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trashogram · 26 days

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He Chose You (Pt. 10)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

Everything was white. Pristine white.

You couldn’t be blind, but no one would blame you for entertaining the idea as nothing but white stretched beyond your gaze.

Unending white.

Uncanny. White.

“Hello?” You asked the white abyss. Your call echoed out and back in, the way you imagined sound would echo in a canyon.

“Hello!”

You screamed, jumping up at the new voice coming from somewhere high above you. You tried to pinpoint where it came from, staring up at what you hoped was the sky before things slowly materialized.

Pastel pinks, oranges and soft blues bled into the white, adding definition to what had once been literally nothing. The whiteness remained in the shape of buoyant, fluffy clouds pillowing all around you.

“Over here!” The voice chimed. “Oh no, here! You’re getting warmer! Almost there!”

After circling around like a dog after your own tail, you finally found the source. Behind you rose a ginormous golden gate, gleaming beneath an electric-looking, all-seeing eye.

And at its entrance towered a gold and platinum podium.

A very… well, there was no other way to say it — a very white man with swooping blond hair eyed you from the top of the podium, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hiya! Welcome!” The man said. “You’re right on time!”

“Uh, okay…?” You replied.

Without a hitch, the blond lifted up a large tome and began flicking through the pages. In the meantime, you stood there awkwardly, a question on the very tip of your tongue.

“Wh-um, where am I, exactly?” You finally asked.

“Why, you’re in Heaven of course!” He stated jovially before turning the book around and tapping on a name. “This is you, correct?”

Your name stared back at you in a glowing golden font, all pretty and shiny —

And underlined?

“Yeah.” You blinked. “Wait, did you just say Heaven?”

“Mm-hm, yep! And if I could just get you to stand right here at the center of the platform, that’d be great.”

An elevated slab of pure gold rose from the clouds beneath your feet a little ways ahead of you. Timidly, you made your way over and onto the platform as instructed. You were pleasantly surprised at the instant warmth that met the bottoms of your bare feet.

“Pe-rr-fect!” With a flap of suddenly conjured wings, the gatekeeper floated down to hover right beside you. “Now, we just wait for Emily. She should be here in 3, 2, 1… .5 — ”

A loud clang startled you out of your skin for the second time, and you whipped around to face the woman that had spontaneously appeared in front of you.

She panted. “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry! I didn't mean to be late!”

The golden gates pulled back to reveal the white-haired newcomer in all her splendor. This other angel was bedecked in a floor-length white gown to match her downy-white hair and periwinkle-grey skin dotted with white freckles. A halo hung over her head, casting an eternal light over her large, bluish eyes that sparkled with mirth.

Like the gatekeeping angel, her wings flapped behind her, but you noted how they seemed to flutter nervously. Or perhaps excitedly?

“Welcome to Heaven!” She opened her arms toward you. “We’re so glad you’re here! I’m Emily, but you can call me Emmy, or E, or Millie. Whatever you want!”

You waved dazedly. “Hi.”

Emily stopped short of touching you, despite looking like she was about to wrap her arms around you in a hug. Instead, the angel bit her lower lip as she stared at you.

“I really am sorry I was late. I got caught up talking with Sera, making sure everything was all ready for your arrival.” She gushed. “Thank you for greeting her, Peter!”

Peter brightened. “Of course.”

Emily turned back to you, buzzing with anticipation like a bumblebee. “Anyway, I’m sure you have tons of questions! No worries at all! I’m here to give you a tour and show you around your new home!”

You cautiously took the hand offered to you, and let yourself be led through the golden gate.

—

Heaven was very beautiful, and very clean. The polished golden floors and beautifully-crafted architecture, complete with smiling people of all races, sexes and species didn’t unwrench you from a nagging sense of confusion however.

“Um. Emily?” You asked your companion — well, one of your companions. Peter had elected to join the two of you on your tour, commenting that he’d gotten someone to cover his eternal shift at the gate for the next few hours.

“Yes! Yes?” She smiled at you encouragingly. No doubt, your silence, while it had not stopped her constant chatter, had been a downer in as far as engagement.

“I’m… dead. Right?” You asked. “I mean that’s how one gets to Heaven, so obviously I am… right?”

The mood turned down at that, with Emily turning morose. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Okay, good. I mean — I’m dead, but I’m having a hard time remembering h-how it… happened.�� You admitted, embarrassed. And a little afraid, if you were honest with yourself. “Is that… normal?”

Emily and Peter stopped on either side of you, twin looks of confusion on their poreless faces.

Peter was quicker to recover. “Oh that can happen sometimes! Dying can be a very traumatic thing for the soul.”

Emily seemed hesitant for the first time since you’d met her, but with a look from Peter, she seemed to gain resolve. “Yes, yeah. Lots of people forget… but you’ll remember in time, I’m sure!”

“But wait!” Emily gasped. “We could ask Sera about it!”

She clapped her hands together joyfully, while Peter’s expression teetered on uncertainty.

“Uh, Em? I don’t think —”

“We were headed her way anyway.” Emily nodded as if affirming her own plan. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to help us figure this out!”

The angel yanked you forward in her quest to get to Sera (whoever that was) and had you stumbling on pure fluff to catch up with her.

Many angels raced to get out of the way as Peter called out in alarm, but apart from shouldering a particularly tall angel clad in a chasuble, you were unable to stop or slow down.

—

“Hello child.”

The Seraphim (“Sera.” Emily had urged) was so large that you had to crane your neck up to see her face.

She was beautiful in the most ethereal way. To look upon her was to look at a celestial body and feel your own insignificance dragging you down and swallowing you whole.

Your surroundings — a gold and white antechamber with delicately carved archways and a grand war table in its center — did not help.

Emily laid a hand on your shoulder with concern before you realized that you’d been paralyzed by the scene before you and had yet to say a word.

You stuttered a hello, and Sera’s stoney face softened into an understanding smile. “Be not afraid, my friend. I mean no harm.”

You returned the smile, albeit shakily.

Emily squeezed your shoulder. “Sera? We have a question.”

The Seraphim gestured with open palms.

“Well, we were going around Heaven, and just kind of talking before um… well…”

“Emily, dear. Please speak up.” Sera’s command was gentle but firm.

Emily bounced in her spot, unable to keep herself from floating up from the ground.

“Shesaysshedoesn’trememberhowshegothere!” She blurted out.

You and Sera both stared at Emily for a long moment, trying to process what exactly she had said. Sera had opened her mouth once more before the grand entrance into the committee room was slammed open and all heads turned to the unwelcome sound.

The angel with the chasuble came barrelling in, and the omnipresent sunlight that touched everything around you glinted off the sharp black horns winding down from his skull. Or was it a skull? The face of this particular angel looked odd to you, with its smooth, glassy surface and flickering pixelated expression that replaced natural features like lips, cheeks and a nose.

Their appearance looked at odds with everything else you’d seen in Heaven, regardless of the holy garbs they wore. Everything, while somewhat fantastical on the basis of it actually existing, resembled the organic and natural, and this figure stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison.

“What the actual fuck? She’s actually here?!” The abrasive, aggressive voice that came out his digitized face shook you from your musings.

You shrunk back toward Emily and Sera, instinctively trying to get away from the rapidly approaching figure that also towered over you. He glared in your direction, as if you were an insect he wanted to squash, and only when you lost the nerve to meet his gaze did you realize there was another angel behind him. This one wore a similar face, though they were smaller, slimmer and straight-backed. They wore darker vestments and jet-black horns as well, with wings nearly as jagged and hardlined.

“Adam,” Sera greeted hesitantly. “I don’t believe you were summoned.”

“Why is she here?” ‘Adam’ demanded, as if the Seraphim had never spoken. His companion stood firmly just a pace behind him, arms behind their back.

Their combined presence was so off-putting, and your brow furrowed with mounting confusion. Sera’s shoulders slowly rose and fell as she sighed, disapproval in the hard line of her mouth.

“That was part of the agreement.”

“Uh, yeah — with the Devil!” His demeanor completely threw you off, so much so that you didn’t catch the full extent of what he’d said. “Who the fuck keeps their end of the deal with that asshole?”

You couldn’t hold back a scoff of disbelief, even as your confusion deepened. ‘The devil?’

A hand wrapped around your forearm, making you turn to look at Emily, who’d once more moved beside you. Her ire was clear, though much less contained than Sera’s. “Who are you to question Divine Judgement?”

Adam laughed condescendingly. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m the fucking CEO of Divine Judgement, kid!”

“We are literally judges, juries and executioners in Hell.” The other angel chimed in, flat and resolute. The smirk that curved her stitched lips gave away some covert sense of satisfaction in that statement.

“Executioners?” Emily’s voice rose a few octaves. “What’re you talking about?”

She was legitimately bewildered.

“Enough.” Sera stepped in. “Adam, this has never been, nor was it ever, a debate. If you have a grievance, you can take it up with the counsel at a later date.”

“My ‘grievance’ isn’t gonna fucking wait for this bitch to fuck shit up!” Adam pointed at you with a poisonous claw.

“Excuse me?” You demanded in sheer disbelief. “Who do you think you are?!”

The grin Adam shot you was more a bearing of one’s teeth, which further threw you for a loop as, again, his face was completely digital. “I’m fuckin’ Adam. The First Man. The Original Dick. I’ve been here since the fucking beginning. I earned this shit.”

“Who do you think you are?” He asked, advancing on you. “You think you can whore yourself out to the worst being in all of Creation and still take up space in Heaven? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your gaze narrowed, a stark contrast to the whirlpool of thoughts swirling in your mind at his accusation.

“HA! Seriously?” His face was mere inches from yours. “What? D’you open your legs for fuckin’ everyone? Have a hard time keeping track of all the brats you pop outta that used vag? Guess so, if even dying for one doesn’t ring your fuckin’ bell.”

“ADAM!”

Adam’s sharp grin dropped, expression dawning from stunned to petulant as Sera’s thunderous exclamation reverberated through the vast space between your unusual group. You swore the clouds trembled beneath your feet, but it was hard to care too much with the insinuations that had been thrown at you rattling within your being.

Dying for…

“Charlotte.” Your eyes widened to the size of saucers. Air escaped your lungs - which shouldn’t have been possible, but you were already dealing with one crisis upon the epiphany of what you’d been missing this whole time.

A blitz of images and sordid emotions saw you struggling, legs falling out from under you as the weight of how exactly you’d died forced you down. Emily’s distressed cry sounded from above you, melding with Lucifer’s frantic pleas for you not to go as life drained from your body.

The Seraphim’s shadow engulfed your broken form while you panicked on Heaven’s floor.

—

Lucifer sat hunched in his chair, your cold, lifeless hand hanging in his.

Charlotte had stopped crying and presumably gone to sleep. He hadn’t put up any fight when Cass took her to a crib set up beside your… your bed.

That was who knows how long ago. And apart from Cass coming over the check on his daughter, the elderly worshippers had left him to grieve in peace.

The King had tried to convince himself to get up. He needed to take Charlotte and leave. Go home. The sight of you in death was unbearable — but he could not move.

He couldn’t leave you, even if you were no longer there in spirit. The You he loved the most, your soul, was gone and had been gone for some time now.

You had gone to the one place he could not follow.

Lucifer’s hanged head slowly rose. His thoughts were starting to become more coherent — what if you hadn’t gone where you were meant to?

Heaven was a paradise bound by rules, but it was also a cold bureaucracy where things could fall through the cracks.

And any dealings with him — Heaven’s sworn nemesis — were likely to be one of those things.

Slow-building anger replaced the gold in his veins as Lucifer considered that his own Deal was not met. If it wasn’t, that meant you were down Below, alone and afraid and suffering.

The Devil’s claws cricked, fist clenching as he glared at the wall opposite him.

He would not let you Suffer. Not you. Never you.

And you weren’t here anymore. He needed to know where you’d gone. Now.

Rising from his seat, Lucifer laid your hand at your side and ignored the tears that stung his eyes at the sight of your ashen face.

He touched your brow, lingering only to memorize the way your lashes rested against your sinking cheeks before turning to Charlotte’s cradle.

She was sleeping peacefully, unaware of his anguish, of the great loss that not only he had endured but she as well. It made Lucifer’s heart ache.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Then, with a sudden snap of his fingers, Lucifer conjured the presents he’d made especially for her.

The twin goats appeared, suspended in the air behind him. Lucifer didn’t bother to turn until their bodies were triple their original size, fur changing from felt to coarse fiber, eyes glowing as they were transformed from button to bonafide, and their bat-like wings began to beat at the air, blowing back the gossamer of Charlotte’s bassinet.

Lucifer looked between the two magicked goats after kissing his daughter’s fragile head.

“Stay here and protect the baby.” He ordered. “Charlotte is your top priority, do you understand?”

The two creatures nodded simultaneously, determination set in their naturally adorable maws.

“If anything happens, just bleat, and I’ll be back in the wink of an eye.” Lucifer’s wings extended and propelled him upward with a great stroke.

The King of Hell disappeared through an enormous portal, sparking and swirling reddish-gold before vanishing behind him.

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x you

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

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(One I am sorry if I am flooding your ask box is just I really love how you write) maybe old Predacon buddy get transported into the Earth spark universe how would they interact with Megatron from that universe possible hostility and will possibly gush over the terrans(is that how I say it?) Just overall more grandpa vibes

Old Predacon Buddy is going to start their own passport or scrapbook filled with their travels to other dimensions with all of their alternative grandkids.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon meeting the Terrans and Megatron

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronian reader

TFP/TFE

Buddy was going to start keeping a personal travel log on all the different places outside their universe if this keeps up.

One minute they were peacefully watching Bumblebee and Bulkhead spar in the training room.

The next thing they knew they were thrown into a small clearing in the middle of the woods.

It was a peaceful piece of land if they were being honest.

They knew they needed to start thinking about how to get back home, again, but the scenery caught their optics.

Full of nice trees and moss, a perfect spot to nap.

Snap!

Buddy turns their helm to spot two small Bot and human girl and boy.

“…Hello?”--Buddy

“Hi!”—All of them

Buddy, a little stunned by the response, waves their tail.

The little girl and the bot next to her come closer.

The other two come after wards.

“We heard a large thud noise and found you here.”—Small red bot

“Did you now?”--Buddy

“Bet that was you making a crash landing.”—Small human girl

“You could say that. These portals aren’t known for giving bots nice landings.”--Buddy

“Portals? Like a spacebridge?”—Small human boy

“…Yes, like a spacebridge. How do you know what a space bridge is?”--Buddy

“Dad and Dad 2 talked about them.”—Small red bot

“Dad…Dad 2?”--Buddy

“Yeah well, Dad talked about it in the comics.”—Small white bot

“Excuse me, comics?”--Buddy

“Yeah, these things!”—Small white bot

Buddy is shown a comic with Optimus and Megatron fighting on the front page.

“Do… do all humans know about our species?”--Buddy

“Duh. You’re not from around here, are you?”—Small white bot

“I’m not. I’m from another dimension.”--Buddy

“Wow! So Cool!”—Small human girl

“Mo, they need to get back home.”--Small human boy

Buddy tilting their helm a bit.

“Mo? Is that your name little one?”--Buddy

“Yep! This is my big brother Robbie and our other brother Thrash and sister Twitch.”--Mo

“Brother… and sister…”--Buddy

“We found them in a cave, well more like created.”--Robbie

Buddy sitting down putting a servo over their face.

Buddy vents hard.

“Hold on a second kiddo. This…this is a lot to process at the moment.”--Buddy

“Robbie! Mo! Where did you guys go?”

“Wait I found them!”

Three more bots come from the brush.

Buddy just stares at them.

The orange and green one transform into their beast modes and stand in front of group. The large purple one looks like they are ready to fight.

“Who are you!”—Green owl bot

“Nightshade wait that bot’s friendly!”--Mo

“How do you know? They look like they can eat you whole Mo!”—Large purple one

“We should judge a book by its cover Hashtag.”—Small dinobot

“If it helps, I can give you my name. But you must promise not to ask questions about it.”--Buddy

“Deal.”--Mo

“Buddy.”--Buddy

“…Your name is Buddy?”--Robbie

“Yep.”--Buddy

“…okay! These are our other siblings, Hashtag, Nightshade and Jawbreaker.”--Thrash

Buddy nodding before taking notice of how young these bots looked.

“You said you found your siblings in a cave, correct? How long were they there?”--Buddy

“I think less than a year ago.”--Mo

Buddy looks like they are about to have a stroke.

Mo mentioned that their mother and father would want to meet them. Maybe even help them find a way back home.

As the little group walked towards the farm, Buddy followed making sure to watch each one carefully.

There was no way that these literal sparkling’s were leaving their sight.

Alex and Dot were extremely surprised to see the kids bring in a giant mechanical dragon home.

They looked even bigger than Megatron!

“Kids… who’s your new friend here?”--Alex

Buddy bowing their helm a little in respect.

“Hello there. My name is Buddy. I am an Autobot from another dimension. I fell into your world through some sort of portal.”--Buddy

“Wow…”--Alex

“Your name is Buddy?”--Dot

Buddy venting a bit.

“Yes Ma’am. That is my name it suites my personality, I’ve been told.”--Buddy

Dot looks at her kids.

“Did any of you—”--Dot

“We didn’t bring the giant dragon here!”--Thrash

“I am a Predacon little one.”--Buddy

“What’s a Predacon?”--Jawbreaker

“…I’ll explain it later. Umm…”--Buddy

“I’m Dot, this is my husband, Alex.”--Dot

Alex looking starstruck at Buddy.

“Hello—”--buddy

“Can you fly?”--Alex

“Dad!”—the kids

“Alex!”--Dot

Buddy chuckling a bit before dipping their helm to the ground in front of him.

“Would you like to see for yourself?”--Buddy

“I like them!”--Alex

“Can I go too!”--Mo

“And me!”--Robbie

“And me!”--Hashtag

“One at a time little ones. Dot? Is there someone you can contact that could--”--Buddy

“Already calling the big guys. They should be here any minute.”--Dot

Buddy was pleased and agreed to wait.

In the meantime, Buddy had already taken an oath to protect the young ones with their life while they were still here.

Buddy also wondered whose alternatives they were going to run into this time around.

Buddy played around with the little ones when a yellow sports car came speeding in and transformed.

“Dot! I got the call—SWEET SOLUS PRIME!”--Bumblebee

Buddy turning to the yellow bot with a happy grin on their face plate.

Buddy easily walks up to him with four of the Malto bots hanging from their frame.

“Bumblebee! My, my I haven’t met an alternative of you yet. And your voice!”--Buddy

Buddy looking around his neck cables.

“Not a scratch!”--Buddy

“Can someone explain!”--Bumblebee

“Oh sorry! Where are my manners. My name is Buddy, I am an Autobot from another dimension and Dot dear here was nice enough to contact some bots that could potentially help me with my problem.”--Buddy

“…”--Bumblebee

“It’s a lot to take in. Take your time little one.”--Buddy

Did Bee feel a bit intimidated about the giant dragon talking to him in such high regards.

Yes.

But at the same time, he didn’t.

Despite the grand size of the bot, they were a softy.

They really lived up to their name.

Soon enough a familiar truck comes in.

“Is that Prime?”--Buddy

“Oh yeah Optimus is here.”--Dot

“That’s—”--Bumblebee

A grey helicopter starts hovering above the truck.

“…Bumblebee. Who’s that?”--Buddy

“Megatron.”--Bumblebee

Buddy nearly snaps their neck at how fast they look at him.

“Excuse me?!”--Buddy

“What?”--Dot

“Megatron? Here? The leader of the Decepticons?”--Buddy

“Oh, he isn’t a Con anymore. He’s one of us now.”--Bumblebee

Buddy’s wings drop as the kids go welcome the Prime and ex-warlord.

“Your war is…is it over?”--Buddy

Bee and Dot look at Buddy who seemed to have aged dramatically in the few seconds of hearing that news.

“Yeah, its over…I take it yours isn’t?”--Bumblebee

Buddy shaking their helm.

“What about the other Decepticon’s?”--Buddy

“Some are doing their own thing and others do cause trouble from time to time.”--Bumblebee

Buddy huffs a bit.

“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that Starscream is the leader.”--Buddy

“I mean—”--Bumblebee

“This is the part where you tell me that isn’t true…”--Buddy

“Well…”--Dot

“…please say sike right now…”--Buddy

Prime and Megatron start walking over.

Buddy straightens themselves and transforms to go shake the Leaders servos.

“Optimus. Megatron.”--Buddy

“That’s us. And who might you be stranger?”--Megtron

Buddy suppressing a tiny sob.

“Buddy, sir. My name is Buddy.”--Buddy

“Strange name, but it looks like it suites you well.”--Optimus

“Thank you Prime. I take it that you two can help me get back home?”--Buddy

“We will do our best Buddy.”--Optimus

Buddy smiles at the two.

“That’s all I could ask for. Thank you.”--buddy

Buddy eventually sat down and talked to the two mechs while more bots were coming their way.

Buddy met the alternatives of some fellow bots they knew or had known throughout the war.

They nearly got teary eyed when they met this alternative of Elita One.

Buddy found it a bit hard to connect the dots between this version of Arcee and Wheeljack.

According to Wheeljack, it was going to take a couple of days to make sure that Buddy would get sent to the right dimension.

Buddy didn’t mind too much as they spent most of their time with the kids.

These kids lived for Buddy’s play time and stories.

“Then what did you do?”--Jawbreaker

“Well kiddo, I took that hammer and threw it at our Commander. He was able to help our Wheeljack and Bulkhead while I managed to get us some cover from the Vechicons.”--Buddy

“Cool!”--Thrash

“Buddy, I have a question.”--Nightshade

“What might that be Nightshade?”--Buddy

“You mentioned once that you were a gladiator of sorts right?”--Nightshade

“Yes, that was during my younger years.”--Buddy

“How young though?”--Nightshade

“Hmm… probably around the first hundreds of years give or take.”--Buddy

“…”—The kids

“Kids?”--Buddy

“How old are you?”--Robbie

“…How about another story?”--Buddy

“How old!”--Twitch

“Storytime!”--Buddy

“How old Buddy!”--Hashtag

“Dot! Restrain you kids!”—Buddy

Soon enough it was time for Buddy to go back home.

Buddy made sure they hugged every single one of their new friends before going close to the portal.

Buddy made sure to give extras as they were leaving.

Buddy came out of the portal and into the halls of the base.

Only to get immediately hit in the helm by a lob ball.

“OW! Who threw that!”--Buddy

“Buddy!?”--Miko

Miko starts running to Buddy in the Apex armor.

“Wait Miko the armor—”--Buddy

Miko jumps into Buddy’s open arms.

Buddy falls backwards with a hard thud.

“Miko, I’m not as young as I was before.”--Buddy

Miko doesn’t listen, too busy hugging Buddy.

“You need to stop disappearing like that.”--Miko

“Trust me if I had a choice I would stay with the team. The universe seems to have different plans. At least I always end back home.”--buddy

“You got that right.”--Miko

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #tfe x platonic reader #tfe terrans #tfe terrans x platonic reader

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honestsycrets · 7 months

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HELLO, HELLO! Okay, so this drabble prompt/idea is kinda sorta in the vein of Querido (I only think about Old Western Miguel now I cannot help it pls forgive me head empty only man and hörse), so pls skip if you're not inspired or in the mood for more in this genre!

Still, I offer you this: Sheriff Miguel.

He's someone all the women have their eyes on, and he'd have his eyes on them, too, if he were younger. But he has a baby girl to worry about, a runaway wife to forget, and a town to keep an eye on, especially when a woman from the big city pays the little down a visit.

He meets her when he loses Gabriella in the market's crowd, only to find her tugging on a fine dress belonging to a fine woman.

(P.S. reading your writing has inspired me to get back into writing my own reader insert stuff 💖 really love your work, keep it up!!)

bumblebee | sheriff!miguel x dressmaker!reader

❛ pairing | sheriff-singleparent!miguel o'hara x dressmaker!reader

❛ type | extended drabble, not-explicit, wc: 2600ish

❛ summary | miguel loses his daughter-- and finds a part of himself he thought was long past dead.

❛ tags | self-edited, querido au, f!reader, sheriff!miguel, dressmaker!reader, implied parental abandonment, some mention of thievery, widowed!reader, mostly fluff, some mention of death, spanish not translated.

❛ sy's notes | i intended this to be a drabble but... it's quite a bit longer. anon, i hope you end up writing to your heart's content.

Miguel ain’t the kinda man women really need. He’s the kinda man they think they want. A big man with a big name, sure, but he’s saddled with what their fathers colloquially call baggage. A little three-year-old girl with ambitions of rolling on out of this little town by rolling on out of his fingertips.

“Oye, Gwen,” he catches the arm of his deputy. She’s out on the town just as he was, making rounds about the grassy plain where the market was booming. With too few stalls, the marketgoers visit full wooden wagons chock-full of goods. This year, there were new boxes of small circular chocolates. Once every year, his quiet little town became a bustling fuck fest with foreigners running a muck of it all. As sheriff, he just had to deal with it.

“What’s it, sheriff?” she asks. “Something wrong?”

“You seen my littlin anywhere? Swore she was right here.”

This is his penance for fooling around with the hearts of pretty women: chasing him his own little girl and minding the crowd. His long, slicked-back hair was all kinds of out of place, whirling over his wrinkled forehead. He shoves a strand of grey hair back in place out of his dark eyes and scans his little town. She could’ve slipped into any creaky old building that wasn't locked up or hitched a ride on a wagon she didn’t belong on. Or, alternatively…

“Miguel! Rio saw her by the sweets.” Former Sherriff Morales tells him, standing by his son’s stall of sweet roasted corn. Ordinarily, he’d give it a begrudging visit. Miguel whirls around on his muddy leather boots, throwing him a nod of thanks with Gwen short on his tail.

“Sounds promisin’,” she says. “Could be searchin’ for Lyla or Peter.”

“Thank you for the help, Sheriff,” he grumbled, shoving his way past a sea of cream, brown, and black dresses. Gwen could spider her way through the groups of people with her comparatively slender frame. As a consequence of Miguel’s hulking frame, he’s markedly slower in his search.

“Ain’t here either,” Gwen hops back to his side. “You sure she wandered off?”

"She had to."

The alternative was… well, he didn't want to think about it. Out of his periphery, he caught the glimmer of polished metal. He spots his daughter’s peachy dress, bundled up with a fat white bow complete with a bell. He put the thing on thinking that, ideally, his little girl would jingle up some hell of noise if she got lost. Some good that bell did.

“You lost mi amor?”

Lost. The word stands out to him first, all dressed up in a sugar cube of a voice. His Gabriella tugs on a stranger’s long gown, eyes pricked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Of all the people-- she couldn’t just pick on someone she knew? Head to Rio’s hostel, find Deputy Gwen stalking around, or even Hobie’s bum ass strumming a tune on the old stage. No, she’s with a strange woman.

“Now don’t you cry,” you dab away the stray tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll find you home.”

You’re not from here because you’re all done up like a buttercup in spring when the women here only broke out color for church. Corset sucking in the finest assets, a buttercream bustle underneath that buttercup yellow skirt. Hair up in a waterfall of curls and covered by a small slouched hat of flowers. You held a parasol for the evening sun, keeping it off your tanned skin.

“There,” Miguel set his hands on his hips, catching his head in a shake. Gwen leans over on the ball of her feet and stares straight down the barrel of a path.

“My my,” she says. “Ain’t she a looker. Why are you-- You look good, Miguel.”

She’s caught on his frantic fiddling. The way Miguel straightens his tie into his waistcoat and checks the chain that drapes along his side. He checks the time on his cracked pocketwatch and spins it between his fingers. Gwen leans up to flick a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“Think so?”

“Entirely presentable.”

"¿De veras?" Miguel clears his throat, “Best be on my way to get her.” Miguel loops his fingers on his fine leather belt and waltzes right on up to your stall of hand-sewn dresses.

For once in his life, he feels underdressed. A man sets some coins in your hand, plucking up a small communion dress for his daughter. With ruffles, lace, and the occasional ribbon. He’s not sure how much luck you’d have selling more than scraps of ribbon in this little town. You set the coins aside, turning your attention back to his daughter who-- somehow, got a brand new ribbon bundled in her ponytail between his fiddling and the walk over.

“Buenas tardes,” he clears his throat, whipping out his metal badge. “I’m Sherriff O’Hara.”

“Encantada, Sheriff O’Hara. You’re looking as pretty as a penny this fine afternoon. Can’t be wanting any of my dresses. My name is… well, how can I help you?”

“Papa,” Gabriella coos as if this whole mess wasn’t on her tiny little shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, not yet.

“Yes, mami, Sheriff O’Hara. Do you know old Sheriff O’Hara?” Miguel suppresses his delight as you lift her up onto your hip. Most days, he didn’t notice his own melancholy. Coming home to his little girl soothed all that like a good helping of booze after a bad wound. “She likes you.”

You sure talk pretty. He clears his throat, pulling on the sloppy tie that feels a whole lot hotter all of a sudden. He shouldn't be acting like this. Has it really been that long since he’s been with a girl? He couldn't go to the saloon and pick any one of those lovesick girls. The town wouldn’t continually elect a loose man. Miguel’s eyes catch the flickering gold of a bumblebee locket on your chest. He traces the curve of its wings, wrapping around a crusted gem.

“‘Course she does, she’s my girl. I lost Gabi up in the crowd flow.”

“You lost her? You can’t tell me you’re the kinda man that does it all. Where is your wife?”

Where is your wife? The question tormented him. He could do it all. Managing the sloppy, slow thieves and putting down the occasional drunken brawl. At the end of the night, he came home to his empty home and saw his little girl. Miguel’s gaze danced along the puffy clouds in the sky. The fluffy clouds drift the same as usual, the same old slow draw, unknowledgeable about the change in his life. He suppresses the distant melancholy in his voice in surfacing old memories.

“Ain’t got a wife. She ran off on me with some wolf. Usually, I got a sitter for my girl but, she came down with a fever.”

“A wolf?” you repeat after him, “Why, you mean a gentleman?”

A gentleman, he scoffs under his breath.

“If you wanna call him that. He was an outlaw.”

“I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff.” You looked at the little girl in your arms. Gabriella’s small fingers fiddle with the glimmering gold pendant on your chest. He throws her a look-- behave. She’s not paying attention one bit. You set your parasol down, freeing the necklace and setting it in her tiny fist. “I’m a whole widow myself. Lost my man in the war and never got the chance to have one’a my own.”

“You don’t say. You on the market?”

“On the market like cattle?” you teased. If he’s not mistaken, that shy smile of yours was all his. Maybe you like him. It's a signal that he could keep going.

“Coño, no. You’re too fine for that,” the words are buttery smooth, but upon discovering how the words may come off, he realizes he might be sliding into a trap on the back of those words. Your lips are slightly agape, half in shock. “Pretty. You’re too pretty.”

“Oh, Sheriff, don’t worry your head,” you adjust Gabriella on your hip, swaying in place like it was natural. “I ain’t one to take offense to pretty words. Suppose you want your niña back?”

There went his chance.

"That'd be best," he slides his hands underneath Gabriella’s tiny arms to pick her up. The pendant she held clattered free from her grip, nestled in the deep grass. You were about to pick it up when a scrawny thing of a man swiped it from the grass. For an instant, Miguel thought it might be Pavi, who loved to be helpful in the most annoying ways. Catching doors even when it's men, dropping his scarf on mud for girls, a charming and shy kid. It isn’t, though, it’s that weasel he seems to be throwing in the pin every damn week, bolting off in a full-on run.

“Ay, not my locket!” you gasped, plucking your skirts over your boots.

“Maldito niño--” Miguel stops you, sliding Gabriella back into your arms. Not that she was complaining, tiny hands slapping together in a rendition of applause as Miguel darted after him, his booming steps beating the ground. “Get back here, kid!”

“Dios, you sure have a busy papa. I'm sure he’ll back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” You looked between the little girl nestled comfortably in your arms and the parting sea of the crowd. Gwen zooms past, eliciting another round of jovial laughter from Gabriella O’Hara. She does love a good game.

It ain’t that Miguel wants to leave his girl with any old fool that waltzed on into his town. But he knows his community, knows they’d not leave him out to dry, and knows that taking his daughter on a town-wide chase with a skinny little weasel around town is not the move. Especially not if he has a gun, which he did, because of course he did. Now, the man has a jail cell and Miguel has a crook in his neck from where the buffoon fell through the crooked second floor of the post office.

He works the sore muscle the whole way back to your wagon. It’s high time for eating. His stomach was raging after the scent of someone’s pulled pork, the roasted sweetness of corn. If we wanted to be presentable then, he sure wasn’t now. Dust was a second skin on his pants and aged boots. He walks past the platform where Hobie plays a tune with his banda. Most vendors were wrapping right on up for some proper debauchery.

He finds you there, swaying to the beat of the music with Gabriella hanging in your arms. Her tiny hands were around an ear of elote already. Guess she extorted a snack out of you.

“One gold locket,” Miguel heaves out the words as he digs in his pocket, whirling the golden chain into your small hand. You flip it over once, then twice, examining it for any defects. “Better to keep that tucked away out here. Puts a target on your back right quick.”

“Muchísimas gracias, sheriff. You're a sweetheart,” you reach out, grazing his scratchy cheek with your supple lips. Gabriella is flatly squished between his sweaty chest and yours. She’s fallen asleep flat against your chest. “You don’t know how much this necklace means to me.”

There are whispers from the women he’s turned down. The viejitas who have been trying to set him up for a full-on year now, those who told him he needed to find a girl as soon as possible to marry. He didn’t want to. Not unless it made sense.

“Yes, well, you could tell me,” Miguel finally picks his daughter from your arms. She’s out like a light. “If you want.”

“It was my mami's, once upon a time. She gave it to me on my wedding day," you explain. "It's all I got left of her. I wonder what she'd think of me these days, travelin' town to town like I got secrets."

"You ever think of settlin' down again?" He turns his gaze past Hobie’s banda, to the yellowing sky. The sun is setting out over the horizon, casting warm orange and soft pink into the air. The road is full of wagons. The clip-clop of horses running their way to the next town, some checked in to the hostel.

"A veces," you explain. "If it feels right, I think I will."

"Yeah?" He settles on the bed of your wagon. The dresses were packaged and kept in locked chests, kept away from the bed of the wagon where your blanket was. Most of the foreigners have left, but you. He doesn’t have to guess to know that it was his fault. “You off to Rio’s hostel?”

“‘fraid I’m out of town,” you smiled at him. “She ain’t got any rooms. Next city over might.”

“Stay with me,” he says. “The night. Bit too late to get robbed on the road with all them pretty dresses you make. Wouldn’t be right to be sheriff and let a young thing out there without company. Some'a them outlaws take wives that way, y'know.”

“Oh, Sheriff O’Hara, ain’t no one care about widows on the road,” your hand finds your chest. It’s said with a laugh, as though someone, somewhere, made you feel less than. It wasn’t going to be Miguel.

"Ain't a widow if you're carried off." He reclines, watching the figures of couples dancing to whatever the hell Hobie was playing on his guitar. His eyes track over Hobie’s gloved fingers that prance across the strings, waiting for you to walk back on that stupid comment. You do, snapping out a fan in the waist of your heavy dress to fan yourself.

“You really sure? I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sure you got better to do than take care of company.”

“You took care of my girl. Least I could do. Long as you go to church in the morning.”

“Oh, now he’s askin’ me to church. When’s the wedding, Sherriff?”

“Miguel. Soon as you want it,” he returns, half a smile pulling at a normally closed-off face. Miguel turns to set his Gabi down on your blanket, throwing you a look for permission. You nod, watching her roll on the wool thing, setting her hands under her cheek until she gets into a position that isn’t as bad as laying on her back. He tucks her hair back over the shell of her ear, exhaling a breath. Somewhere between his ex-wife’s flight from the town and today, she began to look more and more like him. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t need more memories of her. Only needed to get through each day, and make the next better than the one before.

“She’s tuckered out,” you lean down, just by his face. “All that escapin’ papa work.”

“Si,” Miguel hums as he massages his sore shoulder. “Tell me about it. I’m getting too old for this.”

He lifts his head from his daughter’s tiny body, reminded of all the times someone told him to get married. If not the women chasing him around his jail at all hours of the day, then the women at church who, at the moment, were gossiping away. He could hear the prattle already: sheriff likes rich girls. The type to have a golden locket and French silk. The luxury of hopping from town to town like some no-good woman. He’d wager, your husband ain’t had the money to take care of you but for these light luxuries. Traveling town to town wasn't no small feat.

Tch. He’d deal with it tomorrow when he took you to church. Scandalous as that was.

“Fancy a dance?” he offered up his hand.

You remove your gloves, skin is soft and supple against his, only marred by the pricks of a needle. Your gloved fingers grazed his scarred palm, tracing the long strike that marred his open palm. There’s a thought there, just behind the reach of your playful eyes. He couldn’t quite reach it.

“I’d love to, Miguel.”

Something tells him he has time to.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miggy x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara drabble #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman 2099 x reader

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heart-buzz · 1 year

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its 2023 so i decided to redesign my fursona just a bit. Now it's even MORE chocolate-strawberry flavored 🍫 🍓

it/they/he pronouns for this beast

#Ely art #oc: elysium heartbuzz #anthro #furry art #white-tailed bumblebee #insect oc #beesona #bugsona

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onenicebugperday · 7 months

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@twptwp submitted: Today I beefriended a bee! It ended up sitting on my head for a while haha. I have a question about it...

This bumble bee was struggling in the dirt and I spent a good 20 or so minutes offering a flower. He got himself on several times but kept falling because he was quite weak. He was really enjoying the flower when suddenly he decided to crawl onto my hand.. And then my arm.. And then my back.. And then the top of my head... He was very relaxed towards me but kept doing the defense warning posture towards my friend HAHA

Eventually we got some sugar water and I put it on the flower for him and he enjoyed it and flew away afterwards. It was a very nice experience. When I told my teacher I could not return to class as of the moment due to there being a bee on my head she must have sighed very hard in her head, but she did help and get the sugar water!

Anywho

The question! For some location context, I live in the country Wales. This is a bumble bee and of course it looks like a white tailed bumble bee however I have never seen them with two white bands like this one before... I wonder if this is usual? Is this uncommon? Or am I mistaken and it is a different species?

Lol wow she was really all over you. Love that for you both. Bees are attracted to yellow, so it's possible she just thought you were a large delicious flower.

As for the ID, I am bad at IDing bumblebees because there are so many that look so so similar. There is a good amount of variation in color and markings between individuals, so I think most likely it's a buff-tailed bumblebee with a very light-colored first stripe on the abdomen. But there are other less-common species it could be as well.

#animals #insects #bugs #submission #bee #bumblebee #Bombus

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rebeccathenaturalist · 9 months

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Why We Need to Care About Insects

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/why-we-need-to-care-about-insects/

Some months back a study was released that demonstrates just how damaging climate change is to insects, particularly those in tropical areas. Warming temperatures cause insects to die from overheating and dehydration, kills off their food sources, and lowers their fertility rates to dangerous levels. Moreover, changes in climate affect insect phenology, the timing of when they hatch, migrate, breed, and so forth.

And because insects are so small, they’re often disproportionately affected by many of these problems. As ectotherms, they rely on the air around them to regulate their body temperatures; their small mass means they lose heat faster than larger animals, and can be overloaded with heat much more quickly. Tropical insects are especially at risk from major fluctuations in temperature because they are adapted to a relatively narrow temperature range.

Gray spruce looper moth (Caripeta divisata)

But the problem goes far beyond the tropics, and we are in the middle of an insect apocalypse. This problem often flies under the radar of those who are not already aware of invertebrate conservation. While a few insects, such as monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) and domestic honey bees (Apis mellifera), find themselves in the press on a regular basis, most species don’t have large fan clubs. Some of my favorite insects include the white-tipped ctenucha moth (Ctenucha rubroscapus), the velvet snail-eating beetle (Scaphinotus velutinus), and the black-tailed bumblebee (Bombus melanopygus), none of which are insects you’re likely to find making the headlines.

To be fair, there are a lot of insect species out there, so it would be hard to feature every single one individually. But we already face the problem that many people simply just don’t see why we need to worry about fewer bugs around. Last year I wrote an article about how search engines tend to produce exterminator sites at the top of results for various insects, and while some of that is no doubt due to advertising-oriented algorithms, they do reflect a widespread demand for extermination services that isn’t matched by more positive attention to these little animals.

Much has been said among entomologists, ecologists, and other professionals about why we need to be concerned about the drastic drop in the numbers of many insect species, and I’ve written about it as well. I could reiterate what would happen if we lost our pollinators (and also how to save them!) or the crucial role insect detritivores play in reducing diseases and keeping the food web cycling along. And I am still a champion for mosquitoes and other unpopular insects.

Green stink bug (Chinavia hilaris)

But these things always bear repeating. It may be that nine out of every ten organisms on this planet is an insect. Insects play an incredible number of ecological roles, from ecosystem engineers to pollinators to food sources and much more. Without them, ecosystems around the planet would collapse entirely.

I could certainly take the self-interested route and emphasize that fully one-third of our food relies on insects and other pollinators. I might also point out that insect detritivores help nourish the soil needed for everything from food crops to timber. While terrestrial insects and other arthropods only make up about a fifth of the amount of global biomass as their marine counterparts, they still represent a natural sink that holds about 200 million tons of carbon at any given time.

But our anthropocentric worldview rarely considers the intrinsic value of insects simply for existing. We’re constantly weighing and measuring their worth based on our biases and values. We divide them into “good” or “bad” insects: good insects are those that do things we like, like pollination or looking pretty, while bad insects are the ones that chew on our homes and plants or which bite or sting us when threatened or seeking food. For a lot of people, any insect beyond maybe a butterfly is a reason to say “Ewww, gross!” I’ve even seen this widespread among self-professed nature lovers, whether they have a true entemophobia or not, though there may be an evolutionary reason for this seemingly disproportionate reaction.

So consider this yet another attempt to change opinions about insects. I can’t cure entemophobia, but I can at least get people thinking more critically about personal and societal attitudes toward insects. I hope to get people to realize that widespread use of pesticides and other garden/agricultural chemicals–which has increased fifty-fold in twenty-five years–is driving the loss of so many insects. I’ve mentioned before that habitat loss is the single biggest cause of species endangerment and extinction, and that goes for insects, too. And, of course, the study mentioned at the start of this article is just one highlighting the increasing impact climate change has on insects worldwide.

Metric Paper Wasp (Polistes metricus)

Let me wrap this up on a bright note: word is getting out. There is a lot more awareness than there was twenty years ago, and there’s more nuance than we had in the early “save the (domesticated European honey) bees” campaigns. More people are ditching pesticides and other garden chemicals unless absolutely needed, and regenerative agricultural practices that use fewer chemicals overall are gaining ground. And while numerous organizations are increasing awareness of insect conservation, the Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation–the oldest organization dedicated solely to invertebrates–is still going strong.

And you can help spread the word, too. Share this article with others, and some of the resources and organizations linked throughout. Consider your own relationship to the native insects in the world around you, and whether you might make their lives a little easier. And remember that sometimes it is the smallest of things that have the greatest importance in such a massive system as an entire living planet.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

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