#Kitbug makes things

[kittlesandbugs]

Ratkoning for @lazyvoyager for a holiday exchange 😘

[amlovelies]

For Cyn! 💥collision 🍓strawberry 🌞sun

thank you kitbug 💜

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

Cyn has a hard time dealing with feelings of guilt and despair. She struggles a lot with having a general low self worth and can spiral down into a dark place very quickly. She feels like she is always trying to make up for her existence for being what she is. and sometimes that is exhausting. sometimes she just wants to give up.

🍓 STRAWBERRY - do they eat their fruit & veg? what is their favourite fruit or vegetable?

Cyn's eating habits are not the best. she's as likely to just gun a smoke instead of eating a meal. She'll eat stuff that is quick and easy and doesn't take much preparation on her part. so like carrots and celery or grabbing an apple or banana. mangos are her favorite fruit but she doesn't treat herself very often at all.

☀️ SUN - are they a morning person? what is the first thing they do in the morning?

She isn't really a morning person. never can get enough rest, so she is perpetually tired. first thing in the morning is to check in on her neighbors thoughts, see if anything happened while she was asleep, anything she should be aware of, any sign of the farm. once she feels safe she'll have a smoke and go through her to do list for the day.

oc emoji asks

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR: Early education Pairing: None, we're deep in freshly decanted Farm territory Warnings: Canon-typical Farm dehumanization, self depersonalization? or something lol, mild physical abuse Word Count: 454 Prompt: from @sidestepping to write a character when they were young with a focus on how that youth affects their POV, under 500 words

Seated at a table, spine straight, eyes forward. Focus on the man in front. This is the third time with a white coat man with a stack of cards with shapes. The man is different this time. Old and wrinkled. Sharp gaze that makes the stomach twist uncomfortably. The old man's eyes flick past, behind and up, to the handler. The hand on the shoulder tightens. Warm, but sharp. A warning of beginning. The old man's gaze returns and then lowers to the drawn card. The card is known. 

"Square."

"Good." The old man nods approval. 

Discard. New card.

"Triangle."

"Good."

Discard. New card. Again and again, same as before. 

Until it is not. 

The circle that appears in the old man's mind warps and blurs. Elongates into points. This has not happened before. The image is always clear. Hesitation. The hand tightens harder on the shoulder. Warning. The handler doesn't like hesitation. 

"What do you see?" the old man prompts, sharp gaze focused and uncomfortable. 

"D… Diamond?" 

The old man's mouth twists and curls upward, wrinkled eyes crinkling more. The expected blow to the back of the skull snaps the head forward with a gasp. 

"Wrong." The old man sounds pleased. Why punishment? "State the objective."

"Name the shape on the card." Understanding. Straighten again. Pain lingers. Focus on the old man. "Circle."

"Good. Why did you say diamond?" 

Finger point to the old man's head. "The shape changed."

The old man chuckles, deepening to a laugh. A mark is made on the clipboard. Notes taken. "Oh, this one is promising." 

The hand on the shoulder returns, a soft and open pat. Praise. 

"Again." There's a square before the old man even draws. It flashes briefly as he views the card, then back to square. 

"Triangle."

"Good."

The game continues through the deck. Sometimes the old man conceals. Sometimes the answer is open. By the time the last card is drawn, the vision is blurred. The mind burns, like a muscle worked too hard. 

"Very good…" The old man rises from the table, looking past to the handler. "Have this one brought to my lab weekly, for further testing and evaluation. There is a very valuable mind tucked away in that little skull. We need to nurture it. Find a different way to reprimand it." 

"Yes sir," the handler says. A soft hand on the back of the skull this time. Praise. A faint warmth inside. The handler is pleased. 

The old man approaches. A finger tilts the chin up, eyes meeting. The urge to flinch away from the hard prying gaze is strong. 

"You're going to accomplish amazing things some day, little Re-Gene."

It is a relief when the old man leaves. 

[kittlesandbugs]

There's something about Sidestep's blase attitude towards inhabiting the puppet that tickles me. Something of a parallel to Sidestep's own trauma of only existing as a tool to be used. It's not quite the same as what they suffered at the Farm, of course, because Sidestep was aware of their suffering (especially the second time.) The puppet is functionally dead. There's nothing in the brain to suffer.

[kittlesandbugs]

I made a Rat King 😘

[kittlesandbugs]

Riley Owens moodboard

[kittlesandbugs]

Fishing bucket pattern from hobbii

[kittlesandbugs]

Jumbo jelly is complete!

Baby jelly was done using a 2.75mm crochet hook and super fine (1) yarn. It is ~2.5" (~6cm) across. Longest tentacle is 7" (~18cm).

Jumbo jelly was done with the exact same pattern using jumbo (7) yarn and a 10 mm crochet hook. It is ~11" (~28cm) across. Longest tentacle is ~27" (~68 cm).

[kittlesandbugs]

My niece's first birthday is next week!

[kittlesandbugs]

@bearly-tolerable suggested tiny nugs for the giveaway, so here is a prototype for The Tiniest Nug giveaway.

[kittlesandbugs]

I have been teaching myself how to crochet. :D

[kittlesandbugs]

I made a slouchy hat! :D

[kittlesandbugs]

I joined a Japanese sewing circle and we made goldfish last weekend. :D

[kittlesandbugs]

Prompt for you: pairing of your choice gets stuck in an elevator together for hours.

Title: Trapped (AO3 link here)

Fandom/Pairing: FHR / Chargestep / lil Chargentstep

Word Count: 1009

Warnings: PSTD, panic attack, past trauma

Summary: The electricity gets knocked out while Sidestep and Ortega are on an elevator.  Sidestep doesn't handle it well.

A shudder, a jolt, the lights are out.

"Mierda," a huffed swear beside you. "What is…"

It's them, it has to be, and you're—

Fumbling for the buttons, unresponsive, door won't budge.

Trapped.

No.

No.

Nonononono—

No you can't stay here, can't be trapped, has to be a way out—

There was a hatch? Opposite corner from the buttons. Scoped it every time just in case. Paranoia pays off, with luck you'll be gone before they breach. Unless they're expecting you to go out the hatch. Ready. Waiting. Waiting for you to give them the opening they need.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfu—

Hand on your shoulder, no thoughts, no thoughts, how did they get in already? A scream as your fist connects as you pivot.

"Jesus, Riley!" Not disabled, no wheeze from the solar plexus strike you were aiming for, too dark, no clues to height and stance, only static. "It's me!"

Only static…? A flash penetrates the blanket of panic and dark, illuminates his face for a moment. Enough. It's enough.

"... Ric?"

"Yeah, what's—"

"They're coming and we're trapped!" Shallow gasps, nails would rake your arms if not for the sleeves as you cling to yourself. "I'm not going back, I can't go back, please, we have to—"

"Riley, please." Hands on your arms, hands, his, safe. Even if your brain screams otherwise. He won't let them take you.

Right?

"What are you—"

Phone rings and you startle, shove away from him, back up to the corner. Screen lights his face, eyes flick from you to it.

"Wei. You're on speaker. What's going on?"

"An earthquake caused a major power outage. Where are you?"

Ortega sighs heavily. "Stuck in the eleva—"

"Is Riley with you?"

"Angie?"

"Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she's—"

"You need to calm her down ASAP."

"How'd you—"

"She's projecting. She's going to send the whole building into a panic at this rate."

Fuck, are you? Your shields are supposed to be better than that. You're supposed to be better than that. Your nails dig into the meat of your palm, hard enough to draw blood, and you try to focus on that instead of your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

Not an attack. It's not an attack. They aren't here. They haven't found you.

Chen's voice. "That explains the—"

"I'm going home."

"What?" Both Ortega and Chen.

"If you don't want bigger problems, don't argue with me."

"You can't just—"

A door slam cuts Chen off.

Ortega drags a hand down his face. "I guess she can."

"I'll see about getting the power back on. Or something. Stay put."

"Yeah, alright. Let me know if anything else comes up."

The phone goes dark and your legs give out. Back against a corner in a too-small space, too cell-like, too dark, too familiar. Hiccuped breaths echo too loud, you need to break out of here like your heart is trying to break out of your ribs but you can't feel your legs.

"Riley? Hey, c'mon."

Name, yours, not there, you're not there. He keeps talking but you don't register the words. They help though. Not there. He haunted you there, but it was only words rattling around your shell of a mind, hollow, empty, less than air. Warm gentle hands on your shoulders, reinforcing what you try to internalize to break the panic. He's real and he's here. You reach out, find a knee, follow it back to the torso, up the chest, collar open too low, skin and curls under your fingers. A low, slow heartbeat, at odds with your own, under long deliberate breaths you try to match the pace of.

"That's it," he says and his hands pull you in close. "Here, c'mere."

You don't resist, instead molding yourself to him as he sits. Face in the crook of his neck, arms around him, his just as tight around you, legs folded up on his. No cold metal touching anywhere except the palm half hidden by your hair. Just him. Warm and safe inside a bubble of his ozone and cologne. Cushioned by mental static, a balm to your frayed shields. You could almost pretend you're somewhere else and not a sitting duck, trapped without your armor. It's enough to root and ground, and tension oozes out of shivering taut muscles.

His chest vibrates against you, lips press to the top of your head. "I don't remember you being quite so claustrophobic."

"Laugh it up, asshole," you mutter, muffled by his neck.

"You're right, sorry."

"... I wasn't. Back then." Not even after the Void held you captive. Their torture was only parlor tricks compared to Heartbreak and after. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt.

"I know." He rubs large slow circles on your back. Presses his lips to the top of your head again. "It doesn't feel real sometimes, how much has changed."

"Nothing does."

"Does what?"

"Feels real."

He shifts beneath you in silence for a few moments. "What do you—"

The thunk of switched breakers echoing up the shaft cuts him off, heralding the return of the lights. The elevator lurches into motion again.

"Riley? What do you mean?"

"... nothing. It's nothing. Don't worry about it." It takes more effort than you're willing to admit to peel yourself back away from him and stand. You give him a smile, but you can see in his eyes that it doesn't reach yours or reassure him at all. "I should get going."

You need to check in with Argent. Make sure you didn't cause too much of an upset for her. And get away from him before you say too much. The doors slide open and you slip through, surreptitiously hitting another floor and the door close buttons on your way out.

"Hey, wait—" He sees it, but he's not quite quick enough to get up off the floor and stop them. The elevator takes him away and you head for the stairs at the end of the hall.

You need to get out of here.

[kittlesandbugs]

Of course I'm going for this one...

"Stop! Please, stop! You’re going to kill her!"

Have fun ♡

Title: Too far gone

Fandom/Pairing: FHR / Chargentstep

Word Count: 550

Warnings: Violence, suicidal ideation/thoughts

Summary: A hypothetical low-sus villain reveal when things go too far.

Your head snaps back and you crash through the brick wall. Only the armor saves your neck from breaking, maybe saves your ribs from breaking. 

Maybe. 

Maybe not. 

The inhale hurts, sharp stabbing pain like glass in your chest as your lungs expand.  A cough, distorted into a growl by your vocabulator. No wetness in your helmet. Maybe just cracked. 

You stumble to your feet as he charges in after you, narrowly ducking under another kick with a wobbly roll. 

You pushed him too far, pushed everything too far and you can't take it back. You should fight back, unleash the nanovores. The Rat King scrabbles at your mind begging the same and you still answer no. 

You can't do that to him. 

He doesn't deserve it. 

You deserve this.

The chaos, catastrophe you've wrought. You've crossed the line several times over, outing yourself as a telepath and wielding civilians like meat shields, weapons, whatever you needed. Gotten many hurt. Some killed. You may as well have killed them with your own hands. 

He's killed before. Not often. Only villains who go too far. You've seen it. You see it now on his face, the way he advances towards, teeth grit, no smile, no gibe, all business in a way he rarely is in the suit. You don't need telepathy to know what he wants to do to you. Not that it ever worked with him.

It will be a relief when it's over. Especially now that you're known as a telepath. They'll come for you if he doesn't finish this. 

You can't move well enough to dodge this time, muscles weak and fumbling, suit damaged by lightning that seeped through the cracks. His fist connects hard enough to crack your visor as he sends you sprawling once again. 

He's on you before you can recover, straddling, pinning, one fist wrapped around your armored collar, the other drawn back and crackling with energy. 

"Stop!" 

He hesitates enough to glance over his shoulder. He shakes his head. Focus back on you.

All you can do is watch, feeling oddly detached as the fist descends, as the Rat King scrabbles and struggles to wrest control of the armor from you to save you.

Death is something you stopped fearing seven years ago, when everyone already thought it had come for you. They don't know how much worse it can get, but you gave them a taste today. 

Enough of one for him to finally grant you what you've been seeking the last two years behind this facade of war. 

Silver hands grab and stop his fist an inch before it connects. You blink dumbly behind the helmet at it. At her. The words telling him to finish it, finish you, die on your tongue at the anguished expression on her face. 

"Please, stop.  You're going to kill her."  Her voice is thick with tears she can't shed and the energy dies on his fist. 

"Her…?" His eyes dart back and forth between you and her. Brow drawn tight in confusion. 

And then slacking with dawning dread. 

You shake your head but you can't get your mouth to work through the fog that's settled over everything, like a dream or a nightmare you can't control. Don't say it, don't tell him, don't say your— 

"It's Riley."

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR Flash Prompt: Approval Pairing: None Warnings: Mild violence, blood, weird sort of self-dehumanization Word Count: 299 Prompt: PROMPT: write a short snippet featuring your Sidestep doing (or discovering!) something that makes them happy at the farm, before they escaped for the first time. CHALLENGE: keep it short and sweet, 300 words maximum.

"Enough."

Release the choke hold. Stand quick and ready. Blood drips down, wipe it away. Pain-gate takes care of the agony in the nose, where the back of its skull rammed in the struggle. Chest heaves, deep gulping breaths. Regain control. Loosen fists, subtly shake the tension out in flexing fingers. Square shoulders. Fight's over. 

Eyes flick around the ring, just in case. Impassive gazes on the others forming the ring. Loser unconscious on the ground. Its handler swears, barks a command. Two break ranks and drag it off to the infirmary. Not a concern. Take stock. Low ache of fresh bruises, low sting of fresh scrapes, muscles wearied but nothing torn, nose is the worst of it. Probably broken. Nothing to worry about. Still able to fight. 

A warm hand on the shoulder startles, didn't feel it coming because of the dampeners. Suppress the flinch. Look at the handler for direction. 

"Nice job breaking out of the grapple."  Teeth wide, brown eyes crinkled.  He’s pleased.

Warmth blooms in the chest. Nod acknowledgement. Nothing else. 

He gestures with his other hand and the numbing blanket over the mind lifts. Touch the surface of his thoughts. His approval shines like sunlight, warms all the way to the core. You did much better than he expected. Showed the others you are capable without your powers. Won the bet he had.

"Can it still fight?" Another handler across the ring, ready to turn her own creatures loose. She doesn't like that you keep scraping out wins. Wants you brought down. 

He redirects the question. "734?"

"Yes." There is no other answer that's acceptable. Can't disappoint. 

"Good." Another burst of warmth in the mind, a squeeze and pat on the shoulder, and he steps back out of the ring. "Don't let me down."