#(tubbo died in same position that he sleeps in)

[atl0sss]

I was on Twitter yesterday, and I saw someone talking about #qBBH wanting the old #qForever back. Unfortunately, this qForever no longer exists. I really hope that people inside the island start to notice who our president is now. It's sad to see, but q!Forever died when he saw Richas's shirt on the bed.

He was literally driven crazy. Honestly q!Forever started to die during the election arc. With all the distrust they began to place upon him, seeing his best friends moving away from him, seeing Richas moving away from him after he became president. Everyone was leaving, and then his son was literally gone. He spent hours and hours waiting for him to come back. When q!Forever needed someone to actually ask if he was okay, the only ones who did were q!Tubbo (Because he didn't have an egg to look for) and q!Pac (Because they are family.)

And man, watching him freak out was really something Intense, you know? He started looking madly for Pomme and Dapper, clinging to the hope that they were still there, that he still had something to protect, but, he hadn't. And the only thing that kept this man sane was having something to protect. Q!Forever has always been like this. That's why he built the N.I.N.H.O. and it was for this same reason that when he invaded pomme's room to look for her and the "voices" started to complain, he said "There's no reason to protect N.I.N.H.O. anymore, the eggs are gone." And everything he did over the months, all the paranoia and overprotection towards Richas were in vain. The promise which he did for Chayene and Talulah in the last night was useless . He began to slowly succumb to madness. He knew that q!Aypierre was lying to him. And the only thing on his mind was to kill him. He hid in Richas's room and begged q!PAC to appear. And told him that.

I decided to subtitle this conversation, because it's really interesting. Q! forever tells Pac everything he's feeling at the moment, this was the last time he spoke openly about his feelings. He talks about the 2000 mines, about the voices in his head He talks about wanting to kill q!Pierre when he realizes he's lying. It's hard to control his impulses now that he no longer has Richas. Unlike q!Cell, q!F never went to therapy, lol. The voices in his head are out of control, searching for something.that makes them feel relief. When you meet q! Forever long enough, you realize that these laughs he makes aren't his normal laughs. He's always laughing and smiling, but this here My friends, it is a demonstration of a mad man.

(Tumblr won't let me upload more than one video, so I'll leave the link to my Twitter post here, so you can see the entire conversation: https://twitter.com/Atl0sss_/status/1709774361408741873?t=bhD9XtHh0a29yCqREP5KfQ&s=19 )

This was one of the few moments where he said things without any filter. About the desire for death and revenge that he has, without caring if it was correct to direct that towards q!Ayp. He just wanted Take out the anger. So he has these daydreams, and talks about it with q!PAC, Because he's the only one who Q!F knows will listen. And he listens, and plays with q!F, makes jokes and deals with the matter calmly, which makes the president calm down.

But unfortunately that wasn't enough. After that, q!Ever is alone again, he isolates himself in the presidential room. And he waits. (It's very interesting how cc!Forever leaves the character positioned, so that we can see the days passing inside Minecraft. )

and days pass, and he waits. He doesn't sleep, he stays awake, just talking to the "voices" and waiting. At some point, he starts listening to the clock, over and over again. He tries to blow up the clock in the room, but it's not enough. The clock is inside his head.

This man literally went crazy from waiting so long. Do you understand this?

And he says this, which was definitely one of the things that marked me the most in this whole arc of the disappearance of the eggs:

"Everything that has moved my character so far, What made us do things, and His entire universe revolves around the son he loves so much, circles around Richardlyson. I won't be able to ignore the fact that Richarlyson disappeared to play with capybaras, or anything. [...]"

Anyway. This man will then meet with the cucurucho. They talk, Q!Forever threatens to blow up the entire island, tells Cucurucho to try to kill him, tries to blow up the federation office and finds the live promising to blow up the entire island the other day. And then he builds a TNT plane to blow up the island, and chases Cucurucho with a chainsaw (both things are canon) What do I mean by all this? I want to say that, since the moment that Richarlyson disappeared, that q!Forever no longer exists. The man who Built N.I.N.H.O, the man who was close to q!Bad, started dying during the elections and ended his life when his son left. But, in the end, was he ever real? That man existed because of Richas. That personality was completely shaped so that Richarlyson would be safe.

His paranoia, his way of relating to other islanders, his candidacy and presidency, everything was ALWAYS for Richas. Who is he without his son? If the eggs die, what will happen to q!Forever? Q!Forever president and QForever island are the same person. But, Q!Forever without Richas and!Forever with Richas are completely different people. Whether he is president or not. He had power once and continues to insist on being honest. But without Richas, how long will he maintain this pose? How long will he accept being disrespected if he has nothing left to protect? He is trying to protect the people, without anyone better for the inhabitants, but they are not Richas. And at some point, he will give up.

#qsmp #qsmp forever #badboyhalo #qforever #foreverplayerg

[merrinpippy]

I posted 1,432 times in 2022

That's 579 more posts than 2021!

37 posts created (3%)

1,395 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@vastsexual

@wellshitcaitlin

@caspercryptid

@the-neon-pineapple

@fishfingersandscarves

I tagged 792 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#the sandman - 104 posts

#batman - 67 posts

#dreamwastaken - 52 posts

#mcyt - 41 posts

#lotr - 32 posts

#dsmp - 28 posts

#tubbo - 26 posts

#dream smp - 26 posts

#april fools - 24 posts

#les mis - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#after that though... after that yeah no fuck you and your demands alex you saw where it got you father and it's getting you the exact same!

I sent 1 gift in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

isn't puss in boots a fairly smart, calculating character in the stories he's from? like a super planner-in-advance, several steps ahead kind of character? because if zac's playing him like that i'm so hyped to see zac play an incredibly smart character again, he's so delightful when he does :D

90 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

#4

[??:??] Dream: Dear Sister. I have done as you have asked. I hope this text message finds you well. I enjoyed the time I spent with you this day, and you are of course correct to suggest we do so more frequently in the future. Dream

[??:??] Dream: Dear Sister. I had forgotten to write in my previous text message, in my haste: how often do you wish me to communicate with you in this manner? I cannot guarantee strict adherence to whatever timeframe you wish, but I shall endeavour to try. Dream

[09:12] Death: hey mate, cool rp you got going but i’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong number

95 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

#3

Cages in the Sandman: Sleep of the Just

One thing I really appreciate the handling of in the Sandman show is the cage- or should i say cages in the first episode. Dream's and Alex's, that is. I'd like to give this frame in particular (and the scene it belongs to) as an example:

There are several things I enjoy about this frame, and not just that it looks gorgeous. I love that the iron bar of Dream's cage is between their hands, literally and visually keeping them separate from each other. I love that the arch of the basement over Alex's head mirrors the iron arch over Dream's, the shape of Dream's cage rippling out into the world surrounding him, the thing that Roderick Burgess built trapping not only Dream but himself and Alex too.

I love that the mirroring is not 1:1. The camera itself is tilted at an angle, and Dream's cage isn't exactly flat, either. Despite being both caged they are not on equal footing. Dream is suspended, precarious- and actually, if we were to right the angle, Dream would be reaching down to Alex... but he isn't. In fact Alex is almost looming over Dream here, still visually in a position of power despite it not quite looking the same were we to see the same image flat.

I also love the stark difference in lighting and clothes, which I feel tie together in this shot. There are seven light sources in frame alone, all in the basement and outside Dream's cage, and yet Alex is cast in darkness as well as dark clothes in contrast to Dream who despite the lack of lighting is illuminated and vulnerable. For Alex he can afford to hide in his father's shadow- it's not his fault, Roderick was the one who imprisoned Dream, etc... while Dream doesn't have a choice but to have everything on display against his will. And, it's of course a reminder that to at least one person, Alex cannot hide from his mistakes. He has no choice but to see Dream exactly as he is: starved, naked, alone, and continuing to be this way unless Alex makes the choice to free him, which he doesn't.

Finally, I love that this takes place after Jessamy has been killed, and after Roderick has died. Alex is indignant that Dream treats him the same as his father, but Dream absolutely does not! Even after Alex has murdered Dream's best friend and only hope at getting out, Dream offers a hand out to him, something he never did for Roderick. And it's almost an understanding gesture- almost an I understand that you couldn't free me while your father was here, but now he's not, so now you can!

But he doesn't! Because he's so used to their roles, their separate cages, that he continues to inflict them on both of them! Despite all evidence showing that asking for anything in exchange for freedom Will Not Work Out, he still does it. Despite Dream being perfectly willing to reach out to him pre-demands!

Because by God he's determined to keep them in the exact same cages they've both been in since 1916!

201 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

#2

god it really wrecks me sometimes that one of c!dream's motivations is pacifism. and it's so interesting how this interacts with his strategic, ends-justify-means approach.

how he had nothing to do with c!tommy burning c!tubbo's house down at the beginning, and in fact would have been justified to avoid c!tubbo entirely, and yet rebuilt c!tubbo's house from the ground up because he could. and how even recently despite c!eryn having been part of the group trying to stop him from escaping pandora, c!dream was still happy to wordlessly trade with him without inciting anything.

just. the way that at his core, at the beginning of the server and now, c!dream is a person that believes in peace, co-operation, and pacifism. and yet he's turned himself into 'the villain'.

438 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

being the prince of stories, morpheus must be aware of the term 'blorbo'

740 notes - Posted August 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post #lmao #i actually posted less than i thought this year #personal

[heartofaspen]

Snowchester is too big.

Well, maybe the size isn’t the problem, but the lack of people to fill it. It’s too empty.

Foolish left for warmer lands, scorching sand and ringing, flashing machines that strip you of what you have with the promise of more. He said something about the cold being bad for his skin or some other horseshit excuse. Tubbo can’t bring himself to be angry about it. (Maybe that’s a bit of lie. Maybe he put a little more edge into his words than necessary when Foolish suddenly took the position against him, standing next to a scarred, dark-haired man with dark eyes.)

Tubbo supposes Puffy still counts as a citizen, but she hasn’t slept in the snowy town since the Banquet, so what significance does that title even hold? Tommy leaves Tubbo to his own devices nowadays, and Ranboo still sleeps in the tundra far away from Snowchester, neighbors with Tubbo’s executioners, of both his life and failing country. Tubbo pretends that the cold side of the bed doesn’t bother him.

At least Micheal’s here. Tubbo would be lying if he didn’t say their daily walks at dawn and dusk weren’t the best parts of his busy days. Sometimes he (and Ranboo, more often) worries that Micheal’s secretly miserable here, left in his room all day, in the biome farthest from the suffocating heat he was born in. After all, the little boy can’t speak Common yet, despite he and Ranboo’s attempts.

Tubbo knows this isn’t really true, though, when he sees Micheal’s eyes sparkle when Tubbo comes home after a long day of work, the way every one of his expertly colored crayon drawings feature him, Tubbo, and Ranboo holding hands and smiling wide smiles. He can’t help the smile that traces his tired face as he thinks about it even now, walking the dimly lit streets of empty, too-big Snowchester.

The frigid air claws at his pinking cheeks, sharp wind teasing his hair away from his eyes and easily slicing through his fur-lined vest. The cold only serves to remind Tubbo of the vacancy here, the fact that his and Micheal’s hearts are the only ones that beat in this frozen village.

Tubbo makes his way to the docks, settling himself at the end of one of the wooden piers and shoving his hands into his pockets. He stares at his face in the glassy blue ice, lit only slightly by the few lamp posts posted on the docks.

He hardly recognizes himself some days. Looking at those hardly-visible baby blue eyes, his hair that’s grown so shaggy and wild over them, that same button-up he fought wars and died in… it’s strange. He looks like an entirely different boy. If he squints a little, maybe he can pretend that he’s a normal teenager. No trauma, no explosion scars, no deep circles under his eyes.

Scrutinizing himself at this level, Tubbo suddenly realizes with a start that his left horn is bare. He forgot to wear his wedding ring today. He’d woken up in such a hurry to keep building the cookie outpost’s walls he hadn’t even given it a thought.

Tubbo never cried easily, after the first war. He never cried when Schlatt dug his nasty, rotten fingernails into his forearm and asked with slurred speech to get him another beer. He didn’t cry when he woke from a bed with ugly, raw scars webbing across his face. He didn’t cry when he was completely sure his existence would peter out in exchange for a pair of music discs.

Yet looking in his distorted, messy reflection, horn void of his wedding ring, it feels like the world is crashing to an end around him. He can’t do anything to stop the tears squeezing out of his eyes and down his cheeks, into his lips, and he doesn’t try, either. Tubbo curls in on himself, digs his fingers into his arms, and lets the salt sting his face, face contorted with the pain of letting himself cry. He doesn’t shake. He doesn’t hiccup, or sob. Water falls from his eyes and splatters in drops onto his pants and the spruce decks he built with his own two hands.

His tears trigger some primal sort of fear in him, the fear that Schlatt will round the corner and snarl at him to get up, tell him that crying’s for pussies and girls. But Snowchester is too big. And Snowchester is empty. There’s no one here to tell him he’s being a crybaby, or out their cigarette on his wrist. There’s no one here to ask if he’s okay.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo’s head jerks at the sudden presence of someone else’s voice, and he fumbles, nearly falling off the deck onto the ice. He stumbles to his feet, fists clenched and eyes still wet, and whirls around to face his husband, who’s looking at him with that stupid expression he wears when he’s worried about Tubbo.

“What,” Tubbo manages to choke out, voice muddled by tears. He feels stupid, trying to hold up a flimsy pretense of stability when he is so clearly upset, but what else can he do?

Tubbo expects Ranboo to ask him about his tears, make a fuss, press him for details. He braces himself for questions, maybe even angry words.

None of that comes. Ranboo steps forward, hands poised to reach out for Tubbo, quiet gentleness in his voice. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

Fuck. The softness in his tone is almost too much to take. Who let him be good at this shit?

Tubbo just shrugs pathetically, rubbing fruitlessly at his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep,” he croaks.

“Do you want me to give you some space?” God. He’s even asking if Tubbo wants to be alone.

Tubbo hesitates a moment before shaking his head, and when Ranboo moves to gently touch his arm, he lets him.

Tubbo stands there, face wet, gaze pinned on Ranboo’s polished loafers. Ranboo doesn’t say a word.

“I forgot to wear my wedding ring today,” Tubbo says softly, miserably, like he’s the worst husband on the planet. He might as well be.

“Is that why you’re crying?” Ranboo asks. There’s no mockery in his tone, no snicker, only quiet curiosity and genuine concern that makes Tubbo’s heart wrench a little.

Tubbo nods.

“But not really,” Ranboo says, and although the statement contradicts him, Tubbo knows that he understands.

Tubbo nods again.

“Okay,” Ranboo hums, and Tubbo doesn’t protest when his husband tugs him into a loose hug. Tubbo squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Ranboo’s shoulder with a heaving breath. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying again until he notices the soft, soothing shushing sounds that Ranboo’s making as he slowly rocks them back and forth.

“I’m getting your shirt all wet,” Tubbo can only quietly say.

“That’s okay.” Tubbo feels Ranboo’s shoulders lift and sink again in a shrug. “I like my shirts best soggy.”

That earns a wet, quiet laugh from Tubbo, and he pulls away, rubbing at his eyes.

Ranboo smiles at him, resting his soft hand against Tubbo’s cheek. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks kindly.

Tubbo shakes his head.

“Do you want me to walk you back home?”

“Yeah,” Tubbo says, after a moment of quiet consideration.

“Okay.”

“…Ranboo?”

“Yes, Tubbo.”

“Will you sleep here tonight? With me?” Tubbo doesn’t have the emotional capacity to take Ranboo’s no, and he drags his eyes away from his husband.

Ranboo’s fingers find Tubbo’s, and he smiles. “Okay.”

#c!beeduo #beeduo #tubbo #c!tubbo #ranboo #c!ranboo #dream smp #beeduo fic #tubbo fic #b1rdzwriting #maybe this is ooc but no it’s not <3 #crying #hurt/comfort

[void-adjacent-particles]

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt.  It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have. 

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

#dreamsmp #dream smp #dsmp #technoblade #tommyinnit #tubbo #mcyt #wilbur soot #philza #nihachu #antfrost #fundy #dreamwastaken #foolish gamers #dreamsmp headcanons #headcanons #headcanon #hannahxxrose #georgenotfound #quackity #ranboo #ranboolive #foolishgamer #death tw

[smolfailure]

FUCK IT, DREAM SMP HOMESTUCK AU

but it's only half shitposts and there are actual Thoughts in there.

You don't need to have read the comic to understand because I tried not to spoil anything major, but it'd help if you knew basic stuff about classpects, SBURB and the hemospectrum.

disclaimer: i'm not a good pixel artist and this is my first actual sprites ever so please be kind to my weird pixels

The Kids:

Tommy

Fundy

Techno

Tubbo

tommy, tubbo and fundy one of the kids because they're the kids in dream smp canon (with fundy being son of wilbur)

techno's there because i want to make a dave strider reference (haha get it because techno's name is also da-- *gets shot) and also because they are both coolguys except instead of using irony, techno has adhd

The Trolls:

Wilbur Soohte (fuschia)

?????? Ehrret (violet)

J????? Shlatt (purple)

Nihacu Niikki (indigo)

Skeppy Diamon (cerulean)

Quacki Tthiey (teal)

Philza Myncra (jade)

Dreame Wastkn (lime disguising as olive)

George Notfou (gold)

Sapphe Nahfpe (bronze)

Badboy Haelow (burgundy)

don't come at me saying only females are allowed to be jades and fuschias; gender is fake and this is an au

more of the AU and the talksprites are under the cut:

Tommy

Lunar sway: Derse. Types in: Red

chaotic. the first person to be introduced.

when he gets introduced instead of the “Zoosmell Pooplord” bit, Tommy is initially going to be the name inputted but then backspaced it and decided that Tommyinnit was better and he was fuming until he’s named Tommy.

Gives me big Blood/Hope vibes. Blood because a lot of the conflict of the dream smp connected to someone breaking his trust or harming the things he cares about, Hope because a lot of the plot of the dream smp stems from Tommy starting shit based on his ideals and what he thinks is right.

the first to instigate fighting against the trolls

bbh contacts him once and tommy keeps cursing until he disconnects from frustration rip

wields Gunkind and his only strife weapon at the beginning is the Vlog gun. He has Gunkind as his strife specibus mainly because he looked up at schlatt and he imitates him.

Fundy

Lunar sway: Prospit. Types in: Orange

it was his idea to play SBURB but only through Dream.

he talks to dream the most among the other trolls fwt stans getcha juice this is the rosemary of the session

dream’s the one giving him exposition about the game so that’s how he knows how to play SBURB.

wilbur trolls fundy once and instantly adopts him.

“You’re my son.” “How does that even work??” “I was one of the people who created your universe. It’s basically the same thing.”

Fundy relents anyway.

Techno

Lunar sway: Derse. Types in: Pink

dave strider but dead-inside voice + rose lalonde english major vibes

he slices the text box when you try to name him "Dave " like in

techno gives me time player vibes (contantly on the move. his skyblock series, his “stays in the pit” monologue,) but also rage vibes (anarchy,  the “theseus” monologue, political alignment is Chaos) alas i am not sure what class

uses Tridentkind and claims "it came from god"

 it was dream, he accidentally transportalized one of wilbur’s weapon while he testing the transportalizer.

Tubbo

Lunar sway: Prospit. Types in: Green

the jade harley of this session. the only thing keeping them from going apeshit. where would they be without him.

but also jade harley in a sense that he seems nice and wholesome but also don’t fuck with them they can mess you up

Heart/Life vibes??? someone good at classpecting help

i put them in prospit bc of the "tubbo third eye" instead of tubbo having a sixth sense or smth, they see the future from the clouds of skaia when they sleep

wields Stress-relieverKind at some point

bonus: everyone’s actual hair colors

Ideas about the Trolls

no i haven’t done their sprites yet bc it would take so much time and i’m not even sure if people wanna see more of this au skjdkdsakdfkl,, but i have Design Ideas.

events of the dsmp revolution are just a FLARP session drawing parallels to how the homestuck trolls had a FLARP session that spoiler alert: destroyed friendships. dtrio, eret, will are involved. eret betrays will's faction and wilbur's still Bitter over that.

on the context of alternia (highbloods and lowbloods) lmanburg and dreamsmp have their roles SWAPPED.  the emancipation theme thing is completely gone since highbloods are in more power than the lowbloods (the dream team) . 

wilbur made a faction called l’manburg because he wants a place where he and his fellow highbloods could make drugs vibe.they take a piece of land that was owned by the dream team. in normal circumstances, they shouldve stood down because lowbloods aren't supposed to start shit with highbloods (especially a group of highbloods that has the alternian heir among them)  but dream turned it into an activism thing about lowblood rights. the story plays as close as possible without tommy or tubbo in it (which is pretty hard ik but this is the best can do).

like in the dreamsmp revolution, dream kinda let wilbur do what he wants but this time he has more reason to because he’s in a lower caste. dream really only fought back when wilbur announced that he’d be building lmanburg on their land and calling it theirs.

eret betrays wilbur by supporting the lowbloods and wilbur and co. technically won but only because he finally called the drones in, as a reference to how lmanburg absolutely got crushed by the dream team in the smp but technically won. l’manburg keeps the piece of land and the dream team scatter away to find a new home.

wilbur soot's a fuschia because a) he's in a position that has a lot of power, b) yknow how he wrote a song about squids and his thing with sally… yeah.

eret's a violet because nobility!! dream looks down on him because he's ambivalent on fighting for lowblood rights when he's in a power to do so "you just sit there, and you look pretty that's it"

also like eridan he has a minor aesthetic mutation (herobrine eyes) that won't classify him as a mutant.

jschlatt is purple because it makes sense thematically because of the gamzee parallels (a. substance abuse b. if you know what happens in act 6, you know this already but spoiler alert, he ruins the main protagonists' lives) also he's a funnyman he deserves the clown caste

 quackity's a teal because he’s a law student. moving on--

 ok but for real it also makes sense thematically because he's the one who wrote the thing that tricked schlatt into agreeing also he gets manipulated by schlatt which also draws parallels to certain events in the comic

skeppy and bbh are BEST FRIENDS despite being highblood and lowblood respectively. initially, skeppy just wanted to bother bbh but they grew to be good friends in time. y’know like how they actually becane friends :D

philza minecraft is a jade because dad friend. also works thematically, because spoiler alert he gets to murder a seadweller for going batshit crazy. 

he also god tiers early. he dies fighting his quick undead denizen (haha baby zombie) but the consorts of his land carry him to his quest bed because he’s treated them all so well.

dream was initially going to be another caste but then i realized that means i have to make his hoodie something other than green which is unacceptable so its a good thing the fact that he's a lime works out

dream was the one who thought of playing sgrub in the first place- initially only planned to have gogy, sap, and bbh in the session but then realized that they four won't be enough so he invited more into his session

he’s also the first to go godtier ez clap blind speedrun not sure what classpect tho

the only reason why dream avoided being culled at birth for being a limeblood is because his rng is That Good. he quickly picked up the fact that he’s not supposed to exist and masqueraded as an oliveblood and kept mostly to himself to avoid suspicion.

george is still colorblind but he has lazer eyes along with it instead. dream lives with him in the same hive since being a mutant means dream doesn’t get a lusus of his own (dnf fans getcha juice “and they were roommates”) 

despite living in the same hive, he never really figures out that dream is a limeblood. possibly because a) he’s colorblind and when he sees dream bleeding he just sees yellow b) he’s just that fucking oblivious and it’s so valid of him.

sapnap’s a bronzeblood mainly because i know he’s the instigator of the pet war with tommy also because i associate him with the color orang in my mind so bronze it is

that’s the end of this long-ass post!! if you have other ideas PLEASE i want to hear them. i don’t know the other streamers i mentioned in here very well so if you have ideas that would be fitting to them like with classpect or lunar sway that would be GREAT. 

the only thing i’m confident about in here are the kids’ lunar sways. i’m not an expert in classpects and homestuck lore so there’s that too!! i just wanted to make this post because adhd means that the idea wouldn’t shut up until i finished it. This initially started as a single shitpost edit of tommyinnit talksprite but then the hiveswap 2 trailer came out and that means i have to combine my two hyperfixations.

also i have ideas about potential quadrants but idk how much of that is breaking some streamers’ boundaries about shipping (even the non romantic quads such as kismesistude, morallegiance and auspisticism) so i decided not to include it.

edit: apparently people want more so i made a discord server as a place to brainstorm!! please pm me to join!

#dream smp #mcyt #mcytblr #dream smp au #homestuck #sleepy bois inc #one of those tags is not like the other #tommyinnit #tubbo #tubbo_ #tubbolive #fundy #fundylive #itsfundy #technoblade #dream team #wilbur soot #wilbur mcyt #eret mcyt #jschlatt #quackity #skeppy #badboyhalo #philza #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #homestuck au #reblog this to curse ur mutuals' feeds with Unexpected Homestuck in 2020

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

When the Evening is Spread out against the Sky

Because the Archetype AU won’t leave me alone…

He wakes to the smell of fresh, sweet air and the feeling of something soft pressing gently against his back.

Technoblade immediately tenses, hackles on high alert. His hand twitches ever so slightly to where he normally straps his sword holster.

He’s not in Pogtopia .

His sword isn’t there. He’d taken it off, divested himself of weapons under Wilbur’s silly, likely to get them killed, rules.

(He’d asked Wilbur, once, what made his rules different from that of any ruler. His ward employer hadn’t answered, merely granting him a secretive smile as his eyes flickered in the firelight.)

Something pokes and prods at the memory; it shuffles, reorganizes, clarifies and suddenly - 

Ender. His eyes snap open to stare at a white marble ceiling. Brother. He has a brother. Wilbur.

“Welcome,” a voice says softly.

Techno launches himself out of the bed - Bed? Where is the small pile of blankets? The tiny form of his brother, his second brother? Where is the fire and the smoke and the constant dust that cakes his throat with every breath? - and reaches for his sword instinctively.

(Always keep a sword on hand, Philza, his father acquaintance friend told him many years ago. Even when you think you’re safe because you have a strong fire and some torches. Mobs may not come near the light, but humans will.)

It isn’t there. He isn’t surprised.

can we get a F in the chat technofail failed your spot check

A girl sits in an ornate chair not far from where he’s standing. She’s small, impossibly young (yet, at the same time, impossibly old), her hands folded daintily in her lap and a soft smile on her face. Her tawny hair drapes in a long braid over her shoulder. Her eyes crinkle at him with kindness.

None of this concerns him.

She waves, and he hears the soft clink of metal. Dainty chains dangle from thick gold bands around her wrists, connecting them loosely to each other. It takes one look to confirm that her ankles have received similar treatment. A small band of gold gleams at her collarbone.

His eyes narrow.

She blinks and glances down at herself before looking up at him with a sad smile. “Don’t worry about them,” she says, “these are shackles you cannot break.” The smile turns rueful. “You’ve already tried.”

Lies. have we been here before? BLOOD WE WANT BLOOD BLOOD FOR THE LIES

He ignores them. “I have?” he asks, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice.

She nods. “You always try,” she says, her voice somber but sure. “You always fail.”

“So I’ve been here before.”

Another nod. “I’ve called you here four times, now.” She looks up at him with a sorrowful expression on her face. “Each time, it becomes more and more difficult.” She gestures to the collar around her neck. “This blocks my power. I -” she cuts herself off with a small sigh. “I cannot protect you for much longer.”

WE DON’T NEED PROTECTING. technoblade has nothing to fear technoblade never dies

“Protect me from what ?” he asks harshly. He can almost hear Tubbo in the back of his mind, squeaking something about how that was too harsh - this girl is a prisoner .

Prisoner or not, something could harm his family. He will not let that stand.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD they will not be harmed

She shrugs. “My brother.” She frowns, picking at one of the cuffs on her hands with a finger. “He has been manipulating your memories and your code, turning you into his perfect little actors .” Her voice hardens, and the finger picking at the cuff begins to scratch in earnest at the gold metal. “I tried to stop him . I brought you and Philza Minecraft to his server, hoping that your family ties would manage to break through my brother’s hold.”

Philza? KILLZA! dadza

She sighs; it’s a broken, bitter sound that grinds through the air. “And this,” she says after a moment of silence, gesturing to the walls around them, “is my punishment.”

“You could always leave,” Technoblade says. He takes a cursory glance at the pure white marble surrounding them. There’s no door, but there is a window. “He can’t stop you from jumping out the window.”

She laughs, bright and airy. The sound tinkles, and a small gust of wind tugs at the tail of Techno’s coat. “Very true,” she says. Her bright smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But…”

He strides over to the open window and peers out into an expanse of stars and planets that float peacefully in the sky. He looks down.

There is nothing. Nothing but snow-white marble bricks that form a tower.

A tower with no doors. A window with a useless view. A girl trapped within stone walls.

This is beginning to sound very familiar.

technosave fairytale pog!

“My brother always did like his stories,” the girl says behind him.

The edges of his vision blur. Dark spots flicker at the corners of his eyes. A heavy, settled feeling tugs at his limbs. His head spins.

POISON how dare she what’s she done technosleep?

“But now it is time for you to go, my champion.”

His mouth opens. “Wait,” he rasps, “what is -” His legs collapse beneath him, and suddenly he’s staring into brilliant green eyes. Familiar green eyes.

“I am Drista. You will not remember me.”

LIKE HELL we’ll remember this technoblade never forgets! you idiot, that’s dies

His vision blurs, but the eyes remain in focus, staring down at him with intent and purpose.

“You will remember them. You will save them.”

The eyes flicker once, then twice… And on the third time, Technoblade is sent spiraling into unconsciousness.

“Then, you will save me. ”

He shoots to an upright position, his strangled cry echoing in the night.

He breathes. His throat aches from the amount of dust that’s accumulated there.

Save them, a voice whispers softly. Save your family.

He looks at the sleeping form of Tommy. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wilbur stir.

Save me.

#dream smp #dream smp au #archetype au #technoblade #drista #submission #trashyinferno #xd you fucking bastard #anyways op #great work as always #drabble

[relaxxattack]

me: *is about to go to sleep* *sees the ran and jackie classpect post* *rises from my bed and looks at the notes i have* well if i must <3 (warning this is long as hell im sorry KXNSKBS i spent. two hours on this. it is 2am in my timezone now)

jackie is a breath player through and fucking through. a focus on self satisfaction, finding a quest and going after it, being so focused on the positive that he can see a negative thing happen and go "oh well, thats unfortunate. anyways," (think how he hears that ran probably died and just went "aw i liked him" then just sort of. keeps going anyways. picks one thing to really dedicate himself to it and sticks to it, shows negative reactions when they happen but doesnt dwell on them (whether out of discomfort or something else). basically, jackie is all of tubbos breath influence without any of the space influence. accidentally winning just because he really was just that damn dedicated

classwise, jackie is.. a bit difficult to get a handle on, if only because hes very breath like, but at the same time while he seems unconcerned with the idea of losing ran, he still very much so *wants* ran. its that want of a connection, of even just one person to keep around, that takes away the possibility of jackie being a class that would make him detach himself from others at will. hes not a class that would make him desperate for someone to help him take a certain direction, really he seems to want to take others in the same direction he already chose. he also accepts being tethered to one place/thing, he just wants to have freedom w how he goes about it, and it seems like its been this way for a while. ssoooo i want to say witch of breath. manipulating breath or through breath. strong personalities, friendly but terrifying and a force to be reckoned with, knowing what they want and, if healthy, how to get it. often pulling others along for the ride. generally, jackies a healthy witch of breath. he wants someone to show the same freedom he has, but knows he has limits and tethers and works with them, and ultimately hes not too pressed when he cant get his way fully. generally- jackie knows whats going on and what to do about it, but hed rather have fun with it all and show others how fun it all is too

now. ran. this is unfortunately difficult because ran didnt get as much screentime as was planned. L. anyways aspectwise hes definitely one of the ones that thinks theres not really a meaning to life (think of how he just goes "well this place is going down anyways". he doesnt care what choices are taken, hes already real fuckin sure of the end result. cocky bitch). hes not one about facades or selves, bc its rather clear that his blunt and coolguy attitude is, kind of just him, and he doesnt seem interested in deconstructing how others work, just interested in seeing how events play out. i want to say that ran is either void, time, or doom. void fits rans secrecy and overall "irrelavance" (in the sense that he doesnt seem to have contributed anything, not really), but void players are more angsty about how things dont matter rather than accepting it. which leaves time and doom. ultimately, id say time. doom players arent cocky in the right way </3. also just, yknow, the whole possible time traveler ran thing, the drama, the bluntness, internalization, the end of things, fake deep metaphors, etc etc. does mean that there really has to be a focus on the right class to truly pin him down, because most classes when paired with time are more emotional than ran is

so.. rans class. after a lot of deliberation, my main two thoughts are either a maid or a page. however, page means that before the pit, ran didnt have a good grasp on his aspect and after a long while of self awareness training does now, while maid means that either before or during the pit he relies on others to define his aspect. either way, he has a good grasp on it, but its clear that hes not letting himself really be free with it. this is why i want to say maid, because pages are sort of like starting with a disadvantage and just continuing with it even though you could probably fix it if you really tried, but youd rather just focus on what you have and being the best at it. maids are about growing into what you could have. doing what theyre expected at first and getting their aspect from somewhere else. they dont like being passive, but its what gets them the best results, right? but what defines a maid is getting out of that stage, of standing up for themself and defining their aspect for themselves and getting it by themselves, stubborn and becoming powerful and often terrifying, almost more than a witch if they do it correctly. so, basically, rans an aradia kinnie, hes just in his aradiabot phase right now. if he let himself get past that stage though, i think hed be happy

so basic summary: jackie understands that he has limits and tethers and focuses on what freedom he does has, and wants to have someone to experience that freedom with, and is a witch of breath. ran is leaning into the whole "its all hopeless anyways" because those that he relies on define it as such, but he has the potential to be happy and reach his full potential if he just lets himself choose his own path for once (and one thats not unhealthy), and is a maid of time. ultimately its why they work well together, once jackie gets ran to choose to be free with him, theyll both be happy. jackies already at his full potential, and has the power to get ran to choose to reach his full potential as well. bada bing bada boom baby really shows how much absolute Bullshit goes into classpecting because with fuckin classpecting terms you really can squeeze the hell out of characters with 1-2 sentence blurbs of characterization at most. white boys have ruined my life, zayne -🎭🎪

OH MY FUCKING GOD DUDE THIS IS SO GOOD

i will actually be stealing all of this for the fic, thank you so much oh my god. this is pretty much the only real good ran and jackie analysis to exist, im going to fucking scream and cry this is awesome

i hope you have SUCH a good sleep you deserve it

wow i cant express how thankful i am for this

(i find it really interesting that both ran and jackie seem to have an end-of-the-world-nothing-matters mindset, but different ways of going about that... genuinely can’t wait to explore that and then let them naturally develop, because hell yeah dude)

#ran and jackie #fave

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (December 28/2020) - The Mr. Beast Challenge!

Today on the Dream SMP, Mr. Beast hosted another money-hunting challenge on the server, this time for a room full of books with $100k’s worth of gift codes! Everyone logged on simultaneously for the search. 

If you were around for the Taco Bell Hunt, it was pretty much just a bigger version of that! 

---

The first hint is given to anyone who kills somebody else.

- Within seconds, Niki is killed by Sapnap, then plenty of other people as well. Poor Niki. Everyone kills Niki.

- Wilbur begs for Phil to stab him with a sword. This seems familiar? Phil does, and Wilbur dies. Phil gets the hint.

- Ranboo gets killed by Fundy. 

- Jack gets slain by Ponk.

- Niki sacrifices herself for Puffy and anyone else as a martyr.

Meanwhile, Sapnap makes his way through the wilderness. Fundy and Ranboo run through the desert together.

The room is in a desert.

- Tubbo, Tommy, Phil and Wil speak to Mr. Beast, still in the Nether. Everyone else is just looking for it in the wilderness.

- The server starts having issues again. 

- Dream talks to George, Sapnap, Bad, Punz, Sam and Karl in VC but leaves shortly.

- George gets a “Mall” disc while running through the plains. Ponk dies to a spider and gets sent back to Spawn.

- CORPSE even logs on to find the money. People start running into trouble loading chunks.

Mr. Beast tweets that all the coords are positive.

- Everyone stops in their tracks to check coords. 

- Everyone’s struggling with the lag still. Dream announces that they’ll be restarting soon.

- The server restarts, and the lag gets fixed.

Everyone say “Thank you Callahan.”

- The biome finder is deemed cheating. 

- Connor stumbles across the Town That Never Was and explores it.

- Wilbur is just playing guitar.

- Dream joins George and Sapnap’s VC just to sing about Tommy being a child and troll about Mr. Beast tweeting with Karl.

Mr. Beast DOES Tweet: “It’s as easy as ABCDE.”

- Corpse has apparently just been stuck in a building this whole time.

- Everyone tries to figure out the clue by figuring what numbers the letters could be referencing.

- Jack and Eret find Tommy and Tubbo in the Nether.

- Bad tells the others that he’s found Tommy. George, Sam and Sapnap start shouting to kill him and take revenge for all the times Tommy’s sworn at him.

- Tubbo and Jack Manifold find the diamond block in the desert at the same time.

The sign says the prize is within a 100-block radius: start digging!

TUBBO FINDS THE GIFT CARD.

Fundy, Ranboo, HBomb, Phil, Eret, Bad, Wilbur and the others get to Tubbo as well, and they all celebrate in the room together.

Tubbo can open the books with the codes at any point he wants in future streams!

He’s planning on doing a giveaway tomorrow at 6pm GMT.

- Afterwards, Bad chats a bit with Dream and George about the event.

- Dream starts telling the funny story bout him, Techno, Bad, George and Sapnap getting into a fight in the Holy Land.

- They continue to tell stories about each other.

- Dream starts killing Bad. Bad and Dream start a short fight just outside the Holy Land but then get bored.

- Bad tells Dream about the house Puffy made for him. Dream continues to insist that he does have a house, in fact. He explains that it’s in a mountainous biome far away, and that they’ll see it eventually.

- They continue to chill out and discuss various topics. Dream and George start on their Christmas album and Badboyhalo suggests they write a fanfiction. Bad and Dream proceed to write a fanfiction about George sleeping through everything.

---

Upcoming Events:

- The New L’manburg Festival has been MOVED from tomorrow. It is unknown what the new date for the event is now, but Dream said it would be soon.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps

[rynzii-419]

/rp /dsmp

Hi there the name of revivebur was spoken and im in the zone now so im gonna make a short analysis that absolutely nobody asked for

Okay so first up. I wanna talk about the word “manipulation”. Until recently i wouldn’t have used that word on wilbur, since in pogtopia he was suffering from delusions and just telling Tommy things he believed were true, but recently he has in fact been doing some manipulation. The thing is, this isn’t the same as Dream at all. While Dream was manipulating Tommy because he liked to toy with him, Wilbur is manipulating Tommy in much less abusive ways and is doing it in order to keep him around. I think he wants Tommy around because he genuinely cares and is scared of him leaving. I do think that Tommy should run off and live in Snowchester with Tubbo and Ranboo and recover on his own because Wilbur is NOT good for him, and honestly Tommy isn’t good for Wilbur. I think in order for Wilbur to finally wake up he needs to see Tommy leave him.

Another big thing is that Wilbur’s doing this as a defense mechanism as a VERY mentally ill character. Honestly, the man died in an assisted suicide. I can’t look at him as pure evil after that happened. I’ve seen some people mention that Wilbur not moving when the creeper was approaching was a manipulation tactic on Tommy, and while that is a possibility of course, I can’t help but consider that this may be him still being suicidal. “But Ryn, isn’t he scared of death?” Why yes he is, but sadly you can still be suicidal and be scared of it. Look, its totally possible that that’s not accurate and he’s really just manipulating Tommy in that part, but honestly I don’t think that would make much sense I guess. If he were to manipulate Tommy into staying with him in his new safe place, i would think he’d be trying to prove he’s capable of protecting Tommy himself. I don’t know, but the fact that he still has no real weapons feels big to me.

Still though, Wilbur? He’s definitely an antagonist. Remember though, cc!wilbur said Reddit has been wrong and idk what their opinions are there, but im assuming it’s not overwhelmingly positive towards c!wilbur. Also, if you wanna hear some pretty solid evidence that c!wilbur isn’t pure evil and never was, you have to listen to Eight by Sleeping at Last. If you didn’t know, cc!wilbur said he based c!wilbur off of that song so like. Yeah.

Okay yeah, anyway, now I wanna talk about Pogtopia Wilbur and why everyone’s opinions on him bother me greatly lmao, but yeah, thanks for reading my ramble if you got this far.

#this is an awful essay but #oh well #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #c!wilbur analysis #c!wilbur #c!wilbur soot #wilbur soot #c!tommy #c!dream critical #suicide mention #abuse mention

[inkyjaguar]

The History Of George Lore

Okay, so this is the history of George Lore in my fic The King’s Final Battle . This is the first character sheet that I plan on making for all the characters. I’m not an artist so please use your imagination of what he would look like!

George was born in the town of Camarvan in Wheat Valley to some (you guessed it) wheat farmers. Unfortunately, he was an only child and from what he remembers of his parents, they weren’t as present in his life than Sapnap’s parents (his best friend) or his aunts and uncles were. When he was 10, his parents slipped into a mysterious coma out of the blue and died in their sleep. He then lived out the rest of his childhood with his aunt and uncle. 

Now, George was diagnosed with narcolepsy at a young age and it was common to send him out into the field to work only for him to return back hours later than normal because he fell asleep while working. That didn’t stop him from playing with his friends and having a great childhood. 

His friends growing up were Sapnap, Punz, Alyssa, Callahan, and Purpled. He knew about Tommy and his friends but they were very rude to them so George didn’t pay much attention to them. One day, he woke up from sleeping in the field and met a kid his age with a strange mask on him. The new kid was very curious and though George didn’t like him at first, they grew to be great friends in their group; adding Dream to his list of childhood friends at 13. 

In the town of Camarvan, there was always contention concerning the state of the kingdom. The king was known as the “puppet king” because he was considered useless. When George was 17 a sorcerer named Wilbur Soot started a business that brought a lot of that tension to a peak. Wilbur had gathered a significant portion of the village to follow him and his ideals of a new country. George didn’t care much about this new ‘country’ even though Dream seemed really upset by it. George fell asleep one afternoon and when he woke up, he found his village raided by Wilbur Soot’s followers. The followers had stolen potion ingredients and while he had slept, Sapnap, Dream, Purpled, Punz, Tubbo and Eret had retaliated for what the followers did. 

That was the start of the L’Manberg Revolution. 

Wilbur’s nation split off into the woods around Camarvan and set up camp. Before the puppet king could send troops to help the war, Dream gathered an army of the remaining villagers (George included) to stop this revolution while they could. There were many trench battles and sneak attacks that George participated in with his friends but ultimately, he slept through most of the major battles like the Burning of the Wheat Crops and the slaughter of Alyssa when she was caught burning the woods around the Revolution.

During the final battle, George thought for sure that they were going to win and that L’Manberg would be history after Eret betrayed them. Dream had easily bested Tommy (who wasn’t even old enough to work in the field yet) in the duel, but Tommy pulled Dream aside and they made a deal. George didn’t know what that deal was, but Dream came out saying that L’Manberg was its own state within the Esempe Kingdom. 

And when the puppet king came with his knights, the king said the same and announced that he would be stepping down from the throne for his long lost younger brother, Eret. King Eret quickly invited George and all his friends to the castle to be trained as official knights for the bravery they showed in the L’Manberg Revolution. George was quick to accept and even quicker to dismiss the L’Manbergians who were also invited. 

For the next few years, George trained with his friends to become knights. However, he fell behind in training and progression mostly due to him sleeping through practices. His narcolepsy got worse as time wore on to where he was missing half of the day to one of his sleeping episodes. He always had the most boring dreams as well; sitting in a cream box with nothing in it but him. Sometimes, Dream would be there but mostly, he wasn’t. 

While Sapnap became a Captain of the Guards in a year, George was assigned to be a personal guard for King Eret. George was extremely mad about this assignment but all his old Camarvan friends were not around to hear him complain. The only person who he could talk to, was Dream. 

Now, George didn’t know what Dream’s role was in the castle, because he didn’t train with the rest of the knights but he was able to just walk in and talk with King Eret whenever he wanted. Dream always had time to talk to George though and even encouraged him to take advantage of his new position of being around court members. Geroge couldn’t stand Wilbur and Squire Tommy but he did become best friends with another squire Quackity. 

When George was 19, Quackity woke him up and asked him to be his running mate for the representative seat of L’Manberg. George eagerly took that title and helped campaign with Quackity. He was finally getting recognized for his talents and skills but after the final debate with Wilbur and Tommy, the two approach him and ask him to step away from the election in exchange for him to be on their council once they get reelected. George is tempted but dismisses them after Tommy insults Dream. He finds Dream later to report this to him and falls asleep before he can get everything out. 

The next time George wakes up, it’s been a full day and the elections are over. He had slept through the entire thing. That had never happened to him before. Still groggy, he’s told that Schlatt (an old sorcerer turned politician) has won with Quackity, and that George, Tubbo and Fundy are on their council but that Wilbur and Tommy have been exiled. Confused and concerned about the growing rate of his sleeping episodes, Tubbo and Quackity send him to Philza, the Court Sorcerer, for advice. Philza advises him to head to The Badlands (a neighboring kingdom) for treatment and Dream advises him to do the same. 

George heads to The Badlands and stumbles on the Pogtopia rebellion while he does so. He sends a letter back to Philza about his son before starting to get treatment from the Court Sorcerer there; Antfrost. Antfrost makes a break through and finds out that George has a sleeping curse that is similar to one made in an ancient civilization called The Eggpire. This curse makes whoever holds it and those binded together by blood and magic degrade until they fall asleep forever at the age of 30; like what happened to George’s parents. That is all they learn about until one day, George gets overwhelmed with magical energy and falls into a coma. In this coma he finds Dream (like all the other times he has fallen asleep) and tells him about his worries. Dream doesn’t take it like George thought he would. Dream is happy that one day George will be able to spend forever with him in this dream cube. He wakes up a week later to learn that George’s sleeping curse now has a ticking time bomb that will put him into an eternal sleep by the age of 21. 

Hearing this shocks George and he wonders why he has less time than his parents did, but he goes back to the Esempe Kingdom to live his life to the fullest before he dies. Antfrost and Ambassador BadBoyHalo promise to continue their research in case they find anything more. George comes back to Dream calling him into the throne room and crowning him king in front of everyone. While George loves this new opportunity, he can’t help but let his feelings of frustration leak onto the awake!Dream after what sleeping!Dream said when George slipped into the coma.

With all this power at the age of 20, George tries his hardest to be the best, neutral king he can but everything changes when Technoblade, the Commander of the Army, tries to kill him in the name of Pogtopia. He is sure that he died but he wakes up after passing out to find that Dream is the only one to step in and save him. George feels horrible for being mean to awake!Dream after everything he has done for him. He tries to thank Dream, but Dream feels guilty about putting George on the throne and tries to make him step down. George refuses and so Dream makes him agree to the Esempe fighting against Pogtopia. George also refuses because he wants to remain neutral but before he can say another word, Dream grabs his head and he falls asleep only to realize that Dream could control when George had a sleeping episode this entire time. 

George wakes up a couple days later and fights out that Dream lead the Esempe knights and representatives of The Badlands to fight against Pogtopia with Manberg. George is furious with Dream and tries to arrest him when he gets back from the fight only for Dream to have disappeared from amongst the troops. Wilbur is dead, Technoblade and Dream have run after betraying both sides, and Tubbo has stepped up to be the new representative at the age of 17.

George continues to rule and has mysterious meetings with Dream in and out of his sleeping hours where their feelings get confused after drunken kisses. Still, he is declining in health and falls asleep for a week. After he wakes up, he finds out that Camarvan has been burned to the ground by Tommy. Tommy swears that it wasn’t him and that he was possessed by whatever was in these records he has had posession of for the past 6 years. George looks at the records and finds a familiar symbol that Antfrost had shown him when looking at the old records about his sleeping curse. 

To make up for burning their home, Geoge demands that the LManberg cabinet go with him to help him break his sleeping curse. The crew sets out together and Dream joins them. They approach old ruins near Camarvan and find an enderman hybrid tending to the ruins of Camarvan. The enderman helps in translating some of the words in the ruins where Tommy had found the records and Dream reacts weirdly to the place. When George tries to help him around this fit, Dream says that if George’s breaks his curse, Dream would make him pay. George continues on with his plan and is able to break his curse with the help of the others and with the help of the ancient lab they found. 

They all come back to the castle to find that Dream has reinstated Eret on the throne. As King Eret’s first decree, he exiles Tommy. George is furious and confronts Dream with Sapnap. Dream won’t stand down and so George leaves to make a new state named El Rapids with Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity.

Even after George has left, Dream still visits him in his dreams, but he’s different now. This Dream doesn’t wear the mask and is more kind and confused. George gets the feeling that something is going on with Dream and sends a letter to Antfrost for help.  

 After a year of establishing the new nation, and secretly planning Dream’s downfall with the L’Manberg cabinet, the second festival of L’Manberg happens. George shows up as a representative of El Rapids and the festival is attacked by Technoblade, Tommy and Dream. The three blow up L’Manberg and George and Sapnap fight Dream on the battlements. George brings up who the mysterious person is in his dreams and sees a physical switch in Dream. For a split second, a new person comes out and they plead with George to save them. After that cry, Dream slips the mask back on and runs away from George. 

Tommy is brought back to his senses and he swears that he was possessed again. George gets a letter back from Antfrost inviting him to come research with him. George agrees and asks Tubbo to also research here for them after the bombing opened up a crypt covered in the same language that the ancient lab George was cured in was covered with. George discovers the existence of dreamons in The Badlands and watches as Dream is escorted into the prison here in The Badlands by the Warden Sam. 

Convinced that something is happening with Dream, George goes to visit him where Dream tries desperately to convince him that dreamons don’t exist. George won’t believe him and Dream tries to seduce him as a way to prove to distract George. However, George reacts with disgust and knocks Dream away from him. The mysterious second person comes back for a split second and George is able to see that he had not imagined anything at the second festival.

George convinces Sam to let George take Dream with him to the ruins where they can find a way to exorcise him. Tubbo sends word of a book that could potentially help them and George escorts Dream back to the Esempe. Dream fights the whole way and desperately pleads with George not to exorcise him and it pains George to watch him scream in agony as the exorcism takes place. However, the whole time the exorcism happens, George is the only one conscious after everyone reacts as if being burned by fire and pass out. 

After the exorcism, George finds the new person and starts to bring him back to health. 

Everything after that is Clay rehabiliating, George establishing peace, Clay remembering and atoning for the sins of Dream and a happy ending. Except not, because George gets kidnapped by DreamXD. 

I know this is long but if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

#thekingsfinalbattle #georgenotfound #dream smp #dreamwastaken #dreamxd #dnf

[arcticrxt]

Some dream smp mbtis and enneagrams bc I love it!!!

@dreamsclock here it is!!

Characters:

Wilbur

Ghostbur

Tommy

Dream

Tubbo

Quackity

Karl

Under the cut bc they’re kinda long. Keep in mind this is the characters and not the content creators :]

WILBUR

Personally for me I’d type c!wilbur as ENFJ which is interesting for a villainous character. When he spirals into madness, you can see his dominant function (Fe) become more unhealthy, leading to him being very manipulative. He shows Ti-grip when his Fe is left to burn out, becoming critical of others and their methods, preferring he do it instead (seen with tommy during their exile). Ni auxiliary is shown in his ambition and drive for his goal of L’manburg.

For his enneagram, i know wilbur said he based c!wilbur off of the song eight by sleeping at last, but hear me out,,, I was thinking maybe a 3w4. The 8 characteristics could be seen in a tritype of 368. Type three is named the achiever which in itself stands for his vision and ambition of L’manburg. 3w4s are often working towards personal growth and professional success. When unhealthy, 3s can get extremely competitive and prone to one-upping others. May reject their sense of self and develop intense mood swings. At worst they can backstab ruthlessly (tommy and the whole of L’manburg and pogtopia) and destroy others reputations solely for their benefit (“if i can’t have this no one can”). The tritype Im a bit if-y on but I’ll say 368 because it focuses on working hard, achieving personal best and developing a winning image. They will want to protect others from those they perceive as a target (dream, Schlatt), they will warn and caution others and seek “worthy” authorities they can respect.

GHOSTBUR His Si is incredibly high so imma say ISFJ. His main motive (id say) is wanting to collect stories of his past and the history of the nation he built, his “unfinished symphony”. Fe auxiliary is very strong as well as he shows a lot of compassion to others, offering them some blue in times of need and also not wanting anyone to feel sadness like he feels it. Ghostbur ignores his own feelings in order for others to feel safe. His Ti is shown through his need for gathering knowledge to understand alivebur and i could also see it through his internalised logic that the blue will help people. Not sure on inferior Ne, maybe through not wanting to see other possibilities in regards to his resurrection, however he was under a lot of stress since his home just got blown up, and friend died, so I can’t blame him.

He clearly doesn’t want conflict so I’ll say type 9. Needs peace and harmony (he gives out blue to help people). Soothing voice, and collected (except when Phil blew up L’manburg but that’s reasonable). He’s complacent, and humble, and will go the extra mile so long as to not rock the boat. Appreciative of the small things in life and enjoy simple pleasures.

TOMMY For Tommy I think ESFP which is probably one of the ones I’m up for more opinions on bc I’m not completely sure of his type. Se as dominant as he thrives on living in the moment but in an unhealthy way (unnecessary conflicts) He’s got a strong Fi auxiliary and you can see that through his personal morals and the way he usually makes decisions based off of emotions rather than objective facts and logical reasoning. He’s good at planning, but not at thinking out the longevity of it. Eg when heady exile and found technos house and lived under there, thinking techno would find him, this all shows Se-Te loop. He gradually develops an unhealthy Fi which leads to him disregarding external relationships (his friendship with tubbo) and commitments to maintain his internal love of the discs.

Enneagram wise, I’m definitely leaning towards 7w6. 7s are usually jumping from one thing to another and are constantly getting bored. The wing 6 brings loyalty and protectiveness. When unhealthy, sevens become narcissistic in their actions and presentation (see his confrontation with tubbo after tubbo thought he was dead, and the “the discs are worth more than you ever were” granted he quickly realises what he said but the mentality was still there).

DREAM I think he’s a fairly obvious stereotype unhealthy ENTJ. He has a very low Fi. When we see him driven by emotion (usually anger) it’s terrifying and we have no context about it at all except that it’s for a need of control. He knows how to manipulate people through his charisma and power in an ENTJ fashion. He lost attachment to his things very quickly (using Te and Ni to go forward logically while also showcasing his inferior Fi)

Dream is a very painfully obvious 8, probably an 8w7, but he is defined an 8. The eight has fiery passions and is usually stubborn and headstrong, they are serious about control over their environment. They are goal-oriented and self-competent. Eights are direct and aren’t shy when taking the lead and making tough decisions. They are often seen in leadership positions. The eight type is part of the “body based” triad and they often act impulsively. They crave respect and enjoy being likes by the group. When unhealthy, eights can become tyrannical and intimidating, scaring off others at first glance. They become addicted to the pursuit of power and will destroy anything blocking their path. Feelings and emotions become insignificant (spirit :’)) challengers become stone-cold and take an antagonist stand to anyone who questions them or their motives. This is the one I’m most most sure of out of every typing I’ve done bc it seems painfully obvious.

TUBBO I’d say probably an Fe dom so maybe ENFJ/ESFP but I’m leaning more to the ENFJ side. Tubbo realised after he thought tommy had died that, without tommy he was himself. Something Fe doms struggle with the most is self worth and personal identity. They’re caught up in wanting to help others that they don’t tend to their own needs. He’s careless and self sacrificing when it comes to the needs of others (him giving up his life so that tommy could have the discs and be happy) and bc he has such low self esteem he doesn’t realise that that’s not what tommy wants. The reason I’m more leaning to ENFJ is because of his inferior Ti. Though he didn’t want to due to dominant Fe, he was lead to believe exiling tommy was the best possible solution. You can see he regrets it after tommy and dream had left. When he was working under schlatt we saw his remorse and guilt even though he knew it had to be done. We see his dominant Fe during his time as president when others push him to do things and he usually agrees. He was manipulated through guilt by dream which is very unhealthy ENFJ.

(I wrote this before the ghostbur one so sorry for any repetitive language) For enneagram, type nine: the peacemaker. Type 9s are motivated by their need for peace and harmony (tubbo was manipulated into believing that getting rid of tommy would achieve this). They have a calm demeanour and are agreeable. They’re hardworking, friendly, and modest but also more serious and diligent than expected. (I’m not too sure on his enneagram which is why this is so short)

QUACKITY Estj imo. Like dream, he’s unhealthily obsessed with power, (unhealthy dominant Te). He abandoned L’manburg because schlatt wouldn’t let him have any say, and he was shoved to the side, despite it being a coalition government. He is very logical and controls others. He makes sure he comes out as the hero and that his hands are clean, learning it from past experiences (Si). He quickly finds ways to get out of situations through the use of tertiary Ne. Doesnt show a lot of Fi and he usually underestimates his opponents abilities and/or strength due to his overconfidence. He’s willing to kill anyone who goes against what he thinks and is stubborn and argumentative. He doesn’t like it when people are lazy and don’t contribute.

Also, similarly to dream, I’d type his enneagram as 8w7. The same with his obsession of power, and his strong/weak mindset where he thinks the world is made up of protectors and those who need to be protected (see him taking it upon himself to execute technoblade for the better of L’manburg) which is all very textbook 8. The opinions of others don’t have much effect on him. Eights are concerned with justice, combating oppression, and protecting the weak. He takes the lead in making tough decisions (he’s the butcher army leader). He becomes more antagonist and villainous with his actions against technoblade, believing he’s in the right. (I didn’t want to just copy out what I said for dream so this is a shortened version)

KARL Torn between ENFP and ESFP but leaning toward ENFP. He’s time travelling because he believes it’s the right the to do which is more so Fi, but could be Fe wanting to help others at his personal cost. But also the Fi-Te pair keeps him going and he won’t stop until it’s fulfilled (which is pretty Te imo). He is creative and good with imagination and ideas (Ne) (at the masquerade, although it was a comical excuse, he came up with minecraft streamer quickly, he was also able to answer billiams questions pretty quickly).

Even though it’s now canon he doesn’t choose when and where he travels to, which would have been a stronger argument for a type seven, he’s still enthusiastic at the times he travels to. He’s optimistic (with the mentality everything will go right for him because he believes it has to, even though he’s loosing a lot of memories atm). He’s got childlike energy and curious eyes. He wants to bounce from one place to another, he created two towns already, although one technically no one knows about gogtopia except for the founders and tommy who travelled through it. He’s well like and popular, which is often a 7 trait. The type 7 is part of the “heart-based” triad, and we can see him act through this with the way he seeks excitement as a means to distract himself from the darker, and more painful things in life. He ignores his fears in favour of positive experiences. For a wing, probably a 7w6 in favour of 7w8, the same as tommy. He’s loyal and a strong leader over being tough and more career-driven. If he was to turn unhealthy in the future, we might see him loose his groundedness, and start to live in a perpetual fantasy instead of reality.

Sorry for any typos or bad grammar :]

#I posted this on some other account but deleted it and just decided to post it here :] #I’d like to do more in future bc I love mbti and enneagram but idk #Wilbur soot #tommyinnit #ghostbur #dreamwastaken #tubbo #quackity #Karl #dsmp #dsmpblr #dream smp #mcyt #mbti #enneagram

[stellar-gift]

I've been holding this thought for so long that it keeps bothering me. Now firstly first, english isn't my main language. So i don't think i can explain this thing very well. If i say something that seems wrong or offending please let me know. Secondly, this is only my thought, it's fine to disagree but please don't attack me for it. Lastly, i vaguely remember the event of this stories since i read this as a child many years ago. I haven't done my research again to double-check this information, but i will after this post. Now, let's go—

After the last stream, i see that people keep mentioning that Techno is right about the similarities between Tommy's and Theseus situation. That good things don't happen to hero. "Let me tell you a story, Tommy. A story of a man called Theseus. His country-- well, his city state, technically-- was in danger, and he sent himself forward into enemy lines; he slayed the Minotaur and saved his city. You know what they did to him, Tommy? They exiled him. He died in disgrace, despised by his people. That's what happens to heroes, Tommy. The Greeks knew the score."

But the thing is the way i remember it, Theseus didn't die as a disgraced hero but as an unfitting king. He brought not only his own downfall but his people as well. Theseus was a great hero once, he defeated many monsters and foes along the way to Athens to meet his father. Theseus may has done many good deeds, but at the same time many bad deeds as well. The things with greek heroes is that they tend to use strength as a way of resolution, their desires overpowered their supposedly moral as hero, which lead many to their downfall. Theseus, used to live a life of a hero, keep bringing up this bad habit in his time as a king. Like how Tommy keep bringing his immature and reckless tendencies despite being in important position as the vice president. I don't blame him tho, he's technically a child, he ought to learn more.

Theseus was a good hero, but he's a bad ruler. He cause a war with other nation over a woman. He neglected his nations because of his failed attempt to aid his friend in kidnapping Persephone. He indirectly killed his own son because of his wife false suicide note. And this all happened in his time as a king, not as a hero. Theseus wasn't betrayed by his people, he is the one who betrayed them because he keep forgetting that he's no longer a hero, that he's at the moment are in fragile position as a king who has responsibility to care for his city/nation.

Tommy resemble him in this way. Tommy might be a great hero, but he's a bad vice president. He's isn't used with his new high position that possess not only lot of power, but also responsibilities and consequences. He keep messing around and causing war for hisdisc not knowing that it may lead to a new conflicts. Again, i don't blame him; i actually feel Tommy did a pretty realistic job showing the aftermath effect of war, you can't expect someone to adapt that fast to a different new situation, old habits die hard. But it didn't justify his action.

Tubbo possible future decision to exile him is understandable. He has a nation to lead, to protect, and choosing Tommy over his people doesn't sit right with him in any way. Tubbo can't be blame for his action, he has responsibility to fulfill. Look i root for their friendship, okay? I love the two of them. But i see they keep having miscommunication this day. YOUR HONOR THEY'RE KIDS CAN YOU BLAME THEM FOR THEIR INEXPERIENCED ASS?

I guess Techno is wrong about one thing (I can't believe i say that), good thing don't happen to Tommy because sometimes he can't keep his desires aside over his friends and his new responsibilities. Not because he's a hero.

Idk where this rambling is going. Heck i don't even know what im writing. I want to give some nice conclusion but my mind just stop working once i let it all out. That's all for today, folk. Imma finish this after i have enough sleep. Can't believe i type this while sleep deprived. I'll edit this later.

#dream smp #mcyt #tommyinnit #technoblade #tubbo #dream smp analysis #does this make any sense? #who knows #do i even get the mythology right? #watch me trying to sound like a genius but end up looking like a dumbass #lol imma post this and regret it in the next day #please bear with me #this is why i don't do analysis

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Where I Go, Will You Still Follow?’ - A Clingyduo Fic from the Hunger Games AU

In the most ironic twist, I missed Tommy’s lore stream on Monday writing Clingyduo comfort/hurt (in that order). I wasn’t sure whether this fandom needed any more angst right now, but whatever, take this anyway. This fic is set in a Hunger Games AU where the characters of the Dream SMP reside in Panem and must compete in the Games. Only Tommy + Tubbo appear in this fic though. Angst reigns supreme on Reaping Day, where the boys face the possibility of being picked for the deadly Hunger Games for the first time. (Also I promise you don’t have to have read HG to get this.)

tw nothing really, they’re only being reaped here.

word count: 3102

On the morning of the reaping, two boys tread carefully through a desolate orchard.

At this time of year, the trees are mostly left to their own devices. In about six months their boughs will bear fruit, and there will be plenty of people scurrying to and fro beneath them collecting their bounty to be stored and sent to the Capitol. Those very boys will join them. However, on that late Spring morning there is no one about. During this season the trees require only the occasional pruning, and everyone’s still in bed this early anyway. No reason to get up on a day where you don’t need to. Public holidays like this are rare.

Tommy and Tubbo hold hands as they move through the trees. Old habit, they suppose, a defense mechanism against getting split up, for better or worse. With the number of people in their district it can make public gatherings hazardous for lonely children, and if there’s anything worse than getting caught alone in a stampede, it’s getting left behind in a chase. If one boy falls, so does the other. If one boy is caught with his hand in the larder, the other will be nearby. The two of them are a package deal: where one goes, the other follows.

They only stop when they’re sure they’re properly alone, deep in the orchard. It would take anyone hours to find them; it would take most people hours to get out from this point. But years spent traversing these paths - both from the ground and the branches above - have given them an instinctual knowledge on which way to go. They settle in beneath a large apple tree; lush and green now that the blossoms have since blown away. They go about unwrapping several grease paper packages that were previously weighing down their pockets as Tommy hums a tune to keep them company. Tubbo shuffles uncomfortably as they lay out a small breakfast of half a loaf of bread - dark and dotted with seeds, District 11’s signature - a petite disc of cheese that Tubbo suspects Tommy sat on at some point, and an apple each. Food they either squirreled away from the pantry at the orphanage or stole outright. The thought pinches Tubbo’s cheeks.

“What’s that sour face for?” Tommy asks him, flicking his eyes up every so often as he arranges the cheese on the bread with a tiny knife stashed in his boot and breaks the half-crescent of bread roughly in half. “You’re not still worried about getting caught.”

Tubbo sighs, and it tells Tommy all he needs to know. “C’mon! We covered our tracks and literally no one saw us.” When Tubbo’s expression doesn’t change, he puts a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “Well, definitely no one saw you. I’ll take the hit for it, if they find out.”

“No, it’s- fine.”

“Your face says otherwise, my friend.” All the same, Tommy retracts his arm and finishes haphazardly spreading the cheese upon the bread. He nudges one of the apples towards Tubbo with his foot, “Here, start.”

“Excuse me, the apple comes after the main course, how dare you break tradition.”

“My apologies, my liege.”

The easy smile returns briefly to Tubbo’s face as they laugh, then quickly melts away again. Tommy fixes him with a sympathetic look. “What?” Tubbo asks, locking eyes with him as he finishes brutalising the cheese and hands him his half. “You’re worried about the reaping.”

“And you’re not?”

“Should I be?” When Tubbo gives him a sideways glare, Tommy shrugs. “Dude, it’s a tiny chance. Two in thousands and thousands. You’re more likely to get struck by lightning than have either of our names fished out of the bowl.” And though Tommy was likely skewing his numbers a bit, he supposed it was true. It was their first year of reapings and neither of them had taken any tesserae. They were about as safe as you could be between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Still…

“Besides,” Tommy continued. “If your name gets called, I’m sure someone would volunteer for you.” He barely makes it to the end of his sentence before Tubbo’s noise of dismissal drowns him out. “Yeah right. Let’s be realistic here.” Tommy leans back against the tree as he eats. Sunlight peeks through the branches at random intervals, illuminating him in softly glowing patches. He turns his head slightly and beckons Tubbo over with a nod. They shift their bodies and the food around until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder between two large roots, and Tubbo finds that the sunlight is almost as warm as Tommy beside him.

They remain in that position for some time, eating their way through their swindled picnic. It’s a bit much for an ordinary breakfast, but it’s somewhat of a tradition to have something special on reaping day. Makes the hours standing in the square while the Mayor drones on about how it’s right to send two children to their deaths a bit more bearable. According to those traditions, you’re supposed to celebrate with a meal after the reaping too, though neither boy is quite sure where that convention came from. Not many in District 11 could afford it in any case.

At some point Tubbo drops a hand to the floor between them, and at some later instance Tommy places his where their fingers can interlace. “You’re nervous too.” Tubbo states without looking at his companion, instead remaining as he is, staring past the leaves to the clear blue sky. “No way.” Tubbo giggles at Tommy’s indignant tone. “A big man like me is not scared of being picked in the reaping.”

“Fearless he is, Big Man Tommy.”

“Too right!” They laugh, and the terror their giggles mask bubbles just beneath the surface, a pot mere seconds from boiling over. 

“Look, Tommy,” Tubbo’s voice becomes serious, and Tommy’s laughter peters out. “It’s all well and good laughing and joking about it, but… In the event one of us is chosen…” Their eyes meet and Tubbo squeezes Tommy’s hand, to which Tommy returns the grip. “I need you to tell me you remember our promise.” In response, Tommy sighs, drops Tubbo’s hand, puts that arm around his best friend’s shoulder, pulls him close and runs his free hand through his hair, almost all simultaneously. “Yes of course I remember it.”

“And?” Tubbo replies expectantly.

“And what?”

“Say it, you dummy.” Tommy places his free hand over his heart like a salute. “I, Tommy Innit, promise my dearest friend Tubbo Underscore, that if he is chosen for the Hunger Games in this afternoon’s reaping, I will not volunteer to take his place.” He waits for Tubbo to relax, satisfied, before tacking on: “Thus letting him be led away to a faraway place to be on television then get brutally murdered, also on television. “ He can feel Tubbo’s eye roll without even looking. “You made me promise the same.”

“Yeah I did, didn’t I?” He admits quietly, leaning his head against his best friend’s, brown curls obscuring half his vision.

“It’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Tubbo’s hair smells faintly of apples, somehow. Tommy squeezes his best friend and hopes he won’t have to betray him.

Unbeknownst to him, Tubbo has the same thought.

---

The duo spend the hours before the reaping as they usually do: sleeping in each others embrace somewhere they technically shouldn’t be, pretending the clothes they have to change into back at the orphanage are any better than what they’re changing out of, and hogging the second floor bathroom for way longer than necessary. The black storm cloud that is the reaping casts a longer shadow than previous years, but they manage to ignore it for most of the morning with enough shenanigans to fill their quota for the year. The clouds threaten to burst however when the time reaches half twelve, and the parentless teenagers of the district begin to make their way towards the square where the ceremony will take place. The once-blue sky darkens as the crumbling facade of the Justice Building comes into view, as if nature were waiting for her cue, and Tommy wonders if he jinxed himself with his earlier comments about being struck by lightning.

He’s holding Tubbo’s hand again - standard crowd procedure - and he’s thankful for about the millionth time that they’re the same age. They head with the other twelve year old orphans to the corresponding pen for their age group, and find themselves sandwiched in the centre. Tubbo exchanges a few words with some of their peers, most likely to be ‘Good luck’, but Tommy’s not really concentrating. The square is already full and still there’s many more people to come, and with every person that joins the crowd there will only be more cramming the possible tributes together like sardines in a tin. There have been crushes at reapings before; they tell them in school about the reaping for the seventh games, where too many spectators packed the floor and there was a panic that killed four people, including one kid in the crowd. In an ironic twist, their name was later pulled from the ball, and their escort had to be informed live on stage in front of the entire nation that they’d died earlier that day.

Decidedly, the odds were not in their favour.

Tommy doesn’t like to admit it, but tight spaces get to him. And here, packed in by bodies with camera crews perched high on the rooftops over the crowd, scanning for the faces that will leave the district tonight, he feels like a fish in a barrel. “Hey-” Tubbo’s voice reaches him through the din of thousands of people talking at once, but he sounds a million miles away. He practically crushes Tubbo’s fingers with his own, and, in retaliation, Tubbo flicks him on the nose. He blinks at him angrily for a second, the distraction welcome despite his show of annoyance. “Breathe, Tommy.” He forces air in and out of his lungs for about thirty seconds just to make sure he still can. Tubbo traces stars on the back of his hand.

By the time the Mayor’s stepped up to the podium and began his yearly recitation of the history of Panem, Tommy thinks he’s calmed himself down somewhat. Tubbo still traces stars in little pentagram patterns on Tommy’s hand with his thumb, and though it’s starting to get a little irritating, something stops him from signalling him to knock it off. He glances briefly sideways to Tubbo, and though his expression is mostly blank, the two have gotten used to watching each other’s tics and tells, signs that are imperceptible to anyone else but them. The small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way he scrunches his nose slightly when he blinks, even the way he presses a little too hard with his thumb, his patterns becoming less uniform and the edges of his nails leaving little scratches. He’s as scared as Tommy. So he lets him keep doing it, for both their sakes.

The Mayor finishes his history lecture, reads the list of past victors and then finally introduces the District 11 escort, a spritely-looking man in a bottle-green suit called Montaque. He’s been the district’s escort for a few years, and Tommy and Tubbo used to joke his mustache was so spiky-sharp looking you could win a Games by using it as a weapon. He seems to glide across the stage as he gives a speech about District pride or some nonsense, then utters the classic phrase, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour.” 

He crosses the stage to the front where two glass balls sit, holding thousands of tiny slips of paper. A lump forms in Tommy’s throat. Somewhere in one of those balls there’s two slips of paper that could serve as their one way ticket to the Capitol. He knows they’re somewhat lucky: some kids their age have many more slips thanks to tesserae, but Tommy feels a pang in his chest even as he thinks about it. Some kids have parents. Some kids have somewhere to put their tesserae so it won’t immediately get stolen. He and Tubbo may have considered it, but what use would they have for grain and oil when on most days they could barely hold onto their bedsheets? It was one less thing to worry about.

Montaque the Stupid sticks one of his disproportionately-large hands into the first glass ball, and retrieves a slip of paper, and Tommy begs inside his mind, not us not us not him. He reads the name, and the entire world suddenly stops spinning. Somewhere in the back of Tommy’s mind is a lag, like when one person in a chain of people passing produce from a field to a wagon disappears. The chain does its best to keep up, but it’s very quickly overwhelmed, leaving debris in the form of dropped vegetables and a backlog that needs to be attended to.

That’s how it feels inside Tommy’s head as the crowd parts for him, a sea of people craning their necks as they shuffle aside to form a runway for him towards the stage. This can’t be happening. His mind can’t catch up to the fact, doesn’t want to catch up to the fact that this is happening. He glances to his side and immediately regrets the action, for Tubbo stands beside him looking equal parts shell shocked and distressed. Their eyes meet, teary and desperate, and Tommy only has the strength to mouth ‘Promise’, before his feet start to carry him towards the stage alone, and his hand in Tubbo’s becomes an outstretched arm. When they finally let go Tommy can feel the ghost of his friend’s hand in his own, and knows that it will be one of the last kind touches he ever receives. He tries not to think of that as he half-marches towards the veranda. He doesn’t look back for fear it’ll set him off crying, but if he were to, he would see Tubbo standing impossibly alone in such a huge crowd, holding the hand that held Tommy’s to his chest.

He mounts the stage and looks out over the people of the district he calls home, a tiny voice in his head telling him to make the most of this last time. Last time. He searches for Tubbo in the crowd, spotting him easily by the empty pathway he just walked down being slowly absorbed back into the crowd. He can see even from here the tears shining on his cheeks, the way his whole body shakes with the effort of holding more back. There’s a couple orphanage kids looking like they’re trying to console him, and, if Tommy should weigh in, doing a pretty sh’it job. He looks away to watch Montaque snatch the second slip of paper from the glass ball, and he tenses every fibre of his being shouting internally please please please. The name is read, and this time Tommy finds himself still breathing and present as some older kid makes his own shaky way to the podium. He’s about fourteen, with a stocky build that betrays work in the crop fields. As he takes his place opposite Tommy, the young boy is reminded that the Games will be full of people like him. Stronger, older opponents. Tommy, at the monumental age of twelve, doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment lingers, and then it keeps lingering, and then Tommy turns to Montaque to find out why the da’mn moment won’t move on. He’s staring out into the crowd once more, and Tommy’s heart, already too heavy, drops straight into his boots as he follows Montaque’s gaze. The crowd parts once more, and Tubbo strides forward, a shaky confidence marking his every step. The murmurs around the square hush, as he comes to stand mere metres from the tributes. Tommy wants to catch his eye, shake his head, scream at him to stop, but Tubbo doesn’t look at him. Tommy knows exactly what he intends to do as he opens his mouth; Tommy mouths the words along with him.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

Now you’ve gone and done it.

Montaque, biggest pri’ck on the planet, waxes lyrical about courage and bravery while he arranges the exchange of the fourteen year old for Tubbo. As if he’d ever know what it is to be brave. As the Mayor takes over once more, reading the Treaty of Treason as he is bound by duty to do, Tommy tries to catch the attention of his best friend, who’s acting annoyingly aloof. He watches as Tubbo stares into the distance, looking alarmingly calm with the whole ordeal. Tommy wants to scream, and do a bit more than scream and call him all the foul names he can think of and demand he un-volunteer and why? You stupid bi’tch absolute idiot why would you volunteer when we had a promise, why did you betray the promise? Why? Why why why why why?

As the Mayor wraps up the Treaty bore-fest, he motions for the two tributes to shake hands. Tributes. Now bound unrelentingly for an arena where they will kill other people. Other children. Maybe even each other.

Tommy feels some comfort in how helpless their situation is. Odds are they’ll die long before each other are a threat. They’re going to be a team obviously, and Tommy’s going to protect Tubbo as long as he can. That’s what he promised him the day they met, and that’s what he intends to do.

They shake hands, and Tubbo finally looks at him. The tears have dried on his cheeks. They take a little longer than is necessary, conducting a silent conversation between them.

‘Sorry.’

‘I am so fu’cking mad at you.’

‘You thought I would really leave you?’

‘I hoped I was wrong.’

They stand for the anthem. They are carted into the Justice Building to wait for people to come and say goodbye. No one comes. They weren’t expecting anyone anyway. They are all they have; all they’ve ever had. And where one goes, the other follows.

Tommy waits alone in the Justice Building, trying to figure out if the first thing he’ll do when he’s alone with Tubbo is hug him or strangle him. Beyond that though, he has to protect his boy. He has to keep his promise. An uneasy feeling stirs his gut. One promise has already been broken today.

And the odds aren’t playing nice.

#hell yeah i finally posted it #honestly i don't have a lot to say other than i hope you enjoyed #let's keep rereading the fluffy parts right?? anyway #i'm distraught over current events on the dsmp and this is how i'm coping #dream smp #hg au #tommyinnit #tubbo #dsmp fic #dream smp fanfic #crim writes #real proud of this one #all in one go. never written 3000 words in a day before

[bellfort3]

You response to the ask about the minors the dream amp all having bad coping habits inspired me, so take this:

Tommy smokes because Wilbur smoked. He wants to be closer to his brother and thinks that if Wilbur did this, and it helped him, it might help Tommy as well. He first smokes when he finds a half-empty pack of cigarettes in Wilbur’s coat during exile. He doesn't do it again until after doomsday, because it was unpleasant and the smell of smoke remixed him of TNT. After doomsday he does it again, and again, and again, because after L’manburg got blown up for the final time, that was his only connection to his late brother.

Tubbo drinks because schlatt drank. He was there when schlatt drank to cope with stress. He was there when schlatt died of a stroke (”does anyone smell toast?”), but when put in the same position as schlatt, when made to be president, he turned to the same coping mechanisms as his predecessor. It worked, it numbed to pain, it helped him forget how he was forced to exile his best friend, if only for a night. It helped him sleep, didn't give him nightmares, it just knocked him out.

Ranboo accidentally cut himself with his claws, and now cuts. It’s why he always wears long sleeves, like suits. He makes sure they are shallow, and heal fast because he doesn't want to alarm anyone. He accidentally cut his scalp while clutching his head in the panic room, when he first heard Dream.

Purpled kills things. When he gets overwhelmed, he just goes somewhere dark and kills mobs, but doesn't fix any wounds they give him. It’s what makes him such a good assassin, he’s trained himself to fight through injury and can be forgotten easily.

-oracle

Hey @callie-talks-dreamsmp this is for you but I’m still gonna answer your ask

Here are my thoughts Oracle

Tommy smokes 100%

Not sure abt tubbo yet but something destructive that has to do with the nukes?? Me and con brainstormed maybe tubbo pulling a Wilbur and wishing to blow up the dream smp? Like he ran away? That’s part of his trauma. He tried to start over.

Ranboo...(TW) I don’t know if he cuts but I’ve read fics where he nervously flicks his tail around and stuff so here’s what I was thinking. Nervous scratching. It’s a innocent habit, running his claws over the skin on his forearms but yeah maybe he accidentally scratches too deeply and makes himself bleed? That’s my thoughts on it.

Purpled. I was thinking gambling? Scamming? I usually associate techno with mindless killing and purpled strikes me as more tame. Like punz.

I love the thoughts tho Oracle and I hope you find this helpful Callie!!

#asks #Oracle and bellfort #smoker!tommy

[fairytsuk1]

despite everything, it’s still you | (a)

character: tommyinnit

genre: angst

words: 1.8k

summary: tommyinnit is sent to the afterlife after being killed by dream, his experience as a broken soul in the afterlife is different than he'd imagined.

warnings: head injury at the beginning and it’s a bit graphically described! also depersonalization with the afterlife

notes: a bit different from my usual stuff but i had this idea and wanted to do it!

     The last thing Tommy's present body feels is his brain practically leaking out of his ears. The force with which his head is knocked into the ground is too strong, and he instantly blacks out. Dream's fists collided into him much harder than he thought, and it was even harder to try to block each hit as he was instantly overpowered by the godlike man. He just couldn't seem to get away. His soul might have even been connected with Dream's at one point; how could someone live every day of their life and always go back to the one who caused so much pain?  It's not a peaceful end; it's gory and sticky with blood splattered on the quickly growing pale skin. When Tommy opens his eyes, there's no Tubbo or blue sky; it's just white. The first thing he realizes is that he's not breathing, but he's not dying because of it. Because, well, he's already dead.

"Dream?..."

     His thoughts are there, at least the most important ones. There are some of them that blur together, like watching a movie on fast-forward and not pausing. He couldn't remember his life so far up to his death, and the panic was setting in; what man didn't remember their own life? Was he even Tommy?  A thump beats in his chest but looking down...there is no chest at all. In fact, there is no skin, bones, no solidifying figure that could tell him, "ah, I was a person."  Tommy doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he didn't know his own name. Would he be lost to time forever?

"What the fuck is going on…?" his finger jabs at the translucent blob of a figure, he's still got limbs, but he looks like a bucket of slime rather than a fleshed-out human, "Hah! I'm like fuckin' Charlie Slimecicle…"

      His humor hasn't left him, which warms his heart. Well, he supposes he has no heart as Tommy continues to poke and prod the gelatin-like substance he was hosting. It was weird seeing the ghostly shape of your own body, long legs, and big yet bony hands...it was freaky.

"This is just disgusting, actually. Fuckin' hell…"

     He stands and tries to ignore the way he feels weightless; it's depersonalizing. Makes him nauseous to think of how he doesn't exist in the mortal realm, but instead, he's here in some sort of blank space.

"Wilbur!"

     Walking, he realizes that he feels loose and lets out a laugh when he twists his body and finds it going farther than any human could. His ghostly capabilities were kinda cool! He had to focus though he needed to find a way to jump back down to Earth if he was dead. As much as he enjoyed being able to touch his toes and squat with his feet flat on the ground, the loneliness was starting to get to him.      Though he didn't say anything out loud, being dead was starting to get a little scary. Of course, the lead-up wasn't nice, and he's glad to be pain-free (though he does jerk out of shock once he realizes his head is caved in). There's something about being alive that is just so...he misses it, that's all.

"Wilbur!...Schlatt??"

     Tommy walks for a while with no changes to his atmosphere. For a moment, he thinks that he hasn't even been walking with the lack of environmental changes. That train of thought simmers to a stop as he spots a bench in the distant future, running towards it at lightning speed. There's no sound when he runs; his voice doesn't even echo. It's as though this afterlife has nothing in it at all. Like it's made of nothing. Like he's made of nothing.       He relaxes into the bench and smiles widely; if only he had his favorite disks! It's like being with Tubbo again, like being kids again! The warm touch of affection kisses his cheek as warmth spreads through him. When can he go back? He's so ready to go back.

"You know, Tubbo, I hope you're not all focused on Ranboo to forget about me! I mean, I'm that one that, you know, died!"

     Who is he speaking to? This afterlife is really getting to him, there is no Tubbo here, and there is no Mellohi. The smile fades as he glances around, white on white: white walls, floor, ceiling.

"Whoever the God here is, your heaven is shit."

     He shouldn't have said that. The bench rumbles, and he's shocked to see it crumbling underneath him. Chips of wood fly into space, and he scrambles off of it, watching it decompose his very own eyes.

"Ah, ah, wait! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! Give it back! Give me my damn bench back, you bitch!"

     A bigger piece flies off and slices his hand, a glob of his fingers falling off and melting into the ground as he stands panicked. There's no blood, but it suddenly hits him. He isn't even human; this is all he has left. He's lucky to have his thoughts. That is his last tether to all he knows. If he lets himself be broken down, he'll never be human again. His time is limited. He has to find a way out.      

     His feet take off before he can even realize it, sprinting as he shouts for Sam, Tubbo, Wilbur, and even Phil.      

     But nobody came. No-one scooped him up and rescued him like they should've. He's only a child, for god's sake!

"What have I done to deserve any of this!? Let me go back! I want to go back!!"

     His voice is shaky as he spins, decomposed and blocky trees forming around him like corroded pixels. He could cry, but he's holding it back; Dream instilled that in him. The less you care, the better the ending. The trees fall in shards, and each one that touches him breaks off a piece of him. He's practically melting as he runs through the rain of pixels, each one hell-bent on destroying his soul.      Right now, he's no human. It's his soul in the purest form. His feet stick together before pulling apart, and he collapses onto the solid white ground. Everything jiggles, and he thinks he might pass out with the pure shock of taking in everything around him. His body ripples like water as he hears a faint and distant voice call for him.

    "Tommy?"

     A memory.         "My first decree, as the President of L'Manberg, the EMPEROR, of this GREAT COUNTRY! IS TO REVOKE! THE CITIZENSHIP! OF WILBUR SOOT AND TOMMYINNIT! GET 'EM OUTTA HERE!"

      Is that his savior? The one who's come for him? The one who caused his life hell in the first place? Well, maybe it was Wilbur who did that. Or Technoblade. Or even Dream, but Dream was his friend even though he struck him so hard he sobbed for someone to help him—

     "Hey, Tommy! What the hell are you doing, kid? Where the fuck's your body?"

     He's being hoisted up by his arms, and he pushes into Schlatt's chest as he cries and cries. The Ram hybrid grunts and mumbles something before pushing him back to hold his shoulders. He was never one for affection.      When Schlatt looks at Tommy, he knows this is the book's doing. Dream, the current owner of the book, had done this all in preparation. The easiest way to bring someone back was to only let their pure soul transfer on, everything else remaining the same.

     "It's easier than moving a whole body, right?"

"Whatever, just take the fucking book, man. I'm busy."

     Tommy's damaged. He's deformed, and his soul is hot to the touch. He's in agony. He didn't know he could sleep till it was over or relax. He tried to fix things and find a solution like he always does. Now, he was broken like he always was.

"Schlatt I...how do I go back? I don't want to be here anymore! It's fucking shit! And, and it hurts! This isn't some heaven; it's fuckin' hell!"

     Dream sat on the prison floor after arranging Tommy's body in a relaxed position, the book open in front of him.

     "Time to come back, Tommy."

     "Hey, hey! You listen to me! That fucker Dream, you have to be strong! He's messed you up, but this isn't the Tommy I know! You don't fucking cry, and you don't fucking get scared! You're the bravest kid I know!"

     Tommy feels flashbacks come to him, slowly but surely. Him rowing to fight Dream, the bravery he had when he fought him one on one. The first disk war...he was so brave.

     When he looks up at Schlatt, he sees the man he fought so hard against and won. He clocks in at that moment.

     I used to be someone. Now, I'm just like everyone else. Scared and weak.

     "You used to be someone, Tommy! You are someone! You just have...believe and know... you're stronger…!"

     Schlatt gets all twisty and turny, his vision fading in and out as he feels himself being dragged away from his arms. For a second, Schlatt reaches out, seeing his son in a box. He retreats and opts to yell out as Tommy fights to regain himself.       The strength is unrelenting as the young boy's head twists to see his arm pulled like taffy towards a glowing light. It's so pretty; he could almost just touch it and forget it all.

     "You are stronger than anyone else, Tommyinnit!"

     His head whips back, and he extends a jelly arm, his fight coming back to him.

     "If you fucking lose yourself, you'll lose everything!"

"If I lose myself, I'll lose everything…"        "You were made to beat this world, and don't you dare fucking forget it!"

     It makes Schlatt grin as Tommy's widened eyes get pulled as he's compressed into a singularity. There's a sudden pop, and Schlatt's knocked back as the white walls envelop him. He wants to yell more, but Tommy's already back where he belongs. He's already gone.

     "Tommy? Hey, Tommy!"

     His cerulean eyes open like he'd just drank an energy drink, a smiling mask staring up at him. For a moment, he wants to shrink back into the floor.

     "How was it? How was the afterlife?"

 If I don't beat him, how could anyone else?

     He snickers, "awful. I'm never going back there again."

     Tommy feels determination settle in his soul. After everything, he's still him. If he loses himself, he'll never be able to bring it back. So, the only other option is to fight.

     If I win, maybe then, I can know who I am.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanfic #dreamwastaken #dream fanfic #jschlatt #jschlatt fanfic #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

[thefanficdude]

The Winter Months: OCTOBER, Part 1

The wind blew through the barren trees, the only petals left from the previous season struggling to stay on their branches. The ground was no longer grass, but rather a medley of yellow, orange, and red leaves that fell from the looming forest above. The soft yet violent breeze was cold with a familiar change, yet it usually didn’t come this early. He knew this was all but good.

Wilbur walked back to the village, navigating through the masses of bark and stumps that were all too familiar to him. After all, this had been his home for his whole life. While on his way, the wind picked up and he adjusted his coat and hat to conserve heat. Leaves from the ground flew up into the air and created a swirl that could be described as a tornado of fall colours. The leaves wisped past Wilbur with the effortless force of the breeze. He watched them pass, admiring the beauty of the changing seasons while also knowing the winter would not be kind to him and his people. He continued to walk.

Eventually, he got to the town he called home. There were 8 buildings made of sticks, stones and mud, all designed to withstand the four seasons. 7 of the buildings were the houses of the 7 people that occupied this area, but the last building was the Community House, a place where they held meetings, discussed local issues, and planned their strategies for war (They were all generally peaceful people, but when threatened they were some of the best fighters in the land). Wilbur was making his way to the last, which was the biggest of the 8 and located right in the middle of the town. A voice stopped him before he could step through the door.

“Wilbur!” A young boy about 17 years old with golden hair ran towards him with a smile on his face.

“Tommy, right on time!” Wilbur said as Tommy slowed his pace and stopped in front of him. “I was just about to call a meeting. Round everyone up for me and tell them to meet here.” Tommy’s smile was replaced with a more serious tone.

“Is it about winter?” He asked. “We still have quite a while until snow comes. At least 8 weeks if I’ve been counting right.”

“You’ve been counting right,” Wilbur said. “But the leaves have fallen much quicker than normal and the air is getting colder every day, much more than it should.” Wilbur sighed, thinking about his next words. “Just get everybody to come as soon as possible, alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get everyone here in less than 5 minutes” Tommy said dismissively.

“Thank you,” Wilbur stepped inside the Community House as he heard Tommy’s footsteps run through the village.

There wasn’t a single soul Wilbur knew that was more stubborn and determined than Tommy. Sure, these traits often lead Tommy to most, if not all of his problems, but they were also his greatest strengths. When something needed to be done, Tommy was always the first one on the case, despite being the youngest out of everyone. Wilbur admired that about him. He wished he was like that when he was Tommy’s age.

Wilbur looked around the Community House, taking in everything about it; the nostalgic smell of the wood and charcoal, the mural painting that went all the way around the four walls, the chilled air inside, the-

Wilbur suddenly realized how cold it was inside. He looked at the fire pit in the center of it all with frustration. It would have to be lit sooner this year, maybe even tonight. Of all the seasons, winter was the one Wilbur hated the most because of how impossible living conditions were, let alone the sheer vulnerability and complete inability to fight. Being the leader of these people, he had to reassure everyone that everything was going to be ok, but in reality he was always on edge during the snowy months.

Wilbur looked up from the fire pit to the door, where the first resident silently stood in the frame.

“Will,” The resident stepped through the door, struggling to get his giant wings through the average-sized frame. “Tommy knocked on my door saying you were calling a meeting. If this is another prank of his, it’ll be the third time this month.” Wilbur chuckled.

“Keeping track, eh Phil?” Wilbur sat at the head of the Community House, right before the fire pit and directly across from the door. He gestured for Phil to sit. He did, tightly yet effortlessly folding his black wings behind him.

“Oh yeah, been keeping track since he was 10.” Phil said. “He’s always been a trickster, but at some point I decided to start keeping count. It’s been keeping me busy.” Wilbur nodded with a smile. It was true.

Philza was the wisest person Wilbur knew, and that wasn’t just bias because Phil was his father. Out of everyone Wilbur had ever met (and he met a lot of people), Phil was the one that taught him the most, from how to hunt and skin a deer, to how to flirt with the ladies. Regrettably, he was teaching all this wisdom and advice to Tommy since Wilbur had heard everything he had to say.

“What’s the meeting for this time?” Phil asked after a moment of silence. Wilbur snapped back to reality and realized he had been zoning out. He looked at Phil.

“I want to give all the details once everyone is here,” Wilbur said. “But it’s about the coming winter.” Phil nodded in understanding.

“Ah,” He said. And that was all. Phil was probably the only one who understood the stress Wilbur was under, for he was the leader of this town before Wilbur was. Usually a position of power is given to someone else when the current leader passes away, but Phil didn’t want to wait until his deathbed to teach Wilbur how to properly and successfully lead an army and protect his people. Instead, he retired from his position to teach Wilbur everything he knew. Many people, including himself and Wilbur, would agree that he did a good job raising a pretty awesome kid and leader.

“Tommy said there was a town meeting,” A young woman with pink hair came through the door and sat herself down on one of the benches.

“Yes, I told him to round everyone up for me,” Wilbur said. “I’m glad you could join us, Niki. I hope I didn’t disturb your baking.”

“No, you didn’t disturb me at all,” Niki said. “I actually just pulled a batch of muffins out of the oven. I put them by the window to cool right as Tommy knocked on my door.”

“Ah, perfect! Make sure to ration some of those for winter.” Wilbur said.

“Winter?” Niki asked. “Isn’t that still two months away?”

“...Well-”

“What flavour are the muffins?” Phil asked. Wilbur silently sighed and looked at Phil in thanks. He always somehow knew the right time to insert himself into the conversation.

“Blueberry. They were the last I had of what we picked this year. Any longer and they would’ve gone bad.”

“Good,” Phil said. “With winter coming into our sights soon, it's good to conserve food as much as possible. Those blueberries will last a little longer in those muffins.” Niki nodded.

“You’ll have to split one with me after the meeting.” Wilbur said, smiling at Niki.

“Of course!” Niki replied. “I’ll make sure to set aside the best one for you.”

Niki was the sweetest and kindest person Wilbur knew. You’ll never meet a more caring soul. She spent most of her time baking and making food for the whole village. It was mostly her work to make rations for winter. If it wasn’t for Niki, everyone would’ve died of hunger during the first snow.

“And you remembered to put out the fire in the oven this time, right?” Phil leaned his elbows on his knees and adjusted his wings. Niki gave a nervous laugh.

“Yes, yes!” Niki buried her face into her hands in embarrassment. “How could I forget after nearly burning down the whole village?”

“Hey, I already said don’t worry about that,” Wilbur said. “It was an honest mistake. And as the saying goes, ‘we learn from our mistakes’.”

“Yes, I recall you saying the exact same thing on that day.” Niki moved her hands down and rested her chin on them. The three of them laughed as they looked back on that day, which then was nearly a disaster, but now was just a funny story.

“Hey guys!” Another man entered the building. His hair was brown and curly, and he wore a navy blue dress that went all the way down to his ankles. Over the dress was a grey, light-weight jacket.

“Eret!” Wilbur greeted.

Eret was the plant-keeper. She didn’t want the title of a farmer because it sounded like he did more work than he actually did. So, his title was made the plant-keeper. During summer, he grew plants that grew various kinds of food, and that was when the plants most flourished. But during winter however, Eret had to do everything he could to make sure they were at the very least still alive for the next summer. It was a miracle if one or two of the plants could make a single serving of food during the snow.

“Welcome to the group! Stylish as always I see.” Niki said. Eret looked down at the dress he was wearing and gave a quick spin. The dress's thick fabric flew into the air effortlessly.

“Ah, ya know. I gotta present myself nicely to the plants.” Eret said, taking a seat beside Niki.

“Speaking of the plants, how’s the greenhouse going?” Wilbur asked. Eret copied Phil and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Very well, actually! Just a few more weeks with fall temperatures and we’ll be all set for winter.” Wilburs expression dropped. He cleared his throat.

“Has Tubbo been helping you?” He asked.

“Yes,” Eret replied. “He’s been a great help, especially with his ability. It’s made things move along much faster.”

“Good.” Wilbur said, folding his hands on his lap. “Once Tubbo gets here, I’ll discuss it further. He’s the only one left besides-”

Tommy burst through the door arguing with a boy who looked about the same age as him.

“What the fuck were you doing Tubbo!?” Tommy yelled.

“I was trying to get into his house! Meanwhile you were trying to burn his house down!” Tubbo yelled back.

“Yes because all he does is sleep all day and Wilbur told me to get everyone!”

“You were going to kill him Tommy!”

“Hey!” Wilbur stood up and everybody looked up at him. Tommy and Tubbo stopped fighting and stood still. “First of all, stop arguing with each other! Especially in the Community House! This is not a place to be joking around, do I make myself clear?” Tommy and Tubbo nodded, but Tommy was more hesitant. “Good. Second of all, Tubbo, explain what happened.”

“I was trying to-” Tommy began, but Wilbur put a hand up to stop him.

“I didn’t ask you.” Wilbur said calmly. “I asked Tubbo.” Tommy looked at the ground with the same energy as a 2 year old about to have a temper tantrum. Wilbur looked at Tubbo.

“Well,” Tubbo started. “Tommy knocked on my door saying a meeting was happening and that he was put in charge to tell everyone about it. I asked if there was anyone else he needed to visit and he said George. So I offered to come with him, just because.” Wilbur nodded. “We got to George's house, Tommy knocked, but nobody answered the door. A few more knocks, still no response, and Tommy started getting... impatient.”

“I was not-!” Tommy tried defending himself but Wilbur gave him a stern look that made him stop talking again. He looked back at Tubbo.

“So I proposed we could calmly go inside to see if he was ok, but Tommy interpreted that as ‘use my ability to cause the most amount of damage I can get away with’. I stopped him before he could do anything.” Of course he did, Wilbur thought with a sigh.

“Thank you for controlling him, Tubbo,” Wilbur said, sitting himself down again. “You two can have a seat.” Tubbo sat beside Phil, and Tommy sat beside Tubbo. Tommy was angrily mumbling to himself. “And Tommy, could you do me another favour,” Wilbur said. Tommy looked up, still pissed. “Would you mind lighting up the fire pit?” Tommy looked confused.

“What do you mean? It’s still October. We don’t light the pit until late November.”

“I said what I said. Light it, and I’ll explain.” Tommy rolled his eyes but did as he was told. With a flick of his wrist, sparks and flame emerged from his hand and engulfed the few pieces of wood and charcoal that remained from last year's winter. It wasn’t much, but there was enough fire there to heat up the building to a good room temperature. Wilbur cleared his throat.

“As you all know, it usually doesn’t snow until December. Late November at the earliest…” Wilbur looked around the room and could already see people's faces change as they realized what was happening. It wasn’t as hard as telling someone the news that someone they know has passed away, but it was still hard because it meant telling your loved ones that just simply surviving will be a lot harder this year. Wilbur continued speaking.

“And, as always, I’ve been taking weekly trips into the deep forest to examine the natural changes of the environment. This time around however…” Wilbur looked to Phil for support. Phil simply took a deep breath and gestured Wilbur to keep talking. Wilbur did exactly that. After a deep breath, he continued.

“It seems like the snow will be coming a lot sooner than other years.” Everyone had different reactions, but they all had one thing in common: worry. Everyone started either talking to themselves or the person beside them. And, as per the duty of any good leader, he needed to reassure them that everything was going to be ok, despite all the odds.

“But, I’ve already created some plans of what we can do to make sure this winter is just as good as the ones before.” Everyone looked up with intrigued and hopeful expressions. “However, it requires everybody's effort and ability.” Everyone nodded in agreement, and Wilbur was now hopeful himself.

“Firstly, Tubbo and Eret, the people on greenhouse duty.” Tubbo and Eret straightened and paid close attention. “Eret, you said with a few more weeks, the plants will be strong enough to withstand winter. However, I don’t think we have weeks. I predict we’ll have snow in the next 5 days.” Eret and Tubbo looked at each other with a common thought. How are we gonna pull this off?

“Tubbo, your ability is Earth, meaning you are especially knowledgeable about different types of dirt, fertilizers, and more. With the little time we have left, I’m requesting you find something that will make the plants grow faster to be prepared by next week.”

“Yes sir.” Tubbo replied.

“Eret, with your ability of light manipulation, I need you to store as much light as possible, more than what you normally prepare. With winter starting earlier, we should expect it to last longer too.”

“Of course.” Eret replied.

“Phil, if it starts snowing before the plants are ready, it’s your job to use your air ability for as long as you can to keep snow away from the greenhouse. And if it’s also possible, see if you can keep a piece of the sky cloud free so we don’t have to use up the stored light source right away.”

“Can do.” Phil replied, stretching his wings back.

“Niki and Tommy, I need you to scavenge for as much scrap food as possible. If you can find more ingredients for your baking Niki, even better. As I said before, we should expect this winter to last longer, so we need to prepare more.”

“Got it.” Niki replied.

“I have a question,” Tommy said. “By food scraps, do you mean like… dead rats and birds?” Wilbur sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes. But it will only be a last resort if we run out of our main rations.”

“Ugh, alright.” Tommy groaned. “Niki and I will be on the lookout for dead shit.”

“Fantastic.” Wilbur clapped his hands together and looked around the room. “Does everybody have a job?” Everybody collectively nodded, but Niki raised her hand.

“What about George?” She asked. “He isn’t here, so what’s his job?”

“Don’t worry about George.” Wilbur said. “Once dismissed, Phil and I will stop by his house.” Wilbur looked at Phil and he nodded. “Any other questions?” The room fell silent. “Alright, that’s that! Meeting dismissed.” Everyone stood up from their seats and started making their way to the door. Tubbo and Eret went to each other to discuss their job, as did Niki and Tommy. Wilbur and Phil were left alone in the Community House together.

“What do you have in mind for George?” Phil asked. Wilbur sighed as he got up from the bench.

“Well, because George doesn’t have an ability like the rest of us, his job will be a little easier, but just as important. He’ll be in charge of making sure the pathways and trails in the town and forest are clean before the snow comes. And when the snow does come, I’ll have him help shovel the snow off the roads.” Wilbur made his way to the door and turned to wait for Phil, who was only getting up now.

“Makes sense,” Phil said. “But why do you need me?” Wilbur and Phil started walking through the town.

“You’re aware of what my ability is, right?” Wilbur asked.

“Of course, mind reading. It was a big problem when you were younger, you know. I could never keep a secret.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Wilbur laughed. “But I’ve been noticing George has been missing more and more meetings due to his ‘sleep schedule’.”

“And you think it's not just that?”

“Yes.”

“But what else could he possibly be doing?”

“I never like to assume. I need more proof first.” Wilbur and Phil stopped in front of a house with red accents. One could say it looked like a mushroom house, a little home for fairies.

Wilbur knocked on the door with enough force that if anybody was sleeping, they definitely would have woken up.

“George!” Wilbur yelled. “Wake up! I got a job for you!” No response. Phil came up to the door.

“George!” Phil knocked harder than Wilbur did. Still no response.

“We need to go in.” Wilbur said. He turned the door handle, but it stopped with a sudden halt. “It’s locked.”

“Here, let me try.” Phil stepped in front of the door and took a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, his foot was floating in an open doorway. Phil calmly walked in. Wilbur stood outside in confusion for a moment, but stepped in soon after.

“George!” Wilbur called again. The main area of the house, which was the kitchen and living area, was empty. The only other place in the house was his bedroom. Wilbur slowly opened the door.

George’s bedroom was actually quite nice. A small, quaint room with shelves filled with antiques and found treasures and a bed with a red and white dotted blanket. The blanket was not flat though. There was something under it.

“George!” Wilbur went into the room and came beside the bed. Phil came through the door and watched. “George! How heavy of a sleeper are you, man?” Wilbur stripped the blankets off the bed. It wasn’t George under the sheets. It was a pile of pillows made to look like a human.

Wilbur looked at Phil.

They both knew.

~~~

George’s cloak caught on the barren branches as he ran blindly through the thick forest. He was used to having a trail to guide him, or a map at the very least, but not this time. The place he wanted to go was only marked as no-man's-land on all the maps he’d seen. He was headed in the general direction, but he didn’t have a specific route to follow. So blindly he ran, his cloak being wrecked and snagged by the trees around him.

Unlike the others, George didn’t have a power, or an ability as they called it. He was just a normal guy, and all he wanted was a life of luxury and peace. George always felt he was belittled and not taken seriously enough when living in Wilburs town. He was seen as the weak one. The useless one. The burden that others were forced to carry on their shoulders. So he went to the only other place he knew. To the people Wilbur constantly worried about. Wilbur was going to worry about George now, but not in the way of pity. For the first time in his life, George understood what power felt like.

It didn’t last long.

George stopped in his tracks when he heard a rustle in the bush beside him.

“Hello?” George said, creeping towards the bush. “Who’s there?” An arrow burst through the leaves, stopping only mere inches away from George’s throat. The person holding the bow emerged from the shrubbery, not taking his eyes off George.

“State your business.” The man with the bow said. George was still in shock from the life-or-death situation he found himself in, he was unable to speak. “Now!” He said. “Before I shoot this right into your throat!”

“Ok, ok!” George put his hands up for the man to see. “I’ve come to visit your leader. I have no weapons or ill intentions. I just want to talk.” The man slightly lowered his bow and looked at George’s face more carefully.

“...George?” Unfortunately, George was pretty oblivious most of the time.

“...yes?” He responded. A smile came across the man's face and he dropped his bow to give George a hug.

“George!” The man pulled away. “It’s me! Fundy!”

“Fundy?” George hadn’t seen Fundy since he was a small child. Wilbur would put George in charge of babysitting him when everyone else was busy. But now that he heard the name, George saw it: the fox-obsessed boy that could talk to animals. “Fundy! Oh my god! How are you?”

“Ah, well, surviving like everyone else.” Fundy said, picking up his bow again. “How about you?”

“About the same, I guess.” George said. “But I’m trying to look for a better place where I can live my life.” Fundy became skeptical.

“Did Wilbur send you? Is this some sort of way for him to get information on us?”

“No,” George replied. “Nobody knows I’m here, but nobody would care if I was gone either. That’s why I want to talk to your leader.” Fundy thought about it for a moment.

“You would have to be checked for weapons.” Fundy said.

“That’s fine.”

“You would have to be escorted by as many guards as they see fit.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Fundy walked George through the forest until they got to a town, but it was nothing like Wilbur’s. There were many more buildings, all of them bigger than the ones back home. They were made of concrete bricks instead of sticks and stones. It was better than George could’ve ever imagined.

A resident saw George and Fundy and ran towards them.

“Fundy,” He said. “What’s going on?”

“He’s requested to see the leader.” Fundy gestured to George. “I already checked for weapons.”

“And?”

“None, Technoblade. George said he just wanted to talk with him and nothing more.” Technoblade thought for a moment and then called for some more people. He looked back at George and Fundy.

“You may take… George, you said?” Fundy nodded. “You may take George to see him with two other guards. If anything goes wrong, it’ll go on your record.” Two other men came up beside George while Fundy took the front.

“Yes sir.” Fundy said, leading George to what looked like their version of the Community House.

It was a large building, possibly bigger than all of Wilbur’s buildings combined. It looked old and tested by nature, but it still held strong. Fundy, George, and the two other guards went in.

Large fire-lit torches hung on the walls inside the giant building, and in the center was a table that took up most of the building. Strewn on it were maps, weapons, and small bottles of god-knows-what. George didn’t dare ask what it was.

At the head of this table was the man George was looking for. He stood hunched over a piece of paper on the table with a quill in hand. Even without doing anything, his presence was the scariest thing George had ever witnessed.

“Sir,” Fundy stepped forward. “There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.” The man at the table looked up and straightened to get a better look. Suddenly what looked like a 4 foot tall dwarf was a 6 foot tall warrior. George’s throat tightened.

“Is that so?” With the quill still in his hand, he walked over to George. “What’s your name?”

“G-George.” He stammered out. The man with the quill raised a brow as he stopped in front of George, just inches away from him.

“You’re from the other side of the forest, right?” He stroked the underside of George’s chin with the soft feather which made George instinctively look up at him. “That’s a long way, especially for a one-man army.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t come to fight. I have no weapons, I…” George swallowed as the man leaned in closer. “I’d like to offer my services to you.” George said.

“I want to join you, Dream.”

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