#and thank you tubbo lmao

[dozyrogue]

Honestly getting dsmp lore was not something i expected in the year an age of 2024

Thx jack manifold an tommyinnit

[phatcatphergus]

I think something so wonderful about sunny is that she is such a little girl. The admin that plays sunny does such a good job of giving her a distinct personality but in a way that everyone who was a little girl can identify with. I’ve seen so many people talk about how they acted like sunny did as a kid or would remember specific memories with their dad that they made as a kid that sunny and tubbos dynamic brought back to the surface.

Sunny being a little firecracker and “spoiled” girl while also being incredibly shy and kindhearted and wanting to be friends with everyone. The way she has an idea of what people like (money, fame, respect) and trying to demand that because she wants to be someone important and respected like a leader or princess would but still giving “poor” members diamonds to become rich because she would never want to turn away a potential friend.

It’s genuinely so sweet and beautiful that so many people can relive personal parts of their childhood as a little girl/kid and remember the good times and awkward time and see how they’ve grown as a person just from a Minecraft egg. It’s so fun to watch sunny interact with tubbo and think of how often I would “help” my dad with projects or how I would demand wearing a dress over a skirt because I wanted to look fancy for dinner.

It really just reminds me how we are all people and all experience similar things growing up. No one had the same situation, or the same family or even the same country, but we all had the same emotions and feelings and we can all identify with them by watching a Minecraft egg as silly as it sounds

[tomfrogisblue]

i wonder what it's like to play minecraft without random normal minecraft objects having been ruined for all time by various angsty cubitos

[painless-innit-colourful]

Orpheus

(3k words, tw for canon-compliant suicide and mild self-harm, read it below or on my ao3)

Throughout his life, Wilbur Soot was a musician. In death, Wilbur Soot was a musician. In what came after...(Basically, if c!Wilbur had written all of Wilbur Soot's music in Dream SMP canon, how, and when.)

Full fic below :))

---

He’d always been a musician.

His dad’s best friend used to call him Orpheus. He’d be about to leave, standing in the door frame and he’d call, “Orpheus?” down the hallway. Wilbur would shake his head and cross his arms and answer, “Yes?” “Don’t look back.”

He’d taught him confidence: how to hold his head up, how to keep his voice steady talking to a crowd and, most importantly, how to hold his own with someone that wanted to see him burn. Some lessons less applicable to his future plans, but Technoblade thought it important he knew these things. Even for a budding songwriter, pockets lined with scraps of paper shrouded in scrawled lyrics and chord structures.

“Regardless of whether they’re laughing at your poems or crying at your songs, you keep your eyes on the crowd. It’s a dangerous world out there; I don’t want to see Phil grieving you.” “Relax, Blade,” His guitar was laying precariously in his lap as he leant back, arms behind his head. “I’m hardly going far. I’m not going to start any trouble.” Techno’s eyes seemed to glint, the flames of the fire reflected in his irises as he watched Wilbur across the room. A log crackled and tumbled into the hearth with a beat that could fit cleanly in a two-four bar.

“Well, don’t let anyone convince you you’re any more or less than what you are.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You know yourself better than anyone: your strengths, your weaknesses, what drives you to keep writing and singing. If anyone tries to make a myth or a mess of you-” “‘Know thyself, know thy enemy,’ right?” His eyes glinted back, the righteous fire of oats unsown, youthful energy and boldness. Techno resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “You can hold your own, we both know that. Don’t let anyone convince you you can’t.” He paused, “Don’t turn around.”

Wilbur blew a long breath between his teeth, “If I write you a ballad, will you stop telling me that.” Techno just laughed.

Yes, he was always a musician, leaving home with his guitar hefted over his shoulders. Waving at his father and his friend. Techno made the ‘turn around’ sign as he left.

Open mic nights and tavern gigs didn’t satisfy the itch, the hunger inside to create, to share, to make something people would belt at the tops of their lungs long after the alcohol ran dry and the torches burnt low. In the end, it wasn’t even his melody. That part vexed him, partially - his biggest hit and it wasn’t his melody - but he hushed the musician inside and tucked his guitar lovingly into his enderchest, to be brought out on special occasions or when Tommy looked a little low.

Playing by the light of a campfire, within the walls of a nation he built, fought and died for, ran, was all he wanted to do. When the volume of paperwork was insurmountable, when the treaties didn’t write themselves, when he spent countless nights gripping a tear-stained pillow, listening to Tommy and Tubbo staying up half the night in the next room, praying he could keep them safe - those notes, those words were his sanctuary. People spoke of how it made him a down-to-earth ruler; the President sat among his people, leading them in a soft singalong of the anthem, but he didn’t do it for optics. He’s a poet, not a politician (how on earth did this happen) and it felt good to retreat behind his guitar for a while. It gave him perspective: how far he’d come, how much further he could still go. This was so much bigger than a kid writing lyrics by the campfire in the garden. The special place they sang of, he made that happen. Playing by the fire, he imagined the future: retired, moved on from a life of public service, but still playing. Resting under his redwood trees, resolutely strumming that old guitar, safe in the nation he made.

It’s a shame it didn’t last. He remained a musician, but there would be no playing with aged hands within the black and yellow walls.

His hands were cold. He had always strummed with his fingers before, but after moving into that ravine, he started using a pick. His melodies sloped into sharps and flats, shaking fingers unable to find the right fret.

“Ridiculous, aren’t I?” Techno stopped walking, glancing down at the skeletal figure of Wilbur, swamped in a trenchcoat and curled around the guitar Phil bought him for his sixteenth birthday. “All that time in L’Manberg, I said I wished I had more time to write and practice, now I’ve got it and I can’t even be happy with that!” “Well, they do say tragedy makes good art.” “Mmm,” Wilbur gazed up at the ceiling of their cavern home, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve found it hard to know what to write about. All this time I was saving up ideas and now I have all this time and nothing- nothing’s working.” “Keep… Yeah, keep working at it. You gotta persevere with it, or something.” “Sweat your guts out,” Wilbur gave him a forced grin. “You got it, Blade.”

Techno didn’t hear it himself - he had been at his secret base at the time, putting together experimental weapons and mostly trying to not blow himself up in close quarters. He heard what it had been, though, the next time he went to Pogtopia and Tommy Innit ran up to him.

“You didn’t put Wilbur up to this shit, did you?” “Tommy, what are you talking about. I haven’t been here in two days.” Tommy took the deepest breath known to man, dragging his fingers through his hair and finding a number of tangles on the way. “Wilbur’s- Wilbur’s gone a bit… A bit morbid, in his song-writing lately.” He laughed nervously. “I thought the singing about stalking government officials and comparing his heart to a bleeding - literally bleeding - keyboard, was weird, but now he’s going on about- about blowing up L’Manberg-” “Oh really?” “Yeah! It was this creepy two-chord tune about burning the place to the ground and he was playing it over and over for hours-”

He finally heard it himself a few days later, tucked between the usual laments on past lovers and agonising teenage angst - two chords, over and over, echoing through the cavern, Wilbur’s voice reverberating after it like the melody and accompaniment were chasing each other the length of the ravine. He listened to the words - the ones he could make out - and heard the smile in Wilbur’s voice as he bastardised the lyrics of his own nation’s national anthem. That was brilliant for Techno’s plans, but, still.

He had a feeling the musician hadn’t listened to him.

“How does the story end?” Wilbur had been fourteen when they’d met and every bit the child his father had made him out to be. Curious, reckless, idealistic, a dreamer, an intellectual and a poet. Techno saw trouble coming down the tracks before anyone else did. But not quite like this.

“Well, the doubts in his mind grew to be overwhelming. Orpheus looked back and Eurydice was there. He met her eyes… and she disappeared.” He watched Wilbur form a chord on the neck of the battered guitar they’d found abandoned in the woods with clawed fingers. “...Then what?” “That’s it. That’s the end.” Wilbur looked up, “What happened to Orpheus after?” Techno thought for a moment before he spoke, “Well, like most Greek myths, there are a few versions. Most of them agree that he walked the earth lamenting his tragedy, singing about it. His songs were so full of sorrow they made mothers miscarry and willow trees bow their boughs - that’s where they got weeping willows. After that… I think the general consensus was people got so sick of him making them all sad that a group of them tore him apart.” “Just- Just like that?” “Yeah. Just like that.”

Wilbur, even in the pit of his breakdown, spoke of a symphony. Once a musician, always a musician, it seemed. L’Manberg was his great, “unfinished” symphony, he said. He rambled on and on to Techno and Tommy and cave walls about movements and variations, weaving notes between the peaks and troughs of the story.

“The explosions will be like percussion, finishing the final movement - which is ironic of course, because it’s unfinished, intentionally so. The silence after-” He closed his eyes and stilled, imagining it, a smile growing. “Yes. I’d like to hear the silence after. That’s how it’s meant to end.” He turned, trenchcoat flying out, to face Techno again. “Have you ever heard of the Curse of the Ninth Symphony?”

He had been standing at the back of the crowd, Dream whispering nonsense in his ear, trying to rile him up. Truth was, he already knew exactly what he was going to say. He’s an orator. But as the hopeful L’Manbergian’s hung on Tubbo’s every word, he instead watched the figure near the front that had just stepped down from the stage. He observed the conflicted expression on Wilbur’s face. He’d just witnessed the paradox  - backing Techno’s anarchy, denouncing the government and rejecting the presidency in the same breath he used to smile at his boys and hand power to Tubbo.

He watched the doubt creep in. And Wilbur looked back, past Techno, eyes glazed over, towards the hill where he knew the button room to be.

And L’Manberg disappeared.

The guitar came and went repeatedly. He wasn’t even sure how he had it sometimes. It was better not to think. Because thinking meant remembering. Just play. Just let your shaking hands find the right frets in the dark while you stare at the insides of your eyelids because if he had to look at the damn advertisements in the train stations satirising his downfall one more time he would hurl the guitar onto the tracks again, and who knew how he even got the damn things in the first place

Wilbur used to hate barre chords with a burning passion. Just buy a fucking capo. Who even has an index finger that strong anyway. Ghostbur, however, loved them. Finally, for the first time since he was like sixteen, he felt like he was writing melodies that made sense. They just flowed out of him like the water running under the L’Manberg highways. Like someone else had written them, and they were songs he’d always known. He finally felt like a musician again. Phil, his father, sat nearby, listening to him play in the November evening air. The sky was overcast, but the lanterns (his lanterns!) shone overhead like stars, lighting up the quiet marketplace.

“You used to play like that when you were little,” Phil said softly as he played on. “The brighter chords and stuff.” “Mm,” It made Ghostbur glow, sharing his music with his father again. He couldn’t understand why Alivebur had wanted to hide his lyrics from him. “Play the one about- walking boots? Again.” “Hiking boots,” he said with a light laugh. “Yeah, that one.”

They wrote as a duo, subconsciously: like a pair of writers in a band wrestling for creative control while simultaneously stealing all of each other’s ideas. Ghostbur would argue the ‘hiking boots’ song was about his son. Wilbur shouted back: it was about Sally, it was about shattered families, yes, it was about Fundy but not in the way you bloody think! Ghostbur smiled and played the songs until his fingers would’ve bled, were they corporeal. Wilbur screamed at the walls of the station until his voice was completely gone, beating at the walls with his fists, bloodying his hands until they could no longer hold the neck of his guitar.

Gradually, his hands healed. He tossed the guitar away in his rages so he didn’t smash it against the tube station wall (though he had tried it a few times and found it incredibly cathartic). In his infinite patience, waiting in the dark for salvation that would never come, he played better music than ever before. He made a makeshift capo from a strip of fabric ripped from his shirt and a piece of a shattered sign and played weeping melodies in wonky thirds and fourths. Music was his salvation: this time from utter destructive madness. More than once he bit at the skin of his fingers ‘till they bled, then used them to write chord progressions on the wall in rusty blueish-brown. He hummed the harmony line to his melodies as he played them and wished for another instrument, a way to record; literally any of the things he knew he could never have in this homemade hell. The lonely busker spent a decade serenading the empty platform with his songs of brutal tragedy.

“Did you say you’d thought of a new one?” “I did, I just want to tweak my lyrics-” “You’re rewriting my words… You know you need author’s permission to do that.” Ghostbur swore the songs just popped into his head, often almost fully formed, only requiring minor tweaks. He ignored the whispers in his mind in the voice that sounded like his own. Listening to that voice hadn’t gotten Alivebur anywhere. “Originally, the bridge was about trains, but now I’m thinking that’s not very relevant to here, where there are no trains. So I- hold on… I got it.”

Wilbur just scowled as his ghost sang of “barriers on the highways”. My genius is being pilfered, he thought. He picked up his own guitar and played along.

“There’s a reason / L’Manberg puts barriers on the highways / There’s a reason / They fail…”

In Limbo, there was very little melodic sound. Sure, there were trains rattling through every few hours, the wind whistling in the tunnels, and he could always shout ‘till his echo bounced out of earshot, but there wasn’t a lot other than that to be heard. His guitar had been the one thing that kept him from going truly ‘round the bend.

Groaning, screeching, screaming, wailing, scratching, shrieking: it was technically the most horrible noise Wilbur had ever heard in either of his lives. Yet, he loved it. In the blur of the train journey back Wilbur wasn’t sure of much. He heard the ear-splitting screeching, saw the weeping ghost, threw up out of one of the train windows and screamed along to the great noise, harmonising with it the best he could until they burst from the tunnel, light streaming through the windows, so bright Wilbur thought he was dying again.

Several days later, Wilbur was still singing. Sopping wet from the rain, one drink deep in a rowdy tavern where the whole world was warm and beautiful. Dimly, he was aware some of the pub patrons were giving him stern looks, but he was too deeply in love with life to even fathom that he could leave her behind again. No, he was singing, he was happy- no, ecstatic, to be alive, and emboldened by this latest turn of good fortune. He was a musician, and though he hadn’t found his old guitar again yet, he wasn’t going to be discouraged. As if it were Fortune herself daring him, a man appeared by the bar with an instrument strapped to his back.

“Evening, good sir. I couldn’t help-” The stranger in the trenchcoat with the immovable grin did not wait for him to turn around before launching into some half-prepared spiel. “-but notice the bass on your back. Do you play?” “I do, I do.” “Well?” “Yes, I would say well.” Ash had not been expecting to be quizzed on his musical ability that night, but it was a frequent-enough occurrence that he wasn’t phased. Until- “That’s wonderful. Do you have a job.” “I- Yes. I work here, actually. It’s my night off today.” “That’s fantastic. Quit your job.” The stranger was either absolutely plastered or a complete maniac. He allowed him the benefit of the doubt, “Why?”

The stranger flipped a strand of wet hair out of his eyes, “Join my band. I’ve got a drummer and a guitarist. And I sing. I’ve already written some songs, they- the others liked them,” He stood a little taller. “I think you’ll find us a worthwhile endeavour.” Despite the fact this entire encounter was completely ridiculous, Ash was inclined to keep following the thread. “What kind of songs do you write?” “Oh, pretty standard stuff,” He laughed, practically glowing. “Being jealous of your ex’s new man, being afraid of the future, making fun of past presidents. That sort of material.” Ash quirked an eyebrow, “Which past presidents would those be?” The stranger, Soot, grinned, “Any of them. All of them.”

Soot stuck a hand out, “What’s your name?” They shook, “Ash. Yours?” A sly smile, “You already know it.”

“Just one more thing, Ash.” Soot’s eyes were more tired now, darting up from the comm name and number he was scrawling on a napkin in a sputtering red biro. “One rule. For the band. Once you’re on board, you ride it to the end. You keep your head up high and no matter what-” He finished the number, securing it with an exuberant dot, and handed it to Ash. “You don’t look back.” Ash nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

In life, death and that which came after, Wilbur had always been a musician.

---

Taglist: @fruitpilled @zrenia @spaceheatertrash @waitblues @kinda-late-but-here-though @icyisweird @boomybelovd @thatfriendlyanon @rozugold

[freezethebeez]

bit weird, but how are funeral practices different in the catalyst world? Because I feel like there’s an untapped angst potential in vampires turning their dead loved ones into soup. What’s more of an expression of grief than lettting your beloved’s dying cells become your cells, to convert a part of them to you and let them live on in all the parts of you forever? To one last time feel the warmth and flesh of your dead friend or lover before their bones are buried?

dead dove: do not eat? more like dead partner: turn him into soup but specifically the soup that your mother made and the one that he liked the most and have the most insane mental breakdown of all time while you eat it ^_^

[lowkeyrobin]

hi pookie can I get an mcyt with reader that bakes?? Like they'll just come in on stream and give mcyts a fucking platter of baked goods lol

-🎀 anon

oooo yes omg!! thank you 🎀 anon! <3 got the whole gang in here for this one LOL

MCYT ; "in my baker era"

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, foolish gamers, slimecicle, & cellbit

warnings ; language, mentions of drugs

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

"Hi y/n- oh, thank you, darling!'

literally has the widest smile on his face

shows off the goods to the stream

"do these have any drugs in them? me n charlie are trying to sell drugs, y/n. we need more stock"

you hear charlie screaming through tommys headphones, "we need the grain, y/n! we need THE GRAIN"

bro is munching away on those cookies holy shit

he feeds chat as well dw

RANBOO

"Hey babe! Oh, thank you!"

does a whole 360 of the plate for chat 💀💀💀💀

"Oh my God, these are so fucking good"

"guys, y/ns in their baking era. can you write an album about that? please become Taylor swift for us"

"BAHHAHAHAH"

literally takes a picture as per usual and posts it to Twitter LMAO

he gets some fans to send you recipes you should try for a serious baking stream LMAO

BADLINU

"Hey love- oh, hi!"

all smiles and shit, he swears you have a sixth sense to know when people are hungry

"guys, y/n made me some bisexuality cake!" He giggles, showing off the tri-colored cake on the plate

he was making a video with harry, tubbo & tommy so everyone had their facecams on

it was like a three tier cake you made and cut out a slice for him

the inside was just the bi flag and the outside was plain white with some fun icing piper testing

he tries it and it's SO MOIST AND SOFT IT IS PERFECT.

there's just 5 raw minutes of him telling you how amazing this fucking cake is LMAO

QUACKITY

"Hey, I'm streaming ba- ohmyfuckinggodthankyou!!"

does a 360 of the plate for the camera

"Holy shit these look so fucking good, thank you so much, y/n"

he's literally just streaming on the qsmp with roeir and fit and he like games and eats the damn cookies at the same time LMFAO

"Dude I feel like I'm high, these are so good, what's in this shit?"

"cocaine"

"WHAT!? DID YOU JUST DRUG ME? GUYS, MY PARTNER DRUGGED ME, HELP"

you're just playing into the bit dw

best red velvet cookies he's ever eaten

CELLBIT

"Hey darling, what's up?"

you hand him the little strawberry shortcake and he just looks at you like 😍😍

turns to his stream and shoves the plate up to the camera all happy like "Oh my God look what they made for me!"

he eats the entirety of it on stream and asks you a bunch of questions

like how you made it, where you found the recipe, etc

he shares it with you too 💔🫶

NIHACHU

"Hi honey! Ooo, what's this called?"

"Chocolate mousse. it's a little thick because it's my first time making it but let me know if it's good"

she holds that little glass like it's her child

she tries it with a tiny spoon you gave her and she's like "oh my God this is amazing, y/n/n"

shows it off to the friends she's streaming with too

"send them more recipes guys, I wanna be spoiled with sweets!"

"thank you nikis viewers!! love you all"

FOOLISH GAMERS

when I tell you this man's face LIGHTS UP.

"you made me fudge? oh my God! I love you"

literally spends the next 15 minutes talking to you and gobbling the fudge down

"since when do you make fudge??"

"since I wanted to try" you shrug

"you should totally make some more... when you're not busy and if you want to!"

"Thank you y/n! everyone say thank you!"

SLIMECICLE

"Oh, hi y/n! thank you so much"

does a 360 for stream

"when did you find time to make this? I thought you were at work????"

"special treat" you shrug

you watch him run across the qsmp and go to ems bakery to sit inside and eat it 😭

he keeps you on stream for a while cause chat loves you n stuff 🫶🫶

[micanomancy]

Oh I miss Tubbo and Fred… bring him back… I need Tubbo to do a “Rescuing Fred” stream right now

Update: well. fuck me. I will be deleting every single account of mine ever. And disappearing into the woods. And dying. Thank you for your time. https://x.com/tubbotwo/status/1730361830940315734?s=46&t=Nhxh1gnPT7WNTlzXdFyLdw thank you @spike-the-great for ruining my night. (Not really, I actually appreciate the alert lmao)

[thepenguisalive7]

I love your Tubbo design so much but ig now it will be different LMAO

(^if you haven't seen, he changed his skin for this server)

Thank you!!!! Thanks for letting me know pfffft I’ll have to adjust a few things!

I checked out the skin and I don’t think I have to change too much. I’m gonna to have to adjust my bbh design too so that’ll be fun :D.

[chayannesegg]

You broke down the Pierre and tubbo relationship perfectly!

It's honestly weird as someone who watches both how people can feel that Pierre doesn't care for tubbo, he does, he's just an annoying guy constantly/pos

Pierre told sunny to watch over tubbo, he wants the guy to be safe, and makes fun of him cause he does that too everyone he favors.

Meanwhile tubbo is taking this as world most annoying rivalry fhxgjxykd

haha thanks

i mean tbf pierre's vods are sub-restricted so it's hard to get his POV if you aren't paying attention, but like pierre so clearly loves tubbo lmao

he has no idea that tubbo is taking his actions as part of a broader pattern of disrespect to him (and honestly would NOT know how to show his affection otherwise)

it's kinda similar to how etoiles doesn't get why tubbo cares so much about what etoiles thinks of his money-making schemes imo. both etoiles and pierre have a shit-talking teasing relationship with tubbo but don't quite see how sensitive he can still be even if he participates in it (men lol). tho tubbo definitely cares more about etoiles' perception of him than pierre's.

anyway mild angst aside (i just can't help myself), pierre and tubbo's relationship is so funny and honestly quite sweet. i love seeing them interact

[tubborucho]

Epilogue:

Team Soulfire genuinely is first in forever platonic dynamic I got obsessed with. I love a lot of them, but Blue Team… They are so special to me, I can’t explain it properly.

I loved each of them. Fact: Blue (before Green being dissolved) is the only team that had every single one of the members to log in AT LEAST once. Which is crazy, considering all the logging in problems we had some days. But it was awesome. Better than I could ever imagine.

Everything that they built together makes me smile even from thinking about it. The Old Base that constantly has been in use throughout the whole time no matter what. The New Base… The New Base genuinely feels like home. It’s been so cosy and pretty and safe. Nobody has found it at the end! It held it purpose til the last moment.

Trousers. Coco. Caramel. Bertie. Rupert. Scoob. Luffy. All the Little Buddies that supported Blue throughout the Purgatory. I will love you forever.

The discovery of the potential that Tubbo and Bad hold as a duo. Prime, I am PRAYING that Bad and Dapper are okay. I love them to death AND i need Tubbo spend more time with Dapper, I think they would be hilarious as a duo. Plus I just enjoy Tubbo and Bad’s interactions. Throughout the years of being on same SMPs and in the same events it was the first time they got to properly play with each other, and it’s amazing.

TINA!!! Omg, q!Tina, you will always be a legend. Man, I think she might share her the place of my second favorite resident with Bad now (first is Tubbo, obviously). I will definitely try to keep up with her character and lore further. She is amazing.

I can honestly talk about each and one of the members. I maybe will at some point. Right now I am genuinely in tears from all the emotional roller coaster it was. I don’t know how to move on, honestly. I hope people will keep making content with Team Soulfire, even if it’s over. I know I will at least make some web weaves. and check the tag religiously.

On that note, oh my god, thank you SO MUCH to everyone for this journey. We had a lot of rough moments with the toxicity, but overall I will not remember that when I think of those days, I will remember how many amazing people I got to properly interact with on the base of our cubitos being stuck together under the blue flag.

Genuinely, especially it goes to BBH Mains. Guys, no matter what happens between our cubitos further, it was an honor to stand by your side, and I hope you know I adore your guy and you all. And it makes me so happy to see so many positive reactions and posts about Tubbo and his cubito!

This was draining emotionally, but this also was amazing. I think I am still somewhat riding the high of the Amazing Victory of Blue That One Day lmao.

We will see how it goes.

[keirawantstocry]

idk if this is gonna be any good and I'm not very good at explaining but I'm gonna try ahahah ok so like tubbo is like in some cold area or something and feels like he's dieing but if he's truly dieing he doesn't want to be alone so in the snow he shittly draws fit and pac holding hand then he puts his hands on their other hands so it's like they are all holding hands and he doesn't have to be alone in a sense um idk if this makes any sense but it like came to me and i had to share

Im allergic to sad endings so i made it go happy also dw it made total sense to me and now im realizing idk if you wanted me to write a fic or just share ur idea but um i wrote a fic lmao

-

Everything was cold. Tubbo wasn’t sure he had a single sensation left in his body. He didn’t know where he was. All he knew was ice and snow. He was dying. He was dying. He was dying. Nothing was more sure to him at that moment. He was going to die here. With the few ounces of strength left in him he drug his finger through the snow, half in delirium. One circle, an egg, his daughter. Then he drew lines. Two little stick figures holding hands. He lost all sense of feeling then, only able to stare at the bright red of his fingers on the end of the stick finger’s arm. 

It was almost like he could feel it, the warmth of the other human body. That was when he knew he was truly fucked. All he could picture was Fit and Pac holding his hands while his eyes shuttered close. He tried. He really did. Struggled to keep his eyes open as the wind picked up and flung snow in his eyes. But in the end, his weakness took over. 

His next memory was warmth. Was this the afterlife? Peeling his eyes open slowly, he peered around at his surroundings. There was a fireplace. A crouched figure placing logs on a fire. 

“Fit?” Tubbo croaked in confusion. 

Fit jumped up from the fire and whirled to face him. “Fuck! Tubbo you’re awake oh thank God.” He flung himself at the man, wrapping his strong arms around him and pulling him up out of his seat. Tubbo couldn’t help but relax into his arms and start to sob. 

He felt another pair of arms wind around him, instantly recognizing them as Pac’s and his sobs grew louder. Tears and snot ran down his face in a disheveled mess. “Vai ficar tudo bem, meu amor.” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Fit soothed. “I’ve got you now and nothing is ever, EVER, gonna hurt you again.”

[anarchy-and-piglins]

'Dang, thank you for bringing back that banger of an idea. When I look at my fic idea/wip notes it's kinda ridiculous how many of my ideas are fireworkduo centric and despite that somehow I don't think I've written much of anything focused on that dynamic, I'm a poser /j '

U can't say that and not drop the wips / ideas (/j.. Well unless u wanna share I think I speak for all of firework nation when I say we'd be v happy to see them :D )

Ironically I accidentally deleted a bunch of my fanfic ideas I kept in a note doc recently (thankfully not all of them and not the wips) >.<' I have a backup so I'm working on restoring them but they're not as easily accessed right now lmao.

What I do know is that outside of the one mentioned in that post (the beloved 'two characters get stuck in a fighting ring together' trope that I've done with Techno & Ranboo and with Techno & Tango, and would love to do with Techno & Tubbo someday), my most developed fireworkduo-centric idea is the one I jokingly named 'Cold War 2: electric boogaloo'. It's a fic idea where the ender pearl malfunctions, Phil presumes this means Techno died in the prison (Sam is happy to not correct this mistake) and leaves the server. A small amount of time later Techno manages to escape the prison after all and stumbles heavily wounded into Snowchester by accident, where Tubbo finds him and semi-reluctantly takes him in (partly because he knows Ranboo would be very upset if Techno died, partly because he doesn't want Techno to die himself) and then bonding happens and then when Quackity and Sam find out what happens they try and persuade Tubbo to give Techno back to them as allies and Tubbo - sick of other people telling him what's best for him - is just like "nah and if you're annoying about it I'll nuke you". More stuff happens but that's the gist of it kekw.

Fireworkduo would also be very important in the reimprisoned AU and retrograde amnesia AU. Love sneaking them in there.

[cdroloisms]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream sneaks into Pogtopia to see Wilbur

woo! managed to finish this in time. kinda unedited and kinda a mess but i've missed writing these guys; i'm deeefinitely in need of more practice to get c!wilbur's voice down, but hopefully this can be the start of me writing some more fic set earlier in the timeline, LMAO.

thanks @elmhat for the awesome event!! been epic to see people's submissions and i cant wait to see this continue. ur awesome &lt;3

c!dream meets up with c!wilbur to tell him about a change to their plans | 2.3k words

---

<Dream> be there in 5 

The communicator in Wilbur’s hand casts a pale glow onto the palm of his hand, the only light he has to guide him as he paces the length of the hollowed-out room; it’s dark, zombies groaning somewhere outside, the dead singing their songs, shuffling through underbrush in the belly of the forest that surrounds Pogtopia. The air is musty in their little dugout, a claustrophobic awning of stone carved into the side of a hill, well-shadowed even during the day, the darkness swallowing the wan light of the comm in his hands now. He can barely see the floor underneath him as he walks, shuffling steps forward and back, ten paces each. He presses his hand against the wall, turning to the entrance and standing still. 

Phil always had a whole thing about light, Wilbur having grown up on lectures about light levels and spawn-proofing and the dangers of leaving cavities unlit while mining, had grilled him on different ways of keeping a room from becoming a death trap. Carpets, half-slabs, glass. How many times had he been warned of the danger presented by surprise creepers and dark corners? 

Phil had never been much of a fan of explosions. 

The main server is mostly well-lit, but the secrecy demanded by revolution effort means that the forest surrounding Pogtopia gets much darker. Not that he’s in the main ravine at the minute–with the amount of people coming and going as of late, Dream had wanted their meeting to be in a slightly more discreet location, and Wilbur had agreed. It was easy enough to slip away with Technoblade once again off to do his own thing and Tommy having run off to find Tubbo, and Wilbur had managed to arrive to the room sufficiently early before sunset to prevent himself from getting ambushed by mobs. 

He slips his hand into his coat pocket. Chekov’s gun is smooth and cold against the palm of his hand, polished wood and metal. He smooths the pads of his fingers down the barrel, over the trigger. He leaves it, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes instead. His lighter provides a clearer view of the room, still empty. Dream is late. 

Dream is usually late, then again–it’s expected, really, with the way he runs around the server, always busy, always chasing down those plans of his, smart man that he is. Dream likes his secrets, his mystery, mask and armor all made to keep his cards close to his chest–Wilbur can hardly fault him for it, god no. Dream has what he wants, just as they all do, all of them tripping over themselves in their ambition, crabs in a bucket, the pledges to help the revolution coming from each one that jumps off of Schlatt’s sinking ship. He breathes in deep, smoke coating his lungs with tar. 

“Wilbur?” 

Light throws itself into the room from the entrance, rippling wildly as the fire on the end of Dream’s torch burns, casting wild shadows over his mask as he squeezes himself inside. Despite his armor, he has an uncanny knack for moving silently, cloak and hood pulled low over his head so that only the edge of the painted smile is visible. The torch is raised higher, moved left and right as Dream surveys the contents of the room around them. Wilbur smiles and tips his head towards him in greeting. 

“Dream, my man. How good to see you again.” 

“Wilbur…” Dream’s voice trails off. His head turns from one side to the other, making another anxious sweep of the room before refocusing on Wilbur, his hand moving to pull his hood down and then run his hand through his hair, having been pressed flat by the heavy fabric. The blank face of his mask stares back at Wilbur, tilting to the side like a confused dog as he shakes out his shoulders. “We…need to talk.” 

“Well? I’m all ears.” He gestures at himself, leaning against the wall of the room. Dream turns to look over his shoulder again. His armor glimmers, the light of the runes on their surface made more obvious in the dark. He bounces on the balls of his feet, reaches up once again to tug his fingers through his hair.

“It’s important.” No shit, Wilbur almost says, because for all that Dream might think that his mask hides everything he’s thinking, he’s never quite been as guarded with his body language as he might hope; the anxiety rolling off of every jerky movement is enough to set Wilbur’s teeth on edge as it is, never mind the long silences and hesitation, but he’s not stupid enough to think that that would get him anything resembling an answer. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, smiles wider, and spits out another curling thread of smoke.

“You’re an important man. I should hope so.” 

Dream pauses at that. His head does that tilt-thing again. “...alright.” 

“So? What is it? Do tell.” Has Dream decided to go against him? Perhaps. His enthusiasm with regards to their plan is more unpredictable than Wilbur had expected, sometimes perfectly willing, sometimes hesitant to agree to much of anything. But he had agreed, nonetheless, had provided the TNT that Wilbur has set sprawling underneath Manberg’s main stage; cold feet, now, would be rather unprecedented. Still, it’s Dream–very little can be discounted when Dream is in the picture, Wilbur knows. He places his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked over the edge, pistol brushing against his fingertips. “I hate to push, but the suspense is killing me.” 

Dream takes another second, then reaches behind his head. Wilbur straightens where he’s standing, suddenly curious, as he removes his mask. 

He’s seen Dream without it only a few times–all able to be counted on one hand, this one included. The light of the torch illuminates his face from the chin up, cast shadows highlighting the contours of his skull, the contours of his cheeks, light catching under his brows. His features are delicate in a way that still surprises him, a smattering of freckles over the nose of his bridge made visible as he raises the torch higher. Dream’s eyes are a little wide, a little bloodshot. He bites his bottom lip, blinking twice in quick succession, eyes darting over the walls and then back to Wilbur’s face. 

“Schlatt called me. For a meeting earlier.” 

“Schlatt?” 

“He knows about the TNT.” 

Wilbur blinks. “Well, fuck.” 

“Look–Wilbur, look.” Dream makes a little move with his hands, shaking them out by the wrists. “It’s not–it’s not the end of. This, okay? But, he knows. I didn’t tell him. I don’t know how he found out, I don’t know if someone told him, I haven’t told anyone, but–he knows. We can still work with this.” 

“Schlatt knows?” He searches Dream’s face. He seems earnest, but god knows, but what would he have to gain from lying about this, anyway? Who else could’ve told him–Tommy? Tommy might not tell Schlatt directly, but Tommy has never been good with secrets, letting anyone and everyone in on everything with an apparent inability to control his own tongue–

“--but it’s, fine. The TNT is still there, the room is still intact. I checked some of the wiring and it doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with. Wilbur, are you listening to me?” 

Wilbur waves him off. “I’m listening. Just keep going.” 

“I don’t think we need to change anything with the TNT. Like, Schlatt’s just one guy. And his gear is shit. If he messes with the TNT, then we’ll–we’ll figure something out, but you know, I don’t even think he even, like, knows where it all is.” 

“Well, it’s kind of everywhere, so–” 

“–which is my point. It’s too deep, he’s still sitting on top of a bomb. There’s nothing–there’s nothing he can do.” Dream crosses his arms in front of his chest, still worrying his lip between his teeth. “I just thought you should know.” 

Schlatt knows. Schlatt knows–Wilbur paces against the wall of their room, ten paces forward and ten paces back. He crushes his cigarette underneath his boot, nails digging into his palm. 

“Well, Dream? Is that all?” 

Dream’s expression twists. His brows pinch together, lips pressed against each other and curling into a slight grimace, his expression giving too much away after spending so much time masked. 

“There’s…one more thing.” 

Wilbur scoffs. “Just spit it out, you prick.” 

Dream doesn’t even react to the insult, shoulders hunching up as he begins speaking. “Look…it’s just. My plans have…changed.” 

What? “I thought you just said that they didn’t?” 

“Our plans are the same. It’s just–Schlatt made me, an offer.” Dream shifts from foot to foot. He swallows, throat working, his eyes still bright and wide, pupils dilated with a thin circle of green around. Wilbur stares at him. He almost looks… “He’s got something. Important. He asked me to…join him, kind of, and he’d–give it to me.” 

“What?” 

“It’s not–look, Wilbur. Wilbur.” Dream raises his hands, palms out, a placating motion. “It’s not what you think, but I–I had to.” 

“You had to join Manberg.” 

“I’m not joining Manberg!” Dream runs his hand through his hair, eyes flashing. Wilbur is suddenly very aware of the axe on his back, the heavy plates of netherite armor. Eret, the button, it was never meant to be. “Why would I join Manberg, what–”

“So what’s this? What’s this then, Dream?” 

“Wilbur–”

“Because from where I’m standing, I have to say, it looks a lot like you’re betraying me.” 

“I am not–”

“That’s just like you. That’s just like you, isn’t it? Good ol’ Dream, mister 1000 IQ, outsmarting everyone–well-played, man, well-played! I really must congratulate you!” 

“Wilbur, can you just–”

“So what is this meeting then, Dream? Gotten cold feet, now that you’ve been discovered? You’re his little lackey now, is that it, his little lap dog–you’re gonna start another war? Put down another revolution, lead us all out to slaughter like last time, good for you, you motherfucker, is that the point of this farce? You’re here to kill me?” 

“Wilbur, can you just listen to me!” 

Dream’s voice is raised. Wilbur draws himself up to full height, Dream’s head craning up slightly as he crosses the room in front of him in two long strides. 

“What.” 

“I’m not. Joining Manberg.” Dream’s arms are crossed tightly in front of him, scowling slightly. It’s an expression not all that much unlike Tommy’s teenage petulance, a set jaw, eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. “There’s just–a peace treaty, right? I can’t just violate that. And now Schlatt knows. He’s asking for me to give him–gear.” 

“Gear, like what.” 

“Armor. Weapons, shields. Support in the incoming fight. You know, he’d already been paying Punz, the rest of the people in my country are already going to fight with him. And, whatever.” 

Wilbur rocks back on his heels. His skin itches, feeling antsy, so he goes back to pacing. “And?” 

“I meant what I said, earlier. This doesn’t change anything. The TNT is still there, we can still blow it up. It…doesn’t matter who wins the, the battle and stuff.” 

Wilbur sets his shoulders, turning back to look Dream in the eye. “Really. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It doesn’t! It doesn’t matter. We have an agreement, that’s still like–a thing.” Dream’s hands close into fists, then open again. “I don’t like this, okay? I don’t like Schlatt–” Wilbur scoffs, “--and I don’t exactly want to work with him. But I have to. I swear, I really have to.” 

“Because, what. The treaty?” 

Dream shakes his head, expression still all twisted up like he’s eaten something sour. “He’s got. A book.”

Wilbur laughs outright at that. “A book.” 

“It’s–Wilbur, I swear. It’s important. I’ll, I might–I’ll–” Dream makes a frustrated sound, teeth clenched. “I have to get it.” 

“So you’re going to work for Schlatt.” Fuck it. Wilbur pulls out another cigarette, lighting it as he speaks. “You’re going to be the emperor’s little guard dog.” 

“I’m–”

“No, no, it makes sense. It’d be too boring for you otherwise, wouldn’t it? Not enough chaos, with everyone joining the rebellion.” He gestures with the cigarette, Dream’s eyes caught on it as it moves. “You want us all to fucking destroy ourselves, keep everyone weak, Manberg, Pogtopia–you don’t need to explain yourself, man, you’re a smart guy! Even out the playing field, join whatever team has the fewest players, keep yourself above it all. Bravo, really. Bravo.” 

Dream’s jaw works, but he stays silent. Wilbur smiles at him and breathes in a long drag of smoke. 

“Well, Dream. I very much appreciate our meeting together today, really. Really! This has been…enlightening. Is that all? Or do you have any other important information to tell me.” 

“...I’ll come around in a few days to tell the others. About, switching sides and whatever. And–the TNT is still going off, alright? No matter what.” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Obviously.” 

Dream stares him down, Wilbur meeting his eyes evenly. He breaks eye contact first, looking down at the floor and tossing several stacks of TNT onto the ground between them. -

“Thank you, Dream. Until next time then.” 

Dream stares at him, blinks, his eyes wide and green, before he turns away. The torch disappears into his inventory as he walks to the exit of the room, silhouetted in the doorway as he presses the mask back over his face. Wilbur reaches into his pocket, draws out Chekhov’s gun, holds his arm straight in front of him, fingers wrapped around the pistol as Dream works at the straps behind his head. He keeps it held there, pointed at Dream’s back until the man slips into the night, the blurry reflection of the lit end of his cigarette vaguely visible in the dull metal. 

He’s not sure how long it is before a twinge to his arm makes him slip the unloaded gun back into his pocket. He sighs. He needs to start making his way back; after all, he still needs to think of a birthday present. 

[appletaffy5]

beeduo incorrect quotes because yes

Ranboo: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? Tubbo: Peonies, why? Ranboo: Tubbo: Were you going to get me flowers? Ranboo: Tubbo: Ranboo: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

Tubbo is crying after a breakup Ranboo: There there, Tubbo. Tubbo, still crying: Thanks, but how did you get into my room? Ranboo: Great question—

Ranboo: What are you in the mood for? Tubbo: World domination. Ranboo: That's a bit ambitious. Tubbo: You are my world. Ranboo: Aww… Tubbo: Ranboo: Tubbo: Ranboo: OH.

Ranboo: So you like cats? Tubbo: Yeah. Ranboo: tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table

Ranboo: It’s not gonna work, I’m not a snitch. Cop: Fine, let's try something else. Tag a friend you recently committed a crime with. Ranboo: Lmao, @ Tubbo.

Tubbo, laying in bed: Get out of my room. Ranboo, standing just outside of the door frame: I’m not in your room.

Ranboo: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated. Tubbo: Killed without hesitation.

Ranboo: Petition to remove the 'd' from Wednesday. Tubbo: Wednesay. Ranboo: Not what I had in mind, but I'm flexible.

Ranboo: But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany! Ranboo, earlier: I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

Tubbo: WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?! HE COULD HAVE HAD HOPES AND DREAMS, HE COULD HAVE HAD A FAMILY!!! Ranboo: Tubbo- Ranboo: It- it was just an bee-

Tubbo: I eat cheerios because they’re heart healthy. Tubbo: And my heart has been severely damaged, so Ranboo, if you’re out there—

Ranboo: What do you have? Tubbo: A KNIFE! Ranboo: NO!

Ranboo: I feel like I can be myself around you. Tubbo: You’re weird and quiet around me. Ranboo: Yes.

Ranboo: Ask me anything. Go ahead, I'll give you a straight answer. Tubbo: Why are we so f---ing awesome? Ranboo: That's the best f---ing question anybody's ever asked.

Tubbo: nice frontal lobe :) Tubbo: stirs it like a latte Ranboo: UVyjfejfgfdfg67e3r876YUTF7854B7TY743vKUFyju Tubbo: The process was a success.

[bugflies00]

ok so this isnt a particularly profound headcanon or anything but its been sitting in the back of my mind for like, two years now. you know how ctubbo is technically blonde in canon, but everyone draws him with dark brown hair? ok, so, as people get older, their hair tends to get darker (if its not already dark brown)

(sciencey explanation for this if youre interested: basically, you have two melanin types contributing to your hair color--eumelanin (makes hair darker) and pheomelanin (makes hair redder). as you get older, the melanocytes (cells that produce melanin) start to change behavior and produce more eumelanins. i dont think we're entirely sure why, but it has to do with hormonal changes, among other things)

but anyway. do you think that, in the early days of the dsmp, in the early days of L'manburg, Tubbo's hair was bright, bright blonde--a mop of hair to match Tommy's, even rival it? From a distance, it wasn't hard to mistake one from the other.

Through the pogtopia arc, Tommy's hair stays as blonde as ever, but Tubbo's starts to darken noticeably, and by the time Wilbur's put a crater in the heart of L'manburg, it's a full-on dirty blonde.

I don't remember how long exactly it was between Tommy's exile and the next time he saw Tubbo, (call me cranboo the way i. uh. forget), but do you think that when he did, he almost didn't recognize him--Tubbo's hair was as dark as Wilbur's, as Schlatt's. what if, like, his hair got darker a lot faster once Manburg happened and once his becoming president happened--he was put in a position where he was forced to grow up fast, to grow into his boots. i mean that wouldnt happen in real life but whateverrrr

wait actually i just had another idea have you ever seen those pictures of us presidents before and after their presidency and they look like wayyyy older even if they only served a four year term? do you think it was like that? like, it was still tubbo, sure, but that small bit of stubbornly remaining baby fat was gone from his face. the scar from his execution at the festival was no longer that angry red; it had long since resolved itself into something calmer: a bitter, pale pink. When Tommy looks at him, it's hard to reconcile what he sees with the Tubbo he remembers.

this got really long. uh. sory. thank you for coming to my ted talk. my tub[bo] talk if you will. thumbs up emoji

oh i do know about the blonde darkening thing, it happened to me!! i had hay blonde hair as a kid and now im a light-medium brown lmao. but YESSS ABSOLUTELY oh my god the idea of ctommy leaving ctubbo looking almost like twins and coming back to see him looking an entirely different person..... grown up even physically.... GOD and the fact that ctubbo changes while ctommy remains the same always and forever is AHJWHGHJE literally right on theme . god . im obsessed with this ur so right this is canon now

[lowkeyrobin]

Omg mcyt when their crush asks them out, but the reader is just surprising chill? Like, it's so casual it's insane just a "Hey, you wanna go out sometime?" while scrolling through sm and chillling lmao

oooooo okay okay I see the vision ; thank you for requesting!!

MCYT ; nonchalant ask-out

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, & quackity

warnings ; language

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you were sitting on the train to go visit some friends for a stream

you were sitting next to the window, facing the back of the train, while he was on the opposite side, also sitting next to the window, although his backpack was perched so he could rest an arm on top of it

you turn to him and just kinda ask as you're passing a field of cows

"you wanna go bowling sometime? like, as a date? it's fine if you don't wanna" you shrug

Tommy just blinks as his cheeks get a little red

"Uh, sure. I mean, yeah!"

you guys get to where you're going and while he's with tubbo, more secluded from you, tells him about it

"y/n like, casually asked me out on the train and I said yes! I don't know what happened, it was so weird"

"they're concerningly laid back about everything, you know this"

"...true"

RANBOO

you were doing a stream watching flushed away

lots of laughter and fucking around considering you were on the couch sitting next to each other with a camera in front of you

"what is happening right now???"

"hey, Ran?"

"hm?"

"you wanna go to dinner sometime? like a date?"

chat explodes and you're trending on Twitter before he can even respond

"uhm, uh, yeah, sure"

"cool"

they later tweet a "that was unscripted, and weird. y/n is never streaming w me again"

you reply with "yeah, sure pal"

"okay y/ns steaming w me tmr night stay tuned!!"

FREDDIE BADLINU

you guys + harry were making puppets at his place for a little prank, and making your friends into puppets as well

you were making him while he was making Tommy, and harry was making kermit (??), making some conversation for the camera

you're mostly working on the floor next to Harry because the table wasn't big enough for the three of you

you look up and just kinda blurt it out

"Hey, Freddie, you wanna go rollerskating sometime?"

harrys the first to speak "what the hell?"

"sorry, bad time"

"wh-no, actually, I'd love too" Freddie smiles

he later edits that with some music like it's 2019, pixel meme glasses and all

"got a date, wwwww"

NIKI NIHACHU

you were both playing on the qsmp, and taking care of em

niki passed over some food bc you were building something for her and ran out of food

"Hey, niki, would you ever go on a date with me?"

"wh- oh, uh, I mean, yeah!"

"cool"

her chat explodes and so does yours LMAO

ppl clip it and it's a hot topic on qsmp tumblr for a week or so

you tweet after stream "date ideas, GO"

niki responds with "you have to come here first, y/n/n 😭"

ALEX QUACKITY

you were out exploring the city together for a little vlog on your alt channel

you were talking and having a good time and whatnot, exploring stores and restaurants and parks

"hey, Alex, would you ever like, date me, I guess?"

"yeah- I mean, uhm, I guess so"

"cool"

when you guys get back to the hotel he instantly gets on a call w some friends, whom are streaming, and quickly rants about it, leaving you nameless tho

you see the clipped bit on YouTube the next day and can't help but smile cause honestly w move