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seeingivy · 9 months

Text

sweet nothing

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: talks of grief, references to hidden inventory arc, satoru just being in love, megs + tsumiki babies

an: giving love to one of the best songs on midnights. also idk where I procured this emo at like 1 in the afternoon but here we are

You give him the book after the two of you settle Megumi and Tsumiki into bed, in the few minutes of peace you and Satoru get before you both nestle into your shared bed. You hike your knees to your chest as he picks it up, a confused look meeting yours when he reads the title.

“On Grief and Giving?”

“I took Miki and Megs to the bookstore today and I thought you might like it.”

“A book about grief? I’m not grieving.”

You look over at him - sparkling blue eyes rimmed with red, the usual sparkiness in his voice gone for the past few days, and no smothering, smushy cheek kisses every morning. You scoot over and he opens his arm up, tucking you into his side.

You whisper the words against his neck, your hands placed on his body, tracing out the lines of his biceps.

“He doesn’t have to be dead for you to be grieving him, Satoru. The person we knew is dead and the reaction is all the same.” you whisper.

Satoru frowns, his hand going back and forth on your lower back. You know he hates it, when you try to talk about it. When anyone does.

“Just read a few pages. See if it’s your thing or not, okay?”

He looks into your eyes for a few seconds before nodding, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. And when you leave to drop Tsumiki and Megumi off at school the next day, he reads the first page and promptly stops.

Grief stays the same size. Life begins to grow around it.

He thinks it’s stupid.

from y/n

you: don’t forget to bring strawberries home for froggy cake please!!

satoru: okay love. anything else?

you: that big fat ass

satoru: got it :D

you: you ruined it.

Tomorrow marks two years since Tsumiki and Megumi have been staying with you. And of course, in your ultimate corniness, you’ve convinced all three of them to make a cake with you. And because you can never say no to Tsumiki and Megumi’s suggestions, you’re making a strawberry froggy cake. Because Tsumiki wants to try to make a little frog with frosting and Megumi just wants to eat the strawberries off the cake.

He makes a mental note to drop by the store on the way home from his meeting with the higher ups and then his parents. Maybe buy some balloons or flowers or something to accompany the strawberries you asked for. He knows you said it was supposed to be a lowkey thing, just the four of you eating the cake together, but your annoyance doesn’t beat your surprised face, so he must.

Satoru stops by the coffee shop first, making it a clear point to be late to his meeting with the higher ups for a very stupid reason, and gets a sugary caramel latte. He can hear your voice in his mind - berating him for picking something so sweet - but persists anyway.

And as he leans against the counter, waiting for the cup with Satoru scribbled on the side, he takes in the shop, watching the people going around. He had never been too big on people watching, but it’s Tsumiki's favorite pass time at the park, pointing out people's silly outfits or how close and far they’re sitting away from each other.

He spots two little girls, making little beaded bracelets in the far corner while their moms both nurse a warm cup of coffee in their hands. They have their hands wrapped around the porcelain, like they’re sequestering the heat from the glass.

On the left, a young couple, nervously twiddling their fingers and cracking their knuckles as they make conversation - cheeks glazed pink and wobbly voices marking their conversation. They’re both dressed nicer than usual, clearly trying to impress each other.

And in the far corner, leaning against the chair, is Suguru Getou.

He nearly sprints to the other side of the shop when he sees him. Short hair, a man bun tucked neatly at the back with weirdly misshapen bangs and brown eyes. He can feel his heart racing, pounding even and the perspiration growing on his clenched fists as he moves closer.

And when he reaches their table, standing way too close and looking straight into his eyes, he realizes that this is not Suguru Getou. Instead, a kid that bears far too much resemblance to him. But his eyes are rounder, his nose isn’t as pointy, and he is not a murderer.

Satoru takes off and runs straight out the store, forgetting about his cup of coffee that’s getting cold in the pickup area.

Yaga and the higher-ups' voices drone out in the back, as Satoru wracks his head.

Why did he think that kid was Suguru? Suguru is dead.

And it only now occurs to him, that for all intents and purposes, he really does think he’s dead. But he knows he isn't because Satoru let him walk free. Because he had to clench his fists and swallow hard to walk away the last time he saw him.

But the man he knows is dead. Your voice is echoing in his head.

“Satoru, are you paying attention?”

“I mean, not really.”

They all pinch their noses and groan, starting the lecture he’s sure they were giving him all over again. And it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

We want you to take more missions, there aren’t that many special grade sorcerers available. We want you to spend more time teaching, you're not doing enough. A long list of we want, we want, we want.

And when the higher-ups trail out of the meeting, disdainful looks on their faces, he turns back to Yaga, who frowns at him. The question is on his tongue. He can’t bring himself to ask it.

Do you ever think you ask too much of me?

He understands. He tries to. That he is the strongest sorcerer, that there’s no one like him. That he may have infinity, but he knows they forget the inner parts of him aren’t untouchable. That he’s still a person, that he’s still soft.

Tsumiki’s shiny report cards make him beam with joy, fighting with Megumi keeps him up at night, and getting to hold you at night is the only thing that keeps him grounded sometimes.

That sometimes the smell of blood never leaves his nose no matter how hard he scrubs in the shower, that when he sees a boy who looks like Suguru, the wound he thought he patched over feels like it’s freshly bleeding.

But that doesn’t matter, because…

“You should be taking more missions. People are getting spread really thin.” Yaga says, clearing the dust off his desk.

…Because he’s the strongest.

As he drags his feet to the Gojo estate, he can’t help but survey the crowd as he walks there. Three girls with the same hair color as Getou, two boys with the same eye color, five people the exact same height, but none of them are Suguru Getou.

When he reaches his parents house, pulling out the long black chairs he uncomfortably sat in for hours as a kid, his mind wanders even farther when they start talking.

This time, he’s imagining. Daydreaming. What it would be like if he wasn’t the one gifted with the limitless and infinity. If jujutsu sorcery didn’t exist.

That he’d have more time, be more free to do what he wanted. Make chocolate pancakes with you every morning, before the two of you walk together to drop off Megumi and Tsumiki to school. You’d work normal jobs - maybe he’d still be a teacher, a normal one - while you would do something that was entirely too impressive. Like saving lives or writing books or working at a non-profit.

You would both go to Tsumiki’s first school dance together and take so many pictures that she’d walk away all embarrassed, red in the face. He’d go to every single one of Megumi’s baseball games, you’d both be the parents that are way too decked out, way too enthusiastic about their kid.

Satoru would help you collect vinyls and when Tsumiki and Megumi were long gone and the two of you would put them on and dance in the kitchen humming. You’ll get wrinkles at the same time and your hair would gray so the two of you would look like pale-haired ghosts together.

He zones back into what his parents were saying, their bored eyes glazed on him. And he doesn’t pay attention, because it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

They want him to be around more, because he should know how to take over the estate. They want him to meet with other clans, so he can help them with other deals. A long list of they want, they want, they want.

And he walks out, he wonders if his parents want the life he imagined for himself, the way he wants it for Megumi and Tsumiki. If that was the life Suguru would have lived, if things were different.

When he makes it home, the sun is sinking into the sky against the house, the sky an array of golden hues. And when he pushes his key into the lock, he’s met with one smiling face and two grumpy faces.

You march over, flicking Satoru’s cheek as he moves closer to you, grabbing onto your hands.

“Those strawberries better be hidden in your pants or something.”

He feels his face pale as he remembers that in the loop of things he’s been thinking about all day, he forgot to get the strawberries for froggy cake. And the balloons and flowers and everything else he wanted to give the three of you.

“Satoru. We really wanted strawberry froggy cake.” you whine, reaching up to rest your hands on his face, squishing hard.

He reaches for your wrists, pulling them down from his face and looking down at your joined hands.

“Oh well, I’ll just go grab them with Megumi or something.”

He watches you pad back into the kitchen, not even phased by his shortcoming, as you place a hand in Tsumiki’s hair. She’s very focused on frosting her little frog in the center of the cake, her eyebrows knit in concentration. He makes his way in, leaning over the counter as he intently watches the three of you.

“What if we all go to the store and pick up strawberries?” you say, a hand resting in Megumi’s hair.

Megumi directs off of you and to Satoru, glaring at him.

“Did you seriously forget the one thing we wanted you to get?”

“Megs, don’t be mean. It’s always fun to go to the store together!” you respond.

“I’ll let you pick out anything you want, kid.” Satoru mentions.

Megumi gives him a satisfied smile, hopping off his seat to go yank his shoes on. Tsumiki follows suit and you give Satoru a glowing smile as you drag the three of them out, hands intertwined as you go to the store.

And at the end of the day, in the few minutes of peace the two of you get before the next day, Satoru’s staring at you, memorizing the curve of your nose and the shape of your eyes, and the way your hair falls against your face.

You bring a hand up, cupping the side of his face as you whisper in the dark.

“You okay, Toru?”

“What do you want from me?”

He watches you frown and pull back, your hand shaking against his face.

“Are you mad at me, Satoru?”

He brings his hand to the back of your neck, bringing you back closer. He’s resting his forehead against yours, savoring the warmth that gathers in the back of your neck on his hands.

“No. No, no. I just…I want to know what you want from me.”

He watches you scrunch your forehead, as you ponder the question.

“I mean. I’d really like it if you didn’t leave the toilet seat up all the time.”

He cracks a smile, rolling his eyes at you, as he reaches for your hand to bring your knuckles up to his lips. He leaves a soft kiss, noticing the sweet smile that spreads across your face when he does, and drops your hand.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N.”

“I mean. I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just small things, Toru. Like we should go on walks together sometimes in the evening, I think that would be nice. And we should watch all the Harry Potter movies together, like do a marathon and not sleep in between. And I’d really like a big diamond ring, circular cut, six pronged with a golden band.”

Your hands, still resting against his face, are now meshed in with a spray of salty tears and a whimpering Satoru. You instinctively bring him forward, tucking his neck into your face as he cries into your shoulders.

His tears are coating your neck as you run your hand through the white tresses of hair, whispering against his forehead. Imploring for what’s wrong. He doesn’t respond and the tears subside after a few minutes, his frame still shaking in your hold.

“I’m not that attached to a golden wedding band, Satoru. I can do silver.”

He laughs, pulling his face away from your neck to run his hands through your hair.

“Gold is okay. I like gold.”

“What’s wrong, Satoru? Tell me.”

“Nothing. I just- that’s really all you want from me?”

“I mean, yeah. What else would I want?”

Satoru leans forward, pressing his lips against yours as he nearly cries into your face again, hanging off the ends of your lips. And you’re not sure what it means, what any of it means, but you let him - cry into your arms, hold you through the night, and make you breakfast the next morning.

In truth, Satoru cherishes the fact that everyone may ask the world of him, but all you’ve ever wanted from him are sweet, sweet nothings.

When you wake up the next morning, padding into the kitchen to make breakfast, you’re met with a box of strawberries, a sticky-note pressed on top. I love you, written in Satoru’s scribbly handwriting.

Life has grown around Satoru’s grief. And it looks like you.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 4 months

Text

With Friends Like These

Fizz awoke with a yawn, the man giving an a huge stretch, limbs shooting out as he turned over.

"Morning ba-" He paused mid morning greeting, the Imp finding himself alone in Asmodeus' massive bed.

Sitting up, the Imp looked about, wondering where his big blue and purple lover had run off too.

"FUCKING HELL!"

He jumped, hearing Ozzie's distinct voice scream from the other room.

The Imp, after a moment, got up, zipping off to find Ozzie in his office, the man rather aggressively growling into his phone.

"Do you know who the FUCK I am!?"

The Imp, not wanting to approach him empty handed, quickly zipped off, snatching up some coffee before he zipped into the Office.

"MoOorning Babe~" He purred, presenting him with Coffee. "Some asshole giving you trouble?"

Ozzie, seeing his love zip into the room, sighed, rubbing his face.

"Hey baby." He greeted, his tone clearly wary. "I didn't uh, wake you did I?" He asked, the Sin genuinely concerned.

Fizz smiled, zipping up to kiss the man's cheek.

"Nah babe, I was already awake." He assured, sipping his coffee. "Is... everything alright babe?" He asked, giving the mess of papers on his desk a glance.

Ozzie sighed, rubbing his face.

"Yeah Froggy, I'm alright." He sighed, the man rubbing his brow as she stared at a piece of paper.

"What's up?" Fizz asked, the man releasing a frustrated sigh.

Ozzie sighed, rubbing his face. "I've got a dozen orders for materials on five rings that are over due and I'm struggling to contact each supplier to make sure the shipments are actually handled."

Ozzie grumbled, scribbling something on a page.

"Don't ya have someone for that?" Fizz asked absent-mindedly, guzzling coffee.

Ozzie sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah... I did." The man told him sombrely, rubbing his face.

Fizzarolli cringed, rubbing his neck. "Ooooh. sorry babe, didn't mean too..."

Ozzie chuckled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"It's cool babe, but, well..." He sighed, gripping him in his massive hand, kissing the man's cheek.

Fizz cringed, remembering the night before, standing there for a minute, glancing at the stacks of paper before him.

"... Ozzie, can you tell me about Niko, what was he like?" He asked, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

Ozzie, pausing his scribbles, froze, the man putting down his pen.

Sitting back in his massive chair, the man sighed, rubbing his face.

"Well... In a lot of ways, he was like you."

That instantly caught his attention, the Imp staring at the Sin.

"When I first met him, I was... Different." He hummed, looking over his office "I was a lot more arrogant back then. Bold, as i liked to call myself, but really i was just an ass."

They both chared a giggle. "Back in the day, I thought I was the king of all Sins, minus Luficer, who ya know is the king of all Sins."

He finished almost playfully, resting on an elbow, fizz sat on his desk.

Fizz smiled, seeing how open his lover was, and not in the lewd way.

"... Niko... where should I begin on Niko?" Ozzie hummed, rubbing his chin. "Well, I first met him in the RnD division."

"I had a whole department dedicated to developing toys and such, that was back when toys were booming."

"Lot of good ideas came out back then, i thought mine were amongst them, but well, let's say I had ideas that didn't always work out." He shuckled, sighing softly. "Not that I'd admit as much."

He chuckled, looking to the side.

"I can remember it like it was yesterday. I came waltzing into the office, proudly calling to RnD with my latest crazy idea." He hummed, staring off in the air. "And back then they chose what project they'd do, so I was just waiting for someone to jump at the chance to work on my miracle toy."

The sin chuckled sloftly, sighing as though in a fond memory. "But nobody stepped forwards... Nobody was stupid enough to try the impossible and risk failing me."

"All except some little Imp. Barely a teen, and yet he took on a job nobody else would. And did so with gusto."

Ozzie spoke warmly, leaning on a forearm.

"He stepped up, and in less then 48 hours, the man had a working prototype of a product that should have been impossible."

He hummed, glancing at a small statuette of Himself holding a large Heart shaped sex toy, the exact dimensions better left off of Tumblr.

"He had to make quite a few adjustments, yet he presented me with exactly what I wanted." He smiled warmly, glancing at Fizz, reaching out to scratch the base of his jesters hat.

"I've had a lot of assistants over the millenia." He chuckled, humming as he twirled his finger over the man's jester hat. "But Niko? Niko was... he was something else."

Fizz watched the man, noting how warm the man's smile was, the Sin resting on an elbow as he seemed lost in thought.

"Hell has always been ahead of the curve, ya know. It helps when we've got powerful magic and all the smartest sinner end up down here."

"And yeah, I was on the curb, but Niko... He was ahead of the curb."

He hummed, smiling softly as he picked up the Imp, holding him to his massive chest.

"He showed me the potential of automation, not to say I didn't have an interest. But Niko man, Hell, half of the factory was designed by him." he smiled softly, humming as he glanced to the side, seeing a 1:1 scale model of the tower.

"Man showed me the real results of automation, and trust me, there were results. Hell, most toys were made by hand before, Niko practically pioneering the factory line on Lust." He hummed, holding Fizz close.

"I was always interested in the newest tech, tinkering and making it work to my will, but with Niko's help, I brought production up to the modern age." He hummed, holding the man close.

". . . Niko meant a lot to you, didn't he?" Fizz asked softly, looking up the man, thinking over the interaction he last had with the man.

Ozzie didn't say anything for a long time before the man sighed, leaning forwards and kissing the man's head.

"Yeah... Niko was a damn good friend, and an even better assistant."

He sighed, rubbing his face.

Fizz sat there for a moment, rubbing his face.

". . . I'm sorry." Fizz sighed, holding himself close, the Imp feeling guilty that he'd inadvertently caused their break up.

"Oh baby." Ozzie cooed, spinning him around holding him up to his massive face.

"Fizzy, baby, I don't regret what I said for a second. I love you baby, your my world." He cooed, kissing the Imp, rubbing a thumb to the Imps squishy cheek. "I don't regret what I did for a second. Not a second Fizz. You mean the world to me."

He sat there for a minute, looking to the side.

"I just... I just wish I'd handled the situation with Niko better." He sighed, nursling his Jester Imp lover. "Niko... he deserved better then... then what I said."

An awkward energy hung in the air as the two sat in silence, Ozzie holding the Imp close as he slumped back in his chair.

Fizz sat there for a minute, before silently sighing, the Imp leaning up, giving the Imp a passionate kiss.

"Keep it up babe, I know you can figure it out." He hummed zipping out of his grasp, sure to plant an extra kiss to his cheek as he zipped out of the room.

---

Fizz had to call in several favours, paying off one of his Ozzie men to find Niko's residents, the Imp finding his home in one of Lusts more influential districts.

After a brief Limo ride, telling Ozzie he was off to but something, he found himself in an impressive residentiql building, knocking on a door with a prominent 69 on the door.

There was silence for a while before he knocked again, this time getting some grumbling quickly followed by yelling from the other side of the door.

Niko slid the door open, several chains keeping it secure as he glanced through the gap.

He looked tired, bags beneath his eyes as the Imp stared at the man for several moments, the Imp glaring at him, his breath reeking of alcohol before slamming the door.

The sounds of several locks being undone ringing through the door before he finally opened the door.

Niko stood in the doorway, holding it open as he tiredly held the door open.

"What do you want?" He asked coldly, shielding his eyes as he walked in, Niko quickly walking over and slumping onto his couch.

Fizz took a minute to inspect his apartment.

Inspecting the various artworks, he found most, if not all involved Asmodeus in some regard, the most prominent being a painting of the man in a rather suggestive pose across the penthouses largest wall, seemingly blowing a kiss to the viewer.

Niko, slumped on his massive couch, the thing looking like it came straight out of Ozzie penthouse, hummed, rubbing his face.

Fizz fixed his collar, scratching his cheek as they sat across from each other.

Fizz hummed, glancing around the surprisingly humble penthouse.

". . . Come back." Fizz spoke softly, the man not looking the Imp in the eyes.

There was a long moment of Silence before Niko asked coldly.

"What the Hell did you just say?"

Fizz sat there for a moment before sighing softly.

"Look, I get you feel abandoned, but Ozzie, He... Ozzie, he misses you." He spoke softly, reaching out to the Imp, resting a hand on his knee. "He needs you." Fizz spoke softly.

Niko stared at him for a long time before looking away.

"No. He doesn't." He spoke shortly, the man looking to the side. Niko clenching his jaw. "He has you after all. That's all he needs."

Fizzarolli stared at him for several moments before sighing.

"Look, I get it. Your hurt. You feel abandoned. I know..." Fizz rubbed his robotic limb, sighing softly to himself as he felt the metalic limbs. "I know what it is to feel abandoned."

"But Ozzie didn't abandon you Niko." He tried to assure him, Niko showing no reaction as he leaned towards him. "He... He fucked up, i know. But he misses you Niko. He honestly does. He might not say it in so many words, but I know the man, and he regrets what happened that night."

Fizz leaned forwards, sighing softly.

"I've been where you are right now. You need to tell him how you feel or you'll regret it for the rest of your life!"

Niko sat there for a long time, not saying anything, before releasing a deep sigh.

"Look, Fizz-" he quickly cleared his throat. "Fizzarolli. It's nice your trying to help and all that, but well."

He reached over, grabbing a bottle, grumbling as he realises it was empty.

"Put simply, this ain't your call." He sighed, tossing the empty bottle aside. "And I don't need help from a Fucking clown."

Fizz stared at him for a long minute before standing up.

"Your right. It wasn't my call." Fizz hummed, looking at the man.

"... 'wasn't?" Niko asked, looking up at the man.

"Yes. Because now, I'm making it my call."

Leaning over the coffee table, he knocked the bottles to the side, looking at the man.

"I'm giving you a week. 7 days Niko. Then I'm telling Ozzie how you feel. And while you may be able to hide from me, Ozzie won't let you off so easy."

The man stood up, turning and walking away, stopping at the door for a moment, turning to look at him. "1 week Niko."

Niko fumbled over himself, tripping on a bottle as he tried to stop him.

Fizz just shutting the door, heading back to Ozzie.

---

Fizzarolli had no intention of telling Ozzie the truth, not really. The Imp just wanting to see the man act on his emotions, instead of waiting for outside forced to force his hand.

But the mote he thought about it, he realised he was those outside forces, the Imp wondering if he was any better then Mammon.

He felt guilty of course, almsot ashamed of forcing his hand, the clown honestly considering calling it off several times, though every time he saw his beloveds gloomy expression, no doubt lingering on thoughts of Niko, his resolve was reinvigorated.

He honestly fully expected the Imp to call his bluff, Niko seemed the sort to dig in his feet and Fizz didnt have the resolve to fully hold out, expecting his plan to fall through.

So when Niko showed up one busy morning, the man walking into Ozzie's office like he owned the place, dressed in a more casual attire, Fizz was over the moon.

The man shared a cold glare with the Imp, Niko clearly unimpressed with the man, before walking up to Ozzie's desk.

It took a moment for the Sin to realise he was there, Ozzie's eyes bulging, the Sin jumping up as he realised Niko was present.

"Niko!" He practically cheered, the man all smiles as he steps around the table. "It's so good to see you! What do I owe the pleasure?"

Niko breathed deep before sighing, the man looking away from the man.

"I figured I'd hand this off." He spoke curtly, holding out a notebook. Ozzie's expression dimmed as he reached out, taking the notebook.

"What's this?" He asked, clearly disappointed by the revelation.

Niko swallowed the lump in his throat, the Imp not meeting the sin's gaze.

"It's an itemised list. Names and locations of every supplier and their resources in the 7 rings. Figured you could use it." He finished curtly.

A silence hung in the air for several moments, Ozzie anxiously stepping about as he stared down at the Imp.

"Is... Is that all?" He asked, hope bleeding through in the question.

Niko opened his mouth, Fizz leaning in, hopeful, expecting him to say something. Hoping he'd say it. Damn, he'd be happy if he said anything.

But instead he just turned away, shaking his head. "This was a mistake." The man quickly turning, storming off.

Fizz immediately shot into action, the man zipping up to the man, landing besides him.

"Wait Niko, please!" He gripped his arms, pleading with him. "You can do this!"

Niko, doing his best to hold in his emotions, biting his lower lip. "This was a mistake, I shouldn't have come here."

He growled, emotions seeping into his voice.

"Come on, you can tell him." He tried to assure, doing his best to be supportive.

"I don't have to tell him shit!" Niko snapped back, slapping his hands away.

"Tell me what?" Ozzie's voice suddenly cut in, the both of them freezing in place.

Niko went rigid, eyes wide in fear.

"Nothing." He spoke up after several tense moments. "It's nothing Asmodeus, I was just-"

"Stop that!" Ozzie snapped, man suddenly breathing heavy.

Niko, froze, the Imp looking towards the sin.

"Stop acting like everything we've been through, our friendship, means nothing..." The Sin spoke, emotions suddenly thick in his voice. "Your my friend Niko. Probably my best friend. I've considered you it for a long time... please don't act like none of that matters."

Fizz would look to the man, sad to see his beloved so upset, but turning back to Niko, he'd be taken off guard as anger quickly flared.

"Like none of it matters!?" He snarled, looking up to the man for the first time.

"LIKE IT DOESNT FUCKING MATTER!?!?!?!" He yowled.

"I'm not the one who said you don't matter!" He yelled, turning to the man. "I'm not the one who chose soem fucking IMP over you! Now am I!?"

He was angry.

In fact, Niko could barely think he was so angry.

"NO! You abandoned everything we did!" He yelled, throat restricting, eyes burning as tears formed. "You abandoned ME!"

He stood there, panting hard as tears grew in his eyes, the man taking a shuddering breath.

"You abandoned me." He spoke, barely keeping it together. "You meant everything to me."

Hot tears were already streaming down his face, the man barely keeping it together.

"I would have done anything for you. I worshipped you. FUCK, I loved you!!!"

He cried, a sob racking his form.

"... I loved you..."

He held his face, sobbing into his hands for several minutes.

"I... I had no idea." Ozzie spoke up after several minutes.

"Yeah, I know!" Niko snapped. "I know you didn't know cause I told you years ago I loved 'somebody'. Said I was over the moon for him, practically fucking described you to a T, and you know what you told me?! You told me that shit didn't fly on Lust. So yeah, that killed any illusions I ever had I could end up with you."

"And ya know the worse part!? I didn't care!" He sobbed glaring at the man. "I didn't care because I still had you, and that'd all I needed, but now...!?... now I've got nothing."

Niko wiped his face, turning to glare at the man.

"'Sides, you expect me to believe you'd ever get with some nobody like me?" He grumbled, wiping his nose, turning away from the Man.

"Niko." Ozzie began, clearly trying to defend himself, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain himself.

"Save it." Niko sniffled, the man furiously wiping his nose. "You act all buddy buddy but you didn't even tell me you and Fizz were a thing."

He wiped his eyes, glancing at him. "That's how close we are, huh?!" He growled, tears forming as he snapped.

"You know what, they're fucking right, you are a fucking hypocrite. And a lier. And! And..."

He turned, tears building in his eyes.

"And I hate that I still love you!"

He was barely keeping himself composed, sobbing softly as he held his head in his hands.

Fizz and Ozzie stood there, the two of them completely unsure of what to do as the man had an emotional breakdown.

Fizz was... well, he wasn't sure what to think.

On one hand he wanted him to be honest and tell him about his feelings, which he did...

But he didn't want it to be so confrontational. He wanted him to... well, to be honest with both himself and Ozzie.

"Niko." He began softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. To which Niko slapped him away, snarling at him.

"Don't fucking touch me! You dont get to pity me, not when you got the guy. You don't have the right!" He snapped, tears streaming from his eyes.

Fizz stepped back, shocked at the outbreak.

It was as he stood there, breathing heavily, that Ozzie stepped forwards.

The man moved towards the Imp slowly, Niko still sobbing, hunched over as tears streamed from his face.

"Niko." The Sin spoke firmly, standing over the Imp.

Niko, still in tears, sobbed softly, hunched over, clinging to himself.

"Niko." He spoke again, voice firm.

The Imp wiped his eyes, turning his head to snap at him. "What?!"

Leaning down, the man placed his massive hand against the Imps face. "I'm sorry Niko."

Pushing his hand away, the Imp scowling, gritting his teeth. "Fuck you!" He snapped.

But Ozzie didn't flinch, the man bringing his hand up to cup his tiny body.

"Just stop!" He snapped, but this time his voice was full of emotion, tears streaming down his face yet again.

But Ozzie didn't, instead the man held him, hands cupping his form, pulling the Imp to his massive chest.

"STOP!" Niko sobbed, trying to push his hand away, the Imp still in tears as the Sin held him.

But Ozzie didn't, instead he just held the man even as he cried and squirmed in his grasp.

The Sin slowly pulled him closer, Niko sobbing, angrily trying to push him away, but the Sin didn't respond, simply pulling the Imp close.

The Imp cried, and whined and sobbed as the man pulled the Imp close.

Niko fought it, squirming and writhing, pushing the Sin away as he pulled him to his chest.

"I'm sorry." The sin spoke softly as the man fought and pushed, tears streaming from his eyes as the man resisted.

"No. No. Fucking stop!" He cried, almost pleading. "You can't do this shit!" He cried, pushing the Sin away, only for the muscular embodiment of Sin to pull him closer, holding the Imp to his chest.

"You can't do this!" Niko sobbed, Ozzie pulling the Imp close, the man breaking down, trying to squirm out of his grip, but failing as Ozzie pulled him to his chest, holding the Imp close.

Niko was a sobbing mess, the man smacking his hand against his chest, demanding him to release him as he violently sobbed, trying to escape his grasp, but as he pulled and pushed, he rapidly lose steam, the man crying as he pressed against his firm chest.

"Leave me... please... stop!" He pleaded, sobbing into the man's chest, a great wet spot appearing on his shoulder as he held the Imp close.

"I'm so sorry." Ozzie spoke softly, holding him close. "I'm so sorry I didn't realise."

The Imp cried, sobbing and battering his fist against the man, trying anf failing to escape his grasp, sobbing violently as he smacked his fist into the Sin's chest.

"Just... stop..." the Imp sobbed before he collapsed against the Sin's chest, the Imp crying as he gradually lost his steam.

Niko would collapse against his chest, crying as he gripped his coat, the man having a full on breakdown as he sobbed and cried into his chest.

Ozzie... Ozzie felt awful. His best friend. The one Imp he could always count on had been in love with him for over a decade and he hadn't realised it. Well, really, he hadn't realised cause he hadn't cared too.

Niko was right, he caused this.

Ozzie pulled him close, holding him carefully, the man wanting to show he cared. Yet as the man collapsed against him, Ozzie simply sighed, an expression of shame crossing his face, the sin almost in tears.

Taking a shuddering breath, Ozzie cupped his face as he fell unconscious, Niko utterly exhausted, passing out in his grasp.

"I'm so sorry Niko." He spoke softly, tears stinging his eyes.

Fizz was shocked.

He'd never seen the Sin tear up before, the Jester half believing it wasn't possible, yet here he was.

Ozzie turned to the Imp, reaching out to him. Fizz smiling despite the circumstances, zipped towards him, resting atop his shoulders as then carried the Imp to his bed.

The Sin carried the Imps to the bed, Fiss watching the man with a sympathetic expression, watching the man as the Sin got into bed, pulling the both of them close.

"What's next?" Fizz asked softly, looking to the now unconscious Imp.

Ozzie, wiping the tears from his eyes, took a deep breath.

"I don't know If he'll forgive me. Hell, I'm not sure if he should forgive me, or if I even need to be forgiven." He sighed, rubbing his face.

"I just... I need to show him I care. He... he deserves to know I care about him."

He sighed softly, gently rubbing just below Niko's horns, just as he would to Fizzarolli, Fizz noticing this, not feeling jealous, but realising just how much he cared for this Imp.

"Babe." He began, kissing his cheek. "I love you. Just... be honest with Niko. That's all I ask."

Ozzie froze for a second, smiling at the man.

Pulling him in they shared a passionate kiss.

"I love you froggie." He purred, Ozzie giggling, nuzzling the man.

"Love you too my hunk of burning sin." Fizz giggled back.

The two curled up, embracing each other, getting comfortable as he turned to the unconscious Imp.

"I hope we can work it out. I... I like Niko. I hope it works it out." Fizz hummed, a sense of guilt buzzing through him.

Ozzie just nodded, pulling him close. "Me too... Fizzi-pop." he sighed softly, the Sin looking down at the now unconscious Imp. "Me too..."

This is a sequel to my 'what about me?' Headcanon, I hope you like it.

#helluva boss #headcanon #helluva boss headcanon #x reader #helluva boss x reader #asmodeus #helluva boss asmodeus #asmodeus x reader x fizzarolli #asmodeus x reader #asmo

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bimobuddy · 6 months

Text

Chasing the Chicken

Helluva Boss

SFW Tickle fic

I haven't seen this done yet so I decided to do it

Lee!Asmodeus, Ler!Fizzy

Summary: Fizzarolli gets the Fizz-equivalent to zoomies and Asmodeus is his target.

"Fizzy, baby, calm down, just take some deep breaths, please-"

Out of context, it may have sounded like Asmodeus was trying to calm his partner down from a panic attack. However, with context, you'd see the Sin holding his hands up in defense, and Fizz inching closer to him with an almost feral look in his eyes. And Asmodeus knew this look very well unfortunately.

Fizz lunged, but Asmodeus was faster. He dodged, barely, and ran to the other side of the bedroom. Now they were in the same stand-off as before, just in different positions. This had been going on for about ten minutes at this point.

Fizz's "zoomies" didn't happen often, but when they did, he was a ball of absolute chaos. Most of the imps knew to either lock the office doors or to stay out of his way because once he got running, he could not be stopped, not even by Ozzie sometimes. Especially not when Ozzie was his target.

The jester grinned. "Cluck, cluck~"

Asmodeus frowned. "That is rude- AH!" He jumped back to avoid getting jumped on. This time, Fizz wasn't stopping. He continued to run after him on all fours, even using his limbs to essentially launch himself, while Asmodeus was desperately trying to run around furniture without tripping or losing his robe. When he found himself cornered, he just teleported himself across the room in a quick flash of flame.

"Cheating!" Fizz called after him, having turned around to chase him again. The Sin found himself grinning at this. "We're demons, babe, we don't exactly play by the rules!" He laughed, making it back to their bedroom, shutting the door. He initially was going to lock it but a part of him felt bad about locking Fizz out of the room. All of this disappeared when the door was unceremoniously thrown open, revealing a mischievous little imp. Nevermind. He should have locked the door.

"Fizzy, it's too early for all this, come on now-" He backed up, maintaining eye contact, too afraid to turn his back on the gremlin in front of him. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and ended up tripping, falling back onto the bed. Fizzarolli wasted absolutely no time and jumped up onto him, startling Asmodeus into giving a short shriek.

Extending his arms, Fizz wrapped Ozzie up and started scritching at his sides, resulting in deep chuckles rumbling from deep within his chest. He could easily break free, but he didn't want to risk hurting his little Froggy, so he just gave up and endured it. Fizz knew this too, and used it to his advantage.

Metallic fingers scritched and scribbled over his sides and tummy. Chuckles turned to deep, rich laughter as Ozzie lay there, trying not to squirm too much. "*snort* pff- Ahahahahaha! Fizzy, cohohome ohohon! Okahahay, you cahaught mehehe!" He laughed, hoping that would be enough. But there was a slight evil look in his eyes. Ozzie didn't know what else he wanted until he felt his hands wander lower, toward his hips, causing a giddy, nervous panic to blossom in his stomach right then.

"Wahahait, wAHAIT- Fihihizzy! Nohohot thehere! I'm nohot gonna doho ihihit!" He turned his head away, knowing exactly what Fizzarolli wanted now.

Said imp only grinned. "We'll see about that, Ozzie~"

He drilled his thumbs into the Sin's hips, wincing a little when his laughter came booming out. But the sight he was gifted with was beautiful. Asmodeus had his head tossed back, the widest smile he'd ever seen, and a brilliant blue blush painted from cheek to cheek. He was squirming a lot more now, kicking his legs out, yet still managing to not hurt Fizz, who was holding on tighter now as to not get thrown off.

*CR-CROW*

Fizzarolli stopped and burst out laughing, pulling his arms back and releasing Ozzie, who covered his blushing face, catching his breath. "Ugh, why do you insist on making me make that sound?" He asked, his voice slightly muffled from his hands, yet there was no real hint at being genuinely upset. Fizz grinned, sitting on his chest. "Because it's cute, duh."

Asmodeus removed his hands and looked up at his grinning partner and couldn't help but smile himself. "Well are you finally satisfied enough to calm down?"' "For now." The rooster snorted. "Good enough."

#sfw tickling community #tickle community #tickle fic #lee!asmodeus #lee!ozzie #ler!fizzarolli #helluva boss tickles

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littlemisspascal · 1 year

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Rockford & Roan

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC 'Roan'

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You meet Tim Rockford in the true crime section of the library of all places.

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, reference of self-harming + assault, meet cute, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford

Author Note: Elements of X-Men and Sherlock/Elementary mashed together because my brain said so. I've got more of these two (plus another Pedro Boy *cough* Thief *cough*) outlined if y'all are interested in seeing more of this world. It was a lot of fun attempting this new guy 😊

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Part 2

The Session

You cross your legs, trying to get comfortable, immediately grimacing when the plush leather couch squeaks as a result. Your psychologist’s office smells overwhelmingly of lavender from the burning candle on her desk. Dr. Odair insists the smell has a calming effect to combat anxiety, but you remain unconvinced. You’re unconvinced about a lot of the advice these mandatory sessions offer, actually.

“How’s your search going?” Dr. Odair asks, pen poised above a fresh sheet of paper. “Have you connected with anyone?”

According to the internet, Dr. Charlotte Odair is one of the leading experts on empaths, telepaths, and other similar mind-gifts in the world. She’s also renowned for helping discharged military personnel integrate back into civilian society which meant you didn’t have much of a choice seeing anybody else.

Most people’s emotions are a finicky and erratic mess, shifting and fluctuating depending on the countless number of influences stemming from one’s surroundings. Some feelings are easy to identify at once, others are too obscure or complex to be named. The latter are the ones which overwhelm you. The ones which bury beneath your skin, an itch you can’t scratch no matter how harshly your nails dig into your arms, deeper and deeper until they’re stained red.

Dr. Odair’s emotions resemble crystalline waters, transparent and blatant. There’s no second-guessing with her, no hidden tricks. She’s been trained, masterfully so, to carefully bind her feelings to her will.

“Yeah, it’s been going great,” you answer, then nod down at your feet where a small, golden brown dog lies with his chin on his paws. “Connected with Banjo here over the weekend. We’re a total match for each other.”

She fixes you with a look over the thick rims of her glasses. “Is that so?”

Compared to humans, animals have a much smaller range of emotions. They broadcast exactly what they want like a neon sign, whether that be food, shelter, or a good petting. And if their desires are met, the hum of their contentment is a far more pleasant tune than most songs on the radio nowadays.

You’d actually been looking to get a cat when you went to the pet shelter, dismissing dogs as too needy and energetic for your liking, but fate had other plans. One look at the little mutt, with his tangled fur and deep, froggy bark, and you were signing the adoption paperwork within minutes. And still, even after that unexpected love at first sight moment, Banjo continues to surprise you with how easily he adapts to your routine, standing by your side like he always belonged there.

You tell Dr. Odair as much, but there’s no response even though you know she’s absorbing every word out of your mouth, turning them over in her head, analyzing each syllable. Her mood remains almost frustratingly steady, giving no indication as to what she’s thinking. That look remains though, blue eyes narrowing even further.

“You never said my match had to be another human.” Your hands tighten around Banjo’s leash, hoping she doesn’t catch the defensive edge your voice has taken.

Her pen starts to scribble a note across the paper, too similar to a doctor’s chicken scratch for you to read upside down.

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing towards the flickering candle. Damn it.

“Miss Roan,” Dr. Odair begins, and you taste blood on your tongue, “I know it’s annoying, being forced to attend these sessions every week, but the fact of the matter is, empaths aren’t meant to live alone. Especially not after what you’ve endured. Finding someone to match with is what your empathy needs to finally settle down.”

She makes it sound so easy, like the rest of the world doesn’t have any issues with mind-gifts and the lack of privacy that comes with them. Like there isn’t a set of laws specifically written for people who can read thoughts with a single touch or predict the future through dreams because their gifts aren’t as flashy, as visible, and thus in the eyes of the government that makes them the scariest threat of all.

On the battlefield things were different. The laws of polite society didn’t apply, not out there amongst the pools of blood and ceaseless gunfire. Your mind-gift was a tool to take advantage of, capable of numbing pain away faster than drugs and boosting the troop’s morale to a near fever-pitch. There was no time to stop and assess the damage you were self-inflicting unintentionally by overworking your empathy. Nobody who cared enough about you as a person to recognize the warning signs—not even your own self.

It was a miracle, as your commanding captain would later put it, when enemy forces staged a midnight raid on the camp and a man pinned you to the floor, radiating nothing but vulgar lust, that your lapse of control only resulted in putting every hostile within a mile radius to sleep instead of killing them instantly.

A miracle for the unit maybe, but for you it marked the abrupt conclusion of your military career. Loss of control of one’s gifts stipulated their immediate release from serving, even if in your case it saved lives. Your discharge papers were officially signed and filed by the higher-ups before you regained consciousness three days later with a pounding headache from hell. Your mind-gift, once seen as a helpful aid to win battles, was now a time bomb dumped into the hands of Dr. Odair to deactivate.

And what is her brilliant solution? Matching. Or, as it used to be called back in the olden days when gifts were thought to be divinely bestowed instead of being entirely unpredictable mutations in one’s genetic code, soulbonding. A powerful connection forged between two individuals, locking their gifts together and intertwining their lives until death splits them apart.

Movies and fairytales will describe matching as the ultimate manifestation of true love, but love’s got nothing to do with it. Matching is a direct result of a human’s innate instinct to survive. It most commonly occurs when one or both members of the potential pairing possess dangerous gifts likely to cause harm to themselves. Supposedly, the bond is instantaneous once the two meet, causing their gifts to settle down, easier to control. Balancing each other out as if they were two halves of the same whole.

Sounds wonderful. In theory, at least. The biggest problem with matching is it can’t be done with just any random person. It can’t be forced either, not even between established couples. The bond happens solely on the choice of the gifts, not the will of the people involved. The hows and whys and other intricate details of the fateful decision-making process remain a mystery, one perhaps beyond mankind’s ability to ever solve, but regardless, it’s hard to argue against the overwhelmingly positive end results. To date, every recorded pair has admitted their match stabilized their gifts and saved their lives from an early death.

So until your mind-gift figures out who it wants, all you can do is walk the streets of Fox Leap, searching for just the right stranger in a sea of wrong strangers, empathy buzzing like a live wire pressed against your brain with each disappointing encounter.

“I am looking.” You’re being honest, despite what the dropping of your eyes to the floor might suggest. It’s too difficult to meet her gaze, afraid of the pity you might find shining through her carefully maintained facade. “I’m just not sure they want to be found.”

The Meeting

You meet Tim Rockford in the true crime section of the library of all places.

Fox Leap Central Library has essentially become your second home ever since you sought shelter from the rain one miserably gray afternoon two weeks after moving there. It’s one of the few places in the city that doesn’t make you feel like ants are crawling along your spinal cord, designed with dozens of cozy spaces to curl up with a good book and cup of coffee and zone out for a couple of blissful hours.

Your eyes are drifting over the colorful covers of fantasy books offering to transport you to alternate universes full of mythical beasts when you feel it. A flash of anger, stronger and more intense than anything you’ve ever felt, illuminating your mind-gift identical to a streak of lightning tearing through the darkness of night.

The emotion fades just as fast as it made itself known, but your empathy bays like a bloodhound picking up a scent trail, urging you to follow it to the source. Your fingers twitch at your side. Not with the desire to scratch, you realize with surprise, but to soothe. You haven’t felt this kind of compulsion since you’d been on the frontlines, taking away the pain from bullet-stricken soldiers, but that had been your purpose back then, a duty expected to fulfill.

This…This is a purely selfish want.

You bite your lip, glance down at Banjo, tail wagging as if to say what are we waiting for?, and then surrender to the temptation.

Three aisles down stands the library’s only other occupant in sight: a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white shirt and tan trench coat with dark, unkempt hair like he’s been running his fingers through it lately. He’s rubbing at his stubbled jawline, brown eyes glaring beneath furrowed brows at a book on serial killers.

He’s the perfect example of tall, dark and handsome but it’s not his looks that has your pulse quickening, a flutter of something dangerously akin to hope beginning to stir. If Dr. Odair’s emotions are a crystalline pool, then this man’s are an ocean in the midst of a storm. Turbulent on the surface, rough and irritable, concealing unexpectedly mesmerizing depths luring your mind-gift to dive deeper and deeper–

“Psychic or empath?” the man asks without looking away from the shelf, a slight raspiness to his voice that has your stomach flip-flopping before full awareness of his question even registers.

Startled back into your own head, you can only manage an eloquent, “Huh?”

He finally turns, piercing you with his gaze, intense yet not unkind. The storm afflicting his temperament lessens some, followed by a series of feather-light curious touches along the edges of your mind-gift.

You suck in a breath, expecting the stinging bolt of displeasure that usually follows when someone interacts with your empathy. Whether they’re being delicate or not, it’s never fun to have the most sensitive part of yourself poked and prodded and toyed with. But there are no symptoms of a headache in the seconds that follow. Only a strange sort of thrill at the connection. A sense of rightness.

And there’s that damn fluttering again…

Once again, you find yourself caught off-guard, unsure how the roles have swapped so quickly from you seeking to comfort a stranger to now you being comforted by him.

“Empath,” he says after another beat, answering his own question with a confidence that’s neither tentative nor arrogant. It sounds like a regular fact of life. The sky is blue, the sun is hot, and you’re an empath.

“Y-yeah, that’s right.” You nod your head, hands trembling where they are clutching Banjo’s leash. God, you don’t understand what’s wrong with you, why his stare has such a strong effect on your galloping heartbeat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

The man looks down at Banjo then, taking in his snaggletoothed grin and perked ears with a soft smile of his own. “Cocker, poodle, schnauzer—interesting ancestry. I bet you have quite the story to tell.”

How did he–? You shake your head, getting your thoughts in some semblance of an order now that you’re no longer the sole focus of his attention. “This is Banjo. I adopted him from the shelter last weekend. We’re still getting to know each other.”

“Oh, good,” his soft grin widens, revealing a dimple in the side of his cheek. “It won’t take long to catch up then. How do you feel about takeout?”

You blink, frowning because huh? Is he just asking your opinion or is he asking something…more? It’s been so long since you’ve been asked on a date, you’re not even sure what the common etiquette is anymore. Isn’t everything arranged online nowadays? Swiping left or right and all that app rubbish?

“My schedule is unpredictable which leaves little time for cooking or grocery shopping, so at least three days a week I order takeout,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to your increasing confusion. “I also have frequent bouts of chronic insomnia, sometimes I’m up for days without any sleep.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The question comes out sounding ruder than it had in your head, but if he’s offended by it the man shows no outward sign. “I figured if I were in your shoes, I’d want to know upfront the annoying traits of who I’ve matched with.”

“Who I’ve–?” you choke on the words, eyes widening.

Oh, you think faintly, a strange clarity sweeping over you, at last connecting the dots that seem so incredibly obvious now. What better reprieve for an overwhelmed mind-gift than an underwater safe haven muffling the chaos of the city. It’s you.

The Offer

“Rockford,” the man—your match—says, extending a hand to shake, warm and calloused. “Tim Rockford.”

You introduce yourself, probably looking a bit unhinged with how wide you’re grinning but you can’t help it. You finally found your match. The urge to run to Dr. Odair’s office and jump on her sofa, screaming he’s actually fucking real! at the top of your lungs is near irresistible.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Rockford says. “I had a feeling our paths would cross soon once I settled into my new place. An apartment a couple blocks from here. Three bedrooms. One for me, one for my office, and the other is yours if you’re interested.”

Your eyebrows lift incredulously. “Seriously?”

“A good roommate is hard to find these days,” Rockford responds easily, shrugging. “Who better to live with than my match?”

You think about sharing a space with someone else. Someone who's human that you can have a two-way conversation with over meals, who doesn’t react to your mind-gift with repulsion or contempt. He makes a good point; good roommates are hard to find. A yes sits on the tip of your tongue, held back by a little voice in the back of your head insisting it’s too good to be true. He’ll grow tired of you eventually. Get sick of you dipping in and out of his head like a parasite. You should say no. There’s too much of a high potential you’ll wind up hurt and alone again. It’s too risky.

But, another voice chimes in, deep down beside the fragile hope, if it worked out for all the other matched pairs, then aren’t the odds in your favor?

“You barely know me,” is what ends up coming out of your mouth, a weak extending of a shovel for him to dig himself out of his offer.

He hums a thoughtful note, head tilting to one side, and your shoulders start to instinctively tense up in preparation of rapid backpedaling. A sudden wave washes over your mind-gift, though, steady reassurance drowning your budding fears.

“I know you’ve recently been discharged from the military,” he begins calmly, that same matter-of-fact tone from before. “I know you’re new to the city, not by personal choice but because you must attend mandatory sessions with a psychologist who resides here and has an excellent reputation with patients sharing your similar background. You’ve begun dreading the appointments—possibly because of trust issues, more likely because until you meet your match there’s very little she can do for your empathy and that frustrates you. And I know you adopted Banjo hoping he would pass as a substitute for me, but while he’s been helpful providing companionship, your mind-gift has continued causing you pain up until our meeting.” A pause for a quiet breath. “I think we have quite a solid foundation already, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Roan?”

“I–you–what?” You blink dumbly at him, brain function short-circuiting. Seriously, what? “How on earth…?”

“We all have our gifts."

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t elaborate further, meeting your quizzical stare evenly, still emanating steady reassurance, that makes it surprisingly easy for you to make a decision. You want to know this man. Not just his likes and dislikes, no, you want to know his happiness, his hurt, all the miserable shades of his sadness and every sharp pang of his rage. You want to look at him the way he looks at you: confident and steadfast. Unique to him in all the world.

If the stories are true and he’s going to be a part of your life for a long, long time, then you have the distinct feeling you’re going to need every one of those precious seconds to understand the infinite depths of Tim Rockford.

So, you nod your head. “Okay,” you tell him, lips curling at the corners into another wide grin when you detect how pleased he is with your agreement. “Let’s give it a try.”

“Meet me there tomorrow afternoon,” he says, grabbing the book he’d been burning holes into earlier with his glare. “445D Albatross Lane. Bright yellow door, can’t miss it.”

Then, turning on his heel in one fluid movement, he heads for the front desk, leaving you to process how a single meeting has just shifted your entire world on its axis.

#tim rockford #tim rockford fanfic #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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triple-asstro · 10 months

Text

west coast - miles morales x reader

a/n: hey guys, this past two weeks have been quite awful. writer's block and imposter syndrome are hitting hard. it feels like motivation is slowly dripping out of me through my breath i hope this story makes your day slightly better and i love you all <333

Nauseousness. It’s a feeling everyone experienced at a point in their lives. It’s a feeling that lingers within you. Once you feel it, it’s hard to discard. That froggy feeling that stays in your throat, one that churns your stomach and leaves you overwhelmed.

You remember tossing and turning in your bed, trying to suffocate yourself so you couldn’t feel anything else but the touch of your own skin and your blanket. Always changing your pajamas, going to the bathroom and spraying heaps of lavender mist anywhere you were planning to slam your head into.

Nauseousness turned into frustration, cursing your own mind for refusing to infuriate itself to sleep. Everyone else in your family was asleep, so why weren’t you? You felt confined, trapped in a prison to where you can’t call for help; to be tormented by the sound of your own mind for eternity. Your room resembled one too. Magazines and clothes were strewn across the ground, your guitar propped against your bed. Its metal pegs glistened in the moonlight, along with the new callouses adorning your palms.

Your instinct inched you to get up from your bed and reach your phone, the blue light stinging your eyes. The lockscreen with you and Miles hanging on a park bench behind one of the numerous buildings while he stared at you with lovesick eyes. The time flashed out, one twenty-six, as you groaned in annoyance. You approached your dresser, staring at the person in the mirror gazing back at you. Your hair was a mess, your eyebags grew darker with every passing day, and your pajamas were slumping down your figure.

Fuck it.

In one fluid motion, you flung open your drawers, picking whatever clothes grazed your hand and draping them on your body. Then, you hauled your bag over your shoulder and jumped through your window, landing harshly on the metal floor. Paying no mind, you continued rushing up the stairs, feet tapping on stair after stair. Sounds of heavy traffic and buzzing electric lights flooded your ears, even through your headphones.

You reached the rooftop. There was barely anyone up there, except for some loose garbage and poorly-discarded receipts. Pressing the tiny button on your headphones, they played a small startup sound before playing a sweet melody in your ears. It was the song you were working on previously on your guitar, and now seemed like a perfect time to brainstorm lyrics.

“Ain’t he a doll?

Well, he’s stuck with me,

My heart echos his beat,

He’s a… what rhymes well with a doll?” you muttered, scribbling down on your notebook while scrolling through your photos. It’s been a tried-and-true method that you’ve been using ever since you started songwriting. You kept scrolling, spotting photos of Miles, Gwen, Pavitr and even one you captured with Hobie and his partner. They were both sporting spiked bracelets while reading a comic book they’ve found lying around. They’d been a mentor for you, both logically and personally.

“Oh Cass, where are you? Could really use your genius here…” you uttered. “Wait- no, I've got a better line:

My heart echos his beat,

A tune I will always repeat,

Yep that’s good.”

As you closed your notebook proudly, you attempted to start the next verse, emphasis on attempt. Every tear, every scribble only drove you farther into frustration. This was supposed to be your outlet, so why was it being so annoying?

“You write songs, why is it hard for me to do the same?

A crash cut your thought track, flying right past you and into the fire escape door. The scent of smoke filled your nose as the actual physical smoke cleared. A figure lay against the door, one dressed in a black full-bodysuit with thin stripes. The mask, which had wide eyes, was slightly tattered, showing small glimpses of its skin.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?” the voice groaned. His eyes blinked periodically as you approached closer. When he finally caught the sight of your face, the eyes on his mask grew wide as he darted to the right.

“Hey, wait- Spiderman?! Are you okay?”

He spun around, one foot stuck to the ground, and faced you, pounding on his chest before speaking again. His voice was low, comically low. “Ah yes, hello fellow citizen who I know nothing about. What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing- what are you doing here? You just came out of nowhere!”

“I can assure you, I am completely fine,” he said. He only took one step, before stumbling on his leg, kneeling onto the ground with a huff.

“How about you just take a seat over here, okay?” you suggested, gesturing over to the ledge. He reluctantly followed, sitting on the ledge as his legs dangled off it. You sat down next to him, tucking your notebook behind your back. There wasn’t any chance you were going to show Spiderman your amateurish songwriting.

“So…how’s your day going?”

“Uh..quite okay! Y’know, the usual patrols. It’s hard being Manhattan’s number one hero.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I imagine, if you’re crashing into things like that on the regular. Not that you’re bad at it!”

“Well, I don’t do that all the time…”

“Just now?”

He sheepishly faces away from you. “...Occasionally.”

“Christ, y’know you remind me of my boyfriend. Everytime I see him in the hallways at my school, which by the way has awful hallway management, he always either trips on his feet or on, get this, air. Air!”

“...Does he always do this?”

“Yes! It’s adorable though, and I don’t tell him that I think it is. It’s like a little game we have.”

“I won’t, because I do not know who this boyfriend is. …Who is he?”

“His name is Miles, and he’s…he’s something.”

Silence echoed between you two before an idea sprouted in your head.

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

“Uh, sure… What is it?”

“I’m trying to write a song for him; it’s supposed to be a piece for him about how I feel, but I’m unsure about the lyrics. He makes me feel so extraordinary and it’s hard to express exactly how much I care about him.”

“...maybe just tell him.”

You arched your eyebrow towards him. “What?”

“Uh, what? Nothing, I said nothing!” he said, reverting back to his comical voice. You giggled in response, opening your notebook. Then, you started humming.

Always thought of the love that was on TV,

Never thinking that could happen to me,

Tuesday nights shift Friday blues

Vision restored in your sights

His smile shines brighter

Than I could imagine

I hear the high-fives,

Beckoning me away

Oh, ain't he a doll?

Days turn to weeks,

and the thought of you makes me scream,

You always say winnin me

was like winning the lottery

Yeah,

Ain’t he a doll?

Well, he’s stuck with me,

My heart echos his beat,

A tune I will repeat,

Miles couldn’t believe what he was hearing, was his hearing even working? He didn’t feel the world stop around him, only himself. His heart practically thrashed against his ribcage, minute tears pooling in his eyes. He was in utter awe, that's the only way he could explain it. Any remarks or witty quips died on his tongue.

When you stopped, you felt a familiar nauseousness flood you. It wasn’t the nauseousness that curdled your stomach until it felt like hurling or the nauseousness that fogs your brain and lets the words melt onto your tongue. This, this was the nauseousness that feels weightless, hovering in the vast emptiness in your midsection while your thoughts run a mile a dozen.

You placed your notebook down, rubbing the tips of your fingers together. “So…what do you think?”

“It…It’s really good. Y’know, you should play that for your boyfriend.”

“You think he’d enjoy it? He’s much more artistic than me.”

“Of course I - I mean- he would, it’s amazing! I think it could be an actual song!”

“You think so?”

He placed his hand on your shoulder. “Yes, I know so.”

“…you couldn’t tell that was Miles?”

“At the time, …no?”

Hobie cackled, slapping his hand on his knee. It’d been two weeks since that incident, and since then, you haven’t been able to live that moment down. When you told Cass about your experience shortly after, they called you an idiot for not ‘catching the signs’. Looking back, you should’ve caught the signs earlier but, in the moment, you were as blind as a bat. The concert music echoed from the stage as the rockstar graced her fingers on the guitar. You watched in awe from the sidelines as sweat glistened down her forehead, flicking across the stage with a wide grin. The crowd cheered as she swung her arm down, shredding the last chord.

Hobie’s eyes softened, his jaw slightly agape. “Aw shit, looks like I'm next.”

Cass waved across the crowd before hopping backstage, ruffling your hair with a beaming smile. Her presence was enough to send a wave of confidence through the room, one that you would climb mountains to obtain, as many others would. “What’d you think of that?”

“It was cool.”

“I think you mean exceptional. You alright, love? Ignore the kid…”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Cass said, shaking her sleeveless jacket. Hobie picked up his guitar, resting his foot on the step.

“I’m on next, wish me luck, alright?”

She gave a quick peck on his lips, his hand trailing to her neck, pushing her deeper.

You groaned. “Ew..”

Cass giggled, parting away from him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Alright, go on. Destroy them out there.”

Hobie tilted down his imaginary cap and gave you a small cheeky point. He ascended onto the stage as Cass sauntered over towards you.

She trapped you in a headlock, ruffling your hair even more. “Any reason you’re being extra silent today?”

“Sometimes I’m quiet.”

“Yeah, but not this much. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you think Miles will tell me? That he's Spiderman.”

“I think, Miles being Miles, he’ll stall to protect you. Speaking from Spider-experience. I can be there if you want to talk to him about it.”

“Maybe… It’s just - I’m worried he’s gonna worry that I’m a new target. He’ll have to worry about himself and me.”

Cass darted her eyes to the side like an annoyed teenager beginning their obligatory eye roll. She understood quite well the thought process. “Okay, I understand your worries, but there’s no need. You’re extremely capable of defending yourself against any brutes and remember, it’s not about what you can do to prevent it, it’s more about what you can do to pick yourself back up. Your response is much more important than your situation.”

“Okay.”

“Now, it looks like your band’s calling you home. I’ll see you later, alright?”

You glanced down. The screen on your watch was blinking rapidly. “Right, see you later.”

You twisted the knob as the wind swirled behind you. You glanced behind to see a hexagonal portal, layers and layers of different hues warping in your sight. You looked back, giving Cass a small salute as you stepped inside.

#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles molares #spiderman atsv #astv

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no1frogfan · 4 months

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In the wee small hours of the morning

Tsukishima Kei x gn reader

Word count: ~1k

Tags & warnings: fluff, a little angst but it's just soft pining Tsukki

Note: Idk it’s cold in the mornings now and that makes me think about him too much. Trying out a new header situation too, I guess?

“Tsukki?”

A confused rasp stills him as he’s pacing through the living room, down the hall, and back up again. Outlined by the flickering tv screen, he sees a nest of hair poke up over the back of the couch.

“Y’ok?”

The gravelly timbre of your exhaustion weighs down each syllable, the edges of each word melding into one another over the tinny sound of some cooking show rerun.

After weeks together, the two of you have finally grown accustomed to sharing space. The living room is evidence of that — his half-built lego set, your cups (yes, multiple cups) of water, his clean jerseys, both your books, they all lay strewn across its surfaces. Kei’s finally stopped cloistering himself in his room, and you, you’ve moved past the pretense, no longer tip-toeing around him or bothering to look “presentable” around the house (not that he ever cared).

Actually, he likes you better like this — mussed hair, ratty house clothes, unguarded, at ease. It’s a secret little sliver of you that nobody else gets to see and he wants to hold it tight against his chest.

Instead of answering you, Tsukishima rubs his bleary eyes.

He’s been drifting through the apartment a lot these days, mostly in the early hours. Restless. Cold.

His toes are freezing and the tips of his fingers are icy as he curls them into his palms. You keep the apartment too chilly for him, but he never touches the thermostat. Not when you always look so inviting, all cozy and bundled in an oversized blanket. Yes, inviting. Even now, when you’re clearly pissed that you’re still awake, and so worn out that your face is crumpled into a tight grimace.

Three days ago, he admitted to himself that he’s hurtled past the line of friendship with you.

If he’s honest, he passed it a long time ago, and living with you has only forced him to come to terms with that fact. He’s sprinted far beyond a passing crush, barreling straight into whatever this is. Whatever it is that has you swimming across the inside of his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes. Whatever it is that compels him to pace the length of your apartment at night, slowing his steps when he nears your door, lifting his hand to the doorknob before hastening away, only to spin around the next minute and do it all over again.

It’s not cowardice. It’s not. It’s just…

Tsukishima stares at your huddled form. There’s a hint of impatience in the tilt of your chin, but mostly, you look concerned. Beneath your joking barbs and prickly exterior, you’ve always been concerned about him. That’s why he’s even here, trying not to inconvenience you further while his landlord fixes the leak in his apartment. It was supposed to take a few days, then a week, but now it’s been almost a month with no news, and he thinks he should just find a new place to live. But even when he’s snippy and seething about the whole thing, you’ve been gentle with him, letting him stay in your office-slash-guest room without paying a cent of rent (though he’s tried to insist on it many times), and bringing home treats to share after work (“They were having a sale!”).

It wouldn’t be right to force his feelings on you when you’ve been nothing but generous.

(What he can’t admit is that he doesn’t want this to end, for you to shut the door on whatever this is, once and for all.)

Plus, he’s seen you with Tadashi and Yachi and even Kyoutani, and you’re like that with all your friends. It’s not like you’re sweet on him. You’re just sweet. But he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be stuck in limbo, unable to tell you and unable to not tell you.

The heat finally kicks on and Kei’s reminded that he’s cold. Freezing, actually, and haggard from lack of sleep. But he also puts on a bit of a show, rubbing his arms and shivering theatrically (why, he’s not sure).

“You’re cold,” you state dumbly, after staring at him for too long. “Do you want…?”

There’s less hesitation in your voice than he expects as you sit up a little to lift the corner of the blanket.

Maybe exhaustion was the final push he needed. He rushes over — before you change your mind (before he changes his) — and slips under the blanket.

Stiffening, you utter a bewildered noise.

Ah, shit.

Shit. Maybe not. Did he- You were offering the blanket to him, not telling him to get in with you. Obviously. Obviously. Fuck. Should he double down? Should he back off? Should he-

You stir again, and the weight of your head drops heavy onto his shoulder. (Is this…?) Tsukishima hardly dares to breathe as you pull him close and cradle your hands against his chest. He’s lightheaded, giddy as he tucks in the edges of the blanket, making sure to completely cover you both. He’s careful with his ice-cold hands, too, avoiding your bare skin as he wraps his arms around you.

Your exhales fan hot against the crook of his neck, and slowly, slowly, they deepen.

Eventually, drowsiness overcomes him too. After the frantic pattering of his heart has subsided, and after the bright red flush on his cheeks has faded. After the feathery wisps of dawn unfurl from behind the curtains, he cracks his heavy eyelids open one last time to look down at you, nestled tightly against him. Your face is slack, your lips gently parted, chest rising and falling in time with his.

Kei knows that tomorrow, when you’ve both had a good night’s sleep, you’ll have to talk about this.

He tightens his hold.

Tomorrow, whatever this is, you’ll cross that bridge together.

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #froggy scribbles

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cerealforkart · 1 year

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I made myself these little dress up dolls because everyone’s getting changed all the time, here’s the first batch, outfits pre-episode 13

Design notes under the cut

[part 2] [part 3]

Lincoln

* I would first of all like to thank Lincoln for being shaped like a model (long boy) and thus very easy to dress up

* I forgot that Link needed to tear off his sleeves to make Normal a diaper in lesson 14, so in lesson 11 he grabs a sweater when I assume he goes home between escaping the FBI and returning to school

* Lincoln is so comically tall the Teeny costume (which I just moved from Normal to Link and edited to match Link’s pose) only reaches his knees. It actually looked so stupid that I had to edit it to make the Teeny costume slightly longer in the legs

* Link has two roombas in his room, he’s a clean boy, he isn’t walking around Taylor’s house in his bare feet, he doesn’t trust like that, it’s sock time

Scary

* I actually originally planned for Scary to have more piercings, but I forgot to add them in lesson 1. Let’s just say her mom won’t let her go crazy on the piercings, from what we’ve heard in rad facts (wouldn’t let her get a tongue piercing or learn guitar) that sounds in character

* I wanted to do the Shit Garden logo on Scary’s shirt like one of those metal bands that only people who like metal can actually read, but I only have so much time and patience

* I want so badly to play with Scary’s hair more, but I haven’t really had the chance, I hope there will be more excuses to give her different styles in the future, I like the braided bun for fancy occasions a lot

* Big T-shirt and shorts are peak pyjamas, love it for her. Also, you don’t need to know how long I spent trying to come up with something for her shirt to say

Normal

* Don’t tell anyone but I kind of miss drawing Teeny’s big stupid head every day, it was easy comedy

* I did actually draw a Jimmy Buffet design on the shirt before scribbling over it, you can barely see if you look closely

* I don’t actually have anything to say about Normal’s dance outfit so I guess I’ll just take this opportunity to talk about my Normal design in general. He was the one it took me the longest to land on and I’m still unsure if I’m happy with him, I want his hair to be long enough to just sorta hang and be greasy, but not so long that it will get in his face too much and I still consistently fail on it

* Not much to say about his sleepover fit either. Froggy :)

Taylor

* I had originally planned for everyone to be wearing their bracelets on their left wrists but in episode 8 it’s mentioned that Taylor is wearing his on his right, at that point I think I had only drawn Taylor’s bracelet once so it was easier to just change his and let him be a special boy (also, they keep the bracelets on post-FBI because Taylor never really has an opportunity to take it off and the others wear theirs in solidarity)

*After Lesson 10, Taylor swaps out the crest of friendship from Digimon to wear his dad’s ring of swapping as a necklace, he tends to grab at it when his dad or the topic of betrayal comes up

* I hate Taylor for his dance fit. No longer my favourite son

* Not really a design note but I watched the Sailor Moon dub in three parts on youtube with my little sister huddled around our home computer after school, we’re real OGs

Hermie

* I finally decided to add the Joker makeup to my Hermie design, I found a powdery sorta brush to use for it so now he’s a true clown. Good for him I guess

* You may notice that I’ve tweaked my Hermie design and his colour scheme just a little bit. This is because white Hermie is dead and you know what? Good for him. I also made his hair a little wavier for Scam, you’ll start seeing the updated Hermie design (as if you can tell there’s a difference other than the very slight change in hairstyle) in lesson 16, because I drew the lesson 15 pages before episode 23 came out and I wasn’t going to go back and change them

* Stupid Joker tie. Hate it

* No sleepover fit for Hermie. Tragic. They need to have another sleepover and include him

#these are so much fun #love my kids #love their stupid outfits #dungeons and daddies #dndads #lincoln li wilson #scary marlowe #normal oak #taylor swift dndads #hermie the unworthy #doodly

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maxmemer · 4 months

Note

So us

#mutual froggy family moment #froggy!!!#my sona #scribbles

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jazzzzzzhands · 5 months

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Summer days drifting away.

(bonus scribble of some froggy friends)

Bonus bonus Winter doodle cause I can mix seasons because I have no concept of time anyways!

I forgot to erase my excitement on the side! (And the little bean my sister added)

But who am I to deny the funny little side doodles! I love them!

#awaaa handing over these sketches brings me peace #was considering finishing them but of so many wips are crying anyways #stopping to space out while doing my tags pffft #holiday time is a different breed of time!!#ohh but i love old timey bathing suits #i love doodling next to my sketches #oh taggies!#jazzsketches #wally darling

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thehazeldruid · 1 year

Text

Mark on the Door

~A spell to guide loved ones home to you safely~

What you’ll need:

a pen/ marker/ scribe (something to write the rune with)

paper, rock, a part of your door or a brick on your house (if you want to permanently inscribe the rune)

a white or blue candle

protection incense or oil (i prefer basil for everything. It’s a versatile herb and a strong personal preference :P)

What to Do

Cleanse and prepare yourself, meditate, shower, whatever your process is for spell preparation.

Wash your door or house (if you’re marking on them directly) to rid of opposing energies.

First we pour energy into the writing utensil or tool.

Light the candle(s) and incense, focusing on the light from the candle. See it in your mind as a light in the window guiding your loved ones home.

Hold the utensil near the flame and in the smoke of the incense, holding that image of a ‘guiding light’ in your mind.

There are several ways to do the next part of the spell. I will cover a few in detail For this spell I used the elder futhark rune Ingwaz (this is just a scribble)

Method 1: The Rune Stone

Continue from step #3: Take the stone you wish to mark with the rune, cleanse it, and focus on it as if it is a light to be turned on and off. Charge it in the heat of the candle and the smoke of the incense, mark whatever symbol you wish on it to ‘seal’ the magic into the stone. Place the stone near your door (though I recommend outside) and whenever you need to guide a loved one, or anyone, to your home, turn it on, as if lighting a candle of turning on a light. The charged rune acts as a light in the window.

Method 2: The Rune Paper

Similar to the above, continue from step #3. Take the paper or hanging object you wish to mark, and likewise cleanse it. Place your mark on it, imagining this one as a kind of neon sign to be seen. Just like the stone, this one you can turn on and off, or when it is not in use, place it in a folder to keep the magic contained to the paper. Hang it up either where you can see it, or where those seeking to find your home will see it (in a window or on the door.)

Method 3: A Rune on the Door

This is the method I’ve done, and it has worked well for me. Again, continue from step #3. This time, I used a nail to carve the rune into the door, near the door handle, and then painted over it with the same color paint as was already on the door. You can do as I did, to conceal the rune, or if you’re feeling froggy, you can etch the rune into your door and leave it unpainted, or draw it on the door with marker of different colored paint. This rune doesn’t work as a switch like the others. This one sill simply be ‘on’ at all times. You can recharge or add strength to it when necessary. I tend to charge mine with a candle and incense near the door once or twice a month (during my monthly magical maintenance-another post for another time)

All of these are methods of the same spell. A kind of guiding light. I have performed all of these in my decade and a half practice, and found that they work well, for me. I hope the same for you, as well as many merry meetings and safe returns!

Happy Casting Witches!

M.G.

/|\

The Hazel Druid

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stories-and-chaos · 26 days

Text

Tarnished pt 23

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 23/?? Word Count: 1857]

[CW: Drug abuse, addiction, gaslighting]

—————

Two weeks later, Blitzo sent another letter. It was thinner than the first. Barb gave it the same treatment, ‘RETURN TO SENDER’. The next one was even thinner, probably just one page in the envelope.

After she had that one sent back, he started sending postcards. Mostly they were generic landscape images from across the Rings. But not being in an envelope meant she saw snippets of the text on the blank side. Barb let Fizz know that Blitzo was sending mail, but never the content.

She didn’t mean to read any of them, but checking the address meant seeing what was written. There was a theme of ‘sorry, please talk to me, let me explain, I’m sorry, text, call, so sorry,’ in his scribbled handwriting. Knowing their dad’s account of events, her brother’s repeated requests for forgiveness just infuriated Barb.

She saw there were a few that mentioned her and their mom. Blitzo was asking if Fizz knew where they were. You’d know if you’d stuck around, traitor, she thought bitterly as she sent the postcards to be shredded.

The frequent reminders of Blitzo’s existence kept her off balance. And Fizzarolli was spending more time in Lust. He kept denying any emotional attachment to Asmodeus but Barb saw the difference in how he talked about the Sin. His absence left her somewhat at loose ends in her downtime.

The other survivors from their circus had scattered; few wanted to stay in Greed with all the established gangs and corruption. Barb, not wanting to be alone constantly, found other demons that shared her interests. One of those interests being drug use was incidental.

After seven months, the postcards arrived less frequently. Barb didn’t really notice; she had access to stronger stuff and was getting fucked up on a regular basis. Fizz was paying her enough that she could afford it… for now. But as the next pageant got closer, she started missing more days.

At first it didn’t matter too much. Her friend was off being Ozzie’s boy toy. The PR team was finally filtering the mail somewhat. And just before the pageant, Blitzo sent a card saying, ‘I’ll leave you alone Fizz. You know where to find me. I’m sorry.’ That was one less stressor; Barb celebrated with a weekend long bender.

She managed to be clean for a few days before and after the clown pageant. She was able to function as Fizz’s security the whole time. Once again, he won. Once again, Mammon immediately signed him on with a year long contract.

This year though, the king of Greed had some things to talk about concerning Fizzarolli’s assistant. Whisking him behind closed doors for the rigamarole of the contract was the perfect moment to plant seeds of doubt about Barb in his mind.

“Y’know Fizzy, that assistant o’ yours…I know she’s your friend but she’s been slacking big time,” he said as they signed and initialed pages. “I’d hate for someone from your past to take advantage of you, yah?” Mammon had a look of intense concern as he finished his portion of the contract.

“I-I’ll talk to her, Mammon sir.” Fizz was already worried about Barb. He knew she’d gotten hooked on painkillers after the fire. She’d been sober for years but he could see the signs popping up. And if Mammon noticed, things were getting worse.

“Good boy Fizzy! ‘Cause we’re gonna be real busy again and we don’t need c**ts coasting off your success.”

The day after the pageant saw Fizz in Lust again, working with Ozzie on updating the Fizzies. Asmodeus took him out for lunch again. He’d told Mammon before the contest that he’d need the whole day with the winner for their work, preventing his fellow Sin from interrupting anything.

After lunch, Ozzie sprung an offer on Fizz. “I’d like you to work at my lounge club, Froggie. Get you some experience outside the Greed Ring and away from all those creeps.”

Fizz waved a dismissive hand. “Psh, I’ve always had creeps around, it’s not that big a deal. Besides, Barb’s got my back.”

“Yeeeeeeaaaah, about that,” Asmodeus said slowly.

“Oh not you too Oz! Mammon was just bitching to me last night about her!”

“Hey, I’m just saying…she’s having a bad time lately. I’m not gonna pry, but if even Mam has picked up on it? Your girl needs help.” Ozzie cupped Fizz’s cheek. “Look, I know she’s important to you. You’re basically family right?” Fizz nodded. “So I want to help. And moving you both out of Greed is a good way to start.”

Fizz sighed. “Yeah, she’s never really liked it there anyway. I can’t make her do anything though.”

“You know me babe; I ain’t about forcing anyone. Unless she’s in deep shit, too deep to handle or putting herself in danger? you gotta let her make her choices.” He leaned back in their private booth. “I’m serious about working at my lounge though. You’d make a great M.C. Fizzy-frog.”

Fizz agreed to perform at Ozzie’s, with the frequent scheduling starting in a few weeks. He had prior commitments with Mammon to take care of first. Doing nightly shows at the lounge would mean moving to Lust.

Before that, he wanted to talk with Barb. The first chance he got was almost a week later, after they were done at Mammon’s for the day. Fizz had to steal himself to talk to his friend so he went to her apartment after hyping himself up via a phone call with Asmodeus.

Barb, meanwhile, had taken a hit of her current drug of choice as soon as she got home. It was the first big high she’d had in the past two weeks. When Fizz showed up at her door unannounced, she could feel the drugs hitting her system. Although he looked serious and she was trying to focus on what he said, the chemical filter in her veins meant she really only caught a few words. Kind of like those snippets of Blitzo’s postcards.

“Barb, I know you’ve got a problem. You’ve been using drugs again, I can tell. We need to get you help, but we can’t do it here. Asmodeus offered me a gig, I’ll need to move to Lust. Please, come with me. I can’t stand seeing you destroy yourself. We’ll get away from all this shit in Greed. Get you some fucking help.”

Barb tried to string together what he was saying. What truly stuck with her was he was moving. Leaving for Lust and Asmodeus. Away from her. She growled angrily. “Urrrgh! Fine, go fuck off with your royal sugar daddy! I don’t need you!” She pushed him away from her. Her intoxication meant she didn’t have much control of her strength. Her push knocked him against the wall; if he hadn’t hit it with his prosthetic arm, it would have left bruises.

She stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Get the fuck out Fizz. The other imp looked stricken so she pushed him again. This one sent him into the hallway. Barb slammed the door shut, locked it and put the chain on. He had a spare key, but even his extendable arms would struggle with the chain. She pressed her back against the door and slid down it as Fizz knocked desperately. He kept saying her name but she didn’t respond. She just curled up, silent and crying.

Eventually, he was gone. Her sense of time was completely distorted. Maybe it had been an hour, maybe just a couple minutes. She just wanted to forget about everything again. Fortunately, past Barb had picked up a baggie full of little friends from her dealer that were very good at helping her forget.

A few days later, she’d come down enough to realize she had to go work. That many pill-shaped friends weren’t cheap. But when she got to Mammon’s main offices, her keycard didn’t work. Barb tried multiple times, flipping the card in different directions but she continued to get error sounds. She was ready to punch the scanner when the door opened smoothly.

The shark demon that stepped out towered over Barb. “What do you want?” No politeness, just blunt demanding attitude.

“I want to get to work. Why isn’t my keycard working?” She waved the offending piece of plastic in front of the shark’s snout.

His concentric ringed eyes focused on the card, reading her name. “Barb Buckzo. Yeah, your position’s been…terminated.” He gave her a leering grin and flicked the card. His claw hit with enough force to send it spinning out of her hand and down the street.

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘terminated’? I’m Fizz’s assistant and bodyguard!”

“Not no more. You haven’t been here for a week. Mr. Fizzarolii and Lord Mammon don’t need some lazy ass coasting on her buddy’s success.” He straightened up to his full height. The shark crossed his arms and continued to match her glaring look. “So you’re out, shoulda got a termination letter in yer mail.”

Her jaw dropped. Those assholes! “I wanna talk to Fizz. Right now!” She tried to push past the beefy shark, but he outweighed her and Fizz combined.

“Mr. Fizzarolli is busy. Lord Mammon is free for the next ten minutes if you wanna talk to him.” Barb growled, a rumbling hiss coming from her chest. “Thought so.” The shark went back inside and the door slid shut behind him.

Barb stood there, chest heaving. She had mostly come down from her high and there was no drugged filter between her and her emotions. After a few minutes of glaring at the locked doors, she started hurling nearby rocks at the building. Her aim was still good from all those years in the circus. But those doors were designed to withstand bullets; a valid concern with all the turf wars likely to pop up in this Ring.

All the rocks in Hell wouldn’t do much to the structure. Barb didn’t care; if anything it made her madder. She kept hurling the same rocks over and over, screaming obscenities all the while. Until she threw one that ricocheted back, hitting her directly on her circus brand and knocking her on her butt.

She sat there, dazed. The pain on her forehead belatedly hit and she rubbed the spot to find ichor welling from the scratch. “Fine. FINE, YOU HEAR ME! YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES! HAVE FUN BEING A PAMPERED WHORE FIZZ! YOU’RE JUST LIKE THAT TRAITOR BLITZO!” Barb turned away, rubbing her upper arms with both hands as she tried to keep the anger in the forefront. She flipped of the building as she walked home.

Not that the studio apartment would be home much longer. She was behind on rent and her landlord was ready to kick her out. Checking her mail, she found the termination letter; included was her severance check. Not enough to back pay everything. But enough to find somewhere else. Something cheaper and closer to the drug dens she was visiting more often.

Within two days, she was gone, ghosting everyone in her life.

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