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kisuminight · 1 year ago

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A very general outline of how this AU's Staged Finale goes down:

So Tommy swings the Axe of Peace. And instead of turning into golden dust like a respawn, Dream shatters into pieces of light. The axe catches on Dream’s core crystal and basically knocks it so it hits the ground behind Tommy, in the middle of the gathered server members.

“What the fuck?” says Tommy.

“Language!” from Bad.

“That’s a core crystal. Dream was a Blade?” says Punz. He steps closer to the core crystal on the ground.

“Don’t touch that!” says Sapnap. He also steps closer to the core crystal on the ground.

“Chill. It can take up to three days for a core crystal to recover enough to be Awakened again.” But Punz steps back.

“Dream can’t be a Blade.” Says Sam. “Are you sure that was Dream?”

“Of course if was fucking Dream! You think I don’t fucking recognize how he fucking fights?” Tommy again.

“But if Dream is a Blade, who was his Driver?” Tubbo.

The problem is that Blades, socially, are seen as extensions of their Drivers. Most people expect that, if a Blade is doing something, it is because their Driver told them to. Anyone who has interacted with Skeppy on a frequent basis (and is aware he is a Blade) knows this is nonsense, but ingrained prejudice is strong. Tommy and Tubbo being mostly clueless about the Blade system actually puts them at a better point for recognizing Dream’s agency than anyone else.

Sapnap is having a breakdown. He thought he understood his friend, and then he thought that he didn’t understand his friend but that was okay because Dream was a bad friend. Now Dream is a Blade and some things are making sense but more things aren’t and actually his friend is for-real dead now. Not dead as in a canon death, dead as in the Dream that existed just stopped the moment he was returned to a core crystal. If it is Awakened, the New Dream will be similar but will not be the same person. The last bit hasn’t really hit him yet.

Antfrost and Bad have both been corrupted by the Egg at this point. They are surprised about Dream being a Blade, but are pushed by the Egg to want to bring Dream’s core crystal back to it. The Egg has a hard time infecting Blades, and only got Skeppy by a combination of lingering influence coming from Bad and long-term direct exposure. It is aware that any Blade in its power that reverts to a core crystal will reAwaken without the corruption, and has plans that revolve around trying to corrupt Dream’s core crystal itself.

HBomb, Jack Manifold, and Niki are mostly satisfied that Dream is not going to be a Problem any more. They are content to leave at this point. Niki did guess that Philza was a blade, and since Techno contacted her prior to the confrontation, she does inform Techno (who she thinks is Philza’s Driver) about the situation with Dream.

Callahan is worried about the situation. He wants to know who Dream’s Driver was. As a Blade himself, he is aware that a Driver does not absolutely dictate what Blades can/cannot do. However, a Blade’s relationship with their Driver does greatly impact how they see the rest of the world. Callahan is also aware that a Driver does not necessarily have to be on the same server as the Blade, seeing as his Driver Alyssa is off-server.

Ranboo is staying quiet. He and Punz are staying out of this discussion. Punz makes an excuse to leave early, and dips out while making motions to or saying something about Dream’s core crystal, which is still on the ground. Ranboo is hovering around, acting hesitant.

Sam also wants to know who Dream’s Driver was. He is currently the Warden of Pandora’s Vault, and while his behavior has not reached the point where it would in canon-timeline after overseeing Dream’s imprisonment, the signs are already starting. Sam thinks that Dream should be reAwakened and that they need to be careful about who Dream’s new Driver is to make sure that Dream is a Good Person in his new life (Sam is advocating to be the new Driver).

Puffy agrees that Dream needs a good Driver to be a better person in his new life. She thinks Sam is a good person for that. Eret weighs in at this point and mentions that Dream was a citizen of the Greater Dream SMP and might be better with them (this is part of Eret’s quest for reconciliation, as well as a bit of power-hunger. Eret is a weird character). Puffy says that Sam would be better because Dream shouldn’t be around/have influence in politics. She says Dream probably shouldn’t go with Bad or Antfrost for similar reasons. At this point, Eret leaves.

Tommy wants to know what the hell are they talking about. Why is Dream a rock? Why are they trying to revive Dream at all? It’s like they think that Dream isn’t a wrongun’.

*Blade system is explained to Tommy*

Okay, so the New Dream will look exactly the same as Dream. And act exactly like Dream. And you think it’s okay to wake him up because he won’t have any memories? Tommy calls Doubt with lots of cursing. Bullshit Dream was doing it on orders. It was only Dream demanding Exile. It was only Dream during Exile. Yeah, Doomsday was Dream + Phil + Techno, but Dream wasn’t getting puppeted by either of them. And if Dream was a Blade, why didn’t Dream ever use any of his Blade powers? None of them even know what his Soul Weapon looked like. They don’t know what his element is. Even healer Blades have some weak attacks, and he didn’t use an of that shit! Maybe Dream should stay a rock.

“What the fuck, Tommy,” goes Sapnap.

“Maybe Tommy should reAwaken him,” says Tubbo. The issue is that Dream hated Tommy, right? If Tommy is Dream’s Driver, then that can’t happen again. Dream will help Tommy, be his friend. After all, Dream was nice in the beginning.

Dream will be Tommy’s friend sets Tommy off. “Dream was never my friend and never will be!” This is lingering trauma from the emotional manipulation from exile. Meta note, the relationship between Tommy and Dream would not be healthy at this point.

“Dream should stay with someone who was actually his friend,” Ponk disagrees. Giving a Blade to someone who was their enemy seems ethically dubious.

“Sapnap,” says Quackity.

“Not Sapnap,” says everyone else.

“Fine, George then.”

Sapnap, who is still having a breakdown and is processing 1000+ things and just realized that George might have been Dream’s Driver, based the fact that he re-met Dream as George’s friend and also George’s weird behavior around the dethronement, “Not George.”

“You should leave Dream as a rock,” Tommy repeats.

“I still think it would be better if he stayed with Sapnap,” says Quackity. This is partly to support his fiancé and partly because he thinks having a Blade in his sphere of influence would help his plans. “What do you think, Ranboo?”

“Um, Karl?” It sounds shaky, and the pronunciation is weird. Ranboo leaves.

People present: Tommy, Tubbo, Puffy, Quackity, Sapnap, Antfrost, Badboyhalo, Ponk, Awesamedude.

Karl is friendly. He is minimally involved in server politics at this point (since El Rapids is mostly forgot about in comparison to L’Manberg, and L’Manberg is a hole in the ground). He is Quackity’s other fiancé, so this is still a good solution for Q. Tubbo likes Karl. Tommy is kind of “eh” about it, but he also thinks that Dream should not be reAwakened at this point. Everyone else talks over him. Sam is okay with Karl, but he would prefer to have Dream as his Blade.

“Sapnap, can you bring the core crystal to Karl?”

The core crystal is Not There.

Everyone freaks out. Sapnap demands that everyone empty their inventory. Nobody present has the core crystal (or they are pretending they don’t. Sapnap isn’t sure how much he can trust them). When was the last time anybody remembered seeing it? Well, that was when Punz pointed to it and left. Okay, so Punz doesn’t have it.

Who left?

Ranboo, HBomb, Eret, Niki, and Jack Manifold.

On the Nether side of the portal, EW!Ranboo drops Dream’s core crystal into Punz’s hand. Even if someone were to come through the portal now, they wouldn’t be able to see them. Punz was actively pushing aether into his passive powers, rendering the two of them completely unnoticeable. Once Punz has the core crystal, he steps back. EW!Ranboo completely loses track of him as he leaves.

EW!Ranboo scribbles the basics of what happened in his memory book, Dream tried to kill Tommy and Tubbo. We rescued them. Dream is a Blade and they are fighting about who Dream’s new Driver will be. I am worried about the outcome. Then he gives control back to Ranboo.

So everyone goes into the Nether, and they see Ranboo standing there putting away with his memory book. Ranboo says, “What happened?”

“Ranboo, can you empty your inventory?” The core crystal is Not There (anymore).

Ranboo apologizes to Tubbo, “I’m sorry. Thinks were very stressful. I don’t remember what happened at the confrontation.”

Three days later, Punz Awakens Dream as his Blade. “Hey, buddy. You doing okay?”

“…Resonance feels different from George. It’s weird to have a comparison.”

Results of Staged Finale:

Punz is not under suspicion for having Dream or helping Dream before he was killed. Ranboo is also not under suspicion. Dream has been reAwakened with all his memories (the experiments worked!). They can now continue further experiments in peace. Everyone at Staged Finale is now very suspicious of each other. The idea of someone on the server can just pull a Blade with Dream’s fighting skills, unknown powers, and the blind loyalty of all New Blades out of their inventory unnerves people. Tensions are high, but most people are reluctant to get into actual fights for the moment because what if.

Dream is avoiding the SMP in general, but if someone does see him he can just say “I have no idea who you are, got to go.” There is a greatly reduced risk of immediate attack as long as he pretends to be an amnesiac new Blade if he is discovered.

#dsmp #dsmp au #c!dream #staged finale #DSMP Blade System AU #basically Dream just revealed 1 fact that upended the entire world and ditched #no one is even sure what his element/powerset would be #given that most people still think “tyrant”#a lot of their guesses are wind/dps #or maybe fire/dps because of Doomsday #this absolutely started a conspiracy theory about whether he got killed/Driver replaced between early SMP and the first L'Manberg war #because god forbid people get a personality change after they've been backed into a corner for months and told their a villain for all of i

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issybettyx · 2 years ago

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BEDROCK BROS THERAPIST & VILLAIN AU PART 2

Idk why yall loved this au sm, but honestly i’m not complaining because i love it too, they mean sm to me

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/issybettyx/713172720142155776/bedrock-bros-au

Quick catch up: tommy has therapy homework, wilbur and phil are mid argument, techno is beginning to realise just how bad tommy’s life has been

Enjoy :D

Tw’s: mention of attempted murder, robbery, mention of illegal fighting rings, manipulation

———

It was Sunday when Tommy found himself first listening to Techno’s advice.

“Theseus, what’s the status report?” Wilbur’s voice came through, the speaker in his ear a little crackly but nothing he couldn’t handle. They were on a mission to steal money from a higher-up citizen of the city named ‘Kyle Banks’, the man having earned his money mostly from inheritance from his parents who’d died in a car accident a few years prior. Tommy was the one sent in to steal it, his quick feet and swift thinking perfect for the operation at hand.

Currently, he was around a corner near the door to the man’s bedroom where they knew he kept his vault. There were two guards standing by the door he would have to take down without a sound, and suddenly his potion of sleeping felt heavy in his pocket. But it would smash, right?

Maybe if he opened the bottle and held his breath and threw the potion on them it would work?

“Theseus.”

“Right, status.” He muttered to himself, cursing himself for his incompetence. “Two guards are stood at his door, meaning he is present and likely asleep. The plan is to send the guards to sleep, get in, take the money, and leave before they wake up.”

There was a sigh from the other end of the line, and Tommy couldn’t help his frown, pulling out the potion and looking over the grey liquid that hardly sparkled in the dim lighting of the halls.

“Why not just kill them? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Phil asked him, a harsh edge to his tone that made Tommy rethink the liquid in his hands, fingers gripping tighter as he bit his bottom lip.

Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Techno’s words rang through his head, his father’s words turning into muffled jumble before he promptly turned off his earpiece, taking it off and tucking it into one of his pockets. Then, he made sure his mask was secure over his face before quietly popping the lid off, throwing the contents right over the guards.

For a moment, there was nothing but confused mumbling as they looked in his direction. But then, they started to sway, eyes fighting against fluttering shut before they both started to fall. Tommy darted, quickly holding them before they fell and slowly lowered them to the floor. After a moment of searching, he found a set of keys, and he quickly placed them in his pocket as well before opening the door, looking in.

Kyle was lying asleep on his bed, mouth open and drool dribbling down his cheek. He wouldn’t wake up from a gunshot, Tommy thought with an amused huff, moving to the vault and making quick work of figuring out the code, taking out a large piece of tape and pressing it to the buttons. When he removed it, it revealed four different dirt marks which he related to the man asleep.

How stupid to make the password your birthday, he almost commented aloud as he pressed the buttons, the door clicking open.

Inside was a gun, a few envelopes and several wads of cash, all of which he stashed in a bag he’d brought before clicking the vault shut, turning to see the sleeping man in the exact position as before.

The window was pushed open, and Tommy jumped out soundlessly, letting it slip back shut perfectly behind him.

The police didn’t even no where to start.

—

“Why the fuck did you turn off your earpiece?” Phil practically spat, pointing an accusatory finger at him when he walked back through the door. But Tommy didn’t even acknowledge him, pulling out the cash and placing it on the table before moving to the kitchen. “Don’t ignore me!”

“He got the money, Dad, what’s the problem?” Wilbur returned, frowning as he pointed to the money. But the man groaned, Tommy quickly making himself a sandwich as he did so.

“That’s not my point. Sure he did it, but this is an extremely expensive piece of tech, and any reckless movements could’ve broken it.”

“We both know that’s not your issue.”

The room fell silent, and Tommy took a bite out of his sandwich, thinking about the letters in his bag before deciding he’d open them in his room, taking another bite as he stared at his Dad and brother.

Then, his dad turned to him, a sour look on his face that almost made Tommy shiver; but it was a look he was used to, a look of bitter disappointment.

“You should’ve killed them.”

For a moment, he thought of apologising, of promising he would do better and listen to his father next time. But then he remembered Techno, how he’d said not to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with.

Robbing a rich man was one thing, but killing two innocent guards in the process? What about their families? What about their future? What about their entire life leading up to that point, ending it out of pure fear for your own reputation?

It was stupid, and Techno hadn’t given him homework for nothing.

Tommy found he missed Techno.

But he was just his therapist, so he brushed away the thought, looking at his father with thinly veiled anger.

“If you care so much maybe you should’ve done it yourself.” He muttered, glaring at Phil was his chin high, the man pausing as his anger dropped for a moment, and then it was returned full force, teeth gritted as he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides.

Before the other could get another word in, he left the room, leaving his brother and dad alone as he skipped up the steps.

Eventually, he got to his room, locking the door behind him before falling onto his bed, taking a deep breath before taking the letters out of his bag, staring at them with a strange adoration.

They were all addressed to the man he’d robbed, each sealed with an intent to stay sealed. Of course, that didn’t deter Tommy, who got it open with ease and slipped the papers out. There was a handwritten letter, the words neatly etched onto the page.

‘Dear Mr Banks,

I understand your schedule doesn’t have time to read through my insignificant letters anymore, but I beg of you to listen to what I have to say if only this once.

The company is under threat of decimation, someone in the villains organisation has leaked our goals to the hero committee, and without taking action soon we will be taken down.

Extra precautions will have to be put in place to keep the organisation safe; your wealth, your job and your life are at risk, and if we don’t ask soon then the ending will be anything but positive.

- J’

Huh.

He looked at the other letter, addressed to a person named ‘Johnathan Bernard’, the letter sealed the same as the other.

And, in strangely similar and still different handwriting, Tommy read the letter. It only added to his confusion.

‘Mr Bernard,

Thank you for reaching out about your concern for the company, and I do hope this letter finds you in good health.

I understand your worries, but even with the hero committee knowing of our plans, the company won’t falter. I built it up to be strong, to not fall to those not stronger than it, and I must reassure you that the company will survive anything the hero committee decides to throw at us. However, you did mention the villains organisation; are we sure they’re the ones who leaked it?

We have many allies, all of which are more likely to hand over our secrets to people like the hero committee. In fact, the villain organisation would be my last idea for leaking anything. Philza has them under control, and as long as they stay loyal we have nought to fear.

Updates would be appreciated.

- K’

It was so painfully forged that Tommy almost laughed, but he knew that no one else would be able to notice the similarities in the writing.

Nothing made sense.

Kyle Banks was known for his wealth because of his parents, not because of any company he owned. It wasn’t public that he was working at all, and whether the company was forged with the letters he wasn’t entirely sure. And for them to be reported to the hero committee? It couldn’t be anything good.

Johnathan Bernard wasn’t a commonly known man, but most people working alongside the villain organisation knew him. Mostly for his work in illegal fighting rings, betting money on people willing to sacrifice their lives for the entertainment of others. It was nothing Tommy had ever been interested in, but Wilbur had been invited one night (not that he went of course, instead he spent the night complaining to Tommy about the ignorance of some people).

The entire situation was more than Tommy’s overwhelmed mind could handle, so he slipped the envelopes shut and hid them among the books on his shelf, making sure they weren’t visible before slipping into bed.

His eyes shut the moment his head hit the pillow.

—

It was Thursday when Tommy couldn’t stop thinking about Techno.

For the entire week he’d been able to shove him out of his mind to focus on more important things, but stood outside of Tubbo’s house in the evening, dressed up a little nicer than usual because of the planned family dinner, he couldn’t stop letting the thoughts circle his mind.

Tubbo had asked him to come the day before, saying how he really didn’t want to go but would be willing if his best friend went with him, and his mother agreed.

If Tubbo murders your cousin, don’t immediately forgive him.

Well, it wasn’t exactly murder, and he wasn’t exactly Tubbo’s cousin, but this seemed pretty close to death, and it was definitely the boy’s fault. Techno would’ve been fit for the occasion, if he wore his usual frilled shirt and suit bottoms. Maybe he’d be overdressed, but who was anyone to judge? If anything, Tommy found it awesome how the man could dress so amazingly all the time, he wished he could relate.

Anywho, he stood at the door, hearing the chatter from inside as he rethought his life decisions, before finally knocking.

It was Tubbo who opened the door, a smile immediately spread across his face as he dragged the boy in by his wrist, giggling mischievously as he shut the door behind them. “Took you long enough, dinner won’t be another half an hour so we have time to kill.”

“Tubbo, and I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Tommy started as he was dragged up the stairs, smiling all the while, “If you have a hostage up here I am not helping you get information out of them.”

The boy huffed, and yet gave no indication Tommy was incorrect, and Tommy had to hide his shudder.

Despite only being 14, Tommy was one of the most skilled villains of the city. And, somehow, a short child scared him more than anything else did.

When they opened the door to Tubbo’s room, it was the same as it always was; the decorations were fitting (a lot of bees, random posters he’d found on the streets, a roof tile?), but you could hardly see them under the messy spell that the room was enchanted with - bed unmade, too many empty monster cans dotted around, clothes scattered across the floor.

Nothing was inherently off about the room, but Tubbo’s grin told him he was missing something.

After the bedroom door shut behind them, the brunette skipped to his wardrobe, not wasting a second before pulling the door open, revealing-

“Tubbo I was joking about the hostages!” Tommy immediately yelled, covering his mouth when the boy shot him the harshest glare.

Sat inside the closet, long legs pulled up to his chest, was a boy. A tall, brunette, absolutely petrified boy. His mouth and hands were tied, eyes a shimmering grey eyes. Except, his mouth wasn’t exactly tied, more-so his mask.

“He’s not a hostage, he’s my friend.” Tubbo tried, still grinning. Tommy gave the taller boy a short glance, watching him slowly shake his head in a way that was subtle enough for Tubbo not to notice. “His name is Ranboo.”

Tubbo slowly took off Ranboo’s gag, and the boy took a steadying breath, eyes meeting Tommy’s again.

“My name isn’t Ranboo, it’s-“

“Well it is now!” Tubbo tried, and the other fixed him with an incredulous look. And yet, he didn’t argue, sighing before holding his tied hands out towards the other, who undid them with a hum. “I found him on the street, he needed somewhere to stay.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Tommy started, pinching his nose as the other two looked at him. “Ranboo needed a place to stay so you kidnapped him, hid him in your closet, and lied to me about dinner?”

The lying about dinner would be assumed, otherwise he’d already be able to smell the food as the steam curled from the oven.

Tubbo nodded, smiling all the while.

Ranboo looked torn between screaming and laughing.

Tommy could only think about Technoblade.

“Tubbo, that’s-“ he sighed again, frowning as he looked at the other. “You can’t just do that to someone.”

At this, Tubbo seemed unreasonably confused, brows furrowed in utter bewilderment. Ranboo, however, seemed to ease a little, knowing at least someone was on his side. In Tubbo’s defence, Tommy usually went along with his chaotic schemes, dragging the blonde with him who had way better things to be doing - taking down organisations, arson, killing people, the usual - and wasn’t exactly fond on the idea of hurting people for no reason.

“Why not?” He asked, almost curious as he spoke.

“Because- I don’t know, you could’ve hurt him? Traumatised him? Got yourself arrested?” Tommy listed off, leaning on the back of the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You shouldn’t kidnap people, it’s not nice big man.”

The other seemed to listen to the words, blinking before looking at Ranboo, the man standing as he brushed down his clothes.

“Oh.” Was all he could get out for a moment, eyes staying fixed on the floor as he bit his bottom lip, before finally glancing back up with a frown, a sad look flickering in his deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry Ranboo.”

It seemed the other wanted to argue, maybe point out the fact it wasn’t his name again. Instead, he nodded, opting to ruffle Tubbo’s hair, forcing the boy to squawk before shoving him away, his frown much more fake than just a moment before.

Tommy watched on with a growing smile.

He couldn’t wait to see Technoblade again.

—

Tommy waltzed into The Therapy Building TM, two bouquets of flowers in hand as he made his way towards the counter, quickly placing one before the woman behind the counter could look up. When she finally did, she smiled, taking them from the wooden counter top to study them.

“Before you say anything, it’s not a gesture, that would be very unpoggers.” Tommy told her, swaying on his feet as she looked back up at him, a warm smile pressed to her face that made his cheeks flush red, looking to the hallway instead. “Everyone deserves flowers from time to time.” He muttered out finally, not expecting her to let out a light laugh, studying the colours before pulling out a vase, filling it with water from a nearby water bottle and placing them inside, assorting them to perfection.

“Thank you, Tommy.” She told him, and Tommy smiled back, heading off in the direction of Techno’s office.

It was only the third week, and yet Tommy found himself growing more and more comfortable by the day, knocking without an ounce of hesitation.

“Come in!” Techno’s deep voice called, and Tommy wasted no time, strolling in with a smile before falling into the seat. Techno eyed the bouquet for a moment, and didn’t take his eyes off of it when it was placed in front of him.

Several species of flowers Tommy had specially chosen lay inside, some pink and some red.

Carnations, lotus, tulips, lilies- he’d basically just asked them to add a load of pretty flowers, and he thought they did a decent job of it.

“I-“ Techno cut himself off, slowly picking up the flowers to study them closer, just as the lady behind the counter had. He really had to get her name some day soon. “Why?”

“I like flowers, but people don’t receive flowers often enough, so,” he motioned to the bouquet, smile only growing alongside Technoblade’s confusion, “Flowers.”

The man hummed, looking around his room for a moment before taking a strangely tall glass, placing them in there without water (likely a temporary holder). “I’ve never been given flowers before.” He confessed, looking at them with such warmth Tommy’s own smile started to hurt. “Thank you.”

His heart stuttered.

The Techno just thanked him?”

Something wasn’t right with the world anymore.

“It’s my pleasure big man.” Tommy told him with a grin, and Techno glanced back him, eyes half-lidded - not in exhaustion, rather in concentration.

And then- “How was your week?”

Tommy’s smile faltered.

At that, Techno’s warm look weakened, patient as ever as Tommy collected his thoughts.

“Well,” he said before coughing, looking out of the window at the trees below, cars winding through them on smooth roads, “I did my therapy homework.”

The man continued to wait.

It reminded Tommy a little of their first session just two weeks before.

“I- I was told to do something, something bad,” I didn’t want to shoot them, I didn’t need to shoot them- “And I told him no, I told him I didn’t want to.”

Techno gave him a saddened look for a moment, and it was masked within the second and replaced with something dangerously neutral. “Who’s ‘he’?”

Now, this was a tricky one.

It was a simple answer, really. One word, one name that in fact didn’t suit the man at all.

But it was a risky answer. That one word could give him away, give the organisation away, and Tommy didn’t want to be the bearer of such a burden-

Then again, therapy was about being honest, right? And it’s not like Techno would figure out he was the Theseus, world renowned villain, infamous for his agility and intelligence, all from him saying his Dad wasn’t the best man on the planet.

“My Dad,” he finally replied, after the minutes dragged on into what felt like hours. Techno sighed, whether it was relief or sorrow, Tommy wasn’t sure. “He- he’s in his own world most of the time, has his own rights and wrongs, so on and so forth.”

Tommy shut his mouth then, knowing that if he said much else they’d all be doomed.

Tommy would be doomed, Phil would be doomed, Wilbur would be-

“I’m going to say something, and this doesn’t mean your Dad’s actions are okay,” Techno started, and all Tommy could manage was a frown, “But sometimes people are stuck in their own worlds, they have their own lives and storylines where they are the protagonist. They’re saving everyone in their own mind, and they don’t realise just how damaging it can be for those around them.”

“Now, Tommy, have you heard of the Philza?” His Dad asked him one night, his smile warm as he looked down at his five year old son, who’s smile was as bright as the sun and hair as much so, blue eyes eerily reminiscent of those staring at his own.

Tommy grimaced, scrunching up his nose as he nodded.

“He’s a bad man, he hurts people.”

“He hurts people for the greater good, Toms,” he Dad explained, and Tommy made sure to lean in closer and make sure he heard every word his father spoke. “When all of the truly bad people are gone, Philza will be seen as a hero.”

“So,” Tommy tried, yawning before snuggling closer to his Dad, “Philza isn’t a bad man?”

“Most people think he is, but he isn’t.” His father went silent for a minute, fingers pulling across his scalp as he hummed. “Would you say I’m a bad man, Tommy?”

A realisation dawned on the young boy. His childish heart told him it was excitement and adoration. As Tommy grew older, he knew it was a flutter of newfound fear.

“You’re Philza?” Tommy practically breathed out, jaw dropped as his Dad laughed, something bitter lacing his chuckles that Tommy hadn’t been able to spot before.

“I am Toms, I am.”

Tommy doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation.

He was surprised he’d remembered any of it at all.

“Do you like living where you do right now?” Techno asked when he realised the blonde was deep in thought, catching his blue eyed gaze with a strange curiosity.

Did he?

Wilbur was there. He liked Wilbur. Wilbur fought for him, fought for them both. His brother wanted out just as much as he did, but they’d both been caught in their father’s web with no way of getting back out.

Sometimes he told himself he didn’t mind the constant yelling, the screaming matches he’d walk in on.

Sometimes he told himself he didn’t mind the ear-splitting silence, something abhorrent coating his family’s features as they looked anywhere but each other.

Sometimes he told himself the constant anger simmering under his surface was nothing but hot ashes from a long-gone-out fire.

Maybe, if he was given the chance to leave, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Not really.”

“Who do you live with?”

He bit his lip, covering his shut eyes with his palm.

Being emotionally vulnerable was never truly his forte.

“My Dad and brother, but my brother is really the only one that sticks around.”

“What’s your brothers name?”

Siren. “Wilbur.”

Techno hummed again, picking up a pen and tapping it lightly against his arm.

And then- “Did you stop Tubbo from killing your cousin?”

Tommy laughed, his smile only a tad forced as he giggled. “I mean he did kidnap a child, so not really.”

The man paused.

Tommy paused too.

“In a video game.” He added, but the excuse was weak, and Techno had already seen the truth in his words.

“Is-“ he started, lost for words as he squinted his eyes, a weak attempt at trying to figure it all out. “Is the child okay?”

“Mentally? I don’t think so. But not from the kidnapping.” He was just making it worse, in retrospect. “He was running from somewhere and needed a place to stay, so Tubbo kidnapped him and tricked me into coming to his house to see him.”

Techno cocked his head, it was almost puppy like.

Tommy knew that if Techno was a puppy, he’d be that really yappy white dog, the one that got annoyed at every living thing it saw and then proceeded to rip it’s neck off it’s-

“Did you forgive him?”

Tommy grinned, lifting his chin triumphantly before shaking his head. “Nope! I told him to apologise to the traumatised man-child, who’s called Ranboob by the way, and then we played Monopoly for the evening. I forgave Tubbo when he gave me a hundred to pay rent on Ranboob’s property.”

The other man seemed a little thrown off, but Tommy continued to smile, so eventually a smile crept up onto his own face.

“Well, you certainly had a week didn’t you?” Techno scoffed, and Tommy rolled his eyes again, leaning back into the comfortable chair as he looked at the flowers, his smile turning more warm that prideful.

“That’s one way to put it.”

He still had to figure out what Kyle Banks’ company was. He still had to figure out why the letters were forged. He still had to find a way to leave the villain organisation overall.

But he’d done a few good things. Taken a few, small steps.

Sure maybe he’d put a few men to sleep and did a little robbery.

Sure his kill-count was too high for any teenager, or any living being at all.

Sure he saw his therapist as more of a father figure than his Dad had ever been.

But he’d taken a few steps.

They say babysteps, right? Can’t do everything all at once.

“You did what now?” Techno drawled, pulling him out of his thoughts with a startle, eyes wide as he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Which part did he say out loud?

“Nothing, that was a joke.”

The man didn’t seemed convinced, a stressed hand running through his hair as he took a shaky breath.

“Tommy.” He sounded more tired, and maybe a little sad, than angry. Which was confusing. “What men did you put to sleep?”

Thank god I didn’t say the kill-count, that would’ve been terrible.

“I sang them to sleep, with my amazing voice.” Tommy continued, grinning no matter how forced he knew it looked. Techno was completely unimpressed.

He had to get out of there before he let anything else slip.

“Listen-“

“Oh, big man! Look at the time!” Tommy interrupted him, jumping up out of his chair and already walking towards the door, ignoring the pained look on the other’s face. “Well, I’ll see you next week yeah?”

“Tommy-“

“Bye!”

The door slammed shut.

Tommy left the building.

— ////////////// —

Hello hello, the much wanted part two :D we have bench trio, and we have philza being a terrible father! :D

Taglist: @cookie-nom-nom @kiwi-smug-silvalina

Idk how long this is tbh, i wrote it during several sessions because i keep writing different aus on my notes for no reason at all (painter technoblade, tommy hanahaki au, tommy learns how to smile, it’s a lot okay?)

If you enjoy my writing, I’m currently posting a multi-chap pirate fic on my ao3 :D @/issybettyx as usual <3

Hope you’re all good, and if you’re like my and hayfever is kicking ur ass rn, just know you’re not alone lmao

Stay safe!

#dream smp #mcytblr #tommyinnit #technoblade #sbi #sleepy bois inc #wilbur soot #philza #bedrock bros #dream smp au #therapist technoblade #villain tommyinnit #villain sbi

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twilight-skies · 2 years ago

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Okay you know that trope in superhero stories where the hero tells their civilian loved one to stay away from the big battle, and then as the villain’s about to kill the hero the civilian appears and just hits the villain with their car?

Yeah that’s gonna be Kristin in the au I’m making

#except Phil’s a villain so she fuckin runs Dream over #lmfao #dream smp #dsmp au #Kristin dsmp #c!philza #that time TommyInnit helped a supervillain run for president

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owlwithatypewriter · 2 years ago

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Lay Bare Your Sins: Chapter 2

AO3 Link Previous Chapter CW: Politics, swearing, mentions of character death(s)

"Halcyon? Really?"

"It means 'a time of peace and prosperity'!"

"It sounds pretentious."

"Isn't that your entire brand?"

"PHIL!"

~*~*~*~*~

Wilbur hates press conferences. They're long and tedious and the suits he wears are always itchy - no matter how much he washes them or what fabrics he brings to the tailor, the suit jackets are always hot and heavy on his shoulders, the ties strangling like a snake in the deep jungle. At least he's not in a three-piece this time - in fact, he's not sure his dad will ever get him in one of those monkey suits again, not after this.

His super-villain (and how Phil hates that title, but Wilbur doesn't mind) attire is much simpler - a thick leather trench coat over a skin-tight shirt, which is covered with light-weight carbon-polymer armor. Fingerless gloves (fashionable and functional), thick pants with more armor, and dark combat boots. A maroon beanie covers his unruly curls, and a silver opera mask covers the upper half of his face and swoops down to cover part of his left cheek. Unlike the rest of his costume, the mask is exquisite, the gold music notes carefully emblazoned in gold a stark contrast to the dark motif the rest of his clothing carries.

Yeah, much better than navy wool and red silk.

The rest of the heroes and villains at the press conference are all in full costume as well, despite their secret identities having crumbled the night before over pizza and exhaustion and the difficulty of eating a slice dripping with cheese while keeping delicate ceramic and precious metals clean. Then again, the room is crammed, wall-to-wall, with reporters and cameras. Nobody wants their true identity revealed - not yet, at least. Now when everything is still unsettled and raw.

Phil is standing beside President Schlatt at the podium, announcing the creation of the Halcyon Coalition and the systemic dismantling of the harm the Hero Commission did to the city. He's wearing his green and white robes, and the wide-brimmed hat lined with a heavy veil that shields his face from sight. His wings - large, black, flawlessly preened - are tucked against his back, held low, non-threatening. Skimming over the gathered reporters, Wilbur spots two who are avian hybrids, their own wings held tense. They're not the only ones nervous - the entire cast of reporters are anxious, the feeling palpable in the small room. They're jittery, and those jotting down notes instead of facing the cameras have dark circles beneath their eyes. He doubts they've slept in the past three days.

Three days. The complete collapse of a government system in three days. It was extraordinary, according to Techno (though not the fastest in history, and Wilbur had tuned out his brother's ramblings as he began talking about something called the 'Independent State of Catalonia'). Impressively, they'd had most of the press on their side the whole time. While the Blood God killed Dream, Jack (who tended to work behind the scenes, despite being an important part of team-villain) had delivered both physical and digital copies of everything they had on the Hero Commission and Dream to every media outlet in the city - from the large L'Manberg News Corp to the smaller district-specific newspapers.

The reporters took their duties seriously - every bit of information was scoured and reported on, from the illegal hybrid laboratories to public funds set aside for soup kitchens and homeless shelters being pulled away to pay for lavish parties and material goods for the Hero Commission board. Television shows, reality programs, even commercials were shoved aside in favor of 24/7 reporting on everything that was being revealed. Reporters from various channels chased each other, rivalries forgotten as they built on each other's discoveries to lay out just how corrupt the system had become. And now they had been assembled, over-caffeinated and pressed cheek-to-cheek, watching the leader of the city and the man they'd accused of major crimes for the last decade lay out how the world would work in the future.

"Our first priority will be shutting down the illegal hybrid labs," Phil - the Angel of Death - explains calmly, "as well as the hybrid-trafficking and black market rings that have been set up in the city. The nations of Hermitcraft and Hypixel have agreed to lend us help as we clear these organizations out and will support our efforts to rescue every person affected by these horrible places. Anyone with information about them - any information at all - is encouraged to share what they know. We have a website set up for people to submit tips, completely anonymously."

Schlatt is nodding along, following the script the Angel had discussed with him before inviting the press in. "While the Halcyon Coalition focuses on that, I will be working with my staff and representatives of all city agencies to ensure that all of the soup kitchens, homeless shelters, and food pantries closed by the Hero Commission in the last decade are reopened and fully stocked and staffed. Anyone interested in volunteering and assisting in cleaning and repairing the buildings, or staffing them once they are reopened, is welcome to call City Hall or go to the city website to learn more about applying." The normal lazy drawl Schlatt usually has when addressing the press is absent - he sounds tired, but determined.

The prompter attached to the podium continues to scroll, but before the Captain can take her turn to start talking about the measures the city will be taking for the next few weeks to keep civilians safe during this drastic change, a woman (one of the avians, a red-winged blackbird) stands from her chair, hand thrust in the air. Without waiting to be called on, she loudly blurts out, "How can we trust you?"

A murmur runs through the reporters, several shuffling uneasily as the cameras pan over them before refocusing on the front of the room. Wilbur glances at his brother - the Blood God, with his half-face boar mask and sweeping red cloak - who is staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. The Angel glances at Schlatt, who looks ready to try and spin an excuse, then at the rest of the assembled heroes and villains, before turning to the reporters with a sigh. He reaches for his face, and Wilbur feels his stomach plummet as the hat is removed, and a thin black gaiter pulled to rest around his neck.

There were audible gasps from those gathered, and Wilbur knew exactly what they were seeing. A middle-aged man with deep laugh-lines and silver-blue eyes, with straw-blonde hair that brushed his shoulders and an amused little smile pulling one side of his mouth as he took in their shock. Even Schlatt, who'd been speaking to the villain non-stop the past three days and who prided himself on being on good terms with the civilian, is shocked.

Philza Craft stares out over the reporters and grins.

The head of the largest corporation in the city - Corvid Inc. - rocks back on his heels and ruffles his feathers as he soaks in the stares, revelling in the reveal. The millionaire (billionaire? It's unclear, due to how much charity work comes from his personal fortune) glances over at Schlatt, who manages to snap his jaw shut but can't quite pull his eyebrows back down from his hairline. For a long, long moment, nobody speaks, and it seems like nobody is going to.

Wilbur sighs exaggeratedly and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet with a flourish, making his movements large and sweeping ("The audience in the back needs to be able to see what you're doing", his theater teacher had told them, "so make your movements big and noticeable!"). He's keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him as he ruffles through the billfold, before pulling out a hundred and holding it out to Techno.

The Blood God radiates smugness as he plucks the note from Wilbur's hand, grinning widely as he crams it into his pants pocket. "I told you," he rumbles, voice changer deepening his voice and carrying easily through the silent room, "less than a week and he'd out himself."

The two can tell that Phil is barely holding himself back from fondly calling them 'little shits,' but that would be too identifiable to the press. They'd long been in the public eye as Philza Craft's adopted twin sons, after all - he'd been caught on camera referring to them with the affectionate insult more than once, usually after Wilbur dragged Techno into some kind of disaster that ended up televised (they still weren’t allowed in the Sweet Frog downtown). Good times.

The Captain clears her throat, bringing the room's attention back to the podium. Phil turns back to face the reporters, several of whom are still reeling, including the red-winged blackbird, who is still standing. Phil shoots her a kind smile, ruffling his wings a bit.

“I hope this answers your question, MIss…?”

The reporter blinks, then answers, “Kristin Watson, Featherweight News.”

“Miss Watson,” Phil repeats, “I have always held the safety of this city and its citizens as my highest priority, both publicly and privately. When the beginning corruption of the Hero Commission came to my attention ten years ago, I did my best to assist those impacted from the shadows. Unfortunately, the Commission used that against me and labeled me, and those assisting me, as villains. Hence the,” he gestures to his face, giving the hat still in his hand a little flap. “You may not trust the Angel of Death, but I do hope you can still trust me.” His smile softens, small and genuine, as he focuses it on the reporter.

She flushes and nods, wings ruffling along her back as she sits down, scribbling furiously on the notepad balanced on her knee. There are still a few reporters who look unsettled, but most have calmed at the sight of the city's beloved benefactor behind the Angel’s veil. There was almost no one in the city who had been untouched by his generosity, after all - especially in the lower districts. He’d sponsored schools and soup kitchens and homeless shelters, and his firm had dozens of paid interns in all kinds of fields, giving brilliant kids in tough situations the opportunity to grow and succeed. The explosion six months ago had taken place in one of his botanic research centers, the boy killed one of those very interns. The man had been devastated when it happened, in tears when he spoke of young Toby Underscore’s death at a press conference. He and Schlatt, who worked together to better the city for years now, had leaned on one another at the funeral as they buried the president's son.

And then information had come out, pinning the explosion on the Angel of Death and his compatriots, and the city had become enraged, calling for his blood. The half-year since had been filled with escalating battles between the heroes and villains, the former pushing the bounds, causing more and more injuries, coming close to killing a few times. The latter had been just as enraged at the accusations, lashing out from the shadows though rarely rising to the baited battles the heroes tried to draw them to. Vigilantes had dropped back, watching the big names battle from afar, unwilling to join in without the resources or healers on hand to back them up.

It made sense, now - the Angel was Philza, and Philza had been torn apart by the death of a young man he was in charge of teaching and protecting. Being falsely accused of orchestrating his death explained the escalation when the heroes and villains did manage to meet, but more than that, it explained the unexpected stretches of silence. The thick files and dangling keychains of USBs that had been delivered to each media outlet suddenly made a lot more sense - Philza had been preparing his final blow, changing from merely trying to reign in and restore the Hero Commission to destroying it completely. And it had paid off.

The awards ceremony. The video interrupting the cheesy slideshow exalting the heroes. The crystal-clear hidden camera footage of Dream in his office conferring with someone about the explosion the day it happened, watching something - undoctored footage, most likely - and remarking on the idiocy of the man who flicked a lit cigarette to the floor near the fertilizer storage room. Whoever had set up the camera (Warden, most likely - he was a tech genius, one of the many things that made him so dangerous) had made sure the audio would be picked up as well. It captured the report of Toby Underscores death coming over the radio, it captured Dreams thoughtful hum, it captured him suggesting to the other person (who wore a hood and had yet to be identified) that perhaps they could use this to frame the villains, to encourage Schlatt to take more drastic measures against the 'scourge of the city.'

"After all," Dream had said, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, "they DID just murder his son in cold blood. We can use this to our advantage."

Wilbur was fairly certain that if Techno hadn’t gotten there first, Schlatt would have killed Dream with his bare hands, powers be damned.

“Thank you, Mr. Craft.” The Captain gently nudged him away from the podium. “Right, let’s get back on track.” She begins outlining city-wide changes, explaining how the heroes, vigilantes, and police officers will be working to keep an eye on the streets to avoid any more rioting. A curfew is suggested, though she is sure to explain it won’t be strongly enforced at this moment as long as nobody sets another Hero-based business on fire. There are still members of the Hero Commission who haven’t been arrested yet, she is sure to remind them, and there’s no telling what they’ll do now that they’re wanted criminals. It makes the streets dangerous, she emphasizes, and asks for anyone with information on them to use the same tip website Phil had mentioned earlier.

“One final thing of note,” Phil slips back behind the podium as she finishes, “Pandora will be shut down as quickly as possible.”

There’s an immediate response, people speaking up angrily at the idea of criminals being released to run freely on the streets. He gives them a moment to rant before raising a hand, requesting silence. “We are not releasing dangerous criminals into the streets,” he corrects them, “but there are plenty of enhanced people who have been imprisoned for no reason other than refusing to work for the Commission. My good friend Upswing,” Phil gestures to the not-quite-villain, not-quite-hero, not-quite-vigilante with a sweep of his wing, “has agreed to offer the services of the Las Nevadas lawyers in going through case files and dismissing charges against those who were wrongly convicted. As for those who are actually guilty of their crimes, a new prison will be built that is more…humane.”

Behind him, Warden shuffles. The once-hero was responsible for the creation of Pandora, and while he took pride in his craftsmanship, he did admire what it was used for. The destruction of the prison had been a constant point of contention between the two, a common argument that arose when the two were left alone together for more than a minute. Phil had finally won out with the agreement that Warden could design a new prison to replace it, as long as it was humane and safe, and not just a windowless torture chamber for the imprisoned.

“I believe that is everything we wanted to address,” Phil glanced between Schlatt and the Captain. “We’ll start working on improving the outer districts immediately, and if anything important comes to our attention we won’t hesitate to call another conference.” He pauses, taking in the confused expressions of the reporters before his words click.

The outer districts. Not the lower districts.

It’s a small thing - a simple rewording, but he can see those who grew up on the fringes of the city, in the low-income and collapsing neighborhoods, lighting up at the renaming. Outer. Not lower. Because they are just as important, and stand just as tall, as those born in the city center.

A few reporters raise their hands, shouting questions, but Schlatt shoos them off the stage and through the door to the greenroom, responding ‘No comment!’ to the reporters as they leave. As soon as the door swings shut, cutting off the clamor, he’s running a hand down his face, pausing with it clasped over his mouth as he stares at Phil, who gazes back with an amused head tilt.

“...I need a drink.”

~*~*~*~*~

Philza being the Angel of Death dominates the news cycle, alongside the intended content of the press conference. Wilbur makes sure to snatch up every newspaper that has pictures of his father - both recent and old - and is especially delighted to see his face on a gossip magazine, superimposed beside the blushing reporter he’d spoken to. That’s one to frame, he decides, buying a second copy and shoving it in his bag. He’s out of costume for the moment, though not out of character. Today, however, he is playing Wilbur Soot-Craft, the adopted son of Philza Craft and doting son home from college to assist his father in running the business as he handles the black market.

It’s all an act of course - the Covid Inc. board, all hand picked and implicitly trusted by Philza himself, has the day-to-day running of the company well in hand. Phil will need to occasionally sign off on some papers, but nothing earth-shattering will happen while he steps away. But Phil doesn’t want anyone knowing Wilbur or Techno’s true identity, so they’ve agreed to ‘step in’ and help out the family business, hiding away in their dads office each day while actually running their own investigations. Thanks to Charlie (loaned by an annoyed Upswing, who hadn’t expected his generosity to be revealed at the conference) and his shapeshifting, there were multiple photographs and videos of Wilbur and Techno meeting with Echo and Blood God, killing any rumors of them being villains alongside their father.

Someone had pointed out that Blood God and Techno both had pink hair, and Wilbur had swooped in, claiming that Techno was a huge fan of the big BG, so much so that he tried to dye his hair the same color. He even made up a story about a young teen Technoblade being so enamored with the villain, he tried to sneak out with his father one night and meet him, only to fall partially off the roof and crack his head open, thus the scar across his nose.

“But,” Wilbur had finished the story with a flourish, beaming at the few reporters who had cornered him on his way to the bakery, “he didn’t care, because Blood God is the one who caught him when he fell.” There was a mix of titters and ‘awws!’ from those gathered, but before he could continue embarrassing his twin, said twin was hauling him down the sidewalk by the back of his shirt. “Bye ladies!” Wil called as he was dragged, shooting the three women a wink until he was dragged through the door of Niki’s Bakery and Cafe.

“You’re an idiot.” Techno grouses, dropping his grip and watching WIlbur flail to regain his balance.

“Yeah but I’m your idiot.” Wilbur flutters his eyelashes, before turning to the counter, ready to loudly greet his best friend and show off his stash of Phil photos. Niki is not at the counter.

“Order something or get out, bitch.”

#fanfiction #owlwithatypewriter #DSMP #dream smp #tommyinnit #philza #dreamwastaken #goergenotfound #SapNap #wilbursoot #quackity #technoblade #DreamSMP ensemble #superhero au #hero/villain #hurt/comfort #found family #worldbuilding

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oleryn · 3 months ago

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These Are Not Micker Mouse: A breakdown of the Mangoball characters through the lens of Commedia Dell’Arte (by a dramaturg wannabe with too much time on their hands)

In the wake of the Dream SMP’s recent revival brought on by Dream’s latest and greatest tomfoolery, one of the most iconic, unifying, yet hitherto unknown figures of the fandom has finally made themselves known – Mangoball ( @girl-hemingway ), creator of the viral semi-eponymous SocMed AU that took the fandom by storm in 2021-2022. With its cartoonishly zany characters and hilarious one-liners, Mangoball quickly rose the ranks of popular DSMP fanfictions and remains to this day a pleasant, hilarious read that is enjoyable even if you hate the controversial content creators therein. Obligatory fuck the Dteam and Wilbur Soot. Anything good I say about their characters is a positive reflection of Mangoball’s talent and not the content creators themselves.

In this tumblr post, the author mentions Commedia Dell’arte (16-18th century Italian theatre) as a resource for writing crack fanfiction. That lit my theatre kid neurons up like Tubbo on October 16th, 2020 and so this essay was born. Enjoy my in-depth breakdown of the Mangoball characters through the lens of some of theatre’s most iconic archetypes. however im not a professional and im also not sober so if anything is wrong please just send a bomb to my house or somethingg

NOTE: While some characters or pairings are likened to specific archetypes, most of Mangoball’s characters are a mix of several.

GLI INNAMORATI - THE LOVERS

This one is obvious. No one in Mangoball’s Cheater Cheater (henceforth known as MB because I’m lazy) embodies the archetype of The Lovers more than its main pairing, Dreamnotfound.

In classic Commedia, the relationship between the Innamorati is the driving force of the entire story. They are often of high status and speak in flamboyant, flowery language; at times, they recite long poetry at length from memory and tend to sing quite often. Brought to foolishness by their hopeless infatuation for one another, the lovers often have no other personality traits besides being in love.

In MB, Dream and George are the hapless romantic leads fraught with drama and miscommunication that threatens to tear them apart. Their dialogue to and about each other borders on incomprehensibly romantic (e.g. goopsie skaboingy, boinky splurge, weeble wobble, skrunkly scribblydoinky bipsy tootsy badointy tiepnsy bip bop boppie goggiy dinty scruggly duggly big bampidointy dougly goopsie scaboinky pipupsy datootsit) and both characters associate themselves with poetry, song and dance, and other lofty forms of prose throughout the work (Dream singing the entire Mama Mia soundtrack after sleeping with George for the first time, reciting Romeo and Juliet sonnets to George despite having never read the play, George texting Quackity the La La Land script line by line by memory). They have little other personality besides the infatuation they hold for each other, but that doesn’t stop them from being enjoyable and hilarious leads that we as readers can’t help but root for.

VECCHI - THE VILLAINS

Though the Italian word Vecchi translates literally to ‘old men’, the Vecchi class of Commedia Dell’Arte characters serve as villains or opponents to the Innamorati. They are usually older characters that use their positions of power for selfish or immoral reasons. This doesn’t translate as clearly to MB as the Innamorati do, but that doesn’t mean that the story is free of Vecchi influences. Sapnap and Tommy are the story’s primary villains – Sapnap for his status as romantic rival to DNF; Tommy for his single-minded hatred of Dream that leads him to create increasingly popular Twitter spaces for the sole purpose of insulting him. Sapnap’s character is marked by his jealousy, his dishonesty, and the continued schemes he pulls to get between the main lovers. He is also the butt of several ratios and is generally regarded as a nuisance. Some of these traits are found in the Pantaleone character – although Sapnap does not possess the miserly money-hungriness that Pantaleone is known for. Anselmo is a lesser-known stock character characterized as a veccho-innamorati, or a romantic rival, but that is the extent of Sapnap’s relation to him. Il Dottore is also sometimes characterized as an adulterer, but like with Pantaleone, Sapnap lacks Dottore’s iconic traits (in his case, being a parody of the educated elite who regularly talks confidently about stuff he knows nothing about and bores the other characters offstage.)

I don’t think any Commedia character possesses such intense hatred for another character as Tommy does for Dream. He’s less of a Vecchi and moreso of a complete foil to the Innamorati – a total and utter hater, largely a flat character beyond his negative feelings for his former Compsci tutor. An Innaodio? That kid will stop at nothing to destroy Dream. I don’t think it’s even explained why Tommy hates him so much beyond his annoyance for Dream’s affections for George.

Honestly, maybe that’s enough to warrant some hatred.

ZANNI — THE ROOMMATES

Karl, Quackity, Corpse, Wilbur, and the elusive Badboyhalo are all part of the Zanni class of Commedia characters. The Zanni characters are traditionally the low-class servants of the higher-status Vecchi or Innamorati. Usually found in pairs, they are often separated into the silly and buffoonish and then into the cunning, quarrelsome, and conniving. In Mangoball, they’re the roommates/sidekicks of our main leads… apart from Badboyhalo. We’ll get back to him.

Karl and Quackity are George’s roommates; Corpse is Dream’s. Corpse is a somewhat judgemental watcher of Dream’s antics, not afraid to stir up drama or join Tommy’s hateful lives, and yet remains supportive of him overall. He is also the subject of Wilbur's odd romantic advances. Quackity regularly acts like he wants to actually kill himself over George’s romantic endeavours and regularly threatens the trio with violence or piss-related crimes (e.g. okay but im peeing on the couch!). Karl, as arguably the most rational character of the entire work, is often kinder to George than Quackity is, though his normalcy often leads to him being ridiculed (e.g. the entire group unanimously agreeing that he is the craziest among them for doing such things as eating an orange). Quackity and Karl are also the only ones to break the fourth wall and call out the story for its texting-only medium. In all honesty, they’re too smart (and not horny enough) to fit most of the Zanni archetypes. I would consider them the straight men of the work. Most of their comedy comes from their reactions to what’s going on around them.

Nothing sums up their characters more than this iconic bit:

SPECIAL MENTIONS - WILBUR

The Arlecchino, or Harlequin, archetype is the base for most fool/clown characters that have risen to prominence over the course of history and is a comedic bastion in any Commedia production. Colourful and acrobatic, Arlecchino oscillates between legendary dim-wittedness and a single-minded dedication to achieving his goals. He is often abused by smarter characters, easily distracted by lust and food, and will foray into the complicated, the absurd, and the illegal to get what he wants without a second thought. While what usually sets Arlecchino apart from other Commedia archetypes is his acrobatic prowess, that doesn’t exactly translate well into written prose.

Mangoball’s Wilbur is a proven criminal, a buffoon, and also implied to be a literal alien. While hardly tolerated by the rest of the crew, he's also responsible for several of Mangoball’s iconic lines. His character is always one step behind the joke (e.g. ‘These are not micker mouse?’ – his inability to understand well-known Disney characters, which he blames on being British) and, at random intervals, acts romantically or sexually towards Corpse without any prompting. His advances go largely rejected or ignored. The other crew members frequently bully him for his antics (e.g. them letting him starve for 20 hours during the road trip) and yet make use of his complete disregard for the law when is beneficial for the plot (e.g. him breaking into a Miami villa and loaning it to two groups simultaneously without realizing). Overall, Mangoball’s Wilbur is integral to highlighting the comedic contrast between the more rational characters and the insane situations they find themselves in. He proves himself as a driving comedic force with the final tweet of the original work.

SPECIAL MENTIONS - BADBOYHALO

fuck if i know genuinely. no one in the history of ever is doing it like him im beign so serious what the ffuck is wrong with him geniunely

he;s fuckign everyones mother. hes eeveryones dad. hes your dad. hes my dad too i thjink. guys i hve to go call my mother rightnow im sorryyyy

#is this anything.#not beating the autism allegations i have to say.#i spent three hours on this because i was bored lmfao #anyways go read mangoball it's a classic #dsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #mangoball #mangobaii #mcyt #mcytblr

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thetomorrowshow · 2 months ago

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febuwhump 17 - power instability

EMPIRES SUPERPOWERS AU IS BACK

title: vision, visage, gentile, genteel

fandom: empires smp

this is the first chapter of the esh au sequel. it's back babey

It began, as many things do, with a bang.

Nobody knew what it meant. There were people outside, getting ready to head to work, who jumped and cursed and spun around. The noise was considered by some, likely, a firework, or a gunshot, or perhaps some new super on the scene. Perhaps a car malfunctioning, or a tire popping. Whatever it was, it was none of most people's concern, and after a moment of fright, those unsuspecting souls continued on with their days and forgot that it had even happened.

When looked back on, there was no way to know that it was the beginning of the end.

The end of Major, Primary Protector of Empires City.

Or, not the end, exactly.

But with Xornoth dead, and most other villains minor enough to be more of a nuisance than anything (and some, like Mythics, often more friendly with the heroes than with the villains), the city had settled into complacency. The defeat of Xornoth by three very powerful heroes, Major, the Mad King, and the Ocean Queen—and the disappearance of another dangerous super, Solidarity—had led many to believe that the city was going to be safe for quite some time going forward. After all, those three heroes (and the other heroes of the city, such as the Wizard Gem and Pearl) had no plans to leave, and any challengers of their authority were quickly dispatched.

And the end started with a bang.

Or, more precisely, the end started in a small house on a quiet street on the East Side of Empires City, early in the morning, as the once-feared Solidarity whistled a little tune while scrambling eggs, and the Primary Protector of the city stretched his muscles and smiled fondly at his partner.

"Eggs are done!" Jimmy, once known as Solidarity, declares as he clicks off the stove.

Scott, also known as Major, Primary Protector of Empires City, finishes the final stretch of his routine before groaning his way to his feet and padding into the kitchen.

"I'm getting too old for this," grumbles Scott, who isn't even thirty, as he pulls a couple of plates out of the cabinet. "Why'd I choose to be a superhero? I could've been an architect, Jimmy. Instead of getting ready to save the world, I could be designing buildings to replace the ones that Mythics destroys."

"Yeah, right," Jimmy scoffs, scooping some eggs onto the plates. "Gays can't do math, there's no way you would've been able to design buildings."

"I literally passed my senior trig class with a C, thank you very much, and Cs get degrees."

Jimmy laughs, handing Scott the plates. Scott sets them down on the counter beside the toaster, into which he slots four pieces of toast.

It's domestic and warm in the kitchen—the stove has just been clicked off, still radiating a gentle heat, which is nice when there's ice in the air and snow on the ground.

Not that Scott minds either of those things. Despite his complaints, he's eager to patrol today. He always feels more energetic when surrounded by the make of his power. And maybe he feels a bit more . . . in control, he supposes. Bigger. More powerful. Almost like he can command the skies—a thought best left for his dreams, far beyond the reach of his power as it is.

It’s a lovely day. Crisp and cold, warm and homey, and Scott can’t fight a smile as he moves toward the table and clicks on the overhead light.

"Nope—" Jimmy cries out behind him, and Scott turns just in time to see the oven window shatter, pieces of tinted glass scattering across the kitchen tiles.

"Sorry, sorry, burned my finger on the stove," Jimmy explains, holding said finger in his other hand. "Took me by surprise, sorry."

"Hand under cold water," Scott instructs, pointing to the sink. As Jimmy hurries over, he continues, "and what's another oven window? Don't cut yourself on the glass, honey, let me get you your shoes—"

Scott heads back into the living room, kicking his yoga mat aside, to find Jimmy's velcro tennis shoes sticking out from under the couch. They have a tray for shoes by the front door, but Jimmy, for some reason, just leaves his shoes strewn about the living room carpet.

"Think the landlord is going to get concerned? This is, like, the fifth oven door we need replaced," Jimmy calls from the kitchen. Scott laughs.

"Well, if you'd stop burning yourself, we wouldn't need five oven doors, would we?"

"At least one of those times I cut my finger, so I'm not sure that the burning is the problem," Jimmy jokes back. "And remember when we had to replace the whole oven because you froze it and it broke? That's arguably worse."

"We really should have been kicked out by now," Scott comments as he reenters the kitchen, shoes in hand.

"Good thing you're rich."

"Good thing you're a gold digger."

The toast pops at the exact same time as Jimmy turns off the sink. Scott hands him his shoes, then steps around him to wash his hands before getting the toast.

"Have you got work today?" Scott asks. Jimmy shakes his head.

"Nah, it's still not doing well," he says. "Jerry has us working fewer hours, trying to make ends meet. He's hoping for a bit of a boom in business with this weather."

"I guess we'll see," Scott says. He sets the plates down on the table with the butter, one right in front of where Jimmy is sitting in his chair, strapping on his shoes, and the other in front of the chair beside it. He sits there, scraping a bit of butter across his toast before tossing back his antidepressants with a bit of water.

Jimmy does the same when he's done with his shoes, then spreads jam onto his toast before loading it up with eggs and shoving it into his mouth. Scott makes a pointed expression of disgust before resolutely ignoring the sin before him.

He's got an hour before his patrol shift properly begins, so that's probably enough time to sweep up the kitchen or wash the dishes. Not that either of those activities take him an hour to complete, but who can blame him for wanting to head out early? He's just itching to get out in the cold, in what is literally his element. It's the first snow of the season, and he's expected to stay inside?

Jimmy, as always, notices. He lays his free hand on Scott's knee (his touch always so gentle) and gives him a smile somehow made cuter by the crumbs on his lips. "You can head out early, if you want. I can—"

BANG!

The whole house rattles. Jimmy's hand tightens on Scott's knee, and for a second Scott feels a hum of power thrum through the air—more intense in his partner than in anyone else that he's ever known—before there's a high-pitched whining and all the lights in the house shut down, the refrigerator's hum whirring to a stop.

They sit there, for a moment, in silence, Jimmy's hand still on Scott's knee, the aftershocks of his power still pulsing from him.

Scott forgets, sometimes, that Jimmy has such magnitudes of power, that he isn't just shattered oven doors and broken dishes. That without even lifting a finger, Jimmy could collapse a building or take the life right out of a person's body.

Then he'll get a wake-up call like this, a reminder that Scott isn't the only (or even the most) dangerous person in the house.

Scott glances over to the microwave to check—never mind, the microwave is dead, no green numbers lit up to tell the time.

The time isn't really important, though.

What on earth could've caused that sound?

Scott's first thought is a gunshot, and he knows Jimmy's is too, by the apprehensive shine of fear in his eyes that Scott can see even through the darkness of their house. A gunshot that loud would have to have come from nearby, of course. . . .

Quickly, quietly, Scott steals to his feet and creeps to the front window in the living room, peering out carefully without disturbing the blinds.

Nothing. No signs of trouble, no screams, no bodies in the street. Just various neighbors poking their heads out their doors, looking around and calling greetings to each other.

Through the window (Scott had cracked it open while stretching to let in the frosty breeze), Scott hears one of them faintly call.

"Did you lot lose power, too?"

Scott grimaces. Jimmy's not going to like that. Sure, Scott can keep their fridge and freezer going until the power gets back on, and Jimmy can bundle up until then, but everyone else is without electricity while their freezers melt and there's nothing they can do about it. As far as he can tell, none of the houses along the street have power—and if the whole street is down, that means the neighborhood is too.

Unfortunately, it is Jimmy's fault, and he's going to want to do what he can to fix it.

Which, as far as Scott can tell, is nothing. So maybe he can just not tell him about it. Maybe he won't notice that the entire grid is out.

"All clear," Scott calls back to the dining room. "Any idea what that was?"

Silence from the dining room. After a moment, Jimmy calls, voice shaking,

"Sorry. Um, no."

Scott frowns. "Jimmy? You okay?"

Another moment of silence, followed by a shuddering sigh. "Yeah," Jimmy says unconvincingly. "I'm good."

Scott pulls the window shut, blinds clanking against the glass, then returns to the dining table.

Jimmy's still sitting where he left him, hands clenched around his trouser legs. He's staring resolutely at a spot on the table, eyes just the slightest bit wet.

"Jimmy? Baby?" Scott tries, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. Jimmy looks over at him, face pale, eyes resolute.

"I'm good," Jimmy says again, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

He's not good, that's easy to see. But he's okay, and some days, that's all Scott can ask for.

It's been over two years since Xornoth was killed, and Jimmy will never be entirely better. He'll likely always need his hip brace or cane, he'll always need his medication, he'll always have trauma responses. But Scott isn't ever going to judge him for any of it.

That's who Jimmy is. And Scott loves him for it.

And as he sits there, holding Jimmy's left hand, he finds his mind wandering to where it so often does as he gazes at the fourth finger on Jimmy's hand.

Scott doesn't even have a ring yet, so he pushes the thought out of his mind with a little reluctance. First he has to discuss the idea of marriage with Jimmy, then he has to follow up with Lizzie, and then he has to subtly get Jimmy's ring size. . . .

Well. Baby steps, and all that.

They finish eating like that, Jimmy leaning just slightly into Scott's shoulder. Right as they finish, the refrigerator starts humming and the lights flick back on, suddenly enough that Scott has to blink a couple of times to clear the floating clouds of color in front of his vision. The various clocks in the kitchen appliances flash a bright 12:00.

"Power's back," Scott says, less as an actual observation and more as just something to say, and gets up to carry their dishes to the sink, skirting around the glass on the floor. "Okay for me to head out?"

"Yeah, I've got Norman. Don't worry about me," Jimmy says, standing as well. He retrieves the broom from where it leans in the corner of the kitchen. "Speaking of Norman, I'd better get this glass cleaned up before he runs his little feet through it. Have a good day at work!"

"I'll save the world as usual," says Scott. He kisses Jimmy on his way by (Jimmy hums contentedly, all signs of his prior distress gone but for a wrinkle between his eyebrows), grabs his backpack at the door, and heads out into the frigid air of the first snow of the season.

Where the loud noise originated from is not far from where Scott exits his home, just two streets away. Not that he even thinks to go over there, instead heading for the main section of the city, assuming it would be at the hub of most activity. That's where most unidentified sounds originate from, after all.

And as Scott's day continues, he forgets about the sound, just as most others do.

Two streets away from Major's house, popular villain Mythics flees, eyes wild and breath gasping, a swirling portal crackling behind him.

It's possibly the best day of the year so far, weather-wise. The snow is actively falling, the streets are sparkling with ice, and Scott has never felt better.

Well, he's probably felt better. It snows every winter, after all.

But it feels so good after summer to finally return to what he is. This is the stuff Scott's made of, this is what gives him life.

It's glorious.

Scott lets out a little whoop as he slides part-way up the side of a building, the ice that already frosts its windows spreading spontaneously to the walls to give him the slipperiness he needs.

The people love it, too. Lizzie takes particular delight in sending him video compilations of his greatest tricks and most impressive fights, and the comments are always full of adoration for his skills and admiration of his power and creations.

So maybe, as he skates down a frozen sidewalk of his own creation (which he unfreezes behind him, because he knows not everyone has the skill to navigate such a path and would probably prefer a normal sidewalk), he adds a couple of flourishes to his act.

There's a group of kids at recess by Empires North Elementary School, and Scott stops to start a snowball fight before continuing on, frosting the windows of every classroom with beautiful little fractals.

He signs his name in frost as intricately as possible on the hood of someone's car, gives them a cheery wave when they run out of the store to take a picture.

He makes tiny snowmen to line the bus stop with just a couple of waves of his hand, then can't stop laughing when a little girl at the stop with her father cheers for 'Elsa'.

Maybe all of the villains of the city took one look out their windows and decided no, thank you, because there’s zero disturbances all morning. Scott doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he could ever get bored in weather like this.

By the time it hits lunchtime, Scott's cheeks are red from the wind and hurt from smiling. He slides into a small deli and picks out a sandwich and a drink, the latter of which freezes over in his hands quite nicely.

"Major!" the deliman (and owner of the deli, if his nametag is true) exclaims, adding lettuce to his sandwich. "Keeping us all safe?"

"As best I can," Scott smiles. "How are you doing, Felix?"

Felix, the owner, chuckles, going a bit red in the face. "Never better, Major. You can have this free, all right?"

Scott chuckles as well, setting the drink on the counter and digging out his wallet. "I want to pay, don't even worry about it."

"No, no, nothing for you!"

"Come on, Felix, I'm—"

BANG!

Scott follows his first instinct—protection. Within milliseconds, there's an ice wall surrounding Felix, and another one shoots up in front of the large deli windows and door. It's instant, and Scott's never moved so fast in his life but the ice is there and time itself seems to freeze.

Everything is still for a timeless moment, snowflakes slowly swirling around Scott's masked face.

And somehow, he's the ice that lines the streets and the pipes below that travel all the way through the city and the icicles hanging from every roof and the frost paving windshields, and Scott knows that something has gone very wrong.

He's never felt this powerful in his life—nor this overwhelmed. There's so much stimulus, so many far away nerves jangling and he can't focus on the snowflake in front of him when he can see every fractal of it—

"Major!"

With a herculean effort, Scott manages to pull himself back into his body from where the tendrils of his mind have reached all the way across the city. He blinks, looks around.

The entire deli is frozen over.

Two customers are frantically trying to scrape some ice off the shelves, another is kicking at ice on the door, and Felix—

Scott can't even see Felix, a thick wall of ice surrounding him.

Scott panics. He can’t help it—his breathing quickens, his mind races, he starts feeling distantly dizzy at the idea that he might've hurt people, he might've broken something—and he notices, as his frozen fingers shake, that the frost is growing with every moment, slowly spreading to the floor and up the walls.

He hasn't been this out of control since—since he was a teenager, since before he was trained, even, since before he was a hero—

He can fix this. He knows how to fix it. Scott shuts the panic and fear out of his head as best he can and thinks back to his early days of training, back to when Aeor had taught him how to properly channel his emotions for incidents like this.

He hasn't had to consciously control himself in years.

He's never felt like this before.

He takes a slow, deep breath, letting the frenetic energy travel from his brain and heart and out through his finger tips, where frost grows into icicles. Then, with all the control and might that he can muster, Scott pulls, reeling it all back with a steady grip.

Slower than he would've liked, the ice and frost recede, all pulled back into thin air bit by bit. Scott breathes with it, in and out, until the ice walls crack and slide apart and the frost is entirely gone.

He breathes, and with it, his mind begins to settle. He’s all right. Everything’s all right.

Each of the other customers thanks Scott, casting glances both confused and a little fearful in his direction. Felix, luckily, is fine, if a little shocked. Scott subtly slides more than triple the worth of the sandwich into his hand, apologizes for the disruption, and heads out, slightly soggy lunch under his arm.

And again, he can't find the source of such a loud sound—because he remembers, suddenly, that the reason he'd headed out from his house so early this morning wasn't to see the snow, but to find the source of that first sound.

There's almost nobody out on the street, no gun or powered individual or blown transformer that could've caused it. In fact, the only other people outside are people who have stepped out of offices and shops to look around.

Scott gives them a cheery wave when they turn to him, one woman shouting a question in Spanish. "Nothing to worry about," he calls, assuming she'd asked about the sound. "Have a good one!"

"Hey, Major!" a young man waves. "How's your day been?"

"It’s been great!" Scott smiles his best winning smile. "Gotta go—heard about something on the other side of town!"

He didn't hear about anything, and he usually feels pretty good about talking to citizens, but he does feel kind of awkward standing in front of a place he just froze, like a guilty child fleeing the scene of a mess. And he doesn't even have a dog to blame it on.

What had even happened back there?

Scott had—he'd been scared. He'd thrown up normal protections, in case someone was trying to shoot up the deli and had somehow missed the bright blue superhero standing there, and then—

Then he'd felt so much.

Scott's not entirely sure what happened—one moment he'd been fine, totally in control of himself and his actions, and the next he was frost crunching under a pedestrian's foot and an icicle dripping from a gutter and the tiniest snowflake blown about by the wind.

It was nothing like he'd ever felt before.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

It was—oh, look, there's Joel!

"King!"

Scott spots Joel from across the intersection that he's currently sliding through, and pulls up a ridge of ice to give himself a sharp turn. He slides up to where Joel is leaning against the walk sign pole, waiting to cross the road.

Joel nods to him, eyes looking somewhat preoccupied behind his mask. "Hey, Major. When's your shift end?"

Scott shrugs, pulling his sandwich from where it's tucked under his arm. He ought to eat it sooner rather than later. "Dunno. I was hoping to stay out all day, if possible."

Joel raises a brow. "In the doghouse?"

"Of course not, the weather's just nice."

Joel chuckles. "Yeah, I'd guess so. You and Jimmy never fight, do you?"

"Well, do you and Lizzie?" asks Scott.

"Nope," Joel says proudly. "That's why we got married. We never fight."

Which is a lie, of course. Just last week, when he and Jimmy went over to Lizzie and Joel's apartment for dinner, Lizzie had thrown rolls at Joel all evening and Joel had implied some rather unkind things about her pet rabbit.

Scott doesn't bother calling him out on the lie. Joel's right about one thing—he and Jimmy almost never fight, and when they do, they resolve it quickly and schedule a couple's therapy appointment to make sure there are no lingering issues.

They're perfect for each other.

And once again, Scott's mind turns to the rather pleasant idea of a gold band around Jimmy's finger.

"You two really ought to tie the knot soon," Joel says casually, and Scott can't help but sputter.

"I—were you reading my mind?" he accuses.

"No?" Joel says, voice turning from confused to gleeful in that one syllable. "I—ooooh! You're thinking about it, that means it's practically official! So—are you thinking something big, whole city invited, those nice ice sculpture things like in movies—"

"Sorry, Major? Mad King? Can we get a picture?"

Joel shuts up—thankfully, otherwise Scott would've frozen his tongue in his mouth—and gestures for the two women to stand between him and Scott.

Scott smiles into the phone, and can't help but notice that there's frost on his own cheeks.

That's . . . that's a little odd. He isn't usually radiating cold, not unless he's angry. Maybe it's the high spirits he's in from the weather. That explains it, doesn't it?

Still, when the women leave, Scott scrubs at his face, hoping to warm his cheeks up enough that none of his frigidity can find a home there.

"Yeah, noticed you looked a little chillier than normal," Joel comments. "All good?"

Well, he did sort of lose control during some strange out of body experience earlier. But that's kind of embarrassing, and it was a one-off, so Scott doesn't mention it. He doesn't need Joel to tease him about it, nor tell every hero who'll listen.

He just nods, shrugs, and takes a bite of his sandwich.

Jimmy's alone in the house when it happens again, curled up on the couch with his blanket over his shoulders and his LinkedIn profile pulled up on his phone.

He doesn't really know what happens.

All he knows is that there's a loud noise and he doesn’t do well with loud noises, but luckily he manages to keep a hold on his powers this time.

Or, he thinks he does.

Because in the same moment as the BANG, Jimmy feels so much.

And it feels good.

#febuwhump2025 #febuwhumpday17 #empires smp #esh au #empires superpowers au #flower husbands #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #smallishbeans #esmp #mas writes #YEAH BABEY LETS GOOOOOO #welcome BACK to esh au #i just realized that like. i've had this written for a while now #and while it isn't fully edited it is fully written #and then i was like ayo why am i just sitting on this?#anywayyyyys how's it going for yalllll #lmk what you think #love you guys

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