#This also comes from my other two blogs!

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

hello !!! i'm ...

➟ sugar !! i also go by charlie , echo , scott , timmy -- call me whatever's more comfortable for u !!

➟ i'm genderfluid, asexual and biromantic + greyromantic !!

➟ my CURRENT hyperfixations are on NINJAGO and the TRAFFIC LIFE SERIES !! if you're seeing THIS pinned introduction, TRAFFIC LIFE SERIES is currently the MAIN brainrot !

➟ i am a 🚸 MINOR ⚠️ !! please interact with this in mind !!!

➟ i have GAD [ generalized anxiety disorder ] , separation anxiety disorder , social anxiety disorder , selective mutism , depression , DPD [dependent personality disorder] , ARFID [ avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder ] , and involuntary age regression ! though these topics probably won't be discussed at length , please keep them in mind when interacting with me !! at times i may go NON-VERBAL or slip into LITTESPACE , and i ask you be patient with me at those times, thank you !

➟ this is a FANDOM SIDEBLOG - my main blog is @sugrx !! here is where i post FANFICTION, FANART, ANALYSISES , AUS, USERBOXES,,, etc !!

➟ basic ! queerphobes, xenophobes, misognists, sexists, ableists, racists, terfs, maps, pedos, fatphobes, etc - any and all bigots of ANY shape or form !! ➟ nsfw / fetish / kink blogs !! again , i am a MINOR , and though i'm fine with having mutuals who ARE 18+ , i'd rather avoid 18+ content , thank you !!

[hum--hallelujah]

like a sledgehammer to a disco ball - 3.9k words, Fun Ghoul angst and protective Kobra Kid

Kobra jerks awake at the first creak of the floor. The only person who has any right to be in his room at night knows better than to step where the floor creaks. Instinct takes over and he's holding his blaster at body height by the time his brain and eyes are awake enough to see through the dark.

"It's me, it's me, it's me," Ghoul stammers, holding his hands defensively in the air. Only, it sounds more like "'smee," because of the way Ghoul is slurring. And he's bleeding.

Kobra drops the blaster as soon as he realizes that the dark smear across Ghoul's face is blood. "What the hell, man," he hisses, groping in the dark for a light with one hand and trying to pat Ghoul down to make sure he's not like, actively dying, with the other. He could be blackout drunk or he could have gone out alone like he does sometimes and any number of things could have happened. The cold metal of an old flashlight meets his fingers and he flicks it on, shining the dim light over Ghoul.

"I did something stupid," Ghoul says. Only, it comes out as "Uh did su'hn stooid," wavering slightly, because the entire right side of Ghoul's face, from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, is sliced open. There's a horrific flap of flesh hanging loose that's supposed to be connected to the rest of his face. That's where the blood staining his face and clothes and hands is coming from, and why when he speaks, it sounds wrong.

"Holy shit," Kobra whispers, feeling cold Zone night air sting his eyes because they're open so wide. "Okay. Okay, what happened?" He holds Ghoul carefully by one arm, feels the way he's shaking. He's always shaking, except when he's got his hands in a bomb. This is worse than normal though. This is so much worse than anything Kobra's ever seen.

Ghoul shrugs, waves his hands vaguely and wildly. Kobra hisses a sharp breath through his teeth, frantically runs a hand through his hair. "Okay," He says again. "I'm gonna get-" He needs Jet, de facto medic, he needs Party, needs his brother-

"No," Ghoul says sharply, and that at least is completely clear. His eyes are wild from what Kobra can see in the dark. If human eyes could glow, his would. He grips Kobra's arms. "Please don't," he mumbles around the gruesome injury. His voice is high and frantic, and it has to hurt to talk. "Just you."

Kobra freezes. There's a slowly building feeling of dread, growing stronger by the moment. He pulls Ghoul off him, holds him by the wrists. "Okay. Just me," he promises, and feels sick about it. "Just me."

Ghoul noticeably relaxes, though he's still trembling head to toe, and lets Kobra drag him across the diner in near-silence aside from the occasional seemingly involuntary whimper on Ghoul's part, into the single-stall bathroom with a barely working lightbulb. Somehow, they make it past the front room where Party sleeps without waking him, much as Kobra wants to let his brother take care of this. He's practically trembling at how badly he wants Pois right now.

There's a medical kit in the cabinet that Kobra pulls out immediately. He knows how to handle this, physically speaking. It's whatever else, the shit he doesn't know and is scared to find out, like how this freaking happened, that makes him nervous. Ghoul stands in the flickering light like he doesn't know what to do.

"Sit the fuck down," Kobra snaps nervously, gesturing to the toilet lid. Ghoul does. Kobra pulls a dubiously clean rag from the cabinet and eyes it. It scares him to see Ghoul like this. Usually if he's scared, he fights. He hisses and spits and claws at whoever comes near him. More often than not, that's Kobra. But this, the wide-eyed jittering, is a whole other animal.

"This whole thing is gonna suck," he says stiffly. Ghoul nods. With a little more light, Kobra can see the thick, shiny blood streaming from the wound through his cheek. It isn't enough that Kobra's afraid Ghoul will bleed out, but the cut is so long and clear through and absolutely grotesque. He crouches down in front of where Ghoul is sitting, sideways on the toilet, and he can't tell if Ghoul is looking at him or through him, almost as if he's the ghost.

In a quick motion that startles both of them, probably, Kobra grabs the back of Ghoul's head with one hand and presses the rag to the seeping wound with the other. Ghoul's eyes go even wider and even greener, and what starts out as a shout of pain from him turns into a choked keening sound. Hearing it feels like being stabbed.

"What happened?" Asks Kobra again, when he's convinced that the bleeding has slowed enough to try and actually deal with this thing. He twists the handle on the faucet on and off, on and off, enough times that the ancient water pump starts up and clean water gurgles into the sink. He cleans the rag that way, then wets it and wrings it out before shutting the water off.

Ghoul's shoulders rise and fall in short, panicky breaths. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm- I didn't think, it was stupid, I'm sorry," he continues babbling like that before going silent again aside from the sharp sounds of his breathing.

In a testament to Kobra's selfishness, his biggest worry is that Ghoul took his motorbike out for a spin and crashed it. He can't think of what could have caused something like this. He has visions of his bike sliding out on a turn, crumbled metal and Ghoul's body flying through the air. But if that had happened he'd be hurt other than this. If that had happened he might be dead.

"Yo," he says quietly. "Chill. Just tell me what happened." He presses the now-damp rag to Ghoul's face, trying to ignore just how grotesque the wound really is. Maybe because it's fresh, maybe because of the fear, but somehow it's worse than the space where Jet's other eye used to be. Kobra never wanted to see an injury of that level on another person again in his life, let alone someone he cares about.

Ghoul flinches away, but Kobra shoots him a look and it must process somehow, because he stills and lets Kobra clean the already drying blood away from the edges of the wound with barely a whine. "It was stupid," he repeats, his voice shaking as much as it's slurring. "I don't know why I did it, Kid."

Something about the way he says that, voice small and wavering, sends a chill down Kobra's throat. Sudden understanding dawns on him. The blood on Ghoul's hands. He's not injured anywhere else. "You did that to yourself?" Kobra asks hoarsely.

Ghoul's eyes snap onto his and the rest of the color drains from his face. Kobra thinks he's going to pass out for a second, but he doesn't. He pulls as far away as he can, scrabbling awkwardly against the cold tiles and porcelain of the bathroom. "I don't know what I though, I was stupid, I don't- Kobra," he whines, with enough animalistic despair that Kobra wants suddenly to burst into tears, if he weren't so utterly stunned.

"Ghoul, calm down, I've gotta stitch it still," he says on autopilot. "Cool your engine, man."

Maybe it's the practicality of the thing that makes Ghoul momentarily stop panicking. "I'm sorry," he says again, tears welling in his eyes that he then blinks away half-frantically. Kobra's never heard him apologize for anything before tonight. He never wants to hear it again.

"It's okay, man. I've got you." He replies. If his own voice is shaking now, too, no the hell it isn't. "Come on, you have to let me..." he trails off, eyes wide. "Ghoul, why..." Then he shakes his head. He can't think about that now. He needs to disinfect the wound and stitch it up. And it's going to hurt Ghoul really, really badly.

He reaches behind him, grabs at the bottle of alcohol. This stuff is rare out in the Zones. They try to use it as little as possible. Only in emergencies. This is enough of an emergency, though. This is a fucking crisis.

He pours the bare minimum of the alcohol onto another piece of cloth, feels the cold soak in. Ghoul watches every move with jerking, stilted intensity. Kobra looks up at him from where he's now kneeling on the cold tile. He puts a hand behind Ghoul's head again. "This is going to hurt," he warns. They've nearly gouged each other's eyes out before, yet suddenly Kobra feels like he's going to be sick at the thought of causing Ghoul any more pain. Ghoul shuts his eyes in preparation.

Ghoul still nearly screams when Kobra dabs the alcohol over his wound. Kobra can see it in the way he holds his breath, the spring-tight tension in Ghoul's entire body. The only noise he makes is a quiet, drawn out whine, though. When a tear streaks down his cheekbone, Kobra catches it before a drop of salt can enter the wound.

"'Kay," he says in a ragged whisper. "That's done. Now I have to-" he gestures like he's sewing. Ghoul's eyes pop open to see what he's saying and he visibly forces himself to breathe again.

"'Kay," Ghoul says back in an equally torn up voice.

It only takes Kobra three tries to thread a needle. Medical supplies of any type are hard to come by, a whole new kind of commodity, but this stash has been here for as long as he can remember, just in case. Blaster burns, the most common injuries amongst 'Joys, come pre-cauterized. He's rarely had to sew sutures before.

Ghoul flinches back when the tip of the needle first touches the edge of his torn skin, and Kobra pauses. "Hold still," he grumbles, more out of familiar sniping than any real frustration at this point. He keeps his hand in Ghoul's hair the entire time he sews.

The feeling of a needle piercing flesh is horrible. The fact that it's his friend, someone he'd give his life for before seeing them hurt, is even worse. Kobra wants to fucking throatpunch whoever did this to Ghoul, or better, do the same thing to them, before he remembers with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Ghoul did this to himself.

He ties off the suture just barely keeping his hands from shaking. He doesn't know how Ghoul does this with bombs. Ghoul flinches again, violently, when Kobra cuts the excess line, and Kobra has to jerk back to keep from catching a flailing, uncoordinated fist in the face.

"Hey," he snaps. "Ghoul!"

Ghoul slips off the toilet lid and onto the floor almost as if he intended it but halfway as an accident and immediately curls in on himself. He pulls his knees to his chest and curls his arms around his head and Kobra can hear him hyperventilating. Kobra fucking freezes. He's used to fighting and wrestling and knee-jerk reactions that wind up with someone sporting a black eye. He is terrified right now. And there's still Ghoul's blood on his hands, too.

"Ghoul..." He cautiously reaches out, puts a hand on Ghoul's leg. Ghoul twitches, lets out a hiccupy sound that takes a moment to register in Kobra's mind as a sob. Ghoul, chaos loving, cackling Ghoul, is crying. And not just a single tear, now, his whole body is shuddering with the force of how hard he's crying. Kobra's heart is pounding with how hard he does not know what's happening, but he grips Ghoul's arm and lightly shakes him. "Hey, I'm still here, man."

Ghoul makes that keening whine again and Kobra thinks at first that he's going to pull away at best, or throw a real punch at worst. They fight enough, for any and no reason at all, that he expects it now. That's their normal. This isn't.

Ghoul scrambles to his knees, his hands finding the front of Kobra's shirt. This restroom is small, they're already in close quarters. But maybe unintentionally, maybe just scrabbling for a little purchase on anything, Ghoul winds up grabbing onto Kobra. And Kobra has always had a hard time letting anything go.

Ghoul's forehead crashes into his shoulder and Kobra instinctively puts his hands up, grabs back onto Ghoul in return. Ghoul's usual shaking is familiar to him, but the repressed wracking sobs aren't. Kobra clutches desperately around Ghoul's back, like he could hold together what he's just sewn up, like if he keeps Ghoul close enough he can't shake into pieces. No one should be able to break Ghoul. Not even Ghoul himself.

The edges of the cabinet dig into Kobra's back, but he ignores it. Ghoul is folding in on himself, making himself as small as he can against Kobra, and Kobra doesn't fucking know what to do. He's never seen Ghoul cry like this. He's never seen anyone cry like this.

"It hurts," cries Ghoul suddenly.

"I know," Kobra says, before he realizes that crying like this is probably making everything worse, that he'd worried about salt in the wound a minute before for this exact reason. He can't imagine the pain Ghoul is probably in.

"It didn't hurt at first," Ghoul mumbles, then chokes on a sob. "It didn't hurt when I started. And then it did."

Kobra wants to ask again, why? But he won't get anything intelligible. There's a part of him that doesn't want to know. He's terrified of knowing the truth. Instead, he threads his fingers through Ghoul's hair again and just repeats, "I know. I know."

A few minutes pass in speedy, spiraling silence. The only sound between them is their shared too-fast breathing.

"I can't," stammers Ghoul finally, after his cries have tapered out into raspy gasps. "I can't turn it on or off."

"Huh?" Is all Kobra can think to say. "Ghoul, you're not making sense, nothing about this makes sense," he snips, too quick and too tense. He's so beyond his depth. He wants Jet or Party to come help but he can't have it his way because he promised. He promised Ghoul. He wants to hit something. A wall, just to feel the impact. To imagine he's hitting whatever it is that hurt his friend so badly he hurt himself.

Ghoul sniffs. All Kobra can see of him is the top of his head and the cheek with the stitches. The wound is swollen and red and is going to leave a horrific scar. Kobra clenches his fist tighter behind Ghoul's back. "When I'm having fun or not," Ghoul says. "I can't. I am or I'm not. But."

"But what?" For fuck's sake, Kobra just wants to understand. He can read Ghoul like a book from cover to cover most times, and it scares him that he's so lost right now.

"It isn't good enough," he mumbles. "It's... It's in my fuckin' name, Kid, if I can't live up to that what am I?"

Kobra stares, wide-eyed, at the wall across from him. Something clicks. The clean cut through Ghoul's face, clearly from a recently sharpened knife, clearly intentional, reached from the corner of his lips almost to his ear. "Oh fuck no," he whispers. "Hell no. What the fuck. You're not-" He feels himself shaking suddenly, with restrained searing hot anger. Ghoul cut his head open, mutilated himself, to make himself permanently grin. "You're not fucking beholden to your fucking name," Kobra says. He never swears this much, only in his own mind. He's running out of words. "Fuck," he says, with feeling.

Ghoul shudders again. "I'm fuckin insane, aren't I?" He asks with sudden clarity.

It's exactly what Kobra had been thinking, for once completely unable to figure out Ghoul's mind, but he can't just say that. He can't just say that he's terrified because nothing makes sense and he's never going to freaking leave Ghoul alone again because this is all completely unhinged on so many levels that he can't even begin to sort through it. He can't say anything. He hopes Ghoul is sane enough to understand that, at least.

He just holds his friend tighter. He wants his brother more than anything right now, wants Party to come and take this weight out of his hands, but a part of him knows that even if he did, he wouldn't be able to let go of Ghoul. Why didn't Ghoul want anyone else but him? Why, after pretty much imprinting on Party like a feral kitten when they'd first met, to the point that sometimes Kobra thinks bitterly than Ghoul might know Party better than his own brother does, did he come to him? Why did he do any of this?

If a few tears of his own drip down Kobra's nose and land in Ghoul's tangled hair, no the hell they don't. He's never seen anyone go to pieces like this and he's struck dumb at the fact that it's literal. Very, very literally, Ghoul has gone to pieces. Taken a knife, that's probably still lying on the floor of his abandoned-office bedroom, and cut a line through his own cheek just so others might see a smile there.

There's crazy in his veins. Acid, maybe. And Kobra's always known that even if Party recognized it first. Watching your whole family die, failing to save your baby sibling, doesn't leave a person without any scars. Only, now, the scar is far too visible. Kobra's always known that Ghoul is more wild than any of them. Feral, unpredictable. He was raised by a pair of Killjoys who named themselves Hoot and Holler, and the thing is, a ghoul is just a ghost, and ghosts wail too. He should have known.

"I should've known," he says out loud, the first words in a while. He knows Ghoul so well. Better than he knows himself. He should have known something was wrong. He should never have left him alone. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He can't even blink. He stares hard at the opposite wall and tries not to scream.

Ghoul shakes his head against Kobra's shoulder and winces. "Nuh-uh," he mumbles. "I'm crazy, man. I'm insane." The fuzzy way it sounds around the stitches and the swelling just seems like proof. Just last night Ghoul's cheek was smooth and soft as he grinned across a table in triumph after winning a card game. How is it that that was just a few hours ago? He shudders again. "I'm scared," he says more quietly.

"Me too," Kobra says. As soon as the sun comes up he thinks he's going to storm out into the desert and find something, anything to beat up. Even a freakin cactus would do at this point. He doesn't know how he's going to explain this to Pois or Jet but he knows that much. He's gonna shake so hard he blows up, like a can of soda, unless he hits something. "I fucking hate you," he snaps suddenly.

Ghoul starts to flinch away, but Kobra doesn't let him. In fact, he curls tighter around him without even knowing why. "What the hell," Ghoul rasps.

Kobra hisses through his teeth. Speaking of living up to names. He fucking hates anyone who hurts his friends. But he can't say it. Hard as he tries, in the one moment of clarity about his own mind that he has, he can't speak.

"I fucking hate me, too," Ghoul says finally. The single dusty lightbulb above them flickers. If it goes out, they'll be in total darkness. Kobra thinks one or both of them might have a wicked eyeshine by now. The desert makes you wild. For some people, they're born that way.

"I think you're my best friend," Kobra finally manages to whisper. It isn't exactly what he was going for. It's not something he would ever say if he had thought of it before it popped out of his mouth. But Ghoul gets the point. Of course he does. Ghoul always gets his sharp edges, snakebite teeth and misspoken definitions and all.

"I think you're mine," Ghoul says back. "I'm-"

Kobra smacks the back of his head, like this is in any way normal, like they aren't collapsed on a dim bathroom floor in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning and like one of them isn't mutilated for life by his own hand. Like this isn't the worst thing they've ever gone through together. "If you say you're sorry again, I'll cut you myself."

It's rough, and it's torn up and pained and choked, but Ghoul laughs. Just a short bark of laughter, hardly like the dry, rasping cackle that Kobra knows so well. It sounds like agony but it also sounds like the sun coming up. Kobra makes a noise in the back of his throat, more whine than laugh, but he's so close to blowing up that it's as good as it gets. He wants to freaking die if that would keep Ghoul in one piece.

Ghoul shifts in Kobra's arms and pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye. He clumsily wipes at the tears and snot all over his face and Kobra has to snap a hand out to catch his wrist before he unthinkingly swipes at the fresh wound and stitches. "Kobra," Ghoul says, shivering in the dark. The sun won't take long to come up once it starts but until it does, the Zones are freezing. "Kobra."

"Yeah, man, I'm still right here." Kobra forces himself to look Ghoul in the eyes and not the stitches. The wound takes up so much of his face. It's all Kobra can see when he looks at Ghoul, his best friend's mutilated mouth, sliced open by his own hand. Kobra flinches just imagining it. He focuses instead on Ghoul's green eyes, boring holes into his head with the desperate pleading in them. "I'm still right here," Kobra repeats, quieter. Reminding himself, too.

Ghoul doesn't blink. Kobra doesn't blink. Their eyes reflect the dim light back at each other. This is what wild animals must feel for each other. Terror. Uncertainty. Just themselves, each other, and whatever comes. Ghoul licks his lips, tongue flicking briefly, visibly, to the corner of his mouth that he cut open. "Don't let me-" Ghoul starts and then falters. "You gotta make sure," he says. "Don't let me- do stupid shit like this, don't let me go crazy again, Kobra, please."

Kobra stares back at him, matching Ghoul's trembling desperation. He's known Ghoul since the day their crew found him, shell shocked between the shelves of an empty gas station with the bodies of his parents and previous crew around him. Perpetually shaking hands and feral bared teeth, animal eyeshine. No one can match Ghoul for determination, and no one knows Kobra as well as he does. Even if Ghoul does know his brother better than him, the same is true in reverse.

Kobra Kid has a hard fucking time ever letting go of anything once he's got it. Fun Ghoul holds on too loosely. They're both terrified. What a pair they make. But when Kobra Kid makes a promise, he means it. He grabs the ends of Ghoul's hair and pulls, not too hard, but hard enough. That's their normal. Play fighting and hair pulling, and they both know it's a kind of language for when they can't speak. "Okay," he says, and because it's a promise, he repeats it. "Okay."

[taradactyls]

Trying to Tread Water: Chapter Thirty

The Elizabeth/Darcy Marriage of Convenience fic no one asked for

Chapter Thirty: Elizabeth's first ball in town - and the first official dance she is attending as Mrs Darcy - has arrived. As have the Darcy family's collection of jewellery, which Mr Darcy sent for. Of course, despite that their marriage was made to secure her safety, his love for Elizabeth means he wants none but her to wear them. They stay close to each other during the ball, and he cannot keep his eyes off her. Especially when they dance.

Read on Ao3 here

First reviews of Chapter Thirty: "Honestly when I get the email this story has updated I get very excited and it’s a proper treat! I made a coffee and sat down to read it as soon as possible." "Loved this update! Oh man the vibes during that dance were just perfect." "I'm literally so unreasonably happy that they had a nice night out😭😭 grinning in public like a lunatic rn..." "I really loved the ball in its entirety, honestly. The descriptions of the room and atmosphere, and especially the last dance, all speaks to your writing prowess. 12/10, would recommend." "This story is my absolute favorite notification and I seriously enjoy reading it so much! The characters, the world building, just so incredibly well done!"

Story updates on Ao3 fortnightly, with Chapter Thirty-One coming out on the 17th May.

Story tags: Elizabeth/Darcy, Marriage of Convenience, Unrequited Love, Not Really Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Pining, Pining Despite Being Married, Mr Darcy thinks his worst enemy is Wickham but maybe it's himself.

[dovesnest]

hey i've been in a psych ward in southeast europe. it was necessary, and it fucking sucked. genuinely, no one mistreated me, it's just that the doctors have very little time for each individual patient and i was truly at rock bottom. and overall. it still saved my life. it was a safe unchanging environment with a routine and people who knew what i was going through. it was weird being the youngest there at 21, it was weird getting the pills from the nurses in tiny paper envelopes one at a time, it was weird and sucky and uncomfortable as fuck. if it came to that again, tho, i would do it again bc my alternatives were all so much worse. i wish you so so so much luck and wellbeing, stay strong, mwahmwah from another mentally ill girlie.

this is v v helpful information thank u so much!!

[wholesomepostarchive]

the most wholesome thing is seeing that the wholesome post blog runner is probably one of the nicest people ever :3 i’m generally Terrified of sending asks especially to a blog that Does Things like this but seeing you talk in the tags instead of just reblogging and moving on makes you seem very friendly and approachable !!!! and i hope u know i appreciate that :] i hope you have a wonderful day and both sides of your pillow are always cool and that if you see a random cat on the sidewalk it won’t run away from U ♡

woah, META-WHOLESOME!! thank ya for the compliment, i try my best to carry out those kinds of traits i value!!!!! i’m SUPER super glad that ya did!!! THANK YOU THANK U!! always appreciating how much of an impact this lil blog has on top of appreciating u for sharing as much with me :-)

it’s always a TRIP getting to hear that something i do that i wasn’t even really mindfully doing makes all the difference?? i’m just really, REALLY grateful for all the different kinds of posts that get sent my way and seeing cool + uplifting + sentimental + OVERALL WHOLESOME posts that i express my thanks + ramble a bit in the tags haha !!

i ALSO hope you have as terrific of a day as you’re able to! and i hope you’ll enjoy seeing more posts pop up!

AND YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE but i got new pillow cases like a week ago THAT DO JUST THAT! AND THERE’S A NEW CAT ON THE STREET WHO HANGS OUT WITH ME SOMETIMES (i’ve been planning to see if he has a microchip, but i know for a fact that the neighbors who feed all the stray cats on our street already have a cage + are well-versed in TNR, so i’ve been thinking about asking them first because the thought that someone could be out there looking for their pal is enough for me to “do it scared”) !! SO THANK U NOT ONLY FOR THE SWEET SENTIMENTS BUT ALSO FOR THE UNEXPECTED HILARITY OVER THE FACT THAT THEY’VE COME TRUE???

[imminent-danger-came]

drop a bitterbomb about lmk or the fandom, just go ham. i am here for that mk rant

Hmmm I don't think I have a complaint about lmk itself! (Except maybe the fat clone joke, but I have my man Pigsy so it evens out for me). I really love this show with my whole heart, and though I can be bitter about some things (toh, shera, recently nimona) I do try to give things the benefit of the doubt if I can tell there's real heart and thought behind something. And lmk? So much thought goes into this show, you can feel how talented these writers are!

As for the fandom. *Ahem* *Gets on top of my soap box.* This is a lot of power you've given me.

Like I said in my tags, MK is so often relegated to the role of "therapist" it's shocking. I think a lot of folk view MK and Steven (from Steven Universe) as the same character, and while there's fun similarities, MK is very different from Steven. Steven is definitely the group therapist and ends up having to be the most emotionally mature of all the crystal gems, struggling to keep everyone above water. MK on the other hand has to rely an incredible amount on everyone around him, rarely being the one to actually give comfort himself. MK just also isn't really a character with a "I can fix them" mentality. He's not going out of his way to redeem anyone, except the person in front of him who he thinks can help save his friends/the universe.

Maybe this is a bold take, but I view MK as someone who would choose his friends over the world (he also literally does so in 4x02). He is not a selfless world-first kind of hero, which makes his guilt over getting the world in trouble all the more delightful to watch.

So, it's always surprising to me when I see MK being the one to comfort other characters (namely Red Son and Macaque), when Mei is LITERALLY right there. Our hopepunk shonen protag girly. She's the one to usually do the comforting (along with the rest of the gang), but I think in general a lot of people sleep on Mei.

Which brings me to my second rant: another thing that's kind of disappointing/annoying about the fandom is how pretty much Sun Wukong and Macaque are the only two characters, with MK as a third to promote some kind of interaction between the other two. Sometimes I play a game with myself of seeing how far I can scroll the lmk tag before I see a post about only Sandy.

Which, lmk has such a wonderful cast of characters, it's kind of sad seeing fan content only about Wukong and Macaque—now don't get me wrong, I also love those monkeys, but there's also a lot more characters to explore! Mei is one of my favorite characters, and I think Tang has one of my favorite arcs in the show (3x08 is such a good episode. I am also a big fan of 4x03).

And, god. For all the fan content about Wukong and Macaque those two definitely get the brunt of the blorbofication.

In canon? They're very flawed and fucked up immortals who have hurt themselves and others. But in the fandom? UWU Precious sad boys who blush. It's kind of maddening. Originally I had a lot of people mad at me in my notes for thinking sweet boy Sun Wukong knew MK was a monkey the whole time/involved in MK's creation. Like. I legitimately can not believe there was discourse on twitter about Wukong being a "deadbeat dad". Have you seen this man. Hello. He's an asshole, but he's our asshole, and he tries.

[derpinette]

sometimes i will get bored & go through someone's entire blog since its creation

[moodr1ng]

im well aware that its profoundly cringe to admit to this publicly, alright, but sometimes i just stop to think and realize.. literally my entire life would be radically different if i hadnt been into homestuck when i was 14. like, i would not have had some of the fundamentally important relationships that shaped the way my teen years and young adulthood went. and due to this i would not be living in this home. i would not have the same friends today. i would have been in very different social circles and mightve evolved very differently as a person. i literally might not be alive - i have had my life quite literally saved by friends who i met or bonded with through being into this shitty comic, and by literally i mean was physically prevented from dying last minute. like thats crazy?? and all over homestuck????

[jangmo-othewarrior]

That Which Burns and Warms

Patty couldn't bare to see it, but she could feel it clearly.

It was like a volcano, or an uncontrollable wildfire. Demonic energy was scorching everything, turning lesser demons' corpses into stains on the ground. The only reason she was even spared was because of the Behemoth corpse on top of her, and she could smell it cooking and burning away. The devil erupting out this energy was still roaring, and it hurt her eardrums to listen to. How the other demons had pissed it off this bad, Patty didn't know.

All that she did know, was that as soon as it was done with the demons, it would be coming for her.

---

"Hey Pattycakes." Dante started talking as soon as she opened up Devil May Cry's front door. "You wanna come with?"

Patty was less than impressed with Dante's attempt to avoid the topic of their previous arguments, but at this point she expected it. So, she decided to play along, for his sake.

"Come with you where? To the grocery store? Bout time you ate something other than pizza." She didn't miss a beat, waltzing over to the jukebox. She could hear Vergil snort from over on the couch, nose deep in some old-ass poetry book.

"Hey!" Dante smacked the magazine he was reading onto his desk. "I eat sundaes too! And you would know, Brat." He mumbled. Patty laughed as she fiddled with the jukebox.

"Dante." Vergil doesn't even look up from his book.

Dante flinches like he's been burned and growls under his breath. Patty cocked her head as she looked over at the brothers. Were they fighting again? It wouldn't be the first time in the six months they've been back. "I was wondering if you would want to come with me on a job, Pats."

Her mental heelturn was instantaneous. "Really?" She gasps. "I swear, if you are lying to me Dante-"

She had started 'interning' for Devil May Cry before Dante had even returned from Hell, and he had been weird about it when he had gotten back. He was super cagey about it, but refused to tell her why. He had also 'forgotten' to tell her about some really big jobs, which had pissed everyone off (a hellbird roosting in Redgrave was kinda an all-hands-on-deck situation). Needless to say, she was finally called in after Lady shot him in the head a couple of times, and he was still upset about it! He had only put her back on the actual rotation after she had promised him to let him teach her how to use a sword - which was stupid because he knew she has watched him use Rebellion for years.

"I'm not, I'm not! Take your finger off of the trigger Pattycake!" Dante ran around his desk like a chicken with its head cut off. "Verge is being boring and refusing to go."

Vergil immediately glared at his brother with the force of a rolling thunderstorm. It would of bothered Patty a long time ago, but it didn't now. It shouldn't of bothered Dante either, but he grabs her hand and rushes out the door before anyone could get a word out.

Yeah, they definitely had a fight about something.

---

The job had been going well, almost to well.

An old park had just been bought by a private buyer who wished to put in a bowling alley. Cool, no problem there. The park was previously used in demonic ritual summoning. Not cool. Thus, a call to Devil May Cry.

There were a lot of the basics: Hell Cainas, Pyrobats, Riots, the whole works. There were more interesting threats as well, like Behemoths, Blitzes, Hellbats, and Baphomets, but nothing the two of them couldn't handle together. In fact, Patty was sure Dante could have handled them by himself. He was certainly acting like it.

It felt like Dante was all over the place, flying from enemy to enemy. There was a slight lack of his usual playfulness, but his quips with her didn't slow down in the slightest.

"You slowin' down, Pats?" He leaned his elbow on the Baphomet corpse he had just punched straight into the ground. Balrog lit up in what had to have been amusement.

"Not in a million years!" She yelled back at him as she aimed one of her custom twin pistols down a Hell Cainas' eye socket. Patty had given Nico very specfic specifications when she crafted these guns, and boy, she had delivered. Half of the Hell Cainas' skull was blown into nothingness.

"Now your even stealing my lines!" His voice rumbled weirdly as he spoke, and his eyes had an odd shine to them. "Brat."

The demons close to Dante suddenly started hissing under their breathes and one of them - a Riot - scurried away before Dante could shove King Cerberus down its throat. "Shit." He muttered.

"You think they're getting their boss?" Patty ran over, putting a spray of bullets into a Blitz as she did so. The other lesser demons were beginning to back off, which meant something bad was probably about to happen. Dante suddenly leaned his back onto her shoulder with his full weight, the asshole. The small bit of demonic power in her veins sparked at his touch.

"Hopefully. Then we can finally get paid." He laughed and softly knocked the side of his head into hers. For a second, Patty swore his entire body was vibrating as he bounced off of her and shot Ivory into an approaching Pyrobat. The air surrounding her felt like was vibrating too, if only for a moment.

Huh. She thought as Dante finished off the flying fire hazard. Must be demonic adrenaline. Dante landed on the ground with a stylish flourish, but his taunting suddenly stopped. Patty then felt more vibrations again, but this time from...

...the ground.

Instinctually, Patty pitched forward, using what little demonic energy her blood had to shove herself forward as much as possible. Seconds after she launched herself, a massive fire-covered claw ripped through the ground where she had been standing. Her landing wasn't graceful, but she was alive. Dante immediately grabbed her arm and heaved her up onto her feet. As they looked at their attacker, the devil hunters suddenly realized something crucial.

They were surrounded.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The hole in the ground from where the claw sprouted through the dirt was ripped open, and a Fury-sized demon crawled out, spewing magma as it did so. It was a disgusting thing, reptilian in body structure but covered in obsidian and magma. There were obsidian spikes and horns in what had to have been uncomfortable places, and its teeth jutted out of its skull like daggers. One of its clawed hands was lathering magma over its body like it was sunscreen, but it just looked like it was causing itself pain. To put it bluntly, the demon looked utterly nasty.

Dante immediately shot Ebony and Ivory into its volcanic hide, but the bullets got caught in it like a glue trap. The demon tried to laugh, but it just sounded like a clogged volcano about to explode. Dante let out a hiss underneath his breath, and Patty could practically feel his energy begin to wind up like a spring. She wasn't any better; her fingers never let go of the triggers.

"The blood of Sparda, truly a waste with a being like you. It could of seen its true potential elsewhere." It tutted like it was a disappointed school teacher.

"Oh really? Got any applications to turn in?" Dante's words sounded playful but there was an edge to his eyes.

The demon ignored him. "Your... successor even more so, sullying the Sparda clan with something like that."

Dante stilled at its words. His grip on her arm tightened, and he began to lean forward towards the demon. The edge in his eyes had turned as sharp as the blade that shared his name, and she could faintly hear a growl on the air.

Patty has heard enough; she whips her left handed pistol up in line with the demon's chest. "Enough chit-chat." The shot went off.

And chaos erupted onto the battlefield.

The shot had connected, but the bullet got caught in the obsidian on its chest. The demon, however, clearly felt offended by Patty's potshot. It charged, but Dante met it halfway. One half of Cavaliere slammed into the right side of its face, but it catches Dante in claws. Both of them fly off to the side, propelled by the force of Dante's demonic motorcycle buzz saws.

The lsser demons wanted in on the action too. Patty turns to shoot a pouncing Riot in the face. Sidestepping its flying corpse, she angles one of her pistols into the magma latherer's side. The rounds connected, but it only grunted as it vomited magma in Dante's direction.

"Darn." She muttered as she shoved the other pistol into a Baphomet's mouth and fired.

Dante launched himself forward in the blink of an eye, slicing upward with the DSD. The blade repeatedly spins along along the middle of its chest and neck, and the cut squirts out blood and fire. The demon, hissing angrily, lunged forward and blocked Dante's exit off with its arms, blocking him from view.

Logically, Patty knew he would be able to handle himself. He had saved the world, what, four times? Five? A single demon being a son of a bitch couldn't hurt him that badly. But, in the heat of the moment, all she could think about was that Dante was in danger. Shit!

Patty immediately unloaded one of her pistol's entire clip into the Ugly SOB's face. It turned to her with fire in its eyes, and her spine shivered. It gripped down onto Dante, and chucked him into a group of approaching lesser demons. "Dante!"

He was gone from view before he could even get a word out.

Stay calm, Lowell! He'll be okay, he's Dante! Just breathe. Her bleeding heart gladly accepted the reassurance, even as it picked up in speed when the SOB looked down at her.

"Human. How you managed to gain his favor, I will never know." The demon hissed. Patty vaulted over a Behemoth that had charged at her back. It ran straight into the SOB, but it just grabbed onto the giant, chained demon.

"Hate to break it to ya, you son of a bitch," Patty shakily yelled as she shot through an approaching Hellbat's wing, "but I have no idea what the hell you are talking about!" The SOB deviously laughed at her words.

"Fine. Lie to me all you want. It doesn't matter..." In one quick motion, it grabbed the Hellbat she just shot out of the air and pushed the Behemoth so hard it's chains broke. The Hellbat's head was then bitten off, and the demon held its back out in front of its chest. "...Because you're not getting out of here alive."

A lot happened in those few seconds.

Patty tried to back up, only for a Blitz to slam into her back. A large group of lesser demons suddenly started to scatter, as if afraid of something. The SOB shoved the dying Hellbat into the bullets and magma on its chest.

And the Hellbat, and all of the magma and bullets with it, exploded.

She doesn't remember much else other than pain, heat, and a crushing force after that. But there was a sizzle in the air, and the last thing she was able to hear before the world went dark was a voice.

"PATTY!!!"

---

She only woke up when the air shook.

But there was too much pressure to think. Too much, too much too much too much-

She gasped for air. It hurt to fill her lungs, hurt to breathe, but she did it anyway. She felt her lungs stutter, and a horrible sound filled the air. For a second, Patty panicked.

Oh, please no more demons please not right now. She kept breathing, because that was all she could do, as she waited for the demons to come after her again. Lord, she was tired of decade long chase.

But nothing came. Her lungs hitched again, and she heard the ragged, wheezing cough. Oh. That was her. Not more demons. Not Dante. Just her. No one else. Only her. And that hurt so much.

God, she needed to breathe.

She laid there - breathe in, ignore the stabbing in your lungs, breathe out, ignore the pressure - until she finally had the courage to open her eyes. The light burned for a second, but when she finally manged to look around, all she could see was a mass of rotten scales. There was a Behemoth corpse on top of her.

She immediately went to push it off of her, only for her entire body light up in pain. Everything burned, but all she could think was Get it off get it off get it off-

Her arms felt the least damaged, so she slowly pushed against the rotten scales to free her lungs. She couldn't even get it fully off of her, but her arms were holding something. It didn't help much, but at least some of the pressure was gone. A few inches of gracious space for her to inhale.

Patty took in a couple of deep breaths, the first in what felt like hours, and tried to assess her physical condition. Nero had said once on a job that it was really important to do that.

Everything hurt, which was good, because that meant she wasn't paralyzed. It was also bad, because everything hurt. Multiple things were broken, like her leg and definitely some of her ribs, but she was just glad her back was functional. She could barely keep track of the number of cuts she had, and the bruises that would surely form would only make that harder. The only one she definitely knew was there was the one on her forehead; she could taste the blood running down her face. Or maybe there was just blood in her mouth. No doubt the ground was stained with her blood. Fear only truly set in as her skin ran along a sharp, metal point on her stomach. There was a jagged piece of the Behemoth's chains the size of her hand sitting against her stomach. One wrong move, and it goes into her gut.

Wow. Great. Thanks Nero, but NOW WHAT DO I DO???

The only part of her that wasn't in pain was the tiny piece of demonic energy she inherited; it was just fine. In fact, it was sparking, helping her senses come back to her.

Wait, what? Why... And then she felt it. In the air, on her skin, everywhere. It thrummed in the air, against her strained arms, and it made everything she could see wobble with its mere existence. It was hot, sizzling even. A huge outpouring of this demonic energy was coming from... her left?

She turned her head, but her view was partially obscured by the Behemoth's half burned skull. She could see other demon corpses, and the ground was razed down to black ash. Suddenly, something flew into view. No, it was thrown into her view.

It was the SOB demon from before. That is, if it was still alive.

It was missing an arm, and it's lower half was charred so badly that one of the legs disintegrated as it fell down onto the ground. Almost none of the obsidian remained, and what little did was hanging on by small pieces of ripped skin. It's upper jaw was partially caved in, but the eyes moved. It was somehow still alive, and it was looking at something. It's eyes were wide with fear, and it's remaining arm tried to pull it away from whatever it was looking at.

For a second, Patty felt vindicated. Yeah, asshole, you should feel afraid. You should die for the countless people who have probably died because of you. You should suffer for throwing my-

Its terror partially came into view. And Patty's brain stopped.

Being the descendent of a summoner had a lot of perks. A small bit of demonic energy reserved for just for her, the ability to summon demonic energy recreations of some demons (eventually, she didn't have that down yet), and being able to gauge the general level of power of any demon she could see, just to name a few. The third one never really had many applications;in fact, she often forgot she could do it. She couldn't escape it now.

She couldn't even see all of it, but, God, she did not need to. Its back was turned to her, and she was glad about it. The SOB looked like a child next to it, it was so large. The body is covered in dark ridges and spikes that looked straight out of Hell. Firey, demonic energy is leaking out of it at any crack in its obsidian carapace. Four wings adorned its back, and swirls of demonic energy radiated off of them. She couldn't see its face, but the back of its head showed off two pairs of horns, one on the sides and the other on top.

Everything about its presence screamed power; the amount of demonic energy was overwhelming. Abigail had been bad to her, and this thing felt like it could eat Abigail for breakfast. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if this demon could pick up the Yamato and snap it in half like a twig. All of the burning energy filling the air came from that thing, and seeing it made it all hit her at once.

ragekillbloodlustangerkillrageHOWDAREYOU-

Her head hurt, but she couldn't look away as the devil (that's what it was, a high devil, a king) shoved one of its claws into the SOB's eye sockets. Garbled screeching soundsfilled the energized air as the devil lifted it up with one claw. It pulled it up to what Patty had to assume was eye level, and stopped. The devil held it there as it hovered for a few seconds, and it opened its mouth. All Patty could see was sharp, black teeth and a lava colored tongue before it roared and slammed its prey into the ground.

Patty had to look away then. She had nearly lost her hold on the corpse, and she could feel the point of the Behemoth's chains poking into her lower ribs. It was hard to ignore the horrifying sounds of her previous attacker being squelched, but she couldn't look. She couldn't lose focus, not when the energy was already making everything more difficult; the air burned in a frenzy with the devil.

Patty couldn't bare to see it, but she could feel it clearly.

It was like a volcano, or an uncontrollable wildfire. Demonic energy was scorching everything, turning lesser demons' corpses into stains on the ground. The only reason she was even spared was because of the Behemoth corpse on top of her, and she could smell it cooking and burning away. The devil erupting out this energy was still roaring, and it hurt her eardrums. How the other demons had pissed it off this bad, Patty didn't know.

All that she did know, was that as soon as it was done with the demons, it would be coming for her.

The ground shook each time the demon pounded its prey into the ground. With each shockwave, she could feel her hold on the Behemoth slipping. Just breathe, Patty. Breathe.

It had felt like hours had passed when the devil's rage finally subsided. Its demonic energy began to die out in the air. The smell of burned flesh started to overpower her senses. Patty could taste the dried blood sticking to her face.

Breathe.

Her arms were shaking more now than ever, but she couldn't focus on the pain. She had to breathe. The devil was staring down at its kill, levitating a few feet above it like it was its superior. It probably was. Ragged, animalistic breaths escaped its maw.

Breathe.

The air was still burning, but the defensive, angry part of the air had finally began to fade away. The devil sensed no more enemies; anything that could threaten it was gone. All that was left was corpses.

Brea- Dante.

The devil would consider him a threat; Mundus did years before she had even met him. There was no way the devil would feel calm if Dante was around. If Dante was alive. Tears pricked her eyes. Her arms shook even more.

She hadn't even gotten to tell him how much he meant to her. They had been fighting so much over whether she should be a hunter, if she could take care of herself, and if she was ready for the world. This job had felt like a step forward, that Dante was finally pulling his head out of his ass. That maybe Dante was finally ready to acknowledge the fact that he was the closest thing she had to a father. And now he might be... gone.

Her arms finally gave out.

The Behemoth had lost a lot of its weight to the burning, demonic air, but the chains had remained unbothered by the burning air. The body had been moved just a bit, either by her arms, gravity, or the shaking ground. The corpse fell what few inches it could.

The sound that escaped her as the knife-like chain piece lodged itself in her stomach wasn't a scream, or even a true cry of pain. It was a weak, strangled noise. The sound of something rendered helpless through no fault of their own. The noise of something that desperately wants to live but sees no way out of their situation. The choked cry of someone that thinks they lost someone they love.

Her arms laid limp at her sides, and, for a second, she stared up at the sky. Pressure choked out any breath she had, and her blood was staining the ground again. Patty Lowell fought to keep her eyes open, but her exhausted and battered body forced them shut. She could barely think, and the world began to fall away.

I don't want...to die...please...Mom.....Da...

...

...warmth. It was so warm. It spread everywhere, into each exhausted limb and bleeding wound. Her small, demonic core pulsed like fire, accepting the warmth greedily. It held her up, keeping her mind aloft.

pleasedon'tgo It said. Why was it so nice? pleasestayipromisesafewarm

The ever-present pressure suddenly lifted, and she instinctively took in a breath. So many places suddenly hurt all at once, especially her stomach, but the warmth buzzed almost angrily over her wounds. Pressure returned suddenly to her stomach, and, in a moment of rage, she tried to sit up and throw the pressure off. The pain stopped her before she could even prop her elbows up. Falling back unceremoniously, a strained whine ripped out of her throat. For a split second, she braced herself for the pain of her skull knocking back onto the ground, but the impact never came. Instead, a gentle hand caught her before she could smack into the dirt.

...Who?... Patty managed to think, cracking open her left eye.

A demon looked back at her. Kneeling next to her, its wings blocked out the light, but its demonic core glowed faintly orange. Its head looked more like a skull, with no skin to speak of. There was no readable expression, and its eyes looked like yellow pits. Four vaguely recognizable horns wrapped around its head like a crown.

...The devil from earlier?!?

Why in Hell was it holding her like this? Her guns were laying on her chest too; had it gotten them for her? One of its clawed hands had caught her head, and the other was... Patty caught a glance at the sight of the claws gingerly applying pressure on the stab wound on her stomach. She had no energy to move, but she did have enough energy to squeak.

Out of all the ways Patty thought it would react, leaning down and making soft clicking noises was not one of them. She couldn't tell where its eyes were looking, but it didn't feel like it was looking down on her. The devil lifted her head with far too much care, and sniffed her forehead cut. Her entire body instinctually tensed up, fully prepared for the devil to brutally cave her head in.

To her udder shock, instead of immediately biting down after catching the scent of her human blood, the devil leaned back slightly and hissed under its breath. What is going on?? Patty's bewilderment must of shown on her face, because the demon made more soft clicking noises. Her breath hitched when it leaned back in again. She shut her eyes instinctively.

The open cut on her forehead was suddenly covered with a warm, wet substance. She immediately opened her eyes back up in alarm, only to see a tongue the color of fire rasp over her cut again. And again.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Her core sparked again as the warmth responded in tandem. safemustbesafemustbehealthy

To say Patty was overwhelmed would be an understatement. Every muscle in her body felt like it should be tense and in pain, but instead they were slowly relaxing into the warmth. Her tiny demonic core certainly didn't mind the devil's actions; it pulsed even more.

Apparently, while she was trying to process what was happening, the devil had decided its job was done. The cut slowly stopped buzzing with demonic energy, and it weirdly felt sealed. All of her cuts felt sealed, Patty realized, even the big one in her gut. The devil looked down into her wide eyes and chuffed affectionately. Its clawed hands suddenly shifted, moving underneath her to slowly lift her off of the ground.

Without warning it pressed her body on its chest, her left ear landing right on top of one of the many spikes surrounding the core. A small bit of energy cushioned her from the spikes and jagged edges. The wings folded in as well, practically covering her like a shield. For a second, all Patty could do was breathe and question why?

A rumble answered her.

It started in the devil's core, and expanded until its entire body vibrated with the noise. It was so loud, right next to her head, but it didn't hurt. The devil set its chin on the top of her head, and never stopped purring. That's what it was, purring. A grounding showcase of care that felt real.

And familiar.

It had only came up occasionally, but it had been happening for years. Every once in a while, there would be a rumble in his voice. They could be arguing over sundaes or she could be shooting a Hell Caina in the face, but it would appear out of the blue. Only to disappear as fast as it came, covered up by grins and snarky quips.

She brought a hand up to his demonic core and let the energy run through her fingers. It burned the air around it, small embers glowing and fading in the wind. As it hit her hand, it gave her the same sense of warmth she had felt when he had pulled the Behemoth corpse off of her. The same sense of warmth buzzing along her skin. The same warmth she had barely felt when she had first met him a decade ago.

"D-Dan-" Her voice broke off into a mangled cough. She shut her eyes as she fell limp from the force of it all on her still-battered body. The purring tapered off and Dante let out a worried warble as he gently caught her. Clearly Dante's human brain was taking a snooze, since he would normally say some silly quip to lighten the mood and cover up his nerves.

She would of reassured him if she hadn't see movement out of the corner of her eye.

Snatching one of her guns out of her lap, Patty leaned out of Dante's grip. Everything hurt, but that small bit of demonic energy pulled through as she aimed at the crawling, half-dead son of a bitch. The recoil hurt like a bitch too, but her reward was instantaneous. The SOB moaned out a pained gurgle as its remaining eye angrily searched for her. And then widened as she fell back and tucked her head underneath the unhinged jaw of one very pissed off devil.

The screech Dante released should of burst her eardrums, but the energy hovering around her thankfully muffled it. His wings wrapped around them both as he lifted into the air, and fireballs started shooting out like they were being fired from a minigun. When Dante's wings opened back up, the only thing left of the SOB was a chunk of his obsidian hide surrounded by charred flesh.

And then, like a switch was flipped, Dante was back to fussing over her. He gently lowered them both onto a relatively uncharred and less bloody patch, although he refused to let go of her. The purring was back as well, and Dante let out a croon as soon as she set down her pistols. Carefully, he set her down on his incredibly spiky lap, and gently knocked his head into hers, wary of the sharp points cutting her. Despite everything, Patty just felt relief and exhaustion, and she sagged into Dante's affection. As he set his head on top of her's again, Patty noticed something new. Words.

"Slipping out of safety and attacking your enemy. Heh, course my nestling takes after me too much..." They were low, and hard to separate from the rumbling purr constantly underneath it, but they were there.

Nestling. The term made her suck in a breath. Vergil once called Nero that after a really intense misson, and Trish had explained that it was a term of endearment parent demons used with their children. If Dante is refering to her as his nestling, then that means that he sees her as...

Patty burst into tears.

Dante immediately stopped everything: the purring, the words, the demonic energy, everything. The warble that left his mouth just made her cry even harder. She held her head in her hands.

Is this real? Their relationship had been so rocky lately with his overprotective actions, because of course he was being overprotective. God, Vergil totally knew and was hammering him about it. Patty's thoughts were moving a mile and minute.

She had always held out hope for a father to enter her life when she was little, but that had stopped after meeting Dante. It only after he disappeared into Hell again did it finally hit her why. And now he was telling her that all of him, human and demon, wanted her as his kid? It was almost too much to bare. But she needed confirmation. She needed to know for sure.

Her tiny demonic core responded immediately, reaching out with what little energy it had to connect with Dante's for a split second.

worrysorrypleasebeokayimsorrydontgoiloveyou-

That was all Patty needed to know.

She launched herself at Dante, wrapping her arms around his giant, spiky torso and shoving her face into the most comfortable place she can, directly above his core. Dante instinctually wraps his arms around her in return, and his wings join in a second later. Questioning clicks sound out from above her head, but her answering tears just fall past the jagged edges near his core.

"..Patty?"

His voice is rough, deep, and has a weird echo, but it was his. It was tentative, worried, and almost sounded scared. His energy hangs in the air, disconnected but still nervous. Her throat burns, her head is throbbing, and she feels like walking corpse, but she just needs him to know.

"I love you too, Dad."

It barely gets out in one piece, but those words hang in the air. For a split second, Patty is terrified that Dante didn't hear her, or that she was completely off base somehow. But then, the energy comes rushing in as Dante curls himself around her even more. It's as if a dam had been released, the warmth wrapping itself around her like a blanket. Dante's purring was almost too loud; she could barely hear anything else. He nuzzled the top of her head, almost as if he was terrified she'd disappear. She laughed into his chest, a battered but happy mess.

There would be time for arguments, explanations, and personal conversations later. Right now, Patty couldn't give a damn about anything, not when there were tears mixing with her own in her lap. They should be burning her, the fiery, demonic things that they were, but all she felt was warmth.

[venomousovereignty]

Mermaid drawings done with @rcsetorn / @royaldeceit ~

[endbeginning]

and if i said.... pet.er peve.nsie.....

[samble-movedd]

Hey, if you don't have your age in your bio, you really shouldn't interact with 18 and over blogs.

1) afaik i don't really interact w nsfw blogs here anyways? so who are you lol. nothing in my likes at least as of recent that i know of is what id call "18+".

2) my age is literally right there in my pinned...it's the first thing you see on my blog...

[lenievi]

MCCOY: Look, Jim. I know what it means to you to lose a crewman. KIRK: That's only one down, Doctor. 

love how apart from seeing that Kirk is angry with McCoy in this moment, you can also tell by him calling McCoy “Doctor” three times in like one minute

and then he has time to cool down (and honestly the few seconds where he kind of awkwardly walks toward McCoy and prepares himself for an apology are so funny, but also so true and real) and he stops being the captain for those few seconds and

and switches back to “Bones”

but now McCoy is like

“Yes, Captain?” because he doesn’t know what to expect

and Kirk smiles and tells him “I shouldn't have chewed you out. I'm sorry.”

and all’s well~

[hinadori-chan]

low key wanna like

set up a queue for posts i like that don’t circulate anymore so that way the recirculate but also i don’t spam but like

i don’t think i’ve ever used a queue before tbh lol

[izzymalec]

absolutely dying right now bc i just found out that in 2015 i made a johnlock gifset with lyrics from hello by adele

[raskies456]

tumblr should make a feature that gives you a pop up warning when you’re about to follow a blog you’ve previously followed and then unfollowed multiple times imo