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sxorpiomooon · 2 months

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what's blocking you from getting what you want - a pac reading

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This reading was so confusing because the first title that I was actually shuffling cards for was "what you need to do in order to get more opportunities" then I shifted to what you need to do in order to open more doors for you to reach where you need to be but this reading feels more to me about what blockages are you facing in order to be where you want to be or get what you want. This reading was VERY confusing to me but I do hope this helps you guys in some way, thankyou<33

Pile 1-

Hell nawww😭😭 you my pile 1 quite literally have to work hard some of you might have a tough saturn or prominent that's the vibe I got the first vision I had was saturn in 1st house anyways the kind of sucess that you pile 1 might need might require you to keep working hard for some time. Unlike other piles I don't see you getting your success instantly or without any hardwork. "Hang on, the process might be steady and slow in coming but it is coming" and this pile also needs to learn to be patient. You are in some toxic cycles that you must break I heard karma for most of you this might be family wise I also think this is mostly past life karma. You guys might also have the tendency to repress your emotions which need to be stopped. I think y'all tend to bottle up your emotions which leads to y'all losing your shit once the bottle is filled. Reppressing doesn't mean that your emotions are gone it just means that they are going to appear again once the change arrives. I think this is the main blockage that you guys are facing i also think this pile needs to be quick in making plans and changes. Do y'all have a broken watch or glass at home? If you do, please change it if you have a stopped watch please put some battery in it it's bringing more delay in your opportunities. Anyways long short story- keep working hard success is a process remember and nurture your emotions. This was also my pile why did they do us so bad man😔

Pile 2-

Ask for help and help others. This is literally it are y'all not taking care of your eyes or are in phone so much the moment I pulled cards my eyes felt weak a bit of water and dizzy? Go to sleep put your phone down too much phone time I had a vision of 9h phone time anyways donate to charity if you guys can I wonder if people on here have scorpio asc in their d10 chart. Donate to charity if you can remember money is not the only thing that you can donate time and efforts also count as contribution. I think this pile might have also faced some financial issues I also heard capricorn. Some of you might take onto your parents role or might be facing some trauma because of your family I heard legacy so probably generational trauma. Come to terms with it y'all might have some sort of financial family trauma. Some harsh words might have been said to you that are too deep rooted in your heart still. Pile 2 you are more stronger than you think, you have far more strength than you can comprehend. Let it go.

Pile 3-

you guys might have big egos rightfully so because I see that you might have ALOT of enemies some of them might be obvious the others not so much. I see people being ready to attack you 24/7 I do understand you guys and I do believe that you should give your 100% to whatever you want but the advice that I'm getting here is that you can choose to give up if the only thing that's in line is your ego. For the other people that choose this pile y'all might be getting bullied by someone or might be too scared to be judged? Alot of different kinds of people are choosing this pile you guys might have a good Pluto position perhaps even Pluto conjuct moon in your 10h or 1h? Face your true honest self be courageous and honest to yourself these both things are necessary for you to do in order to receive your awakening. You are successful and have alot of enemies however I do think that you can benefit from them alot by actually learning something from their perspective. You might be able to gain another win by doing so. Alot of fight, struggle energy from this pile.

Pile 4-

walk away and stop being delusional. You are very well aware of what you need to walk away from I heard "it's time to go" leave whatever is not serving you it's time. Go leave and never look back. Only when you remove things from your life you receive the space to add on new things. You can't let all the junk fill up in your life and then continue to complain about how you are not receiving anything new or better. Make space and be courageous. You have a very nice energy if you guys already are not aware it. Alot of people might like you very easily I think this pile might have a energy that easily hypes up other people, makes them feel at ease and brings joy this can actually help you in gaining other people's favour more. Compliment people more on their work it's very easy for you to win other people's favour. People will help you in reaching where you need to read my pile 4

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amourdivine · 7 months

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PAC ઉ YOUR CURRENT ENERGY!

Hello, lovelies, I know it has been some time, but I missed you. I hope everyone is doing ok these days. Let's look into your energy today, shall we?

paid readings are closed as of february 2024

none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise!

pick a card masterlist & information

the piles.

1 → 2 3 → 4

how to choose your pile. take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

disclaimer. this is a general reading! tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings.

PILE ONE

queen of cups ✧ death ✧ ace of swords ✧ the high priestess

Before I shuffled, I couldn’t help but feel lonely, like there’s this pang in my chest whenever I think of life and the current state of the world. It reminds me of the term “loneliness epidemic” and how so many of us are struggling to make friends or maintain pre-existing relationships. I think you are beginning to find emotional fulfillment in different things than you did before. Nothing may have worked out - at least, the things that used to work out aren’t working out anymore. There’s this voice inside of you begging for a new beginning, for clarity, and it’s slow but surely coming towards you. Where your energy is will wildly depend on how much you’ve listened to that inner voice already, but it’s a calling towards something new, regardless.

I think you’re scared because you haven’t done this before. You may be discovering things about yourself as well that are quite surprising, like new hobbies or gifts. It’s refreshing too, both painful and refreshing. Sort of like the concept of growing pains - growing up is not easy and there are no guidelines, no roadmaps. Often, we discover things through trial and error.

You may have withdrawn your energy as well, especially from old social circles. I get the feeling you were unsatisfied. Things felt stuck. They may still feel stuck, boring and completely lost in the routine of it all. It’s okay. You’re growing. Bones can hurt when they heal and grow. The same goes for you. I see snakes here, shedding their old skin. In your case, I don’t think you have found a “new skin” already, but you’ve shed your old life either way. It’s okay to want more, pile one. It’s okay to change. We’re ever-evolving. What suited you then won’t suit you now, that’s how life goes, with the changing of the seasons. It’s beautiful to witness - and when you look back you’ll realize just how much we can shift, how many places we’ll go and how much more there is to life than our old selves.

It’s okay to let it go. You’ll be okay even if the waters are muddy for now.

This is a very spiritual pile! Make sure to cater to your emotional and spiritual needs, taking care of your physical body and being around soothing, comforting or quiet places while you tend to this new self.

channeled messages & songs: white snakes, ring, scarf, life path 8 (or 8 in general), silver jewelry, bodies of water, sleeping, bed-rotting, kundalini awakening, modern loneliness by lauv, scorpio, pisces and cancer, hermitting, social batteries, introvert, epiphany, books, the bible, prophetic dreams, chocolate, ego death.

PILE TWO

six of cups ✧ the hanged man ✧ eight of cups ✧ seven of wands

You are returning to yourself, it feels like a sort of homecoming. Fighting for your peace while, at the same time, learning to accept what you can’t control. You have walked away from old beliefs, from restraints of the past and renewing your faith in yourself. Even the picture you’ve chosen is a close-up of someone’s outfit walking away. You’ve found dignity and you’re not willing to sacrifice it anymore. Maybe you’ve left a situationship or relationship that was draining you, molding you into someone you weren’t. Props to you for that. It’s not easy and I know it.

Your guides are proud - they’re very serious and regal. They think you deserve more than what you’ve had. Not in a self-serving way, don’t mistake it for self-indulgence, but in a human, dignified way. They see you as royalty, too. They don’t want you to settle for breadcrumbs in life anymore. No matter how difficult it’s been, they don’t want you to stop believing that things can get better.

For most of you, this is a time when you’re shifting into a more peaceful but assertive phase. You’re taking charge of your joy, your future and your responsibilities without clinging to self-blame or guilt. Maybe it took you a long time. I heard “recovery” in my mind and this has possibly something to do with a specific illness or disease you’ve battled for so long. There’s a huge feeling of relief, of taking a long breath after a tiring day.

It’s okay, you’re home now, you’re safe now. You can relax. You’ve got this, pile two.

channeled messages & songs: therapy, journaling, barbie or baby doll, sage green, green tea, pastels, tiktok, doomscrolling, healing, “i’m not the girl i used to be”, rainbow by kacey musgraves, self-acceptance, shadow work, “i’m still standing”, camping, nature, libra and taurus.

PILE THREE

three of swords ✧ the hermit ✧ the star ✧ queen of pentacles

Your heart is broken. Someone or something has left you to lick your wounds and tend to the bruises they gave you. You’re in pain, so much pain that it may be unbearable to wake up everyday. You’re questioning your worth, your self-esteem has crumbled.. and you don’t want anyone to find you, to see you in such a vulnerable state. All you do now is hope for better days, pray a rainbow comes after the storm because the current is heavy and has taken you astray.

Unfortunately life can’t always be what we want or expect. Allow room for these heavy emotions - this too shall pass. It’s okay to be disappointed, to feel betrayed and hurt by what happened. If the ground was pulled beneath your feet, was it ever really that solid to begin with?

This is the aftermath of something painful. And that’s okay. You can’t force yourself to feel good. In the meantime, you can take it slow, nurture the hope for better days and hold onto it. I know we tend to view hope as mostly something negative and passive, but you can take baby steps towards emotional fulfillment. The Queen of Pentacles suggests you take it slow - there is no rush to healing, nothing to be accomplished, there is nothing for you to prove. You’re human, and therefore, worthy of compassion, patience and healing. Remember the Wheel of Fortune: what comes up must go down, what goes down must go up eventually. You’ll feel better, pile three. I promise.

channeled messages & songs: taking a walk, flower pot, cacti, heartbreak anthems, olivia rodrigo, punk rock, “i’m angry all the time”, hurts like hell by fleurie, capricorn, saturn, personal year 5, backstabbing, depression, navy blue by muna.

PILE FOUR

the hanged man ✧ the hierophant ✧ six of pentacles ✧ the star

You’re learning and teaching. Giving and receiving. Letting the scales balance themselves out, remembering that balance is not always fifty fifty. All the piles have had somewhat similar themes, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you have felt drawn to either pile one or two, but this one feels like a continuation of it, so it could be that you’re transitioning from one to another. Naturally, please take only what resonates for you!

You may have found a new job, a stable relationship, a good circle of friends. You know, despite the positive feeling of these cards, I can’t help but wonder if you’re waiting for it all to crumble again, feeling like the shadows of your past are going to haunt you forever. I keep wondering if you’re okay, I keep wanting to ask you. You’re scared, you’ve got your guard up. You can’t really trust it will last - and while it’s true that it all comes and goes, you can trust nothing is ever wasted.

Let your guard down. Not everyone has your worst interests in their heart. Maybe self-isolation suited you before, didn’t it? You weren’t used to being loved, you still aren’t. But you still deserve it. Sometimes it’s easier to endure the hard things because they’re all we expect. It’s difficult to take in the good things, isn’t it? To feel worthy of them. To realize there is more to life than survival. You’re finally living now - and that’s a good thing. Uncertainty is scary, but in a way, so is the familiarity of hurt, of unrequited lovers and callous friendships. Are you ready to be loved, pile four? You can ask for the good times as much as you want, but when it is here, you have to remember to enjoy it, to not be on the lookout for the bad things so much.

We’re rarely in control. I know it’s difficult, but that’s often a good thing. Not being in control means you can worry less. You can fret less. You can take it day by day, knowing that the outside forces will do what they must and we’re all silly little souls on a giant floating rock.

PS: You’re doing well, I promise.

channeled messages & songs: self-sabotage, nightmares, attachment issues, bulletproof by la roux, bones, candles by daughter, earrings, 2024 planner, five year plan, entj, istj, quiet singing, “the pen is mightier than the sword”, studying, sweater weather, stress cleaning, autumn girl.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #pick a card reading #tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot reader #tarot community #divination #witchblr #mine.

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arkanis-englishupdates · 5 days

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SUMMARY OF ALL ARKANIS POVs

DAY 14 — 16/09/2024

The day begins peacefully in everyone's third week at Valigma, with many explorations and conversations between residents and specialists.

As Pac explores City Hall, he finds a secret door with a password, through the window he can see the names of all the specialists on the walls. He leaves after exploring but can't open the password door.

Pac finishes renovating and furnishing his house and leaves for Bar do Bira, where Bagi, Choke, Guaxinim and Gris were. He tells everyone about what he found at city hall and the group heads towards the location.

The group then begins to discuss possible ghosts other than Gris and Denix (Bagi ended up mentioning that the factory was brought to Valigma after the election of Mayor Jota and they work with the production of batteries).

The group sets out to go to the factory as part of a protest because of the lack of collaboration that Mayor Jota had with the investigations. They manage to enter the factory and Bagi left a walkie-talkie on the place so the group could hear if anything happened inside, leaving the factory right after.

Quel calls Gabepeixe to talk about the ghost kids. She theorizes that Bia may be involved in their deaths and they agree not to keep secrets from each other about the children's deaths.

Valigma has a strange new being that is scamming all the specialist residents, they are called Gnomeu and dresses like a short green wizard.

[Please, if there is anything that wasn't said here, tell us in the comments!]

#arkanis #arkanisgg #arkanis eng updates #mcyt

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sparklychaosandotherthings · 8 months

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Headcanons for Dean Winchester that are true cause I say so;

- he wears his socks inside out, he’ll tell u it’s cause it brings good luck and protects from witches spells or whatever, but it’s really cause he hates the feeling of the seams.

- he fully believes that any music that was made after the year 2000, isn’t “real music” (his favorite genre of music will forever be divorced dad rock)

- supernatural stuff and magic doesn’t bother him, (he’s literally beheaded several people) but the SECOND someone who’s double - jointed starts moving funny, or someone cracks a joint to loud, he’s wincing and freaking out, claiming it’s “unnatural!”

- if the hunting doesn’t work out, dean could become a pro video gamer. He has insane hand eye coordination and beats the toughest levels with ease. Surprisingly tho, shooting games are not his fav, he prefers stuff like Pac-Man, (“sam! He hunts ghost just like us!!!) and donkey Kong

- he claims to be an extrovert, but he hasn’t been around large groups of people long enough to figure out that he’s actually an introvert with a high social battery sometimes. (He’ll figure it out eventually)

- he forgets to eat like 95% of the time; (despite the fact that Sam already reminded him that his recovery time would be faster if he would eat FOOD BEFORE HE LOSES 6 LITERS OF BLOOD) he usually will eat if he happens to notice sam eating (but unless it’s the supernatural, deans observational skills are not the best)

- he hates baths. He says that he has seen TOO MANY bad things happen in bath tubs and he will not be one of them, no sir. He will not set foot in a bath filled with water past his ankles if he can help it. However he LOVES showers and the ones he takes are SCALDING, and VERY long. He uses up every drop of hot water. (This used to annoy Sam, but he figured out that the cold water helped with the visions and headaches, so he didn’t mind anymore)

- you will not catch this man DEAD with shoes only tied once. His shoes are forever double knotted, and if he’s nervous about a mission, you can always tell because his laces are triple - knotted (his weirdest fear is his shoes will come off or his laces will untie while he’s running from a monster; yes, he has had nightmares about this)

#supernatural #ao3 #headcannons #headcanon #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam and dean #netflix #fanfic

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solaneceae · 10 months

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my battery is low, and it's getting dark.

a codebreakers fanfic about étoiles losing his sight. read on Ao3

It starts off with light blurriness — the kind you get when you forget to remove your contacts before bed, dryness and irritation welcoming you back to the waking world. Étoiles doesn’t wear contacts, although he does don a pair of sturdy, cheap rectangular glasses on occasion, whenever reports have to be read or written in thin leather-bound books for the Résistance’s upper echelon.

(Upper echelon he’s never caught a whiff off, by the way. Étoiles understands the need for secrecy, for compartmentalization — but damn, it does get lonely here in headquarters, with nothing but his own voice and long-dried ink speaking of codes going rogue and islander alignments to entertain himself with.)

He blinks, once, twice, rubbing at his eyeballs through the skin of his lids. No amelioration. He shrugs it off, readjusts the straps of his slime armor. It’s a shit one, not even the good enchants on it. But he’s been restless lately, antsy. Not quite worried, but something else, something in the negative shape of a beloved, beret-wearing egg. Ants under his greenish skin, a fire only the cold bite of enemy blades and a close brush with Lady Death can fix.

He likes Kristin. She’s funny, with her large brimmed hat and gentle smile and gentler words still. Philza’s a lucky man.

“You are sad,” she would say, in the space-between-spaces he would drift to when downed, just before the ‘doom-doom’ of revival. The crimson bud of her smile would twist into a scowl, as she watched him give her a two-fingered salute. “Is that why I see you so often, starling?”

“I’m not sad,” he would answer without fail — the ache inside his chest wasn’t sadness. Étoiles didn’t do sad. He killed, he destroyed, his body grown in a weapon meant to hurt and maim and be hurt in return. Meant to be wielded by someone worthy. (He thinks of pitch-black feathers and a wheezy laugh, the tingle of wither-decay dancing on his skin, the smell of bone. Claws digging into his bony hips, a litany of trills speaking of ownership-claim, great shadows trapping him in so effectively. His knee guards stained by fresh soil where potatoes are endlessly grown in honor of a great warrior he once crossed blades with. Worship, devotion.)

“I’m not sad,” he mumbles, jumping down the well and into the darkness of the dungeon below. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a shit one, and he could scratch that itch in the back of his mind that demanded blood be spilled, be it his or otherwise. “Maybe I die for real today, let’s goooo.”

He never does. He’s too good at dungeoning, too good at placing blocks and throwing splash potions at his feet, golden apples now a rare last resort because he knows what happens when he eats too many. Aaaah, what a pity, he thinks, as he loses himself in the clash of metal on metal and the grunt of mobs falling at his feet. What a pity, I feel nothing. Bad day for me, bad day.

***

The blurriness stays. Days go by, sluggish and quiet, too quiet on this shit island, and no amount of sleep or healing potions make it any better. His arm stings with static-burn where the black and green binary tar has spread, higher, creeping up his neck. But it does nothing to hinder his movements, doesn’t dull the sharpness of his mind. So he ignores it. “Maybe you should get that checked out or something,” Foolish pokes at it once, as they sit and talk atop the Titan’s head using the blue and green plush chairs the TazerCraft have sneaked in. Pac e Mike, wow wow, sings a little voice in Étoiles’ mind whenever he sees splashes of blue and green, because those two live rent-free in everyone’s builds and brains.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at the shark-totem, easy and casual and Étoiles. “It doesn’t hurt.” It doesn’t. “It’s not changing me.” He is changing, that softness that Pomme had made bloom inside him eroding away with every day she’s gone. It’s harder to stay still, harder to stop and talk to the others, because half of them are depressed and the other half are going insane. But none of that is the code’s doing. “Look, I’ll prove it! 1v1 stick?” he jumps to his feet, throwing a wooden stick at his friend with a fiendish grin. “1v1, right now, let’s go.”

Foolish chuckles, even though his smile doesn’t reach his emerald-carved eyes. (His features are hazy, fuzziness getting worse every time Étoiles wakes. Doesn’t matter.)

They fight, Étoiles takes it home with six hearts to spare. And he still feels empty.

***

Lilacs. Sunflowers. Cornflowers. Poppies.

Flower biomes were Pomme’s favorites. They’re hard to find, but Étoiles is one patient, stubborn cucumber. “T’aurais adoré ça, légende,” he hums, picking another poppy by the stem and stuffing it into his inventory, the frozen subspace keeping it suspended in time and fresh. He can almost hear the pitter-patter of her little cheeto legs in the grass, the rustle of the blades against her shell. The bomp of a red sign being placed, asking for more red, more blue, more of every color to make her siblings flower crowns and dye her trusty scythe like a rainbow.

He can barely make out their shape anymore, only differentiating roses from poppies by tracing their petals with gold-scarred fingers. He sees a blue blur somewhere at his right, oh, cornflower probably. Her secret code.

He lets out a deep, guttural groan and lets his body fall backwards, hitting the plush grass with a thump. A few butterflies flutter out of the way, one of them settling back on the bridge of the warrior’s nose. He glares at it, faded golden stars comically crossed. He only sees the yellow of its wings, stark against sky blue. “Hey, hey. Tu vas rien trouver ici, tu sais. J’ai pas fleuri depuis des plombes.”

The critter’s wings flap once, unbothered. Étoiles blows on it to make it go away, fails. (He’s a failure, at everything. Fails to keep his kid safe, fails to win a 1v1 against an insect.) Soon enough, there is enough butterflies on him to pin him to the ground under the would-be guilt of disturbing them. Étoiles whines, childish and unserious. “Vas-y, j’peux plus bouger. Pas juste. Même la nature me déteste, c’est bon.”

He’s missed this. The warmth of a sunbeam, the scent of fertile soil, the brush of grass blades, the call of the earth below pulling at him. Part of him wants to sink into it, curl up in Her embrace like a child would in their mother’s womb, forget about the world and the Federation and the Codes and all this shit. Maybe he could fall asleep right here. Let his body soak up the sun, let himself bloom again. Let that softness grow out of his skin for all to see, like he used to. Or, he thinks he used to. The memories of Before are static-fuzz between his ears, unreachable unless he looks at them at the corner of his eye, so to speak.

(The freezing cold, then heat as air exploded around him, an impact. Physicality, sudden and unexpected, the song of the stars loud in his ears as he opened his eyes for the first time in front of a bewildered human in a frayed straw hat. He was happy, wasn’t it? He thinks he used to be happy. What happened?)

But Étoiles is a warrior, a weapon, and weapons dull and rust and grow weak if left to rest. So he takes a deep breath, pushes himself up. “Désolé,” he hums to the butterflies as they scatter away. They are but bright, colorful blobs in his dulling eyes. “Désolé,” he says as he warps back home to forge yet another axe.

His inventory is full of flowers that he’ll forget about, wrapping him in a constant mix of herbal scents that has Cellbit recoiling next time they cross paths. Étoiles doesn’t notice it, the Brazilian’s bothered expression lost on his rapidly-decaying vision.

***

By the time the Code challenges him to what Étoiles knows will be their last duel for the foreseeable future, his sight is all but gone, everyone and their dog has taken notice, and he has brushed off their concern. “I don’t need to see to click good,” he boasts, slamming down deepslate to launch himself fast and run circles around a disgruntled Pac. “See, see! I’m strafing, I’m doing it, playing the game.” Pac makes a strange sound, one he struggles to guess the emotion behind without body language. “It’s okay, Pac. It’s easy. There’s no problem, at all.”

Phil isn’t here yet, can’t see any names on his comlink but Tubbo told him he wasn’t. Shame, shame he won’t be there to see him die, Étoiles thinks as the rain soaks through his shirt, the boom of lightning bothering him more than he lets show. His ears are ringing as he jumps, ducks, tugs at the string of his bow and sends an arrow flying where he knows the Code is, he can feel it, the only spot that doesn’t smell like anything but void. But there’s no feedback, no satisfying sound of health being chipped at, nothing.

This Code is too strong, his sword winging an off-tune melody as it goes through the binary without ripping or tearing. No damage. Ah, he thinks, so they have finally stopped playing. I see now.

The back of his chestplate shatters into a blast of broken enchant magic and diamond shards, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh. Something cold sinks between his ribs, brushing against his spine in a white-hot flash of pain that irradiates through his whole body, and oh, yeah, it’s over. It’s joever, as Tubbo would say. “GGs,” he gasps through a mouthful of dark green blood. He coughs it up, lets it splash down his neck and paint his shirt. Tubbo’s screaming somewhere, too far away for Étoiles to discern the words. “You- eugh, you slash-kill’ed me, good job you cheater. Easy win.”

The entity growls, a hum-buzz that makes his brain (or whatever he has for brains, maybe lettuce?) rattle inside his skull. The blade slides out, cutting away at him further on its way out, and his body falls into a puddle of rainwater and mud with a wet thud. It hurts, blackered arm buzzing, pain creeping up his neck and the right side of his face, extinguishing the last of his remaining sight.

He faintly realises that almost nobody knows about his respaw mechanic. Ah, et merde. He hopes they’ll have the presence of mind to ask Antoine, when they realise he wouldn’t just re-pop into existence seconds after his death… or when they noticed his body starting to wilt and decay, if they stuck around for long enough.

(Tallulah knows, he remembers. He told her. But had she told Philza, before she disappeared along with all the other eggs?)

Through his fading senses, his comm buzzes with what he knows is his first death message in a really long time. He can make out the sound of rapid footsteps, clickety hooves and heavy, leather work boots. Tubbo and Pierre. He closes his eyes, not that he needs to anymore for darkness to cradle him. He lets go.

He doesn’t see Kristin this time, only hears a faint sigh and a gentle breath sending him off into the void. He hopes they find his seed soon. He doesn’t wanna stay missing for too long, after all.

***

His personal death-void is not so bad of a place. Boring, obviously, but there’s a familiarity to it, to the way the darkness shrouds him like a heavy blanket, pushing against him from all sides. Not oppressive but comforting. Cradling, instead of crushing.

It reminds him of the dirt patch he was born in — he had been asleep and new, just ripe for the picking, dirt-stained hands pulling at his stem with the roughness of a long-repeated gesture. He had screamed, he thinks, not in pain, but to show the world he was here and alive, hello, hello sun, hello dirt, hello person! Had given poor old Théo a heart attack too.

Ah. He could remember, now. Théo, his leathered face and kind eyes with crow feet, wary at first before this walking, talking little legume with the night sky in his eyes, flower-covered vine-tail like some sort of umbilical cord trailing behind him as he follows the old farmer around, asking him endless questions in barely-legible French. But… yes, he’d been kind to him, Étoiles thinks. The first face his face saw. Makes sense it would be one of the first things that came back to him. Maybe remembering was easier in the void? Maybe he should die more often.

…Nah. Dying wasn’t his style. And having to regrow a whole new body over a week was annoying. He had things to do in the island! Like talking with people (eurgh), and giving them things (yes) and fighting with Philza (yes! yes! yes!) and have fun!

So he waits, oblivion pulling at him like gravity. The void is a quiet place, sometimes, but more often it’s not, with the song of supernovas and wailing stars far away keeping him aware, listening. He hums along to it with no mouth or vocal chords (not yet, still growing, still so small, unripe), and sometimes he swears he can hear another voice singing with him. Off-key, awful really, almost crow-like, but it sounds like someone he cares about, so he’s happy to listen to its drone.

Other times, he sleeps. And he dreams of tiny hands and quiet chirps and clicks, of the yesyes uncle Phil taught her, of the chrr-chrr-peep that means him, when she calls Étoiles’ name in her own little language. And he curls around the memory, softness, and lets it carry him up into the stars glittering behind still-forming eyelids.

***

“Étoiles.”

He hums — warmth, the slow beating heart of the earth. The choir of stars constantly burning far, far away. He could listen to it forever, because he had been listening to it since the birth of the first star, he knew.

“Mate. You with me? C’mon, s’been a week already. Come up here, you can do it.”

The voice scratches pleasantly at the back of his brain. But the earth is so warm, so comfy, a cocoon of peace and respite he’s not sure he wants to leave. He sighs with no lungs to breathe, no need for them, when all he could ever need is right there — perfect temp, perfect moisture, glucose, carbon dioxide, rich nutrients all around. Who needs gapples, really. Or thoughts. Or responsibilities. This is the best.

“...Mh. Alright then.”

The voice grates on his ears, ears that try to flick but are stopped by the soil packed around them. He groans in drowsy irritation, curls in on himself in an attempt to shield himself from it and from the world. It seems to work, the noises fading into nothing, and Étoiles feels his thoughts scatter as a faint scratching sound seeps through the earth and into his mind like white noise. Sleep pulls at him again, and he lets it.

He’s startled back into wakefulness by something pulling harshly, somewhere that feels a bit away but is still part of him. His eyes fly open in pained surprise because ow, ow, that’s my— “Come here, you lazy fuck!” That voice — high-pitched, that heavy accent he’s come to love, amusement and exasperation combined, Phil, his Phil, his GOAT, his brother in arms, his Death-touched angel.

Étoiles blinks, unseeing. Étoiles remembers. And with awareness comes something else, something that shimmers and calls his name in gentle whisper-echoes, as he feels himself being pulled up, and up, dirt parting to let him ascend back to the surface. Aah. Goodbye mama. Hello problems. “Get harvested, idiot!” Philza Minecraft grunts with effort somewhere above him, and the tug gets stronger, prompting a pained ow out of him as the ground crackles and breaks above him, and he feels air-sun-outside on his back as he’s forcefully pulled from the ground like the fresh crop he is. He flails a little bit, kicking off dirt and soil (it’s everywhere, in his hair and between his toes and a little in his mouth and nose, bleh!), then rolls onto his back with a groan, frowning up at the sky he knows is there, blue and clear, because it doesn’t smell like rain and the surface soil is dry and warm.

He’s back. And he sees nothing at all. Welp, better close his eyes again then. He feels a shadow fall on him, feels a sandaled foot nudge his side. “Helloooooo. Hello Phil,” he greets the other leaning hard on the deadpan because he knows it makes his friend laugh when he does that. It lands. “What, that’s it?” the elytrian caws, kneeling beside him and poking at his face, talons dulled to a gentle roundness. Étoiles wishes he didn’t trim them, but Phil is too nice, too careful, too eager to smooth himself down for others, for the eggs. Docile.

Étoiles despises it, but he keeps quiet because he knows Phil doesn’t like to talk about those things. “You get yourself killed by a fucking Code of all things,” Phil keeps going, “make everyone freak the fuck out because you won’t respawn like a normal fucking person, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Antoine knows. And I’m here now, so it’s okay.”

“Antoine barely logs on, you absolute dumbass. You’re lucky Lullah told me about the seed thing, because you would’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”

He opens his eyes, if only to shoot Phil a halfhearted glare. And then immediately forgets about it, blinks owlishly. Sits up to get closer to the other man. “Phil. Why are you stars?”

“What.”

He sees stars. (And not in the sex way, because he doesn't do that.) It’s not night, but there are stars in his vision, where pitch blackness used to be, and the constellation is Phil-shaped.

Philza is a cosmic cluster, a nebula shining bright in the darkness that has become his world. He can see nothing beyond him, not the plants surrounding him, not the long vine attached to his lower back Phil used to pull him out. He can tell it’s there, though, lightly thumping at the ground in agitation. “You, are stars. That’s how I see you now.”

“Wait. Can you, like, see again?” Phil asks, uncharacteristically soft. “I know it was getting… bad. And your eyes are like, all greyed out. Did the code stuff on your arm do that?” Étoiles sees a cluster of stars approaching his face — hand — and feels fingers brushing just under his right eye. He’s a bit startled by the contact, the area usually covered by his trust bandana (he needs it back, needs his stuff back, hopefully someone held onto it for him). Phil draws away, an apology ready from the way his constellation-body shifts, but Étoiles doesn’t let him. “I can’t,” he answers, tilting his head, ear flicking in focus — the stars that make up Phil sharpen, and he can almost make out the shape of the wings bound behind his back. “But I can See. I think.” He also wouldn’t mind Phil’s hand on his face again. It feels nice. Scratches at something long-buried, and denied.

Philza makes a confused sound. “Okay, I heard that capital S there. What’s that mean? Are you pulling a Daredevil?”

Étoiles grins, sharp-toothed and playful. “Oh, oh! He thinks I’m a superhero? He thinks I’m cool, Felipe Minecraft? Big win for me.” Phil rolls his eyes, which Étoiles can tell because the crow always makes that low warble when he does. “But no, it’s not like that. I still need my eyes to see like this, and I don’t hear or smell better than before.” Although his status as a hybrid means his baseline is still higher than the average person’s, but that’s irrelevant. “FF.”

“So no cool blindfold for you, ey?”

“No cool blindfold. I will just do a Pomme and drown myself later, to make up for how uncool I am.” (He cannot drown. No lungs. But he can pretend.)

He squints. There’s a little cluster, right there at the side of Phil’s head. He can connect the dots, identify the shape of the elytrian’s bucket hat, but there’s something else there too. “What’s that on your head, Phil? I can’t make it out well.”

“Oh— here,” the other takes his hand and guides it towards his hair, and Étoiles feels a familiar texture under his pads. He makes a noise of surprise. “That’s. Mine.”

“Do you want it back?” Phil hums, brushing at the large cucumber flower tucked in the band of his hat. “It bloomed this morning, on top of the plant you were growing under. Took it as a sign you were, uh, done cooking.” Étoiles snorts. Good guess. “But uh, I guess the plant was also you, cuz it’s at the end of your tail now. Dragging.” Ah. Yeah. He really ought to cut it. “Is it weird? That I’m wearing a piece of you? I don’t know what… fuckin’... cucumber etiquette is.”

“It’s not weird,” Étoiles says, because he doesn’t think it is. “You can keep it.” He kind of likes it. That Phil’s wearing a piece of him. It makes him, happy? “You know, that I am your weapon. Yes? So it makes sense, that you show it.”

“You’re my friend. Don’t call yourself a weapon, man.”

“Same thing for me.”

Phil’s response is wordless, a simple, noncommittal mmh. But Étoiles can hear the hidden fondness in it. He pushes a little further, crudely imitates that one bird sound Philza makes when he’s happy. Whoops internally when Phil puffs out his feathers and trills out a yesyes in return. Héhé. “Yes yes, Philza? Fight me, right now?” he slips into his usual stance, just a bit offset by the lack of armor weighing him down. “1v1, no weapons, no armor? Fistfight, let’s go.”

Phil cackles, crow-like. “I am not fighting you right now, you little shit. You menace. What’s wrong with you?”

“Aww, Phil hates me,” the warrior whines. “He hates me. He won’t 1v1 me, he must hate me. Sad.”

“Oh my god, stop being a baby.”

“I was literally born five minutes ago. I am baby, and Felipe Minecraft hates me,” he sasses back, and Phil throws his arms towards the sky in exasperation. “Oh come on. I spent a week protecting your green ass! Making sure you got enough sun and water and shit, it was like doing egg tasks all over again. Antoine even talked me into fucking singing, pretty sure he was pranking me with that one by the way, and still you think I hate you?”

“Nice caulk, Phil.”

He can’t see it, but Étoiles knows Phil’s eyelid is twitching. “Mate. I got a faceful of ass pulling you out of here, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

The cucumber snorts. “Héhé, got mooned by the stars.” That was kinda funny. “You were pulling me by the tail, I do not know what you expected. You’re lucky I’m a plant, or there would have been full cock and balls there.”

“Bruh. I thought it would be connected to your… plant belly button, or whatever, like an umbilical cord.”

“It’s an ass button, GGs.”

“Jesus Christ, please don’t call it that. I didn’t even know you had a tail. You didn’t before.”

“That’s because I always cut it,” the warrior huffs, said tail lashing behind him from the restless energy that always accompanies a new body. Its leaves drag around the loose dirt in little swish-y sounds. “Give me a sword, Phil, it’s already annoying me.”

The crow peers down at the vine, then back at him. “I dunno, man. You look kinda fun with it.” Étoiles squints. He can’t quite make out Phil’s expression like this, all stars and nothing between them, but he can hear the hidden laughter in his voice. “...I will cut it with my teeth then.”

“Won’t that hurt more than with a blade?”

“It doesn’t hurt. Only the base. Like when you pulled on it.”

“Why not keep it? It’s a part of you.”

Because it speaks for me, he considers replying. Because it says and shows things that I don’t want people to see. Even now, it wags, because Phil is here and now brushing stray dirt out of his hair and it’s very nice. (Is he touch-starved? He might be. Pomme is gone, and he doesn’t trust people to touch him, other than with blunt force and sharp diamond blades.) But Étoiles hasn’t kept his tail since he was a child, still wide-eyed and showing his innermost self to the whole world without any shield. He feels weird. Exposed. And it’s okay with Phil, because Phil is Phil, but it’s not okay because they’re out in the open and anyone could come and see. He doesn’t like that. “Because people can grab it, and it gets stuck in things, and it’s annoying. I cut it, now.” He tugs at the appendage, bringing it up to his mouth. “Nope,” Phil snatches it away, and Étoiles hisses at him. “Calm down, dude. At least let’s do it cleanly.”

“Eeeeuugh. Okay.”

”Then we’re getting your stuff back from Antoine’s, good god. You’re still butt-naked and I won’t have you strut around like that.”

“He has my things? Comms, armor, my backpacks?”

“All of it, yeah,” the older man huffs, and Étoiles can hear the telltale sound of an item being summoned of an inventory. Enchanted axe, he parses, recognizing the ozone-y smell of the sharpness enchant and the sound of the air being sliced downward. He doesn’t feel anything when the vine is severed, frowns when he realises Phil left a good… fifty centimeters of it, still attached to his body. “Phil. You misclick? You aim like shit today?”

“You said it hurts near the base,” the elytrian huffs, finality lacing his every word. “Keep it or cut the rest later, your pick, but I’m not hurting you.”

Étoiles’ ear flicks in confusion, and so does his tail. It moves faster, easier now without the rest of the plant weighing it down. “...We fight each other all the time, that hurts more. I don’t care.”

Phil stays silent for a few seconds. Nebula-Phil shifts before him. “It’s. Different.”

Étoiles hums. Philza has the Tone™ again, the one that means he’s thinking of things that hurt. He thinks of clipped feathers, of matted down that he wishes he could run his fingers through and fix, fix, let me fix it, let me do this for you. But he says nothing. Maybe another time, when they’re both ready for that conversation. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe I keep it this time. Maybe.”

He can hear Phil’s smile in the next word he speaks. “Attaboy.” And he tries to ignore the way his tail wags with renewed enthusiasm at that.

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thesmpisonfire · 11 months

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Heyy, I was just curious abt this cuz I've seen ppl talking abt it a lot with q!Cellbit's lore: Do you think you could explain what fuga impossível was? Cuz I was thinking about watching it for extra context on the character

Fuga Imposivel was a series in Tazercrafts channel! Pac and Mike used to be robbers, going from banks to jewelry stores, sometimes even kidnapping people to get the police distracted so they could run. They got caught and both snitched on the other, ending up in Alcatraz. There, they met Cell, who was batshit insane and not only a serial killer but also a cannibal who worked in the kitchen and got his name from the cellphone he smuggled in the prison and used to threat people and get control of the prison

Pac and Mike immediately get his attention and he wants to be friends with them, since he's so alone. The two also meet JV, an inmate known to never stop trying to escape. The three band together and decide to escape, without telling Cell. Cell finds out, kills JV, and tries to escape alone, getting caught and sent to solitary (which he mentioned in today's letter). Pac and Mike meet an old friend of JV, Guaxinim, and he decides to honor JVs memory and try to escape. Guaxinim is one of the few people not scared of Cell, often bickering with him and shutting him down

Cell also has Felps under his control with threats of killing Felps' family with only a call, but when Pac, Mike and Guaxinim find out the cellphone never had battery, they plan to tell Felps about it so Felps won't help Cell anymore. In a retcon made by Pac and Cellbit as of the past months in the qsmp, it's supposedly around this time Cell eats Pacs leg, because the leg eating never happens in the og movie, even tho Cell is a confirmed cannibal. Cell threatens to kill all of them if Pac tries to tell anyone about the cellphone, but Cell is way too put of control now, going on a murder spree and killing a lot of inmates and guards, including Felps

Guaxinim, Mike and Pac escape, but Cell caughts up to them and the 4 of them leave together in a raft, but its too much weight and they need to stop at a small close by island. Cell has a gun and says Guaxinim will live because he can fix the raft, but he says Pac or Mike has to die

It ends up actually making the two fight, with Mike even stabbing Pac before realizing what Cell manipulated him into doing. In the end, the three make a trap and its successful, leaving Cell in the island and escaping. It seemed like Cell killed himself, due to the gunshot heard in the distance, but Cellbit later said he shot the trap mechanism and managed to free himself, but too late to catch the raft and got dragged back to Alcatraz by the Feds

#qsmp #fuga impossivel

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starwell-tarot · 1 year

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PAC: One thought - one to remember, one to appreciate and one to let go of 🖍️

Pick a pile reading: What is one thought or idea you should remember (or keep in your mind), a thought or idea you should appreciate (and ponder), and one thought or idea you should let go of (or heal through).

Hope this can be some good insight or advice <3

Pile 1-3, left to right

Pick the highlighter you feel most drawn to. It's okay to pick more than one, you can feel attracted to multiple piles and read multiple interpretations.

Disclaimer: All my readings contain themes of mental and emotional struggles and pains as they strive to comfort those. I don't intend on rubbing you the wrong way and I'm doing this with the hope I can help people feel better, but if it doesn't work I might just not be the right person to comfort you.

Disclaimer: I'm not a mental health professional in any way. Although my tarot readings focus on giving emotional and mental reassurance, I can only give you as much as a friend could give you - encouraging words, friendly advice, a shoulder to cry on or a metaphorical hug. Please take in the information responsibly, and if your mental health is greatly affecting your day to day functions, please consider looking for a professional if possible. I'm afraid I can't be more than a tarot-enthusiastic friend.

Take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Take care of yourselves and remember hope is your best friend. 🖤

Pile one: Orange highlighter

° A thought to remember - XVIII The Moon

One must always remember the cycle of time; for time is meant for everything; there's a time to make mistakes, there's a time to fail an expectation, a time to dream, a time to act, a time to succeed and a time to be reborn. There is a time for everything. No matter the outcome, it was the time it appeared in your life. So do not fret over half baked decisions made yesterday, that did not fulfil tomorrow's aspirations, and simply realize just how time forgives all your mistakes, so you should forgive yours too.

° A thought to appreciate - II of Pentacles, XIX The sun, Ace of Cups

I hope this thought has actually crossed your mind, pile one. Because it very true. Time spent looking after yourself, recharging your battery, lifting up your own spirits, doing what love, what you crave, letting yourself be bathed in the healing light of the sun - that time can never be a waste. Maybe it's tough to fit it in your schedule, but it will be worth it. Figure out how to balance out your unhappy with your happy. (And if you don't know what your happy is, sunlight and bodies of water are showing up so consider a vacation 🌞)

° A thought to let go of - The ace of pentacles R

Let go of that little demon in your head that is always slapping your hand away whenever you want to reach out and do something for yourself. Before you can even get that candy you crave, you retract your hand away as if burnt. No more, let that go. Offer yourself the treat. Spoil yourself a little. Enlarge the amount of self love and care you think you deserve.

Pile 2: yellow highlighter

° One thought to remember - XI Sofia

Remember that you are in control of your own narrative. There is no one that knows better than you whether you're strong or weak, so do not let anyone else decide. Not even your doubts. You are smarter, stronger than your doubts or anyone else who doubts you - because at the end of the day, you know you're going to pull through. Decide what you're capable of and stick with it.

° One thought to appreciate - The Emperor R, VIII of Cups

Yes, it is true. You might not believe you're strong or brave, that you'll ever be able to enforce people to treat your fairly and with respect. You might not believe you are worthy of being admired and treasured. But it is, in fact true. It is time you take the hand of your inner child, that scared, lonely toddler living inside of you and show them walking on two legs is not that hard. It'll come naturally. And before you even know it, you're running and about to win the most important race with the most important trophy - being the person admire and love the most.

° One thought to let go of - The hierophant

Not every single advice, criticism and life philosophy your hear should have power over you. Maybe you're not meant to open the door, you're meant to break it down. Maybe you're not meant to bake an apple pie, you're meant to put mango in it. Do not fall into corruption. It's nothing personal, most people think they know the right way to live life, but they don't know the right way to live YOUR life. Don't fall into their hands, you are not play dough. While it's bad to completely ignore what other people say (for some advice can actually help), do take things with a grain of salt and allow your own thoughts to dictate your decisions.

Pile 3: Pink highligher

° One thought to remember - I The master of Secrets

As noble as the search for truth is; the protection of mystery is just as noble. You don't have to understand everything - sometimes you can let things be, exist and be felt, like the vibrations of nature. For every book you've read, for every question you've answered, for every philosophy you've pondered, believe in magic once more. Believe your charisma, a word and a thought powerful enough, they can bring you gifts of blessings. Allow yourself to be heard, but then again - don't speak too loudly when around those who want to stomp on your magic. Choose when to be someone's solution, or someone's question.

° One thought to appreciate - VII of swords R, V of pentacles R, Queen of pentacles R

Your past really doesn't define who you are. "Your past made you who you are today" is major bull. No, it just gave you trauma and bad habits that need to be worked on and rewired. But they can. The scars can heal and you can let go and forgive everything that once was, forgive everything you once were. You should never blame yourself for not knowing better. You know better now. Your future starts now, so instead of constantly betraying your past and trying to revenge on the person you once were, start catering and showing love and care towards the you right now, who needs a hand to hold, and a warmer mind and heart to be with.

° A thought to let go of - II of swords

You are not trapped, pile number 3. When overwhelmed, a feeling which must be thoroughly validated, we seem to not see a way out. But there always is one. In every single movie, you always see the main character bust out of jail with a spoon, a pin, a misplaced brick. Use all that you can, try all that you can. Gather up your courage to fumble in the dark until the blindfold comes off and you finally see all the opportunities in the world. Even if it takes some time, you got this. You will find sight of what you need.

R means reversed.

Let me know if the pile you picked resonates with you! 😎

If you like my work, consider donating to me so I can continue doing tarot readings!

©starwell-tarot do not copy or repost

#daily tarot #pac reading #tarot #tarotdaily #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a pile #free tarot #positivity #self care #self healing #mental health #tarot readings #pac

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anonymous-dentist · 10 months

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Roier is blindfolded and bloody and drugged with no battery left. We can be pretty sure that it wasn't the Federation that did this because this really isn't their style- if they were annoyed about him being unhappy, they would've given him the pills like they did for Forever and Pac when Forever was literally about to destroy the island. Cucurucho.exe was with Quackity all night. The Resistance doesn't even seem to know Roier exists. Out of the factions we know of, this leaves... the Eye.

Roier is blindfolded. The Eye Sees All.

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 10 months

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1975 Chevy Vega GT 1975 Chevy Vega GT from California has California title car has low miles 68 k original miles. A lot of time went into the build of this car this is street legal registered and insured built for the street strip or car shows! Has 383 small block Chevy Alluminum heads and intake Holley 890 cfm carb, Msd ignition, Aluminum Radiator, Tci turbo 350 automatic Transmission, 3000 stall converter, has fab 9 Rearend Mosier 35 Spline axels, 3.70 street gears, has 4 wheel disc brakes.

In the 1960's General Motors was trying to get the freight cost down on Vegas to keep them a budget friendly car. At the time, a new Vega had a price tag around $2,000. Engineers from GM and Southern Pacific Railroad came up with the Vert-A-Pac. This allowed 30 cars to be shipped per boxcar instead of 18. Lowering freight costs by up to 40%. GM engineers also designed specific oil baffles to keep oil from spilling along with specially designed carburetors, batteries and added plastic spacers between the powertrain and the chassis to prevent damage.

#Chevy Vega GT #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #Chevy Vega #chevy #vega

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gorlygorlx3 · 2 months

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Human! DJ Music Man Headcanons 🕷🎧🎶

Here's to our favorite giant enemy spider

🎧As said in the general headcanons, DJ’s “main arms are covered with inner wiring and skin, making them look muscular. The extra four are not covered in skin and wires (because the designers thought it would freak people out of he looked like he had six arms attached to his body.) The four arms are connected by battery sized port that’s rooted into DJ’s back.

It’s sensitive.

And it’s not covered by any skin.

Why? Fazco’s dumbfuckery.

So be careful when you hug him. Aim for his lower back so you don’t touch the pack.

🎶There was a concert at the Fazcade until he stop it after seeing someone getting harassed. Security immediately came to take the harasser away and the party started again. Assault is not allowed on the dance floor.

🕷️He doesn’t have a room (Damn Fazco! *shakes fist in the air*) so he lives in the tunnels. Either him or the little music men scavenge for random stuff left over from the day. Sometimes Moon brings a gift or two to him when he visits.

🎧Speaking of Moon, the two are good friends. Ever since Moon helped a poor little music man that was stuck in a hole, DJ’s respect and trust for him increased. The little music men love Moon now and DJ got a new friend. Both would hang from the ceiling in the tunnels, chatting for a bit. If Moon needed a little extra help on lullabies, the two would brainstorm. The little music men acting as their audience.

🎶And speaking of the little music men, they are not human. They look like the regular design from the game. Why do they follow DJ if they don’t really look alike? ‘Cuz he’s a cool dude 😎. Anyways, the music men like to explore through the plex, finding random stuff and bringing it back to DJ. If you’re ever in trouble, they would crash their cymbals together to alert the main man, to which he goes through the tunnels to find you. He loves the music men and so do they.

🕷️A date would probably be either some sort of underground club or arcade. Imagine this man, with all six of his arms playing six different games at once. While you two brawl in some fighting game, he already has the highest score in PAC-MAN, Galactica, Donkey Kong, and some random 9-year old in air hockey.

🎧He doesn’t get very jealous, maybe blasting some weird song loudly to ward off the potential threat…but if he hears that you’re getting harassed, the shades come off and he’ll glare at the attacker before walking you out of there.

🎶Very comforting. Will rub your back if you’re in need of affection. His voice is very soothing and somehow always has the right thing to say. He’ll also offer you a free personal love show. Just for you!

🕷️VA headcanon: Either Zeno Robinson in his role of Deejay in Street Fighter 6 or Rich Brown in his role of Big Band in Skullgirls.

*Bonus Non-Human DJMM headcanon: I know usually people depict DJ being mute and having to use sign language to communicate (which I’m not saying I don’t like it but it’s a little repetitive. And hard to write.)

Other authors and writers have described him as having a deep, baritone voice or some AI generated male voice, which is fine but generic. I personally headcanon that DJ would communicate how Bumblebee (yes the one from Transformers) would talk. By using snippets of songs and forming sentences with them. Like he’ll say “yeah” but use the one from Ariana Grande’s “God is a Woman” (or some other song where she just says yeah) Or Lionel Richie’s “Hello” just to say hello.

“No DJ. I can’t stay here, I got to get home.”

“I'm beggin', beggin' you~” [Beggin’ by Måneskin] As he raises his hands, pleading 🙏🥺

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach #security breach #security breach headcanons #fnaf sb #human au #dj music man #fnaf djmm #djmm #Djmm x reader

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drowninginblox · 5 months

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Return to Sender

Inspired by this by @noctnis. Please give them ample love. I didnt know the AU but i do know the cannon vers of these cubitos and I see Fit returning to the island looking exactly like that soooooo... ye

"You have some nerves showing up you know!" Pac yelled over the whistle of the wind. In its chaos, the laundry he was hanging brushed into his face. He couldn't give a care in the world though. The emotional battery has long since drained for Pac, and the reserves have all been spent.

Cucarucho has been checking in on him more and more frequently as of late. His robotic laughter, the incessant and condescending voice box, the inventory clogging books- Deus, se ele tivesse que ver aquele urso mais uma vez, ele mataria todos em um raio de cem quarteirões e depois a si mesmo! But, every time, he thinks of Richarlyson. Ever since he and Mike found their beautiful son it's like the world got more- real for lack of a better word. The sun was warmer, the air crisper, the fruit fresher; the hole that Richas left in all of his father's hearts was larger than the world itself. So seeing him back and healthy- it was as if God blessed them all over again. Like it was their first day. And, of course, there was Ramon. Still lost to the federation and located god knows where in this hell hole. But, there is the hope that information will be coming soon. It has to. If the federation knew Pac as well as they claimed to, then as soon as he knew where that sweet boy was, he'd run as fast as he could to get them back. If not for him, then for Fit.

“Se você está procurando o Richas, ele está seguro e longe de você! Então, faça o que quiser comigo. Me sequestrem de novo, me matem, o que for!” He was too tired for this. The weight of all the revelations he's learned are almost as heavy as his eye bags and- to quote from Fit- 'Today is not the day, and I am not the one.'

"Apenas, seja rápido." He sighs, pinning up another one of Richarlyson's many jerseys in the process. In the uncertain silence, he hums a melody from his childhood; a byproduct of being without his children. Their lullabies supplied a little comfort with the knowledge that they were bedridden for so long. If Pac closed his eyes long enough he could convince himself that he just set the boys down for a nap rather than a coma.

A gust blew a nearby basket away from Pac just as his sight fell to it. Its contents either tumbled on the ground or succumbed to the breeze before colliding with the dewy grass. Whatever curses he had dried alongside his throat when he noticed his company reach for his newly washed hoodie. "No fight huh?" A hollowed horse of a question came from the man. He was everything Pac had waited for but far more spent than he thought he would be when he returned. The bags under his eyes were far darker than anything Pac had seen from anyone else. And he was up there on the "experienced fucked up shit" list.

“Quem é você e o que fez com o meu namorado? Fitch...” Whatever Pac was holding was promptly discarded for the sprint he made to the hardened man before him. With every bound the smile that started to form grew wider to the point where the pair were grinning from ear to ear just before Pac made contact. Fit nearly tumbled back but recovered with a laugh he didn't think he had the strength for. "P-Pac! Pac, Pac I-"

"Fitch I missed you so much, oh my god! Are you okay? Are you you? Did you kill your boss? Is he gonna be a problem anymore? Oh- Jesus Cristo! O que aconteceu com seu braço?! MEU DEUS, ME COLOQUE NO CHÃO! NÓS PRECISAMOS, VOCÊ PRECISA! PRECISO LIGAR PARA O MIKE!" He eventually shouted, shoving Fit away to message Mike immediately. All the while Fit laughed. "I love you too Pac," He said, giving into the darkness encircling him as he leaned Pac's way.

Pac caught him just as the sound of the warp pad caught up with Mike. Mike screamed. The pair scrambled to carry him inside Pac's house where Mike would reassemble Fit's arm and Pac would reassemble his man.

#hideduo #fitpac #qsmp fitmc #qsmp pac

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wsdalt · 2 months

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Aroace agender Felps 🤝 Aroace agender Mike

Something???? Idk.

okay you’re very right… triple AAA battery besties \o/!!!

realistically I see felps as more aspec (demi maybe? I don’t think he’d put a label on it) due to his crush on pac, but this is so fun \o/ it’s so necessary to have an aroace friend as an aroace person I stand by this and deliver this statement as someone who is also aroace pfft

#wsd/f.elps

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fbfh · 2 years

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okay I tried to wait I'm half way through episode 7 of season 2 but I can't not talk about this anymore. I literally don't even know where to start, the fact that Marcus Baker is canonically obsessed with naruto or the fact that he's the type of boyfriend to not be scared of things like morning breath. he thinks it's cute. it's so eddie munson core of him. OR are we going to talk about the fact that he got Ginny off with his hands for fun expecting nothing in return??? are we going to talk about the way he was bouncing his legs in the hallway in that one scene??? (he and max both have adhd btw) or the pac man socks???? are we going to talk about how his social battery is so limited and the poor thing is so burnt out he's developed a reputation for hating people that quickly?? or the fact that he's so into philosophy he can quote it casually in conversation and actually apply it to real life scenarios????? we share a brain cell. we were made for each other fr. marcus baker is the type of boyfriend to know you better than you know yourself. Marcus texts you good morning and good night when he can't climb through your window like a 90s fever dream and kiss you absolutley stupid, to give you something sweet to dream about he says. he always says it with his stupid deep voice and stupid floppy hair and stupid lovestruck look on his face. you want to kiss it off. every time you try there's a smaller more smug more loving look underneith.

#drabbles #marcus baker #marcus baker x reader #marcus baker drabbles #ginny and georgia #ginny and georgia x reader #ginny and georgia drabbles #ginny and georgia season 2 #i have had such a hard day!! binge watching to cope :)#feeling v v ouchie then marcus comes on screen and I'm like <3 :/#yeah ig....#sure....#you can climb through my window and kiss me... if you want to ig....

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 months

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In The Valley

TW: discussion of self-harm, reckless behaviour, various angsty discussions, Forever appears for a bit in the middle

Cellbit runs through the streets, the undead giving chase. Unthinking as they are it does not matter if he twists and turns, still they chase. Clawed nails catch on his arm, teeth shortly following; he reaches out with his mind, grasping the small spark of life in the zombie and crushing it between metaphorical teeth. It is not as satisfying as an actual bite, but he snarls as he twists the aether around it nonetheless.

The zombie collapses. Cellbit feels his energy drain further, and keeps on running.

Somewhere, something, if he can just find... He doesn't know, he has no idea, just the certainty that if he stops he dies.

If he dies, he never learns if his best friend survived. He never finds out if he was good enough.

That is enough to spark him into further action; he pulls a long dead radio from his pocket, desperately jamming the batteries in and out until it sparks to life. He has no idea how far they are, no idea what they are doing, or even if the message will send. He knew he should have changed the batteries months ago, but things happened, and stuff occurred, and now...

He preset the radio to their old unit's wavelength, and prerecorded it with a message. He does not know what frequency Forever now uses, but it is all that he has.

Cellbit has no idea if any of them are even alive, if the aliens have caught them or worse has occured. The drops he leave... They will never be found, not before he is torn limb from limb and dies. He has no way better to contact Forever, no idea if Felps lives, and Tazercraft vanished from the face of the earth.

Screaming in frustration he jams the batteries in again.

The screams draw more zombies, but the radio sparks to life.

It lights up just long enough for Cellbit to the button and a light to go on, but blinking a few times before dying again.

Cellbit keeps running.

He tries again.

Swearing and cursing and desperate he keeps trying to make the radio work, far beyond his skillset but all that he has. In his distraction, however, he does not see the dead end.

Not until the wall is in his face, and the zombies are at his back.

He takes one breath, and a second.

This is it, then.

Ten years undercover, twelve of trying to do good, only for it to end like this. The cannibal, alone and friendless at the last, torn limb from limb and feasted upon by that which was once human.

It's fine, though, was Cellbit ever really a person? It was nice pretending, while it lasted, those few years of tricking himself into thinking he was capable of change, capable of loving and being loved.

He should have known that goodness has no place for people like him.

Cellbit reaches out again, pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond. He might be about to die, and his attempts to call help have been thwarted by broken technology, but he refuses to merely give in.

A Child of the War, Cellbit does not know the meaning of giving in.

He thinks of his mentor from his earliest memories, he thinks of Pac and Mike and Forever and Guapito, and he thinks most of all of Felps. He draws them to mind, pulls strength into his soul, bolsters himself as best he can. No idea if they live, if they died, if they turned traitor or stayed true. Still he thinks on them as he remembers them, and reinforces his soul with love.

No weapons, no armour, nowhere to run and nowhere to escape, nothing but his clothes, his mind, his soul, a dead end, and three hordes of zombies closing in.

Cellbit feeds his soul with the life force of zombies and with love, pouring his hopes and dreams and everything he could have been into it. Red spirals out, leaking into the floor, forming a cloud of haze and dust. Zombies drop dead as they touch it, and yet still they come; it surrounds Cellbit in a small arc, keeping the undead away but draining him second by second by second.

It is too late.

Exhausted, desperate, weak - no matter what he tries to drag up from the depths of his tortured soul, Cellbit cannot hold it forever.

Still he tries, as long as he can, trapped and alone but refusing to let them win.

What a death, to be eaten alive.

At least if he burns his soul out first, he will not be conscious to feel it.

He holds until his vision blurs, zombies scrambling over one another's corpses to reach him.

He holds until his vision blackens, everything closing in.

He holds until his body crumbles, fallen and unaware in the dust and the grime.

---

Cellbit wakes up neither alone nor with a zombie, but rather with someone warm pressed into his side. Hair brushes against his cheek where they have pressed their face into his neck, and arms are wrapped around his chest.

His body wants to stay sleeping, his soul screaming with exhaustion, but...

Bed beneath him, pain, warmth, a human being at his side.

He needs to be awake, to assess, to find out what is happening here.

Dragging himself awake is like trawling through old treacle; not just though sludge, but with sugar in there crystals too. His eyes are heavy and his body is wrong, but he /needs/ to know.

The hair on his cheek is dark, and tightly curled. He... knows it.

"... Felps?" he asks.

Somewhere above he hears a muttered 'of fucking course', but he zones it out. Whomever it is is unimportant as Felps slowly untangles himself, and sits up.

He does not go far, just enough that they can make eye contact. Felps smiles with water eyes, and calls him "Cellbinho."

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream, or a dying hallucination; the Felps before him looks not a day older than last they met, the only mark of ten years being exhaustion beneath his eyes, and that his hair has grown back.

Or maybe this is death, and Cellbit dragged Felps to hell with him.

Cellbit does not say anything else, he dares not. He barely dares to breathe at the sight before him, something worthy and that he condemned all the same.

But Felps does move. His fingers are thinner - frailer - than Cellbit remembers, but they grab at his cheeks, manipulating his face as Felps checks on him just like every other time he has been hurt.

"Are you okay?" Cellbit asks him, because of everything... Of everything in the world, what matters most is if Felps is okay. If... This Felps cannot be real, but maybe he can answer it anyway. "Did they find you? Did- Did you escape? Please, you're not dead - you can't be dead, I promised-"

He cuts himself off before a sob can escape him.

Felps' eyebrows twitch ever so slightly, and he glances to the side. It only lasts a fraction of a second, though, before he picks up one of Cellbit's hands, and places it to his cheek.

"I'm here," is what Felps answers, face shifting to a smile. "How would I be here if they hadn't?"

The cheek is cooler than it should be. Not corpse-cold - more like he had just fetched something from a walk-in freezer - but cold.

It does a little to discredit the dead idea, but not much.

"See, Cellbo?" a different voice cuts in, one also familiar; Forever, looking every bit the extra ten years older, perhaps even more, drops himself next to Felps on the bed. "I can be trusted with some things!"

Cellbit does not quite have time to process any thoughts before Forever is insisting on helping him sit up, pushing pillows around as support. It probably is not needed, not entirely, but his exhausted muscles appreciate the break.

And he looks up from Forever to see Pac and Mike, sat watching him. Pac notices and grins at him, but the tears drip heavily down his cheeks, carving paths in the dust on his face.

"Why didn't you call us sooner?" Forever asks, face ever shifting between intensities. "We would have come."

"Would you?" slips out. He doesn't mean to say it - he remembers just enough to know he is not supposed to question their loyalty no matter how strange it may appear - but he did think it.

He damned himself. Why would they - why did they - come for him?

Cellbit manages not to ask that one.

In response Forever makes a wounded sound, flinching a little at the question. Cellbit's heart curls up, to know that some of the first words he has said to his family in ten years caused that response.

It's Pac who answers "yes", with Mike humming in agreement. The two shift in unison. Mike says "bro, I thought this was a trap and I still came for you" and Pac continues "nothing could have stopped us from trying" their words running into a single sentence.

Nothing? Cellbit doubts that. He wonders why they even came, with ten years to break the dependency and tooth-shaped scars in Pac's flesh.

But he does not have time to think more, because Felps tilts his head with a slightly awkward smile. "Nobody would let me," he says. "But, I would have found a way, even if they refused to help."

What could Felps have done, if he was still frozen? If Cellbit... If nobody had answered Cellbit's desperate call to save his friend, too deep in the Federation to do anything with the information he had found?

Would there have been consequences?

And Cellbit thinks of thin fingers and cold cheeks, of an unaged face and the word 'stasis' slipping between the redactions on Felps' file. He repeats to himself Felps' words, about not being allowed to go. Now that he thinks about it, the man never answered if he was okay, did he?

... He was too slow, wasn't he?

Cellbit was too slow, and Felps has suffered for it.

Anger burns up in Cellbit's throat, fury reborn at the realisation. He has never not been angry with the Federation, but there is a difference between the simmering and the overflowing. He needs to destroy them, to rip them apart - every last one - to paint their white halls in their blood and feast upon their entrails.

He needs to tear himself apart, to punish himself, to create even tougher scar tissue so he can push past and never fail again. Because he has, and he did, and only in fire can a weapon be reforged, and only on a grindstone can a dulled blade be sharpened.

But the Federation are not here, and there are four people here who will not let him hurt himself; all he can do is reach out, and pull Felps tightly against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

He thinks Felps must hear, or at least feel the quiet tears in his hair, because Felps' arms do not just loop around Cellbit, but squeeze him tightly in reply.

If anyone else hears, Cellbit is unsure. They don't react, though, or at least not that he sees; the three let them have a few moments, letting Cellbit cry into Felps' hair, and Felps cry into Cellbit's chest.

Eventually, however, Forever interrupts them. He does it by hugging them both, but also tapping Cellbit's shoulder as he does.

"I've got to go," he says. "You'll be okay? Our idiots will look after you."

It takes Cellbit longer to remember that Forever runs a rebellion and so of course is busy than it does for his heart to curl. Still, he clings onto Felps - the one he really needs - and nods.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," Forever replies. "The others are waiting in the crew quarters, if you want to end a tour there?"

He hesitates, eyes lingering on Cellbit momentarily, before he disappears on hurried feet, a radio already in hand.

There is a void left on the bed, one quickly filled by Pac and Mike scrambling over. The two are a chaos of limbs, but eventually resolve into Mike sat on the opposite side of the bed to Felps, and Pac perched over his legs.

"Do you hurt?" Mike asks.

That it is Mike of all people who asks...

Cellbit considers the question. He aches, yes, but not so much hurt - even where he was bitten, some sort of numbing cream seems to have been applied.

"I'm fine," he therefore answers.

"Good. I can do this then."

A second later there is a sting across his face, and an offended call of "Mike!" from Pac. Cellbit puts a hand to his cheek, right where Mike had just slapped him. He... probably deserved that, dragging them out all the way to Canada just because he was too incompetent to properly escape once his cover was blown.

Felps, having shifted in Cellbit's hold to watch, is laughing. Cellbit had forgotten just how dear his laugh was to him.

Seconds later, Mike wraps Cellbit in a hug, Felps scooped in too.

"You scared me, asshole. Ten years. Ten fucking /years/, Cellbo; we thought you were /dead/."

And... /Oh/.

Mike cares.

Cellbit... Cellbit deserved the slap, he knows that.

He doesn't deserve Mike's worry, though, not after he was the cause, not after everything he has done. He has never been worthy of the worry, but here it is.

"You could have asked us," Pac says, only doubling the pain in Cellbit's heart as he is looked at like he is worth something. "You had our details. We would have come. We always come, you idiot."

"I couldn't risk my cover," he replies. "I couldn't risk it. I had to-"

"Before, years ago," it's Mike, this time, and then Pac who continues. "When everything burnt" and together they say "You knew where we were, how to contact us; we would have come with you."

"You didn't have to go alone, you idiot," Pac finishes, at exactly the same time that Mike says "you could have at least said you survived, bro."

Cellbit thinks of Cucurucho's claws, and knows he would do /anything/ to keep his family far, far from them. Asking was not an option, not with how dangerous it was - he would never have risked them, not just to save himself a little heartache. They had each other; what did they need him for? And, what was saving Felps, what was uncovering the information to damn the Federation with, if the cost was more of his family?

The others, sure, but his family?

Felps is worth the world, but Pac and Mike and Forever are part of /Cellbit/'s world.

Mike grabs Pac's arm, pulling him into the hug. The patches of medical gown beneath their eyes are all, suspiciously, wet.

"We missed you," Felps says. "I missed you."

"You're safe now," says Pac. "We won't let them hurt you."

That's his line. That should be his line; they are criminals, yes, but he is the murderer, the bloodstained, the cannibal and the demon. It should be him who throws himself between them and the blade - something he has not been here to do.

Because while Felps looks like a slightly frailer man who disappeared ten years ago, the other three... all of their faces carry new scars. And all four of them are worn in a way Cellbit is sure is reflected on his face, but that he just wanted to save them from.

The Federation will burn, for daring to touch them - for the burn scars all across Pac's face, and the scratches littering Mike's skin. Forever's scars were more faded, but there certainly were a few.

For a while he drinks the three of them in, absorbs the feeling of knowing His People are safe again. He never wants to let go, except that he knows that he must. So many people, so much touch... Eventually his skin itches, and he has to push them away.

He tries to ignore the expressions they give him, and cannot ignore the tears - he wipes each of their cheeks in turn, and their hands wipe away his tears too.

"... A tour was mentioned?" he offers them, the best he can give that isn't begging them to understand, to never leave him.

The trio all perk up.

"Yeah about that," Mike's grin is a little dangerous. "Why /does/ Roier call you Gatinho?"

Pac elbows Mike, but there's also something terrifying in his eyes, "and you know Bad? BadBoyHalo? What a small world! There's even a lady claiming to be your sister! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Wait, I have a sister?!"

#qsmp x xcom #qsmp fanfic #forever mention #qsmp cellbit #qsmp pac #qsmp mike #qsmp felps #angst #hurt/comfort #this was going to go very different but well it wouldn't write #I was going to do more but honestly I think that line is the perfect place to end it #bagi roier and bad are the three mentioned as 'the others' waiting for cellbit #they weren't sure cellbit actually knows them and the infirmary is small so threw them out #this is right at my limit of how much forever and tumblr still gets to see #but i'm tired and don't care much right now #i'll sort it out... later #eepy factorial wants to watch streamer awards and this is a mistake #maybe also more op if he has time but probably just hc videos that take less brain #brain too soup for subtitles atm

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