wormbutch
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Summary
As Gillion walks past his barrel to perch on the edge of the spare cot, he realizes 'empty' isn't the right word. He feels shattered. His hands are distant, discordant and foreign to him as he watches them resting atop his thighs in half-curled fists, thin fingers furling around nothing. He watches as his muscles contract, claws emerging mechanically before retreating back into their sheath. He acknowledges the sinkhole in his stomach, a pit he'd been aware of and ignoring for the last few days in favor of remaining in a functioning state. He's not sure when it happened. Maybe when he heard the original prophecy, maybe when he had to repeat it out loud. Maybe it came from seeing that statue outside of the old bar, or maybe it'd appeared much farther back, when a similar pit had opened in Chip's chest, in that throne room. Gillion tries not to think of the statue, of its blank face and moss-covered muscles. He tries not to think of the way his own body has strayed from that image, of how soft and round he is now in comparison to what he'd looked like before he'd been banished.
The bed shakes as someone sits down behind Gillion, and then Chip is knocking gently on his temple.
"Helloooo? Anyone home?"
Series
- Part 3 of Venus
Bookmarked by wormbutch
19 Jun 2026
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ashes, ashes, dust to dust (tell me i am good enough) by nambi
Fandoms: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
14 Feb 2024
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And yet, when he watched them join together in their chambers, listening to their breaths pitch higher, learning all the ways they liked to be touched from his spot next to the bed, all he could think was how beautiful they both were, how perfect, how they deserved to be immortalised in paint and clay and marble. Gillion saw an objective beauty, and he felt a very subjective way about it, but he just couldn’t get himself to hit that sweet spot of nuance that Chip and Jay seemed to live in, that specific undertone of love that included desire like this, that turned the body of another into an object of longing, something to devour.
Gillion didn’t know why he was like this. He didn’t know why this one thing was so hard for him to wrap his head around, considering he’d been doing a pretty good job at understanding overseas culture.
Maybe it was because this wasn’t an overseas thing. It wasn’t something to learn. He was just broken, somewhere in the foundation of him, and no amount of trying to get it could fix that.
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Gillion has tried everything, but after nothing has worked, he thinks something might just be wrong with him.
Bookmarked by wormbutch
17 Jun 2026
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if you never look, you don't know what you'll find by achilleshq
Fandoms: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
18 Dec 2024
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Since he’d become a part of the Albatross crew he’d filled pages and pages of doodles of Chip tying the rigs or Ollie and Pretzel playing chess together. He was always a curious mind, and a little voice in the very back of his head suggested that maybe if things had not been prophesized before his birth that maybe he would’ve gotten the chance to properly learn how to capture one’s spirit in an image.
This particular night however was one where he was observing Jay as she moved about the captain’s quarters completing her nightly routine. The small room that the captains shared was illuminated by a single lantern that sat next to Jay’s bed (in which the triton was currently sat on with his sketchbook in his lap) and it was only the two of them in the room at the moment.
Or, Gillion sketches Jay and notices a couple new things about her that he hadn't before.
Series
- Part 74 of JERWEE ONE SHOTS
Bookmarked by wormbutch
16 Jun 2026
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there's a black hole in the living room floor by star_hopper
Fandoms: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
28 Feb 2025
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When Chip turns thirteen, his brother sits him down and says, "It's time you start helping out."
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Or, Chip did a lot of things to survive after the Midnight Rose went down.Series
- Part 3 of chip has a bad time
Bookmarked by wormbutch
01 Jun 2026
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Summary
God fuck. You *can’t.* You have to go. Out of the desolation seeping through stained floors, deep dark gunmetal aura crawling from under the bedroom door. In the bathroom cabinet, tiny pale bullets packaged for oral consumption. Out the window, a lethal drop from the balcony to the damp pavement. Leave this place before it swallows you.
You flee with nothing but the clothes on your back: a refugee of the uncaring sky, swirling and silent and of distant astral stone.
Bookmarked by wormbutch
16 May 2026