googly moogly
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1, and there was an explosion; rocks splintered underneath Rocket’s feet. He didn’t know who or what caused it, maybe he aimed wrong, but—
They lost, Rocket’s sure. Someone’s weapon clocks his shoulder and there’s a sudden, crackling agony that rips up his shoulder and down his arm—the rocks underneath him dig into his leg sharp as knives—shock-pain-shame fires up Rocket’s side like a bullet, the pain digs deep and crawls into his being like a prayer; the shame of losing, of firing that rocket wrong sinks into his throat; the shock is—
—The shock is his eyes flying open and staring into nothing but pitch-black darkness. The shock is a frantic, desperate yell bordering on a scream he only knows is his because it feels as if his throat is raw. He tries to breathe, chest heaving with a weight and a pressure like he’s buried alive, being squeezed apart underneath the rubble.
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Rocket dreams. Zuka worries. The phone rings at another house.
Series
- Part 1 of googly moogly
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He knows the passage of time perhaps better than he knows himself. His body stands unfaltering against the indiscriminate onslaught of time ticking: days, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia—
Firebrand and Windforce are the first of them to have children. Venomshank is mildly surprised to hear this: demi-deities are a new, unexplored, thing. He wonders if they are afraid of the current of time overtaking their children and sweeping them away, wonders if they also fear for their children the same way he has seen mortals worry, wonders if watching demons for so many millennia prepared them for the actual experience. He wonders if they regret it.
He could never imagine bringing a child into the world through the Spawn. Time never grows kinder—it is a fact, plain and simple.
Venomshank is not suited for a child, and never will be.
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Venomshank and Sword’s relationship, as told through Venomshank’s eyes.
Series
- Part 2 of googly moogly
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(WILL MOST LIKELY NOT BE FINISHED…. Sorray td/katana fans…)
Katana gazes confusedly at the small package—patterned fabric carefully wrapped around an item squarish on one side and round on the other, which he assumes has to be separate items from the difference in shape, tied off into a neat bow at the top.
There is no note. He steps outside, crisp air breezing past him as he does, and surveys the surrounding area. Nobody is coming or going at the time, which means the person who left it is long gone.
He looks back down at the thing in front of his door.
Odd.
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5 times Katana receives a gift, and 1 time he returns the favor.
Series
- Part 3 of googly moogly
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Illumina can feel the pulse of the formerly wingless thing beat underneath his veins, a presence he is always privy to, now, after the relentless fighting. The web of power has caught the boy fallen into it; who can struggle and struggle but never escape because the string will always cling to him, always following as the duty of a follower. The price of wings, to faux ascension, to ask for a deal but ending up receiving nothing but the consequences in return because who did he think he was?
A foolish boy could not hope to strike an equal deal with a divine being such as he.
It is a fighter’s soul that beats in the crevices of his mind, distant but held close—a well, determined, loyal soul that is now monotone and loyal to none but him, now. The runes that had been casted now circles one horn, and the web is giddy to add him to the hive, to the beings who serve no purpose but the honor of receiving direct communication from a deity like Illumina.
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or, Illumina gains a follower. He idly watches (read: orchestrates) the events that follow.
(Venomshank seethes.)
Series
- Part 4 of googly moogly
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“I don’t know, Sword, sounds mighty suspicious…” Rocket waggles a finger at him. “What, are you gonna teach me how to waltz at ass-o’-clock in the night in the middle of a street, like, a block from my dad’s house?”
Sword juts his head out challengingly before huffing. “Well, only if you say so.”
“Woah, wait, really?” Rocket laughs as he notices Sword actually stops in his tracks, swinging their hands together. His eyes widen, and he tries to muffle a giggle underneath his hand. “Oh my gods, you’re actually gonna teach me how to dance on the sidewalk at—at ass-o’-clock in the ni—“
“If you keep rambling about it, I’m—‘m just gonna push you over onto the ground and see how long it takes you to get up—“ but Sword can’t properly issue the threat because Rocket laughs and then he laughs, and then they’re leaning on each other again, grinning and desperately trying to recover their breath.
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or, Sword and Rocket go out for drinks one night. It’s about as stupid as you’d expect.
Series
- Part 5 of googly moogly
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i still taste you on my lips (lovely bitter water) by Anonymous
Fandoms: PHIGHTING! (Roblox)
15 Feb 2024
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Summary
He loves like a bird, like a crow cared for and fed, leaving trinkets and objects that shine underneath the sunlight, presents his love with ruffled feathers and awkward, stumbled words and caws. He loves, he loves, and he continues loving, even when the sun has set and the heavens whisper to him, maybe it is time to let go, to be done; and he replies, no, no, no, and he remembers every face, every moment, like a crow.
“Have we met before?” and it’s the first question that makes Sword go still with shock—
“No… nevermind. You just look awful familiar.”
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or, Rocket dies. Sword watches him live again. And again and again and again.
Series
- Part 6 of googly moogly
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His eyes crack open, and he’s greeted with the sight of Sword with the side of his face mashed into the pillow, loose curls spilling over the pillow and a few hanging in his face. Rocket has to suppress a snort at how silly it looks, with his mouth barely open, face twitching, and brow scrunched like he’s focused in his dream. His chest leisurely rises and falls as he breathes deeply, definitely deep in sleep. His cheek is smushed somewhat from the pillow, and he’ll probably have some creases on his face when he wakes up.
Rocket can’t help the soft giggle that escapes his lips. It’s so stupid.
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or, Rocket hates the sun in his eyes whenever he sleeps at Sword’s.
Series
- Part 7 of googly moogly
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She is still staring at Ghosdeeri. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
Ghosdeeri answers truthfully. “You.”
“Aw! What a cute answer.” Scythe snarks, but Ghosdeeri simply blinks at her while she speaks. The woman grins, tips her hat back with a flourish. “Admirin’ my good looks? I get it; must be hard ta’ be around somethin’ this pretty!”
Ghosdeeri tilts her head in faint amusement. She does not get a chance to reply, because she can tell Scythe will speak again like she can sense the beat of a heart beneath the flesh that acts like wood.
Scythe pauses. Her gaze drags over Ghosdeeri, across the brambles that make up her chest, her heart, the horns that poke out of her head, the markings on her face—before their eyes lock again.
“What’s yer name?”
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or, Ghosdeeri meets Scythe. It all kind of snowballs from there.
Series
- Part 8 of googly moogly
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Sword tries to give him an unimpressed look, but when he glances to do so, Rocket is grinning widely at him. He must be cold. Sword can’t help the sliver of a smile that creeps onto his face. He lifts his left wing, the one facing Rocket, and rears it back in a silent offer. Rocket takes it in stride. The grass rustles underneath him as he moves to sit down next to Sword.
“Gods, you’re cold.” Sword almost flinches at the stark contrast of Rocket’s cold skin against his, tucks his wing around the other demon as if it’ll trap the little heat left. Rocket nestles closer with a cheeky grin, clearly amused as each of them turn their gazes back to the horizon.
Everything was going to wake up soon—the cricket’s chirps would be overtaken by morning doves’ squawks and calls, and then the world would be bustling and rolling with loud life, and this moment in time would be gone.
Sword tries his best to remember moments like this, curled up with his closest in a time before the sun.
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or, Sword and Rocket spend some time together. They’re stupid. (Fantasy AU)
Series
- Part 9 of googly moogly
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Summary
The book is small and unassuming.
It could probably be something picked up from a thrift store, at first glance—
But there’s a certain quality to the untouched pages. There’s a certain care in the craft taken to make the spine of the journal. There’s a certain way in how the leather is still smooth—well, as much as leather can be—where it is bound on the cover. But it is mostly in the way that when it is opened, there is an inscription on the front cover’s inside. LB, it reads.
And on the very first page, in an elegant cursive, it reads, For Lightblox. On the line below it lies Love, Ghosdeeri.
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or, Lightblox recieves a diary. Unfortunate timing, maybe, given that the apocalypse happens practically the very next day.
Series
- Part 10 of googly moogly
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Summary
He knows their soldiers stop travelers. He’s seen the slashes, the mindless directions they take from under the Cruel King. If he wants any chance of getting inside that castle—finding any hint as to where Sword might’ve gone, he needs to get rid of the guard. He’s been fighting horde after horde, guard after guard, but still can’t find his damn way into that castle. It’s instinct that when the captain takes notice of him in the forest, a suspicious figure with a cloak on like those Cultists, that the guard comes after him.
(He doesn’t notice the outstretched hand. He doesn’t notice the way the guard has his sword to his side instead of holding it steady forward as he charges, like any reasonable person would.)
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or, Rocket makes an assumption. Being presumed dead does that to a person. What he doesn’t expect is for his assumption to be wrong. (BLOCK TALES AU)
Series
- Part 11 of googly moogly
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This time was different. It had always felt different. Medkit had seemed oddly solemn for someone who had made it out of almost every situation he and Sword went through—and Sword had refuted his solemnity with so much vigor because it was ironic—they’d been through so much it could be written into a novel, and this is where it ends? A flimsy note, a spotless apartment, an overwhelming feeling that this time he really wasn’t joking, he really wasn’t simply away, he really was gone.
Sword’s discipline does nothing for him, now. Not when he stands in front of these doors.
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or, many years into the future, Medkit is dead. Sword, consumed by grief, goes to find his body.
Series
- Part 12 of googly moogly
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“Stop talkin’ like—like that.” Hyperlaser’s voice lacks its usual conviction. Like all the power’s been sapped out of it, like it’s been whittled and worn until it had nothing more to give.
Katana pauses. His throat bobs as he swallows and feels how dry it is—his lips move slowly, without thinking when he is thinking all too much, “Like what?”
There’s that heavy breath again. It trembles on the exhale, afraid of what it will wreak.
Hyperlaser’s shoulders sink in defeat. His voice is but a whisper, yet it rasps all too loud in the raucous background noise of the bar—“…Like—“ he hesitates, growing ever quieter, “—like you love me.”
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or, Katana finds Hyperlaser at a bar. They are not what they used to be.
Series
- Part 2 of duvet
- Part 13 of googly moogly
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Summary
“I’m done,” his beloved says, pulling scarred hands away from Sword’s hair. “I think I did rather well, if I do say so myself.”
Sword reaches up and skates his fingers delicately across his hair—that which Egobworder has made artwork of: flowers tucked with the utmost care into the braid; strands sticking out in defiance, disorderly but not in a bad way. He’ll never get used to someone else doing his hair—his only memory is of hands covered in runes, hands that he had seen firsthand soaked in the blood of others but they had carded so carefully through his hair he forgot about it.
“If you say that, then I must look ridiculous.” Sword turns and watches with concealed fondness as Egobworder’s expression shifts—from love, to confusion, to realization, to faux offense and love again.
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or, Follower Sword muses beneath the stars. He and Egobworder speak of everything and nothing at all.
Series
- Part 14 of googly moogly
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Summary
“Can you even read that?”
“Yes!” Sword immediately says, rather defensively, jerking the paper away. His fingers dig into the wrinkled paper, although he seems to notice and loosens his hold on the delicate thing. He narrows his eyes and declares rather proudly, “It’s from an old cookbook of my dad’s. I found it a few years back.”
Rocket can’t help his grimace. “Oh, great. So we’re making inedible piles of coal.”
“It’s a completely valid recipe!”
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stuff for swocketober. probably won’t do all of it
days so far
- day 5: quality time
- day 6: younger version
- day 8: starfollower
- day 10: fight
- day 13: swapSeries
- Part 15 of googly moogly
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Summary
Love didn’t turn them into a bumbling fool, or a romantic waxing poems, or a whirlwind of clingy affection. It was something that settled in the base of their skull, something that curled around every column of bone in their spine, and buzzed comfortably in their ribs, next to their heart, where all the other aspects of home lay.
“Somethin’ catch yer eye, sugar?” Her eyes sparkle with familiar amusement, fang glinting in the sunlight as it paints the dunes behind her in seas of gold.
Hook grins. They feel their eyes soften despite themself—they always were a sucker when it came to her, something caught in her orbit, a puff of air in the whirlwind of motion and initiative and life that is Scythe. They shrug. “Maybe.”
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or, a smoke break at sunset.
Series
- Part 16 of googly moogly