Currently: NONE
Your name is ITCHY, first number of the gang of mobsters known as the FELT, and you are a HUGE DOUCHEBAG.
Your duties for the Felt involve various odd jobs, but for the most part you head up operations of smuggling a plethora of drugs and liquor in and out of the city.
You're a speedy fucker who's damn good at not getting caught. You also may or may not sample your product from time to time. By which you mean all the time.
It's been a while and things have gotten WEIRD AS HELL since your timeline BROKE. Currently you're living in the fracture with what's left of the Felt, but otherwise not much has changed.
Dependent roleplay blog for Borgatabent AU universe. Guess who's back bitches.
Just cuz im a crybaby i had to say goodbye to the two muses that made me join Borgatabent on the first place, you both will be greatly missed in Finâs dumb life, but mostly iâm wishing you nerds the best. You guys deserve the world and see you both on furryland!. Hahaha
His gasps are deep and greedy, pulling so much oxygen at once he feels his head spin. But he can breathe, finally he can breathe. The useless scrambling of his feet slipping against the bottom of the tub and trying to kick himself up stops when Die is kind enough to hoist his upper body back above the surface, even if he is hissing and spitting and swatting Itchyâs hands away from where theyâre currently trying to find purchase on his neck, itâs still very gracious of him.Â
His words are just noises, and he snarls in return, thrashing to land another kick and elbowing Dieâs hands away, scratching and kicking, going for the throat, the eyes. The abundance of water makes this whole process considerably more difficult, slipping as soon as he can get his hand around Dieâs neck and scratching as heâs once again fought off. His other hand claps around Dieâs skin with a slap and heâs finally able to start digging his thumbnail into the hollow of his throat, depressing his trachea enough to make him choke.
Die doesnât like this game anymore, not that it was ever fun to begin with. Itchy is thrashing far too wildly, and DROWNING the damn sewer rat was becoming more than a chore worth doing. He recoils with the kick, trying to figure if he wants to pull the soft, fleshy tail up in a defense, or shift it away to defend it instead.
Water splashes everywhere, sloshing out of the bath to splatter the floor, thoroughly soaking the two of them in the fray. Six fends the hands away from his body, when a few wayward scratches come too close to the sensitive slits along his sides.
"Get out or Iâm telling Crâhnk!â The eel gagged as the thumb pressed against his throat, and Die forced himself upright, pushing and leaning against Itchy so that the smaller Felt was bending over backwards with the bathtubâs wall digging into his back. Perhaps if Die was lucky enough, the mouthy little tumor would snap in half over it. Sixâs hands, in the mean time, pried at the choking fingers.
(Apparently tumblrâs going through and posting drafts yikes so hereâs one of my drafts I never did anything with tw drug use yolo)
You donât know when you first noticed you had a problem, but you do remember the moment. You were nodding in and out, hand shaking as you held the blade and cut more powder onto the side of the razor. You were so high already. You had cut yourself off deciding youâd had too much. Ten minutes later you took it out again, adding more bits of crystalline sedative to the glass pipe. It wasnât even enough. It would never be enough. You did nothing but scoop in bits and smoke them seemingly every two minutes. You couldn't get enough. It wasn't hitting. Finally. The last little scoop did you in and it hits hard. Finally. Youâre sent deeper into this feeling. It takes that sharp turn into âtoo highâ, where your chest feels hollow, and it feels like your heart will collapse any second. Where youâre mind isâŠ..struggling. Inertia. Vertigo. Whatever itâs called. You nod for several seconds. This feeling is too much. Itâs frightening. Your heart pumps a mile a minute. Youâre trembling. You need to stop.
So you take another hit.
You noticed you had a problem when you realized you wanted this. You needed to. You purposefully pushed yourself as hard as you could, taking more and more and more until you are so fucked up you actually canât get up. You pack the bowl one more time and before you can lift it the panic attack hits you and you slump deep into your chair, feeling the weight of your own eyelids.
You obsessively pick at yourself. Feeling a burning hollowness in your chest and the feeling of the points of contact between your skin and your clothing. You canât move well. You feel sedated. You spend several seconds at a time just breathing, before you can move.
So you take another hit.
You WANT the danger of it, the absolute limit of obliteration. The maximum level of bliss. To the point where it kind of hurts. Itâs so much stimulation. So much of your body dealing with the overload of chemicals. It's the point where your eye dip close and the rush of the swim behind your eyes is punishingly heavy. It's actually nauseating. You want to open your eyes to realign your inner ear with what you can see but your eyes stay shut, your brain gently sending off the command to your muscles but repeatedly being met with silence. It takes many too many moments. It hurts. When you get your eyes open again your vertigo crashes back into alignment. It nearly makes you sick.
It's a dream like state you can barely remember, struggling with the OKAY that's enough and the actual struggle of peeling yourself up and stumbling over to your bed. You hit the mattress hard, and the impact combined with closing your eyes again sends you into fucking space.
You don't want to get high. You don't want to feel good. You want to get fucked up.
You pass out before you can admit to yourself that fine, maybe you might have a problem.
yo i heard some bullshit about people talkin shit about me being around well guess what im here to solve the mystery for you guys guess what its because i hate you all thank you for your time
yo i heard some bullshit about people talkin shit about me being around well guess what im here to solve the mystery for you guys guess what its because i hate you all thank you for your time
yo i heard some bullshit about people talkin shit about me being around well guess what im here to solve the mystery for you guys guess what its because i hate you all thank you for your time
yo i heard some bullshit about people talkin shit about me being around well guess what im here to solve the mystery for you guys guess what its because i hate you all thank you for your time
yo i heard some bullshit about people talkin shit about me being around well guess what im here to solve the mystery for you guys guess what its because i hate you all thank you for your time
yo i heard some bullshit about people talkin shit about me being around well guess what im here to solve the mystery for you guys guess what its because i hate you all thank you for your time
>Itchy makes the pain staking trek all the way across
the hallway.Â
âBong time biiitch.â Itchy showed up in Dieâs room, kicking the door closed behind him with a piece in one hand and a metric brick of the devils marioguangha that was surely taken directly from his last shipment. He makes sure to lock all six of Dieâs locks, thankful heâs past a point in their relationship where he has to pick all six of these locks from the other side. That was a pain in the ass.
âIâm already wrecked so first torch is on you pal.â Itchy climbs across the bed handing both items to Die before flopping into his matesprithatespritâs bed. Time to just lay here forever honestly.Â
Donât think Die wouldnât still use all six on Itchy again. Heâs a spiteful asshole, nothing stops that wealth.
âWhen are you not.â Die returns casually, looking up from his computer, then to the door warily. Itâs been⊠quite in the manor, and from the looks of the feed, Snowman wasnât around. He was still waiting for either one of them to be turned, but he supposed they could bask in the fact they were very much some semblance of normal for now.
âYou never finished what you were saying. Not feeling anything or something to that degree.â Die prodded, taking up the piece offered to work on catching up to Itchy.
âYou invite me over just to pick on me wow.â His tone is dissapointed but lackadaisical. A sarcastic silent âI see how it isâ lingers after. Nevertheless, Itchy curls up against Dieâs leg and fusses to settle somehow thatâs comfortable while drinking in the scent of Oliverâs thigh. Listen, he may have just seconds ago been burned and humiliated in a public chat while fighting with this man, but it was once again time for Itchyâs never ending cycle of âI hate you, donât leave me.â
âI think Iâm just bored. Like. My soul is bored. Does that make sense? Hurry the fuck up I need you to get stoned so I got plausible deniability on all vulnerable statements made from here on out you know the rules.â
>Itchy makes the pain staking trek all the way across
the hallway.Â
âBong time biiitch.â Itchy showed up in Dieâs room, kicking the door closed behind him with a piece in one hand and a metric brick of the devils marioguangha that was surely taken directly from his last shipment. He makes sure to lock all six of Dieâs locks, thankful heâs past a point in their relationship where he has to pick all six of these locks from the other side. That was a pain in the ass.
âIâm already wrecked so first torch is on you pal.â Itchy climbs across the bed handing both items to Die before flopping into his matesprithatespritâs bed. Time to just lay here forever honestly.Â