#fuzz fizz

[maplebitts]

Collection of goofy whiteboard doodles from the past month (spoiler alert half of them are Lucifer)

[driftwoodsix]

boygenius… fizz… peach fuzz… babe corner… love when my favourite artists are like btw i'm also in a band with my talented friends and our music fuckin rocks

[prettyincubus]

every time a new ep comes out im like i cant believe how into blitz i am i must be completely batshit insane what do i see in him and then he makes me laugh even though my brains torturing me and i remember why i love him so

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Limpetsong 

Aliases / Nicknames: Limpetkit, Limpetpaw, Cursekit

Gender: male 

Sexuality: pansexual, aromantic

Family: Cloudydusk (mother), Blizzardeye (father)

Other Relations: Mousestar (mentor), Snipvoice (Dark Forest mentor)

Clan: ShadowClan 

Rank: warrior 

Characteristics: vengeful, sweet 

Murder Motive + Motive to Harm: mother was exiled   

Number of Victims: 3 

Number of Murders: 1 

Murder Method: trampling 

Method of Harm: ruining reputations and lives

Known Victims: Mousestar, Stemsky, Burningtree, Darkwings 

Victim Profile: cats who he thought hurt his mother

Cause of Death: bitten throat

Cautionary Tale: provide Half-Clan kits with love and strong support when they are young, otherwise they may turn on you when they grow older. 

Story: 

Limpetkit never had a father. Eventually, he lost his mother as well. But he still had dreams. They were pretty dreams! He dreamt of a nice and safe forest, and even of friends! A grey cat who also didn't have a dad! A black and white cat who was really funny! When the other kits began calling him Cursekit, the grey cat comforted him while he cried. 

Mousestar, the leader, said that kits like him needed to be watched closely, and so took Limpetpaw as his own apprentice. And he wasn't half bad! But there was barely any fighting. Mousestar always made excuses. So, Limpetpaw asked the grey cat to teach him. 

The funny one would sometimes watch, and sometimes join! Teaching Limpetpaw how to negotiate, and what to say to different cats. How to ask someone out if he wanted to (he didn't, he was cool with that), how to break off a friendship, and most importantly, how to tell and keep secrets. The grey cat taught him the best fighting moves, how to fix his face, and how to see emotions! 

Mousestar made him a warrior late, a few moons after the other kits around his age became warriors. 

One night, at a gathering, the deputy of WindClan had some important news. WindClan and ShadowClan had a strong alliance back then, so Limpetsong agreed. Blizzardeye wanted to meet that night on the WindClan border. Through tears, Blizzardeye told him the story of how he fell in love with a beautiful ShadowClan cat, only for them to break apart when he became deputy. After that, he never saw her again. In his dreams, a bright orange cat revealed that he had a son. 

Limpetsong was Half-Clan. 

He went rigid. 

Cold. 

Keeping anger out of his face, he smiled. When he returned, he knew what to do. The next night, when he came to the place that was more of a home then ShadowClan had ever been, the grey cat told him the other half of the story. He told him how Burningtree saw his mother with Blizzardeye, how Mousestar exiled her, and how Stemsky drove her away....How Cloudydusk was dead. 

Limpetsong started his vengeance. 

Hey. Splashface. I saw Burningtree meet with this weird brown she-cat...

Yes, I'm sure it wasn't a ShadowClan cat. 

No, I'm not saying this just because Stemsky's apprentice died, how sad. 

They were on a patrol together? She just collapsed? Well, that sounds...no, he wouldn't. 

It's nothing, but...do you think that Stemsky would've... It all makes too much sense. 

No, you're right. We have to get rid of him. 

Mousestar's been sort of lazy, lately. He hasn't been on many patrols. He is getting old... 

The night before his death, the two cats he had spent so much time with finally revealed themselves. The Follower, and The Adder. He...he trusted them. He trusted them. And yet....

Snipvoice had been kinder to him than any ShadowClan cat had been. Finally confronting Mousestar the next day, he shouted for an explanation. But he wouldn't listen. 

The second Mousestar began slandering Cloudydusk, saying that she had shirked her duties for her WindClan mate, Limpetsong leapt. 

But Mousestar was quicker. 

Additional Information: 

--Submission by @frightnightindustries​ (SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG)

--The bright orange cat was Fizz! The RiverClan former rogue who organized the defeat of Claudrat. 

--Blizzardeye would've taken good care of Limpetsong, and was horrified when he heard what he had done. He didn't really want kits, but he would've wanted to be responsible for his actions. 

--Cloudydusk was sort of self centered, and didn't have a good reputation. That was the last straw for ShadowClan, who chased her out after she gave birth and revealed it was a Half-WindClan kit. She died alone, outside of the territory. 

--Claudrat and Snipvoice were given those names because of the reputation outside the Clans, which came about because of RiverClan's involvement.

[gold-medal-ribbon]

I'm so fuckin obsessed with the carbonation of dr pepper right now

[thxnks4themrms]

Some man walking looked up at me and pointed at me idk how I should feel about that

[caffeinated-frog]

YEAHHHH

ARTFIGHT ATTACKS FOR OUR BEST FRIENDS WE'RE PROUD OF!!!! (they're all great artists themselves check em out!!!)

(@arcadefucggz @snailtide @camazotz @caffeinated-frog @lucidishere ) AND NOTEABLY @lorebird BUT WE HAVENT FINIDHED DRwinG HIS ATTACK YET

[pompasookie]

𝐒𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐜.𝟑

Chapter 3: Reeling In

Pairing: Sebastian x Reader

Summary: Sebastian thought he was done with small-town life, but when he ends up back at his mom’s house, surrounded by boxes he refuses to unpack, it’s clear he’s stuck. The last thing he needed was a new farmer shaking things up in his already unstable life.

Word Count: 2,413

Links: Chapter 2 // Chapter 4

✂┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Click, flick, fizz.

Sebastian’s fingers were clumsy on his lighter, elbows jutting awkwardly as he tried to balance an umbrella under one arm and the unlit cigarette in his hand. He flicked the lighter once, twice, and cursed under his breath when the spark sputtered out.

The wind didn’t care about his plans. It swept down from the mountains, tugging at his jacket and rattling the lighter in his grip. On his third attempt, he managed to coax a weak flame to life, sheltering it with his fingers.

The paper caught. A faint ember glowed at the end of the cigarette. He raised it to his lips, inhaling deeply. The familiar bite of nicotine hit his lungs, sharp and acrid. It should’ve been calming, but it wasn’t.

His feet tapped against the wet ground, unable to decide if they wanted to stay rooted or move. Standing still felt unbearable. He wasn’t sure when his pacing turned into walking, but his feet carried him down the mountain, as if the act of moving might untangle the knots in his chest.

For the entire week he’s been back, it’s the rain that coaxes him out of his room.  Not the sun, not the crisp morning air, and certainly not the voices drifting through the house. 

The rain had a different pull, soft and insistent, drumming on the roof in rhythms that quieted the noise in his head.  Everything fuzzed—trees faded into mist, and the distant hum of life in Pelican Town seemed muffled. He liked it that way.

The rain offered a pause, a pause to take it all in. To see the bigger picture in a watercolor blur.

The damp gravel crunched softly under his weight. His cigarette was little more than a soggy remnant between his fingers, forgotten as the wind tugged at his jacket. His mind had been somewhere else entirely, his body moving on its own accord.

It wasn’t until the familiar curve of the hill came into view that he realized where he was. The farm.

Sebastian hadn’t meant to end up here.

His breath misted in the cool air as he stared down at the dirt path leading to the old driveway. It looked the same as he remembered: overgrown weeds creeping onto the edges, the barn leaning slightly to one side like a drunk caught mid-stumble. For a moment, he wondered if he’d walked into the past by mistake.

The porch still sagged in the middle, where he’d once sat through countless sunsets, cigarette smoke curling around him while the world faded to dusk. But then he saw the yellow pickup truck parked awkwardly on the gravel, it was slanted and bright. His brow furrowed as his eyes traveled to the farmhouse. It still had that hollow, abandoned look, but there were signs of life now—curtains in the windows, a pair of muddy boots by the door.

Sebastian shifted his weight, unsure why he was still standing there. He hadn’t been to the farm in years, not since it had been a sanctuary of sorts, a place to disappear when he needed the world to forget he existed. Back then, it was empty, silent, and most importantly, his.

Now, the sight of the truck, the signs of someone new, made the place feel foreign. Someone had claimed it — was living in it, breathing in it, making it theirs.

His hands slipping into his jacket pockets. The rain was starting to pick up, a steady rhythm on the umbrella above his head. The air smelled richer here, earthy and damp, and for a fleeting second, he almost turned back to the driveway, almost let curiosity pull him closer.

But what was the point?

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He didn’t even like this place and whoever was living here now was doing a shoddy job at fixing it up. He turned on his heel, ready to head back down the path.

The farm was no longer what he’d come looking for.

He turned abruptly, his shoes crunching on the wet gravel as he strode back toward the main path. The beach was better. The tide and the rain drowned out his thoughts in a way the farm never could anymore.

Sebastian adjusted the umbrella against the wind, the damp cigarette falling off his lips.

The waves would be crashing against the rocks by now, their roar filling the air. That was what he needed. Something louder than his thoughts.

The rain fell heavier by the time Sebastian reached the shore, the umbrella doing little to shield him from the relentless wind driving it sideways. His steps slowed as the scent of saltwater crept into the air, mingling with the petrichor that clung to him from the farm.

By the time he reached the beach, his converse were soaked, squelching against the damp sand. The crash of waves filled his ears, a low and constant roar that drowned out everything else. It wasn’t quiet, not exactly, but it was the kind of noise that emptied the world of everything that didn’t matter.

The sharp cry of a gull cut through the air as Sebastian pushed further down the shoreline. The familiar stretch of the port came into view, wooden planks slick and dark from the rain.

There on the porch was Willy clad in a red raincoat, standing by the edge with a bucket of bait next to his boots. Sebastian doesn’t mind his company or the lack of which he provides, the fisherman was there to fish and he was there to brood.

But as he got closer, doubt started to gnaw at him—Willy wasn’t that short, was he? And his shoulders weren’t as broad either, had business really been that dire?

Sebastian’s steps faltered as the realization struck him. It wasn’t Willy.

The figure hunched over the edge of the dock, movements hurried and awkward, was far from someone who fish for a living. No, it was her—the girl.

The red raincoat hung loosely on her frame, the hood slipping back to reveal a mess of damp, dark hair that clung to her neck. She fumbled with the bait, her gloved fingers struggling to hook it onto the line. When it slipped from her grasp and nearly tumbled into the water, her loud curse punctuated the rain-drenched air, confirming what his gut already told him.

Sebastian stood still for a moment, debating his next move. He could leave. He should leave.

This was his spot—a place for quiet, for solitude. But now she was here, all jangling energy and clashing presence.

Sebastian’s grip tightened on the umbrella as a flicker of irritation stirred in his chest. What was she even doing out here, in this weather, of all things?

Still, his feet remained rooted. Maybe it was the absurdity of her trying to fish in the rain or the way she seemed completely unbothered by the storm. Or maybe, as much as he hated it, it was the lingering curiosity from when he first saw her from the window.

He hesitated. Was it worth it? His cigarette was already gone, and the dock didn’t seem like the refuge he’d hoped for anymore.

But damn it, this was his spot.

Sebastian straightened uneasily on the dock, the wooden planks creaking faintly under his weight. He knew he should say something—maybe tell her she was in his spot, or at least acknowledge her presence. But the words felt stuck, tangled somewhere between his throat and his lips.

He cleared his throat once, hoping the sound would be enough.

No reaction. She was too focused on her fishing line, her raincoat bunched up awkwardly around her shoulders as she leaned forward.

He tried again, his voice coming out quieter than intended. “Uh… you…”

She didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch.

His gaze darted to the water, then back to her. His grip on his umbrella tensing. “You’re… uh… I mean…”

Her line jerked slightly, and she gave a little whoop of excitement, completely oblivious to him.

Sebastian let out a sharp breath, his lips pressing into a thin line. He opened his mouth one last time, but whatever he was about to say dissolved into the steady patter of rain around them.

Never mind. What was he even supposed to say? That she should leave because the dock isn’t big enough for the two of them?

He turned his head slightly, muttering to himself under his breath as if that would suffice. He’d stay quiet. Let her do… whatever it was she was doing.

Sebastian took a step back, scuffing the dock as he turned to leave. He’d had enough awkward tension for one day.

But before he could take another step, her voice rang out again, sharp with a mix of surprise and determination.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, hey—hold still, you slippery—”

Her whooping dissolved into startled laughter as the line yanked violently, dragging her closer to the edge of the dock. She stumbled, her boots skidding on the wet wood.

“Gotcha!” she crowed triumphantly as she reeled the fish in with one last heave.

But her balance betrayed her. With the force of her final pull, she lurched backward—and right into Sebastian.

“Oof!” The air was knocked out of his lungs as she collided with him, her weight sending him stumbling a step back. His umbrella slipped from his grasp, landing with a wet plop on the sea..

Her shoulder pressed against his chest, her hair wet and sticking to his jacket. The flounder dangled limply from her line, flopping as if it, too, was surprised by the chaotic turn of events.

“Uh…” Sebastian’s voice faltered, strangled by the sudden surge of panic that seized his chest. His breath quickened, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh, god.

The world tilted as his body froze, unable to move, while his thoughts scrambled like a panicked mess. His heart slammed against his ribs, the shock of the collision still vibrating through him. Normally, he’d have shoved her off, lashed out with a sharp curse—anything to reclaim control. But this? This was beyond anything he could prepare for. His mind was a fog, a blur of confusion and dread. This wasn’t just an accident. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, like the universe had conspired to throw him into the most absurd, uncomfortable situation imaginable.

Sat between his legs was her, unfazed as she admired… a terribly small flounder.

She laughed, her voice bright and unrestrained, echoing against the waves, making him flinch. "Geez, Louise! I'm pretty sure that was attempted murder," she declared, holding the wriggling flounder up like it was a trophy and a criminal all at once. "You’ve got some real chompers there, buddy." She waggled a finger at the fish, her lips curling into an exaggerated, smug smirk.

Sebastian didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He stood there, stiff as a board, his damp hair plastered to his forehead. Jurassic Park had taught him one vital survival skill: stay still, and the predator might not notice you.

Except this wasn’t a dinosaur. It was worse. It was a girl.

Her gaze shifted then, catching sight of him at last, and for one terrible moment, their eyes met. Oh no. Oh no, no, no—abort mission.

"Heya!" Her face lit up with an alarming brightness, her grin so wide it was almost weaponized. Frightening , Sebastian thought, resisting the urge to scream in terror.

Her head tilted to one side, her dripping, braids swinging as she studied him with eyes as wide and unblinking as an owl’s. “Robin’s son, right?” she asked, her tone casual, like they were old friends catching up.

Sebastian’s mind blanked. He didn’t trust himself to answer without fumbling, so he defaulted to a stiff nod, hoping it would satisfy her.

Unfortunately, it didn’t. She leaned in slightly, curiosity practically oozing from her every movement. "Thought so! You’ve got the vibe, you know?"

What vibe? he wanted to ask. Instead, he just stared, half expecting her to explain herself… but she didn’t.

Instead, she moved on to the next thing—as if expecting everyone to be at her pace or at least scamper to try to keep up.

“You want it?” she asked, tilting her head toward the flounder still flapping wildly on the line. “I mean, it’s not much, but he’s a tough little guy, look at him go.” The fish flopped in protest, even the thing didn’t want to be part of this mess. "Don’t worry, he’s perfectly harmless. Unless you’re a fish. Or, y'know, a small child." She snickered.

Sebastian blinked, his mind going into overdrive. The fish. The girl. The complete and utter absurdity of his situation. Was this real? Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming. And if it were a dream, what is the meaning of the fish? Of anything?

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no words came out.

Instead, a fish. A soggy, flopping fish. Put in a bucket. That was the only thing that seemed to make sense at that moment.

So that was how Sebastian got home, drenched to the bone. His eyes were wide, mouth agape, like a man who’d just been walloped by a sledgehammer of awkwardness. Or maybe he had actually been hit with a sledgehammer because that’s what it felt like. Either way, he looked like he’d seen things. Terrible, terrible things. His umbrella had been devoured by the wind, and in its place? A goddamn flounder.

Robin took one look at Sebastian as he stood there on the porch, and immediately started fussing over him. She shook her head in disbelief, snatching a towel and starting to dab at his hair, her voice a strange blend of concern and frustration. “What on earth were you thinking, standing out there like that in the rain? You’re soaked through! You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful—”

Robin’s gaze landed on the fish, and her eyes went wide. Her lips parted in surprise. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then a laugh, short and incredulous, slipped out.

“I see… so you’ve finally met the new farmer?” She smirked. Suddenly, this was just another Wednesday to her.

Sebastian didn’t respond. At this point, nothing made sense, and nothing ever would again. He was just here, holding a flounder, in his wet clothes, wondering if the universe had any mercy left for him.

[crackrodent]

Check out the rest of my Flufftober library!

Drowning on Land

Husk and Angel were not happy with Charlie having them help set up for her father’s surprise party but they hadn’t played most of these games since they were kids on Earth so they complied.

They helped find arrows that could pierce apples but not harm sinners.

Then the real wild goose chase of tracking down real ducklings (or as close as they could find) in hell.

Apple cider.

Apple pie.

There were apple decorations too. Tablecloths, banners, cups and plates.

But Husk thought Alastor’s reaction was worth it. and Angel liked Husk’s reaction.

Baxter was just confused. This was the king of hell, not the weird kid from school, why was the party so weirdly themed?

This seems like the kind of party his parents would have thrown for him as a child. He didn’t even want to think about himself from back then. Stupid little party. Stupid empty chairs. Stupid family.

Lucifer wasn’t even there yet but as Baxter stood at the bar, with Angel sampling the apple-themed menu Husk was mildly annoyed to have had to learn, he saw demons and even a few deadly sins dancing. They were all talking about Lucifer so fondly. He had so many friends and loved ones.

Stupid big party. Stupid crowded dance floor. Stupid hotel.

“Baxter, if you squeeze that cup any tighter it will break,” Husk warned, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah and then you will get your little lab coat all wet,” Angel Dust added unnecessarily. He was already drunk.

“I just can not comprehend why Charlie insisted on such a ridiculous party. It is childish.” Baxter said, hoping they were both faded enough to not notice him catching a glimpse of Niffty running the apple bobbing game. Just like that, his mind wandered away from the bar again and he watched how Niffty tossed another apple from her bag into the wooden tub to replace the one the last sinner took off with.

Husk and Angel were not faded enough to not see his shoulders relax and his face soften as he stared across the room. He was so transfixed on the stabbing machine he didn’t even feel when Angel took the paper cup out of his hand and set it back on the bar. He did feel it when Angel tipped the barstool forward and Baxter’s face planted on the floor.

“What the fuck was that for Angel Dust?” Baxter spat as he stood back up and dusted himself off.

“I just thought you needed help. Looked like you were about to get redeemed and ascend right before my eyes!”

Husk shot him a dirty look. “Not cool Anthony.”

“Sorry Baxter,” Angel grew a stupid smirk on his face, “That you are too scared to go and flirt with Niffty.”

“That’s absurd!” Baxter lied, like a liar.

Husk suddenly in a bit more of a playful spirit chimed in, “Besides it looks like Niffty has enough bad men to keep her company.”

Baxter looked over and saw Niffty attempting to touch the blue flames of one of the sins. The guy was reacting to her the way one would react to a butterfly chasing them. His laugh hit Baxter’s ears and his feet started moving until he could hear the beast speak.

“Aw, you really are living in the spirit of lust aren’t you!” He cooed at her like she was a horny idiot while pulling her off his shoulder with ease.

“I like bad boys! You are a baddest boy!” Niffty said back to him because it was her job as a host to be nice, Baxter decided to believe despite Niffty’s long history of mild to not-so-mildly harassing bad boys.

“Yeah well I might be a bad boy, but that’s what my man likes!” Baxter watched as the blue bastard looked down at the clown next to him, “Don’t you Fizz?” the man kissed his lover and Baxter calmed down as Niffty smiled and started asking the fuzz guy if he was a bad boy too. The men laughed and eventually walked off and the next sinner walked up to bob for apples.

Baxter suddenly felt like he was the stupid one as he powerwalked back towards the bar.

Angel kicked his feet up on the stool Baxter was attempting to climb onto. “Angel Dust you do not require two stools.”

“Go actually try and get her attention this time toots, because that was pathetic,” Angel said with a lot less sincerity than he meant.

Husk just laughed, “Anthony, leave the kid alone. He’s probably never even kissed a woman. ‘Mad Scientists’ never do.”

“Oh whiskers don't be that harsh on him bab-”

Baxter yanked the stool out from under Angel’s feet and hopped up onto it. “I will have you know I have done plenty of kissing in my time. I have been here over a hundred years!”

“Damn, alright kid,” Husk said pouring him a new drink.

“I am probably older than the both of you! Just because I am short does not make me a child.” Baxter argued.

“Hey look Niffty is flirting again!” Baxter looked quickly back towards the apple bobbing game and saw Niffty sitting alone tossing apples into the small pool. The line was gone.

Angel’s laugh filled Baxter with rage. “Alright! Fine! I don’t know how to get Niffty’s attention in any way that would not result in Charlie kicking me out of the hotel.” Baxter put his head down on the bar, pouting like the child Husk was already accusing him of being.

“Dumbass, she literally is already obsessed with you,” Vaggie said while walking past with a clipboard.

Baxter hardly had time to think before Charlie rounded the corner and yelled, “He’s almost here!” Using a rare display of her magic she turned off all the lights as everyone crowded the door.

From the time Lucifer walked in the door and everyone yelled “Surprise” to when the last of the guests started leaving, Vaggie’s words replayed in Baxter’s head.

Baxter looked at the now empty room as the mad woman worked cleaning. He grabbed a bag and started tossing paper cups and plates as fast as he could and in the direction of her as some form of cover in case she asked him why he was there.

“You clean fast!” Niffty returned the observing he had been doing to her all day.

“You clean better.” He managed to say despite the foot that was clearly (metaphorically) lodged in his mouth.

“Yes, but fast is fun!” Niffty said now making circles around him.

He decided to trust Vaggie’s words and simply match her energy. Soon the two of them were running around the entire hotel for any mess they could find. Baxter wanted to follow some form of logical system for it but her infectious fanatical laughter drove him mad with glee. He would put the cart before the horse to hear that sound forever.

They finished cleaning and walked together, talking about the party. Turning off the lights as they cleared the rooms.

“You never came over to the drowning apple game,” Niffty said as they reached the one game they didn’t put away.

“It wouldn’t have been fair to the others dear Niffty. I am a pro at this game.” He said, lying again. He is a damn liar.

“Prove it!” Niffty said, clearly smelling his fear. “Prove it and you win a prize!”

“What’s the prize?” Baxter didn’t remember anyone getting prizes besides the apple.

“A secret!”

“Wait, I can’t know the prize first?” Baxter looked nervous. He did like Niffty a lot but he did know she liked murder a little too much to really want to turn his back on her.

“Nope, now bob for the apple!”

Baxter walked over to the pool that had its entire surface covered in apples. The water was hardly visible. An idiot could pull this off. Even in the dim room.

The first try he missed and came back up to make sure an apple was right where he was going for then he tried again.

The second time the apple touched his mouth but rolled away before he could bite down.

The fifth time he thought to turn on his little anglerfish light.

The twelfth time he almost gave up but as he looked at Niffty she looked at him with those big old eyes and he kept trying.

The fifteenth time he started keeping his eyes open.

The twenty-second time he started not coming back up all the way between tries.

Switching between air and water was exhausting his lungs. He was getting lightheaded from the inconsistency in the oxygen source.

Twenty-nine times. Twenty-nine times and he finally felt his teeth sink into the crisp fruit. He picked up his head and turned to Niffty.

Her face lit up! She was clapping for him! It was beautiful until her face dropped as everything started spinning.

He was certain he was only down for a second but it was clearly enough time for Niffty to have pulled his head onto her lap. “Silly boy.” Niffty said while playing with his wet hair, “You forgot to breathe.”

“No, I remembered to breathe. Just once I saw you I was breathless Niffty.” He said with an uncharacteristic amount of Charisma.

She continued to play with his hair, “You want your prize now?”

“Sure.” He said, not really wanting to move but bracing himself for it anyway.

Niffty moved her hand down from his hair, tilted up his chin, and planted a kiss softer than the tiny maniac should be capable of on his unprepared lips. He froze at first before returning the kiss. It broke way too soon.

“You liked your prize Bax?”

“Yes,” Baxter paused for a moment, “Am I going to be required to bob for apples for another one?”

Niffty’s smile could only be interpreted one way in his oxygen-deprived mind as sat up quickly and started reaching back for the tub of apples.

“Baxter no! Bad boy!” Niffty laughed as she watched the probably concussed sinner start bobbing for apples. He tried with a lot more need than the first time. Desperate for another taste. She watched as Baxter’s hand went missing from the end of his sleeve and suddenly reappeared moments later dripping wet as he spun around with another apple in his mouth.

Niffty really liked this bad boy.

NSFW pt. 2

[shiroisotto64]

Hey could you do a fizz and Ozzie x (trans?if you do that) male!imp!reader where reader was forced to work for a certain organization but eventually they found him useless so they just kicked him out and fizz would find him sitting somewhere on the streets with a bashed up face and fizz didn’t know what it was but he just had an urge to ask and try to help reader after reader explained fuzz messages Ozzie about reader and they decide to take him in and take care of him.

Sorry if this is too long of a request I just had this image and had to tell someone 😭

Neither of them was happy about what had happened to you. And Ozzie and fizz opened they’re arms and hearts to take care of you.

Asmodeus made sure you had a nice bath once you’d gotten back with them an Fizzarolli offered you some of his clothes once you’d gotten out.

They were nice and comfy! They didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you were trans. They still wanted to help you regardless. Didn’t change anything to them honestly.

Asmodeus offered you a shoulder to sit on and cry on. He listens to you when you open up about you’re experiences with the horrible company.

But as long as you’re with them you end up getting spoiled anyways. Together romantically or not? A life with fizz and Ozzie is luxury! They make sure you wouldn’t have to work again.

They keep you well feed and buy you the best clothes and cloths he’ll has to offer.

[blackmrrsysboxes]

Hihi!

Our main account is @karamerucubecat ! This blog is purely for creating userboxes for traumagenic systems!!

We will do:

- conflicting identities (lesboys, turigirls, gaybians, etc)

- userboxes for systems

- userboxes for alters

- pride flags / role flags in the userbox (WITH CREDIT)

We will not do;

-Non traumagenic “systems”

- syscourse

- userboxes for singlets

- userboxes with ableist implications (i.e. the belief of npd abuse, calling source twins ‘doubles.)

- userboxes for outdated medical terms (i.e. multiple personality disorder, the ‘core’ theory (which has been disproven)

-userboxes sexualizing littles/age regressors

- userboxes mentioning the term ‘plurals’ or any endogenic term (that we know of.)

- userboxes for introjects whose source is triggering/source we do not recognize

Our requests are currently open! We’d love some ideas! :DDD

(These sysboxes are not ours👇)

More about the mods below!!

Mods:

Rex - 🦖 - he/fizz/it/mew

Jotaro / Echo - 🦈 - it/gill/sear/tideself

Romani - 🏸 - she/her

Ras - 🍷 - she/it/fuzz

[yandecifi]

What It Means to Be Made of Stardust

☆ chapter eight

⋆ masterlist

⋆ cw: child abuse, sa, mental illness

hawks/reader, psychological, wip longfic

There are days you spend sitting outside your apartment door, school bag at your side, leaning against the concrete walls. Or maybe you’re laying on your stomach as you work on your homework, legs kicking in the air, elbows perching you up and scraping against the ground. Your neighbors walk past occasionally. Some say hi, some glance at you and turn away.

Dad asks you what you’re doing, laying on the ground outside his apartment, because it’s weird. It’s embarrassing. What’s he doing letting his kid roll around outside with all the neighbors watching? They’ll judge him and think he’s a bad father. And, what, do you hate him or something? Why can’t you just sit inside like somebody normal, talk to him, ask him how his day was? You’re so thoughtless, so rude. Why’s he been given a child like you?

You sit at the dinner table with your homework spread out. Your knees knock together as they jostle, your blood is fizzing up like soda. Dad wanders through the kitchen.

“I love you, you know that?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dad pulls something out of the fridge. A beer, probably, but the air has turned sour. The words on your homework start to fuzz.

“You know what that means?”

“Um, haha, maybe.”

“I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to go through what I have, I’m not going to do to you what my parents did to me.”

“I - um, okay.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your fingers tremble, your knees still, you can’t even swallow.

“And, you don’t know this yet,” he starts again, “but most people don’t mean it like I do. To other people, throughout my life, it means -- it means, ‘I want something from you, and saying I love you is how I’ll get it��. You haven’t experienced that, so you don’t get it, I know -- but you’ll meet people like that. Most people are like that.”

“Can I just do my homework?”

It’s quiet except for the buzzing in your head.

And then, Dad slams his hands on the kitchen countertop and the whole thing snaps like a taut rubber band — you’re jumping up and bolting out the door. It’s only a moment before he’s on your heels, skidding around the corners of the apartment stairwell with you, shouting and screaming at you from the parking lot.

But you’re already halfway to the moon, the air hot in your lungs, your feet a blur beneath you. Moments like these are the closest you can get to flying — when you’re running who knows where, too fast for him to catch.

Your favorite nights were spent outside with stolen chips and coke. The grin you had sitting on some bench and popping those cans open, licking the salt from your fingers, was bigger than any bruise.

☆

The sky is blue.

You’re laying in the grass with your classmates. It’s one of campus’s many lawns, all well kept and green despite winter creeping in. Grass tickles your arms and ankles with every twitch. It smells freshly cut. Your jeans are probably stained green.

It’s Mina and the rest of her usual group that’s sitting with you. They’re sitting in a circle, cross-legged and yapping. They’re eating fast food: neon slushies and tacos. You snorted your pain meds.

Clouds float far above you and yet you’re right there with them. You reach your hand out and grab at them.

“Girl, you tryna be all main character or something?”

You roll your head over at Mina and her friends. Mina grins down at you between bites and slurps. Bakugo’s glaring at you. Kirishima doesn’t meet your eye. Denki keeps talking with Sero like you aren’t there.

You roll right on back to the sky.

“Girl?”

“Mhm?”

“Where’ve you been, lately?”

“Living with Aizawa.”

“I -- yeah, I know. I mean, like, ummm, even when you’re with us, you’re not.”

“Uhhhhh.” You shut your eyes as you force yourself to sit up. Your brain feels full of blood, hot, sloshing. Everything tingles. You rub your face. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Oh. Want some of my baja?”

“No, no. Thanks, though.” The grass is spray paint green. You blink. “The sky is really pretty.”

Mina giggles like she always does, eyes crinkling up in the corners, cheeks round and strained with her smile. You’ve never met anybody as happy as her. She has to be lying.

“It’s even prettier with some baja and tacos!”

You stare at the chemically colored slush in her hand. It’s as stupidly green as the grass. You lean over and slurp from the straw. The cold meets your tongue and it tingles, weirdly enough. You swallow and lay back down and you smile.

“That tasted like chemicals, Mina.”

“Bitch, be so for fucking real. I’ve seen you take edibles like they’re candy. And I’m not even gonna start with the drunk vaping.”

“Okay, okay.” You swat Mina’s offering of more baja away. “It definitely tasted better than any edible I’ve had.”

“Damn straight.”

Mina shuffles over to you and then collapses in the grass at your side, joining you in cloud gazing. She sluuuurps.

You side eye Mina. She notices. You grin. She grins. She wriggles closer until you’re both practically touching noses.

“What?” She whispers, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I snorted my meds,” you whisper back.

Mina blinks. She opens her mouth to say something. She closes it. Her smile falters. She looks away. She looks back at you. Her face contorts in confusion and she sits up a little.

“You what?”

You remain very still. “I’m joking.”

“No the fuck you aren’t.”

“I am.”

“Show me your eyes.”

“No.”

“Show me --”

“No!”

“If you don’t --”

“No!”

“Fine!”

Mina lays back down with a huff, arms crossed. The boys are staring at the two of you. You flip them off. They all exchange glances and Mina yanks your arm down.

“Girl, what?” Mina turns so that the two of you are nose-to-nose again. You smile. “Weed, getting drunk, and the occasional pen is one thing. Snorting random pills is another. What were you thinking? How much did you take?”

“They’re not random, I was prescribed them --”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry.” You swallow. “I don’t know, I just crushed one of the pills on my desk and snorted it. I don’t know why.”

“Nobody does shit like that just because. Why?”

“I really, honestly don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if things would change.”

“The stuff with your Dad?”

“No, I mean, I know nothing’s changing that. I just mean… I don’t know.”

“Your depression?”

You squint. The pamphlet and the conversation in her room flashes through your mind.

“I guess? I’m not, like, diagnosed with that, though.”

“I feel like we’re past that point.”

“I don’t know.” You find yourself staring into her eyes, searching, looking at the person there. This one is new. “I’m sorry.”

Mina gives you something like a smile. She doesn’t look right unhappy.

“It’s okay. Just know I’m always here to talk, okay? And can you please promise me you won’t mess with your meds again? I’ll literally buy you alc if you don’t.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are pretty like amber in the sunlight. “You don’t have to buy me alc.”

Mina lays on top of you in a dogpile-esque hug. You wrap your arms around her torso and, despite feeling like you’re being crushed, you also feel like you’re being loved. The two often seem to be intertwined.

“Mina?”

“Yeah?”

“I just feel like I’m in some sort of limbo.”

“What? Like, the game?”

“No, what?” You laugh and she moves with your chest. “Like the space between heaven and hell. But like it’s not Earth.”

“...”

“Like where ghosts are? I’m wherever the ghosts are.”

“Okay.” She raises her head to look at you. “Do you mean this as in wanting to…?”

“No, no, not like that! I’m just in some kind of in between. I’m stuck.”

“You don’t feel real?”

You blink. “Yeah.”

Kirishima all of a sudden jumps up and starts screaming and waving at somebody. You and Mina sit up to see Aizawa on the sidewalk a little ways away, a group of first years on his heels.

“Oh. I thought he didn’t come to campus on weekends?” Mina slides off of you to sit properly, watching your teacher all the while.

“He’s the chaperone for the martial arts club.”

Aizawa waves at all of you. You fester.

-------------------------------------

Leaning against the hood of Aizawa’s car, you realize you don’t know how you got here.

You zip your jacket up to your chin, burrow yourself in it. You want to drink something. Or smoke. Or sleep.

“Had a picnic with your friends?”

Aizawa strolls up to you with his own jacket on, black and baggy. You hop up, stare at the zipper, the wrinkles.

The wind bites at your cheeks and you fidget with the hood you’re wearing to cover the st--

“Did you have fun?” Aizawa blinks at you from beneath his mess of hair.

You murmur something in the affirmative.

Aizawa nods slowly, like he’s going to say more. He doesn’t. You both get in the car.

When the two of you get to his house, Aizawa makes tea. He asks you to sit down at the dinner table and if you like English breakfast. He’s not really asking.

When your teacher sits next to you, fragrant black swirling in both your mugs, you start to huff uncomfortably. Your skin is too tight around your throat. Aizawa clears his own.

“How are your sessions with Hound Dog?”

You shrug, rub your neck, stare at your lap.

“Do they help,” he elaborates, pushing, staring, “at all?”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You cross your arms. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“The truth. Be honest.”

He says it like it’s easy.

Something touches your feet from beneath the table. You lean back and it’s Kitty skulking about, tail slithering past your ankle.

“Oh, he likes you.” Aizawa chuckles. “How unusual.”

You stare at your teacher while he watches Kitty. The blemishes, wrinkles, and scars on his face, the beard he can’t seem to grow nor get rid of, the smile you’ve hardly seen in your three years of knowing him. His eyes flick to yours. You take a sip of tea.

“Principal Nedzu informed me of his decision regarding your enrollment.”

You shift in your seat. “Okay.”

“Because you can’t keep up with tuition for the foreseeable future, we’ve decided to drop you as a student for the time being.” Aizawa says, careful, all sugar coated and pretty. “There are scholarships we have that can help cover the costs, but your grades aren’t within the competitive range.”

You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. It’s just the crumbling.

“My recommendation is to work through your current situation and health issues before continuing with herowork.”

Your current situation? Your health issues? This situation is your entire life. Your ‘health’ issues are ingrained in you as deeply as the ability to walk or breathe.

You turn eighteen in a couple of months and Aizawa won’t have to house you anymore. Then again, that might not end up being a problem.

“What if my Dad gets let out?” You try, palming your cup of tea. “I’ll get him to pay for it. I will.”

Aizawa leans forward in his seat. “As far as I can tell, he’s going to go to prison. They have witnesses and the evidence is all there. And the fact you’re about to turn into an adult means they’re not worried about displacing a child.”

Your neighbors called the cops with every other screaming match you had and all you ever got out of it was a beating. You went to school smelling like garbage, you slept outside, you had bruises. Does anybody know how badly you wanted somebody to just say something back then? Why didn’t they? Why now?

You already moved on. You were fine, you were handling everything fine, you had a fucking life for once, you were making something of yourself despite everything. You did this all yourself. This was yours, not your father’s, and they’re still taking it away from you.

You stare at your palms, the calluses, the scars.

“But, it’s not my fault.”

Aizawa’s as surreal and still as always. “I know.”

Your skin prickles with the black outside that broad, glass wall. The chair you’re sitting in creaks as you lean back in it, a lump in your throat. Your fingers tap on the table, quick. You watch them drum like little soldiers, like rain.

☆

Your dorm is empty except for your desk, bed, and chair.

You stuffed your bedsheets into yet another trash bag. You threw all your clothes into two others. Everything else, all your knick-knacks and snacks and school stuff, are jumbled together in the garbage bag you’re hauling towards the dumpster. Is your vomit still there, or has a week already gone by?

Every night on Aizawa’s couch, you wake up to your father’s footsteps. When you hone in on the sound, you hear him muttering. You shut your eyes tight and tell yourself it’s not real, but what if it is? You told yourself the same thing when it was.

You throw your garbage into the dumpster and something shatters. You turn around and walk away.

It’s the weekend and Mina and her friends are nowhere to be found. You’d usually bump into them in the elevator by now, or the commons, or by walking around campus, or they’d come find you -- but today there’s nothing. You haven’t told them you’re leaving yet.

They’ve been talking about you, you’re certain of it. Every time you meet up with them they give each other odd looks or sneak glances at you like there’s something on your face. Hawks was right.

You drag the rest of your shit from your dorm to the elevator. You press the first floor and wait as you travel down, down, down. The doors open. You hold one trash bag in each hand and kick the final one out the elevator and into the commons, keep kicking it forward every couple of steps. So, this is what all of your efforts have come to.

You kick the bag through the front door. The star Altair is seventeen light years away, which means you’re still in the womb there, that nothing bad has happened to you.

You kick the bag down the steps. Your mother’s in the air, somewhere, and even then you’ve probably never breathed her.

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. People take parts of you and then leave to places where you can’t find them.

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. Why couldn’t the two of you have had just one more meaningless conversation?

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. Does she think about you when she folds her clothes?

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. It’s about the oranges she peeled for you.

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. She never even told you why.

“Fuck’re you doing?”

You jerk your head up to see Bakugo standing in front of you, narrowed eyes flitting from each trash bag to your crumpled face.

“Taking out the trash.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Can you just leave me alone?” You snap, making your way around him with some extra kicks. He turns to watch you do each one.

“What, did you dismember someone or something?” Bakugo snatches the bag from your feet, falling into step with you.

“No.” You trudge along, trash bags swinging awkwardly in your hands. “I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, well, you looked retarded.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I think the retards out there would give me a pass if they saw you.”

“Bakugo!” You laugh, the urge to smack him on the arm squashed by your bags. “Seriously?”

He cracks a smile. “What? It’s true.”

You sigh. “Where is everybody?”

“Ramen.” Bakugo looks at you funny. “It’s Sunday.”

You stare at him before snapping your gaze back to your feet. “Right.”

“You really need to start coming to those.”

You count cracks in the concrete. “You’re here, too.”

“I don’t skip every week, idiot.” He looks around. “We’re going to the parking lot?”

“Uh, yeah.” You jog down the steps leading to the lot, walk along the sidewalk until you reach Aizawa’s car. “You can go.”

Bakugo sets your trash bag down on the ground. “Isn’t that Mr. Aizawa’s car?”

“Who knows.” You put your bags down as well, sit on the curb. “Thanks for carrying my bag.”

Bakugo stands there for a moment. Then, he opens the bag he was carrying, rummages through it.

“What the fuck?” He pulls out one of your shirts and holds it out to you, like he needs to show you the evidence. “You’re moving out?”

You hug your knees to your chest, rest your chin on them.

“Hello? Can I get a fucking answer?”

“Yeah, I fucking am, alright? I’m dropping out.”

Bakugo gawks at you. Like, genuinely, mouth open and brows pinched like you told him to go kill himself.

He swings his arms in loud gestures. “Fuck you mean, dropping out? We graduate in two months!”

“Yeah, I know.” Your jaw clenches. Your brain is thick with something, slime, soju. “I don’t have a choice, okay? My Dad’s gonna go to jail, I can’t afford tuition anymore.”

“They have scholarships, mine’s basically full-ride—”

“Okay, good for fucking you!”

You shift uncomfortably on the curb. A peek at Bakugo shows he’s standing there with clenched fists, feet shifting.

“What is it with you?” He grinds out. “You flip like a goddamn switch. You’re sweet as hell one second, having me thinking I’m okay with rotting my teeth off, and then you act like you can’t stand me. You act like we didn’t make out for two hours and spend the night in your room ‘cuz you begged me not to leave.”

You’re going to rip out your esophagus.

“I was drunk.” It’s creeping up your shoulders, going up your shirt. “I—“ Your brow pinches— “I was drunk.”

“Oh, fuck off, you were tipsy at most.”

“So what?” You glare up at him. Something isn’t right. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Bakugo’s nose wrinkles. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, I am.” Something isn’t right. “What, you think I’m easy or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about! I mean, you tried to get with me the day after I got out of the hospital, like, are you fucking for real?”

“I wasn’t trying anything, you came onto me!”

“Oh, shut up! Just go make one of your fucking smoothies or something.”

Something isn’t right. You huff. Bakugo’s nostrils flare as he stomps towards you, crouches to your level, and grips you by the shoulders.

It’s loud, blaring, and riddled with curses. His fingers are bruising. You frown, shake your head, shake and shake.

You were drunk. But, you’d already told yourself that that didn’t matter, didn’t you?

Glass shatters and you shriek. You cover your face, drop to your knees, but Aizawa is already helping you up.

Something isn’t right. You’re standing with Aizawa in his kitchen. Eri is hiding behind the dinner table.

The glass crunches beneath your feet as you take a step back. Aizawa winces, urges you to calm down, but what if this is like the sounds you hear at night?

Is any of this real? Was that a dream? Is this a dream? What if you’re still bleeding out in the stairwell?

Eri isn’t behind the table anymore. You’re lying on the couch with a blanket over you, the TV flashing with Sailor Moon. Instead of your father’s footsteps, Hawks retches from the next room over.

[ya-zz]

Hii, it's Nia. Your always lurking follower back with another request! Something sweet, something simple~

Ramattra with a fairly new addition Omnic!Reader to his cause that one day randomly hugs him before going off to battle and he feels a little electrical shock. Next time they do it is when they're seeing each other off for recharge and they're extremely happy explaining that according to humans: "Hugs are to showcase love, affection and care" and that they gave his system a slightly shock because they heard that "its supposed to feel electrical!". Can be a drabble or an actual fic, entirely up to you!

-Nia

Hi hi! ♥ I always love to see you appear!

Ramattra stood there dumbfounded when you had hugged him before heading off to join the other soldiers on the field, the sudden electrical shock still fizzing in his wires. You were just another omnic to him; sure you were there to help with his liberation so when you asked to join, Ramattra didn't hesitate, afterall, if one would join his side, so would more. But you had hugged him?

What purpose did that serve?

He couldn't wrap his systems around it, no matter how hard he tried.

Being alone in the server room, he looked back on that day and suddenly his systems heated up in a form of blush. He had liked it, much to his dismay. Was that the cause of the shock?

Affection had never been on Ramattra's mind, but he wouldn't deny how much he admired your willingness to serve him. He hoped you were okay down there, hoping you weren't injured or worse.

----

A few days had passed since then and you had wandered back to your leader with little battery life remaining.

"Are you okay?" Ramattra asks to which you reply with a short nod. The leader scans you and realises your battery level was critical. "Let me help you."

He places his hand around your side and you instinctively wrap yours around him in a side hug, sending another shock through both bodies.

"Why do you hug me?" Ramattra looks down at you, head cocked to the side. "That is twice you have done that."

You stutter, static almost overpowering your voice. "Shows care and compassion. Affection, even." You state.

"Affection...?" The leader can't help but let his mind wander once more as he walked you towards the charging station.

"And the shock?"

"It is supposed to feel electrical."

"What does that mean?"

"I like you, Ramattra." You say bluntly.

The large omnic stops walking before looking back down at you. "Why?"

"I admire you."

It takes Ramattra a moment to process your words before he chuckles. "I can say the same thing about you."

"Really?"

"Yes." He admits, his hand tightening on your side. "Ever since you came to me, I have done nothing but admire your strength. You truly are unlike any other. You are different."

You look up at him, a warmth spreading through your wires. "Was that a confession?"

Ramattra scoffs, setting you down as he plugs you into the charging port.

You can't help but stare at him, your systems beginning to slow down and envelope you in a small dream. The last feeling you felt was a hand atop your head, a gentle pat that fades to fuzz.

"Rest easy. The future depends on you."

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 7 - Reject

A little more Virg POV following on from all this.

He is… somewhat confused and very much peeved.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Virgil hadn’t felt this furious in a long, long time.

Normally things that made him angry required practical action - stemming blood flow, ensure an injured brother was safe from the threat, if not, get brother away from the threat. Then there was the task of watching over them as they recovered, monitoring stats.

He would quietly mourn the souls they couldn’t save, making a note of names and dates. Calmly write engineering reports that would ensure particular persons found themselves unable to take such risks again. Maybe go on a design binge with Brains to find ways of making next time better.

The remaining rage he couldn’t expunge through practical, constructive solutions he threw into art or music, forcing the bitterness and pain out through his arms on to canvas or keys before collapsing, empty and exhausted, into bed in the small hours.

But this… this anger had come out of nowhere. It had, he realised been lurking there for years, unacknowledged, perhaps even unnoticed. It filled his veins with a bitter, stinging substance and he had to battle to keep it in check. He was the calm one. Scotty needed him to keep his head.

Scotty needed him.

“Can I come in, Virgie?”

Virgil glanced at Scotty who was no longer happy and smiling and didn’t show any sign of having heard what Dad said. He had gone quiet and was fiddling with some of Shadow’s switches with a worried expression on his face. So, even though he wasn’t the pilot in charge, Virgil answered for the both of them.

“There isn’t room. We’ve gotta go.”

“It’s ok, you’ve… you’ve got plenty of time. Look I’m just going to slip in here so we can chat alright?”

His father had clambered into the pilot’s seat before he could shout at him not to squash Scotty and then… no. NO!

“Where did you send Scotty? Dad! Please, no, don’t let him leave without me. Not this time!”

His blood was fizzing violently and he knew his voice was shaking but he tried not to shout. He mustn’t shout. Dad shouted when he was cross. Scott shouted when he was cross. Virgil was the calm, logical one. Virgil made it better.

“Um… Virgil I think… uh… Scotty is needed inside, for uh, a briefing. Ok? Can… can you come too? I’ll give you a lift down?”

Dad sounded oddly unsure of himself and Virgil knew he was lying and he… he couldn’t be calm Virgil anymore. Everything burned.

“You’ve upset him and he’s run away! How can you not see what you’ve done to him? All these years you just won’t stop asking and asking. He’s killing himself trying to please you Dad and I can’t make him see. I can’t make him stop. He won’t stop. He… can’t stop. Because of YOU! But this would have made him happy, if he can save his friends and I was going to make it work for him! You can’t just waltz back in here and take over and send him away! Not again!”

Those blue eyes, so very much like his brother’s, were wide and sad and… scared.

Dad was never scared.

Dad was scared… of him?

Virgil didn’t know what to do with that because people shouldn’t be scared of him because he was the calm kind one. He felt dizzy and sick.

With an effort he unclenched his fists, closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cool plexiglass window, trying to find his balance, trying to bury the confused but overwhelming memories of when he’d last been so angry that he’d hurt his father.

Everything fizzed and buzzed and burned but then something scratched his neck and the fizz started to become fuzz and there was a voice and he strained to hear but couldn’t make out what Dad was saying anymore…

[keldabekush]

its 2:46 am and you just made it home from your shift at the 24 hour Spurger King (Space Burger King).

you kick off your grease-eaten work shoes and flick on the radio for some background noise while you struggle out of your ugly fucking polo shirt that will never not smell like hot fat and sweat no matter how many times you wash it and your jeans that have split at the crotch four times, including tonight.

The radio sputters to life, gushing static and fits because you knocked it off your dresser this morning in your hurry out the door, so you adjust the dial until the crackling stops and a voice emerges from the wall of fizz; three days to go til the end of the week, folks, its not looking so bad -

the voice is still a little distorted and you fiddle with the dial for a frustrating handful of seconds til you realise the DJ is just using a voice filter, and there’s nothing wrong with your signal. it’s some program in Basic, just a guy talking away in the typical cadence that most late-night DJ’s adopt - ebbing and dipping rhythmically like circular breath - and you zone out to the steady flow of the one-way conversation, voice filter and all. The sibilant sounds are a gentle fuzz, buffed out by the filter and the signal interference and you fiddle with threading the emergency needle you keep in your sock drawer, performing first-aid once again on your franken-jeans.

the DJ talks about the upcoming weather. complains about construction going on in level two-oh-seven-four that blocks off the main catwalk, plays a couple of easy-listening tracks. It’s easy to let the program fade into the sound of traffic outside the shatterproof crystaplast window as you get lost in the simple repetition of stitching the tear shut for another day of work tomorrow.

It feels like a long time later that you finally realise that the air has gone dead - but the weird half-unconscious-still-functioning doze you’ve lulled yourself into means you aren’t sure how long its been, actually, since the DJ stopped talking, because you only realize it in increments.

You must have missed them signing off for the night.

You listen to the traffic and the gentle crackle of the dead air until you tie off the thread and throw your jeans at the corner of the room. You’ll leave the radio on, you think; the static helps you sleep, and you can’t bring yourself to reach all the way over there anyway.

You’re almost all the way asleep already when the voice whispers over the waves again, softly.

Good luck out there.

[ant1quar1an]

Ataraxia - Chapter 1

The story. The story is actually here everybody. After so long, I know.

Rain came down in heavy torrents, saturating anything that still had an ounce of dryness. Dust grunted, crouched low in his saddle as the wind threatened to tear him off. It whistled ferociously, tugging at his hood. The rain kept getting into his sockets, hitting his eyelights and forcing them to fuzz up. Fuck, he could barely see anything. One of his gloved hands pressed down on the scaled dragon beneath him, feeling the heavy fatigue that had begun to set in.

There was a fizzing, static-like feeling in the air that told of much more lighting to come. His brows furrowed.

This hurricane was Skulks element– lighting, thunder, high-speed winds– and just short of his own element, too.

But when you were several thousand– or more– feet off of the ground, your alignment didn’t mean shit.

“DUST!” He heard a friend of his give a warning shout.

It was too late.

Cross and Axe shouting. 

Impact. 

Killer crying out. 

Falling. 

Weightlessness. 

Fear.

N o t h i   n   g–

--

You carefully crept closer, furrowing your brows as you noticed the tears and gashes in the rider’s clothing. Were they in a battle before they got here? It would explain the reckless decision to be out in a hurricane such as this. You shifted your feet, placing a hand on the wet, slippery grass beneath you. Cautiously, you lent over the rider’s covered head– grimacing when you realised they were lying at an odd angle that likely meant they’d broken something– before carefully pulling their hood away from their face. You felt your wings partially flare as your eyes widened. “A monster?” You murmured.