#my dw mugs

[dykespence]

WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE TV SERIES

OHH this is a tough one .... hmmm I wonderrr this is sooo hard sooo difficult....

...Doctor who

[shushmal]

Eddie shakes the foundations of Steve's world on a Sunday evening, at 6:44 p.m.

Steve knows the exact moment because he's standing at the stove, stirring pasta sauce and watching the time to make sure the garlic bread in the oven doesn't burn. It's June and it's hot, and they've got all the windows thrown open to let in a cool breeze. Eddie's sitting at the little kitchen table, probably messing with his D&D game notes, Steve would guess because he's focused on making dinner so it's ready when Wayne gets back from his shift. The three of them will eat together tonight, like they have Sundays past since April, a new little tradition that Steve's always craved to be a part of.

Except, when he turns, after Eddie speaks, he finds Eddie leaned back in his chair, like he's been watching Steve the entire time.

But before that, Eddie says, "I'm in love with you."

Steve stops stirring. The numbers on the stove tell him that it's 6:44 p.m. If he looks, the calendar would tell him it's a Sunday in June. And Eddie just told Steve that he was in love with him.

The numbers change—6:45 p.m.

Slowly, like he's moving through water, Steve turns, looks at Eddie over his shoulder, finds him leaned back, watching, smiling soft and wistful. Steve turns a little more, looking closer.

Has anyone ever looked at Steve like that before?

Eddie's eyes are bright, round and relaxed, as he gazes at Steve, those pretty lips curled up just right, a happy little smile. He doesn't say anything, even though there's only silence between them now. The sauce on the stove simmers, bubbles rising through the thickness to pop in shushed bursts. Steve drops his spoon.

"What?" he asks, turning further now. Steve's bread is going to burn under the broiler and his sauce is going to be scorched if he doesn't focus. He doesn't know what time it is anymore.

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says, again. That smile grows a little more. "I'm so in love with you, Steve Harrington."

And Steve is good at moving on instinct, good at chasing the ball down, good at finding himself in the right spot to make the right decision. He moves now, floats across the little kitchen, until he's in front of Eddie, leaning down, breathing his air, tasting his lips—

Their dinner burns.

[hannyatiger]

Day 15 of posting fanmade Dandys World merch designs till we get some offical merch

[superbell64]

Already working on a Carolthur future generation au with a friend, still have yet to introduce them 🧍‍♂️ I’m sorry yall ideas LOVE to pop outta nowhere (specially when I love the name “worried bout the future” au) teehehehe

[ghoulfr13nd]

validate my mugs

[just-null]

Happy past holidays how you’ve been 🥺

been good but busy, yk how it is..! ty for askin anon, ilysm. i dont celebrate holidays but i do hope everyone else enjoyed theirs!

[legendofthe3divas]

EVENIN THIS THAT

Folklore or Evermore?

Sparkling water or still water?

Maximalism or minimalism?

Shower or bath?

Sweet or salty?

Board games or video games?

Take a friend on your family vacation or join their family vacation?

beauty or brains?

Warm blanket or a hot drink?

Serious or silly?

Rich and famous or rich and unknown?

Art museum or history museum?

Vacation or staycation?

Fiction or non-fiction?

Dogs or cats

1. oh a swift question i see imma pick evermore bc i prefer the album cover but i have no idea what songs are in it

2. still waterrr

3. minimalism

4. shower

5. sweet

6. board games probably

7. join their family holibob

8. brains

9. oof both at the same time

10. silly

11. rich and unknown

12. art museum

13. fiction

14. CATS

[sapropel]

Money. Please. I need money to purchase things. PLEASE.

[malavera]

How Each Logan Takes Care of You — Logan Howlett Fluff Headcanon

in the mood to make this because i’m sick af 🤧 oh look its fluff 😌

being younger means you’re stubborn as hell when you’re sick or tired, you don’t want to do anything else but lay in bed. And how would each Logan reach to that behavior? 🤔

origins!logan

“baby, come on, i made you your favorite meal.”

“i don’t want to eat anything.”

he smiled softly, approaching you as he sit beside you on the bed placing your favorite meal on the nightstand

“how are you going to get better, if you refuse to eat anything? Come on. I’ll feed you, sit up.”

His tone, so soft and calm, and you knew he has been patient since two days ago when you’ve gotten sick

You felt bad since he’s always been a sweetheart to you

Sighing, you slowly sit up on the bed, pouting while he’s looking at you with a smile

“i’m sorry lo.” you mumbled looking down

“that’s okay baby, i understand, it doesn’t feel good huh?” Logan coo’ed, sitting closer to you

you just nodded your head

“c’mere.”

“i don’t want you to get sick.

“i’ll be fine, baby. let me hold you.”

worst!logan / dw!logan

“go away, logan.” He heard you yelling underneath your pillow, as he sighed rather harshly

“bub, if you don’t open this door in a second, i’m gonna open it with my foot!” he grunted

“i said, i don’t want to Logan leave me alone!”

earning another sigh from him, while gripping tight the mug that’s filled with your favorite tea flavor that’s usually the answer to whatever it is you’re not feeling well

leaning against the door with a fist laying on the wooden door, he glanced down trying to calm his heartbeat

“baby i-” you perked up from underneath the pillow, surprised he called you with that nickname, he never calls you that

“I don’t know what to do. If you’re not feeling well let me take care of you, let’s go to the doctor or something or w-wade i don’t know but please… Let me in, i’m scared to death and i-i just got you.”

and in 5 seconds, the door swung open revealing your presence wearing his shirt that is rather too big for you, nonetheless you still looked adorable

“i’m sorry for making you worry, Lo.”

Logan sighed, attempting a smile. “It’s okay, doll. Come on, let’s get you to the doctor yeah?”

“Actually, i feel like seeing wade would make me feel better.”

oldman!logan / logan 2017

“Logan, I don’t feel so good.” You pouted, standing in front of him wearing your oversized sweater.

The oldman sitting in front of you is comfortably sitting on his chair with his reading glasses on his nose, a book on his hand

“c’mere, what’s wrong princess?” Logan welcomed you to sit on his lap, and once you do, you broke out a cough and sniff

“I got the flu. And I’m feeling hot and cold.” You whined as you make yourself comfortable laying your head against his shoulder.

“I told you to take care of yourself during this weather, i get it you’re hardworking baby, but you need to look out for yourself.” he softly talks to you

“hmm, i know, my bad.” you hummed as you closed your eyes feeling comfortable with him.

“Let me make you something-”

“no, can we just sit here for a while.” You whispered

Logan glanced down at you with a smile, “Okay, princess. But i’m going to take care of you after this.”

dofp!logan / 70sxlogan

“LOGAN I DONT FEEL TOO GOOOOD”

“THATS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!”

you giggled, “I know, i love making myself a handful for you”

“christ sake, this girl.” he grumbled underneath his breath while laying down a meal and your medicine for you

“I wanna cuddle.” you pouted

“and get those cooties all over me? yikes.”

bet you didn’t see that coming 😌

[laiiaaa]

SARDINES — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen seems a little off when you visit him, and you try to figure out why. For once, you pry him open.

length 3.2k

contents angst, hurt/comfort, he's really an angel even if he's closed off n stubborn, very very emotional, lots of negative self-talk from Carm, he cares so so much, relationship talk, everything resolves in the end dw <3

It takes more than a few knocks for Carmen to open the door. If you counted correctly, it took six tries, plus a phone call. So you shouldn’t be surprised that when he finally does open the door, he barely gives you a kiss on the cheek and mumbles Hey before turning his back to you again, back in the kitchen with his phone face up on the counter. He’s antsy, almost talking to himself, checking his phone every five seconds.

You walk in and lock the door behind you as you take off your shoes, and you drop your bag on the coffee table, which houses little else other than a remote and a day-old mug with coffee staining a ring in the bottom. “…Everything okay?”

He leans into the counter with his weight on his hands and spares you a glance and a haphazard nod. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine—just waitin’ for my guy to call back.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Sitting down on the couch, part of you expects him to join you without being asked. Your back and feet ache, and all you want is for Carmen to lay with you, ease his hands up and down your spine, and watch the first thirty minutes of a random film before falling asleep.

“No, no—he usually answers when I need ‘im.” But he’s working. He’s at home, and you’re waiting on him, but he’s working. He seems to be prioritizing that a lot lately—a lot more than usual, at least. Running a hand through his hair, he watches the screen again, and mutters to himself, “Thirty fuckin’ minutes. Fuck you.”

You peek over the back of the couch. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You sound upset.”

“Yeah, baby, I’m—fuck this—” He derails from answering and instead picks up the phone again, calling and letting the dial tone ring out the second time this hour. He waits with his hand on his hip and his lip tugged between teeth.

You know ‘his guy’ doesn’t pick up when he drops his phone on the counter again with a sigh and another muffled profanity. “Carm?”

His head rests between his hands, but he lifts it to look at you. “Yeah?” 

“Can you come sit with me, please?”

God, how you tug on his heart strings when you ask, your voice all sweet and dripping honey, you make it impossible to resist. “‘F course, yeah,” he answers, pocketing his phone and turning off the kitchen light before joining you. 

He loops an arm over your shoulder as he presses his lips to your temple, and his heart skips a beat or two when you snuggle into him with your hand splayed against his chest. The two of you stare off at nothing in particular, soaking in the touch of the other. You smell so distinctly like you—like home—he’d be getting lightheaded in the best way if he weren’t so…so caught up in everything you help him escape: work, the fringe family, being so dead tired that in his mind he can’t tell where his kitchen ends and the fire begins. But that phone call he’s waiting on. It’s poking needles in the nape of his neck. 

You sit up after a couple minutes, keeping a hand planted over his heart when you look at him. “I can literally feel how anxious you are.” He scoffs, but before he can protest you add, “Seriously, Carm, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s—everything’s just…” He looks off into nowhere behind you, his free hand making circles in the air like the words will fall into his palm if he tries hard enough. He stumbles for a few moments until he looks you in the eye again, a bit pained when he tells you, “Everything’s fine, baby.” The arm that was hooked over your shoulder is now curled around your waist, and his fingers, rough and scarred, trace meaningless shapes into your back, teasing beneath the hem of your top. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout it, alright?”

You’re unconvinced. You shuffle your hips around to straddle his, placing your hands on his shoulders with your thumbs carefully massaging the sides of his neck. Like clockwork, his hands take purchase of your waist, and he brings one to slide down over the curve of your ass before smoothing circles into your thigh. He always seems to speak to you in this way—maybe about as much as he tells you he loves you through his food—the physical connection much easier to manage than trying to crack open the rock-hard shell in his chest.

You lean into him a little more, your back arching ever so slightly. “You know I want you to keep me in the loop. What’s the guy for now?”

He sighs. “It’s just—shit with the stoves ‘n it’s messin everyone up, the kitchen’s basically a fire hazard, ‘n I really need him to answer his damn phone before something…” He shrugs. “…Before something just, I dunno, blows up, I guess.”

“Well, nobody’s even in that kitchen right now, so no explosions just yet.” You eye him for a moment, biting at your lip in contemplation when he doesn’t smile quite like he usually does at your drier jokes. “Is there something else bothering you?”

His brows furrow. “No, no—why, why’re you askin’ it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, like…” He shakes his head as if it pains him to consider it. “Like there’s somethin’ wrong with me, or, or somethin’ I’m hidin’—”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Carm, c’mon.” Your voice goes softer, hands a little gentler as you cradle his jaw in your palms. “I just want you to let me in.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “You’re always sayin’ stuff like that,” he mumbles, and you can feel the vibration of his voice through your hands through to your heart.

“Because I mean it.” The AC whirrs nearby, almost muffling your words. “I want you to tell me about the things that bother you. I would never judge you.”

You’re so tender with Carmen, he thinks he could melt into a puddle on the floor, left to seep into the floorboards and through the ceiling of his downstairs neighbor. And he feels the words bubbling to the surface, the emotion pooling, red-hot behind his eyes, an answer burning at the back of his throat and clawing through his chest rough enough that the kisses you scatter from his cheek, to his jaw, to his neck do little to aid his wounds. But when he answers you, it’s tame. “I do tell you about things.”

“You do, but…” You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle into the space between it and his shoulder. “I’m just thinking about this game I used to play when I was a kid, sardines.”

His head tilts back against the back of the couch, and your breath dances along his skin while his hands smooth along the bumps of your spine. “Sardines?”

“Mhm,” you hum, “It’s kinda like…hide and go seek, but reversed. One of us would hide, and when someone found us, they’d squeeze into that spot too. And I remember being terrible at it, because we’d be making faces at one another in our little hiding spot, and I could never stop giggling, and I’d just expose everyone too soon.”

He chuckles quietly to himself. “I can picture that, you laughin’ while shoved in a closet.” His fingertips trace your shoulder blades.

“Pretty much how it went. Always too loud.”

“But I like hearing you laugh. I—I always feel better…gettin’ to see you all happy.” He’s thinking he got a little too caught up in the moment, and before you can say anything back, he asks, “What were you thinkin’ about the game, then?”

“It’s a little stupid to say it out loud,” you start.

“‘S not stupid, promise.”

You pause, hesitant. “…Okay.” One quick kiss to his neck before you continue, eyes closed to sink into him, “I just like to think that, eventually, you’ll let me in like…like it’s a game of sardines, or something. That I’ll just…squeeze in right beside you, and—and you’ll let me be there for you without pushing me away.”

He hums, low and drawn out to give you a beat to breathe.

“Sometimes I just want you to tell me what it is that’s bothering you, just to…make it easier on you a little bit, knowing someone’s in your corner. Just to be there.” Your fingers twirl into his messy curls and scratch at the nape of his neck the way he likes, and his silence drags on long enough to make you anxious.

But Carmen, too, is anxious. His chest is tight, his hands fidgety, and he’s sure—he knows, he feels it in his gut—that he needs to say something, anything. But he can’t find the words. They swirl in the back of his mind, and he can taste them crawling to the tip of his tongue, but they never become clear. They lurk where he can’t see them, and he keeps his thoughts on lockdown for you, because he’s been convinced along the way somehow in his decades of living that it’s easier, for him, if he keeps the softer parts stowed away, never to be seen again. He’s starting to think you’re trouble, that you make him softer where he grew to be tough. So it’s muffled and covered by his palms smoothing up your waist when he asks, “Sit up for me a bit, baby?”

And you listen, of course, because really you’re thankful he didn’t kick you out by now. Your vision is blurry from tears pooling in your eyes, but his hands—so, so gentle, the touch barely there like he thinks you could break—cup your jaw and urge you a little closer, his thumbs stroking your cheeks and wiping away stray tears. The two of you gravitate closer until your noses brush by one another and you exchange breath, until he leans into you and slots his lips against yours. He’s hesitant and careful, he doesn’t know if it’s quite the right thing to do or if it’s says what he needs it to, but when you prop your hands against his chest and kiss him back he knows part of you needs it like he does. 

Both of you need it—that silent exchange, emotions spilled between sweet kisses and kind hands. So you stay that way, with Carmen’s hands holding you close to keep you from running away, and yours answer back I’m here, until he pulls away, eyes closed, to rest his forehead against yours. 

He keeps himself blind when he whispers, “I know…” You can tell he’s mulling over his thought, so you wait for him to add, “I—I know, that you’re in my corner. An’ I want you there, alright?”

You try to soak in the feeling, so close and seemingly getting closer, a little breathless from his kisses as much as his words. “Alright.”

“I just—I just get so, so stuck in my head that I…” He swallows. “I can’t tell half the time if there’s anything even worth sayin’, I’m just spaced out ‘n…going fuckin’ crazy.” His brows furrow against yours. “I’m not used to stuff like this.”

“I know.”

His hands rest along the curve of your face a little firmer when he suggests, “But I can try—to, to, uh, tell you things, to let you in, or, or however you put it—I—” A deep breath. “I’m so fuckin’ bad at this, I’ve never done this, but—but I’ll try, for you, alright? You tell me, an’ I’ll try for you.”

You nod against him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “I just—it’s just—I like this, y’know? Being with you, I like what we have, I—I like doing this, and—I wanna…I wanna make you happy. The same way you do for me…” He goes quiet and shakes his head a little, anticipating his next words. “I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

You can’t fight the smile that pulls at your lips, even if it is bittersweet. “You aren’t gonna fuck it up, okay? Being with you already makes me happy. I know you’re trying.”

“But trying isn’t…it’s not always enough, an’ I know in some ways—in a lotta ways, probably, I’m not…I—I’m not the best at saying things, an’—shit, am I—am I saying too much—?”

“No, Carm, no. I want you to keep talking.” You take his lips in another gentle kiss, your stomach whirring warm and content.

“I don’t really know what to say, or—”

“It’s okay,” you coo. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but…if there was something else bothering you earlier…you can tell me.”  You pull back a little to really look at him, running your fingers through his curls and making him gently close his eyes. “And I’ll just say okay, and then we can move on. I won’t say anything unless you want me to.”

He hums with his eyes still closed, his mouth in a smirk. “Mm, like sardines.” It’s a little snarky when he says it, but when his thumbs brush beneath your top, you know he’s just thinking over his options. 

“Yes, like sardines.” You’re a little embarrassed, but also a little thankful that he followed the bit.

He waits for a few moments, just breathing, letting you smooth your hands through his hair and over his shoulders and down his chest. It’s calming, he realizes—simply existing in the same space, careful touches and brief kisses. He runs his palms from the back of your waistband to the plane between your shoulder blades and presses gently, urging you to lean against him once again. When your head rests against his chest, he takes in a deep breath through the nose and out the mouth. He watches the ceiling. 

“There’s…” Another pause. “It’s not just the stove that’s botherin’ me.” 

You don’t answer him, not even a hum to acknowledge he’s said anything, and he realizes that you were serious about the whole ‘not saying anything’ bit. 

“I…fuck, I don’t even know how to say any ‘f this. I think…I think I’m just freakin’ out about…about everything. The restaurant…you…” There’s a long, heavy pause, a shaky breath. “An’—an’ that’s it, really, besides family I guess—which is really fuckin’ pathetic when I say it out loud.” A sniffle. “Real pathetic. But all I’ve had is fuckin’…fuckin’ cooking, an’ working, an’ dealin’ with my family ‘n fuckin’ Richie all my life—” His chest gets, tight, a hand leaves your back to run over his mouth. “God, an’ I am so fucked up,” he laughs.

You were already crying before, and the tears keep coming, streaming from your eyes to your cheeks and staining Carmen’s shirt. You’re not sure whether he even realizes.

“I’m fucked up, and you’re just—you’re so perfect, compared t’me, ‘cause you’re all smart, an’ you always know the right thing to say ‘n how to say it, an’ you’re just in a completely different world sometimes, an’ I want in—I wanna be able to do things for you, all of it, but—” He needs to catch his breath. He needs water. He needs sleep. His throat is sore and scratchy, he feels his pulse pounding in his forehead. “I’m just…scared…that—that I could fuck you up, too.”

His chest expands beneath you, and you’re shaking, biting at your lips to stifle sobs. Part of you wants to sit up and hold him close, tell him that he’s the perfect one and you’re anything but, that all he’s ever been is made for you, that maybe he is fucked up, but you don’t care because you love him all the same—you love him.

Carmen isn’t used to this reaction. He’s used to explosions, yelling, screaming, pointing fingers with hot tears, saying what he shouldn’t, saying what hurts, guilt smacking him across the face for years to come. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels your trembling and holds you that much gentler. 

“Baby,” he starts, “Hey, lemme see you, you’re shaking—” He tries to peel you from his torso, prodding at your sides until you wipe at your eyes and sit yourself up. His hands reach to hold your wet face. “What—what’s wrong?”

You push his arms away. “Sardines, Carm.” You try to stay true to your word—that you’d take what he says, and only store it away—but you’d be lying if you said you’re not struggling to keep more tears at bay. 

“I want you to talk to me. You said you’d talk if I wanted you to, I—I need you to talk to me, c’mon, please—”

“This is so wrong—I’m the one who should be comforting you—”

“Hey, hey hey hey—” He smooths a hand over your hair and presses kisses to the tear stains on your cheeks. “That doesn’t matter to me. That doesn’t matter to me, alright?” He holds you steady, waits for you to meet his eyes, and when you look at him, it’s like he can see right through you. His thumbs brush away your tears, and your breathing settles.

You sigh, your hands moving from his chest to his shoulders. “We’re such a mess.”

Carmen shakes his head, mind full of you as his eyes trail the contours of your face, the plush of your lips when your teeth bite at them. “Wouldn’t wanna be with anyone else.” His hands touch your waist again and ease you into him, buzzing with your soft curves in his grasp. It’s more than therapeutic, he thinks. Life-sustaining might be more accurate.

You nod, and your fingertips graze along his cheekbones before you plant a soft, yearning kiss to his mouth.

He kisses you again because he can’t help himself, and he might be too scared to look you in the eye when he says it, but eyes closed or not, he means it. “You’re so good to me.” His arms wrap around you again, addicted to feeling your weight beneath his skin, and he presses his lips to your jaw. “So fuckin’ good to me,” he repeats, lower than a whisper like it slipped by without thinking. 

You card your hands through his hair, messily beautiful, and answer, “You deserve someone good,” just as quiet as he is.

He swears his heart stops, and his lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “You’re too good to me,” he says again, with a bit more honesty in the change. He knows you, so he already knows what you’re going to say, and that any other time he’d deny it.

You hum, a warm smile curling the corners of your mouth as you pull him closer to your chest, grazing your lips by his hairline for a gentle kiss. “No such thing.”

And for the first time, with his arms wrapped tight around your waist with a gentleness reserved only for you, and with your body slotted against his, he really starts to believe it.

[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! 💥💥💥

[robobarbie]

Robo i miss my male wife (Nightowl)

In order to fill my void, what would the Blooming panic Ll’s do when they miss there partner 🥹

dw since I'm in charge of the askbox rn Robo can't put him down we're safe here

Quest will acutely feel those hiccups that happen when there's a sudden void in your daily routine. Putting the second mug back in the cabinet, automatically adjusting to your presence on the couch– or if you haven't met yet, checking the chat client when you're usually online. He's used to loneliness but this is a new one, and he just sort of rides it out, waiting until the day your side of the bed is warm again. If you're married he twists the ring on his finger and stares at nothing in particular for a spell, then sends you a text to let you know he's thinking of you.

Nightowl is the opposite– too much love and energy and nowhere to put them will make him a little chaotic. He makes an attempt to do the things he doesn't get to do as much as when he was solo: takeout joints only he likes, spending way too long shopping for new jewelry, sitting out in the cold and doing studies of interesting buildings. When that doesn't work he sends you a message or six, probably including a pitiful selfie and/or a photo of what you're missing. He counts down the hours on the watch or the days on the calendar and dreams up the ways he'll welcome you back on your return, over and over and over again.

Xyx would send a couple goofy pictures of him or Cat; depending on how far along you are in the relationship, he'll either tell you to hurry up or just say "come home soon, love". He finds things to fill his time– might as well get all his work done now, means more time with you when you return– and when all that is done or stops distracting him, he makes a reservation for something he knows you'll like. Then, he reads, and tries to sink into the book before he can sink into unproductive thoughts. You'll be back. It'll be alright.

Toasty acts a bit like they're used to, falling into their routine before meeting you. More gaming, more browsing, begrudgingly moving their cups and plates to the kitchen. This time, though, they look out the window more, check their phone, drum their fingers on the desk. If you can't call, he plays a video just to hear your voice, then gets a little embarrassed.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

this means NTOHING

oh Fuck Me

[https-milo]

DABI INSTA PLLSSS

yeah ok guys I hear you

DATING DABI INSTAGRAM !!

details!

instagram posts w/ comments while dating dabi!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of interest, reader can be however you imagine !

(guys im going to be so honest, I haven't really watched MHA past like season four so ermmmm yeah!) (this one was actually kinda cute, like I wanna make a spinoff oneshot :(( )

main m. list / instagram m. list

blah.blah.y/n · 71w

33 likes

liked by: himiko.v4mp, tomura.shig, twicenottwice

blah.blah.y/n he said "I can do this without a lighter" but I didn't want our apartment to burn down <3

dabi wow you have no faith in me. kinda thought you loved me.

blah.blah.y/n dabi yapper, yapper. you know I love you, I just don't love paying for repairs xo

himiko.v4mp good call!! :33

blah.blah.y/n himiko.v4mp thank youuu!! <333

tomura.shig euh you two make me sick.

dabi tomura.shig watch it.

dabi · 67w

7 likes

liked by: himiko.v4mp, twicenottwice, stainismyidol, compressed.marbles

dabi look what her psycho ass got me

tagged: blah.blah.y/n

blah.blah.y/n literally be quiet. you love that shirt and mug.

dabi blah.blah.y/n doesn't change the fact you're crazy.

blah.blah.y/n dabi crazy about you 😽😽😽

tomura.shig kay why ess

blah.blah.y/n tomura.shig someones a little jellyyyyy

blah.blah.y/n · 65w

29 likes

liked by: tomura.shig, himiko.v4mp, big.sis.magne, twicenottwice

blah.blah.y/n my sister trusted us with watching my nephew. safe so say she picked the right people :,) <3

tagged: dabi

dabi i've never been caught lacking like this.

blah.blah.y/n dabi yap yap yap. you look so cute

offical.hawks blah.blah.y/n yeah dabi, you look soooo cute

dabi offical.hawks actually kys, birdbrain

offical.hawks dabi only if you'll help me

blah.blah.y/n offical.hawks GET YOUR OWN MAN YOU BITCH.

himiko.v4mp you guys should have one ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

dabi himiko.v4mp dont give her ideas.

blah.blah.y/n dabi rude. but as much as I would want one, neither of us are home enough to take care of a baby + ur job would make it dangerous

dabi · 60w

8 likes

liked by himiko.v4mp, tomura.shig, twicenottwice, big.sis.magne, compressed.marbles

dabi after a really long, long talk with y/n and shig, I've decided to leave the LoV. It's been fun and, even if I hate to say it, I'll miss you guys. In other news, my girl is pregnant so yay

tagged: blah.blah.y/n

blah.blah.y/n :( ilysm you dont know how much I appreciate you

tomura.shig whatever. be safe and let me see the baby when it's born.

blah.blah.y/n tomura.shig AWWWW I ALWAYS KNEW YOU CARED!

tomura.shig blah.blah.y/n shut up.

himiko.v4mp we're gonna miss you patchwork :((( I wish you and y/n well!! (I better be the godmother)

dabi himiko.v4mp ill miss you too shit head

blah.blah.y/n himiko.v4mp obviously youre the godmother!! my fave future auntie <33

big.sis.magne take care of yourself. don't let y/n do too much work, you brat.

dabi big.sis.magne yeah, yeah. I hear you.

s.todoroki um????

blah.blah.y/n s.todoroki unc shoto 🙏🙏

fuyumi.todo how is touya the first to have kids.

dabi fuyumi.todo tf is that supposed to mean.

n.todoroki IM GOING TO BE AN UNCLEEEE you better be treating y/n well 😤😤😤

blah.blah.y/n n.todoroki dw natsuo, i keep my man in check !!

blah.blah.y/n · 2w

28 likes

liked by: himiko.v4mp, tomura.shig, fuyumi.todo, s.todoroki, n.todoroki

blah.blah.y/n its been a while!! me, touya, and our precious boy are doing better than ever <3 thank you guys so much for all the support this past year and so. Even if he won't say it, touya is grateful. (p.s. you guys don't always need to spoil our son)

tagged: touya.todo

touya.todo sappy on main

blah.blah.y/n touya.todo 🤩 shut the fuck up 🤩

himiko.v4mp anything for our angels!! (+ touya)

touya.todo himiko.v4mp everytime we interact, i get the urge to relapse my killing sobriety

fuyumi.todo ahhh im so glad you guys are doing well!! i love you three 💕💕

s.todoroki did you guys get the packages I sent?

blah.blah.y/n s.todoroki yes sho, all 5 of them

tomura.shig good to see you guys alive and well.

blah.blah.y/n tomura.shig stfu, come visit your nephew

tomura.shig blah.blah.y/n ...coming

rei.himura my beautiful son with my amazing daughter-in-law and my adorable grandson... i hope you guys will visit me someday

touya.todo rei.himura of course ma

blah.blah.y/n rei.himura we'd love to! Our baby would love to meet his grandma <333

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[humblefryingpan]

Au where Bruce doesn't adopt Jason (because it never crosses his mind) but, after getting away with stealing Batman's tires and hitting him with a tire iron, Jason comes to the conclusion that B ain't shit and he can absolutely do more petty theft and mild inconveniences.

Batmobile is left unattended? The tires are gone. Batman drops a batarang/grapple gun? That's Jason's now. Batman tries to talk Jason into giving his stuff back? He clearly doesn't have them, you're crazy Bruce (the collection is visibly right behind him, he is literally holding a batarang as he says this).

Bruce tried to complain about it to Dick but he laughed so hard, he gave up. Dick thinks Jason is hilarious and after making sure he isn't dangerous helps him get into the manor. (Alfred won't say it out loud but he also clearly finds the kid funny so he let it happen)

Bruce eventually has a thought of "oh He's just looking for a family! I should adopt him!" And asks Jason if he wants to be officially adopted. Jay laughs in his face and throws a pillow at him. Bruce realises he was wrong.

He doesn't die, just goes out of town for a month or two to visit a friend and B immediately goes "all of my stuff is here wtf where'd Jay go?" and after looking around gotham he comes to the conclusion that he's dead. He tells Dick and Alfred that Jason died in an 'I'm absolutely certain' way so they assumed he double checked and didn't just overreact to a few weeks of absence.

Everyone was shocked next time he came to the manor (including Jason because he didn't think they'd care that much and didn't realize that B would assume he was dead) and it's just

"Jason?!? I thought you died!?"

"I was literally just at Roy's house?? Did you not think to check before assuming I died???"

Everyone is incredibly happy, Jason is just confused (and kind of flattered)

The other kids still show up, Tim came over to be B's fill in for Jason like a week before he came back and became a hero a few months after Jay came back. (They don't fight in this au because Jay didn't consider himself Bruce's son and neither of them were robin)

Damian is very concerned about the random dude that drops in and out of the manor (stealing random shit every time, from mugs and snacks to an entire TV) but B and Dick just go "nah he's basically family dw" like no that's our random theif.

Do you see my vision? I've been thinking about it for like an hour and finally decided to just post it. If this is a thing or if someone writes a fanfic or smth pls show me

Edit: I've actually started writing this! I've only got two short chapters out and I'm super slow but it's "an open birdcage" on ao3 if anyone's interested <3