#beckyu but on ao3

[i-am-beckyu]

Just out of Reach, but Never out of Sight

So..... it's been *looks at last update* SHEESH A YEAR ?!?! Uhhhh I'm so sorry this took so long to update, but I am far from done with this au so let's go for getting another upload! I've shared my views on the whole William Gold thing so further explanation is here. But without further a do, enjoy!

Chapter 4

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3 cw: panic, anxiety, fear of abandonment, mentions of child abuse/neglect and a whole lot of fluff :3 wc: 3938

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

 ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. .*  ･ ｡ﾟ☆ : ☽ .* ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. .* 

Wilbur sat at the dining room table, his plate of syrup-drowned waffles staring back at him.

He wanted to know what Phil and Tommy were talking about and why the boy had hid under the bed.

He thought they’d calmed him down last night? 

The second he’d given Tommy the little cow plushie, Wilbur noticed how the boy’s eyes had widened with wonder. It was the sweetest thing the blonde had done since he met him, and he’d had to hold himself back from cooing and wrapping the boy into a hug.

But doing that would definitely be overstepping some kind of boundary judging by Tommy’s reactions and that was the last thing the brunette wanted to do. All the evidence was right there when he’d thought about it as he drifted off to sleep the night before. The flinching, the withdrawnness and the fear of saying the wrong thing; it all just began to add up. 

Tommy had been abused.

No child would be dressed in poorly put together rags and react the way they had if they hadn’t thought they were going to be hurt. Hiding under the bed was the confirmation he needed that his assumptions were true and all he could think about was how he didn’t want anyone else hurting that sweet little boy ever again.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

“What’s got you in a tizzy?” 

Wilbur lifted his head to see his twin, Technoblade, leaned up against the kitchen counter with a freshly poured steaming cup of coffee.

“Morning Techno. Sorry, didn’t hear you enter.”

“It’s not like you to be up so early Wil.”  The pink-haired teen commented curiously. 

He couldn’t help but observe the way his brother kept their gaze trained towards the hallway as he joined them at the dining table. He could make out the muffled voice of Phil talking from the other room but not what was being said.

“Is it that kid Dad brought home?” Technoblade asked. “I heard you both calling for them this morning which woke me up.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Wilbur smiled apologetically as he faced his brother across the table. “We were, but Dad’s with him now under the bed.”

“He’s what?” Techno arched his brow perplexed. “Under the bed?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur sighed heavily. “I think I spooked him when I was going to come in about breakfast, and he panicked.” 

He couldn’t help but think about how closed off Tommy had been the night before. The way he seemed to carefully choose his movements and would shrink back if he felt like he overdid it. He wanted to see the Tommy with the spitfire attitude. Not the child that felt the need to tread carefully through every interaction.

“I think- I think wherever he came from he was abused, Tech.” 

“Well from how you and Dad described him in the messages, it certainly wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume it.” Techno sipped his coffee as Wilbur grabbed his knife to cut into his waffles and sighed.

“Well whatever happened to Tommy, I’m hoping we can get him to open up and talk to us.” 

For his sake.

 ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. .*  ･ ｡ﾟ☆ : ☽ .* ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. .* 

Leaving the guest bedroom had been far harder than what it should have been.

While he knew Phil was only concerned for his well being, Tommy wasn’t quite sure he was ready to be in the presence of all 3 Beans at once. 

He knew Phil had mentioned the night before about Techno coming home late which undoubtedly meant the teen was up by now having his morning coffee and Tommy knew how Techno tended to act around ‘new visitors.’ 

One good perk of living in the walls was you learned how every person of the household acted around each other, and new people. Phil and Wilbur were always fairly welcoming, but Techno wasn’t the easiest to talk to. If you didn’t know him, he may come across as cold and calculating. Not the easiest person to approach without shaking in your boots that’s for sure.

But as Tommy would tell you, he knew that after the guests had all left, the sheer amount of relief the pinkette would feel, further revealing how awkward they had been about being around these ‘strangers’ was hilarious. It wasn’t a villain behind glasses moment, just an awkward teen with limited social skills. 

Tommy couldn’t help but giggle to himself as he’d watched the teen collapse in his bed after a certain interaction with a salesman as if it had drained all the life out of him. People just weren’t Techno’s strong suit.

But even knowing this didn’t ease the boy's nerves. It didn’t change the fact that even if Technoblade was socially awkward that he wasn’t capable of harm. The fencing trophies in his room a testament to that feat of strength.

His nervousness about having breakfast with the 3 must have been obvious, because Phil had gently placed his hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before leading them both out of the guest room and to the dining room.

Just breathe Tommy. They don't know what you are yet. 

You’re okay for now.

“Morning Tech, good to see you up and about.” Phil greeted chipperly as he manoeuvred himself into the kitchen leaving Tommy to observe by the hallway. “I’d like you to meet Tommy.”

Tommy briefly met Techno’s gaze and was met with a solemn stare as they sipped on their coffee. He’d be joking if he said he knew what was going on in the teens head. 

The blonde forced himself to give one short acknowledging nod at the pinkette, not trusting his voice to form any coherent words as he shifted uncomfortably from where he stood. He deliberately kept his eyes averted from the twins at the table, fully well knowing Techno was most definitely staring at him, if the hot feeling of holes being burnt through his chest wasn’t already obvious enough. 

It took everything in him to not run right there and then.

“Tommy, why don’t you take a seat next to Techno and I’ll fix you up something to eat.”

Okay now would be a good time for his voice box to work because there was no way he wanted to sit next to Technoblade. 

That was NOT his ideal way of getting caught. 

It didn’t matter if humans couldn’t read minds, if anyone could catch on to something being off, it would be Technoblade. It was like the teen had a sixth sense and somehow just always knew when something wasn’t quite right. Just like the moving of the craft knife, he was sure if he slipped up in front of Techno, they’d know and it would be game over and onto the torture in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem like it would come to that, as Techno was quick to stand and tuck in his chair as he excused himself to finish some upcoming school work.

“All good Dad, I’ve got homework to finish before school on Monday. I’ll just excuse myself.”

Tommy felt himself relax. Oh, thank Prime for humans and their absurd amounts of homework! Even if he didn’t really understand why they got it.

“Alright Techno, just make sure to have something more than coffee this morning alright? And don’t let me catch you having something potato-based before lunch, got it?”

“No promises.” The pinkette replied, before grabbing an apple from the refrigerator and began walking towards his room.

Tommy however was still glued to the hallway. 

The hallway that led to said Bean's bedroom.

Even though he was Bean sized right now, Technoblade still towered over the young boy. So much so that the light overhead was slightly obscured, casting an eerie shadow over the teens face making his deep brown eyes appear to glow a dark red. Tommy felt the way his heart spiked, his instincts screaming at him to run as his eyes darted around looking for potential tunnels and crevices to escape to. Anything to get away from this predator of man as they came to a steady stop before him.

“Ahem.” The teen cleared his throat along with a flick of his head.

What did he want? He hadn’t even done anything and was already in trouble? Should he have moved to the table quicker? Or had he stared too long?

A second cough with another jerk of the teen's head as Tommy’s anxiety began to grow finally keyed what Techno wanted from him.

Oh . 

He wanted him to move.

“Tech, quit scaring the poor kid and go around them.” Phil teasingly scolded. “You’re gonna give Tommy a heart attack.”

Techno huffed in minor annoyance before shuffling past, minorly brushing against Tommy’s arm as he did. It wasn’t hard or anything, but Tommy couldn’t suppress the flinch it caused from his prior panic. He missed the way Techno’s eyes furrowed in concern as he hurried to move before he caused any more problems.

“Don’t mind him Tommy,” Wilbur piped up, drawing the younger's attention back to the table. “He’s not much of a people person.”

The blonde finally let himself breathe as he brought his attention back to the brunette as they continued. “Come take a seat and have some breakfast, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, gingerly making his way over to the table plopping down opposite Wilbur as instructed before. As he sat, Phil picked up a plate and served a freshly cooked waffle onto it, before drizzling it in thick golden syrup and strawberries.

“Here you are, mate.” The man said placing the decorative dessert in front of him with a knife and fork.

He whispered his thanks as he picked up the utensils, but the Borrower couldn’t help but be on edge. Even if Phil and Wilbur had been nice to him his whole stay, Techno clearly didn’t want him here. He was sure that after breakfast, Phil was going to take him back to the park like he’d said, but then what? He couldn’t tell them that his real home was actually here, but also couldn’t risk being taken to the park and never finding his way back.

There had to be a way to figure out this whole mess before they brought up leaving. At most he just had to figure out a way to get back from the park after they left him there because it’s not like the walls were an option until he had a grasp on how he kept growing and shrinking.

Tommy cut a bit of the waffle off before stabbing it and a strawberry onto his fork, the maple syrup having sunken into the fluffy dessert. At least he’d get to enjoy one more good meal before he gets temporarily kicked out. 

‘Hopefully not forever’ the Borrower thought bitterly at the idea of abandoning yet another home.

“So, Tommy,” Phil began as he set a plate of his own waffles down to join the pair at the table. “Feeling a bit better?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He answered as he took another mouthful of waffle. “The waffles are really good.” The boy said, muffled between chews.

“Ew, finish your mouthful before you speak.” Wilbur grimaced as Tommy shovelled another forkful of waffle in. “I don’t want to see your mushed-up breakfast, thanks.”

Tommy slowed his chewing and allowed himself to swallow. Shoot, he hadn’t meant to upset him with how he ate again. Did he now have to be conscious about how he ate too? He thought humans ate like this all the time though?

“Wilbur.” Phil scolded as he elbowed his son in the arm. “You’re almost as bad as Techno.” 

The man sighed before turning his attention back to the tense blonde with a sympathetic smile. “It’s alright Tommy that’s not what Wilbur meant. It’s just you need to finish your mouthful before speaking. You could choke if you’re not careful.”

The boy nodded hesitantly before taking another mouthful and chewing it fully before swallowing. Why did humans have to have so many rules? In the colony, no one would have bat an eye if you spoke with your mouth full. You’d get your share and move on. How you ate was no one’s business and certainly no one cared about how Tommy ate. Then again, he’d never really had enough food to stuff his face when he was at the colony for it to be an issue. 

Perhaps he was being sloppy…

“Sorry.” He whispered before taking another bite. 

Phil sighed, setting down his knife with a soft clink. How was he going to get this kid to see that he was safe here? He hadn’t meant to make them feel more uncomfortable but it seemed the stress of it all was starting to get to the kid.

The man stared at the plate in front of him, his waffles half-eaten and starting to get cold. Each step of progress to make Tommy feel comfortable felt like it took 2 steps back. The kid was probably itching to get to the park and get back home too, but the thought of leaving Tommy like this just didn’t sit well with him. He glanced at the young blonde as he took his time with each bite, noticing how his gaze flicked from Wilbur to him and back to the plate worried as they ate in silence.

So tense, like walking on thin ice…

After finishing pacing himself on breakfast, Tommy had been intercepted by Wilbur. 

The brunette had taken one look at him and insisted he have a shower, shoving some clean clothes into him and ushered him into the bathroom. It’s a good thing he knew how taps worked, because understanding how to change water temperature would have been an awful experience had he not. 

Despite feeling bad about using the Crafts water, Tommy had to admit being able to wash up properly after so long felt wonderfully refreshing. Even seeing his own reflection in the mirror; clean and well-groomed for the first time in years, had him taken aback at how nice his hair and skin looked after a good wash.

The clothes Wilbur had given him had been some old clothes he didn’t fit into anymore and had had lying around. A pair of jeans, a basic t-shirt with some humans on it that Tommy didn’t recognise and an old blue sweater that was slightly too big on him. It felt odd to wear clothes made with fabrics of such high quality, but he instantly fell in love with the sweater. 

Now yes, he was aware of how bad his clothes had been. They were basically falling to bits on him, but it’s not like he didn’t know that. The Great Tommyinnit knows how to make nice clothes thank you very much.

If anything he was a pro tailor back in the colony, but considering he’d been roaming for weeks at a time carrying only the bare necessities before finally settling in at the crafts; new clothes hadn’t been much of a priority. He’d only really just managed to get his new home to his liking and with all the necessities he would need. New clothing had been next on his to-do list, if the mud-stained and holey garments he wore daily had made any indications of needing them.

He just needed a few days to gather the fabric and thread and he’d have a new wardrobe within the week. But the clothes he made vs the clothes Wilbur had lent him were nothing in comparison to quality! It was all just so soft and silky feeling and Tommy almost never wanted to take any of it off even if it was slightly too big. It wouldn’t be hard to adjust the seams on the jeans to make them fit better and the same with the shirt. His trusty handmade needle could make quick work of that. 

Maybe Wilbur wouldn’t mind if he took them home with him? 

That was, if he’d ever be able to go home.

Tommy still didn’t understand how any of this worked and trying to make himself leave the bathroom to ‘take him home’ was not helping.

The curling feeling in his gut telling him to just stay put and hide kept him mulling over the options in his head. But how could he do that after he told Phil he lived near the park? They would expect him to be fine once he left and go back home just like he supposedly wanted.

He turned to face himself in the mirror, stray water droplets dripped down the side of his face from his still-damp hair. The clean, presentable Tommy he saw now, no longer the same dirty, orphan he knew he was. Perhaps if he’d always been like this, he’d never have been kicked out of the colony. He never would have been alienated by those meant to care, never felt so small when it was normal. But now he was big, clean and everything someone might love as a Human Bean and yet he felt so fake hiding behind a false facade.

After all, he was only a Borrower.

The dreaded small feeling came creeping back in and all it took was one glance at the mirror for Tommy to wish he was back to his old self. He shouldn’t have put the thought of being loved in his head again. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bear the thought of the Crafts turning on him should this disguise fall. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he clutched the edge of the sink counter.

He wanted to go home and be small again. Hide away where it was safe from all that was out to get him. Away from this reflection of a boy he didn’t recognise. A tingly sensation pricked at his skin as tears began to drip steadily down his cheeks. He was being childish; he knew that, but he didn’t care. Why couldn’t he just be loved as he was?

Upon opening his eyes to look at the disgrace that was him in the mirror, Tommy found he was no longer staring at himself, but rather at the side of the wooden cabinet- three times smaller than he’d been almost seconds before. 

He’d shrunk. Again?

Confusion swept over his mind as he scrubbed at his face. How did this keep happening? One second he’s big and hating his Bean size counterpart, the next he’s smaller and wishing….

To be smaller…

It suddenly all began to make sense as the puzzle pieces began to slot into place. Every time he’d grown or shrunk, he’d been wishing to change. To be bigger to catch up or smaller to go home. He willed it, and it happened. 

Did his desire to change trigger the shift of his size?

Tentatively, Tommy stood back from the counter and focused hard. He wanted to be smaller, like his old self. Small enough to fit through the cracks, small enough to hide out of sight, be 3 inches tall again, the only right size. The Tommy size.

The tingling returned, this time all over his body as the blonde focused on changing his shape to be what he envisioned. It was a warm sensation and Tommy thought it was strange how he’d never felt it until now. When the tingling dissipated, Tommy slowly opened his eyes as a small gasp escaped him.

“I shrunk.” He whispered in awe as he took in the now enlarged bathroom. He grabbed at his hands and arms, patting himself down to prove that he indeed had changed with a disbelieving laugh. “I’m me again.” 

“Ha, I’m actually me! Oh, thank prime.” Tommy cheered as he hugged himself tight. “I thought I’d never work this out.”

The familiarity of large objects and tall ceilings finally returned the Borrower's sense of normalcy. How he missed this. He could finally go home, size not restricting him at all and return back to the safety of the walls. Just the walls, his tiny shoebox home and-

Me.

Tommy glanced around the little bathroom. The light green tiles were clearly a design choice by Phil but the fluffy light blue towels were definitely a conscious decision by Wilbur, and you’d never guess the yellow daffodils were put together by Technoblade. Each had their own little way of expressing themselves.

Tommy sighed as he stared at his hands, inspecting them front and back.

So a simple thought was all it took to change size right? 

Just think big- be big. Simple. 

Right?

Only a bit of tingling later and Tommy was back to his Bean height. It truly took no effort at all, as if it was second nature to him. Not Borrower nature, but certainly something. Maybe the other Borrowers had always been able to sense that in him. This thing that wasn’t quite right was this incredible size-shifting ability that probably no one had ever heard of and he had it. He certainly was no Borrowerer and definitely not a Bean. 

But no one else knew that.

Tentatively, Tommy reached out and picked up a single Daffodil and twirled it in his hand. He’d heard Technoblade talking about how there was a whole language of flowers and that each one meant something different when presented to another person. He couldn’t remember what a Daffodil meant but, the flower itself brought the happy memories of Crafts to the forefront of his mind.

They didn’t know what he was and with this shifting ability sort of figured out, what could stop him from staying? Or at least from getting to know the Crafts better. With something to leave behind, all it would take is to leave a trail back to the Crafts house from the park and he could go and come when he pleased. He’d be able to walk distances that used to take him days in a matter of minutes with ease and the Crafts would never have to know about where his true place of residence was.

It was a second chance at having a real family, or at least a relationship with someone that didn’t immediately hate him. He wouldn’t have to leave forever and could come back and actually talk to someone! It may be risky without knowing the full extent of the shifts, but it was a chance and a chance he was willing to take. 

A knock at the door caused the boy to jump, but thankfully he remained silent this time. 

“Tommy you alright in there?” It was Phil. Bless the old man's heart for his concern. “You’ve been in there awhile and just wanted to check if you were okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright,” Tommy called back through the door looking around the bathroom for something to enact his hastily thrown together plan. “Just about done. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, we’ll get ready to leave shortly to take you back to the park then, if you’re happy to.” 

The blonde finally spotted something suitable for his trail and quickly grabbed a handful of decorative little blue pebbles from the bottom of a vase filled with fake pink camellia flowers and shoved them into his pocket before grabbing his dirty clothes.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy said as he opened the door to where the taller blonde was standing a little bit away looking minorly concerned.

“Let’s get going.” the boy said with a smile.

This was going to work. 

He knew it.

 ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. .*  ･ ｡ﾟ☆ : ☽ .* ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. .*

__________________________

YAY! WE FINISHED CHAPTER 4!!! WOOOOO Again I am so sorry this took so long to do. I've been working on it on and off for awhile with little progress and life has just been kicking my butt lately that finishing stuff up sucks. I have made a start on chapter 5 and I do plan to finish this fic, it just may take awhile with current circumstances.

HUGE thank you to @a-xyz-s and @munchkin1156 for beta reading this chapter and grammar issues! You are my heroes TwT.

TAG LIST: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10 @guppybubbles @box-beanz

Link to tag list for future tags :3

✨Thanks for reading! <3✨

[regretfullyrave]

Lies Behind Locked Doors

And here it is! The very first chapter of my Vuzi fic, am soooo happy to finally be able to post it! If you enjoy the story please let me know, it helps a TON with motivation

A special thanks goes to @i-am-beckyu who beta read and help me to get this thing finally finished <3

You can also read it on AO3!

Chapter 1: Stand-off

Wc: 6.5k

Tw: Canon typical violence, oil = Worker blood, more feral Murder Drones than in canon

Summary: "Outside the reinforced doors of Outpost 3 an unlikely alliance is made between a Worker and a Disassembly Drone. Uzi is an angsty teen left for dead by her colony and V quickly finds out some Worker Drones are more valuable alive than dead. But can an alliance, and maybe something more, build on lies last or is it doomed to end in a massacre?"

One arm flew up in the air, the other followed, oil painted the powdered snow as it had so  many times before and pooled at where they landed. A tangled mess of wires followed them suit, and then some bits of metal. Uzi continued her scavenging through a pile of scrap, paying little mind to the bodies- body parts it contained. A gruesome sight but she grew accustomed to it. Besides, it would be worth it, these trash piles usually contained something of value. As long as one wasn’t too squeamish to get their hands dirty.

Uzi took in the sight of her black, oil-covered hands, the substance sticking to her fingers oozing its characteristic odor that quickly reached her receptors. Not squeamish, she wasn’t, but what would she give for any kind of cloth to wipe them off with. She dove back into the pile, the less time she wasted on hypotheticals the more time she’d have to– Oh, look! 

A circuit board poking out of the pile, she could definitely find a use for one of those! For what she wasn’t sure, but they were so hard to come by she would just find a use for it as she went. That’s how she preferred to go about things anyway. 

Uzi bent down to move a piece of scrap sitting atop the circuit board, shoving it aside and reaching for the gadget, she found herself struggling to un-wedge it from the two heavy pieces of metal it was stuck between. Her brows furrowed, she wrapped her fingers around it more firmly, pulled and pulled and… 

She raised her head in alarm, paused, listened in. Just the eerie silence of lightly falling snow and the rhythmic mechanism of her own motor. She bent down again, focusing on the damned little thing, her fingers were too slippery. Just the eerie silence of lightly falling snow and whooshing of wind. 

Uzi dashed inside a nearby construction site before she even processed the sound, disappearing into the darkness.

And the source came crashing down with a show, lifting a cloud of snow that hid its body from sight, only spread wings cut through the white curtain, like an angel. 

She crouched behind a deteriorating concrete wall, peeking out to keep an eye on the thing. Luckily it seemed all its interest was directed towards the junk pile in front of it, more specifically, the pair of arms Uzi pulled out of it moments prior. The machine lifted them up, one after the other, and carelessly crushed the remaining oil contents out into its awaiting mouth. The limbs were far past cold, mostly drained, the drone chewing on one like a hungry wolf chews on a licked clean bone but even that lasted it only a few seconds.

It had a gander on the pile, probably spying out a little something to sink teeth into. Uzi cursed under her breath quietly, she had to get out of here, but that stupid circuit board had her lingering around. Maybe the thing is gonna move on quickly, it's not like there is anything to kill here, this part of town is a dead zone, no sane drone goes out here.

The murder machine stared at the ground between its feet, cocking its head to the side sharply. Its gaze trailed slowly from where it stood in the snow to the construction site, Uzi's eyes followed the trail. Her breathing hitched. The trail she left behind in the snow. 

Time to go.

Uzi ducked behind the wall. This is fine, this is okay. Just stay behind frozen solid walls because of course these things have thermovision, why would they not have thermovision, right? With their blade-like claws and wings and that syringe-looking all-dissolving thingamajig- Yeah, why not thermovision too! 

What she was sure to be claws slipping and digging into concrete echoed throughout the site.

As silently as possible Uzi headed in the direction she had left her stuff about half an hour ago. She navigated the bare hallways, only half constructed and never to be finished, until she came to a doorless doorway. She made sure to stay close to the walls, they were her best chance of getting out of here undetected. She peeked her visor out of the doorway and caught a glimpse of her purple backpack right where she left it, just a few meters away. 

Just as Uzi was to rush from her spot, grab her stuff and get the hell out of there, she hesitated. 

She listened in, more intently this time, but her audio receptors caught no sound other than the wind outside. Nothing akin to the noises of a Murder Drone on the hunt. Had it simply moved on or given up already? That wasn't right.

In a moment of contemplation Uzi’s gaze trails upwards, just a force of habit far too many have pointed out to her before. Her eyes hollow out and her motor skips a beat when she catches a glimpse of yellow, and that glimpse turns into a very clear silhouette. It’s almost perfectly still, hanging from the ceiling, five bright lights sit like a crown atop a wide glowing cross and another, equally as bright light, orbiting it like planets do around the sun. It would be a lie to claim the sight didn’t fascinate her, like the lure of an anglerfish, but only momentarily, before the survival drive caught up. That second of allure was gone and got replaced by fear at the realization this oil-thirsty thing was prowling just above Uzi’s stuff. 

Instead of hunting for her, wasting energy, it was waiting for her to come to it, straight into its grasp, and it knew she would– she would have, weren’t it for that dumb habit she would have waddled her way right in there without a second thought. Why would she ever think to check, she knew what these things were capable of and yet she never considered, it never crossed her mind. 

What hadn’t crossed her mind either was the elevated position giving the Disassembly Drone a certain advantage when it came to field of vision, although it couldn’t see far into hallways, it was perfectly aware of its surroundings and every single entry point into the hall, unlike her. 

She failed to notice the yellow cross snapping to her softly glowing purple optics the second she stuck her visor into that doorway, disappointing. 

Uzi took a step back, then another, trying to swiftly but silently back the hell out of there upon having realized her own murder plan, all her stuff be damned. The murder machine could choke on it for all she cares, that’s the only dinner it's going to get today. And she managed to do just that, when about half way the narrow hallway she came from, her fast paced crouch turned into a mad dash. Still trying her best to mind any debris and deteriorating scrap on the floor so as to not make any noise that would alert to her position was sharp-witted, but ultimately pointless. Although she may not be fully aware, the hunt is on. 

She leaps out of the building like a doe, with little time to think where to go next Uzi heads the most obvious route, straight ahead across the snow covered street and right for the buildings on the other side, too predictable.

If she can just get there they are sure to provide her some shelter, a sense of safety, to at least prolong the unfair game of hide and seek. But she never gets a chance to reach them.

Like a meteor, the Murder Drone comes crashing from the sky in front of Uzi blocking her escape route. She tries to get use of the snow cloud that momentarily blinds both drones by changing direction, but having lost all of her momentum while trying not to literally crash into her pursuer makes it a very clumsy attempt at best and one that almost results in her tripping over her own foot. She stumbles and the little distance she manages to get is crossed in a second and this time the crash is inevitable. It weaponizes its speed and weight to send her flying through the air. 

Before Uzi can register any pain from the collision she hits the frozen ground with a surprised groan.

She lays disoriented on her side, clutching at her midsection, it’s not where the blow landed but it feels like all the pain from around her body came sending sparks of electricity to this very spot, overheating and burning the area with such caliber she can’t be sure how much of it is just phantom pain and how much is reopening of not yet healed wounds. She drags her legs closer to her body to protect it from a blow she dreads coming, get up.

Uzi tries, tries to stand up on her feet but is too slow and out of it to avoid the next hit coming. Claws tear at her arm leaving behind a nasty trail of black, what are you waiting for.

She hisses through gritted teeth and despite the pain is quick to retaliate. She kicks at the Disassembler multiple times aiming at the peg legs in hopes of getting it off balance and down on the ground, one of her kicks almost meets with the slashing  blade claws of the drone towering over her. But she is relentless and gets a good kick in, the hunter stumbles backwards and Uzi has enough time to recover and regain her footing.

Never look back. 

But Uzi does, she turns on her heels to face her attacker. Just momentarily to reassess the situation, get a good sense of what she's dealing with and maybe attempt to fight back once more. Grave mistake. 

The second she does she's met with an X shining as bright as the midnight sun, reflecting off of her visor and piercing her like thousands of daggers— like the blade wings, each catching a hint of the yellow glow, warping it and distorting it in unimaginable ways, creating a complex array of light that burns a hole of terror into her core.

It's an empty second, no movement, no life, just stale existence. It lasts an eternity. 

The Disassembler's knees lower to the ground as it crouches, getting into striking position. One last chance, Worker. 

Move.

But Uzi doesn't.

The Disassembler shoots like a bullet and hits with the same amount of force and precision easily tackling the much shorter drone to the ground with its whole body.

The motion rips Uzi out of the blank, fear overridden state and boots up whatever sense of self-preservation that was involuntarily programmed into her. Even with the weight of the other drone pinning her down Uzi still puts up a good fight, wrestling with one of the drones arms and successfully, with the help of both of her oil-stained hands, overpowering the claws hovering over her core. That victory is only short-lived. One peg leg is enough to crush Uzi’s right hand to the floor and hard as she tries she cannot yank it from under it. 

Uzi grits her teeth, she pushes at the other drones shoulder with her weaker, oil-gashing arm, miraculously she manages to further the distance between her and her attacker but her forearm is forced over her head and quickly joins the other in powdered snow. In panic she twists and turns, squirms and kicks at nothing but snow under her boots and the drone laughs at her, viciously. One knee is enough to immobilize the poor flailing Worker Drone for good. And she's forced to watch how the Disassembly Drone's claws flex and glisten and close in and blades press heavily against her neck and— 

“And you're dead.” The Disassembly Drone deadpans, her claws making a mock slashing motion over Uzi's neck. 

An equally bright timer appears on her visor, replacing the eerie X that adorned it a moment prior. It reads 0h 03m23s19ms. 

Her restraints let go at once as does the weight pushing her deep into snow, Uzi sits herself up with strained limbs, wincing as pain spikes, familiar old and fresh new, travel through her body.

“Three minutes and twenty seconds,” the Disassembler reads out loud, far too busy fixing loose strands of hair covering her face to further acknowledge Uzi. “That's your new record. Fifteen seconds better than last time,” she puts one strand under the other.

Uzi groans. “Twenty three seconds.” 

The Disassembler hums while checking all her six claws one by one as if deciding whether they need sharpening or not. “No, I gave you a three second head start.” She finds the latter three a lot more interesting, her eyes hollowing. 

They are covered in oil. 

“Oh yeah, when exactly?” Uzi retorts, she fought for those three seconds and she will fight for them again. 

“Af-tah yuh sa-wh me,” she mumbles, finding it hard to articulate with claws in her mouth. 

Uzi's visor contorts in disgust. “Have some common decency, V!” 

V reluctantly pulls the claws out of her mouth, like she is genuinely offended. “What? Hey! I could be out hunting right now,” she goes back to licking the oil again, though this time she doesn't end up shoving them into her mouth like a feral animal. “Consider this— an appetizer.” 

“You'd wish,” Uzi huffs and crosses her arms, at least she tries to, but sharp pain coming from her arms makes her recoil with a hiss. Only now as she's looking at the three distinct gashes in her arm do the dots properly connect, adding to the disgust and frustration that make her insides twist. The sound doesn't escape V. 

Uzi pokes at the wound with her finger, wet, oozing oil, quickly coating it, it's still coming out with no sign of stopping any time soon. V is staring her down intently. It's not bad, very far from anything inner circuit damaging, but it sure stings like hell.

“Was this really necessary?” She waves off the oil covered finger, black droplets staining pure snow. 

“Yes.” V nods resolutely, then adds, “what's a little game with no stakes at risk,” she switches her now clean claws back to normal drone hands.

“But how am I supposed to ever get better if you just make me worse for wear every single time!” Uzi pouts, totally not like a child, but like a grown adult who's got a point.

“Look, you wanted this to be,” V air quotes ““authentic”, whatever the hell is that even supposed to mean.”

“It can be without you having to dismantle me every time!” The Worker half shouts.

V stares at the Worker Drone with an unimpressed blank stare. How over-dramatic. She thought to herself, it wasn't even like what she was saying was true- not like she did it every single time. Just a lot. And it's not like hurting the Worker was necessarily her intention, she always gave her a choice, enough time to act, and she either would, or she wouldn't and she'd remember well to next time. That was V’s teaching method. Consequences. Don't do as you were told and you'll have a scar to remind you of your mistake. A bit brutal? Maybe, but better than being eaten alive. 

And if this was what this whole thing was about, at least what the Worker claimed it was, to not get murdered by the fir- second Disassembly Drone she happens to cross paths with, then by all means, this was the best method. 

You have to find out the running stove is hot once in your life to never try touching it again.

Uzi turns her back on the Murder Drone in a child-like display of resentment. “Hurts like a bitch, how fitting,” she barks.

The moment she does the distance separating the two drones turns to dozens of inches, there are shivers running down her back alerting her to the sudden presence behind her and she turns around with lightning speed and a flinch. 

Never turn your back on a Disassembly drone. V recites one of her own rules in her head with a chuckle, she straightens her posture, towering high above the Worker with a sly fox smile that Uzi came to associate with nothing short of malicious intent.

“You've lost. Those,” V points at the three distinct claw marks decorating her arm, “are the consequences.” She speaks matter of factly and leaves little room for any further complaining. That, of course, wouldn't stop Uzi from opening her mouth but the taller Drone quickly shuts her up again. “But, I will give you one thing.” Uzi doesn't fail to notice how the corners of her mouth curl. “All this- training,” V stalks in even closer.

“Uh-” Is all that Uzi manages to utter before her wrist gets roughly grabbed and squeezed in the other drones hand.

“Is such a waste,” she forces the Worker's arm closer with ease.

“Hey! Wha—” Uzi attempts to pull the limb back. 

The Disassembler’s mouth parts, revealing her sharp fangs in an unnaturally wide, deranged smile. “Of precious oil,”

In that moment Uzi yanks back hard, almost toppling back into snow she's still sitting in when her wrist escapes the hungry grasp crushing it. “No! Absolutely not! Eeew, that's so-that's so disgusting!” she yells, pulling her arm back and holding it close to her chassis protectively, oil staining her clothes be damned. “You are never getting to—,” she scrambles for words, disgust having clogged her throat.

“To enjoy your sweet, sticky oil, straight from the source?” V finishes for her happily in a sickly sweet voice.

“Bleh! Never!” Uzi growls, dragging her legs to curl on herself like she is trying to subconsciously hide the wound from her attacker. 

V huffs amusedly. “You are such a coward.” 

That comment has Uzi taken aback, for a moment she just stares incredulously. 

And that only makes V double-down. “You heard me, a little coward of a Worker Drone, hiding behind daddy's precious heavy metal doors her entire life because she is too scared a big bad Murder Drone is gonna come and eat her alive.”

Uzi glared daggers at V, as if that was going to make that smug, arrogant, bipolar, insufferable and all around shootable drone shut up and not just prompt her to keep on pushing Uzi's buttons. And she knew she shouldn't let any of it get to her, to get a reaction out of her was exactly what the other wanted, but the way she stood— one hand on her hip, side-stepping, towering over her, looking at her with challenge burning in those yellow glowing eyes... Uzi clenches her jaw.

V sneers, content with having put the purple-haired drone down a notch, she'd always happily remind her just where she stands next to her and that, at the end of the day, V herself is only doing all of this for her own gain. The lack of any further arguing is like music to her audio receptors. She turns around, fully content with declaring another petty battle as won, adding one more tally up mark to her win streak. 

But as she begins to walk off… 

“Do it then.”

V's satisfied grin falters ever so slightly. 

“Bite me!” For once she means it literally, there's weird unrequired determination fueling Uzi's words, but it doesn't make her sound any confident. Not to the sensitive sensors of the taller.

V simply laughs at her. It's all she has to do to completely shatter the already hastily put together pieces of fake confidence Uzi spent so much effort trying to muster at the last minute.

“You are hilarious,” V snickers, venom on her tongue. 

And Uzi wants to snap back so badly but she has nothing left to say in her, she is just waiting for V to take a bite of the lure she suddenly seems to have no interest in. And as thankful as she should be for that in reality it only leaves her agitated further.

“No, really, you are funny. I'd say you have some bolts in you— but I see your palms are heating up, nervous?” She flashes that challenging toothy grin of hers again.

A bright purple anger symbol appears on the top of Uzi's visor. “Screw you and your stupidly convenient infrared light glowing orb things!”

“Pfft, you should see your face right now.” 

Uzi crosses her arms, this time mindful of her new wound to not accidentally touch where it's sore, and huffs, clearly she's not getting anywhere with her baitless hook, the Disassembler will seemingly do anything to spite her. Uzi sighs. “Quite the chatterbox today, ey? Let me guess, you committed mass murder.”

V hums proudly, “And very successfully.”

The only thing that can make a Murder Drone happy apparently. And in V's case happy meant unnecessarily vocal and downright insufferable… but also nicer, evident in the distinct lack of name-calling and death-threats. Better to stay on that side of her. Just… in case.

“Those ‘glowing orb things’ do come quite in handy,” she simply shrugs, pride evident in her tone and posture.

Right, and are a nasty game changing surprise for any drone unfamiliar with them, to any drone besides her if she had to guess. “It’s cheating,” Uzi rolls her eyes. One moment they are used to hunt for her hiding in the frozen concrete wasteland as part of their, Uzi sighs and groans internally, deal, and another purely just to spite her and poke fun at her. And somehow, the combination of genocide and mockery just spoke V to her. 

V swings her tail behind her, low and unthreatening but still catching Uzi’s attention, “C'mon, do you want your Murder assessment or not?” The question is impatient but sounds oddly genuine, there is no bite behind it. 

Uzi nods, “right.”

“Let's review,” V suggests, touching the side of her visor where silver strands meet their reflection. She's going through her memory banks and playing over whatever she recorded of their encounter, Uzi can tell from that yard long stare and lack of movement from her optics. She stares too, just in a different direction, by now she knows V won't show her anything anyway. Something about ‘not wanting you in my head' or whatever. 

She'd have to get close to the Disassembler anyway and, although she didn't feel like she would just randomly get offed anymore, she was still on edge in its presence and would much rather prefer to keep the meter or so separating the two drones. Better to keep her distance, just safety measures.

“Your hiding skills are downright abysmal,” V interrupts that train of thought with a compliment. 

“Hey! At least I heard you coming! It’s not like you noticed me either,” Uzi objects, recalling the whooshing of wind, a sound similar to racing wind currents, but not quite right, it's an odd whirring noise that barely overpowers the raging storm but when it does it's unmistakably mechanical. 

“Spectacular and wrong. I expect you to stay alive ‘till I at least manage to start the timer,” V's finger lingers on her screen. “Speaking off…” she trails off, and for the first time that night there is a noticeable hiss behind her words.

Uh oh. Uzi winces, attempting a small sheepish smile.

“Enlighten me, Worker, how the hell do you not notice you left a trail in the snow! And it's leading straight to you!” Oh, she is livid now, her tail lashes from side by side behind her and that display has Uzi scooting away, her eyes hollowing. So much damn time wasted on this scrawny defective runt and she would get herself murdered, just like that! Any Disassembly drone would’ve found her and swiped her head off clean with one lazy swipe!

Uzi casts her glance downwards, playing with the zipper of her jacket awkwardly to avoid eye contact. “Aha-hah, yeaaah…that, not my proudest survival moment,” she mumbles.

V casts her an ugly glare and without having to speak a single syllable Uzi shrinks further on herself. “Okay! okay! I screwed up that one bad, deathly bad, I admit it… But you have to admit I at least fought well!” 

V facepalms and growls. “You're not supposed to fight me! Fighting is what gets your limbs ripped to shreds, singular in your case, and torn from your still twitching body.” But that growl is quickly replaced with something more sinister. “Ever seen limbless bodies crawl away?...” She waits for an answer, then continues. “I have. Crazy to think how far a single uselessly turning joint can get you.”

“Do you think any of them got away?” the murder bot questions, ceasing the movement of her tail and letting it rest low to the ground.

Uzi doesn't answer that, not verbally but her shoulders do noticeably slump. Finally she shakes her head weakly.

V smiles down at her. “Yeah,” she breathes out.

Uzi chews at the soft synthetic plastic that makes her lower lip nervously. “Any other compliments?” She asks sarcastically, but it's a lot more timid than it is normally.

V sighs, surprisingly her threatening aura seems to soften just a little, “You weren't an obnoxious red smudge on my visor the entire time… and didn’t fall for that old ceiling trick, eh, not completely, that's an improvement,” she huffs.

The Worker Drone was left staring puzzled, she had seen mood swings in her life before, she was a teenager surrounded by dozens of other teenagers for Robo-Christ sake, but how the Disassembler went from rather casual to a death-thirsty, ill-intended bully and back in the matter of a few sentences was beyond her. She wondered whether this was what being a heartless killer came with, unpredictable spikes of malice and need for oilshed, or if this was something else occasionally showing up with the root cause going much deeper than the surface she could see.

“Get up,” V prompts her, for once it doesn't sound like a direct command and that's partially why Uzi finds herself slowly rising to her feet. It's not a steady climb, more like going up an unsteady ladder threatening to topple over at any moment with one arm held close, trying not to hoist the damaged insides under her relatively repaired stomach plating. 

Yellow light reflects off her visor, V is following her movements intently and although she doesn't offer any help, not that Uzi needs it, she does move out of Uzi's way, giving her more space to balance herself upright at her own speed.

Those healing nanites are taking their sweet time. 

When up on her feet, the Worker dusts herself off from the snow sticking to her clothes and adjusts her beanie with care. She's about to speak again when a large blade wing steals the air from her fans. 

With a single swift motion from the pair the Disassembler takes off high into air. 

“Wait! Where—?” By then it's pointless, her words reach nothing but the surrounding buildings, she is gone so fast it's hard to tell which direction she even went.

Uzi stands there for a bit, looking up at the sky… 

Then she kicks snow with her boot, waiting, standing around…

And finally she silently marches off back the direction of the scrap pile.

She crouches down, one foot in the pile shoving off something claiming the gadget as its own and refusing to let go of it, while her hands pull with newfound strength until it all finally lets go, the circuit board in her hand.

She looks it over, then pockets it.

Cool. 

Whatever.

Uzi stands idly in heel-high snow, looking up at the night sky where tethered clouds allow her. The thought of going ‘home’ crosses her mind repeatedly but she cannot will her legs to move. Home isn’t the place she came to associate the word with anymore, although it never was a particularly pleasant destination now– well, solitude does a lot to a drone. Oh, there it is again, that cold pang in her chassis.. and the prickly burning in her optics too. She shakes her head, readjusting her beanie. And the feeling is gone just as quickly as it came. The barren wasteland of ice is quiet again. Just the eerie silence of lightly falling snow and whooshing of wind…

Uzi spins around 180 degrees like a viper and doesn't miss the cloud of snow lifting off just a few feet away from her. Relief immediately floods her jumpstarted circuits like a coolant when instead of a death-bringing X she is met with a pair of perfectly normal drone eyes. 

“V!” she calls out.

“You left this back there,” V gestures nonchalantly to the purple bat-winged backpack she's dangling on one finger like she didn't just burn through her oil reserves to get it. Even now hearing a Worker call out for her by her name feels— weird. It's not a cry of terror or anything akin either and that is— it doesn't feel right, she shifts her stance, suddenly finding herself back on that awkward middle ground she despises so much. She has half a mind to tell the Toaster to quit calling her, especially by her name, but then she'd be undoubtedly flooded with questions she doesn't want to delve into. Not now, not ever if she can help it. So she keeps shut, shaking off that odd feeling that rests on her shoulders.

“I was going to get it,” Uzi deadpans, no way is she leaving days worth of scavenging behind, unless it involves her becoming a corpse for someone else to scavenge from in the process.

“Sure. Your breakneck speed was making my joints freeze over, had to warm them up a bit,” she flexes the joins of her wings, fanning them out a couple of times with audible clangs of metal against metal. 

A cheeky smile catches Uzi off guard. “Think fast!” 

But not as much as the weight of all her precious loot crashing into her arms with such force she barely manages to keep her footing, stumbling for a bit before getting a firm grip on the thing. “Hghh— thanks,” she huffs under the weight. 

V smirks. “Not bad.” 

“I know,” Uzi regains her attitude with her balance. “I have reflexes for days, thank you.” 

V’s wings fold back behind her as she rolls her optics. “More like three minutes and twenty seconds.” 

“Twenty three,” Uzi corrects, lifting her index finger.

“Drop it,” V growls lowly.

“Never!” Uzi stomps her foot.

And she earns a stern genuinely tired look from V.

Uzi clears her throat, switching her pose to a less maniacal one while feeling the awkward silence falling between the two drones again. “Sooooo what do I do— better?” 

Now that was the million dollar question that plagued Uzi's mind as much as it, begrudgingly, plagued V’s. How do you survive your own planned disassembly, or at least, how does one buy more time? Prior to all of this, it was something that never would've crossed V’s mind, she would rarely ever worry about death although it came for her every twelve hours, when the night sky paled in fear of the single blazing star. And what would she do then? She would hide. Easy as that. Find safety in an old building or the mass drone graveyard she called home and recharge peacefully where the fire demon couldn't get her. Workers caught up to that tactic, they hid too, just from their own demons and only came out when Disassemblers couldn't, if ever. That's why everyone in this Workers colony still lived, including her. 

But this freak of a Worker didn't have that luxury anymore, she couldn't hide away and live a lazy, cowardly life in some fortified bunker. She survived by staying under the radar, like a mouse in a mansion. You know it's there, but where? Behind sturdy walls, no hope of ever busting them down. If this all proved anything, it's that no Worker can survive an encounter with V, which is something she’d pride herself in normally, but currently was draining her battery.

Finally V sighed watching the purple haired drone adjust the straps of her backpack firmly on her shoulders. “If you want to live, you gotta be unpredictable. If I can predict your next move, I'll chop your foot off before you make it. Abort the Worker Drone pathfinding.”

Oh right, that shouldn't be hard at all, abort the code programmed into her circuits since manufacture and become some rogue ai, more rogue than Worker Drones already were, sounds just easy enough! “And how am I—”

“Never head straight. Never let your intentions show. And never let anyone know what you are thinking,” V cites the three new ‘never-evers’ to be added to the ever adding list, a couple of new sticky notes to decorate the walls of Uzi's new living compartment. What colors shall these be? She makes a mental note of them for now. They are important, every bit of information is crucial, but currently, they fall flat on their face. “And work on your hiding, seriously, you're making yourself look embarrassing.”

Uzi knits her digital eyebrows together. “Is that all you have?”

V shrugs. “What do you expect? I hunt, I don't cower. Honestly, you should just come for murder tips instead,” she giggles and Uzi can't tell if it sounds playful or threatening. “I'd help you dispose of the body.” 

“What an irresistible offer,” Uzi deadpans, she may know a few drones deserving of an unceremonious end but… there are other, more creative methods that would allow her to keep her hands clean.

V sighs, admittedly she will have to think of something. If she wants this drone to live, which she supposes she does, some things will have to change because this is barely getting them anywhere. Hopefully she can come up with something when she gets back to the Spire for the day. 

Speaking of…

The Murder Drone displays her claws for the final time that night, the razor edges reflect moonlight up to where they sit lodged in the concrete of a nearby decrepit building. The blades slice through the construction like it's made of butter and she makes a swift climb up. How fast? Uzi tries to calculate, but can't manage to, before she begins a stopwatch of her own the drone already sits perched atop, surveying the area. If she had to make an educated guess, it could scale vertical surfaces about as fast as she could cross horizontal ones. So very fast.

V scans around the area, switching through different modes of her optics to detect any organic movement or signs of nearby life. No other heat signals than hers and the purple Worker’s which immediately jumpstarts lines of code in her programming, readying her for action, before she just as quickly shuts them off. Not this one. She reminds it and her code reluctantly obeys. For now.

She eyes the street carefully just to double-check, less worried about Workers eavesdropping on their little conversation and more interested in filling her almost full oil reserves to maximum capacity, but there is no one. 

From the height she spots a little mechanical creature skittering around not far from the Workers legs, but the finger sized keybug isn't worth the drop, even if they make good snacks. “You're leaving,” comes from down below and their optics meet, it's more of a statement than a question.

V cocks her head to the side, her silver bangs sliding off the sides of her visor and partially obstructing her vision. ��Obviously.” 

She watches the purple drone’s posture change at her response, one hand holding onto her elbow while her gaze trails off to look at nothing on the ground. Whether it's nervousness from V staring her down like a hawk or just feeling at the damaged arm that's still oozing that sickly sweet scent of oil that won't quit flooding V’s mouth, she can't tell. 

“When can we do this again? Uh, like training to survive my own murder and stuff I mean—” Uzi's voice gets more mumbly as she goes on.

“Meet me at midnight by the old tower crane,” V thumbs down a long narrow street to give a general direction, although a giant crane is pretty impossible to miss, at least while flying above the city. “If I don't show up, don't wait for me.” Last thing she needs is for the Worker to become a sitting duck out in the open.

Uzi lets her hand slide off of her arm. “Alright, noted” She nods resolutely, not sure if the Murder Drone can even see it from that far. “Midnight, by the crane, got it!” With her precious loot secured on her back, Uzi is ready to walk off when the by now too familiar voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“Oh, and, Toaster?” 

Uzi stops, and V eyes her down from the roof, eyes suddenly alight with newfound interest. “How’s Door 2 doing?” They shine so bright they might just burn a hole straight through the Worker.

“Shut, locked, frozen solid, as dull as ever,” Uzi lists drily, then grumbles. “The whole of Outpost 3 is like a fortress, I've checked around the whole perimeter. Unless you have some murder-tech that can bust down the metal walls, there's no way to get in.”

“Hah, yeah, you tell us that,” V waves her hand off. 

Us? Uzi perks up internally. Who is us? Murder drones always operate alone in separate districts, they are programmed to stick to their designated hunting routes and stay far from other Murder Drones for maximum efficiency, aren’t they? Murder Drones will kill rogue Murder Drones that stray from the programming. This very Murder Drone claimed as much… Uzi's digital brows furrow, just a general statement or slip of the tongue? Maybe both. Interesting— add that to the ever piling pile of questions on sticky notes that decorated the walls of her home and mind.

“But—” V continues in a sickly sweet voice, “I am sure a little keybug like you can find a way in, right?” she cocks her head sharply.

“I am working on it,” Uzi replies, not wanting to elaborate on the bitter matter any further. She will find a way back in.

The Murder Drone giggles, for a moment it looks as though she's contemplating something before simply smiling with her fangs on display. “I’ll be watching you.” 

And just as suddenly as she appeared she is gone. With one beat of her giant metal wings.

And that leaves Uzi all alone in the world again. 

She feels the cold creeping to her core, it's a familiar feeling, the internal chill, her system will soon start sending low temperature warnings to get her on the move and avoid her joints freezing over. She sighs, the warm air from her vents creating a small puff of steam in front of her mouth. She spares the now lonely roof one last glance and a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“I'll be seeing you around too, V.”

[munchkin1156]

Whaaaaaaaaat? Munchkin posts something that isn’t literally what her blog is about???

yeah. buuuuut, on the other hand, this is my main, and I feel like I should put it there, since I’ve been procrastinating that for about two weeks now :D

This is for the PJO X Hermitcraft fanfiction contest by @ahllohehn!!! It’s really cool!!!

please maybe go read the fic and kudos it on ao3 if you liked it? That would be very very very nice of you :]

I… will do my taglist. But this isn’t my normal stuff as you can tell!! No need to reblog or anything!

@i-am-beckyu, @da3dm, @brick-a-doodle-do, @faeiyn-cant-write, and I don’t know the new username of the final person qwq

[da3dm]

In the deep blue sea, there isn't a place for me

—

Yeah I got that title from the same thing sloth sent brick...but I changed it a bit! Here's the result of that mystery poll from before—Sloth kinda half helped with editing this...this is a oneshot with two parts to it bc it'll be super long otherwise and then brick would never read it

It feels rushed to me but maybe not to you guys! Also my askbox is always open

Taglist: @brick-a-doodle-do , @i-am-beckyu , @justarandomsloth , @awkwardgtace , @rosewriting-ao3 (and look rose, gentle giant!!)

If you want tagged you gotta tell me or I can't

TW: Unintentional fearplay, character believing they'll die, begging to die (won't die), blood, mild cursing there's like one curse word bc Irza is Irza, character thinking they might be eaten, mention of suicide. (If there's more please tell me)

Word Count: 4.3k

Part 1/2

Well, this was by far not how he expected his day to go, but...he never did like boring things. But maybe even this was a little too far a stretch to be seen as boredom relief. His time would've been better spent not getting in this situation. Honestly, the last thing he remembered was the pod of mer he lived with outcasting him by using a prank. He was brought out to the middle of nowhere and ditched. With that sort of result he didn't even bother trying to return…he'd had enough and been planning to leave soon anyway. Seeing as he didn't have any possessions, he simply swam away.

Then everything had started to darken. It hadn't been too concerning because looking around…there really wasn't anything there. No predators. So he continued on his way to the shore, hoping to travel through the shallows to find a new home rather than the open ocean. Only a pod could somewhat safely be in the open like this, not a lone mer. It hadn't been too long after until he discovered the water was shoving him around strangely. Lightly, at first. Then it quickly started to increase and his panic rose rapidly. If only he'd noticed that the oncoming darkness was the omen of a storm.

It swept him away helplessly, flailing through the water like a loose piece of kelp. He could faintly recall that it pushed him roughly in the direction of shore, yet another thing only making the water's abuse even worse. It was fully expected that the water's torrent would smash his rather frail body into the rocks lining the edges. Leave him stranded in a tidepool where he'd be picked at by predators. Maybe bury him in the sand where he'd have no hope of escape. It was at that point he'd crashed into something big and smooth, with a lot of clattering sounds all around him. Then it had gone black, the impact too much to withstand.

And that brings him to now. The sun was hot on his exposed skin, the water level steadily getting lower, and hotter. It felt like he was being boiled alive. He was trapped inside something. Something clear, that shifted and crinkled when he moved, and was rather uncomfortable. Sure, it had probably saved him from outright dying, but now he was too far from the water to even attempt tipping the thing over to escape. This was a rather precarious situation to find himself in. After waking up in here it had looked to be sunrise and the container was half full…but now the sun was directly above him, beating down on his vulnerable form while the water was so low he couldn't even fully submerge.

While half his body was in the water, he shifted around to try and rearrange a few more times and only got the same results each time. It was hopeless, so he worked on keeping his tail in the water as much as possible, refusing to believe he'd simply die here. There had to be a way out, even if that meant waiting for night to fall, when the tide would be higher. He might be out of water by then, but…it was likely his only chance of survival. Being out on the sand in the hot sun would both cook him and let his predators see he was there. That would be his end right then and there with how far he was. He may want out, but he wasn't suicidal.

Trying to think of what to do, more time was passing and the water was getting lower. It was maybe an hour or two later of him attempting to figure out freedom when there was a change. He was noticing that it was a little cooler, sparing him of losing all of the water, but that wasn't all. There was a new tremor motion the water reacted to. He blinked at the tiny, extra ripples his body wasn't causing. The ripples stayed that way but soon he realized they were getting bigger. Not long after, it came to his attention that he could feel a vibration traveling from the ground through the rest of his body. A rising dread filled him and he scrambled to try and see, holding himself up.

He couldn't see anything. Well…to be fair it looked like he was in a ditch, it'd be hard to see anywhere from this angle. The vibration stopped and he held his breath. Nothing. Was it gone? In his distraction however, he failed to notice that all his movement had drawn something after him. All of a sudden something crashed into his prison and he barely avoided calling out, biting his tongue and flailing for balance. He looked up in a hurry to face his attacker and froze. A bird. What even was this thing?? It was white but he didn't recognize it from the usual pelicans he'd seen where he used to live. Still, it was eyeing him like a new meal.

Stopping to wonder what it was might not have been his brightest idea as it was now sticking its beak inside the small opening, wings flapping wildly. The webbed feet pushed at the clear walls as he hurriedly pushed himself down, away from the threatening beak. He bared his teeth uselessly, but it made him feel a lot better. Truthfully all the motion was sickening and too chaotic to make right from left. It even made a loud, overbearing sound that made his head ring painfully. The noise echoed in this small space way too much and he slapped his hands over his ears reflexively. This was too much for him. He hadn't even started to escape yet…and he was being attacked.

Then the vibration from earlier came to his attention, much heavier than before. It made him bounce in place and even the bird reacted, looking at the cause and calling out again. Before much else happened, a new sound came to him, sounding like words, but way too loud to be words. It made the space around him shudder and the bird had left. He had to breathe for a moment before he even dared look up, bracing himself against the slick walls and gazing up just as a new shadow fell right before his clear cage. In some ways he'd wished he'd never looked up.

The owner of the massive shadow was just as huge, towering over him in a way he'd never seen before. His mind immediately supplied the word human. He'd been told about them, seen them from a distance…he knew they were bigger, but not like this. Why would he get stuck on the beach and run into one of them?! Did the world really hate him that much?! Unfair! Not to mention, humans were supposed to stay away from the area he'd been heading for. Had he really been swept so far off his intended path?? Anything was possible at his size in a storm that nasty, but going from stormy waters, to a bird, to a human, wasn't even bad luck. That's like an outright curse.

His thoughts were cut short when the giant being took a step closer to him, shaking the entire space and making him scramble to prevent faceplanting. It was coming closer. His dread didn't have time to build up before a hand came rushing towards his trap, one way too big for what seemed natural. Though he clawed at the smooth surface surrounding him, it was hopeless, the hand closing around it. He shuddered at the realization the hand went all the way around the bottle…he could see the fingers nearly connect. That was to say…he forgot what would happen when it's being grabbed.

Not even a second later, he was hoisted off the ground, making his stomach do a wild flip while he forced himself to stay calm. What if it wanted him to be scared? But when the space was tilted and the water began to flow away from him, he gave an involuntary yelp of surprise and looked around frantically. The tilt suddenly stopped and it went back to how it had been before, the water returning. This time when looking at the human, he found bright green, huge eyes that were both locked right on him. He fought back a shiver, meeting that, admittedly, intimidating gaze. The eyes widened and he froze up.

Way too dizzying fast, he was racing skyward, stopping only once level with the way too big face. Out of pure instinct he bared his teeth with a growl, pushing himself back against the opposite side. He pointedly ignored that the hand was on that side of it and that he could feel the warmth it gave off from inside. Except when he growled, he noticed a responding movement from above and his eyes snapped to it, only to go stiff and regret showing aggression. Those weren't the right ears. They were like triangles and kept swiveling around. Listening, he thought. He suppressed another shudder, instead choosing to glare at this giant and those horribly observant eyes.

He knew he was being stared at, his every move kept track of, but he was trying to wrack his brain for why those ears and unnerving eyes were familiar to him. There wasn't much time to think as that loud sound came at him again—the voice. Definitely a voice. He ignored the words. They were too distorted and loud to understand while stuck inside this thing anyway. Besides, he didn't want to hear the taunts or what it might be planning to do to him. He'd rather seem boring and be tossed back to the ground and ignored.

Except those eyes changed and almost looked…worried? He scowled at it, but the voice returned and everything was turning sideways at an agonizingly slow pace. His slow slide felt like torture, especially with how fast the water was already pouring past him, tugging him along faster than it was tipping. At this point all he could do was weakly scratch at it, feeling like he was being played with on his way towards the only opening. The last thing he tried was spreading his arms too wide to fit while trying to turn to keep his tail inside. If it fell out, the weight would just drag him down.

When he hit the opening he stuck, just as intended. A grim, victory smile plastered on his face as he fought to keep himself in this same position while looking to the side at the human. What he found was a look of surprise, but nothing happened. It was held in the same position, not moving even slightly. He thought he'd be shaken or something, but it never came. Instead, the voice came again, still not understandable from his position. It got quiet and motionless, as if the human was just waiting for him to change his mind or something. Not happening! That was when he noticed he was slipping. The giant jerk was waiting him out.

He growled in real anger at being treated this way, noticing those creepy ears moving as he made the sound. All he could see in those big eyes, was patience. A steady, calm, patience. Like this human already knew they'd win this. And they would, which only upset him even more. The problem was that he was still slipping, and steadily feeling like he needed to catch himself. Was he just going to fall to his death or what? Was the human dumping him out of the way? It was hard to say, but he was about to find out for himself. There wasn't even a shred of hope in his mind of holding on for longer than the human could wait…the surface and angle were simply too much and only half his body could be used to prevent it.

With one last squirm in an attempt to stay inside, he finally couldn't stay splayed anymore and fell headfirst out of the thing. His eyes screwed shut, certain he would plummet to his death…only for the result to be much less dramatic. The impact was muted, interrupted maybe only a second later by something soft that smelled heavily of herbs. For a moment all he could do was breathe, his heart racing painfully as his chest heaved from the scare. He didn't waste much time and after only a few breaths, he moved to figure out what exactly happened. Seeing it made him freeze up, his eyes landing on the tan colored, patterned floor beneath him. Skin.

Looking up while already know what would be there, his almost weary gaze trailed up the length of an arm all the way to the human's face. He was in the damn thing's hand. He inwardly groaned and pushed himself up while taking a deep breath, glancing at the fingers towering over him. A threat. It was mostly behind him and he let his head hang so he could simply see past his arms without it knowing where he was looking. It was hard to know what would happen if he was caught staring, and honestly? He'd rather be ended because he fought back, not for looking at something. That would be even worse than having been abandoned by his own pod using a prank. So he held his breath and looked up at that face again.

Then he immediately bit the hand beneath him. Hard. His aim was to draw blood at the very least, and he needed to do it before the human could stop him. The only response he seemed to get was a quiet whine of pain and a harsh flinch that nearly sent him off the hand. What stopped such a fate were the fingers, curling up over him. Without delay, since the other bite was already bleeding, he whipped around and sunk his teeth into one of those massive digits instead, his arms wrapping around it so his claws could dig in as well. He was fully aware that he couldn't win this, but that didn't stop him from trying.

What did make him pause was that finger separating itself from the rest slowly, followed by that much too loud voice ringing out above him. "Uhm…will you please let go…? That…it kinda hurts?" The voice was still too loud for him, but he could for the first time understand the words being spoken, even even what sounded like hesitation in the tone. Of course, his response to this comment was to bite even harder and snarl while he did, moving his head a little to trying twisting and make it worse. The human winced in pain, those ears drawing back as it instead muttered, "Yeah, okay, that's fair." He wanted the human to feel pain, why was it saying this was fair?!

His anger was boiling over and he grabbed onto it, using it to bury all the fear as he snapped his head to the side with an angry hiss, clawing at the finger he'd been biting before it bending forced him to let go. He fell back onto the palm, not really able to support himself with his tail. Wait. The human had a tail too. He narrowed his eyes while keeping his teeth bared as a few things clicked into place. He remembered an animal that had those ears, eyes, and tail. It was also very sharp in his mind that he'd seen it swiping fish out if the water and chasing any mer that got close. He didn't know the name, but this human looked like they were part animal. That animal. That eats fish. And probably mer too.

A very brief look of terror flashed through his eyes and he dug his claws into the palm a whole lot more to hurriedly turn it into anger. He looked this giant in the eye with as much Hate and rage as he could muster, his mind simmering as he ignored how the sun was slowly making his skin itch as it dried him out. With one deep breath, he practically screamed out, "THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN GOING TO DO?! STOP STARING AND JUST DO SOMETHING DAMNIT! YOU'RE TOO LOUD AND TOYING WITH ME! IF YOU'RE GOING TO DO SOMETHING TO ME, JUST DO IT!" His sudden volume was plenty loud enough to make those freaky animal ears go down and it felt like his own personal victory.

Until the hand finally moved. He was going up, being brought right to that face. It was impossible to fully get rid of a shudder as his eyes widened. Was he going to die now? His mouth did usually get everyone mad at him. He'd actually asked for this one though, but…he looked at the closed mouth of the face he was rapidly approaching. Was the giant going to eat him like that animal did that fish? He turned his head away to hide his face while not wanting to see what would happen to him. It was over. He'd purposely yelled at the human and said to get it over with. It was only a moment later that he felt the huge digits behind him start to close in on him. He didn't even flinch.

He was expecting to die somehow, but the human decided to speak again. "What?? You…do you think I want to hurt you? I'm sorry I was too loud…did I really scare you that badly? I wasn't trying really hard not to—" Why was this stupid giant prolonging his death? But they just continued their ramble. "—but I…I messed up? What did I do? How do I fix it? Is there something you want?" The voice was growing increasingly higher pitched and they were talking way too fast. He growled inwardly, despising that he had to listen to such idiotic lies after begging to die. Did it really thing he was that stupid? That he wasn't just some fun creature to toy with and leave to die? Lies.

He raised his head back up to stare his likely killer in the eyes, only to find out they were right in front of him. He had soared past the mouth and even the nose, being held so perfectly level with the eyes that he couldn't avoid noticing their emotions. With a shiver he didn't even try to contain, he scrambled backwards only to realize those fingers were holding him in place. His eyes were rounded at this revelation, merely glad to see his tail was at least still against the palm and not just hanging. If relieved was the right thing to feel, rather, when he was terrified. What else could he feel when staring into eyes each bigger than his head. Happiness??

Finally though, the hand moving snapped him out of it right as the human softly asked, "Hey, are you okay? Can't you speak?" Alright, so now he was going to be seen as some stupid animal that didn't even have intelligence? Like he'd allow that.

With yet another ferocious snarl, he growled, "Get the fuck away from me." His voice felt despairingly weak and he swallowed hard. Having to meet these eyes like this was…so uncomfortable. It frayed his nerves and played with his mind. The eyes looked too guilty. He leaned away. "Just…just leave me alone or kill me already. I don't want to play these games anymore." He was scared, but his tone still came out full of rage.

The huge eyes only got bigger as they widened, full of what looked to borderline horror. "Kill you?! I'm not going to kill you!" The human shouldn't be sounding so scared of his words. They should be getting mad, yelling at him, hurting him. But nothing was happening. Instead, he rapidly found himself tumbling back down into the hand, which now became two, simply cupped together. It wasn't right to be held like he was breakable. He glared at the human. They just wouldn't stop trying to mess with him.

Without thinking it through, he snapped, "Why not?! You're bigger than me, you're a predator, I shouldn't even still be alive except to be a handy little plaything for your own entertainment!" Nothing was said in response, everything going quiet. The human was…silenced? By his worthless and weak voice? This game was getting absurd and the look of pity he was receiving only served to make him retaliate with anger. He bit the hand again, trying as hard as he possibly could to be dropped or finally killed or something.

A wince of pain, but then nothing. He growled and twisted his head, eliciting a gasp and a following whine from right beside him. "Please don't do that…" Not long after, the other hand stopped being a floor for him and tilted up to cover him from above. He stopped and bit a different spot, feeling his eyes burn from tears he refused to allow free. This was it. The human was finally going to end it, by…crushing him. He finally got what he wanted…why did it make him want to escape from it? To never have asked for this? But no pain came. It was darkened, but stopped there, the other hand harmlessly held over him, making it almost reminiscent of a cave…if the walls were made of tanned flesh that kept moving around him. A muffled voice came to him next with, "I'll just put you back in the ocean…"

A spike of fear at the thought of returning, and yet he could already feel the human moving, making him roll slightly while struggling to stay in place. He stopped biting, now more intent on keeping himself still and not being given back to the ocean. Sure he'd been planning to escape there, but if he was for some reason getting free transport he wanted something else. A river or stream, something to make his boring life have some sort of meaning to it. This felt more like he'd be discarded this way than freed into it. He wasn't going to say or do anything, but his racing heart won. "WAIT WAIT WAIT!"

Everything immediately stilled and he had to cling to the skin under him to not go rolling away. He wanted to relax and maybe try to figure out why he'd said to wait, but the human of course had to butt in on it. "Don't you live there? I'll put you back, are you sure?" He inhaled sharply, thinking about being in the exposed shallows with the sheer number of those strange birds from earlier hanging around. He'd seen how many there were already. If he was put back in, not only would he be back in the place he'd grown to hate, he'd become food. Dying by the hand of a giant sounded much better than temporary, fake freedom, followed by being eaten.

He moved a bit, wincing silently at how dry his tail was feeling. "...I don't want to be in the ocean. Do whatever you want with me, just get rid of me already, but not the ocean…" He should've been asking for the ocean, not to stay away from it. This was stupid. Why would the human even listen? All he did was give it a new way to hurt—

"Okay, I won't." He stiffened greatly. Won't what? The voice sounded almost resigned with those words, making his already raised guard bristle with discomfort. Before he could demand an answer though, they spoke again, "I'll just…take you home. You're probably needing some water about now and my skin can't be helping that, not to mention it's really hot out today, huh? And it's not like there's any other water sources around…I don't even know what else you want if you don't want the ocean. Maybe you'll tell me once you're not so dried up?" He blinked at the half darkness as he listened to the disembodied voice from beyond the walls of hand.

The human was…just going to keep him? Probably to be able to toy with him better. Tools and other gadgets at their home to make his fate even worse. With an air of defeat over knowing he couldn't possibly claw his way out of the prison of hands, he hung his head. "...fine." His voice was quiet but with those ears? No doubt the human heard him. Fine. He'd accept this fate, but he'd go down fighting. He could already feel this giant moving again. For now however, he let his eyes drift shut, exhausted from his struggle and not sure if he'd even wake up later. Not without digging his claws in for good measure, smiling in grim satisfaction at the pained response he got.

Words rang out above him, "Alright, then let's go! I'll take and get a good look at you to make sure you're not injured and try to find a good place for you to stay!" That cheery voice was going to be the death of him, in more ways than one. Yet, that was the last thing he heard before his mind shut itself off. Oh well. Time to leave his fate to the mercy of this strange, giant being…even if it meant he'd die.

Maybe he wouldn't.

———

Part 2

[nobodywritingao3]

Shameful Company [ch 3] Lady Lie [3/4]

masterpost | previous

The village Tommy grew up in was located in a beast's territory, a man eating serpent's. Isolated from the world, all he's ever known is loneliness. When he's forced outside the safety of the town walls he meets a stranger who claims to live beyond the village. They become fast friends despite the fact that the man is clearly hiding something - but can you really blame Tommy? He's never had a friend before.

CW for entire fic: - Wilbur eats people lol - swearing

title taken from 'Shameful Company' by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

chapter title taken from 'Lady Lie' by Rainbow Kitten Surprise inspired by the talented @beckyu and her story 'My Monster to Slay' (tumblr) (AO3)

word count: 4.3k 🐍 read it on AO3

CW for section: depiction of depressive episode including suicide attempt, self harm, disordered eating, and anger issues

Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum; the method is similar to the maki-e technique. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. Kintsugi

How have things been since last you messaged me? I'm reminding you to keep the antidote close, perhaps on your body. I can't imagine he'll be happy trapped in human form and I recommend you keep your guard up.

"FUCK. YOU!" Wilbur screamed, smashing Phil's equipment on the ground. There was a noise like shattering glass as it landed,.

Phil winced, wondering what exactly got ruined. He toyed anxiously with his necklace. "I'm sorry," he said soothingly. "But you need to - "

"What I need is to not be stuck in this - this body!" He crumpled into a ball on the floor, breathing heavily and shaking like a leaf.

"I'm sorry," Phil repeated. "I'm so, so sorry." He made to approach him but Wilbur fell back with a growl at his first movements, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

He's had a hard time adjusting. I'm worried he won't move past this. I'm trying to be patient and I'm doing everything I can in the meantime, but sometimes he just -

"Wil, sweetheart, you need to eat something."

"No." His voice was bitter and hot.

"You haven't eaten anything in days - would you please try the stew? It would put something into your belly without you having to - "

"No." He was more insistent that time, but as well, his voice cracked and wavered. He looked away from Phil and harshly blinked tears from his eyes.

Phil nudged a half bowl of mushroom soup towards him. "There are some potatoes and the like in there, but they're softened from being cooked. I know chewing is new to you, but it's a skill you can practice and - "

"I don't want to learn how to chew," he gritted out. "I'd rather starve."

"Wilbur - you will if you don't eat, please, just try - "

I'm sorry, Phil, that's terrible.

"Oh fuck - honey, what did you do?" Phil dropped his bag and hurried to Wilbur. Kneeling down, he gently took the boy's hands in his own and delicately held them palm up to expose the wrists.

Wilbur stared blankly at the wall. He was completely unresponsive and looked terribly pale.

Phil tried to focus on his labored breathing. Dead children don't breathe. And Wilbur was breathing very hard indeed.

"We're gonna get you cleaned up, okay? It could be a lot worse than it is, but you're still - you're losing a lot of blood."

He pulled him up and Wilbur went without resistance.

The motion seemed to pull him from the fog, from the dark place he was trapped in, but only by a little. He focused hazily on Phil's face before his eyes slid away. He leaned into Phil's touch.

Phil complied, curling protective arms around him and entirely supporting his weight. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he felt warm, sticky blood beginning to soak into his clothes. "You're okay, you're okay... you're gonna be okay," he mumbled to him. "Everything's gonna be okay."

I'm worried about him. I don't think he's gonna get better.

It took Wilbur three days to wake up.

Every few hours, Phil would press his fingers against the boy's neck just to make sure his pulse was still going.

He lost sleep.

Whenever his body did finally succumb to the exhaustion, he was plagued by the same nightmare. In it, there was a cold body that wouldn't breathe but wouldn't stop bleeding, no matter what he did. He could apply any amount of bandages or tourniquets or even stitches, but the blood would soak through and the wounds would split open. He didn't know why he was even trying to stem the blood flow as the child was long dead, but he couldn't stop himself. Phil just wanted him to be okay.

The cave overflowed, a testament to his failure. The blood was viscous, solid, and completely nontransparent. As it engulfed the floor and the beds and the furniture, he became overcome with the paralyzing fear that everything it swallowed was gone forever, and he could dive deep and swim hard without ever reaching the bottom. The only thing left unblemished by the void was the body itself, frail and small and helpless and dead. Phil couldn't stop trying to save him, futile as it was. The red seeped into his eyes. He was rendered blind, and the last thing he took in before it filled his delicate lungs and killed him dead was the overpowering smell of iron and the distinct, hollow feeling of shame.

He would wake up crying and soaked in cooling sweat, and he'd fall over himself to reach Wilbur's bed. The only thing that could calm him down after those dreams was placing his ear over the boy's heart and listening to the steady beat.

Phil didn't leave the cave. He spent his days watching Wilbur. In preparation for his waking, he'd cook, boiling potatoes and grain and meat until they lost form from the gentlest touch, and impatiently, he waited. He cleaned the wounds and fought the infection with a combination of antiseptic and magic. He redressed the bandages constantly (thanking his stars that the blood never seeped through), and reapplied balm twice a day.

Under his gentle care and watchful eye, Wilbur's body healed. His body healed, but Phil never stopped worrying for his mind.

Shouldn't think like that. He had a bad moment, but he's already proven he's a strong kid. He must have been, to survive what he has. Have faith in him. He needs to be loved before he can be lovable.

"Why did you save me?"

Phil looked up sharply. It was the first thing he'd said in a week. The boy's voice was rough from disuse, and he visibly swallowed. Phil cautiously approached him, handing him his second serving of soup.

"I'm not sure how you mean that question."

He wouldn't look him in the eyes. "Just - why?"

Phil was quiet for a few seconds. "Do you think I shouldn't have?"

The boy looked uncomfortable and didn't say anything.

"I won't be angry if you say yes," Phil said gently. "I'm asking because you did that to yourself. And I have to wonder if you did it because you feel like you deserve to - "

"Does it matter why I did it?" He snapped, his fingers curling into a fist.

Yes. More than anything. "We don't have to think about that right now."

Wilbur softened. He was quiet several seconds. "So why did you save me?"

Because you were hurt. Because you're a kid. Because I don't believe anyone deserves to die. Because I believe you deserve to live. Because I love -

"Do I need a reason?" He sat on the edge of Wilbur's bed. Absentmindedly, his hand reached for the boy's hair and started to ruffle. He froze, realizing what he was doing, and made uncomfortable eye contact with Wilbur.

His cheeks were a bright red... but he wasn't withdrawing from the touch.

Phil slowly restarted his movements, scratching the boy's scalp. "You're adorable," he chanced.

Wilbur sputtered and slapped his hand away, earning a laugh from Phil. He tried to frown at him, but it didn't take long before he was laughing just as hard.

I hope you're right Tech, I really want this to work out for him. I admit, sometimes it feels like he's getting better, but other times -

Wilbur hadn't left his bed in two days.

"Take my hand, okay? I'll bring you up, and then you and I are gonna take a short walk outside. Get you some sunshine? Sounds nice, right mate?"

He stared at Phil's hand with weak contempt. "Can't you just leave me alone?" There was no real bite behind his words. "If you want to take a walk, just go by yourself."

Phil shook his head firmly. "Come with me." He kept his hand extended. "Fifteen minutes. I want to talk to you."

"About what?" Wilbur asked mistrustfully.

"About nothing. I don't have anything I want to talk to you about, I just want to talk to you."

"Well, we're talking right now."

Phil sighed and dropped his hand, his heart sinking to his feet. "Please come with me."

Wilbur glared at him.

~

"I made your favorite," Phil said hopefully, motioning towards the set dining table.

His face crumpled. "No thanks."

"When was the last time you ate?"

He didn't answer.

"Wil?"

~

"Put it down!" Phil yelled.

Wilbur scrambled backwards, a bloody bread knife still clutched desperately in his right fist. For someone who had only started walking regularly a year ago, he was surprisingly agile when pumped full of panic and adrenaline.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" He screamed back. Tears were streaming down his face and his left arm was bleeding freely.

"Please," Phil said, with as much patience and love as he could muster - which at the moment wasn't a lot - "just hand me the knife, okay?"

"Fuck no! And fuck you!"

"You can swear at me later," he begged, frustration seeping into his voice, "please just give me the fucking knife!"

Wilbur dodged his hands and sprinted towards the entrance of the cave. "Eat my fucking ass, Phil!"

Sometimes getting better looks like getting worse.

"I'm not - I can't do this!" Wilbur wailed, hugging his knees. "It's too hard, Phil, I'm never gonna get it."

Phil sat down next to him and pulled him into a tight hug, letting Wilbur empty himself of his emotions. It must have been an hour of heartbroken crying before Wilbur quieted down into sniffles and sharp breathing.

Phil sighed and traced patterns into his back. "I'm sorry. I know I say it all the time, but I'm so, so sorry."

He waited for Wilbur to snap at him, start yelling about how he should be sorry, how 'sorry' doesn't fix anything, how he hates him and no amount of 'sorry' can fix it, but he stays quiet.

Tentatively, Phil continues, "You've been working so hard. Learning to walk on two feet, and chew, and adjust to being small - it's a lot. You should have had someone to teach you these things when you were younger. I'm so sorry, Wilbur. It's so much, isn't it? It's not easy for you."

Wilbur's breathing hitched and Phil felt guilt well up inside of him.

"I - shit, sorry mate, I didn't mean to make you cry - "

Wilbur pressed himself into Phil's chest, leaning in hard and practically forcing Phil to keep his arms around him.

"Oh..." he said softly, blinking down at him.

"Are you gonna leave me?" He blurted out, voice muffled in Phil's chest.

Phil's heart ached. "No. Never. Never ever."

Wilbur clung on tight and didn't say anything else.

~

Wilbur was screaming again. Phil watched helplessly from his bed, where he'd woken up twenty minutes earlier to smashing and yelling. He fiddled with his necklace, worriedly taking in the scene before him.

Every book on nagas had its pages ripped out and crumpled, strewn across the ground like confetti, and a large portion of Phil's clothing had been torn into and cut up. Food was spilled across the floor. Everything was in disarray.

Wilbur was currently tossing things into the fireplace. The fire inside was steadily dying. He didn't seem to give much regard as to if what he was burning was flammable or not, but he still tossed anything he could reach into the pile.

Phil stood up, his heart aching, and made his way to the kitchen area. He gingerly stepped over broken shards of glass and spilled rations while Wilbur stared at him, breathing hard and looking ready to brawl.

Phil just gave him a sad look.

"Will you fucking quit that?!" Wilbur snapped, sending a pile of papers onto the ground.

He winced as they went down, and Wilbur bared his teeth in a mock smile.

Phil just sighed and pulled open one of the cabinets, happy to find that the tea, kettle, and cups were still perfectly preserved. He started to set some water boiling on the stove.

Apparently dissatisfied with his reaction, Wilbur screamed again before picking up a lantern and smashing it down as hard as he could. Shards flew and spread across the ground.

Phil ignored it.

Wilbur started to march towards him, but stumbled and gasped in pain as a long shard of glass lodged itself into his foot. He made a throaty, angry noise and stomped his foot down hard, pushing the debris deeper into his skin before continuing to limp towards Phil. He readied a hand to smack the boiling kettle off the stove, and it was here that Phil finally stepped in.

He grabbed Wilbur around the wrists and tugged him away, firm but gentle. Wilbur writhed in his grip but he paid no mind, sweeping him into bridal style and carrying him to his bed as he clawed and thrashed. Phil deposited him onto the mattress and turned away, back to the tea. He continued preparing it in silence.

Wilbur stood up and hobbled to the kitchen. Phil made to stop him again, thinking he was still trying to knock the tea over, but instead he reached for the cabinet containing their silverware and dishes. He snapped open the little door and started grabbing for the contents.

Staring him in the eyes, Wilbur took a dish at a time and smashed them against the wall. He got through five while coldly glaring at Phil before he started to pick up the pace, gradually paying less and less attention to his reactions - or more accurately, his lack thereof - as he threw everything he could at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Hot tears streamed down his face. Then he ran out of dishes. He kicked a half broken bowl into the wall and stepped into the shards. By now, there were bloody footsteps all over the floor, tracing out his meltdown, and he seemed all too happy to add more paint to the canvas. He fell to his knees and the glass sank into his flesh there as well. He pressed his palms into the floor and he raised his hands, Phil caught sight of the torn up, encrusted skin.

Wilbur started to whimper, and then he started to sob.

Phil poured two cups of hot tea and left them on the table to cool. He made his way to Wilbur, assuming he'd gotten it out of his system.

He looked up at Phil, his cheeks splotchy and red and his eyes completely bloodshot, and then he reached for the nearest sizable glass shard. Seeing Phil quicken his pace, he quickened too, raising it rapidly towards his face - towards his eye. Just as he made to plunge it into his skull, Phil grabbed him around the arm and held him back. He pulled the glass from his grip, ignoring the cutting sting on its edge and let it shatter on the floor before Wilbur could further self mutilate. He tried to grab him around the armpits, get him to his feet, but Wilbur kicked him hard and shoved him away.

"GO AWAY!" Wilbur screamed. "JUST FUCKING GO!"

Phil tripped as he backed away, his breath catching in his lungs.

Wilbur inhaled sharply. "Fuck - just fuck off..." His voice came out considerably weaker.

It was silent, save for his soft crying.

After a painfully long half minute, he managed to choke out a single, heartbroken, "Why?"

"Why... why what?"

A sob fought its way from his mouth in spite of his best attempts to choke it down, and a fresh cascade of tears went down his face. "Just - why?" A dam broke. "I don't -  I don't get it," he cried, barely able to speak for the sobs wracking his body. "I don't understand. Why? Why? I don't - I just... I just don't fucking get it."

He raised his a hand to wipe away his tears, and the invisible barrier keeping Phil anchored to the spot dissolved. He shot forward and stopped Wilbur's hands, insistent on wiping away his tears himself.

"Glass hands," he murmured. "Let me, okay? Just let me..."

Wilbur hung his head and continued his broken wailing, but he didn't fight as Phil carefully wiped the tears and snot from his face.

Phil sifted through the debris on the ground until he unearthed one of his day packs. He opened it and reached into a padded inner pocket, pulling out a small vial. He returned to the table and pulled one of the teacups forward, emptying the potion into the warm drink.

"Healing pot," he gentle explained. "Let's get you fixed up."

He returned to Wilbur's side and helped him to his feet. Slowly guiding him to the table. An absurd thought hit him then, how similar this action was to when he'd first guided Wilbur to the cave after trapping him in human form. He winced with each limped step Wilbur took, knowing the shards in his feet would only wedge itself deeper into his body. He sat him down at the table.

Wilbur reached out a bloody, glass encrusted hand for his drink and Phil shooed him off, raising the cup to the boy's lips instead. "There's enough in this cup to heal all the damage you took, so you need to drink all of it. But you can pace yourself."

He took a few sips before miserably pulling away. Phil obliged, setting the cup down and pulling his own towards himself. He watched idly as the glass in Wilbur's hands slowly started to push itself out.

"There you go," he murmured warmly. "Potion's doing its job just fine."

By now, Wilbur's crying had begun to taper off.

Phil raised the cup to the boy's mouth again, and he accepted the drink. The last of the glass pushed itself free from his hands, and Phil gently set it into his grip.

They sat in silence. The sun was starting to rise. Their home was a broken mess.

Wilbur stared shamefully into his cup. "I just don't get it," he repeated, voice broken and raspy.

Phil nodded. "Which part?"

"The whole thing."

They continued sipping their tea.

Phil returned to the cabinet, grabbing a jar of honey. He stirred a few dollops into Wilbur's cup and refilled it with another portion of tea. "It'll soothe your throat."

They drank until the sun sat low in the sky.

"I made a mess," he said, breaking the silence.

Phil hummed. "It's okay."

Wilbur clenched his jaw. "How can you say that?"

"Easily."

They lapsed back into silence.

Wilbur chugged the rest of his tea, and then threw the cup against the wall. He turned to Phil with a curious, guarded expression.

Phil regarded him inquisitively. Wilbur's action had lacked anger or passion. If anything, it seemed half-hearted.

He continued sipping his tea. "Do you want another cup?" He clarified in afterthought, "Specifically to drink from."

Wilbur stared at him expressionlessly. "What. The fuck?"

"I'm not going to punish you, Wil," Phil stated with a slight note of exasperation.

He frowned at him. "I don't want you to," he said coldly, clearly offended by the implication.

Phil finished his own cup. "Okay."

"I don't!" he insisted.

"I said okay."

Wilbur was quiet. Then he inhaled sharply and spat out, "Aren't you mad at me?!"

"... I feel like that's irrelevant."

Wilbur glared at him, his hands starting to ball into fists.

Phil sighed, relenting. "Sometimes I am. Sometimes I can be very frustrated with your behavior."

Something in his face dropped and his body went limp, a devastated look like disappointment flashing across his face before he could properly cover it up with a snarl. "Good," he hissed.

"I get angry at you because I care about you, mate. If your goal is self destruction, I wouldn't count this as a victory."

"That doesn't make any sense - none of this makes any sense!" Wilbur exploded.

"I know it doesn't."

"Well, do you care to explain?"

Phil scrubbed at his face. "I would if I thought it would make you feel better." Before Wilbur could say something to add to his spiral, he continued plainly, "I'm going to throw this cup at the wall."

This caught him off guard. "Excuse me?"

Phil threw his teacup at the wall. It exploded. Wilbur stared at him with a slack jawed expression.

"I want to show you something."

He began to murmur under his breath while making quick motions with his hands. Light and sparks began to dance and fill the air behind his fingers' movements. Wilbur's eyes widened. The cup fragments lifted and floated airily towards the table from where they'd collected on the ground. They arranged themselves neatly in a circle. With a deliberate flick of his fingers, the shards fit themselves together like a jigsaw puzzles, and with a softly hummed three note tune, clean gold liquid started to materialize in the air and apply itself to the cracks. Wilbur watched in awe as the delicate shards slowly came together, even the smallest pieces finding their way to where they used to be. The cup, repaired with beautiful gold binding over its cracks, gently set itself onto the table before the pair.

"It's a kintsugi spell. And I want to teach you how to perform it. I also want to teach you how to brew healing potions."

Wilbur swallowed, a conflicted look crossing his face. "Is this why you aren't punishing me?" Because the damage I did wasn't permanent, wasn't big enough. Because I haven't truly pushed you to the edge?

Phil gave him a look. "I'm not punishing you because there's nothing in this world that you could do to me - or to anyone else - that would make me think you deserve to be punished."

A defiant look crossed his face and he spat out harshly, "That is bullshit. You're a fucking liar - or you're delusional. I don't know what's wrong with you, but that isn't how this works. I just want to know - " he cut himself off, glowering at the table.

"It is how this works," Phil gently countered. "It is how this is working."

Wilbur glared at him. "I've killed a lot of people, Phil."

"I know you have."

"And the majority of them didn't deserve it. At all. They were innocents." His voice broke at the end and he furiously blinked back tears. That indignant, heated look never left his face.

"I know that too."

"I ate most of them alive."

Phil didn't respond, only looking at him sympathetically.

"I heard them screaming and dying inside of me, and I never once felt bad about it." Liar.

"I know, Wil - "

"No. No, I don't think you do."

Phil sighed. "Sweetheart, I saw you eat Jared."

Wilbur's mouth fell open in shock, and a mortified look crossed his face.

"Don't be embarrassed that I know. The first time we met, you kept trying to kill me too. You kept trying to eat me."

He averted his gaze, his cheeks heating up and fresh tears collecting in his eyes.

Phil started to perform the kintsugi spell again. "The point is that I know. I know very well. And I still don't think you deserve to be punished."

He worked silently for another minute, pretending for Wilbur's sake that he didn't notice the streams of tears dripping down his face. He finished repairing the teacup Wilbur had thrown, and when he was done, he poured another portion of tea - the last portion left in the kettle - and gently dropped a spoonful of honey in. He stirred it, the sweet noise of the spoon moving in circles absolutely musical.

"I know it seems bad. I know it feels like this is a lost cause, that the damage is too much." He pushed the cup into Wilbur's hands. "But you would be surprised at the things you can fix."

Wilbur accepted the cup. His fingers traced over the gold sealed the cracks. Something in him seemed to die. "You can feel where it broke," he said desperately. His voice cracked into a whimper. "You can feel - they're still there."

"Of course they are," Phil said soothingly, running a finger across one of the gold veins on his own cup. "But the cups still hold tea just fine, don't they? You can tell our cups were broken, but they're still fully functional. And just as beautiful as they were before, even if they look different."

He touched the cup irreverently. "This tea set was a gift from my son, actually. Lots of love in these cups. Lots of history in them too."

Wilbur shrank back, fresh shame taking over his features. "I'm sorry," slipped past his lips. Phil looked at him curiously. It was the first time he'd ever heard him say that.

"You're misunderstanding me. I love these cups, mate. I'm still going to love them even if they get a little broken or chipped. I'm not going to throw them away just because of a little damage. Especially if the damage can be fixed."

He reached forward and gently pushed a few strands of hair from Wilbur's eyes. He adoringly thumbed the boy's temple. "I have every reason to keep these cups. I love these cups. Very, very much." He stared at him for a few seconds, a tender, sweet quality in his eyes. He let go of Wilbur's face and motioned for him to give him his hand.

"Will you learn the spell? I can't always be around to put things back together, and it would make me feel better if I knew someone taught you how to take care of the things you care about."

Still sniffling, Wilbur nodded. "Okay." And then he blurted out, "Thank you."

Phil smiled. "Of course. Anytime. I'm always happy to help you navigate these things, okay?"

Wilbur gave him a small smile in return, and for the first time since he'd brought him home, Phil felt like their story might have a happy ending.

~ ~ ~

🏷️: @i-am-beckyu @da3dm @flowers-of-plenty @gracideaviolet

ah haheuaheuhaeuahe. well i hope you enjoyed this

[brick-a-doodle-do]

hittin a jig !!!

inspired by that one dsmp thingy where tommy finally got his beach party but with wilbur :D am i in my art era ?? istg i find a stylus and i get motivated ???/

oh shit i have a taglist now UMMM UUMMUM

@da3dm, @rosewriting-ao3, @krazycat49, @i-am-beckyu, @a-xyz-s, @skullsnbruises (all of you lmk if you want strictly fic tags cause i can totally do that :D)

[sheena-yuet]

hallo! do you have some good rec for some g wilbur and t tommy fic?

Yes! I do have recommendations for you ! I really recommend people to watch @rosewriting-ao3 Rose’s Shameful Company and @i-am-beckyu Becky’s My Monster to Slay. Both of them are talking about naga Wilbur and human Tommy and i really enjoy how they encounter and when Wilbur’s truth identity was exposed.

And there’s a third one I also really really suggest people should see it . It’s @arc852 Arc’s Severed Up Server, amazing story concept and plot which makes me wanted to read more and more! So here’s the link to all story I suggested hope you guys like it and go check out the writer too!

Here’s the link to those amazing stories!! Plz do check them out :DDDDD Cuz I love it so muchhh

Rose’s Shameful Company

Becky’s My Monster to Slay

Arc’s Served Up

[orchid-harmony]

*flutters into your inbox and places down a token before flying away*

Token Reads:

This is a PLEASE RAMBLE ABOUT ANYTHING token. Can be used multiple times but ‘Beckyu’ would like you to ramble about some writing :3

Please and Thank you

Ramble you say?

Well, I've been slowly falling into the g/t crimebois propaganda.

Side eyes a g/t crimebois google docs and prompt

So far, I've been working on another fic that is in my google docs, planning to post it on both ao3 and tumblr.

Remember that post I made about Mario and Luigi: Dream Team giving me vibes about crimebois?

Lets just say that it's on the works.

Why not a little sneak peek?

You could say that I'm gonna have a lot of fun with this one >:3

Next thing would be Brick's prompt!

Trust me when I say this, I swear I'm working on it.

My motivation is just down the drain at the moment qwq

You could say that writers block is hitting me hard Qwq

But hey, what I can say is that there is some Jared and Wilbur friendship.

Maybe when I further develop the prompt, (Insert important spoilers that I won't reveal)

Anyways, sneak peek!!

Hope this is enough rambling for today.

[da3dm]

@i-am-beckyu , @brick-a-doodle-do , @justarandomsloth , @rosewriting-ao3 , @awkwardgtace (bc I'm interested but idk if anyone will see this or participate in it)

I wish you would write a fic where...

Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)

[i-am-beckyu]

One Small Gift

HELLO! I TOLD YOU I'D POST ONE MORE FIC THIS YEAR! And I am very proud of myself for making it a Christmas centered fic! I can't believe it's actually been a year since I last posted a Christmas fic. Like where did the time go and how did this thing spawn?

I'm gonna ramble a bit more at the bottom of this fic about me and the community but lets not hold you up any longer so I give you: The Christmas Fic- One Small Gift :3

cw: fear, death mention (but no actual death), lying, panic and anxiety, fluff- Like, ALOT of Fluff, hidden identity and of course happy endings. You know, the usual angst/fluffy Beckyu fic :3 word count: 8351

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

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Cold

Why did the walls always have to be so damn cold? 

Tommy’s mind couldn’t help but linger on the thought, as the Borrower shivered making his way through the maze that was the inside the house walls.

Human Beans invented heaters AGES ago for the insides of their houses to keep warm, so how was it that the inside of the walls were still always so flippen freezing? 

Would it kill them to think of the little guy freezing their butt off just once?

Well no, maybe not. But it certainly would Tommy. 

As much as the young blonde would love to cuss at the home owner for not giving him a proper source of heat, the Borrowers code quite literally FORBID them from ever telling a Human of their existence. Not to forget the fact that it would mean doom for a borrower if they ever did. All the horror stories of Borrowers being squished or experimented on from the elders to go off being proof enough.

Death by Human Beans?

HA! Absolutely NOT!

That’s exactly the reason why he is trying to get supplies for the Winter to warm himself up, before it gets even colder! 

Tommy grumbled to himself as he ducked and weaved past forgotten cobwebs about how it was such a pain to be in this position in the first place. He’d had a perfectly fine home in a tree nook in the forest that had always remained nice and cosy warm during the colder months. 

Even if that meant he’d been living on his own, Tommy had been happy living as an Outie borrower for as long as he could remember. Well at least he had, before some tall, pretentious brunette freak decided his home would be the perfect tree to cut down and drag all the way back to his stupid freezing cold house. 

But it gets better, because even though the main part of his home was actually still intact under the now stump, the Bean still took the top half of the tree- 

With Tommy still inside it! 

They flippen took HIS house and wrapped it in a net; effectively trapping the poor borrower and then strapped it to the top of their car and drove hours and hours to a Human Town with him hanging on for dear life.

And that’s not even the worst part because not only did the flippen Bean steal part of his house, but then they had the audacity to cover the tree's dying corpse in fancy decorations and shining lights. 

Like seriously WTF?!

A Bean kidnaps him from the only place he’s ever really known and covers his once thriving residence all merrily in ornaments, while he’s forced to flee his only real known place of safety with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the few supplies he did have stored in the upper levels of his now dying home. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was the only choice he really had. 

Stay in the tree and get caught, or try and survive in the Beans' walls until Winter passes.

He chose the latter of course- (It’s not like staying would have helped him anyways) 

Getting down from the top of the tree had been, well- less than a fun time for the Borrower. The big purple bruises across his back were a throbbing reminder from his impact on the floor at times, but he managed. 

Instead, Tommy had started to navigate his temporary ‘soon to be home’ in the walls getting an idea of the layout and where the best places were to borrow from. He just had to make it through the Winter and then he could go home. Trying to get back to his nook now would be impossible with all the snow cover on the ground, but he’d get back to the forest even if it killed him.

Which might be the case soon if he doesn’t get some new clothes and heat source quick.

That was the main issue with being kidnapped after all. You only have what’s on your back and well, Tommy hadn’t exactly been expecting to get yoinked away in his scrappy T-Shirt and shorts. He had proudly made them himself with the few scraps of fabric he’d managed to find from some Beans that had been passing through years ago on a camping trip, but the fabric was light, and not made to be worn in such cold conditions. 

He’d only meant to go up and check what the heck the loud thumping outside his tree was like any normal person. He was expecting a deer or maybe a bear using it as a scratching post, not a Bean cutting their house down and taking him along with it. You don’t exactly have time to think about putting on proper clothing when your everything is at stake.

So that was step one: Find some material and make some clothes- a jacket the top priority.

Tommy is very thankful that he had his borrowing bag on him, that he still has his self made needle and some old thread so he at least didn’t have to start from nothing. Finding the material hadn’t been too difficult to locate either. When he first scouted the place, he discovered pretty quickly that the Bean had a habit of leaving stuff all over the place, so borrowing supplies hadn’t been difficult to do without being noticed. It’s how he found the most perfect fluffy woollen red sock to make a coat and blanket from. He would already have it now though if the Bean hadn’t come back before he could swipe it.

The Borrower had tried to come back for it later, but the Bean had decided it was time to clean their room up because he had some guests coming for this thing called ‘Chris-mass’- whatever that was- and the sock was gone.

So instead he grabbed what he could and made his way back to the walls with just enough fabric to make a new pair of pants and some crackers for dinner.

But it still didn’t fix the whole freezing situation.

What Tommy really needed was a candle. 

To a Human Bean it may seem to be an insignificant source of light, but to a Borrower it could literally be the difference between a warm nights sleep and becoming a Borrower popsicle! But that was easier said then done because all the usual spots Beans would normally keep candles, were replaced with flippen electric ones!!!! 

What’s wrong with fire on candles!? Why would you want a fake candle that just flickers and produces less light than a real one?

That or something for a bed. At least that way he’d have a comfortable place to sleep and trap his own body heat.

He really wishes he could have taken those socks…

As if this Bean wasn’t bad enough, not only did they lack the materials Tommy so desperately needed, but they wouldn’t shut up talking into the black box (a fone he thinks it’s called from memory) to other Beans with how excited they were about them coming to stay for the Hole-lid-days and spend time huddled together by the fire or something dumb. 

“Come on Dad! Let me host. If you let me host, I’ve got the coolest surprise planned for you and Techno I swear!! Plus don’t you want to come and see me?” 

Lucky prick. Got a Dad and a brother…

Now don’t get him wrong, Tommy is a big man, if not the biggest man to ever exist and he doesn’t need anyone. But he also couldn’t help but long for someone to share the cold season with like the Beans did. It had been so long since he’d seen another Borrower like himself and though he’d never admit it, living alone did get a little bit lonely sometimes. It would be nice if just once he could share a night cuddled up close to a loved one, and just bask in each other’s company. 

But Tommy didn’t have time to be sentimental about things he’d likely never have.

He needed to find a way to stay warm and get warm now.

But the universe decidedly hated Tommy because, tonight was apparently December 24th-

Chrisymiss Eve.

Tommy had been here about a week or so and in his short stay still wasn’t 100% sure what this whole Khrislermas was, but it appeared to be a BIG deal to the Beans. 

Apparently, all the Beans get together whether it’s family or friends to spend time together and exchange gifts. It’s about being thankful for what you have or whatever and something about showing how much you love someone by giving and receiving presents. 

Tommy thought it was actually quite a nice thing the Beans did and wished that Borrowers had something similar themselves in their culture. However, there was one thing he still didn’t quite understand about this whole holiday thing.

Who the heck is Santa Claus?

He’d been taking some more crackers the Bean had left out from the kitchen while this ‘tv show’ played on the Bean's big Black box that was talking about this Santa guy. Apparently, he was some elusive, big fat man, dressed all in red with a big white bushy beard, who climbed down the Beans chimneys, and left gifts for all the little boys and girls of the world. He had this list too that knew if you’d been naughty or nice and would leave the good children gifts and the bad children coal in their stockings. 

Children could write letters to Santa or he’d visit and children could sit on his knee and ask him for a gift they would like and he would deliver the toys to children all over the world on Christmas eve when everyone was sleeping, only to have disappeared by daybreak.

Tommy hadn’t thought much of this Santa at first- not when it was just another Bean to avoid. That was until he learned two very important details.

1- Santa delivered presents to ALL children of the world. 

And 2- Santa wasn’t meant to be seen by Humans either.

So not only did this Santa guy literally just give out free gifts, but Tommy literally had a way to get exactly what he needed for the winter!

All he needed to do was talk to Santa and he’d be saved! 

Now you might be thinking: But Tommy, you said it yourself. Santa isn’t meant to be seen by anyone so what makes you the exception? 

Simple.

Borrowers aren’t meant to be seen by Beans and neither is Santa.

Which means just like Borrowers, Santa must not want to be caught (which if he thinks too hard about it makes sense since he literally breaks into houses but anyways) and unlike with Beans, there is no rule that says Borrowers can’t see Santa!

All he has to do is wait for Santa to visit Crystamas eve, and then he can ask for his gift! Santa probably even knows what he wants, being made of magic and all! He just never knew Santa existed so he’s never asked for his gift before! 

If he were a more greedy Borrower, he could ask for so much more to make up for all the years he never got a gift, but that would probably put him on Santa’s naughty list. And while coal would be good, Tommy doesn’t exactly want to burn the house down with him inside it. So this was his best shot to get exactly what he needed. 

The hard bit though, was waiting for Santa to arrive. That meant not only having to be out in the living room where the fireplace was, but also meant he had to wait for the Bean to fall asleep. Which really meant that it would be AGES before Santa would come because the Bean of the house was terrible at sleeping at night. 

The man literally had no sleep schedule and would stay up till terrible times in the morning before drifting off. Normally that wasn’t much of an issue for the Borrower having observed this early on, but right now it was very much a hindrance because it could be hours before they went to bed. 

It also seemed that they wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, because the amount of energy and excitement the Bean had displayed the whole day about his family coming home was overwhelming. He’d come home at one stage with this big bag of stuff talking on the black box about how his super cool surprise was coming along and how it would be awesome since they let him host Chrimpmas- whatever that meant. 

Tommy had hoped with the excitement of the holiday they’d have been ready to pass out by now, but he couldn’t be more wrong with the amount of commotion he could hear from down the hall- and that’s through the walls. 

At least he could observe everything going on from his place on the bookshelf. It was right next to a small crack in the wall he could just squeeze through, but it gave him a good view of the living room but also enough cover from prying eyes unless he made his presence known. However, being out of the walls had one difference the blonde hadn’t accounted for.

Heat.

The fire had been lit and was keeping the whole room nice and toasty warm compared to the harsh bite the walls somehow managed to keep. The whole atmosphere made him almost want to curl up and fall asleep. It had been so long since he’d been able to just enjoy the warmth in the air and not be shivering to keep alive.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if he had a nap before Santa arrived.

Just a quick one….

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy was awoken to a rather loud THUNK as the Borrower shot up from where he had fallen asleep atop the shelf. 

It took the blonde a moment to realise where he was and not panic about being out in the open before his eyes settled upon a figure. 

Sprawled out across the floor in a heap of red and white was the jolly big man himself.

Santa Claus.

The one and only.

“Santa!” Tommy yelled excitedly as he hurriedly manoeuvred to stand. “Santa you came!”

Santa’s head snapped up from the floor alarmed, as they pushed themselves to stand and take a defensive stance.

“Who said that?!” they shouted, looking around wildly panicked. “Show yourself!”

Tommy giggled to himself. Santa was so silly. 

“Up here Santa! I’ve been waiting for you.” The blonde waved as the man's head turned and their eyes fell onto his small form. 

Tommy grinned at the magical man taking him all in. 

Just like the figure on the big black box, Santa wore a big red coat with white fluff lining the ends of his sleeves. A big black belt was strapped around their waist, fastened with a fancy golden buckle and sturdy black boots on their feet to keep out the snow. Their head was adorned with an oversized big red hat, with a giant white fluffy pom pom on the end, and they had a long white beard that travelled down their chest. And last but not least was a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on the tip of their rosy red nose which accentuated their big brown eyes that were staring at him in wonder. 

Huh. 

He could have sworn that Santa's eyes were blue.

“I can’t believe you came! I wasn’t sure if you would since I never sent a letter but you must have known anyway cause here you are!” The little borrower stated excitedly as Santa removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. 

“I’m so glad you’re here! I really need my Crimpmess present.” 

“I’m sorry you’re what?” the man’s eyes furrowed in confusion as they processed what the younger had said.

“My present!.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “You know, the whole reason why you’re here.”

Santa didn’t exactly seem like he knew what was going on. Right now all he was doing was staring and Tommy was getting a bit annoyed. 

Was that not why Santa was here? To deliver his present like the show had said?

Tommy huffed annoyed he had to explain all this. Wasn’t this like his job? He should know!

“I’m sorry,” Santa began slowly as if trying to process. “I didn’t actually know you were here.”

“Why else would you have come then?” Tommy crossed his arms unimpressed. “I’m the only kid here, but don’t tell anyone else I said that. I’m a big man! The biggest ever!”

This finally seemed to warrant a different reaction from the older, as they looked the boy up and down unimpressed by this so-called ‘fact’.

“A big man huh? You look more like a child. What are you- 12?”

Tommy feigned a gasp, grasping his chest offendedly. “I’ll have you know I’m 14 and the biggest man alive! I’m only a child for the purpose of getting my gift tonight and tonight only!”

Santa couldn’t stifle a laugh as he watched as the small child stomped his foot in a mini tantrum at being called 12. It was endearing in a way but he still wasn’t sure how to proceed with a tiny child standing on their bookshelf.

“Well whatever you say I guess, but I still I didn’t know you were here.”

The blonde shrugged before moving closer to the shelfs edge. “Ah well it doesn’t matter. You’re here now so I’d like my gift please! You have it right?” 

“If I didn’t know you were here, then how would I have your present with me?” Santa asked.

Well he did make a good point. It’s not like he sent Santa a letter and he hadn't met him to tell him like other human bean children had until now. 

“Oh right. Guess I better come sit on your knee and tell you what I’d like than.” Tommy stated matter of factly, as the small Borrower moved to the edge of the shelf and stabbed his hook into the wood, quickly jumping off to descend on his rope to the ground.

“Wait, DON’T DO THAT!” 

The blonde yelped in surprise, moving instinctually to protect his ears at the sheer volume the man shouted, in turn losing his grip on his rope, quickly plummeting down to the ground below. Santa lunged forward with an outstretched hand as the boy slipped down the rope at a rapid speed, catching him before any real harm could be done. He semi slammed into the wall, clutching his hand to his chest as they did so before quickly unfurling their hand.

“Oh my prime! Kid- kid are you alright?” Santa said frantically checking over the boy he now held in his palm. 

Tommy shook his head, dizzy from the sudden force that had rammed into him only moments ago. He tried to steady himself grabbing, onto the nearest thing his hand could find as he begun to regain his bearings.

Oh he was going to ache tomorrow…

“As soon as the world stops spinning, yeah.”

Santa sighed in relief as Tommy allowed himself to regain focus. It was then that he really took note of where he was. 

Normally, if a Borrower was sitting in the hand of someone almost 100x his size, he would be kicking and screeching to get away. But this was Santa Claus’s hand and Tommy felt only wonder. 

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The thing he had grabbed onto was apparently Santa’s thumb and it was almost as big as his head! Even if it was a bit weird sitting on the leathery texture of their skin, the warmth radiating beneath him was heavenly, and the way the man’s fingers curled slightly over him protectively felt nothing but comforting. 

Santa hadn’t moved since he caught Tommy mid air, and was staring at Tommy as if they would disappear. They seemed stuck on what to do next, but also amazed he was sitting there at all.

“You alright there big man?” Tommy raised a brow confused at why the man would act this way. Santa was literally made of magic and had flying reindeer for goodness sake! A borrower existing surely was no cause for such amazement? There were surely way more interesting magical things to see than a lowly Borrower like him. 

(But then again, he was a pretty poggers Borrower if he did so say that himself, so staring could be justified for that reason)

This finally snapped the old man out of their wondrous stupor, as they squinted their eyes open and shut with a quick shake of their head. 

“Uh yep. All good um. Let's- go sit down. Yeah- yeah, let's do that.” Santa said, confirming more to themself than Tommy.

Santa brought the boy protectively to their chest to brace them before they moved away from the book shelf, smoothly walking over to the couch where the old man sat down ever so slowly to not jostle their small passenger. The second they were bending down to sit though, Tommy was launching himself off Santa’s palm for his knee as the bearded man frantically tried to stop them in their escapade.

“Kid, would you stop doing that? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Pfft please. This is nothing compared to how I got down from that tree over there.” The boy grinned as they pointed to the far corner of the living room.

The man's head followed to where the boy was pointing, the Christmas tree displayed proudly in a large pot tied with a red bow, small lights flickering on and off in changing patterns.

“Tree? You mean the Christmas tree?”

“Yep!” Tommy stood proudly popping the p. “I had to get down somehow and my hook would have gotten stuck in amongst the branches if I had tried to abseil down. So I did what any logical Borrower would do and jumped.”

“You jumped?!” Santa’s eyes widened, as he looked back and forth between the boy and the top of the brightly decorated tree. He grimaced, imagining the boy throwing themselves from the upper branches like they had done only moments before onto his knee. 

What was with this kid and being so reckless?!

“You jumped from the top of the Christmas tree!? Why were you even there in the first place?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing their arms in front of their chest. 

“It’s all that stupid Beans fault.”He huffed annoyed. “He just came waltzing into MY forest, decided to be very rude and put their grubby hands all over MY house wrapping it up in some ugly net, only to cut it down with me still in it!”

Tommy didn’t notice the way Santa’s brows furrowed and their expression changed to one of horror as he continued to ramble on.

“They literally kidnapped me, Santa! They’re so lucky that the main part of my house is under the tree’s trunk and not the higher branches because I swear I would have murdered that Bean in their sleep by now if they had!”

Tommy was very pleased to have finally gotten to vent some of his frustrations to someone other than his internal self, but now he was finished he had a good chance to register the other’s reaction.

Santa looked horrified.

His eyes seemed glossed over as if he was holding back tears, and one hand slapped over their mouth, the other gripping their wrist tightly in an attempt to ground themselves. 

Uh shit. He hadn’t meant for that to happen…

“Uh but don’t worry Santa!” Tommy was quick to add. “ I wouldn’t actually do that. That would be a bad thing to do and put me on the Naughty list! I promise I won’t actually murder anyone!” 

Phew, that was a close one. He couldn’t jeopardise his only hope with a silly joke!

Santas’ face had yet to change and Tommy subconsciously started to fidget feeling nervous to how the older was reacting. Maybe he had blown it and now he was on the naughty list. Another glance at the old man's face seemed to confirm those fears.

He’d blown it.

His one shot at survival and he practically threw it all away with a vent. No wonder he ended up all alone.

“Please don’t put me on the Naughty list Santa. I need my gift.” Tommy spoke timidly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I- no. No you’re not on the Naughty list.” Santa dragged his hands over his eyes a few times strained. “I'm just trying to process. It’s more of the whole kidnapping thing. ” 

If Tommy had been paying better attention, he may have noticed the few stray brown curls poking out from under the man's hat, but he was more thrown by their following question as the magical man continued on.

“If you were in the tree, why didn’t you say anything?”

Tommy drew a deep breath, before sighing as the boy shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Because Santa, Beans aren’t supposed to know that Borrowers like me even exist.”

“Beans?”

“Human Beans Santa. You know, big people like you, but not magical and stuff.” The Borrower explained. “There’s no way I could tell the dumb Bean he was cutting my house down! Do you know what Beans do to Borrowers like me?” 

“Um no?” Santa fiddled with his hands as he looked away, eyes downcast to avoid the youngers gaze as they continued.

“They get rid of us. To them we’re just pests or things to be used.”

Tommy hugged himself tightly, anxiety pooling in his chest for the first time that night. He wished it wasn’t true, but Beans just held far too much power for their own good. Their greed often outweighing their need to do good without reward. 

“I’d rather risk jumping out of a tree than ever fall into the clutches of a Bean.” 

“But how do you know that?” Santa suddenly said, muscles tensing as they clenched their hand into fists. 

Tommy flinched at the sight of hands so close. Closed so tightly that he couldn’t help let slip the thought of himself in the mercy of their grasp, begging to be freed like all the stories had said of the Borrowers trapped in agonising pain. The man noticed his discomfort, and immediately loosened their fists, moving their hands away and under their thighs so as to not startle the boy any further than they already had.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Santa said with a sense of guilt.  “But I just- How do you know that though? Who says that they would have hurt you if you had just made your presence known? You wouldn’t have had to jump or gotten hurt.”

Santa turned away sheepishly, whispering sadly. “They could have helped you.” 

Tommy swallowed hard, his shoulders sagging as he observed the sad look Santa had as they stared at the Christmas tree. It was obvious they were blaming themself for what had happened. He was far too kind for that.

“Santa, it’s not your fault.” the boy sighed, “Every borrower is taught this from birth. It’s a known fact that Beans are all cruel, power hungry beings. They always want more and just take, take, take.”  

“But what if this ‘Bean’ didn’t know.” Santa shot back, causing the Borrower to falter. “What if you had said something? They would have stopped and left you and your house alone? How do you know they wouldn’t have helped you?”

“Because Santa,” Tommy turned and faced the man head on. “That’s just how Beans are. To them, we're just another thing to take and control.” 

Tommy wanted to believe Santa, he really did, but it was hard to just ignore years of being brought up to beware Human Beans and their cruelty. He’d seen it even from when Beans had once come into the forest with their fire sticks, and took down a friendly deer. It was unnecessarily cruel and was all the convincing Tommy needed to deem all Humans bad.

Santa nodded sadly in some kind of understanding, but Tommy couldn’t understand why Santa looked so hurt. It wasn’t his fault the Bean took him and his home, but he seemed so convinced that hiding and not asking for help had been the wrong thing to do. 

He thought they were the same, that if Beans caught him on Christmas Eve, then something bad would happen to him like it would for Borrowers. That’s why they had to stay a secret. Why no one could know they were here. 

But Santa wasn’t a Borrower who lived in hiding unknown. The Beans knew about the jolly, present giving man that only appeared in December. 

He could live among the Beans and it would be fine if he asked for help. Everyone liked Santa. He didn’t take things just to survive. He gave toys and gifts so he would have no worries about the repercussions of taking a paperclip just to get around. He wouldn’t have to worry about Beans hurting him if something went wrong. He would just use his magic and be fine.

It was Santa’s choice to stay hidden as an extra precaution to protect that same magic. 

“But you’re different from the Beans Santa.” The boy perked up instantly remembering why he was doing this in the first place. “You only come out of hiding at Christmas and everyone knows who you are! You only hide to keep your magic safe from Beans so they can’t have that too!” 

The man gave a small smile as the boy continued to ramble, pacing back and forth on his thigh as he did so.

“But I don’t understand why you give children presents when they already have so much!” Tommy stopped, his lips pursed together as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Unlike me.” He confessed quietly, lifting his head to meet Santa’s sympathetic gaze. 

Santa was staring at the young boy again, leaned forward in concern listening as the blonde  continued to share his story.

“It's why I need my gift Santa.” Tommy wringed his hands together with a nervous glance to see Santa’s reaction who nodded in approval, gesturing for him to continue. 

Tommy steadied himself.

Now or never.

“I was brought here with basically nothing. Forced to move into the Beans walls or risk being seen. I’ve barely been able to get anything for basic survival and the walls are freezing!” 

Tommy shivered remembering the way the air had nipped at his nose as he struggled to keep warm. Clutching himself tightly in a poor attempt to retain any kind of body heat. The one time he went up stairs without his coat and of course he gets kidnapped.

He needed this. 

More than anything.

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Wilbur had just wanted to have the perfect Christmas.

It was his first time hosting and had decided he HAD to go all out.

More decorations than his little house needed both inside and out, homemade hot chocolate from scratch and had promised his Father and brother a very special Christmas surprise if they let him host.

Their first ever living Christmas tree and a surprise visit from the Big man himself- Santa Claus.

He’d done a bunch or research into the best spots to go where he could get a tree and quickly had been recommended from several sites about the fir trees in Logstedshire, and quickly made the trip out to find a tree.

What the websites failed to mention, was that said fir trees might be inhabited and the home of tiny people that are terrified of Human Beings. 

So if you asked: No, Wilbur was not having a good night realising he had kidnapped a child that was deathly afraid of him and only okay right now because he thought he was the real Santa Claus. 

In a way, it was a good thing the kid hadn’t realised yet, because if Wilbur had never dressed up in this silly costume, he probably would have never known about the child freezing to death in his walls.

The child was so cold despite their lively spirit when he’d caught them after they launched themself off the top of the shelf. The fact it wasn’t the first time they’d thrown themself from such a height made Wilbur sick knowing had they not been lucky, could very well not have made the long fall. But the fact the kid had been struggling, terrified and afraid in his walls when he could have helped had the guilt eating him away as the boy rambled on.

They were so sure of themselves with the cruelty of humanity too that they had him so on edge. If the blonde knew he was really the guy that had cut his tree down, he very much doubted they would be this enthusiastic. He was talking about how much he needed his gift- the gift he still had no clue what it was, but just hearing the little blondes tale, and seeing how thin his clothes were had Wilbur making a very long list of things he needed to get to help the kid out. 

A kid which he still doesn’t know the name of.

The boy's eyes had brightened, as he bounded up and down on the balls of his feet eagerly, talking about what this gift would mean for him. He was actually quite endearing despite their seemingly dire situation.

“If I tell you my gift, then you can give it to me now and I’ll actually have a chance to survive the Winter!” He explained excitedly, grining.

Wilbur pushed down his anxiousness for the boys well-being. They had already suffered enough from his mistakes. He didn’t want them to suffer any longer than they had by them accidentally discovering the truth.

“What’s your name kid?” Wilbur mentally slapped himself  that he hadn’t asked sooner.

The tiny boy chuckled to himself as they crossed their arms. “Oh come on Santa, you know my name don’t you? You have a list with every child's name on it.”

Ah- right. Santa did have that Naughty and Nice list didn’t he? Curse Santa for having to live up to magical standards.

“Uh- I came here in such a rush, I um- ah must have left my list back at the North Pole.”

“So?” The boy argued, raising a brow. “You’re magic. Don’t you just know?”

Did he say endearing earlier? How about difficult for making him use his brain at 9pm at night. (Shut up. Don’t judge him for it)

“Well you know there’s like 2 Billion kids in this world and I see them all in one night. You don’t expect me to remember every name without my list do you?”

The kid hadn’t seemed to account for this, and thought it over before shrugging in agreement. 

Oh thank goodness for kids being young and naive. 

“I guess that’s fair. But you’ve got a s*** memory in that case Big Man. Getting old.” 

Actually, make that an annoying gremlin.

“I think if someone wants their present, they should be more careful about insulting their elders.” Wilbur teased with a chuckle. The boy rolled his eyes with a groan. 

Okay, an endearing gremlin then.

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” they drawled letting their arms drop to their sides before extending their hand up in greeting. “The name’s Tommy.”

Wilbur carefully lifted his arm up and slowly extended his pinky finger out for the boy to take in an oversized handshake. 

“Nice to meet you Tommy.” His finger dwarfed the boy entirely, his pinky finger only slightly shorter than the boy's total height, but nevertheless, Tommy took the tip and shook it lightly.

“Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what it is you’d like for Christmas?”

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile at the little boy excitedly sharing in exact detail what he wanted. What the Borrower wanted wasn’t even that difficult to get, and he knew exactly where to find it. Tommy continued to ramble on for a bit longer about what he had been doing since coming here and Wilbur made mental notes of the few places where Tommy talked about entrances in out of the walls for future reference.

He was going to have to look out for Tommy from now on and if he wanted a shred of hope in getting him to trust him as Wilbur, he was going to need a plan.

“So could I have my gift now? I would really love it now and you still have a lot of other houses to visit tonight right?” Tommy asked innocently.

Wilbur really didn’t want to stop talking to Tommy. Tommy trusted the magical Santa Claus; not regular Human Being Wilbur Soot. He knew that if he let Tommy go now, it was unlikely he would see the kid again, but if he didn’t leave as Santa now, they would most likely get suspicious, realising he was a fake and panic. 

Wilbur sighed as he brushed a stray hair of fake beard from under his cheek.

“I- yeah I guess so. Best get you to bed then too.” 

“Awwww but I’m not sleepy yet!” The blonde pouted. “This is normally when I’m awake so it would be a crime to make me sleep now.”

“Well good little girls and boys go to bed when they’re told if they want to stay on the nice list.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Tommy stuck his tongue out in defiance and Wilbur had to bite his to stop himself from bursting out loud laughing. 

This kid was going to be the death of him he swears.

Wilbur extended his hand to the Borrower, keeping it steady as he waited for Tommy to climb on. He’s still a little huffy at first realising there was no room for argument, but climbs on anyway, sitting down in the middle of Wilbur’s palm bracing themself before he moves.

The brunette curls his fingers over the boy slightly, bringing his hand to his chest protectively. He tries not to linger too long at how it felt to hold an entire person in one hand for the second time tonight before moving to stand. 

Steadily, Wilbur makes his way over to the book shelf and cautiously raises his hand up for Tommy to climb off of. He sets his hand down on the wooden surface and Tommy takes no time in hoping off to stand, waiting expectantly for his promised present.  

“Okay I need you to close your eyes just for a second.” Wilbur asks the boy who quickly covers his eyes with his hands, only to peak out from behind his fingers seconds later.

“I mean it Tommy. Keep them closed.”

“Ugggghhhhh Fineee!” the boy said huffing, but relented nevertheless. 

Wilbur quickly whirled around and crouched down beneath the Christmas tree, snagging a gift from the floor and hastily tearing the gift tag labelled- Technoblade; from the gift before setting it next to the small borrower child. 

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” 

Tommy removed his hands and squealed in delight, quickly reaching down to hug the gift. 

“Oh thank you Santa! You really are the most poggers man ever!!!” Tommy spoke rapidly, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. “Well after me of course, but only by a little bit!” 

Wilbur chuckled as he gazed affectionately at the blonde hunched over the brightly wrapped gift. “You’re welcome Tommy. I’m glad you like it.”

The boy quickly stood, and started hauling the gift to the crack in the wall, as they tried to shove the gift through. Unfortunately while the crack had been enough for Tommy to squeeze through, it wasn’t quite wide enough to let the present go in without getting a tad scrunched up and paper torn. 

“Um, Tommy? Is there perhaps a bigger entrance I could take this too?” Wilbur suggested, cringing slightly as the boy gave another hard shove on the gift, intent on getting it through no matter what.

“It’ll fit. Just gotta keep pushing it in.” 

After a few more attempts, the boy did in fact give up and relented their efforts allowing Wilbur to pull the now crumpled present back out from the crack, instructing him to take it to the kitchen and place it behind the toaster, assuring him he would get it before the Bean woke up explaining how the electrical socket actually came off as a secret entrance.

He offered to take Tommy over to it too, but the stubborn boy refused, insisting that he had done enough and needed to hurry up and deliver presents to the other children before the night was over.

Taking one more long look at the boy, Wilbur watched as Tommy disappeared through the crack into the walls, the sound of tiny footsteps pitter pattering away before Wilbur himself quietly crept back to his room before he removed the Santa costume and flopped down onto his bed. 

He’d just met a tiny child.

A tiny child trying to survive in his walls.

That was deathly afraid of him.

Quickly Wilbur shot up from his bed snatching his phone from the night stand; a plan forming in his mind. The screen read 9:31 pm before he hastily unlocked it and dove into his contacts, quickly stopping on a profile of a girl with light pink hair, dialling their number shortly after.

The phone rang twice before a woman answered on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Niki? Hey! How’s the holidays going?” Wilbur asked as he grabbed his coat and gloves from the wardrobe.

“So I need a favour…”

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy awoke warm for the first time that week.

He opened his eyes blearily, almost willing himself to fall back into dream land before his eyes snapped fully open. Tommy rubbed his eyes a few times, eyes going wide trying to comprehend that this was real and not just a dream as the thoughts of the previous night played through his head.

He was in his Christmas present: A brand new pair of bright red, fluffy woollen socks- the most perfect bed ever and exactly what Tommy had asked for. He had basically run to get his gift as fast as possible, before hauling it back through the walls to a space close by the bookshelf; the space seemingly much more homely after last night's introductions. 

He hugged the woollen fabric tightly, smiling as he remembered the soft smile Santa had as he watched him go and how kind and gentle he had been with him the entire time.

The Borrower was so pleased and grateful that he had been able to meet the Santa Claus, and would cherish the magical night forever.

He stayed snuggled in his new bed for a little while longer before his stomach grumbled in protest that he should go and have something to eat. Albeit a little grumbly, his hunger eventually won out and Tommy made his way through the walls back to the kitchen so he could gather some food before the Bean woke up.

Stealthily, he removed the electrical socket, expecting to make it a quick supply run; stepping out into the open before freezing in surprise.

Laid out in a neat pile behind the toaster was a small stack of brightly wrapped gifts all wrapped in different coloured and patterned paper, and right in the middle, an envelope with his name written in gold cursive. Tommy smiled brightly, as he eagerly ran forward to the awaiting stack of gifts, quickly grabbing a gift reading the label. 

To: Tommy From: Santa

Tommy denies that he cried that day. 

That he took each gift home and opened each one oh so delicately, afraid if he didn’t they might just disappear, happy tears trailing down his cheek as he opened a gift revealing a beautiful, blue knitted sweater- and in just his size. 

His tears didn’t cease as he opened the other gifts revealing several new pairs of warm winter clothes, new rope and hooks for climbing, some tea candles with a tiny piece of flint and steel to light them, and the tiniest iced cookies he had ever seen. He could actually hold this in one hand like humans did and he had a whole bag of them!!! His prayers had been answered and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Soon, the only thing that remained was the envelope.

He dried his face as best he could, doing his best to not smear any tears or snot onto the pristine surface as he opened the envelope, revealing a card with a picture of glitter candy canes decorating the front. 

Settled back into his new bed, Tommy opened the card and read the message inside.

Dear Tommy, It was lovely meeting you and getting to know your story. I figured you might  like some extra gifts as well to help you be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls. I think you should try talking to him.  You might be surprised. Sincerely, Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

Tommy’s smile became puzzled as he reread the last few lines.

Who the heck was Wilbur?

Was that the name of the Bean that lived here?

Oh come on, that's not fair! How come Santa knew Wilbur’s name but not his!

He grumbled a little bit at the thought, but his mind kept drawing back to the last line of the card.

‘He’s not as scary as you think.’

“Hmpf, you keep saying that.” Tommy grumbled. 

What was with Santa’s insistence on this?

As much as he wanted to be annoyed at Santa for putting forward such a ridiculous idea, Tommy decided to drag himself out of bed and to the book shelf crack. The Bean had gotten up not long after Tommy had made it back to his new home, but he’d been a tad too distracted to really care about how slow and heavy they had been trudging about this morning unlike their usually poised self.

Currently, said Bean was sitting on the couch, the exact same spot he and Santa had been last night, absentmindedly staring at his hand.

How could Santa think this guy was any good? They had kidnapped him unknowingly, almost let him die from hypothermia unknowingly, destroyed the top of his home unknowingly and Santa still thinks they won’t hurt him?

Okay so maybe it wasn’t their fault all those things happened just because they didn’t know he was there, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still very capable of hurting him for having to do all those things. But then again, Santa knew who was naughty or nice. And he wouldn’t ask him to do something that would endanger his safety if this ‘Wilbur’ guy wasn’t a good person right?

Tommy observed the Bean a little longer, as they ran their thumb over their palm. Their normally neat curly hair was all over the place and he could have sworn there were black bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They suddenly turned their head and were staring straight at his crack by the book shelf. The Borrower was certain they couldn’t see him from the couch, but ducked back just slightly in case.

The Bean simply sighed as a small smile graced their features. Tommy was right about the black bags. Bean did not look like they had slept at all. 

He thought back to what Santa had said. 

I think you should try talking to him.

They certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe they really weren’t bad like the Jolly man said?

But was it really worth taking the risk and talking to this guy?

Before he could dwell on it for much longer, the door bell sounded and Wilbur snapped his head to the sound before standing and stretching; their limbs popping and cracking slightly from their limited use. Before he left the living room, the man stopped and stared at his crack once more. Tommy didn’t dare breathe as they simply smiled and shook their head, before exiting and headed towards the front door.

Tommy allowed himself to exhale as the sound of footsteps got further away.

“Weirdo.” Tommy muttered to himself as he pushed himself back from the crack and began to head back to his bed for a well deserved rest.

He’d think about what Santa said, and just maybe he’d talk to this- Wilbur. If not, he hoped he'd meet Santa again so he could thank them in person.

Once he was back in his bed, Tommy quickly slipped in snuggling down, allowing himself to drift off to the chatter of beings much larger than himself from beyond the walls.

“Wil! So good to see you! It’s been ages!”

“Hi Dad, thanks for letting me host. I’m so glad you and Techno could make it!

“So are we, but you look like shit mate. Up late again? Wouldn't be related to that surprise you were telling us about?”

“You could say that…” 

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy never did meet Santa Claus again.

The card proudly on display in his new home, a secret hope he would one day and a constant reminder of what Santa had asked him to try.

And maybe one day, Tommy would finally take up the old man's advice and go and speak to Wilbur, and discover perhaps they may have been right.

Maybe then he’d finally have a friend to keep him warm during the holiday seasons and to rely on like he had wished. 

One that seemed to always know just what he needed despite never telling them, and was very insistent about never wearing Santa costumes.

No matter how many times a little boy begged….

 ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗   ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻  ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was a lot of words....

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING TO THE END! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it and it means a lot you read all the way through <3

Tag List: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10

And cue rant: Honestly you guys have no idea just how much you all mean to me an in this community and the impact you've had on me in the last year alone. I could not be more thankful for being apart of this and getting to know you guys. Getting so back into writing has been really good for me and rekindled something I love so I can't thank you enough.

And even though I know I've been a little quieter online, I'm still here lurking about and working on projects. A lot has happened in the last few months alone and I'm quite happy that I'm limiting myself to be a bit more healthier with my online habits.

Anyways thanks so much if you read this far!

Thanks to my Beta readers @a-xyz-s squishy and munchkin for reading this for me, and I wish you all a very safe and wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

-Beckyu ❤️

[munchkin1156]

✨My Megapost✨

NEW MEGAPOST SOON!

. . .

HIIIIII!!!!!!! WELCOME TO MY BLOG AND MY MASTERPOST!! HAVE A COOKIE!!! 🍪

You can find me on ao3 as well, under the same user, where I'm posting non g/t hermitcraft (and possibly some g/t once I get around to it)

Now that that's out of the way...

Who am I?

❤️My name is Munchkin! I'm your casual g/t enthusiast, and I do writing, art and also some irl stuff making! If you see someone going by the name ✨anon✨ on your blog, offering you cookies, then that's me. I enjoy content, and sometimes do my own! Right now, I'm mainly obsessed with Mcyt g/t (which is mainly hermitcraft! and was dsmp) or a lot of character stuff :D Nice to meet you, viewer/reader!! :D ❤️

What is g/t?

G/t stands for giant/tiny, and it's a community for people who enjoy being (you guessed it) giant or tiny! Usually, it's a form of comfort, feeling the need to protect or be protected, but it can also be used as a kink. That is NSFW G/T. This blog is strictly SFW G/T. I will not hesitate to block you if you do that, for it makes me uncomfortable and I am not okay with it. (Sorry if this description is bad, there are better ones-)

Do I do g/t vore?

Nope! To be clear, I am perfectly fine with the concept and anyone who posts it, (occasionally reading it as long as it's safe) though I am aware some of my followers are not, so I will not be posting/talking about vore on this blog.

Do i take requests, and if so, what kind? (REQUESTS ARE ✨OPEN✨)

Yes. I take writing and art requests, including fake fic titles, prompts, au ideas, headcanons, etc. Do not pressure me to finish your request though, it will not help at all and will make me more stressed. If I am uncomfortable with your request, it will be deleted.

Now, my posts so far... (Stories/art and other posts under cut-, most of this is old writing, again once I'm back I will probably add some more stuff that is new and better! Enjoy!)

. . .

YOU LOOKED UNDER THE CUT!! :0 ENJOY MY CONTENT!!! (if you want to) HAVE A NICE DAY/NIGHT!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Mycelium Menace (Hermitcraft g/t au)

Pt1

Shattered Code

Pt1, lore dump on forest borrowers

Now for all the stuff I've done in the past which I'll hopefully write more for!

✨Upon Clouds we Dream...✨

Chapter One and Chapter Two is out, but Chapter Three is non-existent. (yet)

Then there's the other au that I have stuff for, but I'm not sure what it is or where i was going with it and i'm pretty sure it's dead but oh well-

Make new friend's but keep the old

Chapter... One? Chapter... Two? Maybe?

✨MER AU THAT I HAVE SAID NOTHING ABOUT YET✨

Art for it

Becky ask!!! (small infodump)

✨I have fallen (but have faith, for I shall rise once more)✨ (mcyt g/t au)

Pt.1

Brick ask :D

✨Dystopian au✨ (mcyt g/t au)

infodump

Becky ask (technically infodump)

✨Oneshots!✨

He started it!

Horror and HELP

✨Other- (stuff like wips, fake fic titles, art, oc's that i have drawings of, hc's, irl stuff :])✨

Wip game thingy

Munchkin character sheet

It's- a stick figure. In a hamd.

FAKE FIC TITLES

Taming the beast

G/t headcanons (Zombie apocalypse style)

Borrower house no.1 (not very good)

Borrower house no.2 (better)

Borrower house no.3 (pretty darn great)

Borrower house no.4 (think of a witches house)

shitpost (and my first post)

shitpost (not my first post)

shitpost (honestly how many do i have?)

shitpost (another one??)

shitpost (:D)

stuff that freaks me out in g/t #1

stuff that freaks me out in g/t #2

spooder

geeckooo

baaaaaaaat

✨My tumblr fam✨

My Tumblr mom, the wonderful @.I-am-beckyu, my Tumblr aunt's, @.brick-a-doodle-do and @.a-xyz-s.

@.orchid-harmony, @.da3dm, @.krazycat49, @.justarandomsloth and 🕶️ anon are my siblings :D

Aaaaaand that's about it! Will update when I should!

❤️ You made it to the end! ❤️ Great job, dear viewer/reader, have some more cookies! 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

-Your neighborhood Munchkin

…spams bread

[da3dm]

Ok I'm writing a oneshot and can't decide something for it...so I'm gonna give a list with no explanation, take your vote! Only thing I'll share is it's g/t. Pls reblog this?

I need @brick-a-doodle-do , @i-am-beckyu , @justarandomsloth and honestly @rosewriting-ao3 bc you wanted tagged on writing and this is part of it so...hope it's ok rose

Halp me spread it and get a result...

[da3dm]

I do believe that @brick-a-doodle-do , @i-am-beckyu , you squishy, @rosewriting-ao3 , and @justarandomsloth are awesome writers

REBLOG if you have amazing, talented WRITER friends.

Because I certainly do, and I love every single one of them and their work.

[nobodywritingao3]

Shameful Company [ch 2]

masterpost | previous | next

The village Tommy grew up in was located in a beast's territory, a man eating serpent's. Isolated from the world, all he's ever known is loneliness. When he's forced outside the safety of the town walls he meets a stranger who claims to live beyond the village. They become fast friends despite the fact that the man is clearly hiding something - but can you really blame Tommy? He's never had a friend before.

CW for entire fic: - Wilbur eats people lol - swearing title taken from 'Shameful Company' by Rainbow Kitten Surprise inspired by the talented @beckyu and her story 'My Monster to Slay' (tumblr) (AO3)

word count: 3.5k 🐍 read it on AO3

The routine keeps up for little more than a week.

Tommy is always sent out the same day he comes back. He and Wilbur dick around the forest or relax in the cave until sunset, which they watch from the entrance with warm mugs of tea. They stay up talking and the next morning, they wake up slowly, lounging around until well past noon. Wilbur insists he return to the village and Tommy argues it’s a waste of time since he’ll just get kicked out again. They go back and he’s proven right. Wilbur waits in the clearing and they spend the rest of the day in each other’s company.

It’s actually really fun. It’s the most connection he’s ever felt in his memory, and as far as he can tell, Wilbur appreciates the friendship as much as Tommy does.

Which is why he’s confused (and yeah, okay, a little hurt) that Wilbur sends him back, over and over and over again. Not to be clingy but - for fuck’s sake - at the very least, Wilbur could be a bit less vehement about it.

It’s disorienting too - Wilbur has admitted that he spends around three hours waiting for Tommy, and everytime they meet, his eyes light up and he smiles. The mixed signals are confusing. It’s a complicated layer to the friendship Tommy can’t help trying to mentally untangle.

Like - why is it such a big deal that he leave each day?

The villagers don’t want him - they’re still holding out hope he’ll get eaten in the woods for goodness’ sake. Not only is it pointless to send him ‘home,’ but - Tommy wants to stay, as embarrassing as it is to admit. Not that he’d ever dream of asking to live in the cave, Tommy’s man enough to admit he doesn’t have the balls. Truthfully, he wishes Wilbur would offer.

He hates the village. Everything about it, from the way the citizens are terrified and brainwashed and revere Dream like he’s a fucking god, to its deep and unwavering hostility. People have always regarded him as an outcast, but the shunning has worsened dramatically now that he’s a repeat survivor of the Outside.

He just wants to stay with Wilbur, in the cave in the woods.

There’s a part of him, a self loathing little piece of his brain that tells him there’s something wrong with him. The village sees it, the council sees it. Either Wilbur’s already seen it and he’s too good a person to reject Tommy directly, or he’ll see it soon and he’ll cast him away then.

He tries to shrug it off.

Normally, he can say with clarity where he stands with someone. The townsfolk don’t care for his wellbeing. No matter how convincing they are, or how convinced of their own lies they are, he can see through them. But Wilbur is confusing. He’s nothing like the villagers. He has his own interests at heart, while they’ve had their self preservation and agency stamped out by Dream and the rest of the council. Wilbur’s got his own agenda and his secrets, and he’s a bad liar. He acts like he cares about Tommy, but he does things to contradict that. Like sending him away everyday.

He mulls over these thoughts as he sits on the ground next to the gates, doodling in a little pad of paper Wilbur had gifted him. Tommy’s got another twenty minutes until he’ll be released, and the man is undoubtedly waiting for him in the clearing.

Gravel crunches to his left - footsteps - and he looks up. Dream approaches him, smiling friendly in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Tommy’s stomach starts to twist into knots. “Hello,” he greets casually, “are you here to see me off?”

He reminds himself that Dream can’t hurt him directly, not until he’s eighteen.

He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe.

(He’s not.)

Dream looks at him with something appraising and cold in his eyes, though he’s still giving his best smile. “Unfortunately not, I’m afraid I have a meeting in ten minutes with the council, though I wish you luck,” he laughs. It’s soft, and a little dark. But in a way that only Tommy ever seems to notice. He continues affectedly, “but it seems I don’t need to! You’ve shown to be very… lucky.”

There’s a million things Tommy could say. He could tell Dream to shut up with the villain monologue, to just cut to the chase. Or he could go bigger, and scream at him. Tell him he’s a manipulative sadist who feeds on the attention, fearful and loving, of two hundred people because he’s empty and cold and knows no one would ever love him if they saw him for what he is.

But he won’t say those things. It’s pointless. And Dream would just feed on it and use it to fuck with him even more. Honestly, even thinking of comebacks makes him tired.

So he smiles instead. “Indeed sir,” he responds plainly. “I’ve been fortunate.”

Something changes in Dream’s demeanor.

Tommy instantly knows he said the wrong thing.

After a gap of silence, he coolly responds, “Don’t be coy.”

Tommy blinks. He has no idea what to say. Hesitantly, he asks, “Excuse me?”

Dream ignores him. “How did you do it?”

Terror works itself under his skin. Dream holds all the cards. It’s his town, his people. If he’s being openly hostile and not just passive aggressive, then the only way this ends is after he’s gotten what he wants from Tommy, scaring and humiliating him in the process.

He just needs to comply - he just has to let it happen. And then in twenty minutes, he can go. He can see Wilbur. He can leave this behind and pretend it didn’t happen and it’ll be like it didn’t.

“Sir,” he begins softly, “I’m not sure what you mean - ”

“Yes. You do.”

Tommy falls silent, paralyzed in fear.

“How did you survive?” Dream begins. He’s using that voice that Tommy’s learned means he already knows the answer, and is only prying for a confession for the sake of feeling powerful. To knock someone down and rip their dignity and worth and personhood to shreds.

Tommy would let him. He’d offer up whatever he’s looking for if it meant this interrogation would end. He always wins, so why draw it out? But he doesn’t know what Dream wants to hear. He doesn’t know what Dream thinks he did. Tears gather in his eyes.

Dream grows impatient. And he starts talking. “How did you avoid being eaten up by that thing? And after that - how did you avoid the hundreds of other beasts in the forest?”

Tommy brings his knees to his chest and curls his hands protectively around his legs. He doesn’t want Dream to see him shaking. He needs to say something, admit to something. But he doesn’t know what to say, and there’s no way in hell he’s dragging Wilbur into this.

“Come on, Tommy, it’s not that fucking difficult,” Dream insists, “just tell me the truth - I won’t be mad.”

Nothing. There’s nothing.

His tears spill over. All he can do is cry.

Dream heaves a sigh above him. “I gave you a chance.”

Tommy’s shoulders shake with the effort of holding back sobs.

“Seriously? Nothing?”

He desperately swings his head from side to side. He wants Dream to believe him, to just show a little mercy, but he knows that he won’t. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“You met the serpent,” Dream finally supplies.

Tommy’s too distraught to even process the words. He gulps down the sobs and wipes at his face, he needs to respond, he needs to respond before Dream gets impatient -

“Answer me.”

Through sharp sobs, Tommy chokes out, “N - no. I didn’t, of - of course I didn’t, I’d be dead if I - ”

“For fuck’s sake, Tommy, cut the shit,” he curls his upper lip in disgust, “I can smell it - I can smell him - all over you.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the -

“Your little friend, or - ” he chuckles humorlessly, turning away in agitation, “big friend, I suppose - he thinks he can just claim you? Protect you? That isn’t this this works,” he spits resentfully, “you’d do good to tell him that. You are mine, you belong to me. I gifted you to him as a meal - not as a pet! You tell him that - you better fucking tell him that.”

Tommy’s mouth hangs open, crying halted in favor of shock. Dream’s always been a bit… loose, but it looks like he’s finally lost his shit completely.

Irritated at his silence, Dream faces Tommy. Rather than get angrier or rant more to fill the silence, it’s like he lights up. And that’s possibly the scariest thing he’s done so far.

“Oh…” he says softly. “That’s beautiful - that’s fucking rich. You didn’t know, did you?” His mouth curls up in a cruel smile and he starts to laugh, wheezes building louder and louder. “Oh - that is too fucking good!” He collects himself. “Well in that case,” he says between giggles, “just forget we talked, yeah? If he wants to play with his food for a bit, I suppose I can’t judge -” he gestures to the town with wide arms, “- I set up camp here, didn’t I?” Dream turns and leaves, still laughing to himself.

Twelve minutes later, the gates open and Tommy is set free.

~

Sitting on one of the beds in the cave, Tommy gives Wilbur a grateful smile as he wraps a warm quilt around his shoulders.  

When Tommy had met him in the clearing, eyes red and cheeks blotchy, Wilbur had hugged him hard and pried for details, listening to Tommy recount the events as they traveled back to the cave. He’d made up warm teas and sweet foods for Tommy to snack on, and he’d practically buried him in the softest bedding around the little home. He promised they were safe here.

Sinking into the spot next to him, Wilbur gently asks, “Did he say anything else?”

Tommy shrugs hopelessly. “No, that was it.” He idly stirs his tea. “I think - I think there’s something wrong with him. Like, medically,” he emphasizes.

Wilbur wears a troubled expression. “And you’re sure he said - ”

“Yes, I am,” Tommy says exasperatedly. “Trust me, he fully thinks that I’m friends with the serpent or something.”

Wilbur nods in acknowledgement and sips at his tea with a funny look on his face. “And he’s your mayor?”

He gesticulates vaguely. “Basically. We’ve got a bit of a weird system in place - I don’t know how much I’ve told you, but we’ve got a council of town leaders, and Dream is the boss.”

Wilbur suddenly gets an odd look on his face, like he realized something. “Tommy…” he asks carefully, “what’s the history of your village? Like - this isn’t exactly a welcoming environment for civilization.”

Tommy smiles emptily. “Yeah, it really isn’t,” he agrees.

He taps the rim of his mug, thinking over the things he’d heard as a child. “From my understanding, the original settlers had been fleeing from something when their navigator took a wrong turn. By the time the group realized, it had wandered into a basilisks's territory and it was too late to turn around. A bunch of people were attacked and eaten. Fights broke out about what to do, if leaving the forest was a viable option or not, that kind of thing. Eventually the navigator took responsibility and promised to start a fortified town in the forest to protect the remaining survivors. He founded the council, we claimed a bit of land, the walls were built up,” Tommy concludes. “Wil, how is this relevant?”

That look crosses his face - the stupid one he gets whenever he’s keeping secrets or about to tell the shittiest lie in history, and Tommy feels a spike of irritation.

He bites down his frustration and looks away. “Nevermind,” he mutters, a little harsher than he meant it. He feels Wilbur look at him in concern, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He clears his throat. “Do you need to know anything else?” he tries to ask as neutrally as possible.

He can tell Wilbur wants to ask what’s bothering him. He bites the inside of his cheek and takes a long sip of tea, hoping he gets the message.

Wilbur eyes him worriedly, but thankfully he doesn’t probe. Instead he asks, “Who was the navigator?”

It catches him off guard. “What?”

“The person who got the group lost, who founded the council. What was his name? Do you know anything about him?”

He searches his memory. That’s so strange. It’s a detail that no one’s ever mentioned or asked for. But it’s also a very central thing - to the story, to the town’s history.

Wilbur takes his silence as some kind of answer, mumbling to himself, “Right, well this complicates some things.”

They’re silent for a few seconds, Wilbur solving a mystery while Tommy finds the first clues. He’s tempted to ask what’s going on. It’s unnerving, and something is clearly wrong, but he dismisses the thought out of hand. If it’s connected to the bullshit Wilbur is so secretive about - which Tommy is entirely sure it is - then he wouldn’t share if pressed.

Wilbur breaks him from his thoughts. “Tommy, you said that after the original settlers came in, they couldn’t leave because of a basilisk? Are you sure about that?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah… it’s the one I was worried about when we met, the same one that ate Jared?”

Wilbur falls silent, that guilty look on his face again. Tommy stares at him, trying to pick him apart with his eyes. He’s hiding something again.

He takes a shot in the dark and guesses, feigning surprise -  “Holy shit, it’s a different serpent, isn’t it?”

Wilbur looks up in panic. “What?!”

“You saw Jared being eaten - what species of serpent was it?”

Wilbur stares at Tommy.

“Was it not a basilisk?”

Wilbur breaks eye contact and looks away. “Tommy, that’s - that’s fucking ridiculous mate, I don’t know what you’re - ”

Something breaks inside of him. Maybe years of mistreatment at the hands of his village, or days of Wilbur’s dogshit lying - possibly the confrontation with Dream earlier that day - in any case, it pushes him over the edge and he snaps. “Would it actually fucking kill you to tell me the truth?”

Wilbur moves back in surprise, a hurt look flashing across his face.

“You’re not even a good liar, and I know because you’ve been lying to me since we met. Every day we’ve known each other, you’ve lied to me, or deflected, or avoided answering some basic fucking question about your life. I thought maybe I was the problem, but no - the truth is you’re just a liar,” Tommy rants, breathing hard and blinking back tears.

Wilbur stares at him with a stunned look on his face. “Tommy, I’m… I’m sorry. ” He’s bleedingly sincere.

Fucking good, Tommy miserably thinks to himself.

He sniffles. “If you want to lie about your life - then fine. Maybe it’s traumatic, and maybe it’s personal. I wouldn’t know, and I don’t have to. But this is different, ‘cause it’s a fucked up situation, and I am as in it as you are.”

They sit in uncomfortable, tense silence for a few seconds, punctuated only by Tommy’s quiet crying.

After a moment, Wilbur says softly, “I’ve been a bit of an ass, haven’ t I?”

“Yeah, you have been,” Tommy bitterly agrees.

He seems to physically wilt. “There’s nothing wrong with you, and I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. I’m really, really sorry, Sunshine.”

Tommy’s chin trembles. He can feel tears start to spill over.

Wilbur loops an arm around his torso and gently pulls him in for a side hug. “To tell you the truth - I want to share. A lot more than I do. And I also feel upset that I keep secrets from you.”

“Then why?” Tommy barely chokes out.

Wilbur sighs and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “Because it’s better that way.” He readjusts the quilt around Tommy’s shoulders. “It’s better for everyone if you just don’t know some things about me.”

Tommy rubs at his face miserably. He knew it would go like this.

“That said, I see where you’re coming from.” Tommy looks up in surprise and Wilbur offers him a sheepish smile. “You’re right about this. This is a deeply fucked up situation and for your own safety, there are things you deserve to know.”

He looks away, thinking. “You were right, there are two serpents… I shouldn’t have lied about that.”

Damn. He wasn’t actually expecting to be right.

“Your village is about four decades old, right?”

He nods.

Wilbur goes quiet for a second. Resignation creeping into his voice, he says, “The second serpent - it’s only twenty-two years old.” He starts to fidget with the ends of his sweater sleeves anxiously. “That’s the one that’s been eating all the volunteers for the past two decades. It’s not the basilisk that trapped the original settlers in this forest - honestly, I didn’t even know of a basilisk having territory here until you’d said something. And I don’t know what happened to it exactly - ”

“But you have a suspicion?” Tommy finishes, voice still a little raspy from crying.

Wilbur nods, a little perturbed.

“Is it a suspicion you’ll tell me?”

Wilbur smiles sadly at him. Tommy knows the answer before he has a chance to say it. “Sorry mate.”

Trying to move past the disappointment, Tommy changes the subject. “How do you know all that about the second serpent? You’re only twenty-something yourself, so it’s not like you could have been around the whole time to see it - ”

“Tommy,” Wilbur cuts in, exhaustion audible in his voice, “please just trust me on this, alright?” He shakes his head slowly, a fond but heartbroken look on his face. “I swear - you’re too clever for your own good.”

Despite everything, the comment starts a warm feeling in his chest. Tommy relents. “Fine, fine. You somehow have all this information - I won’t question how.”

He nods gratefully.

“But I do want to know - what species is the second serpent?”

He figured Wilbur would be a bit cagey about answering, but he didn’t expect - this. 

It’s like he’s imploding before Tommy’s eyes. A look of panic flashes across his face before he has a chance to school it into something more neutral.

Wilbur looks at him. His expression is conflicted. It’s full of barely concealed loss, and guilt, and pity, and it is so, so guarded.

Wordlessly, Wilbur pulls him in for a solid, warm hug. He does nothing but breathe and hold Tommy for ten seconds.

When he pulls away, his eyes are glassy and he’s forcing a smile. “Do you remember what I said to you when I was bringing you back to the village that first day? When you asked me how I’ve survived this long in the forest?”

Tommy nods, confused and a little worried. “You said you’d… ‘tell me your secrets’ when I’m older.”

Wilbur affectionately rubs his shoulder. “And I will.” He clears his throat and stands up.

“To answer your question, the second serpent is… It’s nothing you have to worry about, okay?” He offers Tommy a sincere, pleading look. “Believe me - to you, it’s harmless. Completely harmless.”

~

The next morning Wilbur is in an uncharacteristically good mood. He gives Tommy a soft smile and ruffles his hair before tugging him out of bed and leading him to the dining table for breakfast.

Tommy takes a seat and begins to cut his portions while watching Wilbur curiously. “Wake up on the right side of the bed?”

He laughs lightly. “Something like that. Um - actually, I need to talk to you about something.”

Tommy tries not to let his concern show. “Yeah?”

Wilbur nervously takes a sip of water. “After everything we talked about yesterday, particularly what you said about Dream, the basilisk - I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back home.” He gesticulates nervously and starts to ramble, “For right now, I mean - ! You might be able to go back soon, I’m just worried about you for right now, and I wouldn’t feel very comfortable if I knew you were anywhere near - ”

“Wilbur,” Tommy cuts in, “are you asking if I’ll stay at the cave for a while?”

He nods shakily, a fear of rejection written plainly across his face.

Tommy smiles at him widely. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

~

That afternoon, they don’t send Tommy back to the village.

~ ~ ~

it is simply a staple of my writing that everything i start ends up four times longer than i originally intended...

hope you guys enjoyed

[brick-a-doodle-do]

apapapappaaaahhhhh backgrounds are hard but i didn't want to leave it white. i'm so tired but the doodles oooohhhh the doodles !!

taglist: @da3dm, @krazycat49, @rosewriting-ao3, @i-am-beckyu, @skullsnbruises (LMK IF YOU ONLY WANNA BE TAGGED FOR FICS I CAN TOTALLY DO THAT!)

[i-am-beckyu]

And the phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing....

FIRST FIC OF THE NEW YEAR LETS GO!!!!!! Okay so firstly, this fic has gone full circle. It started as a fake fic title from me to @guppybubbles which she made a prompt for which I liked and the spawned a story so crazy how that works. Link to that post here. But yeah anyways this is that prompt in story form lol. Was a lot of fun to write so enjoy!

cw: Fear, fear of death, minor graphic gore descriptions but nothing fatal, panic, rats, ghosts, Uhhhh I think that's it. Just fluffy stuff lets be real <3 wc: 2923

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

----------------------------------           ▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. +1 ----------------------------------

It started a few months ago.

Wilbur had moved into his new apartment, finally free of the constant pestering and confinement of living under his parents roof. Things had been great at first, well they had until his stuff had started going missing.

At first, he assumed it was rats or mice that had gotten into the apartment and had been causing a raucous, but he’d been assured by his Landlord that they made sure to do thorough checks and the last pest control visit had been not even a month ago before he moved in.

Fast forward to now after what had been a month long period of the man thinking his new home was haunted as things fell off shelves or strange noises made themselves apparent in the middle of the night, Wilbur was talking to said Ghost that had made his initial move a living terror.

Well looking back, maybe not a living terror but more of a mild inconvenience. 

Tommy- or so the ghost called himself, had been calling him from his friend Jack’s phone at least once or twice a day since the phone was misplaced, and got a call from said ghost proudly stating: “I can see youuu.”

At first, Wilbur was convinced it was just some kid that had stolen Jack’s phone (which technically it was), but after he tried to locate the phone and found the signal was in fact coming from his apartment and yet nowhere to be found, Wilbur relented and gave into the boy’s story. They certainly were adamant about not giving it back or ever showing themselves to get it.

But even if they did steal a phone just to play pranks, Wilbur couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at the boy (We pretend Jack’s feelings about a child stealing his phone are irrelevant). They seemed lonely and after a while, his fear of the ghost haunting his house evaporated and he found himself enjoying talking to Tommy. Tommy seemed to think the same as any chance he could, he seemed to be ringing and wanting to chat.

Like right now as his own phone started vibrating with the classic Xylophone trill, the display showing incoming call from ‘Ghost Gremlin’ on the illuminated screen.

He wondered how the phone hadn’t run out of credit yet. Ghost powers he assumed.

“Hey Gremlin. What’s new in the world from beyond today?”

“Oi! I’m not a Gremlin! I’m a Big Man Ghost! Get it right Wilbitch.”

“Oh my apologies. How’s the world from beyond Ghost gremlin?” The man chuckled as he tapped on speaker modes to continue with copying his music work down hands free.

Wilbur heard a soft groan through the speakers and could imagine the boy probably rolling his eyes.

“It’s fine I guess. Same boring dead plane. Dark and dreary but oh so boring. That’s why I’ve rung my favourite Human Bean.” Tommy responded gleefully.

That was something strange about Tommy. He always called Wilbur a Human Bean no matter how many times he tried to correct his pronunciation of Human Being. Wilbur persummed his ghost was probably something like age 10-12 since he didn’t really seem to know about a lot of things with the number of times he’d explain something despite knowing what a TV was. 

“Yeah I guess being dead would get boring if you lived in a place like that.” 

“Yep.” Tommy said, popping the p. “So what are you writing down? I see you’ve got your guitar out.” 

Wilbur smiled as he wrote down a few more lines in cursive. “I’m just writing out the final version of that new song I’ve been working on. I can play it for you when I’m done later.” “But Wiiiil! I want to hear it now!!!!” The boy drawled in a whiny tone. 

Wilbur practically could hear the pouting face Tommy was making through the phone line.

“You know I don’t get to hear music often. Can’t you just play that funny song about Jared now? You’ve already finished that one AND it’s one of my favourites.”

“Tommy, I literally played Your New Boyfriend for you when you called yesterday. I think you can wait a little bit.”

Tommy huffed in response, the ghost relenting a little mumbling an annoyed fine before the two settled into a comfortable silence. For a being that was quite literally intangible, Tommy sure had a way of making his voice sound very real.

This was how a majority of their calls would go. Simple small talk about whatever the two were doing in the moment or had to do until Tommy ended up going on a rant about something random and Wilbur was happy to listen. It’s how he ended up learning about Tommy’s strange love for mud and he himself sharing his love for eating sand. He’s never heard anyone sound more offended about eating sand for a snack. 

What? It’s good he swears!

But some of Tommy’s rant topics were strange. Like what need does a ghost have with needing fishing hooks or dental floss? He assumed that the boy must have had some unusual fascination with tiny things before he died because he seemed to be very particular about how things needed to be if he were suddenly shrunk.

Like today how the Ghosts rant topic was about Rats and what right royal pricks they were.

“Like you don’t understand Wilbur, Rats are the absolute worst! They just come marching into your space and then decide to go through all your food stores and eat it- which they’re never satisfied with by the way, before trying to take a bite of you!” Tommy explained.

“Yes they are quite wretched little creatures. I wouldn’t like it if one bit my hand either.” Wilbur agreed as he finished writing another verse.

“If I could, I’d stab them before they ever even got close. I’d take my sword and plunge it into their hearts, all heroic and stuff.” 

“Couldn’t you just use your ghost powers and I don’t know, fling them away?” 

How would a rat even bite a ghost? Ghost’s don’t exactly have tangible bodies, Wilbur thought. 

“Stabbing them sounds like a lot more work when you can’t actually touch them.”

“Well if you want to be a boring ghost you can. But what other ghosts do you know can stab their enemies?” “Well you-”

“NONE! EXACTLY!” Tommy shouted triumphantly. “I’m one of a kind Wilbur and the Poggest Ghost to ever live!” 

“Sure Tommy. Sure.”

The ghost feigned offense with a long gasp. “You dare doubt me, the great and powerful TommyInnit? I could destroy you if I wanted to, you know.”

“Yeah but you won’t.” Wilbur shot back. “You’re just a sad child that has no one better to talk to and would miss me if you destroyed your only friend.”

“I would not because A. I have lots of friends and B. I’m not a child.” The boy snapped.

“How does that even make sense?” Wilbur queried as he finished off the last few lines in cursive.

“It doesn’t have to make sense purely because I’m better than you.”

“Sure little man.”

The boy huffed through the phone line. “I’m not little.” 

“Little Baby Man.” the brunette teased.

“Stop it.” 

“Little Baby Man Child.”

“AM NOT A LITTLE BABY MAN! I’M A BIG MAN! BIGGER THAN YOU, THE WORLD OR EVEN THE UNI-”

“But you accept that you’re a child.” Wilbur smirked as he moved the papers to pick up his guitar.  Tommy groaned.

Yeah, Wilbur didn’t mind this at all.

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Wilbur played his guitar for a few more hours before Tommy eventually said his goodbyes to do ‘ghostly things’  as per usual for the night, leaving Wilbur the rest of the evening to settle down for bed. He’d been asleep probably an hour or so before being woken to the sound of his ringtone.

Groggily, Wilbur reached for his phone on the nightstand, half asleep as it rang. Instead of grabbing it though, he accidentally knocked it to the ground earning a groan from the man as he lazily searched the ground for it. Just as he grabbed the phone, the call rang out leaving one new voice mail message in his notifications.

Blearily ignoring who the message was from, he opened his phone and tapped on the voicemail raising it up to listen. 

‘You have one-new-voicemail BEEP!’

“Wil, WILBUR!”

Hang on. That sort of sounds like Tommy.

“PICK UP YOUR PHONE! PLEASE WIL! I NEED HELP!”

Wilbur bolted upright now fully wide awake. Tommy was in trouble. He needed help. Where was he? How could he help a ghost?

Before his mind could divulge into further panic, his phone rang again and Wilbur didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Tommy? Tommy, where are you? Are you okay? I-”

“WILBUR HELP ME PLEASE! IT’S HERE! IT’S GOING TO GET ME AND I’M CORNERED! I’M GONNA DIE I PLE-” The cries of the boy sending the brunette into panic mode.

“WOAH WOAH woah Tommy I need you to calm down for me.” Wilbur tried, listening to the labored breaths of the ghost on the other line. “I need you to tell me where you are so I can come help, can you do that.”

“I- I’m.. Uh. I CAN’T TELL YOU! YOU’LL HATE ME!” The boy yelled between hiccupped breaths as they began to cry, loud thumping and hisses filling the background noise.

“Tommy, all I care about is finding you to help, I’m not going to hate you.”

“But you will! Everyone hates me when they find out!”

Tommy had never sounded so terrified before. Wilbur never truly believed anything could hurt the ghost before, but whatever had them so panicked must be serious and the increase in thrashing noises was not easing his nerves.

“Toms, I could never hate you. I want to help you, but I can’t do that unless you tell me where you are.” 

“I- Promise?” Desperation clear in the boy's voice.

“I promise.”

There was a brief pause from the boy before they shakily instructed him into the Hallway.

“Okay, open the closest and I’m in there.”

A loud screech came through the phone's speakers followed by a cry in pain before Tommy was screaming for help through the speakers.

“WILBUR HURRY! I CAN’T HOLD THEM OFF FOR MUCH LONG—.” 

“Tommy? TOMMY?!”

The line was dead.

Wilbur had never run faster in his life. His mind spiraled with horrid thoughts at what that sound was and why Tommy would be in his closet, but despite the ridiculousness of it, his focus was on helping his friend. 

As he approached the closet, the sound of muffled hissing and shrieking filled his senses and Wilbur was quick to fling open the closet. 

Nothing.

Wilbur stood confused but the noises didn’t cease, only growing louder now the door was open. He followed the sound down to the floor, realising that whatever it was, was beneath the floorboards.

Wilbur was quick to act and ran to grab something from the kitchen to pry the boards up, the sounds growing worse with every passing second. As soon as he had what he needed, Wilbur started heaving each nail out from the floor, prying the board up to reveal what was beneath. With one final pull, the board came loose, and the man yanked the board back revealing an unseemly sight.

A huge rat was scratching and gnawing at what appeared to be a tiny wardrobe. It hadn’t seemed to notice Wilbur yet, hell bent at getting whatever was inside the little cupboard. It was when the rat tried head butting the cupboard did a terrified scream hit his ears.

The brunette grabbed the rat in an instant, gripping the thing tightly as it writhed and screeched in his grasp. Quickly he stood and moved to take it outside where he threw it;  standing there, panting heavily watching as it landed with a thump before whimpering away. 

What just happened?

He barely had any time to dwell on it further before tiny little thumps could be heard coming from back down the hall. 

Tommy

“Tommy!” Wilbur rushed back inside and crouched down on his knees as he observed what laid before him. “Tommy are you alright?”

Despite it being wrecked, it appeared to be a miniature room. Small fairy lights lined the walls and small trinkets made up what could be a wrecked table and chair, sprawled all over the place from the intrusion of the rat. But what really shocked Wilbur, was seeing Jack’s old phone slightly banged up beneath part of a broken floor board in the corner.

Gingerly, Wilbur reached out and lifted it from the debris, to inspect if it was actually real or his imagination. It indeed was the very same phone Jack lost and somehow was even plugged into a charging port.

What is all this? 

“Tommy are you?” Wilbur asked, confusion lacing his voice. Why was Jack’s phone in a tiny room? Where was his friend?

Suddenly, the wardrobe the rat had been so interested in moved. Wilbur set the phone down as the small piece of furniture jerked again, making it wobble ever so slightly in place. 

With bated breath, Wilbur carefully reached forward, gently picking up the tiny wardrobe between his thumb and pointer finger bringing it into his palm. 

It was banged up badly from how the rat had been trying to tear into it, but intact. What was it about this that had the rat so enthralled?

Trying the best he could, Wilbur grabbed the tiny little door knob and pried the door open. 

Wilbur froze, dumb founded at what was hidden inside.

Staring at him with blue eyes blown wide in terror, was a tiny little blonde boy, pushed far back into the wardrobe as humanly possible, gripping the sides with all their might. Their breathing was labored and they looked worse for wear, tears through their little jacket and angry red scratches littering their arms, some even appearing to be smeared with blood.

“What on earth?” Wilbur’s brow crinkled in confusion. 

He was holding a tiny person in a wardrobe.

A tiny person that had almost been killed by a rat.

The tiny boy’s eyes darted all over the place, seemingly trying to figure out how to escape the mess they were in, as Wilbur tried to process that he was holding an entire person within his palms. How was this even possible?

“I- ” The tiny person begged, Wilbur’s full attention locked onto them as tears continued to stream down their face. “Please don’t hurt me Wilby!”

Tommy?!

No. No Tommy was- Tommy is a Ghost that made random phone calls. Tommy that loved his music and mud that was very much a ghost and not a tiny little person.

“Tommy?” Wilbur brought his free hand to cover his mouth. “What. How?”

“Please don’t hate me! I’ll leave! You’ll never see me again, just don’t hurt me!” The little boy pleaded, curling into themselves in an attempt to hide themself.  “I never meant for this to happen. You weren’t supposed to know and now you’ll-” 

“Tommy, Toms calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah right! That’s when you thought I was a ghost! Now you know the truth and I can’t do anything about it.” the boy sobbed. 

Wilbur hated how small Tommy looked. He was always so bright and full of life when they spoke on the phone, but now it was like holding a fragile flower. So small, so delicate, so precious and in need of protection. He just wanted to reach out and hold them close.

“Tommy, look at me please.” Wilbur pleaded, waiting patiently for the boy to look at him before he continued.

“Tommy, I would never hurt you. Yes you pretended to be a ghost and took Jack’s phone, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” Tommy lifted his head and swiped his arm across his nose of snot and tears as Wilbur continued.

“You’re one of my best friends Tommy. I don’t talk to anyone nearly as much as I do with you and I care about you, whether you’re a ghost or not.” Wilbur brought Tommy a bit closer to himself, lifting the tiny boy up to be eye level.

“Besides, I made a promise to not hate you, remember? I intend to keep it.”

Tommy's lip began to wobble, before the boy burst into tears, unable to hold himself back any longer. 

“I’m sorry Wilby!” The boy cried as they crawled out of the wardrobe onto the man's hand. “ I wanted to tell you but I was scared.” 

“Shh it’s alright.” Wilbur assured, setting the wardrobe down before bringing Tommy close to his chest protectively. “I’ve got you and it’s all going to be okay.”

While this whole ordeal was crazy and strange, in this moment it didn’t matter.

They’d have to talk about why the boy was living in the man’s floors and why he pretended to be a ghost in the first place (not to mention how and why Tommy was like 3 inches tall) but that could all wait for later.

Wilbur loved Tommy more than the boy ever understood, and it brought great joy to Wilbur that finally, he was able to meet his pseudo little brother face to face. They’d figure everything out eventually, but for now-

This was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AND THANK YOU IF YOU READ TO THE END!!

For real this was fun to write and I did it all in one sitting lol. Was good to just smash out a short project that was something new and different. It took me far too long to get around to editing it though lol. Thank you Squishy and Munchkin for Beta reading. You're the best! ❤️❤️❤️

Tag List Link here: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10 @guppybubbles

OH AND I ALMOST FORGOT, LOOK AT THE ART SQUISHY MADE FOR THIS AFTER THEY FINISHED READING!!!

I MEAN LOOK AT THIS! IT'S THE WARDROBE SCENE! When I tell you I squealed in delight when I saw this I mean it. I walked into work grinning because it's all I could think about lol. Thanks again beautiful! Truly gifted you are <3