A little comedy drabble for @kyanako5972 in return for their very impressive musical skills! (The Jailbreak mix wouldn't have fit together without ya👍) Fuuta gets his hands on some slime... They've done some art for it here :3
[I couldn't think of something funny enough, but insert broadway bootleg Milgram Slime Tutorial joke here]
Fuuta was open-minded. Of course he was. He was the most open-minded guy here. He knew that vengeance could come in many shapes. Sometimes it took the form of beautiful, poetic violence. Sometimes it was cutting words and a grand victory. And other times, it appeared as sticky craft slime. You just had to have an open mind to see it.
Not everyone was in as receptive of a mood.
“A-are you sure it’s not a, a toy?” Haruka asked.
“It’s not.”
“B-but,” he pointed, “it’s --”
“No! It’s a weapon.”
“I don’t know if you know what a weapon is…” Amane looked down at the table. “You couldn’t have requested something a bit more… sharp?”
“Eh!? This is a pri-son. Like they’re gonna give me something like that. I’ve got to take matters into my own hands.”
To prove his point, he picked up his creation. The color wasn’t as flashy as the others’, but it held the perfect consistency for what he needed. It had taken some time to formulate the perfect plan of attack. There were rules he had to work around, after all. (No matter how open-minded he was, rules were rules.) There was a no-violence ban. Fuuta had already tested that one -- several times, actually -- and was sure he couldn’t get around it. Their requests were monitored, and it wasn’t as if he could go and order weapons. And then, even if he did get his hands on something truly dangerous, the original ban would stop him from using it. That left him with only one option.
“It’s definitely a toy. The others are playing with it.” It was true, Haruka, Muu and Yuno had their own colorful creations. Amane herself hadn’t grabbed any, though she sat with her eyes glued hungrily on the others’ projects. Her interest in it wasn’t helping Fuuta’s case.
“Exactly, it’s the perfect disguise! They’ll never see it coming.”
“There’s nothing to see coming…”
Muu poked at hers. “Look~ Mine’s cute and pink, see? I’m even going to add some glitter when Haruka’s finished with it.”
“I-I Uh, I think I added too much… sorry…” Haruka’s slime had lost all appealing texture, turned into a clumpy, sparkling mess.
Fuuta heaved the loudest sigh he could manage, but the others continued paying him no mind. He was doing this for them, shouldn’t they care? Es had slapped Haruka during his interrogation, for god’s sake! That was child abuse! Yuno was only a year older and returned from her interrogation with complaints of violence! And Fuuta --! Well, he actually hadn’t experienced any of that, but that didn’t matter. No hero of justice would let all that go unpunished.
His moment came quicker than expected. He’d planned on ambushing Es coming in or out of their room, but they surprised everyone by coming into the common area. It was fate.
“I heard you all were playing with some crafts in here.”
Amane glanced at Fuuta. He shot her a look back that meant “don’t say a single word.” His exaggerated expression only drew Es’ attention.
“Something to say, prisoner three?”
“Yeah!” He wound up his arm.
He had an open mind, but not necessarily a quick one. With more time, he could have come up with a righteous cry, something along the lines of: “this is for Haruka and Yuno, you damned scoundrel!” Or even: “meet your judgment, tyrant!”
But as the slime came careening toward’s Es’ face, the only thing he managed was, “fuck you!”
Splat.
The common room fell silent. Fuuta froze. The slime had hit its mark perfectly. It hit Es squarely on the side of the head. It splattered onto their hat. A good deal had tangled itself in their hair. It oozed toward their shoulder, clumps falling onto the uniform. As they tried to wipe it from their face, the material clung to their gloves, getting stuck between their fingers.
Their eyes moved slowly from their ruined clothes to Fuuta’s still outstretched hand, to his face. “I see.”
They turned on their heel and left.
“That’ll teach ya!” He called out, a moment too late after they’d gone. He turned to Amane, who was watching with a mix of amusement and disappointment. “There’s no way that stuff’s washing out easy. Maybe they’ll have to put on a spare uniform in the meantime.”
“You shouldn’t have made them so mad,” she said.
“Pah! What’s the brat gonna do? Name me guilty over it?”
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thinking about lucifer post-cage, in pieces from it because nothing could come out of that isolation whole, begging sam to let him in. and it doesn’t sound like a voice, obviously, it’s a whine of tv static and the creak of a window opening and crunching glass spilled on the floor and a knock on something hollow and the last echo in a cave before it’s all silent again. but sam hears him, and he hears him saying, help me help me help me. you spend a couple million years in a locked basement and remember more words than that, and then you can talk. day in, day out, everything sam hears is lucifer, all the rumbling, hissing, coughing, crackling noises of the world, lucifer’s in them. no vessel means that all he can do is surround sam (is it suffocating? yes. lucifer would like to be suffocated. he would like something, anything, to press itself so close to him that he can’t breathe, but nothing does, so he does it to sam instead.)
a wounded animal. and sam is so, so human. he can’t just leave lucifer like that, in pain, not after weeks trying to block him out. weeks where lucifer just got more desperate, louder, screaming at sam because he couldn’t tell if sam heard him at first (if sam was even real, if he was even free at all.)
he’s got to let him in. if he can’t do anything else right, maybe he can stop one being from suffering. just one.
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Imagine convincing Glitch, Ash, and Puck to go with you to a rage room. Puck, of course, is all for it, but Ash and Glitch aren't too convinced this is necessarily the best idea.
"You've been kind of tense lately," Glitch says, eyeing you almost warily from his position on the couch.
"Exactly!" says Puck enthusiastically. "They need to blow off some steam! Besides, it'll be fun."
His eyes glint a little too wickedly at the word for Ash's liking.
He exchanges a long look with Glitch, who shrugs in defeat.
"Fine," he sighs, pinning you and Puck with an icy silver stare. "But at least TRY not to go completely ballistic. I don't want to have to bail you out of jail."
"Again," adds Glitch dryly, back to scrolling on his phone.
You and Puck agree not to end up in jail (again).
Though, as Puck points out much later--after getting kicked out of the rage room, and spending nearly six hours being berated by Ash, Glitch, and even Meghan, "He never specified how we were supposed to stay out of jail. I figured running from the cops was a totally valid option. They need to be clear about these things, y'know."
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–what does your heart look like?
i was tagged by @katsigian @halsin @devilbrakers and @nuclearstorms to take this quiz for some of my ocs, thank you soso much everyone!! mwah
i think many already got tagged so feel free to ignore this or jump into it!! tagging: @reaperkiller @aragorngf @morvaris @malefiicarum @faarkas @risingsh0t @florbelles @indorilnerevarine @denerims @cultistbase and you!!
a bird struggling to get loose
Your heart can never hold still. It pounds against your chest frantically, always turning your sights to one thing after the next. When was the last time you were certain? The last time your life was stable? Maybe this is how you prefer things. On the move constantly, not tied down to one person or place. You chase one goal after the next. Can you ever really feel complete without a place to land? Shouldn’t you build yourself a nest?
a tangled ball of red strings
Who are you without the company of others? You aren’t sure, but you know that you aren’t fond of whoever it is. You are an actor, a pretty face and a pleasant song. Many idolize you, or love you, but you can never be sure of how sincere it is. Your heart is buried under the letters they leave you, sealed with a kiss. It can’t be untangled from the red strings they’ve attached to you. You deserve to find something, someone, true and faithful to hold your heart in place. You don’t have to be everything to everyone.
molten lava and charred flesh
Your heart burned so fiercely that it burnt itself out, leaving horrible scars in its wake; scars inside your chest and on the hands of those who touched you, the hearts of anyone who got close enough to connect to yours. The person you are now is no longer recognizable, burnt up by your own anger and passion and love. The injuries can never be fully erased, but they can be soothed with time and trust and forgiveness.
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