Sign ups for TWB’s MCC event are now open! This is a competitive, multifandom writing event, running from June to August, inspired by MCC. Signups close on May 31st. If you’re interested, join the discord for more information and to sign up: https://discord.gg/M8prCzTBNb
[ID: a graphic that reads “the writer’s block presents Minecraft Championships” at the top. A section labeled “The Games” lists the available games, along with the dates they start and an image of the game taken from MCC. From left to right, the games are Hole In The Wall which starts on June 4th, Bingo But Fic which starts on June 11th, Parkour Tag which starts on June 18th, and Grid Runners which starts on June 25th. Below that is a divider labeled “Break Week”. Below that is another row of games formatted the same way as the first one. From left to right, they are Battle Box which starts on July 9th, Big Sales At Build Mart which starts on July 23rd, TGTTOSAWAF (to get to the other side and wack a fic) which starts on July 30th, and Sands Of Time which starts on August 6th. Below that is a divider labeled “The Finale: Dodgebolt”. Under that, from left to right are a series of 3 icons. The first is a gold crown in Minecraft style. The second is the game Dodgebolt, formatted in the same style as the rest and starting on August 20th. The third is the TWB icon, which is a digital drawing of a blond, white man in a red hoodie with white sleeves aiming a bow and facing left. /End ID]
Hey Writers!
Signups for TWB's MCC Event have RE-OPENED! This is a competitive, team-based, multifandom writing event, running until the end of August.
Signs ups close on the 7th of July! If you're interested, join the discord for more information and to sign up: https://discord.gg/M8prCzTBNb
Event is described in more detail in pinned post ^^
The bakery ran by the apprentice is Portia's favorite resting spot after a tiring morning in the warzone that is the market place.
It isn't the most practical resting spot, but the pretty and amicable baker makes up for it.
Prompt: Rest
brought to you by: @twbmccevent
Portia often has runs to and from the market from the Palace. She’s a very busy woman, after all.
It happens so often that she has a routine. The first place she’d make a beeline to is the shop with all the fresh fruits, which is often one of the first stalls in the market that run out of stock first thing in the morning.
She’d made a deal with the shopkeep, though, that it’d open earlier in the morning just for her as a service to the Countess Nadia.
The next places aren’t in particular order, thankfully, because those would depend on what the Palace needs for that day and for the rest of the week. Often she’d go from furthest to closest, so she wouldn’t have to take multiple trips around the market place.
However, she’d always leave the best for last.
The Bakery, one that she swears is as Magical as the little shop in the one corner of Vesuvia that Asra owns. This one is ran by the new apprentice baker, one she’d often find in the same shop as Asra.
She, the apprentice, has their own magical charm, though. Portia finds herself always spending the rest of the freetime in the morning lingering around in her shop.
Portia once thought that this was the reason why the shop ran so well. There’s nothing more selling than a pretty smile and a good seller, after all. However, that wasn’t the case.
It was… well, everything. From the small, cozy space of warmth that the shop offers, to the aroma of the bread that is baking in the oven.
While people come and go, often leaving the soft cushion of the lounge untouched, Portia likes to stay there from time to time. So much so that she’s become such a frequent customer of that only really comes by when the apprentice is around.
So when there’s the telltale sound of the bell ringing, and taking a while to close because of the amount of things that Portia is carrying in the arms, the apprentice, already taking her post by the door, keeps it open for Portia to enter smoothly.
The red-head smiles sheepishly at the apprentice, “Hello again,” She says, “Thanks for the help, you really shouldn’t have.”
She only laughs, and by the stars is it just as heartwarming as the heat of the oven. “It’s no problem, Portia.” She smiles. “Can’t leave my favorite customer struggling. That’d be cruel of me,”
“Of course–”
“Especially when I’ve just freshly baked her favorite. Oh, the horrors of being such a kind baker.” The apprentice dramatizes, and Portia rolls her eyes.
“What a sacrifice,” She says.
Portia sets her newly acquired items to the side, taking her seat in her usual place. “Would you mind if I take a rest here?” She asks. “I don’t want to keep you troubled, I’ve just had the worst walk from the south of the market to here.”
The apprentice grimaces. “Yikes, must be one hell of a walk– didn’t they break the pavement to rebuild it last week?”
“It isn’t on the ‘rebuild’ stage, no.” Portia huffs.
She chuckles, “Oh, dear girl. Go take a good break there. I’ll be in the back if you need anything.” The apprentice says. “Here, have a complimentary cup.”
Portia looks up, about to ask how much it’d be today (she’d change the price for her every day, and Portia doesn’t really mind but it feels like she’d send the poor baker out of business), only to be cut off by a wink. “It’s on the house for my favorite girl.” She says, and she doesn’t let Portia a moment to respond before she’s already moving away.
The girl, left in the lounge of the bakery, is left a blushing, flustered mess.
Portia cups her face, feeling her face heat up. That damn baker. If she wasn’t so pretty and kind and everything then she wouldn’t be suffering like this.
Fic where Simon Riley comes across a toddler who witnessed a crime.
Prompt: Protect
Brought to you by @twbmccevent
(You're on Part 1), (Part 2 soon),
The Ghost is one of the most intimidating enigmas in the army. He is the enemy to those who wish to disrupt peace, and a loyal fucking dog to his morals– whatever is left of it. He is not a good man, no. He does what’s necessary, and sometimes what’s necessary isn’t good.
But Simon Riley tries. By God he tries. He’s long given up on the hope that he could get a normal life, not when it was so cruelly stolen from him when he’d thought he’d be able to have it.
There is no good soldier that is a good person. And Ghost was a good soldier.
Peace, innocence, the like, it isn’t for him. He isn’t made for it. Maybe he had the chance, once upon a time, but he can’t have it anymore, not when he’s seen the consequences of it.
It’s a principle he lives by every day of his life since his family died.
That is, until today.
Simon Riley, in civil attire and on leave, has a toddler clinging to his leg insisting he calls him dad.
“Dad! I want to go home!” The boy wails, and he could tell that he’s about to throw a tantrum because of how the boy is shaking his pant leg. “Let’s go home, please!’ The boy is elongating the words.
Simon looks around for his parent. Surely he has a parent here somewhere.
“Hey, kid–”
“Dad!” The boy wails yet again. “Please!” And… this isn’t a tantrum. No, he isn’t violent. He’s clinging to Simon’s leg yes but he isn’t hurting him, nor biting (Joseph used to bite.)
Simon feels a chill down his spine when he sees the look on the kid’s face.
Something is wrong.
Simon looks up on instinct, and he finds three, dark-clad men just stood there. One of them is looking– a spotter, he recognizes. It only confirms his suspicion when the spotter glances away the moment Simon’s eyes meet his.
“Alright,” He says, “Come up here, kid, let’s go home.” Simon tells him.
The kid is wide-eyed. He loosens his grip on Simon, and he complies when Simon carries him on his hip. He’s so small, he realizes. Smaller than Joseph was.
When he gently pulls the kid into his shoulder, Simon makes use of the fact that he’s masked and whispers: “What’s your name, kid?”
“T-Tommy.” The boy answers. “Please help me, there are— I saw them–”
“It’s okay, we can talk somewhere else, okay?” Simon answers, and he makes sure to pin the three strangers in his peripherals as he stalks away. The gun hidden under his hoodie feels heavier now, and he made sure that he could easily take it out if he needs it. “You’re safe with me, kid. You’re okay now.”
The boy sniffles, and Simon doesn’t react when the boy wipes his snot and tears on Simon’s shoulders. He’s grown used to it when he’d comfort Joseph after a tantrum, or after he’d cry. “What’s your name?” The boy questions.
“Simon,” He answers truthfully. “My name is Simon, and I’m going to help you, okay?”
(i'm not gonna post the funny picture this time I feel like it's getting redundant lmao)
Prompt: Embrace
Tallulah is walking beside Wilbur Soot, her hand in his while they walk home from the van. A burger van, she remembers. Tallulah had wanted to come with, and there was no one available to watch over her. She’d spent the day with a guy named Ranboo, and he was really fun to be with.
He said something about setting a meeting with his kid, named Michael, Tallulah is looking forward to that.
She hums, putting a skip in her step while she walks with Wilbur. They walk in silence, because Tallulah would have to stop moving to write and Wilbur said he needed to be there as quick as possible.
Tallulah thinks her papa and Wilbur are a lot more similar than they think. Wilbur Soot, the founder and destroyer of L’manburg, is essentially a very simple person whose image has been strongly influenced by the people who’d looked up to him. And the issue with that is that everyone in this place does. Everyone, during the time he’d reigned as the president of L’manburg, had seen him as this being that is beyond comprehension.
She believes, though, that it should be easy to understand him. She simplifies his image into something that she can understand, that is.
He is a man conscious of his image. Wilbur succumbs to what people see him as, and in striving to do so has hidden who he really is. He is a man who is a father, who wanted to be a father until everyone saw him as a being beyond even that. Even his own son saw him more than his father– a figure to worship, a god.
But to her, that man is just a man, and he gets sad sometimes, and he gets angry, but he isn’t a bad man.
He isn’t a bad man. No iteration of her dad could be a bad man, because in their essence, Wilbur is her dad.
And at the thought of that, something tugs at her heart. She feels sad, and she wants to…
She wants a hug, she discerns. She wants a hug, and be safe in someone’s arms, and it just so happens that there is someone walking with her right now.
Tallulah tugs at Wilbur’s hand, and she makes a noise to call his attention.
Wilbur pauses in their walk home, and he crouches to her height. “Is there anything you need, darling?” He asks, voice soft. He’s become soft with her, kinder. He’s began to call her darling as a form of endearment and at this point it’s hard to see him as anything else other than her dad.
She isn’t her dad from the island. Tallulah knows that. But he’s like her dad, and he could be her dad.
Right now, she wants to be hugged by her dad.
Tallulah reaches her arms towards him, motioning what she wants. She opens and closes her hands, prompting him to cradle her in his arms.
Wilbur’s face softens, and she can tell he’s amused. “Are your little dragon feet tired, Tallulah?” Wilbur asks playfully.
Tallulah nods. They aren’t, no, but it’s a good excuse.
He takes her into his arms, just as she wanted, and hugs her as he carries her. He wraps his arms around her, and there’s a hand behind her head that places her head to the top of his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you want me to carry you, then.” Wilbur says, “I was feeling a bit cold, you know? You and your dragon genes really help out with the cold, huh?”
Today, Elina lays on one of the wider reefs, the surface wide enough to support her weight. She lies still, facing up, and her eyes look longingly at the surface of the water where the sky rests. The girl, once a fair, now a mermaid, can’t help but feel a sort of melancholy.
She’d lost her wings, a year ago today. Elina had been counting.
While the people of Mermaidia had been more than welcoming to their new resident, it didn’t sit right with her. She loves the tail, it’s beautiful, but she wasn’t a mermaid. She’s a fairy.
For so long, she’d longed for wings, and she’d gotten them.
She’d lost them, though. For a tail.
While she mourns the loss of her wings, she wouldn’t change it for the world. She would always decide to sacrifice them to save Mermaidia. Or maybe that’s not quite it. Maybe it wasn’t Mermaidia on its own.
Saving Mermaidia had been collateral, she thinks.
Elina is a good person, but even she had some extent to her selfishness. That much of self-awareness is warranted, after having spent a year wondering what made her decide that it was worth losing her wings.
“Elina!” She hears from a distance.
She sits up, and she looks away from the blue sky to take a glance at who had called her. She sees someone just as worthy as the sky she’d lost. The fairest trade, just as beautiful as the clouds she’d owned, once upon a time, and just as wonderful as air.
Swimming towards her is Nori.
Elina smiles back, and she waves. Nori speeds up to greet her, and she circles around Elina playfully, as if in greeting.
This prompted Elina to giggle. Nori had been fond of skinship, since they’d grown closer. This included the playful taps of the tail, and embraces, and her head on Elina’s shoulder.
And just like now, when Nori would sink to her side, leaving little to no space between them. Elina had grown accustomed to it, had even grown to love it, even.
“What brings you here, Nori?” Elina asks, and she can’t help but draw her eyes to the sky. Still, she’s sat up.
Nori hums. “I could ask the same to you,” She says, but she grabs Elina by the chin and tilts it down to face her. There’s a sad smile on her face. “But I already know.” Nori’s voice is soft.
Her hand returns to her side,
Elina feels herself mourn at the loss of it too. But that doesn’t last long when Nori rests her head against the crook of her neck. “Elina,” She starts, but before she can continue, Elina cuts her off.
“No, Nori. It’s okay. I’m okay.” She insists voice amused. “I’m okay, Nori.” She repeats.
She could tell that the mermaid wasn’t convinced.
“I know what today is, Elina." Nori tells her, like she's sharing her grief. "If I could, I’d give you back your wings.” Nori says, and she sounds sorry. Apologetic. “I wouldn’t have you sacrifice your wings, not when that damn fruit wouldn’t have worked.” There’s a heavy sigh.
“Nori,” Elina says. She shifts her weight, pushing onto her side so that Nori is prompted to shift her position. She faces the blue haired mermaid, and she holds both of her hands.
Elina looks down, seeing the hands in hers. Elina is not a mermaid, not when her hands are much smoother, much more different than Nori’s scaled ones. Elina doesn’t have her own scales, yet, but she can feel them growing in the longer she’s a mermaid. She feels herself entranced by the blue scales on her skin, shimmering. It almost looks like the sky. No. It does remind her of the sky.
She looks up at Nori, her blue eyes staring back at her green ones. Elina smiles, and she raises her hand towards Nori’s cheek.
Elina feels Nori lean towards the hand, and she feels the small bouts of scales over her cheek. “I wouldn’t change anything for the world.” She says.
She’s over Philza’s shoulders while they walk towards one of Wilbur’s other children. She’s told that he’d loved it the most, loved it even more than he did Fundy, his son.
This child, of Wilbur Soot, is a nation called L’manburg. His child, his unfinished Symphony, forever unfinished.
“And he died for this country.” Phil had said. “He died with it, when he’d killed L’manburg.” And Tallulah imagines that this must be the reason she found him in Limbo. Why he’s always so cynical.
So here they are. Upon her insistence, she’d been brought by Philza towards the grave of Wilbur’s child. She can see it from the distance, grids of obsidian overhead what she sees is a massive crater.
When they go closer, Tallulah whistles from the back of her throat. How could this place have been a nation? She could see the bedrock under the water, surrounded by greens.
She writes something on her board, and she flips it over Phil’s head so he could read it face to face. “Why is it so deep?” She asks, “Surely it couldn’t have reached that deep during one explosion.
“It was a big explosion, Tallulah.”
“Still. My teacher– Mr. Smiley, he taught me and my siblings some things and this is one of them!” Tallulah insists.
and Phil chuckles sheepishly at that.
“That’s technically my fault.” He says, “People tried to build over it, did you know? They tried to build over my son’s grave, and they’ve made a corrupt government over it.”
Tallulah imagines that this Phil is the same as her Abuelito. Anarchists.
“It was me, Techno, and a man called Dream– and you’re safe with me and Technoblade, Tallulah. Don’t you worry.”
She frowns.
“And Dream?” Tallulah writes.
Phil lets out an angry coo, like a growl but something higher pitched. Tallulah feels discomforted when she hears it, like someone is scolding her really bad for what she’s done, even if she hasn’t done anything bad at all.
“Going nowhere near us anytime soon.” Phil answers curtly, and she knows not to talk or ask more about it.
Still, she wonders what that’s about.
“Were people hurt?” Tallulah asks.
His voice is soft when he answers. “Of course.” Phil sighs. “I’ve taken away the place that they loved– but it was because they’d foregone the people surrounding it.”
She… she doesn’t like this. It feels so complicated, and it feels like no matter what happens she’d end up on the wrong side of someone. Still, she knows that regardless, she would always be by this rendition of her family’s side.
There aren’t good or bad people. Just people. No one is evil for evil’s sake.
“What do you mean?”
“They hurt us first, and we hurt them back.” Phil says. “But we’ve made sure that they don’t hurt anyone else after it– this place, it’s cursed. It’s doomed to destroy the people in it, and have them destroy everyone else.”
No one is evil for evil’s sake.
Tallulah can’t help but think that this can’t be any more truer for the people in the Tundra with her.
Tallulah hears Puffy hum, with the younger purring when she cards her fingers through the locks of her hair, putting it into twin braids. She’d come across the other woman while on her own and wandering the main SMP despite, well, being told not to.
It’s just that she doesn’t really like being alone in that house. It isn’t even reinforced, so it doesn’t feel like it’d be safe in that place even if she does stay.
So here she is, sat on a treestump while Puffy is stood behind her. She’s not really tall, no, not compared to Wilbur who Tallulah has grown accustomed to seeing every time. Whenever he’d have to fix her hair instead of Phil, he’d always have to crouch and her pigtails would be unevenly placed and divided. However, she is still shorter than Puffy which leads her to the dilemma of having to use a tall stool– hence the log.
“Tallulah, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.” Tallulah hears Puffy say, and despite her saying that she’s prepared to listen to her say something she wouldn’t agree with. “But… who is Wilbur your dad?”
Tallulah doesn’t really understand how this could be taken the wrong way, she thinks. He is her dad, by technicality. Tallulah raises her hand, with a thumb raised up.
Puffy exhales. “Oh,” She says. “That makes sense, you and him have a similar look, after all.” Puffy says, but something about it is tight.
The little girl already knows why she’s hesitant, and why she feels like she has to skirt through some sort of line– Puffy doesn’t like Wilbur with Tallulah. Not when the rumors of this man is already so extreme, and with Wilbur having no intention to dispel them.
But that doesn’t matter, at least not now when Tallulah is feeling a certain giddiness at being told she resembles her dad– even if this one isn’t her dad. “What makes you say that?” She writes on her board.
“Oh! The brown curls and the white streak– seems like a defining genetic trait I think. Even Fundy has white strands in his hair, albeit a bit scattered all over.”
Tallulah gasps. “Where! I wanna see!”
Puffy laughs. “Sorry, kid, but I think this one would be hard to see when it’s so short.” She says apologetically. “But I’m going to tug at it so you know where it is, okay?”
Tallulah nods, and the excitement has her swinging her legs. She’s got a white streak too! She wants to show it to Wilbur and maybe Phil.
Maybe then they wouldn’t be so hesitant to take her in and be convinced that there’s no pushing her away.
She feels a tug at the middle of the back of her head, and she lets out a happy sound. It’s not too far! Tallulah makes sure to remember it.
“Why are you so happy about this?” Puffy asks, an amused tone in her voice.
Tallulah answers: “I want to look like my dad!”
Because that’s what he is. Her dad. There’s no getting rid of her and she knows that even he is hesitant in letting her go. It’s why she’s been discouraged from leaving– he wants to protect her.
“You certainly do, kid.” And there it is, the resigned tone in Puffy’s voice. “Now come on, let’s finish this braid so I can take you to him, alright?”
Tallulah raises her board: “Can we add some poppy flowers in it? There’s so many around here!”
Puffy laughs. “Of course, Tallulah.” She says.
When Puffy finishes the braid, Tallulah’s got all sorts of flowers, not just poppies in it. There are buttercups, the smaller petals of the allium flowers, some peonies and many poppies. Tallulah was given a mirror to see it– she absolutely loves it.
There was something about the apprentice that unsettles Muriel. They’re rather frightening, on one hand, especially with their rumored prowess in magic and the arcane.
There’s also the fact that there can be no fault found in such a gentle character. It’s frightening.
“Hello there!” The apprentice says, taking him by surprise when they came out of nowhere. “What’s going on here? Is there anything interesting down there?” Overly friendly, that’s what they are. Muriel finds it difficult to trust.
When he stands to draw to his full height, they aren’t even intimidated by his sheer size like most other Vesuvians are. “Woah, you gotta tell me what they feed you.” This isn’t the first time he’s heard them say that. It must be genuine, their awe for his height.
Muriel doesn’t respond, but that doesn’t faze the apprentice, not when they’ve already moved onto a new topic– their name. They introduce themself by their name, but he already knows this. This is the 11th time they’ve introduced themself to him, after all. “This must be the first time we’re meeting– you seem like a cool guy, though!”
This is the 12th time they’ve met, and somehow despite Muriel being careful, he always runs into them. Despite having met them for a dozen times now, he still finds it difficult to be accustomed to the kindness they show him.
And they’re consistent about it. That’s what makes it scarier.
They’re genuine.
“So, what brings you to the forest?”
“Foraging.” He answers curtly.
The apprentice’ eyes widens. “Oh! Same!” They say, and he knows this. They’ve said this every time. He sees them peering at the herbs he has in his hands, and they look sheepish. “Ah, we must have been looking for the same thing.” They tell him, and they bring out their basket. “You must be looking for some of these herbs– would you like some?” They offer.
And… he does. He has been looking all over the forest for these ones, only to find that they’ve run out in the places they usually grow. “Just a few, please.” He says quietly, and the apprentice beams.
“Of course!” They say, and they hand him a handful of it. It’s too much, he thinks, but he already knows better than to attempt at returning.
It makes the conversation longer.
“Is that all?” They question. “Err, if you could return the favor, I need that orchid over there– I was about ready to climb the tree if I didn’t see you crouched there.”
And he nods. Of course he will. This is the only way he could return the kindness, after all.
They talk while he heads over to the tree they pointed out, and they’re really talkative. The apprentice talks about all bouts of things, from the reason why they need that orchid, to the job they have in Vesuvia. The apprentice is Asra’s friend. He’s learned about this from them at the fifth meeting, and even Asra himself had told him about them. They’re kind hearted, a good soul, and Muriel could see that.
“You know, I wish I could be as tall.” The apprentice tells him when they get their orchid. This isn’t the first time they tell him this either, but Muriel can’t help but find it amusing each time. “Anyway, I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” They tell him. “I’m sure you have places to be. Thank you so much for your help.”
The apprentice is always so nice, so kind. He appreciated it, once. He’d liked it, in the short moments where he’d met them.
But he doesn’t like it anymore, not when he’d have to give up that kindness every time they meet. When the myrrh takes effect.
It feels like a permanent goodbye everytime they part.
So instead, Muriel bids them goodbye.
And when he’s out of their sight, he could see the frown and the confusion on their face when they forget him.
Muriel doesn’t count on the 13th time they’d be meeting.
Tallulah isn’t fond of other hair accessories other than her beanie and hats. It’s something she thinks is essential to her image, after all, and is also one of the reasons why she is often connected to her father. She was told, once, that he was a fan of them.
So she’d worn them.
But Phil had taken it out for a wash.
Tallulah doesn’t like the way her hair is loose behind her. It was initially a mess that the beanie could have at least contained, but she doesn’t like it loose. It’s bothersome, and the weight on her head isn’t something she thinks is comfortable.
Still, she ends up going out without one.
Today, she is with Mr. Quackity. He’s taking her out for her quests since her Abuelito only really logs in thrice a week and she’d fallen asleep on one of them.
Begrudgingly, Phil had permitted Tallulah to visit Mr. Quackity, her father’s special interest.
And Mr. Quackity, despite, well, being pathetic (not according to her! The rest of the eggs like to gossip, and a lot of them like to tease him.) is rather perceptive to her irritation.
“What’s got you troubled, Tallulah?” He asks, concerned. “Is something wrong?” He crouches so he’s closer to her level.
Tallulah purses her lips, deciding whether or not this was an important issue to even talk about, before deciding that maybe, if he’d been inclined to, he could lend her his beanie instead.
“My hair is bothering me.” Tallulah writes. “I don’t have my beanie.”
Quackity nods, and he pats around himself for anything. And he pauses, right on his arm, where a ribbon is tied around it. He hooks his finger around it, as if testing something.
Tallulah blinks, she has half the mind to just ask for his beanie straight up. She doesn’t continue it, not when she witnesses him untying the ribbon on his upper arm and loosely holding it between his fingers.
“I’m gonna tie your hair, okay?” He asks, and he’s doing a great job at keeping his composure when he’s holding the remains of his child.
Tallulah knows. She isn’t naive. That’s Tilin’s ribbon– the egg who was supposed to be her sibling.
Quackity must see the hesitation on her face, and his expression softens. “It’s okay, Tallulah.” Quackity says. “It’s just a ribbon.” He tells her.
“It’s not just a ribbon.” Tallulah says.
He grins. “Yeah, that’s true, kid.” Quackity says. “But this ribbon used to belong to my kid, you know?”
And Tallulah then gets the implications of what Mr. Quackity is trying to say. “I’m-” Tallulah erases that, and she continues to try to write a message to respond to that– she shouldn’t be assuming, or anything.
“I’m not your dad.” Quackity tells her, cutting her off from her frantic writing and rewriting. “But I’m… this isn’t with an ulterior motive in mind, Tallulah, but I see you as my kid too.” He says. “If… if that’s okay with you, that is.”
Tallulah blinks, and she smiles. She turns her back to him, and sits.
And Quackity, he ties Tallulah’s hair into a ponytail, the bow pointing up.
There’s something bittersweet about it, Quackity thinks, when he sees his child’s bow on another kid who he sees as his daughter too.
Tallulah misses her father, and clings to the memories of him.
Wilbur tries to be a good mirror of a better man than himself.
OR Wilbur tries to be a placeholder for a good man.
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For the Writer's Block MCC Bingo event, with the prompt: Unspoken thoughts / words
Spoiler: It's "Happy Birthday"
Includes: DSMP!Wilbur being a trying father to a child he hasn't technically claimed as his own yet, Tallulah being sad, Tallulah wanting her child, Tallulah being too emotionally intelligent for her own good, DSMP!Wilbur allowing tallulah to pretend that he's QSMP!Wilbur, hurt / very little comfort, angst accompanied by fluff if you squint
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Tommy and Tallulah bond, and they find some similarity in different worlds.
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TWB Bingo But Fic Event Prompt: Memories / Nostalgia
Includes: Tommy being a good caretaker, Tommy babysitting Tallulah, Tallulah dissecting these poor DSMP scrunkles, Tallulah's deepseated fear of seeing the monster that killed her (in a dream), deep diving more into the crossover aspect of this crossover
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Includes: Reincarnation, Ghost!Tallulah, Ghost!Wilbur (not ghostbur), angst, some comfort, established hurt new comfort, Tallulah being an emotionally smart kid who just wants her dad back, off-screen Main Character Death, they meet in DSMP Limbo
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hades and Persephone are busy one day and Zagreus’ feet are getting cold– he needs to decimate the entirety of Hades. Technically, it is his job after all.
The problem is, who is going to take care of Melinoë?
OR Zagreus takes a run around the underworld with Melinoe in a baby sling, ft. a lot of excited aunts, uncles, and cousins.
~
For the Writer's Block MCC event >:D
Includes: Melinoe being doted on, little shit zagreus, everyone loving melinoe despite not seeing her yet, three chapters, 1 chapter each for tartarus, asphodel, and elysium, they're going to meet everyone don't worry, sisyphus will make an appearance in the future don't worry abt the first chapter ending, inaccurate greek mythology
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
