I had the pleasure of doing a commission for @littlescrib. I got to work with her two amazing OC and had a blast. I hope you all enjoy it too!
Naia is sitting outside, her head down as she sharpens her sword. She’s always quiet, always reserved. Well, I know she’s quiet because she can’t talk. Before I even met her, her vocal cords were damaged. Part of the reason I fell for her was because of her scars. I loved the way she looked battle worn and victorious. I chose her because I always wanted to be her shield. She is not an orc like me. She is an elf, and even with her ferocity and scars, she is still small.
I barely touch her, afraid it might scare her. I know to elves orcs are not an attractive lot as it is, adds on to the fact half of me is nothing but burns and scars I know I am no prize to look upon. My scars may earn me award with my kind, but for anyone else, it is stares and pointed fingers. Naia is my prize at least. I would give her anything if she allowed me to treasure her.
She comes inside after sharpening her sword and hangs it on the wall. She keeps her head down, but I notice her glance my way. Her eyes dart over me, and she takes a step towards me. I glance down at her and see her flinch. She steps back again and starts moving her hands, using sign language to communicate to me.
A commission for @lavendermintie that has turned into one of the sweetest stories I’ve done. I was so glad to be able to write this story and take on a dark elf!
I was young when I got married, probably too young. That’s why, when my husband died, it seemed like such a tragedy. I was too young to be a widow, too young to have a baby on my own. Sophie wasn’t even born yet. He never got to see her, not even once. He knew I was pregnant before he was shipped off, but that’s about it.
I devoted my life to Sophie after that. I wanted her to grow healthy and independent, something I feel that I lacked. I didn’t want her to lose something so young like I did. I wanted her to grow up knowing safety and comfort for as long as possible. Isn’t that what any parent wants? I also made sure Sophie knew the things her father did. She was so much like him; it was like his spirit was inside her. I swear, Sophie could climb before she could walk. She took to water like a fish; I never knew a child who insisted on having baths as much as she did. Even as a baby if I wanted to comfort her a warm bath was all it took. I swear, by the time she was three I thought she could fly.
My parents asked me to go out and meet people. Sophie needs a father was a regular mantra of theirs. Sophie had a father, and I knew he was guiding her. A male figure in her life? She had several; my brother was always around, both sets of grandparents were still around, my uncle spoiled her more than any of them. My uncle, Eric, was the reason I even met my husband. He had raised him since his home life was far from perfect. My husband’s father was a drunk so he would often run away to the docks that my uncle owned and operated. He taught him everything he knew and considered him a son. So to him, Sophie was his granddaughter as well as his great niece.
A new chapter in the ever growing world of Hearthway Hollow! The new werewolf also grows one of the families there. Hope you all enjoy!
You run deliveries for the bakery and the cafe. You’ve had your motorcycle fitted with individual side bags so that the food and drinks don’t spill or get crushed. Every day, right at one, you made a delivery to the police station. One day, along with the usual order, there was an order for over twenty bacon cheese croissants.
As you walk into the station with your delivery, you set things on the front desk as the secretary goes to fetch the collection. As you’re double-checking the order to make sure everything is there, a cop rushes up beside you.
“Is that them?” He grabs the bag full of croissants and grins. “Good! Just in time!”
You look up at him; he’s exceptionally tall with gangly limbs and legs that go on forever. He has a sweet baby face but there is a scar on the right side of his face, and he wears an eyepatch. “You aren’t going to eat all of those are you?”
His cheeks suddenly turn dark red. “No! They’re for the dogs.”
“The dogs?” You ask. You look around, knowing over half the police station is werewolves.
Charlie is back, and she and Sofia have a bun in the oven. (Yes, be warned, there is pregnancy in this story.) Charlie and Jean’s past also comes back to haunt them in a big way. Hopefully Hearthway Hollow will be able to protect them.
My hands are shaking as I look over the stupid little white stick in my hands. I was laughing when I bought the damn thing. I should have known better, I mean, I wouldn’t have bought it if there wasn’t some considerable level of concern.
There’s a knock on the door. “Baby? Are you ok? You’ve been in there for a while.” Sofia’s voice is so sweet. She has no idea what trouble she has gotten me into.
“I’m fine,” my voice cracks and betrays me.
“Baby,” Sofia insists.
I take a deep breath and let it out very slowly. I open the door to Sofia who is staring up at me with wide, sympathetic eyes. I thrust the pregnancy test at her and frown. She takes it, her big brown eyes going wide and sparkling with awe. She gasps, covering her mouth as tears start to come to her eyes.
A new vampire enters! I’m so enjoying building up my new vampire breed. I hop eyou guys are liking them to. @fivesecondmemory commissioned this story. You can commission your own story too if you’d like, just message me!
Also! This story features sex while the MC is on their period. Just a heads up.
Working nights isn’t all the bad. You only really have to deal with your coworkers, and even your boss is over an intercom. Sure, heavy lifting isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for you, this couldn’t be better. You’d much rather be dealing with heavy cargo than the cumbersome burden of customers. Working freight has been a blessing in disguise.
Your boss, or at least the overseer for everything, usually keeps to himself. He stays back in the central office, keeping tabs on the trucks that are coming and going as well as checking up with everyone’s progress. He’s not a bad guy just kind of…weird. Ok very weird. He was extremely pale, almost looking like an opal gemstone. He had long limbs like a taffy pull had stretched him. You hadn’t seen him often, but he left an impression, especially his hands. His fingers were super long, and you almost expected them to have extra joints. He’s worked for the company for a long time, but whenever you or your coworkers see him his appearance doesn’t match the age you expect him to be.
“I wonder what sort of skin care he does,” you coworker Amber says. You’re all crowded around the vending machines when he stepped out of the office. His hair is silvery and pale and falls before his eyes, nearly blending with his skin. He looks young but the way people talk he sounds like he should be in his fifties or sixties.
A new demon to add to the collection. And I know, the name is going to be a pun. But this was an actual demon who looked like a cat. So, I ran with it. I really like this one and hope you enjoy it as well!
Ever since you were little there has been something in your room. Something that, at night, reaches out from the shadows to claw at your blankets and touch your hair. You’ve tried sleeping on the sofa or staying in the houses of friends and family and for a time it works. But eventually, you always have to go back to your bed and your room where the long, sharp hands reach out of the shadows to touch you at night. It’s frightening and you worried more than once that one night, the hands were going to stop just touching and grow more vicious. You’ve learned to sleep with your blankets wrapped around you like a cocoon.
As you grew you learned to ignore the hands and eventually you had convinced yourself they weren’t real. They were just your childish, vivid imagination running wild when your anxiety was piqued. You went about your life and yet you still slept in a cocoon.
For a time, you left home to travel. An opportunity arose where you could travel with a friend, doing minor work with them along the way. You eagerly jumped at the chance, never looking back. Once you returned home and were unpacking you felt a strange presence in your room. There was nothing that had changed, nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as you left it yet you felt as if there was something different. As you unload your makeup bag back into your vanity you glance up in the mirror, you see something standing behind you. You jump and turn around but nothing is there. You know you saw something, it was as plain as day. But much like the hands at night you quickly deny it away.
This commission is a bit more different than my usual fare. It’s still a good story and I enjoyed writing it so much. It’s dark so take heed.
Tensions are high on the ship after news that several stations near you have been attacked. No one has been able to contact them to find out if there are any survivors. All communication is lost at this point. No one knows how or why these stations were hit, all that they knew was that you had to assume everyone was dead. This wasn’t any good news for the ship you were on. The Nero Rising was a colony ship and it had been headed to one of the stations that had ‘gone dark’ as they called it.
You were on the medical team and the recent stress was not doing anyone any favors. More than once a day you were administering anxiety medication. Panic attacks were becoming the norm and this only added to the pressure onboard. You feel as if there is a thumb pressing down on the back of your neck.
Staring out the window into space you can’t help but feel as if there is some proverbial boogieman. Ever since you first went into space you’ve always had this feeling. It was like when you were little and was afraid of the monster under your bed. Very similarly, all of space felt like the infinitesimal crawl space under the bed. The endless darkness with its unreachable depths could hold any number of terrors. You just had one though. Something that crawled out of your dreams and now seemed all too real. It was a monster made of shadows and knives, it was both beautiful and alluring while also being terrifying beyond reason.
An incubus story! Another sugarey sweet confection at least in my opinion. A commission for the lovely @cyrenfae. This story is told in first person, just so ya’ll know! I hope you all enjoy!
I’ve been noticing this guy lately. He popped up once when I was buying underwear at the mall, then again the next day when I was running late for work. After that, I just kept seeing him in random places everywhere I went. He’s that trope, you know, tall, dark, and handsome. And when I saw dark, I mean he has this dark foreboding aura surrounding him. He takes that Jane Austen brooding hero to the nth degree.
I keep wondering, every time I see him if it is fate at play. Like, do we keep running along the same path because we are supposed to? Or am I just filled with romantic notions and Disney princess songs and being silly? I see him so much though that sometimes all I can do is think that it’s meant to be.
One evening, I’ve left my apartment to go get coffee. I’m feeling rather down on myself and need something just to perk me up. Something sweet with extra whipped cream and sprinkles to make me feel things will be ok. Only thing is, when I go to pay, I can’t pay. I’m lower on funds than I expected, part of why I’m feeling so down.
A very cute little commission for @knottykorgi. A girl accidentally summons a demon into her craft shop. The classic story of girl summons demon. I hope you all enjoy!
I was never really that great at magic. What I was good at was sewing things. I’ve always been crafty, much to the chagrin of my family. I learned simple spells to keep them appeased just so I could continue my hobby of making little plush toys. As I grew I was able to summon big bolts of fabric, nicer needles, finer thread. I became quite good at that. Anything else just spelled disaster.
I’ve finally opened a shop where I sell my wares, or well, toys I guess is the best word. I sell toys that I make. Plushies of all shapes and sizes fill every corner of my shop. My micro plushies have become a hot trend with the local school. They come in to buy them and attach them to keychains that I have seen grow massive. It seems the more you have in the same style is what’s cool. So I get kids coming in and fighting over who gets the last lion or unicorn. I’ve started to have to make more and more each day. Yeah, every day I have t make more of these tiny suckers.
I’m having to even try and whip some up during the day, rather than after the shop closes. I’ve considered hiring help, but I feel that defeats the purpose of my store. I want to be able to make everything I sell.
It’s an opers with a satyr and orc. It’s an orc-pera! This was so amazing to write. It just flowed to me, I had no control over it. It just breathed itself to life. A commission for @heavens-light-hells-fire and I am so grateful to them and their constant support.
I have been performing since I was a child and I’ve always loved it. Standing on that stage and seeing the crowd all staring at me never gave me the fear it did others. I’ve taken much more from it, I’ve fed on it. My whole life has been devoted to performing. Now, I feel as if I am being mocked. The latest opera I am performing in has taken a slight change in direction. My once beautiful costar has stepped down and the role has been offered to someone else. Someone far less desirable.
Her name is Armandine Palmyre and is a rising star in the opera scene. They call her the Staggering Soprano because seeing her and then hearing her voice will make you fall in shock. She is an orc, need I say more on that? I have not heard her sing or see her perform but I don’t need to. I know what my stage needs and it does not need her lumbering about. The producers will not budge on this matter though. They tell me the same thing, “we want Palmyre” or “you’ll perform well with Palmyre.”
Palmyre. Palmyre. Palmyre. It is all anyone can talk about! Even when I go to my old costar to try and coerce her back to performing the stage with me she looks at me with derision.
