#bolas fanfic

[malthemagnifisent]

Plot: Cyrus goes to Aerin’s cell, and somehow Aerin still has a sway over him.

Tag list: y’all asked to be tagged, so hope you enjoy. If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics please do ask. @ladylamrian @zhoras-bitch @alegria1580

Notes: Yeah, I just wanted to write the Aerin reunion scene with a bit more drama too it. I also changed the fact that Aerin didn’t know MC was gone, cause I don’t think it made any sense?!

Cyrus hadn’t known what to think when he made his way down through the halls of the white tower to find Aerin in the dungeon. Logically, he knew he should hate the man and not be buzzing with excitement to speak with him, but he couldn’t deny feeling almost giddy. Perhaps he could pass it off as fear, but he would still know the truth deep down: that he truly wanted to see the man.

He knew his friends would judge him for such a desire, but right now his friends weren’t here; he hadn’t gotten around to seeing them yet.

Finding out what had happened to him was more important, at least at the moment; only after that would he allow himself to track down his friends.

When he arrived at the dungeon, he grimaced. It was dirty and reminded him a bit too much of his narrow escape from imprisonment in the shadow realm, but when he saw Aerin, it was hard to think about anything else.

For having been locked in a dungeon for a year, he didn’t look bad, though perhaps that was just because Cyrus’ thought he was incapable of really looking bad.

Aerin didn’t notice him for a moment, and Cyrus took that opportunity to really study him. I looked him up and down, trying to see if there was any sign of his past corruption, but no, he looked as human as he had been that night by the lake, the night they’d kissed, the night that Cyrus almost wished he could forget because it would make this so much easier.

"Hello, Aerin," he said, his voice stiff and rather unsure. He didn’t know what Aerin might think of seeing him again. If anyone had a right to be angry, then it was Cyrus, but still, he couldn’t stand the idea of Aerin hating him.

Aerin, who had been looking out the small window of his cell, spun around and looked at Cyrus with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Cyrus," he said, stepping forward to the bars of his cell, his dark eyes tracking up and down Cyrus’ body, looking over him with abject shock, which he supposed was to be expected when he’d been trapped in the shadow realm for a year.

"You’re here; I didn’t think-" He broke off and wrapped his pale hands around the bars of his cell, holding on so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He seemed at a loss for words, which was strange to Cyrus; because Aerin had always seemed so well spoken, he didn’t seem like the type to stumble over his words.

Cyrus crossed his arms and stepped up to the cell, so close that he would be able to touch the prince if he dared to reach forward. He didn’t dare; he just kept his face schooled into careful neutrality. "I am; I take it you knew I was gone," he muttered.

It made sense that the prince would have been aware of his disappearance; his friends undoubtedly would have interrogated him to try and get information, but seeing as Cyrus had been lost to the shadow realm for an unknown amount of time, clearly he hadn’t had any information that would help. Either that, or he knew and simply refused to help.

Cyrus hoped it was the first, because the thought that Aerin could have saved him but refused to do so was not something he even wanted to consider.

"Yes, your friends told me; they wanted to know how to get you back," Aerin explained, still looking at Cyrus like he was something unbelievable, and maybe he was.

"And what did you tell them?” Cyrus asked and stepped a bit closer, as if he were being pulled forward by an invisible force. Even back when he’d first met Aerin, he had been drawn to him; it hadn’t really made sense then, and it makes even less sense now, but something about the man pulled Cyrus in; it ensnared him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to let go.

Aerin smiled a little sadly and met Cyrus’ eyes, his gaze holding so much truth that Cyrus thought he would have believed whatever came out of his mouth. "I told them the truth, that I didn’t know how to get you back," he explained, and Cyrus didn’t question the answer; he believed him.

Maybe it was a sign of his own weakness that he was so easily trusting someone who had betrayed him before, but he couldn’t help it.

Cyrus clenched his jaw and looked back at the door behind him, checking to see if anyone was lingering in the doorway, but when he saw no one around, he stepped forward, and like he had done in the shadow realm, he concentrated hard before he slipped through the bars and into Aerin’s cell.

He had done it both out of a desire to be closer to the man and because he was curious whether he could accomplish it again. In the shadow realm, he had been under pressure to get it right, so it actually proved to be easier this time.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to put himself inside a locked cage with a man who had hurt him in the past, but the shocked look on Aerin’s face was enough to make up for that.

"How did you do that?" He asked, leaning forward with abject curiosity, and for a moment he seemed very much like he had when they had first met. It sent a pang of hurt through Cyrus’ body.

Cyrus shook his head and just stepped to the side, leaning himself against the wall of Aerin’s cell. "I’m not here to talk about me, Aerin; I need to know about the Ash Empire," he said, something in his shoulders tightening as he said the name, because after an untold amount of time in their clutches, the name alone was enough to set him on edge, and the thought of Valex was worse.

The mention of the Ash Empire was enough to shut Aerin up, his dark eyebrows drawing up in something like concern, but Cyrus doubted it was real.

"That’s who had you?" Aerin asked, and Theo screwed his eyes shut, fighting off a wave of anger and annoyance that were manifesting themselves into a pounding headache behind his eyes.

He stood up straight and began to pace back and forth in front of the bars of the cell. "I told you we aren’t talking about me; just tell me what you know, Aerin," he snapped, drawing in a deep breath to try and calm his racing mind.

A year of life was weighing on his shoulders, a year he had missed and would never get back, and under the haze of blocked-out memories, he was starting to realize that his time in the shadow realm must have been much worse than he could remember, and he wasn’t sure whether to be glad or angry that those memories were missing.

"I’ll tell you what I know, but it isn’t much," Aerin said, seemingly picking up on Cyrus’ discomfort with ease as he stepped back and situated himself on a bench in the corner, the golden light from the window filtering down onto his face, shrouding his head in a halo of light.

It made him look almost like Cyrus remembered him, standing by a shining lake, kissing beneath the moonlight as if time meant nothing.

Cyrus shook his head, refusing to get lost in the memory. "Thank you," he muttered, nodding for Aerin to continue and explain whatever he knew about the Ash Empire.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem the prince knew much of the empire—at least nothing truly helpful—though he did help fill in some details that had been nagging at Cyrus’ head. It wasn’t what he would have hoped to learn, but it was better than nothing.

He knew well enough not to believe that Aerin had told him everything; he knew the man was probably hiding things, but Cyrus decided those secrets could remain just that for the time being. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know, but because if he let the man keep his secrets, then Cyrus would have a reason to come back, and he refused to give that up.

Cyrus knew he should leave now; he should turn away and exit the cell the same way he had entered, but instead he looked toward Aerin. "Do you regret it?" He blurted it out, hating himself for asking because he was sure he knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

"Which part? Working with the dread lord, or hurting you?" Aerin asked, and Cyrus drew in a sharp breath as he realized the implication of the question. That the answer would change depending on the meaning of the question.

"Both," he responded, stepping a bit closer as Aerin stood from his seat and moved as well. They stopped at the same time, painfully close together, the sunlight between them creating a barrier of light between Cyrus and the man who had the power to pull him toward corruption.

"If you hadn’t come into my life, I would have taken the throne without any remorse; I would have killed my brother without guilt, but thinking about you and the pain I caused you, that I do regret," Aerin said, the words falling from his lips and trailing off into a sigh that sent a shiver down Cyrus’ spine.

He knew Aerin was not a good man and that the things he’d done were not forgivable acts. It should make Cyrus hate him, but he was weak; he was idealistic, and he thought perhaps the man could change, that the prince could pull himself into a better man, one who Cyrus could be proud of caring for, not a monster that he felt ashamed of loving.

"I would have had you as my consort, Cyrus; you would have been king alongside me."

Cyrus’ eyes grew wide, and he swallowed thickly. Their eyes met, and Cyrus shook his head, forcing himself to look away, over at the window, out at the light. "I wouldn’t want that," he whispered, tensing up as Aerin stepped closer to him.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't; you dream of adventure and glory, but not power or majesty." Aerin’s voice was soft, gentle, and warm, like the sun.

Cyrus wanted to bask in that warmth, to lose himself in the feeling and forget all the troubles he’d ever known.

A hand touched his cheek, and Cyrus couldn’t pull away; he just accepted the touch and told himself it would be the last one he allowed, though he knew that was a lie.

"Will you visit me again?" Aerin asked, his hand drifting across Cyrus’ blue skin, brushing across his lips and up toward his cheekbone, where warm fingers pushed a strand of hair behind his pointed ear before pulling away entirely, leaving Cyrus cold.

He took a step back, the sounds of his shoes the only noise in the air as he turned his back on the prince and slid his way through the solid bars.

Pausing outside the cell, he stood up straighter, forced his shoulders back, and spoke, but didn’t dare look back. "I don’t know," he answered, but once again, it was a lie.

He knew he would be back, whether it was for information or simply because he couldn’t resist the temptation. That was the only factor that was unknown.

#playchoices #choices #play choices #mine #pb #bolas #blades of light and shadow 2 #writing #aerin valleros #prince aerin #aerin x mc #Mc x aerin #bolas 2 #bolas aerin #bolas fanfic #choices blades #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic

[ntoraplayschoices]

Well! I finally finished that Valax fanfic I was writing. YAY!

Did my interes t in Valax start as a bit of a joke? Yes. Kind of. A little. No.

Is it a joke anymore? You guess. (Nah )

The idea actually was inspired by a tiktok from @/book0bsessedd !

Here it is on ao3. (Not the tiktok, just my fanfic. That wasn' t so funny sorry )

Remember to drink some water, have some food and stay safe and well! <3

Thank you so much for indulging me and my little fanfic ! Hope you enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------

It was another one of those nights they had lately. Tired -in every possible way- but restless once they finally laid their body on some makeshift bed or the cold, hard ground. So, instead of tossing and turning (and listening to their friends’ sleepy mumbles and snoring) they decided to head up this relatively low cliff above them.

Traveling like this had some perks despite the stressful situation they were in. It was a wonderful opportunity to explore parts of the world they hadn’t seen yet- well, that was most parts of the world but still.

They sat at the edge, their legs hanging and moving back and forth lazily. Their bored, almost pouty expression, switched to a huge amused grin as their eyes widened and their back straightened when they looked up to confirm- yes! 

Huge, bright and beautiful lines ripped the night sky. They let out a soft, excited giggle. It has been years since they have seen a meteor shower. The last one was when Kade and they were but young kids, barely the age of ten. Their expression turned wistful and bittersweet.

Kade. Sweet, sweet Kade.

What was he up to? Did he think of them as much as they thought about him? Did he miss them as much, too?

Memories flooded their head- memories of Kade and them as kids, getting up to all sorts of trouble. Them as teenagers and adults- doing exactly the same.

They smiled, and it was one of the rare genuinely carefree smiles they had since they returned from the shadow realm.

They focused on the constellations Kade made out for them when they were kids, laughing softly at the names he chose and the memories themselves. They could remember Kade oh-so-seriously explaining the made-up constellations and themselves nodding along seriously. 

They grinned amused when another meteor ripped across the sky.

They were so amused by the meteors that they didn’t even hear the - familiar by now- portal being opened behind them- the literal rip of reality wasn’t enough to get their attention (!) and Valax, face hardened and glaive in one hand, throbbing shadow magic in the other, stared at their unmoving form confused, eyes blinking.

As she was about to make her presence known, she noticed their expression- grinning and awed, light reflecting in their eyes. Her expression softened slightly mirroring Raine as she looked at theirs and she scolded herself for it, quickly hardening her features once more.

She followed their gaze and her own lips parted in surprise, eyes big as she took in the sight. The shadow magic disappeared from her hand and her other arm relaxed, the large glaive hanging loosely from it, grazing the ground for a moment. Awe-struck, looking up at the sky, she forgot all about the hunt and Raine’s blood and whatever other nonsense she was thinking besides the flashes of light across the sky.

“What is that?” she mumbled softly, her deep voice carried by the soothing breeze. Raine’s expression shifted to one of horror as they glanced over their shoulder, clumsily reading their weapon. 

They cussed at themselves quietly for not realising she was there sooner.

Valax barely spared a glance at them, raising a hand to stop them before pointing at the night sky, her black and long nail looking too much like a claw. Raine gulped.

“I-It’s a meteor shower,” they replied, their voice slightly shaky. Despite the fact their friends were close, they were alone out here with her and she was obviously not here to chat.

They glanced down at their friends’ sleeping forms, their voice caught in their throat.

Valax, as if in a trance, moved closer to the edge of the cliff, her eyes only looking up. At some point, Raine even thought she’d fall off, but she just sat at the edge- keeping a relatively big distance from them. They thought that was for the best.

Their shoulders tensed and they gripped their weapon just in case.

Memories of their past encounters flashed in their mind, memories of Valax picking them up by their throat and squeezing, or tearing their arm to get their blood with no sympathy whatsoever.

They glanced down, the skin of their lower arm bruised and they winced at the painful memory. 

Valax’s voice snapped them out of their thoughts.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she confessed, voice softer than Raine had ever heard it.

They glanced at the night sky, smiling faintly at the sight, before looking back at her.

“You don’t have anything similar in the Shadow Realm ?” They asked, despite already knowing what her answer would be. It was weird, asking her questions like this, their life not being threatened.

She scoffed, resentment sneaking into her voice.

“No. Just storms. Nothing like this.”

Raine hummed and tore their eyes away from her form, now looking at their swinging legs. Below them, Raine’s friends, sleeping, peaceful and unaware. 

They felt a pang of something in their body- hurt? Ache? Anger? They didn’t know. They didn’t even know what for.

They sighed, glancing at Valax again. She had lowered her guard, at least a bit. Maybe this was their opportunity to finally get some answers.

“Why do you want to conquer the Light Realm anyway? I mean… Look at this-” They gestured softly at the sky. They knew trying to change her mind was not possible- and they weren’t trying to. They just wanted to understand her better.

“Why ruin it? You seem to like it.”

Valax’s expression turned into a scowl, her eyes turning to them. Her look made them shiver softly. It could have been the wind, but they were certain it wasn’t.

“I told you. My mother, the Empress, wants to reclaim it. What is so complicated about that? Besides, nothing will happen to the sky or your realm’s natural habitat.”

Raine raised their hands slightly, as if in some sort of surrender. 

“Sorry, sorry. Just asking.” They found what she said difficult to believe.

Their eyes darted back to the stars, their voice softer as they craned their neck slightly to look at the sky better.

“How could you enjoy anything like this when there’s so much war and pain around you, though? The shadow court itself didn’t care for the mess it left the world in, and they grew up in the light realm. What would make you and your army preserve something you have no ties or links to ?”

They asked, but no answer came. After a few moments, they gulped, curiosity getting the best of them.

“Why is your mother so…obsessed with it though? I mean, most people wouldn’t go through the trouble of capturing someone, experimenting on them -which, creepy, by the way- and then hunting them down without a break . So, why do you go  through all the trouble to do all that for a realm you’ve barely interacted with?”

Raine asked, and despite their obvious feelings for the Ash Empire and all of this mess, the question was genuine.

Valax’s reaction though didn’t change. It actually became more hostile.

She scowled again.

“As if you would understand.”  She spat, tone harsh and dismissive.

“It’s none of your business anyway,” her familiar scowl, her firm tone filled with an anger that felt about to explode and consume them, made them both shiver and clench their fists.

Raine sputtered and chuckled in disbelief. “It isn- hello? Yes, it very much is my business! You are hunting me down for my blood! How could it not be my business?”

Valax clicked her tongue, looking straight ahead. She clenched one fist, the other hand gripping her glaive. If she risked a glance at them she’d either go on a full fight -which they both knew- or she might actually be tempted to answer their question -which Raine didn’t know -. And she didn’t feel like doing that - surprisingly, she didn’t want to fight now either-.

“No, it is not. Why we will do what we will do after we get your blood does not concern you,” she replied coldly, gripping her glaive to the point her knuckles whitened slightly.

Why did she find it difficult to not tell them? They’re the enemy, it would obviously be pointless to explain and yet she found herself biting her tongue to not say anything.

The breeze traveled through and between them, making Raine shiver softly, caressing their hands up and down their arms. Some strands of hair covered Valax’s face from the wind and she sloppily, even somewhat roughly, pulled them away behind her ears. So much so that even Raine grimaced, pretty sure Valax accidentally scratched her own face.

They looked away, down at their swinging legs.

 “Well, you say that. And sure, mother empress wants to conquer the world, cool- well, not cool but you know- why are you so invested in it? ‘Cause it seems like you’re doing most of the work. So… Why…Do you? Is it that you really love your mom and want to help her or something, or-”

They honestly would have stopped talking after that. And they most likely should have been looking at her. If they had, they would have noticed the way she clenched her jaw, the way her teeth grit together, how her expression hardened and how her knuckles whitened.

“Don’t you know when to stop running your mouth?!” She exclaimed loudly, her voice deep, furious and rough. Her glaive, though non-aggressive, turned towards their direction. Their eyes widened in surprise- as much anger Valax had expressed, it was never like this. They lifted their arms again, in surrender.

“Woah, woah, hey! I’m sorry! Sorry!” They rushed to apologise and both of them wondered if it even meant anything. But Raine knew they didn’t wish to pick on anyone’s problems like this, not even Valax’s.

“I mean it, alright? Sorry. I didn’t want to…touch a nerve. Really.”

Valax was about to reply but the sincerity in their look and voice made her grumble and relax her shoulders, facing away from them again.

“Whatever,” she mumbled. The silence was awkward and too loud. 

Raine cleared their throat as quietly as they could. 

The wind ruffled their clothes and hair again, making them look even more disheveled than before, and the same applied to Valax.

Her hair moved to flutter over her face again and she frustratingly sighed and clumsily- and roughly- pushed the strands behind her ears. Raine winced to themselves once more, certain the elf had scratched herself again.

They shivered slightly in the breeze and ran their hands up and down their arms. They glanced at her, her eyes still on the night sky. It had grown very quiet. They shivered again.

She didn’t seem cold and if she was she didn’t show it.

“Aren’t you cold?” they asked, their own hair currently being ruffled by the wind.

Valax scoffed as she glanced at them her voice calmer, despite everything.

“You day walkers are quite fragile, are you not ?”

Raine scoffed, smiling faintly.

“Nah. There’s plenty of strong fellas here. I know people that can crush skulls like it’s nothing. Orcs, for example, could do it. Easily. I’m pretty sure they are the strongest in Morella.” 

Their eyes fell on Imtura, some meters below the cliff they were sitting on and they smiled.

Valex frowned confused at the name ‘Morella’ but Raine waved their hand dismissively, not really feeling like explaining much at the moment.

“I’m not going to come with you,” they clarified after a moment - not that they needed to.

Valax looked down at her glaive, humming as she gripped it.

“Yes, I assumed you wouldn’t. That’s what makes you a formidable enemy, I suppose. No one fights so ferociously even when the odds are against them, just for the sake of it. As annoying as you are, I can recognise that.”

Raine snorted, smiling at themselves.

 Imtura fights against all odds, they thought. Just because it’s fun.

They didn’t say that. Different words slipped their lips before they realised it.

“So you enjoy fighting with me? You come to find me whenever you wanna let some steam off?”

They asked, surprised at their own playfulness. Valax was terrifying, their skin crawled at the sound of her name- but having her here like this, under the light of the moon, divine and radiant, the rips of light across the night sky and her– nearly awed, nearly relaxed (definitely lacking the usual hardness and scowl) made the moment almost vulnerable.

Maybe they were tired but it was almost like the lines between them blurred and swirled. Valax scoffed but it lacked the usual hostility. They could swear they saw her lips tugging slightly at the side.

“You really don’t know when to stop running your mouth, do you?”

She asked again, no hostility in her voice this time. She sounded more amused than anything.

Raine grinned, the cheeky words leaving their mouth before they could stop them.

“ I ‘ve been told it’s part of my charm.”

Valax glanced at them and scoffed- yes, again- but the sound was more akin to a chuckle. She smiled to herself ever so slightly, the expression concealed by the darkness of the night.

Raine smiled slightly as they noticed it, despite the princess’ efforts.

A princess. Like Aerin.

Raine had come to realise that royals aren’t as happy as they thought when they were a child. Yet again, can you really trust a kid to not see the world as the best possible version it could be?

They wondered if Valax was unhappy as well. They glanced at her for a moment, the wind ruffling her hair slightly her head tilted upwards and the light of the stars and meteors falling across the sky reflecting on her black eyes.

They didn’t ask.

They turned their head to the sky. The rips across the sky started to mend, to heal and gradually turned to scratches and distant blinks of light until they disappeared. 

  They sat a moment in silence before Valax’s deep voice shattered it, her hardness slowly seeping in her tone and words.

“You should call for your companions,” she stood up, her presence imposing. The powerful shadow magic returned on one hand, glaive at the ready in the other.

Raine sighed, gripping their weapon. They looked at the distance for a moment, cherishing the last seconds of silence and peace before the fight.

The emotions that swirled beneath their eyes mixed together and their jaw clenched, their grip on their preferred weapon tightening.

“Yes.” They replied, voice unusually serious.

“ I should .”

#bolas fanfic #blades of light and shadow valax #bolas valax #valax x mc #princess valax #valax x raine ?

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Blades of Light & Shadow 2023 Masterlist 1/2

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+

January 2023

Blades Drabble ✒️ | Tyril Starfury x mc - @lilyoffandoms

March 2023

Blades Drabble ✒️ | Maiele & Daenarya - @lilyoffandoms

Part Two: The Lights of New York ✒️ | Tyril Starfury x M!OC - @lawrencebarkley

A Theif in the Garden ✒️| Mal Volari x F!OC - @storyofmychoices

Buried Memories ✒️Ⓜ️| Tyril Starfury x f!elf!mc - @starlight-starfury

April 2023

Nothing is Impossible With You ✒️| Tyril Starfury x F!ELF!MC - @missameliep

June 2023

A Meadow Affair ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC x Nia Ellarious - @storyofmychoices

July 2023

Crime & Punishment ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

The Bow That Burned Light ✒️| Killian Clawthorne, Kade Clawthorne - @inlocusmads

How to Distract a Rouge ✒️| Mal Volari x F!OC - @storyofmychoices

Mal's New Armor ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices 🎨

The Reign of a Short King ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC, Tyril Starfury x OC - @storyofmychoices

August 2023

Beyond Riverbend: A Kit's Call to Adventure ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

The Cutest Goof ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

Restless Shadows ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

Spades & Arrowheads ✒️| Mal Volari, Nia Ellarious, etc - @inlocusmads

Blades Drabble ✒️| Mal Volar x F!MC, Tyril Starfury x MC - @lilyoffandoms

Chosen by Light ✒️| Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

Blades Masterlist 2023 2/2

#blades of light and shadow #bolas #bolas fanfic #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

[phaaz]

It took me forever to find the time outside of school to finish this, but I finally managed it! I made a short fan-made visual novel set in book 1 of Pixelberry Choices' Blades of Light and Shadow!

This is a small side project and the art assets are a bit old and not up to my current standards, but I just made this to get familiar with RenPy and make fanart/fanfic for Blades! If you want to check it out, you can download it from my itch.io page here: https://49kittens.itch.io/blades-of-light-and-shadow-fan-vn

I tried to test for all bugs and other issues, but if you run into anything I might have missed, please let me know! I hope you enjoy playing it and if you want to post any pictures/reactions/thoughts or talk about it with me, feel free to tag me or send me an ask/dm!

Reblogs are super appreciated! :D

@choicesficwriterscreations

#playchoices #choices stories you play #blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow 2 #bolas #bolas 2 #choices fanart #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanart #tyril starfury #nia ellarious #mal volari #imtura tal kaelen #raine nightbloom #bolas tyril #bolas nia #bolas imtura #bolas mal #choices mal #choices nia #choices tyril #choices imtura #visual novel #my art #pixelberry choices #pb choices #pixelberry #play choices #cfwc wips

[solaneceae]

consume

a team bolas oneshot (read on ao3) tw: cannibalism, fuga impossivel references

“Hey, Slime. Can I eat your leg?”

The hybrid makes a huh of confusion, still adjusting his trusty gas mask over his face as he loots his own dead body, codified arm still glitching from fresh respawn. Cellbit can hear Jaiden and Étoiles conversing nearby, Bagi and Tina not too far from them, and the entire area reeks of blood and death.

Red Spawn had, strangely enough, become some kind of safe haven for now — people from all teams that were begging for a break, for a chat, for any modicum of normalcy had started to flock there as the end Day Four drew near: separated lovers falling into each other’s arms, Étoiles coaching everyone on PvP techniques regardless of affiliation (because the guy just thrived on being kind and helping people become the best version of themselves, it seemed. Cellbit appreciated that), his very presence a deterrent to anyone who would dare to come and break the temporary peace (BadBoyHalo).

And now that they didn’t have to look over their shoulder every second, the cat hybrid had started to think. A risky endeavour in a place such as Purgatory, but after exchanging a heated kiss with his husband and getting the sudden urge to bite his mouth off, he had started to wonder.

There were so many bodies around their spawn. He had seen many for the past few days, most of them belonging to his own team, but the urge to chow down on fresh meat had been nowhere as strong as right then with Roier, not even close. (First day had been the odd one out, as everyone in red team had lost their minds to the fog and joined in on that fucked up banquet.)

A hypothesis is blooming in his mind. He needs to test something. “Can I eat your leg?” he repeats to a befuddled Charlie, who looks at him, then at his body, then back at him. “I mean. Sure? Knock yourself out.”

Cellbit does — and it’s disappointing. It starts off nice, his heart hammering inside his ribcage as he severs muscle and bone and tendon to rip Slime’s leg off his still cooling body, saliva pooling in his mouth as his pupils dilate to eat up all the blue, and he can feel it, the thrill, the desire, the manic joy; but then he bites into it and the leg loses solidity, turning into green goop that tastes like grass and it’s so sour, like an unripe lemon. He spits it all out, grimacing — his palate and tongue almost feel burned. He forgot slimes were corrosive. “Tastes like shit,” he huffs, and Charlie lets out a disappointed aw.

Results: inconclusive. Cause: negative bias, because Charlie is a fucking slime and hence an outlier. 

He asks Jaiden next, and she shrugs and tells him to go for it. (Maybe they should be worried about how flippant they’ve all become about cannibalism, but that’s a problem for post-Purgatory them to deal with.) And this time, it’s good. Her flesh is tender and moist, just the right balance of muscle and fat, and he gets a sick sense of satisfaction as she watches him tear into her thigh with morbid fascination. “How do I taste like?” she asks him. He tells her ‘delicious’ between two mouthfuls of prime cut, and she smiles. “Nice! I’m glad.”

Contrary to what some might believe, he hadn't eaten anything off the Federation workers he had killed. Hadn't reached that point at the time. But now there he is, seeking an enemy body among the dozens of Jaidens lying around. When he finally does, he stares down at it for a long moment, and finds that he has no desire to sink his teeth into it at all. Mmh. He looks up to find Roier, still silent to mind his recovering lungs and plopping down signs that make Étoiles crack up, and he’s so funny and cute and strong and Cellbit wants to crawl into his chest cavity and— “Ah,” he realises, something old and crooked at the back of his mind finally clicking into place.

He thinks of Pac. He thinks of Alcatraz, of that desire that had torn its way into his brain as soon as he had seen that youthful, terrified face for the first time. He thinks of those nights tossing and turning, tongue flicking out in a nervous tick as he obsessively rotated the new guy into his mind from every angle, trying to imagine what his screams would be like, how his flesh would taste, how it would feel going down his throat. He thinks of the pure, unadulterated pleasure of finally making that fantasy a reality, details blurring into red-mist bliss and the song of Pac screaming and crying. He finds that if he had to do it all again, right now, he would, but not like this. This time, dream-Pac would offer himself willingly, repeating I trust you, I trust you as dream-Cellbit reverently slices through his flesh.

He thinks of that thing humans have, when they experience the urge to squish or bite when they see something cute. He thinks of the result of his observations, that he only enjoys eating people if he cares for them.

(Maybe he had loved Pac once, in a fucked up version of a crush distorted by his mania and lifetime worth of trauma. Maybe that was why he had done what he’d done. Now the engineer was more akin to a brother to him, close and important, but that obsessive attraction wasn’t there anymore.)

Maybe it’s just in his nature, to consume the very things he loves. “Something on your mind?” Jaiden asks him later, sleepily, her head resting against his side as the rest of the family dozes off within the Nest in a tangle of limbs and soft blankets. Cellbit shakes his head. “Just. Processing stuff.”

Jaiden hums, and Phil drapes one of his large black wings over them both. The conure chirps, flock, home, and the crow replies with a quiet yesyes.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #fanfic #cannibalism as a metaphor for love is kinda based actually #cellbit #q!cellbit #tw cannibalism

[aria-ashryver]

I Cannot Bear To Hold You With These Unworthy Hands

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Aerin x m!human!MC (Dorian Silvertongue)

Words: 2.4K

Summary: After the night they spent together, Aerin weighs his troubled thoughts, trying to muster the strength to leave the bed, leave the tent, leave Dorian behind.

(or; Aerin writes his stupid little letter)

Ratings/Warnings: Teen - brief allusions to the fact that Aerin and MC have just slept together; brief mention that Baldur was abusive; brief mention of self-inflicted injury

A/N: A little ✨Aerin angst✨, as a treat! I haven't written for him (or Blades) before, so I'd love to know what folks think of the style and characterisation! Also, if you enjoy atmosphere (and being in pain), this piece was written to Adam Skorupa and Krzysztof Wierzynkiewicz's A Nearly Peaceful Place

@choicesficwriterscreations

Aerin was a smart man. He knew that. Prided himself on it, in fact. He’d always been quick-witted, clever, his rigorous education obvious to anyone he spoke to. There wasn’t a puzzle he’d ever come up against that he couldn’t unravel with ease.

Until Dorian.

The celebrations in Riverbend had continued well into the night; beyond the confines their tent, Aerin could still hear the light refrain of a flute, the slow, poignant swell of a fiddle, as a pair of minstrels played their longing to skies littered with stars. It wasn’t so loud that he couldn’t sleep through it; beside him, curved protectively around him, Dorian’s breath had evened out into the slow rhythm of true sleep.

Aerin felt him sigh against his skin. His body was warm with rest and the lingering heat of their lovemaking. Not for the first time, Aerin marvelled at how utterly, hopelessly stuck he was.

Not in the least because, even asleep as he was, Dorian didn’t seem as though he would deign to let him go any time soon. The man had a build borne of long years of physical labour and swordsmanship; those iron-banded arms hugged Aerin firmly against his chest, one arm looping around his waist, the other curving around his shoulders. He held him so sweetly, so securely, that it seemed that Aerin’s half-baked escape plan would fall apart at the first hurdle — namely, ever getting out of this blasted bed.

An alarmingly vocal part of him hoped that that would be the end of it.

Because that was the other thing that gave him pause. Try as he might, Aerin simply couldn’t make up his mind.

He should go.

Right?

Right. He should go.

Leaving the party, leaving Dorian —a gasp hooked in Aerin’s lungs— it was the right thing to do.

A breeze shook the walls of the tent, the burnt gold silks cracking and shuddering in the wind. How much nicer it would be, to just stay in the bed.

It was warm, inside. Next to Dorian. Everything was soft linen sheets and warm wood, the tent’s furnishings humble and plain, but comfortable. The candles burned low at the small table where they’d sat together and shared a cup of wine earlier that evening.

They’d talked for an hour or two after slipping away from Riverbend’s quaint little festival —Dorian had laughed at his own jokes, as he was wont to do, and he’d grinned at Aerin’s acerbic wit in a way that had his stomach tripping over itself— and then Dorian had kissed him like there was nothing and no one else in the world at all.

Like the answer to every question he’d ever had was as simple as that.

How easy it would be to pretend. To stay here, his head nestled on his lover’s chest, listening to the slow rise and fall of his breathing. How easy, to forget the outside world existed.

Aerin’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. It was exactly the sort of irony he ought to have expected, he thought. All his life, he’d been trapped. Trapped by Baldur’s abuses; trapped by the minutiae of courtly decorum; trapped in a role wherein no one would ever see him as a person, merely an idea, a ghost of a farce of a mockery of what they all thought a “Prince” ought to be.

Then, when the abuses had worn him down to nothing, and he’d thought to seize some measure of independence for himself… It had been mistake after catastrophe after vainglorious disaster that had won him nothing but regret and a year-long stay in a cold cell.

Now that he finally, finally had the freedom to make decisions for himself, now that he had a chance to atone and do some good with his wretched excuse for a life, well.

How ironic that that very freedom was little but another cage.

Self-loathing was a demon that pressed him bodily into the sheets, turned the warmth around him hotter by degrees until it was suffocating.

Doing right by Dorian meant being worthy of him. And being worthy of him meant he’d have to shatter the nascent trust growing between them. He’d have to betray Dorian, again, after all the kindness he’d shown him.

They had been three days out from Riverbend when the party had set camp one night, and a whip-thin fox had darted across the edge of the clearing. It was clearly wild, its hackles raised in gnawing hunger and fear, but Dorian had simply grinned and hunkered down with a strip of dried meat in his hand.

It had taken him most of the evening, but eventually Aerin had returned from gathering kindling with Mal to find the creature eating the meat right out of his outstretched fingers. Another half-hour of gentle coaxing and it had chirruped and curled up right in Dorian’s lap.

Mal had rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if he found the whole thing laughable. Expected, even. As though he knew how little chance anything —anyone— had of resisting Dorian’s charm.

As Aerin had stroked disbelieving fingers through the creature’s flame-red pelt, he’d finally understood that the gut-deep pull he’d been feeling since their first kiss by the lake was some combination of a deep, pervasive sadness… and a potent yearning.

An unabating ache.

Teeth, and claws, and snarling wildness; none of it seemed to bother Dorian. A deep-rooted instinct to lash out in self-defence, stemming from a life of fear and pain, it was simply no match for his easy smiles and slow coaxing. Once Dorian Silvertongue set his sights on something —on someone— they were all but his. Aerin yearned for Dorian to tame him, as patiently and painlessly as he had the fox.

When they’d packed up camp the following morning, the fox was gone, but the feeling lingered.

And when they’d happened upon a particularly tricky patch of forest trail not long after they’d left the clearing, Aerin hadn’t been able to resist taking Dorian’s outstretched hand.

For a fleeting moment, Aerin let himself imagine he could stay.

That the pair of them weren’t tangled up in a mess of his own making; that the hand Dorian had held so gently wasn’t covered in blood he couldn’t wash clean.

That maybe they’d lace their fingers through one another’s to stroll along the piers of Port Parnassus, taking in the markets and the brisk night air. That they could be just a pair of travellers, unremarkable, unburdened save for the kiss of salt upon their skin as ocean mist sprayed up from the docks.

Laughter on their lips as an unexpected swell left them drenched.

Perhaps he’d get the chance to get back at Dorian for those godsawful sausages he’d had them all eat at the festival tonight — they could taste the fare from various street vendors, feed each other unfamiliar fruits and spiced wine of dubious vintage.

…He’d buy Dorian a handcrafted ring to replace the one he still wore on a chain around his neck. One that wasn’t a mark of Whitetower, of the Valleros family, but just him.

Just Aerin.

An honest gift from one beating heart to another, both of whom had known far too much pain and burden. A mark of a new beginning.

Dorian’s skin was hot beneath Aerin’s cheek; stifling a gasp, Aerin pulled back, blotting away the few errant tears that had begun to pool on his chest.

He stared long and hard at Dorian’s sleeping face. The way his hair fell in his eyes. The bruised shadows beneath them. The rasp of stubble at Dorian’s jaw that even now he could feel burning against the delicate skin of his thighs, his neck.

Dorian’s shifted slightly in his sleep, his fingers spasming on Aerin’s skin, clutching at him in a way that had a flurry of butterflies alighting in his stomach.

Frozen, Aerin caught his lip between his teeth, scared to move.

Hoping Dorian wouldn’t wake.

Praying he would.

It would be selfish of him to stay, he should go. He was a smart man; he knew he should do what needed to be done. It was the right thing to do.

Never mind that even thinking of walking away from the one good thing he’d ever had in his accursed life felt akin to shoving a knife into his own chest.

He’d done that, once.

The Nerada stone hadn’t wanted to budge, the rituals he’d undertaken to free himself of Shadow corruption were long, and laboured, and exhaustingly brutal, but he’d taken that pain as penance.

Somehow, it hurt less than the thought of Dorian waking to find that Aerin had betrayed him yet again.

Sand hurtled through the hourglass as Aerin let his looming choices fall by the wayside.

He knew he was running out of time.

But right now, all he wanted to do was memorise exactly how it felt to be held.

It was with a slow reluctance that Aerin drew his unworthy hands away from the only person he’d ever loved. Easing out of Dorian’s grasp, he slipped from the bed. Located his smallclothes in the jumbled pile of leather and linens and weaponry on the floor. Pulled those on. His trousers and boots, those too.

The heat of Dorian’s skin still warmed his palms; an echo that he knew would fade all too soon. He tugged his tunic on over his head, hopeful the clinking music of buckles and straps might rouse him from his slumber, dreading whatever excuse he’d make if it did.

Aerin knew Dorian hadn’t been sleeping well since his escape from the Ash Empire. Most nights he’d wake with a scream catching in his throat, a skittering panic in his eyes that Aerin knew well himself. More cruel then, that the fates would have him sleeping so peacefully tonight, the marks Aerin had left on his throat a brand, a traitor’s kiss, a ghost edge of a knife wound.

Aerin finished dressing.

Dorian slept.

He crossed to the nightstand, poured himself a glass of water from the decanter. Tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

Still, Dorian slept.

Would he think of him, Aerin wondered? Would Dorian ache for him the next time he bedded down alone?

…would he even be alone?

Aerin clamped his jaw shut against a swell of sudden nausea. He knew Dorian was open with his affections, and he’d thought he didn’t begrudge him that —what he shared with Mal was strictly physical, at least on Dorian’s part, though his blossoming relationship with Nia hadn’t survived their confrontation with the Dreadlord— but for a moment, bitter, ugly jealousy made him feel ill.

Would this second betrayal be enough to carve Aerin’s name out of his heart for good? Push him back into Nia’s arms?

Aerin swallowed.

Perhaps it was better that Dorian hate him. He didn’t deserve his kindness, much less his love. Not after everything he’d done.

Dorian was a blazing comet streaking through the night sky; Aerin the empty void he lit with his passing. He didn’t regret the night they’d shared together; far from it, he couldn’t remember ever being happier. Just this once, Aerin had longed to blaze up alongside him, lost in his fire, in his light.

Just this once, he’d wanted to cling to him as he burned.

It had been better than anything he’d ever dreamed.

Aerin set the glass down, his hands shaking around the decanter as he poured himself a second glass of water.

Of course he had to leave. How could he kid himself that he could have a place amongst the great heroes of Morella? Him — a hero? Who was he trying to fool?

Jaw clenching, Aerin took a seat at the table, drawing some papers and ink from his satchel. He laid them out with slow precision, hating himself, hating the world, hating everything he had to do.

Behind him, Dorian gasped in his sleep; it was an agonised shock of sound that cut Aerin to the quick. He leapt to his feet, crossing the tent to perch on the bedside as Dorian jolted himself awake.

‘P-please!’ Dorian gasped. ‘Don’t. Don’t!’

‘It’s alright,’ Aerin said.

One of Aerin’s hands came up to cradle Dorian’s face; the other rubbed soothing circles against his chest. Dorian’s hand flew up to clutch at his wrist.

‘Aerin?’

‘I’m here, it’s okay,’ Aerin murmured. His heart clenched painfully as Dorian’s sleep-addled gaze locked onto his and immediately grew less panicked. ‘You’re safe, Dorian. I’m right beside you.’

Almost before he’d finished speaking, Dorian’s eyes drifted closed — but not before he’d slid his hand higher to lace their fingers together where Aerin’s hand still cradled his face.

It was almost too much.

It would be so easy to sink back into that bed, sink back into a sense of belonging he didn’t deserve.

Aerin sucked a strained breath against the tightness in his lungs, gently extricating himself from Dorian’s grasp. He didn’t know if it was some ill-begotten vestige of Shadow, lingering in his chest even now, or if breathing was simply beyond him where Dorian was concerned.

Every time they met each other’s eyes, the air in Aerin’s lungs turned to pitch.

Perhaps… he could stay? Dorian’s love would alight him, and the pitch in his lungs would blaze and burn, every breath between their kisses turned golden and glowing with light and fire.

Perhaps he should leave.

Let it cool and harden. Let his lungs solidify. Let him never draw a joyous breath again.

He should leave.

He should leave.

He sat at the table, his pen poised above the crisp parchment. He stayed frozen in place for so long the ink dripped from the nib, pooling into a dense, black blot on the page. It soaked into the paper, the sight eerily reminiscent of tendrils of shadow bleeding into smooth, pale skin.

Aerin choked down the tears, the bile threatening to rise, and scribbled down the only useless words he could muster.

Dear Dorian,

I apologize for leaving so abruptly, especially without saying goodbye...

...what a Gods-forsaken joke.

Drying his eyes, Aerin stole one last look, not knowing if he would ever see Dorian again. He wanted to kiss him goodbye. Wanted it so desperately it burned. He wanted Dorian’s eyes to flutter open at the first touch of his lips; for his hand to snap out one more time to clutch at Aerin’s own; for him to whisper please.

Please, Aerin. Don’t go. Stay with me.

Dropping the folded parchment on the table, his fingers trembling, Aerin turned to leave, knowing he was a jester, he was a fool, he was the realm’s most miserable joke.

#blades of light and shadow #bolas 2 #aerin valleros #aerin x mc #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #cfwc lgbtqia+ #🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈

[ender-princee]

Time for my next thing of this is a fic you all should read!!

Centering!! Phil and missa but in Purgatory??

Yeah!!

We got a bit of angsty bolas rojas

Phil losing his goddamn mind

Missa just wanting to talk to phil

Then the two of them finally being able to talk to each other after weeks, even if it's in hell!!

Some hurt/comfort, solutions to getting out of Purgatory (hell) not provided.

#death duo #qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #qsmp eggs #qsmp purgatory #fanfic #team bolas #bolas rojas #qsmp death duo

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Pancake mornings

Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairing: Mal Volari X f!mc (Autumn Nightbloom)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 650

Summary: Mal tries his hand at making Heroes of Morella pancakes ... and Autumn considers more legitimate career choices for her handsome rogue.

Autumn awakens to the sweet smell of pancakes and peals of laughter coming up from the kitchen two floors below. She smiles at the novelty of normalcy. Something she never thought she’d have again.

Of course, there was still work to do. She and her friends continued to travel the newly merged realm to help the communities rebuild and fight off all manner of shadow beasts and fantastic creatures. But there were also moments of calm in-between, which she relished. She spent most of those weeks with Mal at the orphanage, making time to catch up with Nia, visiting friends, and Kade, when he wasn’t off to Zaradun with Cherta. Though she kept her room at the Palace, a standing invitation by King Arlan for the Saviour of the Realm, Autumn had pretty much moved into Mal’s cozy attic room.

She slips out of bed and quickly dresses, making her way downstairs towards the joyful ruckus.

“Morning, kit!” Mal calls out from the stove, flipping pancakes dangerously high into the air, to the delight of a dozen beaming kids gathered around.

“Morning, handsome.” She sidles next to him and places a soft kiss on his cheek. “Whatcha cooking up?”

“I call these my Heroes of Morella pancakes!” He proudly declares, to squeals of excited laughter from several kids.

She looks at a growing pile of deformed – faces? Some with elongated ears, others with points resembling horns, others just formless masses – and snorts. “Well, these certainly won’t win you any talent contests. Though I’ll give you points for originality, your magnificence.”

“Hey! I’d like to see you try to do better.” He mock-pouts.

“Sure thing. Watch and learn.” She smirks and grabs a ladle, dropping a dollop of batter onto the hot pan. She concentrates her magic, shaping the sizzling pancake into a perfect nesper shape.

“Oh, come on! That’s cheating!” Mal splutters, scandalized.

“And since when are you concerned about cheating, my handsome scoundrel?” She smirks mischievously, starting a new pile with her perfectly shaped pancakes.

"Since I'm not the one doing it!"

“I want Autumn’s pancakes! They’re so pretty.” “Me too!” “Me too!” The kids clutter around the counter, ooh-ing and ah-ing at Autumn’s growing pile of perfectly shaped heroes and nespers.

Mal huffs vexedly but relents with a magnanimous bow, “You seem to have won this battle, my fair lady.”

“oh, but you had the brilliant idea, so I say we share in the spoils of victory this time.” She sneaks a quick kiss, a promise of more to come.

He grins at her cockily, pressing himself against her back and whispering in her ear “That, I can get behind.”

“Mal!” She bats at him, eyes wide, and distracts herself with plating batches of pancakes for the anxiously waiting children.

Soon, the kids are settled around the dining table, munching away at their hero pancakes in a boisterous cacophony of talks and laughter. Autumn slips back to the kitchen and into Mal’s arms, hugging him lightly. He returns the embrace, sighing contentedly.

“Any plans today?”

“Well, I’ve gotten word that our dear friend Lord Thurgood has recently 'procured' a sword from a temple that belonged to the shadow realm. Apparently, it’s got some engravings that may or may not predate the Elven civilization.” He catches her scandalized look and adds on quickly “… for research purposes! It’s rumored to have magical properties… I’m sure Nia and elf boy would love to examine it.”

“And once they’re done researching…”

“Weeeeell… it’ll be worth a pretty penny.”

“Mal! Do I have to remind you how your last heist in Thurgood manor nearly ended in disaster?”

“Eh! I'd say it ended pretty good, considering I made it out with the statue and … made out with you.” He smirks devilishly, stealing a heated kiss.

Autumn sighs, biting her lower lip to hide an amused smile. “You know, Mal, as a hero of the realm, you should really think about other more legitimate avenues of employment.”

“… Such as…?”

“I mean you’re a pretty good cook, when you’re not trying to get creative with your pancakes.”

“I have to be, since you’re so godawful at it!” He smirks, tempering the criticism with a loving kiss.

“Well, I can’t be good at everything. But you could work at the bakery with Vivi.”

“Hmm… kneading dough all day, kind of like this…?” He grabs her waist, bringing her flush against him and lowers his hands to massage her backside, earning a soft moan.

"Well you are very good with your hands..." she trails off, kissing lightly down his neck.

"I love my sister and Vivi, don't get me wrong, kit, but I doubt they'd enjoy seeing me everyday."

"Well you're great with a weapon - for fighting!" she quickly specifies, growing scarlet at his suggestive leer. "You could join the Whitetower guards."

"Autumn, my love, the king may have absolved me of my past crimes, but I can promise you the Whitetower guards remember me very well, and we're not exactly on the friendliest of terms... any other brilliant ideas, kit?"

She looks up at him, pondering, then sighs.

"Okay your magnificence, at what time are we headed over to Thurgood Manor tonight?"

Mal flashes her a dazzling grin, draping an arm across her shoulders as he walks her into the dining room.

"Well, see, I was thinking we could sneak in right at the change of guard..."

Autumn smiles to herself. Normalcy, with just a dash of danger and adventure. This, to her, was perfection.

#blades of light and shadow #playchoices #mal volari #bolas #blades of light and shadow 2 #choices #bolas 2 #mal volari x mc #blades fanfic #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #choices stories you play #mal x mc

[ethertheaether]

NEW QSMP FIC REC Y'ALL

I found one that is Guapoduo and Purgatory teams as school clubs and Ggn is like- athletic mostly, Soulfire is gossip central, and Bolas is the one everyone is scared of

AND SOULFIRE JUST SPIES ON DRAMA VIA SECURITY CAMERAS

AND PAC SPECIALIZES IN ROMANCE GOSSIP

AND CELLBIT THREATENED ROIER FOR GOING NEAR BOLAS AND ALL ROIER COULD SAY WAS 'you think my eyes are pretty?'

I LOVE IT SM

The fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52140217/chapters/131877193

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #guapoduo #team bolas #team soulfire #green gay ninjas #IT'S AMAZING

[antique-ann]

brainrotted so hard over a poem another fanfic wrote that I co-authored a fic inspired by said fanfic and expanded on it together with a beautiful soul I'm so blessed to have met in phil's chat :))))

#qsmp #philza #bolas rojas #qsmp purgatory #deathduo #death family #ao3 link #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

[malthemagnifisent]

Pairing: Aerin x Male!elf Mc (Cyrus)

Plot: After so many relationships and friendships ruined by the interference of his brother, Aerin was determined not to let anything ruin Cyrus’ opinion of him. He couldn’t abide the thought of the one good thing in his life being turned against him, and perhaps that left him with more anger and possessiveness then he realized.

Content warning: Mentions of Baldur abuse, and very slightly 18+ scene at the end, but nothing really happens. It’s mainly just kissing and Aerin like unties MC’s pants.

Tag list: @zhoras-bitch @rosepetals1 @saibug1022 @oh-so-youre-a-nerd @baldwinboy5ive (enjoy)

Baldur had always made sure to ruin any little thing that Aerin had to himself, and that included every moment, gift, and even person that Aerin found some enjoyment in. He’d destroyed Aerin’s favorite toys when they were young, and as they grew older, he took away even his peace.

The worst of all had been when he’d ruined the one good relationship in Aerin’s otherwise miserable life. He’d formed a friendship, perhaps even something more, with the son of a nobleman, and for a while, Aerin had been almost happy.

Then Baldur had found out, because he always found out, and before Aerin even had a chance, his brother had crushed the relationship in his hand and left Aerin floundering.

Somehow his brother had managed to wheedle his way under the skin of his friend, whispering all sorts of lies in his gullible ear, until finally his one bit of solace had turned away from him with nothing but anger.

In Aerin’s mind, everything of his was going to be ruined eventually, and Cyrus was no exception. Even with Baldur gone, he couldn’t discount that somehow Cyrus would be turned against him, and perhaps his fears drove him rather mad at times as jealousy and possessiveness became all too easy.

Everyone wanted Cyrus; that was a fact. He was smart and beautiful, brave beyond belief, and the hero of Morella, to top it all off. People wanted him, and Aerin couldn’t blame them, but still, Cyrus was his; Cyrus had chosen him, and he would be damned if he’d let anyone take him away.

There was a party in the castle of White Tower, and Cyrus, as usual, was the center of attention. He smiled politely as he talked with pushy nobles, all of whom wanted just a minute to speak with the famed hero of Morella.

Aerin would have been at Cyrus’ side, but just a moment ago he’d been sent for drinks, and as soon as he’d left, partygoers had descended like vultures. If he thought Cyrus’ minded, then Aerin would have hurried back, but as it was, he didn’t think Cyrus cared that he was being swarmed by admirers.

It took him some time to find a waiter through the thick crowd, and when he did, it was to the realization that he’d completely lost sight of Cyrus, so despite his best efforts, he may have been rather short with the servant as he snatched up cups of wine and hurried back through the crowd.

Realistically, he knew nothing would have changed in just those few seconds—that Cyrus would still be standing where he had been before, laughing and smiling until all the warmth of the room seemed to be coming from him.

That’s what he expected, at least, but when the crowd parted, he had a sinking feeling as he realized Cyrus was no longer standing among the chatting nobles.

His hands trembled slightly on the long stems of the wine glasses, but he paid it no mind as he set them down on the first table he saw before walking up to the dispersing crowd of men and women.

“Where’s Cyrus?” He snapped, glaring at one of the women he knew had been surrounding his friend. (or lover perhaps, he didn’t know what to call him.)

She looked at him with a familiar expression of distaste, one he’d gotten used to seeing from everyone whom he used to know. Not everyone had been as forgiving as Cyrus, and there were still people in Whitetower who saw him as nothing more than a corrupted prince who’d almost ended the realm.

Luckily for him, along with that hatred came a sense of fear, and usually he would have detested that anyone was still afraid of him, but now he was grateful for it, as it had the noblewoman responding in an instant.

“He went to the garden; Lord Edric accompanied him.”

That was all Aerin needed before he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the doors and into the cool evening air. His hands had clenched into tight fists, and each breath was a pain to draw in.

The scar on his chest ached, stretched as his lungs expanded, and burned in the cool air, but all that was what he’d grown used to; he’d come to expect that pain. What he couldn’t accept was the fear and misery of having the one truly good thing in his life taken away.

Lord Edric was a familiar name to him; he’d been friends with Baldur; that is, if anyone could really be considered friends with his late brother, and Aerin couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone with Cyrus for even a solitary moment.

God knows what he would say, what poison he would whisper, what lies he would tell, and how he might turn Cyrus against Aerin like Baldur had done so many times.

He stumbled over his own feet slightly as he heard Cyrus’ voice ahead of him, sounding clearly through the garden where no other sound but the wind could possibly be heard.

As he rounded a grove of trees, Aerin heard Lord Edric laughing and spotted the pair standing a few feet away, a good distance between them but not enough for Aerin's liking, not when Lord Edric could reach out and touch Cyrus if he tried, not when he could see the fine details of Cyrus’ eyes or smell the scent of the bath oils he used.

Those things weren’t for him; they were for Aerin, all for him.

Then Cyrus laughed at something Lord Edric had said, and Aerin couldn’t breathe anymore. He cleared his throat and stepped toward them, his head held high and his dark eyes fixed on Edric with the same kind of disdain he used to wear when he’d been so full of corruption that there had been no anger or hatred to feel.

“Aerin, I’m sorry I wandered off; I needed some air, and Lord Edric said he would show me the gardens,” Cryus said, his smile turning real, softer, brighter, and so much warmer than the false happiness he’d been showing before.

Without giving it much thought, Aerin strode forward and met Lord Edric’s eyes. “Leave us; you’ve taken up enough of his time,” he said, to the silent indignation of Cyrus, who seemed to be struggling with what to say.

It wasn’t often that Cyrus was left speechless, and if Aerin wasn’t so filled with anger and jealousy, then maybe he would have had room to feel proud of himself.

Lord Edric appeared ready to argue, but Aerin refused to give him a chance, the same way he refused to let Cyrus be taken or ruined. He raised his hand and nodded pointedly back toward the castle doors, where light was spilling out into the gardens and the sound of the party could still be heard.

“The hero of Morella has more important things than standing here and talking to you, Lord Edric,” he said, which finally seemed to get his point across as Edric’s lip curled back before he took the time to nod toward Cyrus.

“I’ll see you back at the party, I’m sure,” was all he said before he finally obeyed Aerin and walked away, leaving Aerin standing in a cloud of his own jealousy that anyone would take up Cyrus’ time, time that would be better spent with Aerin himself, time that was precious, as he didn’t know how much of it he would get before Cyrus was no longer his.

Silence prevailed for one long moment before Cyrus spoke. “That wasn’t necessary,” he said, looking at Aerin with such obvious disapproval that he almost felt bad for a moment.

Only a moment, though.

“You should stay away from Edric; he’s not as nice as he looks,” he muttered, turning to look over at the castle, where Edric had retreated and was luckily no longer in sight. He must have followed Aerin’s instructions and returned to the party.

Cyrus suddenly stepped in front of him, and Aerin was forced to confront the disapproval he’d been hoping to avoid. “Do you not trust me to figure that out on my own? What did you think was going to happen?” He asked, placing a hand on Aerin’s shoulder and holding him gently in place, as if Aerin would have left, if he would ever leave again. He would stay rooted to the spot as long as Cyrus wanted.

“He was friends with Baldur; years ago they were close, and besides that, you’re-“ Aerin broke off, breathing heavily, his head hanging low so his eyes could focus on the hand that still rested on his shoulder, the gentle weight helping him stay steady and warm even as a cool breeze blew around them.

Quirking a single eyebrow, Cyrus leaned down a little, and Aerin was forced to meet his eyes. “I’m what? Gullible?” He asked, already trying to piece out what Aerin had been about to say, but predictably he was failing, and Aerin should have been content to let him keep wondering, but for some reason he couldn’t.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Aerin was speaking, spilling his fear and anger, every word laced with jealousy and a sort of possessiveness he didn’t know he had in him. “No, you’re mine; you’re mine, and I can’t have you taken away,” he snapped, though as soon as the words left him, he felt bad for how they’d sounded.

To his credit, Cyrus didn’t even react; he just continued to stare at Aerin, clearly waiting for something better—some explanation that made sense and wasn’t just Aerin’s fear of being abandoned.

Cyrus suddenly gripped Aerin by the upper arm and pulled him deeper into the garden, behind another grouping of trees, so no one from the castle would have a chance of seeing them. “If I remember correctly, I’ve never been the one abandoning this relationship; that’s always been you,” he said, and perhaps it was a low blow, but Aerin couldn’t deny its truth.

He had been the one to run before this; he’d been the coward; he couldn’t handle his feelings well enough to keep Cyrus close, but now he was here to stay, and whenever he was determined to stick around, things inevitably fell apart.

“Every friend I ever made was driven away; Baldur got in between every relationship I started to build; I don’t know how he did it, but every time he made them leave,” Aerin said, shrugging his shoulders to break free of Cyrus’ grasp.

He couldn’t stay still when he talked of Baldur; even the mention of his brother set him on edge and put him into a state of such nerves that he simply had to move. Bakdur’s presence used to mean almost certain punches, so sitting down had never been an option; standing still was no better either, so pacing was the easiest.

“And what? Do you think he’s still pulling the strings from beyond the grave?” Cyrus asked as his hand suddenly settled on Aerin’s chin, and he was held in place by slim, cold fingers, pressing indents into his pale cheeks. “Your brother has no power over me; he never did.”

Swallowing thickly, Aerin reached up and grabbed Cyrus’ wrist, pulling the hand from his chin so he could step closer, crowding into Cyrus’ space like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re mine; I will not give you up,” he said, his free hand now tangling into the front of Cyrus’ shirt, clutching tightly at the rich fabric.

“No one is asking you to give me up,” Cyrus responded, his cool fingers enclosing slowly around Aerin’s wrist, gently tugging his hand away so the space between them was clear and Cyrus was free to lean down and rest his forehead gently on Aerin’s. “You think Lord Edric will steal me from you?” He chuckled, the notion seeming absurd the longer he considered it.

Aerin made a sound of frustration, and in an act of desperation, he pulled Cyrus closer and pressed their lips together. It wasn’t anything like their other kisses, though that was to be expected, as kissing Cyrus was never the same as it had been the time before.

Cyrus was so easily distracted from his earlier indignation as he grabbed Aerin by the waist and began to walk slowly back. The trees rustled above them, and the sounds of the party swelled for a moment before suddenly Aerin’s back was pressed against a tree, and he could think of nothing else but the hands trapping him there.

A hand snaked into his hair, and Aerin was lost in bliss as Cyrus trailed his lips down across his neck, sending fire skirting across his skin and making him crumble under the anticipation of being further burned alive under Cyrus’ touch.

The kiss broke, and Aerin whined in protest, as he always did, because he’d be happy to continue until he ran out of air. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought to die with Cyrus kissing him.

“Everyone wants you; you know that,” he said, his breath ghosting over Cyrus’ lips as he refused to lean back; he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping away.

Cyrus chuckled softly and shook his head. “I do not know that; I know you want me, and that’s what matters,” he said, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of Aerin’s lips.

“When people are near you, they can’t keep themselves from looking, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to hide you away, because for once I have something that is all mine, and I want to keep it that way." Aerin knew it was probably a bit much, that no one wanted to be kept on such a tight leash, but he couldn’t help the way he felt, the jealousy that tore out of his chest anytime someone made Cyrus laugh.

He wouldn’t have blamed Cyrus if the man decided to leave him, if he fell for the charms of one of his many admirers. Any of them could have given him more than Aerin could offer, but Aerin wouldn’t let go without putting up a fight to keep him.

“I never noticed when people were charmed by me; I’ve always been too busy checking if you were watching,” Cyrus mused, like his words weren’t everything Aerin needed to hear, as if they didn’t fuel every bit of desire and need he had.

Aerin tried to stop the shaking of his hands, but it was no use, and instead he employed the nervous energy as it should be used by pulling Cyrus down into another heated kiss. His fingers fiddled gently with the ties of Cyrus’ silken pants, giving every chance to pull away before he tugged at the fabric and began to open the ties.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, his hand moving gently along the exposed strip of skin where Cyrus’ shirt had ridden up.

His hand dipped lower, and Cyrus shuddered against him, his forehead coming to rest on Aerin’s shoulder as his breaths began to shake.

“Yours, all yours, Aerin.”

And just like that, Aerin was insane again, driven mad by want and corrupted with possessive emotion that he knew no amount of light could cure. This was here to stay; this longing was never going to fade.

Cyrus was his, only his, and he’d be damned if he let him be taken away.

#choices #playchoices #mine #play choices #pb #bolas #blades of light and shadow 2 #blades of light and shadow #my writing #writing #mc x aerin #bolas aerin #aerin valleros #prince aerin #aerin x mc #choices aerin #choices fanfic #fanfic

[solsays]

y’all have any art requests/thoughts on the cubitos/random questions? Ask away my friends it can be literally anything I am bored as shit

#qsmp #qsmp fitmc #fitmc #hideduo #pactw #qsmp pac #qsmp fandom #fitpac #qsmpblr #qsmp purgatory #qsmp tubbo #qsmp federation #my life is not interesting enough to entertain the adhd #That’s why I’m on this hellsite #life series #qsmp fanfic #qsmp lore #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp philza #bolas rojas #badboyhalo #qsmp fanart #tntduo #qtntduo #cubitos #guapoduo #qsmp richas #roier #qsmp fave #qsmp cellbit

[genevawren38]

We May Have Lost Our Sanity (We Have Not Lost Our Humanity)

✨q!Philza & Team BOLAS ✨25.5k W.C. ✨q!Philza-centric ✨Graphic Descriptions ✨QSMP Purgatory Lore Retell ✨Chapter 2/2 & Completed 🎵Stay Dead by Aviators

Over the week, Phil had grown fond of this gang of misfits. They were screwed over from the start, but in insanity unity can be formed. Especially among those this old crow now found himself within, because even at the bottom of a cavern, light can be seen. A friendly hand among those who wanted to hurt them, grounding one another when they needed to.

He could practically hear Techno's voice in his head, admonishing him for caring for more mere moments in his impossible timeline, but the avian hybrid held onto his humanity in these little snippets of their lives. Watching Cellbit and Foolish talk about what went well with today in regards to the tournament and how great their base worked. Charlie, Baghera and Jaiden were loudly singing some songs from their past, roasting marshmallows and meat over the campfire.

Molten rock bubbled below and an ancient planet hung above, their mood surprisingly high after the chaos that was the beginning of purgatory. The crow fiddled with his braid that hung behind his left ear, covered in beads of different colours relating to friends he could no longer hold. He was going to have to start wearing another braid, this time of six pieces, he resolved to carve them the moment he returned to Quesadilla Island.

This week of hell had turned into a glimpse of insanity for them all, somehow this group around him had bonded so quickly he knew he would reflect on this time in eras to come. In disorder there is peace; there is hope in the gentle touches of a friend caring for another. There is comfort in stitching wounds and sharing stories of agony. There is freedom in admitting your deepest sins with the people who are stuck with you, accepting because they all have similar experiences.

There is home in the fellow eyes of his group, stripped bare to nothing and forced to rebuild over and over again, along the way attaching themselves closer together.

Techno would tease him with a knowing smile, at his core he knew the piglin would have done the exact same thing in Phil's shoes.

#qsmp #wrenrambles #mcyt fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #team bolas #bolas rojas #qsmp bolas #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp philza #philza #qsmp cellbit #cellbit #qsmp foolish #foolish #qsmp baghera #baghera jones #qsmp charlie slimecicle #charlie slimecicle #qsmp jaiden #jaiden animations #bolas as found family #qsmp purgatory #purgatory event #wrenwriting

[solaneceae]

imprint

a team bolas oneshot. q!baghera centric (read on ao3) hurt/comfort, found family

Day Five is technically one of the good ones, because their minds are not drowning in bloodlust and fog-mist, Foolish is making great progress on the castle off in the desert, and the other teams have been leaving them alone for the most part.

Doesn’t mean it’s a good day for Baghera, though. “My body’s so far away,” she whines, rummaging through the chests in search of iron armor and food. “You need help getting back to it?” Phil asks. The duck shakes her head, because she refuses to make him waste twenty minutes just chaperoning her as she stumbles around the map looking for her corpse. “I’ll be fine,” she sighs, picking up a diamond sword and fastening her mask onto her face. It requires some adjustments, with her having a beak and all, but she makes it work. “I’ll be okay.”

(Ten minutes later, her eyes open to dark cave ceilings and glittering gemstones, body tingling from respawn. She wants to scream.)

Phil is back with more resources, and Baghera feels strange. Not bad, just… strange.

It’s a feeling that’s been lingering even since they all fell into Purgatory, growing stronger or weaker in no discernable pattern, always somewhere at the back of her skull. Like a voice almost, not also not that, because there are no words being whispered, only vague drives. And right now, as their fearless leader busies himself at the crafting table, she gets the uncontrollable urge to get his attention. Hello, she chirps, walking up to him. He hums, but doesn’t acknowledge her further, too focused on his task. Her hindbrain gives unhappy. Hi, hi, she tries again, getting into his personal space and jumping around him and what is she doing? “Phil, Phil,” she quacks, look at me, pay attention to me! She forgot what she needed, what did she need? Hi, flock, dad, dad! 

“You’re— Jesus Christ,” Philza bursts into laughter, evading her smaller form as he moves to a nearby chest. “You’re getting in the way, Baghera.”

“Do you have a boat?” she asks, and right, that’s what she needed. He cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. “Do I have a boat.”

“Yee.”

“I don’t— I mean, sure, I can make you one.” She makes a happy sound, bounces off her heels as he gets to work. Flock, dad. Hello. “I’m not, you know I’m not gatekeeping crafting shit,” he laughs as he hands her the boat and she magicks it into her inventory. “You could make your own.” And yes, that’s true, she could. But she likes it when Philza hands her things, like earlier when he dropped food onto her when she was stuck in that hole. It makes her brain happy, somehow.

It only hits her later, when Phil has gone off somewhere, that she had started to truly associate him with that hindbrain-thrum of dad, not as a bit, but something way too real for her taste. She resists the urge to crawl into a hole and shrivel away, and decides to make one last attempt to recover her old body.

(It fails, as things tend to do today. But at least she got distracted.)

***

The silence is deafening. She can hear the occasional grumble in Portuguese coming from her earpiece as Cellbit works on the maze inside the castle, and she wishes she was there making traps instead of getting dirt all over her wings. “I want to kill some people,” she huffs as she digs through rich soil to plant yet another tea sapling. At least farming she could do without messing things up. “I wanna just— run at them and scream.” Can she have that? Can she have this one thing, can she have a little bit of fun today before her timer runs out?

Cellbit hums into her earpiece. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, and she can feel another part of her wilt at his final tone. “Death counts too much today, you know?” (You will die, his words twist in her tired mind. You’re weak. You can’t be left alone. You’ll drag us down.) “And Phil did so much for us this morning, I don’t wanna disappoint him.”

Well I already did! she wants to scream. I’m just a dead weight, and I waste everyone’s time and don’t accomplish anything on my own! “...Okay,” she replies instead, whisper-soft, and just keeps planting.

(She misses the rest of the family-flock. She misses Jaiden, and Charlie, and Carré, all asleep inside the nest with no sign of waking up anytime soon. She wishes she could join them, put an end to this cursed day already — but she clings onto her fear of letting Cellbit down even more than she already did, and presses on.)

Cellbit renames Iris after a commercial mascot, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And she knows she shouldn’t be mad, because he doesn’t know she’s just spent twenty minutes having a breakdown over them and imprinting like crazy, but she just feels so dismissed by that. So she buries herself somewhere in the desert and screeches out her frustration where he can’t hear her, comms off.

***

“Baghera?”

Her ear feathers twitch. She looks up from the little cozy spots she had made for Iris (they’re gone now. Probably with Cellbit, helping him withe the maze. the maze she wanted to help with. She wishes Charlie had woken up earlier, so they could commiserate over their shared feelings of inadequacy.) “Phil…?” she sniffles, quickly rubbing at her cheeks to erase the evidence of her breakdown. Didn’t the crow run out of time earlier today? She hears a ch-ch-chrrrrp, and she mimics it without thinking, hindbrain buzzing with something soothing. Philza Minecraft appears from behind a corner, and his eyes are soft  or maybe he’s just tired. “Come here,” he beckons, and she finds himself getting to her feet and stepping up to him. “Something wrong?” she cocks her head at him, and he chuckles lightly. “Nah, mate. Just come over here.”

He leads her out of the alcove and into their… sleeping quarters, which was just another part of the cave with their nest in the middle. “Kay, sit down,” the crow says, patting the side of the nest, and part of her panic with the childish fear of oh shit, am I in trouble? “You’ve got sand in your feathers. Lemme help you get that out before you bring it with you in the family pile, yes?”

Oh. She glances at her comm, realises she only has about twenty minutes before it knocks her out for the day. She clacks her beak in frustration — she had accomplished a whole out of nothing today. Fais chier. “...Okay,” she sighs, because at least a little preening sesh would be a decent way to end this shitty day.

“I noticed you were having a rough time,” the crow hums, carding his claws through the down on her arms to dislodge a few pebbles. “Thought you could use some TLC.”

She blinks owlishly (duckishly?). “I don’t know what that means.”

“Ah, like, just taking care of you a little. You felt sad and frustrated all day.”

She deflates, ear feathers drooping. “Didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It’s not. I just notice this shit better than most,” Phil hums, dislodging more sand that drop outside the nest and digging his claws further in. Baghera closes her eyes — it feels nice. Her wings had been so itchy all day. “Especially when it comes to other avians.”

Right. Philza had retained more memories of his time outside the island than most of them, that made sense. “I’m sorry for calling you dad,” she blurts out, before she loses the nerve to. “I know everyone… I know everyone did it, for the joke, but I think I forgot it was a joke.” (“Dad, are you proud of me? I killed a silverfish!”) 

She remembers Charlie belting out a ‘papa!’ when Phil came back with apples and berries two days ago. She remembers Jaiden calling him dad when he bandaged her left wing after a bad fall, Cellbit’s whiny ‘daaad, when are you gonna come pick me up?’, Carré jokingly moaning out a ‘gracias papi!'. Foolish is the only one that didn’t follow the pattern at this point, probably because he, too, is an immortal being… and the only one free of daddy issues and trauma, apparently. “I don’t mean to,” she breathes out. “My brain’s been all weird since we came here, and I don’t… I don’t mean when we get all starved and murder-y.”

Phil hums, plucks out a loose feather. “Yeah, same. Something about this place is fucking with our code I think. Mob code, specifically. That’s why they’re buffed to hell, It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s,” she groans, struggling to find the right words, both because of the language barrier and her own messy feelings. “You already have kids. I’m an adult. I can’t force that role on you, but my stupid bird brain keeps screaming at me. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s natural, Baghera. I don’t mind. And… forgive me for pointing it out, but if what you said yesterday was true, then you’ve never had an older avian to imprint on as a child. So it’s no wonder your instincts are going crazy now.”

She freezes. “...Oh,” a quiet realization, shame, regret. “You, um. You understood that.” You took it seriously. You remembered. Somehow, that makes her feel… a bit better. Seen. Despite the fact that she just blurted out her deepest darkest secret as a bit, and lo and behold, consequences. Phil shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anyone else did,” he hums, smoothing out her left wing with a satisfied croon. “Gimme the other one? Good, nice.”

“You’re not mad?” she asks, so quiet and hesitant Philza stops and looks up at her. “That I’m a clone. That I’m… Federation property.”

“Don’t say that shit,” he bares his teeth, puts his hands on her shoulders to squeeze them tightly. “They don’t owe you. It doesn’t matter if they made you or whatever, you’re not them. If anything, you’ve got even more of a reason to hate them as the rest of us.”

“I don’t know…. I don’t know what they did, to me. I don’t even think I’m a real avian.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not like you. Or like Jaiden.” she gestures to her left wing. “I have a bill, you have… human face. Mostly human.” She makes a strangled sound. “Your wings are on your back, mine are just my arms, they’re just this. And even if— even if they weren't clipped, I couldn’t fly with those, only glide, maybe. I know that. They made me wrong.” Her eyes well up with angry tears. “They all… my siblings, they’re all dead, Phil. They all died, and I’m the only one left, and I’m not even good. I’m defective. Maybe that’s why I mess up everything. Maybe that’s why I’m such a burden for you guys.”

“Dude, stop.”

Philza closes his mouth before he can protest, both pairs of eyes turning to a sluggish Charlie, sans glasses, pushing himself up from his blankety prison without rousing Jaiden or Carré. “That’s… that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard you say. And we debated about human milk cheese and the ethics of eating your own eggs, so that’s saying something,” he mutters, more serious than the duck has ever seen him. The effect is a little diminishes by his squinty, smaller-than-usual eyes (she was so used to seeing him with her glasses permanently stuck to his face) and the yawn that drowns out the end of his tirade, but it still makes Baghera’s breath hitch and her throat close up with emotions. “Charlie…”

“Okay look— I barely feel real right now, yeah? I just woke up, and I haven’t got a modicum of context here, but I’m not letting you talk shit about yourself.” The slime hybrid hauls himself up with a wince, the corruption on his arms and face buzzing and writing angrily for a second. “G-ah. T-Thisssss is gon-gonna b-be a bad, ba-aad day, hu-uuh.”

“Slime— wow, mate, maybe you should lay back down and wait it out.”

“S-Sorry d-aaaad, I’m going th-through mmmmy rebell-bellious phase.” Charlie staggers up to them and sits across Baghera movements stilted and visibly uncomfortable. The duck hybrid opens her bill to tell him off — no no stop it, you’re hurting yourself — but he wraps both arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder, the tingle-freeze of his codified parts stunning her into silence. It doesn’t hurt, and she’s not about to refuse a hug from a constantly touch-starved Slime, but it does sting a little. Like static shock, but not quite. “You’re so fucking great dude,” the man says, corruption leaving his voice as the glitches diminish in intensity. “I never told— never told you this, but the first day we met. The wedding? That was the first time in a while that someone was willing to go along with my bullshit.” He squeezes her a bit tighter. His face feels a bit wet agaisnt the feathers of her shoulder, and Baghera lets out a string of hurt? hurt? no, flock, clean. “It felt good. And— hey, not only that, but you were also the only one where who didn’t have pity, or scorn, or, or distrust written all over your face. But maybe I just didn’t know how to read duck body language at the time, haha.”

“I wasn’t pitying you,” Baghera murmurs, trembling arm coming to rest against her friend’s back. Words feel like jagged rocks going up her tight throat. “I didn’t know anything about you. I just found you funny, and you listened to me when we talked about the elections. You kept making sure I was being heard, and… and you were nice to Pomme on her birthday, too. That was enough for me. You know?”

Slime chuckles wetly. “Yeah. She’s a great kid. We’ll fucking get her back, okay?”

“I hope so…”

“Hey. Listen.” He draws away to cup Baghera’s face, squishing it slightly between his hands. Her feathers puff up as a result, it’s funny. “Listen well, Baghera Jones. My—” a sharp intake of breath. “M-My Flippa’s fine, yeah? She’s just waiting for me back at the island, she’s not in danger. But your kid is. And if… haha, if I can be sappy for a sec. With Jaiden, you’ve been the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had for a long time. So I’ll help you get Pomme back, alright?”

The duck’s green eyes well up with tears, some of which start painting dark streaks down her face. “Of… of course I’m your friend,” she sniffles, and she keeps making low chirp-trills Charlie doesn’t understand. “And you’re mine too. I care about you, Charlie.”

“I know. I… I know. And I won’t have you saying bad things about yourself either. You’re litterally so fucking cool, and you put up with my bullshit like nobody else, and I feel safe blurting out the most unhinged crap on God’s cubic Earth because I know you’ll just double down and make me question my sanity, in the best possible way.” He giggles, an unsteady, wild little thing slightly cut up by a stray glitch. “Or whatever’s left of it.”

Baghera’s comm beeps, startling the three of them. Philza approaches (had he moved away to give them space? Aw.), scoffs, glares at the bright red numbers on her wrist. “Fuckin— stupid-ass time limit,” he curses. “We don’t have much time, but we can end your day on a good note, okay?”

The duck hybrid glances at Philza, then at Charlie, pupils so wide the green can barely be made out. She takes a deep breath, thinks of the team. Of her children, waiting for her somewhere. Of everyone else that they lowkey hated right now. And she nods.

***

“Do it Baghera, do it!”

“That’s right, fuck ‘em up!”

“I’m doing it!” the duck woops, pouring the final bucket over the structure and watching it roll across the soil and crops who quickly start to catch on fire. “It’s working, it’s working!”

“Baby’s first lavacast,” Phil coos fondly from his roosting spot, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m so proud.”

He and Charlie watch as Baghera cackles madly, her eyes alight with the fires of war, staring down at her handiwork. “They are so gonna know it was us,” Slime hums, a huge smile on his face as he marvels over Blue’s farm being covered in ash and cobblestone. Phil shrugs. “Yeah, there’s no way. Worth it though.”

“So worth it,” the slime hybrid nods approvingly — Baghera was finally having fun, and seeing her smiling was definitely a highlight of today. “Oh we’re gonna get fucked in the ass tomorrow. No lube, all diamond sword just like God intended.”

Philza bursts into mad, crow-like cackles at that, hitting the slime hybrid’s shoulder to push him off the perch. Charlie falls with an indignant, high-pitched scream that makes Baghera laugh even harder. “How much time left?” the Crowfather calls out at her, and she turns to him with a mad ducky grin. “Eleven seconds!” she quacks back, and Philza’s eyes widen. “What?!”

“Yepp! Gonna pass out now see you tomorrow catch me or let me die I don’t care I have nothing on me!” she sing-songs rabbit-quick, pulling a little jig on top of her dirt tower before her body seizes with a gasp, her comm shocking the literal daylights out of her. Slime lets out a loud oh shit and takes off in a mad sprint as Philza jumps down as well, managing to cushion the duck’s fall with his own goopy, goopy body. “Ow,” he whines, voice muffled by the loose dirt he’s faceplanted into. “My sometimes-existing bones.”

“You good mate?” Philza reached them both, kneeling to check on Baghera — not a single heart of damage on her, her face neutral and peaceful in electronically-induced sleep. “Good catch.”

“Thanks.” Charlie lets his friend roll off his body with a grunt, pulling himself back together quickly before, hauling his friend on his back. “Mission accomplished, Crowfather Phil! Now let’s skedaddle the fuck outta here before Tubbo or BitchBoyHalo shows up.”

“Yeah, time to dip. Back to base, Bolas!”

“WOOOOOOH YEAAAAH! LET’S FUCKING ROLL!”

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #baghera jones #q!baghera #philza #q!philza #slimecicle #q!slimecicle #fanfic #listen listen #it was hard watching baghera's pov that day #literally nothing went right #so this is catharsis in a way #also her and charlie's friendship is so important to me #both in and outside the server #i have never seen charlie so legitimately gobsmacked by another person before her #she's another level of chaos and one i aspire to reach lmao

[undermounts]

i can’t believe 3 years later and i’m back in love with ultimate bitchboy aerin valleros lets see if i can avoid dumping 3 months of my life into a 300k fanfic again

#bolas #aerin valleros #choices #this isn’t a fanfic plug but its a fanfic plug #i’m reading it for the first time and i forgot a lot of the stuff i did tbh

[ender-princee]

Hey yall, more Purgatory fics teehee

This time we've got something a little different from my usual thing.

- vampire and cat cellbit (because why not I want it to happen so I did it)

- the kill mission for q!Bad is a two in one achievement for Cellbit

- guapoduo secret meetup!!

- team bolas rojas (that's all I have to say honestly)

- most hurt/comfort

- what will happen if we shove a vampire into Purgatory (hell) was the thought process for most of this tbh

- it's just cellbit going about his day yall and being happy to be with his husband for once

#guapoduo #spiderbit #qsmp #qsmp purgatory #qsmp cellbit #cellbit #qsmp roier #roier #team bolas #cellboier #fanfic #bolas rojas #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp philza #qsmp makes me write so much