aughh

b. 2005, they/them, autistic

[8-dermestid]

they/them/theirs (b.2005)

hello, i like drawing weird lesbians with weird ass genders. i enjoy old tech and insects, you'll see those reblogged sometimes.

im autistic, tone is bad in text.

asks are always open, requests for regretevator-relating writings and drawings are open. I like drawing the ladies of the gaame and making the men into nonbinary ladies too.

c0mms are open as well, i will post the sheet with more info. soon.

find me on twitter and on ao3

thanks.

-88dermestid

[hyllatavorianaldan]

This is fucking ridiculous, I've had to block iike five people because I keep running into thirst posts about the white boy from Backrooms. The movie isn't even about him! He dies after like five minutes of screentime and has the personality of a dishwasher!!! I don't give a shit about him!!!!

[hyllatavorianaldan]

This is fucking ridiculous, I've had to block iike five people because I keep running into thirst posts about the white boy from Backrooms. The movie isn't even about him! He dies after like five minutes of screentime and has the personality of a dishwasher!!! I don't give a shit about him!!!!

[hyllatavorianaldan]

This is fucking ridiculous, I've had to block iike five people because I keep running into thirst posts about the white boy from Backrooms. The movie isn't even about him! He dies after like five minutes of screentime and has the personality of a dishwasher!!! I don't give a shit about him!!!!

[elksewer]

oh oo ohhh ooo oh

[second-melanie-theory]

[gigglemug05]

lets go lesbians

I GOT TO WORK ON ART FOR THE NEW UPDATE !!!!

Credit to @/fishiistixx for inspo for split!!

bonus doodle

PLAY THE NEW UPDATE NOW

[collectornado]

posting this here too

[yeuc-c]

one day a year all of the regretevator NPCs will become plushes

[8-dermestid]

So i

relationship. partybeetle or pest x partynoob (platonic)

word count. 1.6k

rating. SFW. implied heavy drug use, drinking, everyone has weird-ass gender

A/N. Taking a break from being online, but i'll post things i write since that is less mentally taxing bc it takes a lot longer and sharing them makes me happy even if they flop. idc. they are for me.

A comfortable buzz rushes over Partynoob like a wave, as if their back is pressed to the cold, damp beach with seaweed curling at their feet. They are not at the beach, however. The closest one to them as of now is somewhere deep in the Regretevator. Their apartment is miles behind them as they shuffle towards the closest 24-hour convenience store, their fourth cigarette strangled between their teeth. 

Partynoob passes the smoke above their head like a train, and Pest faux-gags behind them. Pest insisted in hissed English that they hate Partynoob's parties, and their snack tables, and their cake selection...And walking three miles out to the one store in the area that sells a specific drink Poob likes---with them. If they think Poob is weird and obnoxious and cagey, they know where Pest <em>actually</em> finds those qualities.

"Give it." Pest hisses, reaching around to swipe at the cigarette in Partynoob's hand. They pass it.

Partynoob slows to match Pest's saunter, the sidewalk just too thin to be comfortable. Pest turns their nose up, sucks in the smoke between their mandibles, and exhales through their nostrils like a bull. They look at Partynoob, smiling without their eyes, then flick their gaze abruptly towards the wires overhead. There's shoes tied in knots tossed over the thick cables. Each pair, eight in total, sways gently in the night breeze.

"we shuld go 2 the beach." Partynoob says absentmindedly, "and den we can hav a summr party."

Pest grumbles something in Japanese. Partynoob will send an invitation to them anyway. They know they'll come.

"...i wanna host tmrw."

"Then do it, I don't really care."

They'll grab a couple of those three-inch apple pies that went missing at their last party.

When distant fluorescent lights break through the fog, and the pair dodge some very deep potholes in the parking lot between them and the automatic glass doors, they know they've made it.

The heavy air conditioning punches their dewy bodies as the doors slide open before them like the gates of heaven. They break off to different corners of the store

Partynoob slips into the closest aisle to the door and plucks a pair of visor shades from a kiosk near the door. They glide effortlessly through the aisles, piling large bags of chips, assorted treats, candies, and party-sized bottles of soda into their arms. They see Pest's head over the top of the aisle entering the back labelled "BEER CAVE". 

Their heart rattles something anxious under their skin, so they patter towards the register with their bounty. They open their arms and let everything fall onto the counter, sodas bubbling under their plastic flesh. Chips and beer and fizzy mixers

The cashier, this dark-eyed younger guy with patchy acne across his forehead and an it's-my-first-time-shaving beard, begins dragging the scanner over each barcode.

The music overhead is coming through a beat-to-shit speaker, so the singer's vocals are difficult to parse over a static fuzz blanketing the higher frequencies. The rhythm of scanning the barcodes stings against Partynoob's ears.

"...can i get da," They point toward a red pack of cigarettes with a horse on the front. "nono no, to da left."

The cashier goes back and forth for a few moments before plucking the correct box. Scanning them doubles the total. Partynoob hums and pulls out their wallet and hands over a plastic debit card. Their eyes shift away as Emerson (as it reads on their name tag) handles their card. Where did Pest go? Poob watches another fridge door open and close. There they are.

"Uhh, sorry. Your card's been declined?" Emerson says (just a touch too loud).

Partynoob snaps toward Emerson, then chuckles dryly and trades the debit card for a credit card. 

"Yeah, no. Your card's been declined."

Partynoob's eyebrow knits tight as they fish around in their wallet. Another credit card.

"Oh, give me a break." Pest chitters, putting a case of soju on the counter, pulling out a thick wad of cash over Partynoob's shoulder.

Pest nabs a few plastic bags and hastily stuffs Partynoob's belongings inside. They grab their soju and leave Poob at the counter. The other grabs their bags frantically, giving a pleasant goodbye to the cashier, then jogging to catch up.

...

If someone were to ask Pest what their favorite thing to do on a Friday night was, it would be drinking soju while working a piece-of-shit machinery they found in the dump, maybe listening to a few CDs they found as well. But on a clammy Wednesday? They don't mind bumming around, soaking up Partynoob's AC while watching them run around trying to set up a party on their own. Maybe kicking their feet up on the coffee table, shoes off of course. (They may have their opinions about the party-freak, but they wouldn't be caught dead wearing shoes indoors. They have limits. They're mean, not a <em>monster</em>.)

They pour a healthy amount of apple-flavored soju into a plastic cup, steep it in a handful of ice, then top it with sparkling water. They pop in a straw and take a long, slow sip. It's better than TV, watching Partynoob balance dangerously on a stepstool while trying to hang decorations off their ceiling lamps.

Partynoob's voomba tries to sneak by underneath Pest's legs, humming gently like a fly. Pest eyes the other figure in the room before grabbing the thing and stuffing it into their backpack. They chuckle.

"whuh? sumtin funny?"

Pest scowls and hisses. Partynoob takes the hint and keeps hanging streamers over their fridge.

The voomba squirms inside Pest's bag. They put the bag down beside the couch while guests begin to pile in. Despite the sudden invitations, guests seem to be filling in. Pest stuffs their case of soju out of view, but watches as a few people start pouring booze into cups.

The music gets cranked up louder, and Pest abandons their spot on the couch to take refuge in a quieter room. Not without slipping their claws into a stranger's back pocket and pulling out a heavy handful of coins. 

The quieter in this side room. Pest throws himself down on one of the two sofas and nurses the remaining bottle of soju on its own. When they crane their neck back to finish off the bottle they spot Partynoob leaning out of the window. They have two cigarettes in their hand; one burning, nearly finished through; and its fresh sister, ready for a burn.

Pest watches them press the tip of the unlit cigarette against the butt of the lit one, the embers catching the paper.

As Partynoob pulls the fresh cigarette to their lips, fingers trembling, a pair of clawed hands snaps out from their grasp. They push out a protest, swiping vaguely and weakly in Pest's direction as they bring the same cigarette between their mandibles. The silence from Partynoob, only a response being a flick of their heavy eyes, makes Pest's stomach turn.

Pest wears a practiced smirk, blowing their smoke outside. "Shouldn't you be out there getting totally shitfaced?"

Partynoob curls down against their knees, hands on the lip of the window. They hum to themselves, squeezing their eyes shut.

"Stop doing that---what the hell is wrong with you?" Pest snaps, unable to look at Partynoob being so small. Being so fucking quiet.

Partynoob is always so loud, abrasively so, and full of energy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Three hundred sixty-five days a year. Pest contemplates trying to hit them to see if that fixes it, like an old TV. Pest pushes their fist down to their side instead, craning their neck to look anywhere else.

"Pest," Partynoob mumbles into the crook of their elbow. "...'m done."

A bubbling, disgusting sensation grows in Pest's gut, and they can't hold back the deep sourness all over their face. They rub their mandible with their thumb and forefinger, sucking in a deep, frustrated breath. So stupid. Stupid as fuck. Pest knows they should feel bad and want to help, but there has always been a disconnect. They know how they should feel, but they don't, and they don't know how. 

Partynoob unfolds from their melted-ice-cream slouch to something upright. Just barely upright. Pest at least has the wherewithal to drag Poob to the near sofa. They try to resist being dragged like a sack of scrap, but once Pest gets them to sit they seem to lose what little energy they had left.

Their eyes, upon closer inspection, are deeply sunken in. Weak breaths slide between cracked, dry lips. Poob is practically melting out of their skin and into the couch

"...What do you want?" Pest spits out, tired of the only noise coming from the next room.

They reach vaguely for Pest. They sit.

They let Partynoob hold their hand. They even let Partynoob be quiet. Pest perks their hearing to listen to the music in the other room. Partynoob hiccups, tears sliding quietly over their chin. 

Pest tolerates their sniffling until it dies quietly in the back of their throat.

"You should go back." Pest looks across as Poob wipes their face, "'Cuz you're the host."

"...Ya."

"Then go."

Partynoob braces their palms on their knees, pushing up and standing taller. With more spine. They nod to the beetle, then move toward the door. They twist the knob and slide into the noisy gap. The door clicks shut, returning the cacophony of bass and chatter to a dull buzz. Partynoob never looked back. 

...

Hearing the rattle of a dozen different conversations is like fresh ecstasy. When a loud echo of laughter bounces off the walls, Partynoob wishes they could bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

Party guests stumble towards Partynoob, drunken bliss heavy in their voices as they thank Poob for hosting. They grab their coats from the floor next to the couch.

"...h3Y...H4ve u s33n mY w4ll37?" the Robloxian asks their buddy.

"Aw, snaps! Nah, dude. Where'd my coins go?" A neon-clad fruitaur replies. Wait.

Partynoob pats their back pocket, their wallet obviously too thin.

...Man, whatever.

[roxey]

my favorite genre of post. if only I could find more

[evilmafuyu666]

something i've always found interesting is how it's surprisingly popular to draw infected/kasper with self harm scars. usually artists avoid giving characters self harm scars because the topic is super taboo, but for some reason i see it a lot with them in particular. however, part of me wonders how many people are only doing it because self harm has unfortunately been seen as just ? a Thing in emo/scene culture for as long as it's existed, and i worry that a lot of younger people specifically don't understand the severity of what drawing a character with them implies. there's also always the fear that the artist is a shedtwt person and i don't think i have to explain why that's bad.

even then, i feel like even when people DO draw characters with self harm scars, it's still seen as taboo to acknowledge that they're there. i'm always super paranoid about writing about the topic (not just in my regretevator fics, i've also written about it in another thing) because i'm scared of people thinking that i'm glamorizing it or GOD FORBID fetishizing it. same with any of the sensitive subjects i write about. anyone who's familiar with my body of work (aka my dork ass fanfiction and my dork ass digital horror series) is aware of the fact that i write about suicide a LOT. without getting into too much personal detail, i've been suffering from suicidal ideation since i was in elementary school, and i find it cathartic to sort out the things i've been struggling with for more than half of my life through my work. i never want people to think i'm using suicide and self harm for cheap shock or angst.

i sincerely doubt that canon regretevator is ever going to delve into something that graphic (i think that the cleave being a likely allegory for s/a is as graphic as regretevator is going to get), especially since we don't even know a lot about what kasper was dealing with pre-infection beyond small implications that he wasn't doing *the best*, but i do find it interesting that so many people have collectively agreed upon the idea of self harm being something that he struggles with. it's nowhere close to a large amount of people, but it's more than i'm used to, and that's nice. i just hope that people are doing it for the right reasons.

[nilawafer]

A lot of the time, from what ive seen personally, people draw infected with healing/healed scars because they themselves self harm and are projecting onto him. Sometimes its someone copying the popular headcanon from others, without really realizing or understanding the seriousness of it.

Unfortunately, the association between scene/emo culture with self harm, specifically cutting, does mean theres a crowd out there (usually sh/ed twitter) who draw him with fresh/healing scars as a form of glorification.

I personally think you do a great job of writing the topic. The act isnt seen as evil nor is it romanticized. Its treated how it is, as a person hurting themself due to negative emotions. He even seeks out help for it and stays relatively clean. Theres nothing inherently wrong with writing about suicide, suicidal ideation, or self harm. Yeah its seen as edgy, but if handled correctly, it adds a layer of depth to the character.

Folly is suicidal. She wants nothing more than to be able to die. Sadly, due to regretevator being an all ages game on a kids platform, its only briefly mentioned in a floppy. This is also the reasoning for why wallter's substance abuse, as well as poob and infected's drug usage, are metaphors in the actual game itself. Off platform tho poob can just light up a joint lmao.

One day regretevator's writing will be freed from its chains and shown at its fullest. Its practically the entire point of the youtube animations.

[oceantoyz]

Underrated Pokemon ☆☆☆ Scolipede (#545)

[8-dermestid]

Girl, so confusing featuring poob

Warnings: recreational drug use, poob has a cocaine addiction

Relationships: PartyNoob/Lampert, Partylight

Notes: another oneshot related to my prev fic about lampert being a messy bitch, this fic is also available to read on ao3

Word Count: 1.7k

An email, a party, a mess never to be cleaned fully. Lampert can't stop squeezing toothpaste from the tube

The weirdest thing to happen to Lampert this week has got to be that she just received an email from Partynoob of all people.

She was busy… perusing old memories on her laptop, scanned photographs of her and Kasper before things turned sour. Existence has not been kind to her, forcing Lampert to chase a high she can never recapture. But looking at the photos helps a bit. Makes her sad, but seeing Kas's face the way it should be is worth the tears.

She opens the email, glancing at the packed list of recipients. Excluding herself, the list is over forty people. She scrolls down to the contents of the letter, into the sea of names. She ought to go, just to tell Partynoob that she isn't interested in whatever gross shenanigans they have planned in their disgusting apartment. She begins reading:

from:[email protected] to: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]…[email protected]…

More emails Lampert doesn't care about, the list drones on until her eyes glance over a specific address: [email protected]

That piques her interest, she changes her mind on digitally crumpling up this email and tossing it in her digital trash.

subject: big prty at mah house!!!

HAIII!!!! IF U GOT DIS LETTR…. it means u r invited 2 my party!!!! 9pm 2nite! b dere or b square!!!<3<3<3

<3 poob :3

p.s…. here is mah house add!!!

Written below of Partynoob's address and apartment number. Lampert jots it down for later. Maybe.

Lampert can hear the music from beyond the Regretevator’s doors, and it only grows in volume and clarity the closer she gets. It becomes near-deafening, even with the door in the way.

And then it parts. It should be illegal for this many people to be in the same apartment. She needs to squeeze by a couple of guests---a fruitaur and CRT-headed rabbit girl---to even get out of the elevator. Lampert immediately kicks over someone's drink as soon as she seems to find her footing, pissing off the stranger on the couch.

She throws out a quick "Sorry." before scurrying away. There's no room for her, trying to navigate the swaths of people dancing in the middle of the room with the music so loud. Someone crashes into her and she bumps the table, rocking the bottles and cups. Lampert looks around frantically, fighting to navigate the raging tide of bodies. At least find somewhere to stand so she doesn't drown.

A stray arm pulls her aside too quick for comfort, and Lampert bumps into the beetle that pulled her to safety.

Pest chitters, "Watch it."

Lampert apologizes, pressing her back to the wall beside Pest, who, based on how tight their brows are, seems to be having an equally-shit time.

They at least have the decency to pass a cup of water from the drink table.

She takes a sip, realizes it's only vodka, swallows it anyway, and grimaces at the taste. Pest chuckles dryly, a smile beneath their mandibles.

"You're an asshole." Lampert frowns.

They mumble something in response, looking away from Lampert before walking away.

She stands there, drink losing it's coolness.

Stupid, she's so stupid.

Lampert finds her way into the bathroom to escape everything. The music is still audible in here, but it should be okay until she can compose herself.

She keeps throwing herself head first into parties she knows she hates, surrounded by people she doesn't know, and drinking alcohol that tastes like shit. Deep breaths. Lampert takes only two before someone breaches her veil of privacy.

"Do you mind?" Lampert says too harshly.

But when Partynoob steps inside and shuts the door, Lampert wishes she could pull the words back into her mouth. They aren't friends, necessarily. Friend-of-a-friend is more applicable, each knowing the other with Kasper as the intermediate.

"O! Lampert, whut a surprise! :3" they smile, though it seems to take more effort to flex the necessary muscles.

"…Hey."

Partynoob sighs, their bad smile faltering as soon as they shut the door.

"srry, I'm tired. r u ok?"

Lampert instinctively crosses her arms, her tail flicking behind her. "I'm fine. Just thought K…Infected would be here. She's not, so," Her sentence tapers off to silence. Her tail doesn't stop.

Partynoob frowns, shrugging. "shes not answering my txts either. I miss her. :( "

Lampert can't even muster a reply, staring down at the tiles, and Partynoob's cute pink slippers.

"You seem, uhh, down?"

"mmm. yah, real tired…"

…Lampert doesn't know what to say anymore. If this bathroom had a window, she would contemplate climbing out of it while Partynoob was distracted. She looks anywhere but the host.

"mmm, lampert…u hav rlly beautiful collarbones, u kno?"

The woman in question lifts a thin brow, thrust from her thoughts.

"Uhh, thank you?" Lampert replies lamely, eyes flicking to Partynoob.

Their attire for their two-dozenth party this month is practically ribbons. A micro-bikini top with plenty of accessories decorating their arms, with a matching bottom peeking out from under some shorts, their signature hat donned, and some shutter shades obscuring their eyes. They have a small plastic bag pinched between their fingers, and a rolled dollar held like a cigarette. They pad closer to Lampert, who has spent the better half of this party thinking about how to leave because Kasper didn't show face.

"do u mind if i…?" Partynoob's sentence falls quiet, their pupils blown out like dinner plates. They bump into Lampert, legs tangled. "srry. do u mind?"

Lampert tries to move out of the way. Maybe they need the sink she's been moping around, but Partynoob stops her. They set their things down. Except for the bag.

"nono, no, wait pls." Partynoob says, "can i borrow ur collarbone for a sec? just 1 sec. please? i need it."

The other's face contorts, confusion wrinkles her brow. Partynoob can hardly stand anymore. An east-coast hip-hop track plays from the other room, and Lampert can feel the bass rumbling up from her feet. Lampert gets a closer look at the bag Partynoob is toting around: smaller than a sandwich baggie. Filled with a fine white powder.

"You still do cocaine?" Lampert prods. "I thought you were quitting."

Partynoob's expression falls. The track changes in the next room, cheers erupt. They rub their face and Lampert notices the white powder around their nose. There's dried blood mixed in.

Their fingers deftly slide across Lampert's metal collarbone. Entirely artificial, as there are no organs to protect nor musculature to support. She shivers nonetheless.

"F-Fine." Lampert huffs, a flush creeping up her face. "Do whatever it is that you need to do. Then… I'm gonna go."

"dats ok. im glad u came." They hum, a weak smile gracing their features as they dump a thin line of coke into the divot of Lampert's collarbone.

A shudder wracks her entire frame. She tries to suppress it. Tries to stay still. Partynoob takes an agonizing amount of time spreading the powder into a perfect line like water in a moat. They ditch their credit card and baggie on the table, rolling their dollar bill between their thumb and forefinger. Lampert sucks in a breath as the dollar brushes against the edge of the line, Partynoob stabilizes Lampert's face with a hand on her shade. They guide her to crane her neck, opening her shoulder for easy access.

And, god damn it, Partynoob laps their tongue across a stray trace of powder. There is a one-two punch as they snort the bulk of the powder in the first pass, then finishing the line with a second. Lampert shudders as Partynoob's grip suddenly tightens, a gleeful smile carved across their face. They wipe their nose, blood pooling on the pad of their index finger. They lick it off, then press their wet finger to the leftover dust. They suck the blood-coke mixture off their thumb.

"thank u, Lampert!!!!" They cheer, cupping her lampshade and kissing the side before allowing their fingers to slide across the underside. They skip out of the bathroom back into the fray before Lampert has a chance to say a word.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Lampert presses her fingers into the groove, panting. She grumbles to herself, her face too hot. She tightens her jaw and pushes off the sink towards the door. She needs a drink. Or a smoke. Something.

She emerges from the bathroom, the couch to her left sardine-d with guests. Smoke fills the air, both tobacco and weed. She approaches the kitchen area carefully, dodging stray empty solo cups scattered across the carpet. The music is suffocating the closer she gets to the large speaker atop the fridge. Every square inch of the countertops is covered in liquor and snacks. Lampert grabs a plate and a knife, stabbing into a large Entenmann's cake tin. She doesn't bother with a fork, using her fingers instead.

She recognizes Poob's… friend(?) leaning on the TV, chittering as someone encroaches on their space. They catch Lampert's glance and scowl, turning away.

Lampert pivots to the drink table piled high with liquor.

…

Partynoob is in Lampert’s arms at the moment. She was coaxed to dance by them, and who was Lampert if not a woman with unmatched self-control? They grabbed her hand almost as soon as she turned to leave. Lampert's head was still spinning, and the way Partynoob squeezed her hand and dragged her to the center of the room happened all too fast.

She's being handsy, she knows it. She's got Partynoob up against her, so close she can smell the sweat on the back of their neck. Though she wishes it did, the proximity doesn't disgust her. They share their drink with her, and a joint that comes her way. Partynoob ends up facing Lampert, their arms wrapped around her neck. Lips connect, Poob’s tongue slides against Lampert’s teeth, licking the backside up toward her gums. They split, still dancing. Lampert’s head is in the clouds.

"Mmm, Kas---" Lampert whines.

"whuh? what'd u say?"

"Oh. N-Nothing. Nothing."

"whutevr u say. do u want another drink?"

She nods. God, watching them glide effortlessly through the crowd to pour them both a shared drink? Lampert feels no better than a man.

After dancing together some more, the pair end up on a couch, mouths interlocked.

Between a couple more shots and nursing off of other people's drinks in between, Lampert is fucked. Fucked up. She stumbles bleary-eyed through the kitchen, vision fading a dark unfocusedness. A few stray partiers are chatting. Lampert shoulder-checks one of them pretty hard, but they don't say anything.

She ends up in more hallway. Even more hallway.

She looks back, the party near-impossible to hear. She doesn't remember grabbing her coat. It's too warm for the winter. She stumbles into door after door, pushing mostly with her body through each. As she places her hand on the next door, a strange rumbling under her palm, Lampert pushes forward.

…

"Get up."

Someone taps her side with their foot. They spit something in a foreign language, obviously irritated.

"C'mon, the party's over."

Lampert opens her eyes, meeting four deep red ones. Before she can register the bug looming over her, they bend down and pull her to her feet. They're walking now, back to the living room. They find Partynoob collapsed over the couch, a blanket haphazardly thrown over them by a third party. It's a mess, but seeing them ignites something in her. Something other than Lampert's throbbing hangover.

Pest pushes her through the elevator doors, and Partynoob lifts their head and smiles towards her with a soft "bai…" as the doors close, blood leaking from their nose. A beat of silence hangs in the air until the elevator rumbles to life.

Lampert's face is noticeably warm. There's a pink-and-yellow kandi bracelet on her wrist she doesn't remember receiving.

God damn it.

[d1zzylol]

both are forced to suffer

[8-dermestid]

She Can't Run From the Urge (A SkaterLight Oneshot)

Warnings: recreational drug use

Relationships: Infected/Lampert & Kasper/Lampert

Notes: Lampert is a messsssssss she so messsyyyyyyyyyy

Word Count: 2k

Lampert knows she is in trouble as soon as Melanie picks up her straw. Her usual anxiety about puncturing the plastic membrane (trying to delicately puncture the cover until Kasper would take it from her hands and do it for her). She aligns her straw just as Kasper would have for her, and stabs the lid with an unexpected ferocity. The pink milk swirls like blood, pearls bobbing until they settle.

She can't actually drink anything, with the glass screen for a face, but she enjoys having something to hold and swirl around while she talks.

"Lampert," She loses hers gaze immediately, "Lampert, please."

Something prickles against Lampert's chest where a heart would be (if she needed flesh and blood to live). "You're hurting him." Melanie says.

"I'm not trying to---" Lampert scowls into the pastel table. "He’s still in there. He just needs to be jogged—"

"Kasper is gone. He's gone. Do you understand that, Lampert?" Melanie snaps, setting her drink down onto the table. "He's not like us! He's all flesh and sinew and bones. When he's gone he's gone. You're just hurting Infected---"

"Kasper."

"That's not who she is anymore and you know it. She doesn't know, and you trying to tell her she's someone she's not is killing her!"

Melanie looks around the eyeing shop, and quickly sits back down, growing hushed.

"...You're hurting her, Lampert. It's messed up what she's going through, I know, but Kasper isn't in there anymore."

She is. Kasper is. It's just that... Lampert needs to say the right thing, show her that special place. Something to create that spark that will crack open this infected thing like an egg so she can pull Kasper out. It's just a matter of... reigniting her memory.

Lampert swirls her ice water (that she cannot drink).

"You're right." She says dejectedly, "I'll stop. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me." Melanie replies, grabbing her bag. "Just leave her alone. For both of your sakes."

Lampert gives her water cup back to the cashier, dew prickling the walls of the cup.

"H33333YYY M4N, S0 gl4D U C0ULD M4ke 1t 2 MY h0USe¡!!"

Lampert smiles (grimaces) as she breaches the veil, immediately hit with the stinks of body odor and marijuana. There is music, something with a sturdy beat and an electric instrumental filling the apartment. Sweaty bodies---some Lampert recognizes and others entirely foreign---occupy nearly every surface in the room like seaweed on the lip of the ocean. Disgusting.

Melanie pushes a red solo cup into Lampert's hand, her smile dropping to something quite stern for her alone before she recedes with a smile across her screen.

Kasper is already mingling on the couch, wiping blood from her nose onto her arm. Lampert stumbles through the crowd, the alcohol splashing as the crowd jostles her like tumbling laundry.

Kasper has her hands full when Lampert makes it to the sofa. Half-a-dozen people have found refuge on the couch, drinks and bottles litter the floor around them. A "Kasper." hangs on Lampert's tongue, but Melanie, sitting on the arm leaning against her makes Lampert bite her tongue.

"Infected." The way she cranes her neck up, and licks the fluorescent blood from her lips makes Lampert's nonexistent stomach churn. "Happy Birthday."

Kas---Infected. Infected doesn't seem to pick up on the look of cringe written all over Lampert's face. She rises from the sofa, her color-vomit band tee smoothing out as she does. She creeps over the half-empty bottles of vodka and cranberry juice and hugs Lampert. Blood dribbles down her chin, wiped away on her fingerless glove.

"S-S0 H4Ppy u c0ULD M4KE 1T, C0M3 DR1nK w1TH uS---" Infected sputters over Lampert's shoulder, then points at each figure on the couch.

"P-P4rtYN00b, a---aND Th4t's P3ST, M3L4N1E, N4n..." Et cetera, et cetera.

Lampert finds herself squished between a yellow-skinned robloxian nose-deep in a thick line of cocaine on the table and... and Kasper. The smoke detector above has been covered with a plastic bag duct-taped to the ceiling.

"H-H4v3 U EVr sm0Ked B4?" Infected asks, "U d0n't L00k L1k3 1T."

"What? No. N-No."

"d0 u w4nt 2?"

Lampert looks over Kasper's shoulder to Melanie, who seems to be notably intoxicated already. She's already pawing for the unlit joint Kasper is holding, who slumps forward against Lampert. Disgusting. Disgusting. She shudders, wants to gag and die all at once as neon-pink blood stains her thigh. But she nods---anything to stay here and give her fuel for her fantasies.

"I... 1 C4n sH0tgUn Th3 f1rst 0N3 4 U---" They hum, a static crackle beneath their words. They grab the lighter on the table and flick it a couple of times until a light froths to life.

The light burns the paper until the leaves light, a musky smoke filling the air. Kasper pulls the ashtray closer (knocking over a couple empty cans in the meantime). She reaches blindly for Lampert's face, grabbing her lampshade. Her fingers deliciously graze the underside before her grip becomes more firm. Lampert's head spins as she sucks in a breath. Infected gets close---dangerously close---and parts Lampert's lips with her bloody thumbs.

"R U r34Dy?¿" Infected drawls, smoke leaking from the back of her throat that Lampert is staring down.

"Um, Uh-huh..." Lampert gasps, panting.

Kasper leans in and presses her dry lips against Lampert's shade, smoke filling the expanse of her non-Euclidean mouth. She can't help that her hands deposit on Kasper's waist, gripping too hard as K---Infected---Kasper presses herself closer, lips flush and nose blood smears across Lampert's cheek.

The smoke fills Lampert's hollow insides, and she pushes Infected off, hacking into herself. The metallic sting of blood fills her senses, and the intoxicating musk emanating from Infected makes Lampert feel hot.

The cannabis seeps into Lampert's every thought too quickly, and she hungrily reaches for the joint after Melanie presses it against her VHS port. Lampert sucks an excessive amount of smoke into her body cavity, trying to drown out the sea of sensory input as she licks Kasper's bloody spit from her teeth.

She stumbles as she rises to her feet in a quick panic, grabbing an empty cup. Lampert pours a generous shot into her cup and drowns it with cranberry juice and Sprite, then shuffles to the balcony. She rips the door open and doubles-over on the brick, pressing a hand into her eyes in hopes she can rip her brain out and throw it into the dumpster below. She spits over the edge, a thick glob caught on her bottom lip before dropping two stories unceremoniously.

Disgusting. She's disgusting. Lampert looked her dead friend in the eyes and swapped spit with the thing festering under her skin. She chugs about half of her drink, gagging on the bitter taste. The worst part, Lampert thinks, is that she enjoyed it. Tonguing her best friend's husk and imagining she was underneath all the layers of disease and loving it makes her sick to her stomach. Lampert downs the rest of her drink and throws it off the balcony, clattering plastic rings out in the alleyway. Lampert gathers herself and shrugs her coat over her shoulders and heads towards the door, hoping to slip out without her absence being noticed. As she approaches the thin hallway leading to the exit, a decorated hand wraps around her arm.

"L...L4mpert?" The most clarity of the night---maybe Infected's whole existence. "Y0u're l3av1ng?"

Lampert looks down to her coat half-shrugged up her shoulders. She nods, unable to meet their gaze.

"Pl3ase st4y," And their voice makes it hard to parse whether Lampert should call them Kasper or Infected. "U just g0t hER3."

...

Melanie wants to go home. She's ordered a rideshare to make it back to her house. She figured it would be best to make sure Lampert also gets home safe. Lampert's a messy bitch tonight.

She dances around the party pleasantly high, chatting idly with whoever she bumps into. She lost track of Party-Noob and -Guest, but the pair have the collective street smarts to find their way home, no matter how coked-out they both were. They'll message her when they each get home.

Melanie skirts around Infected's desk, stepping around an old cat bed. Then barely, only mildly suffocated under the music, she hears some less-than-PG sounds.

"Kasper, oh---" And then the buzz of a zipper

Her ears pin back, she rushes down the short hallway and presses herself against the door, listening.

"hUH¿ wh4t'd u s4Y?"

"Nothing, Kas... It's not important. Keep going..."

Her ears pin back, she pushes forward through the door.

"Lampert!"

Under the mess of Infected's stringy appendages, lays Lampert, hands tangled in Infected's fly. Lampert jumps up almost immediately, pushing Infected off of her and nearly knocking the other drunk to the floor. She tries to bolt between the corner of the doorframe and Melanie, who stops her before she can flee.

Melanie takes a single breath. "We're going home now, the rideshare is here." She keeps her tone soft for Infected, but Lampert can feel how tight her grip is. Lampert sputters. There's nosebleed smeared all over her face and body, her cable-tail tucked between her legs. "O-Oh. OK. K---Infected? I'll...see you again. Goodnight." Lampert says, waving into the dark. Melanie sees Infected wave back, clothes disheveled and creeper boxers visible.

The moment Melanie and Lampert leave Infected's line of sight, the rabbit's grip tightens. She practically drags Lampert through the party, at least giving them enough leeway to say goodbye to everyone on the couch. But as soon as the goodbyes are in order, Melanie continues to drag Lampert, like old furniture to the curb.

They exit the complex into the frigid cold, a blue car idling on the curb. Melanie sets Lampert inside before walking around the car herself.

...The ride is agonizingly quiet. Even the driver knew playing music was a bad idea as soon as he got a glance at Melanie's illuminated screen. Lampert has never seen Melanie this angry before. Her ears are pinned back, and she can't make herself break eye contact with Lampert.

"I'm---"

Melanie shushes her. "You're not sorry." She snaps.

The urban expanse of Infected's apartment fades into the background. Lampert can feel something writhing under her metal skin.

Melanie's stern expression breaks, "You were calling him Kasper the whole time. The whole time you were trying to fuck? Are you serious?!"

Her voice carries the same static underneath when she gets angry, the speakers rearing for replacement soon.

"You're sick in the fucking head." She sobs, obviously too drunk to be having this conversation. "Fucking sick. You make me sick. You know exactly what you're doing, Lampert."

"How could I not?!" Lampert rebuts, "How am I supposed to just move on? Kasper is still in there---"

"Christ, Lampert. Kasper is dead!"

Lampert's entire body responds to that, curling up against the window, as far from Melanie as she can.

"Yeah, I get it. I miss him too. But, god, you can't just keep calling Infected by a name she doesn't remember... Do you have any idea what she's been saying to me?"

Lampert shakes her head, can't even force words out.

Melanie opens her phone, dragging her thumb across the glass until she opens Infected's messages (the same number Kasper uses, but with their photo and name wiped from the contact).

"I don't know who Kasper is." Melanie reads aloud, translating Infected's typing quirks. "Should I know them?"

Lampert blinks away the sting in her eyes as she reads the texts herself. Melanie's replies always soothing the other. Melanie would tell her that Kasper was an old friend, or an ex, or another figure far-gone from their lives that they happened to look similar to.

"You're too much of a mess to be around her, Lampert. Leave her alone. For your sake, for Infected's sake..."

Lampert stares at her lap like a beat dog.

"Leave her alone for Kas's sake, okay? You need to go home and stop trying. It's over, Lampert, I'm sorry. She's not like us. You can't just replace the parts until she's fixed. She's flesh."

Lampert opens the door and steps out into the ROKEA parking lot, and as soon as the car drives off she vomits into a storm drain.

[8-dermestid]

Stupid

https://archiveofourown.org/works/78791776

little skaterlight yuri oneshot i thought about in the shower

(2k word count, M rating for drug use and bc i am a grown up and that is the rating i wanted to choose)