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#this ran away from me.........idk

divine-misfortune · 6 months

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Feminization but it's an act of love, not a play at humiliation.

Making Swiss know that he's handsome as a boy, of course he is, absolutely perfect, but Rain wants him to know he's just as lovely when he's being a pretty girl for him.

Taking the day to pamper Swiss, make him really live in the experience of being treated like a princess. Paints his nails, shaves him smooth (which takes longer than either of them really anticipated), does his makeup, oh Rain takes such good care of him. Doesn't make Swiss lift a finger, even goes as far as to dress Swiss himself. Oh Rain takes great pleasure in being the one to roll those stockings up his muscular legs, chuckling as he snaps the elastic against his thigh.

And when all the hard work is done, Rain sits him at the edge of his bed facing the mirror. Drapes himself over his back, arms around his neck, nuzzling sweetly against his cheek as he coos over the pretty girl he is. Swiss, used to a much harsher version of Rain, feels far more embarrassed over kindness than he ever has from his cruelty (and that's saying something). When his eyes shift away from the mirror, Rain tsks at him and with a hand under his jaw guides him back.

"Want you to look at yourself." He kisses at his temple and noses into his hair, breath close to his ear. "See how nice you look for me, always so rugged and handsome but now you're-"

"Pretty..." Swiss exhales as he looks at himself and the way his knees draw together. His hands are folded in his lap, sitting respectfully as an excuse to press down against his cock already beginning to fatten up against its lacy confines. The word sent something sharp and hot zipping down his spine, excitement, nerves, anticipation.

"Mm, that's right...Knew you could be pretty too, absolutely beautiful babygirl."

The petname makes Swiss' eyes go wide, gold irises darkening.

Rain smiles coyly as he runs his hand flat along the curves of his body, over the simple white dress he'd picked out, to settle over the mutli ghoul's folded hands. Adding to the pressure, Swiss' red painted lips parting to curse as he ultimately melts into Rain's embrace.

"Gonna make the perfect pillow princess, I know you are." He purrs as Swiss' hands give way to him, slowly beginning to stroke the length of his cock through lace and cotton. It's enough to have Swiss' eyes fluttering as he nods weakly. "Is that what my sweet girl wants?"

"Fuck...Rain, please." Swiss almost tries to buck upwards, greedily find a way to fuck into his fist despite the layers between his dick and Rain's hand.

"You know how to ask for it, love. Use your words, just like I taught you."

Visibly hesitating, Rain gives his shaft a little squeeze and Swiss can't help the sad warbled sound of need that escapes him or the pearl of pre starting to form a wet spot on the dress. His gaze fixes on the slow almost torturous way Rain strokes him, lips left parted as his brain struggles to keep up. The little pressure of his thumb dragging over the head of his cock, only adding to the damp patch, is the last little bit of encouragement needed to make Swiss fold.

"Please, please fuck my cunt, sir...I've been a good girl."

Well, the blood rushed from Rain's head so fast he nearly blacked out.

#this ran away from me.........idk #anyways #void rambles #spicy tag #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #multi ghoul #nameless ghouls #rulti #rain/swiss #cw feminization

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yuanology · 10 months

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m!reader fingering afab!geto while being 100% aware gojo's watching through the crack of the door so he decides to show gojo how sensitive his friend is and geto ends up squirting?? (lowkey embarrassed i wrote this, but yknow ignore it if you want😅)

what the Fuck .

gojo satoru was not a virtuous man. far from it, in fact. as a self-made god, satoru existed on a plane far above morality and whatever other human concept was created to define right and wrong. within infinity and the insurmountable power residing in it, there was only the man who wielded it and the humanity confining it.

even so, satoru still knew deep within his heart—the trembling, still beating thing residing underneath the constricts of his ribs—that he should not be doing this; that he should not be staying.

but satoru was not a virtuous man, and so he stayed.

because there, past the thin crack of the door, was his best friend—the same one he had known from childhood, the same one who had walked with him through the ins and outs of darkness—with his clothes stripped clean, thrown messily around the room, both of his feet planted flat on the bed, and his back arching off the mattress in a pleasured arch. between his legs, slick and heavy with evidence of his own debauchery, stood you—fully dressed, only the first two buttons of your collar open.

satoru knew of you. it was impossible not to. you were older than the both of them. when they were freshly entering their first year, you'd already matured where you existed in your third one. satoru himself had barely spared you a glance but in retrospect, he did remember suguru mentioning once or twice that he was training with you on the side.

fuck, satoru thought, dazed. if he had known this was what 'training' involved, he would have listened a bit better on what suguru had to say about you.

because you were holding his thighs apart, well-practiced fingers relentlessly pushing past suguru's slick folds, producing the loudest squelching noises. satoru couldn't see very well from this angle, but he could hear the sounds his best friend was making; fucked up and high-pitched, whiney in a way satoru had never heard him speak before.

suguru cried out your name, breathless and panting. "please," he was begging you, sounding close to tears. "please, no more."

you leaned in, mouth brushing over suguru's chest as you whispered your response. satoru couldn't hear you, even as his ears strained to catch a wisp of your words. but whatever it was, it must not be good because suguru is letting out a loud whine, one the turned into the strangled beginnings of a scream when satoru noticed that you had begun to pick up pace.

oh my god.

just as satoru took the first hesitant half step backwards, swaying in place, he hears your drawled out voice—cutting, brave, unyielding.

"now, where do you think you're going, satoru?"

satoru stiffened, and he realised that he wasn't the only one. suguru did, too—his body locking up as a new flush crawled across his skin. satoru had half the mind to apologise to his best friend in his head, a chant of i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msuchashittyfriend looping in his head as if it could forgive him for not only being a pervert, but also for intruding on his best friend's secret.

satoru cleared his throat. he wanted to make an excuse, to apologise, but all that could tumble out of his throat was a hoarse, "um."

suguru let out a high whine at the sound of satoru's voice, as if he was spurred on by his audience. his back arched, his mouth parting as a deep sound escaped him. satoru watched, mesmerised, as the muscle on suguru's body rippled at the motion, your hands never once faltering in its ministrations.

"come here for a minute, satoru." your voice was calm, collected and almost clinical. as if you didn't practically have your entire fist buried in between suguru's slick folds, your thumb nudging at where satoru guessed must be suguru's clit if suguru's high pitched whimpers were anything to go by. "i need your opinion on something."

satoru swallowed thickly as he was drawn into the room, his motions dumb as if he was a mere puppet on your string. as he moved closer, he realised that there was more to the scene that he couldn't earlier see from his post by the door.

suguru's cunt was fucking drooling, slick dripping all over the place as his hips canted in the air as if to escape and to move closer to the pleasure. his hole would no doubt he gaping if you pulled your hand out, hungry for more. your thumb covered his clit wholly, rubbing at it mercilessly.

satoru felt himself twitching in his pants, throat working around the words stuck in his lungs.

"what do you need?" satoru asked, his voice wrecked. he would be embarrassed by it if it wasn't promptly drowned out by the sound of suguru's choked out noises.

without thinking, satoru moved a hand to rest on suguru's thigh, at the sight of his best friend in distress. he didn't realise what a great mistake it was until suguru did a full body shudder, a ragged gasp leaving him. satoru couldn't fucking breathe.

clearly, you didn't share the same sentiment because you were speaking again. "suguru wants me to stop, but i personally think he can come one more time," you said casually, as if this was a common conversation to have with just about anyone.

suguru let out a weak whimper, pathetic and desperate in a way satoru never knew him to be, at the sound of your words. you must have been trying to convince him about this for a while then.

stiffly, satoru nodded, not quite knowing how to react. "okay," he said dumbly.

he wasn't looking at you, too entranced by the sight of suguru with his legs spread wide open and his messy cunt being on full display, but he could hear the smile in your voice when you said, "well, what do you think? can he come one more time?"

satoru opened his mouth, a half-baked answer on the tip of his tongue, when he was interrupted by the sound of suguru's babbling.

"no. no, please. no more." there were tears in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks prettily, satoru noticed. suguru looked a mess, his hair a halo around his head and his hips lifted in the air as if he was nothing more than a cheap whore. satoru thought he was beautiful. "please. i can't. don't make me. please, please, please, pl—"

his words promptly turned into a loud scream, half-pained and half-pleasured, and satoru's head whipped around to look at the source of it. he swallowed thickly when his eyes dropped from suguru's face to his engorged clit, where your thumb was no longer rubbing at but rather, your earlier free hand was now gently tugging at the hood over it.

holy shit, satoru thought, his head spinning. because he just watched you pinch suguru's clit. you pinched suguru's clit. judging from the nonchalance of your gesture and the way suguru didn't try to fight back, instead canting his hips higher, this was something that you did often.

satoru was going to die. holy shit.

"shh, suguru," you reprimanded, silencing suguru's desperate sobs with a gentle pat to his thigh. suguru sniffled, but he stopped letting out those depressing sounds. "it's not you i'm talking to."

suddenly reminded that he owed you the debt of an answer, he blurted out an answer before he could think twice. "he can," satoru replied. "he's an overachiever, the dumbass. he can come another time."

suguru let out a loud sob at his answer, one that sounded a lot like betrayal.

satoru couldn't properly apologise to him, though, because your lips were curling into a sharp grin, looking like a cat who caught the canary, and satoru couldn't help but think that maybe, he was just in as big of a trouble as suguru was. maybe, with his answer, satoru had condemned not just his best friend, but himself as well.

you pulled your hand out of suguru with a lewd squelch, one that made satoru flush all the way to the roots of his hair—and oh god, he hadn't even realised he could burn up even more—and the way that suguru whimpered, both devastated and relieved by the loss, wasn't helping.

you took a step backwards, letting suguru's body drop onto the mattress. you gestured towards the now empty space between suguru's thighs. "on your knees, satoru. hands behind your back."

satoru couldn't do anything but comply. he dropped to his knees, his hands behind his back and his eyes now at level with suguru's fucked out cunt. holy shit. suguru was twitching, his pretty clit engorged and swollen from the earlier abuse and fucking pierced apparently. satoru exhaled sharply at the sight, his breath fanning across suguru's folds, and earning himself a short, aborted whine from suguru. oh my god.

satoru almost flinched when he felt your hand card through his hair, tangling your fingers into the strands as he guided your face closer to suguru's gushing pussy. "go on," you ordered him, your voice gentled by the sound of melodious laughter. "eat him."

thank you for the meal, satoru thought dazedly as his face was guided closer and closer, until he was buried in suguru's cunt and lapping up the taste of his best friend.

the response was immediate—suguru's thighs started quivering on either side of satoru's head, moving to rest on satoru's shoulders and pulling him in as if to suffocate him. satoru didn't mind, taking that as an unspoken order to start eating his best friend out like his life depended on it.

he didn't bother with hesitating or testing the waters. he licked a broad strip up the length of suguru's cunt, dipping in between his folds to gather the slick there at the centre of his tongue. satoru moaned at the taste, and he was immediately greeted by the feeling of suguru's walls squeezing around him as suguru met him with his own weak whimper.

"suguru's already sensitive." that was you again. there was notable amusement in your voice. "want me to help you make him come faster?"

satoru should say no. he wanted to stay buried in suguru's cunt forever, eating his best friend out until he was shaking all over the place. he wanted to make his best friend feel so good that he stopped being satoru's suguru and instead started becoming your suguru with satoru instead.

but he could hear his best friend's pleas even above the sound of his pounding heartbeat, the sound of suguru's suffering, and he couldn't let this keep going for much longer.

he nodded, the bridge of his nose bumping over suguru's clit in the process. suguru's thighs squeezed around him, a whimper escaping, and satoru quickly drew circles on suguru's hips in apology.

you, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same courtesy as you told him, "suck on his clit, then open your jaw wide."

satoru obeyed even though he didn't really understand why you were telling him to do that, knowing that you likely understood suguru's body more than he did in this matter.

he pursed his lips around suguru's clit, sucking on it firmly, before he let his jaw drop open.

oh.

oh, holy fuck.

because suguru was squirting directly into his mouth, making a mess out of the lower side of his face, and satoru could only kneel there, his mouth wide open as he swallowed all of his best friend's slick juices. his head was light, and he couldn't breathe—both from the suffocation and the fact that geto suguru, his best friend, his one and only, just fucking squirted into his mouth.

when suguru finally let him free, thighs unlocking from around his head and limply falling onto the edge of the bed. satoru leaned back, unable to process what just happened, when he heard you speak again.

"don't forget your manners, suguru."

it was quiet for a moment, then he heard the small, almost shy, voice of his best friend. "thank you, satoru," suguru mumbled.

"you're welcome," satoru replied, his voice sounding fucked over. he couldn't correct himself just yet, though, his head still reeling.

he was still on his knees as he watched you rearrange suguru on the bed, peppering soft kisses onto his face and his collarbone and his chest in stark contrast to the way you had treated him earlier. there was the lull of soft conversation passing between the both of you, one that satoru didn't try being a voyeur of.

he was content with just kneeling there, his head filled with cotton and static. he didn't even bother with touching himself, still too entranced by the feeling of this all happening.

finally, your footsteps drew close to him. he tilted his head as he watched you approach him. you cupped his chin, tilting his head back to meet your gaze.

"messy," you noted, but the corners of your mouth were quirked into a smile. "but suguru's always been messy." satoru didn't have any response to that, so he simply nodded stupidly. somehow, that must be the right answer because you laughed.

you took a step back, taking a seat onto the edge of the bed. satoru's eyes tracked your movement almost curiously. he frowned when you patted your lap, as if you were expecting something from him.

"over my knee," you said. "i think fifteen should do. usually, i'd give more, but i'm assuming you're new to the scene, hm? don't forget to count."

satoru blinked dumbly. he stayed rooted on his knees. "what?" he asked hoarsely.

you raised a brow at him. "oh, satoru," you said, your voice placating. "did you really think that i was going to let you go unpunished just like that? over my knee. fifteen spanks and i want you to count."

when he still did nothing, your gaze darkened and your voice grew firm. "now, satoru."

oh, satoru thought smartly.

swallowing thickly, he moved to comply.

#once again . this ran away from me #idk if this was what you wanted anon but the idea of satoru eating suguru out literally invaded my brain i'm sorry #literally insane holy shitttt #sub jjk #sub geto suguru #sub gojo satoru #dom reader #top reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru #( asks. )#( thirsts. )

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dustykneed · 27 days

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perennial (how many five-year missions does it take for a kid to grow into a young adult?)

i feel sorta bad for being mean to poor ol bones but i don't have the energy for a bonus doodle so here's the sketch from my soft spones painting because i like it almost as much as the rendered thing ^^

(yeah bones is totally doing the ozh'esta unconciously haha. im so tired rn but they are SO soft with each other ok. they have my heart <3333)

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thelastwalkingsoul · 1 year

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Steve isn't sure how he got himself into this situation.

It might have something to do with the offhanded joke he'd made, saying that Eddie would dress him up like his own personal Barbie if Steve allowed him to. Next thing he knew, Eddie was grinning at him with a gleam in his eye that screamed mischief.

So here Steve was, smiling in amusement while being dragged into a clothing store he'd never shop at by a very excited Eddie. He listens to Eddie babble away, not understanding half of what he's talking about but simply enjoying the absolute light that is Eddie Munson. He browses the store with keen eyes, darting to and fro, pulling things from racks with careless abandon, adding and adding to the growing pile of clothes in Steve's arms. Eddie's ploughing through the wares, and all Steve can do is smile apologetically at the dumbfounded cashier.

After he's finished ravaging the store, Eddie turns to Steve, eyes bright, a grin on his face, bouncing on his toes. He steers Steve to the lone changeroom hidden at the back of the store. Borderline wiggling, Eddie pushes Steve inside. With a smile and a wiggle of his fingers, Steve closes the door, rolling his eyes affectionately. His boyfriend really is like an overexcited puppy at times.

Steve tries on too many clothes to count. It feels like Eddie has grabbed the entire store's worth. Almost every time Steve comes out in a collection of clothes, Eddie asks him to try a different combination. There's a pair of blue denim jeans so dark they almost look black, which sit tight around Steve's thighs and ass (which Eddie smacks playfully as Steve walks back into the changeroom). In the pile of t-shirts, Eddie had managed to find one, black and plain, except for a scattering of bats in the centre. Steve gives him a dry, unamused look when he swings the door open, trying hard not to break at Eddie's proud face.

When Steve tries on the finished outfit, dark jeans, the bat shirt, and a pair of black boots, Eddie flushes, eyes wide. Steve shifts under the weight of his stare, slightly out of his element. He says Eddie's name just as the man ducks his head around the door and kisses Steve hard. Eddie pulls back, eyes dark as they slide up and down Steve's body, leaning in to whisper a promise in his ear. Steve's sure he's positively red as Eddie leans back with a smirk and closes the door.

Steve buys the outfit, including the boots that Eddie all but begs him to get. He caves because how could Steve deny his pretty boyfriend who promised such sweet, dirty things.

So Steve isn't sure how he got himself into this situation. But he's damn happy he did when later that night, Eddie fulfils his promise.

#idk where this came from #it really ran away from me #but here #have #take it #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steveddie #steddie shopping #steve in eddies style #eddie dresses steve #souls writing

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factorialsotherfandoms · 6 months

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TW: panic attack, non-graphic self harm, reckless behaviour, fear of drowning

This is like... a bit 5K of Pac and Philza actually bonding for once...

Fear claws into Pac's heart just as easily as his fingernails dig into his palms. There's nothing wrong, objectively there's nothing wrong, but he's been alone all day. It's not at all like working with Mike; he's been trying to decorate the Favela, but his breath keeps catching and his thoughts keep stopping.

He can hear the fountain beneath the warpstone, and he wants it to /stop/.

He knows anxiety now, he knows it, he knows this is what it is, and when Fit found the blood in Chume Labs and the empty graves he made him promise to call him if it happened again. It's happening now, Pac can feel it building, but there's nobody awake. He checks it again, and still it's only him.

So he does the thing he does next best. He holds his breath and he thinks of nothing and he builds. More trees, more ponds, more fountains - anything and everything he can think of. Give the Redeemer a sombrero, then think better of it half way through and take it down. Start returfing the football field, only to decide to put it back because making the goals muddy is just ugly. Hang up more banners, pull them down, add a bit to the fences, swap them for iron, then concrete.

Breathe in, breathe out, there's nothing wrong it's just anxiety.

(But it is wrong, everything is wrong, the back of his brain where Mike sits is empty, not just asleep but empty, torn away and - )

Mike's in the Order hospital, Pac reminds himself, and begins to walk that way.

( - and there are eyes at his back, ready to take him again and - )

Pac forgets to breathe. He drops to his knees in the middle of the street, and scrabbled his hands in the dirt.

Pac checks the communicator again. There's a few more people awake, but... No Fit, no Tubbo, no Mike, no Bagi or Forever... Of the handful of people, the one he knows best if Philza - and while he's happily looked after the man's children, and he's been quite happy to chat or fight together in the past... Philza Minecraft is a legend, and he's never really spoken much without Fit there as a buffer.

But the other option is staying here alone, and he promised Fit that if he started feeling like this again he'd ask someone for company.

He takes a deep breath, and sends a message.

You whisper to Ph1LzA: Can I visit?

As soon as he hits send, Pac slams it shut. He pushes it against his head, shuddering while curled up in a ball. He clings to the communicator, his link to the outside, so hard it leaves indents in his skin.

"It's okay," he whispers to himself. "It's okay, you're okay, there's nobody here to watch you."

It doesn't help; he tries it anyway.

The seconds drag on into minutes, and Pac's fears overwhelm even his attempts to comfort himself.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're safe," he promises himself, even as he claws at his knees, at his face, at his hair and at the floor - anything he can reach to force himself to remember his place.

He hums songs he loves, shuts his eyes and tries to dance along.

He slams hands over his mouth and freezes when he tries.

Too loud, too loud, they'll find you - quiet, quiet, quiet as a mouse and quieter still. Hide amongst the rats, and hope nobody spots you curled up there...

The communicator pings.

In a scramble Pac pulls the lid open, shaking fingers quickly clicking him through to the correct screen.

Ph1LzA whispers to you: sorry m8, missed the message

Ph1LzA whispers to you: still need something or you get it sorted?

What does Pac say? The loneliness is getting to him and the walls are caving in and he can feel something watching from inside his spine? That Mike is gone and he's remembering a /before/ he wants to forget, He can't say that, he really can't.

But what sounds like a normal response which might get him a conversation...

With shaking hands he types whatever comes to mind.

You whisper to Ph1LzA: I am just missing Fit

... Not that. That absolutely does not sound like a request for company.

This time Philza's reply does not take nearly as long, though still longer than anyone else Pac ever messages.

Ph1LzA whispers to you: yeah?

Ph1LzA whispers to you: you want some company? I can put down a sharestone

Pac's heart settles back into place - maybe slightly too high still, but far closer. He didn't mess it up too badly - maybe English is just like that - he didn't even have to ask again.

You whisper to Ph1LzA: please.

It's another minute or two for Pac's anxiety to build and him to cling to the communicator before he recieves a reply.

Ph1LzA whispers to you: red sharestone, name should be obvious

You whisper to Ph1LzA: obrigado

Ph1LzA whispers to you: you're good

There's definitely some emotion to reading those words; Pac pushes it aside, and grabs his warpstone. Moving to the main warpstone for the warehouse seems like too much, so he simply sends himself to spawn.

Only there does he pick himself up, activating the red sharestone. It takes a few scrolls to find the new option, but once he does it earns a small laugh. He selects it, and lets his body be pulled through space.

Where he arrives is cold, deep snow all around, and an icy ocean before him. Pac tugs his sleeves down over his hands, and looks around.

Whereever Philza is, he isn't immediately obvious.

"Philza?" he calls. "Felipe?"

There's a splash as Philza trident-jumps out of the ocean, his paraglider flipping open at the zenith and allowing him to drift safely down to the ice. Pac watches him drift down, the water dripping off him freezing as it falls.

"Hey," Philza calls, once back in voice range, arm moving as though to wave before suddenly remembering he needs to hold the paraglider. "Sorry about that; spotted another jelly and had to get it before it ran off."

Pac waves him off, "it's okay, it's okay, do you need any help?"

Philza squints at Pac a moment, and Pac squirms beneath it. After a moment, though, he just shrugs, "just hunting for rainbow jelly."

"Rainbow jelly?"

"Like the French use to make themselves all rainbow," Philza grins a bit. "You can use it to make glass like that, too. Chayanne wanted some, so..."

Pac thinks of the children, hurting and asleep and under the Federation's "care", the only guarantees of their safety the ability to visit, and the knowledge the Federation knows what is coming if harm comes for their children.

"For Chayanne?" He asks. "I'll help."

"Feel free to hang onto it - if you don't use it, he'll appreciate the gift when he wakes up."

When, not if, even if Pac can see Philza hesitates too.

With that confidence and the thought of their children, Pac doesn't even consider before throwing himself into the water. Behind him he hears the somewhat distorted sound of Philza laughing, and the man throwing himself in after.

Pac spots a couple of the comb jellies, and kicks off towards them. Philza seems to see another group, as he takes another route.

Hunting animals for their innards is one of the few times that sweeping edge is worth it on this island, and so Pac takes out his sword. It only takes a hit to take out the jellies, small as they are, and then Pac just has to scoop up their remains. From there he spots another - deeper - and swims after it. And another, and another - Pac loses himself to the chore, simply collecting jelly for the happiness of a child.

He thinks he's finally calmed down, when he spots another in a cave. Pac doesn't even think about it as he dives in after - but very quickly, it gets very dark.

Too dark.

He tries to ignore it, to push through and find the jelly even as memories start to loom and the dark closes in.

Breathe in, breathe out, remind yourself your helmet is in place and with that much Aqua Affinity you're fine.

It's not the underwater prison again, it's not, it's not.

Just find the jelly and get out...

On instinct he reaches out for Mike, and finds nothing.

Nothing.

Mike? What happened to Mike?

The most frustrating thing is always that he knows, he remembers, but in the dark and the wet and the unnatural silence it doesn't matter. His breathing picks up, and he twists and he turns, looking - screaming - for Mike.

Rationally, he knows he's lightheaded because hes hyperventilating. But in his heart, in his fear, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything because he's alone in the wet and the dark and he /can't do this anyone/.

He wants Mike, he wants Mike, he wants Fit and he wants Mike.

Where is Mike, why can't he reach him, where is he where is he why can't he feel him in his mind?!

He's screaming for them, he thinks, even as tears stream down his face and he twists in the water. By now he's helplessly lost, not even able to find the exit he cane in by. Whatever light there was is gone, and he doesn't even quite remember why he's here.

He twists and he fights, trying to fend off hands that aren't there - only to get his leg twisted up in the seaweed and somehow everything is even worse and worse and worse. He tugs and tugs, but the seaweed grasps tighter - he sees dark prison walls overlaying dark, broken caves, and he sobs as he realises he is going to die here.

He screams again and wonders how he still has air; something responds this time, and he begs it for bitter, screaming help.

A small light he cannot focus on, and hands find their way to his leg. In a panic he twists, kicks, fights - nothing, nothing, nothing can touch him - it's worse than the seaweed, to be grabbed by a hand.

"Shit, Pac," a familiar voice calls, an odd quality to it. "Fuck, I'm just cutting you out, Jesus mate no need to break my nose."

The words don't make sense, not entirely, but seconds later Pac finds his leg free - still entangled, but the seaweed cut from the floor, and he does his best to swim away.

Right from the seaweed and slamming into the cave wall.

Hands grab him again, and say something, and he fights them all the same. Seconds later he's being dragged and pulled and - oh, god, this is how he's going to die.

He goes to fight before remembering, actually, dieing might not be so bad actually... At worst he'll respawns, at best he'll be with Mike again.

It's just as that thought crosses his mind that his head breaks the surface of the ocean. Pac gasps for air and, by the time he's processed that, he's being hoisted and yanked up onto the ice.

He's frozen, he's freezing, but he shakes off the worst of the water and shudders as sunlight presses into his skin.

He's crying - sobbing even - on his hands and his knees, blind terror all about him as he struggles to breathe.

"Aw, mate, you could have said no if it was gonna fuck you up."

There's someone else here; Pac's eyes glance around, only to find Philza there. He can't tell if the man is a friend or a foe or just an acquaintance to be embarrassed around, but the man shrugs off his bag and opens his arms in a familiar gesture.

Pac falls into them, and hides. A hand finds his hair, and another his back, and something very dark curls around to protect him from icy wind. He does not cling back, just cries to the sound of slightly awkward comfort, sucking it in.

"You're okay," the words sound so much more believable coming from someone else. "You got out, I've got you, you're safe, you're okay."

The words are whispered into his skin, and they're not quite a balm but they are a promise and a kindness none the less; he is promised safety, and he knows the man around him can provide.

He just... Did not expect that provision to include himself, only friends of friends as they are.

Pac breathes, and it comes easier now - the air is cold, but between the darkness and Philza's chest he is safe. Slowly, slowly, as he remembers what limbs are Pac reaches out a shaking hand to the void.

It finds feathers; the darkness tenses, and then relaxes to his touch.

Pac, in turn, relaxes with it.

"You good?" Philza eventually asks from above.

"Sim," Pac replies, gathering himself a little more, hiding himself in a laugh. "Sorry, sorry, that was embarrassing."

"We've all been there mate," Fit's friend says.

The wings peel away, and Pac can see them properly - tattered edges and all. Sees how they droop, and the strain in Philza's shoulders as he uses his hands to fold them, and his backpack to keep them in pace.

"Shall we get somewhere warmer?" he asks, before Pac can comment. "I've got a treasure map to somewhere near that mesa you and Fit showed me, if you've still got the warp?"

"Are you sure?" Pac's hands shake as he checks his things.

"Eh, I'm pretty sure it's an iron dungeon," Philza replies, pulling out a map and squinting at it. "I was saving it to troll Etoiles with, but I could actually do with more iron. And someone to deal with mobs while I mine it. You, me, and some skellies - sound good?"

Pac isn't sure; he doesn't want to think, though, he does know that. Dungeons are supposed to be his and Fit's /thing/, one half the time someone intrudes on. The offer almost feels insulting, but...

But when Philza felt bad, they offered him a dungeon - he so clearly means to offer the same. Like for like, not pity but a trade.

"I want the tracks and redstone," Pac tries to sound steady, and knows he fails. "I'll save it for Mike when he returns."

"Sure, I don't even know where to start with that shit," Philza takes Pac's hand, and leads him along a safe route over the ice. "If we go back to that haunted rock area, then glide back towards the mesa? I should be able to find us on the map from there."

Pac nods, placing his hand on the warpstone in advance. Philza's joins it, and together they warp away.

---

Thankfully it is dawn, and any monsters are gone this time - there's just the beautiful sunrise over the haunted sea. The sun is rising, not setting, but Pac waves to it anyway and hopes that, somewhere, Bobby can see.

Philza makes half a laugh as he finds his glider. Pac searches for his own, and tries not to remember the night on the cliff - him and Fit, him and Fit, but also Philza, laughing about cannons and resting in one another's arms, only for Philza to pull away first and let him and Fit be.

Pac instead thinks about friendship, and how Fit would abandon everything for Philza just as Pac would give it up for Mike, and how it seems that isn't limited to just them. Because Philza didn't send him home, just as Fit also kept close to an oddly behaving Mike. How it doesn't really matter, because in the end they both agree with where the other stands.

Pac instead thinks of nothing, and throws himself off a cliff after Philza.

For one glorious second he lets himself fall, before pulling out his own paraglider and following Philza down.

He lands on Philza's boat, and they drive it back to the mesa. It's filled with the sort of talk that means nothing, and with Philza humming tunes to the air. For a man who claims to be musically dead, he manages it well.

It's also noise, white noise to blur the absence in his mind.

"Here we are," Philza gets out first, and offers Pac a hand out. "We should be pretty close. These things are a bit of a nightmare to find, being underground, but I'm sure we'll manage."

To his surprise, Pac is passed the map while Philza puts away the boat. He has to turn it around to orientate himself, but once he has Philza gestures for him to lead the way. Philza puts himself on Pac's left - the side he holds the map, whilst his other has his scythe, shield turned out against the wild.

Pac tries to think of something to say, and what comes out is, "so did you go looking for a big cannon, or did you just stumble into it?"

The comment draws startled laughter from his companion as they walk, having to stop a moment to let him gather himself. "We knew we were going to see one, but we're exactly looking. You find them all over the coast in the UK, and I think some along the Thames too? A lot have been removed, but we like our old crap, so a couple of the old forts are still open."

"So you're saying you come from a land of many large cannons."

"Yes, Pac," Philza laughs again. "Yes, I do; don't you?"

"We have other large things instead," Pac tries to smile, but he knows it looks off. "Like diamonds."

"Diamonds?"

Pac can see Philza looking for the sex joke, and suddenly realises he doesn't actually want to explain what he meant. So instead he says, "quality over size. Even a big diamond is small."

That draws more laughter, "yeah okay mate; Fit's a lucky boy then."

That almost has Pac dropping the map he's holding as he chokes. Philza grabs him, holds him steady, gives him something to cling to with Mike and Fit and Richarlyson and Walter Bob all gone. Something there, some support, something to stop him choking on himself.

"Too much?" Philza's voice is gentler this time.

Pac nods, hiding his blush in his hands even as he leans on Philza.

"Alright," Philza says, handing him a bottle. "Drink some water, king, and we'll get this dungeon cleared. And no more dick jokes until Fit's also here to suffer. Maybe we could even come up with some new ones, just to tease him next time we all meet up."

Pac takes the bottle, hiding in his hood as he does as he's told. Philza takes the map and they continue to walk as he sips at it, hiding himself and his face in the bottle. Philza makes sure to stay in sight, keeping idle commentry going.

At this point, Pac is reasonably sure Philza knows something continues to be wrong - but then so did Fit and Pac when Philza had that strange... Maybe hallucination? Fit says it probably wasn't, and Pac trusts Fit, but whatever it was it was unsettling and strange.

Philza seems fine now, though; maybe one day Pac will be fine too.

It is about ten or fifteen minutes walk to the dungeon. There's nothing on the surface to mark it, just Philza squinting at the map, and passing it to Pac to check.

Once they agree, they dig; Philza calls 'race you!' and begins a staircase.

Pac lives for adrenaline; he starts digging straight down.

Somehow he doesn't hit lava.

He does end up falling from the top of the dungeon into a crevasse, fails to find either a water bucket or his paraglider, and breaks his leg. It's terrifying, and he's alone as he sees his death message flash up in chat but - maybe - it's okay. There's Aypierre laughing and Baghera offering help, and Philza on his black paraglider swooping in from the ceiling to assist.

"You good?" Philza asks as he pours a potion out over the wounds, his eyes almost glowing in the low light as Pac's bones knit together.

Pac leans forwards to check his prosthetic while his body heals, twitching only a little with the pain. The fall knocked a few screws loose and bent some of the metal out of shape, but it's an easy enough fix with a hammer and screwdriver. He'll check it over properly later, or maybe swap it for his spare until he has energy for it, but it'll hold for the day.

"All good," Pac confirms, as he pulls his jeans back down.

He can see Philza side-eyeing the prosthetic, and shifts; the man says nothing, however, just helps Pac up and types out an 'all good we're just dungeoning' to calm the global chat.

And then he looks at his map.

"You've got us near a corner," Philza turns his communicator to show Pac. "If we just start here and work around to the left, we shouldn't miss anything."

Pac nods, and pulls out his grapple. Together they pull themselves up and onto the ledge, and the dungeon begins.

It starts simple - Philza takes out a spawner, while Pac works on the skeletons, then they swap so Pac can loot the minetracks. Trading the mobs on and off, Pac cannot help but notice how Philza even when on mob duty prioritises looting, catching the attention of a swamp of skeletons and sending them on a chase over barrels as he smashes them open and grabs the contents. Only when he can carry no more does he start fighting, laughing as he does.

It's a nice laugh, that one.

He laughs too when Pac fights, hacking away at the iron blocks he claims to want. With every other hit there is a call of "good hit!" "nice one!" "you're doing good, Pac!", and Pac can feel himself starting to grin as well.

Together they dance in a dungeon much easier than the one Phil joined Pac and Fit for, able to let loose without worrying for the giant magma cube around the corner. They keep an eye on each other, and watch their backs, and Fit's deep voice is so clearly missing between them without feeling like a void.

By the time it is finished, they are both laughing, bone-dust covering their clothes and their tools and the world in their hands. Philza gives Pac some of the iron, and they take his staircase - not Pac's hole - out.

They don't talk about what comes next, but neither of them reach for their warpstones. Instead Pac picks a direction and walks. Philza follows.

They find a hill a little way out, surrounded by flower fields but empty of them itself. Philza lights it up with his slingshot, despite it still being around midday, and Pac makes hot chocolate for them both. Pulls out chairs, too - blue and green - and places a coffee table between them.

He sits on the blue and Philza looks at the green and says, "are you sure I'm okay to sit there? I don't wanna intrude."

Pac looks at the chair - it was just habit, just what he carries - and curls up his toes. "It's fine," he can hear the sadness in his own voice. "Mike isn't here, he wouldn't mind."

"Do you mind?"

"I got it out for you."

"Alright, king," Philza finally takes the seat and the hot chocolate, leaning back into the cushions. After a bit he adds, "these are good chairs. Maybe I should invest in something better than mine."

"They're not expensive," Pac replies. "And they're comfy! I have one instead of a bed."

He wonders if he should have admitted that - he knows people worry - but in the crash of the panic attack and the fighting it's hard to keep his mouth shut.

Philza just laughs though, "yeah? I've been using one of those wooden ones. You know? Basic ones, just in a fancy wood."

"How do you not have splinters?!"

"I'm good with my hands - what else can I say?"

They both laugh at that one, a joke which actually lands. There's something comfortable and comforting about it. The laughter drifts into giggles, drifts into sips of hot chocolate - quiet and together. Pac makes a point of not watching as Philza gets himself comfortable, untangling his wings and stretching them... Not to full width, but wide.

It's only when one brushes his arm that Pac dares to ask "what happened?"

"Hm?" Philza looks up.

"To your wings?"

"Feds fucked them up when I arrived," Philza says it like its nothing, but there's bitter pain in his words. "By purgatory they'd healed up just enough to fly, but then carrying Tubbo through meteor strikes and radiation... I can't regret it, I /won't/ regret it, but they're fucked again. I can hold them up so it seems better, but they hurt worse than before."

Pac wants to say he's sorry, but he doesn't think it would be appreciated. Instead he says "thank you for saving Tubbo."

"I couldn't just leave him," Philza says. "He's my friend too, you know?"

"I know," Pac fiddles with his cup. "You're a good man, Felipe Minecraft. I'm not sure I'd do it."

"I think you would," Philza says, with more faith in Pac than he's ever had in himself. "If it came to it. You're also a good man, Pac - if you weren't, I wouldn't let you have Fit."

It's an admission neither of them acknowledge. Instead Pac flops, exhausted, against his chair. "I'd do it for Mike. I miss him."

"I can't imagine," Philza's wings stretch a little further, stroking against Pac's cheek. "But, I'm sure he'll heal. And once he does hold him close, okay? Because you never know when you'll loose him."

It's obvious, of course Pac will try to, but there's pain in Philza's voice, and Pac thinks of a memorial on a wall and a child living in the footsteps of a ghost, and maybe Philza can imagine better than he thinks he can.

Or maybe Philza means he can't imagine, because he knows.

"Did you love him?" Pac asks instead.

"He was my best friend."

Philza's voice breaks on the word, and Pac knows both that he has to stop, and that Philza knows just what it is Pac fears. Even if he calls it different, even if they didn't share one mind... Pac should not have asked.

"I'm sorry."

"You did nothing wrong; it hurts, but in hurting I remember him, you know?"

There's a long silence, in which Pac tries to know what to say, and Philza stares absently at soft clouds on the horizon. Even in Portuguese he would struggle, and Philza is certainly not looking to his translator.

Maybe Philza and Fit are not as Pac and Mike; Philza has already lost his Mike. Or, perhaps, both are true, and even if Pac looses his best friend, someone will be there to keep him whole.

It's a nice fantasy; he knows Philza's wound bleeds open even now.

"I have never been without Mike before this island," Pac eventually admits. "At least... I was seven when we met, he was five. I've heard his thoughts since I was ten, and the first time he ever fell silent was when I was put in that water prison."

"Shit," Philza closes his eyes as he swears, leaning back. "Earlier, with the water... You should have said something, Pac, I wouldn't have judged you. Fuck knows there's shit I can't do anymore."

"I didn't know it'd be that bad," Pac hesitates after those words. "It hasn't been before. Today is just... bad? I already felt bad."

"And you came to me for company, and I made it worse," Philza says. "I am so, so sorry mate - I didn't mean to, I just- It was for Chayanne."

"It was still better than being alone," Pac replies. "The second time our connection broke was when he was taken - I haven't heard him since. Even asleep, even unconscious, even when I was in a coma... We could still feel each other. Not now. It's lonely no, and it's been so long..."

"Pac..." Philza's voice catches. "You shouldn't have to make those choices... You shouldn't have to put up with my whims just not to be alone, mate, you should have just said; we could have gone to the dungeon, or the favela, worked on the train tracks... You didn't have to swim."

"Fit is gone, Mike is gone, Richas is gone," Pac twists his hands. "You were helping me. I wanted to help you - I wanted to do something for Chayanne too! He is a good egg."

"He is," Philza smiles softly, taking the distraction for what it is. "The best. But, king, are you going to be okay?"

"When am I not?" Pac asks, as he thinks of happy pills and his own blood trailing the floors of Chume Labs.

Philza gives him a distinctly unimpressed expression and, yeah, fair, "I'm serious, Pac; I don't have plans today if you just wanna chill somewhere. Here, my place, your place, the Favela... if the karaoke's working, we could steal a room? Hell, we can just keep heading outwards and find some more dungeons if you fancy violence instead."

"... Are you sure?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" Philza asks. "We don't get to hang out as often as we should - if you'd rather get some rest, I won't stop you. Just thought I'd offer."

"Karaoke then?" Pac suggests, if only for some structure to keep the anxiety from seeping back in.

"Sure. No promises I won't fall asleep on the couch, though."

Pac laughs. It is weaker, but it is more real. "No promises, no promises here either."

In time they do, of course, fall asleep on the couch - and that is where Fit will find them in the morning.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp pac #mike and techno haunt the narrative #what is that conversation at the end idk they ran away from me #it was supposed to be about the shitty prison system #it very much is not #god this was a long one #I wanted to write it so bad #but christ 5k of continuous narrative is a lot #I've put scene breaks where they teleport #and summarised the fighting more than I meant to #but its still all one continuous scene really #and oh god was it hard to stitch together #multiple scenes so much easier for longer >.<#okay enough complaining about writing hope you enjoyed #I'll get it to ao3 when I can #but that means at least spellchecking #but oh god I'm tired after this #I've been writing it for... eight hours #on and off but without doing anything thinky between #just replying to occassional email or watching a video about a snake while I have lunch

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pan-magi · 9 months

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I've always thought that the rukh place someone where they're supposed to be when leaving a dungeon. When leaving Amon, Aladdin is left where he could meet the Kouga and Hakuei; Alibaba is where the dungeon used to be so it will be "official" that he captured it and be there to help clear Jamil's mess (mainly ensuring his slaves are free).

And Morgiana is right outside. I can't help but think that its because she could have the opportunity to just run. No one else was around so she could leave without being recaptured. It wouldn't be safe to be a Fanalis out alone with broken shackles at her feet (which tbf she could have gotten off easily enough). I don't think anyone could blame her if she decided to take the out and escape safely. Jamil went into the dungeon with all his combat ready slaves (I imagine). Most would have assumed, besides Alibaba and Aladdin who were there, that being unaccounted for meant she ended up dead like the rest. Chances are low that people will be searching for the lost Fanalis slave girl.

She could have taken the opportunity to finish escaping and find Alibaba and Aladdin again after being more secure in her freedom. Morgiana doesn't because she is processing wtf went on in the dungeon and her priority after sorting out her thoughts was to find the two guys that went through that shit with her and see that they are alright. I don't want to discount how admirable that is. But if she was left more confused and scared and just- left? More power to you girl, get the fuck away from your hellhole.

I dunno. Something I've been thinking about. Back to the original point, I do believe that she wasn't in Qishan with Alibaba because more than anything the rukh let her off somewhere that best guaranteed her freedom.

#don't mind me imagining an au where she was left farther away from the city and ran into mu and myron traveling #before meeting up with the boys again #magi #magi: the labyrinth of magic #magi labyrinth of magic #magi morgiana #includes photo edit #strong language #cw slavery #hey look a longer-ish post from me #i have a couple in the works #but idk the next best time i can work on them #may be the last of anything for a while #i hate moving so much ngl grrr

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vala-dreams · 2 years

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I can see tall Jazz getting really used to manhandling people around.

Like she's probably had to do it since the day Danny was born like look at the state of their house,,,,someone had to be ready to grab the baby at all times and y'all already know that someone ain't gonna be Jack or Maddie.

Not that they don't care about Danny. They're just far to consumed by their work to be bothered. Which is basically abuse cause child neglect but we can discuss that at a later date.

So yeah, Jazz getting really used to manhandling Danny to get him out of harm's way and later doing the same for Sam and Tucker when the whole Phantom fiasco comes around.

I feel like she would be very frustrated during this time, especially in the early days because up to this point she has considered herself as Danny's protector. His guardian. The one who would always keep him away from harm, the girl who would always be there to carry him away from danger. But it isn't like that anymore. She can't fight ghosts. Sure, there's the thermos and all the ghost hunting equipment but she knows that none of that matters. It doesn't matter if she can fight ghosts or not, Danny is going to fight them anyway.

And that scares her. And it frustrates her too, because she can't just stop Danny from fighting. It isn't going to help him. It isn't going to help if she finds some miracle way to make Danny listen because she knows that he feels guilty. She knows that he thinks it's his fault that ghosts are terrorizing Amity now. The feeling must be bad enough now as it is.

And so it goes. Everytime there's a rouge ghost, everytime Phantom has to fight, she's there. Everytime the Fentons come out to hunt her brother, she's there to stope them. Everytime there's a civillian trapped under miles of debri, she's there to tear it away with her bare hands.

Because she can't sit and do nothing. Because she can't just stand on the sidelines and watch. Because she can't let him do this alone.

She is Jazz Fenton, daughter of two of the most brilliantly deranged paranormal scientists, armed with the equipment to show for it. She is Jazz Fenton, the elder sister always looking out for herself and her brother, even when her parents didn't. She is Jazz Fenton, the girl who refuses to let the people she cares about suffer.

She is Jazz Fenton, and she is The Guardian.

....

And then, some nights, when the ghosts have been defeated, when all their wounds, all their rips and tears have been sewed back together, Danny would crawl up into her arms and fall asleep.

In those nights, with soft moonlight streaming in through her window, with Danny's slight, cold weight in her arms, she feels like a person again.

Just for a moment. Just for a little while till the world needs The Guardian again.

Till Danny needs The Guardian again.

............................................................................

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A TALL JAZZ SHITPOST WHA—

Okay anyway, superhero Jazz au in which Jazz is called The Guardian.

She has eldest daughter syndrome. And will psychoanalyze everyone except herself so she doesn't even know it

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mooshkat · 15 hours

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i didn't know bucktommy somno was something i needed but now that i've gotten a taste of it, it's all i want. rattling the bars of my cage foaming at the mouth etc etc

buck using tommy like a toy... moving on to getting him to come?? sucking his dick? finding out how fast he can get tommy hard? finding tommy already half hard... yeah

buck using tommy like a toy oh my goood. just imagining him waking up in the middle of the night, tommy knocked out and dead to the world beside him because buck got him to cum twice when they went to bed after their date, and usually his man is a one and done type of guy, even if he likes pushing buck to the point of coming dry.

and buck can be insatiable when it comes to tommy, always wanting moremoremore from him. more attention, more touch, more sex.

(and they've talked abt this before during one of their kink talks, both into the idea of being used for their partners pleasure, but tommy especially liking the idea of being used even when he isn't awake, able to take care of them whenever they need it. they set up rules, of course, make sure to have guidelines of consent.)

so when he wakes up to tommy rutting against his ass in his sleep, buck half-hard as he's rocked against the bed, it's all too easy to remember that conversation and spot the specifically colored bracelet on tommy's wrist that gives the okay. the hardest part is rolling tommy over onto his back without waking him up, but once he does, buck wastes no time getting in his lap and sinking down onto his cock, having only leftover tacky lube and cum to ease the way, but the burn of the stretch only makes him more desperate.

he'll only ride tommy long enough to get himself off before he climbs off of him and goes back to sleep.

and in the morning, when tommy wakes up to dried cum on his stomach and chest and knows that his boyfriend used him in his sleep? well, it's only fair to do the same and slide back into buck for a third(? he doesn't know, and that makes it all the more thrilling) time, and he doesn't care about keeping him asleep as he fucks him hard and fast.

#katie.txt #the thots ran away from me during this and got longer than i expected lol #idk how to tag for the k*nk without tumblr sniping me or inviting 📯🦵 blogs to this #bucktommy

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hoediaz · 2 years

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burn the straw house down buddie › time loop › angst :/ › ao3 for my beloved @gayeddiaz

“Why the fuck are you even in this loop? This day isn’t about you.” “Well, I die,” Eddie comments idly, not sounding as offended as he maybe should be. “Haven’t you heard? I’m always dying.” “That’s not funny.” Eddie shrugs, not really agreeing or disagreeing. It’s a few seconds before he says, eyes still closed, “Maybe I’m here so you’re not alone. - or, buck gets stuck in time, has a break down and then, relatedly, a break through

part one: burned, about to burn, still on fire [17k] part two: explode in slow motion [23k]

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #it's been so long i've forgotten how to tag fic #anyway sorry this ran away from me so i'm posting the first part while grace is actually awake #nad the rest will be posted probably at like. idk 4 in the morning #*#also YES i'm aware of how funny it is that i seem to be obsessed with writing buck having a breakdown through funky time situations #im not putting a total word count bc i simply don't know it x #god i hate this fic so much

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