#i mean if youre gonna do this just offer commissions

[arrowheadedbitch]

Maela, I'm just gonna tell you the broad points of the Odyssey because I feel bad that you don't know it at all and are being roped in this way

The Illiad is about the Trojan war, you know, with the wooden horse? And the Odyssey is the sequel to that following a man named Odysseus who is the reigning king of an island named Ithaca

His wife Penelope and his newborn son Telemachus were left in Ithaca while he fought in the Trojan war, a war that lasted ten years. But in the end, Odysseus' side won and he gets to go home!

But, they're out of food, so they need to make a pitstop before they can go back home

So, Odysseus and his crew of SIX HUNDRED sail their ships to a nearby island, they start at the island of the Lotus Eaters where if you eat their fruit they mess with your mind and make you never want to leave, but they manage to get out with little skin off their backs and find a cave filled with sheep

They have 600 men to feed, so they start killing sheep to bring to the ships

But then, a cyclops named Polyphemus comes out. Uh oh, turns out these sheep are his best friends so he's gonna try and kill them.

He kills a few of them, including Odysseus' best friend, Polites, who will haunt the narrative from here on out.

But, Odysseus gave him some wine as a peace offering before he started killing people (and also lied about his name being Nobody) and surprise surprise! It was too strong/drugged so Polyphemus is out of commission for a sec, meaning Ody can form a plan!

That plan? Stab the cyclop's eye so they can escape

So they do that. And it works!

They don't leave immediately and can hear an unknown man asking Polyphemus who hurt him, and he says "Nobody" because he thinks that's Ody's name so the voice essentially calls him a pussy and leaves

But, ody is super pissed off about him killing some of his men, so on his way out he yells at the cyclops and tells him a lot of things, including his full name, title, and address, you know, like an idiot

So then they leave. But, uh oh! There's a huge storm blocking their way to Ithaca!!!

But, Ody sees Aeolus' (wind god) island, so he drops by and asks for help, Aeolus gives him a bag full of wind. This bag has the storm they couldn't cross in it, all he has to do is make sure it stays closed and he's free to go home!

But Ithaca is about ten days away, so he stays up for nine days straight and on the ninth night, he falls asleep and while he's sleeping, one of his crew mates, who are all convinced the bag is actually filled with gold and not a dangerous storm, opens it so they get blown away from Ithaca right before they reach the shores

VERY far away from Ithaca

But, ody manages to wake up and close the bag before all of the storm escapes

Then, Poseidon shows up. Turns out, Polyphemus? Yeah, that's Poseidon's son. Uh oh, HE was the voice they heard in the cave!

Poseidon is pissed at Ody's hubris so he's gonna make his life a living hell, starting by killing a shit ton of his crew, literally drowning multiple ships. The crew goes from just under 600 to a little over 40. YIKES.

But, before poseidon can kill him too, he opens the wind bag and escapes with the last of the wind. They land on an island. Ody sends some men to look around the island and figure out who they are.

But uh oh again! Turns out this is Circe's island! (Minor goddess of sorcery, and don't try to tell me she isn't a goddess, her parents are literally fucking titans, Helios and his wife did not give birth to a mortal) and she turned the scouts he sent into pigs to keep her nymphs safe.

So, Ody comes over, talks to her, he manages to convince her to turn his men back to humans and help him.

She send him to the underworld to meet a dead prophet who will hopefully help him, this prophet is the blind Tiresias and he basically tells him "lol, you're fucked dude, but you WILL get home haha you just won't like who you are by then..." and odysseus says "what the fuck does that mean???" And leaves, deciding that he can't be merciful anymore if he wants to get home in one piece

They pass by some sirens, in epic he kills them in the original he doesn't, yadda yadda, they have to pass through the Lair of Scylla (big freaky sea monster lady with six heads) to get past Poseidon since he still won't let them get home, Odysseus passes put six torches, Scylla eats anyone holding a torch, so that means her mouths are all full and she can't hurt them further, they leave

But, his second in command, Eurylochus is NOT happy with him sacrificing men, they stage a mutiny and end up on an island

Eurylochus kills one of the cows there and WHOOPTY WOO, that cow belongs to Helios, you are FUCKED, uh oh once again

So, the entire crew dies but Odysseus manages to escape, but he ends up injured and washed up on some rando island

The island turns out to belong to a goddess named Calypso and she's been alone for a very long time, so when she sees Odysseus wash up on her island, she decides that he's hers now

Odysseus, who is married to the lovely Penelope, is not happy that this goddess decided he belongs to her now, in both the sense of "he is an object" and "I am in love with you"

He's stuck on this island for about TEN YEARS, then Hermes shows up and tells Calypso she has to let him go

He makes his way home, but Poseidon still ain't over that shit so once he gets to the shores of Ithaca he gets into a big fight with him

But, he makes it through and now he's home...but 118 men have been messing around at the palace since he left and are growing impatient with both his wife and son...

But at this point Odysseus has been gone 20 years, they think he's dead, they know the crown is stalling, so she has to put on a competition. Whoever can string Odysseus' old bow and shoot through very particular obstacles can be the new king with Penelope. But this is a special bow, only Odysseus and Telemachus know how to string it, so Odysseus disguises himself as an old man and does the challenge flawlessly, no one else could do it (except for Telemachus but ody interrupted him so he wouldn't finish)

But now the suitors are planning to kill Telemachus and rape Penelope and take over by force and you KNOW Odysseus can't stand for that so he slaughters all of them in his palace, ALL of them

He finally meets his son, this is the first time he's seen him in twenty years, and he gets to see his wife

Penelope asks him to do one thing for her first, lift up their old wedding bed and take it far away from the palace

Odysseus is hurt, he points out how he had made this wedding bed by hand and it was carved into the tree they first met at and the only way to move it would be to chop that tree down.

Penelope reveals that she never wanted the bed gone, just wanted to see if he knew that because if he didn't then he wasn't the REAL Odysseus but since he does then he is!

So, they get back together and live happily ever after, aside from all the very intense trauma.

Best greek tragedy ever.

By the way, yes, every other character in the illiad also lived through some sort of tragedy going home, that is if they survived the war, odys the only one who took 20 goddamn years to get home though lmao

My favorite part of the Orpheus and Odysseus were in the underworld at the same time is the implication that Odysseus was actually singing for real and not because Epic is a musical retelling

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for anon!

Request: Hi! I'd love a ftm reader x multiple monsters/cryptids (dealers choice) where he's a party favor. Love the whole play thing dynamic with free use and impact play (very big fan of pussy slapping). Would love to see how creative you get with it. Same rules as a private play party where everyone knows each other and everything was pre-agreed upon and he's the hosts submissive. I adore your works!

A/N: Hi there! This was very fun to write, hope you like it!

Best. Night. Ever.

Multiple monsters (naga, werewolf, alien and mothman) x trans masc!reader || free use, impact play, sharing is caring, bondage, dirty talk (lowkey), spit-roasting

When your naga friend asked you to be one of the entertainments of the party he was hosting for his Cryptid Club, you were a bit unsure, but after he told you what you were supposed to do, you were completely sold on the idea. Since your transition, you were a bit of a slut, trying everything and anything you could, and this opportunity was priceless to try some... supernatural fun.

You arrived at the time your friend asked you to, but you were surprised when he instantly got to you with a concerned expression. “Hey dude look, I know I told you there was gonna be a few more entertainments, but… they didn’t show. Do you mind being the only one?” You were confused at his words, not really sure what that would mean for you, but also really worried you were going to let your friend down.

“What would that entitle?” You asked, trying to sound reasonable. You were ready to fuck some monsters, nothing to worry there.

“Well… Now you’d be the only one getting fucked, so it can be a lot,” he explained, sounded worried again. He kept biting his lip as his long tail thrashed nervously behind him.

Oh right, human body against a few monster’s dicks. Yeah, could definitely be a lot, but you… kind of liked the idea. All those monsters, all those dicks… just for you? You were almost ready to fall to your knees and offer yourself right there.

“I- I’m okay with it,” you answered, choking on your own saliva when the neediness appeared. You were so wet you could feel the wetness rubbing your thighs.

“You are the best, have I told you that?” He asked, leaning down to kiss your cheek loudly, a hit of saliva that he knew drove you insane but always made you giggle.

“Yes, you have.” You gave him an equally loud smack in his scale-covered face. “So… where do I go?” You looked around, trying to decipher something, but his house looked as normal as ever.

He walked you through everything. He told you more or less how many monsters there would be, half a dozen, but said not everybody would actively participate with you. You were okay with that. You had to be restrained, as part of the sacrifice-to-the-monsters theme, and they could do whatever they wanted with you (within reason), which you were very okay with.

He helped you out of your clothes, groping you every once in a while, kissing your chest scars like he always did when you fooled around, he had a bit of a fixation with your chest. He tied you over a table, legs far apart and arms over your head, presenting yourself like an offering. He kissed your temple and covered you with a silk sheet, telling you the guests would be there in a minute.

The moments of wait were excruciatingly hard, you weren’t one to be quiet or still for long periods of time, and being tied up, ready to be fucked and listening to all voices around… It was driving you insane with excitement and anticipation, your cunt so wet you could feel your juices dripping down your crack.

Someone clapped, and silence fell down upon all. “Hello friends, welcome to my party. I present you our lovely hole-in-one for the night.” There was a chorus of ah’s and oh’s as he pulled the sheet off your body. You felt like the most desired being in the whole universe, all anxiety dissipating in a cloud of desire and heat. “Look at that pretty cunt, all ready for us to play with… who wants to do the honors?” The naga host asked everyone, you shivered, your whole body trembling with anticipation.

You looked around, watching mesmerized all the monsters in the room. There was a magnificent white werewolf, a green alien with fingers so long you could already imagine where those would go, and even a mothman whose antennae were twitching every time he moved. You were more than ready to be ravished.

Some approached, the werewolf chuckling when you groaned at the sight of his huge dick. “Don’t worry darling, I won’t knot you. Not today, at least.” You blushed at the innuendo and looked at him with pleading eyes. “But I called dibs, so I hope you are prepared.” That’s all the heads up he gave you before his big tip was breaching your cunt, you were drenched already, and he slipped inside as you groaned loudly.

He smirked at you, grabbing your hips and going further and further, to the point it was almost painful, but he didn’t care. And you didn’t either, he felt magnificent inside of you. And when he bottomed out, he didn’t even wait two seconds before he was fucking you mercilessly. You could feel the base of his knot hitting your clit at every thrust, your mouth hanging open as your naga friend approached, pinching your nipples until they felt raw and you were about to explode.

“I like your present to us, friend, you did good,” the alien said as he rubbed his dick along your face, slapping your check with it. You tried to catch it in your mouth, but the werewolf fucking you didn’t let you, slapping the outside of your thigh and making you scream. Everyone looked at you at once, and you blushed.

“Such a needy slutty toy,” this time it was the mothman complimenting you, his dick already out of his cock-pocket.

He was rapidly jerking his dick next to your face, which was average size but had ridges and some sort of protrusion at the end that you know would feel phenomenal inside of you. You almost begged him to fuck your cunt instead of your mouth, but you remembered you were just a toy, you had no say on which hole he fucked.

You dutifully opened your mouth and he praised you. “Such a good boy-toy, aren’t you?” Someone else laughed behind him, you could see a shadow of green, probably the alien, but you couldn’t think much about it before your hair was roughly pulled and he started fucking your mouth with intent. You gagged, and he chuckled. “He’s so needy, won’t stop gagging trying to get more of me,” the mothman over you was almost cooing at your messy self, drool going everywhere as you indeed gagged on his dick. Your head was pushed back, his balls hitting your nose as you tried to go further and he pinched your nipples, making you groan around his cock.

Whoever was fucking your cunt, you thought he was the werewolf you saw earlier, responded: “You have to try his cunt later, bro, he’s squeezing me so tight I think I’m going to spill any second.” He pumped a few more times and spilled inside of you, adding to the mess you were already and making you groan indecently around the cock in your mouth.

He pulled back and somebody replaced him, a new cock pressing against your gaping hole, but when you thought you were going to get fucked again, you heard your naga friend saying: “Don’t be shy, slap his cunt, he loves it.” You gagged, trying to pull away from the cock, already anticipating what was going to happen. But the mothman didn’t relent, he pushed further as whoever was on your lower half did exactly that.

Slap.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your back arched impossibly high as you came. You came so hard and so forcibly that you squeezed the muscles in your throat, making the mothman pull back as he released, painting your face with his sweet come. You kept coming as he rubbed the tip of his cock over your open lips, your brain was so far away that you couldn’t care less.

“Does he always react like that?” The alien asked, jerking himself next to you, his hand already approaching your dripping hole.

“Every single time, he’s a slut with a pretty hole,” your friend responded. You blushed hard, knowing full well that he was right. The alien didn’t think twice before slapping your pussy again, making you cry out so loud that everyone around laughed. You were so sensitive, and it felt so great…

“Please…” Is all you could say before someone else’s dick was inside of you and you were being pounded into oblivion, a new cock being rubbed over your messy face as someone pinched your clit almost painfully. Not two second later you had a naga dick (the big one of the two) buried inside your cunt and the alien’s cock in your mouth. You were used like a monster’s fleshlight, and you couldn’t feel better.

“Slap him again, I want to feel his cunt squeezing me.” He did, and you saw stars. The milky way. The whole fucking universe.

One after another multiple cryptids fucked and probed and groped and played with your body like you were just a toy for their enjoyment. And you were. You wanted to be. And it felt fantastic. Better than fantastic, it felt perfect to be played with by a bunch of monsters.

You ended the night covered in fluids. You didn’t even know how many monsters came in you, over you… You only knew pleasure and desire and complete bliss. You were sated to the point of dizziness, and when everyone left between compliments to the host and you, your naga friend carried you into the shower and cleaned you sweetly. Always the gentleman. Before you fell asleep, his tail nested around your body, you could only have one thought:

Best. Night. Ever.

[freakinator]

funny thing about how i view the conflict in todays stream is that i view flame and wemmbu in very separate ways despite them doing essentially the same thing

in flames case:

i view his betrayal as ultimately a tragedy, their history all thrown aside due to a combination of wounded pride and genuine upset

if yall didnt see his chat for this stream it was actually really, really bad, like his chat is genuinely so fucking annoying oh my god and is a really good demonstration of why i think streamers should be mean to their chatters sometimes to so i actually wasnt at all surprised that he was so upset but i thought hed log off instead of acting out like this

he wanted respect but literally ruined the months long work of one of the few ppl that were willing to trust him over something that couldve been resolved if he just waited until september, but at the same time i can kinda understand why he was being so impulsive considering again his chat is Really bad, but at the end of the day that really shouldnt have been something you took out on one of your few allies like???? bruh even mocked zams storytelling as if he didnt do thee same shit as well 😭

honestly one of the reasons i was sad about his betrayal is cause it kinda sounded to me like he was genuinely about to cry at first??? maybe im just making shit up tho and he def stopped sounding like he was gonna cry after blowing up the spacewaffles tower lol

in wemmbus case:

i feel no pity for this man, he wanted conflict wherever he can get it and he got it! i think hes a lot like zam in that he just wants some attention and most importantly something to do but whatever happens to him next is his own fault lmao, i respect his honesty tho like hey he sucks but he knows what hes about at least lol

the fact that he still kept trying to get a commission from zam (or at least guilttripping him about it for lack of a better word) like bro i know you wanted to do a capitalism morality dilemma arc with zam but read the room my guy 😭

maybe hes at least a little mad that zam kept turning him away despite the fact he accepted a commission from mapicc of all ppl but like. bro. theres a reason zam called him a nightmare customer lmao

that being said you can tell hes not used to going this overboard considering he offered to help repair the tree when zam got upset lmao

idk i just thought his evilness was kinda funny, still hope he gets his shit kicked in spectacularly tho!

its funny, despite being acting like the shitty no reading comprehension version of abyss he gives me the exact same feeling of schadenfreude i did for minute back in s5 and i believe part of it is his mockery of lore and weird complicated dismissal of moral conflict particularly regarding zam

by weird complicated dismissal of moral conflict i mean both he and minute both tried to convince zam to see ''their side'' and ''reason'' but coming at it from an angle that completely misunderstands zam and when zam points it out they dismiss it and act like it means nothing because of their ''objective'' view of reality, spoiler alert! its not objective at all and they refuse to understand things from zams perspective cause they think hes just being unreasonable or something

idk overall i think their motivations for doing things are just kinda... shit lol

like ik theres some pretty obvious parallels that can be made with s5 here but the difference between the og players and flamebu aside from the lack of style and drama is that the og players waited several months before they started acting out the way they did and when they did start acting out tgey always made sure evryone who wanted to get involved Actually got involved rather than doing it while everyone was away plus their opps werent their own allies (except maybe pangi depending on how you look at it)

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)

Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.

Chapter word count: 9k

Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)

Author's note: And we start the second phase :)

Next chapter: Ten

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife

-

Nine

Five Weeks Later

“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.

Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life. 

“You may kiss the–”  

The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons. 

And, well, karma is a bitch.

Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed. 

“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”

It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.

"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.

"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.

Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”

“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”

“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.” 

Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.

Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."

Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”

“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.

The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.

Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.” 

“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”

“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”

Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours. 

"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.

"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.

“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”

“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”

“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”

Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”

Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face. 

Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”

You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.

Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.

“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”

Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”

"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”

Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.

Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself. 

“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.

Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.” 

Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.

“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.

Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"

Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”

Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."

“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.

“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”

Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away. 

“You’re returning to LA?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod. 

“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”

“Oh, did I tell you that?” 

“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.

“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”

The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display. 

Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago. 

But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.

“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.

Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.

“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”

Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional. 

"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"

“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”

“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him. 

"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."

“I love you, Piet.” 

“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.

“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.

Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”

“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.

Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.

With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."

"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"

“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says. 

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”

"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.

Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.

Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."

Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"

"You better. I already got you plane tickets."

“Oh, and Piet?”

“Yep?”

“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.

“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”

“You are?”

Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”

***

"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works. 

Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner. 

Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.

Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.

“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.

“Quick.” 

“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation

“The other day.” Natasha says.

“How do you like your steak?”

Natasha gives you a funny look.

Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.

“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs. 

Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."

Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"

With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."

"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.

“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”

“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.

“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile. 

Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.

"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.

“I, uh–”

"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."

When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.

“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.

“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says. 

“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."

You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree." 

“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.

You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease. 

Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk." 

You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty. 

Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.

“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says. 

You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.

"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.

Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”

“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.

A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife. 

Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.

But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.

“And Wanda? Is that over?”

Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.

“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."

Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.

“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"

"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.

Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."

You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.

“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.

“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”

A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.

“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.

Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths. 

“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.

Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.

Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.

“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.

Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?” 

Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”

Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.

“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.

"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.

"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple. 

Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.

As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.

“Y/N?”

"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."

Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."

You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips. 

“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck. 

“I’ll be back.” you say.

At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.

Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form. 

You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.

Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.

***

“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”

Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.

“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”

“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”

“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”

Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.

This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life. 

In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days. 

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.

It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.

And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.

But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.

It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.

…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.

Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.

There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.

She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.

But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.

“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.

Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders. 

She is breathtakingly beautiful. 

But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.

Does she live with you?

“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–” 

"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"

“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.

Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.

Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?

"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.

-

The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.

The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.

With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.

“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.

“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.

“Who’s this?”

The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.

“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”

The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.

You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports. 

However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow. 

The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.

As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.” 

The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis. 

Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.

“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”

You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.

“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.

“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.

“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.

“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”

He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?

It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.

“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”

As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.

-

Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–

“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.

Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor. 

When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.

Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.

Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.

“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.

Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.

"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”

She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.

"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”

Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.

"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.

"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.

"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."

Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form. 

That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.

Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving. 

The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.

“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"

Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.

A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair. 

As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.

“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”

Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.

Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer. 

Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.

Don’t think.

When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.

Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.

"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.

"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.

“Better?”

Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”

“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.” 

Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."

Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.

"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."

-

Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her. 

"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.

You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"

Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?” 

Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.

“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.

"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”

“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”

You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”

There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”

“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”

Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.

"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.

"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."

You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”

You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.

"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

[monstersandmaw]

Male dullahan x gn reader (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

OH boy, this is a personal one for me on a number of levels (which usually means it's gonna tank), but here's the first of my five new commissions - this one is for the incredibly supportive and sweet @doomfisthero.

It features one of the Supernatural Biker Gang I mentioned in this post, which a lot of you seemed to like, so I hope you're keen to meet the cheeky, goofball dullahan with a heart of gold! Not gonna lie, I went way over the agreed wordcount for this one because it's the world I've already started building, and it's got characters I've already been thinking of for a while.

Content: gender neutral reader who experiences severe anxiety around being pranked/practical joked, which occurs at one point in the story. There’s no malicious intent or bullying behind the prank, and it gets discussed afterwards. The reader is a writer, doing research for a story about bikers, and has no idea that there's something a little 'extra' about this gang. Their friend, Adi, is dating one of them already, and I hope to write their story soon too.

Wordcount: 9216

“God, this was such a stupid idea,” you muttered as you approached the only shop on that wide, empty side street. Its metal sign swung gently back and forth in a light, autumn breeze, displaying a full moon on a black background, with a cruiser-style motorbike silhouetted in front of it, and the white, artfully-distressed font underneath it read ‘Full Moon Motorcycles’.

A second later, your friend stepped out onto the pavement and you knew there was no turning back. Adrianne grinned at you, so you kicked your feet back into motion and closed the distance between you, offering her a small hug. Your leather messenger bag bumped against your hip with the movement, and you wondered if perhaps you should have left your notebook and stuff at home for this first time. It felt more like an interview than getting to know them, and you were worried the group of unfamiliar bikers might take offence that you essentially wanted to study them for your novel.

“Ready to meet the gang?” she laughed, sweeping her messy, dark blonde hair back out of her eyes. “God, you look terrified. Come on, they’re nice! Except maybe Pixie. Don’t mess with her, but she’s not here today. Or Demon, but even he’s ok when you get to know him, I swear.”

“Not helping, Adi,” you grumbled.

Ever since she’d started working for Dahlia Ink across town about six months ago, Adrianne had been hanging around with the group of bikers who all got their ink done there it seemed, and it had almost felt like serendipity in action when she’d told you about them over coffee last weekend. You didn’t tend to talk much about your writing, even with your friends, but you trusted Adi, and she’d always been supportive of your career as an author, so you’d shyly opened up to her about your latest idea for a story featuring a group of bikers. You did leave out the part where the bikers in your story were mostly vampires and werewolves, with a few other supernatural species thrown in as well. Fantasy had always been your comfort-genre, but people had snickered in the past and made you feel like it wasn’t a ‘serious’ genre that ‘serious’ writers pursued, so you’d omitted it this time while telling her about it.

“It’s the perfect excuse for you to come and finally meet Țepeș then!” she’d blurted excitedly into the foam of her cappuccino, her green-brown eyes going wide with excitement at the idea of including you in her group of new friends. They all had weird nicknames, and you had no idea if it was a ‘biker’ thing or just a ‘them’ thing, but you’d been burning up with curiosity about them ever since she’d first started dating the one called Țepeș. “I’ve been dying to find an excuse for you to come meet him. Plus you can ask him anything you want to know for your story, and — oh…”

Her face had fallen, and you’d frowned, heart dropping already. “What?”

“Eh, he’s… he’s not completely non-verbal, but Țepeș doesn’t exactly find talking easy. Maybe you could come to the shop and meet the rest of them instead though? I’m sure Pickle or Pumpkin would love to talk your ear off about their bikes…”

“I dunno, I don’t want to get in the way,” you’d said, trying not to let that tiny, kindling ember of hope in your chest wink out completely. “But if you wanted to ask them…?”

She’d run it past her boyfriend, and Țepeș had said he’d ask Hank. Hank, apparently, was the guy who ran the bike shop where they’d all met and first formed their group, and two nights later, you’d got a text in all caps from Adi saying ‘BASIC BIKER 101 FOR WRITERS IS ON!!!! When are you next free?!!!’

A week later, you and your messenger bag with notebook and pens had shown up outside Full Moon Motorcycles, with little clue what to expect, and a heart full of trepidation.

Adrianne giggled as she ushered you inside, and to your relief, you found there were only two other people inside instead of a shop full of strangers. An array of bikes for sale was lined up around the right hand side of the space, and against the back wall there was a wooden counter almost like a bar, where the vintage till and a few key chains were displayed, while the left side of the space appeared to be a more general spot for tinkering and hanging out. Even with the light flooding in through the two huge, picture windows on either side of the door, the lighting was soft, and the polished concrete floor created a mellow atmosphere. The scent of coffee and motor oil hung heavy in the air, and you found it oddly comforting as you soaked it all up.  

Behind the counter, a stocky man with greying, wavy hair that wasn’t quite long enough to tie back but was too long to look tidy smiled you and raised a meaty hand. His blue tartan shirt stretched precariously over a hearty paunch, and he exuded a jovial kind of warmth as his honey-brown eyes crinkled. “Hey there,” he said. “I’m Hank, though most people round here just call me Dad —”

“— he adopts literally everyone who walks through that door, so congrats on joining the family,” Adi laughed.

“Take your pick on names,” Hank chortled. “I understand you’re a writer…” He seemed interested and a little impressed, which was a bit of a confidence boost.

“Yeah,” you croaked and cleared your throat. “Yeah… uh… thank you for letting me hang out here for a bit. I don’t know anything about bikes… I’m just looking to learn a bit so it makes sense for my novel, you know? I’m not going to get in anyone’s way.”

“Oh, you’re fine,” he smiled, gesturing dismissively with his massive paw of a hand. “You just ask what you like and we’ll do our best to help you out. You must know Țepeș already if you’re Adi’s friend?”

You shook your head and Hank looked across the room to where the other person was lurking at the back of the space. You hadn’t noticed Adi leaving your side, but when you turned around, you found her standing with both hands pressed fondly against the chest of the tall, imposing biker dressed all in black and wearing his helmet too, which you thought was an odd choice. But what did you know about the habits of bikers? You were there to learn after all; learn and observe.

Adi waved you over, and you swallowed your nerves and cast Hank a farewell glance before approaching. When Adi stepped back, Țepeș pushed himself off the wall and held out his hand to you to shake. It, like the rest of him, was covered in leather or padded gear. There wasn’t a scrap of skin showing on him anywhere, and with your own face reflected in his black visor, it was impossible to get a read on him.

As if she’d read your mind, Adi smacked Țepeș in the chest with the back of her hand and said, “At least put your visor up, you big, intimidating doofus.”

He snorted a silent laugh and lifted the catch on his visor to reveal a sliver of pale skin and irises as black as the rest of his leather gear. Like Hank’s though, his eyes were kindly, and he closed them briefly as he inclined his head in a kind of apologetic bow. You shrugged, and he laughed breathily.

Hank chose that moment to come over, and you jumped as he clapped you on the shoulders. How a man built like a grizzly in autumn had moved so quietly was a mystery. “Come on, Țepeș, why don’t we give our new friend a demonstration of how a bike works? Since your Ducati is in, why don’t we use that?”

Țepeș gave a quick nod, and ducked away through the door that stood in the centre of the back wall, and a moment later, he pushed an absolute monster of a bike out into the empty space. He jutted his chin towards the front door, and Adi nipped over to open it for him, and when you frowned, she laughed. “That Streetfighter is so fucking loud,” she snorted. “You do not want him starting it up in here.”

“And nor do I!” Hank called, now mysteriously back behind the till though you hadn’t heard him leave. You made a mental note to weave something like that into your story for the supernatural biker characters, and then nodded, feeling sheepish, and followed the two of them out of the shop and onto the quiet side-street outside.

Until six months ago, Adi hadn’t known anything about bikes either, so she used your introductory tutorial as a kind of test for herself, interspersed with little glances up at Țepeș to check that she’d got it right. He either nodded or pointed to correct her, but he didn’t speak. She hadn’t been kidding about him being mostly non-verbal.

After Adi had shown you the basics of the bike’s anatomy, Țepeș patted the seat of the bike and gestured to her to get on it, but she laughed and shook her head. “No way, babe. I’m way too short.”

He put his fists comically on his hips and shook his head, then patted the seat again like he was trying to get a wilful cat up onto a chair.

She made a noise of protest, but did swing a leg over and then hoisted herself evenly into the seat, both legs dangling freely a good way off the ground.

“Happy now?” she shot at him and he nodded emphatically, bringing both hands to the sides of his helmet in a way that mimicked a person losing their mind over a cute kitten. “You’re lucky I love you, you overgrown dork,” she muttered. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to you. “Since this beast has made me get up here, I’m going to start his bike. Not so funny now that I could actually fuck it up, is it?” she grinned.

Țepeș remained perfectly still, and you got the impression it was a comical warning.

“I can’t flat-foot it,” she said to you, “So I’m gonna rest my left foot on the curb after I’ve flicked the kickstand up,” she said. “You can start it with the kickstand down, but if you put it into first, it'll cut out.”

You noted that down, and let her get on with the rest of the sequence uninterrupted, which seemed a lot more complicated than you’d imagined.

Near the end of your tutorial on how to start a bike and the basics of clutch control, and the apparent struggle to find neutral, the sound of a number of approaching engines tore through the quiet afternoon. You looked back over your shoulder to see three sports bikes round the corner and make their way towards you.

The three riders couldn’t have been more different. The one you noticed first was riding a big, brash, bright orange bike that reminded you a bit of a sporty looking dirt bike, and he was wearing, of all things, a black and white cow onesie, with a cow helmet cover complete with fabric horns and ears.

“Fucking Pumpkin,” Adi laughed. “Honestly. I think you’ll love him.”

“Pumpkin?” you asked, wondering how on earth he’d got that name. Then again, Țepeș was a pretty unusual nickname. Perhaps he was a vampire under all that leather, shielding himself from the fury of the sun with his biker gear just so he could spend more time with his human lover during the day… You yanked your over-active imagination back into the present and out of your fantasy novel, and watched the trio of bikers approach down the quiet side street.

“Yeah, Pumpkin’s his name. It’s because he’s a —” Țepeș elbowed Adi in the ribs sharply enough that she had to grab the handlebars to stop herself toppling off his bike. Her eyes went wide and she instantly clicked her jaw shut.

As an author, you were used to watching and studying people, and noting your observations for later. Another writer you knew online had called it ‘cataloguing the everyday’, and it was an apt description. Adi had very nearly given away something huge about Pumpkin, and Țepeș had given her a silent but stern warning.

“Because he loves pranks, like on Halloween?” she finished a little too quickly. “He dresses up with silly helmet covers all the time and he likes to play jokes on people.”

Maybe he wasn’t your kind of person at all. The very idea of having a practical joke pulled on you was enough to make you feel sick and shaky all over. You'd always hated them, and they’d always left you feeling devastated and on-edge if they happened to you. The more you trusted the person, the worse it felt afterwards.

Țepeș’ huge hand landed carefully on your shoulder joint and you looked up to find him smiling reassuringly at you. At least, you thought he was smiling reassuringly. All you could see were his glinting black eyes that were creased at the corners, and the way the apples of his pale cheeks were slightly more squished than usual behind the padding in his helmet.

You tried out a smile of your own, and then realised that Adi was talking again.

“He’s such a goofball, but that’s got to be his craziest outfit yet! You should see his other helmet covers; they’re all bonkers. My favourite is the pink rabbit one.”

Țepeș nodded once in agreement and let go of your shoulder. You swayed a little at the loss, feeling untethered.

“The guy on the red Ducati is Demon, and the short one on the Ninja in the middle is Pickle.”

When the newcomers spotted the three of you standing around Țepeș’ bike, Pumpkin revved raucously, almost seeming to make his bike laugh with joy at the sight of you. Then he hauled it up into a massive wheelie, only dropping back down once he’d torn past you in a near-vertical pose. Your heart was in your mouth the whole time, but he looked relaxed and even amused behind that absurd costume as he landed it and swerved the bike around to make his way back towards you while the other two came over in a more sedate fashion. In fact, they were so sedate it reminded you of two sharks approaching, and your mouth went dry. Adi had said they were cool with you being there and asking questions, but just then, it didn’t really feel like it.

The one riding the lurid, neon green bike was so short that you wondered for a crazy second if maybe they were a child. The owner of the red bike revved his something wicked as he cruised to a stop, and you had to fight the urge to step back. It felt like being roared at full in the face by a lion, and it didn’t help at all that the guy had curling ram’s horns adorning his black helmet. Even though it was a nippy autumn day, he was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off a golden tan and a truly impressive physique, and his black jeans had a rip in the knee that added to his tough-guy appearance.

Standing beside his own bike, Țepeș folded his arms and jutted his chin in a warning. Demon revved his deafening bike once more though, and the back wheel skimmed from side to side on the tarmac as blue smoke churned up into the air.

Țepeș shook his head and a few seconds later, Demon stopped his mini burnout, and instead leaned forwards on the bike, resting one arm casually on the tank. His whole attention was fixed on you and you tried hard not to regret all of this. It was research. You were here for your story. It was fine. His visor was tinted like Țepeș’ was, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze through the plastic just as clearly as if there had been nothing blocking his eyes from yours.

“Just giving a welcome to your new friend, Țepeș,” the guy purred in a silky baritone that made you think of teeth in the dark.

As the brief puff of acrid smoke from his tyres cleared, the short rider flipped their visor up and regarded you with beady, golden eyes that had to be contacts, surely? Even the pupils were slitted like a cat’s. 

“Who’s this?” came a reedy, tenor voice from under the helmet. Definitely not a child after all, and their skin had a strange, greenish tinge to it that you initially took to be makeup until you realised it went all the way down their cheeks as well. Tattoos? Some kind of condition? You tried not to stare.

Before either you or Adi could respond to their question, the cow onesie rider screeched to a comical halt beside the other two, locking up the front wheel and making the rear of his bike kick up like a bronco, and Adi shook her head. “Pumpkin, honestly. What are you like?”

“I’m Legen-dairy!” he grinned, gesturing wide with both hands. “Oh, hey! New friend?!” he exclaimed, waving enthusiastically when he saw you standing awkwardly beside Țepeș’ bike. He had a lilting Irish accent and a playful intonation that warmed you to him immediately, despite knowing about his penchant for practical jokes.

“Don’t mind Pumpkin,” Adi smiled at you. “He’s… something else.”

“I’m highly a-moo-sing, is what I am,” the guy chuckled. His words sounded clearer than the others behind their helmets, and you wondered if it was something about the design that made it easier to hear him.

“Oh god, please stop with the cow puns,” Pickle groaned, casting him a withering look with those unusual eyes.

“But Pickle, I’m udderly fantastic!”

“Stop.”

“This is just plain bull-ying!” Pumpkin whined, and then he started to bop up and down on his bike as he sang, “My milkshake brings—”

“If you howl one more out of tune word, Demon will eat you for breakfast, and not in a fun way,” Pickle said, casting a glance at the biker with the horns on his helmet.

For answer, the biker in question cocked his head just a little to one side, and Pumpkin slumped in his seat, arms and legs dangling comically, head lolling forwards so that the soft horns on his helmet cover flopped. He let out a long, sad mooing noise sound that dissolved into giggles at the end, and Pickle punched him on the arm.

“Loser,” Pickle snorted with obvious fondness.

“Anyway, I want you to meet my friend,” Adi cut in, turning to you. “I’m sorry you had to meet Pumpkin when he’s in this mood, but —”

“Moo-d!” Pumpkin interrupted triumphantly and immediately burst out laughing. He almost tipped backwards off his big, orange bike. Even you managed to crack a shy smile at that one. It was infectious.

“I give up,” Pickle said, and hopped down off his green Kawasaki, disappearing into the shop without a backward glance just as Hank stepped out.

“How’s that lesson going?” he asked you.

“I’m not planning on riding solo any time soon,” you smiled, “But I’ve got enough of an idea of how things work to start writing, I think.”

Hank nodded and, glancing around at Pumpkin who was still bouncing up and down and making his suspension creak a little, said, “Ah, they’re all idiots, but they’re kind, and they’re my idiots.”

He introduced you by name, and told Pumpkin and Demon why you were there. Pumpkin seemed intrigued, tilting his head to one side and calming his crazy energy a little as he regarded you through the tinted visor, but Demon growled softly as he pushed himself upright again and folded his arms across his ripped chest, muttering something about letting their guard down again.

Țepeș moved away from his bike, petting the back of Adi’s blonde head in a fond, distracted gesture, and then signalled for Demon to follow him inside, which, to your surprise, the big guy did. He walked like a Greek god — like he owned the place and not Hank — but it was clear that he had respect for Țepeș.

Pumpkin took advantage of their absence and leaned a little way off his bike towards you. “So, you’re a writer? That’s pretty cool. And you’re writing a… a book? A story? About bikers?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s not the main focus, but it’s a big part of it.” If you hadn’t wanted to open up to Adi about it being a supernatural fantasy story, you sure as heck weren’t going to admit it to a bunch of intimidating, high-octane bikers. “It was Adi who suggested I come and learn a bit more about it all from you guys though…” you said, not wanting them to think you’d just inserted yourself into their group without invitation. Especially given Demon’s weird reaction.

“Awesome,” Pumpkin said, fist-bumping Adi then turning back to you. “You gonna ride with us? We’re all heading out in a bit so you should come too!”

“I… maybe?” you faltered. That had not been on the cards for the day, but the more you thought about it, the more your heart began to race.

“The KTM has a passenger seat,” Pumpkin said, gesturing behind him and patting his pillion seat. “You can be my backpack if you like! I promise I won’t wheelie. I’m not taking the onesie off though,” he added, mooing and shaking his head so that the fabric horns waggled comically.

His energy and enthusiasm really were infectious. He bounced up and down again like an excitable, cow-print puppy, and you bit your lip. The idea of holding onto him, of being perched on the back of his mad, orange bike, was oddly… enticing. Even with his embarrassing costume.

“Come on,” he said. “It’ll be fun! It’s only a short ride because Coco’s Honda’s playing up for some reason,” he added. “Is she here yet? I don’t see her little bumblebee…”

“Bumblebee?” you asked.

“Coco’s bike is a Honda Hornet,” Adi supplied. “She’s got these little antennae for her helmet too. It’s so cute. And no,” she added to Pumpkin. “You guys are the first.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the day’s riders to arrive, and soon you watched a screaming pink bike roll up, with its rider wearing baby pink leathers and a pink helmet. Her name was Barbie, appropriately enough, and a few minutes later, a skinny guy in all black leathers with a black helmet bearing a decal like a maw full of teeth pulled up, alongside Coco on her black and yellow Honda Hornet that looked very much like the Transformer.

“I see why you call it Bumblebee,” you said to Adi, who was standing on the pavement with you, chatting and slipping you random bits of information about both the bikes and the bikers. The others had all gone inside, leaving you with Adi still casually sitting astride her boyfriend’s enormous, black Ducati Streetfighter outside in the sunshine, and honestly it was nice to catch your breath and let your heart rate settle again.

Pumpkin, apparently, was only a few years older than you, and he had moved to the city to get away from his family and their career expectations for him. His name was actually Callahan, or Cal, but literally everyone called him Pumpkin.

Pickle was non-binary and surprisingly a full decade older than you. They lived with their mother, who needed a bit of extra care these days, and had taken up riding only a year or so ago. Demon, Adi didn’t discuss at all, and she said little about Barbie other than that she kept herself to herself a lot and was pretty shy.

Coco came out to soak up some autumn sunshine a while later, and was one of the only bikers who actually took off her helmet. Beneath it, she had thick, wavy, chocolate brown hair and brown eyes that made you want to drown in them, and a smile so pretty it made your heart skip several beats. She gave off the kind of energy that made you feel safe and relaxed, and you let out a long, slow exhale, feeling the sun wash up over your skin.

That peace lasted until Demon stormed out of the shop, followed by Pumpkin, Țepeș, and Pickle.

“Everything ok?” Adi whispered to Țepeș when he came over and hugged her tightly from behind before passing her a spare helmet. He nodded and jerked his thumb towards his bike. “Yeah, I’m good to go. You coming?” she asked you, and you found yourself nodding before you’d even realised.

“Yes!” Pumpkin bayed in triumph and you startled, not having heard him return to his bike. “You’re mine! I claim you. You’re my backpack!”

“Like anyone else wants a human for baggage,” Demon muttered so quietly you weren’t sure you were supposed to have heard it. As he passed, he slammed his visor back down and you could have sworn that he’d had completely scarlet eyes. You wondered if you were losing your mind a little bit, or if the fantasy of your novel was beginning to bleed into the real world through your over-active imagination.  

Pumpkin practically vaulted back up onto his orange bike and he held out his hand to you. “Alright! My precious and beautiful backpack,” he said, “Hop on!”

Easier said than done, you thought, ignoring the compliment. You watched your reflection distort in his visor as he turned his head when you faltered anxiously.

“I’ll look after you, I promise. But I’m gonna rely on you to tell me if Pickle’s coming for my killswitch, ok?”

Recalling your brief lesson with Țepeș, you eyed the red switch on his right handlebar and said, “That?”

“Yeah, that. Protect it at all costs,” he giggled. “I mean, not all costs, obviously but… Actually, scratch that. It’s Ninja you wanna watch out for. He’s a sneaky, sneaky boy. He blends in so no one sees him coming…” A few of them laughed in a way that made you feel like there was more to it than just an inside joke, and your stomach churned.

A glance back at the skinny guy on the black bike behind you revealed Ninja tilting his hands outwards in a ‘who, me?’ kind of gesture. Hank came over and gave you a helmet, taking your messenger bag from you and promising to keep it safe behind the counter. You slid the helmet on and buckled it up, trying not to feel like an impostor.

Getting aboard wasn’t as hard as you’d thought it was going to be, with brief instruction from Adi and Pumpkin on how to put your feet on the pegs, though you did clunk your helmet against Pumpkin’s when you leaned too far forward, but he made things easier by telling you to hold him round the waist. He turned back over one shoulder and said, “It’s kinda forward, but I don’t mind. You’re cute and I don’t want you falling off.” He had such a lovely voice — warm and rich and reassuring — and you found yourself laughing softly.

“If you say so.”

Pumpkin talked a mile a minute and you really had to work to process everything he was saying as it tumbled out of him in a wild, happy torrent. “You are cute! You’re gonna have a blast today. I can’t believe I’m your first! Oh, and watch out for silly string too. I don’t think Pickle has any in their pocket today, but last time they got me good and it was all over my helmet and my orange baby,” he added petting the tank of his bike.

Your heart lurched at the idea of these pranks maybe escalating, and you tried to swallow down the nausea; you did not want to be sick in a motorcycle helmet. The cold sweat took a while to evaporate and you were sure Pumpkin would feel your heartbeat as you clung onto him before he’d even started the bike. The cow onesie did add a little levity though, and you tried not to feel too silly.

When Adi was safely aboard Țepeș’ bike, Țepeș revved his readiness a few times from the rear of the group, and Pumpkin nodded. “Forward!” he yelled, pointing like he was leading a cavalry charge as he nudged up his kickstand and prepared to draw away.

Adi had been right.

The ride was amazing.

Terrifying, exhilarating, wonderful, and, in the strangest way possible, it made you forget everything.

All you could focus on was the way Pumpkin moved with the bike like it was a part of him — almost like a rider and his horse — and on trying to move with him as he leaned into the corners. He was slim and fit beneath your grip, and he didn’t seem to be wearing any kind of padding under the onesie, but he was wearing biker boots instead of ordinary shoes. There was something alluring about the fact you’d not seen his face and he’d not taken his helmet off. Țepeș had a similar vibe, but it was Pumpkin and his wild, silly energy you found yourself drawn to. It was almost euphoric to be able to press the front of your body against this kind, funny stranger’s back and let him sweep you along the roads.

Of course, there were shenanigans at the first red light you came to.

Pickle came for Pumpkin’s killswitch immediately — almost like they were testing you — but you tapped Pumpkin on the shoulder when you saw Pickle stalking up the line of bikes. Ninja covered his killswitch and waggled a finger at Pickle, and when Pumpkin saw who was coming, he patted your thigh a few times. “Nice one,” he said with a grin evident in his voice. “Best early warning system and best backpack ever! You can ride with me every time!”

You glowed with pride, even though you knew it was probably only fun and games, and when Pickle failed to catch Pumpkin’s killswitch and the lights changed, you laughed with the rest of them as Pickle bolted back to their Ninja and hopped comically onto it at the very last second while Pumpkin sped away fast enough to make you yelp and grip him hard around the middle. You felt him laugh and held him tighter.

He petted your hands where they were laced securely in front of him, and even though you didn’t have comms in your helmet, you got the message: ‘I’ve got you’. You did feel safe with him despite his love of pranks, and you were literally trusting him with your life as you rode behind him.

When the ride came to an end about an hour later, and the group drew to a halt at Full Moon Motorcycles again, you were shaky with the aftereffects of adrenaline and from simply holding on, but beneath your helmet, you were grinning wildly. Secretly, you already couldn’t wait for the next ride and prayed he would ask you again.

Pickle pulled their bike up on your right, the green Ninja 400 idling gently, and when they killswitched Pumpkin’s bike at last, Pumpkin guffawed, but without missing a beat he extended his right leg and tapped the gear lever down to put Pickle’s bike into first, making the bike stall and lurch forwards.

“Gotcha!” he crowed, and then helped you off the back by letting you steady yourself on his shoulders. “And for the pièce de résistance,” he said, fishing in the pouch of his onesie, and he turned something cylindrical in your direction. “I was saving this for Pickle, but since it’s your first ride, you deserve a decent celebration!”

With a loud bang and a flurry of coloured squares of paper, a confetti cannon went off in your face and you screeched in shock, tripping over your heels and landing hard on the pavement behind you. The pieces of paper fluttered down around you while panic and fear and everything you hated about being pranked exploded out of you. Your heartbeat went through the roof. You just glimpsed the horns of Demon’s helmet in the doorway to the shop, and your heart dropped when you saw he was laughing.

Pumpkin was laughing too, and pointing, and beside him Pickle clapped their gloved hands and crooned, “Oh man, he got you good!”

He had got you good, and you hated it.

You hated that it was just a silly, harmless prank, but you were reacting like he’d done something serious. You hated that you couldn’t just laugh it off the way they all did. You hated that you took it so seriously; that it felt like the worst kind of betrayal of that fragile trust you’d started to put in a stranger. And then, behind the visor of your helmet, the tears began to flow uncontrollably.

A huge figure appeared in your blurred vision and you looked up to find Țepeș kneeling down beside you. He blocked the others from your sight with his massive body, and he lifted his visor to show his black eyes full of concern.

You nodded, trying to pull yourself together and grateful beyond belief that the helmet was still covering your face, even though it felt like you were running out of oxygen in there. Pulling yourself together was like trying to hold a bag full of sand with fraying seams. You were seeping and spilling out all over the place and you couldn’t stop. You tried to tell yourself it was just a confetti cannon. You tried to tell yourself it was just a bit of fun.

You tried, and failed.

“I’m… I’m ok… I’m…” you gulped, aware of how choked your voice sounded.

Țepeș stood and held out a hand, pulling you to your feet and ushering you carefully inside. You didn’t miss the way he put himself between you and Demon, who was still snickering in the doorway, and you let him lead you into the shop and into the back room.

He snagged a box of tissues from under the shop’s counter in passing and guided you into a chair. He signalled for you to undo your helmet, which you did with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry,” you gulped as you drew it off over your head and set it on the floor. “I’m sorry I’m overreacting.”

Țepeș shook his head and squeezed your shoulder, offering you a tissue.

“It’s just a prank, I know that, but…”

Again, he squeezed your shoulder, and you took a deeper, steadier breath.

“I hate pranks. Even the harmless ones. I always overreact like this. I’m sorry. It’s not his fault, but… I thought… I thought maybe he… he wouldn’t…”

A knock on the door made you jump, and Țepeș made a ‘stay there’ gesture with his hand and ducked out of the room. A short, seemingly one-sided conversation passed outside while you fought to control yourself again, and then Pumpkin ducked inside.

“Hey,” he said, and your heart broke a little at the change in his energy. It was like he’d completely deflated. He was still wearing the cow onesie though, which brought a slightly hysterical chuckle to your lips before you could stop it. “I’m so sorry,” he said, dropping to one knee in front of your chair. “I… I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

“It’s not you,” you said, sniffling and turning away, cuffing at your eyes. “I just overreacted.”

“You didn’t overreact,” he said, and your brain screeched to a halt.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have done it to you. I didn’t know if you were cool with it, and I just assumed that… that because everyone else likes my pranks… that you’d be ok with it too, and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never ever pull anything like that on you again. Ever.” He crossed his thumb across his heart. “I swear on my True Name.”

The wording was odd, but the air seemed to crystallise around you for a second, and your breath caught. “Like a Fae,” you mumbled without thinking.

He tilted his helmeted head a little. “Yeah,” he said and his voice had an odd ring to it. “You… You know about… about the Fae?”

“I’m writing a book…” you croaked, not really thinking about what you were saying. “Supernatural theme… I’ve always written fantasy stuff… Look, I’m sorry. I’m over-sharing about stuff that isn’t even real. I’m good,” you said, and stood up abruptly, setting your borrowed helmet down on the chair and turning to look at him. He was on his feet again, but he was just standing there.

You walked out into the main shop but he called your name and you halted and turned back around. “Yeah?”

“Are… Are you gonna come back?”

You bit your lip. You probably had enough to write the book now — the biker part of it wasn’t even the main focus after all — but until the prank, you’d felt included and welcomed, and, as you thought about it, the prank had also been meant to welcome you into the fold. It wasn’t Pumpkin’s fault that you had reacted the way you did.

“You want me to?” you asked.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I’d love it. I’ve… I’ve never had anyone I’ve wanted to be my backpack before, and you rode like a natural today,” he added, taking a step towards you. “Please. I promise no one will do any pranks when you’re with us. No silly string, no confetti cannons.”

“I don’t mind it… With the others, I mean,” you said, the words grinding out of you like a boulder uphill. “I mean… So long as it’s not me.”

“Ok, we’ll dial it back,” he compromised. “I’ll even give you one of my little stretchy sticky hands if you like so you can team up on Pickle with me. We duel at the lights sometimes. Does that count as a prank?”

You shook your head, fighting back a resurgence of emotions, mostly good this time.

“Ok. I’m really sorry,” he said again.

“I believe you,” you said.

“Thank you,” Pumpkin replied, his whole body looking relieved. It was amazing how expressive someone could be, even without being able to see their face. “Let me give you my number and I’ll text you when we’re going out next. Or… Or maybe we could go out just the two of us?”

That seemed like way more pressure than you’d been expecting, but you nodded all the same when you realised you weren’t put off by it at all.

As you left the shop not long afterwards, having recovered enough to let the red fade from your eyes, Demon looked you up and down and then approached Pumpkin. You glanced back over your shoulder to see him looming down over Pumpkin, and you just caught him growling, “What happens when you need to take that helmet off eh, Dullahan? You think that cute accent is going to be enough to hide the fact you don’t have a fucking head under there?”

Your breath caught and you tripped, turning away before either of them could notice your reaction.

For a moment, when Demon had spat the word ‘Dullahan’ you’d thought he’d said ‘Callahan’ — Pumpkin’s real name — but the instant he’d said Pumpkin didn’t have a head, your mind made the connection.

Dullahan.

A Fae without a head, traditionally a headless horseman.

The way Pumpkin had moved with his bike, like it was a living creature, had reminded you of a horse and its rider, and you had to wonder if the nickname ‘Pumpkin’ had come from the cartoonish depictions of Dullahans on Halloween with a pumpkin for a head instead of their real one. They did have a head, you knew from research for your writing, but they tended to keep it hidden since that was where their power resided. They could only be harmed if you hurt their head, or if they were wearing it when you attacked them.

But that was all fantasy, right?

Then Demon’s red eyes flickered across your memory, and the weird emphasis he’d put on the word ‘human’ in his snide remarks, and the way you’d thought maybe Țepeș was a vampire because he kept his skin covered up, and the fact that Pickle’s skin was entirely green and they had gold eyes with cat’s pupils… it was all way too much of a coincidence. Right?

You walked home in a daze, not even saying goodbye to Adi who was talking quietly with Țepeș in the long, late afternoon shadows cast by the bike shop’s wall.

Over the next few rides with Pumpkin, you tried to figure out a way to broach the topic. If you just blurted it out, you had no idea how the others would react, so you dropped little hints to Pumpkin that you were writing a supernatural story and that you’d been researching the supernatural for a while, and how you’d always hoped there was more out there than met the eye. You even mentioned it a couple of times on group rides to see how the others reacted, and predictably, it was Demon who bristled, and Pumpkin who looked uncomfortable. Like he had a secret he wanted to tell you.

Each time you did it, he looked torn, like he was right on the cusp of telling you the truth.

It finally came to an ugly head one afternoon as the riding season drew to a close in late October and you all came back from a huge group ride that had included a few more riders whom you’d not met before, but who evidently knew the rest of the group.

As you went inside to return the helmet that Hank always lent you, you caught the sound of an argument and hung back in the small storage room behind the main shop to avoid it, heart in your throat and the helmet forgotten in one hand.

Pickle was standing in the main area of the shop with their helmet dangling from their hand this time, and you gasped when you saw sharply-tapered ears and a row of pointed teeth in their mouth, and green skin that went all the way down below their collar. Definitely not a tattoo. They looked sharp, their features inhuman; like one of the goblins in your novel. If you’d needed confirmation that they weren’t human, this had to be it.

Pickle was  arguing with Adi and Demon, and Pumpkin was there too, looking helplessly from one to the other of them.

Demon was shouting, and he didn’t have his helmet on either. Perhaps they’d thought you’d already left. The horns that adorned his helmet were… actually attached to his head, not his helmet. He had horns. They obviously grew from his hairline, his black hair waving around them like a river of oil that had a rainbow sheen on it, and his eyes were a luminous, blood-red with slit pupils too. He rounded on Pumpkin like a Wolf on a rabbit. “You think just because we let Țepeș’ little human blood-bag in, we can risk exposing us all to just anyone?” Demon snarled. “I thought you wanted to keep our kind a secret? Now you’re siding with him?”

“Hey!” Adi exclaimed, but Pickle’s lip curled and they turned to her.

“He has got a point, Adi, though the blood-bag comment was way out of line,” Pickle said. “We have to be careful, but —”

“This is different,” Pumpkin interjected. “Ok? I’ve never been in love before, and I love —”

“No. It’s not fucking ok! This is the one place we get to be who we are,” Demon countered, his deep voice cracking as he clearly fought off tears. He sounded afraid and upset in a way that went right to your heart. “This is the one place where we can be safe, Cal, and you’re jeopardising it for all of us. And if we start letting humans in, if our secret gets out —”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Pickle said faintly, staring straight at you watching the argument unfold, stunned. They were arguing because of you. Because Pumpkin had taken a liking to you — in fact, he’d just said he loved you…

A pair of gold eyes and a pair of scarlet eyes stared at you, while Adi stood there hugging herself and looking hurt and unsure, and Pumpkin was standing stock still with his black helmet still on but you knew he was looking at you too. Was he going to defend you, or discard you and stick with his friends? They weren’t human. None of them was human. Demon’s eyes were blaring a violent red and he had horns growing out of his black hairline and curling back over his head, and there was a watercolour patch of red creeping over his golden tan as if he was losing control of his form. And Pickle was apparently some kind of goblin?

“You’re a Dullahan,” you said quietly, looking at Pumpkin. “A Fae.”

“You know?” Demon hissed, taking half a step towards you. “How the fuck do you know?” and then he shoved Pumpkin back with a hand at each shoulder. “You’ve taken your helmet off already? Did you disclose your head’s location while you were at it?”

Pumpkin shook his head vehemently but then he lifted his shiny, black helmet off in what looked like an act of defiance to Demon.

In the void where his head should have been there was a swirl of bluish-green smoke emanating from the stump of his neck, like the aurora in the night sky, and his skin was a dark, slate-blue colour. Your mind struggled to accept what you were seeing, but with the additional evidence of Pickle’s green skin and Demon’s horns, you knew it all had to be true.

Walking closer, as if moving through a dream, you ignored Demon’s constant, caged-animal growl, but you did jump when the door flew open and Țepeș burst in. He strode straight over to Adi and wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders, tugging her close and putting himself between her and the others. He cocked his head in an impatiently curious manner and Adi answered his silent demand.

“Demon’s laying into Pumpkin about flirting with a human while hiding what he is,” Adrianne said, glaring flatly at Demon. “And he called me your blood-bag,” she added.

Țepeș’ fists curled, leather creaking, and he took a long, slow inhale, as though he was trying very hard not to lose control and launch himself at Demon.

Before anything else could happen, someone clapped their hands abruptly from the side of the shop where the till and the bikes were arrayed, and you all jumped.

Hank was standing there and his eyes were glowing golden. “This family is built on trust,” he said in a low, gravelly bass, and you saw that his canines were chunkier and longer than they usually were, and his hair seemed thicker and fuller, his beard a little bushier around the chops. “And if we welcome each other into it, we must be prepared to trust each other’s judgement.”

“We’re just a little research project!” Demon said, rounding on you. “Adi told you what we are, didn’t she, so you thought you’d come and study us like a science experiment?”

You were still staring at Pumpkin’s empty collar and wondering in an odd, detached kind of way where it would be considered polite for you to look now — did you look at the point where his eyes would be if he had a head, or did you look at his chest? Only a second or two later did Demon’s words filter through and you blinked. “What?”

“You’re writing a fucking book about us! How does that count as trustworthy?”

“I’m not — It’s not about you,” you shot back. “The book isn’t about you. The protagonist is dating a vampire who’s in a biker gang, but… Adi didn’t tell me anything at all about you. I didn’t know you weren’t human until… until I overheard you accusing Pumpkin a few weeks ago. You said something about not having a head under his helmet, and you called him a Dullahan.” You swallowed thickly and watched the shock filter through everyone’s expressions at your words. “At first I thought you were saying his name, but then I realised you said ‘Dullahan’, not ‘Callahan’, and because I’ve looked into supernatural stuff, I put two and two together. I’ve known for weeks,” you said, chest heaving as you fought to maintain some semblance of composure while you finished your defence. “I could have said something, or I could have just not come back, but I trusted you guys.” Tears finally blurred your vision. “You treated me like family. Why would I betray you?”

Pumpkin moved first.

He strode across he space, dropping his helmet on the floor with a loud crack that would have made anyone who needed a helmet to protect their head wince, but you figured his was purely for decoration and disguise anyway. He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you close to his body. His arms almost lifted you off the ground and he cradled your head in one hand while his left arm curled around your waist and squeezed you so tight you gave a little wheeze.

His voice came from nowhere in particular, just like it did when he had the helmet on, and he said, “You are family. And I love you. If I have to leave this one to be with you, I will.”

Your heart stopped for a moment before you hugged him back, desperately. “Don’t. Not for me.”

He only hugged you harder.

From somewhere off to your left, Hank gave a low, rumbling growl and then muttered, “Kids. Honestly.” Then a little louder, he said, “Demon, go and cool off somewhere. Țepeș, for God’s sake, stand down, and Pickle, go and put the fucking kettle on. I need a cup of tea with half a bottle of whisky in it after all this drama.”

Pumpkin drew back at last, and you looked up at the haze of blue-green smoke that seemed to swirl upwards in a constant stream, like a recently extinguished candle. “How can you see me?” you asked. And then, with a little more alarm in your tone, you yelped, “Wait, how can you see where you’re driving?”

He laughed and leaned in close enough that the aurora-light swirled across your vision and caressed your face with a feather light breath, and you shivered. “Magic,” he whispered.

Demon hadn’t gone anywhere, and was regarding you with a more level gaze. His eyes were still red though. “You knew?” he said. “All this time?”

“Yeah,” you croaked as you refocused your eyes from the magic of the Dullahan’s body to Demon’s very much corporeal body. “I mean, I suspected.”

He sighed, still staring you down. Pumpkin stepped a little in front of you, much as Țepeș had for Adi, but Demon shook his head. He worked his jaw for a second and then slowly held out his right hand. His skin was red instead of the golden tan it had been, and his nails were black and claw-like, but the gesture was one of reconciliation all the same. “Welcome to the family, I guess,” he muttered hoarsely.

You smiled faintly, and Pumpkin took your left hand in a show of solidarity, sliding his gloved fingers around yours while you briefly shook Demon’s hand. “I really didn’t know what you guys were when you said I could come and hang out with you, I swear.”

“I know,” Demon bit out. “I can taste a lie, and you’re telling the truth.”

With that, he stalked away and carefully slotted his helmet on over his horns. You realised that there were specially-tailored holes in the crown of it for the horns to fit through, but when it was on, some kind of glamour made it look like the horns were just attached to the surface of the helmet. Outside, he swung a leg over his Ducati and started it up, revving it and launching away amid a scream of tyres and over-worked engine.

“Give him time,” Pumpkin said as he looked down at you. In the swirl of the smoke at his neck you thought you could make out the features of a face for a moment, but you blinked and it vanished. “You’re family now though, so he won’t give you any more trouble.”

“He did just insult Adi pretty spectacularly,” you pointed out.

“And he’ll apologise to her,” Pumpkin said. Țepeș loomed threateningly beside Adi in silent agreement. “For now, you want to come for a ride with just me? Come back to my place maybe?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Bet you have questions too…”

“You going to fact-check my novel for me?” you asked with a playful smile, and Pumpkin laughed. It felt right to hear his loud, giggly laughter filling the space again.

“You’d actually have to let me read it for that, love, and you said you didn’t like showing your work to anyone until it was done.”

“I could make an exception for you, I guess,” you admitted with a bashful smile.

With Pumpkin still holding your hand, you paused on your way out to check on Adi, who looked a little hurt but otherwise alright, and you promised to check in with her later. Țepeș handed Pumpkin his helmet, and you let yourself be led from the shop. Your helmet was still in your slightly numb fingers, never having put it down, so you slid it back on with shaky hands.

After climbing with familiar ease back up onto the pillion seat of Pumpkin’s orange KTM, you snaked your arms around his middle and squeezed.

“I’m sorry it all came out this way,” Pumpkin said before he started up his bike. “This was not how I planned to tell you. I had no idea how I was going to break it to you, but that… that wasn’t it. I know you hate surprises, and that was a big one.”

“Not all surprises are bad,” you admitted. “And this one turned out ok in the end. Come on. I want to find out how much I’ve got wrong about the Fae.”

Pumpkin guffawed, his laughter audible even after he’d started up his bike and pulled away.

Turns out, you’d quite a lot wrong about the Fae after all, but Pumpkin was only too happy to put you right over pizza and a movie on his sofa that evening.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one. If you did, please consider reblogging to show your support as well as leaving a like and/or a comment.

Do you want to see the other members of the group? Remember you can find out more about them here in this early post if you're curious. Tepes already has a love interest, and Ninja the mimic is claimed too, but if you're curious, lemme know!

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[lipglossanon]

Radar Love

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌏🌟⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⇲⊰⌏

A Little Savory tier commission for Immy<3

Word count: 1995

Thank you so much for the request! 💜

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, kissing, teasing, flirting, cockwarming, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, math homework 🤭

proofread! But apologies for any mistakes | may have missed 🫣

Title from Radar Love by Golden Earring

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌏🌟⌎⊱⊶⊷���⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⇲⊰⌏

You didn’t think twice when Leon offered to help tutor you for the math test you were struggling to pass. And at the start, he was super helpful. Then, once you started doing much better at solving the problems on the practice sheet, he got a little more lenient, a little more intimate in his tutoring. 

“C’mon, little sis,” he grins at you, patting his knee, “sit on my lap and show me the problems you have left to work on.”

Biting your lip, you fidget with your skirt before finally moving to sit down on his lap with your back to his chest as you both face your scratch paper filled with equations. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs in your ear, chuckling when you shiver, “oh baby sis, you’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you grouch, ignoring the arousal pooling in your belly at your close proximity to Leon. 

“Ooh, someone’s got an attitude,” he pokes your side with one hand while his other fiddles with the hem of your skirt, “don’t be so mean, I’m just trying to help my sweet little sister.”

“Uh huh, sure,” you snark, grinding down on his bulge, feeling his chubbed cock twitch against your ass. 

Hissing, he grabs your hip and slowly rocks up against you. 

“Such a tease,” he grunts, the hand by your skirt hem slipping underneath to tease across the gusset of your panties. 

His fingers quickly feel out your pussy to rub up and down your slit. 

“Mmm fuck, love this fat little pussy, princess,” he kisses the side of your neck, “gonna let me slide my cock in your tight, wet hole?”

Clenching the pencil in your hand, you grind back against his bulge, spreading your legs for him to tease your cunt through your damp panties even easier. 

“I’ll think about it,” you sass and he groans, fingers finding your clit and softly rubbing circles around it. 

 “C’mon, baby, just sit on my cock, don’t even have to bounce on it, just wanna feel that snug little pussy around my dick.”

You squirm as more slick fills your panties, “I don’t know.. I really need to study, big brother. I’m trying to pass this class.”

“Fuck,” he rocks against you a little quicker, “just cockwarm me while you study, princess. Promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Really wanna feel you.”

You hum, pretending to think about it although internally you’re pleased as punch that he’s begging you. 

You sigh good naturedly, “Is that really such a good idea? You’ve been pretty distracting.”

His fingers massage across your clit making your thighs jump as you bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure bubbles up through your veins. 

“Pinky promise I’ll be good,” he kisses your neck again, “pretty please, little sis? With sugar on top?”

You giggle at that, “Okay, Leon. But if you really distract me, I’m kicking you out.”

“Thank you,” he enthuses in your ear, fingers quickly moving your soaked panties down and off your legs. 

Shifting your skirt, he pulls his sweats down to his knees, weeping cock now jutting up from between your thighs to rub against your slick pussy lips. He hooks his chin over your shoulder to look down at your lap. 

He lazily thrusts against your cunt, “Can I do this for a sec, princess? Looks so fucking hot.”

You nod, eyes glued to the fat tip of his cock as precum beads at the slit to dribble down his shaft. 

“Look at that chubby little pussy,” he groans, “fuck, ‘m the luckiest big brother, huh?”

“Uh huh,” you clench your thighs making him buck up a little harder, “so lucky I spoil you.”

“Yeah you do,” he readily agrees, cock rubbing against your cunt until you squirm against his lap. 

“Putting it in now, princess,” he murmurs softly, pushing the fat tip past your clenching hole until he’s buried all the way to the hilt in your wet heat. 

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, teeth biting into your clothed shoulder, “so fucking wet and tight, y’got the perfect pussy, baby sis.”

Your cunt spasms and clenches down on his dick at his words. 

“Go on, work on your problems and I’ll let you know if it’s wrong,” he chuckles, big hands moving to your hips to grip them tightly. 

Tamping down the moan you feel wanting to break free, you try extra hard to concentrate on the paper in front of you and not your step brother's fat cock deliciously stretching you open. 

Leon nuzzles into your neck, brushing some of your hair away so he can kiss and suck the skin in front of him. 

“Leon,” you grit out, pussy fluttering around his cock as it throbs inside your slick walls, “behave.”

“I am,” he coos sweetly, “didn’t think something this small would get to you, princess.”

He nips at your neck and you whimper. 

“I mean it.”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, settling back in the chair, “since you can’t handle it, I’ll just enjoy myself with—“

“I can handle it,” you huff out, “I can handle whatever you dish out.”

“Suure, princess,” he mocks, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“Go ahead, big brother,” you grind down on his lap making him hiss, cock kicking inside your soaked cunt, “I can study just fine.”

“Yeah?” he hums before chuckling and kissing your neck, “let’s see if you can.”

Nothing happens at first. Leon runs his hands up and down your sides, groping your hips before moving down to squeeze your thighs. It lulls you into a false sense of security and you easily go back to working on your practice test. 

A gasp parts your lips when Leon’s hands sneak under your shirt to cup your breasts. Glaring at your paper, you ignore him although the slow drag of his fingers up to the stiff peaks of your chest makes your thighs tremble. 

Cupping your breasts in his hands, he circles your hardening nipples with his thumbs, brushing back and forth and sending little electric currents of arousal straight to your clit. 

“I don’t see you writing anymore,” he teases in your ear.

“I’m stuck on this problem,” you lie to cover up the fact Leon is making your cunt throb from playing with your nipples.

“Ohh,” he laughs, tugging on your hard buds gently before squeezing your tits, “let big brother take a look then.”

He leans over your shoulder and studies the paper on your desk. Humming, he keeps circling your sensitive nipples as he reads over the problem. 

“Big brother,” you whine, hips swiveling down to feel his cock rut inside your pussy.

He grunts and pinches your nipples between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger before soothing the hard buds by dragging his fingers across them. 

“It looks like you didn’t apply the correct formula, princess,” he breathes hotly next to your cheek, “try the quadratic equation.”

Body feeling like a live wire, you nod and go back to your schoolwork. 

“It looks like you’re pretty much finished though,” he kisses your jaw, “wanna move this to the bed?”

He tugs on your puffy nipples until you squeal and bounce on his lap. 

“I need to finish this, big brother,” you whimper as he keeps groping and teasing your breasts. 

“C‘mon, we can work on it later,” he tempts you, “let me rail your wet cunt until I fill you to the brim, little sis.”

It sends a hot thrill down your spine to hear Leon say that instead of just doing whatever he wants with you; it gives you a boost of confidence. 

“One more problem,” you compromise, “if you’re a good boy and don’t do anything else to distract me, I’ll let you take me to bed.”

“So bossy,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “deal, princess. I’ll be a good boy for you.”

That last part’s whispered in your ear and it makes you pull your shoulders up to your ears with a giggle even as more arousal pools in your belly. True to his word, Leon slips his hands away and holds onto your hips as he watches you work on your last math problem.

As soon as you set your pencil down, Leon is picking you up off of his lap, cock pulling out with a wet schlick that has you both moaning. He moves over to your bed, manhandling you back into his lap but this time facing each other. 

“Do good boys get to fuck that juicy cunt, princess?” He smirks at you, flipping your skirt up so he can rub his slick coated cock against your pussy. 

“Yes, big brother,” you lay your hands against his chest as you angle your hips and sink down on his cock with a whine, “good boys get my cute princess pussy.”

“Fucking hell,” he moans excitedly, “need it, princess. Sit on my fucking dick and ride me.”

Whining, you feel him bottom out as your ass meets his thighs.

“Pussy needed me to stuff her full, huh? Need big brother to wreck your perfect fucking pussy,” he rabbits his hips up into your squelching cunt, “tell me, princess.”

Your nails sink into his shirt, digging into the skin underneath, “Yes, yes, m’pussy needs big brother’s fat cock stretching her open.”

Leon kisses across your throat, sucking marks into the sensitive skin and making you squirm and buck your hips. With a snarl, he grabs onto your ass and bounces you faster on his cock. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles at your fucked out expression, “my sweet baby sis just needs her big brother to take care of her.”

He kisses you roughly, tongue and lips devouring your own as spit leaks down your chin. Mewling, you roll your hips down, grinding your clit against his pelvis and making you cry out into his messy kisses. Leon snaps his hips up, burying his cock deep in your throbbing cunt. 

“Wanna feel you milk my cock, princess,” he rumbles from low in his chest, “gonna give this hot pussy a nice creampie.” 

“Big brother,” you whimper, hands pawing at his chest as you rock your hips into his rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping loud in the room. 

“That’s it, work my cock with that slutty princess cunt,” he hisses, one hand coming down to spank your ass. 

Squealing, you clench around him as he keeps slapping his hand down on your ass cheek.  

“Gonna make me cum, big brother,” you whine out, bouncing hard and fast in his lap, “gonna milk your cock so good.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, swapping to slap the other cheek, “such a tight cunt, princess. This little pussy’s just begging for a hot load, right?”

He angles his hips until his fat cock grinds against your g-spot on every thrust, tightening the band of arousal pooled in your belly.  

Reaching down between you, his fingers rub soft, quick circles on your clit. 

“Cum,” you mewl, “g’nna cum, big brother, Leon—“

A high pitched wail leaves your mouth, pussy clamping down on Leon’s dick— walls fluttering and milking him like crazy. 

“So good,” Leon fucks his cock up into your clenching hole, “milking me so fucking good, princess. Gonna stuff this fat pussy like she deserves.”

He curses under his breath and buries his cock into your soaked hole. Groaning loudly, his cock spurts rope after rope of thick, sticky cum inside your wet heat. Rutting his cock softly inside your cunt, he shoots off again and again, painting your pussy walls white with his load.

Once his dick softens, he pulls out of you with a sigh and you slump forward onto his chest. His sticky spend drips down your thighs onto his softening cock. 

“Mmm, wanna nap and pick it back up again?” He murmurs, petting down your back. 

“Sure, after we clean up though.”

He laughs, “You got it, princess.”

[kastlequill]

iv/v. unearth without a name: the wolf that seeks always his own kind

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 2.3k synopsis: the fourth and final time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, amnesia, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here ← prev | next →

IV.

The day you finally broke started off like all the rest.

Tray of gruel, no spoon. Recreational beating, violent enough to put the ache in your bones and the blooms of purple in your flesh, but nevertheless mindful not to render you out of commission. And now, mind games with Rorke.

Another harsh knee slammed into your abdomen, bruising the spleen beneath layers of tender flesh. The blow would’ve had you in a fetal position if you weren’t currently hanging from the ceiling by bound wrists. So, instead, you twisted your hands to tighten your grip on the taut rope, hoping to ground yourself with something tangible, something real. Alas, the move only served to agitate the preexisting friction burns along your restraints.  

Rorke sighed. “This little game of yours is gettin’ old, don’t y’think?”

You silently agreed with the sentiment, but your outward expression remained stoic. Or, at least, as stoic as could be expected from a half-beat, nearly-gone prisoner of war. Fatigue and exhaustion had assumed residence in your headspace, the pair thick as thieves, and you were growing weary of their company. 

Thanks to Rorke breaking your orbital bone a few meet-and-greets ago, your right eye had swollen shut, so it hurt like a motherfucker to tear your gaze up from the blood-soaked floor. When he at last entered your field of view, you almost wished you hadn’t wasted the energy to do so in the first place. 

“I’ll make you an offer,” he started, leaning forward. His breath reeked something foul. “Tell me what I want to know, and maybe I let you walk out that door with all your limbs still intact.”

In your desire to put an end to this prolonged bout of suffering, the suggestion briefly appealed to you. That was, until you felt the unforgiving, unmistakable heat of shame burn deeply within your gut. 

The Ghosts—the guys, your guys—were depending on you. They were out there, saving the world or what’s left of it, and you were down here, protecting their secrets with your rotting mind, body, and soul, heedless to the sharp sting of their apparent betrayal. Despite the horrors Rorke had forced you to endure over the course of presumably several months, you continued to keep firm so as to buy your men the time they needed to fulfill their ultimate objective. 

Hold the line, Keegan had instructed you once, hand heavy on your shoulder. The intensity in his eyes had captivated you as the team readied themselves to embark on another suicide mission.

Hold the line ‘til I tell you to fall back. Know I’m always watchin’ everyone, everything, everywhere, so trust I won’t forget about you. Just ‘cause you’re out of sight doesn't mean you’re out of mind. Is that clear, rookie?

Crystal clear. As clear as the wad of saliva you now lobbed at Rorke’s face, landing on the dead center of his left cheek. You watched him process the small act of rebellion and predicted his impending streak of violence. Then, for good measure, you broke your vow of silence and whispered two words:

“Fuck you.”

You had taken Rorke for the Devil at the beginning of this whole ordeal, but the revulsion he’d evoked in you back then did not compare to the pure malignancy that now contorted his scarred face. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to beat it out o’ you,” he resolved, cracking his knuckles. 

And so the torture ensued as it always did in this vile and twisted tango. Punch after punch, kick after kick, cut after cut—you somehow remained conscious through it all. Even when you finally began to black out, he didn’t for a second relent his rapid volley attacks. 

At this point, fear was a distant thing. Bitter acceptance, however, had never been closer. Its arrival marked the beginning of the end. 

Everything that would follow was entirely and utterly out of your control. 

“What’s your name?”

“. . . I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I. . . I can’t remember it. My name.”

“Alright. Next question—”

“—did I do something wrong? Where am I? Is this some kind of test—”

“—how about your mother’s name? Think you can tell me that?”

“My mother. . ? Is she here? Safe?”

“Her name, please. If you’re unsure of the answer, say the word ‘unknown’.”

“She’s. . . her name is. . .” 

“Is what?”

“Unknown.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting? I’ll show you interesting. You better start explaining why I can’t remember her, or her face, or my own goddamn name.” 

“That’s what we’d like to know as well, considering you are the one who all but short-circuited her brain and forgot everything of note.”

“. . . I what?”

“Retrograde amnesia. Quite a severe case of it, at that.”

“You’re saying I gave myself amnesia? Impossible.”

“Evidently not.”

“Just what exactly is this place? And who the hell you people?”

“Answer our questions, then maybe we’ll answer some of yours. Now, do you recognize the man in this photo?”

“Should I?”

“Yes or no.”

“No. I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Well, this certainly changes things. Not to worry, though. You’ve made your mind a blank slate, and we can most definitely use that to our advantage.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that last part? My ears are still ringing, and your mumbling makes it hard to hear a damn thing.”

“Not important. Moving forward, it’s imperative that you understand the Federation is here to support your want for revenge. We can begin training you—”

“Slow down, alright, you’re not making any fucking sense. Let’s rewind. Who’s the guy with the mask? What’s his deal?”

“That guy is Keegan P. Russ. He’s part of the terrorist organization that launched the attack that murdered your family. Their plan called for no survivors, but you beat the odds and clung onto life long enough for us to find and rehabilitate you. We extend our sincerest condolences and hope to ease your pain by helping you eliminate him.”

“. . . eliminate? Do you hear how absolutely insane you sound? You’ve got the wrong woman, pal. I don’t do revenge, and I’m no killer.”

“Perhaps not yet. But you will be. Of that, I have no doubts.”

They pumped you full of drugs and said it was to aid in your recovery from old wounds. Although that sounded like a steaming pile of horse shit, the barricaded exits and the constant stream of guards meant you had no choice but to comply. 

Honestly, you didn’t much care if their words were honest or deceitful. With no sense of who you were or what you cared about, a numbness froze your heart and your mind. And with nothing to gain and nothing to lose, apathy usurped the majority of your other emotions and thoughts. 

Still, you had no wish to participate in whatever acts of vengeance the Federation had planned. You attended the training sessions held by Commander Rorke because knowing how to fire a gun and how to defend yourself were valuable skills to have. Taking a life was altogether absent from the equation. 

But things changed once you came across the man in the mask. 

He appeared like a mirage not too long after your first dose of whatever they injected into your system. Initially, you’d assumed it was a trick of the light, but you quickly ruled out that possibility because there was simply no logical explanation for why you would otherwise be able to conjure a perfect replica of a stranger. The only sensical answer was that he had actually infiltrated the compound and was actually standing before you. 

That was when you learned that the faceless man—Keegan Russ, they’d called him—was a downright asshole. 

He took a liking to beating the utter shit out of you. You were certain you’d never been so sore in your entire life, given no recovery time between each show of his strength. Russ also accompanied his physical hits with verbal degradation, and with every additional insult he hurled your way, the more it stung: 

Worthless. Burden.

Omen. 

At first, it struck you as rather odd that no one else in the compound seemed able to discern Keegan’s presence. You’d once asked the female guard who brought your meals why she kept letting an enemy breach their supposedly-secure base, but your only reply had been a confused look and a disbelieving laugh. 

Seeing ghosts already, eh? She had no sooner spoken the words before her smirk disappeared, replaced by a more serious expression. Be calm, none pass without the commander’s permission. 

So, naturally, you concluded that this Keegan Russ must indeed have a personal vendetta against you, going as far as to risk his life and sneak past several defenses just to make you his very own punching bag. Upon realizing the extent of his desire to reap the life to which he still felt owed, your previous general apathy gradually morphed into a refined, pinpointed hatred. The emotional detachment lingered, but you were suddenly filled with a reinvigorated sense of purpose. 

In your new unfeeling world, you couldn’t help but latch onto the one thing that had managed to reduce you to a volatile vessel of rage. 

As the intensity and frequency of the beatings increased, so too did your eagerness to return his damage in full. Luckily, Commander Rorke was always there to patch you up and mend your wounds, though he was never curious about how you acquired them. Amidst your painful meetings with Russ, the commander began to grow on you slowly but surely. 

However, despite your greatest efforts, you simply could not grasp why he wouldn’t just kill Keegan himself. After all, based on what you’d gathered from your conversations, he seemed to hate the guy just as much as you did, if not more. 

Perhaps you should be thankful for the fact that the task had fallen onto you, because it was now the sole reason you awoke in the morning and went to sleep at night. Nothing else mattered; there was only this mounting need for revenge. It fueled you with a limitless supply of motivation, and you were determined not to let even a drop of it go to waste. 

Glorious be the day you finally sink a knife into his abdomen, face to face so you can see how the light fades from his eyes. 

That’s too easy. Too quick, you decided, mind elsewhere as your body remained fixed in the training room, wrapped fists ricocheting off a sparring dummy. He needs a taste of his own medicine. Maybe a few rounds of torture first, then I’ll kill him. 

That didn’t sound half bad. Actually, it sounded quite good. 

Still, you needed to give this some more thought. Killing Keegan Russ properly was of the utmost importance. 

And you’d have only a single chance to get it right. 

“Name?”

“Not applicable.”

“Not applicable?”

“I have no use for a name. My name is my designation, and I am a weapon of the Federation.”  

“Understood. Familial relations?”

“Irrelevant and unimportant.”

“How so?”

“Logically, they must’ve existed at some point, but their existence has been reduced to a shadow in my mind. No tangibility, no substance.”

“And your primary objective?”

“Neutralize Keegan P. Russ. Then incapacitate all remaining Ghosts.”

“Good. Any further questions?” 

“Just one—how do you want me to confirm his death?”

“It’s simple, really. Bring us his head, mask and all.”

“Consider it done.” 

Harsh winds pierced the layers of your gear as it funneled through the trees encircling the cliff from which you conducted reconnaissance. A few hundred meters away, you observed four men tend to their contained campfire and watched their hound roll in the dirt to score an extra piece of meat. 

The group appeared to be preparing for a confrontation. One was cleaning the barrel of his gun, and another was sharpening the blade of his combat knife. The remaining two had risen from the ground and were now engaged in conversation. Of them, the more animated speaker was bald, and the other listened as he fiddled with a pair of radios. Your stare locked on his face, or, more importantly, the familiar mask that covered it. 

Keegan Russ’ mask. 

Bloodlust began to take root in every fiber of your being, but you forced yourself to reduce its intensity to a simmer. 

Patience, came Rorke’s characteristic drawl, so embedded into the walls of your skull after three months of nonstop training and conditioning that it seemed to have developed a consciousness of its own. An unwelcome guest capable of overriding the authority of its helpless host. You’ll catch ‘em soon enough. Act sloppy, and I’ll put a bullet in your kneecaps, hear? If those sons of bitches don’t kill you first, that is. 

Flashes of phantom pain bloomed at the spot on your forehead between your brows, right where he would’ve usually flicked you for insubordination or incompetence. A fairly lax disciplinary measure, all things considered, and any irritation it sparked in you was simply redirected onto your target. Although the meek form of corporal punishment felt humiliating, you knew Rorke had only wanted to make you stronger to ensure you would survive your encounter with Keegan Russ and emerge victorious. 

You heaved a shaky sigh and raised your visor before clenching your gloved hands into fists, squeezing tightly, then releasing. Coming here had been strictly for recon purposes; there’d be no contact today, much to your disappointment.

Soon, you reassured yourself, trigger finger twitching against your leg. 

Soon, the task to which you had devoted yourself for months on end would be over and done with. Soon, the haunting image of a man known to you only as your attempted murderer would linger no longer. And soon, the world would reorient about its axis and start to make a bit of sense again. 

Soon. 

tbc.

[bbybluemochi]

bbybluemochi's F.A.Q. ✧･ﾟ

Hi! Arun here! I thought that instead of answering your submissions one by one I’d gather all the frequently asked questions and answer them in a single post (this is a mix of art/OC/commissions related q's)!

Please note that I do read all your messages and I’m so grateful for every one of them!!!! I keep all your words really close to my heart, thank you for liking my art and loving my Ocs as much as I do, it means the world to me <3

What’s the name of your OCs?

They’re called Cotton (the blonde one) and Puppy (the dark haired one). The original idea for them was to make some silly wolf/bunny OCs (that’s why Cotton is called like that, it was supposed to be a joke about her tail…) but somewhere along the way they took over and became something completely different!

Is there a webcomic for your OCs?

Not currently! I don’t have the time or the skills (for now) but I’d love to give it a try in the future! 

I was wondering if you mind people using your OC art as character art/inspiration for DnD?Just games with friends that are for fun, nothing for commercial.

Go ahead! I find that really flattering.

Just out of curiosity, are any of your OCs bisexual?

Both Cotton and Puppy are lesbians. That’s what I feel comfortable drawing since I’m a lesbian myself. If I ever do draw a bisexual OC I’ll make sure to mention it! <3

I think you said Cotton was a dominatrix in a previous ask, but is Puppy on the opposite side of the spectrum or is she just glad to be there whichever way?

Puppy is very much a sub. They both switch (Puppy as a service top and bottom and Cotton as a top and power bottom), but the dom/sub dynamic never changes. Also I wanted to mention that these dynamics do not transcend outside of the bedroom that much, there’s more to them than their kinks but I do love to draw them deep in their submissive/dominant headspaces. 

Are one of the lesbian fairytale characters trans?

I didn’t design either of them with that in mind, but I’m super OK with people headcanoning them as trans!

May I use your art as a header/icon?

Of course! Remember to credit me tho~

Do you allow people to use your art freely?

I don’t allow reposts of my work (not that it matters that much, since almost all my art has been already reposted a million times ))): but I’d really appreciate it if you just shared my posts instead of reposting my art). As for phone backgrounds/wallpapers or stuff like that, yeah!

Do you have an instagram account or other social media, I would love to follow you there.

My main platform is twitter (same @), I post all my drawings there and I’m usually more active over there. Tumblr is kind of like an archive. I really like the community here but I find it easier to reply/interact with people on twitter! As for instagram, I do have an old art account (same @, again) but I haven’t posted in so long. I may start posting there soon if a certain rich guy decides to keep destroying the bird app tho. 

I’ve always thought about this… how do you think it’d look if the aesthetics/styles [of your OCs] were reversed?

I’ll have to explore that in a future drawing, I haven’t thought much about it! 

Do you write fics for your characters or has anyone else written fics about them?

Not yet! A couple of my friends have offered, tho! I usually like to stick to drawing because that’s what I do best, I don’t wanna subject anyone to my writing (it’s not very good,,,,). When I share some of my Ocs stories, I think it will be in comic format. 

What's the story behind your OCs? 

There are several, actually!! I like to put my OCs in different universes. As for now, there’s the Fairytale AU, the modern setting AU (this is the original one), and now the Werewolf/Vampire AU. I also did a drawing of them as spiderwoman and black cat but I don’t think that AU is gonna make a comeback for a while. I’m also planning a scifi AU but I’m not sure I’d be able to pull off that aesthetic with my current art style so I’m still working on it. 

The Fairytale AU is the one I’m working on most of the time. I wanna release a small artbook with their story + illustrations. That was my main goal for 2023 but life got in the way, so maybe,,, 2024??? *crosses fingers* 

Is your shop down? It’s saying that it’s not available.

I open my shop for 1-2 weeks every now and then, that’s why it’s closed most of the time! My plan is to open the store again in september, if i manage to finish all the merch in time! I’ll announce it on my twitter and tumblr account when I do. 

Would you ever share a tutorial on how you make your art?

Yes, of course! I’m not very good at explaining my drawing process but If it helps anyone I’d love to! Just let me know what part of the drawing process you’d like me to focus on, because If i try to make a full illustration tutorial it’s gonna be too long/difficult to follow. 

May I ask what brush do you use for your lineart?

I use a different brush almost every time I start an illustration, I’m not very consistent when it comes to that (I think it’s mainly because I haven’t found the perfect brush yet!). But let me know what illustration you’re curious about and I’ll try to remember which one I used!

Do you come up with poses off the top of your head or do you use some type of reference? I always struggle with them.

It depends on what I’m drawing! Some of my drawings are reinterpretations of paintings (I’m obsessed with pre-raphaelite painters and arthurian legend paintings in general), so in those cases I try to adapt the poses to my art style. Even If I’m trying to recreate an already existing painting I end up changing the poses/proportions a lot along the way to fit my personal taste/art style. 

Other times, I just sketch from imagination (this is more entertaining, I think, since looking at references can make the drawing process a bit tedious). If I find it hard to draw a certain pose/part of the body I will look up references on printerest, no shame in using pictures! If I still can’t find the pose I need I’ll just take a picture of myself (this is like, a last resort for me. I’m too lazy for this). 

My personal advice would be to use references for the pose and then tweaking the pose and trying to make it more personal 

I love the way the armor was designed and rendered! Can you share some tips on designing armor? 

Drawing armor is something I still struggle with most of the time. I think I’ve learned a lot in the past year (please don’t look at my armor drawings from 2022,,,,, sigh) but I still struggle to draw certain poses/angles. My advice is: don’t hesitate to draw non-functional armor!!! There’s always gonna be someone like “actually, that armour makes no sense :)” well !!!! it looks cool as hell so who caresssss !!!!! 

I think it’s more important for you to get comfortable drawing armor before you start beating yourself up for not drawing accurate ones. It takes a lot of practice (I’m still learning!!!), especially if you’re trying to draw historically accurate ones, so start by having fun, and then work your way up from there.

Most of the tips I can think about are really hard to explain without a visual example, so let me know if that’d be a tutorial you would be interested in and I’ll try to make one (I’m cringing a little just saying this bc I swear, my armor skills are so bad compared to some amazing artists out there………..).

Do you allow cosplays your OCs?

YES…. YES PLEASE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM BEGGING YOUUU ILL LOVE YOU FOREVER !!!!!! *rattles my cage* 

Do you allow fanart of your OCs?

Again,,, PLEASEEEEEEEEE !!! Just tag me so I don’t miss it and remember to give me credits if you do !!!!!!!!!!! :D

I was wondering if you use procreate , clip studio, or similar apps?

A mix of both. I used to draw on procreate only until I got a tablet and now I’m a clip studio user (csp sponsor me please), and now that’s all I use. I’m so used to drawing on PC now that I don’t think I’d be able to go back to procreate, but I still like that app a lot! All my drawings (even the ones I do on csp) always get retouched on procreate because I like some of the effects (*dreamy sigh* chromatic aberration filter,,, love u). 

I wanted to know if the marks Cotton has on her waist are tattoos or like a scar? 

Those are tats! Puppy is a tattoo artist ~~~ (I’m actually not sure if i’ll keep the waist tats on Cotton or if I’ll end up redesigning them,,,)

I was wondering if you take commissions?

Not right now. I also don’t have any plans of opening commissions any time soon! When I do, I’ll post a google forms on twitter and here on tumblr with the prices and type of comms I do. But there’s nothing scheduled. 

Even tho I'm not doing commissions atm, I’m currently looking for illustration jobs (specially book covers), so don’t hesitate to email me at bbybluemochi@gmail.com

That's all for now, thank you for reading!! I think I covered most of the questions, I'll make another q&a post in the future! Bye~~

[plasmasimagination]

What it's like loving them

Included - scaramouche , Childe , heizou , xiao

Scaramouche

Though lover

You might need to lean back for this one because oh boy scaramouche is special it's hard to love him and you'll need to learn a lot, and he will also, you're both growing together and that's the important part . He might act emotionally unavailable and mean to you . He can be a good lover if you give him the trust and reassurance he desires. He might be rough and like a beautiful rose but if you touch it u might get Sting and bleed but if you're carefully removing all thorns you'll be able to admire it's everlasting beauty . And he's learning to trust you and he's giving into your love and touch more and more .

Childe

Playful lover

He's a playful guy he's gonna tease you around a lot, he might make you feel bad on accident but he surely will give you double the love he can offer later on as an apology . His love for you grows constantly but it grows the most when he sees you treating his family well. He's a family guy at heart and likes to be playful with his siblings to make their childhood better so when u give the same energy back to him he'll be ready to marry you . Like I said you might experience some misfortunes because of him and his personality but at the end you know he'd give you his life

Heizou

Secretive lover

He's a truthful person always looking for the truth. But sometimes he might overthink your relationship and your thoughts . He might pull the confident guy in front of you but he doesn't feel it. He might hide small things from you that he thinks would make you mad , he knows it's wrong but archons help him he doesn't know what to do . It's not even big things but if he knows you're the jealous type for example he won't tell you that that one girl asked him out, if you're easily worried he would hide wounds he got on commissions . Tho when he decides to tell you all his secrets he gets worried that you're gonna leave him, that you're never gonna forgive him . (Give this man some reassurance please)

Xiao

Distant lover

He wouldn't spend much time with his sweetheart at first, he would avoid them as much as possible, this might be the hardest stage of your relationship but don't give up on him yet . Give him space and time and soon enough hell warm up to you too. He might start sitting with you outside and then actually you might be able to give him a handshake or maybe if you're lucky a hug . All in all just have patience and slowly but finally he might be the boyfriend you signed up for

[princess-of-the-corner]

Can I make another suggestion about Midnight and Hawks situation. The teachers clock it as weird that Hawks is taking an intern when he's notorious for leaving his sidekicks to laze about. So when Tokoyami is on his way to Hawk's agency Midnight takes the opportunity to go in person to get a read on him in person. And I mean obviously to make sure that her student gets there safely, that's her priority. But after they arrive safely she takes the opportunity to mention a bewitched photoshoot.

And he has no idea he was even asked. He doesn't know about any email correspondence, the photoshop questions, anything relating to the invitation. And he asks the same question, what's your stance on photoshop.

And Midnight feels something wrong here. He never even saw the many emails she sent herself. She gets so many bad vibes because Hawks was so excited before he remembered and suddenly he was apprehensive and... afraid? She now knows that someone else is in charge of his emails and has such a tight grip that Hawks hasn't even seen the initial email. She now has "evidence" that something is wrong with Hawks.

Yes! YES!!

Like most of the time, Hawks is impossible to read. Unless you're already looking for something specific.

So her mentioning Bewitching Hour catches him a little off guard because he didn't know about it. (something odd to her. Even if a Hero hires an agent to sort through their offers, there was enough conversation it should've been brought to his attention).

ANd yes the photoshop question gets brought up and Hawks just kinda has a slip of a 'yeah that explains why you got ghosted' but doesn't elaborate at all.

So yeah now she's just. Super sus about what his situation is. Ofc she would have no idea the extent of it, but he's definitely on someone's leash.

Also!

I already planned for this in CC but Fumikage (and Eimi) are gonna clock onto something weird with him too for two reasons:

1.) Fumikage is also a bird. While I'm not going all-in on physical traits(I'm adding some but wanna keep the 'human with bird head' aesthetic ofc), but behavior is certainly a factor. So you put the two of them in a room and they're just having a whole conversation in bird noises. But as soon as it's pointed out he's like "I have no idea what you're talking about"

and

2.) Low-key run in with one of the Commission's handlers showing up to check on things and, while Hawks plays it cool, he's telling the guy "Oh yeah they're interns so I sent them to do intern things like getting coffee!' meanhile the kids were hastily shoved behind the couch in his office and told to stay quiet. And while Hawks plays it off of 'haha bet you kids didn't really want to deal with some stuffy bureaucrat' but it's just so WEIRD.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Pretty Rain Cloud

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can he read as Platonic As Well, because Platonic love is valid AF!

You were in a horribly sour mood. You swore you would never smile again, and never be happy. No way. Of course, you make this vow to the likes of Fred and George. What were you thinking?

Warnings: Umbridge. She’s a warning in general/Set during Order Of The Phoniex: Slight blood, tending to wounds, intense stress, I mean it’s about Umbridge. You know what’s up

Writing Commissions Open

“Never ever ever again-!” You sniffled, as Fred was currently being your support. Letting you lean his head on his shoulder, as you two sat in The Room Of Requirement’s. Everyone busy with their Defense Practices, while George was busy cleaning the newly made scar on your hand. How it ached, and still burned. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but that toad knew how to make it hurt.

“Oh don’t go saying something like that-“ George would pipe up, as he wade sure your wound was clean. Having had plenty from Umbridge, let alone from the crazy life he lived in general. “We love your smile-“ Fred was quick to echo, as you would squeeze his hand. Since the pain of the fresh scar was so sharp.

“But you heard her. She said I was ‘Smiling To Much, And Distracting The Class’ and all that-!” You hiccuped, as George was finished with wrapping your hand. Being extra cheesy with kissing it. In the hopes you could smile again. To think, she would find a way to punish anyone wand everyone. You were wondering if she was just doing this to hurt Fred and George. Yet, it seemed like no one would escape her wrath. Not even Draco.

“Oh she hates that you actually have a pretty smile, and she doesn’t.” Fred tried to reason, as he rubbed your shoulder. Letting his older brother instincts take over. Doing whatever he could to help you. All the same with George, who remained at your feet. Holding that wounded hand, and feeling the pain throbbing into his own. How the white fabric was already growing a red tint.

“When that’s all healed up, gonna slather it in our latest invention. It’s a bruise removal puddy we got working on-“ George tried to cheer you up with, as Fred would pull out the tin. Inside was a shiny goop. Was rather similar to a glittery dark grey puddy. It did have you curious, but you refused to smile. As if those twins would quit that easy.

“How about this new candy we just made-“ George offered, as he pulled out another tin. Rattling it around. You were not budging. They loved a challenge anyway. They were older siblings, to Ron and Ginny. Harry as well, if anyone got technical with it. That boy was horribly traumatized, yet they could still get him to grin ear to ear. They won’t give up on you just like that. No sir.

“What about….” Fred hummed, as he looked around. They were inventors. Men that thought outside the box. They could figure this out. Those for eyes would scan the room, and watch as everyone would practice. Mastering the spells that she refused to teach. Seeing the dummy’s go flying had sparked an idea. The duo looked to each other, and just grinned.

��Up ya go-!” They said, before suddenly having their arms under each one of yours. Lifting you up, and making your legs kick and dangle. You were basically being kidnapped now. Those darn twins, and being stupidly tall. Along with strong. Even though Umbridge basically banned Quidditch, that didn’t stop the twins from practicing their beater skills.

“Where are we going-?” You asked, just accepting your fate. Better that way. You’ve seen what happened when people tried to escape. You knew you weren’t in actual danger. If you asked them to put you down, they would. They were pranksters, not monsters. Like how they made sure not to do pranks that involved books around Ginny, ever since the Snake Incident. Moral code, that just likes to bend a little bit.

“And here-!” Plopped down you went, with a brow raised. Just in front of one of the many test dummies the room held. Where was this going? Seemed everyone was now looking, fascinated at what the twins were planning. Ron was already grabbing your arm, and pulling you a solid five steps back. Ginny having mimicked the same action with Luna. Given she was spaced out a bit.

“Just five seconds-“ “-We know what we are doing-!” They spoke, which made everyone back up an extra large step. A mixture of curiosity, yet total anxiety at the same time. Just left to wondering what the ever living hell those two were doing, with the dummies right now. Casting quick spells, and working fast. In a blink, it was made clear.

“TA DA-!” They sung, as their ingenuity was unmatched. With some color changing spells, and some quick shifting of fabric, the dummies were turned into mock up dolls of the pink toad herself. “Not as ugly as her, but it gets the job done-!” They echoed, as they knocked on the dummies head. Having poorly done lipstick on. Given they had a little sister, and were basically the dorms collective older sibling, it was on purpose.

“HAVE AT IT-!” They chanted, before quickly ducking away. As if everyone was on edge to fire. They were, but you were able to have the first swing. A proud Flipendo Maxima was called by you, and that pink dummy went flying. Right into the wall, with a loud crumple, before being a crumpled up mess on the ground. You were just giggling in glee, as you did something you wish you could have to the real one.

“To easy-“ The twins snickered to each other, with such pride. Elbows to each other, before they were returning to your side. Watching as the other students would take advantage of this as well. All needing some serious stress relief from that hag. Everyone was able to gain some smiles, and you were included.

You could hardly recall you even dared made a promise like that around them. To never smile again. Maybe, deep inside, you knew what you were doing. That deep down you did deserve to smile. To spite that woman. No matter what your head said, you knew this. Never challenge a Weasley. Let alone the twins. They’ll make you smile, one way or another.

@george-weasleys-girl

[aheckinmess]

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

(Part 1 of The Snowball Effect)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Enji Todoroki, Endeavor, Christmas, Christmas Special, It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Shopping for Presents, Santa Claus, Angels, Cold Weather, Winter, I Feel Like Everyone Could Use Some Christmas Cheer, I Am More than Happy to Provide, Consider This My Gift to You, A Happy Todoroki Family, Reader is Enji's Wife, Reader Has Ice Quirk, I Envision Reader As an OC in a Fic I Haven't Posted Yet, In This Fic OC Adopts Shigaraki and Saves Him from All for One

Word Count: 1,365 words

Summary: The Christmas season starts in full swing and you’re determined to find the perfect gift for Enji while decorating the Todoroki household until it’s a wonderland of festive cheer!

Playlist: The Snowball Effect

December 1

In the bustling streets of Japan, public workers busy themselves decorating the street lamps with flashy, twinkling lights and bright, sparkling ribbons. Your favorite time of year also presents itself in the form of a large Christmas tree in the park you always pass before you reach the mall.

Frigid winds paint passerby’s cheeks a festive red as you step inside the local Aeon with some pep in your step. Your ice quirk means the lower temperatures don’t bother you, and you’ve always loved Christmas. So while others walk inside rubbing their hands and grumbling wishes for January to arrive early, you usher a silent prayer that days full of cheer linger a little longer.

Today’s mission involves presents and decorations.

The decorations aren’t an issue. You grab some garland, extra lights, tinsel, and enough Christmas trinkets to earn the envy of old St. Nick himself. 

Presents are the hard part. But not just buying presents for anyone. No, no. Your kids? Easy. Your friends? Easy. Enji? 

Enji Todoroki is quite literally the most impossible man in the world to buy a present for.

Every time you ask him what sort of gift he’d appreciate, he shrugs and assures you he has everything he needs - he has the funds to purchase whatever he needs whenever he needs it, so why should he concern himself with one major holiday?

Well, this year, you’re determined to find the perfect gift. If you have to search through every goddamn outlet mall and store in Japan, you’re going to find the winning item that takes his breath away.

Thankfully, you don’t have to travel quite so far. Strolling through the last store in the mall with your aching feet, you could swear you hear angels singing in the atmosphere as Enji’s perfect present seems to glow on the shelf.

You don’t feel bad when you snatch up the last one.

. . . . .

“Is this really why you had Tokei watch the kids today?” Enji grumbles when he enters the house. “I didn’t think you’d ever get back.”

Originally, he was supposed to take the day off to spend it with you, but when the Hero Commission calls for an emergency from the No. 2 hero, what’s he gonna say? No? 

Endeavor would never.

“Well, I had to do something to pass the time. I didn’t think you’d be back this early after they’d called you in for an emergency.” You snort, handing him a heavier bag, but keeping the bag with his gift concealed. “Got presents while I was out. Give me a minute.”

You slither down the hallway into the bedroom. Enji isn’t likely to search for his present, and it’s small enough that you can conceal it on the floor under your nightstand. You toss a half finished blanket over the bottom shelf, and the box disappears from view. 

It’ll do until you can wrap it.

“Do you want to help me put up decorations?” You ask as you start sifting through your goodies. “Look. I even got your latest Endeavor ornament to go on the tree!” 

“You do that every year, my flame. One year we won’t have enough space on the tree to keep them all.”

“Ha! That’s quitter talk. I’ll just buy another tree and have one dedicated to you, specifically.” You lean up on your tiptoes and peck his lips, before offering him a Glaceon ornament.

“Ugh, your Pokemon obsession couldn’t skip this Christmas?” He taunts, pulling you closer by the hips and caressing your cheek.

“Listen, I know you don’t like the franchise, but Glaceon’s one of your favorites!”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. After all, they remind you of me.” You crinkle your nose and bury your face in his chest with a contented sigh.

“Hmm, perhaps.” He allows, before kissing your forehead

When both of you turn back to the mountain of decorations scattered around the house, you scavenge for the tree first. It takes little time between the two of you before the Christmas tree in all its glory towers above you. Immediately, your spirits rise and you giggle as you trot from box to box, looking for the lights.

“Okay, I’m going to stay on this side and start wrapping it around the tree, Enchan. You thread it through the tree on that side and then pass it around to me. It’s easier that way.” You instruct.

Within moments, lights join the tree in heralding Christmas’s arrival.

Of course, no tree is complete without a topper! You sift through several good choices: an angel, a traditional star, and even a wooden Santa all clamber to the top of the box in the hopes of being the shining symbol of hope for the season.

“Hmm, Enchan? One, two, or three?”

“Three.” 

“Santa Claus, you’re coming to the Todoroki household!” You decide, handing the wooden figure on a pedestal to Enji. “Can you put this on top? I’m too short.”

“Well, that’s not a problem.”

You blink and scream as the ground vanishes beneath your feet; Enji has hooked you around the waist and you’re elevated until your ponytail brushes the ceiling.

Enji’s deep laugh doesn’t go unnoticed.

“That high enough?” You hear him smile.

“Y-Yes.” You huff, depositing the wooden Santa at the top of the tree.

As soon as your feet reach solid ground again, you smack Enji’s arm before searching for ornaments. Red blossoms in your cheeks and snowflakes poof around your head.

“You could have warned me, ya know.”

“Certainly. But then I wouldn’t be able to see those delightfully rosy cheeks of yours, now would I?” He tilts your chin up with mischief sparkling in his eyes - the pristine blue could rival the lights on the tree.

“I guess not,” You relent, offering him a box of red orbs. “But I’m sure you’d have found another way to make me blush. You always do.”

“I have to make sure I can still turn your head, my flame.”

The generic ornaments make their way onto the tree without issue, but when you get to the special, heirloom ornaments, you squeal at the sight of a little snowball ornament made from contact paper. 

Inside, surrounded by paper bits of snow, is the child face of Enji.

“You were so CUUUUTE!” You hold it up to him. “How old were you in this? Why haven’t I seen this one before?!”

“Oh, please. Cute?” He grouses, but his lips betray the ghost of a smile. “I was five here. I actually think I’d just manifested my quirk a few months later. It made this ornament rather ironic.”

“It just means you and I were meant to be!” You do a little shimmy before finding it a home on the tree. “Would you like to see kid me? I know you see it every year, but–”

“I look forward to it every year.”

His words sink into your heart and heat you down to your toes. You scavenge the box until you find what you’re looking for. Only instead of a picture of you covered in paper snow, your child-like face is pasted in the frame of a foam Rudolph.

“Yes, this one. Your vibrant passion for life must have never changed.” He pulls you into his side as he nods at your wide smile in frame. “What had you so happy, hm?”

“I don’t actually remember. I’ve just always loved Christmas.”

“It suits you.”

On and on, you create a sanctum of Christmas spirit – you save the other half of decorating the tree for the kids after laying down the framework, you line the fence outside the house with garland, and the mantelpiece twinkles with tinsel.

As a final touch before Tokei returns with the kids, Enji finishes hanging mistletoe above the entryway into the house.

“Ooo, mistletoe? How about a kiss for your queen?” You giggle, stepping under the entrance and dragging your fingers up his chest. 

“Gladly.”

As flames of passion dance between your lips, a chorus of groaning children can be heard from outside. Pulling back with a laugh, you lay your head on Enji’s shoulder as five Todoroki children step through the threshold into a wintery wonderland.

Day 2

Credit to @saradika-graphics for the holiday banner! Thank you so much!

[monstersofsilence]

Money for food. Catch? Drawing from me!

hello! yes

I know what you're thinking and I can understand for anyone to turn away from this. your choice to do so and I am not gonna force anyone to do anything they are not obligated to do

anyway uh, I need some money for food. again. I know. I get it. I said it last time and I am saying it again

now you must be thinking "isn't this sort of like doing commissions?" yeeeees and... noooooooooool. more so because this is, in a way, something to prepare me for it. obviously not in a serious manner but more so like a tutorial

this time I will be offering to draw a character of yours. very simple AND this is for whatever amount you put up since I have not gone to that stage of setting up a whole post on commissions, prices, all that jazz. just. if I do start commissions, I want it to be right

so yeah. think of this as sort of a me going through the training wheels

here is my paypal

you can DM me either on here or on discord (PyriteOfSilence) the ref of whatever character you want me to draw

the drawings I'll be doing will be something similar to these:

some rules:

- sfw only

- cannot do furry or mecha

- not to be used or intended for hate speech or be made to a NFT/training AI, whateverhaveyou

- the price is however much you want to give since this is not an actual, serious commission post

that is it pretty much

I will say this that it will take me a while to draw. sometimes I can get it done in one day or take my time and have it span a couple days. BUT I promise you, and considering there is money involved, I don't you all to wait a 1000 years for it. if I have to give myself a deadline to finish something in 1 week then I will do it

a bit of a PSA for you all. thank you for taking the time to look at this or sharing it around!

it means a lot ;;

[windvexer]

Hi Chicken, would you be willing to help me interpret a one card reading? (If not feel free to ignore this ask I just didn't want to waste your time by sending 2 separate asks haha ^^)

I asked what spell would be most efficient for a situation for a friend who needs a job quickly, and I got the eight of pentacles reversed. I'm kind of having a hard time imagining what spell that would be? Or maybe it's implying that the spell is gonna be botched anyway (?)

Hi, I don't mind. You've given me a chance to talk about predicting the future with tarot ^-^

As the 8/Pentacles is often a card of mastery, sometimes also taken to read diligence and professionalism, 8/Pents reversed might indicate something like, "don't worry about the next career step; anything will do," or, "cast a broad net and don't only focus on the skillset [friend] is perceived to have."

Additionally, more historical meanings of the 8/Pents reversed can indicate usury (unfair money lending practices), someone being extorted of money, being swindled, and so on. This is balanced with the upright meaning that focuses more on small amounts regularly obtained.

Given this, potential interpretations are:

The most efficient quick job spell for your friend is one that

Defends against fake job listings, get-rich-quick "commission" type jobs, MLM schemers, and so forth

Specifically focuses on stable, regular income - rather than a "type" of job

Doesn't back itself into a corner trying to achieve "at least earning $X.XX a month" intents, but rather focuses on something like, "earning a stable paycheck within the next Y period."

Isn't throttled with too many conditions.

As a little bit of tarot technique, I generally don't like to give the deck permission to ignore my question and provide its own answers. Therefore, the card you drew should have to be an answer to your question.

However, you can give your deck (and your own concerns) an easy outlet by drawing additional omen cards that foretell the outcome of the spell, or sort of 'windsock' cards that show which way fate is blowing.

An example spread might have 3 cards:

Current chances of my magical effort assisting

The most efficient type of job spell

Outcome if I cast that spell

Bad omens or negative outcomes can also be more deeply understood to gain a greater grasp of the situation. However, IMO this also requires a framework of interpreting future readings and how your actions can change them.

I find a solid way to read many omens is, "the future as it is likely to occur based on current circumstances and our own understanding of the situation."

This means that if outcome cards are undesirable, that's not necessarily the final outcome.

In fact I believe it is much more difficult to interpret an absolute final outcome, versus finding a likely path forward that you can then map and plan for (or, choose a new route altogether).

An example for the above 3-card draw might be, the current chances of magical effort assisting are high (let's say a great omen - the Sun). The job spell card is average (3/cups - networking!).

However, let's imagine the outcome card is an awful omen. 5/Cups - dejection; failure.

One possible read here is that while the outcome of your magic will be helpful, a simple job spell isn't going to help at all. If the tarot is showing you that bridge is broken, there can still be other paths that safely traverse the gorge.

After all, in a purely hypothetical situation, what if the job loss was due to your friend making, and accidentally breaking, a pact with a local nature spirit? You could still help with your magic, but not with a job spell. The outcome for any job spell would be poor. Instead, magic for diplomacy (7/wands), mending a relationship (2/cups), or appeasing a spirit with offerings (9/cups; 6/pents) might appear instead. You know?

Such troubleshooting readings might include questions like, "what kind of preliminary magic would be most helpful to prepare the way for a job to manifest in [friend's] life," or "what hidden problems are happening here that need to be banished or unblocked?"

And so on.

Best of luck to the both of you!

[xbeezchaos]

BPD Scaramouche Pt.2

We’re back again with another scara with my bpd life experiences. But this time. I’m gonna make a list of things that I’ve done in a relationship and what I feel like he’d do as well. So here you go 🖤

He’s very loyal to you, obsessed really, he loves everything about you

He spends his time with you memorizing everything he could about you. Down to the very last detail.

His love language is a bit of a mix, but the top ones are gift giving and words of affirmation. He enjoyed physical touch a lot contrary to popular belief. But he’s not one to be ok with PDA.

Lots of pet names. And I mean a lot. Not really a trial and error thing but more like the more cute pet names he has for you the better.

His favorites to use are “bubs, honey, and sweetheart.”

Hyper sexual and touchy but also touch starved. Loves the idea of being able to feel you up and be felt up sensually without venturing further after that.

If you’re just friends with him, but give him anything from a pet name to special attention— he’ll flirt with you and become obsessed if it’s enough.

Can and will have meltdowns/anxiety attacks if he doesn’t feel heard when he’s talking or arguing

Will offer to use arson, murder, and multiple kinds of vehicles to crush anyone who hurts or annoys you

Recommends gaslighting as a way to prevent yourself from trouble

Loves stuffed animals. Buys way too many that match his aesthetic and will hurt anyone who gets them dirty.

Will go above and beyond for gifts. It doesn’t matter how much money, time or effort it takes. For you, anything and everything was always worth it.

Will keep a book with your info in it. From blood type to family and friends along with how to contact them

If you’re not home when he is or you disappear. He’ll freak out and do everything in his power to track you down if you’re gone for too long

If the above thing happens and he has to track you down. Where ever you are he WILL tackle you and have a sort of meltdown admitting how he thought something happened to you

He’d rather die than let anyone think they’ll ever have a chance with you. He loves showing you off every where he goes.

He’ll never miss a chance to kiss you. Sit you on his lap, hug you, fight someone for you, or hold your waist and rub circles in them

Is a sucker for love notes/poems. If he’s ever upset with you. No matter how big or small, slip him one of those and he’ll be easier to talk to than ever

Soft spots? Target his neck, hair, waist, and legs. Best way to really overpower him if you want.

If you’re taller than him >>>> use that to your advantage. He secretly loves when you’re taller

Let him pick you up, treat you like royalty. But he will expect the same treatment in return

Hates when people are overly sexual upon first meeting. He’ll push you away and get disgusted

Takes anywhere from a few months to a few years to open up entirely and it all depends on trust

When he gets comfortable he can be so raunchy and down bad it’s scary and can sometimes be addicting. All dependent on your taste

Does well with kids. But hates them. Likes laughing at the dumb stuff they do.

Loves doing your hair. And if he doesn’t know how to do something. He will learn just for you.

Will dress you up like his own little doll, he just loves the idea that he gets to make you all the more pretty and show off the outfits he makes for you to wear throughout your day.

Steals your clothes to sleep with them/wear them around all day. He doesn’t care what it is. If he can fit it into his outfits trust he’s wearing it.

A conversation held after you were gone for a surprise commission for 12 hours:

[Your Name]”What did you do?! There’s 200 missed calls on my phone and over 40 text messages on each app!”

[Scara]“At least you know I care. I even called a few hospitals to make sure you weren’t admitted. So ungrateful.”

[Name] “Why did you do that?! This is so baaad!”

[Scara] “If you think that’s bad wait until you find out I told every hospital we’re engaged to be married. Haha!”

You didn’t find that part very funny

Anyways. This concludes another part to Scara with BPD! Let me know if you’d like more and my ask box is very very open. 💋

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] Event | Devil Maid’s Holiday | Episode 7

Sakuya: …So that’s why I want to know if there’s a way we can talk things out with them!

Izumi: Hmm…

Izumi: Of course, I understand where you’re coming from, Sakuya-kun. But we’re talking about someone who’s ultimately a client, so I’m not sure if they’ll approve of your request…

Izumi: I mean, maybe we could negotiate if we had recordings of past performances or something to show them.

Sakuya: …

Sakuya: So you’re saying we could ask them to make a decision after having them watch one of our plays?

Izumi: You mean, you want to just show them the performance we were going to do this time?

Sakuya: Yeah. We’ll do things the way they want, wear Yuki-kun’s costumes, and put on a performance.

Izumi: (...It’s rare to see Sakuya-kun argue this much.)

Izumi: Why do you want to do this so badly, Sakuya-kun?

Sakuya: We’re the ones who have worn Yuki-kun’s costumes the most.

Sakuya: That’s why no one can wear the costumes Yuki-kun makes better than we can…

Sakuya: I just think we’re the ones who know the joy of being able to wear them for a play the most.

Sakuya: …I know it’s a long shot. And I can’t exactly say I’m confident that they’ll accept our offer.

Sakuya: Even so, I still want to try.

Izumi: (If I’m being honest, I think the time frame alone would make it difficult. But if he’s willing to put up a fight for it this much, I’d like to have faith in Sakuya-kun.)

Izumi: …Gotcha.

Izumi: Okay. I’ll try and ask them then. I’ll try to negotiate the best I can.

Sakuya: …!

Sakuya: Director! Thank you so much! 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Yuki: …Ugh.

Yuki: (I’m struggling with these costume ideas more than I thought I would. Maybe I just need a change of scenery…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Someone running*

Yuki: (Those sure are some noisy footsteps coming from the stairs. Probably just Misumi sprinting around crazily aga--.)

Sakuya: Yuki-kun!!

Yuki: Huh? Sakuya?

Sakuya: We might be able to wear the costumes and do a play!

Yuki: The costumes… You mean the commissioned ones?

Sakuya: Yeah! The Director went and contacted the person!

Sakuya: Ah, but… Nothing’s official yet. We want them to watch our play and then let them decide.

Yuki: What?

Yuki: …And what if we can’t do a performance? What are we gonna do then? Just let the whole thing come crashing down?

Sakuya: If that happens, we’ve asked the idols who were originally scheduled to perform to do a live performance. …In your costumes, Yuki-kun.

Yuki: Haah… You’ve really got balls in the weirdest way possible, huh?

Sakuya: It’s just that… When I was listening to you talk, I felt like I couldn’t not do something.

Yuki: We don’t have much time, though. Are you still sure we can pull this off?

Sakuya: …I don’t know. But I think everyone would be willing to help if we asked them.

Sakuya: Besides, we promised to lend a hand with anything aside from the costumes.

Yuki: …Right.

Yuki: (I’ve really got no clue where all his confidence is coming from. Well, but--.)

Yuki: Got it, I’m in.

Yuki: That said, none of you are allowed to complain about the costumes I end up making. Whoever I cast absolutely has to wear it.

Sakuya: Yeah! Everyone will definitely wear them!

Yuki: Why are you talking about this as if you’re not part of it? You’re the one who started this whole thing. You’re gonna have to wear one too.

Sakuya: R-Right! …I’ll do my best!

Yuki: …You really are something.

Yuki: (I’m gonna try to believe in Sakuya.)

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