#minor mention of blood

[luxuriadanti]

Sweet Treats

Jackie and Bim are in charge of making desserts for all the egos. Bim has a couple surprises up his sleeve about that.

Jackie picked up one of the oranges on the counter with a frown. “Oranges? Really?”

read on ao3

[bunnieswithknives]

Gore, Violence and Blood under the cut

What a mess

[citricacidprince]

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer of plucked out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Marks

(Masterlist)

girl help i can't stop making bonus content

this is set right around Part XIII, in regard to the “I should probably give you more visible marks.” comment.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, obedient whumpee, somewhat reluctant whumper, dehumanization, power imbalances, physical abuse, minor blood, brief drug mention, death mention)

==============

He got approximately ten million fucking emails calling him an arsonist, or telling him that the experiment is an accident waiting to happen, or asking why he was letting the A-bomb walk around off-leash, why he was letting the bomb walk at all. Accusations he wouldn’t dare repeat. It was all so stupid. Delta was good. Paris never worried about him fragging. But the appearance of insubordination was damning all on its own. It was not a good situation.

Unfortunately, the messages kept coming. From staff he actually respected, too. People he needed. He didn’t even know how word reached them that quickly. He sometimes forgot just how scared they were of Delta. It had never been a popular project. That night, he received many requests for him to be killed outright. Not fucking happening.

Fucking Nezu telling him what to do with his fucking psychic. He was more mad about that than he ever could have been at Delta. That was why he’d gone easy on him. It gave him serious pause whenever his wants overlapped with Nezu’s — sometimes enough to evaporate them completely. He really wasn’t in the mood.

Something had to be done though, by the time the next meeting rolled around. They had to know that Delta had been punished for it, that Paris didn’t just let him get away with everything.

Delta didn’t fight him on it — not that he’d expected him too. He kneeled in front of the desk like he’d been asked. Paris leaned back against it, hitting the pen a few more times than he needed to. 

Delta looked bad. That day had been the only time Paris had ever seen him cry — even weeks later, he hadn’t seemed to recover from it. His eyes were still so pleading, in a way they’d never been before. It was unsettling.

Paris readjusted the only ring he wore on his right hand. It was sapphire — and it was clean. There wasn’t any reason to drag it out. He tilted Delta’s face up a little, tucking the slick hair back behind the webbed fin of his ear. 

“Hold still.” He didn’t want to hit his eye by accident. The jewel was sharp.

He backhanded him hard across the face. Harder than he would have normally. It needed to bruise.

Delta’s head was forced sharply to one side. His hair fell back in his face, totally obscuring it when he looked down at the floor. He didn’t outwardly react, but his next breaths came out shallow and shaky. Yeah, that hurt. 

Paris cupped his face again, moving it back up to examine the injury. It’d landed where he wanted it to — a thin cut right along his cheekbone. He could see the spot where the bruise would form over the next couple hours. Delta winced. Paris gently smoothed over the flushed skin with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry.” Delta’s voice was quiet. It was all he would say recently. 

“I know.”

It was hard to be mad at him when he was so clearly repentant. When he was being this good about it. Paris released him. He’d planned on hitting him across the other side of his face as well, in the interest of covering all his angles. It didn’t feel worth it anymore.

“Hand.”

Delta placed his hand gingerly into Paris’s own. Paris tightened his grip around it, supporting the palm beneath so that it’d absorb the full force of it. Knuckles facing up. Paris reached back for the ruler left out on the desk.

It cracked down hard against his knuckles, fast enough that he didn’t really have time to flinch. His injured hand reflexively tightened around Paris’s in the aftermath; it was the only real physical reaction he’d had. His claws dug painfully into Paris’s hand, not yet breaking the skin.

Paris released his grip on the hand. Delta’s hand relaxed and the claws withdrew, but he didn’t pull it back like he’d expected. He just left it resting there in his grasp.

“Other one.” 

He offered it without resistance. Same routine. Paris brought the ruler back down over his other hand, watching as the first signs of bruising appeared upon them. He placed the ruler back down and released his grip on Delta’s hand. 

“Done.”

There wasn’t much else to do, really. Delta was always dressed in long sleeves and ceremonial garb. For the most part, only his face and hands were exposed on vanguard days. It was enough, though. His expression alone was enough. If he just stayed like that, he’d be fine.

Delta folded both of his hands back into his lap, bright purple and blue against the pale white of clothes. His hair fell messily in his face, but parts of his eyes were still visible. He was still looking at Paris in that desperate, shell-shocked way.

“…Easy. You’re fine.” Paris didn’t know what to say to make him normal again. “The sting will be gone in a few minutes.”

For the hands, anyway, though the numbness would remain. The mark on his face would hurt a lot longer. 

Delta nodded slowly. A small amount of blood appeared by the cut. 

Paris gestured for him to lean forward again. Delta did so, cringing a little. Paris pressed a tissue against his cheek to stop the bleeding. He sighed as it bled straight through.

“…You want a bandaid?” He offered. The bruise would still be visible beneath it. 

“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. He took the tissue from Paris, keeping the pressure there. 

Paris disappeared for a moment, loudly knocking shit over in the overfilled medicine cabinet. He came back with the split bandage. Delta held still as he applied it over the cut, smoothing it out against his cheek. It was pale white, the same color as his clothes, standing out sharply against the dark blue of his skin.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. Sweetly. It fucking killed him sometimes.

Paris felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it. He made a small, noncommittal noise as he discarded the paper into the trash. 

Delta touched the side of his face gently with the newly discolored fingers. Bruises on bruises. He put his hand abruptly back into his lap when Paris looked at him, as if he’d gotten caught. 

“We’re done.” Paris waved him off, sliding the ruler back into the drawer. The pen was starting to kick in. He was getting lightheaded. 

Delta rose slowly, giving something like a curtsy before he left. Or maybe his legs were just unsteady. Paris didn’t really care. 

The door closed quietly. Paris slid the lock shut. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain. Definitely lightheaded.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[tozettastone]

A while back I started finding extra chapter warning notes so annoying that I just stopped reading fics where the writer warned for every mention of blood or injuries or satan's left arsecheek. Like, "Minor blood mention." I'm going to scream???

I don't want to read fics written by people who think I'm essentially a toddler wandering around, smacking my skull into objects that must be wrapped in foam. I have triggers like every other mentally ill person, but it's patronising to be like "This chapter about the ninja in a war-torn setting contains mentions of blood! Be careful!"

So accordingly, I set up a different AO3 skin so I could simply obliterate all of the beginning and end notes from every fic I read (also, images). I only check them now if I'm about to ask a question in a comment.

But sometimes they put the notes in the body of the fic... and then I am unprotected despite my best efforts. I simply do not want to contend with the anxious character of a writer who has started leaving long defensive notes about how they hope you take a reading break and hydrate and don't hurt yourself about the single scene where someone mentions that they once vomited. God. Exhausting. And absolutely WILD how hard it is to avoid.

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

(cw in tags if you wish)

Five: Sirius

Athens, Greece

Sirius wasn’t reckless. He thought before he did—probably too much sometimes. He kept himself in line. Maybe it was a product of a strict upbringing. A smack on the cheek or hand at one wrong move. He used to think it was what made him so good for the agency. Salazar liked strict. They liked obedient. James, therefore, hadn’t quite made sense to Sirius as a candidate, at least not in the beginning. Not until he showed Sirius that it wasn’t just about following orders. It was about heart, too. Camaraderie. Remus had shown him that, too. Still, Sirius couldn’t always shake that rule-following kid.

But if Remus was on the rooftops getting shot at by Jack Archer, who had just been holding a gun to Logan and Finn’s heads, all bets were off.

Jack was smart though. He took Sirius right through the now bustling Christmas market. Small children strapped the the chests of fathers. Women in groups laughing and catching up over coffee. Carolers by a central fountain. Sirius caught glimpses of alarmed eyes as he ran, always keeping the back of Jack’s head just in sight. He tried not to add to the mess on the street, narrowly avoiding the cart Jack had carelessly rolled into his path. He sprinted past the pissed vendor. He knew he should hide his gun. Lights blurred beside him and the sun came out from behind a cloud, then went again. His feet pounded the pavement. The streets narrowed. Jack stumbled on the stones in front of a cafe, sending cups shattering to the cobblestones and making a shop owner run out and shout at him. For a second, Sirius thought he was going to catch up. He swiped forward at the fabric of Jack’s shirt, but Jack rolled and then was up on his feet again. Sirius lunged. He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care if they saw his gun. His arms wrapped around Jack’s waist and they both hit the cobblestones hard, rolling into another table. Sirius felt something hot splash against his neck, something sharp dig into the skin of his wrist.

Jack was up again in a moment, using a hard kick to Sirius’ ribs to knock the wind out of him. Sirius gasped, coughing as he scrambled up from the ground and away from the alarmed onlookers. He yanked the shard of ceramic out of his arm. Jack slipped around a bend in the street—but this was one Sirius recognized. He’d chased Remus—or the ghost of Remus—right into this corner.

When he held his gun up on Jack, Jack’s hands were around the bars of the very gate Sirius had run into their first day here.

“Dead end, Archer,” Sirius said. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Jack at least knew when he’d been caught. His shoulders moved quickly, breathing hard as he rested his forehead against the gate.

“Did you know?” Sirius could hardly say the words. “Did you know they were alive?”

“Sirius—”

“Get the fuck down,” Sirius said, striding closer until they were both hidden in the alleyway. He risked a glance behind him. “On your knees.”

Jack went, knocking the damp hair out of his face with a jerk of his head. Sirius could see both of their breath fogging between them. “We didn’t know. Not until Leo found Remus.”

“And you want them dead.”

Jack’s mouth formed a thin line.

Sirius didn’t have time for this. His mind kept skipping back, trying to figure out who had been shooting from the roof. RemusRemusRemus.

“Why?” Sirius asked. “Why do you want them dead? They’re our own, what changed? And I swear to God, answer me, or I’ll bring you to James.”

James was sweet. James was funny. James was relaxed and kind and easy-going.

James could also get information out of anyone. He was their top interrogator, had been since the academy. How do you do it? Sirius had once asked. Sirius had never liked seeing terrified faces up close. James had gotten a sad, faraway look on his face. I pretend they have Lily. And Harry. And then I don’t feel so guilty. I just want them to talk. I make them talk.

Jack seemed to have heard the rumors because he paled. “Listen. This is Salazar. You’re here to find them and bring them in. That’s all I’m here for, too.”

Sirius thought briefly of telling Jack about Logan’s memory, but Remus’ careful hazel eyes filled his mind. Unsure. Untrusting.

“Why pull the gun?”

Jack’s eyebrow arched. “Tremblay was holding a gun on his own husband. Who, by the way…” Jack made a scornful sound. “Should not be here.”

It was Sirius’ turn to stay silent. It was a sensible response, but that didn’t mean Sirius believed him.

“What,” Jack laughed a little. “You think we wouldn’t know?”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“Liar.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Sirius said. “Why are you here?”

“Is he turned?” Jack asked in a hushed voice, eyes dark. “Is Lupin?”

“Turned where? By who?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Liar.”

“I’m not.” Sirius swallowed over a dry throat. At least, not entirely. Pascal. Pascal, whoever he was.

“You don’t want to get on our bad side, Black,” Jack said. His hand twitched, maybe towards a knife, and Sirius stretched his gun forward. Jack’s smile was tight. “I think Tremblay’s enough proof of that.”

Sirius stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as though his words had frozen in his mouth. He snapped his lips shut, then a strained cough escaped. A twitch went through his body, almost like a pulse of electricity, and he sat back against his heels. Sirius hesitated, watching Jack blink fast at the cobblestones before raising his eyes to Sirius.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack asked, eyes darting between the two guns. He scrambled backwards, the gate rattling when it hit his back. “What the hell?”

Sirius froze. He clicked the safety off on his own gun. “Don’t bullshit me, Archer.”

Jack blinked at him, eyes unfocused. “I…”

Another twitch, a strange pulse through his body. Jack gasped. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. He swayed where he was, and his hands went to his head. “Ah—” Sirius watched his face screw up in pain. Jack stared up at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Jack—” Sirius began to say, but then Jack fell against the pavement, as suddenly as if someone had pushed him, with a harsh thud.

Sirius felt something cold squeeze around his throat. Dread, maybe. Adrenaline. Slowly, he lowered the guns, tucking one into his belt and swinging the other behind him, doing a quick scan of what little of the street he could see. He raised it up towards the roofs, then crouched in front of Jack.

His eyes were open, lips parted, blood quickly drying on his skin. He was dead.

“Jesus,” Sirius whispered. “Jesus, fuck—” His hand went for his radio, and then he paused. It was Salazar’s radio.

If anyone had told Sirius just a week ago that that would make him pause, he would have laughed.

Sirius checked Jack’s pulse—nothing—and then cursed as he heaved his body up against the wall as best he could. There was no point in trying to move him, not with the city waking up. Someone would have to find him like this. Sirius turned Jack’s collar up, closed his eyes, and took the wires off of him. He took his knives—all the ones he could feel anyway—and the second, small gun he found tucked into his boot.

He walked in the opposite direction of the cafes, towards the still mostly sleeping residential streets. There had been no blood, not that much anyway, but Sirius checked his hands and front before calling out to a man sweeping the steps in front of his house with a cigarette between his teeth.

The man didn’t put up much of a fight, just handed Sirius his cellphone before waving him off and going back to the chore.

The line picked up immediately.

“Lion den,” Sirius said into the tone. It was their secure line. If Salazar knew about it, they’d be dead, but Finn’s tracker wasn’t the first illegal backup Leo had set up. James hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t seen what they’d ever have to hide any comms, but Leo had insisted. Now, Sirius was glad. After Archer and Remus and Logan, he didn’t know who to trust. A headache was building at the back of his skull.

“We’re not at the house,” Leo said instead of hello. “After Archer, I didn’t think we should go back there.”

“He’s dead,” Sirius said.

He heard Leo’s sharp inhale. “Sirius—”

“It wasn’t me,” Sirius said. “We were running, I got him. And then he didn’t recognize me all of a sudden. A minute later, he was dead.”

Sirius’ heart was going so hard he had to press a hand there. The sweeping man didn’t even look up. The gray light hurt his eyes.

“Where are you?” Sirius asked. “Leo. Are you all together?”

“He’s dead?” Leo asked. “But—how? And what do you mean he didn’t recognize you?”

“I don’t know, I thought he was fucking with me, because maybe he knew Logan—but how would he know Logan couldn’t remember? I…” Sirius pressed at his eyes. It was as though someone was shining a spotlight right in his eyes. It ached. “I don’t know, Le. Where are you? Where are you?”

“Sirius,” Leo said. “I can’t find—I can’t find you.”

“What?”

“I can’t find you—Jesus, here, I’m dropping this number our coordinates—but Sirius, your tracker’s offline.”

Sirius felt the phone vibrate with the incoming text. He looked, memorizing quickly. It would disappear entirely in a minute, erasing itself.

“He didn’t recognize you?” Leo asked. “He didn’t…”

“Leo,” Sirius said, and then dropped to a knee. God, his very bones ached. His skull.

“Oh God,” Leo said faintly, and then, a little farther away from the phone, he shouted. “James!”

Sirius ducked away from the gray light. The cold wind. His head was killing him. “Fuck.”

“Eh!” The man stopped sweeping, looking at him. He said something fast in Greek, but Sirius was hopeless to translate just then.

“Sirius,” Leo said, voice closer now. “You’re tracker. Cut it out right now.”

“What?” Sirius asked.

“Cut out your tracker right now,” Leo shouted. “You said Jack forgot and then he was dead, there’s nothing that would cause that except—” Leo cut off with a short cry.

“Leo?” Sirius said.

He heard Finn’s voice in the background. Leo! Oh my God—

Then Leo’s. Cut it out, Finn. Right there, remember, feel it? Finn, stop fucking staring, do it, do it, it’s going to kill me and James—

“Finish?” the man asked him, alarmed. He was holding out his hand for his phone, but didn’t look like he wanted to get much closer to Sirius. “Hey, finish? Finish?”

“Help,” Sirius said. “Please—” He pulled the Greek out but he didn’t know how. Autopilot, maybe. “Sir, please may I use your bathroom? It’s life or death.”

The man began to shake his head, but Sirius didn’t have time—he shouldn’t have even asked. The man shouted as Sirius hauled himself up and stumbled past him. He shouldered through the small, wooden door and found himself in a living room—tidy and smelling of cinnamon and coffee. It connected right with the kitchen, not unlike their safe house. The dim lamp by the sofa stung his eyes, glaring as if it were a sun. Sirius blinked hard, looking for something sharp, anything.

“Hey!” The man tried to grab his shoulder, but Sirius shook him off easily. There was a knife, small, laying beside a sliced lemon. Sirius grabbed it and all but fell against the sink. A small vase on the window sill above slipped and shattered into the basin.

The man’s protests was no more than a ringing in Sirius’ ear as he groped at the back of his own neck. What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Are you sick? Hey, my wife and children will be back soon, come on, brother, don’t scare them. Put the knife down, put the knife down—

There. Sirius felt the bump. Was he imagining that it was hot to the touch? It didn’t matter.

He didn’t even feel the pain of the blade. His adrenaline was so high that it felt like nothing at all. Butter. A slip. Only the red on his hands let him know that he had succeeded. That, and the small, pill-like chip clutched between his fingers.

The pain evaporated and Sirius drew in a ragged breath.

No sooner had he dropped the tracker into the sink than did it let out a high-pitched sound and crack itself in half.

His hearing returned. He blinked his vision back to normal. He worked the pressure out of his jaw. The tracker released a thin trail of smoke.

Sirius, he tested. Sirius Black. He knew himself. He knew the coordinates.

When he turned, breathing hard and sweating, he grabbed an old, dirty looking cloth and pressed it to his neck. It didn’t look like anyone would miss it. The man was simply staring at him, eyes darting between his face and the device in the sink.

“Thank you.” Sirius breathed the words out. Greek, or at least half way there. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

Without another word, Sirius raced out the door.

+++

The coordinates were an abandoned building right on the coast. Sirius could smell the salt. The cold air was made colder by damp. He had stopped the bleeding of his neck and turned up his collar to keep the rag in place. Everything felt wet and slippery now. Recent rain on the rocks beneath his feet as he walked up an old pathway.

There was nothing inside, it was merely a somewhat reasonable roof of their heads. Shelter, nothing more. Just broken down boards and stone walls now.

To anyone else, it looked empty.

Sirius whistled two notes.

Two notes returned from his left where the sea and horizon bled into each other, framed by a still standing window. It could have been a painting. A TV.

James appeared in front of it, wild hair haloed by the light.

“Fuck,” James said, and then they were hugging. Sirius face ended up near a slightly pink bandage on James’ neck, and he sighed his relief all over again.

“Fuck me, we had a bomb in our head the whole time, Si.” James reached up and brushed the bandage with light fingers. “Just an average day on the job.” His eyes went to Sirius’ neck. “What did you do it with?”

“Fucking kitchen knife, man. You?”

James’ laugh was shaky. “One of my daggers on Leo and I. Finn did it. Think he’s a little freaked, but he did it.”

“Oh Jesus, I should have…” Sirius shook his head. He had his own and he had Jack’s. “Didn’t have to traumatize this…God, never mind. I fucking broke into someone’s house.”

James laughed again, but he looked pale. “It’ll be fine. I was so scared I didn’t even feel it.”

“Same.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Jack?”

“I left him,” Sirius said. “Took everything off him. People will think…I don’t know. But there’s nothing to lead back to Salazar or us.”

James nodded, taking that in. “Salazar’ll be looking for us now that they can’t find us.”

Sirius nodded. “I know… I know they will. We have to move.” They began walking towards the sea window. “How did you end up here? Where are the others?”

“Finn and Leo are with Logan.”

Logan. God, Sirius hadn’t forgotten, of course he hadn’t forgotten, but what a strange thing to hear. After all these months, just a simple Finn and Leo are with Logan.

No sooner had James said it than did the Leo appear. He had an identical bandage to James and held one out to Sirius, along with an alcohol packet.

“Clean that,” Leo said.

Sirius tossed the bloody rag away. “Did yours smoke, too?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “The second I started to get a headache—Finn said that’s what happened to Logan, too. Said he fell down in pain. But…” Leo frowned in the way he did when he was thinking something over, when something was so entirely perplexing to him that he was sure to pull an all nighter. Sirius had seen him many times after those. Blond hair a mess, coffee mugs lined up besides the water and the electrolyte packets.

“Where…” Sirius began to say. He’d only gotten a glimpse of Logan and it was beginning to feel more like a dream. His slack face. There had been blood? Hadn’t there?

Leo moved aside, revealing a half-collapsed hallway. No, it was more like an nave. Sirius looked up and realized that the remnant of a vaulted ceiling remained, stone and precarious. This had been a church.

Wind whistled through, a high note off the sea, when Sirius saw them. Finn and Logan were at the other end, a corner mostly intact and protected from the cold. Finn was awake, staring down at Logan’s face like he couldn’t stand to look away, not even for a moment. Logan was—asleep?

“Knocked out.” Leo filled in his thoughts. “Finn said he remembered him in the alley, but he’s been out ever since.”

“And his tracker?”

“It’s gone,” Leo said. “I checked.”

“But if Salazar wanted him dead…”

Leo nodded, already there. “Then whoever took it out probably saved his life."

“But he can’t remember us,” Sirius said.

Leo rubbed a hand through his hair, then pressed his fingers to his mouth, thinking. There was blood beneath his nails still, a crust of red even smeared along his jaw. Sirius had the sudden urge to wipe it away for him.

“You said Jack forgot who you were a second before he was killed,” Leo said. “I’m guessing—and this is only a guess—that this is some sort of…kill code put into place in Salazar’s tracker hardware. A memory wipe in case we get captured, and then a kill switch if there’s no hope or if we might crack and tell all.”

“Jesus,” James whispered.

“I’m guessing whoever took out Logan’s didn’t do it in time to prevent the memory wipe. And that’s calling it real close, I don’t know…”

Remus. Sirius could hardly breathe. If he hadn’t seen that footage for himself, he’d be on his knees all over again, desperate and afraid.

“Can you reverse it?” James asked. He was chewing on a thumbnail, looking down the hall. “God, please say you can Leo.”

Leo let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” He looked down the stone archways towards Finn. As the three of them watched, Finn reached out a hand and brushed Logan’s hair back from his eyes gently. “I don’t know.”

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Sweet Serenade: Vergil x G/N Reader

MINORS DNI GO AWAY >:[ SERIOUSLY-- *grabs a broom and sweeps at you* SHOO

SUMMARY: Ever since you met the blue devil you’d loved to listen to him; be it a small noise or a loud shout, you always listened. Tonight, you found yourself home alone with him and begin to hear a different noise; one that you realize you aren’t supposed to be hearing.

BEGINNING NOTES: ♭ Top/Dom Vergil x (implied) Bottom/Sub G/N Reader ♮Unestablished relationship. ♯Everyone else can tell you are into each other. The two of you have gone “out” before; even though that’s not what either of you called it, it is what both of you wanted. ♮You live at the DMC with Dante and Vergil. ♭Smut--Vergil masturbation voyeuristic reader ♮Vergil enjoys the idea of the reader consensually submitting to him (I don’t want it to come across wrong) (The song is a link to a YouTube video of it if you want to listen)

==

     The Devil May Cry was alive and bustling as per usual these days. There was never a dull moment not since the twins’ reunion and return from Hell. Although the happier and more welcoming atmosphere was a nice change of pace, you couldn’t help but miss the peaceful quiet times. Tonight was one of those nights. 

     The last contract was large enough that the whole shop got involved which resulted in an enormous payout. So, the crew decided to go out drinking to celebrate--Most of the crew anyway.

      Nero was hesitant to join, not being one for social outings--like father, like son. However, Nico wasn’t taking no for an answer and was currently shoving Nero--quite literally--out the back door. Lady and Trish had already moved to the garage and were chatting. Then, of course, there were the Sparda twins; Vergil and Dante. The younger sibling had been nagging his brother for over ten minutes.

     “Come on,” Dante playfully poked at Vergil’s shoulder for the umpteenth time tonight, staring at him like a kicked puppy dog, “Pleaseeee--”

     “Dante.” Vergil sighed as he stood up, shutting his book with a loud thump, “For the last time, I am not going to your stupid bar and that’s final.”

     The younger twin pouted slightly and let out an exaggerated exhale, “You’re so boring in your old age, Verge; you gotta learn to live a little,” Dante turned his attention to you and flashed a wide toothy grin, “You’re coming with right?”

     You pursed your lips and shook your head ‘No’.

     The red devil dramatically groaned and slumped forwards.

     You gently patted his back, “Sorry, I'm just too beat to join in.”

     Dante looked up at you and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

     A warm smile tugged at your lips as you ruffled the red devil’s hair, “Maybe next time.”

     “Promise..?” 

     “If that’s what you want, sure.”

     He stood back up fully, a small smile tugging at his lips, “You’d best believe I’m gonna hold you to that, babe~!” He winked at you as he grabbed his coat from the back of the desk chair, sliding it on, “Just don’t go breaking the old man, alright? Kinda need him in the morning for a contract.”

     “Huh-!?” Your eyes widened as you realized what he meant.

     Vergil rolled his eyes and moved to stand beside you, just a few centimeters away from your side, “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear, Dante?” He folded his arms and leaned back a bit.

     “And if it is?” Dante raised a brow at his sibling.

     “Tch,” Vergil’s gaze thinned, “As if they would have such low standards.”

     “Careful there Verge might insult yourself since we are twins.”

     “Perhaps, but we--”

     The sound of Nero shouting and a loud thud caught everyone’s attention--it seems Nero finally gave in, or rather gave out, and fell face-first into the concrete of the garage. Nico stared down at the young man from the doorway before turning to the three of you, a semi-irritated tone to her voice, “We’re gonna leave your old asses if y’all don’t get a move on!”

     Dante sighed and walked towards the door, “Sorry, only one ‘old ass’ is leaving tonight.”

     Nico said something unintelligible as Dante shut the door, leaving Vergil and you alone. 

     The blue devil sighed quietly before addressing you, “I am going to retire for the night,” he moved toward the stairs. Once at the bottom of the stairs, he paused for a moment with parted lips, as if he were going to say something; however, he said nothing, shut his mouth, and ascended the stairs, disappearing into his room. 

     You sighed through your nose. Part of you had hoped Vergil might want to spend some time together, but that was wishful thinking. He’s not the “hanging out” type, even if the two of you spend most of your waking hours together. Deciding to do the same as the blue devil, you turned off the shop’s lights and headed to your room. 

     The floorboards creaked as you entered your cozy abode and flipped on the lights. With a slight bounce, you flopped onto your bed with a loud sigh. Your room was the smallest of the three make-shift bedrooms of the Devil May Cry and shared a wall with a certain blue devil’s room. Through the thin walls, you could hear the faint sound of Schubert’s music from Vergil’s record player. Admittedly, you didn’t care much for classical music but that slowly changed when the eldest twin moved in. His music selection was so different than Dante’s; it was calmer, relaxing, and gentle, all of which were something you found reflected the man’s inner-self--even if Vergil doesn’t seem the temperate type. Tonight’s selection was no different. Currently, the record was playing one of your favorites “Serenade”. 

     A small smile tugged at your lips as you listened to the violins' crescendos and decrescendos; how each phrase changed and grew. You allowed yourself to relax into your bedding as you slowly began to drift off. However, just as you closed your eyes, a small stifled grunt came from the other side of the wall and piqued your curiosity. Then, a growl followed by a visceral groan emanated from the other room. Although you knew it was intruding--and downright voyeuristic--you couldn’t help but get up and set your ear against the shared bedroom wall, listening intently.

==

     Vergil had planned on reading and going to bed when he headed upstairs. Wishing to enjoy the few fleeting moments of peace within the walls of the shop. However, Vergil couldn’t get the teasing remark from Dante out of his head--the idea of Vergil making love with you. 

     As he read the same page over and over, Vergil found his thoughts devolving into more and more sinful ideas. He wondered what sounds you'd make when he ate at your body; what lascivious mewls and whimpers would you make? Would you enjoy it? How would you react to him holding you impossibly close as your bodies are neatly and sensually interwoven, connected together in an act of heated passion and lust? The endless amount of devilish sexual amusement he’d get from spearing your innards and watching you come undone under him. Your loud pleading cries from his overstimulating touch as Vergil plays with you long into the night and morning, not wanting to pass up this rare moment of privacy. 

     Admittedly he wasn't sure if you were into him as much as he is to you; however, that didn't stop the growing heat from spreading throughout his body. With an irritated huff, Vergil shut his book and grumbled to himself. He wasn’t typically one for masturbation and had mostly only partaken of such sinful delights in his youth. 

     Perhaps just one time wouldn’t be too bad, right?

     The blue devil carefully set his book down, still debating if he really was going to do this. However, an overwhelming throbbing in his pants answered the question for him. He bit his lip as he closed his eyes, allowing his mind to indulge such degenerative thoughts; thoughts of what he wanted to do to you. 

     He palmed his hard-on through his jeans, imagining it was your hand instead. The slow sound of his belt being unbuckled, the snap of the button of his fly, the smooth sound of the zipper coming undone; all of this he imagined was your doing. Despite his distaste for such joys of the flesh, he did keep a bottle of lube in his bedside drawer just in case he’d ever need it--and tonight was one of those times. 

     Setting the bottle on the tabletop, he closed his eyes and ghosted his fingertips against his aching tent. A shiver ran up his spine as he released his cock from its fabric confines. He opened his eyes for a split second to grab the bottle of lube and put some in his palm before quickly closing his eyes again; not wanting to break his fantasy. 

     It started slow, almost painfully slow, as he bit his lip. He was fantasizing about the wet feeling from the lube being instead caused by your cute little mouth being wrapped around his cock. A small groan left his lips as he continued to fall further and further into this fictitious scenario. What he wouldn’t give just to fuck your mouth at least once. As he continued, his lack of practice became more and more evident as his hand moved in uneven and unsteady strokes. A sudden intense hot feeling spread throughout his body causing him to grow uncomfortable. He knew exactly what it was; he was losing himself, being much too engrossed in his pathetic devilish desires, practically egging on an accidental Trigger. 

     Quickly, he opened his eyes and shot up from the mattress, tossing his vest off to the side. Using one hand to hold himself up from the mattress, he continued to pleasure himself. His brow twitched as he closed his eyes again. In his mind, he toyed with the idea of you being pinned underneath him; completely submissive and powerless. A small growl came from his throat as he began to lose focus on staying quiet. The sight of you breathless and staring back at him with half-lidded eyes made his cock ache and his mind reeling. 

     Again he began to feel the hot feeling consuming his limbs, he needed to let his skin breathe--he needed to undress more. As he fumbled with the shirt buttons, he leaned upwards. Almost instantly getting frustrated with the small plastic clasps, he ripped his shirt from his body--shredding it--and tossed it off in a random direction. Vergil leaned back over the bedding, his hand that was supporting his weight had balled up the sheets; tearing it with his nails. The blue devil bit his lip again as his pace became even faster, however, this did little to deter the loud carnal snarling that he was making.

     Vergil leaned further forwards, placing his forehead on the, now disheveled bedding. In his mind he was laying his head against yours, enjoying the feeling of your hot skin against his. The feeling of your hands within his hair and your legs wrapped around his middle, pulling him closer and further into your hole. A thin layer of sweat adorned his body and his hair had fallen forwards. A mixture of spit and a small amount of blood was dripping from his lips and onto the bed. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and filled with a disgusting amount of lust; a side of himself that Vergil, not only tries to hide from the outside world but, despises. However, he couldn’t be bothered to think about how unrefined and how feral he probably sounded and looked, the only thoughts to be had were ones about you.

     As he approached his orgasm he began to whimper your name quietly to himself, wishing he had the courage to ask you out and to ask for you to give yourself to him--every bit of yourself to him. He began to rock forwards, bucking his hips into his hand. A greedy possessive feeling filled his heart, he wants to hide you away from the world, to keep you all to himself. A snarl left his lips at the thought of anyone else being able to have you, to take you from him. Vergil didn’t care how insane he sounds or how dangerous that kind of mindset is; he’s had everything taken from him his entire life and he will not allow anyone to take you from him. With each passing moment, he got louder and called your name more and more frantically. 

     When Vergil hit his peak, he leaned upwards and threw his head back. A loud thunderous growl and an almost whimpering moan came from him as his body twitched in ecstasy. Lots of smooth white ropes decorated his bedding as he opened his eyes to stare at the dark room’s ceiling above him, he felt several tears running down his face. Using the thumb of the hand still wrapped around his cock, he played with his tip, sending a jolt through his body; despite finding release, he was still just as worked up as before--perhaps even worse than before. 

     That’s when a set of knocks at his door made him freeze. 

     Was Dante back already? Or what if you had--

     “Vergil?” It was you.

     He panicked; despite not being clean, shoved his cock back into his boxers and jeans. Unable to find his shirt from earlier, he grabbed a random t-shirt from his dresser and slid it on so fast he failed to notice that it was backwards. Using the sweat from his brow, he slicked back his hair in hopes it would stay long enough for him to answer the door. 

     When he opened the door his words were discombobulated as he stumbled through his thoughts, “What?” 

     You said nothing but instead shyly looked away from him, your shoulders tensed up and you pursed your lips. That’s when Vergil noticed.

     The strong unmistakable scent of arousal that was coming from you. You were just as, if not more, horny. Admittedly, he wanted nothing more than to pin you to the ground and take you right then and there; but he found himself hesitant. 

     With a very shy voice, you mumbled to him, “You alright? The record has been skipping for a while now and…” Your voice trailed off, unable to look him in the eye. 

     As he spoke a dark husky sultry tone came from him, a voice you’d never heard him use before, “Oh? Has it now?”

     You nodded, “Yeah, I can hear it from my room…”

     He smirked and turned you to face him, “It is quite invasive to be listening to others, Love.” His eyes met yours, “Especially if you were enjoying yourself to it.”

     Your eyes went wide.

     Vergil chuckled lowly, “I can tell from your heart that you either just ran a mile or were having a good time,” he leaned in closer, “and I can smell it on your hands, Voyeur.”

     A set of sputtering unintelligible noises came from you, your face becoming flushed and Vergil enjoying the sight. 

     He stood back up and turned to face inside the room, “Now, why don’t you come in for a moment? I’ll remove the record after all,” He looked over his shoulder, “I’d much rather listen to your serenade instead.”

==

ENDING NOTES: ♯This has been sitting in my WIPs half-finished for a while so I wanted to finish it up; sorry if the ending is a bit weird, wasn't sure how to end it lmao ♮Fun fact: the beginning part (right up until overhearing Vergil) was the original start to “As You Wish (Part 1)” lol ♭“That Unwanted Animal” By The Amazing Devil really was a good inspiration for this fic. I’d highly recommend giving their music a listen “The Horror and The Wild” is a REALLY good album lol

==

If you like this please consider checking this on my AO3. There are extra chapters and my H/Cs over there, so please consider checking them out! Comments, Likes/Kudos, and shares are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!! :)))

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[karleksmumskladdkaka]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD Prize B-2 Drama CD (Mukami Ver.)

Original Title: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD B-2賞 ドラマCD(無神Ver.)

Translation: Here! Huge thanks to @otomehonyaku for her hard work ♡ヽ(*´∀｀*)ﾉ

Audio: Here (CD owned by me). Please do not reupload anywhere.

Starring: Ruki Mukami (CV: Takahiro Sakurai), Kou Mukami (CV: Ryōhei Kimura), Yuma Mukami (CV: Tatsuhisa Suzuki), Azusa Mukami (CV: Daisuke Kishio)

Plot: It's Halloween, and Kou wants to have a party! Since costumes are a must for a proper Halloween celebration, he has brought a few home from work, insisting that his brothers wear them for the occasion. While Azusa is happy to go along with Kou's idea, Ruki, and especially Yuma, are less enthusiastic but relent in the face of their brother's stubbornness—something the latter quickly comes to regret.

My Thoughts: As someone who loves both Halloween and the dynamic between the Mukamis, I (unlike Yuma and Yui) enjoyed this one a lot! The CD does a great job showcasing the chaotic and unhinged energy of the younger brothers, while Ruki briefly displays a surprisingly brutal side to his usual snarky remarks. I'll admit that it did make me laugh, which I feel slightly bad for. Poor Yuma, man.

I'm sure that some of you have seen the official art of the brothers in Halloween costumes, but I for one never knew that it was connected to a Drama CD! Much less this particular one, since the costumes the boys are wearing on the disc initially led me to believe that the story would be Alice in Wonderland-related. Like an AU, or a play, or a fever dream of Yui's. But no. The costumes on the art of the disc have no relevance at all to what happens in the story. Ruki is really cute with the rabbit ears and tail though, so I'm not complaining lol.

On a final note, I decided to add the aforementioned Halloween art below the cut, since I figured it'd be a nice inclusion to the post ^^

I hope you all enjoy ( ＾ω＾ )♡

[wretchedamaranth]

kpanniversary2024 prompt 2: misfit

(cw: blood, mentions of torture)

Macau’s face drowns in a bloodied mirror. The expanding pool of red steeps his feet. A viscous membrane webs between his toes and squelches in mucous clots.   Vegas is draining a row of men dry, his shoulders hunched in uncharacteristic discomfort. There’s screaming, groaning, the symphony of pain, but it’s muted in the darkness of the basement. Macau’s eyes are fixed on the bodies. He has no choice. His father holds his chin straight and firm. Don’t look away, he’d said. Or I’ll make you look. The stench is unbearable. Dried blood gone stale. Like a musted den where dying creatures stumble inside to rest and rot. Macau tries to suppress his retch. No good. The heel of his father’s palm hovers over his throat. He can sense the convulsion. Gun withdraws his hand and makes an aborted gesture to his handkerchief, as if to wipe clean the imaginary bile. Macau chances an upward glance. Expecting disappointment. He knows the look, from the reflection of Vegas’s shame. Yet the indifference in his father’s eyes stings worse than a slap. The lesson wasn’t for him. It was for Vegas. His father only cared that his spare wasn’t up to the task as a way of punishing his heir. Macau is a collar on Vegas’s neck. And, in turn, his brother has made Macau useless to their family. An outcast. Unfit for duty. Guilt constricts his ribcage—he wants to believe he’s wrong. He doesn’t know if he can.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

between unsteady fingers and stuttering heart

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 959 | Read on AO3

You are peeling potatoes in the kitchen while Mark runs through plans for the next heist, and you mentally make a note of everything you'll need to pack as he does so.

The date of the job is set for next week and in all honesty, was a rather abrupt decision, but sometimes you just have to take the windows of opportunity when they arise. Money has been tight as of late; this is essentially your equivalent of a quick cash-grab.

This particular heist required minimal planning and effort, but the location is some ways away, so the pair of you would be staying somewhere to lay low overnight once you get away with the goods, before making your way back home the following day.

‘— so we'll have a couple possible exits to work with, but we should be able to make a clean getaway no problem.’

‘That's good.’

‘Oh, and I managed to book a room for the night but since the whole thing was kind of last minute, they were pretty limited on what they could offer us, especially with our current budget. Bed's pretty big though. We can share.’

Your eyes widen at that, mind briefly unfocused just long enough for the blade to slip too far.

‘Ah–! Shit—’

Mark's head shoots up at your pained exclaim, rushing to the counter where you are standing as soon as he catches a glimpse of the blood trailing down your hand.

‘Oh shit, how'd you manage that?’ he asks, voice littered with concern.

He grabs and hands you some tissues to soak up the blood, and you cradle them around the cut on your thumb.

Moving to the sink, you run it under the water.

‘It's not too deep but the bleeding isn't stopping…’ you say, turning off the tap.

‘You're gonna need to wait a couple minutes for it to clot. Here, let me see.’

He holds out his hand and you instinctively give him your injured one to inspect the damage. It's minimal, really. More of an inconvenience than anything.

Mark hums with a concerned frown. ‘Better take care of it.’

He reaches out to flip open the door to one of the kitchen cabinets, rifling through various shelves.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking for the first-aid, duh.’

‘Mark. I don't need first aid, it's not a big deal.’

‘At least put a Band-Aid on it.’

You sigh. ‘Fine.’

He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a plaster and once again holds out a hand expectantly.

‘I can do it myself,’ you say blankly.

‘Well clearly not,’ he retorts. ‘You can't even handle a knife without hurting yourself right now, apparently.’

‘Oh, please, I was just… distracted.’

‘Oh yeah? What was so distracting?’

You sigh in frustration, not having a response (or at least no truth you care to give) and give him your hand defeatedly.

He guides you to sit down opposite him, resting your arm on the table, and you keep your hand steady as he wipes the surface of the cut.

‘You're being extra.’

‘I'm being safe, do you want it to get infected?’

It stings a little, making you wince slightly, and he mutters a small ‘sorry’.

You can't help but take note of how gentle and calm he is as he handles you. Mindful and delicate. Your eyes drift from your connected hands up to his concentrated gaze, where they stay for a moment, watching the slow movement of his dark eyes.

You know for sure he would try to play down his own, actually serious injuries; it's happened before — and in the midst of your worry you didn't hesitate to give him a mouthful for his recklessness.

This is such a simple task in comparison, and yet the care with which he patches up the small, insignificant cut makes your stomach flip.

He finishes wrapping the plaster around your thumb, smoothing down the end.

‘All done! That wasn't so hard, was it?’

You mumble your thanks, looking down at your hand still in his.

‘Y'know, for someone so good with knots, grappling guns and all that jazz, it amazes me how clumsy you can be sometimes.’

‘...I told you, I just wasn't paying attention for a second,’ you say with a huff.

‘Mhm. You can't even use my distractingly handsome face as an excuse, you were facing the other way!’

You roll your eyes indignantly and he chuckles, tracing the smallest circle into your palm.

With a small quirk of a smile, he suddenly brings your hand up in front of him so his lips just barely brush your thumb over the plaster.

‘Need me to kiss it better?’ he teases, gaze flicking upwards to meet your own.

Your breath catches. There are a solid few seconds of you staring: eyes, lips, hands, before you quickly pull your hand away to your chest, flustered.

‘I– I'm good,’ you utter, vision averted to anywhere other than his smirking face.

‘Alright then. Do you need me to take over, or…?’ he asks, gesturing to the half-peeled potato on the counter.

‘Oh! Thanks, but I've got it now, don't worry,’ you reassure, with a small, appreciative pat on his arm as you get up to make your way over to the counter.

Your skin still tingles ever so slightly with the warmth from his palms. You spare a moment to wonder whether he realises the effect he has on you, before quickly shaking those thoughts from your head.

Mark goes back to his plans, marking out paths and points on his diagram and listing off escape routes, when it occurs to you what had sidetracked your attention in the first place.

Oh no.

It is going to be a long couple of days.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ever in our favour... Masterlist

PEETA MELLARK X GN!READER

You wake up with a migraine, surrounded by forests and kids that are more than willing to kill you. What have you fallen into the middle of? And why can't you remember getting here?

Arena fanfiction, cannon-typical violence, descriptions of blood injuries and death, descriptions of a panic attack, temporary memory loss, mentions of familial abuse, depictions of mutated creatures, established relationship, romance, kissing, fluff and angst, minor character deaths, action/adventure

Table of Contents:

Archive of Our Own

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT (FINALE)

[ninjigma]

For 'Of Honor and Force', a Royalty AU Track: 'Second Child, Restless Child' - The Oh Hellos (Spotify / YouTube)

"And here I was, thinking that fighting tooth and nail to survive would finally give me an edge against you."

"Dull your edges, more like."

Quinlan made an exaggerated offended noise, hand grasping at his chest. Fox showed as much sympathy as usual though, and Quinlan didn't have more then a second to be dramatic before he was rapidly blocking quick movements.

Sharp and swift the two danced, feet sliding silently over grass and the sharp noises of metal echoing on the long forgotten ruins. The day was joyous, and Quinlan was thankful for it. He had missed his friend, and between being thrown off a mountain as a form of training and traveling an extra two weeks to get foreign noodles, he had been gone so much longer then he ever cared to be. And he hoped the rare foods would make up for the fact that he knew this time would be even longer still. The inevitable that he would leave, that Quinlan always left.

And he wished the burning in his chest was simply his lungs trying to keep up with the fight.

"And it seems my absence has made your aim a bit…" Quinlan lunged, using his height to Force Fox back rapidly so as not to fall. "Wild."

Fox sneered, and twisted rapidly, the sun bouncing off the sheen of his bare shoulders. "You think way too much of yourself."

"I think of you a lot too." Quinlan had dodged to the side and bowed slightly, hands splayed outward and relaxed even as Fox raised his rapier between them. "My dear prince-"

Fox's angry scoff was lost to the new flurry of movements. Quinlan had pushed enough buttons that their little fight had devolved into something that took a lot more attention, something that left them both beginning to breath heavier, tips of their weapons to scrape and scratch across their exposed torso's. Hair loose and forms tight, wrists twisting and bodies swaying. The grass bent beneath them as neither gave up ground, as they moved together like the currents that carried the storms.

Until Quinlan saw red.

The drip of it as it bubbled up, bright and angry. They had been twisting past each other, and Fox had ducked when Quinlan feigned an upward cut only to then fall low as well. His rapier had pierced the skin, a slash marring across the left side of Fox's chest. A long cut. Red.

In his shock he had hesitated, had hyper focused on that slowed moment his rapier flicked away, scarlet on the tip. He had his eyes on nothing but the wound he had given Fox, the hurt he had inflicted.

And Fox stood back to stance with ne'er a blink, lunged without any time lost, fast to slice Quinlan's sword out of his hand and plant one strong foot to the sternum of his off balanced opponent, flattening him into the ground beneath him.

"What the kriff was that?"

Finally, the knock of the ground chasing his breath away, Quinlan's eyes focused back on Fox's face. On how he was breathing hard, but wore only a look of confusion and annoyance rather then victory. "What?"

Fox huffed, rapier coming to hover just over the right side of Quinlan. "You hesitated. Why did you hesitate? You haven't been going easy on me have you? I swear Vos if you-"

"No no I-," Quinlan's eyes trailed down again. "You're bleeding."

Finally Fox seemed to take notice of the cut. With the iconic raise of one eyebrow his family was know for he flickered his attention to the wound, seemingly expecting it to be a trap perhaps, a distraction. But instead of the pain or anger Quinlan thought would come, the upset at being injured or the panic at the sight, Fox actually laughed. Outright chuffed and even smiled, looking back down to a startled Quinlan.

"Do you stop every time you give an enemy an ouchie?"

"Fox-"

"It is barely even bleeding, for kark's sake. Might scar a bit but-"

"Fox stop. I-"

"No, Quinlan." The rapier's tip lowered against Quinlan's skin, Fox managing to raise his chin even as he stared down hard. "You shut your mouth for once and know that, actually, I am not your dear prince. I am not some fragile thing. I brought the rapiers for a reason, and I am more then aware of the risks, we have been through this plenty of times. I wanted the fight, and it has been so much more fun then putting up with Cody's pointers and Bly's warnings."

Eyes now boring into Quinlan, Fox tilted his head down ever so slightly. "I trust you, even if you are such a fool that I am surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed yet. Got it?"

Quinlan blinked a moment, the silence derived from Fox's tone had been clear and left him in a moment of hesitation before speaking. "Yes sir."

Then that slick smile was back, and Fox was tilting his head like the most clever being in the world. "Besides, that was a pretty good attempt."

Quinlan raised his own brow, but otherwise didn't attempt to move, watching the light through the canopy dance on Fox's face. "Oh? A compliment?"

Fox shook his head, tight lips still smiling. "Pity actually. That is the closest you are ever going to get, shadow boy, and you blew it. Now get back up so I can kick your ass properly this time"

Finally, Quinlan's own smile broke across his face, a new confidence in his friend. The friend who complained about him, sneered at his courting, huffed at his stories. The same friend who came to the ruins every week to look for him despite the months he would never be there, the same friend who would sit with him late enough in the night that his family would be angry with him when he arrived back home, the same friend that he had just cut across the heart of only to receive a smile and an insult.

The same friend that now stepped back and swung the rapier away with such a poise that Quinlan had to simply gaze up a moment in awe from where Fox had laid him so thoroughly flat. That as the prince offered his hand and that sideways smirk, Quinlan once again couldn't believe how lucky he was for any of this. That taking Fox's hand and accepting the help up made his stomach flip in a very different way before once again taking up his rapier and facing Fox squarely.

Beneath the sun and bird song, a canopy of life and story, the prince of the shadows faced the fourth son of Fett and reaffirmed that, no matter what he came against, he would fight to his last breath for just this.

Because Quinlan always came back.

It was just supposed to be a lighting test but uhhhhhh... well, you can see for yourself XD

Enjoy!

View early previews and WIPS of this piece and more on my Patreon!

[mugloversonly]

Best Friend's Brother Eddie x Reader

Study Session

Turned out that avoiding your best friend’s hot brother was impossible. Every time you were at the Munson trailer, he was there. Either playing his guitar or working on his D&D campaign. On one occasion he was fixing up Wayne’s truck. You tried not to stare, but his biceps flexed as he jimmied something and you knew he’d be able to toss you around. You weren’t the smallest person so that was saying something. Even though you tried not to, you often daydreamed that he thought you were cute too.

You found out that he did on a normal Tuesday afternoon. You and Tessa were studying for your history final, and his band was practicing at Gareth’s. “I need some water. Want anything?” You asked Tessa. She shook her head in reply, she was focused. You made your way to the kitchen of the trailer and heard the radio playing one of your favorite songs. You just couldn’t help yourself and you started bopping to the music. As you stood at the sink filling up a water glass, you shook your hips to the beat. You were so lost to it, you didn’t hear the trailer door open or boots stomping towards you.

It wasn’t until you turned back towards Tessa’s room that you realized you weren’t alone. Eddie was leaning against the door frame with a soft smile on his face. He didn’t try to scare you, but unfortunately for both of you, you startled easy. You jumped a foot in the air, dropped the glass and it shattered into a million pieces; one of those pieces nicked your calf. He straightened up, holding his hands up in surrender. “Jesus Eddie!” You exclaimed with your hand over your chest. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.” Tessa called from the other room to make sure everything was okay. As you told her it was fine, Eddie was helping you, you watched as Eddie stepped into the kitchen.

“Don’t move, cherry.” He said as he inched closer. Cherry was the nickname he gave you because you always had part of your hair dyed cherry red.

The closer he got, the more you wanted to lean away but the glass was all around. Grabbing you by the waist, he hoisted you up on the counter effortlessly as if you were cotton candy. You could feel your cheeks heating so you busied yourself with observing him.

He grabbed the broom and began sweeping the glass as he spoke. “Sorry to scare you cherry. I got home from practice and saw you shaking that cute ass of yours and got distracted.” He smiled at you and bent to finish up the glass. He’s never said something like that to you before and you’re flustered.

“It’s okay. Thank you for cleaning up the glass.” You replied blush deepening. He put the broom away and stepped into your space again.

“No problem. Now, let’s take care of that cut shall we?” He asked and wrapped his long fingers around your ankle. In the shock of it all, you didn’t even notice the blood. “Don’t move.” He said again before he dipped to the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit. You sat in companionable silence as he inspected the wound.

“Is it bad?” You whispered. He met your eyes and you were sure he could see the slight fear in yours, just as you could see the concern in his.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back. Brushing the back of his hand along your cheek he continued. “It’s not too deep. There is some glass in it though, sweets.” Sweets. That was a new one. You glanced away as you found you rather liked it. “I can take you to the ER, or…” he trailed off. He pulled his lighter out of his pocket and picked up the tweezers. Your stomach tightened at what he was implying but you nodded anyway. He took your hand in his and placed it on his shoulder. “Squeeze my shoulder if it hurts, okay?” You took a deep breath and nodded.

He carefully struck the lighter and ran the tweezers through the flame to sterilize them. He was slow and careful making sure to get every inch that would be in your leg. It’s like he knew you were scared so he was taking time for you to prepare. Finally, he couldn’t stall anymore and began removing the glass.

You shut your eyes tightly and listened to the plink plink plink of the glass falling into the sink until the quiet got to be too much. “So, my ass was distracting was it?” You asked to lighten the mood. He chuckled.

“Cherry-berry, you’re distracting full stop.” He winked as he began disinfecting the cut.

“Oh, sorry.” You replied. You never knew what to do and say when someone flirted with you. The disinfectant burned and he winced when you squeezed his shoulder hard. “Sorry.” You apologized again. You went to move your hand, but he placed it right back.

“Don’t. I can handle when you squeeze me.” His voice dropped low. “In fact, if you weren’t my sister’s best friend, you would have squeezed a lot more than my shoulder by now.” You gasped and locked your eyes with his. The deep brown pooled and darkened as he gazed hungrily at you.

“If you weren’t my best friend’s brother, I bet I would.” You got the pleasure of seeing his pupils dilate further and a shudder pass through him. You’ve never flirted much but you can guess it went over well. You both leaned forward, his eyes dart to your mouth, and you licked your lips as a reflex. He bit his lip softly as he closed his eyes. Yours fluttered shut right as your lips pressed together. His lips were pillow soft. He pulled back and when you opened your eyes he was already looking. You opened your mouth to ask what just happened, but before you could you hear Tessa.

“Eddie? Is Cherry still in there?” She called. He stepped back from you and quickly helped you down.

“Yeah, they’re in here. I’m sending them back in now!” He called. He got you a plastic cup this time and filled it up before handing it to you. “Here you are, sweets. Next time, I’ll try not to scare you.” You thank him for the water with a quick peck on the cheek before scampering down the hall to Tessa’s room.

The two of you settle back in to study when she noticed the dinosaur bandaid on your leg. “Hmm.” She muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just Eddie only gives his dinosaur bandaids to people who are special to him. He has regular bandaids for anyone else.” You stare at the pictured triceratops in quiet wonder. You were special to him?

taglist:

@littlexdeaths

@wiltinglovers

@v3lv3tf0x

@ali-r3n

@xoxobabe

[shilo-sumac]

Thun thact! ith you hath a ton oth thour camby the thirtht layer oth thkin on your tongue will thtart to erobe amb your tongue amb lipth may bleeb

Translation: fun fact! If you have a ton of sour candy the first layer of skin on your tongue will start to erode and your tongue and lips may bleed

[steddieas-shegoes]

oh i love these ok um

“don’t lie, tell me where it hurts”

(this could be physical or emotional and also could be playful, im letting you do with it what you will)

“Jesus!”

Steve rushed over to Eddie, who was removing nails from the boards on the stairs to replace them.

“What happened?”

Eddie was cradling his hand against his chest, but quickly tried to hide it when Steve got closer.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and gave him the same look he gave the kids when they were lying.

“Don’t lie, tell me where it hurts.”

“It’s fine, really. Just the nail kinda broke skin.”

Steve looked more panicked than before, his hands coming up to pull Eddie’s hand away from his chest.

“Eds, these nails are old. If it broke skin, it could get infected or something.”

Eddie thought of that briefly before he started working on the porch without gloves, but figured if he could survive bats, he could probably survive some rusty nails.

“This is a lot of blood for ‘just’ breaking the skin.”

Sure enough, Eddie looked down to see a much larger cut than he expected and blood covering most of his palm.

“I guess it was worse than I thought?”

“Okay, let’s go inside and clean it up. Dustin, Lucas!” Steve yelled over to where they were busy washing Steve’s car. “Be back in a few. Stay off the porch steps!”

“Bet you didn’t think you’d be using that EMT training so quickly,” Eddie said as Steve guided him inside.

“I’d prefer to not have to use it on people I love,” Steve said as he sat Eddie down on the toilet lid in the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kid from under the sink.

“Ooooo Stevie, you said you love me!”

“I say it all the time, baby, what are you talking about?”

“But it’s the first time you’ve said in our new house.”

Huh. Eddie was right.

They hadn’t moved in yet, but had permission to start working on it as soon as they signed the bank’s loan. They’d spent just about any time they weren’t working here, fixing up what needed to be so it was ready to live in.

Steve kneeled in front of Eddie, grabbing his hand to take a better look at it.

“Well, let’s change that.” Steve kissed his wrist. “I love you.”

Eddie smiled down at him.

“I love you too. You happy?”

Steve didn’t even have to think about it.

“Always happy with you.”

“You excited?”

“To do this with you? Yeah. Can’t wait to start our future here.”

“Me either, sweetheart.”

The next week, when they moved into their home officially, Eddie stopped to stare at the brand new porch steps.

He thought about how every beginning for him and Steve started with blood.

Every time it had been worth it.

[mx-werebat]

Seeing a lot of personality posts so I'm gonna hop my ass on here talk about my npd a little

As much as I genuinely like being nice sometimes I also do it for other reasons like

Attention

Ego boosting

Narc supply

Getting what I want

Praise!!

The idea of being better than others

[ God I keep this shit in a lot fyi ]

If I didn't like you, trust me, I'd be mean as shit. I can't speak for Ula (our other npd holder) but we're very similar and she does most of this too, if not all. Ula especially does attention seeking and we also think this stems from being draculaura, he craves being pampered and feeds off of it like blood