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companionhell · 11 days

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I'm a slut for the 'overheard conversation' trope so like,,, romanced companions react to overhearing a nervous Sole as they're practicing their proposal speech? Bonus if Sole is ramble monologuing out loud they're worried it's not good enough for their amazing bf/gf. Just some nice fluff to make your day bright. ((Only if you want to of course. Love ur work, m8))

This ended up pretty long, so I put it under a read more. Enjoy! :)

Cait: Cait’s hearing wasn’t the best after years in the deafening Combat Zone, but Sole wasn’t exactly speaking quietly. So she listened in pretty damn easily-- who in god’s name was Sole talking to, anyway?

“Cait, darling,” Sole said, then paused. Cait strained to hear more, interested by the mention of her name, but the next few words were mumbled. The next she heard was the middle of a sentence: “--start over. Look, I know this isn’t… this maybe isn’t what you were expecting. I don’t know. This stuff is different, after the war. But I can’t think… shit, no, that’s bad.” Sole took a rattling breath, and Cait stepped closer over squeaky floorboards-- what was all this about? “You’re just… Cait, you’re everything to me, and I’m so in love with you, and I just… I wanna marry you.”

Sole jumped when Cait opened the door, looking her lover in the eyes. “You… you just said… you want to marry me? That’s… you really mean that?” Cait’s eyebrows were raised in absolute surprise, and when Sole nodded nervously, Cait broke into a genuine smile. “Never thought I’d be the marryin’ type,” she said, pulling Sole into a kiss. “But, if you really want it… I don’t think you know how much this means to me.”

Curie: Curie did have some manners programmed into her, but her intense desire to learn more about people in general (and Sole in particular) won out. She’d never understood talking to yourself, and she hoped to figure out more by listening in on Sole from the next room, thinking of it more as scientific observation than eavesdropping. It was quite a fascinating habit, after all!

But after only a minute or two, Curie quickly figured out what was going on. “Curie, my love. I don’t know… Okay, not that. Um, there’s a human tradition I’d like you to participate in. With me. It’s to show how much I love you, to promise I’ll stay with you forever… alright, that’s a little better.” Curie started smiling behind her hands, unable to contain the butterflies of excitement in her stomach. Ignoring Sole’s next mutterings about how she deserved a better speech, Curie made her way to their bedroom with a lovestruck expression.

“Oh, mon p’tit chou!” Curie exclaimed. Sole stood at the mirror, holding what looked like a pre-war ring, surprise and embarrassment filling their face as they realized that Curie had heard. She didn’t care that she’d flustered them, though, and clasped her hands to her chest. “Is it true, my love?” Once having received Sole’s affirmation, Curie pressed light kisses on their face in quick succession, speaking in between: “Oh, I love you. I feel my heart may burst- I never knew there could be such bliss.”

Danse: Danse wasn’t really consciously eavesdropping. The house’s walls were thin, and he was just drawing out possible modifications in the next room when he heard Sole talking to themselves. He didn’t think much of it at first- they talked in their sleep, after all. It was likely just another unthinking habit of theirs, so he barely processed their words while he concentrated.

“This needs to be good.. I can’t… ah, damn, I’m going to mess this up.” Danse heard the nervousness in Sole’s voice and momentarily forgot his work, eyebrows furrowing. “Alright. Recent events have been… uh, difficult. For all of us. And I know you’ve been taking time to sort everything out. I have been, too. I was just dropped into the apocalypse without my family, and since then, it’s mostly only gotten worse.” Danse put down the pen and stood, hesitating. He didn’t know what to do, but Sole spoke again. “But if there’s one part of this world I couldn’t live without, it’s… it’s you, Danse. You’re more important to me than words could say. I’m in love with you. And I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to marry you.”

Sole stopped talking, interrupted by loud footsteps rounding the corner and the door slamming open. Danse stood there, flustered and mouth agape, eyes surprised and confused. “Did you… Did you just say you want to marry me?” Sole, more shocked than embarrassed, repeated their proposal, and Danse moved to hold them close, arms wound snugly around the person who’d, months before, saved his life. “I… I can’t explain to you how much that means to me. It’s… a lot to think about, but… I can’t imagine facing the world without you.”

Deacon: Deacon knew something was up with Sole from the minute he heard them talking to themselves. He stepped silently to the end of the hallway, avoiding the squeaky floorboards whose locations he’d memorized, and stopped by the doorway. Deacon steadied his breathing, shifted the center of his weight, and listened.

“Deacon, I…” There was a deep exhale. Deacon’s heart jumped for a moment- had he been seen? But no, Sole continued. “I need to tell you that in this insane world, one of the first things I learned was not to trust anybody. But I can’t help but feel that you’re… different, I guess. Shit, I need another word… you’re… you make this big show about lying a lot, but you don’t bullshit about your beliefs. You don’t bullshit about how fucked-up all this is, and you don’t bullshit about where you came from, and that makes you more genuine than nine-tenths of the people here. I’ve fallen in love with you, Deacon, and I wanna marry you.”

Deacon couldn’t stop himself from inhaling sharply. He… he needed to go think about it. So he quietly made his way outside, lighting a cigarette and staring into the post-apocalyptic wilderness. And Deacon thought- he thought about Barbara, and about the love he’d been so happy to find in Sole, and about himself. Could he commit to moving on? Would Barbara have wanted him to? Did it matter? The next few days were more solemn for him than usual, as he made his decision. And he was glad he’d thought about it- glad that, when Sole finally got it together and proposed, he was able to finally say yes.

Gage: Gage wasn’t really the stealthy type. Looking for Sole, he checked every room in the house, finally walking to their shared bedroom. He didn’t even bother trying to muffle his steps, and considering the heavy-ass cage armor he wore, Gage was pretty damn loud. So when he saw that Sole hadn’t even noticed said clunking footsteps, and that they were so focused on muttering to themselves that they hadn’t turned around to see him, Gage had to listen in.

The first few seconds was just Sole swearing before sighing heavily. “Gage… It’s been a wild ride.” What the hell did that mean? Gage didn’t have time to think about it too much before Sole shook their head and moved on. “This world is fucking insane, and- I don’t think the people are more untrustworthy. I think they’re just more honest about it. Anyway, it was kinda a culture shock. But after wandering in the wasteland, I found my place. At Nuka-World. As leader of the raiders. Gage, I found my place with you.” His eyebrows shot up. Their relationship usually didn’t involve this kinda sappy shit- but this felt more important than usual. “I… I love you, Porter. And I know it’s not a raider ‘thing,’ but fuck it- I’m the Overboss, and I say what I want, so I wanna get married.”

“Damn, Sole,” Gage said, crossing his arms. Sole couldn’t ignore that one. They turned, clearly flustered at the interruption, and opened their mouth to speak- “Nah, gimme a minute, boss. Shit, Sole, that was somethin’ else. And… I guess marryin’ always seemed like bleeding heart bullshit to me, but… you are friggin’ amazing, boss, and if I’m stickin’ with anybody for life, ain’t nobody I’d rather be with than you.” He smiled, kind of sheepishly, and when Sole came over to embrace him, Gage held them tighter than he ever had before.

Hancock: Yeah, okay, Hancock was being kinda sneaky. But the ghoul had damn good ears (what was left of ‘em, anyways), and couldn’t help but try to listen when he heard muttering coming from the room he shared with Sole. So there he was, half-crouched in the hallway, straining to hear what his significant other was saying. This wouldn’t be as hard if Sole wasn’t speaking so damn quiet, anyway.

“John.” That was the first word Hancock heard, and he was already paying attention. Sole only called him that when they were being serious- a couple of near-death scenarios, a heartfelt conversation or two, maybe a few (or more) of their nights together. “My love, I know… commitment isn’t your thing. I understand. And I know you’re doing a lot more of that than usual for me-- I’ve seen you turning down hopefuls from Goodneighbor up to Far Harbor. But I just… I love you, John, and it would mean a lot…” A pause, and a heavy sigh. “Fuck it, I’m never gonna do this right.”

Hancock had inched close enough to the threshold to see Sole staring at their hands- was that a ring glinting in the light? His breath caught in his throat and before he knew it he was tip-toeing outside, somewhere open, somewhere else. He rummaged in his bag for something to take the edge off, but nothing seemed right-- Jet to slow the hell down or Mentats to think clearly? Hancock settled on both, and he sat there and thought for what felt like hours. From the minute he woke up from his radioactive dose he’d never expected anyone to wanna deal with him for much longer than a night or two. Sole was the wrench in that plan… and the best damn thing that’d ever happened to him. Oh, Hancock had made his decision when Sole was the first person he’d sincerely told he loved them since childhood. And when they finally got their act together and asked him, he might as well confirm it.

MacCready: MacCready was about to amble into the room, looking for a comic he’d misplaced- he was sure he’d last been reading it in bed- then heard Sole talking. He stopped instinctively, pausing at the door to listen. Was… anybody else in there with them? No, it seemed like the only one speaking was an increasingly frustrated Sole. MacCready debated with himself for a minute, then elected to stay there, leaning closer to the door to better hear.

“RJ, you gave me something a while back. Something that meant a lot to you.” Were they talking about the toy soldier? What the heck was going on? MacCready edged closer. Sole was sitting on the bed, turning something over in their hands. “It’s time for me to… No, that’s stupid. Um, I want to give something to you too. I love you, RJ. We’ve both lost a lot, but I think it’s best we look to the future. Together.” They slumped, muttering something about how they sounded like an idiot, and MacCready finally caught a glimpse of what they were holding. A ring. Identical to the one they always wore.

He felt tears burning his eyes. After Lucy, he thought he’d always be alone. And here came Sole, who’d not only saved his life and his son’s, but also made him happy for the first time in years. Not barely getting by, not ignoring his pain, but truly happy. “Hey, handsome/beautiful,” he said, crossing the threshold. He laughed at Sole’s shocked expression, and found himself unable to stop smiling. “I definitely don’t deserve someone as good as you, but… hey, if you wanna keep this little thing we have going forever, well, who am I to say no?”

Nick: Alright, Nick had a sneaky bone or two. You had to in his line of business. But he made a point of not going digging through Sole’s dirty laundry, so he tried his absolute hardest to be as not-nosy as possible when he heard them talking from the bedroom. But good god, were they talking for a long time. And loudly. He walked down the hallway, fully intending to alert Sole to his presence, mind you, but heard them say his name. He stopped. What on earth were they on about?

“Nick, I wanted… no.” Sole took a deep breath. “Nick. My love. You’re the best man in the Commonwealth, synth or not. You’re compassionate, and caring, and funny as hell. And I…” They paused, as if thinking. Nick watched from the doorway. Sole was looking into the mirror, staring at themself, and shook their head. “I’m not good enough for you. But… I love you, Nick. And I kinda want to stick together. ‘Long as I’m kicking, anyway. There doesn’t need to be any ceremony or anything if you don’t want to-–”

Nick didn’t hear anything after that. Ceremony? He retreated back down the hallway, as quietly as he came, and sat on the front stoop. Lit up a cigarette. Watched the sunset and the comings and goings of the neighbors. He thought for a long time, examining his reluctance to marry Sole-- the best thing that had happened to him in his decades wandering the Commonwealth. It wasn’t Jenny. God knows she’d have wanted him to move on years ago. And it wasn’t a lack of love. Sole was all an old bot could ask for– the luckiest day of his life was the day they crawled outta that cryo-pod. It had more to do with his disbelief that a stunner like Sole would want to be tied down to a run-down synth with a bum hand and a hole in his neck. He didn’t deserve them. But hey, it was their choice, he thought, looking up at the stars. He’d marry them, alright. And he’d follow wherever they led.

Piper: Piper grinned when she heard Blue mumbling in the bedroom. Their sleeptalking was always priceless. She grabbed a pad of paper from her pocket and slowly eased her way down the hallway, careful not to make too much noise. Sole was a light sleeper. Piper peeked around the door, her playfulness rapidly turning to confusion as she saw that Sole wasn’t asleep, after all. They were sitting on the bed, turned away from her, but still speaking softly. What the heck were they doing?

Sole looked deep in thought. “Maybe start out with… Piper, you’re hard on yourself. Hmm… no, that’s no good.” What? Piper was hard on herself? She leaned in closer to hear. She had good ears, but Blue was barely speaking audibly. Sole kept going. “I know you think of yourself as loud and pushy, but what I see is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. You’re confident, you’re honest, and you’re determined to do good in the world.” Sole looked down at something they held in their hands. “And I know the institution of marriage probably isn’t important to you– or to the Commonwealth, generally– but I thought I’d ask– no, that’s wrong…”

As Sole continued workshopping their phrasing, Piper’s jaw dropped. Marriage? She sidled into the bedroom, purposefully stepping loudly, and saw a glint of gold in Blue’s hands. “Blue!” she said too loudly, startling Sole, who nearly dropped the ring. “Oh, I, uh– Damn it, I’m sorry, Blue, I messed up your moment.” Piper came closer, cupping Sole’s face in her hands. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” She kissed their forehead, smiling at their still-shocked face as she pulled away. “My answer is yes. I will marry you, Blue.”

Preston: Preston definitely hadn’t meant to overhear anything. He’d woken up with his arms empty. Sole wasn’t there. Not too unusual– sometimes they got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Still, it was hard to sleep without Sole next to him. Groggily, he lifted his head off the pillow and looked around. It was dark. No moonlight shone through the window. But under the bathroom door, there was a crack of light. And through the wall, he could swear he heard… mumbling?

Preston frowned. It had been about a year since they’d taken down the Institute– since Shaun had died. He couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. He’d woken up before to find them crying, silently, in his arms, and done his best to comfort them. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and rolled out of bed, crossing quietly to the bathroom door. Inside, he could hear Sole speaking. He paused for a second to listen. “Preston, I– I don’t think I can… no, that’s no good.” Preston furrowed his eyebrows, lifted his hand up to knock, but was interrupted when Sole started speaking again. “I can’t express in words how much I love you. You’re– you’re kind, and loving, and sweet, and– shit, I’m rambling. Um–”

Preston smiled, leaning on the door so it swung open. “What are you…” He trailed off as he saw what Sole was holding. A ring. The ring that matched the one they always wore. Tears pricked at his eyes. “Are you… planning to propose? …To me?” When Sole confirmed it, Preston beamed. He didn’t think he’d ever stop smiling. He pulled Sole into a hug, pressing kisses against their temples and their forehead. “God, I love you. Of course I’ll marry you– if you’ll have me.”

X6-88: X6 was... concerned. When he and Sole spent an evening at Sanctuary, they usually spent their free time tinkering with their weapons or armor. Or catching up with the settlers. But this time, they’d simply given him a kiss and retreated straight to the bedroom. After two hours of messing with mods for his laser pistol, it seemed clear that Sole wouldn’t be joining him anytime soon. So he quietly trod down the hall. As he approached the bedroom door, he could hear Sole speaking.

“Why am I doing this anyway?” X6 moved closer. Had he done something to upset them? Why not talk to him about it? “He’ll think it’s too sentimental... shit. Maybe I can-- um, alright. X6.” He started, thinking for a moment that Sole had discovered him in the hallway, but they continued talking. Practicing talking to him? “You’re determined, you’re loyal, you’re funny. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And-- and it would mean a lot to me if-- well, you might not care about this kind of thing, but...”

“What kind of thing?” X6 asked, stepping into the room. Sole whipped around to look at him, too surprised to hide what they’d been holding. A gold ring. A wedding ring. X6 took a moment. Sole was right, in a way. He’d keep watching their back until the day he died, and he had never thought of needing a ring or a ceremony to prove it. But... Sole was the person he most cared for in the world. Maybe the only person he cared for. And if wearing a ring was important to them? He would proudly wear his loyalty to them on his finger. It was no object.

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #cait #curie #danse #deacon #gage #hancock #maccready #nick valentine #piper wright #preston garvey #x6-88 #guess who's back LOL

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isa-ghost · 14 days

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q!phil and q!pac hcs peepoShy :3

YESSS I really need to watch more Pac, translator be damned. >:0

qPhil headcanons masterlist

Pac is, like many others, in the I Want Phil To Take Me On A Flight club. He thinks it's so fucking cool

He doesn't have the ability to clock Phil as well as Fit can. But Fit confides in him on a lot, esp to do with things he's worried about, so Pac actually knows some of Phil's "something is wrong" tells, even if they're the more obvious ones.

And then he promptly goes to Fit like "Phil needs an emotional support ass kicking 👍🏻"

Phil is the #2 Fitpac shipper (Ramon is #1). And Phil knows Fit intimately in many ways. He passes All his secrets onto Pac gladly. He's like "go get him m8. Give him Brazilian Boyfriend Brainrot"

You'd think there'd be a little jealousy or something because of the fact that Phil has been With Fit consistently prior to him and Pac dating, but nah. They love conspiring against him together and Fit knows they do. Also Phil backed off right away when they got serious, so Pac knows everything's chill

Phil can Tell there's more to Pac than meets the eye. This is Mike's best friend. Survivor of Cellbit cannibalism. Known for having a danger boner for fucked up dudes. Pac seems super nice and well-mannered at first glance but Phil can TELL he saves the true extent of how unhinged he can be for the people closest to him. He wants to see Pac go apeshit someday.

I really really want to see these two allied in a fight bc I genuinely don't know what they'd be like. Just the two of them, or at least paired up while whoever else they're teamed with is paired up elsewhere. But something tells me Pac has a side that would get along Very well with the Angel of Death,,,,

Pac is one of the people Phil considers closest to himself. There's nothing he won't do for him and anything he needs, Phil will bend over backwards to get it if that's what Pac wants.

Phil loves being a test monkey for Tazercraft fuckery. It's always so weird and fun. Occasionally he'll ask Pac if they have any new wild or silly shit for him to see.

Tbh I wouldn't put it past Pac (& perhaps Mike) to be extremely interested in hybrids and asking Phil a million questions about it

Phil can NOT talk shit abt the danger boner btw. Motherfucker's type is literally "death entity." A Goddess of Death and a grim reaper holding either of his hands. Bitch can't say ANYTHING. (I want these two to talk abt their types I think it would be extremely funny)

Pac knows very little about Phil getting possessed, but he DOES know something happened to him. Fit kept things extremely vague out of respect for Phil.

Phil may be the #2 Fitpac shipper, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't envy that they get to see each other often. But Phil is Phil, so instead of getting weird about it, he just commits to doing whatever he can to support them. At least there's one happy healthy mlm couple on the island.

Btw if Pac came to Phil about whatever the fuck is going on with Fit and his past, Phil's ready to kill a bitch with Pac immediately, and he'd let Pac do most of the actual ass kicking as he deserves. (oooo the ccs want to give me this soooo baadddd)

Controversial (/silly) take: Phil and Pac are both slutty, bubbly drunks.

#qsmp #qsmp philza #philza #q!philza #qsmp pac #q!pac #qphil headcanons #qsmp pactw #q!pactw

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soulsilversprings · 1 year

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So we all agree that Gary already knew here that Ash would win the M8, right?

What gets me is that he never gave Ash his typical "don't get too cocky" speech - because he knows he doesn't need it. All that's left to do is encourage each other to "keep on keepin' on" 🥺

I really think that Gary's "you're not the one I'm worried about" line applies to the M8 too. He's not worried about Ash anymore. He knows he'll be okay <33

Really, the only question Ash needs to hear from Gary at this point in his journey is, "What's next?"

#their influence on each other is unmatched #gary perceptive king #palletshipping #shigesato #ash x gary #gary oak #pokeani #pokemon journeys #truthfully - i think gary's known for even longer that ash would make it this far #but that's an essay for another day (read: scene in a fic)

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fernsnailz · 4 months

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What's the core story for your ocs? (Also just free space to ramble about your ocs)

OOUGH ok so a lot has changed within the past like half year as i've been trying to develop their story so bear with me. i originally had the checkm8 trio (check, m8, and lucy) as a rock band that traveled across the solar system, but i recently decided to remove the band element from the trio so i have more of a chance to actually create this story lol. the musical aspect of it was holding me back from developing a lot of it bc i'm not very musically inclined, so i said fuck it and changed them all to mechanics lol. it's not as glamorous but lemme tell ya it's been WAY easier for me to write this gang when i don't have to worry about music composition

the story of check, m8, and lucy is about being in your 20s and having no fucking clue what you're doing with your life. after check finds m8 in a junkyard (and an accident where they accidentally explode lucy's spaceship), the trio hops across the moons and planets of the soar system to work various mechanic jobs for a few different reasons: 1. so they can get the funds to help lucy buy a new spaceship, 2. so they can try to find a way to regain m8's memory, and 3. because none of them have anything better to do. along the way, they meet various eclectic people, robots, and old friends that further help the gang figure out who they are and what the hell they're doing. and through this, the three of them have to confront the mistakes they've made, the people they've left behind, and a solar system that seems to turn against them every step of the way.

i like them a lot. hopefully one day it will become something people can enjoy :]

#checkm8 #fernasks #original art

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factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

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(Happy Ending AU, goes after Fit talks to Pac and Mike)

It's early, too early in Forever's personal opinion. Nothing specific woke him up, however, so he gets to work in his base. He isn't really up to thinking right now, so he simply grabs items from the witch farm and dumps them into barrels - he'll be able to find it later, he's sure.

After ten minutes or so he feels a little more awake and no less alive, and his communicator pings.

Ph1LzA whispers to you: hey m8 u up?

Seeing the message from Philza, Forever's heart skips a beat. He cannot help the grin that sneaks its way onto his face as he types out a reply.

You whisper to Ph1LzA: heeeeey~ do you need me?

Ph1LzA whispers to you: yes

Ph1LzA whispers to you: need a second pair of eyes on something

Any message from Philza is usually enough to peak Forever's interest - they've found a balance now, a comfortable one even, but it's still always wonderful to hear from him.

You whisper to Ph1LzA: I can come over?

Ph1LzA whispers to you: can I come yours i need a break

You whisper to Ph1LzA: always

By the time Forever has walked over to the warpstone, Philza is already there. He seems fine, and isn't carrying anything, just waving with an "'ey mate!"

"Philza!" Forever jogs the rest of the way over. "I knew waking up early was a good idea!"

He didn't, but it seems like one now.

Philza laughs, "appreciated. I've been trying to catch you for weeks, but god am I tired. Here, can we sit somewhere?"

"This way."

Forever doesn't really think before dragging Philza into the witch bar, grabbing a random potion for each of them and the atmosphere. His friend laughs and takes it, though it is quickly swapped for water instead.

Forever checks the cupboard. Potions of harming. Oops.

Still, Philza doesn't bring it up, just pours the water into a shitty cup and taps a nail against it.

The longer it goes on for, the more worried Forever gets.

"Is..." he hesitates a little. "Everything okay?"

"Just haven't been sleeping well," the words come with a yawn and a stretch. "I'll head back after this. Just gotta... This might sound really dumb, okay? I need you to tell me if it sounds dumb. Because I'm about at the point of asking Cellbit for help working this shit out, and I do not want to send him on a wild goose chase."

Those words really do not help Forever's worry. Still, he nods, and plasters a grin to his lips, "you could never be dumb, Felipe."

"Oh I can be plenty dumb. Do it all the time," Philza laughs a bit, but it tastes sour. "Anyway, the plan. Fit didn't laugh me off, and Missa actually gave me an idea. But, the idea's still a few bone short of a broth, and I'd tell you anyway, and well... Yeah."

"Yeah?" Forever considers the two people. It's... Whatever this is, it's not going to be related to why Philza is so tired and so strained - that's okay, he'll try again another time, for now he just wants to hear what he is being trusted with.

"Before I start... I trust you, okay? You can tell whoever you like about this, but you've /got/ to be sure they won't let it get back to the Feds - even if its via other parties. My judgement's shit on this, so I'll trust you with that."

Philza pauses, clearly waiting for a confirmation. Forever also pauses, then nods back - tries not to think about those words so casually said, the trust and the faith and the hope placed in him.

"And I know you've got a lot on your plate, so I really do just need you to tell me if I've completely lost the plot," there's something haunted in Philza's eyes with those words.

"I know, Philza," Forever flicks the name with his tongue, playing with it in his mouth. "I will. What do you need."

"Okay. So," Philza pauses after just those words. "For a bit, I've had this idea, right? Half of us don't have lives we can take the eggs with us, and nobody wants to get split up after. So? What's the point in escaping? Other than being free of the Feds. And I'm pretty sure some people will keep the Feds to keep the community. My thought then is, what if we don't /have/ to loose the community? What if we find an uninhabited world and rebuild our lives together there? Can bring the eggs, get unlimited respawns for everyone, portal through to the hubs so everyone can come and go..."

"Could it work?" Forever's mind is thinking. "It'd need a strong foundation, and a patron... I think? Worlds aren't really my strong point."

"But they are one of mine," Philza grins. "I should be able to hold it myself, for a month or two, even with fifty inhabitants. During that time, I can get in contact with my wife - she's a goddess so she should be able to hold it longer. If she agrees. And if anyone else knows anyone who'd help out, well, having Death as the only influence is probably a bad idea anyway. Forgot to mention that bit to Missa, probably should have, but details there can be worked out later. Need the rest of a plan first."

"Like the actual escape part?" Forever asks, not wanting to interrupt, but seeing Philza starting to doubt himself.

Philza nods, then frowns, "kinda? I have half an idea, but it needs stuff we don't have."

Forever's ears twitch up, "like?"

"My wings," Philza shakes them, hesitating a moment before pressing on. "I'm still not sure how to get the rest of you out, but... If I had them, I could get out, scout, maybe find help?"

Everyone has heard Philza complain about his wings, but few have seen the damage to them truly. Forever isn't sure how bad it is, but he's not even sure he could tell if he saw them.

And then Philza is, somewhat nervously, taking off his backpack, and then the cape which hides his wings. Nervously he unfolds them, and lets Forever see.

Gently Forever reaches out, running a hand down snapped feathers. They themselves are broken - far more of them than would be needed to ground Philza, every single one is cut in half or further - and the flesh beneath... In spots where the feathers are plucked, the skin is angry and raw. Under everything it is uneven, heavily scarred and warped like entire chunks were ripped away.

And the shape, when he looks... Philza's wings are different shapes, the bones of one - maybe both - snapped and regrown out of alignment.

"You just said clipped," Forever whispers. "This is..."

Philza shuffles uncomfortably, "they are clipped."

Forever doesn't wait longer. He opens his arms, and captures Philza within them. Squeezes his friend, holds him close, holds him tight.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"Sometimes."

There's a lie in Philza's eyes and the way he holds Forever a little tighter. Always, then, and Forever's fragile heart snaps again.

"Are they..." He hesitates. "Can they even be fixed?"

Philza turns and looks at his wings, shuddering at the state of them, "the feathers will be replaced in a few months, but last time the Feds came and clipped them again. The rest..." a hesitation. "Yes."

"How?" Forever demands. "How do I help you?"

"The End," Philza shakes his head a little. "The End would heal them... Maybe surgery, or some magic, but... When I've hurt them before, I've always returned to The End."

Forever wants to ask, he desperately does, to know why the End would heal Philza in a way nothing else can. He doesn't, though, he does a look struggling to stay present well enough. Instead he starts thinking - as President he doesn't really have the power to do anything, let alone to demand Philza be permitted to visit the End. There's no doctors here, and their closest thing to a witch is Cellbit...

There are tools Philza is unfamiliar with, though. Maybe... Philza's knowledge of the natural world is incredibly - Philza is incredible - but Forever knows he is less capable in the hands of redstone and machines. Perhaps, perhaps...

But no, not yet - speak to the other engineers first, at least. It's just a case of knowing who would keep Philza's trust. Pac and Mike, perhaps, they'd enjoy the challenge.

"And once they're healed, what would you do?" Forever asks.

"Fly," Philza says it like that word holds the hope of humanity and the life of the worlds in its hands.

"I meant about escaping and making us a home," Forever teases.

"Oh," Philza snaps back. "Yeah, that, um. So if I could get to the End I could just jump off and into the void, get out that way. Otherwise... There's a trick, with tnt and the bedrock. You know it?"

"Yeah, but..." Forever hesitates a bit, and he feels Philza emotionally close in the silence. "That's a one way ticket to death."

"Nah," Philza softens again. "You worried about me, king? I'll be fine."

"It's the void!" Forever objects. "You need a train, or a boat, or - or some protection! Otherwise you fall and you die."

"Hence the wings."

"Won't you suffocate?"

"Not if I'm careful; I've done it before."

Forever thinks in horror of the idea at Philza flying through the void, lacking in air, scorching himself. He grabs Philza's face, checks it - checks him - for scars from the void, for the pain it must have caused.

Philza's hands gently close over Forever's, "I'm okay, mate; it's not a method I'd recommend to anyone else. Wouldn't risk it carrying one of you, either."

Fuck, no, Philza definitely shouldn't.

Forever goes to object, but then he remembers... The End. Philza's insistence such a place could heal him. If - if - that is true, if Philza hasn't been madder than they thought this entire time... Then perhaps the void would love him as his own.

Calls into doubt if those are crow wings, however. Not that Forever could tell - he's never met a crow.

"You'll be careful?"

"I don't even have my wings, mate, it's only theoretical."

"You promise?"

"Alright," Philza relents. "I'll be careful, I promise."

Forever searches Philza's face for a lie, and finds none. Instead he grabs another bottle from the witch bar - this one on purpose, experimental painkillers. He gives it to Philza who looks confused, but doesn't even sniff it before he downs the bottle.

"So your plan is... Beg the Federation for wing surgery, blow a hole in the bottom of the world, fly in the void, find us a new place to live together... somehow get the rest of us out, then we're happy and free?"

"When you put it like that, it's really not much of a plan, eh?" Philza laughs a bit, that awful laugh that means he hates himself. "I guess... back to the drawing board. Missa was just talking about me being able to fly away if they healed, and I remembered maybe I actually /could/, you know?"

"It's not... The worst plan," Forever hesitates, considers a bit. "I would help. Don't beg the Federation, though, we're better off studying. If you did..."

"Yeah, I know," Philza pulls a face. "I just don't know where else to go."

"Try Cellbit," Forever shrugs. "He has so many books. Maybe one has an answer?"

"You think its worth bringing this up to him, then?" there's almost hope sparked in Philza's eyes. "It's not really like any of its actionable."

Forever nods rapidly - he knows Cellbit, and knows him well. He can see the hope fading, his friend being crushed by a torment without end. It's only half a plan - not even half of a plan, really, missing every key component possible - but it is hope. It is someone promising an after, one where, maybe, they can all be... happy.

He can't say that, though, so instead he grins. "He's already working on getting us away, why not join forces?"

"Ah, then I'm sure he has better ideas," Philza laughs again. "He always does."

"At least let him know he's not alone in trying?" Forever suggests. He knows Philza, he knows Philza, now he just has to convince him that, yes, talking is the correct plan. "He might like bits of your plan. And he can show you where to help on his."

"I guess I can carry his backpack and get his notepaper for him," Philza says. "... But you really think the plan is good enough to share?"

"I think Cellbit will appreciate knowing about it," Forever says, because the plan is missing parts, and it's so dangerous, and his eyes are still watching Philza's wings. "Do you brush those?"

"Brush... Huh?" Philza twists, and looks at his wings. "Oh, right, no? It's called preening. Like..." Philza twists further, further than a person should, and starts using his fingers and a needle to clear muck from his feathers. "Like this. Fit helps me with the bits I can't reach - or Missa or Wilbur or Chayanne, but Missa and Wilbur work and... I don't really want my toddler having to do it, you know?"

"I could learn," Forever offers. "If... If that's not too forward?"

Philza hesitates a moment, then plucks another needle from a pouch and extends his wing.

"We start where I can see you," Philza gestures to the soft, mutilated underside. "And... Maybe somewhere more private?"

It's not just about helping, though Forever wants to help - Fit is around so often he doubts Philza would ever need Forever's help. But, if he's going to make something... Then he his research done.

"You don't want the witches watching?" Forever teases, already getting up. "What a prude. Come downstairs, then, we can use the couch."

Philza gets up to follow, "are you sure you want to learn? It's kinda fiddly."

"Of course!" Forever replies. "Who wouldn't want to brush your beautiful wings!"

"Preen," Philza sighs. "You- never mind, let's just get somewhere comfy. It'll take a while."

"That's okay," Forever says. "I don't mind."

'If it's you' he doesn't complete it with - it's true, though. He might not be after Philza any more, but he does love him. He loves all his friends, the eggs, the islanders... But no matter what, Philza is always a little special. it's not burning passion any more, but it's there. It's there, and it always will be.

He wants to help. Forever can see a problem and a solution that hasn't been tried. Between him, Pac, and Mike, he's sure they can make Philza some sort of flying aid - he just needs to know better the shape his wings are in.

It's not even about the escape, the new home, with Richas, with everyone, the reward that could be promised to him if he assists... It's about a bird who is probably not a bird, and two broken wings, and an open sky.

It's about the fact Forever loves his friends, and one is hurting, and if he can help... Why wouldn't he?

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp forever #forever you ran right off the rails what the fuck did you do #happy ending au

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rbbrbikerthorp · 2 years

Text

James Disappears (From James’ Perspective)

[Thank you for the messages asking for a version of James’ Disappearance from James perspective, so here goes - hopefully it ticks all the boxes]

James was sitting on the number 13 bus; the one he hopped on to at college and would stake him on the twenty minute journey into town. He was going over what he’d learnt in college that morning.

He smiled as his mind drifted off his books for a few minutes thinking about the day ahead. After work he was getting together with his old schoolmates for a five-a-side football match. Then he was going to the cinema with Emma, his girlfriend for the past two years. James reflected on just how perfect life was. He was getting a great start in life, supported by a loving family. He’d passed all his exams and was now splitting his days between studying at college and working in an entry level position in one of the town’s accountancy firms. But somewhere in the back of his mind, from time to time he would hear a little voice speaking. Every once in a while it managed to capture his attention, ‘was this the life he wanted or was it the life his parents planned for him?’

James was brought back to reality as he heard the bus driver call out, “central bus station, all change”. He quickly gathered his books and picked up his rucksack. James jumped off the bus to begin the five minute walk to the accountant’s office he worked in.

James wasn’t really paying much attention to his surroundings when he bumped into a guy standing on the footpath in front of him. He looked up, first noticing the shaved head, “oh, I’m sorry” he said as he looked down to see a pair of tall black boots with white laces, extremely tight jeans that looked like they had been splashed with bleach tucked into the boots. He looked back up to see the guy was wearing a long coat and he was smoking. Like the rest of his family, James hated smokers. From what he could tell this was a very weird smelling tobacco.

“Excuse me”, James said meekly as he tried to get passed.

“Oi oi m8, what’s the rush”? the skinhead replied, blowing the smoke in James face “don’t you like m’ clobber m8″?

James didn’t know what to say.

The skinhead then inhaled more smoke and blew more of it right n James’ face. The smell was so strong, James couldn’t help but start coughing. “You’ll get used to it m8, don’t worry. Now, look at m’ boots m8, don’t you think they look great? They feel great. Bet you’d like a pair of boots like these. Bet you’d like to be like me. Not a worry, not a care”.

“No... no... th.. thanks, I... excuse me, I need to get going”, James stuttered.

“Nah, you don’t m8, just think how great these boots would feel tightly laced on your feet. Na one would mess wiv ya m8, wearing these. Look at them, don’t they look great”. All the time the skinhead kept blowing smoke in James’ face.

James felt compelled to stare at the boots, his mind was becoming more and more fuzzy. Was it something in the smoke? He was supposed to be going somewhere wasn’t he, but where? To anyone watching James looked like a lost sheep.

James watched the skinhead drop the cigarette he’d been smoking stomp on it firmly with his boot. He watched the skinhead get the pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and light another one up. James was frozen on the spot as he watched the skinhead repeatedly inhale and blow the smoke right in his face. Each time the skinhead blew smoke, James could hear questions, “You like my boots, don’t you, you think I’m hard, don’t you? you like skinheads, don’t you? You wanna be my skinboi, don’t you?” Over an over the questions were repeated. The fuzziness in James head got worse. He found it harder and harder to think. He couldn’t string any words together so he just started nodding in response to the skinhead’s questions.

In split second the skinhead took a long drag on the cigarette and then pulled James towards him, and as he kissed him exhaled the smoke directly into James’ lungs. James felt the skinhead’s tongue probing his mouth. James gasped and the skinhead immediate pushed his tongue in. He was was in no fit state to fight back, so he simply started snogging the skinhead.

James ‘came up for air’. He didn’t know whether there was something in the cigarettes or the smoke, but he was experiencing sensations in his body he’d never experienced before. He was intoxicated by this booted stranger. He couldn’t stop himself moving back in for another long skinhead kiss. The skinhead finally broke the kiss and said, “leave your stuff. Follow me skinboi”! In James’ fuzzy mind there was no option but to comply, so he dropped the pile of books that were in his hands, the took the rucksack off his shoulder and left it on the ground. “Right boi, let’s go”!

With no idea of what was in store for him or where he was going, James followed his new skinhead mentor. like a puppy follows its new owner. They walked through a part of town James was unfamiliar with. The buildings looked derelict, and there was graffiti everywhere. Despite a sense of unease, James continued walking two paces behind his new skinhead companion.

Eventually they came to a stop. The skinhead reached into his pocket and this time pulled out two cigarettes, put both in his mouth and lit both of them. He took one out and handed it to James, who instinctively put it in his mouth and inhaled. “Right boi, tell me yer name”? the skinhead asked blowing smoke in James’ direction.

“Er... it’s James”.

“Well that won’t do m8. I can’t have a skin boi with a pon-see name like James. From now on you’ll be known as Jim... Jimskin. I’m Gaz and this is my place, nothin’ special but it’s from where the new you will emerge, the new Jimskin. You know you want it boi. I know you need more to your life than working in an office. Let’s go”. And with that they entered the building together.

The skinhead led Jim, who was still smoking his cigarette, into the bathroom, “right lad, strip and I mean everything. Then we can get started”. While Jim removed all his clothes, including his underwear, Gaz went into another room and returned with a chair and a pair of clippers.

“In the chair boi”, Gaz commanded.

He didn’t know whether it was the effect of the smoke or being naked with this powerful skinhead in front of him, but Jim, the [soon to be former) student sat passively in the chair. The voice that questioned his perfect life, his ambition to be an accountant was louder than ever. The scene (and the smoke) was having the desired effect on Jim, and Gaz was pleased to see what was happening. “Yeah boi, this is it. This is what you want. I knew it see it in the way you looked at my boots. I’m gonna make you the perfect skinboi. I’ll train ya. I’ll show ya how to dress proper. I’ll make sure you get a real job” (emphasising real). With that he pulled another cigarette out of the packet and placed it in Jim’s mouth. He lit it and smiled contentedly as Jim, without any prompting started to inhale the smoke. He could see his boi relax. Gaz set to work.

CLACK! The familiar sound of clippers being turned on. They made quick work of James’ hair. Gaz switched them off and took a few moments to admire his work, “Boi, you look so much better now. I bet you feel better too”.

Jim wasn’t so sure. He looked somewhat dejected as he saw his brown locks fall onto the floor, capturing some clumps of hair in his hands. Suddenly the diligent, studious career boy reasserted itself and he started having a panic attack.

“M8, m8 calm down, what’s the problem”?

“The problem is I look a complete fuckin’ freak, that’s what the fuckin’ problem is”, Jim retorted. (Gaz was pleased that Jim had used a profanity for the first time. Gaz would ensure that Jim’s vocabulary became more basic and that most sentences would include a swear word or two).

“Look boi there is no problem”. With that the skinhead got another cigarette out of the packet and said, “here smoke one of these, it will help calm you down”.

Jim smoked the cigarette and found that he was starting to like being a smoker, he even asked Gaz for another one. “No problem”, came the reply from Gaz, smiling, “but if you’re going to be a smoker, you’re paying for them out of your wages alright”.

“Wages”? James questioned.

“Yes boi, wages, but not from working some snooty desk jockey job. Wages you’ll get from proper work; where yer hands get dirty. Now listen to me. You’re gonna get dressed now, and in proper skin gear. I’m gonna let you have some of my spare stuff and later you can pay me back, if yer know what I mean. Yer gonna be my skin boi and yer gonna dress as I tell ya. Yer might not be sure about what’s happening to you right now, but in time yer gonna love being my boi. I’ll make sure of it, now get up and follow me, Jimskin”. With that the newly shaved Jim got out of the chair and followed Gaz into the next room.

“Let’s het you kitted out”. Gaz opened the cupboard door and took out a load of clothes. He picked out a Fred Perry polo shirt in black with yellow piping, a MA1 bomber jacket in green, “and these are jeans I bleached m’self, they’re called bleachers. They’re Levi’s 501s, and I will show you how to bleach them when we get you a couple more pairs from the shops, but these are ready for you to put on. One more thing, as my boi you’ll wear my jocks. Now put this on first”, as he handed Jim a jock.

Gaz then opened another door to reveal several pairs of black boots, in a range of heights, each with laces of different colours. Gaz picked up a pair which had white laces that were already partly laced up, “yeah these are perfect for my boi”.

Gaz smiled at Jim, and held out the pack of cigarettes. With no hesitation, Jim took one and put it in his mouth. Gaz held out his lighter and lit the cigarette, like a proud father watched the end turn bright red as Jim inhaled the smoke that was making his conversion to skinboi so much easier. “Right, get the rest of the clobber and then I’ll show you how to lace up your boots proper.

Jim started dressing. Already wearing the jockstrap, he pulled on a pair of white football socks, first up his left leg, then on his right. Then he pulled on the bleachers; they were skintight and cut off just below the knew. Gaz walked over to Jim and attached a pair of white braces to the back and front of the bleachers and pulled them up onto Jim’s torso, letting them twang on the boi’s shoulders. Gaz adjusted the braces so they lifted the bleachers as far up into Jim’s crotch as possible. He ran his hand over Jim’s arse, ensuring the bleachers were pushed into the skinboi’s crack. "Yeah boi, very nice" was all that Gaz needed to say.

“Right, let’s get yer boots on. Now, there’s a special way to lace these boots boi. I’ll show you what to do with the first boot, but then yer on yer own. Right? Now sit down”!

Jim sat in a chair whilst Gaz sat on a small stool in front of him. He pulled the boi’s booted foot and set it on his own crotch. Gaz was able to feel the sole of boi’s boot pressing on his own bleachers."Now listen, take one end of the lace and push it in the top hole. Then thread the other one through each hole in turn starting at the bottom and go up, like a ladder”. Gaz continued to lace up the boot onto Jim’s leg. “When you’ve done, just wind round the rest of the lace and tie ‘em tight at the top. Easy eh”?

"I’m not sure I get it." Jim said, feeling as though he’d never do it right. “Anyway, does it have to be so fuckin’ tight"?

"Oh yeah, that's part of the fun boi, you'll never forget you've got a fuckin’ pair of stompin’ boots on ya”. Gaz said confidently, “right you do the other boot.”

Jim followed the instructions Gaz gave him, whilst Gaz watched closely to make sure they were laced properly and were ‘as tight as fuck’.

Gaz watched intently as Jim laced up the other boot. He smiled at how quickly James had accepted his new life as Jimskin. How he was allowing himself to be turned into a skinboi. Not once had he mentioned his college, parents, accountancy job. That had all been suppressed and would soon be forgotten as Jim immersed himself into the skinhead life Gaz had planned for him.

“Right, stand up lad. Put this on”. Gaz handed Jim the green MA1 jacket, “follow me”.

The pair went into the bedroom, which just happened to have a full-length mirror. Jim stared into the mirror and gasped at his reflection. The boots on his feet, the Fred Perry shirt and braces, his zero-cropped head and the tight bleachers. Without a thought, his hand went down and he rubbed his crotch. Inside the jock, his cock was growing rapidly, so much so that his hard-on was impossible to hide. Gaz smiled. "You like it, don’t you boi"? said Gaz. “Well, this is what you are now Jim, you’re my skinboi and there’s more modifications I’m gonna get done”. With that Gaz grabbed Jim and pulled him onto the bed and into a long, a very long snog.

"Are you happy now boi”? Gaz asked, handing Jim another cigarette, and taking one out for himself.

“Yes, Gaz, yes, I fuckin’ am”. Jim replied, lighting up.

Jim spent the next couple of days getting to know Gaz intimately and what was planned for Jim’s new life. Gaz worked for the gas company, and they were short of labour and looking for apprentices. Gaz had promised the boss that when he returned from his week’s leave he’d bring along a new starter; Jim was going to be that man. Gaz also told Jim he’d train him to be the perfect skinboi and that he should get some ink and piercings, but only when he was ready.

It was the end of the week, Jim was venturing out of Gaz’s home for the first time as a skinhead.

Jim was introduced to Gaz’s mates and they had a few beers to welcome the new skinboi. As Jim was adjusting his socks, he looked up to see a woman stop abruptly, and she looked back him. Jim thought he recognised the woman, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.

#skinhead #boot #bootboy #shave #bleachers #smoking

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