( BONES )

— where i talk about my dsmp self inserts & shit post.

— main blog: @god1ngs

( MASTERLIST )

♡ self inserts

arctic fox!bones / fairy!bones

♡ af!bones

yandere headcanons / picrew

♡ f!bones

picrew

( TAG SYSTEM )

chats / chatting

letter from: [user] / asks

my friends / reblogging

lore / self insert lore

af!bones / anything about arctic fox!bones

"See? That wasn't so hard now, was it? We can't have anybody hearing you now, hm?"

He stands, crushing the vial underneath his shoe and kicking the glass to the side; A rare, apprehensive, look threatening his eye.

"Can't let anyone run their mouths. Can't let them see you. Prime knows what Wilbur would do if his little soldiers saw you."

An obsessive expression overcomes his face at his thoughts of discovery, more than wary at the thought of the dead man's reaction to his little toy being broken, of an explosive reaction, but it is quickly overruled by a confident, wicked smile.

"Though, I guess it doesn't matter, hm? I'd find out anyway."

He glances sharply at Bones.

"I always do."

With a hum, he breaks sight of the fox and reaches for his axe, pulling it from the dirt and wiping the viscera on the grass the best he could. He straps it back onto his shoulder, and turns back to the figure on the ground, getting his first emotion unbridled glimpse at the carnage he made. His working eye stares unblinkingly, only for a moment, an older, softer, part of him taken aback at how much blood there was on the dirt, taking his breath and making his hand twitch in disbelief. Then a huff escapes his mouth, and he shakes his head, breaking eye contact and bottling up the emotion to deal with later.

He had to take care of xem first.

He was the one that did this, after all.

Though, he tries desperately to convince himself otherwise.

Dirted wingtips step languidly towards the weakened figure of his querido on the ground, who wept in quiet anguish into the sky, and him, once again pushing his old emotions in a deeper part of himself. He fell into a careful crouch beside them, ducking his arms under their exhausted form and pulling them into a bridal carry with ease, resting his chin between their soft ears for just a moment.

Contentment. A breath passed his mouth.

He couldn't help a new feeling then. A wicked one.

An awful, horrifying, tearful grin wracked his face, and his old self shrivelled in fear of what he had done. The weaker part of him terrified of himself, and what he had now ruined for his love, what could no longer be given.

And the new, stronger part of him grinned in glee. Sadistic, greeding, possession.

No dead man could take what was his.

Not anymore.

Never again.

And with these new feelings in his heart, and a grin on his face, he began to walk into the night, led only by the lights of his empire in the distance.

Blood on his skin.

His querido in his arms.

And the trail of carnage he had made in his wake.

- C! Quackity anon

Xyr face aches once Quackity lets go, lingering blood— xyr blood— left on their cheeks. No doubt in xyr hair now too. But xe doesn't mind that, not when it's the only sense of comfort xe's been given all night. Xe leans into the affection, but it's gone as quick as it came. Xyr ears lower with sower, missing his gentle touches (missing him).

Xe tries xyr best to listen to xyr words, not wanting to miss something important and face the consequences, but the sound of xyr heart pounding in xyr ears has him struggling to hear. Not to mention the dizziness he was facing, eyes unfocused and dazed. However, though xyr blood-loss haze, for a second, xe almost thinks xe sees regret on Quackity's face. Good, they think hatefully. I hope it eats you from the inside out.

They tense up as he comes towards them, able to see his axe strapped to his shoulder, but still so afraid. Yet, they can't do anything. They're absolutely powerless (they've always hated being powerless). All he does is pick them up, but it still breeds fear in their heart, one that throbs deep in their bones.

They're terrified of Quackity.

As Quackity picks them up, they're able to get a first, clear glance of their leg— or, lack thereof. Tears well up in their eyes all over again, jaw dropping in disbelief. Their leg was gone. Actually, genuinely gone.

With what little strength they had left, they placed a hand over their mouth to stop themselves from vomiting. "Oh, God," They whispered underneath their breath, muffled by their hand. "Oh my God. It's... It's gone. My leg. Oh my God." Their voice is quiet, not having the strength to project it, but they can't help how disheartened they are.

Logically, they knew their leg was gone, but now, they had seen it.

Now, they couldn't deny it. Despite the pain, and the carnage, and the blood that stained Quackity's axe and his hands, they didn't want to believe it. But now, they can't deny it.

Their leg was gone.

No more walking. No more running. No more hunting.

No more anything. They couldn't even escape from Quackity this way. Without his help, they couldn't do anything.

Not enough force, he noted.

Another huff, another pull, and another swing, this time with more strength than the last, only to make up for his error of course. This time, a hearty 'crunch!' fell on his ears, and a pleased grin graced his blood splashed mouth, sweeping his tongue over his lip mindlessly.

The butcher was more than familiar with the sound of shattered bone, and he noted with precision, the amount of blood soaking into the dirt. At the sound of their screams once more, he finally risked a glance at their face in his displaced mindset, and a low coo fell from his mouth at their state.

"Aw, don't you worry, hermoso. We're almost done."

A familiar whistle blew through his lips.

Yank. Pull. Swing!

"Crack!"

Ah, solid ground at last.

With his axe still embedded in the ground, he knelt beside the weakened fox with a whistle, and pulled two colored vials off of his belt. A cork is yanked with a 'pop!' by the sharp end of his golden tooth and spat on the ground, his hand grasping their jaw in a seemingly sweet gesture. He continues to whistle, pulling their teeth apart with his thumbnail, and tipping the sweet smelling, candy red potion into their mouth. He shuts it with a click of their teeth, and a stern glint in his eye.

Healing.

Just enough to slow the bleeding.

"Swallow. I only brought one, zorro."

When he's sure xe swallowed it, he uncorks the other vial with more precision, careful not to get it in his mouth, and he pulls xyr mouth open once more. He swirls the potion between his two fingers, and he places his bloodied thumb upon xyr tongue with a firm weight. A reminder. A single eye slants to the vial in his fingers, and he cuts a knowing look back to his fox, giving xem a threatening grin.

Ashen grey liquid. Weakening.

"Drink this, querida, won't you?"

- C! Quackity anon

Wilbur was never worth it. Sneaking out to see him at night, thinking they were smart enough not to get caught, was not worth it. If xe knew it'd lead to this— blood-curdling screams scratching their throat, agonizing pain shooting through their leg, more than xe ever thought it could— Xe never would've done it. Xe would've stayed with Quackity, where xe was happy, safe (was xe truly ever safe?).

Bones gave up everything xe had for a dead man. The thought implants itself into xyr head and, buries in and resides there. Xe wants to curl up on xemself, away from Quackity's manic grin, away from the peering eyes of the trees. You messed this up only for yourself, they say harshly.

I know, Xe replies meekly, I know.

Through his tears, Bones sees the bloody axe raise again. A panic response shoots through him, his nerves yelling and screaming at him to get out of there, but he can't move. Excruciating pain keeps him pinned in place, and draws another scream out of him. Faintly, his ears can pick up the sounds of wings; birds flying away at the sound of him.

Sobs and hiccups leave his mouth, their chest heaving as they desperately try to intake air. It's getting so hard to breathe, they're definitely hyperventilating by now, but they can't focus on that. Quackity doesn't let them. Quackity twists and pulls and tugs and it hurts so bad Bones can't even make out another scream, their throat burning. Quiet sobs and whimpers leave them instead.

He's whistling again. It draws a sick sense in his stomach, a need to run away, a sign of danger— It's almost like he's trained to have a panic response to it. He can hardly hear it over his own sobs and cries, loud and emitting agony.

Quackity's fingers are rough. Bones like that about him at one point; the callousness of his hands juxtaposed to the gentleness of his, assuring Quackity that he still was beautiful, even with calloused and scarred hands. Now, they're used to keep his jaw in place, pry his mouth open, and shove a potion down his throat. It's candy red, and tastes exactly like cotton candy on their tongue. They swallow it per Quackity's request, dazed eyes hardly being able to see what he pulls out next.

All he can tell is that it's another vial.

Quackity's thumb sits heavy on their tongue, the taste of copper making them want to retract their tongue, but they can't. Not with Quackity's thumb keeping it still, and not with the fear imbedded in their bones. Their still sniffling, waterlogged cries leaving them still when Quackity holds out the ash gray potion. They know what it is. They know and yet, wanting to keep their other leg, hastily gulp it all down.

The effects kick in almost immediately. His head aches, and there's exhausting settling itself in his bloodstream, flowing and getting rid of any fight left in him. His howls of pain quieten down, until it's just him whimpering, tears still cascading down his face (he can't stop, even if he wanted to).

~ ares

~ ares

~ ares

logically, soup knows technoblade is home. however, something in him makes her think that he'll be gone every time he wakes up.

&&. c!technoblade x @anarchiststories

warnings: light angst. mention of taking a shower together but no further details.

word count: 1.7k words.

bones' note: sorry this is short but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! also didnt post on main since it wasnt an x reader :D enjoy !!!

Technoblade has been home for a year.

Soup knows this, he does, but sometimes it’s like he’s still gone. As if he never came back home in the first place. As if Soup was still there in the living room, sleeping on the couch, refusing to leave from the front door. “What if he comes back and I’m not here?” He would say to Phil, who would sigh and shake his head.

“You need rest, mate,” Phil would say, placing a comforting hand on Soup’s shoulder, and she’d nod, but would never leave her spot in the living room.  She’d sit there and wait for Technoblade’s return. Waiting for her lover to come back, never letting her gaze lift from the front door. Never moving. Just waiting.

(and it’s gonna be direct bones x sam C;)