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bunniesanddeer · 1 month

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Heat: Part Two

Part One

Pairing: Alastor x Reader (AFAB) Lamb/Sheep Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Smut, fingering, fluff, very gentle touches, heat, female anatomy

Word Count: 3,128

It’s barely dawn when he wakes. At first, Alastor isn’t sure what had woken him. Although he was often an early riser, he had figured the long night keeping watch over his soul-bonded would have made him sleep later than usual. He flicks his eyes around the room he had moved them to for a moment. It is after he has taken stock of the room, and the dim, red light filtering through the curtains, that he hears it. His little lamb is whimpering.

Alastor sits all the way up so he can look down at them. His first instinct, had, of course, been to make sure that they weren’t hurt. With the way their brows are scrunched tight, and the soft sounds leaving them, he still wasn’t sure.

“Ma bichette, you should wake.” He settles his hands on their shoulders, going to shake them, but their eyes pop open.

Their eyes, which are normally blue with black sclera, have become black voids. Alastor felt as if he was staring into empty space. It was oddly hypnotizing. As they move, incomprehensible noises escaping them, their scent drifts up to him. It is almost overpowering, and stronger than it had been in the last two days. His head feels heavy, and the itching beneath his skin returns.

“Oh, my dearest, I do believe it has begun.” He kicks back the blanket, to help them untangle their legs. His soul-bonded moves around the bed, their eyes scarcely leaving him for even a moment.

“Alastor,” They whisper. Oh, their voice! It was heavenly, and it only drew him in further. “Alastor, please.”

Their pleading, in their breathy whisper, sends heat down his abdomen. The fiery heat growing within him feels very much like how they had described their symptoms. Every bit of his body felt too confining. But oh! He mustn’t get distracted with his own feelings. His little lamb needed him.

“Come here, ma moitié,” he calls. He opens his arms, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. He watches as they hesitate, nose twitching as some instinct calls for them to do. With a tilt of their head, something in them decides he is safe, and they crawl to his lap. His arms immediately wrap around them, pressing them as close to his chest as he can get them. Their heat is the comfort of a roaring fireplace in winter, and it makes him shiver. He drags his nose into the wool atop their head, breathing in deeply. They smell so wonderful; there is something heady, but also something comforting and familiar.

“Mon trésor, can you understand me?” He rubs a claw against their soft cheek, trying to draw their attention. Their ears twitch, and their tail moves at the sound of his voice. “Dearest,” he tries again. “I need you to answer me, if you can. I want to make sure you still want me to help you.”

“Alastor, please. It hurts.” They wiggle back, trying to look him in the eyes. Their pupils are visible again, but only just; they are tiny pinpricks in the void of their eyes. “Please help me.”

Alastor closes his eyes at their request, and his smile loosens. Their request made him feel incredibly strange, as if some ball of energy was bouncing about in his body, begging to be freed. The heat their scent caused, still hadn’t abated. He opens his eyes again, and nods.

“Of course, mon cœur. Do you wish to remove any of this clothing? You are getting quite warm.” Alastor tugs at the thin tee they wear, and they nod. Without any help from him, they pull the shirt over their head, and their chest is revealed.

Alastor’s breath hitches. He had been expecting some sort of undergarment, but it is their bare flesh he sees. He was aware that their chest was rather small, compared to the bodies of other female demons, but it didn’t matter to him. His hands almost immediately cup their breasts, rubbing against their already pert nipples.

His little lamb gasps, their breath stopping for a moment. “Oh,” they start, their voice pitched higher than normal. “That feels nice.”

Alastor takes it as his cue to continue exploring everything they’ve laid bare for him. One hand continues to rub at their, so very soft, chest, and his other hand travels downwards. The skin of their belly is also very soft, a slight give beneath it.

“You are so very soft, little one,” he coos to them. He ducks his face into the junction of their neck, nuzzling against them. He squeezes one of their hips, and they shiver. “What would you like to do? I know it must be getting quite uncomfortable.”

His soul-bonded wiggles, making him pull back so they can move easier. Their eyes seem to scan his form for a moment, before settling on his legs.

“Can-” their voice cuts off, their already flushed face darkening further. “Can I ride your thigh?” They start shivering, as if their little body couldn’t handle the anticipation. “It’s probably the easiest, for now. I think, uh, that you can use your hands later, if you would like.”

Alastor lets his smile soften. They are so nervous, and it makes his chest ache. How sweet and wonderful they were. He nods, gesturing for them to find a comfortable position. Although the idea of them riding his leg, whatever that meant specifically, was new to him, he knew it must be helpful. They seemed so eager, and he wanted them to feel good.

Alastor realizes, as they prop themselves on one of his thighs, closer to his knee than his groin, what exactly they mean. He also notices that they are, in fact, only wearing underwear now. It is a thin, soft, red pair, cut high enough to see where their thighs and pelvis meet. His eyes are glued to the soft skin at the point where they meet. Something, deep inside of him, wants him to bite there, and he couldn’t tell where it came from.

His little lamb settle their hands in front of them, grasping at his thigh for dear life. He watches with fascination as they shift their hips forward. Their entire body seems to light up, breath stuttering.

“Oh,” they shakily exhale. “That’s- that’s good.” Their eyes flutter closed, and their claws scratch his thigh lightly. Alastor nearly falls forward with the shock of such a feeling. No one had ever touched him like that, without meaning harm.

He grasps their hips, as if to steady the both of them, and he leans forward just slightly.

“Come on, ma chérie, do what you must.” His voice drops, the static often accompanying it, gone. “Let me see you ‘ride’ me, dearest.”

His voice spurs them into action, and he watches, as if enchanted. The front of their underwear is darkening, and he can feel something damp soaking through his trousers. (He winces, realizing he had slept in his clothes. It was too late to worry about that, he needed to focus). Alastor lets his thumb sweep up their navel, the other hand cupping their face as they rock their body back and forth.

“Oh, little one, you are so good for me,” he murmurs. They moan, the sound sending his body ablaze. His skin tingles where he touches them, and his groin feels hot and tight. Oh, the things his little soul-bond did to him. Oh, how wondrous! “Yes, ma moitié. Give yourself pleasure, for me.”

“Alastor,” they mewl as their back bows backward. Their heaving breaths draw his attention back to their pert breasts. Unable to stop the strange desire, Alastor catches one of their nipples in his mouth, tongue immediately exploring the surface. They cry out, and their hands clutch at his shoulders. “Oh, please!”

Alastor feels their muscles tighten beneath his hands. He feels each shuddering breath they take, and the way they moan makes his ears twitch. He places one of his hands between their shoulder blades, pressing them closer to his mouth, and he put the other on their hip, guiding them in their rocking.

“Please what, dearest,” he asks. He lets their nipple free from his mouth, and replaces his head back against their neck. His tongue laps against their neck, prompting a groan from them. Their skin tasted of salt, and their unique taste, (one he had not experienced since they had made their deal). “Oh, you taste wonderful, my dear.”

“Alastor, please,” they beg, again. Their hips are still grinding down against his thigh, which is growing noticeably damp from the slick coating their underwear and the junction of their thighs. “Please.”

Alastor breathes in deeply, scratching his teeth along their throat. His hands tighten in his hold of them, and he grinds their hips down into his leg, harder. The ache in his chest growing too hard to ignore, and the heat in the pit of his abdomen, his lightly bites down on their shoulder. And then they’re keening, a high and breathy thing, that makes his ears limp. He bites down harder, licking at their skin roughly. Alastor can’t get enough of every little noise they make, and he wants more.

Alastor lets his voice dip to inhuman levels, and makes his made-for-radio accent drop, he growls,

“Ma Moitie.”

His little lamb gasps, and their hips stutter in their pace. They convulse strangely, all their muscles bunching up tight. He feels their muscles beneath their navel twitch sporadically, and their breath stop. Alastor thankfully has a good grip on them, because they go limp in his arms a moment later.

“Oh, mon cœur, look at you.” He pulls them into his arms so he can settle them back onto the bed. Their eyes are dazed, pupils visible again and blown wide. Alastor feels almost as if they are a little doll, so easily moved and adjusted. When they are finally settled back onto the bed, he lies beside them, searching their face.

“How do you feel, my dear?” He rubs their cheek gently, focusing entirely on their reaction. He can hear the light thumb of their tail against the mattress, (and it makes him thankful that his own is too small to make such a noise. Alastor could feel it twitching the entire time they sat upon his leg).

“Alastor,” they breathe. One of their hands pulls at his suit jacket. “That felt so good.” Their eyes flutter close, and he watches their whole body jerk. “Unfortunately, I don’t think once is enough.”

A grimace crosses their features. Alastor smiles wider, and he rubs their frown lines with his thumb. “Worry not, dear. I am up to the task.” He lets his voice fill with a confidence he does not feel, but he wants this. He wants to make them feel good again, and to end this ‘heat’ that had been forced on them. “You mentioned, that I could use my hands earlier.”

You can still feel your body twitching, the muscles of your pussy clenching around nothing, as you come down from your orgasm. It is while you are still processing the fact that you had ridden Alastor’s thigh like a saddle, that you feel that painful heat in your belly return. It makes your chest seize, and your head feel fuzzy. When you inform Alastor, he almost immediately mentions making use of his hands. Your brain nearly melts.

Although the two of you had been together for some time now, this was your first, even remotely, intimate experience. You had had a handful of kisses, but nothing more than that. He hadn’t even said anything remotely risqué to you! Now here he was, offering to touch you with his hands.

His hands… the thought sent delightful shivers down your spine. His hands were very large, and they were so warm right now. You wanted him to use them to explore every inch of you, to touch you until his every desire was met. Unfortunately, you couldn’t voice more than a, “Yes, please.”

You felt a tiny bit pathetic, at first, but the soft smile on his face stopped that. He almost looked like he actually wanted to. Not just for you, but for him too. The thought made your chest ache, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and tell him everything you felt about him. You could not, however; there were more pressing matters.

Alastor sits up, and presses his back against the backboard of the bed. He curls a claw at you, wanting you to move closer to him.

“Come, my dear. Let’s remove these. They will be very useless in a moment,” he says, pulling at the hem of your underwear. Your face flushes with heat. It was the last scrap covering your skin, and it caused anxiety to grow within you. He hadn’t seen you in such a state before. Would he find this part of you attractive? Did he find you attractive at all? Did he actually want you? Your mind spirals with dreaded questions you couldn’t voice.

“Ma bichette. Come back to me,” he coos, his hands rubbing your chest and one of your hips. “Do you still want me to touch you?”

The soft way he asks nearly makes you cry. How sweet and kind he could be, despite everything. Tears nearly spring to your eyes at how safe he makes you feel. You can do nothing but nods in response, lest you sob as you try to answer.

Alastor holds the back of your head as he leans you back. He pulls your underwear down your legs as he maneuvers them to his liking. Once the cloth is removed and dropped over the side of the bed, he cradles you in his arms, letting your legs go across his lap. “Mwen renmen ou.” His voice is deep and comforting. You have no clue as to what he whispers against your hair, but you let his voice soothe you.

Alastor keeps whispering to you, even as he trails a hand down your navel and around your mound. With a control over his form, that you haven’t yet mastered, he blunts his claws, and trails his fingers over your newly exposed skin. His lips caress your forehead as he shifts a finger to press between the lips of your slit. A ragged breath escapes you, and your eyes fall on his face.

There is this look that you can’t describe, on his face. His eyes are softer than they have ever been, their radiant glow further softening his whole expression. His smile is small, but more genuine than you had seen it in weeks. Then, he starts whispering again, just as one of his fingers catches against your clit.

Your whole body lurches at the sensation. The hand holding your head tightens, and you’re forced to remain prone as he continues exploring you.

“J’adore ton sourire, mon cœur,” he purrs, finger pressing harder against your clit. It sends tingles up your body, and a moan escapes you. “Tu es ma joie de vivre.”

Alastor leans down, and finally presses his lips against yours. Your whole body trembles, and for a moment you see stars. His middle finger is pressing against your entrance as his thumb presses your clit firmly. Combined with his soft, warm lips, you feel overwhelmed. He pulls back, eyes hooded, as he presses his finger into you. Your legs clench, and your eyes flutter. Every worry that you had about the experience fades away as he slowly slides his finger in. Despite how slick you are, there is a lot of friction, making his entrance slower.

“Te me rends fou. Tu ma fait me sentir tout chose,” Alastor coos as he finally presses his finger in, all the way to his knuckle. His thumb rubs at the side of your neck as he grunts. “Si serré.”

“Alastor,” you whisper, your brows furrowing as you try to calm yourself. Your whole body is shaking now, chest and throat tight. You feel like a live wire, electricity coursing through you like a river.

“Yes, my little lamb?” Alastor asks, finally rubbing your clit again. Despite his inexperience, his touches are deft, and gentle. It feels unfair that he be so good at things he hasn’t done before.

“Please. I need it,” you beg, softly. Your back arches as he slowly pulls his finger out, and thrusts back in. You need him to just keep touching you. Anything. It feels better than you could have imagined this feeling.

“Of course, little one.” His forehead touches yours, eyes lidded as he gazes at you. “Does this feel right, my dear?”

You nod, trying to kiss him, but the hand on the back of your head keeps you from turning it too far. A breathy chuckle leaves him, and he kisses you.

As your lips connect again, he sets a pace with his fingers. Sparks flare out from beneath your navel, and it just feels so good. Your hands finally give up trying to find purchase with each other, and you grab at the arm reaching across your belly. Your fingers dig in as he curls his finger.

Alastor leans back from you, watching you closely. “Oh, look at you. Ma bichette. So good for me, aren’t you?”

His words turn up the heat in your belly, and you feel like you’re going to implode. Noises keep escaping you, and your eyes close tightly. You grasp at his hand, and then he twists it. The move sends you crashing over the edge, one you weren’t aware of being on.

Your body is white-hot for a brief moment, and then it all fades to static. Not quite like Alastor’s, but more like the fuzzy TV static. It blankets over you as your muscles spasm. Your lungs stutter and heave, muscles failing to find the rhythm you need. You vaguely hear your own voice muttering, and you can feel Alastor’s hand still.

“Ma moitié. You were so good for me,” Alastor mumbles, his hands cupping your face. “So good.”

“L’ve you, Al,” you whisper, feeling exhaustion crash over you. Your body gives in, and your eyes slide shut. You can feel Alastor stiffen, for just a moment, before he starts whispering words you don’t understand again.

“Que ferais-je sans vous, mon cœur?” Alastor’s voice is still that deep tone that he rarely lets you hear, and it soothes you. Within a few moments, you succumb to the need to sleep.

Alastor would stay vigilant, by your side, for the whole night. Even his own eventual need for rest couldn’t prevent him from whispering sweet words to you, and keeping you safe.

#alastor x reader #bun's short fics #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fluff #fanfic #alastor x reader smut #smut

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moooncats · 3 months

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✿ Pick A Card: Traits/Aura of Future Spouse ✿

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✿ Pile 1 : Clarity & Generousity ✿

✿ The Giver ✿

Your future spouse is very much advanced when it comes to deep thinking into ones own conscious. They know how to separate their own intuition from the mental chatter that is going on in their heads. The clarity of their intuition is a sweet, simple fruit that tastes familiar to them. The mental chatter is a bitter rind that they peel off and chuck into the garbage (or compost heap, when their mental chatter seems to be organic cx ). They are also very generous, they will shower you with compliments, gifts, anything they can physically give to you. I'm seeing the giving tree in my minds eye. They will always be there for you and will love to be the one that you count and depend on. No matter how much, or how little they have, they will give, give, give. They intuitively know that there is enough to go around, and the main key is to allow it to keep going so the cycle can continue on forever- without stopping. If they don't give it is like they are the one person in the stadium who doesn't do the wave.

✿ Future spouses Aura: Green tones ✿

Your future spouse may have a green thumb and devle in green magick. If you don't know what that means, they are a master planter when it comes to bringing green life into fruition. They may also be rich as well as green is the color of money. Green is the heart chakra, they have many love to give when it comes to you and their heart chakra is forever open you those around them. It is quite infectious! They have unconditional love, empathy, and emotional equilibrium. (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) 🌱✨️

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✿ Pile 2 : Trust & Warmth ✿

✿ The Gentle Giant ✿

Your future spouse has trust in the divine universe and is very brave when it comes to knowing that everything will be fine in the end. They have this instinct knowing in their gut that everything is always going to be okay. They rather live a fun life with trust and confidence than be a defensive weiner. All their focus is geared towards warmth. They let it guide every interaction that they have with all beings, little or big. No matter how other's behave, they choose to respond warmly. With warmth, they can melt any icy exterior. They can soften any hard feelings. They have adopted the saying "kill them with kindness". Omg pile 2, I'm hearing "Cuddly Teddy Bear"! Your future spouse is a Gentle Giant and they choose to be the kind one in every and any situation. They have lived many lifetimes. This is not their first time around the block. Their empathy shows no bounds when it comes to you and others in their vicinity.

✿ Future Spouses Aura : Blue/Purple & Indigo ✿

Your future spouse uses their throat chakra a lot to convey sweet and empathic messages to the world. They do not shy from spreading peace and positivity out into the world. They are also very much in tune with their intuition and gives trust to the universe to guide them and give them hidden messages. They are very self aware and give into their gut feeling and 6th sense. I'm hearing when you two meet they will know instantly as you are litteraly the person that they have been having constant dreams about. Omg this is so cute pile 2!! I love this for you. 🌠💫✨️ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

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✿ Pile 3 : Individuality & Boundless Love ✿

✿ The Alien ✿

Your future spouse was definitely the black sheep of society. Pile 3, I am going to be honest with you- this is the pile that I had a bit of trouble getting energy from. Your future spouse is very independant and they like to be lowkey. Take what you may with that information. Okayyy, now back to the reading. I'm hearing they may have a mental illness (Autism, Schizophrenia, OCD, ADD, etc) that has caused them to look through the lesnses of life with their own flare and style. Im hearing Neuro Divergent. They show delight in being their own quirky person, even if they connect with their friends/family/siblings/children/cousins/cats/dogs/sea monkeys- they see the unique beauty in being their own (sometimes crazy cx ) self. It's alright if their near (or far) and (mostly) dear ones don't always understand them. To be honest, they kinda take it as a compliment. Because of being a black sheep/ alien can cause isolation to some, they have developed an amazing super power- boundless love. They made sure to have their heart open for everyone so they can be known as a person who is just flipping wholesome! On the outside they may look a bit eccentric, or odd looking... but once you get to know them you'll see how multi faceted and just delighful they are! (: They understand that the world is filled with tiny miracles, with this in mind it is quite easy for them to fall in love over and over again, with anything from the honey bee's to neon signs. Whenever they are feeling inspired to love- everything sort of just falls into place.

✿ Future Spouses Aura : Light Tan / Blue ✿

They are so unique! Omg, Light tan is connected with brown. They are very earthly and in tuned with the inner core of the world. They may have had emotional trauma and learned coping mechanisms as a child to deal with it. With the additions of blue, they are in tuned with their throat chakra. They do not shy away from saying things that come from their uniquely structured brain and will have a blast partaking in deep thought provoking conversations with you! 🧠🗣✨️(✿◠‿◠)

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Mahalo for reading my 4th ever tarot reading! This is my first time playing with colors and do I dare say, I am digging it! (: Please remember to hydrate and continue on being your amazing selves. I love you all, moooncats out! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)🚀🌌✨️

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #pick one #free tarot #tarotreading #tarotblr #tarot #tarot cards #moooncatstarot #intuitive #intuition #reading #baby witch #witchblr #future spouse #future spouse reading

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thedemises · 1 month

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. . . EH? W- WHAT?! featuring “avatar of greed” mammon!

contains! . . . obey me! shall we date?/obey me! one master to rule them all, mammon being all flustered and stammering, use of nicknames “human” and “mams”, sleepy mc, mc has ram horns (i know that rams are basically adult male sheep but im trying my best to keep this as gender neutral as possible so pls-), mammon being mammon, pretty much no major warnings! :D notes! . . . this is also a small writing that i scrambled to create at night just like the most recent ace imagine- March 14th, 2024 at 3:08 AM 💀

mammon, the great mammon, the avatar of greed—cannot take this any longer.

while sitting up comfortably in his beloved human’s bed, he finds himself trapped and unable to move with the human clinging on to his back like he’s the tree and they’re the.. koala (from what he remembers, when both of them were comparing the human realm’s animals to the devildom’s creatures).

but also—not to mention... he feels like the side of his cheek is starting to burn aflame by the stare that’s causing it.

now, with the courage he mustered up internally—mammon decides to confront them like he's accusing that they're at fault for something trivially bad. yeah.

“o- oi human... what’cha starin’ at me with that look for?? ”

the words simple slip so easily out of his mouth as the burning grows more prominent and quite warmer when the staring doesn’t stop, more likely directed at his eyes specifically; you can still see his lashes fluttering every time he blinks.

with his gaze now focused on you; your arms drapped over his shoulders in a careless manner but secure enough for him to not shrug you off intentionally (not that he would) and your legs crossed and locked around his waist, your head rested on his shoulder—or your arm—as you stare with a sleepy look in your drooping eyes, like you’re at the brink of giving up staying awake any longer but yet you remain at least half-lidded the entire time.

moving your position slightly, the question he asked has you speaking up a bit. “hmmph...”, a soft hum erupts from your throat, half of your face burrowed within his sweater as you made sure to keep your horns away—sppcifically the tips—to prevent injuring him by total accident, “I don’t know... just.. I like how pretty your eyes appear when you wear those shades. the black ones with an orange golden-like gradient in the lenses. ’ts like a sunset’s reflection on a blue sea, but your eyes are very pretty either way; with or without shades.”

...

... dammit human....

mammon does not have any idea on how to respond—momentarily frozen with his thumb paused the second before it can touch the screen of his D.D.D. that showed the homepage of Devilgram.

congrats mc, you broke him.

“mams?” your weary voice with a hint of amusement brings mammon’s blue-screen-of-death mind back to the present, following a brief chuckle to escape you. “seems like even the littlest of compliments can make you react like a reindeer caught in the headlights.”

that sentence makes the poor second born sputter and stumble over his words, a dark red-ish flush blooms over his cheeks from embarrassment and being a flustered mess; darkening his skin by the blood rushing to his face.

“we- well, of course you’d see the great mammon in that way! ... no, i am not blushing- it’s just a little hot in ’ere! yer just seein’ things.. and no i ain’t enjoying this at all, human! i’m just lettin’ ya do this because i allow ya to, ’kay?!” despite his denies and protests about ever feeling warm and fuzzy in this moment, you can still tell he’ll treasure this memory a lot in the future.

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haunting-venus · 3 months

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wolf in sheep's clothing ↳ jake sully x fem!omatikaya!reader

content warnings | smut ( minors dni ), predator / prey play ( but pretty mild ), oral ( m ), masturbation ( f ), dirty talk, praise, knife play if you squint, facial, accidental stimulation

word count: 3587

notes | here i am for day four of romancing pandora: predator / prey ! first time writing for the man who got me into this fandom and who doesn't love some 2009! jake. these just keep getting longer, its a blessing and a curse

na'vi dictionary | ikran — banshee ; mawey — be calm ; pa'li — direhorse ; tewng — loincloth

Jake’s breath came out in shallow pants, calves burning with exertion as he carried himself as quickly and quietly as he could through the dense foliage of the forest. It was nearing eclipse, the shine of the sun becoming dimmer through the canopies of the massive trees, the more obscured fauna already beginning to glow lightly with bioluminescent colors.

He was a bit embarrassed of how winded he was, taking a pause to put his hands above his head and inhale deep breaths. He did his best to keep in shape after his discharge, but there was only so much cardio you could do while you were planted in a wheelchair.

Luckily, his avatar was quick to build stamina, the lean body adapted to the harsh climate and terrain of the Forest Na’vi. The pads of his feet were rough and strong, thighs tight with muscle to plant himself firmly while climbing trees, lats and biceps sturdy and taut in preparation to swing across vines or scale mountainsides. It was new, weird, and ultimately awesome.

Still, all his physiological adaptations of his new form (his body, he reminded himself, this was his body now) did little to ease the burn in his chest. He’d been running for a while now, ducking down and between trees and vines in ways that his mind remembered but his body was still slowly readapting to.

It was a simple exercise, really. A test to make sure he had adapted to moving and hunting like a Na’vi rather than a Sky Person. He’d become better—learning to quiet his steps, hear the sounds of nature and the wind that could carry his scent and sound, and he was at least trying to feel the energy of the world around. Still, you had wanted to be sure before you brought him on an official hunt, to prevent him from embarrassing both you and him.

You’d begun right after lunch, riding Jake out on your ikran to the far reaches of the forest, miles from Hometree. He’d gotten a head start of about thirty minutes and directions to the general location of Hometree before you’d sent him away with a pat on the back and a knowing smirk.

The task had two rules—1) make it back to Hometree before the eclipse set fully for the night, and 2) don’t get caught.

He’s beginning to recognize the landscape surrounding Hometree, bark marked with knife symbols and stray arrows that preceded the training grounds. He couldn’t be far now.

He knew firsthand how many predators lie in the forest, and they all seemed hell-bent on getting a chunk of his tasty blue flesh, so he wasn’t eager to see one of them again. Then again, there was little in the forest that set his nerves on end more than you.

Your relationship was strange, dancing between the line of ‘absolutely hating each other’ and ‘begrudging friends due to circumstance’. It seemed like you teeteered between them each day depending on your mood or how shitty he was doing in his training.

You’d taken up the mantle of helping Jake with extra training whenever Neytiri was pulled away for her duties as tsakarem, something that was becoming more and more common with the steady invasion of the Sky Demons. You were a strong hunter, more patient than Neytiri was but also twice as demanding. You knew what you wanted done and how, and knew exactly how to get it, even if it meant keeping Jake awake all night practicing his bow stance.

There were times you looked at Jake like he was the scum that stuck to the bottom of your shoe (well, if you wore shoes), like he had single-handedly arrived to make your life difficult. Then, there were the other times. The times when you let your gaze soften as you taught him the words of your people—words like love, and hope and friendship that felt like more than just words when they passed your lips so sweetly. The times when your grip tightens on the bulge of his muscles to adjust his stance, or when your eyes linger a little too long on the exposed skin of his stomach.

It was in those times he felt his mind wander somewhere beyond the defined boundaries of your relationship, to slip into something a little softer, a little hotter. It was starting to become a problem, how ingrained your moods and touches were into the etches of his being, how he was becoming more and more certain that you wanted him just as bad.

Fuck, he could be imagining it, probably was imagining it, but it didn’t matter when you wouldn’t get out of his damn head. You were steady, and tough and so fucking sexy it made his head spin.

He couldn’t help the wandering thoughts as he trailed through the forest, body and mind exhausted from the hours he’d spent watching his every step, craning his head to every sound. His ears twitched up and out, picking up on the low hum of insects and scuffles of small game across the forest floor. He’d been antsy for a while now, the skin rising on the back of his neck and blood thumping through his veins. It felt like he was being watched, that strange dread of being small and targeted creeping up his spine.

The tackle takes him by surprise, the full weight of your body emerging from a low-hanging branch to throw him off balance. He’s a lot bigger than you, stronger too, but this was your terrain and you were definitely in control. He stumbles over vines and rocks as he tumbles back, the impact of the hard ground knocking the breath from his already exhausted lungs.

You’re able to roll off him with grace, readjusting your stance to crouch lowly over him with a mild hiss. Your knife is at his throat before he even has a chance to get his bearings.

“Dead.” Your hot breath hisses over his ear, the cool edge of your knife pressing lightly to his carotid artery.

The blood pounding in his head quickly rushes elsewhere when he’s finally able to take note of your positions. Your face is close enough he can feel your lightly heaving breaths next to his ear, your tail flicking mildly against his thigh as you hold your barely covered sex just above his own. It’s dumb and wrong and he can’t believe he is sporting a halfie right now because what the hell happened to him in life that this gets him hot?

Your gaze softens as he struggles to catch his breath, relaxing your crouch position into a sit on the area just above his loincloth, making him huff. He hopes to whatever god there is on Pandora that you take his flushed cheeks and heavy breathing as anger at being caught and not the mind-bending arousal that was flooding his system.

“You did well, Jake. Most children don’t get nearly this far on their first trial.” You lean back on his lap, knife still dangling from one hand. You clearly don’t seem too bothered with the proximity of your ass to his cock, giving him a teasing look as you praise him. He knew the Na’vi were more open with their sexuality, more casual with touching and feeling than humans but this had to be raising some kind of flags for you.

“Yeah, well, maybe if I had a better teacher…” His voice sounds strained to his own ears, desperate to move the conversation to something, anything, to distract him and get that damn sexy look off your face, like you’ve just won a prize.

Your grin is wide and teasing, easily brushing off his jab. You let your sharp-edged blade trace precariously against the skin of his stomach, voice thick in accented English. “Oh, don’t be a sore sport, Jake. I’m being nice, even though your footsteps are like thunder.”

"Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.” He huffed, leaning a hand behind his head to catch his breath and avoid your piercing gaze.

“Oh, it was. You were moving around like a baby pa’li, just stomp, stomp, stomp.” Your giggles were relentless as you teased him, thumping your feet and tail in loud smacks to drive home your point.

Jake usually would have found it childish, just pushing you off himself and brushing off his shame. Except, your hips swayed dangerously low to the tent in his loincloth with each of your stomping movements, eventually brushing against his sensitive skin and causing heat to shoot through his stomach and up his spine.

“Fuck, don’t move, darling.” His voice was heavier than he meant it to be, his hands instinctively grasping your hips to stop you from moving any further.

Your eyes trail from the flush high on his cheeks to the twitching of his ears, a slow realization coming over your face. Your eyes dilate, tail twitching behind you as you purposefully push your hips back against the growing bulge of his cock. He lets out a groan, fingers tightening against the curve of your hips as he forces his own to stay still.

“I did this to you?” Your expression is unreadable, eyes darting over his face in question.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Jake rubs a hand over his eyes, obviously embarrassed. You tackled him, got on his lap and put a damn knife to his neck, and he popped a boner like a goddamn teenager. Grace is gonna murder him when she finds out this is what gets him finally kicked out of the village. “You just looked so pretty, and my adrenaline was going. It-it’s really natural-”

“Mawey, Jake, it is ok.” You grasp one of his hands, your fingers soft but insistent as you lead him to the dip between your legs. He looks up with questioning eyes, waiting for your permission, before dipping his fingers underneath the soft fabric. He bites his lip as he lets his fingers explore the valleys of your pussy, coming away hot and slick from your arousal.

Your eyes are still focused only on his face, moving your hips idly against his exploring touch as your breath quickens. “It is the same for me. I want you, Jake, all of you, if you will have me.”

He sits up at the waist, letting the fingers from his free hand trace along the edges of your hips and the base of your tail, relishing in the shivers you let out against his chest. He thinks for a moment he must have hit his head too hard since there was no way this strong warrior, this beautiful being so far from anything he had ever known, was offering herself to him.

Except he can feel every breath that huffs from your chest, each twitch of your thighs against his hip, each tremor that wracks your frame when his fingers roll your clit. It makes any rational thought in his head sweep away, pushing his forehead to yours to breathe in this moment.

“Yes, I want you, of course I want you.”

You reached a hand to his face and he could smell the hot musk of your arousal so strongly it made his hips twitch. He leaned his face into your hand, feeling the soft touch of your fingers before pushing his lips to yours impatiently. You sunk into his embrace as he pulled you close, chests brushing one another as you explored the feel of each other for the first time.

Your tongue slipped between your teeth, teasing the edge of Jake’s lips as you opened yourself up to him, letting the sensations of his fingers dipping into your cunt roll over you.

You’d had a few lovers before, fleeting encounters in the night throughout your life, but none had lit your skin aflame like Jake. He was different and a little forbidden, a strong man who threw himself wholeheartedly into the ways of your people and, fuck, you wanted him like no one before.

His hand trails up the length of your ribs, feeling each dip and curve of your figure as your body moves into him. You let out a shaky gasp that borders on a moan when he grips your tit, thumb moving teasingly along the stiff bud of your nipple. You’re trying so hard to keep yourself together, to be the one in control, but can feel yourself crumbling at each press of his fingers against your hot flesh.

Jake groans against your lips, keeping his thumb rubbing against your tit. “Fuck, I love that sound. Let me hear it again, sweet girl.”

“Me first.” You trail your fingers under the hem of his tewng,pulling the fabric down with a tug to the strings. Jake can see the focus of your eyes, almost grounding yourself like you’re trying to regain some sort of control over your body.

Jake’s touch made you feel like you were falling, an exhilarating and nerve-wracking loss of control that had you shaking. You let your fingers slip over the head of his cock, already wet with precum and decorated with little tanhì on the lavender skin. Jake grunts as you let your fingers slide repeatedly over the wet slit, the confident look from earlier returning to your features as you drink in the sounds he makes with each pass of your hand.

“Oh, come on, darling, let me make you feel good. I was just getting started.” His grin is wicked sharp, as dangerous and enticing as he is, his alien fingers rubbing firmly over your clit to prove his point.

“Come now, I successfully got my prey. Shouldn’t I get to reap a hunter’s reward?” Your lips are swollen as you pant the words into his mouth, moving both your hands to twist around the length of his cock. He hardly muffles a moan at the overwhelming stimulation, brows furrowed in pleasure as you let a grin sneak over your lips.

And fuck that shouldn’t make heat run through him like it does, setting his ears aflame as his hips twitch unwittingly into your grasp. Your prey. He certainly felt like it with the coy way your fingers grasped around his cock, each muscle in his body plying to the sweet friction of your touch.

He lets himself relax back against the dirt and moss of the ground, feeling a pang of need go through him at the look in your eyes as you run your fingers along him, imprinting yourself onto him, declaring him as your bounty in the depths of the woods. “God, darling, you look so pretty, wanna feel your lips on my cock so bad.”

“Being quiet was never your strength, was it?” You tease, flicking your tongue out to run along the bumps on his shaft. They glowed lightly in the dim evening, pulsing a bit as he leaked precum onto your tongue with hitched breath.

“Yeah, well, we all have our flaws.”

You hum against the shaft of his cock, vibrations making his thighs tense under you. “Not a flaw, let me hear how good I make you feel.”

With that, you wrap your lips around the darker tip of his cock, letting your mouth fall over the tip and running your tongue along the sensitive underside of his head. Jake leans up on his elbows to get a good look, pushing stray strands of hair from your face to admire how your lips stretch around him.

Your eyes are glassy as you take what you want from him desperately, tongue playing on each edge of his cock you can reach to see what has him keening into your touch. His cock is wide enough to stretch your lips, a bit of drool edging from the corner of your mouth.

His tail flicks frantically behind him, restless against the dirt ground before coiling itself around the top of your thigh. He struggles to keep his hips still, near panting as you ease your lips down his cock, taking a little more each time your head bobs. Your throat spasms a bit as you get halfway down his length, muscles tightening around his cock as you breathe heavily through your nose.

He lets out a startled grunt, brows pinched in pleasure as he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes. “Oh, shit, just like that, darling, doing so good.”

You look almost proud as you gaze up at him from between his legs, leaving one hand at the base of his cock to stroke what you can’t fit in your mouth. He vaguely notices your other hand moving between your legs.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself? All wet just from sucking my cock? Fuck, I bet it’s so pretty, all stretched out around your little fingers.”

The moan you let out reverberates up his cock and into his spine, making his fingers clench in your hair. He can hear the wet slide of your fingers now, rolling inside yourself at the same pace your mouth is falling down his cock. He wishes he could see better, the way your cunt stretches around your own touch, how you stroke yourself in the ways that make you feel the best, he wants to learn it all and ingrain it in his memory forever.

“Fuck, I wanna feel you moan on my cock when you cum, don’t stop-”

He groans as your fingers increase their pace between your legs, your body swaying with each of your thrusts into yourself, pushing your mouth back onto his cock with each movement. He can feel his resolve running thin, mouth lulling open in panting breaths as he lightly moves his hips to chase the movement of your tongue.

You breathe heavily through your nose as the pace of his hips increase, restless against the ground as you suckle hard at the head of his cock. Your moans are incessant now, high and vibrating against the sensitive skin of his tip as you ride your own high. Your eyes are glassy with tears, tightening your grip on his cock as he feels you tremble against him.

He’s still getting used to the whole idea of this Eywa thing, but fuck, the way you look on your knees has to be some kind of divine omen if he’s ever seen one.

He can barely see your body from here, the peaks of your breasts barely poking from the decorative weaving of your top, but the feeling of your hard nipples brushing against his thighs as you move against him has him reeling. He can’t help every little thought he’s had of you in that moment surface—of his cock between your tits, teasing the hard nubs until you're shaking under him, of the look on your face as you ride him relentlessly for your own pleasure, of your eyes rolling as he fucks his cum back into you.

He can feel his self-control slipping, hips inching up into your throat and causing it to spasm around him. You let him move his hips against you, looking up with teary eyes as you run short on breath. After a few strokes, you pull off his cock, panting and shaking with need.

“Jake, Jake, I-yes, yes” your grip on his cock is messy and wet, slick with his own precum and your saliva. His hips jump at the rawness of your voice, breathy and wanting just for him. It’s been a while since he’s been in the game but fuck, he knows you’re close, whining and grinding against your own fingers as you struggle to keep your hand on rhythm.

“Oh fuck, that’s it, come for me baby, I’m almost there-”

He can feel the moment you fall apart on your own fingers, breath catching as you still yourself at the head of his cock, suckling hard as your eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy. You end up easing yourself off to pant into the meat of his thigh, chest panting and fingers quivering as they work his cock.

“Cum, Jake, let me have it.” Your lips ghost over his length as you move both hands to grip tight around his cock, twisting your fingers at the base as you rub at the sensitive spot below his head. The grunt he lets out is near animalistic, hips pushing desperately up into your slick grip as he chases the edge of release.

The vibration of your voice and the haze of pleasure in your eyes has him hurtling over the edge, stars painting the blackness behind his eyes. Thick strands of cum paint your cheeks and lips, streaks of pearly white on your beautiful blue-skinned complexion.

A sense of pride and possessiveness swells in him at the sight, like he was the one who got to claim you now, covered in his scent and his seed so everyone would know just what happened in the woods. The idea of you flaunting around, a strong and capable warrior, reeking of the alien intruder as you went about his duties had the dimming heat in his loins flaring as he came down from his high.

He pants as aftershocks thrum through his muscles, exhaustion seeping into his bones as you cradle up beside him. He can vaguely feel a contented purr coming from you, tickling his ribs as he pulls you close to put his nose in your hair. “Next time, I’m the one doing the tracking.”

tags: @eywaite @tallulah477 @neteyamsoare @torukmaktoskxawng

#romancingpandora2024 #avatar 2009 #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #jake sully x you #venus writes #avatar x reader

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 3 months

Text

Steve sniffled as he cleaned off Eddie's gravestone once again. The town had been saved, the crack closed, and somehow Vecna had been defeated. No one really knew what happened. Only that a mysterious figure with wings had saved their asses. El was still trying to find them, but they were hiding themselves pretty well. Hopper believed he slunk back into the Upside Down before it closed, but no one else believed that, especially Dustin. He didn't say it outloud, but he knew the kid believed that it had somehow been Eddie. Steve didn't want to discourage him or get his hopes up. He didn't know what to do.

All he could do now was to keep cleaning Eddie's headstone. Edward Munson: Now At Peace. Yeah, right. People keep spray painting "burn in hell" across the headstone. He didn't deserve this. . . Even in death, they were still fucking with him. Steve let out a strangled yell and threw the rag.

"It's not fucking fair!" Steve snapped.

Steve breathed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stared at the headstone and did some breathing exercises to help calm him down. Now would be the perfect time to tell him everything, at least, Robin said it would help.

"I never got to really know you, man," Steve said. "And I really wish that I did, though. I wish I could see you play that guitar even at the Hideout. . .to see you up on that stage. I kind of wanted to see you graduate, too. I would have loved to see you give Higgins the finger. I always hated that guy. Fucking asshole. I would have loved to see you DM up on your throne. I'm not sure I would be able to play, I honestly would have gotten distracted. I wish I knew more than that, though. Like, what's your favorite song? Your favorite movie? Your favorite color, man? I don't know. . .anything. I wish you were here to tell me. I just wish. . ."

He stood there for a moment as though he were expecting an answer. Steve sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He went to reach for the rag, but someone beat him to it. A man with a hat over his head and sunglasses on his face was kneeling in front of Eddie's grave. Steve had no clue who it was.

"Let me help, son," the man said in a deep southern accent.

Steve had been spending enough time with Wayne and Dustin to realize that this man sounded an awful lot like Wayne with his accent. He knew it wasn't Wayne, though, because this man was too young and he knew that Wayne was working.

"You didn't do this, did you?" Steve asked.

"I just want to help, boy," the man said. "A handsome man like Eddie Munson doesn't deserve this. Although, I guess you could say he is hot as hell."

"That's a weird thing to say about a dead guy," Steve said, scrunching up his nose. "Did you know him?"

"You could say that. You could also say that I knew him a little too well," he said. "I kind of overheard your speech there, son. I can answer some of those questions for you, ya know?"

"I - would like that," Steve said softly as he grabbed the extra rag and knelt down to clean up the headstone.

"Well, most people would think differently about his favorite song. He loved the song Rolling Stone by Muddy Waters. His mama would teach him how to dance to that song. Sometimes, she would place him on her feet. He loves red, but he also loves the color blue," the man said. "He loves Conan the Barbarian. He used to sneak into the theater with his best friend, Ronnie."

"Ronnie?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, she was the first friend he ever made, and she was never more than his best friend despite him making an embarrassing move on her," he chuckled.

"That sounds familiar," Steve laughed. "He told you all this?"

"In a way," he said. "Ronnie showed him the way into leading lost sheep. His uncle gave him the kick in the ass he needed into not giving a fuck what other people thought of him. He still had some learning to do. He was kind of queer in the head, though, despite all of that."

"What? Who cares what he was into?" Steve scoffed. "Are you seriously judging him on that? I'm queer in the head myself."

"Wait, hold on, son. I ain't judging him for that, and you do know that queer also means weird, right?" The man asked.

"Yeah. . .I mean, I forgot," Steve stuttered.

"Should I just forget that you came out to a complete stranger, son? Doesn't matter, I didn't have a problem with Eddie being like that," he said, and then he dropped the accent. "I can't believe you did that!"

He dropped the hat and the sunglasses, slapping his knees as he stood up. Steve gaped up at him. His hair was cut short, but he would recognize those dimples anywhere. He was grinning wildly down at Steve.

"Eddie?!" Steve choked and he stood up.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie said.

It was the first time he had called him that, and it made his stomach flutter. His brain tried so hard to comprehend that it was Eddie, but he looked so drastically different without his hair that he couldn't really focus. He noticed that he was also wearing a hoodie and a polo that looked awfully familiar.

"Hey, that's my polo," Steve said.

"Yeah, I broke into your house," Eddie said. "I wanted to look the least like myself."

"Why?" Steve asked.

"So, that people won't try to murder me, Steven," Eddie said.

"No, I mean, I get that. Why the deception?" He asked.

"Hi, I'm Eddie Munson. I like to be dramatic," he said, and he held out his hand. "Go ahead, take it."

Steve wrapped his hand around Eddie's like he was shaking his hand. His skin was cool to the touch, and Steve couldn't help but stare at it.

"You're real," he whispered.

"Very," he grinned.

"Why is your hand so cold?" Steve asked.

"I'm vampire now so. . . ," Eddie said, shaking his head from side to side.

"You were the mysterious figure that destroyed Vecna," Steve said in realization.

"He tried to make me his little bitch. Wanted me to do all his dirty work and kill of you," Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. "No thanks. I can't even clean my room when my uncle asks, and I love the man. Do you think I'm going to kill people I care about for someone I hate? Yeah, no."

"You saved us. You saved this town despite the fact that they hate you for no goddamn reason," Steve said.

"Well, my dad conned half the town, so yeah," Eddie shrugged, and then his eyes lit up. "Oh, I saved Higgins! You should have seen the egg on his face. He does know I'm alive, but he probably feels guilty about blackmailing me into dropping out in '84 now."

"He did what?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, crazy story. I should tell you all about it over dinner," Eddie said.

"That was smooth," Steve smirked.

Eddie ran his hand over the vest Steve was wearing and smirked.

"My vest looks good on top of a polo," Eddie said and paused, looking at him softly. "I'm not going to waste my chance this time. Hey, Steve?"

Suddenly, Steve was brought back to the Upside Down, and Eddie had looked at him with meaningful eyes before they parted ways. The memory was soon gone.

"Yeah?"

Eddie grabbed him by the vest and pulled him in, crashing their lips together. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him in closer as he deepened the kiss as Steve gripped his hips. Eddie broke the kiss, allowing Steve to breathe.

"We're kissing over your grave," Steve said.

"Better than walking over it," Eddie cackled.

Steve suddenly began pushing him backward until Eddie's back hit the tree that was next to his grave. He pressed his body up against Eddie's and covered his mouth with his own. He really should care that he was making out in a cemetery, but all he was aware of was Eddie. Eddie's mouth against his, Eddie's tongue making its way back in, and Eddie's hands quickly pulling his polo out of his pants so his hands could press themselves against his skin. All that mattered was how alive Eddie was and how much Steve could feel it. It was like all the lights were turning on inside of him, and it was Eddie that was flipping them on. Steve quickly broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against his, breathing heavily.

"We better stop before we do something else in cemetery that we're not supposed to," Steve said.

"Probably a good idea," Eddie said. "I think we just gave a granny quite a shock."

Steve looked over his shoulder and saw an older woman standing a few yards away, looking appalled.

"My God. She's literally clutching her pearls," Steve said.

"What do you think it is? That we're two men or that we're making out in a graveyard?" Eddie asked.

"Young man, my hearing is just fine! I don't care if you two have dicks! I mind that you two are fooling around in the place where the dead sleep!" She scowled.

Eddie and Steve looked at her in shock for a moment.

"I was not expecting her to say that," Steve said with wide eyes.

"Who would?" Eddie asked and glanced at the old woman. "Alright, time to adopt a grandmother."

"No, Eddie, we have to tell everyone you're alive, especially Wayne and Dustin," Steve said.

"Right. . .Dustin. Shit, I died in front of him. I know this is a stupid question, but how is he?" Eddie winced.

"Devestated but also hopeful that the mysterious figure who saved us all was you," Steve said and took Eddie's hand. "Let's get you home."

They laced their fingers together and walked out of the cemetery, apologizing to the granny as they left. They didn't care if anyone saw them, but after the town nearly went apocalyptic, how could anything else matter? The only thing that mattered was that they were both very much alive.

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #bi4bi #stranger things fanfiction #rueleigh writes #vampire!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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atinylittlepain · 7 months

Text

Chapter Two

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: dark themes surrounding history of domestic violence, references to physical injury, heavy emotions (hope can also be heavy)

a/n: all i have to say is thank you for reading, and i'd love to hear what you think

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Oh, come child

In a cross bones style

Oh, come child

Come rescue me

'Cause you have seen some

Unbelievable things

Crossbones Style by Cat Power

.....................................

Not comfort. Not exactly ease either. Familiarity maybe. Both of them settling into a routine configured around the other. She likes to help with the animals whenever she can, getting up as early as him, no task too daunting or dragging for her to say no to it. Just the other day she helped him trim back the sheep’s hooves, not even flinching when one of the girls tried to give a jerky kick underneath their ministrations, all shush and soothe in her flicking ears as Joel got the job done. She understands flight and freeze like that, at least in the animals.

They get done what chores they can in the morning before she has to get changed for work, the requisite light blue dress with the buttons down the front, an apron snug around her waist. She had made a joke about the fucking fifties the first time he saw her in her uniform, surprising him with the quick, crass humor, her half-grin as she got into the passenger seat of his truck.

He drops her off, heads into town or to the station, whatever needs to be done, and usually is done around lunchtime. He’s supposed to be watching his cholesterol, admonished by the one doctor in town two years in a row now. So he orders a salad with a sigh when he stops into the diner around noon, though Dolores will often tuck a few fries onto the side of his plate, a quiet smile when she sets it down in front of him. Maybe he’s been leaving bigger tips than is appropriate, maybe he made sure that the money in the jar on the counter would be going to her at the end of the day, a quiet conversation with Sal while she was in the back of the kitchen.

He lingers. Always an endless to-do at home, ignored in this instant, stealing a little extra time sitting at the counter, watching her flit and flicker around the regulars. She’s good with people, big, bright smiles that don’t quite round her eyes, laughs light as air, and as empty too. And he sees the quick slump of her shoulders when the customers aren’t looking, when she’s passing through the swinging door to the kitchen. Turn it on and turn it off.

But there’s someone new eating lunch at the diner today. One of those climber-backpacker types, all wired-down, tan muscle against shock-white teeth, flicking back his sun-bleached flop of hair, putting on a real show for her when she drops off his burger at his booth. It’d be rude to just keep looking, to turn around on his stool and stare the man down, so he listens instead.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Can I ask you something?” Like something small and slight being held in a fist, close to breaking or bursting, a cracked chirp of her answer, clearly flustered when she says um, yes, yeah.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a town like this?” That same sound, like she’s trying to make a laugh happen, though it comes out more like a held breath that finally gasps into an exhale.

“That’s kind of you, but I need to get back to work, excuse me.”

“Oh come on, where’s that midwestern hospitality you all seem to have?”

“Do you– can I get you anything else?”

“How about a smile, sweetheart? Just a little one, for me?” For a moment, it’s silent. Joel curls his fingers in a fist, over and over, flex and extend, his back still turned. Something hot and tight closes up in his throat when he hears the man sigh, and then laugh.

“There you go, prettiest thing I’ve seen since I left Denver. I’ll be thinking about you while I’m climbing this afternoon, sweets, thank you for that.”

“Shouldn’t be climbing in the afternoon.” He says it before he can stop himself, turning around on his stool, a thick flare of hate, maybe meanness, when he sees the uncertain curl of her shoulders and the slanted smile on the man’s face.

“Excuse me?” The man slings one arm over the back of his booth, body splaying and slumping toward Joel, trying to take up more space than he’s worth. A little bit of preening, a little bit of plumage.

“You’re likely to get yourself caught in a storm up in the mountains this time of year. I’m surprised such an expert man like yourself didn’t know that.” Arrogant, artifice, the man grins, eyes swooping back over Dolores as he picks up his burger with one hand, a wolfish bite that he tucks into the side of his mouth, the slow roll of his jaw as he focuses back on Joel.

“I don’t mind trying my luck. I usually come out on top. But thanks for the tip, pal, appreciate it.” He takes one more bite, half of his burger gone in two gnashing mouthfuls, all bright white teeth. With that, a quick clap of his hands together, fast heat rubbed between his palms, he pulls out a wad of cash from the front of his pack, leaving a crumpled fistful on the table before he stands with a sigh.

“Better head out. Thank you for the smile, sweetheart, I’m gonna remember that.” He tucks a smaller fold of bills into the pocket on the front of Dolores’ apron, and Joel can see the way her stomach tenses, curling back from the suggestion of touch. The word no flashes big and battering in Joel’s mind, though there’s nothing to be done, the man already shouldering his pack and sending a slippery slide of a smile his way before he’s swaggering hips-first out the door.

“You alright?” She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, even when he ducks his head down to try to catch her beneath her lashes. All he gets is a nod and a pointed sniff, and then she sets herself back into motion, ducking into the kitchen to pick up someone else’s order.

Dolores doesn’t like men, something he learned pretty quickly about her. The first time, when they went to the drugstore together and she wilted like a wan flower under Rod’s friendly conversation, that same curling up of her shoulders, that same drop to her eyes. It happened again when she met John one day at the small grocery store in town. She had been smiling, an easy conversation about palisade peaches being in season, quick to fall and fade when Joel introduced her to the man. Even John, with the disposition of a feckless golden retriever, had gotten that same reaction out of her.

She tolerates the customers at the diner, lots of nervous laughter and quick movement, her sneakers squeaking hard on the chipped linoleum floor. Warm with the few children in town, the women too. But no, she doesn’t like men. All uncertain angles, folding herself up close and tight and away. Honestly, it’s a small miracle she’s softened that snap, that shrink-back around Joel. Comfort in the known, he supposes. He’ll take it.

“Hey, you alright?” Again, he catches her on her way to another table, a quick flicker of her eyes and a nod, shrugging the trays held in her arms a little closer, already moving again. Softened, but still there, cagey, careful, and now coaxed up to a higher degree by that man, that fucking man.

Joel leaves soon after, not wanting to corner or crowd her. Back to routine. Back to the barn and the coop and the animals and all the things that must be done around them. Fall inches ever closer, a time that demands preparation. Work that promises completion and satisfaction when done well and right. Not easy, but simple. Maybe he’s careful to keep an eye on his watch, timing his drive back to the diner right before dinner, just as Dolores is stepping out of the storefront, her face furrowed down to the bills she’s counting in her hands.

“What’s this?” His turn to drop his brow when she gets into the passenger seat and holds out a thick fold of money to him across the console.

“This should cover the clothes, and that drugstore trip you made for me.” He stares at the money, his fingers curling tighter over the steering wheel. That was two weeks ago, nearly three now, and she’s already trying to make even.

“You don’t– I’m not keeping score. That’s yours.” Fast fall, flustered, a stuttered exhale, not what she expected, not what she wanted, her hand staying suspended between them, shaking the money lightly as if to entice him into taking it.

“But, I can’t. I–” What he’d like to do is reach out too, curl his hand over hers to close her fingers around that money, make it all hers. But she doesn’t like touch, even the accidental kind, something else he has learned. That quick tightness, that smalling if he brushes behind her in the kitchen in the morning, so he doesn’t. If their hands reach for the radio in the car at the same time, little fire passed between fingertips, and then her immediate recoil, so he doesn’t. And he doesn’t now either.

“You don’t have to. I was happy to, no score. That’s your money, Dolores.” Like she just swallowed something bitter, her face scrunching and then slackening as she nods, careful and quiet in settling her hand, and her money, back in her lap.

“Could I at least help with groceries?” A small compromise, for her to look at him again, if for nothing else.

“Okay.”

Here is what makes a town. Two blocks proper, a church at one end and a bar at the other. A second hand shop that sits slumped against the post office. A library that gets new books once every two years. A restaurant, the only other one besides the diner, the downstairs of a newly-established bed and breakfast that most of the residents have turned their noses up at. A police station that sits next to the simple steeple of the church, how fitting. And a grocery store, a small one, the nearest safeway a two-hour drive east. Joel had to look up what an IGA was when he first moved here.

And because everyone knows everyone, a trip to the grocery is never in and out, always getting stopped in the produce aisle, asked after while picking up a gallon of milk. Today, no different.

“Hey there, you two. Can I expect to see you at the little thing at the bar tonight?” The little thing Patty is referring to is the fact that it’s the end of the month. A peculiar tradition, not a party, just an agreed-upon herding of one another. Joel has thought to himself on multiple occasions that its real purpose is to make sure no one quietly died while people weren’t paying attention, a once-a-month census.

“I don’t know, Patty, maybe I’ll drop by, keep folks from talking too much.” Dolores’ confusion is clear, searching between him and Patty. Why he’s trying to keep this from her, he’s unsure.

“Well, I hope to see the both of you there.” Patty is a particular kind of woman. Here long enough for her word to have some power behind it. She lives above the secondhand shop alone, though Joel knows she has two sons, shown pictures of them, arms slung across her shoulders, that same slanted smile of hers on both of their faces. They don’t visit. And Patty doesn’t seem sad for it. She orders a specific kind of red hair dye once a month, Joel always seeming to catch her at the post office picking up the box with a distinct logo stamped on its side. Nice enough, a little brash maybe, but she’s always been open-armed with him. And she’s been kind to Dolores too. No questions, at least not to her, no staring or stirring, like it makes the most sense in the world that Joel suddenly has a woman staying with him that he has never mentioned before. So she doesn’t press now, leaves it at that, leaves them to the produce aisle, an easy greeting and goodbye.

“Are you gonna go?” Her hands are deft and discerning, cracking open and peeling back a pale green corn husk, a hoard of it on sale this year, fine silk tassels and that sweet, crisp, smell.

“Oh, probably not.” He holds open the produce bag for her, a quiet yeah when she asks if four ears is enough.

“I would go, you know, if you wanted to.”

“Do you want to?” She shrugs, the slight swing of the hem of her dress as she walks alongside him, zucchini and tomatoes.

“Patty seems like the kind of person who’s used to getting her way.” She doesn’t say it mean, only observation as she tucks two tomatoes down in the cart. He can feel a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“She certainly doesn’t like the word no. We could stop by, if that’s alright with you?”

It is alright, and after dinner, summer spoils sweet and sated, he waits for her on the porch while she changes out of her uniform. It’s getting darker earlier, the sun already cracking and dripping between the mountains, everything hushing down orange and purple. Soon, it will be time for the sheep to spend their nights in the barn, and in the day too, during that deepest, tightest fist of winter. But for now, it’s quiet, save for the dull thrum of all the small, crawling things, air that’s only a relief in its coolness, not a worry.

“Ready?” Pretty, he thinks. Hasn’t seen that before, he thinks. Crisp white with fine little flowers embroidered along the neckline and the sleeves. The neckline, a new expanse of her sternum on display, the fragile flutter of it when he stares just a beat too long.

“Uh-huh, yeah.” Ready, dark enough that the headlights need to be flicked on, flooding yellow down the bare brush and scrub along the road. And then the bleeding neon glow of the bar on the edge of town coming into focus.

Shoes sticking in the syrupy grime of a few decades past, dim lights and a perpetual haze of smoke, something sad and slow drifting in on the jukebox. No pretense, no pretending that folks are here for anything other than getting a little drunk at the end of another day.

Patty is happy to see the both of them, offering a bottle that Joel accepts, and one that Dolores politely declines, though she still allows herself to be pulled along by the older woman, leaving Joel to make his rounds. The same questions, asked and answered, health and hearth and how are you. Fine, just fine. Except, a little distracted, quick glances over to the bar where Dolores is sitting. Patty still there with her, still getting her to smile, so fine, just fine until the next time he looks over.

Not Patty. Him. Big, bright shark tooth smile, fang and flare. Even more tan, skin tight and taut against quick-jumping muscle, all pumped and puffed out from his afternoon climb. A wiry arm slung around the back of Dolores’ chair, her whole body slanted and steeled toward the side as he leans in, lips pulled back in a sneer of a smile.

Whoever Joel was talking to, he’s no longer listening, no longer even feigning interest as he watches, trying to piece together whatever that man is saying to her by the way his jaw pulls with each of his words. Waiting, really, for any excuse to step in, to make this wrong right.

And then, enough, already in motion as he watches the man reach out, the backs of his knuckles brushing against her clavicle before she can jerk away. Gotcha, got you, gonna get you. All the ways the human body can recoil, say no, and all the ways it can refuse to listen.

He doesn’t catch the end of whatever the man is saying, words coming out on a quick bark of laughter that makes Dolores flinch harder, knuckles all curled up in her lap. He doesn’t care to know, a thick wash of no drowning it out. The thing is, Joel can get big, and loud, and mean, so mean. If he needs to. He can roll back his shoulders and set his jaw in a hard grind. He can make a fist and then make contact. He can make a man get small and get gone. But not in front of her. Another body to account for, a shivering down small body, a body that cannot bear any more violence. So he must settle for something else, a quiet heat, an expression on his face that he hopes is no enough.

“Is there a problem?” The man glances over his shoulder, all smile, all teeth.

“Hey, pal. No problem here. I was just telling this pretty thing about the climb I got in, wasn’t I?” He asks it with a duck of his head, trying to steal her gaze that she keeps on her hands in her lap. A habit of hers, the skin around her nails picked and pulled raw, soon to bleed with the way she’s worrying at them now.

“I don’t think she’d like to hear any more of what you have to say, pal.” A flicker of something animal, the man sucks his teeth, mouth screwed to the side before he sighs. Fire needs fuel, and he’s not getting any, certainly not from her. Something that sounds like not worth it as he sways himself out of the bar. Joel knows this kind well, blown in and out in a day, maybe two. Not a problem, not really, and he won’t let it become one.

“Thank you.” She gives Joel her eyes, a quick nod as he sits down beside her. Careful distance kept between them, space for her to spread back out, to unfurl, and she does, leaning back in her chair, a quick roll of her shoulders like she’s trying to shake off that shiver.

“I have no patience for people like that. Think they’re hot shit for hiking up a mountain when they’re just a nuisance.” Maybe he said too much, tempering his words with a swig of his beer, though Dolores seems to receive it, turning slightly toward him so he can feel the ghost of her knee brush against his.

“I just don’t like men like that.” He sighs, because what could he say to that? What hasn’t already been said in the slow fade of the bruises on her arms?

“Drink?”

“Yeah, please.”

It’s quiet between them for a while, each nursing a beer as the din around them lulls and lifts. He drums his fingers against his thigh, something steady while he tries to work a thick flood of words into something that might make sense, something that won’t make her recoil.

“Can I ask you about it?” She doesn’t look at him, focused on her thumbnail working the sticker off her bottle. But she does nod, lips pursed, long sigh like she needs to make room for what she’s about to say.

“All of it?”

“If you’re okay with that, yes.”

Yes, she’s okay with that. No, her husband wasn’t always the way he is now. He was kind until he wasn’t. Quiet until he wasn’t. The first time, silly. That’s what she calls it. A silly, stupid thing. The windshield of his car had gotten chipped while she was driving it. And she saw black with the way his hand guided her skull into the wall of their bedroom when she got home. Silly, she says, a wave of her palm like, no big deal, because not the worst of it. His stomach slurs and sickens.

She was a teacher, her lips curling around the memory like it tastes sweet. And then he told her to stop working. Command, not question. Gave her a careful fold of money each morning, like a child’s allowance, like a leash choked close and tight. What friends she had left told her to leave him, lovely sentiment, with what money? With what, with what, with what?

And then he got a gun. Waved it around like a second dick. A strange swagger, what the weight of such perfect destruction does in a man’s palms, slung on his hip, never far.

“Did he?”

“Once, right here.” Two fingers pressed to her temple, her eyes unblinking, expressionless. Though it’s gone just as quick, her fingers flexing and curling into a quick fist before settling back in her lap, unmaking memory.

She left then. With what, with what, with what? Nothing. A book in the passenger seat and a vague conception of the west meaning something like hope.

“You like to read?” Anything else will come out too harsh, too big with anger, so that will have to do. She seems relieved for it, shoulders settling and smoothing.

“Yes, I do.”

“We can get you a library card, if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

…

They go to the library the next day, and the man who works there just seems happy that there’s anyone new to give a library card to in the first place.

Dolores has already begun reading the first book in the small stack she checked out, quiet in the passenger seat the whole drive home. And later, when he leaves for his overnight shift, she’s on the couch, already halfway finished, lips parted and moving with the page.

“I’ll see you in the morning then.” Still startled by his voice, quick to shut her book and look at him, and like so many other times, he wishes he hadn’t said anything, had let her stay suspended in that ease.

“Alright, thank you again.” He’s still not very good at accepting that from her, a nod and a shrug of his shoulders, out the door.

Lately, these shifts have gotten tinged sour. Something anxious, something angry. Waiting, maybe. Willing. Wanting that car to come zipping past him on the black strip of the interstate. Wanting to chase it down. Wanting to do something that he shouldn’t want to do. He’ll come, he thinks. They always do. Men like that won’t give up the thing that makes them feel big so easily.

For now, Joel hunkers down in the car, radio off, quiet, waiting with all the other languoring animals for something that will sate. He replays what she told him in his mind, lets something dark curl around it, poison thoughts. But he has to ask himself why. All this care, all this concern, and all this anger, why? For a perfect stranger, who’s not really a stranger now. Been living around each other for nearly a month, so no, not a stranger anymore.

He likes her. An answer both simple and devastating at the same time. And is he just as bad as any other man? Finding a scared thing so very pretty. No, he cannot like her like that. He cannot like her like watching the rise and fall of her sternum, and he cannot like her like stealing glances of her every chance he can get. Because that is the last thing she needs. But care is allowed. Making something wrong the smallest bit right is allowed. A friend, a familiar thing, a comfort. All things he can do for her.

…

The sun is just starting to heft its golden belly over the mountains when he gets home, pale blue light and mist rising cool and shy in the brush. Usually, at this hour, she will already be up, making breakfast for the both of them that he always feels a bit bashful accepting.

But it’s quiet in the house this morning, still. Her book rests on one side of the couch, a rumpled blanket beside it. He doesn’t hear the old pipes groaning with the task of running water, the floorboards crackling with the fact of shuffling feet. And he shouldn’t but he does. Panic like a tight fist, like a heavy stone in his gut.

He knocks on her bedroom door, a quiet call of her name. Nothing. And he shouldn’t, but he does. So careful, so quiet in cracking open the door. Nothing. Bed still made, untouched. She must have spent the whole night on the couch. Why does that make his heart kick and quicken in his chest? The thought of her reading right through the darkness, the singular glow of the lamp tendriling out into the night.

Not here though. Did she? Could she? Would she? He feels drunk off this reality. But scared things have always been known to flee, haven’t they? To pretend at fragile trust until they find an opportunity to escape. Did she feel like she needed to escape from him? His palm tries to rub that thought out of his chest, real ache, real pain at the idea.

Fresh air, because his skull is already starting to throb with this. He steps out onto the porch and tries to imagine all the ways this leaving could have been done. He hates every possibility, every phantom flight that he can conjure. But no time to let it sting or steep, because laughter, a sudden, foreign peel of it. Hers, he’s never heard hers before. But there she is, rounding the corner of the coop, a few of the chickens following close on her heels, already their favorite between the two of them. And she’s talking to them, quiet murmurings from behind a smile, another quick burst of brightness.

“Hey, good morning.” Saying it to him, smiling at him, the biggest, best relief. He joins her, only a little grumble at the way the chickens squawk at his sudden intrusion.

“You figure out names for them yet?” One eye dropped in a squint in the brash wash of morning light, still smiling.

“I have some ideas, yeah.”

She’s here, how wonderful. And how awful, how quickly his heart seized and shuttered itself up at the thought of anything else. He can’t think about that too much, what that means. What danger that creates and threads through his ribs. So he focuses instead on breakfast, close in the kitchen, coffee for her with cream and a spoon of sugar, how he has found she likes it, silent sliding it across the counter to her where she’s stirring eggs in the pan. Always a thank you.

The table in the kitchen is so small that he has to keep his chair scraped back so his knees won’t brush against hers, making space for her to spread out.

“Thank you, for letting me stay so long. I know it’s not– you’re probably–” She stops herself, a sigh, chin tucked down. He could almost laugh, because here she is thanking him for what he was so afraid she didn’t want.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you’re here, for as long as you’d like to be.” Trying to make it clear that this is not a cage, though the words still feel thick and foolish coming out. She swallows a careful bite of her breakfast, not looking at him, and again, he finds himself bracing for flight.

“I like being here.”

....................................

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leapdayowo · 7 days

Text

Redstone and Skulk OC time :3

Thought I’d turn my persona into a rns oc and give them a helsmet :3 I basically looked at my play style in Minecraft and took a few things from my own life and combined them to create these two! Short version about them below and a little story of their origins under that:

short version:

-Leapday_art (short version Leapday, she/he/they, the player) is afraid of losing important things in their life. He is very cautious about doing anything that could result in him dying and loosing everything in his inventory (sleeps through the night everytime to avoid monsters, barely visits the nether, strip mines, etc) +the cats next to Leapday are two of my darling kitties who unfortunately passed away irl, their names are Toby (left) and Toes (right)

-Nightfall_collections (short version Nightfall, all pronouns, the helsmet) was created from Leapday’s extreme fear of losing valuables and her grief from having lost valuables too many times. Xyr driving goal is to collect and preserve everything that xe can and to make sure there is always at least one copy

-other things about Nightfall: she is a magma cube hybrid while Leapday is a ??? hybrid player (if you read the story below this may make more sense👀). Nightfall can split into smaller duplicates which allows them to be in more places at once and thus more productive in their goal. She uses her goop-like body to write reminders on her clothes, then re-absorbs the goop later

-I think Nightfall would find himself as an organizer between lots of different parties/people in Hels due to being so dedicated to his goal + only being dedicated to this goal (his alignment is probably chaotic good because he’s loyal to his own goals and not to other people or outside rules. He does not take bribes or backstab). Also, Nightfall does not need to have possession of everything, but xe is trying to keep tabs on where everything that exist is at(this makes xem the go-to person for trying to obtain something in particular)

-I think Nightfall would become a sponsor (if that’s the right word?) for the Order of Remembrance because she greatly admires the work they do to preserve Hels’ history. She would also love Zedaph’s hall of all and definitely tries to work with private collectors to protect (and document/track) what they have (and she will keep what she knows a secret if it means protecting valuable things)

-Nightfall does not care about thieves unless they steal one of a kind things

-the doodles below were my earlier concepts, so Nightfall has green eyes before I realized it’s much more fitting for xem to have orange eyes

okay, okay, story time (because I realized the ‘short’ version was getting very extensive):

Maybe it had started in the very first world she spawned in. A brilliant blue sky that stretched over jagged, looming cliffs with forests scattered underneath. Trickling waterfalls and bubbling lava pits here and there. The natural beauty of the world left Leapday in awe and eager to explore what other wonders lay beyond the horizon.

It must have started with the first tree she broke, a squat little oak, one of hundreds in the forest. When the leaves of that little oak had all fallen, saplings littered the grassy floor. She should’ve been excited, feel triumphant even by taking down the tree, after all it’s how the journey had to start. Except, all that Leapday could see was the awkward gap in the canopy from the absence of the little oak. It felt like an itch unscratched, nagging and uncomfortable. Well that wouldn’t do.

They scooped up all the saplings littering the floor and planted one and the same dirt plot the little oak was uprooted from. Then they planted a few more just for good measure. The unease lingered, but planting the saplings felt good. It felt right. Now their adventure could truly begin!

——

In this world, Leapday’s only companions were the pigs and sheep that he passed on his journey, though he would argue, if there were someone to argue with, that the world itself brought him company enough. That the days and nights passing was a conversation between the universe and Leapday, and thus a consistent companion. And what gifts did the universe provide for him to find! Rushing rivers that fed into powerful oceans, plenty of trees to sleep in and collect, and mountains to climb with the best views of the sunset. Never a dull moment for him as there was always something new to experience and see.

However, despite all its gifts, the universe was slow to explain the finer mechanics of the world, such as health to Leapday. A week of traversing through thick forests and steep cliffs left them battered and bruised. They learned how to gauge the distance of a drop and how to place blocks to minimize the pain in their ankles from falls. A similar pain gnawed from the inside of their stomach, which they discovered was briefly satiated by devouring the apples that fell from the trees.

During one climb up a particularly harrowing cliff, Leapday learned about the unforgiving weight of sand by placing it under her feet in order to reach the next ledge. The block had crumbled in a near instant, sending her plummeting towards the ground. Instead of hitting the hard rocks below, she splashed into a stream from a nearby waterfall. When she had dragged herself onto land and her heart had steadied to a more familiar pace, she let out a fit of bewildered laughter that overwhelmed the panic from moments ago. She knew falls much shorter than this one could take days to recover from, so what kind of pain would she be in if she hadn’t gotten lucky and fallen in the stream? Something cold ran through her and sank to the pit of her stomach. Dread of what could have been, what could still be if she wasn’t more careful. She resolved to never find out what would happen. How unfortunate that her next fall would be into a pit of lava, the very one she had been camping at throughout the nights.

He was being careful, more so than he had been for the first week in this world anyways. That didn’t seem to matter because he had still slipped when placing the block before him and fallen. It was his first respawn, and it introduced him to a few new things like a punch to the face. The first revelation was the agony of burning to death, and death itself. He curled into himself, crying at the phantom feeling of the lava eating at his flesh. The intense heat and how the lava had trapped him in place and burned. It was a twisted version of the warmth of the sun, which was shining down on him and in comparison felt as cool as the air in caves. The second realization came slowly as the memory of fire ebbed. Their knuckles no longer popped and their joints no longer ached. The tightness in their muscles had vanished, leaving softer tissue on the bone and the emptiness in their stomach no longer hurt. They felt new and full of energy, ready to begin their journey again. How strange they had forgotten what this felt like. White scars from their oldest injuries and freckles from sun touched skin still littered their body. They had died, but now were in perfect health again. Leapday took in her surroundings, her face lighting up with delight at the sight of a familiar oak tree. It had grown into quite the study tree since the start of her adventure. Soon after her reunion, Leapday discovered her now empty inventory when she reached for blocks to place in order to climb the canopy. The absence of stacks of logs, dirt, and sand had her racing towards the lava pit before her mind could catch up. Panic pushed her feet to run faster and dodge every obstacle. She ignored nicks from branches in her way and the sting of sharp rocks on her bare feet. The timer was ticking down. Her items would be gone- she just had to- if she wasn’t fast enough-

She burst through the tree line and was greeted by the familiar heavy heat of the lava pit. The sight of it made her recoil out of fear of falling back in even from many blocks away. On shaky legs, she circled the perimeter and searched for her items. The timer was still ticking, but they were nowhere to be seen! She crept as close as she dared to the lava and swept her eyes across the surface of the pool. Then she darted into the surrounding trees looking high and low.

Nothing.

No logs. No saplings or dirt or anything!

This was their third lesson. You lose items after death, and lava destroys those items.

Don’t die, especially not in lava, and don’t lose your items.

Now they had to start over, and this time not dying proved to be harder than expected. More falls and similar accidents happened. Zombies began appearing, persistent in their pursuit of Leapday’s flesh. Then skeletons, creepers, and spiders appeared and introduced many more ways one could die. The pain from the deaths hurt, but they became mundane as weeks turned to months. Loosing items became more painful and frightening when Leapday discovered crafting. More time and resources were needed to start over after dying with crafted items, so they took to the world underground. They followed their instinct to craft pickaxes and torches, to chip away at the stone in search of more sturdy materials. They crafted their first stone pickaxe and found it to be superior to the wooden one.

Maybe it truly started with that wooden pickaxe. When she crafted the stone tools, the wooden pickaxe sat in her hotbar, still good for half a day’s work but now obsolete. It had served her well to progress her journey, a necessary step, but it felt wrong to simply set it aside. It felt like the gap in the canopy all over again, but she very well couldn’t plant the pickaxe in the ground and solve her unease. Not sure what else to do, she attached it to her hip and went on with her day. She wouldn’t destroy it or toss it, she would simply carry it with her until she found what she needed to do with it next. It became her new companion (it was her first crafted tool. It was the first and therefore the only one that would ever exist).

Now equipped with wood and stone blocks, Leapday built their base over their mine. The wooden pickaxe found its place over the doorway leading outside, marking the build as their home. It felt right, so they continued their expansions. Farms were planted along a nearby river and fences placed to corral cows and sheep. Torches were the one item they were generous with. They were thrown across their property liberally since their light would deter creepers spawning too close for comfort.

During a thunderstorm that had picked up abruptly one morning, Leapday poked around at their communicator. It was a lightweight device that had been attached to their forearm since first spawning into the world and never disappeared after dying. After lots of fiddling with the different menus and buttons on the screen, they came across YouCraft. It was an archive of videos made by other players scattered across the universe, documenting their own worlds and progress! With the storm still crashing down around Leapday’s base, they curled up in bed and began watching the first video that caught their eye. It turned out that he had lots more to learn about the universe! After waiting out the storm, and then the night, by watching these videos, he learned about other biomes and blocks still left to discover as well as potions, enchanting, and other dimensions! A dragon was where this journey led for most players, though some took their time getting to it. Above all, he realized he needed diamonds. Diamonds were what every player sought due to their strength, but they were rare and dangerous to collect being so deep underground. They were needed to further Leapday’s journey however, so collecting them became his top goal. Quickly he learned how impossible achieving this goal would be. Well, it seemed impossible after spending days underground chipping at the cold stone and coming up empty. Strange echoes rang through the tunnels and more than a few times paranoia of something (or someone. He had heard the legends of Herobrine) sneaking up on him was enough to make him hole up for hours. Grey, grey stone that went on for miles. Grey cobblestone trailed behind him when his inventory filled. Leapday found other minerals, but the sparkling teal of diamonds still lay buried elsewhere. He mined for so long he began to doubt that the rare mineral even generated in this world. That only grey existed. That was until he broke away the next layer of stone before him and found himself staring uncomprehending at the bits of teal poking through stone. Uncontainable joy broke through his shock like sunlight through parting storm clouds. They were real! Diamonds were real and right in front of him! Invigorated with new energy, Leapday got to work extracting the diamonds just as they had seen others do. The amount paled in comparison to the stacks other players had, but in that moment he didn’t care. It was enough to have found them and confirm they even existed in this world. That weeks of sore arms digging at indifferent stone and unsteady gravel caches falling finally amounted to their new prized possession.

By the time he arrived back at his base, the novelty of finding diamonds began to wear off. He had to admit it was a measly amount. Just barely enough for a diamond pickaxe. What good would a stronger pickaxe be with no enchantments or replacements for when it broke? It had taken so long to find just a few diamonds what were the chances of finding more? No, they wouldn’t craft anything with the rare mineral until they had enough for spares and back ups. So back to the mines they went, and excruciatingly slow they found more, and continued to reason that crafting them was a poor decision. What if an accident happened and they couldn’t get back to their stuff? If they were swallowed by a pit of lava? So much time would be spent only to be wasted. Almost like their thoughts and fears had manifested it, a freak lava incident happened not long after. Leapday had been feeling good that day, so good because their most recent mining trip had yielded 13 diamonds and another cluster just across a lava lake. As they bridged across the lake, plans of finally crafting their collection of diamonds began to form making them giddy. It was the type of giddy that made any obstacle feel like child’s play and beyond consequence. That they finally could start progressing on their journey once more. It was enough to distract Leapday from the crunch of gravel under their feet and for their pickaxe to swing off its mark into the unsteady floor. The ground gave way and sent her tumbling into the lava.

She woke up screaming in her bed. Screaming from agony of ghostly flames that ate flesh, and then from loss and frustration. It wasn’t fair! Her luck had just turned up for the best and now all of it was gone! Every plan to use the diamonds tossed out the window and into a burning pit of despair. How stupid of her to not notice the gravel! All that time for nothing! She should have called it a day and come up 13 diamonds richer with plenty of levels for enchanting. All her gear and tools and items from mineshafts would still be intact, but no. Her head was too far in the clouds and now it was gone. She hadn’t even had the foresight to mark the cave to return to, so sure of her victory. There would be no hope navigating the twisting and sprawling tunnels below, and even if she tried to go back, the sight of lava would probably be enough to make her hurl. Fat tears began dripping down her face as she cursed and wallowed. They blurred his vision, so with a few steadying breaths and a final gross sniffle, he wiped at his eyes. Then he went to swing his legs over the bed to pick up the pieces of his day and froze. On his hand, both hands actually, were thick black smudges of… of something. What was that? He reached up to his face and traced the wet tear tracks with a clean finger. It too came away covered in the strange goop. An incredulous laugh burst from him, which evolved into hysterical crying. More tears fell from his eyes and he let them. The tangled web of grief in his chest unraveling as he did so, and he felt the last of his energy drain away until-

Sunlight trickled through the curtains and roused Leapday from their sleep. Birds were chirping and the familiar sounds of the animals grazing and leaves rustling cradled their mind while the events of the previous day trickled back to them. They felt heavy and gross. Their eyes crusty and mouth dry as a desert were a sure sign of their emotional distress. Disappointment felt like stones being dropped on them when they pulled up their empty inventory. It really was all gone. They let their head flop back onto their pillow and took a steadying breath, trying to recount the reasons they should get out of bed. Maybe they would stick to the joys of the world above ground for a month or two. Take up weaving or painting. They had plenty of resources to finally build a barn and an expansion to the house. Maybe they would go with a grassy roof.

Yeah. That could be alright. With one final sigh, Leapday pushed themself up off their bed and dragged themself over to their cauldron to clean up. They could see from their reflection that only a few faint smudges remained on their face, which they gently wiped away. Crying black goop was probably not normal now that their mind was more stable to think it over. Or maybe it was normal? It had never happened before, but the players on YouCraft all had their own quirks that Lepaday lacked, so maybe it was normal for them?

It turned out the inky tears were a new normal. From that incident onward, whenever they experienced a great sense of loss the strange tears formed and sank into the ground. They appeared when Leapday lost their first wolf companion and when they accidentally deleted a creative world full of builds of an ambitious project.

Meanwhile…

in another world…

In Hels, black goop bubbled to the surface of a sea of lava. From a distance, the surface seemed its usual hungry self, shifting and popping as it patiently waited for Hels and its inhabitants to finally crumble in. The goop was not consumed by its hunger however. It stretched towards the netherrack shore like a snake in water. Once it had gathered all of itself onto more solid ground, it sat and waited for more of itself to arrive, bouncing and bubbling over the terrain in the meantime. They could only wait so long however, after all, there was much to collect and preserve and too little time to do so.

And it’s finished! Whew, I don’t typically write, so this was a lot to work on amidst all my finals projects (totally worth it tho! It was great practice). I wasn’t planning on writing so much about leapday, but then I realized the interesting potential of writing about players when they’re new to the world. If they are akin to gods, they still enter the world with a lot to learn. The goop at the end is Nightfall, who then went on to travel Hels and collect as many blocks and items as xe could before xe came across the city Evil X established. At first they were incredibly overwhelmed by the amount of stuff to preserve in the city and mostly stuck to collecting free scraps and garbage. It probably did something to gain the attention of a member of the Order of Remembrance, who taught Nightfall about their goals and a few things about how society/Hels worked. From there, Nightfall set off to establish a massive collection and documentation of anything and everything, working with people in the process but also quite an eccentric personality that can be quite a hermit when buried in paperwork (not many people are willing to do paperwork as diligently as Nightfall)

Also, YouCraft is YouTube in the Minecraft world :P I felt I needed to separate it from our version of mcyt because in this universe the characters are real and making videos about their lives rather than people playing a video game (at least that’s how I’m headcanoning it)

thank you @silverskye13 for providing some more lore about Hels and the Order of Remembrance (as well as Redstone and Skulk as a whole <3) as well as inspiring me to keep trying to improve my writing and thank you to @/yayforocs for inspiring me to finally make my own rns OCs and this post :3

#If I had a nickel for every time I designed a goopy character that has that ‘tism stare I’d have two nickels #which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice #Also I’m not familiar with using neopronouns but wanted to try so hopefully the usage is correct #And even though I use multiple pronouns for myself I’m still not sure how to use multiple pronouns in writing so hopefully that’s okay #So yeah that’s leapday and nightfall :) I’m not sure if I have any more plans to work on stuff about these two #probably just some drawings but I feel satisfied with this #I don’t want to insert nightfall into hels with a bunch of lore that might contradict what’s in rns #Wowza look at you! You read this far why thank you :3 here is a super secret item that will aid you in your time of greatest need #*hands over something vaguely shaped and seems possibly tangible if you look at it from the corner of your eye*#redstone and skulk #my ocs #my art #traditional art #watercolor #I tried to find all the typos but it is late and I would like to post this

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fyeahnix · 3 months

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While the Enforcers who patrol Zaun are paid off and have been told to not bother the locals, the few of them who are brave enough venture into the Lanes to lounge around, sometimes while on duty. The most foolhardy of them will mosey into Babette's brothel for a session.

The workers hate them. But money is money.

Every blue moon some too-green Enforcer will try to press their luck on getting away with mistreating the workers or attempting (sometimes succeeding) to leave without paying. The workers will, of course, complain to Babette about it. The girls, especially, will complain to Sevika.

Most Enforcers know to never get complaints brought up to Sevika, lest they jeopardize the deal Silco has in place with the sheriff.

"So, you're the pig I've been hearing about."

The enforcer whipped his head around to catch Sevika's pointed glare. He was young, dark-haired, and attempting in vain to grow facial hair. Not too unattractive for anyone else seemingly under the age of 23. He reeked of alcohol and sweaty sex and Sevika scrunched her nose at that. The cigarette in his mouth clung on for dear life as he sputtered a response.

"Fuck did you say?"

He missed matching Sevika's height by two inches, but even with his chest puffed out, he severely lacked the muscle mass to back up the bass in his voice. A nonthreat. Probably a kid on his fourth patrol in the Undercity. Sevika had stumbled into enforcers like him before. All annoying little shitheels who thought they ran the place because of a shiny badge.

Sevika kept her composure and her arms—her weapons–hidden under her poncho. "I think you heard me loud and clear. Or did you forget where you were?"

He looked around at the glowing neon and smoke-filled air of Zaun's red-light district. Then sized Sevika up. A haughty smirk painted his chapped lips next.

"The backwoods, clearly. Don't know why anyone bothers coming here. Just a bunch of cheap whores and booze."

"And yet... You're a repeat customer."

The enforcer narrows his eyes. "Where'd you get that from?"

Sevika leaned in. "Got eyes and ears everywhere. Also heard you didn't bother paying for a service."

His lip twitched, only somewhat regaining his composure as he flicked his cigarette to the pavement. "Well. Service wasn't satisfactory."

Sevika chuckled. "That so?"

The enforcer reached for his weapon when she moved. "You touch me, and I'll have an entire squad on your ass. Back. Up."

The chuckle morphed into a full laugh. "I don't see any 'backup' around. Do you?"

Sure enough, he scanned his surroundings. No one around except the supposed "cheap whores" and peddlers at the end of the block, curious but keeping their noses out of their business.

"Your superiors must be hazin' you. What were they thinking, sending a little man like you around to do their patrolling for them?" He steeled his jaw as Sevika continued. "Let me tell you something.

"Ever seen a wolf? They're apex predators. Strong alone, sure, but even more deadly in a pack. There's power in numbers and that pack allows them to take down prey many times their own size. But what happens when a lone wolf encounters a farmer and his flock of sheep?

"It gets bold, brazen. Stupid. The sheep disappear one by one. And the wolf keeps showing up. That is... until the farmer gets a deterrent, a guard dog. But that wolf? It wants those sheep, because they should be easy prey, right? So, it brings more wolves, hoping the size of the pack will scare the dog away."

Sevika leaned in again.

"But no matter how many fuckin' wolves show up, that dog isn't backing down."

The enforcer's grip on his weapon intensified so much, his veins popped. He swallowed.

"If I see you down here again, I'll make sure you never make it back topside for your 'pack.' Now. Get the fuck outta here."

The junior enforcer gritted his teeth before he snarled and stomped away.

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @lesbeaniegreenie @sexysapphicshopowner

#Arcane #Sevika #Sevika Arcane #Arcane Sevika #headcanon #headcanon: Sevika #look im sorry but i really like the idea of chivalrous Sevika #even if it partially is in her and Silco's own best interest that the enforcers don't fuck with the brothel for intel reasons #since I see Sevika as butch/stud (stud for headcanon reasons) the chivalry part hits with me and makes me swoon #also Sevika said acab #writing #fanfiction #I figure these posts will do less numbers than a straight up Sevika/Reader one #but I do enjpy making HCs for her to flesh her out a bit #because they will eventually make the Sevika/Reader ones much better

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cockdestroyer32 · 1 year

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insomnia

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 984

summary: you can't sleep, and apparently tangerine can’t either. (sfw)

You lay awake on the hotel bed, having a staring competition with the ceiling in front of you, you’re pretty sure you’re losing. You’d gone from tossing and turning, to counting sheep, to this, letting your mind empty out and staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for some magic sleep aid to just hit you out of nowhere. The entire hotel room was blue, from wall to wall and floor to ceiling: blue. You’d gotten the room with the amazingly beautiful view of a mall wall, a mall wall that was just decked in huge neon signs, a truly amazing place to build a hotel room in. When you’d gotten the room, you told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, because this was only for one night anyway.

You’d actually told yourself this multiple times tonight. From finding out you would have to work with Tangerine to finding out you would have to share a room. That it was okay, because it was for only one night. And right now, it was okay…because he was sleeping. At least you’re pretty sure he is, you’d been staring at one part of the room for the past two hours so you couldn’t see his bed, and he hadn’t been talking so that’s good. In frustrated defeat, you get up and make your way to the balcony. You may have a hotel room that currently looks like it’s in the deep ocean but hey, at least you got a balcony. It’s a small little space, but also big enough to fit its wooden desk and two chairs. You sit in one of them and prop up your feet on the desk. Though the balcony had the same boring view as the windows, you found it better to sit here rather than to continue your mindless gazing. You felt the cold wind on your skin and thought of the potential consequences your insomnia would bring you the next morning. You look back to the balcony entrance and see the silhouette of a man.

“Jesus Christ!” You jump, so he jumps.

“Fuckin’ hell woman! Are you not an assassin? Jesus…” Tangerine exclaimed.

“You got scared with me getting scared, arguably that’s worse.” Much different from the formal attire you usually saw him in, he wore sweatpants and a grey shirt that was loose but still showcased his muscles. Although you’d never admit it, you’d hate to be one of the people that Tangerine fought, he was very fit and looked like he could do some pretty good damage on his opponents. After the scare you stare at each other awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“Can’t sleep?” He starts.

“No, did I wake you?”

“I’ve been awake for an hour.”

“Beat ya, three.” You point to yourself and he raises his eyebrows.

“Woah. Well, we should probably get some sleep, we need energy for tomorrow.”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do these past 3 hours?” He just stares, probably because he doesn’t have a solution to his own insomnia. You continue:

“Besides, I’ll be fine, I’ve done jobs while sleep deprived before, it’s not the best but…possible.”

“So have I, got a nasty ol’ scar out of it though.”

“How many guys?”

“About…eight.”

“Pfft.”

“What?”

“Berlin. Thirty minutes of sleep on a car ride. 15 guys.”

“Just you?”

“Just me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well it happened, and I got all of them.”

“Why’d you sleep so little?”

“I’d spent the entire day before training restlessly for that job, so much that at one point I guess I just decided not to sleep to keep training instead.”

“No fucking way I’d ever lose sleep to train for a job like that, especially not one for that twat handler in Berlin.” You chuckle, and consider for a second…

“Here…” You get up from your chair and roll your sleeves up, showing a scar on your right arm. “11th guy, I went to fight him but another dude held me back, and in my struggle, they were able to cut me deep enough with one of their knives.” You’re standing very close to him so he’ll be able to see the cut on your arm clearly in the night light, he holds it up and traces the scar with his finger, curious.

“So all that training was for nothing?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“I suppose you are.” His eyes deviate from your arm to you, although he still holds it. You notice just how close you actually are and your heart pounds, but you’re unable to look away from him. It’s as if he’s looking right into your soul. He actually isn’t so bad to the eye as you thought, his hair, even though he had been lying in bed up until this point, still looked perfect, this time with more curls than usual, and his eyes— although the nighttime stole away the color from them, making them look grey instead of blue— were perfect. You had your ranking of what you thought were the most beautiful men you’d seen in your life before, and right now, Tangerine was threatening to throw off that ranking. Your eyes betray you and your vision goes to his lips. His goes to yours. You inhale sharply.

“I’m gonna go to bed.”

You turn and quickly make your way to your bed, without looking at him. You lie, facing away from the rest of the room, and eventually you hear him approach his own bed and also lie down. Your brain is much fuzzier than before, and you’re scared to even move in your bed, as if you could make yourself invisible by lying as still as possible. The silence is even more deafening this time around in the room, and you wonder if Tangerine can feel it too.

You can tell it’s gonna be even harder for you to sleep this time around.

#bullet train #bullet train fanfic #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #aaron taylor johnson

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bots-and-cons · 1 year

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Aye! can I request a Tfp X reader where the reader has the ability to go to other universes (like videogames, aus and other stuff) and they accidentally put team prime into the minecraft universe and has to defeat the ender dragon to get out. (also they have to fight in classic minecraft style)

I love Minecraft, it's my favorite game and I've been playing it for like ten years. I play it almost everyday if I have time, even if it's just for ten minutes between school work. This was a bit challenging to write because I had to do it from the perspective that they’re all players in a way. I only picked five bots, since it’s easier to manage and these still ended up pretty long

•You’re the minecraft pro in this situation and well the team is absolutely clueless

•Sure they’ve seen you play it on your laptop before, but to be in the game? Nononono

•It just happened by accident, and you sort of pulled the team in with you

•So you all get plunged into this darkness and before you knew it, there’s a familiar blue sky with connected cube clouds

•You look around and realize there are five other players around you and they’re all looking around, very confused

•Minecraft skins don’t have a very good resolution but you do recognize everyone, since they’ve got their colors and even though it’s a very simplistic teh designs are obvious

•Everyone is pretty much freaking out, because they have no idea what’s going on and they can’t pull out their blasters

•They can’t transform either and that’s super weird to everyone

•You’re pretty much laughing, because you’ve been in the Minecraft universe before and you know how to get out

•You start explaining how things work and everyone starts punching trees

•Bee is very excited to get a sword, even though it’s just a wooden one

•Like everyone gets all the necessary tools, but Bee is mostly focused on the sword

•Bulk really likes the pickaxe and Arcee’s swinging around a sword as well

•Optimus gets an axe and he’s very efficient at cutting down trees

•You tell him that you need to survive the night and that you need to kill some sheep so you can sleep, which everyone is appalled by

•Optimus is especially not on board with the idea, but he doesn’t protest after you explain you’re basically in a game and that they’re not actual animals

•You don’t manage to get beds for everyone so you can’t sleep the night away and have to fight the mobs and build a little wooden hut

•You build while the others try to keep the mobs away

•Bulk gets blown up by a creeper and barely survives, and Arcee gets has a bit of trouble with a skeleton

•Ratchet fights zombies and luckily no one manages to look at an enderman

•You get the tiny house built and you’re all huddled up inside of it so no one takes too much damage

•You tell them that even if they die in the game, they’re just gonna respawn and have to keep going

•You start making progress with the game and you end up in they caves to find diamonds

•You’ve instructed them all what to do and how to survive best and even though the cave adventure ends up being all mayhem

•Creepers, spiders, zombies and skeletons all around

•When you get out of the caves Bee sees a bee floating around and he’s just pointing at it and buzzing, because it’s so big

•He tries to pet it which obviously doesn’t end well and he gets super sad when it stings him and dies

•You teach them to use bows and swords and ender pearls

•You venture to the nether with the team and Ratchet falls into lava immediately

•You’ve got keep inventory on, so no stuff was lost but he screamed the whole way he fell

•He has to survive in the overworld alone while the rest of the team is in the nether with you, because he can’t find the portal

•You get the blaze rods from the fortress and the ender pearls from the warped forest and you’re out

•Optimus has just been doing what you’re telling him, because he wants out of there and you seem to know best

•You finally get to the end and you’ve assigned tasks to everyone, Bulk and Optimus are going in with the axes for the crits and Bee with the sword

•You and Arcee are going to take out the crystals with bows and shoot the dragon until it comes down

•Ratchet is on enderman watch and trying to keep you all safe from them with water buckets and by killing them

•You finally get to jump through the portal and you’re back at the base

•The little adventure feels like it was a fever dream and pretty much no time has passed in the real world

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #autobots #arcee #bumblebee #bulkhead #optimus prime #ratchet #tfp headcanons #reader insert #platonic transformers x reader

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artbean · 6 months

Text

31 days of drawing my favorite boy, exploring several facets of his personality, relationships, alternate universes, interests…

special thanks to @thefreakandthehair for embarking on this journey with me, and also amazingly writing something inspired by every single prompt we came up with together! having your companionship and encouragement really made it a joy to do and was definitely a huge factor in my ability to draw something for every single day :’)

here’s my eddie month tag, and there’s a masterlist of every piece under the cut in case you missed any, alongside a bit of a rambling message from me 🫶🏻

setting out, i didn’t think i could do all the prompts. on october 1st i had about 15 started, and less than half of that completed. but then i did day 5 in a couple hours out of the blue, and it had a really positive response from you guys that gave me the courage to aim to do every single prompt. some were more thought out than others, a couple i had been working on for months prior, but ultimately i got myself to share 31 pieces of art in the span of a single month, and that’s a huge accomplishment for me.

somehow, i don’t even feel burnt out at the end of this, only more inspired and fueled to keep creating for this fandom! i have multiple ideas and projects in the works already.

thank you all for your support, for your encouragement, for your likes and reblogs and comments—i see all of them, it all means the world to me. i gained new followers in such a short span of time, and i can’t wait to share my art with so many new faces! i’ve really come to find a home in this fandom with all the other little lost sheep that flocked to eddie’s character specifically, and i’ve found true companionship and fulfillment sharing my art with such a positive and loving community.

here’s to another month celebrating eddie, since just about every month ends up being eddie month for me ❣️

in case you missed some of these, here’s a masterlist of every eddie i made this month! i’d love to hear your favorites, if you’d like to share with me. there’s a star beside each one with <100 notes, in case you’d like to give those some love.

parents

friendship *

school

rejection *

role model

crush

wayne

rockstar

cowboy

college *

pirate *

soulmate

monster

roommates

ren faire *

library

tolkien *

journaling *

tech

folklore

hellfire

first concert

i did mixtape on my main (it’s a uquiz with playlists from eddie!) but on here it was costumes (part 1)

drama *

songwriting

corroded coffin

haunted house *

ghost hunting

trick or treat

costumes (part 2)

scary movie night *

#personal #i’m genuinely so proud of this thank you guys for being here for it

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abybweisse · 1 year

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After the real Ciel returns as a doll, I don't understand his feelings for our ciel. After all, does he love him or is he looking for competition and is angry with him?

He claimed that he was not angry with our Earl. He said he likes to see his development . Defended Earl's lie about his identity to Francis. He told Undertaker that he just wanted to spend time with his brother.

But he also left the blood in the basement of the mansion and called the police to accuse his brother. And he asked Tanaka to burn the rabbit dolls and he doesn't want to see them again. I also feel that he killed Agni personally. just for make our Earl and Soma enemy.

because he was jealous that someone getting close to his brother.

I understand that his brain probably hasn't developed since he was 10 years old and is childish. But still seem contradictory.

Real Ciel's emotions

I've touched on this subject before, but I always find it a bit difficult to read this character.

We don't know too much about him from before, but he seems to have always been a little bit fickle minded. One minute he's happy and wanting to know about his brother's life goals, but when it means his brother might move away, he tries to change his brother's mind and control his decisions. Then he's all of a sudden against being the heir, if it means not getting to do as he pleases and being with his brother all the time.

And elitist; when Vincent tells them about keeping the workers on their land happy and productive, our earl ponders how hard it must be to keep everyone happy... while real Ciel compares them to sheep who must be provided with the basics to keep them from going astray.

With a big helping of "big brother syndrome", where he thinks he knows what's best and feels a need to be the protector all the time. And to be right all the time, like telling our earl the truth about Santa and where the presents really come from. Oh, and being competitive -- typically the winner -- like at chess. It's a little condescending when he says our earl and their dad are the only ones who can even present a challenge for him. Getting kidnapped and sold to the cult gave him a serious reality check, but it doesn't seem to have stuck too well.

Like I've said before, the process of turning him into an advanced bizarre doll (using all his life goals as "episodes") seems to have brought his negative traits to the forefront.

We see that when he confronts our earl, Sebastian, and the rest of the household. Even Tanaka winces when real Ciel puts Sebastian in his place as a servant. Then there's the whole blood transfusion thing: he could accept any whole blood donation (since Rh factor doesn't seem to be a thing in the Kuroverse), and Blavat apparently knows this. So, why does he only use Sirius blood? Does he not also know... or is he simply refusing any other blood type, with the belief it's too inferior for him? 🤔

There's a strong dichotomy to his thinking. On the one hand, he wants to be with his twin, just like before, but he also wants to punish him for taking the ring and pretending to be him. He calls our earl a liar but then says he'll have nothing to do with anyone who says the same thing... then doesn't seem to care when Lizzie almost immediately points her finger, doing exactly what real Ciel said others shouldn't do. He quickly learns to appreciate and even admire what our earl has managed to accomplish in the past nearly four years, but he has no personal interest in the same things, like the toy and confectionery company. He would have invested in the railway system or something. It seems likely that he was invested in Blue Star Line, so he's way more into transportation and infrastructure than he is into providing the simple joys of toys and sweets. Like he'd rather be an industrial tycoon. It's really sad to me that he basically tells Tanaka to get rid of those toys because he is still upset with our earl for wanting to pursue such a career. Like he doesn't think it's a particularly serious occupation. Maybe he truly thinks it's not worthy or proper for a member of a noble family to do that sort of work. He even says something like that in ch132.

Real Ciel has, since that moment (if not before), wanted his little brother to be dependent on him. Forever.

So, yeah, at the point where he's had the blood planted at the manor and is calling his younger twin by "Lord Sirius", he's perfectly willing to have him arrested and detained for questioning. Things would have played out quite differently if Sebastian and our earl hadn't gotten away from the Yard. After a few days of letting our earl think about what he's done, sitting in some jail cell, he might have gone down to the station and dropped the charges -- making who knows what excuse about the blood and the deaths -- on the condition that his younger twin would return to the manor and stay there, doing whatever real Ciel wants him to do. Maybe he would pin the entire thing on Blavat and let him rot there. Considering how Druitt keeps getting out of situations with the law, I'm sure real Ciel could talk or bribe his brother's way out of legal trouble.

Since real Ciel now runs entirely on his personal goals and desires, what we see now is a much more selfish version of himself. So selfish and elitist that he'll:

Have Lord Polaris kill Agni to turn Soma against his younger twin

Have his brother locked up just to physically contain him

Destroy what his brother has built for the estate and Funtom, despite recognizing the effort it took

Belittle the servants that his brother showed compassion and leniency to

Use his fiancée as a bodyguard but otherwise barely speak to her

Drain people dry to accept only Sirius (AB) blood when he could accept any type

I'm sure there are things I've left out that I intended to include, but this seems pretty thorough to me... for now.

He does love his brother, but as a soulless bizarre doll, it's a cold sort of love. The self-centered aspects of it remain. Not what he can truly do for his younger twin but what his younger twin can do for him. And he is angry... and still competitive.

ETA: Real Ciel's lies to Francis/Frances aren't really to protect our earl; the excuses he makes, etc. are to help cover up the dark truths about himself. Just imagine him trying to explain it truthfully and in relatively good detail. It wouldn't go over well at all.

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etcrow · 2 years

Text

No longer sheep

➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷

Genre: comedy, fluff, reaction post

Characters: GN!MC and the brothers

Universe: Obey Me

Warnings: none, contains headcanons

A/N: requested by @isrealityevenreal MC ribbon changes based on the brother

Summary: the brothers react to MC transforming into a human after being a sheep for some time

➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷

➳Lucifer

Although a simple and humble sheep, you had got into the habit of helping Lucifer carry out his duties in his study. While he was writing or stamping papers, a little sheep hopped around the room as they awkwardly held papers with their little paws.

"MC, pass me those papers" Lucifer had asked you, pointing to a stack of papers on a chair. You went to get them and brought them to him. "Here's to you"

At those words, Lucifer raised an eyebrow, then turned to you, finding a person and not a sheep. He was dumbfounded for a second, then he flaunted one of his smiles. "Well, well. What do we have here?" You had put a hand to your head, giggling. The bell tied to your blue bow had rang slightly. "I think I'm human again, finally"

The demon had continued to stare at you, handing you his jacket. "And you are also without clothes" You had blushed, covering yourself with his jacket. "You didn't see anything and this never happened" "I can promise you the second thing, but as for the first" and here he smiled again "I've seen enough."

➳Mammon

Mammon had taken you to his room to see a horror movie. During a scary scene, the demon closed his eyes and when you approached to hug him, he screamed so loud it scared you too. "MAMMON, WHAT"

"WHO ARE YOU. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE. I HAVE A BOX OF POPCORN AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO THROW IT."

You fell silent for a few seconds, then you looked at yourself, yelling 'I AM HUMAN' and Mammon stared at you, confused and still scared. When he saw your yellow ribbon he jumped up, pointing at you. "MC, is that you?"

You nodded and a 'BAAAAAA' escaped you that you blocked by closing your mouth, blushing. He was gaping for a second, then he began with a "HAHA, now the great Mammon has a new faithful human servant and no longer a small and soft sheep"

You looked at him, raising your hands in midair. "I'm not your servant, Mammon"

"Details. Would you like some popcorn?"

➳Leviathan

Levi, as usual, had shut himself up in his room, but this time you were there to keep him company. He was rehearsing a new game, as you cheerfully hopping around the room between a 'BAAAAA' and the next.

Levi was so focused on playing that when someone tapped him on the shoulder, he almost yelled at the top of his lungs. "WHO ARE YOU. WHAT DO YOU WANT. POLICE." He yelled at you, throwing the controller at your head, hitting you in the face.

You yelled something, then punched him in the arm. "IDIOT, IT'S ME, MC"

The avatar of envy had stared at you for a long time, then noticing your orange ribbon he was speechless. In his small mind, an otaku hamster had started running on his wheel to be able to store and process the information he had just received.

You laughed, taking the controller in your hand and smiling. "From today I will finally be able to play too. I was tired of not being able to hold the controller in my hand"

Levi, in response, had jumped to his feet, knocking down his room to find video games for two to play. Finally there would be a player 2.

➳Satan

Satan was reading you one of your favorite books. You were awkwardly seated in an armchair in the living room, waving your paws in the air. The avatar of wrath had turned the page when a bizarre noise made him look up, leaving him dumbfounded. Before him there was no longer a sheep, but a human being. He had looked at you for a long time, then after seeing your green bow with the bell he had given you, he had calmed down. "MC, what happened?"

You shrugged, almost as confused as he was. Then you took a look at yourself. You weren't sure what happened.

Satan had put down the book and started studying you, intrigued. Was it a curse? Or maybe a spell gone wrong? After expressing several theories, the demon took you by the hand and dragged you to his room, exclaiming "I want to get clear on this story" It was going to be a long day.

➳Asmodeus

Asmo thought you really were a lovely little sheep. He had a lot of fun combing your hair, putting pink ribbons on you or hugging you.

One day, while he was reading a clothing magazine on his bed with you next to him, he saw a beautiful suit and sat up abruptly. "MC, MC. Look at this dress ... WHAT THE HELL, WHO ARE YOU"

The avatar of lust had leapt to his feet to find no longer a fluffy sheep on his bed, but a human being. He had rolled up the magazine, ready to throw it at you, but you raised your hands to stop him.

"Asmo, I'm BAAAAAAAA --- MC."

"... MC"

You nodded and slowly took the magazine out of his hands, in order to avoid possible attacks from the demon. He was dumbfounded for a second, then let out a shrill noise. "I ALMOST HIT YOU WITH THE NEWSPAPER AS WITH SPIDERS"

You giggled, shrugging. You were finally human again and explained to Asmo your "accident" that made you a sheep. In response, he threw his arms around your neck, euphoric.

"Adorable. I prefer you this way. Now I can put makeup on you, choose your clothes ... and if you want, something else, too ~" Apparently he had taken it pretty well.

➳Beelzebub

Beel had gone to train and you had followed him hopping all the way to his room. The demon had been doing push-ups and you were sitting on his back, making 'BAAAAAA' every time Beel did one. Suddenly, he felt a heavier weight on his back and the demon turned to find a human being sitting there and not a fluffy sheep. He had looked at you, laughing and pointing at your red bow. "MC?"

You nodded, smiling and sitting up on the floor. "I think I'm finally human again"

Beel had also sat up, studying you. "I don't mind a little extra weight for push-ups"

You puffed up your cheeks, muttered 'Hey, I'm not fat' and then burst out laughing.

Beel had looked at you with a bewildered puppy look and you told him you were joking. "You know, I'm hungry" you said later, putting a hand under your chin. "How about if I cook something?"

The avatar of gluttony had been staring at you for a long time. Then, with a trickle of drool dripping from his mouth, he nodded.

"I'll be your personal chef from now on"

Beel had chuckled, standing up and helping you up. "Great"

➳Belphegor

As usual, Belphegor had gone to sleep holding you tightly in his arms. The avatar of sloth had gotten into the habit of using you as a pillow, but this time he had woken up with something wrong. He reached out and instead of a sheep's soft fur he touched someone's arm. He had initially believed it was Beel, then opened one eye and found himself a stranger sleeping in his bed. The demon had raised an eyebrow, pushing the strange figure off the bed.

You woke up, yelling 'Ouch' and sitting up on the floor. "Belphie, what the hell" You murmured and he raised an eyebrow. "Who are you and who told you you can call me Belphie"

You were left in an obvious state of confusion for a second, then you looked at yourself from head to toe, realizing that you were no longer a sheep but a human being. "Oh" you then exclaimed softly, giggling at the sight of an equally confused Belphegor staring at you. You had put your hand behind your head, then you had gingerly sat up on his bed. "Belphie, I'm MC"

He looked at you skeptically, raising an eyebrow, then saw your purple bow around your neck. After a few seconds he shrugged and said 'Well, from today my pillow will be bigger' and went back to sleep.

You stared at him, shocked. Seriously, Belphegor?

#obey me one master to rule them all #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me mc #obey me post #obey me headcanons #obey me funny #obey me incorrect quotes #obey me x gender neutral reader

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immabethehero · 10 months

Text

A Starry Night in the Encanto

I DID IT. CROSSOVER WEEK FINALLY COMPLETE. @wdtajn IT’S FINALLY DONE

So context: there’s a lovely musical called Starry, based on the life of Vincent Van Gogh. It’s written by Kelly Lynne D’Angelo and Matt Dahan, both very talented. Dahan also did a bit of Starkid. The soundtrack is on Spotify, go listen to it now!!!

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

“His hair is red like Mamá’s. Fiery red,” Dolores reports.

“He’s only got art equipment on him,” Isabela says.

“The hummingbirds say a door appeared from a hill and he emerged from it,” Antonio translates, the little birds fluttering around his head.

“He hasn’t said much to anyone, just kind of wandered towards the fields where the donkeys were,” Luisa recalls.

“He’s a lot like you, Tío, weird and artsy,” Camilo admits. This earns him a smack from Dolores.

“So… you think you could try talking to him?” Mirabel asks.

Bruno blinks rapidly, struggling to keep up with all the sudden information. He had just been dreaming of watching sheep and rats dance in a field when a tremor that made his bones rattle and his teeth chatter startled him awake. When he opened his eyes, he quickly surmised the tremor had been all six kids shaking him awake.

“And you want me to talk to him because…” he begins.

“Because like Camilo said in a non-helpful way, he reminds the town of you,” Mirabel answers.

An artist who avoids socializing? Fair enough. Bruno sighs and swings his feet out of the hammock. “Alright, just don’t expect any fascinating conversations to happen.”

“We won’t,” Camilo responds.

True to what Luisa said, Bruno finds the man sitting on a rock, painting the donkeys grazing in the field. The stranger wears blue overalls over a yellow shirt, both covered in dried paint splotches. He chews on a spare paint brush as he contemplates his next move. Red hair pokes out from under his straw hat.

Bruno slowly walks over to him, whistling absentmindedly to get his attention. The stranger’s head perks up, but he refuses to tear his eyes away from his masterpiece.

Bruno takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Um, hi!”

No response. The man keeps painting.

Maybe he doesn’t speak English. “Hola!” Still no response.

“Uh… bonjour! Ciao! Habari! Konnichiwa! Guten morgen!” Please say something!

The stranger finally (finally!) turns around. His blue eyes have a sad, faraway look, yet twinkle with determination. They’re also very judgemental, at least to Bruno. “Didn’t know you spoke so many languages.”

Bruno feels his face turn red. “Not really, I just know how to say ‘hello’ and ‘where’s the bathroom’ in many languages.”

The stranger nods and turns back to his painting. Bruno peers over his shoulder to see the work.

“Woah…”

The colours pop out of the canvas, the sky dancing and twirling in a polychromatic tornado. The field boasts just as many hues, every shade of green far more eye-catching than Bruno’s ruana.

The man stops his painting and glares at Bruno. “Can I help you with something?”

“Teach me to paint.”

“What?”

“Can you teach me to paint like you, please?”

The man glances back and forth between Bruno and his painting, confused. “You actually like this?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve never seen the sky and fields painted like that before!” Bruno admits. “It’s… maravilloso!”

The man blushes. “You’d be the first non-family member to say that. My other friends would say it’s too… what’s the word…”

“Messy?” Bruno guesses.

“No… tacky. Something like that.”

Bruno scoffs. “You need new friends.”

The painter laughs. “You flatter me, sir. What’s your name?”

“Bruno Madrigal.”

“Vincent Van Vogh.”

As Bruno shakes Vincent’s hand, his heart begins to beat faster in excitement. There’s something very fascinating about this man.

“Do you need a place to stay?”

“Given my way here has suddenly disappeared, yes. Do you have a motel where I could spend the night?”

“I was thinking perhaps my place? My family's house is big enough to house a guest wandering the Encanto,” Bruno says.

“Encanto?”

“It’s where you are. Encanto, Colombia.”

Vincent’s pale face turns ghostly. “Colombia?! That’s so far from France! How did I get here? How do I get back?!”

Bruno waves his hands nervously. “Don’t worry! This town does all sorts of magical stuff. I’m sure once you’ve settled down and explained how you got here, a way for you to go home will arrive. For now, let’s just settle on finding you a place to stay. I promise my family doesn’t bite. But the pets might.”

Vincent squeaks in response.

As they near the brilliant “Casita”, as Bruno calls it, the man suddenly stops Vincent in his tracks.

“Before we get any closer, I need to warn you of some things. This town is known for… its eccentricities, to say the least. For one thing, my house moves independently.”

Vincent nods warily. “Like… it’s haunted?”

Bruno laughs nervously. “No, it just has a mind of its own.”

The two continue on their way, and Bruno motions to Casita. “As you see…”

The window shutters on the top window suddenly swing and the tiles of the roof roll in a wave. Vincent yelps in surprise.

The window shutters shake back and forth slowly, as if waving. Vincent meekly waves back. The door opens (on its own!) to welcome the men inside. Vincent marvels at the building’s beautiful colours. He’ll have to paint it once he’s made sure he’s awake and not just hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or completely losing his mind. Maybe he should have taken up Segatori’s suggestion to see that doctor from wherever-the-heck.

“My family has magic as well. Some are a bit more noticeable than others,” Bruno explains. “For example-”

A roar of thunder echoes through the courtyard, startling Vincent. He looks up. There’s not a single cloud in the sky, how-?

He is soon answered by a tall woman wearing a bright orange dress. Her red hair is pulled back into a pretty braid. She eyes Vincent suspiciously.

“Who’s this, Bruno?” she asks.

“He’s Vincent, he’s… new here,” Bruno explains. He turns to Vincent. “This is Pepa, my sister. She can control the weather.”

Pepa scoffs. “It’s not so much control as it is just summoning clouds when I get emotional.”

“It’s still a very cool gift,” Bruno says. Pepa smiles and shoves him playfully.

“Whatever you say, hermano.”

Vincent hears loud footsteps above and looks up to see six, well, five young adults and one child curiously watching him from the mezzanine.

“Oh boy, there’s two of them now,” the teenaged boy mumbles. The girl with the red headband elbows him hard.

“These are my nieces and nephews!” Bruno says, grinning. “Come on down!”

Once they’re all standing in front of Vincent, Bruno introduces them. Isabela, Dolores, Luisa, Camilo, Mirabel and Antonio.

“Pleased to meet you at last, Señor. What’s your name?” Mirabel asks, pushing her bright green glasses up. Vincent marvels at her beautiful skirt.

“I’m Vincent. Vincent Van Gogh,” the artist says. “Your skirt is very pretty.” So many colours…

“Thank you! I just added some new designs.” Mirabel twirls, allowing Vincent to see the skirt in full.

“Where are you from?” Luisa asks. She towers over all of the kids. Her muscular build would be something Johanna would fawn over.

“Arles. It’s in the south of France.”

“That’s over 8000 kilometers away!” she gasps.

A heavenly scent fills the room. Vincent follows it to another woman approaching, holding a pot. Her curly black hair is swept up in a bun.

“This is Julieta, my other sister. Her cooking can heal any injuries,” Bruno says. “Julieta, this is Vincent Van Gogh.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Julieta says, holding out a gloved hand. Vincent shakes it, startled by all the people. He’s never met a group with such colourful clothing before!

“Where did you come from?” Julieta asks.

“Arles, France.”

“That’s quite far. How did you get here?”

“I was just getting back from a long day of painting when I saw a door glowing in an alleyway. When I went to investigate it, I could hear people and animals inside. So I opened it and walked through and came here.

“That must have been the door in the hill where the animals saw you come out!” Antonio cries.

“What happened to the door?” Mirabel asks.

“When I turned around, the door was gone.”

The Madrigals glance at each other nervously.

Mirabel holds up her hand. “Family meeting!”

While the Madrigals huddle in Dolores’ sound proof room, Vincent stays in the courtyard, entertained by Casita. The painter has never seen a house juggle before.

“So… what do you guys think? Should we let him stay?”

“Well, now that you’ve invited him, it’s not like we can just throw him out into the streets.”

“Besides, he came from a magic portal. We can’t send him back either. We’ll have to wait for the Miracle to find him another way home.”

“All in favour of letting Vincent stay, say I.”

“I!” twelve voices echo.

Casita conjures up a guest room with a reasonably sized window for Vincent to look out. As soon as he sees the view, Vincent requests another canvas and immediately begins painting. Bruno can’t wait to see the result.

He also can’t wait to get to his vision cave. He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something important, significant, influential about Vincent. His artwork feels familiar, and Bruno knows his Gift can help him solve the mystery. The seer flies through his room and into his vision cave, taking the steps (which have thankfully lessened dramatically) two at a time.

Surrounded by sand, salt tossed and match lit, Bruno begins to search for Vincent Van Gogh’s future.

Bruno is the first person Vincent sees in the morning. Grinning, he holds up the finished artwork of his view of the Encanto. The clouds and sunset have never looked so vibrant before, the colourful houses below compliment the beautiful sky.

“You like it? You can keep it if you do! I have so much art in my flat, it’s kind of a problem. I really need to find new homes for them…”

Vincent looks up from his work to see his host’s eyes red and puffy. Without saying a single word, Bruno throws his arms around the shocked painter.

“Bruno? Are you okay?”

Bruno simply hugs him tighter.

Unsettled, Vincent decides to paint in the courtyard of the lovely house. Just before he begins pouring his paint, he notices the kids approach him, all holding painting gear. His stomach drops. They’re not going to-

“Is it ok if we join your painting session?” the girl with the colourful dress asks. “We saw you sitting alone and well, we just thought a good way to get to know our guest is through his favorite activity!”

Vincent freezes. He prefers painting alone, when no one can judge him or tell him how to paint or-

“We’ll be as quiet as possible! We just thought it would be fun,” the tallest girl says. The rest nod, smiles nervous but… honest.

Vincent nods and gestures to the floor, hoping it doesn’t come off as curt. He jumps when the tiles on the floor suddenly move, rolling chairs, easels, and a large table their way. He’s never going to get used to that.

“Alright guys, let’s do it!” the first girl says, setting her painting supplies down. Vincent fakes a smile as the rest of the kids file in.

“Mirabel and Antonio are coming soon,” a girl with a red headband says to Vincent. “Tío Bruno as well, but first he needs to see Julieta because of a headache.” Vincent nods, puzzled. How does she know that? Wait, what’s her name again?

Vincent studies the people around him, trying to remember Bruno’s rapid fire introductions from yesterday. Isabela has the colourful dress, Louise(?) is really tall and muscular, Dora(?) has the red headband. There's also a teenaged boy wearing an orange poncho, or ruana, as Vincent has been informed. He’s already forgotten that kid’s name.

The painter relaxes a little when he sees Mirabel and Antonio (frankly the more approachable kids of the youth) show up. He stops relaxing when he sees what Antonio is riding on. Christ, he’s never seen a cat that big!

“What- what’s that?” he stammers, pointing a shaking finger at the giant cat with razor teeth.

Antonio looks down at his ride. “This is Parce! He’s a jaguar, and he’s one of my best friends!”

“And your parents are okay with this?” Vincent squeaks. Antonio nods happily.

“I can talk to animals! They all love me!” That checks out. Vincent keeps forgetting about the magic part.

“So… I’m guessing you all have magic too?” Vincent asks.

“Yeah! Luisa has super strength!” the teenaged boy says, pointing to the tall girl. To demonstrate, Luisa lifts up the table with one hand. One. Vincent’s jaw drops. That’s why she’s so muscular! Johanna would love this girl.

“Dolores can hear anything from miles away!” Isabela says, pointing to the girl with the red headband. The girl in question suddenly perks her head up and smiles.

“It seems Tía Julieta is baking a treat for us.” Right on queue, Vincent begins to smell something delectable wafting from the kitchen. Incroyable!

“Isabela can grow any plant at will,” Mirabel says. Isabela waves her hand and a bouquet of sunflowers appears in her hand. She hands them to a stunned Vincent.

“And Camilo can shapeshift into anyone!” Mirabel exclaims, pointing to the teenaged boy. So that’s his name!

Camilo gets up and twirls. In seconds, he transforms into Vincent. The painter gawks at his own clone smiling back at him, though he thinks the smile would suit Gauguin more. Paul always has a smug smile.

“Tía Pepa can control the weather with her mood,” Luisa continues. “And our mamá, Julieta, can heal people with her cooking!”

Vincent realizes one kid hasn’t shown off yet. “What about you? What’s your power?” he asks Mirabel.

Mirabel shrugs. “I don’t have a Gift.”

“She’s our Miracle holder,” Dolores says.

“She keeps us sane,” Camilo adds.

“She’s the heart of this family,” Isabela concludes. Mirabel blushes with pride.

“And what about Bruno? You haven’t mentioned him.”

“Tío Bruno can see the future!” Mirabel says.

The future? As in, what’s to come? Or what could be? Could this explain why Bruno was crying when he saw Vincent this morning?

“Is that why he looked sad to see me? He was so happy when I came to stay, but when I saw him last, he was crying,” Vincent explains. The children exchange worried glances.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about!” Mirabel hastily says. “Why don’t you show us your talent?”

The Madrigal begin pulling out their art supplies, waiting eagerly for the painter to begin. Eyeing them all suspiciously, Vincent resumes pouring paint onto his pallette.

Vincent decides to do a portrait of Parce, the jaguar lying by Antonio’s side. He begins sketching the outline.

“How long have you been in painting, Señor Van Gogh?” Dolores asks.

“Almost seven years,” Vincent answers.

“What do you usually paint?”

“Whatever I feel like. Which right now is the giant cat and his fascinating pattern.”

“He’s a jaguar. They’re great swimmers and they can kill with just one bite!” Antonio says.

Vincent dares a peek at Parce, who winks at him. The Dutchman gulps and ducks behind his painting.

Bruno suddenly runs in, carrying his painting equipment and a tray of something that smells devine. “Sorry! Sorry! Got held up with Julieta. Anyone care for some carimiñola?”

Half the snacks are gone in seconds. Vincent quickly grabs one before they disappear entirely. He takes a bite.

All of his senses ignite at once. His skin has cleared, his crops are thriving- He’s found Heaven in this little treat! It’s as if the chef has made it specifically for him. They aren’t kidding when they say Julieta’s cooking is magical!

Bruno chuckles as Vincent begins snatching more for himself. “Julieta has some more left over if needed. Quite the chef, isn’t she?”

“This is magique! Remind me to get the recipe before I go home,” Vincent exclaims between bites. “Also, send my compliments to her.”

“Will do.”

After eating at least three more of the carimiñolas, Vincent continues painting. The rest of the Madrigals contentedly paint beside him, most of them humming or whistling to themselves as they work. Another thing Vincent has learned about the Madrigals: they’re very musical.

Theo and Johanna would love Encanto. Theo would be amazed by all the artwork here. The weather would do wonders for his health. And the Madrigals! Johanna would consider the Madrigal women her sisters. Theo could chat with the husbands for hours… probably about how much they love their wives. The thought makes Vincent chuckle to himself.

Hours pass. As Vincent finishes his work, the Madrigals begin showing off their paintings. Isabela has painted a cactus with a large orange flower on it. Dolores painted a guitar with little swirly designs on them. Luisa shyly presents the lovely unicorn she drew, mumbling how art isn’t her strong suit. Vincent has to admit, he’s envious of the way she paints equidae. Mirabel shows off a giant butterfly with rainbow wings, while Antonio shares an adorable picture of Bruno’s pet rats. There’s at least fifty rats on that paper, just how many does Bruno own?!

“Camilo, you haven’t shared your artwork yet,” Mirabel points out. The teenager ducks his head, canvas facing his chest.

“It’s… uh… still ongoing,” he mumbles.

“I’m sure it’s fine, just show us already!” Isabela urges.

Camilo reluctantly turns his canvas around. The group stares at the photo, stunned by the results.

Mirabel finds her voice first. “How lovely! It’s a… is it El Mohán?”

“It’s a chicken. Screaming,” Camilo admits. “It’s from the chicken incident, remember?”

The Madrigals begin nodding and smiling. Apprently that’s a story.

Vincent ducks behind his own canvas to keep Camilo from seeing his amused smile. He really hopes the kid doesn’t want to make a career out of art. Oh god, the other painters would be appalled if they saw that. Gaugin would never let the poor boy hear the end of it.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” Camilo wails. “I can’t draw at all!”

“No kidding…” Bruno mutters a little too loudly. Mirabel shoots him a glare while Vincent giggles behind his artwork.

Camilo scowls and stands to face the snickering painter. “My art is very amusing, isn’t it? Why don’t you show us what you made, Señor Van Gogh?!”

Vincent, still chuckling a little, shoots the teen a smug smile and turns his painting around. Camilo immediately sits back down, gawking and stuttering. Vincent’s smile widens.

“I’ve never seen Parce so colourful before!” Antonio squeals. Parce roars in agreement.

“Look at all those colours!” Isabela and Mirabel gush.

“It’s so pretty!” Dolores sighs.

“You’re such a gifted painter!” Luisa exclaims.

Vincent blushes from all the compliments. He’s surprised it made such a hit with this crowd. The other artists would be whining about the bright colours, the Madrigals adore it. Maybe it’s a cultural thing?

Vincent hands the painting to Antonio. “Consider this a little gift.” The child gasps with excitement, warming the painter’s heart.

“Thank you, señor!”

At last, Bruno presents his artwork. It’s of two anthropomorphic rats in masks, one black with a red spider on its shirt, the other wearing a similar outfit, only white with hints of pink and black.

“What is that?” Vincent asks.

“It’s a scene from a movie about people who share magical spider powers! We’re gonna watch it tonight!” Bruno explains.

None of those words are in any religious writings. As far as Vincent knows. “What’s a movie?”

“It’s a thing in the future, it’s where… art moves on futuristic… canvases?” Bruno trails off, words failing him. Vincent looks even more lost.

“Could you show me these ‘movies’ with your Gift? Maybe I’ll understand then,” Vincent finally says.

Bruno’s smile disappears. “You… want to see my Gift?”

“You’re the only one whose Gift I haven’t seen yet, of course I want to!”

Bruno glances at the kids, who nod and motion to Vincent. The prophet turns back to the artist, forcing a smile. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

But first, Antonio wants Vincent to help him hang up the “Portrait of Parce”. Bruno silently thanks his sobrino for the extra minutes as he paces back and forth in his room, fidgeting with his ruana. The rats watch their master warily, some crawling to him for comfort. Bruno smiles and picks one up, stroking her back.

The door suddenly opens and Bruno nearly drops the poor rat in surprise. He sets the rat down and turns to see Mirabel.

“Tío? Is everything ok?”

Bruno whines wordlessly and flops face first into the sand. Mirabel crouches beside him and puts her hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t need to worry! Vincent has seen so much weird stuff by now, I’m sure your Gift will look normal compared to everything else!”

Bruno lifts his head up. “It’s not that I’m worried about. I… I saw his future. And I don’t want him to see it.”

Mirabel frowns. “Right… he did ask about that before you showed up.”

Bruno squeaks. “He did?”

“Yeah. He said you were crying. What did you see?”

Bruno hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “He’s been through a lot. Everyone thinks he’s odd, and his paintings aren’t selling. He barely has any friends.”

Mirabel hums to herself in thought. She finally says, “He kind of reminds me of you.”

Bruno scoffs lightly and gently elbows her. “How dare you? I have tons of friends. Human friends, that is!” That’s actually not true, but he hopes Mirabel will humour him.

“You and the town didn’t always see eye to eye, but look at you now! You’re loved and respected in the Encanto! I’m sure it will be the same for him!”

Bruno chuckles sadly. “It’s… it’s not the same where he’s from. It can’t be solved that easily.”

Mirabel huffs. “Well, there has to be something good coming his way! You need to look for the butterfly! Like you did with my future! Surely one nice thing appeared when you looked into his future!”

Bruno ponders this silently, picking at his ruana. He suddenly lights up.

“Actually… there is. It’s the reason I looked into his future in the first place! Gracias, Mirabel!”

“So how will this work? Will there be smoke? I’ve got some matches! Do I need to close my eyes? Are there cards involved?” Vincent’s questions are endless as he takes a seat in Bruno’s vision cave. Bruno sits across from him, slightly unnerved by how talkative the painter has become. And to think he didn’t even want to talk to Bruno when they first met!

“You just need to stay inside the circle I made,” Bruno says. “Also be careful of the flying sand. It lets you see my visions, but it also can get into your hair and clothes.”

Vincent shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s also going to get very windy.”

“Again, not an issue. I’ve painted in the rain plenty of times, the wind is nothing.”

“How strong is your immune system?”

“Very, now can we please begin?”

Bruno strikes a match and lights up the four leaf piles. He takes a deep breath. Look for the butterfly. Vincent watches with wide eyes.

The wind begins to pick up the sand. The room gently shakes as Bruno’s Gift awakens. Bruno feels his eyes glow and opens them.

“You might want to hang on,” he says, holding out his hands. An amazed Vincent takes them, his own hands trembling.

“Are you okay?” Bruno asks.

“Just shaking with excitement, I think,” Vincent says, gripping Bruno’s hands tightly. “Keep going.”

The sand swirls around them, creating a large bubble that envelops the gentlemen. Vincent gasps as bright green grains of sand begin forming images.

“This is what a movie looks like!” Bruno yells. Vincent watches with anticipation as the outline of a rectangle appears, the images inside moving as people below the screen watch.

“First they show them in these giant theatres before putting the movies on smaller vinyls for people to see whenever they want!” Bruno explains.

“That’s wonderful! Thank you for showing me!” Vincent says.

“While we’re here, there’s something else I wanted to show you!” Bruno exclaims.

“There is?”

“Your future!” Bruno closes his eyes in concentration, willing the good images to come to him. When he opens them, he feels a sense of relief rush through him.

Vincent watches as multiple versions of him appear, each one deeply engrossed in painting. Man, he really needs to fix his posture. When he looks closer, he recognizes a few paintings, but the rest are new to him.

The paintings then float together, each one receiving a fancy frame before lining up side by side. A ribbon holds back what seems to be crowds of people staring at the art. Vincent’s art.

“Thousands of people will come each day to see your art!” Bruno explains. “I’ve always wondered why your art looked so familiar, now I know. I’ve seen it before. These are revolutionary!”

Vincent stares at Bruno incredulously. “Are you sure it isn’t someone else’s art?”

“That was you painting all of them, right? I promise your paintings are going to change lives! People will come from far and wide to see them, inspired by your determination and passion. You’re quite the artist, Vincent Van Gogh.”

A slab of green glass materializes in front of the two men. Bruno takes it and uses it to shield them from the falling sand. He brushes off the last few grains and shows it to Vincent. The picture depicts a lovely view of Vincent’s art, hung up for people to see. The painting in the middle catches Vincent’s eye, one of a starry night over a town.

Bruno rubs his temples, blinking away any red spots in his view. When his vision finally clears, he’s surprised to see the artist wiping away a few tears, still gazing at the piece. Bruno gulps. Did he overwhelm the poor man?

“Did you get sand in your eye? Was it too much?!”

Without saying a single word, Vincent throws his arms around the shocked prophet.

“Vincent? Are you okay?”

Vincent simply hugs him tighter.

Mirabel is jolted awake when the door to Bruno’s room opens, tipping her over. She falls flat on her face. She feels a hand pull up her by the arm.

“Sorry, I didn't realize you were here.” It’s Vincent. When she pushes her glasses back up to see him, she’s surprised to see them glistening with tears. Her stomach plummets.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

Bruno appears behind Vincent, his smile bright, but his eyes rather red. “It’s fine, Mirabel. I think Vincent just needs some time alone.”

Mirabel nods and lets the artist pass. She watches him slowly walk to his room, clutching the emerald tablet in his arms.

Bruno gives Mirabel a hug. “Thanks for the advice, kid. I think he really needed to see that.”

He pulls away from the hug, stumbling. Mirabel grabs his arms to help steady him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m getting too old for double visions. I’m going to take a nap.” Bruno hobbles back into his room, the door shutting behind him.

“I will never understand artists.” Mirabel turns around to see Camilo leaning on the rail of the mezzanine.

“Camilo, you’re an actor. Isn’t that technically an art?”

“There’s a difference, prima.”

“No there isn’t.”

Bruno sees the door first, shimmering and glowing. The doorknob has an encrusted “V” written on. He calls for Vincent.

The prophet and the painter work together to get Vincent’s stuff packed up for him, while Mirabel wraps the vision tablet up in a spare blanket so it doesn’t get destroyed. Included is the recipe for her mother’s carimiñolas.

Vincent holds his painting of the Encanto. “Before I leave, I want you to have this. I don’t have any currency on me, so I hope you’ll take a painting as payment for letting me in.”

Mirabel excitedly takes the artwork. “Gracias! We’ll definitely have to find a nice place for this!” She throws her arms around Vincent. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Señor Van Gogh.”

“It was a pleasure staying here,” Vincent says. Mirabel runs off to hang up the art. She turns back and winks to Bruno.

Vincent turns back to Bruno, smiling. “I’ll miss seeing you every day. It’s not everyday I meet someone as kind as you.”

The compliment makes Bruno flush. “I’ll miss you as well. I’m… so honoured we got to meet. I don’t think I’ll ever meet a friend like you again.”

The painter pulls his friend in for a hug one last time. He feels Bruno’s arms wrap around him. He’s quite certain he’ll never feel the warm embrace of a friendship like this again. He’s never felt so seen before.

Bruno has never felt so seen, so connected before. He almost doesn’t want to let go, feeling a bit colder as Vincent pulls away. He never knew friends like Vincent could do that to him.

Vincent glances at the door. “So… do I just… touch the doorknob?”

“That usually does the trick,” Bruno advises.

Vincent apprehensively touches the doorknob. The glow of the door brightens, brightens, forcing Vincent to shut his eyes. When he opens them, an image of him has been carved onto the door, the outline sparkling with magic. The figure holds a paintbrush and a pallette, reaching up to touch the dancing stars. He gasps.

“Looks like you’re part of this family now,” Bruno says. “Goodbye, Vincent Van Gogh. I hope we cross paths again!”

“We’ll meet again! I promise! ” Vincent says. He opens the door and walks through.

Vincent lugs his gear through the door and right into his brother’s house. How convenient. The door closes behind him and the beautiful glow disappears. Vincent smiles sadly. He’ll miss Bruno.

His thoughts are interrupted by someone running downstairs and into the front hallway. It’s Theo! Immediately Vincent is tackled by his younger brother in a hug. He’s been hugged a lot recently. Vincent happily returns it.

“Hello, brother!”

“You’re here! Oh thank God, I was so worried!” Theo exclaims.

“What?”

Theo pulls out of the hug and begins checking Vincent for injuries. “Where were you, Vincent? Paul wrote to us and said he hasn’t seen you for four days! You couldn’t be found! What happened to you? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I feel great, actually!” Vincent responds. “A family looked after me.”

“I’ll be sure to send them my thanks,” Theo says. “Where was this family? In a different country?!”

That’s not far from the truth. “They live…” Vincent trails off. There’s no logical way to explain where he’s been, or even how he got there. Even if he did try, what if someone heard him? Arles would have even more to say against the artist. He shakes his head.

“It’s a long story… But I did get a new recipe I want you and Jo to try-”

Right on cue, Johanna appears from around the corner and runs to hug Vincent.

“There you are! I’m so glad you’re back, Vincent!” she cries. “Where were you?”

“Like I told your husband, it’s really complicated-”

“Why don’t you stay at our place for the night, then you can head back to Arles!” Jo immediately begins dragging her brother-in-law to the couch.

“Can I unpack first? I need to find a place for my stuff-.”

“No worries, there’s a free bedroom at the end of the hall!”

As they organize the free room, Vincent unwraps the vision tablet on his bed. Where could he keep this?

“Oh my goodness! That’s a gorgeous piece of art!” Theo exclaims. “Who made that?”

“My friend Bruno,” Vincent says. “It’s a… talent of his.”

“Then we’ll definitely have to find somewhere to hang it up,” Theo says. “He’s very talented.”

“He’s Gifted,” Vincent agrees. “And a great friend.”

“How come you never told us Vincent was a famous artist?!” Camilo whines. “It would have been nice to know that before I showed him a drawing of a screaming chicken!”

“You never asked, kid,” Bruno says with a chuckle. “Besides, he’s not famous yet, I don’t think. You still have time to right your wrongs.”

Camilo faints onto the couch, howling dramatically.

“This is amazing! I knew he had a Gift for painting, but this is exquisite!” Mirabel says, studying the painting. After much deliberation, the Madrigal family decided to hang it up in the mezzanine, where anyone passing by could be reminded of their friend. “And he really drew this from a view in his window?” Bruno nods.

“I can’t believe we got to meet an internationally celebrated painter!” Isabela gushes. “I the Miracle will let us meet him again.”

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Bruno says. “He promised we would.”

Camilo sits up. “Oh yeah? What gives you the idea he’ll somehow magically appear again?”

Bruno winks. “20-20 vision.”

#bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #disney encanto #wdtajn #vincent van gogh #starry musical #encanto fanfiction #apparently i can write

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