#and no tear scars yet on ranboo

[nothirtysix]

Day 3: Minutes Man

the early day's when you realize you don't have to draw them even more messed up is A Lot

#ranboo fanart #tubbo fanart #cranbootober #dsmp fanart #fundy fanart #my art #do you see #do you see that tubbo's smile doesn't reach his eyes #:> #and no tear scars yet on ranboo #baby boy you have /so much/ crying to do

[lowkeyrobin]

MCYT with an S/O who fosters kittens? :D

OH MY LORD YESYESYESHDNSKDNDN I had sm inspo w this bc I have 5 cats (cats are one of my favorite things ever I swear) and yeah dkkdkd THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST

MCYT ; you foster kittens

includes ; tommyinnit, tubbo, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, foolish gamers, karl jacobs, & slimecicle

warnings ; language, talk of harm towards animals

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

genuinely feels so bad when you have to let the cats go

like he tears up nearly every fucking time

he watches some of these poor cats go from aggressive and distant, barely able to eat because they don't trust you yet, to warm, loving and cuddley little creatures

he literally watches them grow and he gets so emotional cause like why can't you keep all of them???

he'll be off to the side when you're handing them away to a new home wiping his tears

he's more emotional about it than you

he gifts you like new cat food bowls and cat towers and stuff once they get all beaten to a pulp

if you're fostering more than like three at a time, he'll have a gang of them on his lap while he's editing, recording, or lounging around

his hands are always covered in scratches and scars because he'll fuck around and find out even after you warn him about them being feisty at first

"this one got ran over by a car and he's blind now"

"can we keep him?? :("

TUBBO

"Oh fuckin christ- y/n! the children are invading!"

they're always running in and opening the doors with their lil hands when he's streaming LMFAO

he loves that you foster cats, the fact you take time out of your life for these precious little animals that just need a chance at a better life is so heartwarming to him

if he's not streaming or sleeping, he's spending time with those chaotic fuckers

he and freddie make an orange cat that you fostered -who was deaf- become a dj

he didn't know the cat was deaf until you asked what he was doing

"I mean, for a deaf man, he's making some bangers!"

"yeah, this cat knows how to party, y/n, come join us"

he can never be around when the cats have to leave though, he just sits there with a pout because he gets too attached to them

yall got a whole room dedicated to the foster cats, don't worry, they're spoiled as all hell

RANBOO

like tubbo, it warms his heart to see you care so much about the poor babies that just need a little help readjusting and understanding that not all people are bad/you're there to help them

absolutely loves when you bring back like little feisty babies that barely know how to walk but know how to hiss

they can't help but laugh like "awe oh my god, this is so sad but it's so cute"

when I tell you all those cats are so spoiled by them

it's sweet though, he really cares about all the cats you take in too, you honestly foster them together at this point

you guys end up keeping this tuxedo cat with one eye and name it Jellyfish (as per chats vote)

the amount of fanart of you two with jellyfish 💔💔💔 so cute

jellyfish becomes the mom of all the new fosters and looks over them and shit, that way they ease into the new environment a little better

buys all the fosters outfits. there's a barbie sized closet for all the clothes

FREDDIE BADLINU

it's like there's a new cat every week considering he brings back street cats as well LMAO

these mf cats are SO SPOILED but they deserve it

he gets so attached to the disabled ones because he loves having to help them out

he loves teaching them how to eat from his hands too

it's so funny, like they'll nick his fingers and he'll be like "fuck, that tickles, Mr. Peanut!"

gets so emotional when you have to give them to better homes

like hugs and kisses them goodbye 4 times

he genuinely thinks your magic, watches those cats go from shy and trying to stay away from you to like being attached to you by the hip and all wagging their tails

he's constantly running around the house playing with them too

he loves seeing them pop up on 2 legs like meerkats when he's serving them wet food or treats LMAO

NIKI NIHACHU

she couldn't care less that the house is loaded with cat stuff and a whole room is filled with cat towers, shelves and toys for them

loves making new little puzzles/mazes for the cats with the shelves, making a little competition to see who can get to the top fastest

she names the cats because she's gonna get attached either way, but after a while they become more and more silly

like they go from Sebastian and Pixel to Tater Tot and Simon From Alvin And The Chipmunks so quickly

she learns how to make homemade cat treats as well

she also, like ranboo, gets a little barbie closet and fills it with cat outfits

some cats like the outfits and others don't, but the ones who do, good god it's like britney manson on the runway

absolute ws in that house, photoshoots for days

QUACKITY

"AH WHAT THE FUCK? Y/n! come get Jessie and Walter, they've invaded my stream!"

he genuinely names most the foster cats characters from meme shows/movies/memes in general

actually named one Badass Grandmas Meme ; also named another Hurricane Tortilla after that one vine

always taking .5s of the cats once they've accepted that he exists as well

sometimes they hop on his desk and join the stream

"Oh, look! it's Goldfish, she's the newest foster that y/n took in"

constantly taking pictures of you and the fosters throughout the stages of rehabilitation

from hissing and scratching to cuddling on the couch and lazy naps

no cat leaves without a little pair of sunglasses

he's genuinely inspired to make quackity cat merch because most of the fosters you take in LOVE clothes LMAO

FOOLISH GAMERS

literally treats these mfs as babies

you'll walk in and see him holding one of the elderly cats you're rehabiliting from a bad home whom just got rescued and he's holding this poor girl like a literal infant

she loves it though, most the cats do

the fosters love playing with his hair too, and he plays into it, always bends down to their level and wobbles his hair around for them to smack around and try to chew on

he has such a soft spot for them

if you're having one of those rare moments where you might give up on a cat, he's right there to try and help you

flea baths on kittens are always done by him, he feels so bad for each of them, meanwhile you're on cat-drying duty and giving them a lil medication to kill any remaining fleas

he's 50/50 on names at first but gives up with trying to not name them bc he gets attached anyways

"Oh, lookit! this is Evergreen, she's been chilling with us for like, 3 months I think"

he loves when they interrupt his streams bc they're so cute and explorative and curious LMAO

KARL JACOBS

he's always snuggling with them and letting them climb all over him

let's them play with his hair/dangly earrings he's wearing all the time

uses his hoodie strings to play with them too

also teaches them how to eat from his hands

he giggles with a "Oh my God, that tickles!'

he gives them all human names

the litters usually look like Tom, Sally, Joe, Micheal, Cameron, and Mellissa

loves giving them clothes too

genuinely releases a little merch line of cat clothing considering he's got a mini closet full of cat clothes for the fosters, why not share the little cuteness

he's a cat whisperer istg

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

he's the most supportive of you fostering cats like ever

loves fucking around with them and sliding them around on the floor, if there's any long hair cats, he loops very loose bows and clips around their fur and shit

cradles them like babies to sleep

and then slips them into the cat tower or on the couch/bed etc

even covers them with a little blanket

"Oh shit, they've invaded, they're raiding! the axe weilding brothers are here!"

gives them the most dumbass names like Microwave Popcorn and Toaster Strudle

he frames pictures of every cat in the hallway once they leave

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #quackity x reader #badlinu x reader #tubbo x reader #freddie badlinu x reader #foolish gamers x reader #karl jacobs x reader #niki nihachu x reader #charlie slimecicle x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader

[mollish-art]

mmmmm. How about cranboo and Tubbo (if you have any) and then just regular Minecraft/dsmp worldbuilding?

Omg I have so many headcanons for them it's been so long since I've had the excuse to talk about old beeduo on main lmao - they used to mean so much to me! Anywho - let's dive in :)

TW: burn scars, blood, long post, beeduo I guess

I took the popular fanon design of c!Tubbo as a faun/goat hybrid critter and RAN with it. I wanted him to come across with a similar vibe to an LOTR dwarf, if that makes sense: short but strong, capable of great warmth to friends he keeps close and great coldness to the enemies he keeps even closer.

Of course, he has his iconic burn from the firework explosion that marred half of his face, blinding him in one eye and causing him to lose several of his fingers.

He keeps his platonic engagement ring on his horn, both as a decoration, and as a promise to the world that happiness can still be found even in the darkest times.

c!Ranboo keeps his ring on his finger, however.

c!Ranboo's design is probably my most iconic and well-known, by a mile. I originally actually envisioned him to look more like the Cherubs from Homestuck, but as time passed his design changed to be more fae-like, and 'Mooseboo' was born.

When it comes to his general demeanor, c!Ranboo would always hunch himself over and keep his tail close to himself in order to try to appear smaller and less menacing. Despite being incredibly tall and quite physically powerful, he mastered the art of looking like a lost puppy.

The gold and gems from his MC skin's crown I incorporated into the 'Mooseboo' design via his antlers, which are gilded and decorated with gems and Ender eye stones. Some more headcanons I have about the antlers: during Christmas time, Michael would climb up onto Ranboo's shoulders and decorate his antlers with lights and tinsel! Just like a regular moose, he does shed his antlers annually. He would normally choose just dispose of them, but Tubbo likes to keep them on display in the mansion (they are covered in gold, after all!).

I further deviated from his canon design by giving him teal blood (as that's what color Ender eyes are) as opposed to red and green.

Another design difference is his facial markings. Instead of interpreting the grey spots on his MC skin as tear scars, I interpreted them as his own natural facial markings!

One other random headcanon I have is that while c!Ranboo is a capable warrior, he does not like to kill if he doesn't have to. As such, I always loved the idea of him using a bo staff to incapacitate or knock out enemies, rather than a sword or axe to fatally stab/cut them.

As for Ghostboo, I really leaned into the idea that the character really was just c!Ranboo's walking corpse, so I designed him to look emaciated and zombie-like (at this point I had started to draw c!Ranboo with his di-colored blood as opposed to my classic teal).

When going into the Enderwalk mode, Ranboo would take on a more menacing appearance. His antlers and limbs would seem to grow, his complexion would darken, and his eyes and mouth would glow purple.

If you haven't seen them yet, I'd recommend checking out my two beeduo-centric animatics, both exploring some plot-variant ideas!

But yeah! That's a bunch of stuff that just came to mind. If you have any further questions about my designs (either for these two characters or any others), just ask!

#dsmp #myart #old beeduo jumpscare

[canonically-a-genloser]

so i was asked to describe the little Fucked Up Blorbo that i have made out of post escape rainbo. i spin he in my brain Constantly so here's some thoughts. some of them are older things but i'll try to add new stuff too :D

to me they trust charlie and sneeg with their life. and any semblance of normal they had before showfall is eventually Gone because they somewhat balance out the codependency charlie and sneeg have but the way the other two functioned before ranboo came along also becomes a part of them too because sneeg and charlie don't know any different. and after showfall they're all fucked up in so many different ways that some days all they can do is hold onto each other. because even if they hate each other they don't have anything else to fall back on.

and in my head i have a specific look. they have prosthetic eyes and hearing aids and the whole thing from the box. i am wanting to draw it very badly but it's been difficult because i don't know how bad the scars are gonna be around the eyes yet. not to mention the other scars but YUH

(there's gonna be more silly thoughts in parentheses btw because i am Silly with a bit of Whimsy but. post escape ran especially with the aforementioned design. he give such cozy vibes to me. like. sweaters and hot chocolate and woods. don't mind me it's the delulu cabin au using me as its puppet speaking its words)

but back to Angst. i probably said this before in another post but. when sneeg and charlie have days where they fucking hate ranboo he will literally curl up in a corner if that's what it takes to get himself out of their sight. and whether or not charlie gives a halfhearted attempt to defend them when sneeg yells at them it still sticks in their brain and they end up believing him if they didn't already.

and when sneeg and charlie fight they stop it as well as they can. they know they can still try to keep the two from clawing at each other and they do even if they get hurt in the process. they try to comfort the two when it's over. and sometimes when they try to stop the two from fighting it makes them spiral because deep down they don't know what to do or how to help or if they're making a difference in the end. and sometimes they get overstimulated during it and it takes one of the other two leading them outside and reminding them none of them are fighting for their lives and that charlie and sneeg do care about each other even when they act like they're on the verge of tearing each other apart to make him calm down.

they hate wearing masks but they still do when they can tolerate it because they know there's literal holes in their face. and even though they can't see it they hate that charlie and sneeg do. (i also have my insane au where niki tells them they look pretty and they just straight up cry. i might talk about that one later because it's part of my delulu cabin au and i love that one with my whole heart)

and to me they cannot stand anything to do with spaghetti-like noodles because it reminds them of the filter showfall put over them literally digging through charlie's organs. and it's bad. like full on breakdown bad. and charlie doesn't remember it happening so neither him or sneeg know what's going on.

in my head all three of them are so so so emotionally unstable but ranboo is in the quietest way out of the three. they aren't the type to break into fights or yell or ignore the other two the way sneeg and charlie would in their respective ways. with ranboo every time charlie sits them down to genuinely ask how they're doing they cry. when sneeg stops one day to apologize for saying they deserved the box they tell him not to be sorry for telling the truth. they hate showfall with their entire being because charlie and sneeg didn't get to see the sun for their entire lives and they don't realize that anger is there until they're up at three in the morning sobbing because they thought about it a little too hard. to me they could spend a whole day spiraling and sneeg and charlie wouldn't find out.

(side note another au i think about is one where randy eventually escapes and finds rgb trio. i love this one again because both the randy and ranboo interactions but also i enjoy the guitar headcanons implementation. the one where randy eventually gets a house and the kids are there with him. they find a guitar and randy tunes it for ranboo so they can play it, yada yada. continuing on that however in this au to ME ranboo keeps on picking away at it and eventually gets really good. and ough. i love this one so bad)

ough anyways i'm just really insane about them. i might reblog with more because sadly i have said a lot of this before. i will be probably more insane later when i have more time LMAO

#i've been typing for like an hour #can yall tell im insane

[brick-a-doodle-do]

impulsively wrote this while listening to car's outside (james arthur)

beeduo /r btw. characters and NOT the real people ofcc !!!

close the windows, lock the doors, don't want to leave you anymore.

wc: 544

cw: angsty.

—–—

Tubbo lowered his head down onto the table where Ranboo stood, their ghastly state contrastingly flowing with the dry air. The ghost placed a faded, gray hand to the scarred skin of the giant and pressed their head into the bridge of his nose. 

The world was so silent, Ranboo couldn’t disturb it. The only thing that did, though, was the sniffle of the poignant, widowed husband that belonged to him. A shriveled vwoop! echoed from his throat.

“It’s quiet, is it that quiet where you are?” Tubbo asks. Ranboo can feel under his fingertips and against his forehead how Tubbo’s skin wrinkles slightly as he talks. 

“I’m right here, Tubbo. And yes, it is quiet,” he replies softly.

It goes quiet again, and Ranboo adjusts their hand on Tubbo’s skin, digging his fingers in softly, but in a way that reassures him that he won’t be smoking away, because he’s done that before.

“I barely believe you’re here. You sure you’re not a hallucination?” 

“Pretty sure.” A gentle touch straightens out his back and he stands taller as Tubbo’s finger runs up and down their spine. “I think I’d be okay with being one, though, doesn’t that mean you’re not forgetting me?”

Tubbo laughs, it sounds wet, like he’s crying. Ranboo furrows his brows, frowning in sympathy. Tubbo shouldn’t be crying, although it’s not like he had expectations of anything different. Tubbo is grieving.

“I guess you’re right,” Tubbo admits. His skin goes up and down as he nods, and Ranboo finally pulls away from the contact. Cold air floods where the warmth once was, feeling like the rest of his glassy and fragile spirit. Tubbo looks up, just slightly, so Ranboo can look at him. His eyes are glossy, stray tears rolling through the uneven, almost alienated patterin on his face. One of his eyes is unnatural, yet it still cries for him. 

Ranboo sighs, but Ranboo is dead. The air doesn’t fill their lungs like it should; it’s just a noise.

Tubbo noticed, if the pace of his tears said anything. “I know I’m going to lose you, so when will that be? Tell me, please.”

“I wish I could. I really wish I could, Tubbo. I can’t remember.”

“You never can remember,” Tubbo says, anger inflicted just slightly in his words. He looks upset, and so sad. Ranboo steps just a moment closer, and puts a hand to the crevice of his eye, his skin sizzling slightly in the tear that falls and scales his arm. It always did sting.

“Your tears hurt me, so, stop crying,” they demand. But, not because it’s annoying. Just because Ranboo will cry too. 

Tubbo fights a smile down, shaking his head. “I deserve to cry, boss man. My husband is dead,” he retorts. Tubbo wraps his fingers around the ghost and pulls him into two cupped palms, dragging him close to his face. Immediately, Tubbo plants a kiss on Ranboo’s body, pecking him gently so he doesn’t break the surface of the spirit. Ranboo places a hand on the lips and smiles, pinpricks of tears sizzling on their face. Tubbo pulls back at the noise.

“Oh, there you go, you didn’t stop crying and made me cry,” Ranboo says, laughing. His voice echoes.

—–—

hah this is what happens when i write past 2 am dskdsv

#mw #brick drabbles #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #dream smp g/t #dream smp gt #t!ranboo #t!ghostboo #g!tubbo #angst angst angst angst for the angst god :D

[mildlylesbian]

MCYTblr Sexyman Bracket Round 3 Predictions

There has been a lot of debate for who deserves to win these polls. Many say the people like Scar and Cleo are not sexymen, for they are far too traditionally sexy. Do I agree with them? Absolutely. However they do not consider the fact that Scar is a wet cat, and I like Cleo. JoeHills may deserve to win, but they deserve to come second.

Anyway, I'll give brief reasons for why I think the person will win their matchup. Feel free to fight me in the tags, or you can personally come to my home and beat me up. Let me know what works best for you!

Scar VS JSchlatt

This one needs no explanation. Everyone and their cat is going to vote for Scar, the fanartists simply draw him too sexy. He also has the personality of a tumblr sexyman, for he is incompitant yet charming and has people that will cheer for him while he commits crimes against the universe.

Techno VS CaptainSparklez

I don't have strong feelings about either of these people, but based off round 2 they'll probably be pretty close in scores. I do think Techno will win by a small margine, simply because a lot of people enjoy him. Regardless of who wins they will be crushed by Scar in round 4, so rip to them both.

Doc VS False

This is such a good match up imo, and the fact I will be made to choose hurts me on a personal level. Overall Doc gives me more tumblr sexyman vibes than False, as he is insane and i mean that as a compliment. So, Doc will win but False will fight him like hell.

Ren VS Oli

Another great match-up. This one will probably be too close to call until the very end since they both have great sexyman vibes, and as much as I adore ren I do believe Oli will/should win. Do I watch him? No. However he seems weird, and that is the key to be a sexyman.

Cleo VS Eret

Cleo is hot, she should win. Thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

On a more serious note, I do think this race will be close. I do not know who Eret is, but based off of posts I've seen they do appear to have sexyman vibes. unfortunately Cleo is hot and we are all simps, so he will lose.

Pearl VS Philza

I see the appeal of Philza, I see why he could win, HOWEVER DL Pearl is a wet cat who tries to act tough but just breaks down into tears every other minute. She is pathetic and must win.

Bdubs VS LDShadowLady

They're both weird af, I don't know what to tell you. the race will probably be close, but Bdubs will pull ahead solely because he has been babygirl-ified to the moon and back. Also, I'd like to talk to whoever made the short kings fight.

Joel VS Ranboo

I know nothing about Ranboo, but I know people like him and he's probably weird. Because of this he'll pull ahead, however Joel will put up a great fight for he is pathetic. truly a showdown for the ages.

Etho VS Aimsey

I know nothing about Aimsey and I feel sorry for her, because Etho may be small in size but he is a legend and will probably win solely based on that fact. Will it be a slaughter? No. But it will still be heartbreaking.

Scott VS Jimmy

I'd like to file a formal complient to everyone who had a hand in making this matchup possible. Regardless of the winner we all lose, so what's the point?

The point is to tell you Jimmy is far more pathetic than 99% of the people in this bracket, and especially more pathetic than Scott, and based off of this alone he should win. However, if he ends up losing that will also be funny.

Mumbo VS Impulse

A good match, and not a soulcrushing one like the last one. Honestly, Mumbo is a pathetic wet cat while Impulse is the squishest person to ever grave our screens. Because of this the race will be close, however mumbo will probably win because we all miss him and think he deserves it.

Pixs VS Charlie

No idea who Charlie is, however his skin seems to appeal to people and he looks like a wet cat. I also know next to nothing about Pix, but he seems far to compitent to be a sexyman. Therefore, Charlie wins.

Joe VS Xisuma

I AM NOT IMMUNED TO JOE HILLS PROPAGANDA. Xisuma is fundimentally not a tumblr sexyman, meanwhile he is put up against the weirdest, most inconsistant, and confusing man to ever exist. Joe will sweep, you will vote joe, we will make this happen.

Wilbur VS Tango

based off pure vibes, Wilbur will probably win. Tango will put up a great fight, and might keep it neck in neck for a while, however Wilbut seems far to cryptid to lose.

Grian VS Keralis

Two people commonly portrayed by the fandom as cosmic horrors. In my opinion, Grian will win because his sad boi (tm) traumatic backstory is more fleshed out and his cosmic horror design lends for more interesting art, plus his channel size is sure to boost his votes. Overall, Keralis is very cool but he stood no chance.

Sausage VS Quackity

I know nothing about these men, but based off vibes alone I feel like it will be a close fight. Quackity will probably pull ahead in the last few hours, but I can see it going either way. They both seem very weird.

#mcytblr sexyman bracket #mcytblr sexyman bracket round 3 #I am not tagging all these content creators #joe hills sweep #long post

[bee-dot-exe]

Hello hello hello! I'm so sorry I've kinda been sometimes neglecting writing this month. It's been absolutely insane like mentally and I haven't had the motivation for anything.

But I'm here now, and here's what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna do a multi prompt fic that includes some of prison, death, Ghostboo, and limbo all in this one. Then I don't know how exactly I'll write for revival seeing as it hasn't happened and I don't wanna make assumptions I guess, but I might post a little something on Halloween.

Thank you so much for reading anything I've done, for understanding why there are gaps and coming back anyway, and for making this list and letting me be part of it, this is absolutely not the last thing I'll write and I'd love for anyone to send requests or make comments, because I really do love doing this. @especdreamy

Ranboo Catch Up

743 words

Mentions of panic, mentions of death/description of dying, hinted at mentions of auditory hallucinations

I'm okay.

Everything's okay.

I'm not there.

The blocks are the same but the room is different.

I can't hear him.

I can't hear anything.

I'm trapped. I'm trapped. I'm trapped.

The wall broke. There was a flash of a pickaxe. It's owner was in front of my vision if only for a moment. I had too many questions but I didn't know if I wanted an answer to any of them. So I just followed like a sheep.

And then we were swimming in a sea of orange and yellow. I could hear the alarm slowly fade. And I could hear him. But it wasn't in my head. Nothing was.

Too many people. Too many voices. Too many weapons.

"Come here, Ranboo, come look at this before you go."

Sam.

Michael.

"Why do you have this?"

"Why do you think I have it? Come and stand on stage, Ranboo, come over here. Why don't you give me your armor?"

This isn't real. It can't be. It shouldn't be.

And yet.

The protective layers of purple came off bit by bit.

"What are you doing? Keep that on! Why are you doing this?"

"He has Michael."

"Dream, come back here, come back or he dies."

"I don't care if he dies!"

"Sam, you have the wrong hostage, no!"

There was a face with black eyes surrounded by green and gold, a moment of pain under my eyes from tears adding to the collection of scars, a moment of pain in my chest, a moment of blood rushing through my ears, then nothing.

After regaining all my senses and control of my body, I found myself surrounded by a sea of grey and blue, seemingly endless.

Above me was a similarly colored sky, an array of bright freckles painting its dull canvas.

There was something under my feet, something solid, a block of dirt and grass, only enough room to stand in place on.

There was no use in asking questions. No use in looking for answers. No use is yelling for help.

But there was an unfamiliar weight in my pocket. A book and quill. Maybe there was a use.

Nothing was different. Not really. Maybe my skin looked a little different. Maybe there was a duel colored gash taking space of about half my chest. Maybe everything felt almost lighter. But nothing was different. Not really.

Except maybe this. A journal. "Do Not Read."

I opened the first page, something was calling me, a sort of connection drawing me to write.

"Hello."

"Hello? Who are you?"

"The part of you that's missing."

"Where am I? Where is everyone?"

"You are dead."

"Oh... who are you?"

"Like I said, the part of you that's missing, that's currently experiencing everything afterwords."

"Where am I?"

"You are where your soul was before and where it will be for the foreseeable future. I wouldn't worry however, as I know that people here get revived easily. However, you will feel the emotional pain of every experience that I have."

Tubbo.

Tommy.

Michael.

"Is that what those words are?Everything people are saying?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Are they okay?"

Aimee.

Techno.

Eret.

"Yes. They're safe. In their own ways."

"Good. So I shouldn't be here for long?"

"Everyone cares about you. So you won't be. I'll try to numb the pain as much as I can."

"Thank you."

Wilbur.

Niki.

Fundy.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"It hurts."

"I know. I'm sorry for how I acted in the beginning. I wasn't aware how much it affected you."

"What exactly are you?"

"I'm you. Just. Without a heart metaphorically speaking. However, I/you have such a moral based mindset that I'm still trying to understand right and wrong. In a sense, I'm still you, you're still me, we're still each other."

"This is confusing."

"I know. Don't worry. It won't be for much longer."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Jack.

Sam.

Sapnap.

"Hello?"

"Hello. I'm not sure what's happening. I thought that we would've been back by now."

"Is he trying?"

"No. I haven't heard from him in weeks. I'm in the mansion now. I only really leave to look after Michael. I'm sorry. I know this must be painful."

"It is."

"I'll find something that can help you soon. I'm trying."

Karl.

Connor.

Dream.

"Why did you lie?"

"I didn't want to. I thought it would protect you."

I look pale. I look sick. I look like I died.

But I'm okay.

Everything's okay.

#mcyt #dsmp #ranboo #creative writing #cranbootober

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

You're Standing Where The Sun Would Lie

by alastair_has_stairs

Tommy stands a ways away from his still fangirling friends, looking at his phone to double check when their bus should be arriving. He can faintly hear chatter from the fans who aren't leaving yet from behind the wall he's leaning on.

Footsteps approach, making him look up.

"I knew it." Wilbur whispers, expression haunted and grim, eyes brimming with tears. "I knew- I knew I saw you in the crowd." Tommy gives him a sheepish smile. Wilbur inhales shakily, giving him a tiny, wobbly grin in return. It falls a moment later, and the man sniffles, swiping under his nose. Tommy has to hold back from throwing himself forward and crashing into Wilbur's arms.

Wilbur's expression flashes to something angry for a moment, then it just becomes somehow even sadder. He takes a step forward, reaching out and cupping Tommy's face in his oddly cold hands. His hands have always been cold.

"I thought you were dead." Wilbur sobs, voice just barely above a whisper, straining and cracking. Tommy winces.

Or; Wilbur used to be Tommy's tutor, he sees the man again years later by accident.

Title from Scars of a Lighthouse by Ashbury Heights.

Words: 3665, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 10 of Dadbur brainrot, Part 1 of Music is it's own connection

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), Dream SMP, Video Blogging RPF

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Ash Kabosu (Lovejoy), Joe Goldsmith (Lovejoy), Mark Boardman (Lovejoy)

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Mark Boardman & Joe Goldsmith & Ash Kabosu (Lovejoy) & Wilbur Soot

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, in the past, Everyone else are really just background characters, but they're here, Lovejoy - Freeform, Protective Wilbur Soot, Possessive Wilbur Soot, Crying, Concerts, Reunions, Crimeboys - Freeform, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Gets a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Loves TommyInnit, TommyInnit Loves Wilbur Soot, Sad Wilbur Soot, But Not For Long!, Pet Names, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, It's all platonic!!, TommyInnit Misses Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Misses TommyInnit, Assumed dead Tommyinnit, Musician Wilbur Soot, Wilbur thinks he's dead for a hot second (four years) but it's fine, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, A good few of 'em, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot Gets a Hug, Clingy Wilbur Soot, Like half of my tags got reordered, i don't understand

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello! I'm in love with the way you write c! Ranboo like hsgsj- amazing! So I would like a request Yandare c! Ranboo and tubbo with a soft reader that is oblivious on how they act twords them but loves them unconditionaly (just fluff please maybe maybe put a Micheal seen in there as well because Micheal is the best character 😌)

I think this is the best compliment I have ever received... Thank you so much🤍🖤

I didn't know whether or not to do headcanons or a full-length fic, so I went with a shorter story if that's alright. ^^ if it's not feel free to send another request!

FYI THIS CAN BE SEEN AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo

It was very common for you to see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked, you only saw a bunch of purple particles drifting slowly towards the earth due to gravity. You just assumed there were quite a few endermen still hanging around Snowchester, or some of the goats had come down from the mountains when you saw small little horns peeking out from behind bushes.

There were a couple times a day where you accidentally and very conveniently bumped into Ranboo out in the crater of L'Manberg or Tubbo when walking around Snowchester. It honestly was funny to you that you always seemed to bump into them when you were feeling sad or lonely. Plus, after talking to them and spending time with them, your problems almost magically seemed to disappear!

Such as, there was one time when you were helping clean up the red vines around buildings and Fundy was nagging at you for being so slow or bad at doing everything. After storming away and ranting to Ranboo about it on the verge of tears, Fundy practically scrambled up to you the next day shaking and almost crying, apologizing for every single thing he's ever said or done.

Huh... Maybe he felt that bad about it to the point where he was crying?

Although Fundy never said anything mean to you again, he also stopped hanging around you completely.

When you mentioned this to Tubbo, he explained that Fundy must not have been a real friend and that he and Ranboo would always be there for you before anyone else.

Once the mansion was built, the two platonic husbands eagerly invited you to stay with them, even saying they had Foolish make a room specifically for you! At first, you quite enjoyed your home around L'manberg, but then one day you returned home to a wall of your home completely destroyed by vines, deeming it unlivable. Although a tad convenient..

Tubbo and Ranboo had heard about it through your sobs when you called them, saying you had no clue what to do anymore. They had arrived at your side in almost minutes and quickly helped you pack and move everything to the mansion.

"I thought Snowchester was like... Half a day's walk away from here..." You sniffed, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. The two men of greatly varying heights tensed up momentarily.

"We were in the area." They both blurted out at the same time before glancing at each other.

Tubbo cleared his throat first, "I was in the nether, but luckily for you, I was close to the old L'manberg portal!" He smiled softly at you as you three walked away from your old home.

"M-Me too!" Ranboo coughed awkwardly, causing Tubbo to shoot him an odd look that you decided to brush off, "Now, uh, come on! Michael needs to meet his new mother!"

You blinked in surprise at the new title but didn't question it much, assuming it was simply just a title. Unbeknownst to you, your two best friends already thought you were part of their platonic relationship, despite you never agreeing nor denying, or them even asking.

It took a few days, but the zombie piglin warmed up to you and practically saw you as another one of his parents, which made Ranboo and Tubbo extremely happy. Instead of placing you into one of the regular rooms, they had Foolish turn the basement into two heavily secured rooms a few days before your house had been destroyed, strangely enough, and even designed one perfectly to your liking!

After washing the fruits you had, you walked towards the bookshelf and pulled on the fake book that caused the shelf to swing open. You walked down the quartz stairs after shutting the hidden door, then made your way up to one of the two doors with a pink sign with 'Michael' written in yellow cursive paint. Punching in the code, the iron door slid open and you stepped in before closing it behind you.

A loud cooing grunt was heard and the sound of quiet tapping echoed through the room before a pair of arms wrapped around your leg. "Hello, Michael." You giggled softly as Michael made grabbing hands up towards the bowl of fruit. Placing it down on the table, the child eagerly ran over and began munching on the food as you brushed over the books on the shelves to find one you haven't read to Michael before. "What about... The story of Persephone?"

A disappointed grunt was your only response.

"Guess I did read that one... Hm... Oh! What about the story of Icarus?" This time his response was a happy squeak and tippy taps of his hooves against the warm quartz floors. You sat down in the rocking chair and waited until the child scrambled over and jumped into your lap.

You opened the book and began reading to him for an hour until your eyes slowly slid shut to the quiet snores of the child of your two best friends, who at this point was beginning to see you as a mother.

Quiet 'meh' sounds and 'vrrr'ing noises and a dim flash woke you up from your spot in the rocking chair. Cracking open your eyes, your arms shifted around the nether hybrid as you saw Tubbo holding a camera making happy bleating noises, while Ranboo, who was the source of the buzzing noises, took the book you had been reading from your limp hand to put it back on the shelf.

"What time is it?" You murmured softly to keep the child asleep as you rubbed the back of your stiff and sore neck.

"It's about 5:30pm. Still rather early. Tubbo walked over and gave you a gentle yet affectionate headbutt while he scooped Michael up from your lap to bring him to bed. This caused an odd whining noise to come from the enderman hybrid before he quickly walked over and rested his forehead against yours, resting it there for a few moments before pulling back, his cheeks flushed the same colours as his eyes.

You giggled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head as he helped you up. He held onto one of your hands as Tubbo eagerly went for the other, jokingly sticking his tongue out at Ranboo who gave a noise of mock offense, causing you three to giggle softly as you left Michael's room and went upstairs.

Tubbo and Ranboo weren't big fans of you leaving the basement on your own, and you were rarely allowed to leave the mansion even with the two boys at your sides. The former president told you it was because he heard rumours of Technoblade searching around for all the members of his cabinet back when he was in charge of L'Manberg, and he just wanted to protect you.

You saw no problems with his story as it was extremely believable. Your history with Technoblade hadn't been the cleanest and he would've definitely taken one of your canon lives back during the attack on L'Manberg, had a stray black and white firework not saved you that day. It had fired off and must've swerved a way that wasn't predicted, because it hit Technoblade hard enough in the chest to knock him away from you.

You don't remember much of that day, except for Ranboo immediately running over to you and dragging you away from the destruction and chaos. Thanks to him, you were almost completely scar free and standing proudly at three canons lives.

A gentle hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you saw two sets of eyes staring at you with concern. "Hey... Are you feeling okay?" Ranboo asked softly, tilting your head up to place his free hand against your forehead, "See. I told you she should be getting more sunlight, Tubbo!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" You laughed softly at their worry, rubbing your thumbs along the back of their hands, "Just... Remembering the war with Dream and Techno..."

"What about it?" Tubbo asked, bringing you into the living room to sit down with your friends on either side of you.

You pursed your lips together for a moment as you looked at the ground, "Just how... Scary Techno is. And how he was about to kill me without a care about who or what I was."

Angered growling and seething noises came from Ranboo and Tubbo as you felt their grasps tighten around your hands, almost to a painful degree. You looked up and saw their expressions stone-cold and steely although vastly different from each other.

Ranboo's green eye was purple, and the black tone of his skin was beginning to seep into the side with the lack of colour. The corners of his mouth were slowly splitting open wider and wider as his lips parted, allowing you to see the glowing purple colour inside his mouth.

Tubbo's was less obvious. His eyes were blank but also had a bright fire, one burning for revenge, reflected in them. His ears weren't flicking and neither was his tail, his entire body stiff except for a faint sound giving away the fact that his teeth were grinding together.

As much as you tried to endure it, the grip became too harsh and you couldn't help but give a small pained gasp. This caused all physical contact with you to suddenly vanish as the two boys immediately flung themselves away from you, horror and fear in their eyes.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you okay?! Do you need an ice pack?!"

"Or a bandage from my claws?!"

They were both kneeling on the ground in front of you with both of your hands in their grasps again. They repeatedly turned your hands in their own, testing the joints and checking for marks or bruising. "Boys, boys!" You laughed softly, placing your hands on their heads to ruffle their hair gently. You pulled your left hand adorned with two beautiful rings and held it up for them to see, flexing it and moving it around, "See? Perfectly fine. No pain whatsoever!"

While they seemed to have calmed down a lot, they still seemed to be extremely upset and guilty. "I'm still going to get an ice pack... We don't want our wife to be injured..." Tubbo murmured as he quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"I will get started on dinner. And as an apology, I'm making your favourite. (F/f)." Ranboo tried to be a little more upbeat than Tubbo, but you could still see the small amounts of guilt as he turned and followed after the goat hybrid.

Sighing softly at their overreactions, you leaned back against the couch...

Before doing a double-take.

Adorned with rings?!

You quickly flung yourself forward again and looked at your left hand. On your ring finger were two diamond rings, one gold with a green gemstone, and the other silver with a black gemstone, both glistening a faint purple from enchantments...

...

When did these get put on you- wait... Did Tubbo say... wife?

#tubbo x reader #yandere tubbo x reader #ranboo x reader #yandere ranboo x reader #mcyt x reader #yandere mcyt x reader #mcyt #ranboolive #ranboo #tubbo #dream smp #dsmp #ranboo dsmp #ranboo dreamsmp #tubbo dsmp #tubbo dreamsmp #tubbo mcyt #ranboo mcyt

[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

[saturnsstufff]

Technoblade- Voices

Warnings: Blood, violence, swearing, hinting to Sexual themes

This takes place before Dream and Techno's team up. Also this is the draft of the ask that requested techno voices agnst, I wasnt sure if this was agnsty, so i figured id post this and attend to some actual agnst.

Living with techno was always interesting.

The two of you had lived in the Tundra for a while now, you used to reside in L'amanburg. However, that was blown up after Techno's Wither episode. Were you mad? Eh? Maybe? But also not really.

Your relationship isn't complicated, but it also wasn't simple. Besides Phil, you were the closest thing Techno held dearest. He was almost your Ares to lady Aphrodite- but you mutually agreed that that nickname spelled out your death, so you both would just quietly sweep that name under the rug.

However, If you requested it of him, he would have destroyed the whole world. He would have let it burn at your feet, just to see your eyes aglow with happiness and love for him. He was utterly smitten with you. Phil was also aware of this, he knew his dearest friend would put anything on the line for you. Phil sometimes would even question if Techno would have killed him if you asked. Regardless, everyone on the server knew to never harm, nor piss you off. For fear if they did, you would have just said the word, and suddenly, that person would cease to exist.

Well, almost everyone knew not to.

Quackity had a hunger to destroy your lover, and he would make sure he would succeed in his ideals. This is where the Butcher Army was founded. It was a closed group that hadn't hit the surface of L'amanburg yet. Quackity did this because knew there were two traitors among L'amanburg. Philza, and (Y/n). Now Quackity wasn't stupid. If he wanted to execute Techno he had to play Chess, and keep Techno playing Checkers. If he made one wrong step the whole plan would be blown, and Techno would be on him like a wild animal ready to tear him to shreds.

First he had to get Phil out of the picture. That was the easy part in this whole game of Chess, well, so he thought. Putting Phil under house arrest was a little struggle, and by little, you mean a big struggle. Well you lived in L'amanburg Techno had asked that you live with Phil so you would be protected. You weren't a fighter, but you also were not a pacifist, therefore you just needed someone to back you up.

With that said, as you can imagine, when Quackity and Fundy marched in the house. blades drawn, demanding that you go with them, only to manhandle you into the arms of Fundy. The blade to your neck. It didn't go over so well with Phil.

Phil was rightfully pissed.

Without hesitation Phil fought with tooth and nail to pry you from Fundy's arms. Feathers flying, snarls, the violent clink of the swords, all of it only added to the chaotic situation. You couldn't help the tears that spilled from your eyes. Only minutes ago you were packing your things with Phil to leave to see your Beloved, and now here you are. Struggling to try and drop out of Fundy's arm. The blade to your neck cutting against your gentle skin. You looked up at Fundy, his eyes went saddened when he faced you. Your tear stained face distorted in panic, and fear. His ears laid back in shame. Yet all he would whimper out was 'I'm so sorry'

By the time they got you out of the house, Phil was locked inside yelling strings of curses and death threats. Quackity looked quite roughed up. He now had a scar over his nose and cheek. A reminder that Phil's nails had edged into him during the struggle. You didn't look like a spring chicken either though. You were bleeding from the neck- nothing that would kill you of course. But simply cuts that had your blood dripping down onto your collar bone.

Quackity didn't care, he had to do this. He didn't hesitate to grab you by the hair and make you kneel in front of him. Forcing you to look at him. Ranboo voiced some oppositions of Quakitys actions, even Tubbo looked hesitant. "M-maybe we should take care of her before-" Quackity cut Ranboo's words off quickly.

"I don't give a damn about her. We're going to drag her to Techno, and force him to come with us. Isn't that right sweets..." His tone was nothing short of malicious. His eyed dancing with the power he held. He smirked, dangling a compass in front of you. "You know what this is, use it. Your going to take us to Techno, and make him come with us." He moved the blade against your neck. Pressing down as you whimpered at the harsh sting, tightly closing your eyes to avoid looking at him and the blade. "Open your fucking eyes." He commanded. Yanking your hair harder. Forcing more tears to spill from your eyes. When you did, he only watched you. "If you don't do as I say, my blade might just slip, down your neck." His eyes were narrowed. Daring you to challenge his authority.

The walk was painful for you. You were leading monsters in human forms to the one person who would never hurt you. You prayed he would understand. Even if you were saddened and hesitant to show them Techno, you also wanted to see him. You wanted him to take you in his arms, whisper into your ear about how much he loved you, how much you meant to him. You longed to feel how his gentle hand would cup your cheek, before it danced down and pulled you closer by the small of your back. You just wanted to lay into his chest. Listen to his heart beat, feel the warmth that radiated his chest. You wanted his comfort.

When the house came into view you knew it would only take time before techno would notice your presence. Quackity had you walk out from the tree line, and as soon as he deemed close enough he forced you back to kneeling. His sword drawn next to your head, as his hand held firm on the handle. You were the bait. "Technoblade I think I have something of yours!" Quackity yelled with a sneer.

As if on cue Techno had opened the door to his house. His eyes quickly found yours and only if in that moment you could have told Quackity of his grave mistake. Techno's stepped forward to the railing. His eyes swirling with utter rage. That rage could only double when his his eyes flickered over the blood that had dried on your neck. Under his hand the wood was crushed, splintering out.

He was ready to kill.

"What are you doing with her'' Was all techo had said. Your eyes were pleading with him. Begging in silence to save you. His tone was harsh and calculated. You could only imagine what the voices were saying to him.

The voices... when you had first gotten with Techno he was always hesitant to tell you of his voices. Fearing you would see him differently. But he was so thankful because you didn't. You saw him as your lover no matter what ran through his head, and the voices loved you for this. No matter what situation you and techno were in the voices lingered. When he would be kissing prayers into the skin of your neck, they would chant of your beauty. If he was on top of you, pleasuring you to the ends of the earth, the voices would still nag to hear your cries. Even when laying in bed, cuddled into his side they would roll within his head whispering of how peaceful you were.

But when he was angry... His anger is when the voices would scream. They would often claw at his head wanting to be heard. Chanting the same thing over, and over, almost as if on a broken record.

'Blood', 'Give us blood', 'Kill them.' 'Blood for the Blood God.' 'Skulls for the skull throne.'

This situation was no different. When he saw you, when the voices saw you, they went into a rampage. The clawing, the nagging, the screaming was full force in his head. Causing his ears to ring.

He would kill them all.

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #techno x reader

[onecanonlife]

Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

--------------------

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #crimebois #/rp #dsmp fic #cat writes fic #long post #sometimes you just. you just gotta write some c!crimebois y'know?

[piningpebbles]

similarities in differences (dream smp)

a list of similar topics/tropes that multiple dsmp characters follow because i love how different yet similar they all are from each other!! :]

memory loss/amnesia (5 characters):

through circumstance: ghostbur (death), karl (time travel)

natural/born with it: ranboo (bad memory, dissasociation)

unknown reasons: eret, puffy

sleeping for long periods of time (3 characters):

natural reasons: technoblade (hibernation, fatigue) 

supernatural reasons: george (cursed by a god)

both: jack (undead, poor mental health) 

coming back from the dead/brushes with death (4 characters):

in-world mechanics: technoblade (totem)

supernatural mechanics: tommy, wilbur (revival book) 

mental strain: jack (clawed out of hell with spite)

religion (nearly every character): 

casual: church prime, membership bell, prime path, prime log

religious undertones: the egg 

gods: dream xd, drista, foolish, kristen

immortals: eret, philza

physical trauma scars (5 characters):

caused by others: tubbo (technoblade, firework), ponk (sam, amputation), quackity (technoblade, pickaxe)

caused by self: sam (autocannibalism), ranboo (natural, toxic tears)

#dream smp #mcyt #wilbur soot #technoblade #jack manifold #dream smp meta #rambling rocks #pebble post

[brick-a-doodle-do]

#2 for notes & #62 for docs. :)

#2 for docs is LONG......so i'm making this a lil' fic :DD

(edit) okay i just read this and genuinely it's a pretty okay oneshot?? wtf??? here you go!! that moment where you read super old writing and realize it's pretty much completely similar to your writing now </3

(also scroll down for #62, it’s there i promise)

meeting boo

wc: 1889

tw: injury (non-fatal), swearing, mention of fatal vore (doesn't happen), aaand i think that's it

────────────────────────────────────────────

Tubbo yelped, narrowly missing the edge of the cabinet and falling, his arms instinctively moving to grab something, but they never did. The rope his leg was secured to went taut with a harsh snap, a spasm of pain shooting through his leg while he hung there, his cloak beginning to block his sight. The lightheadedness of being upside down kick in, along with the half-lidded eyes and numbness of his leg. He could feel conscious slipping from him inch by inch, and before he knew it he was just a beat away from passing out.

Until he wasn't.

He hadn’t properly registered what was happening, except for when something warm enveloping him from under. Shit. Tubbo tried to scramble back, only to be stopped by the rope. “Stop, stop, stop!” Tubbo yelped, pushing the fingers away from him. “I’m not going to hurt you, just stay still,” Ranboo instructed, his words soft. “Ranboo, please, stop,” Tears pricked at his eyes while he helplessly laid within the human’s grip, squirming occasionally against the fresh wave of pain moving throughout his numb leg.

His vision was cloudy, his throat hurt, and his eyes were threatening to close. He couldn’t, though. Not when he’s vulnerable in a human’s grip. “Please, calm down.”

“Stop..” Tubbo whined, nearly yelling again as his leg was free, pins and needles moving throughout his leg while it returned to its normal- no, abnormal position. It was broken. “Fuck…” Tubbo whined, placing a hand on his broken leg. “Put- put me down.” Tubbo tried, and surprisingly, the cold counter was soon his holder.

Ranboo crouched down, his hands curled against of the counter while his covered face stared at him blankly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tubbo whined again. “I- I could help you?” Ranboo offered. Tubbo rapidly shook his head. “I can do it fine, just leave.” Tubbo choked on his words, tears now streaming down his partly-scarred cheeks. “Sure, right, okay.” Ranboo stood and backed away slowly before fully leaving the room with a click of the door.

Tubbo sat on the counter quietly, a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his hiccuping sobs. He pressed his lips in to a thin line then placed his hands behind him. It was slow, but he could manage pushing himself backward towards his makeshift medical supplies in the wall.

–

It was a lousy cast, and was really just medical tape wrapped tightly around his leg, but it would be fine. Right? He’d just stay here for a while. Maybe he should go stay with Tommy? No. He should treat this on his own, he doesn’t need someone to help him. He’s been solo for a year now, he doesn’t need to break that.

—

It wasn’t helping. It was a bit, but not much. He couldn’t walk, and more importantly, he couldn’t get food, which was taking its affect on him now.

“Hey, um, this is really stupid, I- I don’t even know where you’re at, or if you’re still here… but, I just wanted to ask how your… leg is doing, is it- you know, healing?” Ranboo’s voice beamed from outside the wall suddenly. . . he was showing genuine concern for the borrower.

“I’m fine.” Tubbo announced.

“Can- can you walk yet?”

“No.”

Ranboo didn’t respond for a bit. Tubbo sat in anticipation for the next words, but they were late to come. He started to believe the human had left after disappointment washed over him over the fact his little snack couldn’t walk yet.

“There’s medicine out here if you want it.” Was all he said.

Tubbo had never had human medicine before. A lot of borrowers will mix random herbs and call it medicine. But they weren’t pills like humans have, they had a lousy soup-like thing. He didn’t even know if he could eat a human-sized pill. He could try, but what if it was a trap? He couldn’t escape from it due to his leg.. gods he’s overthinking. “It’s not a trap if you’re thinking that.”

“To be fair, you saying that makes it more suspicious, bossman.”

Tubbo heard Ranboo sigh in amusement. “It’s here if you’d like it.” He said again. Tubbo made a small noise in acknowledgement. He doubted the human heard it but he really didn’t care right now. Sleep was pulling at his eyes and before he knew his heart beat had dropped and conscious slipped out of him.

–

Leg pain had woken him up. Tubbo groggily propped himself up against the dusty wall and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. Ranboo’s past words repeated in his head. There was medicine set out for him, right. No. It was a trap. . . or poison. Not medicine. A human would never do that for his kind.

He knew this, and still, in the back of his mind, he pondered on what was actually out there. Maybe there was nothing and Ranboo was just toying with him, trying to get him out onto the counter and vulnerable so he could overpower him. Would he be eaten? Kept as a pet in a jar or a cage? Flattened? Cooked? Endless endings.

And that was why he continued to lay in bed. And lay, and lay, and lay for weeks. He slept through most of it, and if he hadn’t been sleeping he was either having a short conversation with Ranboo or salvaging the last of his food. He’d run out three days ago and it was starting to affect him badly.

Nearly six weeks had passed, Tubbo had been without food for almost a week now. He hadn’t gotten up in a bit, the last time he did he could manage a short walk with a bad limp. Perhaps he should try it again.

He could move his leg better than he could a week ago, and it definitely felt better to walk on now. He had a limp, but he could manage with going out to get food.

He limped through the room to the rope he’d set in the back of the cabinet. Shit. He couldn’t climb this, it'd fuck his leg up again, right? He supposed he could go on the counter… but he’d need a rope for that as well. He could go a bit longer without food, maybe.. or maybe Ranboo could help? No. Just climb the rope and get food.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, truth be told. His pace was a bit slow while he tried to keep his leg steady and not move it quickly or drastically, but within moments he’d found himself in the dark cabinet. He felt around for any type of box or bag, a wave of relief washing over him as he brushed over a familiar box. Hopefully.

He maneuvered though it, breaking the cracker into four to store easier. He stuffed the last quarter into the now-full bag. The cabinet door opened, catching Tubbo off guard. “Fuck,” Tubbo frowned, gazing at the masked human ahead of him. He looked relieved.

“Sorry,” The two muttered in unison.

Tubbo looked down in embarrassment, then back up with a genuine, small smile, while Ranboo huffed in amusement again. He did that a lot. "It’s good to see you’re… doing better,” Tubbo nodded, the grin gone. “Right, well, I’m doing a stream in the kitchen, you may want to… lay low?” Ranboo suggested.

“Okay,” Tubbo nodded again, taking a hesitant step back.

**

Ranboo closed the cabinet door after their encounter to allow the tiny his privacy. He hadn’t completely grasped the whole borrower concept yet, probably from Tubbo’s neglect for telling him information and Google’s unhelpful results.

Not that he could blame the borrower; someone as small on him clearly wouldn’t feel safe sharing information on his species. If he was really that desperate for information, he could ask Wilbur, given that he had a much closer bond with Tommy than Ranboo had with Tubbo.

He had time before his stream, he could probably squeeze in a visit to Wilbur’s? No, that would be stupid to go there just to get advice on how to win Tubbo over. They’re making progress; it won’t take too long. Hopefully.

—

The stream went fine, Tubbo assumingely stayed.. wherever he was. The walls, maybe? That seemed like the most logical option. He remembered Wilbur briefly muttering about it to Tommy on a call. Whatever.

He idly typed ‘good stream’ in Ranmail then began cleaning his… terribly messed up kitchen. He frowned at the sight of raw egg from the subgoal, and countless wrappers and unclosed bags. Flour was everywhere, and a partially eaten cake was in the middle of it.

“Hey, bossman,” Tubbo’s voice was quiet, but he managed to hear it. Ranboo turned, his eyes landing on the small form on the counter. He crouched, curling his hands around the counter. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I- I um… gods this is stupid, but I- I just wanted to.. thank you for talking with me for- for the past few weeks and- um- untying me.”

Ranboo smiled even though it wasn’t visible. “Did Tommy put you up to this?”

“What? How do you even- no, he didn’t…”

“Alright, well, you’re welcome. You seemed like you could use the company.”

Tubbo fiddled with his thumbs while thinking of a response. “Yeah, Tommy’s been so worked up with his human lately. A- And I’m also sorry that I was so… quippy? with you. My- my kind really aren’t supposed to talk, or even be spotted by a human, so-“ Ranboo shook his head. “I get it.” He said softly. “So- uh.. yeah, thank you.” Tubbo smiled genuinely. Tubbo took a step back, and Ranboo nodded shortly. A beat of silence passed before the borrower spoke up again. “So…uh, what’d you do to your kitchen?”

Ranboo looked back at the kitchen island then back at the tiny. “I don’t even know.” Tubbo huffed in subtle amusement, but it was there. The borrower opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off.

“Tubbo!” Tommy’s muffled voice called from (assumingely) the walls, catching both Tubbo and Ranboo’s attention. “Now he comes. Hold on,” Tubbo muttered, holding a finger up as a sign to wait, then disappearing beyond the walls. The two’s probably quieted conversation couldn’t be heard from out here, so Ranboo returned to cleaning while he waited.

**

“Tommy?” Tubbo called out as he maneuvered though the dark hallway until he spotted Tommy “Hey, big man!” Tommy grinned, but it fell a moment later. “Why’re you limping?”

“Oh, I- I uh… broke my leg,”

Tommy gaped at that. “You fucking what? Shit, Tubbo I’m sorry I didn’t visit you- I, uh, was giving you space because of what happened the last time I came,” Tommy fretted. “It’s fine, you worry too much." Tubbo paused for a moment. "What’re you here for, bossman?”

Tommy stayed quiet for a moment or two. “I wanted to visit you.” Tommy shrugged.

“I’ve got a human to attend to, so, ma-“

“You’ve what? You’ve made peace with Ranboo?” Tommy said, a shit-eating grin plastered upon his face. Something about his eyes said he was about to bolt through the tunnels and straight out onto the counter to talk to Ranboo. He did.

────────────────────────────────────────────

sdfjgdfds sorry if you had to scroll through that 😅

anyway

#62 in docs is titled 'any thrill will do: notes' and is worldbuilding/plot outline rambles for my quackity au :D

#brickquiries #anon #brickquiries games #mcyt g/t #dsmp g/t #dream smp g/t #dsmp gt #g/t #mw #brickfic #t!tubbo #g!ranboo #t!tommy #unimplied g!wilbur #edsfnjfks this is sooo old i'm surprised i never posted it #i think i wrote this sep-dec 2021 dsfjgefwg #gt #dream smp gt #talking brick

[pindl3]

Since ranboo has said that everything is going to go to shit in the future, I’m going to indulge in some headcanons <3

The Syndicate

Ranboo wears makeup to cover his scars

When niki found out, she started teaching him more about makeup

Before syndicate meetings, Niki goes over to Ranboo’s place first so they can do each other’s make up

Since ranboo only did simple makeup he wasn’t very good at it at first, but even so Niki would always wear it to the meetings to make him feel more confident

Eventually Phil found them doing it, and they dragged him in to get his makeup done too

The next meeting Technoblade was very confused

One time ranboo managed to bribe technoblade to let Niki do his makeup- it didn’t go well when he found out Philza filmed the whole thing

Technoblade finds their antics amusing, and lets them get away with a lot- he won’t admit that he has a soft spot for the lot

Niki finds Ranboo wearing a skirt before one of the meetings- it was a sub goal- and proceeds to have a whole dress up party.

Ranboo stops to send a selfie of the completed look to Tubbo- that’s how Niki finds out that they are very very good friends (ranboo doesn’t tell her they’re married)

Tub n Ran Moments

Tubbo will go on frequent nightly trips (this man is missing his entire sleep schedule smh) and if he finds ranboo sleepwalking outside, he’ll hold his hand to make sure he (ranboo) doesn’t get lost

Ranboo likes to test makeup stuff on Tubbo

Tubbo has fallen asleep to Ranboo putting makeup on him multiple times- Ranboo would find it endearing if he would stop falling over and smearing all his hard work

Ranboo does find it endearing, he just uses that as an excuse to avoid admitting it

Tubbo enjoys braiding

Tubbo braids Michael’s hair- even if there isn’t a lot of it

When Tubbo gets too stressed, Ranboo lets him braid his hair over and over, gradually letting him calm down

They do that whenever they get into an argument as well, sitting in braiding silence until one of them speaks up.

It’s an unspoken rule that Tubbo cant tug Ranboo’s hair otherwise he won’t let him play with it anymore

If Tubbo finds ranboo being angsty, he’ll take him to the cake walk. After he restores all of the eaten cake, they go to a flower biome and talk about stuff until he calms down.

Ranboo, despite being less stubborn than Tubbo, always takes longer to talk about his issues. (The reasoning behind this is that Tubbo has pretty much always had Tommy, and Tubbo knows how to talk things out. While Ranboo is known for keeping secrets, trusting no one and withdrawing when stressed.)

They are both very stubborn about talking it over, albeit Ranboo is worse

Adventures with Ran, Tom n Tub

When Tommy is refusing help with something, Ranboo will start quietly assisting without his knowledge.

Ranboo and Tubbo will go on short adventures together, stalking Tommy and making sure he’s safe and well

Whenever they get caught, Tubbo always wholeheartedly admits to stalking him. It’s so abrupt that it never fails to make Tommy burst out laughing

Both Tubbo and Tommy exploit Ranboo for his huge wallet

When Tommy found out about Ranboo’s tear scars, (Ranboo was in his enderwalking state and had taken his makeup off) it freaked him out so much that he punched Ranboo, woke him up, and they both started screaming continuously at each other for a solid minute

Tubbo came outside of the mansion after he heard the elongated screaming, to see them staring at each other, standing in shocked silence. Tubbo walked back inside.

When Tommy started feeling more and more lonely, Tubbo invited him to have a sleepover at the Mansion. They ended up spending half the night looking for Ranboo, who enderwalked his way over to Sams place. After retrieving Ranboo, they all went and passed out.

Tommy denies that Ranboo is growing on him. Ranboo knows he’s growing on Tommy despite this.

They hold a slumber party every few days to make Tommy feel better- again, he denies that it kinda works

Technoblade

Techno hates being called The Blade after what happened with Tommy

Philza picked up on this and let Ranboo know. Now they only call him Techno and avoid the Blade part. Techno has yet to catch on

Techno has a major soft spot for Ranboo, despite trying his hardest at the beginning to avoid it

The voices in Technos mind always help him give people the best gifts- and by people that means Philza because he only is willing to show appreciation to Phil so he can keep his tough persona going strong.

The voices beg for blood- but they could also just go for some juice. Techno has yet to figure that out, because he never has juice

Techno has a huge stash of crowns in a chest somewhere, because they usually end up getting broken in battle.

Since both techno and Tubbo have trash sleep schedules, they have stumbled upon each other in the middle of the night.

Techno has seen Tubbo holding Ranboo’s hand at night (when he’s enderwalking, but Techno doesn’t know that), and has already made the connection that they’re married. they literally wear matching rings and heart necklaces.

Techno does not care that they’re married, despite major concerns around that. He doesn’t personally like Tubbo, but he likes Ranboo and trusts him. Also Tubbo has nukes, and being allied with his husband might protect his home from getting a booming visit.

Techno can sew, and actually enjoys it

Techno knows how to sew because of his habit of getting in fights. Fights with swords. And axes. You can see why knowing how to repair stuff would come in handy

Technos og cape, which has many stitches and hours of work inside of it, was taken when he was put on “trial”.

Ranboo also returned that when giving his armor back, which Techno was very grateful for (he wouldn’t let anyone know that though)

That’s all my headcanons for now, now gonna go keep ignoring the impending doom that’s going to be upon us in an indeterminate amount of time

#ranboo #dsmp ranboo #dsmp #dsmp headcanon #ranboo headcanon #tubbo headcanon #the syndicate #technoblade headcanon #bench trio #benchtwt #beetwt #bootwt #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah lot of headcanon right there #technoblade #dsmp technoblade #technoblade mcyt

[hornet-breaker]

Tubbox 4, Nightmare

Tubbo gets a nightmare and seeks comfort. This is kinda a filler chapter for chapter 5 where it will be revealed if Humans get sentient rights or are doomed to eternal enslavement

Tw: digestion/vore mention, trauma,

Tubbo had to admit living with two Titans was a trip on its own. First there was the problem of avoiding giant feet (he was not planning on becoming a stain on the floor, no thank you), then there was the problem of getting their attention or even getting them to listen to him half the time. They loved him like a brother, but they sure as hell treated him like a precious and rare puppy. He was a big man who could handle himself thank you very much!

Well, he was a big man up until tonight, where he had a horrible nightmare that kept him up all night and constantly checking his scar. Every night he could still hear cruel laughter ringing in his ears. He could sometimes still smell their breath on him, no matter how hard he scrubbed himself in the shower it wouldn’t go away. He still had the half digested shirt, why he kept it was beyond him. He couldn’t hear properly out of one ear because it was practically nonexistent, now a part of his past tormentor’s cruel body. He hated it. He hated his trauma drove him to hide during mealtimes, he hated that his friends would apologize whenever he flinched at the sight of their mouths or teeth.

He tried to go back to sleep but he was too stressed. It didn’t help that outside his box Ranboo was sleepwalking and rummaging through the kitchen. Ranboo was an odd Titan, he had never heard of titans sleepwalking, but apparently this was common in Enderlytes according to Ranboo and Philza (whom he still had yet to meet, apparently Phil was very knowledgeable with Titan and mankind). While it was common, it was very annoying, especially when he started whispering in Ender.

Tubbo peeked his head out of the box, Ranboo was running the tap and Tubbo darted out to try and stop him. He was a few seconds too late as the hand made contact with the water and he teleported away, probably snapping out of his sleepwalk. A tired and confused groan from the couch gave away where Ranboo had ended up. Tubbo sighed with relief seeing the lanky Titan get up and wander to his room, but paused to sniff. Right, he had an extraordinary sense of smell.

“Tubbo?” He asked.

“Hey boss man,” Tubbo greeted shyly as the Enderlyte walked up to him and noticed the tap running.

“Huh, that’s the second time this happened.” Ranboo turned off the water. “Anyways, what’s up?”

“The ceiling?” Tubbo tried to play off his stress.

“You had a nightmare didn’t you?” How’d he know?!

“…” Tubbo stayed silent, staring in shock, “how did you-“

“Enderlytes are empaths, we can sense others emotions. The kind of stress I smell on you is not the normal stress you wear.” Ranboo said, offering Tubbo his hand to climb on.

“Do you mind if I get something off my chest big man?” Tubbo asked, hopping onto Ranboo’s palm as the Enderlyte teleported back onto the couch.

“Sure, I won’t tell anyone.” He smiled gently.

“I’ve been having nightmares of my past owners, and how they used to abuse me. If the Basic Rights Act fails, you guys aren’t going to, to turn on me right?” Tubbo felt something wet roll down his cheek, fuck, he was crying wasn’t he?

The salty tears stung the permanent acid scar on his face and he flinched.

He felt Ranboo slide his claw gently under Tubbo’s chin, the dangerous sharp edges pointed away from him as his head was tilted up.

“Tubbo, listen to me. Me and Tommy both love you like a brother, you’re like family to us. Just because some law doesn’t get passed doesn’t mean we’re gonna turn on you and eat you, okay? I would never dream of hurting you, and Tommy would never want to even see you hurt. We care about you man.” He gently wrapped his fingers around Tubbo’s small form, bringing him in for a hug. Tubbo clung to his shirt quietly.

“Thank you boss man,” he mumbled. Ranboo smiled gently and purred as he rubbed Tubbo’s back with his thumb. Why as that purr so calming?

“No problem, now get some sleep, we’re doing a subathon tomorrow.” Ranboo said gently, standing up and walking Tubbo back to his box.

“As long as you won’t make so much noise sleepwalking.” Tubbo scoffed. He was set down in front of his box and went back inside. “Goodnight Ranboo, and thank you again.” With that he disappeared back into his box. There was only a week until the votes were counted and announced. He hoped Ranboo really meant what he said back there.

#mcyt g/t #tiny!tubbo #giant!ranboo #tubbox gtau