#because tommy seems to already be making that fatal mistake :')

[blown-to-kingdom-come]

/rp

The more I think about it, the more I see how c!Dream is using a child's tactic to gain control over c!Tommy again. (Warning: extremely messy analysis post)

Lemme put it into a perspective. When you were a kid, you'd get in trouble often, then get punished for it. It's supposed to teach you a lesson, and sometimes you weren't aware that what you did was wrong and, from that punishment, you learned that it was wrong and know not to do it again.

But other times, you're fully aware of what you did, and you're fully aware that it was wrong, and all that punishment taught you was to not to get caught next time.

But for adults, it can be difficult to differentiate between the two mindsets.

Because both times, you'd say "sorry".

You'd say you won't do it again.

And, from the adult's perspective, you don't do it again.

Either because you actually don't, or you do, and it's just behind their backs.

And all the time, you hang your head, maybe cry, and you appear genuinely apologetic.

People who've watched Tommy's exile streams know first-hand how well Dream can convey false emotions.

Most prominently, a false sense of security for a kid who's lost everything, to ensure the kid is dependent on him and only him.

Now, with the assistance of Dream looking vulnerable and powerless locked away in a barren room in a max-security prison with only empty books and a clock to distract him, it's easy for him to appear inferior to Tommy, and thus make his apology seem genuine.

But again, he's giving Tommy a false sense of security, in that he's leading Tommy to believe that the tables have turned in Tommy's favour. Now Tommy's the one who can go where he wants, while Dream's locked away from everyone and everything. In fact, the situation should be worse for Dream, because at least Tommy had ways of keeping his mind occupied in exile so he didn't succumb to insanity.

But what Tommy doesn't realise is that by deciding to return to see Dream on the 24th, he's catering to Dream's desires. Dream has made it clear that all he cares about on this server is holding hostage all items, animals and people that are of sentimental value to others in the server, and keeping people around who make the server fun for him, such as Tommy. There also seems to be a third thing which Dream refused to tell Tommy, and it's clear why Dream refused. In any case, because in his current situation he has no need for his museum, that leaves one other thing that Dream cares about. And he got it the moment he joined a call with Tommy, secured it after he apologised to Tommy, confirmed by Tommy telling him he'd come back again.

In exile, Tommy may have convinced himself for the most part that he had nothing left to lose, but a part of him still didn't give up hope. That was fueled by Ranboo writing him secret letters. That was fueled by the potential of a beach party with all his friends invited. That was fueled by Dream promising Tommy he could visit L'Manberg on Christmas. That was fueled by the compass that led Tommy to Tubbo. And Dream constantly had the power to take these things away from Tommy while never revealing it was his doing (a prime example being no one showing up to Tommy's beach party as a result of Dream stealing the invitations), and thus keeping Tommy under his control under the guise of being his only friend.

In prison, Dream has nothing to lose other than Tommy, no matter what he claims about feeling "sad" about losing his friends and items. He isolated himself from everyone even before he went away to build his base. His only weakness is something unknown to Tommy, and there's nothing that Tommy can threaten any longer that will force an answer out of Dream and give Tommy leverage. Tommy can't even threaten to kill Dream, because he needs him for Schlatt's book. The only thing he could do now is leave Dream to himself, not show up on the 24th, or at all. All that's going to do is give Dream what he wants: a distraction.

And not only that.

Going back to the whole punished child metaphor, let's take a more specific example.

A destructive child who enjoys breaking their toys -- from simply tearing off their limbs or wheels, to setting them on fire or taping them to a rocket firework and setting said firework off. Yes, exactly like Sid from Toy Story. Except this child has a specific toy that they enjoy breaking the most, either because these toy isn't easy to break so it becomes a challenge, or because the toy's responses to being broken are more entertaining (or both). At some point, the child's parents may take this toy away as punishment for the child's behaviour, which they fear could lead to the child growing up and becoming "wronguns" (for want of a better word). The child then may try and get the toy back. They finally get their grubby hands on it, and it has tape all over it in a hasty effort to mend it. The child is in the process of tearing off all this tape when the parents catch the child in the act. The child is then put in time-out for several minutes. But before time-out is over, and before they are prompted to, the child tells their parents they're sorry for what they did to the toy. This softens the parents up, as unprompted apologies to them seem more genuine than prompted.

But the child isn't sorry for breaking the toy.

Dream is sorry for getting caught breaking Tommy.

And now all he has to do is find a way to break him in a more subtle way.

And with the help of the illusion of reverse power imbalance to what was before, I don't think this will be very hard for him.

#this post is a mess #i started with a coherent idea of what i wanted to put and when #then in my sentences i saw points i made that linked to other points and thus tangents were created :') #but yeah anyway don't let something as simple as a sad voice and an apology sway you #because tommy seems to already be making that fatal mistake :') #fuck dream #awesamdude supremacy #the effort he put into that prison is phenomenal and he deserves so much credit for it #dream smp #analysis #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #long post #tw: manipulation #ask to tag

[wrenqueenisboss]

DSMP Angsty Imagines - React to Your Death pt. 3 --- c!Wilbur Soot

Part 3 to my series of “dsmp boys react to your death”:  Pronouns used: they/them (if mentioned) Warnings: explosions, spoilers for the events of Dream SMP, death, grief Words: 1.3+

The list: c!George c!Bench Trio c!Wilbur - (you are currently on this post)  c!Dream c!Technoblade - (coming soon!)

You had tried convincing your boyfriend not to blow up L’Manburg. But Wilbur Soot wouldn’t listen to you. He wouldn’t listen to anyone. Not in this state.

It had been a long time coming, honestly. Everyone should have noticed the signs. You should have noticed the signs, but it wasn’t as if you were actively looking for a reason to paint your lover as an insane psychopath. 

For months, Wilbur had slowly been descending into insanity. Looking back, the tells were all there. Very irregular sleeping patterns; sleeping not at all and then way too much, days when it seemed as if his emotions had been completely turned off, days when his temper seemed too volatile, the times when you’d catch him obsessing over books explaining the mechanics of tnt. It had all been laid in front of you, but you were too blind. 

That’s the thing about love, children. You either find yourself forced into relationships that make you unhappy or find yourself so in love with someone that it practically erases reality and judgment. There are a few lucky people. A few who find the loves of their lives and spend the remainder of their days in perfect happiness. No intoxicating amounts of infatuation, no feelings of emotional claustrophobia. You were not one of those lucky people. Not at all.

It was already too late to turn back by now. The two of you were already heading to the Button Room. Tommy, Tubbo, and Quackity were supposed to be with you, but they didn’t agree with Wilbur’s plan, so they stayed behind.

The three had been desperately trying to convince Wilbur to step down, to destroy the button and give up on his wild fantasies of watching his unfinished symphony burn to the ground. But that hadn’t worked, So they turned to you.

And as much as you agreed with their reluctance - and disagreed with your boyfriend, you had to support him. For that’s what he did with you. When you had been a newcomer to the server and no one would help you, he did. At the very least you owed him that. But you were beginning to doubt how far your support would actually go when you found yourself standing in the button room.

You and Wilbur looked up at all of the signs on the walls, each singing L’Manburg’s National Anthem in your head.

I heard there was a special place where men could go and emancipate the brutality and tyranny of their rulers Well, this place is real you needn’t fret with Wilbur-

“You’ve been so good to me, Y/n.” Wilbur’s unusually quiet voice interrupted the anthem playing in your mind.

“I’m your partner, Will. I’m also your friend. It’s my job.” For some reason, you could bring yourself to say it was because you loved him. Your heart knew it was because you didn’t love him anymore. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. It was a different type of love now. Much less blinding, and much more clear.

Wilbur reached up a faintly-scarred hand to touch one of the signs on the walls. “You’ve stuck by me and supported me even when no one else did.”

You could feel your face begin to heat up. “Will, about that.... Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

Your boyfriend whirled around at that. And for some reason, your mind began to sing the National Anthem once more.

My L’Manburg My L’Manburg

“Don’t flake out on me now, Y/n. We’re so incredibly close. We’ve come this far together. You can’t possibly be thinking of abandoning me?” His eyes narrowed dangerously, sending ominous shivers down your spine.

My L’Manburg My L’Manburg

“No! Of course not! I just think it would... make sense if you... thought about this some more,” you stammered, desperately fumbling for the right words.

Wilbur stepped toward you suddenly and you flinched backwards. He didn’t seem to notice - or care. “Y/n, if you don’t support me in this plan, I have no choice but to kill you. You know too much. And yes, I do remember that you’re on your last life. That changes nothing.”

Your thoughts froze, so did you. Never, did you expect him to go this far. Sure, you’d been aware of the fact that he was slowly becoming insane for weeks, but threatening your life? That was something you could never prepare yourself for.

You were trapped. Either way, you were pretty sure you’d die. If you agreed, the explosions would kill you. If you didn’t, Wilbur would. 

For freedom and for liberty our nation sought to build on these a victory for all under our freedom

“I’m going through with the plan, Will. We’re going through with it.”

Well the darkness came and then it went we built a home and watched it sink and from the rubble emerged my great-

Once again, the anthem in your head was interrupted. This time by Philza. Philza Minecraft. Your boyfriend’s father.

Your heart raced as it realized how close to pressing the button Will had been only heartbeats before. Philza and Wilbur were having a whole debate in the background. It was only when your name was called that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n?” Will asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Your head snapped up. “Yes?”

You almost shut down at the sad acceptance in Wilbur’s eyes. Had it worked? Had Phil really talked him out of pressing the button and triggering the tnt?

“Phil here has convinced me that maybe the button isn’t worth pressing.”

Hope sprung in your chest. It spread its wings.

My L’Manburg My L’Manburg My L’Manburg My L’Manburg

Your boyfriend leaned down to hug you, head resting on your shoulder as his back faced Phil. You were just about to hug him back when his whispered voice reached your ears, making you shiver.

“It’s all up to you now, Y/n.”

He straightened and left the Button Room, but not before giving you a pointed glance. 

With bloodied hands and weakened knees.

Your body felt frozen, pinned by impossible choices. By the future and the past.

“Y/n?” Philza’s concerned voice carried across the cave. “Are you okay?”

You scrambled for a convincing enough excuse. “Y-yeah. I just need a moment. Today has been... rough.” None of that was a lie.

With a slight furrow of his brows, Phil nodded. He began walking away.

Our people rose like the phoenix

You stopped him, though. “Philza.”

He turned around.

Our empty fields and canals ‘round L’Mantree

“There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor, once a part of L’Manburg.”

Phil didn’t know how to react. He just nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere, the tension.

With sweat and tears we armed our ranks we laid foundations in our land

“Have you ever heard of Eret?”

Once again, Philza only nodded.

You could feel your body heat up with anticipation. The moment was nearing.

And from every lips for here up to infinity

“Yeah, he had a saying, Phil.” You felt your fingertips ghost the surface of the button.

We sing L’Manburg We sing L’Manburg We sing L’Manburg We sing L’Manburg

“It was never meant to be.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-

Wilbur Soot was too busy smiling at the series of explosions going off behind him to realize the fact that you were dead.

And even when those around him cried as they mourned your death, not a single tear streaked down his cheek. No pang of sadness or remorse was felt by this man who had strayed too far down the path of insanity.

Perhaps once, he would have torn up the world looking for a way to revive you. But that Wilbur was long gone. That Wilbur was the one you’d fallen for, the one you’d follow to the ends of the server.

But you’d failed to realize that the Wilbur of today was not the Wilbur you loved. And that mistake turned out to be fatal.

#pure angst #only angst #get ready for the angst #get ready everyone #so much angst #this is so sad #hearbreaking #dsmp x reader #dsmp fanfic #dsmp #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt x y/n #mcyt #fanfic #fanficiotn #wilbur soot x reader #wilbut soot #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x reader #lmanberg #tnt #the tnt plot #my lmanburg #lmanburg national anthem #reader death #death #grief #explosions #wren_queen stuff

[crystalk17]

This is my super late submission for the MCYT gt gift exchange. I am really sorry for it being so late. I hope it is up to your standards!!!

This gift is for @leetlezeetle

Their promt: Giant dragon hybrid kidnaps a tiny/human to watch its young while they hunt.

As soon as I read this I thought "OMG PHILZA!!!"

So here is a fatherly, Giant, halfbreed dragon named Philza. Who kidnaps a young knight in training named Tommy. Maybe he can handle the young ones? Or maybe he will become the next meal. Who knows?

Tommy remembers the first day he was brought here. The teen was working on his stances and swings. Not even hours ago his face was shoved into the dirt by Dream. "You will never be a true knight. You can't even strike down Niki and she's a woman!" Tommy felt a heavy boot across his back shoving his body and pride even further into the mud. "You will quit or be killed."

Picking his body up the young-looking blond whipped the mud all over his front and face. If he was rebellious he would flick it at the superior, but now was not the time. After cleaning the brown thickness from his eyes he saw Dream holding his silver sword out to him with one hand. Tommy didn't say another word, even though so many were boiling under the skin to be screamed out. With a swipe of his hand, he grabbed the sword storming off.

Now he was in the field making sure he was perfect. Every swing of the sword, every shift of his body, had to be just right or he would restart with a deep growl. He would not leave until he got this perfect.

At least that was the plan.

Instead, he swung the sword jutting it straight out. The invisible enemy crippled back from the fatal stab. He was holding the wound begging for mercy.

"No foul creature. This is your last day on earth." Sliding his foot back he prepared for the final blow. Ramming the sword forward with such speed he had to close his eyes. He knew this was not the correct way to stab someone, but he was just practicing and he would try again. He expected the sword to slide through air. He would open his eyes and he would be holding his sword with one hand straight out and a perfect stance with the ghost enemy on the ground. But...but...he struck something.

Opening his eyes just a peek, his blood ran cold. Standing inches away from him was a black dragon with dark green scales sprinkled in. He thrust his sword forward hitting only the beast's clawed hand. The beast was humongous. Tommy had to look straight up into the air to even see the Creature's surprisingly blue eyes. What startled him, even more, was the fact that if the dragon wasn't looking its head over Tommy then he wouldn't even be able to see his eyes very well.

He could feel his body freeze. It didn't want to move. He felt the sword drop from his hands when the creature got even closer sniffing at his head. His hair flew up a bit then landed on top of the sweat already traveling down his face. The ground seemed to be shaking...oh wait that was his feet shaking back and forth. His pupils went wide when the blackish dragon nudged him with its claws. Maybe to see if he was alive?

Faster than he thought the creature could move, its clawed hand struck out grasping the young knight. It easily encompasses the human hiding it from the world. Tommy's whole body was encased by leather and claws that were larger than his own body. Was he seriously getting kidnapped like a princess? For what seemed like five minutes, most likely longer, Tommy banged against his rock-hard prison. He looked down seeing the monster made the mistake of allowing him to keep his sword. As if it was an instinct he grasped it in two hands and shifted his body forward. One. Two. Three hits. Even a stab and nothing happened. He wouldn't be surprised if he looked at the to and it was bent. He was going to be here for a while. -------------------------------------------------------

That very day was three months ago. On this very day, Tommy was sitting on the dusty ground of a cave, light reflecting off the walls from the fire he built. There was always plenty of food and the cave even had a small stream running through it. He was always surprised no other creatures tried to claim this area as theirs, but at the same time, he understood why.

Behind him, the sound of running feet hitting rock made his head turn. At this point, he was used to this. Looking outside it seemed about that time when the young ones started to stir.

"You can't catch me!!" Running up behind Tommy a child with short brown hair and a rugged jacket came into view. The child decided to run right behind Tommy's back even though his body was way too big to be covered up by the teen. The child looked like he could be a very young adult in stature, but in fact, this was a young halfling.

Two other forms came running out, but instead of humans like this child one was an actual dragon the size of a horse and the other human-looking but with dragon features. These three were young dragon halflings. Tommy found out through experience and reading in books halfling children had no control over their body. The younger they were the more dangerous they were.

When halfling babies are born they are very small compared to their parents. They are the size of a human, some can even be the size of a human toddler. As they got older their bodies morphed into the proper size. This is the exact reason why most halflings do not survive. They have dangers around every corner because of their vulnerable size and accidents do happen between the older halflings and their young. Throughout the years, the children would get used to their shifting abilities, so it wasn't uncommon for siblings, like these three, to look completely different.

The human-looking child keep moving back and forth so he was covered up by his 'shield'. The human with dragon features was trying to get around the sitting human to get to his sibling. With every movement, Tommy flinched a bit because the dragon halfling had claws that were digging into him every time he touched Tommy's skin while trying to get around him. He knew it was an accident, probably didn't even think about it, but he had to learn.

"Michael" he winced once more as his claws touched his shoulder. "Michael." he raised his voice a bit more to get the child's attention. The volume seemed to get his attention cause he froze in his actions. "Michael. What did we talk about playing."

"To be careful." Tommy watched as the pink flaps he had for ears drooped down showing he was upset.

"Yes, kid. You unlike your brothers have claws, wings, and these cool horns." Tommy grabbed one horn and shook the child's whole head making him smile. "I can't have your dad coming back and I'm filled with holes from your claws. He would kill us both. Just make sure next time-"

As he was talking the third child jumped right on top of Tommy. The Third was a black dragon like his father but had specks of dirty yellow scales on him. Somehow the third child learned to turn into a full dragon, but couldn't control turning back very often. He was the size of a horse and as heavy as one. "Tubbo! Tubbo get off!" Tommy was using all his strength to push the little dragon off, but all it accomplished was a face full of dragon licks.

This was how it was every single day. Tommy was left in the cave with three halfling children named Wilbur, Michael, and Tubbo. Every day it was him watching as the three played tag or roughhoused with each other while their father was gone. Who was the father? That was the black dragon who kidnapped him three months ago. Every day the giant black dragon would go out hunting, leaning poor Tommy to watch and protect his young. At first, he hated it and wanted to escape himself, but after a few days of being stuck here, the seventeen-year-old fell in love with Phil's children. Anymore he couldn't picture it any differently.

"Tubbo this is the last time I'm asking. Get off." his face was drenched in dragon slobber. The most he could do was push against the black dragon's body but he wouldn't budge. All it accomplished was the young one started to nuzzle and push up against his face to show affection. Michael ran behind Tommy's head and put all his weight on the human's arms. He was pinned to the ground and he was not going anywhere. His legs would flail up and down, but that was about it. He couldn't even do this much in fear of kicking one of the halflings.

"Get off!" Through his shouting and torturous affection, Tommy heard wood breach at the opening of the cave. The three children must have heard it too, because all three of their heads whirled to the opening as well. Tubbo started to growl and Michael's eyes grew wide. Tommy could feel the young dragon slowly stepping off his body, but he had to be ready for action now. Gently pushing him all the way, Tommy grabbed his sword from the ground. This was why he was brought here. His job was to protect and help with the young ones when their father was gone. All this training had to come into play. His heart started to beat faster as he watched the three halflings hide behind his body as if they weren't bigger than him, as if he could protect them from whatever dared to come into a dragon's den. His grip tightened on the hilt as his eyes glared at the opening. Tommy put one hand out to assure the young ones behind him.

Tubbo started to sniff the air, then his tail wagged like a dog's. He was excited about something. He ran forward with a determined speed. Tommy tried to reach out and grab his neck, but he was just dragged forward when the pup ran at full speed. Tommy dug his feet into the ground, but it didn't seem to help.

Tubbo came to an abrupt stop, flipping Tommy's body onto the ground. He frowned in irritation. He couldn't even stop a running five-year-old, how was he supposed to protect these guys?

Walking into the entrance of their hidden cave was the same black dragon who grabbed him all those months ago. With the creatures massive body in full view Tubbo ran full speed towards his father wagging his tail. Tommy had to just release or be dragged with him. He watched as the dragon very carefully dropped a dead cow, probably stolen from the villagers. The sheer black beast very carefully nuzzled Tubbo with the end of his snout getting a small squick in response.

Michael and Wilbur ran over, but straight to their dinner. Tommy watched in disgust as the two would burn the carcass with their fire than eat the pieces they tore off like hamburgers.

"Not hungry?" a deep rumbling voice asked with a surprising gentleness to it.

Tommy's scrunched up in disgust. "I'll stick to my berries and properly hunted meat. He looked up to see where a black dragon was standing was now an adult half breed human. The half dragon was smaller then the dragon form, by 20 feet to be exact. He still had black dragon wings, his tail, razor teeth, even his claws on his hands, but everything else was the perfect imitation of a human.

Tommy grabbed his sword to head out and find his own food. He would allow the family their time and he could practice with his sword. He marched to the opening when the tail curled around him blocking his path. In irritation, he looked up at the smug blond-haired male who looked 30 with horns. He had his wings tucked away, but Tommy knew they were there. He attempted to climb over the tree truck-sized obstacle until it started to move dragging him closer to the half-breed.

"What! I'm just getting food unless you want your protector to starve." The tail didn't stop herding him until he was right back to the other three dragonlings. Tommy knew he didn't need his sword so he let it drop while he yelled up at the beast. "This isn't funny Phil."

"You know I appreciate you right?"

Since he was close enough now, Phil gently picked the young knight up with two fingers. He could feel Tommy squirming, but both knew nothing would happen.

"If I didn't think you could handle yourself, I wouldn't have chosen you to watch my young."

Tommy looked back in those deep blue eyes before he spoke. "Yeah well... I know."

Phil put the human back down beside the other three. He curled his tail closely around the four. His four kids.

#mcyt #leetlezeetle #gt #dragon #knight #Tommy #philza #gift

[tommytranselo]

Hello! Can you please do a platonic Tommy x Sam x Paulie prompt?

i'm sorry this took so long, but thank you for sending this! finally got me to dig out a couple paragraphs of a premise that had been sitting in my drafts for ages. warning for mild blood/violence, and for language as usual. ---

It’s one of those collection missions that should be simple but somehow goes wrong–like the job that ended with Sam pissing all over a barroom floor as a last ditch distraction, the several that had Paulie leaving some poor sap’s blood staining their own counter, and (God forbid) the shitshow at Clark Motel. This time it’s a bartender who’s been getting more and more reluctant lately to fork over the cash, a guy who used to pay dues to Morello and didn’t appreciate the brief reprieve after the old Don’s death coming to an end at the hand of Salieri’s men. He’s the stupid short-tempered type who doesn’t think too much before trying to act like a tough guy–the three have seen enough of those in their time to know that despite having a bite to match their bark, they only get to sink their teeth in once, and usually harmlessly. Tommy’s fatal mistake is turning his back when he goes to pick up the money, and with what seems like a split-second chance ripe for the taking in front of him, their reluctant customer decides to act on it: he takes a bottle to the back of Tommy’s head with a resounding crash. The echo seems to come from far away, Tommy thinks, as his knees buckle and the darkness overtakes him.

The bartender is very, very lucky he does not get end up with a bullet in him that very instant. Paulie and Sam have their guns on him in a heartbeat and he seems to realize his mistake, because his hands shoot up over his head in surrender and his eyes go wide with fear. They corner him without a fight, and it’s only a matter of moments before Sam’s scooping Tommy up off the floor, checking to make sure he’s breathing, while Paulie gives the bartender an asskicking he’ll remember for years to come. Sam gets in a couple of blows too, just to drive the point home, just to put his anger somewhere productive. They haul Tommy to the car; Sam sits in the back with him, pressing a handkerchief over the bleeding cut at the back of his head (there is no glass in it he can see, thank Christ), while Paulie drives fifteen over the speed limit, knuckles white on the wheel.

“He still out back there?” “Cold.” Sam presses two fingers against his neck to feel for a pulse, like he can’t already see Tommy’s chest rise and fall–mostly it’s just to reassure himself. “What was that asshole trying to pull back there, anyway? He was unarmed and outnumbered three to one. What did he think was gonna happen?” “He didn’t think, Paulie. Guys like that never do.” “But why act up now?” “My guess? With Morello gone, he started getting ideas about skipping out on dues while we were still getting things under control. He won’t get any ideas about it again.” “Hope so.”

They drive on for a couple more minutes in tense silence before Tommy stirs at last, and Sam snaps to attention. “He's waking up.” “Thank Christ,” Paulie says in the front seat. Tommy lets out a low groan and cracks his eyes open. His head's pounding, and there's something sticky in his hair–blood. It takes him a moment to put it together, but he's in the back seat of a car rattling down the road, slumped into someone. There's a hand on his shoulder, an arm wrapped around him protectively. “You okay, Tom?” It’s Sam. “Yeah...” he mutters, straining to sit up a little. “What happened?” “Shit-for-brains bartender didn’t want to pay up, so when you turned around the genius decided it’d be a good idea to smack you across the back of the head with a bottle, and you just dropped,” Paulie says. “You had us pretty damn worried, Tommy.” He lets out kind of a hissing noise. “How long was I out?” “About fifteen minutes or so. Just long enough for us to take care of the asshole that hit you, get you into the car, and get the hell out of there.” Sam cracks a slight, nervous grin. "Guess this makes us even now, huh?” “Hey, I’m not saved quite yet,” Tommy says wryly. The smile vanishes in a heartbeat. “Don't joke.” “You're one to talk.” Sam scowls. "Yeah. I know.” “Don't tell me you two are fighting back there at a time like this,” Paulie cuts in. “Nah,” Tommy mumbles, “just talking. Just talking.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, reopens them only halfway. “Where we headed?” “Doc’s house,” Paulie says. “We gotta get that cut on your head checked out, looks pretty nasty. You were bleeding all over the place till Sam here managed to slow it down a little. He hit you pretty damn hard.” It’s only now Tommy notices the blue handkerchief balled up in Sam’s hand, stained dark red with his blood. He doesn't answer Paulie’s remark, just sort of grunts. “You alright?” Sam says quietly. His hand is still on Tommy's shoulder, protective, anxious. “Yeah. I’m alright.” “Don't go falling asleep on me before we get there.” “I'm awake, Sam.” “Good. You better stay that way.”

Paulie gets them to the doctor a mere few minutes later. “Record time! I’m almost as good a wheelman as you, eh, Tommy?” “Sure, something like that,” he replies with a weak smile. Sam gets out of the car before he does and holds out an arm to hold him up, walks him to the front step with Tommy leaning on his shoulder, still woozy. Paulie bangs impatiently on the door, and Tommy has to chuckle a little at his urgency. It’s only a little cut; he’s seen them both survive much worse. “Good lord,” the doctor says, when he opens the door. “What happened to you?” “Got hit over the head,” Paulie replies grimly. “You’re bleeding everywhere.” “I’m not–” Tommy touches his forehead, and when his fingertips come away red he realizes for the first time that what he’d assumed was drying sweat on his face is in fact blood. “Oh.” “Didn’t get a chance to clean that up,” Sam mutters. “Come inside, we’ll get you patched up.”

He’s ushered in, sat down on a table. Paulie and Sam hover around him awkwardly, getting in the doctor’s way till he shoos them aside. “First thing is to fix up that cut. Let me have a look.” The doctor picks through Tommy’s hair to inspect the damage, murmuring unintelligibly to himself. After a moment he says, “It's not deep. Shouldn't need stitches. It seems to have bled a lot, but head wounds usually do. I'll just clean and bandage it.” Sam's hand lingers comfortingly on Tommy's shoulder while he's patched up, letting out the occasional grunt of pain as the cut is cleaned out. Paulie sits on his other side, trying to think of something helpful to do. Tommy ends up with bandages wound awkwardly around his head, hair sticking up every which way, but the doc makes it work. That done, he finally cleans the dried blood that's dripped down Tommy’s face, then steps back.

“You were hit over the head, you said?” “Yeah.” “Were you knocked unconscious?” “Yeah. For about...” he pauses. “Fifteen minutes or so,” Sam supplies helpfully. “Mhm. Are you dizzy at all? Nauseous?” “Kinda.” “Ears ringing?” “Yeah.” “I see. Well, the good news is that there’s nothing severely wrong, and that cut on your head should heal fine.” Tommy raises an eyebrow. “What’s the bad news?” “It appears you may have a concussion.” He looks to Paulie and Sam. “Someone should keep an eye on him. Don’t let him sleep for several hours, just to make sure nothing worsens.” “Trust me,” Sam says, jerking a thumb at Paulie, “nobody’s sleeping with him around.” Paulie just rolls his eyes and looks to Tommy. “Hey, we’ll take good care of you. I promise. “I know,” Tommy says. “You always do.”

#harry's writing #fanfic #mafia definitive edition #tommy angelo #sam trapani #paulie lombardo #hmm i should make a request tag or something

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23​ for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it. 

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues.  Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place. 

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

                                                    ~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back.   A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove​, @geeksareunique​, @cailoleaf​, @simonsbluee​ , @hereforsmutandfluff​, @starxtt​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @staygold-bebold​, @marvelschriss​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders preference #peaky blinders headcanon #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby smut #alfie solomons #john shelby #michael gray #arthur shelby #finn shelby #isaiah jesus #ada shelby #polly gray #bonnie gold #tommy shelby one shot

[shushiyuii]

I am but a humble person that enjoys Tiny!Wilbur and Giant!Tommy fearplay that has some comfort-

:]

-Candle Licker Mfer

Here's your request my candle dearest! Apologises if there's many mistakes, i may may not have been sleep deprived whilst writing this and may may not have tried to defeat god in the process but thats not the point-

Warnings: Fearplay (tossing of tiny) and that's about it.

Words: 1.4K

So recently, Wilbur and Tommy had come over to visit Phil for a while as they were planning on working on vlogs and spending quality time with dad, but that certain person was currently and conveniently not home at the moment.

So that left this mischievous duo to their own doings, and the two decided the best idea was to play hide and seek, which may have may not have proved to be a mistake, not one with any fatal or perhaps traumatic experiences but it was something, nonetheless.

Compared to normal hide and seek, usually, both would considerably be normal-sized, but Tommy and Wilbur have added a little trick to this game of theirs, you see, normal hide and seek can be so boring so a little twist to the game makes it all the more exciting, the twist being that one or the other will be tiny.

The reasoning being that it makes the game so much more fun, it adds more excitement and boy, does it boost your ego; At least for Wilbur’s sake since he’s always the fucking giant and always fucking wins He always fucking wins, he always scares Tommy by lifting him so high up into the air… But oh, this time, this time will be different.

Why? Because well this time Tommy was the giant as our little Wilbur had taken some amount of pity to our dearest Tommy but oh man was that his mistake and now. Tommy was prepared to win, he had memorised all of Wilbur’s hiding spots, so he was bound to win. Oh, how they turned have tables, he had his guaranteed win this time.

“Tommy. What on earth are you snickering about?”. His trail of thoughts was cut off as the sound of Techno’s voice hit his eardrums. “TECHNOO!!”. Right, Technoblade was here too… Wait if Techno’s here then- “If you’re worried about that game of yours, Wil already told me about it. Just leave me be and I won’t give a shit”.

Relief washed over him, at least Techno was gonna be chill about it, he’s usually quite the dickhead when it comes to these sorts of things.

He sighed as he paced around the room, waiting for the signal that Wilbur was ready to be found. He waited for what seemed like hours until a “Du du du duu” Sound was heard from his phone, it was time.

He booted it out of the room in search of the tiny. He carefully looked through the corridor, pacing it three times to be sure, then headed to the kitchen down the hall. Within he checked the sink, fridge and every cupboard to its nook and cranny but still no sign of the bitch boy.

He took it upon himself to search the bedrooms and so he did, not Techno’s though, but he did knock and ask in case Wilbur was hiding in there, Techno was one thing, but Techno would not betray Tommy and he knew it. As he searched, he found no sign of him. So, he searched the bathrooms.

He looked at the shower, bathtub, medicine cabinet, baskets heck even a peek at the water tank but nothing. The only other place Wilbur could possibly hide was either the storage closet or the longue.

He cringed as he thought of the storage closet, that would be a hell to go through, but it was better to search through there first. He went downstairs and did a quick yet efficient search and found nothing.

Wilbur was probably in the living room... He groaned at the thought of it since he’s always hiding in the most obvious of places. And went he searched, under the carpet, couches, tables, behind the tv, in the drawers, between the couch cushions and everything yet there was nothing…

He hadn’t, the secret spot… Oh was Wilbur screwed now! Tommy knew right where he was. The thought of victory made him feel so superior, he hadn’t even one yet but victory was so damn close and he could feel it, the rush, the feeling, the ego and boy was he excited to have it.

He went to the dining room and there in the wall was a slightly open hidden compartment, Wilbur was in there alright… Tommy had found it a while ago, whenever Wilbur was tiny he’d always come from near the dining room, so one day while Wilbur was out he searched the entire room and found the compartment, Wilbur was smart he’d give him that.

How did Tommy know Wilbur was in there? Because it was shut before the game started and he made sure to check and since it was now slightly open, there was no other place he could be. He knew Techno wouldn’t betray him!

He made sure not to make a single sound… He wanted Wilbur to feel as much fear as possible… He investigated the small peek hole and saw the man sleeping?

Damn was he confident in himself, little did he know he was just going to have the scare of his life…

He quick as he could, he yanked open the compartment door and yanked Wilbur right out, Wilbur screamed his head off, one moment he was asleep in the compartment the next he was startled awake by Tommy…

“TOMMY! THE FUCK MAN!”. But did Tommy stop there? No how could he after every time Wilbur found him?

Every time Wilbur found him, every time he was sure he’d win. Wilbur found him at the last minute he was caught off guard and scared the living hell out of him. Now it was Wil’s turn to feel that fear…

He tossed Wilbur high as he could without reaching the ceiling, being careful not to drop Wilbur. He screamed his lungs out again and as he landed in Tommy’s hand with an ‘oof’. He was tossed again, when Wilbur landed again, he quickly screamed at Tommy to “STOP IT TOMMY!” but he didn’t as he was tossed a third time.

Tommy thought that was enough revenge and caught Wilbur, bringing him towards his face and smirking with a big ego, just like Wilbur did. “THE FUCKED TOMS?!”. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, had he been too rough?

That was when he saw Wilbur’s chest rising up and down at a really fast pace, Wilbur had tears in his eyes. Fuck, he fucked up, fuck, what does he do?!

“Wil? Wil? Shit- I-I’m sorry! Please!”. Wilbur took a deep breath, calming his nerves somewhat. “Tommy I’m fine!” He yelled slightly, in between breaths. It didn’t ease Tommy’s worries though. “I’m sorry..”. He muttered and put Wilbur back down onto the couch.

The two sat down on the couch, neither breaking the silence for a moment as Wilbur tried to control his breathing. Tommy looked away, ashamed of what he did, he had his head in between his knees and refused to look at anything else.

A couple of minutes later, Wilbur’s breathing had turned to a normal panic, his mind raced as he thought about what had happened, why the fuck would Tommy do shit like that?!

But he did feel bad for yelling at the teen, he knows the teen hates being yelled at. So carefully, he made his way across the couch and sat at Tommy’s shoulder.

“You alright?”. Wilbur asked as he began to comfort the boy, “Wil- I just fucking hurt you! I’m sorry I just-“He could hear it in his voice, although somewhat blocked, he could still hear the boys sobs. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it. Why’d you do it in the first place?”. He ran circles on the boy's chin.

“I- I just wanted you to feel how I felt every time you found me… You always scare the life out of me, sometimes I even think you’re going to drop me. I wasn’t gonna hurt you I promise! I just-“.

“Oh shit Toms- I..” Now Wilbur felt really bad, no wonder why the boy had done it, why he looked he scared every time he was picked up, shit, Wilbur had been an ass himself hadn’t he?”.

“Oh god, did I really scare you like that Toms?”. “Mhm-“. “Hey- hey- look at me”. He directed Tommy’s face to look at him, there he saw the tears running down his face. He placed his hands on his nose and hugged it.

“I’m sorry Toms, really I am. I promise to be gentler, just come here now okay?”. Tommy leaned in closer and held Wilbur in his hands and cuddled.

Hopefully, hide and seek wouldn’t be too rough now.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #giant!tommy #giant!techno #tiny!wilbur #Shushi's writings

[perriwinklesblog]

Right so let’s try and just go through what happened with the TNT and who it could have done this.

I feel like there’s two main scenarios (I imagine there are other scenarios but these are the ones most discussed)

TNT set off in person on the roof/just inside the roof of the prison.

TNT on a red stone timer so it wouldn’t need someone to set it off.

I feel like these are the suspects (again, I believe there are others being discussed but these are the main ones)

Awesamdude

Ranboo (Enderstate)

Technoblade

So let’s think through a few things.

(This is a very, very, long post, my conclusion is essentially hard accuse Ranboo)

First up the most likely of all scenarios, TNT manually exploded on the roof.

This scenario is the most likely due to ease of pulling it off and the fact no one noticed a TNT timer being set up on the roof of the prison. 

Tubbo suggested through his investigations that perhaps it was a last minute plan due to the sand being disturbed around the prison. The idea that the TNT was last minute feels very plausible to me. 

We know Dream has the ability to control people and possibly telepathically communicate with people somehow without being around them (example Ranboo) so it is possible that whilst Tommy was talking to him, he realised his obsession was never going to come back. He needed to find a quick way plan. He wrote the waivers with Sam. He knows the rules of the prison. He could have sent out a message for the TNT to be set off or for any other plan, not to escape but to trap Tommy with him. Why would he do this? To give him time to manipulate Tommy on his side and then convince him to help him escape. 

If it was a last minute, on the go, distraction plan, it would explain the sand disturbance and why not much actual visible damage was done to the prison. 

If the individual had a trident, escape from the scene of the crime without much evidence would have been easy. Jump off the back of the prison and trident away somewhere where they could regroup and establish an alibi. 

But who would do this? 

Only two are likely to have done it this way, Awesamdude and Ranboo.

Skipping Awesamdude for now the only other person able to manually set off the TNT at the time was Ranboo. 

I think we could all agree Ranboo would not have been consciously aware he was doing this. This is evident from the way he reacted to the news of Tommy trapped in there etc and due to our prior knowledge of Ranboo and his sleep walking ender state. 

We also know that Dream has taken advantage of the whole understate already and has a clear relationship with this side of Ranboo. We also know all it takes is a smiley face, given to him by anyone, to set him off. We still do not know what he did or where he went when Dream asked Sapnap to give him a message. 

We know Ranboo’s shovel had lower durability again once more and with the sand having been disturbed... that could be a possible reason why. 

Ranboo also knows where Fundy’s creeper spawner is to get gun powder, and he also has access to the gun powder in Phil and Techno’s house.

With Ranboo previous work with Dream really puts him in the heat. But it could be a red herring, it all fits together too well almost but perhaps we’re paranoid, perhaps we don’t want it to be Ranboo and perhaps it is just him. Okams razor, the simplest solution is usually correct. 

Ranboo also has tridents allowing him to do the trident escape method.

Why is it not Ranboo? Well... I’m struggling I won’t lie I’m struggling. 

The other suspect for this scenario is Sam. 

Sam had time to go to the roof of the prison and set off the TNT and make sure it didn’t do any lasting damage and leave no evidence behind. 

It also would not be suspicious of him to be up on the roof of the prison. 

He also knows all the secrets of the prison and all the passageways making it easy for him to leave and get back without being noticed. 

Sam is also known for TNT. Not just because of his creeper king skin but often he’s the one that has it outwith the lore. On Tubbo’s birthday he showed up with TNT. (Quite a lot) There is also TNT somewhere in the prison as a failsafe mechanism. He could have easily taken some of this and moved it for the purpose of the stunt. 

So Sam could have done it but why would he have done it?

Sam is the Warden and people often forget when he is in this role, nothing but keeping Dream in the prison matters. It’s everywhere in the waivers and conversations Sam has with people. The prisoner being kept in the prison is top priority. 

I have a whole post on Sam’s fatal mistake and the possible reasons in his decision making here. 

But for now let’s focus on why would the Warden do this? 

Quite frankly he wouldn’t. His reaction to Tommy’s suggests he wouldn’t. He is wracked with guilt, and has clearly been seen grieving. His sense of responsibility has lead him to take the full blame. With the other characters on the server missing the fact that Dream killed Tommy, but focusing on The Warden’s Failures. 

But if we focus on before Tommy’s death. It still doesn’t make sense why he would set this up. It served no purpose for him to have Tommy trapped in there with Dream. He hired guards after the incident which is pointless if he orchestrated the whole thing. Even if he trying to cover up his involvement it still wouldn’t make sense to bring in two people who could easily come across your lies. 

Most people focus on the fact that Dream hired him to make this build. I could hire a builder and then trap someone in the building the builder built but that doesn’t mean he was involved. 

Sam had no idea the prison was for Tommy. It was originally meant for someone else (We still don’t know who by the way) but then Tommy runway from exile and Dream repurposed it for him. (Obviously from the get go it was for Tommy but in lore it wasn’t originally meant for him) 

What I’m trying to say is, just because Sam is the builder, does not make him on Dreams side. In fact Sam saw Tubbo and Tommy off, gave Tubbo gifts, said goodbye to them. Sam’s character recently generally tries to help everyone on the server and stayed out of most of the conflict, It’s just with this prison and the egg that conflict has been thrust into his lap and generally he tries to do the right thing. 

It just feels wrong to have someone who managed to resist the murderous urges of the egg to keep his dog alive, then becomes part of the plot to trap Tommy in the prison. It also goes against the Warden’s code and if anything Sam is all about the Warden’s code. 

So in this scenario, I believe the most likely suspect is Ranboo. Sam may have had an easier time setting up the TNT but Ranboo has a better connection and motive to trap Tommy in the prison. 

This brings us onto Scenario 2, TNT with a red stone Timer. 

During Tubbo’s stream the idea that someone could have earlier and set up a red stone timer which would mean someone didn’t have to be there to set it off come up. I do not know red stone mechanics but those who do seem to believe this would have been possible. 

Now this would mean, the person could have gone onto the server at a time where no one else was on or perhaps when someone else was on but they knew they wouldn’t be anywhere near the prison and set up the timer. 

This is a risky plan as someone could have come across it all and either set it off before it was meant too or report it to the Warden or Sam could have come across it. Due to this I’m less likely to believe this is what happened.

If the sand around the prison was mined for the TNT this would mean the culprit was sloppy. They literally could have gotten sand from elsewhere. So if it was done this way they were either sloppy or that sand wasn’t used. 

There is also the element of, how did they know Tommy was going to visit Dream and when he was going to visit him. The only way this scenario works is if they were setting off the TNT to allow Dream to escape but with how little damage there was done to the prison, it would suggest that this wasn’t the goal. The goal definitely was to trap Tommy in with Dream. 

But this way does mean we can consider a wider range of suspects.  

Really, all suspects could easily pick up the knowledge to do this so it’s more about the reason behind whether they would do it or not. 

We’ve already gone through reasons of if and why Sam and Ranboo would be on Dreams side so I won’t go into detail with themes quickly I will say 

Sam has the most knowledge on red stone but unlikely to have done it due to unlikely being on Dream’s side. 

Ranboo could have done it this way but again, how would he have known when Tommy was going to be in the prison. 

So this brings us to Technoblade. 

Personally I think the idea Technoblade was involved is one of the weakest of all the suspects. 

Yes Technoblade owes Dream a favour but I truly believe this favour might have been killing Tubbo or getting something for resurrecting Schlatt. I believe he would have wanted to harm Tommy by having Tubbo killed and he’s been wanting to revive Schlatt for a while now. (I feel like theres a side to Schlatts character we don’t know about but he’s important to Dream for some reason?) 

Anyway, yeah I don’t think the favour Dream has in mind for Technoblade is freedom from the prison. The TNT didn’t even do much damage to the prison. Plus Technoblade is very showboat. He loves his speeches, he loves to leave a mark. This is waaaaaay to sneaky. He’s want people to know when he’s done stuff. He wants people to be slightly scared of him (I could go in on the reasons behind that but not the point of this). It just wouldn’t be normal for him to do it this way. Plus this clearly wasn’t about breaking Dream out the prison but trapping Tommy. And if it was about trapping Tommy, he’d want Tommy to know it was him. 

There just isn’t as much good solid evidence pointing to Technoblade. And him having the gunpowder? Rockets. The man loves a rocket and he also loves to have supplies. 

It just doesn’t feel very Technoblade to me. Especially setting up so it explodes later. He’d want to watch. 

This whole scenario just doesn’t quite fit so for this, offline suspects are pretty much in the clear for it. 

However, if Scenario Two turns out to be true, I would place my money on Ranboo setting it up. 

If you’ve made it this far to my rambling, well done. I am impressed. 

For my conclusion, I’d like to say I am more often than not wrong. One of the amazing things about this server and the creators part of it, is how they really can flip things around and turn it a way you wouldn’t expect. 

There is an issue of Red Herrings. Tommy is famous for doing this directly to our faces. Saying things to make us believe one thing and then doing something different and at the moment with all the evidence basically suggesting Ranboo, there is a slight chance that those clues have just been to throw us off. 

So overall, at the moment, Ranboo is looking to be the guilty party.

This is all pain.  

#dream smp #awesamdude #ranboo #tubbo #tommy #tommyinnit #tommy mcyt #technoblade #dreamwastaken #discourse #warden sam

[hollenka99]

The Futility of Talking

Summary: Ghostbur decides Soulbur needs people to talk to.

Warnings: implied suicidal ideation, referenced parental neglect, referenced animal death, nearly drowning (accident unrelated to the first tw)

Masterlist

It takes days of wandering in the woods for Ghostbur to gradually decide he's had enough. It's isolating out here in the open. This isn't helped by the fact Soulbur seems hellbent on avoiding him whenever he is bestowed the privilege of catching a glimpse. Did he do something wrong? If he made Soulbur upset somehow, he'd really love to apologise and work through it.

Friend turns his head at a slight rustle coming from the trees. Ghostbur's face lights up when he follows the sheep's gaze and his eyes land on a calico lazing around on a branch. He commands Friend to stay there. Climbing the tree isn't that difficult so it doesn't take him long to perch on an adjacent branch, hand outstretched to gain the cat's trust. "Hi, I'm Ghostbur. Do you like chin scratches? I know she did." He sits by the steam, pole in hand. He's done for the morning with the trading he set out to the village for. There seems to be more than enough fish to spare here so today is getting more successful by the hour. A squid found itself on the end of his line earlier too. He'll have to work out how to prepare it. He's sure Phil demonstrated once but that was likely years ago. Phil himself has gone off for a short trip and was due to return by this evening. If Wilbur can keep the squid fresh enough, he'll ask him for advice so they can have some tomorrow night. A stray cat has warily made her way towards him. No sudden movements, he remembers. Strays tend to be skittish (this one evidently no exception) and need patience shown to them if you wish to pet one. He slowly offers the cat a chunk of one of the fish. She loves it and it is clear she is requesting more. So he gives in to her incessant mewling. What he hadn't considered during this interaction was how quickly a stray could begin viewing you with affection if you gave them the time of day. Having hung around him while he fished, she inevitably follows him after he packs up to go home. At first, he'd chuckled in a 'ha look at this cat attach itself to me' way. Then she leapt into his little boat and it suddenly grew more serious. Uh, yeah, you might not want to go all the way home with him, little kitty, it'll be a hell of a hike home otherwise. She looks to him expectantly. Ha, okay I know I gave you some fish today but you can't have any more because I need some left to eat myself so it's best if you hop out of- Oh alright you're going to clamber onto my lap, huh? Fine, fine, I'll let you hang out at my house for a little while. Prepare yourself for Tommy though, that kid can be a fairly boisterous at times. Tommy is quicker to greet her than help his brother with the bloody shopping or today's catch. He fusses over her as if she was already their pet. "Oh nice, have we got ourselves a cat then?" "No, they're-" Yes. Yes, they were absolutely going to take in this stray, weren't they? God damn it. "They're going to need a name before we do that." The two of them bounce names off of each other. In the mix are the likes of Pumpkin, Carrot, Rose, Apricot and Amber. Wilbur jokingly suggests 'Basilina' in reference to something which unfortunately leaves Tommy's face blank. Whatever gets suggested, none of the options come across as the right one. "Why do people call orange red?" Tommy asks out of nowhere. "Oh, it's because you're never going to get an animal with fur that's actually red but orange is close enough so you get people saying orange fur is red. Something like that. It's the same way someone might look at a cat and call their fur blue when actually it's more grey with blue tones." "That's dumb." Tommy scoffs. "Hey, apples are red." "...They are, yes." "I want to call her Apple." "I thought you liked Pumpkin a minute ago." "She can be both." "Like a first name-last name kind of deal? Well... I think Appleby might be an actual surname that exists so what do you think about Pumpkin Appleby?" The small boy bursts into giggles. "That's the stupidest name I have ever heard." "Oh really? Well if you're so great at coming up with names on the fly, you do better." He teases. Tommy frowns with concentration as he deliberates on the perfect identity for this ginger cat who has wandered into their lives until he comes up with "Apple Pumpkinson." "Sure." He laughs. "Sure, we'll call her Apple Pumpkinson, I guess. As good a name as any." He crafts the name tag that very afternoon. With the cat clearly not interested in social interaction right now, Ghostbur leaps to the ground. A familiar animal comes into existence. Apple gets a fair amount of attention before complying with his offer of being carried. It's been so long since he had her against his chest. It feels good. "Come on, let's find Soulbur. I'm sure he'll want to meet you." --- There is a voice drifting in the wind from somewhere nearby. Close enough to hear, far enough to not be able to discern more details about its origins. He knows it is most likely Ghostbur trying to chat with him despite all his effort to evade his company. Forgive him for hardly having 'talking through our last interaction' on his hypothetical 'stuff I'd prefer to do today' list. But then again, it could not be. Someone could have somehow breached the boundaries of his private world. Is that possible? He... thinks so. To be fair, he can leave so there must be exploitable fault lines somewhere. Perhaps he should defend himself. Obviously, a threat to his safety can only go so far given that he can't permanently sustain injuries, let alone die again. And fuck knows he never gave much of a shit about physically protecting himself in those last several weeks of life. But look at him waste valuable time deliberating. Shit like that could easily get you killed. Whoever is approaching, they're getting closer. Maybe Ghostbur. Maybe someone who doesn't wish him well. Does he risk trusting the most likely option? Or does he risk coming across as a paranoid weirdo who overthinks the slightest things too often? He's in an open space with no-one else around, in a sectioned off part of the void that no-one visits. Ha, someone could take him out and Ghostbur likely wouldn't find him until tomorrow or whatever. But wants to believe this will have the best outcome as a result of heavily misinterpreting his senses. God, there he goes again, decreasing his chances of properly defending himself from a potential threat in time. Listen, it's probably Ghostbur so don't manifest a weapon, it's probably Ghostbur so don't manifest a weapon, it's probably Ghostbur so don't manifest a weapon. He draws a sword as he whips around. If the pursuer is far away, he has time to switch to something long range like a bow and arrow. Otherwise, he won't have the chance to correct what could be a fatal mistake. "Hi, Soulbur!" The smile drops in shock. "O-Oh." See? Just Ghostbur with Friend tagging along close behind. Honestly, who else would it be? "Ghostbur." Shoulders sag in what could be interpreted as relief or some sort of exhaustion. The sword drops from his loosened grip, vanishing as if it never existed in the first place. He makes no further comment when he notices there's a ginger cat in the ghost's arms. Not just any feline with orange fur either. There is no doubt in his mind who this is. He wants to be flooded with recollections of petting sessions, moments spent unable to leave the spot he was sitting due to a napping lump and times he'd laughed while getting yelled at. Yet no matter how hard he tries, only two associated memories reveal themselves to be prominent. The first revolves around sitting on the large bed, one arm occupied with Fundy while the other drew Tommy closer without causing his brother's hand to slip away from the fur it was emerged in. The other featured the sweltering heat of the Nether and knowing it was possibly the very last place he wished to be at that very moment. "Do you remember her?" "Y-Yeah, I think so." He attempts to crouch but, thanks to still coming down from hyperactive thoughts, he miscalculates his balance and ends up sitting within seconds. Allowed back on the ground, Apple cautiously approaches Soulbur's offered backhand. "Oh." He exhales. "Hi, Aps." His eyes can fuck off. There is no way in hell he's letting himself cry over something that happened years ago. Especially not with Ghostbur present. Instead he focuses on gently kneading the spots behind her ears. "I am so sorry. It's my fault for not monitoring you more closely." "I'm guessing she stayed with Phil after Tommy, Fundy and Alivebur left." "You think we would have left her at home? No, no, no. She's been gone for years. It was back when Fundy was tiny. Tommy was watching him while we made dinner but called us over for something. We could have sworn we covered those mushrooms but Tommy made it sound urgent and we..." Soulbur's gaze redirects itself with a soft sigh. She glances back at him. "Why the hell did you have to go snooping around and nibbling on things you're not supposed to, huh missy?" "I don't know why but Tommy got it into his head it would be cool if we buried her in the Nether. Pretty sure we were too emotionally drained to say anything other than 'fuck it, why not'. There was a warped forest not far from where the nearest portal landed us so we left her under one of the trees. Did you like that? I know it was a bit warmer than you'd expect it to be." 'Tell me more about her', he wants to say. 'I know I'll forget pretty much as soon as you finish but could you spare a story?', he nearly asks. 'Let's practise futility together', he is seconds away from offering. "Thank you." He instead says. "So... are we letting bygones be bygones then?" "Did something happen? I'm trying to think but nothing is coming up." "Uh, yeah." He frowns. "We-" Oh. Of fucking course. Stupid him for stressing about a potential confrontation between them where they'd need to discuss their argument. All this time and Ghostbur didn't even bloody recall any of it. Well done, Soulbur, for wasting your goddamn week. His only consolation was that at least several days meant nothing when compared to near-infinity. "Never mind. It wasn't important anyway." "I'm sorry if I did something bad. I'm really trying to remember." "Sure. Whatever. Doesn't matter so don't worry about it. Either way, I'm sorry too." All across their world, out of their view, every fungal species goes extinct in an instant. Mostly because he refuses to let history to repeat itself, partially because he needs to say fuck you to something. --- Ghostbur is delighted to see Soulbur when he makes a surprise visit. It's completely unexpected but somehow, it makes the interruption to his day all the better. His counterpart encourages him to follow along. Apparently, there is something Soulbur would like to show him. He asks after Apple as they travel. She's doing alright and is back at Soulbur's hideout. Across a hill is an entire valley of flowers, populated by a variety of colourful plants. There were daisies over there, a rainbow's worth of tulips scattered in most directions and oh look, patches of bare grass. Friend will love that. At the centre of the flowery ocean is a dark blue pool of the flower he's been struggling to find up until now. From the edge where they are standing, there is pleasant line of birch trees acting as a border. Looking further, he spots a lake of the other side. "This whole thing is yours." "Everything?" "Yep. Knock yourself out." "But why?" "Because I can?" He shrugs. "You got me Apple and I'm not such a huge twat that I wouldn't at least attempt to return the gesture." "Thank you!" Ghostbur throws his arms open, spontaneously moving towards the other half of Alivebur. The momentum doesn't lead to his body affectionately colliding with Soulbur's. Instead, it causes his hands to impact with the ground, the only things preventing his face from joining them. Glancing up, he catches wide eyes staring back at him and the twitch of an arm that, in another set of circumstances, might not have been 'corrected' before the command to complete the intended action was fulfilled. Then the sight vanishes as Soulbur's expression morphs into something more akin to a fed up frown. "Yeah, don't mention it. No need to make a big fuss. In fact, I think I'm done here. Just um... maybe you could set your base here. I don't think you ever got around to actually building a house, right? You could clear some wood from these trees and put it around about here." With that, he sets off. Like... he always does. Looking out over it once more, there is no doubt that this place really was gorgeous. He's grateful that Soulbur thought to make something like this for him, he truly is. However, he can't fully appreciate it because Soulbur always seemed to end up mad whenever Ghostbur was around. He's even materialised a pearl to make his escape faster. Oh, hang on, what if it's simply him that's the issue? You can't expect somebody to like everyone they know. Perhaps the solution is to provide him with more people to talk to. He'd only had Schlatt (their lifetime hatred had transferred over) and Mexican Dream (while their relationship was better, it was hardly like they were close, as far as Ghostbur could tell). Now that this line of thought has occurred to him, he could also benefit from speaking to expanding his social circle while here. He sighs. But first, he should find Friend. He's sure his loyal companion of a sheep will love the grassy parts of this gift as much as Ghostbur does. --- Tucked in the cliff face, Soulbur was perfectly content with spending time with his cat. He'd half forgotten how it felt to have weight pressing on the side of his face or across his chest, if he's going to be honest. He knows his company is not the most entertaining but he appreciates that Apple seems not to outwardly mind. One day he might actually fish or hunt again for her instead of simply causing her food to appear from thin air. He's sure she'll like that. Either way, all of this is to say that no, Ghostbur, he would rather not get dragged to your field for some activity you haven't even explained clearly. All he'd managed to surmise was that it entailed speaking to someone. Had Schlatt or Mexican Dream discovered a way to come here? He hopes not since this was supposed to his private piece of the void. Although, now he thought about it, he's pretty sure he's unintentionally missed the last couple times he and Mexican Dream had tried to schedule a Spanish lesson. Damn it. Yeah, Mexican Dream likely wasn't super pleased about being left hanging. Next card session, he'd apologise. Had someone they'd known died and found their way here somehow? No, he's sure Ghostbur would have mentioned their name by now if that had been the case. Even when they reach their destination, nothing gains any clarity. "Alright, we're here. What do you want from me?" "I was thinking about how we can make people show up because, well, I already made Apple appear. Anyway, it might be good for you to have more friends here because before me, you were very lonely." "I'm not... lonely." He huffs. "Besides, when it comes to a lot of our 'friends', we didn't part on the best of terms. Lots of uh, animosity, I suppose you could say." "Then you get that anger out. You're very good at that." Yep, that's him, the guy who was always angry. Not like anger or its cousin frustration weren't simply the easiest to settle into. He's played the asshole villain once before, he can keep doing it for the sake of maintaining his reputation. He supposes he should be glad that Ghostbur has never caught any moments where his face hadn't been as dry whenever the ghost has approached his cave. Or when he's recovering from a rough nap. So yeah, Mr Angry, that's who he is. But god is it tiring to maintain a single emotion. Must be great for Ghostbur to get a wider range. "So who do you want first?" Deliberation. Then a stubborn sigh. "Phil. I guess." Within a minute, a replica of Phil is standing before them. He's a pretty decent copy of the real man, although he swears those wings should be darker and he's certain Phil's missing the handful of grey hairs his 40s have provided him. Close enough though. Not to mention this is literally only an illusion. Anything Soulbur might want to say to him doesn't matter because Phil's not actually going to hear it. Neither of them can predict how he'll genuinely react to wherever a potential conversation may lead. He comments as much to Ghostbur who comes across as unfazed by this issue. Well, screw it, might as well get it out of the gate. "Kind of a shitty thing you did. And I know that we apparently asked for it but... you didn't have to actually do it." "Go on, don't hold back." The ghost encourages. "I mean, where the hell do you want me to start? Him killing us, the frequent trips away that turned into fucking off indefinitely, the fact I didn't feel like-?" "Not me, him." A groan. "Fine. You agreed to let Tommy stay so he should have been your responsibility more than mine. In my teens, I should have been more preoccupied with dumb things like wanting to have a bunch of friends or catching a girl's attention. Not deciding whether I needed to leave Tommy home alone so we could still eat because you weren't back from another sodding trip yet. You probably know by now but surprise! Fundy was never just some rapidly aging kid I seemed to always be babysitting. Not that you were ever there long enough to press me on that by that point. You know, I didn't realise being a parent had a time limit. By that logic, I should have told Fundy to get on with being an independent adult as soon as he turned 5. Maybe it's a good thing Tommy pretty much chose to live on his own at 16, god forbid I had to spend another 2 or so years frequently looking out for him. I might not have known what I was doing and honestly, could have done with some tips, but at least you already taught me what not to do. God knows why I bothered to offer you a chance to start over with those letters." "I'm sorry." The fake Phil says. "You don't get to choose if he'd actually apologise." "Isn't that what you want?" "It's what you want." Ghostbur's brow furrow with genuine confusion. "And you don't?" "You want some perfect world where things can be fixed with a single conversation so no, I don't want that. Not realisitic." "What do you want from him then?" He takes a long, scrutinising look at the imitation of his pseudo-father before him. Objectively, he is vaguely aware there were many moments of affection that grew sparser the older he got and the more often Phil would go adventuring with Technoblade. He was... loved and he used to love back. Or that is his best guess. He was becoming very close friends with Techno back when they were in their teens too. There's a reason he was never able to fully trust the piglin hybrid during their time in Pogtopia. It was Phil's fault for entrusting him with responsibilities always a little bit too early. But it was Techno's fault for not bringing it up despite the amount of times they left without the other two when Wilbur made it as blatantly clear as he could that he wasn't happy about it. He didn't always shut the door more firmly than he should whenever they bid farewell. And he is sure that, once upon a time, being surrounded by one of Phil's wings was among his favourite places to be. Not anymore. "Guess." He answers. --- It's a week after he talks to 'Phil' that Ghostbur suggests they try the exercise once more. Soulbur begrudgingly accepts. "Oh, I know. How about Tommy? He and I used to hang out. We even went on holiday together." "A holiday?" "Mhmm," Ghostbur nods enthusiastically. "Dream took us on a boat and I did my best not to touch the water even though I like teasing Phil by sticking my hand out when it rains." Faintly, from an intangible distance he can't perceive the length of, alarm bells toll. Dream wasn't the type of guy to randomly send a teenager and his brother's ghost on a holiday abroad. He wouldn't be surprised if there were ulterior motives at play. After all, Dream had practically enabled Wilbur with the TNT stock increase so... he doesn't know what to make of it. One way or another, something didn't add up. However, he is lacking in context and if it's as dubious as he suspects, Soulbur doubts Ghostbur can recall the necessary background intel to complete the full picture. Ghostbur seems like he has more to say on the matter in his ramble but Soulbur jumps in with "Doesn't rain burn you though?" "Well yes but when it's tiny like drizzle, it's all tingly instead. It only really hurts when I touch a lot of it." "Like for example... the ocean." "Yes." He giggles. "But I wasn't going to actually do it. It would have been fun if I could. Phil always makes this face when I try to touch rain. It's like when Alivebur used to sneak a few more berries in his mouth than he was supposed to or when he got his clothes wet by jumping into rivers." "Right. Anyway, let's get Tommy over with." 'Tommy' is, again, a good copy. His hair has grown out which Soulbur suspects may have been something that occurred in his absence. He's not used to this length since Tommy always kept his hair in a flux of 'short and kind of tidy' to 'too annoying and shit'. You know what? This length lowkey suits him. If Soulbur, or more to the point Wilbur, were still alive, he'd say so to the real Tommy's face. But instead, he supposes he has to vent for the sake of the activity. It takes a minute but he is able to think of something. "You shouldn't have acted as my right hand in exile. You did decently during the war and did your part to help with the election. But when it came to exile? You kept opposing the TNT idea but didn't really offer any potential alternative solutions to deal with L'Manburg instead. At one point I think you even came close to unintentionally helping Schlatt with his plans for the sake of a distraction. And shit, Tubbo might have ended up being a bit of a yes man but at least I knew not to fully trust his motives and actions. You were supposed to stick by my side or tell me to get fucked. You did both and neither. You might not be an adult yet but you're certainly not a little boy anymore. If you are going to take a stand, you can't just let yourself be a dissenting bystander. I might have even listened to you if you came up with a viable enough plan to rid our country of tyranny without destroying it for good. But well... too late for that now." Tommy appears dejected. Immediately, Soulbur really wishes his ghostly twin would stop giving these clones feelings when the point of all this was to do it without the actual person they represented knowing what his thoughts were. They would have to sort it out. --- The sun is warm in his field and it's nearly enough to negate the slight universal chill he's slowly begun growing accustomed to. With Soulbur laying near him, Friend grazing somewhere off in the distance and Apple enjoying the sun in the gap between the humans, it's a rare moment but lovely all the same. "Do you ever think about how it was supposed to be over, how we were supposed to be done with everything?" Soulbur speaks up. "No? What do you mean?" "I mean the button. We kept telling Tommy we wouldn't die in the explosion, that the people who'd die were those unfortunate enough to be in L'Man- Manberg when we set it aflame. Never us, no no no. Us, in our little button room? Nah, why would you ever think that? People lied to us, we lied to them back. Nobody's fucking trustworthy. Eret dumped potatoes on us like 'Oh we're the best of friends now and everything's all great between us'. Fuck off, if you think I'd let my guard down around you, especially you, you have another thing coming. Probably wanted to hurt Tommy and I again for the hell of it. And maybe we weren't that far gone by October, maybe we were being honest about not intending to die with our nation. But on the day, we fucked up. I don't know what it was, I think... I think it was the combination of Tubbo being targeted for supposedly having loyalty towards Pogtopia, Schlatt being a prick as usual and everything seeming to happen at once. Whatever happened, we freaked out and couldn't focus enough to realise we needed to take maybe like... five steps forward to find where the entrance to the room was hidden. So we lost our great chance and had to wait for the next one. All that time telling ourselves we just had to get to the 16th and then we'd get what we wanted, all of it for nothing. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that it was only an extra month to get worse. When we set a date for war, it gave us a target to aim for. So yeah, we got worse and threw ourself into making sure that this time we would not fail under any circumstance. Who cares about basic things like staying safe and healthy when we knew the when and where of our death? We were like... we were like those people that are terminally ill and their body just loses its appetite the sicker they get. Either way, we got what we wanted and then realised this wasn't what we expected it to be. Screw us for hoping to catch a fucking break, right?" Ghostbur begins questioning why exactly he was going on a rant like this but Soulbur barrels on regardless. "Whenever people speculate about what the afterlife is like, a lot of them imagine it as this great time where you reunite with those you knew who went before you. You all sit in a circle and hold hands and enjoy each other's company, forever. You do that shit forever. Seeing people you cared about sounds nice in theory but in practice? There's a reason you don't stay in the presence of even your favourite person ever 24/7. It's tiring. Fuck that, you know? I don't know whether humans were made to be social for eternity. It's like 'Oh hey Grandma, fancy seeing you here for the trillionth time since I died'. Not for me, thanks. Not for a bunch of people either, I'm sure of it." "You said it was January when you left?" "Yes." "And you're sure about that?" "Yes." "Well that's only two months. And trust me, I might not know how long I've been here but I know it's been far longer than two months. Which means, Ghostbur, which means that time moves faster here. I don't know how much faster, there's no way of working it out, but one thing is for sure, we're going to get more days here than down there. Because... because here's the thing, Ghostbur, here's the thing, it doesn't matter how hard you try to keep count of the days in little notebooks or whatever, because it will get to a point where you don't care if the index number- that's what the little number in the top right corner is called, right? Nobody cares if the number is 8 or 9 by the time you've been here long enough to be counting that high. Who cares if you've been here for 2 times 10 to the power of 6 or- or 5 times 10 to the power of 300 days? One way or another, you'll have been dead for a long, long time. By that point, who gives a shit. The main problem is that it seems the dead are stuck with a longer infinity than the living." "Sometimes- Okay, I'm only admitting this out loud because technically we're the same person and I mean, who are you going to tell, other than Schlatt or Mexican Dream- Friend might also count, I don't know... Same difference. But fuck it, you're not going to tell anyone who actively gives a shit about trying to play the bigger person with the intent of stopping me." He catches his breath. "Sometimes, Ghostbur, sometimes I wonder if I were to collapse this pretend world and leave myself with no protection from the Void, whether that would cause me to lose consciousness. Wouldn't that be interesting? Never having to regain consciousness, just... lights out and then a nap that lasts long enough to see the universe end. Death as it should be." He glances over at Soulbur silently. Speechlessly even because what on earth is he supposed to say after all that? His other half is thoughtfully playing with a poppy still connected to the ground. He is seemingly none the wiser to Ghostbur's lost gaze. "I guess these flowers aren't too bad. Shame I'll get incredibly bored of them eventually." "...I think you need some blue. Let me find you some from my collection." "Believe me, I don't think blue will help in the slightest." "Try it anyway. It helps me." "Well, infinite time to gather infinite resources... I doubt you wasting some on me will make a difference in the long run." He stumbles as he rises. Blue, just focus on making blue. He's laughter and encouragement and an open pair of comforting arms when necessary. He was not made to contemplate the universe or its mysteries. So he'll deliver blue to those who need it. Maybe he'll spare some blue for himself. But Soulbur first, definitely. --- The next week, amongst the suggestions he throws at Soulbur regarding who he should speak to this time, Niki's name gets mentioned. The more volatile half of Alivebur outright refuses to even consider it. His reasoning is that he has nothing to say to her, regardless of how much the real Niki likely has to say to him. Ghostbur doesn't get much of a chance to argue they could speak to Niki without having to criticize her. She appears in their void world either way when Soulbur is gone because who says he can't hang out with his friend? He provides all the ingredients. He lets her be in charge of grounding the wheat into flour since she is much better at it than him. Instead, he is in charge of slicing the apples into segments as equally as he can. The slices that won't go in the cake or on it as part of the decoration will become snacks for Friend. They work well as a team, chatting and laughing together as they prepare it all for baking. "Niki, Alivebur didn't do this often, did he?" "No but it's okay, he was a very busy man." "We should do this regularly. We can do that now." "Sure. It'll be fun." The end product is as delicious as it smells. They sample the result of their hard work, leaving a minimum of half to share with a certain someone. The cliff face never reeked of nicotine in life as far as he's aware. Then again, he has no memories of Alivebur ever considering touching a cigarette while living here. He doesn't expect to recall something like that in the first place but... he believes his point still stands. Apple Pumpkinson is probably lingering in the vicinity since he can't see her right now. He does, however, spot a figure with their knees tucked towards their chest and a glowing burning dot. There is a mix of sniffling and coughing coming from them as well. Part of Ghostbur plans to enquire whether that's simply the result of Soulbur's habit or an indication he isn't feeling great at the moment. Despite not truly wanting to, he decides to leave it. He doubts Soulbur would appreciate the intrusion. So he sticks to his original reason for coming here. "Niki and I baked a cake so here's your share of it. It's got a bunch of apples inside and on top. Don't tell anyone," He chuckles. "But I've already had a taste test. It's very, very good but I might be a little biased." Perhaps when he checks in tomorrow, the cake will have been undisturbed. More for him, he jokes internally. He does hope Soulbur will enjoy the gift though. So when he swings by again the next day to leave a new set of flowers (a bunch of oxeye daisies that were as lovely as they were cheery) and discovers there is no evidence of a baked product ever being delivered, Ghostbur is optimistically hopeful. It was a rather large portion which is why he expects Soulbur not have eaten it in one go. He comes to the conclusion it might be good if he does this more often. --- Having suggested people like Niki (nope, no thanks, he doesn't know if he could manage to look any version of her in the eye) and Eret (no chance in hell, for arguably the inverse reasons), Ghostbur has once again dragged him back to the flower field for one of the talks. It's Fundy this time, though he was incredibly reluctant to accept. There's no trace of war or any sort of strife for that matter on his son. He's in a t-shirt and an open black hoodie, slightly younger than he last recalls so perhaps in his late teens. It's dawningly apparent that this is the boy who was yet to sneak off to join his uncle on an adventure to find somewhere cool, far away. It won't do. Soulbur has things he wants to say but not to this kid who is probably only 17 or 18. The war veteran turned spy wearing a dark jacket with their familiar coloured stripes on the side of the partition appears as his replacement. That's better. "You went behind my back. You not only ran against me in the election, with one of my closest friends might I add, but then attempted to win by committing voter fraud. Not to mention you went on to basically side with Schlatt. I don't care if it was supposed to be a ruse. You still did things that benefitted his cause. I'm not going to go into the fucking flag because I don't feel like being here all day. I know full well showing you basic human decency doesn't mean you're in my debt. But the least you could have done was not turn your back on me the minute you decided you didn't need me anymore. Being in your early 20s doesn't mean you suddenly begin to know what the hell you're doing. I should know!" Ghostbur steps between them, arms thrown out wide. "Fundy is a good son. He's never done anything wrong." "Don't try to debate when you don't have all the evidence." "Well, you shouldn't either then." "Tell me, how great was your relationship as Ghostbur? Because I can't imagine he'd welcome the remnants of his dear old dad back with open arms after all the shit that had just gone down while we were exiled." "I visited him in his home. Phil was there sometimes too." He scoffs at the breezy nonchalance. "Bet that went well." He takes another look at his little boy, not quite as little as he once was, and that's all it takes for him to stop acting pissed off. Four months was a short amount of time for so much to happen to Wilbur. But, likewise, practically just as much happened to Fundy and the others once united under the flag of L'Manburg. Doesn't he know it. And that's exactly why he is positive he cannot stay here a minute longer. "You undoubtedly know where to find me." "Soulbur, wait! You don't have to go. We can-" "I'm tired, Ghostbur. I really don't want to keep doing this. Mostly because it's always been pointless but also, how many times do you want me to get purposefully upset at people we used to care about?" Dejectedly, Ghostbur's gaze diverts to the side as he mumbles out "Cliff or trees?" "Cliff, probably. Apple is there." There is a nod in response and that's all the cue he needs to get the hell out of here. "Do you want to stay up tonight?" He asks his cat. "I can feel it will most likely be a festival kind of thing if I close my eyes. A-And I really can't do that if... Fundy's so close to the front of my mind right now." Speaking of festivals, he thinks he knows who he should have a one sided chat with. But this time, he won't be the one doing the talking. --- He wasn't actually seeking out Soulbur this time. It's an accident that he catches the scene but he's glad to see Tubbo in front of him. It's great that Soulbur was in fact willing to give it a go after all. He felt like it might have slightly been an act, the whole reluctance and instances of hesitation to fully commit. He'll leave them be. If Soulbur wants to do this on his own, Ghostbur is hardly going to breach that privacy. Tubbo takes a breath and it goes downhill from there. "You got me killed. Twice. Your incompetence and neglect to see what was going on got us all killed. You should have realised sooner instead of helping to lead us down to a massacre. In fact, your leadership wasn't what won us the war. It was Tommy sacrificing one of his lives and then both his discs that won us our freedom. And when I trusted you to keep me safe while I risked so much to help you out, you let me die. You lied to me and told me Technoblade was on your side. Look how well that turned out. I was scared out of my mind. I thought you'd at least try to think of a way to help me. But no, you stayed on that roof. Even tried to use the chaos following my execution as a distraction while you ran to the fucking button. You know, it's a shame you destroyed L'Manburg because, even at only 16, I would have made a much bet-." Tubbo cuts off suddenly at the sound of sobbing. He'd tried his best to be silent, he really had. He's not sure why he didn't leave like he'd intended to once Tubbo began talking. Oh and there's Soulbur with that scowl on his face again. "The hell are you doing here, Ghostbur?" "Why are you making him say that? Tubbo wouldn't say that to us." Weary exasperation. "None of them are real, they're just manifestations for the sake of having something to focus on and visualise. What, you'd prefer I switch him to a more suitable individual?" Tubbo morphs into a tall man with unkempt brown hair, a trenchcoat and fingerless gloves. His face bears a matching scowl to Soulbur's one from a moment ago while displaying signs of neglecting basic care... the same sort that, again, Soulbur exhibited. Point made, the third Wilbur dissolves into the air. "You really think that Self Loathing Central is going to thrive positively in a mental capacity by saying things aloud? I'm not the one who needs to sort through his feelings when it comes to harsh truths, Ghostbur. The problem is you seem to be literally incapable of that, given your whole side of the amnesia. Can't help it, I know. But you don't know how- god, if only you knew how goddamn frustrating it is." "I'm sorry. I'm really trying." "Yeah. Me too." Soulbur spits back. The frown remains despite his sharp, conceding exhale. "I just struggle to imagine how we make up the same person sometimes." --- Ghostbur's typically calm, even sunny, demeanour changes to a frown. Okay... he questions whether he's gone too far, given that his counterpart's mood has now tipped into frustrated. Well, either way, he pissed people off in life and he's still continuing to piss them off (although now it's technically himself, in this scenario) in death. This isn't really anything new. Shit, he's even managed to push Ghostbur to a fleeting bout of frustrated anger once before. But this isn't fury, not yet. "Okay, why are you so mean? You are always angry or sad or- or bitter. It's like... what's the phrase? It's like talking to a brick wall. I don't like it." "You don't like a lot about me. Your point?" "My point is be more nice. I just want to get along." "So you can betray me again?" "I never betrayed you! I know Alivebur did a lot of bad th-" "Forget Alivebur." Soulbur spits. Okay, he supposes this is getting quite real now. Fuck knows where this will end up but who cares right now. "Never mind what wrong we did while alive. Right now this is about what you did. You specifically." "But we are the same person." "We are two halves of the same person, yes. Unequal halves at that. Which is your fault." "I never did anything." "Oh my god. Are you serious?!" He starts pacing slightly. Fingers make their way through his hair, stopping halfway, then join their respective arms in being thrown to the sky. He almost seems to be addressing the sun with his next words. "Do you hear that? Do you- do you bloody hear that? He never did anything wrong. Sweet, innocent, harmless Ghostbur is absolutely incapable of wrongdoing." Now whipping back to the ghost. "Why do you want to fuse? Be honest." "Well um, people need Alivebur back. I can't be him. So we need to-" "Go back down there? Yeah, sure, we planned to end up here after destroying L'Manburg but we'll just start living again as if the last few months of our life didn't happen. As if we didn't... Fuck." "But we can live again. Just different." "And that's the problem, isn't it, you being the one willing to live? You know what I want from a hypothetical fusion? To be whole. I want to have all our fucking memories in one spot, to remember what it was like to be goddamn happy. But no, can't risk that, especially now I'm sure you'll do the one thing I don't want you to." He can tell Ghostbur is attempting to formulate a counterpoint to this outburst. He doesn't allow him to. Besides, the ghost had been pushing him to vent at various 'friends' and, in Soulbur's opinion, there was one person who could do with targeting more than the others. Funnily enough, they were already standing right in front of him. "Do you know what it's like to be betrayed by someone you considered a friend?" No answer. "No? Well, I do. I know exactly what that's like because we thought Eret was loyal to L'Manburg's cause. If there were any red flags to be caught, we missed them all. People died. Kids died. In that room, I think we might have been one of the last to go, or at least lose consciousness. Being left to bleed out is bad enough. It's worse when you have enough time to realise how young the others were. We were left there with a couple of 16 years old, one of whom was our little brother we practically raised by ourself, and then our very own son. I'm sure you remember what it was like to watch Tommy and Fundy grow up though, don't you?" "Yeah." It leaves Ghostbur's mouth barely above the threshold for human hearing. "I don't, not really. But I do know we loved them. And I also remember seeing them stiller than we should have ever seen them. I'm not sure how exactly Tubbo died but there was certainly a ridiculous amount of blood around him. Fundy, I'm not too sure about either but Tommy, god Tommy. He was trying to escape Dream and fell, hit his head hard enough to die probably instantly. He was just- He was just lying there for a little while before his body registered it still had more lives and began the respawning process. And then the duel... that arrow hit him right in the chest and he simply stumbled back then dropped. More blood than I want to recall. You know what makes it worse? Those two deaths happened on the exact same day." "Do you know what it's like to watch all your friends leave you?" Again, no verbal response. This time though, there is a frown as Ghostbur recognises his twin was here to shame him. "No? Of course not. Listen, I admit that maybe I helped by refusing to fully trust anyone again but all they did was prove my point. You can't fault me for looking out for number one." "That sounds selfish." "It is not selfish to practise self preservation or wanting to make sure you don't repeat mistakes that had fatal consequences." "You're the reason everyone hated Alivebur." "We are both Wilbur. We are both responsible for everything he did or was. The only difference is that I am the one who remembers Pogtopia and you don't." "Why are you acting like it's my fault? I didn't do anything." "Because it is your fault, Ghostbur! You are literally the reason we split, the reason I've been stuck in this hellhole of a limbo with no decent memories to balance out the bad or even traumatic ones. You took that from me. You and only you. I thought I could rid the world of L'Manburg and everything that made it doomed to inevitably fail, myself included, then hopefully find some peace for the first time in who knows how long. But no. No, you had to decide you weren't as done with it all as I was. You took everything I wanted. You... you..." "You're being unfair. Who's to say you weren't the one who caused our split?" "Because I remember it. Unlike you, it seems." Soulbur's fury falters for a moment as this truth becomes apparent. This pause doesn't last long. "Oh, of course you wouldn't remember it. Why should I expect you to remember the most important moment of our post-death?! You are hopeless." "I'm not." Ghostbur's face is half covered in cornflower blue rivers flowing from his eyes. "You are. I would give anything to be whole again without needing to fuse with you. If I knew how to take those good memories back and leave you with as little as you left me, I think I would." "No, you're just lying to make me feel bad. Stop it. Just stop it." "Fucking make me." Ghostbur vigorously wipes his tears away, inevitably smearing the rich colour across his desaturated face. He's snivelling too as he pretends he's not in breaking down into whimpers. In another situation, if he saw Ghostbur like this, he would show sympathy. But at this very moment, with his wrath no longer kept at bay? He's almost inclined to call the sight before him pathetic. "You are a 24 year old man, stop acting like you're 4 and the world's ending because you scraped your knee." "Why are you acting like this?" "Because I want you to take responsibility for the misery you've forced me to endure! I've tried to keep a level head, god knows I have tried not to take it out on you too much, but I don't know how much longer I can keep this act up. You know, I keep seeing the people I cared about dead. If I think about L'Manburg for a few seconds too long, I end up watching the thing that was supposed to symbolise safety from back when I still had faith in it get destroyed over and over again. I can't stop thinking about how everyone turned their back on me, only to end up doing it to myself. For- for you to end up doing that to me." God damn it, why the hell can't his voice stay steady right now? "Do you understand how horrible that was? So grow up and show that you're sorry. Just saying it won't do. You have to prove it." Through the tears that had sprung from his own eyes, he can see the ghost has screwed his eyes shut tight with blocked ears. Oh, this was ridiculous. Soulbur grabs his counterpart's hands in an effort to pry them from the side of his head. "Stop acting like you can simply run from everything." There's more fuel to keep this fight going at his disposal but he doesn't get a chance to continue. Ghostbur tugs forcefully to free his hands. Unfortunately for both of them, it's too late. What's done is done. --- Wilbur wasn't used to having such a gathering. The only people who he could expect to be found in the house somewhere were Tommy and Phil. Technoblade too, as of his arrival in their lives a few months ago. He was technically in his early teens but Wilbur guesses piglin hybrids matured sooner than humans since he appeared to be approximately at the beginning of adulthood. Either way, the three people he lived under the same roof as weren't the only ones here today. He tended to hang out with his friends from the village instead of the other way around. It was far more convenient for him to make the short journey to them than all of them individually visiting him together. Yet here they all were, ready to celebrate today with him. And no, Tommy, he does not have a crush on any of the girls in the group. You even try to insinuate that in front of everyone today and you will find crumbs in the most annoying spots on your bed. Presents are exchanged while Phil dithers in the kitchen, awaiting his cue. He wouldn't say he had a bad go of it this year. He was definitely not expecting the newly forged diamond sword. These arrows are great as well. And oh, was that the cake Phil was bringing out? His arm comes too close to the cake as he goes to blow out the candles, eliciting a "Wil!" from his father. What the hell is he- oh shit. Fuck, his hoodie sleeve is on fire. Not good, not good at all. Shit, shit, shit. Stop staring at it. Do something, idiot. Uh... uh water. Kitchen. Dump it in the sink. Better dump it on the floor and stamp on that soggy piece of shit too for good measure. Remembering himself, he returns his attention to the others. "Um, I think the problem's solved." "You will be the death of me, you know that?" Phil takes a long exhale. There's also a laugh that sounds like someone coming down from stress. Which, he supposes, it is. "Just put it to the side somewhere and come have the cake. Preferably without setting yourself alight again." "Got it." Luckily for everyone, the rest of the cake section of the day goes off without a hitch. Wilbur animatedly chatters with his mates as they eat. He's not entirely sure how they end up at the topic of swimming. "Well, there's the river nearby. We should go there after this. Screw the 60 minute rule." Tommy's head perks up. "Can I come too?" "Obviously." "Guys..." Phil sighs. This weariness is met with a grin. "You only turn 16 once, Phil." Hand gripping his 8 year old brother's one, they sprint towards the water. Wilbur steps back a few paces once they get there so he can do a run up before entering the water in a cannonball position. Hair dripping, he encourages Tommy to do the same. His friends leap in at their own pace. One even pushes a mutual friend in, which only leads to a shriek that gets cut off abruptly then a string of words the youngest member of the party probably shouldn't be hearing. "Oi, Wil!" He turns to one of his friends, only to receive a faceful of water. "Happy birthday." "Oh, you fucker. Hey everyone, gang up on Mark." A war ensues that ends up with all of them getting their faces wet, some even have their heads dunked underwater. By the end of the day, there aren't enough towels to meet the demand. Either way, Wilbur's beaming, even as he deals with his soggy fringe in the middle of saying goodbye to all his guests. Pretty decent birthday, he'd say. --- It's not that Wilbur hasn't been freezing before, because he has, even outside of some dumb tundra. The main difference right now was that it was February and Phil had decided this was the perfect time of year to be in a place like this. He'd moaned and grumbled about it yet his father was having none of it. At least he'd been allowed his fair share of opportunities to pummel Phil with snowballs. There seemed to be an endless supply of ammunition here. Snow was also fun to run across sometimes. It was usually thick enough for him not to slip on the underlying ice too. So that's why, after getting temporarily distracted by a polar bear sighting, he dashes back to Phil's side without a second thought. There is less friction between his feet and the ground here. They really should have considered the ratio of ice to snow before any pounding transferral of body weight had been made. Neither he nor Phil had paid full attention to all of the increased risks until Wilbur was already in the water. He splutters. He kicks. He sinks and manages to drag himself back up again and again. And oh man, is it cold. Worse than cold. He wants to breathe, please let him stay upright long enough to catch a breath. His arms hurt too. They really, really do. It's like they're getting stabbed a bunch by icicles. Everything feels stabby like that, actually. He hates this. His mouth keeps getting hints of freezing salt too which is awful. Where's Phil? He's too busy trying not to bob down again to fully see. There's shouting though. "Wil! Wil, I swear to god, just calm down. Don't let the cold shock mess with you." 'Easy for you to say' is what he would bark back if he wasn't desperately trying his best to keep his head above the surface. "Wilbur, trust me, you're going to become a block of ice at the bottom if you keep reacting to the cold like that. Hang onto the edge and let yourself get used to the cold. That's it." He's still treading water a little too diligently when his body finally stops freaking out about the temperature so much. Phil will likely scold him for wasting energy like this. Not like he wasn't floundering in a panic a minute ago. Yeah no, Phil's totally going to have a go for that too. Wilbur was taught all this stuff when they got here. He should know exactly how to react in a situation like this. What if Phil hadn't been here? What would he do then, huh? Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Good, good. Now do your best to become horizontal." In the water, he forgets how to reposition his body. All his focus is on trying to move his legs accordingly and maintaining a secure enough grip on the ice. Glances towards Phil show that he's laying flat on his stomach as he instructs him. Something, something, surface area or spreading your body weight or whatever, right? When Wilbur has completed this next step, Phil slides a pickaxe over to him. Fumbling frozen fingers nearly allow it to slip under the water, out of reach. His co-ordination is practically non-existent right now but he still manages to position a tip of the pick into the ice. Dragging himself across to Phil is an arduous task but at least he's out of the water. They're on their stomachs until Phil feels absolutely sure they are not at risk of history repeating itself. After that point, he follows the man's lead by standing up with some help. He's barely on his feet when an external force is dragging his body in a direction he wasn't anticipating once more. Yet this time, he's in no real danger. It's just arms keeping him pressed against a heavy coat. Phil's shaking but not for the same reasons as him. "Christ sake, Wil. Try to be more careful next time. Otherwise I'll end up keeling over right here in the middle of nowhere." They reposition after a minute. Wilbur's hand is around Phil's waist while the winged man's grip secures itself to his son's left shoulder. Neither will drift far from each other like this. "You doing relatively alright, at least?" He hums briefly in response. Oh wow, that does not feel good. Vibrations are getting temporarily banned from his throat thanks. "Okay, let's get a move on then." "Okay. Ki- Kinda tired." Nope, nope, nope. "Can't- can't t-talk." He mumbles as they begin walking. "Shiv- shiverin' n' naus- naus-" "Nausea? Shivering and talking makes you feel nauseous?" The overwhelming tremors cause him to nod his head rapidly which is probably the most counterintuitive side effect he's ever experienced. Phil softly chuckles while drawing him in even closer with his arm. "Well, don't talk then, Wil. We'll sort out the shivering soon. After that, you can collapse in a heap on your bedding if you want." "Warn- warning. Just in... case." It's a struggle but he can't not communicate things that may be of importance. "Alright, alright. Thanks for the thought but you really should go easy on yourself, okay? It's not that far." Phil gets the fire going as soon as they return to their base. Wilbur simply sits there, desperately hoping his brain will stop sending signals to his throat and stomach to potentially prepare for a collaboration. His soaked clothes are stripped from him and replaced with blessedly dry ones. Any available blankets are piled on him for good measure. The past hour or so finally registers in full as Phil helps rub his arms through the layers in an effort to warm him up. "Pretty scary, wasn't it?" His father comments in response to the sudden bout of sobbing. "Try not to fall into anymore frozen water next time, alright? Don't think my heart could take another shock like that." "Do m'best." "Good lad." Phil smiles. "That's all I ask." He wipes a scalding tear off the boy's cheek as it comes cascading down. He'll sit with him and help discard of more tears hours from now when Wilbur wakes from visions of unending water or his mind fools him into believing he is caught in trembles that refuse to cease. And when it comes, Phil's decision to leave the tundra couldn't have brought more relief to Wilbur. --- It was odd. Soulbur had retained the part with the fire. He recalled the heat, the instinctual panic he felt upon realising he was in danger. He'd been able to somewhat be aware of when it had happened, that that disastrous moment had occurred during his 16th birthday. Although, that had been the extent of it. There were no birthday cakes or messing around in the water or well meaning banter amongst those he considered friends. He had even been oblivious to the identities of anyone who may have been present. When your safety and wellbeing are jeopardised, the last thing you're concentrating on is useless information like whether or not your father is standing beside you. So this was the kind of moments Ghostbur had hoarded for himself, was it? It feels so good. It's been too long since the last time he laughed. For a second, he can almost recall the feeling of drawing his stomach in as fuels for giggles and the pull of muscles as the corner of lips spread upwards. He waits for the inevitable withdrawal of it from his reach. His brain will go against him by discarding of the anomaly it just registered. Any second now. Maybe? ...No? Clearly, not enough time has elapsed. There is no point in getting his hopes up like an idiot. Except, he wants to. He desperately wishes this is not a fluke due to be rectified the moment he lets his guard down. It... isn't, apparently. And for the first time since he'd been abandoned in death, Soulbur kept a pleasant memory. It's not enough, a greedy part of him decides. No, he thinks Ghostbur needs to learn how to share. Surely there is more stored in the ghost's head than he needs. He won't miss a few more. Besides, why should that traitorous bastard get all the good stuff? Not to mention, they were as much his memories as they were Ghostbur's. They should have equal rights to them. All that seems to be required is a brief bit of skin contact. So that's what he'll do. Soulbur doesn't believe he has ever been the type of person to be all touchy-feely, not that he's particularly had the opportunity to prove otherwise, but for the sake of a few memories? Well, what's an occasional hand on the shoulder or pat on the back in the general scheme of things?

#dream smp #my writing #twobur au #tw suicidal ideation #tw drowning #tw parental neglect #tw animal death

[holydragon2808]

The Last of Us Part II: Abby and Plot Review (Sometimes, The Straightforward Approach Really is the Best Way to Execute a Story) MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOTH GAMES!

Yo, fellow gamers and geeks alike! How goes it? Don’t mind me. Just the dragon coming out of her den to rant/review within the realm of geek culture yet again. Since the beginning of The Last of Us Part II’s release, there have been some pretty strong opinions on the plot of the game (to put it lightly….).

I’m still in the middle of completing the game myself, but I’ve pretty much been spoiled the entire story anyway, enough to express my opinion about certain aspects of the game, particularly my feelings on the odd narrative framing choice for what (IMO) should have been a fairly straight forward executed plot line. I was going to wait until I’ve completed the game for myself, but time just doesn’t allow for a lot of gameplay for me at the moment, so I’m writing this review fairly prematurely (though I have watched everything on youtube). I’ll probably post a part II of this review after I finish the story for myself if anything changes.

Anyway, based on what I’ve personally seen and heard (both from personal gameplay and online), my main opinion (so far) is that the ideas, the themes, and the concept behind TLoU II’s story itself are overall decent to me.

However, the way Neil Druckmann and the rest of Naughty Dog chose to frame the narrative is decidedly not.

And a large part of it IMO is how they chose to implement this new character named Abby in the story. Not to mention the over reliance on shock value, and trying too hard to illicit certain emotions and reactions from the player, rather than just trusting the content to steer the narrative and giving the player space to have their own personal experience with the story, something the first game understood and did very well.

Needless to say, there will be MASSIVE SPOILERS for both TLoU I and TLoU II plots from this point onwards. Last chance to back out the den now!

To try and make my point, the original game did a wonderful job of establishing its dark premise, its major characters and getting the player emotionally invested in wanting to know more about both from the outset with a good prologue set up, taking place 20 years before the main time period of the story proper.

During the prologue of the first TLoU, we (as the player) are introduced to (main character) Joel and his cute, young, (but sadly ill-fated) daughter Sarah shortly before the outbreak of the Cordyceps plague. The player gets the opportunity to see Joel at probably his “(moral) best” in the game prior to everything going to hell (and even then the game still establishes the darker parts of his overprotectiveness rather well).

We see him depicted as a very loving and protective father, hardworking, and just generally and average everyday guy (neither “good” or “bad” just “normal”) trying to make a living in the world as he’s talking to his brother (Tommy) on the phone trying to secure a business deal. And then the world begins falling apart at the seams with the trio forced to flee from their now infected neighborhood, doing whatever it takes to get out alive (even if it means now they have to kill other people, something neither probably would have fathom doing prior to the outbreak), setting up a very miserable, but soon to be familiar pattern for them and any other people determined to survive in this devastated world.

Unfortunately, just as they make their way out of the area, Sarah is fatally shot by a soldier tasked with killing any stragglers in an attempt to contain the chaos. And all Joel can do is watch the light leave his “baby girl’s” eyes….

During this short, but very meaningful first hour or so of the game, we have Joel’s dynamic with his biological daughter established (a very fun-loving and healthy and overall heartwarming bond between them), the overall sibling yin-yang world perspectives between Tommy and Joel (how the former is more idealistic and more willing to help others even amidst a crisis, while the latter is cynical, lives more in the moment, and primarily focused on the survival of himself and his closest family) and how those respective character traits subtly foreshadow several major events to come between Tommy and Joel, how and why they eventually drifted apart from one another over the years, as well as the latter’s final choice regarding Ellie and the Fireflies in the finale.

Also by this point, we as the player are invested in these characters from the jump, and have a good idea of what’s going on in the larger scheme of the story (and the direction it’s going….pretty bleak but engaging), and what’s to come so that by the time we’re at the end of the prologue and Joel is getting emotionally shattered by the death of his only daughter, we as the player are right there with him. It was clear that Naughty Dog wanted to make the player sad and emotionally invested in the moment.

The difference in the first game from the second is that the creators seemed more willing to trust their own content to carry and convey the emotional weight of the story and the scene. Shock value is still very much there in the prologue (Sarah’s death was somehow expected and out of nowhere at the same time and it worked because it was just heartbreaking to see such an innocent and nice girl gunned down in her youth), but it’s not the sole driving factor behind the scene itself. Then we jump 20 years into the present day, the world is a very different place and Joel is a very different person.

He’s not the most likable, moral, or friendliest old dude around, but his brutality, his cruelty, his bitter resentment towards humanity over the course of the game is very understandable and the player has been given the time to understand the deeper nuances of his character and establish a bond with him and understand his later feelings and actions regarding Ellie and the Fireflies at the end of the game. His actions certainly weren’t “right” but they were definitely human and understandable.

Well, certainly a lot more understandable/human than it would have been had the game opened with Joel dooming all of humanity from a cure by killing all the doctors with no other context and then trying to force us to empathize with him after the fact.

That’s the problem with Abby’s implementation at the core of the second game’s story, and sadly, it’s enough to mar nearly the entire experience. When Abby first appears, we as the player know nothing about her (and I mean nothing. We don’t even get her name until at least an hour or so after controlling her. That’s not the best introduction for a soon to be major character….).

We get nothing about her, then she kills Joel from the jump (about barely 3 hours into the game), and puts Ellie on a warpath and all of it goes down from there. By this point, we still know nothing about Abby (but hey, at least we as the player get a name before she bashes Joel’s brains in with a golf club). And not only do we not know anything about her, but Naughty Dog didn’t realize that this framing choice effectively prevented the player from wanting to know or care about her as a character.

At this point, later forcing the player to later control her and empathize with her for 10-12 hours is out of the question. She should have remained squarely in the villain role (from Ellie’s point of view). The shock value of Joel’s murder is there as they wanted (whether good or bad is up to the player), but without knowing anything about Abby beforehand, all it really does is completely alienate Abby from the player before we could have gotten a chance to know anything about her, or even want to know anything about her. That’s what I meant earlier about TLoU II not giving the player space to understand and relate/connect to/with the newly introduced characters, to have the scenes and the content convey the emotional intent without the need of these unnecessary forced framing choices and over the top shock value instances.

Seriously, how hard would it have been to let the player know from the outset that Abby was associated with the Fireflies, and that her father was the lead surgeon that Joel killed to rescue Ellie five years ago? From what I understand, it’s several hours into the game before this information comes to light.

The game makes the mistake of introducing Abby in such a way that the narrative (almost to an absurd degree) assumes that the player is already invested in her. We’re not. We’ve literally just met her. And we as the player are given no room to get emotionally invested in her as a character, and when the game finally realizes that “oh, without some context on this matter, no one will care about Abby” (roughly 12 or so hours after the fact from what I’m understanding) it feels like it’s too little too late. 

We as the player never received the opportunity to understand who she is, who she’s after, what her deal is, nothing prior to the controversial murder scene (it all happens after the fact, but by then, people are typically closed off from truly caring or able to change their minds about her so the whole 10 run feels more like a slog narratively rather than a deep, engaging “walk a mile in this person’s shoes” thing. 

We’re just forced to continuously bounce back and forth between controlling her and Ellie throughout the game from the beginning. That’s honestly not the best story structure….ND....you can’t shove Abby down our throats later and expect us to truly care about her. That’s not how it works. And even the whole “well, we wanted the player to hate Abby” thing falls apart because the later scenes where we’re forced to control her feel very unnatural and are often trying too hard to FORCE the player to empathize with her rather than just again, trusting the content to allow us that (again, give the player some space to experience the narrative, build things/people up better, stop relying on shock value without the adequate suspense) for ourselves in a more natural way like with the characters and the way they were presented in the first game.

And Why? Because Naughty Dog was so focused on trying far too hard to illicit certain reactions/emotions from the player. Yes, the overall framing of Joel’s untimely murder at Abby’s hand is bold and (to a point) brilliant in getting us to feel exactly (and I do mean EXACTLY) what Ellie feels in that moment because she doesn’t know any more about this Abby chick than we do. That definitely works for getting us to feel something for Ellie and truly understanding her pain and sorrow in the moment, however, in the larger scheme of the narrative, it was unnecessary. We’re ALREADY just as emotionally invested in Ellie as a character by this point as we are Joel. They are both returning characters.

If they knew that they were going to have Abby (an entirely newly introduced character) kill off one of their major (returning) characters in the first few hours of the game, and ESPECIALLY if we were going to be forced to control her later, then all of their efforts should have been made into making Abby as emotionally understood as possible from the very beginning. This easily could have been rectified with a montage, or a playable prologue or something explaining exactly who she is and her friends were. THEN have her kill Joel somewhere in the middle of the game (while having her conflicted over doing so in part because he saved her life multiple times). People would have still hated her as you wanted ND, but her story is much more understandable and less convoluted and infuriating for the player to experience (and not in the genius way that you think, but just in the “bad story structured way”). The canon structure of Part II might have worked for a novel, or a movie or TV show or something. 

This is a story driven VIDEO GAME. Players directly experience the narrative, not just read or watch it. It has to work in a way that doesn’t feel like an outright HATE message directed to the player themselves. There’s a difference in “exploring the themes of hatred and revenge” in a game, and “deliberately creating something that people are going to despise” (something Druckmann said. He literally said that he’d rather people passionately hate the game rather than just saying “eh, it was ok”). 

To me, I think it would have been more conducive to focus their efforts on creating an experience that people would ultimately LOVE TO PLAY AS A GAME, as Naughty Dog explored the themes of hatred/revenge solely within the realm of the game’s content, rather than this borderline preachy way they presented this current flop of a story. Just IMO.

It’s sad too, because it would have been a great opportunity for Naughty Dog to fill in some of the gaps in the first game regarding the Fireflies, getting more of major key moments from the Fireflies’ point of view (since their movement was largely in the background of the first game, but still prominent enough) and she could have served as an interesting foil or something to both Ellie and Joel.

Abby is a character who lost her father at the hands of Joel, while Ellie never knew hers and found a father figure in the very man who took Abby’s father away from her. Joel in the first game was depicted as a man who had largely given up on humanity after everything that happened to him, more than likely didn’t believe humanity deserved a cure, or at least damn sure that to him it wasn’t worth losing Ellie over, and killed a lot of the Fireflies to rescue her.

Abby had a direct connection with the group, her father probably a hero in her eyes for still wanting to do the right thing and help humanity (what was left of it anyway) and was brutally murdered by someone who, by all accounts was nothing but a thuggish criminal and smuggler from her point of view.

All of those things could have been compelling and made Abby more understandable and relatable from the start. Would her killing Joel in such a brutal fashion so early in the game still have been bad? Absolutely. However, to me, the difference in knowing who she is and what her deal is before hand would have at least given the player the space to decide how much so for themselves. The overall framing choice of the narrative made this story more convoluted than it needed to be unfortunately. I get what Druckmann was going for overall, but the over reliance on shock value and screwing around with the player’s emotions in this game ultimately came at the cost of good story structure in the process. Sometimes, the straightforward approach is the best way to execute a story….

Well, that’s it for part one of my review. What do you all think? Agree? Disagree? Let me know what your thoughts are on the matter. But for now, I will return to my Den. Thanks for reading! If you liked this review, then stay tuned for my follow up after I complete the game.

Edit: Part II of my review is up! If you liked this, and want to read about how I would have personally structured this story, here’s the link to that!

#the last of us #the last of us part 2 #ellie the last of us #tlou ellie #joel the last of us #joel miller #abby the last of us #tlou #tlou part two #tommy the last of us

[mobius-prime]

244. Sonic the Hedgehog #175

Oh, boy… Anyone who knows the comics will have been looking forward to this one. In the spirit of milestone issues tending to be big game-changers, this milestone is probably the most dramatic one yet. I will say that in my opinion it's not quite as cinematic as Endgame, which had a very season-finale feel to it, but as far as milestones goes, this issue is easily one of the best. I feel like anyone who really had major doubts about Ian's ability to steer the course of this comic probably ended up persuaded otherwise when this one came out. But enough of me hyping it up, let's take a look and see what all the fuss is about!

Eggman Empire

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

As the Egg Fleet silently approaches Knothole, the Freedom Fighters, Chaotix, and assorted allies all chill in Freedom HQ, unaware of what's coming. Knuckles tries to convince the other Chaotix that something is wrong since Espio hasn't returned from his mission yet, but Julie-Su disagrees, saying that Espio is skilled and if anything would be offended that they came looking for him. Rouge, sensing an opportunity, butts in to reassure Knuckles that if he wants to go looking for his friend, she'll gladly help, which naturally pisses off Julie-Su to no end.

Don't get too complacent, Sonic. Bad things happen when you get complacent. In the brain trust room, Tails shows a little concern for Nicole, who's running a bit slowly, and she initiates a diagnostic on her systems while Tails and Rotor chat. Rotor shows concern for Tails' mental state, especially considering recent events, and notes that even after the Fiona thing was solved, he still seems a bit distant from his best friend. Tails admits that times have been hard for him lately, but reassures Rotor that he'll be fine, as he still has his friends around him and his parents around to take care of him.

And then Nicole sounds the alarm.

The roof is suddenly violently ripped off the base, revealing Snively in some kind of battle suit grinning down at the various occupants. Before anyone has time to think, he begins shooting off beams of energy, and one heads straight for Tails before Rotor pushes him away, getting hit in the spine with debris in the process. Energy beams hit Rotor, Rouge, Vector, and Julie-Su, disintegrating them before everyone else's horrified eyes.

Knuckles, enraged, tries to leap forward, but Mighty is already doing a pretty good job of holding off Snively all on his own, screaming in unrestrained fury over his vaporization of Ray. However, as soon as Snively gets a clear shot off and zaps Mighty away, Sonic prepares to leap in for a fight - only for Snively to sneer that he was only "the distraction" before flying off. Tails, Knuckles, and Amy, trapped under the rubble from the base, urge Sonic to rush out and save their families before more of Knothole falls. Unfortunately, Eggman has already been busy with the rest of the town.

Sonic shakes in horror as Eggman walks out of the fire, thinking Eggman has literally just killed everyone he's ever loved, but Eggman smugly informs him that they're not dead, only captured, having been transported to his Egg Grapes. This, of course, is probably the worst thing he could have told Sonic, because as we know, if Sonic sees even the tiniest ray of hope, the barest glimmer of a way out, he never, ever gives up. He and Eggman begin to fight, but it becomes clear very early on that despite his battle experience, Sonic is really no match for Eggman's new suit of battle armor. Eggman gloats as they fight, reminding Sonic of every failure he's ever had over the course of his entire life - his father's roboticized state, the deaths of Tommy and Sir Connery, even his complicated love life, using it all to rile him up.

Eggman claims that this is the real reason why the rest of the world refused to rally around Knothole during the king and queen's travels around the globe, because they knew they would never have a chance. Sonic furiously continues to fight, but Eggman informs him that he's studied Sonic and his capabilities his entire life, that the only reason Sonic is even able to take this much punishment without dying is due to the sheer amount of magic rings he's been exposed to, and that this suit is specifically designed to be able to counter literally anything Sonic might throw at him. When he gloats that Sonic has "reached his limit," Sonic appears to break, yelling "LIMIT?" over and over before taking off in the opposite direction.

Despite all his boastful claims, as Sonic races back far faster than any vehicle could ever go, Eggman appears to actually become a little nervous, bracing himself for the blow. Within seconds, Sonic has made it back into Knothole, and makes a beeline straight for Eggman…

…ouch.

Sonic does his best to continue to fight back, but he's exhausted and injured, and for once in his life, truly unable to win. Eggman beats on him a little more, reiterating with every blow what a failure he is and how helpless he is in his current situation, before picking a defeated Sonic up off the ground for one last word.

And with that, he tosses Sonic carelessly back onto the ground, leaving him broken and defeated.

This. This right here is the Eggman I love. Sure, the wacky and often mostly harmless villain archetype may be fun, but this is the reason that Eggman as a villain, especially in the comics, is so legitimately terrifying. He may seem affably evil, silly and ultimately not much of a threat when you interact with him one on one, but it's when he targets Sonic personally that things get very real, very fast. The Eggman of the comics in particular is very fond of legitimate psychological warfare, and in the end, he's not afraid to do whatever it takes, up to and including war crimes and brutal torture, to get what he wants.

That said, he does have one fatal flaw - the need to be feared. We've seen it lead to his downfall before, with his desire to let at least one survivor go at the end in order for word of his deeds to spread and cause fear. And in this case, he's made the worse mistake of all - out of everyone he could have let go, he chose Sonic. Sonic may be beaten and injured, but as Tails runs up, having freed himself from the rubble, he sits up and reassures Tails that he'll be fine and that the others are still alive. Tails is horrified by the destruction he sees around them, but Sonic stands up and tells him to rally the others - that they still have a chance to save everyone, and that as long as they're still breathing, they can turn this defeat around.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 175 #writer: ian flynn #pencils: tracy yardley #colors: jason jensen

[deathbyvalentine]

Frankly Too Many Prompt Fills

Lucy -  Wedding Ring

She twisted it around her finger, a habit she had never truly grown out of when she was anxious. The bar was busy for a Wednesday night, full of business types either networking or celebrating. Suits were finely pressed and watches and phones glinted from every angle. It was a far cry from what the Aquinas Nether would call a social space.

But then, she was a far cry from what they would call a lady. Ridiculous dresses discarded, she was back to her soft jeans and smart jackets that had characterised much of her teenage years. There was still traditional touches - her jewels and the cut of her neckline, but she looked merely vintage rather than archaic. 

She was never fully at ease in the Mundane world, though she was a damn sight better than most. She took a breath and settled her hands in her lap, forcing calm. The meeting would be quick and painless. Joshua was a friend of Edwin’s, so could be counted on to be a good sort. He had a business venture he was seeking advice on - mostly how it would be viewed across the water in England. Predictably, she was now considered the family expert on all things English.

He arrived, a little out of breath, hair fluffy from the wind outside. “Lucy?” He queried, a bright smile appearing on his face when she stood and greeted him, barely reaching up to his shoulder. They shook hands and took their places at the table, him graciously buying her drink.

Joshua wasted no time in talking business. He was a passionate young man, his eyes glimmering with excitement and plans. She realised, with a jolt, she could not actually be very much older than him, and yet she felt as though she had lived a hundred lives more. She gave him the advice she could, advising him on how the English Nether lot handled their properties and what business moves they would see as unspeakably rude. 

When they had exhausted that topic, she found she was rather engaged with him. He seemed want to know everything about her, asking questions after her tastes in music and art. She was ashamed to admit she found herself quite pleased, responding demurely and with that high fluttering laugh she reserved solely for those she liked.

He at one point put his hand on her arm, and she looked down, cheeks heating up. If there was any doubt before, there was none now. The electric young man was flirting with her. This was no great revelation. She saw no point in false modesty. She was pretty and funny and men liked her. She was more surprised at how she appeared to be flirting back.

Until his eyes flickered down to her hand and saw the unobtrusive little ring sitting there, on her ring finger. Automatically she turned her hand over, taking a sip of wine with her other. “Oh, you’re married?”

She hesitated. Yes. She was married. She hadn’t signed any paperwork, hadn’t sent any letters to Tom, hadn’t done much else but packed her belongings and went home, scarcely a word passing between them. When she thought of him, a hundred emotions flitted through her head and so few of them were good.

And yet.

The thought of separating from him, of cutting his life from hers quite so decisively was as frightening to her as standing on the precipice of a cliff. He was hers, her husband and she did not want to admit that perhaps it wasn’t true. He was flawed and repressed and sometimes unkind, but he had glimmers in him. Memories of their teamwork, of his gentleness, of his arms around her could not be dislodged or forgotten. She would not take off the ring, because to do so would be admitting that he would never be in her life again, would never hold her, would never be that reassuring presence to her flighty one. Her throat tightened - she could hardly bear it. 

“Yes. I am.”

Adorable

It wasn’t that the term was inaccurate. It was that it wasn’t all she was. It tended to be all men saw. Their mistake. Humans had spent millennia learning that bright colours on snakes and toads and frogs did not mean they were safe. They should have learnt the same of little girls.

Her hair was blonde and pin straight. Her eyes were wide and bright blue. She was unusually short for her fourteen years and had delicate wrists. She wore bows in her hair, adored the colour pink and spoke in a high soft voice. Adults liked her nice manners and how clean she looked. 

Vanessa was not nice. Vanessa was not delicate. She was not innocent or soft or gentle, or anything people assumed from her appearance. The last of Vanessa’s soft edges had been filed off the moment she had realised something fatal - she was pretty. She had been looking at herself in the mirror, trying to connect herself with her body, that she existed, that this was all she was. The realisation hit her suddenly and with violence. It took her a few more years to realise that pretty could not only be an advantage. It could be a weapon.

She leaned over countertops on tip toes, whispering orders into floundering waiters ears. She crossed her legs in short skirts and bobbed her ankle in school, chewing on the end of her pencil and pretending not to feel her classmates eyes on her skin. Everything was engineered - every bubble popped, every thumb sucked, every heavy blink. 

Look all you like. But don’t touch. People learnt that lesson the same way they would a rattlesnake. 

The first instance was at a 7-11, when she was standing in a queue, phone clutched in one hand and a slushie in the other. A college boy who should have known better dared to brush his finger tips under the edge of her skirt. She turned as though burnt, slushie already lashing out to land fully in his face. It didn’t end there.

It ended with a car in a ditch, blood splattered against the steering wheel, window bent and cracked. It ended with him wheezing for air, no help immediately forthcoming. It ended with snapped breaks, with no clues.

Vanessa would not apologise for her nature.

‘Let’s Play At Being Slaves.’ I Whispered.

The room was dim and dark, lit only by the streetlights outside. The furniture in the room was painted in silhouette, shadows framed against the orange glow. I was crouched in front of the sofa, looking up at Sofia up on the cushions. Her eyes were wide, her black hair streaked with amber light. Her hands were tight on the edge, white knuckled. Upstairs, the adults were asleep. This was now our own private world. 

They didn’t know about the games girls played. The rituals we performed, the secrets we whispered. We were not sugar and spice. We were witches. We were scorpions. We were murderesses and orphans and ghosts. We scrabbled at each other with stubby nails, pretending to be lions ripping apart David. We poured every berry and leaf we found into water, mixed it with mud and sticks, called it a potion and dared each other to drink it. 

My favourite place in the whole world was the graveyard, with it’s stone and moss and solemnity not find it melancholy. I found it wild. I loved the birds singing with fierce joy, refusing to feel the shadow of death across their feathers. The insects didn’t care that they were meant to be respectful. 

Our dolls were our totems, our poppets, our souls. We cut their hair and painted their skin and made them both in our image and out of them. They died with frequency, drowned or hurled from kitchen countertop cliffs. And they were always, always reborn at the first break of day.

The Doctor's Day Off 

Tommy had only intended to pop home for two minutes to change before a date with Paris. He’d be back in Greece before nightfall. Jones was at the medical centre, unsurprisingly. If the sun was in the sky, that’s where she’d be. His chest was half covered by a clean shirt when the doorbell rang. He paused. Couldn’t be any of the bullshit club. None of them knocked, they just let themselves in. For similar reasons, it was unlikely to be anyone who wanted to kill him.

He padded down the stairs in his bare feet, yawning blearily. He had barely unlocked the door when a high shrieking assaulted his ears, quickly followed by a babble of a language he didn’t speak. He blinked, processing the scene in front of him. 

The fae with blue skin was pouring with purple blood and making a high pitched keening sound, held by the one with green skin who was also the one with an angry expression and an angrier voice, throwing words around in their native language. Tommy stepped aside to let them in, pointing them to the dining room where the table had never seen use as a food holder but had seen too much as an operating table. 

Of course they happened to arrive when Jones was at her normal job. Of course. He snapped on some plastic gloves, trying to get some sense out of the both of them. Soon they realised he only spoke english and switched to it, albeit begrudgingly. From what he could gather, there was something of a seelie/unseelie gang war occurring in the woods and it was no longer being contained to dawn or dusk. Tommy felt he deserved a medal for the amount of patience he showed through this interaction, managing to resist calling either of them idiots.

First job was the grossest. Rearranging the insides that had half slipped out of place when the gash in the abdomen had opened. Harder than it sounds, considering he had no real idea about fae anatomy. He figured the second heart would go behind the liver shaped thing, and the intestines would probably make something like a spiral pattern. He managed to avoid pulling faces when his hands were literally inside of their flesh. Just. 

Sewing them up was easy in comparison, even if he did end up needing to use a much thicker needle and a thread that didn’t blend so easily into purple blood. It wasn’t the most perfect stitching in the world, but it was better than bleeding out in a ditch. He gave them some dressings and sent them on their way.

He was five minutes into scrubbing his hands clean when the doorbell rang again. Distantly, he heard a shrieking coming from outside. He groaned and let his head his the bathroom mirror. Maybe he should just invite Paris here.

Harlequin

The easy thing to do would have been to blame it on him. To sign off her madness like she had signed off her last name, pushed it over to his camp, wash her hands of all responsibility. She might not even have been wrong to do so. His pushing and prodding and poking had definitely sped her way towards going off the deep end.

But she liked her madness being hers. She was proud of it. She had taken the seed and cultivated it until it bloomed into a nasty flower. She had tossed away the meekness and polite manners that had never fitted quite right. Shredded her beige pantyhose and grey dresses. Cut her hair unevenly and wore bright eyeshadow and lipstick at the same time. She talked to herself, saw insults and adoration where there was none and didn’t stop herself from biting when it was deserved.

Madness wasn’t all pretty, but it was freeing. She didn’t care about being pretty. Not anymore. She would no longer deny her worst impulses for fear of how it would make her look. She liked bared teeth more than her smile, her nails like talons instead of manicured. Watch out world. She was a madwoman now. Attics and asylums and hospitals would be her home and she would release any woman she came across trapped inside them.

UTS - Popular 

He couldn’t actually picture himself popular. So much would have to change. He would have to be rich, he would have to live on the right side of the tracks. His clothes would have to go - out the faded flannel and torn jeans, the home-done hair cut and repaired glasses. 

He could see glimpses of it sometimes, when he wore the clothes Wendy well meaningly shoved towards him, or Freddy’s jacket sat around his shoulders. He imagined waking up and going to school, surrounded by friends, not glancing over his shoulder. Getting invited to parties in houses with pools, drinking booze that cost more than a few quid, teachers smiling at him in corridors.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it. You couldn’t miss what you had never had. He wasn’t sure he could cope with the pressures of social perfection, if he could stand being quite that vapid, if maintenance of his personality was something he wanted to focus on. And the group that milled around in the halls, perfume and glitter pouring off them, he didn’t like a single one of them. Even the one he was fucking. 

What was it about popularity that made you into a grade A dick? Did you get a brain transplant as well as a stupid nickname? He hoped never to find out.

T67 - Scams 

She applied the glittering lipstick, admiring herself in the mirror. She looked like an utter daydream, baby pink hair curling down to her bare shoulders in fluffy clouds, big blue eyes framed with gold stars. Astrid was often unaware of her looks, but right now it was impossible to think she was anything but beautiful. She slipped the lipstick down her cleavage, and admired herself one last time. Then it was back into the rave.

The lights were flashing and blue, and occasionally ultraviolet, making Astrid’s nails and some flecks of her glitter light up. Heads turned. A small smile flickered on her face. She liked the attention. She drew it towards her as she made her way to the centre of the dancefloor. She loved dancing, and it showed, body moving to the thumping beat, feeling it through her feet. Her eyes drifted across the bar and she found her mark. He was wearing a suit, the tie looking like it was made of some tightly woven mesh, his cufflinks flickering through advertisements. His eyes dragged up her body and when they reached her eyes, she did not shy away. 

It was a slow game. One made of many dances, many glances and finally, a slight touch on her wrist. He had finally joined her, his chest against hers, his hands finding her waist. He leaned down towards her lips and she tilted her head so his lips made contact with her neck. She tangled her fingers with his, kissed his knuckles and after three songs, lead him from the dancefloor, catching the eye of Syn as she left.

The cloakroom was warm but blessedly quiet, and Astrid had to stand on tiptoes to finally kiss him. Her lips grazed his, his tongue flicking out to taste her. It took a few seconds for the effect to take place. His pupils widened, his breathing hitching a little. Another minute and he was asleep. Astrid loved her lipstick. Carefully she turned the gentleman over, hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his credits and wallet, the watch around his wrists, his IDs. She left the cloak room, shutting it behind her and going to find Syn.

Imaginary Friends Tea Party

I don’t know why people think little girls’ imaginary friends are sweet. Mine never were. And now, with them all sitting around the table, I realised they still weren’t. Except now I was clever enough to be afraid of them. 

I raised the tea cup to my lips, ignoring the slight clatter when I placed it back down onto the plate. I hid my hands in my lap, not wishing for them to see my trembling. They looked like they smelt fear as clearly as blood. 

The First sat at the other end of the table and I wasn’t versed in etiquette enough to know if he was the head of the table or I was.  I avoided his eyes every time I glanced up, pretending to be fascinated by the silverware, the napkins. 

He was a brute, unreasonably huge. He was what I thought wolves looked like, informed only by picture books and my father’s imitation howling. There was a shock of grey fur, shot through with black, a muzzle that was disproportionately large. His teeth were sharp and his mouth was red red red. He was not delicate, shoving his nose into tea cups, slobbering all over the delicate saucers. He did not have a name. There was a noise I used to make to summon him, beyond words. 

Beside him, there was the one from when I was old enough to realise that I was a girl. She was doll like, tiny and short, golden curls hitting her tiny waist. Her eyes were a little too big for her face, her movements slow and measured. Her name was Grace and I loved her once. She was an idol, a mentor and a crush all at the same time. I wanted to be her and when I was a teenager I wanted to destroy her. The cracks showed now, up along her forearms, at her temples. Her mouth was red too, but gave the impression that the wrong touch would smear them.

There were more animal-like creatures dotted here and there, looking like nothing that actually existed but like an amalgamation of many. It wasn’t actually the mammal constructions that frightened me the most. It was the bird-like creatures, with sharp movements, beaks and talons. None of them were plain - all of the colours were eyewateringly bright. These tended to be from when I was younger, fascinated with the world around me. As I got older, they took on different shapes.

They were human shaped, all of them. Their eyes flickered to look at me constantly, adjusting their movements whenever I moved, like I was the sun around which they all orbited. In a way, I was. Lonely, frustrated, surrounded by depictions of love that seemed out of reach. So all of my imaginary friends built when I was a teenager had one thing in common - they adored me. 

Ailliana wanted to be my best friend. She thought I had the best advice and the best hair and the best sleepovers. Tate thought I was the most gorgeous thing to ever walk the earth, always wanted to hold my hand and stroke my hair when I slept. Ethan (as I got older, they nearly all became boys) featured mainly in the soft time before sleep, where I would dare to imagine his lips on mine, his body pressing me into the mattress. 

This meal had the feeling of an intervention to it, I realised. They wanted to know where I had been, what I had been doing. The reason given was curiosity but I saw the sidelong looks, the clenched fingers around cutlery. The accusation thar sat as heavy in the air as Grace’s perfume.

Why had I left them? Well, I had replaced them with flesh and blood. I had found that I rather enjoyed it when I didn’t know what someone was about to do. I loved looking over at my friend and trying to guess what they were thinking. People were entire worlds contained. My imagination was only a reflection of myself. And I didn’t always like my reflection.

But I wanted them to go even less.

The Fae Prince of Thorns

The stone walls had been carved to look as though they were not stone at all, but wood, growing naturally and strong. Unmoving marble leaves and ivy decorated each column, promising a breath of wind would shift them. False promises were woven into the fabric of this place. 

The throne looked rather plain in comparison to the surrounding hall. Flint, it looked like, pieced together to make the seat. A single beam of light from a hole in the far-away ceiling fell on it, letting in rain and sun alike. The reason became clear once you’d looked at the throne for a few moments. Inbetween the gaps of the flint, something grew. It curved around pieces of rock possessively, rooting it to the ground. The throne would be immovable. This place is where it lived and this place is where it would perish. It would outlast the monarchs that sat on its uncomfortable mantel. 

The Prince’s clothing (and to a lesser extent, skin) was covered in the small cuts and tears that told any passerby exactly where he had been sitting. It was an unofficial sign of office, less obvious than the crown of thorns that graced his head or the red rose that bloomed in his lapel, the only splash of colour in his otherwise monochrome outfit. 

When he sat on the throne, he did not flinch. He tossed his leg over the arm of the object as though he was lounging on a couch, his obsidian eyes trained intently on whoever had presented themselves to him that moment. Sometimes he would lean forward, placing an elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm, not concious at all of the small ripping sounds that would follow the forward motion. 

His title, it was rumoured, did not just come from the seat of the kingdom on which he sat. He looked soft at first glance - skin the dark blue of the royals, lips plush, hair pin straight, motions full of grace. It would be easy not to pay much heed to the fact he rarely smiles. But it is not his physical form that was thorny. His tongue and wit was known to destroy emissaries, reduce diplomatic relationships to tatters, break hearts. His appearance was the rose - it lured you in, so you didn’t notice the thorns.

The Heart of the Kraken

The deck was slick with blood, seawater and slime. Even the most seasoned sailors wrinkled their noses in disgust, stepping over the still twitching tentacles and broken planks alike to fetch more water to try and shift the viscera. It was half practical, half a method of avoiding looking at the scrum huddling over the body of the beast. 

It was Good Thomas who knelt closest, feeling for the dagger on his hip. The eye of the creature watched him with wary hatred. While it had dealt a fairly sizable blow to the ship, it had ultimately lost. Now it would pay for the loss with it’s life. Such was the way of things here. 

Good Thomas took the knife and as though gutting a pig, plunged it into the kraken and dragged it down, steadily. A cry of disgust went up as its insides spilled onto the deck, a stench following it shortly after. Thomas seemed oblivious to the reactions of his cohorts, rolling up a sleeve and plunging his arm inside the cavern he had created. Eyes closed, he felt around until he withdrew his hand.

His fist was closed around something. He gestured for a bucket, putting his fist inside it. Slowly, he washed whatever he was holding, until it was revealed. The green gem was sharp enough to cut his palm, scarlet mixing with the saltwater. There was a mass in the centre of it, darker than dark, looking like ink. Good Thomas held it up to the sunlight, watching it glitter. 

“Here it is lads.” He whispered, feeling his comrades lean in around him, no longer fascinated by the body of the monster and instead drawn in by the promise of treasure. “This is the start of it. We’re gonna be kings amongst men.” 

The Desert in His Heart & The Storm Rider

Once upon a time there was a beautiful king. His skin was as dark as the nights sky and his eyes sparkled like stars. He was just and noble and loyal, however, he was not perfect. He did not love easily or indeed at all. He was not unkind, but nor was he accustomed to softness. And because of this, he was accused of not truly understanding many of the struggles his people went through. He could trace back his troubles. As a child, he had been cursed by an old warlock to love like the desert until he found an oasis. Now, it was well known that the desert in which his kingdom resided, once you left the capital city by the river, the desert had no such oasis. And thus he was doomed to be lonely forever.

There were rumours however, that you could summon an oasis. But you had to call out to the son of the storm god, who would decide if you were worthy of rain or not. Not a single person had ever been judged worthy of his blessings so far. Entire caravans had perished for want of a single drop. 

The kings parents had been trying unsuccessfully for many years to find their son a marriage. He had refused all hands offered to him, stating that he would only marry for water or for love, and he had neither. However, it was becoming harder and harder to deny his parents. They argued that if he was never going to love anybody, what was the harm in marrying someone he simply liked?

They gave him a date - two weeks to find the oasis he sought, or he married the Princess of the Masonry Guild. She had been his best friend since birth, and though neither loved the other passionately, they enjoyed each other’s company. This seemed fair, if less than ideal, and he set out into the desert for one last attempt to find the oasis, and so his heart. 

On the first day, a mighty sandstorm blew across the rolling dunes. He continued walking, covering his eyes and mouth with a fine scarf that cost hundreds of pieces of gold to make. He walked for many miles before coming across an old man with eyes like emeralds coughing and spluttering. The king took off his scarf and gave it to the elder, and walked on without asking for compensation.

On the first night, when the sun sunk below the horizon, chill descended across the land. He set up a fire, and as he was getting ready to sleep, he saw a dog with eyes like green grass shivering not so far away. He brought him close to the fire, wrapped him in his cloak, and slept. When he awoke, the dog was gone along with his cloak.

On the second day, he saw a green rattlesnake trapped beneath a rock that would surely crush it. Despite the risk of poison, the king used his walking stick to free the creature, and when it curled around the staff, he decided to leave it rather than wrestle it from the tired animal.

On the second night, he was cooking some of the supplies he had brought with him. A child with eyes like seaglass watched hungrily from a nearby settlement. He gave the child half and when he was still hungry, gave him the rest too.

On the third day, he found himself further than he had ever walked before. He did not recognise the curve of the land or the whispers of the wind. He knew that before long, he would have to turn back or be lost to the sands forever. 

Between two dunes stood a young man who seemed as much a part of the desert as the grains beneath his sandaled feet. His eyes were like fresh mint and his sun-kissed skin shone with sweat. He was beautiful in a way that made the king suspect that he was seeing things, that nobody could be as perfect as this. But he approached nonetheless.

“Youth! Could you tell me where I could find an oasis?” “I could.” The young man looked him up and down, clearly deciding something. “But it would cost you all the jewels in your crown.” “Then the deal is done -” The king began to take the crown from his head when the youth caught his wrist, eyes wide in surprise. “But sir, you are the king. You could order me to tell you, or have me executed, or a million other punishments.” “I could.” The king reasoned. “But these jewels are not more valuable than the oasis I seek. And I seek the oasis to help my subjects. And you are one of my subjects, so I am bound to help you.”

As he spoke, clouds gathered above, darkening the sky that was a moment ago utterly clear. The green of the man’s eyes darkened until they resembled the depths of the ocean. The sky crackled and broke, and suddenly, between the dunes, rain began to fall, slowly, then faster and faster so water flowed down the dunes and began to form a pool.

The king watched, open mouthed and humbled, turning to the youth.

“It is you.” “It is me. I am the son of storms and I have been watching you, my liege. I was the old man, and the dog, and the snake, and the child. I wanted to be sure you were worthy of my blessings. I know you seek the oasis to seek your heart. But I see no lack of love in you. You are not lacking. Go with my blessing to your kingdom and rule it with the love you have shown here.”

The king fell to his knees and kissed the youths feet, thanking him both for the rain he had brought here and for the rain he felt filling his heart. He walked back to the palace, shoulders back, head held high.

He found his fiance, the daughter of stone, and told her what he had discovered. He told her off the journey, of the cold nights, of the beautiful youth. He also told her how he could think of nobody fairer to rule by his side and nobody cleverer to keep him in line. She could take any lovers she desired, if she desired any, love whoever she wished to love, but he still wished for her to be his partner, his friend and his queen. He would not love her as a poet, but he would love her like the sun.

Joyously, she agreed. She did not mourn the lack of carnal activities or romance (truth be told, she had always preferred women to men besides) and she celebrated the idea of being bound to her best friend. Silently, she said a prayer thanking the son of storms for making her friend see how little he was missing.

They were married and the kingdom had never seen better days. They lived to be old and of course, to be happy forever after. 

1970s Ghost Ship

There were no billowing sails here. No swinging ropes or creaking planks. The shape the mist was formed of metal and paint. And it was huge. It brought to mind the whales that moved beneath the waves, enormous silent shadows. The ship left no wake, made no sound. 

Inside, the corridors were lit by an eerie red light, occasionally flashing. An alarm had been set off and never put to rest, though the sound had long since burnt out. Every cabin is empty but the beds are in various states of disarray. Clothes linger on floors, ash remains in ash trays and in one case, a bottle of nail polish sits waiting to be used. 

 The bridge is the interesting bit. Only the light of the stars and moon filtered through the windows, but the control panel was still lit up in shades of green. The radar blinked, the small beeping sounding like cymbals in the silence of the ship. Inspect the display and it showed multiple foreign objects in the water around them. If you squinted, made sense out of the mist, there was nothing there. But still the radar beeped its warning to anybody that would listen.

Salmon Earrings

She hated them of course. They weren’t her at all. But what did he know of that? They were pink and pretty and therefore perfectly suited for his wife. They had been married for ten years. She crossed her ankles, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the small velvet box in her hands. She supposed she should still be grateful. That she had a husband that bought her presents for no reason at all. That kissed her cheek when he came home from work. That gave her money to hire nannies and cleaners and gardeners and anything else she liked. That loved her, for all intents and purposes.

Why did she loathe him so very much?

Was it his niceness? His utter lack of edges? His bland smile, his blue eyes? He was like the platonic ideal of a husband. But that was all he was. As a teenager she had dreamed of torrid affairs, of sex after tempestuous arguments, of love against all odds. What she had gotten wasn’t passion, wasn’t even love. It was tolerance. 

She snapped the box shut with a sharp snap that echoed around the perfectly tidied bedroom. 

Fundamentally, she was lazy. Of course she could pack her bags and leave. She could have an affair with a wild girl. She could scream and shout and smash every mirror in the place. But all of that was a lot of effort. And for all she despised him, she did enjoy the comfort of her life here. Her background was not moneyed - she had grown up in a house with cracked windows and no carpets. She did not want to go back to that life. She didn’t care if that wasn’t how this story was meant to go.

She prayed for an accident. For him to be hit by a car, a heart attack, lightning. To give her a reason to mourn publicly and loudly then move on. Then invite the wild girl into her house to be her mistress. To live her life free of strings and obligations. To be her own person, to be in control. She wondered what god she could pray to for that because the christian one didn’t seem to be particularly forthcoming.

Maybe she could be her own god. Make her own fate. She could lose her benevolence. Enact judgement. 

The Boy with the Pearl Earring

He lounged on the couch, shirt falling open. His eyes were half closed, hair tousled, cheeks flushed with either heat or wine. For some reason the artist’s eyes kept flickering to the pearl earring peeking through his ebony locks. Eroticism, the painter reasoned, was all in the details. The slight hint of blue at his wrist, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the ring on his finger. 

He had known the boy for a little while, though he had known him by sight for longer. He was in the same bar every evening, in the same seat, dark eyes watching the door for any likely clients. He was beautiful, and he was aware of it, and his business was swift and steady.

Gio wasn’t quite sure where he had managed to find the courage to ask him to model. Not that he had ever had any trouble before. Sex workers were used to such requests, no respectable noble willing to take their clothes off even in the name of art. He was however, the first man he had asked, and therefore the first there had been a spark of attraction with. The girls, he was friends with. They laughed and joked the entire time, stayed for dinner afterwards, teased him with promises of finding him a friend to settle down with. 

This was different. The air was charged. They hadn’t spoken much, the man just counting the coins and positioning himself on the couch, though he had been amiable to being told to make adjustments so the light from the wax candles fell on him perfectly. He was hyper aware of his own breath, every small movement he made, how he himself looked. It felt odd to feel he was the scrutinised one. He was usually safe behind the canvas. 

The boy opened his eyes and looked at him directly. He felt afire. His eyes were dark, impossible to discern pupil from iris. Gio swallowed, let his own eyes drop. For the first time, he was in the presence of the sublime.

It's a Sin to Tell a Lie 

They arranged themselves in a tableau, the blonde twins curled at the feet of Miss Anguila, Hermione and Elsie in the straight backed chairs they all loathed so much. Hermione’s hands were occupied with some embroidery, though if you inspected it closely you could see she was making rather a mess of it. Elsie had opted instead for paging through a book on the native birds of the land, seemingly utterly absorbed in it. Every white dress was spotless. Every cup of tea was steaming merrily. Even Arthur, the dog was well turned out and calm, snoozing by the empty fireplace.

They were thus arranged when the policemen knocked at the door. 

Miss Anguila gave each of the girls a warning look as she stood, smoothing her skirts. The twins sat up, looking less like smug cats and more like innocent children. Miss Anguila paused by the door, took a breath, arranged a smile then answered the door.

She let a surprised laugh escape, raising her hand to her chest. “Oh, gentlemen! To what do we owe the honour? Do come in, we’ve just brewed a fresh pot of tea -” 

The two men stepped inside, removing their helmets as they did so. They stood out, like foreigners fresh off the boat. They were men in a land designed for women. Every trinket was made for delicate fingers, everything decorated with fresh roses or frills or cherubs. They glanced at each other, biting their lips, trying not to touch anything they shouldn’t. The elder began to make demurring noises, but the younger nudged him and sat in the offered chair, on the very edge of the seat. After a moment, the elder followed. 

As the mistress poured the steaming tea into cups and saucers, Elliot (the younger) finally answered her question, turning his hat with anxious fingers. “Strictly procedural only miss. We shan’t take up much of your time.” “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s a pleasure, isn’t it girls?” A chorus of affirmative twitters and eager agreements came from behind her, colouring Elliot’s cheeks a alluring shade of pink. Edgar, the elder, frowned at his colleague and leaned forward, taking over the steer of the conversation. “You see miss, a man has gone missing. A Mr Samuel Thomas.” Miss Anguila arranged her skirts and took up her seat, one of the girls passing her cup to her. “Oh, I do recall him. He’s the horse merchant, is he not?” “That’s him miss. His wife hasn’t seen him since Friday night, and he isn’t in any of his usual spots, so we thought we’d do the rounds.” “At a girl’s finishing college?” She raised an arch eyebrow but Edgar didn’t quail as Elliot did. 

“Well, his wife said he sometimes had business here.” “He shoes the horses we own I suppose. But the groundskeeper would really know more about that. I try to keep my own contact with such masculine business minimal. It isn’t becoming for a lady to deal with money.” She cast an iron eye over her pupils who demurred softly.

“Of course not. We never meant to imply - “ Elliot began. “Water under the bridge. Now, my groundskeeper has Sundays off, but by all means return tomorrow, or I can pass along his home address. He doesn’t live too far away at all.” Edgar nodded. “That would be helpful.” He drained the last of his tea and stood, replacing the hat back on his head. Elliot followed, albeit reluctantly and with much less vigor, trying very hard to stop looking at Elsie. 

Anguila showed them to the door graciously, opening the door for them to take their leave. She gave a courtsey to each of the men, who each fumbled something resembling a bow. As he took a step out Elliot remarked on the freshness of the flower beds and the corresponding smell of spring.  “Nothing like a bit of fresh turned earth.” Miss Anguila smiled. “I quite agree.”

Albatross - HDM

The sky promised rain. The sea promised storms. Harry leaned on the rail, breathing in the salt air. His skin stung a little with the spray and the cold, but the tingling actually made him feel more alive, not less. He was made for this, the feeling of a heaving ship beneath his feet, his palms warm with rope burn, hair thick with salt. He knew this to be true. 

The confirmation had came when Kess had settled. He watched her now, her wing tips brushing the waves before she soared back up, as far as the bond would allow her to go. She was beautiful to watch, her huge wings responding to every updraft, every breeze. He could feel her joy, her freedom, and regretted only that his human half did not have wings to join her. Occasionally she fluttered back to affectionately nuzzle at his neck or gently peck at his fingers before once again throwing herself to the sea.

He wanted it to be like this, always. When he got too old to sail, he would find a house by the sea, as close as he could manage. He would leave the windows open wide to let her out and the sea in. He would live somewhere where rain and mist were common. Where the wildness of the the waves was so close he could hear it. 

When they dropped anchor, he had a ritual. He would strip his clothes off inch by inch, discarding them to the side. He would dive from the side of the boat, the water would drag every worry he did have from his skin. Kess would dive beside him, and it was the closest they would experience to being one body. It was the closest thing they had to heaven. 

#prose #short stories #larp #writers on tumblr #prompts

[chiseler]

SWEET YOUNG INNOCENT

Coleen Gray and Sterling Hayden in The Killing

Long before Coleen Gray arrived in Hollywood, when she was still a teenager named Doris Bernice Jensen living in Staplehurst, Nebraska, doppelgängers playing the Coleen Gray role were already appearing on the big screen. In the 1940 RKO programmer The Ape, Maris Wrixon took a Coleen Gray turn as a sweet and innocent young woman with a spinal defect who becomes the focus of Boris Karloff’s affections. Unfortunately, being a mad doctor, Karloff’s efforts to find a cure for the poor girl drive him to kill a whole bunch of people. A year later in John Huston’s High Sierra, it was Joan Leslie in the Coleen Gray role, as the good hearted young woman with a club foot who very nearly convinces Bogart’s Roy Earle to change his criminal ways. Then she makes the mistake of telling him she’s engaged to someone else. And in an oddly prescient move, three years after Coleen Gray earned her first major role, Jean Hagen played Sterling Hayden’s lonely, desperate and long-suffering girlfriend in Huston’s Asphalt Jungle, some six years before Gray would at long last play the role herself in The Killing.

For all the doppelgängers who came along before and after—and there were plenty—none of them could top Gray herself as the embodiment of lovely, wide-eyed, corn-fed All American innocence—though an innocence, while incorruptible, that often wandered unknowingly into some shadowy territory and the company of some pretty rough characters.

After getting her BA in Dramatic Arts from Hamline University, Gray (still Doris Jensen at that point) set out to see more of the country, stopping first in La Jolla. She worked as a waitress for a few weeks before making the headlong plunge into Hollywood. She enrolled in an acting school, began appearing in some small theatrical productions around L.A., and, as the classic story goes, was spotted by a talent agent who offered her a contract with 20th Century Fox. In an early magazine interview, gray told the reporter of her girlhood dreams of being a movie star, particularly how she would decorate her dressing room and buy gifts for her staff—all the standard dreams of a typical Coleen Gray character. But as so often happened with her characters, after getting what she wanted she soon realized it wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the movie magazines would have us believe.

First came the name change, from Doris Jensen to Coleen Gray, the single “l” to make her unique, and the “Gray” to subconsciously remind people of Betty Grable.

After an uncredited role in 1945’s State Fair was followed by two other uncredited roles, in 1947, the year film noir really came into its own, the newcomer Gray established herself as a genre stalwart, nearly as inescapable as Ida Lupino, but with her own unique character and persona. In counterpoint to all those devious, dime-a-dozen femme fatales out there, and counter even to Lupino’s streetwise and world wary dames, Gray was redemption, a sign of hope within a dark and nihilistic world.

Her big break came as the narrator and co-star of Henry Hathaway’s seminal and groundbreaking Kiss of Death. Working opposite Victor Mature and a young Richard Widmark (making his unforgettable screen debut as sociopath Tommy Udo), it was Gray’s opening narration that established her screen persona for time immemorial.

Over shots of the snow falling on Midtown Manhattan, her gentle Midwestern voice explains:

“Nick Bianco hadn't worked for a year. He had a record - a prison record. They say it shouldn't count against you but when Nick tried to get a job the same thing always happened: ‘Very sorry. No prejudice, of course, but no job either.’ So this is how Nick went Christmas shopping for his kids.”

While most Noir Era opening narration tended to be stern and authoritarian, warning audiences about the scourge of crime, the dangers to be found in the shadows of the big city and what have you, Gray’s voice is empathetic and, yes, innocent, the voice of a young woman in love, and so willing to overlook a few of her beau’s minor character glitches. She understands nick’s circumstances and makes no moral judgment about his decision to rob a jewelry store in the Chrysler Building in order to buy Christmas presents for his family. What we don’t learn until later is that our narrator, Nettie, was actually the criminally young Bianco family babysitter when the events of the opening scene take place. 

Gray herself doesn’t appear onscreen until much later, when she shows up at the prison and breaks down, telling nick his wife has killed herself, his daughters have been put in an orphanage and, oh, yes, she’s been in love with him for years.

That seems A-OK with Nick, and through the narrative economy that so marked Hathaway’s film. The moment he’s sprung we jump months, even a couple years ahead to find Nick and Nettie married, settled down and living a deliriously happy suburban existence. Nick’s finally found work as a bricklayer, and Nettie has given her inner Midwestern girl free reign, keeping house and making dinner in a dress and apron. Even as things go to hell soon afterward, with Nick drawn back into the shadows to try and ensnare that cackling Tommy Udo, Netti’s perhaps naive optimism never falters.

It was a very good year for Gray, who also found herself co-starring opposite Tyrone Power in another, much darker noir touchstone. Her role in Edmund Golding’s Nightmare Alley (based on the William Gresham novel) would at first blush seem a radical departure from the sweet young innocence of Nettie, but you watch closely, and there’s still plenty of Nettie in Molly. Yes, Molly is a carny working a sideshow electric chair gag in a seedy traveling show , but for all the men lusting after her she remains sweet and virginal. Even when she takes up with the mercenary con man Stanton Carlisle (Power) and the two split the carnival to shoot for the big time with a mentalist act, her conscience comes with her. Once the act morphs from a simple nightclub routine into a spiritualist scam preying on the fragile emotions of the mourning and desperate, pretending to offer comforting contact with lost loved ones, that conscience rears up and Molly splits the show. She returns at film’s end, however, back at the sane carnival where Stanton himself lands after falling as hard and low as a man can manage. While all the other women Stanton has dealt with along the way proved themselves just as conniving and wicked as he is, Molly reappears as a singular symbol of possible redemption. Unlike the book, her presence offers that hope, however slim, Stan might pull himself together yet.

Five years later in Phil Karlson’s Kansas City Confidential (with Lee Van Cleef, Neville Brand, Jack Elam and John Payne), Gray doesn’t appear until late in the film, but works the same redemptive magic. Sweet and innocent as ever, she’s unaware that her retired cop father has turned criminal mastermind. She’s also wholly unaware her father’s about to settle a score with his three cronies while the patsy he framed for a million dollar armored car heist is closing in to settle a few scores of his own. She just decides to pay a visit, like any loving daughter, because she hadn’t seen her dad in awhile. Worse, during her unwittingly ill-timed visit, she falls for the patsy in question (Payne) even though she knows he’s already got a recored, because as ever she can see beyond such trifles.

The crowning jewel, and the perfect bookend to her role as noir’s ever-present symbol of goodness and light and hope within the darkness came in 1956 with Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing.

Losing the chewing gum and the cheap eyelashes, Gray essentially reprises Jean Hagen’s role in Asphalt Jungle, but with a certain melancholy purity that makes the role all her own.  Kubrick made it clear he signed Sterling Hayden specifically on account of his performance in Asphalt Jungle, and yes, Fay’s relationship with Johnny Clay (Hayden) echoes the relationship in the Huston film in many ways—the sad young woman yearning for little more out of life than a scrap of attention from her outlaw boyfriend. More interesting within the context of the film is how the relationship acts as a mirror image of that scheming Sherry (Marie Windsor) and her sap of a husband George (Elisha Cook) across town. Sherry endlessly belittles George, having not the slightest inkling he’s involved in planning a massive heist. Fay, meanwhile, is a simple kid who—like Nettie in Kiss of Death—knows full well what Johnny’s business is, and loves him anyway. Again, all she wants is a little attention in return, but knows she’ll have to wait to get it. Despite the company she keeps, she’s as wide-eyed and innocent as ever, and at film’s end, when everything goes to hell, she doesn’t run, doesn’t scream or panic. She offers a few gentle suggestions about possible escape, but when a clearly defeated Johnny shrugs off her suggestions, she waits again as he turns to face the cops, and you know she’ll keep waiting until he gets out of prison.

For noir nuts, that was the high water mark, though afterward gray was busier than ever, mostly on television and mostly in Westerns, where her midwestern beauty made her a natural. There were a few weirdies dropped in along the way, including her starring role in the 1960 low-budget drive-in hit The leech Woman. Essentially a knockoff of the previous year’s The Wasp Woman, and one of her very few villainous turns, Gray plays a middle aged woman who learns the secret to eternal youth lay in a formula that calls for the pineal gland of a male. Given the serum’s youth-restoring properties are only temporary, well, that means she’s going to have to start collecting a lot of pineal glands. In another less than wholesome turn in 1962’s The Phantom Planet, she plays the blond and manipulative daughter of a…well, to be honest it’s a bit too much and too mind boggling to get into here, but Gray does seem to be having fun playing against type.

In an era when such a thing wasn’t the kiss of death (so to speak), Gray was an outspoken political conservative and Christian, and as early as  1964 was lobbying Congress for a Constitutional amendment allowing prayer in public schools. She continued working steadily into the mid-Eighties, retiring from show business while only in her sixties. Along with her third husband Joseph Fritz Ziesier, she devoted the last three decades of her life to social work, from the Red Cross and Girl Scouts to an evangelical fellowship group aimed at prison inmates. Which is pretty much what you’d expect from a Coleen Gray character.

by Jim Knipfel

#Jim Knipfel #Coleen Gray #Sterling Hayden #The Chiseler

[lonestarpost]

Episode Review - Difficult Conversations

Season 2 Episode 5: Difficult Conversations

“Difficult Conversations” is an episode that shows the value of communication, but more importantly, it shows the devastation and stress that miscommunication can cause. Each storyline shows characters having to have conversations that they’d rather not have; these conversations are so difficult because they require potentially hurting someone they love or creating other complications in the pursuit of truth.

The episode begins with Gwyn and Owen in a doctor’s office dealing with the pregnancy. Owen is nervously bouncing his legs and Gwyn looks equally nervous as they wait for the doctor to come in. They both insist they’re fine. They crack jokes and grasp hands, but it’s clear that under their cool facades, there are a lot of concerns that they haven’t voiced. The words that go unsaid create much of the conflict these two face as they decide whether they want to have a baby together. Owen catches Tommy talking to her kids, and she talks about the struggle she went through to conceive her daughters. Owen uses the conversation as a chance to talk through of some of his concerns with Tommy. We see him expressing his feelings to Tommy, but he keeps these feelings from Gwyn. Tommy asks what Gwyn thought and Owen says he hasn’t discussed those feelings with her. Owen and Gwyn decide to abort the baby, but they both secretly want to try to have another baby, even though it doesn’t seem like the rational choice. Their miscommunication continues as they leave many important matters regarding the pregnancy undiscussed.

Another couple that struggles with communicating is Grace and Judd, but their situation is highly unique from Owen and Gwyn’s. The first 9-1-1 shows a man who is cheating on his wife, which echoes the themes of secrecy and miscommunication that are woven through the episode. Moreover, this incident is personal because Judd recognizes the man— Grace’s father— and he’s put in a position of having to devastate Grace with the truth or keeping his mouth shut about what he saw. Judd can’t play it cool, and whenever he’s around Grace, his words and behaviors are stilted, which is such a stark comparison to how well Grace and Judd normally communicate. As Grace and her mom sit by Grace’s dad’s bedside, Judd sits at a distance, and you can feel the distance that follows the couple through the episode.

The Ryders go to have dinner at the Vegas, and yet again, Tommy is the voice of reason, and she encourages Judd to do the right thing. Judd tries to tell Grace, but he is unable to get the words out. Still, Grace can tell that Judd isn’t acting normally. Grace does some investigating of her own, and she finds the 9-1-1 call that saved her father’s life, and she realizes his transgressions. Grace then is seen to shakily pour tea as she has her mother over to tell her the truth. Just as Judd cannot tell Grace the truth, Grace keeps the truth from her mother to spare her feelings, and the burden of the secret then falls upon Grace. In the end of the episode, Judd does finally find the courage to tell Grace the truth, but Grace tells him she already knows, and she isn’t outwardly angry, but you can feel that she is resigned, and while after a hard day, Judd would curl up against Grace, he stays distant from her. The truth has hurt them both, but so have the secrets they kept and the secret they continue to keep.

Meanwhile, T.K. and Paul open the third storyline as Paul talks about how crucial it is to have “Difficult Conversations” early in a relationship (he had to tell a woman how dreadful aioli was), which leads to the revelation that Mateo has a tattoo that reads “angle” instead of “angel.” The witty banter between the men turns into stunned silence when Paul and T.K. see the tattoo typo. They’re not ready to have that difficult conversation. They loop Marjan in, hoping she’ll have the nerve to tell Mateo, but Marjan too struggles to find the words. Eventually, she has to tell him about the mistake when Mateo nearly posts on Instagram. As he learns the truth, Mateo feels like a fool, and realizes that the guys at the tattoo parlor were laughing at him. He also worries that Paul and T.K. were making fun of him, but Marjan reassures Mateo that Paul and T.K. just didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and then, she promises that they can fix it. Marjan ensures that they correct Mateo’s tattoo, and she brings him back to Carlos’ apartment to show off the new tattoo. Now that the truth is revealed, things are lighter between the group, and they can return to their normal dynamics without secrets coming between them.

Another 9-1-1 call features a man and his daughter. Again, the lack of communication between them leads to a big fight. The dad is distracted, and he’s unable to do anything to prevent a fatal crash. The daughter has her things packed up, and it’s only when they’re already well on their way that she reveals that she’s not going to college and that she’s starting a music career instead. Just before he dies, the dad is supportive of his daughter’s choices, but in the end, he doesn’t get to say those words directly to his daughter. Instead, he must say them through Owen, who hugs the girl as they lose her dad.

In the final 9-1-1 call, Grace gets a call from a woman who is ordering pizza to call for help while her abusive ex is armed and in her house. It’s Grace’s ability to communicate in unique ways that saves the woman. The ex-husband figures out what is happening before emergency services can get there. The officers don’t get there in time to avoid a confrontation, but fortunately, Grace tells Kristin to take a leap of faith so that she can jump out of harm's way onto a rescue jump cushion. Carlos storms in and gets the abusive man into custody.  Grace astutely says, “Sometimes it’s not what they say… it’s what they don’t say,” which sums up the communication issues that have happened throughout the episode. This statement causes Grace to think about what Judd wasn’t telling her and leads her to the truth. What the group didn’t tell Mateo leads to relief for all of them once Mateo comes back from the tattoo shop. Finally, for Owen and Gwyn, the words that neither of them were saying was that they wanted to go through with the pregnancy.

For all the truth that was shared at the end, there is still a lot of unfinished business and clear consequences caused by not communicating. Grace, for example, still hasn’t told her mother about her dad, and she must live with that secret. Further, Mateo’s tattoo isn’t fixed after one session. He has to go back and get the words redone on a later day, showing how dishonesty can prolong experiences. Owen and Gwyn, in a moment of passion, yelled at one another that they didn’t want to abort the pregnancy, but they still didn’t have a serious conversation about some of the issues associated with that pregnancy. They also haven’t told T.K. about their decision, so there’s a lot of truth and communication left to have. “Difficult Conversations” are never easy to have, but they save a lot of heartbreak in the long run, and they allow people to come together while not communicating hard issues will tear them apart.

The episode had many high points, such as the scenes with Grace, but they underutilized characters like Carlos while emphasizing the chronic miscommunication of Owen and Gwyn far too much. The episode ends on a bittersweet note because, despite the moments of honesty, you know that the characters, such as Grace and Judd, have a lot of discussions to have at the end of the episode, but they aren’t necessarily ready to do so.

#text #911 Lone Star #Issue 4 #February 21 2021 #Lone Star Post #episode review #contributor: lonestarbabe