dude i fucking love how this server has communication as its premise and built into its fucking core. i fucking love that. bc it's one thing to be like 'this server is about multilingual communication and cultural exchange!!' bc that could present in any NUMBER of ways but like. with the federation and the eggs and a common shared goal they all decided WE ARE A TEAM. and like, ok,
when baghera was sus of jaiden because of the thing when pomme died and jaiden had been the reason baghera left her side for the only time that day, i wasn't even worried. i wasn't worried bc i was like "we just wait. because i know they will TALK TO EACH OTHER." and I WAS RIGHT. TWO DAYS LATER IT WAS ALL CLEARED UP AND BAGHERA WAS HELPING HER OUT WITH CUCURUCHO
and the ordo theoritas is functionally a secret organization. it would be SO EASY to gatekeep the lore, on grounds of "the federation is always watching and anyone could be a spy" and yet the ordo theoritas says that, like bad SAYS THAT, says OUT LOUD, "anyone could be a traitor" and then turns around and goes "hey person i've had a few days' worth of conversations with, here's a detailed rundown of everything we've learned about the island's mysteries, and the secret location of the ordo base". SOFIA was supposed to be secret from everyone, and for a little bit she was. but now like, the ordo theoritas is showing her to everyone. it would be SO EASY to hide things and to gatekeep things but they just. don't do it. here's the supercomputer!!!! don't forget to grab her waystone so you can come back anytime!!!
bad learns something. "i need to tell forever/cellbit/baghera". forever figures out a new way to protect the eggs, and he gets it to everyone within days. cucurucho tries to have a secret conversation and the entire server knows about it almost instantly and there are three people buried in the walls reading the subtitles and giving each other meaningful glances
i love it. i love it. miscommunication plotlines drive me up the fucking wall and the fact that i wasn't even SCARED when jaiden and baghera could easily have angled into an angsty tangled web of that and instead just MET WITH EACH OTHER AND EXPLAINED EVERYTHING AND CLEARED THE AIR ALMOST IMMEDIATELY was so fucking breathtaking. and this is a multilingual server. this is a MULTILINGUAL SERVER. i love it. i love it so much i want to cry. it's a server for communication and people Communicate, it would have been SO EASY to slip into monolingual factions and stick to the familiar but they DIDN'T. they DIDN'T. WE GET TO HAVE A THEORY TABLE WITH SO MANY LANGUAGES SITTING AROUND IT. we get to have conspiracy walls in every language!!!! idk sometimes i forget how fucking CRAZY all this is, like the scale of what they've accomplished
so yea thank you to quackity and the qsmp admins for this, and thank you to the streamers for hearing 'this is about connections' and taking it ENTIRELY to heart, and also thank you to whoever the fuck decided to give quackity's school class the job to look after a fucking egg to learn about parenting. bc holy shit. holy shit.
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I have a suggestion! What are your thoughts on the reader helping high school kento build a birdhouse?
"You know one of these days you'll have to actually help, right?"
"I am helping," you frown as you stare at your nails. You're not really looking. It's merely a shield, a way to avert your eyes from his piercing eyes.
"You're..." His voice trails off as he lifts the cumbersome goggles up from his eyes, to see you perched on the marble slab. A figure so idle and bored-looking and yet, you make no means to contribute. "You're sitting.”
He seemed clearly frustrated, but you're who you are, and so you giggled.
"I am. I am sitting while providing you moral support. I’m the pretty view that will keep you from going insane over that birdhouse. There is beauty in this world, Nanami-san. There is joy,” you beam as you wrap up your speech.
"We don't have time for this. We need to submit this birdhouse by Monday," he sighs, his frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. "That's only 3 more days."
“Oh, come on. We've got plenty of time," you say, waving off his concerns with a nonchalant flick of your hand.
But he's not easily swayed. "Plenty of time? We haven't even finished painting it, let alone adding the final touches. And we still need to figure out how to stabilise the roof so it doesn't collapse under the weight of the two birds."
You lean back on your hands, letting out a dramatic weary sigh. "Fine, Nanami-kun. If you're so worried, I'll try and help. But you have to promise me one thing."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What?"
"That you'll stop stressing out so much. It's just a birdhouse, not a spaceship," you tease, hoping to lighten the mood. "Oh, and that you'll buy me Mochi when we're done with an A+."
"I owe you nothing," he says, his arms crossed in defiance.
"Then I fear," you fake a frown. "I fear my legs just can't seem to reach the ground. You shall have to carry on without me." A tilt of your head, a pout on your lips. God, you're so annoying.
"I'll get you your Mochi," he concedes with a resigned shake of his head. "But only if we manage to finish this on time. And with an exemplary grade might I add."
"A+ and nothing less," you salute him as you hop off the counter. His eyes catch a glimpse of your skirt riding up before his eyes look away and move to the unfinished birdhouse.
---
Your heavy eyes threatened to lull, but you fought against it, you've slept for far too long. And it doesn't help that Nanami's hands are moving in soothing patterns against your back. Up and down, and a circle. Up and down, and a circle.
Your gaze strains to lift up, avoiding any movement that might disturb his lying form. He's already awake, so there's no fear of rousing him awake with your movement. No, your concern lies elsewhere — You're worried about moving, and having to start the day, and having to leave his arms. This is far too comfortable a moment to leave.
Your eyes drift across the room and settle on the red cage in the corner of the room. The cage seems to look a lot more lonelier in the dull light of this cold morning.
“I think he’s sad,” you murmur.
Your gaze remains fixed on the bird inside the cage. The love bird, now singular, was formerly a pair as they usually come. It's a horrible fate, you can't help but think.
“Obviously," came his terse reply.
You don't say anything, letting the silence join you both, you moved your hands on his chest. You repeat the familiar pattern. Up and down, and a circle. Up and down, and a circle.
“Do you think that’ll happen to you if I leave,” you ask, moments later.
“You’re not leaving," he says, quickly.
"No," you countered softly yet insistently. "No, of course not. I only meant if—"
"No," he cut in, his voice firm and resolute. Though his demeanor remained calm— as it often did— you felt his hand tighten around your waist.
You decided not to press further then.
"I think we need to pay more attention to it than usual," you suggested, redirecting the conversation to the love bird. "Else it'll die."
"Maybe that's better," he mused.
"Don't be silly," you chide gently. "He'll be alright. It's only been a week."
A week later, the love bird passed away, succumbing to a broken heart, as the veterinarian confirmed.
Three years have passed since, and you find yourself thinking back to that morning. He's the one who's gone now, his body finding the same soil as the two love birds.
You suppose you're the one who has to answer now.
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