#dream smp fic

[wshelli]

Just a doodle of my beloved golden duo and Fran from the best fanfiction of dsmp that I've ever read - Butterfly reign by @tuesday-teyz

[hellothereimaloser]

veryy choppy first try animation for SIRENNN AAAA ahsash

EDIT: THANK U SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT U GUYS <3

[bugflies00]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dream SMP Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity (background) Additional Tags: Minor Alexis | Quackity/Wilbur Soot, Engaged Alexis | Quackity/Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, TommyInnit is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, the fostering AU, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Banter, Crack, Fluff and Crack Series: Part 1 of the fostering AU Summary:

wilbur has coffee with tommy like any regular day, except it's not in fact a regular day, because he has a bit of a special announcement... 

(based off my AU the fostering, but you don't need to know it to understand this!)

CHARACTERS NOT CCS! i don't support wilbur

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sir, a second bugflies00 oneshot has hit the archiveofourown. FOSTERING AU THIS TIMEEE based off this post (new link with my pride url) 

[pl4yingcards]

plotting my fic is going well

lots of specifics as you can see

[residenthesitant]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dream SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aimee | Aimsey & Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Niki | Nihachu, Niki | Nihachu & Kristin Rosales Watson Characters: Aimee | Aimsey (Video Blogging RPF), Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu, Kristin Rosales Watson | Mumza Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Metaphors, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Doomsday War (Dream SMP), Post-Destruction of L'Manberg (Dream SMP), Niki | Nihachu Needs a Hug, Anger, Moving On, Hopeful Ending Summary:

For Aimsey, grief has become a comfort.

For Eret, grief is something that has always been there.

For Niki, grief has always been suffocation. On Doomsday, her grief becomes rage.

How Aimsey, Eret, and Niki all deal with grief, and how Death keeps watch.

--

collab with @blocky-tides for @morningstarzine!!! this was so much fun to work on and we are so, so excited that the zine is out! enjoy!

[booksnblocks]

MCYT Trick or Treat (@mcyt-trick-or-treat) has finished, and now I get to share the three fics I wrote for my gifts! 

This is my second gift for imjustheretohavafantime, featuring Bench Trio as they end up at a strange place called Camp Half-Blood! I hope you enjoy!

Summary:

“Demigods? Like DreamXD?” Tommy asks, and the man just stares at him, baffled.

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of DreamXD before,” he says. “Where exactly are you from?”

“Dream SMP. We were on our way to MCC,” Tubbo says. “We jumped in the portal like we normally do.”

The man nods sagely, as though these words mean anything to him. “Portals are not my specialty, but I think I know someone who could help.” After he says this, he begins rising from the wheelchair, higher and higher, until—

“You’re a horse?” Ranboo asks.

“Not a horse; a centaur,” the man says. -----

A portal-gone-wrong to MCC drops TommyInnit, Tubbo, and Ranboo outside a little camp known as Camp Half-Blood.

[vopivo]

Hey DSMPblr, I haven't done this before, but I think a fic that I loved might be lost media and wanted to ask around if anyone knows it or has it archived. Here' s a description with some details:

It was a vigilante tommy fic where children under the age of 14 were forced underground into what became the city of pogtopia, and it had themes of revolution, protesting, and tommy went by two different monikers: Icarus (what pogtopia idolized and knew him as) and theseus, which pogtopia wasnt well acquainted with. One of the parts that I remember is that the culture was so vastly different in pogtopia due to its unique circumstances, and there was this one celebration where they would run around the entire underground, like a marathon, as a celebration of something.

If anyone knows where this fic might be or who the author is I would appreciate the help!

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

a new kind of warmth

Grian lept off of Monopoly Mountain, unsure what or where his next life would be, but knowing he couldn't stay here any longer. Not when the sand was red with blood. He ended up somewhere in the artic.

Part of the @extremetimedchallengeexchange which I had so much fun with!

Words: 1703

AO3 here

Grian is cold.

He hasn’t been cold in weeks. He’s used to the heat of the sun, the burn of the sand, the sweat dripping from his brows and the constant red tint to his skin. 

Now he’s cold. Now there’s a bone deep chill. Now he’s freezing and his muscles are stiff and sore from it. There’s wind ruffling his feathers and the sharp pain of ice against his cheek. He flexes his hand and grimaces as his fingers dig into snow, the burn familiar and yet so very different from sand. 

He lifts his head, attempting to open his eyes and meeting only the blinding reflection of snow for miles. He shut them again as he forced himself to his knees, shaking the frost from his wings. 

This must be death then. Some purgatory– or Hell. He’d think Hell would be the fire and brimstone, but that would have been too familiar. A wasteland of snow and ice and constant wind felt like Hell enough, would be a fitting punishment for the life he had lived. 

When he finally opened his eyes again, blinked away the brightness and let himself focus, he became a little less sure it was Hell. Not definite, but the landscape was less barren than at first glance. Most of it was ice– but behind him, when he finally stood to properly look around, was a spruce forest. Through the trees, if he squinted, he could see the warm light of torches and lamps. 

He started walking. 

Soon a cabin appeared in his view, with a large fenced yard that had wolves galloping about, foxes nicking the wolves’ toys out from under them, horses watching it all from a small stable, a big slumbering polar bear sitting at the steps of the door, and over a dozen crows sitting on the roof of the cabin. It was surrounded by a mountain range and he could just barely spot another home a couple meters away built into the stone. 

If this was life after death (and what else could be when his very last action was falling from the top of Monopoly Mountain, too grief stricken to open his wings with the blood staining his hands), then perhaps this was the home of Death itself– or an angel or a demon or someone that could explain to him what afterlife he had wound up in. At the very least it would be warmer than out here (if this afterlife was even a little kind and had insulated walls).

He stumbled past into the yard, closing the gate behind him. He flinched when the first wolf came galloping up, but it merely licked at his frozen fingers. A few of the wolves barked and howled and then several crows joined in with squawks and calls of their own, probably alerting whatever being inside the home that he was out here. The polar bear poked his head up, blinking sleepily at him. He had a golden name tag hanging from his neck and he didn’t move from his nap spot as Grian approached. 

There was movement in the window and then the door swung open– “What the fuck has gotten you so riled, chat?” The man standing at the door looked… surprisingly normal. For just a moment Grian thought he was a human, his blonde hair was pulled back by his hat and he was wearing dark green and black robes. The wings, he didn't see until they shifted and spread slightly behind him, big black things that stole all the light and almost looked like voids in space. He didn't have any other feathers on his face, or clawed hands, or taloned feet– Not like Grian. 

He was an Angel then, like Skizz was, or something like it. Skizz's wings were white; the inky black of this stranger was much more intimidating. Was this like– his Guardian Angel? He didn't think his Guardian Angel would have a potty mouth. Also he was a terrible guardian given the whole– everything he just went through. 

“Oh, hello there!” He called from the steps, waving at Grian, “Wasn’t expecting visitors. Would have cleaned up for you.” 

Grian numbly waved back, stopping in the middle of the yard as he watched the Angel come down the steps, easily sidestepping the polar bear and effortlessly ignoring the dogs that followed in his heels. A few crows swooped on him and he laughed and shouted at them. 

“Hiya, mate. You doing alright there?” He asked, stopping just sort of grabbing Grian's arm. His hand was outstretched as he looked Grian up and down, “I don't think we’ve met before. I haven't seen you around the server pretty sure. I’m Philza.” 

“Grian,” he replied, staring at Philza’s wings– one of them was messed up, the skin and tissue had so much scarring that feathers, his flight feathers, no longer grew. It was something a respawn or a few potions should have fixed, not something you let heal on its own. “Are you, like, my Guardian Angel?”

Philza laughed, “The fuck? No, mate, I’m not anyone's Guardian Angel. Especially not yours. I’ve never seen you in my life.”

“That's good, cause my Guardian Angel must suck at their job,” Grian grumbled. 

“I feel that, bud,” Philza agreed readily, stepping to the side, “Want to come inside, where it’s warm?” 

“Yes, please,” he whined, taking the biggest steps he could manage with his numb legs towards the house. 

Philza was quick to show him around. The place was small and quaint, even smaller than their sandcastle. It was crowded with sentimental items and cozy furniture. Grian was quick to sink into a plush chair and bundle his wings around himself. Philza bustled about, making tea and talking about his housemate, Techno, who was out at the moment, and his neighbor, Ranboo, who was also gone. It was just the two of them, and that was fine with Grian for now. He still wasn't sure what type of afterlife he’d wound up in and having more people in his afterlife sounded like too much right now. 

A hot mug was placed in his hand. He glared at it for a moment, the steam and heat not quite welcome despite him still warming up from the cold outside. It almost made him want to drop the mug as his fingers started to burn. 

He watched as Philza sat down across from him, a few birds perching on the back of the chair. They squawked a few times, Philza’s nose wrinkling in disgust.

“So, I don’t suppose you’re used to the cold yet, huh?” Philza remarked, lightly batting away a bird that nudged his cheek.

Grian hesitated at that, especially when the birds stopped moving to stare at him. It was unnerving with how they all looked at him, watching with an unblinking stare. “I– no not really. I’m used to warmer climates.”

“Oh, warmer climates… like deserts?”

Grian tensed at that, his wings folding up closer to his body. He glanced up at the birds, who’d started to disperse, moving to perch on other objects in the room, observing him from all angles. “I-yeah, like deserts I guess. How did you–”

“The sand,” Philza gestured to the grains that were slightly dusting the ground now, “It’s all in your wings mate. That can’t be comfortable.” 

“I’m used to it,” He replied slowly, ducking his head.

“I fucking bet,” Philza rolled his eyes. He slipped out of the chair and onto the carpet, patting the space in front of him, “Come on, up! Let’s get those fixed.” 

Grian blinked down at him, “What?” 

“You’re getting sand in my chair, mate. It’s a bitch to clean up when it gets into furniture. So, come sit, I can clean them for you.”

He stared at Philza for a long moment, not sure he was actually hearing him right. It had to be a misunderstanding on his part. Preening was intimate. At least, it was supposed to be. Sure he’s had a few hermits he was less than close to brush a feather back into place or pull a pinhead, but Mumbo was the only person he’d let sit down and run his fingers through them in ages. Him and, of course, Scar these last few weeks. The only other person he evenly remotely trusted in the games once the blood started spilling (and spilling and spilling until all that was left was Scar’s blood to spill). 

“It’s just getting the sand out, come on,” Phil waved him over again.

Slowly– ever so slowly– Grian slipped onto the floor with Philza. He had to set his mug down a second to stop it from spilling on the carpet as he turned his back to the other.

A part of him expected to feel the punch of a sword between his shoulder blades. He was tense as a bowstring, waiting for the impact. 

When the fingers slipped between primaries he flinched. 

Immediately the hands were gone. Neither of them said a thing for a second, then Philza went back to it. Grian was still tense, but he tried to stay still, hoping to make the process a bit quicker. 

Philza worked deftly and diligently. “My son was an avian too,” he muttered softly after a moment, “He had his mother’s eyes.” 

Grian hummed in response, not sure how to answer that and not sure if he was supposed to. Instead the quiet lingered, but the tension was loosening. He ruffled a few feathers, shaking out a bit of sand himself. Philza chuckled behind him before grabbing the crest of a wing to still it and returning to his work. 

After that, Philza would make idle chatter, commenting on his adventures and his sons. Grian slowly relaxed under it all. The hands in his wings, the comforting warmth of the cabin and the hot tea in a pretty red terracotta mug. 

It would be morning by the time Grian woke up again, a red wool blanket thrown over him. He’d have a million things to figure out and people to find, but until then he would fall asleep to the gentle help of a new friend. 

[chrysalizzm]

This is how you kill a god. (A character study on godhood, the cost of living, and what exactly makes a person.)

[ria-writes-stuff]

the dead house: an update

So- I started this almost a month ago and promptly forgot to actually write it, but it is once again being worked on.

(please note that Wilbur is being used as a character who's separate from the Brighton Biter, and I don't condone abuse or abusers. Support Shelby)

here's the original concept:

“Come on Wil, we’re nearly there now, cheer up mate.” Wilbur met Phil’s eyes briefly in the driver’s mirror, before stubbornly turning his head to the side and curling up again. Techno had called shotgun on the passenger seat, which meant he’d been stuck in the back with his seven year old brother for the last six hours, Tommy talking his ear off the entire time, only occasionally taking a break to scream out the words to a song he recognised, horribly out of tune. So Wilbur wasn’t exactly in the mood to ‘cheer up’. “He won’t.” commented Techno, lounging in the front seat, “He’s far too full of teenage angst.” “Hey! I’m not full of teenage angst!” protested Wilbur, sitting upright, “Just because you’re a weirdo who’s never felt an emotion in his life-” “Boys! For the love of god, give it a rest.”  “He literally called me immature!” “Was I wrong?” “Well-”

[tjodity]

A short Fundy and Schlatt fic I made set shortly after the elections.

[melissa-s23]

Guys...

Finding humanity returns tomorrow.

[bugflies00]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dream SMP Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, they both get one !, Post-TommyInnit's Exile Arc on the Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), ft. tommyinnit's frequent and personal use of metaphors for any kind of emotional vulnerability, vague flower symbolism Summary:

“The thing is, he was nice sometimes.”

Tommy was still looking resolutely at the window and away from Wilbur.

“It felt like he could’ve been my friend. Like he was my friend. Some days I still think he is.”

Wilbur felt like if he breathed too loudly, he would break something, something fragile. As if Tommy would shrivel up like a poppy flower in October at the slightest prod, disintegrating into dust.

“He had rules. Lots of rules. Told me all about how much better I would be if I followed them, how it was for my own good, because he was my friend.”

Tommy’s nails were digging into his hands. A long time ago, in an overgrown marsh in the summer, under another flag, Wilbur would have gently pulled his hands away to make him stop.

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just another "c!wilbur finds out about exile" fic cause i live on them <3 title from eight by sleeping at last

CHARACTERS NOT CCs

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Hi guysss first official fic....the bugflies00 ao3 arc commences.... Hope you like it yippee 

[pl4yingcards]

beep beep it's new-fic-promo time

"Technoblade was a warrior. Tommy was a soldier. Wilbur was a man."

Technoblade was a warrior. This, of course, meant different things to different people. Some viewed him as practically untouchable; the Blood God himself, one to avoid trifling with, and if you had earned his attention then you had better hope that he wouldn’t be the one to answer your final prayers. Others believed him to merely be a patron of the Blood God, someone who was more of a vehicle to draw the blood rather than the god demanding the blood himself. Still others saw him as no more than a gifted man, as mortal as the rest and plenty defeatable, though clearly touched by some blessing or god to have the gifts he possessed.

Alternatively: In which Technoblade, an immortal child of the Angel of Death, has to cope with watching his twin die as a man and return for an encore every time. What happens when both twins have the gift of existing forever, but only one is truly immortal? Techno never did get used to the shock of seeing that smile on another face.

^ the pilot chapter is posted now :D

[residenthesitant]

hey what if i wrote a passover fic

Title: Manna from Heaven Warnings: None Rating: Gen Relationships: Married Tubbo/Ranboo, Tubbo & Everyone Characters: Tubbo, Ranboo, Techno, Michael B, Foolish, assorted others Tags: Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Jewish Holidays, Pesach | Passover, Tubbo-Centric, Found Family Summary: One of the perks of having a rich husband, in Tubbo’s opinion, is getting to send out the fanciest, most over-the-top invitations for what is, essentially, a small dinner for friends and family. The size of the dinner does not matter. The amount of invitations being set out does not matter. The fact that Tubbo can commission a calligrapher to make ten overly-decorated and horrendously fancy cards to invite people to his home is what matters.

You are cordially invited to the Underscore-Beloved’s home on Friday at sundown for Passover. Contact Tubbo or Ranboo to RSVP.

Oh, gods.

Tubbo’s never hosted a seder before.

i wrote the world's most self-indulgent passover fic in the world for @mcyt-passover-event! read it on ao3 <333333

[moondragon618]

SURPRISE FIC I AM STILL A WRITER GUYS I SWEAR anyway have this thing that I wrote for fun and to try and break my months-long writer's block lmao. It has lots of religious c!Prime hehehe :) :) :)

Summary:

“Why are you even like this?”

The fucking look Dream gives him in response sends a cold chill down his spine, a twisted mix of pride and something almost reverent in his unnatural glowing green eyes, and then he starts giggling almost uncontrollably.

"Oh, Tommy… It's like you were made for me, y’know?" he says with a giggle, the fondness in his voice sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Tommy's skin crawl. "My favorite plaything, my beloved little brother, and my perfect little Angel, created just for me."

~ :) ~

In which Tommy gets some insight into Dream's thought process, regrets it immediately, and things just go downhill from there :)