#cellbit soft packs

[mis8to]

๑ guizologia ๑ guizoculture ๑ guizokiller

๑ daraweb ๑ vieturine ๑ daraghost

Dara & Guizo users

✦ Fav or reblog if u use <3

[anonymous-dentist]

I would like everybody to know that Loboier spent the time Cellbit was drawing him in chapter 20 planning how he and his Cellbit are going to nap together during the next Full Moon. He wants to get Supplies when he’s human again: a Special Dog Bed for his Cellbit so he can be comfy in the doghouse, some tennis balls so he and his Cellbit can play together before it’s Nap Time, a new bag of treats so they can have snacks together in the doghouse

Loboier, being a wolf and not a human with depth perception or a general comprehension of size and relativity, doesn’t quite understand that, A, he’s a very big puppy and, B, there’s absolutely no way that both he and Cellbit will be fitting in a doghouse together

But Loboier Wants To Snuggle With His Pack. His Cellbit will have a fancy new dog bed to sleep on, and he can use Loboier as a pillow because Loboier is very soft. And then Loboier can protect his Cellbit and snuggle with his Cellbit and keep his Cellbit safe from The Dark

[miscellaneoussmp]

I'm normal about Team Bolas Rojas and family dynamics, I promise! Anyway, here's a look into Team Bolas Rojas family dinner (cw/tw: implied/mentioned violence/blood/death, religion mentions throughout):

Time has run out for today, yet those in red remained wide awake. Nothing else had to be done. It was time for dinner in the hyenas den. Gas masks discarded for the meal; and later sleep. All seven members of the team (pack bond, clan of hyenas) sit on the cave floor. They sit around a bountiful meal of pork chops, toast, glow berries, potatoes, and carrots. In another world, this would be an amazing meal, yet this is the seventh circle (purgatory, really). Their meal sits on leftover wood in order to keep the food somewhat clean.

A hand darted out for the food. It doesn't matter whose it was really, as it darted back quickly after a soft yet scolding hiss from Philza. He sat at the head of their on the floor dining table. He presses his hands together for prayer. Cellbit looks through his dirty hair, and he laughs. "Come on, guys. Listen to dad." He cups his hands together. The rest of the team (pack bond, hyena clan) bursts into manic laughter. When Charlie's hand presses together, there's an electric hum. Baghera, Jaiden, and Foolish all follow suit. Even Carre holds his hands together for whatever prayer will follow. He may be their quietest member with a tendency to disappear early, but even he isn't exempt from the hysteria. He's their good luck charm, paraphrased from Charlie Slimecicle. Carre's hands are stained with blood, too. He was the one to chant for a lone wolf's death as Cellbit and Jaiden ran him down in the desert. The glint in Carre's eyes matched the rest of the team's (pack bond's, hyena clan's) eyes.

The prayer started as a well put together chant led by Philza. It quickly devolved, as the tendency of the pack bond, the hyena clan (the team). It was pure nonsense and more manic laughter. "Amen!" Seven voices chorused in semi-unison. An impressive feat. Food was grabbed from the center almost immediately after. Family dinner, what an amazing way to end another day in the seventh circle of hell (purgatory).

[lowkeyrobin]

New anon here, love your writting

Cellbit mayhaps 👉👈

Possibly Ordem Paranormal👉👈

(no rush tho, take as much time as you need*

ooo yeah sure! ; idrk much about ordem paranormal so I apologize, I did something kind of like it though! ; also tysm! I'm glad you enjoy my writing 🫶 I'm in my flop era atm so yk how that's going LMFAO ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy anon! ; this is super short and dumb, I apologize ; also getting this out of my drafts now cause I might not post for a few days while I get shit sorted out lol

CELLBIT ; paranormal investigation

summary ; exploring an abandoned home with cellbit

warnings ; language, mentions of knives for self defense

disclaimers ; didn't use their real names because I don't think they're okay with it so if it seems a little abundant with names, that's why

word count ; 1.2k

masterlist

"Why would I ever agree to do this with you?" You sigh, your index finger and thumb rubbing the bridge of your nose.

"Cause we're gonna find ghosts" He smiles, pulling you and Roier inside. He holds the gopro up a bit, catching your unamused look at him.

You enter the house, walking into the living room. The windows were completely busted out, leaving glass shards resting on the couch under the window and outside in the overgrown grass. Bullet holes are lodged into the adjacent wall, a few having hit the box TV, which was dated back to around the 70s.

"How long has this place been abandoned?" You ask.

Cellbit shrugs, "Since the early 80s or so"

"Damn," Roier mutters, carefully opening the door into a closet. He scans the rack of coats, most torn up and weathered down. He spots a spider in the corner and quickly shuts it, not wanting to confront the insect.

You slowly walk into the kitchen, shining your flashlight over the old appliances. This house was literally trapped in the late 70s to early 80s. It was like a time capsule. An abandoned one at that. Graffiti is sprayed over the backsplash, reading something like someone's Instagram handle in purple.

"I don't think we're finding ghosts here, dude"

"You never know"

You open up the cabinets around the kitchen, wanting to see if anything was left. Some scattered pots, pans, and other dishes remain, like the people who lived here packed up as quickly as possible and left half of their things behind.

Roier finds a plate shaped like Mickey Mouse, with the famous face painted onto it, said paint chipping off in some spots. He holds it up, showing it to you and Cellbit.

"Look, it's you, Y/n!" Roier smiles.

"Shut the fuck up" You laugh.

You hear something crash and break in another room, something light, like glass. You jump back, accidently knocking into Cellbit. Roier stands frozen, eyes widened as he looks at the two of you.

He whispers, "The hell was that?"

You slowly turn to look between Roier and Cellbit, making it clear you weren't going to be the one to investigate. Roier quickly shakes his head, looking up at the other man to go investigate himself.

He glances between the two of you before rolling his eyes and slowly walking toward the hallway where the noise came from. He scans the bathroom as he passes the door, nothing.

He creeps to the first bedroom, seeing broken glass scattered upon the old, rickety wooden floor. A whole spot was sunbleached, leaving it much lighter and faded than the rest of the floor, a spot laying in front of the window. He looks back, slightly nodding as he looks back.

You quietly share a look with Roier, sharing regretful thoughts about being here.

Cellbit leans into the room, softly grabs the doorknob, and pulls the door shut. You listen to the soft click as he makes sure it's totally shut, and look at the camera in your boyfriend's hand.

"What the fuck" You softly whisper, "Was there someone in there? Or something?" You ask as he quietly trails back to you.

He shakes his head no.

"I'm scared someone's actually here, can we leave? I don't wanna stumble upon some fucking freak ready to turn us into the next plot of some cheap slasher movie" You speak with worry, arms crossed.

Roier quietly agrees with a nod of the head, leaning into you a bit as he feels a shiver run up his spine. You feel a slight zephyr brush against your skin, causing goosebumps to quickly jump up as you stand in fear while now freezing under your jacket.

You feel some qualms as Cellbit walks toward the stairs, wanting to explore more. You shake your head no, begging him with your speechlessness to not go up.

"Dude," Roier whisper-shouts, "We're leaving if you go up there"

In reply, he devilishly smiles and quickly walks up the stairs, leaving you two starstruck in the kitchen below.

"I'm not going out there without that knife"

"Me neither"

"I actually hate you" You whisper, hiding behind Cellbit as Roier was doing the same with you.

"You love me, darling," He snickers. "C'mon," He says, investigating the top floor, consisting of another bathroom, two bedrooms, and some storage looking room at the end.

A door loudly slams in front of you, the storage room at the end of the hall. You feel yourself jump out of your skin and feel Roier's hands twitch and flinch on your shoulders.

"Nope, bye" You quickly turn around, rushing down the stairs to get the fuck out. Roier follows you, now equipped with the knife Cellbit had in his pocket.

Cellbit, after a few moments of thinking, dips as well, following you two out of the door. You notice as you look behind yourself as you pull the door open.

"I thought you said you wouldn't get scared of any doors?" You loudly speak.

"I'm scared there's an actual human here, go!"

You three quickly jump off the porch and dart into the woods away from the house and toward the car. As you run, Roier looks back, then screams as he runs faster.

"There was someone in the window!"

You push brush and dead leaves out of your way, being pricked as you run deeper into the woods. The trail here was already densely covered and needed some reshaping, but it felt even worse now.

"Left!" Cellbit shouts behind you, directing you the correct way through the trees.

You swerve left, soon revealing the car parked on the side of the road. You watch as the car beeps, unlocks and the headlights flicker on as Cellbit uses the automatic start on his keys. You jump in the front, Roier right behind you as he jumps into the back.

Cellbit runs around the car, hops in, throws the car in drive, and quickly speeds off. As he drives, he pulls his seatbelt on, and it clicks into the fastener. You and Roier do the same, absolutely winded.

"What do you mean, someone was in the window?" You ask, gasping for air, turning the heat all the way up.

"I looked back," Roier begins, coughing a bit to get his breathing steady, "And in one of those windows on the top in the front, someone was clearly in the window. Like, a light was on in there, and you could see a clear shadow."

You share a frightened look with Cellbit before leaning back in your seat, hugging yourself for comfort as your heart was racing. You didn't know why all three of you got so spooked, maybe the fear of encountering an actual person wasn't on your menu tonight. I mean, when would it ever would be?

"Please connect your phone and play music before I scream in terror" Cellbit speaks, glancing at you.

You pull your phone out, connecting your phone to the radio to play Toni Braxton's Un-Break My Heart. You try your best to keep your mind off of it, but overthink all the cans of food and trash laying around the house. People probably were squatting there.

If anything, they would've been scared of you, I mean, you had no right to just walk in.

"We are never doing that again"

"I second that"

"Third"

[miiidastouch]

MIDAS’S INTRO !!

name(s): midas, scooter, apollo, ted, jimmy, charlie, tapper, speakeasy, thalassia, quartz, steven, fen, rogue, benny, liam, len, kazehiki, rascal, cupcake, brownie, abyss, gillion, prophet, oyster, pearl, bizly, zach, chip, cruise, horizon, stardust, leo, fitz, kirk, jeremy, hunter, briar, kazoo, jim, kip, aster, soliel, cyrus, elio, simon, peter, saint, scout, eclipse, cellbit, shilo

nicknames: scoot, pollo, poller, cakey, chipper, chibo, cy

pronouns: he/him/his, xe/xem/xeirs, it/it/its, sun/sun/suns, shine/shine/shines, sea/sea/seas, sci/sci/scis, glow/glow/glows, jam/jam/jams, pop/pop/pops, sweet/sweet/sweets, gem/gem/gems, love/love/loves, tick/tick/ticks, tock/tock/tocks, note/note/notes, lyric/lyric/lyrics, cake/cake/cakes, bite/bite/bites, slime/slime/slimes, cry/cry/cries, shell/shell/shells, coral/coral/corals, blade/blade/blades, petal/petal/petals, goop/goop/goops, tear/tear/tears, bonk/bonk/bonks, wing/wing/wings, blood/blood/bloods, bear/bear/bears, dog/dog/dogs, paw/paw/paws, pack/pack/packs, hunt/hunt/hunts, ink/ink/inks, sparkle/sparkle/sparkles, purr/purr/purrs, soft/soft/softs, bun/bun/buns, hop/hop/hops

kintypes: bunnykin, wingkin, catkin, cowkin

fictionkins: scout tf2, soldier tf2, bizly scu, charlie qsmp, steven su, charlie dsmp, jimmy esmp, gillion jrwi, peter jrwi, chip jrwi, shilo jrwi, cellbit qsmp, swiftpaw wc, ashfur wc, peter parker mcu, scar mcyt, kagamine len vocaloid, kazehiki vocaloid, cakey ghost and pals, sparkling cookie crk, squid ink cookie crk, stardust cookie crk, timekeeper cookie crk

fictive sources: apollo yaoicraft, elio entsmp

age: 17

interests: mcyt, steven universe, star trek, cookie run, vocaloid

sexuality: unlabeled polyam

gender: transmasc

sign off tag: — ⭐️ midas (he/xe/it)

userboxes:

(1 + 2 made by me, 3 made by @hazelnut-hearts)

[solaneceae]

shall we look at the moon, my little loon?

People didn’t get sick on Quesadilla island. Maybe because they always had potions and gapples on hand. Or maybe the Federation’s Rules simply didn’t allow it, another restrictive function shoved into server code to keep its residents happy. This Server, though… read on ao3

Red pebbles shriek under his step, rolling down the hill to reveal the sun-bleached bones of a long-dead tiger. The air feels sweltering even though the sun is setting, bathing Purgatory in long shadows. His backpack’s strap feels frayed between his fingers, against his shoulder. The friction hurts. Cellbit heaves his body up the last rocky steps, a bout of dizziness almost making him sway and fall off the cliff. But he catches himself, crouches down for a moment, breathes his way out of the creeping darkness.

His head is pounding, his brain cooking inside his fever-heated skull. But it’s nothing he can’t push through. He knows how to survive in the worst places, it’s what he’s good at. He raises his head, stares at the entrance of the hole he calls home. His eyes are always red these days, throat always raw from breathing in this tainted, sulphuric air.

(He remembers anger. Rage. Now he barely knows how it felt, bloodlust long since turned to regret and apathy. He has nothing left. Nothing to fight for, to kill for.)

(Except for one thing, maybe.)

“Baghs,” Cellbit calls out with a soft whisper as he crosses the mouth of the cave, steps deeper into the mercifully cooler air and dim lights of improvised lamps. He rips his gas mask off his face and lets it fall with a dull thud, rubs at the indents it left behind on his face. Kneels down, winces when his wounds sting and throb with pain under dirty bandages. “I’m back, patinha. Can you wake up for me?”

Baghera does not respond, quiet and still, curled onto her side on their poor excuse of a bedroll — more of a pile of hay at this point. He drops a damaged backpack onto the dusty floor, rummages through it in search of something. “I found water,” he produces a full bucket from his pack, sets it down and scrolls through his hotbar until a glass vial appears in his hand. He coughs as he fills it up — it hurts, acid and fire in his trachea. “Good water.” Even the water goes bad now, after a while. Sitting nauseatingly in their stomachs and making them hurl out whatever they had managed to eat that day.

“You need to drink something,” he pushes, shakes the other’s shoulder carefully. Baghera doesn’t stir.

People didn’t get sick on Quesadilla island. Maybe because they always had potions and gapples on hand. Or maybe the Federation’s Rules simply didn’t allow it, another restrictive function shoved into server code to keep its residents happy. This Server, though…

The Watcher made the rules here. And as server Host, it too had extended its protection upon them as they went at his beck and call, doing his bidding. They had done well as its bloodhounds, seeking and maiming, raining hell onto hidden bases and sinners alike. But ever since they had refused its last order, their privileges had seemingly expired. (‘kill the sinners’, it said. kill each other, it had meant. And they hadn’t, because above being loyal to the Watcher, they were loyal to each other.)

Their ‘benefactor’ had gone silent after that day. No more orders, but also no more protection, no more supplies appearing in their chests to keep them fed and geared up. Injuries that should’ve healed over in minutes now lingered, their armors no longer mending, their supply of food now rotting. Even their meagre wheat farm had decayed, the dirt too toxic for anything to grow. Which meant that they were back to square one, scrounging for scraps of food and hurting and hiding from disasters that they were no longer immune to. And in a place like this, it hadn’t been long before it all started to take its toll on them — too many disasters, too many wounds left to fester, and a mockery of a caretaker who no longer cared enough to keep them alive. 

The sickness had creeped up on them — from drinking that lukewarm and unclean water, from wounds wrapped in haste with no disinfectant. Cuts on their arms and legs growing red and swollen with infection, poisoning their bloodstream. Baghera had fallen to it first, eyes growing less and less focused as the days went on and nothing changed, red skies and sulphur and complete isolation. She could no longer hunt, too weak to run — so Cellbit left more often in search of the odd patch of wheat, as much as he loathed to leave her alone. “Baghera,” he tries again, shaking a little harder when the other doesn’t react beyond a vague twitch of her eyelids. She’s so warm, too warm, the fever just isn’t breaking despite all the damp rags (now dry and falling off of her as Cellbit shakes her limp form), and her feathers aren’t helping. “Please…”

(“Please don’t leave,” Baghera had pleaded the first time he had to go out there alone. “Please.” He had gone anyway, despite the aches in his limbs and the fever making the world too warm and fuzzy, because he had to. Came back with a lackluster haul of three dead rats and some sugarcane only to find his packmate curled into a tight ball against the wall of their cave, broken chirps and quacks tumbling from her bill endlessly. where, where, flock, scared, help, he recognized. Pale yellow and white softness littered the floor around her, some of it stained red, as she smoothed over her wings with her bill and plucked feather after feather until Cellbit cupped her face to make her stop. He started to plan around her after that, waiting for her to slip into restless, sticky sleep to leave.)

Cellbit sighs. Wipes the beads of burning sweat off his forehead, glares at the way his hand shakes from the fever. At least he can sweat it out — Baghera can’t, her breath coming up in short little puffs of too-hot air as she pants in her sleep, her body struggling to cool itself down. She looks awful — they both do to be fair, so much so that he barely dares to glance at his reflection in the water these days. He can’t even remember the last time he took a bath, and he doesn’t have enough ocelot in his code for grooming to be an option. But days of unconsciousness and delirium have left his packmate dreadfully thin, her feathers dull — she hasn’t preened them in weeks, water no longer rolling off of them without the oil. Her face is pinched in discomfort, her eyes swollen and bruised by weeks and weeks of restless nights spent tossing and being jolted awake by nightmares.

(He knows them all by now. White cloaks and needles, the few memories she regained of her childhood. Pomme dying. Cellbit, dying or leaving, her being alone. He holds her when she wakes, too weak to cry, because his own dreams taste of blood and flesh he knows a bit too well but it’s not as bad when she holds him.)

“Hey,” Cellbit gently rolls her onto her back and sneaks a hand under her neck to lift her head up. He feels feathers and heat, heat, too much. Baghera doesn’t react beyond a croaky whine, her chest heaving as she pants. “I’m getting some water in you, right now. Come on.” He slowly, ever-so slowly tips the glass bottle, lets a few drops fall into her open beak. She chokes on her next inhale, coughs painfully, and Cellbit whispers apologies in sheepish Portuguese, tilts her head up a bit more. At least she’s more aware now, cloudy eyes cracked open and darting around aimlessly. “Boa tarde, patinha,” he attempts a smile, but it feels more like a grimace on his face. Baghera hums, rests her head against his scarred-up arm. Mumbles something with harsh consonants and fricatives. “Didn’t get that, sorry.”

“Connard,” she croaks out, and oh, this he understands. She hasn’t spoken anything but barely-legible French in days, too out of it to bother with translating. “So you recognize me. That’s good. Maintenant bois,” he switches to heavily-accented French to make sure she understands. (The lack of, well, anything to do meant that they have spent plenty of time learning each other’s languages in the last few months.)

“Non.”

Stubborn as always. “Discute pas, Baghs. Ou je te donne du thé à la place.” He’s lying, of course — they do not have tea on hand. But the threat works, and the duck makes a weak sound of disgust. “Non, non…”

“Then please don’t fight me on this.” He gently grabs her hand-wing (a confusing anatomy, his packmate has) to curl it around the bottle, letting her feel the chill of fresh water inside glass. “Think you can do it yourself today?”

She can’t — her arms shake too much, her grip on the bottle too loose. So Cellbit pours the water through the side of her open beak, a gentle, slow trickle, until the bottle is empty and his friend silently nudges it with her bill. “Need more?” She nods. “Okay.” Good, that’s good, he thinks. She drains about half of the second bottle before she bats at his arm to make him stop, visibly fighting a wave of nausea. It fades, thankfully.

“How’d you feel about eating?” he asks next, and the look she gives him is hazy and unsure — but not a straight refusal. Food is scarce in this hell, even more so than water — and what little he finds is nothing like the softer things you would feed a sick person. Only the meat of the vermin that can’t outrun him (yet), and tasteless bread from the occasional wheat crops he stumbles upon outside. Still Cellbit tries, carefully ripping up and chewing tiny bits of meat and bread before feeding them to her — munching on solid food is a complex endeavour with no teeth, and if Baghera managed fine with just her bill before, she is no longer in any state to do so.

(He would make a joke about mama birds, but he does not find any levity in it. Not when the only person he has left in this world is fading away, right there in his arms.)

When she’s done (which she makes him understand by turning her head away from his hand), he shoves every soft material he can gather beneath her upper back and neck. Hopefully it will help her keep the food down this time. Manoeuvring her is hard despite how light she is, mostly hollow bones and feathers — but he’s so tired, and he kinda wants to throw up — the nausea getting worse the longer he stays up, vision getting hazy. 

“Tu penses que j’la verrai ?”

He blinks, sluggishly. Baghera’s words are slurred and quiet, which makes them hard to parse. “Mh?”

“Pomme.”

A startled mrrrp. Baghera never talks about her. Didn't even open that expansive journal of hers, the one they had found along with all those old blue and red signs amongst herds of bulls and flights of butterflies. She makes a weird sound as her head rolls to the side, like laughter, or maybe a sob. “J’l’entend, des fois. Placer ses panneaux… près de moi.” Her hands curl into fist-like shapes, briefly. “Et puis… j’me réveille, et elle est pas là. Elle sera plus jamais là.”

(He tries not to think of it. Of him. His egg, his baby, his brave and rambunctious kit. Pain and longing blooms inside his chest, thorns and blood-soaked petals, and he ignores it because packmate sad, packmate in pain, fix, fix.) “Baghs…” Cellbit reaches out to touch her shoulder, and she wails, a heartbreaking sound caught between a sorrowful wail and a distressed quack. “Baghs! Shhh,” he pulls her into a tight embrace, making sure she feels pressure from all sides, her head resting in the space between his shoulder and his neck. “Calma— pare, pare. Vai se machucar.”

“I want to see her,” she sobs, and Cellbit is so startled by hearing English again he doesn’t respond. “But I’m— ’m a bad person, failure. She was good, so good, she was my baby and I can’t go where she is.” A cough; it sounds so bad, like there’s fluid inside her lungs. Cellbit prays it’s not blood. “My Pomme is in Heaven, Cellbo, and I’m going to Hell.”

(Few of them believed in such concepts, back on the island — many were acquainted with deities, ruling over things such as Creativity or Death or Beauty, or with entities from the Other Side, yes. Baghera herself had chosen to give herself over to Chaos, but never seemed the type to adhere to more classical religious beliefs. But Purgatory had happened. Purgatory was something you didn’t walk away from unchanged — or at all, in their case. They were both sinners, as the Watcher had oh-so-helpfully drilled into their minds over and over until they broke.)

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and he could scream at how wrong that is, nothing is okay, our kids are dead, your only friend is dying and in pain, are you fucking stupid? “Shhh.” He places his lips on her forehead, winces at how hot it is still. She needs to cool down. “You’re not bad to me, patinha. You’re the best thing I have left.”

Baghera chirps and quacks unsteadily, eyes clouding over as she descends back into avianspeak. egg, egg, baby, where, nest, flock, where, help, and the trill-name she uses for Cellbit, several times over. Something like flock-blood-brother-me. “Estou aqui,” he murmurs, keeping one hand squeezing hers as he lays her back down to pick up the dry rags around her. “Je suis là. Avec toi.”

“You’re not going to die, are you? You’re not going to leave me?”

“I told you,” he hums, pouring cool water onto the rags and placing them on her chest, her arms, her forehead — he has considered just digging out a hole, filling it with water and dipping her into it instead, but he was afraid it would be too much of a shock to her system. “I won’t leave you. So you don’t either, okay? Stay.”

She doesn’t reply, eyes closed and chest heaving with short, hot puffs of breath. She’s out again.

Cellbit sighs, drapes one last damp rag over her tear-swollen eyes. He gently presses his forehead against hers, angling himself so her beak doesn’t poke at his chin — the rag is blissfully cool against his skin, but he can already feel the heat of her sickness radiating through it. “Por favor,” he whispers, aware she can’t hear him — let alone understand him. He lets himself sag against her, exhaustion pulling at him, heavy head resting upon her feathered chest just above her heart. He can hear it: rabbit-quick, restless, fighting. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. “Por favor. Viva. Pra mim.”

“No. We promised, right?”

“Right…”

“Você também me prometeu,” he slurs out, tendrils of darkness creeping in. He’s so tired, sick, and his entire being begs for reprieve. “Não… não me deixa sozinho. Não posso perder você também...”

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't. Never."

Within a dilapidated cave, Cellbit and Baghera drift. Atop the waves far away, a little motorboat sails, leaving white foam and inky black feathers in its wake.

[archetypal-archivist]

A Kinder World AU- Part 8

Roier’s Therapy

masterlist

1) The building that Roier uses as his therapy office was once intended to be someone’s house, but after their disappearance before arriving to the island, Vegeta decided to rent it to whoever wanted it for the sake of getting something back for his work. Roier decided to take him up on the offer and he grabbed a bunch of second-hand furniture and donations from friends to turn it into an office for mental health awareness and psychological help. There was little he could do about the exterior other than paint it the standard white of a Quesadilla island public building, however, hence its appearance to this day.

2) Due to the office’s status as “ex-house,” it doesn’t have some of the features that a public building in Quesadilla is supposed to have, mainly a portable generator and a closet full of sand bags in case of flooding. Roier’s first summer in the community, before he knew all the ins and outs of life in the ocean-bound town, was one with a lot of learning involved, frequently through experience and in ways less than fun. Indeed, he, Bobby, and Spreen were in the process of cleaning up some of the junk left over from moving in when a storm kicked up, stranding them inside for five days. Thankfully the trio had plenty of nonperishable food in the mini fridge and the taps worked, but the power went out on the second day and the roof started leaking on the fourth. While the group ended up enjoying the impromptu sleepover and became much closer during the event, it did prompt them to reinforce the roof and windows greatly. The therapy office can now boast to be one of the safer places in town to wait out a storm, if not necessarily a comfortable one.

3) Roier doesn’t live out of his therapy office, but it does have all the building blocks of a home. Having come from a rough background that led to him and his best friend, Spreen, taking his little brother, Bobby, with them to run away from their problems, he worked hard to make the therapy office into a safe space. The interior is painted a light pink, with lots of blue and purple decorations and plenty of pillows, blankets, and soft toys on every surface. The color palette came about when Vegeta donated a bunch of furniture to them from the club and Roier had too much taste to allow the rest of the room to do anything but match. He claims that the contrast between the stark white exterior and the bubbly, cheerful interior helps to distract patients from their anxiety but Jaiden teases him that it’s more that Roier’s favorite color is pink and the town wouldn’t let him use pink paint on a public building. This isn’t the case, but it makes Jaiden giggle so Roier doesn’t contradict her.

4) Roier’s primary patients are a host of people from the mainland who zoom call in for telehealth therapy and a number of Quesadilla residents, most notably Juanaflippa, Fit, Dapper, Slimecicle, and Cellbit, the latter of which he got very close to over the course of their time together. Having come to the community with a half-finished community college psych degree, Roier spent seven months cramming hard and speed running his online courses to finish it so he would be able to start working and stop mooching off the generosity of his new friends and neighbors. To this day the scent of coffee makes him feel ill, having chugged far too much of it in those awful months, but his hard work has more than paid off. Although Roier’s methods are sometimes strange and his office’s interior even more so, the residents know they are in safe hands with him. Indeed, of the people Cellbit trusts most, Roier is the top of the pack- although their shared feelings for each other may have a part in that too.

5) Roier loves the sea. After the traumatic deaths of his and Bobby’s parents and their subsequent desperate flight from the city for fear of being next, the chance to sit by the water and relax is a wonderful way to cope. He’s well aware that it’s not healthy but one of Roier’s favorite things to do when he can’t sleep is to jump into the water by the office and float there for an hour or three, disassociating to the sound of the waves before crawling back inside to sleep among the piles of pink and purple pillows. It’s soft, it’s safe, and it’s not inflicting his worries on anyone else, especially Jaiden and Bobby, who see him as a pillar of support and good cheer. Cellbit and the sea are the only ones who know of his worrying habit, so sometimes Cellbit will use his shortwave radio to privately broadcast messages of support to Roier while he’s trying to fall asleep. He appreciates this deeply but privately, he dismisses the concern as paranoia- no matter how long he lets his mind drift with the waves, he knows with all his heart that somehow, someway, there’ll be someone to guide him to shore.

[baileyspears01]

Picnic Date- Guapoduo One Shot

A/N: I tried to include as much of Roier and Cellbit's native languages but I don't speak either one fluently so they're are bound to be mistakes. Hope you enjoy!!

It had been a long time since Roier and Cellbit had time to themselves. With Cellbit solving all the enigmas on the island and Roier building Bobby's City they barely saw each other. They missed each other like hell and if it were up to Roier he would steal every second of his husband's attention. So that's why he showed up to Cellbit's office in the favela with a picnic basket in his hand. "Celbo!!!" He sung as he took the elevator down to his husband's office where Cellbit's heard hung down knee deep in evidence he had collected from his latest enigma. "Guapito!!!! O que estão a fazer aqui!" Cellbit looked up from his work to look at his lover who smiled at him with his soft brown eyes. "Nos vamos salir tu oficina y comer comida en nuestra lugar favorito." Roier walked toward him and held out his hand and Cellbit couldn't say no. He knew he had neglected his lover and he wanted to make it up to him.

The couple left the favela and Cellbit let Roier guide him across many lands. Sure they could teleport but what's the fun in that. He had no idea when Roier was taking him but he didn't care as long he was with him. "Esta aquí." Roier said as he came to a stop and Cellit smiled when he saw their destination. Base Guapita, where their relationship really began and where the best memories were made. "Gracias, Guapito, Eu precisava disto." Cellbit leaned in and gave Roier a passion kiss and Roier smiled into the kiss raking his hands through Cellbit's long hair. "No necesitas darme las gracias, te extraño, wey." Roier said as they made their way up the ladder and into Base Guapita. Roier guided him to the area where him and Richas paired together once and set the picnic blanket out for them to sit on. Both of them ate sandwiches and drank freshly squeezed lemonade in bottles that Roier had made with the help of Richas. They didn't need to do outrageous things to enjoy each other's company. They strive on love and quality time.

When their lunch was finished, Cellbit helped Roier pack up the picnic basket and both of them layed on the blanket. "Eu te amo, Roier." Cellbit stroked his lover's hand and Roier squeezed back. "Yo también te amo." Roier said and both jumped when their communicators buzzed.

Chat:

Badboyhalo: Richas is coming to you guys, Cellbit and Roier.</p>

Roier and Cellbit smiled as the waystone went off and Richas came running towards them, hitting them with his fists. "RICHAS!! FILHO!!!!!" Cellbit cried out and they hit each other playfully causing Roier to smile. He loved his family more than anything, he just wished Bobby was here to witness it. He missed his little son more than anything and not a day went by that he didn't think of him. He snapped out of his head when he help a sharp hit and he looked down at his stepson who help a bottle of coffee in his hand and smiled. "Gracias, Richas." He said taking the coffee and all three of them gulped their coffees down. "BOM DIA!" They exclaimed as they spun around and did their tradition that Roier was included in when he married Cellbit. "Bueno! Vamos por o castelo, Estou muito cansado" Cellbit picked up his warpstone and they all warped away leaving the picnic blanket there.

When they made it to the castle, the couple said goodnight to Richas, who wanted to go see Tio Bad and headed inside. "Gracias por hoje, Guapito." Cellbit ran his hands through his husband's hair as they layed in bed with Cellbit's arms wrapped around Roier's waist. "De nada, necesitamos hacerlo más a menudo." Roier smiled and leaned into kiss his husband who accepted and both of them said their goodnight's falling asleep in each other's arms.

[https-wannabe]

🧚🏻‍♂️᩠︐딌꿋냥⋅cəllbit soft icons ꢁ⋅໑

— 💬¹ : like or reblog <3 ⚠︎ ⊹

(não pegue a estética/don't take my aesthetic)

[ikaripilled]

oii sayu! posso pedir algumas header para essa mathing por favor? psee.....do cellbit e do felps,mas obrigado de qualquer forma! mwAH ( ˘ ³˘)

não achei tantas que pudessem combinar, mas espero que goste dessas que selecionei <3

[mis8to]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 . . . elizabeth webber layouts ¡!

(# >o<) fav or reblog if you save.

[wongcoffee]

。☆ 。♡ 。

✮ ＼   ｜   ／。 ✬

┌ ჩᦸᥣᥣꪫ ⊹⠂˖✮͜た͜ゐ͜‼᠉⃯

│ ყꪫᥔᧁꪫᥣ͠ᥲ᧞ᦾᨰოᦸ꯱꯱ᥲᧁᦾ‼ ▭▬¹

└ 🎻⃟⃛₎. ꪦᥲẝᥲᦸᥣᥣᥲ᧞ᧁᦸ ✰ ꪱ᥋ꪫꪀ꯱

ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵒʳ ʳᵇᵍ ⁱᶠ ᵘ ᵘˢᵉ

[anonymous-dentist]

And funnily enough, the only person who does notice stuff going on is Cellbit because he’s more or less at the eye of the hurricane here. Everything is changing around him, so he notices more than others do. But not everything, and not all the time.

Like… Cellbit stopped wearing his wedding ring on his hand after Roier’s death. He instead wore it on a chain around his neck so it could be closer to his heart, and because he couldn’t help but break down every time he saw it on his hand.

One morning, he wakes up and is halfway through his shower when he thinks “Oh, silly me, I forgot to take my wedding ring off before my shower” and then he takes his ring off and puts it on the counter with Roier’s shampoo still bubbling in his hair-

And he blinks, and it’s his own shampoo, and his ring is on a chain laying on top of his clothes on the other side of the counter.

Or, like… Cellbit lives alone.

But he wakes up one morning and trips over Roier’s clothes on the floor, rolling his eyes fondly as he pulls his own clothes out of the closet. He presses a soft kiss to his sleeping husband’s temple on his way out of the bedroom, makes sure to leave a note on the fridge before he leaves for work, and then he-

He finishes packing his lunch for work and looks about his empty, grey apartment. He thinks that maybe he should get a cat. Or something. He might be starting to lose it.

Could write a horror story about qCellbit and the freaky supernatural presence from another dimension (aka cRoier) meeting him in a dream, falling in love, and twisting Cellbit’s own dimension to meet Roier’s specifications where they’re together and in love and married and nobody’s in their way and it’s perfect because Roier does love him!! And he knows Cellbit loves him, too! He’s just shy :(

But Cellbit is alone. His husband, who we’d know as qRoier, died years ago. Sometimes Cellbit dreams of him, though sometimes the Dream Roier isn’t right. But it’s just a dream, right?

(Roier saw the man in Cellbit’s dreams and took his face as his own because it’s the face Cellbit loves, so he’ll love Roier! He even took the man’s name! It’s his now.)

…It’s just a dream, right?

[miscellaneoussmp]

I should be writing something fluffy, but this idea won't leave me alone. Companion fic to [this one]! Here's the story of a set of twins meeting The Grim Reaper (cw/tw: blood/death/violence throughout, general Cellbit fuckery):

It was a game, not a tragedy. This was a game to be played and won and survived. It's a game and how they play works. They're alive, hearts still beating in their chests. It works. They're surviving. Soft cries of not wanting to play this game anymore get hidden until it's dark. It's just a game. Chasing after another person like hungry pack animals. They're starving. A person means food for both of them, brother and sister.

He couldn't tell you what exactly happened once the chase was over. Blood filled his mouth and stained his hands. Fed. He'll survive another day. She couldn't tell you what happened once the chase was over. The bread stolen off the body was stale. It was edible. She'll survive another day. The chase was over. They survived. How they play this game works. It works. It always has. This is when they notice a tall figure in between the trees. There's a white knuckle grip on a knife and a shakey hold on a sword. Would this be the end of the game? No, the figure wasn't there for the siblings. The figure was here for a soul. He explains to his sister that they aren't in danger for now. The young duo watched in amazement as the soul was ripped from a body.

The reaper starts asking questions about the siblings. It was a curious situation. The question about their names was only answered with a shake of his head. They were never given names. They were referred to, of course, with words that weren't truly names. Bother and Sister, Blood and Fear, Feral Cat and Wild Dog, just to name a few. The reaper asked how old they were. This time, she speaks up; Quinze. Fifteen, he explains to the reaper. The reaper seemed upset? with the answer. Why's that? Nobody ever seemed upset before, even when it was being screamed at them. Then, the reaper asked a question that seemed pretty obvious. Are they siblings? Of course they are. Cut from the same cloth, sharing the same blood, stolen from the same home, and playing the same game. Their nods were almost completely in sync.

They turned the questions on the hooded figure. His name is Bad, but people call him all sorts of things, kind of like the siblings. Bad, Grim Reaper, a saint, a demon, just to say a few. Bad liked to dodge questions, he noticed as he repeated his sister's questions. Bad dodged questions about where he's from and how old he is. He offered bread. The loaf seemed fresh, not stale, edible, like real food. He thinks it's just to shut them up. He doesn't take it. The metallic taste on his lips is more than enough. She does take it. Staring at Bad through her ash blonde hair, as she does so. The bread seems fine. She's too hungry to care either way.

Bad is still there by the time neither sibling could fight the urge to sleep anymore. Both rest against a tree, with weapons resting but ready. When both awake, once again, the sun is high in the sky again. This has been the longest they've ever slept in one sitting.

Cellbit couldn't believe it when he saw Bad on the island. He joked that he finally had a name to share and that he had been doing well, with a proper job as an investigator. He thanked Bad for his kindness all those years ago. He ignores the way Bad looks at him with confusion and a bit of pity. The young teen that still lives in him hates that look, he hates that look since he knows he's missing something.

Bagi couldn't believe that despite being stuck here too, Bad was being kind to her. She told him about her pacifism, and they argued lightly and playfully about it. She chose to ignore the way Bad looked at her with a look of recognition and a bit of pity. The young teen that is hidden within her lives for that look, she lives for that look because it means she's remembered.