#qsmp ficlet

[terezicaptor]

fun new alternate canon for you to consider:

The federation cannot figure out a potion recipe to wake up Sunny. They try diamonds and crowns and duck coins and a million other little things that they think will wake her up.

None of them work. None of them are her favorite thing. So they do not contact Tubbo.

Tubbo manages to find where Sunny is held on his own, maybe with a little insider knowledge he manages to needle out from Ronnie after hours of annoying him.

He brainstorms a million things, and takes note of the recipe every other parent was given.

...the nights are restless.

One day Creation awakes from hibernation. It took forever for its battery to recharge, but it is meant to be a self-sustaining being, and what kind of being does not have a self-charging battery?

It's careful with what it does. To the changes it makes to Tubbo's blueprint journal. Tubbo's handwriting should be mimicked perfectly. It can't afford to be caught.

Tubbo wakes up and sees an idea he must've written in a half-asleep stupor.

But he tries it anyway. What's the worst that could happen, other than what's already happening? His daughter already hasn't woken up. It's worth giving it a shot.

So he mixes the Ghostberry and the Create wrench. Which... somehow mixes. Fuck logic, he guesses.

He splashes it.

Silence.

Back to the drawing board. Of course that wouldn't work. Sunny's favorite thing isn't-

He hears a rustle of covers.

"Pa?"

[mossdontknowwhattheydoin]

Alien Phil Alien Phil Alien Phil and human Missa

~•˙~

He couldn't breathe- which was odd considering the fact that he usually could breathe-

He slowly registered that he felt too hot- and that he couldn't move his left arm. Lovely- and he still couldn't breathe-

He groaned and he opened his eyes, registering now the weight on his chest- he tried to breathe once again, only succeeding in a stuttering breath that quite frankly hurt like hell.

He slowly and blearily opened looked around, the first thing he sees being a head of hair with black feathers mixed in- of course he would be the reason that Missa couldn't breathe properly, the avian like alien would often find his way into Missas bed and attach himself to him, all of his four arms and wings wrapping around him in a stifling way- he felt it'd be at least a little more comfortable if it was winter or fall- but in the middle of summer?

The avian let out a few odd sounds as he gently tried to shove them off- stubbornly holding onto him and snuggling back into the side of his neck.

He sighed- looking over at the bedside table, the clock read 9:23

He had work in two hours- if he wanted time to be remotely social- and time for himself to eat, he thinks it'd be best if he got up now.

He gently shook the avian- hoping it would wake them up. "Ay, pájaro- despertar... " he croaked out, his throat dry.

The avian only tightened they're hold on him- guess that he wasn't going to get up- the alarm that was going to go off in an hour should wake them up, anyways...

~•˙~

Sleepy alien Phil sleepy cuddles with alien Phil vsksvsBEKbsiegKajek

Anyways any mistakes in spelling I migjt of might not fix it's really up to if I notice it or not lmao thats jus dyslexia for u

[splatattackz]

and theres a tragedy in the house just a block or two down. where a kid wearing a decorative mustache sleeps so peacefully. unaware of the book you hold in your hands. and that kid is your son. the one you care for so deeply. the one you know youll lose. and it hurts you to care, hurts you to love but you have so much of both to give. its something you havent felt in ages. something you wish you had never felt again.

that kid is so unaware of why youre here. why you sit in front of a computer now desperate to send a message outwards to no avail. unaware of why you fear for your life everyday - wholly unaware that fear is all youve ever known. for even men cower when faced with bedrock on all sides.

the kid is unaware that after everything you still will care for him. and its a gut-wrenching care only you know. its the way your stomach turns when you hold him just knowing one day he wont hug back. and its a love only you can give. because there is a love so tragic when you care for someone and know theyre gonna die because you care so much.

there is no avoiding it.

there is a tragedy just one or two blocks down of the boy who sleeps so peacefully and the dad who wants nothing more than to love him.

[iolypse]

no stroke of genius

There's an empty coffee mug on the desk.

The handle is chipped. A brownish stain smears the bottom ridge, brackish liquid pooled where the slight tilt of the wood demands it. His chair is tipped haphazardly against the wall, cushion torn open at the seams. Papers and pins and red strings scatter the floor, pieces of evidence either destroyed or outright missing. The lanterns have been left up with pinched out wicks. The room still smells faintly of ash and lighter fluid, his departure painfully raw. Somehow, this is what breaks him.

Cellbit is gone.

Forever walks through the remains of a genius and does not mourn. There is nothing to mourn, no such thing to reminisce. Traitors do not deserve this kindness, pray as he might that this is all another lie.

It has to be. He shakes his head, righting the chair to its proper placement. There are no prayers to be made. There is no but. This is all Cellbit's sick, twisted, genius design.

This is under control. This has to be under control. There is no other option.

Forever backs against the desk and feels more than sees the shattering of the mug as its leg breaks under his force. It resonates within the empty cavity of his chest, the lingering pitch electric through his fingers, tangy on the tip of his tongue. It tastes of cocoa and bile. His hair raises on the back of his neck.

A splinter digs into his hand. A shard pierces the bottom of his sandle. There is not a thing in the room left unbroken.

[impulsesimp]

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

[bloodychazorite]

It was clear to Phil from the first hour his team was going to lose it.

Whether “it” was the challenge or their minds was up for discussion.

Jaiden sat under his right wing, muttering to Baghera who’s head lay in the blue-bird's lap. Foolish used his left wing as a blanket, legs sprawled messily in front of him. Charlie found his place splayed across the totem’s legs, Cellbit draped over him like a blanket.

The weak, wooden floor creaked beneath them. It was clear that if Foolish had any more energy, he wouldn’t have had to see the floor before ripping it to shreds.

Exhaustion, aches and cramps tore at Phil’s every nerve, but he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

He assumed it had something to do with the timer on each of their wrists. If he was right--and he prayed he was--he only had a little over ten minutes left.

“Do you think they are laughing at us?” Baghera asked quietly, feathers rustling beside her.

Phil mulled over their first day, and how promises of hope and optimism shifted to wails of agony and begging for retribution. Burn scars tainted the bodies of his team from their pleas for providence.

“They’ve got to be,” Cell snapped, “What else do they do?” He shifted slightly, burrowing his chin into Charlie’s neck.

“Mmh… oww...”

“Eh, sorry Slime. Time, anyone?”

Hysteria spread like infection, starting with the Slime and ending with Phil himself because—Void, despite living in the wild for months on end, Charlie was not built for this.

None of them were.

“Seven minutes..!” Baghera whispered.

“Around nine, I think.” Phil muttered.

“Damn, thirteen minutes.” Foolish’s head lolled backward.

Cell had twenty.

Jaiden had thirty-two.

Charlie had forty-eight.

Phil felt bad for them, condemned to linger awake, stewing in their suffering and fatigue.

It must’ve been comical, to some extent, to watch them suffer.

To clip an Avian’s wings and toss them off a cliff, just to watch them flail.

To hold a Feline’s head underwater, just to watch them thrash and choke.

To throw a Slime into the desert, just to watch them burn dehydrate and weaken, only to burn.

Someone had to find it funny.

Phil groaned as his eyes attempted to slip shut, old ghosts of burns and stabs and respawns gnawing at his bones.

His team was warm and cracking incoherent jokes, somehow, despite everything. A wobbly smile crept onto his face with no right to be there.

These were the cards they were dealt.

This was their chance at genesis.

Consciousness oozed from his ears, rendering him entirely immobile for the night.

Phil was sure tomorrow wouldn’t be any better.

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

Tubbo doesn't know how to do hair. It wasn't something he was taught, his father a captain with hair cropped eternally close and his sibling never one to be keen to touch. He can't make intricate cornrows, nor is he any good at doing up his daughter's edges. He can't get the volume that Ironmouse with nothing more than a bottle of hairspray and prayers to the underworld. He can't even use a straightener the right way (as a permanent second degree burn scar on his left hand displays). But the one thing Tubbo has always remembered is how to braid hair

He isn't sure of much from before the island. Nothing more than the vague tunes of a song whose notes have been long forgotten, the smell of burgers on the wind when nothing else is near, a ringing in his ears that has him tilting his head for that much more volume. The irrational fear of explosions (because Sunny hasn't ever seen a fireworks show on her time on the island and Tubbo isn't going to be the one to change that). Those types of things.

But he remembers locks of pink hair in his hands as the person sitting in front of him talked briefly about one thing or another. And he remembers curls of blond, short enough that he couldn't braid their whole head, long enough that tiny golden braids could be tucked into the mess of frizz and growth. Straight blond hair as they hid beneath a nation they worked so hard to build, and cropped black strands of a person that he shouldn't have cared for, a person that only cared for themselves, but a person that Tubbo called a brother nonetheless.

White-black hair, a protruding horn with a single golden ring (a wedding band, Tubbo's mind inexplicably whispered), and the pink fuzz of the one Tubbo knew had to be his son.

Tubbo doesn't know how to do hair, but Chayanne is complementing the plaits in Sunny's hair and Philza mentions that Tubbo actually did a good job for once and Leonardo begrudgingly offers her approval and-

Tubbo can still half remember his sibling with a head crowned by braids, adorned by flowers. His own handiwork.

He doesn't know how to do hair, but he remembers how to braid. That's enough for Sunny. And that's enough for him

[becauseplot]

Phil wakes up in the morning, curled up on his side of the bed, wings splayed out over the empty half of the mattress behind him. As always. Snags his robe off the hook by the bed and shrugs it on and doesn't look at the vacant hook beside it. As always. Half asleep hauls himself out of bed and shuffles into his slippers and opens the blinds; bedroom flooded by golden sunlight, shining on the glass panes of the framed family photos hung up on the walls, drowning them in morning glow. As always.

It's just another morning up here on the wall. He heads down into the basement expecting the usual: finding Tallulah already awake and writing quietly in her diary, listening to her giggle as Phil drags her dead-to-the-world brother out of bed, sending them both off to go get dressed and wash up while he fumbles something together for breakfast.

When he steps into their bedroom, their beds are empty.

The spike of panic is immediate. He knows he put them to bed last night. They're not staying over anywhere else. They weren't anywhere in the front garden. There's no obvious note or sign anywhere that Phil can see. Where did they go? Where are his kids?

But then he hears it---the laughter. Clinking of dishes in the kitchen. The smell of eggs and bacon and beans. Soft Spanish that's low and syrupy-sleepy, still waking up.

Phil walks into the kitchen, and it's like walking into a dream.

The three of them are crowded around the counter, with Chayanne standing on a stepstool to the left and Tallulah standing on a chair to the right. Daylight spills in through the window above the sink and makes the mirage of Missa expertly dicing onions shimmer, body wreathed in warmth.

Missa sets down the knife. He turns around, the off-white of his bone mask almost dandelion in the sun, and Phil just about loses it.

He's relieved. He's disbelieving. He's ecstatic, and he's furious, and he's oddly numb. Something inside him wants to hurl a fist across his jaw; something else wants him to curl a fist around the lapels of his cloak and never let go.

Phil's arms are around him before he even realizes that he's crossed the kitchen.

Missa makes a sound of surprise, arms briefly hovering like this is the last thing he expected, but it doesn't matter---Phil feels him return the embrace a heartbeat later, and Phil sinks into it. A soft noise of anguish dies in his throat; he buries his face in Missa's shoulder and clutches at the back of his cloak and squeezes him like he wants to shatter bone and nestles in closer with the irrational, irrepressible desire to burrow into Missa's chest and fucking live there. Missa would probably let him.

A hand comes to cradle the back of his head. He feels lips and nose land softly in his tangle of unbrushed morning hair.

"Buenos días, querido."

He's home.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Forever's hands are shaking. They are shaking, and shaking, and everyone is still gone. He reaches for the bottle, and finds nothing there.

A hand takes his instead, strangely gentle for all their fighting these last few days.

"Cellbit?"

"The others are waiting for us; come home."

Forever is tired and cold and angry and he wants to snap, to scream, to fight. The clock is ticking, the timer is running-

Cellbit tugs him onwards, towards the Favela, towards the place that has not been home on so long.

Richarlyson is still gone, of course, and Forever's fingers flutter to his bag again; Cellbit holds both of his hands now. Felps has passed out on a sofa, covered in stone dust and flung over a curled up Pac, who is watching them both with dead eyes.

If only he would -

No, no, they took their son, their fifth, they keep both from them. The happier road is easier, but it will damn them all. Everyone wants hope and leadership from their fucking President, but he has only drug induced joy or world-ending terror left to him.

Forever barely hears Pac's "I'm sorry" as he untangle himself from Felps' sprawl, but he cannot do anything but notice when he is grabbed. Forever panics for a moment, time running faster than ever, before realising he has been pulled into a desperate hug.

Cellbit, too, is being clung to with Pac's other arm.

"Dont leave me," there are no tears, but Pac's voice remains haunted, broken. "Neither of you. I can't- just stay. Family again?"

"We always were," Cellbit says, and Forever has no idea how he is so confident about that, or even if he knows what family means. "And we're back now."

The click is tic tic ticking. Ticking down until it's too late, far too late to save Richarlyson, to find Mike. Soon there will be nothing left. He must-

"Forever?"

"There's too many people missing. I can't-" Cellbit squeezes his hand, and Forever takes a breath. "We don't have /time/."

"We don't have anything but time, that's the problem." Cellbit has somehow slipped the hug, and is dragging the pair towards the sofa. "We're going to drag Felps down with us, and we're going to sleep, and in the morning we're going to come up with a plan to get our family back."

"And blow up the Feds." Pac adds, a little seething anger creeping into his tone for just a moment.

"And blow up the federation," Cellbit agrees, something calmer, older, viscous in his tone just a moment. "We will show them why they shouldn't break our family."

Forever wants to do it now, would question why they can't but for the slow realisation of how pale his family is, skin drawn tight and their hands are shaking too. He cannot fix this, he cannot fix anything, he is a puppet on a string and the clock is ticking ticking tick-

Pac lets go, dropping into the pile of blankets and clothes which once made up the Favela Five's bed. They have been six, now they are only four.

Second later, Cellbit pushes Forever down into them too, before yanking Felps from the sofa and into the mess. Pac pulls the two around as he wants, Forever elbowing him when he tugs too hard, while Cellbit sets up security cameras, alert systems, and locks the door.

And then hesitates.

"I should-"

If Forever is being forced into this, then Cellbit must be too. Forever musters up a glare, demanding him into the sleepover pile.

"-... take off my shoes," Cellbir fiddles with his communicator a little first, before kicking off said shoes. There is a brief argument between Pac and Cellbit about the former's prosthetic and taking it off to sleep, which Forever only listens to enough to drown out the ever ticking clock.

They come to a decision, he does not really care which, and then Cellbit is clambering in too. The most obvious absence is Richarlyson, replaced by a pillow Cellbit shoves into Forever's arms, but Mike's is felt too; Pac has his back to the wall and hugs Forever from behind, not his back to Forever and holding onto Mike on the edge of their mess. Cellbit and Felps have always moved dependent on who comes to bed first or last; tonight, despite Felps being long asleep, they are a tangle of clawing limbs both of which cling to Forever's arms.

The clock doesn't leave, and the absences are still felt, but it is quieter. Or perhaps drowned out, by his family's breath on his neck and hands on his skin, and the tangle of limbs quickly tightening in the eternal struggle for the most comfortable position.

Forever isn't sure anyone but Felps will actually get any sleep tonight, not fractured and splintered as they are, but... perhaps in each others arms is the best chance they have.

Perhaps in each other is the only chance they have.

[fitpacs]

the urge to stay up all night (again) writing a fic of qpac waking up after qfit’s disappearance

[twobirdsflytogether]

This was supposed to be a small birdduo/lovebird drabble,,,,,it is now over 500 words and I kinda want to continue it/add it to my ao3 collection.

Anywho, onto the thing! ⬇️

Waking in their shared nest, Jaiden yawns and tries stretching the sleepiness away. Extending her wings as she does, fluttering them a bit, her tail swaying as well.

Looking around, she spots Baghera sitting on the ground messing with her backpacks. She lets out a small mrrp to catch the duck's attention.

Baghera turns at the sound, “ah, Bonjour ma chérie! I was just getting ready to explore with Pomme. Do you want to come with us?”

“No…thanks though” Jaiden quietly chirps in avian.

“Okay. Well, message me if you need anything or if you change your mind when you wake up a bit more.” Baghera leans into the nest and softly kisses Jaiden's cheek.

She stands, grabbing her bags and opens the door. Turning back to look at Jaiden, “À plus, mon colibri!” and off she goes.

Shortly after Baghera's departure Jaiden leaves the nest. Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes she shivers slightly.

‘hmm, guess it's going to be a jacket day’, she thinks to herself as she goes to the closet.

Opening it and spotting one of Baghera's gray sweaters, she quickly grabs it, chuckling softly to herself. Putting it on, struggling a bit to find the slits on the back and to fit her wings through them. Straightening a few feathers and taking out her warpstone, nodding at herself ready to head out.

The purple particles fade around her as she arrives in ‘girl village’. Spotting Foolish and Leo chatting with Tina, Bagi, and Em. Foolish looks over and they wave to each other at the same time, making them both laugh as she walks over. She greets them all and asks whats up, sparking Foolish and Tina to start rambling about the latest drama, Bagi cutting in every once in a while to add her thoughts on whatever is being said.

Em looks over at Leo then back towards her mama, then back to Leo. Leo does the same, they nod to each other and walk a bit away to sign to each other without their parents seeing. Jaiden looks over to see them shaking tiny clawed paws seemingly reaching some sort of agreement.

Jaiden crouches down as Em walks to her curling her tail in front of her legs, the little dragon having a determined look on her face, so she wants to be at the same level as her new daughter.

Stopping to make sure all the adults could see what she's about to write on a sign, placing

“Hey mama Jaiden.

Isn't that Tia Baghera's sweater?

:3”

Foolish, Tina, and Bagi immediately read it. And collectively point out ‘yeah, isn't that Baghera's?’ and start to ask about it.

Jaiden flustered, her feathers puffing up a bit, tail flicking around, stuttering out “I have no clue what you're talking about, anyways- um” trying to quickly change topics, “Hey Foolish what's your next build plan?”

Behind the shark-totem, Leo falls over with a roaring laughter and Em lets out little chirping giggles. Foolish smirks at what the dragonlings just did, mentally noting to tease Jaiden about it later, but starts talking about his next build plan.

Bagi covers her mouth suppressing a small laugh at Jaidens reaction, taking out a book to write it down. The moment her pen touches paper, she sees Jaiden's ears change from pointed elf-like to something similar to a cats, one facing Foolish and the kids nodding along to what he says, the other towards her twitching slightly whenever she starts to write. She notes this down too.

[terezicaptor]

god i can't stop thinking of the angst of pac waking up tomorrow and finding out tubbo is dead AAAAAAAAAAAA

Do you ever think about how Pac realized Tubbo's fear of abandonment and took it so seriously. Like, he didn't have the right solution in mind, but he saw something and wanted to make it better.

I think Pac can see himself mirrored in Tubbo sometimes. Happy Pills Pac and everyday Tubbo are two of a kind. Putting up a hard mask while they spiral wildly out of control until it all crashes and burns.

Maybe he won't even realize at first. Think Tubbo is a little late waking up, and then he doesn't see Tubbo all day. Not even on the map. Not even talking in chat. But maybe he's taking a rest day. Maybe Valentine's was hard for him. Maybe he did or didn't care for the romance, but felt very alone all the same. So he is taking a rest day. Maybe he is cuddled up with Sunny, napping happily, messing up their sleep schedules together.

Pac doesn't see him the next day either, but that's okay, friends don't see each other every day. Tubbo has been more distant since he made Town of Fobo with Foolish. Maybe he's working on a cool underground base that he'll show Pac and Fit later. Or maybe he's grinding to get coins for Create. It's fine, Pac will see him tomorrow.

Or tomorrow.

Or tomorrow.

Or tomorrow.

Where is Tubbo?

[mossdontknowwhattheydoin]

I wrote a ficlet while hiding in the bathroom at my work- so here it is it's Etoilesza

~•˚~

Tubbos pretty sure the captain and his right hand man are secretly dating- why you ask?

Because multiple times he's walked in on them very romantically holding each other- he's not sure if he'd just walked in at the wrong times but to him it seems pretty obvious.

But how could he have just walked in at the wrong time; every. Single. Time?

Yeah, no, doesn't make sense to him- and you know the worst part?

Everytime he catches them they try and gaslight him into believing that it was nothing.

'Oh no no this was just a bro hug'

'No Tubbo we were not kissing what are you talking about?'

'Oh no we're just very close with each other, as friends!'

He's going crazy- no one believes him when he says they are- not even Fit- who literally was Phils fiancé- who knows what Phils like and would probably know if he was dating someone?

"Phil?"

"Yeah mate?"

"... I'm going to find a way to make everyone believe that you and Etoiles are together- just you wait."

And Phil looked him in the eyes, smiled, and said; "No one will believe you."

[splatattackz]

and theres an irony in the way you speak. you act so brave but you are barely 2 months old. you speak big words and say smart things but inside your little shell you tremble. not much, though.

you dont fear death. its harbinger is your father, after all, and the very concept of it breathes down your neck. you didnt cry all those times you almost died and certainly not when you did. its a constant in your life these experiences. funny. you are only a child.

you sit in enclosed boxes as your father stands just outside, pacing, talking to the ghosts that squeeze him tight. some come to your glass to comfort you but you pay no mind. you worry for him. a part of you is scared he'll shatter apart from all the pressure! silly thought, that is. such a silly thought. you are only a toddler.

on the day you did die you heard stories of the anger your dad felt. you didnt cry. you felt guilty. and inside this small, small room you baked brownies for his return. you dont fear the inevitability of death - you fear the rage and sadness of your fathers grief. hilarious. you are only an egg.

theres an irony in the way you speak, brave and smart and snarky. theres an irony in the way you act, unafraid of death and boisterous. this persistent irony is funny to you. you are only a kid.

why does this happen to you?

[iolypse]

blood debt.

Phil does not get a chance to wipe her blood off his hands until Tallulah has fallen asleep and he manages to will himself from her and Chayanne's bedside. They've pushed their mattresses together, determined to keep vigilant in close proximity throughout the night.

They are unsuccessful. They are children, after all, drained by pulsing adrenaline and cold terror coursing through their veins. Only when Chayanne's head hits the pillow, an arm thrown protectively over Tallulah, does Phil silence himself and stagger out of the bunker, double and triple checking all of the locks before he finally unravels within the supposedly definite security of his own home.

Wilbur is going to be pissed.

He entrusted Phil to her care, and until now, he had done well. A few nightmares, the occasional slip-up, but Tallulah had been safe. With rune-engraved armor, an army's worth of golden apples and shimmering totems, and five personal bodyguards dedicated to her survival, she should have been fine.

Then the sky itself rolled over and everything began and ended in quick succession.

Her death was inevitable, Phil tells himself, as her blood burns beneath his fingernails. There is only so much one can do against a swarm like that. There is only so much one can do against a being of unreality that should not exist and does not fall.

They left that fight one life lighter, lifelong guilt laid where it once was. His teeth taste like iron. His tongue is dry as bone. They were not meant to see the morning's sunrise.

At least she did not die alone.

Hands shaking, Phil turns on the faucet and scrubs until he cannot tell the blood swirling down the drain from his own.

[little-soldiers]

Blood seeps through Quackity's shirt. He rocks a bit in his place before falling onto his side.

Behind him, someone steps out from the darkness. Maximus’ stomach drops. He can hear Bad gasp.

It's them. The real mastermind.

And finally, the show can begin.

—

"D-Dantdm-?!" Maximus hollers.

"Holy fudge... You- You fudgin' madman..." Bad refuses to look into DanTDM’s eyes.

(((((((((COPYPASTA))))))))