#iron mouse graphic

[katscupidarchive]

Iron Mouse Graphic!

req by anon!

F2U + Credit

Likes And reblogs Appreciated!

aaaa i hope whoever requested this wanted iron mouse since i had to google QSMP members to find one i knew (and wasnt mostly fanart like quackity)(or wasnt involved with current problems regarding Shubbles abuser)

also ignore that its the base of the natsuki one its my edit and i decide what the base of it looks like (also the natsuki edit is mine so i can steal my own style its not the end of the world)

[bthemistake]

Hey! Fans of Dimension 20's Burrows End and Watership Down, here's a fun lil project I found on Kickstarter:

Description:

A duty-bound otter and an outlaw lemur must learn to trust each other as they flee a vengeful band of pirates in a post-apocalyptic Las Vegas ruled by animals. The Iron Barge is a talking-animal adventure story in the tradition of Mouse Guard, Watership Down, and The Jungle Book.

Loaded with high-stakes action, a little bit of humor, and unique world building, it'll be a book appropriate for upper-middle grade and YA readers, or anyone seeking a new twist on dystopian fiction.

End of Description.

It's got very cute art and character design. I'd recommend checking the project out, I've backed this myself and am very hopeful to see it get fully funded before the deadline :)

[qierxing]

Farewell to Thee?

A/N: (checks last post time stamp) Oopsie. (drops this in front of yall like a bag of groceries and fades into the distance)

Yan! Twst Isekai AU

CW/TW: the Mouse is Real™, graphic descriptions of bodily fluids/injuries, assault and kidnapping Pt. 3 Oh Woe is Me... | Pt. 4

◇ Continue

[Loading…]

“..llo?"

"Hello?" 

"Hellooo?”

Out of the wispy fog comes a familiar voice. It echoes on and on, fading into a whisper. The tenure worms into your brain as you struggle back into consciousness. And as your eyes open and focus, your brain finally recognizes who is calling out.

“...Mickey?” You respond quietly in disbelief. “Mickey!”

“[First]!” The reunion, however unexpected, is still relieving. You never thought you would be so happy to see the cartoony mouse again. But…

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, huh?” He chirps, walking up to your side. “I’ve been trying all sorts of things to get here, even trying to change my pajamas before sleeping too, heh…”

“So…this is a dream?” You ask hesitantly. Mickey smiles up at you, unaware of your inner turmoil. 

“Must be! This is quite unexpected, I usually only see your head and shoulders, not your whole body.” 

That makes sense, in a way. Only white nothingness surrounds you. Although you two are striding forward in a sense of strolling, you can’t make heads or tails on whether you’re actually walking somewhere.

“Normally I’d ask to take your picture but I don’t have my special camera.” You wryly smile in response. Did you succeed with your plan? Interactions with Mickey was usually out of the player’s hands…did you force a connection when you caused a game over?

“That’s a right shame. I was so looking forward to it since you mentioned it last visit.” Mickey sighs with a playful pout. It then changes to something more somber as he gazes up at you.

“[First], I’m glad to have met you again, but be careful.” You stop in your tracks at the warning.

“I sensed some dark aura around you when we first met. It’s gotten even stronger this time.” Mickey explains, worried eyes examining you. “Please be careful.”

“Wh-what do you mean…?” Your mouth runs dry. Something prickles in the back of your head, and to your panic, the vision of Mickey starts fading away, images blurring. 

“M…time….up….watch…” his last words hover in the air as you frantically reach out to him.

“M-Mickey?!” You fumble around, trying to reach out to him, but come up with air. 

“Damn it!” You scream, impatient rage blinding your sight. 

Just when you’re so close to getting an answer out of this damn game! You just wanted to go home! Was that such a sin?

The prickling in your head grows stronger and you grow lightheaded, collapsing in on yourself. You look up to see a bright glowing menu.

[True Ending has not been unlocked]

>⬛⬛⬛⬛ Key has not been obtained. 

>Continue?

–

[Loading…]

Your cheeks feel sticky.

It feels so gross. The smell of iron and rust floods your nose and makes your eyes fly open. Your fingernails scrape the substance as you push yourself off the cold floor. When you hold it up to your bleary eyes, you can see blood and dirt flaking under your nails. Your entire front is also soaked in blood and saliva. The disgusting sight makes you cringe. 

The ground underneath your body shakes. You regard the pool of blood, tears, and snot underneath you with a gaze not fully aware. You’re… in Twisted Wonderland?

Screaming? There’s people yelling somewhere, and it’s making your head hurt. You groan, raising your dirtied hand to steady your forehead.

What happened…?

"Easy, Trickster." A warm voice envelopes your ear. Suddenly, the scent of mint and petrichor overtakes your senses. Verdant green eyes peer down at you with relief.

“R…Rook?” The voice that comes out of you doesn’t feel like you. Someone else speaking in your body, like a ventriloquist. “H-How…?”

“[First]!” Grim flings himself into your face, adding to the pool of snot and mucus. It’s okay though. You hug him tightly, curling in on yourself, trying to absorb the warmth Grim gives. 

The others come and swarm you; trying to check in on you, but you don’t respond to their numerous worried inquiries, drained of all your energy. Something catches your ear though.

“Oh, we were so worried! When Neige told us you got accidentally poisoned, we couldn’t take you to the infirmary right away–thank Seven Rook was there!” Kalim clasps your hands tenderly, not minding the gross slew of fluids getting on his hands. 

Poisoned? How was I poisoned…?

A knife sharp pain slices through your brain when you try to recall what happened. You were with Neige…and then? Everything after that was all coming out as static noise.

“Prefect.”

You know who it is without looking. What a sight. How could Vil Schoenheit look this disheveled? Blonde greasy hair that is out of place, skin hollowed and pale with scratches, and bloodshot lavender eyes. He looks worse than you on death’s door.

"Vil…?" You gaze at him with empty confusion, unsure of why your heart drops at the sight of him. "Did…did something happen?"

Vil's eyes narrow but then close in resignation. Epel takes over, eyes wide in earnest. "Vil had an overblot, so we had to wrangle him back to normal."

Overblot…right…that's what supposed to happen, right?

Why…was that supposed to happen?

"Forgive me, Trickster. If only I had reached there faster with Monsieur Al-Asim…" Rook hums, surprisingly sincere. "Roi du Poison's madness and obsession…even when he had overblotted…how wonderfully beautiful it all was. The ink swirling around him, his stature…"

You shiver as his gaze rakes into yours.

"But, mon amour, you must not do that again, oui?" He leans in, lips ghosting over your ear and your blood freezes. What does he…?

"What a fine mess this is. What are we going to do now?" Ace drawls, eyes scanning behind him. Your eyes follow where he's looking and wince at the now destroyed colosseum. Debris and rocks flung everywhere, banners ripped to shreds, and electronics fried beyond repair.

For some reason, you feel calm despite the scene before you. As if…

"Well, well, if this isn't a sight."

Malleus.

Nothing registers until his gaze falls on you, and you swear his eyes glow for a fraction of a second.

"What have we here?" The question echoes and everyone looks nervously around at each other. “I arrive early to find not a single person and a stage laid to waste.”

You can only muster a sheepish grin in response. That's right. Malleus could fix this all up in a flash, no problem.

“Hornton, thank goodness you’re here!” Dried blood cracks on the edges of your smiling lips. “We could really use some help-”

“HORNTON?” You wince at the cacophonous pitch of everyone yelling. Rook is tactful enough to shield your ears but it only did so much to keep your eardrums from ringing. While Grim realizes who Hornton is, everyone else is flustered, attempting to explain the weight of his identity to the two of you.

You don’t need it though. His magic is enough of a demonstration as he winds back time and repairs the stage in moments. With that, the NRC group’s spirit and morale is renewed and once again, they’re raring to prove themselves to RSA.

The only thing that didn’t change is you.

Malleus gingerly carries you in his arms while Grim worriedly looks up at you. While they were reluctant to continue without you, even they were not foolish enough to let you go without urgent medical treatment.

You managed to stay conscious long enough to hear Malleus talking with the school medics and Grim muttering about stones before the dull ache in your throat and stomach forced you into an uneasy slumber.

–

The vestiges of a strange dream about mice and keys linger in your mind as you blink away the sleep in your eyes. 

Evening has fallen, the only light coming from the dim lanterns the office has set up for patients. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can make out silhouettes of curtains and several items on the table near you. 

Snacks from Ace and Deuce, herbal medicine from Vil, and colorful flowers by Kalim (you’re sure Jamil was the reason why it was not mountains of flower bouquets). The gestures are enough to make you weakly smile before it drops into a frown.

You turn to scan the room, and find no signs of life.

Did Grim leave?

An uneasiness begins to settle in your chest and you try to quash it. Maybe he just went to use the bathroom. Or if the staff made him leave, maybe he returned to Ramshackle. Anxiety begins to creep through your mind as the seconds tick by on the clock above the doorway. 

 Screw it.

You slip off the duvet covers and although the feeling of cold tiles on your bare feet is almost enough to make you give up, you push through and leave the room in the direction of Ramshackle. 

Soon, the familiar sight of the Seven’s statues come into the horizon and cobblestones turn into granite tiles underneath your feet. Something makes you pause, however. Like a feeling of deja vu, you wonder why you feel like you’ve been in this situation before.

A growl shakes through the underbrush and you whirl to see the devil tips of a tail thrashing through leaves. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Grim!

The next thing you see is glowing blue eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth and dripping black saliva. You stumble back partially in disgust at the sight and partially from fear. What happened to your friend?! 

“Grrr…mine…you can’t…” His words are hardly decipherable, making you furrow your eyebrows in concern.

“Grim!” 

He’s already descended into a rabid, feral monster. Your calls only anger him, and his eyes thin into needle thin slits. He bares his teeth again and you steel yourself. 

Letting out a guttural roar, he pounces and you narrowly dodge and avoid getting shredded by jagged claws. 

You will not lose your friend here. You can’t. Not when–

A fleeting vision flashed in your mind: pitch black ink surrounding your feet, before finally flowing away and hardening into a condensed mass. Your head immediately is wracked in red hot spasms, causing you to keel over in pain. What is…

Unfortunately, this leaves you open to Grim’s next strike, and his attack throws both of you off balance. The impact sends you into the grass and it’s only when your back hits a tree trunk that you shriek out loud. Your fragile medical gown is torn through by his claws, leaving bloody gashes upon your midsection. 

The excruciating pain is enough for feverish tears to run down your cheeks and your vision to start blurring as Grim growls again, no doubt readying to finish what he started.

“G-Grim…” 

Your vision darkens, and your world goes silent.

–

A heart wrenching scream rouses you awake.

“[FIRST]!!”

The sound of whistling wind blows in your ears and instinctively you shiver. As your eyes blearily crack open, a gray figure comes into focus.

Grim is hunched over you, shaking your body with tears in his eyes. The both of you seem to be…flying? What?

“Subject F and Y secured. Waiting for other units’ reports.” A cold robotic voice drones above you. You force your head up and see a tall robot donning armor and wielding a formidable looking oar like weapon. As your eyes adjusted against the strong breeze, you realized you and Grim were trapped in a steel cage. 

In the distance, your ears faintly pick up explosions and deep rumbling. 

“[FIRST]?!”

Both you and Grim turn to see Ace and Deuce gaping up at you from the forest floor below. You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come out. 

“All targets have been secured. All units fall back and return.”

“No!” Grim yowls. “My henchman, they’re hurt! Someone, help–!!” 

But his screeching goes unheeded by your stoney captors. And although you swear you hear familiar voices calling back, the robots are undeterred and whisk you both away easily. 

The last thing you see is the shattered ruins of a barrier and a school left in burned pieces.

[pitviperofdoom]

Any book recommendations? That remind you of fanfics you write? That inspire you? Or you just plain like?

Pretty much anything by Tamora Pierce, she's the kind of writer I want to be. The Protector of the Small series is my favorite of the bunch, but you do kind of have to read Song of the Lioness and The Immortals first, which are both also extremely good. They're all four-book series but I race right through them.

Favorite Neil Gaiman books are: Good Omens, The Graveyard Book, and The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao is Pacific Rim meets Handmaid's Tale meets Hunger Games in a science fantasy version of China. Great book if you love it when a female character is also a rabid honey badger.

The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzie Lee. Bisexual british lordling goes on his Grand Tour with his best friend/crush, hijinks and manhunts ensue. I haven't read the other two books of the trilogy yet but I intend to.

Currently rereading The Lord of the Rings and loving it.

Tailchaser's Song by Tad Williams: cat-based xenofiction, but tone-wise it's more Watership Down than Warrior Cats. Rich animal fantasy with a kiss of cosmic horror.

Big fan of Jane Austen, favorites are Northanger Abbey and Pride and Prejudice. In the same vein, Evelina by Fanny Burney came out before Jane Austen's novels but occupies a similar vein of romantic satire of 18th century British society.

The original Arthur Conan Doyle Sherlock Holmes stories are genuinely so good, I need to reread The Hound of the Baskervilles.

The Redwall series basically raised me as a child. A lot of my feelings about how stories should go come from what I absorbed from Redwall.

If graphic novels count, Mouse Guard by David Petersen.

[sterlingsilver-starlight]

Talk Too Much 💘

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: flashbacks of emotional abuse (reader has emotionally abusive mother), self-harm (briefly graphic), implied suicidal thoughts, brief strong language (mild throughout), intimate moments (very steamy makeout session, but nothing further)

Word Count: 3195 words

Summary: When Reader excuses herself to the bathroom, Seonghwa begins to grow suspicious as minutes turn into an unusually long absence. Can he unravel the truth behind her melancholy, and perhaps something deeper?

Inspirations: During the sadder parts, “Kamihitoe” by Uru and this slowed/reverbed version of Lolo Zouaï’s “Desert Rose” were my comfort. And then for the cute parts, BLACKSWAN’s “Cat & Mouse” :)

(I love the title GIF for this 🤭 but I also am still recovering from the Arriba one…I swear, I will not be the same when the full song drops in a week 😩🥵) I had something like an epiphany while writing this…the comforting words resonate on many levels, and I had to remind myself that people like that do exist out there. Even if there is someone in your life who throws harsh words or vibes your way, that’s not to say someone who does the exact opposite might not cross paths with you, too ✨🫶🏼

Also please note: This is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual Park Seonghwa; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :D

A hard swallow, followed by the relentless jab of another burgeoning stomachache. You set your fork down again, barely scraping the potatoes at the edge of your plate. 

“Hwa, I…I don’t feel too good. I can’t eat this right now.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile as you got up from your seat. “It’s alright. Just…let me know if you need something. Okay?”

You offered a small smile, biting your lip. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

The bite dug deep enough to draw blood, but you tasted nothing like iron on your tongue. It was a flavor you had become all too accustomed to, one too bittersweet to fully enjoy or shy away from.

As soon as you were out of your friend’s line of sight, you bolted down the hall for the bathroom, only slowing down once you’d gone inside and shut the door. 

A click at the knob. A snap of the fingers, idiosyncratically, to distract yourself from the sudden echo the lock gave. Did he hear that?

You hoped to God not. 

Seonghwa was your most trusted confidant, but even the strongest of bonds could harbor skeletons in the closet, so as far as you were concerned, it would need to stay that way until you were able to get over this on your own.

Slumping against the door, you let yourself slide down to the ground, hugging your knees as they bunched up against your chest. 

You didn’t know what you would ever do if he found out. About the thoughts, about the self-hatred…

Heck, let alone the self-harm.

Seonghwa was the twinkling star in your life, lighting up any room he entered, constantly finding ways to make you crack a smile from absolutely nothing. He was too precious for this world, you were sure of it.

Which is why, on this otherwise fine and calm evening, you found yourself yet again questioning why in the hell he put up with you as much as he did.

What if you were just fooling yourself? What if this persona you felt from your very core was nothing more than an act, masquerading from the demon that had hidden inside you from years long past?

A silent cry threatened to surface. You took a sharp breath and reached in your pocket, fumbling around until you felt what you had been looking for: a rusted metal nail file.

The lump in your throat made you feel guiltier. It’d been mere days since you’d promised yourself that this wasn’t going to be an option…

Again.

But though time could heal wounds, it could only erase so many still embedded within your subconscious, still playing like a broken record during your moments of uncertainty and vulnerability.

“Do you ever shut up?! I swear, one more word and I’ll rip your tongue off!”

You bit your lip harder, genuinely wanting to taste the pain. What did it matter anymore?

“Sure, keep doing that shit. So we can all feel sorry for you and tiptoe around your stupid feelings? I don’t think so!”

You gasped with every memory, tears blinding and blurring your bearings, the file now slashing oh-so elegantly through your flesh like a knife through butter. 

“Slam your door again and I’ll make sure your head is the next thing that slams against the wall!”

You almost didn’t notice the crimson streaming down your arm, or the way it cascaded onto your other hand, dyeing the creases of your palm in a heartbeat, while numbness continued feeding your indifference.

Maybe there is no purpose to my life. Maybe I’m just meant to be a casualty and —

“Y/n?” You jolted, the three knocks on the door vibrating through your skull.

But you said nothing, afraid even a single syllable would give away your current state of mind.

“Y/n?” Seonghwa repeated, the worry carrying in his voice.

Panic kicked in and you started hyperventilating. Much to your chagrin, however, that only alerted him more.

“Okay, I-I’m coming in.” You heard the twists and click of the knob — darn it, I forgot he has keys for the place — and hastily shuffled over to the adjacent wall as he squeezed his way into the bathroom. 

A sharp gasp hushed within the small room. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him: the rusted nail file still in your hand, the blood-stained arm, the haunted look on your face — it broke your heart, to have him see you like this.

What you didn’t realize, though, was just how much his heart was breaking.

“Hwa, I…I’m sorry.” You hugged yourself tighter, wanting nothing more than to be a turtle hidden inside its shell. 

“Y/n…what happened?” His voice was laced with worry as he carefully approached you.

You tried to conceal the evidence, quickly slipping the file back into your pocket and attempting to wipe away the blood with the hem of your sleeve. But the damage had already been done. “I…I just had a little accident, is all. N-no big deal,” you stammered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked away. 

He crouched down in front of you, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Y/n, don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you debated whether to spill your darkest secrets or to continue this facade. But when you saw the hurt in his eyes, you knew what your answer must be.

“I…I’ve been struggling, Hwa. There’s this darkness inside of me that just won’t go away,” you whispered finally, trying not to cry mid-sentence.

His expression softened, and he pulled you into an embrace. “You don’t have to face it alone, Y/n. I’m right here for you, always.”

The warmth of his hug felt like a lifeline, a tether grounding you in this moment of many that felt overwhelmingly chaotic. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him tightly, slowly but surely releasing the weight that you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Seonghwa pulled away slowly, his hands holding yours gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? And then we can talk about this, together.”

You nodded, rubbing your thumbs against his in return. “Okay.”

He helped you to a standing position, and from there you both walked over to the medicine cabinet: you leaning slightly on the sink countertop, him removing a roll of gauze, bandages, and a few creams. Grabbing a nearby cloth to run it under warm water, you inhaled nervously. As he began tending to the wounds on your arm, still streaked in raw red, you hesitated, grappling with the storm of emotions brewing deep down. The bathroom felt like a fragile sanctuary, and you were on the verge of shattering its peace with the weight of your confessions.

“Hwa,” you began hesitantly, “I’ve…heard things. About myself. Terrible things that echo in my mind every day.”

He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a warm understanding. “It’s okay. Tell me as much or as little as you need to.”

With a shaky breath, you started to unravel the web of painful words that had been haunting you, from the cruel insults and relentless belittlement at home to the internalized hatred that had since taken root in your heart.

“I’m a failure. That’s what she says. My own blood mother.” You shuddered. “That I’m a disappointment, a burden…that her life would have been better if not for the presence of such an ungrateful bitch like me…t-that I ruin everything around me.” Your voice wavered as you stopped to catch a breath.

Seonghwa’s expression tightened with anger. “Y/n, believe me when I say you are none, and I mean absolutely none, of those things. You are strong, kind, and worthy of love. Don’t believe those lies. Please.”

You just shook your head. “I can’t accept your kind pity, though, Hwa.” Tears welled and clouded your vision as you continued. “She said I should be grateful that anyone tolerates me at all, that I’m lucky to have friends because I don’t deserve them…that I’m not good enough for anyone out there.”

His eyes softened with empathy. “Y/n, you’re more than good enough. You’re fucking incredible, and I…I care about you deeply.”

Your eyes widened at his choice of words, confusion and hope written all over your face. “Why, Hwa? Why would you care about someone like me?”

He sighed, setting aside the cloth, and cupped your face with his hands. “Because you’re not just someone, Y/n. You’re a remarkable person. Your strength, your kindness — it shines through even in your darkest moments. And…” He chuckled slightly. “I like you. More than just as a friend.”

A gasp caught in your throat, and time became still within the room as his confession hung in the air. Seonghwa’s eyes searched yours for a response, but you remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in. 

A spark of worry flickered across his face. “I-I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said —”

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “No, Hwa. I’m honestly really glad you did. I just…I need a moment to process everything. It’s a lot, but I really appreciate your courage to tell me that.”

His shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile breaking through. “I understand. Take all the time you need.”

He resumed cleaning your cuts, all the while as you couldn’t shake the startling but exciting realization that maybe, just maybe, someone as wonderful as Hwa could see past these insecurities, could see you for you.

An almost eerie silence hung between you two, broken only by the sound of running water as you rinsed off spots of leftover blood. Hwa glanced at you, debating whether or not to break the ice.

“To be honest,” you admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt good enough for someone like you.”

He scoffed lightly, covering your hand with his. “Y/n, you’re more than enough. You’re perfect just the way you are.” 

His words lingered in the air, a poignant moment of vulnerability shared in the dimly lit bathroom.

And then something shifted.

With a playful smirk, you couldn’t help but bring up your insecurities, caught in a suddenly desperate vying to test the waters and see how he would take it. “Come on, don’t be silly, Hwa. I mean, look at me!” You raised an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile teasing at your lips.

He took the bait. “Okay, and? What about it?”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You gotta be kidding. I mean, for starters, I’m not even skinny, my face is rounder than the boba in that milk tea you were swirling around the other day” — he broke into a fit of laughter at this, prompting you to punch him gently on the arm (“Hwa, I’m being serious!”) before resuming your, he thought, rather dramatic speech — “and my body is far from what’s considered attractive these days.” You sighed, clenching and unclenching your fists before inspecting yourself through the bathroom mirror. “Especially with these…” You gestured vaguely to your rounded backside and thick thighs.

Hwa’s low, throaty chuckle reverberated in the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, you really think any of that matters to me?” He shook his head, his gaze intense. “You’re focusing on things that turn me on more than you could possibly know.”

To say you were surprised — curious, even — was an understatement. “W-what do you mean?” you dared to ask.

He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Your curves, the roundness of your face, that body you seem to underestimate so much — they’re all things I fantasize about more when I’m around you.” His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt a warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“But why?” you managed to stutter out, genuinely baffled.

Hwa pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you up and down. “Because, Y/n, it’s those very things that make you uniquely you. There’s…an allure throughout, if I’m being honest…and your body is nothing short of perfection in my eyes.”

He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And let me tell you,” he continued, snaking his fingers across one of your thighs, massaging it with his thumb, “these parts of you aren’t just attractive. They’re downright irresistible.”

Your breath caught in your throat, desire rushing through your veins as he leaned in again, his fingers tracing patterns that left your skin tingling. “I think about you in ways that would make you blush,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur. “You’re beautiful, Y/n. In every way imaginable.”

With that, he closed the distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that held the weight of his confession. The bathroom seemed to vanish into the distance as Hwa’s lips kept meeting yours in a slow, tantalizing dance, each kiss a revelation of shared desire. His hands, warm and possessive, explored the curves of your body with a deliberate sensuality. Fingers traced the contours of your back, leaving a trail of trickling sensations in their wake. As the kiss deepened, his touch became more fervent, a silent promise of passion yet to unfold.

Your hands found their way into his soft, tousled hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pulled him closer. His tongue prodded your bottom lip playfully until you indulged him, allowing the sensation of his tongue to slide against and around yours, igniting a fervor that sent electrical currents through every nerve ending.

The room seemed to get hotter and hotter, but nothing could have curbed the chill in your spine by this point. Hwa’s touch was both gentle and confident, a melody of desire that crescendoed as his kisses lingered longer and he began sucking your tongue slowly, making you moan ever so softly into his mouth.

Your own hands mirrored his movements, traveling across the edges and ridges of his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your touch. The bathroom echoed with intertwined breaths and whispered promises.

As the intensity built, you couldn’t help but straddle his lap, your bodies pressing together with an urgency that mirrored the passion between you. Hwa’s lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses. Moans continued escaping your lips as you felt his teeth grazing gently down the side of your neck. You clung to him, lost in the intoxication of the moment.

Your heartbeats all but synchronized as his lips found their way to your collarbone, his whispers of passion mingling with your soft gasps. He pulled back slightly, eyes looking deep into yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in to place gentle kisses on your earlobe, his breath sending a flutter of anticipation through you. “I want you to feel cherished, desired, and free from any doubt about your body,” he whispered finally, his tone laced with sensual liberation.

His hands, like flames against your skin, caressed the small of your back. The room was filled with the harmony of your shared desire, moans and breaths alike embellishing the melody sounding strong.

As sweat dripped down your foreheads, the intensity reached its peak, and with a shared understanding, you both began to ease out of the fervent exchange. Hwa’s lips lingered on yours for a moment, a final note in the passionate composition.

His arms wrapped around you, nestling you within the sweet scent of his aroma, heaving heavily, slowly, as you both took a moment to catch your breath. You could spot the glimpse of a tender smile dancing on his lips. “See, Y/n, you talk too much,” he teased, his eyes alight with affection.

You chuckled finally, feeling a warmth enveloping you. “Maybe I do,” you agreed, “but I think I like it that way.”

Hwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at you playfully. “Well, you better, because I enjoy every word,” he smiled, leaning in to peck you briefly on the lips.

As you both settled into a cuddle, an air of contentment permeated within your space. Hwa’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back as he spoke. “You know…I think we should have a date tomorrow. I want to take you out. Just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “A date, huh? Where are we going?”

Hwa’s playful grin widened. “Somewhere nice, but you better promise me you won’t just order a small appetizer. I want you to enjoy the food, Y/n.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, alright. No small appetizers. Got it. But you’ll have to deal with me talking your ear off about how delicious everything is.”

Hwa leaned in, stealing another quick kiss. “I can’t wait. And besides, I enjoy every word, remember?”

The banter continued as you both playfully argued about your plans. Hwa grinned mischievously, glad that you were cutting loose for a change and genuinely enjoying yourself now. “And promise me, no salads as the main course. We’re going for the good stuff if this is a date.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Salads are healthy and delicious.”

He chuckled. “Healthy? Yes. Delicious? Debatable. We’re going for flavor explosions, Y/n, not the world’s best landscape on a plate.”

You countered with a smirk. “Okay, first of all, tabbouleh is to die for. And maybe I like my explosions with a side of greens.”

Hwa pretended to gasp, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart. And here I thought we had a connection.”

You burst into laughter, eyes watering within seconds. “Oh, we have a connection, alright, but my connection with tasty salads might just outdo it this time.”

He pouted. “Fine, have it your way. But if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’m ordering the biggest, heartiest dish on the menu just to torture you.”

You grinned. “Challenge dutifully accepted. I’ll enjoy my dish while you tackle your food mountain. We’ll see who’s satisfied in the end.”

Hwa leaned in, whispering. “Well, just so you know, if you end up trying a bite of mine, you might never go back to salads again.”

You smirked at him. “We’ll see about that. You can’t deprive me of my greens forever, you know.” You pretended to think hard for a moment. “I know, I’ll revolt! I’ll revolt and you won’t know what’s coming to —”

He pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, actually sweet kiss. When he finally pulled back, he was grinning slyly from ear to ear.

“You were saying?” he teased.

You snorted. “Well, I was going to say that no matter how tempting your ‘food mountain’ may be, my love for salads will endure. Just like my love for you, even if you try to sabotage it with impeccably irresistible dishes.”

He tried and failed to suppress another laugh. “You talk too much.” You grinned in satisfaction.

“Maybe I do, but you love it.”

[factorialsotherfandoms]

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.

[slimeranch7]

I find out that triads(Chinese mafia) have originally came from clans that opposed the local government and wanted to throw it away. So they operated secretly. Imagine triad member darling who is the personal maid of Ningguang, close one at that, who is torn apart between her and her clan. Like she likes Ningguang but her people are also personal so there’s that. And cunning and smart Ningguang who is aware of darlings occupation but she’s playing mouse and cat with her, waiting when she’ll realise all of that is losing game.

Content warnings: light Nsfw, murder/graphic ish violence

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55616320

The metal sits heavy in your hands. Solid. Cold. Nothing you’ve never experienced in your life. It’s not that you haven't held a gun before.

The parts are detailed and ornate, oiled perfectly, sliding back to reveal a single golden bullet in the chamber winking back. Your stomach drops. You already know who it’s for.

The weight on your heart was for the man laying on the floor, squirming, whimpering, begging even when his tongue was gouged out and he bled all over Ningguang’s perfect wooden finish, seeping into the carpet.

You prayed for him. His daughter, who had gone off to study abroad in America last year. His son, who had won his first martial arts tournament just a few months ago. His loving wife, likely at home and waiting to have dinner with him given the hour, who worked as a nurse at the local hospital, seventh floor.

His identification was nowhere to be found. You assumed it was ripped off of his person when he was apprehended and tortured for intel.

Your boss’ voice was low and sultry as she leaned into your ear. “Have you ever killed, dear?”

You didn’t trust your voice not to waver, only nodding along as she continued. “Trust is important. It branches from respect, which, as you should know by now, makes up the backbone of this family. And I founded this family. Are you following?”

“Yes, my lady.” You verbalize, afraid to test her patience any further. She blows an intoxicating puff of opioid, scented and floral, then tapped the excess into a gilded ashtray off on the side.

"Right now, you are a drifter." A clawed finger glides over where you once clipped your badge. "Drifters, in my eyes, are untrustworthy. They have no apparent loyalty in which they pledge by. They belong to no one."

She could certainly feel the tremors that tore through you. Your back was cold yet sweaty. Denial, fear, regret, all builds up into a terrible mental backlog. You couldn't weigh the consequences cohesively, instead everything ran itself into pointless circles. You didn't even know where to start.

Ningguang helpfully steadies your hand, guiding your index over the trigger. The iron sights locked onto the man on the floor. Then she parts with a shallow kiss on your jaw, leaving behind a rose red lipstick stain. A promise for what's to come, should you pass her final test without error.

You had the barrel pointed directly between the trembling man's eyes. Tears blurred your vision. He wasn't no one. His family's grief would be by your own hands. They would wonder how he went missing. And your own existence outside of Ningguang's organization would cease to exist as long as his heart stopped beating.

For a moment, you contemplated on turning the barrel to your own throat. But by some tragic miracle, your own mind conjured up a thousand more reasons not to taunt death this way. Fear paralyzes you like a deadly snare.

"Still yourself, girl. Relax. Show me who you belong to." What other choice was there?

The motion of the pistol was the same as any other time you fired at a range or on field. The recoil kicked back hard, but you kept your shoulders and hips squared.

The ringing that lingered in your ears silenced all else. You could feel the sobs choke out of your throat as the adrenaline began to filter itself out of your system. Ningguang wastes no time in ravaging your body, closing in as soon as the gun clattered against the floor.

In all the years you've served under her, she has not once eyed you so hungrily as she did now. Instead she treated you like a cheap toy, feigning disinterest as she either mercilessly rode your tongue or fucked your throat until it was raw and aching. The more you choked and sputtered, the more her smirk would curl in satisfaction.

The better you were at your job, the more harshly you were punished. With chains or fire, it didn't matter. Only the marks that scarred your body did.

It was a test of loyalty, you eventually pieced together.

You ought to feel ashamed for enjoying her undivided attention so thoroughly. For all the times she left your pussy aching with need for you to tend to yourself, she makes it up by graciously offering up her thighs, letting you shamelessly grind as she pulled you into a frenzied kiss.

"You gave nothing away when you crawled beneath my foot for the first time," She gasped when she pulled back for air. "You weaseled yourself beneath my network and offered yourself like a virgin sacrifice. You were a perfect actor."

Her words sounded distant and muffled by the adrenaline. Palpitations in your heart began to ache terribly. Your only words only varied between different attempts at apology to no one in particular. Maybe God, if you were hoping for salvation.

A tear slips past your lashes, to which Ningguang catches with her lips as she peppers chaste kisses all over your face. You cried out when she gave your nipples a tight pinch through the sheer shirt she let you wear. The first time she had given anything below your neck any semblance of attention. It hurt, but sent pleasurable shockwaves down your stomach. "I thought it was too good to be true." She moved down, apologetically kissing the scars left by years of systematic torture. "Believe me, darling. They all break, one way or another."

And you broke, like any other. Not in ways that would have gotten you killed.

But in a way that sealed your own fate when your heart fluttered as she fucked your face. When your lungs seized itself in anticipation as you watched her brandish her prized leather crop. You should be ashamed of what you've become. But it's hard not to when you've rebuilt yourself up to love her warmth and her punishments.

Her pace is immediately brutal. You could feel your virgin pussy give and give as her fingers parted your walls, twisting and curling in hopes to find a spot that makes you see white. Her palms meet your swollen clit repeatedly, so much that it's burning and painful. You make an attempt to allow yourself some respite by reaching for her wrist, but her teeth graze your jaw like a warning.

No touching. You will submit your physical body wholly to her, just as you have surrendered your mind.

You will abandon your identity as a citizen and a registered officer. And you will become a nameless pet for her to love and to fuck. You will descend into the depths of mania, and you will rut against her shoes like a desperate whore if only to entertain your new master.

Every drop of squirt she wrings out of you would then be licked off the floor, and you'd be mindlessly happy to do so.

Never mind the ever expanding pool of blood below you, or the empty pistol laying off on the side. Your new place is under your master, who has taken her time in guiding you to become her perfect little girl.

[thenightling]

Book bannings and schools mishandling books rant:

Book bannings, particulary school book bannings are weird and arbitrary and that's how they look to kids too.

I went to a number of different schools in Nassau County Long Island as a child. One school banned Goosebumps books as "too scary." And the teacher didn't consider them "Real reading" anyway.

That same school had banned Where's Waldo? (Wally to you UK readers). And "I spy" / "Eye Spy" books (where you search for the objects in cluttered picture, similar to Where's Waldo. They claimed it wasn't really reading.

Well, here's something the "clever" people running that school didn't realize. I'm visually impaired. Optic nerve damage since birth. And "Eye Spy" books were a good form of exercise in helping me focus my eyes. I can't control my own eye movements and those books helped a little but SOMEONE deemed them "not educational."

And my family was pretty poor. And didn't have a car. Trips to the public library weren't as often as I liked and my mother had a bit habit of not returning things to the library so that was also a factor on if we could take anything out.

In another school I went to comic books and graphic novels (Novels in comic book format) were not allowed. I strongly suspect there were parents who thought "graphic" meant sexual content as that's what I came across when asking people who were pro-banning Maus (the graphic novel about a mouse in the holocaust). The English teacher claimed comics are "not really reading." One kid made a great argument about how Shakespeare and classic literature has been adapted in graphic novel form but she argued that it is like a very abridged version since they put pictures instead of written descriptions. I had the impression she hadn't physically seen these graphic novels but assumed.

When I entered Junior High school the school library had a great book on Hebrew folklore that I liked and another book about beliefs in the occult. I tried to take them out and got a lecture from the librarian that those are "reference books only" and cannot be borrowed from the library. umm... Why? And what's the point of a Junior high school "reference only" book? How often do Junior High school kids get to sit down in the library for long stretches at a time.

In seventh grade a teacher from BOCES assessed my reading level. (I was skipped around a lot so I was only eleven). She determined that I had a third or fourth grade reading level at the time. I said "Well, that can improve, right?" (because I loved to read). She replied with "Usually at this age your reading level becomes stationary." I was ELEVEN! Who does that? It was like a deliberate effort to sabotage and discourage my love of books. And ironically, somehow, in English class we were reading The White Mountains, which was a great Scifi novel. And I was not struggling, I was enjoying it.

In my nineth grade English literature class we were handed text books. I always loved these because they were essentially anthology collections of great short stories. The teacher NEVER used the text book. She never assigned any story in it. I saw Harrison Bergeron listed and I had just seen the TV movie version so I wanted to read the original story. I asked the teacher about it and her "words of encouragement" were "That's not going to be assigned. You don't have to read that. Don't bother." I read it on my own.

This same teacher had ordered me to stop reading ahead when we were assigned chapters of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. I loved that book. When I asked why she said "Because you'll forget what you've read."

Well, here it is, almost thirty-years-later and I haven't forgotten at all. Thanks for "Encouraging" me to read.

Another "Encouragement" was when I was in a programming for visually impaired students and the teacher had a book case full of the classics. And "You can read them but only if you write a book report for me after each one."

Well, I just wanted to read them. She wasn't my English teacher. Why should I write her a report? It wasn't going to impact my grade, just slow down my ability to read the next one. So I started to pretend I hadn't finished one book and would discretely move on to another. I did this several times.

One teacher's assistant didn't believe me when I came back from summer break having discovered a love of Anne Rice novels. She started to quiz me on The Queen of the damned to prove to her I read it. (This was before there was even a movie version, mind you). Why do these things? You're going to discourage kids from reading.

In yet another school I went to I was surprised that not only were all of these things allowed and encouraged but the school library even had a coffin shaped book case full of Goosebumps books.

To me this was surreal as I had it engrained into me that Goosebumps was "Not real reading." And "didn't belong in school." I guess that particular school was being reactionary to the books being fashionable among kids (the way Harry Potter would later be). And since kids liked them "Something must be wrong."

But thirteen-year-old me still had the mentality of "Wow, I can't believe this. I wonder how long before they decide they made a mistake and that these should be banned." The below image is similar to the book case the school had.

Combine all this with schools obnoxiously always assigning grim and depressing stories about "coming to terms with loss and death" and it's a wonder any kid likes to read.

I've met grown adults who think all books are about coming to terms with death because that was literally ALL They were assigned as kids. Old Yeller, Charlotte's Web, On my Honor, Bridge to Terabithia... "But kids should learn about death and loss." Yes, but not when it's literally EVERY book they've ever been assigned! It's a wonder anyone grew up loving books.

[mechanicalowls]

Want Me To

a terrornoss fic inspired by my possibly in michigan animatic

chapter 6 - all for you

rating: m (for graphic depictions of violence, language, possession, manipulation, and shadow man evan once again)

chapter under the cut:

The shadow man needn't worry himself with what he would do to solve his evening problem right now, as he caught a glimpse of one of his prey ducking through the door of a small takeout place. He smiled, turning on his heel. He strode over to the eatery, pushing the locked door open with ease, and sneering at the man crouched against the dishwashing sink.

He ripped the man out from under the sink and grasped him by the throat like he was in an iron vice. The man gasped for air and thrashed around violently, almost as much as the woman he had relieved of her scalp.

But he didn't scratch at Brian's arm like she had. He kicked his human square between the legs, eliciting a painful cry of dismay from the man trapped in his own head, but no reaction from the being possessing his body. Still, the man had hurt his human. His property had been damaged.

His plaything had been harmed. Only he was allowed to mark the flesh he possessed. Only he was permitted to blemish the skin of the man he craved carnally.

Needless to say, he was furious.

Using his inhumane strength, the shadow man lifted the wannabe well over his head, smashing his head into the buzzing light above. He brought the man down hard, head first into the sink full of soapy water. He continued to thrash wildly as the shadow man growled viciously at him. Brian was silent in his head, eyes closed and head turned away, as the being possessing him dropped the man's head into the sink. He stalked over to the walk-in cooler and slammed the door open.

Stomping back over to the man that had hurt his human, the shadow man grasped the man by the back of his neck, sinking his talons in deep. He pushed the man's head back underwater once more before dragging the still struggling wannabe over to the open cooler door.

Without a second of hesitation, he slammed the man's face, cheek first, against the edge of the door. The wannabe cried out in pain and horror, his bare arm also stuck to the door. He flailed wildly, screaming when he felt his flesh tearing as he tried to pull himself off.

The shadow man cocked his head to the side as he watched the wannabe cry against the door, pleading for his life. He resembled a scavenging mouse, caught in a glue trap.

Look at this, Bri. Look at how quickly something gets taken down by a little water and a cold door. It's pathetic. The shadow man posited aloud, noting the fear in the wannabe's eyes. To him, he was talking to himself.

He felt Brian turn his head forward, with hesitation, of course. Just this small act made the shadow man swoon.

He was coming around, they both knew it.

The shadow man smiled sickeningly sweetly, pressing a gentle palm to Brian's chest. He never took his eyes off the still pleading wannabe as he did so, beckoning his human to watch the carnage. Carnage he was responsible for.

If these fuckers hadn't hurt his -whatever the hell Brian was to him- the way they had, maybe he would've given them up to the mall, letting them become nothing more than souls trapped within the confines of a shopping center past its prime. But they couldn't even do that. And the shadow man was almost grateful.

Not for hurting his human, no no.

But for provoking him.

Because, if the groans and pleas for him to caress the bruised flesh again that made his entire form shudder with desire were anything to go by, he was well on his way to satiating his carnality by the end of the day.

I want you to watch, Brian. I need you to watch. Can you open those pretty blue eyes and watch for me? He asked, his saccharinely sweet tone contrasting the brutality of his actions.

He felt Brian gulp inside of his head.

“I… I don't… I can't. I'm sorry.” He heard the man almost whimper. He faltered slightly, but perked back up almost instantly. He growled lowly, grasping the cooler door and slamming it closed with the wannabe still attached.

He screamed, but not for long, as the shadow man repeated the action, constantly slamming the now limp figure between the edge of the door and the frame. Blood flew everywhere, coating his humanr's face and sweatshirt. He kept slamming, even when the wannabe began to look more akin to ground beef than a person.

Look for me, Brian. Look at this mess you've made. Look at what you're doing to me. The shadow man pleaded, a wild note to his tone. He needed Brian to look, he desperately craved the reaction he knew his plaything would have. He needed to see what he had done.

It was all for him. Every bit of shredded flesh, every drop of spilled blood. All for this human that heeded his call every single day. He had ignited a white hot flame within the shadow man. He had never felt anything of the sort, and he fed off the warmth it gave him. Fed off the warmth he gave him. How had he bore the weight of existing without him for so long?

He wouldn't for much longer, and he was ecstatic.

Brian finally peeled his eyes open, a ghastly feeling submerging him whole. He could feel the blood on his face, on his hand. He could feel the lingering, sizzling burn of the gashes on his arm. He could feel the remaining ache of where he had been kicked in the balls.

And he could finally see the macabre scene before him. The shadow man purred, but kept slamming the bloody pile of meat and bones in the door. The floor was painted crimson, bits of meaty flesh had scattered across the floor, one of the man's eyeballs had launched from his socket, almost perfectly intact.

But Brian didn't gag this time.

He didn't feel nauseous.

The ghastly feeling evaporated just as quickly as it had engulfed him.

He only watched in intrigue as his own hand slowed to a halt, slamming the door shut one final time.

Brian's hand was completely soaked in blood. The shadow man brought it up closer to gaze upon, a smile creeping onto his lips. Brian was speechless. He should be horrified, terrified. He should feel guilt, disgust, nausea. Anything that a normal person should feel.

But his own hand pressed against that bruise once more, and he melted. He threw his head back this time, somehow the cool that coursed through him feeling even more consuming everytime the palm pressed against his wounded flesh. His heart fluttered at the way the shadow man chuckled darkly. It skipped a beat when the shadow man kicked the pile of flesh that vaguely resembled an arm.

What the fuck was happening to him?

[fuzedatti]

X. The lion on the mouse's mouth.

───── ❝ 𝐀𝐧 𝐒𝐂𝐏 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 ❞ ─────

Masterlist

TW ; Graphic descriptions of violence towards the end.

──────────────────

Heavy chains rumbled across the concrete. The barely visible light was cold, as was the absence of air. The effervescent acid contrasted the absolute silence in the room; A creature in solitude was looking directly at that distant window, contemplating death.

—SCP-682,– The voice said. —What did you say to SCP-035?

Somewhere in the country, the iron fortress contained the eternal, constant among stars. The amphibious-looking one grunted gravely, refusing to answer the question. It wasn't doing him a favor or confessing his friendship, it's an act of loyalty between perpetuals.

—SCP-035 is loose with SCP-049, and from what we know from the cameras, you and 035 talked about something. Answer. Now.

Its gaze never left the window, threatening to shatter it. Its tail wobbled from side to side, creating a whirlpool in the acid.

—Do you remember when we took samples of your DNA?– The words now confused it. —It's there, it's in the egg.–

With that last sentence, he caused the terror in it to grow exponentially. It had no idea that part of its genetic code had been used for such a wicked purpose. It tried to free itself from its chains in vain, electric currents penetrated its bones and acid got into its scars. For the first time in a long time, it felt vulnerable.

—For god's sake, Jack Bright!– It cursed at the top of its lungs. —Don't you realize what you've done!?–

The ruby ​​shone brightly, the crimson ray reaching its eyes. Behind the tint, an arrogant shadow prostrated himself like its creator, his glasses reflecting power and greed.

—I do,– He answered. —I have created a way to kill you.–

The huge claws pierced at the glass desperately, trying to find a way out of its prison. Even if it was possible to break free, the chains continued to torture it horribly, something it had never felt before. The scientist watched the motionless spectacle, stroking the glass with pride. When the creature stopped moving, he knew it was time to go down to give it a talk. Footsteps echoed between the walls, staining the floor with power. The sound of metal grew louder, alerting it of his presence. Now with the roles changed, the prey ceased to be a corpse, to a great amalgamation of sensations; While the predator became the defenseless.

Thousands of eyes trembled not knowing the location of the "human" who was muttering some unrecognizable words, suffocation and fervor, it was dying. The thorax barely rose, creating that disgusting sensation of drowning. Cold sweat was created at the corners of all its folds, opening the door to it only destiny.

—Tell me,– Said Bright. —What are you so afraid of?– It went silent for a few minutes. Or at least until Jack repeated the question again with a more aggressive tone as he yelled, spitting his saliva into the creature's snout.

—You don't play with the parliament, not with the parliament of joy.– It continued its sermon. —You're playing with fire, Bright, you don't know the King until you cut off his head.–

—Enough playing games, 682, get to the point.

—035 is not free to play nice, he's up to something, something that none of you can understand. He's used being, 049, he's being used.— It took a deep breath. —Without Alagadda he is nothing, without Olympus even less, he needs a shell, someone to possess but not as a host.–

The faceless scientist said nothing, just letting it continue.

—He is there, I see him, I observe everything, Bright, the mask is loose. The blue eyes of his companion shine more than before, if you leave them alone for a moment, the imminent annihilation will pass before your eyes.

—Anything else to say?

—The egg has already hatched.

The one with the pendant got what he wanted. He gave the eternal one last electro-shock to leave him paralyzed once and for all. Now with the necessary information, he would start his journey towards the capture of those two figures. He kept thinking, they knew little or nothing about Alagada, so accompanied with a team armed to the teeth of MTF, were heading towards British territories. The Tower of Martin, well preserved, awaited them upright and steady, as did two other anomalies within it.

Cigar in mouth, Bright stepped onto the floor of the tower, confidently making his way into the complex. The MTFs took care of every inch of his anatomy, alerting for any danger. He admired the place for a few minutes, it smelled damp and dusty, it was almost empty due to the foundation. Percy's notes laid on the floor, long forgotten. The iron gate that enclosed the kingdom created a heavy atmosphere, whispers of ancient voices could be distinguished from their own sounds. With nothing else to lose, they all entered the door, leaving a trail behind.

As soon as they entered, all their things were replaced by carnival clothes, their faces were covered by various masks. The humans were petrified when observing the landscape, as old as time and as new as a newborn. The scientist ordered his troops to advance cautiously, the citizens of Alagadda were not dangerous, but it was not good to get lost in the place for a long time.

The natives of the place looked at them with some contempt, murmuring between alleys and windows. A large palace of four colors formed in front of them, it was huge, estimated to be thirty miles high, but it seemed to change constantly. Jack almost had to force the soldiers inside as they described a stifling presence inside the palace. Each step they took was as if gravity were pulling them to the ground to their knees, all but Bright. The territory was saturated, full of people, all the same kneeling. Among all the figure of the scientist drew attention, impotent.

From the shadows, various singular figures were taking shape, the sound of chains and ropes deafening the environment. All the presenters were singing something in an unknown language, including the MTF's, who were crying in terror at this point.

—Jack Bright.– The intermittent voice called to him. —Why do you dare enter our kingdom?– The three Lords of Alagadda spoke at the same time with their faces carved in marble. The redhead didn't answer, at least not with words. He throws his cigar to the ground, to step on it roughly; One of the MTFs saw this action and started silently praying for everyone's lives.

—The Ambassador was waiting for you.– The stage curtains dropped abruptly, then opened at the same speed.

The God-shaped portal made its appearance, in some long-forgotten language it said: —Behold, the Hanged King, subjects, rejoice in his aura.—

The entities gasped and screamed, a nightmare orchestra, all to the delight of the higher ups. The Masked Lords parted to the sides to let the King and his Ambassador shine. In the blink of an eye, Bright was face to face with the greatest leaders, emotionless, they continued to communicate anonymously.

—A long time, that's what you're looking for, a long time.– Said the King. —You need to find a treasure, but the minutes betray you.–

—I implore My King to avoid speaking in metaphors, I would prefer your majesty to be direct.– He selected his words carefully, he could make himself powerful all he wanted but these entities could erase him from the face of existence if they wished.

—Here, Bright, we speak in metaphors and rhymes, it is a pity you don't appreciate it.– The Ambassador laughed in his face, their laughter reaching every corner of the city, alerting the townspeople to their presence.

—What are you longing for, doctor? The secret of life, the origin of the universe perhaps?– Said the King.

—I'm looking for an old friend of yours, I think you know him as the Black Lord.

—The Black Lord was banished for political disputes, if you have not found out then you have come in vain.

—I know, Ambassador, he's in my world, loose, and I also have pending accounts with him.– The redhead took out a sample of Dýo's secretion. —Help me look for him, take him as a favor between eternals.–

—A favor among eternals? You've gotten very clever, Jack Bright. Unfortunately, since his exile, we don't control him anymore, we don't see them as important.– The King leaned a little, gnashing the rope between his neck. —But with that residue we may can locate him.–

Bright handed the sample to the King, who handed it over to the Ambassador and opened the tube. They took the secretion to swallow it in its indescribable jaws, the vision of the mask was present in the room. It was only his face, petrified in a perpetual phase of anguish. The Ambassador took the vision in hand and crushed it with such force that it shattered into a thousand pieces.

—They are in the north of your country.– They answered. —You must hurry before they get to the root.– Saying nothing more, the scientist gave a cordial bow in farewell.

—Not so fast Bright.— The Masked Lords said. —A sacrifice we demand, and your soldiers we will take.–

—Do it, they no longer serve me.

The three Lords laughed in unison when they saw the doctor walk out the front door. Now that he had turned his back on his own, he could hear the agonized screams of his subordinates as they were eaten alive by the royal court. Flesh was ripped from their muscles, followed by their broken bones and mangled viscera.

Jack had stopped being human a long time ago.

[frog707]

I can fly

During the past few days, I've made plenty of progress on my Java graphics engine:

I found and fixed a texture-loading bug. Due to a logic error in a pair of nested loops, image pixels (stored in row-major order) were being loaded in column-major order. Previously, I'd worked around the bug by swapping texture coordinates during mesh generation. (e96d47a)

I ported an octasphere mesh generator from my Heart project. (8ca7adf) There are nine-and-sixty ways to generate spherical meshes; octaspheres are my favorite because they work well with textures. The work exposed wrinkles in my engine's support for procedural generation of meshes, which I ironed out.

I added an option to flip the Y-axis of images loaded for use in textures. (cb345a9) In the Y-up realm of 3-D graphics, the Y coordinate usually increases toward the top of an image, whereas in 2-D graphics Y usually increases toward the bottom of an image. This leads to endless confusion. From my experience with JMonkeyEngine, I know "flipY" is a valuable option to have!

The tutorial my engine is based upon provides a Z-up 3-D model and implements a Z-up camera. For compatibility with other projects, I want a Y-up camera. I developed a simple mechanism for rotating a 3-D mesh during the load process. My engine transitioned from Z-up to Y-up at 8f7e244.

I added a Camera class to convert eye location, view direction, field-of-view, and near/far clipping planes into coordinate-transform matrices.

I added a subsystem to manage user input, such as keyboard, mouse, and trackpad. Luckily this isn't my first LWJGL rodeo, so I didn't have to design the subsystem from scratch.

Bottom line: I can fly through the test scene using keyboard and mouse input.

[gearbloomshirtstore]

Gabe Ervin Jr Nebraska Cornhuskers signature retro graphic T shirt

Gabe Ervin Jr Nebraska Cornhuskers signature retro graphic T shirt

Super But No Hero Combat Iron 2024 Shirt

Top Sam Darnold Minnesota 100+ sasser Rating in 6 of his last 9 starts shirt

Official Toronto Blue Jays 2024 Mlb Postseason Locker Room shirt

Green Bay Packers our coach is hotter than your coach shirt

Minnesota Vikings hell is real it’s in Green Bay shirt

Vampire Mickey Mouse Disney Halloween shirt

Gabe Ervin Jr Nebraska Cornhuskers signature retro graphic T shirt Grifo radar is multi-mode pulse Doppler all weather fire control radar. PAC has the Gabe Ervin Jr Nebraska Cornhuskers signature retro graphic T shirt of not only producing the airborne fire control radars but also has vast experience in maintaining three variants of Grifo radars. PAC has produced a number of Grifo radar systems for PAF Fleet in collaboration with M/S Selex Electronic Systems Italy. Grifo family of radars is digital fire control system designed to improve air to air and air to ground performance. Radars are capable of detecting and tracking the targets at all altitudes and all aspects. Radars have powerful and accurate Built-In Test (BIT) system followed by auto calibration for the ease of smooth operation and better maintenance.

[svgoceandesigns1]

Mickey Most Expensive Day Ever SVG - Disney Mickey Mouse SVG PNG, Cricut File

Mickey Most Expensive Day Ever SVG, Disney Mickey Mouse SVG PNG EPS DXF PDF, Cricut File, Instant Download File, Cricut File Silhouette Art, Logo Design, Designs For Shirts. ♥ Welcome to SVG OCEAN DESIGNS Store! ♥ ► PLEASE NOTE: – Since this item is digital, no physical product will be sent to you. – Your files will be ready to download immediately after your purchase. Once payment has been completed, SVG Ocean Designs will send you an email letting you know your File is ready for Download. You may also check your Order/Purchase History on SVG Ocean Designs website and it should be available for download there as well. – Please make sure you have the right software required and knowledge to use this graphic before making your purchase. – Due to monitor differences and your printer settings, the actual colors of your printed product may vary slightly. – Due to the digital nature of this listing, there are “no refunds or exchanges”. – If you have a specific Design you would like made, just message me! I will be more than glad to create a Custom Oder for you. ► YOU RECEIVE: This listing includes a zip file with the following formats: – SVG File (check your software to confirm it is compatible with your machine): Includes wording in both white and black (SVG only). Other files are black wording. – PNG File: PNG High Resolution 300 dpi Clipart (transparent background – resize smaller and slightly larger without loss of quality). – DXF: high resolution, perfect for print and many more. – EPS: high resolution, perfect for print, Design and many more. ► USAGE: – Can be used with Cricut Design Space, Silhouette Cameo, Silhouette Studio, Adobe Illustrator, ...and any other software or machines that work with SVG/PNG files. Please make sDisney Father's Dayure your machine and software are compatible before purchasing. – You can edit, resize and change colors in any vector or cutting software like Inkscape, Adobe illustrator, Cricut design space, etc. SVG cut files are perfect for all your DIY projects or handmade businDisney Father's Dayess Product. You can use them for T-shirts, scrapbooks, wall vinyls, stickers, invitations cards, web and more!!! Perfect for T-shirts, iron-ons, mugs, printables, card making, scrapbooking, etc. ►TERMS OF USE: – NO refunds on digital products. Please contact me if you experience any problems with the purchase. – Watermark and wood background won’t be shown in the downloaded files. – Please DO NOT resell, distribute, share, copy, or reproduce my designs. – Customer service and satisfaction is our top priority. If you have any questions before placing orders, please contact with us via email "support@svgoceandesigns.com". – New products and latest trends =>> Click Here . Thank you so much for visiting our store! SVG OCEAN DESIGNS Read the full article

[unknownjpegs]

moby dick

“There,” Nomi says, softly petting up along Matilda’s neck. “This is very handy shit, Til.” She turns the aresol spray can around in her hands. Unsurprised that Matilda would have hairspray with SPF in it. No hair part sunburn for her; Matilda had everything, really. Thinks of everything. Nomi curls her finger around a long strand of her hair and softly tucks it back up into the bun she’s wearing it in.

Lark stands there, hands in his little pastel blue shorts smiling. The sun is behind him, which makes all his wild dyed blond hair look like its a bit on fire. Sometimes when Nomi catches Lark looking at her friend, he has this far off sort of distanced look. It says, holy shit, I’m lucky and she wants to shake his hand over it, because he is.

When Matilda rises up from the blanket, swiping hands over her thighs to wipe away imaginary sand, he steps forward. Lark’s finger toys with the zipper of her suit, pulling it down a little bit further and exposing the skin of her stomach. It’s like he forgets they’re standing in front of the little beach camp set up, because the back of his knuckles brush over the skin above Matilda’s belly button.

Benny had jokingly said to him, every guy alive is gonna stare. And Lark had said, that’s alright, I know how to fight.

She watches them go then, Matilda with a surf board slung under her arm. Lark following with the volleyball tucked under his. One of his hands dances across her lower back—he trails her all the way to the edge of the water. Gets his last little seconds being hip to hip with her. It’s soft. Cute. Makes Nomi sigh.

She hates the beach. Truly not built for it. She burns, even with sunscreen and she hates sand. Can’t figure out why a single person would willingly put parts of their body on something this disgusting. So she stays tucked up under the umbrella, on the blanket with her book and the best part is that Benji joins her.

He’s laid out, hands settled over his stomach with Xavier’s baseball cap over his face. It’s a faded eggplant color with an angry raisin cartoon on it that says RAISIN HELL. It’s almost corny enough to be endearing, and if the graphic isn’t, the way he’d knelt down and softly put it over Benji’s face had been. Shh, he’d said to Nomi with a finger raised to his lips. The boys sleeping. And Benji had slapped the back of his hand over Xavier’s thigh and made him laugh as he scrambled back to the volleyball game.

Benji had asked if she’d read out loud, which had startled her a little. They’re in a private enough spot that the noise from the volleyball game (and Mouse, chasing children, laughing wildly) isn’t reaching them as bad. Nomi finds the wind pleasant and even that isn’t too loud so she thumbs a cream colored page and does as he asks. Softly at first, maybe just to him, until she gets into the story and reads a little louder. With enthusiasm, maybe she even laughs a bit here and there because Moby Dick is so ironically funny sometimes.

After a while of it, she pauses though, mid sentence even, and looks over at him. He’s wearing muted pastel pink, a matching soft top and shorts and it looks good against his dark skin, the contrast real pretty. Nomi’s thumb brushes over the pages of the worn out paperback a little. She leans then, one hand to the blanket, the book sliding into her lap as her other hand lifts up the baseball cap belonging to his boyfriend.

Benji’s head rolls slightly to look at her. His brown eyes blink, lazy and content. And then Nomi breathes in a little, because suddenly it feels less like she’s looking at him and more like she’s Xavier looking at him. For a moment, it feels like she’s him, that big red head in love with this man. Because, God, he’s beautiful. His cheeks are a little ruddy from all the sun, his eyes lidded with thick dark eye lashes. His skin has a little shine of sweat to it, beads of it collecting across his throat. Nomi’s heart does a strange flip in her chest as he blinks.

It’s like she’s suddenly noticing that he has such heavy eyebrows and that his nose is curved in a way that makes perfect sense for his facial structure, brings all his features in perfectly. That his facial hair is thick and soft looking, like if you rubbed your cheek against his, it wouldn’t hurt, it would feel nice. Benji blinks again, and he smiles in such a gentle way—like he’s bone deep happy right now, here on this blanket, in the summers heat, like this is all he’s ever wanted—that Nomi gets it. Sometimes Xavier stares at Benji with a look on his face that suggests something is crashing around inside his head, loose and wild. She gets it.

Nomi remembers what it was like with Benny too. Like sleeping and suddenly waking up and realizing; he’s so pale you can see the blue veins in his thin wrists, he has a dimple in his left cheek when he smiles in that sleazy way he does, he walks with his hands in his pockets and he likes standing behind people because he doesn’t like others behind of him and his hair always looks bad because he can’t stop fussing with it and he’s beautiful, really, pretty and soft looking sometimes.

She remembers looking at Maran and realizing his hair was getting too long, to the bothering point and remembers shyly asking if she could be the one to shave it down. She recalls, in perfect clarity, like she will remember looking at Benji and finding him more beautiful than the sun, that her slim, pale hand fit perfectly between Maran’s shoulder blades. She even remembers leaning in and kissing the top of his head because that feeling had overwhelmed her and then sneezing from the little hairs.

“M’awake,” he says and Nomi gently puts the baseball cap back down.

“Okay,” she says, a high note in her voice before she clears her throat. “Good, ‘cause we’re at my favorite part. Ishmael is about to start in on whales.”

“He’s been doin’ that the whole book?”

“Just wait,” Nomi says, laughing as she picks the book back up and cracks the spine for the hundredth time to get it to open perfectly. She scoots closer to Benji. She lets her hand idly pet into his dark curly hair. Like petting a cat, she thinks fondly, with a rare smile on her face. “He gets weirder about the whales, trust me.”

—

“That broken?”

Xavier hold’s the ice cold bottle of beer to his nose and shakes his head as best as he can. He’d smudged off a little of the blood, the back of his hand somewhat wet with it.

“Noses are just dramatic,” he says, pulling away the beer. He clears his throat, because some of that blood had slid down his throat. “I’ll get a really hot black eye out of this, that’s all.” The volleyball had definitely made a horrible cracking sound against his face, but Xavier had probed all along the cartilage. It burned, but the beer helped. The cold, but also, Xavier gets a canine under the top and pops it, catches the cap as it comes off and takes a long pull.

He sighs dramatically when he wipes the back of his mouth and then he and Maran are staring at each other.

Sometimes, they occasionally still have those moments where Maran has this clear, you’re dating my best friend look on his face and Xavier has that you’re my boyfriends best friend look on his face. They’re not bad looks; because they get along. They can’t not get along. It’s not that Benji tethers them together (he does, really) but that they have so much in common occasionally. Make nearly the same joke, in different cadences, or have ideas on the same linear path. It had been easy, natural and effortless even if sometimes, it’s weird.

Xavier isn’t jealous, but sometimes, he wishes he could have been there, along for some of the stories they tell. Big, remember when moments that he finds himself wishing he could superimpose himself into. But, loving also that Benji has these moments with someone. Makes loving Maran also easy, because he got all that, with him. Makes Xavier’s heart feel a little too big sometimes, like all these people keep piling in and he likes the stretch.

He holds out the beer in offering with a smile.

“Aw, you sh-shouldn’t have.” Benny’s hand snakes around Xavier, snatching up the beer. The pale slip of a blond man slides easily between the two of them. “Nasty, what the fuck? Is this a Corona?” He then immediately shoves it back into Xavier’s open palm, sneering at him. Xavier watches Benny’s other hand as it dips a finger into Maran’s swim shorts, drags all the way across the length and snaps it. He’s got a slippery look on his face as he pats the man’s olive toned skin, darkened somewhat from the sun.

Ew, Xavier thinks briefly. Wait, is this how people feel looking at me and Benji? And then he immediately takes a few more swigs of beer.

Benny’s gone then, as quickly as he’d interrupted. Turns instead on the innocent pair under the umbrella.

“You have bad taste in men,” Xavier comments. He watches Benny take the book from Nomi’s hand. He tosses it down and slowly pulls her up. She’s squirming around, pale legs kicking as he hefts her over his shoulder. She’s yelping, no, Benny, stop, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Maran, stop him. Maran! “But like, really good taste otherwise.” Maran snorts, taking the beer from Xavier and killing it in one quick drain.

“Well, he’s free now, yeah, mate? Can go slobber on Benji like you been wantin’ the whole day,” it’s a quick and painless jab because he isn’t wrong. Half the reason the volleyball had gotten him right in the face was because he’d been staring at Benji. The umbrella didn’t fully obscure him from the sunlight. It caught against one leg, one dark calf. His foot would occasionally twitch like he was sleeping. Maybe he was. Looked so fucking content laying there with Nomi.

So when Maran inevitably ends up following Benny and Nomi to the waters edge, Xavier does wander over to their little spot they’ve staked on the beach. Benji hasn’t moved, even though Benny has definitely ruined the little bit of peace—he lays there, still, with his hands tucked up under his head, the hat Xavier had worn to keep sun out of his face on Benji’s instead.

He sinks onto the shorter man’s thighs, straddling there. Xavier leans over, bites the hat and tosses it to the side, grinning toothily when Benji’s face is revealed to him. His hands flatten on either side of Benji, fingers curling into the blanket Matilda had brought along. Benji smells like summer; like sunscreen and sand and the beach and himself. There’s a magnet in his chest that brings Xavier’s right to him, snaps them together nice and snug.

“Why’s your nose bleedin’?”

“Don’t ask,” Xavier replies, laughing and kisses him.

[katscupidarchive]

looks at u with autism in my eyes would u make a qsmp graphic

hihi !! i hope you like iron mouse cause she was the member i picked to make a graphic of since you didnt really specify :)

[marketingprofitmedia]

AiWizard Review – Ultimate Website Video Graphics & More Toolkit

Welcome to my AiWizard Review Post. This is a real user-based AiWizard review where I will focus on the features, upgrades, demo, pricing and bonus, how AiWizard can help you, and my opinion. This is that next-generation, all-encompassing AI-based platform designed to cater to all your digital needs everything.

>> Click Here to Get AiWizard + My $20000 Special Bonus Bundle to Boost Up Your Earnings More Traffic, Leads & Commissions >>

AiWizard Review: What Is It?

AiWizard is an all-in-one AI platform designed to empower individuals and businesses to unlock their creative potential. It offers a user-friendly interface and diverse template library, allowing you to quickly create professional-looking graphics, websites, videos, and even written content. The key lies in its AI-powered content generation, where you simply input keywords or descriptions and the platform generates unique and relevant text, images, and even voiceovers.

AiWizard Review: Overview

Creator: Uddhab Pramanik

Product: AiWizard

Date Of Launch: 2024-Feb-02

Time Of Launch: 11:00 EST

Front-End Price: $17

Official Website: Click Here

Product Type: Video, Software (Online)

Support: Effective Response

Discount : Get The Best Discount Right Now!

Coupon Code: “WIZARD3” $3 Total Funnel Off

Recommended: Highly Recommended

Skill Level Required: All Levels

Refund: YES, 30 Days Money-Back Guarantee

AiWizard Review: Key Features

First To Market, AI Tech That Replaces 18 Complicated & Expensive Marketing Apps

Create Mind-Blowing Websites & Landing Pages From Just A Keyword Or URL In Under 60 Seconds

Smartly Transform Any Idea Into 100% Fresh, Audience-Friendly Images That Get 10X Engagement

Zero Third-Party Dependency- Manage Everything From One Central Dashboard

Start Your Own Profitable Marketing Agency Business In 3 Easy Clicks

Grab Premium Bonuses Worth $14,878 ONLY If You Act Now

Use AI To Create Stunning Graphics That Attract 10X More Eyeballs Hands Down

Instantly Create 100% Original Marketing Content For Any Offer In Any Niche In Just 3 Clicks

Create Ultra 4K HD Videos With Just One Keyword & Convert Random Visitors Into Happy Customers

Save Money On Expensive And Recurring Marketing Platforms That Charge Every Month

Get Dedicated, Round The Clock Expert Assistance

Iron Clad 30-Day Money Back Guarantee Included

>> Click Here to Get AiWizard + My $20000 Special Bonus Bundle to Boost Up Your Earnings More Traffic, Leads & Commissions >>

AiWizard Review: How Does It Work?

AiWizard Review: Can Do For You

Create industry-leading websites, Landing Pages, etc. For Any Offer In Any Niche In 3 Clicks

Tap Into The Huge Website Creation Industry With No Third Party Dependency

Use Easy To Operate Drag & Drop Editor To Edit Almost Anything In a Few Mouse Clicks

Get Professional, Hand Picked Templates That Are Crafted To Perfection Keeping Every Business Owner’s Needs In Mind.

Create Eye Catchy Websites That Convert Random Visitors Into Happy Buyers

Create Unlimited Mind-Blowing Videos That Get 10X More Audience Attention

Stop wasting time Writing Lengthy Scripts or Recording Long Voiceovers

Use These Videos To Drive MILLIONS Of Views, Subscribers & Commissions

No Need To Depend On Expensive Third-Party Video Creation

Platforms Or Complicated Tools

Zero Manual Work- AI Creates Tons Of Stunning Videos Even When You’re On The Go

AiWizard Review: Verify User Feedback

>> Click Here to Get AiWizard + My $20000 Special Bonus Bundle to Boost Up Your Earnings More Traffic, Leads & Commissions >>

AiWizard Review: Who Should Use It?

Website Owners

Digital Product Sellers

Affiliate Marketers

Social Media Marketers

E-com Store Owners

Video Marketers

Small Business Owners

Bloggers & Vloggers

Coaches/Trainers

almost everyone else working in the digital marketing universe

AiWizard Review: OTO’S And Pricing

Front End Price: AiWizard ($17)

OTO1: AiWizard Pro ($37)

OTO2: AiWizard Unlimited ($67)

OTO3: AiWizard DFY ($97)

OTO4: AiWizard Drive ($37)

OTO5: AiWizard Agency ($197)

OTO6: AiWizard Reseller ($77)

OTO7: AiWizard Whitelabel ($297)

AiWizard Review: My Special Bonus Bundle

AiWizard Review: Free Bonuses

BONUS #1: PLEXITYAI

New Chat GPT Killer — Perplexity Powered AI App Automate Your Daily Tasks Like Smartly Creating Attention-Grabbing Marketing Content, Images, Visuals & Much Much More. Just Sit Back & Watch Your Profits Grow.

BONUS #2: AI Force

New Chat GPT Killer — Perplexity Powered AI App Automate Your Daily Tasks Like Smartly Creating Attention-Grabbing Marketing Content, Images, Visuals & Much Much More. Just Sit Back & Watch Your Profits Grow.

BONUS #3: AI STORE PAL: FULL ACCESS

Instantly Creates & Publishes Unlimited Digital & Physical Product Stores In Multi Languages in Just 60 Seconds

BONUS #4: DESIGNO AI: FULL ACCESS

First To Universe, [GigaPixel AI] Tech Builds Your Canva Like Graphics Editor With 1 Million+ Graphics

BONUS #5: HQ SITES: FULL ACCESS

Futuristic AI Technology Creates Automated High-Quality Websites In Just 30 Seconds That You Can Sell For The Top Dollar In HOTTEST Niches.

BONUS #6: WEBINAR STUDIO: FULL ACCESS

Now Tap into the Power of Limitless Video Conference, Meeting & Webinar Hosting.

>> Click Here to Get AiWizard + My $20000 Special Bonus Bundle to Boost Up Your Earnings More Traffic, Leads & Commissions >>

AiWizard Review: Money Back Guarantee

Your Purchase Is Covered With 30 Day Money Back Guarantee!

AiWizard Review: Conclusion

AiWizard offers a compelling combination of user-friendliness, AI-powered content generation, and diverse templates, making it a valuable tool for individuals and businesses alike. Its ease of use makes it accessible for beginners, while its customization options and commercial rights empower more experienced users. However, the quality of AI-generated content can vary and requires refinement. Upsells and limited free trial features might be drawbacks for some. Ultimately, AiWizard shines when used strategically as a creative assistant, not a replacement for your own creative vision. If you’re looking to streamline your workflow and boost your creativity, AiWizard is worth exploring, but keep your expectations realistic and consider your specific needs before committing.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q. Will I be forced to pay monthly?

Of course not, we’ve already clarified at the top that we charge only one time & allow our customers to make the best use of this technology to foster long-term business growth.

​ Q. Do I need experience or tech/design skills to get started?

AI Wizard was created keeping newbies in mind. So, it’s 100% newbie-friendly & requires no prior design or tech skills.

​ Q. Is there a money-back guarantee?

Absolutely yes. We’ve already mentioned on the page that you’re getting a 30-day money-back guarantee. Be rest assured, your investment is in safe hands.

​ Q. Do I get any step-by-step video training with my purchase?

YEAH- AI Wizard comes with step-by-step video training that makes it simple, and easy & guides you through the entire process with no turbulence.

​ Q. How are you different from available tools in the market?

This tool is packed with industry-leading features that have never been offered before. Also, if you’re on this page with us, it simply means you have checked out a majority of the available tools and looking for a complete solution. You’ll not get these features ever at such a low price, so be rest assured with your purchase.

​ Q. Do you provide any support?

Yes, we’re always on our toes to deliver you an unmatched experience. Drop us an email if you ever have any queries, and we’ll be more than happy to help.

>> Click Here to Get AiWizard + My $20000 Special Bonus Bundle to Boost Up Your Earnings More Traffic, Leads & Commissions >>

Thank for reading my AiWizard Review till the end. Hope it will help you to make purchase decision perfectly.

Note: Yes, this is a paid tool, however the one-time fee is $17 for lifetime