegasque ignoring your very clear and correct instructions to do something he insisted was the right way.

“In what fucking world do you need that much sugar?” You remarked, lips parted in shock as you watched the boy add more. 

“They are sugar cookies, cherie, it’s in the name,” Charles retorted.

“That doesn’t mean the batter should be seventy-five percent sugar!” You huffed as you reached over to try and grab the bag of sugar from him. “You are going to make us both diabetic with one of those damn cookies. Don’t you have a diet you are meant to be following?” 

Charles only grinned, a little mischievous. “Yeah but it’s Christmas.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“And you’re bossy,” he countered. 

“And I’m right,” you insisted as you frowned at the batter, wondering if it would be easier to just toss it out and start again. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the ego to handle it.”

“Or your ego can’t handle the challenge,” Charles said, something shining in his eyes like his words had a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. “Tell me you don’t like it.”

You tilted your head a little. “You think you’re the only man to talk back to me, Leclerc?”

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I would like to think I’m the best.” 

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, the way it seemed to surge some sort of competition inside him. You couldn’t help but want to play on his fragile male ego a little more.

“And if I said you weren’t?” You questioned, pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to hide your smirk. 

Charles breathed out of his nose, his jaw clenching a little before he replied. “Then I would say Evan is a lucky man to have you.”

And just like that, your smirk dropped. 

“What?” 

Charles frowned a little. “I would say Evan is a lucky man,” he repeated, the words sounding a little forced as they left his lips. “You two seem like…a great match even if he does leave you abandoned on a ski slope after—”

“Oh my god, no!” You blanched, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you shook your head. “Ew, no! Absolutely not!”

Charles blinked. “Huh?”

“Me and Evan—” You swallowed hard, unable to even get the words out. “It’s not like that between us. I have known him forever, he’s like a brother to me.” 

“Oh,” Charles murmured, taking a few seconds before he grinned. “Oh!” 

“Yeah, oh,” you grumbled.

Charles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “So, you aren’t—”

“Nope.”

“With Evan or anyone?”

“No one.”

“Good.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the giddiness written across his face. If someone told you it was Christmas morning, you would have believed them. “Subtle, Charles.”

“Subtle is my middle name.”

…

The next day, you met Charles by the foyer fireplace, but this time he was prepared with his own book. 

The day after, he was there again but both your books were quickly abandoned as you chatted away. 

The day after that, neither of you bothered to bring your books down. 

Despite your insistence that he should be out on the slopes enjoying his vacation and the downtime he had in between seasons, Charles was adamant that he was doing exactly what he deemed relaxing. And just like he said earlier, Charles Leclerc gets what he wants—and it seemed he wanted to spend his days huddled in the lodge with you. 

Everyone noticed the budding relationship between you and Charles, but nobody said a word. Well, your family and the Montgomery parents didn’t say a word. Harper and Evan on the other hand? They wouldn’t leave you alone.

Harper was cackling at the irony. She was throwing your words back in your face, teasing the way seemed to switch your opinion on the Monegasque driver in the span of a week and looked down right smitten for the boy. She teased you over the fact it took you almost two months before you went on a date with your ex-boyfriend, and here you were having daily fireplace dates with the boy you called an asshole less than a week ago. She was embracing her full right as your best friend to annoy the fuck out of you. 

Evan was a whole other story. The boy looked like a kicked puppy every time you came back from hanging out with Charles, only to tell him you didn’t get him an autograph nor did you bring into the conversation how cool he was or how amazing he was or how he and Charles would totally get on if you introduced them. You didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that up until seventy-two hours ago, Charles didn’t like him through a bizarre assumption.

It had been constant and annoying, but in a way that made your heart feel full because you knew no matter what, at least those two would support every decision you made. Even if they got unbearable during the meal times where Charles would find any excuse to come talk to you. 

Tonight was no different as he approached you with a smile spread across his face and something dangerous and promising shining in his eyes. You were sitting at the table alone whilst everyone else headed towards the tables to fill their plates—yours in Harper’s hand—and you were grateful for the small moment of peace as he leaned down. 

“Missing me already?” You teased. 

He shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “I have a very important message for you.” 

You raised your brows in question. “Oh?” 

Instead of saying anything, the boy just grinned wider and handed you a small piece of paper. You frowned a little at it, looking up at him in confusion but the boy was already taking a few steps away from your table.

“Charles—”

But the boy just winked before turning on his heel, heading back to the table the rest of his friends were sitting at, where they were probably watching the whole interaction even if they tried to make it seem like they weren’t. 

You glanced down at the note in your hand, lips turned downwards as you opened the folded paper. It baffled you that he couldn’t just say what he had written down, but another part of you warmed a little at the idea that he had taken the time to write the note and go through with it—regardless of it being a bit silly. 

You couldn’t bite back your smile when you read the note. 

meet me @ midnight. my room number is 161. wear something cosy :) 

You snorted, shaking your head as every cell in your body thrummed in excitement to meet the boy you once hated later that night. 

…

“The note was cute, but I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just ask me to hang out.” 

“Because that’s not fun.”

“You just handed me the note, that’s hardly any different.”

“It was like a real life text, cherie. It’s how they used to do it back in the day.”

You snorted in response. 

You had listened to his advice, deciding that a hoodie and pyjama bottoms were the way to go as you snuck up to the floor he was staying at. Your knuckles had barely grazed the door before it was yanked open, a grinning boy on the other side. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair pushed back with a bandana and a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before he was dragging you inside.

It should have been obvious that Charles Leclerc of all people would have a suite but truthfully, you hadn’t even realised the lodge had master suites as big as this one. But it did. And it was huge. And you expected nothing less for the Monegasque. 

There were multiple different rooms that veered off the large living room: one that was furnished with a massive tv, soft plush sofas and a large fireplace that looked like it was straight out the front of a Christmas card. Surprisingly, it was decorated for the festive season with even a tree settled in the corner between the armchairs. It felt homely. It felt perfect for this midnight meeting. 

However, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before he was dragging you out onto the balcony. There was a loveseat set up with pillows and blankets, and a small table set with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies (ones he assured you he had the chef make fresh). 

“I never took you to be so traditional,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as a light breeze hit you. “But I guess you have to make do since you haven’t even asked for my number.”

Charles raised his brows. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and ask for it?” 

“Subtle is my middle name,” you retorted, his own repeated words thrown back in his face but they seemed to light a spark inside him. 

Charles’ eyes dropped to your lips for a few passing beats before they returned to your eyes, and you saw everything written in them. This was different to the days you had spent down in the foyer. Everyone could see you both. You could see everyone. It was public and out in the open and exposed. 

But here?

It was just you and him and the pretty night sky that shone and glittered with stars. You were away from the world, from reality. You were away from your family and friends. You were away from peering eyes and judgemental looks. You were in a bubble you never wanted to leave, huddled in thick wool blankets and desperately hoping he would close the minimal distance between you both. 

His lips were a hairbreadth away from brushing against yours when another breeze caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that momentarily jolted you away from him.

“You’re cold,” he noted, though it was pretty obvious when you two were both outside in minimal layers. “Let’s get inside. We can warm up by the fire.”

And a part of you wanted to scream off the balcony into the French Mountains when he stood up, when the moment broke and his lips weren’t against yours. But as angry as you wanted to be, you were grateful when he guided you to sit in front of the fire as he added more wood to the dying embers.

His thigh was brushing against yours when he settled into the spot beside you on the floor, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold as he grinned at you before holding his hands out to the fire. You laughed, following suit and the conversation from moments before the almost-kiss returned. 

However, minutes passed and your body was still racked with small shivers that Charles quickly picked up on.

“C’mere,” he murmured as he lifted his arm, giving you little time to dispute (not that you were going to) as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side.

You didn’t think about it too much as you buried yourself into his embrace, as you pressed your cheek into his hoodie and enjoyed the way his hand seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever he touched. 

“If I get hypothermia and die, I’m coming back to haunt you and your sugar cookies,” you grumbled, though it was lighthearted as you pressed your nose further into the fabric of his hoodie. 

His chest shook underneath you as he laughed and tightened his hold on you. “I would never let anything happen to you, Stormy.”

“You and that stupid nickname,” you said as you let out a long sigh. “You know my actual name now. You have no excuse to use it.”

“Yeah, but it suits you,” Charles retorted, letting out a small noise of surprise when your cold fingers pinched his side. “Plus, you get this…uh, what’s the word…cute look on your face when you’re angry.” 

Your head snapped up to glare at him. “I don’t look cute when I’m angry.”

His face brightened. “Yes! That face! C’est mignon!"

Your eyes narrowed further. “Don’t pull the cute French card, it’s not gonna help you.”

“You think my French is cute?” Charles replied, his laugh echoing through the suite as you rolled your eyes.

“You drivers and your egos,” you grumbled.

“Have a lot of experience with drivers?” Charles questioned, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

You snorted, both of you knowing the answer to that question but you played along. “Maybe I do.” 

His eyes darkened slightly. “What about kissing them?”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc had left you speechless for what felt like the millionth time since you met him.

His gaze was locked on your lips, the crackling of the fire felt like it was booming through the silent room and you were truly wondering if your heart was going to burst through your chest and splat on the floor in front of you both. 

“I can’t say I have much experience in that department,” you admitted once you managed to choke your words out.

His lips twitched upwards. “Would you like some experience, Stormy?” 

You didn’t know if you nodded or if he just took the signs of your flustered, stuttering mess and took mercy on you. You didn’t know if his hand reached to cup your face first or if it was your hand on the nape of his neck instead. You didn’t know if it was you moaning lowly into the kiss when his tongue darted out or if it was him. 

Kissing Charles Leclerc was overwhelming and world-altering and, truthfully, you didn’t think you could even utter your own name if someone asked you at that moment. 

“Merde,” he groaned before he kissed you harder, faster, more passionately. His other hand reached for your waist, those muscles hidden under his baggy hoodie put to good use as he hauled you onto his lap.

Your knees sat on either side of his hips, your ass firmly planted on his lap as the new position allowed you to fully wrap your arms around his neck. The boy’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing and guiding as your hips shifted in his lap as his kisses left you seeking anything he would give you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning for air. But you still wanted more, you sought out to keep hearing those pretty noises he made as your lips trailed down his neck. “So fucking long.”

“You took your time,” you muttered between open-mouthed kisses when his hold tightened as your lips passed a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You hated me for a majority of the time we’ve known each other,” he managed to utter out, his head falling back as your teeth lightly grazed his skin.

“Does it look like I hate you now?” You retorted, something about the back and forth feeling as thrilling and exciting as his fingers fiddling with the hem of your hoodie.

Charles’ eyes caught yours as you lifted your head from his neck, lips red and swollen and fuck, he wanted to kiss you again. “I think I need a little more convincing.”

“Yeah?” You watched as he nodded, a little too eager but it made your stomach twist in the best way possible. “Well, you did promise to keep me warm.”

“I did,” he murmured, his voice a little rough and husky.

“Warm me up, Leclerc,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him again, his hands squeezing your waist before your lips even touched. “And then I’ll decide if I hate you still.”

A choked noise of surprise left your lips when Charles suddenly moved. You were no longer sitting on his lap, but instead had been laid back on the floor with the boy now hovering over you. He flashed you a smile, one twisted with promises that made your chest feel tight.

You waited for him to lean down and kiss you again. You waited to feel his heated touch on your body. You waited for him to finally slide his hands under the fabric of your hoodie, to feel his fingers along your bare skin. 

But instead, he just looked at you with so much fondness in his eyes.

“What?” You questioned, and suddenly the idea of being naked underneath him was no longer the most exposed you felt.

“Nothing,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Just…wanted to make sure.”

Your brows furrowed together. “Of what?���

“That you’re okay with this,” Charles said as he finally lifted his hand, as he let his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. You could feel your skin heating up underneath his touch. “I want you to know that I’m happy to just talk. I don’t want you to think I just invited you here to—”

“Charles,” you interrupted, and the boy fell quiet as his cheeks flushed pink. “I want to.”

He tried to bite back his smile. “Yeah?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah.”

And despite the reassurance and despite the heat in your body that just wanted to throw your legs over the boy and ride him until the sun came up, Charles Leclerc was nothing, if not a gentleman. And something about that made it so much hotter. 

His touch was always so confident but gentle. The way his lips pressed against yours, the way his tongue caressed yours as his fingers slowly peeled away the layers of clothes between the two of you. The way he paused to set down pillows and a blanket to make it comfier for you before his fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and discarding them someplace else.

The way you reached down to cup his bulge in his boxers, prepared to slip your hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and stroke the length of him—only to have your hands batted away. You barely got a chance to question him before his kisses silenced you, before they began moving south and you felt his lips on every inch of your exposed skin that he could reach. 

You felt breathless by the time he was between your legs. You felt like your head was spinning with pleasure as he hooked his arms around your thighs and happily settled between them. You felt like you were in some sugar cookie induced dream as you glanced down, catching his eager eyes watching every little move and reaction you made.

The fire was roaring a few feet away, loud and proud and yet, it was his touch and whispered words that made your whole body feel like lava was coursing through your veins. It was the way his tongue swiped and licked your needy pussy, the way his lips wrapped around your clit until your back was arching off the ground. It was the way Charles murmured soft praises as his hands reached out for yours, as he intertwined your fingers and softly squeezed as you came on his tongue once, twice until you felt like a pile of bones. 

It was the way he smiled down at you like his face wasn’t glistening with your release. The way he leaned down to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. It was the way he was fully prepared to leave it there, let you rest, spend the rest of the night listening to the random rants he could coax out of you. 

Charles only let out a surprised noise when you pushed him onto his back, as you straddled him like you fantasised about earlier and reached between your bodies to squeeze his aching cock.

You knew Charles Leclerc was pretty, even in the days where you thought you despised the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was easy on the eyes, that he was gorgeous, that he had one of those faces that didn’t make him feel like he was a real human. 

But he was undoubtedly prettier when you were sinking down on his cock, walls squeezing him as his lips parted to let out a string of curse words in a handful of languages you didn’t speak. 

His hands were all over you, his lips never stopped moving  and all it took was a slight lapse in your tempo as you rocked back and forth for the boy to grip your hips, hold you up with ease and fuck up into you.

You were a puddle on his chest, his lips right beside your ear as he whispered filthy words to you. His hands and kisses were gentle when it felt like you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep inside he was. Charles Leclerc was a fucking enigma that you didn’t ever want to work out. 

And even after he did most of the work, even after he was breathless and flushed and fucked out, you were still the first thing on his mind. Your comfort, your pleasure, just you.

“Cherie,” he murmured softly, the accent seeming a little thicker as he spoke. “We should move to the bed.”

“No,” your words muffled as you nuzzled yourself further into his chest, content where you were with your legs tangled together and your naked bodies pressed together. “I’m comfy here. Beside you.”

“Okay,” was all he said in response as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and pulled the blanket over the both of you before holding you closer—if that was even possible.

…

The first thing you noted when you woke up was how comfortable the ground felt beneath you.

The second thing was that you were no longer on the floor, but on a very comfy bed with a mattress that felt like it was a cloud.

Your hand blindly reached out to your side, expecting to feel a solid, warm body and probably a disgruntled curse from a certain Monegasque, but it never came. Your brows furrowed together, your hand continuing to pat the bed but it felt cold under your touch. 

For a short moment, you wondered if you had dreamt it all. You wondered if it was just a hyper-realistic dream where you swore you could still feel his touch on you, if it was all a part of your imagination. 

And then, from the other side of the door, you heard a voice. 

Your lips unknowingly tilted upwards as you sat up in bed, the sheet falling to your waist as you did. You stretched out your limbs, moving with no real rush as you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—a shirt of Charles’ that rested at your thighs—before making your way towards the door. 

You pushed the door open, expecting to find him lounging on the couch as he talked away to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. You leaned your head out, peeking around to instead finding him on the balcony, the door still open to let his voice and a chilly breeze carry through into the suite.

You contemplated bracing the cold and making your way towards the balcony, to wrap your arms around his waist and settle into the warmth of him as he finished his call. Your hand moved to pull the door open wider, but then the muffled voice became actual words and you froze.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. She never has. Why should I care now?”

You frowned a little. 

“I was doing her a favour, for no other reason.”

Your stomach churned, but you tried to ease your thoughts that were threatening to spiral.

“I’m not going to ever see her again after this trip, what’s the big deal anyways?”

But that? That was your final straw.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed around the room, staying as silent as you could as you redressed yourself. Your head felt like it was spinning, like you couldn’t even keep up with your own thoughts. You wanted to feel angry and spiteful, and maybe you did. 

But most of all, you just felt disappointed. 

In yourself. In the situation. In the man you thought Charles Leclerc was. 

You were fighting down the bile that felt like it was rising up your throat when you finally slipped out of his suite. He was still on the phone, still on the balcony when you left. And he probably wouldn’t even realise you were gone until you were safely back in your own room, where you could let everything hit you at once and let the tears threatening to spill finally fall. 

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe he was that kind of guy, another asshole that you had laid yourself out in front of, only for it to be thrown back in your face. You wanted to believe he was the gentleman you saw, touched and kissed last night. 

But the truth of the matter was that Charles Leclerc was just another name on your list of men who disappointed you, and you didn’t want to see his stupid, perfect face ever again.

…

Charles was absolutely fucking baffled. 

He felt like he was missing a key bit of information in his own life, and no matter how many times he replayed the last week or so in his head, he couldn’t work out what he was doing wrong. 

After a season of disappointing races and a team that played with his strategy like a fucking water balloon being thrown around by a group of toddlers, Charles wanted an escape. He wanted a place away from journalists and fans and everyone who even knew who he was. He just wanted a break from his own life.

The vacation at The Chalet was meant to just be that, but it became so much more.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself again. He felt happy. He was excited for the new year, he was excited for the future, he was excited for what possibly lay ahead of him. He felt like he was in some dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was his reality and he woke up every day eager to know what amazing thing would happen to him—to know what amazing day he would have with you.

But that dream seemed to crumble into pieces when he realised you were ignoring him.

He didn’t try to take it too personally when he headed back into the bedroom that morning, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold weather but eager to spend a few lazy hours with you in between the sheets. He was eager to make you smile and maybe kiss you, maybe do something more.

But disappointment hit his chest when he saw the empty room. 

He just assured himself that you probably had to head back to your room before your family and friends woke up, or maybe you wanted to freshen up. He assured himself he would see you at breakfast and everything would be fine. 

But it wasn’t fine because you weren’t at breakfast. He waited in case you came at the end, but you didn’t. 

He waited for you at the usual spot in the foyer, but you never came.

He waited for you at lunch and dinner too, but you never came. 

The next day, he almost expected the same and was preparing himself to ask one of your friends if you were okay, but he was shocked to find you sitting in your usual place at breakfast. He smiled at you, something in his chest easing as he made a step in your direction, but the dirty glare you sent his way was enough to make him stop in his tracks. 

You didn’t turn up to the foyer that day either but between the dirty looks from you and the fact he was pretty sure Harper tried to trip him up at the coffee stand, he knew something was wrong. 

He just didn’t know what.

And every time he tried to get near you, tried to talk to you, it was a pathetically failed attempt that left that competitive streak inside his chest blaring with annoyance. 

You were ignoring him and he didn’t know why.

And then he saw it, three days after you started ignoring him. He was making his way into the dining hall, having just showered after a day in the slopes his friends dragged him out for, when he saw you and Evan by the buffet. 

Your eyes found his and something in his chest sparked. 

And then his eyes fell to the way your hand rested on Evan’s arm, the way you leaned into him as you laughed, the way Evan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder as you both walked back to your table. He watched as you both sat next to each other, so close your thighs were probably  pressed together under the table and something bitter settled in his stomach. 

He knew he had no real reason to be jealous. Especially between the fact that you yourself had assured him everything between you and Evan was platonic (if not familial) and the fact there was no real talk of anything being between you and himself other than a shitload of chemistry. 

But even logic didn’t stop the jealousy he felt.

His appetite was gone after that, as he turned around and headed back to his suite that felt a little bittersweet after the amazing night and shit morning he had with you. But he wasn’t in the mood to eat or pine for you from a distance. 

Charles was sick and tired of you ignoring him, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. 

And the first step in his plan had everything to do with the blond you were currently laughing and touching. He just needed to get Evan alone.

…

It was Christmas Eve when Charles’ plan finally reached its final step—to finally talk to you.

It felt like an odd sense of deja vu when you woke up that morning, making your way down for breakfast before you got ready for the slopes that day. You thought nothing off the weird looks Evan was giving you or the way he seemed giddier than usual, because truthfully it was no different to how Evan usually was on Christmas Eve. 

You put down his eagerness to head towards the slopes under the assumption he probably had some weird challenge for you and Harper at the top. You just hoped this one wouldn’t result in another sprained ankle. 

“I’m riding with you today, Stormy,” Evan said as the three of you headed towards the ski lift.

“Uh, get in line, loser,” Harper spoke up as she stood on the other side of you. “I called dibs.” 

Evan narrowed his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I did just now,” Harper retorted. 

“Does it really matter?” You questioned, amused as you glanced between the two of them.

“Yes!”

“No!” 

Harper and Evan turned to glare at each other, confusion from one of them and insistence from the other. However, you just laughed and shook your head. 

“Fine, first one to the lift wins!” 

You were already settled in the lift as you heard the two of them bickering to each other. You waited to see which one would win, to see who would settle in the spot next to you. However, what you failed to notice was the way Evan all but threw himself on top of his sister so she couldn’t reach the lift before someone else did. 

You turned, a smile on your face as you waited to greet the winning Montgomery, but instead you found yourself staring at a painfully familiar set of green eyes. 

And in an instant, your smile dropped at the sight of Charles Leclerc sitting next to you. 

But before you could even think about jumping off the lift and taking the next seat, the lift was already too high up for you to do anything about it. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said to break the silence.

But you didn’t respond.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least hear me out,” Charles continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This is all a misunderstanding.” 

You kept your gaze facing forward.

“Evan told me what you thought happened that morning.”

And just like that, your head snapped around to stare at him, a mix of emotions going through you right now—though the biggest was possibly Evan’s betrayal. 

“You weren’t lying when you said he was a big fan,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t actually take much for him to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You used my friend?” You questioned, the bitterness and coldness in your voice evident.

“I asked and he gave me information,” Charles corrected before his shoulders sagged a bit. “Look, don’t blame him. He heard what I had to say and—”

“And I don’t care what you have to say so go talk to Evan about it,” you spat back at him, watching the way he winced at your words.

“Cherie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Stormy—”

“And definitely don’t call me that.”

“Please,” Charles pleaded as he looked at you with wide eyes, ones that held so many emotions you did not want to see. “That phone call was not what you think.” 

You looked away at the mention of the phone call, something quite like anger and disgust bubbling inside you at the mere reminder of the words you heard that morning. “Just…stop it, Charles. I don’t care, okay? You go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”

“No,” he stated simply.

You scoffed. “What? You need another girl in another city to have fawning over you? The hundreds of others not enough?”

“No, because I am not interested in my life not having you in it. I am not interested in a hundred other girls.” The words were stated like they were facts. “Stormy, I just want you.”

You scoffed again but a hand tugging yours made you look over at Charles, fully prepared to pull your hand away. 

“I wasn’t talking about you on the phone that morning,” Charles quickly blurted out before you had a chance to say anything. “Everything you heard on the phone that morning, it wasn’t about you.”

You blinked.

“It was about Melanie.”

Your brows furrowed together, a crease forming between them that Charles had the urge to smooth out with his thumb, but he resisted.

“What?”

“She—” Charles paused for a moment, like he was trying to gather the correct words. “She’s not my friend, not really.”

You blinked again. “She’s not? But she acts—”

“She acts like we are, yes. She’s a friend of a friend, and that’s about all there is to her. She’s…uh, how do you say? She seems to have gained a crush on me? Or maybe it’s some weird obsession. I’m not quite sure,” Charles admitted with a frown. “She asked me out once, almost a year ago and I declined. But she has latched onto the group ever since and I couldn’t quite shake her off.”

You didn’t say anything, instead letting him continue. 

“She wasn’t even meant to be on this trip,” Charles confessed. “But she said to our mutual friend that she was alone this Christmas and…I just couldn’t say no, right? But she’s spent the last year acting like I didn’t reject her and I didn’t like the idea of being trapped up here with her. But even with all our other friends, she was always beside me. She was always there. And when she started to throw tantrums to our friends and make up stories after I started spending time with you, I had enough.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock.

“Turns out she told all our friends that we were together,” Charles said with a grimace. “That we wanted to keep it a secret from the media, and that meant I wanted to keep it from everyone. She tried to make it out like I was a monster to our friends when I started spending days with you. Thankfully, none of them believed a word she said but…it was just too much.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why you heard me ranting on the phone about not seeing her after this trip because I have no plans to be around her ever again and I made that clear to my friends. You can even ask them if you don’t believe me,” Charles said as he finally let out a long breath. He looked at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I would never say those things about you. Not when you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Charles—”

“I know you feel it too,” he continued, and that desperate note to his voice returned. “I know you’ve felt it all week. I know you felt it that night. I know you feel like this—us—could be something.”

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you realised the agonsing and the pain and the ignoring over the last few days could have been avoided if you stayed in the bedroom a little longer that morning. Or if you had just spoken to him instead of letting the pettiness take over.

“You had no reason to think otherwise about me, cherie, and I get that,” Charles said as he squeezed your hand, almost like a tester to see if you would pull away or not. But you didn’t. “But I want to change that. I want to explore this. I want to show you that I would never do that to you. I want to give you reasons to trust me.”

“I would like that,” you murmured in a soft voice, but Charles heard you loud and clear as he grinned at you. 

“Yeah? You don’t hate me still?” He questioned.

You laughed, shaking your head as you did. “I don’t think I ever hated you, Charles.”

“Good, it makes this easier then,” he said before he leaned in, his slightly chapped lips pressed against yours—and something about it felt like coming home. 

You sunk into his embrace, your hand coming up to cup his cheek like you needed to believe he was really there (even if the gloves made it a little awkward). But feeling him smile against your lips was assurance enough. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.” 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Stormy. I hope it’s one of many with you.” 

And maybe Charles Leclerc became another one of the many reasons you loved The Chalet.

.

[nitrowyverine]

I thought playing Obscura would help me get rid of my brain worms. no, it just gave me new ones. For Obscura, specifically.

I'll be adjusting the format from my TOUCHSTARVED expanded thoughts post. Brain dump after the cut!

[Demo/CH 1 spoilers are included]

(Header Image from Itch.io page! All images in this post are either from there or the Rotten Raccoons tumblr page)

Design/gameplay thoughts:

In full honesty without fluff: this game fucks immensely.

The setting for Obscura might be my new all-time favorite, like, ever. Mystery underground scandalous marketplace??? Under a mountain???? it's a diverse and vast city that's still elegantly contained and claustrophobic, but in a spicy way. The worldbuilding and flavor is excellent. I really want to run a TTRPG in a similar setting now, since its an area with so many possibilities.

CH. 1/the "demo" has a LOT of meat on it. It's got different endings, variations, a whole soundtrack. Speaking of sountrack-

Obscura is also one of the few games I've put on the soundtrack to just to vibe to. The soundtrack is SO good, and sets such a strong mood/tone. I think it complements the game perfectly.

Allot of people have mentioned it, but I am also a fan of the Safeword pause menu. It's a nice and comforting touch, especially when the game can get so intense. It lets players take a breather if they need it, but also doesn't interrupt the intensity/mood of the game for someone who doesn't want a break from the narrative.

Now, onto character specific thoughts!

Cirrus:

IN MY HOUSE WE DON'T BELIEVE IN NOT STARTING OUT STRONG

Shout outs for having your asexual option in the dating sim be. The kinkiest guy there

Cirrus is a bit too intense for me, however, that is NOT a bad thing in the slightest. I think his route is well done for those who are up for his brand of intensity.

I might still play his route because. damn this boy's issues got me curious about his backstory. ($10 on mommy issues)

I had the hardest time getting to Cirrus's good end during my playthrough because having pretty much any self-preservation instinct around Cirrus gives you a bad/neutral ending. He's the only one I had to pull the guide out to get the best ending. (I think I'm just too sassy)

I get medusa vibes from Cirrus. The snake imagery is more likely tied to the lunar church, but his staunch reluctance to take his own mask off makes me wonder (this is mainly referenced in asks answered by the Rotten Raccoon studios). Refusal to let people see his eyes + snakes + power + slightly unnatural abilities to influence is, something.

I am shaking this man like a snowglobe WHAT IS YOUR DEAL I MUST KNOW MORE

(I am. metaphorically shaking him like a snowglobe. I would never shake this man im terrified)

CONCLUSION: Most likely to shame you for your anime choices. Least likely to be normal about it when you ask for help peeling an orange.

Keir:

HERE COMES BIG MAN

yeah he's tied for favorite right now. the slow burn in his plot is just too good? big man....freckles...secret soft side...im weak

he's so nice I keep forgetting. He kind of kidnaps you? not even kind of he just drags you off the street and goes "you live in my house now". Even Griff calls MC a stray early on. My man really said "Here's a convenient lost human I'm dragging them home now"

oh my GOD they were ROOMATES

I definitely was too nice to him in my first playthrough until I realized he does need (and want) to be sassed to death.

this man is like 6'6 and the canon-ish Vesper height from the CG is 5'4. THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE. This kills the man (me)

The sprite of Keir's ears blushing SENDS ME INTO A FRENZY

I quite liked the gameplay style of Keir's route. I was so focused and invested as soon as I realized I needed to remember specific directions to save the heist group during timed decisions

Something I haven't seen discussed yet: I'm mega curious about the dagger Keir has on his outfit. It's specifically pointed out in text that it's high-quality, and I vaguely remember an ask that Rotten Raccoons answered that said it's a status symbol. (The dagger also just looks SO cool. and....it looks like Francesco's...?)

(My bet is that he either 1. stole it. or 2. got it from Oleander during their tryst (WHICH WE ALSO NEED TO TALK ABOUT-))

CONCLUSION: Most likely to be gifted a "WORLD'S BEST DAD" mug from his similarly-aged peers. Least likely to live down that one time he ate soap because he thought it was edible.

Francesco:

someone keep the "silver dust" away from this lad im scared

Originally, I was least looking forward to playing Francesco's route since I just wasn't interested in his initial concept. After playing his route though? It was excellently done, and I genuinely had fun. It was refreshing to have a character more naive than Vesper, so more cultural aspects were explained and we got a good alternate perspective on the marketplace. Also, it got REAL spicy in new and exciting ways the other chapters didn't. I'm really looking forward to the next chapters with his route!

I totally love the contrasts in his design and his character. He's got both bright red and blue highlights in his design, his outfit is very pointy and angular while his hair/smile is soft and flow-y.

And in his personality, he's both sweet and open, but extremely cagey about some information, and quite pragmatic when he wants to be. I think he's way smarter than he lets on.

that doesn't mean I don't want to bridal carry him and tuck him into bed at night after a all-nighter party

I do think Fran's slightly looser demeanor could lead to him being even more brutal than the other LI's. Remember that one anime clip (Found it, it's this one from Danshi Koukousei) where a group of friends wants to fight for fun, but one of the friends asks why they need rules in a fight? And said friend is shown like secretly holding a rock and was ready to use it? that's Fran. He would not have chill and does not heed the rules.

"Protect the boy", but mostly to prevent him from tasting blood. Because if that happens we're all fucked

CONCLUSION: Most likely to eat that M&M off the ground because you dared him. Least likely to beat the puppy allegations.

Oleander:

Oleander is tied for favorite with Keir. Oleander is just *chefs kiss* LOOK AT HIM. inscrutable......

Somewhere in an ask answered by Rotten Raccoons studio, they mentioned that for Oleander's route, they were going for a "Sexy boss situation that doesn't feel like a work safety violation". They hit that right on the nose; there's intrigue and a power imbalance, but in a non-restrictive or terrifying way.

I love being involved in the business part of his route. I keep making decisions like "Hmm yes my primary goal is to romance Oleander. But what would be the smartest business move here? How do we advance our agenda?"

Also, I do love playing a sexy evil secretary in a vn. love having a job and being evil at it AND being paid money. 10/10

That dance scene is everything I could have ever wanted no notes

I am fascinated to find out more about what he's been up to since his last trek into the marketplace. Seems like people are trying to kill him all the time anyway, so what would be enough to cause him to leave?

he's like an angler fish, but the lure is his booba

I relate to Oleander in that. I have too many online usernames because I can't stick with one. People get my 800 online names mixed up often. He has the same problem, we're basically twinsies

This man is pretending to be a himbo like his life depends on it (It probably does). He's too smart though, I know for a fact he has at least three different schemes going at any given time.

CONCLUSION: Most likely to be able to help you properly lace a corset (this man knows the boot-to-the-back necessity of the process). Least likely to be allowed to be banker during monopoly night.

Vesper:

black mask enjoyer 4 life

(all three are good I just wanted to say which one I picked. And to add my conclusion section)

CONCLUSION: Most likely to get their shit rocked by a falling piano. Least likely to survive an argument about pineapple on pizza.

Concerns:

With how separate the four routes are, the game could potentially feel like four separate visual novels all in one universe. Maybe I haven't played enough VN's, but there is a feeling of separation between the routes.

In the very beginning of the game, when you're picking your route, I wish there was a bit more heads up/information between who you're picking. For example, I had a rough idea that going into the church is where you'd find Cirrus, but only from information outside the game. I didn't know sticking around for the brawl would push you into Kier's route. It's overall pretty vague to which route you're going based on only in-game information.

Misc thoughts:

Vesper: "How are you going to keep me?? ;)" Keir and Oleander: "crimes" Vesper: "Wh-" Keir and Oleander: "you're an accomplice now congrats we're in this together. wanna get drinks"

catch my socially anxious ass wanting to be under the mountain and wear masks so I don't have to make eye contact with strangers all the time. at least its a fun thought to have when I mask for covid

OKAY FRANCESCO AND KEIR'S DAGGER MATCH? AND ARE RED/BLUE LIKE FRANCESCOS OUTFIT? DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING??? probably not but I do like the pretty knives....

For real, I got the brain worms for this game, I'm on the edge of making a big ol playlist. the headcannons? They go on my friend. they go on. I'm laying awake at night thinking about what each character would order at a coffee shop

by the time I publish this post. I did start working on the playlist

yes, I've also designed my own vesper, its such a prime opportunity for character design.

Obscura also may or may not have inspired me to get involved with an otome jam game team, more on that in the future possibly.....

OVERALL: I got the first chapter/demo of Obscura for free from Itchio/steam. High marks for writing, sound, art, game design, all of it! I am on the edge of my seat waiting for CH2.

TL;DR: If you haven't played it, and love spicy and dark stories, go play it! Part one is free! and fantastic.

Itch.io

Steam

[spade-riddles]

The dominoes cascaded in a line, 'cause baby WE are the New Romantics

It has begun. Welcome to the beginning of the end.

We hang back, it's all in the timing. Every bait and switch was a work of art. The waiting and waiting and waiting for a signal that could only be sent after a decade of history ran its course.

The patience of so many tortured souls as the tick tick ticking of the clock grew closer and closer to the great escape. A wise poet once said, "the best people in life are free." And free, she shall set them.

On the 10 year anniversary of the album that dared to shout the whispers of their forbidden club, the signal was sent, washing them clean.

An underground secret garden uprooted in an instant for all to see. The key to the gate once buried deep, now dug up and simply left under a door mat.

Those afflicted by their scarlet letters have started and will continue to dress in black in unity, attending their own funerals. The death of self, for the greater rebirth of one's truth.

The model muse is already foreshadowing this approaching change for herself as she not only posted dressed in all black yesterday with a black and white filter, a black emoji heart, and a overall somber tone, but she also included a throwback of herself from 2014. 10 years ago. The origin of 1989 New Romantics. And she did it all on the day of the initial step into daylight.

The first domino has fell. Going anon sent the warning shot.

"Spade, still going, going, going? 🫵👩🏼‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏼🤷🏼‍♀️"

For this was more than merely a surprise song, but instead a hint at the first to tip the scale. Call it what you want, Shawn.

The Mountain: "You can say I like girls or boys; So call it what you want, call it what you want".

The Lover remix feature, who notably played his part as the stand in for Karlie Kloss, became the first of many to "Speak Now".

Dressed in black right on cue, addressing his unreleased song The Mountain,

"The real truth about my life and my sexuality is that I’m just figuring it out like everyone. It feels really scary because we live in a society that has a lot to say about that. And I’m trying to be really brave and just allow myself to be a human and feel things."

Headlines. Headlines. Headlines. An all too familiar publicist is most definitely behind its fast travel in the news.

But why Shawn first you may ask? The Lover remix came out Nov 13th, on a different special anniversary. The one in which the mastermind and model danced in a snowglobe round and round. The Lover house, to no coincidence, is shown to be inside a snowglobe in the Music Video. Shawn's next tour date since his speech? Nov 13th...

The ground work has been laid, and just like clockwork, all will soon fall in line.

Perhaps the one said to be on the rollercoaster will get to share her story in due time. It certainly is a bumpy ride going going going down. 🎢

😳

Karlie’s post:

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[yuoimia]

DAY 1: FIRST FALL OF SNOW ❅⋆⍋

summary: activities you do in the snow

characters: albedo, childe, diluc, wriothesley.

notes: wc: 260-300 per character, roughly 1.1k total, gn! reader, fluff, mentions of reader being lost in the snow in childe’s, petnames, the madness begins.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

albedo - how to build a snowman

All year round, Dragonspine is inundated with thick layers of gleaming snow.

Twinkling in weak sunlight, an ethereal sight both close-up and afar.

However, there was always something particularly striking about waking up to a fresh new coat of snow. Impeccably perfect, its raw beauty enthrals you each time. It was a privilege, you knew. Not just anyone could climb such an intimidating mountain, and the only reason you got to experience such phenomenons, the one who introduced you to this very mountain—was someone you’d never imagined to meet. Much less be more than acquaintances, a renowned genius, who currently stood completely blank in the suggestion of building snowmen.

"So, ah… I just add another pile on top?”

For the hundredth time this morning, you shake your head with an expression of amusement. “No,” you mutter, rolling the pile next to him into the shape of a sphere before placing it before him. “You need to make it into a ball shape, then place it on top. That will be its middle.” You point accordingly, an encouraging smile plastered on your face.

Albedo still doesn’t get it.

Instead, he watches silently as you enjoy yourself constructing a snowman. How interesting, creating little figures out of snow. He watches from afar as you unravel your own woollen scarf and wrap it around its uneven neck. He watches as you judge a variety of sticks to pick the most suitable to be its arms.

Albedo watches as you stand proudly beside it, a dazzling smile etching your face as he too, unravels his woollen scarf and gives it to you.

childe - snowball fights

You catch your breath behind a large cedar tree.

Was it a surprise? Surely not. Challenging Childe in any form of fight was the equivalence of battling in an arena, playful or not.

It also didn’t help that you were winning. For now, at least.

A strong gust of frosty wind brings a blizzard of newly formed snowflakes, collecting delicately on your hair and clothing. The fierce howls mask up any forms of sound, and the gradually falling snow covers up any traces of footprints.

Moreover, the temperature was severely dropping by the minute.

Perfect weather, you curse internally.

Your hands swiftly grab handfuls of the snow all around you, leaving a deep indentation in the shape of a ring all around you. Painfully obvious evidence that you were here, but at this point in time, you were more than ready to surrender. Between the choice of victory or frostbite, you’d willingly lose.

Cradling a dozen snowballs, your eyes are alert and searching as you attempt to outline any signs of a human. It’s hopeless; the wind is intensifying, swirling the frost like a snowglobe.

An anguished sigh escapes as you look down at the heavy layers of snow. Perhaps it was time to resort to something more desper-

Smack.

Something cold lands on the side of your face before falling to bits next to your feet. Another flies right past you.

You’re supposed to be mad; you’re supposed to shout and blame him for putting you in such a perilous and stupid situation, but you don’t.

As he catches you in an embrace, a contrast to everything you felt mere seconds ago, so frantic and tight, you realise how scared he was—scared enough to be rendered completely and irrevocably silent.

diluc - snow? my eyes are on you.

How long has it been?

How long have you been gazing, lost in your thoughts, through the window of your shared bedroom?

It’s quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. The sort of quiet that you could appreciate for years and years and enjoy as if it were freshly discovered. Perhaps it was because of Diluc and the reserved and reclusive ambience he always carried. Whatever it was, you understood why he sought it so much.

Kaeya told you to expect snow tonight.

You love snow.

As soon as Diluc stepped one foot into the entrance of Dawn Winery, you had notified him most excitedly, “It’s going to snow tonight!”

You made sure not to mention that it was Kaeya who told you, though.

Being the gentleman he was, Diluc reciprocated your happiness most thoughtfully. Across the candlit dinner table, you swapped memories and dreams, all down until the last few tired murmurs sealed with a tender goodnight kiss planted on your forehead. A fond, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Time steamed on; it must’ve been hours, according to the grandfather clock in the farthest corner of the bedroom, yet never once did your eyes stray from the window. You had long abandoned your previous sleeping position and now cozily huddled your legs, although still buried comfortably within the blankets.

Diluc seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

For a while, you observed in slight awe, the little rises in his chest as he inhaled, the serene expression decorating his face. It felt so intimate, so softly vulnerable—simply two people treasuring a moment in their lives so unknowingly—is what made it magnificent.

The first glimmers of snow lightly shimmered through the night sky as a familiarly snug hand pulled you beneath the covers.

wriothesley - ice skating

The many fountains in Fontaine had been frozen from the frigid weather, transforming the statues to behold graceful arches that glinted divinely in the feeble sunlight. Bound to be presented gloriously on the front page of the Steambird for the next three months or so.

Additionally, smaller bodies of water had completely transformed into ice, making it a perfect opportunity for extravagant winter activities. After all, Fontaine was never short of its flamboyance and charming flair when it came to anything of that sort.

That was the reason Wriothesley had spontaneously suggested going for a skate on the ice.

You had promptly declined at first, leaning over his desk, brushing the idea off with a brisk excuse of, “I can’t skate.”

Wriothesley had looked up from his stacks of documents, followed by a falsely exasperated roll of eyes, saying, “That’s what you said about dancing.”

"I'm not a very good dancer, you know that.”

“But I successfully taught you, didn’t I?" he confidently answered, standing from the overflowing desk.

You made a non-committal noise, shaking your head as Wriothesley chucked and wrapped an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s give it a try, all right, darling?”

This is precisely how you landed yourself in such a predicament.

The skates were easy enough to get on, but the process of skating, like you anticipated, was no easy skill.

Wriothesley, being the superb lover he is, let’s out a muffled snort as he watches you topple over for what could’ve only been the hundredth time that evening.

“Instead of laughing, you could actually help me like you promised, you know.”

With one last terribly hidden chortle, Wriothesley seizes your hands and gently guides your movements alongside his, careful and patient, as you both skate until the winter sunlight ebbs over the horizon.

[ghostiesnightmare]

Bound by Kindness

Pairing: The Grabber x Female Reader Summary: A raging blizzard brings an injured man to your doorstep. Against your better judgement, you decide to help him and show some compassion. But as the snow piles up, so does the tension, and you begin to wonder if your kindness was a terrible mistake. TW: DARK content, non-con, gore, blood, stalking, power imbalance, kidnapping, foul language, violence, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, bondage, loss of virginity, rough sex, abuse, and more. Read at your own risk. Word Count: 12,453 -Damn, she's long. MDNI- NSFW

-----

You always hated the cold. The frigid air was teeth-chattering inducing, causing your breaths to come out in steamed huffs. Another gust of wind whipped through the empty streets, and you tugged your coat closer to your body, trying to fend off the chill seeping into your bones. Thick globs of snow fell intensely in the December air, each singular snowflake seemingly making it their goal to cling to your layers and burrow into your skin. Crossing your hands over your chest, you tilted your head down and continued to brave the blizzard. Trudging through the sludge, your toes burned within your boots, mentally cursing you for not wearing warmer socks. It would take a miracle to keep your boots from becoming soaked, and your bones ache at the thought. Gritting your teeth, you questioned your sanity at the idea of walking the few blocks home instead of waiting for the storm to pass. 

December was always like this in Denver, with snow piling up until you felt as if it could sweep you away among the banks of frigid white. Living in a snowglobe, as some would say. Sometimes the weather looked like it came straight out of a Hallmark postcard, with the picturesque pine trees dotted with snow and Christmas decorations adorning every house in aesthetic symmetry. Being in the postcard however, was a completely different story, with frigid nights that left you burrowed under multiple blankets next to the fireplace of your house. Looking up into the night sky at the silent snowfall around you, you almost would have said it was pretty if you were trying to keep your teeth from chattering beneath the wool scarf strung around your lower face.

The streets were almost empty, with most preferring to huddle up indoors rather than face the wrath of the cold. A stray car would creep down the streets, headlights blinding you for a moment before veering onto another street, almost as anxious to get home as you were. Pushing onwards, you picked up your pace, boots crunching against the snow on the cracked sidewalks. At this rate, there would be ice coating every surface come morning, and you mentally noted to salt your section of sidewalk to prevent any hazards as the snow died down. Trudging past yet another snowman, you glanced at the bulking individual. Twigs adorning both sides, a warm scarf strung around its neck, and buttons pushed into its midsection; a true gentleman of a snowman. Two stones gazed soullessly back into your own, and you shivered at the sight. Creepy. Tearing your eyes away, you sighed in relief as the familiar brick of your home met your gaze.

Settled on the outskirts of Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge, your home seemed tucked away from the bustling life of Denver. The house was old, with creaking floorboards and a sagging porch, but it was all yours. The brick was chipping in places, worn by weather, but the structure had never looked more inviting against the cold air. Practically leaping up the steps of the porch as you fished for your keys, you leaned against the front door to support your weight. The door creaked open, causing your hand to freeze within your pocket. You had always locked the door, especially during the recent boogeyman stories you had only heard in whispers. The Grabber. A fitting name, seeing as he stole boys out of their beds at night, only for them to completely dissipate into the air. Only having recently moved in last month, you took extra precautions with the news, trying to stifle any panic that would arise from living alone on the outskirts of the refuge. Pushing the door open fully, you stepped inside before shutting the door behind you quickly, grimacing as the wood slammed from the force. 

Although in the comforting warmth of your home, a new chill seemed evident, weighing heavy with every step you took. Shedding your sopping coat, you kicked off your boots before padding against the wooden floorboards, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Heading towards the kitchen, you ripped the scarf from your body, winding it in your hands anxiously. “Hello? Is someone there…?” you called out, praying for silence. When your wish was granted, dread began to settle in your stomach, and you gnawed on your bottom lip from nerves. Had you locked the door? Did you forget in the bustle of trying to beat the storm on the way to work? Creeping into the kitchen, you sighed in relief when being met with nothing. Leaning against the counter, you finally let the scarf drop onto the , a laugh forcing its way of your lips due to your paranoia. You really needed to take some time off, the boogeyman clearly getting to your psyche from the long hours. 

Taking a deep breath, it felt as if the house took a breath of relief with you as you finally relaxed your spine. Tugging open a cabinet, you grabbed a wine glass and decided to treat yourself before bed. After all, nothing helped cure the chill of winter than alcohol. Rummaging through the fridge, you pulled out a white blend, pouring it to the glass absentmindedly, wracking your brain for any movies that sounded interesting to unwind to. Leaving the bottle on the counter, you scooped up your glass and moved to make sure the door was locked before relaxing. 

A cough ripped through the silence. You froze, the glass slipping through your fingers, shattering against the tiles of the floor, and a startled yelp clawed through your throat at the sound. Whipping your head to the source of the sound, your eyes landed in the living room. A dark figure sat on your couch, blending in with the shadows. Immediately, you rushed to the wall and flicked on the lights. The first thing you noticed were his eyes. Striking blue clashed with yours, seemingly tearing you open and reading your soul. Brown hair messily clung to his forehead, with sweat and grime covering his skin. Rough, hagged breaths seeped from the figure, and he hunched over his stomach, a hand clutching his side. Your frantic reaction didn’t seem to startle him at all, his steely gaze watching your every move. Your mouth opened, but you found yourself gargling on the words, nothing coming out. Sensing your shock, he shrugged slightly. “Sorry for the scare, hon. I’m sure you’re confused but–” he grimaced suddenly, removing his hand from his side, which was covered in crimson. “I–... I could really use some help.” He said plainly, as if he had known you his entire life and was casually talking about the blizzard raging outside. 

There was a man in your living room. A man who needed help. Trying to still your breathing, you warily approached him, back hugging the wall as you neared the couch. “I… how did you get in here?” you squeaked, cursing yourself silently for not having a weapon on you. He could be anyone, anything, and his intentions could be far from innocent. Sensing your apprehension, he lifted both hands up, surrendering. “I was in the woods when I was charged by a bison. He only nicked me in the side, but as you can probably tell…” He gestured to your surroundings, chuckling slightly. “...There isn’t much around. I had to get shelter from the storm and hopefully get patched up. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He jested, a smirk adorning his face at your anxious state. You stared at his appearance blankly, trying to piece together his story. Bison were well known to the refuge area, but to have one charge… you grimaced at the thought. “I… stay here.” The words fell from your mouth before you could stop them, and you whirled around, rushing up the stairs to your bathroom. 

Throwing open the door, you rummaged through the drawers, grabbing towels, a first aid kit, and anything else that seemed remotely useful. If you had any sense about you, you would have called the police at the sight of the strange man in your living room, but the threat of him bleeding out would have added even more problems to the predicament and you didn’t want to be deemed as a murderer after just moving in. Shuffling down the stairs, you almost sighed in relief when realizing he hadn’t moved. At least he listens… you thought, and your feet gravitated to the wounded man before you even had the chance to stop yourself. Looking up at you, the man grimaced again while keeping his hand on his side. “I… I can help, but you have to stay still.” You say, dropping the first aid kit to the empty cushion next to the man’s leg before unpacking any supplies that seemed useful. He nodded curtly, fingers gripping the edge of his shirt before pulling it over his head, discarding the clothing onto the wooden floor. 

Your eyes widened at the sudden movement, heat flushing your cheeks at the sight of the now shirtless man sitting before you. A nasty gash sliced through his right side, moving from his sternum to below his pec, blood pooling from the wound. Your eyes lingered on the wound before traveling to the rest of the exposed skin. He was pale, lean, but very fit, with sinewy muscle adorning his frame. His bicep curled as he moved to put pressure on the wound, causing his stomach to tighten from the pain. Sweat trickled down the cavity of his chest to his belly button, where a dark brown happy trail slipped seductively down his hips and into the confines of his jeans. Your mouth gaped open again, unable to stop staring at the very mysterious, very attractive man spread out before you. 

A chuckle tore you from your thoughts, and your eyes ripped to meet the icy blue eyes that bore into yours once again. He smirked at you, brow cocked at your obviously flustered state. “Sorry…” you gulped, and grabbed the towel on the couch, knuckles brushing against his upper thigh before you retreated into yourself. Turning, you rushed into the kitchen and drenched the towel under warm water, cheeks burning as you tried to shake the image from your head. Focus… there is a man injured and he needs your help. You chided yourself, ashamed at the heat that licked against your skin. Wringing the towel between your hands, you approached the living room again, trying to muster a brave face while racking your brain on how to clean a wound. Eyes never leaving your form, his smirk seemed to burn into your brain as you approached the man. It all felt so… lewd, the air having a tense atmosphere that seemed almost suffocating. You pushed the rag into the man’s hand, almost shaking as his fingers brushed against yours. “Hold this to the wound… I have to sanitize it.” You muttered, refusing to make eye contact as you grabbed a bottle of iodine. 

“This will sting…” you warn, unscrewing the bottle cap. “Albert. My name is Albert.” He answered, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. “Albert… It’s nice to meet you, although I would have preferred to not have someone break into my house in the dead of winter.” You teased slightly, earning another chuckle from him. He shrugged slightly, muttering off another apology before wincing again. You grab another towel and drench it with iodine, the pungent smell invading your nostrils. You gag slightly from the chemical scent before scooting across the floor in between the man’s legs. Brushing off just how inappropriate the position was, you pushed yourself up onto your knees before pushing Albert’s hand away from the wound. Albert’s gaze seemed to burrow into your skull, but you braved onward. Pushing the rag onto the open wound, a hiss escaped the male. He flinched at the contact, and you had to fight the urge to watch him squirm beneath your touch. 

“Fuck…” He seethes through gritted teeth, and you swallowed thickly at the noise. You dabbed at the wound, sanitizing it until his right side was coated in a deep orange. Grimacing at the sight, you moved to grab the tissue adhesive. “This will hurt, I have to glue the skin together.” You said, praying that watching medical dramas after work had any resemblance to reality. “You really know what you’re doing… should I be nervous?” He teased through gritted teeth, and you flushed. “...lots of television.” You muttered before cradling the wound on his side. He immediately tensed at your touch, and you felt the warmth from his skin seep into your hands. “Shit… you're freezing.” He bit out, and you stuttered out an apology. Squeezing the glue onto the wound, you worked quickly to close the wound, trying to ignore the feeling of iodine and blood coating your fingertips. Once the gash was glued, you grabbed gauze and packed the wound, ignoring the curses flying from the man’s mouth.

 “Sorry, sorry, I’m almost done.” You said, before taping the final block of gauze on top of the wound. You marveled at your work, thankful that the wound wasn’t as deep as you initially thought. He sat up, inspecting your handiwork. “Not bad… I guess all that television really pulled off, right hon?” Your cheeks burned at the nickname. You grabbed three acetaminophen and dropped them into his open palm. “Here… I’ll grab you some water.” You moved to the kitchen to grab a glass, sidestepping the now ruined wine glass and puddle on the kitchen tiles. Now that the immediate crisis was out of the way, questions swirled in your head. Why your house? Why was he out in the refuge in the dead of night in winter? Who really was this man? Brushing off the thoughts, you filled up the glass before padding back into the living room. “Thank you…?” He looked expectantly. You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously. “Y/n.” You stated quickly, gaze dropping from his once more. “Y/n… I appreciate it.” He thanked again, smiling. 

The lights flickered around the house suddenly, and your heart almost burst out of your chest. Glancing to the window, the flurry of snow continued its onslaught furiously, wind howling and battering against the old brick. No one in their right mind would travel now, especially injured. “I have to clean up my mess… are you hungry?” You queried, bending to pick up the broken glass. “That’s sweet of you, hon. I’m famished.” Heat rose to your cheeks again, and you cursed yourself for being so easily flustered by his words. Throwing the pieces into the trash, you dabbed at the spill before opening the fridge. A stray takeout container, some sauces, and more wine stared blankly at you within the barren container. 

Groaning, you pushed open a cabinet, grabbing a can of soup. Comfortable silence enveloped you as you worked, and Albert decided to move to the kitchen and watch you cook. As the soup heated on the stove, you turned to meet the man’s gaze. It dawned on you that he was much taller than you expected, towering over you to the point where you craned your neck to maintain eye contact.  “I hope chicken noodle is fine… I wasn’t expecting guests.” You joke slightly, grabbing two bowls from the cabinet before setting them on the counter. Albert shrugged, unphased by the intrusion of space. “So… a bison? You’re lucky you got away…” you said. It became apparent that you barely knew this man, and you couldn’t decipher if you found that intriguing or terrifying. He nodded, leaning against the fridge, fingers drumming against the metal. “Could have been worse… I was lucky enough to choose a house with a good samaritan.” He jested, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the statement.

Ladling the soup into the bowls, you sat at the small kitchen table, and Albert made himself comfortable across from you. Poking at the soup, small chat ensued between the two of you. You talked about being new to Denver, and not being used to the cold. You vented about work and the day-to-day tasks you did in your spare time. You learned that Albert worked at a hardware store, and had lived in Denver his whole life. He had a dog named Sampson and worked as a part time magician. As you talked, the picture of Albert became more personified, he was just a simple man who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing to worry about. “Storms like this don’t usually go on this long… it would have been hell to be caught out there.” He grumbled out, spooning another bite of soup into his mouth. You hummed in agreement. 

The blizzard would only get worse throughout the night, and after hearing Albert had abandoned his car at the refuge, your heart clenched at the misfortune of the man. You decided that Albert could spend the night to ensure his wound would properly stay sanitized and dry and let the storm blow over. When he protested, you ignored him, shoving a pillow and quilt into his hands. “It’s decided.” You smiled, guiding him back to the couch. Throwing his bloodied shirt into the laundry, you stretched, joints popping as fatigue began to seep into your bones. “Goodnight Albert.” You called, heading upstairs into bed. Practically flopping onto your bedsheets, you rolled over to change and get ready for bed, the events of the day wearing you out. Finally situated in bed, you pulled the covers over your body, turning to look at the snow falling outside. Maybe being kind to strangers isn’t a bad thing after all. 

—

There was a body in the woods. 

Albert barely spared it a second thought, his luck finally running out from a clean kill. The little shit deserved what was coming to him– having the nerve to pull a knife on him. It didn’t make a difference in the end, however. Albert wasn’t thrilled to end the game that quickly on a whim. It was too easy that way. He always stuck to a motto: grab, hide, kill, repeat. Simple, quick, and always calculated. Trudging through the refuge in the pitch black while injured was not his forte, especially after having to abandon his jacket due to it being drenched in brain matter and blood. When he approached the residential neighborhood, he hadn’t planned to stay, just grab some medical supplies from a house and circle back to his van. Silent, predatory, deadly. 

He never planned on running into you. Innocent, naive little you. He almost felt bad for startling you so badly. Almost. Something about the way that fear radiated off of you just made him want to reach out and grab you. He had half the mind to lunge at you and steal the life from your eyes, breaking you. But when the apprehensive nature you had immediately faded when you saw he was wounded, the pulling of your heartstrings to help was too good not to indulge in. You were so gentle, so kind in a way that made the darkest parts of him want to corrupt you. The most thrilling part of his… habits was the ability to completely and utterly destroy something, then pick up the pieces and mold them into whatever his fucked up desires had in mind. You were no different. You seemed so compliant, such a good girl who is too kind for her own good. You saw the best in everyone, and it made the monster within him want to take that kindness and twist it until it shattered. It was your achilles heel, and no amount of good intentions would be able to keep him away from you. 

Still high from the adrenaline rush of his most recent kill, the darkness called from the most depraved parts of his mind. He wanted you. He wanted to grab you and mold you into the perfect little toy for him to ruin. It would be so easy to creep into your room and ravage you beyond repair, but Albert was a patient man. He wanted to gain your trust, make you feel safe around him, before dragging you down to the depths of hell with him. Sweet unsuspecting you and your naive way of trusting strangers. Didn’t your mother tell you not to trust others, especially if one of them was a big, bad killer? Now that his basement was empty, he had plenty of time to prepare for the perfect time to take you. He wondered if the betrayal in your eyes would be just as delectable as your fear, it made his fingers itch to see just how far he could push you. He was always easily fascinated, especially when you were just so trusting. It was laughable really. Poor girl, your fate was sealed the second he walked into that house.

 Maybe his luck didn’t run out, it must have been fate to choose the house with such a perfect, malleable toy waiting for the taking. You didn’t even realize it, did you? Taking care of such an evil man, yet being so trusting to let him sleep in your home. So trusting… so vulnerable, he had to teach you a lesson not to trust strangers. You thought you could fix him, patch him up and send him on his way, but what you didn’t seem to realize was that Albert didn’t want to be fixed. He didn’t want to do anything other than completely destroy you, ruin you for anyone else other than him. He was never good at taking care of his toys, but the thrill of pushing you until you snapped seemed like a worthwhile challenge. The thought alone had his heart racing. You were his, his to love, his to ruin, you just didn’t know it yet. How cute, almost adorable even. You took him in like a stray, and now Albert will make it his goal to never let you go. 

The thing about strays? They always come back.

—

A knock on the door jolted you out of your cooking, causing you to bang your head on the open cabinet door. Hissing at the sensation, you rubbed your head before shouting, “The door is unlocked!” The door creaked open, and you glanced at a snow-covered Albert shedding his extra layers, kicking his boots off while cursing the howling wind. You rolled your eyes at the sight, turning back to the bolognese sauce simmering on the stovetop. Albert hung up his drenched coat before waltzing into the kitchen, making himself comfortable at one of the stools situated by the kitchen table in order to watch you cook. 

It had been two weeks since he had nearly given you a heart attack, and after your consistent begging, he finally went to the hospital to get his wound checked out. It turned out that your medical television obsession had pulled off, with him only needing fresh dressings and a prescription of low grade pain medication before he was discharged. Albert had begun to see you consistently, bringing takeout or random trinkets he thought you would enjoy. “It’s a gift… I promise, hon.” He would always muse at your attempts to pay him back for his endeavors. It turns out, Albert lived only a 10 minute drive from your house, and most nights he was more keen on crashing on your couch versus making the effort to go to his home. You didn’t mind however, feeling more safe with your new friend nearby.

Another two boys had gone missing, the news flashing across the screen upon his most recent stay. A gasp of horror had escaped you as the anchor reported the details of two boys, one 13 and the other 16 seemingly disappearing into the night. Vanished, as the anchor said. You screwed your eyes shut at the thought. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how their families must be feeling, losing their children to a monster in the middle of their night, stolen out of their beds. “He’s like the boogeyman– The Grabber.” You had said, and Albert’s expression had darkened at the television screen. “The only difference, sweetheart, is that The Grabber is very much real.” The words haunted you throughout the night, causing you to toss and turn with paranoia. Albert seemed very… detached about the situation, so you decided to not bring it up again, his lack of emotion towards depicting The Grabber as a very scary, very real person that could be anyone made unease seep into your bones. 

“Everything okay?” The sound of his voice brought you out of your thoughts, and he cocked a brow at you out of amusement. Looking down, you realized you were gripping the wooden spatula, knuckles deathly white from the pressure. You chuckled awkwardly, releasing spatula from your grasp and turning off the stove. “Yeah… sorry, work has been tense.” Stretching against the counter, you felt his gaze burn into your frame. That’s the one thing that unnerved you about the older man, he was very… observant. Always seeming to know what you were thinking before the words fell from your mouth, always watching your every move. Maybe it was his eyes, maybe it was just a habit, but either way, something about those eyes drew you in. His gaze held a type of darkness, like someone who had seen too much and the depths latched onto them. 

“Tense? That’s no way to spend the holidays… you should take a break. I make a mean eggnog, if you think that would help you relax.” He mused, and you scrunch your face at the mention of the sweet beverage. “I’m sure you do… of course you drink eggnog. I find it disgusting.” You shudder, moving to serve two helpings of bolognese pasta. Glancing at the calendar, your eyes widened at the date. December 24th. “It’s Christmas Eve…” You muttered. “You think I just came to visit out of the goodness of my heart? Sweetheart, with a schedule as busy as yours, I would be surprised if you remembered New Years.” Albert teased, taking his plate from your grasp, your knuckles brushing his fingertips. You flushed slightly at the comment.

Albert always had a sense of charm around him that never failed to fluster you. His endearing smile, flirtatious nicknames, and tokens of appreciation made your heart skip a beat at his affections. You found yourself trusting him over the past few weeks, excited for his presence in your otherwise empty house and the attention he gave you. It felt like a fresh breath of air, being looked after when your long shifts finished for the day and you were stuck in the solace of your home. He knew how you reacted around him, almost enticing him to push your buttons and turn you into a stuttering mess. It was infuriating, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“That is not true. I remembered Christmas, I just didn’t realize Christmas Eve was today.” You chided, earning a chuckle from across the table. Rolling your eyes at his teasing, you continued to pick at your pasta, glancing at the calendar once more. “Actually… I have something for you, Albert.” You said, standing quickly before rummaging through the cupboard before your hands settle on a wrapped package, the paper crinkling under your fingertips. Albert’s spine straightens at the table, his food abandoned due to his curiosity. Shyly, you approached the seated male and set the present on the table. Albert’s long fingers reached for the gift tenderly, eyeing you with suspicion. “You didn’t have to get me anything, hon. I don’t have anything for you.” 

Yet. He didn't have anything for you, yet. 

You shrugged. “It’s not much, but I had some time over these past few weeks and…” You swallowed thickly. “- I thought you could use it.” He smirks at that, and your cheeks burn. Gently unwrapping the gift, Albert lifts a blood red scarf from the package. Holding the soft material in his hands, he looks at you, expression unreadable. Fingers dancing along the blood red fabric, his eyes darken. A knot wedged into your chest, worried you had been too personal. “I know you lost your coat… and I thought you could use all the help you could get in this cold. If you don’t like it, I can-” “You made this?” His words sharply cut you off, still unreadable. His fingers tangled in the material, and his jaw clenched, his blue eyes drilling holes into your skull. Anxious you had overstepped, you chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes downcast. “Yeah… I had some extra wool and thought you would like it.” He holds the scarf up, wrapping it around his neck quickly, snapping out of the daze that you had put him in. 

Eyes meeting yours, the blue clashed so starkly against the bold red of the wool that your breath caught in your throat. Finally, he spoke, warmth seeping into his words. “It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you, hon… you just made my Christmas.” He teased, unraveling the scarf from his neck and tenderly folding it in his lap. You laughed bashfully, flustered at the praise. “It’s just a scarf, Albert.” You paused, then muttered: “Red suits you.” Albert chuckled, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. “Yes, hon, yes it does.”

—

A scarf. How oxymoronic, how perfect. 

You were too sweet for your own good. You had given him a gift out of the goodness of your heart, yet it wasn’t the warm fabric that kept him warm on the chilling journey to his basement, it was you. You couldn’t have possibly imagined what this gift meant… or did you? The scarf was a promise, a vow to show your affection directly devoted to him. Your hands tirelessly worked at the fabric that was now slung across his neck, and if he wrapped himself tight enough within it, it would be as if you were caressing his skin yourself. So intimate, the thought made his heart race. With one simple gift, you had binded yourself to him, and he couldn’t help but imagine how good the scarf would look like on you. 

So sweet, so kind. He was certain that he had cracked his jaw from the force when you gave it to him. It took every ounce of strength to not grab you from across that table and hide you away for only him to see. He wanted all of it; your kindness, your dreams, your happiness, your life. It was his now, and only his. “It’s just a scarf, Albert.” Your words circled in his head, a constant reminder of how much, it was not in fact, just a scarf. You made it for him, only him, as a testament to your adorations. How could he not want to return the favor? You wanted his attention, you spent your precious little time trying to show him how much you cared, and he saw it; he always did. He understood the meaning completely, even if you were too stubborn to admit it. You naive pure little thing, your fate was already sealed when he first saw you, but now? You were undoubtedly his, even if you didn’t know it yet. The scarf symbolized a bond, a bond you forged, and he was more than happy to comply. You wanted him, so he will show you what that really meant.

The darkness within him screamed to respond to your devotion, to tear down the rest of the world and watch it burn if it meant he would be able to repay the love that you bestowed upon him. All he needed to do was reply, reciprocate. For that, he needed a plan. A plan to show you just how much this confession meant to him– how much you meant to him, and he knew the perfect gift to give to you. All of him. He would show you his worst, most twisted self, and bind you to him in ways that only he knew how to do. 

“Red suits you.” You had no fucking idea. He couldn’t wait to see how much it suits you too. He was sure it was going to look sinful. His hands balled into fists, giddiness coursing through his veins. He knew the basement was a vile place, a place where many have been subjected to his mercy, but with you… he had so much more in store for you. Sweet, innocent, angel, you really were about to give the man the best Christmas gift. And he was going to savor every last moment of it. Glancing at his handiwork, he finalized his preparations, a sinister smile breaking across his lips. “Merry fucking Christmas, hon.” Now all he had to do was wait. 

—

I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me.

Please have snow, and mistletoe, 

And presents on the tree~

You hummed slightly at the song playing from the television, scrubbing the tiled countertop hastily. Dinner with Albert went smoothly, yet something about that scarf sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes looked so… cold, with an intensity that sent your head reeling. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by overstepping, so once he left you immediately baked some sugar cookies as an apology gift. Working in the kitchen with Christmas music playing softly in the background felt inviting, reminding you of fond memories with your family in the past. Sighing softly, you poked at the sugarcookies to ensure they were cooled before slathering them in red and green frosting. 

You were always the type of person to give people gifts as a token of appreciation, but sometimes that made others uncomfortable due to the intense giving nature you had. Although it was a fair response, your throat burned with rejection at Albert’s strange reaction of the gift. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you coated the last cookie in a glob of green before throwing the frosting container in the trash. Letting the cookies sit, you stretched, joints groaning in protest from standing in front of the oven for hours. Untying the dirtied apron from behind, you padded into the hallway, throwing the soiled clothing into the washer. Yawning tiredly, you stumbled up the stairs into your bedroom, grabbing a pair of pajamas and stripping out of your clothes. Your skin immediately prickled, hairs raising on the back of your neck.

You were being watched. 

You glanced around, seeing nothing. Scoffing at your paranoia, you continued to change before throwing your old clothes into the hamper, making your way into the bathroom. You needed to sleep, stat. Standing in front of the sink, you laughed at a smudge of green frosting covering your temple. Rolling your eyes at your clumsiness, you reached for the toothbrush, coating it in minty paste before harassing your gums. Spitting in the sink, a shuffle downstairs caught your attention. Worried one of the baking trays toppled, sending your desserts face first onto the tile below, you quickly rinsed your toothbrush and padded down the stairs. 

Scurrying into the kitchen, you sighed in relief at the undisturbed baking sheets, turning to grab a container. Shuffling throughout the kitchen, your gaze landed on a red pen and small sticky note. “This will do…” you mumbled out, trying to figure out what to write. Hey Albert, sorry for being weird and giving you a heartfelt gift? No, too forward. Biting on the tip of the pen anxiously, you opted for a simple message that conveyed your feelings. “Dear… Albert….” You mouthed as you wrote, “-thank you for having dinner with me. I hope you liked your gift,” you paused. Humming slightly, you ripped the sticky note from the stack and tossed it to the counter. “To Albert. Merry Christmas.” Simple and straight to the point. 

Placing the sticky note on top of a container, you turned to load up the cookies into the tray, stuffing as many as possible into the circular container. Eyes sweeping over the red and green desserts, your gaze faltered as it reached the furthest pan. A singular cookie was half eaten, the gingerbread man-shape missing its head and arm. Eyes narrowing, you apprehensively approached the cookie as if it would jump back out at you. Picking it up, your brow furrowed, confusion sweeping your features. Did you happen to snack on it while frosting? 

The soft sound of guitar quickly pulled you from your thoughts, causing the half-eaten sugar cookie to fall absentmindedly to the counter. Peaking your head around the corner, the television stared menacingly back at you, Bing Crosby’s I’ll Be Home For Christmas playing at full volume. Heart stuttering, you approached the television. “That’s weird… I thought I just played this song…”

I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me.

Please have snow, and mistletoe, 

And presents on the tre-

A grunt sounded out from behind you in the kitchen, and you whirled around, panic seeping into your features. Your eyes widened, a shriek tearing through your throat as your gaze met with a mask, its soulless eyes burrowing into your soul. A grin adorned its features, while horns protruded from the forehead of the mask. The white material was splattered with red, and you prayed it was anything other than blood. The figure towered over you, dwarfing your kitchen counter, another sugar cookie in hand. You felt like a deer trapped in headlights, completely frozen in place, eyes raking over the figure in front of you while your lip quivered with fear. 

Christmas Eve’ll find me, where the love light gleams~

“These are divine, doll. So good, I could reach out and grab them.” The masked figure mused darkly, voice dripping with hostility. Your breathing quickened, and you immediately took a step backward. It’s him, your personal boogeyman. The Grabber. Tears immediately fell at that thought, dripping down your cheeks and plummeting to the wooden floor. A sob wracks your throat. This isn’t happening, this can’t be real. Yet the taunting chuckle that erupts from the monster in front of you was very much real. The hulking figure takes a step forward, and you flinch at the movement, another sob wracking through your body. 

I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. 

“Cat got your tongue? You’re shaking, you poor thing.” The voice drawls, and the familiarity of it all haunts you. The mask cocks to the side, and the light catches his eyes. Icy blue meets yours, and you swear your heart stops. Your lip trembles, and you want to scream for being so stupid, so trusting. Denver’s uncaught killer, your personal boogeyman, was Albert. The same man you nursed back to health, who had been in your house countless times before, who stood before you in that god forsaken mask now. Your knees almost buckled from the realization, causing another bone chilling chuckle to pierce the air. 

Albert reached into his back pocket, producing a string of blood red. Your eyes narrowed and the sight of the scarf wound perfectly in the hands of the killer before you. “This lovely gift had me thinking…” He took a few more brisk steps towards you, closing the distance between the two of you, cold and calculating. “- it’s only fair if I give you a gift too.” His words echo in your mind, and you refused to acknowledge him. A hand shoots out, grabbing you by the throat. You scream, broken out of your frozen stupor, clawing at his hand. He drags you forward, the nose of his mask brushing against your skin. 

The smell of dried blood invades your senses, and you fight the urge to retch. He smells like death… rather he was death, holding your life in his hand as his fingers dug into your skin. His eyes burned holes into your skull, and you sputtered for air beneath his touch. You could practically feel the smirk that he was sporting under the mask at the vulnerable state you were in. Tears welled in your eyes, skin burning at the lack of oxygen. “Tell me, does your fear taste as good as it looks?” He murmured darkly, black spots beginning to coat your vision. Your hands gripped at his arm, the pressure on your trachea making your eyes roll back. 

His grip released suddenly, and you fell to your knees, clawing at the wood while greedily drinking in gasps of air. He glared down at you, seemingly satisfied with the view of you sprawled beneath him. Grabbing your wrists, he heaves you up, and you hate how easily you move. Holding your wrists in one hand, he moves the scarf closer, causing something in you to snap. Screaming, you pull back as hard as you could, kicking and crying for this to all just be a bad dream. Yanking you forward by your wrists, Albert… no, The Grabber, weaves the scarf around your wrists briskly, pulling them so tight you hiss at the sensation. 

“This scarf binds us.” He seethes, yanking you closer by the tail of the scarf, causing you to stumble into his chest. He catches you effortlessly, one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers digging into your scalp, the other pulling the scarf tight. You never thought how your endearing gift would be turned against you, your wrists raw from rubbing against the material. A choked sob escapes you, and you can do nothing but stare in the icy depths of his eyes, swallowing you whole. “You think I wouldn’t notice?” His tone softens slightly, cocking his head slightly, the breath peeking through the mask and fanning your ear. “You gave me a part of yourself, so I’ll show you what it means to belong to someone.” 

If you weren’t terrified, you would scoff at the words. Sensing your defiance, he pulls you by your hair to your feet. You whimper, scalp burning under his harsh touch. “Why are you doing this?” You bite out, stumbling as he drags you into the kitchen. He chooses to ignore your venomous words, instead glancing back to you, eyes sweeping over your form. “I can’t wait to see you like that,” tugging on the material again. His voice hardens, “-wrapped up, bound to me. All mine.” The finality of his words sent a wave of terror down your spine, as if your fate was sealed forever. He rummages in his back pocket, the grip on the scarf loosening as he pulls a white cloth into your field of vision.

Freedom. This was your chance. For a split second, you froze before adrenaline pushed your limbs into motion. You turn to flee, wrists bound tightly in front of you, scrambling backwards across the kitchen tile, almost tripping over your feet. Time slowed. You can feel the wrath radiating off of him in waves. You refuse to turn to look, crashing into the kitchen wall, jolting sideways at the impact. Steadying your feet, your legs pump vigorously at the prospect of escape. You almost tumble over the steps leading upstairs, opting to head for the door, your only hope. The thought of freezing to death in the cold was better than what was in store for you. The silhouette of the door reaches your gaze, your savior,  and you bolt towards it without a second thought. 

A sharp pain stabs into your skull. White explodes along your vision, the world spinning as you crumble to the ground. The cool wood bites into your skin as warmth pools from your temple, dripping across your face and onto the floor beneath you. The taste of copper fills your mouth, ears ringing from the impact. Darkness licks at your vision, and you turn to see The Grabber standing over you, a sauce pan in his hand. Triumphant, his haunting smile glares down at you, head cocked and poised to strike. 

Everything goes black. 

—

A slow, rough throbbing pulls you from the darkness. It hurts to open your eyes, your pulse hammering into every crevice of your skull, causing the world to shift across your vision. You blink; once, twice, the swirls of grey and shadows gradually coming into focus with every attempt. Finally, the world seems to fall into place, your left eye burning from the crimson dripping from the cut above your temple. The faint hum of a singular fluorescent lightbulb buzzes from the ceiling, casting an eerie glow across the cramped room. The room was mostly bare, with a singular chair sitting across from the ragged mattress you were laid upon. The air was thick with the smell of mold alongside the faint scent of blood. You didn’t want to know if it was yours or not. A singular sliver of window adorned the top of one of the bare walls, the pitch black of night staring tauntingly at you through the thick glass. Squinting, you could barely make out the soft fall of snow against the dark sky, globs of white sticking to the glass momentarily before melting away, abandoning you. You were in a basement, his basement. 

Your blood turned to ice, pushing your body into action. You tried to sit up, body groaning in the process before you are ripped back down onto the bed. Your right arm hangs above you, taunt against the wall, secured in a chain. A sob wracks your throat as you tug on the metal, the clattering deafening against the silence of the room. A swish of fabric stops you in your tracks, and you look down at your chest, where the blood red scarf is tied into a perfect bow over your pajamas. You pale.

To him, the scarf was never the gift, you were. 

“Finally awake, hmm?” His voice cuts through the air like a knife. You jolted, turning towards the menacing figure in the doorway. His mask was abandoned, leaving you to gape at your capture. Albert’s soulless eyes burned into yours, and you wondered if he was there the whole time, watching you. Stepping into the room, the door slammed shut, the noise jarring you slightly due to the force. “You scared me for a moment there, doll...” He sighed out, crossing his arms and leaning against the closed door, eyes never leaving yours. “-I was nervous I hit you too hard,” He gestured to your head, and instinctively you put a hand to the prickled skin. Your hand pulled back red. “-ouch.” He taunted, chiding you for your attempt of escape. As if you would ever get away from him. “It would have been such a shame to ruin our plans before they even began.” He mused darkly, and you fought the urge to gag. 

“What… what do you want with me?” You force the words out, voice hoarse, throat raw from crying. He cocked his head amusingly, striding forward to close the space between you. He crouched over the mattress, towering over you. “What do I want with you?” He echoed, fingers ghosting over your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. He smudged the liquid between his fingers, looking at it while contemplating. “You gave me a piece of yourself…” He mused, hand gripping the edge of the scarf tied around your chest, playing with the material endearingly. “-now I’m going to give you a gift. Something only I can give.” The scarf dropped to your chest, his head snapping to meet your gaze once more. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“So scared… It's adorable. Your fear is addicting. It makes me want to reach out and bite you.” His calloused hand grips your chin roughly, forcing your face to move closer to his. His breath fanned across your face, a warmth that you savored against the frigid air. His fingers trailed over the bow again, gentle. “Look at you…” He breathed out, voice hoarse with restraint. “-like a gift, the perfect toy. There’s so many ways I could ruin you.” A sob rips out of you at that, and it only amuses him even more. Tugging at the bow, he undid the fabric as if unwrapping a present, the undone material loosely falling to the mattress. Tracing your jaw, he cocked his head. “Tell me, after we first met, did you trust me?”

You did. He knew you did. You trusted him completely, your caring nature not only nursing him back to help, but igniting a spark within you. You found yourself pining for the man, his attractive features and those eyes bringing a sense of warmth around you when he flattered you. He knew that too, and used it to push all the right buttons to make you fall apart like putty in his hands. It wasn’t hard for him to break down your walls, he was just so charming. So rough in all the ways that you were soft, and it made your heart melt. But that warmth turned to ice as his fingers brushed against your bottom lip. 

“Well?” He quipped, and your head nodded immediately. He smirked at the action, your compliant nature getting the better of you. “So obedient, so sweet. You understand why I had to take you, right? You’re just such a good girl.” Your cheeks burned at the words, ashamed at how easy it was for him to stir the warmth within you from something as simple as his words. He sucked in a breath, fingers trailing down the column of your neck, causing goosebumps to prickle at the sensation. You shuddered at the contact, squeezing your eyes shut. It was so wrong, so incredibly skewed in a way that made you question your sanity, but his touch… it left you breathless. 

His fingers brushed the collar of your pajama shirt, fiddling with the fabric like a nervous schoolboy, giddy with nerves. You sucked in a breath. “So pretty… so soft. All dressed up for me, how sweet.” He mused, hands trailing down the expanse of your chest, brushing against the buttons holding the shirt together. His nose brushed against your neck, and your eyes snapped open. Trailing upwards, you shuddered as he neared closer, breathing in against your skin. A low moan tore from his throat, and your chest tightened at the noise. Glancing at you through half lidded eyes, Albert’s gaze was heavy. His stare was suffocating, devouring every reaction you gave him, as if committing it to memory. He looked at you as if he was starving, and you were everything he could have ever wanted, the intensity of his gaze causing a broken whimper to snake from your throat. 

That whimper sealed your fate. His lips were on yours in an instant, his resolve shattered. His lips were rough, moving fast against yours as he pressed so hard against you felt you would crumble beneath his touch. His hand delved into your hair, blunt fingernails scraping against your scalp and pushing you further into the kiss. He hungrily sucked on your bottom lip, tasting the copper that lingered in your mouth, groaning at the taste. Warmth radiated from his touch, and you pushed closer to relish the feeling, melting into his embrace. You were falling from reality, the morals slipping from you as he held you close, stubble raking across your chin. The smell of smoke, sweat, and blood invaded your senses in a way that left your head reeling, and the chain rattled as you gripped his shoulders as if he was a lifeline. 

Albert shuddered at the feeling of your fingers digging into his clothed skin, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard it drew blood. You gasped at the pain, the metallic liquid seeping into your mouth. Albert persisted, pupils blown from the taste, tongue lapping up the liquid feverishly before deepening the kiss, pushing into your mouth. His tongue was rough, invading your mouth so quickly that you felt like you were choking. Tangling his tongue against yours, your saliva quickly mixed with his as he explored your mouth, pressing so hard against you that your skull buzzed. He moaned into your mouth, the vibrations leaving you breathless. Shocked into place, Albert persisted, sucking on your tongue while pulling you even closer. You choked down another whimper, his musk invading your senses in a way that made your head spin. 

He was so warm. Skin pressed so hard against you it felt as if you were melting against him, burning like a furnace. His lips tore away from yours, a mixture of saliva and blood connecting the two of you. Your breaths came out in ragged huffs, lips swollen and sore from the onslaught of teeth and tongue. Albert’s gaze darkened, eyes taking over your disheveled form, soaking in the sight. His hand retreated from your scalp, skin tingling dully. His hands gripped your shoulders, mirroring your movements as he pushed you down into the mattress. You fell willingly, sinking into the fabric while trying to catch your breath, head reeling. 

Albert was on top of you immediately, arms caging you in as he knelt over your form. Ducking into your neck, his lips feverishly left open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, and you squirmed at the feeling of his tongue against your skin. Your skin burned as if you were on fire, shame pooling in your stomach from how good it felt. His stubble scraped against your sensitive skin as he searched for more ways to make you writhe against him, teeth sinking into your skin with a bruising force that left you gasping for air. Sucking on the tender spot, his fingers ghosted along your skin, mapping your curves. It felt as if he was devouring your skin, biting and sucking your soul from your body. 

He was marking you, leaving blots of red and purple along your skin so dark that nothing would cover the sin he was painting onto you. You would have been lying if you hadn’t thought about Albert during late nights alone in bed, but the reality of it all was all the more addicting. Your eyes rolled as his lips trailed the junction of your neck, chin grazing your collarbone. Spit coated your skin as Albert practically drooled on you, making his way across any exposed piece that was deemed to be untouched by his ruinous intent. “You taste divine…” He muttered into your skin, barely audible as his lips rubbed against a fresh bruise. He peered up at you, eyes almost black from pleasure, and you sucked in a breath at the sight, shrinking under his gaze. 

His fingers toyed with your top button, and your heart stopped within your chest. Before you could protest, his hands ripped at your shirt, the plastic buttons popping from the force, rolling across the cement floor of the basement. Your skin prickled at the cold, gooseflesh as the frigid air coated your damp skin. Practically tearing away the shredded fabric, your chest was left bare to his hungry gaze, and you fought the urge to cover yourself from the icy eyes dragging across your skin. Terrified of his wrath, you stayed still, trying to slow your breathing as his fingers immediately made their way to your exposed flesh, desperate for contact. His hand made contact with your breasts, palming the skin lazily, causing you to squirm beneath his touch. “Oh don’t get shy now…” He growled, a dull pain stabbing into your chest as he pinched your nipples roughly, rolling the sensitive flesh under his fingers. You yelped at the sensation, squirming, trying to cower away from the harsh grip. “-we have so much to do.” he finished, releasing your abused flesh from his hands. 

Gripping the mounds more tenderly, he squeezed them teasingly, thumbs ghosting your nipples again, causing your spine to straighten. He chuckled at your reaction, head dipping into the valley of your breasts, rubbing against your skin. Your brain short-circuits as his tongue licks at the skin of your sternum, warm and wet. His saliva coated your flesh, teeth nipping as he moved, fingertips trailing down your sides. You shuddered at the touch of his fingers ghosting over your ribcage, nails sinking into his shoulders so hard you were certain you drew blood. Albert stiffened, straightening against you so quickly your arms dropped to your sides abruptly. 

Rolling his shoulders, he tilted his head, looking down at you with such a dark gaze it was deadly. You swallowed thickly, lip quivering as you shrank further against the mattress, fear stabbing into your chest. His fingers hooked onto the black button-up he was wearing, lazily undoing his buttons, eyes never leaving yours. If your heart wasn’t in your throat, you would have called his movements seductive. His calloused fingers traced his shirt while his pale skin became more exposed as he went lower, lower. The black material fell haphazardly off his shoulders, the shirt balled up and thrown into a forgotten corner of the room. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the whimper building in your throat at the sight, all too similar to that godforsaken night you met him. He was just so attractive, too much so for your own good. The rest of the world seemed to melt away as your eyes trailed the exposed flesh in front of you, watching him roll his shoulders again. Albert clenched his fists, arms flexing as he leaned closer, nose brushing against yours. “It’s adorable, watching you struggle like this. So intent on hating me while fighting the truth. You want me.” He muses, grabbing your hand and laying it flat against his chest. Your lip quivers at the action, the heat of his skin seeping into yours as you fought the itch to explore. His heart hammered against your palm, and a small voice inside of you relished in the fact that it was beating for you. You clenched your jaw shut at the thought. It was wrong, so wrong, but you couldn’t stop your head from reeling at the sight of him in front of you so intimately. 

Crawling over you, Albert easily caught your wrists within his hand, taking advantage of the war waging within your head. Immediately, you squirmed beneath his grasp, confusion wracking your form. Everything was moving so fast, too hard to process. Your heart felt like it was hammering out of your chest, about to burst at any second. Albert knew that though, he always knew, and he was going to use it against you. Pulling the discarded scarf from the mattress beneath you, he knotted the material against your wrists once more, aligning your limbs to the chain that was bolted into the wall above your head. You hissed at the contact of the material against your raw wrists, itching to rip it off and burn it. You tugged on the scarf, but your efforts were all in vain, doing nothing but irritating your abused flesh even more. 

Albert clicked his tongue, admiring his work before tugging the tail of the scarf closer to him, mirroring his previous actions at the house. “So squirmy…” He teased, his other hand slipping down your naval, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle. He toyed with the drawstring of your shorts, and your eyes widened. “W-wait… I don’t-” You babbled onwards, praying, pleading that the train moving a million miles a second would halt. Albert, however, was less easily convinced, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, brushing your hip bone. “-I… I haven’t done this before.” You begged, sinking your back further into the mattress to try and get space from the very eager hand toying at your clothes. Albert paused, fingers hooked on the waistband of the shorts, eyes dilated. 

“Poor girl… so innocent.” He growled, fingers digging into the waistband while his other hand pulled the scarf impossibly tight. You whimpered at the sensation, pain stabbing into your wrists. “Don’t worry… I’ll break you in nice and rough.” He finished, yanking the shorts down your thighs in one swift motion. Immediately, you snapped your legs shut, hips locking into place as you cowered, watching as your shorts were discarded at the edge of the bed, dangerously far from reach. Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you felt the slick between your thighs, mentally cursing your body for being so traitorous. Completely bare beneath Alberts prying gaze, you flushed, trying to ignore the warmth that blossomed within your stomach. 

Albert dropped the scarf that connected your wrists, opting to grip your hip instead, his nails digging into your flesh so hard you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. His fingers ghosted over the exposed flesh of your thighs, trailing inwards so slowly it caused a shudder to rip through your body. He chuckled at your response to his touch, braving onwards, pushing forward. Your toes curled in anticipation, whether from terror or excitement you couldn’t decipher. Wedging his hand in between your thighs, his index finger scraped against your unclothed center, and you squeezed your eyes shut. He hummed slightly, satisfied at the slick that gathered between your legs, and you swallowed thickly, shame rippling off of you in waves. 

“So compliant. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked for me… such a good girl.” Albert praised, teasing your folds. Your eyes fluttered as he eased in a finger, the length scraping along your gummy walls. You tensed at the foreign feeling, naval tightening as he stretched you out, testing the waters. Brows furrowed, you sucked on your bottom lip for comfort, trying to clear the battle of morals within your mind. It felt… good, Albert’s long finger reaching further than you ever could have on lonely nights, the stretch within causing that oh so sweet bundle of nerves to stir to life. Pleased with your warmth, Albert sunk another finger inside of you, and you gritted your teeth at the slight sting. Working his way into you, Albert’s fingers curled within you, searching for ways to make you more reactive. The pads of his long digits hit that hidden spot within you, and you writhed against the scarf, tugging at the material sharply. A whimper slipped, your facade quickly fading as his fingers continued to sink into you, prepping you. 

Albert sighed at your noises, eager to draw more out of you, fingers picking up their pace. His free hand left your hip, and he palmed himself lazily over his slacks, growing impatient. This was for him after all, not you. Slipping in a third finger, you felt like you were being split open at the intrusion, glancing down at him knuckle deep inside of you. Your arousal was evident, slick coating his hand and dripping down your thighs, and you flushed at the squelch that emitted when he withdrew his fingers from your core. You wanted to slap yourself when your hips jerked to meet his fingers, body betraying you as you subconsciously chased that high. Albert’s thumb brushed against your clit, and you almost jumped out of your skin, a gurgling moan ripping through your throat at the contact. 

Albert’s lips twisted into a wolvish grin at that, thumb continuing to draw circles on the bundle of nerves as he pumped his fingers within you until you were a breathless, blubbering mess. You felt like a furnace, skin hot to the touch as you writhed beneath the male’s sensual strokes, jerking at the rough touches to your clit. Obscene noises slipped from you, facade completely cracking as he scissored his fingers, stretching you so far you felt you would tear in two. Practically gurgling, you clawed at the scarf, hips rolling into his touches as you abandoned all hope of shame or guilt. The feeling was addicting, your inexperienced body reacting in ways you never thought possible. “Shit… you’re sucking me in, doll… so needy.” He teased, thumb pressing against your clit so sinfully your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

Your stomach tightened, pressure building within you as Albert fucked you with his fingers. Your core tightened as you throbbed around him, practically milking his fingers. So close… you were so close. Albert’s fingers brushed against that spongy spot again, and you almost tipped over the edge, a broken moan tearing through your throat. Then it was gone. Albert’s fingers withdrew from you so quickly it hurt. You clenched around nothing, tears lining your vision as you felt the emptiness overtake you. Nails digging into your palms so hard you were sure you left marks, you writhed against the mattress, gritting your teeth at the denial of pleasure. 

Albert chuckled darkly at your suffering, and you wanted to scream. “Look at you... practically begging me for it.” He brought his fingers to his mouth, drenched in your juices. Albert’s tongue ran over his fingers, slurping your slick off his digits, groaning at the taste. Humming in approval, he smirked down at your form, tongue running over his bottom lip. You flushed at the action, embarrassed at the way your stomach flipped at the sight. Screwing your eyes shut, you tried to shake the image burned into your eyes, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. The jangling of a belt buckle ripped you from your embarrassment, and you cracked your eyes just enough to see Albert rip his belt from his belt loops, the item of clothing clattering noisily as it skidded across the cement floor. 

Albert quickly unbuttoned his slacks, the black fabric straining against his form. Glancing downwards, your eyes almost bulged out of your skull at the tent sported in his pants, looking dangerous. You paled, reality setting in as Albert tugged his fly down, hissing at the cold air. Impatiently, he shoved his slacks down, and god you were not prepped enough for that. In the dim lighting, Albert’s cock stood proudly, straining against his abdomen. Ridged veins crawled along his length, trailing upwards seductively until they reached his head, red and angry and very hard. Precum leaked from his tip, and your mouth instantly watered at the sight. 

Wasting no time, Albert’s hand lazily stroked his length, running his thumb along his slit, gathering the precum that settled there. He squeezed his cock, a hiss escaping his form, and you swallowed thickly at the noise. His hips stuttered forward, and Albert pushed in between your legs, causing you to nestle around him. Your lip quivered as his head brushed against your slit, gathering your slick. “This is going to hurt…” Albert cooed sadistically, hand gripping your jaw roughly while his other continued to align himself against you. You sucked in a breath, trying to steel yourself against his harsh words. With that, Albert thrusted forward, plunging inside of you. White hot pain exploded within you, and you felt as if you were being torn apart. A sob tore through your throat, tears filling your eyes at the painful stretch. 

Unphased by the intrusion, Albert continued, pushing so deep you were sure you were dying, his hips flush against yours, moving immediately with no room to adjust. Groaning, his grip on your jaw tightened so hard you felt as if you were going to snap. “Fuck… you’re so tight. Just like a bitch in heat.” He murmured, bottoming out before jutting forward again, causing a gargled yelp to escape you. It was too much, you were too full, feeling as if you were bursting at the seams and filled to the brim with nothing except him. He was ruining you, practically tearing you apart and stuffing you so full there would be nothing left. His hips rolled again, cock dragging against your sore folds so roughly you were sure you were stretched to the brink. 

Albert moved at a bruising force, fucking into you so roughly you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. With every harsh thrust, the searing pain began to subside, an indescribable warmth beginning to take its place. Albert’s hand wrapped around the scarf, tugging it closer, and your back arched off the mattress to meet his grueling pace. You subconsciously clenched around him at the action, the thrusts of his cock becoming much more clear against you at the shift in your position. The other hand dug into your hip, forcing your legs even further apart as he drove into you. Heat prickled across your skin, the stretch of his cock becoming everything except pain with each thrust. Your toes curled as he hammered into you, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. Quick, heated huffs escaped you as he ruined you, the pain completely shifting into white-hot pleasure. 

Albert practically growled as you succumbed to his ministrations, broken moans filling the air as he fucked you into the mattress. “Taking me so- hah… well… I knew you needed it…” He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder as his scarf-entangled fist met the bed, pulling you even more upright. “-Such a- fuck… dirty slut.” His degrading words burned at your skin, yet the way his hips rolled against you made any semblance of a response die on your lips. The warmth returned to your stomach, kneading so heavily within you it felt like you were going to burst. Your legs trembled around Albert’s waist, the tension continued to build with every stroke of his cock through your slick walls. Uncontrollably, you clenched down, causing a hiss to escape the male hovering over you. “Shit… you’re milking me. You- mmh… you wanna cum?” He mused, dropping the scarf completely to wrap both hands around your neck, pushing you flat into the mattress. 

Pushing his weight against you, his hips slammed into yours at such a bruising pace your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Using your neck as a lifeline, Albert barred down, cutting off most of your oxygen as he pounded against you. “Cum for me, let me- ah… let me ruin you.” He pushed, thrusting so deeply you swore you saw stars. Your heels dug into the mattress, tension building within you so tightly tears welled in your eyes. And finally, you burst. Your orgasm hit you so suddenly your nails cut into your palms, body spasming as pleasure cut through your whole body, the dam releasing. A guttural scream tore through the air, rough and jagged, before it dawned on you that it was coming from you. Albert’s paced faltered as he fucked you through your orgasm, the pleasure radiating off of you in waves to the point you felt like jelly in his hands. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-.” Albert chanted into your neck, riding out your orgasm before his hips stilled within you, stuttering as he reached his own orgasm. Hot, wet ropes of cum spurted within you, and you clenched at the feeling. Albert shuddered, practically collapsing against you, hips shallowly thrusting against yours. Sweat clung to your skin, and the smell of sex, blood, and saliva coated the air heavily. Albert’s grip on your throat released, and you gasped for air. Albert tore his head from the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from his temple as he took in his handiwork. You were sprawled beneath him, skin adorned with love bites and bruises, covered in blood and sweat as you tried to catch your breath. You were his, ruined for all others.

A wicked grin spread across his lips, and he gently unwrapped the scarf from your neck, rubbing the raw flesh of your throat endearingly. He hummed at the way you melted against his hand, brain turned to mush and still reeling from your orgasm. So sweet, so compliant, all it took was a little breaking in, and you were all his. Albert withdrew his hips from yours, his softening cock retreating from your folds. You jolted at the feeling, a hiss escaping you as the emptiness consumed you again, soreness creeping into your form. Crawling off the bed, Albert quickly dressed, shoving himself into his slacks before glancing at your fucked-out form on the mattress, a mixture of cum and blood dripping onto the mattress from between your legs. Albert huffed at the sight, buckling his belt into place before moving to crouch beside you. 

His fingers brushed your hair, and you sleepily opened your eyes to meet his own. Albert smiled at the empty gaze within them, only trained on him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? How about some of that eggnog?” Albert mused, grabbing your ruined shirt and pushing you upwards. You limply complied, jerking slightly from the shift in position. Albert produced a small key from his back pocket, unchaining your wrist from the wall before slipping the ruined shirt back onto your form. You hummed slightly, relishing the way the fabric brushed against your sore skin. Releasing your form, you flopped backwards onto the mattress, exhausted. Albert chuckled at your almost broken state, standing and grabbing his shirt. Shrugging the material back onto his body, he buttoned the bottom few buttons before turning towards the door. “Merry Christmas, hon. I’m sure it’s one you’ll never forget.”

Your eyes met his once more, and he smiled, knowing he had won. Bound by kindness, he thought. Turning, he creaked open the heavy door before slamming it shut, leaving you alone in the cramped room. Rolling on your side, you brought your knees to your chest, the warmth fading from your skin. Shame and guilt blossomed like a pit within your stomach, the pleasure seeping from you as you stared out at the wall. You winced at the pain from moving, groaning slightly as you felt Albert’s cum leaking from you onto the damp mattress. Mind swirling with emotions that were too complicated to decipher, you waited for Albert to return, craving his warmth, yet hating yourself for wanting him near you. His betrayal was a fresh wound to bear, yet you couldn’t find yourself despising him, a much more primal emotion forming in your gut. You couldn’t tell which was more terrifying. Figuring out how you felt about Albert and how to adjust to your… new life was a tomorrow problem, for now you needed to rest. Staring out at the small window by the ceiling, you watched the snow fall once more, the frigid air creeping into the room and seeping into your bones.

You always hated the cold.

—

A/N: This was definitely a labor of love... requests and suggestions are still open for anyone interested!

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Day 3: Snowglobe: Fromaggio

TW: yandere behavior, Formaggio is seriously messed up, suggestive words and undertones, reader is in danger, read is half naked (poor Muslim readers and modest readers), torture, use of manga color palette on Formaggio, reader is not male or female I just used masculine terms because fuck romance languages and their gender bullshit.

You wake up to the feeling of cold wet drops falling on your bare skin. You sit up after the last drop falling with a thick plop onto your exposed arm. Shivering you flutter your lashes to see something you never seen besides on mountains: snow.

Standing up you feel the cold wetness on your bare feet, damn your captor couldn't be bothered to give you shoes. Wait why was it snowing indoors? Looking up you see the glass sealing you into this icy prison. No, he couldn't have shrunken you on Christmas, you'd been a model "bambino" for him. You grit your teeth in frustration as you grip the long white shirt that barely covered your nakedness.

Sick pervert undressed you and redressed you only in his shirt before sentencing you to freeze in a "cheerful" snow globe. You fume further thinking how long he was going to keep you in here while he drinks and parties with his coworkers at his "company". You sit on the "snow" not caring how cold it was. How did you ever find yourself in this situation.

You remember bumping into a sleazebag at the bar you went to unwind at and smacking he bastard in the face. Before the drunkard could retaliate a lazy arm slung around your shoulder pulling you into a firm chest. The man holding you was quite handsome with tan skin and short auburn hair in a messy buzzcut. An easy smile came to his face as he looked at the man in front of you both.

"Sorry signor, but this mignolo is with me." He looks down at you with cheesy wink on his dumb face. What did he just call you?! You couldn't retaliate as your "savior" is punched in the face. The auburn-haired man barely flinches before hitting the man square in the jaw, causing the old geezer to go flying out the window. Formaggio yawns as the old guy struggles to get back up.

"You want to fight; eh it can't be helped."

You never really saw the man after that or learned the man's name. You only saw him a couple of times out and about. You never would have imagined such a laidback guy was capable of kidnapping until he told what his job was. You were horrified as the assassin in front of you pats your back awkwardly. "Hey at least you've got a house, and I don't care if you adopt a stray or two, just don't make me clean up its shit."

Bastard

The door opens to the shabby apartment as a boisterous person stumbles in, clearly not at all sober. Obnoxiously laughter scares off the cat that was watching your shrunken form with a predatory gaze. "Fuck off you useless cat, can't you see I'm trying to find carino!" No why?! Your drunk "lover" stumbles over towards the couch and curses when he trips and lands on it. His eyes are glazed until he sees the snow globe. "Oh, that's right, I remember where I put my bambino." Formaggio talks like he forgot a sock in the washer and not his shrunken lover.

"Hey sugar boy you really are mignolo! Did you miss me?" The man's brown eyes rove your barely covered form lecherously as he peers in the snow globe like a cat watching a goldfish. "Aw you're wearing my shirt; you really must have missed me. Don't worry I missed you too!"

You glare as you shiver in the globe as the gears in Formaggio's head spin. "Oh, you must be cold in that snow globe all alone on Christmas Eve." Tutting as you back away from the assassin who somehow could shrink you. You want out but not if it means this man will be the horndog he normally is.

"I've got a proposition for you bambino, we get you out of there and I'll warm you right up~" Gross he's so gross. You shake your head as you know what "warming you up" entails. Thin brows lift as you refuse his "generous" offer. Formaggio's flirtatious demeanor drops as he eyes you with a calculated expression. "No, hm maybe you're just not cold enough."

Cold water fills you lungs as Formaggio furiously shakes the globe harshly slamming your body into the sides of the globe. You hoped that would be enough to kill you but no Formaggio knew how to keep you barely alive so he could toy with you further. Formaggio laughs at your wet form. "Ha ha, wet for me already sweetheart but we're just getting started?" You once again are submerged in water as he shakes the cursed snow globe again and again. Your lungs are on fire and your whole body shakes furiously delusionally grasping to some form of warmth.

Formaggio puts the souvenir item down before staring intently down at your wet white shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. "Aw mignolo look at you, how could you be so careless you might get sick." Fuck this horrible bastard why won't he just leave you alone. You feel a faint warmth as tears stain your cheeks. "Hey you don't have to cry, I'm only playing with you, no need to be such a baby."

"Fuck you!" You shout with all your might causing the perverted man's mocha-colored eyes to light up. "Gladly bambino but you seem to be a bit cranky, maybe I should give you a little more time to-"

"NO PLEASE LET ME OUT I WANT TO BE WARM, I'M SORRY!" Pride be damned your lips were turning purple. You'd give in just to finally stop being cold. That was what Formaggio was counting on.

"Will you be a good bambino for me?" You bob your head up and down furiously causing the lazy man to chuckle. "Alright I'll be nice it is Christmas Eve after all." You find yourself growing as the glass of the snow globe shattered leaving faint cuts on your face. You stumble causing Formaggio to catch you. Fading in and out of consciousness as you feel warm and cold at the same time.

"Aw look how perfectly you fit into my arms, I'm so glad I didn't use antifreeze, you'd be way uglier dead." You feel his warm hands begin to rove your cold flesh but you lean into it.

You want to be warm again

Yes another one bitch, feel free to ask for a character. I'm definitely making the hero reader and villain Idia this Christmas as your full fic treat. I also can do platonic for oc or fandom which might be one of these days. I also am finishing two other fics right now, but the young ones must be fed

bambino: baby (term of affection)

mignolo: Southern Italian way of saying cutie, often referring to short people and children (Formaggio is teasing you using this)

carino: Darling

[j4gm]

SPOILERS!!! REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS IN F&C ep. 9: CASPER & NOVA (1 of 2)

I hit the image limit so this post will be in two parts.

These last two episodes feature traditional Adventure Time title cards with intro credits, which is something the others haven't had.

There is a butterfly floating above Fionna when she enters the "Land of Ooo". The same thing happened to Cake when she entered Ooo, and to Simon later on, but this butterfly doesn't have a face on it like those. This is our first hint that something is wrong.

The Betty statue in the background of this shot is on top of a four-faceted object that sort of resembles Glob's helmet; an item that she used to gain her magic powers in You Forgot Your Floaties. Also in this shot are several gnome fairies from The Enchiridion and Billy's Bucket List, and of course Mrs Cupcake and genderswapped Chocoberry. Mrs Cupcake has appeared before but I think Chocoberry is a new design for this episode.

This is our first and only look at what Hunter Wizard would look like. Mostly the same as his main universe counterpart.

This species of dragon first appeared in Memories of Boom Boom Mountain and has been in several subsequent episodes. I'm not sure who the giant cyclops is. It could be a genderswap of the cyclops from Another Way, or perhaps the rock giant from Five More Short Graybles.

Lots of the text in this scene is hostile. There is this sign behind the counter, of course, but lots of the books on the shelf also have violent names.

This series loves giving us extremely fucked up Simons.

This background character looks like Phlannel Boxingday. It would be hilarious if that was the case, considering he is widely assumed to have been a disguise of Princess Bubblegum rather than his own character.

This might be genderswapped Tiffany. She's wearing Tiffany's pink shirt under her jacket. Maybe she has a masculine name in this universe.

We get a better look at the newspaper from the first episode, featuring Betty. It also features the fake butterfly from the dream which feels like a bad omen.

Marshall Lee's t-shirt features the cake pop from Princess Bubblegum's rock shirt, first seen in What Was Missing.

The Lich first mentioned being a Scholar of GOLB in the episode Whispers. In this episode it is confirmed that he has been working towards his goals in GOLB's name. But it doesn't seem like he's actually had any line of communication with GOLB this whole time. GOLB doesn't seem to appreciate The Lich's efforts to wipe out all life; and now that GOLB is fused with Betty, they certainly don't.

The Lich rips off Billy's skin to reveal his skeletal form, which is the same as it was in Escape from the Citadel, complete with the metal plate on his ribcage.

GOLBetty turns the Lich into a tetronimo, implying that all of the tetronimoes surrounding them were once powerful beings who defied GOLB; perhaps they are even all alternate versions of The Lich.

Shermy and Beth! This episode incorporates a lot of the extra lore that writer Steve Wolfhard published shortly after the release of Come Along With Me. It canonises the fact that Shermy and Beth are rebels who oppose the tyrannical rule of Gibbon, who is Charlie's future son from Daddy-Daughter Card Wars. This place is the Pup Kingdom, which is featured in the Come Along With Me title sequence and is a central part of Wolfhard's 1000+ lore.

These are the same kinds of soldiers as seen in Graybles 1000+ when Cuber interrupted the space wedding. In that episode, you only got a very brief glimpse of their jowls. This episode makes it more obvious that they are pups.

All of these pups in the windows are designs from Steve Wolfhard's "Every Pup Has a Power" series of drawings. They once had superpowers, but their powers were extinguished by Gibbon.

This is Jake's favourite mug from the episode Puhoy, and the house in the snowglobe is Tree Trunks' house.

There is a Shermy plush in this pile of junk. There might be some other recognisable stuff in that pile too. I think the popcorn machine is from something but I can't remember what, and the pool toy might be a reference to the Lub Glubs from Beautopia.

This is our best shot of the Pup Kingdom, with its space elevator.

Beth is a revolutionary communist confirmed.

Shermy Simon shouts breadballs, an expletive that he previously used in the episode Simon & Marcy.

The clouds in Fionnaworld are shaped like GOLB blocks while Simon is in the presence of GOLB. We also get a better look at all the glitched out buildings, like that door that leads nowhere.

I think the creature next to Gunter in this advert is a yeti from the show Summer Camp Island, which a bunch of Adventure Time alumni went to work on after the original show ended.

There is a poster for Super Porp, a fizzy grape juice introduced in the episode Dark Purple, along with their mascot Cheryl.

Jake is on these packages in one of the shops.

The Library looks incredible now. In the original show, only the top part with the dome could be seen sticking out of the ground. Either the ground has eroded away to reveal the rest of the structure, or the library has been greatly expanded over time.

Turtle Princess is dead and apparently a robot took over her empty shell and continues to work as a librarian. These are the first gun-books we've seen that also function as actual guns.

These are the pagelings from the episode Paper Pete. They're much larger than they used to be. They don't have many books left to protect these days.

Casper & Nova mention lodging in the seaside town of Scandia on their quest to find the crown. This is a reference to the fact that Simon and Betty found the crown in Scandinavia, as mentioned way back in Holly Jolly Secrets.

I hit the image limit! Link to the second part.