#Phil Akin

[blossoms-phan]

the way dnp are behind at least a few of my special interests is so embarrassing why am I hyperfixated on listening to the final fantasy soundtracks despite never having played any of the games

[official-bunbun]

oh my god encanto au

ENCANTO AU.

[nightmarefuel-mua]

I was watching dan and phil games when I thought "the house plants are on akinator AND phil's bedsheets, would the phandom be weird enough to put the owl slide on??

[waitingawhile]

super loose sketch but. I have so many writing ideas about dsmp characters and religion from c!wilbur’s perspective. (I hc him as an athiest or agnostic who’s closest peers are people of faith and he tries so hard to understand but cannot connect with religion, fears he can’t understand this piece of them, like an outsider to faith and that peace in their features when they talk about it. c!tommy with lady prime, c!quackity with something akin to Catholicism that he can’t remember the origins of, c!techno a pagan/pantheist acting with several deities, c!phil a pagan). inspired by this and this and @ghosts-and-blue-sweaters . Something something mirroring the behaviors of his closest friend that bring him comfort to see if anything will work at this point. Taking it seriously at first and then getting embarrassed with himself when he doesn’t hear a voice back. Getting frustrated and pretending to himself that he never tried and it was silly. going to limbo. idk.

[cat-mentality]

It's funny really, how much the children have taken from their adoptive parents.

How looking at them is something akin to looking in a mirror.

Chayenne who is eerily similar to Philza with the same blue hair and blue eyes, the same nose, but whose smile is all Missa's. Who loves deeply, like them both, who likes cooking and avoids larger crowds, who has no time for people's bullshit, who likes stories, farming potatoes and training with his weapons.

Ramon whose tiny smile is a carbon copy of Fit's, something precious to be cherished like the gift it is. Who is clever and resourceful and focused on what really matters, hardworking to a fault.

Leonarda with Vegetta's purple eyes and Foolish's cheekbones and nose. Leo who is creative and protective, who will defend her loved ones with everything she has, who wants pretty things and nice buildings in her name, who enjoys the good things in life.

Dapper who is his father's copy, who proudly display the demonic traits many hide in shame, the midnight skin, the white eyes, the little horns. Dapper who is clever, who likes to play with the obscure, who collects animals, who is fiercely protective of her loved ones.

Tallulah who may as well be Wilbur's copy as well, the same curly brown hair, the same big dark eyes, whose smile is just the tiniest bit crooked, exactly like Phil's. Tallulah who loves music so very deeply, who is passionate and puts her heart into her projects.

It's tragic really, how much the children have taken from their adoptive parents.

How looking at them is something akin to looking in a mirror.

Chayenne who is the oldest. The little warrior, his father’s son in bravery and courage and protectiveness, Chayenne who has taken the role of the protector without having to be told.

Chayenne, who is his fathers’ son. Who hides his insecurity and his fear because he cannot allow himself to appear weak or scared because all the siblings are looking at him for comfort, for guidance. Chayenne who takes every single thing gone wrong as a signal of his failure, of his weakness, who fear every single day that his siblings, that his parents, are going to look at him and see the scared little boy who cannot save his siblings, who failed them so many times and just keeps on failing.

And that they will realize he is not worth their time or their love.

Chayenne who is his father’s son and cannot put those insecurities into words, who cannot talk about them because they are his burden to care, because his parents and siblings have more important things to care about, because he is the oldest and he is not suppose to give them reasons to worry, he is supposed to be strong and reliable.

He has never been taught to be honest about his fears, he has watched as his father takes on the responsibility of taking care of another child by himself without a word of protest, he has watched as he father held his emotions close to his chest and he has learned to do the same. 

Chayenne like his father Missa, who believes he is not worth of their love unless he proves it with his actions, who is scared of failure as much as he is scare of trying, who struggles with what he truly wants to do, with the childish urges to just have fun, to just ask for a hug or to cry in the embrace of a loved one, and the believe of what he thinks he must do, stay strong and brave and keep his siblings safe so that they do not share his pain, so that they know they are loved and appreciated and that they are safe with him.

Leonarda who shares her pa Foolish's loneliness.

Leonarda who has so very few people she feels like she can trust, so very few people she believes would even care to look at her twice, and who has lost, on multiple occasions, those people, who has felt alone and scared too many times to count.

She hides her feelings deep inside even when it hurts, can't bear to expose them to the world because she knows how easily the world will step on them, how easily they will laugh at her or even ignore her pain because they are so very used to not thinking about her at all. Leo who clings to her loved ones with protective fierceness, even with jealousy, because she has so very few of them.

Just a child, a child like the others, yet most of the time people don't seem to take her seriously, just like they don't take her pa seriously, Leonarda who just like her pa Vegetta feels like she must step up as the protector, that she has to take charge into protecting the one person who has always seem and understood her, who will put him above everyone else because she knows that they will never be anyone's else priorities.

Lonely little girl with her lonely silly father, waiting for a ghost, surviving on memories.

Dapper who is the victim of sins that don't belong to her. Dapper, forever burdened by actions they didn't take, a child punished by the sins of the father. A child, who will gladly take the burden of pain if that means his sister and father will remain safe and unharmed.

Dapper who trusts very few people, Dapper who like her father keeps her plans to herself, who wants to fix things with his own hands, who doesn't want others to be sucked into their plans, who doesn't want anyone to ever be hurt for their sake, Dapper who loves so very deeply but who like the man who raises him do not know how to trust, how to let others help.

A child, so familiar with death. A child, so understanding that everything comes to an end, so utterly aware that her time is counted and all the implications of it. A child, like her father, so connected with death, a child who does not fear death, but rather the consequences of his passing will have on the ones he loves the most. A child, who never puts himself as a priority in his plans, a child who always thinks about the bigger picture, who hides her pain and his fears because they are not as important as getting the results.

Ramon who is so serious, so comically serious, a child who tries to behave so much older than his years. Ramon who doesn't like to be sentimental, who doesn't like to talk about mushy things, who doesn't even call Fit "dad" even if he has loved him since the beginning.

A child forced to grow up so quickly. A child with adult's fears. A child who wants to make plans for his father in case one day he wouldn't be here to take care of Fit anymore, who wants him to have other people.

Ramon who will show his love in little gestures, in short phrases he will pretend he never said after, who like Fit tackles emotions like dangerous mobs, who don't know how to tame the storm that breeds inside his chest, who doesn't know how to express the vulnerability that lays inside him, who would rather kill that part of himself. Ramon who loves, heavens, how much does he love, and he will show it in his actions, he will show it by putting himself in front of his sisters when there is danger close, he will show it by watching their favorite movies without complaining, he will show it by helping his father, he will show it in silent companionship, he will show it in tiny little smiles.

Ramon who loves so much, so deeply, Ramon who doesn't believe he has done anything to earn the same love back, Ramon who thinks he has to give and give and give to deserve the love that he has never realized is freely given. Ramon who is too much like Fit to recognize his own importance, his own worth, Ramon who, like Fit, doesn't think he could be loved simply by who he is.

Tallulah who understands her papi now.

That recognizes she was just a silly little girl when they met for the first time, who dreamed of the impossible. Stupid for ever thinking that her love alone would be enough, that she could love enough for both herself and Wilbur.

She couldn't, of course she couldn't. Wilbur didn't belong to the Island, like herself he was too big for this place, unable to lay down his roots, a leaf in the wind just passing by with no intention of ever building a home, or staying in the same place for too long.

It's not his fault, she tries to tell herself when rage builds a nest inside her heart, it's not his fault his calling is elsewhere, it's not his fault he cannot stand to be locked up, that he has the freedom everyone else dies and kills for. He tried, he warned her, but Tallulah had been alone and afraid, a silly little girl who believed in fairy tales, who believed she could be loved as fiercely as she longed to love another.

(That is something they share as well, not that Tallulah knows it- They love deeply, herself and Wilbur, they cling to love with desperation, trying to fill an unending void that lives inside their hearts, an emptiness that comes from never feeling like you are someone's priority, that comes from never fitting anywhere.)

Her love alone could not hold them together exactly how no one's love can hold her together now.

Tallulah who is her father's daughter, who is shaped not by his presence but rather by the empty spot he left in her heart, one that cannot be filled by anyone else, no matter how much they may love her.

Children, forced to grow up too fast, too quickly. Children who learned so much from their parents.

[mrsaltieri-real]

Helpless and Ruined (Mickey Altieri x Victim!Reader)

Words: 3k

Warnings: language, stabbing, (Mickey stabs reader, reader stabs Mickey) blood, talks of murder, violence, dub-con, smut, dirty talk, angry!mickey, stalking, cat and mouse, orgasm delay, ruined orgasm, degrading, knife play, blood play, threats, death threats, etc.

A/N: This idea popped into my mind a few days ago so I just ran with it and had a lot of fun. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You’d managed to escape him, but not without the precise slice across your collarbone and to your shoulder from where you’d pushed yourself into his knife as he stood behind you so you could knock your head back, catching him by surprise before you’d managed to sprint away from him. The blood was dripping down into your cleavage, uncomfortably wet and sticky. You gasped, wincing slightly as you shoved the doors to the deserted cafeteria open, quickly turning around to glance out the window just as he ran up the steps, making you shout out and instinctively step back.

Ghostface stood in front of you yet again, only the flimsy wooden door and thin glass separated the two of you, his head was cocked to the side and the silver blade of his knife glinted in the dim light of the emergency exit sign illuminating him as he waved it at you menacingly.

You took a step back as his gloved hand wrapped around the doorknob, easily twisting it and swinging it open.

Fuck, you’d forgotten to lock it. There was no other way out, you were trapped in here with him.

“Leave me the fuck alone, you freak!” You shouted at him as you stumbled back in between the tables, eyes flitting down to watch his boots slowly step toward you.

There was an oddly familiar swagger to his walk, a confidence that you could’ve sworn you recognised, but you were in survival mode right now, there was no time to dwell on this.

“I don’t fucking know Sidney Prescott, why the hell are you coming after me?” You spoke again, desperately trying to get him to speak. Maybe if you heard his voice, hell, even just recognised the fucking tone, you’d clock on to whoever this guy was.

He let out a laugh, much to your agonising dismay it was muffled by a voice modulator. Your cut was beginning to hurt even more as the adrenaline dispersed into something more akin to dread and fear as you continued stumbling backward until your back finally hit the wall.

Fuck.

“Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. Everyone thinks it’s all about Sidney.” The way Ghostface spoke made you pause for a second, eyebrows creasing as you tried to recognise anything familiar. If you were going to die, it wasn’t going to be until you knew who the fuck was doing this.

“Did Maureen Evans or Phil Stevens know Sidney? Did CiCi Cooper? Did any of the people I’ve killed know who the fuck she was? Care about her?” He was striding toward you, stopping abruptly when he was about a foot away. Although you couldn’t see his face, you felt uneasy, feeling his eyes scanning over you. The sick fuck clearly liked seeing you in pain and you suddenly realised something.

If he wanted to have killed you, he would have done it outside.

“Then- then what do you want?” You asked, voice small and helpless. You were cornered now, nothing you could do but try and keep him distracted enough until you figured out a way to get the fuck away from him.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want to play with you.”

“Go and play with someone else, you fucking pervert.” I couldn’t help but snap. The way he spoke sent a freezing cold shiver down your spine, made your blood run cold in your veins.

Ghostface laughed, spinning the knife in his hand before saying, in a voice so satisfied it made your stomach churn, “There’s that fire.”

He suddenly lunged at you but you quickly ducked, dodging the knife that impaled into the wall just above your head. You tried to make a run for it but his hand circled your wrist, yanking you harshly toward him with such force it almost completely winded you, his other hand connecting with your stomach and making you double over, gasping for air.

You felt his hand in your hair, yanking you up and slamming your head against the brick wall, a choked out cry leaving your lips as you felt the crack of your skull as it connected with the hard brick. Your vision clouded, but you refused to stay still, struggling willfully against him as his body pinned you against the wall, the mask agonisingly close to your face.

“F-fuck you.” You gasped out, feeling the blood ooze from your head and beginning to mat your hair.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? I’ve seen how you look at me in film class, sweetheart. Nothing but a fucking slut. I wonder how wet you are after our little game of cat and mouse.”

His free hand slid down your body, edging toward the button of your jeans. This was your moment.

His hand was still gripping your hair, the knife still grasped between his thumb and forefinger. You twisted your head, wincing as the action made his fingers pull it at the roots, and sunk your teeth into the slightly exposed skin of his arm until you could taste his blood. Ghostface shouted out and instinctively let you go, the knife falling to the floor with a deafening clatter. You took this moment to lift your knee, slamming it into his torso and he doubled over with a muffled groan, the voice of his modulator faltering as he did.

You decided you were going to find out who the fuck this weirdo was.

You threw your weight on him, taking him by surprise once again and he fell to the floor, the back of his head connecting with the wood and his hands falling to his side. You leapt on top of him, straddling his waist and your knees pinning his hands to the ground. You made sure to yank at the top of the hood of his robe until his head lifted off the floor, curling your fingers until you found his hair beneath, slamming his head down against the hardwood before grabbing his fallen knife and pointing it down at him.

“Fucking- fucking bitch!” A slightly familiar voice shouted up at you.

You froze as you heard the voice, the crackly modulator wasn’t covering it anymore. You glanced above his head, noticing the small white machine broken and tangled in a wire before you stared back at the mask.

He was struggling, a little weakened by his head connecting with the ground twice so it was a little easier to overpower him. You weren’t oblivious to feeling his semi erect cock rubbing against you from under his robe and through your jeans, but, for now anyway, you chose to ignore it, one thing entirely on your mind.

“Don’t- fucking don’t-“ his struggle intensified but you ground your weight down onto you knees, hearing him cuss as they dug into his hands. You quickly reach your hand for the mask, snatching it off the killer's face.

“What the fuck?” You gasped as you stared down at none other than Mickey Fucking Altieri, the guy from your film class.

His unfocused brown eyes glared up at you, still struggling to move his hands.

“Mickey?“

“You fucking bitch.” He spat up at you.

Mickey was loud and boisterous, oddly fun to be around, but you weren’t friends. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d be targeting you, and you honestly didn’t think to ask. For once, you’d been the one to overpower him, not like any of his other victims.

“I’m the bitch? Screw you, you fucking creep.” You retorted, unable to not notice how he twitched beneath his cloak as you shouted down at him. Did he actually enjoy this?

You noticed quickly he’d stopped struggling, his eyes were beginning to focus again. His own knife was resting against his throat, you were on top of him, you’d managed to get one over on him, and he really fucking liked it.

“I can feel how wet you are through your clothes, how messed up are you?” His voice was a little weak as he practically laughed the words at you, his hips tilting upward a little to grind his now fully erect clothed cock over your core. You let out a small gasp as he did so, still not removing the knife from his throat.

Fuck, your head was spinning. It was easy to blame what was about to happen on the extremely evident concussion you had. Even so, you couldn’t help but notice that you had the power over Ghostface- over Mickey, how much of an advantage you currently had.

Mickey noticed it too, eyes flickering down to the knife held to his throat and up to your slightly dazed and torn expression. He was rock hard underneath you, your deep breathing pushing you down harshly against him and making a soft grunt leave his throat as he stared at you expectantly.

You could kill him. You should kill him. Even though you didn’t know the girl, this stupid asshole was tormenting her. Maybe it was a mistake taking his mask off, no way he’d let you live now you knew who he was.

It was gonna go one way or another. Either you were going to kill him, or he was going to kill you. The most you could do now was postpone the inevitable.

With the knife still held to his throat, you very lightly pushed your hips down. His reaction was subtle, his eyes fluttered just slightly and you felt his finger tips briefly press against your knees before relaxing against the ground again. But there was nothing subtle about the shit eating and triumphant grin that lit up his face like a fucking Christmas tree.

“Ah, I see what you’re trying to do. Maybe if you fuck me, I’ll let you live, right?” His voice was mocking, eyes now fixing on the blood still oozing from the wound he’d inflicted and coating your chest as he continued to speak, “Go for it, sweetheart. Let’s see just how bad you want me to spare you.”

Maybe you were messed up for even considering this, maybe you didn’t care.

“Pause?” He offered, glancing down at his hands still pressed underneath your knees, “I could do with a good fuck.”

Fuck it.

You moved your knees from his palms but only moved off of him for a split second to remove your jeans as fast as you could, the knife still pointing at his throat the whole time as you spat at him, “One move, I’ll cut your throat.”

Mickey didn’t say anything, eyes nothing short of amused as he stayed motionless, watching as you climbed back on top of him, hoisting up his dark robes so his dark sweats were exposed.

He couldn’t help but love this. Of course he was still going to kill you, but at least he could finally fuck you first. Sex and murder were two of the same for him, what could be better than fucking you then gutting you? So, he allowed you to work over him, his eyes finally moving down as he felt you pull his hard cock free from his sweats and briefs.

You stopped for a second, quickly glancing up at Mickey’s face. He was gorgeous, you couldn’t deny that, you’d always thought so. But this was the guy, the monster that was running around the college, brutally murdering people. What the fuck were you doing?

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t back out now, don’t be scared because you want to fuck a murderer. Own that shit.”

His words pissed you off. You were horny and angry, a combination you don’t think you’d ever felt before. You decided then and there what you were gonna do.

You adjusted yourself on top of him so the tip of his cock was just nestled in the entrance of your dripping hole, had you ever been this wet before? He let out a sigh, a small roll of his eyes before he thrusted his hips upward, making a loud gasp fall from your lips as he quickly filled you, wincing a little at the unexpected stretch as your walls covered him. He laughed again, his strength clearly beginning to gather as his hands moved to rest on your hips so he could fuck you.

“Don’t pretend like you’re such a good person when you’ve got me balls deep inside of your pathetic little cunt.”

You weren’t going to take that, especially not from a sick fuck like him.

The knife, still gripped in your hand, was quickly and harshly brought down, imbedding into the flesh of his shoulder through the robe and he let out a surprised yell as it pierced through him, the feeling oddly satisfying you. You didn’t stop driving it down until you felt it hit bone, letting go of the knife and beginning to roll your hips as you watched as his face twisted in pain and he spat out, “Fucking bitch!” up at you for what felt like the hundredth time.

You noticed as soon as you stabbed him, his cock throbbed inside of you, did he like that? It was your turn to laugh as you rode him, grinding yourself down on his dick, desperate to use this piece of shit for the only thing he was good for.

“You like to hurt people, Mickey? How’s it feel to be the- Ah, fuck- be the one without the power?” You asked him, voice wavering as your hands moved up your body to slowly begin to unbutton your blouse, revealing your bloody chest to him as you ripped it off. You weren’t wearing a bra, and his eyes, although filled with pain, couldn’t help but settle on your tits and oozing wound, still bleeding and staining your tits red.

“I don’t know. How does it feel to be riding a fucking serial killer, you dumb fucking whore?” He growled between gritted teeth. He didn’t like not having power, it was a foreign concept to him.

Your head tipped back, fingers twisting in the soft material of his black robes as you continued to roll your hips against him, one hand moving down your body to toy with your clit. His eyes followed the motion and he groaned as he felt your cunt squeeze around him as you began to rub yourself harshly, his head falling back once again against the hard floor.

“Feels pretty good, especially as I’m going to make sure this is a fuck you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.”

Before he could ask you what the fuck that was supposed to mean, he was taken aback by your hand curling around the butt of the knife and yanking it from his body, he shouted out in pain but your head came down and you kissed him, absorbing his screams into your mouth as your tongue danced across his. He was a mess of a combination of confused, in pain and aroused, for once he didn’t know what to do with himself other than kiss you back, messy and almost hungry, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he snarled and growled against you.

You took his confusion and agony as your moment, reaching beside you to where your jeans laid as you kissed him and pulling your phone quickly from your pocket. You sent a brief text; “call 911 to the cafe, GF.” to a friend before quickly discarding the phone underneath your clothes again.

Your hands finally rested on his shoulders, using him as support as you slammed your hips down, pushing yourself back upright and using his cock like he was nothing more than a piece of meat to you. Usually you liked some give and take, to be spanked, spoke to, for him to fuck you. But in that moment, riding a helpless and partially subdued serial killer and having him completely at your mercy was dragging your impending and quickly building orgasm closer and closer, the feeling of your skin slapping against his as you fucked him, harder than you’d ever fucked anyone. How helpless and agonised and confused yet turned on he looked, knowing that he didn’t have one shred of control in this situation, you knew you were about to cum.

The knife rested against his throat as you came on his cock, making sure to look him in the eye as you did, your cunt clenching around him as you gasped and moaned his name, entire body shaking.

You stayed there for a few moments, his cock still rigid inside of you. You’d made sure he didn’t have the opportunity to cum, made sure he’d gotten so close to the brim that his cock was a weeping, dribbling mess as you pulled him out of you, your hands sliding along his shaft and twisting it once before you released him, letting him pathetically cum in small drizzles on his own stomach, white staining his Ghostface robes and his orgasm ruined as he shouted, “Fuck! No, you fucking cunt, I’ll fucking kill you!”

The two of you heard the sirens before you saw the lights, completely surrounding the cafeteria. You quickly clambered off of him, dropping the knife and grabbing your clothes, pulling them on quickly as Mickey scrambled to his feet, eyes boring straight into yours, absolutely furious.

Not only had you ruined his orgasm, you’d ruined his entire fucking plan in the space of twenty minutes.

He unsteadily rose to his feet, his robes messy and ruffled as they straightened out around him and his eyes were dark and menacing.

The shouts of the cops outside grew closer as his eyes caught the glint of the knife and he bent down, picked it up and twirled it in his hand.

To your surprise, Mickey laughed. It was a dark, sick laugh as he tutted a little, shaking his head at you as if in disappointment. “Now, why’d you have to go and do that?”

You didn’t respond to him, walking back until your back hit the wall again, eyes fixed on his menacing face and toothy grin.

“Why’d you drop the knife? Are you really that fucking stupid? You think the cops are going to get in here before I manage to slash that pretty little throat?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain in your shoulder as you did so before stating simply, “See you in hell I guess,” just as the doors of the cafeteria opened and the police flooded through the doors, guns drawn and pointed at Mickey, who grabbed you by the hair, dragging you in front of him with the sharp side of the blade digging into your throat.

[bee-can-art]

I call this piece, "It's okay, qPhilza has two hands."

• Click for better quality (01/09/2023)

(Details/headcanons below vvv)

Missa

• His whole body is a skeleton existing/floating in a black goop. It's partially see through, allowing people to see the bones inside. It can move and bend in an inhuman way, but it mostly solid to the touch (similar to qSlime's slime body).

• The skeleton's mouth moves when he talks, along with the blue dots in his eyes changin to reflect his mood (seeing as he doesn't have eyebrows, then function like two in one).

• His scythe is more akin to a hand-made one, that anyone could have made. It is both a weapon, tool, and can also reap souls if he wants.

_____

Krisitin

• Is still the literal Goddess of Death (design is consistent for both dsmp and qsmp (but doesn't mean they're the exact same character)).

• Has purple eye with white exes ('X') in them, due to her nature as death herself (this is a design I also use for revived characters).

• Crow skull and a feather from Phil's wing on her hat, alsong with withered rose flowers.

• Has a skull-like shadow/markings on her face, along with her hands and forearms also being the same.

• Her wings are meant to be like lookign into the night sky (i.e. A very dark colour, with speckles of starts through out them). This is only visible on her top set of wings.

• Unlike Missa, her scythe was gifted to her when she began existing. However, it can change it's appearence to however she sees fit. Currently, the handle is made out of Crimson wood, with the blade clamp having a hardcore heart on, and a bird skull opposite the blade.

There is also a piece of string with: red, yellow, and pink hearts intertwined. These are there to prepresent, Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno.

[imgonnabethatone]

q!Phil is kinda avoidant, and I love that for him.

He seems like such a righteous, strong character, right? The wise crow, the Angel of Death, but also a papa. You look at him for five seconds and immediately see a warrior turned father of two who's doing an amazing job and still has his morals and priorities straight. Cellbit (ooc) once commented on how in control Phil seemed that one time when he and three eggs were attacked by the code (he was this 🤏 close to aheart attack) and I haven't been able to let go of it since, especially considering how Cellbit immediately proposed that Philza should be the leader when they had to choose one and everyone agreed. Mr Philza Minecraft is respected and trusted. He is regarded as a strong ally, a formidable opponent, and a force of nature. He is mild and giggly, he loves and hates fiercely, he is calm in the eye of a storm and reliable.

He also relieves himself of even minimal undesirable mental strain without second thought.

He doesn't want to kill other people and doesn't want to know that they would kill him without hesitation, so he avoids them like the plague in hopes that it saves him from the reality of the Purgatory.

He sees the task to kill Pierre and refuses to complete it and initially runs from Pierre to avoid the fight.

He doesn't want to think about Etoiles and what him stabbing Phil in the back means for their friendship, so he turns into a ghost and prays no one finds him.

He feels like an underdog, surrounded by much stronger Green and Blue teams, the players of which are akin to sharks that smell blood in the water. But those were his neighbours just three days ago. Why are they out here, thousands of blocks away from their bases, in his back yard, killing their friends? Badboyhalo and Tubbo lose his trust during the first day, and so he rejects the complexity of their relationship and refuses to hear them out or sympathise. If they are here, then they're out for blood. If they try to talk to him or his team, they are weird. If they try to explain themselves, then they are making excuses that fall on dead ears anyway - he won't hear them out unless he is literally trapped in a conversation with them and he will probably refuse to contact with any of his other friends while they're in the Purgatory.

And then there's his team.

You see, Phil might be the democratically elected team leader, but he isn't really a bossy type. Phil fights exclusively to defend himself or his team and he doesn't cross his lines and that means that he is a good man. And, like, he isn, it's just that his teammates aren't and he really does not care.

(Tubbo sounded regretful about Badboyhalo, at least. But Tubbo is unreliable and an enemy and he was making excuses anyway, because if he wasn't, then Phil is actually not a good man either)

If Cellbit starts plotting to kill someone, he will laugh or look away or pretend he wasn't paying attention. If Charlie proposes an effective, but brutal strategy to eliminate their opponents, he will give a cheerful non-reaction or jokingly state what he thinks on the matter and he won't help, but he won't exactly stop him either - if it works, it works, you know? He wouldn't spawn camp someone, it's bad manners and annoying as fuck, but if it's funny then he will giggle at Charlie's story until he hiccups.

If his team dogpiles a member of opposing team, then well, Philza wouldn't do it.

But his friends just can't help themselves, you know?

[homocrafting]

turns out whatever instinct in me makes me want to make tma aus is unstoppable and all consuming. so here's qsmp tma au focused on the brazillians:

cellbit- he HAS to be the archivist ok this man is so eye aligned it's not even funny. HOWEVER because qcellbit and fcell are the same person, Events happened to him before he became the Archivist, ala from the archives grian. local paranormal enthusiast finds dead half eaten bodies, gets arrested for it (he SWEARS he didn't eat those people), goes to prison for 10 years, goes nuts (becomes F!Cell), kills himself in the island, wakes up in his room and Felps tells him "bro you disappeared for 10 days are you ok" and he's just like. What.

Worth mentioning that he fucking speedruns the archives. also known as the qsmp. Cucurucho, who is kind of like elias but a bit less (I inagine the Host would be elias, wjoever they are), thinks "wooo new archivist I wonder how long it'll take them to find out abt the horrors" and then cellbit shows up 3 days later running on 2 hours of sleep and 20 mugs of coffee with a consipracy board connecting a bunch of statements and theorizing about entities

ALSO the web is around him like all the time. if you pay attention there's at least 2 spiders near him at all times, usually hidden because he squishes them when he sees them. he's tangled in the web of lies that is the plot I'm making for this au and his ass is NOT beating it

Felps- Stranger type of guy who doesn't even know and takes like. a year to realise something's up with him. don't worry abt it ok I don't know why he's stranger-y to me either. it's the vibes just trust me

Mike- ok so. I am Very unsure for pac and mike, PLUS I've not seen herobrine a lenda, which means I don't know all their backstory, BUT I'm thinking Lonely for Mike, so far? he kind of distances himself from everyone after richas dies with him, so far is the only person I've not seen much gay happenings happen to, tends to disappear to fuckall nowhere apparently, as one does. also the fact that, back in prison, he seemed to have the most difficulty connecting with others.

also, the Desolation hates him personally. he doesn't know why. his house has burnt down thrice. he gets burnt by the littlest things for no reason. he's banned from the kitchen. an avatar of the desolation tried to kill him once. he watched his own son die in front of him. this is based on nothing from qsmp or anything I've seen Mike do I just think it's funny

Pac- I can only think of Vast and Spiral for him tee bee eich. Leaning heavily towards the Vast because, you know. gestures to the giant hide and seek maps, and also O RAIO, even though I have 0 context for that. he just... he explores the world and made giant hole (yeah yeah holes are the buried but consider: it's big.). it's his "I can show you the world" vibes. again dude just trust me

note abt tazercraft: both of them are very, very touched by the Spiral. reason? Chume Labs

Forever- I'm thinking either the Buried (mostly the digging aspect- he's destroyed a whole mountain and dug up and entire desert), or the Hunt (his intense hunt for Phil's love, the insane grinding that could be seen as hunting for resources, the werewolf hc my beloved). Leaning more towards the Hunt bc dogboyyyyy

The plot I have in mind is very different from the tma plot, but I'm not sure of everything yet, so for now you get this little bpnus :)

[CLICK]

[Cellbit]

We've been back from the Adoption Center for about a day now. Not a timely update, but things happened, and, well.

We found... we found a weird... creature. It- he? Acts human, although he can't talk. He communicates with us through a little notebook, and overall acts incredibly childish. He sure looks like a child. One with- with some material akin to... to egg shells as skin. He has hair, despite apparently being all... eggy. It's black and curly, covers his face. He doesn't like it when we try to move it away from there, but we're working on a safe way to see what's under there.

He seems not to know where he came from, but I know he's lying. It's- there's no way he doesn't, not with what he said, I don't care if Pac and Mike or, hell, Felps believes him, He called us fucking- he called us dads! That's the first fucking thing he said! It has to be some kind of trap, some kind of spy, I don't know yet but when I find out I'm going to fucking-

Shit. That wasn't too professional. Alright, where were we.

We brought him to the Institute. Forever and I weren't thrilled about the idea, but it was 3 against 2. I can't believe Felps would- I get Pac and Mike, there's something wrong with them I'm sure of it, but Felps? I underestimated his braincells. What am I talking about, he doesn't have any.

(Soft chuckle)

We, we named him Richarlyson, he seemed to like it. We asked his name first, but all he did was draw a- (Snort) a stick figure shrugging.

The only clothes he has are a singular oversized Brazil shirt. The moços and Felps want to go buy him clothes.

I don't know how they'll justify the kid having, I don't know, pure white hard skin, but they said not to worry about it, so I guess I won't! I won't. I fucking won't.

... I'm gonna follow them tomorrow. Just to be safe.

That's all for today, I'm gonna go- I'm going to check some statements, see if there's anything even remotely related to this.

This is Cellbit, Head Archivist of the QSMP, which I still don't known what stands for by the way, signing off.

[CLICK]

[aquilanashes]

purgatory phil reference,,,,with a whole lotta hcs incorporated into this design. theres details under read more.

hhh like okay. the collar is based off shock collars; but instead of the whole 'shocker' part, it injects a drug for the time limit, hunger and dehydration disaster, etc. it has the ticket numbers on it for each member of purgatory (hard to tell) but; each leader has a tag of the team symbol. the red bands are akin to tattoos to control movements during reverse control disaster. since red is in a dry desert area w/ a beach; those areas get extreme humidity closer to the shores, extreme dry heat nearer other areas, and gets freezing at nights. so i needed to imagine what clothes were being worn into purgatory and how theyd work with that type of environment.

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 14 - Just hold on

Warnings: canonical violence

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: a mission goes wrong for Clint and Natasha.

A/N: this almost didn’t get here - so it’s not been read though. it’s been a really rough start to the weekend, so if anyone has a little extra, a hug or a high five would be great.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Everything is still new, but the partnership of work is familiar.

It suits them both, the consistency of work in navigating new relationships.

Natasha runs away more frequently than he can keep up with, but he always manages to bring her back, or sometimes, more recently, she returns on her own.

Fury, Phil and Maria know, but no one else does. One met it gleefully, one with expectancy and the other with a slight distain, even though he seemed to predict it would happen.

Fury tells them that things better not change, the tentative trust amongst them all, anything but stable.

It’s one of the things that sets Natasha on edge, the fear of not being useful in the world.

It doesn’t matter how much Clint tells her it doesn’t matter; that it would never matter to him, if she couldn’t work.

Okinawa is beautiful and the beaches make Natasha just want to sit and stare at the waves going in and out.

The tiny island off the coast of Japan is quaint and peaceful.

“We could just stay here,” she sighs, picking up the camera and checking the memory card.

“It feels so quaint, like the Yakuza shouldn’t be here, and we definitely shouldn’t be making deals with them.”

Clint picks up the small drone, and checks that the battery is charged.

“A deal today, then they help tomorrow, the enemy of our enemy and all that,”

He says it nonchalantly but she knows he feels it too.

Clint watches as she readies herself for the mission, almost like she’s readying for war.

Makeup akin to war paint, outfit like armor, Natasha almost looks like a different person, and he supposes that’s the point.

“The drone will follow you,” he clarifies, “high enough so it shouldn’t be heard and I’ll be taking the photos from this building.”

She nods, “Roxxon has their hands in every pie, it doesn’t surprise me that Fury wants blackmail on them.”

Checking the time, she looks out on the ocean.

“It really is beautiful here,” she says again; and he feels his heart tug at her wistful tone.

“Maybe we’ll come back,” he says, standing next to here, taking her hand walks squeezing it.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” she smiles.

.

Natasha looks at Akita Yodabashi and stares him down.

“The paper work, is what was agreed on, if, you feel it is not, you can take it up with your superiors.”

She stares at him with distain and almost rolls her eyes at his pout.

“It is not what we agreed on,” he says again, slowly as if punctuating each word.

Natasha switches to Japanese.

“Then, tell me what was agreed on,” she replies.

His jaw clenches.

“Money,” he tells her, raising his gun.

“It wasn’t the deal,” she repeats.

“It is now,” he starts.

“You think we didn’t know? We didn’t do our research, just as you have done?”

He throws a phone at her.

“Check the video,” he smiles.

“Then, take me to my money, as agreed.”

Natasha freezes, heart in throat as she opens the phone.

Clint stands surrounded.

Two men on either side, their large guns sling over their shoulders.

Akita smiles, gold tooth glistening.

“Two man team, Shield is very predictable

“Take me, to my money; or he dies,” he starts, “or maybe, he doesn’t die; maybe we start with his fingers, then his hands, his arms, until you give me what is mine.”

Natasha swallows, nodding slowly. Four on one is not a fair fight, no matter how much faith she has in Clint’s skills.

She glances at the video again, he has two hands crossed over his body, their universal sign for “don’t come.”

It makes her all the more anxious and angry.

He’s still in the safe house, the door frame around him, distinctive enough.

They must have been watching them from the moment they got off the plane.

If she didn’t have misgivings about how being in a relationship made them slower before, she did now.

Fury was right.

Cocking the gun and motioning for her to get into the car, Akita pushes it into her back.

“Take me to my money,” he repeats.

Natasha frowns.

“Fine,” she concedes.

She climbs in the drivers seat and waits for him to climb in behind her, pondering her next move.

She has a plan, but it’s stupid, and Clint wouldn’t approve of it; but given the situation that they’re both in, likely it’s the only play they’ve got.

.

Clint laughs.

“Four of you, in my house? For some babysitting?” he jibes, “how lucky am I?”

“Shut up,” says the man with the four and half fingers.

“Are you all missing fingers? All been bad at your jobs? Is that why you’re here?”

Clint gets pistol whipped and he smiles again, his head pulsating with pain.

He glances at the time, and the inert drone and camera.

Natasha was truly on her own.

He wonders how the meeting is going.

Did they really not notice the team of five following them? Or does the Yakuza have that many eyes on the island?

He sighs, looking around for his weapon; or something that might give him the upper hand in a four vs one battle.

It seems that he may just need to wait it out, find out Natasha’s play and go from there.

Turns out, he doesn’t need to wait long.

A car barrels into the house, hitting two of the men square on.

He takes it as his cue, rolling and grabbing a gun.

Two head shots and the other two are dead as well.

Debris is everywhere, he coughs in the dust and moves towards the car, wondering if the Yakuza honcho is inside.

It’s the mess of red on the white airbag that sends him into a panic.

“Nat??! No no no no no,” he moves, amongst the broken house towards her.

She’s not moving, and he feels his heart beating out of his chest. The car is a mangled mess, and the house around them fairing no better, as it starts to crumble.

“Nononono, shit, Nat,” he reaches her and finds her unconscious at the wheel. At least she was wearing her seatbelt.

“Fucccck, Natasha, what were you thinking?” He admonishes, attempting to pull her back.

There’s no response, no groan, no grimace even as he releases the seatbelt, and drags her out.

Akita Yodabashi lays through the windshield, and Clint stares momentarily at his broken body to see if there are any signs of life.

When there are none, he carries her to the front garden, amongst the tyre marks and broken fence.

Setting her down he taps her face lightly.

Still no response.

He feels a faint pulse and sees blood around her mouth.

“Natasha, wake up, now? Ahh, hold on, please, hold on,” he says desperately. The likelyhood of internal bleeding increasing tenfold, maybe collapsed lungs; broken bones. He just doesn’t know.

Satellite phone in hand, he calls it in frantically.

“Widow down, immediate medivac required!”

He listens for the response, and once his location is set, he pushes down again and waits.

It feels like a lifetime.

Gently, he keeps talking to her, telling her she’s an idiot and that he had it handled.

He could have taken on the four, he would have worked it out, she didn’t need to drive the car into the building to give him a chance.

The Japanese authorities arrive quickly, Police, ambulance, fire, they seem to take one look at the scene and know what’s happened, the analysis too quick of the bodies in the house and the two Americans outside of it.

“Help her, please?” Clint asks in rudimentary Japanese, hands gently holding her.

They’re quick to load her into the ambulance, Clint following close by.

The policeman stares at him and Clint is sure he’s going to detain him, instead, he motions for the ambulance to go, and follows too, providing a police escort to the hospital.

.

Clint paces, calling Coulson first, then Maria.

“No news,” he whispers.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Phil says, not understanding.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he says softly, “will you come? They’re asking more questions than I know what to do with and I just want to be close to her.”

“Clint…” he starts.

“No Phil, just come and help me sort this out, okay?”

Clint runs his hands through his hair and looks into the hospital room, three hours in surgery to repair two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a broken arm and perforated liver.

His concern pulls and he walks back inside changing up on Coulson.

She looks so pale, so fragile, hooked to machines; intubation running out of her mouth to support her frail lungs.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispers, taking her unbroken hand.

“An absolute idiot. What am I going to do with you?”

His kisses her hand, then becomes self conscious as a nurse walks in.

Clint steps back as she checks on Natasha.

His phone buzzes.

“I’ll be there in twenty four hours,” it reads.

.

[apollos-boyfriend]

What kinda ultimates do you think the members of QSMP would have?

to absolutely No One’s surprise i have, in fact, thought about this extensively. so here are all the ones i’ve decided on

jaiden is, obviously, the ultimate animator. not only is it true to her, it Also matches up with sdr2’s backstory as to how despair spread (as stupid as i think that explanation was). if they’re in a simulation, it would make sense for a danganronpa au that they were put there for the same reason that the 77th class was to return them to their pre-remnant states. (additionally, i think the explanation for the new arrivals would be that the brazilians, french, etc weren’t captured with the original cast and found later, hence why they weren’t added in at the beginning)

roier calls himself the ultimate spider-man. no one knows his actual talent because he’s ADAMANT on that being it, but they’re pretty sure it’s something akin to ultimate traceur (parkourist) or ultimate stuntman/stunt double.

arin is the ultimate AI, kind of in the same sense of alter ego. except instead of inhabiting a computer, he’s taken residence in luzu

charlie is the ultimate gymnast OR ultimate acrobat. i’m leaning towards acrobat as to not have Too many titles match those of the actual games. inspired by him being el backflipo :]

i think it’d be funny if mariana was the ultimate superhero based on his skin alone. what does that title even mean? fuck if i know! but it’s funny

foolish is, ofc, the ultimate builder.

similarly obvious is phil being the ultimate survivalist

and wilbur being the ultimate musician

bad is currently the ultimate caretaker! i say currently because considering his backstory partially consists of killing thousands with cellbit in the hunger games, i think he originally had a much darker title. not ultimate assassin like maki necessarily, but something akin to it. unlike maki, his new title isn’t any sort of cover-up, and just genuinely what he’s turned to nowadays

i’m not too sure on fit yet, but i definitely want to make him something sports/body-building related because of his gym. maybe ultimate bodybuilder or coach? he’s in that field Somewhere

someone joked about ultimate yandere for forever and ADMITTEDLY i did toy with the idea. as funny as it is, i think he’d more accurately be the ultimate terraformer/landscaper, considering his past clearing of a mountain and current clearing of an entire desert. maybe ultimate yandere could be a secret title, like junko’s ultimate analyst or the ultimate hope title?

pac and mike definitely have matching ultimates in the science field somewhere, considering they’re currently building their laboratory/factory! i’m not sure what exactly yet tho, just that they’re somewhere around there

and lastly, cellbit is the ultimate cryptanalyst/code breaker! he’s individually devoted himself to any and all mysteries, but his biggest strength is by far code-breaking.

that’s all i got so far! i don’t know enough about the other members/don’t have enough to go off of to give them titles sadly :( additionally, rubius doesn’t get his own ultimate because he’s one of the “helpers” (like monokuma, monomi, the cubs, etc)

bonus: the eggs get their own ultimates too :] going off the lil ultimate system being strictly named after classes

tallulah is the lil ultimate music (based on her flute)

bobby is the lil ultimate art (based on his room being full of his + his family’s paintings)

dapper is the lil ultimate woodshop (based on his interest in create!)

richarlyson is the lil ultimate p.e. (based on him wearing a futebol jersey)

[nomsfaultau]

Long and kinda dumb questions lol, sorry if you already answered them before

What’s the survivability rate if a reader ever got sucked into the Fault Universe? Considering F!Philza had that meta moment of seeing the reader’s eye so he might recognise the reader’s presence(?), along with the void more than ready to devour anything from the real world, etc. How many seconds would a reader survive before dying?

What would happen if you put an Everything Bagel (like in EEAAO) into the void?

depends where you drop. If it’s inside the Foundation, they’d probably do some testing and figure you’re human and were just caught in the effects of an unknown anomaly. That is, sorta assuming you don’t register as an incomprehensible eldritch being akin to a 3D object showing up in Flatland due to being a full person instead of a character. I think potentially you can see the words woven into all characters and objects and setting. But the characters are made to act like people and it’s not like they’d know hey you actually have an independent and vibrant inner world whereas they only exist in their actions, so I figure you’d still register as human. As long as you reveal know knowledge of what’s happening or the story at large, best case scenario they amnestize and catch and release you. Now they will also try to recruit you, since a good chunk of their recruitment is people who witnessed anomalous events. But if you’re adamant but not suspicious you can walk out a very confused but free man. Past that just avoid Indiana/Illinois and you’re golden. A reader could survive Fault an entire lifetime with no/little impact from the plot. Potentially could run into a random anomaly, but like due to it being a story it may be that those don’t exist outside of one’s directly introduced in text. People might not exist unless mentioned, or may only be cardboard cutouts with decreasing resemblance to independent functional humans the further you get from characters that have agency in the plot.

……..at which point it’s a good question to ask things like, do places exist if the POV characters haven’t been to them? Is there a line scratched across the world from their journey, the rest of existence lost in a fog of war style? Or is it only in islands of when a scene occurred? Does the world only render around where a scene is currently happening, vanishing the moment the main characters move on? What happens if the world around you stops existing and you’re left there, the only thing real in a sea of words. Do you starve if left in a void? Or did eating ever serve you to begin with, each bite tasting like ink? Does your body need air? Can you even breathe in a story or is it only sentences and syllables pretending to be air? What is pain if only a description? Perhaps you’re the only one that can even die in a story, the rest never alive to begin with, revived every time someone starts at the first page.

haha anyways Phil would not recognize the reader since you’re not the reader anymore, absorbing his inner thoughts and consuming his story. Also not very very cosmically big anymore, more people sized. I suppose if you explain what’s happening to Phil he’s very offput, but mostly because he wouldn’t believe you. And if he did his existential crisis would be so strong that he turns into a little pile of letters since his body is defined by his internal perception. Oops. Buh bye Philza!

And if you run into the void they just will eat you no matter what. Wilbur won’t be able to stop it or even have time to react. You’re like…a five star Michelin meal after eating pictures of food ones entire life. Just an absolute snacc. So if the world doesn’t exist around the main characters and the moment you’re close the void eats you, you die immediately!

As for the Everything Bagel, the entire universe of the movie Everything Everywhere All At Once would be devoured. Shame. I hear it was a great movie

[humanfox030]

I regret to inform you all that to me (Wit) Hoid looks akin to Jerma

Angular face, pronounced cheekbones, the nose, the hair...

(I'm not mentioning Phil Lester white hair Hoid, that's a whole other story)

[pebblemae]

Ok, so Phil is slowly going crazy over what feel like hallucinations, so picture this. Phil sees something else akin to the vines and picture thing recently, and since photos didn’t work, he just stands there staring at it while he messages someone to “come look at this”.

Phil stares without moving to make SURE it doesn’t move, change, or outright disappear and finally someone (Fit probably?) shows up and he’s so excited. Finally! Someone else will see what he’s seeing! He’s not crazy! It’s real! Fit walks up to Phil, looks at what he’s looking at and says “oh, did it disappear again?”

Phil’s heart sinks. He’s looking right at it and they see nothing.

What’s happening to him?