#technoblade mention

[writing-oof]

autism and bees, bees and autism

Tubbo has autism. Puffy knows that Tubbo has autism. Tubbo does not know that he has autism.

TW: hints of PTSD? idk

The clock ticks like a bomb, set to explode the moment Tubbo takes his eyes off of it.

----

Technically, there's nothing wrong with Puffy's office.

----

Things stop being okay, at some point.

Tubbo starts to notice things more, after that first session with Puffy.

Puffy wants him to think more about how he feels. She gives him a journal and homework, telling him to log in it whenever he feels something bigger than usual.

He doesn't have to ask what "big" means. "Choking," she means. "Devastating."

It doesn't happen a lot, and never for very long.

Still, by the end of the week, he has three logs.

---

Sometimes, Tubbo doesn't behave correctly.

He knows this. It's been a problem since he was a kid, even if Ms Puffy assures him that no four-year-old really behaves correctly.

That isn't the point, though. For the first time, he's really not using 'behave' and 'obey' synonymously.

For whatever reason, Tubbo Underscore does not act the same as his peers.

It's trauma, Ms Puffy says.

Tubbo doesn't think she's wrong, necessarily. Loads of the things that he's done for years are deeply rooted in trauma.

Still, too many teachers have called him the odd one out for him to think that it's just trauma.

----

"Are you familiar with autism?"

Tubbo snaps his gaze away from his hands to meet Puffy's eyes, surprised.

It's not the question he expected her to ask, at the least.

"Autism," Tubbo repeats, letting his gaze drift around the room as he thinks. "It's a developmental disorder? It affects the function of the brain."

He looks back to Puffy. "Sorry. I don't know. Tommy's brother's autistic, I think?"

"That's Techno, right?" Puffy asks, like she isn't good friends with Philza outside of work. Tubbo's always admired her ability to keep her work and her life separate.

Tubbo agrees, "Yeah. He's weird with chairs."

Puffy hums, letting her pen tap against her clipboard. "He's weird with chairs?" she asks, "Could you elaborate? Maybe tell me what autistic behavior you've noticed."

"No, Tommy told me he was autistic," Tubbo defends, "I didn't just assume he was because he acted autistic."

Not that Technoblade doesn't act autistic. He definitely does.

"That's alright," Puffy says, "I wasn't really worried about that. Could you elaborate about the chairs and other behavior you saw?"

Tubbo nods. "He has a specific place you have to sit at the table. And he's not good with loud noises."

Tubbo thinks for a second. "Sometimes he hits his hands on his legs when he's excited."

He shows her the motion, tapping the heel of his palms against his thighs in a sequence of twos.

"He has headphones," Tubbo remembers, "He wore them at the park because it was too loud."

Puffy nods, waiting for him to continue.

"That's all I can think of," Tubbo says, "Sorry."

"Don't be," Puffy dismisses, "Those are some great observations. Why do you think Technoblade wears the headphones when it's loud?"

Technoblade wears the headphones because he's autistic, and loud things are worse for him. And when things feel bad or painful, people shouldn't make themselves do that bad or painful thing.

Tubbo knows what Puffy's doing.

Unless she hasn't read Schlatt's email yet, so she doesn't know about the dishes. Then, he has no idea what she's doing. Besides, it does seem a bit roundabout to use autism to make Tubbo realize he was being stupid.

Tubbo huffs. "Can you just tell me whatever it is I need to realize?"

Puffy quirks an eyebrow. Tubbo crosses his arms, the scrutiny digging under his skin.

"Sure," Puffy agrees after a moment, "I was going to point out that you share a lot of behaviors with Technoblade."

Tubbo's mind stutters to a stop.

What?

She can clearly see his skepticism, so she carries on.

"When you're nervous, you tap your hands or pull on your fingers. When you're excited or distressed, you shake out your hands like you got them wet."

Tommy noticed that one too.

He'd asked what Tubbo got on his hands, the last time he did that.

"So I have a nervous tic?" Tubbo asks.

Puffy clarifies, "Stimming. You don't only stim when you're nervous. You do it when you're excited or really happy, too. It's not exclusively an autistic behavior."

Tubbo wasn't exactly worried it was, considering he apparently does it too.

"You also have notable sensory differences," Puffy points out and Tubbo frowns.

"I do?" he asks. He's never noticed any sensory issues before.

"There are several types of foods you don't eat because of textures," she notes, reading off her clipboard, "You don't wear denim because of the texture. You listen to music on full volume to destress, but are easily overwhelmed by the noise in public spaces. You have a fascination with multi-textured fidgets, especially ones that click. You hate fluorescents because they buzz and you keep a fan running in your room constantly for the noise."

Tubbo's kind of surprised those things he mentioned offhandedly were important enough for her to write them down, but he supposes he kind of does have sensory issues.

"Is that it?" he asks, surprisingly curious, "Or is there more stuff?"

Puffy smiles reassuringly and says, "There's a bit more."

Tubbo nods interestedly and listens.

"Well, you have fixated and restricted interests that you've mentioned you focus on at least multiple times a day," Puffy notes.

Tubbo's eyebrows pinch together, a bit. "Everyone has things they like."

"Sure," Puffy agrees, "but not everyone has things they think about for years and care about intensely."

Tubbo considers her. "Like Greek Mythology, for Techno?"

Puffy nods eagerly. "Exactly like that. For you, it's bees."

---

And Tubbo loves bees.

In his room at Schlatt's apartment, he has bees all over. He's got a bee blanket, bee legos, bee books, and a handful of different bee plushies.

And he has pretty much always loved bees.

He remembers when he was a kid, that he would pretend that he was a bee, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing inside his closet he pretended was a hive.

[fr-likes-chocolate]

My graveyard of dead Fics I won’t finish :(

Mostly bc Dream is a bad person and dsmp’s downfall

Dang, oh well.

[iwritemystiry]

Therapist and goodbyes

I used to go to a therapist every week on Tuesday.

Keyword is was, yesterday was the last time I’ll probably ever see her.

I didn’t want to say goodbye. I really liked my therapist. However money is tight for my family and she is leaving in a few weeks.

My mom says I can go back to the place she works for when we are better off financially but I don’t think I want to.

I’m more upset about this than I want to be, I’ve only been going to her for 2-3 months tops, about 8-12 visits. She was really helpful and I learned a lot though, I really enjoyed her.

Regardless it’s happened. I said goodbye.

I wonder if I’ll ever see her again

Oftentimes it’s things like these that break me

Saying goodbye to a friend I hardly knew. Same thing happened when I found out MCYT technoblade died.

To him I was just another subscriber, but he really inspired me. When he died I felt like I would never smile again.

Such insignificant things to most are world shattering to others I guess-

[fghniki]

shout out to technoblade for posting new videos from beyond the grave. commitment to the grind we should all be striving towards

[420technoblazeit]

has anybody else seen the bit in tommy's new video yet. where he asks mumbo jumbo if he can revive technoblade with redstone. bc that actually made my jaw DROP hol yshit. the pause just before he says it. you can hear the gears turning in phil's head as he realizes what tommy's about to say. the immediate psychic damage. truly horrid thank you tommy. ik techno would be losing it over that joke

[totallynotbat]

Aw Tommy <3

[goosewizard]

i know coming back right is kinda a silly idea but im thinking about it.

what if ranboo came back, and they came back right?

not physically, of course. god, he looks a decade older and has the exhaustion to match. their skin is marred, mostly scar tissue now, from the explosion, from sam, from the endless ocean of limbo, from crying. tubbo hates that they match now. he’s skinnier, too, as if death took everything but the skin and bones of him. they look more monstrous. theres a new streak of white in his hair. it reminds tubbo of wilbur. it reminds tommy of himself.

but he’s just as kind, he still holds their son with tenderness and sings songs of old to him. he still brushes tubbos hair away with a feather-light touch. they still help techno with the dogs. he still visits tommy. they still grow pink tulips.

their memory is... better. ranboo still loses his house keys and forgets where he was going or what they ate for lunch, but they have every scar on tommy memorized, he knows tubbo like the back of their hand, can recite historical events like a textbook, will never lose track of an important date again.

its all they had in limbo. he didnt want to forget for good.

he's still scared, if they're being honest. scared that their sacrifice was for nothing. scared that his family will be destroyed again and again for the sick pleasure of some fucking guy. scared that he'll be used again. scared that they'll hurt the people they care about again. but for now they're okay, they have a team and a family and a second chance.

ranboo comes back and theyre okay, honestly. they move into the mansion with his husband and child. he thanks techno again and again for saving his son. for saving him. techno doesnt accept the thanks, he should've done more. he talks with tommy about limbo, and about grief. they visit their own graves and they grieve. for one another, for themselves. it washes over them in waves. tubbo still waits for the other shoe to drop, for his husband or himself to turn into a maniac and blow the server to bits, but it doesnt come. it won't come. its not the same, it cant be, but its good for the first time in a long time.

maybe the other shoe doesn’t have to drop. maybe sometimes people can come back and maybe they can be okay.

[theminecraftbee]

man not to bring up discourse but every time I remember the “dave” long con techno pulled I remember when people were really mad he was on origins and got #kickdave trending specifically because everyone thought he preferred to go by technoblade and didn’t want people to call him dave, right, so they were doing that to be mean, and we were all upset and discoursing about it. and every time I remember that I feel like wheezing because that wasn’t his fucking name. that was a prank. a ruse. do you think he saw the trend and laughed at all of the rubes calling him that. even better: do you think he saw that, blissfully went “I wonder who that’s for”, and moved on, because that WASN’T HIS NAME.

beautiful. no one’s ever pulled a long con so funny. technoblade, beloved.

[tharett]

Forgot to post this Xd

Uhhh yeah! Context of the thing on the left!

(Idk man, Phil is probably saying something silly about Tech and Tech is embarrassed and yeah, cute interaction I think)

(I think that in my sick little mind they’re trying to show they’re not a threat because they did take over the world once—)

/

Se me olvidó compartir esto Xd

Oh, y el contexto de lo que está en la izquierda!

(Neta ni tengo la menor idea, Phil está avergonzando a Tech como una mamá compartiendo cosas vergonzosas de su hijo a una amiga, y pues sí, solo una interacción graciosa)

(Creo que hice esta interacción pq dentro mi cerebrito enfermo querían enseñar que no son una amenaza ya que han conquistado el mundo una vez—)

[technoblade-updates]

Tommy has become a UK Sarcoma ambassador in Techno’s name! There’s also an article on their website about this! Link

[Image ID:

A cropped screenshot of a tweet by Sarcoma UK @/Sarcoma_UK that was quote retweeted by TommyInnit @/tommyinnit.

Sarcoma UK’s tweet reads “‘I’d never heard of sarcoma cancer until Technoblade was diagnosed and I’m heartbroken that he’s gone.’ We welcome YouTube and Twitch sensation, @/tommyinnit as Sarcoma UK’s latest Celebrity Ambassador.”

Tommy’s quote retweet reads “Hello, everyone. I'm really proud to announce that I am becoming an Ambassador for the @Sarcoma_UK charity. I didn't know anything about Sarcoma before @:Technothepig, and now I want to raise as much awareness as I can.”

End ID]

[alpinefrsh]

idk, was missing them or something.

[proditrix-ew]

damn guys did u know that adulthood is like uhhh hard? welp i didn't............

i love them literally so much bbxfhihugjyb hellp me

[moltengoldveins]

@clingyduoapologist made a really cool “what if DSMP were a stage play” post and basically the instant I saw it I was struck by the muse but I don’t want to just chain reblog the dang thing or make one huge reblog with all my thoughts so instead here are all my thoughts on this concept

i don’t think it’s a musical. I think the tone of the story doesn’t fit. But if it were, it would have a Lot of scenes of unsung dialogue, and that dialoge? Would be rhythmic poetry. It’s Shakespeare Appreciation Time baby.

i do however think there would be a live score and an orchestra. A lot of the music would need to be recorded but there’s at least be a few musicians.

different characters speak in different poetic styles at different times to communicate character and plot development.

to elaborate on that: Characters switch from loose ABBA or ABAB rhyme schemes and vaguely rhythmic meter when chatting back and forth to strict perfect iambic pentameter for tense scenes or political speeches.

Techno speaks exclusively in unrhyming dactylic hexameter, an extremely common poetic form for Greek and Latin poetry. It’s what the Iliad was written in. This has the interesting effect of making Techno sound, at first glance, unpoetic. His speech doesn’t rhyme, and doesn’t follow a common English rhythm scheme, so it wouldn’t immediately register as structured. However, dactylic hexameter is actually significantly harder to write in English than expected because of our syllable stress patterns. Speaking like that would be, objectively, a sign of extreme intelligence, but could easily be overlooked as coarse uncultured behavior.

Techno’s chorus - composed of audience members, background extras, and people (in safety harnesses) sitting in the theater rafters - speak largely in Greek and Classical Chinese, quoting sections of the Art of War and Homer’s work. The major exceptions to this are ‘Blood for the Blood god,’ ‘no,’ and ‘do it.’ They all wear a hat or some form of headband that has a glowing LED eye, hidden, but activated when they speak. The audience plants are all in dark clothes, and when the lights go down they don medical masks/sunglasses. Anything to obscure their faces.

The Chorus, a group of robed masked people who broke the fourth wall and often entered the audience, was a vital part of early Greek theatre. I am an intolerable nerd, and the thought of sitting in a dark theatre only to hear an low distorted voice beside you start to comment on the play as a whole choir of voices echo around you, then turning to see your seat neighbor is a masked person with a glowing red eye in your forehead? Literally incredible.

Dream is the only character dressed in even remotely modern clothes.

Dream is first seen as someone (again, in modern clothes) sneaking around backstage in a black hoodie: most of the audience probably assumes he’s a stagehand and not meant to be seen. Then, at some point, he moves from behind a set piece and enters the scene as an actual character, revealing his mask.

interestingly, this is really similar to what I believe is a bit of myth about why ninjas are dressed in all black in modern media. They wouldn’t have been irl, they would’ve dressed like civilians. But stagehands in Japanese theatre would dress in all-black, and were often completely visible onstage moving sets - it was common courtesy to ignore them. Then one day some playwright had the brilliant idea of having one of the stagehands enter the story as an assassin, and suddenly every actor in all-black was a threat. For the life of me I can’t remember where I read that but it’s a cool thought :D

Dream canonically can interact with set pieces, lighting, and curtains.

Dream actively directs lighting in scenes he is not in, sitting above the stage kicking his feet.

Dream is often used to hand off props to characters instead of having them pull them from a pocket and pretend they were pulled from their ‘inventory.’ This begins to get confusing when Dream is acknowledged later on as the he person giving, say, TNT to Wilbur, or wither skulls to Techno.

characters address the audience as ‘Chat,’ (English’s first fourth-person pronoun my beloved) almost constantly, especially for comedic purposes- most of their monologues are addressed directly to the audience as well. For Wilbur, it’s a sign of instability when he stops addressing ‘Chat’ and start addressing the sides or back of the stage.

philza enters from the lower audience, right by the stage, probably after pooping up from the orchestra pit and taking a reserved seat halfway through so no one sees the wings.

Tommy has by far the least structured or rhyming dialogue - if it weren’t for how carefully crafted it was it would sound like normal prose.

Tommy speaks to the audience by FAR the most. Wilbur only addresses them when soliloquizing. Techno barely addresses them at all: they address him. Ranboo speaks to the audience only when alone, and it’s usually phrased like he’s writing in his memory journal. Tommy speaks to the audience at first like a loud younger brother. As he gets older, it sounds more and more like a plea for help, a prayer for intervention that will never come. Exile is one long string of desperate begging aimed our way.

Tommy stops speaking to the audience so much after Doomsday. He starts again when Dream is imprisoned. He stops for good when he dies in there, beaten, alone.

Sam and the Warden are meant to be played by different actors, ideally siblings or fraternal twins. They wear identical stage makeup and costumes, but the difference is there. None of the characters acknowledge this.

the Stage would need to be absolutely massive and curve almost halfway around the central audience, largely because it should be able to be split at times into two separate stages to show different things happening at the same time. This could possibly also work if there were two stages, but getting people to easily turn from one stage to the other without loosing sight of what was happening would be rough.

Doomsday taking advantage of the scaffolding in the rafters and using them as the ‘grid’ for the tnt droppers.

actual trained dogs for Doomsday my beloved. Would cost a fortune but could you imagine.

the entire revolution arc ripped off Hamilton, we all know that, I think we can afford to have a stagehand step forward in that frozen moment in time when Tommy and Dream have that duel, grab the arrow, and carry it slowly across the stage right into Tommy’s eye. For morale.

throughout the execution scene Techno keeps slipping out of poetic meter, especially when he sees/is worried about Phil. After the totem (which would be freaking amazing as some sort of stage effect with like lights and red and green streamers or smthn dude-) he stops speaking in poetry. The scene with Quackity is entirely spoken dialogue. Chat is silent. It’s only when he gets back and sees evidence that his house has been tampered with that Chat starts up again (kill, blood, death, hunt, hunt, hunt-) and he starts speaking in rhythm again.

Every canon death, Dream marks a tally on something in the background. Maybe it’s in his arm? Like a personal scorecard. Or maybe it’s on the person themselves, a little set of three hearts he marks through with a dry-erase marker or something.

phil and techno have a lot more eastern design elements and musical influences than the rest of the cast, except for Techno’s war theme which is just choir, bagpipes, and some sort of rhythmic ticking or thumping. Phil’s also got a choir sting but it’s a lot harsher, the ladies are higher and them men lower, and the chords are really dissonant (think murder of crows)

Tommy’s theme has a lot of drums, but its core is actually a piano melody. The inverse of Tommy’s theme is Tubbo’s, but Tubbo’s is usually played on a ukulele. Wilbur is guitar, obv, and Niki’s is on viola.

Quackity is a little saxophone lick. He and Schlatt both have a strong big band/jazz influence.

None of the instruments that play dream’s theme play anywhere else in the music. I’m thinking harp, music box, and some kind of low wind instrument.

[moonlitmosss]

Some techno doodles (from my au)

[rainystressed247]

More rainy-is-busy-so-they-have-to-compensate-with-old-art time!

Best big sister Niki!

[simplepotatofarmer]

seconds

a short (1,089 words) rivals duo fic about food as love and friendship for @sixteenth-day-event's love month.

Dream didn’t cook.

He had lived on golden apples and pieces of beef that could only charitably be called ‘steak’ and ‘cooked’ and then later he had lived on potatoes, raw and mealy. It had taken months to get the taste out of his mouth. Months of Techno encouraging him to eat until Dream was able to keep down more than a few bites at a time.

It had to be frustrating. Dream had been frustrated, knowing that he needed to eat and knowing his stomach and mind would rebel against it. There had been times he had lashed out and had swept the dish off the table and Techno had rolled his eyes and called him a toddler and a baby and cleaned up the mess.

And he still cooked for Dream, despite it all.

This is so stupid, thought Dream with a groan.

He gripped the edge of the counter and looked down. Half the ingredients of Techno’s pantry sat out: carrots, mushrooms, onions, even potatoes. There were herbs that Dream didn’t know but had passed his sniff test and raw beef that he had dug out of the ice chest.

He had no idea what he was doing.

If Techno was here, Dream would ask him but he was out all day with Phil doing something that was supposed to be secret but Dream knew about anyway because Techno talked and, besides, this was meant to be a surprise.

“How—How hard can it be?” Dream asked the empty kitchen, trying to hype himself up. Outside, the sun was just a little below the halfway point in the sky. “It’s just fucking vegetables and shit in water.”

It was a lot harder than Dream thought.

His hands shook trying to chop the vegetables evenly, the missing fingers making it hard to grip the knife properly and there was one moment where his hand slipped and he grazed his finger, a tiny drop of blood welling up, and Dream had to sit down until he stopped feeling as if his head was full of static. But he had done it.

He had chopped the vegetables (even the potatoes) and then had cut the meat into chunks and had to stop himself from thinking about how easily a person could be carved up. As soon as he was done, Dream had tossed the knife into the sink and refused to look at it again.

Wiping his sleeve across his forehead, Dream began to season his stew. He smelled each herb, tasted some of the spices, dumped a little too much salt into the water and scrambled to scoop what he could out and then tried to mask it with a little more pepper and rosemary. He found dandelion greens and added those, too.

It didn’t taste anything like the stews that Techno made. Dream frowned.

He needed something.

In the back of Techno’s pantry, there was a dusty bottle of beetroot wine, labeled with Phil’s handwriting. That would work. Dream carefully scooped out some more of the water and then poured in half the wine. He added more herbs and spices but stayed away from the salt.

It still wasn’t right and Dream went to the ice chest and pulled out the butter and added a chunk.

Then he put the lid on the pot and let it simmer until Techno got home.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Steam rose off the bowl of stew sitting in front of Techno.

Across the table, Dream was watching him intently, his own bowl untouched, hand on the spoon, waiting for Techno to take the first bite.

“Y’know, you really didn’t have to do this, Dream,” said Techno, stirring the stew a bit.

“Yeah, I know but—but you always cook and I thought—I wanted to cook for...” Dream trailed off, shifting in his seat, finally looking away. “Whatever.”

Techno smiled.

“Nah, I appreciate it, man,” he said. “It looks good.”

That wasn’t a complete lie: the vegetables were clearly painstakingly cut into chunks all of a similar size as was the meat and the broth had a hearty, deep red color to it. Unfortunately, it colored almost everything with a reddish-purple tint to it but that was fine.

It certainly looked better than it smelled because it smelled like Techno’s entire spice rack had been dumped into the pot.

But Dream visibly perked up at his words.

“Yeah? I mean, I didn’t have, like, a recipe or anything.”

I can tell, thought Techno. He said, “Listen, Dream, the secret to cookin’ is you’ve got to cook from the heart, alright?”

A blush, pink and splotchy, colored Dream’s cheeks.

“Ugh. Just—Just eat the stupid stew,” said Dream, not moving to pick up his own spoon.

Techno took a bite.

It wasn’t awful though Techno would have never called it good. There was an odd lack of salt and an even odder mix of herbs and spices, not all of which went together, and a buttery taste that he wasn’t expecting. The beetroot wine was a bit overpowering.

He took another bite.

“Is it—is it alright?”

There was an eagerness on Dream’s face, nervousness in his voice, as he watched Techno.

Techno hadn’t been lying when he said the secret was to cook from the heart. The fact Dream had gone out of his way to cook anything when food had been such a sticking point for him, the fact he had willingly used potatoes when there had been a point he would gag at the mere sight of them, meant something.

It meant a lot.

Techno took another bite, bigger than the first two, and spoke around the mouthful.

“It’s amazin’. You wanna do all the cookin’ from now on?”

Dream scoffed but the blush had deepened and a pleased sort of relief had settled on his features. It softened some of the harshness left behind from the prison.

“Hell no.”

“I’m teasin’ you, Dream,” Techno said, still eating.

Dream pushed his spoon around his own bowl. He was quiet for awhile as Techno ate.

“Yeah—Well, to be—to be fair, you do all of the cooking and I know I’m a pain in the ass,” he said, finally, and finally lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth. Dream’s features twisted in disgust. “This is fucking awful.”

Techno snorted, reaching across the table to pat Dream’s hand.

“I don’t mind.”

One of Dream’s eyebrows jerked upwards.

“Really?”

“Really.” Techno pushed his chair to back to stand. “Now, I’m gonna get another bowl.”