Alien Writes

Location: Lost in Block People Space l MCYT Writer l she/her

[alienwritestoo]

Hey there MCYT Enthusiasts!

I am but a humble fanfic + fic idea account for some of the following things I absolutely love and cannot shut up about online:

QSMP!!!

All things Philza Minecraft

SBI (Trio)

Generation Loss

Slimecicle's 100 Days in a Zombie Apocalypse (SCU)

Feel free to follow if ur looking for more content on the MCYT thingies mentioned above. If you want me to write any of ur ideas, post a thingy in my ask me anything tab.

Cheers,

Alien [She/her]

[bajoop-sheeb]

PLEASE for the love of the universe read anti-colonial science fiction and fantasy written from marginalized perspectives. Y’all (you know who you are) are killing me. To see people praise books about empire written exclusively by white women and then turn around and say you don’t know who Octavia Butler is or that you haven’t read any NK Jemisin or that Babel was too heavy-handed just kills me! I’m not saying you HAVE to enjoy specific books but there is such an obvious pattern here

Some of y’all love marginalized stories but you don’t give a fuck about marginalized creators and characters, and it shows. Like damn

[spid3rgrrrl]

If anyone has any recommendations give them to me please!

[bajoop-sheeb]

Gladly! The pieces on this list aren’t limited to specifically anti-colonial science fiction and fantasy, but they do center related and relevant topics, themes, etc.

Anything by NK Jemisin. She is the best speculative fiction writer of her generation and probably the best speculative fiction writer alive. She is easily one of the best writers working right now, across all genres. That’s not hyperbole. She deserves all the hype.

Anything by Octavia Butler. She needs no introduction. Her short fiction is incredible; “Bloodchild” is one of the pieces that inspired me to write.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon. Excellent. Just read it.

The Radiant Emperor duology by Shelley P. Chan. It broke my heart and it'll break yours.

Babel by RF Kuang. You’ve probably already heard of this book because Harper Voyager marketed the shit out of it and was right to do so. It’s very, very good. Kuang writes a compulsively readable story, that’s for sure.

The Unbroken by CL Clark. An exploration of what happens when conscription blurs the line between colonizer and colonized.

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo.

So Long Been Dreaming: Post-Colonial Science Fiction and Fantasy (anthology) edited by Nalo Hopkinson.

Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora (anthology) edited by Sheree Renée Thomas.

Severely underhyped books of assorted speculative genres:

The Blood Trials by NE Davenport. Given the chokehold romantasy currently has on the public it’s insane to me that this book hasn’t sold a billion copies.

The Vanished Birds by Simon Jimenez. It’ll change you.

The Tiger’s Daughter by K. Arsenault Rivera.

The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull.

Forged by Blood by Ehigbor Okosun. Ignore the marketing, this book is YA (maybe NA) and you’ll appreciate it more if you approach it as such.

Read widely. Read diversely. People of the Caucasian persuasion need to stop getting pissy when the story doesn’t immediately center them and they don’t automatically relate to everything the character says and does and is. Just let yourself get swept up in the story—even if it touches on (gasp!) racism—and maybe, just maybe, it’ll reveal something to you.

Or maybe not! Marginalized sff authors do not have to and should not have to educate their readers. But if I see one more white person complain about how Black characters are fundamentally annoying because they complain too much I’m going to fling myself into the sun

Thanks for coming to my ted talk I didn’t want to do it but here I am

[alienwritestoo]

q!Missa and q!Spreen being actual canon brothers on the qsmp is criminally unexplored by the fandom

OlderBro!Missa (i practice my order) & YoungerBro!Spreen (He said no pickles) is just *chefs kiss*

[alienwritestoo]

Hollow be Thy Name

Philza Minecraft had always been a father figure to all who needed him. He was a steady rock for turbulent teenagers, a welcoming presence for lost children, and a fierce protector of those who had lived far too little years to be allowed to deal with insidious threats on their lonesome.

But even he, a hardcore player who has lived for centuries, had a father once.

-----------------

The hardcore man holds his hat in his hand against an invisible wind, staring in shock at the man wearing an exact replica that shadowed their matching blue eyes.

Urahara Kisuke straightens slowly, turning towards him. His mouth quirks slightly as he meets Philza Minecraft’s gaze morphing into fury. 

“So son, this is what you’ve been up to.”

[alienwritestoo]

Philza Minecraft is a wizard who accidentally became immortal after meditating too hard.

Missa Sinfonia is an engineering student who got turned into an vampire after going to his first (and only) frat party.

Decades later, they bump into each other at the bar Forever Anonymous.

------

"So you... don't want to be immortal?" Philza eyes his drinking partner.

"Hell no," Missa scoffs. "I have to get my engineering degree again." He puts his head in his hands. "I chose the wrong career for being a vampire, man."

"Oh thank god." The blond wizard relaxes. "I thought I was the only one who hates immortality, mate." He puts on his hat. "Say, I've been researching a way to reverse it. Want to join me?"

The dark haired vampire clasps his hand desperately. "Please!"

------

Years pass in their pursuit to reclaim their mortality. Missa makes himself helpful to the cause- "It's okay to take a break Philza, have some enchiladas so I can live vicariously through you!"- and fashions them in the mortal regalia of the decade as time slips through their fingers like quicksand. He keeps them to a schedule of new names, new jobs, and new towns so nothing inconvenient props up once they've figured out the cure.

They take a small detour for Philza to conquer Antarctica for a couple of decades, but it was well worth it for the penguins. And it helps that there's never much sunlight during the times of year they're there, and the vampire can't really feel cold. It becomes Missa's favorite vacation destination.

Returning to their home in not-Antarctica is less exciting for a vampire who can't be in the sunlight.

"Are we there yet?" Missa complains as he sits at their normal kitchen table, eying Philza's sandwich mournfully as it sits untouched and unappreciated.

"Not yet." Philza smashes golden applies into a blender hooked up to an absurd amount of redstone circuits behind the wall. His eyes glow purple as he waves his wand, mummering an incantation as the machine screeches impassively. "Maybe this will work?"

Missa drops his head and sighs. Being an immortal vampire can be very, very boring. Maybe he should visit the penguins and see his Great, Great, Great Grandchicks.

------

Philza sighs as he rolls into bed. He waits for ten minutes before slipping into Missa's room and pretending to be really, really cold.

"No problemo, Philza," Missa says as he opens his cold arms wide. "I'll warm you up." He teases with a quirk to his lips.

The wizard sinks gratefully into the cool skinned embrace of his vampiric companion. A couple of decades ago, his face would be turned carefully away in embarrassment while spending time internally combating a sexuality crisis, but the immortal has long realized that labels are bullshit and he can ask for a hug if he wants one, dammit.

"What's on your mind?" The cold-skinned vampire asks him, seeing right through his bullshit.

"Forever told me he's in love with me." Philza confesses softly as he lies prone in Missa's embrace. "But he's not actually, because I remind him of his old partner from when he was mortal. Same hair, eyes, taste in clothing-" His chest grows tense. "I saw the pictures. Which I know it's really sad that Forever's life partner was mortal and gone, but I hate that it means I'm being seen as an imitation of someone else instead of the person I am. And it's not like I reciprocate his feelings-" He glances up at Missa. "But I wish we were at least friends, you know?"

Missa huffs. "He's a pendejo, Philza. We should going to his terrible bar."

"We did meet there." Philza reminds him, both amused and pleased by his partner's defensiveness on his behalf.

"We'll go to other bars!" Missa counters irritably.

"There aren't any other immortal bars, Missa." Philza points out logically.

"Well, he has to pay somehow." Missa's grip tightens in anger with vampiric strength, before he remembers himself and loosens his hold. "I'm not letting him get away with treating you like a convenient replacement for a ghost. It's rude, man!"

"We'll think of something." Philza placates with a suppressed smile. "Let's sleep on it. Okay?"

Missa hurumps and settles down to meditate. "Only if we think of something better. Otherwise, you know I'll burn that place down, Philza."

They both drift into unconsciousness and wake later with revenge in mind.

------

The strange pair walks into the latest government's registration office right before close in winter. They complete an absurd of paperwork and giggle as they walk out.

A few weeks later, they receive marriage certifications in the mail and proudly display them above a picture of a sulking Forever.

When their friends ask why, Missa starts to theatrically sob and accuse them of not believing in true love. Philza, without an ounce of shame, always just laughs.

They both refuse to elaborate.

------

"Ta da!" Missa jazz hands as he slides into view. "I found us a son!"

Philza blinks as he stands in the foyer of their home, looking down at the dragon hatchling stabbing him in the leg with a wooden sword. "A what now?"

The child is wearing a duck floatie. They don't own a pool. He has never been more confused in his life.

Philza accepts he has a son minutes later after listening to a peacefully dull, ordinary tale that makes him relax about the decision his husband made. Something about an adoption center ran by polar bears, a "Federation" kidnapping them at some point, inconsequential stuff. They could absolutely raise this child with no worries whatsoever.

He corrects the child's form. "Now this is the way to stab someone, mate." The child chuffs happily and proceeds to stab him a bit better than last time. The immortal wizard looks up at his husband. "What's his name again?"

"Chayanne!" The vampire' grin drops at the murder in Philza's eyes.

"I thought I said that name is banned in this house!" Philza yelled, chasing him around the house with his son's wooden sword. "No cheating!"

"I'm sorry!" Missa wailed before getting thwacked. "Its a good name!"

The name inevitably sticks after the dragon hatchling refuses to answer to anything else. The immortal family of two swiftly, and spiritedly, becomes three.

------

"How did we meet again?" Missa asks his husband as they curl up around the fireplace.

"Oh that?" Philza hums considerably. "I think we were at Forever's bar and bonded over something we both really, really hated. Can't remember what it was, though."

Missa gasps. "Wait, I know!"

"What was it?"

"Engineering." The vampire says gravely.

"No wonder mate." Philza groans. "Not worth relearning how things actually work every decade."

"I know, right?" Missa says, sitting up as he becomes more passionate. "I'm so glad I switched careers to creating destruction wherever I go and reaping mortal souls by drinking all their blood like a mortal Capri sun."

"That really is so much better, king." Philza agrees. "I think Chayanne would be perfect at that when he's older."

"He's 200 years old, cariño." Missa reminded him. "Our little huevo chose to fight God with Uncle Etolies, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I remember now." Philza lies. "I heard on the news, after the Capri Sun ad, which, I don't know how that company lasted so long-

Missa suspiciously smirks. All the employees are his minions.

"-That the sun's going to collide with the earth in the next five years."

"Can it be sooner than that? I can barely remember Forever, and he's got a name that we have to say all the time." Missa groans. "Immortality, forever, whatever man!"

"Yeah our memory's fucked." Philza chuckles.

The married immortals stare into the fireplace and hope they haven't forgotten anything important. They go to bed to meditate the night away.

"Shit shit shit!"Missa slaps Philza out of his trance, who rolls over in protest. "Get up, old man!" A bucket of water dumps over his head. And then lava, which tickles. "We forgot Chayanne's birthday!"

------

End of fic

[bantaro-bird]

I taped Tommyinnit to your dashboard

reblog to tape Tommyinnit to someone's dashboard

[alienwritestoo]

I personally like to think the QSMP is a sitcom with a shitty production team

Cucurcucho? A friendly host with a design so rushed that no one thought to not approve the equivalent of Satan's armpit

All the Mysteries/Puzzles? Staff was afraid ex-convict Cellbit would be bored without enrichment. They tried to appease him as employee of the month, but it didn't work :(

Kidnapping events? Don't worry, its all lighthearted drama- intern Susan why do you keep freezing the contestants

[spider-avenger22]

My favorite gay stereotype:

Eating soup with your hands.

[alienwritestoo]

Mafia!Quackity & Parent!Wilbur

Quackity discarded suits and suspenders for soft, approachable sweaters and a forged teacher’s certification for a very important mission that required the utmost focus and professionalism.

If only he could stop getting distracted by a bushy-haired little girl and her equally kind father who wouldn't stop bringing him homebaked pies with matching enthusiasm.

--------

Quackity learns how to embrace all kinds of unmafia-y things, with Wilbur and Tallulah’s help.

[k3yreviewer25]

okay, so how long til someone writes a qsmp x sweet tooth au

[alienwritestoo]

4Halo Piano Duet

"Come onnn Bad, it would be fun!" Forever gives him puppy eyes as he moves over on the bench, patting the spot next to him.

"I guess I could give it a try." Badboyhalo sighs, sitting next to him while rolling his eyes. He never really liked playing with other people, but a part of him couldn't help but indulge the strange man who had wormed his way into becoming important to him, somehow.

"You're going to like playing with me, I promise." Forever grins widely, obviously pleased. He opens the sheet music laying innocently on the top of the upright piano.

Bad glances at it before groaning. "The Pink Panther? Really?"

"It's Richas' favorite." Forever brings up his hands to hover over keys with a dramatic flair. "Ready?"

Bad brings his hands up reluctantly, hovering close his partner's, before bringing them down onto the keys together.

It's everything that Bad could have never imagined. His lips curled up into an involuntary smile as he plays the jazzy song, feeling Forever's eyes on him as he plays the lower accompaniment, his partner taking center stage with the melody above.

A surprised laugh rips out of him when the crazy man begins to deviate from the sheet music, making up a new tune within the same key. "Forever!" He protests, darting his hands up and down the lower octaves to match the growing intensity of the beat.

"Come on Bad, I know you can do it." Forever challenges him as he suddenly switches key. "Let's play some improv, baby!"

Forever tinkles the high notes, eyebrows high and gaze twinkling. Bad meets his eyes and plays it back. Neither of them notice how close they've gotten on the bench, arms darting around each other as they each grow bolder and bolder to steal notes within easy reach.

Unbeknownst to them, the pair had gotten so lost in the music (and each other) that FitMC almost made the mistake of accidentally walking into the room and interrupting the most adorable moment he has ever lied eyes on. He snaps a quick photo and backs away slowly, whispering a "I'll come back later." under his breath as he stores the event away to share with the morning crew.

If the pair didn't get married soon, FitMC would eat his nonexistent hair.

[alienwritestoo]

Celebrity!Missa & Farmer!Philza

After having a panic attack onstage, Missa takes a break from his career as a musician and accepts a temporary job posting to be a hired hand on a farm.

Naturally, farmer Philza and his son Chayanne have lots of love to give.

[alienwritestoo]

Legend Reborn

Technoblade is a legend on the QSMP. His deeds are ballads sung in the festive streets of the favela, chronicle of dedication inspiring the monumental stretch of potatoes growing on the wall and tales of hard-won battles uplifting the fight against the worst government known yet.

Sometimes, an unusually large Cucurucho can be found at the shrine dedicated to his memory, fingering a singular emerald earring.

The crown before him gleamed with familiar, unfulfilled purpose.

------------

Technoblade left the DSMP when he deemed Dream’s oppressive server free from the tyranny of governments, forever meant to be more than the sums of suppressive never meant to bes and unfinished symphonies. The tundra that once shielded armies of dogs and withers soon swarmed with the metaphorical winds of adventure, melting the cold heart he developed to survive on this server with its dangerous consequences, urging him onward to his next quest.

The piglin hybrid felt comfortable moving on, like his older brother had, towards an inexplicable future. He trusted his old man Philza to look after anyone who still stayed on the server, especially those who would no longer accept his help.

Philza stood with Steve at the gate to see him off, waving softly while his eyes burned with pride and unshed tears. The older warrior promised himself that he would make the old immortal never worry about one of his sons ever again, the only remaining to make it through the harrowing experience of DSMP mostly unscathed. His father surely trusted him, and only him, to survive despite all the world could throw at him. He would not let him down.

His fur prickled as he followed the warm breeze to warmer climates, ripping away government after government in his path onwards to an unknown ultimate prize. The governments there quickly realized he was coming, hastily setting up assassinations and armies to disway him. Yet Techno persisted, striding unceremoniously into rebellious camps who quickly accepted his tutelage to overthrow sure tyranny. It was a walk in the park after the annoyance it had been L’Manberg, that had been backed by an mask-cladded Admin until it miraculously switched to his side.And besides, even if Tubbo had been a weak president, the sting of Tommy betraying him stung like nothing else. 

The king of Antarctica wasn’t meant to get so close to the desert, but Technoblade would make the world realize otherwise. His quest lay south, and then someday he could retire to own a farm. 

In his uncomfortable state, he didn’t see it coming that he would be cowardly captured on an assuming night in a desert village near the sea. The anarchist had no time to react, huffing with outraged growls towards an unseeing assailant who didn’t react to a single hit from him as his humble lodgings wavered in his vision. Another Admin had taken interest in him, not even bothering to show its face as it continued to invisibly rain down potions of harming with impassioned precision. He continued to struggle for agonizing minutes with blood pouring out of his mouth and staining his tusks.

Technoblade’s face paled at the predicament he was in as he finally collapsed, lumbering form falling to his knees as his kidnapper removed the crown from his head like they were taking a toy from a toddler.

The piglin hybrid later woke to a cell of stark, lifeless quartz, with nothing but an orange jumpsuit to his name. Soon after, he lost himself to a haze of interrogations and treatments that turned him into something else, a creature with red eyes that eventually passed all the tests except-

He could never manage to speak, in support nor against the federation. It was the only rebellion he had left, as a duck creature handed him a clipboard and gave him his first task.

------------

Philza knew there were multiple Cucuruchos. The immortal had seen Chayanne slink back into the bunker from “night school” enough times, and glimpsed more than one of the white-furred creatures poking into the islanders’ business. Not the career path he would’ve encouraged for his adventurous egg, but the once-famed Angel of Death knew they had little choice in the matter.

Other than the times he saw Cucurucho-Chayanne, there was just one other that bothered him deep down.

One of the newer Cucuruchos was especially odd in comparison to the rest. The creature appeared when Luzu logged on with his binary code messages that oozed of sudden warnings, lumbering behind a pair of regular Cucuruchos with glinting red eyes. It towered over its cousins with muscle, wielding axes and crossbows rather than the classic gun. Tubbo, who was newer to the island but had managed to typically outmaneuver the creatures, had frozen inexplicably at the fireworks lining the crossbows it handled with ease.

Etoiles had gaped when the creature had joined the battle with an arsenal of old school vanilla weapons against three fake eggs, and carried.

“What the fuck?” Cellbit exclaimed as he examined the photo Pomme had taken of the newer creature. The detective looked like he wanted to drink vodka at its looming presence in PVP, only calming with Roier’s reassuring palm on his shoulder.

“No mames!” Roier shook his head in agreement. “This fucking sucks, man.”

“Why are there more of them?” Baghera questioned with a frown. “Why would they need one so big? Is it an intimidation tactic?”

Philza let the conversations wash over him as the order deliberated over what the new creature’s presence meant. The crow hybrid held a photograph in his hand, fingering the emerald earring it wore on its ear. It was the same exact style to his, a piece of jewelry that had been a mystery to him since his arrival to the island.

The old immortal remembered much of his past in comparison to the rest of the islanders. He was the only one to willingly volunteer, able to bargain with the foreboding federation to retain most of his memories.

Philza didn’t remember what he gave up, but he had his suspicions when his memories tried to tell him he never had any family. His heart pulsed with a heart thrumming with power his soul knew had been gifted, making him never age as long as he didn't die in combat. When he first joined the island, the man found a bag of blue dye tied together with a fancy ribbon and a note saying “calm yourself, have some blue”. None of these items had an explanation, especially the emerald earring that swung on his ear-

Until now. 

“Does he want to die?” Etoiles inserted as the group gravitated around the corpse of one of the codes, pulling Philza out of his thoughts. “I can give it the gift death if Cucurucho doesn’t want to live anymore?” 

His throat hissed automatically, eyes flashing as his mind keys in on the emerald the large creature wore somehow just right.

Multiple pairs of eyes whip over to him. “Woah there, what was that Philza?” Badboyhalo asked.

Philza blinked when he realized he had reacted instinctively to a threat against flock. He swallowed uselessly to calm himself down, angry clicks echoing up into the air instead. Unable to speak, he jerked his head towards the photograph and pointed a sharped clawed hand towards the creature.

“Oh shit guys.” Jaiden spoke up, a fellow bird hybrid. “Philza’s bird instincts think that the new Cucurucho is a part of his flock. Better not hurt the guy until we actually know he’s bad, if we don’t want the case of an angry crow hybrid on our hands.”

“If that’s the case, Maybe we shouldn’t attempt to attack or harm this Cucurucho until we know more about him.” Maximus concluded, looking at Cellbit who looked very tense but gave a reluctant nod.

The group eventually decided to only observe the new federation creature. The crow hybrid’s hackles raised when he noticed Cellbit, Etoiles, and Baghera didn’t explicitly agree to not harm it, but life soon went back to normal for a few weeks when nothing unusual happened. 

They noticed the creature had an weirdly normal and routine schedule, easily trackable in how it simply sparred in the middle of the battle dome every morning and built for the Federation in the afternoons following a checklist it regularly squinted at. Philza had to shove down the urge to hand it a pair of glasses when he occasionally approached on Cellbit's behalf to see its tasklist. It never tried to spy or speak to them, content to swing its archaic sword at practice dummies and occasionally amuse the eager Etoiles. 

“It's the best monster I’ve ever fought, Philza!” Etolies praised highly one day as they ran into each other at the front of what used to be Las Sacapuntas. “Battling with him is more interesting than anything else on the island except spending time with Pomme because she is my daughter and therefore automatically makes her the best thing to ever happen to anyone and I will kill anyone who says otherwise.” The French player grinned with teeth.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Philza laughed genuinely at his friend's strange humor, watching the warrior leave as quickly as he came with a fond shake to his head before he teleported to his own base on top of the wall.

That evening, Philza blinked when he spotted the creature outside of schedule by Techno’s shrine, wiping the dirt from his eyes as he stood up from his potato farm.

The hulking Cucurucho looked up from his vigil, turning away from where a crown sat in display on an armor stand. The creature's eyes glinted with a dark red color that strangely made him feel calm and collected.

“Hey mate.” Philza greeted him, wiping the dirt from his hands with spider silk. “Do you know who that is?”

The creature nodded curtly, not speaking nor turning to write in a book.

“He was one of my best friends.” The crow hybrid stipulated as he approached. “A great warrior, much like yourself.” He stood next to the creature. “Mostly I just know him as Techno, and as one of the most compassionate people I ever knew." He craned his head up, gauging the creature's interest in their conversation. "You know why?”

The hulking mass cocked his head, grunting. Philza took that as encouragement to continue.

“Hypixel skyblock was terribly going through a famine before Techno made the potato war happen. You see Cucurucho, even though they're the top server and could've simply asked for help, not many people knew Hypixel actually had food shortages because the number one server doesn’t like people knowing they fucked up." He snorts. "So naturally, my friend took it upon himself to solve the food problem for them. Techno never liked people starving, my so-” He choked, panicking at the unconscious wording. “...Friend.”

The creature reaches towards Philza’s emerald earring with a strange chuff. The old man’s mind translates it reflexively to mean question, curiosity. 

“I don’t know what it is, mate.” Philza admitted. “Do you know where you got yours?” For a split second he wonders if the creature stole it, but the idea drains away as the creature shakes his head with an air of confusion.

Cucurucho took a few steps back. He looked at the shrine with an unreadable expression, but his red eyes were so expressive. 

“I know this is weird to ask, since you're a federation worker and all but… do I know you?” Philza couldn’t help himself. Why does his instincts see this Cucurucho, out of all of them wandering the server, as his son? 

Cucurucho huffed, turning away from him unceremoniously before hopping off the edge of the wall. 

Philza leaned back on his hoe in the potato farm for support, stopping himself from following with a panic similar to one of his eggs in danger. The old immortal wanted to talk to it again soon, chest winding up with longing to connect to this unknown creature. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Missa called in the distance from the house, likely serving something Chayanne cooked up for his family of four. Philza blinked back unexpected tears when he realized it was potato night, the memories of inexplicable pink fur and comforting chuffs raw against his chest, before collecting himself to have a quiet evening with his anticipating two eggs and husband.

[alienwritestoo]

The Egg Ascending

<TW: death>

“I’m so sorry Tallulah.” Chayanne signs to his sister as red trickles around his body on the cold floor of the maze. He turns his head towards her, mustering the strength to lift a single hand to finger spell. “I failed you.”

Tallulah clasps that hand desperately, gripping it tightly to her chest. “Never,” The word wrenches out of her reverently as she shakes her head. She signs the rest, “You protected us from them. You saved me, Chayanne, when-" Her hands shake. "I fell behind.

Chayanne gives her a toothy grin of reassurance. “You and me always, right?”

Her eyes fill with tears, no longer unable to sign as she begins to sob in earnest.

At the sight of her crumpled face, Chayanne reaches out towards her with the rest of the strength he had left. He always hated it when the most important person in his world cried, no matter what.

Tallulah collapses into the offered hug around his weakening form, taking him in while she still could. She curls around him protectively, tail wrapping around their prone forms in an attempt to nestle them away from the underground chill.

"You are amazing, Chayanne." A comforting purple sign is placed gently front of his face. "The best friend and brother I could ever ask for and more."

Chayanne smiles and chuffs, feeling more than loved as he closes his eyes.

He sees himself flying. Of ascending above it all with newly hatched wings alongside his brothers and sisters, towards the bright future their parents had wanted for them so fervently to have.

The bravest egg on the island dreams of flying with Philza and Missa, his parents on either side of him as they quipped back and forth without a care in the world, safe and sound.

"You did so well," Lady Death wraps him in her arms as his soul soars, kissing him on the forehead. "Rest now, my brave warrior."

[alienwritestoo]

TntDuo Reunion

A revived man strolls idly through Las Nevadas, gut swirling with anticipation as he weaves into late night casino crowds.

“Wilbur?” Quackity appears from around the corner. “Hey man, good to see you!” His gold tooth glints falsely with a welcoming grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, I was just…” Wilbur trailed off with sarcastic sheepishness, looking at the man. “In the area.”

“Uh huh, right. In the area.” Quackity shakes his head, head ducking with disbelief. “You’re a funny guy, Wilbur.”

“Glad you noticed.” The revived man teases.

Quackity only hums in response. He stands with his hands in his pockets, stance wide (ready for a fight).

Wilbur appraises the shorter man before him, taking in the worn beanie stuffed onto his head sticking out like a sore thumb compared to the pristine state of his suspenders. It was the same blue hat after all these years. His posture was more slouched than it had been when Wilbur saw him last, straining under the weight of a long presidency.

He decides to continue to play their game of rivals, until he could introduce a new (and better) one.

“I see you kept the sunglasses I gave you.” He gestures at the pair of brilliant red and gold-rimmed frames on Quackity’s face.

“I like to hold onto nice things.”

“That’s a pretty pair if I do say so myself.” Wilbur agrees. “I never told you this, but I actually bought them with you in mind.”

“Oh really?” Quackity’s tone is monotone, gaze cold.

“Really,” The revived man continues. “They’re much too fancy for a man like me. Much better suited for the President of Las Nevadas.” Wilbur gestures at the skyscrapers surrounding them, the needle towering above.

“Well I agree with you, Wilbur.” A smile stretches across the casino master’s face like cutting glass. “Maybe I should continue to hold onto them since I’m that well suited.”

Typically at this point, Wilbur would be expected to scowl or to ‘break character’ away from their charade of friendliness. Anger would feed anger, passion with passion, and they would leave this conversation both viscerally unsatisfied- as their twin black holes would continue to suck away at any chance of happiness between them and others in their lives.

Wilbur wants to try something new.

“I want you to, they’re a gift. And besides.” Wilbur pauses with uncharacteristic nervousness. “I thought that you should have something to remember me by when I-”

“When you left.” Quackity finishes for him with flint in his voice.

“Yeah, when I left.”

A tumbleweed blows in the background.

“You fucking suck, Wilbur.” The words came out with spitting, and this isn’t how Wilbur wanted this to go.

“... Yeah.” He deserves Quackity’s anger.

Quackity storms to him and fists his shirt. His singular eye flashes with rage. “You left Tommy!”

Wilbur stared at him sadly.

“You-” He yanks him down. “Have so much to answer for. You think a fucking pair of sunglasses is good enough for leaving without saying anything?” He yanks him harshly. “And don’t even get me started on what you did to Tommy. He came straight here after you ditched him for Utah.” 

“I couldn’t be around him anymore.” Wilbur admits. 

“What the fuck?” Quackity said with eyebrows pinching. His eyes flash with the start of understanding, hands shaking. “That’s fucking bullshit! You’re basically his-”

“Yeah… I know.”

Quackity’s grip tightens around the lapels of Wilbur’s coat, face twisting unhappily. Wilbur doesn’t hide, letting him observe his unresisting figure.

“I abandoned him. My loyal, dutiful soldier who looked at me like I held the universe in the palm of my hand.” A rueful smile curls his lips, filled with self-hatred. “Tell me Quackity, what happens when someone gives you that level of trust, who cares so much about your good opinion of them that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to be in your good graces?” 

The shorter man’s hold stays firm, eyes glinting with flinty accusation. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I think you do.” Wilbur’s figure is unresistant in the other’s grasp. “Tommy needed to learn how to live for himself. But even more, Quackity-'' He straightens in his old enemy’s hold. “If I stayed, I would never get to be the good guy in his story.” An unspoken addition passes between their locked gazes.

Quackity lets him go harshly, backing away a few steps and eying him wearily. “Why are you here, Wilbur?”

“To say hello.” Wilbur puts his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to see if the year I was gone was kinder to you.” They both knew it was not, but he didn’t dare to say anything.

“...Congratulations, you saw me.” Quackity spits out. “Now leave my fucking country before I make you.”

Wilbur observes the beanie starting to tilt onto the side of Quackity’s head, dark circles etched into his skin. The revived man pulls out his carton of smokes and pulls out a piece of gum, extending an olive branch as he offers the stick to him.

The president of Las Nevadas glares at the offered gum. 

“It’s bubblegum.” Wilbur says helpfully.

Quackity stares at it for a moment before reluctantly taking the stick and unwrapping it. “What the fuck. Where did you put your smokes?”

“Threw them away.” Wilbur states around his gum.

Quackity scoffs. “Yeah right.”

Wilbur steps forward into his space, grabbing Quackity’s worn hand and bringing it over to the carton.  His finger taps the brand, a blue and red poker chip that is worn and scratched. “This is the last box I ever bought.” 

Quackity takes the carton and fingers the dents and aged cardboard. The color of his eyes burn in a way that makes Wilbur want to open his skull and peer into the flames. A few fragile heartbeats pass between them.

“Got rid of them after the first two weeks of working at a gas station.” Wilbur supplies, watching for Quackity’s reaction. “My manager got nicotine patches. Nicoderm at first, the highest dose, until I weaned off of it and wore the occasional home-brew patch she concocts in her lab.”

“You guys had a drug van?” Quackity asks, not moving away from the revived man’s grip.

“More like a rusty recovery shack funded by local addicts.” Wilbur adds.

“You’re kidding me.” Quackity guffawed. His reaction makes a small smile twitch on the revived man’s face. “What are the odds, man. Some things never change.” 

“What can I say, Quackity.” The name passes through his mouth reverently. “An old dog doesn’t learn new tricks to change the way it bites.”

“No way, shut up.” Quackity’s eyes lighten for the first time in their encounter. “You actually did it again?”

“Helped her set up the lab and her first customer.” Wilbur agrees easily. “Though I try to not get on vegan burger duty.”

“Why, cause your burgers are shit?”

Wilbur smirks back. “If Salt Lake City got a taste, the repressed bastards would never let me leave.”

“Utah doesn’t get to have an opinion on food.” Quackity retorts. “And my actually still-running restaurant would one hundred percent wipe yours.”

“It’s had a year to thrive without my interference.” Wilbur draws away, pocketing his carton of gum. “Though I wouldn’t say no to trying one, just to be sure it's up to par with mine.”

“Whatever you say, asshole.” Quackity rolls his eyes before grabbing the revived man’s sleeve (his short stature making it look comically childish) and dragging him away to the diner the block down. “We’re also selling milkshakes now, by the way.”

“I’m lactose intolerant, Quackity.”

“...No you’re not.”

“...”

“Wait really?”

A smile spreads across Wilbur’s face.

“Jerk.”

Quackity later moves a chef aside (only because it's 3pm and business is slow) to make a vegan burger for Wilbur, who only interferes to add in two splashes of paprika to his patty. And then some chopped onions, and a little Rosemary. Another patty ends up in there at some point as well, resulting in a meal they cooked together.

They eat their vegan burgers and split a strawberry shake between them.

Wilbur chucks a fry at Quackity’s serious face.

“Two can play at that, asshole.” Quackity dips a fry in ketchup and smears a glob onto his old rival’s forehead.

“I have been blessed by Prime.” Wilbur reaches blindly to smear a ketchup dick onto his forehead. “Take me to the nearest priest, Quackity, I’m the next Grilled Cheezus.”

“Not if that's how you treat Ketchup.”

Wilbur shrugs before sitting back down. “Maybe Prime's into that. Say Quackity, if I'm a holy relic, am I unbanned from your country?”

“Your ban's just been doubled.”

“I was hoping you’d reconsider now that I am showing humble patronage to the local church.”

“I don’t let dicks into my country.” Quackity flicks the symbol on Wilbur's head.

Wilbur hums, face slightly warm at the contact. “You know, I’m not sure where we should go for our next date then.”

“Go next?” Quackity’s forehead furrows with confusion. “Did you just say date?”

Wilbur’s eyes widened at the slip of his tongue. “Or whatever you want it to be.” He blunders helplessly as his throat closes briefly.

Quackity’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “I'd rather know what you wanted it to be.”

The revived man pauses, scratching his neck. “Well, I’ve moved back permanently so I thought…”

Quackity leans back, scoffing. “What, we could have another little get together so you could manipulate your way back into my good graces?”

Wilbur resists the urge to roll his eyes. The safe route would be to fall right back into their old dynamic of biting words and charged rivalry. It would feel safer, and easier on the both of them. But that wasn’t

The smaller man rolls his eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”

Wilbur puts down his burger, appetite lost. “Quackity, do you want to know the truth?”

Quackity eyes him wearily, gaze hardening at the lack of Wilbur willing to play their game. “What is it?”

“I came here to start over with you. Not because of any sort of guilt really, or to make up for leaving.” Wilbur admits. He exhales resolutely. “There’s always been something between us, and I want to know what it is.”

The president of Las Nevadas’ eyebrows raise. “Wilbur, you want to sleep with me?”

Wilbur steals the shake back. That side of him is a whole can of worms he doesn’t want to open tonight. “Would you believe me if I said I just want to get to know you better?”

“We’ve known each other for years.” Quackity folds his arms. “I’m not hanging out with you for that reason.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Wilbur suddenly asks. “What do you do when you’re stressed, or really fucking happy?”

“Yellow, smoking, and smoking on The Needle.” Quackity deadpans. “So now that I answered your inane question, are we done?”

“I particularly like blue on stormy days.” Wilbur supplies instead of acknowledging his question. “And sometimes when I’m stressed, I chew gum and stick it under Tommy’s bench to piss him off. I haven’t felt happy in years.”

“Wow.” Quackity reacts genuinely, reluctantly intrigued. “Did Tommy find out?”

“Shroud caught me. Clever little kid bribed me for free cookies for a month.” Wilbur answers with a small laugh. He eyes his companion. “Why the Needle?”

“It's my pride and joy.” Quackity answers like it’s obvious. “Represents where I started, and lets me see 360 degrees what I’ve accomplished since.”

Wilbur raises their milkshake. “And what an accomplishment you’ve made, getting these onto the menu.”

“You... do like strawberry.” Quackity admits. 

“Anything fruit.” Wilbur agrees, secretly pleased Quackity remembered his sweets preference. “I have a soft spot for any of the reds. Strawberry, cherry, pomegranate, anything of the sort. I also like long walks on the beach, Guuci, and the attention of a certain little man in front of me.”

“Little, huh." Quackity laughs incredulously. "Wow and I thought you wanted to be friends again.”

“I'd like that a lot, Quackity.” Wilbur realizes confidently as he says the words. 

"...” Quackity looks away to hide his face.

“Really.” Wilbur pushes his shake over to Quackity. “I’ll even share my shake with you.”

“Wow, exclusive shake privileges from the Wilbur Soot. I’m honored.” Quackity composes himself and takes a long sip.

“Sufficiently bribed, I hope.” Wilbur pretends he isn't looking at him hopefully.

Quackity snorted and continued to suck on the straw. “I own this place.”

Wilbur hums, smiling at him fondly. “Fair enough.” He straightens in the booth as an idea pops into his head. “Say, Quackity, what is your least favorite hobby?” 

“Fishing and hanging out with you. Why?”

Wilbur smirks. “Lets fish and spar.”

“Spar?” Quackity scoffed. “Now why the hell would I do that?”

“Because it's my least favorite thing to do.” Wilbur drops, standing up while grabbing the last fry. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“I never agreed to- hey!” Quackity protests as Wilbur walks out the door, waving behind him. He sits down, shaking his head with a smile of disbelief and sparkling eyes. “Man, what the hell is wrong with this guy.”

[alienwritestoo]

Left Behind

“Hey Wilbur.” Quackity laughed awkwardly. “Don’t mind me, just setting up a garden.” He gestured vaguely at the crude holes he had dug up in the grounds right outside Wilbur’s house. 

Wilbur blinked. “Quackity, you’re always welcome here if you need somewhere to stay.”

Quackity couldn’t help his shoulders shuddering at those words, burning eyes cast to the ground as he laughed under his breath with disbelief. The duck hybrid wouldn’t fall for such niceties, couldn’t when-

“Quackity, you forget where you stand next to me.”  

A revived man from another life sneered down at him, reveling in his insanity. Wilbur was in his space, hands in his trenchcoat, expression marred his aged face. Quackity thought about how the man had been given a second chance at life, and yet-

“You’re a walking second place metal.” 

The words ring with a sense of finality, closing the potential for something else between them. A chance for change was never named, nor acknowledged.

Quackity could never trust him- this explosive, insane person.

So their cycle of rivalry continued, doomed to never change. They danced to its tune as early as their brief affair during the days of Pogtopia, regarding each other in an envious loop of give and take, one vs the other, until-

“He’s gone, Quackity.” Tommy told him, eyes tired. “Wilbur left the Dreamsmp. For good.”

Something snapped within the Las Nevadas President as he wrapped the traumatized teenager into a fierce embrace. He would never forgive him for leaving them in the dust, but a part of him always knew the man would never change.

Quackity intimately knew who Wilbur used to be. But the worst part was how the memories were like the DreamSMP happened yesterday, drawing him to a filmy yet invisible trigger hidden within the disarming soft sweaters and reading glasses.

“Sure, sure,” Quackity returned to their conversation distractedly, avoiding the eyes of his old rival that saw right through him in every life. “Say, where is Tallulah?”