#'... Is that chocolate on your teeth?’

[of-pale]

It was an ordinary afternoon at the Devil May Cry office, and Vergil was suffering.

Not in battle—though he might’ve preferred that—but at Dante’s cluttered desk, wading through what could only loosely be described as paperwork. He frowned, flipping through crumpled receipts, half-finished contracts and an ever-growing mountain of overdue bills from Sparda-knows-when.

This was beneath him. All of it.

But since his clouded judgment had led him to cohabit the office with his twin—for now, at least—it couldn’t be helped. Running a devil-hunting business required more than just swinging swords and drawing demonic blood. It also required drowning in administrative incompetence. And as Dante’s efforts in the matter had resulted in this headache-inducing disaster, Vergil had no choice but to take the reins.

Then, a knock came from the front door.

He's come to expect potential customers barging in—some barking demands like they owned the place, others wide-eyed and frantic, pleading for help. Either way, to Vergil, they were all the same: a nuisance.

But knocking?

That was... unusual.

Vergil stood—Yamato untouched but always within reach—and moved to the door with the quiet, controlled steps of someone prepared to greet problems. He opened it to—nothing. The street outside was empty.

He scowled and began to shut the door.

“Uh... hello?”

The voice was soft. Timid.

Vergil looked down.

Three young girls in crisp uniforms stood below his line of sight, clutching colorful boxes. It took him a second to process what he was seeing, which might explain the brief flicker of confusion that crossed his face.

The tallest of the three hesitated under his glacial stare. Her rehearsed pitch faltered, but she gathered her courage and held out a box labeled 'Choco-Chomp Delights'.

“We’re selling cookies to raise money for our scout troop. Would you be interested in buying some?”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed at the box as if it was some kind of trap. His expression, which Dante had once diagnosed as a chronic case of stink-eye, only deepened.

One of the girls instinctively stepped back. Only a second later came the familiar clang of boots on the stairs.

“Alright, Verge,” Dante called, “what unfortunate customer are you terrorizing this time?”

Dante appeared at his brother’s shoulder, all lazy grin and casual swagger. When he spotted the girls—and more importantly, the cookies—his eyes lit up like kids on Christmas morning.

“Girl Scout cookies! Hell yeah. Gimme five boxes.”

Before the scouts could blink, Dante slapped some bills into the tallest girl’s hand and tore open one of the boxes like a starving animal. He devoured a whole cookie in one chomp, somehow managing to spray crumbs everywhere.

“Man, I really needed that,” he said through a mouthful, barely swallowing before he shoved the open box toward Vergil. “And so do you. Might sweeten up that sour-ass glare you’re giving everyone.”

The trio of girls giggled at that until Vergil’s icy gaze flicked toward them again.

Dante quickly gathered the rest of his purchase and offered the scouts a warm thank-you, waving them off with a playful salute before shutting the door.

Vergil raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You do realize these cookies could be poisoned.”

The only threat Dante faced was nearly choking from a burst of laughter. “Are you seriously suggesting some eight-year-olds are handing out demon-poisoned cookies? Try telling me again that you're not paranoid.”

“I am not paranoid. Unlike you, I prefer to stay vigilant.”

“Well, if they are poisoned, then I’ve got all the more reason to share them with you.” Dante popped another handful of cookies into his mouth.

“If they are poisoned, then I finally have a chance to be rid of you. So do sample some more.”

Dante waved a cookie under Vergil’s nose and kept talking with a stuffed mouth. “Come on, one ‘poisoned’ cookie won’t kill you. I’ve had a few already, and I’m still breathing.”

“Unfortunately so.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Vergil’s gaze drifted to the open box, then to the cookie Dante was waving under his nose as an insult. He seemed to sniff at it but said nothing. Just reached out and plucked his own, brand new cookie from the box.

He examined it first, as though it might indeed be cursed. Then, with a slow resignation, he took a small bite.

Silence.

Vergil's expression didn’t change—barely a twitch. But he chewed. Swallowed. Took a breath.

Dante watched, eyes wide with anticipation. “Well?” he prodded.

Vergil calmly finished the rest of the cookie, his face unreadable. “It is... tolerable.”

Dante grinned like he’d just won a decades-long war. “You like it.”

“I tolerated it.”

“Wow. You loved it. I’m buying more next time.”

Vergil scoffed and turned back toward the desk, refusing to eat another cookie. “Your delusions are becoming more concerning by the day.”

Dante tossed another chocolate cookie into his mouth with a smug crunch. “Whatever you say. We’re both poisoned now.”

A week later

The scouts knocked again, nervously.

This time, there was no slow horror-movie door creak. No icy glare.

Vergil opened the door in one smooth motion and got straight to business.

“I’ll buy your whole stock.”

The girls blinked.

Vergil glanced behind him, just once, toward the stairs.

“…And your silence regarding this transaction.”

[thepringlesofblood]

ok so like. murderbot is famously anti-food right? but consider. we know secunits have a sense of smell. it mentions liking/not liking plenty of smells across the series (the 'dirty sock' human smell, ART's showers smelling good.)

where i'm going with this is that good food smells good. and i don't think mb has ever been around any good food. like think. academic surveys, mining installations, close-quarters space travel, these are not places or occasions known for their cuisine. its experience of food in an olfactory sense is probably limited to ration packs & corporate cafeteria lunch settings. until relatively recently, it had never even been through the 'human' parts of stations before, where it may have smelled some sort of actual food in passing. it's probably seen plenty of other types of food on media, but never smelled any of it.

so imagine. come with me on a mind journey. mb stopping in on Mensah's actual house for some reason during the day, and one of her spouses or something is baking gingerbread (very much the kind of cookie that fills up the whole house with good smells). like. would it even recognize it as being food necessarily? gingerbread is very much one of those smells that everyone tries to recreate and no one quite can. I imagine it's not thrilled with the concept of ovens in general (humans please stop putting your hands in/near hot things), but imagine it frantically trying to place the smell and mensah being like hey you good? and it being like theres. a smell. something must be wrong somewhere. and mensah being like oh no that's just gingerbread, tano's baking cookies. and it's like that's FOOD???

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about getting hot chocolate and going to look at christmas lights with eddie.

it all would definitely start because you guys have run out of the hot cocoa supplies at home, and eddie will find any excuse to go and get some from your favorite local coffee shop. it just tastes better from there, he always claims (and he says the same thing about you making it for him at home). thinking about the way you both end up with whipped cream mustaches, sweetened upper lips with tongues covered in chocolate as you get back in his van, all bundled up and clinging to your warm cups for a sliver of reprieve from the cold december outside. you’d assume you’re just going to return home, until eddie starts to take a detour in the drive and oh no how did we end up in this fancy neighborhood where everyone has extravagant decorations? oh well!

he knew exactly what he was doing, though. he just wanted to watch you watch the lights. the way your eyes get all wild, the way your grin is so youthful and just brimming with whimsical excitement. the way you get so extraordinarily excited over something that should be mundane after living through 20+ christmases. all these houses do this every year — the two of you make the same detour every single year. it shouldn’t all be so new to you; and yet you always react like it is, drinking it in like it’s the first time you’ve tasted milk chocolate frothing with melted whipped cream and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen shining lights that resemble icicles dripping from rooftops. and the entire time, he’s looking at you like it’s the first time. the first time he’s laid eyes on you, the first time he’s wanted to kiss your lips so badly his own start to ache, the first time he’s ever seen the color green reflected in someone’s iris just right.

every time he takes you, it’s like he’s getting to fall in love with you all over again. he loves it — he loves you.

the only difference as the years go by is the way you look at him, each year with more fondness he didn’t think was possible. for every excited gasp you let out at reindeers made of crystal lights and blow up santas swaying in the unforgiving wind, you’re looking at him with double the warmth, double the love, double the awe.

he hits nearly every mailbox. several cars are nearly victim to a terrible scraping from his van. he swerves all over neighborhood roads just to keep his eyes on you.

“why are you looking at me like that, munson?”

it feels like the first time you’ve ever said his name, too.

“just enjoying the sights,” he’d whisper, smiling so gently and subtly, taking his foot off the gas and letting the van crawl a lil bit slower so you can gaze at the next house a lil longer.

and when you twist up your face, his heart clenches in time with the twitch of your nose.

“the sights? you’re not even looking out your window at the lights-“

and unlike the first time he took you around to see the lights, to begin this new sacred tradition, he kisses you. leans right over his center console, takes your face in his heated palms, and presses his lips to yours till he can’t tell if the caramel drizzle he’s tasting is from your hot cocoa or his. let’s the icy tip of your nose smash against his. let’s your scarf unravel from around your neck as he brings you in closer.

you might always love the christmas likes like they’re something brand new, a sight to behold, a magic to be held, but he’ll always love you like that. and then some.

[inkykeiji]

anyway hi hi have a spectacular sunday!!! i’m working like ten hours today (not complaining!!! actually vvv excited for what we’re doing today hehe :3) but i am hoping to either answer some asks tonight oooooor write so!!! cross ur fingers for me!!!

[rustedleopard]

Dumb headcanon: Drayton treats the Polar Biome like a giant fridge and just. Squirrels away snacks by burying them in snow drifts. Lacey and Amarys insist that he's "littering" and "making tripping hazards" but Drayton insists that he's doing his civic duty both as an Elite Four member and the most senior student there by providing food for all the hungry League Club members working hard out there in the cold.

[autisticfoxgirl333]

Introducing Fictional Characters to Food 4!

Introducing Nordic Bunny to Chocorocks!

[appropriate-as-always]

i will never understand the appeal of putting a chocolate kiss on a cookie

[ohno-the-sun]

I just want to eat your art

I wonder what flavor it’d have 🤔

[chaoticgouda]

Sometimes I can rock with dark and heavier themes in media in a chill and analytical style, other times my brain latches onto it like a terrier and shakes and shakes and SHAKES it until I feel I may well die

[saprosappho]

every time i go to the dentist i immediately get an extraordinarily strong craving for sweet things. you’ve taken away my protective coating of plaque you sick fucks

[goofyguppy]

.

[lastoneout]

I do find the people saying I'm a salted caramel hater funny bcs it's true, but it isn't even about the salty + sweet combo, I'm just a caramel hater in general. And a butterscotch hater too tbh.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Spicy kissing <<<< Popeyes chicken

this fic is a love letter to whenever you eat optimal fresh-off-the-fryer fast food that actually tastes as good as it looks in the commercials even though it looks like hot shit in a bag

[raylangivins]

i haven't been back to the dentist in like two years because i know he's gonna tell me to eat less sugar and i just don't have it in me to pretend i agree. we've had teeth and sugar for a bajillion years, surely it's on you guys to figure that one out at this point. i won't stop. i won't. oreos after dinner are a human right!!! 😡

[sneefer-beaw]

MY ART'S IMPROVED???????????? CRIES BAWLS KISSES YOU /P

IT HAS BRO!!!!! IT LOOKS SO GOOD AWAWAUGHGG

[echo-s-land]

France when he learns the rest of the world prefers big pickles and not little pickles like him: