#part 2 soon tm

[werewhiskey]

chibi DE doodles, part 1

(part 2 here)

[wizardofgoodfortune]

HOB GADLING green with envy (#1, #2)

No, he's crap. [...] Anyway, I've saved the best bit for last.

Bonus: Venison pasty?

[playpausepass]

Aight, think im cooking with sunny again. ive got an idea for moon, then I gotta give ol rick sanchez some bastardly love before he shits on my bed and sets it on fire

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

part 2 to this | T | wc: 2,141

🐺🌕🐾🐺🌕🐾

No wonder he didn’t fuckin hear him. His whole brain was focusing on excuses that it drowned out anything else. Without the door opening (which would 100% have shut him up), Steve didn’t have the brain power to listen for even the softest carpet-muffled footsteps.

“Sorry, I was coming to help and then I heard you talking about…” Eddie starts, but trails off, glancing between Robin and Steve, then shakes his head as if getting himself back on track, “But then you said you’d ‘radish’ me and it was so damn funny…”

For a breath, no one says anything. Steve can hear it in Eddie’s breath and in his heartbeat’s slightly quickening pace that he’s just about to say something else, probably some way to excuse himself, when Robin bursts out laughing.

“Seriously! I couldn’t believe it either, ‘Radish’! Ha!” She continues to cackle, doubling over dramatically.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, “Yeah, yeah, Steeb no good with word.”

That just makes her laugh louder. “Oh this is too good, damn, I can’t breathe.” She giggles again, standing straight only momentarily, because as soon as she looks at Steve, she starts cracking up again. “Sorry, sorry, I gotta,” another giggle, a gesture toward the house, “I’m just gonna…” she heads back inside, cackling all the way. He even hears her mumble ‘radish’ to herself again just before she slides the door closed behind her.

“Uh…surpri–”

“You’re really a werewolf?” Eddie cuts him off, then realizes. “Oops, sorry.”

Steve sighs and sinks down onto one of the patio chairs. He looks up at Eddie, still standing by the sliding door, and pats the spot on the seat next to him.

Eddie, of course, nearly trips over his own feet to get over to him, falling onto the chair with enough force to shift the feet on his end backwards an inch or two.

“Yeah, I really am.” Steve takes a deep breath and glances over at Eddie; his eyes are wide and wholly focused onto Steve, more than ready to listen. He huffs a laugh when he lets out the breath. “I’m sure you have questions.”

He’s barely gotten the words out when Eddie starts pelting him with questions. “So, can you like..smell really good? Or hear? How far can you hear? Does everyone have their own scent? If you bite someone, do they become a werewolf too? Do you only change on the full moon or is it a ‘whenever I feel like it’ type thing? Like, are you a werewolf or a Werewolf TM?”

Steve snickers at Eddie taking the time to actually say the letters T-M out loud, but it doesn’t affect Eddie’s focus on asking a million and one questions in the slightest. “What color is your fur? Is it brown like your hair? Do you even have fur when you change? Do you have claws? How big do you get anyway? Do you have a tail? Is the pack thing real? What about the mate thin—”

That’s where he cuts himself off. The bright blush on his face seemed to be the cause; all the blood that he could’ve used in his brain to ask more, suddenly rushing to fill up his face with color.

Still smiling, Steve asks, “You done?”

Eddie gulps down nothing, managing a strangled “Yep.”

“Well, I’m a werewolf, I turn into a…not exactly a wolf, I don’t think, more like a big dog? And it’s not really a moon thing; I can change whenever I want to, though I feel more of a need to around the full moon. It’s easier then too.

“I’m about as tall as I am now when I’m changed, like, my face is right about the place it usually is, and yes, I’m stronger, faster, and have had better hearing and smell since it happened.”

“What happened anyway?”

“Hang on, hang on, I’m still answering your first zillion questions.” Steve says, faux-disgruntled. It makes Eddie laugh and do a weird half gesture slash bow in his seat for Steve to continue.

“Okay, uhm…” He starts to count out things on his fingers, thinking back on what Eddie asked. “Yes tail, yes to everyone having a scent, but that’s already been a thing, you can smell other people too, can’t you?” Eddie shrugs in acknowledgement, “Mine’s just stronger of a smell; Not claws, but I have nails like any other dog.. 

“And the pack thing…” This one was going to be more difficult, “Yes? But mostly only for the kids I suppose. And Robin. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll put myself between any of you and whatever danger comes along, but it’s like in my bones to want to…I dunno, hoard them all away? Wolf analogy would be to put them all in the cave,” he gestures to one side, “and put me in the entrance.” Then gestures to his other side. “Not realistic, but that’s what it feels like.”

Eddie snorts a laugh, but nods, so he continues on. “The mate thing though,” Eddie tenses, “It’s not like the fics, not really at least as far as I can tell.”

“You’ve read werewolf fics?”

Steve shrugs, “I got curious, sue me.” They both fall silent, staring out over the pool.

“How’d it happen?”

He takes in a long breath through his nose; the chlorine stings.

“Couple years ago the shitheads roped me into venturing through these tunnels under Merrill’s Pumpkin Patch. Upside Down related nonsense, of course, and when I was helping them back up out of the hole to avoid this..herd of demodogs, I was still down there when they came tearing down the path.

“I think one of them snuck a taste and that’s what did it. Though I didn’t notice it at first, adrenaline and all; plus the beating I’d taken from Hargrove what, a couple hours before that at minimum?

“I woke up a couple days after everything was over that time as a dog, nearly snapped my bedframe in half with all the extra weight. Anyway, long story short is: I woke up a dog, took me a couple days to figure out how to turn back, then another chunk of time figuring out how to do it on purpose, then Starcourt happened and whatever those guys shot me up with made it so I couldn’t change for a while, made me pretty loopy, but I got Robin out of the whole thing, and told her about wolf Steve while coming down off that truth crap, and that’s pretty much it.”

Eddie blinks at him once.

Twice.

Then, sounding as if he was releasing a breath he’d been holding that whole time, Eddie heaves out a “Jesus Christ.”

“Yep.”

Eddie blinks at him a couple more times, then his face scrunches up as if he’s in pain, “Jesus Christ, you heard me talking about being claimed and shit… I was talking to you about it, uugh!” he drops his face into his palms in exasperation.

Steve hears Eddie’s frantic heartbeat grow faster then, so clear it’s as if he had his ear pressed directly to his chest.

“And you overheard me saying I’d like to radish you,” a loud laugh escapes Eddie’s lips, “So I think we’re about even.”

He’d tried to sound confident and nonchalant about it, but in the breath it took Eddie to finally drag his hands down off his face, Steve’s own heart and thoughts were thundering on. It must’ve really, only been hypotheticals, wishful thinking, fantasy. There’s no way Eddie would actually want him. No way his affections that'd grown for the man beside him in the short month since the world didn’t end, would be returned.

Eddie finally removes his hands, “The full moon is only a couple days away.” he says, glancing up at the sky.

See? Topic changed. Steve knew it’d be too good to be true.

“Yeah, there was one right before everything happened last month.” Steve nods, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “Maybe I’ll come by the park and visit.” He elbows Eddie playfully.

“I’ll make sure Wayne doesn’t shoot ya.” Eddie grins.

Steve snorts, elbowing him again and standing. “C’mon, let’s go back in, I think Robin wants to play Uno.”

- - - - -

True to his word, Steve loped out into the light of the full moon a couple nights later on all fours, trotting away from Loch Nora with one place on his mind. 

Crossing through the forest separating the two neighborhoods, he makes it to the edge of the Forest Hills park in no time at all. He skirts along the edge of the park to where the government had bought and placed the Munsons’ new apology double-wide and hunches low, padding along until he’s under the window he knows is Eddie’s.

Even if he hadn’t known before now, the music he could hear across the highway out by the entrance to the park would certainly tell him which one is the metalhead’s.

He hops his front paws up just under the edge of the window and sneaks a glance inside.

Eddie’s bed is against the wall in this trailer, the end of it falling right under this window, and Eddie is sitting in the middle of the mattress, hunched over his guitar.

Not wanting to scare him, Steve originally wants to just scratch his nails along the sturdy vinyl siding here, but even if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, he’d know that Eddie wouldn’t be able to hear something so light.

So, he barks.

One short ‘boof’ at the bottom pane does it, and if Eddie had been holding anything but the literal most important possession of his, it’d be on the other side of the room with how far he jumps.

“Jesus Chri— Steve?” he asks disbelievingly at the window.

Steve feels his doggy face react to the goofy grin he’d be doing if he’d been on two legs. Tongue lolling out one side, tail swooshing up a mini hurricane behind him, damn he’s obvious.

Eddie comes to the window and Steve drops down onto all fours, plopping down on his haunches while he waits for his friend to budge open the glass.

He finally wrenches it open, grinning down at Steve in wonder, “Look at you, big boy, y’came to see me after all—”

Whatever Eddie says after that is lost to the now-settling wind. 

All of Steve freezes up. His tail stops mid wag, his jaw snaps shut and narrowly misses catching his tongue on his own teeth. 

Because Steve can smell him.

He can smell Eddie.

Screw whatever he’d told him before at his pool, not everyone has a smell. Not one like this.

Sweet and spicy, smoky and delicious, like nothing he'd ever smelled before.

The wolf part of his brain, a mostly mute half of him that seems to be what tells him where the moon is in its cycle, how far away that smell he picked up on the wind is, that holds all his baser instincts, screams “MINE.”

Just before he’s about to fling himself over/onto/past Eddie in the window to get into that trailer by any means necessary, Steve’s conscious human brain grasps onto the last sliver of conscious thought, and not a moment too soon. His legs were couched as if about to leap.

He wrestles his wolf brain back, tucking his tail down (telling it desperately to stop wagging goddamnit), lowering his front paws and nose to the ground and taking lungfuls of dirt smell instead, and backs up.

He takes two good steps back before Eddie’s voice cuts through his hold on himself, “-eve? Steve! What’s wron–?”

His hold on his last strand of conscious thought wrenches him around and sends him flying back into the trees to Eddie’s call of “Where are you going?”

He just needs to stay out of Hawkins, stay in the woods at least, nowhere near where Eddie would find him if he came looking.. At least until the full moon is over and he won't feel that uncomfortable itch beneath his skin to shift if he goes back to two legs.

His thoughts threaten to whirl, why now, why Eddie? Okay, he knows why he’d like it to be Eddie, but really? Mates are a real thing and Eddie is his?? 

The wolf brain rumbles happily and Steve finds himself listing back towards Forest Hills mid-run and corrects himself.

He can’t risk hurting Eddie; what would he even do? His wolf brain says to bite, to claim, reminds him that Eddie wants that too, but wouldn’t that hurt him?? His teeth are, in fact, much larger in this form.

He’s listing again.

Steve shakes his head, empties his head of everything but run, breathe, run, breathe, run…

Daybreak can’t come soon enough.

🐺🌕🐾🐺🌕🐾

surprise! it was always meant to be 'radish' lmao

editing to tag folks who were interested in the last part!

@shainsaw22, @devondespresso, @sageclipse, @allyricas, @hotluncheddie, @stedumpsterfire, @themoonagainstmers, @mugloversonly, @yesdangerpls, @matchingbatbites

[peachesofteal]

Which Witch

Painting by Joseph Tomanek Thank you to the lovely anons who's beautiful brains helped create this story. Part 1 - Part 2 here John "Soap" MacTavish/witch!reader 13k words - AO3 You do not need to read Mermaids to enjoy this fic, but it exists in the same world and for the full experience, I do recommend it. Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Mature and dark themes. Fae!AU. Brief blink of smut. Blood Magic. Fae Magic. Violence. Killing. Human Sacrifice. Angst. Tenderness. Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny presses the heel of his boot into the cheek of the being on the ground, his eyes glazed with a vacancy he has seen more times than he cares to count, or remember, the bleakness of his irises meaning only one thing: the end of their life.

“Was it worth it to ye?” he spits, and the male shudders beneath his sole, twisting pathetically, a half attempt at getting away. Blood sputters and pools, lamely leaking from his body, drenching the air in an earth rich scent.

It does not matter, there is not where for him to go, nowhere for him to flee. He will be lost to the 141, just as almost every other being is this castle has.

The echo of his brother’s power, Gaz’s light magic, rips through the room and shudders down Johnny’s spine as he appears in the hall, his boots leaving red marks on the marble floor, remnants of lives spent squelching with each step.

“Where’s Ghost?” Kyle’s voice booms across the distance, and Johnny jerks his head northward, to where Simon is ransacking the library like a madman.

He is a madman, Johnny thinks, shaking his head, didn’t even stay to see the job through before he went tearing through those books. 

He cannot fault him, his brother is a being possessed, tortured by his own heart, a heart that beats for a creature that does not even know he exists. He is miserable, and brutish, and half the time almost unbearable to be around, and Johnny really, really hopes it all comes to an end soon.

The being beneath Johnny’s heel gurgles, rubied ichor slipping down his face towards the floor before he spits and glares upwards at Gaz and himself.

“Mercenaries.” He snarls, and Johnny can feel him trying to pull a sliver of power, a desperate and feeble attempt that fails before he chokes again. “That’s all ya are. Mercenaries with no code, no honor.” Gaz rolls his eyes in a dramatic motion, rotating his neck before a dagger born from the shimmer of suns materializes in his hand, and the male on the floor whines in fear.

“Yes, yes.” Gaz sighs impatiently, and then in a blink has the point pressed to the being’s neck, right below where his pulse hammers. It sears his skin, burning away at the flesh slowly, filling the air between them with putrid smoke, the smell of incinerating sinew stinging in Johnny’s nostrils. “But how are we so different from you, then?”

“I don’t kill for money.” 

“Just for sport.” Johnny follows up drily, and the male has no argument. His fighting rings are known throughout the realm. In the closest town over, one can make a fair amount of profit, or lose their freedom, if you knew where to look.

“As if you’re so appalled by it, MacTavish.” The being hisses, and Johnny stills. His power thrums in his blood, reacting to tense state of his body, churning in his mind, ready to strike. Chaos readies itself, pulsing deep, ready to blow this entire castle to the Netherworlds. “I know where ya’re from. I’ve heard rumor of what happens on the Isle, with it’s-“ Johnny’s magic bursts forward, twisting around Gaz to seek its target, tearing into the very essence of the male on the ground, ripping into the being’s own celestial connections and shredding them to pieces. The magic and rage combined electrifies Johnny, filling him with a heady power that pulses in every pore, every neuron existing in his body, and it’s a well fought effort to shove it down, to not give into the intoxicating feeling of the craze, the lust for battle and blood. He pulls and pulls the threads from the being’s crumpled form, draining him dry with each breath until there is no fight left, until he’s nothing but a carcass, an empty shell, eyes stuck wide in horror.

“Shite.” Johnny murmurs, finally releasing his heel. There’s not much left beneath it, just ropes of blood and bone, the body obliterated by the concentration of Johnny’s magic, dark red rivers seeping across the polished stone floor. Gaz chuckles darkly.

A ripple of power echoes towards them, and at the end of it, Price looms, arms crossed, mouth turned down in a huff of irritation.

“Job’s done then?” He motions to the pile of remains between them, Johnny nodding the obvious answer. Gaz’s dagger disappears, light seeping through his skin before it’s swallowed whole, tucked away for safekeeping.

“Simon’s finishing up the last bit.”

The three of them venture towards the library, a massive room with ceilings that stretch towards the moons, and shelves built from top to bottom. There are books of every kind here, books from every realm, even. Grimoires, from the witches in the mortal realm, and lost texts from its human inhabitants. Heavy volumes of history from the Netherworlds, sacred texts from a faraway realm that only Simon has been to. Books bound in human skin, books bound with being skin, books that only appear to those they choose. Books that possess their own spells, even if they’re not inherently magic. Books that contain the ability to give any being a gift, so long as they are willing to receive it. Johnny breathes deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of leather and paper, papyrus, and cloth, holding onto it for as long as possible before his lungs deflate with a whoosh. The taste settles on his tongue, and he tamps down the urge to start pulling volumes towards himself, eager to flick through them and devour what lies between their pages. He craves it, the knowledge, the magic that sits sleeping in this room. The bedlam that swirls in his bloodstream melds with his desire for new puzzles, new knowledge, and it creates a double-edged sword that only his brothers seem to understand. Maybe it’s because of his mum, and the deep, ravenous love of books that she had and instilled in him, the balance of his love for chaos and his love for puzzles lending well to learning, or maybe it’s because he’s lived too bloody long, walking the worlds with his brothers, seeking new truths like they were meals to feast on. 

This is where they find Simon. He’s got a female sorceress of some kind, the one they were looking for in the first place, kneeling, in the middle of the room, arms pressed down to her sides, her eyes wild with fear. Johnny can smell it from here, the rank stench of her terror, the scent of her dread as the being in front of her walks in a tight circle, his eyes fixed on her quivering form.

“I cannot perform it.” She protests, and Simon makes a great show of sighing, like he’s tired, or exasperated. “That magic, it’s not of Faerie. We do not practice it here. Please-“ she sobs, and her desperation tugs at Johnny, just a bit, even though his sympathy is slim for this creature who cries pitifully in front of her soon to be executor.

“Simon.” Price intones from where he stands, a distance away, and her eyes flash to him, relief scrawling across her features as she mistakes John for one who may be kind to her, for a being who may help her.

She doesn’t know, that they know. That they’re fully aware, of the terrible things she’s done for the once ruler of this land, that they know the extent of her cruelty, her thirst for blood and pain.

Price crouches in front of where she sits on her knees, and cups her face between his palms, rubbing a placating thumb across her cheekbone.

“Tell us, love.” He encourages. “Tell us about the song. And perhaps, we’ll let you go.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that, and it’s painfully obvious when she swallows, eyes darting between the four of them before settling back on Price.

“It’s blood magic.” She croaks. “The only way to capture the song is with the magic of blood and bone. I told him.” Price turns to Simon, who nods his affirmative. “There are few who still practice it.”

“Where?” Price urges, still soothing her with his touch, his words soft and reassuring.

“In the mortal realm.” Gaz rubs an exasperated palm over his face with a sigh, and Simon’s power pulses around the sorceress, tightening like a vice. She yelps in a panic, words rushing free like floodwaters. “There is a coven! There is a coven left, that still practices in the mortal realm, and they have a spinner, a blood spinner. She’s a witch, that-” She continues to babble, giving them everything, anything she had, where she believed they were located, what kind of witches they were, how long they’d been practicing. She gave and gave, until there was nothing left to say, and then she stared up at Price, with wistful hope on her face.

Hope, that dies, as she feels the slipknot of Simon’s power, twisting with torsion around her neck.

“No, no. You said… you said you’d let me go!” She cries, and Johnny feels his rage lash out inside him, distaste curdling his stomach. He can’t help but correct her.

“Is that what you told the mothers of the children ye slaughtered all those years? That you’d let them go? After ye sold them to fighting pits? After ye watched them die, and did nothing?”

“I wa-was only doing what I was told.” She sobs, flinging herself onto the floor in front of them. “Please!” Her fingers dig at her neck, clawing and scraping, but it’s pointless. The 141 has long had her in their sights. “Please… plea- please.” She moans, fragments of her life slipping through their fingers as it drains away, her body growing limp and her existence becoming futile by the moment. “I- ‘m sorry.” She tries, but it’s far too late now.

It's far too late.

The tavern is packed. Every one and thing inside gives them a wide berth, their eyes jumping from Simon, who walks in front, dark gaze glaring from behind the skull mask and hood he dons in public, to Price, who casually strolls behind him, hand in one pocket, the other swinging by his side, free and available, should quick intervention be needed. Gaz stands at the bar, flirting with a striking female who is leaning towards him, her lips parting to reveal shiny, sharp golden teeth.

That’s odd. What’s a Harpy doing all the way out ‘ere? If Gaz is taken aback, he hides it well, instead slipping her a note that more than covers the cost of a round, and then points at the table where they’ve settled.

“Bit out o’ place.” Price comments, and Simon grunts.

“It’s curious.” He agrees, and they all track Gaz on his way back, watching him until he plants himself on the bench, casual grimace lining his lips.

Simon shifts restlessly, and they all can feel the hot singe of his power, the frustration lurking in the air. Waiting as he hedges.

“If it’s true-“

“At what cost?” Price cuts him off. They hold a silent conversation with their eyes, arguments and counters flowing back and forth between them. Price is the natural voice of reason; he’ll convince him it’s a bad idea. The thought sticks in Johnny’s mind uneasily, souring as he turns it over. What if this is real? What if there is a chance? To end this madness? 

Johnny was no fool, he’s seen the change in Simon, year after year. His fear and confusion, anger and dread starting to seep from his skin, coloring everything around them, affecting them all in different ways. His Nereid was at the end of her rope, and so was Simon.

“All I want, is a chance, Johnny. A chance to know her, without standing in the shadow, for her to know me. To hold her, to tell her she’s not alone.” He confessed, years ago, in the dark of an empty wing in his too big house. “I love her. I cannot give her up, I won’t allow her to die.” 

He had returned to their realm frantic, distress wracking his body, seizing his power and twisting it until it nearly suffocated all of them where they stood. It took hours for Johnny to calm him, to get him to explain what had happened, for him to realize why Simon had been so distraught. His Nereid had nearly failed her task, botched her own hunt, and Simon almost stole her away in a moment of blind panic, without even stopping to consider that she might die as soon as steps foot in Faerie. 

“What you’re asking, Simon, is a massive undertaking, it’s-“ 

“I’m not asking. I’d never ask this of you.” He snapped, magic fizzling through the air above Johnny’s head, explosions of grey and black lighting with power. 

“Do ye truly believe we’d leave ye alone to face this? To spend a year in the mortal realm, as a merc, without us? Your brothers?” 

“It is not merely a year, Johnny. It could be two, or three, or one hundred. I cannot take her until I know how to sustain her, and we’re still not closer to the answer.” 

“I’m with ye Simon. Just as you’ve been with me through difficult times. I won’t turn my back now.” 

“And neither will I.” Price booms from the doorway, the two of them whirling to where he stands with Gaz at his side. 

“Sign me up. You know how I feel about mortal females. And their food.” Gaz gives them an impish grin, flourishing a set of light daggers and then lowering himself in a mock bow, an ode to his bloodline and ridiculous family. Johnny doesn’t say anything, but he watches how Simon’s shoulders ease, how he releases the breath he’s been holding, before giving them all a nod. 

“I will go.” Johnny declares, and Simon’s eyes crinkle with relief. The sooner we get this all done, the sooner we can return home for good. Johnny was tired. They had been in the mortal realm for nearly a decade, coming back to Faerie now and then when something needed attending or when Simon had a lead. And now, with Simon desperately searching for the final piece of the puzzle, the end of all this finally felt close enough to taste. The only thing left outstanding was, how to get his blood to sing the Nereid’s song.

“I fancy a field trip myself.” Price relents, sigh expelling from his lungs with vexation. “Could use a change of scenery. Better than bloody Verdansk.”

“Or Las Almas.” Gaz mutters and Johnny protests.

“I liked Las Almas.”

“You just like Ale and Rudy.” Gaz ribs him, and Johnny laughs full throated. He did a soft spot for the two Vaqueros. They were smart, cunning humans who excelled in battle and cared for their community. Rare traits to find amongst the greedy, swamp like mortals that mostly roam their world. He respected them.

“Aye.” He agrees. The table goes quiet for a moment, words on the knifes edge, waiting, watching, until Simon clears his throat.

“Very well. We will go together then.” Price echoes him, while Gaz nods readily.

“Together.”

“It’s not optional anymore.” Your aunt’s voice vibrates through the speaker of the phone. “Your coven is your family.” She prattles on, unaware you’ve put the phone down and walked away from it to stack a few books together on the table.

“She’s nuts.” You mouth to Jet, who weaves between your legs before hopping up in front of you, rubbing her face against your fingers, seeking a scratch behind her ear.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You sigh, and you swear you see Jet roll her eyes, right after you roll your own.

“You need to spend time with your coven. You can’t spend your entire life holed up in that shop with your familiar and your books.” Why not? You don’t say that, of course, lest she hex you through the phone, or worse. She doesn’t understand. You have a deep affection, a pure love for your connection to your power, for your magic, but that love did not extend to your coven, who were mostly still stuck in the darkest ages of time, who’s desire for power had pushed them to extremes. When you don’t respond, she bites out her directive before hanging up. “You must perform your duties. You’ll be expected on Samhain.”

And then the line goes dead.

You sigh, and Jet meows, like she sympathizes. Like she feels your pain. Maybe she does. You’re not sure. She is your familiar, but you don’t speak her language. You don’t know how she actually feels.

But you do know she dislikes your aunt, nearly as much as you do.  

“I know, I know.” You give her another rub of your fingertips under her chin before pulling the stack of books towards you and carrying them through the back to the front of the shop.

Your day passes quietly. Mortals come and go, browsing the books in the front room, some choosing to stay and settle in the armchairs or the nooks with plush cushions, curled up with their selections for hours. There are places to tuck away here, corners between shelves where you could allow yourself to get lost in another world if you wanted, with no one to disturb or bother you, except maybe Jet. The black cat patrols the front room with high scrutiny, jumping to and from different heights while she ensures nothing is amiss in her domain.

You keep yourself busy with your daily tasks, organizing, counting, compiling, all while trying not think too much about the demand of your presence at Samhain.

You don’t want to go.

But you also don’t think you’ll be able to get out of it. You had already managed to dodge Lughnasa, and a fully body shudder rips through you when you recall the efforts of matchmaking that were done on your behalf before the festival had even started.

Not like anyone wanted to be matched with you to begin with. Not when there were effortless beauties by the dozen, witches and warlocks waiting with bated breath to be paired together.

Crazy, evil old hags. Crazier than the full moon herself. 

By the end of your regular business hours, the store is empty, and you’ve settled yourself in the back room, the one that stays locked, the one where you keep all the things you don’t want the general public to see, ancient books bound with skin, grimoires with spells to summon demons, to kill lovers, to resurrect children. Books with magic of blood and bone, written by ancient witches from your own coven. Stories that come and go as they please. Stories of gods and monsters. Books that could open doors. Books that could trap you beyond those doors, forever. Banned books, by some’s standards.

Books you’re really not supposed to have but can’t help but collect. Your desire to absorb it all, learn it all unyielding, no matter how much information you consume, and it's become more than your livelihood now. The bookstore has become a place where others can come if they need something that their coven cannot provide, a place a witch can find a spell that’s long been forgotten, a place where answers can be found, if you knew where to look.

A safe place, for yourself, and for others.

A dangerous place, to some, and a dangerous place to you, at times. A place that made you known in magical communities, a place where you could be found.

And to your coven, nothing was worse.

Secret practitioners of blood magic, they were extremely closed off to outsiders. They stone walled others, refused friendships in magical society, kept to themselves as much as possible. It was their tradition, the only way they could survive and continue their practice, their devotion to blood, water and bone keeping them alive longer than others, keeping them young and fair when their counterparts aged and withered, kept them practicing for the entirety of their long lives.

And who would want to give that up? 

You hadn’t been asked to be born into this complicated web of magic, hadn’t asked to become an orphan either, the loss of your parents forcing you into your aunt’s hands at a young age, where you learned all too quickly that your magic was different from other young witches, that you had been blessed with your coven’s ultimate gift.

Blood spinning.

Jet meows, leaping from the floor to the table to sit in front of you on her haunches, jet black fur shining under the dancing light of the candles. There are no lamps in this room, the bulbs too bright or too offensive for the books, some who’s pages don’t even show themselves unless they’re lit by magic.

You keep the flames in here lit by your power, day in and day out. Wax drips onto the mantle that sits over the fireplace, forming sand like castles on the wooden beam as the candles burn, staying in perfect stasis while the flames never go out. 

You cast your magic out, just slightly, enough to straighten a shelf that was haphazardly arranged earlier, and then you wave a finger over a flame, just enough that it lightly heats your skin.

Fucking Samhain. 

You can already feel the insistent pressure that will certainly be coming after today’s conversation, the demands of your participation in the Divination ritual and gods know what else.

Don’t these bats know you should stay home on Samhain? That’s when the Others get through. 

You shiver.

You’re just about to ask Jet what she wants for dinner before you lock up when you hear a clattering smack, the sound of the broom that always stands so astute by the front door falling to floor, and your blood freezes in your veins.

Jet hisses.

Company’s coming. 

“Hello?” A male voice calls, accent unusual to your ears, ricocheting past the shelves to where you sit in the back, hunched over a dusty tome. “Is anyone here?”

“I am!” You yell, standing up too fast, knocking into the heavy wooden table with your hip and letting out a hiss of air through your lips. Ow. Shit. That’s going to bruise. “I’m here, sorry.” You push away some hair from your face as you appear from the back room.

Oh.

Fuck. 

There is a beautiful man standing in the front of the bookstore. A stunningly gorgeous, perfectly formed human being with crystalline blue eyes and a smile that practically beams. His hair is cut into a mohawk, a unique style that you don’t see too often, and his eyes glimmer with something mischievous, something wild. His bone structure reminiscent of the gods you grew up learning about, his face open, and handsome, watching you from where he stands, bolts of setting sunlight streaming in from the glass door behind him, framing him in the orange and pink goodness of dusk.

Just looking at him sets your body alight.

“H-hello.” Gods.. Get it together. It's just a guy. You've see plenty of mortal men before. His lips quirk, and you try not to look too closely at them, their sweet shape, perfectly pressed together while he cocks his head.

“Hello.” Jet meows by your feet, sharply, and you frown at her before looking back at the man.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book.” He starts, stepping closer, eyes roving over the floor to ceiling shelves that line the front room.

“Well, this is a good place to do that.” Wow. You wish you could pull the words back into your mouth as soon as they slip out, but you can’t. All you can do is cringe and try not to melt into floor. Smooth. So smooth. He doesn’t seem bothered by your obvious statement, and he smiles at you, again, nodding his agreement.

“It’s well… it’s a rare book.”

“Oh?”

“And I’ve been told, you’re a purveyor of such rare and curious books.” Your skin feels warm under your sweater, and you try to beat back the feeling of the heat by taking a deep breath.

“I… have some books. That are considered rare. Or unusual, yes. It depends on what you’re looking for?”

“It’s a grimoire. Of the Ulster Cycle.” You cover your suspicion with a cheeky smile, before shaking your head. What could a man possibly want with that?

“I don’t have anything that old here.” The lie slips through your teeth with ease.

“Oh, my apologies. I was told ye were a collector of sorts. The bloke I spoke with said there was a rare books room an’ everything.” Something prickles along the back of your neck, and your magic flares to life, zinging through your veins like fire.

Magic. There’s magic in here with you, magic that is unlike yours. Magic that hovers above the surface, like it’s waiting for something, waiting to strike.

Is it his?

Like he can sense it, he tenses for a split second before relaxing, and offering you his hand.

“I’m Johnny.” You stare at his waiting gesture, poised on the edge of a decision, uncertainty hanging in the balance.

Something is different here.

 Something is strange. 

But the way he looks at you, like he’s really looking at you, seeing you, noticing you, soothes the wariness in your mind, the strong beating of your heart drowning out your more cautious nature.

Still, you’re not one to give your birth given name to anyone outside the coven, whether they be friend or foe.

You've seen someone learn that lesson first hand. 

“My friends call me Fern.” It’s not a lie, your friends, what little you still had, do call you Fern. Have called you Fern ever since you were all children, when you were more interested in laying on your back in the woods and staring at the clouds through the trees, then you were learning basic spells at anyone’s house. Strange, they used to call you. Odd. Weird. Their parents, bless them, had instructed their children not to be cruel to you, but the nickname had persisted, and then stuck, until it was what you were calling yourself all through Uni and afterwards.

“Fern.” He echoes, a ripple of something you cannot name crossing his face before it smooths, and he releases your hand while giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s lovely to meet you.” The heat on your skin comes surging back, and your magic simmers inside your veins. You’re staring, up into his eyes, two perfect blue swirls of sea and sky, like you’re in a trance, unable to look way for a long moment before he’s clearing his throat and you’re blinking yourself free.

Odd. Your brain warns.

Enchanting. Your heart sings.

“Sorry, I uh. Don’t have your book.”

“It’s alright. Mind if I had a look around?”

“Sure!” you gush, over enthused, and then run your palms down the front of your skirt.

Calm down. He’s not here for you. He’s here for a book. 

You try not to track his every move as he browses, instead staring at the blank computer screen at the front check out desk, clicking the mouse intermittently and shuffling some papers back and forth mindlessly while you sneak a look every now and then.

He’s fit, wide back snug in a t shirt and jacket that hangs loose over his hips, denim notched just right below his waist. You can’t help but stare when he reaches for a higher shelf, and his shirt rides up to expose a flash of his midriff, honey cream skin on full display that makes your mouth water, just a bit.

Jet meows loudly, and then makes an exaggerated point of licking her paw, pointing it in the direction of the clock that hangs over the door.

Welp. 

“I’m actually closing up here, in a minute, is there anything-“

“Sorry to keep ye.” He turns, and you force your eyes away, the intensity of the eye contact too much, the pull of him practically overloading your senses.

“Oh, you’re not. I have other work to do, I just like to lock up.” You don’t know why exactly, but it feels like you’re stalling him. Like you don’t want him to leave. Jet jumps from the floor to the shelf behind you, and she growls as the man, Johnny, who takes a step away from the book he’s studying towards you. “Jet!” you admonish her. Johnny breathes a soft laugh.

“Smart, locking up, cannae be too sure about what’s lurking out there.” He jerks his head towards the door, and then flashes you another smile. It makes you dizzy.

“Uh, I do have some rarities, if that… if that’s something you’d like to come back and see.” What? What did you just say? Did you really just- 

Johnny visibly brightens, like you’ve made his day. Like you’ve made him happy or given him a gift. The feeling warms you from the inside, trilling in your heart until it’s beating double time, and your magic is practically singing in your soul.

He tells you he’ll come back then, that he’d like to come back, and you nod numbly as you wave goodbye.

What the fuck was that? 

Two days later, the bells that hang from the front door jangle and chime to announce his arrival, and the butterflies swirl in your stomach as you walk up front.

“Good evening.” He greets you, and you have to snap yourself to attention after nearly getting lost in the whirled sea glass of his eyes. “It’s Foxglove? Or… Sage?” Your eyes widen and then close to slits before glaring at him. “You’re named after a plant, right?”

“It’s Fern.” You deadpan, and he chuckles, lips splitting to reveal unnaturally white teeth.

“My apologies, Fern.” He does not hide the way his eyes trace you up and down, from your black boots to where your two times two big, button-down shirt is parted to reveal your clavicle. “Are ye well?” He asks, and you try to stutter out a response.

“Y-yes. Thanks. Yourself?”

“Aye, thanks. Excited to see what secrets you’re keeping.” He raises an eyebrow, and you gulp. Where has the air gone? Why does it feel so warm in here?

“I uh. Yeah, well. Let’s… it’s this way.” You punctuate the rambling sentence with deflated inflection, and his lips press together like you’ve amused him.

You pull your magic under the current of the atmosphere in the hallway to wrap around the lock and spring it free, allowing the door to open before the two of you and step inside. The room itself is a marvel, deep burgundy walls with more floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a giant table in the middle, it’s top carved from an ash tree far older than you. The candles dance in your presence, and you feed the wicks just a small sampling of magic, allowing them to gradually brighten so Johnny can see better. Mortal’s eyes were not known for being so sharp. 

“And these are all…?”

“Varying. Some very old, storybooks about monsters and fairies and mermaids and such. You know, fairytales.” You laugh, but he doesn’t, only nods thoughtfully as he reads along the spines. “I’ve got some… old magic books. From when people thought witches were real. And some old religious texts. Nothing crazy, not museum worthy or anything.”

Definitely a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“When people thought witches were real?” He turns, voice laden with skepticism, and something heavy sinks in your belly.

“Yeah, you know. Old pagan beliefs, that kind of stuff.” You try to play it off but can’t escape his gaze, can’t escape the way it feels to have him staring at you, reading you like an open book.

“And you’re usually in the habit of lying to customers?” You stare him, bewildered, your mind racing to come up with something clever, something snappy to throw him. Nothing comes. “I can feel you.” He explains, like it’s normal, or natural. Like you’re both speaking the same language. “Can feel ye from across the street, actually. Didn’t know little plants could hold so much magic.” He teases, lighthearted and sweet, but your fingers tighten into fists.

“I-“ you start, but abruptly stop when words fail you, and your chest tightens with panic. You internally scream at yourself, the strange feelings from when he first stepped foot in the shop coming back to haunt you, to teach you a lesson.

“Hey, hey.” He croons, and you stare at him vacantly, mind scrambling a mile a minute. “It’s alright. I mean ye no harm, Fern.” The way he says your nickname feels like a bite, like a mark against your skin, the word singed with some sort of magic, something flavorless that you cannot taste, yet you know it’s there all the same. You realize he’s staring at your hands, which are open now, pushed out in front of you like a barrier.

“What are you?” you challenge, and his lips twist.

“I’m no threat to ye.”

“Sounds like what someone who is a threat would say.”

“I promise, 'm just a low-level Wielder. You have more power in your pinky finger than I have in my entire body.” A Wielder. That explains the weird feelings. It’s an old term, one used to describe those born into magical families without marginal power. Wielding witches or warlocks usually have enough magic in them to cast minimal impact spells, some charms and enchantments, things of little consequence. “I ah, work in the military. I don’t practice.” He admits, and that takes you by surprise.

“The military?”

“Aye.” An impish grin splits across his face. “I like blowing things up. Work with a special ops team, around the world. We’re on leave right now, but. That’s usually what I’m doing.” That’s different. Magical beings usually stay far away from things like government, or military. Easier to remain undetected that way, and it was fairly known that mortals were left to their own affairs, without magical interference. You find yourself asking the question before you can smack your lips shut.

“But, your family must-“ not like that? Shun you? Worry about you? must hate you for that? You’re not sure why you blurted it out, or even where you were going with it.

“My mum’s gone. Da too. Got a few siblings left but, we mostly keep to ourselves.” Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Shame curdles in your stomach, and you grimace. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, happened a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have-“

“Fern.” He says quickly, your name laden with the same feeling from before, the richness of some unintelligible power, and you draw a sharp breath. “It’s alright, I promise.” You duck your head in silent apology, and the room stays quiet for a moment before he’s speaking again. “What is this?” He’s pointing to a black book, its spine cracked and writing illegible, to most.

“That’s a grimoire.”

“It looks… old. Like it’s seen better days.”

“It is, and it has.” You don’t elaborate, because you don’t know if you should, or even if you want to.

“Where’s it from?” He pushes.

“Here. It’s uh… from my coven. From a very long time ago.”

“You lot been around a long time?”

“You could say that.” You could say that’s an understatement. There were only a handful of old covens left in the world, ancient powers that slept beneath the skin of their witches, only growing stronger and stronger through their lengthy history and connection to the earth. Dangerous.

He continues on with his inquiries, and you give him as much information as you can, pulling books from their resting places and cracking them wide for his eyes, pointing out little things of interest here and there while he stands in awe, time ticking away until the clock in the hall is chiming for ten pm, and he’s apologizing for keeping you so late as you click the door shut.

“You’re not keeping me.” You assure him. “I live in the flat upstairs. Short commute.” You laugh.

“Well, thank ye. That was a delight. Old books like that, the ones that most do not get to see are… special. I’m grateful to ye, for sharing the collection with me.” He makes your head spin, with how earnest he is, how easy and honest he confesses such things to you. It makes your knees feel weak, makes your throat feel dry.

“Of course. Um, anytime you wanna, you know. Come by and look, I’m here.” You stand by awkwardly, while Jet scowls at you from her perch in the window. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s going to leave now, the knowledge that he’ll step out on the street and possibly never been seen by you again twisting in your soul like a sour edged blade.

“I ah… was going to go for a late dinner, would ye like to join me?” You don’t even process it right away, just nod, numbly, like a robot in front of him. Dinner? With him? You, and him? 

“Yeah!” you blurt and then try not to cringe at your over eagerness. “Yes. Yes, I’m hungry so… dinner would be great.”

“Know any good spots around?”

“Uh, yeah there’s a place down the street a few blocks that has a great curry. We could walk?”

“Sure.” He agrees, and then steps outside to wait for you while you lock everything up.

Jet complains the entire time, loudly, and you try to shush her multiple times.

“Oh, stop!” you scold over her meows. “It’s just dinner. He’s nice.” She watches you with keen eyes, green spheres that probably know far more than you, before slinking off to the stairs in the back, taking herself up to the flat. “Goodnight then!” You yell after her, to which she responds with a frustrated growl.

Familiars. You sigh and roll your eyes. So dramatic.

“I lost my parents too.” You tell him one night, a week later. He’s met you after closing, in a park where you like to walk sometimes, and the two of you slowly stroll along the walking path as you trade questions and answers about one another’s lives. It’s somewhat dark, sun already set, but the orange light of a giant jack o lantern that sits in the green space’s center glows robustly and bathes the twilight in autumn hues. “I uh, didn’t want to say anything, because it felt like, not the right time but, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” He says earnestly and you give him a tiny smile.

“Thanks, I was young. There’s not much I remember about it.” Mostly true. You really didn’t know much, even though you were there. You had the memories in pieces, the woods, the moon, the Fae that took your mother’s life. The spell that ended your father’s. All buried deep in your heart, untouched. Unvisited. You both lapse into silence, and you fight the awkwardness by posing a question, hoping to change the subject without being too obvious.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“I’ve got one sister, who I don’t get to see as often as I’d like. And then, my brothers, who aren’t mine by blood but by we’ve all been best friends for far too long now, living together, working together, traveling together. We’re… very bonded.”

“That’s sweet.” His head tips back with a laugh, before looking back to you. 

“Sweet isn’t what I’d call them, but it’s something.”

“They’re like your family then?”

“Aye. Closest some of us ‘ll ever get.” There’s a pang of something in your heart at that, the idea that Johnny has both blood and love, people who have chosen him, who love him. You’ve never really had that, and the concept is practically foreign to you. “Look, there. It's you.” He points to a bush off to the left and you turn to him confused. “Little plant.” He explains, bemused, clearly pleased with himself and his terrible joke.

“Piss off.” You elbow him playfully, trying to push away, and he grabs you, pulling you into his side with a firm grip, half holding you to him in an embrace as he chuckles and rubs your shoulder affectionately.

“Sorry, little shrub.”

“What are ye doing for Samhain?” He asks the following day during his visit to the shop, a week before the dreaded night, and you gnaw on your lip.

“There’s a festival. We burn large pyres and dance in the moonlight.” You tease.

“Nude?” he smirks, and you laugh, nearly dropping the volume you’re shelving.

“No, gods no. Fully clothed, thank you.” You don’t mention the Divination, the ritual that is your own personal hell. “We drink, and dance, and those who have lost loved ones try to find their spirits. There’s also matchmaking, done by the elders. Which I painstakingly avoid.” He hands you another book, and you pop it into place. “Would you… would you like to come?” Why not? It’s not like anyone is going to tell you not to bring someone. Especially not when they need you so badly. He’s quiet, holding another book in his hand, staring down at the cover like he’s reading it. He’s silent for so long you start to worry, start to second guess yourself, start to think maybe, you read this wrong. Maybe, this isn’t what you thought it might be. Maybe he’s-

“I would be happy to.”

“Be watchful of the féth fíada.” The witch who stands beside a roiling cauldron warns, before pressing a mug into your waiting hands. “Something else is in these woods tonight.” You give your beverage to Johnny and then take the second mug from her, before leading him away, down the hill and closer to the fires.

“What’s the féth fíada?”

“It’s the mist. On Samhain, the veil is particularly thin between worlds, you know? Spirits are usually here with us, until the sun rises but…” You sip the cider, spice and warmth coating your tongue. “We, the coven, believe the Others come through at the same time, and use the mist to cloak themselves.” You gesture to the wispy white fog that rolls through the forest like smoke.

“The Others?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yes. That’s what we call them. The Fae.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Thought the Fae were a myth.” You laugh and turn to face him.

“I assure you, they’re very real.”

“Oh? Have ye encountered one then?” You shudder, like you’re cold, frightening memories pooling at the forefront of your mind until you shove them away.

“Once. When I was a child.” He frowns then, head cocked in consideration, faraway look in his eye as he casts his gaze over your shoulder. Like he’s looking for something. Like he’s seeing.

“Were ye hurt, Fern?” Hurt? No. Traumatized? The echo of your mother’s screams ring in between your ears.

“No.” Someone lights a new pyre a second after your denial, orange embers leaping into the night sky with grace, and it draws your attention enough to distract the both of you. “Come on.” You tug him towards where a group has gathered, bodies moving together in tandem with a chorus of strings that sing through the air. “Dance with me?” You ask him breathlessly, emboldened by the sniff of fire whiskey that sits in your cup and he smiles before draping an around your waist and pulling you close to his body.

“I’d like nothing more.”

Your feet are light, moving around one another with an elegance you didn’t know you possessed, effortlessly shifting with the rhythm and time of the music, fingers grazing along each other in tentative, desperately seeking touches.  

“You’re beautiful, little witch.” He whispers against your ear, words soft and saccharine, floating on the warm air around you as you sway together in time to the music. His hand cups your jaw gently, tilting your chin upwards until you’re both looking at one another, his blue eyes alight with the reflection of the bonfire behind you, lovely and bright, burning down into your soul like a love spell. “I’d like to kiss ye, Fern.” He murmurs, voice strained and tinged with an accent you cannot place, and you blink while your heart rockets off at superspeed, sending blood buzzing with excited magic through your veins.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he smiles at you like you’re the most stunning creature he’s ever seen, before slowly lowering his lips to yours.

It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be. You’ve kissed some men in your life, some women, but nothing compares to this. There’s an explosion inside of you when his mouth meets yours, the gentle coaxing of the way he holds you melting you into a boneless heap while you breathe him in, his scent practically transporting you to another world, a mossy, emerald-green wood with lush plant life and giant ferns that blanket the forest floor. The feel of him, of whatever this is, mixed with your magic and the magic in the air is a powerful elixir, one that seems to make the world tilt where you stand, gravity disappearing and your body pressing into his as a result. The closer you get, the more you can feel something in him, something strong, something powerful, lurking in the shadow of this moment, waiting. Watching. He tastes like oak and dew dropped grass, earthy and rich and magical, everything wrapping up into one as you practically go limp in his arms when he parts your lips with his tongue and sweeps inside.

When he pulls away he’s still holding you steady, while you stare at him wordlessly, smile tugging at your lips. The world feels quiet, like everything has all but died down, like mostly everyone has left except for you, and him. A second stretches on for a minute, for an hour, and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from his, your magic arcing wildly through the night sky, snapping and hissing with the overflow of your emotions. You never want this to end. You want this to last forever... you want him in more ways than you've ever known. You want-

"Fern! Fern!" Someone's calling you, over the noise of the night, and you reluctantly step back, realizing it’s your aunt’s voice carrying over the music and revelry.

“I… I have to…” You nod in her direction, where she stands beyond the pyre, at the seam of the forest, sealed mason jar of something in her hands.  

“Of course.” He answers immediately, and takes your hand in his, folding his fingers between yours and petting his thumb over your knuckles. He brings them to his mouth, carding his lips over your skin with a gentle kiss, before giving your hand a squeeze and relaxing his grip. “I’ll see ye soon?”

“Y-yeah. Still want to do dinner, on Thursday?” Thursday should be fine, enough time to recover.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He vows, strong and certain. You hear your name again, but don’t release him, and it’s not until he’s asking you if you’re alright that you realize you’re clutching to him too tightly. Like he’s a lifeline. Like he could save you from this. His free hand moves into your line of sight, and then he strokes a finger across your cheek, eyes worried, face creased with concern. “Fern? What is it?” 

“Nothing. I… I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday.” He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already pulling away, releasing him and bringing the cowl of your hood up over your hair, slipping into the crowd without another word.

You stumble around the dancing and celebrating until you break through and reach the tree line, your aunt and another standing in their ceremonial black robes. You swallow a gasp when you see the jar, it’s clear liquid a tell-tale sign of what’s to come.

Divination.

Your aunt’s lips purse when she sees you.

“Are you ready?” No. No, no. Please don’t make me. You take a deep breath to try to steady yourself, clear your mind and settle your magic. No. No, you’re not ready. The forest cracks and chants around you, cacophony of voices screaming and singing at the same time. No, you don’t want this. You don’t want to do this. This is not what you were meant for, you know it in your heart. You do not want to hurt; you were not meant for harm. “Fern.” Her tone snaps like a whip against your skin.

“Yes.”

You lay still for days, after. Unable to sleep, your eyes never close, your mind never settles, the adrenaline crystalizing in your bones as you drag yourself back and forth from your bathroom to bed, over and over.

You wash hands hundreds of times, but you still see the blood stains on your palms, under your nails, splattered up to your elbows.

Your power burns throughout you, magic heating the air with fervor and thrall, chanting voices culminating around you as you seek the vessels in his body and pull, drawing each drop through him and into yourself, ruby ichor spouting from his mouth like a furious volcano, blood dripping from his lips like the hallowed tears of the old gods. It’s everywhere, on your hands, your arms, your face, your neck, the earth. You imbue it with power, pushing your connections with the roots beneath the soil upwards, into the blood while the breeze sizzles and shatters, mist gathering around your ankles like shackles meant to drag you below. 

 You close your eyes thousands of times, but you still see the face of the man, still see his fear, still hear his pleas, his screams, his cries for mercy as you bleed him dry, scrying for the future with the litres of his blood.

The visions come quickly, splintering through your head with a sharpness that hurts, and you cry out amidst the pain, your mind being ripped into pieces as you scream. There are hands on you, arms cloaked in dark robes, holding you up, holding you steady while your magic vibrates through the ground and into your bones, filling your sight with the future. Clips of death, birth, tragedy echo behind your closed lids, the mineral scent of blood filling your nostrils until you think it will be burned there permanently. 

Tears stream down your cheeks, cutting a path through the spray of red that paints your face. 

Your cries join the reprise of the man who sits dying at your feet, the force of his life draining through your magic, bending and weaving with the power from the earth and your own blood until he’s nothing but a husk, a desecrated corpse that lays silently as you collapse in front of it. 

The visions do not stop. They will not stop for days. 

The elders extract the ones that pertain to them from your mind through their own spell, the process nearly as painful as the Divining itself. They hold you down to the ground to get what they want, pinning your shoulders with a bruising grip, cutting your skin to smear their fingers in your blood, holding your head still as you thrash. Their hands hurt. You will wear their marks for weeks. 

Your aunt deposits you on your back doorstep in a heap as the sun rises. 

No one calls. No one comes. 

You lay alone in your bed, eyes peeled wide, seeing into endless futures, broken stories of other worlds, other beings, other places that you’ll never know. Places you’ll only ever read about in books Places that you’ll only see through this horrid act, or your restless dreams. 

Your brain fractures into tiny little pieces. Your own understanding becomes non sensical.

You become lost between planes. Lost in your own mind. Lost to the Divination. 

Jet never leaves your side. The shop stays shuttered, as it does every year after Samhain, no one coming or going, your lone employee enjoying her annual week after Halloween vacation.

Eventually your eyes close. You sleep fitfully. You dream of the visions, the screams, the sacrifice.

Finally, you regain enough strength to weave a weak spell that helps quiet your mind, and then you truly rest, for the first time in days. You rest, and you sleep until Thursday afternoon, when there’s a rapping against your door.

Johnny.

“Hey little sprout, what’s-“ the words die on his lips when you peek around the door, and the color drains from his face. “Fern.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You know how you appear. Strung out, most likely. Battered. Exhausted. Bruised. You try to fix the top of the knit shawl that you have draped over your shoulders, but it’s far too late. He’s already seen.

“What… what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You try to play it off but it’s pointless now.

“Who did this?” The demand is harsh, and rage simmers in his eyes, fury crackling along his skin and into the air between you. He looks… different, something primordial reflecting in his gaze, something ominous etched in the lines of his face. The question holds a promise of violence, of punishment, and being so close to him in this moment makes your head spin. It makes you feel like the very fabric of this world is tearing apart, ripping to pieces around you as he stands there, an otherworldly feeling swirling in the air between your two bodies. It suffocates you, pushes you into the dark depths of waters that feel all too familiar, like the leftover scars on your mind from the Divination are being ripped wide open and plunging you back between celestial planes. 

“Johnny," You manage to choke out, voice rough and trembling. "it’s fine, I- I’m okay. It’s just… the aftermath. Of Samhain.” Your voice breaks, the tenor of your sadness something that’s out of your control, tears caught in your throat. He stares at you, bewildered, a hand raised midair before it falls to his side in a fist, and he turns away. “Johnny?” He doesn’t respond, and you watch the smooth skin of his jaw flex and harden. He stares into the distance, across the street, into the sky.

Looking anywhere but you.

It’s because he can’t stand to see you. 

You look awful. 

You look monstrous. 

You are monstrous. 

“No one should ever touch ye like this.” He bites out, his knuckles tensing against the door frame. His eyes are angry, and wild, burning a hole into your clavicle, where your skin sits exposed, healing from a gash. You shift, a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and then he snaps his gaze up to yours, face immediately softening, lips parting, expression rife with unease. With worry. “Are ye… are ye okay?”

“Yes. Just a bit tired.”

“If it’s too much, to have dinner-“

“No! N-no, no. I want… to see you. I want to. Just not sure if I feel up to going out?” He understands, nodding sympathetically, brow furrowed with thought.

“I could go get a takeaway?” Your stomach chooses to rumble at that exact moment, and a small smile plays on his lips.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Alright.” He steps just a little closer, close enough for you to get a deep inhale of him, that woodsy, mossy, magical scent, and swoops down to land a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling your hand into his and bringing it to his lips, eyes slipping closed with a shuddering breath when he presses a kiss to your palm. “I’ll be right back. You'll be alright?”

“Yeah, 'm fine.”

He feeds you until you cannot eat anymore. He plies you with noodles of too many kinds, different cartons that overflow spread out on the coffee table, in front of where you sit curled up on the couch. You’re still exhausted, eyes straining to stay open, and eventually, you’re sinking lower and lower into the cushions, legs sprawled across his lap, his hand smoothing up and down your calf. It’s warm, and comforting, and you swear you can feel little zings of magic moving inside you, lulling you into a peaceful rest, cocooning you in hazy feelings of softness and safety.

Hours later, in the dark, lips press to your forehead. Your body curls against something warm, face flush against the steady thump of a heartbeat. Someone whispers in your ear.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

“Tell me about your magic.” He asks one night, a few days after you fell asleep on the couch, when you’re finally back to your normal self, spending most of your time getting caught up on everything you let slip during your post Samhain recovery period.

Having Johnny around has seemed to help, somehow. He’s been here, every day since, like he’s unwilling to let you out of his sight, showing up in the mornings before you open the shop with a coffee and sweet, a baked treat that two of you usually split as you go about tidying things around the front room. He hovers, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin often, grasping your hand in his, pressing his lips to your palm reverently throughout the day. You’re not sure how, or why, but it seems your magic and mind have taken to having him around, and you feel better, more well than you normally would during the Divination healing process, your head clear and wounds mostly mended.

“What about it?”

“There were many witches, warlocks, magical beings at the festival, but I didn’t feel anyone quite like ye.” A keen observation. You hem and haw, debating how much to truly tell him, debating how to make it sound… less insane.

“There aren’t any witches like me anymore, really.” You say quietly, casting a mournful look to where he sits on the wicker sofa, legs spread wide. You’re both sitting on your flat’s back porch, enjoying the crisp weather that has a chill to it, the coolness of air refreshing against your skin. “I’m a blood spinner.” He gives you a confused look.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like… a special kind of witch, in my coven. We aren’t exactly… the most orthodox of our kind.”

“What do ye mean?” Ah, fuck. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to break your oath, to betray the promises you made to protect the secrets that rule your existence.

But it’s Johnny. 

And you trust him. 

“My coven… we’re blood witches. We deal in blood, water, bone. Living things and… such. We can craft spells that affect other forms of life. It’s generally taboo, now. There aren’t any covens left alive that practice blood magic, except us.”

“And what is a blood spinner?” At the same time as he poses his question, he taps his thigh meaningfully, and you rise from the chair that you were sitting in to lower yourself into his lap, edge of your dress sliding down your thigh when he tucks his arm under your knees. His palm skates up and down the back of your leg, and goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

“Every few decades, a witch like me is born. They call us blood spinners, which is really just a made-up name for someone who’s… connected.”

“Connected?”

“We rely heavily on our connection to the earth, and most of my coven cannot pull on those connections without casting some sort of spell. I can do it… naturally.” You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I feel connections to the earth, the elements, especially water, so intensely sometimes it feels like they’re a part of me. During our walk the other week? I could feel the trees, breathing. Could feel the grass growing. Could hear the rapid heartbeats of the ducks in the pond. All without using a single spell. Using my magic is not something I have to cast for, like most others. I can just… do it.”

“I’m still not following.” Of course he’s not. Because you sound insane. 

“Right, sorry. Most witches perform magic by casting spells. It’s how they organize and harness their power, pushing the chaotic force of it into something that can contain it, regulate it, give it a purpose.”

“But not you.”

“No. If a witch in my coven wanted to, let’s say, cast a love spell, they’d need an incantation. They could do it, of course, because blood and bone are the primary targets of such a spell, but they’d still need one. They’d write it themselves or get it from someone else if they weren’t confident in their spell making. But I… could just do it. Could just manipulate the blood, enchant it with my own power. Straight from the source. No words. No chanting.”

“Just your power.”

“Yes.” You hesitate. Might as well, while you’re at it. “And, I can use blood to see the future.” He stiffens.

“Divination?” You nod, and he studies you before murmuring quietly, “I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.” Mortal witches? What is that supposed to mean? 

“They can’t. We’re not mortal.” His eyes narrow. 

“What?”

“My coven has always used their gifts to prolong their lives. It is a blessing, and a curse.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise and you shake your head. “Not me, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m still my natural age.” You offer him a toothy grin, and while he nods thoughtfully, his brow furrows in contemplation.

“Well, aren't ye full of surprises, eh?” He hums, and then presses you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is waiting, just above yours.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, fingers clutched in his shirt, desperate for him, for his touch, for anything he could give you.

“Ye never have to ask.” He answers, and then seals his lips to yours, stealing your breath while his hand sinks into your hip, your body heating under his ministrations, your head dizzy with lust and affection for him. He shifts you in one movement, so you’re straddling him, and you can feel the outline of his cock in his jeans beneath you, can feel the heaviness that sits there. You sink down, just slightly, enough that your clothed cunt barely rubs over him, the contact sending little electric shocks through your body, and you whimper into his mouth. “Fern.” He murmurs, and you sneak your tongue past his teeth, lavishing him as much as you can, eager to soak up every piece he’s willing to give. He groans, and your hands drift to his waist, a thumb tucking beneath his skin and the button of his jeans, desperate to touch, to feel, to have him… when his fingers encircle your wrist and pull you away. “We canna’ dove. It’s late.” He says mournfully. Your heart sinks, soul cresting with sadness, and he strokes some strands of hair from your face gently.

Why doesn’t he want you? Were you reading things wrong? Have you done something?   

He brings your palm to his lips, kissing you tenderly, and some of the bitterness leeches from your soul, your heart gentling it's disappointment, your dejection ebbing away on silken spun clouds. 

“Right. Of course.”

He sighs, like he’s bearing the weight of the entire world, before knocking his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m sorry, sweet Fern. It’s not you, ah just… it’s late.” 

“That’s alright, I understand.” You hoist yourself off his lap, and he scratches his head, more so in a way that seems to be a nervous tic than a necessary action, and you shrug. He stands, body held in stasis halfway to you, arm extended like he wants to touch you, grab you, but he’s holding back. You eye the porch door, and he frowns, something uneasy flickering across his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you blurt before he can say anything, and he tenses.

“Of course.” He rushes to assure you, and you give him a nod before turning away.

“Goodnight.” You call over your shoulder, before slipping inside your flat and flicking off the porch light.

“You’ve mentioned… you ‘ave books about mermaids?” His fork digs through the container of noodles, lifting a perfect mouthful to his lips after the question, and you nod with your own mouth full of pad see ew.

“Sort of. They’re not really… mermaids in the sense like, Ariel and such.” You’re sitting opposite him upstairs, in the kitchen of your flat, with a window open, cool breeze flowing through your curtains. Your mind wanders to the ancient Greek text that sits on one of the shelves, it’s writing penned by the old gods themselves, words magicked by you to be hidden from most eyes. “They’re different.”

“The Nereids.” He says plainly, and you blink in surprise. “The ones who lure mortals to their deaths?”

“You know of the Nereids?” He nods, scooping another bite into his mouth, swallowing before he continues. 

“My mum used to tell me stories about them. Said they were hunters, used blood spells to trap their victims.” You sigh into your wine glass. His fingers snake across the table and then up your forearm, tracing featherlight touches on the inside of your wrist.

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“No?”

“No.” You scoff. “Their magic is much more complex than that. The blood songs are not spelled. They’re naturally occurring. The Nereids do not choose who sings to them.”

“So, it could be anyone.” He muses, and you shrug.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s pre-determined by something, somewhere. Some magical force but, the mortals… they’ve no idea. It’s not like they choose, to have their hearts ripped from their chest during sex.” Johnny startles on the stool, body shifting in a rapid movement, so quick your eyes almost don’t catch it. “You didn’t know?” It wouldn’t surprise you. Not much is known about the Nereids. You only hold this knowledge because your coven is well informed, due to the length of their lives, and because you possess one of the few texts left that references them in such detail. Both you and your coven hold the truth of what lurks in the sea close to your hearts. Another secret to keep, another truth never to be borne.

But the wine has made your tongue loose and well, you can’t help but give him everything he wants, anything he’s asked. His eyes flash, and he cradles your hand in his, stroking across your palm with his thumb.

Your words flow so easily, so uninhabited.

It feels so free, so right.

“No. Had no idea.” He watches you carefully, dancing candlelight spinning shadows along the walls and across his face. He looks handsome as usual, but something in the way he regards you now feels different. Dangerous. Thrilling. Your thighs press together almost subconsciously, low whirring of need humming inside your body, and your fingers tighten on the stem of you glass as you continue.

“Yeah, they need them… to live. It’s very… complex. The song creates a pull of sorts, I think.” You drain your glass before motioning to the wine bottle, tugging its contents into your glass with a little flick of magic. “It’s pretty sad. They fall in love with their victims for a night, and then harvest the organ and eat it before the sun comes up. It’s what sustains them. The love, the blood, the magic.” You gesture to the bottle and then to him, and he encourages you with a nod. “It all comes from the heart, you know?” You tap your own for reference, finger padding at the skin over your breastbone, over top where your heart beats just a little faster than normal.

“Aye, I guess it does.” He murmurs, fingertips light against your skin. His attention is focused on you, unwaveringly so, and you fidget under the scrutiny. He looks so… ethereal, in the dim candlelight, so otherworldly that you have to blink a few times to make sure you’re not seeing things.

You’re not.

He’s just really so, so beautiful.

It’s late when Johnny poses another question, clearing his throat over the low volume of a movie playing in the background. He lays behind you on the couch, the curve of your ass pressed into his hips, his arm slung over your belly, palm pressed to space above your navel. His breath fawns over your cheek, and he presses soft kisses to your temple in quick succession before you feel the vibration in his chest.

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“What if… it was someone you knew? The mortal, who had the Nereid’s song. Could you save them somehow?” It’s an interesting question, and you pause for a moment. His fingers stroke the back of your hand, before wrapping around your wrist and bringing your palm towards his mouth, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your skin before pulling you tighter into his embrace. 

“I don’t know. I suppose you could, extract the song. You’d have to call it forth because it’s naturally occurring. You couldn’t just… cast a spell. You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself, and then pull it from the mortal that way, but then you’d be dooming the Nereid to die. They need the heart, to live. I don’t think I could make that choice.” His hand skates along your ribs, under your t shirt, stroking up and down your skin slowly. Soothingly.

“I don’t think I could either.”

“That’s not what I meant!” You shriek with laughter, chest expanding as you rock backwards, leaning away from him and his devilish smile. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, keeping you close to him, fingers playing across your clavicle while you giggle.

“Aye but it’s what ye said.” He’s been taunting you relentlessly about last night, when you fell asleep on the couch and then proceeded to talk for a few hours, all while you were blissfully tucked away in a dream somewhere. 

“Nooo Johnny.” You moan, mortified, and bury your face in his chest. You peek up at him, and your eyes betray you, even though it’s the last thing you want. You cannot hide it, the giddiness, the happiness you feel when you’re around him. It swamps you in glee, exuberance oozing from every one of your pores. Your power feels sweeter, feels lighter, feels more peaceful now than it ever has before.

You know it’s because of him.

You dread that it’s because of him.

Four days later, you’re cataloguing some new arrivals when the front door of the shop bangs open, smacking against the wall, nearly shaking the building, the sound alone bringing you to your feet in a panic.

Your aunt stands in the doorframe, body thrumming with spells just barely contained, anger flooding the space between the two of you.

“What have you done?” She screeches, eyes mad with rage, and you stare at her horror while Jet hides behind your legs.

“I don’t... what’s going on?”  

“What’s going on?” She jeers with an acidity that taints the air. “You’ve always been such a foolish child.”

“I don’t understand…”

That male you brought to Samhain wasn’t a mortal, you stupid girl. He was Fae.”

“Johnny? No, he’s… he’s not. He’s-“ He’s not. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t lie to you.

“Have you not heard? What’s happened?” she spits. She's confused. She must be. This can't be right. 

“Heard what?”

“A Nereid has been taken, to Faerie. By one of them.” You laugh nervously in her face, the absurdity of her statement unsettling.

“No, that’s not possible.” Why would a Nereid leave their home? How would they leave their home? They need human hearts to survive, after all. How would that even… 

The room spins. Your Aunt continues to scream, going on and on about how stupid you are, how foolish and naïve, how you’re lucky you’re the blood spinner because otherwise, the coven would have already burnt you at the stake. Alive.  

But you cannot focus on any of it.

All you can hear, all you can picture, is the horrid replays of those conversations with Johnny.

All you can think about, is how easily your lips spilled those secrets. How free it all felt. How right.

“You know of the Nereids?”

“I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.”

“I suppose you could, extract the song…”

“They don’t use blood spells.” 

“You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself…”

“It all comes from the heart, you know?”

“Oh, gods.” You whisper, mouth dropping open in shock. Your aunt finally goes silent, the whole room falling quiet as the blood rushes in your ears.

“You’re dead to us. You’ll perform your duties for Divination, when necessary, but outside of that, you’re to be shunned. No one is to speak to you, of you, ever again.” She pauses, glaring at you with contempt. “The jury’s still out, on whether you’ll be tried and burned.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know… I didn’t do it intentionally.” You don’t even know why you’re trying to explain yourself, why you’re bothering. She won’t listen. No one will care. You broke your oath. You betrayed the thing you were supposed to protect. Your chest heaves, lungs fighting for air as the walls narrow in on where you stand.

All for some stupid attention. All because some guy, someone you thought was just a harmless mortal with a tinge of power, smiled at you and kissed you sweetly. Because he told you were beautiful, and held your hand, and went on walks with you in the park. Because he kissed you like you meant something, like you mattered.

Your aunt stops at the door, casting a parting remark over her shoulder as she leaves.

“Your poor mother, Fern. I hope her spirit never discovers what you’ve done.”

It doesn’t take long, to find him. You thread your power through the city, scrying your magic through every drop on blood on every street, every corner, ever floor of every building until you locate him, sitting at a two top table outside of a pub, a handsome male across from him. They’re speaking in hushed tones as you turn the corner, and you stop for a moment to take them in.

How could you not have seen this? 

Those strange feelings, his scent, the shadow of something primordial in those eyes were all trying to tell you the same thing. 

This male is not a man at all, but Fae. 

You stomp down the rest of the block, urging mortals away, using your magic to push them, to send them scurrying in other directions, just as the one sitting opposite Johnny spots you, mouth dropping into an o of surprise before he’s speaking, lips moving rapidly.

Johnny swivels in his chair, but it’s too late. You’re already upon them.

Your rage, your shame overshadows your hurt, the fear that threatens to drown you, as you stand in front of him spitting mad, your magic swirling around you in violent hues of red and purple while he stares, dumbfounded.

“You tricked me, you Fae bastard.” He stands, hand outstretched in a cautionary gesture.

“Fern-“ He tries, but you steamroll him. He’s Fae. Don’t listen to a word he says.

“You used me!” You hiss, fist unclenching, raising in front of your body like a weapon.

“No, listen-“ The other one, like him, is standing off to his left, watching you warily while you yell, tears wet on your cheeks. He steps closer, coming to stand nearly behind Johnny’s shoulder before Johnny waves him off with a concerned look on his face.

“No! You listen! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your power throbs through you, biting and gnawing to get out, to strike him down and hurt him, hurt him as he’s hurt you, betray him as he’s betrayed you. Your feelings and thoughts and magic all swirl together, weaving and bending into a chaotic mass of pain and sorrow and anger, surging forward, and then your finger extends, pointing right at him. 

In the blink of an eye the air shifts and he drops his glamour, exposing the true strength of his power, the tips of his ears, the mighty weight of the magic he carries in his veins. 

Your words die on your tongue. 

His hand darts forward, strong fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close, close enough that he can incline his head above your ear, voice razor sharp, lethal and cold when he whispers in an accent you've never heard before:

“Did ye just point at me, little witch?” You’re stunned for a moment, terror galloping through your heart before your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you wrench your arm away, stepping back as quickly as you can.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. Johnny hasn’t reverted back to how you know him, with the soft angles and rounded ears, his glamoured state, you now realize, and staring him down is a feat in its own. It hurts, to look at him, and you know it’s intentional, you know it’s the way they operate. They aim to sow fear. To scare. Their blinding beauty is just another means to an end, just another tool for them to use.

Something shifts, and Johnny’s eyes move, the intensity of their gaze wavering as he regards you.

He looks… upset.

No. No he doesn’t. He’s not remorseful. He doesn’t care. He used you. He lied to you. He tricked you. 

You step away slowly, afraid to show your back to him, and he takes a half lunge towards your retreating form but it’s too late, you’re too far away from him now, and when you finally turn to run, you hear his voice on the wind.

“Fern, wait!”

[nonsensical-pixels]

part 1 of some requests from ghoularcade at the wishing tree... and some extras!! i realise it's only april, but have @nolan-sims' warlock wears, madame mystique, and borrower's outfit, taken from various simblreen treats of theirs, converted from ts4 to ts2! 3 spring treats just for you 🤍

they're all largely medium-poly and for at least 2 ages, with all appropriate morphs. not all of them turned out exactly as i was hoping for them to, but i'm so relieved that they're done. stay tuned for more... soon, i hope? there's more stuff and details under the cut!

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 🌼

credits go of course to @nolan-sims for the original ts4 outfits and their meshes & textures; to @madlensims and ea/maxis for the original shoes used in the outfits; and last but not least to @paluding, without whose tattooer the madame mystique dress would not have been possible! 🥰

CLOSE-UPS + DETAILS

4T2 NOLANSIMS WARLOCK WEARS OUTFIT [SFS | MF] - for tm-am, but elder enabled - 5820 polys, all morphs - 15 swatches with tm repo'd to am - categorised as everyday/formal/outerwear - paired with 4t2 bg oxford fringe, converted by me

4T2 NOLANSIMS MADAME MYSTIQUE OUTFIT [SFS | MF] - for tf-af only - 8234 polys, all morphs - 15 swatches with tf repo'd to af - categorised as everyday/formalwear - paired with 4t2 @madlensims sonata heels, converted by me *note: the original had shoulder straps, but these were wonky and i couldn't bone-assign them properly... so i yeeted them. think of it as a stylistic choice? if you know a way to convert the outfit with the straps, PLEASE DO, i'm so sad that i couldn't include them! @paluding has added the straps back to the outfit!! MAJOR thanks to them, grab the updated meshes here!!

4T2 NOLANSIMS BORROWER'S OUTFIT [SFS | MF] - for tm-am, but elder enabled - 5041 polys, all morphs - 15 swatches with tm repo'd to am - categorised as everyday/outerwear - paired with 4t2 gp04 button boots, converted by me

if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

Love, ~ Ky 💗

[lifelikesimz]

The Basic Collection Part 1: T-Shirt, Boxer Briefs, and Socks for TM-AM

Hello Tumblr Family and Happy New Year to you! Here is a small collection of basic wear for your male sims that consists of a t-shirt, boxer briefs, and a pair of socks.

T-Shirt - 4 Colors

Boxer Briefs - 8 Colors

Socks - 8 Colors

Custom Thumbnail for All

This is Part 1 and Part 2 will be coming out soon :)

Hope you enjoy, Happy Simming! 😘

Download Here (No Ads/Pay)

[kdogreads]

The Last to Know

Chibs Telford x f!reader

Part 2 of Very Soon, a continuation of the Chibs x reader origin story💕

Warnings: S M U T minors buzz off, marijuana use, mentions of alcohol, choking, slight dom/sub (but only a little), size kink, praise kink

Check out my masterlist for more Chibby content and follow #kdogreads to keep up with my self-indulgence 😉

It had been a few months since you first kissed Filip Telford and your life had flipped itself upside down in that time. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but in a way that changed the way you spent every moment of your time.

Your life started dividing itself as before Chibs and after Chibs, like the damn second coming of Christ. After a 12-hour shift on your feet at St. Thomas, before Chibs, you’d go home and crash, sometimes not even making it your bed and sleeping on the couch for the night. After Chibs, though, you’d head straight over to the clubhouse, a change of clothes already there waiting for you, and a wave of energy somehow surging through your veins at the anticipation of seeing your man.

Tonight was one of those nights, fresh off an 11a to 11p shift and straight to the clubhouse. As you pulled into TM the sounds of a raging party filled your ears and you could see groups people standing around smoking, drinking, and dancing.

You made your way into the sea of leather, smiling and nodding at those who recognized you. It was Tig who greeted you first.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” He gave you a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek, his breath smelled of cheap whiskey and weed, but it brought a smile to your face.

“Ready to party, Tiggy,” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, and he laughed his signature goofy laugh before pointing back towards the dorms where Chibs must have been waiting for you. You leaned in to peck him back on the cheek before heading that way.

Making your way to the dorm you’d spent many nights in, you passed Clay, Piney, Bobby, Gemma and several of the other guys who gave you smiles and wolf whistles. You did a silly little spin for them and were met with cheers and encouragements to “Give it to him!” Laughs echoed through the room as you rounded the corner to find your man.

Turning the knob and entering the dimly lit room, your eyes stumbled onto Filip seated at the small desk inside rolling a joint.

“Party’s out there, handsome,” You walked over and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Aye, but I’ve been waitin’ for my date ‘fore I make an appearance,” He joked and kissed your hands.

“I’m sorry, baby, last minute code kept me over,” You plead with a fake pout on your face.

“Ah, lass, I couldna be mad at you if I tried,” He turned in your arms to give you a long, sweet kiss.

You hummed in response, your lips melting happily into his for a long moment before pulling away to change out of your work clothes. Filip turned back to continue rolling a second joint, lighting one up after admiring his work.

It was only once you’d stripped down to just your bra and panties that Filip stood up and stepped towards you, bringing the burning joint to your lips. You took a long drag and felt only a slight sting. Filip always brought the good stuff out for you.

He took one step further into your space, reaching over your shoulder to stub the joint out on the dresser behind you and letting his rough hands glide down your bare skin. You shivered as he gripped one of your hips tightly and drew absent-minded circles on your lower back with the other. His lips danced from a sweet kiss on your forehead, your nose, your cheek before landing on your neck. God, the things he could do to you with such little effort.

“Baby,” You whine as best as you can, trying not to get lost in his kisses, “I’m sweaty and gross. Let me shower.”

Your words did little to slow him down as his free hand worked it’s way over the curve of your ass and squeezed hard. His thick fingers close enough to your aching heat to make a gasp escape your lips.

You tried whining his name this time, still feeling self-conscious about your post-work condition.

“I,” kiss, “dinna,” kiss, “care,” kiss, “lass,” kiss.

The way he punctuated each word with a wet, sloppy kiss to your neck and chest pushed every ounce of embarrassment out of your mind. You couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful lips as he made his way down your body, pausing only once he landed at the very top hem of your panties. He looked up at you once more for permission. You nodded and gripped his shoulder to keep from tumbling over as he jerked the lacy fabric down your legs all the way to your feet.

Filip couldn’t hold himself back once he was face-to-face with your glistening folds. A groan tumbled out of his chest as he threw one of your legs over his shoulder and nearly dove into you. Your back hit the dresser behind you with a thud and knocked a few things down onto the ground with a crash.

Neither of you could have been pulled out of this desire-fueled trance for anything. Anything.

Filip’s skilled tongue worked it’s way through your folds and over your pulsing clit. You cried out when he flicked his hot tongue over the bundle of nerves just right and sent your thighs squeezing together.

With a grunt he yanked them apart again and slapped one thigh sharply. A warning not to do that again.

You felt the familiar pressure building deep in your belly right as Filip slid a thick finger into your weeping hole, curling it just the way you needed. It was only a few more flicks of his tongue until you fell apart. A broken string of curse words falling from your lips as the white hotness of the intense orgasm washed over you. He worked you through your high — not stopping until you a trembling mess, panting and clawing at his hair to drag his face back up to yours.

He stood up, holding tightly onto your reeling body, and met your gaze. A devilish smirk spread across his glistening lips as he reached down to grab your shaking thighs and pick you up.

Your eyes fell shut as he laid you gently onto the dark cotton sheets of his bed. You felt him pull back swiftly to pull his shirt over his head and step out of his straining jeans.

“My poor girl,” He cooed in that quiet tone you’d come to love, “Fucked dumb already, hm?”

Your eyes snapped open at his teasing and you were met with a dark look of lust in his eyes. It only spurred you on and sent a new wave of heat straight down to your core.

“Not even close, Telford,” You spat back, quickly sliding a hand between you and grasping his hard cock in a firm hold.

“Aye, ah,” You began stroking him though his boxers, a grunt escaping his lips as he tried to keep his composure, “I see not, lass.”

He leaned in close to kiss you and you took your shot, yanking Filip’s body down beside you, allowing you the room to climb on top of him and straddle his aching cock.

An amused grin spread across his face as you leaned in to leave wet kisses on his neck and chest, lewd noises spilling from his lips all the while. You slowly made your way down his body, kisses turning into love bites here and there.

He lifted his hips slightly to begin to tug his boxers off when an idea popped into your head and out of your mouth before you had the chance to second guess it.

One of your hands gripped his wrist while the other wrapped around Filip’s throat, your slender fingers doing their best to squeeze even a little bit.

“I’ll see to that, love,” You purred into his ear, an excited mumble tumbling out of his mouth. He grinned at you a moment longer, this new side of you driving him wild.

You used all your effort to give his wrist and his neck an extra squeeze, showing him you meant business.

“Yes ma’am,” He growls, his free hand coming up in surrender. You loosened your grip on him and sat up straight, his hard cock pressing deliciously into your aching core.

You reached around your back to unhook your black lacy bra and slide it off, Filip’s mouth opening at the sight your taut nipples. He reached up to take of your mesmerizing peaks into his grasp, but you smacked his hand away, not yet done with your little game.

A sharp, “uh-uh” came from your lips and Filip groaned in frustration, but slides his hands away like you said.

Using your teeth for the first few inches, you peeled his black boxers down his thighs, slowly at first. His throbbing cock sprung free, the swollen tip already leaking an inviting drop of precum. The sight made your mouth water and you decided to stop the teasing.

You yanked them the rest of the way down and discarded them on the floor with your clothes. You wasted no time licking a long stripe down Filip’s cock then taking his head between your lips.

A deep grown rumbled out of his chest as you wrapped your lips around him and took as much as you could into your mouth, your hand making up for what your throat couldn’t reach.

Before long, Filip tangled his fingers into your hair and guided your movements, his willpower no longer strong enough to keep his hands off you. Your head bobbed up and down at a leisurely pace, Filip’s cock gagging you when he pushed your head all the way down. He relaxed his grip and you released his head with a pop before licking your lips and smiling up at him.

He furrowed his brow slightly before his hand swung from your hair down to your neck, pulling you up by the throat to his face.

You whined as he took your lips in his, sucking your bottom lip out in your favorite way. You felt his swollen tip swirling around your dripping hole.

“You had your fun, kitten,” He growled into your lips, his head sliding into your center, “Now I’ll have mine.”

You gasped as he sank all the way into your tight hole, he held you there a moment before he pulled back out and slammed into you again.

Your mind spun as he plowed into you over and over, one hand on your hip lifting your tired body up, the other sliding down from your throat and straight to a hard nipple that he rolled between his fingers.

The familiar pressure built deep in your tummy as Filip held your hips firmly against his and worked your core forwards and back. The friction against your clit and the way his cock felt nudging against the deepest parts of your velvety walls drew your release closer and closer.

“So, fuck, so fuckin’ big, Filip,” You panted nonsensically, a mind-fogging pleasure taking over your senses, “Please—please, baby, don’t stop, ah!”

A slew of groans that sounded almost pained spilled from Filip’s mouth as your release flooded through your veins. You fell into his strong arms as he kept pounding into you, your core fluttering around his throbbing cock. Your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head as Filip growled into your ear, prolonging your rolling pleasure.

“Tha’s it, pretty girl. Cummin’ all over my cock like a filthy whore,” His accent grew even stronger as he tried desperately to hold back his own release, still rutting his hips into yours as pleasant aftershocks coursed through your body, “My good lass, takin’ what I give ye.”

You had barely a moment to recover before Filip was flipping you over and throwing one your legs over his shoulder, sliding his aching cock back into your dripping hole.

Not yet satisfied, even with your blissed-out face contorting in over-sensitive and mind-numbing pleasure, Filip reached down to the place where your bodies connected and brushed this thumb roughly against your clit.

A sharp hiss escaped your parted lips, “F-Filip I ca-n’t, s’too much.”

“Shh, lass, jus’ one more,” He continued the bruising pace of his cock sliding in and out of you, fingers circling quickly over your throbbing clit, “Let me fuckin’ feel you one more time.”

It hit you like a fucking train out of nowhere, a muffled scream fell from your lips as the all-consuming pleasure invaded your senses. Your thighs shook against Filip’s hips as your fingers clawed at his broad chest, desperate for something to ground you.

Filip’s head fell back, his lips parted as his own release rushed through his body. Hot ropes of his cum flooded your pulsing walls as he slurred out a string of curses and praises.

“Fuckin’ love this tight fucking pussy; my good lass, fuck-fuckin’ gorgeous when ye cum on m’cock like tha’.”

Your eyes met as you both started coming down from the high. You reached for Filip’s face and pulled him down to kiss you, hissing into his mouth as he pulled out of you slowly and placed two fingers on your tired pussy, anxiously wanting to feel his seed weeping out of you.

You gasped at the contact and bucked your hips into his thick fingers. He huffed a laugh onto your connected lips and withdrew his wet fingers from you, bringing them up to your lips and pressing softly into your mouth.

Both of you laughed lowly as he rolled off of you and pulled you into his still-pounding chest. He kissed your forehead as you snuggled into his embrace.

“We’re awfully good at tha’, huh lass?” A soft laugh rumbling from his chest.

You laughed sweetly as looked up at him, “Yeah, yes we are.”

It was a brief moment of peace, wrapped up in each other’s arms and post-sex bliss before a pounding fist at the door interrupted your rest.

“Chibby! Dove! Wrap it up. Need ya’s out here,” A booming voice followed the knock. You couldn’t make out who it was but, based on the angry Gaelic phrase Filip spat back, he must have known right away.

“Boys got into it, bleedin’ all about the place,” The voice boomed back and Filip let out a groan.

The knock returned briefly before Filip was shouting back, “Christ, two minutes for me to put my cock away!”

You let out a chuckle as the the floor squeaked outside, granting you the moment you needed to put yourselves back together.

“Always something, hm?” You quipped as Filip stood and gathered his clothes before tossing you some shorts and one of his t-shirts.

“Aye, always somethin’ to shite on our day,” He groaned and brushed his fingers through his hair.

You took a moment to stretch while Filip already had his hand on the door knob, ready to handle whatever was awaiting him outside. Before he could open it, a thought popped into your mind.

“Filip?” You sat up a bit, “Am I your old lady?”

He laughed lovingly before stepping back over to your side.

“Seems yer the last to know, love,” He smiled and placed a tender kiss to your lips before turning back towards the door and heading out into the madness.

Oh boy, you are in trouble.

[pharawee]

Gather around, fellow BL aficionados, it's time for part four of my Pit Babe novel commentary.

(And if you want to catch up, here are parts 1, 2 and 3.)

A word of warning: since I'm pretty far into the novel now (every post summarises five chapters) expect heavy spoilers, plot twists and revelations.

Oh, and omegaverse shenanigans. So many omegaverse shenanigans. You've been warned.

Also, a small warning for talk about and the aftermath of SA. As usual, please take care. 💜

Now, where were we? Oh, yeah: Way is the big bad enigma and he's been hypnotising Babe all this time - but gently (tm) because, you see, Way really, really loves Babe so that makes it all right...

Yeah, no. Get fucked, Way.

Currently, Way is still passed out on the floor, but as soon as Babe has come to terms with whatever the hell just happened, Charlie (who came to Babe's rescue just in time, remember?) offers to wake him up.

How? Oh, that's easy. He can put people to sleep at will. It's one of the many powers he absorbed from other powered alphas. That's his whole thing: he steals powers and just keeps them - like Rogue in X-Men but without any of the downsides. And as long as he's alive, the powers stay with him, never to return to their previous owner. Unless they die, in which case Charlie loses that particular power forever. Which in turn means that if Charlie dies... but keep that in mind for later.

Oh, and another one of Charlie's powers: changing his scent at will. Goddammit, Charlie.

As for how he knew that Babe was in danger? Jeff told him because he can see into the future. X-Men omegaverse, here we go.

But anyway, when Way wakes up he's confused because the last thing he remembers is SAing his supposed best friend. Now there's Charlie staring daggers at him, and one very angry Babe. Since Way is pathetic (but not the good kind) he attempts to explain: yes, he's actually Babe and Charlie's adoptive brother. Their father sent him to lure Babe back home and, well, get him pregnant. That was ten (10) years ago.

But, you see, Way is such a nice guy (tm), he didn't want to force Babe! Instead, he set out to ruin him for everyone else, thereby making it impossible for him to grow or heal or trust or love. Whenever Babe met someone he connected with, Way swooped in to poison his mind. And whenever Babe recoiled from that new connection, he turned to Way - the only person he could 100% trust. Or so he was made to believe.

So the Babe we meet at the beginning of the novel (and series) isn't really Babe at all. It's the version of Babe Way wants him to be - and for what? For ten years of pining and mindfuckery? What the hell kind of plan is this?

Oh yeah, the kind that gets you punched in the face. Thank you, Babe, you're really speaking my mind here.

And this is the part where the novel really shines because it doesn't just gloss over the implications of abuse. It doesn't leave Way's many empty apologies uncommented:

"I know what I did was unforgivable. I—" "Did you just realize this? Are you like this because I found out just in time?" Babe's voice boomed as anger flared in his heart. No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, he couldn't. "When I'm unconscious, you can assume it's okay to do it, right?" "I didn't want to do it at all…" "I don't care!" Babe shouted. "The point is, I don't want it! And you have no right to do this to me!"

But when Way's attempts to nice-guy himself out of his predicament don't work, he tries to shift the blame onto Charlie. Because Charlie lied too and, after all, didn't Way warn Babe about him?

Yeahhh, he's still trying to manipulate Babe. Way isn't sorry at all, he's only sorry he's been caught. Or, as the novel aptly puts it:

For Way, this might be like a love confession. But for Babe, it was no different from admitting his crimes.

But the novel doesn't leave it at that.

"So what's next?" Babe asked in a calm voice. "Should I thank you?" "What…" "I asked if I should thank you because you didn't rape me?" [...] "Should I thank you for not forcing me to bear your child?" "Babe…" “Even for my life, my body, and everything about me, I still have to wait for your mercy?”

And that's that. Ten years of (false) friendship have been erased just like that.

Really, I'm sorry for adding so many quotes but this whole chapter is just perfect in its blunt directness. It excels in giving Babe back his autonomy - the very thing Way has taken from him.

We'll return to our regularly scheduled omegaverse shenanigans after this bit:

"Did you know that every time you said that [there was never anyone suitable for me], it made me feel like I didn't deserve anyone's love?" [...] "And it's as if the only love I can receive is love from you…" Babe's sobs were so loud that his voice trailed off, but he took a deep breath and continued talking: "…but you never asked me what I really want." [...] "You only care about your own desires. You want to have me. You want to have children. You tried to make me love you and then agree to have children with you. Even though you always knew that I never wanted to have children." "I know you don't want to have children. And I know why," Way replied with a look that seemed to understand. But Babe knew that he didn't understand anything, not at all. "But because I know. That's why I want to change your mind." "It's not your job to change me."

And then, when Way has the audacity to try and hug him, Babe throws him over his shoulder and slams him right onto the floor, and even Charlie is like, damn, guess for a moment there I forgot how amazing Pit Babe is.

Damn right he is!

Later that night, things are winding down and Charlie insists on staying with Babe - just to make sure he's all right. Because unlike some people (!) he actually knows when to give Babe some space, and so he settles down on the couch in the living room while Babe stays in his bedroom.

But, understandably, Babe can't sleep. There's too much on his mind, none of it particularly good. He misses Charlie and, really, he's in dire need of an emergency hug.

It's Babe who approaches Charlie (only of course Charlie knew all along because he has super hearing now and he heard Babe's tossing and turning. Goddammit Charlie). They reconcile and it's really sweet because, in stark contrast to Way, Charlie's apology is heartfelt and reassuring and full of compassion. He also knows that Babe has been through a lot, so when Babe engages in their usual ritual of make-up sex, Charlie is hesitant:

Babe is so strong that he can lift bigger people and throw them to the ground. But believe me, no one is mentally strong enough to not be hurt by dirty things like that.

I just love how clear and concise the novel is on this part.

Anyway, they talk it out and Babe says that he wants to try anyway. What follows is a really sweet sex scene (but don't worry, Babe's still getting railed by his daddy to his heart's content - some things just don't change). There's talk about wild horses. I don't know why and honestly I'd rather not dwell on it.

Meanwhile, Way is being chewed out by Khun Tony (aka everyone's least favourite adoptive father). He's quite a bit upset but, honestly, what did he expect? He's the one with the stupid plan in the first place. Why did he even agree to let Way pine into Babe's general direction FOR TEN YEARS until he maybe catches feelings? The dude can hypnotise people! Just order him to do his evil immoral job!

But anyway, it's too late now. Babe's powers are already gone so breeding him (whyyy...) is pointless. Tony has a new target now: Charlie.

To my immense relief even Way is like, ew.

But it matters little because daddy dearest has contigency plans in place (and where were these plans TEN YEARS AGO - worst evil alpha breeder ever!). He orders Way to leave X-Hunter and return home immediately - and who knows, once Charlie is out of the picture Babe might end up as leftovers for him. Okay then.

In happier news, Charlie wakes up the next day with Babe's hand on his, well, little Charlie. I'm not being a prude here, that's what Babe calls it. It's a whole conversation, followed by - you guessed it - more sex.

Something is different this time, however. Without hesitation, Babe tells Charlie that he loves him, and then he asks him to be his boyfriend - to which Charlie eventually agrees. More sex happens. Actually, all of this happened during a blowjob which is very on brand for Babe. Things get disgustingly cute when Babe realises that this is the first time they're ~making love~ as boyfriend and boyfriend. This leaves him incredibly shy. Thanks to Way's meddling, he never had a boyfriend, after all. This is his first time being in love, and it's exactly as adorable as it sounds. Only with more mindblowing sex.

This includes sex in Charlie's supercar after a training session right on the racetrack (again I ask, have you even seen the interior of a racecar? How? Where? And who's cleaning this up? The mechanics??) as Jeff and Alan watch from afar.

"Why don't the two of them get out of the car?", Jeff said quietly as he looked at Charlie's car which had been parked near the finish line for a while and he saw no signs of it coming down.

Oh, my sweet summer child.

But yes, I'm happy to report that Jeff and Alan are probably going to be a thing in the novel too. This Jeff isn't a mechanic though. He doesn't even study engineering but oceanography (because he likes the ocean even though he's never seen it - live your dreams, my dude!).

As they sit and bicker, Jeff is suddenly struck by what seems to be another vision of the future. Whatever it is, it can't be good because it makes Jeff cry. Uh-oh.

He asks Charlie to meet him at his condo, and Charlie immediately notices that something's wrong. Only this time it's not Babe he needs to worry about. It's all of them.

I'm worried too but mostly for my own sanity.

Remember when I first explained about Tony's evil breeding program? Ah, those were easier, more pleasant times. Because now Tony figures that if he can't get an enigma to impregnate Charlie, he'll just get Charlie to impregnate an omega (because apparently there's a 50% chance that the baby will be an alpha with special traits - why is this novel explaining Mendel's laws of omegaverse inheritance to me?) .

Jeff is an omega.

And this is what Jeff saw: if they don't act now, at some point in the future Tony will have Charlie and Jeff brought back "home" and use aphrodisiacs on them (one up for the trope counter!). Jeff will get pregnant and as soon as their baby is born Tony will dispose of both Jeff and Charlie. This will cause Babe to seek revenge and get killed in the process.

What did I just read?

The novel keeps this from us for a while, and just casually mentions that Charlie isn't overly worried. He even finds the time to be jealous when one of Babe's old acquaintances shows up to Charlie's next race. They argue. The race starts without them reconciling, so naturally that means Charlie has an accident during the race.

It's bad enough that he's transported to the ER. But as the whole team anxiously awaits any kind of news, Babe realises in dawning horror that his heightened senses are slowly returning to him. He can hear Charlie's slowing heartbeat and the doctors fighting to reanimate him.

He listens as Charlie is pronounced dead.

The novel then cuts to Charlie's funeral which is only attended by a handful of people, mostly members of Team X-Hunter. Babe does not cope well at all but at least he's got Alan and Jeff to take care of organisational things.

Speaking of Alan and Jeff. These two have grown quite a bit closer. Close enough that Jeff asks Alan to let him take a look at Charlie's crashed car. The police are already investigating but Jeff wants to see for himself. Hm.

Meanwhile, Babe is alone at his condo, going through several stages of grief all at once (really, it's heartbreaking but so is the length of this post so I'm trying to keep things short). He's interrupted during the bargaining stage by someone knocking at the door. It's Way and he's come to offer his help. Babe might be grieving but he's not stupid, and so they meet up at a coffee shop nearby.

Way all but confirms that Charlie's accident was Tony's doing. What he meant to do was incapacitate Charlie but unfortunately Charlie died. OOPS. What a brilliant plan, really.

Seems like even Way has had enough of Tony's evil schemes so he's banded together with another enigma in order to bring Tony down. Said enigma is actually Tony's eldest "son" who seems to have escaped from his control to do his own (financially very successful) thing and bide his time until Tony eventually slips up.

That enigma is none other than Pete.

That's right. Pete and Way have teamed up to bring down Tony, and they're asking Babe to help them. Babe tentatively agrees.

While this is going down, Jeff visits some random uncle's secluded house. He's greeted by none other than Charlie (now somewhat worse for wear but very much still alive) who's faked his own death with the help of a man named Reval. Charlie feels guilty for lying to Babe again but they can't involve him in this: once hypnotised, he's still under Way's influence (uh-oh...) and could risk all of their careful planning.

Their plan? Getting rid of Charlie's powers before Tony can get to them.

This is where Reval comes in. He also has powers: he can somehow disconnect an alpha (or omega or enigma, I suppose) from their powers - which is apparently a very difficult and time-consuming process (and would otherwise kill the alpha), especially with someone with as many powers as Charlie.

Why does Reval do this? Oh, he's Babe's real father who's been in hiding until now out of shame and guilt (and some memory loss). Surprise!

Also, very convenient. 🤡

[riveracheron]

hey guys have my wild magnus protocol theory that stemmed from me just overanalyzing the little bits of content we have

i think lena is a homunculus.

(spoilers for the pilot and jonny + alex’s post pilot discussion under the cut)

basically this stems from. a lot of places w small amounts of information so some of this might be stretches. But

1. a lot of marketing around protocol mentions the theme of “what does it mean to be a person?” which. leads me to believe there’s gonna be a plot around a protag being Not Human but has the heart or whatever the fuck. standard pinnochio or wizard of oz story. sure youre not human but ur a person bc of xyz free will or whatever

2. lena’s behavior in the pilot is So odd and almost inhuman in its extremely dull corporate jargon way. she literally uses things like “you can file a complaint” or “here at the oiar we….” (advertiser shit) , in genuine conversation. she doesn’t leave the building, either and has a Generic office party.

im genuinely thinking bureaucracy and the weird eldritch stuff of the oiar is Literally all she knows, not that shes being manipulative and evil in the trailer like elias; she doesn’t or maybe cannot question the whole. asking sam about the eldritch trauma thing, something something cant understand human emotions and why that might be troubling.

also “people like chocolate cake.” that sounds weird and something someone with only base knowledge of humanity would say.

she’s described as “an odd one” by jonny and that we will “get her soon”. im under the full belief that shes the non-human character of the bunch thatll yknow. have the Real Boy plot

3. homunculus specifically comes from all the alchemy shit around protocol, and homunculi are some of the most famous alchemical creations in popular culture, and i think she’s not. an entity creation. lenas too much of an important character to just be like. tied to An Entity, as a main character extremely tied to the OIAR, that entity would have to be the basis of like the entire plot of protocol; which i doubt theyd do.

the eye is so important to archives because the themes of archives was the consequences of knowledge- the entire plot was engineered around the Eye as the Main Character Entity and the Eye was written to be that in turn, sorta similarly to how Griffindor is the Main Character House (TM) of HP with its themes of bravery. i doooont think the oiar is tied to the stranger or flesh or any other simulacrum creating entities.

all that to say i think lena is a different kind of artificial human, one that’s manmade rather than entity made yknow?

we get glances of the people above her in status, theres mentions of an ephemeral “he” in the pilot, so. heres what i think

the He in question is an alchemist whose in charge of the OIAR (and maybe other branches but lets focus w the oiar). He created Lena the homunculus to be the middle manager of the branch in his stead; “programming” her to be as dull and corporate as possible to keep the employees in line or whatever. something something shes got a plot wrestling with that and her inherent lack of persondom

EDIT: totally forgot this part

adding that the first statement’s plot was about an abomination of corpses given a humanlike shape and coming back wrong which is. exactly what frankenstein’s monster is, and frankenstein’s monster is considered a homunculus.

with the anglerfish’s importance to season 3 of archives i definitely think the Arthur monster will come up again in some form, but maybe instead of Actually being In Podcast maybe its a parallel to the main characters’ story in the same way that many s4 statements were used to give us more information on how jon is working through it all. the zombie statement when he just wakes up comes to mind especially. maybe it’s a hint and echo of what a Character in podcast (lena) is

[thecomfortgoth]

Masterlist

All original works on this blog are 18+

Please do not interact with any of my works/posts if you are under 18. I will block any minors/ageless blogs.

Nic, Scotland, 28 years old. Slightly obsessed with Stranger Things. I love music (listening to and making/playing, I play a few instruments and sing), nerdy shit, witchy shit, fashion, all types of animals (especially the floofy ones) photography and travelling. Never made a masterlist before, so I hope that this is okay and doesn't look too unprofessional lol

Mostly will be writing for Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Steddie and Billy Hargrove.

I do NOT consent to my work being transferred/shared elsewhere without my permission. Please ask me first if you want to use anything from my blog, even if it's for an idea.

Requests/asks are open!

❤️ - Smut ✨ - Fluff 🥺 - Angst

Eddie Munson

Oneshots

Kiss from a Rose ❤️✨- Eddie uses a rose vibrator on you and you try your hardest to be quiet so your roommates don't hear you.. but is Eddie really going to let that happen?

Always and Forever✨ - You've been having a really tough time lately. But your hopeless romantic, goofy boyfriend Eddie is about to make everything a whole lot better and take your mind off things.

Series

Coming soon!

Steve Harrington

Coming soon!

Billy Hargrove

Coming soon!

Steddie x Reader

Oneshots

Coming soon!

Series

Peeping Tom ❤️ - You're behind the school with your boyfriend Eddie making out, things get a little hot and heavy.. and then you see that someone is watching you..

Please read the CW at the start of each chapter.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 coming soon

Blurbs/drabbles/headcanons

Eye of The Storm (Steve Harrington X Reader) ✨🥺 - You have a panic attack and Steve is there to help you through it (requested)

Sleepy Steddie Bedtime blurb (Steddie X Reader) ❤️ - just a lil bit of sleepy sex with two of my favourite boyfriends

TOTM/Being sick headcanons (Eddie, Steve and Billy) ✨- how The Boys(tm) would react and how they’d each individually take care of you

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

oh my spaghetti gods.... they actually made the episode

Ha ha, I love that for them honestly. I figured that the Team would put out one of these after WOTFI, it would be either a regular silly episode, a "Mario Reacts", or a Remaster.

...OMG I haven't clicked on the episode and I just realized something: you know how at the end of WOTFI, Four proposed the idea of taking some of the abandoned stuff in Puzzle Park and bringing them to the Showgrounds? He can now have the teacup ride

that was slick as hell

(the following is my live reaction:)

of course, you GOTTA present the WOTFI merch

also james and luke just goofing around gives me serotonin :)

Mr Puzzles: "...Now you're 5% less disgusting to look at." :0 that has so many implications but I'm not gonna say it

ANYWAY That's-a so nice!

THE TEACUP RIDE

Alright, everybody who drew baby Four, we gotta get on it again

sorry,,, just them :)

also, Three, it was your idea dude

THE OATS "Now with less fun! :)"

just the way Four hid behind Three [*head in hands*] chat, I'm not going to make it by the end of this episode

The Star Trio (TM) everyone

...wait, does Three actually smell like peanuts or is it just for the meme? [*writes that down*]

Four: "My only suitable parental guardian!" Four, Karen's right there

I can't believe the retirement home is in America smh (like no seriously)

AY there's Old Man Hobo

this reminds me of that one scene from the "You Used to Be Cool" episode

(if you couldn't tell, Three's one of my favorite characters)

PFFT HAHAHAHA THEY KEPT THAT IN I'M DEAD DUDE

Three, why do you need medicine? you just got turned into an old man

MASTER OF DISGUISE

PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA?! MARIO WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, ITALY IS GOING TO REVOKE YOUR ITALIAN CARD

the nurse jumping out the window... [*thinks back at Mr Puzzles' Clubhouse when Max jumps out of the window*] sorry WOTFI flashbacks

anyway, they're adorable

huh i guess prison-UH I MEAN- the retirement home has a basketball court, who knew

HE DROPS THE SOAP I'M SO GLAD THEY KEPT THAT IN

...wtf is that slop?

also blue goo- [*loud airplane noises*]

Three: "Meggy? Is that you? You look uglier than usual-" DAMN well, it's good to know that you're still Three

The two frames-per-second running animation, ah a classic

BINGO NIGHT (no no Ink, bingo night was last week) (aw man)

Three, it was your idea bruh

also you're in the SMG4 universe for how many years? plot convenient devices are the norm, Three

HEY SWAG

Hal's here too!

they do be scheming

...wait [*DRAMATIC GRASP*] THE SONIC X THEME SONG!!! 🎶ROLLIN' AT THE SPEED OF SOUND (MAKE TRACKS) QUICKEST HEDGEHOG AROUND, GOT OURSELVES A SITUATION, STUCK IN A NEW LOCATION WITHOUT ANY EXPLANATION, NO TIME FOR RELAXATION-🎶 [*gets shot*]

despite everything, it's still you :)

if I had a nickel for every time an old guy says "No Mario, don't", I'd have two nickels. It isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

THE OATS CAME BACK FULL CIRCLE BABY

Frof the SnOATman :)

"On that day, the FBI learned the true meaning of Christmas: oats" SOMEONE MAKE THIS INTO A MOVIE

wait, FBI, you JUST noticed Four and the getaway car?

"dig a hole...poison the guards...KILL the the witness."

The hole, the poison, the old man being the "witness". Wow, Three's plan actually worked! Well, except for the "kill" part, the old man still lives. BUT STILL!

this part was actually emotional wtf

"Good to have you back, SMG3! ...SMG3?" aw 💙💜 (i ask for so little)

Three: "man, I think that was my dad..." Four, once again knowing they came out of USBs: "...ok"

CARNIVAL YAY you better not drop something on me bc (1) it's too soon and (2) you Team like to torture me

PFFT just putting Four's regular head on a baby body is everything

ferris wheel jumpscare

and AY james got to be credited for the writing (i mean, obviously)

And congrats to ggf0ur for having your art in the end credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Another fun and silly episode, just what I needed after school work and WOTFI. Still can't believe they made it into an actual episode haha! Having the Star Trio in an episode is always a blast! I truly enjoyed this one.

As much as I find it funny that Four needed Three as a parental guardian to be on the teacup ride, it would be a bit better if the reason for the age gun was that they never got to be actual kids, unlike the rest of the crew. Then we could've gotten baby Four and Three, oh the possibilities. Maybe that's just me idk, but I'm happy with what we got.

And the Ferris wheel in the Showgrounds again, at this point it's a sign. I have to gather my thoughts together for my "Ferris Wheel Wedding" idea.

Fun Fact: for those who are wondering, the WOTFI website is surprisingly still up! Ofc you can't put submissions in anymore but I find it hilarious.

Fun Fact 2: the guy who made the faces for Mr. Puzzles has a proper Twitter now (link)! Go and show some support to the Team! I do want to bring it up because the Team may have made some editing/animation errors (like the subtitles having SMG4 instead of SMG3) and people are getting upset about that, but it's literally not a big deal. I know the Team is trying their hardest to bring out episodes every week. Besides, mistakes could go under the radar, it simply happens.

Now, if you excuse me...

DON'T BLINK, DON'T THINK, JUST GO GO G-G-G-G-GO GO (n-n-n-n-n-na, n-n-n-n-n-na) SONIC'S ON THE RUN, SONIC'S NUMBER ONE! SONIC, HE'S COMIN' NEXT, SO WATCH OUT FOR SONIC X! GOTTA GO FAST (SONIC), GOTTA GO FAST(SONIC)! GOTTA GO FASTER FASTER FASTER FASTER FASTER- [*gets shot again*]

[goldenpinof]

lmao now someone at tm has said the vip is cancelled which is clearly some poor customer service person who’s uninformed. this whole thing is a fucking disaster like could not be worse i fear. the venue said ticketmaster will give refunds for a portion of the ticket to get it back down to ga pricing and will communicate that soon. seems reliable but who knows. my hope is that at the least, everyone in this position is given silver vip perks for free so they at least get to interact with dnp and get the merch. it’ll never be a perfect solution bc dnp can only meet so many people but it’s the LEAST they can do even if it wasnt their fault tm fucked up so so badly

i have so many things to say about it but i'll try not to. Seattle, y'all.

i've seen two emails from the Ticketmaster manager and the venue's manager that say, "the VIP portion of the event has been cancelled" and "the VIP package portion of these orders will be cancelled". and the 1st one is probably just bad wording. which is confusing, but it's great that we have the 2nd email. there's also information about Silver VIPs having the same problem. which just says that Gold VIPs aren't gonna be downgraded to Silver. although, i don't see why.

because realistically, Ticketmaster can talk to dnp (not even to the venue, UTA or AEG, or their managers, dnp directly. if these 3 organizations + dnp IT managers can't come to a conclusion that every party is gonna be okay with) and try to solve this problem with them. Ticketmaster can't give us what we want themselves, but dnp surely can. and that is - at least Silver VIPs with preshow and VIP merch bundles. like, they are physically able to do this. it doesn't matter if there are 100 people at the preshow or 150 (edit: it would likely be 350 instead of 100. everything else still stands. making extra 300 VIP merch bundles is possible). they are all gonna be sitting there listening to dnp yap for 30-ish mins anyway. i understand why dnp can't make a pool of Gold VIPs bigger only because Ticketmaster fucked up. meeting people in person takes time and energy, even if in theory that could be done (a 2-hour meet and greet lmao), it would be harder for everyone involved. but Silver VIPs don't require anything extra from dnp or the venue. they are gonna be on stage anyway, so who the fuck cares if it's a little bit more people than they planned. these 2 added USA shows weren't planned either, and now they are making extra VIP bundles for them. so even that is not a problem. and before someone says, "safety issues and security", hire more people for 3 hours.

you know where i'm getting? it's a solvable problem, but only dnp can put pressure on the companies involved to solve it. if they only cared. because of course, AEG and the venue are gonna tell Ticketmaster to just quietly solve it themselves the way they can. but the thing is, they can't do it without upsetting dozens of people who were told they would meet dnp, get to the preshow, and have VIP merch. and now they don't get any of it at all. you see how fucked up the communication is and how easily Ticketmaster, dnp and us could meet in the middle with Silver VIPs? not even for free. "my hope is that at the least, everyone in this position is given silver vip perks for free so they at least get to interact with dnp and get the merch" i get why that would be very cool, but i don't think making it free has to be an option. downgrading Gold VIPs to Silver VIPs, and refunding only the m&g part would be more than enough. but they are not gonna fucking do it!!!! because communication is so freaking hard for companies and some people, that they rather die than propose a compromise and meet in the middle to solve a huge problem, if you ask me.

i'm not angry at dnp, btw. it should be Ticketmaster screaming, crying, throwing up trying to contact anyone they can to reach dnp, and solve this problem. oh, and there are commissions and shit, so Ticketmaster should be fined for this (and i fucking hope they are).

@danielhowell @amazingphil twitter is tagging you like crazy. i guess it's not enough.

[nulltune]

fgo ordeal call 3 spoilers!!! (ФωФ)

but also if You Know, and would like to interact with You Know Who (not voldemort okok but a Certain New Moon Cancer) then hmu.......

IF U HAVE BEEN KEEPING UP WITH FGO U'VE SEEN THIS ALR MAYBE... BUT AAAAAAAAAA HAKUNO IS PLAYABLEEE!!! 😭😭😭 AFTER YEARS OF THEM BEING REFERENCED AND HINTED IN THE GAME THEY ARE HERE AS A PLAYABLE UNITTTT 😭😭😭🫶🫶💓💕💖💗

words cannot express the emotions i am feeling rn bc i have fr waited literal years (since high school to my last semester in uni… SNIFFLES) and i deadass still have my 500+ pulls saved for hakuno despite having no confirmation for playable hakuno at all back then LOL i just luvs hakuno kishinami…… a whole lot….. okok 😭🩷

im gonna be so real tho i'm only peeking in to see the hakuno parts bc that is how my brain functions 🚶‍♂️ and seems like this is a hakuno after all their development + 1000 YEARS OLD ⁉️ + knows abt the different routes/timelines from the extraverse…. probably going to be a bit different from my portrayal bc i've taken her before all that growth but i am a happy lil lynnie.!!!! hakuno's characterization has been so good 🥹 and fits how i've been interpreting their character :]

AND IT DOES KINDA FIT WITH HOW I'VE BEEN WRITING HAKUNO'S FGO VERSE..... i will be updating it Soon(TM) 🫵 so chaldea masters be prepared bc u might just be receiving a moon cancer from yours truly uwu 💖 but i will def be a bit canon divergent bc i . do not want to be extella-based at all VEKFJSKCJS (<- i am so excited for this alr tho bc give me scenarios of hakuno protecting ur muse. fighting together working together???? 👀✨️)

i will go so insane once hakuno is properly released because we will get their character profile and biography and dialogue and just!!! MORE STUFF ABT HAKUNO 😭😭🫶🫶 SUCH A W FOR LYNN NATION i'm waiting until then bc i wanna make sure i get the hakuno dialogue down pat.... and just make sure their character is consistent ububuu

so cute how hakuno's like a cool dependable senpai figure to ritsuka (fgo mc) in the event btw…….. but hakuno is hakuno so like . sbkvhsjfx

Hakuno: But you can't see inside because of the cake wall… If I could eat this and make a hole… Ritsuka: Hey, Kishinami Hakuno…! This is definitely a bad thing to eat!

GAP MOE 2 ME…….. 😭😭😭😭🩷🩷🩷

THERE ARE SOOOOOO MANY GOOD LINES AND MOMENTS THO. i have fr been screenshotting everything hakuno says bc i love it i love him i love her AUGHGHH,,, <333

[redchikittymeow]

interview with the Vampire season 2 screenshot dump part 4

that the last of them for now ill have more from eps 5 to 7 soon tm

[le-trash-prince]

This Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans Episode 7 Thoughts

Oab not even gonna comment on Kluer trying to kiss Plawan he’s just gonna get his man out of there

THE DRAMATIC FALL OF THE WHALE PLUSHIE SFJFJDD

I’ve said it before but I do not like Kluer. Too much Nice Guy TM energy for me. Just bc ppl smile and tell you all the things you want to hear does not mean they are good to be around

DID OAB JUST PULL HIS BACK SHFJF IM CHOKING

Plawan being upset about Khaosuay but still trying to be understanding towards Oab :(

Did Plawan get this muscle metaphor from JJ i bet he got this metaphor from JJ

Oh no they’re actually getting together before Plawan tells Oab about Methas OH THIS IS GONNA HURT

Plawan’s convenient odinsleep when Kluer tries to confess… me tbh

“Do you think Kluer will be really hurt?” *cuts to Kluer sobbing his heart out* don’t worry he’s a trooper i think he’ll be fine

I think this is my fave OabPlawan love scene so far, it’s so well choreographed and the framing is great… that pants drop was fantastic. Too bad it’s such a short scene

Methas’ fucking pouty face when he’s asking JJ to hold his hand

Ooooh JJ’s trying to draw a line, he’s caught feelings

HE CAN’T MEET METHAS EYES HE’S CAUGHT FEELINGS

oh my GOD THANK YOU DIRECTOR CINEMATOGRAPHER AND EDITING TEAM FOR THAT BEAUTIFUL SHOT OF METHAS HAND ON JJ’S ARM

You got a butt cramp Methas?? REALLY???

AHDJFJDJDJFJDJJFF

JJ ALMOST GAVE IN TO THE KISS ARGHDNFNFNF i knew it was gonna happen it was literally in the pilot but im HRRGGHDFBNFBG

LIES DOWN

IM FINE

Butterfly pea flower tea!!! Plawan’s presentation is so fucking cute

Punsib you were too good for all the hormones in this kitchen

Kluer this ain’t it man… just let it go son

NUB NUENG DON’T TELL OAB THAT EVERYTHING IS GOING WELL you curse his house

Pad croquette??? I want…

“I never cry when you teach me” alexa play Teach Me Tonight by Dinah Washington 

It’s the way they started making out downstairs when Kluer is still living there and he’s the only one left… Kluer buddy if I were you I would just quit at this point it’s not gonna be a good time for you

KLUER JUST STANDING THERE WHILE THIS FIGHT HAPPENS SHFJFJF 

DID METHAS REALLY JUST SHOW UP TO TALK SHIT LAUGH IN OAB’S FACE AND LEAVE SHFJFJFJF someone get this man a moustache to twirl PLEASE

he’s got teleporting powers now too damn 

METHAS’ SMILE WHEN HE’S ALL DRESSED UP ON THE CLINIC TABLE WHAT A SMUG LITTLE SHITTY CAT LMFAO

Even though I don’t care for Kluer, I don’t blame him if he snaps tbh. The most absurd part of this competition is making your right hand man jump through all these hoops to prove himself over complete strangers. Like if Kluer had the money in the first place, Chef could’ve just sold him the restaurant and none of this drama would’ve gone down

Laughing my ass off at the long beans reveal no one ever reacted this dramatically to a dish with yardlong beans in it before

AUTO RETURNS NEXT WEEK MY SON!!!

Gonna be so sad when this is over tho, they better be starting on Pit Babe 2 soon before my brain eats itself alive