#TW blood and mentions of murder

[lostkitsclangen]

TW for blood and mention of murder

hnnnrgggh I'm gonna have another fanart tomorrow because Nettleclan is dragging me into the pit of hyperfixation and I can't escape /pos I swear.

Even MORE rambles under the cut

Anyways, this is Ambershard and Bumbletumble from @nettleclanstale. I wanted to include Bumble in yesterday's fanart but couldn't find a way for her to fit, but that ask about Bumble's conflicting feelings for murdering Hazelstar and how she did the right thing really hit me, especially the interaction between her and her dad that answered it </3

Devastating, I will never recover. I really wanted to draw it after reading that, it was so genuinely heartbreaking to see Bumble that broken, because Hazel hurt Bumble's baby, Meadowbreeze suffered because of Hazel. But even though Meadow was her baby, Hazel is someone else's baby. And if Hazel died for hurting someone's baby, then what does that mean for Bumble? What does it mean for the mother who killed another mothers baby? I will never stop thinking about this 💔

Little details! The background is the same colors as when Bumble murdered Hazel in her den at night on moon 80. Bumble's scribbly pupils are actually dual colored like how Angie usually draws Nettleclan cats eyes, with the top being black and bottom being the reddish color that Amber and Bumble share in their eyes. Ambershard has a little heart shape on his flank in his design, but it broke because of how devastated Bumble is at her own actions. Under the tears, Bumble has eye bags/wrinkles under her eyes because I don't think she slept very well after, uh, that. The white text is the only one that says "Papa" because the white is what she said, and the red is all in her head. It's all she can think about. The blood is glitching because it's not real, she's just stuck in the moment of killing Hazelstar.

[fxtalitygod]

X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

Love.

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx

[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! 💥💥💥

[small-sinclair]

Tarps and Glass

Whumptober 6: Not Realizing They’re Hurt

Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: blood, hints of murder, dead bodies mention, Bo being a bit obsessive of reader, not proof read

“It’s not my blood.”

Bo didn’t give Lester a chance to break as he hopped out of the truck and ran towards the accident. He saw a blue car tipped over and its side and your white car on the side. The window was cracked and shattered, and the door dented and tangled. He didn’t see you at first as a firefighter tried to hold Bo back, but he shoved him aside and ran towards your smoking car. The air bags were deployed, showing hints of blood, your blood.

“Bo!” His head snapped at your voice and his knees turned into Jello. You were sitting in the back of an ambulance with an EMT looking over you.

“Y/N!” He shouts, rushing to your side. He knelt in front of you and took one of your hands. His eyes never looked away from the dark cherry red on your shirt. He felt his blood grow cold and his heart rise in his throat. “Darlin’, is...is that...?”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand, “No, no; it’s not mine. It's the others.”

“How did it get on you?” He looked up at you, one hand holding your hand while the other ran up and down your arm in a soothing motion. Under different circumstances, he would look good on his knees with pleading eyes. “Sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes as you relived the moment when the other car came barreling towards you. You didn’t mean to, but you squeezed his hand tightly. “I know I was pinned, but...but the other driver wasn’t. He looked over at the other EMTs working on the driver. “He got out of his car and tried to help me.” Your eyes met Bo’s, saying in a soft voice, “He was bleeding bad, but it didn’t stop him. He was trying to help me...he was trying, Bo.” You said his name in such a defeated voice. He never wants to hear you say it like that ever again. “Then he collasped and...and...”

“Shh, cher,” he hushes. He only talks in his deep Cajun when he’s scared; this terrified him to death. “He’ll be alright. Promise.”

“What if he’s not?”

He reaches up and held your cheek. His ring was cold against your skin, sending a comforting chill through you. “I’ll start his heart if I have to, sweetheart, and you know I’ll do it.” he gave a reassuring smile, which faded in moments. “They’ll work on the man and do everything they can.” He came of his knees and kisses your forehead, his lips pressing against your forehead with a lingering touch. “Worry about yourself, mon cher. Do that for me?” He smiled when he saw your nodding, your eyes puffy and read from tears.

Bo kisses your hand before leaving your side to find Lester, who was parked behind a line of firefighters. Worry was edged on his face as he saw Bo, and his eyes never left his as Bo reached into his breast pocket and took out a ciggaret and a lighter.

“They’re fine,” Bo said, casting his gaze over the scene behind him. “The driver saved her, or tired to help...it’s up to the angels to decide.” He looks over at the drapped tarp then back at Lester. “Get those bodies to Vincent, Les. I’ll hitch a ride with the bus.” He blew smoke into the air. “Don’t want cops to see our hunting bounty.” He flashed an amused smile and chuckled. “Damn, it would fun, wouldn’t it?”

Lester shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he looked past his shoulder and into the scene. “You’re gonna to kill that driver, aren’t ‘cha?”

“Tried to take what was mine,” he said as if it was a fact of life. “Can’t let him live.”

“It was an accident—”

“An accident that nearly took ‘em from me,” he said, his eyes hardening. “He tried to help her, yes, but he nearly killed her. That’s unforgivable...something I can’t overlook, Les. It won’t be my blood on my hands; it’ll be his. Now,” he handed his half-lit cig to Lester, “take the bodies to Vincent.”

Lester hesitated but sighed and took the cigarette, placing it in his mouth. “Be safe then. Don’t get caught, either. They don’t know what we do, Bo.”

“And I’ll keep it dat way,” he said, nodding. “Get drivin’, raccoon. Those bodies will smell soon.”

[clownyclaushoe]

art the clown/clowny claus x reader 🔞

a very belated christmas oneshot 😅😭🙈 because for some reason i really struggled with this one 😭😭 it takes place during the bar scene aka one of the best scenes in cinema with a much different, but debatably better ending than santa getting turned into a snowman 😈🤭 inspired by a dream i had of clowny claus eating my pussy while lying on the bar top 😫

it's a christmas miracle!

🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

you had stopped into a bar after your shift at work - it had only been six hours, yet it'd felt infinitely longer. it was the holiday season, so on top of being busier than usual, no matter how kind, patient, or good you were at your job, the holidays had only made everyone act more impatient, rude, entitled, and frankly, dumber, especially the customers you served at the small diner down the street. it seemed they missed the peace on earth and goodwill toward men memo. you'd often come in after your mid-shifts, becoming acquaintances of sorts, that soon lead to flirtation (and a little more), with the owner, eddie.

you sat at the far side of the bar and nursed your beer, a few stools away from the two girls throwing themselves at the guy dressed as santa, not taking the hint when he'd politely declined, mentioning he had a wife. though there was no judgement and he far from your type, you stared on as they continued, amused by the entertainment for the night. you and eddie exchanged incredulous glances, and had to bite back laughter at the things they said in an final attempt to sway the santa ("can i join the mile high club on your sleigh?" "i wanna do drugs on your stomach!") before stumbling towards the exit.

as they were heading out, you noticed a... clown? a christmas clown? was excitedly coming in, scrambling to make it down the steps and knocking the drunk girls over in his haste to make it into the bar and over to santa.

you watched the interaction between the three men and the odd silent clown, and this time, it's because you were interested in the mysterious man. there was something about him, a charisma and an energy about him that instantly drew you in. and despite his gaunt face and pointed nose - which you figured were prosthetics under the white, pasty makeup - and his slender body, it struck you how fucking hot you immediately found him.

some of his over-the-top expressions made him appear inhuman, like a curious otherworldly creature, and you had to admit, you found that attractive too. you'd hoped he had noticed you too, but didn't want to get your hopes up. he seemed a little too caught up in fanboying over santa to pay you any attention, unfortunately.

granted, he did look cute in the santa hat. "hey, santa, looks like you got some competition," said the man called smokey, one of the bar's employees, who usually stopped in on his off nights for a few. "it's clowny claus!"

the clown waved his arms, posing with his hands in a "tada" gesture, mouth open wide with a grin.

"no. hey, you're a natural," santa said. the clown smiled, and waved his arm at the flattery. "you look good. but don't get it dirty. and remember to give it back. you don't want to get on santa's naughty list."

the clown gave a surprised expression, shrugging and raising his arms, as if feigning innocence and suggesting any of his wrongdoing was because he just didn't know any better. you smirked to yourself, thinking of the ways the clown might want to get on your personal naughty list.

"hey, why don't you tell santa what you want for christmas, little boy?" smokey joked.

you thought, if this man wants his dick sucked in this bar, i'd be on my knees in an instant. though you knew you should feel guilty that you'd think of blowing another man in front of eddie, you also weren't committed to each other. yes, eddie was hot, and yes, a few times your flirtation with him crossed the line into making out, and it felt good to have his strong hands on your hips or squeezing your clothed tits or ass, to tease your hand over the crotch of his jeans, feeling him hardening for you.

but you made it clear to him from the start, you were just having fun and weren't interested in anything serious. you hoped, yet doubted, he would remember that.

"better hygiene," suggested eddie, who was working as bartender tonight, as he often did.

"all right, come on," said santa, trying to brush over the dig at the clown. "let's have a drink, uh, for everybody. okay. come on. even the young lady over there."

you saw the closed mouth crooked smile eddie gave you, a twinkle in his eye that betrayed his feelings for you. usually you would've smiled back, loving and preening at the attention from the older man, maybe saying some suggestive comment to provoke him. but not tonight, your desires lie elsewhere this time.

you looked at the other three patrons, surprised to find the clown staring at you, making eye contact for the first time - sending a shiver right through you, down to your core. he grinned and batted his eyes, then quickly looked away, as if he were bashfully flirting with you. your heart fluttered at the idea.

you approached the men, standing near the clown still sitting on santa's lap, the chair holding his mysterious big trash bag making it so you couldn't be as close to him as you'd like to be.

"got id?" eddie asked, and you couldn't help thinking his voice was tinged a little with bitterness and indignation, a subtle jealousy in his stance. he had to have seen that you couldn't take your eyes off the clown. but then again maybe he was just doing his job.

"come on. he's obviously old enough," santa said, as the clown gave a surprised O expression, and turned to dig through his trash bag.

"you think i'm gonna lose my license for this guy?"

"don't bust the clown's balls."

"this is normal to you?"

"sorry about this, clowny." the clown pulls out a wallet, tossing it on the bar top. "there, see? he's got it."

eddie looks at the clown with a brief glance of self-satisfaction as he grabs the wallet, opening it.

"'maurice jackson'?" you can't hold back a laugh at the disbelieving way eddie says the obviously phony name. "maurice" tills his head, grinning and batting his eyes rapidly, looking absolutely adorable.

you think, how could anyone refuse that face?

"eddie, you're killing me. can we just celebrate? come on."

"fuck it," eddie said, pushing the shots toward each of you, and you slip between the two chairs, leaning against the bar top to grab your glass of tequila, which eddie knew was your shot of choice. "it's christmas."

"all right, let's have a drink. to my new friend, huh? to maurice jackson."

"cheers!" you each clink glasses before downing your shots. a moment passes before the clown spat his shot in santa's face. smokey bellowed with laughter and you join in a little, unable to stop yourself.

"what the fuck is the matter with you?"

"what's your problem, pal. guy buys you a drink and you spit it back in his fucking face!"

"hey, man, that's wrong," smokey said, despite his initial reaction.

"see, you were just rude and you shouldn't have been rude. let's go clowny. get up."

you move aside, leaning your arms on the back of the chair holding the clown's trash bag, but he doesn't move. "no, i'm not kidd--" santa trailed off as the clown turned his head, mischievous grin spread across his face, followed by a trickling sound that took a few moments to register as the clown pissing on santa's lap, his urine splashing into a puddle on the tile floor.

"oh shit."

"what the-- what the fuck are you doing!"

the santa pushes back the chair as he stands up, shoving the clown away from him.

"he peed on him!"

"fucking told you," eddie said, as he climbed up and over the bar.

the clown silently laughed and mocked him as the santa lunging at him. "are you fucking kidding me? i'm gonna kill you, you sick fuck!" he grabbed the clown, but eddie pulled him off before he could get a punch in. "i'll fucking kill him!"

the clown taunted him, squaring up and bouncing on his toes, all the while, that wide mocking grin plastered on his face, looking simultaneously funny and hot.

you hurried to stand between them, placing one hand on the santa's arm and the other on the clown's chest, in an attempt to defuse the situation. the clown likely wouldn't be able to fuck you if he was put in the hospital, though the idea of sneaking into his hospital room to ride him as he lie in bed, maybe having him wake to the warm tightness of your pussy wrapped around his cock was a hot and distracting one, your clit starting to throb at the thought.

"he's sorry. he doesn't do well around the holidays. the stress..." you noticed eddie standing behind the santa, watching you with his brows furrowed questioningly, perhaps the pieces finally coming together.

as rude and gross as the clown's actions were, you appreciated his irreverence, and found it strangely admirable. he just didn't give a fuck.

sometimes you'd wished you could give less of a fuck. you felt jaded and drained by the world. it seemed no matter how hard you tried to be kind and considerate, people always made it so damn difficult; they didn't realize or care about the pain they caused.

"you know this freak? you seem like a nice lady, you should keep better company," the santa quipped. the clown frowned, shaking his head and swatting his arm in dismissal.

"come on, you motherfucker," eddie said, stepping around you to grab the clown and shove him to stumble toward the bench at the other side of the bar. "smokey, get his bag!"

when he sat up, legs spread wide, you swear you could see a distinct bulge as if he'd gotten a semi at being roughed up a little, at the escalating conflict. he shook his head in defiance and fixed his little hat.

eddie had walked over to the other two struggling to pick up the clown's bag, "what the fuck is in this?"

the clown silently laughed and pointed before eddie threw it at him, the clown moving just in time not to get hit, gesturing another taunt.

"you motherfucker! i'll kill you. goddamn it!"

"want me to call the cops?"

"i don't want you to call the cops, i want you to call a fucking dry cleaner."

the clown gestured that santa smells. he sure was relentless at pushing buttons, knowing just how to get under people's skin.

"dry cleaner? smokey, get a fucking mop!"

"i told you, don't let him the fuck in here."

"you said he's fucking normal! sit down, sit down." santa turned and walked to the bar. "fuckin' you told me. have a fucking drink."

the clown quickly rifled through his bag as eddie turned, realizing the unwelcome customer hadn't left yet.

"can't take a fuckin' hint, can you?" eddie said as he approached him. "i'm not going to tell you again."

the clown stood up, quickly extending his arm and brandishing a gun, firing a shot that clips the side of eddie's neck, and he grabs the wound as he drops to the floor. you think it's a shame he never went down on you before dying. whenever you did make a suggestive comment to rile him up, he'd have a habit of staring at you and licking the corner of his mouth, making you imagine his tongue plunging into your pussy. you'd stare right back at him while bringing your beer bottle to your lips, no doubt making him imagine your mouth wrapped around his cock instead.

santa still standing at the bar, startles at the gunfire, sending shot glasses clinking and shattering on the floor. a stunned smokey watches his boss and friend lying on the floor, gargling and choking on his own blood.

the clown points the gun at santa before shifting his arm to fire at smokey next, a shot to the head sending a spray of blood hitting the sign hanging behind him.

all the while you'd watched the intense scowl on the clown's face, as hot as it was menacing, and it was driving you crazy.

"oh no, smokey!" the clown slowly approaches the santa, gun still raised. "oh no no no, please sir. let me apologize for whatever's happened here tonight." he grabs the santa hat, offering it to the clown. "here, take it, it's yours. you looked good in it."

the clown takes it with his free hand, and there's a sudden slow shift to his expression, a big grin spreading across his face, his eyes widening as his brows raised. the santa laughed nervously as the clown continued to stare at him, laughter becoming louder and more desperate, unease gripping him to the point of near delirium.

in that moment you felt sorry for him. he seemed like a nice guy, just as eddie and smokey were; decent, working class men that had the misfortune of crossing paths with this crazed, homicidal clown. in any other situation, at any other time, and with any other assailant, you would've been scared, you would've cared more about seeing three innocent people brutally gunned down, you would've hidden for cover and called 911 immediately.

you don't know what had possessed you not to do any of it. somehow you knew he wouldn't kill you.

the clown tapped the butt of the gun against the suit, signaling he take it off too. santa scrambled to remove the suit, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers. "there, now, could you let me leave? please. i won't tell any one about that happened. i swear," he stammered as he continued to plead for his life, struggling to come up with anything to elicit mercy. "i have a name, charles johnson. i have a name, and a wife and two kids and i..." charles trailed off, knowing it was hopeless. his gaze dropped and the clown shot him, he fell to the ground.

the clown looked down at him and shrugged, putting the gun on the bar. you walked to him.

"can i get you drink," you blink pointedly, "something other than a shot." he shakes his head, swatting his hand. "what's your name, really?"

he gathered blood pooling on the floor and smeared it to the bar top.

"art? well, art, I think you'd look really hot in the santa suit."

art raised his finger like he's been struck with an idea. he grabs the suit, putting it on over his clown costume, adding the santa hat and white wig to complete the look.

you notice the blood on the white trim of the coat, pointing it out. "i guess that means you're on santa's naughty list." art frowns, shaking his head. "i was right. you do look fucking hot."

he smirks, leaning down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you so he can lift you up and onto the bar. he tears at your jeans as he pulls them off, taking you by surprise, much stronger than he appears. you gasp, leaning back onto the bar. you like a man who doesn't waste time.

a shiver passes through you at the cold air hitting your bare pussy. art stares at it and licks his lips, his brows bouncing appraisingly as his fingers graze over your labia. before you can beg him, art leaned in, latching his mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking alternatively.

"oh fuck," you struggle to get out already, fingers raking through the white wig. art rotated his head, dragging his tongue all around your pussy, then dipping down to wetly plunge inside. your head rolled forward, face screwing up as you watched him, his gaze intense as he fucked you with his tongue. "oh, art." you shouted out roughly, rutting your hips to meet the thrusts of his tongue. "gonna make me come so hard on your handsome clown face."

art shifted and though you missed the feel of his tongue inside you, he made up for it by constantly flicking it over your labia and up to your clit, eliciting high pitched moans as your hand held his head tighter, head falling back to give a guttural moan when he sucked at your clit.

anyone could walk in or glimpse through the window you getting fucked while three dead bodies lie on the floor, but you couldn't care less. all thought about anyone or anything else but art escaped you, worries pushed aside as his tongue and lips and the glorious suction of his mouth sucking hard at your clit pushed you closer to the edge. you give a harsh gasp as you come, that familiar feeling of hot shimmering liquid gold pleasure coursing through you, but burning brighter and more intensely than ever before. your body heaves and thrashes uncontrollably, unable to bear the immense weight of pleasure. "oh my fuck--fucking, ahhh."

art hasn't relented, tongue determined to lick up every drop of your cum, almost to the point of overstimulation - a second orgasm quick to follow, but you let him, figuring it's a fair trade for him gifting you the best orgasm of your life.

🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

please like, reblog and/or comment, i'd really appreciate it. hope you enjoyed!

© clownyclaushoe 2024

[shaykai]

Dooooodles

[luinen-bluewater]

And this is what the Chosen of Bane gets for fraternizing with Bhaal's Chosen. BONUS LIVE GORTASH REACTION:

link to PART I!!!

[luffyvace]

Akutagawa as your boyfriend ☀︎

Umm happy late b day Aku…😭 I’m totally super late for this I KNOW. But! I’m doing it anyway! >:3 late or not :P Plus I Just wanted to write for him since I really like this dude (〃ω〃) (Light blood, death and killing mentions but not in detail)

Akutagawa b day hcs first >;}

planning everything out and hiding it from him is kind of a task. 😅 the guy’s pretty stealthy himself so ya gotta make sure he doesn’t sneak up on you while your prepping things.

Buuut with the help of everyone from the port mafia (except Mori- joking! he does help but Elise does 90% of the work) you planned a mini party <3

Gin got the food! (Figs and tea enters chat)

Higuchi got the decorations! (streamers, balloons, tables, chairs)

Hirotsu keeps akutagawa busy (tea and chatting LOL)

Elise makes the banners (hints poorly drawn dead versions of everyone—extra blood for aku<3)

Kajii makes (lemon shaped) confetti poppers!!

Koyo hosted/recorded it all 💗

Chuuya brought wine and the cake (both were really expensive and tasty good job Chuuya)

Q brought lots of presents!! :3

Annnnd Tachihara! Brought some ~port mafia style~ party games (you played mafia LOL)

now general relationship things 😚

He treats you like how he does Gin, there is peace between the two of you and you have friendly interactions. (Romantic as well, for you) he will even go as far as to do favors for you but we’ll dabble in that more later ☆)

acts of service is his #1 love language. There’s no convincing me otherwise. When I say ‘he will do anything for you’ besides killing this is what I mean. You really don’t have to ask either. I talk about this some more later but, examples: done with your plate? He’ll take it. He remembers you said you needed xyz, he got it for you. You said you wanted to ____ but you fell asleep, so he did it.

hope you get along with Gin because to continue a relationship with him past 2 minutes, you need to. He will never choose friends over family. I stand on that.

honest man.

Its canon, of course this would apply to a relationship too :)

you never have to worry about him lying, thankfullly. the bad news is…this guy isn’t just honest..he’s brutally honest 😀

which he’s not dumb, but he’s also not one to pacify feelings. So say you created something and you’ve been working on this piece for a while now, (whether your an artist, writer, sculptor, something else—whatever), he takes a look at it and singlehandedly points out all the flaws 🧍‍♀️

not in a rude way-

just genuinely telling your mistakes. Which- I know can hurt because you spent a lot of time on it…..but as lest you can fix it now..? 🤷‍♀️

He respects you. Of course he does! How could you love someone you don’t respect?!

why I’m mentioning this then?? Because to him, respect is very important. There’s few that he respects personally and not because of his job.

like Dazai (sorta bc of his job but shh), Gin or Atsushi (somewhat)

And just to clear it up those he has respect for because of his job would be mori or hirotsu

so the fact that you have his respect is a mile stone!! 👯‍♀️💃💃

He’s loyal but it ain’t a fault 😋🤪

seriously tho this dude is still chasing Dazai even after he “disgraced the mafia’s name” and left to the ada

So for you?? This is simply proof that he ain’t neva leavin you, and you ain’t neva leavin him 😙 (I don’t make the rules)

even If he disagrees with your actions/opinions he will talk it out with you 😱

now he might sound a bit upset, and if your acting absolute bonkers rn and need some sense smacked into you- he might yell too. But that’s mostly if it’s for your well being.

other than that, yes the hotheaded Ryuu will calm down for you (that kinda rhymes ☝️🤓)

Bonus!:

living with the Akutagawa’s! ( ✌︎'ω')✌︎

going more into acts of service, you and Gin hardly ever have to worry about chores or errands

he doesn’t really do it for the purpose of your validation, and genuinely doesn’t expect a thank you either

”hm? Oh…it’s nothing.”

Is his response when you try to thank him

he does it because he’s responsible not for praise

although I will say, seeing as though he has a lot of respect for you, as I said earlier, you may get a semi flustered/shocked facial expression

not necessarily blushing, just a expression that shows it caught him off guard ;P

Its not uncommon to see him cleaning around the house and asking if you have any laundry

housewife Ryuunosuke LOL 😂

When goes out to get groceries he asks you and Gin if there’s anything specific you want him to buy and if yes, he’ll get it for you

just like in the anime with Gin, he doesn’t mind doing favors for you as well <3

if you decide you wanna clean up or go to the store yourself he won’t stop you and be like ‘nonono I got it you sit down 🥺’. I don’t mean this in a bad way but he’s not a gentleman on purpose

I feel he’s the type of guy to do things that you consider gentlemanly but he just considers it being polite

oh it’s fine he’s got the groceries 👌

got a order for pick up? Oh well he was going out anyway, he’ll get it 🤷

he’s got the door 👍

don’t worry about the bill he’ll pay it (restaurant or house bill 😉)

another thing…! ♡

sometimes when you and Gin wanna watch a movie but Ryuu’s still doing the dishes….

Rashomon!

do the dishes :3 (while he watches the movie with you guys)

I wasn’t gonna write these at first but I’m real glad I did! I love these and finally wrote for our guy Ryuunosuke!!

WHEN I TYPED DAZAI��S NAME IT AUTOCORRECTED FO DASANI AT FIRST HAHAHHAHA

[j0celynh0rr0r]

🥰

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Work - Wade Wilson x ftm!Reader

A/N: The evil brain thoughts are back, so I’m just gonna post this and run 🫣 I hope this is good. I’m not too good at fics like this, hence the evil brain thoughts, but I hope it’s decent. Let me know if I missed any warnings

I did ftm!Reader with no smut, but I’m more than willing to write something short and smutty about the aftermath of this fic. It just didn’t really fit with the tone I was trying to go for in this one, you know?

Written for this request

CW: blood mentions; killing mentions; keeping secrets; Reader is called babycakes, baby boy, and babes; lots of blood mentions; exposed secrets; hugs; murder mentions; implied exploration of a new kink; implied smut; possibly ooc Wade

797 words

Ever since you and Wade officially started dating, he’d stopped taking jobs as much. Or, if he did take them, he’d hide them from you. Completing them in secret and showing up without a spot of blood on him.

You knew why he did it. Living the life he did wasn’t easy. He killed people. Mostly bad people, but sometimes the line between good and bad wasn’t so easily drawn. Sometimes he was the bad person.

And he didn’t want to drag you into that.

You’d talked about it once. Late at night, during one of his vulnerable moments. He’d mentioned how he was trying to do better for you. So that you wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge of what he’d done.

You’d been too shy to say anything then. You’d just barely started dating. How could you bring up your secret, especially when he was being so vulnerable for you?

So you kept quiet and let him do his thing. Most of the time, it worked out. He’d do his jobs on the side and it only bled into your life sometimes.

But that sometimes was dangerous.

It all had to come to a head eventually. You just didn’t expect it to happen the way it did.

It started as it normally did. With a bang.

You’re in the kitchen of your small shared apartment when the front door slams open with a crash. Wade stands in the doorway, fully suited up and dripping blood.

Your first instinct is to gawk. Then to panic.

“Oh my god! Wade! Are you alright?”

You hurry over to him, helping him over to the couch. He sits down with a groan, patting your shoulder. “Hey, hey, babycakes. No need to worry. Most of it’s not mine.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. It’s not his blood?

You stare at him. He’s sitting. On the couch. Covered in a mix of his and someone else’s blood.

You scramble to the kitchen to grab a washcloth. Both with the intent to help and to hide the heat that shoots through your body.

It’s not something you’re proud of. Especially knowing how Wade feels about his job. But you just can’t help it. Even just the thought has you wet enough to be uncomfortable.

You wet the washcloth in the sink and return to the living room. Wade’s peeled off his uniform, letting you see the full extent of the blood smears. It’s all over his chest and thighs.

You swallow thickly. This is going to be tough.

You start to wipe the blood off his chest and he leans back against the couch. “Babycakes, you know I can just take a shower, right?”

“Yeah, but…” you falter. What are you supposed to say? Hey Wade, I know you like to keep your murder job from me, but I actually find it really hot.

“What?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You have a habit of mumbling when you think. You forgot he liked to listen. “Nothing.”

“No, no. You’re not getting away from this so easily. You clearly said—“

“Yeah, well—“ You can feel your face getting hot. Embarrassment and shame creeping up your spine.

Wade notices. “Hey, hey, hey. Babycakes, calm down. Just talk to me.”

He grabs your hands, pulling you down into a hug. You bury your face against his rough skin. “I just… I know how you feel about your job and all. So I tried to keep it hidden. I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Uncomfortable? Uncomfortable? Baby boy, you just said I look hot! How am I gonna find that uncomfortable?”

You pull back, giving him a confused look. “But, I thought—“

“Babes, I was worried about you.” He gives you a comforting smile. “If you’re not worried about the murder, then I’m not worried about the murder. It’s gone from my mind.”

You relax a bit. “You sure?”

He nods. “It’s gone. Vanished from my mind. In fact, what were we talking about again?”

You laugh and fully relax against him. “Okay, I get it. No need to be worried or whatnot. I get it.”

Wade hugs you, just resting for a moment. Just holding you close. Then he speaks, a michevious tone to his voice. “You really think it’s hot?”

“Wade!” Your face heats up.

He laughs. “Hey, all I’m saying is if you find it hot and I find it hot…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You hesitate for only a moment. “Alright, fine. But I get to be on top this time.”

“Deal!” You’re scooped up and carried into the bedroom without a moment‘s hesitation.

Wade starts taking more jobs after that, coming home covered in blood more often than not. And you? You fucking love it.

[snakes-and-fluff]

Contemplating when blood is explictly shown in Milgram MVs and for what purpose. (Plenty of shots of blood and bloodied people below the cut)

Both of Muu's songs show a pretty clear-cut image of the murder, blood and all.

But it's interesting to note that, while Muu does show realistic blood in both MVs, in After Pain it's only for a single shot: most of the shots of Rei's body have her covered in a neon green liquid instead - the same liquid inside the hourglass. But in It's Not My Fault, while the hourglass does return, it's not used as a stand-in for blood this time, only showing realistic shots of blood at the scene.

Realistic blood is again shown in The Purge March and although this whole scene is metaphorical, it is highly likely that this is what the state of the actual weapon would have been.

Some of the blood in MeMe appears to be representative of real events (though the circumstances around the murder are still so vague I can't say for sure), but some of it is clearly over-exaggerated for dramatic effect and not a representation what literally happened.

Sometimes blood is purely symbolic, like in Cat (in addition it is coloured pitch-black, even on Hinako's face when the lighting should make it appear brighter).

Similar to the above, the blood in Bring It On is symbolic of Fuuta's guilt, but is portrayed with more realistic colouration.

Then you have Haruka's weird midground, where he has blood in both his MVs, and both are heavily stylized (albeit in different ways). If the shot at the end of All-Knowing and All-Agony is any indication, he strangled his victim which should have been a bloodless death, but he has engaged in literal bloody activity before (killing pets), so his blood appears to be both metaphorical and literal.

At the end of Deep Cover, Kotoko stands covered in neon pink blood, chess pieces representing the other prisoners scattered about her feet. But the only pieces that are shown are those voted Innocent in T1 - those she has not yet attacked. So the blood here is not representative of any particular event, but rather her intentions.

But if that's the case, what does that say for Double, which portrays John standing in a train, dripping with blood the wrong colour as he attacks mannequins? Is this merely a mental block he has because he cannot clearly remember the events? Or, like Kotoko's similar theming above, is it purely metaphorical, indicating his emotions rather than his actions?

Then we get to Milgram Enigma Number 1, Mahiru. I Love You undoubtedly shows realistic blood, but whether it is literal or not is left very unclear. If the only bloodstain present was the one on his torso I'd be more inclined to believe it was truly all a metaphor; a betrayed or bleeding heart. But that doesn't explain the stain on the sleeve. And of course, it begs the question: if it is metaphorical, what is it representing? Fuuta showed guilt by recoiling at the blood on his hands, and Kazui showed remorse and how he feels like a monster by tearing a dove apart. But we don't see Mahiru cause this wound, nor does she react to it. As of right now I don't understand enough about Mahiru to form a concrete conclusion but if the trend in the other MVs is anything to go by, I'm afraid that these bloodstains might be more literal than I want to believe.

Interesting to note that Fuuta is the only character to show blood in his T1 MV but not the second, and both Yuno and Shidou show no blood in either MV (ironically enough for Shidou, as things like rotting fruit have to take the place of organs and blood instead)

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Mind Games

New story who diiisss. Anyway, thank you to @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 for the whole idea of this story! Hero x detective for a twist.

TW: Blood, stabbing, knife, mentioned murder, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, mentioned drugging, male whump

Waking up blindfolded and bound to a chair wasn't exactly a novelty for the hero, but that didn't make it any less irritating. There was something about the forced ignorance a blindfold subjected you to that got on the hero's nerves and blew fuses in his brain.

The patter of footsteps on a parquet floor rang in the hero's ears, and he could already sense his mystery assailant get near him and flick him on the head like a disobedient child.

"You up, sunshine?" Detective's sharp voice called out.

The rough grunt he gave seemed to be enough of a response, and the detective removed the blindfold from around his head.

The light seemed to assault his eyes, too bright and cold and violent, and the hero let out a soft cuss. "Do you make a habit out of kidnapping people and tying them up in your basement, detective?" he questioned irritably, his eyes half-screwed shut.

The detective, immaculate as ever, wearing a goddamn three-piece suit in his own house, gave out a soft, but unsettling laugh, leaving his lips in a tight smile that was all teeth. "No, Hero. But you already know why you're here, don't you? Because I know you think playing dumb might save you, but I'm here to tell you it won't," he growled, baring his teeth.

The detective was never a particularly pleasant human being, dryer than a desert more often than not, but he was always calm, like no problem in the world could even sour his mood. So to see him already lash out, even this slightly told the hero that even with him tied up and possibly drugged with how groggy he was feeling, the detective probably saw him as a threat.

Shame he'd have to play another set of cards to win the game.

"Alright," the hero said calmly, fixing the other man with a piercing look, "if we're agreeing neither of us is here to screw around, then how about you cut to the chase. You don't seem like the 'pace and around the room and monologue' type of guy," he reasoned, an easy smile on his face.

Maybe he wasn't feigning oblivion anymore, but he wasn't giving the detective the satisfaction of feeling like he was scaring him.

The detective made a scoffing noise, reaching into his pocket to pull out a switchblade. "Maybe you'll learn to smile less at the wrong times, asshole," he spat as he unfurled the blade, looking eerily calm, nothing behind the whirpools of black that were his eyes.

"You're going to talk. Answer all my questions properly. And if you don't, I think even you are not dumb enough to not be able to guess what's going to happen."

The knife really didn't faze the hero the way it should. Sure, it left him uneasy, sharp and disturbingly pristine. But he'd been roughed up before one too many times, so he knew to some extent how this stuff worked.

The hardest part was selling his act.

"How did you find out it was me?" the detective started, pulling up another chair and carelessly throwing one leg over the other.

"I'm good at what I do," the hero shrugged, his face blank. But he couldn't help wincing as the detective grazed his thigh with the knife, his body already tormented enough with his ridiculously cramped muscles.

Nothing he couldn't handle, anyway.

"The evidence. What lead you to me?" Detective tried again, the blade still in his hand with Hero's fresh blood snaking down it.

"Does it matter? I figured you out anyways," the hero supplied listlessly, his gaze languid and half-lidded.

The detective stabbed harder this time, twisting the knife in the hero's shoulder and forcing a snarl out of him. He truly wasn't sure for how long he could keep playing the defiant card, the pain blooming across his shoulder and even down to his arm as the detective snatched the knife out just as fast as he'd put it in.

If he could incinerate the detective by staring at him wrong, he seriously would've. Instead he grit his teeth and tried to ignore his throbbing shoulder, looking up at the detective, irritated.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat right now." The detective's voice seemed a little too relaxed for comfort, the dirty switchblade now resting on the hero's jugular. The hero was no longer even slightly surprised the other man was a criminal.

It took an insurmountable amount of self-restraint to keep his lips from curving into a self-satisfied grin. Sure, it wasn't very believable if an agency-trained hero crumbled under a few stabs, but death was a reasonable enough fear for even someone as formidable as him. Nevermind that the wide eyes and the harsh bite of the lips were actually fake.

"W-wait. There's no point of you killing me. Not without finding out what you need to know. And do you really need anymore blood on your hands?" the hero breathed out, a little desperation sprinkled into his tone.

The detective looked almost lost in thought, until something wicked burned a fire in his eyes for just a moment. "You only get one chance, Hero. Don't waste it," he drawled lazily, pulling the knife away and twirling it elegantly with one hand.

The hero nodded gratefully, readying himself to lie through his teeth. "When you said the victim had died of asphyxiation, even before you were granted access to the autopsy report."

The detective's brow furrowed and his lips were pulled into a tight frown. "I never said he died of asphyxiation, he died of mercury poisoning."

"Bingo," the hero, his hands now free of their bonds, crooned, as he used the detective's momentary surprise as a distraction, pulling the knife out of his hand and using it to cut through the ropes around his legs.

Say something wrong about a subject and your target will rush to correct you. A surprisingly effective trick as the hero had come to learn.

The detective's face twisted into an expression of pure, unbridled fury as he tried to wrench the knife out of the hero's hand, but he dodged, quick on his feet much to the other man's chagrin.

Hero had to give him credit, the man was almost nearly impossible to stab, parrying the crime-fighter's attacks with calm, stable, maybe even clever moves, so much so that all he'd managed to do was lightly nick him with the blade.

But with all his focus on blocking, he hadn't even noticed that all the hero's fighting had backed him into a corner until too late, until thr crime-stopper's leg had slammed him into the wall with a painful kick, and the knife's cold edge had bit into his skin.

"Don't. Move."

The detective was breathing hard, practically paralysed by the knife and the glint of warning in his enemy's eyes. His face burned with the shame and humiliation of being frozen in place, his own weapon at his neck.

"How d-did. . .you find out it was me?" the detective panted, voice desperate.

It was the hero's turn to smile wickedly. "On the day of the victim's death, he got a visit from his doctor. I searched the trash and found a broken thermometer. It was pretty clear from the bruising on the poor bastard's face the killer was left-handed. The doctor you paid off that I interviewed was right-handed. To test out my theory, I told the doctor I was taking him to prison for the murder, and his tongue might've just slipped too much for your hush money to fix it."

And with that, the hero knocked him out with a punch to the jaw, dragging the other's body and praying desperately the adrenaline would keep the pain in his shoulder at bay until he got out of here at least.

Some trails are shadowy and unclear, obscuring the vision and playing tricks on the mind. But the smallest amount of resilience can very well go a long way, if only you learn to time your moves right. Because even if you only get a short string, you can still sew a mark on the tapestry of your fate.

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Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Simon Riley - Medieval Au Part 4

Knight Simon Riley x Thief Reader

His hand falls away from your face, and he grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the bathhouse. You stumble over your own feet, your hair a mess.

“Jesus..” He mutters, exasperated by how much of a hot mess you are. He pulls you into the kitchen, and he makes you sit down on a pillow on the floor. He tries to fix your damp hair up a bit. He makes it look a little neater, he doesn’t say any to ing when he accidentally tugs on a knot in your hair.

He rolls his eyes when you wince at the tug, muttering something about how he wasn’t pulling that hard. He stands up after fixing your hair up the best he can with just his fingers, going over to one of the cupboards on the wall.

He pulls out a fresh loaf of bread and some smoked meat. Upon a closer inspection, you see that it is wild smoked salmon. You’ve never had enough money to afford such a luxury.

He cuts the bread with a bread knife and he puts some of the smoked salmon on top. He puts the knife down and walks over to you with the slice of bread and salmon in hand.

“Eat.” Is all he tells you, he hands you the bread and salmon and says nothing more. You quickly eat, wanting to get rid of the achy feeling of emptiness in your stomach.

He watches you for a moment with a blank stare on his face, he then turns back and makes the same thing for himself to eat. He makes his portion bigger, as he is twice your size.

When he turns back with his own meal in hand, he sees that you’ve already eaten the whole thing he made for you. He sits down in a pillow across from you and he watches you while he eats.

It’s unnerving the way he stares at you, like he’s trying to burn your every feature into his mind. You can’t look him in the eye, now a feeling of fear in the pit of your stomach. You fiddle anxiously with your hands in your lap, trying to distract yourself from the weight of his gaze.

There are no words spoken between you as he eats, you wipe the tears on your face away with the sleeve of your shirt. He watches your every move, like he knows that you are looking for an opening to run.

He finishes his meal and he keeps staring at you, crossing his arms over his chest. He reaches over to you and you tense up.

He gently wipes your damp hair out of your face, his face blank. The sun is starting to set, and he glances out the window. He huffs and pushes himself to his fear. He grabs a bow of matches from the cupboard and he starts to light the two oil lamps at either end of the kitchen.

“It’s getting late, are you tired?” He asks you, glancing back at you as he lights the second oil lamp. You don’t respond, not having the courage to say anything.

He clicks his tongue as he puts the match box away. He walks back to where you are seated and he pulls you to your feet.

“Look at you, you must be tired. Look how dark your under eyes are.” He grabs your jaw so you can’t pull away as he pokes your eye bags. He’s careful to not poke you in the eye.

He lets go of your jaw and grabs you by the upper arm and he drags you upstairs. It’s a lot more cozy upstairs, it’s his bedroom. You start to panic again, what is going to do to you?

His grip on your arm tightens as he feels you begin to panic again. He makes no comment. He manhandles you at the end of his bed and he unloops the belt he had given you.

“Relax, it’s more comfortable to sleep without a belt on.” He says, mildly annoyed at the way you freak out.

He drops the belt on the floor and he picks you up and sits you on the bed. He gets a match from the drawer beside the bed and he light an oil lamp that’s sitting on the drawer.

You are frozen in place, unable to move in fear he will hurt you if you move. He pulls the covers back and he gets you to lay down, he tucks you in.

“Get comfy.” He tells you, expecting you to stay in the bed while he changes out of his uniform. You stay in the position he laid you in, on your side with your arms wrapped around your torso.

He changes quite fast into his nighttime attire, as if excited to sleep in bed with you. He slides in bed behind you, dimming the oil lamp so only a sliver of light escapes.

He sighs as he wraps his arms around you, his forehead pressing against the nape of your neck. You tense up, freaking out.

“Go to sleep.” He mutters, getting comfortable.

[mc-tummy-blur]

Explaining to his next victim about The Make Believes and Nick Lightbearer to show them that he understands the music (and Nick) more than they do

Based off of that scene from American Psycho y’know

Click for better quality

Check my pinned post to see links on how you can help the people in Palestine

Bonus sketch: Aftermath

[poisonousquinzel]

thinking about just how likely it is that Batman was the only person Harley told about having suicidal thoughts whilst in Arkham in Detective Comics #831

"I was seriously considering hanging sheets from the light in my cell and doing the maximum checkout when I heard this voice..."

Detective Comics #831

and how he knew when she strapped that bomb to herself in Batman (2016) #100 that he had to go after her because she was going let herself die in an attempt to end Joker's rampage for good but that she refused to physically do it because he didn't want to her Kill him and he told her that so she's found a middle ground

"We don't need to end it this way. He needs to be locked back up."

that she'd rather die than keep living with his presence in the world haunting her, haunting Them.

That if he did choose Joker, she wasn't going to disarm the bomb herself.

"Honey. You're talking to the wrong girl if you think he's not dangerous locked up in Arkham. It's like I said. That's not good enough for me. Not anymore."

the way he yells for her as she leaves.

"You're only going to get to one of us in time, Bats. Who's it going to be?"

"Harley!"

the way the two men stare at each other in the way they have so many times before, in those moments when Joker stayed or prioritized their fight over her. the way he knew Joker loved the thrill of it all and thought it was funny, thought there was No way Batman would leave him and that this game had to end as according to the rules. And that Batman would do so, he would follow the rules and save him. The way he immediately assumed Batman would choose him, choose his life and choose to stay and disarm the bomb.

And how Batman didn't do that. How Batman walked away from him, leaving him to die or escape or whatever, because He was choosing Harley and her safety and prioritizing her life over him.

The way he stared him in the eyes before choosing the woman Joker had always left to die over him. The way that it was always Him, it was never a question if he would choose Batman over her, but when faced with that type of scenario, Joker is the one that gets left behind to die.

The way she literally woke up in the hospital instead of them having a scene just outside after he removed it. because she didn't intend to live in one of the two options. the way the bomb probably did go off to some capacity because you don't just end up in the hospital knocked out for a week.

Him saying that he's glad she's okay, after everything they've been through, this war and Everything else. and the way he didn't brush off her concern

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Are you?"

"I had to bury my father again today. I did it with my family."

i just, i can't,,,,, i cant

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Moon: Immediately showering and furiously washing the blood off my hands after stabbing someone, not because I feel any guilt or remorse for what I did but because I have sensory issues.