#tw: asphyxiation

[kidovna]

from this fic by @andiwriteordie

[oddthesungod]

Last night my barbarian Garlan did a murder by killing an evil guy in cold blood after he showed himself to be remorseless at having abused his own children and attempting to kill one of them. Garlan who's a very protective and proud dad had heard enough 😌✨

Old boy is lawful good, but there are some things he draws a hard line on and he sees as monstrous and unforgivable 🔪

[superior-brain]

*hands you a doughnut*

Upon biting into it its hollow and full of edible glitter*

(^^^ why i don't usually eat strange baked goods)

[followerex]

Sugar's Sorrow

TW: Torture, asphyxiation

Sometimes, Eternal Sugar wondered if she and her friends ever really were heroes once. If the whole idea of them once being admired by the Cookies of Earthbread was just something she dreamed up in one of her long slumbers.

But that was all she did. Wonder. In the end, it didn’t matter.

She slumbered in the skies above her former home, her former paradise. Why continue to fight for happiness in the real world when it was all possible within the land of dreams?

It was these thoughts and more that slithered through her mind as she yawned…then paused. A whistling sound echoed through the air.

clink

And just like that, a chain wrapped around her neck. She only got a chance to blink before something on the other end yanked. Eternal Sugar Cookie was sent spiraling to the ground, barely slowing her fall before she slammed into the earth.

As she coughed lightly and the dust cleared, she heard a familiar voice…and saw a familiar - yet different - face.

“Hello, dreaming fiend.”

She frowned, though only slightly. “Sterling Syrup Cookie.”

“It’s Blinding Syrup Cookie now. The Witches you betrayed rebaked me into something greater than ever before.”

“I see…” Eternal Sugar Cookie was somewhat concerned about this - she remembered Syrup always being loyal to the Witches, but this felt…different, somehow.

“And now it is time for your judgment.” And that was the only warning she had before the chain tightened, and she couldn’t breathe. It…it would be fine. She just needed to loosen it a little-

And then, Blinding Syrup Cookie pulled. And Eternal Sugar hit the ground once again, coughing and wheezing from the sudden force on her windpipe.

She heard the sound of something thunking into the ground behind her, before a second chain wrapped around her throat, tightening just as much as the last one. And another. And another.

I…I can’t breathe, I can’t-

The chains dug deeper into her dough, as they pulled her in every direction - if one loosened, the others would tighten further.

No, please, I don’t-

“Know this, beast. This is all your fault.”

Someone, anyone, help me!

“For you have sinned against the Witches.”

I’m scared, I just-

“And this is only the beginning of your punishment.”

I DON’T WANT TO DIE!

And then…the chains crumbled into nothing. Some from her powers, perhaps…but others, from…something else. Eternal Sugar dropped to her knees, trembling as she gulped down air and eventually threw up, a sickly pink liquid that smelled far too sweet spilling across the ground. Who…? She looked up, eyes blurry…but she still recognized who it was. Who the two before her were.

“That’s enough, Syrup.”

Shadow Milk Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie.

And Shadow Milk did not look happy at all. Which was terrifying.

“Well well well…I thought you took pleasure in the suffering of Cookies, traitor of deceit?”

“What you just did…was anything but funny, Blinding Syrup Cookie.” Shadow Milk snarled, before looking back at her.

“Get out of here.” Shadow Milk Cookie said, voice stern yet warm. And Eternal Sugar did. (And part of her thought “Perhaps we were heroes once after all.”)

She wasn’t weak. Far from it. But she…

She was scared.

She didn’t want to fight Blinding Syrup. She still felt the chains around her throat.

And so, she ran. And behind her, she heard the sounds of battle. The dark screeches of Deceit, the blade swings of Silence…and the clanging chains of Fanaticism.

[goldenbloodytears]

I require info about the Danny/holidays WIP

Gonna be real with you chief, the better name for this wip is “Danny gets (almost) strangled by Christmas lights by a victim.”

I don’t know what possessed me to write it, but it was started in December of 2019. Due to its proximity to my published fic on AO3 where he gets the snot kicked out of him by a victim before he manages to finally off her… I’m guessing I was really feeling the concept of “making him work for it”. All in all I think I could probably return to this and finish it properly. I’ve been considering that it might be fun to write more fics that are violence focused since there’s kind of a lack of Gen fic for Danny.

Because it’s really short, I’ve included the relevant snippet under the read more.

Erin’s weight presses down onto his back, crushing his chest further into the frozen pavement as she tightens her grasp on the Christmas lights; Danny gasps—ragged breathing stuck in his lungs as the makeshift garrotte digs further into his neck. The incandescent bulbs are hot through the fabric edge of his mask, spots of searing heat against the growing flush of his sweat-soaked skin.

Danny tries reaching behind him to grab Erin—his right hand grabs nothing but air. He tries to breathe again—clawing uselessly at the wire with his left hand. His knife could cut it—but where is his knife? He throws his gaze about desperately scanning the ground for the shine of his blade.

Snow. Ice. More fucking snow—where is his knife? His vision is blurring, where is his—There! To his right! Danny throws his right hand out, stretching his arm as far as it will go—no luck. The tips of his fingers stop just shy of the handle.

The Holidays suck.

Enjoy :)

[the-delightful-temptation]

Val died?

//Death by asphyxiation by Carmilla's leg. It's how he would've wanted to go.

[valiisthea]

🙌 Clive grabbing Barnabas tho

Grab my muse by the throat 🙌 || Accepting

@flameblessed || Barnabas

"Do you feel powerful, Mythos?" Barnabas' voice is slightly strained with the pressure of Mythos' hands against his throat. It is fairly difficult to breathe around, but Barnabas is less than concerned. The contact is, after all, a brilliant way for him to transfer his power to Mythos before his disappointingly human body chooses to give out on him.

If it does.

"You should."

It takes a considerable amount of concentration for Barnabas to will Odin's power towards Mythos' hands. He has little time to dawdle, as he expects there to be a struggle once Mythos realizes what he's doing.

[srfiv]

it's the massively self-indulgent, overengineered vampire ghostsoap sketch for dinner today!

[mjfass]

"I'm sorry"

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Deep, Dark Sea

･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ

Genshin masterlist || Scaramouche masterlist

CW/TW: kidnapping, slight asphyxiation but not in depth, obessive behavior

Tags: dead dove, pre-relationship, merman (octopus man) scara, obsessive scara, slight stalking Summary: Scara doesn't like that you haven't been coming back to the sea as of late.

a/n: mermay post yyayayayayay sorry for not posting in so long, life has been beating me to the ground so... ye. i haven't written in some time so sorry for the rusty writing

･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ

You really can’t blame Scaramouche for his curiosity, he swears! His kind is well-known for their “pure hearted” pursuit of knowledge, especially of anything related to the taboo, the land dwellers. So of course when he has the chance to sneak away from his bothersome sisters, he would go up to the surface for some human-watching! The humans are so much smaller and fragile than what has been portrayed by the elders, he realized, especially compared to his large tentacle limbs. So how could you possibly blame him for getting oh so fascinated by the pretty little human that is you?

Scaramouche has been watching you since you came out to the choppy waves to scream out all of your grievances and has never stopped. You have been a pop of color to his borderline monotonous life at the bottom of the sea ever since. So sweet and pretty with your trinkets and accessories you are, kicking at the sand to vent your frustration. As years go by, your visits become more and more infrequent, making him panic. He needs things to change. In a moment of total brilliance, he snatched you up. 

Before you can get out a scream at the slimy hands tugging you down from the dock, water fills up your airway. You try to resist, as anyone would, but the weight pulling you down doesn’t let up until dark spots bloom in your vision and you black out.

When you open your eyes again, you are sopping wet, in a random cave with only a single sky well high above letting moonlight shine in and the entry point being a hole that leads to the sea. You can hear the waves lapping at the shore from afar, but nothing else. You look around in a panic, your hands tracing the area around you as you try to make sense of… basically everything. The only thing you remember before hitting the water was a pair of glowing eyes charging at you and sharp claws digging into your skin.

As your eyes adapt to your surroundings, you have a distinct feeling that you are not quite alone. The very opposite, in fact. You slowly turn around, your breath hitches. The same glowing pair of eyes.

･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ･˚‧･+‧₊‧.°.⋆.🫧 .•˚₊‧⋆:｡+.･ﾟ

taglist: @amyminhminh @xrmywaifxx @samyayaya

[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, plucking 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! 💥💥💥

[polaris-stuff]

I think Sun deserves to choke Eclipse at least once

now the real piece lol

[whump-queen]

Godddd the choking piece with Seven was too good you have to continue it 🥹

omg I love that you loved it YAY!! these guys are in my HEAD today... heres a part 2 <33

Confession Time

Tags: physical abuse, choking/asphyxiation, victim blaming, past sexual assault mention, alcohol mention, denial is a river in egypt, Wes is an insecure baby bitch boy. | Words: 1.4k

continued from this | Seven Series Masterlist

༻✦༺ 

Wes was seething. Looming over Seven and gripping the belt, mercifully just loose enough for Seven to breathe. 

"So what, you just tripped and fell into a fucking closet with her? And what, your clothes just magically came off? You actually think I’m an idiot?” 

“Please, they—” Seven coughed a few times, still recovering, “— They got me so drunk, sir I— I barely even remember—”

“But you remember enough to come up with all these excuses, yeah?” Wes scoffed.

“Please.” Seven’s head cowered away but one tug of the belt was enough to make him right his position. “You— you asked what, what happened. So I’m just— I’m just telling you what I remember.” 

“Fine.” Wes twisted his face and scrunched his nose to make it clear he was irritated with even listening to the answer to his own question. 

“I was… they got me drunk. Really drunk—I swear—I blacked out at some point—but I remember… Brie. She— she grabbed me. Just grabbed me by the shirt and, and pulled me upstairs.. and…” Seven's voice was growing smaller the longer he talked, eventually fading out entirely to echo only inside his own head. 

He slumped on his knees, head falling to his chest, tufts of light hair hanging down his face like a halo of bleached nettles. 

He felt tears prick his eyes.

“It w-wasn’t my choice,” his voice cracked as he held back a sob. That was all he wanted to say about that. He was just praying Wes would understand. He was praying Wes wouldn’t press him for further details. 

He had seen pictures. Oh god, he hadn’t even realized. He faintly recalled the other people, who’d come upstairs, he remembered lights. But his drunk mind hadn’t pieced it together, and his sober mind and dutifully forgotten it—until now. 

His memories were spotty at best—fragments, half-formed images—but what he did remember was fucking damning. Nothing that would ease Wes’ mind. Nothing that would make this look better. If anything, the more he tried to recall, the worse it got.

What had Wes seen? It ate at him as he watched his face, waiting for the reaction, the— what did he want? Pity? No— Forgiveness? Compassion? But he wouldn’t get that from Wes. Not tonight. Probably not ever.

Wes stared at Seven, wide-eyed, incredulous. Then his expression contorted—brows pulling tight, lip curling in disgust.

“No. No fucking way. That’s what you’re going with?”

Wes snarled and kicked him hard in the ribs.

"Are you fucking kidding me?” Wes’ nostrils flared, his breath coming out sharp and ragged. His hand gripped the belt again, catching as it hung limply from Seven’s cowed neck. Tight fists, tension rolling up his arms, he gave the belt a tug, not enough to cut his air off, but enough to remind him he could. 

His free hand balled into Seven’s hair and pulled, forcing Seven’s eyes to meet his. 

“You’re really gonna sit here, look me in the eye, and tell me she forced you? Tell me Brie threw herself on you??"

“Please, I—I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Seven’s voice was hollow, barely above a pained whisper. He hated this. Hated that he had to say it. Hated that some tiny, desperate part of him had still hoped—stupidly hoped—that Wes would believe him.

“You don’t get to play the victim here, Seven,” Wes shook Seven’s head with the grip in his hair. “You don’t. You’re not that fucking special.”

Wes’s knee hit him hard in the chest before he could respond. Seven keened over and coughed through it, grateful Wes had caught him on an exhale this time.

“I swear to god,” Seven coughed through his words. “SIr, I didn’t— I wouldn’t—” he gasped, “You have to believe me.”

Wes grabbed the front of Seven’s shirt and yanked him back up into a sitting position. 

"You’re lying. You have to be lying."

Before he could react, Wes’ fist crashed into his left eye socket. 

The force of it knocked him back, and Seven collapsed, his knees and arms painfully folded beneath him. He’d been here before. He knew his best bet was to roll over onto his side and tried to curl himself up, using his knees to protect his face. But Wes saw his attempts to shift and apparently didn’t approve, because that expensive shoe came down hard and sudden on his chest, pressing down on his sternum and pinning him to the floor. 

The position was not desirable—his knees seared in pain, his spine was forced to arch with his wrists trapped underneath. Wes saw the opportunity to pull the belt tighter, cutting off his circulation and giving him nowhere to go to relieve the pressure. 

He felt a zip on one of the cuffs as the force of Wes’ foot pushed it one notch tighter. Seven was panicking, fraught with the urge to flee yet forced to freeze. Nowhere to go. 

Wes was getting louder now. His voice boomed off the pristine glass walls and marble flooring. He kicked Seven again, and again, giving him no room nor time to speak, to explain, to be understood. 

“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know you by now? You can pretend to be all meek and fucking helpless or whatever, but when it comes down to it? You’ll take what you can get. And you did."

It wasn’t true. But it was. He had. He hadn’t wanted to. But he had anyway. Right?

Wes would never see it his way. Action over intent—the loathsome thing. Seven felt gutted. Like he’d taken every raw, bleeding piece of himself, laid them out on a tray—only for Wes to spit on them.

Wes would never understand. Wes would always blame him. And the sooner Seven accepted that, the sooner this would stop.

Seven’s vision was going fuzzy again. He cursed Wes. He cursed Brie. He cursed himself. If he hadn’t been so vulnerable. If he hadn’t been so easy. If he hadn’t let himself get so drunk. He should have stopped it.

It was weak, he tried not to let his voice crack.  “I– I’m sorry, sir.”

He felt the bubbling tears breach the dam of his eyelid and trickle down his marred cheeks. 

“I don’t want you to forget for a second what you are. You are mine. You work for me. You are here because of me. You do not go around hooking up with the sorority girls, or any girls, for fuck’s sake. I don’t wanna see any more hookups. Especially. Not. Brie.

Wes slapped him hard. 

“Ever. Got that?”

“Yes! Yes, sir, please—!” Seven cried out, desperate for it to end. He just wanted Wes to get his anger out and leave him alone. He just wanted to cry in peace. 

“Good.” Wes released Seven completely, letting him drop back to the floor, limbs twisted beneath him, belt loose and laying across his chest. 

Seven gasped, fighting the urge to curl in on himself. He didn't want to incite any more outbursts from Wes. He didn’t move from the position. 

"I don't even know what to do about you lying to me about this. I guess I'll have to think of something. Point is, know your fucking place."

The pain in his knees was a distant ache now—blurred out by something deeper, something that left his chest feeling hollow, his throat raw.

Seven groaned, "Yes, sir."

Above him, Wes adjusted his sleeves, exhaled sharply. 

"Don’t make me have this conversation again.”

And then, without looking back, he turned and walked out.

Seven exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours. His shoulders sagged, only to pull tight again at the cold bite of metal behind his back.

The cuffs.

Still locked.

His only options were to go find Wes—an unthinkable idea in his current state—or to wait it out. Let Wes cool down. Let Wes get hungry. He’d have to unchain Seven’s hands to make dinner eventually. 

Seven turned onto his side, curling around his aching ribs. The floor pressed into his shoulder, pain still pulsating from his elegant swan dive into the marble.

Why was he still laying on the floor? He supposed he wasn’t as lucid as he thought he was. 

Seven stumbled up, nearly tripping on the sleek floor. Letting the world spin for a moment before he took a step, he made his way out of the living room and down the hall to his room. His hands still bound behind him, it was a pitiful pilgrimage. His door was cracked open. Small mercies.

Exhausted, dizzy, and choked out, Seven collapsed onto the bed, letting the gentle warmth of the blanket beneath him press against his bruised face. In his shallow respite, he hardly noticed the subtle weight of the leather still wrapped around his neck. 

He couldn't get a blanket on top of him, not with his hands like this, but this would be good enough until Wes inevitably came to find him. 

༻✦༺ 

Should I continue this? or you can send me situations if you want <33

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[tragic-ships-tournament]

Tragic Ships Tournament Round 2

INCREDIBLE RADIANT WORDS ART BY THE EVEN MORE INCREDIBLE @ricky-mortis

Propaganda under the cut!

Radiant Words:

"their ship name is radiant words!!!! on an island full of people with magic, margaret calls samuel the masterpiece! they are canonically a sun/moon couple! samuel has sun motifs, and margaret has moon motifs. samuel says that margaret made him a better man! their lives changed because they met each other. they're permanently changed by their time together."

Holloweane:

"ahem. she’s an immortal witch obsessed with the 80s. he’s a social worker, the kindest man alive. can i make it any more obvious? every time they see each other they go “hiya duke!” “heya, darlin!” and if that isn’t adorable then i don’t know WHAT is. duke has a cat named holly, and he says things to her that he wishes he could say to miss holloway. every time she’s brought up, duke has the biggest heart eyes. when he’s watching miss holloway do magic, he has the biggest heart eyes. he’ll follow her into voids he doesn’t even understand, just so she won’t have to go alone. she’s so devoted to him that she can’t keep herself away. after dying and starting anew with a fresh persona, she immediately popped back up in his life because she just can’t help herself. every time duke asks her about her past, she explains it all, even though she knows he won’t remember. she explains it anyway, because maybe, MAYBE this time she’ll get a miracle. she explains it anyway because she loves him. they’re so CUTE and IN LOVE and TRAGIC"

[doodlingdilemma]

Hermitober23 prompt 1: Memory (from a list I found on Twitter and is not Hoffens :D)

Welcome to

Dilemma is painting a very dramatic interpretation of Tangos season 8 ending and can't be normal for once about this guy

I'm probably not doing a lot of the Hermitober prompt, but to set expectations nit all of them are gonna be like this in quality 💃

[bigbrownboots]

so ever since the quizzes came out and we finally got confirmation on what the hell it is that all the other contra-elementals can do, i’ve been obsessed with the confirmation that.. Lasko is canonically super fucking powerful as a magic user, and specifically as an air elemental. here’s why: (possible tw: mention of asphyxiation as it occurs across the storyline and the Imperium briefly)

in the first video where contras are really brought up - Audio RP | Catching Up and Hanging Out With Your Himbo Friend [M4A] - Huxley uses fire elementals and fire-contras as his main example for how elementals and contras compare: he talks about how fire elementals are great at producing heat, but it takes far more effort for them to be able to take it in, and even when they do, they cannot take in much. that’s something that fire-contras are much better equipped to do, since that’s their specialty.

we already know that specialists will always be the most capable when it comes to performing their specific branch of magic, and for everyone else, that’s something they have to train and build to over time.

Lasko is an air elemental. air elementals are great at controlling air, and again, producing gusts, hurricanes, flurries of wind and such. it is specifically air-contras that specialise in taking large amounts of air in, and thus creating vacuums.

do you see where i’m going with this?

we know from what Lasko revealed about his past that, even completely untrained, he was able to completely take in all the air in a room - which he and his mother were standing in, so, presumably it was one of the main rooms in his childhood home, not just a tiny storage space or a cupboard under the stairs - Lasko managed to take out all the air in that entire room, creating a vacuum strong enough that his mother could not breathe in.

and we know that this wasn’t a one-time fluke due to his powers manifesting, because he’s still capable of performing this ability, seemingly without substancial effort. in his very first audio - Audio RP | Nervous Air Elemental Guidance Councillor Schedules Your Classes [M4A] - Lasko mentions that he “should’ve just negated all the air in the room to douse the flames” when Damien set his papers on fire, but this time decided not to, since he “can’t just suffocate him” (referring to Damien).

also, if we want to bring the Imperium storyline into this, (which i understand that technically, President Moore is a different character, but let’s say that theoretically they would be at similar power-levels - since the only way to improve your magic is by training it, and both characters started from the same parentally-established-magically-restrictive-humanborn place, and spent presumably the same amount of time at the academy) President Moore is able to take all of the air out of a room and create a vacuum able to asphyxiate a person even “through a wall,” “just as simply” (holy fuck). and, in addition to this, Vindemiator blatantly says “you’re strong, Lasko” as he’s pinning him. he has no reason to lie or to inflate (ha ha) Moore’s ego, in fact, Vindemiator is very open with how much he despises Moore, so i’m inclined to believe the powerful demon when he admits to Moore’s magical control.

but, even without considering the Imperium, i think it’s definitely something to think about. even just as an air elemental, Lasko is able to wield air-contra magic like it’s just a part of his natural skillset. Lasko Moore is a fucking powerful magic user.

- i would like to point out now that it’s entirely possible that Mr Redacted didn’t have everything fleshed out from the beginning, and that Lasko’s ability to take in air could have originally been just a part of air elementals’ capabilities, (and then with the inclusion of contras, things got divided and changed) but i think it’s fun to believe and theorise regardless.

in conclusion: holy fuck, Lasky