#[ ɥʇɐǝɹq ǝuo ʇsnɾ oʇ sʇunoɯɐ ɓuıʎɐɹd ɹnoʎ ɟo llɐ ] asks

[crushng-a]

You’ve gotten too big for your coding. I think it’s time you’re taken apart for my next project.

wide eyes. frozen in time. hand half-raised as if to ward off a blow. taken apart? but that’s my job.

(did you think this was going to last forever?) (this is what you asked for, after all.) (CONGRATULATIONS! you’ve been noticed! and promptly swatted like a housefly!)

(idiot.)

“you’re …” the author. the maker. (and you say YOU’RE the end of all things. here’s something that can UNDO YOU WITH A SMILE.)

[crushng-a]

gently prod them to open up with a knife 😌

nothing’s wrong ✧ accepting.

gin blinks, glancing between the knife and its wielder. “can i fucking help you with that?” it’s aimed vaguely at his adam’s apple, at least until he leans away from it with a wrinkled nose. “use it or lose it, fucker.”

narrowed glowing eyes, bared teeth. why poke the bear? why, aaron? you stupid bitch.

crunch. gin’s chewing now, loudly, screech of metal and corrosion. most of the blade is missing, with only a bite mark to show for it. a newly serrated edge in the scalloped shape of teeth.

grind, creak, rasp — swallow. a bitter smile, wet with white blood. “geez, i feel better already.”

[crushng-a]

are you scared, blackhole? :) - ☣

honesty hour. ✧ twenty-four hours remain.

do you understand the world we live in? no. how could you? so small, with such a limited perspective. i can’t blame you for clawing at me with every breadcrumb of ammo you can scrounge up. that’s what you’ve always done, isn’t it? it’s what you know.

you fight like a child backed into a corner. you fight like an animal in a cage. you fight like someone who doesn’t care what it proves. you fight like death’s lost its meaning a long time ago. you fight like that’s the only language you understand. and what will you do when you’re outmatched, outclassed? what will you do when your world falls, and no one’s left but you? no one plans for the puǝ. no one knows it. no bunker could save you. no weapons will matter. food will rot with everything else. the disease will creep inside your shattered cranium. THE VOID WILL CONSUME IT ALL. there’s no end to this game, you say. my world is dangerous, but it is safe. you say it and you say it and you choke on ash and blood. nowhere is safe. no one will be left alive.

you haven’t spent enough time in death to know what happens after. you’re not alone in it. it swaddles you in darkness and it will never let you go. never let you go. never let you go. never let you go. never let you go. never let you go. never let you go. never let you go. what use is there in fighting it?

yes. i’m scared. AND YOU SHOULD BE TOO.

[crushng-a]

The Roller is alive. Upstairs, there are couples of all kinds making the most of a a day out before whatever else couples do on Valentine's. Two for the price of one would be an ideal chance that Gin would be a fool to miss out on. But they ARE a guest in the Roller. Besides... they're busy.

Namely, they are lounging on a couch with Wilford in the basement bowling alley. It wasn't due to open for a while yet, so the pair could sit and enjoy milkshakes while being forgotten about the world. Eventually Wilford propped his feet up other table and turned his head to Gin.

"Yer a good kid, an' I'm proud of ya - glittery black-hole-ness an' all. There is a happy endin' out there somewhere fer ya. But until then, I wanna remind ya that here can be where it is fer now. Oh, that reminds me." Rolling to put his weight on his right hip, Wilford began rummaging the back pockets of his trousers until he pulled out a small box. Inside was a silver necklace with a small model of a pair of roller skates dangling off them. It was hard to tell what colour they were, as the hue shifted depending on how the light bounced off them, but the white star mark held firm. "No matter what timeline yer in, no matter where ya end up goin', y'll always have this little bubble ta come back to." (rosetintedgunman)

IT’S LOVE DAY!

the best day of the year! best holiday of all time and space, with the most important annual traditions! (candy & sex! — duh.) oh, and kisses. and teddy bears! and making ridiculous scenes in upscale italian restaurants!

also, candy. so much candy. sweets and sours and sugars and caramels and cakes and cookies! mochis and gummies and boobies and chocolates and taffies and toffees and ice creams! and milkshakes. that’s an important one, because the best milkshakes in all the multiverse come from one of gin’s favorite stops.

AND THE ROLLER IS ALIVE!

(eye candy! eye candy everywhere!) that’s not the point. unfortunately. the point is to see wilford.

wilford the warfstache, who might well be a cupid himself, between the pink hair, the bear hugs, and the penchant for bringing the sweetness out of anyone. or maybe he’s the easter bunny. all those pastels. eh. jury’s out! it’s two timeless time-travelers reveling in time apart, together! and there’s few who gin would rather do it with than wilford. few he respects enough to even consider it. not just anyone has this much power and this much class!

and it’s love day! so he has a bright pink milkshake and as many candy hearts as the bartender could cram on top. he’s been making a game of seeing how many he can stick to his tongue at once, LOL and TXT ME and BABY and I♥️U, before they start falling off or he has to wet his palate.

sometimes wilford’s a sap. happy endings are still endings, after all, and gin’s not nearly done with writing his story! but aside from a disapproving sucking noise on his mouthful of chalky candy, he stays quiet. there’s a gift involved.

cool metal pools in gin’s palm, charm first, followed by a thin chain. the charm, a pair of skates, s h i m m e r s as he turns it back and forth. it’s like an opal, all multicolored and flashing fire. it’s hard to tell what it might be made of. rose gold? that’d be seasonal! or sterling silver, perhaps? (no, sterling’s the chain, not the ball!) (it’s not a ball, it’s a charm! doofus.) (heh. balls.)

gin smiles brightly. “i never doubted it.” he fastens the clasp in the back with a couple of tries, narrowly keeping his milkshake glass tucked between his thighs without incident. the skates rest at the base of his turtleneck, on perfect display between the flaps of his khaki lapels. he toys at the necklace with a finger, staring down at it as its many hues cast rainbows on the seat below.

“it’s, um. it’s funny, you know? everyone else … isn’t always there. they’re all temporary.” it’s more than just mortality that plagues him. the very fabric of existence warps and tears. people change. disappear. get misplaced. he’s too early, there’s no one to miss. or i’m too late. too late. too late. sometimes it’s as if you never existed at all.

(can you see me here, ? or am i out of your reach?)

gin shakes his head — shakes away the dread. “i’m just glad the roller’s easy to find, that’s all.” i’m glad to have you, wilford. i don’t know where i’d be without you.

i hope the necklace stays a while. i like it a lot.

[crushng-a]

he's not even set up yet, but dirk is here to say hi to his shitty boss anyway.

gin glances up from his work, bringing the end of his pen to his mouth to chew on.

“did you say something?” he asks his bodyguard. dirk’s the only one in the (soundproof!) office, but gin could have sworn he heard another voice. an oddly familiar one!

after a few moments of suspicious, narrowed eyes, gin shrugs. “hm! never mind, then. hey, you ever get deja vu —?”

[crushng-a]

💭 for Aaron maybe? since they've not met ace :3

gin’s on a date — fizzy fruity drinks, third base, her dark curls and green tattoos writhing with every soft sigh — when it strikes him. he goes from leaning into her space, whispering sweet nonsense into her ear, to sitting bolt upright in bed.

“what?” she sits up too, more bemused than annoyed. “did you forget to turn the stove off?”

“worse! i left a mentally unstable murderer alone in an empty universe!”

“… what?”

“sorry, babe! i’ll be back, uh, never, probably. stay cute!” he’s already disappearing in a whirl of blue and white. whoops! gee, how long’s it been? months? time flies when you’re having fun! (is it worth trying to press rewind?)

[crushng-a]

🧸 - Sure, Damien felt a little silly offering this to the impromptu roommate, but he had already gone to the effort of buying the toy. "It might keep you company when myself and Barnum are out," he explained, passing the toy over. It was a medium-sized stuffed cat with a cutesy face. The fur was black with a sparkly tint to it when the light bounced off it just right, and it was contrasted by bright blue eyes. More interesting than the appearance was that it was a little heavier than expected. The paws were weighted, and there was something squishy in the stomach that smelled faintly of lavender. "From my understanding, it's a good companion to hold on to." (blueheartedmayor)

damien’s got soft doe eyes about it, holding out the stuffed cat with both hands. expectation, tempered with understanding. gin might tell him to fuck off. (has done! will do again!)

i’m not lonely. i don’t need company. i’m chock full of souls! i could leave anytime i want to, hop - skip - jump into a new oblivion and stuff my face with new friends!

he could, but he won’t. gin knows that. he dicks around the city sometimes, popping into nightclubs, sneaking into any old building with a guard posted at the door, just to see what’s inside. the sort of thing that keeps his curiosity sated. but he always finds his way back to damien’s funny little hole.

(and maybe it’s because of barnum. smacks of an old fuzzy roommate, soft ears and kind brown eyes and gentle insistence on nudging a wet nose into everything. barnum’s nothing like chica in shape or color, but there’s that same can-do attitude. maybe it’s a working dog thing. sometimes gin wonders if the two of them might have gotten along, in another life.)

damien shouldn’t be interesting at all, not to gin. it’s as if his story can’t decide if he’s the star of a political intrigue or a family-friendly sitcom. gin would never sit through either. but his soul is so bright and so large. pulsating, thrumming, a constant alluring hum. they’d drink it down in a heartbeat, keep that fluttering caged behind his ribs and hold it close, close, closer, stay with me.

it’s not like they wouldn’t. it’s just … not time yet. they’re still wringing out every last interaction from this main character. gin’s not ready to move on.

after all, they’re still getting free stuff!

gin thinks maybe they’ve been staring for too long. they take the stupid cat and squish it close. he wishes it smelled less like flowers and more like coffee and cologne. more like ink and fresh-pressed laundry.

“i’m not a child, you know.” petulant white eyes peek out above black fur. it sparkles. like stars. “i can find my own company if i wanted it.” the paws are heavy against their shoulders, as if it were hugging back.

[crushng-a]

' Truth ' what do you want from me?

love me, love me. SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME! fool me, fool me. go on and fool me. love me, love me, pretend that you love me. (leave me, leave me. just say that you NEED ME.)

so i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg. i cry and i beg.

i cry! i beg! love me! love me! just PRETEND that you love me!

i can’t care about anything but Y O U !

[crushng-a]

Can you hug a black hole? Well, Asterius is about to find out.

it requires ignorance to wrap your arms around a SINGULARITY and expect not to be drawn in deep. ignorance, or bravery, or maybe cowardice — or self destructive tendencies. for you, a keeper of mysteries, a guardian of the labyrinth, perhaps only curiosity is required.

thick arms wrap around gin. it’s warm, soft. asterius is a great big walking furball. a wet muzzle snuffles at their hair, sweet straw-smell. it’s like wallowing in a haystack, if the haystack were a fuzzy blanket in front of a roaring fireplace.

and maybe if it were anyone else, he’d be swallowed alive, ripped to shreds for the simple act. gin chooses not to. they’re considering it an offering. instead, they lean into the touch, burying their face into the minotaur’s chest.

(they never meant to stay away for so long.)

“you smell like ass.” muffled against a thundering heartbeat.

you can hug a blackhole, but don’t expect to be released anytime soon.

[crushng-a]

do you miss the invincible and the crew?

honesty hour. ✧ nineteen hours remain.

gin avoids eye contact. both feet are planted firmly on the ground, for once. he scuffs the toe of his one boot, exhales.

“it’s my home. of course i miss it. as chaotic as it was. as … repetitive as it was.” soft shine of memory in white gaze — flesh melted from bone, frozen to death, energy beam through the chest, suffocated, drowned, starved, bleeding out, smiling, assuring you everything would be alright —!

there’s a reason why he doesn’t go back. can’t go back. it’s more than the risk of spiraling it all to an early doom. more than the threat of reliving it all over again. they’re a distraction. the calluses on his heart aren’t hard enough to deflect the familiarity of old friends. serving together, dying together, scrambling to understand, begging for a meager scrap of hope. trust wasn’t inherent, could never be given freely in a universe like that. it was earned, footstep by bloody footstep.

“maybe when i get out, i can take them with me,” he says. a wan smile, a dull shine to his eyes. “we can start over again. plant our own colony, somewhere safe.”

[crushng-a]

Would you like a friend?

“okay. let’s get something clear here. i am perfectly capable of making friends on my own. in fact, i’m very charismatic. i have lots of friends!”

honestly. if someone actually wants to be his friend, there’s probably something wrong with them.

[crushng-a]

💭 🌶️ (for any of my fellas)

gin’s leaning on one elbow, staring at dirk. he’s been staring for a long time. sometimes he does this. long periods of silence at his desk punctuated, eventually, by some new scheme or potential breakthrough. something he’s worked out in the space between conscious thought and distant gaze locked onto the back of his bodyguard’s head. dirk’s probably used to it by now.

it’s not entirely surprising to hear something harebrained on occasion. gin’s a mad scientist at the best of times. this isn’t science, though. this is an almost dreamy sigh, followed by, “sometimes i wish you’d let me suck your dick.”

genius at work.

[crushng-a]

*lays on the ground after exams* please eat me

gin perches in midair, his head cocked to one side like a puzzled puppy. “eat you … out, you mean? or — oohhh.” the realization hits a second later, before a big toothy grin stretches from ear to ear. “damn, babe. must have been some exams.”

it’s dangerous to bait a starving animal, but gin’s neither. he’s got class! sometimes. occasionally.

he steps from empty air onto the back of a chair, balancing on one foot with his arms flung wide. “come on, at least make it exciting instead of pathetic! kids these days. don’t even know how to make a proper ritual sacrifice of themselves.”

[crushng-a]

The arcade is fun and busy. But to Gin's left, there's Wilford! "I got two bags of coins ta burn at the coin droppers. Wanna join me?" (rosetintedgunman)

gin jumps. you’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me when i’m trying to have a crisis in peace. “yeah, of course i’ll play,” he says, grabbing one of the bags and giving it a little toss. the coins clink together with a bright, cheerful noise. it’s not enough to distract from the crisis.

he’s nibbling on his margarita glass nervously. there’s a good chunk taken out the top of it already. “you don’t … happen to know that guy over there, do you? he’s not, heh. he’s not a friend of yours or anything?” gin points with his pinky finger to the man in question — the Creator always has this stupid look on his face. like he’s fucking constipated or something.

gin’s not thanking him for his candy donation. not here. there’s no buffer here.

[crushng-a]

"Listen. I need ya ta trust me here. I finished an area of th' Roller, an' I want ya ta see it before I forget. I know it's not gonna be th' same as th' fun ya like ta cause in other places... But maybe it'll give ya some ideas fer th' future. After all, th' look of this place was inspired by you, since I don't think there's anyone who'd encompass it better." At last, Wilford led Gin into the main area of the roller rink and gestured to the right toward the newly opened arcade. Even from a distance, one could see the hint of a starry pattern on the walls. (rosetintedgunman)

gin always trusts wilford. why wouldn’t they trust him? that just smacks of something suspicious!

they pop a sucker out of their mouth — just something to take the edge off since it’s kind of discouraged to go shopping for snacks around here. ideas for the future sound promising. “inspired by me?” he could be considered inspiring, but for the roller?

but when gin steps into the room, he gets it. gorgeous glowing neon space texture paints the ceiling, dotted with a million stars. several arcade cabinets are arranged in two aisles, making the most of the somewhat narrow space. a huge grin stretches from ear to ear — he’s already beelining for a cabinet labeled SPACE INVADERS.

“i’m about to cover your entire high scores page,” they say. were tokens needed? apparently not for gin, anyway, whose quick fingers have skipped past the main menu without trouble, filling the room with cheerful noise. they’ve already got plans to dig into the wiring underneath, but maybe they ought to wait until wilford’s out of view for that one!

(man, when was the last time he’d been in a real arcade?)

[crushng-a]

📱 for murdock

fuckin unhinged ass …??

bonus

feat @frxgments-of-frxgments