#white Volkswagen van

[surfer-roo01]

[boschintegral-photo]

Volkswagen Camper Van Saint-Malo, France

[gentlemanmotorslifestyle]

[jefkphotography]

A Volkswagen van.

Black and white photography.

[commiehook]

Some rust, but a pretty cool old VW van. Bus?

[zoeyspictures]

[httpscomorg]

Runaway

Summary: You’re a mutant, a hybrid actually, and hybrids are big in the market. So when the x-men find you, you’re considered a priority.

(Find What I���m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Mutant trafficking, violence, descriptions of gore, kidnapping, death, blood, language, alcohol, some drug mention. (Individual warnings per chapter)

Word Count: 4125 (Find all chapters here) CH2

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

“Hey. Come on out.”

You’ll never understand why everyone hated mutants. Everyone found them disgusting, revolting, a descendant of satan. It was bad, the way the world was turning out. They wanted mutants either murdered or locked up, as if you didn’t all have emotions just like every other being. You had them stronger, but we’ll get to that later.

You were scared to go into public, your trust for humankind growing thinner as every day passed by. You really thought they were all horrible. That was until you met the best human on the planet.

Matthew.

He was into the whole “you’re created the way you are for a reason,” and “All lives matter, even the mutants.” He even had a whole hippie van, a Volkswagen to be specific. Painted a sky blue with a little rainbow design on the front bumper to show he meant peace.

You occasionally go out with your friends, and they’d smoke week and drink whiskey while you stared into the fire. Only joining them when they “meditate to lift their spirits and become one with God.” Whatever that meant. But he didn’t want you to let them know you were a mutant. Apparently he didn’t want to cause a scene or make a big deal out of it. You found it sweet at first, but after a few months of it happening, you wanted it to stop. You wanted his friends to just accept you for the way you were. A mutant.

You weren’t a vicious mutant. You’d never hurt anybody in your life. Well. You have. On accident.

But he didn’t know about that. He knew you were an introverted mutant that wanted nothing to do with the world. Sometimes you’d want to just end your pain and misery, but that would only boost every human's ego, and kill the mutants.

You’ve thought about leaving without a word also, maybe even going to the ‘X Mansion’ at some point, but you weren’t sure that they would accept you.

You were more than a mutant, you’ve been told that enough times before.

You’re a freak.

You were born wrong.

Your parents knew you were going to be born a mutant. The tail and large ears on your scan showed that, but they still had you, even knowing you would be tortured the rest of your life.

You’ve been in and out of rings, forced to fight other mutants, but you’re always immediately bought by another rich fuck. Apparently your cute little deer tail and big ears were sexually arousing for them.

But you’ve gotten lucky, always being bought out by another rich old white dude who offered more money to the last.

You also got lucky when the last guy had a heart attack, old age got to him. So you got away, and you met Matthew.

Matthew.

He spoiled you. Buying everything you loved, and everything you showed him. He loved you. Adored you for who you are. You were happy. You really believed that not every human was bad, that maybe there were some good people in the world.

Money was more important to him in the end though.

When you told him you weren’t ready to have sex with him, he was more than just angry…

“You fucking bitch!” You scream as his hand collided with your cheek, the force sending you to the floor, landing hard on your ass, bending your little tuff of a tail. “After everything I’ve fucking done for you, you can’t even just fuck me once!?” He shouts down at you before grabbing your fluffy ear, pulling you back up to your feet. “Fuck it, you little fucking freak, I’m calling mutant control.” Tears were already streaming down your face, and you didn’t have it in you to bother crying for him not to call them, the line was already ringing on his phone, the sound was distant but yet it felt so loud in your ears as he explained that a mutant with a tail and large ears was in his apartment. Then you heard it.

“Oh good, someone finally found my doe…”

You’d recognise the voice from anywhere.

“I’ll offer you 32 million.”

Of course, he never got the money. Instead, he received a bullet to the head, and he got to be meat for some dogs. Part of you felt bad, but whatever.

That brought you to now though. Curled up in the back of a dog kennel, a red collar around your neck with a little taser on it if you didn’t behave.

“Hey, come on out.” The voice tells you. The man dressed in black had a large gun on him, the same one every other guy was wearing. “I said come out!” He raises his voice, and it startles you, making you basically lunge out of the cage and he quickly pulls you to your feet and shoves you forward.

It was feeding time. And of course, they made fun of you by throwing a large bowl of freshly picked greens in front of you on the table. AKA, grass from the front yard.

How funny.

So no, you haven’t eaten since you got there, about 5 days ago. But you weren’t the only mutant who was in the warehouse. There were about 15 others, each of them with unique abilities or as the humans would call them, “Deformations.”

There was a guy you got along with, his name was Peter. Or that was the name you gave him. His skin was scaly like a lizard, and his tongue was naturally split, his pupils horizontal. He was an animal mutant, just like you.

Alongside him were a few other mutants, one that spat fire, his tongue always taped shut. A girl that could see into people's minds, a blindfold on her eyes.

Everything that you were all born to do was restricted, your powers all held back.

“Eat you fucking animal.” The man nudges you with his gun, but you continue to slouch over, ignoring him. “I said fucking eat!” He smacks the side of your head, and tears threaten to fall. “Fuck it.” He mumbles, grabbing a handful of the grass, little pebbles of dirt still attached to it before attempting to shove it into your face, trying to force you to eat the fucking earth.

“Let, GO!” You shout, pushing him as hard as you could, then picking up the bowl and slamming it over his head. But just before he could knee you in the stomach…

“You fucking-“

“Hey, don’t hurt that one.” The Russian voice comes to the fucking rescue. Again.

He’s wearing the same robe, basically a KKK onesie with a red line down the middle, along with his stupid fucking hat that made him look like a pedophilic blinged out pastor. You were sure he wasn’t allowed near schools.

“This one is my prized possession.” He stops in front of you, and you swear he’s gained a few inches in height. You wouldn’t doubt he wore heels. “Isn’t she just adorable, so feisty for a little deer.” He chuckles, and you want to punch him, but you instead clench your fists at your sides. His hand reaches up to stroke your ear, something you’ve grown to hate. And after a moment, he tugs it, forcing you to your knees, ignoring your pained cry as he continues to hold your fluff tight in his fist. “Okay little girl, I’ve had just about enough of you… if you want to starve, then fucking starve…!” He growls, throwing you to the side, and not a moment passes before two large hands from different men are gripping your arms and taking you back to your room, quickly tossing you in your cage.

“What’s in here?” The voice sounded young, a woman. Not a voice you’ve ever heard before. But it startles you awake. “I don’t see anything.”

“Wait what’s that?” You sit up, pressing your back against the metal of the cage.

“Take the cover off.” Some footsteps approach your confinement, and your ears pin to the back of your head. If you were a dog, your tail would surely be tucked between your legs as a hang grips the plastic sheet covering your cage, and they move the cover away from the front of the kennel, slowly so as not to scare whatever was inside.

“Is there anything?” You scoot further to the back of the cage, not wanting anything to do with whoever it was, you couldn’t see any of their faces. The bright light behind them was only casting a silhouette in front of you. The one who opened the cage, a man, was huge. He was at least 6 feet, and his hair seemed to peek in two places like kitty ears.

“Yea, a hybrid.”

“A vicious kind?”

“I have no idea, you look.” He steps aside, and another person steps forward, a woman with red hair. “Hey there, we're not gonna hurt you.” She tells you, using a key to unlock your cage. But you still don’t trust it, moving further against the back of the cage, you were sure there would be lines on your back from the pattern of the cold metal. “Hey, hey, hey…” She speaks softly, trying to calm you, but you weren’t going to give in. Not again. “We’re here to help you…” She opens the cage door slowly, and gets onto her knees to appear smaller. But you don’t move, you only seem to compress yourself further against the grate, and you see her sigh. “Hey can you dim the lights so she can see us better Ororo?” She turns around, asking another woman about the lights, which she swiftly moves to adjust the lights. Now you could see all four of them clearly.

The girl in front of you had red hair, she was pretty, and she was wearing a blue and green suit. Ororo had white hair, along with a matching white suit. Then there was a man standing near her, also wearing some tight spandex looking suit, but he also had goggles on his eyes, it stood out at his other features. But then there was the larger man. His little cat ears were just his hair, combed to sit like ears.

“We’re mutants too…” She tells you, staring into your eyes. Your ears are still pinned to the back of your head, you didn’t care that they were mutants, you’ve been betrayed enough. “Sweetie, we need you to come out…” She holds her hand out, and you flinch, making her flinch also. She was scared of you too. “Logan, we’re gonna have to grab her.” What? You look around frantically, but of course, you didn’t have anything to use as a weapon.

The man you assume named Logan walks up to the cage as the orange haired girl backs away, then the other man with the goggles speaks.

“Wait.” Logan stops, turning around to look at him.

“What?”

“Maybe just back away from the cage, she might feel more comfortable that way.” He tells Logan, and you all watch as he slowly backs away, all of them creating some distance between the cage and their bodies, Ororo blocking the door in case you try running.

You hesitate at first, but you slowly move to all four, cautiously crawling out and your ears twitch slightly, listening for any sound of movement as your eyes dart back and forth between the group. As soon as you’re out of the cage, you begin to stand to your feet. You were smaller than them. Much smaller. But you’re smaller than everyone, you were an animal hybrid after all.

And you weren’t just a deer, you’re a fawn.

You look between them, and they can tell you’re still scared. Your ears weren’t as low as before, but your body still stood stiff.

“So you’re a deer hybrid?” The voice comes from your right, Ororo. She crosses her arms to appear less threatening before she takes two steps towards you. But you don’t back away, you only tilt your head curiously. “Are you able to speak? Can you understand us?” She stops about a foot from you, and you nod your head slightly, still not sure about them, but your trust was growing for Ororo. “What’s your name?”

“Who are you guys?” You finally whisper, your throat sore from not talking for too long.

“We’re X-men. We’re here to save you, and the other mutants in this warehouse. Have you heard of the X-Mansion?” You nod, and cross your arms over your chest. You’ve never bothered with the X-Mansion, always figured it was some sort of trap for mutants. Hell, the four people standing around you didn’t look like mutants.

You look around the room again, your eyes only stopping when they land on Logan. You recognize him now. He’s the Wolverine. And you weren’t sure why, but you seemed to be… attracted to him. Not romantically, but just attracted. You suddenly felt safe as you looked up at him, not even realising it when you took a few steps closer to him, your tail wagging just once, a natural indication that you were at ease, something of course that only deer do.

Apparently, you made it obvious that you felt safer around him. It wasn’t the tag wag, the ears coming up, or the way your pupils filled the entire shape of your eye when you were excited. It was clinging onto him suddenly. Throwing your arms around his waist and holding onto him like your life depended on it. Which honestly, I probably did.

He wasn’t excited for the mission, he wasn’t nervous for the mission. He just wanted to get the mission over with. Obviously, he cares about the people he saves, the mutants. He’s gone on hundreds of missions before, considering his age. So another rescue mission, only 15 mutants, was nothing big to him.

He got into his suit, pulling the yellow costume over his body until it settled nicely before working on his boots, lacing and tying them tight.

“Are you excited for the mission? I heard these mutants are a bit more unique.” Ororo asked him, crossing her arms and staring at him from the doorway as she leaned against the wall, watching as a puff of smoke leaves Logan's lips, the thick cig in his mouth about halfway done.

“You’re saying that like we're opening a pack of pokemon cards, Ororo.” His voice is gruffy. He had just woken up, being told he was replacing another person who wasn’t feeling well. He wasn’t up for it, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“We basically are.” She shrugs, taking a step into his room, putting the pad of her index finger on one of the knife's Logan had displayed on his desk. “I mean we don’t know what kind of mutants were getting, but if we get one powerful enough, we use them in battle. One smart enough we use them in the mansion, one special enough…” She pauses, sighing slightly. “We don’t let them go.” She finishes with a smile, pulling her finger back, a spot of dust now lying on her dark skin. “So yea, we’re basically opening a card pack.”

“Well, hopefully the enemy doesn’t have a Mewtwo wrapped around their fingers.” He groans as he picks up a bag on his ground, tossing it into his bed before zipping it open and looking for his favourite dagger.

“You know Pokemon characters?”

“I’ve been alive for 200 years, of course I know a few.” He tells her, it felt like more of an admission though as he finds his favourite dagger. A silver one, adorned with yellow diamonds, an engraving of a Wolverine on one side of the blade, on the other side was a girl's name next to his, right after it the word ‘forever’ was carved into the silver. The sight made him sick, not out of disgust or anger, but out of sadness as he remembered the girl.

The love of his life.

She was gone. Another person he loved, that he let down that day…

“Hey, are you still there?” Ororo knocks on his skull like a door. “Where’d you- oh-” He shoves past her, not bothering to engage in conversation with her just yet.

The jet lands with a jolt, everyones body rocking slightly with the impact on the ground.

“We’re here!” Scotts voice announces from the front, shortly after, Jane is walking ahead of him and to the door of the jet where she puts in a code on the wall's keypad, unlocking the door which hums as it opens.

The smell wasn’t exactly what Logan had expected when the door opened to vast woods, some night animals scurrying away at the sight of the four mutants. He expected the smell of wood, leaves, maybe even some animal scat or death. But that’s not what he picks up at all, he finds something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He can tell none of the others could smell it.

Animals. And not just any animals. There were lizards, birds and a few others. Most hybrids were reptiles or birds, the normal. Then there was something different. Some sort of… mammal. He’s never met another mammal.

They find the warehouse door, two men with large weapons standing at the entrance, cameras at every angle. He knew some of the cameras were props, only set up to scare people. Only one of the outside cameras actually worked, which made sneaking into the front entrance incredibly easy, the only obstacle being the two men.

Once they were in, the four of them searched the building.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!” A group of the men, all dressed in tactical gear we’re lined up with their guns pointed at the four of them.

“Give us the mutants, and we won’t have to kill you all.” Jean steps forward, Logan's claws extracted slightly, Scott begins reaching up, and Ororos fingers twitch. The mens guns lift slightly.

“This is your last warning, leave the building, or we will be forced to shoot!” He puts his hand up, fingers out and flat, telling his men not to shoot yet.

“Okay, you asked for this.” Was the only warning they receive before Jean throws all of them against the walls, some of the dropping their guns.

Scott lasers a few of them, taking his time as a few of them get punches to the throat, and Ororo creates a fog that blankets the entire room, hiding the real weapon.

Logan moves through the fog, slitting throats and cutting legs to make men fall to the ground. One of the men, a little harder to kill, manages to block one of Logan's punches, his claws becoming lodged inside of the man's forearms, emitting a loud scream from his throat as Logan attempts to pry his claws out of the man's arms, he keeps moving, also trying to pull away, which only made his pain worse. As the flesh in his arms turns to a thick jelly continues to move back and forth with the six claws, the metal begins sawing through the man's arms, the sound could only be described as a dull knife cutting through an orange with bones, blood splattering everywhere everytime the man would move, his vitality soaking the worn tactical jacket like a wet sponge, dripping down onto the floor and covering Logans white shirt with a crimson pulp, and it soaks into the concrete below them like rain. Then the man's limbs seem to disconnect, only held on by the thin of his skin and some severed flesh. The man screams with tormented pain, the fog seeming to move to his breath leaving his mouth as it swirls to the sound, to Logan's annoyance, he ends the man's screams with another claw to the throat, his body falling to the ground with a loud thump before Logans moves onto the next man, killing them all off until there was no one left.

“Are they all dead?” Ororo shouts as she dissipates the fog, leaving a humid scent to the air.

“I think so?” Logan answers, checking his shirt and grunting when he realises its soaked in blood, making the rotten liquid stick to his skin.

“Fuck Logan, think you over did it a little?” Scott motions his hands toward the floor, another man is sitting on his knees, seemingly attempting to scoop up his organs, intestines spilling out of his stomach like an overfilled spaghetti bowl.

“He’s fine.”

“He’s not gonna be fine.” The man continues to try holding in his organs and intestines, eventually falling onto his side, curling up and hugging his large intestine into his belly, as if it would help.

“Well now he’s not fine.” Logan growls, motioning his hand towards the man as his mouth drops open, allowing more blood to pool onto the floor, reddening the cold stone under him.

“Scott, you come with me, Ororo you search under those covers, Logan, you get the rooms.” Jean orders, even though Logan was in charge, but they all listen.

Logan goes from room to room, but has no luck in finding anything other than some classified papers that he puts his lighter to and some porno magazines in one office which he flips through a little before burning that too, watching as a models tits turn black before completely burning away, and he sighs heavily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thick cigar.

“Not in here Logan.” Ororo whispers, but speaks normally when she turns on the light in the room, and then she points to the back of the room where a large cage was placed in a corner. “What’s in here?” She asks him, wondering about the room a little.

“I don’t see anything.” He grunts as he stretches slightly, then the other two enter the room.

“Wait what’s that?” Ororo points to the corner of the room, and some movement could be heard from under the covers.

“Take the cover off.” Jean nods towards the cage. Logan walks towards it, his heavy boots thumping on the floor. His hand reaches for the cover, and he takes a big portion of it into his fist before slowly tearing it away, careful as not to scare whatever might be inside.

“Is there anything?” Scott takes a few steps towards him, Logan's eyes are trained on you. Just a girl, sitting in the cage, back pressed against the cold metal confinement. There’s more conversation, but you don’t listen to it. You were more focused on watching them, ready to fight if any of them lunged forward.

“Yea, a hybrid.” Logan speaks, looking down at the creature.

“A vicious kind?”

“I have no idea, you look.” He steps aside, letting Jean step in front of him to get a good look at it.

“Hey, hey, hey…” She reaches into her pocket, taking out a blood covered key that he assumes she found on a body. “We’re here to help you…” She tells the hybrid, her voice soft so she doesn’t startle it. “Hey can you dim the lights so she can see us better Ororo?” Ororo listens immediately, dimming the lights in the room, and Logan notices the way you squish yourself against the back of the cage. “Were mutants too sweetie, we need you to come out.” She held her hand out, hoping you would grab it, and as you flinched, Logan’s claws extract just slightly. “Logan, we’re gonna have to grab her.”

“Wait…” Scott warns.

“What?”

"Maybe just back away from the cage, she might feel more comfortable that way." They all exchange looks, but they listen, Logan backing away, but he’s ready to run if the girl starting running.

He watches as you crawl out, your large ears pinned back, your little tail tucked. A deer hybrid. He realises, his head tilting slightly.

He doesn’t listen to the rest of the conversation, only staring at you, scared, small. But he does notice the way you seem to only grow against him, occasionally taking a step back towards him, he could tell you were only comfortable because you recognized him.

And he loved it.

“Let’s get her out of here.” He tells the team, stopping whatever conversation they were having. “Before the enemy backup comes.” He huffs, then his arm gently wraps around you, but he leads you, letting the rest of the team walk ahead of the two of you while he holds onto you.

“You’ll be alright…”

[rip-quizilla]

The Naughty Wench

Summary: You work as a barmaid at the raunchiest booth at the Renaissance Faire, and Eddie purchases a beer from you. He gets a little more than a "huzzah for the tipper" when he throws a fiver in the jar labeled "Thank you, Mistress". (Read: you talk dirty to Eddie while you pour beer down his throat) Based on this Tik Tok posted by @joyful_aura: https://www.tiktok.com/@joyful_aura/video/7244964514561543470

Word Count: 4.7k

Content Warnings: light degradation, dirty talk, sexual themes

Working the faire circuit was in one word… an experience. 

Just last week you had been in Texas at Scarborough Faire, where it had been hot as balls underneath your layers of linen, lace and leather. The earlier months hadn’t been too bad, but there was one thing you’d learned about the southern states in your years of renaissance faire experience- when summer hits in the south, it hits hard. The moment you’d driven your van past the Indiana state line, you could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees on the spot. 

Now here you were- all trussed up in your wench getup, tits pushed up high enough that they rested like two fleshy pillows right below your collarbones. The corset you’d chosen today wasn’t your most comfortable, but you looked damn good in it- milk chocolate brown with pale gold ribbons that laced up the front. The straps that ran over your shoulders provided some extra support, which you were grateful for with all of the movement your job required. Your skirts today were a warm shade of mustard yellow with a few mismatched patches sewn over holes and stains that had refused to come out over the years. Short sleeved blouses were a must, unless you wanted to pass out from heat stroke or have beer-soaked sleeves clinging to your forearms. Today yours was a pale cream color, with little puffed cap sleeves to cover your shoulders and a neckline that plunged below your corset, so the girls were front and center, ready to earn plenty of “huzzah for the tipper!”s.

Today was Sunday, and since this faire was weekends only, Sundays were basically Fridays as far as faire folk were concerned. As was tradition, you would all be going out for libations once the day was done, followed by a blissful night of sleeping late in your Volkswagen Westfalia.

You hadn’t known what to expect when you’d quit your job and joined the faire circuit, but every day you got to meet new people, play dress-up, and speak in a funny accent- which accent? You switched it up day to day. And the fact that you got paid to do that made it even better.

You loved your little renfaire life. 

You stood with your hands on your hips inside the little wooden booth that served as your place of work for the next month’s worth of weekends. Every plastic cup was stacked in place, you had a fresh cleaning rag stuck into your apron, and patrons were already beginning to file into the fairgrounds. A pleasant breeze brought a smile to your face. 

“Morning, love!” You turned to see your fellow barmaid, Ingrid, wiping her hands on her own apron after wringing out her own rag into a small bucket of soapy water. Her outfit today was- like most days- the polar opposite of yours. She looked more like a pirate wench while your color palette was more akin to what one might picture in a countryside tavern. Burgundy skirts and off-white petticoats swished around her black lace-up boots, and her black leather waist cincher showcased the smallest part of Ingrid’s middle. You gasped, acting scandalized by the bits of black lace from her bra that peeked over the neckline of her red blouse.

“Ingrid, what kind of place do you think we’re running here?” you tutted, smiling cheekily all the while. “This is a respectable establishment! People might start thinking we sell more than just the drinks here, you know.” 

Ingrid cackled, hopping up to sit on the wooden counter behind her. “My dear, I have absolutely no clue what you could be talking about.” She shrugged, smirking behind a shared secret. “We do sell more than just the drinks.” You both giggled knowingly, continuing to complete all of the morning to-do’s around the bar.

Ingrid was right- drinks weren’t the only thing your bar was known for. 

There were plenty of booths around the faire where patrons could purchase a drink, but only one where the barmaids would pour beer directly into their mouths while talking dirty to them- and The Naughty Wench just happened to be that booth. 

Originally, the idea had been Ingrid’s- the two of you had been friends for a year now, meeting last year in this exact same spot at Indie Faire and working at what was then a run-of-the-mill beer booth. It was customary at any renaissance faire for bar wenches to proclaim “Huzzah for the tipper!” when presented with a tip of any kind, so neither of you was a stranger to putting on the theatrics when money was dropped into your tip jar. One day, however, Ingrid had put out not one, but two tip jars- one labeled ‘Thank You’, the other labeled ‘Thank You Mistress’. You had laughed at it at first. Then Ingrid started…changing the script. 

A patron would chuckle to themselves, throwing a dollar into the Mistress jar, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing when Ingrid would smile and tell them they were “such a good boy.” 

After a few more, she’d gotten even more creative. “Oh, you thought I only wanted money?” she would croon, holding the beer tauntingly out of their reach. “I want to hear you beg for it, say ‘please, mistress’,” When you’d heard it you’d been appalled, mouth opened wide in shock. You had already prepared yourself for the patron to yell in her face and demand their money back when you’d heard a shy, stuttering “P-please, mistress, can I have my beer?”

Throughout the day, Ingrid’s “Mistress” character only continued to amp up with every hour. At some point, you had joined in, repeating the sultry tones you’d been listening to Ingrid spout easily to strangers and even making up a few responses of your own.

“Only good boys get to drink at the faire, have you been a good boy?”

“You need to say please before you drink- good girl, you’re so very welcome.” 

“Hands behind your back and open wide.”

Word about Ingrid’s sultry tipping strategy circulated quickly. Soon, more and more patrons were lining up at your booth ready to be degraded by pretty girls in tight corsets, and when you started pouring the beer into their mouths, tits pressed up higher on your chest while you leaned seductively over the bartop? People couldn’t get enough. 

The success you’d both had with Ingrid’s brilliant idea had now landed you here- a booth that was dedicated to serving delicious beverages garnished with a splash of degradation. 

Your first patron of the day- a young woman who looked ready to play a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream- stepped up to Ingrid, gazing up at her with a flutter of eyelashes as she ordered a can of beer and shyly dropped a one dollar bill into the jar labeled ‘Thank You, Mistress’. Ingrid smiled, asking “Do you know what that jar is for?” to which the fairy blushed and nodded, giggling. 

“Mm-hm.” 

Ingrid grinned flirtatiously, popped open the beer, and addressed the fairy, “Such tiny little hands you have, they’ll make my can look so huge…”

***

Eddie Munson was vibrating.

At least, he felt like he was. He could barely contain his enthusiasm as he looked around at every sword, every pair of elf ears, every corset- to his left, there was a booth selling handmade leather journals. To his right, a stage where a crowd had begun to gather to watch a group of bagpipe players. In front of him and behind him, a seemingly endless number of nerds who, like him, had found a place where being a weirdo was not mocked, not simply tolerated- but celebrated. 

“I fucking love it here.” Eddie sighed. 

Steve Harrington, whom Eddie was still a little astounded had been convinced to actually go to a renaissance faire, looked overwhelmed already. “I can’t believe there are this many grown adults who wanted to spend the last day of their weekend playing dress-up.” 

“Playing dress-up and getting drunk.” Robin corrected. Unlike Harrington, she had thrown herself into the renfaire spirit completely, showing up in a tasteful pirate outfit that Eddie had a feeling was comprised mostly of oversized pieces she’d found in the men’s section of the thrift store, but she pulled it off. All she was missing were some real swords, which she had already announced she was on the hunt for today. 

“I feel bad for people who are so out of touch with their inner child that they have to get drunk just to put on a costume.” Dustin said matter-of-factly, shooting Steve a judgemental look. Steve balked when he caught it, yapping at Dustin about growing up or the ridiculousness of how much quality costumes cost- something along those lines. Eddie wasn’t listening, he was too busy taking mental note of which booths he needed to come back to before they left; he knew if he ducked inside them now, he would blow all of his money on the first stall they saw, and he was determined to stretch his budget for the day as far as he could. 

“Well I for one think we all look amazing, costume or no.” Robin said decisively. Eddie had to agree. He had spent weeks working on his own costume, digging through his and his friends’ closets to create an ensemble fit for a tiefling bard such as himself. He had fashioned himself a pair of red horns using one of Erica’s old headbands, toilet paper rolls, tin foil, paper mache and black paint. Now, they sat nestled securely among his brown mane of curls. The rest of his outfit had been easy- a blousy-looking shirt from Nancy’s closet that he’d rolled up around the elbows, one of Wayne’s old waistcoats from a suit that hadn’t seen the light of day since Eddie’s parents’ wedding, apparently, a pair of black pants that he’d tucked into his combat boots, and a plethora of accessories. Rings on every finger, every belt he owned slung over his waist or across his torso, one even looped twice around his thigh. Eddie had even gone the extra mile this morning and smudged some of Robin’s red lipstick (he was still amazed that Buckley owned lipstick) around his eyes as a nod to the fact that tieflings’ skin is normally red or blue. To finish off the look, he had even brought along his old acoustic guitar, which was slung over his back to mark him undeniably as a bard.

Eddie thought he looked pretty damn cool. 

The rest of their party had also decked themselves out for the day, Robin with her pirate outfit, Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will had done a fantastic job of transforming themselves into hobbits for the day. Max, Erica and El hadn’t been able to decide whether they wanted to dress as pirates or fairies- so they’d all chosen both. Now they looked happy as could be, skipping down the dirt path with fairy wings on their backs and plastic swords on their hips. That left Steve as the only normal-looking person in a sea of geeks. 

Eddie chuckled to himself- for once in his life, Steve Harrington was the odd one out while Eddie Munson was effortlessly fitting in. 

“First order of business is turkey legs.” Robin announced, eyes already darting in every direction in search of lunch as she wandered ahead.

Steve mumbled in agreement, along with something about finding something to drink so that he’ll survive the day. Just then, a trio of pretty young women in corsets caught his eye, immediately brightening his mood. He ran a hand through his hair, ready to say something undoubtedly Steve-y to them, when they beat him to the punch. 

“Hi! Um, would you mind taking our picture?” One of them said, shoving a camera in his direction. 

Steve, surprised but not altogether deterred, smiled and took the camera. “I’d be happy to, ladies.” However, he couldn’t hold back his shock when the girls all turned to the four teenage boys. 

“You guys look like you came straight out of Lord of the Rings!” one of them exclaimed. “Best costumes I’ve seen all weekend, honestly.” The girls situated themselves between the blushing boys as they muttered different ‘thank you’s and complimented the girls’ outfits in turn. 

Steve snapped the picture begrudgingly while Eddie slung an arm around his shoulders. “Looks like you’re losing your charm there, Harrington.” he smirked, earning an eye roll from Steve in turn. 

“Yeah, yeah, piss off, Dante’s Inferno.” 

“How have you read Dante but not Tolkien?”

Their bickering was cut short by corset girl retrieving the camera from Steve, then giving Eddie a shy, “I like your horns.” 

Eddie turned his full attention to her with a toothy grin. “‘Preciate it, sweetheart.”

The girls waved goodbye with a thank you, erupting into giggles as they walked away. Steve shook his head in disbelief. “What world did I accidentally cross into where Munson has game and I have none?”

Eddie cackled maniacally, hopping onto a nearby picnic table and swinging his guitar to his front, strumming it a couple of times with a flourish of his hand. 

“You’re in my kingdom now, King Steve!” Eddie plucked the strings of his instrument jauntily, unable to contain his glee. “Here, it pays to be a freak.”

Strum-strum-strum.

Eddie threw a fist in the air. “Huzzah!”

To his surprise, his call was echoed by several patrons and vendors, erupting in a hearty “Huzzah!” from all around him. 

Accepted. Celebrated. Eddie felt at home. 

That’s when Robin came bounding up from behind him, two turkey legs in hand. “Okay, I know where we’re going next.” She sounded excited.

Steve took one of the turkey legs from her hand, eager to get something in his stomach. “And where is that, Robin?” 

She grinned largely, immediately launching into a retelling of a conversation she had had with another patron while waiting in line for the turkey legs, going on several tangents about how surprised she was that the line was short, how the patron had been dressed like a viking and actually had viking tattoos all up and down his arm, how she wasn’t sure how accurate they were but they sure looked cool-

“Robin!” Steve interjected impatiently.

“Right! Sorry! Basically one of the bars has wenches that talk dirty if you give them a tip, and I want to see that in action.”

Steve and Eddie’s eyes grew wide. Steve, hilariously, started to check behind him for the kids as if they were still too young and innocent to be talking about such things even though they were all about to graduate high school already. To his relief, they had all wandered into a booth selling leather goods. 

Eddie responded before Steve could. His lips had curled into a mischievous smile, “Buckley,” he crooned, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I’m gonna need you to tell me more about these wenches.”

***

By noon, the line for your booth was easily at least ten people long and stayed that way no matter how many beers you’d poured. Luckily for the two of you, not every patron at the faire was seeking you out just for the bonus content. Most of them just wanted a drink, which you couldn’t fault them for. After all, nothing went with a summer day quite like a cold, bubbly beverage. 

“Hey,” Ingrid’s voice caught your attention as you took a brief moment to wipe down the drain under the tap while the line had gone briefly shorter. “Remember that conversation we had where I called you out on having a type?”

You laughed, nodding your head. “Yes, I think I do. Why?”

“Tell me what that type was again?”

You sighed, tucking your rag back into your apron and patting your hands dry at your sides. “Let’s see, I think I remember you said long hair was involved-”

“Long dark hair, specifically.”

“-long dark hair, right.” you remedied. You busied yourself with fixing the next patrons’ drink orders as the discussion proceeded. “Tattoos were mentioned, and I think you said something about makeup?”

“You always get all swoony around men wearing eyeliner or some kind of eye makeup. Always. Without fail.”

“Yeah, yeah okay…” you rolled your eyes. She was right, but you hated that you were apparently so obvious about it. 

“I would like to make an educated guess about another thing I think belongs on that list.” Finally turning to face Ingrid, you cocked your head, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Okay, I’ll bite- what else do you think belongs on that list?”

Ingrid grinned, looking pointedly at something over your shoulder. “I think you’re into guys who play guitar.”

You blanched- damn. That had been true since high school, how did she-

You spun around to see whatever Ingrid was focused on behind you, and felt your knees get weak when you found it. There was a man- in his twenties, from the looks of it- dressed as a tiefling bard with a guitar slung over his shoulder. It was true, from looks alone he checked all of your boxes. The long curly hair, the red makeup around his eyes, the tattoos that showed on his forearms… 

“You okay over there, or did my business partner go brain dead for a second?” You heard Ingrid’s smirk before you saw it. She laughed at you good-naturedly when you faintly swatted at her with your cleaning rag. “It looks like they’re headed this way, you take him and I’ll take his blonde pirate friend.” 

You took another look at the man- trying not to be obvious about the fact that you were looking- and noticed this time that he was traveling with two others: the aforementioned blonde pirate and a normal-looking guy who, admittedly, had very nice hair. They did seem to be headed your way; you quickly took a moment to turn around and top off the canteen that hung from the leather belt at your waist with some cold water. You quickly took a sip before turning around to face the counter, and when you did, there he was. 

 “Hi, uh-” his eyes were downcast, hands digging into his pockets for cash. “-can you break a twenty?” Pulling a crumpled bill from a money clip, his gaze met yours under an apologetic brow. Big brown eyes, framed with blood-red smudges- he pulled it off. Tremendously.

You didn’t have to force your service industry smile- it came naturally for him. “With pleasure, noble bard.” You propped your forearms on the wooden bartop, hoping your cleavage was looking particularly stunning at the angle from which he was gazing up at you. “And what sort of beverage might you be craving on this fine day?”

“That’s right, wrap your lips around my tip and drink me down, beautiful-”

Before he could answer, the two of you were both more than a little distracted by Ingrid’s filthy monologue. She held a freshly opened can of beer to the blonde pirate girl’s lips, and you were very impressed with how easily the girl was able to obey the instructions that Ingrid gave every customer who tossed a tip into the Mistress jar- hands behind your back, mouth open, chin up, eyes on me. You and the dark-haired tiefling were both entranced by the sight before you: Ingrid, with the endless stream of dirty words that tumbled from her mouth as she poured bubbly, golden brew down the throat of the tall blonde pirate. 

“-keep that pretty mouth open you little minx, and look up at me as i finish down your throat. Yes, that’s a good girl, and swallow.” Ingrid pulled the can away from her lips with a smile, gazing proudly down at the pirate who sputtered out a soft cough after breathing down some much-needed oxygen. “Good job, darling.” Ingrid crooned. 

The regularly-dressed guy standing behind her stared with wide eyes, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was appalled or impressed. “Oh…my god, Robin!” he guffawed. 

“I’ll.. aha, um-” You refocused your attention to the bard standing before you, a natural blush now creeping into his cheeks beneath the red makeup on his temples. “-I’ll have what she’s having, please.” He nodded to his friend- Robin, apparently. 

You smiled knowingly, taking the twenty from his hands and ignoring the rush you felt when your fingertips brushed his. You made his change, handing him a few fives and ones before giving the Mistress jar a gentle tap. You finished opening his beer just in time to see him toss a five into the jar- a generous tip, since the beer only cost $3. 

You raised an eyebrow, smiling at him appreciatively. “Huzzah for the tipper.” you purred, opting to make the phrase just for him instead of yelling it obnoxiously for all to hear. After all, you were about to be plenty obnoxious already. 

You nodded flirtatiously to direct his attention above you. “See those shackles up there, love?”

His eyes, shining with anticipation and the best kind of nerves, flicked up to what you were referring to- dangling from the wood above the bartop were a pair of metal handles that hung by black-painted chains. They were similar to an actual shackle, but it was obvious that they were there to hold, not imprison. The bard looked back down to you, returning your flirting gaze. 

“I do.” he smirked.

You narrowed your eyes on him playfully. “I’m going to need you to reach up and take hold of them-” He did as he was told, and you admired how his blousy sleeves fell further down to his biceps, showcasing the way his ink stretched over lean muscles. “-oh good boy, you look so good stretched out for me like that. Hold tight now, darling.”

You had to hold back a chuckle at how quickly his flirty eye contact and smirk turned to a pure deer-in-the-headlights expression when you’d called him a good boy. You had an inkling that this guy wasn’t used to being told what to do in this particular way. 

Leaning forward until your cleavage was practically up against his nose, you nodded at him sweetly. “Open that pretty pink mouth for me darling- yes, that’s right, lips around my hole and suck-” Once the can was to his lips, you began pouring a steady stream down his throat. His big doe eyes didn’t know where to look, torn between your eyes and your tits that looked just about ready to pop out of your corset. The rest of the words that tumbled from your mouth were less spoken and more so moaned while you gazed down at this gorgeous little tiefling who- for the next few moments- was completely at your mercy.

“-take it, yes, good boy, take me deep into your throat as you look up at me with those pretty brown eyes. Oh my goodness, you’re so obedient! I love it when a big strong man lets himself be this pretty and stretched out for me as he suckles on my little hole. No, don’t look away, my eyes are up here you wretched little thing- yes, that’s right, oh I only wish I could hear all the pretty noises you make when you take me down deep like this. Yes, you’re going to finish me, aren’t you? Oh yes, you’re going to finish me using that dirty little mouth-” Nearing the end of the can, you poured the last drop down his throat. “-yes, oh that’s a good boy, swallow every drop of me, good job love.”

He sputtered a final swallow, red-faced and breathing deep after chugging an entire can of beer. His eyes were still wide, but now there was also the way he looked at you- like he would do pretty much anything you ever told him to do at the drop of a hat. 

Letting go of the shackles above your head, he managed to catch his breath before checking behind him to make sure he didn’t have a long line of waiting customers. No line had formed, but his blush had deepened when he saw his friends both watching him with smirks that said they were never going to let him live this down. 

“Shit,” he chuckled looking up at you, his personality taking on a slightly more devil-may-care sort of attitude now. “I-uh- I think I blacked out, you might have to say all that again, I didn’t catch it the first time.” 

You laughed, easily shirking the domineering attitude that you exuded for the job and relaxing into what felt natural- soft, sweet, and flirty- with this guy, at least. “Tell you what,” you said, coyly. You weren’t normally one to invite strangers out for drinks, but Ingrid had been right about one thing- this guy was definitely your type. “When the faire closes today, I’ll be at a bar called The Honeybee about ten minutes from here. If I happen to see you there,” you shrugged, and you didn’t miss how his eyes immediately flicked down to your cleavage as the motion made you bounce. “-then we can say all kinds of things to each other.” 

The facial expression on the bard changed in an instant, his expression shifting from innocent and eager to knowing and darkly tempting. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “Are you always as demanding as you were just now, or was that just an act?” 

You knew what he was asking, and part of you wanted to tell him that he’ll have to show up at The Honeybee if he wants to find out, but something in you also wanted him to know the answer to that question- wanted him to know so many things about you it made your head spin. 

“I can go either way and have a great time regardless.” you replied, smiling sweet as a spoonful of honey, and the devilish grin that he gave you in return took the breath from your lungs. 

“Perfect.” he practically growled, “What’s your name?”

You told him, and the way he repeated it on his lips had you pressing your thighs tightly together. “And your name is?”

“Eddie.” he smiled. 

You grinned in return. “Eddie.” you repeated. His name tasted like whiskey and cinnamon on your tongue. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

To your surprise, Eddie laughed raucously, hopping back a few paces. “Oh, on the contrary, fair barmaid!” With a flourish, he swung his guitar from his back to his front, strumming a few chords in rapid succession and plucking them in a melody that showed a level of skill that you hadn’t been expecting. After a moment of music, he stopped short and looked up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Mark my words, my love- you’ll see me again before tonight and you will- without a doubt- hear me before you see me.” 

You let out a surprised laugh, fingers flying up to your mouth to block an obnoxious guffaw from escaping your lips. That only spurred Eddie on more. He made a sort of swatting motion with his hand, gesturing toward your own hand at your mouth. “Away, thou evil hand! How dare ye venture to hide the sweetest of smiles that does bloom on a flower such as this?” He plucked away at his instrument dramatically, as if doing so were a declaration of war. You couldn’t help but humor him, grabbing the offending hand with your other one and firmly clasping both in your lap. 

Eddie smiled, still strumming his guitar. “Aye, and stay away! For there are far better things for pretty hands to do than hide even prettier faces.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down as he began to walk away with his friends. 

Your jaw dropped as you let out a good natured scoff. “And what would the noble bard suggest I do with my pretty hands?” you knew that you practically yelled it, and it caused a few other guests to glance your way questioningly; you didn’t care, it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing you’d said today. 

Eddie’s cackle rang out through the air like electricity during a storm, and your heart did a little backflip when he spun around once before facing you one last time before he was out of your line of sight. “Oh, my lady-” he called, smiling unabashedly, “-I humbly suggest you find the biggest can you have, think of me-” and then the motherfucker winked, “-and use your imagination.”

[aurorialwolf]

REDACTED CHARACTERS AS CARS PART 3

Same stuff as the last two posts applies, tldr they wouldnt drive these necessarily these are just the cars i think they are

Elliott - Any car with this wrap. He would also totally drive this.

Avior - BMW i8 (I literally looked up "professor's car" and scrolled until i found a kind of cool one)

Guy - Pizza delivery car with a built-in oven (except w/ max's pizza on it instead of dominos)

Aaron - Sinister '69 Mustang Boss 600 (need I explain more?)

Geordi - Z31 Nissan 300ZX (because it looks sad :c )

Anton - Chevrolet Explorer Conversion Van (he is one of two characters that ive missed any audios from, but from the audio that i did listen to, he gives these vibes)

Blake - Toyota TRD Pro Series 4Runner (because, especially from the front, it looks angry)

Ivan - White van, need I explain?

Camelopardalis - Light Green Volkswagen Beetle (because it looks nice and calming and idk it just fits!!)

Brachium - McLaren 570 GT MSO Black (because it matches brachiums previous themes,, and it looks cool)

William - Penny-farthing. (I think plum gave me this idea?? sry if im wrong)

William's MODERN car, though: Bentley Flying Spur (although probably in red or black)

Gregory Keaton - 2024 Toyota Corolla (it's the first new car hes gotten in 15 years and his old one was a Jeep or perhaps a van if he was the one driving the pack around)

Ansel (from the Keaton pack, yes im sorry im not doing the rest of the keaton pack today) - Unmarked detective vehicle, Ford Crown Vic

Amanda - 2021 Kia Telluride (it's sensible, strong, and like. it gives her vibes im so sorry that i cant elaborate more on this. also i can easily imagine the visualizations of amanda that ive seen driving this car)

Christian - 2019 Honda Insight (he found it on a car advice article. idk why he just gives the vibes of a guy that looked up what car to buy for best social merit or best value)

Fred - BMW M3 E90 (just like. imagine him picking up Bright for a night out once they're all settled as vamps. it just feels like his vibes and its hard to explain)

Bright Eyes - Honda CBR650R 2023 (they would have this. adrenaline junkie vibes especially after becoming a vampire, also Fred is always worried when they go out on this)

Tagging folks who seemed interested (did i just remember i used to have a taglist. yes): @nevaroonie @vind3miat0r (sry for the tag but fred and bright are here so,,)

[lanaevyssmoved]

OC + Random Associations

tagged by @cetra , @sleepsvessel & @bootheminiaturegiantspacehamster thank you ^_^

Animal

Afhiri sea slugs, isopods (dairy cow and zebra), geckos and other various reptiles, cats, small birds, musteloids (particularly raccoons and red pandas), viverrids, japanese raccoon dogs, opossums Candor lions, various eagles (wedge-tailed, golden, crowned), hawks, swans and geese, bighorn rams, crocodillians, sea turtles, elephants, animals that use sun compass orientation Cirok corvids (raven, crow), dogs (rottweiler, doberman, pinscher, greyhound), venomous black snakes, scorpions, spiders (particularly trapdoor spiders and sicarius), bats, black caiman, sharks

Colors

Afhiri pastels! pink, yellow, orange, green, blue, white, black Candor changes depending on form but in general purple, blue, red, yellow, orange, gold, brown, white, black Cirok black, grey, white - absolutely no Colour (thanks to booboo i now think of like toxic waste green when i think of cirok too)

Month

Afhiri September Candor August Cirok November

Songs

Afhiri tapi tapi - tempura kidz fear. moe shop and fun - sir sly. sir sly's vibe is way off for afhiri but the lyrics were written for her Candor a sun coloured shaker - yndi halda and (spring) this was your place - sunlight ascending Cirok jouska - evenS (probably favourite song of all time btw) and i come with knives - IAMX

Number

Afhiri two/2 Candor three/3 Cirok four/4

Plants

Afhiri celandine, sunflower, pink tulip, daisy Candor bay tree, gladiolus, heliotrope, rose Cirok chives, anemone, begonia, deadly nightshade

Scents

Afhiri fresh morning, grass, dirt, cotton candy, bubblegum Candor cedar, musk, sandalwood, the ocean, burning  Cirok decay, death, rot, overwhelmingly of resin

Gemstone

Afhiri tugtupite Candor meliphanite Cirok magnetite

Time of day

Afhiri sunrise Candor midday Cirok night

Season

Afhiri summer Candor summer Cirok winter

Places

Afhiri taverns, meadows, by rivers and lakes Candor monasteries, temples, places of worship Cirok the dank, cold and forgotten, the forbidden

Food

Afhiri sweet things, nothing good for you Candor warm meals Cirok raw meat

Drinks

Afhiri sugary sweet drinks, energy drinks Candor various teas (green, oolong, herbal, black) Cirok piping hot black coffee

Element

Afhiri air Candor fire Cirok water

Seasonings

Afhiri garlic, ginger, cinnamon Candor paprika, turmeric, bay leaves Cirok dried chives, cloves, saffron

Sky

Afhiri the most beautiful sunny cloudless summer sky Candor a colourful golden orange, red, and purple with light cloud cover Cirok stratus clouds, grey, calm and quiet

Weather

Afhiri warm day with lots of sun and a gentle breeze Candor blazing hot summers day with minimal to no wind Cirok cold winters day with fog and light snow

Magical power

Afhiri manipulative magic that makes someone act against their own will, anything that makes them laugh or dance. also the magical power of Insults Candor holy smites, blinding lights and divine energy Cirok phasing into the realm of the dead to walk partly as a ghost

Weapons

Afhiri shortsword and dagger combo, dual hand crossbows Candor mace and shield, longbow, floating/flying greatsword Cirok dual daggers, throwing knives, poisons and venoms

Candy/Sweets

Afhiri cotton candy, bubblegum, and i designed her with fruit salad in mind! Candor spicy roasted pecans, maple roasted sweet potatoes, sea salt dark chocolate Cirok liquorice, black jack, toxic waste

Method of long distance travel

Afhiri roadtrip in a classic volkswagen camper van Candor flying Cirok underground trains

Artstyle

Afhiri impressionism, abstract expressionism, street art, dadaism, CoBrA and fauvism Candor baroque and classicism Cirok optical art and minimalism

Fear

Afhiri of the self, of emotional pain, of returning home Candor of imperfection, of failure, of not being worthy Cirok of being seen, of death, of vulnerability

Mythological creature

Afhiri azeban, mujina, nymph Candor chalkydri, phoenix, psychopomp Cirok tsuchigumo, black dog, gargoyle

Piece of stationery

Afhiri a childs box of crayons, dairy Candor fountain pen, ruler Cirok ink, letter opener

Three Emojis

Afhiri 🤡🍀🪈 Candor ☄️🎇🪽 Cirok 🕷️♟️🔪

Celestial body

Afhiri the moon Candor the sun Cirok black dwarf

THIS TOOK ME FOREVER GUYS... TWO DAYS. I WORKED ON IT FOR HOURS. i hope........ its worth it <3

tagging @cetra @dekariosgale @courierseis @euryalex @hibernationsuit @jerichoes @vanoefucks @captaintiny @gwynbleidd @arduath @rcpunzel @avallachs @fuckitwebhaal @hexdruid @sovereign-spaw @galesgrandad @thefathersbride @dandeyrain @doggybone @swanfey @voerman @full---ofstarlight @chaos-storm @covenscribe @raphaelsboudoir @simtalics @kymal @graynstairs @neonbutchery @hungryblackbird @moxley @thlix @isayashai @darlinghowl @astarionsfordf150 @moon-jun @lovaboy @ratscrap @picklepals @crazy-lazy-elder-sims @rigaudon @neosunbrella @sternenstaub28 @centipisde @kirkwall @lusus--naturae

[hidelias]

A bend in space-time Season 4 - [Chapter 6: Warren and Wanda]

[Chapter 6: Warren and Wanda] Links : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN

Summary: Rin has been invited to stay with Diego and Lila. There she discovers their new situation, and the life they're building against all odds.

Excerpt:

"See you tomorrow", Lila says from the doorstep, shoving a Tupperware into my hands. "And don’t bring a gift, alright? We’ve got enough toys to start our own shop. Seriously—if one more stuffed animal shows up, I’m setting it on fire". (…) "I’m broke anyway, you know. I just got here. I’ll have to leave early tomorrow night, by the way: I’ve got a job interview right after. I hope it won’t—" "Doesn’t matter. If you made it through a swarm of kids in a sugar-fueled warzone, living off Skittles and bloody fondant, you’ll smash that interview (…) Show up on time, alright? Parking’s hell over there. TELL KLAUS THERE’S GONNA BE A PIÑATA!"

I laugh and turn to wave at her, heading toward Diego, who’s now bathed in the light of the van’s headlights. It’s an old white, orange, and blue Volkswagen Vanagon T3 he’s restored to a shine, covered in lucha libre stickers.

There’s a spot in the back for Gracie, along with all the gear he needs to teach martial arts on the go, even in the most underserved neighborhoods. I genuinely admire his commitment - and I’m pretty sure he knows it - as I slide into the passenger seat beside him.

"Some of these kids can’t get all the way to Warren", he says, as I tilt my head and buckle up. "Warren?" "Warren the Warehouse. That’s what we call our dojo. Named after Warren Worthington III, a.k.a. Archangel. And the van's name is Wanda. After the Scarlet Witch. Lila rolled her eyes, but I’m not changing it".

Warren and Wanda. I burst out laughing. I’d already noticed back in his living room that Diego spends his fun money on Marvel comics and dartboards. After all, Klaus once named our bus Priscilla.

↝↝↝↝ Read 'A bend in space-time' ↜↜↜↜ Full chapter : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 1 complete : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 2 complete : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 3 complete : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN Season 4 in progress : AO3 - Wattpad - FFN

In this fic, I use an OC appearing almost only in deleted scenes - Rin - to revisit and analyze The Umbrella Academy: to clarify certain points and try to fill in the plot-holes. This fic is not a self-insert nor a OC-centric fic : Rin exists to flesh out the canon characters, and the fic is mostly focused on Klaus Hargreeves. Please read the introduction for more details ♡

[redtaghelper-blog]

New Post has been published on Play Toys

New Post has been published on https://playtoys.com.au/shop/toys-games/playmobil-volkswagen-vw-kombi-70176-51-5-x-38-5-x-12-5-cm/

Playmobil - Volkswagen VW Kombi

Features:

Plan for your next road trip with the Volkswagen T1 Camping Bus

The iconic red and white-colored van is equipped with a mini-kitchen, fold-down seating that converts into a sleeping area, and plenty of storage space

Remove the roof to access the camper’s interior, seating figures at the table or behind the wheel. Open the two side doors to reveal shelves for your non-perishable foods and a fold-down vanity with mirror

When you are ready to continue your adventure, pack away supplies in the truck and stow your luggage securely under the straps on the roof rack. Set includes two figures, van, luggage, map, camera, food supplies, thermos, cups, and other accessories

Dimensions: 4.3 x 9.8 x 5.1 in (LxWxH). Recommended for ages 5-99 years. Warning. Choking Hazard. Small parts. Not for children under 3 years

Brand:

‎Playmobil

[jefkphotography]

The front of a Volkswagen van. close up photo.

Black and white photography.

[yhrkcnrk]

Tainted Hearts

Chapter 59: New Year’s Festival

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59749615/chapters/158459917

The countdown had just ended, and the Sakurauchi household was filled with soft laughter as Riko and her mother enjoyed their New Year’s moments together. Dressed in a pink kimono with delicate floral patterns, Riko felt a mix of excitement and nerves as she waited for Yoshiko to arrive. The familiar doorbell chimed, prompting her mom to smile and say, “Dear, that’s probably Yoshiko, so you can get that.”

“Okay, Mom!” Riko replied, her heart skipping a beat as she opened the door.

Standing there in a black kimono, Yoshiko looked refined yet striking, her deep navy hair neatly tied back, with a warm smile on her face. “Hi, Riri! Hi, Mrs. Sakurauchi!” Yoshiko waved toward Riko’s mom, who waved back warmly.

“Hi, Yoshiko,” Riko’s mom greeted with a smile.

Yoshiko turned back to Riko. “Ready to go?”

Riko nodded, stepping out of the house. But as she looked out at the street, she paused, seeing a purple and white Volkswagen van parked out front. Mari, grinning widely from the driver’s seat, waved enthusiastically. “Hello, Riko! Let’s go!”

Next to Mari, Kanan offered her own friendly wave. Yoshiko moved to open the side door for Riko, revealing You, Chika, Hanamaru, Ruby, and Dia—all dressed in beautiful kimonos, filling the van with laughter and cheer.

“Hello, Riko-chan!” Chika greeted excitedly.

“Hi, Chika-chan,” Riko replied, stepping in. Ruby’s cheeks flushed as she shyly commented, “You look so beautiful in your kimono, Riko-senpai…”

“Thank you, Ruby-chan. You look so cute too,” Riko replied, smiling warmly.

Mari’s voice boomed from the front, “Are you people ready?” Dia, rolled her eyes and muttered, “Please don’t shout inside the car…”

Yoshiko chuckled, “Yes, Mari. Now let’s go.”

“Okay!” Mari replied, putting the van into gear as they set off toward the Numazu shrine for the festival.

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At the shrine, the friends wandered among the bustling stalls, sampling takoyaki and candied apples as they went. Yoshiko and Riko shared bites of food, their interactions sweet and intimate, while Kanan and Mari playfully fed each other. Ruby and Dia giggled as they shared treats, and You and Chika’s friendly banter filled the air, while Hanamaru quietly savored her food, happily indulging in every bite.

Soon, they came across a goldfish scooping game. Each of them tried their luck, but success proved elusive. Yoshiko concentrated, determined to catch one for Riko. But just as she closed in, her scooper broke, the goldfish slipping away.

“Oh… I’m sorry, Riko,” Yoshiko sighed, a bit disappointed.

Riko laughed softly. “It’s okay, Yocchan. I wouldn’t really know what to do with a goldfish anyway!”

Nearby, Mari clutched her scooper, frustration evident. “Let me buy ten scoopers, please!” she announced to the attendant, handing over a bill.

You gaped, “What are you gonna do with ten scoopers, Mari-chan?”

With a wink, Mari replied, “Just watch!” She held the scoopers together and managed to capture a fish, celebrating her win with a gleeful cheer. Hanamaru observed nonchalantly, “I think that’s cheating, zura…”

Chika’s eyes were wide. “Wow!”

“The power of money for you,” Kanan added with a grin.

Dia shook her head, sighing, “Mari, you’re setting a terrible example…” The others giggled, while Yoshiko, still watching, mused, Maybe I should’ve done that too…

Next up was a shooting game. Yoshiko saw this as her moment of redemption, recalling her last failed attempt to win Riko a prize at an arcade. She steadied herself, lining up her shot, and managed to hit the target successfully, her face lighting up with pride as she held up her prize.

“Look, Riri! I won!” she exclaimed, almost like a puppy with a prized stick.

Riko giggled, her eyes shining with admiration. “That’s amazing, Yocchan! Good job!” She gave Yoshiko an affectionate pat on the head.

Kanan, standing nearby, remarked to Mari, “Now that’s a new side of Yoshiko I haven’t seen before.” Mari grinned, happy to see Yoshiko enjoying herself so freely.

Yoshiko turned to Riko, proudly handing her the prize. “Here, it’s for you.”

Blushing slightly, Riko accepted it. “Thank you,” she murmured, leaning in to place a soft kiss on Yoshiko’s cheek. Dia, who had been nearby, cleared her throat. “Keep it PG, please,” she teased, prompting a wave of giggles from everyone, including Yoshiko and Riko.

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As the group gathered in front of the shrine, they followed the New Year’s ritual with practiced precision—two bows, two claps, hands together, and eyes closed as each silently made a wish. After a few moments, they finished with one final, deep bow. Dia then suggested, “Why don’t we find a good spot to watch the fireworks?”

Everyone agreed, setting off toward the river where they could get the best view. As the group walked together, Yoshiko and Riko trailed behind, their conversation quiet but full of warmth.

Yoshiko glanced at her. “So… what wish did you make?”

Riko’s eyes sparkled as she replied, “I didn’t really wish for anything this time. I just wanted to say thanks.”

Yoshiko blinked in surprise. “Thanks? For what?”

“For all of my wishes being granted already,” Riko said softly.

A blush crept onto Yoshiko’s cheeks. “And… what exactly was your wish?” she asked, heart thumping.

Riko’s gaze softened as she looked up at Yoshiko. “You,” she replied simply, her smile tender.

Yoshiko’s face grew even redder as she turned away, trying to hide her flustered expression. “Uuhh… you’re so unfair sometimes, you know that?” she muttered, but her tone was laced with affection.

Riko giggled, a contented sound that made Yoshiko’s heart feel lighter.

A few steps later, Riko accidentally stepped on the hem of her kimono, stumbling forward. Yoshiko quickly caught her by the shoulders. “Whoa, Riri! Are you okay?”

Flushed, Riko steadied herself in Yoshiko’s arms. “I’m fine… Thank you, Yocchan.”

Just then, there was a sudden flash. Both looked over in surprise to see Mari holding up her phone, grinning triumphantly. “That one’s definitely going in the album!”

The others chuckled and giggled, teasing glances directed at Yoshiko and Riko. Yoshiko helped Riko stand up straight before glaring playfully at Mari. “Mari! Stop that!”

Mari just laughed, tucking her phone away as they continued walking.

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Finally, they found a quiet spot by the riverbank where they could sit and wait for the fireworks. Yoshiko and Riko sat close together, while Mari and Kanan shared the view nearby. Chika and You huddled together, Dia and Ruby sat near Hanamaru, who was enjoying a bag of festival snacks as they all looked up in anticipation.

A hush fell over the group as the first firework shot into the sky, bursting into a bloom of red and gold. One by one, fireworks filled the sky, each more dazzling than the last. Their faces lit up in awe, captivated by the display above.

Without a word, Yoshiko reached over, taking Riko’s hand in hers. Their fingers intertwined, the warmth of the moment shared in silence as they watched the colors dance in the night.

A new year had arrived, and neither of them could imagine a better start. What would this year bring them? They didn’t know, but in that moment, with Yoshiko’s hand holding hers, Riko felt like everything she wished for was right there.

[edithhaimbergernotebook]

Hauptstraße/Vorbergstraße street corner in Berlin's city quarter of Schöneberg, Germany, January 1, 2025. Photograph by author. All rights reserved.

Fire department staff are clearing the remnants of broken glass, almost 15 hours after a loud explosion destroyed residential and business windows between 1:20 and 2 a.m..

*

According to Berlin's RBB24 news, 36 apartments became temporarily uninhabitable, and 2 people were hospitalized as a result of the blast. The cause is believed to be an explosive known as a 'Kugelbombe' (ball bomb; the Guardian translates it as 'firework bomb') in German.

Police officers on foot secured the streets and sidewalks throughout the night. Berlin's firefighters and paramedics were also on the scene by 2:09 a.m.. The firefighters systematically inspected the façades of nearby buildings with flashlights and, after around 5:10 a.m., with a massive block of white spotlights that was mounted on a truck. They also entered and inspected apartments, one by one.

In the early afternoon, at least 4 vans with glaziers were standing by with new window panes, which are being installed as night falls.

Pedestrians of all ages flocked throughout the day to the taped-off area, watching the clean-up operations, speaking with police officers at the barriers, and taking photos.

***

The Hauptstraße/Vorbergstraße/Belziger Straße street intersection where the explosive was detonated is two blocks away from the Pallasstraße zone: there, the authorities had banned the use of firecrackers and fireworks.

Although the Pallasstraße zone itself was reportedly peaceful, the unrest at the border was intense even before the large detonation.

To a degree, the firecrackers and fireworks appeared orchestrated. For example, a rental car circled the streets. When the car's occupants popped open the trunk, the floor was filled with fireworks and firecrackers. (These pyrotechnic devices looked officially packaged and legal, however, unlike the explosive device in the Vorbergstraße.)

At around 1 a.m., a smaller explosive detonated underneath a red Volkswagen compact car that was parked in a side street, diagonally across from the Vorbergstraße. At first, around 1:01 a.m., the car alarm was flashing and making noise. By 1:03 a.m., flames were licking out from underneath the vehicle, and dense smoke was rising from the rear. The flames were extinguished shortly afterward.

At around 1:22 a.m., taking advantage of a lull where police were busy elsewhere, two slender figures who might have been teenagers placed a smaller explosive at the base of a lighted advertising pillar in the Hauptstraße. They blew out a hole in the pillar, leaving panes of glass lying on the grassy median. It looked like nobody was injured.

***

Broken glass panes in the Belziger Straße, facing away from the site of the Kugelbombe blast but still damaged, January 2, 2025. Image by author. All rights reserved.

The Hotel Pension Delta, image left, was previously damaged on a New Year's Eve. A firework set fire to objects on the first floor balcony, sending flames shooting up to the ceiling and leaving blackened scorch marks on the grey plaster.

[Updates: Factual errors corrected on January 1 & 3, 2025. Translation for 'Kugelbombe' added January 2, 2025. Bottom image added January 3, 2025.]

[we-dont-matteratall]

Jordan Zulick I hope you don't mind. I drafted a story based on your post.

Title: Range Anxiety

Chapter One: The Perfectly Imperfect Couple

Brad always woke up in the same way: early, gasping for air, his Apple Watch buzzing frantically to remind him that yes, he was still alive, and yes, his blood oxygen was low again. He coughed, adjusted his CPAP machine with clammy hands, and rolled his soft frame onto his Star Wars-patterned sheets. On the nightstand, Han Solo and Boba Fett figurines stood frozen in plastic confrontation—heroes on a battlefield that never moved.

“You’re breathing like you ran a marathon,” his wife Lisa said flatly, sipping oat milk matcha. Lisa was gorgeous, her edges finely manicured, her wardrobe perfectly suburban but with just enough edge to suggest an Instagram-worthy identity: athleisure sets, designer sneakers, and pearl hoops. Her ebony skin contrasted like a shadow cut into their gleaming white IKEA bedroom. “Did you weigh yourself today? You said you would.”

Brad’s anxiety hit like a misplaced Force choke. “I will. I just—can’t do it first thing. I’m… pacing myself.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Pace faster.”

Lisa was in “wellness mode” today—doing lunges as she scrolled her phone for affirmations. She was always “proud” of Brad’s wokeness and understanding of privilege (“It’s why I dated you,” she said more than once) but lately, her praise tasted clinical, transactional.

Brad knew. Of course, he knew. She kept him, and he kept her financially. As he checked his privilege, he also checked the balance in his accounts.

---

Chapter Two: The Van

“It’s sustainable. It’s quirky. It’s us.”

The Electric Volkswagen van gleamed beneath the dealership lights, its absurdly cheerful curves exuding an earnest optimism Brad hadn’t felt since Obama was in office. “I think this is perfect,” Brad whispered, his voice vibrating with an emotion he couldn’t place. Hope? Anxiety? Sodium deficiency?

Lisa snapped selfies by the open door. “The world needs more of this energy, babe.”

The dealership guy—a tech-bro in loafers—explained the EV's range. It was… not impressive. “The anxiety fades over time,” he chirped. “The battery? Think of it like your relationship. Just trust it’ll get you where you’re going.”

Brad squinted at the metaphor as the van hummed to life. For some reason, it smelled faintly like ozone and fainting goats.

---

Chapter Three: Family Incentives

Lisa’s idea to adopt came over takeout. “It’s tax-smart,” she said through a chopstick-clutching bite. “And socially conscious.”

Brad blinked through heartburn. “Adopting a child for tax breaks seems…”

“Modern?” Lisa snapped. “Progressive? Forward-thinking? Don’t act like you don’t see the long-term benefits.”

And so, the application process began. When asked for preferences, they typed what they thought society wanted: “Asian female infant.”

---

Chapter Four: A Sword in the Van

The day they went to pick up their child—perfectly dressed for a new Instagram post—Brad’s blood pressure was already spiking. Lisa sat in the passenger seat, scrolling nonchalantly. The Electric Van chugged optimistically up the winding road. Its battery gauge dipped faster than expected.

“See?” Brad said, tapping the display. “This is why I said gas-powered might—”

“Trust it,” Lisa snapped.

And then, they arrived.

Instead of a cherubic infant swaddled in soft cloth, a woman—practically an adult—stood at the entrance of the adoption center, her posture ramrod straight. She wore hakama, black tabi socks tucked into geta sandals, and in her hands rested a real katana.

Brad nearly drove the van into a bush.

“This is a joke,” Lisa hissed.

The adoption official approached. “Congratulations! This is Suki. Her documentation confirms she’s legally adoptable—at seventeen years and eleven months.”

Lisa’s mouth opened like a glitching app. “We ordered a baby. What is this—Kill Bill?”

Suki gave them a long, assessing look before speaking in a flat voice: “I fight for myself. I do not need you.”

Then, she entered the van. Her sword clattered to the floorboards, nicking the pristine trim. Brad winced.

As the van hummed back down the hill, Lisa and Brad exchanged bewildered looks. The dashboard flickered: LOW BATTERY WARNING.

��Is she even allowed to be here?” Lisa whispered.

Suki, arms crossed, stared out the window like a silent samurai ghost. “If I am not here, where would you have me be?”

Brad felt something strange knot in his chest—a mix of dread and inevitability. For the first time, he looked at Lisa, and Lisa looked at him, and they both understood something had fundamentally shifted.

“Quirky,” Brad muttered weakly, pressing the accelerator as the van sputtered toward just enough charge to get home.

---

**Final Scene: **

Later that night, Brad sat on the couch surrounded by unopened Star Wars boxes, scrolling aimlessly. Suki meditated on the floor, her sword across her knees, the soft glow of the smart TV lighting her silhouette. Lisa paced the kitchen, muttering about tax loopholes.

And then Suki spoke, her voice cutting through the shallow domestic hum: “This van you own. It pretends to be strong but struggles under its own weight. Much like you.”

Brad looked up. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t.

“It still moves forward, though,” she added softly. “Until it doesn’t.”

Brad sighed. He leaned back against the cushions, feeling the plastic wrapping of his unopened toy boxes press against his shoulders.

Modern life was like that van: bright, clean, full of features, and deeply, quietly flawed. And now, parked in the middle of their mess, sat Suki—something ancient, unflinching, and completely incompatible with their scripted life.

It was all just range anxiety. And none of them were going to make it without breaking down.

The End.

Credit to Lucio Vazquez on Facebook.