#just the green feathers with blue on the edges on his back are so pretty

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x reader: Pull You Down[*]

A/N: I feel like there’s a prominent theme of me initially writing a pretty vanilla fic and then spinning the wheel of my kinks and just randomly throwing one in

Side note: just assume his shadows removed the pancake from the stove…

Warnings: food play (honey pouring), pussy-eating, smut, not proofread

“Something smells good.”

Your lips hitch up into a smile at the deep drawl, roughened by sleep. Husky, and delicious.

You turn to meet Azriel’s morning-softened eyes, how the dark centre within his green ring melts like honey in the sunlight.

“Pancakes?” You step aside to reveal the stack you’ve created, a few toppings sealed in dinky glass jars to the side. Some jam (strawberry, raspberry, apricot), some honey, and some cream (with strawberries and nuts scattered over top).

He pads across the kitchen silently, the deep blue cotton of his night clothes swishing quietly. Initially, he’d been against the idea of matching pyjama sets, colour flushing his cheeks when you had first suggested it, but you’d worn him down.

Azriel’s arms wrap around your waist, solid warmth pressing against your back as he settles his jaw over your head. “Looks good.” You hum in response, a spark of pleasure heating your chest at the approval. “When do you want to eat?” You ask, flipping the last pancake.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he answers easily, still a bit lethargic from what was apparently a good night’s rest.

You smile a bit. “Someone slept well.”

His arms squeeze you in response, and he dips to your ear. “I was very worn out.” You stiffen, the pleasant soreness between your legs a gentle reminder of the night before.

“You were rather…unhinged.” You venture, pressing into him slightly so he would understand that wasn’t a bad thing. Sure enough, he nipped at the shell of your ear, silent encouragement for your feedback. “The riding crop was a pleasant surprise.” A quiet growl rumbles in his chest, full of masculine satisfaction. Maybe you curved your back a little, just to press into his hips. Maybe you wound against him too.

A shiver runs down your spine as one of his hands snakes up your front, tracing between your breasts as he cups your jaw. “Any other fixations you’d like to tell me about, pet?” Your breathing hitches, feeling the shift in atmosphere as he tightens his grip on you—more dominating; firmer.

You swallow, and you’re sure he feels the roll of your throat beneath his palm. “No, sir.”

“No?” He drawls, the hand atop your stomach tracing soft, teasing patterns with his fingertips. “None?” Your thighs squeeze together, hand tightening on the spatula as you feel his lips brush the tip of your ear. Your very sensitive, pointed ear.

You shiver.

Azriel lands a firm smack to your cheek for taking too long and you have to grit your teeth to keep from whimpering. “Answer, pet.”

“I…like when you surprise me, sir.” You admit softly. “When you…show your own tastes.” His hand tightens but he’s listening. Intently. “Depraved as they sometimes are.”

His hand dips below your nightgown, hooking beneath the hem that comes to the middle of your thighs. You’re body tenses as the pads of his fingers dance over your bargain mark: the empty circle with the crossed lines haloing it. “Depraved?” He drawls, his touch feather-light. “I think you should be grateful I’m willing to share my fantasies with a filthy thing like you.”

A shiver spider-walks down your spine, and you fight to keep from whimpering at his smooth tongue. His mouth opens over the skin of your neck, tongue swiping up the column of your throat, teeth scraping over your skin.

Your hands grip the counter, one squeezing the spatula— fuck, the pancakes.

You hiss, noting how the edges are already curling, the sign you need to flip it over—pronto. You reach forward, sliding the instrument beneath—

His hands drop to your hips, pulling you back and spinning you around so you’re further from the stove. His body flattens against your own, soft skin meeting unyielding muscle as his hips press into your own and you have feel him pressing into your belly. Over the bargain mark.

You open your mouth to scold him, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you see the gleam in his eyes. The spark. He’s just waiting for you to stumble. So he can pounce.

One hand is now wrapped around your waist, the other settled on your throat, resting with proprietary entitlement. You shiver.

“Look at me.”

You swallow, but raise your gaze to his.

His pupils are dilated, expanding across his iris’, devouring you as you watch him. His hand raises to your cheek, brushing up over your throat to swipe his thumb across your lip.

Azriel lifts you from the ground, shifting you into the air before dropping you onto the counter. You bite your lip—he’s not gentle in his actions.

“That hurt, pet?”

Swallowing, you dip your head, leaning back on your arms. “A bit, sir.”

His fingertips dance up the tops of your thighs, hooking beneath your nightgown and lifting, allowing his eyes to settle over your slick heat. He groans, thumb brushing over your hip—dipping lower to just above the apex of your thighs. The muscles in your legs tense with the need to buck against him.

“Good.” He breathes, eyes not leaving your cunt.

You’re so wet. He’s barely touching you and you’re already dripping down onto the surface. His lips quirk at the edges, a dark light glinting in his eyes as they glaze. “Maybe one day, I should leave you wrapped in my shadows. See what they do with you.”

Your jaw tightens with the effort not to squeeze your thighs together, to keep from moaning. His thumb dips lower, tracing over your glistening sex, light enough to be a deft brush of his fingers. Hardly a breath of stimuli. “Keep you on your hands and knees, while I’m out working. Leaving you two to get to know each other…”

As if in response, they crest at his shoulders, peering down at you with eager curiosity. You bite the inside of your lip to keep from whimpering. “I’m sure they’d like that,” he drawls, raising a hand for them to wrap around, rubbing against him as a cat would. “Maybe they’d collect all the slick that drips from this pretty cunt into a jar.” He picks up the pot of honey. “Like this one.”

The heat is boiling, bubbling beneath your skin, breaths shallowing. “I can’t imagine a single dish you wouldn’t taste good with.”

You draw in a shaky breath, hearing the glass clink as he sets the jar back down on the side. His hands settle atop your thighs, spreading them as he easily lifts your night robe from under you, peeling it up so it pools at your waist. Allowing your arousal to slick the counter. “Would you like that, huh? Like the idea of them having their way with your pretty cunt?” He drawls lowly.

Your lips part in need, desperately keeping yourself silent but you’re panting. You need him to touch you. Need him to do something.

He smacks you lightly, palm connecting with your cheek as the stinging sensation settles into your skin. A soft whine drags from your lips, and his eyes gleam. He’s wearing you down, layer by layer, stripping you bare until you’re a shaking, quivering mess at his feet.

“Answer, pet.”

If his hand would just drop a little lower. If his fingers would just sink into you. Even if he just put his mouth to yours, you would be happy.

“Sir…” you manage, back curving, tilting your head downward to peer up at him. His wings flare slightly, making him seem larger. His eyes hunt your mouth, tracking their movement with predatory focus.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The words are barely a brush of his lips over your own, but you can feel their quiet threat.

Your head dips, “yes, sir. I would.” Need thrums beneath your skin, and you know he can sense how desperate you are. And he’s still withholding your pleasure.

He arches a brow in silent command, thumb now brushing over your inner thigh, circling in light, taunting patterns. You look at him with pleading eyes, quietly begging him to touch you.

“I—…”

Your lips part with a startled moan, and you smack your hand over your mouth.

His shadows had wound their way up your calves, over your thighs, settling between them, poised to strike. And when you had begun to answer him, they dragged over the slick mess that was steadily dripping onto the counter.

They pull away as quickly as they had arrived, leaving you wet, hot, and needy, beneath the mercilessly gaze of the shadowsinger. You can practically feel his satisfaction as he tuts, slowly.

“I thought you knew our rules.” He drawls, mouth so, so close to your own. You push against his grip, leaning for his mouth, but he lands another smack to your cheek in warning, and you squirm on the countertop. “Are you being purposefully disobedient, pet?”

You shake your head, “no, sir. I swear—”

He’s pulling you away from the side, and before you know it, his hand is fisted in your hair, forcefully bending you over. You gasp, his hips pressing against the swell of your ass, eyes rolling a bit.

“I think you need a fresh reminder. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Shit. What’s the right answer. Yes, or no? Which one will please him the most? Which one’s correct? Shit, shit, shit.

He laughs, and you know you’re fucked.

You help when his hand connects with your ass, making you flinch, breasts pressing against the cool marble, making you bite your lip. “Make one more noise,” he whispers beside your ear, “and we’ll see how long you can go without coming.”

Your breath catches.

Especially as his hand snakes down your front, the one in your hair moving to cup your throat. Your eyes widen as he smacks your clit, knees wobbling as you lean more of your weight into the marble, but his hand comes down again. Again, again, and again. Until tears are rolling down your cheeks.

So overwhelmed.

The mouth-watering press of his cock against your ass, the solid heat of him at your back, the sinful brush of his mouth over the nape of your neck. Your toes curl.

“Open,” he growls softly, tapping your inner thigh.

Tears spilling, you part your legs a little wider, having tried to close them when he was abusing your sensitive clit. “How many do you think you deserve?” He muses, teeth scraping your ear, and you wish he would put them in your neck. He knows that too.

“Five?” He murmurs, and a quiet sob breaks from you, shuddering beneath his powerful grip. “Ten?” He asks, revelling in your reactions.

He pinches your clit, and you so nearly whimper. From the pain, from the pleasure he’s keeping just out of reach. So close your fingertips could brush it.

“Thirty?”

You nearly give out, praying to the Mother he doesn’t give you thirty. You won’t last that long. There’s no way. You’re already so nearly done. Already so used. Even five is a stretch.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes, vision blurring so you don’t notice his shadows gripping the jar he’d earlier set down. Nor as they pop it open.

Azriel pressing mockingly soft kisses up the length of your neck, making you melt into him, desperate for that soft touch. His mouth is heavenly soft, just the barest whisper of pleasure against your sizzling nerves and you release a shaky breath.

You can feel him shifting behind you, but think nothing of it.

Until something cool, and viscous is pressed to your clit.

Your mouth drops open in pleasure, in relief at the cold sensation to your puffy heat. You could beg for him to continue. Subconsciously, you press your hips down onto his fingers, smearing the thick substance.

“Want more?” He whispers. So soft. You could whine from the gentle attention. After the repeated stinging, the coolness of welcome.

The pads of his fingers move in slow oscillations, spreading it over your clit. You flinch as it’s spread thinner, and you can feel the twist of his lips against your skin. “Guess, pet.”

You struggle, mind stumbling over itself but you come up short when you feel his tip pressing against your entrance.

“I—…" you stammer, scrambling for words. Anything. Anything will do. But what is it? He won’t be pleased if you throw out a random answer. “Honey—… honey, sir.”

His hips roll forward, and both your hands cover your mouth as he slides in. He’s coating himself in your slick, pulling out then pressing in, until he’s nestled inside of you, hips flushed tight against your ass, making your eyes roll.

He doesn’t praise you for getting the answer correct. Why would he? Out of the pots and jars that are scattered at your side, the right answer was obvious. He won’t reward you for something so minimal.

You gasp as his finger rolls over your clit, the tiny sugar granules abrading the soft, puffy skin. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as he begins pounding into you, still painfully working your clit. He’s not pressing hard enough for it to properly sting, but it’s like he’s repeatedly scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive bud. Enough to keep you crying—he likes it when you cry.

His shadows wrap over your hips, eager to join the fun, to set their darkness skittering across the expanse of your skin. They brush over your nipples, silky and cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s his way of punishing you, giving you the pleasure of having him filling you up—so deliciously and it’s enough to make your eyes roll for you to beg and plead and scream for more and more and you’ll be so good so good and so pretty for him however he wants.

But he wears away at you, the honey making it a sticky mess between your thighs.

You wish it was just his hands, his hands and his cock between your thighs, then you could indulge in the deftness, the skill he carries. You could weep at the memory of it. The soft touches at the beginning of your relationship before you properly discovered one another.

Tears roll as his hand smacks down, a sharp buck of his hips accompanying the pain, easing you out. “Drift of again and we’ll see what happens.”

All you can manage are shallow pants of breath as he slams into you, touching you just perfectly. Now that you’re focusing on it—it’s kind of nice… The scrape of the granules, itching that spot, rubbing over it, with the heat and softness of his fingers.

“Stop enjoying it,” he growls lowly beside you, and your brows curve upward, beseechingly. You can tell he’s nearing that edge—then he’ll be spilling, spilling all of himself, everything he can give, all of it, spilling all of it inside of you.

You tighten around him at the low timbre of the order, making pleasure rasp beneath your skin. But then he presses slightly harder, and you flinch. So sensitive. It’s too sensitive.

“Something you want, pet?” He drawls, his hips rolling so deliciously, dragging against the spot over and over again that makes your knees weak.

You manage a weak nod, a slight dip of your head as you’re made delirious by the pain and pleasure that is twining together inside of you, reforming to something glorious. “Please—…” you gasp, his hips bucking, making it difficult for you to form any words.

“Please…?” He taunts, softening the tight rings he’s been making around your clit.

“I need—…inside me—… Please, sir!” You stammer the words between the thrusts, his shadows nipping at your chest in a way that has your head falling forward onto the counter, so well used already.

The request sets something off in the male.

Azriel pulls back, shifting to stand upright so he can put the full weight of him behind every buck, every slam of his hips as he drives his cock into you. If you’re good, if you can make it through him without releasing a sound, he can return your pleasure. But only if you obey.

And with the mess he’s creating between your legs, he hopes to the Mother you will.

Your hands press hard against your mouth, teeth biting your inner lip as you feel him spill inside of you, hot cum filling you up as he rides out the pleasure you’re giving to him. Tears spill down you cheeks with pride. You make him feel like that. You drive him mad. You make him want to fuck you over the counter first thing in the morning.

His hips draw back, and Azriel watches as his cum drips from your glossy hole, groaning at the scent. How the creamy liquid mixes with your arousal, sliding down to the honey.

He gives himself a few moments, licking his lips as he hold himself back a little longer.

Then, he’s gripping your hips, walking you over to the dinner table where he promptly picks you up, setting you down atop its surface. “You’ve been so good haven’t you?” He says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You can feel as the atmosphere shifts with his change in demeanour, and you could cry with relief. He reads you so perfectly.

“Azzie…” you whimper, pushing against the shadows that are guiding your legs wider. He just smirks, mouth opening over your unmarked skin, eyes latching onto yours as he trails closer and closer to your centre.

A whine drags from your throat when his tongue laps over you, collecting your arousal on his tongue, his own release mixing and sweetened by the honey. He groans, eyes rolling for a moment, before he’s settling in.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes at the sensitivity, but his tongue is so soft, and wet, and warm. Slowly lapping away the abrasive granules, until it’s just saliva and come that’s causing the mess of arousal.

“Az…” you whimper, barely managing to push from the table. “Please…please let me come.”

How can he resist.

Your flavour drives him wild. He could spend countless hours with his head between your thighs—days, even. It would be his own heaven, being able to bring you pleasure over and over, submerging himself in your heat.

That coil tightens, and you whimper, fingers tangling in his inky hair. “Azriel…” you pant, back arching. You’re so close. The thought of him cleaning that mess he’d made—

You moan, and it’s the best sound he’s heard.

“Don’t stop— Please! Please don’t stop,” you whimper, and you can feel that pleasure cresting.

He hums, suckling on your clit as he dips down, lapping up your centre, gathering your taste on his tongue as you fall apart then and there.

Beautiful. The way your hands fist, back arching, toes curling as your hips wind against him. It brings him his own pleasure, to feel you fluttering on his tongue, waves of euphoria washing your body in ecstasy.

A broken moan slips from your lips, mind flying high to the heavens as his mouth soothes you out, calming the arousal that had been begging to be unleashed on your body. He barely has a chance to stand before you’re hauling him closer—maybe his shadows shoved him forward, into you arms—mouth landing over his. Your flavours mix and moans echo through kitchen as you taste everything from his mouth.

“You’re so perfect,” you breathe over his mouth. “How are you so perfect?”

His heart aches at the words—he knows you believe them.

It has him solidifying his decision on how he wan to to spend the morning, his shadows already whisking away the stack of pancakes to your shared bedroom, his hand looping beneath you as you’re pulled to his chest.

He chuckles as your mouth attaches to his neck, teeth nipping possessively at his skin, making sure your own marks will bloom over his skin. He’s yours. No one else’s.

Never.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Azriel #Azriel shadowsinger #safeword series #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #shadowsinger

[kaspavanlortsyal]

❄️✨Smutty Quaritch Oneshot - Christmas Eve✨❄️

CONTENT: Christmas!, I Wanted Quaritch to Wear a Santa Hat, Ribbons for Lingerie, You Are The Gift✨ AHA—, Light Bondage (with the ribbons), Gagged, Teasing, You Get Glazed like a Donut, Oral Sex (receiving), Vaginal Sex, Size Difference (per usual), Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Fingering, Tit Sucking, if I had to write “If there’s one thing Miles Quaritch enjoys eating more than Christmas cookies, it’s your pussy” you have to read it, Sprinkle of Fluff.

Nobody wants to spend Christmas Eve alone. You were waiting a while. Almost too long—almost long enough that you considered sending him a picture of exactly what he was going to find on his bed—but finally, the door opens.

Quaritch’s glowing amber eyes narrow onto you. You’re laying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, and wrapped in thick army-green ribbon. Candles flicker on the beside table and the top of the headboard is wrapped in twinkling lights that cast seductive shadows across your body.

The colonel reaches for you, but you stall him with a look and nod your head towards the Santa hat on the corner of the bed.

He huffs a laugh. “Really?”

You bite your lip and grin.

“Fine,” he muttered, snatching the hat and tugging it on, careful not to trap his sensitive Na’vi ears. It was a little small, but that added to the charm.

Quaritch grabs your ankles and slides you to the foot of the bed, tail swishing in anticipation. “What a pretty present,” he murmurs, fangs flashing with a wicked grin. “All wrapped up for me, huh?”

“Merry Christmas, colonel,” you say.

His long blue fingers brush the edge of the ribbon snug against the top of your breasts, tied with a large bow in the centre. Your nipples peak the shiny satin as a shiver shoots down your spine. There’s a matching bow between the dimples in the small of your back.

Quaritch pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside. On cue, you undo the large buckle of his belt. You take your time, fighting the desire to touch as much of him as fast as possible after dreaming about this moment all day. Judging by the stiff bulge in his cargo pants, you’re not the only one, but he stops you before you reach the zipper.

“My turn,” he says.

He tugs one side of the bow holding your breasts and watches hungrily as the ribbon falls away. Part of you is annoyed that the hour you spent tying yourself up /just right/ is unravelled so easily, but those thoughts fade as the colonel kneels before you and flicks your nipples with his rough tongue. You arch and gasp, locked in place with his hands on your hips.

Your fingers tangle in his cropped hair and the fuzz of the Santa hat as he sucks your tits into his hot mouth, his tongue continuing to work the rosy bud as his teeth scrape your tender skin. His breath tickles your collarbone as he pulls you in, tasting you like a man starved. His attention travels from your breasts to your neck, inhaling the sweet vanilla perfume as he nips and sucks.

“You’re like a god damn Christmas cookie,” he grunts.

He devoured the batch you’d made earlier this week. “Gonna eat me too?”

“Damn right.”

You squeak as he tosses you back on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he crawls on top of you, caging you within his powerful limbs. For a moment he simply studies you, your breasts gleaming with his saliva and half-unwrapped. Then, Quaritch smirks and picks up the discarded ribbon. He brushes the soft fabric over your skin and watches the goosebumps form across your flesh.

You close your eyes and arch, thighs squeezing together. He takes his sweet time teasing your flushed skin with the feather light touch of the ribbon, teasing over our belly and chest before up your arms. You don’t notice that he’s looped the ribbon around your wrists until he pulls it snug, shackling you to the headboard.

He chuckled as your eyes fly open. “Don’t give me that. I think this is exactly what you had in mind,” he tells you, leaning down and kissing his way down your arms.

You couldn’t deny that. A moan escapes you when his mouth finally meets yours, the kiss deep and full of promise.

Quaritch’s knee parts your thighs and you whimper at the delicious friction. He lets you grind against the thick muscle of his thigh as he slips his hands beneath you and unties the second emerald ribbon. He smirks upon finding the section that falls away from your needy cunt already wet with desire.

“Open up,” he instructs, and slips the damp ribbon between your teeth, gagging you with it before you can protest. The sight of you tasting yourself as he ties it snug darkens his eyes with a more carnal desire.

Deciding he’s going to taste you too, the colonel pins your knees to the mattress and parts your slick folds with his tongue. His groan of satisfaction reverberates through you. You strain against your bonds with building pleasure as his devilish mouth works on you, arching. Muffled by the gag, your moans fill the room, mingling with the sloppy attention of his mouth.

If there’s one thing Miles Quaritch enjoys eating more than Christmas cookies, it’s your pussy.

He sucks your clit until you shudder before soothing you with greedy licks. Covering your entire cunt in his fanged mouth, he lets you grind against his tongue until your pleasure soaks the blanket. He kisses the puffy lips of your pussy as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm, almost reverent, and nuzzles the flat bridge of his nose against the apex of your thighs. You squirm and whimper, already aching for more.

Quaritch slicks two fingers on your pussy and pushes them deep into the burning heat of your core. He curses under his breath at the unbearable tightness and pumps his hand slowly to relax the quivering, silken walls.

You want to beg for more, to insist you’re ready to take him, but the ribbon pressing against your tongue betrays you. You can only moan and hook an ankle around his neck, pulling him closure, desperate.

The ribbon binding your wrists doesn’t budge. Of course he knows how to tie a damn good knot, being marine a and all. The burning strain in your shoulders reminds you just how much power he holds. You want him to unleash every inch of himself upon you. You were his Christmas present, after all.

Quaritch sits back on his knees and wipes his chin on the back of his hand. As he removes his pants, you strain your neck to glimpse the thing you’ve been craving all day. He adjusts the santa hat, securing it. You giggle breathlessly around the gag.

He rests down on you, smirking at how your body tenses when his member brushes your inner thigh. Your moan of impatience is almost animalistic as he rubs the head of his cock between the wet lips of your pussy, lubricating his ribbed shafted in preparation.

He kisses you, then pulls back just enough to watch your expression as he thrusts his hips.

You scream around the gag as his alien cock forces its way into you. It burns like sweet fire as the walls of your cunt stretch to fit him. Your back arches as he works his way deeper with each thrust, hissing at the sensation of your tight sex gripping him, sucking him in.

It’s far from the first time he’s fucked you this way, yet every time you’re not sure you can take it. He pants and grunts as he ruts into you, the head of his cock pounding your cervix. You can’t scream his name so you settle for wordless moans that grow to hoarse cries which each slam of the headboard.

The colonel grabs your hips and lifts your lower half from the mattress, growling as he brings you down onto his cock, again and again. He’s tense with concentration and a thin sheen of sweat gleams gloriously upon his striped skin.

His relentless pace doesn’t stop as your mind shatters and another orgasm bleeds through you, white hot fire spilling out from your core into every nerve and fiber of your being. You’re vaguely aware that he keeps going, growing closer to his own release in your spasming cunt, but for a moment all you know is weightless pleasure.

Quaritch drops you to the mattress, leaving your thighs to tremble on either side of your ruined pussy as he fists his cock. Hot, glowing cum coats your stomach and tits in thick ribbons as he roars his release, tail lashing through the air behind him. The bioluminescent dots of his skin flicker.

You tilt your chin up, whining softly.

Chuckling, Quaritch tugs the gag down and kisses you. The white pompom at the tip of the santa hat tickles your forehead. He drags the ribbed underside of his cock over your overstimulated clit and you shudder, twitching away.

After a long shared shower and another round beneath the steaming water, you find yourselves curled up in bed amid the twinkling lights.

Wearing the Santa hat once more, Quaritch produces a small gift from beneath the bed. He hands it to you wordlessly as his fingertips trace your bare shoulder.

You frown and tear open the plain wrapping paper and reveal the present. It’s a pair of fuzzy pink socks.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts,” you protest, caressing the buttery material.

“Yeah, well, your feet turn into damn icicles at night and I’m tired of you warmin’ them up on my back while I’m sleepin’,” he says.

You smile. You can’t help it, not as he fails to suppress the hint of softness in his tone. “Thank you.”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Your gift, though?” he smirked, and kisses you. “Outstanding.”

Happy Holidays, Simps!

#miles quaritch #not my best work but hey it works #quaritch x reader #quaritch fanfic #quaritch #avatar 2 #I HAVE MORE ON AO3 #ao3 #colonel quaritch #avatar fanfic #fanfic #the way of water #oneshot #Christmas #holiday special #x reader #reader pov #no use of y/n #fem reader #kinkmas #fanfiction

[honeyedmiller]

American Jesus | Javier Peña

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: smut, literally just smut, smutty smut smut, and oh look, more smut! (also mentions of smoking, edging, defying religion???? [I guess if you wanna call it that or even say that???], cursing, pet names, no use of y/n... also, this is not meant to be disrespectful toward anyone's religion at all. just wanted to put that out there. so yeah. that's all I think). 18+. minors dni.

word count: 1.9k

*= i changed the lyric from green eyes to brown eyes for obvious reasons

based on the song 'American Jesus' by Nessa Barrett.

-

He's got a cross on his neck, but he spends Sundays in my bed

Javier's cross necklace dangles in your face as he hovers over you, lips parted, pupils blown, as he moves his thick fingers in and out of you in a salacious manner. The sounds you're emitting from your throat are nothing short of erotic as you call out his name like a prayer, nails leaving plentiful scratch marks along his back.

"Look at you, cariño. You're a mess just from my fingers. Can't wait to find out what this cock will do to you." His voice is domineering, and you can hear the fucking smirk the bastard has on his lips. He's been edging you for the last fifteen minutes, and you were about to lose your shit if he kept this up. You ached for release, bad, and your impending orgasm was so hot and heavy in your core that tears started to well in your eyes at the near torture he was doing unto you.

"Fuck, Javi, please, please fucking let me cum." The tears fall down your cheeks, and he coos at you.

"Ay mi pobrecita. Since you asked so nicely." He presses the pad of his thumb to your sensitive clit, rubbing circles around it. His skilled fingers have you coming undone in no time, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave in the ocean. You're screaming his name, and there's no doubt his neighbors absolutely hate you both right now.

He's my blue jean little baby, with a halo on his head

"Quit staring at my ass, cariño." Javier warns, giving you a pointed look.

"What? Not my fault it looks good in those tight jeans." The shit-eating grin you toss his way makes him roll his eyes and shake his head. The light behind Javier gave him a specific glow on the top of his head, giving him a halo effect. The scene in front of you was ironic, really, because Javier was nowhere near an angel. Not with that fucking sinful tongue of his, that did so much more than just shit talk.

That same tongue had you calling out god's name with the way it worked its magic on you.

He's got lips like cherry wine, and cigarette smoke on his breath

Javier's lips were nothing short of addicting. Any chance you got to kiss him, you did. His plush lips always kept you in a daze, and drunk on the man that is Javier Peña. He never kissed you half-assedly, either. You often wondered if he kissed other women the way he kissed you, too.

"What's on your mind cariño?" His eyes are trained on you lost in thought, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Nothing, Javi."

"Don't give me that. Seriously, what's on your mind?" His hand grazes your thigh as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

"Do you kiss your other women like you kiss me?" You blurt out your previous thought without even giving it a once-over in your mind.

"There are no other women, baby. Not anymore," His hand is feather-light as it trails up your thigh, sending goosebumps down your legs. He removes the cigarette from his mouth before pressing his lips to yours with such neediness, never letting you get a chance to catch your breath.

Javier was a passionate man when he wanted to be, and goddamn did he never hold back when it came to you. His hand found its way to your core as he rubbed over the fabric covering you. You moaned his name out which to him, was heaven to his ears.

Before yanking your underwear off of you, he paused and whispered against your lips.

"Only you."

He's got pretty long brown hair, and brown* eyes that look like sex

Javier’s dark brown eyes are ardent as they roam over every inch of your body. His dark locks were a mess as he indeed looked very freshly fucked… because he was.

You’d just blown his mind with possibly some of the best sex he's ever had in his life. No one compared to you, and you made sure to let him know that. He was your man.

He was trying to catch his breath after what had to've been the fifth orgasm he's had tonight. You were a vixen tonight and nothing could've stopped you from pleasing your man, over and over and over again.

Javier had been incredibly stressed at work, and you knew he needed to take the edge off, so you were there to let him know you'd take care of him and his needs tonight.

Javier thought you were a god send. No woman had ever made him cum like that in his entire sex life, and fuck if he was going to ever let you go. Not only were you amazing in bed, but you showed him that you genuinely cared about him and his well-being, not just through sex.

His hooded eyes scanned your features, looking at you lovingly.

"Mine." Was all he said before pulling you to him, kissing your head and wrapping his arms around you before he drifted off into a much needed sleep.

Knees down at your altar, please don’t fail me now

"Fuck, corazón, you look breathtaking in that dress." Javier's eyes are ravenous once more as they rake over your body with absolute hunger. It was a hot day in Colombia, so the black flowy minidress you were wearing was fitting for the sticky weather.

Javier pulled you in by your hips so you were flush against his strong body. Your hands rested comfortably on his chest. You felt his elevated heart rate beneath your fingertips, and your own heart swelled at how you made him feel. He may not have always told you, but he definitely showed you.

Javier slowly sank to his knees in front of you, leaving you confused.

"What are you doing, Javi?" Your voice is meek as your own heart rate starts to pick up.

He doesn't say a word as he lifts the hem of your dress up, exposing your thighs and light pink thong you chose to wear for the day. One of his hands cradled the back of your thigh while the other held the dress up, and he moved his face to you to kiss your clothed core.

You moan softly at the feeling. Javier's eyes are full of determination as he hooks the hand that was previously holding your dress up into the hem of your underwear, pulling the cloth down your legs with ease.

"Javi, we're going to be late to dinner with Steve and Connie."

Ignoring your comment, he moans at the sight of your already soaked core, moving his head back to you and under your dress. He gently grabs the back of both of your thighs this time, coaxing you to spread your legs a little further. You have to put your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself.

He wasted no time indulging you as he licked a hot, wet stripe up your core. You gasped in shock, knees already wanting to buckle under you.

"Mm, baby you always taste so fuckin' good. Fuck." And he doesn't stop lapping you up and sucking your swollen clit until you convulse violently above him, causing you to sink to your knees as well.

"I've got you, corazón. Always."

You know all my secrets American Jesus, baby

"You're terrible at hiding your emotions, you know." Javier is watching you with an amused look, cocking an eyebrow up at you.

"Fuck off, Javi." You roll your eyes, and his gaze darkens.

"I'd like to fuck something, alright." His voice drips like pure venom as he watches your every move. You immediately feel an ache in your core at his words, and of course, your face shows it all.

"Too easy. I know all your secrets, baby, every last one of them." Javier chuckles at your disposition, an annoyed look overtaking your needy one.

You stick a middle finger up at him, rolling your eyes.

"C'mere, then, cariño. Don't keep me waiting."

Won’t you take me to Heaven tonight?

Javier snapped his hips at a pace against yours that nearly knocked the breath out of you. He always stretched you in such an intoxicating way, you almost wanted to stay like this forever.

"Look at you, cariño. Fucking you dumb on my cock and you're taking it so fucking well. That's it baby." Javier's voice was thick and full of lust, a sheen coat of sweat all over his body. His focus was solely on you and the inaudible moans coming from you as your jaw was slack and eyebrows were laced together.

He gripped your hips so hard you were sure he was going to leave bruises, but you fucking loved it. You were drunk on Javier's cock and he knew it.

He had you seeing stars with the pace he was going. It was ruthless, relentless, and almost unbearable, but the pain quickly subsided into pleasure every time he bottomed out into you.

You were convinced being with him like this, as rough and pleasurable as it was, was what heaven felt like and damn, you never wanted to leave.

You know you’re my weakness American Jesus, save me

"Javi," You're a panting mess just by his fingertips lightly brushing over your body.

"So needy, corazón." He was teasing you and having the time of his life while doing so.

"Please, I need you." The desperation in your voice almost made you want to cringe, but you couldn't help it. This man was your sole weakness and you'd be damned if you couldn't have him. He was so intoxicating. He was like a drug. Your drug.

His good looks and charming charisma are what had you wrapped around his finger... not to mention his soft side he only reserved for you. You were in love with it all, and even though he didn't know it yet, you had a strong feeling he felt the same way too.

You’re the greatest love of my life

You rested your head on Javier's bare chest as he stroked your hair lovingly. For the first time, he wanted to make love to you. He wanted to take it slower and savor you—your smell, your taste, the way your bare body felt against his—everything about you.

He was scared to admit it at first, but he knew that you'd be it for him. You're the love of his life. He never thought he'd be capable of love again after leaving his high school sweetheart at the altar, but here he is, head over heels for you and everything you are.

You made him so soft, but just for you. He wanted to take care of you, not just intimately, but support you emotionally and mentally. Hell, he could even see himself having kids with you, and that's something he was so sure of that he never wanted—until you came along.

He looked down at you in adoration, and figured this was the best time to admit his feelings for you. The fresh after-sex glow you had on your face was reserved just for him, and it made him weak in the knees.

"I love you, cariño." His voice is barely above a whisper, and if you weren't completely alert, you would've missed it.

You freeze, taking in his words carefully. This was a huge confession, especially for Javier. You completely melted into him, kissing the bare skin beneath you.

"Oh, Javi," Looking up at him with nothing but love in your eyes, you bring his lips down to yours. You kiss him softly before pulling apart, whispering against his lips, "Te amo para siempre."

He smiled softly down at you, and he knew then that he was hooked, forever.

American Jesus

#pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal one shot #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena one shot #narcos one shot

[nicoforlifetrue]

the fics out!

you can read it right here on ao3 or press see more to read it on here!

part two is over here!

Everyone knows the prime time for shenanigans is three AM! After all, three AM was when most people who would stop shenanigans were asleep— like, say, Second, or Alan, or MT, or any other responsible figures who may think that the crew's definition of fun was irresponsible.

Which is why they were in their current situation: Purple dangling from a lead tied around his ankle, wings flailing around in a wild attempt to right himself, Red struggling to pull him back up onto a platform, Green clearly stuck between helping Red and breaking down laughing, Blue chewing on netherwart as he tossed yet another potion at Purple, just barely missing yet again, most likely on purpose, and Yellow staring at his latest invention, wondering how in the world things could have gone so catastrophically wrong.

“I am never, never, being your guinea pig again Yellow, you hear me!?” Purple shouted as Green finally started helping, pulling the stick onto the platform where they kicked off the lead with vengeance. “Not on your life, got that!?”

Yellow, of course, was too busy once again tinkering with the machine to do more than wave the comment off.

“Call it a rite of passage Purp!” Green exclaimed, still snickering as he threw an arm around Purple’s shoulders, yelping when a feathered appendage struck out and whacked him off the platform and sent him tumbling to the ground.

“I thought the jacket was the rite of passage?” Purple huffed sarcastically as he glanced over at Red, who in turn shrugged.

“There’s a lot of rites, just wait until Sec hands you a gun.” It’s spoken with such simplicity one might think it was a normal statement to just drop into a conversation— peering over the side, Red called out, “Green you okay?”

This was followed by the sound of breaking glass and Blue shouting up confirmation.

“You guys are crazy, you know that right? Are all desktoppers like this or is it just you five?” It’s mostly spoken to himself, as Purple watches Red jump down the same height Green had just fallen, following after him with the primary difference being that he could fly and thus wouldn’t break anything on the way down.

“Healing potion?” Blue offers him when he lands; he takes it, downing the bottle with one gulp out of habit, most potions tended to be either overly bitter or extremely sweet, trust Blue to walk that line like a master. “And I’m pretty sure it’s all desktoppers, Cho is the same, so, y’know.”

“Still have not told me who Cho is, but I’ll take it,” Purple mutters, handing back the bottle and watching with fascination as whatever Red and Green had been discussing turns into wrestling. He can't tell if its lighthearted or actually aggressive, but they tumble their way over to Yellow, who, once hit, proceeds to join in, the three soon just becoming a blurred ball of limbs.

“Welp I’m gonna go join them, you too or you just going to watch like Sec does?” Blue asks, smashing what was probably a strength potion at his feet. By then Red’s dogs had joined in, snipping at clothes and managing to drag Green via his jacket out of the tangled limbs, Yellow having pulled out the command block staff.

“I’m good,” Purple states, taking a step back and watching baffled as Blue dives into the fight via punching Yellow so hard the staff is left spinning mid air.

How, in the everloving world, was this the group he cashed his chips in with? A group currently at each other’s throats like their lives depended on it— only, he knew that wasn't actually how they were fighting, because he had seen that type of fighting— no, instead they were just fighting like wild animals. There were no rules like most stick fights, no idea what a stopping point looked like, no point system or anything, in fact he's pretty sure Green just bit Yellow.

He’s so fascinated by the fight that he doesn't notice the blurring at the edges of his vision at first, but clearly the crew does; Red’s the first one to act, suddenly stilling to a complete stop, ears twitching (why did he have cat ears anyway?) and eyes darting around fearfully. Just seconds after Red stops, so do the rest, their own eyes looking around at what turns out not to be a blurring at the edge of Purple’s vision, but an actual, physical, almost heat puddle effect surrounding the five of them, while the familiar blue of Alan’s computer warps and blends with a more stone gray color.

He can feel the others’ backs collide with his as they form a circle— he can feel each of their breaths now, deep and calm, exactly like how his father taught him to breathe in a fight.

Red approaches the mirage first, breaking formation, and, before any of them can grab him back, pokes then lays a hand against the solid heat haze, his ears pinned back.

The blue keeps fading into that slate grey as Red then punches the haze. Purple can feel their breaths catch as the dome of blur rings out like metal struck— Red, physically the strongest of them barring Sec, struck again, and the dome cracked.

Spiderwebs cover the surface of this odd dome, and Purple swears he can see some sort of silent communication ring through the other three, who draw weapons; he follows their lead as Red strikes again, the blues almost completely gone now and the cracks growing wider— the familiar stench of the city blends with the smell of the desktop, oil and gas mixed unpleasantly with cooking smoke and wood.

The last swing Red takes shatters the dome, and once again Purple feels their breath catch. He's reminded then that they’d probably never been to the city, being the desktoppers that they were, had probably never even considered it.

Everything is tense, Red glancing around, ears perked, Purple feeling his wings rise and spread to cover Green and Yellow who were closest, the four slowly lowering weapons as they looked around the unknown space.

“Where, are we?” Yellow asks first, putting away his weapon and breaking formation by stepping forward.

“The city I think, some alleyway I don’t know,” Purple responds, heading to the entrance. “Let me get a look at a sign and I can probably get us back to my dad’s.”

“That was weird right? Like, really weird?” Green asks in a mock whisper, shading his eyes and looking up to the sky. “Someone had to have done that, it wasn't something you did right Yellow?”

“No of course not, you saw me, I wasn't doing anything but trying to get you off me!” 

“Okay, let’s calm down and focus, let’s get home, tell Second, and maybe he’ll have an idea, if he wakes up and finds us gone he's going to be so pissed,” Blue interrupts, stepping between the two before another fight can break out.

Purple’s only half listening as he peeks out of the alleyway, looking for a street sign or familiar landmark, grinning when he finds exactly what he's looking for.

“Good news, we’re only a five minute walk from my dad’s place,” he calls back, waving the group over— all of them but Red do as asked, but the last member stays still, staring at a piece of paper he's holding. “Come on Red, what's the hold up?”

Red doesn't answer, just walks over and holds out the paper he was staring at; the others all gasp in what he knows is terror, but he doesn't see what the big deal is. The paper has rocket corp’s insignia on the bottom, some propaganda slogan scrawled across it that's just as cookie cutter as the rest. The picture used is of a black hollow head, hair in a bun and eyes a bright, unnatural red— they’re staring at the camera as if annoyed to be bothered, arms crossed, and mouth turned up in a sneer.

Actually, now that he looked closer, they did look kind of like that one terrorist guy from a couple years ago, what was his name? It was real pretentious sounding, something like…

“What is The Chosen One doing working for rocket corp??”

#plot swap au #avm #ava #animation vs animator #animation vs minecraft #ava red #ava blue #avm green #ava purple #ava the chosen one

[gust-jar-simulator]

Did I say I was practicing drabbles? Which are 100 words?

This is 1300 words.

Characters: Shadow and Blue

Prompt: “Is it so wrong if I still like you?”

•💙🖤💙🖤💙•

Adventures always came with a cost.

Blue let his claws curl, felt the shape of aggression in this body, how it bristled his fur and bared his teeth. He knew how to be Hylian, didn’t have to think about the rough scrape of a yell in his throat or too-white knuckles in a fist. He’d grown up with two legs and a bad attitude, and the familiarity of violence was proof of it.

The others didn’t seem to remember it that way, but that was fine. They didn’t need to.

The thing about magical fuckery, though, was that sometimes magic fucked with you and you could either sink or swim. They’d disemboweled a demon and ripped the magic out of him, of course there would be some side effects. Vio would know the details, even Red would have theories.

Blue preferred to skip straight to the part where he mastered kicking ass in Minish form.

Tail lashing the dirt, he lunged at the fencepost and ripped into it again, little claws and little teeth but fuck that he was going to kill his crudely drawn target dead. They wouldn’t always have their swords, wouldn’t always have a tool, but now he had claws and it felt fucking amazing to gouge lines into wood. The tail also helped- it’d taken a minute to figure out his balance, especially with the tail, but the feather would swish and he’d turn and suddenly the strikes were deeper, the force of it rattling up his arms as he tried to get a handle on his new momentum.

None of the others were allowed to fucking judge him for the happy little chirps, okay, he was growling and those were war cries and he was busy anyway.

Once he stepped back to assess the damage, though, he spotted his audience- Shadow had twisted himself into their old transformation, a thumb-sized Hylian lounging on a bent bit of grass like a sooty sprite. He waved, the edges of his hand blurring a little, and Blue huffed at him with a flick of his tail.

“Hard at work, or hardly working?” Red eyes looked him over from the twitch of his nose to the blue feather of his tail, head tilted with interest. “I’ve never seen you guys fight like that.”

“Yeah, well.” Blue glanced at the new wounds in the fencepost, combed his claws briefly through his own fur. “It’s hard to fight people when you’re the size of a toenail. Possible, but hard.” Tail swishing, he rolled his shoulders, flexed his hands, tried to see if he’d strained anything he’d have to correct for with the next attempt. “Plus, the Minish don’t fight, so it’s not like we’d have any fucking clue what we’re doing. Last time we had to, we looked like you.”

“Handsome?”

“Sure.” Shadow fell off his bit of grass and Blue ignored him, making his way over to an acorn cap full of water he’d set aside to grab a drink and ground himself a little. It was important to get a feel for what this body wanted to do in a fight, but they hadn’t gone to the academy just to fight like a messy animal. Once he was done here he’d have a better idea how to iron out the instinct into actual technique. The others could call him reckless, but he was only reckless because he knew how to be.

He was in the middle of preening the dirt out of his feather when Shadow popped up over his shoulder again, floating in midair to watch. “Soooo do you like being this small?”

“Sometimes.” He picked out a clump of dirt, tossed it into the grass somewhere, and squinted at his tail to make sure he hadn’t bruised anything. He really had no idea what this body could take, plus he was kind of made of light magic or something anyway. Magical fuckery once again. “Did Vio teach you the spell or some shit?”

“Spell? Green said you were down here so I just shrank.” He drifted further into Blue’s field of vision, jazz hands and all. “Demon privilege. Pretty privilege? Eh, there’s a joke in there somewhere.” Shadow rolled over on his back in midair, pillowing his head on his arms, seemingly content to float around.

Something about it snagged Blue’s attention though, and he frowned thoughtfully up at the demon in question. It was a little more than shrinking- at full size, Shadow still had color to him, purple hair and Gerudo-dark skin. Down here at Minish size, it was unclear why he’d ditched the look and chosen to go properly demon. Grey on slate on black, a little blurry at the edges, eyes glowing like some kind of closet monster. Blue wondered if shapeshifters even had true forms, if this was him being genuine or something, and his toeclaws curled hard into the dirt because he would not fucking blush about that.

He scowled down at his tail feather instead. “I don’t think being pretty gives you extra powers, but you’d fucking know I guess.”

Shadow’s hat lashed once like a cat’s tail, and he rolled over sharply to stare. “Say what?”

“What.” Blue reached over to his acorn cap to take another drink rather than look at him. The demon kept staring.

“Do you really think I look good? Vio’s biased, Red’s a sweetheart, and Green’s polite.” Shadow drifted closer, slowly turning upside down to try to meet his gaze. “You don’t do all the mind game stuff, though. Do you really?”

A gruff noise rumbled in his throat, and he glared somewhere close to the tip of Shadow’s too-alive hat rather than his eyes. “Of fucking course? You’re a Link, aren’t you? I’m a knockout, it’s not complicated.” It wasn’t about him being a Link. Of course any Link was automatically hot, that was just facts, but- it wasn’t a face thing. It was how Vio turned the pages of a book, how Red was so confident and touchy, how Green’s eyes scrunched up when he laughed.

Vio’d said over drinks one night it was about how different Shadow was, the way he trailed off at the edges and the glassy distortion in his voice. Blue could see the point, but that wasn’t it either.

Shadow was close, now, red eyes wide and searching. “I mean yeah, but I didn’t think you liked me enough to say that.”

Blue’s ears flattened back, flustered and embarrassed and ten thousand words for so fucking done with this and everything about it, he’d rather shift back and hide in his fucking room, but also that was completely unacceptable and Shadow was just-

He snagged their personal demon out of the air and pinned him to the ground, tail lashing and claws curled in a soot-black tunic that shifted in his grip like living smoke. Shadow was solid enough to pin, solid enough to muss up, hair a little screwy and eyes as round as fairy glow. “You,” he gritted out past burning cheeks and ears, “are an idiot. You think I have time to waste on stupid grudges when you make Vio smile like that? And you tuck Red in? And you tell Green to get the fuck out of his own ass?”

“I.” Shadow blinked. “Maybe?”

Blue could feel the way the weight of his own hip dug into Shadow’s side, the way he wasn’t quite warm and wasn’t quite cold, but he was real and he wasn’t struggling, just staring up at Blue with a thousand trusting questions, and something in his own chest went soft and stupid. “I’m going to kiss you,” he warned, and Shadow’s answer was just a startled laugh.

“You wha-? Mmph!”

Served him fucking right. Maybe now he’d take the hint.

#loz four swords #shadow link #blue link #they should kiss more #my writing

[slytherinshua]

Nap Of A Star

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre and tags: fantasy? inspired by nap of a star mv. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: cat tries to attack. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: nap of a star!kai x fem!reader. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wc: 1k. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n: this idea randomly came to me, so it's a bit messy. also, i do not know txt's storyline very well so nothing is very accurately portrayed. this is mostly just inspired by kai's look in the mv and some of the landscape in srr.

The last thing you felt was throbbing in your head and losing control over your body. It was dark. A sultry darkness that burned your skin and made it hard to breathe. You thought it would last forever. You couldn’t move any part of your body, not even your smallest toe. But like a snap of a finger, you opened your eyes.

You found yourself in a strange place. The trees had long pink blossoms dangling down to the forest floor and soft white feathers dropped from the sky like snow so that the ground became downy with the barbs. 

You seemed to have switched clothes. You last remembered yourself in a stiff dress you wore to the party— a dark red satin garment that twirled whenever you moved, coupled with red horns to represent a devil halloween costume. Others said it was pretty, but you much preferred what you were wearing right now. It was a loose white dress replacing the red one. The fabric was made of a comfy cotton instead of the restricting silk.

You stood up slowly, hesitating in every step you took. You looked up at the dark sky. A clockwork star was laid in the very centre of it. It did not shine brightly, but rather flickered as if it was losing its time to live. The gears had stopped turning smoothly and were edging on at a sloth’s pace. Everything you saw was so out of the ordinary from the place you knew before.

There were no cars racing by or thick smoke clogging up the air. Nobody was shouting curses and insults on the street, in fact, you couldn’t see anyone at all. You were frightened at first, finding yourself in a foreign place so alienated from the one you were used to.

Your worries were hushed, though, as soon as you spotted him. He was sitting on a pedestal of some sort, situated by a fence and gazing up at the clockwork star with interest. The funny halloween costume he had worn to the party to match yours still seemed to be on it, or the remnants of it, at least.

The wings had been upgraded and you thought they might even have enough power to actually fly. He was still dressed in white, but he seemed more angel-like in this world. The construction of the wings mirrored the star in the sky, tiny delicate gears enabling it to move on its own.

“Kai? Where are we?” You spoke softly, stepping beside the pedestal and lacing your fingers with his as soon as he jumped down. You were scared to be separated with him again like at the party, so it was better if you kept him close.

“I’m not sure.” He turned to you, head cocking to the side.

“How do we get back?” You questioned the star in the sky as if it would answer, but, of course, it didn’t give you a response.

Kai’s ears perked up as he heard the low meow of a cat. He clutched onto your hand a bit tighter, pushing you behind his back, shielding you with his wings.

“I don’t trust anything in this place, Y/n.” He whispered, eyes focusing on the woods where the sound came from. He spotted eyes amidst the deep dark trees. One blue and one green. “Y/n… I think we need to run.” He gulped, trying to hide the fear in his voice but you caught on.

“Kai, can you fly with those wings?” You asked urgently. He glanced at you and then back at the eyes, watching as they came steadily closer.

“I can try.” He muttered, turning back to you and hugging you to his chest tightly, “Hold on tight, love.” You clasped your hands behind his neck securely, preparing to be swept up into the air. The cat emerged from the forest, evil eyes focusing on Kai’s figure and dilating. 

Kai breathed steadily and then jumped up just before the cat tried to swat at his feet. His wings spread out and caught the way the wind was blowing, allowing him to manoeuvre steadily forward. He held onto you tightly, paranoid that you might drop from this height.

He focused his eyes on a clifftop, managing to slow down his wings as he drew near to it. The landing was a bit rough as Kai tripped over his own feet, causing you both to roll on the soft grass several times before stopping, you landing on Kai’s chest. You had tensed up in fear from the landing and as soon as you opened your eyes you noticed a glowing white orb covering you and Kai’s body

“Did I do that?” You whispered, eyes examining it closely, but it soon disappeared, leaving white sparkles behind it.

“Ouch.” He murmured, wings tucked behind as he gently let go of your body knowing you were safe now.

“You okay?” You asked, getting off of him as carefully as you could and brushing off your dress. He nodded with a wince, not taking any hurry to sit up. “Kai, I think I can make force fields.” You said, glancing down at your hands, wondering how they managed to create the field in the first place.

“Really?” Kai stared at you with wide eyes, now sitting up. “Can you do it again?”

You nodded, “I can try.” You closed your eyes, tensed your body, and sure enough, the white field surrounded you once again. You opened one of your eyes slightly, glancing around you to make sure it was properly there before grinning.

“Woah…” Kai reached out to touch it, his hand gliding through the white barrier once you relaxed your body. You vanished it altogether once the experiment was over, and glanced around the cliff you were on.

“Hey, look.” You urged with wide eyes, noticing what looked like a portal opening up near you. “Do you think that’ll take us back?”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go.” Kai reasoned, standing up and taking your hand again. “We narrowly escaped that cat… Plus, you have force fields now- what’s the worst thing that could be on the other side of this?” 

You nodded, bravely taking steps toward the portal with Kai. Once you stepped in, everything turned white.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ txt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @multi-stan-jenny

#﹒fics 𓈃 ⵌ #hueningkai #kai #txt #txt kai #txt hueningkai #txt fic #txt kai fic #kai fic #kai fanfic #txt nap of a star #nap of a star #kai fluff #txt fluff #fanfic #fic #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together #kpop #kai kamal huening #huening #huening kai #huening kai fic #hueningkai fluff

[herecomesaspecialghoul]

『 𝙰 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙸𝙿𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 』 .    

repost   with   the   information   of   your   muse   ,   including   headcanons   ,   etc.   if   you   fail   to   achieve   some   of   the   facts   ,   add   some   other   of   your   own   !

NAME. As a Nameless Ghoul, he has no true name. However, he has several nicknames, including “Special” and “Phil.”

AGE. As a Nameless Ghoul, he was not born and does not age. However, he emerged from Hell in 1960, so he assumes he is 63.

SPECIES. Nameless Ghoul

GENDER. As a Nameless Ghoul, he has no sex or gender. However, he is a pretty savvy ghoul compared to others. He is still not sure of his identity. For the past thirty or so years, he has identified as “a male guy man” (his words) and mostly uses he/him.

ORIENTATION. As a Nameless Ghoul, he was not constructed to feel sexual attraction. However... "I dunno! I am happily in a relationship with a man, but, y’know, all you humans are so cute and wonderful, too! I guess I like everyone?” (He’s only sleeping with his boyfriend though. Sorry, folks.)

INTERESTS. Music- primarily rare vinyls and weird niche genres, Movies- primarily horror, and as of late, the poetry of TS Eliot and Walt Whitman ( “I’m tryna better myself, and smart people read poetry, right?”)

PROFESSION. "Mostly, I coach the ghouls in the band on how to look and act human. I dunno if that counts as, uhhh, an actual ‘profession,’ ehehehehehhh...”

BODY TYPE. Depends on his form. As a Nameless Ghoul, he is tall and almost imposing, impossibly strong despite there being no visible muscle on his body. In his human disguise, he appears to slouch, and is quite thin. “I keep getting called ‘scrawny’ and I don’t know if that is a good thing?”

EYES. Depends on his form. As a Nameless Ghoul, his eyes are solid black- no iris or sclera or pupil, and no light reflects on their surface. In his human disguise, they are a dazzling, fiery green.

HAIR. Depends on his form. As a Nameless Ghoul, his hair appears short and dark- and it is actually very fine feathers. In his human disguise, it’s still short, but actual hair, dark brown and appears to be spiked or mussed with gel.

SKIN. Dep- you know. As a Ghoul, his skin is a dark, dull grey. If one were to look very closely, it would appear to be scaly. As a human, it’s very pale.

FACE. His ghoul face is a stony mask-like feature colloquially called a “face plate.” It really only has his eyes and nose. The space from his nose to his chin is an empty expanse. His long, black, antelope-like horns appear to emerge from just above where his carved eyebrows rest and go up, curving slightly over his head. His human face is lean, with defined cheekbones and round chin. His nose appears to have been broken and healed wrong. His eyebrows are a bit thin, but noticeable. His forehead bears a few wrinkles, as do the spaces just under his eyes. When he smiles or laughs, he gets those ‘laugh lines’ on the outer edges of his eyes. He has thin, pale pink lips, and has “perfectly imperfect” teeth with very sharp canines.

HEIGHT. 5′8". As a Ghoul, if you were to include his horns, he is just under seven feet tall. In his human form, bereft of horns, he is a sturdy 5′8″.

COMPANIONS. Papa Emeritus the Fourth and the Nameless Ghouls who make up the Satanic band known as Ghost.

ANTAGONISTS. "I try to get along with everyone, but nazi punks can fuck right off! Music is INCLUSIVE, damn it!”

COLORS. Red, Black, Blue, neons.

FRUITS. Doesn't have a throat or stomach.

DRINKS. Doesn’t have a throat or stomach.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES ? Doesn’t have a throat or stomach.

SMOKES ? He taught himself how to shapeshift something of a rudimentary throat and lung inside his body in order to smoke catnip. He captures the smoke in his ‘lung,’ then closes the lung, forcing the smoke to infuse with his weird ghoul body. Catnip has an affect on him that is akin to marijuana in humans.

DRUGS ? Catnip. He has cut back a lot, though.

DRIVERS LICENSE ? No.

#special ghoul

[cryptidvagabond]

I wrote a thing/ I am writing a thing

So, thanks to covid related life events, our dnd campaign has been on indefinite hold for almost half a year now and I was starting to really miss our PCs.

About a week ago, I asked my partner if it would be weird if I started working on a sort of novelization of our two characters and their journey. Partly as a way for me to not forget things that happened, and partly just because I really love them and how things played out for them.

He gave me a green light, and has even been kind enough to help me remember things I might have forgotten, and with creative input for his character Thuul.

After many, many, MANY bouts of proofreading and editing, I am going to post this...idk, can I call it a chapter? It's pretty short. Before I edit it into the ground and ruin it. (read it under the cut)

So, here you go. Enjoy?

-------------------

Thuul'Strea: tiefling, fiend patron warlock, pact of the blade.

He just happened to be the one unlucky enough to show it.

He reached up, shaking out the collar of his coat and pulling it up around his neck, as if to shield himself from their hate-filled eyes. He’d outgrown being bothered by the distrust and spite toward his kind. He couldn’t really blame them. After all, tieflings only came into being one way. Someone, somewhere in his family line, had a tryst with a fiend, of all things.

With one last glance at the tavern sign he started away, down the narrow cobblestone street. He only made it a few paces when an odd sound reached him, a hesitant staccato against the stones behind him, and he felt the feather shaped brand across his wrist give a flash of heat. At the edge of his mind, a familiar presence stirred, and he heard the whispered voice of his patron and master, Desirat.

Thuul stepped out of the tavern doorway into the narrow street and let out a deep sigh. He could still feel the loathsome gazes of the patrons at his back. It was a common occurrence in these frontier towns, but each time it left a sour taste in his mouth.

'Prey.'

The excitement in her tone made him uneasy. He turned back to see what had awoken her, the source of the dull clacking sound, and was momentarily struck by what he saw.

It was the oddest tiefling he’d ever laid eyes on, approaching him on shimmering hooves that tapped against the cobblestone with each careful step. At least, he thought it was a tiefling, but he'd never seen anyone like them before.

A crown of pearl white antlers ringed a mop of equally white hair, and their cheeks sparkled with a dusting of silvery freckles that shone like stars against the lightly tanned skin of their face. At first glance he couldn’t tell their age, or even their gender, but they were small, nearly head and shoulders shorter than himself. The longer he watched them the more he realized they looked a bit pitiful really, clad in a dusty, worn cloak that might have been blue once, but had faded to grey. It draped long over their thin frame, beneath which he glimpsed simple traveling clothes and a leather satchel covered in patched holes. A tufted, silvery white tail danced near their feet, a clear sign of agitation, and their ears, long and pointed like his own, but covered in fine, downy white fur, twitched back and forth, alert. Their eyes never met his face, but he sensed they knew he was there, though even as they grew closer to him, they kept their gaze downcast.

Thuul watched them for a long moment, and realized they intended to enter the tavern he’d just left. He grit his teeth, an image of the group of large, drunken idiots he’d dealt with running through his mind. They’d make mincemeat out of this tiny creature. He didn’t usually involve himself with others, it was easier that way, but this...some part of him just wouldn't let him leave it alone.

“They don’t take kindly to...people who look like you, in there.” he went on, hiking a thumb toward the tavern. The white one paused a moment, raising their arms slightly and looking over themselves in confusion.

He frowned slightly, wondering for a moment if they were blind.

He couldn’t tell, their eyes were pure, pearly white, with no discernible iris or pupil.

“But...I am wearing clothes?”

“Just a head’s up.” he called, catching the white one’s attention. They paused, turning their face toward him, but didn’t meet his gaze.

Thuul startled at the soft, feminine voice that replied, and then blinked, confused by her words, marred by a heavy accent he couldn’t place. She tilted her head slightly and he couldn’t help but smirk, biting back a bewildered laugh.

“I see.” she murmured, and he swore she sounded disappointed. But then she smiled and crossed the distance between them, holding out her hand to him.

After a beat of silence she sighed softly.

“Thank you for the warning. I am called Nora. And you?”

“Ah...no, that’s...not what I meant.” he stammered. She puzzled at him for a moment before looking over at the tavern door, and he felt her gaze on him though she never seemed to look at him directly. Again he wondered if she actually was blind.

Her voice was cheerful as she spoke again, and he hesitated, unsure how to respond, it wasn't a tone he was used to hearing. Then he shook himself, taking hold of her hand. It was softer than he expected. He’d assumed, judging by the staff slung across her back, that she’d trained in combat. But her fingers and palm held none of the calluses of a warrior. He was surprised to feel a sudden pang of concern. What was she doing alone out here? Where did she come from?

“Call me Thuul.” he replied, pushing those thoughts aside. It was none of his business. Her smile widened a bit.

"Thuul," she said quietly, and it sounded strange on her tongue, closer to 'tool' than the original Drow pronunciation. It was...kind of cute, actually. He felt the corner of his mouth starting to pull toward a smirk and bit his lip.

"I'm happy to meet you, Thuul." she went on, sounding genuine. He nodded slightly, letting his hand fall away from hers and closing it in a tight fist at his side as the brand flared again. The heat that seeped across his skin brought a bitter sting with it, and he turned his face away from her to hide a slight grimace.

'My champion.'

His patron pushed further into his mind, her presence heavy and stifling like thick smoke.

'My hunter.'

He closed his eyes, trying to push back, fighting to bring up a wall, to get her out of his head any way that he could. All she did was cling tighter, dig deeper.

'You know what I ask of you.'

Her voice purred into his ear as if she were standing at his back, and he felt a weight settle across his shoulders that made it hard to breathe.

He did know what she wanted. It wasn't the first time, it probably wouldn't be the last. But he'd already made up his mind, he was done. He wanted out. He would never spill blood for her again for as long as he lived.

She laughed, and it dripped with derision.

'How long can you fight me?'

The weight lifted from his shoulders, the smoke beginning to clear as she slipped back into the shadows at the edges of his consciousness.

'How long can you fight your own nature?'

As she faded from his mind, he swallowed hard, feeling nauseous. It had only been moments, but it had felt like hours, and he nearly swayed on the spot as the heat drained away from the brand on his arm and weakness seemed to rush into his limbs to take it's place. He reached out, bracing one hand on the wall beside him and pulled in a steadying breath.

"Are you alright?" Nora asked, stepping closer to him, into his line of sight. He nearly startled, cutting his eyes at her and catching himself before he pulled away on instinct. Her face held genuine concern, and she held her hands out, readying to catch him. He stared down at them, and felt a tight knot coiling in his chest. Anxiety was no stranger to him, but this was different, it was almost guilt. He forced himself to nod, to give her a tight lipped smile, as he pushed off the wall and shook himself again.

"Yeah, fine." he said, starting forward down the lane at a brisk pace. She hesitated for a breath, and he silently begged her not to follow him. But then she rushed after him, falling in step beside him, her concern lingering, and he let out a sigh, wanting to curse out loud and fighting the urge. Instead, he shortened his stride a bit, realizing she was nearly jogging to keep up, and glanced down at her with an expression that was trying for reassurance.

He wasn't comfortable having a stranger worry over him, it didn't happen often and he was still wrangling the guilt he felt from the last one who had. A sorceress he'd met named Tess. She still popped in with a sending spell occasionally to check on him and every single time it rekindled the feeling. He caught himself before he rolled his eyes and sighed just thinking about it, and forced himself to focus on the girl beside him.

"So, Nora, what brings you to the backwaters of society?" he asked, gesturing around them at the worn, crumbling buildings and trying to sound nonchalant, but failing as some of his frustration seeped into his tone. She didn't miss it and hesitated a step beside him, seeming to pull away a bit. He cringed internally and tried to smooth it over with a smirk. An awkward silence passed between them before she finally spoke.

"I'm...looking for someone." she said, reaching into her satchel and carefully pulling a tightly rolled scroll from inside. As she unfurled it, he felt a sudden shock of cold race down his back and nearly stumbled, staring with slightly widened eyes at the familiar face of a man someone had carefully sketched out on the parchment in her hands. It was different from the image he'd seen before, this portrait had obviously been done by someone who cared for him, he was smiling, his expression tender, but it was definitely him.

Thuul rested his hand on the pouch hanging from his belt, feeling a slight crunch from inside as a carelessly folded piece of parchment crinkled under the pressure. It was a bounty he'd been carrying for months now. A trail he had followed here, one he thought had finally gone cold. In fact, the whole reason he'd been in the tavern had been to ask about him, and judging by the loud, angry heckling he'd been subjected to by the patrons, he thought it safe to reason his quarry had passed through not long ago. Not that they'd been willing to tell him anything, but there was an obvious air of disdain about them for more than just his parentage that was hard to miss.

The noble who hired him hadn't given Thuul much to go on, only the heavy implication that the wanted man was untrustworthy, and it was his policy not to ask more questions than necessary. But now he felt like kicking himself for not prying deeper.

Because as he watched Nora carefully rolling up the portrait and tucking it away into her satchel, gently settling it in among the other odds and ends of her traveling supplies so it wouldn't tear or be crushed, he sensed a definite sadness in her, as though she held some affection for the man. And he doubted his crimes could be so terrible if she could still care for him that deeply. It almost made him feel guilty for accepting the bounty.

"Who is he?" he asked, pushing the feeling away, hoping that he'd misunderstood her actions. Nora shook her head slightly, tucking her hands behind her and tilting her face down.

"My mother knew him, but I haven't met him. That's why I need to find him." she explained, and the sadness was clear in her tone, a familiar grief that he recognized easily. His chest gave a pang of sympathy, and he wrestled with the urge to apologize, to offer his condolences for her loss. Instead, he swallowed hard and looked away. Silence settled over them again, and they walked in it for a handful of minutes that felt to him like they dragged on forever. He reached up, gripping the back of his neck, and watched her from the corner of his eye as they went, but the silence didn't seem to bother her the way it did him. She looked comfortable beside him, a contented expression on her face. And after a few more minutes he felt himself start to relax too, a rare feeling of calm settling on him.

The lane they walked joined up to the main town square, opening onto a bazaar full of people and temporary booths, and he felt his calm leave as suddenly as it had come. He paused at the edge of the square, his eyes scanning the crowd as his hand shifted toward the sword at his hip instinctively. An all too familiar discomfort tensed his shoulders.

Nora gasped, stepping past him into the square, staring around at the brightly colored banners and paper lanterns strung up across the open air above it before turning back to him with a wide grin. A pair of long canine teeth peeked out between the edges of her lips, and he raised an eyebrow at her, feeling himself soften again. She really was cute.

"What is that?" she asked, drawing a deep breath as the scent of sweet bread wafted past them. Thuul watched her wander a little farther out, following the smell, before she turned back to him and reached out, waiting for him to take her hand. He debated brushing her off for a moment, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Somehow the thought of it made him feel bad, it just seemed too heartless. He sighed under his breath and took her hand, a wry smile crossing his face as she started to pull him along behind her, heading for the source of the delicious smell. He scanned the crowd again out of habit, but as far as he could tell no one was paying attention to them.

He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword anyway, just in case.

--------------

Edit: I’m just gonna make this a masterpost. But I’ve never made a masterpost before, so this might become a trainwreck.

Dunno, guess we’ll see.

Gonna file these under the tag 'brainrotmybeloved' as well as all my future writing that gets posted here, if you want a tag to follow.

#brainrotmybeloved #Thuul/Nora #DnD ocs #dnd #does this count as original writing #or is this fanfiction

[atlix2]

okay so . i already had a riptide oc. does he still count.

(image ID under the cut)

i come bearing. This Freak. ive had him for a while but he never got any mileage. If You Will Have Him …

Name: Nowhere

Race: tiefling

Class: warlock

Pronouns: he/him

Nowhere’s really hard to get a read on. He never mentions where he intends to travel to or how long he’ll be staying for. He doesn’t even mention being a warlock— most assume he’s a sorcerer. He brushes past any personal questions and usually keeps to his own devices, but he still helps out around the ship a great deal; he works wordlessly and so fast it seems as though messes and disrepair simply disappear within the hour.

Whenever anyone asks about him, he just says he’s a wanderer. He stays as detached as possible bar for cracking the occasional joke or offering usually mediocre advice when asked. Despite his off-putting nature, he can be pretty persuasive when he’s looking for ships to travel on. He’s got weird obscure skillsets and knows way too many languages, so he’s good in unexpected situations, especially as a translator; he holds his own in combat perfectly fine as well. He has no qualms with thankless tasks like late night ship repair and extensive cleaning, and he cooks incredibly well for someone who’s spent most of his life as a criminal vagrant on the sea.

so basically. trade offer. you receive: free cooking and cleaning and a weird little guy on your ship for an indeterminate length of time who is surprisingly useful. he receives: transport to an unclear location with unknown but probably not malicious intent. Would you let him on your boat

[image id: a front and back A pose reference of a tall, pale tiefling with a single long horn and short blonde hair. his skin fades to a brownish purple around his fingers, horns, ear tips, etc. his right eye is dark blue with a black line/scar beneath it and his left is bright yellow; both have bags under them. he wears an oversized olive green coat with a very large white fur collar and yellow stars hanging off of it over a cream tshirt. his pants have a high waistline and belt and are cuffed at the end; they are a lighter shade of green than his coat. he has a long, thin tail with brown, feather-like fur. His pointy ears have a few piercings in them, including another star. he has a necklace with a few orange beads and a yellow leaf shape and wears a brown satchel over his shoulder. Next to him is a blue deck of cards with cyan edges and a holographic teal to dark blue criss-cross pattern on them; a yellow fog emanates from between them, and they are labelled as his arcane focus.

the text reads: “nowhere ; tiefling warlock ; he/him (followed by the genderqueer, genderfluid, and trans flag) ; autistic”. his horn is labelled with “YES the horn is sharp. many have found this out the hard way.” his claws are labeled “claws are sharp too”. His description reads “-lone wanderer -never stays in one place for long -he’s kind of unsettling to be around -never discloses personal information; he’s very private about his past -it’s hard to tell why anyone lets him on their ship in the first place; surprisingly, most crews let him voyage in exchange for his housekeeping skills. He cooks and cleans well. -tries not to make friends.” Additional text reads “bitches hate him for his transmasc swag (and because he’s annoying)” and “-he currently has no crew to travel with but is asking around in ports nearby.” end id.]

#councilblr crew #oc #art #hes just some guy. who cares if he’s super cursed #he’s like the worlds most fucked up and strange malewife

[c-swirlz]

When I’m Graced by Your Presence (I Couldn’t Care)

Summary: Ranboo’s arrival on the SMP catches the attention of a mischievous Avian, who promptly drags him into a life of crime, pranks, and various other shenanigans.

Or: Five times Ranboo is ‘unwillingly’ dragged into Tommy’s mischief, and one time he embraces the chaos. Characters: Tommy, Ranboo, Phil, Techno, Wilbur, Jack Manifold, Sneeg, Tubbo Relationships: O!Alliumduo Warnings: None Notes: This fic was written for Fire on Ice (who’s AO3 can be found here) as part of The Writer’s Block Secret Santa! Credit for the title goes to AlexTwisted; their AO3 can be found here. [AO3 link]

In Ranboo’s humble opinion, based on what he’s seen, the stories he’s been told about the Overworld do very little justice to the realm and its unique beauty. The lush greens and soft blues are a stark yet welcome contrast to the deep purples of his home realm, and many things he finds are completely new discoveries, having never been allowed to venture beyond the End.

Then, of course, there’s the rain. The bane of any Enderian’s existence, as it’s basically their worst enemy falling from the sky. It doesn’t exist in the End, but there are many horror stories surrounding its deadly nature towards those who are not accustomed to it. Ranboo is grateful he doesn’t have to deal with it to the extent he would if he were out alone in the wild, and that’s thanks to one man: Philza Minecraft, who found him and brought him along to the SMP; a place where Origins live together without issue – for the most part.

The SMP is a big place. So, Phil proposes a tour.

“That floating island in the middle is the Pube,” Phil explains as he and Ranboo walk up to the edge of a large crater, a waterfall in the centre leading up to a building sat atop a floating rock of some sort. “The name was Wil’s idea. Tommy wasn’t too happy with it at first, but he warmed up to it pretty fast.”

Ranboo’s brow furrows, and his head tilts slightly to the side, like a wolf in the presence of a bone. Noticing his confusion, Phil smiles, chuckling quietly.

“Sorry— Wilbur and Tommy are my kids. Phantom and Avian. They’re little shits, just as a warning, but I’m sure you could just teleport away if they annoy you or something.”

“Uh huh.” Ranboo nods slowly, not really paying attention as his gaze drifts over to a nearby bush, which is rustling an awful lot despite there not being much wind. Then, a mop of dirty blond hair pops out, followed by a pair of piercing blue eyes staring into Ranboo’s soul. Goosebumps begin to prickle all over Ranboo’s skin, and he quickly glances away, taking in a steady, soothing breath before looking back over, pointedly directing his gaze off just slightly to the side.

The boy glances down at something Ranboo cannot see, and a moment later, his communicator buzzes.

TommyInnit whispers to you: You’re new

Ranboo blinks. Tommy. This must be one of the kids Phil mentioned, unless there’s somehow multiple people with the name Tommy running around. However, judging by the few feathers he can see through the leaves, he’s confident that this is indeed Phil’s child. Well, one of them, at least.

You whisper to TommyInnit: Yep. Name’s Ranboo

TommyInnit whispers to you: yes ik I can see your name on the comm dipshit

Ranboo huffs amusedly. If these messages are anything to go by, this kid has one hell of a sharp tongue, and he can’t quite determine whether that’s good or bad.

TommyInnit whispers to you: Anyway come over here will you??? And don’t let phil see you

Ranboo sighs quietly, pocketing his communicator and turning back to Phil, who is now looking at him expectantly.

“Uh…” Ranboo’s ears press against the sides of his head, and he glances far off to one side. “Could we, um… pick this back up a little later? If that’s okay? I… just remembered I have something I need to do, a-and it’s really urgent.”

For some reason, Ranboo has this nagging feeling that suggests he doesn’t expect Phil to believe him. But he does. Rather than express scepticism regarding his sudden departure, he instead smiles, assuring Ranboo that he can contact him whenever he wants to resume the tour. He waits for Phil to turn and begin walking away before he teleports over to the bush, appearing right beside Tommy, who leaps out of the foliage with a shriek. His wings puff out, and his eyes grow to the size of saucers. Ranboo isn’t entirely sure what the expression means, but he feels it’s appropriate, as Tommy’s eyes are indeed very wide.

“Fuck, I forgot you guys can do that,” Tommy mutters, exhaling sharply. “Why the hell do Enderians get all the cool abilities—”

Ranboo crosses his arms, and his ears twitch. It takes several seconds, but Tommy eventually notices and clears his throat awkwardly before planting his hands on his hips, jutting out his chin. In response to this, Ranboo simply raises an eyebrow, but Tommy doesn’t waver.

“Anyway, you, my newcomer friend—”

“We aren’t friends—”

“—seem like the perfect person to help me with some of my devious plans.”

Ranboo’s brow furrows. “And by ‘devious plans’, you’re referring to…?”

Tommy throws his hands up into the air, holding his head high. “Pranks, of course!”

There’s a beat of silence, and Ranboo swears he hears the faint sound of crickets chirping somewhere off in the distance. After a moment, Tommy drops his arms and they flop down to his sides, while his head lowers to an acceptable angle. Evidently taken aback by Ranboo’s lack of a response, he steps forward, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Sooo, you’re gonna help me, right?”

Ranboo rolls his eyes, though he’s somewhat relieved this kid doesn’t seem to want to murder anyone, and instead just wants to play harmless jokes. Murderous tendencies are very common in the End, though he personally has never seen the appeal of killing others simply for your own amusement.

“Absolutely not.”

Tommy’s expectant expression almost immediately shifts into one of confusion and very subtle anger. “Ay?!”

“We literally just met,” Ranboo explains, as if that’s not already painfully obvious. “I haven’t even been properly shown around yet, and yet there’s this tiny chicken wanting me to be his partner in crime.”

Much like a fish, Tommy’s mouth opens and closes several times without a single sound escaping. His hands fall back down to his sides again, curling up into fists which tightly grasp handfuls of his shirt.

“Right, first off, fuck you.” Ranboo raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “Second, I’ve just decided you don’t get a choice in this situation.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, dickhead.” Before Ranboo can protest, Tommy lunges forward and grabs one of his arms. The tactile contact with his skin means he’s unable to teleport away, and so he’s forced to allow this child to drag him in the vague direction Phil went when the two of them parted ways just minutes ago.

Ranboo will be honest; this isn’t how he expected his first day here to play out at all.

“Alright, now if I know Philza Minecraft – which I do – he’s definitely fucked off to some random-ass cave to get diamonds.” Tommy’s grip on Ranboo’s arm loosens for a brief moment, and Ranboo takes the opportunity to free himself from his grasp, scowling.

“Well, if that’s the case, then how do you expect to find him?”

Tommy smirks, pulling out his communicator and tapping something out. A few seconds later, it buzzes, and Tommy grins.

“Very easily, my Enderian comrade,” Tommy says, pocketing the device. “Phil just sent me his coordinates.”

Right, Ranboo forgot that’s a thing. “Ah.”

Tommy hops forward, frantically beckoning Ranboo to follow. “C’mon, we gotta find him!”

Reluctantly, Ranboo trails behind Tommy as they start walking again, his ears hanging low. “What’s your plan once we find him, exactly…?”

Tommy giggles, glancing over his shoulder. “Wanna know a secret?”

Ranboo raises an eyebrow, suspicious. “Sure…?”

Tommy looks back in front of him, and Ranboo focuses his gaze on the white and red feathers protruding from the kid’s back. They’re rather dishevelled, but not in such a way which indicates a lack of preening. Rather, it seems as if the wings have grown out in a very awkward manner. It’s unlikely they’re suited for prolonged flight.

“Phil’s biggest weakness…” Tommy pauses, presumably for dramatic effect, “is baby zombies.”

Zombies. Ranboo has heard of those; mobs which resemble deceased persons walking. He has yet to encounter one, but the stories he’s heard assure him that defeating it will be a rather easy feat. He’s heard very little about their baby counterparts, but he knows better than to underestimate anything in this world.

“Because I like him,” Tommy continues, “we aren’t going to do anything too extreme. We’re just gonna sneak in and pretend some of those little fuckers are coming to kill him.”

I doubt he’d believe you. “And how exactly are you planning on pulling that off?”

“Oh, I’ve done shit like this a lot. You just imitate the mob where they can’t see you and they freak the hell out.”

Okay, that… kind of makes sense, Ranboo has to admit. However…

“This seems like it’d just be a one-man job, though. Why am I getting dragged into this?”

“Because pulling pranks alone is boring, and nobody wants to help me anymore. You get sick of the isolation after a while, trust me.” Tommy then comes to an abrupt stop, causing Ranboo to almost bump into him. In front of them is a small cave, lined with stone. Ranboo can hear the faint sound of running water echoing within, and a shiver runs down his spine.

“This is it.” Tommy leaps towards the entrance, his wings slowly flapping to give himself some additional airtime. Ranboo lines himself up to follow, teleporting just beside Tommy’s landing zone. This is Ranboo’s last chance to back out, but he gets the feeling the kid wouldn’t allow it. He supposes he can tolerate Tommy for just a bit longer, and then he can get back to finishing the tour – assuming Phil doesn’t disown him after this – and establishing his place in the community.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ranboo mutters, and the two of them step into the cave. Immediately, Ranboo is overwhelmed by a plethora of sounds he doesn’t recognise, and he stares into the infinite darkness which greets them. Suddenly, light floods the area, and Ranboo turns to see Tommy holding a torch. Without a word, he bounds forward, and Ranboo continues to follow. An indeterminate amount of time later, they arrive at an area which appears to have been deliberately dug out, and as the two of them turn a corner, Phil comes into view, back facing them as he rummages through a chest haphazardly placed on the ground.

Tommy’s eyes are practically sparkling.

In Ranboo’s opinion, it’s absolutely for the wrong reasons.

“I suddenly regret letting you drag me into this.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, and Ranboo realises he’s moved forward, and is now slowly creeping towards Phil. Ranboo opens his mouth, either to stop Tommy or warn Phil – he isn’t too sure himself, but Tommy acts before he gets a chance to intervene. Faux groans and snarls echo through the cave system, though they’re not as deep as what Ranboo has been told zombies sound like. Well, Tommy did mention baby zombies specifically, so that isn’t too surprising. He’s simply imitating the youths of the species.

Phil flinches, almost dropping the armful of logs he’s retrieved from the chest. “Fucking— Christ, Tommy.” He tosses the logs aside, turning to face the boy. “Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that, you little shit—”

Tommy is in hysterics. Ranboo watches from afar, utterly perplexed. His confusion only grows when Phil starts laughing too. When the laughter eventually dies down, Phil ruffles Tommy’s hair, chuckling. “Alright, alright, you got me. I’ll admit, your impression is getting better, Tom.”

Ranboo hears a faint gasp. “Really?”

“Mhm, though I’m not sure whether I should be proud or scared.”

Tommy snorts, and there’s silence for a beat.

“Oh, by the way, you haven’t been bothering Ranboo, have you? I know how you get with new people…”

Tommy freezes, and Ranboo notices his body tense up. “Uh—”

“You did, didn't you.”

“…Yes.”

Treating the response as some sort of cue, Ranboo teleports into view. As if expecting his arrival, Phil simply smiles, while Tommy is visibly fighting to hold in another bout of laughter.

“For the record,” Ranboo starts, “I did absolutely nothing.”

“Yeah, because you’re a prick,” Tommy mutters, squawking indignantly when one of Phil’s wings smacks him upside the head.

“You’re such a dick to people, Tom,” Phil says, but the words lack any malice. He looks at Ranboo, though diverts his gaze slightly from his eyes, which he appreciates. “See what I meant when I said he’s a little shit?”

Ranboo huffs out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, I may have underestimated his, uh… determination.”

Phil wraps a wing around Tommy, pulling him close. “As expected, he takes after his big brother. Both of you are persistent as fuck.”

“Fuck off, it’s a talent.”

“Whatever you say.”

Ranboo suddenly feels very awkward. This… isn’t how he expected this prank to go. At all. Would this even count as a prank? It honestly felt more like some sort of troll. Clearly, Overworlders are much stranger than he initially assumed.

On a related note, he gets the feeling that, for the duration of his time here, he will be witnessing many more feats of TommyInnit, the Prank Master.

Tommy’s hypothetical words, not his.

“There appears to be a child skulking around my farm.”

Ranboo looks up from his inventory interface, just in time to catch the approach of a very grumpy looking Bunny. Over their shoulder, Ranboo can see the impromptu carrot farm set up on the outskirts of the SMP, and it doesn’t take him long to notice a familiar face hiding out in one of the trees.

“I take it this is typical Tommy behaviour?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Ranboo’s communicator buzzes, but he ignores it. “Good to know you’re quick to catch on.”

“I’ve been here a week; I’d like to think that’s enough time to get to know the people here, Techno. Plus, I had an encounter with him on my first day, so I’m well aware of his, uh… antics.”

“Ah, that’s right, Phil mentioned you got dragged into his mischief not long after you got here.” Techno chuckles. “Happens to the best of us.”

Ranboo’s communicator buzzes again.

“You should really answer that.”

It buzzes twice more.

“Yep, okay— Yeah, I should.”

He retrieves the device from his pocket, dismissing the interface in front of him as he pulls up the recent messages.

TommyInnit whispers to you: Ranboo TommyInnit whispers to you: answer me dickhead TommyInnit whispers to you: lure techno away TommyInnit whispers to you: I wanna mess with his shit

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, I’m guessing it’s Tommy.”

Ranboo nods. He isn’t surprised Techno can tell; he’s been told on numerous occasions that he has a very readable face. Whether that’s a compliment or an insult, however, he has no idea.

Techno sighs, but Ranboo catches a glimpse of a faint smile playing about his lips.

“Well, lucky for him, I have to go meet Scott. Said I’d help him with somethin’. Unfortunately, it involves leaving my precious carrot farm vulnerable to attack, but alas, this is how it must be.”

How subtle, Ranboo thinks, though he chooses not to comment. He simply watches Techno walk away, half expecting him to turn back and wink just to add the cherry on top of his very obvious scheme. Unfortunately for Techno and his noble sacrifice, Ranboo absolutely does not want to be dragged into any more of TommyInnit’s shenanigans.

He glances down at his communicator again.

TommyInnit whispers to you: wow that was fast TommyInnit whispers to you: idk what you did but it worked so I’m not complaining TommyInnit whispers to you: won’t force you to help out this time I just need you to pretend you never saw me TommyInnit whispers to you: I’ll kick your ass if I find out you snitched though

Ranboo’s been given an out. Unlike last time, he isn’t being forced to participate, and he gets the feeling Phil’s scolding — could it be considered that? — in the mine contributed to that. All he has to do is walk away and deny that he ever saw Tommy anywhere near Techno’s carrot farm.

However, the pull of curiosity is a powerful force.

You whisper to TommyInnit: what’re you planning on doing exactly??

A response comes through moments later.

TommyInnit whispers to you: replacing the carrot seeds with potato seeds TommyInnit whispers to you: had a stash lying around

Ah, Ranboo thinks, how convenient.

TommyInnit whispers to you: anyway run along now boob boy you don’t wanna be caught with the dirty crime boy while he’s on duty ;)

Ranboo’s nose scrunches up. Boob boy? What kind of nickname is that? He can’t possibly let this blatant slander slide, so, as Tommy floats down from his amateurish hiding spot, he teleports to the boy’s side. Tommy flinches, but doesn’t descend into a blathering mess of swears and other profanities, which… could be seen as some form of growth? Maybe? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

“What’re you doing?” are the first words out of Tommy’s mouth, his brow furrowing in what Ranboo recognises all too well as subtly masked scepticism. It’s a valid question; Ranboo isn’t too sure what he’s doing himself. Unlike last time, he’s been given the opportunity to walk away, and yet here he is, chasing this crime-obsessed child by choice.

He shrugs. “Keeping you company, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Dunno — Guess I’m just kinda curious about what stunt you’re gonna pull this time around.”

“Huh.” Tommy blinks. “After last time I almost thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong I still don’t; I’m literally only here to see what you do to Techno’s farm. Like I said, it’s pure curiosity, don’t read into it.”

Tommy snickers under his breath, biting his lip to hold back full-blown laughter. “Alright…”

“I’m serious.”

“Whatever you say, boob boy.”

Choosing to ignore the nickname this time around, silently hoping it doesn’t stick, Ranboo follows Tommy over to the farm. He wrinkles his nose as the potent stench of damp dirt wafts up his nostrils, and he opts to watch from afar as Tommy gets to work, but not before being instructed to, “Keep an eye out for Techno, will ya?”

The operation only takes a few minutes, which comes as little surprise to Ranboo. It’s literally just replacing seeds in a field; it isn’t exactly anything glamorous. Per Tommy’s request, he keeps an eye out for Techno, though he doubts they’ll be caught.

“Ranboo!”

Ranboo squints against the midday sunlight, searching for Tommy who turns out to be a few paces away from the farm, looking as if he’s about to break out into a sprint.

“It’s done.” He grins, beckoning Ranboo towards him. “Let’s get outta here before anyone sees.”

Ranboo nods, teleporting to Tommy’s side. The two of them begin walking away from the scene, and then Ranboo’s communicator buzzes, because of course it does.

Technoblade whispers to you: yeah you two aren’t subtle at all

He can’t help but agree.

If Ranboo has learned anything since he arrived here, it’s that meetings at the Pube can get loud. Everyone gathered in one place creates a rowdy atmosphere by itself, but if you add unending idle chatter on top of that, the environment becomes borderline unbearable. Phil tries his hardest to reign in the chaos, but that normally takes up to ten minutes purely because everyone is caught up in their own personal conversations. This time, however, he seems to have given up on those feeble attempts. Ranboo can’t blame him.

“No, Tommy, listen— I know you’ve been through my shit. Don’t try to deny it; I know you’re the only one who’d have the balls to do it right under my nose.”

“Wilbur! I would never lay a finger on any of your precious belongings. I’m offended you’d accuse me of doing such a thing.”

“You are so full of shit—“

Ranboo glances over towards one of the far corners of the room, and, lo and behold, Tommy is there, arguing with a partially translucent man. Based on what he’s been told, he can safely assume this is Tommy’s brother, Wilbur.

“Uh–” Ranboo approaches the two, but shrinks back when both of them turn to look at him, their stares seemingly burning into his very soul. His ears press against the sides of his head, and he swallows the lump that has lodged itself into his throat. “Sorry, um– Am I interrupting something?”

What a stupid question; of course he’s interrupting something. For the love of Jean, the two of them were literally just arguing, or at the very least having a rather heated conversation.

Tommy waves a hand in his general direction, dismissive. “Just my beloved big brother accusing me of terrible crimes.”

“Yeah, except you absolutely committed them. Now hand over my stuff, muggle boy.”

Ranboo plants his hands on his hips, huffing out an exasperated sigh as the two of them continue to bicker. 

Brothers.

“I don’t have your shit, Wil! Look–” Tommy opens his inventory interface and shows it to Wilbur, who examines it closely. From Ranboo’s angle, he can’t see anything of substance; just some bread, a water bucket, a few stacks of cobblestone, and a set of tools.

“This is bullshit – I bet you’ve stashed it somewhere–”

“Okay, okay,” Ranboo interrupts, stepping between the two, “settle down, boys.”

To their credit, Tommy and Wilbur do step down, but not before throwing one last scathing glare at each-other.

“Now,” Ranboo pinches the bridge of his nose, “what’s got you two fighting like this? Phil’s already got enough on his plate as it is, so if the need arises, y’know, maybe I can help.”

Without uttering a word in response, Wilbur crosses his arms, closes his eyes, and drops through the floor. Tommy shrieks, and subsequently begins cursing up a storm when Wilbur rises up behind him and grabs him by the shoulders.

“This dirty crime boy,” Wilbur says, shaking Tommy from side to side, “stole from my stash of precious valuables right under my nose.”

“I did not!” Tommy shoves Wilbur off. “Don’t listen to him, Ranboo; I’d never do such a thing to my dear brother.”

“You can deny it all you want—“

Wilbur proceeds to rant on and on; Ranboo quickly stops listening. Glancing towards Tommy, he sees the kid staring at him with enlarged eyes, his lips quivering way too much for it to be genuine.

Is he seriously giving me the puppy-dog eyes right now?

This isn’t a court of law; Ranboo shouldn’t have to step in to defend Tommy on his behalf. The kid has proven he’s more than capable of handling himself in much worse situations than a petty fight with his brother, but he suspects this is yet another one of his schemes.

It’s another example of an opportunity to walk away he doesn’t take.

“Y’know, Wil,” Ranboo interrupts, raising an eyebrow as a mischievous smile plays on his lips, “I’m pretty sure you went rummaging through Tommy’s blocks the other day. Probably isn’t my place to say this, but…”

Wilbur’s eyes are wide as saucers.

“I dunno—“ Ranboo shrugs. Time to deliver the final blow. “Maybe this is karma for your crimes.”

Tommy loses his shit. Wilbur looks like he’s just taken psychic damage, and for the first time since Ranboo approached, the man seems genuinely lost for words. Tommy barks out a laugh, eliciting confused and mildly irritated stares.

“I— Wha—” Wilbur glances between Tommy and Ranboo, helpless. “You’re siding with him?”

“You’re damn right he is!” Ranboo flinches as Tommy claps him heartily on the back — likely because he’s too short to reach his shoulders. “That’s what you get for stealing my blocks, fucker.”

Wilbur is unimpressed.

“I actually hate you.” There is no malice behind his words, and Tommy simply sticks his tongue out at him. Wilbur rolls his eyes and fondly ruffles Tommy’s hair, confusing Ranboo greatly. Weren’t they literally just fighting?

Oh, right, he thinks. Brothers.

Wilbur flicks Tommy on the back of the head, dropping through the floor again when he yelps. Tommy scrambles to grab him, but has no luck. He and Ranboo fall silent, not making a sound for several seconds until Ranboo pipes up.

“Well.” Ranboo blinks. “That was… a thing.”

Tommy snorts. “Can’t believe you actually managed to shut him up. Pretty sure you just saved my ass, big man.”

“Yeah, sure— Okay, I have to know; did you seriously steal stuff from him?”

Tommy’s eyes twinkle. The expression is all too familiar.

“Technically, no.” He glances around, and his voice drops to a whisper. Ranboo has to lean in to hear him over the chatter. “I made Shelby do it.”

Ranboo’s eyes grow wide. “Shubble? How’d you manage that?”

“Bribed her with food for Nunubu,” Tommy responds.

“That’s all?”

“The fuck’s that mean?”

“I dunno.” Ranboo shrugs. “I guess I assumed she’d want something more valuable.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to fuck with Wilbur by asking for something I couldn’t deliver.”

“...Fair enough,” Ranboo responds.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the Pube, a floating Jack-o-Lantern sits in a corner, its gaze fixed on the Avian and Enderian. A feminine giggle emerges from it, the subtle reverberation bouncing off the wooden walls. A translucent body fades into view, and long, dark brown hair billows out from their headwear. They remove the Jack-o-Lantern, revealing bright yellow eyes which shine much like the sun. Upon pocketing the item, they begin toying with something else from their inventory; something that doesn’t necessarily belong to them.

Shubble has made the advancement [Diamonds!]

“Ranboo!”

Jack Manifold’s shout catches Ranboo off guard. The bucket of milk in his arms almost topples to the ground, but after fumbling for a brief moment, he manages to catch it before any of the liquid has the opportunity to spill out.

“Ah shit, sorry mate,” Jack says as he approaches. “Forgot you startle easily.”

Ranboo shakes his head, smiling. “Nah, don’t worry about it; you just surprised me. What’s up?”

Jack huffs, planting his hands on his hips. “Someone’s gone rummaging through my stuff and stole three whole stacks of blaze rods. I feel like I’ve interrogated half the server; nobody’s fessing up.”

Ranboo begins gnawing on the inside of his cheek, and his ears droop. “Oh man, that– That sucks, man.”

Jack’s brow suddenly furrows. Ranboo opens his mouth to inquire as to what has prompted the sudden change, but then the man leans in uncomfortably close, looking just off to the side of his eyes.

“It wasn’t you who stole my shit, was it?”

“Wha– no!” Ranboo takes a step back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “No, of course not.”

Without breaking his gaze, Jack nods. “Okay.” He returns to an upright position, a comfortable distance away. “In that case, I want you to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Well, interrogating people alone hasn’t exactly been working out for me; I feel I’ll need some backup.”

Oh, joy.

“Sure, I guess. Not sure I’m your best option though…”

“Don’t say that.” Jack grins. “You’re plenty good.”

Ranboo doesn’t respond, but he feels his cheeks warm instantaneously with the comment.

“Now, I’ve already talked to Shelby and Scott,” Jack mutters, seemingly to himself. “Phil’s been supervising Sneeg all day, and I’d like to think Tubbo and Wil know better than to touch stuff that isn’t theirs…” He throws his head back, groaning. “Shit.”

“Uh—“ Ranboo takes a step forward. “Isn’t it possible someone might’ve been lying? It’d probably be more effective if we, y’know, actually went through their stuff to make sure.”

Jack’s eyes light up. “You mad fucking genius; you’re right!” He rushes forward and grabs Ranboo’s forearm. “C’mon, let’s get going while nobody’s home.”

Albeit reluctantly, Ranboo allows himself to be dragged across the SMP by Jack, stumbling several times as he frantically attempts to get his own two feet beneath him.

Eventually, they end up at Tommy’s house. Jack finally releases his vice-like grip on Ranboo’s arm and proceeds to make a beeline for the building without saying a word. Ranboo hurriedly follows, silently praying Jack is right about nobody being home. Thankfully, when they enter, all is quiet.

“Alright,” Jack says, “here’s the plan. I’ll go have a peek in Tom’s chests while you keep a lookout and let me know if anyone’s coming.”

Ah, so he’s the surveillance guy. Typical. He steps into the main room, leaning up against a nearby wall just as his communicator buzzes and he spots a flash of blond hair in his peripherals.

TommyInnit whispers to you: sup bitch TommyInnit whispers to you: look up

Ranboo rolls his eyes at the messages, though he supposes he should’ve expected this. He looks up and immediately finds a face peering down at him from the rafters.

“Hi, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he urgently presses a finger to his lips, gesturing to the communicator strapped to his hip before reaching for it again.

TommyInnit whispers to you: dont tell jack im here TommyInnit whispers to you: lure him in

Ranboo decides not to question how the hell Tommy got up there. Honestly, he doesn’t really want to know.

“Right, so this child has literally nothing of value, good to know–”

Jack emerges from somewhere else in the house, coming to a stop in the doorway. Out of the corner of his eye, Ranboo sees Tommy slink back into the shadows, unseen by those not specifically looking for him. “Think I can safely say Tommy didn’t take any of my shit. Unless he has some sort of secret stash…” Ranboo thinks he remembers Tommy mentioning something like that recently, but the uncharacteristic desire for chaos urges him to keep quiet. Instead, he says something else.

“Hey, Jack… can you c’mere a sec?”

Jack’s brow furrows. Yes, even Ranboo himself knows how blatantly suspicious this is, but he doesn’t exactly have a plethora of options for luring the guy over, especially considering he has no idea what Tommy plans on doing to him.

Several seconds pass, and Jack doesn’t move, his arms now crossed loosely over his chest. He raises an eyebrow, and Ranboo, slowly running out of cares to give, decides to take more of a direct approach; just to move things along. He teleports behind Jack, grabbing his shoulders, and as Jack begins shouting profanities and attempts to wriggle out of his hold, he, with great effort, pushes him into the room.

“Oi, you cock! What’re you–”

Water abruptly trickles down from the rafters, suspiciously close to where Tommy has been hiding. A few droplets land on Jack’s head, and he shrieks. Ranboo leaps back to avoid the assault, watching the man’s scalp begin to literally steam with the amount of water it’s being exposed to. Some of the water runs down his face, and Ranboo has to bite his tongue to hold back a laugh as Jack starts squirming on the spot, feebly attempting to mask his pain.

“That’s what you get for trespassing, bitch!”

Jack’s nose screws up. “What do you mean?!” he squawks, wincing as he wrings the water out of his damp hair. “Ranboo’s here too, you dick; why are you targeting me?!”

“Ranboo’s got special clearance,” Tommy responds, jumping down from the rafters and planting his hands on his hips. “Unfortunately for you, Jack Manifold,” he says, retrieving his communicator and tapping at it idly, “I don’t seem to have you on the list.”

Jack’s jaw locks, and his eyes grow wide with raw, unbridled rage. “Since when was there a list–”

Ranboo half expects the man to erupt, much like a volcano, but Tommy steps forward before things can escalate any further, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulders. He’s biting his bottom lip, hard enough to the point that Ranboo can see the tiniest amount of blood trickling from a small wound. The quiet wheezes he can hear makes him suspect Tommy is making an attempt not to descend into hysterics, which is honestly very valiant of him considering one wrong move could cause Jack’s emotions to spill over.

“Don’t take it personally, big man.” Tommy pats Jack’s shoulder with his free hand, which Ranboo doesn’t really get considering Tommy’s other arm is already around his shoulders. “It was just a harmless prank. Needed some entertainment, y’know?” He sticks out his bottom lip. “You forgive me, right?”

Jack sighs, his simmering rage seeming to trickle out of him all at once. Ranboo, demoted to an idle observer, watches with his head cocked to the side. He’s a little worried Jack won’t forgive Tommy, considering how furious he looked just a moment ago, but he finds himself to be proven wrong when Jack’s expression softens. He places a hand on Tommy’s head and proceeds to ruffle his hair, grinning.

“Oh, I suppose. I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

Tommy barks out a laugh, eyes alight with joy. “Damn right you wouldn’t!” Then, he locks Jack into a loose headlock, and that is the catalyst for the playful fight which follows. Ranboo doesn’t get himself involved; there isn’t a need to. Instead, he continues to watch from afar, smiling.

He stays there until the ‘battle’ ends, several hours later.

Ranboo never thought he’d see the day he would be willingly spending time with TommyInnit, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. No words are being exchanged; they’re simply sitting on the edge of the island which the Pube sits upon. Ranboo actually finds it oddly relaxing.

“Hey, Ranboo…”

Oh no.

Tommy looks over at Ranboo, eyes twinkling. “It’s been a while since we did something together.”

Ranboo cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed. “Aren’t we doing something right now…?”

Tommy hugs his knees to his chest, resting his head on his arms. “Yeah, I guess– but I meant something a little more exciting.”

Oh no.

“Tommy, no–”

“Tommy, yes.” Tommy grins. “C’mon, you’ve been my partner in crime for too long to back out now!”

Ranboo frowns. “I feel like I’m being manipulated.”

“Oh, you absolutely are,” Tommy says, stretching his legs out and lifting his arms above his head. Once he’s finished stretching, he snaps his fingers a few times, brow furrowed in thought. “Now who would be a viable target…”

Ranboo speaks up without thinking. “I don’t think Sneeg’s gonna be too busy today.”

Tommy beams, his eyes practically shining. Ranboo physically recoils, his ears pressing against the sides of his head. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Perfect.”

Ranboo’s lips twitch. “You’ve already got a plan, haven’t you.”

Tommy leaps to his feet, puffing out his chest. “Indeed! A very simple one, in fact.”

“Oh?”

Tommy snickers, glancing around for a moment before whispering, “We’re gonna fill Sneeg’s secret tunnel system with lava.”

Ranboo blinks. “Sneeg has a secret tunnel system?”

“Yes, because he’s a little shit who has this weird obsession with living in people’s walls.”

Ah, that makes perfect sense.

It really doesn’t, but Ranboo doesn’t feel like questioning it any further, so he lets Tommy do his thing. The boy runs off, disappearing into the Pube for several seconds before returning with a bucket of lava in his possession, an evil grin growing on his face.

“Wha— Did you just have that lying around?!”

“…Yeah?” Tommy responds, as if that kind of thing is normal.

“...Understandable, have a nice day.”

Tommy barks out a laugh, yelping when the lava starts sloshing around in the bucket. He takes a moment to steady it, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when the liquid settles. Ranboo giggles to himself, but abruptly cuts himself off when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This is followed by a low, ominous voice ringing out, right in his ear.

“The fuck was that, chicken boy?”

Tommy screams. Out of the corner of his eye, Ranboo spots a tiny man sitting on his shoulder – how the hell did he not notice Sneeg was here sooner. Sneeg hops down and approaches Tommy, craning his neck upward to look him in the eyes.

“Where the hell did you come from?!”

“I’m always watching,” is Sneeg’s response. Ranboo hauls himself to his feet as Tommy and Sneeg initiate some sort of scuffed staring contest for literally no reason, and Tommy makes absolutely no effort to hide the blatant evidence of his and Ranboo’s plan to basically commit arson on Sneeg’s tunnel system.

“That’s great and all, bud, but Ranboo and I are kinda busy. So, if you could kindly fuck off–”

Without warning, Sneeg rushes forward, attaching himself to Tommy’s ankle. Caught off guard, Tommy lifts his foot and begins hopping around, shaking it furiously in a feeble attempt to throw the tiny man off. Eventually, he stumbles, and Ranboo’s heart drops into his stomach when he topples over, falling off the island. For a very brief moment, he forgets Tommy is capable of negating the consequences that typically accompany a fall from an extreme height.

Ranboo teleports down to where Tommy fell, and finds himself a witness to Tommy, an Avian, somehow being overpowered by an Inchling. An Inchling.

“Ranboo–” Tommy yelps as Sneeg tugs on his hair, cackling, having climbed up onto his shoulders. “Ranboo, help–”

“Thought you’d be able to get away with pranking me, huh?!” Sneeg grins maniacally. “I know you, Tommy. I knew you’d target me eventually.” He tugs on Tommy’s hair again, hard.

“Ow– Hey, Sneeg, listen–” Another tug. “OW– C’mon, man, easy on the hair! I’m sorry, alright?!”

Sneeg cackles again, clearly enjoying this moment of power. “Say it like you mean it, Tommy–”

Ranboo rolls his eyes, supposing he has to intervene at some point. Careful to remain out of Sneeg’s sight, he teleports towards Tommy, gesturing for the boy to remain quiet as he reaches for the Inchling perched on his shoulder. He contemplates grabbing him, but decides he’d rather not have his fingers bitten. Instead, he simply holds his forefinger behind his thumb, flicking Sneeg away the moment the opportunity presents itself. Tommy releases a long breath, and his muscles visibly relax ever so slightly.

“Thank you, Ranboo,” Tommy breathes, rolling his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck. “Jesus, I thought he was gonna kill me–”

“Great idea – I might just do that!”

Tommy screams again, pointing. Brow furrowed, Ranboo follows his finger, spotting Sneeg rushing towards them.

“I think we should run,” Ranboo murmurs.

Tommy nods. “Yeah– Yeah, we should. If I’m going to die, I don’t want it to be at the hands of Sneegsnag.”

The two of them start running, and Sneeg immediately proceeds to chase them down. Ranboo realises they don’t have an end location in mind, but chooses not to waste his breath asking. They’ll figure it out on their feet. They run past several landmarks Ranboo doesn’t have the opportunity to admire, and it feels like Sneeg chases them across the entire SMP. Eventually, Ranboo looks over and notices Tommy is looking rather fatigued, sweat dripping from his brow and his face pale.

“Hey,” Ranboo says, slowing when he confirms the coast is clear – for now, at least. “You good?”

Tommy comes to a stop beside Ranboo, placing his hands on his knees as he wheezes, coughing to the point he gags. “Yep. Yeah, I’m– I am just peachy.”

Ranboo raises an eyebrow, and one of his ears twitches when a nearby bush rustles. With Sneeg right on their tail once again, Ranboo comes to an impulsive decision. He turns so his back is facing Tommy, crouching slightly.

“Hop on.”

Tommy straightens, blinking. “What?”

“C’mon, just trust me. Hop on, and we’ll go hide in Wilbur’s potion store.” His voice drops to a murmur at that last part, and he hopes Sneeg doesn’t somehow pick up on it.

Tommy doesn’t argue any further. He pulls himself up onto Ranboo’s back, and Ranboo hooks his arms under the boy’s legs to prevent him from falling.

“Hold on tight, okay?” Ranboo smiles, shifting his grip slightly. “I’m not coming back for you if you fall off.”

“For the record I’ll never forgive you if you drop me.”

“I’m not gonna drop you, Tom,” Ranboo says, laughing. “Not on purpose, anyway…”

As if on cue, Sneeg leaps out from the bush nearby, and Ranboo runs. Ironically, Tommy is light as a feather, making it remarkably easy to navigate the SMP in such a way that Sneeg struggles to keep up the pursuit. Tommy cheers, laughing as he wraps his arms loosely around Ranboo’s neck. Though he can’t see him from his angle, Ranboo can tell Tommy is smiling from ear to ear.

“Vamos, loyal steed!” Tommy shouts. “We’re almost there!”

At this point, Ranboo gets the feeling Sneeg has given up, but he makes a beeline for Potions and Just Potions regardless.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathes when they finally reach their destination, detaching himself from Ranboo and leaning against a nearby wall. “Holy fucking shit.”

The two of them are quiet for a moment, catching their breath while birds sing in the distance. Eventually, Tommy giggles. Then Ranboo giggles. Seconds later, the two of them descend into hysterics. It gets to the point where Tommy is wiping tears from his eyes and Ranboo is clutching his stomach, grinning to the point that his cheeks ache.

“Oh my god,” Tommy wheezes. “Shit, that was– That was fucking great.”

Ranboo nods, struggling somewhat to take in adequate oxygen. “Sneeg looked so mad.”

Tommy slides down the wall, stretching out his legs to the point that he’s almost laying on the floor. “He did.” He then takes several deep breaths – most likely to compose himself, his face flushed. “Probably gonna have to watch my ass for the next few days.”

Ranboo takes a seat next to Tommy, nodding. “Yeah, probably.”

“Might need a bodyguard or some shit.”

“I’m not being your bodyguard, Tommy.”

“Fuck.”

“Sorry.”

“...Oh well, at least I still have my lava bucket. Self defence, innit?”

Okay, note to self: Obtain a stockpile of water buckets, ASAP.

Tommy has been oddly quiet lately. He still involves himself with the day-to-day happenings of the SMP, but it feels… wrong, somehow. Ranboo knows he isn’t the first to notice, as he sees Tubbo’s knowing expression out of the corner of his eye as the boy wanders past, head hung low and eyes dull.

“Is he… okay?” Ranboo turns to Tubbo, who shrugs, frowning as he lowers himself to the ground where he’s been hovering.

“Not sure. This hasn’t happened for a while.” Tubbo crosses his arms loosely over his chest and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Might just be a bad day, but I feel weird making assumptions.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Of course. He didn’t really have a whole lot to say, though. I guess he just wants some space.”

Ranboo doesn’t press any further. Tubbo has known Tommy much longer than he has; he trusts his judgement. However…

“I’m gonna check on him. Y’know, just in case.”

Tubbo releases a long, slow breath, nodding. “Yeah, that’s— That’s a good idea, big man. Honestly, he might even open up to you more, considering you two have been practically joined at the hip these past couple of months.”

…Yeah, Ranboo supposes he only has himself to blame for that. He isn’t complaining, though; Tommy’s company makes a lot of things rather entertaining.

He turns to walk away, watching as Tommy rounds a corner in the distance and removes himself from his view.

“Um—” He turns back to Tubbo, whose lips are slightly parted. They press into a tight line, and he inhales sharply through his nose. “I’ve already told him, but… let Tom know we’re worried about him, yeah? I’m worried about him.”

Oh, Tubbo is far too wholesome for this world.

“Yeah.” Ranboo nods, smiling. “Yeah, I will.”

Tubbo grins, and Ranboo sets off in the vague direction Tommy was walking. To make the trip just a bit quicker, he teleports forward every few steps, and eventually, he reaches the crater surrounding the Pube. Perched on the edge, swinging their legs idly into the abyss below, is–

“Tommy!”

Tommy visibly flinches, glancing over his shoulder with a furrowed brow. Ranboo approaches slowly, kneeling down to the boy’s level before carefully placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Ranboo murmurs, “you alright?”

Tommy shakes his head, hugging his knees to his chest and looking back out towards the Pube.

“Tubbo’s worried about you.”

“He’s always worried. He’s a clingy bitch.”

“Don’t say that,” Ranboo scolds. “He’s your friend; he cares about you. He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“You’re my friend too.”

“Yeah, but— That isn’t the point. Not the point—“

Tommy snorts. Ranboo smiles.

“Anyway,” Ranboo continues, pulling away and standing. “What’s got you feeling so down today, Tom?”

Tommy shrugs. “Dunno. Just an off day, I guess.”

Ranboo nods, humming sympathetically. He places his hands on his hips. “I get you; those kinds of days suck. Anything any of us can do to help you feel a little better?”

Tommy shrugs again, and Ranboo begins gnawing on his lip. He doesn’t want to leave Tommy alone while he’s feeling like this, but he has no idea what he could do to possibly brighten the boy’s mood—

Wait.

Disregard that previous statement he has the perfect idea.

“Hey.” Ranboo kneels down again, nudging Tommy. “Come with me for a sec? I want your help with something.”

Tommy sighs, but it’s loud and very much exaggerated. He hauls himself to his feet, running a hand through his frizzy hair. “If I must,” he says, jutting out his bottom lip. Ranboo laughs, motioning for Tommy to follow him as he turns and begins walking away. Tommy jogs to his side, glancing up at him with curious eyes, which Ranboo is just now noticing are rather red.

“Where’re we going?”

“Tubbo’s house.”

Tommy almost chokes.

“If you don’t want to talk to him right now, I’m not gonna make you.” Tommy breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “I just thought doing this would make you feel a bit better.”

“Doing what? You need to be a little less cryptic, boob boy.”

Ranboo’s ears twitch, and he smirks.

“We’re gonna mess with Tubbo.”

The way Tommy’s face lights up upon hearing those words brings about a warmth in Ranboo’s chest; a sensation he welcomes with open arms. The boy then proceeds to attach himself to Ranboo’s arm, grinning up at him.

“That I can get behind.”

Ranboo smiles, glad that Tommy already seems to be doing better than he was when he found him. He gently pries Tommy off of him and ruffles his hair fondly, placing a hand on his hip and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “C’mon then. If we’re lucky, he’ll still be home.”

There are no objections, so the two of them return to Tubbo’s home on stilts, pointedly ignoring the gaping hole in the adjacent mountain, which appears to have grown impossibly larger. Standing on the porch, no Tubbo in sight, Ranboo turns to Tommy. The boy simply blinks, confused, but Ranboo continues to stare expectantly. Tommy isn’t stupid; he’ll catch on.

“Wait— Don’t tell me I have to come up with the plan?”

There it is.

“You’re the boss,” Ranboo says, shrugging. “Guess I figured you’d have some better ideas than me.”

Tommy’s eyes are comically large. Ranboo almost laughs, but for the sake of the kid’s dignity, he refrains, waiting patiently as Tommy’s brain kicks into gear.

“…Yeah I’ve got nothing.”

“Seriously?”

“Being my best friend, Tubbo is my go-to for epic pranks. Unfortunately, this means he’ll probably be prepared for anything I throw at him – and I mean that both physically and metaphorically.”

Ranboo’s brow furrows in thought. “Right, okay–”

There’s the sound of a door opening nearby, and Ranboo is pulled into the shadows as Tubbo steps out of the house. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to be having that conversation right outside the guy’s front door.

Ranboo and Tommy watch as Tubbo runs his hands through his tangled hair, not stopping until it has been adequately brushed. His wings start flapping rapidly, and with a loud, piercing buzz, he takes off, flying away from the house. Once the sound has faded into the distance, the duo emerges from their hiding place.

Wonder where he’s going.

Dismissing the thought, Ranboo looks over at Tommy, smiling. “I think that’s our cue.”

Tommy’s brow furrows, and he blinks. “Huh?”

Ranboo plants his hands on his hips, smirking. “I think I might have an idea, but we’ll need to head inside.” Noticing Tommy’s confused expression shift into one that is almost entirely blank, he frowns. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, y’know. You– You can let me know if you wanna back out–”

“No.”

Tommy’s response is abrupt. Afterwards, he has more to say. Ranboo doesn’t interrupt.

“N-No, I– I want to do this. I want to do it with you.”

“You get sick of the isolation after a while, trust me.”

Something finally clicks. Since Ranboo arrived on the SMP, he hasn’t seen Tommy pull a single prank by himself, nor has he been informed of this occurrence by others residing on the SMP. He’s always dragged him along.

Ranboo is vaguely aware of the concept of instincts, and the fact that they exist in both Mobs and Origins alike. He figures these things may be related. One can only handle isolation for so long, especially when they encounter someone with whom they find themselves to grow to trust deeply.

This explains so much.

“Okay,” Ranboo says. “Yeah, alright– We’ll do it together, yeah?” Tommy nods. “Cool. We shouldn’t take too long; I genuinely have no idea when Tubbo will be back.”

The two of them duck inside the house, Tommy making sure to close the door behind them. He sticks close to the door while Ranboo ventures further into the house, searching for something they could use to their advantage in order to catch Tubbo off guard. There isn’t a whole lot of note; just a few chests, a pile of barrels in a corner, and the starting foundation of some basic furniture. Not a whole lot they can work with.

Ranboo looks back over towards the door, where Tommy has begun browsing through his inventory. Squinting, Ranboo spots something interesting in the boy’s possession as he scrolls.

“Hey, Tom?”

Tommy hums.

“Mind if I steal that bucket of milk from your inventory?”

Tommy looks up from the interface, cocking his head to the side. “Sure…?” He retrieves the bucket from his inventory and hands it to Ranboo without a word, who gestures for Tommy to move away from the door before approaching it himself.

“What’re you–”

“Just trust me,” Ranboo says, glancing over his shoulder at Tommy and winking. “Tubbo won’t see this coming.”

With a bit of work – and some precise placement, Ranboo eventually manages to successfully craft a simple door trap, the bucket of milk he has ‘borrowed’ from Tommy poised to fall onto the next person to walk through the door to Tubbo’s house. This kind of trap has many flaws, of course, but it’s the first thing Ranboo came up with, and he’s confident Tubbo won’t expect it, just as he told Tommy.

Of course, there’s always the possibility that Tubbo won’t be the one who comes through the door…

“Tommy.”

“Yeah?”

“Shoot Tubbo a message, will you? Give him a reason to come home fast; I don’t wanna risk someone else triggering this.”

Tommy has already pulled out his communicator, and throws a thumbs up in Ranboo’s general direction as he types. “Already on it, big man.”

“Cool, thanks.”

After the message is sent, and Tubbo confirms he’s on his way, Tommy and Ranboo are left waiting for several minutes, which Tommy insists feel like hours. The two of them lounge around on impromptu chairs made from oak stairs, scrolling idly through message history and the depths of their inventories, until eventually, they hear the approach of a familiar buzzing. Acting quickly, Ranboo grabs Tommy, pulling him aside to hide behind the pile of blocks they’d placed down in advance, giving them a perfect view of the show while remaining concealed from view.

There’s a muffled, “Tom?” from outside, and Tommy begins snickering. Ranboo nudges him, shushing him quietly despite also being close to laughing himself. Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, wincing when he seems to bite down just a little too hard.

“Tom?” Tubbo calls again, and the door swings open. “Tom, are you–”

Right on cue, the bucket falls, landing exactly where it was intended to: Onto Tubbo’s head.

“Ah!” Tubbo stumbles backward, fumbling with the bucket as he moves to pry it off. He is eventually successful, and, after throwing the bucket aside, brushes his sopping wet hair out of his eyes. Beside Ranboo, Tommy rolls backwards, a laughing fit much like the one back in Potions and Just Potions quickly overtaking him. With Tommy incapacitated, Ranboo takes it upon himself to retrieve an axe and chop the blocks away which make up their hiding place. Meanwhile, Tubbo watches with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of both bewilderment and rage.

“Motherfuckers.”

Tommy’s laugh becomes impossibly louder; infectious to the point that Ranboo has to allow himself to have a little chuckle just to prevent a descent into hysterics.

“Fuck you guys, seriously,” Tubbo says, though there is no malice behind his words. “I’m gonna have to go shower now, you dicks. That’ll be the fourth time this week–”

Tubbo storms off into another room, muttering to himself the entire way, and Tommy cackles, his laughter slowly dying down after that. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “I forgot how great this feeling is.” He looks up at Ranboo, who has gotten to his feet and is currently brushing the stray dust off his clothing. The two of them lock eyes, and oddly enough, Ranboo doesn’t feel the irritation he and his fellow Endermen experience when faced with direct eye contact with those not of their kind.

Tommy grins. “Thanks, Ranboo.”

“For what?”

Tommy sits up, shrugging. “I dunno– lightening the mood, I guess. I’d probably still be wallowing in my own sadness if you hadn’t come along. Even if it was at Tubbo’s request.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I volunteered.”

Tommy laughs. “I know, I know, I’m just fucking with you.” He hauls himself to his feet, wrapping his arms around Ranboo from his side. “But seriously, thank you.”

Ranboo gets the feeling he’s thankful for more than just today.

He keeps quiet about that, though. He wouldn’t want to embarrass his friend.

#origins smp #osmp #origins smp oneshot #osmp oneshot #tommyinnit #ranboo #philza #technoblade #wilbur soot #jack manifold #sneegsnag #tubbo #o!alliumduo #swirlz scrawls

[caliginousarchitect]

More cats based on @bonesetblues​‘s KHR/BNHA crossover fic “curiosity kills the cat (but satisfaction brings it back)” (first set, the 10th gen + Kyoko, here)

Varia time

Xanxus Did him as a longhair black candleflame/braided mackerel tabby, with medium rufousing (making him look very brown). Gave him a heavy build, and dark copper orange eyes. His scars that are always visible on his human form were done as patches with hair missing, while the ones that show up when he gets worked up we decided to show as patches with damaged melanin production, so they produce white hair. Also went with dark copper orange eyes.

Squalo Longhair blue silver ticked tabby, with some white spotting that’s pretty hard to see. I entertained myself by using the tabby marks and white spotting to give him shark gill patterning. His posing was an interesting question since, of course, the man lopped off his own hand and replaced it with a sworded prosthetic. Which obviously isn’t making the trip across to a different universe, and even if it had he wouldn’t be able to use it because, well. he’s a cat now. Also, how to get around being three-footed? I went with him plantigrade biped-ing, since it’d keep him from trying to walk on the stump better than tripod, which I can’t help but feel, walking on the stump by accident might be uncomfy? Like when you misjudge how many stairs there are in a staircase. He ended up looking kinda top-heavy because of the neck fur. Lightish blue eyes on him. Viper/ Mammon Longhair lilac smoke showing classic tabby ghost markings, and darkish blue eyes. Viper actually has slightly lighter hair colour than Chrome, so I was *wiggles hand* between an even more powder blue than Chrome or lilac, obviously ended up going lilac. Smoke because, eh, I thought the smoke/ mist thing was amusing, classic tabby ghost markings because I could make a reference to Fantasma’s snake form with the swirl. Eyes are a guess, we don’t actually Know Viper’s eye colour since they always have their hood up. Their... tattoos? are mirrored by the tabby markings under their eyes.

Belphegor Shorthair apricot ticked tabby with central-heterochromatic eyes (copper on outside edge of the eyes, pale blue around iris) although with the squint it’s very hard to see (deliberate). Another case where we don’t actually know the character’s eye colour (beyond Lussuria calling them beautiful) since he (and his brother) never show them. So I figured, something unique and noteworthy. Our colour options for the fur were Golden (black tabby with a corin mutation), red, cream, or... apricot, which is the Dilute Modifier version of Red+cream, between them, colour-wise. and also very hard to find reference photos of. Longhair didn’t seem right, so shorthair. He’s squinting because I figure he doesn’t want people looking at his eyes and he doesn’t have hair to cover them now?

Lussuria Longhair chocolate classic tabby with high rufousing and green-yellow eyes. (another character where I don’t think we ever really see the eyes? Sunglasses in this case). Shorthair might have been more accurate to go with, but comnsider... flamboyance. I couldn’t pass up a feather-boa tier of fluff on him. Unlike things like piercings and prosthetic hands, his dyed and bleached hair remains.

Levi-a-than Longhair black smoke with ghost mackerel tabby markings and low white spotting, and green eyes. Also he has mostly black whiskers, which is an unusual trait but can happen. White spotting used to outline where his facial hair is as a human. Smoke let us go with a solid, but also let the ghost markings of his hairline be tabby stripes, and also. pale poofy neck. Heterozygous on japanese bobtail, resulting in a half-tail with a kinked end, because I just. cannot envision him with a full tail? (Having had it indicated to us that white spotting on the face is pretty much 100% correlation with white toes, he has white toes, and also Lambo in the first post’s image is now updated.)

Fran Shorthair blue mackerel tabby with low rufousing, and teal green eyes. With admittedly a green hue. One could almost pretend the hue is down to the lighting in the room, perhaps, colours are like that. (Fran also seems like the kind of person who could end up with algae growing in his hair, like a sloth, because he doesn’t Care, so you could go with that option also)

other notes: the cats the author has used as a ‘this is what they might look like’ include - Squalo’s is actually a longhair black silver tabby, we went with blue instead for the paler colour. - the turkish angora used for Belphegor is actually a cameo red (that is, red silver), rather than cream (evident by how red the stripes are) - the cat used for Levi is, in fact, a black smoke like what we went with! although the one in the image is a shorthair. - the one used for Lussuria appears to be... chocolate or cinnamon silver tabby? Lighting in the image is kinda bad. Probably Cinnamon. Lussuria actually has brown hair that he bleaches+dyes, rather than like. Naturally AnimeColour hair, which is why we went with chocolate (with the hair on his head still dyed) Stay tuned for the Mists (Mukuro, Chrome, Viper, Fran) in Anime Colours (Post 3: Animecolour Mists) I have to decide who to do next, so options include: - Non-10th gen Namimori kids (sans Kyoko since I already did her, but including Shoichi) + Kokuyo squad (sans Mukuro+Chrome) - Arcobaleno (sans Viper) - Simon Family - Other?? I’d love other people’s votes

#cats #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #bonesetblues #character design #ficart #Fanfic art #digital art #our art #cktc(bsbib)

[roseunspindle]

Angel Wings

Angel wings possibly as part of a fic I'm not writing....

Archangels

Michael - Michael's are pure white, he has six of course, but they are what he considers. He secretly feels they are "nothing speacial" soldier angels's wings like Castiel, are copies of michaels. Michael only learns to truly love his wings in the cage during therapy with Sam. Sam thinks they look cool. (Even if Michael's "vessel" when they leave the cage ends up being young John Wincehster)

Lucifer - Lucifer's top set are bright yellow, with the very top edge being white and fade to darker golden yellow at the base, his second set are pale pink to deep rose, and the third are deep purple to dark blue black. Even after falling his wings are beautiful but...muted...for they show day, dawn, and dusk but his joy in creation has dimmed and so have his wings. When he and Michael has Sam mandated cage therapy his wings begin to brighten again. When they leave the cage when Cas comes to try to rescue Sam, many say that Lucifer's wings have become far more beautiful than they were originally.

Raphael - Originially Raphael's wings were a vareity of greens, but after Gabriel ranaway and Lucifer was cast out, his wings grayed, now they look like a seraphim's "practical" wings. Just more of them. Once Sam, Michael, and Lucifer get pulled out of the cage and Gabriel returns, Raphael's wings change back, as they once again embrace their role as the archangel of healing.

Gabriel - Gabriel's wings are brilliant gold, they are a banner to easily declare the Archangel who brings forth the messages of God. (When he's masquerading as loki Gabriel finds hiding them a pain...) He enjoys their "look at me aren't I pretty" ness again when he returns to heaven as one of Sam's chosen Archangels

Others

Castiel - starts off with the standard single pair of white soldier angel wings, that are based off Michaels, then going to hell burns his feathers, and they are blackened. They begin degrading as he falls during his removal from heaven and still further as pain and torment and all the trials he faces to reach the cage in order to "save" Sam. When Sam, Lucifer and Michael in tow, leave and return t earth, Castiel becomes an Archangel, the Archangel of humanity and free will. His then six wings are still the black of his multiple trials in hell, but have taken on a gleaming blue shade of deep oceans.

#wings #sam becomes god #sam gives michael and lucifer therapy in the cage #they are just sad at that point #adam isn't there as he died again when castiel molotoved michael #and his soul was sent to heaven #Supernatural

[sussex-nature-lover]

Saturday 15 April 2023

#JFT97 and a little catch up

Remembering the 97 Liverpool FC fans who lost their lives following the Hillsborough Disaster and all those who suffered from the injustice ever since that day.

But also, to happier things.

The Naturewatch Dog had her designated birthday on 1st April. Her expression tells all you need ever know about the indignity of having over enthusiastic parents!

Oh well Little Dog, your last couple of years have been much happier than your start in life.

It’s that time of year again when our Amelanchier lamarckii comes into blossom. It’s such a popular tree for wildlife and during its all too brief flowering season, so pretty for us to look at too. From here on, I’ll be looking out for the annual Bullfinch spotting in the garden.

Snowy mespil is certainly a tree with plenty of interest and its small size (up to 7m) makes it a favourable choice for a wide range of planting schemes. It begins to look attractive in bud, just as the silvery leaves unfold in April. Then, a striking mass of tiny snow white, star-shaped flowers smother the tree while the leaves unfold a pale copper-bronze in an unrivalled spring display.

By June, small pinky-red berries become edible (if you can pick them before the finches and blackbirds do), hence its other name, ‘Juneberry’. During the summer the small oval leaves become a mid-green then in autumn develop all shades of dazzling orange and red.

The branches twist, bend and interweave, perhaps part of the reason why this tree does not look out of place on a woodland edge or as part of a ‘wild’ garden

As my blue hyacinths fade away, another strong blue comes into flower. This rogue clump of Spanish Bluebells at the top by the house, is quite a long way ahead of the English Bluebells we planted at the bottom of the garden alongside the Snowdrop patch.

The weather has been absolutely atrocious, very stormy, very very wet. On Thursday we had two hailstorms and some enormous claps of thunder came quite out of the blue. Yesterday it was grey. windy, cold and wet. Every now and then there’s a patch of sunshine and it really lights up the scene.

Next door have had their Willow tree cut back this year. Whenever its done it’s always a real shock to the system and looks at first as though it’s been utterly butchered. It’s amazing how it sprouts and comes back to life. In the meantime, someone’s found it makes a rather good perch.

Those bursts of sunshine show him to the very best advantage and my he is an incredibly handsome chap. Just look long long his display feathers are now he’s a fully grown adult. We really are lucky that he chose to come and live here - well, except that he sat on our patio table with me while I was potting on some pelargoniums and I had to shout at him for pecking off the heads, It was a bit of a stand off for a while before he sulked and retreated over the fence.

Now I’m left wondering where on earth I can possibly house them so we can see the display and yet it’s left undisturbed. Wish me luck with that one!

Finally, the results of the Big Garden Birdwatch 2023 have been published. The top 10 birds are all found in our own garden. Very few surprises, but if you want to check out the results, you can find the RSPB page on this link.

#birds gardens peacock birthday JFT97 LFC flowers bluebells

[gghoulishdelight]

i think my brain is rotting in places ...

part one of brand new city !

one / two /

withdrawals suck, especially when you've never known complete sobriety, but kobra manages with his sibling there to help him out.

The sound of retching echoes dully in the desert landscape. A scattered satellite-star mixture twinkles down from an inky sky at the venom brothers, who are hunched behind the dusty diner they reside in. The newly-named Kobra Kid clutches a metal pail to his chest as the affects of withdrawal run their course through his thin frame, their sibling squatting close by with a worried look on their face. Their red hair whips feather-soft against their cheek as he watches his kid brother get sick again and again, the bottle of water in their hand crinkling being the only other sound besides Kobra's labored breathing. After a few seconds of absolute silence, Party shakily uncaps the bottle and passes it over to their brother, carefully trading the bottle for the gross pail, which gets set aside to be cleaned in the morning.

"Drink," they murmur gently, brushing bleach-blonde bangs soaked in sweat away from Kobra's forehead; Party was still not over the shock of blonde their brother decided to do when he got out here. Sure, they have cherry-red hair that sticks out like a sore thumb compared to Jet's curly mane and Ghoul's grimy ink-black locks, but still.

"This is so gross," the sound rasps in Kobra's throat as they finally find their voice and lean their head back against the wall, a hot sigh puffing into the cold air in a thin veil of mist. Party only giggles softly before they move to sit beside him, wrapping their arm around his shoulders to pull it close. "Yeah, ain't nothin' pretty 'bout comin' off joy. I know ya weren't out here when I was goin' through mine, but I can assure ya it was equally, if not more, gross. Even I couldn't make it look good," Party sighs dramatically with a small shake of their head, earning a quiet snort and a little poke in the ribs from Kobra's bony elbow. "Oh hush, I don't wanna hear it."

They sit in silence for a while longer, watching the dark sky slowly turn into a blend of quiet greys and gentle blues. Party thinks that Kobra has fallen asleep, just about to try and pick it up to carry them inside, but Kobra's head shifts on their chest. They look down to see him looking up at them with a strange look in its eyes. They quirk an eyebrow up in question, familiar with Kobra's inability to voice their thoughts sometimes. It takes a moment, but eventually they talk.

"The city. Are we ever going back?" It whispers almost silently, taking notice of the way Party tenses up and just barely digs their fingers into its shoulder. "No," they reply shortly, voice gaining a sharp, defensive edge as they talk, "No, Kid, we ain't ever goin' back there, not unless it's to fight. There ain't nothin' left for us in that place. Not anymore." Party's voice holds an air of finality when they finish speaking, feeling Kobra's head nod along with their words. They stroke their calloused fingers through his messy, pale locks once more before nudging it gently, prompting it to stand. "C'mon, up. Let's get back inside b'fore we freeze out here." Kobra obliges with a grunt, standing on shaky legs and pocketing the leftover water bottle in his jacket. Party leads it back inside to their shared room, the both of them sharing a smile at the sight of a Jet-Ghoul pile occupying the bed on the opposite side of the room, the curtain that usually separated the brother's room from Jet and Ghoul's pulled back tonight. They climb into their respective beds, sharing a final, whispered 'goodnight' before they slip into sleep. They both miss the green eyes glinting at them from the darkness, watching them with a careful, guarded eye. 

——————————————————————————————————

Bright, loud mornings melded into quiet, hazy nights for Kobra during the next couple of days as he lay on its bed in a state of semi-consciousness, only sitting up to eat and drink whenever Party practically forced it down their throat. It knew it wasn't anything serious, just the last affects of the Joy finally wearing off. He remembered how similar it felt to being on the pill however, days melting into one another whenever he was in the city.

On the fourth day, they were finally lucid enough to stand up and walk out into the main room of the diner, where he was greeted by the other three sitting together in a booth, chatting amicably with one another. 

Three sets of eyes were quick to snap in his direction as he ventured out into the light, a faint blush of embarrassment dusting its cheeks as they realize how ragged they must look. "Uhm.."

"Kobes! C'mon, come sit!" Party saves their ass from having to start a conversation right away, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as they beckon him over eagerly. They shuffle over to take a seat beside their brother at the table, which was shaking the tiniest bit for whatever reason, finally coming face-to-face with Fun Ghoul for the first time; they'd met before when Kobra escaped the city with the gang's help, but Kobra couldn't really remember much about that day just yet, and only really remembers seeing the three's masks during the escapade.

Fun Ghoul's hazel-green eyes are fiery and ansty for the split second they meet Kobra's, staring at him with a burning intensity that revealed the way its skin itched with the need to thrash and bounce around, wanting to tear at its skin and fight a thousand dracs with its bare hands, before its eyes flicked away and instead looked to Jet. Jet Star, who had coffee brown eyes with a passionate glint in them, who's gentle smile was reflected in the gentle curve of xeyr jaw and the lines around xis eyes that were a result of him smiling so often. Jet was better at holding his and Party's gaze steadily, one of xyr hands slipping off of the table to disappear beneath it. The light tremble in the table suddenly paused as he did so, Ghoul emitting a muted whimper before burying itself further into Jet's side.

Kobra simply watches them interact with wide eyes, staying silent and absorbing their interactions curiously; Party was already fairly used to Ghoul's ansty behaviour and how it calmed entirely at Jet's touch, the itching tension bleeding out of Ghoul slowly and surely, leaving it a purring pile of sleepy smiles and slurred words. Nobody says a word for a few seconds, a slight tension in the air, before Party starts rambling about a gas station southwest they saw a few days ago to Jet, who nods along with their words and starts chatting back after a few seconds of silence on xyr end.

Kobra was happy to sit silently and just listen, its eyes flicking from his sibling's face to Jet's, then returning to the side of Ghoul's half-hidden face, pressed against Jet's sturdy arm in a way that probably would've been painful to anybody else. He watches Ghoul's bitten-red lips part to allow needy gasps to escape into the dusty air, watches the way his body trembles the smallest bit, tensing and biting at Jet's sleeve for a quick second before relaxing once more, panting hotly as he calms down again. It's mesmerizing almost, watching the expressions that flit across the ravenette's face as it calms, the glint of his teeth and the visible way he goes slack once he's worked through whatever is troubling it.

Ghoul's eyes flutter open all of the sudden, catching Kobra by surprise when their eyes meet immediately, knowing he's been caught staring. They flush with embarrassment, pale cheeks dusted with a dark red before he looks away and down at their twisting fingers. He feels a gaze still boring into him even after he's done so, knowing it's Ghoul's still, and they risk a glance upwards; Ghoul's eyes are calm and clear now, a strange sense of vulnerability resting in its hues as it just stares. It doesn't meet his eyes, but rather.. stares at his lips?

"Kobes, whaddya think about goin' t' see if we can get anythin' outta that station? Think it'd be a good way for ya t' get used t' goin' on runs," Party flicks his eyes over to his little sibling to see if they're still listening, taking note of the way they jump a little and turn to look at them with wide eyes, like a desert rat caught in headlights. "Uhm.." They snicker quietly, nudging Kobra with a teasing smirk. "Y'gotta listen Kobes, 'else you'll get stuck doin' somethin' y'don't remember agreein' to," Party chirps cheerfully, not missing the way Ghoul is still staring holes into Kobra's skin practically. The blonde simply nods however, scrambling to get up from the table to allow Party to stand.

"Y-yeah, yeah, we can.. Yeah," Kobra stutters nervously and shifts back and forth on his feet, giving Jet and Ghoul one last look-over before it dashes out the door to retrieve their bike. Poison just sighs and rolls his eyes affectionately, giving a little shake of his head. They stand finally, stretching out their spindly limbs with satisfying clicks and cracks, before leaning over to kiss Ghoul on the forehead. "Sweet boy," they murmur quietly, loving the way Ghoul squirms at the praise before ducking into Jet's side completely now. Jet just giggles, breathy and sweet, and holds the smallest killjoy as close as xe possibly can. "Go on Pois, go get'cha kid brother b'fore this poor thing dies from bein' teased." Jet is teasing them both when xe speaks of course, rubbing a hand up and down Ghoul's side to help it feel protected while the other hand makes shooing motions at Party.

Party obliges with a snorting giggle, little teeth peeking from behind their thin lips as they scurry away from their teammates and outside to go retrieve Kobra, who's already on their (newly-stolen,) shared bike and has his helmet on. The visor of the helmet is still up, Kobra's eyes meeting theirs with a fiery smirk crawling on their face.

"Let's go blow this bitch, Kid."

#♦ ~ brand new city #♦ ~ ghoul's writings #♦ ~ masterlist #party poison #danger days fic #danger days the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #mcr danger days #danger days era #danger days #the fabulous killjoys #mcr ray #mcr mikey #gee way #gerard #mychem #mcr gerard #mcr frank #killjoys #my chem #mikey way #my chemical romance #bert mccracken #mikey fucking way #my chemical fucking romance #jet star my beloved<3 #my chemical romance fic #my chem gerard #my chemical ray #my chem romance #my chemical mikey

[fleshdyke]

macaw plumage appreciation post

(not my pets)

#forgive billy’s bald head. his wife is terrible at preening #and billy refused to move so ignore the rop in front of him #i do love green factor b&gs though <3 they’re absolutely gorgeous #just the green feathers with blue on the edges on his back are so pretty #and the green sides on his tail feathers #i have one of his back feathers in my phone case <3 i love he #he doesn’t *love* me but he doesn’t really like anyone so yk #he tolerates me and takes food from my hands so it’s fine #bubbette is a different story though. she haaaates me and my entire crew LMAO #all because someone from another crew caught billy’s toes when putting the food dishes in and the shift leader was in view lmao #billy doesn’t care at all though. he’s chill #birds #rambles #bird #parrots #parrot #macaw #macaws #blue and gold macaw #blue and yellow macaw #ara ararauna #psittacidae #psittaciformes #feathers #plumage

[normanblowup]

Far In The Woods

Fae!Skwisgaar Skwigelf x reader

Summary: the reader moves back to their old childhood home and see their old ‘imaginary’ friend.

Warnings: possibly unreality? Reader believes something isn't real when it is, lying/trickery, also fear (skwis plays harp not guitar.. And is also sort of creepy)

Words: 1547 (this one doesn’t feel as finished as nathan’s but i still like it. also it’s my first skwis fic!)

A/n: I was intrigued so I drew fae Skwisgaar and decided he was gonna get his own story :) now I'm thinking they all need a story with similar titles so that it's a series :D (if y'all don't know the whole thing with names and faes: if you tell a fae your name they pretty much gain control of you, and it's the same the other way. If you learn theirs, you own them. Sort of, I'm not an expert.)

——

The woods behind your house growing up had always been your favorite place to play, no matter how much your parents told you to stay away. You'd never found danger there so what was the point in staying away? There were only the sparse deer and squirrels. And of course, there were the tall, ever-reaching trees.

Looking up at the sky, full of the green, brown, and white of limbs reaching for the sun, was an activity you often did inside of the woods. Nothing could beat that sight.

Now that you're older, and you've moved into the old childhood home --as your parents had moved out long ago, moving off to Florida for retirement-- you feel a call to the woods like before. You vaguely remember an imaginary friend of yours; an angel, you used to tell your parents. He had long, flowing golden hair and wings that could reach the sun, much like the trees that he held so dear. It makes you laugh thinking about your once active imagination, you don't often get the same kind of creative ideas you used to.

As you scrub away at the dishes in your sink, you look out the window and gaze into the edge of the woods. It's almost like the trees sway and bend towards you, beckoning you to them. A thought passes through your mind without permission: ‘I wonder if He misses me?’

It's a sad, strange thought and it makes a sense of longing swell in your chest. You decide to go into the woods, just to walk around, tomorrow. The moon cast light through the tips of the trees, squirrels rush about and climb to their respective homes. You dry your hands and head up to bed yourself. The night is full of hazy dreams, images of multiple hands, multiple eyes, and strange gold light.

Waking up the next day, your chest feels heavy and you lug yourself all around, doing your chores begrudgingly. Soon enough, you're outside. Your boots touch the foliage around the forest line, creeping so close but too afraid to step farther. All those warnings your parents whispered to you come crashing back into the forefront of your mind. Do they hold some semblance of truth?

You step forward and are pulled in further, step after step you walk. It's not long till you’re standing above a creek, it's water rushing below you and your heart thumping in rhythm with each splash.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the gold light, the warm and spectacular light you used to fawn over. But it wasn't real, was it? Nothing like the being you used to play with could possibly exist in the real world, it was just you're overactive, childish imagination. And it's you're overactive, childish imagination now as you look on and see a grey-blue feather float to the soft, plush grass. He wings were that color, weren't they? It was a pigeons, it had to be.

The light saunters off around a tree and disappears, like it was never there in the first place. Another feather falls next to the other, seemingly out of thin air and it makes your lungs constrict just watching it. You step on a row of rocks and cross the stream, stopping just in front of the two surprisingly large feathers.

You crouch down and hold one between your fingers, twirling it around and inspecting the deep color. It ombres from a lighter grey-blue, to a darker blue and it's almost magical looking at them. You've never seen a bird with these kinds of feathers, the pigeon comparison is practically insulting, but you do remember seeing one thing with these feathers. Oh, your angel, your angel.

His long arms, all four of them, are probably the most memorable thing about him besides the wings. The hugs you used to get from him made up for all the hardships you experienced growing up. You suddenly remember how often he used to ask you to come back when you were older... Maybe he's what's calling you to the woods? Or at least the thought of him.

But it's hard to keep telling yourself he's just a thought when you see a hoof enter your line of vision. You look away from the feather and stare at the pale skin and hard hooves in front of you, your eyes trail his legs and stop at his abdomen. He still wears little clothing, only a long flowing white cloth that is inconceivably staying in place.

The flecks of gold that litter his skin shine brightly under the hot sun above. His four peircing eyes stay locked on your fear-stricken face. And it's not til his rumbling voice floats through your ears do you snap out of your stupor.

“Hellos, little ones.” He smiles widely, his perfect lips stretching in the most attractive way you've ever seen. No human could ever compare, it dawns on you that maybe he's supposed to be this beautiful, that he's supposed to make you long for him. Even as a child, he was the only thing you wanted to befriend. But now it's not quite the same feeling.

You look into his eyes and stand up slowly, he's easily over seven feet tall. It didn't feel intimidating before but now it terrifies you. Is he happy to see you? Is he even real? Did you fall and hit your head in the creek? No, this isn't a hallucination or a dream, it's too good to be that.

“Little ones? You happy's to see me?” He smirks and it smacks you into action. You jump and run off in the direction of your house, but the woods start changing. The trees get up and move and suddenly you don't know where you are. And he's right behind you again. A scream rips it's way through your throat. “Is dats anyway to talks to an olds friend?”

He grunts as one of his gentle hands turns you around. He let's his hand slide down to your own, he pulls you along deeper into the trees. You're trembling at this point, all that trust you had as a child has been replaced with an adult feeling of apprehension and fear.

“Wills you tells me your name this times ‘round?” He asks and his fangs, not dissimilar to that of a vampires, glint in the sunlight. His smile hasn't stopped being attractive but his words still fill you with dread, you're parents warnings of creatures in the woods start to ring true. You vaguely remember their talks of tricksters and things wanting to gain control over you while you run around the trees.

“N-no.” You're shaky answer does nothing to dissuade him.

“I’ll tells you mine if you tells me yours firsts.” He chuckles quietly and clutches all four, strong hands to your arms. “Tells me yours name, you trusts me.”

“No.” You say more decidedly. You somehow break free from his relentless grip and step back a few feet.

“Fines. We can still plays, ja?” He tilts his head to the side in question. Does he mean like you used to? Does he not realize you're a whole adult now? You don't play anymore. “Does you still plays? I could plays you my harp, like before.”

His voice seems to shake as he steps forward, it's like he's afraid you'll leave again. How could that be? It wasn't long ago he was trying to trick you into giving up all your free will to him. His long flowing gold locks slide off his shoulder as he leans increasingly forward. His face is right next to yours but the rest of his body is two feet away.

“You’re not real.” You grunt but it only serves to make him laugh. It's a hearty laugh and it makes doom settle in your stomach. “L-let me go home.”

“No. I'll plays my harp fors you.” He gently grips your hand in his and leads you over to a moss riddled cave. There are various flowers and plants growing up the sides of the cave and having off the ceiling. “Donts be afraid, please?”

You look at him incredulously but don't answer, only stepping into the rather large cave in tandem. It's warm and makes you a little sleepy, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you wide awake. A moss and leaves bed lays in the corner, next to a large golden harp. You don't remember this place.

His large frame sits down quickly on the moss-mattress and pulls you with him. You gasp and try to wriggle away but you can't.

You're pressed to his chest as he pulls the harp close and starts plucking the strings, making up a song as he goes. It's fairly good, it calms you even though you don't want it to.

“Tells me yours name, little ones. I promise I’ll tells you mine, I won't hurts you.”

The harp lulls you into a false sense of security, and it's not long before you're mumbling your name to him. He smiles so widely, in utter triumph... But he stays true to his promise, unlike many others of his kind, and he whispers back:

“My names is Skwisgaar.”

#i wanted to give skwis that biblical angel look but toned down slightly :) #skwisgaar skwigelf x reader #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwisgaar #metalocalypse fanfic #metalocalypse #my writing #monsterklok