#but niki is killing her in return for whatever the fuck she's got going on with billie so SHGJDGHFDJGHJ

[ruvviks]

i love making guys who have something incredibly homosexual going on that cannot be put into words well

[freindly-neighbourhood-anarchist]

If You Flinched Away From Their Touch

Dream SMP x Fem! Reader

Here’s some more angst lol

I’m definitely doing more Dream SMP stuff now that it’s ‘ended’ so if you have any requests just comment or message me! ^^

I’ll do prefrences, imagines, oneshots, fluff, SFW, angst and NSFW (not for The Dream SMP tho, only for other fandoms lol. NSFW in the MCYT community is genuinely weird-).

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                                   DREAM

Clay stared down at you with trembling green eyes, his hand that was about to cup your cheek was still held up and shaking a little. 

His mask was pushed to the side of his head so he would be able to kiss you, but you had actually flinched away from him. Like, properly flinched away like you were afraid of him. The more he looked into your nervous eyes, he finally realised.

Eyes darkening, he gritted his teeth and brought his hand to his side,” Who was it.” It was more of a demand than a question.

You panicked at his angered tone and how his hands clenched,” N-no! It’s fine! You just surprised me--”

“[Y/N].” 

His tone shut you up, your eyes burning a little. He looked hurt and most of all, concerned,”... Just tell me who. Please...” 

You gulped and told him, his dark eyes lighting up ever so slightly at your cooperation.” Thank you...” He then reached down and gripped your hand tightly within his own, squeezing it reassuringly.

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                       GEORGENOTFOUND

His eyes wide with concern, George instantly took his hand from your cheek when he saw you flinch. It hurt him... Where you scared of him?

“ [Y/N]... A-are you alright? Are you-....” He paused, gulping down the tight lump in his throat,”... Are you afraid of me?” He whispered, it was barely audible but you heard him clearly.

You instantly denied his claim, grabbing both of his hands within your own,” George you could never scare me... It’s just... The last relationship I had wasn’t.. the best, lets just say.” You explained it horribly but your boyfriend seemed to get the gist of it.

The brunette’s hand moved from holding your hand to holding your waist, pulling you into his chest and then wrapping them around you safely and securely, you froze at his warm embrace but found yourself melting in it,” I get it...” He whispered next to your ear,”... I’m sorry. I love you.” He muttered.

You couldn’t stop the loving smile from crossing over your lips,” Yeah... Same here.” 

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                                      SAPNAP

“...babe?” Nick muttered out with a confused look,” Why’d you flinch away? Is everything good?” He was worried now.

You smiled up at him quickly and nodded your head,” Y-yeah! Sorry, you just surprised me a little. I didn’t think you were just gonna hug me outta nowhere!” You laughed out to make it more convincing that you weren’t lying.

Nick knew better than that.

Sighing, he settled his head in the crook of of your neck, holding your arms gently and securely. You looked at him in confusion and you were about to question him, but he interrupted you,” I’m not gonna push anything out of you... but if you need to talk about it, then just talk. Okay?” He whispered to you reassuringly, burrying his face deeper into your neck.

You visibly relaxed and took your arms from his hold gently, moving them around his neck and playing with the back of his hair,”... Okay...”

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                                WILBUR SOOT 

The brunette looked terrified for a moment, afraid he had hurt you whenever he cupped your cheek but then a wave of realisation crossed over his expression. A solemn and monotone look passed over his worried expression, biting his lip due to habit.

“ Who was it, [Y/N]?” He asked calmly, but there was an angered undertone to his voice.” Who hurt you?”

You were silent for a long while, staring deeply into his chocolate-brown eyes that were dangerously dark. Those eyes that you had fallen for the first time you ever saw them. Sighing, your brought a hand up to his cheek and cupped it gently. Standing on your toes, you pressed a light kiss to the tip of his nose with a kind smile.” Who cares who hurt me before? I’m with you, and I could never be more safer than I am when I am in your arms.”

He was surprised for a moment before his tense shoulders relaxed, and a smile twitched onto his lips.” Fair enough.” He muttered, giving into you.

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                                       ERET

Pulling you into a deep kiss, Eret’s eyebrows furrowed in concern and anxiousness. You had just flinched away from him when he tried to hug you. You were afraid of something.

He pulled away, staring down at you with stern eyes,”... Who was it and did they hurt you.” He demanded a response, he was just being a concerned significant other but his deep voice cracked a little when he spoke those words, he was silently panicking on the inside.

Shaking your head a little,” I don’t... please, can we not talk about it?... I didn’t mean to flinch away, I just need to get used to it. Give me some time.” You pulled him down a little and pecked his lips lovingly,” Just give me some time...”

Silent for a moment, he nodded.” I’ll wait.” 

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                              TECHNOBLADE 

“ Who the hell was it.” 

His words were like venom as his red eyes glowed with malice and killing intent. Whoever had hurt you, he was going to find them and torture them until they wished they had never even met you before him-

His thoughts stopped spiraling as soon as he felt arms wrap around his waist, watching as you buried your face into his chest, shaking your head a little.” I-I’m sorry for flinching away, but please, when I tell you who it was... You need to promise me that you won’t go and hurt them.” The girl mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled by his clothing.

His lip twitched a little but he brushed it off,” Yes.”

“ Yes what?”

“ I promise.”

You looked up at him with narrowed eyes, watching as his eyes narrowed in return. ”Lair.”

“HEH? I’m not lying!! All I was gonna do is introduce them to my axe of peace, that’s all-”

“This is why I’m not gonna tell you, Techno.”

“ Eh, I’ll find out sooner or later anyways.”

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                                    JSCHLATT

Schlatt breathed in a little, closing his eyes to calm himself down.’ Why the fuck did she flinch away from me, I swear to fuck if someone hurt her I’ll fuck em up-’

“ Sch-schlatt?” You stuttered out, concerned at the fact he was staying silent.” What’s up?...”

He coughed a little and opened his eyes, narrowing them a little as he looked down at you,” Look- I love you [Y/N] but who the fuck hurt you.” He spat like an angered snake.

You gulped a little,” Hey now- whatever your thinking...” You trailed off, not even able to defend yourself.

Scoffing, Schlatt settled a strong yet reassuring hand on your shoulder, squeezing it as a way to reassure you. He was never one for comforting others face-to-face even though he was so good at it. 

Breathing a  little before he spoke with a softer tone than before,” [Y/N].... Tell me who the fuck hurt you.” Although his words were threatening, his calm voice made [Y/N] give into him. He could only smile a little at her submissive nature and bring her into a tight hug.

There was a long silence.

”I’m getting my glock 17.”

“ Schlatt, nO-”

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                                     QUACKITY

He gritted his teeth a little as thoughts ran through his head, different scenarios of what you had to go through consuming his mind. The panic in his eyes were clear, the darker they got.

You stepped closer to him and cupped his face in both of your hands, bringing his face closer to yours. He was surprised for a moment before you pressed your forehead against his. Looking into your serene and calm orbs, he felt at peace again, his thoughts moving to the back of his mind.

“You need to stop thinking for a bit, okay?” You whispered to him reassuringly, he was silent as he just listened to you speak, feeling his anxiety slowly disappear,” I’m safe now. I’m safe and I’m with you... So calm the fuck down.”

Laughing at how out-of-character the last sentence you said was, Alex shook his head a little,” Alright, alright...” He muttered, a slight grin on his lips,” Whatever happened to you... if you wanna talk about it at all, come to me.” He reassured her, placing his hands on hers.

Snorting at his sentence, you gave him a cheeky grin,” Who else would I go to?? Sapnap?” 

“ Yeah, no me gusta-”

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                                       NIHACHU

As soon as you flinched from her hug, she instantly pulled away with a conflicted look. Her eyes full of hurt before realisation washed over them.”... What happened?” She whispered with a concerned expression.

You panicked and settled your hands on her shoulders quickly, a nervous grin on your lips,” D-don’t worry about it, Niki! You just caught me off guard-” You stopped talking as soon as her soft hand settled upon your cheek, caressing it gently with her thumb.

A soft smile crossed over her lips as she shook her head lightly,” You don’t need to hide things from me, [Y/N]... Just talk to me, I can help you.” She reassured, her smile widening further.

You stared at her for a long moment before sighing and leaning into her touch, nodding ever so slightly,” Yeah... yeah, okay...” 

[peninkwrites]

The Cost of Bread - Niki & Wilbur

Wilbur tries. Niki deserves more.

(CW: mentions of suicide and self harm/neglect. Yes this is an adaptation of a scene in tddd but it deserves its own piece)

crossposted to ao3

~

Wilbur knows Tommy did this on purpose.

Tommy was not short on food, nor did he need a specific type of bread from the middle of fucking nowhere, no, rather, Tommy had figured out the easiest way to get Wilbur to talk to Niki and then he’d pushed.  Wilbur had made something like progress in the past weeks, he’d spoken briefly with Jack, finding a young man with less anger and more confidence.  Tubbo had grown so much and Wilbur hopes he will continue to outgrow him.  It's better that way.  Seeing Fundy had been much more painful.  He would do his best not to dwell on what he could not change and who he could not save.  At least for a little while longer.

Wilbur had spoken with Eret more extensively, that had been hard at first and then so much easier.  Eret had beaten Wilbur to the punch.  He supposes that’s easier to do when you’re still alive, but Wilbur had spoken with Eret about his own post-mortem efforts at atonement and Eret had replied in turn.  Eret had helped with the efforts to try to bring him back.  Eret was one person Wilbur was surprised to find he believed when they said they were glad he’s alive again.  No one had openly rebuked him for his resurrection, but Wilbur thinks that might be mostly because of the legacy he had returned to.  They’re afraid of him.  Afraid enough not to tell him he isn’t wanted here.

And then there was Niki.

She didn’t spend much time around the Mainlands, instead residing in a not-so-secret city underground.  She was baking again.

So Tommy made the executive decision to demand and expect cheesy bread, but only from Niki’s bakery, so Wilbur had done something harder than staring death in the face–  He reached out first.

He doesn’t know why he feels so fucking nervous it’s ridiculous–

No it isn’t.  It’s because she is– or maybe she was, your best friend.  And you hurt her.

Eret betrayed you.  That made it hurt less to see them.  You were on even ground, or something like it.

Jack it felt like he’d already been moving on, even just a bit, by the time you got to the elections.  He was still there for the war, but for L’Manberg, not for you.

Fundy, ruse or not, cut you off and stayed in Manberg.  He let go of you then, you knew what to expect so it hurt to see him again, but nothing you hadn’t seen coming, or at least should have seen coming after all you’d done.

But Niki…

Niki never let go.

You did.

The scar he had left Niki with would surely match more closely to what he had left Tommy and Tubbo with.  Those three had never left him, and for that he will always be sorry.

Walking down those stone steps was far more daunting than any trek into hell– he would know– but Wilbur almost thinks whatever comes next is worth it as he gets to see Niki, flour smeared across her face, working the dough in front of her with a serene concentration.  He should say something.

“Uh, hi–” Wilbur has a split second to feel embarrassed about his voice cracking as he tries to get the words out, because in the next moment there’s a sword level with his throat.

“Oh my god– I could’ve killed you!” Niki lowers the sword, her surprise replaced by irritation before what him being here means catches up to her.  Her expression turns cold, staring at Wilbur like she doesn’t know what to make of him and certainly not like she trusts him.  “I’d heard you were alive.  Wasn’t sure if it was worth believing it this time.”  She finally puts away her sword, floured handprints now marring the hilt, as she returns to her dough like Wilbur’s presence is merely an aside to her work.

“Niki…” Wilbur hesitates, swallowing thickly.  He’s more scared now than he had been trying to kill Dream.  “I am here to…”  He trails off.  Niki finally turns back to look at him, an accusation in her eyes but something almost hopeful too.  Wilbur recognizes it, that little gleam that he was a fool not to see back in the L’Manberg days.  Niki had trusted him and therefore she had needed him.  And he left her behind.  “...to get some bread.  Tommy asked for some bread.”

Niki turns cold again, looking at the wooden shelves along the side wall filled with fresh loaves.  “What does he want?”

“The cheesy bread.  The… the one with the garlic?” Wilbur doesn’t know why he phrases it as a question.

“What do you want?” Niki goes up a step ladder to the right shelf.

“What do I–?” Wilbur’s voice goes hoarse, faltering.

Niki returns to even ground, placing the bread on the brick counter between them.  She looks up at him.  Wilbur can’t remember if she’d always looked this fucking strong and he’d just been blind to it or if she’d changed that much.  Who is he kidding– everyone he’d once known had changed so much.

“Yeah.  What do you want, Wilbur?  Or are you just here getting things for Tommy?” Niki asks.

“Oh!  Oh– Right,” Wilbur laughs almost with a hint of panic.  “How–” He clears his throat, trying to sound anything close to stable.  “How are you?”

Niki gives him a look, mildly exasperated, but maybe even concerned.  “Do you have anything to pay for it?”

“What?”

“For the bread.”

To pay for the bread.  Wilbur Soot left his fucking brain in limbo, he’d come all the way over here and hadn’t brought anything to trade, not emeralds, not iron, not anything.  “I…”

“Didn’t think so.”  Niki doesn’t send him away, instead she nods him around the corner, opening the door back into the bakery.  “Take off your coat first.  It’s dirty.”

“My– Oh, right,” Wilbur tosses his coat on a row of hooks in the corridor.  He stops and stares at his old cloak right beside it.  He cannot begin to fathom what that means.  It will surely break him.  So he just joins Niki inside the bakery.

“If you help me with this, I’ll count that as payment, alright?” Niki nods to the dough on the counter.  “For the love of god wash your hands first,” she gives him a sharp look as if she’d really expected him to get right to work.  To be fair, Wilbur most definitely had in his frazzled mind.  “Good.  You remember how to need, don’t you?”

Wilbur feels like there’s a strange hum in the back of his head.  “I– what?”

Niki repeats more slowly.  “You remember how to knead, right?”

“Oh!  Oh, right– Right, yeah, I do,” Wilbur nods quickly.  It’s been over ten years, but he hasn’t forgotten.  Niki’s bakery.  The scent of bread.  

Wilbur is quiet for a change.  He doesn’t know what to do with this.  With any of it.  Niki is still being short with him, she isn’t exactly her usual– or once usual– friendly self, not that he’d expected that in any way, but the fact of the matter is, she’s being kind.

“Niki, I–” Wilbur doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

“You’re a liar, Wilbur Soot,” Niki says quietly, but she has him silent in an instant.

Wilbur feels the words caught in the back of his throat.  He forces out a reply.  She deserves  reply.  “Yes.  I was.”

“Was,” Niki laughs, sharp and painful.  “You don’t get to say that to me.  Not yet.  Or maybe ever.”

Wilbur tries again.  “Yes.”

Niki isn’t looking at him.  

“You didn’t care in the end.  Did you?”  Niki’s voice is shaky now, but she doesn’t stop.  “Not about L’Manberg, not about us– about– about me–”

“No,” Wilbur can’t help it.  Anything else, but not that.  Niki stops.  Wilbur takes that as the expectation to continue.  “I never stopped caring.  About any of it– about you.  But…” Ah.  There’s that familiar old feeling.  That last stretch dead he thought he’d stopped hating himself, but maybe sometimes it’s only fair for it to return now.  “I still hurt you.”

“That’s… That’s worse.  You know that’s worse, right?” Niki still isn’t looking at him and Wilbur is so fucking grateful.  He doesn’t think he could survive her looking at him right now.  “If you cared, and you still… you still did that, then– God, you’re the most– the most selfish person!”

“I am so sorry, Niki– I’ll go, I should never have– Shit, Niki, I am so–” Wilbur goes to grab his coat, refusing to look at the cloak beside it.

“Don’t you move, Wilbur!” Niki turns to face him sharply, eyes shining with tears and righteous fury.  “You’re going to stand there and you’re going to listen for once!”

Wilbur stops, he fights tooth and nail to meet her eyes even as it feels like a knife in his chest.  At the very least, she deserves this.

“I have tried so hard to recover from– from you.  I didn’t sleep or-or eat and I was so alone because I trusted you and you left me!  And don’t you dare apologize again– I can see you about to, don’t you dare!” Niki catches the words on his tongue.  “Because I got better!  You stayed dead, and I got better,” it’s a threat and a promise.  Niki glows like the sky on fire.  “And I gave up on forgiving you because you were gone.  I’ve had a lot of time to think about what having you back would mean.  The last time– you have no idea what that was like, to love you and hate you and have you back to have the idea of you, running into the wreckage just when I thought I could finally– I was trying to– I burned it to let go of it–”

Wilbur knows what she’s talking about and maybe he’s still supposed to keep his mouth shut, but the words come out whether he wants them to or not.  “I know.”

Niki pauses, something cautious mixing with her anger.  “What?”

“I know.  Through– I could see through that… that stupid ghost sometimes.  And know you were there.  In the wreckage.  I still can’t really piece it together, but it was a crater.  And I saw–” Wilbur stops himself.  He won’t do that to her.  He won’t say I saw you give up.

“You– You saw,” Niki has a war going on behind her eyes, as she struggles to factor in what this means to all the rest of it.

“I never should’ve left,” Wilbur sounds almost steady.  He hopes even if she never believes in him again, she’ll at least believe this.  “And I will never be able to take that back, but I…” He has nothing else to give.  Apologies and wishes for things to be different are so worthless they’re cruel.  “I never should have left.”

The memories of a ghost are meaningless.  Those vague, distorted after images of a life he never really could touch are nothing compared to his last day alive.  Niki, who had fought beside him despite every time he had failed her.  Niki, standing too close to the podium when he left, waiting for him to come back.  The day of the sixteenth, Wilbur had walked right past her, past her and so many others, and had lied.  I’ll be right back.

Niki nods, still unwavering, but it’s so clear she doesn’t need him anymore.  “You’re back now.”

“I– Yeah?”

“And whatever you are now, whatever this is,” she still looks grim, but also so determined.  Completely unyielding.  The face of a woman who had shouted her fury up at a podium in the midst of a bloodied festival, without weapons or help, she had burned them.  “I deserve to have my best friend back.”

“You do.”

Niki assesses him carefully, coming to some conclusion.  “I hope you can be him one day.”

“Me too,” Wilbur’s voice breaks but he holds back tears.  He’s not entitled to relief when he’s the one who did this.

“You’re not redeemed, you know.”

“I know.  That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Right,” Niki turns back to her bakery.  “You’re here for bread, right?”  There’s almost a smile there.  Almost.

“Right,” Wilbur feels weak.  He feels alive.  ”For bread.”

“Then you stay,” Niki decides it.  “You’ll need to do a better job than that, Wil,” she nods to the lump of dough she’d carefully begun to shape and which Wilbur had managed to ruin almost immediately.

“I will.”

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Chapter 7

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1   Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

The grey man was dead.

The grey man looked like he had been dead for some time.

What little skin he had remaining hung loosely from the bone. The eye sockets were empty, the patches of remaining hair were stringy and dirty. The skull had caved in around the crossbow bolt, revealing an awful wriggling mass of maggots on the inside. The stench of rotting flesh, which Roman had only been able to smell up close before, now filed the room, making him gag.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately for whatever glamour had made it so hard to see the details of the grey man’s face to return. He griped Mittens’ soft fur tightly with his good hand, earning him a disgruntled meow.

“What the fuck.” A voice muttered.

Unseen by Roman, a figure emerged from the doorway. One with skin bleached white under the lamp light and eyes that seemed to glow an unnatural shade of violet. Most of him was hidden under a dark cloak, save for the fearsome looking crossbow he held at his hip.

Had there been anyone left to see, Virgil would no doubt have made an intimidating sight. At least until he reached out one foot to poke at the grey man's body and recoiled with an undignified ‘eeeeeew!’ when the flesh gave way easily under the pressure.

Virgil had served more years then he cared to remember in the Finaley’ed army. He had seen many dead bodies. That did not make it any better to hear one squelch.

“Okay.” He called, “Okay, the coast is clear and I shot a dead guy.”

Roman heard a second pair of footsteps approaching before a new voice asked: “Did you retrieve the bolt?”

“The bolt that is covered in maggots? No. No I did not.”

“That’s a waste of resources.”

“That is not my main problem with the corpse in the basement Loga- no don’t touch it!”

“This looks like several months of decay- but there’s no surrounding detritus – do you think they moved it here? For what purpose?”

“I don’t care! Maybe it’s just…some, some unlucky bath house guy that got left down here. Who knows! Just help me find the damm cat.”

“Ah yes,” Roman could hear the disdain in Logan’s voice, “The magic cat.”

On the ground, obscured from their view by the network of pipes, Roman kept his eyes firmly shut. So long as his eyes were shut, he was listening to Logan and Virgil’s bickering and was seconds away from rescue.

But what if he opened his eyes and they weren’t there?

Julius had been found of testing his curses’ limits in this area. He would order Romulus to ‘see’ imaginary monsters in the shadows and then have him describe them. Or to recount conversations that never happened. Or to forget ones that had. None of this research had ever been particularly successful - he couldn’t be ordered to alter reality, even in the privacy of his own head – but Julius had never quite given up on it.

What if he had found a way to make it work?

Roman could hear his own heartbeat, the fast paced thump melding with the rush of water in the pipes that surrounded him, making his head throb and his whole body tremble.

What if it wasn’t Virgil and Logan there at all? What if it was Niki and Marcus back again, or Lucius himself, or no one at all?

What if it wasn’t even Julius doing it, just his own pain-addled mind playing tricks on him?

Romulus bit back a whimper, squeezing his arms tight around his middle.

This was too much for Mittens, who let out a yowl of protest and wriggled out of Roman’s grip.

“Oh!” He gasped, eyes flying open “Sorry!”

Mittens ignored his apology, scampering away through the open door and disappearing into the gloom of the corridor. There was a shout, a sudden rush of footsteps and a loud clang followed by a short curse as someone tripped on one of the pipes running along the floor.

And then two men were standing over him. Twin expression of relief morphing quickly into concern.

Virgil swallowed hard, the healers eyes flicking rapidly over each visible injury before meeting Roman’s own.

“Hey there Princy.” Virgil said softly.

***

The journey back through the corridors was a lot slower than their journey in. At least Logan had managed to retrieve one of the lanterns from the maintenance room so he was no longer relying on clinging to the back of Virgil’s cape to navigate.

When they had initially followed the….cat….to the bathhouse they’d thought their luck was beginning to change. It was coronation day, all businesses were closed; it should have been an easy matter to sneak in. When Virgil had scaled the opposing buildings for some roof top reconnaissance however he had come back grim faced – the upper floors were full of soldiers.

The design on their uniform matched the symbol Lucy had drawn the night before, and that Logan had identified in the library that morning. It belonged to the house of Orenlla in Notaleveale. It was not three ‘Vs’ as Lucy had thought, but a stylised version of the three largest peaks on the Sarindu mountain range, which marked the border between Notaleveale and the middle kingdoms. The man she had seen had apparently been wearing his clasp upside down.

Despite his success, Logan had left the library disappointed. Ornella was a noble house in Notaleveale but not one significant enough to warrant a permanent residence in the middle kingdom city of Steveange. It was surely possible to find out where the contingent were staying – the townsfolk seemingly obsessed with the movement of the visiting nobility- but the librarians he spoke to all gave different suggestions, if any at all. Checking every possible address was going to take days.

As desperate as Logan had been feeling, at least he didn’t return to the meeting point with a cat.

Patton had gone to see the crone – or ‘Mama Tay’, as she apparently insisted Patton call her - who had no new information as to where Roman had gone or why he had left, but who had offered to help find him anyway.

Using her cat.

(“I don’t like it.” Virgil said.

“Thank you Virgil.” Logan said, relived to find at least one of his companions hadn’t lost their minds.

“It’s blood magic”

“It’s a CAT!”)

Apparently, when Mittens had scratched Roman at the crone’s – Mama Tay’s – house, it had collected enough blood for a simple locator spell. And Patton, bless him, had agreed to swap a bushel of fresh food from the market for an hours use of the magical bard seeking cat.

Logan had despaired.

Logan wasn’t quite ready to eat his words (dogs could be trained to track blood scents couldn’t they? Why not a cat? There was a reasonable explanation somewhere, surely) but even he had to admit, Mittens had been a lot more successful than any of them.

After Virgil had returned from the rooftop shaking his head, Mittens had meowed piteously until they followed him to a side street, where thin slits set at ground level vented hot air from the bathhouse basement. The cat had slipped in easily, and after a few minutes debate, Logan and Virgil had wiggled their way in after.

They’d used a rope to reach the ground, finding themselves at the base of a set of stairs. There was a soft glow at the top, presumably the main floor of the house, enough to illuminate Mittens’ tail as he trotted off deeper into the basement.

It was only Virgil’s night vision that prevented them from breaking their necks on the next set of stairs, but eventually they had made their way to the a well-lit and uncomfortably warm maintenance room.

And to Roman.

An injured Roman. A glassy-eyed Roman who could barely stand and started shivering as soon as they left the heat of the room.

“He’s going into shock.” Virgil muttered, fixing his cape around Roman’s shoulders. He pulled it tight, wrapping the ends securely, but making Roman whimper in pain. Not knowing what to do, Logan just held the lantern higher. It illuminated the cut on Roman’s sallow face, and the bruises that surrounded it. Bruises which continued over his shoulders and no doubt down his back. Logan had seen the stick, lying next to the corpse, it’s end strained with blood from where the skin had split.

Stupidly, he wished he’d taken the time to break it into a hundred little pieces.

When they reached the first set of stairs, they paused to let Roman catch his breath. His breathing was shallow and he slumped heavily against Logan’s side.

Logan had once watched Roman hop on one foot for almost a mile rather than swallow his pride and admit he needed help. Logan exchanged a glance with Virgil, not bothering to keep the panic from his face.

Virgil let out a long exhale an reached over to squeeze Logan’s shoulder reassuringly, shifting himself to take some of the bard’s weight.

“He’s not going to be able to climb out the way we came in.” Virgil murmured.

“Obviously.” Logan nodded.

That was okay. They had a plan B.

As if on cue, a distant roar rang out above them, followed by quite a lot of screaming.

“Issat Patton?” Roman asked, staring into the darkness with unfocused eyes.

“Mmhmm”, Virgil leaned over and pushed some of Roman’s damp hair away from his face. “He was meant to come get us if we weren’t out in twenty minutes. I think he’s early.”

“There’s at les’ a dozen of ‘em.” Roman slurred “Niki said.”

“Patton can handle it.” Virgil said firmly, though his eyes flickered to the ceiling, betraying his nervousness. “Can you walk?”

Roman nodded, though he needed both their help to actually manage it. It was painfully slow going, with Roman unsuccessfully trying to hide a wince of pain with each step.

The first flight of stairs was relatively short, but by the time they had reached the top Roman’s shaking was so bad it was making Logan’s own teeth rattle. Still, they pressed on, almost dragging the bard between them to the base of the much larger set of stairs that would take them to street level.

Here the noises from the floor above were much louder – the clash of steel on steel reverberating down the stairs.

Logan stared at the next obstacle, uncertain. There were what amounted to five flights, with a small flat platform at each turning point. There was a banister running each side of the stairs, but it was missing in several places. What was there didn’t look like it would hold much weight.

Above them, there was an enormous crash followed by a bellow of almost inhuman rage.

“Frog mode?” Roman asked drowsily.

“Frog mode.” Virgil said grimly.

The berserkers of Krutova painted their faces with the green and blue mud from the rivers and swamps that saturated their forest home. Legend said they could lie in wait for hours, hidden under the water, using hollow reeds to breath before leaping out on unsuspecting enemies with a monstrous frenzied rage, dragging their opponents to a watery grave – assuming they didn’t, quite literally, rip them apart first.

Logan had never seen Patton paint his face. And the big man did not like to talk about his time at war. But Logan had seen him fight off more than a dozen men in a bar brawl without breaking a sweat. He’d once seen him wrestle a wild boar just for fun.

Still. The men upstairs were trained guardsmen, not drunks. And they were armed. And it had only been a small boar.

Virgil was clearly having similar thoughts, his fingers twitching against his side, his eyes constantly flickering up and then back towards Logan and Roman. .

“Go.” Logan said, “We’ll follow you.”

Virgil hesitated, but Roman nodded, straightening up as much as he could “We’ll be righ’ behin’ you. Go help dad.”

Virgil dithered a moment more and then let out all his breath in a rush, reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Okay just. Go slow. We’ll come get you when the coast is clear.” he waited until they both nodded before turning and all but leaping up the stairs. Roman held his pose until he was out of sight and then collapsed once more against Logan’s side.

The scholar adjusted his grp on the lantern, and hooked his other arm over Roman’s back. With a grunt of effort, the bard managed to sling his left arm over Logan’s shoulder, leaving his uninjured hand free to grip the rickety banister. Logan squeezed, holding him tightly. Roman groaned as he pressed against the bruises and welts that coated his back but Logan held firm.

“One step at a time.” the younger man said softly. “Okay?”

Panting, Roman nodded, giving Logan a sickly lopsided grin.

The staircase spiralled five times before reaching the top floor. They made it round twice before trouble found them.

“You.” The man growled.

The man standing between them and freedom was generically handsome, with large eyes and a strong jaw. He had a passing resemblance to Roman; with the same dark reddish brown hair and tanned skin. He wore a doublet of pink and navy, with the three peaked mountains embroidered in gold thread.

“Luc’-“ Roman gasped out, “don’t-“

“Shut up!” the Marquis de Orenlla snapped. He held a wicked looking dagger in one hand, eyes ablaze. “Is there no end to your duplicity? You foul traitor, I should have you hanged!“

Also like Roman, he seemed to favour being loud over being coherent.

With a grunt, Roman removed his injured arm from Logan’s shoulder and clung to the banister.

“Go!” he shouted to Logan.

Logan spared him an exasperated glance and threw the lantern at the Marquis head.

He went down with a screech, rolling back and forth on the small platform to put the flames dancing on his embroidery. The dagger skirted away and over the edge of the platform.

“You go.” Logan snapped at Roman, pulling out his sword and stepping between the two men.

Technically it was Roman’s sword, the one he had left behind in the inn. But Logan has been taking their training sessions seriously and it felt comfortable in his hands. He pointed the blade a the Marquis throat, effectively pinning him to the ground.

“Wow!” Roman laughed and lent to the side to grin at the flabbergasted noble “I trained him.” he said smugly.

“Hurry up!” Logan hissed and to his great relief, Roman did so, inching his way behind Logan and starting up the next flight of stairs.

“Stop.” The Marquis croaked out.

Roman stopped.

Logan turned towards him, frustrated “Roman, I’ve got this – just keep-“

Later, Logan would blame the stress of the situation for just why he chose to turn away from his prisoner at that precise moment.

Before he had chance to process what was happening, he was falling. Pain rippling through his ankle from a well placed kick from the Marquis. He dropped the heavy sword almost immediately, only for it to be snatched up by the larger man.

Logan felt himself being dragged through the air, and all at once he was pinned against the Marquis chest, sword now held at his own neck.

He saw Roman start back down the stairs towards them and felt the Marquis’ hot breath against his ear as he shouted: “Stop!”

Roman stopped. One foot frozen in the air, he lost his balance almost immediately and toppled to the side, reaching out instinctively to grab the banister with his injured hand, letting out a howl of pain.

The Marquis shuffled backwards, dragging Logan with him, dangerously close to the edge of the platform.

“I’m serious, Romulus.” the Marquis growled. “Not one more step. Or your friend here is going to be even shorter.”

“I'm average height.” Logan muttered sullenly.

The Marquis snorted in his ear. “Where? In the Dwarf kingdom?”

“Lucius!” Roman whimpered, he was hunched over, cradling his bad arm to his chest. “Please – he’s just a kid!”

“I am only three years younger than you!” Logan cried indignantly.

“Oh right.” Roman muttered. “My bad.” And then Roman straightened up. He hadn’t been cradling his arm at all – he’d been working something out of his tunic.

Roman’s dagger, a dull pointless object in desperate need of replacement, came hurtling towards them.

The Marquis let out a shout and instinctively raised the sword to bat the dagger away. Logan took the opportunity to wrench out of his grip, blindly kicking out behind him as he did so.

His foot made satisfying contact with the Marquis’ knee, sending him toppling off the platform, a resounding series of crashes and shouts echoing through the chamber as he bounced down the stairs.

Logan hurried towards Roman as fast as he could, not bothering to turn around and see how far the Marquis had fallen.

“Can you move?” he asked breathlessly.

“I don’t think so.” Roman admitted from his prone position at the base of the steps. Logan bit back a wail of frustration. Roman truly looked done in, his eyes battling to stay open, and there was no way Logan was going to be able to carry him up the-

“Logan? Roman?”

Logan hadn’t been to a city temple since he left his apprenticeship. He had no particular interest in the Gods or their silly squabbles. But the sight of Patton - working his way towards them with his clothing torn and face splattered with blood that wasn’t his own – well. Logan was fairly certain he could pass for an angel.

“You’re safe now.” Logan whispered, although he had no proof of the long term truth of that statement, “go to sleep Roman.”

Roman did as he was told.

Part 8

[karlnapity]

it’s not worth it, achilles.

(tws: manipulation, emotional & slight physical abuse, panic attacks, one very vague reference to suicidal ideation, agoraphobia)

eret is a watcher.

they’ve never wanted to be at the center of the conflict. content with being off to the side, content with taking what’s given to them.

(but are they?)

they care for wilbur, for tommy, for tubbo, for fundy, for all of them. that isn’t a question. wilbur had welcomed them into his nation with open, welcoming arms, and they accepted graciously and without hesitation.

they can see the gears turning in dream’s head, and they can only see those gears growing sharp with time. it’s not much of a question.

and maybe that has something to do with it, but at the end of the day they can’t quite say what made them accept dream’s invitation to chat.

(it was greed, it was the promise of power, it was cowardice and ambition and desperation all wrapped in a disgusting little bundle that rested in their chest, and maybe still does.)

in any case, they find themselves face to face with the man who should be their worst enemy right now.

they hold themselves poised as they can, and for some reason it makes dream huff what must be a laugh. he settles on a block, gesturing for eret to do the same. they refuse.

“so i have a proposition,” dream starts, adjusting his mask to more thoroughly cover his face. he pauses, and eret raises an eyebrow, waves for him to continue.

“we’re looking for a king to rule the smp,” he says, leaning forward.

“i thought you had george for that,” they say. what is this?

“not for now. later, sure, but i’m not sure he’s ready.” that makes eret frown. it’s an odd way to refer to one’s right-hand man, but at the end of the day it’s not their business.

“you’re asking me to be king?” they ask, hesitant.

“i’m not asking,” dream responds, and something in his tone makes them freeze. they take a step back, almost unwittingly.

“i want you to be king, eret. i think you’d do a banger job,” dream says, standing. as he stalks closer, they clench their fists, silently beg themselves not to show their discomfort.

he stops only a few inches away, crosses his arms far too casually for the situation.

“this is how it’s going to go,” he commands, and suddenly eret is far, far too aware of how this man has commanded men, won wars.

whatever he says… they can’t refuse.

> contrary to what everyone says, they don’t want to be a traitor, but if everyone’s going to think they’re the villain they might as well make it sound good.

the final control room goes perfectly. as they find themselves next to dream on the battlefield, dream’s cold, commanding hand leaving a bruise on their shoulder where he holds it proudly, they don’t feel like much a king, and they feel an awful lot like a slimy traitor.

> it’s not a coronation as much as a condemnation. dream places the crown on their head, and they can’t help but flinch away.

they think they hear sapnap stifle a chuckle, and every nerve in their body constricts in barely contained rage.

dream uses his hand to force eret’s chin up, and they refuse to meet his eyes until he squeezes enough to hurt. he nods, patronizingly, lets go and brushes invisible dust off their shoulders.

they pray for it to be over.   > being a king has always been a figurehead. they hold no power.

dream doesn’t accept anything less than perfect. not in their posture, not in their robes, not in their voice and actions. they do what he says, and they don’t what he doesn’t.

the others hate them, still, and they can’t blame them in the slightest. they’ve barely seen them, not since the final control room, and they can only hope they’ve pulled themselves together, since.

they’re so proud of tommy. but they can’t say that, not hardly, not when dream’s pacing back and forth in the meeting room.

they stand at the door like a guard, only really there as a pretty decoration, and they’re only forced to listen while dream and the others concoct plan after plan to kill the others.

they’re so tired. > they’re more of a target than anything. dream promised them immunity, and they knew it was a lie then; it’s only brought the opposite.

they’re a figure for everyone’s hatred. dream is still acting reasonable in the public eye, for now, and eret is the crazy one. the one who traded their country for kingship, for power that doesn’t exist.

dream doesn’t let them cry, not when he can see it. they’re more thankful for their glasses than ever.

they’ve gotten real good at hiding flinching, too. > dream doesn’t starten to loosen his hold at all until the election. they don’t think he means to, but with other playthings in the form of a president and an exiled man, he doesn’t have as much time to fuck with them.

but he makes one thing very clear:

“don’t leave the castle without my permission, got it?”

they’ve got it. > fundy is the first to visit, and when the first signs of orange appear at the end of the throne room, they almost weep in relief, almost trip on the edge of their cloak before dream’s words snap them back to their senses, telling them not to act undignified. they still can’t help the giddy smile on their face, and fundy looks them hard in the eye before an awkward “hi.”

they return it quietly. > it’s a hard thing, walking the line between trying to apologize and trying not to reveal anything.

(because they can’t tell the others. they can’t.)

they’re pretty sure fundy suspects something, but they can’t say anything.

not even when they flinch whenever someone raises their voice or moves too fast, or how they’re so much quieter than before, or how they staunchly, staunchly refuse to leave the castle unless it’s an event they’ve been invited to.

dream is playing them like a fucking fiddle, and they can’t do anything about it. > niki is the first person they say anything to.

they’re on a parapet, looking out at the stars, and niki rests her head on their shoulder. they smile down at her. they’ve removed their glasses, and the light from their eyes bathes her in gentle light.

“i’m worried for you,” she says, hooking her arm in theirs. they start back a bit.

“what do you mean?” they ask, trying and failing to reclaim the royal disposition they fall back to in situations like this.

“you’re not happy as king,” she says, moving to fully look them in the face.

(they’re uncomfortable. what do they say? what would dream want them to say? what’s safe?)

“i’m fine,” they say. “it’s just stressful, is all.”

she scoffs. “with what work? eret, it’s obvious you’re not in charge. just please, tell me what’s going on. is it dream?”

they feel the urge to lower their voice like he’s listening in, as silly as it is.

(is he?)

their hands are shaking, and they clasp them to hide it. “i can't tell you anything."

and they don’t say anything more, because dream is there, guiding niki out of the castle, and they don’t say anything to stop it. > they hate him. they hate him, they hate him, they hate him, they hate him, and they don’t say anything about it.

they let dream toy with the idea of replacing them with george, they let him threaten their life, they let him say everything he wants to him, and they take it with grace like they know he wants them to do.

they stand in the center of the room as he paces, feeling so utterly exposed. their crown feels heavy, their robes feel like they’re pulling them to the floor, but they stand composed even as they feel like they might lose a life any moment.

they clench their fists to hide how they’re shaking like a leaf, and it does nothing.

he lunges forward, grasps their chin, and they know now to make eye contact immediately. their eyes reflect off his mask.

he tilts their head, inspecting something, and they don’t flinch even as they know he’ll leave bruises on their cheekbones. he pushes them back, and they try not to stumble.

“you’re an embarrassment,” is all he says. “and if you speak to any of them tomorrow, if you even think of leaving the throne room, i’ll kill you right then and there.”

and they don’t doubt it for a second. > fundy tries to get their attention, and as his ears droop and he spits retorts as he leaves and they pretend to continue reading the book and shift uncomfortably on the throne, they feel like crying. dream is just taunting them. > the next day, it’s niki. she stares them down, tells them not to bend this low, and she leaves. they do cry, then, and dream tells them to stop. and they do. > then it’s sapnap, and they don’t know whether they can talk to him as he tells them about his day. their hands curl on their book, and they don’t know where dream is, and they don’t know if sapnap is safe, and everything feels like too much and sapnap is asking them if they’re paying attention, and then they’re ripping the book with their grip and they’re crying and sapnap is asking them if they’re ok and they still don’t know whether he’s safe and they can’t breathe, and they’re on the floor and sapnap is still asking them if they’re ok and they don’t know.

and dream is there, and for once his hold is soft and he strokes their hair and tells them it’s ok, and of course of sapnap is safe, you’re being silly, and how about we call it a day, and they can’t even help but nod in agreement. > dream tells them to take the day off, and they know it’s not kindness, because as they give up on the latch of the door and wonder whether they can make it out of the window, they see a few people congregating near the castle. they can’t quite make out their names, their faces, or even their voices, but they can tell anger when they hear it. something is happening. > and in front of everyone, the next day, as dream stares her down, niki asks them to join her. they lower their head, stare at their lap as dream chuckles. > but they do. dream tells them he’ll kill them. he tells them he’ll kill niki, kill fundy, kill tommy, kill everyone, but it doesn’t matter. he won’t hurt anyone but them, at least not for now, and they don’t fucking care.

let him do as he pleases, they won’t go down easy. anything is better than this.

they rip the crown off their head, throw it down at dream’s feet, and they leave the castle for the first time in months. > niki cheers when she sees them, and they grin, hug her, grab her and swing her around. it doesn’t matter that they’re both in armor, it doesn’t matter that they’re about to go to war against him, they’re there and they’re out and they’re with the people they love.

even if they don’t love them back. they don’t miss tommy’s glare.

(they deserve it.) > they pity george.

they offer their comfort. they don’t get a response.

(not for months, anyways.)   > they retake their mantle, and it’s only a bit easier than before. dream’s control has loosened, but it’s still there, still a looming sense of fear that makes it hard for them to take a full breath.

their friends aren’t there much anymore. fundy is lost in grief, and niki’s doing… whatever she’s doing.

but a new member approaches them oohs and aahs at their castle but approaches them like a person in a way that makes them want to weep.

her name is puffy, and they love her already. > it’s so hard to leave the castle. they still imagine dream popping out from somewhere, telling them to get back inside, and more often than not they don’t make it out of the door. they're loitering in the doorway, fidgeting with their hands when they see puffy. she waves at them, grinning, and they give her a shaky smile back.

“what’s up?” she asks. their chest tightens.

“um. not sure yet,” is all they can muster, and god, dream wouldn’t like that, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter anymore.

she nods. “cool.”

they stand in silence for a few seconds, and then she extends a hand and says, “i’m on a walk. wanna join me?”

it’s clear what she’s doing, and they grin at her kindness. the looming feeling in their chest dissipates, just a little. they take her hand, and soon enough they’re out from under the shadow of the castle, and they’re in the sunlight.

and it's hard, their hands still shake and they get the urge to run back where it's safe even when it's not, but she distracts them every time their eyes stray and when they sit down in the middle of the prime path and hide their face in their hands and scrub tears a voice tells them they shouldn't be shedding in the first place she sits with them and makes them laugh. > “maybe being king can be something good,” puffy tells them one night.

“you think?” they ask, huffing a laugh. “i’m not sure.”

“yeah,” she says, elbowing them playfully. “you’re in a special position. maybe you can use your influence to help everyone.”

“i don’t have influence,” they start, but she interrupts.

“i know, maybe politically, you don’t. but people respect you. you can use that.”

it’s hard to imagine anyone respecting them, after their cowardice. but as they lean against puffy and stare at the crater, they suppose someone needs to try around here. and they will.

(they push down the voice that says it’s retribution.)

[faebriel]

ok ok I'm insane and couldn't pick one so have two (no need to answer both if you don't want to)

“You talk to him.” Not kindly, but he does.

“I’m used to him,” he shoots back. “I’m the only person who is.”

That makes Niki feel something, some uncomfortable tug in her chest. She mentally kicks herself. It’s not jealousy, she reminds herself, because despite the near-cliff jumping and the long nights without food and the nuclear fallout that has punctuated her last few months, being jealous of Tommy would be the least reasonable thing she’s allowed herself to be, maybe ever.

“You don’t believe me,” Tommy says flatly. “You never - eugh.” He cuts himself off with another ragged sigh, running a hand down his face. “Look, Niki, it’s - we were all together in Pogtopia, right? But I was there first. With him. And you didn’t see the start of it, it was horrible, and I’m glad no one else saw the beginning of it either but it was still just so shit and he kept saying all these terrible things about Tubbo and Fundy and you and,” he takes a shaky breath, “then, when I died, I saw him.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

Well, the voice in the back of her head whistles. If you were still wondering about all this afterlife bullshit, if you want to know where you’re going after your third life, here you go.

and

“You didn’t even - this isn’t about L’Manberg, Wilbur!” Niki shouts.

And then he stops, breathing hard, and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say.

“What else is there?” he asks.

Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut, her chest, her shoulders, chilled down to the bone. With slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes, sitting in her throat, threatening to spill over into a sob. She swallows - to keep her cool, to stay calm, to keep it together -

And then, something in her chest just snaps.

“You said you’d come back for me!” she cries, and her voice hitches on the lump of tears at the back of her throat and god, she sounds absolutely pathetic. Wilbur’s face softens immediately, which somehow just makes her feel even worse. “In Manberg. When Schlatt put me in prison, and you and Tommy were in Pogtopia, you said you’d break me out when it was safe. I waited for weeks , Wilbur. It was… it was horrible.”

“Niki…” a kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across his face, and he seems unsure which to settle on. “We got you out though, right? After the festival.”

“You looked for the button first,” she says quietly, and he stills.

Her sniffling sounds embarrassingly loud against the quiet background of night.

thank you sm!!! i’m gonna put these under the cut because they got a little long sorry (tw for discussion of suicidal ideation)

to preface: tommy is kind of the accidental but incredibly necessary invisible support beam for niki and wilbur’s making amends in bitter. niki cannot accept wilbur’s actions and apology without first acknowledging her own actions and making steps towards an apology, because otherwise it kind of falls flat? in that ending scene niki finally gets what wilbur is feeling and wilbur finally gets that someone else knows how he feels (it’s not perfect 100% yet, but…. that’ll get explored later)

onto the actual snippet! “tommy talks to wilbur - not kindly, but he does” was very important to me! tommy has stuck by wilbur ever since pogtopia, but the tragedy is that he is not equipped to deal with wilbur’s issues, and it shows. wilbur’s first stream after revival depicts this really clearly, where tommy tails wilbur around the whole time but insults him, is still stuck on calling him the villain, physically fights him at some point, etc. on one hand this isn’t healthy but on the other hand tommy is actually around, which is more than can be said for basically any other ally wilbur has had on the dsmp, maybe excluding his dad, who literally killed him lmfao.

this whole issue is exacerbated by the fact that tommy believes that he is the only person who properly understands wilbur, the only person who gets what happened to him, and feels like wilbur is generally his burden to bear. he failed to stop wilbur from both 1. hurting other people and 2. killing himself after the pogtopia-manberg war - and he doesn’t trust wilbur not to do either of those things again, so he’s stuck hovering around wilbur while wilbur is inadvertently setting off his own trauma and feeling responsible for any way he might fuck up and hating that but not wanting to leave. tommy’s memory isn’t perfect and he isn’t a perfect narrator, what he remembers from pogtopia the most were the scariest parts and that’s understandable but it means he’s holding wilbur to the worst expectations of behaviour (and he does so very vocally). the others showed up later, sure, but in tommy’s eyes he’s the only one who saw wilbur’s descent, and by the time they showed up wilbur had already changed irreversably. tommy tries to rationalise this by splitting the ‘different wilburs’ apart from each other in his head (he does this in canon too - there’s one quote from like late 2020 where he says he and tubbo need to keep on going for who wilbur used to be, not who he became, even though they’re,, the same person), and no one challenges that perspective, so he just keeps doing it even though it’s not healthy for him or wilbur.

and then limbo happened and, oh geez, THAT didn’t help jhfaskjjfsa

tommy is on a bit of a knife edge with niki in this fic. niki’s in this state of “ok, he’s annoying whatever, i’m moving on”, but all tommy knows is that she tried to kill him that one time, disappeared off the face of the map, joined a book club with two people who definitely do not like him, and now is just acting weirdly mellow and polite. she is not someone he wants near wilbur bc what the fuck is she gonna do? what is he gonna do? who knows. he’s frustrated that niki doesn’t seem to acknowledge how he’s feeling (especially bc once upon a time she would have been someone he trusted to acknowledge them - they were friends, they fought together) and he’s taking a big step by telling someone about his concerns here, especially bc tommy doesn’t really like talking about them at all. he wouldn’t be saying absolutely anything to niki if he didn’t truly believe she should stay away from wilbur, even if he’s wrong about him. (sometimes i think i write tommy as a little too emotionally mature here but it all goes out the window when wilbur’s brought up. idk if that balances it out)

ok onto niki: this is the first she has actually heard of limbo! she’s only just come around to the fact that resurrection is possible at all. death is kind of a touchy subject for niki both in general and re: wilbur in the fic - she’s coming off of a period in her life where suicidal ideation was, uh, a big thing (whether you want to read that into canon or not is subjective, that’s just the angle i went with in this fic). the sudden existence of a life after death, miserable as it is - and whether she really believes in such a place, when it only exists in tommy and wilbur’s words - that is a lot of information for her to absorb all at once. death is a weird connection point for tommy and niki here, coming right off of the fact that they’ve just acknowledged each other having those problems - tommy, out of, yknow, altruism, would very much like to keep niki out of that place, and niki is quietly reckoning with the fact that that is where she would have sent him. the concept of limbo from the perspective of a character with no experience of it, even secondhand, is so interesting to me like what kind of eldritch location would you feel like you’re living in asghjkl

(also - i gotta be honest the jealousy angle here but mostly when she’s talking later about dream not deserving wilbur’s companionship kinda came out after this post came across my dash while writing. whoops /j)

-

fun fact, this is the very first snippet of bitter that i ever wrote! all the way back in may!! this is like the moment of the fic - it's where the miscommunication that niki and wilbur have been having is shattered entirely - and so sticking the landing was uhhh kinda important to me lol.

wilbur's entire being in this fic is basically consumed by L'Manberg - he equates his self worth to it entirely. in his eyes, everyone (rightfully) hates him because of what he did to L'Manberg, because L'Manberg was corrupted and he himself with it, etc. niki tries to tell herself this, and while it definitely does form part of her issues with him, it was the betrayal that causes her this much pain - that he seemingly brushed her and their friendship off entirely when he supposedly left her for dead in manberg. because here is what we as the audience know: wilbur couldn’t leave niki in trouble when he heard her life was in danger, even when he was trying to find the button (pretty much the only thing he sees himself as having left at this point) and so he returned. here is what it looks like from niki’s perspective: wilbur told her to wait in manberg until it was safe to come to pogtopia, laid the place with TNT, went to blow up the place, and only returned when he couldn’t find the detonator (and then the first thing she saw him do in pogtopia was encourage the pit behaviour but that’s not what we’re talking about asdfgh). that is massive miscommunication and it’s been brewing between them for months - to make a quirky little reference to the title, niki has been carrying that anger with her so long it's gone bitter. it was never just about l’manberg with niki - not that anger, not her and wilbur’s friendship (hence the little flashback earlier in the fic, bc niki’s relationship to anarchism and statehood or statelessness juxtaposed with her friendships with wilbur and eret - she loves l’manberg bc she loves wilbur, but she loves eret too and those national ties don’t undermine that - is Real Interesting to me) - so when wilbur asks what else there could possibly be (because in his mind, what else could she have bothered staying around for?), she just fucking breaks.

“Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut...with slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes” - prose discussion time! heat and cold are two big throughlines in this fic - particularly for niki, cold is what she is. admittedly when i started with it i mostly wanted to subvert hot = angry and cold = dead but i kinda ended up enjoying this take on it for what it is instead of just as a subversion (also i like the idea of revived people running hot, their bodies r working hard to keep em going). she’s holding onto her feelings and refusing to deal with them, she’s frozen over. descriptions of cold are key to niki’s mental state throughout the fic - cold weight on her chest, feelings of frostbite when she and wilbur hug the first time, ice cold water during the dinner scene, waking up in the cold flat, etc. this was an attempt at describing a more visceral feeling of like, when you’re really mad and you can just feel the adrenaline running through your veins. always felt more cold than hot to me. when she starts to cry, the facade she’s been putting on is finally thawing out and cracking the ice she’s buried her feelings under. (also gives an excuse to write warm comforting hugs towards the end /hj). it’s a loss, it’s catharsis, it’s a whole mess.

and ofc this is all news to wilbur and he feels terrible, because as unintentional as it was, he really really hurt her - because the destruction of l’manberg fucking sucked but above all else wilbur hurt the people he loved because they loved him so much and not in spite of it, because they cared about him so deeply and his death was a massive blow to them. this hasn’t even dawned on him, because how could it? he respects deeply niki (lowkey respects her opinion more than his own at this point) so he has to listen, because it’s niki (“and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say” - because he does), and what she says fucking floors him. in his eyes, he failed her by putting her in danger and then by destroying her home - the idea that she valued him and their friendship so much flies entirely over his head until this moment, and he is forced to re-evaluate the mindset that has motivated him since… basically since pogtopia! the way i write wilbur is like… yes, he’s one of niki’s closest friends and he’s more aware of her insecurities and issues than most (which is why he does always take the time to listen to her, etc) but he does over-idealise her a bit. tbf, i think he does to some extent with everyone (calling tubbo strong on the anniversary stream, for example). also the fact that he really wasn’t around for niki’s lowest moments as a character! he still thinks of her the way she was in l’manberg - confident, steadfast, respected - and this moment shatters that for him as he realises exactly what effect he and his death had on her and everyone else, not just by his actions, but because they loved him and cared for him so deeply.

sorry that this got horrifically long!! and thank you so much for sending snippets in <3333

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 5,482

Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, referenced (temporary) character death

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur overhears a conversation that is not quite meant for him, and then they all set out to pick up Technoblade. It’s not the worst road trip in the world, but it’s not exactly the best, either.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Thirteen: wipe the dirt off of your hands (i)

They settle on two hours as a timeline. Two hours before they leave: he, Phil, Tommy, and Tubbo, the four of them off to the tundra. He’s left the rest of them to decide whether they want to stay in the castle or be among those braving the rest of the server in order to warn the others, to bring anyone who wants to come back with them to their base of operations. Safe and sound, or as much as anyone can be, now.

Two hours. It feels like too long. Dream could be doing anything with that time. The Egg could be doing anything with that time. He feels restless, irritated at the wait, even though he knows it makes sense, knows that pushing everyone too hard too soon will do more harm than good, that two hours, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t very long.

(but isn’t it, though? two hours can change the tide of a battle, can mean the difference between success and failure, life and death, a surrender and a victory)

He finds himself pacing the hallways of the castle.

It’s in greater disrepair than he expected. Almost every room he walks into is coated in dust. No one has stayed here in—months, probably. No one other than Eret, perhaps, and he said he’d been away. It puts him in a strange mood; he remembers this place when it was new, when it was lived in, spilling over with light and movement, and he hated it then, of course, hated what it stood for, what it represented, but it made others happy. Niki, for one; she always liked Eret, despite his efforts to persuade her otherwise. Fundy,

(and the memory is fuzzy, indistinct, because Ghostbur did not want to remember this, did not want to confront his own inadequacy, but Fundy stands in front of him with papers clutched in his hand and he’s saying something about adoption and all that he feels is crushing abandonment, crushing guilt, and it is wiped away in the blue only a moment later but for that moment, he is overwhelmed by the knowledge that he has failed his son, failed him badly enough that he would run to the arms of a traitor, and the word adoption drips like sodden soil, drips like words that die useless on his tongue)

because he always liked Eret too, even though he was there that day, even though he lost a life to his machinations, his betrayal, even though he should have known better. He’s pretty sure he remembers HBomb staying here as well, though he never knew the man well enough to pay attention. But now there is no one, and the castle is empty, and every step he takes feels haunted by ghosts of people that still live.

The castle is a relic. Perhaps he is one, too. A relic of an older time. This server has moved on, has changed so much, and he plays at being the general again, puts on the general’s mask as it is needed, but he doesn’t know if that’s right, if it makes any difference at all, if the general can find his footing in an altered world. How useful is a general that doesn’t know the lay of the land?

(how useful is a general who has not won the war within himself?)

(the part of you that could lead broke a long time ago and you know it and it was not the ravine that did it you were broken before then broken under the weight of a position you did not know how to handle and your shining city stood for freedom stood for those you wanted to protect but it became harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning and you crumpled crumpled like wet paper like the documents that signed your emancipation and meant nothing at all in the end because the ideals fell apart long before you set the final nail in the coffin you built for yourself)

Two hours. Less than that, by now, surely. If Phil were to see him, he’d tell him to rest. Perhaps that’s part of why he’s doing this. Wandering alone. Because if Phil were to see him, he’d tell him to rest,

(hypocrite that he is, because Wilbur knows that Phil is not resting, knows that he’s situated himself at the castle’s highest turret, eyes cast to the distance, shoulders tense and posture still, waiting, a live wire)

but he cannot, cannot dispel the energy that buzzes through him, even though his mind is fogged with exhaustion. He cannot rest, and not least because he doesn’t know what kind of dreams would greet him, what would rise out of the darkness now that he knows precisely what lurks within it.

So he walks. Walks, and walks, and tries not to count the minutes as they pass, walks several laps through the castle’s corridors before the sound of voices breaks him out of his fugue.

“—talking about?” someone says, and it’s Tommy. He slows to a stop outside of a closed door, identical to all the rest but for the fact that there is someone inside.

“I mean it,” comes the reply. Tubbo. His voice is muffled by the barrier between them, but Wilbur can understand him perfectly. And for a moment, he considers moving onward. Whatever they’re discussing, they don’t need him listening in on it.

Instead, he inches closer, and leans against the wall just outside the door. The stone is hard against his back, unforgiving, cold.

“I can do the most good here,” Tubbo continues. “You all don’t need me to come with you to get Technoblade. That’s—Tommy, this is serious, you know?”

“I fucking know,” Tommy snaps. “I don’t see why that means you’ve got to stay behind.”

“Because I can actually help here,” Tubbo replies, his voice rising slightly. “Tommy—listen, Tommy, I know about these kinds of things. Not enough, but some, and I can help. I can try to keep it out. I can put enchantments all over the place and stuff like that, try to make sure it can’t get to us. Try and make it a safe place. That’s something we need right now.” He pauses. “Take Ranboo with you instead, yeah? He lives up there, he’s close with Techno, he should go.”

“I don’t want to leave you here,” Tommy says.

Wilbur closes his eyes. There is more emotion in his voice than this situation alone would warrant, he thinks. More history. More history that he, perhaps, is not privy to. That he hasn’t asked about, that he didn’t want to ask about, because he didn’t want to prod at wounds that have not yet closed. He regrets it, now. Perhaps then he would have context for the crack in Tommy’s voice.

“I know,” Tubbo says, his voice soft. “But you’ve got to. We’ve got to do what we’ve go to do now, big man. You and Wil go get Techno and look at Phil’s books. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He expects strong words from Tommy at that. But instead there is silence. Wilbur strains to hear, leans in closer, but there is nothing.

“This isn’t like then,” Tubbo says after a moment. “We’re both safe. Wilbur won’t let anything happen to you. And nobody here’s gonna let anything happen to me. I’ve got Eret, and Sapnap, and Puffy.”

“Oh, well, if Eret’s here,” Tommy mutters, and Wilbur jerks. Tommy’s voice is choked, wet, and for a second, his instinct is to open the door, to step inside and offer what comfort he can, but his feet feel glued to the floor.

(this is not for you not for you to heal these hurts when the root of the hurt is of you this is them their moment and you are on the outside looking in a trespasser and if you move anywhere it must be to go)

“I thought you forgave Eret,” Tubbo says.

“I do,” Tommy replies. “This is—this isn’t about that, and you know it, I just—”

“I know,” Tubbo says, “I do, I know.”

There is silence after that. A rustle of clothing. And then a few muffled noises. Wilbur knows all too well what it sounds like, someone crying into someone else, allowing themself a moment of grief, of terror, of unbridled emotion. He should leave. Leave them to it. Leave them to this. It’s the least he can do; this is his fault, his fault that they’re involved in this, his fault that they’ve been dragged into conflict once again, his fault that anything terrible happened to them at all. His fault they’re not all still at home, on a server far away, in the house that he and Tommy grew up in and that Tubbo may as well have.

(you took them with you and made soldiers out of them, soldiers out of children. you took them with you and set the weight of the world on their shoulders, and the way their eyes dimmed is because of you. the burn scars on Tubbo’s face, the tremble in Tommy’s fingers that he tries fruitlessly to hide, this is all because of you. you took children and gave them grownups’ clothes and grownups’ weapons and guided their hands to pierce the heart, guided their hands with your own and claimed the blood for yours though it did not change the way their hands were painted, and then you abandoned them, abandoned them to yourself and then, at the last, fully, abandoned them in every way possible, abandoned them to the wolves and the ruins and you should have known better, should have known that even if the land was not important to you it was important to these children, these children you sent to hell with songs on their lips)

(but then, there is this also: they would not have had it any other way. they looked at you with stars in their eyes, and perhaps they were blinded by the fire of you, but they loved you. they loved you then, and they love you still. and they will follow you yet despite it all despite what you have done they will follow you and their eyes are open to what you are and they still follow and it must be for love little though you deserve it it must be for love because love is not about deserving)

He breathes. Puts his back to the wall, and then slides down. Sits. Listens to Tommy cry. Presses his eyes shut, and then presses the palms of his hands to his eyes until spots of color flicker on the back of his eyelids.

He stays there for a long time before lurching to his feet once again.

----------

“I didn’t miss this,” Tommy mutters, rubbing his arms, glaring balefully at Phil as if he controls the weather.

Phil offers a short laugh. Out of all of them, he’s the only one really dressed for the climate; Eret offered them all heavier coats before they left, but there’s heavier coats and then there’s coats meant for a blizzard, and these are not the latter.

“We’ve got some better stuff once we get to the house,” Phil says. “I’ll make us some hot drinks, too.”

“I don’t want your stupid tea,” Tommy says, but he seems mollified.

“I’ll take some tea,” Ranboo says immediately afterward, and Wilbur is having to slowly revise his opinion of this kid. Anxious as all hell, sure. A bit of a pushover, definitely. But he’s got a streak of hardness in him, though he tends to back down upon being challenged. Like right now: Tommy directs his glare toward him, and he apologizes immediately. But he’s a bit of an enigma, this Ranboo. Hidden depths. And Ghostbur liked him, which doesn’t always count for anything, but in this case, he thinks it might.

“Everyone who wants some tea can have some tea,” Phil says, another laugh in his voice. He looks a bit better than he did earlier, though his smile seems strained, his movements rushed, obviously anticipating their arrival at their destination. His wings are hidden again, disguised underneath a thick cloak, and Wilbur hates it all the more, if that’s possible, now that he understands exactly why. He remembers Phil telling him, once, that he disliked keeping his wings under his clothes, that it was uncomfortable, itchy, cramped. And now Phil does it as if it is second nature.

“I wouldn’t mind some tea,” he says softly, and glances away when Phil looks at him.

“Of course, Wil,” Phil says, matching his tone, and then they pass out from under the trees, and Technoblade’s quaint little cottage comes into view.

The windows are dark. No smoke rises from the chimney. It’s a far cry from the last time he saw it, when it seemed to him a bastion against the pervasive chill outside, warm and welcoming, no matter his trepidation about who waited within.

“Well, that’s ominous,” Tommy says, and Wilbur winces.

“Maybe he’s sleeping?” Ranboo tries. “I’ve never lost a life here, but, um, y’know, I used to live on Hypixel. Did some of the arena stuff, respawned a few times. It always made me tired.”

“That’s probably it,” Phil agrees, but his eyes are pinched, and Wilbur can tell that he’s worried. It is an easy thing to read, Phil’s worry. Easy to read, for how common it is. He strains to remember whether this stress he carries with him was nearly as prevalent when they were kids, and he comes up empty.

“Well, let’s go wake him up, then,” Tommy declares, and strides forward with determination, still talking. “I fucking hate this place, it’s such a stupid little house—” Ranboo follows after him, but Wilbur grabs Phil by the arm, delaying him for a second even as he tracks the kids’ progress ahead of them, like they’ll fall into some misfortune if he looks away for a moment.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Respawn can be tough,” Phil says. “I need to lay eyes on him for myself.”

He knows, of course, what Phil is talking about. He remembers the sensation all too well. Remembers the pain

(in his throat as Punz slashed it, his lifeblood spilling out on his hands as he clutched the wound, his voice silenced, silenced as he tried to breathe but choked on thick copper and it took him a full minute to bleed out on the floor, every second edged with desperate, consuming fear)

(in his back as Punz’s shot sailed true, hit his heart, his vision darkening around the edges as terror flooded him, terror not just for him but for Tommy, for Tommy, his little brother who he never intended to bring down with him)

of dying, and then the void, but not the true void, not the void he remembers all too well,

(not the void that cradled him even as it ate away at all he was)

but a transition, a place both within life and out of it, and a howling second-minute-hour in which he could feel nothing at all. And then, slamming back into consciousness, every nerve burning with the phantom agony of disembodiment, of every cell destroyed and then forced back together, made anew,

(but there was no time to rest no time to work through it because they needed to go needed to run)

gasping back to the living world shaking and barely cognizant.

Respawn can be tough. Is tough. He knows that Techno has experienced it before, if rarely, but that was on different worlds, worlds that do not limit a person’s lives. He has not lost one here. Has not lost one that counted so dearly.

But there is nothing to do now but walk forward.

The house is cold, the fire unlit. Tommy has sobered, and his arms are crossed, almost hugging himself. Ranboo shifts uneasily, gaze flickering around the ground floor, the unlit furnaces, the chests stacked against each other, the windows slanting thin light into the room. Wilbur catches Phil’s eye, and Phil sighs.

“Up here,” he says, and starts up the ladder. He waits a beat before following, something in him oddly reluctant.

He didn’t venture up here, when he visited—how long ago? Not more than two weeks.

(two weeks breathing, two weeks living, and it feels like so, so much longer)

He’s not sure what he was expecting from Techno’s room, but it was probably something like this: chests shoved against the wall, a bell out on display, an emerald block for good measure, bookshelves in every available space. It is very Techno, sparse and yet not, filled with only the things he cares deeply about, cramped but lived-in. But the bed is empty, and it takes a moment for Wilbur to spot where Techno is. When he does, his heart leaps into his throat.

Techno is sitting against the wall, and on first glance, he looks fine. But only on a first glance, because a second tells Wilbur that his breathing is labored, his eyes screwed tightly shut, sweat beading his forehead. His fists are clenched, and fine tremors run through his body, a constant shuddering that must be exhausting.

There is a new scar on his neck. Thick and white.

Ranboo makes a sound, a startled warble. Tommy inhales sharply, and is silent.

Wilbur feels frozen where he stands.

Respawn can be tough. But somehow, this feels like something else.

(his brother is supposed to be invincible unstoppable impervious to pain he is not supposed to be hurt he is not supposed to be hurt and he doesn’t know what to do for something of this magnitude because he knows how to help when the voices get to loud when his voices drown out everything else and give him migraines but this is not that this is deeper than that worse than that)

Phil steps forward, robes swishing as he kneels by Techno’s side. His hands hover, but he does not touch. Wilbur wants to join him, wants to help, but he still can’t make himself move. He’s not sure why this sight has frozen him so; perhaps it’s because he wasn’t prepared for it, even with all his knowledge of the possibilities, even being well aware that no one comes out of losing a life unscathed, ready to jump back into battle, not even Technoblade.

Perhaps there really isn’t anything that can prepare him to see his brother in pain. Even now.

(and the general is useless here, because this is family)

“Hey,” Phil says quietly. “Techno? You awake?”

To his surprise, Techno stirs. Shifts just a bit in place, wincing, and then his eyes crack open. They are dazed, glazed over, the usually piercing red dull and clouded and—

Gold. There is gold in his eyes, too, flickering, flashing, and every time Wilbur catches a glimpse of it, Techno jerks, a convulsion just barely distinguishable from the rest of his shaking. It is a shimmering gold, the same color as the burst of light that hailed his resurrection, that hailed his renewal, that hailed Technoblade never dies, the burst of energy that vibrated in his bones and sent heat skidding across his skin. The light of the totem is in Techno’s eyes, somehow, and it—

It is hurting him.

“Shit,” Phil mutters. “I was worried about this. Techno, can you hear me?”

Techno swallows, his throat bobbing, and Wilbur’s eyes are drawn

(Dream’s axe in his throat and the blood spurts hot and red and he only has a moment to stare at the gaping wound before the sentence comes down and his brother is)

to the scar again. Almost imperceptibly, Techno nods.

“Okay,” Phil says, and his hands finally land, one on Techno’s shoulder and one on his hand, and Techno immediately grasps his fingers in a death grip. Phil winces, but makes no protest. “Okay, you’re gonna be okay, Techno. Not much to do but wait it out, but I can get you some pots that should help. Would that be okay?”

Technoblade huffs, and then nods. Again, just slightly. His eyes flicker around the room, half-lidded, and Wilbur’s not even sure that he’s aware they’re all there, except then, his gaze lands on Tommy and stays there. Tommy flinches, face paling, and he edges back toward the ladder, hands clenching and unclenching, like he thinks that Techno is going to leap up and attack him, somehow, in this state.

(but that’s not it at all—this is the attack, seeing him in this way, seeing him weakened, seeing the result of the action he took, because Wilbur knows himself and he knows Tommy, and he knows that for all his efforts, Tommy takes after him in some ways. Tommy internalizes a lot. internalizes blame, takes responsibility for things outside of his control, things with vast, terrible consequences, even as he avoids responsibility for minor faults, things that no one takes much issue with in the first place. he’s strange like that, Tommy, but he knows all too well that Tommy watched Technoblade die in front of him, for him, and decided immediately that it was his fault. he would have done the same thing. has been doing the same thing)

(Dream’s voice, smooth and confident and hated: how many people are gonna have to sacrifice themselves for you before you learn?)

(the answer: at least one more, always one more, but somebody needs to get it through Tommy’s skull that he is worth it, worth a sacrifice, worth everything that people are willing to give him and more. someone needs to tell him, because he doesn’t think he knows)

Technoblade grunts something, short and clipped, and it takes him a second to realize he’s speaking in Piglin. Not for the first time, he regrets his barely rudimentary knowledge of the language. But Phil understands, and something that is just slightly too pained to be a real smile passes across his face. He answers in kind, and Technoblade relaxes marginally. He sighs, eyes falling shut, and he tips forward a bit, resting his head against Phil’s chest. Phil begins carding a hand through his hair, the motion seemingly automatic.

“Any of you have a weakness pot on you?” Phil asks, switching to the common tongue. “Healing and regen will do more harm than good for him right now. Best thing for him to do is sleep through it.”

He certainly doesn’t. Tommy shakes his head mutely. But Ranboo raises a tentative hand.

“I don’t have any on me, but I might have one at my house?” he offers. “I can go see.”

Phil nods. “Thank you, Ranboo,” he says, and Ranboo nods back, climbing down the ladder, casting once last glance at Techno before he goes. The front door opens and shuts a moment later, and the four of them are alone.

“What’s wrong with him, then?” Tommy asks, after a pregnant silence. “I mean. Respawn fucking sucks. But why is he like this?”

He’s trying too hard not to sound concerned. No one in this room is going to fall for it, except maybe Techno, who seems too out of it to be listening at all, really. But Phil doesn’t call him on it, just grimaces.

“I’ve seen it a few times before,” he says lowly. “Various wars I’ve been in. People could use a totem and then die again in their next breath, if they were unlucky. Respawning from that is always difficult, because the magic from the totem doesn’t have time to work its way out of your system, and it’s not the kind of thing that a respawn wipes away. It’s the opposite, actually. So he’s still got that shit raging through him, except now there’s nothing for it to do, so it’s stuck there until it dissipates. And it’s not—it’s not pleasant, from what I’ve seen. That shit’s potent. Not good to have it in you for too long.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it?” he checks.

“Short of killing him again? No,” Phil says. “Even that might not work. It’s been a few hours, so he should be coming out of the worst of it pretty soon. But until then, he just needs to rest.”

“C’n hear you,” Techno mumbles suddenly. He shifts so that his face is half-visible, and Wilbur’s not sure he remembers the last time he saw his brother look so vulnerable.

(on a stage in front of a crowd, perhaps, perhaps, peer pressure that he knew Techno would be unable to withstand, an impossible situation laid out before him, to blow his cover or not, to blow his cover and ensure the death of he and Tubbo alike, perhaps, perhaps, and which is better, to pull the trigger and save yourself or refuse and damn you both? but Techno made his choice, and he can only imagine what his face was doing, because a mask covered his expression that day, as it did so many of those days, a barrier between him and his brother. a barrier between the man he became, dark and shadowed and laying out plot threads like he thought himself one of the Fates, a man with the power to chose his own archetype, a barrier between that man and the man he strung along in his wake, cold, impersonal, intimidating, distant, and nothing like what he should have been. what they should have been, together)

It is hard to imagine that this man prides himself on being undefeated. Hard to imagine that only hours ago

(and it feels like days, like weeks, like a month)

this man was gleefully engaging Dream in combat, was winning before Dream decided to play dirty, before he dragged Tommy into it, before he took advantage of what he must have known Technoblade would do if Tommy was threatened, if his final life hung in the balance. Because for all his feelings of betrayal, for all his insistence that he’s done, finished with them, finished with trying, finished with involving himself in their troubles when he gets nothing in return, for all of that—

For all of that, Technoblade still cares for them. He knows that. And Technoblade is loyal to those he loves. Despite it all.

(and it is a bitter pill to swallow, after everything, but if Techno did not want to stand by their sides, he would not have come, whether Phil asked it of him or not. but he did. he did, and this is the price, the consequence)

“Yeah? Then can you hear me calling you a bitch?” Tommy says, and absolutely none of his usual bravado makes it into his voice.

Techno huffs, and if he’s going to say anything, it gets interrupted by the door down below opening and closing again, and then the ladder creaking as Ranboo climbs up.

“Weakness potion,” he says, holding it out, and Phil accepts it, handling it where Techno can see it.

“Taking this ought to help, Tech,” he murmurs. “I know it’s not your first choice, but there’s no point in you being awake while your body sorts this shit out.”

Techno flicks his fingers, a gesture that might loosely be interpreted as meaning go ahead, and then he sags, as if even doing that much has taken up all the energy he has left. But Phil takes it as an affirmative, and he guides the flask up to Techno’s lips, and Wilbur looks away as he prods Techno into swallowing its contents. It feels strangely intimate, uncomfortable, like he’s intruding on something private. Which should be a ridiculous thought; this is his father and his brother, and perhaps he’s never seen Techno hurt as bad as this, but he’s seen him hurt, and Phil has taken care of all of them like this at one point or another.

(but you see this and you cannot help but project and perhaps the intimacy discomfits you because it is not for you because you cannot help but imagine it for yourself and come to the conclusion that you do not deserve it would not deserve it if your positions were reversed)

(or perhaps you see this, and you see yourself standing there, doing nothing, not even speaking a word, and you just feel useless)

“He’s out,” Phil says, only a beat later. “He should be better by tomorrow, maybe even tonight if we’re lucky. These things just need to run their course.” He smooths a bit of hair back from Techno’s face, which is more peaceful now, slack in sleep, only a vague tightness to hint at disquiet.

“Um, well that’s good,” Ranboo says. “What do we do until then?”

“What we came here to do,” Phil says, and gets to his feet, lifting Technoblade in his arms in the same motion. It looks a bit awkward; Techno has more than a foot on Phil, but Phil carries him to his bed with apparent ease. “We came here for information, so that’s what we’ll try to find.” He pauses, frowning. “I don’t like leaving him alone in this state, but he should be alright, and we’ll be—”

“I’ll stay with him,” Tommy says.

Wilbur blinks. Tommy scowls. He looks a bit surprised, almost, like he didn’t expect the words to come out of his mouth. But when faced with the attention of the entire room, he doubles down on it.

“Look, someone should make sure he doesn’t keel over again in his sleep, right?” he says. “Not that I care, but it’d be—it’d be downright inconvenient, now, wouldn’t it? So someone oughta stay, and if we’re gonna be looking at, at books and shit, well, that’s not really my thing. Could be, if I wanted to! But y’know, it’s boring, and I have better things to do quite often. Like, like women and shit. So, maybe if you want to be doing research, I’m not—ugh, maybe I’m not the best man to help with that. So I can stay here with him.”

Phil cocks his head, apparently bemused. “I suppose?” he says. “But, Tommy, are you sure—”

“Oh Prime, yes,” Tommy says, and flaps a hand at all of them. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure, would I? So go and, go and look through all your stupid old man books, and I’ll stay here. Look, he’s even got a seat for me already.” He stalks across the room and throws himself down on the emerald block, pulling his legs up to sit criss-cross. “It’s like it was made for me. An e-mer-ald throne. Go on. Shoo. Fuck right off.”

His cheeks are a bit flushed. Embarrassment, no doubt, at being caught caring about Technoblade, because that’s what this is, deep down. But he’s fidgeting, too, like he’s nervous, though nervous about what, Wilbur isn’t sure. Nervous about being alone in a room with Techno? Maybe, except Techno is out like a light. Nervous about the rest of them confronting him on it? Also maybe, and Phil looks confused enough to push him on it, so Wilbur decides to step in.

“Good of you to volunteer, Tommy,” he says. “Come get us if he starts making odd sounds or something, I suppose.”

Tommy pulls a face. “Odd sounds,” he repeats dubiously. “That right there, I don’t appreciate the way you said that.”

“Ookay,” Phil says. “Right, then. Come get us if you need us, Tommy. Wil, Ranboo, I’ll show you where we’re going.”

Wilbur follows Phil back down the ladder. But not before looking at the scene one last time. Techno in bed, dead to the world. Tommy perched on an emerald block, staring at their brother with intensity, something dark and inscrutable flashing in his eyes. Wilbur wonders at the wisdom of leaving Tommy alone here. There is bad blood between them. Bad blood, despite what Techno just did. And it hurts a bit, having to consider things like this, having to consider the likelihood of his brothers trying to murder each other if they’re left alone together,

(and it is partially his fault, he knows, one more thing to add to the list, the pit looming large in his memories)

but there’s nothing for it now. If he brings his concerns up, Tommy will just buckle down further, his pride rearing up. So Wilbur follows Phil and Ranboo down the ladder, and tries to think positively.

It’s difficult. He’s out of practice at it.

“Alright,” Phil says, and once again, Wilbur is struck by how old he looks, how worn down. “Suppose I’ll show you two the stronghold, then.”

A beat passes.

“The what—”

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2021 Ch. 5: More than a Little Sick from the Sea

Summary: Henrik has dealt with some strange patients, it’s rare that he deals with actual pirates, however.

A/N: There will be a day when I will do a naval battle between Puffy and Magnum, but very tragically that day is NOT today. The roulette wheel had other things in mind.

Prompt: Water

Characters: Cap. Puffy, Henrik, and Wade

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Henrik was unfamiliar with the Server members on a personal level. He’d treated heroes, civilians, and even a couple villains. But since they’d first been spotted in the city, he’d yet to even treat the three apprentices. He’d seen them, but they’d rarely gotten anything more than a passing conversation as of yet.

However Iplier was off for the day and Wade was already calling ahead.

“Henrik! Hey, how yah[1] doing? You busy?” Wade immediately demanded Henrik picked up.

“At ze[2] moment, no,” Henrik sighed after. “Vhy?[3] Should I be?”

“No, we got a bit of an emergency, yah[1] know Bomble?” Wade asked.

“Ja?”[4] Henrik told him, rubbing at his face and hoping that whatever happened to the apprentice it was not serious.

“Well, his sister broke her leg and probably her arm, and almost drowned, we’re coming in now and we hoped you’d be able to look at her,” Wade reported.

Henrik looked at his schedule, making sure he was not supposed to be doing a surgery while he’d probably be treating her.

So he told Wade to bring her through the ER and when Henrik went in to see her, the German doctor heard her long before he physically saw her.

“Son of a bitch!” Puffy swore in pain as he walked in, talking to Wade and the nurse. Her hair was drenched with sea water, and already changed into a hospital gown. A bag of wet clothes was in the corner of the room. “That fucking bastard! When I get my fucking hands on him I’ll snap his fucking neck into so many pieces he’ll be shitting them out for the next week!”

“Scheiße,”[5] Henrik recognized her, punching the bridge of his nose. He had seen her palling around town with Magnum. He knew exactly what type of lunacy he was dealing with, at least if she was anything like Magnum. And judging from what he’d seen from all three of the apprentices she probably was.

Henrik was brought up to speed on “Puffy’s” progress. She’d just come out of a few tests to make sure there was no fluid in her lungs and that she wasn’t going to die from nearly drowning, and then they turned their attention to the slightly less important broken bones.

A couple x-rays later, Henrik found out that her leg wasn’t broken, but it was fractured, and her arm was the more damaged bone.

Puffy got a dose of pain meds and Wade sat in the room as Henrik waited until he could touch her leg or arm. She was angry and hurt until the drugs kicked in, and Puffy started talking. At first about her ship and crew, and how she was going to climb right back into her ship when she got out of the hospital.

Reminding Henrik why he also kept seeing Magnum back here as well.

Then as Henrik was putting her leg in a brace, Puffy got quiet for a bit.

“Niki’s gonna[6] kill me,” Puffy groaned, and turned to Henrik. “Doc just kill me now, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“Absolutely not,” Henrik told her. “Not only vill you live, but you vill be about to remove your cast in six to t’velve veeks.”[7]

Puffy giggled, “I like Germans, they’re fun. But hold up, buddy, I’m already taken.”

“As am I,” Henrik told her firmly. “Fur’zermore[8], you are a patient.”

“So, Niki, is that your friend?” Wade asked.

“Girlfriend,” Puffy smiled. “She doesn’t like it when I’m reckless. She says I gotta[9] be better than Will.”

“I am not certain zat[10] zis[11] is helping her nerves,” Henrik warned the captain.

“Shhh,” Puffy told him with a smile. “I’ll kiss her and make it better.”

“Und I hope zat vorks out for you,”[12] Henrik told her.

The rest of the hospital stay went well enough. Henrik tried to schedule her for a return check up. Puffy gave some date for it and then took a nap.

Puffy was later picked up by her girlfriend and Henrik didn’t wind up seeing her for that second appointment. He was told she did wind up making a full recovery, which Henrik supposed was what was important.

Although he knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see her in a hospital room.

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

Accessibility Translations:

1. you

2. the

3. Why?

4. Yes?

5. Shit

6. going to

7. Not only will you live, but you will be about to remove your cast in six to twelve weeks.

8. Furthermore

9. have to

10. that

11. this

12. And I hope that works out for you

[elias-code]

My OC's relationships on the Dream SMP

These are all characters, not the actual streamers! <3 It's also not all of them since I don't watch a few of them :) I harbour no hate towards the people behind the characters that I have issues with lmao

Awesamdude - Negative relationship - basically, he let Quackity get away with putting Techno away, let Tommy die and get revived by Dream and then never apologised, and then let ghostbur die and... wtf - Yeah we aren't friends. In another universe, if he weren't the warden, we might get along.

BadBoyHalo - He kinda gives me bad vibes - After the egg stuff I just don't really like to be around him... he killed Foolish and tried to kill everyone at the banquet which I just don't vibe with - I kinda understand why he joined the egg. I mean he was there for Skeppy which I think is ok, but he really went off the deep end. If he redeems himself, I'll be the first to befriend him (cautiously)

Callahan - Alright I taught him some American Sign Language for basic communication - I go and hang out with him whenever I feel like there's too much angst on the server, he's so neutral it's honestly relaxing.

Captain Puffy - We don't know each other very well - I mean I agree with her when it comes to the egg and she seems nice but it's hard to be friends with her when her son is Dream... poor Foolish, though.

Connor - I don't know how to feel about him - I don't have anything against him but... he just seems like someone I wouldn't get along with so I don't hang out with him. He is kinda funny tho

Dream - Ok, ok, he's just an ass - I'm not even gonna list why, you know why... I'm just saying. - I do feel bad for him since Quackity just beats the living shit out of him and he's already in prison so why...?

Dream XD - I fear no man... but that thing... it scares me. - Why his voice do that?? - I avoid him but if he approached me, I would be ok with being his friend, I mean he's a god. If I don't then I might die. Might as well use it to the fullest extent I can.

Eret - I don't really understand why he joined the opposing side during the L'Manburg war - I mean she's cool! I like their outfits and it's nice to have another queer person on the DSMP - I think we'd be good friends in another life, but our friend groups don't overlap very much, so it's hard to hang with them.

Foolish - Little bit scary ngl - Lightning go brrrrrr - I feel really bad for him since he's gotta be related to Dream and he died during the egg shit. That's just cruel. - also I don't really vibe with his personality but I do like to talk to him about his building ventures since I also love to build

Fundy - I feel sooooo bad for him - He's super cute, super sweet, and he just deserves more love - I plant sweet berries around his house to brighten his day whenever I can and I also feed his fox - I love to talk to him and he teaches me dutch sometimes because it's an interesting language. Also, he just deserves a good role model in his life... Like Will kinda sucked as his dad, Schlatt was not a good role model, and his friends don't really care about him. :( - Um also (IRL) he's the reason I started watching the DSMP, I love coding and Dutch so it was a very good mix for me

George - I sleep the opposite amount that he does. - I love his mushroom aesthetic but I stay away from him in fear of Dream XD. - I don't have a lot to say about him since he's not on the dsmp much

Jack Manifold - Yo he's lowkey annoying??? - Give Tommy his hotel back??? He died??? - If he were nicer to Tommy I'd be his friend but he's gotta get his shit together lmao

Jschlatt - Fuck that guy - bruh, he ruined L'Manburg?? - He drinks too much, not surprised he had a heart attack oof

Glatt - Ghost Schlatt gives me such chaotic evil vibes - I enjoy his presence much more than I enjoy his living presence. - I like the fact that he's kinda useless and can't do anything. It's like going to a zoo to see a creature you wouldn't want to see in the wild

Karl Jacobs - I feel bad that he's losing his memory, he's such a fun character. - I like to hang out with him but he makes me sad and also our friend groups do not vibe with each other oof

Niki Nihachu - She's super sweet and absolutely terrifying. - I love to help her bake and its super fun to try out new recipes with her - People really underestimate her and in return for her help with the baking, I help her train her fighting skills.

Philza - DADZA - I get in trouble with him a lot oof, I like to troll people so it happens quite a bit. Also, I take the blame for a lot of the stuff Techno and I get up to as well as with the bench trio. - He taught me how to sew and crochet so I can make my own clothes. I also build with him whenever he asks for help

Quackity - Scared. - He's rude and evil and I dislike him... gambling bad - I like Charlie and I think he's a good influence on Quackity but tbh I feel the same as Techno in this scenario. I am not a Quackity apologist!

Ranboo - I have the same vibe as him. We are one and the same. - I keep an eye on him during his enderwalks, he worries me sometimes. - Out of everyone in the bench trio, we get along the best. I take care of Michael sometimes when he's out doing Snowchester stuff with Tubbo.

Sapnap - I mean I dislike him a little, he throws off my vibe. - He's on the wrong side of everything imo, just stop being weird, big man... - Also I mean I don't understand why he threatened Dream with torture if he ever escaped. Like you don't have to tell him that, just do it? - We have very similar voices (IRL oh no) and so I'll mess with people by doing my best impression of him

Skeppy - One of the many victims of my trolling (with techno usually) - He's fun to hang out with for a while but I can't handle being around him for too long, he gives me a headache - Sometimes I wonder if he's actually made out of diamonds... should I kill him and see what happens?

Charlie (Slimecicle) - BEST BOY I LOVE HIM - HE'S SO CUTE DAP ME UP - Honestly, we get along soooo well, he reminds me of a slime for some reason, hmmmmmmmm - I try to teach him human-ness because if he doesn't want to look like a slime then there's no reason for me to say no

Technoblade - Ah yes the best one on the SMP - He did not like me at first, I can be a bit annoying oh no - Eventually, he got a soft spot for me since we have the same sense of humour and I love to mess with people - I sympathise with him, he deserves so much more than he's getting. - I wish he didn't express his emotions as anger all the time since it really affects everyone. He's got some anger issues and I try to deal with them with him.

TommyInnit - Omg I still find him annoying but I love to hang out with him like Wilbur does. - He needs to learn some boundaries but he is still a kid, so it doesn't really matter. I think people have to stop being little shits to him since his brain hasn't fully formed, like all adolescents. - He's very sweet sometimes and I appreciate his assistance in a lot of random tasks

Tubbo - I am allergic to bees so we can't hang too much - I like to chill with him and Ranboo and sometimes him and Tommy, but I'm always telling Tommy off for being a little shit to Tubbo. - I do not approve of his governmental ways, but his heart is in the right place. Also, why do you have nukes?

Wilbur Soot - Too much government, I do not approve - not a good father - Eventually, he stopped governmenting so whatever, no more animosity from me, eh?

Ghostbur - Awww he gave me blue - how dare he die twice - I love friend, I walked him sometimes. So glad he has infinite canon lives - I wish he had more time on the SMP, he's super sweet and his vibe is amazing

Revivebur - Alright he's kinda cool, I like his hair. - He doesn't have any governmental plans thank god - He's a bit worrying but he hasn't done anything yet. I'll just keep my eyes on him.

That's it, just doing this for fun! I have a lot of things in the works, don't worry! If you're curious as to what I'm working on, take a look at my masterlist (it's on my page at the top where my asks are) If you do have any asks please give 'em to me, I love to write for you guys :)

THANK YOU FOR 80 FOLLOWERS!

[mythrilhusk]

Korosensei Never Dies - Chapter 3

Words: ~2600 Chapter 2 (Last) AO3 Version Chapter 4 (Next)

Quackity stumbles into the classroom, exhaustion dragging on his eyes. The silence of the room almost deafens him. He yawns and slouches into the desk beside Sapnap's. "Sup, mothers and fuckers of the court."

"And they have the gall to call me late." Technoblade sighs. "Quackity, you missed first period."

"Just get on with the motherfucking class." Quackity grumbles, his head on the desk. And when did he get so comfortable with talking back? He wonders about it briefly, then scrunches his eyes and tries to block out the oceans of hatred beating through his skin.

"You good, mate?" An unfamiliar voice chuckles from the front of the class.

Quackity looks up at the new guy- two new guys. "Who the fuck are you?"

"This is Philza." Technoblade's dry tone almost hides the notes of fondness. "He'll be teaching you how to kill me."

"The lessons will be applicable in later life, I guarantee." The skinny man with ragged blond hair must be Philza. He slouches unconcernedly beside the other, heavily armed, fellow. "Oh, and this is Punz. He's my guard. He'll help me with demonstrations."

"However, the deal is that you will all attempt to at least get a C in every class." Technoblade adds.

"Who agreed to that fucking shitass deal??" Quackity cries. "You think we couldn't get A's if we tried?? None of us give a fuck about school, that's why Puffy stuffed us all together here!"

"Hm. You make a good point, Quackity. Get all A's in every class by the end of the first semester, and Philza here will tutor you in the art of assassination."

Quackity feels his fellow students glaring at him. "It's a fucking deal, baby! You're as good as dead!" This, added to Bad's smuggled weapons, should be enough to level the playing field.

Lunchtime rolls around, and Quackity learns from Sapnap that Punz and Philza have been employed by the school ostensibly to teach extracurriculars like Sociology and Martial Arts. He demolishes his food as Sapnap and Foolish argue over the best way to go about attacking Technoblade with their new weapons.

At the front of the class, Technoblade cleans off the whiteboard. Hannah Rose, the only girl in class 3-E, sits alone at her desk. Quackity watches her for a moment, considering whether he should let her join his group or not.

His mind is just about made up to beckon her over when she stands up and produces a second lunchbox and thermos from her backpack. Placing both on Technoblade's desk, she scrawls a little note, and then returns to her seat.

Technoblade turns around, sees the food and tea, and makes a little "Heh?" sound of confusion. Quackity glowers at Rose. She tilts her head and glances at him with a mysterious smile.

The rest of the day passes as uneventfully as it possibly could with having a terrorist, hostage, and military guard as teachers. Punz has declared his intent to teach Mathematics for the rest of the year after Technoblade started ranting about the economy while attempting to explain trigonometry. Quackity has a feeling the rant was partially a bait for that very purpose, but then again, he's grown used to Technoblade's rambling segways from the actual topic of discussion.

The situation has started to feel almost normal. A simple fact of life. The truth is that people adapt to their environments. As Quackity follows Sapnap out of the classroom, he shoots one last glare at Technoblade, almost a tradition of sorts.

Technoblade meets his eyes and gives him a subtle nod before returning his attention to whatever Philza is on about. Quackity scoffs and hurries to catch up to his friends.

Clubs have started to form for the year. But, cut off from the rest of the highschool by both merit of their reputations as delinquents and the threat of their teacher, class 3-E can't join in any official clubs. So they've made their own.

The Ducklings plus Charlie have formed the Prank club. Tommy, Tubbo, Eret, and Wilbur made the Theatre club. Ranboo and Rose remain separately aloof. Foolish reports to Quackity that Rose disappeared into the Chemistry lab a bit ago, and Ranboo has just been wandering the forest line surrounding the building.

Charlie, as Head Prankster, proposes going over to the main grounds and pranking the other classes. The Ducklings agree on the condition they steal Karl from his club.

When they reach the main grounds of the high school, a mile away from the secluded building for class 3-E, Connor whines about his twisted ankle as Foolish carries him. Quackity drags his feet on the clean linoleum, smirking at the disdainful glances of passing students.

"Well, if it isn't the loser class." Jack Manifold crosses his arms and stands in the middle of the hallway. "Come to beg for scraps, have you?"

"Out of our way, Jack." Charlie snarls.

Jack adjusts his heterochromatic sunglasses. "Niki and I have a proposition."

"What the fuck do you assholes want with us?"

"Give us a cut of the money when you kill that dumb teacher and we'll help you study for college admissions. Win-win." Jack grins.

Quackity gestures for his gang to discuss. "Yo, we don't need that prick."

Sapnap nods. "We're already splitting the winnings with Bad, we don't need another reduction."

"Wait, who's Bad??" Charlie hisses. Quackity shoves him out of the circle.

"We could always take the help and then not pay him. Like, as a prank." Foolish suggests.

"Good idea. In favor?"

Connor and Sapnap agree. The motion passes.

"Alright, Jack, we'll fucking take it."

"Nice. Okay, we want fifty percent of the bounty in return for our splendid, magnanimous help." Jack puffs out his chest.

"Deal." Quackity spits in his hand and holds it out for Jack to shake. The boy looks disgusted.

"Ew, I'm not touching that."

"Deal or no deal?" Quackity grins, watching Jack squirm.

"For the love of Newton, Jack!" Niki Nihachu storms out of the nearby empty classroom, her pink hair pinned up in a messy bun. "It's a deal." She spits on her own hand and takes Quackity's without flinching.

"Great, now piss off. We have club business to attend to." Quackity shoulders past Jack, and his club follows.

"How are you planning to kill the Blade??" Niki trots to keep up.

"Secret."

"I want to kill him, too!"

"Join the fucking club."

"Rude! I'm offering help!"

Quackity shrugs at her. "I just told you, join the club. Fail your classes to get transferred into 3-E, then we'll talk."

"I- I will!" Niki cries, then storms back to Jack and drags him away.

++++

"Can I kill him for you?"

Philza glances at the mercenary guard in question. "Mate." He chuckles darkly. "I won't stop you, but he could be useful."

Punz, oblivious to Techno's bloodlust, cleans up the shattered glass on the scorched floor of the Chemistry lab as one of the students cries in a corner. Fake. Philza can spot crocodile tears from a mile away.

"Techno, you didn't eat the lunch she gave you, did you?"

Techno shrugs. "It was a good attempt. Five stars."

Philza laughs a bit. "What's arsenic taste like, then?"

Technoblade glances at the crying girl. "Eh, nothing much."

The girl sobs harder, clearly attempting to play the sympathy card. "I- I didn't p-poison it, it wasn't m-mine." Lies. All lies.

"K." Techno scratches his head and turns away, uncomfortable with the tears.

A knife whistles through the air and buries in Techno's shoulder. He gasps a pained, "Heh??" And he grips the smoke wound as the metal melts and sizzles.

"Techno? You good, mate?"  

Keen steel digs into his back. "Don't move." Rose says, adrenaline making her voice tremble.

Punz laughs in the background. "Nice job, kiddo. Now, twist one arm behind his back, and force him to back away from the Blade."

Philza sighs as Rose does as Punz ordered. "Rose, mate, you don't want to be a murderer."

"You won't be my first kill." Rose retorts in a tremulous attempt at a cold voice.

"Technoblade, hands up." Punz comes around in Philza's peripheral vision. "Try anything and my associate will stab the old man."

"Hey!" Philza cries. "Watch your tongue, motherfucker, I'm not fucking old!" He just could kill the girl and let Techno take out Punz, but Techno has already told him to leave the students alone.

"Phil?" Techno says in a low, furious voice. His wound has already healed. "I'll take care of this." The blade against Philza's skin trembles, then steadies.

Punz smirks and draws his gun. "You'll take care of this, will you? I've got the biggest payday of my life waiting for your death."

"You've caused enough suffering." Rose snarls. "It ends here."

"Phil is innocent. Let him go." Technoblade growls.

"Not unless you let us kill you. You made a big mistake, and now you're going to pay."

"And we're going to get paid!" Rose laughs.

"Rose, kid, let go and run before you get hurt." Philza warns.

"That would be smart, yes." Techno remains motionless.

"Stay there, Rose." Punz snaps. "Don't move. We've got them."

"Ha, the only thing stopping me from punting both of you into the sun is Techno." Phil yawns.

"I could kill you!" Rose presses the dagger between Philza's shoulderblades. "Don't try me."

"If you kill him, what's stopping me from killing both of you?" Techno muses. "Rose, let Phil go, get outta here, and I'll forget this ever happened."

"Don't listen to him." Punz urges.

"You don't stand a chance, buddy." Philza grins mockingly at Punz. This is exciting. Philza hasn't felt so alive since he was burning down cathedrals with Techno.

A smoke grenade drops in-between the four. It shudders on the ground. Philza barks to startle Punz and Rose, "Scatter!"

Punz leaps away. Techno jumps for Phil. Rose lets go and shoves Phil into Techno. Smoke poofs out and fills the entire room.

Techno throws Philza over his shoulder and storms for the door as Phil coughs out the burning air. As they reach clear air, Philza laughs. "Not even close, ey, mate?"

Techno's eyes are dark as he growls, "Never again." A threat. A promise.

++++

Ranboo stares at his empty hands. The smell of smoke lingers on his clothes. What was he doing? He can't remember. That's nothing new, though. He doesn't want to remember.

He staggers shakily through the forest, unable to recall why he's here. Why is he here, so near the school? He opens his book and flips to page two, the day Technoblade joined the school. Right, right, he's supposed to be helping everyone kill Techno.

Was that what he was doing? He can't remember.

++++

"Alright, nerds." Technoblade slams a fist on his desk. The chatter abruptly ceases, leaving the air tense and cold. "If anybody, and I mean anybody, so much as looks at Philza the wrong way, so much as harms one hair on his head, I punt first and ask no questions ever."

He doesn't even glance at her, but Hannah Rose shrinks in her chair anyway, regretting ever choosing the front row for her seat assignment. She could have done it, she could have gotten rid of Technoblade, if it weren't for the damn smoke bomb.

"Who teh fuck tried to kill Philza??" Tommy cries, somehow sounding more incensed than Technoblade.

"Punz." Technoblade replies. Rose frowns in confusion. Why wouldn't he tell them about her involvement? He certainly has no reason to hide it.

"I'll kill him!!" Tommy barks, gesturing with his knife haphazardly. "Where is he??"

"He met an unfortunate accident and is now recovering in the hospital." Technoblade deadpans.

Rose wonders if she should feel bad that her former partner got hurt. She doesn't. He wasn't a friend, he was a business associate. He even blamed her for the failure of their attempt. So fuck him.

"Good. Serves the fucker right." Wilbur hums. "Philza, we're going to try to kill your friend, sorry, but you're safe with us."

"Killing friends is not cool, Wilbur, I'm trying to be cool." Tommy complains, brushing back his hair.

"Tommy, we kinda need to kill Techno. Again, sorry about that, Philza."

"Fuck you, bitch!" Tommy retorts.

"Kids, kids. Chill." Philza chuckles. He smiles at Rose for a moment, then turns his attention back to Tommy and Wilbur, who have devolved into slapping each other with notebooks. The look leaves her confused and angry. She was going to kill him. Why isn't he respecting that??

"Tubbo, please sit between your friends so they stop hitting each other." Philza snaps as the playfight grows louder.

"With pleasure." Tubbo grins.

A few minutes into the start of class, Tommy yelps. "Tubbo!!"

"Wilbur paid me to."

A few minutes later, Wilbur cries, "Ow, hey!"

"Tommy paid me more."

Rose snaps and turns around, leveling a glare at Tubbo. "How much do I need to pay you to make your friends shut the hell up??"

"Ten." Tubbo holds out his hand. Rose stuffs a tenner in his hand and turns back around, huffing.

"T-Tubbo, put away the duck tape!!" Tommy cries. "Eret, no, don't help him, help me!! Phiiilza!!"

"Kids, will you just shut up and fucking learn something??"

Hannah spots Quackity in the third row, sitting beside Sapnap and glaring up at Technoblade. He hasn't spoken once the entire time.

A movement from Ranboo catches her gaze from all the way in the back of the class, beside the window. He smiles nervously, not meeting her eyes as he stuffs a kitty-decor notebook back into his backpack. She's seen him with it often, in every class, and it doesn't seem to be for regular notes. She saw the cover once. It was marked 'Do Not Read', which only makes her want to read it.

"Hey, Rose." Eret steals her attention with a wave. "I heard you know martial arts. Can you teach me?"

++++

Ponk grumbles to himself as he strides up the stairs to the small, rundown building that houses class 3-E. He was supposed to begin teaching here at the start of the year, but he got delayed by family issues. His substitute should be gone by now, but if they aren't, he'll get rid of them soon enough.

He opens the door to absolute chaos. Two kids are firing guns at the substitute teacher, who just sits there and takes it as he munches a sandwich. Another man demonstrates to a small group the correct method for throwing knives. Still others are crowded in the center of circled desks and wrestling as a girl criticizes their techniques. And in the back corner, scrawling in a notebook, is the only normal person there. Ponk makes a beeline for him.

"Hey." Ponk sits beside the normal person.

"Hey." The normal person replies in a growly and annoyed voice.

"What's with the chaos?"

"You get used to it."

"Oh. I don't think I want to."

The ?normal? person looks at Ponk's forehead. "Then leave."

Ponk shivers and excuses himself hastily.

But before he reaches the door, he stops himself. No. He's not going to give in so easily. He's the teacher here. When the gunfire ceases to reload, Ponk storms up to the substitute and slams his boot on the- on his desk. "Out of my seat."

"Nah."

Ponk stares at the piggy-mutant man. "What the hell, man? What are you??"

"Some would say I'm death incarnate." The man says in a tired voice.

"Would they, really??"

"Nah. They're already dead."

Ponk glowers. "I'm the teacher here."

"K. Ponk, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Right. Well, hate to break it to you, but I'm the head teacher now. I guess you can help out, though. Not that I need help."

"Right." Ponk groans.

"How good are you at teaching math?"

Chapter 4 (Next)

[chrysalizzm]

i uh. realized people follow me now because of uh. you’re human tonight on ao3 asdjgfs

i have content!! behind the scenes content as promised. i do outlines for my fics as a general rule of thumb just because i personally can’t write things to a satisfying finish if i don’t Do That, and so - here are my chapter/plot outlines for you’re human tonight ^^ (i have no idea if this is interesting content or not i thought i’d put it out there because i think outlines are kinda fun hhhh)

chap 1 fundy

subtitle: an inkling

fundy makes an iron golem gone wrong, dream makes it go boom

chap 2 purpled

subtitle: uh oh social interaction

purpled shelters a fugitive, gets his house explosion-proofed as thanks

this is probably gonna be the only chapter with a funny title hh oh well

update: it’s not and i’m pleased with myself for branching out with my dry humor

chap 3 sapnap

subtitle: dust to dust

sapnap’s dying via wither effect, and he knows respawn’s around the corner but goddamn if it doesn’t hurt til then. dream skids in around the nether fortress corner, drops all his weapons cradles sapnap’s head in his hands, has always taken death much harder than anyone sapnap’s ever met. at the last few seconds, when death creeps up like a shroud, dream starts to hum to him hoarsely, pressing his forehead to sapnap’s, and in the final moments sapnap doesn’t hurt at all. the last thing he hears is dream whimpering. he visits dream’s bunker the next day, knocks on the door over and over, but there’s no sign of life there. sapnap shrugs, bites his lip out of guilt for forcing dream to sit there watching him die (if temporarily), and moves on.

the chapter that introduces dream’s primary ability of soothing hurts. put a lot of emphasis on the fact that sapnap ached up until the moment dream started humming, because for dream to do that is pretty frivolous considering once sapnap died he’d respawn and the hurt would just disappear but dream wanted sapnap to have a peaceful last few seconds. emphasize how abnormal it is that withering stops hurting. 

chap 4 ponk

subtitle: beaches dry of sugarcane

dream visits ponk after george burns down the first tree. when ponk arrives to the second tree to move in, he realized dream made the tree flourish, grow healthier and bigger. 

chap 5 sam

subtitle: fuck this shit i’m out (edit: the official subtitle is “oh god oh fuck”, i changed it last-minute)

dream picks sam’s brain for manhunt strategies while the latter is mining for redstone. sam stumbles upon a spawner and reels back, trips, nearly misses the moment dream sweeps him behind him and his eyes flash beneath the mask and when sam gets back up, dazed, there’s nothing but the splay of cobwebs all over the walls. 

chap 6 punz

subtitle: lines drawn

in an unrelated skirmish, punz drives his sword up to the hilt in dream’s chest, relying on respawn for dream to not feel any pain and for punz to get paid. dream doesn’t die. this is understandably alarming. 

can we get some funnies in chap? just a few laughs?? a lil funny for mr luke punz man?

can we get some panicky dry humor for real tho because punz strikes me as someone who copes with morbid humor and dream spluttering up blood is def a situation that punz would not know how to deal with

chap 7 wilbur

subtitle: so about that date

wilbur makes platonic moves on dream while dream fake texts his fiance under the table. wilbur also accidentally vents to dream about his little brother tommy and how afraid he is that tommy will get himself hurt for how reckless he is. dream siphons some of his anxiety from him, smiles as they depart from one another. wilbur notes that dream is shaking when they leave. 

chap 8 skeppy

subtitle: get wrecked noob

dream walks skeppy through some pvp. when skeppy demands a rematch w tommy and gets a lil stage fright kinda sorta thing, dream siphons his anxiety and his nerves and goes full soccer mom with bad and skeppy loses 5-2 but like!! he won!! against tommyinnit!! HH

is there any mental image nearly as powerful as dream wastaken, the soccer mom

chap 9 jack

subtitle: mandatory volunteering

after tommy goes on another one of his destructive rampages lmao, dream enlists jack, newest-comer, to help him rebuild stuff bc underclassmen have to do whatever upperclassmen tell them to do thems just the rules. after rebuilding a statue near the community house, dream pats it fondly, and when tommy sneaks back to set in on fire for shits and giggles, he finds that it’s fuckin fireproofed AGAIN

rebuild efforts, i promised monuments rebuilt so thats what theyre gonna fuckin Get

chap 10 antfrost

subtitle: twist the knife

ant on what ends up being an unpublicized manhunt: dream stops the manhunt because he’s triggered a raid and by the time the hunters get there, alarmed by the screaming and the fire and dream’s unresponsiveness, the villagers are all dead and there are raider corpses everywhere and dream is lying near the bell on his side, whimpering. (what the hunters don’t know - dream tried to fight off the raid but was overwhelmed and witnessed the village get slaughtered, he took the pain of the villagers that weren’t dead but were dying.)

segment: There’s a reason they do the manhunts, and it’s not just for them to horse around and try to kill one another for a few days. Antfrost is the newcomer but he’s always been good at reading people and from the outset he knew that Dream was someone filled to the brim with the restlessness that characterizes humans, that never-settling wanderlust, and his brain works too fast for the rest of his body sometimes, and he just needs an outlet. It’s part of why he eggs Tommy on in their little war games, why he holds onto those discs even though he doesn’t need them, why he gets that delighted look on his face when someone tells him that Tommy’s griefed them or stolen from them or otherwise ruined their morning. Antfrost thinks the only times he’s ever really seen Dream silent, Dream waiting, Dream unmoving, are when Dream is 

chap 11 karl

subtitle: head in the shallows

karl, sapnap, george, and dream have a sleepover after mcc 11. karl, nearest to dream, wakes up when dream starts tossing and turning from a nightmare. when he tries to shake dream awake, dream’s eyes fly open and he slams his fist into the wall behind him and the earth, the literal earth, the entire slab of it, shudders like an earthquake. sapnap and george sleep like the dead, so it’s just karl and dream staring at one another. finally karl asks, concerned, “do you want some tea or water or anything?”

chap 12 hbomb

subtitle: a maid’s burden

“i want to dress up as a maid for fundy,” says hbomb with false bravado. fundy’s fiance levels a very impassive look at him for an awkward minute or two and just when hbomb thinks he’s misread dream and fundy’s relationship dream says “i’ll get you a wig” and the entire chapter is just dream idly twisting the fabric of reality to get hbomb the items he needs to put the outfit together

pranks, i promised pranks, theyre gonna get pranks

chap 13 alyssa

subtitle: message in a bottle (edit: official subtitle is “ship in a bottle”)

alyssa’s leaving, at least temporarily. 

alyssa tells dream it’s getting dangerous on his server, doesn’t relish the expression that brings to his face, but he holds her hands and nods and bids her safe journey. when alyssa returns, running for something (later we’ll learn she had heard that dream was bad, that he might be dying), she finds that her house is completely inaccessible by everyone save her, placed in complete stasis by someone. 

start of the chapters leading up to festival arc. build unresolved tension in this one. 

chap 14 niki

subtitle: life doesn’t discriminate

wilbur and tommy are relentless, they waste no time; niki is willing to wait for it. 

the night before the duel, she goes to dream and holds a sword to his throat and demands he call it off, even though she knows it’ll mean little because of respawn, tells him she won’t stop hunting him down until he gives up l’manberg. dream smiles a little sadly and pats her hand and her fright, her rage, it simmers back down, and the anger that had swarmed her and made dream out to be the devil dies down until it’s just her friend, who was playing along with tommy til it got serious and he got cocky, who’s just as in over his head as she is, and maybe niki’s soft but she likes that about herself, that she’s always the first to forgive. niki is looking at the healing cut on dream’s neck, uncovered by any bandages, when dream shoots tommy, a clean shot that causes no suffering.

a long chapter, probably. i think at some point in this i want to mention niki’s respect for dream for apologizing during the first pet war, for not letting things get any bigger until fundy came back. some parallels can be drawn here - that dream let the fire die down in the initial stages of the pet war, that dream won’t let go of the l’manberg war now, and it occurs to niki that she doesn’t know dream nearly as well as she thinks she does if she expected him to act exactly the way he did during the pet war. she’s got what she’s wanted - dream’s remorse, proof of dream’s humanity - even though it’s not in the form niki wanted it. 

chap 15 eret

subtitle: crown of thorns

the king in name only consults with the true leader. 

they’re both upset about pogtopia’s exile, eret arguably more so because they think their early betrayal of l’manberg somehow butterfly-effected into the current dumpster fire, and as they talk eret works themself into a full panic attack reflecting on things that were, things that could’ve been - and the tide washes out all of a sudden, and eret’s left with the same looming hollowness they’d been feeling before, no dregs of the panic, they’ve never had a panic attack that left them feeling normal after - but dream is now wheezing like he’s about to die and eret immediately walks him through the panic attack, levelheaded even as they’re confused out of their mind. 

chap 16 quackity

subtitle: water to blood

quackity is a snake in the grass. 

quackity at schlatt’s side during the few weeks of his presidency. he knows schlatt from before, has been his friend, so he knows when his friend is acting off. the cynical, straight-faced humor is still there, his completely bland delivery and brazen showmanship, but it’s twisted to the left somehow, to make it so that those qualities that make up his friend have rotted, hurt people. quackity eventually goes to dream after schlatt first overdoses with a lot of questions, maybe even to confess that his allegiance has begun to shift because he can’t go to pogtopia and he can’t go to schlatt - and dream just gives him a long, sad look before lightly patting quackity’s shoulder and says “i can’t guarantee anything - just that you’ll be safe” and shooing him off and as quackity heads back to manberg he realises all the hostile mobs are avoiding him like the fucking plague. 

it’s big q!!!! fattest ass in the cabinet!!!!! pog!!!

fun fact this chapter’s subtitle was almost “chekhov’s gun” until november fucking 16th of 2020

chap 17 tommy

subtitle: most disputes die and no one shoots

tommy learns how a legacy dies.

a compendium of tommy watching the madness consume wilbur. it needs to be emphasized in this chapter that wilbur becomes an entirely different person when they’re ejected from manberg, that he becomes obsessed with the legacy he’s created and watching it crumble is what twists him; when dream gives tommy his crossbow, tommy, out of desperation and a need to have an older sibling again, asks what’s wrong with wilbur; dream’s face hardens and he asks tommy to take dream to wilbur. it’s a terse meeting, the only one they have before techno and before wilbur completely loses it and demands the tnt; wilbur says a lot of things tommy doesn’t understand (it’s complex mythological jargon hinting at dream’s status as a god but could be misconstrued to refer to dream’s status as simply the world owner) and at one point wilbur sneers, “are you trying to play god, dream?” and dream lurches forward and grabs wilbur by the wrist, and there’s a completely silent moment where tommy feels the air suck out of his lungs and there’s an off buzzing in his ears and he fancies he hears something that sounds, just a bit, like dream, whispering desperately wilbur wilbur wilbur it’s me it’s me listen listen listen then a shrieking, acrid wave of no and tommy reels back and when he looks up dream has staggered back, his hand to his mouth, blood dripping from somewhere beneath his mask, sounding like he’s gagging or maybe he’s sobbing, as wilbur shrieks in a voice that is entirely not his “get out get out if i can’t have l’manberg...” and tommy understands, finally, as dream sprints out. that’s not wilbur.

a distinction needs to be made perfectly clear in this chapter, as with schlatt’s chapter: it’s not them. they’ve been twisted out of control by something bigger than them, something that wants to toy with the young god running an oasis of peace for his people. it doesn’t need to be outright said in this fic; in another we can delve into the madness and who did it and why. for now, just make it clear it’s not explicitly anyone’s fault.

chap 18 techno

subtitle: colosseum

dream had to let techno in first, you know. 

techno and dream have interacted often - the duel, the championships, they’re friends more than acquaintances now. but techno was called in by someone wearing his brother’s face that he honestly doesn’t recognize from his voice and when he arrives at spawn, before tommy fetches him, he sees dream sitting cross legged waiting for him and they talk about the situation, dream giving techno a quick brief. when tommy comes, crying “techno, this way, this way to pogtopia”, and crossbow bolts are being fired at techno, dream gives him a lil wave goodbye (or what techno thinks is a lil wave goodbye but what actually turns out to be putting a swiftness effect on him).

“that’s not my brother, dream,” says techno, and dream’s mouth wobbles and he says, hoarse, “i know.”

techno Suspects, but only knows that dream has world-manipulating powers and thus standard minor god powers. he doesn’t let dream know he suspects. 

chap 19 bad

subtitle: run devil run

bad trusts dream, perhaps against his better judgement. 

dream comes to visit bad and skeppy on neutral grounds in the interim leading up to the festival that everyone on the server is side-eyeing and side-stepping. bad considers his friend and the owner of the world as he gives dream an impromptu tour through the escape route he and skeppy have dug out, wonders with a little reproach how dream could let things get to this point, then, soft, gentle as always, acknowledges that dream is only human kindly. when he says that, though, dream’s face crumples, as though those words hurt him more than any criticism bad’s given him in the time he’s known him, as though bad had driven a blade into his heart, and bad doesn’t understand but he lets dream run away from that. when a small flock of creepers explode over the tunnel the night before the festival and bad grumbles that he has to fix it, he learns dream left him with a fortified escape tunnel.

a/n: i’m sure the irony isn’t lost on you.

chap 20 tubbo

subtitle: cadmean victory

what say the sacrificial lamb?

tubbo is coming to terms with the fact that he might not make it out of office in one piece and it’s not his first time respawning but the older members of the server always, always did their best to shield the younger ones from death. he runs into dream by complete coincidence while he’s avoiding pogtopia (mostly wilbur) and manberg (mostly schlatt), caught between two strangers wearing his friends’ faces. he looks at dream, who looks back at him impassively, and tubbo starts to cry, because it finally hits him that even with his death and respawn nothing will be fixed, nothing can change, the poison’s run too deep into the veins of dream’s beautiful little world and now nothing can be right anymore and it feels like he’s shattering into tiny, aching shards - and then dream kneels before him, takes his hands, presses his forehead to them, sighs like his heart’s breaking, and tubbo feels a small calm thread back into him as dream stands abruptly, jittery. dream, with hands that shake, grips tubbo’s shoulder, hovers for a second, then his head jerks up and he bolts into the forest, clambering up a tree with admirable ease and disappearing away into the leaves as schlatt suddenly emerges from the bushes nearby with a joyous, plastic “hey! tubbo!”

chap 21 george

subtitle: lantern burns low

a moment in the night; george is visited by a specter. 

dream comes, pale, and asks george if there is anything wrong, is everything okay with you? takes george’s caught-off-guard face in his hands and says george george george, are you - and george catches a glimpse of dream’s powers (is he safe safe does he hurt no but fear but anxiety there are dregs hush now quiet now he is safe all quiet quiet quiet he’s safe) and he says, stricken even as the constant thrum of nervous energy he’d kept with him fades out, “dream what was that,” and dream presses his hands to his mask where his eyes are and says, despairingly, “they don’t get to have you too,” and staggers back out. 

george is the first person dream overtly “comes out” to. this is also why george doesn’t see dream til the festival. 

chap 22 schlatt

subtitle: the empty throne

dream visits schlatt in his office. 

schlatt, possessed by madness, has no idea what he’s saying but it feels right, it’s exactly right, everything is in his hands, and when dream approaches, his hands facing up, is he there is he there yes yes yes tainted polluted this is twisted this is madness madness madness dream reels back, shaking, and schlatt leans in and leers, not even knowing what he’s saying, “you can’t even fix it, young god,” and relishes the way all the color drains from dream’s face.

=)

chap 23 dream (edit: this monster ended up being split into three for pacing purposes and also if i left it together it was gonna be. h. 14K WORDS. also the drama of a cliffhanger at what most people thought was going to be the last chapter was too good to pass up don’t @ me

subtitle: do you feel like a young god?

running, running, running again

finale!! dream takes everyone’s old hurts into himself, takes the madness from schlatt and wilbur, promptly passes the hell out because no one should be doing that, wakes up, gets the shit hugged out of him, and explains a little, and gets told that he’s loved over and over. 

i uh! take questions! i like talking about this story, there’s a lot i still want to show, and even apart from that i just really love mcyt haha

[jay-me-says]

Things Were Different Back Then

CHAPTER FIVE: Midnight Conversations

Masterpost w/ more info on the fic | Note: all SBI-related relationships here are platonic!

Tommy dodges Tubbo’s sword, barely this time. His limbs feel like they have bags full of stones tied to them, weighing down every dodge, parry, and strike. Tubbo attacks again and Tommy only just manages a weak block. His brown-haired friend seems to be tiring as well, but not nearly as much as he is. Where the hell is he getting all of this energy? Tommy wonders, his breaths coming out as wheezes.

The blond attempts an attack with as much energy as he can muster, but it comes out messy and Tubbo parries him with the same ease he would a child. Tommy takes too long to recover and the other boy takes advantage of the moment, hitting the back of his knees with the flat of his blade, making the taller boy lose his balance. All it takes is one final shove and he’s on the ground.  

He’s almost relieved to be flopped on the ground, as exhausted as he is from going to the docks late every night. The boy even shuts his eyes. How nice it would be to just sink into the grass and sleep for a while…

“This is getting too easy,” Tubbo says above him.

Tommy cracks one eye open, squinting against the bright sun. The brunette has the blunt end of his wooden training sword pushed into the ground. His hands are on the pommel, leaning his weight against it. A playful grin brightens his face, spreading to his blue eyes.  

Tommy just groans in response and closes both eyes again. The grass makes a swoosh noise as the shorter boy comes to sit by his side.

Tubbo is right, though. Tommy has been slow this morning. Normally when they practice with each other, they end up with a relatively even number of wins and losses. But out of all the practice matches they’ve done this morning, Tubbo has won all of them but one. And that was only because Walter had gotten in the middle of them one round, demanding attention and distracting Tubbo long enough for Tommy to land what they considered a “fatal blow.” Tubbo had mumbled grumpily about cheating but still shot the blond a smile while he pet Walter.

“Is something wrong?” the brunette asks now.

Tommy sighs internally and opens both eyes this time, looking up at Tubbo. His friend is facing the opposite direction to him, so his legs are splayed out near Tommy’s head and his hands, pressed into the grass behind him to keep himself sitting up, are by Tommy’s legs. For one of the first times since the blonde’s return, Tubbo is wearing casual clothes; jeans and a loose green shirt. A familiar red bandana is wrapped around his left wrist, making Tommy want to smile.

A part of him is happy. He’d really missed these simple things while he’d been gone, like sparring and Tubbo just being Tubbo within arm’s reach of him. If Tommy stopped to think about it for too long, he had an urge to grab hold of his friend and hug him as hard as he had at the gate his first day back. The boy stares at Tubbo’s red bandana, perhaps bordering on thinking about it for too long.  

He must’ve been silent for too long because Tubbo pokes one of his knees with a finger. “Tommy, c’mon. What’s going on, big man?” Despite the joke-y nickname, the blond can hear the concern in his friend’s voice. A familiar spike butts its way into his gut. Guilt. He feels guilty for making Tubbo worry about him. His homecoming was meant to be great and happy. And the guy’s a president, for fuck’s sake. He should have more important things to worry about.

The spike drives itself deeper as words fall out of his mouth faster than he can think to stop them. “Nothing’s going on. It’s just…I’m kind of tired, is all. And rusty. I haven’t had a proper fight in a while, so I should’ve expected as much.”

Tubbo fixes a skeptical blue stare on him, so Tommy continues, “I’m fine, Big T, really.” The words taste like the time Techno tricked him into drinking spoiled milk when they were kids. Liar. The spike of guilt grows larger in accusation.

The brunette still looks uncertain but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and brushes loose blades of bright grass off of his dark blue jeans. Then, he turns and offers a hand to Tommy, who takes it gratefully, letting Tubbo help him pull himself up.

Letting his hand drop from Tommy’s as he bends to pick up the blonde’s discarded training sword, Tubbo says, “There’s a few hours before we need to be down beneath the Stilted Sector to help light things up. You should get some sleep before we go. I’ll make some lunch and wake you up a while before we have to go.”

Tommy nods. “Alright. Thank you, Tubbo.”

Tubbo nudges him lightly with his shoulder. “Anytime, big man.”

“And, hey, you got lucky today. In another month, I’ll be back to kicking your ass when we fight.”

Tubbo laughs. “You wish.”

~

The water beneath the Stilted Sector is still very shallow. It doesn’t quite cover the tops of most of the sea pickles that the group places down. But when a time comes where it’s high enough, the blue water will glow gorgeously.

When Niki had sent out the call for sea pickles and manpower, the council hadn’t expected most of L’manburg to show up. It would’ve taken about twenty minutes tops with only a few extra people, but with the crowd they’d gathered it would easily take ten. A few barrels and chests full of pickles, mostly from Eret (“Yeah, you’re the type of guy to always have what I need!” Tommy had joked almost affectionately to the tall man) had been carried out as well. Presently, Tubbo is stood by one of the chests, loading his arms up with a fresh supply of the natural light sources. His blue jeans had been rolled up several times before climbing into the crater, but the edges are now dark with water anyways. Mainly from all the splashing Tommy was doing.

At the moment, the tall blond is starting a minor water fight with Quackity, one arm filled with dark green sea pickles and the other scooping water in the secretary of state’s direction. He’s eyeing Fundy, who is placing pickles nearby, like he might be next.

Tommy seems full of energy now- the nap had definitely helped- but Tubbo couldn’t shake his concern. He’d never, ever beaten Tommy while practicing fighting like that. Even if the boy was rusty and tired, it shouldn’t have been that easy. Even on the worst of days, Tommy always put up such a fight. There was always, always a little bit more he could give to the battle. But just about every move he’d made earlier had been messy and poor and so not Tommy.

And besides that, there were the times Tommy had gone all quiet these past few days. He’d told Tubbo on his second day back that being in L’manburg brought back memories, which Tubbo could understand. It had been hard for him this past month or so as well. Memories were everywhere. Schlatt’s tight grip stalks Tubbo from every shadow, and the phantoms of the election day and TNT haunt the Stilted Sector. It’s inescapable.

What he couldn’t understand, though, was how little communication he was getting from Tommy. Normally, they would tell one another everything. Unlike the blond, Tubbo had had other people to talk to during the past month, but it was never the same. No one could match how Tommy sat forward when Tubbo started talking about something eating at him, or the way he always seemed to know when to let him vent and when to try to cheer him up. And even when he didn’t know, he asked and they talked and they got through whatever was bothering Tubbo together. And Tubbo did the same for Tommy. Because they were L’manburg’s favorite dream duo.

But Tommy wasn’t talking to him as freely as he once had. It was killing Tubbo. He was barely resisting the urge, at this moment, to grab his friend by his shirt, drag him to the side, whack with a sizeable stick, and make the blond tell him what’s wrong.

For the second time that week, Niki sneaks up on Tubbo while he’s lost in thought.

“Tubbo?” she prompts. Her voice is like an exhale of sweet spring air.

The president inhales sharply and quickly pivots to look at her, barely keeping a grip on all of his sea pickles.

She smiles a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering what you are thinking about.”

Tubbo turns his gaze back to Tommy, who is now fending off both Fundy and Quackity. Water droplets cling to his straw-colored hair and he grins, a mischievous yet joyful glint in his eyes. “It’s just that…he’s been off lately, Niki. I’m real worried.”

She follows his gaze, smile growing at the water fight. “Maybe you should try talking to him about it, Tubbo.”

“I’ve tried that. He won’t speak with me about it. Not really, anyways.”

“If you really asked, he would. In a heartbeat, Tubbo.”

~

It’s late, now. The silver moon has long since traded spots with the sun. Tubbo hasn’t slept yet, though. He keeps thinking about what Niki had said. And Tommy, of course.

After the sea pickles were finished, some people had stuck around and they’d started in on the next few projects. There were so many opportunities for Tubbo to ask while he and Tommy were alone throughout the day. While they were reinforcing some of the supports of the Stilted Sector, while taking a break by the flagpole, on the walk home, and the entire time they’d been home since the walk back. But his nerves turned themselves into a needle and borrowed fear for a thread, sewing his mouth shut each time.

Currently, Tubbo is seriously entertaining the idea of barging into Tommy’s room and talking to him. Just as he’s thinking that he might actually gather the courage and do it, he hears Tommy’s footsteps in the hall. What’s he doing? Tubbo wonders.

He gets somewhat of an answer when the front door opens and shuts- slowly, carefully. After a few seconds of lying in bed, silent and still, Tubbo practically throws himself out of his bedroom and into the living room. He draws back the pine green curtains near the door and watches Tommy, accompanied by Walter, walk off. His sword sways in time with his steps, tucked into a sheath at the boy’s side.

Tubbo stands there for several moments, debating following or calling out to his friend when he realizes something that makes his stomach sink. Tommy has probably been going out every night instead of sleeping.

~

Wilbur wanders to his dad’s room to ask about going on a walk. It’s late, and Fundy had gone to bed hours ago, but Philza’s light is still on for once, and Wilbur doesn’t feel tired. So many nights spent reading and moping until the sun rose had smacked his sleep schedule thoroughly out of whack.

The door of his father’s bedroom is ajar, so Wilbur pokes in without knocking. “Hey, Dad, can we…” he stops midsentence. It feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him when he sees what’s sitting atop Philza’s chest of drawers. Wilbur thinks that it’s a feeling not unlike the time Tommy went a little too far with their light, wooden training swords during a practice fight.

“Is…is that…” Wilbur trails off, the question dying on his lips.

Techno’s crown.

“Yes,” his father says gently, after a moment of hesitant silence.

“Can I…can I see it for a second?” he asks. His voice sounds breathy and soft.

“Of course.”

Wilbur takes a few slow, uncertain steps over to the chest of drawers, then picks up the crown gingerly, as though he expects Techno to jump out from behind the door and yell at his brother for touching his stuff.

The crown, all elegant swoops and delicate (yet severe) points, is surprisingly light. And yet holding it makes Wilbur feel about a thousand tons heavier.

Gently, he turns the crown and holds it against his chest. The spikes only barely poke through the yellow wool of Wilbur’s sweater, but he swears they’ve all grown a foot longer and impaled him. Holding the crown, as dear as it was to his brother, Wilbur can almost imagine Techno encircling him in a protective embrace. Then, he wonders what on earth Technoblade is doing without his crown. Does it feel like a piece of him is missing, just as Wilbur feels like a piece is missing without his brother around?

Philza comes over and gently wraps an arm around his son. They stand there together and share the sorrow.

After several long moments of standing in his dad’s embrace and clutching the crown to his chest, he softly places the circlet back down on the chest of drawers, then turns to face his father. Not for the first time, Wilbur notes that Tommy had, without a shadow of a doubt, inherited their father’s bright blue eyes, while he and Techno had the same brown-almost-black shade. Phil’s eyes look sad, now, and concerned.

Wilbur slides out from under his father’s arm and grabs his hands instead, one in each of his own. He feels a little bad for what he’s about to do, but he needs Philza to understand. “I’m going to go out for a bit. I promise, I’m not going to disappear again. I just want to have a walk.”

Phil’s eyes search his son’s face, brows drawn together and lips curved into a frown. After a moment, he nods. “Okay. A promise is a promise.”

Wilbur leans forward and kisses his father’s head, then gives his hands one last squeeze before letting go and heading for the door. “A promise is a promise,” he parrots back, an old ritual.

~

Tommy goes to the docks again. The first night he’d gone to stand in the company of the sea, it had been by sheer accident. Now, he makes the short journey every night.  

When he arrives tonight, though, someone is in his spot, leaned against one of the logs lining the edge of the dock.

He recognizes the figure in half of a heartbeat. At this point, Tommy reckons he could recognize Wilbur from twelve feet away on the night of a new moon with heavy fog.

For several minutes, he stands at the edge of the dock, wondering whether he should approach or not and worrying Walter will bark and give him away before he’s decided.

Finally, Tommy pushes himself to move forward. Walter follows, uncharacteristically quiet, as though he can sense his owner’s caution and distress.

Coming up on his brother’s left side, Tommy says, “Hey, Wilbur.”

The brunette seems surprised at his appearance, though not unpleasantly so. “Oh, hello, Tommy. What are you doing out this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

The two stand in silence, a certain tension weighing down the air. Tommy can still sense the wall between himself and Wilbur, but it almost seems fragile- breakable. If I say the right thing, will it finally come down?

Finally, Walter just can’t take it anymore. He pushes his snoot into the back of Wilbur’s knee and starts sniffing. His tail is wagging at the speed of sound, as though he’s been shoving his energy down for the whole two minutes he and Tommy have been standing on the dock and he can’t hold it in any longer.

Wilbur emits a little, surprised noise, then smiles softly. It sends a bolt of dull pain through Tommy’s chest, reminding him of the early days of L’manburg, before they even had independence from the Dream SMP. Back then, days were hard and yet smiles were frequent- Wilbur smiled like that all the time then.

As his brother leans over and extends a hand to let Walter sniff it, he says, “I’ve been wanting to ask, who is this big guy? He resembles a cloud.”

Walter nuzzles into Wilbur’s hand, letting him pet his fluffy white coat, as though pleased by the comment.

“That’s Walter. Met him in a forest while I was away. He’s been with me for a few weeks now.”

Wilbur hums in response and continues petting the dog, squatting down to have better access to his chin.

Both boys are silent for a while, but the waves fill in for them. Tommy closes his eyes for a minute and just listens. Along with the waves, he can hear Walter’s tail patting a repetitive rhythm on the dock.

Tommy gathers his courage to ask a question. “So, why couldn’t you sleep?” he asks, turning to look at his brother.

Wilbur shrugs before answering, still petting the dog. “I screwed up my sleep schedule. I started staying up late a lot after…” he pauses, a sheen of sorrow passing over his eyes. He tries again, “After…after everything that happened. I would sit up reading and that sort of thing until I fell asleep or the sun came out. Worried the hell out of Dad.”

Tommy almost laughs at that. Almost.

After a pause, Wilbur continues, “I’ve done a lot of things to worry Dad these last few months.” He draws his eyebrows together a little. His eyes have become fixed on the dog’s snowy face. “I talked to them yesterday, though. Dad and Fundy, I mean. I apologized for everything. I put them through so much and I want to fix it now. I’m going to start doing better for them, they deserve it.”

Tommy isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. But the wall cracks.

Wilbur lets out a half-amused, half-sad laugh. “You’d never believe who talked some sense into me. Just try to guess.” Finally, he meets Tommy’s eyes.

It throws Tommy off balance for just a second. Wilbur is smiling properly now, despite the remnants of sadness that cling to his features. When was the last time Wilbur had smiled at him? Or at least, smiled at him whilst not talking about blowing up their country.  

It takes the younger brother a moment to recover. He shrugs awkwardly and stammers out, “I-I don’t know. Who?”

Wilbur smiles a little wider. “Eret. Out of all people, Eret.”

Tommy can’t suppress a slight smile at that. It is a little funny. He turns to look at the ocean. If he keeps looking at Wilbur, smiling with him, it might blow his brain up. “That’s kind of crazy. How’d that happen?”

There’s silence again. It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to not look at his older brother in the few seconds of quiet before he answers. Softly, Wilbur says, “Things were rough with Fundy and I had nowhere else to go.”

Six words steal the breath from Tommy’s lungs. It’s a harsh reminder of how much things have changed. It makes Tommy miss easier times- even before L’manburg. He would give nearly anything to go back to a time when his biggest concern was how many practice fights he’d won against his brothers and whether Dad was making his least favorite vegetables with dinner that night. Back then, there was never even the trace of a doubt that if Tommy, or anyone in his family, needed something, there were four people that cared within arm’s reach.  

Wilbur stands back up, leaning against a log next to Tommy again, and they watch the waves together. Although he would like to appreciate the moment of peace with his brother, he can’t. Tommy can still feel the wall there, in disrepair yet still looming between them. It makes his stomach twist with nerves and muddles his brain with so many thoughts and emotions, he worries it’ll all overflow out of his ears.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep, Tommy?”

Because of you, Tommy thinks. He almost says it, too. But it wouldn’t quite be the truth. There were several reasons he couldn’t sleep- several figures that plagued his thoughts. There are multiple possible answers, so Tommy picks the easiest one to talk about. (The easiest one to talk about with Wilbur, at least.)

“Tubbo and I are in a bit of a rut.”

He can feel the surprise emanating off of his brother. “Really?” The brunette nearly shouts, sounding utterly shocked.

“Yeah. Things have just been…I don’t know, different, I guess, since I came back. I left to clear my head and it worked but as soon as I came back everything poured straight back in again. Just being here makes me remember so much. I can’t turn a corner without something reminding me of what’s happened and everything I’ve been through- everything we’ve all been through.” Tommy is a little out of breath by the time he’s done talking. Emotion had slipped into his voice, anger and grief mingling on his vocal cords. It’d made him speed up about halfway through speaking, shoving the words out like it hurt to have them inside of him.

“Am I one of the things you’re remembering, Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice is impossibly gentle.

Shit. Tommy quickly tries to think up a response that’ll save him from this vein of conversation.

“Don’t bother lying to me, Tommy. We lived under the same roof for the first fifteen years of your life and we haven’t lived more than twenty feet from one another since. I know your tells. Just answer the question.”

He’s right, but Tommy wishes he wasn’t. He had come out here to avoid his feelings, not confront them.

“Yes, you are one of the things.”

It’s Wilbur’s turn to be silent. They seem to be passing it between them, like a ball in the worst game of catch ever.  

Then, the brunette says, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s whole body freezes, making him completely still. He almost forgets to breathe.

“I put you through so much. When things got rough before we took down Schlatt, I went all crazy plans and TNT on you. That wasn’t fair. You were- you are- just a kid and I’m your big brother. I should’ve been there for you; I should’ve been a better role model. If nothing else, I should’ve at least protected you. I am truly sorry for how bad things got. I feel awful.”

They don’t make eye contact once while Wilbur speaks, they just stare out into the fluid blue void together.

Tommy’s eyes sting. A part of him wants to scream at Wilbur, another wants to break down and cry, and yet another begs Tommy’s legs to run.

An apology doesn’t fix all the damage Wilbur did, doesn’t even come near it. But…

“Thanks, Wilbur.”

It’s a start.

Neither of them speak for a while.  Then, tentatively, almost like dipping a foot into a pool of water to check the temperature, Tommy says, “Techno, too.”

“What?” Feeling Wilbur’s gaze on him, he turns to look at his brother. The man’s eyebrows are pulled up in confusion and the corners of his mouth dip in a slight frown.

“I’m remembering Techno, too.”

Wilbur’s mouth forms a silent “oh.” Then, he glances down at the log Tommy is leaning against. He swaps between pressing his lips tightly together and opening his mouth to take a breath. Like he’s trying to decide whether to say something.

“Spit it out,” Tommy says, adding a silent “bitch” to the end. He doesn’t want to go back to their normal rhythm of fake insults, not yet.

“Dad has Technoblade’s crown. I saw it. I- I held it.” Wilbur looks up at Tommy again, eyes flitting over his face nervously, as though searching for any sign he messed up.

Tommy’s mouth hangs open. He’s shocked speechless. Then, a little jealous. Never, in a million years, would Techno ever let Tommy, or anyone, come near that crown. It was the eldest brother’s most prized possession. He kept it in excellent condition and never went anywhere without it. And Wilbur had gotten to hold it.

The brunette, seeming to know what he’s thinking, lets out a short laugh. “I know, right? He would murder me if he found out.”

Tommy snorts. “Damn right. You wouldn’t even see it coming. Just a flash of pink and then game over.”

They both laugh at that. Smiles adorn their faces, but it’s bittersweet. A cloud of something dense and sad hangs around them, reminding the brothers that they are still so far from where they used to be. They might never really go back to how things were between them, either.

And yet there’s a light hope, too, interwoven with the sadness. The possibility of their relationship, at the very least, getting better. If they just keep trying and want it badly enough.

There is so much more to be said. So many big things they still need to talk about. But, for now, they discuss all the little things they never got to say while they weren’t speaking to each other. And it feels as though the wall is filled with hundreds and hundreds of cracks, leaving Tommy with little holes to peek through.

~

The brunette stirs from his position on the couch, half-asleep and spine curved uncomfortably, when he hears the front door open. He blinks his eyes sleepily at first, wondering what’s happening, then scrambles to sit up properly when he remembers what he was doing before falling asleep. Tommy.

The boy has come home, finally. Walter trots off to the guest room, but the blond stands in the doorway, stopped in place halfway through the threshold. He looks surprised.

“What time is it?” Tubbo asks, stretching.

Tommy moves again, walking the rest of the way into the house and softly shutting the spruce door behind him. He doesn’t answer his friend’s question, instead asking one of his own. “Did you try waiting up for me?”

The president rubs his eyes, the rough sleep in the corners scratching at his fingertips. “Yeah, keyword being try. I figured I would let you have your walk or whatever, but I was worried. Have you been doing this every night?”

Tommy turns his gaze to the floor. He’s silent.

“Tommy,” Tubbo prompts.

The blond sighs and says, “Yeah, Tubbo. I- I have.”

“Why?”

Silence again.

It suddenly all becomes too much for Tubbo. He’s done his best to stay collected these past few days, giving Tommy the space he needs to process, but he can’t handle it anymore. Before he can stop it, all of the worry and frustration and sadness fills him up, driving him up off the couch to stand. The sudden movement causes Tommy to look up at him again.

“Tommy, please!” The shorter boy gestures wildly while he talks, emotions taking the driver’s seat. “I’ve been so insanely worried about you these past few days- this past month. I want more than anything to help you, Tommy. You are one of the most important things in my life. During the war against Manberg, I would’ve up and left everything if you had asked. I know I’m not one of Phil’s sons but you, Tommy, are the closest I will ever be to having a brother. Please, talk to me.” His voice catches a little as he speaks, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

Tommy looks a little shaken, and sort of guilty, which makes Tubbo feel guilty in turn. He hadn’t meant to snap at him like that. He just wanted Tommy to confide in him again like he always used to. He opens his mouth to speak again, to apologize, but Tommy interrupts him.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo.”

The other boy slowly closes his mouth, the words caught in his throat. He has no idea what to say, so he opts for silence instead.

Tommy crosses the room in a few quick strides and grabs Tubbo’s elbow as he begins to speak, gently pulling the boy to sit on the couch with him. “I’ve been weird since I got back, I know. Being here reminded me of everything we lost. And I do mean everything.” The blond’s eyes drop to his lap as he squeezes his hands together.  

“It kills me how things ended with Techno,” he continues, “the way we treated him. It’s so easy to label him as a traitor and be done with it but I know, I know, it’s not as simple as that. And just the fact that he’s gone and we might not see him again. I…” He trails off for a moment, squeezing his hands harder, making the knuckles turn white. A pang shoots through Tubbo’s chest. After so long with Technoblade in his life, the notion that they might never see him again seems insane. But after everything that had happened, it was a probable reality.

Tommy takes a deep breath and continues, “And Wilbur has felt like a completely different person for so long. When he started getting paranoid, back in Pogtopia, I had to watch him forget what we were fighting for. He might as well have left me alone, and he was the adult! My big brother meant to watch over me. Even after we’d won back L’manburg, it felt like I had lost. I was down two brothers and I had no idea how to get either of them back. It hurt- it still does. It hurts so, so much, Tubbo. But as much as it’s hurt to be back in L’manburg and remember all of it, I think I needed it.”  

He looks back up at Tubbo again. His bright, blue eyes are so full of emotion, it sends a shock through the brunette’s gut.

Tommy saves him from responding by going on. “I think I needed to see it all and accept what happened and accept that people have started moving on. It’s time that I start moving on, too.” There’s a brief pause and the boy’s mouth hangs open for an instant, as though considering whether or not to say something. “I- I spoke with Wilbur earlier.”

Tubbo is still trying to process all the words Tommy just threw at him, like catching one hundred balls in quick succession. Just as Tubbo thought he had a handle on it, Tommy throws that one final, larger, flaming ball at him.

The brunette manages to avoid stammering and asks, “What did you speak about?” The question comes out gentler than he intended, laced with a certain inquisitiveness.

“How we miss Techno, how he’s sorry what he put me through. He told me about Fundy and Dad, too. He said he’s trying to be present again and be there for them. It really seems like the Wilbur I followed into war is coming back. And I think that’s a version of Wilbur I can forgive one day.”

There’s a beat of silence and before Tubbo can speak again, Tommy says, “I really am sorry, Tubbo. I should’ve been more transparent with you. I guess I just didn’t want to bother you with my problems. But that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry for worrying you. No more sneaking down to the docks every night, I promise.”

Tubbo smiles a little. “Pinky promise?”

Tommy looks down at his friend’s extended finger and wraps his own around it. “Yeah, pinky promise.”

“Good.” Tubbo settles back onto the couch, and Tommy follows suit. Now that everything has been said and taken care of, the late hour is catching up with them. They end up with Tubbo leaning over so his head is resting on Tommy’s chest, neither realizing that their pinky fingers are still lazily looped together between them. Tubbo vaguely notices that he can hear the steady beat of his friend’s heart.

“And Tubbo?”

The brunette, eyes closed, fights off sleep to hear his friend’s words. “What is it, Tommy?”

“I think of you as my brother, too. I love you.”

Tubbo smiles, a warm glow spilling into his chest. It makes him feel all fuzzy and warm- and happy. He inhales and exhales slowly, appreciating the moment. “Love you too, Tommy,” he says.

Tubbo lets sleep consume him, then, feeling happier than he has in a month.

‘

You can also read this on Ao3! | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed! <3

[mythrilhusk]

Despite Everything - Chapter 4

NOT RPF (Ao3 Link) Words: 2,091 Last Chapter CW: violence

Feat. Relationship (only SFW): Niki/Puffy (Rainbow Arson)

Spirit Reference Key:  Niki Nihachu - Death  Captain Puffy - Fire  Jack - Light  Eret - Ice  Awesamdude - Dark  Foolish - Life 

On the eve of Puffy's birthday, Niki finds herself cuddled with her girlfriend on a beanbag sofa as Jack and Puffy's three other friends laugh and banter around her. She reaches for the cookies to dip in her chocolate milk. Puffy gulps down her own favorite drink, her ears already flushed red with tipsiness. 

Jack and Sam play a card game, taking shots every time they lose a round. The two other teammates Niki just met today, Foolish and Eret, dance around in the kitchen as they cook up dinner. 

Niki grabs a handful of popcorn and chews it thoughtfully. The others haven't pressured her to fight with them yet, but she's ready for the inevitable disappointment. She watches the card game, trying to keep her mind off of darker musings. 

Eret strides out into the living room, their bi-pride-flag cape swooshing behind them. "Dinner is ready, Captain." 

Captain Puffy grins and wobbles to her feet. "To the kitchen!" She crows. 

Jack groans good-naturedly. "Man, I was just about to win!" 

"No, you weren't." Sam retorts, shoving Jack's shoulder playfully. 

Niki follows Puffy to the kitchen, where Foolish has set up the dinner table with paper plates and plastic cups. "Thanks, Effy, my son." Puffy slurs her consonants slightly. 

Foolish smiles and waves a bashful hand. "No problem, Papa." 

Sam sits down beside Niki. She slouches in her seat uncomfortably as he smiles at her. He's been waffling for weeks between either unsubtly avoiding her and being overtly friendly. If she didn't already know that he's very monogamously in love with some other dude, she'd think he's crushing on her. But that can't be it, so Niki is confused in regards to his possible motives.

Eret serves everyone heaping piles of the noodles and stirfry. "Truly, a queen among humanity." Puffy giggles as she stuffs food in her mouth. 

Foolish laughs at Jack, who's formed a mustache out of his noodles. The banter is so normal, the scene so mundane, it brings an ache to Niki's heart. 

The heavy knock on the door shatters the illusion. 

Niki rises to answer, but the door swings open before she can peek out the peephole. "Why, hello." A gruff voice intones, two glittering eyes pinning Niki in place. "Mind if I come in?" 

"Who are you?" Niki crosses her arms, blocking the way of the shadow. 

"You may know me as Technoblade." The massive form ducks through the door and into the light, shedding the boiling shadows. Niki gasps and flinches back from the menacing figure. 

Technoblade adjusts the glasses resting on his muzzle, scratches his bristly neck, and widens his amused grin. Behind Niki, her friends have all stood up, tensing for battle. "Relax." Technoblade admonishes lightly, raising his claws. "I'm not here to kill any of you this time." 

"This time??" 

Technoblade laughs awkwardly. "Aha, don't let this scare you or anything, but I'm under oath to not harm any of you tonight." 

"What do you want??" Puffy snarls, yanking Niki behind herself protectively. 

"We would like you to join our anti-emperor coup d'etat as allies." His tusks glint as he bends his head to stare at them through his glasses. "Sam, you smell terrible." 

"Ha- what??" Sam clenches his fists. "Wanna say that again, big guy??" 

"Yeah, actually. You stink of guilt and lies." Technoblade shrugs. "Hey, that's none of my business though if y'all wanna associate with a traitor." 

"Out." Puffy growls, glaring up at Techno. "Get out." 

"Wait, wait, haha, I kinda have to secure this alliance. C'mon, Captain, what do you say?" 

"Fuck you." Puffy flips him off. "Leave." 

Technoblade shrugs. "K. Don't say I didn't warn you." He ducks out of the door again, once more shrouded in shadow.  

Puffy slams the door after him. "What the hell was that about?? How dare he come in here to, to try to tear us apart!" 

Niki steps back as Foolish and Jack join in Puffy's rage. She turns and meets Sam's eyes. He stares at her with broken desperation apparent in the welling tears. Eret offers Sam their hand. "You good, man?" 

Sam flinches. "I- I'm so sorry." 

The room goes unnaturally silent. Puffy breaks the quiet tension with a furious shriek, throwing up her arms and storming to the beanbag. She throws herself into the poof and muffles an angry scream. 

"What do you mean, Sam??" Foolish cries. "What are you sorry for, you've done nothing!! Right??" 

Sam drops his eyes with a heavy sigh. "I have prior loyalties that- I thought I wouldn't encounter him again, okay? I thought- I thought he was gone for good. But he's back. And I can't betray him again, or- or he'll kill all of you, and I can't let that happen!" 

Jack pats Sam's shoulder. "Hey, look, at least you had good motives." 

Niki leaves Jack and Eret to comfort Sam, and approaches Puffy, who kicks her feet on the floor, still making noises like a pissed off tea kettle. "Are you okay?" 

"No, I'm not okay!" Puffy snaps, going miserably limp in the poofy beanbag. "I can't even protect my own team." Tears well in her eyes. "I can't even protect my own fucking team!! Why the fuck did that goddamn bastard Technoblade notice before I did??" 

"I, I think he's still out on the balcony, Puffy." Niki hisses upon glancing out the window. 

"Damn him, of course he is." Puffy grumbles. "Please deal with him for me?" 

"Of course, babe." Niki impishly plants a kiss on Puffy's wrist, then leaps up. 

Upon opening the door, she scowls at the lurking Technoblade. "Fifty thousand a day." 

"Heh? That's a rather high price, what about-"

"This is not a negotiation." Niki smiles sweetly. "It's an ultimatum. We will be your allies in this coup if you pay each of us fifty thousand bullion credits a day." 

Technoblade huffs heavily. "Don't punt anyone, they said. Just barter, it'll be easy, they said... Damn Wilbur, he should've been here instead." 

"Take it or leave it." 

"Fine, I suppose that deal is okay, I guess." Technoblade grumbles. "We'll contact you when we want your assistance." 

"Deal." Niki slams the door closed on him once more.

Puffy giggles hysterically as Niki sits down beside her. "Niki, I can't believe you just extorted the Pax Triumvirs!" 

"Wait, what??" Niki shrieks furiously, leaping to her feet. "The what?? Didn't they beat up Sam??" 

"Yes, but- Niki, you good, babe?" 

Niki glares venomously at the window. "I am going to extort so much more when those bastards try to contact us again." 

Puffy guffaws. Niki glances back at her with a fond smile. In the kitchen, Foolish, Eret, and Jack try to comfort Sam with ideas on how to free him from whatever entity that's been threatening him. 

Nothing about this is normal, anymore. But Niki finds she doesn't mind so much. 

++++

Cloaked in the night, Badboyhalo trails Technoblade back to his base. The foolish Angel walks confidently, unaware of his stalker. Bad waits as Technoblade turns a corner. He sneaks around after waiting a moment. 

But Techno has disappeared. Bad huffs, annoyed that he has to use his meager strength to track the Angel. This was supposed to be a quick, easy mission. He closes his eyes and lets the darkness seep through him. 

Technoblade's form is a mere whisper tickling Bad's senses. Right behind him. Bad ducks; the blade of an axe whistles over his head. His daggers leap into his hands and he slashes for the Angel's arms. Feathers rustle, Bad's only warning before a heavy wing bowls him over. 

"Rude." Technoblade places a foot on Bad's chest, slowly increasing the pressure as Bad struggles to gasp for air. "Why are you followin' me?" 

"I, I was just, just passing throu-gck-!" Iron gravity wraps around his limbs, choking him. "Please-" Bad whimpers. 

"I asked a simple question." 

The pressure eases slightly, allowing Bad to gather his breath for an answer. "I- I just want to make sure they stay safe!" He cries. 

"Who? Nemesis?? They'll be fine. I ain't gonna kill them unless they try to cross us." 

"I know." Bad pleads. "I know, but the Lucid Spider is out and looking for revenge." 

Technoblade's eyes light up. He lifts his foot and yanks Bad to his feet. "The Lucid Spider, you say...?" 

"Yes! He's going to kill me if he finds me, but there's not time, I have to warn the Spirits." Bad brushes himself off. He glances up just in time to see Technoblade hiding a smirk. 

"Well, then. I've got some good news, then." 

"Oh? Really?" Bad perks up hopefully. 

Technoblade caresses the blade of his axe thoughtfully. "Good for me, that is. I'm not entirely sure how great it will work out for you, to be honest." 

"Oh-" Bad shrinks away. "Please don't?" 

"Alright. What'll I get if I let you go?" 

Bad thinks for a moment. He doesn't have riches, or anything really. "Uh, the satisfaction of doing the right thing?" 

"Heh." Technoblade laughs darkly. "I'm afraid that doesn't pay the bills. I can't have Quackity getting pissy cause I let a hostage go for having the moral high ground, now, can I..." He raises his axe. "You're comin' with me." 

Desperately, Bad kicks Technoblade in the gut. The Angel grabs his foot and twists, knocking Bad off balance. Bad shrieks as the axe slams down. It stops, hovering barely a centimeter away from the heartbeat pounding in Bad's throat. Technoblade scowls at Bad for a moment, then turns away and sheathes his axe. "Come on." 

Bad shrinks back, trembling with terrified adrenaline. He wants to go home. He wants to return to Skeppy and Antfrost, his team, his friends.

He starts to draw the shadows to himself in the vain hopes of sneaking away, but he's yanked into the air by gravitational forces beyond his control, then slammed down again. Technoblade doesn't even glance back at him, doesn't say anything, merely waits as Bad regains his breath and struggles to his feet. 

Badboyhalo looks over his shoulder at the nearest escape. Then he looks back at the Angel, who stretches his arms with a lazy yawn. He meekly follows his captor. 

++++

Antfrost and Skeppy search the bridges and alleys frantically for Bad. Skeppy gets increasingly more and more panicked as no traces are found. "What if Dream got him??" Skeppy cries. "That fucking bastard-" He bursts into tears. "Now Bad will never yell at me again!!" 

Antfrost growls low in his throat. He's grown accustomed to teammates dying, but the loss still aches. "We will find Dream and make him pay." 

"Ye-yeah!" Skeppy sobs. "I don't understand, how could Bad let himself be defeated??" 

Antfrost shakes his head. "The goddamn muffinhead shoulda taken us with him." 

"He didn't even tell us where he was going!!" Skeppy cries. "He could be literally anywhere!" 

"I will try to look." Antfrost kneels on the cold bridge and clasps his hands together. His eyes snap open, blazing golden as his cyan phylactery floats up from the silver chain around his neck. Beams of light flare and dance around his body. 

"Badboyhalo." He hums and Io hums with him. "I am Antfrost, Speaker for the Dead. I summon you. Badboyhalo!" 

Skeppy stares at Antfrost, never failing to be amazed every time the former Spirit of Death taps into his lingering power. Antfrost's white and gold outfit glistens with diamond dew, setting off the cyan accents of the sharp holographic wings fluttering behind him. 

"We can't find him." Punz murmurs through the invisible portal to Hel's gates. 

"He's not here," Fundy confirms. 

"We will search for him." Purpled promises. 

Tears bead in Antfrost's eyes. He struggles to close the portal and cut off his power. His dead friends give him spectral hugs, then retreat once more to whatever afterlives they've chosen. His eyes flicker closed as he collapses weakly to the ironwood planks. 

Skeppy wails as he picks up Antfrost. "Don't die!!" 

"I'm not dead, you idiot." Antfrost snaps with his remaining strength. "Just, just let me rest." 

Antfrost lets Skeppy carry him back to their team headquarters. Skeppy, dear Skeppy. Formerly Spirit of Life, until it was ripped from him. Badboyhalo, dear muffin, former Spirit of Dark, until he gave it up for Skeppy's life. Punz, Fundy, and Purpled were not so lucky. Antfrost senses his remaining reserves of magic. He's running too low. Just one more spell, and his own body could be torn apart by the forces that only the gods will ever truly understand.