#not only did Philza believe (he knew) he didn’t deserve to heal (and he never would) he wanted Wilbur to heal first

[demoniccrowz]

IT DOESNT SAVE ANY MORE TAGS GAH.

okay so have you heard that story about the python and the alligator that were found dead together? the alligator died being eaten by the python but the python’s stomach was torn open by the alligator so it died too. they both died

i think that would be true here too. i think Philza would be able to kill “Wilbur” but I think he would bleed out somewhere.

alone. empty. with only the knowledge that he had killed the thing replacing his son.

AAAAANYWAY :3 I don’t have an ao3 but I’ve definitely been meaning to make one :> I could make one rn, why?

since Lambs!”Wilbur” is rather instrumental to the ruse working bc of his illusion powers (or at least covering up for “Tommy”), and because of me asserting that “Wilbur” was likely mostly found out bc “techno” is a bad actor and the seed of doubt was planted, my accomplice suggested an AU where “Wilbur” hadn’t infiltrated Philza’s family at all, wondering what would happen. So here goes!

Because “Techno” has insane trust issues, and “Tommy” is dumb, neither would figure out that Philza knew. And because Wilbur was there, Philza would do literally everything in his power to avoid a reveal with even more desperation since he has a kid to protect. I imagine Wilbur would also clock on eventually and team up with Phil for better faking, which would be NECESSARY given “Wilbur” isn’t there to clean up “Tommy’s” messes. Buuut he also wouldn’t be rocking the boat so much, so other areas would sail smoother. “Techno” and “Tommy” likely never get along given their polar personalities, and it’s possible they had a massive fight to settle the pecking order to even have peace to begin with.

Regardless, without “Wilbur” the reveal never happens. And so, there’s no actual bonding that happens. “Techno” and “Tommy” don’t see it coming when Philza kills them. It’s a quiet home after, awful. Philza is particularly clingy because of the loss of his kids, and Wilbur would probably find it suffocating. [*in tags for those who have read the ficlets or don’t mind spoilers].

Accomplice: and then when “Wilbur” infiltrates years later?

it’s going fine. It is. It’s an utter shock to “Wilbur” when he gets there and realizes the brothers he’s been longing for are dead. (The Fae Queen didn’t bother to warn him. She didn’t particularly feel the need to, because she only needed a few days to buy time before it was realized the real Wilbur was gone. Changelings aren’t meant to last more than a few weeks. “Wilbur” remains for his own reasons.) Wilbur falters of courses but corrects well enough.

He’s a good actor. Lasts far longer than the others did. But this is the nightmare Philza has been replaying every single night for years. He finds out. Of course he does. Except this time….

Philza has nothing left.

[lin-nin]

A Mother’s Love & Grief

Ship: SurrogateMother!Reader x SurrogateSon!Wilbur, Philza x Reader

Plot: Wars were never fun, and you hated them. Especially when they involved the sons of your friend.

Disclaimer: Dream SMP Spoilers up to the Manberg vs Pogtopia War, some depictions of violence! Currently a one-shot, but if interest is high I could see myself doing more.

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You had always been there, lingering the edges and watching. Carefully watching as Wilbur and Tommy got up to their shenanigans. It was the least you could do for Philza. Watching his boys was easy, originally. It had started out simple, even as they raised the walls of L'Manberg. You were proud of them then, even as they fought for their independence. You had felt a fierce pride on how they had grown, regardless of their reasons.

The pain you had felt the day of the first revolution matched your pride. It had hurt seeing them get hurt the way they had, but you were powerless to stop them. There was a leverage over you because of them that you couldn't risk actively picking sides. So you watched, though you made sure to tell them you were proud of them once it all ended. You even promised Wilbur to tell Philza what a good job the two of them had to done. He had always wanted the approval of his father, and creating a country for freedom surely was a reason to be proud.

As L'Manberg grew, you settled within the walls, celebrating happily with the boys as they did. It was with pride you had watched the election, rooting for them to win. It was what they clearly wanted. The pride could only turn to horror as they were exiled, though. You had frantically shoved Tommy away, acutely aware of how dire it was that he get out safe. You had sacrificed yourself that night, an arrow through the neck draining you. A shot meant for Tommy. You couldn't do the same for Wilbur, helplessly watching as he was shot down by Punz. You couldn’t even cry out for him when you had seen the shot coming.

Everything had changed that day. You had carefully snuck off to their exile, forcing Technoblade to promise to watch them and take care of them. They were Philza’s boys, and he at least owed his friend that. You kept to Manberg then, sneaking out periodically to offer up information when you could. It wasn't until just before the festival when Tommy had come to you, desperate for help.

"It's Wilbur! He's gone- He's gone mad! He wants to blow up L'Manberg, he thinks it'll fix it. You have to tell him, tell him it's wrong. He won't listen to me. Please," The youngest had begged you, and you had relented without a second thought. Wilbur looked mad when you had walked into Pogtopia, his hair a mess. You hadn't seen him since the banishment.

"Wilbur…" You murmured cautiously, causing him to spin towards you.

"Did Tommy tell you? What do you think?" He asked, a grin on his face. An unstable grin. You needed to proceed cautiously, and you knew that.

"I think… it's impressive, but surely there's another way, isn't there?" 

"If there's no L'Manberg to rule, wouldn't that be better? No more Schlatt, no more presidency, no more Dream breathing down our necks. Its perfect!" He seemed eager, and it made your heart pang.

"If there's no L'Manberg, you, me, Tommy and Tubbo all lost lives for nothing. Tommy would have given up his discs for nothing. Were all of the sacrifices pointless?" You kept your voice level, trying not to be cynical towards him. One thing could set him off.

"You died for Tommy! I'm proud of him for his growth but L'Manberg has only caused problems. Wouldn’t Phil be proud?" The words had stunned you then.

"Would Phil be proud? You're planning to blow up an entire country because you rightfully lost, Wilbur! Why would he be proud?" You had gestured around the pair of you, words clearly upsetting the brunette.

"Because I'm doing what's right! Who gives a damn if it makes me the bad guy?" Wilbur flung his hands up, scowling at you.

"You can solve this without blowing up a country, without being a terrorist! You aren't doing the right thing!" You had been fed up and frustrated, deeming to Tommy that there was clearly no reasoning with Wilbur. He was beyond that point. You could see it in his eyes.

The festival had caused more pain. It seemed like that's all it had brought. Tubbo died at the hands of Technoblade that day, the shot only spurring you more. What the hell had this country done? When the war came you kept to yourself. The second revolution was rough, but you truly wanted no part of it. It was for a country you were having your doubts for, but at least it was in tact. You may not care much for it, but the others did so you didn't care.

It was only when the victory cheers rallied that you cared to look, smiling almost fondly at the boys as they gave their speeches. It was messy and unpolished, but their pride and joy was immeasurable. They had succeeded in something they cared about for the second time.

Peace never seemed to stay with L'Manberg though. No sooner than victory was declared, fighting broke out again. You cried out as Techno fired at your boys, doing everything you could to protect it. That's when you heard it, the hissing of bombs. You hardly had time to react, watching as the ground beneath everyone shattered, erupting into a rain of wood and Earth. It was chaos, and you frantically searched for Wilbur. You didn't care that he had done this- please just let him be okay.

He was stood in a cave across one of the craters. With Philza. The man looked torn, and you could only stand and watch. It felt like slow motion as Wilbur shoved the sword into his father's hands. Philza’s wings flexed, frustrated as he yelled. You couldn't make out the words, everything ringing around you from the explosion. The sword was pointed towards Wilbur’s chest, the tip threatening to impale him. And then it did, and you weren’t sure if Wilbur had pushed himself onto it or if Philza had done it himself.

You were vaguely aware of the screaming. Your own screaming, to be exact, as tears streamed down your face. Wilbur was gone. The last life he had, taken in the name of a country that had done him wrong. You don't remember who moved you from the chaos of the battle. It became a blur in your shock and grief.

Days had passed and you sat in a house that had been built for you. You believed Tubbo had built it, simply saying that you deserved it. The grief had shocked you numb, the moments replaying through your head every time your eyes closed. Philza eventually visited, the visitations often quiet. Much of the time was spent with him making sure you were taken care of. As time passed, you opened up more, you recovered. The wound sort of healed. Enough for you to speak to Philza of his sons and what they had gotten up to in his absence.

As you recounted stories, you often found yourself pressed to his side, a dark wing draped around you. Sometimes he even managed to get you out of the house, walking around the lake they'd put in the explosion craters. Sometimes you would stare down at the water, watching the fish dance beneath the surface. Like they'd always belonged there.

It was all fine, until the day you met Ghostbur. The ghost had floated in behind Philza one day, chatting happily in a voice that only seemed reminiscent of Wilbur. He had introduced himself, recounting a few memories. That Wilbur had always cared deeply for you, and that he knew you had always done the same and looked out for him. He only seemed to remember the fond memories, and part of it hurt. He was Wilbur. Yet he wasn't. An echo of the boy you watched grow.

It had been silent as you sat there, even after Ghostbur left. Philza didn't follow, simply settling beside you. A wing wrapped around you, safely tucking you into his side. The sun was setting when he finally broke the silence. "I know," he mumbled quietly. As if anything louder would have been too much. "I miss him too."

"Everyday?" You whispered, voice thick with sadness. You looked up to him, desperate for reassurance. That this was normal, that you weren't alone.

"Everyday. It's hard. I always wonder if I could have stopped him." He stared wistfully out the window, and you released a shuddering breath.

"I do too. I tried. Not hard enough. Maybe I should have stopped him from even creating L'Manberg. All that it has brought is pain. So many people died for it. Our boys-" You choked as you spoke, the words spilling out with no restraint. "We lost him. I lost him. I loved him, Phil. He was like my own son, and watching him die-"

It was the first time you broke. The first time you spilled and acknowledged everything like this. Phil had shifted, moving to tug you into his lap. To hold you tight, both wings cocooning you there. You clung to him without a second thought, face burying into his neck as you sobbed.

"Everytime I close my eyes I see it- his body just- it hurts, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn’t save him, I couldn't save my boy," Your voice raised with your hysteria, and Phil rubbed your back.

"It isn't your fault. I don't know if either of us could have saved him. It's okay to grieve him, but don't let it eat you alive." His cheek rested against your head, and you hiccuped softly. He held onto you tight, the moment feeling horribly somber. You had finally broken after months of barely living.

"Ghostbur isn't the same. He's not our Wilbur," you whispered after your crying had slowed.

"No, he's not. He tries, though. He's got the best intentions with what he can remember. He wanted to see you right away but we wouldn't let him. He said Wilbur always thought of you as a mother." His voice was soft. Tender. You took a shaking breath, sitting up some more so you could look at Phil.

"How much does he remember?" You questioned, leaning into the hand that came to cup your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered shut as he wiped at the tear tracks with his thumb, trying to make sure you were okay.

"The trauma is gone, for the most part. He seems to only remember the good." He explained, and you nodded. You were somewhat glad for that. You weren't sure you could handle it if he remembered every detail of his demise.

"Was I a good mother?" Your voice was meek as you questioned Phil, reaching up to cradle his hand. His gaze softened at the action, moving to hold your hand instead.

"Given the circumstances, I'd say you weren’t bad. You tried your best to protect them. Tommy told me about the exile. That there is enough to rule you a decent mother." He ran one of his knuckles against the scar on your neck.

"I didn't even think about it when I did it," You leaned forward, settling your head on his shoulder.

"You don't need to, as a parent. It's instinct. Just remember the other two are still alive, I think they could use you." You nodded, closing your eyes. "Try and actually talk to Ghostbur soon, too. It'd make him happy." You only nodded again, the emotional exhaustion wearing on you. Phil pressed a ghost of a kiss to your temple, before settling his head atop yours. You weren't sure when you lost consciousness, only aware of the warmth and closure in your heart.

[kirboner]

The Curse of the Blood God

TW: Gore/blood descriptions, attempted suicide mentioned, major character death, swearing (not much).

WORD COUNT: 2,738

This is a mainly c!Technoblade centric along with c!Philza, other DSMP characters are also mentioned :] (if there are any tags I missed please tell me!)

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Growing up, Technoblade was always surrounded by violence. With violence came death, so the concept of it was never unfamiliar to him. Never jarring, never shocking. It happens to those who are too weak to keep fighting, who make stupid decisions or let their guard down. It happens to those who lose, and Technoblade never loses. 

Technoblade never dies.

So, when the tip of his blade pierces through an enemy’s throat, or when their blood spurts against the snow, and they collapse in a heap against the frost- Techno feels nothing. Partially because he doesn’t know them, but mostly because they made a stupid decision and they lost. They challenged The Blade. The Blood God. To Techno, losing a life is like losing a game, a challenge, a bet. 

The L’Manburgians that suffered once he spawned the Wither let their guards’ down. The Butcher Army by challenging him had made a stupid decision, and those he challenged and triumphed against were weak. So, they lost a life, or a few.

Maybe that’s why betrayal hurts him so deeply, why the feeling aches in his very core. Someone has to be close to him to betray him, he has to put his trust in them, he has to care about them. For someone to then betray him, to betray The Blade, is a stupid decision on their behalf. However, that’s not the half of why it hurts so much, why the feeling stings and burns and engulfs him. It’s because he made the stupid decision to put his trust in someone traitorous. Yet, regardless of his stupid decisions,

Technoblade never dies.

Techno has few constants in his life, so he tends to gravitate to those he can control. Roasted potatoes and gapples, a royal gown he stole a long time ago that he wears as under-armor, a golden crown. Small things, items he carries with him as he flees location. However, one other thing remains a constant in his life, something he can’t pack in a suitcase or strap to his back- and that’s Phil. 

His memories of his life growing up in the Nether are a mix of vivid snippets and utter vagueness that he’s had to piece together through whisper and rumour. He remembers fighting with other Piglin half-breeds in The Pit, uncomfortable nights spent unslept on hard nether rack, fractures and purple bruises left blotched across his torso. Gashes that reopened, scabs that refused to heal. The jeering and hissing crowd that surrounded him, as he was forced to rip apart his opponents; orphans just like himself. Losing their parents was the worst thing that ever happened to them, Technoblade being a close second. He could recall the *clink* of golden nuggets pooling at his feet, quickly soaked in the ever-growing pool of his opponent’s blood- this time a larger Piglin boy who laid face down, iron pickaxe lodged firmly in his spine. The crowd cheering his victories and spurring him on. Shrieking for more.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD--

How he left- or rather escaped- the Nether falls into the latter category of utter vagueness. Phil had told him he came across The Pit when trading rare spider eyes on the black market, as he heard the value was higher in the Nether due to the specific spiders only existing in the Overworld. However, upon discovering The Pit he had, in his words, “gotten into a bit of a domestic over it with the ringleader,” which Techno suspected to be an understatement. Phil, apparently, had “completely non-violently, and totally consensually” taken himself and the other half-breeds to the Overworld. Techno, again, believed this to be a massive understatement, as Phil and himself to this day could not enter the Nether without a fight of some kind. 

‘So, what ever happened to the other orphans?’ He asked, throwing a match on their fireplace. Living in a Tundra, while isolated and peaceful, required near constant temperature adjustment.

‘I spent a while rehousing them all across the Overworld, it took around two months to actually find homes for all of ‘em,’ Phil shifted more firewood closer to the hearth. A spruce log, dark and dense. Techno shifted in place, ‘Uh, what about me?’ He wanted to elaborate more on the question, rather than sound like a small child, but didn’t. Phil chuckled, ‘You were different, Techno,’ to this Techno quirked an eyebrow, ‘Different?’ He probed.

‘Well, let’s see... I did try a couple times to find you a family, y’know?’ Techno frowned, ‘Not because I didn’t like you, but because I was worried about you. I have a pretty dangerous line of work, and I thought you deserved a bit of a more stable life,’ Phil sighed. A beat of silence followed ‘So how well did that plan turn out?’ Techno asked sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Phil. His confidence rebuilt slightly. ‘I wanted you to have a constant in your life, but I also didn’t want you to be unsafe,’ Phil looked at the hearth, crackling quietly. ‘The more time I spent with you, I realized you already had a constant, Techno,’ He looked at the kindling, long charred and crumbling to ash. ‘Violence,’ Phil breathed, barely above a whisper. ‘You needed more than just violence in your life Techno- and trust me, I know I’m not always the best example- but I wanted to be that constant’ Phil continued, ‘And I’m glad I made that decision,’ he smiled.

A silence stretched for a moment, a tight feeling developing in Techno’s chest. He got this feeling whenever Phil said something particularly sappy, though the tightness was never painful. It was a pleasant feeling. It was kind. ‘Even if it means you can’t trade spider eyes on the black market anymore?’ Techno deadpanned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Oh trust me, the market value for spider eyes has plummeted since the ‘90s, I was just trying to cut my losses,’ Phil smirked, leaning back on his hands. Techno rolled his eyes, ‘Christ you’re old, man,’ he said fondly.

A constant. Phil was a constant. He had been there to mend his tattered gown, tend to his wounds (now shallower, and fewer and further between). He had fought alongside him, brothers in arms, working together in the fight against tyranny. Phil was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, rightfully earning the title as The Angel of Death. 

‘Who first started givin’ you that name, anyway?’ Techno asked, swinging his axe down and splitting a spruce log down the middle, watching it splinter and fall in two smaller heaps. The chill of dawn was warmed little by the sun peaking over the horizon, a reminder of the Autumn season soon to come. ‘What name?’ Phil looked at him, confused before shoveling another mound of snow to make room for their new vegetable patch installment. ‘I know you well, mate, but I’m not a mind reader,’ he chuckled. ‘The Angel of Death- who first started callin’ you that?’ Techno elaborated. Phil heaved another shovel-full, ‘God, it’s been a while since someone’s called me that. I reckon it started way back, before the Antarctic Empire,’ he paused for a moment, his shoulders tense. ‘I remember when I was little, I had a pet bird and I used to let it sleep in my bed,’ Eyes downcast, the air seemed to grow chillier. ‘It was the night before my 6th birthday, and I had a dream that I was standing in a cave, the walls covered in this weird writing I couldn’t read and... I could hear a voice whispering to me, but there was no one there,’ Techno heard him suck in a breath before continuing, ‘It said: you are the angel of the men befallen to you, you are the choice you will wish to unchoose. An unvindicated angel, an angel of death.’ 

Techno’s axe was frozen in place, feeling significantly heavier than before. ‘The bird was dead when I woke up,’ Phil swallowed thickly, before plunging his shovel back into the slush. ‘That’s, uh... heavy stuff, Phil,’ Techno shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, it was a long time ago now, I don’t really think about it much. It is a bit weird how people started calling me that a while afterwards, though,’ Phil chuckled dryly. Techno blinked, deciding to continue chopping firewood rather than probe the topic. It’s not like he had much of a need to fight now anyways, Techno was perfectly capable and willing to take on the world for Phil. 

From then on, time passed by quietly.

The Syndicate was formed, consisting of his fellow anarchists. Small battles were fought, but nothing extreme. Well, at least the ones Phil participated in. Techno’s bloodshed, however, did not slow. He was never one to insert himself into battles he had no stake in, but he found the “stakes” he held in the battles he fought became less about what he gained, and more so existed for the sake of fighting. Time passed, yet Techno never felt the effects of it.

The same could not be said for Phil, nor his peers. As the years passed, Phil seemed significantly older. The timeless winged angel he knew growing up seemed... ancient. As isolated as they originally were in the Tundra, the people he once knew became even further and further away.

The Winter winds of Snowchester became harsher than what Tubbo’s infrastructure could withstand. The damage to the buildings became too severe, Tubbo and Jack resigning to move to a warmer climate. Tommy went with them, unsurprisingly. Ranboo and Niki left the Syndicate to join them.

Eventually the Egg and its cultists seemed to disappear below the surface. The dead bloodvines oozed a mix of light blue and red when cut, any residual whispers too quiet to make out. Sam wasn’t seen outside the prison anymore now, and new visitors were always refused. George and Sapnap allegedly left Eastward towards a mycelium biome, the looming walls of Pandora’s box an apparently unpleasant reminder for them.

More people disappeared; their reasons unknown to Techno. Some set sail across the ocean in search for something new, something untainted. Some died in smaller territorial battles, or over Casino winnings. Others went to the Nether and never came back. Phil could only fly for short periods of time now, and it took a great toll on his body.

‘So, see anything new out there birdman?’ Techno inquired, brewing a potion of Swiftness II. ‘I saw a gravestone I never saw before, near L’Canyon,’ Phil coughed, slowly adjusting himself in his chair. ‘L’Canyon... I don’t remember anyone being buried there. Who’s was it?’ Techno asked, mildly interested. ‘The hedge stone was too eroded, it could’ve been written in Endlish for all I know,’ Phil paused for a moment, ‘You might be able to read it, you have better eyesight than me, mate.’ Techno looked at Phil, surprised. ‘That’ll be a pretty long journey by horse, we’ll have to load up on supplies,’ Techno muttered, adding another cup of Redstone powder into his brewing stand. ‘I’ll fly us,’ Phil smiled as Techno looked dumbfounded at the fragile man before him. He was pale, the feathers on his wings greyed, his face lined and tired. Techno swallowed, ‘Phil, I don’t think--’ ‘C’mon, mate. Just like old times. If we leave now, we’ll have plenty of daylight,’ Phil interrupted, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. No matter his age, Phil was just as stubborn as always, so despite his better judgement Techno agreed on the trip. 

‘I’m still bringing a map, compass and overnight supplies in case we don’t make it before nightfall,’ Techno announced. ‘Of course, mate. I’m stubborn, not crazy-’ Phil was cut off by another fit of coughing. Techno eyed him nervously, ‘You’re sure you can hold my bodyweight, plus supplies?’ He inquired, dubiously. ‘Course, mate. Don’t stress about it,’ Phil reassured.

As anxious as Techno was, he trusted Phil’s judgement in his abilities. Plus, he couldn’t deny the rush he got from being in the sky. The wind flowing through his hair, the air fresh and crisp. He felt like a child again, riding on Phil’s back across the SMP. Soaring to the heavens at unimaginable speeds. He looked down at the pure whiteness that was their home, fading into dense spruce forestry, slowly becoming pure green Plains. Eventually, the green was abrupted by a deep, grey crater. 

They landed clunkily, more of a barely controlled fall than a proper landing. ‘You okay, Phil?’ Techno called out, standing up quickly, and wiping grass stains off his gleaming Netherite. Phil was further North of him, lying in a crowd of thistles. His body was contorted at a strange angle, ‘I’m ‘right,’ he called, his face wincing. Panic surged through Techno as he got closer, ‘Phil your bleeding, what the hell happened?’ He yelled, grabbing the medical kit out of his backpack. ‘It’s okay, mate. It was gonna happen soon, anyway,’ another labored breath, ‘Just wanted you to see the sky, one last time,’ He coughed, blood spurting across his chestplate. Techno hastily grabbed disinfecting wipes, Phil winced as his chestplate was removed.

A deep gash spread across Phil’s torso, below his ribs. His upper half impaled on a sharp tree stump shrouded within the thistles, his breath growing more ragged. ‘Phil- fuck. We’ve gotta get you off this thing,’ Techno swallowed, beads of sweat forming at his brow. ‘It’s too deep. The branch’s lodged in my intestines,’ he cringed, ‘at this angle, it’ll rip through my lung if you move me,’ Phil whispered, smiling weakly. He was right, the wood was splintered and lodged firmly in his core. Dark crimson blood leaked out from the gash like treacle, almost black and intense in volume. ‘I can- I’ll get healing potions from the house,’ Techno hyperventilated, wiping the disinfected cloth around the jagged and bloody stump. ‘If that doesn’t work, I’ll find a totem of undying-’ ‘Techno,’ Phil cut him off, placing a hand on his face. He hadn’t realized he had been crying until now. ‘It’s at least a 3 day walk back to the house on foot,’ Phil chuckled weakly, interrupted by a another fit of coughing. ‘Then what can- tell me what to do,’ Techno pleaded, wiping the cloth across the gash again and again as the crimson continued to leak out. 

‘Isn’t it painful, watching bleeding only to see more blood?’ Phil sighed, his breathing shallower, ‘It hurts but its undeniable, Techno...’

‘What is?’ Techno rasped, hands shaking.

‘...How good you are at wounding,’ Phil smiled, clasping his hand tightly. 

‘Phil, please’ Techno felt sick, his shoulders shaking. ‘It’s okay, Techno. I wanted this. I wanted to see the sky one more time,’ Phil swallowed, ‘-with you,’ His squeeze on Techno’s hand growing feebler. ‘Bury me at the gravestone I told you about,’ Phil’s eyes fluttered slightly. ‘But- I thought that was...’ Techno trailed off. 

It wasn’t fair. Phil had never betrayed him. He wasn’t stupid- his decision were always calculated. He was careful, he set traps around their base- he didn’t let his guard down. He wasn’t weak, he was an enemy’s worst nightmare on the battlefield. And yet, despite this, he died. Bleeding out, impaled and contorted near the shattered remains of his late son’s country. Phil died, just like everyone else.

Techno was alone. Phil, his constant, was gone. The other Syndicate members had disappeared, Wilbur died with L’Manburg and Tommy had long considered him an enemy. He was desolate and barren, the air felt cold as he sobbed loudly. His hands beat against the ground as he screamed until his throat grew hoarse. For the first time in his life, Techno ached. 

It had been weeks since Phil had passed, Techno felt too sick to eat or drink anything. The freezing nights did little to numb him, blistering days did little to warm him. His muscles did not deteriorate, nor did his legs give out beneath him. Physically, his body was fine. 

Back in the Tundra, his poison potions made him feel nauseous, potions of damage stung at his skin. No matter the mob, or the damage he sustained, he would respawn in his bed. The ache in his chest did not subside with time, the loneliness of the base encroaching upon him constantly. Yet, despite his stupid decisions, or letting his guard down around any mob he faced. Despite his weakness...

Technoblade never dies.

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Hi so that was an AU i wrote that got way too long lol. Hope you enjoyed! Likes/RBs appreciated :] <3.

[amintyworld]

Silent World - Dream SMP Drabble

A/N: I’ve heard so many people talk about what if Tubbo got blinded permanently by Technoblade’s firework shot during the Manburg Festival, but I raise you this - what if Wilbur got deaf by the TNT blast? Hope you enjoy! - Minty

TW: Suicide mention, death mention, explosion mention, losing hearing, self-deprecation (I guess..?), cursing. (tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

As always, spoilers for events on the Dream SMP!

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Wilbur’s head was pounding as she tried desperately to move. He looked around at where he was, surprised at the fact that the blast didn’t kill him as planned. Well, live and learn. He was lying in bed in a cozy house - definitely not Tommy’s, there was door - as he shifted, he noticed his right wrist cuffed to the bed. 

Well, fair enough, he was expecting that.

None of this house looked familiar at all - did they build it after? How long was he out for? There was a fireplace in the corner, another bed, a crafting table, and chest in another. No windows - a bit odd, but okay. He felt sore, and his body craved more rest, but Wilbur refused. If the TNT didn’t work, he’d finish the job himself, he just needed a weapon.

The door opened, and in walked - was that Phil? He looked tired, really tired. Tubbo followed in after... why were they both so quiet? Tubbo looked upset and troubled. It only took a few seconds to notice him, Phil rushed over looking happy, tears in his eyes. His mouth was moving - Wilbur could see that - so why wasn’t he hearing anything? Phil pulled him into a tight hug that he winced quickly at when his injuries burned in pain. Tubbo stood at the foot of the bed, his mouth was moving too, he looked concerned. Why didn’t he hear them?

Phil turned to look at Tubbo, and then back to him, looking worried. He spoke, he know he spoke because his lips moved. Why couldn’t he hear him?!

He tried saying ‘what?’ but then he realized he couldn’t even hear himself. Tubbo made Phil move aside as he grabbed a book and quil, writing something.

‘Can you hear us at all?’

Wilbur shook his head no, confused. Tubbo wrote somethng again, holding it out to Wilbur to read. ‘I’m gonna use this to talk to you, okay?’

Wilbur nodded, and Tubbo wrote down more. ‘I’m pretty sure you know why you’re restrained right now. After the blast, Phil found you and he’s been helping you recover. This is his house. You’re still healing from the blast, we didn’t know when or if you’d wake up.’

I mean, understandable. The one thing Wilbur didn’t understand is why Phil took care of him. He knows what he did to L’manburg, right? Tubbo was the only person so far who made some kind of sense - Wilbur would put money that the restraints were his idea. Smart move in his part. Tubbo held out the quill for him to take, and he pointed to his restrained arm. Tubbo sighed and looked to Philza, talking.

‘If we move the restraint to your other arm for one moment, we need to make sure you’re not gonna run off. Can you promise not to run off?’

Wilbur nodded. It’s not like he could get very far anyway - it was two against one, and besides, he didn’t know exactly where he was. He let him move the cuff to the other arm, Tubbo tensing when he took it off on his right, expecting him to move. Holding the quil, he didn’t know what to write, he still had so many questions - where exactly was he? Why didn’t they just let him die? Did his plan even work?

‘How much damage did the blast do?’

When Tubbo read it, Wilbur could see the rage behind his eyes as he angrily scribbled out a response. ‘A few craters, but we fixed them in a matter of days.’

Someone must have messed with the TNT... fuck. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to face their angry faces, none of them understood anyway. ‘If I hurt L’manburg, why didn’t you let me die in the blast?’ Tubbo’s angry expression softened quickly, and he didn’t meet Wilbur’s eyes as he wrote.

‘Despite what you did, you still deserve a trial. You’ll be brought to justice and they’ll decide. I just want to know why.’

‘You know why.’

‘The real reason. Not some kind of excuse.’

Wilbur sighed frustratingly. He couldn’t even believe the reason that was right in front of him because he didn’t like the answer. Typical Tubbo.

‘How long was I out?’

‘Three weeks. We were starting to lose hope.’

Hope? Of what? Hope that he was alive? After what he did, they were HOPING he was alive?! There was so much about this he didn’t understand - they hated what he did, but they didn’t hate him? Why wouldn’t they hate him - he’d the one who pushed the button, he’s the one who ignited the TNT. What were they hoping for when he woke up? That it was a mistake?! That he had some kind of crippling regret?!  At least, now he had some kind of idea of the time passed.

Tubbo passed the book over the Philza and looked to him one last time before he left, the door closing behind him. 

‘Where’s everyone else? Where’s Tommy?’

‘Everyone’s been a bit on edge since the explosion. Tommy specifically. Technoblade left after he spawned the withers, I haven’t heard from him since. Tubbo’s been trying to keep everyone together.’ A little bit down from there, he added. ‘You scared me. I’m glad you’re alive.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re my son, and I love you.’

‘But I nearly destroyed everything. Everything we’ve worked so hard for.’

‘No matter what you do, I’ll always love you, Wilbur.’

‘You shouldn’t.’ Wilbur wrote. “Nobody should. I don’t understand why all of you are so forgiving with me - I almost destroyed the entire country, and you save me. Why?! Villains don’t get saved.” 

“You’re not a villain. You just-” After that, there were a bunch of scribbles, and eventually: ‘You’re my son, Wilbur. I’m always going to be here for you to protect you.’

‘What if I don’t need protecting? What if this was my choice?’

“I’ll still love you, even if I disagree with what you did.’

‘Always sticking by someone after they’ve hurt you is stupid. You’ll only get more hurt. I thought you were smarter than that.’

‘I know you won’t hurt me again, just like I know I’ll never hurt you - because I saw how scared you were when the explosions began.’

---------------------------------

“Tommy, can we talk for a minute?” Tubbo stood in the doorway of Tommy’s house, where the guy in question was hunched over his crafting bench, ignoring him. “Tommy-?”

Tubbo knew Tommy when he was upset or nervous - the way he shook, the tensity of his voice and his eyes that were a mixture of raw emotion. “I’d love to stay and chat, Tubbo, but I’m busy, you know me - busy busy busy!” As Tommy rushed toward the door, Tubbo blocked it. 

“With what?” Tubbo said sternly - he was tired of his friend avoiding him and more importantly, avoiding facing what happened. He knew Tommy needed space, and he was happy to let him have it, but this had gone on long enough.

“With... with... mining, and fixing up my house, and-”

“You already mined yesterday, and your house is more than fine.”

“Well, well I want to update it, and-”

“Tommy.” Tubbo said sternly. “You haven’t talked to me in almost a week. I’m worried.”

“Fine.” Tommy sighed, turning back inside his house and sitting with a thump on his bed. “I’m sorry, I just...” His friend ran his hands though his hair as he sighed. “I dunno what to do, what to think anymore. Wilbur and Technoblade both betrayed us, and they’re... I was friends with them, I fought with them.”

“I get it.” Tubbo said. “It hasn’t been easy for me either. It’s hard to be the person people keep looking to you for answers, when you don’t even know what the right thing to do is. But you shouldn’t just ignore it all.”

“I know, I know!” Tommy said as he covered his face with his hands. “I guess part of me hoped it would just disappear.” He looked over to his friend. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, if anyone would understand how you’re feeling right now, it would be me.” Tubbo said, sitting down next to Tommy on the bed. “Wilbur’s awake.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “What? But I thought you said-!”

“I know what I said. I was wrong. He’s awake, but I... I think he’s lost his hearing.” Tubbo said. “I know Phil didn’t see any external damage, but I think something may have burst internally with his ears.”

“Is he okay?”

“It seemed like he was - we had to write to talk.” Tubbo said. “He seemed angry, stubborn... he asked about the explosion, of course, and why we saved him. I think... I think he wanted to die in that explosion.”

“...what?”

---------------------------------

Wilbur got better little by little, and talked with Phil every day through the notebook. At first, Wilbur barely spoke to him, only to tell him about his pain or what he needed. Over time, Wilbur opened up again to Phil as he did all those years ago as a kid. Wilbur knew that Phil knew his biggest secret - he knew how scared he was when the pain ripped through his body, when all he saw was destruction and blood over what he made. He’d planned on taking all that to his grave, but... that wasn’t the case. Wilbur knew there was no point in trying to continually push his father away, because no matter what he kept staying by his side.

He stayed by his side when Wilbur tried to stab himself through the stomach. 

He stayed by his side when he tried to run away, ending up on the floor due to his weak muscles.

He stayed by his side when Wilbur tried to threaten him into killing him.

For some reason, Phil didn’t quit, and Wilbur couldn’t get him to quit. Knowing this, they came to a mutual understanding of one another, and they grew closer as they once were.

Wilbur still didn’t think he could ever understand why they didn’t hate him for what he’d caused, and he didn’t think he ever would. Now, sitting on his bed with his legs dangling off the side, he felt worried. The trial was in a few days, and Wilbur needed to be able to walk by then. Phil had told him that he could lean on him as much as he wanted to, but he needed to try to move on his own.

He grabbed Phil’s arm to steady himself as he stood up, his legs shaking from underuse. Nonetheless, Wilbur kept trying, willing his legs to move, MOVE- and soon he took a step. Then another. And another. Finally, when Phil tapped his twice on the shoulder - their signal he was going to let go - Wilbur closed his eyes and took another step, bracing to fall...

...and he didn’t. 

Wilbur would admit he was still getting used to the silence, how weird it felt to see Phil clapping and not hear it at all. It was weird, the silence. It could be deafening - a dad joke Wilbur was tired of hearing at this point - but also serene. Peaceful. After hearing the loud explosion that made his heart drop, he was happy to have the silence. It welcomed him and comforted him, and he liked it. 

Not that it didn’t have its disadvantages - of course it could be scary - but there were moments that he knows he’d never have if he did have his hearing. His thoughts were more organized, he had more time to himself to figure things out on his own.

Now, stepping outside and feeling the sun on his face and the grass beneath his feet, he was happy. Sure, he didn’t have everything figured out yet - his feelings about the TNT, his treatment of Tommy, the explosion - all his feelings  were still so complicated, and he knew that he wasn’t the best person he could be, but he was going to get better. If Phil couldn’t give up on him, he wouldn’t give up on himself either.

[recycledcactus]

c!Wilbur & Eight by Sleeping At Last analogy

because apparently c!Wilbur was based off that song? Link here

!!!!Okay so this is not all in canonical order. It’s just based on every lyric/line!!!!

Most of it is during the Pogtopia arc and Wilbur insanity arc though.

For @soot-spots I hope you like it. It’s written very weirdly and not like a regular analogy so bear with me here:

Lyrics are in italics like this [My analogies are bolder and in brackets like this]

I remember the minute It was like a switch was flipped I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit

[I think here, during the unknown of time before L’Manburg and after his childhood, Wilbur is thinking about his past with Philza. How Philza ‘raised’ him, AKA was an absent parent half the time. He knew how to survive, yes, and he knew Phil was somewhat proud of him. But Wilbur always felt he needed to prove himself. Techno constantly had Phil’s attention, so Wilbur wanted some for himself. He forced the metaphorical armour to fit. He forced himself to be responsible and strong. To act like he knows what he’s doing. People believed him, they followed him, so maybe the armour could fit.]

God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive And I grew up too quick

[I’m thinking this is probably in Pogtopia. Wilbur reflects on his past self and laughs. How naive could he have been? Thinking if he started a nation, Phil would pay attention to him? He was so stupid. So needy. Phil never cared. He forced himself to be responsible and grow up and prove himself that he didn’t take the time to be a child. And now look where he is, in a ravine, without his home, country, or people. Just Tommy. (Tommy, who also grew up far too quick. Tommy who should still be growing up and not exiled in a ravine separated from his best friend).]

Now you won't see all that I have to lose And all I've lost in the fight to protect it I won't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected

[(Pogtopia arc). He stops writing letters to Phil. He stops ranting on and on, filling up the pages with messy scrawl, about his victories, his losses, his thoughts and feelings. He stops pouring his heart out in these letters and telling Phil about everything he’s done. He rarely gets replies and when he does, they’re always short and blunt. His heart can’t take how little his father cares anymore, so he stops all contact.]

I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong My healing needed more than time

[(Pogtopia arc). Tommy tried desperately to encourage his brother and tell him that things would work out, that Wilbur could be better with more time. But Wilbur could only lash out and yell, punching walls and pacing wildly and tearing at his hair until small indents were carved into the floor of Pogtopia. He yelled at Tommy, screamed and berated him. And for what? Tommy was a kid. Tommy was forced into this. Tommy was trying to help. Wilbur can’t take back those words now. He couldn’t do anything. Nothing was enough. Nothing could bring him out of his head. He’d lost. It’s over. There’s nothing left, there’s— he’s—]

When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too Now I'm a broken mirror

[(Pogtopia arc). Wilbur looks at himself in a mirror and doesn’t even recognize himself. The bags under his eyes are too big and his hair is too matted. There’s dirt cakes on parts of his coat and his shirt is covered in patches to keep it together. But he thinks maybe he’s stronger. He’s learned from his old self. He used to get too attached to people and things only to be betrayed and thrown out of his own country. He was weak. But now that he had nothing, he was stronger than ever, right? They say a man with nothing to lose can do anything he wants, right? There can’t be a harsher consequence than being exiled and thrown out of the country you built. Wilbur can do what he wants. He looks into Tommy’s eyes and sees a reflection of himself––broken, too. Broken and lost. But not the same. Tommy is so much stronger than him and maybe that does make him mad.]

But I can't let you see all that I have to lose All I've lost in the fight to protect it I can't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford to let myself be blindsided

[(Pogtopia arc). He puts on an air of self-confidence and (albeit grim) cheeriness for Tommy. He can’t show his little brother that he has no hope. He can’t show him he’s truly planning on blowing up L’Manburg and that it’s not just ‘Plan Bomb’. He can’t bring himself to talk to Tommy about how shitty things are for him because he knows Tommy has it shittier. Tommy is 16 and scared and traumatized and is holding himself up for his brother & Tubbo. He doesn’t need more problems to worry about. Wilbur smiles only to walk away and break down. He covers up how hopeless he feels and how far gone he thinks he is. He offers up plans of taking his country back just to see Tommy’s eyes light up. But he can’t help but know L’Manburg will all be blown up. He can’t get distracted from doing that because it’s the one thing that might make this pain go away.]

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart And all I want is to trust you Show me how to lay my sword down For long enough to let you through

[(Pogtopia arc). Wilbur needs Tommy or Phil or hell, even Techno. He just needs someone. Someone to snap him from his intrusive mind. His thoughts that run rampant and scream at him to destroy everything. His plan that is both self-destructive and literally destructive that will leave everyone he cares about in shambles.

But he has no one. He can’t speak to Tommy without further scaring or hurting the boy. He refuses to write to Phil because he doesn’t even care (he wouldn’t come running to save his ‘son’ from himself). And Techno only supports the idea of destroying L’Manburg——he wouldn’t bother helping Wilbur with his problems.

Wilbur doesn’t know how to make the first move and let his guard down. (His mind briefly flashes to Eret and how much he used to trust the man. It was thrown away as soon as the Dream Team walked out of those walls though). That’s one of his last mistakes.]

Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here's a map, here's a shovel

[(At the beginning of L’Manburg and the drug van). This symbolizes Wilbur starting L’Manburg——starting a country from nothing but a van, his brother, and a crazy dream. He left his small childhood home behind––finally being able to breath in relief when he doesn’t have to relive all the times he and Phil had yelling matches when he walks through the kitchen, or to feel a bitter sadness remembering Tommy waking up screaming from nightmares and being the only one to console him whenever he passed the blond’s room. He can finally push the past behind and open up to people he cares about and trusts–– his friends and citizens.]

Here's my Achilles' heel

[(During L’Manburg when it was still a new country and they still wore soldier outfits). He soon realizes that L’Maburg is more than a country. It’s his home. It’s his family. His weakness. He cares about it because it’s the only place he could ever truly call his own. A small, nagging part of his brain whispers to him that if he’s not careful, it could be his downfall. He pays no mind though, because that seems so unlikely. He’s happier than he’s ever been and he won’t let intrusive thoughts ruin in]

I'm all in, palms out I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in

[(Pogtopia arc). It dawns on Wilbur that L’Manburg has not been his downfall yet. Sure, he’s exiled, but he always imagined his downfall would be dying for his country. His country still lives though and he is not dead. Instead, the game is still on. His Achilles heel has not yet been struck. So maybe L’Maburg was not his Achilles heel all along? With that belief, Wilbur can’t help but still want L’Manburg back. He can’t push L’Manburg away when he’s trying so hard to get it back. He thinks maybe if he becomes president again and gets rid of Schlatt, his downfall would not come. He would be safe.]

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

[(Pogtopia/insanity arc). There’s still a possibility of L’Maburg being the end to Wilbur. With plans of war and overthrowing Schlatt, the thought is more prominent than ever. While Wilbur goes mad in Pogtopia, he’s quickly realizing that L’Manburg can’t be his Achilles heel if there is no L’Manburg. If he gets rid of L’Manburg, there will be no other problems. His symphony won’t be finished and therefore his Achilles heel will be protected.]

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat

[Oh but... but what if he is his own demise? L’Manburg was his. His dream. His home. He pushed everyone away for L’Manburg. He ignored his son, his brother, his best friend. Would it not make sense if he fell too? Should he not perish too? To let his brother rest? He knows the way they look at him——like he’s unstable, untrustworthy. Which he is. And Tommy... Tommy who still trusts him, who still looks at him like he could do no wrong, like he’s still a fearless leader. (He catches his small flinches though, the way he sometimes bites his tongue and hesitates before blurting out his words loudly, like usual). No matter how many times Wilbur hurts Tommy and tears him down, he’s always back——loyal and unwavering. Tommy did not deserve this. Tommy should be free. Wilbur cannot live in a world knowing Tommy is hurt because of him. Wilbur cannot see Tommy free with knowing what happened daily in that stupid, sold ravine. Wilbur cannot live and be anything to Tommy.]

An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again Invincible like I've never been

[Wilbur watches the leader who took his place, fall. He watches as his people cheer and fall over each other in exhaustion. Their wounds are deep, but smiles deeper. He elects Tommy, who in turn elects Tubbo (the discs again, when will it stop?) Wilbur listens to the man he once called father try to convince him not to destroy L’Manburg. He listens to the screeches of Withers and muffled cries of people.

It’s time.

Wilbur takes the arrow and strikes his Achilles heel.

He watches in twisted, painful satisfaction as his world blows up before him. People cry out for other reasons. They——especially Tommy——look at him in horror. But why does the arrow not kill him? Nothing else can hurt him like this does, right?

No, the wound is not deep enough. He is too happy to be injured like this for it to be fatal.

“Kill me” He begs. He thinks it’s good revenge on his father for being ignorant. And a good way for the arrow to strike him dead.

Philza stabs him.

The arrow in his heel digs deeper.

And then all is calm,]

----

[Also I feel like every one of those strong brassy bursts in the song is like a fist against the wall——Wilbur striking out against the walls of Pogtopia in anger and (self-)hatred and frustration.]

Hope you liked it. It was certainly an experience to write and I really enjoyed doing this