#Where Wilbur is bridging in a ravine

[faebriel]

and you caused it: chapter 5

In which Niki has a terrible secret, Puffy just wants to move on, Tommy sneaks into casino parties and Wilbur learns to deal with anger being justified. Or - the one thing they don’t warn you of, when dropping nuclear warheads on old friends, is fallout.

in chapter 5: resolutions are made on phil's verandah, wilbur finally understands how horrible it would be to die in a ravine underground, and once-old friends are made new again. niki, again, finds herself baking a cake.

welcome to the final entry! thank you so much for reading <3

wc: 5.6k

(cw: this chapter includes discussion of suicidal ideation.)

so life in the arctic settles back into relative normality.

there are still some patches of it that are painfully awkward - tubbo and techno are still trying to find their footing as they trawl the compound’s outskirts for sight of ranboo, and tommy still has his moments where he can’t stand to be near any of them without shouting his voice out, and wilbur and niki try very hard to pretend that the other doesn’t exist whenever they cross paths at breakfast and dinner. it feels like pulling on an old coat, one that’s too tight at the shoulders and too short at the sleeves. not quite familiar, not quite right.

at some point tubbo does curtly inform niki that tommy has forgiven her, and that he appreciates what she did for them in the underground city. niki is able to see the gap between those two sentences, but even if she doesn’t have tubbo’s forgiveness yet, she recognises and appreciates the olive branch.

they’re not quite friends anymore. she and techno and phil are still close, of course - but everyone else. the hurt was a long time ago, long enough that she thought it might have healed on its own, but the explosion and the mess dream made of her city have ripped the scabs wide open and she’s not entirely sure if they’re going to heal the same way again. that they won’t heal ragged.

but she’s getting used to it.

niki has a strange relationship with mourning. fungi, wilbur, l’manberg, the untimely disappearances of jack and fundy and puffy and so many more people from her life - she’s never quite managed to get it right. it’s always too much, enough for it to feel like it’s burning her alive. this, though… she knows she’s burnt those bridges, but she’s managing. they’re managing. they’re civil, and sometimes tommy offers to help her bake still, and techno spars with her out in the snow, and even though everything fell apart she’s not lonely. she’s not on her own anymore. fucked up and distant and hurtful as they all can be, they can exist in each other’s spaces now.

and the thing about the syndicate - and by extension, the arctic - is that they’re always busy. phil, niki and techno have their duties, of course (mostly book club. especially after niki returned from the city. but there’s still dream out on the server somewhere, and even if the syndicate technically has no quarrel with him, neither of them ever argue with the bitter scowl that settles on her face whenever she’s reminded of what he did to her city). tommy tends to stick to the compound, but he still feeds the animals and mends the fences and follows phil and techno like a duckling to the occasional abandoned mansion or village. wilbur goes for… walks. tubbo gets all thin-mouthed if he stays in the arctic for too long and ends up making off for a day in snowchester, no matter the hissed arguments he and tommy keep having on the front porch of the stables about it (techno’s guest room overlooks the paddock, and she doesn’t think they know she can hear them every time).

there’s always something to do. this is good for niki - she likes to keep her hands busy, she likes to feel like she’s helping. she fixes fences and feeds the turtles and babysits michael and yes, she bakes. she’s doing pretty well with feeling content these days, she’s not often sad - and at least when she is, she has something to devote her time towards instead.

(it stings that wilbur barely even talk to her anymore. she’d rather that than have either of them get into a spat and say something they would regret, though.

even this, still, doesn’t last forever.)

—

there are some days where tubbo wants to go look for ranboo (still missing - that is something that still troubles niki, something they can all agree on) and that means techno wants to go out as well, and then tommy insists on acting as escort whenever tubbo and techno are left alone together, and phil tags along under the excuse of making sure everyone comes back with their heads intact (untrue - niki thinks he’s scouting for another build site). so, of course, someone has to look after michael.

tubbo deposits him like a small sandbag in niki’s arms.

(there’s a secret hierarchy to who gets to babysit michael, one that niki only noticed about the sixth time tubbo asked her to babysit immediately after tommy said no - phil first, then tommy, then niki, and then… tubbo still doesn’t seem to like leaving michael with wilbur or techno without some kind of supervision.)

he’s a fairly lax parent, when it comes to babysitting - and it helps that michael is apparently used to staying inside, moving from house to ravine to cabin. he has colouring books and paints and a few hardcover picture books phil donated when tubbo moved up north and even a wooden toy sword, not that he uses it often. tubbo rattles off something about how he’s starting michael on some piston miniatures - tubbo has been putting them together this week, when he found the time (niki looks at the dark violet bags beneath his eyes…) - and that michael can keep playing with those if he wants, but nothing more than a finger-scrape of redstone yet please, because he’s not entirely sure what will happen if michael decides to try eating it. niki nods, and silently resolves to keep the pistons in their chest until tubbo returns.

michael is perfectly behaved, as he tends to be, and after an evening tiring himself out explaining his puzzles to niki he’s all curled up under blankets and sleeping softly on the worn, old couch. (there is a child’s bed in the spare room now, but tubbo is remarkably hot and cold on whether he likes it actually being used.) niki keeps an eye on him while she floats through the kitchen, brewing another batch of radiation sickness treatment. it’s another large one, with all three of them living in the arctic most of the time.

it’s almost peaceful, until wilbur makes his way down the stairs.

it would seem easy for them to keep ignoring each other. they have been ignoring each other, to some degree. but that’s only when wrapped in the buffers of other people. neither of them can last long in a quiet room, and after a few awkward minutes, wilbur makes his way outside.

after a few more - just long enough to take the potions off the boil, stack them in the kitchen chests and tidy up the spilt sugar - niki follows.

He’s smoking again, she realises. The cigarette winks like a tiny amber star in his hand, fallen from the night that blankets the arctic around them. “You shouldn’t be smoking again,” she duly informs his back. If she’s startled him, if he didn’t expect her presence, he doesn’t show it. “Are they out?” he asks instead. “They are.” No point wishing for pleasantries. “Looking for Ranboo again.” “Ah.” Wilbur’s chin tips towards at that, a weight upon his shoulders – he leans heavy against the railing, as if it props up most of his weight. She creeps forward, letting her fingers find the railing beside him. The wood is cold underneath her hands, laced with frost. “You were close, weren’t you?” He doesn’t answer. Niki bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Wil.” He barks out a humourless laugh. “It’s not like I was any good for him, in the end. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went down in flames with the casino.” “The comms would have notified us if that happened. I didn’t see a message.” Is that what Wilbur’s thinking to himself now, wondering if he had somehow missed it? It wouldn’t be the first time he let himself believe something entirely untrue. “And that doesn’t mean that you didn’t care for him. That it doesn’t hurt you.” Wilbur doesn’t look at her anymore. Not since that night over the crater, when she refused to tell him where Tommy was (does he wonder about that night? Does he ask himself how he didn’t know? Would he have ever known, if it weren’t for Dream?) - no more glances exchanged in the middle of one of Tubbo’s rambling or Tommy’s rants, no cheeky smiles and inside jokes, nothing. She still can’t tell whether she prefers it or not - whether she would rather see his expression twist into dismissive disgust when he lays eyes on her, or not at all. He still doesn’t look at her now, staring into the pearl-white plain stretching before them, as far as the eye can see from left to right before nestling itself into throngs of pine - but there’s a shift in his shoulders, the slightest incline of his head. He’s listening. “Tommy told me that you two were working together,” she continues. “Briefly.” He pauses, takes another drag. Niki resists the urge to crinkle her nose up. She’s never liked the smell of cigarette smoke. “Tommy didn’t say he’d been talking to you.” “We’ve been talking quite a bit, recently.” “Apparently.” His tone is not what she expected it to be - not that, really, she knew what to expect at all. Perhaps jealous. Instead, he sounds almost impressed, if humourlessly. “You did a good thing with the ravine, Niki. They needed to be somewhere safe. It was a good thing for you to do. Selfless, really.”

Now, that makes Niki turns to face him – his ember-lit profile, silhouetted against the snowdrift glow. She narrows her eyes, though, cautious. “I didn’t do it for your approval, Wilbur,” Niki says. He doesn’t even say anything to that one, just angles his face that slightest bit towards hers - just enough to catch his eye. His gaze is too assessing. She’s always been honest with Wilbur, anyway. “Not your approval specifically,” she amends. Wilbur hums. “Maybe it was too selfless,” he says - there’s that thoughtful note in his voice, musing. “You were always the good one, you know? Even in - even in Pogtopia, yeah? It was always, what would Niki think of this. That’s what Tommy would ask, all the fucking time.” He laughs. Niki does not want to ask what he thinks is so funny. “Drove me nuts.” “Is that why it didn’t work, in the end?” she asks. The question is clumsy, but it strikes Wilbur with all the clarity it needs - laughter immediately swallowed. “No,” he tells her. “No, Niki, that had nothing to do with you.” And isn’t it pathetic, that a sentence like that still stings? “People can always change, Wilbur. People do change.” Not that Wilbur has ever had it easy grasping that. This conversation, this argument - one they never even had - is almost two years old. Wilbur is dead and buried and pulled back again through the span of it. And still, it matters to her.  She sucks in a breath. The coldness stings her lungs, as if frostbite can gnaw at her from the inside out. “I think I changed.”

“Did I ever know you, at all?” Wilbur asks. The question is immediate, as if he’s been holding it on his tongue for some time longer than the last few minutes - days, weeks, maybe even years, like her. Keeping it close to his chest, keeping it warm and alive by nestling it in flesh and blood. “Of course you did,” she tells him. “You were one of my closest friends, Wilbur.” And I was yours, she doesn’t say, because Niki knows when she’s pushing it. He looks touched, even if it’s not what he meant by the question. “You knew me. In Pogtopia.” “Wil, I know that you were sorry - ” “I am,” he interrupts her. “I - I was. I know what you’re going to say, Niki,” his voice goes half-mocking, “that I was myself in L’Manberg, and then I changed. I changed, not that I knew exactly what I was - not that I knew it the whole time.” Niki’s mouth opens to retort - but Wilbur raises a hand to stop her, as if he’s expecting it. “That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?” Niki lets her mouth fall closed, sheepish. “I know it was wrong.” “Maybe. But I was listening, then and now - I don’t think it ever mattered how long we knew each other, Niki. There was too much you didn’t know. There was too much I couldn’t bear anyone else to know, I couldn’t bear anyone else to carry, that I couldn’t - ” he waves the cigarette in her direction. “Fuck, Niki, did you even know I smoked?” She looks down her nose at the small, glowing thing. “It’s not a very attractive trait.” Wilbur snorts out a laugh. “Right.” Doesn’t stop him from taking another drag. He’s not rude enough to blow smoke in her direction, or anything like that - but she catches him sending an expectant look her way after he exhales, like he’s waiting for her to tear him a new one over it. And seeming none too displeased about it, either. She doesn’t, for the record. All she does is roll her eyes slightly, and that seems to fulfil whatever Wilbur is looking for. “Y’know, I always thought - all that. I always thought, that’s me. This shitty, in-com-prehendable mess - I mean, you saw me, Niki, I was a mess. And I always thought that was just me. But… I don’t know. I’m starting to think there’s more than a few fucked up people on this server, honestly.” And everything seems less funny. Colder. “I don’t think I ever knew you,” Wilbur says, as conversationally as if they were discussing the weather. “How - how bad did it get? After I died?” “How bad did what get?” “You. Everything. I - everything. This server.” All Niki can do is shrug helplessly, swallowing the rabbit-hop kicking of her heart in her chest, in her throat. “I don’t know what to tell you. Things were bad, Wilbur. We were all mourning, we were grieving. Grief made it worse.” She leans against the railing, letting her weight sink into it. “It wasn’t all you, of course. There was - there was the Egg, and all of that. And so many other things, probably, I wouldn’t have known about it all.” Wilbur snorts again. Quietly, he echoes it wasn’t all about you under his breath. And Niki, her heart freezes over in her chest. A cold stone, sitting in the back of her throat - it sits there, with the last of her petty secrets. What else does she have to lose? Nothing. You know what they say, her mind reminds her, about a woman that has nothing to lose.

“I was thinking about killing myself.” The laughter stops. She’s not looking at him. She’s looking down at her hands again, fingers pale against the wooden rail, imagining them frostbitten. Imagining herself as a walking woman of ice, cold and clear and unaffected by the words she finally says aloud. She can see his hand too, next to hers - the other is holding the cigarette. His grip on the railing tightens. She told him this, she thought. He doesn't act like she had. He doesn't act like he understood fully until she spelled it out plainly. “Not - I didn’t make any plans for it,” she rushes to explain. “But I just assumed, I think… I just assumed that one day I would just get too hungry, or get too sick on my own in the city, and…” The ending of the sentence, that’s the difficult bit. She traces the grain of the wood with her thumb. “And it would all be over.” “You wouldn’t,” Wilbur chokes out. “I know, I know. There’s - there’s limbo. I didn’t believe in it for a long time, though. Did you know, Perfect is an endless life server? No - no death, really. I always thought that here must be the same, until…” She pauses. “L’Manberg wasn’t itself anymore, it was eating my friends alive - it ate you alive. I had nothing to care about, I had nothing to live for left. It was just… revenge. You don’t have to like it, but that was what kept me going. I was - I was so hungry, Wil. I was so hungry, but I couldn’t even bring myself to eat. I didn’t feel like I was living.” Finally, she lifts her head. Wilbur looks almost shellshocked. “...I didn’t want you to feel like that. I never want you to feel like that. Ever.” “It wasn’t your fault.” “Yes, yes, I know, but - you know I wouldn’t want you to be in that place, ever, don’t you?” A shadow casts over his expressed - half panicked, half soured. “Even after that stupid fucking casino - never, Niki. I didn’t mean for it to come to that. You have to believe me, I didn’t.”

“It wouldn’t have,” she assures him. “There was Tommy and Tubbo,” she nods towards the door leading back inside, “and Michael, as well. I couldn’t have.” A horribly morbid thought takes over her. “I wouldn’t have had the space, for one.” Wilbur does not laugh. In fact, he looks quite stern about the whole thing. “That’s not funny.” “I wasn’t joking!” she says - not quite defensively, but almost. She takes this seriously. “The three of them, they just take up so much space. And the mess…” Wilbur looks just about ready to harrumph at her - funny how the tables turn so quickly, now that the suicidal breakdown is on the other foot - but he comes up with nothing besides a few unhappy-looking expressions. “It was just hard,” she continues, eventually. “All I cared about was killing Tommy. I didn’t think about what that would have meant, what would happened if we pulled it off…” Wilbur is quiet. Niki breathes out another disappointed laugh. “I suppose I didn’t care about much of anything at all,” she says. “If we pulled it off?” Wilbur asks. She looks up at him, and - his gaze cuts right through her, steely and dark as anything. “Hm?” “There was always someone else, wasn’t there?” he asks - no, this is closer to a demand. Not in its ferocity - Wilbur is markedly gentle, and Niki gets the feeling she is going to have to get used to the feeling of kid gloves for a while - but in its intent. “It wasn’t just you.” Niki stiffens. “That isn’t my business to tell.” “Not my business,” Wilbur echoes, voice pitching up and down in all the wrong places - “isn’t it? Isn’t this how we got here?” “I got here because Techno half-dragged me back,” Niki shoots back at him, “and because Tommy was kind enough to ask him to. Does it matter if there was someone else? Really?” He pouts, the melodramatic thing. “I guess not.” She resists the urge to sigh. She might not have felt much kinship with Jack during their brief partnership - no, what they had was darker and emptier than kinship, barely even allies - but now, she can care for him in retrospect. She doesn’t want to bring the full storm of Wilbur’s frustration and confusion down on him, especially if he’s still in the same state Niki saw him in last. Her heart twinges, not for the first time. It keeps doing that when she thinks of Jack. If it weren’t for how empty those months were, how heartless and cold, Niki would almost think that she misses him. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she glosses over it. “I still made those choices. I knew what I was doing. I wanted him dead, so badly… it was an ugly feeling.” Is that what it felt like to be Wilbur, back in that ravine? She guesses it’s the closest she’s ever felt. She hopes it’s the closest she’ll ever be to how Wilbur felt. “So now you know me,” she concludes, “properly. And I know you.” “I suppose I do.” He huffs out a sigh. Niki bites down on another definitely-unwanted comment about the smoking. “We can’t do this one over, can we.” “I don’t think we can.” “Flown too close to the sun,” Wilbur murmurs. “Are we ever going to go back to normal?”

Wilbur considers it. “...was normal ever any good? Did it ever do any good, for us?” he asks. Did it? Oh, Niki longs for normal. She longs for summer days in redwoods that never seemed to end; she longs for the smell of bread and wildflowers wrapping her in their embrace. She longs for feeling secure, for feeling comfortable and safe. She longs for the time when she knew who her friends were, and knew that list of friends was one she wouldn’t be able to count on two hands. She longs for when things were easy. Less complicated. Normal. Yes, part of her still longs for L’Manberg. The old L’Manberg, her home. But that place is long dead. She thinks of her bakery - now burned, and thinks of every second she felt unappreciated. Every time she felt hungry, every time that she let herself starve. She thinks of the safety that slipped through her fingers like sand the moment that the old day ticked over into the new. She thinks of being stolen from. She thinks of walking on glass, never knowing if her home and her things would be griefed for kicks. She thinks of how much she trusted Wilbur, and the cigarettes he must have hidden in his office - she would have known about them, otherwise. She thinks of the cracks that she couldn’t see, but were there nonetheless. “No,” she decides. She cannot tell if it feels more like a victory, or a defeat. Maybe both, maybe neither - maybe, just plain relief. “I don’t think it was.” The quiet reigns. "I'd like to get to know you," she adds, barely louder than a whisper. Being vulnerable with Wilbur has always been easy, to some degree. He thinks on it. She can tell, because he goes quiet for a moment - a long moment - and it takes him a few tries to answer, mustering up breath for nothing. The seconds drag their feet. Niki watches birds play in the distant treeline. "I think I would like that," Wilbur answers, and when Niki finally looks towards him, he looks almost content.

and that is almost peace.

they are interrupted by a flurry of shouts over the horizon, one that snaps them both to attention. a small set of figures (figurines, really) stagger through the snow - when niki squints she can see techno leading the pack, charging through the snowdrifts with purpose, tommy buzzing around him like a golden insect. tubbo trails behind both, utterly fixed on something, as phil follows with haste.

"oh, my god," niki says, a murmur trailing tall into a cry, as wilbur's hand comes to cover his mouth - 

ranboo, slung over techno's shoulder.

there is going to be a reckoning over ranboo, weeks trapped in enderwalk, exhausted and bruised - over books and puppeteers and stacks of dynamite, over why it took so long for anyone to see dream as a threat, over how he roams the hills of the server with netherite in hand and blood on his mind - the fight rolling in like bad weather as they all stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the rain.

that's later, though, and something niki has no desire to lose friends over anyway - for now she clears space on the dining table as wilbur ushers michael into a spare bedroom, sticking his head through the doorframe to watch as techno dumps the kid's worn and bloodied body on the table and tommy shoves himself forward with torn cloth in one hand and the first of many healing potions in the other. for now she hovers by the doorway, one hand on tubbo’s shoulder, and waits for the sun to rise.

—

ranboo’s recovery takes a long time. he’s not dead, thank the stars above, but when techno and tubbo dragged him back to the arctic he was worn and filthy and callused in places that niki didn’t even know could get calluses. and they’re terrified, literally terrified on their own shadow, and there are nights where ranboo traipses up the stairs and sleeps in that spare bed in techno’s house (curled up around themself, like a turtle in its shell - niki knows, she wandered in one morning while they were still asleep) and tubbo goes out to stay in the little shack he and tommy have built near her cabin and it’s nothing but tommy’s loud ramblings that breaks the silence for days. niki thinks back to the dinner they all had, descending into arguments, and thinks of tommy’s words afterwards - and for a while, she genuinely does think they’re going to divorce. love has been made a martyr for less.

but they don’t. or, if they did, it was amicable enough that niki hasn’t noticed.

she’s never seen michael happier now that both of his dads are around, and he has a way of practically forcing everyone to get along - if he wasn’t so little, niki would almost suspect him of weaponising how cute he is whenever it looks like someone is going to fall into a spat again. tubbo unwinds - some days, he even smiles like he did back in l’manberg. he and ranboo spend a lot of time with the turtles. the bags under tommy’s eyes stay stubbornly dark, but he stops holding himself like he’s constantly waiting for someone to throw a punch, and lo and behold, he starts to get - loud. he follows techno and wilbur around like a squabbling bird, a cuckoo making itself well and comfy in the nest. wilbur, for his part, tends to just roll his eyes while making some equally immature and snippy comment back at tommy, as he passes niki her mug of tea.

and finally, they can all breathe.

niki starts to feel like everything is going to be alright.

—

they don’t do proper surprises anymore - it’s not safe to walk around with a blindfold, and niki gets uneasy when one of them is wandering off on their own for too long - but tommy insists that the four of them have a surprise for niki and then immediately slams his hand over tubbo’s mouth and starts filling the air with his and wilbur’s latest adventures (tommy claims to have found shroud a wife, who chased wilbur from the pine forest to the fences around the compound for a solid half hour) before tubbo can spoil anything.

they don’t tell her where they’re going, but niki knows the pathway to her city better than anyone.

a hush falls over the five of them (god, they move in packs these days, don't they) as they descend the staircase - not quite hand in hand, with the exception of ranboo and tubbo, but certainly shoulder to shoulder. niki, tommy, tubbo and michael are almost hyperaware of the damage that's been done to this place already, and ranboo is having one of his healthy degree of suspicion, or anxiety days. it's a slow descent. halfway down the steps tommy is possessed with a sudden, jerky shudder, and niki thinks for a moment that he's going to turn back - but he steels himself, chewing ferociously on his bottom lip, and soldiers on regardless.

she still isn't sure how to feel about her city anymore. it was supposed to be a safe refuge - but sometime it had stopped being her refuge from anything, and dream has certainly proven that it wasn't safe. she stays at the arctic these days, because she's come to realise that being around people is better for her at the moment. but that doesn't mean she doesn't miss it.

until she reaches the bottom step.

the place is still chaos, mostly. the dirt is still in piles on the ground, even if it has been swept to the walls. the stone is still pockmarked with the unmistakable imprints of TNT. iron beams, bent and broken, stick out of her ceiling like the ribs of a rotting creature. but - 

there is a small patch of grass tucked into a crevice, spotted with azalea bushes and wildflowers, surrounded with a short stack of beehives. a jukebox sits on the corner, spinning to itself - she doesn't recognise the melody, something quiet and stringy and sweet. the sound is almost lost under the hum of the bees clustered around tallest flowers, watching the newcomers with dark, curious eyes.

she cries.

(niki remembers, back when they all lived under the ground together - and what a nightmare that was - tubbo never spontaneously renovated her farms or walkways or bedrooms sitting unused without asking permission first.)

they made an exception for the beehive nook, but they still do ask: would she mind, terribly, if they spent some time fixing up the place? nothing too obtrusive. just fixing up the walls, mending the shattered beacon, rebuilding the high-speed rail network tubbo constructed from her kitchens to the apartments - tubbo's been nursing some thoughts on the place ever since their impromptu stay, and ranboo's been awfully curious about the city since their return, and frankly michael's missed the novelty of the underground - 

it’s not all right. they don’t wear caution well, never have. but part of her still sings, they asked. they know how important niki’s city is to her, watched her heart be ripped out and strewn across the floor, like every handful of dirt - and they asked.

so the syndicate (and associates) find themselves a new hobby. 

techno hauls debris up the staircase, dragging out broken chunks of walkways and rails as the others carry stacks of wooden planks down them. tommy throws himself into the thick of it, helping out wherever an extra hand is needed - the two of them almost trip each other up a few times, but they make it work. tubbo is in charge of the redstoning, setting up some complex kind of security system of tripwires and lights and pistons, so that next time niki needs to lock someone out, she can. iron is embedded in the walls of the city, along with long threads of redstone, like a shield built into every cave and cavern.

he also makes a valiant effort to supercharge a furnace for niki’s bakery. it doesn’t work like that, which she politely explains to him after he and tommy almost set the place on fire with their attempt at korova cookies - but michael does snack on a few of them that least resemble chunks of charcoal, and he seems quite pleased with their efforts. she appreciates the gesture, anyway, and then very kindly and very definitively sends them out of the kitchen until it is absolutely done being rebuilt.

ranboo takes it upon themself to piece the library back together. restoring books comes strangely easily to them, as wilbur hovers over their shoulder offering both unsolicited approval and advice and as they gossip with shy in a mixture of warbles and clicks. altogether, they’ve only missed a couple - and not that niki minds, not when she sees the lovely decorations and lamps that he and phil have carved from shroomlights.

tommy's supposedly in charge of the animals, balancing bowls of water and birdseed through the newly-planted pines for meowth and stubbornly hacking at the stone until he can make a nice little slope for wobbuffet to walk down, leading right into a stable cosy with the smell of hay and sugarcubes. michael fingerpaints a mural across the side of the stable as they all work, a beautiful scene in the brightest colours of a farm and a forest and turtles sitting on a snowy shoreline. that earns him a big cuddle from niki, and when she looks over at tubbo - acting first, thinking second, like she's coming to accept that she just does - he looks almost at ease in a way she hasn't seen in a long time.

phil presses another totem of undying into her hand when the others aren’t looking. he wants to give her the chance to stretch her wings again, but he wants her to stay safe.

wilbur, doing a poor job of hiding his contribution behind his back as they loiter in phil’s cabin,  swears up and down it's not a flag (as techno, sitting at the kitchen table, loudly questions what he thinks a flag is, then) and presents a banner in pale shades of white and purple - spotted with the shaky outlines of wildflowers and ender particles for shy. he says it's a mock-up, something niki can sew up properly later if she likes. she hangs it, with all of its messy, dropped stitches, above the doorway of her bakery.

it isn't safe, not anymore. and in the state she's recovering from, niki doesn't know if she can call the city home either.

but finally, she feels like it's more than just hers.

—

and after all this happens, niki knows exactly what she has to do next. it takes a while to find him, but she manages it.

this time, she has to take an entire picnic basket with her - and it's a damn far way to lug the thing, especially when she hasn't quite gotten the hang of using a trident with finesse and speed. a veritable stack's worth of radiation treatment potions weigh her down, along with a marbled coffee-and-cinnamon cake wrapped in wax paper.

jack does not look pleased to see her. he looks like hell, to be honest – dark circles beneath his eyes, too-thin, skin pale and sallow like he hasn’t been outdoors enough in too long. but he doesn’t turn her away, either. and in a world like this, that means just as much.

he lets her in, and this time, niki does not intend to leave without him.

[ultraheydudemestuff]

Forest Hill Park

Forest Hill Blvd. and Lee Blvd.

Cleveland Heights, OH  44118

Forest Hill Park, roughly along Lee Boulevard and Superior, Terrace, and Mayfield Rds., is a historic urban park that was a portion of John D. Rockefeller's estate, located in East Cleveland and Cleveland Heights, Ohio. Two-thirds of the park lie in East Cleveland, and the remaining third is in Cleveland Heights. The 248-acre park has six baseball diamonds (four lit), six lit tennis courts, and walking trails that have retained the natural green space as intended by John D. Rockefeller Jr., who deeded the park to the two cities in 1936.   Albert Davis Taylor was the park's landscape architect. It is the largest single body of green space between two large metroparks on the far east and west sides of Cleveland.

     The park, originally 700 acres of land in East Cleveland Township, was bought by oil magnate and philanthropist Rockefeller in 1873 as a summer estate, which was used by Rockefeller's family until 1915.  A failed hotel built in 1874-1875 served as the family’s summer home until a fire destroyed the estate house in 1917.  Beginning in 1890, John D. Rockefeller Jr., assisted with landscape-related projects, and John, Jr., continued to visit the grounds. The Rockefellers spent much of their time outdoors, where they built on the land’s natural beauty and carefully designed and built carriage, foot and bridle paths, scenic views, lakes, a lily pond, stone bridges, a horse track and a golf course. John, Jr. purchased all of his father’s Forest Hill property in 1923 and continued to buy adjacent land. 

     In 1938, John D. Rockefeller, Jr. and his wife, Abbey, donated part of their Forest Hill estate to East Cleveland and Cleveland Heights as an intercity park for the use and good of the public, stipulating that the land be used as a recreational park, overseen by a commission comprised of each city’s mayor and a chairperson appointed by the American Society of Landscape Architects (ASLA).  Rockefeller transferred 1/3 (one-third) of the property to Cleveland Heights and 2/3 (two-thirds) to East Cleveland.  Cleveland landscape architect A. D. Taylor designed the 235-acre park, incorporating paths and features from the Rockefellers’ estate. His 1938 masterplan was implemented by the Works Progress Administration

     Taylor incorporated the existing circulation network and preserved expansive sections of woodlands. He transformed the golf course into a pastoral ‘Great Meadow,’ and established athletic fields north and south of Forest Hills Boulevard. Taylor enlarged the lake to over five acres, siting an open-air stone boathouse (1940) on its northern shore and establishing a naturalistic cascade-like spillway at its outflow. A pedestrian bridge, designed by engineer Wilbur Watson and architect Frank Walker (1940) spans the boulevard, connecting footpaths that navigate throughout the park, following the edges of the ravines, shaded by deciduous trees, such as maple, oak, and beech. The park opened to the public in 1942.  It includes approximately a dozen native specimens that are more than 200 years old, designated by the Cleveland Museum of Natural History in 1946 as ‘Moses Cleaveland Trees' to commemorate the city's sesquicentennial.

     Straddling the boundary between East Cleveland and Cleveland Heights, this 235-acre park is edged primarily by residential neighborhoods and is partitioned by a curvilinear, east-west oriented drive, Forest Hills Boulevard. The park features topographically varied land, including two steep ravines, and incorporates an estate developed by John D. Rockefeller, Sr., from 1880 to 1917. Throughout his tenancy, Rockefeller improved the grounds, laying out a network of carriage drives, paths, and trails; establishing a nine-hole golf course and lake; and constructing bridges, culverts and retaining walls along the Dugway Brook using Euclid bluestone quarried on site.  On February 27, 1998, the park was added to the National Register of Historic Places.

[pinketine]

RTSoot's love language is (sometimes attempted) murder send tweet

[firesnap]

Ignoring how some people took this stream with Fundy to weird places, I actually love the story about forgiveness it tells.

These are two very broken adults. Fundy, outside of WIbur, has issues with feeling ignored and his own host of mental health problems. Fundy also projects a lot of his own mental issues onto others. Wilbur did, in fact, always have people in L'Manberg that didn't have to fight for his attention like Fundy did. Wilbur struggles intensely with defining his relationship with Fundy and avoiding him when things are difficult.

So you have this stream where they have genuine talks. They talk about their mental struggles. Wilbur says he was depressed and admits that's why he died and Fundy goes into how he has anxiety that nears anthrophobia. Wilbur apologizes for smothering Fundy one minute and leaving Fundy following him looking for validation the next. He lets Fundy vent.

Fundy disowned Wilbur publicly and burned their flag and Wilbur let it lie. Apologies are about giving the other person closure after all.

Wilbur tries and they laugh and they reminisce and it seems well.

Then Fundy drops that he doesn't want Wilbur in his life ever again. Fundy doesn't want anyone in his life. Fundy wants Wilbur to leave and, according to the advice Philza gave Wilbur, that's what Wilbur should do.

So he hesitates, from the same place of love as his apology, and unintentionally forces Fundy to take extreme measures to get away.

This is fascinating because it goes back to like, you are not owed anyone's forgiveness. Someone could love you, and you could love them, but that doesn't mean you can do anything when they say they don't want you in their life. All you can do is be there if they want to come back.

Even if you could argue that they need someone, you can't insist that it's you. Even if you put in a real heartful attempt at showing you love them that doesn't guarantee you anything. You are not owed forgiveness just because you tried. You aren't owed a relationship just because there's love there on both parts.

A father and son meet on a bridge, they fist bump, and the son leaves first. The only thing the father can do is watch and hope his son finds the way out of the ravine that he couldn't.

[sergeantnex]

oh Jesus here we go again— ~Wilbur

Shut up— ANYWAYS HI ITS TUBBO AGAIN! I thought of a funni dirty fic to tease host with >:)

(I saw it with a Trans Male reader but you can do whatever LOL)

i saw Reader just surprising Dream with hickeys— Like DARK hickeys, and it gets to the point where he has to end his stream cause of how good they feel. (maybe even leads to sex too but y k) Eventually the next day, Dream/George and Sapnap all go on a Discord Video call and Sapnap and George notice one of the hickeys He forgot to cover up, which then leads to him showing Them all of the marks on his neck/collarbones….

IM SORRY DREAM BRAINROT A,AKSHW DKJSSNJSUSHWSJC ~Tubbo

Dream x Trans!Male!Reader: Marks (Smut)

•°•°•Dream's POV•°•°•

Letting (Y/n) sit in my lap while I stream was something I enjoyed. More times than not, he was playing with my hair or even playing with my shirt. Never having a face cam on was a huge advantage because it meant that he was able to dress comfortably and be himself. It came as no surprise to me when I felt my chair turn a bit that (Y/n) had entered my streaming room.

Smiling softly I moved so he could climb in my lap before returning to torture George and Sapnap. Laughing when George screamed about me trying to kill him. (Y/n) nuzzled the bridge of his nose against the skin of my neck slightly before placing soft tender kisses. Not thinking much about it, I tilted my head giving him more access.

(Y/n) began placing open mouth kisses from just below my ear all the way down to my collarbone. The groan that slipped out could be covered by Sapnap knocking me off into a ravine, I managed to still land in water. Lightly tapping his hip twice as a warning, I shifted us a bit closer to the desk. Humming slightly as a sign that he understood my warning he made his way back up my neck.

It didn't take long for me to notice his hips started to lightly rock against mine. I groaned internally now understanding what he was silently asking for. I took the chance since I was hiding from George and Sapnap to pull his hips closer to my own. I quickly muted so that the stream and the boys couldn't hear me.

"Go ahead baby boy, be quiet for me and I'll reward you okay?" I asked lightly pulling him back to look at me. His (e/c) eyes clouded with lust and need, he nodded quickly placing a soft kiss to my lips before returning to my neck. Unmuting my mic I went back to escape from the boys and making my usual banter with them.

(Y/n)'s hips rolling against mine in a slow steady rhythm and the light nipping along my neck down to my collarbone were making it hard to focus. I gave a muffled groan when I felt him begin sucking at the flesh of my neck. Just above the collar of my shirt, in plain view. Pressing my hips up against his lightly rolling them in time with his.

(Y/n) bit the slight mark he left there only making it darker before moving to a new spot. I was doing everything in my power to ignore the pleasure of him sucking and biting my skin added with his hips rolling against my own. My erection pressing almost painfully hard against the zipper of my jeans. Thankfully Sapnap killed me meaning he and George won, it gave me time to grab (Y/n)'s hips. Lightly nudging him back I began to pull my jeans down just enough to free my erection.

(Y/n) let a soft whine slip from his lips as he moved away to pull his sweats and boxers off. My loose long sleeve slightly hanging off his body just barely falling to the tops of his thighs. He crawled back into my lap grinding his aching sex against my own. I did my best to carry a conversation with Sapnap and George. (Y/n)'s body was trembling and his breathes were getting unsteady as his need grew. Muteing quickly I pulled him towards me, kissing him feverishly.

"Cockwarm me until you come then I'll give you what you want okay sweet boy?" I asked him softly sliding my hands up his thighs. (Y/n) nodding quickly lifting his hips so I could ease my cock in slowly. Groaning when I bottomed out completely and at the feeling of his walls clinching me.

Unmuting again without Sapnap and George noticing I continued the conversation. Occasionally (Y/n) would rock his hips attacking the marks already blooming on my skin with muffled moans. The moans were low enough that the mic didn't pick them up which was a good thing since I was still live. (Y/n) gave two taps on my arm letting me know he was close.

Quickly saying my goodbyes to chat and the boys I left the stream, and even shut down my computer. Groaning openly I began guiding him to ride me eagerly watching him come undone. His body shook with his release making me groan. Lifting (Y/n) up with me as I stood up moving towards our room. I softly sat him on the bed before moving the pillows so I could sit against the headboard. Instantly (Y/n) climbed back in to my lap eagerly rolling his hips again.

Giving him a moan I pulled his shirt away and tossed it to the floor before doing the same with mine. Moving away slightly, (Y/n) began marking up my neck and chest with even more dark hickeys. If there was one thing I had learned about (Y/n) it was that he loved to leaving marks on my skin. His hips rolled a hint faster before shuttering a bit.

Gently nudging him back to pull my jeans and boxers the rest of the way down letting them fall to the floor. Panting I brought him forward gently pressing my length against his entrance. Letting him sink back down, praising him with every rise and fall of his hips.

•°•°•Third POV•°•°•

(Y/n) moaned lifting his hips just enough for Dream to enter him. Sinking all the way down to the base with a moan, his hands squeezing Dream's shoulders. Dream groaned tilting his head back offering more skin to his lover. (Y/n) grinned before sucking more deep marks on Dream's pale freckled skin. As much as (Y/n) loved marking Dream up, Dream loved seeing them on his skin for days nearly weeks after. It was a shared pleasure between the two.

Dream eagerly placed his hands on (Y/n)'s hips lightly lifting them up and pulling them back down. Both moaning at the feeling of being so close to each other. Dream, himself, leaned towards his boyfriend placing a few marks on his partners (s/t) skin as well. Making sure to kiss and lick at the scars that were fading from his top surgery.

It didn't take long for (Y/n)'s walls to clinch around Dream as he came for the second time that night. Dream leaned away to watch the bliss on his lover's face as his own high can crashing down as well. Both sat still letting their shared high come down and their breaths even out. Dream gave a breathy laugh lightly running his hand through his sweaty hair.

"What's so funny?" (Y/n) asked looking at Dream with a look of concern. Dream instantly pulling (Y/n) forward feverishly kissing him before pressing his forehead to his boyfriends'.

"I left discord and stream so quickly that I'm sure they are going to interrogate me tomorrow." Dream explained with a laugh, (Y/n) soon joining in. The two moved slowly towards the bathroom taking a shower to clean up. Taking time to clean away the mess they both made.  Dream took a quick side glance at the marks his lover left behind, and much like he thought, they were dark.

A few were tender to the touch but they were dark. Dream couldn't help the blush that spread itself across his cheeks, there was no way he could lie to Sapnap and George about why he left so quickly if they were supposed to video chat. A hoodie might hide them just enough for him to trick the boys. (Y/n) grinned watching Dream trace the hickeys along his neck.

Dream caught sight of the pride on his boyfriend's face making him smile as well. Rolling his eyes playfully they moved to watch movies until they both fell asleep on the couch with Patches curled up on (Y/n). When morning came Dream got up groaning at his joints popping. Lightly kissing (Y/n)'s forehead biding him a soft good morning before moving to get ready for the video chat.

Once he was dressed, Dream sat with (Y/n) to eat breakfast with him. Both of them making small jokes or simply talking about upcoming videos. Dream being the caring man he was did the dishes once you both were finished. Gently rubbing (Y/n)s' hips lightly while pressing kisses on his shoulder.

"I promise I'm alright, Dream. Go before Sapnap and George get mad~" (Y/n) giggled pressing a tender kiss to Dreams lips. Slowly agreeing he moved back to the streaming room, rolling his chair forward to turn on his PC and get everything set up.

"Hey guys!" Dream greeted leaning back in his chair. Sapnap and George both greeted him at the same time. It wasn't until they had gotten half way through the conversation that both had gotten quiet.

"Sapnap? George? Why are you two so quiet?" Dream asked shifting in his seat so he was sitting up a bit more. Suddenly both of them burst out laughing, Sapnap coughing out an 'I told you' between his laughs.

"Dude, he got you good!" Sapnap said laughing. George noticed the confused look still on Dream's face so he gestured to his neck. Dream's cheeks grew red as he quickly placed his hand over the mark.

"Oh come on I bet there are more than just that one~" George teased with a grin as Sapnap gave a pleased sigh from laughing so hard.

"Yeah come on, show us." Sapnap smirked seeing how red Dream had gotten. On many occasions Dream flustered George of Sapnap so it was nice to see him flustered for a change. George joined in with Sapnap trying to get Dream to show them the rest of the hickeys.

Annoyed but flustered Dream pulled the hoodie off before his shirt followed suit. Both grew quiet at the deep colored hickeys from the base of his neck down to Dream's chest. Sapnap mumbled a small 'fuck' at the sight of the marks. Dream gave a brief snort before turning to show the scratches on his shoulder blades.

"He enjoys leaving marks on me, and to be fair, I love seeing them afterwards. They a bit tender at the moment but I'll probably ask him to make more when these vanish." Dream explained slipping his shirt back on. George and Sapnap knew about (Y/n) they just didn't know what he looked like.

Dream caught sight on his door opening, (Y/n) was letting Patches come in to the room. Dream held his hand out for (Y/n) to come in as well. He had mentioned showing him off to his best friends before.

"Babe do you want to meet George and Sapnap?" Dream asked lightly rolling his chair back a bit. Nodding (Y/n) came over and sat in Dream's lap, who happily gave him the headset.

"Damn you got him good, I'm Sapnap by the way." Sapnap greeted with a grin. (Y/n) laughed before greeting him, George quickly introducing himself and congratulating him on claiming Dream. (Y/n) happily sat in Dream's lap laughing and joking with George and Sapnap which made Dream smile. Dream was happy they were all getting along regardless if they were talking about the marks or not.

"I let you two have Dream back, I was going to go pick up his fan mail. Have fun!" (Y/n) chirped happily sliding the headset back on Dream's head. Dream gave him a soft smile and thanked him, pressing a soft kiss to his boyfriend's soft lips. His friends teasing him for a bit longer before they got serious on what new video they should plan.

[lilyminer]

Since I’m kinda proud of this here’s The Deserters AU

Formatting is a bit weird cuz I wrote it in my notes app but hope y’all enjoy.

Action:

* The au starts with the divergence of Techno making the firm decision to not shoot Tubbo as he’s unsure and has not been given any insights from Wilbur. He throws the rocket launcher onto the group near Quackity’s feet.

* Schlatt laughs, the dives for the weapon and shoots at Tubbo.

* Quackity, unsure of his stance due to Schlatts decision to execute, jumps in front of little Tubbo protecting the child like his father never did.

* The firework tears his torso to shreds, he dies almost instantly but his body remains for a frightening amount of time. This leads to Tubbo momentarily thinking Quackity had died for good.

* Techno grabs the rocket launcher back.

* Tubbo is unsure of where Quackity respawns, Niki speaks up and begins leading them to his house.

* Schlatt yells about there being three traitors in one day.

Fallout:

* Quackity answers the door, he’s disheveled with his coat and tie off and his shirt hanging open revealing a huge burn-like scar down his chest.

* Pretty much as soon he gets the door open Tubbo he hugs Quackity. Offering for Quackity to “come back home”, he accepts.

* Tubbo, Techno, Niki, and Quackity go back to Pogtopia and set up to stay there for a bit. Quackity and Niki don’t have all their stuff but are comfortable enough.

* Tommy comes back and reunites with a slightly cautious Tubbo.

* Tubbo, Quackity, and Techno confront Wilbur on his lack of interference when Tubbo’s life was in danger. Wilbur ends up storming out and rarely returning, leaving Tommy the phudo-leader.

* In the end they decided not to move back to l’manburg after the 16th. Leaving the bad memories behind.

* Techno invites Phil to live in the newly refurbished and homey Pogtopia.

* Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy, Ponk, Niki, Techno, Quackity and Phil all live in the underground sanctuary.

* A river is diverted through it which connects to a large underground river preventing flooding of the ravine. It’s expanded, bridges and supports are constructed, and little homes are made in the sides of the cave.

* Quackity and Techno slowly rehabilitate and properly raise Tubbo.

* The same kind of thing happens between Phil and Tommy and Fundy due to their connection to Wilbur.

* General fluff ensues

[nightferns]

Late night thoughts again but i really am a fan of how pogtopia looked u kno?

Something about the little rooms carved into the ravine walls and the twisting bridges and stairways, one leading up to the surface and the chains and lanterns.

It didn't feel like a home through, it never really did, not in the way L'manburg was one. But it did feel like a proper resistance movement underground base.

Quackity's reaction to pogtopia comes to mind, where Tommy leads him to the hidden dirt hole and his forst thought is "this is it??" And then they descend down the spiral staircase and the whole ravine is revealed.

It had such atmospheric vibe. And like in the first days of its making it had like a hopefull note that soured around the time of Wilbur's breakdown.

And now with it being abandoned and all the lanterns and lights being taken down, its genuinely haunting.

That one time Ghostbur went to pogtopia just after learning that fundy was gonna be adopted still is hits me to the core. Maybe because its Ghostbur visting the only resting place Wilbur really got.

Maybe because Pogtopia really feels like Wilburs grave.

[bigtstreaming]

this cave update is sexy but ugh timing wise i’m upset it doesn’t exist with wilbur tommy and techno being exiled.

could you imagine their setup underground with this update? a naturally occurring clean water source, deep coves for them to hide away. all these new resources that they can use for possible secret trading to manburg (provide copper for weapons or food, unbeknownst to jschlatt of course). attempting to gain as much leverage on all the new crystals and geodes, trying to get an upper hand on manburg.

more places for them to hide and more room to truly build a hidden away community. the fight scenes that could occur...

i mean imagine. just imagine. a giant ravine with a large waterfall, vines slowly growing from above. rickety bridges go back and forth above the water, rock on top of these bridges. they lead to different sectors, a smelting station, a brewing lab, and multiple different mines. up here is also where the spiral staircase up to their tiny base on level is, but it’s hidden from the plain eye to avoid detection. there’s a ladder from the upstairs storage room to the downstairs room.

below the bridges theres water and more sectors. a sleeping quarter with mattresses made of hay and scratchy wool blankets, all squeezed together. towards the end of the ravine there’s a winding path of stone and cobble to a little hole on the wall pond that is completely covered in vines and has grass surrounding it.

the ground floor holds most of their storage, including resources, armor, and weapons, but there are some stored everywhere, just incase. including little holes in the wall for if you need quick access to an axe. there’s a small potato and carrot farm that techno tends too. the farm is right next to their makeshift kitchen. there’s also a giant strip mine on the end of the ravine they don’t use often. 

tubbo is impressed with what they’ve built, but he doesn’t know about every detail-because they can never be too careful. he spends most his days in the brewing room or in the dining area with them all, telling them all about schlatt’s next moves.

oh, tommy and tubbo definitely jump from the bridges and swing from the vines down to the water all the time and get yelled at. 

[rocking-space-dragon]

Something interesting I've noticed in Wilbur's encounters with people is the blocks. He's got this habit of needing to be above people, needing to be at a higher elevations, and I think it's because he feels like if he's face to face with someone, they're talking down to him. It happened with Quackity a lot, with him talking down to Wilbur and ever since then, all of these past apologies have had Wilbur doing it.

What's REALLY interesting is that he doesn't do it as the conversations continue; it's like some kind of... establishing tactic. If he's got the elevated position and the conversation starts while he's the one looking down, he's the one in control and he can carry that going forward. It makes me think about the Podium, again; about how Wilbur's proudest moments were when he was standing with everyone beneath him, talking to the revolutionaries, giving impassioned speeches, and how his darkest moments are always looking down; in the final control room, in the Ravine, in the button room.

But that's why the bridge over L'manburg is so interesting. Look up, and he sees that black lattice that he keeps trying to ignore; look down and he sees the hole that used to be his home. Both times he's apologized to someone who he hadn't been meaning to, they brought him there and forced him into somewhere where his only options was to look straight ahead, at them.

[classiestcadaver]

Reblogging is appreciated!

A small story I'm really not to proud of. Excuse me if any of the characters seem OOC, I'm still fairly new to the Dream Smp fandom :')

---

Summary:

Technoblade finds a child trapped in the End. After "rescuing" the shapeshifter, he quickly finds taking care of a child is a lot more difficult than he had originally anticipated. Techno seeks the aid of his brother Wilbur in hopes of finding a new home for his new companion

---

" Techno- your kidding, right? You've got to be kidding me?" Wilbur looks at his brother with wide eyes, face morphed into a exspression of disbelief and confusion.

Technoblade stood stalk still, face hidden by the skull mask he was wearing. Although Wilbur could practically feel the agitation radiating off of the other man, which made him wary. He felt like he was treading on egg shells at this point.

" Just do me this one favor, Wil. " Techno groans, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He reaches out from underneath his red cloak, grabbing the shapeshifter that was hidden behind him, and pushes the child in Wilburs direction.

" I dont have the time or the resources to take care of a child, but you do. " Technoblade says in a matter of fact tone. Techno doesn't wait for Wilbur to respond, already turning on his heel to leave Wilbur and the shapeshifter alone.

Wilburs wings flutter angrily behind him, glasses falling lopsided as he rushes to grab Technoblades shoulder, turning Techno around to face him.

" I cant take a random child, Techo. I already have one, and that's enough work in itself!" Wilbur blurts, jabbing a clawed finger into Technoblades chest.

The unease starts to seep into Wilbur as Technoblade tenses. Technos own wings start to puff out as he swings his hand out to catch Wilbur's wrist. A deep unsettling growl rumbles out of Technos chest as he pushes Wilbur away.

" What do you suggest then, Wilbur? I leave him out in the middle of the woods? Throw him in a ravine? Would that be better?" Technoblade snaps. His wings flutter out behind him, almost completely unfurling as he looms over Wilbur threateningly.

" I- no! Of course not, that's crazy. " Wilbur mutters, cradling his wrist close to his chest. There's a silence between the two as Technoblade slowly winds down. There's another beat of silence before a loud squeak comes from behind Wilbur. Technoblade peers behind Wilburs shoulder as the brunette whirls around.

The Shapeshifter was sitting on the ground, tail whipping back and forth excitedly as a small fox hands him a red ball. Fundy chirps happily when the Shapeshifter roles The ball on the ground, bouncing off of Fundy's tail.

Wilbur sighs, rubbing his eyes as he looks at the floor exasperatedly. His gaze slowly shifts to Technoblade, who is already looking at hin expectantly.

" I can't keep him- "

" Wil-"

" But, "

" But?"

Wilbur hushes Techboblade, scowling at his brother for interrupting him.

" But, I could suggest taking him to Nikki, or even Philza. I know for a fact one of them will take him, if not... " Wilbur pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks for a proper reply. " I suppose I can make something work here.. " He adds, staring over at Fundy and the shiftling child.

" I'll try Nikki first, I'm pretty sure Philza's outta town. Something to do with Schlatt.. anyways- uh, thanks I guess. " Technoblade clears his throat, wringing his hands in what would appear to be a nervous fashion.

" Yea.. um- if you dont mind me asking. " Wilbur stutters as he tries to find the right words, rubbing the back of his neck as he mulls over what to say.

" Where did you even find him..? He looks like a Shapeshifter, but- not quite. " Wilbur stares up at Technoblade questioningly. " Plus, arent they native to the End, anyways? And that was sealed up goodness knows how long ago. " He adds, humming in thought.

" None of your business, Wil. " Technoblade brushes Wilburs questioning off. Techno calls the small Shiftling over to him, beckoning the Shapeshifter to stand next to him.

" Okay- Well, nice travels I guess. Tell Nikki and Tubbo i said hello. " Wilbur opens the door for his brother and his companion, waving them off as they take their leave.

" I'll try to remember.." Techno hums.

[sevenofsorts]

Monday:

She’s started baking again. The other members of the Syndicate drop by sometimes to taste-test her recipes, and she shows them the progress she’s made in the construction of her underground city. They compliment the flower paths outside the city, the bridges and floating lanterns and the gorgeous high ceilings and furnishings within, the little subterranean forest and the waterfall, the decorations and details that make the cavernous space cozy. They see what she’s built and they praise her for it and it is exhilarating. She’s grown stronger day by day with the Syndicate in her corner; they pull her up to stand on equal footing with them, and when she expresses her concerns, they listen.

There are days, however, when she can’t bring herself to bake; on those days the heat of the furnace crawls uncomfortably against her skin and the knife block rattles in the corner with each item she sets down on the countertop. On those days she’ll climb. Buildings, mountains, trees—anything that’ll get her to a height where her lungs strain from lack of oxygen and the ringing in her head eases. She jumps, sometimes. They don’t know she does this. They don’t need to know; she’s strong enough to deal with that herself.

Yesterday was their leader’s birthday, and she’d left the party with leftover cake and cookies and brioche. Today is a good day; maybe she’ll share the cookies with Jack.

—

Tuesday:

He’s called the harbinger, the omen, the angel of death. Crows perform at his bidding and the great, lumbering bears of the north shake the ground as he directs them. He emerges from impossible battles with nary a scratch on his body. People across the earth have speculated that he’s a demon, or contracted with a demon, or one of the acolytes of the Blood God like the Blade. He likes to collect these epithets and rumors; when his crows perch on his shoulder to recount the news of the land or messages from his allies they update him on the tales they tell of the angel. They’re all wrong, in the end. Death herself graced him with her favor long ago to act as her representative on the mortal plane.

She’s been dormant recently; her absences had never affected him so strongly before, but ever since he’s entered this land, he’s felt weaker, more fragile. He watched his son destroy the country he founded with a haze across his vision, and then he killed his own son, and the act of it didn’t register until days later. Months fly by in a blur and the only person who can enforce any sort of focus is the Blade and so that simmering anger became his own and it fed into his own pain. There was something rotting in the land and it killed his son and he felt it his duty to purge it with the same TNT that destroyed his wings. He doesn’t regret it.

Today, he finds some measure of peace in building his training room. His son is back and everything is not-quite-broken and his body still aches.

—

Wednesday:

There are too many variables, too many uncertainties. He’s placed his fingerprints on too many projects and lives, and the guilt of his cooperation and his associations claws at his lungs. Dream, neutrality in the midst of war, Dream and his prison and the damned prison rules, Quackity, Las Nevadas. He doesn’t know what he considers his worst fuck-up: Tommy’s death, the torture he’d permitted in his collaboration with Las Nevadas, his betrayal of Ponk’s love and trust, or his inability to save anyone during the banquet.

The hotel stands as a testament to his failure to protect the youngest resident of the land. He plans detours around that plot whenever he travels between the bank and the prison; the little robot stationed by the hotel tells him the boy doesn’t come by anymore, and he knows automatons don’t feel emotions, but he grieves for it anyway. He sees his valentine walking along the wooden pathways and his heart aches to see the damage he had caused. He checks the prison’s security footage and he tells himself guilt has no place in his heart for what happened. He’s surprised the captain and the god and all the rest of the banquet victims still talk to him. But they do, and it gives him hope. His friends are back and free and even though one of them is trying to start a little scuffle with a god, today he’s having fun throwing weednip around and sliding down the pyramid with his closest friends.

The present’s a gift, and he intends on cherishing this moment.

—

Thursday:

He’s building a pub because Wilbur owes him a pint. He knows that man can’t be completely trusted, not now. Not since he died by his crossbow. But it feels good to be acknowledged as someone worth an apology, someone important. He has been abandoned and pushed aside and pushed into lava pits and into hell all within the span of a few months. No one cared. He hates it, he hates the way he’s been made irrelevant and a shadow of his friends’ stories. Even his plans for revenge had been inconsequential, unfruitful: the boy had lived and his accomplice had left him to brood in his own anger.

He’s held his grudges close to his heart and he’s let them fester and he won’t admit he’s tired of it all. If he lets go, then it all disappears and he’s really, truly dead, and if this is his afterlife, if all he can do is lag after the people he cares for, then it’s a fucking shit deal. So today, he’s continuing his work on the pub because he burned down his own home and because the hotel feels too sterile and empty, because he wants to have a space built with his own two hands where he can speak and someone will finally, finally listen. It’s not quite moving on. He’ll take it anyway.

—

Friday:

She tries to live by the code of kindness and reciprocity; that’s how she lived on the high seas of her youth, or so she suspects, based on the journal she found at the site of the shipwreck. Since the day she joined this land, she has made friends and found love and taken the young residents under her wing and vowed to fight against evil. She gives stacks of items to those who need them and she fixes up the holes in the road and offers therapy on difficult days.

The world isn’t as kind as she is. A country was erased from the map for grudges she still doesn’t understand, and no one will tell her the why discs, of all things, are so important. Two boys would have lost their lives to a monster she housed, had it not been for the money Tommy paid a mercenary for his aid. She mourned the loss of Tommy’s life as she fought to keep the hotel in his name, and when he requested therapy upon his resurrection, she was horrified at the effects of trauma he’d exhibited. The friends she’d tried to pull out of the Egg’s influence celebrated a young boy’s death and killed her son. And now this man has taken her friend’s turtle hostage for no reason she can comprehend.

She’s tired. She’s breaking; they’d presumed her kindness was a weakness and maybe it is. Today, she plans on destroying the red menace on the edge of her son’s land. It’s her turn.

—

Saturday:

He’s not sure how many sandstone blocks he’s carved out of the desert at this point, nor how many quartz chips and gold nuggets he’s pulled out of the Netherworld. The villagers know him by name and chat with him when he stops by to trade for emeralds and other goods. His hands bleed gold ichor from the opened blisters dotting his hands, and burns line the edges of his fingertips. Lately, his whole world is rushing by in colors of beige and yellow, green and white and blue. The color red started it, the scramble to build more and more—and it stopped it too, if only for a little while. Ponk asked him for permission to build on his land, told him it was a gift: a peace offering and an apology and a new beginning. It’s a silly build and it doesn’t match the aesthetic of the rest of his summer home, but it warmed his heart, to see the giant red refrigerator rising up from the top of the sand dunes for the first time. Ponk built it just for him. Quackity told him he was alone, and that he didn’t matter if he didn’t assert his powers like he did in the past, and he was wrong. Ponk stays, loves him for who he is now and not for the destruction he wrought.

He doesn’t know what to do now; his father destroyed the build for some grudge she holds against his friend, and he’s exhausted. He’s tired of being pulled into conflict. A vacation from all the tension occurring on his land would not be unwarranted, at this point—a few days, a week. It sounds relaxing—and he’ll do it, he’ll take a vacation, and he’ll tell Ponk that he’s in charge of the summer home later today. He has some packing to do.

—

Sunday:

He likes to splash around the pools and fountains in Las Nevadas when he has to visit. Sometimes he’ll climb up the needle and lean on the bannisters to feel the fresh air ruffling his hair and he thinks about jumping—the air turns hot and stale and the ground burbles up in orange and red—but his brother pulls him out of it, usually. Otherwise the place is boring. He’s not allowed in the gambling den or the club, so he hovers around the forests away from Las Nevadas when Wilbur and Quackity want to speak alone.

Today is one of those days. It’s fine by him; dealing with the two of them together makes him uncomfortable, with the way they push and pull him to their sides. The cigarette smoke lingering on their breaths remind him of the ravine, the explosions from the first war-second -Logstedshire-doomsday-nukes-prison. He’s escaped, for now. The air of the forest is crisp; he can spot flowers in the meadow ahead and he plucks them to form a careless bouquet. Alliums, lilies-of-the-valley, daisies; poppies and cornflowers and dandelions. He threads them together to form crowns and rings, places one on his head and cradles the rest to his chest to stash at home. It’s been a while since he’s made them; before he moved to this land he’d make them for his brother and his brother’s father, the dogs and cows and sheep around the farm. He feels like a child again and his lips twist at the bittersweetness. He’s found himself a bubble and soon Wilbur will barge his way in to speak of his loyalties and Dream and whatever the fuck he’s stormed up with Quackity, but for now, he’ll pick flowers and make chains and chains and chains that, for once, won’t drag him down.

—

  Monday’s child is fair of face.

Tuesday’s child is full of grace.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe.

Thursday’s child has far to go.

Fridays’ child is loving and giving.

Saturday’s child works hard for a living.

And the child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, good and gay.

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

In Light Of Recent Events

Remember that amazing writing prompt about summoning the god of war and a teenager showing up? Original post here

Well, due to certain things that happened yesterday, I wrote a mini-fic that’s a similar thing, but with the Dream SMP

Fic under the cut

When the residents of Mizu decided to summon the idol of war, they weren't expecting a kid.

His eyes were a cloudy gray with barely a hint of blue, and he wore a simple red and white t-shirt.  

The only indication that he was anything other than human came in the form of the sparks that surrounded him, like lightning, or half-forged metal.

The captain stepped forward with practiced reverence. It wasn't every day that summoning an idol actually worked (in fact, this was the first success in, well, ever). Then again, it wasn't every day that you asked for a war god and got a gangly teenager.

"Excuse me, are you sure you're in the right place? It's just-we sort of asked for Technoblade. You know, the idol of war?"

The teenager said something, but his normally booming voice was small and cracked from disuse. The captain frowned in confusion.

"Could you repeat that?"

"Technoblade is the idol of slaughter. Desolation, destroying everything and more before you even lose a thing. He was never in a real war in his life."

The captain turned to their enderman hybrid first mate, who shrugged before asking a question of their own.

"Well, what about Dream?"

The teenager stared at the crowd through his gray eyes for a while, before finally bursting into laughter. No one else joined in with him, making the whole thing a little unnerving.

When his snickering had finally stopped, he collected himself and answered the question.

"No, and you're an idiot. Dream is the idol of tactics and victory. Also cruelty, but you left that out in your little museum. Right?

Dream is only there for the end of wars. He only gets the last word, or the last kick, or the last little piece of leverage for his nest.

He doesn't do the less fun stuff. 

The "dying on a floor because you got betrayed and you can't run or scream or turn to look at Wilbur" stuff. 

The "living in a cold ravine and mistaking every sound for the enemy coming until you can't sleep anymore" stuff. 

The "running through your city the third time it blows up, holding onto Tubbo's hand and praying that if the worst happens, you die first" stuff.

I guess I did die first.".

The first mate seemed disappointed by the answer, and it was a bit of a blow to his pride to be told off by a kid. 

So, he narrowed his purple and yellow eyes and asked one final question.

"Who the hell are you, then?"

The sparks surrounding the teenager seemed to double in number, and the surrounding crowd noticed for the first time that his feet weren't quite touching the ground.

"My name is Tommy. Former right hand man, former brother, former soldier.

I had a uniform. It was blue, and white, and gold, and I was so proud to be fighting for freedom and our legacy. 

I stepped up to fight Dream because I knew that it was the right thing to do, and because I had to win because that was what was supposed to happen to people who did the right thing.

I died under the bridge. Couldn't tell where the blood stopped and the water began.

I didn't want to be a hero. I never wanted to be a hero. I just wanted to be safe.

But I barely got a moment to catch my breath before I was in danger again, or the people I loved were in danger, or other people had decided I was the problem and needed to go.

I was helpless when my best friend got blown up as a sick demonstration. 

I was helpless when my brother started spiraling and wanting to blow up the world we created. 

I was helpless when he did just that, and died, and we didn't even give him a funeral. 

I was helpless every time Techno decided to teach me a lesson through the exploding end of a wither, and all of this is nothing compared to what Dream did to me.”.

He paced in the air, fear and anger rising.

"He forced Tubbo to put me in exile, and he'd come over every day to explode my things and lie to me and convince me that I had no friends but him and make my life hell. It got so bad with him that I wanted to-"

He took a shallow breath, trying and failing to stay calm.

"I built a pillar. He blew up my house, and murdered my cow, and told me it was my fault. I kept apologising over and over to him so he'd stop destroying things, but he didn't, and then he left me all alone. 

And I built a pillar. And I jumped off it."

His voice grew quieter again.

“I was 16.

I landed in the water. I chose to land in the water and left that place behind. 

That wasn't the end of what that bastard did to me.

He blew up my country, raining TNT down even after it was already gone. 

He tried to kill Tubbo, and I was helpless again.

I thought I was free when we put him in prison. I thought I'd get some closure, or a chance to breathe. 

I thought I was going to be okay someday.

I went to visit him one last time. Just once. Just to tell him that he finally hadn't won.

I got trapped in there with him for a week. At least in exile I could run.

He killed me with his bare hands. 

I died alone and bloody and scared.”.

The glass walls of Mizu began to shake as tears started to fall from Tommy's eyes.

"I was 16."

The captain raised their hands in an attempt at calming the boy down.

"I'm sorry that all happened. We just have a small request, and then you can be on your way. See, our peaceful city is under threat, and we were wondering if-"

"If I could fight for you?"

"We’re awfully sorry, but we need the power.".

Tommy looked at the captain, tears streaming down his face.

"If you want to know the "power" of war, go lose everything. 

Be helpless. Be powerless, have people only like you when you're on their side or gone. 

Never be safe. Never breathe. 

Watch your friends and family and everything else you love die for a cause you can't even remember.

Fill your lungs with ashes and freezing water and blood. Then, you can call on my name.  

How dare you."

The glass walls shook violently, small cracks starting to form. The first mate stepped forward, desperate.

"Please, we wouldn't have called unless we really needed you-"

"Need me? You need a soldier. You need a reliable cannon. You need someone to fight and bleed for you."

The oxygen warning sirens began to play over the speakers.

"I will never fight for anyone again."

Sparks flew all around the room as the warning repeated over and over. 

With a final disdainful look at the first mate, the spirit of war rose up torwards the sky like he once did with a trident many years ago.

Tommy was free. The glass shattered behind him.

[minedcrafts]

a part 2

also on ao3

---

“Fuck you. No literally fuck you, dude. I’m fucking done,” Quackity spat out. “Go find yourself a new vice president.”

Schlatt just rolled his eyes in response. “Yeah yeah just get off my fucking property already. We all know you’re too much of a pussy to even attack me,” he snarked.

Quackity was just so, so, so done with Schlatt’s shit. He didn’t fucking care anymore. Seething inside, he silently grabbed his bow and aimed it at Schlatt, who had already turned back to continue tearing down the white house.

The arrow whizzed through the air, missing Schlatt’s head by only a few centimeters. It collided with the stone wall behind him and clattered to the ground. Schlatt wordlessly shifted to face Quackity, a sinister look in his eyes.

His snarl morphed into a wide grin as he barked out a laugh. “So! Flatty Patty’s finally taking some fucking action! Heh, too bad it won’t do you any good now, though.”

Schlatt stomped towards Quackity menacingly, each step echoing off the partially destroyed walls. The former vice president took a step back in response but held his ground, grabbing another arrow.

Branding an axe from his inventory, the look in Schlatt’s eyes became more crazed. “Y’know, I was gonna just let you leave to, I dunno, fuck off into the woods or something,” he sneered. “But now, I want you gone FOR GOOD!”

Quackity fired his second arrow, but Schlatt struck it midair, breaking it in two. Before Quackity could react Schlatt lunged at him with a swing of his axe. A horrid, searing pain suddenly appeared in Quackity’s chest, causing him to let out a ringing scream.

Quackity fell to the ground harshly, the wind getting knocked out of him. He clutched his chest with one arm and looked up at Schlatt in horror. The president put a hand to his face and threw back his head in bone-chilling laughter. With a crooked smile, he raised his axe.

“Bye-bye, Quackity!”

Out of nowhere, an arrow lodged itself into Schlatt’s shoulder. He hissed in pain, grabbing the wound with his free hand. Quackity looked in the direction of where the arrow came from just in time to see that an ender pearl was rapidly approaching them.

With a familiar vwoop sound and a flash of light, none other than Tommy appeared. He barreled into Schlatt with his shield, sending the president tumbling down the hill. Quackity stared at the rebel in utter shock. “Tommy!?” he breathed.

Tommy whipped around to face Quackity. “Big Q!” he shouted as he took off sprinting towards him. As soon as he was close, Tommy outstretched a hand. “Big Q we gotta get out of here!” he yelled in a panicked voice.

In hindsight, Quackity was about to make a pretty big decision. But in the moment, there was really only one option. He took Tommy’s hand and was subsequently pulled to his feet. Keeping hold of Quackity’s hand, Tommy hurriedly threw another ender pearl over the hill behind the white house, and a few seconds later they were both teleported into the woods.

They both breathed heavily, still bewildered from what just happened. Now out of imminent danger, the pain from Quackity’s wound finally caught up to him. He groaned, clutching his chest even harder as he felt his knees start to go weak. In response, Tommy quickly draped one of Quackity’s arms over his shoulders, letting the other lean on him for support.

“C’mon Big Q, we got to get you somewhere safe,” Tommy stated.

They walked wordlessly for a minute, Quackity attempting to suppress the small grunts he let out with every step. Eventually, though, he found he had to break the silence. “...Why are you even helping me? Aren’t we enemies?”

Tommy snorted as he looked over at Quackity. “Really, Big Q?  Schlatt just tried to murder you - are you really still on his side now?”

With that question, the reality of his situation finally clicked fully in his head. “Heh, I guess not,” Quackity muttered. He glanced ahead of them, then back to Tommy. “Where are you taking me anyway?”

Tommy grew quiet, seemingly mulling something over. After a few moments, he nodded to himself, and with a serious look in his eyes he replied, “To Pogtopia.”

---

Through a hidden door and down a spiral staircase, Quackity entered Pogtopia for the first time. Beams, bridges, and lanterns decorated the ravine, giving the place an industrial feel. A few rooms were mined out of the stone walls. It wasn’t exactly what Quackity expected their base to be, and yet it seemed like a fitting home for a (literally) underground group of rebels.

No one else was in the center of the ravine at the moment, so Tommy called out, “Niki! I need some help here!”

Niki exited from one of the various rooms a few seconds later. “What is Tom-” she started, but then cut herself off with a loud gasp. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed, immediately sprinting towards the stairs.

She soon climbed up and reached the two boys. “What happened?” she asked, worry seeping into her voice.

“We’ll explain soon, just help me get him down first,” Tommy replied. Niki quietly nodded. She took Quackity’s other arm, and the two of them slowly helped him down the stairs.

Once on solid ground, Niki let go of Quackity and went ahead into the room she came out of earlier. Tommy and Quackity soon followed suit. The room seemed fairly new; on the right was an empty bed and on the left was… Tubbo. He was all bandaged up and sleeping soundly in another bed. A different kind of pain panged in Quackity’s chest, but he was also relieved that Tubbo was alright.

Carefully, Tommy helped Quackity onto the free bed. Niki soon came back over, bandages in hand. Tommy stepped back and propped himself up against the wall to let Niki start tending to Quackity. Gently, she removed his now-bloody shirt, then started wrapping the bandages around his chest.

Quackity had mostly been looking down at the ground since he entered Pogtopia, but he now decided to tilt his head up to look Niki in the eyes. In response, she gave him a small but warm smile. “The wound isn’t too deep, you’re gonna be fine,” she said softly.

Quackity was dumbfounded. Just the other day, she had been glaring daggers at him and Schlatt as she wailed and screamed over Tubbo’s supposed death. And yet here she was, smiling at him while she bandaged him up. Did she just pity him? Or did she sense his discomfort on that stage and the anger that still loomed around him from his fight with Schlatt?

His thoughts, however, were cut short when a voice from the entrance of the room yelled, “Wh- Quackity!?”

The three of them all turned to face the owner of the voice. Wilbur stood in the doorway, confusion spread across his face. “Why is he here?” he demanded.

Tommy pushed himself off the wall and quickly took a few steps forward. “Wilbur let me explain, he-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur interrupted, “Tommy I know that he brought Tubbo back to you, but that doesn’t mean that you can let him into our base! What if- he could’ve just done that to trick you into trusting him!”

“Wilbur, please calm down,” Niki said hurriedly.

“No,” he replied sternly, “He’s literally the vice president, we can’t let him be here!”

Tommy took a few more steps forward, balling his fists. “Yeah, and Schlatt literally just tried to murder him! There’s no way we're throwing him out now!”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Niki put a hand over her mouth and Wilbur stared at Quackity with wide eyes, perhaps only now registering the fresh bandages on his chest.

Wilbur let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair, then looked back up at Tommy. “Explain everything that happened, in detail,” he ordered.

Tommy nodded and explained what he saw as quickly as he could. Quackity listened in silence, occasionally nodding to confirm what Tommy was saying. Once he was done, Tommy looked directly at Wilbur. “Do you understand why I brought him here now?”

“...I do,” Wilbur sighed, “But it still wasn’t the best idea to bring him here. Just because he’s not with Schlatt anymore doesn’t mean that he’ll be on our side now.”

Tommy turned back to face Quackity. “Well, we should probably get that info from the big man himself.”

All eyes were on him now. Quackity took a moment to collect his thoughts, then responded, “Schlatt is a dick. I made that deal with him ‘cause I thought he would be a better president, but boy was I wrong,” he chuckled darkly. “He constantly undermined me and never listened to a fucking word I said. He’s gone completely power crazy! I… I wanna overthrow him. I wanna overthrow Schlatt and take power back.”

A big grin formed on Tommy’s face. Conversely, Wilbur walked up to Quackity with a complex mix of emotions on his face. “So, you want to join us?” he questioned.

“...Yes. I’ll join Pogtopia,” Quackity declared.

Despite just gaining an ally, the expression on Wilbur’s face did not change. “Very well,” he muttered, then walked back to the entrance of the room. He mumbled something else under his breath, then disappeared from sight.

Well, that was certainly odd. Quackity glanced at Tommy and Niki, who both looked worried. “Er…,” Tommy hesitated, “Don’t mind him. He… hasn’t exactly been in the best state of mind since we got exiled. If he does anything weird, just stick with me, okay?”

Quackity nodded quietly. “Anyway!” Tommy said, bouncing back from the tense atmosphere, “Welcome to the gang Big Q! If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, I’ll show you around the place.”

“Tomorrow may still be a bit too soon,” Niki interjected worriedly.

“Well then I’ll give you the tour in two days!” Tommy affirmed.

Niki sighed, but Quackity couldn’t help but chuckle at Tommy’s enthusiasm. There was a heaviness that hung over the ravine, but compared to Manburg, he could tell that the people here actually had the drive to do something. It gave him a sense of hope that things may actually get better. Maybe, just maybe.

He looked at Tommy with a grin on his face. “I’ll look forward to it.”

---

Tubbo, who had woken up when Wilbur started yelling, smiled to himself. Maybe Quackity isn’t all that bad, he thought as he drifted back to sleep.

Techno, who had heard the yelling from his farm, decided that he didn’t have time to get involved in any character arcs right now and simply continued to tend to his beloved potatoes.

[starryclown11]

Dream and Pogtopia Wilbur Friendship Headcanon

Dream would come and visit Pogtopia!Wilbur almost ever night and they would drink coffee together.

Wilbur never was good at sleeping and his mental state definitely did not help. Dream claimed he didn’t need to sleep but in reality he just has bad insomnia.

The night after their sort of alliance, Wilbur invited Dream over while the other two members of Pogtopia were asleep to discuss plans. And that’s all it was... at first. However, soon it became and weekly and then nightly occurrence for Dream to silently creep down the stairs and over bridges in the ravine before making it to Wilbur’s area where Wilbur would wait for him with a hot cup of Joe.

The conversations they had also changed from strategy to just Wilbur ranting and Dream just silently listening. Dream told himself that he was just doing this to keep up the act of him being Wilbur’s friend and keep him under control, but he secretly really enjoyed listening to Wilbur’s half delusional, half coherent passion filled speeches given at 2 in the morning.

As Dream watched at the man he had spent the last month spending his nights with meet his end, he cursed himself for breaking his cardinal rule. Don’t get attached.

[noblesse-raeva]

Living!dsmp make me squishy and I couldn't help it-

Joining a rebellion

You're late stumbling through the darkness you fumble with a match before striking it lighting up the lamp. The flames warm glow illuminates you're cottage as you pick it up hurring into the dark streets of Manburg.

It feels wrong calling it that who knew that removing one letter could change the atomosphere of a nation so quickly. Schlatt had only been in power for two weeks at best but the capital had already changed so much wooden cabins and homely shops had been replaced by corperate buildings. You glance around for any late night patrolers before removing a sewer cover and climbing down into the manhole.

It's dank and moldy downhere and even with your lamp you can only see a few feet ahead of you. You recount where the rendezvous point is making a sharp left your footsteps and the sound of water echo through the tunnel before you. It unerving you worry if they left without you before breathing a sigh of relief you ses figure illuminated by torchlight standing around one looks rather impaitent from here.

You double over hands on knees panting by the time you get there exhausted. "Late on your first day rookie?" you look up at the escort her wolf ears erect as she looks down at you with criticism. You apoligize not wanting to ruin you're chnace to join pogtopia the secret underground rebellion lead by Wilbur Soot. The escort gives you a curt nod turning on her heels to lead you and the rest of the recruits.

You feel butterflies in your stomach you're really doing this this the escort steps out from the end of the sewers it felt good to breath fresh night air again but you weren't out of the woods yet infact you were just getting into them. Walking beneath the dark canopy the usually friendly forest felt menacing. The revolutionaries had to snuff out their lights so they wouldn't be spotted. You remember practically growing up in these woods letting your feet soak in the brooke water as your friends splashed you so why now did it fell so foreign?

The group reached a clearing an unassuming cliffwall at the end. "Welcome to Pogtopia!" the escort exclaims her arms extended. Your confused this was the rebellion an empty clearing? You look around at your fellow recruits eyebrows cocked and shrugs. The escort strutted up to the cliff face giving it a series of knocks as if it were a door now you're thoroughly convinced this is a prank before a rumbling ensues. The cliff face began to retract the warm glow of lamp light and the sound of banter spilling out. "You should have never doubted me after you rookie," The group piles in the lobbyfeeling cramped. A bulletin board with a list of to dos on the right wall. Your escort exchanges some words with the lobby girl as you look around mesirmisied. Before your escort claps her hands to get the group attetion. "You guys think this is cool check this out," She began to descend a spiral staircase and your ears start to hurt from the pressure but you don't mind because your breath hitches. Layers upon Layers of facilities and interconnected bridges sprawl across the ravine its lively a stone hewn tavern happily sing shanties the sound of pickaxes hewing out more rock can be heard throughout the ravine. The bustling and cheer is infectious hope buzzing through the air. This was a revolution.

---

I wrote this at 12 am on my phone so excuse me for any grammer or spelling errors I'n tired but couldn't wait.

[smp-live]

Man in the (Shattered) Mirror Ch. 6

AO3   First   Prev

Quackity trekked through the forest of redwoods, brushing a branch out of the way. It bounced back and smacked him in the face.

“Fuck,” he cursed with an irritated scowl, rubbing at the sore spot on his forehead. At least it didn’t cut.

He kept walking, pushing past more annoying redwoods and oak trees. The dead leaves on the ground barely crunched, soggy in the wet winter air. It was an abnormally warm day, not cold enough for his breath to fog despite it being January.

Honestly, he’d rather not be here at all. He’d always preferred the organization and structure of cities, their cobblestone streets perfectly laid out and wooden houses providing shelter from the wind. But over time, he’d gotten used to making his way through the woods; he’d been forced to, after all. Especially this specific overgrown path.

Quackity pushed past one last branch and into a familiar clearing, no longer tramped down with constant footsteps, but grassy and lush. The door on the cliffside was broken and falling off its hinges, clumps of moss glued to it for camouflage falling off. Clearly nobody had been here in a long time.

He slowly nudged the door, just enough to slip by. It was apparently too much movement for the rusty hinges, though, for it crashed into the underbrush with a loud clatter of branches. Quackity winced at the sound. Even standing here, just at the entrance to Pogtopia, it felt wrong to be loud. To disturb things. Like ransacking a graveyard.

He should really turn around, but he needed cobble for his newest project, and Pogtopia had some, last he remembered. If nobody had taken it. And he’d really rather scavenge it than go mining for days.

Or, at least, he had rather, he thought, eyeing the dark tunnel spiraling down into Pogtopia proper.

“Come on, Q, you’re being a bitch,” he muttered to himself with a laugh, lighting a torch that sent shadows dancing on the walls. His quiet footsteps echoed in the stairwell, amplifying them tenfold, and the air seemed to somehow grow perceptibly colder in the five seconds it had been. “Jesus fucking Christ, this is creepy.”

He made his way down, down the rickety paths hanging high above the ground below, amongst long-extinguished hanging lanterns. The air was stale and scentless, each of his steps sending up a little poof of dust and dirt that quickly settled back down.

Before too long, he’d made it to the storage room, lined floor-to-ceiling with chests. They’d been mostly empty or full of useless shit, but hey. Who knew what he might find. He knelt down and started rummaging through the nearest one.

A rock clattered to his left.

Quackity whirled around, raising his torch high, heart pounding in his chest. A rat’s tail disappeared behind a chest.

“See? It’s nothing,” he told himself with a chuckle. “Just a rat. Nobody’s here, obv-“

Something - someone - grabbed him from behind, and he screamed. In his surprise, his torch dropped out of his hand, plunging the room into darkness. Quackity wriggled and thrashed against the grip and, somehow, his arm managed to catch his captor in the nose. They cursed but held on tight, and eventually managed to slap a hand over his mouth. A familiar, gloved hand.

Oh God oh fuck oh shit he was fucked-

“Quackity? What. The fuck. Are you doing here – you Manburgian,” one Wilbur Soot hissed into his ear, then moved his hand away to wrap his elbow around Quackity’s throat, instead.

“Wilbur?” he asked with a nervous laugh. What the fuck – Wilbur was dead. He’d seen the body with his own two eyes. “What-“ He cut himself off as Wilbur squeezed tighter.

“I’ll ask one more time – what are you doing here?”

Quackity swallowed. “I- I was just coming to get supplies-“

“And how,” Wilbur snarled, “exactly, do you know about this place? Was it Tubbo? The Blade?”

“No, no, what?” Now Quackity was even more confused. “You brought me here yourself.”

“I would do no such thing. Not to Schlatt’s Vice President. I’m not fucking stupid, Quackity.”

Quackity squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t been referred in relation to Schlatt in… a while. “Okay, okay. Obviously, we’re not on the same page here. So why don’t you let me go and we can have a nice, civil discussion about what’s happening.” Wilbur hesitated, and he added, “I promise I won’t try anything. On my honour.”

And that must have been good enough for Wilbur, for he pulled back with an “…alright.” Quackity heard some shuffling, the click of a lighter, and then he was blinking furiously against the light as Wilbur relit his torch.

He looked like he always had, dark eyes dancing in the firelight with messy hair. A blood-stained shirt under his dirty, patched-up trenchcoat where he was dropping his lighter back into his pocket. He looked up, his eyes caught on Quackity’s left cheek and he frowned.

“What happened to your eye?”

Quackity instinctively reached up to where he was staring, touching the rough-scarred skin under his eye. “A fight,” he said, unwilling to say exactly what had happened. That fucking pig.

“Mm hm.” Wilbur raised an eyebrow but didn’t question him further. “You still haven’t answered my first question.”

“Do you really not remember?”

“Quackity,” he warned.

“Wilbur,” Quackity mocked back. Wilbur sighed, and waved his hand in exasperation.

“Just-“

Quackity rolled his eyes. “Why are you so difficult all the time?” Wilbur scowled and moved towards him, so he took a defensive step back and raised his hands. “Okay, okay! After the Festival, Tommy found me alone in the woods, so he took me here? With you?” He wisely left out the whole thing with the button; not thinking that Wilbur would appreciate it much. But he still frowned.

“The Festival?”

“…Yeah? The Manburg Festival? October 16th? Tubbo got executed? Damn, whatever fuckin’… higher power, or whatever, brought you back must’ve really fucked with your memory.”

But Wilbur didn’t seem amused by the joke. He stared blankly ahead, shallow breaths barely noticeable with the flickering lighting. His gaze flickered to Quackity. “What do you mean, October 16th?”

“What?”

“It’s September 29th,” he said, complete honesty in his eyes, and oh, shit.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” Quackity said, “uh, that is not the date. It’s January.”

Wilbur’s face darkened. “You’re fucking with me. You’re a spy sent by Schlatt and you’re trying to convince me that I’ve lost it-“ he started pacing, one hand tugging at his hair while the other held the torch “-but it won’t work because I’m fine! I’m not-“

“Wilbur!” Quackity exclaimed, because holy fuck, he had to snap him out of this spiral. “I killed Schlatt.”

He froze. “What?”

“I killed him, the day after the Festival. Shot him. Took a life. He’s fully dead now, okay? You can trust me.” Quackity spoke calmly, like he was soothing a horse. It apparently worked, because Wilbur just closed his eyes. Clenched and unclenched his fist. Took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was smooth.

“Okay. This is fine. You,“ he gestured at Quackity, “are on our side, now, apparently, because future me trusted you. Okay.”

Quackity slowly peeled away from the wall. “We good now?”

“I still don’t fuckin’ trust you,” he said lowly, “but yes.”

“Okay, good,” Quackity said, relief flooding through him, and he grabbed his torch from Wilbur’s hand and his bag from the ground. “C’mon. Let’s go. It’s creepy here.” Wilbur paused.

“I’m… not allowed to go to L’Manberg,” he said hesitantly, and Quackity’s blood froze. Right. Wilbur didn’t know what had happened, that it was gone, and he didn’t particularly want to explain right now. Instead, he just said,

“Your exile’s over. I’ve just decided.”

Wilbur snorted, but set off behind him. “Nice quip. How long d’it take you to come up with that one? All conversation?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

An unintentional grin spread across Quackity’s face as he cautiously led Wilbur up the rickety bridges too narrow to fit side-by-side on. Prime, he’d missed this banter, like they’d had during the election. After the Festival, the ex-President… hadn’t exactly been up to it, most nights.

Someone emerged from the stairwell right in front of him.

Quackity reeled back, nearly losing his balance and sending scree clattering down the ravine until a hand on his shoulder steadied him. Except that didn’t calm his pounding heart, because right there, frozen in just as much shock, was another Wilbur.

A different one, with tired, dead eyes that quickly grew fiery, dancing in the light of both their torches. He was dressed in the same trenchcoat as the Wilbur standing slightly behind him, only torn and caked in ash and soot. And his shirt…

A large gash ran through the no-longer-white cotton, drenched in barely dried blood. The tear was large enough to see Wilbur’s chest and the scar, pale pink and freshly-healed, from his stomach to halfway up his chest. Quackity felt sick. It was identical to Ghostbur’s, only no longer open and oozing blue, (and was that seared into his memory, ever since he’d first seen it.)

“Well,” the Wilbur in front of him said, thoughtfully, carefully, “this was unexpected.” The one next to him took a small step back.

“What the fuck,” Quackity said, holding his ground. Wilbur ahead of him laughed.

“Quackity, oh, Big Q, hey,” he said, sickeningly sweet, “long time no see, I guess, huh? For you, at least.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Hm. You’ll figure it out,” his eyes gleamed. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? You always knew how to come out on top.”

“I don’t-“

“Oh, don’t bullshit me, Big Q,” he growled. “You know what I’m talking about.” And he took a step forward. Quackity backed up, bumped into something warm. Then other-Wilbur was shoving past him, shoulders drawn high and face smoldering.

“Stay away from him,” he all-but-growled.

Bad Wilbur, villain Wilbur, button room Wilbur laughed again, high-pitched and empty, and it echoed familiarly through the ravine. “What? Trying to protect your crush?”

“I don’t have a fucking crush on Big Q.”

“Sure, sure,” he dismissed, waving a hand. “Call him whatever you want. You’re protecting him from yourself, anyways. Kinda pointless if you ask me.”

“And what the fuck does that mean? I fuckin’ hate him, but I’m not gonna hurt him.”

He snorted. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Keep telling yourself you’re not gonna hurt them all. Because it’s a fuckin’ lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, Wil,” he said softly, gently, as if he was trying to help. “You’ll learn. You’ll fucking learn. We’re not a good person.”

And he pushed past the two on the narrow ledge, nearly sending them careening over the edge. “Stay away from me,” he called out, “or you know what happens.”

They watched his light bob down for a moment, then Quackity grabbed his arm and started pulling him up the stairs. They were not sticking around, thank you very much.

Wilbur followed along, apparently shellshocked. Except he’d have to differentiate them, now, right? This was good Wilbur, the one before he’d snapped, before the Festival and the button room – because apparently they had to differentiate like that. Because villain Wilbur was here too. What the fuck.

“That was…” Wilbur looked vaguely sick, just like Quackity felt, and he stumbled on a step before quickly catching himself, “me. Alright. Okay.”

Quackity just nodded. Pushed down the bile and anxiety in his throat. “Yup. Now c’mon. I want answers.”

-

“Tubbo! Holy fuck!”

Tubbo stood at the call from his best friend, up from his kneeling position in the snow. Work on the new settlement he’d dubbed Snowchester was going well, refugees from L’Manburg working alongside newcomers to erect several dozen houses, at this point, and the foundations for many others. They’d already set up docks for trade, and Tubbo himself had just been working on laying the fence of a llama farm – the animals did well in the cold, after all, and they couldn’t exactly grow many crops up here.

That wasn’t the only issue. They weren’t an officially recognized country, (yet,) which… had it’s benefits, yes, but they couldn’t really form any trade treaties. Nor alliances. Nor have any protection from anybody seeking to harm them.

So yeah. He kinda wanted to be recognized. But for now, until they had a better defense system, it was better to lay low. Stay under the radar, until they could protect themselves.

He was working on that last bit.

Tubbo dusted snow off his pants with frost-nipped hands. Tommy was running up to him, cheeks dusted red from the chill, and there was Ranboo, walking at a much more reasonable pace behind him.

“You’ll never fuckin’ guess what happened, Tubzo, oh Prime,” Tommy rambled, nearly knocking him over and grabbing onto his arms to steady himself. Tubbo fought off the urge to push him away. He clearly needed it, judging by how he looked nervous, and panicked – and was that a tinge of relief or joy?

Immediately, Tubbo’s blood chilled, and his mind started racing to the thousand contingency plans he’d been implementing. “What?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady, as he’d learned in Schlatt’s cabinet.

“You… might want to sit down for this,” Ranboo said, walking up to them, and Tubbo frowned. Oh, Prime, it was bad news then. Tommy’s hands suddenly burned on him and he pulled roughly away.

“I’m not fucking weak,” he snapped, and they both stepped back nervously.

Ranboo raised his hands defensively. “I’m not saying you are?” The swell of rage in his chest simmered down.

“Sorry,” Tubbo mumbled. “I know. Just tell me. Who died?” Tommy laughed at that, high-pitched and borderline hysterical.

“No uh, the opposite actually.”

“What?”

“Remember when uh- when Ghostbur – on Doomsday – he came up to us?” Tommy rambled – he had a tendency to do that when he was nervous, or there was bad news. Tubbo nodded. “Yeah, uh, he wanted to be resurrected, right? And we said yes, and he did research, then you two went on a road trip to look for a totem and left me behind – thanks for that, by the way, it was fuckin’ boring around here-“

“I thought you wanted to stay behind?” Ranboo interjected.

“Shut the fuck up, Boob Boy, I never fuckin’-“

“Tommy,” Tubbo warned, getting impatient. He could dance around the topic for hours, if there was bad news, and they couldn’t afford that.

“Right, right, well, uh, the resurrection was today, and,” he looked Tubbo straight in the eyes, “it worked. Wilbur’s back.”

Tubbo took a step back in shock. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s back, and he’s not our Wilbur, Tubbo, it’s right-before-he-died Wilbur, and he said he’d do it again-“

Tubbo didn’t hear any more of what he was saying as static swelled in his ears. No. No. Not again. It can’t happen again, I- I can’t-

He abruptly took off, towards a small room only he could know the location of, barely conscious of the way his boots dragged in the snow. I can’t let it happen again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tommy lunge towards him, faintly heard him call out, “Tubbo?” Ranboo held him back, muttered,

“Leave him. He gets like this sometimes.”

Tubbo kept going. Down the main street, onto a barely-there path that led to a small doorway hidden on the rocky side of a hill. He punched in the code to the keypad – the code only he knew, for now. It was too risky telling anyone else. Then he entered, quickly climbed down the ladder.

The bunker was cluttered, sheets of paper with calculations scribbled upon them scattered willy-nilly. The walls were covered in tools and bits of sheet metal, and tables with failed prototypes sat scattered around, glinting in the dim artificial lights.

He’d planned on taking his time with this project, using it only as a last-ditch resort. Maybe against Dream, if he came for them again. But they’d reached that point. He was desperate.

With Wilbur back and bad as ever, Snowchester would be the first target on his list. Another settlement, fresh and newborn, led by the second coming of J. Schlatt? They stood no chance.

He couldn’t fail his people again.

Tubbo pulled on a pair of welding gloves. No time for thoughts. He had work to do.