#void!kristin

[panxramic]

The Ocean and The Sky

The Ocean could feel the eclipse slowly change her tides. One look at the sky and she could see her beautiful Moon finally getting to meet his Sun.

It was dark outside, but in that darkness she could see the stars and the universe painted across the atmosphere as the Sun and Moon fell into their embrace.

The Sky was beautiful, the Universe was beautiful. She too was looking at her Sun and the Moon meeting. Such a delicate and intimate moment.

The Ocean turned to the Sky, they smiled at one another. Two beautiful beings, sparkling in the darkness of the eclipse. They may never get to meet, miles apart unable to reach one another. Sorrowfully, they watch as the Moon and the Sun finish their embrace, saying their goodbyes until the next eclipse.

The Moon returns to the Ocean, the Sun stays with the Sky.

The Ocean looks up, the stars start disappearing and the planets fall away from view. With a wave she says goodbye. Maybe one day she’ll get to meet the Sky.

[phantoids]

another fic in the convening with gods series. love to see it. take some kristin as death and tommy.

taglist: @tommycroft @wilbursootsquared @areus-in-a-little-cave @egopocalypse @seaswalllow @zrenia

[emi-writings]

It will never not be funny to me that before writing a fic where I needed Wilbur in a family dynamic I saw all these posts about how hard it was to include Kristin into SBI.

It was so hard because they needed Phil to be a bad parent and Kristin being there ruined that!

And then I started writing Burning Iron and Kristin just... fit in so easily I didn't even have to think about it.

Like wow, bad parent Phil and good parent Kristin can be in the same fic together! What a surprise!

[pixiemage]

Through a Crack in the Void

Part 8 / ??? [ Previous | Next ] [ Chapter List ]

[Avian meets avian, god meets god, and questions are asked.]

{This story can also be found on Archive of our Own}

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Previously...)

Grian’s feet carried him to a window beside the front door and he looked out onto the tiny island, his eyes going out of focus as the idea marinated in his thoughts. Xisuma was kind. Grian didn’t know the man’s stance on Watchers, but he knew that much. He also knew that Hermitcraft was full of unusual hybrids and unorthodox players, at least if the crowd he had seen around the spawn portal was anything to go by. Clearly this server and their admin would be more open-minded than most when it came to a player’s background or species. The only question that remained was whether or not they would accept Grian when they knew what he really was.

The opening of a door startled Grian from his thoughts and he jerked back with a birdlike screech, his wings puffing up around him as best they could with the bandages as he spun to face whoever had come into the house.

“Oh!” Stress’ equally startled face popped out from around the door, her eyes wide. “Oh, goodness me, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Stress!” Grian leaned back against the stacked chests along the wall behind him, a warbled sound of relief escaping past his lips. “Void, I didn’t even hear you coming!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” she stammered out. “I sent Mumbo a message sayin’ I was on my way but–”

“Mumbo’s in the mines,” Grian told her, dragging a hand through his hair with a chuckle. “And my com still doesn’t work.”

“Ah, that’d explain it.” The other player stepped more fully into the house, and the door opened a little wider to reveal a second player standing behind her. “I s’ppose you never got the message then. This here’s False, an’ she’s the one who helped me wif’ your wings the day you got here.”

Grian’s eyes locked onto the newcomer and his back tensed, his eyes looking her over as though making sure she wasn’t a threat. Logically he knew she wouldn’t be, Mumbo and X had said the Hermits were good people, but the wariness that arose every time he met someone new was something he imagined would take a while to get rid of.

False, much like Stress, was vaguely familiar upon first glance in that Grian knew he had seen her at spawn on day one. She had goggles pushed up atop her blonde hair, something he remembered from when he’d first seen her. She wore a green jacket and brown gloves and she seemed to exude an air of confidence that was evident in the way she held herself. But the most notable thing about her - and the thing Grian had somehow missed when first seeing her outside the portal - was the fact that she had wings. She was an avian, like him, though her wings were tawny and black and creme as opposed to Grian’s white-and-purple ones. They looked like the wings of a hawk or a falcon, a bird of prey, and he couldn’t really help the defensive twittering that left him or the way his wings puffed right back up at her approach.

Almost immediately False paused and held up her hands, her wings dropping into a nonaggressive position as she made a friendly chirping noise in response.

“Grian, right?” she asked, smiling at him. “Hey. Like she said, my name’s False. Stress asked me to come along to take another look at your wing if that’s alright. She figured another avian might know a thing or two more than she would.”

“I’d’ve asked Doc along, actually,” Stress admitted, already leaving the two by the door to drop into the chair Grian hadn’t been using earlier. “I think he knows more ‘bout hybrids than anyone, but - well. Man’s a bit intimidatin’ when you first meet ‘im. That’s why X asked me to help you instead of him, I reckon.”

“Yeah, Doc’s bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” False agreed with a soft laugh, and the casual air of the conversation led Grian to let his defensiveness fall. He shook out his wings and folded them close to his back, still eyeing False warily but no longer feeling the need to posture with her in the room.

“…Doc?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Oh, right!” Stress grinned, leaning forward in her chair. “Yeah, he’s - I dunno if you saw ‘im at spawn, but he’s a creeper hybrid. Bit of a mad scientist, that one.”

Grian thought back, remembering that he had seen two creeper hybrids on day one. But only one of them had been wearing a lab coat - and based on the calculating look the guy had been pinning Grian with the entire time they had been on the shore, he couldn’t help but agree that Doc was a bit “intimidating” as Stress had called him.

False closed the door with a snort. She leaned sideways against it and smirked at the room at large.

“If he and Etho and Tango ever decided they wanted to start a lab together, I guarantee you they’d end up destroying half the server in the process.”

“And void forbid if Mumbo an’ Zedaph ever joined ‘em,” Stress agreed, “because then we’d lose the other half.”

“To complete and utter destruction? Or a ridiculous amount of lag?”

“If you’re talking about Mumbo’s redstone, then probably both,” Grian mused, and he grinned when it made both of the women in front of him laugh.

“You two have been friends for a while, huh?” False asked, still smiling. “It’s funny, he used to mention his ‘builder friend’ all the time, but never really by name. Now that I can put a name and a face to all those stories I can’t wait to see what you might build here on Hermitcraft.”

“What I might–” Grian blinked. Build on Hermitcraft? He hadn’t even thought - in all the time he’d been contemplating whether to leave the server or stick around, he hadn’t even considered the fact that he would need to build a base at some point if he stayed. It had been so long since he had built anything, let alone a base, and even as the stray thought crossed his mind that he might just get the chance to build again his fingers were already itching to reach for a book and quill to begin sketching out ideas.

“Uh-oh, I know that look.”

Grian looked toward the front door, a little surprised to see that Mumbo had finally returned from the mines. He had smudges of coal across his face and his suit jacket was folded across one arm, his sleeves rolled up like they often were when he was working on something.

“What look?” Grian asked, cocking his head to the side.

“That look you get when you’ve got an idea,” Mumbo told him, smirking. Then he shot Grian a joking glare. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you besmirching my redstone skills, mister!”

“Wha– I’d never!” He clutched a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “How dare you accuse me of such things! Mumbo Jumbo, for shame!”

Across the room, where False had apparently joined Stress at the table, Grian heard two sets of muffled laughter.

“Yeah, that’s more like what I was expecting,” False told Stress, who had devolved into giggles behind her hands. “You told me they bantered like an old married couple, and you certainly weren’t lying.”

“Wh– Stress!”

“Excuse me–!”

Mumbo and Grian’s spluttered protests fell on deaf ears.

“So, Grian!” False was grinning now, leaning back against the table with her arms folded across her chest. “Stress says your wing is looking better, but she’d like me to take a look if that’s alright.”

Grian’s petulant pout faded in lieu of a curious frown.

“How many medics do you have on this server?”

“Oh, I’m not a medic,” False protested immediately. “Stress is a healer, and Doc is - well, he’s more of a scientist really, but he made his own prosthetics so he’s got quite a bit of medical experience under his belt.” She shrugged. “I’m only really trained for self-treatment in the field, for battles and such, but since I’m an avian–”

“You know your way around wings,” Grian finished for her, gesturing to his own bandaged feathers.

“Exactly.” She glanced toward his injury before meeting his gaze again. “Are you alright with me taking a look? I can let Stress do any actual touching if you want, but it might be easier for me if I do it myself.”

Grian exchanged a look with Mumbo, then with Stress, before shrugging slightly. His wariness toward False had, for the most part, dissipated, and though there was still an instinctual part of him that wanted to be on guard with her in the room he also knew that Mumbo and Stress wouldn’t let anything happen to him on their watch.

“Yeah, alright.” Grian smiled, a small expression that slowly morphed into a glinting smirk. “How much do I have to bribe you to tell these two I’m allowed to fly now?”

“GRIAN!”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The server hub was a bustling place, as it always was. The endless and winding hallways of portals basked the entire area in a mauve atmosphere, warmed by the glow of torches and lanterns and the occasional wall-mounted flame. Players darted about, some popping between servers to visit friends, others racing off in groups towards mini-game servers like Hypixel or Mineplex, and others still made their way towards the central area of the hub from which offshoots branched off to markets and shopping centers, offering blocks and materials and mobs and tools that would otherwise be unavailable in a vanilla world. Amidst the hubbub a lone being sat away from the crowds, his eyes watchful and his focus sharper than it would appear at first glance.

Most people overlooked a quiet old man, after all.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you aboveground, TFC.”

The old miner didn’t even look up at the sudden feeling of a presence at his shoulder. Even without seeing her, the brief chill in the air that accompanied her arrival made it easy to identify her. He chuckled. It wasn’t every day the Goddess of Death visited the overworld.

“I might say the same for you, Kristin.” He shifted on the bench he had claimed, finally looking over at the goddess who had taken up a seat beside him. Her dark wide-brimmed hat cast her face in shadows, but he could still see her smile. “What’s brought you out of the void?”

Kristin rolled her eyes, letting out an amused and long-suffering sigh.

“My husband, actually,” she told him, a smile still on her lips. “I fancied a visit. His son found another stray child to adopt into their little family on that Earth server of his. I swear that man accidentally becomes a father about as often as that Hermit of yours Scar accidentally dies. It’s a bit ridiculous.”

“But you’re still married to him,” TFC pointed out, his tone dry. “Ya must not be too upset about it.”

Kristin laughed behind her hand, her eyes bright.

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “Tommy’s a good kid, if not a bit chaotic. He needs family.” She tilted her head to the side, eyeing TFC curiously. “But what’s brought you out of your mines, old man?”

TFC scoffed quietly, his eyes dragging back out over the meandering crowds of players.

“You call me old, as if you haven’t been around for ‘bout as long as I have.”

“As if you remember how old you even are at this point,” Kristin returned. She propped her chin on her hand and cast him a teasing look. “Do you even remember what you used to be the god of exactly?”

The question only gained a shrug from the elder god.

“No, but I don’t really care to know either,” he told her. “I have my mines. I have my Hermits. I have a home and a family, an’ that’s enough for me.”

“A simple man of simple pleasures,” Kristin grinned. “I can appreciate that. My question still stands though - what brings you away from your mines? An errand for one of your Hermits?”

At that, TFC went quiet for a beat or two. He eyed the wide expanse of the hub with ancient eyes, his shoulders gaining a metaphorical weight as he contemplated exactly why he was here of all places despite the fact that he rarely came aboveground, let alone left his home server.

“Truthfully?” he lowered his voice, ensuring nobody else would overhear. “We’ve got a new kid on Hermitcraft. Showed up outta nowhere, looked like hell - and Xisuma didn’t whitelist him. Nobody did. But his code’s a wreck, and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion I know who might’ve done it. Thing is - from what I know of their kind, they don’t do that kind of thing to players. But I’ve been a bit out of the loop for a century or two…you know how it is. I don’t like the drama, so I keep out of it.”

“You’re after information.” The goddess eyed him sharply. “You came looking for someone in the know.”

“Old friends, if I could find ‘em, sure,” TFC agreed. “Wasn’t expecting you, that was a pleasant surprise.”

“Mhm…” Kristin crossed her legs, the dark purple fabric of her dress flowing in a nonexistent breeze. “So you’re just here for gossip.”

TFC let out a rough chuckle, his eyes sparkling.

“I guess you could put it like that. Got any rumors worth sharing?”

“Weeell…” She dragged out the word, leaning back on the bench and letting her void-like curls fall down her back. “There’s word going around about some young upstart of a god called XD who’s planning some sort of chaos - young by our standards anyway - but I get the feeling that’s now quite what you’re after, right?”

At Kristin’s knowing smirk, TFC shook his head. He turned to face her.

“How about something to do with your neck of the woods? Something from the void?”

Kristin’s eyes narrowed.

“I might know something. But you’ll have to be more specific than that.” She leaned forward again, her stare scrutinizing. “What exactly are you looking for, TFC?”

“I’m lookin’ to find out if a certain kind of voidfolk are as friendly now as I used to know ‘em to be.”

“What kind of ‘voidfolk’?”

“The winged kind.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N: A little less lore, a little more fluff. I rarely see False written as an avian, but honestly it just fits her really well! I'm surprised I don't see it more! And besides, while I don't mind Grian being the only bird boy on the server, I kind of like the idea that he's not the only one of his kind on Hermitcraft. The whole False-is-an-avian concept is one that was cemented in my mind when I read The Weight of Lies on Ao3, in which she's an angel and a messenger on the server since she's a skilled long-distance flier...so I couldn't help but use that here.

We also get a brief appearance from Kristin, who isn't even a part of Hermitcraft lore...but I was looking for a god/goddess for that last scene and I liked the idea of pulling her in! (Keep in mind I've never actually watched the DSMP or SMP Earth and all my knowledge comes mostly second-hand from crossover fics and friends in the DSMP fandom. I know that Tommy isn't actually Phil's son in any canon, but I also know that Wilbur and Tommy are something akin to brothers even if not by blood, so sue me if I let Kristin be vague and carry that concept one step further. It's less about Phil gaining a son and more about Tommy gaining a found family in some roundabout way, but why would she need to specific that to TFC?) ANYHOW I hope y'all enjoyed this! We're only one more part away from me posting this as a third chapter on Ao3!]

[ Previous | Next ] [ Chapter List ]

[bitechnoblade]

Bestie sshe calls herself mumza she's just a wine mom at this point. Self appointed and all.

LISTEN i know but shes WRONG. wine moms have a completely different energy to wine aunts. a wine aunt is content in her child free life, as she sips on her wine and regales her niblings with delightful stories from back when she did social work and/or crack cocaine. wine moms are one step away from doing crack cocaine. hope that helps

[fizzlo-and-the-cubes]

Awwww :) what a wholesome sleep pile :) where nothing malicious is occuring :) and no one is being possessed <3

theory time i think enderpookie would heal q!phil's wings during the posession arc because 1:

end = void = kristin = void heals his wings (which is why i think his wings initially healed in purg1 because of the void exposure in the elytra course)

and 2:

imagine wanting your wings back and suffering without them. and then the guy that heals them does so while possessing you and traumatising your children. and every time you take flight from then on you feel his breath on your shoulder. would you even use those wings again?

... anyway *dies*

[prismartist]

It's not uncommon for worlds to collide. Lines get crossed, voids meld, portals malfunction. And when gods and magic are far from few, it's easy to see why.

Still, when the Syndicate comes across five astronauts, tied together and floating rather calmly in the void, they're not any less surprised.

"Uh," Phil calls out, "hello?"

The astronauts––at least, they look like astronauts, though their yellow suits look too battered to actually work––turn to look. They blink, baffled.

"How are you standing like that?" one of them asks, ink-black eyes squinting. He clutches a dark purple egg to his chest.

"Like what?" Niki asks.

"You're just... standing," another astronaut says, this one mustachioed. "How are you just standing in the middle of the void?"

"We're walking somewhere," Connor says.

"Why, can't you guys walk?" Phil asks.

"Not to our knowledge," says a female astronaut. She's floating completely upside down, almost lying down mid-air, her head tilted back to look at the Syndicate. Her eyes are a solid color, like the one with black eyes, but hers are a bright silver. Between the two of them, they're extremely creepy. "And we rather like floating, to be honest."

Suddenly a look of recognition comes over Kristin, and She gasps. "Oh, you guys are the Boatem Hermits! You made it out!" She says.

"Yeah, we are. We did." An astronaut with a smooth American voice says slowly. "Wait, do we know you?"

"Not really. But I've seen you guys around. It's nice to see you're okay. I had complete faith in you guys."

"Thank you, lady we've never met!" another American astronaut pipes up cheerfully.

Phil leans towards Kristin. "Sorry, who are they?"

"Their world was crushed recently by the moon," Kristin explains. "I haven't had time to check up on them, but I wasn't too worried." She looks back at the astronauts––Boatem, apparently. "Are the others okay?"

At that the astronauts lapse into a somber silence. "We're not sure," the mustachioed one mutters. "We were all in a bit of a rush."

The rest hum in agreement, and then are silent again.

"Our world was destroyed too," Niki says. "I mean, not by the moon, but by a nuke."

"Ah, classic," the first American murmurs.

"I... guess? But we get it, not knowing if... if there's anything, or anyone left. It's kind of scary."

"Yeah. But I'm sure the rest of your friends got out fine," Phil pipes up. "I mean if we all did, then surely they did as well."

"This sheep also survived." Connor gestures to Rosie. "If a sheep can survive, so can the rest of your friends."

"That's... strangely very comforting," the black-eyed one says.

"Thanks."

"Well, I hope you all get to the next world soon. I'm afraid we have to keep moving, but I will see you guys around." Kristin turns to the Syndicate. "We should keep going."

"Will they be okay staying here?" Niki asks.

"Oh yeah, they'll be fine. They've been around for longer than you guys have."

"Oh yeah, we've been doing just swell here, all things considered!" the second American assures. Upon closer inspection there appears to be a sleeping cat in his helmet. That's... normal. "You can just toddle on your way, don't mind us. But thank you for your words of wisdom, random void passersby!"

"Sure thing dude," Connor says, giving a thumbs up. Rosie baas.

"Alright, well. Nice to meet you guys," Phil waves and chuckles as Kristin leads them away.

"Bye!" Niki does the same. The astronauts all wave and say their farewells, and soon they're merely another speck of dust in the endless black.

Distantly, the shrill shriek of the black-eyed astronaut rings out, "Wait, we don't even need suits!"

[masu483-cubitos]

"Philza, Missa and the Goddess of Death are a happy family and love eachother very much" well fuck that what if there's beef between them.

What if the reason qMissa is so weak is because Kristin cursed him?

Missa used to be a oh mighty evil villain but Kristin got tired of his shit and took his powers and memories as punishment. She threw him back into the world to live as a pathetic wet cat but he ended up meeting qPhil and now they are together.

Kristin is beyond furious ofc but Phil is so happy with his new husband and technically Missa is a new person now so she just. has to live with that.

Missa doesn't know the giant scary lady dressed with the colors of the void that torment him in his dreams and Phil's Goddess are the same person. He also doesn't know the reason he feels so weak and pathetic is because deep down he's aware he used to be strong and powerful but he has lost it all. But life isn't so bad! Phil is with him and he's very handsome <3

and Phil? well he's bisexual. Try to tell him that tho.

[blueishspace]

Here is a Minecraft deities/entities list I have created for myself but that I tought might help out others so I am putting it here... It's a mix canon headcanons, theories and interpretations so everyone is free to disagree with stuff, also keep in mind I am not into all these series so I am not an expert and a lot of these was made through research.

Creation deities and fundamental concepts of the universe:

Mojang/Minecraft/Microsoft - triple faced embodyiment of existance.

Hatsume Miku - canon creator of Minecraft apparently.

Clara - goddess of space.

Wendarr The Timekeeper - god of time.

Sad ist - goddess of lore (not canon but I find it funny so I am keeping it here).

Joehills - as Joehills, also a Joehills.

Molympus Slimecicle - God of magic, enchanting and crafting.

Molympus Condi - god of dimensions.

Light associated deities:

Jeb - creator and god of colours, probably inventor of light.

Aeor - reindeer deity of light and good.

BdoubleO - as god of the sun, possibly a god of rulers (he is the kingmaker after all).

Darkness associated deities:

Exor - god of darkness and evil.

The World Historian - god of the void.

Null - god of emptyness, the lack of existance.

Life/nature/earth deities:

Prime - goddess of Life and possibly Fortune.

Velara The Benevolent - goddess of health, healing, regeneration, possibly growth.

PearleascentMoon/Santa Perla - goddess of agricolture and fertility, possibly goddess of the moon. (Agricultural cycles used to be measured using the moon cycle in the past so not too unlikely).

The Goat goddess (the perimeter one)- mostly a goddess of redstone but also goddess of tomatoes and fertility.

Molympus Grizzly - god of nature and tools.

Molympus Blitzy - god of mobs and animals.

Death/rebirth gods and entities:

Kristin - goddess of death and depending on interpretation the afterlife.

PhilZa - The angel of death.

Foolish - as the totem god of undying, is also a sky god and a sea god.

Lady Irene - I am not sure exactly about her domain but I am putting her here because it fits the themes.

Shad the destroyer - could have put him with the chaos gods but this feels like a better placement.

XD - as the god of Limbo, is also the main dsmp god and possibly a god of dreams.

Chaos gods:

Dianite - god of chaos and the Nether, also a god of trade and thievery.

Entity 404 - entity of pandemonium, somewhere between god and demon.

The blood god - pretty self explanatory.

Idona the malevolent - goddess of conflict and war or murder(?). Possibly a goddess of retribution like Nemesis in greek mythology.

Drista - goddess of mischief, pranks and levity (I think?).

The egg - who tought to create a sentient parasitic red egg is either a genius or insane lmao.

Herobrine - as creator/entity/deity of monsters, also possibly a god of mist.

Sky and water deities:

Jimmy - as demigod of rivers, possibly also a Listener.

Axolotl Lizzy - demigoddess of the ocean.

S2 Joel - god of the sky.

The Sky Gods (Wilbur Soot random items videos)

Foolish - as a sea and a sky god, also totem god of undying.

Herobrine - as possibly the god of mist, also creator/entity/deity of monsters.

Order gods:

Mianite - god of order, law and the Overworld.

BdoubleO - as possibly the god of rulership, also sun god.

Cucurucho - as rule enforcer entity...thing, also Qsmp entity.

Neutral gods and entities:

Ianite: Goddess of balance and the end.

Gray forester: Grayscale entity.

Tenos The Omniscient- god of experience, knowledge and wisdom.

Eldritch gods:

Grian - Watcher.

Martyn - Listener.

Jimmy - as possibly a Listener, also a demigod of rivers.

Joehills - as Joehills, also a Joehills.

Server gods and entities:

XD - as main god of the dsmp, also god of Limbo and possibly a god of dreams.

Callahan - minor dsmp deity.

Tubbo - main god of the Bear smp.

Cucurucho and Other Qsmp entities.

[solaneceae]

float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

 

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

 

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

 

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it. 

 

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

 

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring. 

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot.  She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it. 

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

 

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

 

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him,  and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

 

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

[fruit-sauce]

Thinking about it more, I wanna expand on my Fallen Angel BBH headcanon, where he fell and became a demon because of Ironmouse questioning if the creator really existed (explained in this video), as well as update my personal headcanons/theories/timeline for q!BBH

Again, this is all my personal thought process, a lot of it is made up/may not makes sense, this is just me making a cool story lol:

Here's where my brain is at-

In her story, Ironmouse became curious in whether or not the creator existed, opening the inner chamber to see for herself. In the end, the image was stripped from her memory and she fell into the abyss below, along with many other angels who wanted to know, and was locked into a box, deprived of all her senses, until Bubi, the then ruler of hell, came along and freed her, wanting her power. She then became the new ruler of hell and.. you can watch her lore videos, they're really well made and she's super interesting

ANYWAYS!... BadBoyHalo :D

Going with the name "Saints of Games", before becoming a demon, Saint was an angelic deity that lived in heaven. He was a deity that revolved around games and luck. Alongside him was Philza, who is the angel of Death (Philza was not there when Mouse opened the chamber)

Being the curious creature he is, of course, he was there to witness Ironmouse opening the chamber, but knew of the dangers and stayed off to the side. So, when he fell down, he was not a part of Bubi's or Mouse's rule (as well as him not liking being ruled over).

Upon becoming a demon, he gained a new name and lost his status of being a deity of games and luck (with luck going to Alpharad and games becoming more like tricks/pranks), but he did not lose his power. Seeing as he resided in the outskirts of hell, most knew to stay away from him, resulting in him becoming very lonely, desperate for any type of interaction.

This desperation turned violent, growing worse as time went on, becoming hungry for food; for power; for soul energy... Until something finally happened.

Seemingly out of no where, he was dragged to the surface, summoned by a group of occultists, BadBoyHalo was pulled to the Earth's crust, against his own will. Unfortunately, they were a few centuries too late, this was not an all powerful demon, ready to make deals and offers- this was an all powerful demon, fuel with rage and hate, disdain for anything and everything that lived.

Atlantis sunk that day. Some random day in 9600 B.C.

Sitting in ash covered, charred ruins of once a thriving civilization, now sat a demon, curled in on himself, crying to no ears but his own. The one thing he wanted, he needed, was gone. And it was because of him.

For the first time in his eternal life, he felt so small; he couldn't stay here. He didn't want to stay here.

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

With the sheer amount of death and destruction he created, it was only a matter of time before one of Death's angel came by.

Philza, surprised to see Saint BadBoyHalo so far from hell, takes him to the Void as a last ditch effort to calm him down. I say "last ditch effort" because Philza tried to handle it there, but BBH was having none of it (they fought, which caused Atlantis to 100% sink)

Reaching the Void, BadBoyHalo was able to meet the Goddess of Death herself, Kristin (we love the goddesses in the household). Taking pity on him, the Goddess of Death, decided to help, healing his shattered soul and giving him purpose. While not fully whole, it was a start. From that moment on, he now serves as one of her highest ranking reapers (one of = there are others -> I see Missa as a grim reaper) BadBoyHalo then has the ability to travel from the Void to the surface, both for fun and for his job.

During this time, after destroying Atlantis, Foolish, a deity who once slept eternally, blessing a lucky few with the ability to come back from the dead, was awakened. He watched Philza and BadBoyHalo leave, but since he could not follow them, he walked the earth to bide the time.

In the background of all this BBH stuff, he is worshiped as a god, feared my many, and more, waiting for cross paths again. Basically, when BBH woke him, it forced a bond between the two that only death could break, but since BBH is immortal... they're kinda stuck with each other...

Eventually, BadBoyHalo finds himself in The War (hunger games), where he meets Cellbit. Instead of killing this small child, they form a pact, a deal-

BadBoyHalo becomes his familiar... temporarily, at least.

Of course, it doesn't last forever, they split paths; Cellbit gets arrested and BadBoyHalo does.. something???

Its during then and now where BBH not only finds Skeppy, but then the two of them manage to get themselves stuck in a timeloop, yet every time it looped, they still managed to find each other.

Skeppy is some sort of gem creature, being said to be made of purely diamond, only killable via extreme heat

To me, Skeppy and BadBoyHalo also form a pact, but it's way stronger than the one Cellbit and BadBoyHalo:

Skeppy is able to live for centuries, able to shift his body into any size and shape he so desires, look through diamonds as if they were his own eyes, shatter into billions of pieces and get back up again.

BadBoyHalo is constantly hungry, but no physical meal could satiate his hunger. No rare meats or pretty plants, rocks or wood, nothing.

Except soul energy.

In simple terms, Skeppy is a constant source of energy of which BadBoyHalo can eat from, without the worry of killing him. BadBoyHalo can consciously eat it, but he also naturally absorbs it, meaning that if he stays near someone for too long, he'll end up accidentally killing them or at least making them weaker. That's why, when he "pretends" to be the grim reaper, he's constantly telling people to drink water, or how he generally tries to keep people alive, healthy and happy- it lessens the chance for him to accidentally kill them.

By creating this deal, Skeppy gains some of BadBoyHalo's immortality, further becoming a constant fountain of soul energy.

With the idea that Skeppy and BadBoyHalo consistently found the other while in the time loop, I'm just gonna call them soulmates lol

Going back on myself, Skeppy being "a constant fountain of soul energy" is not an exaggeration, BadBoyHalo is considerably stronger the closer they are together. But, seeing as they are apart at the moment, BadBoyHalo is very weak; he doesn't want to feed off the other islanders, Cucurucho and the Code are not options he wants to try (looking at q!Slime being corrupted and q!Forever on the happy pills), so its just a waiting game

Things I don't know how to incorporate at the moment are all the references he makes towards Italy, being whatever happened in Venice and Naples, and anything involving Mount Vesuvius; I don't wanna make any guesses right now while cc!BBH is still dropping crumbs. Unfortunately, this includes anything with the Eggpire, not only do I need to rewatch it, but since it was retconned and cc!BBH said he'd reveal some stuff about it, that section is gonna be on hold for me. On top of that, apparently MCC being at least somewhat canon??? that was mentioned at one point

So instead, here are some little headcanons:

BBH hates being summoned, when he was summoned by Foolish, Cellbit, Roier and Jaiden is a perfect example of this; this trait was passed to Dapper, as she seems to also find it annoying to be summoned at random

BBH will pick up and cradle Dapper and/or Pomme while he sings to them, they find immediate comfort in being held by him

Grim Reapers don't kill, not often at least. They collect souls and guide them to the afterlife. It is the angels of Death that actively kill. This can be seen whenever Missa stands back while Philza kills off mobs. BBH, being a fallen angel/powerful deity, differs from this, as he does both the killing and soul gathering

BBH and Ironmouse never really knew each other as angels, nor as demons, but they could sense that the other was a demon, as well as just use their eyes, Mouse doesn't hide it and BBH is bad at hiding it. Tina, on the other hand, is good at hiding it! Since she has no wings and consistently files down her horns

Whilst wondering the mortal world, there have been times where people have tried to jail or contain him. Tried. Just for fun, BBH enjoys to wear some of the chains from their attempts, almost like jewelry! They make a frightening noise, clinking against each other, but it makes him even more terrifying when he appears without making any noise

Foolish and BBH love to fight, but it usually needs to be on a secluded island or a place very far from civilization because of how much destruction they usually cause

If BBH stands in one spot, the plants around him start to die. In contrast, if Foolish were to walk in the same path, they would regrow.

There are very few that BBH cannot eat soul energy from, some being: Death's angels and reapers (Philza, Missa, etc.) Dapper, Pomme, Tallulah and Chayanne. Everyone else would need time far away from him to recover, hence BBH living underground, far from anyone else

^ Foolish and Skeppy are technically in the same category for "infinite soul energy" but for different reasons

^ Very few eggs can withstand it, only the ones that are children of those who can already not be drained: BBH -> Pomme/Dapper; Philza/Missa -> Chayanne/Tallulah

^^ this means that, like Foolish, Leo has infinite soul energy

[plaguethewaters]

@thetiredyuk i am having more Thoughts about that one - ranboo is the sone of death beeduo au. I was about to just send you an ask but also this is almost 2k words so it may be better off as a post lmfao

So like. bullet points time, this is an approximate summary of what i think the Plot would be like - wordbuilding aside

(Temporary mcd, suicide warning)

Year like, 1500 something (to be more well researched but i do want it to be like. something something renaissance. it works) we've got two poor ass kids born of the same year. Except tommy is pretty much a normal guy, liked by his family and such. His parents have enough children they can gamble for at least one to be successfull, so they send him to be a painter's apprentice in the hope he'll make some kind of money. There, in the slighter bigger town thats almost a city but not quite, he meets tubbo. Now Tubbo would have been a normal guy, except he was born with facial deformities so now everyone thinks he's a demonic freak hated by the gods (this renaissance world is politheistic bc kristin needs to be there and also i wil not do christianity if i dont have to lmao.)

Tommy is not intimidated by any gods. obviously. also his dad is really into the goddess of death and he prays enough for both of them, so he's like. protected and shite. And he immidiately hits it off with the cursed boy

surprise hes not actually cursed but people are dicks anyways. Tommy makes him a fancy mask to cover his face - even thought its totally cool as shit, but its cool enough only tommy should ever get to see it - and that eventually does help him. Because tubbo wasnt like, a shit guy. Hes a damn good builder and knows how to read, which are talents big enough that the costruction workers for that church out of town are ready to ignore the whole probably cursed thing. As long as he as the masks.

Tommy: makes him the first genuine gift hes ever received in fifteen years of life Tubbo: never takes it off again. like never Tommy: shocked pikachu face

anyways so tommy dies like. super young. They have their fun for a few years but at like seventeen tommy is called to be the artist for this very fancy duke of the town over - and at the start they'r super happy bc that means Money and Food and Roof over your head and shite. its a very good fucking deal.

except the noble is a bastard. His town revolts against him, and when they storm the castle they aren't exactly asking names or faces: tommy gets immidiately like, super destroyed by the crowd, and dies a few minutes later.

Tubbo hears of this like five months later bc its the fifteen hunderds and hes poor.

He does Not take it very well ngl

He goes a bit murdery - basically hes like "im not living without tommy, might as well burn down a village while im at it right, right."

Now ranboo, in all of this, freshly the equivalent of seventeen for an immortal death being, is starting on their training to actually become death- His mom send him on a quaint little village in europe thinking "hey, the most those guys die of is like. malaria. consumption maybe. itll be easy as hell"

And now like two hundred different souls are around him with FIRE written on their foreheads and Ranboo feels distinctly outside of his range, to be really honest.

he steps a couple ethereak planes down just to see what the heck is the matter - if this is another of those voide beings his mom will be Super Pissed and they want to see that reaction

And it isnt the void people

Instead, in front of their eyes, the singular most beautiful person hes ever seen - and hes seen lots, in this line of work.

He cant see their face, but their actions speak enough. The sheer rage, the almost dance like movement of their body perfectly framed by the light of their torch, seeing no humanity or mercy in whatever their searching for. their hair look angelic in its softness, burnt by the worst flames of hell and yet tended by the same hands who wield it - strong hands, clearly forged by hard work and dedication. This is a guy who has nothing to lose, and there's little Death loves most than someone who doesnt fear it.

He has to go down, has to speak to them immidiately.

So he does.

There's really no time - his mom had given the singular rule not to interact with humans, shell be on them in Seconds- but one question can be asked in the haste: "What brings a mortal to do this?"

"It's all for you, love!" the mortal says. They also say some other things, after, but Ranboo is not very well versed in the human tongue and they are speaking Very Loudly.

(Tubbo actually said "Fuck you, you motherfucker it's Your Fault, you took every single thing i love". Easy mistake, if one thinks about it.)

Their mom is Pretty Pissed but she does undesrtand stupid things done for young love. So she's like "eh, ive loved mortals too. go have fun" and everything

Except a year passes, and ranboo still hasnt even spoken to the guy, and she remembers suddenly Mortality Exists.

Shes never had them take a soul who died naturally - for lack of occasion, mostly - and they may have been. a tad sheltered. They most definitely do Not know what death actually is like for humans, nor how long does it take for them to die

she wonders if it would be a tad overprotective to take this over for them

she thinks about seventy years in the future, at most, when the boy dies. She thinks that her son cannot cry but can definitely cry. she thinks of their screams of sadness ringing through her ears-

Tubbo wakes up in the river, alive.

He did not Intend to be alive, and it's actually quite unfortunate for him to be so.The survivors are quite angry and probably close to him, now. Welp, no way to die is reallt any worse than another, he thinks. Ill just wait here for them.

When the pitchfork collapses his heart and he continues breathing, he understands something might be a little bit wrong.

And like, a good five hundred years pass like this.

Things Tubbo has learned in his five hundred, twenty three and two halves years on this demon forsaken earth:

Clothes get so much shittier over time. he has One (1) tailored shit from the 1800 and Nothing has even barely compared to it ever since.

getting stabbed does not hurt less just because youre not actually dying. Poisoning is actiively way worse since you're not actually dying. Diving off cliffs is Not Fun. In general, try not to do dying things even if youre immortal

theres a hole in his heart where his loved ones were and it will never get filled

Food gets esponentially better over time. Lord bless whoever decided curry should go on chicken because they were Cooking For Real. Chocolate was still better before though.

Working for soulles bosses has not changed At All in all of this time tho.

he works at mcdonalds because no college would accept his non existant resume, and being immortal dosent deprive him of his needs unfortunately. The manager took one look at this kid dressed from like three different centuries with a goat mask on his head and was like. why not. at least youre not a stoner and you know how to read.

His coworkers firmly believe hes a criptid and have a full going investigation to prove it. The highest bet at fifty dollars says hes mothman in disguise, there to eat the fliest that live on their shitty food. The lowest bets hes an angel waiting for the right time to brign down armageddon.

Every night he goes in the woods to an almost forgotten Death altar and he prays. Half of his prayers consist of insults and the other half are pleas for her to fucking kill him already

This does not help the criptid chronicles

Kristin also has like. only so much patience. Hes holding up the prayers line - which is actually still pretty fucking used in central asia - and hes generally annoying as shit.

She takes ranboo by the scruff, gives them a passable human form, and throws them down there. Get your shit together boy youre like a thousand years old. Get your man (to stop fucking with the phoneline)

Ranboo is Not Enthusiastic about this but cmon. Hes death. How hard can working at a mac really be?

Spoiler it is

Spoiler it does Not matter, because awkwardness aside ranboo is funny, and easy to talk to, and compassionate and caring. He doesnt want to kill tubbo, he doesnt look at him like hes a fictional creature (and yes marcie, hes seen the bet table), he isnt his soulless boss. Tubbo is grieving but he also very desperstely wants a friend.

One day someone stops at his shitty apartment at like three am

Ranboo stands in fron of his door drenched from head to toe, holding the possibly smallest kitten tubbo has ever seen in his Life. Hes miserable but the cat is miracoulously dry, screaming their head off - and ranboo is panicking. Are they okay are they dying? Do you have any food i dont know what he eats but its so small and i didnt know where else to go- please i dont want it to die or something and-

The moon shines on their long, wet hair and their stupid fucking suit is as wrinkled as ever. They look like they desperately want to rub their hands against each other but there is a kitten in the way and it probably makes them even more anxious - theres very little messes bigger than him, right now.

Tubbo falls in love.

They heal the kitten and keep enderchest in their now shared apartment.

They grow closer, and closer, and something is forming. Ranboo is aware a relationship cannot be based on lies, as much as it worries him how tubbo will react.

so he prepares like a romantic ass evening

roses and candles and a nice dinner with a fancy wine

tubbo almost gets flustered

except at the end of the night the confession isnt "i love you" but "im the guy who took away your only ffamily".

and he sees Red.

Ranboo doesnt remember what tubbo screamed, not exactly. He remembers grief, and crying, and feeling worse than he ever believed he could. He remembers the endless guilt sitting in his chest, and the slam of a door - maybe from the inside out. Hes definitely outside, now, and the house ifìs far away enough eh cant see it, but that could also be the tears.

His mother finds him crouched in a patch of grass, tears steaming down their cheeks in a constant flow. Shes not aware if they'd returned to death form to feel safer, or because they believed they deserved the burn. Shes not sure what option makes her feel worse.

shes aware that this is. pretty much her fault

TO HER DEFENSE she was not really aware humans were so touchy about death. The souls she reaps arent very talkative and the guy shes with is chill about it so like. maybe this one is weird

(the guy she's with is Phil, whos Decidly not a human but has also decided not to tell her yet. For the bit, yknow? He's been a live a couple thousand years, it would be awkward to drop it now. He's also somewhat a serial killer and Not Normal about death At All)

BUt this is still here fault and she does have to set it right a little bit

So she summons Tubbo to her persnoal room in the palace and goes like. "oi. why r u so mad little guy"

And hes like: you took away the single person whos ever loved me ever

"Wait that's the only problem?"

"What the fuck else would it be"

"thought u were mad at him cause he lied lol"

"LYING IS NOT WORSE THAN KILLING A GUY"

Anyways Kristen is so relieved rn. She thought tubbo was phisically like, repulsed by the concept of death and all, and he was mad that Ranboo lied to him and all. Which he is, but the rage is so so much less than the grief yknoe. And she knows how to fix it if its just one (1) measly soul

Tommy is so fucking confused

Th modern world is full of sounds and weird textures and the food is fucking fantastic but also Too Much, and Tubbo introduced him to this weird ass potion hed called a bong and now hes seeing gods the likes of which had never been discoveres

Over all hes just happy to be alive and with his best friend

He kinda hates ranboo. The fucker threw a scyte at him for no reason when tommy would have Almost Certainly survived because he is simply That Cool. Ranboo didn't believe in his awesomeness enough and is thus a Bitch

Tubbo is. iffy

He cant deny he has a teensy tiny crush now, because hes far too deep in this for that

But also ranboo did like. lie straight to his face

but also tubbo would Not have believed him if a random guy showed up at three am at a mcdonalds saying they were the child of death

and he Did trust that what he saw in ranboo was real, betrayal aside. No one fakes looking That much like a wet cat

so it does take a while. couple years in fact, to get back at the level of trust they had before (inster a cool anime montage where they have lots of fun together as roommates and cats coparents and all)

One night when they are - not back together, because they hadnt been dating before, but back to that almost definitely dating just not officialized stage- ranboo asks him if would ever want to be mortal again.

And tubbo thinks of it. His time on earth had been so plagued by grief hed never really ecperienced anything it had to offer. Hed never seen the sights or did anything at all besides praying for death, and thats kind of a shitty way to pass five hundred years

'But tubbo what about your humanity? wouldnt it be irrevocabily lost by giving awau something so fundamentally human as death" someone would ask. And tubbo would anser "ehh who cares"

He hasnt been fully human since hes burned that whole village down, anyway. And he likes the benefits of this life more than whateer moral superiority a Normal human would have over him

just-

"and tommy too, obviously. I get the feeling you dont like him dead" Ranboo jokes.

There's no decision at all then. Fuck yeah, immortal boyfriend and immortal brother what more could a fucker want.

They get to cause chaos on earth and probably kill a bunch of rich people for a long long time

the end :)

Im like. very tentatively calling this Deathless Death, in the vane hope that i will write something for this better thant bullet points. But for now bullet points it is

[bumblebeerror]

I need to be a little insane about Philza “Angel of Death” Minecraft and Kristin “Goddess of Death” MissTrixtin because like I need you to see my vision

If you see Phil as a harbinger of Death you’re like. You’re so so close. You’re so close

The relationship between Kristin and Phil (as RP characters) is a reflection of Life and Death.

Kristin when it comes to Minecraft RP is an entity that is there but in most ways unreachable. She can be communicated with, but she cannot be Present in the World (most of the time). Death is also a state of being wherein the living can speak to the dead, but the dead can’t return, can’t interact with us.

Phil is Life. Phil is growing plants and animals, he’s planning and nurturing and blunt and protective. He’s interested primarily in keeping alive the people he cares for, keeping himself alive. He survives, and he strives to help others do the same. He knows things must die eventually, he says as much during Sam’s dsmp finale, but he’s not out here to hasten the deaths of players he cares about. Especially when it comes to Qsmp but on dsmp too, Phil isn’t worried so much about the state that people are in at the end of an ordeal, as long as they’re alive.

Because you can’t therapy or gapple away Death. She is powerful and eternal and inevitable, the sparkling of stars in the void, an endless drop out of the world. And Phil is dogged, stubborn, and persistent, a dandelion growing in the sidewalk crack. Life is clinging by a thread, and it refuses to let go. It’s a stone thrown in the ocean whose ripples spread endlessly. It’s messy and silly and wild.

And, of course, Life sends Death many gifts.

[fallen-elytrian]

“Phil,” Kristin said gently, “we have to do this”

He was still in awe of seeing her. Seeing her like this, in a physical body, so small, so fragile. But this was Her. He could see it when he looked into Her eyes. They held the knowledge of the starts in them. He would always trust Her. He knew she was right.

She tugged down on her hat, “it’s going to be okay.” He had to smile a bit, watching the black veil fall over Her face. Of course She managed to still keep Her hat and all its decorations intact, even in this form. She stepped forward, and was swallowed by the vortex of stars.

Peering over the edge, Phil couldn’t help but think the portal looked a lot like Her eyes. At first you think it’s an empty void, but if you look closer, there’s more to it than that. It’s not black, but a deep purple. There isn’t nothingness, but actually small pinpricks of light. Looking into the portal was comforting, in a way.

But even still, he edged back from the vortex. She said they didn’t have a lot of time, and he knew that. He knew She wouldn’t have come here unless it was absolutely necessary. But he wanted to hold back, to delay, to put this off a little longer.

He wanted to hope.

Techno had been gone on this most recent trip of his for months now. And Phil didn’t mind! He tried not to. He missed him, sure. And some days he missed him so bad it hurt. Like an ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. But it was manageable, because Techno always came back.

Except apparently they were out of time. Something big was coming, something that even She couldn’t protect them from. And maybe Techno already caught wind of it. He’s smart, he’s resourceful. Knowing him, perhaps he heard about it and already started planning. Maybe even sent a note that Phil simply hadn’t received yet.

Phil knew this, he knew his friend. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. He just wanted to know. Just wanted confirmation that Techno was safe. It was selfish of him, he knew, but he desperately wanted to leave a few of his crows behind. So that if Techno came back, they could warn him. Tell him to get out fast.

A few of the crows in question landed on his shoulders and the brim of his hat. They chattered and cooed softly. One of them nibbled on his ear. He brought a finger up to stroke their feathers, not having the heart to reprimand them. He knew this was chats way of comforting him. And it’s not like Phil doesn’t always send crows after Techno, just in case. If something was wrong, one of them would return.

Alas, Phil supposed he had spent enough time stalling. He spared one last glance around the room. There had been a lot of good memories here. Ones he would hold onto for the rest of time. What he wouldn’t give for all of them to be gathered at this table, one last time.

Phil took a deep breath. He had kept them waiting long enough. He closed his eyes, taking a step forward, bracing himself for the free-fall.

Only to jerk back at the sound of a blessedly familiar baritone, “and where do you think you’re going, old man?”

“Techno!” Phil whirled around, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of his longtime friend. He rushed forward, barreling into the piglin and and burying his face into his fur.

“Mate it’s so good to see you,” Phil choked out, trying to shove down the lump in his throat, “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it in time”

Techno hummed, a deep rumble in his chest, “well, the voices were gettin’ pretty loud about some world ending even I had to get back for. They seemed pretty excited about it, so I decided to head back”

Phil laughed, pulling back slightly, “it’s a good thing you’re here. Kristin showed up. Here, at the server. Something big is coming, mate. Something She can’t even protect us from. We have to get out of here.”

“Come on then, old man. It’d be pretty cringe if we didn’t get out in time on account of your sentimentality,” Techno chuffed

Phil squawked, heading back to the table, “oí, sorry I was happy to see you, you brute. It’s your fault for leaving so long”

Techno stepped up to the edge with him, “hmm. Perhaps you have a point. We can talk about it after we survive our third apocalypse.”

Phil chuckled despite himself, peering over the edge again, “come on now Techno, I was really worried you weren’t gonna make it back in time”

Techno looked into the portal, narrowing his eyes a bit, “you won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

“Besides,” Techno shifted, glancing over at him, “I promised you the world, Philza,” he continued, extending his hand, “I intend to make good on that promise”

“Well mate,” Phil chuckled, gladly taking it in his own, “to hell and back, then”

And they stepped through the portal together

[fizzlo-and-the-cubes]

alr to help with the Great QSMP Content Drought of 2024 im gonna empty all the death family headcanons in my brain onto this tumblr dot com post

all these are cubitos unless stated otherwise btw i just didnt want to go through and indicate every name lmao

(also to my qpr deathduo homies (luv yas) I'm a bit of a romantic pissa truther so be warned about that)(but i also suck at writing romance so it's pretty subtle also most of these are about chayanne)

remember last year when Chayanne was almost always asleep because the admin was too busy? i think that his ties to death pulled his conscious into Kristin's domain whenever he slept, so he just spent his time chilling over there (i simply choose to ignore the fact that she isn't canon)

Tallulah can clearly see and hear spirits, all her brother can see are blurry figures and the occasional whisper

Chay's wings started growing feathers very early on, Phil had to pretend he had no idea where they came from whilst also assuring a heavily sobbing Missa that he didn't cheat on him

no one has known fear like a fed worker that tried to touch Chayanne's wings in the early days and almost lost their hands to a newly-grounded crow

unrelated to that Philza Minecraft puts the 'death' in 'death-glare'

Chayanne's first attempts of jumping off the wall on day one were baby-crow instincts but after that he was just doing it for his dads' reactions

Chayanne knows the blade, but he knows strategy far better - both draw blood in the end, regardless

Juanaflippa was the best at swimming, then Leonarda, then Chayanne

when they learn to fly, Chayanne is the best, then Tallulah, then Pomme

Leonarda wonders why bother flying when she has a cloud to do it for her

Chayanne wants to fly just as much as Tallulah, but she's more vocal about it since her brain is experiencing crow instincts for the first time

Phil taught Pomme how to aim

Phil has dreamed about his kids in his hardcore world more than once

Richarlyson was the one who cut Tallulah's hair short (THANK GOD HE DIDN'T LEARN FROM MIKE)

Tallulah often put flowers in her hair when it was longer, so she sneaks some into everyone else's now that its short

Chayanne can summon his mask over his face (like the Visoreds from Bleach. this is because i like Bleach and will put as many references as i want)

Phil acts more short-tempered than before, and the roses have started to wilt

upon arriving on a reset island, Phil finds Missa hanging off of a rose branch

i hc Missa's face to be similar to bad's since they're both reapers (so a black void with two white eyes and nothing else) but instead of horns Missa has flowy, almost mist-like hair that fades to cyan at the ends

Phil saw it for the first time at the prison when Missa's mask and hood slipped off in his sleep (entirely Chayanne's fault) and was completely normal about it end definitely went back to sleep and didn't stay up staring between Missa's hair and the ceiling.

upon stealing a kiss from Missa, Quackity had to sit down for a few minutes because he couldn't comprehend the texture of Missa's face

Phil was fine tho. he's kissed death plenty of times

[life-winners-liveblog]

My Name is flutter from fluttering in the void and I'm here LIVE in the infinite void space that was created for a death game with and by non other then the watchers!

Tell me watchers, why keep these souls trapped inside this void of broken dreams and shattered people

*holds a mic out to the watchers* :>

-the best news reporter in the entire void, flutter!

👁️... What👁️

👂They asked-👂

👁️We heard, the confusion was- nevermind. And to answer the question, their mix of virtues and sins would have sent them to one of the many pre-existing variations of inbetween/purgatories so we just made our own-👁️

👂They also didn't want to work constantly under Kristins jurisdiction!👂