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bloodpen-to-paper · 11 months

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When Juanaflippa died, she was the first. No one knew how to react. Charlie and Mariana expressed the rage, the denial, and it was a spectacle of roleplay followed up by a wacky trial made for laughs. At this point, the rest of the server were still getting used to their eggs, so only Charlie and Mariana felt that twinge of pain from losing an egg. But when you remember Juanaflippa, you remember an explosion. A marvel.

Next Trump died. Maxo made you feel heartbroken with the image of a grieving father wallowing in misery and self destruction. But it was all still early, and most people didn't even notice. Trump died from neglect. Dan never saw him after adoption day. The server didn't come together like they did Juanaflippa. It was all very quiet. To this day, not many people in the community could tell you anything about Maxo's kid. About how hard his father bargained for his life between the gods. About how he failed. Trump was a whisper in the wind that only his father and those who watched him could bother to hear.

Then Tilín. At this point, the server was becoming more accustomed to the eggs. They were becoming attached. When Tilín died, it was depressing in every sense of the word. Quackity was somber, he barely spoke a word when he heard what had happened. A grave was built for Tilín by others with a heavy heart. There was no spectacle, and this time most people were involved in some way. Luzu came on to meet Tilín, and had to deal with that grief of being told his child was dead, something so heavy on him that he shut down completely. In life and in death, Tilín was the embodiment of sadness.

Bobby. The first death since Tilín. The first death in a long time. Everything had changed for the server. The eggs are their babies, their world. Everyone gathered to grieve Bobby, because they're a community now unlike ever before. But its different this time, they aren't there to witness a marvel from a distance, or grieve in sympathy. Bobby was a celebration. Music and dancing and memories. Toasts and cheering his name until the final moment. And having a final clap in his name after. Bobby was life. Because they're all scared now, terrified for their children. But they know what to expect this time. They're ready. They knew not to watch Jaiden and Roier grieve from the sidelines, they knew not to turn their backs on the two, and they would be sad but by god would they be happy as well. The server celebrated Roier and Jaiden, celebrated Bobby, and accepted his death with his name being shouted into the sky.

#its about the grief cycle #juanaflippa is anger/denial #tilin is depression #trump is bargaining which is often the most forgotten part #bobby is acceptance #their deaths all meant something different #now we wait and see what happens next #fic #qsmp #qsmp fic #qsmp analysis #qsmp juanaflippa #qsmp trump #qsmp tilin #qsmp bobby #qsmp tubbo

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impulsesimp · 8 days

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phil doesn't do romance.

romance didn't really go hand in hand with his whole anarchistic slash fighter slash father persona. he rolls his eyes at public affection. he brushes off the friendly flirting from his peers. he's always at a lost for words whenever tallulah asks for a love story at bedtime.

phil never considered himself a romantic.

but phil does have multiple pages in a photo album filled with memories he captured at cellbit and roier's wedding. he does smile warmly and poke fun at foolish when the topic of vegetta's generosity and physique comes up. he helps the kids' put together gifts when the island's couples start having anniversaries. he does have a purposefully placed skull on his backpack for commemoration.

phil thinks about romance sometimes.

as he tucks away the armor that he had displayed for months for missa's return, he thinks about romance in his life. has he experienced romance? courtship? has he courted?

when cellbit and roier hold hands as a group of them walk towards the movie theater, phil remembers the times missa would grab his arm in fear when mobs would come at them. phil remembers how the touches startled him at first. the closeness, the warm squeeze of their hands, it was new. not unwelcome, just new.

when baghera plays her ukulele at a campfire get together, everyone huddles together and basks in her soft voice and sweet tunes. phil sits with his kids, his back rested against a tree trunk, eyes closed as he takes in the peace. he begins to reminisce about missa playing his guitar for chayanne's nightly lullaby. they'd sit in their front yard, chayanne and phil crisscrossed on the grass, looking up at missa who sang spanish melodies.

---

deciding to not let my writing drabbles collect dust and share them with the community :) this one's clearly unfinished but i enjoy the softness of it

i wrote this in september of last year so it doesn't quite match the recent lore lol

#qsmp fic #qsmp #death duo #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #q!philza #q!missa #ficlet #pissa

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bloodyteeth-png · 7 months

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#qsmp #qsmpblr #qsmp meme #qsmp meetup #qsmp brazil meetup #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp baghera #qsmp fic #qsmp pac #qsmp forever #qsmp quackity #qsmp bagi #qsmp jaiden #qsmp foolish #qsmp missa #if he makes it

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blocksgame · 9 months

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Tips on character voices when writing fic

This is written in mind for people writing fic in MCYT/QSMP/DSMP/Life series/etc kind of fandoms. But if anyone finds it useful for anything else, well then, hell yeah.

Character voice is big in all, uh, fiction, and mimicking it in any fanwork is big. But I think it’s especially big in these fandoms where the voices are so distinct – it’s usually how a Real Person Somewhere (the streamer) talks, versus something very scripted that you’d see in a TV show or novel. And it can be a big difference in your character sounding generic versus really feeling true to the original.

Listen to a bunch of your subject talking. If you want to write a character well, watch vods from their point of view, or episodes where they show up a bunch. Take note of what they say and how.

2. If you don’t know how to start doing that: try literally writing down what they say. Transcribe an actual exchange in fic-format. You probably won’t want to publish a literal exchange from canon, but it will give you a sense of how to physically write what they say.

3. If you do this (or just pay attention to how they talk), you will get a lot of: Stumbling, pauses, repeating words, filler words, weird sentence constructions, fragments, etc. I love em! Here’s something that comes through in improv much more than in novels or movies: Most people, even very charismatic people, are not very eloquent when they speak. Writing out conversations or sentences will give you a sense of the unique and delightful way in which your subject is not eloquent. vvvvv way more under cut vvvvv

(People use a LOT of filler/etc when they speak. It’s reasonable to cut back on this if it’s interfering with a nice-looking or readable result. I believe this is the eternal struggle of people who write transcripts – you want the transcript to be accurate, but there are also a lot of things you can obviously simplify and not lose the meaning. So you’ll end up falling somewhere on this spectrum either way. But I do think a lot of mediocre/generic fic dialogue is very stylized – it doesn’t sound like your guy because your guy literally wouldn’t say that. They would say it worse and more confusingly.)

(I’m serious, if you’ve never sat down with a short non-completely-scripted clip or real conversation or whatever and just written out exactly what was said, do it. It will make you better at writing.)

4. Wonda-cat made a really incredible list [link] of characterizing speech patterns for the Dream SMP members. But you can also do your own reconnaissance and come up with your own patterns, common phrases, etc.

5. You do not have to get EVERYTHING right. You’re not going to, like, get so deep into the speaker’s brain that you can produce “exactly what they would have said if they were somehow in your fic.” That is impossible. You’re just trying to evoke a character, and if you get a few turns of phrase to ring true, you’re doing great.

6. A lot of these people are popular because they are hilarious. Include jokes. Yes, even if your thing is angsty or serious. A lot of the most serious lore I can think of from, e.g., the Dream SMP or 3rd Life or the QSMP - the really story-defining, life-and-death moments - were absolutely hysterical. If you’re writing characters who are usually funny, then add some humor. It can heighten angst via contrast and a sense of realism. Ask yourself what a funny streamer would make jokes about if they were possessing a character in this situation.

7. Some people have the mystical ability to “hear” character voices in their head, and read things in their voice. If you can, do this with all of your dialogue during the editing process. This won’t always get you there, but sometimes it can catch things that sound wrong by invoking "that's really hard to imagine them saying". If you don’t have this power, try recruiting a friend who does.

8. So there’s dialogue and then there’s narration that’s still from a character’s point of view. I’ve mostly given you tips about dialogue, but a lot of this is also true for narration. IMO, narration is less about phrasing things the way the subject would, and more about recreating the way they think. I don’t have concrete rules on how to do this, but here is my wisdom:

You can get eloquent again - narration is more of an abstract and artistic process than dialogue.

Spend time with your subject’s source material.

Pay attention to what they notice and care about. How do you think they think?

Don’t be afraid to get weird with it.

That last one also applies to all art ever.

9. MCYT tends to give you a great boon you don’t see in other media: what the speaker says to their chat/audience when nobody else is listening. This can be incredibly characterizing even if you’re writing a story where people don’t have chats. It’s your person talking about their thought processes and feelings! Mine that shit.

10. Some questions that might help guide both characterizing narration and dialogue (that you’d get from dialogue):

How open are they about their feelings?

How often do they lie? What do they lie about?

What kind of metaphors do they use, if any?

How quickly does their mood change?

How can you tell when they’re in different moods?

What kind of things do they pay attention to?

How formal is their speech?

11. Finally, this is a little odd, but I find it’s much, much easier to write a character that sounds good if I, the author, like them and am rooting for them at least a little bit. If a character needs to be there who you don’t love, try to love them. Or at least get a sense of what other people love about them. It just makes everything else easier. I swear to god.

Happy writing out there!

#mcyt fic #fanfiction #writing advice #writing tips #fanfiction tips #qsmp fic #dsmp fic #works for whatever too I'm just not gonna try to tag everything #fanfiction advice

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annimator · 4 months

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So if y’all are curious…

Here are the Top QSMP Pairings on AO3 as of New Year’s!

Top 4 Platonic Pairings (when I went through the relationship filter it only showed 4 lol)

1) Wilbur & Tallulah with 593 works

2) Quackity & Wilbur with 250 works

3) Jaiden & Roier with 250 works

4) Chayanne and Philza with 248 works

Top Romantic Pairings

1) Spiderbit (Cellbit/Roier with 1123 works)

2) Fooligetta (Foolish/Vegetta with 536 works)

3) Slimeriana (Slimecicle/Mariana with 514 works)

4) Tntduo (Quackity/Wilbur with 510 works)

5) Fitpac (FitMC/PacTW with 313 works)

6) Pissa (Philza/MissaSinfonia with 259 works)

Overall

1) Spiderbit

2) Wilbur & Tallulah

3) Fooligetta

4) Slimeriana

5) Tntduo

6) Fitpac

7) Pissa

8) Quackity & Wilbur

9) Jaiden & Roier

10) Chayanne & Philza

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mintierose · 5 months

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I love when fanfics really represent Mike’s little bitch side

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changeling-ash · 3 months

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since Missa confirmed that Apapacho is 'what he does to Philza when he's not looking' how does it feel to know that your middle of the night series is mostly canon :)

HEEHEEEHEEHEEHEE I WAS SO RIGHT ABOUT HIM. MY CHARACTERIZATION.

This man be loving when Phil's back is turned <3

(If I wasn’t working on a near 10k behemoth of a story this past month while also moving, I'd have part 4 out by now lol, it's next!!)

I do have the title of it nailed down though.

"It's just past noon and he shines brighter than the sun and it's beautiful..."

#pissa #pissa nation #death duo #qsmp philza #qsmp Missa #qsmp shipping #qsmp #qsmp fic #changeling asks #changeling posts

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soulsyo · 10 months

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anonymous-dentist · 8 months

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Or. The Among Us au.

Now, Cellbit thinks that there may be a problem when he wakes up one Tuesday morning to find tentacles bubbling out of his mouth. Because he’s reformed, see. He went to prison. He went to therapy. He did his time. He’s better now, and so, really, he should be human. He’s gotten very good at it.

But it’s also the morning after his arrival on the ISS Quesadilla, himself being one of five new crewmates sent by the Federation to explore the galaxy and look for… something. He doesn’t know what, exactly; he doesn’t have high enough clearance yet, and he never will if he doesn’t get his fucking tentacles-

On the bunk across from him, Mike groans and throws a lumpy pillow at him.

“Stop being an alien, God,” he groans. “Go back to sleep, our shift doesn’t start for another three hours.”

And, well. Cellbit can’t argue with that logic. He’s probably just nervous, that’s all. He’ll be back to looking like a human when he’s calmed down some.

Cellbit closes his eyes, lets out a long, artificial breath (aliens don’t need to breathe, after all), and he lets himself relax. It’ll be fine.

It isn’t fine. It’s five hours later and his tentacles are gone but his teeth have sharpened into four rows of fangs and it’s very hard to talk. Luckily, his helmet is covering up most of the nasty stuff. Luckily, almost everyone on his shift already knows he’s a secret alien except for Forever, and Forever seems smart enough not to snitch if he knows what’s good for him.

The problem is that Cellbit knows why he’s suddenly devolving. He knows exactly what’s going on, and he really doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because he was alone in the universe two days ago, and now his internal biology is registering the presence of another alien somewhere on the ship, and it’s horrifying.

Cellbit can’t concentrate like this. He keeps biting his lips when he tries to communicate with his team. The wires in the electrical panels aren’t making any sense all of a sudden. His hands are shaking too badly for him to be able to swipe his I.D. card. He explains it to his Federation supervisor as space sickness and Pac and Mike back him up, and he assures Cucurucho that he’ll be in working condition by the end of the week, he promises!

But then it’s lunch, and Cellbit is eating alone in his and Pac and Mike and Forever’s cabin because his mouth is a biological garbage disposal.

This sucks.

Cellbit picks at his food, unable to even digest it in the state he’s in. Aliens, unlike humans, can’t eat vegetables. They eat flesh. Any kind, but Cellbit grew up eating human flesh. But that was then, and this is now, and, now, Cellbit is looking at a tray of frozen space vegetables and he thinks he’s going to be sick.

Knock-knock!

Cellbit’s first, instinctual response is a hiss as he flinches. His jaw splits in half down the middle, fangs bared, but then he remembers, wait, humans don’t fucking do that.

So he forces his jaw shut with his hands and pulls on his helmet. Just in case.

“Hello?” he calls.

“Hola?” is what he gets in response, and his stomach clenches because this is a very human-sounding human. “You are Cellbit, right?”

Cellbit ponders. Then, “Yes. Why?”

“Okay, yes! So Cucurucho sent me to bring you to medical-”

Oh, God. A scan is the last thing that Cellbit needs right now.

So Cellbit immediately interjects. “No, no! I’m fine! I told them I’m fine!”

“Oh, you’re fine,” the human sarcastically says. “You’re wearing a helmet, culero, I can hear it from out here. Come on, man, the faster you do this, the faster it is over with.”

Well. He does have a point. Besides, Cellbit has fudged his way through plenty of scans before. This one will just be a little more difficult, that’s all.

Cellbit puts his lunch aside and he opens the door and he stops pretending to breathe. The other crewmate is also wearing a helmet, but, through it, Cellbit can see the most beautiful eyes in the galaxy.

Said eyes crinkle up in a smile as Cellbit steps outside into the hallway and closes the door behind him. The helmet’s visor only allows access to the eyes, but Cellbit has a feeling that this man’s face is just as captivating.

“Great!” the human cheerily says. “You don’t look dead, at least!”

He laughs, and Cellbit finds himself laughing along with him. It’s catchy. This is fine.

“Come on, you’re new, right?” the human asks. He turns around and starts down the hallway to the left towards… medical? “I’ll show you the way.”

Cellbit swallows a tentacly lump in his throat and follows, two exact steps behind.

“It’s always good to get new people,” the human says. “We lose a lot of crewmates.”

“I’ve heard,” Cellbit politely says. He bites his lip again and winces. Attempt seventeen of trying to will his teeth into their human forms, go!

It’s true, though. The Quesadilla goes through more crew members than any other ship in the Federation’s fleet. It’s probably why nobody in Cellbit’s group had actually been interviewed before they were hired. Amateurs…

“It’s crazy, man. They’re dropping like flies!” the human exclaims, hands gesturing wildly.

He turns his head back to look at Cellbit, crinkled eyes glittering.

“Good luck,” he says.

Cellbit smiles back. Thank goodness for his helmet, because he can feel his jaw begin to split apart again.

“Thank you,” he weakly says. At least his vocal cords are working… and at least he doesn’t actually need his mouth to speak. “Maybe we’ll even get to work together in the future.”

He hopes so. He hopes that he can find this other alien and try to work with them to get themselves (because he knows that the other alien has to be having the same problem as him right now) together. Then Cellbit can actually do his job, and then he might even get a promotion. One step closer to his goals, and one step closer to-

The human clicks his tongue. “Now, now, don’t you know who you’re talking to?”

He taps at a badge on his chest with a gloved finger.

“‘Roier’,” Cellbit reads.

“Uh-huh. I’m Cucurucho’s favorite.”

“I didn’t know that they could have favorites.”

The human- Roier- sniffs haughtily. “Yes, and I am one.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t ever work together,” Cellbit says.

He dares step closer until he and Roier are next to each other. They’re about the same height, he notices, though he can tell even through the bulky spacesuit that Roier is far more built than Cellbit has been since he was a teenager.

“I don’t know,” Roier replies, shrugging. “Maybe. Who knows? Cucurucho is picky, you know?”

Cellbit remembers the disdainful look send in his direction when he had failed his first card swipe. Yeah, he knows.

The conversation slows to a comfortable silence, mostly because Cellbit is tired of almost biting his own face off.

And then they’re at Medical.

Cellbit pauses outside the door. Roier rolls his eyes and yanks him in, announcing their presence with a loud, “Ay, Missa!”

The medical staff on shift, a tall human in a black spacesuit with his helmet off, screeches and tumbles out of his chair.

Cellbit bites back a laugh. Roier doesn’t bother even trying to stay professional. He even walks over to Missa’s crumpled form and kicks him lightly in the side.

“Roier…” Missa complains.

“Do your job, pendejo, Cucurucho sent us.”

At the mention of Cucurucho, Missa scrambles to his feet, pale. He picks up a clipboard off of his desk and moves to close and lock the door.

Cellbit shuffles awkwardly to the side. Okay, deep breaths…

“Space sickness,” Roier explains.

“But I’m fine, really,” Cellbit tries.

Missa shuts him down with a firm shake of the head.

“Strip,” he says.

And then he flushes a bright red and stammers, “I- I mean your suit! You can hang it in a locker!”

Clearly embarrassed, he points toward a line of lockers against the far wall.

Cellbit gulps. But he… strips, gloves first and then his suit. Last, his helmet, which really should’ve been done first, but…

Luckily, his face is mostly under control again. He doesn’t feel too inhuman as he adjusts his hair in the reflection of a nearby data screen. He may be about to receive a death sentence, but he can at least look good doing it.

He turns around and faces the scanner, blushing just ever so slightly as he hears Roier gasp to himself. If he was human, he wouldn’t have heard it, it’s so quiet. And so, since he’s supposed to be human, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Just step on up, and we’ll get you done,” Missa says. He smiles, trying.

Cellbit offers a closed-mouth smile back, not trusting himself to show teeth.

He steps onto the scanner and closes his eyes, desperately hoping that it comes up as human as the ones back on Earth did-

“Oh, shit,” he hears Missa say. “It isn’t- oh, shit!”

Of course.

“What is it?” Roier demands. “Tell me!”

“I need to call Cucurucho, Roier, call Cucuruch-”

He coughs and slumps to the floor and slides off of Cellbit’s sharpened tentacle before Cellbit even realizes that he had transformed.

Oh, fuck.

Panicked, Cellbit recalls his tentacle and flinches at the taste of blood, delicious and disgustingly familiar, and his eyes open instinctively but he can’t see, it’s all just a blur, and he backs off of the scanner and-

“Hey! Cellbit! It’s fine, okay?” he hears Roier say. His voice is distant, like a dream. But Cellbit latches onto it, anyway.

Two heavy hands settle on his shoulders. Cellbit hisses, eyes narrowing and jaw splitting and fangs emerging, but then-

“Calma,” Roier gently says. “Hold on. Let me show you something.”

Cellbit can’t move. Roier is letting go of him and reaching for his own helmet, still unremoved. And then he removes it, and Cellbit is so shocked that he can’t keep his tentacles from falling out of his mouth again.

Roier is beautiful. High cheekbones, freckles, smiling eyes, soft hair, and fangs the size of toothpicks forcing his mouth ajar.

“See?” Roier asks, and that’s when Cellbit realizes that he isn’t talking in any human language anymore. This is their language, one Cellbit thought he was the last living speaker of. “It’s fine, okay?”

He smiles, and it’s terrifying in its beauty.

Cellbit manages to suck his tentacles back up, and then he smiles back.

“I thought I was alone,” he says.

“How do you think I felt, huh? What are you doing here!”

Roier lightly punches Cellbit’s shoulder.

There aren’t any security cameras in the Quesadilla, Cellbit had made sure if that before signing up for the trip. And if he can’t trust another alien, then what’s the point of this biological homing device? Aliens stick together, that’s how it always has been. Well. Had. (It’s a little hard to stick together when you’re all dead.)

So he doesn’t hesitate at all before saying, “My best friend is on board this ship. He was kidnapped.”

Roier’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit! Is he-”

“He’s human.”

“Oh.”

It’s just the two of them.

“Okay,” Roier says. “So now there’s two of us.”

“Yes. And it’s a little inconvenient having to deal with the, uh…”

Cellbit glances towards Roier’s fangs. Are they sharper than his? God.

Roier shrugs. “Eh, it’ll be fine. We just keep our helmets on until our bodies decide to calm down.”

Well, he isn’t at all concerned. He should be. He absolutely should be. But… there have been a lot of disappearances on the ship.

Roier, it seems, is very good at playing human.

Cellbit lets out an excited, nervous breath. He glances at Missa’s corpse, surprise and fear still written on his face.

“We need to report this,” Cellbit says.

Roier raises an eyebrow. “Por qué? Why? He is dead.”

“Yes, and it’ll look worse if we don’t tell anyone.”

This, Cellbit is more than used to. He may be reformed, but he had a very long time to hone his craft.

Slowly calming down, Cellbit goes to start pulling his suit back on. He even manages to get his fangs to shift. Okay.

“Okay,” Roier agrees. “If anybody asks, we were coming in here for sex.”

Cellbit’s face splits open in shock.

Roier cackles, and Cellbit can only wonder if this is truly what fate has brought to him.

#spiderbit #guapoduo #qsmp fic #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#fucking among us au ig #guys I did it

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missingkeyy · 6 months

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I found a fanfic on Twitter, so I decided to create this

//OMG ITS 01:10 WHAT???? //

#drawing #qsmp #qsmp brasil #tazercraft #qsmp pac #pactw #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp fitmc #qsmp fanart #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp fitpac #qsmp fic #qsmp hideduo #hideduo

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atthebell · 1 month

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Words: 6092 Fandom: QSMP Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rafael Lange | Cellbit/Roier, Rafael Lange | Cellbit & Doied Characters: Rafael Lange | Cellbit, Doied, Roier Additional Tags: Roier Rescue, cannot stress enough how much cellbit fucking hates doied btw, Blood and Violence, Married Rafael Lange | Cellbit/Roier, there's some spiderbit fluff at the end but this is mostly cellbit clocking doied's ass, Bodyswap, Bodyswap Reversal Summary:

Doied must think he’s an idiot. He must be an arrogant son of a bitch, truly, to miss the way Cellbit’s fists tighten in his sweatshirt, the way his smile lingers for too long, turning down at the corners of his mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he says, centimeters from Roier’s lips. And then he steps back, letting him go. Doied frowns, with Roier’s face, and then tries to hide it by cocking his head to the side, mimicking the mannerism nearly to perfection. “He’s beautiful, I mean. You’re nothing. You’re a leech, a parasite, an aberration.” He watches Roier’s expression change into something far less familiar– something the muscles in his face aren’t used to forming. An ugly, awful scowl stretches across his face. - Cellbit knows something is wrong with Roier-- what it is exactly, he has to investigate for himself. And somehow get Roier back.

kind of sort of for @smallchaoscryptid's spiderbit week day 4 prompt: rescue!!

been working on this for ages and i'm really excited to finally have it done :D

#bell.txt #bell fics #qsmp fic #spiderbit

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bloodpen-to-paper · 6 months

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Purgatory is inevitable. When you're in a death game long enough under just the right circumstances, chances are you will succumb to the land and its rules. The members of Quesadilla Island have proven this in blood.

Roier and Jaiden promised to never fight. Eventually, Roier and Jaiden try to kill each other. Pac and Fit promised to spare one another in the beginning. Eventually, Pac lets his teammates slaughter Fit. Philza hunts down Forever without hesitation. Foolish and Roier don't fight for play anymore. Cellbit no longer tries to reassure Pac that he won't hurt him, he wants Pac to be afraid. As much as they tried to avoid it, Roier swings his sword at his own husband. He kills him. Fit and Etoiles struck down Philza like it would bring their kids back. It didn't. All it gave was the scar on Philza's back and the weary look he casts whenever they pass each other. Tina used to think everyone was so nice, but she won't make the same mistake twice. Rivers thought she could trust Cellbit, but she knows better now. Charlie's convinced he can avoid this, but unless Mariana steers clear until after they've escaped... can he really?

No one has made a stance to defy this death game. To hold their ground and throw down their weapon to spare the people they cherish.

Everyone has looked into the eyes of those they've sworn to protect, and stabbed them straight through the heart.

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youphoriaot7 · 7 months

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The chaos of newcomers is never something Fit exactly...anticipates. In fact, he doesn't really like it all that much—not because he's anti-social, but because it just means yet another innocent being trapped on this island of hell with no way out, and frankly, he isn't quite sure they should be celebrating that.

That being said, he's not just going to let some newbie die because they couldn't find their way out of a stone tower.

Which is how he finds himself leaning against the doorframe in the loud room, watching people buzzing back and forth with excitement. He rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face at their chaos even as he steps back. Bad, Niki, and Cellbit are attempting to brute force the locked door—but that'll take at least ten minutes. He has time to burn.

His eyes scan across the room, unconsciously seeking out a familiar figure. He finds it right where he expected it: curled up on a couch, away from the crowds.

...there's an open seat nearby...so why not?

He sinks onto the seat next to Pac. The other man's drooping eyelids snap open as his weight is shifted, and Fit throws him a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you."

But Pac just smiles and shakes his head, sitting upright. "You didn't." It seems as though he wants to say something else, but whatever it is, he swallows the words. Instead, he simply stares down at his hands, fiddling with the cuffs of his hoodie, tugging his hands in and out of the sleeves.

Fit breaks the silence. "...how you doin'?" It's an innocent enough question, if they didn't both know what the scientist had been through. Sure enough, Pac sneaks a glance up at him, giving him a half-hearted shrug in reply.

"...I'm, um...well. I'm really tired," he murmurs, offering up a weak smile. Fit nods in understanding. The past week and a half had been exhausting enough for him, what with Ramon's disappearance and the impending stress of his mission—he can only imagine what Pac's been going through in the past day, much less the past week.

He'll admit it—he's worried about the younger man. Isn't everyone? It's no different than Bad or Phil's worry for Forever, or Cellbit's concern for his friends. Pac is just coming down off of a serious drug. Being tired is normal, right? Fit still isn't sure how he managed to find an antidote, either, or why it was necessary to take the drug in order to find one.

He tries not to worry about it—Pac would tell him if something was seriously wrong. Or not—it was his business, not Fit's. Just like his scientific process. Yeah. It was up to Pac to decide whether or not he wanted to share that information! Never mind the fact that Fit's thoughts were running a mile a minute with theories he did not want to even consider.

Besides, he knew a thing or two about keeping secrets himself. There were some things you simply couldn't tell people, for a variety of reasons: either it put them at risk, or put you at risk, or—

Oh.

He tries not to stiffen at the sudden weight on his shoulder, instead glancing to the side, where Pac's forehead now rests against his plate of armor. The scientist's eyes are closed, lashes sweeping the sunken bags under his eyes. The arms of his hoodie are curled carefully around Fit's prosthetic, gently holding him in place.

...oh.

He takes a careful breath, afraid to move too much for fear of waking the other man. After a few moments of hesitation, he decides to take the plunge: he adjusts his shoulder back a bit, moving the armor out of the way so that Pac's head falls to his true shoulder. Silently, his other hand finds purchase in the folds of Pac's hoodie, resting gently against his arm.

...the door is going to take a minute. They have time to rest.

It seems all too soon that there are cries of triumph from the other room. Pac's head jerks up off his shoulder at the excitement, blinking blearily in the dim light of the tower. Fit freezes, unsure of what to do. Should he play dumb? Act like nothing had happened? Let Pac take the lead?

The other man glances down, realization dawning on his face. Slowly, he untangles one of his arms, sitting up against the sofa back. (Fit misses his warmth already.) "...I guess I must've dozed off." Pac laughs softly, scratching the back of his neck as he looks away.

Even while avoiding Pac's gaze, Fit can see the deep crimson blushing up the younger man's neck. He shrugs. "Well, that's good. You probably needed the rest."

He tries to play it off. Tries to ignore the way his heart is still hammering in his chest. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, why the hell is he acting like some schoolboy?

To his credit, Pac doesn't seem to be doing much better. "Y-yeah," he stammers out, grinning. "Probably." The dark rings under his eyes only compound that fact—has he been sleeping at all?

They sit for a moment, just staring at each other—until Foolish leans over the back of the couch opposite them, starting up some uproarious discussion about glue and vault mechanics and things beyond Fit's comprehension, and Pac is distracted once more.

But Fit can't help but notice that his arm still lays across the sleeve of Pac's hoodie, the other man's fingers still curled around his prosthetic.

He doesn't say a word.

#drug ment tw #qsmp #qsmp fic #qsmp fit #qsmp fitmc #qsmp pac #qsmp tazercraft #fitpac #uploaded to ao3 as well #i just. hhh. them.

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thanotaphobia · 8 months

Text

There is a lot Tubbo does not think about these days.

His brain is constantly going a hundred kilometers an hour; thoughts and emotions and plans running wild, ideas crowding each other to the point of entity cramming. Machine blueprints and scheming plans. Nothing illegal. He would never.

(A lie. He does not think about the blueprints scribbled under tables and hidden behind book shelves, carved into his own skin with his teeth ideas for drills a thousand, a million chunks wide.)

He tinkers at night and sleeps in the day, waking in fits and starts. Tubbo is never warm enough- he shivers underneath three thick woolen blankets Philza lended him and sits beside lava, holding his hands out to warm it. The machinery is warm. Machinery is alive, breathing and producing heat beneath his hands.

Tubbo doesn't think about ice, and he doesn't think about the things he doesn't remember. He knows Phil. He knows Fit. He knows, strangely, Etoiles and the others. Not well. Faint, indiscriminate nostalgia. He writes it all down in the margins of an architectural plan and brick and mortars the roll of paper into the wall of the building.

Snow crunches beneath his feet and he flinches so hard he drops his pickaxe. His insides itch. Guilt eats his heart from the inside out. If he were to look into a mirror, he's not sure he would recognize his own face.

Phil tells him it's normal. Phil tells him he'll get used to it. Tubbo says he doesn't know what Phil is talking about, because he knows Phil and doesn't know how and is not thinking about that undeniable fact.

Something about Phil soothes his nerves like a balm, same with Niki. Like kin, they know each other. Phil recognizes him even when Tubbo can't. There are holes in his memory like melting ice, the edges sharp as knives. Everything in unapproachable. He doesn't let it stop him.

"I think I've died before," Tubbo tells Phil late one night, both of them sitting up by lantern light and squinting at their notebooks in silence.

"Yeah," Phil says, charcoal staining his hands. It stains his face where he's touched his own skin absently, smearing inky void across his cheeks like war paint. "Like everyone else."

"I think I froze to death," Tubbo says. He's got a black cloak around his shoulders, but it smells like grass and dirt, not soot and ash. It belongs to Missa. He wiggles his hand out from beneath the fabric, staring at his right pinky and ring finger. They are made of metal. Using the mechanism is as natural as breathing. Tubbo knows his own handiwork; he just doesn't remember building it. Or losing the fingers. He doesn't remember how he got most of his scars. "Maybe I exploded. I think it's gonna happen again."

"Don't get your hopes up," Phil says, voice lagging as he only pays half-attention. Tubbo doesn't care.

"I'll just cheat death," Tubbo proclaims. He looks down at his scribbled drawings, and his chest swells with an indescribable emotion.

Across the room, Phil snorts, as though he's just thought of an inside joke. Tubbo is not in on it. He doesn't think about how he almost laughs himself anyway. He just tucks himself back inside of Missa's cloak and does not think of ice.

#qsmp #qsmp tubbo #qsmp philza #qsmp fic #my writing

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