#standalone ; dont rb

[thecensusbureau]

Cucurucho had left early. There was no use to staying if nobody wanted it around. Well, most anyway. It falls onto the white quartz floor of its office, winding its shoulder around.

They stretched and opened their office door, hoping that it'd be able to at least share some footage it recorded over to Trumpet. Hopefully everyone was alright at the party.

...

Sooner or later, it'd find out that actions have consequences.

[in-the-arms-of-death]

Though Death knew Kindness and Compassion, Life still says she was blind. Death does not take offense. Now she was sure that there were many things that Death was unaware of. When Life says there's still more to see, Death goes back.

There was so much more to see.

When Death opens her eyes, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoes through her ears. Her arm instinctively rises up and parries a blow that was aimed at her head.

"Look alive!" Her opponent says before they resoundingly kick her in the chest, causing her to fall back and tumble onto the dirt ground. Her eyes adjust to the sights around her, an arena of some sort that she can remember ghosting through. People fighting for entertainment, practice, or cruelty.

Life would not send her here if it was for cruelty, that was well in Death's belief.

And it was true as her opponent dropped their weapon and jogged over to her side, helping her to sit up. Their hand warm against her colder skin. "Are you alright?"

There's a strange sensation in Death's chest at that, one she's never quite felt before. She's not sure what it's called, it wasn't bad though.

As she's pulled up from the ground, and her opponent grins at her, complimenting and critiquing the fight that is merely a haze within her mind, there's merely quiet adoration. There's nothing harsh in her words.

And Death learns Empathy, understanding spills from her mouth instead of bleak harshness.

Her features feel softer and the hands that reaches for her are warm and comforting.

And when Pestilence sweeps through the area,

Death isn't cold hands pulling souls from Life's warm embrace, but a transference of warmth from one arms to another.

It shows from how children no longer cry as she carries them. Instead they sleep. Content.

And when Pestilence passed Death, they smiled.

And Life would tell her, her eyes opened a little that day.

And Death would believe them.

[music-among-the-amapolas]

Tallulah is attempting to learn how to fly.

She knows how to glide. Of course she does- Phil hammered that into his kids head early. They lived on the wall for fucks sake, it was like tipping over the edge of a cliff. People get downed all the time missing clutches and slipping off. So, yes, of course his kids know how to glide.

She spreads a small pair of wings, her glider and waystone easily on hand. She's in no danger when she hums, steeling herself, and jumps. Her wings catch wind near immediately.

They've always been- different. Tallulah didn't look like the other kids. She never has. While her hair had been altered- and her body, she thinks- the dragon aspects she just can't seem to get rid of never seemed to match up with anyone else. It's... rage-inducing. Or, rather, it's embarrassing.

Chayanne had the prettiest, feathery wings. God, and now she knows so does Tilin. Pretty, perfect Tilin. (So did Richas, side note. That made her want to eat her hat.) They... looked just like Papa Phil, or Mama Wilbur, or Tio Quackity. Feathers. The prettiest wings Tallulah had ever seen.

But Tallulah's were scales and skin. There was no feathers when she spreads them- just two layered wings with little spines and thick skin. Green and black and every so slightly patterned- she used to think it was so cool that they pattern almost resembled a butterfly. But.

She doesn't look like her family. Not one of them.

She's only more dissapointed when she can't seem to fly. Maybe she's still too young. Maybe her wings still aren't big enough or strong enough. Miserably, she glides- two dragonic feet extending as she softly lands. She warps back up and does it again.

And again.

And again.

But she doesn't fly.

She's never going to be like them, is she? She's always going to be the odd one out. Tears prick at the thought, which she furiously shoves down. Dark wings and yellow where the white in her eyes is meant to be and a stupid little tail.

Tallulah doesn't extend her legs fast enough, stumbling as she makes it to the floor, before her knees hit the dirt. She doesn't cry. Doesn't even think to. And she doesn't post anything. She says absolutely nothing, does absolutely nothing, just like she's been teaching herself to.

She ignores the sharp ache and the growing loneliness. The sour sting of jealousy gets swallowed by the time she's picking herself up, deciding to just walk it off. She's not going to cry about it.

She's not going to cry about it. Her wings flap, giving her nothing but moments off the ground. Nothing good. There's no rustle or feathers, even. She didn't even know that was something she could be upset about.

Tallulah is attempting to learn how to fly.

[egg-a1]

They get her out in the morning. All of the people who handle her are robots. She's not dumb, she picks that up fast, her shoulder bumping hard metal plating as she's carried into the room with the metal table. The bears are all faceless, wordless- they talk through artificial voices to her, like recorded lines, but never to each other. It's like they all just knew what they were doing.

It meant this was fairly quiet.

She didn't like it. The people in white coats were always talking. They were rough and they were mean most of the time, tired of her maw snapping and her claws swiping, she had always just been an animal. These bears treat her like a little girl.

The rules changed, and it's devastating. She, for the first time in a very long time, tries to wrench away from the incoming. She smushes herself against the wall and bares her now human teeth, flat and gap-y and yellowing.

The Bear's ears shift down like mama's did. But this wasn't her Rucho, and she sees their paws coming, and it's not her mom she thinks about. It's her house and white-hot pain and being grabbed. She flinches away and starts to cry again as the robot pulls her forward. It's so very gentle, but she doesn't want to go. She tries to fight and she can't. It's stronger than her.

One of them holds her. A paw clasps to her shoulder, smushing her against it's chest, and the other is extended as the needle comes down. She never used to watch. It used to be so easy. It used to be routine. Everything is different and fur tickles her nose and she's really, really mad.

And then she's cold again. Motion starts, blurred as she forces herself and her mind back into her home. She tries to imagine it's a game. Her and Trumpet were playing a doctor game, that's all. Or Bad was taking care of her again- she's sick. That's all.

She only snaps back to reality when the buzzer turns on. Her eyes focus on the fluffs of white hair on the ground.

Oh.

[witheredlilacs]

Tilin is buzzed awake by the message, and also by the sound of bad leaving the house. Her eyes blearily read over it, and she is immediately thrown into an upset frenzy. She wants to go out there- no need need needs to be out there. Sure she can't find her warp crystal as she's shaken out of her nap, but it's finneee. She can run there.

She didn't know what, or who the qsmp was- she knew it came online one day but didn't talk to it. But trumpet knew, and apparently it just decided to be at its out. Like a dickhead. She didn't have any heavy armour, or any armor really, so she strapped on her leather boots, grabbed her sword and the few healing stuff she did have and hopped out the window. Er- not her brightest moment, but she takes it, and she's off.

[crows-father]

Phil has felt frankly pathetic lately. It crawls under his skin and settles like stones, eating away from the inside like acid. There's never been a time in Phil's life where he couldn't escape. Run. Fly away.

But there is now. Mike and Pac had equipped him with crutches that made it easier to maneuver, but the same walls of his home were starting to make him antsy. Uncomfortable.

He settles his kids down for the night- (together, notably. Tallulah decided she wanted to be with her brother tonight, which nobody really raised much of a fuss about. Whatever the kids wanted. Maybe she was just touched about the haircut-) and them starts to move. He gathers his backpack and crutches, tail feathers shifting and helping as he moves. Pain thrums, almost entirely unnoticeable. It's normal now.

And he's off.

___

Philza Minecraft cannot stand being held down too long. This has always been true. He fights tooth and nail in the arena, the constant shifting ripping feathers from his form like a hurricane, blood caked beneath claws and settling over his tongue like his own saliva. The taste of iron is familiar.

He's not the best fighter. He's just not the worst. This is what he believes.

The sensation of blood never ended, though. Metal bars break free into an endless sky, an adventurer following the tales of old gods and ruined ecosystems, shivering at the cold of the water in the end. His wings span across the sky, it feels like. He's never been more free.

But it's Earth where he smiles the hardest. Laughs the loudest. The freedom beneath his feathers, blood beneath his nails, and chest bubbling with warmth as his landing trips Fit into the snow and Techno comes to collect them both. It's SMP Earth that warms his body, even in the artic, grinning slyly at the pope and dancing late with the crows as they deliver all his news to his lovely wife in the afterlife.

Freedom had come with the horrors of war. Phil had never been happier. His wings spread, both feet planted on the ground, a battlecry rips from his throat and splatters blood onto the endless white. And it's perfect.

___

If the Feds didn't want Philza Minecraft poking around- they would have patched the hole sooner. There's nothing that keeps him down for long. Nothing but death. Herself.

He didn't see the break-in, but he assumes to approach with caution- therefore he does. A robot catches sight of him and escapes before his bow draws back enough, so he lowers it. It was faceless. Didn't seem hostile. But he had to be fast if he wanted to check this out.

Peg was right. It's a little disappointing being left out of all this, right?

It's time for Phil to find some answers on his own. There's too many questions left unanswered.

[goo-amalgamation]

Gegg looked around, there wasnt anyone out. Atleast, not where he could see them. Pap- no. Quackity was with tilin, his real kid, and even though he had introduced them,, he didn't have a place here. He was a replacement, and what was a replacement when the real thing was there. He was useless.

If he didnt have a use, he'd have to go back to the white room. He took a good long look at his wings, the yellow and black mixing perfectly, and thought of his papai. They didn't need him either. Dapper had tilin . Everyone had the 'dead' kids back. What use was there for someone like him. He steeled whatever resolve he had, and looked around his room.

What could he take, sure papai had said this was all his, but he was leaving.. he picked up the plushie papai had given him, it was soft and all different colors,,, he put it in his bag. He picked up pluto. He shouldn't take her really, he didn't go outside when he was there. He wasnt allowed to. He sat her back down, and went to his closet, looking to the very back of it. A white gown. He slipped it on, leaving his comfortable and colorful clothes on the floor. No- he put them in the dirty clothes. He couldnt leave this place dirty.

His wings ruffled, and he fluffed them, forcing them to turn white. It didnt work. He frowned. It didnt matter, he went to the window, unlocking the lock. He opened it, and slid out, and he fell.

.

.

Falling was,, it was calming almost. He fell into the bushes, and everything hurt. It didn't matter. He was being good. He rolled out, and walked into the woods, heading to wherever his instincts took him. To the federation building he went. However long it took. He looked back at the house many, many times, but he couldn't stay.

It was meant to be a replacement, so it had no reason to stay when, well. There was nothing to replace.

[catboyarg]

Warnings: Depiction of a panic attack, minor self harm, minor derealization & dissociation, vomit

God fucking dammit. Cellbit doesn't know what to do. This is the most agony he has ever gone through. It's the most helpless he's ever felt.

Most of his papers have been swept to the floor. He needed something to do, and throwing all the meaningless paperwork may not have been useful, but it got rid of some of the tension in his chest. It feels like a rope has been tied to his sternum, and every word from Richas just pulls it harder.

Today has had a lot of that tugging. Between Richas, Bad, and Forever, Cellbit hasn't gotten a moment. Xe has been gagging on xir own guilt, and it feels worse than any sort of disappointment.

Xe feels a telltale sting behind xir eyes, and xe looks up at the camera in the corner. Cellbit doesn't look away as the tears begin to fall. If they want to play with xem, xe will show them the whole show.

After a few minutes, Cellbit looks away and slumps in his chair. He curls in on himself, and his hand ends up lodged between his teeth. The teeth that belong to a predator. He bites down hard, not letting up even when the disgustingly familiar taste of liquid iron floods his mouth.

He keeps going, distantly wondering how visible the scar will be. It will be a permanent mark, a reminder of how severely Cellbit has fucked up. The pain doesn't feel good, it never has, but it feels deserved.

Cellbit releases his jaws after several minutes. His eyes have glazed over, and he doesn't feel present. He may not even feel real. He really wishes he weren't real.

A screech from the chair as it is pushed back, then heavy breaths as Cellbit stumbles to the bed in xir room. Xe falls onto it, clutching the sheets with both hands. The red will surely stain. Cellbit hopes it does.

This is a new type of pain. Cellbit has done many horrible things, and regrets most of them. This, though... this is worse than any of it. This is the most despicable thing Cellbit has ever done.

His stomach is roiling. Cellbit hardly has time to lunge for a wastebasket, falling off the bed in the process, before the little he's eaten is spilling out of him. The stomach acid burns.

Cellbit closes his eyes. Rests his head against the edge of the bin. He deserves the burn.

He really fucking deserves it.

[420technoblazeit]

WHOEVER WAS ASKING FOR CROWLEY FIC RECS. UM. I HTINK TUMBLR ATE YOUR ASK SO IM GONNA ANSWER IT HERE. these are my crowley-centric fic bookmarks, some of them are drowley/crowstiel/deancascrowley hope u dont mind. the first one specifically is a series of standalone oneshots that mostly centers around fix it fics id highly recommend it (more in the rbs, i think tumblr has a link post limit)

[tinyplanetss]

.

[garfunkelandgoats]

why did my parents have to give me the one fucking name that doesnt have a more andro shortened version this is lesbophobia

[thecensusbureau]

Cucurucho spent the entire day sitting on the edge of the wall. It didn't even notice time pass by, and it had an internal clock system.

Its eyes were shut, the fur on its external shell brushed in sync with the occassional breeze that greeted it hello. Even some of the leaves waved, spinning down below to the ground, reminding Cucurucho of the top of a propeller. At least he'll join the leaves soon in pursuing freedom.

Their mouth forms a thin line as its choppy dialogue dies down. It's been trying for a few hours now, every so often, it would start a verse but stop halfway through in either what could be described as sentient shame or embarassment.

About that... Cucurucho scrunches its snout, twitching one of its ears as they look down at their paw. Its fingers fiddle, the fur brushes against one another, the pink plushed pads squish together as it presses the tips of its index and thumb. It was... sort of nice.

The music from its speaker slows to a stop. The next song was put to a pause, Cucurucho listens to the wind sing for it.

There was nothing but silence in the air, but it could hear every resident at once through it. It could hear them talk, hear them love, hear them be free, hear them live.

They would never admit it aloud, however it actually enjoyed their lives. Let's rephrase that, it enjoyed that the residents were able to enjoy their lives. It meant they enjoyed the Island. They were happy here, and Cucurucho did its job.

But what next? If they were actually able to achieve true happiness on the Island, then what do they need Cucurucho for?

...

Did they even need it in the first place?

It's been their enemy since the start. Nobody trusted it. Even its coworkers disliked it. They just tolerate it. Even he tolerated you.

Stop.

Stop it.

That's enough. You don't need to hear the truth over and over again in your own head.

But that's how that works doesn't it? You think, we provide.

...Get out.

Get out. Just get out.

Where? Where would it even go? It was already outside. It couldn't even leave if it wanted to. They couldn't, and they aren't held up by wires acted as strings pulling Cucurucho back to the start every time.

A ping in its communicator pauses the inner programs in its head. It stopped looking at it after the whole fiasco of the Island looking into its issue with its island.

Just another useless notification. What's the point? He wasn't listening in the first place.

A small gust of air blows out of its inner fan. A sigh. Simulated at best.

The song resumes but nothing comes out.

A silent tribute, to those who could never hear it again.

[in-the-arms-of-death]

Air.

Sharp cold air that could be breathed through lungs she constructed all on her own. It was easy really, to build a form for herself. She didn't necessarily need lungs but the act of breathing made mortals far more comfortable than most would think.

Grass.

Grass made soft sounds under her bare feet, as she walks forwards, the full moon hovering over her head like a spotlight but even the natural light could not pierce the darkness of the veil that covers her face.

Insects.

The sounds of insects as she pass by them reminded her of vitality of life, the reality has set into her mind even thought she already knew it wasn't a dream. It was Hallow's Eve, and the Goddess of Death wanted to see her husband.

Breathe In.

She takes another deep breath. Slow and steady, it wasn't often that she needed legs. Sometimes she forgets how they worked, she could float but she wanted to take her time and stroll.

Breathe Out.

She exhales, the smile hidden on her face widens slowly. She couldn't help but pick up her pace. Strolling and sight seeing could wait, her mind has been made and her focus is set.

She wanted to see her husband (and his reaper), and she wanted to see her immediately. Rather than fly though, wanting to keep her appearance a surprise, she runs.

She runs to her home. She runs to him. She runs straight to Philza.

[music-among-the-amapolas]

Tallulah keeps her hand on A1's sleeve, secretly helping her up the wall and towards the house. She goes inside first, locking her bedroom behind her, and opening the window to her room and dragging her new friend inside.

A1 was too scared to meet the family, but that's okay. Tallulah just hides her instead. (What's another little secret?) She hums, beaming as she rummaged for her old tablet and hands it over.

[egg-a1]

Nobody is listening and Nobody is coming.

Her throat is still raw, arms like honey when she's taken from the room. They don't make her walk. That's a weird one, usually they grab her by the wrist or hand and pull and guide her. The robot that carries her is holding her gentle. Not precious, not like Mama would, or Bad, but it doesn't hurt. And if she doesn't look up at the blank face, she's a little less sick to her stomach.

It reminds her of the body in the woods.

And then she's on her feet again and fear is stinging worse than it ever has. In front of her was Parkour. Again. Massive, heaving jumps and points on the wall to cling to, bars hanging, it was something akin to an obstacle course- and she recognized it. It was for the bigger kids.

Was this a punishment? She thought she was big enough and brave enough to go outside, so they're gonna treat her like the big girl she was, was that it?

She doesn't have the energy to cry when they put her on the starting platform and start the timer, but she doesn't have the energy to jump either. She just sits there, on her knees, on her hands, and doesn't look down.

She holds her breath when she jumps.

One, two. Platform on the left, the right. She doesn't have to use her arms until she's crawling along the wall, getting higher, and then free-falls to catch a hanging bar. Her heart thuds and thunders in her chest, tired arms shaking under her own weight.

She's not big enough. She doesn't feel like a big girl. She feels so so so small.

Her feet land on the next platform. Habitual steps, a rythmn, but she knows how to preform. Her weight swings the platform, chains rattling, and she waits for the momentum to swing before she jumps for the next one.

It slides under her feet. Her heart lurnches as her knees abruptly give out, weak from all the fighting, and she barely catches the edge. Too-small wings flatter and flutter, terror welling up- and she's falling before she can even know she would. Her grip just didn't stay.

She's too small for the course. Too weak from the fight.

She's going to die here.

She's going to die here. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die and the Lady isn't here to save her and She's going to die and Bad isn't here to save her and

She's drowning.

She's going to die,

And the burning starts, and she's burning, she's burning, she's going to burn alive, she's only been here for one day and she's already too weak, she's already fail, and she's going to die. She's going to die. She's burning alive. She's going- she's-

She's drowning.

Her eyes snap open, a sharp breath snapping open, cold, cold water rushing into her lungs.

That wasn't right.

A big, white paw pulls her from the pool. She's coughing and sputtering, gagging as chemically-tasting water pours out from her nose and mouth and eyes. The world muffles, blurrs, cold sticking to every part of her body. She's cold. Why was she cold? That's not right. That's not how these experiments go.

A paw brushes the hair out of her face and she whimpers, reaching to grab and push it away, eyes wide. The thing- the thing that wasn't her mom, wasn't even lose, didn't have their eyes, didn't smile- stares down at her with flattened ears.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right.

The rules changed again.

That's not fair.

[starxscream]

i know nothing abt digimon but your posts r making me c u r i o u s

sits here ITS ONE OF MY BIGGEST SPECIAL INTERESTS HIIIII if u like pokemon you'll like digimon LMFAO it's just...funney littol creatures that u befriend in the digital world...love to see it

the op i just rb...a lot of is the newest season that literally JUST CAME OUT this week!! It's called Digimon Ghost Game!! AND IM RLY RLY EXCITED FOR IT- if you wanna check it out I 10/10 recommend it- esp if u like horror elements bc ghost game is going to be more horror-themed than the other seasons (even in the op there's callbacks to famous horror movies!)

HOWEVER!! other good seasons r APPMON!!! I think it's a rly nice welcome- it's digimon but not rly KGNHLKG it completely changes the formula of "digimon" by making them appmon- but the series is one of the best series wise ngl. it has a lot of good messages and mixes up a nice steady start and a lot of action near the end. It's pacing is rly good ngl. also it has satellamon. i love satellamon. All the appmon are based off of actual apps so its kind of rly fun GKHNGL its abt a bunch of kids who are trying to stop this malicious ai named leviathan from taking over the internet and eventually- the real world! It sounds kind of cheesy but they rly balance the internet is not inherently evil but CAN b used badly in the wrong hands message imo

Ofc for ACTUAL digimon there's the Digimon Adventure (1999) the original season which u rly cant go wrong with tbh! Dub is a LOT funnier and lighthearted than the sub iirc so its rly take ur pick- theyre both good imo tho. Basically a bunch of kids get trapped in the digital world and have to find a way out and battle other digimon along the way with their digimon that greet them when they arrive!!

Adventure 02 is the sequel to it but mostly all the digimon seasons are standalone adventures with brand new casts and stories that dont rly interconnect!! so rly u can start anywhere KNGKHLG (tri is bad tho. tri is so bad.) tamers is one recognized as being RLY GOOD and its a lot darker than most other seasons. I personally rly like savers/data squad and it's art style is a lot more unique and has older kids instead of just Children LOL also Marcus just straight up punching a digimon in the face? love to see it