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#but it's SO MUCH EASIER THAN WRITING

mythicalthing · 1 year

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big shoutout to @tshifty for reading my 55 page draft about Abe and giving me suggestions making editing sooooo much easier <3

#editing is hard #but it's SO MUCH EASIER THAN WRITING #plus i have opinions on what to edit now

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placeofwonder · 1 month

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lately: enjoyed my beautiful town in the sun and reviewed two plays for the student magazine, which is a great outlet for the part of my brain that wishes I was still studying humanities

#mine #personal #diary #books #studyblr #the theatre here is so good #and i'm having so much fun writing these reviews in german which i didn't expect #it's still easier after all these years to write well in german than in english?? that really surprised me & now i want to do it more often

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ughgoaway · 4 months

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You're super good at smut, but what do you think Matty would be like if his gf one time would like something more vanilla? Sorry If I'm ruining the mood I'm just super sad tonight and I'm thinking more gentle, still super good though, sex.

oh thank you <333

and you are so not ruining the mood, I LOVE soft romantic sex just as much as the other stuff. I'm sorry you're feeling sad lovely, I really hope you start feeling better soon <333

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

I can see you having a really hard few weeks, and you've not been up to anything remotely sexual. matty is, of course, completely fine with it, and has been so kind and patient with you.

you just need to be taken care of. You need to hear how much he loves you. how much you mean to him. and matty is more than happy to oblige.

maybe you start making out slowly on the sofa, just soft, warm kisses that grow needier and needier. the kisses are making you dizzy, and you can feel the love pouring from matty in each one. they're perfectly wet and sticky in a way that drives you insane, and mattys warm tongue pressing against yours is making you increasingly needy.

you pull back and look at matty with a soft pout. You simply say, "Please?" and he nods immediately.

he grabs your hips and lies you down on the sofa, treating you like you're made of glass. cradling your head and stroking your hair as you lay down.

he looks down at you with a love-struck look. Your hair was fanned out around in a way that made you look heaven sent. the soft flush that covered your cheeks and chest drew matty in, he leant down and began to press kisses wherever he could reach.

his velvety, hot lips make their way across your chest, mouthing slowly at your collarbones and neck. he doesn't leave any marks, just sweetly worshipping your body, making you understand how deeply he loves you.

"You look so beautiful, my darling. always do," he says, pulling back with a smile, brushing your cheekbone gently with his fingers.

his eyes were black with desire, but you could still see the adoration swimming within them. You smile shyly and try to hide your face in your hands, but matty grabs your wrists to stop you.

"Don't hide your pretty face, baby, let me love you," he says softly, pressing a peck to your palm and placing your hands on his shoulders before leaning in to kiss you.

and it stays slow and sensual. He pulls down your panties and his boxers. before slipping in with a satisfied groan. holding himself there for a few seconds, feeling the unspoken connection that you two share.

your warm skin slips together, fusing as one. he's deep within you, and you've never felt more intertwined.

He swaps between burrowing his head in your neck and leaning back to watch your face in awe. he takes note of your flickering eyelids, and of the way your jaw drops and the sweetest moans leave your lips.

"m' so lucky to have you, sweet girl. my angel."

he would be focused on you, your pleasure, and making sure you're comfy. he's checking in regularly, ensuring you're happy to continue.

after a whimper from you, he pulls back with worried eyes, "You okay? do you want to stop, baby? we can just cuddle if you'd prefer, " he says, stilling within you, awaiting your response.

you smile and shake your head at him, "No, no. feels so good. Please keep going. " You whisper to him, pulling him deeper and kissing him firmly.

the whole time, it's unhurried. His pace is even and gentle, staying deep within you.

he whispers reassurance to you the whole time because he can't quite believe he gets to do this with you. his heart feels full, his mind only ever thinks of you. he's completely and utterly enamoured and entranced.

his thrusts are languid and tender, intent on making you cum first. listening to your breathing and moans to know when you're close.

"s'okay baby, you can cum whenever you need to. please, cum for me princess" he whispers against your lips before surging forward to kiss you.

the coil in your stomach continues to tighten, winding tighter and tighter with each rhythmic roll of his hips. you can feel the flush on your face and your skin heating up. throbbing around matty desperately, savouring the growing heat beneath your skin.

with a shudder dissolved into pleasure, arching your back and groaning at the feeling of your pebbled nipples brushing against his hard chest. your walls spasm around him, and matty can't help the grunt that leaves him as they do, warm and wet as you pulse around him.

Matty keeps moving slowly inside you, chasing his own orgasm, "where do you want me, angel?" he asks breathlessly. You don't respond verbally but instead link your feet together behind his back, causing him to burrow even deeper inside you.

he cums with a groan, whimpering and whispering in your ear as he does, "oh s-shit. I love you so fucking much, oh my god. you're perfect, so perfect for me"

he buries his head in your neck and you can feel him smile against you, you can't help the grin that spread across your lips at the feeling of his hot cum within you and your warm sweaty skin binding together.

as soon as your hands slide over his shoulders, he flops on top of you. You giggle at his lack of finesse and run your hands over his back, kissing his temple softly.

"Thank you, I love you," you pant, turning your head to look at him adoringly.

"I love you too," he says softly, meeting your eyes and giving you a sweet peck.

maybe he eats you out afterwards, grunting and groaning at the musky taste of you mixing on his tongue. or perhaps you just lay there, basking in the glow of each other.

#never ruining the mood with slow soft sex #i love it so much #i only write kinky stuff because its easier #sometimes being sentimental is 1000x more difficult than some kinky shit lol #if only there was a song about how scary sincerity is or something...#anon!#teacher au!#(this one is less good bc being soft and in love is hard lol)

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kangaracha · 13 days

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Felix + focus

(this is actually written by @keepswingin, who gained access to my blog for five minutes and decided she wanted my prompts list)

---

It's bad luck, and you know it's bad luck, but you can't stop yourself from sneaking across the hall as soon as nobody is looking. You close the door as quietly as possible behind you and turn around, fully prepared to tease your husband to be, only to find him standing before the mirror, shakily adjusting his tie.

Felix is muttering to himself as he struggles with keeping his hands steady, smoothing them down the sides of his pants, once, twice, three times, and then he catches your eye in the mirror, and he freezes, and something about it reminds you of a deer caught between bright headlights.

"Sorry," you giggle, approaching him with your heart thumping wildly in your chest because this is actually happening, and he's going to be what you wake up next to every morning, and those hands will help you cook dinner and those eyes will look at you and call you beautiful and - and you're getting carried away. "I couldn't wait."

You reach out for his hand as soon as you're close enough, twining your fingers together. You can still feel him shake despite it, and the small smile he gives you is wobbly at the corners, and his eyes are crinkled in that anxious way that he claims he doesn't do, and you tug him closer, reaching your other hand up to curl around his cheek.

"Hey," you whisper, his eyes catching yours. "You're okay. Everything's okay. Focus. Focus on me." You press your forehead against his and hear his chest stutter with a long exhale. "I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," he says as soon as he's able to, blinking fast. Leave it to him to apologize over things that don't require one. "I was just - my mom left to go find something, and I was standing here alone and I just got to thinking and then I - " Another breath, this one calmer than the last. "I just don't want to mess anything up. On our day."

"You could never ruin our day," you tell him, and then your smile grows because you can't help yourself and he knows how you are. "Even if you did, I'd still treasure it all the same."

It does work in dragging a laugh out of him, genuine and carefree. "You're going to make me worry all over again," he throws back gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're beautiful, by the way."

"Can you still act surprised when you see me walk out? My mom already threatened me," you ask, and then his lips pull into a smile you'll never forget as he moves closer, lips brushing lightly against your own.

"My mom threated me too," he admits quietly, and then he's kissing you, and you can't help but wonder how any of this could ever be bad luck when it's the luckiest you've ever felt.

#stray kids #roo writes #skz #felix #lee felix #yongbok #lee yongbok #lee felix yongbok #felix imagines #felix drabbles #felix drabble #reader x felix #felix imagine #felix x reader #felix reaction #felix reactions #lee felix imagine #lee felix reactions #lee felix imagines #lee felix x reader #usually i have fun comments to leave but i know nothing about this fic #other than that keeps got into my inbox #said 'oh you only have like 15 prompts in here that's doable'#and then said 'it's so much easier to pick them when you don't have 150' and #wrote mine and not any of her own 150 #anyway zom mom this is what i was gonna throw a rock at her about the other day #cause i wanted head above water edited and this is what she was doing instead #completely arbitrary tasks in my inbox #and to the casual readers who don't know us #i stg i can write my own shit this is just

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ygodmyy20 · 17 days

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Day 7: Happy Birthday, Teru.

Reference: https://i0.wp.com/img.screencaps.us/202/3-nimona/full/nimona-animationscreencaps.com-467.jpg?ssl=1

I have wanted to draw this pose ever since I saw the movie. This was the perfect opportunity. I really wanted to draw something that made me feel calm and happy. This is the result.

A little extra snippet for everyone as well. Enjoy!

Soft heels pad across a midnight-cast rooftop, the loud boisterous sounds of the party fading into the background like sun setting below the horizon.

The air is moist and thick with spring-time mildew. It sticks to the ground, making everything wet, and layering the world in a slight chill.

The pair sit down on the edge of the rooftop and the taller of the two smiles. "Thanks for stepping away from your own party for me," he says, fingers playing with a brightly colored gift in his lap.

A wave of a hand and a snort, "You know I never mind Shige. Besides," he leans foreword, eyeing the gift with sparkling blue eyes, "I see you have something for me~?"

Shigeo nods and passes the gift over, the corner of his eyes crinkling in amusement, but barely visible in the dark blue of midnight. "I do. Happy Birthday, Teru," he leans over, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

Teru (even after all these years) blushes, waving his hands up and down as he takes the gift. "Ahh stop it you!" He places the gift in his lap, blue eyes softening. He stares down at it and then tilts his head up, looking out at the night sky in front of them.

After a few more seconds of pause, he finally says, "You know. If it's okay... can I open it later?"

"Of course. You probably know what it is anyway, you did give me a list."

A boisterous laugh escapes his lips, which then slides like melting ice into a soft smile. He sets the gift to the side and scoots closer, intertwining their hands as he nestles his head on his husbands shoulder. "Honestly... I love parties, but I love just sitting here with you just as much. It's a really beautiful night."

Shigeo tilts his head down, rubbing his face into blonde hair. "Mmm. I like it too."

A breeze picks up, ruffling their clothes, the scent of wet concrete tickling their noses. Cars drive past below, rumbling in and out of sight.

Even deep in the city, the sounds of crickets in a nearby park float aimlessly through the breeze, filling the edges of the sounds.

The tranquility is broken by thumping footsteps and a door swinging open loudly, startling to two as they turn towards the sound.

"Birthday Boy!!" Shou yells, "Stop smooching and get down here for you cake!!"

Teru glares, "Shou, I was just enjoying a moment, how do you always know when to ruin it..."

A shrug, "Eh, I just have amazing timing like that."

Ritsu also pops his head out the door, hand already on Shou's collar, "I can give you guys 10 minutes, but if you don't come down by then this," he shakes Shou, "is going to eat your cake."

Shigeo lets out a breathy laugh, "Thanks Ritsu. We'll be back down soon."

Ritsu nods, pulling Shou away as the other yelps in frustration.

Teru tries to keep on his annoyed face but it dissolves into a cracked smile as he leans back into Shigeo's shoulder. "He's such a dork."

Shigeo answers with a hum, pressing close.

Even in the city, the stars are visible, dancing above them in a quiet hum. A far off symphony that they cannot hear but the light sings like strings reverberating through the night. Mixing with the low drone of the city, an ambient tranquility that rests light on their shoulders.

Shigeo squeezes their intertwined fingers. "Happy Birthday, Teru."

#terukiweek2024 #teruki hanazawa #terumob #mob psycho 100 #shigeo kageyama #mp100 #this post is for me #honestly it is probably way too much text way too much info and too much going on #but I don't care #what are ages #probably.... 25 here #they get married around 25 #added the ring just for that #Originally i was gonna draw the shou and ritsu part but the writing took me 20 mins and the drawing multiple hours #so yeah much easier for me to write than draw #my art

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fieldsofview · 7 months

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I desperately want to write a fic about how a beat down (and very good at compartmentalizing) Peter Parker only realizes that he is in fact a trans dude after the spider bite and going out in the suit

like, people coin him as Spider-Man (bc muscles and a sports-bra compressed chest make a certain silhouette) and it makes him stop and think

and then it's just like oooooooooh yep ok this was what I was ignoring for the last 2 decades

#not at all inspired by my own gender journey now in my mid 20s #Why is is so much easier to realize you're gay than realize you're trans?#trans peter parker #he's so special to me #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #Fic Ideas #MIght write it if I finish Spider-Man: Homesickness

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guqin-and-flute · 10 months

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I've found that outright "banning" certain behavior from myself doesn't work (no Youtube, don't write in this part of the house), but setting stipulations that help me stay closer to what the actual goal I hope to achieve does.

So I have a new rule; I can only watch Youtube or Netflix if I'm doing something creative with my hands while doing it. No matter how tired or how much I just want to zone out and veg, I need to be sewing or knitting or drawing or needle felting or making a flower crown or whatever. If I really want to decompress and lay there, I can listen to a podcast or read a book or take a nap. Because the whole goal of not going on Youtube is so that I don't get sucked into just idly wasting hours of my day and not being in the mood to do creative things. So by keeping the creativity present in relaxing, I'm making my stepping off point much more attainable.

It also has the bonus of, if I've sat down to write and I find myself wandering off to watch Youtube, I get to ask, 'Alright, so are you transitioning to another task? Then you'd better get up and get the stuff ready.' Which helps bounce me back because inertia to organize things is hard to initiate, but even if I do, I'm still doing something on my 'I wanna try this' list.

#I'm mostly making this to remind myself but also if anyone else wanted to try something similar #It's so much easier to transition from 'needle felting mushrooms onto a hat' to 'writing'#than from being sucked into the youtube rabbit hole and attempting to pull myself away wholesale #I'm very sneaky. I will find excuses to continue watching #My stuff #I've also set app limits on all my social media apps and taken Youtube off of my main screen--like I have to go search through my apps #to start it

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entguarde · 1 year

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Unimaginable, unimaginable

[Image ID: A digital bust painting of a wood duck against a dark background. The duck depicted is a drake in breeding plumage, his head an iridescent dark green with white stripes. His neck is reddish-brown, leading to white spotting which then becomes the white feathers of his belly. His wings are tucked behind himself, and the body feathers covering his wings are golden. His beak and eye are both red.

He is shown in a warm, golden lighting with high contrast, as if he were standing near a sunset. The light reflects off his feathers slightly, giving him the appearance of glowing against the dark background. He is staring at the viewer. End description.]

#ent’s art #birds #bird art #wood duck #ducks #aix sponsa #perching ducks #anatinae #hoo boy tagging fandom art is easier than tagging personal art huh #but!!! this was very fun #im gonna be submitting this for a gallery event in town so :]#ALSO!!! ANY SUGGESTIONS FOR ADDITIONS OR CHANGES TO THE IMAGE DESCRIPTION ARE MORE THAN WELCOME!!!#IM STILL VERY MUCH SO LEARNING HOW TO WRITE THESE SO ANY CRITICISM HELPS ME A BUNCH

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topaz-witch-tea · 5 months

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*Me Thinking About How to Traumatize Jing Yuan with Yanqing*

So—

Aggressive Truck Noises in the Background

That is honestly me and I feel like the aggressive truck noises is everyone who reads my work!😆

The tragedy of a parent burying their child is something I think about a lot and it shows in my work. On the notes app, I have a list of pending ideas and 98% of it is just potential fics of Jing Yuan suffering. I have one where Jing Yuan goes insane from grief and another where he forget Yanqing even existed in order to keep him from being mara-struck. I even have one where Mimi is grieving over Yanqing and instead of sleeping in her bed, starts to sleep in the cold courtyard where Jing Yuan and Yanqing used to train because that was the last time they were all together.

Sometimes I traumatize Yanqing and by extension Jing Yuan. Imagine as Yanqing gets older and older, Jing Yuan doesn't hug him anymore. It slowly becomes a pat on the head and then a hand on the shoulder before devolving into just saying "Good job, Yanqing." Jing Yuan never pulls him into a hug like he used to. It is only when Yanqing is gravely injured does he feel that familiar warmth again as Jing Yuan cradles him in his arms, telling him he'll be okay and begging him to hang on.

Elegy took 3 months to brainstorm because the first couple plans were a bit much for me. Which is why I have a rule to upload fluff in between chapters of Elegy as a buffer. 😂

Let me know if you guys want more angsty/tragic headcanons

#yanqing #honkai star rail #jing yuan #Angst is so much easier to write than fluff for me so I lean towards it #I feel like I hold Jing Yuan's happiness hostage #Like he has to suffer enough for me to write him a happy ending #Poor Jing Yuan #Poor Yanqing #Poor Mimi #Me on my way to torment Jing Yuan and Yanqing like it's a regular Tuesday

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factorialsotherfandoms · 5 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.