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showf4lls · 2 years

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Saw your post asking for ted requests SO HERE IT IS!

prompt: head canons for: making up after an argument. like post-angst fluff, how would they apologise, makeup to the reader, etc.

( if you could do the full chuckle sandwich boys+ wilbur, that would be pretty cool. And if not, still cool)

― the come down; various

cw + info! angst, hurt/comfort?, fluff [not really but i tried], minifics / implied fighting, the boys are a little insensitive sorry

includes! ted nivison + charlie slimecicle + jschlatt + wilbur soot

notes! sorry, this turned out a little more angsty than i intended, but i hope you enjoy! it’s more hurt/comfort than fluff, my bad homies :/. i’ve also decided that i’m writing these minifics and then i’m putting out fluffier headcanons to go along with this because i don’t feel like these fill the actual request :> also when you fight with your partner, you should probably sit down and talk about it, not just say sorry and move on, i just didn’t know how to write that conversation so my bad y’all

TED NIVISON

it’s like dropping a nuke; the big bang before the smoke clears, and then, silence. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, lips curved downwards and eyes watery. and he watches with careful, wide eyes, mouth hanging open on his words. then you make to leave the room, quietly maneuvering around him. he turns to you, making to set a hand on your shoulder, warm the icy facade he’d been responsible for creating, but you dodge, stepping just out of reach. “ted, please,” you hiss, voice quivering. barely holding it together.

and ted's hand falls back to his side. head drops, and he gives a single, understanding nod. without another word, you hole up in the guest bathroom, face buried in your sleeve.

ted waits. knows it’s important that you both have your space. to process, to cool off, to come down. he gives you time despite the magnetic pull behind his sternum. sits with his head in his hands as his mind lingers on how hurt you looked. how that had been because of him.

after a while, he moves to sit outside the bathroom door, legs folded against his chest, listening. making sure you’re not hurting too bad. and he waits. waits until he’s sure you’re ready.

he stands. quells the shaking in his fingers by curling them into a loose fist. raps them against the door so softly he hadn’t been entirely sure you would hear him - i mean, he didn’t want to scare you after all, you had every right to be upset with him after what he’d said-

and the door falls open to reveal you. teary eyes, hair messy from combing through it, cheeks red. and he wants to cry all over again. “god, y/n, i’m so sorry.”

your laugh sounds awfully close to a sob, but the wobbly smile you give settles him. “ted-”

“can i please just hug you?” he breathes. “hold you? just for a little bit.”

you stand for a moment, just watching him, before nodding your confirmation. “yeah,” you mumble, opening your arms.

ted scoops you up. squeezes you against his chest, peppers kisses over your head. “i’m so so sorry, i shouldn’t have said that-”

you shake your head. hum as you press your face against his heart, beating like a caged bird in his ribs. take fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and just hold him. “we were both way out of line.” you let him hum as he rubs circles into your back. “i’m sorry, too.”

both of you stand like that a while, taking a moment to just be present with one another. communicate without words how truly sorry you were and how much you love one another. ted, playing with your hair, is the first to speak. “i wanna make it up to you. i’m just so sorry.”

you pull back, frowning up at him. “i wanna make it up to you.”

“how about,” ted starts. “you go take a nice, warm shower while i get started on making dinner?”

you purse your lips, thinking. “only if we get to cuddle and have a movie night after - i know you’ve been wanting to watch that new film that came out on netflix.”

ted, raising his eyebrows, considers. “that does sound pretty nice.”

leaning up on your tiptoes, you resist the urge to giggle. “i’ll even make popcorn the way you like it,” you whisper.

“oh?” ted asks playfully.

you nod, the water eyes and the argument long forgotten. “deal?”

ted, nodding along, shakes your hand. “deal.”

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

god he’s such an asshole. that comment was totally unwarranted, and then he’d had the audacity to laugh it off, as if it wouldn’t hurt you. now he sits on the other side of the door to your shared bedroom, listening to the love of his life cry. he’d never regretted anything so quickly.

after a good 20 minutes of silence, he opens the door. slips in quietly. he knows you’ve acknowledged him, the sound of shuffling clothes and now-muffled sniffles says as much. if his heart feels like a bruise in his chest - if it aches like this - he can’t even imagine how you feel. wordlessly, he slots himself behind you and wraps himself around you in the most i’m sorry hug he’s ever given. “is this okay right now?” he whispers, cheek against your shoulder.

and you cough out a sob behind the sleeve of your sweater and nod. relax a little where your knees are pulled to your chest in what had been an attempt to fold yourself into disappearance - into the nothing that grows in your ribs. and now charlie’s crying and you’re crying and god, does it feel good to just let him hold you. “hey,” he rasps. reaches for the hands that clutch at your knees, wraps his around your own, slots his fingers between your knuckles and squeezes. “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have said any of that, it wasn’t fair of me. it was completely unwarranted.”

and now he’s rambling and you can tell by the way his voice breaks that he’s hurting every bit as much as you are, that he’s really sorry and he would do anything to take it back. now he’s stumbling over his words and crying into your neck and rasping apology after apology against your skin. so you lean into him and everything slows down. i forgive you.

charlie lets out a wobbly breath. inhales deeply, pulling the trembling, wobbly parts of himself back together. focuses on his breathing, focuses on the warmth of you in his arms, focuses on the squeeze of your fingers against his. “i love you.”

you hum in return, wiping at a few final tears. “i love you,” you agree.

and you yelp when charlie rises suddenly, accidentally jostling you forward. he clambers onto the bed, pulling his shoes off while holding a hand out for you. “come here,” he mumbles, not bothering to hide his falling tears. “please, come here. i just want to hold you for a little while. if you don’t want to, that’s okay, but-”

without a word, you stand. shrug your sweater up your shoulders and lay down in the middle of the bed. you let him roll over beside you. let him scrunch you up and pull you into his chest. let him move up so you’re resting comfortably in the space below his chin. and you stay.

JSCHLATT

as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d crossed a line. jaw clicking shut, silence blankets you and the both of you stare at one another incredulously. a lump sits in the back of your throat, but it doesn’t do anything to stop you from leveling him with a glare. “really, jay?”

ouch, that hurt. he watches almost helplessly as you cross your arms and make to leave the room. “y/n-”

you just shake your head, not turning around as you make your way to the backyard. and sure, it’s pretty chilly, but you don’t have it in you to sit inside with him right now.

schlatt is at a loss. he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re upset with him. he doesn’t know what to say, what to think. just knows that he hurt you.

it’s hard. he wants to do something, but he doesn’t know how to do feelings. how to hold his heart in his hands for you, vulnerable and sorry. and he is sorry, he’s just not good at the communication part. never been one for wearing his heart on his sleeve - it makes him feel just a little too exposed. he loves you, but god it would kill him to put himself somewhere vulnerable and deal with it if you decided to hurt him. but you didn’t, because why would you? no, he struck first, and now he had to fix it if he ever wanted you to look at him the same.

he sits on the bedroom floor, jambo sitting across from him, thinking out loud. spends so much time working it out that the sun has fallen below the horizon by the time he stands. hesitates by the back door, wringing his hands and fidgeting, eyes fixed on your back.

you sit on the steps of the back porch, half scrunched up. crossed arms rest on the tops of your knees, a clumsy rest for your chin, as you stare up at the few stars that dot the horizon, having found peace in the moon and her companions.

schlatt’s scared of startling you. tries his best to open the sliding door as quietly as possible, but it screams on its track. he winces, but you don’t move an inch. bad sign.

ever cautious, he moves to sit beside you, legs stretching almost to the bottom of the steps. looks over to spot dried tear tracks in the dim backyard light. his heart aches.

the silence is tense, shattered when you mumble without turning to look at him. “took you long enough.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, a hot puff of air from the back of his throat, before sobering up. a beat passes before he gathers his bearings enough to speak. “look, i never should’ve said those things, alright?” you level him with a blank stare, and he continues. “it was uncalled for and fucked up of me and i’m-” his voice cracks and he pauses, giving a frustrated huff. “and i’m really sorry. i really don’t like that i said those things to you, and not just because they upset you. it... it didn’t feel right saying that. i’m sorry.”

you sigh, letting yourself fall into his side. “i know.”

schlatt yelps, one arm flying up to catch you. he laughs a little when you dodge it, opting for the softness around his ribs as opposed to his bony shoulder. he looks down at you. lets his arm rest around your shoulders as he observes you. “you know?”

you hum an affirmative, craning your neck to peer up at him. “you’ve never looked more like a kicked puppy in all the time i’ve known you.”

he rolls his eyes, suddenly bashful. “oh shut up.” and you two sit, just a few minutes, staring up at the sky. the silence is a little too fuzzy for his liking still, so he nudges you just barely. “i am sorry, you know.”

silent, your hand moves up to find his lingering somewhere near your elbow. you thread your fingers together and squeeze, just light enough for him to be sure that’s what you’re doing, to be sure that you meant to. “i’m sorry too.”

“i don’t even remember what we were fighting about, if i’m being honest.”

you laugh against his side, sniffling. “neither do i.”

another beat. another nudge.

“so... are we good?”

you laugh again. turn your head to bury your face in his side. “we’re good, jay, don’t worry.”

WILBUR SOOT

it had started as a playful debate - you hadn’t even realized when it began to spiral out of control. now you’re both sitting across from each other, red in the face and practically steaming. “are you serious?” wilbur counters, sneering. “how would you even- come on, y/n. listen to yourself.”

“hey-” your breath catches in your throat and your lip wobbles. “i was being serious, wil.”

a tense moment of silence. you cross your arms tighter to your chest, eyes focused on the table between you. suddenly you stand. “y/n-” he starts.

“i’m going on a walk!” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door. “and you are not coming with me.”

he half-stands, chair scraping backwards. “wait, are you sure you should go out this late? the sun’s-”

the front door slams behind you, effectively shutting down whatever he was going to say. unsure, he sits back down. laces his fingers together. then suddenly moves to the window, waits to watch you make your way down the street. he’d at least make sure you made it out of the building alright. then it’s back to the table, hands clasped, to figure out how to make this right.

the minutes tick on and anxiety begins to buzz in wilbur’s veins; not only had he not apologized yet, but you haven’t returned home. he sits a moment, knee bouncing, worrying his lip as the wheels turn in his head. he stares out the window, debating internally. on one hand, he should give you space. you’d set a healthy boundary with him to have your own space while you both cool down. on the other hand, the sun had set. the sky is darkening rapidly; every second that passes is light lost, and it’s supposed to be cold tonight. with a hum, he stands. shrugs a good jacket on and holds one of your sweaters in the crook of his elbow as he leaves the flat, locking the door behind himself. he’s descending the front steps when he finds you sitting at the bottom, arms against your chest, hunched over your knees. “y/n, love, it’s cold out. you should come inside-”

“i’m fine, wil,” you insist, not facing him.

he frowns. sure, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want you to force yourself to suffer for it. without a word, he drapes your sweater over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to sit beside you. though, you don’t acknowledge him, only glare out at the streetlights. it’s silent for a moment.

then you huff, dropping your head. “maybe my opinion was stupid.”

ouch. “no, not at all, love. i promise,” wilbur assures you, leaning some weight into you from the way he leans against your side. “i- look.” he faces you, not expecting you to face him. and you don’t, but he counts the tiny shift of your body towards his as a win. “i didn’t mean what i said. your opinion is just as valid as mine, i just lost my temper and i’m really sorry for that. it won’t happen again, i just- i’m so sorry y/n. i didn’t mean for things to go that way.”

you sigh and let yourself slump against him. “it’s alright, wil,” you mumble, reaching for his hand. he meets you halfway. watches as you lace your fingers with his, as you swipe your thumb against the back of his hand. “i supposed i wasn’t much better.” he opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head when you hear him inhale. “it’s both our faults, i think. we both took it a bit too serious.”

the lightness of your tone eased some of the tension from his shoulders. “i guess you’re right.”

you elbow him halfheartedly, energy zapped. “i know i’m right.”

he smiles fondly. “yeah, yeah.” presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “would you like to go inside now? your hands are cold.”

the corners of your lips curl, tired. you don’t move against his side. “and we can watch a movie or something?”

“course we can, love,” he mumbles against your temple. “anything you want.”

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nympippi · 2 years

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I love the c!Techno giving c!Dream his cloak in prison au’s/ fics

#dsmp #c!dream #dream smp #dreblr #c!techno #c!rivals #rivals duo #these hurt/ comfort fics put me in the ER with the punches they pull #pippi art #c!techno fanart #c!dream fanart #rivals oh my rivals #they are besties your honor who have a deep and interpersonal connection to each other that no one else understands #fanfic authors yall inspire me sm with y’all’s works #keep doing what your doing <33 #had fun doing the bell but yeah #enjoy y’all #I’m going to bed :P

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py-dreamer · 1 year

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SBI & RodentHybrid!Reader

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GN!Reader, (this is my first time doing something like this-)

Rats, mice and most rodents alike are under-appreciated in my opinion and I had some SBI brainrot I could not stop.

How did they find you?

Philza had just adopted his 3 chaos sons and was not expecting to have anymore children.

Tommy was 3, Wilbur and Techno were both 10

however, one day he heard tiny squeaks during a trek in the forest.

he thought it was just a regular mouse but it was too loud to be one so he followed the source and peered in the bushes and in it was lil' ol' you

you couldn't have been more than a year old by the looks of it and you were absolutely tiny! you could fit in the palm of his hand

you were also freezing cold and there were no adults around so... guess Phil's gonna adopt another child then!

Your rat features:

I put down rodent hybrid cause' I couldn't make up my mind if you were going to be a mouse or a rat (there's a difference!) so neither can your family!

You have the cartoonishly big mouse ears (think Mickey Mouse) and also a long thin and scaly tail

You also have delicate whiskers and a itty bitty nose that has a surprisingly good sense of smell

There are small patches around your body hear and there

TOE BEANS! TOE BEANS! TOE BEANS!

Also, smol. Extremely small. You are by far the shortest in the family. Mice are really small so I think you'd grow to 1ft 6 at most

Rats have strong teeth so you also have a set of really strong buck teeth

Since Techno once talked with a piglin, and Phil's chat are literally crows, you can talk to other rodents

"I'm not like other people! I'm 1ft 6, I have the best sense of smell, I can talk to animals and I have a tail cause I'm a foocking rat baby"

Life with the SBI

it was rather difficult to adjust to the new family member because of the drastic height differences but nothing they couldn't handle

All the seats, tables ect have a little ladder carved in or have a step-ladder attached so you could climb up

Stairs and doors. They were going to be a problem. So Dadza made like a little elevator out of string, small planks of wood and pulleys so you can get up and down the floors. Each door in the house also had a small doggy door on it so you could easily enter...though one time a stray cat had gotten in and chased you around the house so the main door and the door to the backyard had to have little locks installed on the little doors too.

Once you got a bit older, Dadza realized it would've been a very tiring life for you to have to climb up every seat and every table and every shelf you want to use so he made a little hole in the wall under a table and built tiny furniture perfect size for you and helped you decorate your room

Any soft fabric in the house was a perfect napping spot for you. your family would often find you nesting in hoodies, cushions, jackets, cloaks, blankets ect. (Although once Wilbur almost sat on you when you got a little too comfortable and fell asleep on the couch)

I'd like to think whenever you were mad at one of your brothers, you'd steal their stuff (that you can carry ie Tommy's disc, Wilbur's beanie, Techno's gold) and hide it in your room or a small crevice that only you can fit in and they'd be to big to fit in and reach their stuff.

You would also take advantage of your size and hide in places impossible for your family to hide in but not for you! You were always the hide and seek champion and could evesdrop on your brothers from inside the walls or inside a chest.

Midnight snacks. Just all the snacks. Rats can fit through any space they can get their heads into and some can chew through metal so there was nothing stopping your hungry tummy. Phil was even considering enchanting the pantry to prevent you from theiving all the snacks (you'd share with your brothers though, Phil was just miffed you ate all the snacks before dinner and could get ill)

When you guys were going out and you couldn't keep up, you'd just ride in one of their bags. You were extremely light and it was hard to keep up with their long legs so this was a perfect solution (you 100% fell asleep in a bag once and the family almost flipped the house upside down looking for you)

Your relationship with Dadza

We already mentioned him earlier but he loves you very much

Phil was a lot more nervous to take care of you cause he'd never raised a child this small before

He was very hesitant to let your brothers hold you when you were a baby because you were just so small and fragile-

When you were little and went out with him, you always had to be on him or holding his hand. Sitting on his hat, his shoulder, riding in his bag, him carrying you, he didn't mind but you couldn't be let out of sight especially in large crowds or tall grass.

He always had at least one of his crows keep an eye on you when you went outside to play just in case anything goes wrong

He still worries about you a lot but knows that at least you can defend yourself now.

Your relationship with Wilbur

he was your big brother and you both love each other a lot

it took some time getting used to you but the moment he saw such a tiny baby, he just went 'SMOL CHILD I WILL PROTECT YOU'

in the early days, when Philza couldn't take care of you, he'd hand you to Wilbur who'd spend time with you and Tommy. Be it going to town, making a new song, going to meet Sally, he was mostly glad to bring his little siblings along

While he cared for you a lot, he still played tricks on you sometimes like when he told you that birds eat mice and you just became terrified of Phil and his crows for a good week XD

He was much more relaxed when it came to your safety (not that he'd let you go into the woods alone, like just be less protective than dadza) though he would just be wary when you guys are with a lot of people so he'd prefer it if you were riding on his beanie. He'd get weird stares but as long as you're safe, he didn't care

when composing songs and you're with him, he'd sing the lyrics and you'd sometimes squeak them back in your high-pitched voice and he would either laugh or die from cuteness...or both

rats also generally have better hearing than humans so when he was composing a song, he'd ask for your opinion to see if it was good or not

Your relationship with Techno

when you were first welcomed into the family, he didn't know what to do-

don't get me wrong he got the same 'PROTECT DA CHILD' feeling as Wilbur and even the voices told him to 'PROTEC SMOL THING' when he got them later on

it's just that you were so small that he was afraid he'd hurt you he was never as gentle as his twin or his dad and Wilbur seemed to like you so he figured he'd him take care of you like Tommy

though one day, you were out in the garden. Techno was training, Phil was in the house, Wilbur and Tommy were with friends. A stray zombie found its way to your home and it started to attack you.

you were too small to get away quick enough and tripped but just as the zombie was about to hurt you any more, Techno shot an arrow through that f*cker's head he then realized you were too weak to defend yourself so decided to train you to be stronger

Wilbur was unsure about letting you wield a sword but Techno insisted it was for the best. Eventually, Tommy bugged him enough to train him too.

it took a while but after enough time and hard work, you were able to wield a few light weight weapons and were able to hold your own at pvp by quickly darting and dodging around your opponent.

when you weren't training, Techno read you and Tommy greek mythology. Tommy would sit in his lap and you would rest on his head (if he felt like it, he'd let you two braid his hair)

like the rest of the SBI, he gave you a piece of golden jewelry, for you it was a small earing

Your relationship with Tommy

I'll be honest: Tommy didn't really like you at first

He was glad to not be the youngest but he didn't realize that he'd get less attention due to you being a baby

they still loved him of course, but Tommy couldn't help but feel jealous when Dadza helped you make your own room or when Wilbur took you on their trips to town or when you'd always be carried by Wil or dad or when Techno started training you before him ect

he'd always try to ignore you or glare angrily and naturally, you reciprocated the behaviour and thus you two always had a sort of rivalry

he'd call you names, yank your ears, tail or whiskers and in turn, you'd call him names, steal his stuff and sometimes bit him if he pulled too hard

But then, one day:

You were 10 and sitting by yourself on the swings in the park. Barely anyone else was there and you were doing your own thing. It was one of the rare opportunities when you could be alone. I mean, you did love your family and all but it was nice to have some alone time too. You were minding your own business when suddenly:

"Hey are you a doll?"

A little kid had just picked you up by your waist and you were frankly very startled. You started wiggling, trying to get out of the kid's grasp but it was too tight.

"You're a very weird doll"

The kid held you tighter and you squealed out for help.

"I'm not a doll! Let me go!!"

The child gasps "A talking doll! Mama, mama! Look, a talking doll! Can I keep it please?" they called their mother over

A woman strides over and looked down while you were trying to get out of there. She gasps in horror and shrieks

"A RAT! A RAT! THROW IT AWAY AT ONCE BILLY! IT HAS THE PLAGUE! GET IT AWAY!!"

She then snatched you out of her child's sticky hands and threw you at full force into the mud.

"GET BACK YOU VERMIN! GET AWAY! RETURN TO THE MURKY SWAMP WHERE YOU CAME FROM!" She screeched while you were trying to process what just happened and collect yourself.

All of a sudden, you heard a very angry yet familiar voice from the bushes

"OI! NO ONE GETS TO PUSH MY SIBLINGS INTO THE MUD BUT ME!!"

He then pounced and shoved the prick and her brat into the mud.

"AHHHH YOU INSOLENT BRAT! HOW DARE YOU!"

Without warning, she grabbed Tommy and tried to trip him over him but before she could, you sneaked up behind her and bit down hard on one of her legs. Tommy then grabbed you and booked it out of there with the screeches of the witch behind you.

Once you two made it back home, you started to clean yourself up when Tommy handed a towel to you. He said nothing and looked away but the gesture was all it needed. The both of you were silent but a mutual care about each other started to grow that day.

it took a while but you two soon became thick as thieves

he even introduced you to Tubbo later on!

You and Tubbo relate to each other on the fact that you were both often underestimated and your shorter heights compared to everyone else.

Life in the smp

you decided to follow Wilbur and Tommy when the left home and promised to write to your dad and older brother

by now, you were as tall as you could be and could defend yourself reasonably well

you, Tommy and Tubbo absolutely cause chaos together. I mean the rat, the racoon and the goat? Who makes better thieves than that?

You definetely participated in the disc wars, stealing Tommy's discs back from Dream whenever you could

During the L'Manberg era, you decided to join your brothers' country and became good friends with the rest of the L'Manberg members. You had a little uniform and everything, you helped to plant flowers and decorate around the country since it was a bit hard to place down blocks.

L'Manberg really felt like a second home and a second family for you even with the constant battles, you still had each other and that was enough.

Then you and everyone else lost your first lives during Eret's betrayal and Tommy had to give up his discs (you wanted to steal them back but Tommy told you that it was ok and they'd find another way) but hey, at least you guys were independent now...right?

Then the elections happened. You were sure your brothers would win until the votes were revealed. They were banned from the country and you desperately scurried after them, trying not to get trampled in the angry mob

You helped them set up Pogtopia and that's when Wilbur decided to give you a job.

With all things considered, you were arguably one of the best spies on the server: You were tiny and hard to spot, you can hide in places no one would think to look, you were fast, agile and hard to catch, you have a far more superior sense of hearing and smelling and can therefore sense if anyone's coming much easier, and you can communicate with rodents; one of the most common and unsuspecting animals.

Therefore, Wilbur gave you and Tubbo the job of spying on Schlatt and Manberg. Tubbo would pretend to be on their side and you would eavesdrop from the shadows.

You should've been more wary of Wil's behaviour, he looked like he was loosing it but still wanting to help your brother, you accepted the job and spied on Manberg, giving Pogtopia info when you could.

Techno came to help and you thought that it would be alright from now on...then the red festival happened. Tubbo gave his speech while you watched from behind the curtains. Then he was boxed up and you could only watch in horror as Techno walked to the stage to execute your best friend.

You thought it couldn't get any worse when someone grabbed you from behind and took you to the stage. JSchlatt held you by the neck and learned that you were the spy sneaking info all along. And before you knew it, he squeezed your throat and you died from suffocation on stage.

Wilbur couldn't look you in the eyes after that and you were told that Techno shot a firework at Schlatt cause 'it wasn't part of the deal'

After the final battle, you couldn't be happier. You were celebrating with all your friends and looking for Wilbur before the ground shook and everything exploded.

You lost half your tail and parts of your left ear that day. But that loss couldn't compare to the loss of your brother, dead in your father's arms

You tried your best to return to normal and just when you started to recover, Tommy was exiled. You followed him to Logstedshire and tried to stand up for him against Dream but he was too strong.

Tommy convinced you to leave him and that he'd be ok and you naively believed him.

When Techno took him in, you followed him and couldn't be happier; your family was back together!...well most of them.

Then doomsday happened. Techno didn't tell you his plans and you were in shock as to why he would blow up L'Manberg now.

He then told you about the execution. That while you were with Tommy in exile, he was going to be executed by the butcher army. That news shook you to the core but you couldn't think straight with your second home being blown to smitherines again.

Afterwards, you decided to take a break from society and ran away to live by yourself in a small home you built in the woods for some time to recover.

Tommy would visit sometimes and told you about the hotel he was building with Sam Nook, Tubbo visited when he could, he even brought Ranboo with him once and told you about their son Michael. Philza visited once, he told you that Techno was doing alright but just hasn't found the time to visit. You didn't answer when he knocked on the door.

(Sorry if the end sounds rushed, its because it is. I just didn't know what to do about the rest of the extensive lore but let me know if you'd like more of these x reader stuff, only platonic though. Anyways, until next time my lovely marshiemellows!)

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peachy-tea-anon · 2 years

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𝚈𝚘𝚞...𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝?

𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

synopsis: it's your anniversary with wilbur, and you cook him his favorite dinner, but... why is he taking so long to come home?

TW: cursing, angst, hurt, abandonment etc

as you counted down the days until your anniversary with your boyfriend wilbur, you decided you wanted to suprise him! so, about a week or two before the day, you asked him if he would mind coming over to "just hang out". he agreed, and when the day came, you started cooking.

you put on a nice dress, knowing will would still be in a collared button up and nice pants from work. you cooked ALL. DAY. going to the grocery store, letting the bread dough rise, making dessert, boiling pasta.. it was a lot to handle.

you calculated an estimate time for him to be home, and once it hit that time, you set the table, lit candles, and turned on soft jazz music. oh, and of course, stashing away his gift.

...

after what felt like ages of waiting, y/n decided to call him.

...ring...

“hi, this is wilbur, leave a message after the beep“

y/n sat, a little shocked. so she decided to text him, just in case he was taking the subway and didn't want to be rude by answering the phone.

y/n💕

hey will, you on your way?

*20 mins later*

wilbur, you there?

where are you?

will..?

as an hour had passed, y/n realized he wasn't coming. she just stared down at her lap, and cried.

she didn't know how long she was crying, could've been minutes, could have been hours. but her sobs were broken by the front door making its clicking noise.

y/n was paralyzed. she could barely breathe.

as wilbur stepped through the entry way, he looked no different than normal. not rushed, not sorrowful...

"where the fuck were you wilbur."

"i was just at tommy's, why?"

y/n kept her head down.

"why didn't you answer my calls? ot my texts?"

"oh, tommy and i were playing a game that just came out. idk what the big deal is..."

y/n shook with anger, still not letting wilbur look at her in the face.

"not a big deal?" she brings her head up, and wilbur noticed her running mascara and puffy red eyes. "do you even know what today is?"

wilbur's heart dropped as he realized.

it was their anniversary.

"you know what, im leaving." you said, not even pausing to grab a coat to protect against the harsh weather. "i made all of your favorites. it's all in the fridge so you can microwave it." you said bleakly, eyes filling with tears as you turn to him one last time.

"i even got you a gift." you shove the beautifully wrapped present box with a card on top into his chest, letting your eyes wander up into his. his eyes were filled to the brim with tears, and his face is in a state of pure shock.

"im gonna go. don't even think about calling or texting me." you said, slamming the front door behind you.

Wilbur pov

fuck.

i've fucked up.

i had forgot the most important day of the year. she tried to make plans, and i went to tommy's instead to play a stupid fucking video game.

she worked all day to make all of this food for us.

wilbur laid his their shared bed, sobbing in a curled up ball, only before sitting up and staring at the gift box. it was quite large, very enticing, but he decided to read the card first.

"dearest wilbur,

there are no words to describe the amount of love i feel for you. you have helped me so so much, and i can never thank you enough. your passion, determination, and the amount of love you put into things is and always will be a marvel to me. you make me feel cared for, and no matter how bad it gets, you're always there for me.""

"you're always there for me"

as he slowly opened the box, the tears immediately started flowing.

it was a guitar.

wilbur remembered this guitar.

on their first date, wilbur took y/n to the city to roam around and see the new shops. they stopped inside a cute, quaint little music shop. he made a light comment about how he played guitar, and y/ns eyes lit up, immediately bugging him to play something with one of the shops guitars. they sat down and he played a light tune, a love song. written for her. she fell in love.

that was the guitar, sitting before him.

he didn't know what to do, but he had to do something to make things right.

a/n: HELLO EVERYONEEEE!! peachy is back and better than ever. a pt. 2 to this will come out at some point, comment if you wanna be tagged. im glad to be back, soon ill be doing a request event, so if you have any good prompts, comment!! ty guys so much, and stay peachy.🍑🍵

#dsmp x reader #dream smp #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur x y/n #dsmp wilbur #fluff #tommyinnit #dsmp angst #wilbur soot angst #angst #wilby scoot #hurt/comfort #mcyt x reader

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youreyeslookliketheocean · 6 months

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Chapter summary:

Wilbur sat down on the bed. “I almost watched you die to one, Tommy. I can’t teach you to fight, knowing that something like that might happen again. You’re my little brother.”

“And you’re my older brother. I still let you do this, knowing what might happen. Knowing what it feels like to… to hurt.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not.”

Wilbur’s gaze drifted up to Tommy’s eyes, contemplative, and Tommy put effort into looking the part. He tilted his chin up, pushed his shoulders back, tried to bleed confidence as shimmering and brilliant as… well… gold.

“I’m not scared, Wilbur,” he said. “Please just let me help.”

****

Final chapter!!!! I hope you guys have enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

#mcyt #mcyt fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #crimeboys #crimeboys fanfic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza minecraft #sbi #sbi fanfic #dream smp #dsmp #dream smp fanfic #hero!au #heroes/villains au #good as gold #hurt/comfort

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error-dream-was-found · 17 days

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So, as I promised, a snippet from the upcoming chapter of smiling masks and golden crowns!

The chapter is pretty much written already so it should be updated in a few days :)

Dream was scrambling to get away from him, getting visibly more distressed when he found himself unable to get free from the blankets his legs were tangled in. He struggled to get them off, looking awfully frantic. Then Sam made the mistake of taking another step in his direction. The moment he moved, Dream ditched his efforts to break free from the blankets and basically crawled across the floor as far from him as his weak body would allow. A quiet string of what the creeper soon recognized as no, no, please no fell off his lips while he painstakingly dragged himself further, inch by inch.

“Dream.”

Sam said helplessly, wanting nothing more than to reach for the younger.

“No!”

Came Dream’s shrill reply. He pushed himself firmly into a corner, trying to get as far away from Sam as physically possible and maybe even dissolve into the wood if the laws of physics allowed it, all while words still spilled from his lips.

“No, no, no, please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry Warden! I’ll be good I promise, I’ll be good, Warden, I won’t cause trouble! I won’t ask for anything! Please, please, please, please!”

Dream basically cried, shaking his head. It left Sam completely dumbfounded. Of course, this was not the first time he’d scared Dream, it probably wouldn’t be the last either, but it hurt all the same. What was he supposed to do? How could he help?

Alerted by all the commodition, Fran stepped into the room and Sam caught her just in time before she could fling herself at Dream and potentially make his spiral worse. He loved her and he wanted to let her help, but as amazing as she was, he doubted that there was something she could do besides confusing Dream further.

“Dream, I … it’s me, Dream. It's Sam.”

The creeper pleaded, hoping to get through the panic that had taken hold of Dream’s mind. Surely, there was a way to make him snap out of it.

#snippet #dsmp fanfic #smiling masks #dsmp #c!dream #c!sam #c!sam and c!dream #c!dream and c!sam #dream smp #cannon inaccuracy let's gooo 🥲#hurt/comfort #dsmp au

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imhereformysciencefriends · 6 months

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@mcyt-yuri-week Day 6: Sleep!

You know I had to go for that good good puffychu angst. Read on AO3 here

Things were different now. Things were different here. Niki didn’t need to fear sleep, here, because the nightmares would all but certainly leave her alone. Right? She no longer barred herself in her room, no longer woke up in places entirely separate from where she’d put her head down. She didn’t wake to sores and scratches, to bruises where she’d flung herself against the iron.

Niki didn’t—she was better. She was supposed to be better. She wasn’t alone in her cavernous, empty city anymore. She had a little cottage in a little circle in a snowy glade out with her friends. She wasn’t the same naive girl who followed, wide and star-eyed, after a boy with big dreams and bigger betrayals. She wasn’t the same embittered wraith that burned down the symbol of her own heart and locked herself away in stone walls, metaphorical and literal.

She was a woman, a little rough and a little soft, bread burnt on the outside but still doughy in the center. But she was here, and she was fine, and she shouldn’t have trouble with sleep, still.

Some weeks were worse than others. Some weeks were better.

Sometimes, she was bundled up in a blanket on Technoblade’s floor, back pressed against Steve’s flank and any number of wolfdogs clamoring for the prized spot of resting on her lap. Sometimes, she was on Phil’s couch, mug of tea in hand and mechanical bits and bobs slowly overtaking his floor, chatting while he worked late into the night. Sometimes she was huddled together with Connor and Ranboo in Ranboo’s living room, spitballing and discussing the absolute worst pranks known to human or hybrid-kind until they nodded off one by one. Sometimes, she was in Puffy’s new place, fresh built walls and a fresh-woven blanket draped over her when she woke in the same chair she’d fallen asleep in.

And some nights, she went about her day, and fell asleep in her own bed as thoughtlessly as she brushed her teeth or washed her hair.

But some nights, she laid in that bed and stared at her black ceiling, dark and safe without monsters nearby, lanternlight flickering weakly in through her windows. And stared. And stared. And stared. For hours. She’d toss and she’d turn, maybe, but mostly she just stared, sleep nearby but refusing to visit her.

But some nights, she’d go out mob hunting, justifying that they always needed bones for bonemeal, always needed arrows for the unenchanted bows, always needed rotten flesh to butcher for the dogs and bears and foxes, always needed spider silk for its many uses and gunpowder for—

And she’d go logging, after, because their woodfires were ever burning, and who didn’t always need more wood? Go mining, sometimes, because it was a Player’s code to mine and hey, they could always use more stone. Well, that wasn’t true. But coal! Coal was plentiful in uses, and iron, and gold, and lapis when she dug that far. Even got herself a few diamonds doing it.

And she’d glance at her cute little cottage she’d built herself and the dark, warm little bedroom upstairs and she knew the bed was in it but she couldn’t go to it, she went out to work in their greenhouse for a little late night gardening or wandered over to the village to get the best early morning deals or hell, she even went fishing some nights because hey, all resources are good resources, and while steak was filling the same taste over and over and over again got a little boring!

Some nights, she picked up a boat, picked a direction, and just rowed.

Probably for the best, when she did that. Made it so the phantoms wouldn’t haunt the commune. So that nobody else would know—

Except they did. They all did. Even Connor knew, and Connor didn’t know fuckall about anything. No, no, that was rude, he was–he was fine. Niki was the one with the issues. Niki was the one with dark shadows under her eyes, with a pinched face, legs and arms that moved too slow, an attention span that kept wandering. Niki was the one with a waning appetite and flickers in the corner of her vision.

She needed to sleep. It was factual. It was a basic bodily function that all people did and needed. If she kept going like this she was going to be too shaky to aim right at the phantoms. She could get really hurt. And then her friends would worry, and yeah it was a nice thought that they’d do that for her, but far more pressing was that Niki could not, under any circumstances, inconvenience them more than she already did with the mere fact of her existence.

But every time she thought about the bed in the dark in her room she got—

Maybe, maybe she’d—but then they’d ask questions and Niki didn’t have answers. Well, she had the answers, but she didn’t want to share them. Probably. Who knew! God, it was like she was back down there again, back alone in her underground city with room for everyone she’d ever loved and not a single soul to visit her.

“Hey Niki!” Puffy called brightly, startling her into a jump.

“Puffy,” she said, and she couldn’t quite stop the way her voice came out a little forlorn, a little wistful. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” she said, her fluffy woolen hair stuffed into the neckline of her coat and making for a fashionable, natural scarf in the winter weather. The velvety insides of her ears were pinked, though, and Niki felt the absurd urge to reach out and warm them up between her palms.

The two had quit dating a while ago. Move on.

“I was wondering if you were up to anything tonight?” Puffy asked, and Niki hesitated.

Because, no, she didn’t have plans. Other than avoiding her bed and the phantoms in equal measure. On the other hand, this very much sounded like an invitation, and a roof could keep the phantoms quiet as they stalked and waited for her to exit, but if Puffy wanted to do something together after nightfall, it’d become clear as blades that Niki had something wrong with her.

“Why do you ask?” she hedged, trying to soften the shape of her words enough to make up for how rude she was being.

“I was wondering if you wanted to do a hot chocolate and book reading night with me!” Puffy said, like this was some sort of commonplace convention and not something she’d just made up. Niki couldn’t stop the giggle. Puffy was always like that, brash and bold and striding forward in a straight line. It made the way Niki cringed in the shadows feel all the more sickly, but she couldn’t help but grasp after that brilliant light that fell off of Puffy wherever she walked.

“That sounds really nice,” she said, more genuinely than she thought it’d come out. Already she could feel her shoulders relaxing, the way her body curled towards the little sheep woman like pins rolling across a desk towards a magnet.

“Sweet!” Puffy said, removing one mittened hand from her coat pocket to grasp Niki’s own, dragging her across the commune to where her nice, neat little house now stood.

Ridiculously, Niki felt the urge to surround Puffy’s house with flowers, reminisce about the store they’d run together—

Stop. They were friends. Nothing more, probably not anything less. Between the Egg and the Syndicate and the nuke that almost went off, their romance had gotten shot so dead, Niki wasn’t sure it could be revived. But the nice thing about a blank slate was they could write whatever they wanted on it, and maybe Niki could do it right this time. She could start by not feeling ridiculous feelings every time she and her friend hung out.

Inside, Puffy stomped snow off her hooves and trotted over to throw another log on the fire before stripping out of her gloves, hat, and coat. Niki hung her own winter wear over the back of a chair, stomping snow off but leaving her boots on. Since Puffy didn’t wear boots to take off, her floor had a tendency of collecting dirt and grime, so Niki figured 1. she wouldn’t mind it, and 2. it’d be wiser for her poor human feet.

“I’ll get started on the cocoa,” Puffy said with a bright smile, making her way towards the small, already-growing-cluttered kitchen. A dishmaid, Puffy was not. “You go find something that’d be fun for us to read!”

“So, what, we’re just reading to each other tonight?”

“Yup!”

Niki laughed softly and examined Puffy’s bookshelves. She only had the two, a modest selection on them, and mostly nautically themed. She saw a copy of one of Techno’s favorite anthologies, probably “loaned” to her from Connor, who had gotten it from Niki, who had borrowed it from Ranboo, who’d been lent it by Phil off of Techno’s shelf. It never left the commune, so Techno didn’t really mind, but he did make a great huff about it at Phil from time to time.

“Have you had a chance to get through this at all?” Niki asked, lifting the anthology from the shelf and holding it up where Puffy could see. Puffy glanced at it over her shoulder, then resumed stirring the cacao powder into milk and sugar on the stove.

“I haven’t, actually! That’s a great idea, we could pass it back and forth between us that way.”

Niki tucked the book under her armpit and leaned against the doorframe near the stairs. Upstairs was the bedroom, down here was the livingroom, bathroom, and kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly large house, though Puffy had never claimed herself a builder. It was cute, though, and despite its newness, felt lived in. Less lonely than the little cottage and the little bed waiting back for Niki.

Her head tapped against the wooden frame and Niki realized that she was nodding off while standing there. Shit. Get it together, or Puffy’ll notice. She’d been spacing out, too, oh no, what if Puffy had said something to her? She didn’t mean to come off like she’d been ignoring her—and she was far too awkward to ask.

Puffy poured the hot chocolate into two mugs and scooped them up with careful bravado. “Alright! So, I know I keep my place colder than you non-woolen folks tend to like: do you wanna do this on my bed? That way we can huddle under a blanket together.”

There was something to Puffy’s cadence that seemed almost practiced, but Niki mentally waved it off as her being tired. Part of her wanted to make a joke about Puffy inviting her into her bed, but she wasn’t sure enough of their relationship to know that it’d be well received.

“Blankets sound nice.” She’d have to be particularly mindful not to nod off in Puffy’s bed. This was just… two friends hanging out. Gals being pals. Puffy insisting on yet another weird social get together, like eating meat so spicy it makes people cry, or like the punch bowl at the banquet—

“Let’s go,” Niki said, turning and leading the way up the stairs. Cutting that line of thought off right quick. Puffy’s hooves trotted up the stairs behind her, and Niki took in the little bedroom as she rounded the bed at its center. It was cute. About what Niki might’ve expected, if she’d expected anything. A picture of Foolish, Michelle, Foolish Jr., and Finnley was displayed proudly on the nightstand next to a small lamp. A chest that looked like it could’ve come straight out of a children’s book about pirates sat beneath the windowsill, the sleeve of something sticking out from the closed mouth. The little potted flower Ranboo had given Puffy as a welcome gift sat neatly on the sill, and strings of sea glass hung from the top of the window. Niki was sure they would’ve glinted nicely in the sunlight. A second nightstand had a scattered assortment of earrings and necklaces, which Puffy shoved out of the way before setting a mug of cocoa down, and handed Niki the other, which she set carefully next to the framed photo.

Puffy then corralled Niki onto the bed, pulling up the big, soft, quilted duvet up around their shoulders and Niki happily tucked herself in.

“Oh, shoot, you’ve got feet,” Puffy mentioned, setting her mug right back down and hopping off the bed. Out of the chest, she pulled a second blanket, and tossed that over Niki’s lap. “Sorry. Hooves, you know, I forget.”

“I didn’t mind,” Niki said, but couldn’t deny: this was cozy as hell.

“You wanna read the first one, or should I?” Puffy asked, and Niki smiled over the rim of her mug.

“I can,” she said. The cocoa was still a little hot for her tongue, anyway. Puffy cuddled up next to her and Niki only blushed a little.

Some chunk wedged inside her heart tugged loose, and Niki could feel tension bleed out of her like a bottle uncorked. She leaned her head on top of Puffy’s, careful not to get a horn to the face, and read the now-familiar tale of Apollo and Artemis’s births. The cocoa held in Puffy’s hands wafted sweetly, filling the space with soft scent, and Puffy was a warm little furnace against her side, heat trapped beneath the two blankets and pillows at her back. It was with some reluctance that Niki handed the book over to Puffy, but her own mug was cooled enough now, and Niki did admittedly want to take a sip herself.

It was with Herculean effort that Niki kept her eyes open during the tale of Narcissus and Echo, Puffy’s voice even and steady and warm. Niki found her mind wandering to how nice it was. She must’ve had plenty of practice reading to her kids and grandkids. Niki didn’t catch much of the story itself, admittedly, but she’d read it before, herself. She knew how it went. Far more captivating was the warm mug cradled between her palms and the warm line of the woman against her.

Niki finished off her mug before setting it down, and mercifully perked up a bit when it was her turn to read.

Mnnmgn, the words on the page were a little fuzzy, but Niki just read slowly and tried not to yawn. Despite reading the tale of Kronos out loud, by the time she reached the end of the story, she couldn’t have told you what it was about.

She’d slouched a bit, without realizing it. She slouched further now, Puffy shifting next to her as well, getting comfy. They were propped up against the pillows, but only barely might’ve been considered upright. Instead of leaning against the top of Puffy’s head, Niki now found herself pillowed against Puffy’s shoulder. And when had she gotten there? She should sit up straighter, like this she was going to…

Fall asleep.

Niki found herself, shock of all shocks, in a very pleasant dream. No iron bars or burning cities or ghosts of men she’d trusted, she was on an adventure of some sort, wild but safe and happy. She was in the middle of locating a geode when she was thrust suddenly back into the realm of the waking, the shoulder she’d been so warmly pillowed against yanking upwards.

Niki let out some undignified noise and flailed, briefly, but even over her own sounds she could hear the gasp wrenching out of Puffy.

“Puffy?” she asked, bleary and disconcerted.

“Fuck,” she heard Puffy say, quiet, just a breath. Then Puffy was untangling herself from the blankets, and in the moonlight from the window and the soft glow of a sea-lantern nightlight by the stairs Niki saw—she was shaking.

“Puffy?” Niki repeated, more awake, more concerned.

“I’m fine,” she said, too fast, too abrupt. “Don’t—worry about it. Everything’s fine. I’m just—gonna get myself some water.”

Too much like she was running away, Puffy all but bolted from the room, down the stairs faster than Niki could respond. Niki clicked on the lamp and had to do her own detangling from the blankets—Puffy must’ve tucked her in—before deciding to throw one around her shoulders like an oversized shawl. It was cold, in the middle of the night, and if Niki had any inkling of what was going on, she was sure Puffy might like the comfort, in a minute.

She followed her downstairs and found Puffy bent over the kitchen sink, tense as a strung bow and breathing slowly, deliberately.

Niki approached her slowly, and from the side. No surprises. No threats. Just a friend, and a friend’s concern. She settled a hand on Puffy’s shoulder gently, and Puffy groaned. Scrubbed at her face with one hand.

“Fuck.”

“Nightmare?”

Puffy grunted, nodding shallowly.

“It happens,” Niki said, quiet in the stillness of night. “I get them all the time. We can talk about it, if you like?”

“No, no, tonight is supposed to be for you, I don’t wanna saddle you with my baggage,” Puffy groaned, still sounding slightly short of breath.

Niki frowned. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to be for me?’ I thought we were just hanging out?”

Somehow, beneath her hand Puffy grew even stiffer.

“Puffy?”

Puffy groaned again, dropping her head and scratching at her hair. “I just—you’ve been, you—I don’t have to lie to you, Niki! You know we know you haven’t been sleeping,” she said, some mix of exasperation and self-consciousness.

Niki flinched back, snatching her hand away. So this was— Eugh, she’d worried everyone, dammit, she knew it. Stupid little Niki, foolish little girl, problems bleeding out all over the place, couldn’t keep a lid on that shit no matter how hard she tried.

But at the same time, despite the immediate guilt of weighing others down with her problems, it felt… relieving, too. To have someone say it out loud. Like the sting of ripping a bandaid off. It hurt to hear but, well.

“I just—wanted you to have a nice night. Catch a few hours. Do something fun.”

“It was fun,” Niki said honestly. Drinking cocoa and reading stories—it was really nice. “I had a nice night. But it’s okay if you need me to help you, too.”

Framing it like that, it didn’t feel quite as much like admitting that she needed help. Like helping Puffy too was less burdensome than simply needing Puffy’s help.

Puffy was silent, a moment. Rubbed a hand up against her eye, then forehead. Let out a long, shaky breath, then nodded.

“It was the Egg again.”

“It’s back?”

Puffy barked a laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. “No, no, it’s still taken all to pieces, scattered around in iron boxes so it can’t reform. It’s gone and dead. But I still…” Puffy gestured vaguely at her forehead. Niki resettled her hand on Puffy’s back.

“I get it.”

“I feel so guilty and—stupid, I held out so long against it but in the end I still—” she hiccupped around a soft sob, and Niki drew her closer.

Pulled her into the crook of her shoulder, pulled the blanket around the two of them so they were both beneath its warmth. Pet a hand down Puffy’s woolen hair and pressed her face against the top of her head, nose fitting neatly against Puffy’s hornbed.

It almost shocked her, how, despite how much the two of them had gone through, how they’d suffered and recovered and changed, Puffy still fit against her so perfectly like this. Still slotted so neatly into her arms, against her body, perfect height for Niki to rest against, her thick arms around Niki’s waist.

“You were so strong,” Niki whispered, holding Puffy as she trembled and choked back sobs. “You were strong, and fought against it so bravely. It’s okay if it didn’t go the way you hoped it would. In the end, we got you out, and you helped us destroy it, and now you’re here. That’s what matters.”

“It killed my son and I still went to it!”

“Shhhh,” Niki soothed, petting gently through her hair. “You fought your best. It didn’t fight fair. Foolish is okay, too. He’ll have his own nightmares, but none of them were your fault. I was there that night—you did everything you could.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” Niki felt slightly bad to cut her off, but Puffy needed to hear it. Or at the very least, Niki hoped she did. “You did,” she repeated, softer, “and it’s okay if it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, even when we give our absolute best, it still isn’t enough. But we lived to try again another day, and now it’s dead and we’re still here.”

If Puffy had anything else to say, it was drowned out by her tears, no longer able or willing to hold them back. Niki held her as she cried, occasionally murmuring soft nothings that got lost within her hair. She held her as Puffy’s fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt. She held her as she trembled. She held her as she wept.

It was hard to say how long the two of them stood there in the dark of Puffy’s kitchen, accompanied by only the moon and starlight. But eventually Puffy settled. Scrubbed at her eyes and blew her nose. She did get a glass of water, then, and the two returned to bed hand in hand.

Niki cuddled up against her very deliberately, then. The cat was already out of the bag: she was here because Puffy knew she had trouble sleeping. And Puffy needed the comfort too, bundled up in blankets once more and still a little sniffly.

“Thanks,” she said, voice raw.

“You too,” Niki returned softly, and closed her eyes.

Puffy was warm and small and dense. Her arm was once again settled around Niki’s shoulders, and Niki stretched an arm of her own across Puffy’s hips. The two of them probably needed to discuss… this. This thing between them. If they were trying again, if they even still could. Niki was still achingly fond of Puffy, and from the events of tonight she didn’t think herself hopeless in praying that Puffy might feel the same. But that was a daylight conversation. Tonight, they could both really use some sleep. Niki closed her eyes, basking in the warmth radiating off her, the way chocolate still lingered ever so faintly in the air, the steady firmness of muscle and bone beneath her cheek.

Niki went back to sleep counting heartbeats instead of sheep.

#Niki Nihachu #Captain Puffy #Puffychu #CaptainPuffy #Niki #Nikki #dream smp #DSMP #mcytyuriweek2023 #mcyt yuri week #my writing #haro writes #insomnia #cuddling #hurt/comfort #nightmares #listen. you didn't think I was gonna do yuri week without doing the CLASSIC puffychu angst did you #tho tbf I'm a day behind #my beloved is visiting for the weekend and I have been Distacted

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dracolineinnit · 3 months

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So I wrote a continuation to my Haloween fic?

yes I did, happy Valentines day fuckers, enjoy pain :D

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arts-and-drafts · 8 months

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Ugly Things (Dream SMP)

(In which Tommy and Wilbur have a fight. I've always been morbidly captivated by Pogtopia and the stress it put on everybody involved before the 16th, so this is a little 'what-if' writing exercise of a night that may or may not have occurred :) enjoy!)

CWs: Smoking, mentions of violence

Tommy wakes himself up by coughing.

There's a disgusting itch in the back of his throat, and his sinuses are filled with tobacco stench. Bleary irritation spurs him to get out of bed, his body protesting every movement.

Tommy has gotten very little sleep since making Pogtopia their base, and every time he wakes up he is sore from the thin mattress barely making the stone floor any more comfortable.

All this to say he treasures any sleep that he can get, and he is pissed as hell that he's woken from it.

He knows without needing to check that the source of the smoke is Wilbur. Tommy sets off to find him.

It's not exactly hard; Pogtopia is remarkably simple once you know your way around, and there's only a few places you can go for privacy.

Just as he suspected, he finds Wilbur in the farthest side of the ravine by the nether portal, absently smoking a cigarette as he stares into the purple gateway. Tommy pulls his shirt up over his nose in disgust.

"I thought you said you were gonna quit."

Wilbur startles, and turns. His face is gaunt and shadowed in the faint glow of the portal.

"What are you doing up?" Wilbur ignores Tommy's statement. His voice is scratchy and hoarse. Tommy scowls.

"The fuckin' smell woke me up, dickhead." Tommy grumbles. "The portal isn't like a window."

"Sorry." Wilbur says. He doesn't sound sorry at all. "I can't exactly go outside."

"You could not smoke." Tommy presses, irritable. It's too fucking early for this.

Wilbur's face is a mask of indifference. Tommy knows it's a mask, because he knows Wilbur. To anyone else, it would be a real expression. Real apathy.

Tommy knows that it's hiding something.

"It helps me." Wilbur says. It's a conversation they have had a million times over. Tommy narrows his eyes.

"Well, it hurts me." Tommy snaps, the last of his sentence petering into a cough. Wilbur's face goes stony.

"You'll be fine. Go back to sleep, Tommy."

Somehow the words snap Tommy right awake.

Maybe it's built up anger that makes Tommy summon his water bucket from his inventory. Maybe it's misdirected grief at the fact that they're hiding in this shitty fucking ravine in the first place. Maybe it's a lot of things.

Whatever the reason really is doesn't matter. Tommy still throws the water on Wilbur before the man can register the action.

Wilbur finally shows real emotion in the form of sputtering and stumbling, nearly tripping back through the portal.

His cigarette is out, and his glare is piercing hatred. Tommy meets it unflinchingly.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Wilbur yells. His voice is grating and cracks with emotion, and it riles Tommy up in turn.

"You told me you fucking quit!!" Tommy yells back, raising his voice to match Wilbur's. Their shouts echo off the walls until their voices are just ringing noise in his ears.

"Fucking Christ, Tommy, that doesn't mean you get to waterboard me!!" Wilbur screams. He's pissed good and proper, like Tommy knew he would be.

"'Go back to sleep, you'll be fine.'" Tommy throws Wilbur's words back at him with a sneer, and Wilbur throws back his fist.

Tommy flinches before his mind catches up with what the hell Wilbur just did. For a fleeting second, Wilbur's face displays raw emotion; horror, then anger, then finally settles back into the mask.

Wilbur lowers his arm with a practiced breath, and without another word, turns and walks right through the portal. Tommy is alone, and suddenly extremely aware of how he positioned his bucket like a shield in that split second of reaction.

Against his brother. His brother, who had never before come that close to hitting him in earnest.

Tommy's eyes sting horribly, and he fights back tears in favor for stomping back to his bed. He isn't fucking sorry. Wilbur was the one being a goddamn asshole.

Tommy throws his bucket to the ground as hard as he can, and then kicks it away for good measure. The clanging echoes up the unforgiving stone walls, mocking him. They look like teeth in the torchlight, as if the ravine is just a gaping maw waiting to swallow him whole.

He feels an ugly thing in his chest that he knows he needs to cry out, but he won't give Wilbur that fucking satisfaction. Instead, he throws himself onto his mattress, wincing at how the stone floor digs into him like the padding isn't even there.

Wilbur is gone for a long time. Tommy pretends to be asleep when he finally hears the man come back through the portal, and listens for his breathing until it's evened out into sleep.

Wilbur is still pissed off from the night before, obviously.

But he wakes up to find his and Tommy's mattresses pressed together, and his previous anger sticks in his throat.

He doesn't throw away his cigarettes.

END.

14 notes · View notes

moobloom-mention · 1 year

Text

Heart-To-Heart (What Heart?)

BINGO Post

It's said you can feel your soulmate's heartbeat. In the quietest of moments, when you're completely alone, during your darkest times.

Char A wants to believe there's someone out there for them. That there is a light at the very end of the tunnel.

If there isn't...then what really is the point?

Tommy's not that butt-hurt he doesn't have a soulmate. After all, who needs the comforting knowledge that there's someone out there meant for him? That someone will always wish that he survives the next encounter with the Syndicate?

Pfft, big men don’t, that's for sure.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Violence. Near-death experiences.

Word Count: 5704

----------

"What does it mean to have a soulmate?"

It was a question that'd always been flung around the city of Manberg, closely followed by entourages of cameras and influencers subjecting the public to their latest attempts at becoming famous.

"Work" - April 14th, 5056

"It's coming home after a long day of work," one person had grinned, a fond expression on their face. "And being able to tell the moment your soulmate knows you're home, their heartbeat getting faster and faster until you open the door to their smiling face."

"Cute Comparisons" - April 9th, 2057

"To be an animal who's too young to see anything," another confessed, abashed they'd yet to meet their soulmate. "You can't see them, but the drum of their heartbeat is enough to know they're still there, just waiting for the moment you can finally open your eyes."

But to Tommy? To Tommy, it was all bullshit.

Even still he's shocked how much the public swoons over each response, eager to judge whether someone's response was too dull or far too poetic to be original. He'd lost faith in humanity the moment he noticed the uptick in influencers bothering the elderly, hopeful for a story about a soulmate they'd outlived.

Sorrowful speeches paid the bills- the sheer amount of views proved that -even at the expense of morality.

The only interaction that seemed to perform better than tearful grandmas were the "Bitter Ones": people who were heartbroken, pissed, and milked endlessly by the media for clickbait titles.

"Influencer Assaulted by a Bitter One!" - June 17th, 2058

The video opened on a two-minute chase sequence between some prick of an interviewer and a well-dressed man. Even the editor's choice to blur the man's face didn't stop the sheer amount of hatred radiating off the man's expression, waving the young girl off in spite of her never-ending, "Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

It was almost disappointing when the interviewer got what she wanted, the man whipping around to furiously shout at her.

"Could you fucking stop? Some people don't want to talk about how, 'Oh, my soulmate? Mine was a piece of shit that cheated on me with my own best friend-'!"

What wasn't disappointing was the girl being shoved aside as the cameras faded to black.

It'd been a well-deserved response if Tommy had anything to say about it.

Just about anyone would grow pissed over being harassed, let alone being demanded to broadcast their pitiful story to the world. The icing on the cake, however, was the implication that the poor bloke could still hear the heartbeat of his cheating soulmate.

Shit like that was just another reason as to why everyone had grown to favor platonic soulmates in place of romantic ones. It was easier to venture through life's bipolar mess with a best mate versus a partner you felt obligated to marry.

At least, that'd been the opinion of one of Dream's shitty magazines.

"Prime's Attempts at Arranging Marriages is Soooooo Last Decade..."

Tommy had just barely poked his head into his mentor's office when he noticed the headline, eyes wide as he found Dream at his desk and engrossed by an article some poor writer had probably killed to get a spot on the front page.

The scene was more interesting than awkward, especially considering Dream's original hesitance over divulging in anything soulmate-related. Tommy had practically had to strangle the name "George" from Dream's throat when he'd first started his apprenticeship at the Tower.

Shame Dream's attempts at secrecy failed the moment Tommy knew their Number-One-Hero's guilty pleasure was cheesy gossip meant for preteens.

"Trouble in paradise?"

The room had burst into chaos, Dream flinging the magazine into an adjacent wall as mindless paperwork made its home back in the man's hands. If the magazine hadn't practically framed itself on the wall, Tommy would've assumed he imagined the whole ordeal.

"Y'know, usually we get offices only for shit like paperwork."

It'd been hilarious to watch Manberg's Number-One-Hero burrow his face into his desk with a muffled plea of, "Don't tell Schlatt."

It wasn't like Dream would get fired over a little bit of soulmate talk, but the fear was well-deserved considering the Tower's manager would never let Dream live it down.

"I dunno, Big D. He'd give me an office for finding out about this one."

Dream's head lifted, faux hurt in his expression. "Tommy, c'mon-"

"An office, Big-Man."

Dream's eyebrows pinched.

"I can't fucking believe this- done."

Tommy grinned.

"Aaaaand an invite to you and Gogy's wedding?"

"We're not having a- y'know what. Fine. But this-"

The magazine flopped uselessly to the ground.

"-this never happened."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," he agreed with ease.

Life wasn't quite the same following the "Magazine Incident Circa 2060". Yeah, life would never be the same after getting his own office, but something changed in the way Dream progressed their trust in one another, training sessions interrupted by Tommy's curiosity over George and Dream's sudden willingness to let details about his soulmate slip.

Trust had already become mandatory when Tommy first became Dream's apprentice- it demanded they their life in one another's hands amidst combat for fucks sake- but this crawled beneath the surface of contractual agreements.

Dream had once coined it as "friendship", a thought which instantly earned the hero teasing remarks over how George would be jealous.

There'd only been a handful of times Dream had tried to dip into the subject of Tommy's own soulmate, attempts that'd been dismissed with a shrug of "I haven't met 'em yet."

Not everyone was lucky enough to meet their soulmate in second grade, Dream.

It wasn't long before even other heroes amidst the Towers warmed up to the idea of discussing their soulmates. Even in spite of Schlatt's decade-long policy prohibiting it, it seemed the strict dickhead grew to agree that passing comments and stories were more beneficial in trust-building amidst coworkers.

"Long as media shit-heads don't find out, it's fine."

It was an easy catch.

Not so easy for Fundy, apparently.

The hero had barely been around for a couple months before he took his first interview, selecting TMZ of all fucking media outlets. Sure, the network did well to spark publicity for new heroes, but if Tommy noticed anything about the redhead amidst their first battles with one another, it's that the man can't see a trap to save his life.

"Soulmates in the Tower?" - August 8th, 2060

"Well," the interviewer had begun, quick to soothe her previous bout of laughter. "I'm sure you've heard the trends going about in regards to soulmates."

To give credit where it was due, Fundy did hesitate before shaking his head. "Ah, no. Soulmate business has never been a strong suit."

The woman's smile twisted into that of a shark's as she leaned forward. "You must have at least some input when it comes to the big question on the streets. 'What does it mean to have a soulmate'?"

There'd been a beat of silence, one that'd originally elicited hope that Fundy hadn't fucked up and instead cut the interview there and then.

But there's a reason the holler of reporters had changed from, "Hey, Karma! Karma! How'd you manage to evade the Angel of Death?" to irritating parrots of "-soulmate? How do you feel about them? Surely the Big-Man himself wants to speak about his soulmate-"

"To finally feel complete," Fundy replied lamely. "To rush into battle with your heart racing, and feeling the pound of theirs following."

Tommy's phone slipped back into his pocket.

(It didn't matter how much his mind screamed to correct such a careless response. To mutter, you feel cared for, dickhead. You know that every time you put yourself in danger, you know damn-well your soulmate's praying for your safe return.)

Prime knows how the fuck Fundy only received a slap on the wrist for his stunt. Schlatt's screams following the interview still haunt his nightmares, with words over how Fundy barely managed to follow the bare minimum of his contract.

Apparently, the policy was meant to stop identifiable details from coming into light, and considering Fundy's lame-ass response had been, well, lame, the hero kept his job after acknowledging the severity of the situation.

Even the careless mention of blonde hair could've put citizens matching the vague description under the surveillance of villains. Killing a hero's soulmate was a one-way ticket to solving a life-long rivalry, a chance that as Tommy mulled over it, explained Dream's original concern for discussing George.

There isn't room for trusting the wrong person when a single soulmate is all someone gets, especially when said someone has an iconic rivalry with the Blade himself.

He definitely didn't preen after putting together that thought, every mindless reciting of George's antics now found to be another support beam added to their undefeated bridge of trust. The bridge's completion arrived only six months following Fundy's fuck-up, when Dream hesitantly invited Tommy out to dinner with him and George.

"Gogy finally get tired of hearing all about me? Don't worry, king; I'll even get my suit dry-cleaned."

First impressions considered: George was an odd fellow. Short, blunt, and- in spite of the very nice restaurant Dream had selected -dressed in pajamas. Tommy can still recall the moment he noticed Dream's limo pull up, the hero stepping out in a suit and dark green tie whilst George stumbled about in a grey t-shirt and plaid-blue sweatpants.

With the apologetic expression on Dream's face, Tommy could imagine this was less of a prank and more-so a typical outing for the duo.

It'd been admittedly odd to be seated in front of Manberg's Number-One-Hero and his soulmate. He tried not to compare himself to nosy influencers the whole night, even in spite of how the answer to the media's, "What does it mean to have a soulmate?" sat mere feet away, etched into reality.

It was written in the way they offered fleeting glances toward one another amidst conversation. How they sat there, endeared by one another's attire as they dined beneath diamond chandeliers. How they laughed and snorted at jokes undeserving of being found humorous, amused only because the other had uttered it.

When the night eventually came to an end, Tommy found himself trapped with an odd pit in his stomach that definitely wasn't jealousy.

If it was jealousy, then why would Tommy go the lengths to torture himself and ask for more stories about George's antics? Why would Dream then fall into a habit of talking about his soulmate unprompted whenever patrol nights got a touch too quiet.

"It's funny," Dream had commented one night, kind enough not to mention the way Tommy's eyes lit up. "How good his poker-face is. His heartbeat will grow erratic, even though his expression never betrays anything-"

Still, Tommy elbowed the hero aside with a groan. "I don't want to hear about your make-out sessions, prick."

"You know it's not like that," Dream laughed. "Besides, you'll have to put up with it 'til you get the balls to talk about yours."

Damn, a rare L for Big D.

Tommy scrambled to dismiss the sudden tension. It was all in vein, attempts vanishing the moment Dream noticed it.

"You don't have to," he back-peddled, almost frantically. "This was never an info-for-info arrangement, I'm more than happy to just talk about George-"

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered the offer.

Dream had opened a door that night, one demanding payment of complete vulnerability should Tommy walk through it. He'd have to share the only thing the blonde could truly claim as his secret to own- something that Dream had been openly sharing for over a year at the time.

It was...enticing.

Tommy's mother tongue might be that of a sailor, but there'd always existed an undesirable itch to spout metaphors like Dream did about George. He is, in spite of Dream's shock, a poet at heart. It was his pride that prohibited the publishing of his thoughts.

Well, his pride and the fact he was nothing if not the spitting image of stubbornness. The moment he'd soul his soul on a lie was the moment he refused to depart from it.

"Fuckin' rude," he huffed. "Maybe Schlatt should hear of that magazine incident-"

The topic was dropped in favor of teasing laughter, and Dream never learned that Tommy had spent the following morning pacing his apartment with a question in mind.

What does it mean to have a soulmate?

To influencers, it was to milk them for all their worth, to regard them as winning lottery tickets and divulge in profit.

To Fundy, it was to matter, to seek comfort and validation in his life meaning something in the eyes of another.

To Dream, it was to hold them in the space between his heart and lungs, to immortalize them in the minds of others through childish stories.

And to Tommy-

To Tommy it wasn't just bullshit.

It was to sit on his shitty excuse for a couch, to strangle a notebook and pencil within his hand.

(To etch amidst blurring blue lines:

It is to ask a mentor about theirs,

And for a moment, pretend you have the same.)

It'd been easy to smother the notebook beneath shopping lists and nervous chants of "Just kidding, just kidding-" as though it were someone else he were attempting to convince instead of the lonesome thud of his own heartbeat.

It never mattered how how many times the mantra filled Tommy's empty apartment. He'd always been destined to retire beneath the covers of his bed, an old pair of white headphones glued to his ears as though they could heal the song of mourning that'd torn his heart to shreds.

And they could, ever-so-eager to echo the soft, rhythmic thump of a looped heartbeat not meant for him to listen to.

A part of him hopes the original owner of the audio has long been put to rest, unable to handle the guilt that he'd intruded on two soulmate's heartbeats for the sake of curing his loneliness.

It's pathetic.

But being pathetic wasn't as lame considering how much easier the routine made going about his day without a second heartbeat to contrast with his own.

It was a tiny secret he'd kept hidden beneath the covers of his bed, harmless and easy enough to contain within the walls of the apartment.

But of course, Prime loved fuck-all if not ruining a good system.

Hero work had always been dangerous- hell, he had his own set of previously broken bones to prove it.

Having a brush with Death was bound to happen sooner or later.

Dream and him had been roaming about when a report came in, spouting of how two members of the Syndicate- Manberg's most effective group of organized villainy -were stalking the streets. It hadn't raised too many red flags; with so many members amidst the Syndicate's ranks, hearing only two of them running errands wasn't unheard of.

Especially when the two were Phantom and Blade, names that'd proven they could defend themselves quite well.

It was dumb-luck alone Tommy eventually managed to successfully pin Phantom in place whilst Dream was distracting Blade, his arm pressed against the villain's throat as he attempted to wrestle Phantom's freezing cold hands into a pair of power dampeners.

He'd nearly jolted over the sudden realization he couldn't feel a pulse against his arm, Phantom still very much alive and struggling in spite of the revelation.

"No heartbeat? That's creepy as fuck," Tommy muttered, as though he wasn't panicking feeling Phantom's hands warm in his grasp. He really didn't need the villain dematerializing right as he was this close to success.

"Don't tell me you heroes hold grudges against dead people," Phantom grinned. As if he wasn't about to be sent to Pandora's vault for a CVS receipt of crimes.

"Prime do I have bad news for you, king-"

There'd been the soft sound of scrapping metal before he found himself stumbling onto concrete, Phantom long forgotten as his fingers instinctively grasped the metal feather that'd embedded itself in his chest.

Somewhere to his left Phantom scrambled upright.

Even nowadays he can't grasp together a cohesive description of the events that followed, only recalling how quiet the atmosphere had grown. Phantom and the Angel of Death had to of been talking, right? Shouting if what little of what Tommy could see explained.

But there'd only been the deafening crash of silence, interrupted only by the head-ache inducing pound of his heart.

Suddenly, Fundy's fondness over the racing of his soulmate's heartbeat made sense. Dying alone was terrifying.

He learned two things that day:

The Angel was not a force to fuck with, and maybe therapy was a good thing to invest in.

Tommy would've been back on the battlefield the moment the hospital discharged him if it wasn't for Dream. The man had been relentless, convincing Schlatt to force Tommy on two weeks of paid leave.

Day 18 of being out of commission and Tommy found himself walking through the Tower's lobby, white headphones secured to his ears.

Only Dream questioned it, convinced it was a joke.

"You're not actually taking them into the field, are you?" the man had asked, frowning over Tommy's shockingly serious expression. "Tommy, you just got back from dying. You seriously expect me to let you go out there with these things?"

"Mhm."

A sigh.

"Can you at least let Sam downsize them-?"

"Nope."

Tommy loved nothing if not giving Dream a heart-attack.

"How the hell are you going to hear our call-outs then?"

He shrugged. "I will."

And Tommy had done well with that promise.

Unlike Dream's suspicion that he was blasting music amidst life-threatening confrontations, the soft echo of a heartbeat never did much to phase out barked commands and shouts for backup.

"Tommy- for fuck's sake!"

Said hero can't help but wince as Dream suddenly flies down the street, the man just barely catching himself before his face can greet pavement.

Tommy jerks back, confusion echoing within his brain when a fist doesn't appear to knock him back a few feet as well. Blade and Dream's rivalry might be iconic, but Tommy would be an idiot if he wasn't at least slightly aware how quickly he could become Blade's newest target.

He's only a little wounded that Blade pays him no mind, the villain following Dream's footsteps to land unwavering blow after blow. Tommy's shoulders sag with relief, a grin on his face even as he watches Dream's desperate attempts to avoid getting knocked out.

There'll be a riot if they're both not awarded raises following this shit-show. He'd like to see Schlatt try and fight the Syndicate himself.

"What was that? Sorry, can't hear you over my headphones!"

Despite his words, Tommy finds himself naturally falling into a defensive stance, a knife primed in his hand as he tracks Blade's movements with caution. It's almost comical how much he feels like a dog, prepared to lung into action the moment Dream deems it necessary.

What's even funnier is the fact that this has to be the eighth time they've doomed 180th Street to Syndicate shenanigans.

"Well, isn't that a pity?"

His knife slices through the air at an instant, eyes searching valiantly for the source of the new voice.

The tone hit all the wrong notes- playful, yet screaming of imminent danger.

He'll die before he lets Phantom of all people get an easy hit.

As much as he wants to call the ghost a massive bitch for hiding in plain sight, his mouth feels like cotton, mind far too focused on the steady rise of his heartbeat.

Thump-thump-thump-thumpthump-

A scoff erupts by his ear once more.

Tommy nearly shouts at the asshole who'd managed to sneak up on him again, forcing down the terror that'd begun to creep into his veins.

Panic was never a good mix when trying to locate an essential ghost.

Fuck Prime for giving a villain such an overpowered ability. "Recall" might not be among the worst powers to have, but even Dream's manipulation over gravity is nothing in comparison to walking through fucking walls.

"I thought you would've loved to hear Dream nearly get a face-full of pavement."

Well now that you mention it-

Tommy's joints lock as the distinct of metal on metal returns, a sound that'd only just begun to disappear from his nightmares.

Phantom's sudden lack of continuous banter only confirms his suspicions that this isn't just a typical Blade and Phantom scenario.

The teenager ducks just in time for a handful of metal feathers to imbed themselves into the alleyway wall instead of his back, breath hitching at the sight of the Angel of Death staring down at him in amusement.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump-

"Th-That's hardly fair, you fuckin' prick!"

He feels drunk on the adrenaline rush that flows through him, his knife thrown toward the son of a bitch with practiced ease.

There's disappointment in the way his weapon never finds a home, effortlessly batted away and making a near-perfect arch back into Tommy's hand as his power wills it to return.

It's fantastic that he has his weapon back.

Terrible that it'd came whizzing toward his heart point-first.

Shadows loom as Angel's metal wings extend, creating a barricade between them and Dream's ongoing struggle.

Ha, as if two dangerously sharp wings are going to stop him.

"'Fair' isn't exactly in my vocabulary, mate."

"Almost forgot," Tommy grunts. "Blade's the dictionary fuck."

There's a flash of light before Tommy dives forward, metal clashing as his knife meets Angel's wrist-guard.

Satisfaction bleeds into the villain's cruel smile.

It almost makes him miss Phantom. At least with him Tommy isn't forced to look too hard at the bastard's ugly face.

Tommy wrestles the yelp from his throat as Angel's wings fling forward, boots digging into the ground to counteract the sudden powerful gust of wind.

An uproar of debris greets his attempts to stand firm against the violent force, triumph igniting as Tommy stands his ground.

Apparently, his success is a crime straight out of Phantom's book.

The dust barely settled when the heel of the ghost's boot meets his chest, lungs squeezing as he's sent flying onto the pavement of Ox Avenue.

He's unable to swallow back a totally-manly noise of pain- head pounding as the world roars back to life.

It's far too loud, overwhelming at this point.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

He can faintly hear Dream's distinct grunts from the street over.

Fuck, that means-

Tommy's eyes widen as he locks onto his headphones a few feet away, split damn-near perfectly down the middle.

"What a shame, folks," Phantom's voice sings, the villain in all his vintage-glory appearing not far from Tommy.

If he wasn't so pissed, he would've asked whose dead grandpa Phantom stole the trench coat from.

"Looks like Karma's headphones are officially down for the count!"

Live now. Mourn later.

Sweat drips down his forehead as Tommy lurches backward, Phantom's fists connecting with the pavement Tommy had laid upon only a second before.

"Oo, but Karma makes a shocking return!" Phantom cheers. His form flickers once before it returns full-force, much less passive than the ghost's usually fighting stance.

Tommy's teeth grit.

The saying isn't "Karma's a bitch" for nothing.

"You're gonna regret that, fucker."

Phantom flickers back into existence, and Tommy takes kindly to the way their fight falls into hand-to-hand combat.

It's a dance he'd practiced for years, the consistent art of feigning left and dodging right.

The meticulous thoughts firing every time Phantom leans a little too much on his left-side.

Tommy's leg sweeps beneath the villain, fury forever caught in Phantom's eyes as the villain stumbles to the ground.

His power surges as he calls upon his knife, hand reaching out to snag the handle as per usual.

Tommy's grin drops the moment his hands grab something, something that ignites the nerves in his hand aflame.

That...that is not his knife.

He groans as the metal feather rips itself from his grasp, snapping back into position on Angel's wings.

"You mother-"

The world turns.

Tommy flails as his feet leave the ground, eyes widening amidst his attempts to twist mid-air. A quick glance proves that Phantom and Angel have joined his non-consensual ascent to the sky- a very black sky that totally isn't scary as fuck in the middle of the day.

Blinding white strips creep along the avenue's road like veins, the sidewalk now a pale shade of black.

Well, that's never happened before.

Tommy's heart stalls as gravity takes reign once more, the world flashing back to normal in time for the trio to crash onto pavement.

True to his luck, he doesn't land on his feet like Dream always does.

Instead he's left in a tangle of limbs, and silence that definitely should not be there.

"What the fuck-"

Tommy forces himself to his feet as his gaze fires on instinct.

White concrete.

Black roads.

Kicked dust settling.

Still Angel of Death-

Woah, woah, slow that down a bit.

Tommy's brows furrow.

Dust should not be settling whilst two supervillains stand tall.

Oh, and the Angel of Death probably shouldn't be standing in place either.

Tommy almost wilts beneath the odd storm crashing in Angel's eyes as the villain gazes toward 180th Street. If he didn't know any better he would've deemed it an odd mix between panic and possessiveness.

It can't be panic over Dream's abilities, Tommy had spent way too much time combing through his mentor's files to of missed such a crucial detail in the man's powers.

The Angel takes a step back, pupils blown wide.

Oh.

This isn't a Dream problem.

This is a Blade problem.

For once, it seems their Number-One-Hero might just have the upper hand.

How the turn-tables.

Tommy's powers howl as he throws his knife, pride unaffected as the Angel's wings once-more deflect the blade without so much of a glance.

The air freezes as the villain slowly turns his head toward Tommy, leveling the hero with a death-glare.

If this wasn't a such an opportunity, he would've fled the scene in an instant.

But Dream needs time, and Prime will Tommy buy him some.

"Oi, dick'ead! I wasn't finished with you."

Gone are the grins, the playful woes of battle.

This is personal.

"Phantom."

A hand appears to his left and Tommy's lunges.

He barely makes contact with Angel's left wing before Angel staggers back, landing a solid punch against Tommy's cheek in the hopes it'd dismantle him.

Like hell he's giving up this easily.

"Reca-!"

His power dims as a hand clamps around his mouth, the eye-watering scent of gunpowder flooding his senses.

"Oh no you fucking don't gremlin," Phantom grunts, voice heavy with the sheer amount of effort it takes to wrangle Tommy against his chest.

Good, nothing should come easy to that prick.

He definitely doesn't flinch as the wing in his hand dissembles, the feathers following in Angel's hurried footsteps as the villain takes off toward 180th.

Fuck.

Dream better hope Angel and Blade just have an extremely beneficial partnership and aren't two extremely dangerous soulmates.

Tommy's teeth sink into Phantom's hand.

Y'know, for being a classified ghost, Phantom's hand tastes grossly similar to normal flesh.

And like a human, the ghost's hand snaps away at an instant.

Tommy doesn't give Phantom the time to register his fuck-up, the metal feather he'd managed to snag oddly light as he digs it straight into the villain's thigh.

There's a hiss before Phantom disappears, the bloodied feather falling to the ground.

His chest erupts with triumph.

"Haha, bitch! How does it feel to get stabbed-?"

A fist connects with his face.

He's just barely able make out the familiar blur Vintage Road's boutiques as he's sent flying, his hands providing a sufficient block in time for Phantom's next incoming hit.

It's evident that they're moving farther from Dream, Tommy forced backward with every punch Phantom lands.

The ghost really shouldn't be holding this well after being stabbed.

Tommy yanks on his powers, desperation lining his features as he prays for his knife's arrival.

It never comes.

Fuck- this is the last time he tries to recall something on impulse.

He won't even get another chance to recall anything if Phantom's brutality says anything.

A hand grabs his shirt and yanks, pulling the duo onto the unforgiving ground.

Phantom's hands find a home at his neck, squeezing in spite of Tommy's flailing limbs.

"Just stop- struggling!"

You're trying to fucking kill me!

Tommy's breath comes out in wheezes, eyes wide as his mind struggles for some plan.

Phantom isn't supposed to be a lethal threat and the tension lining the ghost's stance proves it. There's an ongoing battle told in the way Phantom's eyebrows furrow with discontent.

His foot kicks out, choking as his feeble attempt only gives Phantom an excuse to add pressure to his throat.

His vision tunnels.

Damn, what a shitty way to go.

"Fuck!"

Instinctively he cringes away from Phantom's hiss, flinching as he expects his small struggle to be reprimanded.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump-

The hands on his neck disappear, replaced by the violent mantra of, "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-"

Tommy gasps, rolling onto his side as he forces air into his lungs.

Boots and nervous laughter echo as Phantom circles him. The villain's mouth moves, Tommy straining to comprehend the words.

"Of all people," Phantom was muttering. "Of all people, it's the biggest fucking pain in my ass."

His throat aches at the thought of speaking, and he can't tell if it's from being choked out or being completely helpless should Phantom decide to do something.

Tommy whines as fists tighten at his uniform, briefly registering the fact that they're moving. If the two building rising into his vision say anything, his deathbed is going to be in some dingy-ass alleyway.

It'll be poetic, if he thinks hard about it. Phantom finishing what the Angel of Death couldn't.

Dream isn't around to save him, nor is there a secondary heartbeat to care.

A hand knocks at his skull.

"-hello? Anyone home?"

Tommy forces himself back into reality, petrified as he meets Phantom's irritated expression and neon green eyes so inhuman that his mind prays they're only contacts.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

Ironic coming from a ghost.

Damn, what a shame he can't deliver that zinger.

"Stop zoning out," Phantom huffs, kneeling at Tommy's side.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump-

Tommy isn't sure how long they stand there for, his heart slowly beginning to calm in spit of the clear danger still in front of him.

Phantom's mouth is still moving- the villain ever liked shutting up anyway.

"Thump-thump-thump...thump-thump...thump- there you go...just calm down."

Tommy bolts upright, eyes wide as his hand rubs at his throat. Phantom's hand isn't there to stop him.

"Thump-thump-thump-thump."

Phantom's hand isn't there.

"Oh fuck," he grunts, eyes wide as he scrambles away from the villain. "You're my-"

"Took you long enough. Thanks for stabbing me, by the way."

Tommy's jaw twists open to retort, the soft crinkling of paper interrupting him as cold hands land in Tommy's own. A quick glance finds a poorly written note in his grasp.

"Niki's Bakery, 120th King's Rd. 5:55PM, don't be late."

His expression morphs into that of confusion.

Kinda odd to have that on hand.

"I- uh, had a suspicion after y'know..."

I almost died?

At least his soulmate has comprehension skills.

"Karma!"

Both of them flinch at Dream's voice, eyes wide as they scramble away from one another.

This- this would look extremely bad.

There's a soft crackle of static from Phantom's trench coat.

"Phantom?"

"All good on my end," the villain mutters into the speaker. "We may have a Code Blue on our hands, though."

"What?"

Blade.

"Mate, you better have an explanation."

Angel.

"Yeah, yeah," Phantom huffs.

Tommy winces as the villain rises, an odd grin on the ghost's face.

"Guess I'll be seeing you soon, hm Karma?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Karma!"

With a salute, Phantom's figure fades just in time for Dream to come skittering around the corner.

Tommy finds his fingers shoving the note into his pocket.

This was...big.

An opportunity to report Phantom's civilian identity. To finally land the villain a ticket to Pandora's vault.

But this meant Tommy wasn't alone anymore, that he did have a soulmate, even if he couldn't feel the secondary drum of another.

He can be selfish just this once, can't he?

"I'm fine," Tommy grunts before Dream can say anything.

"You look like you just got hit by a bus."

The teenager grins, "What if I did?"

Dreams eyebrows pinch. "Don't make me think about that- lets just...lets get you patched up and home."

"You read my mind, king."

---

Out of all the ways he'd unwilling dreamed of meeting his soulmate, standing idly in front of a café was not one of them.

It felt like the beginning of some cheesy rom-com, especially with the giant ass scarf he'd forced on himself to cover Phantom's handprints. The last thing he needed was his soulmate feeling guilty over it.

Actually, maybe that would be some decent blackmail.

Tommy forces himself to breathe as he pushes the cafe's doors open, dismissive of the anxiety stirring within his chest.

The cafe's tall-ass cashier instantly turns to the door, dark brown eyes following Tommy's approach to the counter.

It's unmistakably Phantom, with dark eyebags and a stylish mess of brown hair. A part of him sighs in relief that the ghost's green eyes had just been contacts.

Oh Prime, unless these were the contacts-

"Hey."

Not the best start to formally meeting his soulmate.

"Hey."

It's awkward, half because the cafe's dead quiet, and half because it's weird as fuck to stand in front of one of Manberg's most-wanted criminals, unmasked.

Gone is Phantom's famous black eye-mask and trench coat, exchanged for a cozy brown sweater and green apron with a weird ass nametag.

This isn't Phantom. This is-

"Wilbur, huh? You don't suppose there's still time to change that-"

"Don't push it, gremlin."

#dream smp #mcyt #fanfic #hero au #platonic soulmates #tommy innit #dream mcyt #wilbur soot #philza #technoblade #dark sbi #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #violence cw #ao3 fic #ao3 tags #bingo #Damn this took WAYYYY too long to put out there

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