#wsd/f.ics

[wsdanon]

i wrote something for this vampire!pac/vampire hunter!fit au \o/ in my mind this is placed kind of around the middle of the plot? perhaps closer to the start? this is just a wip! for my peace of mind i have no intentions of picking up another multi-chapter fic, i just wanted to write something for the au since it was on the mind

hope you guys enjoy \o/ reblogs are appreciated!

Mike has a tight grip on his arm, and is dragging him through the castle. Fit had—unfortunately—been forced to leave all his weapons at the door, but he was allowed to keep his rosary for self-defence. 

“He’s eating.” Mike says, and Fit still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s actually doing here. He just wanted to attempt another duel, and then Mike was telling him Pac wanted to talk to him. “Just wait, okay? He will be done soon.” 

Mike opens a door to a room and shoves him inside. The vampiric strength means he actually stumbles, but he manages to reel back in time to keep the door from closing while he surveys the room.

And he’s glad he did because Pac is—Well, Pac is—He’s certainly occupied. To say the least. 

He’s lying on top of someone—and, sure, he could just be feeding, in which case Fit should probably do something about that—but, well… they’re on a bed. And the other person’s hand is curled into Pac’s hair, carding through it. 

He backs himself out of the room quickly, closing the door as he goes. He turns to Mike. Who is staring at him unimpressed with his arms crossed. 

“I think—I think he’s, uh… busy.” Fit says.

And his face is annoyingly warm. 

“I told you, bro.” Mike tries to open the door again. “He’s just eating.” 

Unfortunately, Fit’s hand had already slipped off of the door handle. Mike bullies his way past him easily enough, and opens the door again. Shoves Fit inside again. Stupid vampiric strength. Fit could technically fight against it, but he is not in the position to start a fight right now. 

“I’m just outside.” Mike warns him. “So don’t try anything.” 

“What can I try?” Fit hisses back. On the bed, Pac is pushing himself to sit up. “You took all my weapons.”

Mike shrugs, and closes the door. Great. 

“Hi, Fit!” Pac calls out, now sitting next to the person on the bed—who hasn’t gotten up. 

Fit should really go check on them. But all he has is a stupid fucking rosary, so he doesn’t want to provoke Pac. 

“Uh… hey, Pac.” Fit nods over at the body. “Are they dead?”

“What? No!” Pac laughs, teeth gleaming white—a stark contrast to the red splattered on his lips and around his mouth. It’s… eerie. Definitely eerie and nothing else. “This is Felps.”

Felps reaches a hand up, and Pac helps him sit up. He drapes himself against Pac’s side, letting his chin rest on Pac’s shoulder. 

“Hi.” Felps offers him a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you finally.” 

“Uh… hi.” Fit takes a stuttering step closer. What the fuck is he supposed to do here? “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

“Me?” Felps points at himself, his eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah.” 

This isn’t really what he had planned. But then again, his plan went out the window the second Mike answered the door and told him Pac wanted to talk. 

Felps pouts, and wraps his arms around Pac’s waist. Pac laughs, and twists his head to press a kiss to Felps’ cheek. It leaves behind a bloody smear. 

“It’s okay.” Pac says, patting Felps’ arms. Felps reluctantly lets go of him. “I need to go clean up, right?“

Pac crawls off the bed, and goes through a different door—into a bathroom, Fit assumes. The door clicks closed, and Fit hurries over to the bed. 

“Okay, so, are you, like… alright?” 

“Huh? I’m fine?” Felps tilts his head, confused. But before Fit can clarify, Felps’ eyes light up in understanding and he clicks his fingers. “Oh! Because of the—“ he waves a hand around his neck. “I’m fine, but… I don’t know, tired? It’s like getting blood taken.”  

Fit doesn’t really know what that means. He hasn’t ever had blood taken. It felt too weird with his line of work. 

“Okay, but… are they keeping you here?” Fit continues. “Do you—Do you need help?”

Now Felps just looks amused. Which… fair. Fit feels like he’s misjudging this situation immensely, but he has to make sure. 

“I live here.” Felps holds his hands up like he’s marking off a list. “Pac’s my boyfriend. I let him do this because I know he won’t hurt me.”

“Okay.” Fit scans over Felps’ face. It seems true. “I just had to make sure, you know?”

“I get it.” Felps nods solemnly. Then he lights up, and points at Fit’s rosary. “Can I see that?”

“What? No.” Fit clutches a hand around it protectively. “I need it.”

“It’s okay, I’m a saint.” Felps holds his hands out, insistent. “I can make it work.” 

“You’re—What? No, no, I—“ Fit takes a step back. “It already works. I can’t really afford you fucking stealing it, you know?”

“Okay.” Felps says, dragging the word out like he believes Fit’s making a bad decision.

“And, hey, what do you mean, make it work? Isn’t Pac your boyfriend? Why do you wanna help me kill him?” Then something clicks, and his face goes warm. “Wait, wait, hold on a second. Pac’s your boyfriend? Do you—Do you know the, uh… the kinds of things he says to m—to people?”

“Oh, yeah.” Felps forms his pointer fingers and thumbs into a triangle. “Me, Pac, and Mike are all dating.” Felps separates a pointer finger out, and wiggles it. “Mike has his wife.” And then he does the same with the other. “And Pac likes to flirt, right?” Felps shrugs and drops his hands back into his lap. “I can, too. But I don’t know… I don’t really care about that right now?“

“Uh… okay.” 

Right, that’s—Good for them. The happiness Fit is feeling is just because he’s glad he’s not caught up in a cheating scandal. Because that would be awkward. 

“But it’s okay.” Felps smiles. “You and Pac.” 

“Me and—? Excuse me! There—There is no me and Pac, okay?” If his face was warm before, it’s on fire now. It definitely does not help that Felps just raises an eyebrow. “You have—You both have, uh… have the wrong idea, okay? I’m just trying to do my fucking job, it’s Pac that—that keeps flirting.” 

“Uh huh.” Felps nods along, and it feels patronising. 

But Fit is pretty sure if he keeps talking he’s just going to dig himself a bigger hole. So, he sighs. Wipes a hand over his face in a vain attempt at getting rid of his blush. 

“Listen,” he sighs again, “if you’re happy to be here then—Well, that’s all I wanted to know, okay?” 

“You don’t care about the rosary?” Felps asks. 

“The—?” He sighs. Again. “Pac!”

Pac immediately opens the door, and pops into view. He’s cleaned up nicely. If it wasn’t for some drops of red on his collar, you wouldn’t be able to tell he was just sucking someone’s blood. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you come here?” 

Pac grins, and bounces over. He’s got a wet cloth in his hand—probably for Felps, because there is still blood on his neck. He throws himself onto the bed next to Felps, and leans into him. 

“What’s happening?” 

Fit fiddles with the rosary for a moment. Then holds it out. 

“Can you touch this?” 

Pac’s eyes go wide as he stares at it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Well, Felps doesn’t think it works.” Fit huffs out. “I wanted to test it.” 

Pac’s eyes flicker to Felps’, and Felps grabs his hand and squeezes it. 

“Trust me?” Felps murmurs.

“I—I dunno, that’s…” Pac sucks in a breath. Then detangles his hand from Felps’, and reaches it out shakily towards the rosary. He gets about a centimetre away before he pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “Oh—Wait, what—?” 

Pac makes contact with it. 

And nothing happens. 

Fit’s blood turns to ice in his veins. 

Pac stares up at him with wide eyes. Fit quickly twists to hold the rosary out to Felps. 

“Hey, so, can you—“

Before he can even finish, Felps grabs it and mutters something under his breath. For a brief moment, it goes hot under Fit’s touch, and Pac honest to god hisses—recoiling back. 

“Uh… thanks.” 

What the fuck?

“Wh-Why did you do that?” Pac wails. “Felps!”

“He was nice to me.” Felps says with a shrug. 

Fit just stares at him. 

“I’m… I’m trying to kill your boyfriends.” Fit reminds him. 

“You can’t kill them with a rosary.” Felps says with a laugh. 

“Yeah, but it’ll still hurt.”

Wait, why the fuck is he defending Pac? This whole situation is just—it’s way too confusing. Forget what Pac wants to talk to him about, he needs to leave now.

“I can just fix it.” Felps is saying as Fit starts backing away towards the door. 

“Wait, Fit!” 

Pac gets off the bed, trailing after him. Fit’s back hits the door, and he scrambles for the door handle, and—Shit. Locked. Fucking Mike. 

Pac is now in front of him—leaning into him. He’s not quite touching. He’s just standing there. On the tips of toes to even out their height difference, sure, but Fit isn’t being pinned to the door, or trapped with Pac’s arms on either side of him, or anything. 

And yet Fit is frozen in place. 

This close, Fit can see every little detail on Pac’s face. He finds his brain categorising that, instead of trying to figure out a way out of this weird not-pin. 

It’s not even like this is the first time they’ve been this close. But all those other times they were fighting. Now, Pac’s just smiling up at him—his bottom lip creasing a little where the fangs press into it. 

“What?” Fit chokes out. They’ve been staring at each other for way too long. “What do you want?”

Dangerous question. Dangerous fucking question. Pac’s eyes dip down to his lips—further even: down to his neck. 

“I want…” Pac’s eyes flick back up to meet his. “To talk.” 

Before he can respond, Pac takes a step back. Fit lets himself breathe. 

“Agh, see!” Pac hurries back over to Felps. “This is why I had to feed b-before.”

“Yeah.” Felps says as he tilts his head to expose his neck, and Pac starts wiping it down with the cloth. “Wow.” 

Fit feels distinctly lightheaded. He stays leant up against the door and tries to regain his composure. 

At least Pac seems pretty focused on his task. When he’s finished mopping up the—mostly dried by now—blood, he presses a kiss to what Fit assumes is the bite marks. Then he cleans the smear on Felps’ cheek. 

“Obrigado.” Felps says with a soft smile, before leaning in to kiss Pac. 

It’s not exactly chaste, but they’re not really making out in front of Fit, either. When Felps pulls away, Pac chases his lips to press another quick kiss to them. 

Then he climbs off the bed, and directs his attention towards Fit again. Luckily, Fit can once again stand up without the door’s support. 

“Okay, Fit—I made, uh… food. Human food.” Pac reaches past him to knock on the door. “You like food, right?”

“I… yeah?” 

“Okay, good!” Pac turns back to Felps. “Bye, Felps! You’ll be okay?”

“Sim.” Felps shuffles backwards so he can get under the covers. “Diga ao Mike para trazer o Cellbit aqui.”

“Tá.” Pac opens the door, and gestures for him to walk through first. “Okay, Fit, let’s go!” 

Mike immediately recoils from him. 

“What happened?” Mike asks, pointing at the rosary. “That’s strong.”

The door closes behind them. 

“Felps did it.” Fit says. Then he turns to Pac. “You’re not mad at him for that, are you?”

“Oh, no.” Pac shrugs. “It’s good that he did that. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other vampire, you know?” 

“Right.”

Sweet sentiment, but… 

Pac grins, and it’s all teeth. 

“That’s for me to do, you know?” 

There it is. 

Of course. Fit sighs. 

Well, he supposes it’s fair. He’s trying to kill Pac, too.

“Okay.”

Pac leans towards Mike, and whispers something to him. Fit doesn’t bother trying to overhear it—they’re probably speaking in Portuguese, anyway. 

Mike nods. Casts one long, last look at Fit, before disappearing into the maze of hallways. Pac grabs his wrist—a lot lighter than Mike’s grip on his arm from before—and drags him off into a different direction.

---

and then they go talk. honestly, i'm not really sure what about and i don't want to make something up in case i want to pick this up later when i have a better idea of the details (that being said please keep in mind what i said above…). apologies for any bad portuguese

final note: cellbit is only mentioned once and that's because they're trying to keep his existence hidden from fit. felps just figured he wouldn't be able to tell "cellbit" was a name if he spoke in portuguese (and he was correct)

hope you guys enjoyed \o/ comments in the tags are very appreciated too!

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Characters: FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Additional Tags: Non-Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe - 2b2t Setting (Minecraft), Pre-Canon, basically what if pac met fit on 2b2t right after the events of fuga, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, FitMC POV, First Crush, Crush at First Sight, lol, Pre-Relationship, Cannibalism, not of a tagged character, Angst Series: Part 17 of WSDanon fics Summary:

Fit would’ve left by now. Honestly. He’s turned the idea over, and he thinks he would’ve… If it wasn’t for the fact they have his axe and half of his other useful supplies. Mike’s too smart for his own fucking good.

Theoretically, Fit could get another axe and rebuild his stock back up, but going out in the wasteland with that little puts him on edge. 

No. Better to just… stay here. At the very least wait until they have enough weapons going around. Then he can reconsider whether it’s worth staying or not.

---

chapter two \o/ reblogs appreciated! thank you @/ceranovis for the prompt ideas--i kind of frankensteined a bunch of them together and ended up with this lol

[wsdanon]

hmmm mike and felps bonding perhaps? For wip game?

okay you know what you can have my whole wip for this fic \o/! i'll put it under the cut--it's supposed to end with mike helping felps dye his hair and them talking about things other than just pac but pac is a focal point of this first bit here

(context is: this is a few years after fuga where they've met up again and are on good terms, but it's maybe still a little shaky)

since this is a solid amount of words despite being a wip, reblogs are appreciated \o/

"Would you keep a secret from Pac for me?" Felps asks.

"No." Mike doesn't even need to think about it. "Probably not."

"Hm. Okay." Felps nods to himself, like this is what he expected. "Would you… not tell him something for me, then?"

This makes Mike set down what he was messing with. He turns to Felps. Who looks nervous.

"What do you mean?"

"Like… if he doesn't ask, you don't tell?"

Mike does have to think about this one. He draws his consideration away from where his and Pac's thoughts usually mingle, and Pac sends him a curious feeling, but doesn't prod.

"Sure." He settles on, turning back to his project. "But keep in mind, he'll probably ask."

"Okay."

Felps doesn't say anything else. But he doesn't leave, either. Mike looks up at him again.

"So… were you going to tell me something?" He prods, and Felps sighs defeatedly.

"Yeah, okay." Another sigh. "I really like Pac."

"Well, I'd hope so." Mike frowns. "I thought we were all friends at this point."

"We are." Felps confirms, as he rests his chin on his palm--his elbow propped up on the table. And his expression is troubled, but there's something else to it--a combination Mike sees on Pac frequently. Things click into place. "But I really like Pac."

"Oh, you mean romantically?"

"Yeah." Felps shifts his hand in an attempt to cover his face, but his blush still shines through. Mostly because Mike is looking for it. "I think so."

"Huh. You know, I thought you and Cell were--" Mike cuts himself off as the embarrassment on Felps' face quickly disappears and gives way to disinterested surprise. His eyebrows raise, while his hand shifts again--falling into a thoughtful position. Mike continues, "Well, I guess I'm the last person who should be making those kinds of assumptions, huh?"

"We are kind of like you and Pac." Felps agrees.

But he doesn't sound committed to the idea, so Mike silently disagrees. Besides, no one can be like him and Pac--they literally share a brain.

"So, you and Cell aren't dating, and you like Pac romantically." Mike recaps.

"I think so?"

The question in his response has Mike briefly looking down at his project in despair. He's not getting this done any time soon.

Pac prods at him, confused, and Mike waves him off. He wants to at least try to honour Felps' request, and that means he can't have Pac stumbling across his thoughts right now in an attempt to see if he's okay.

"Why did you come to me for this?" Mike asks. "I'm shit with romance."

"And you think Cell would be better?"

"Okay, good point." Then he frowns. "Wait, hold on. Wasn't Cell exes with some of the guys in prison? JV and Guaxinim, at least, right?"

"Mike," Felps says with a tone that he's about to say something obvious, "I'm not going to tell Cell I'm into his ex."

"Pac and Cell aren't…" He trails off. Even with the link between them now, Mike isn't sure what Pac and Cell are, let alone what they aren't. Which is mostly because their relationship is so confusing Pac himself isn't even sure. "Whatever, that's not the point. I just don't know what you expect me to do."

"Nothing." Felps picks at the peeling paint on the table absently. "I just wanted to tell someone."

Felps seems kind of in despair, too, right now. So, Mike forgives him for interrupting his workflow, and attempts to throw him a bone.

"Look, I'll try and keep this from getting to Pac." Mike offers. "But, like…" He taps at his head.

"Yeah, I get it." Felps smiles at him. "Thanks."

There's a high chance that Felps becomes Pac's crush for the month, and Mike can do a bit of matchmaking. Or, equally as likely, someone else will catch Felps' eye and it won't matter anymore. Either way, Mike would say he only has a month tops to keep his promise.

Which is… manageable. Maybe. He doesn't try to keep things from Pac often.

"If Pac started dating me… would I be dating you, too?" Felps asks, drawing little lines with his finger on the table to demonstrate the connection.

And the honest answer is yeah, probably. For all intents and purposes. But people don't always really like that answer.

"I mean… kinda? If you're okay with that?" Mike shrugs. "I don't know, man, it wouldn't be the same thing."

"That sounds cool."

And he sounds genuine. Mike goes back to his project, but he doesn't get too into it in case Felps wants to continue the conversation.

"Can I paint your nails?" Felps asks.

And, okay, not what he was expecting.

"I'm kind of doing something." Mike says, gesturing to the project. "Maybe, uh… later?"

"I have green."

Felps pulls out a bottle of nail polish, and sets it on the table between them. Mike stares at it. It is indeed green--a nice bright green.

"Okay, sure."

"Nice!"

Mike moves his project to the side, and holds his hands out. Felps' hands are warm. The nail polish isn't.

He's quick in his movements, but focused fully on his task. Mike lets his fingers be moved for better angles, and shakes his hand to dry it when Felps starts on the other.

"So, what are you making?" Felps asks.

"Something to help with the mobility for Pac's prosthesis." He wants to gesture around and explain the mechanics, but he doesn't think Felps would get it, and his nail polish is still too wet for him to feel comfortable touching things. "Once I get this right, I'll probably try to open up shop for custom orders. Then hopefully we won't need to rob banks for more money."

"Aw." Felps pouts. "But robbing banks is fun."

"Weren't you a cop?"

"I was a prison guard." Felps shrugs. "And that was just so I could hang out with Cell after he got arrested."

Mike laughs.

"And then he killed you."

Felps' hands twitch like a mostly contained flinch.

"It wasn't my favourite time with him, no."

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

"It wasn't my favourite time with him, either."

This time Felps laughs.

"No, I guess not."

He finishes up the last nail, and packs the polish away. Mike kind of misses the casual intimacy of it, but shakes his hands out to try and dry the nail polish quicker.

"You know, Pac falls for people pretty easily." Mike says. "If you flirt with him, he'll probably reciprocate."

"Oh, thank you, but I don't really mind." Felps shrugs. "I just like being around him."

"Me too."

--

And this is where I got to \o/ I've had this written up for ages, but I've never had time and motivation to go back and finish it oops. hope you enjoyed!

[wsdanon]

Some notes, and then the fic will be under the cut

firstly: this is a fitpac fic centred around not getting married \o/

secondly: this will be on ao3 eventually, but the style makes me want to add at least one more scene? maybe more. i can't think of anything right now though and the second scene got away from me and i kind of just wanted to post it now. so tumblr only, and soon ao3

reblogs appreciated \o/ hope you enjoy \o/

Mike is thinking hard about something. But he’s keeping it carefully away from Pac which is never a good sign. 

“What kind of flowers do you want at your wedding?”

Pac abruptly comes to a stop. 

“Mike!” Pac pushes Mike and he stumbles a little, laughing. “I’m not getting married!”

“Yes you are. To Fit, right?”

“No! No, we’re—we’re not, okay?” Pac huffs. “I would, like—I’d think you’d understand it—since you’re aro, you know?”

Never mind that Mike is also married. It’s to a Goddess, so it’s a weird, complicated relationship, right? 

Not that Pac thinks his relationship with Fit is weird or complicated, but… it’s not what people would assume, is all. Lots of people assume marriage is the end game to a relationship like theirs. Pac doesn’t agree. He really doesn’t think marriage means all that much. 

Marriage is like… a false sense of security. He doesn’t need Fit to tell him they’ll be together forever because… well, sometimes things don’t work out. It’s nice to hear, but formalising it feels like bad luck. And next thing they know they’ll be leaving their kids at the orphanage because…

…Well, it doesn’t really matter why. 

He doesn’t think that will happen, at least. Even if they do split up. 

“Can you stop thinking? You’re so boring, Pac.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Marriage is about the party—about the fun, you know? Call each other whatever you want, I just want to be your best man, and organise a beautiful, perfect day to celebrate your relationship.”

“I don’t think Fit would like that.” 

“Ugh.” Mike groans and lets his head fall onto Pac’s shoulder. “So boring.” 

“Maybe you and Mine are happily married together, but we don’t need all that, okay?” Pac wraps his arms around Mike and hugs him close. Sways them from side to side. “Wanna help me plan Ramón’s adoption party instead?”

“Yes!” Mike pushes himself away, pulling out a notepad. “Do you think he’d like a chocolate fountain?” 

Pac is probably going to push back on a few of his ideas—he wants to be the primary organiser for this, after all. Ramón’s his son. 

But at least it’s distracted Mike for a little bit. 

——

“Does it, um… bother you?” Fit asks cryptically. 

And Pac waits a moment for him to clarify, but he doesn’t. 

“Does what?” 

Fit huffs. He turns on his side to face Pac, the mattress creaking slightly as he moves. 

They’re pretty good at hugging, Pac would say. And leaning on each other while sitting next to each other. But they haven’t quite made it to cuddling through the night yet. 

Personally, Pac doesn’t mind. From what little he’s gleaned about 2B2T, it’s a privilege that Fit even allows him to sleep in the same bed. 

He remembers when Fit had suggested it, nervous as anything and stumbling over his words. Pac himself hadn’t been much more composed—he had never even seen Fit’s bedroom beforehand, and now Fit’s allowing him nearby while at his most vulnerable. 

It’s a lot of trust. Pac feels giddy whenever he remembers it. 

Finally, Fit works up the courage to speak again. His eyes are drifting over Pac’s face, not quite ever making eye contact. 

“I mean… you know me Pac, I’m not, uh, good at these things.” He takes a steadying breath. “But… does it bother you that, uh—that I don’t want to get married?” 

“Of course not, Fit.” Pac lets his hand rest on top of Fit’s where it lays in between them on the bed. “I don’t, uh… Like, I don’t have a good view of marriage, either, you know? Like, I’m happy for Mike and Mine, but…” he shrugs, “it’s not for me, you know?” 

“Good, uh… that’s good.” Fit laughs nervously. “You’re too good to me, Pac.”

“What, because I don’t want to get married to you?” And Pac laughs, too. “You know, most people wouldn’t say that after hearing that from their boyfriend.”

Fit twists his hand to intertwine their fingers. The smile on his face is soft, and beautiful, and Pac wants to eat him alive. 

“Yeah, well…” Fit shrugs, and lets the words hang there. Pac knows what he means, anyway. And he agrees. 

He’s never been in a relationship like this before. And he thinks that’s good. They’re good for each other in a lot of ways. While him and Mike contrast each other—filling in what the other is missing, two halves making a whole—him and Fit complement each other. 

It’s nothing Pac’s ever had before, and it’s good. It’s nice. Pac doesn’t need any more than this. 

But Fit’s frowning again, and Pac shuffles closer. Stifles the urge to reach out and smooth away the creased lines between his brows. 

“And, uh… well, I’m sorry for… going so slow.” Fit squeezes his hand, and laughs—nervous again. “I mean, uh… we haven’t even, you know, kissed.” 

“Don’t say sorry for that!” Pac would, of course, love to kiss Fit. He’d love to do a lot more with Fit, as Mike loves to complain about when Pac doesn’t block their link properly. But… “I—I like you, uh… a lot, Fitche, you know? I don’t, like—I don’t need that. Ever, if you don’t want to.” 

“I…” Fit looks down to their entwined hands—resolutely not Pac’s face. “I do, I just… Sorry, I should be better at—at saying these things to you, at least—“

“If you say sorry one more time I’m going to smother you in your sleep.” Pac declares, delighting in the way Fit laughs, his body relaxing. 

“You’re too good to me, Pac.”

Fit’s grinning now. But there’s some lingering nervousness around the edges of his expression. 

“You’re—You’re better to me than, like… than a lot of people have been.” He confesses quietly. 

A lot of his relationships have burned like kindling—bright, but quickly extinguished without anything to latch onto. This is a nice change of pace. 

“I’m—Well, not glad, but—“

“It’s okay, I get it.” 

“You deserve good things, Pac.” Fit says—entirely seriously with no hint of a joke whatsoever. 

“You—You—“

And, really, Pac should‘ve been surprised his composure lasted this long. Warmth springs to life on his face, and he ducks under the covers as his tongue becomes unable to form words. 

He can hear Fit laughing. And he thinks if Mike wasn’t already asleep, he’d be laughing, too. 

Tentatively, Pac pokes his head out from underneath the covers. 

“And you—you, uh… you deserve, like, to not get married. If you don’t want to, you know?” 

“Thanks, Pac.” 

He’s so beautiful when he smiles like this—unrestrained, his face crinkling with it. Pac could stare at him forever. 

“Go—Go to sleep.” Pac huffs, drawing his hand away. “Before I—before you kill me.” 

“Okay, okay.” Fit laughs. “We wouldn’t want that, huh?”

“Yeah.” Pac nods, and deepens his voice. “I have to kill you.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

Then Fit’s smile drops slightly—hesitation crawling onto his face as he reaches his hand out to grab Pac’s again. 

Pac hums happily, and pulls his hand up so he can press a kiss to it. 

The way Fit stares at him—something like awe in his expression—has Pac’s cheeks heating up again.

“Goodnight, Fit.” 

“Good—uh, boa noite.” Fit squeezes his hand. “Did I say that right?”

Pac loves him. Utterly, and completely. 

“Yes.” He smiles. “Boa noite.”

----

hope you guys enjoyed that \o/ fitpac's relationship development means a lot to me as an aroace person. and i know they aren't particularly going for an aspec interpretation, but the fact they haven't immediately jumped into typical romantic gestures after getting together like kissing means a lot to me \o/

[wsdanon]

cellbit and felps as orpheus and eurydice

(reblogs appreciated)

Cellbit hates tunnels. He’s not particularly claustrophobic, but being chased and tortured with a chainsaw in one really highlights how little escape routes there are in them. 

Cellbit hates tunnels. He’s walking through one, anyway. 

He can’t feel Felps behind him but he is there. Cellbit has to trust that he’s there. 

Cellbit has to trust that this wasn’t all for nothing. That Felps is following him out of the underworld, and soon everything will be back to normal. 

That Cucurucho didn’t lie to him. 

It’s a long walk. Staticky silence echoes around him broken up only by the sound of footsteps. 

One set of footsteps. 

But Cellbit has to trust Cucurucho. 

“This sucks.”

There’s no response. Cellbit keeps walking. 

There’s a light in the distance. In the far distance. Just a pinprick more than anything. Once they reach that, they’ll be safe. 

And once Cellbit crosses over, it won’t be easy to get back down. If Cucurucho is just messing with him…

But, no. Cellbit has to trust Felps is there. Has to trust that Cucurucho isn’t just playing around with him. Again. 

…But if he was. This would be a good way to go about it. Cellbit is walking himself right out of the underworld. It’ll be a pain to get back in. Maybe Cucurucho is hoping that once he’s gone, he’ll give up because he won’t want to go through those same trials again. 

But of course Cellbit will. This is for Felps.

“Can you give me, like, any sign you’re here?” Cellbit asks desperately. “Tap my back. Something.” 

Nothing happens. 

It would be far easier to get down to the throne room and demand Cucurucho honours his words by giving Felps back if Cellbit never leaves the underworld. 

Maybe just… Maybe just a quick peak back—

—No. He can’t. Cucurucho may love to mess with him, but Cellbit has to trust that Felps is there. 

As much as it makes his skin crawl—as much as his brain is screaming at him—he has to trust that fucking bear. 

And if he lied, Cellbit will go through and do it all again. Easy. 

He really fucking hates tunnels. 

Rocky dirt crunches underneath his feet as he treks forward. Monotonous. Step after step. By now, it feels more like his body is moving without his input. Like his legs are just dragging the rest of him along. 

Unease has been curling through him the entire time. But it hits him, abruptly, how vulnerable he is. 

When he was dragged into that first hallway Cucurucho was behind him. Cellbit looked back, and it gave him precious seconds to run. Not enough to get away, but it was something. 

He would like the think he would hear a chainsaw coming up behind him—but then again, he can’t hear Felps. 

Assuming Felps is actually behind him. 

And it would be just like Cucurucho to do this. Make him feel hope—make him carry it with him for what feels like hours as he slowly makes his way towards freedom—only to crush it brutally. Thinking, maybe, that Cellbit will give up. 

Maybe he’ll even kill Cellbit properly this time. Right before he can reach the exit—a hand outstretched, fingers straining towards the light. 

Maybe that’s why he can’t look back. He’ll give up the game before Cucurucho is ready. He’ll escape, and come right back down, and demand Cucurucho gives Felps back properly this time. No games. 

“Felps?” 

No response. 

“You’re not even there, are you? I know you’re not.”

He keeps walking. 

“This is just like that fucking bear—this is exactly the kind of thing he’d do.” 

He doesn’t look back. 

“Just give me something. Please.” 

Unease curls through him. His skin crawls. 

“Felps?”

He’s walking into a trap, he knows it. Felps isn’t there, and Cucurucho is laughing at him. At his desperation, at his blind hope, at his naivety. Cucurucho is laughing, because why would he help Cellbit now? Why would he tell the truth now, when he loves to torment Cellbit?

When he’s dragged Cellbit into a tunnel, chased him down, laughed at his torn up body. Thrown him back up into his son’s safehouse miles away—the one he’s not supposed to know about—and then lied to everyone about what happened. 

He’s laughing, and Felps isn’t there, and Cellbit swears he can hear the distant sound of a chainsaw, and Felps isn’t there, and Cellbit—

—Cellbit looks back. 

And he watches Felps disappear. 

He stands there. Staring into the darkness. Blood rushes through his ears—his heart beating hard in his chest. 

Then he sighs. And starts the trek back down. 

Allegedly, Cucurucho was telling the truth. Which mean Cellbit will need to beg even more than last time for Felps’ revival. 

But he will. He’ll give up everything until Felps is safe. 

——-

hope you guys enjoyed \o/ and I hope everything formats correctly lol

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw Characters: FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Additional Tags: Non-Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe - 2b2t Setting (Minecraft), Pre-Canon, basically what if pac met fit on 2b2t right after the events of fuga, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, FitMC POV, First Crush, Crush at First Sight, lol, Pre-Relationship Series: Part 17 of WSDanon fics Summary:

There’s a strange man lying on the beach. He looks like he’s resting—which is, honestly, pretty stupid considering the lack of armour, apparent lack of weapons, and the standard issue shitty-looking prosthetic leg that can’t be any good for fighting. It took Fit ages just to relearn his arm, and his arm is advanced.

This has to be a trap. There’s no way a guy like this would make it out of Spawn with what little he has on him.

---

reblogs appreciated \o/

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Characters: FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Additional Tags: Non-Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe - 2b2t Setting (Minecraft), Pre-Canon, basically what if pac met fit on 2b2t right after the events of fuga, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, FitMC POV, First Crush, Crush at First Sight, lol, Pre-Relationship, Cannibalism, not of a tagged character, Angst, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends, two new tags for fit's two relationships here Series: Part 17 of WSDanon fics Summary:

Fit wakes up unharmed, and alive—which is always a good sign. 

He’s not sure how long he spent sleeping, but he feels somewhat less tired. Pac still seems to be resting, and Mike is sitting next to him, staring out at the entrance of the cave with Fit’s axe across his lap. 

---

reblogs appreciated \o/

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Characters: FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Additional Tags: Non-Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe - 2b2t Setting (Minecraft), Pre-Canon, basically what if pac met fit on 2b2t right after the events of fuga, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, FitMC POV, First Crush, Crush at First Sight, lol, Pre-Relationship, Cannibalism, not of a tagged character, Angst, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends, two new tags for fit's two relationships here, Trans Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Internalized Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 17 of WSDanon fics Summary:

Fit’s arm hurts. 

Well, the area where the prosthesis connects to it does. He’s been wearing it way too fucking long. 

But it’s not like he can just take it off now. The process for donning and doffing takes too much time for comfort while around these two. Maybe when they stop he can excuse himself, and hole up somewhere hidden. Take it off for a little bit, just to give the skin some relief. 

---

reblogs appreciated \o/ 

[wsdanon]

i feel like this will be quite niche, mostly because i'm not sure how many ordem fans are in my sphere but also because it's not about the main cast lol

but below the cut is an osnf fic \o/! many spoilers for that season. it's based on a canon divergent au me and @factorialsotherfandoms came up with and this one in particular involves the helper and the gatekeeper!

also below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen ordem but is curious about the fic is a brief summary of some world-building elements that will help with understanding the fic \o/ but not the plot because that will take too long lol

reblogs appreciated \o/!! hope you guys enjoy

brief worldbuilding stuff: the helper and the gatekeeper are from a town called santo berço which was a seemingly perfect town apart from the fact that the people are brainwashed to some degree into wanting to stay there and there's a parasite (the saint/a god) feeding on some of them. everyone in the town uses their work titles as their names, and they have an alien-ish appearance (Luzidio) but can switch into a human appearance (Ignaro) at will. the crystals mentioned are healing crystals that have the ability to knock people out if ingested. i can't explain buttery butter. blame felps for this creation

--

The Helper stands in front of the mirror, his Ignaro form staring back. Technically he doesn’t need to be in it right now, but he’ll need to get used to it eventually, so… he’s practicing. 

The eyes are maybe the strangest bit about it. They feel smaller. The familiar blackness now shrunk down and encased by other colours—brown and white. 

He leans closer to the mirror and pokes at his cheek where his markings would be. Maybe if he looks close enough he’ll still be able to see the faint shadow of them—

“Why are you acting like it’s new?” The Gatekeeper says. “You’ve seen this form before.” 

The Helper jumps at the sudden appearance of his voice, and spins around to face him. He doesn’t like having people behind him anymore—an alien distrust crawling through his body at even the thought of it. 

“I know, I’m just… getting used to it. You know?” He shrugs, and tries to force himself to relax. “I never used to use it much before, but now it’s going to be pretty much constant, right?”

“That’s true.” 

Cautiously, the Gatekeeper drifts closer. They don’t have the crystals anymore, and he’s not holding a weapon so it should be fine. 

Really, he wishes his brain would stop thinking so hard about it. He’s one of the few people who actually managed to survive and that was because of the Gatekeeper. 

It’s just… 

It’s hard to put the memory out of his mind of the Gatekeeper approaching him with a knife and wrestling crystals into his mouth.

“It is strange.” The Gatekeeper admits with a small smile as he stops close in front of him. “I only ever saw you like this when we were messing around.”

“And you went on lots of Pilgrimages, right?” The Helper says, knocking their shoulders together gently with a smile that doesn’t quite feel real crossing his face. He doesn’t like it, but no attempts at widening the smile make it feel realer. “So you’re probably dealing fine, huh?” 

“Eh…” The Gatekeeper shrugs. “With this, yeah.” 

He’s in his Luzidio form now. It’s nice. A tiny bit of familiarity to cling onto. 

“What if we lose it?” The Gatekeeper continues, something nervous seeping into his tone. 

“What?” The Helper tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

“This form.” He points to himself. “We only had this because of the Saint’s influence. What if we lose it now?” 

“Well, we—“ He cuts himself off as the full implications hit him, a hollow feeling settling into his chest. It’s uncomfortable. He never used to feel this way in Santo Berço, but now it’s almost all he can feel. “We—We get used to it, I guess.” 

The Gatekeeper reaches a hand up—slowly, but the Helper can’t help but flinch away a little. All he does, though, is settle it onto his cheek. Doesn’t try to pry his mouth open. Doesn’t try to force the anaesthesia down his throat. 

“You should, uh…” The Gatekeeper shifts his thumb to line up with where the Helper’s markings would be. Presses down firmly, but not enough to hurt. “You should get them tattooed.”

“Okay.” This smile feels a little more real. “Would you?”

“Ah, maybe.” He shrugs. “I’m still not… sure how I feel about, uh, all of it.” 

“I like them.” The Helper brings a finger up to trace down one before letting it drop to his side again. “I’d miss them.”

“O-Okay.” The Gatekeeper looks away, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe for you, then.”

The Helper frowns. He misses Santo Berço. Misses the simplicity of it. Everything out here just feels like a mess—the selfish desire to keep at least one thing the same, versus the guilt of forcing the Gatekeeper to do something he doesn’t particularly want to do. 

“Only if it’s for you, too.” He tries another smile. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like it’s about time you do things for yourself, hm?” 

The Gatekeeper is still cupping his cheek, so he can feel the moment his hands start shaking. He wonders if they shook when he spilled his blood to fake his death. 

“I…” His voice cracks. He drops his hand from the Helper’s face so he can wrap him in a tight hug instead. “I’m so glad you’re here. My god, I’m so glad you’re here, Helper, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Helper hugs him back.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

For a while they stand there. The Gatekeeper isn’t quite crying, but he is trembling in the Helper’s arms—murmuring things that he can’t make out, but are probably apologies. 

When he pulls away he doesn’t go far. And he’s still trembling a little—his eyes shiny with unshed tears—but he seems more put together than he was a moment ago. 

“I’ll—I’ll figure out how to make buttery butter, okay?” The Gatekeeper promises. 

“Oh, how cool!” For the first time since they got here, a spark of excitement ignites in him. “We can all experiment together! I’m sure we’ll get it right eventually, you know?”

“Hopefully.” The Gatekeeper sends him a watery smile. “I just—I know how much you like it. You did always say it was the best part of Santo Berço.”

That was when he still had Santo Berço. When he didn’t have to miss it. But the sentiment is sweet, and he is clawing for any scrap of familiarity. 

For the Collector and the Nurse it isn’t so bad, he thinks. As much as they might miss it, they know what it’s like to live without it. All they’ll need is a readjustment period. 

The Gatekeeper is in his boat, but it’s different. He’s always hated Santo Berço—apparently. And he’s probably been on enough Pilgrimages to understand how the world outside is. 

“Thank you.” It’s worth being optimistic, though. “I think between the four of us we’ll get close!”

“We will.” The Gatekeeper declares—an intensity to him that the situation doesn’t really require. “I promise.”

They should maybe talk about that. The devotion he feels for them. 

The Helper knows the Nurse doesn’t like it. He’s aware of her wariness every time the Gatekeeper is around. But they all saw the fates of the people still connected to the Saint, and the Helper finds it difficult to hate his friend for his original plan. 

He doesn’t want to open up the discussion and find out she has a reason to still be worried, though. It’s a strange enough thing to know your friend would kill you to prevent your suffering. To not be able to shake the fear that came with the certainty you were about to die by his hands. 

He doesn’t want it to be made worse. He’s lost too much to lose the Gatekeeper now.

“Come on.” The Helper says, nudging the Gatekeeper into action. “The Nurse said you should be resting, and you know she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“If you could say that with less infatuation in your voice I’d be more inclined to believe you, you know?” The Gatekeeper says teasingly. “But you’re right—she’s right—I am tired. Maybe you could carry me?”

The Gatekeeper had collapsed when the Saint was killed. Dropped like a stone before any of them could catch him. It wasn’t as worrying as bursting into flames, but it was still terrifying. 

The Helper had carried him to safety. Held on tightly to him—almost afraid he’d disappear in front of him, just like his dad had. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

And then he scoops him up. 

It’s as easy to carry him as last time, but this time feels nicer. Less terrifying. Instead of being limp and unconscious in his arms, the Gatekeeper clings back to him immediately—his eyes widening in shock.

The Helper laughs. The Gatekeeper clearly wasn’t expecting the request to be taken seriously, but he doesn’t complain or ask to be put down and it’s—it’s nice. 

It’s a short walk to the spare room, but the Gatekeeper is already dozing off. He lays him down in bed gently, but the Gatekeeper grabs his arm before he can leave. 

“Wait, can you—can you stay?” He asks, his voice shaky with something the Helper would label as fear. “Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Okay.” 

He was going to wait up until the Nurse got back from her shift, but that won’t be for a few more hours. 

So, he gets into bed, but doesn’t lay down—unwilling to tempt sleep. Just sits there and lets the Gatekeeper curl up against him. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but he doesn’t mind. The closeness is nice, actually. 

“Goodnight.” He cards a hand through the Gatekeeper’s hair. Like this, it’s hard to imagine he could be capable of murder. “Sleep well.” 

“Thank you. Goodnight.” 

The Gatekeeper falls asleep quickly, but the Helper doesn’t leave yet. It’s peaceful. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the Gatekeeper’s health. 

The Nurse had said he’ll probably need more time to recover than them, but she had also asked the Helper to tell her if he seemed to be getting worse. 

He was his dad’s assistant before the Blacksmith’s, after all. And while he definitely doesn’t have the knack for it that the Nurse does, he thinks he could at least figure out if she needs to reassess his condition. 

But the Gatekeeper seems fine for now, and he has a couple of hours to kill. So, he grabs the book on the bedside table that the Gatekeeper’s been reading through and starts reading it himself.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!! i'm happy to talk more about the au's details if anyone's curious

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[wsdanon]

also here's a wip of sorts of a dungeon meshi au me and jaime routeriver are having fun with \o/!! it technically works as a full oneshot, i just need to figure out whether i want to write it as a multichapter thing or not so for now i'm just posting on tumblr

It isn’t until they’re settling down for the night that it hits Pac that this will be the longest time they’ve been alone with Cellbit since prison. 

Usually Felps is there as a buffer. Or they’re in a very public area with lots of witnesses. Or it’s only for a couple of hours.

But him and Mike have just signed themselves up for days—maybe weeks—alone with Cellbit in a place where they won’t often run into people, and death is common and easy enough to cover up. 

He had just been so worried about Felps that even with Mike’s apprehension none of that had occurred to him. 

It is very much occuring to him now. 

They don’t need a watch technically, so Pac stutters out something about checking over his leg and waves away Mike’s concern. At least one of them should get a good night’s sleep tonight—and they definitely won’t want Mike sleep deprived while he’s checking over traps tomorrow.

Cellbit looks away quickly when he takes off the prosthesis. He would almost seem more squeamish about it than Pac is, but they both know that’s not true.

Pac watches out of the corner of his eye as Mike drifts off to sleep, and Cellbit prepares their food for storage.

Monsters. He never really thought he’d ever eat monsters. It feels almost like the same kind of forbidden as… 

He bites his lip, and breathes deeply. They have no other food supplies. He can’t afford to throw up dinner just because his brain is making stupid connections. 

But are they really stupid? Cellbit had gotten all strange when he mentioned he knew how to prepare them. Looking away from Pac the same way he carefully avoids looking at his leg. 

It’s not… cannibalism. Not even really close to it, right now. But it still doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel good. There has to be a reason why Cellbit of all people knows all about this—

“Are you okay?”

Pac flinches at the sound of Cellbit’s voice. 

“You’re looking a little…” Cellbit taps one of his own cheeks. “Pale, you know?”

“I’m, uh—I’m fine!” He sends Cellbit a shaky smile, internally cursing himself for how unconvincing it looks. “Totally fine, you know? Just—Yeah, all good here!”

“Okay.” 

Cellbit looks unconvinced, but doesn’t push. Pac suppresses a shudder at the feeling of Cellbit’s piercing gaze analysing him.

Felps. He’s doing this for Felps. He’s doing this because Felps got eaten by a dragon because he pushed Cellbit out of the way.   

Him and Mike didn’t have enough time to wait for Fit’s party to be ready, and Cellbit probably would’ve died if he went in alone like he was planning. And Pac… kind of likes Cellbit. You know, when there’s measures in place to stop him from killing them.

Besides, Cellbit’s different from Cell. That was one thing Felps promised when they ran into each other again, and even Mike agrees he’s changed at least a bit.

“Thank you.” Cellbit says, and this time Pac manages to hide his flinch. “For, like, coming with me even though I can’t really pay you for it. I appreciate it, and I know it’ll mean a lot to Felps.”

“Of course.” Pac shrugs, and messes with his leg some more. It really doesn’t need anything done to it, but he needs to at least try and look like he wasn’t lying. “Felps is, like—he’s a good friend, you know? And you probably would’ve died if you had to face the dragon alone, anyway.”

Pac tenses as soon as the potentially insulting words spill from his mouth. Forces out a nervous little laugh to show Cell—Cellbit he’s just joking.

But all Cellbit does is laugh, too.

“Yeah, probably.” He finally finishes putting away the food, and shifts to a more relaxed sitting position. “But it’s Felps, you know? I would’ve had to have tried something. Even if it was stupid.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Honestly if Cellbit didn’t want to try, Pac probably would’ve come back down to save Felps himself. Well… not by himself. Mike probably would’ve come with him still. 

Or Pac would’ve had to sneak past Mike so Mike didn’t stop him from trying. One of the two.

By himself he wouldn’t have had to hide as much, at least.

And on that note: at least if worse comes to worse, and Felps… isn’t as intact as they need, Cellbit won’t be able to judge him for using forbidden magic. Because forbidden magic can help people if used in the right circumstances—which are all the circumstances Pac plans on using it. All Cellbit—All Cell ever did was hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Cellbit says. “This must be, uh, kinda weird for you, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Pac forces himself to smile. “It’s—It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Well, it’s not every day you eat monsters, right?” Cellbit shrugs. “A lot of adventurers don’t even think about it, and you didn’t seem… keen earlier.” 

Oh. Right. That’s what he’s talking about.

“Ah, I’ll get over it.” He hopes it doesn’t sound as fake to Cellbit as it sounds to himself. “It’s for Felps, you know? And you—you, uh, know a lot, right? You’re probably not gonna k-kill us by preparing it wrong.”

Although maybe in other, more purposeful ways… 

No, he shouldn’t think like that.

“I’ll try my best not to.” Cellbit says, with a genuine little smile.

It’s soft—from the tone of his voice, to his smile. Like they’re just friends joking around. Nothing like how Cell would act. 

It’s not—It’s not unusual for him now, really. It just feels… out of place. In this context. Because Pac can’t shake off the feeling that Cell’s just going to pop back up again and kill them.

Felps had been almost too honest about Cellbit’s progress. Had rambled about how fixated Cellbit was on getting revenge the first few months after getting off the island—before Felps managed to direct his attention elsewhere.

If it wasn’t for the fact Felps still stuck by Cellbit despite what Cellbit did to him in prison, Pac might’ve even left town entirely to avoid running into Cell again. They had passed by Felps’ body before leaving, after all. Pac was certain he was dead.

Felps seems happier now, too. And he had sacrificed himself for Cellbit. So, that most likely rules out the possibility that he’s still being blackmailed. There’s no reason why Felps would still be with Cellbit if he didn’t genuinely change.

Pac just wishes he could get his brain to believe it.

“I’m going to get some rest.” Cellbit says, smothering a yawn. “You probably should, too, yeah? We’ll have some big days ahead of us.”

“Yeah, I’m just—” he gestures at the leg in front of him. “—Just finishing up my check.”

Cellbit opens his mouth like he’s going to speak. Then shuts it again without saying anything, and moves to get under the covers of his bedroll. Pac waits until he thinks Cellbit’s asleep before getting into his own. 

It’ll only be for a week or so, right? A few days of discomfort is nothing compared to the thought of letting Felps rot in that dragon’s stomach. 

Besides, Cellbit’s had plenty of opportunities to kill them over the years. He hasn’t done it yet. That has to count for something.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!!!

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 2/4 Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rafael Lange | Cellbit & Felipe Zaghetti | Felps, Rafael Lange | Cellbit/Felipe Zaghetti | Felps Characters: Rafael Lange | Cellbit, Felipe Zaghetti | Felps Additional Tags: can read the relationship however, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Sharing a Bed, pre-fuga impossivel, Relationship Study, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, chapter two specific tags:, Unhealthy Relationships, Misunderstandings, set during fuga impossível, Cannibalism Series: Part 15 of WSDanon fics Summary:

Honestly, Felps thought it would be harder to become a prison guard. But it’s about a year of training, and they didn’t even look too closely at the documents he forged when he went about getting his other job. Which is good, because he changed the age to make himself eighteen so he could apply.

And it’s easy enough to get assigned to the prison his friend was sent to once he turned eighteen. Alcatraz is a miserable place, with miserable, violent prisoners, and you’re expected to stay on the island. They’re practically begging for new guards.

---

reblogs appreciated \o/ 

please check out @/ceranovis’ art for the chapter here 

and if you’d like please check out my fic “Making Better Memories” (it’d be a sequel of sorts to this fic that i wrote in december lol) as this fic expands on some things i brought up there

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Characters: FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Mikhael Línnyker | mikethelink Additional Tags: Non-Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe - 2b2t Setting (Minecraft), Pre-Canon, basically what if pac met fit on 2b2t right after the events of fuga, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, FitMC POV, First Crush, Crush at First Sight, lol, Pre-Relationship, Cannibalism, not of a tagged character, Angst, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends, two new tags for fit's two relationships here, Trans Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Internalized Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 17 of WSDanon fics Summary:

Pac looks a little paler than when Fit left, but neither him nor Mike mention Fit’s choice of meal. 

They can probably see the sense in it, anyway. As long as Fit’s eating this, they’ll be able to go longer eating regular food. 

The inevitable argument that’ll arise when he’ll have to convince them to turn to cannibalism is already giving him a headache, but that’s a future problem. And they have many, many other problems to combat before they can even hope to get to that one.

----

reblogs appreciated \o/!!

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw/Felipe Zaghetti | Felps Characters: Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Felipe Zaghetti | Felps Additional Tags: set during fuga impossível, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, Kissing, pre-pac getting his leg eaten Series: Part 20 of WSDanon fics Summary:

They don’t speak yet. Pac can’t kiss him yet.

Instead, they walk the path they’d mapped out to sneak past patrol routes, and along the edges of the cameras’ vision. Pac lets his hand knock against Felps’—lets their fingers brush together. It’s sweet watching how Felps’ expression twitches for just a moment as he fights to contain a smile.

It’s all part of their cover. They don’t plan to be found, but in case something goes wrong, and they are, it would look better for both of them if they’re not in the middle of acting like two lovesick teenagers.

----

a commission for @routeriver \o/ reblogs appreciated!

[wsdanon]

hi \o/ i mentioned a while ago i was likely going to be posting more wips here--especially if i'm going a while without posting actual fics. this one is a fuga four pirate au \o/

like with the vampire au, i have some information surrounding what is actually written here (backstory + future plot), but i'm unlikely to continue writing it right now due to having other multi-chaptered fics to focus on. anything else at the moment will likely be wip snippets like this one

it's 3k words, but it cuts off pretty abruptly. reblogs appreciated \o/

Honestly, this isn’t Pac’s worst day. It’s pretty up there, but going to jail and losing his leg manages to beat it out. 

After all, this is just a local jail. More of a holding cell than anything. For petty crimes or executions. Pac, luckily, is in for the former. Unluckily for him, he’s separated from Mike and hasn’t been able to breathe properly since they threw him in here. 

He’ll be spending a week in here, or until bail. 

It’s only been a day. And excuse him for being dramatic, but he doesn’t think he’s going to make it. 

He can imagine Mike is probably weighing up the pros and cons of staging a breakout. After all, it’s only a week. Breaking out might just put an unnecessary target on their backs, and they’ll have to move towns again. 

Logically, he gets that. 

In reality he’s in the corner of the cell with his knees hugged tight to his chest. The cell is big enough that from here he can’t see the guard—which is both a blessing and a curse. 

He’s fine being alone. But being separated from Mike makes his skin itch. He’s almost desperate for any kind of company, even if it’s just some bored guard not paying attention to him. 

And then—like his prayers are answered—he hears two sets of footsteps, and the cell door unlocking. He looks up to see a man being shoved—stumbling, but not falling—and the door being slammed shut again behind him. 

“Well…” The man shrugs, and sighs, and turns to inspect his new quarters. His eyes catch on Pac’s. A pretty smile crosses his face. “Oh! Hi!”

“Uh… hi.” Pac uncurls himself from his corner, and gets to his feet. “Nice to meet you?”

“Nice to meet you!” He sticks out his hand for Pac to shake. Pac’s eyes catch on the pirate branding on his wrist. “I’m Captain Felps. To some.”

“To some?”

Felps makes a hesitant noise before admitting, “Felps who crashed the boat to others.” 

Pac laughs, and shakes his hand. He should really be more hesitant—it’s always a gamble with pirates. Him and Mike have run into plenty who were perfectly honourable, and plenty who they’d happily watch hang. 

This pirate, though, seems like the former. If Pac is a good judge of character, which he’s often told he isn’t. 

“I’m Pac.” 

“What are you in for?” 

Felps takes a seat on one of the beds, and Pac takes the one opposite him. 

“Stealing.” Then he rolls his eyes. “Allegedly.”

He did, in fact, steal. He stole a lot more than they charged him for, actually. But they’ll never get him to admit it out loud. 

“Allegedly?” Felps raises his eyebrows. “How long will I have your company for then?” 

“Uh… six days now?” Pac looks out the tiny barred window—night has fallen—and nods to himself. “Yeah, six days. Well, and tonight.”

“Nice, nice.” His eyes dart out to where Pac assumes he might be able to see the guard, and sighs. “Longer than I’ll have to live, apparently.”

“Oh.” Pac shifts, uncomfortable. He’s interacted with plenty of people on death row before, but he never knows how to react. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s for piracy.” Felps admits. Then, he gestures to Pac. “Allegedly.”

“Allegedly.” Pac echoes back with a slight laugh. 

The conversation between them dwindles. Pac is just starting to consider lying down and trying to get some sleep, when Felps stands up on the bed and looks out the window. 

“Hello?” He calls lowly, and Pac wonders what the hell his game plan is. A quick look at the guard shows he’s unbothered. Although, admittedly, he’s probably used to desperate pleas for help. “Anyone? Cellbit?” 

Pac’s heart freezes in his chest. 

Surely he can’t mean… Cell, right? They left Cell for dead. And Felps doesn’t seem like the kind of man to get along with him. He’s nice, for starters. 

Ignoring that Pac also thought Cell was nice at first. 

No. It’s just a really awful coincidence because the universe likes to taunt him. Cell’s dead. Rotting somewhere on an abandoned island. 

“Anyone out there?” Felps continues.

“It’s just guards.” Pac mutters. “The window faces into the fort.”

Felps looks back at the guard. Then he jumps off the bed, and crowds in close to Pac. His eyes search Pac’s face. Pac feels his cheeks grow warm. 

“Do you know how to get out of here?” He asks in a whisper. 

“No, sorry.” Pac shakes his head. “I just had a lot of free time today.”

“Damn…” 

Felps goes to move back, but Pac gestures for him to stay close. 

“Do you think your crew will try to help you?” He whispers. 

“I’m not going to count on it.” Felps says without even stopping to think about it. 

And then he’s up by the window again, calling out for… anyone, it seems. Pac lies down on his bed. At least he didn’t expect to get much sleep, anyway. 

“Hello? Anyone out there?” 

Pac wonders how he got into this situation. He didn’t respond with an outright no, so it probably wasn’t his crew betraying him. 

“Cellbit?”

It could’ve been a single member of his crew, though. A first mate, perhaps, looking to become captain. If Cellbit really is somehow Cell, Pac wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Anyone? Hello?”

Or maybe he was just unlucky. In the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“Cucurucho?”

That causes Pac to sit up. 

“Wait, wait, why are you calling for him?” 

Felps looks down at him, something unreadable on his face. Then he shrugs. 

“Why not?” 

Pac can think of a hundred reasons why not, and he’s surprised a pirate can’t think of a hundred more. 

“Cucurucho?” Felps calls again, dragging the name out at the end.

Then he laughs despairingly, and rests his forehead against the bricks. 

Pac closes his eyes. As good as he is at escaping, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to help much in the amount of time Felps has likely been given. He doesn’t know enough about the fort layout, or the guards’ patrol routes. It takes time to learn all that. Especially when he’s confined to just this jail cell. And he isn’t about to risk worse punishments and further separation from Mike on a half-assed escape plan. 

The bed creaks as Felps—presumably—sits down on it. He’s muttering to himself, but it’s quiet enough that Pac can’t make out any of it. 

Pac spins attempts at comfort in his mind, trying to figure out the best one. Nothing seems adequate. All he can really offer is a distraction, so—

—There’s a commotion outside their cell. 

Pac sits up enough just in time to see someone skilfully kill the guard that was stationed down here. He’s wearing a navy officer’s uniform that’s splattered with blood. 

“Cellbit?” Felps asks, hesitantly. Like he’s not quite sure what to make of the situation. 

“Felps!” 

The man runs up to the bars into the lantern light, and Pac is seeing a ghost. 

The blood turns to ice in his veins. He presses his back to the wall behind him, and tries to make himself look small. 

Cell’s eyes haven’t caught on him yet. His entire focus is on Felps—a delighted smile on his face as he watches the pirate step closer. 

Pac’s leg aches. 

“What are you doing here?” Felps asks. 

“I’m getting you out!” Cell replies, almost offended. Then he ducks down to rifle through the belongings of the guard. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Felps echoes. He looks back at Pac. “Do you want to come with us?”

Pac’s breath is stuttering in his chest. His eyes are wide as they dart between Felps’ open expression, and a man who should be dead. 

“Got it.” Cell stands up. 

And pauses. 

“Cellbit.” Felps says his name with a tone of despair, and reaches through the bars to try and grab the keys. “Open the door.”

Cellbit dances out of the way. 

“Say you owe me one?” 

“I owe you one.” Felps responds, easier than Pac thought he would. “Let me out. Please.”

“And I can collect on it whenever?” Cell pushes. “And you’ll have to do it?”

“Well.” Felps stops grabbing for the key, and lets his arms rest loosely on the horizontal bars. “Hold on. How much is one?”

“One is one! We can discuss it later.”

“Cellbit.” Felps sighs. “Just open the door.”

“Fine.” 

He does so. Grumbling to himself a little as he tries to find the right key. 

He’s not… entirely the spitting image of Cell. His hair is longer. There’s a white streak in it. And despite just trying to bribe Felps, there’s a distinct lack of cruelty in the way he holds himself. 

That doesn’t really mean anything, though, when he nods his head in Pac’s direction, and Pac’s entire body tenses. 

“Is your friend coming?”

He hasn’t recognised Pac yet. Which Pac chalks up the shadows of the cell. But if Pac accepts, there’ll be no hiding. 

If he stays here, though, the guards could take out their frustrations over an escaped pirate on him. Besides, maybe Cell doesn’t even remember him. 

“Pac?” Felps prompts. 

And Cell’s head snaps up to look at him.

“Pac?” 

Well, there goes that hope. Lady Luck once again laughs at him from the heavens. 

“Oh, you two know each other?” 

“You could… say that.” Cell frowns, and goes back to unlocking the door. 

It swings open, and Pac is frozen. 

Felps, on the other hand, has no problem stepping out. Even when Cellbit punches his arm, he doesn’t do more than let out an ow, and rub at the spot where he was hit. 

He doesn’t seem afraid. At all. 

“What was that for?” Felps complains. 

“You’re so stupid.” Cellbit bites out. “I was worried.”

Hesitantly, Pac stands. 

He really does need to get out of here. They’ll probably charge him with being an accomplice if he doesn’t. Cell eyes him warily as he approaches, so Pac tries to focus instead on the way Felps smiles at him. 

“It’ll be better if we stick together.” Cellbit says, and Pac can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on him. “Let’s go.” 

They have to follow Cellbit to get out. Pac makes a point of keeping Felps between them at all times, but that’s a false comfort. If Cell really wanted to kill him, Pac doubts Felps would intervene. 

Because Felps may be nice, but he’s a pirate. And he’s a pirate who’s friends with Cell.

Man, he really is a bad judge of character.

The alarms start ringing about halfway through their escape. Cellbit curses, and twists abruptly to take them down a different pathway. 

This one is narrower. They run through one at a time—Cellbit in the lead, dragging Felps by the hand behind him, and Pac taking up the rear. 

He wishes he’d thought to pick up the guard’s sword. Or the gun. Instead, all he can do is look behind himself as much as he can without stumbling, and hope that Cellbit will give him something to defend himself with if someone tries to follow them. 

Luckily, though, Cellbit seems to know what he’s doing. They get to a small alcove—where he’s clearly stashed some things—without much trouble. 

He quickly throws a cloak to Felps, who puts it on gratefully. Then he locks eyes with Pac. And tosses him the other. 

“I only brought two.” Cellbit explains, shouldering the bag, and getting ready to move. 

“You take it then.” Pac holds the cloak out to him. “I’m just in for thievery, I doubt they remember my face. But, uh, you—you look like you’ve been stabbed, you know? With all the blood? They might, like, ask questions.” 

Cellbit doesn’t move, staring at the material in Pac’s outstretched hand with a frown. 

“If they know my face, they’ll know yours, Cellbit.” Felps says. 

“Okay.” Cellbit trades his bag for the cloak. “Put this on, keep your head down, and be careful.”

Pac nods, trying to ignore the way his hands are shaking after Cell’s fingers brushed his. He puts the bag on as Cellbit throws on the cloak. It mostly hides the bloodied navy uniform. 

“Okay,” Cellbit gestures for them to inch closer, “we just need to wait for the signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Pac asks. 

An explosion sounds in the distance. It’s too far away for even the aftershocks to hit them, but Pac still jumps. 

“That.” 

Cellbit darts off towards the fort wall, and Pac scrambles to follow him. Felps is by his side as he runs. 

Another explosion—still far away from them. Pac hears commotion in the distance. They dash up the stairs to the top of the wall just in time to hear the hasty march of soldiers below them. 

“Pac.” Cell whispers, holding a hand out. Pac tenses. “Rope.”

He stares back at Cell with wide, uncomprehending eyes. 

“What?”

“The bag. There’s rope.” 

Pac scrambles to get it out and pass it off to Cellbit. It has large knots spaced out evenly throughout it.

An explosion—even more distant this time—goes off while Cellbit secures the rope for them to climb down it. He forces Felps to go first. 

And then Pac. 

The distance really isn’t far. If Pac drops it would hurt but he’d survive. So, he tries to ignore all thoughts of Cell cutting the rope and letting him fall. Instead, he focuses on not slipping off of the hand and foot holds. 

He lands a little roughly, but Felps’ hands come up to steady him. He restrains himself from collapsing into the hold. There’ll be plenty of time to calm down from the stress of escape, and Cell later on with Mike. 

Cellbit lands with a dull thud. He leaves the rope, and leads them through the bushes, and into town. 

Once they hit the streets, Pac feels a little safer. A small crowd has formed, staring off at the fire, and smoke in the distance. It’s easy enough to sneak behind them, and once they do, it’s clear that the guards haven’t made it into town yet. 

They duck quickly through alleyways until they hit a main road again. Once there, Cellbit encourages them to slow down into a more casual gait. 

“So,” Cellbit asks, “where’s your boyfriend?”

“Mike?” 

“Yeah, Mike. I’m assuming you’ll want to go to him?”

“Yeah.” Pac shrugs. “He’s either at the store, or at the house.”

“Well, lead us there.” 

The thing is, is that Cell always had a tone about him. He had a couple of tones, actually, and all of them felt like they were sticking to you. The sickly sweet promises of safety like being covered in suffocating honey, the low threats rolling over them like waves, and the explosive anger stabbing into them like knives. 

Pac rarely walked out of an encounter without feeling like Cell’s words were clouded around him. 

This, however, was said so casually Pac doesn’t know what to think of it. It doesn’t feel like Cell’s friendly schtick. It doesn’t have the pressing weight of a threat. 

And Pac stumbles into the lead, taking them towards their shop, because it doesn’t feel like revenge. Maybe he’s naive for that. 

Cellbit and Felps bicker next to him. The words flow in one ear, and out the other. 

By the time Pac gets to the shop, he honestly can’t say whether this is a trap of some kind or not. It’s likely that Cell just wants them both in the same place so he can finish the job from all those years ago… 

…But every minute they spend walking together, Pac is sure he’s changed. He’s light as he talks with Felps. And Felps talks back without any apparent fear of angering him. If it wasn’t for his name, and his looks Pac doesn’t think he’d recognise him. 

Still, though, he hesitates in front of the door. Cell can change, but also want revenge. 

“Cute shop.” Felps comments. 

And Pac sends him a shaky smile, and a murmured, “thanks.” 

The lanterns are on inside. He’s pretty sure Mike is here. 

“Let me just…” He turns to Cellbit. “Let me just, um… explain. Before he sees you.”

“Oh. Uh, okay, sure.” 

Cellbit steps away from the doorframe and windows. Pac knocks. 

There’s a commotion inside, and then the door is swinging open. 

“Fuck, Pac, that was you?” Mike hisses, urging him inside. “I was trying to get ready to leave town just in case, but I didn’t think it was actually you.” 

“I had help.” 

Pac gestures back towards Felps, who waves. 

“Hi, I’m Felps! Nice to meet you!” 

“Uh…” Mike scans over him critically. “I’m Mike. Nice to meet you, too.”

“And that’s not all…” He trails off, and winces as Mike frowns at him.

“What?” Mike turns to continue gathering stuff into their bags. “Did something bad happen?”

“Depends. Um… you remember Cell, right?” 

“How could I forget?” Mike spits out. Then he turns back to Pac. “Wait-“

“He’s actually like, super nice now!” Pac says quickly—the words pouring from his mouth before he really thinks about them. “He helped me escape, and didn’t even threaten me once! I think he’s changed, you know?” 

“He went to therapy.” Felps adds helpfully. 

“He went to—wait,” Pac turns to Felps, “did he?” 

“Mhm!” Felps nods, an easy smile on his face. It’s… calming. A little. Makes him feel better about the fact that Mike is probably one step away from killing him himself. “I took him there.” 

“See!” Pac faces Mike again. “He went to therapy.”

Mike is staring at him, his mouth dropped open in shock. Then he groans, and drags his hands down his face. 

“Pac.” He grabs Pac’s shoulders, and shakes them. “You cannot be serious.“

“I am.” Pac confirms, guilt swirling in his stomach. “He’s actually, like, right outside. Sorry.”

--

sorry… that confrontation was going to take some brain power to write, but it's been months and i still haven't written it so i don't think i'll get there any time soon. I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway though \o/

(also: felps and cellbit's conversation about felps owing cellbit one if cellbit lets him out was taken from their federation escape stream because i love it)

[wsdanon]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Phil Watson | Philza Characters: FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Phil Watson | Philza Additional Tags: Fluff, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Queer Themes, Coming Out, Pre-Relationship, phil is only in one scene sorry, Sexuality Crisis Series: Part 16 of WSDanon fics Summary:

All things considered, Fit kind of forgot that sexualities were, like, a thing. In the wasteland, you don’t really have time to focus on that kind of stuff. Not if you want to survive. And Fit can only count on one hand the number of people he trusted enough to have conversations with without a weapon in reach—not exactly conducive to relationship building.

Still, though, it’s not like he didn’t have thoughts about other people. But those hardly stuck around long enough to be memorable. A quick flash of something before his brain switches into either attack or defensive mode depending on the situation.

---

reblogs appreciated \o/ this is for the bonus round “confession” prompt of fitpac week