#tommy dead crabrave

[sleepypuffpastry]

tommy saying he's still waiting to hear any news about dsmp vol2 only for dream to basically shut it all down publically, after months of not responding to the ccs, the day after lol.. ... DSMP IS DEAD CRABRAVE

[lovesupernova25]

I’ll Tell Your Story

Summary: “Oh my gosh he’s dead!” *gangnam style plays*

okay okay: A oneshot involving memories, a grieving Tubbo, and a really cute piglin toddler. Enjoy! (have fun crying)

“Story! Bee! Storytime!” Tubbo jerked awake, startled from his half-dream by a tiny hand tugging on his shirt. 

(That was okay. He could tell it was going to be a nightmare anyway.) He’d dozed off in Michael’s room, lulled to sleep by soft light and the sounds of toddler play.

 “Bee!” Michael pulled at Tubbo’s arm, one eye pleading.

Tubbo took a deep breath. He felt stretched, shattered. His hands hadn’t stopped trembling for a week, and his own tears were responsible for at least twenty of the burn scars on Ranboo’s skin. He barely had the energy to keep forcing air into his lungs and yet- here was Michael, his son, untouched by the same grief. Tubbo figured he could pretend for an evening. 

“Okay,” He swallowed and pulled his face into a smile. “Okay, bud. What story do you want?”

“Ummm…” Michael sat comically back on his hands as he searched the room. “Whozzat?” His eyes landed on something- a picture frame. 

Tubbo’s breath caught. Tommy and his younger self beamed at him from behind the glass, and he could make out a lake sparkling behind them and someone- probably Fundy- making a peace sign behind Tommy’s head. 

He reached for it, feeling something tighten in his chest. 

“This… this was a long time ago, bud,” And it was. Tubbo was shocked by how… different they looked. He traced his younger face with his finger- his smooth, unscarred face, still round with baby fat. Tommy’s hair had still been short, and his eyes… that fearful, haunted look he’d carried- it was gone. Both their eyes were still blue then- brilliant blue. These were the days before the election. Before everything. It was a different world, a different life. “You wanna hear this story?”

“Mmmmm..” Michael hummed his agreement. “Izzat Bee?” He poked a chubby finger at Tubbo’s younger face.

“Yep- that’s me, Mikey. Years and years ago, though.”

“Hmm.. izzat- izzat Phil?” Michael scrunched his face in confusion as he pointed to Tommy. Tubbo swallowed, almost smiling. Tommy would’ve loved to be mistaken for Phil. 

“No, Mikey, that’s not Phil. He’s got hair like Phil, though, doesn’t he?” Tubbo took a deep breath, staring down at the photo in his hand. “That’s someone you don’t know. His name was Tommy.” 

And then once he started, he couldn’t stop. “Tommy is my-” He swallowed. “Tommy was my best friend. We were like how me and Boo are now- we did everything together.” Tubbo smiled, just barely.

“Like what?” Michael yawned. He was getting bored of the story, Tubbo could tell- so he took a deep breath.

“Well, lots of exciting stuff. Tommy was brave,” He leaned toward his son, smile growing. “Brave and strong like a lion.” He lifted his hands in imitation of a lions’ claws, ready to pounce at the toddler. 

Michael giggled. “Stronger than you?” 

And Tubbo was frozen, for a moment. He felt a lump grow in his throat, but smiled gently around it. “Yeah,” he said softly, blinking hard. “Stronger than me.” 

He pulled Michael onto his lap. “Tommy and I fought in wars together- we made a home, and we had to defend it from the bad guys.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Are bad guys gonna come?” 

“No, Mikey,” Tubbo squeezed the toddler in his lap. “We’re safe here. The bad guys aren’t going to hurt us. Before, though- there were lots of bad guys. And Tommy was-” He laughed, “Tommy wanted to fight them all. He’d just charge into battle with no plan and take on the world.” The smile was creeping onto his face again, even as his vision blurred. “Tommy was pretty stupid sometimes.” Tubbo laughed, and it sounded a little bit like a sob.

“But he was kind.” It was like the dam had opened, and Tubbo couldn’t stop. “He acted like he wasn’t- but Tommy was always kind. He’d do anything for the people he cared about. Did you know, Mikey- he fought Technoblade once?” 

Michael looked up, eyes widening. “Really?” Michael already knew stories about the half-piglin warrior- hearing this was enough to elevate even a stranger to idol status in his mind. 

“Yeah- Tommy’d fight the earth itself if it helped someone he loved.” He huffed out a wet laugh and reached up to stop a tear from spilling onto his cheek.

Deep breaths, Tubbo. 

“That was the thing about Tommy. He cared so much, so deeply- and he’d never give it up. He’d-” Tubbo swallowed, tangling his fingers in Michael’s hair. “He’d always keep fighting- lead armies and start revolutions and refuse to surrender- no matter what, he’d never surrender. Tommy would die before he let the bad guys win.” Tubbo looked down at his son, smiling again. “He was a hero.” 

Michael’s eyes were shining, entranced by tales of glory long gone. “Wowww..”

Tubbo smiled. “Yeah, wow. But people-” He looked away, holding his son tighter. “People don’t always like heroes. They told him he was stupid, or too much, or- or selfish.” Tubbo took a deep breath. He tilted his head to the ceiling. “They were wrong, though.” Tubbo looked back at Michael with an intensity in his eyes that felt like regret. “Tommy… Tommy was the best man I ever knew. He was the best leader, too- and the best friend.” Tubbo closed his eyes and hoped that the only person he wanted to talk to could hear everything he wished he’d said. “And he doesn’t need to worry- because we’re not going to forget him,” he laughed wetly around the crack in his heart, “Anytime soon.” 

Maybe the universe was kind enough to grant him that. 

Michael stretched in Tubbo’s arms. “Mmmm.. I like Tommy.” He giggled. “Imna be like Tommy when I grow up. Big ‘n strong!” He sat up, clenching his tiny hands into fists.

And Tubbo felt something a little like breaking and a little like mending deep within his chest, because it seemed the universe was kind after all. “Yeah,” his voice broke. “Yeah, you’ll be just like uncle Tommy.”

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

[onecanonlife]

Tommy’s getting tired of people thinking he’s not real. Tubbo, meanwhile, hopes that this hallucination of his best friend will stay a while longer.

They work it out.

(word count: 1,563)

............................

It only takes about another fifteen minutes for him to snap.

“What the fuck are you doing that for?” he demands, planting his feet and wheeling around and staring Tubbo dead in the face, because Tubbo’s been trailing along behind him like a fucking lost puppy or some shit since he got out, and he’s tired of it, tired of his best friend looking at him like that, with equal amounts of wonder and dread in his eyes, like he’s not fucking real at all.

Or should that be former best friend? He doesn’t fucking know. Apparently, it didn’t take all that long for Tubbo to replace him with Ranboo of all people. And get married. Apparently.

Tubbo blinks at him.

“I don’t think you’re real,” he says, and if Tommy’s anger hadn’t been boiling over before, it is now. He didn’t go to hell and back for people to tell him he’s not real. He didn’t stay in the same cell as Dream for a month for people to tell him he’s not real. He is so, so very real. The shock that shoots through his system, the bolt of all-consuming terror that overtakes his mind whenever anyone so much as bumps into him is proof enough of that. He is real, and who the fuck is anyone else to say that he’s not?

“Well guess what,” he says, “I fucking am, so deal with it or go away.”

He spent so long wishing to be by Tubbo’s side again. He didn’t think he’d get out to find this. Didn’t think he’d come out to be replaced. Didn’t think Tubbo would crouch along after him without saying anything at all, like he’s the one who died.

“You don’t need to be angry about it,” Tubbo replies, as if he’s the one being wronged here. “I’ve got it all figured out. See, I didn’t think you were dead at first, either. Sam told us and my brain went all weird and flat and in denial, because I knew it couldn’t be true, because you couldn’t be dead. But then it was a few days later and you still hadn’t come out, and it was true after all. So I can’t trust my brain, really, so this is probably my brain going into denial again. Wishful thinking.”

“You—” He cuts himself off, rage warring with confusion warring with he-doesn’t-fucking-know-what, because he’s been dead and locked in prison and he’s not even used to the sunlight yet, much less his own emotions. “I literally pinched you. I pinched you, and then you ran away and stood staring at me from that new—that new McDonald’s!”

“Tactile hallucinations aren’t impossible,” Tubbo informs him. “It’s probably because I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

That draws him up short, just a little bit. “You have?” he asks. “I thought you got married.”

“I did,” Tubbo agrees. “It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing, really, so nobody got invited, but I was thinking about maybe having a bigger ceremony once you got out so you could be my best man, or something. I don’t really know how that works. ‘Cause it’s a platonic marriage, right, so I don’t know if you’re supposed to do it differently. But I wanted you to be there, and then it turned out that you wouldn’t ever, ever be.”

Well. Alright, so he wasn’t disregarded entirely, then. But still—

“And then,” Tubbo continues, “and then we adopted Michael, and I wanted you to be his godfather. You were supposed to be his godfather. Michael was going to love you. I thought you were gonna come back out and you were gonna meet Michael and everything was going to be alright. But then you didn’t.”

“Who the fuck is Michael,” he says flatly, even though his head is reeling because adopted—?

“He’s our son!” Tubbo says. “Mine and Ranboo’s! And you were gonna be the godfather. And it was going to be great, and we were gonna be a family, but then you died, and now Michael’s not even going to get to meet you. And you’re just, you’re just dead and I’m following you around because I don’t have anything better to do.”

There is—there is so much to unpack there, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Ranboo is—is the spouse, then, and he supposes he should have guessed that. The Michael issue isn’t too much clearer, since he doesn’t have a frame of reference for this—for this child? That Tubbo has adopted? What the hell? But it’s the last sentence that sends the anger flooding back, because what the fuck does he mean, he doesn’t have anything better to do?

“If that’s how you feel, then why don’t you—” he starts, but Tubbo cuts him off.

“I’m sort of pathetic, I guess,” he says. “‘Cause I’m following around a hallucination. I guess it’s because I know it’s the best I’m ever going to get. And you know, I’d rather have a you that’s not real than not have you at all, because this way, I get to see you and hear you. Even if you’re not here. So I need to enjoy it while I can, because I don’t know how long hallucinations last for, so I don’t know when you’ll go away again. And I don’t want you to go away. I don’t want you to be dead.”

All through this speech, Tubbo’s face remains distant, a little open, a little blank. But his eyes are welling up with tears, and as Tommy watches, they start spilling over his cheeks, uncommented upon.

And Tommy feels the rage drain out of him.

It was hell, where he was, in that terrible darkness, that void, being torn apart and shoved back together again. It was hell, coming back, everything too bright and too loud and too much, his body flinching and his heart racing at any movement, and a single touch is still enough to send him back there, to that moment, his vision fading and pain bursting like fireworks and Dream’s mask leaning over him, grinning.

It’s been hell, seeing how everything’s changed.

But Tubbo missed him. Really, really missed him. And maybe he’s replaced him a bit, and Tommy no longer has any idea how to feel about that, because it seems like Tubbo wasn’t trying to? That Tubbo still wanted him to be there, still intended him to be there? So he’s still a little pissed, maybe, and he still really, really wants people to stop being so weird, to stop reminding him at every juncture that he died, died and came back, but—

But Tubbo is crying.

“Tubbo,” he says, “I’m not a hallucination.”

“You are, though,” Tubbo says. “My mind’s playing tricks. You’re not—you’re not really—” He hiccups, and Tommy comes to a decision.

He extends a hand. It should be fine. It’s just Tubbo, and he’s choosing to do this. It should be fine. It’s going to be fine.

“C’mon, then,” he says. “Hold my hand, I’ll prove it. Maybe you could make up a pinch in your brain, but I bet you couldn’t make up this.”

Tubbo stares at his hand for a very, very long time.

“Don’t make this weird,” he says. “Tubbo, please, for the love of god, don’t make this weird. I really will go away, and you can just stay here and cry.”

Tubbo blinks, hard. And then, slowly, reaches out and takes his hand.

Tommy flinches, every nerve in his body lighting up, screaming at him to get away, and he can’t stop himself from gasping, from letting out a little whimper. But in the next moment, he’s fine, his heart rate already calming, and it’s just Tubbo’s hand in his, his grip loose and warm.

Tubbo’s eyebrows furrow. A minute passes before he speaks.

“This is a long time for a tactile hallucination to last,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can, in order to express all of his exasperation.

“I’m not a fucking hallucination, alright?” he says. “Has married life made you an idiot or something?”

Tubbo looks up at him, then. He looks back, and tries to convey with his eyeballs his sheer displeasure at literally all of this.

“I’m holding your hand,” Tubbo says slowly. “You’re not disappearing, and I’m holding your hand.”

He tries to convey with his eyeballs that Tubbo should consider arriving at the point sometime soon.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “You’re real. Tommy, you’re real.”

“Damn fucking right I’m real,” he says. And something like relief washes over him. It’s nice to hear those words, from someone else. And Tubbo just stands there and holds his hand and keeps crying, harder, if that’s even possible, and Tommy thinks that this is a scene that he should possibly put a stop to.

But he doesn’t. He stands there and holds Tubbo’s hand and lets Tubbo cry. Because nothing is alright. Nothing at all is alright. Everything sucks and everything’s different and he needs to kill Dream and the world kept on turning without him. But Tubbo is glad to have him back. Tubbo missed him. Tubbo still wants him.

If his eyes are wet, it’s just the rain. He glances up, and blinks against the sun.

Just the rain.

[desthesleepdeprivedwriter]

Proud

Sam couldn't do it.

He was standing in the middle of the Big Innit Hotel, looking around as if he was lost. Everything looked so bright, welcoming, and happy. It shouldn’t be. Not after what happened. Why was the hotel still open? It should be closed. Dark. Grieving. All of that stupid, fake optimism was just-

“Oh, hello Sam.”

The creeper hybrid turned, seeing Sam Nook standing right behind him. Oh, poor Nook. Sam would have to deactivate it since Tommy couldn’t be protected anymore.

“What brings you here? Tommy Innit went to visit Dream, I am sure you can find him there.”

It was too much, and Sam had to keep himself firm while in front of Sam Nook, even if his whole body was shaking. The characteristic hissing sound from when he was stressed could be heard in between his breath. He needed to tell the robot.

“Nook, Tommy isn’t at the prison.” Sam tried.

“Oh, no? Well, then he is almost getting here.”

Sam shook his head, just trying to make the robot listen so he could deactivate Nook in peace. “Tommy isn’t coming back.” He tried again, his knees finally meeting the ground.

“Of course he is coming back. If Tommy Innit was in danger, I would know. It’s my job to keep Tommy Innit safe.”

Sam flinched with those words as if they physically hurt him.

“And Tommy Innit promised me he would come back with you as well. He had something he wanted to show to you.”

Sam looked up, seeing as the robot walked out of his line of vision. He quickly got up, following it through the corridors and stairs, into a dark room at the clean and well-lighted basement.

“Nook, what the…”

The robots turned the light on and Sam lost track of what he was saying.

It was a medium-sized room, with a couch, a refrigerator, a whiteboard already occupied by a checklist (all items involving the hotel), cans of coke spread around, a jukebox with one disk ready to be played… A patched-up flag of L’Manberg was pinned at the wall, and a ragged dark blue uniform was hanging at the corner of the room. Right in the middle of it all, one of Sam’s first prototypes of a camera. Tommy probably found it and… Oh, Void… Tommy... That whole place felt like him.

Sam was still mesmerized by the room when the robot walked towards the camera and picked the tape with the recording, placing it on its arm as its eyes were light like lanterns, projecting the video on the wall. Sam heard Tommy’s voice and immediately turned, looking at the wall and at the boy that was just finishing setting up his camera.

“Okay… Sam Nook, I think I did it!!” Tommy screamed, and the robotic voice could be heard in the distance, praising him. “Of course I could do it, I’m amazing!” He laughed, and all Sam could do was sit on the couch and watch, smiling lightly with all that energy that Tommy used to carry with him. “Focus now, Innit. So… This tape is for Sam since the big man is all the time in the prison.” Tommy rolled his eyes as if he was annoyed, but Sam could see the kid just missed him. “Then, I decided to make you a tape, so you can see how I’ll make the hotel inauguration. And how… Great it will be. You’ll be proud of all my eloquence and shit”, and Sam was proud. His smile showed it, even if he was crying at the same time, he was always so proud of Tommy.

Tommy pulled his whiteboard, gesturing and pointing. All his snarky commentaries and loud laughs just adding charm to the presentation. Sam was immersed in it and, for minutes, he just enjoyed the loud, excited, and full of life Tommy that was in front of him.

The presentation finished, and Tommy smiled at the camera. He looked around, then approached, as if he was telling a secret. “Don’t tell anyone but… I’m terrified.” He let out a small laugh. “This really helped me and… I miss you, Sam. After tomorrow, my last prison visit… You better come back with me.” Tommy looked directly at Sam’s eyes as if he knew. “See you tomorrow, big man.”

The presentation ended.

Sam sat there, still staring at the wall, and Sam Nook sat right by his side. The creeper hybrid let the tears slowly fall, sniffing as he still stared at the wall.

“Nook… Do you think Tommy would be proud of me?” He whispered, thinking about what was his duty as a warden.

“Tommy Innit was always proud of you.”

Sam smiled, letting out a broken laugh. “I hope you’re right, Nook.” Sam’s pager bipped, the guards alerting him of a second person inside of Dream’s cell. “I have to go.”

The robot was left behind and, in the middle of the empty, cold room, it started the recording again just to fill that strange emptiness inside of it.

[silstre]

WHATEVER YOU DO

DONT IMAGINE

Sam trudging to the hub ender portal to go home before reconsidering. Don’t imagine him turning and walking to Ponk’s house because he can’t stand to be alone right now, but he isn’t sure whether Puffy would even look him in the eyes anymore. Don’t imagine him holding his resolve, coming across as simply tired until the door is shut behind him and he collapses from the grief. Don’t imagine him attaching himself to Ponk’s side because “I lost him, I lost him.” Don’t imagine Ponk doing his best to comfort Sam but not knowing how, and just deciding to sit with him and let him grieve. Don’t imagine Ponk wondering what it would have been like to formally know Tommy, the way Sam must have planned to properly introduce them before now. Don’t think about Sam, exhausted from working all week to try and get Tommy out, falling into a dead sleep from the stress of doing everything he could and still not being able to save the kid. Don’t think about him staying at Ponk’s base and barely moving, eating, never leaving the walls because he can’t stand to put up that cold exterior, he doesn’t have the strength. Don’t imagine the heartbreak in Sam’s voice when he told Tubbo in canon. Don’t do it.

[memesdableeb]

Tommyinnit + Ghostinnit 👀💕💖💕

"lmao he's not dead he was revived-"

I know

just wanted to draw him cuz why not

I like drawing 💖b l o o d💖

Also wanted to try out this new brush I found so yeah

[borealhauntings]

in other news: i am in ✨~𝐷𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿~✨

[eggs-and-shells]

Inspired by this Fanart^^^^

Ao3 version

Tw - death

Phil looked out a window. A snowy landscape was all that he saw.

"Phil?" A monotone voice came up behind him.

He hummed in response, not looking away from the snow. Something is calling for him - he just doesn't know what?

"You hear it too?" They ask, voice tinged with curiosity.

That catches his attention. He finally looks away from the frosted window and sends his dearest friend - Technoblade, a raised eyebrow.

Techno shrugs, "Chat, keeps yelling that someone is calling for me, and you."

"Do they perhaps know who is calling for us?" He asks. He hides the fact that the voice that calls for him wants to make him curl up in a ball.

His friend shakes his head, cape fluttering in the process.

Before he could ask more questions,

A knock came from the door - which was then accompanied by a child yelling,

"PHIL, TECHNO."

Both adults send each other a look. The child, Tommy, wasn't allowed anywhere near their home. So, why are they here?

"DAD. TECHNO." The knocking turns into frantic pounding, the child's voice becoming more and more panicky.

Phil flinches from the title the child called him. It has been a while since anyone has called him that. The last time was,

"I'll open it," he told Techno. Techno nods, glaring at the door, silent as ever.

He goes to open the door, thoughts on how he could get the child to leave. He and Techno had made it clear that they were not allowed here.

He opens the door.

"Fucking finally!" The child yelled happily. There stood Tommy in all his glory, face scrunched up in fake annoyance.

His breath hitched.

A transparent bloodybruisedbloodybruisedbloodybruised hand came to grip his coat,

"It's cold. When are we going home?"

hmmmmm ghostinnit

[minecraftsz]

tommy dead crabrave

[redorich]

Reading the hermit Tommy au tag (love it btw even if I can't tell who made it.) Found the 'X, Grian, and Tommy confront nightmares' (I cannot spell the admin's name) and I have read it multiple times. I noticed you called Technoblade an Acolyte of the Blood God, does that mean you think the voices/chat are the actual Blood God or something else? That's what I like to think, and we/them probably figure out what happened to Tommy before Techno does.

Hm. This is a tough one. I’d like to tentatively say that the chat is comprised of the voices of those who have fallen to the Blood God. And yes, the voices do figure it out before Techno does! But there’s so many of them, and most of them are idiots, so the smart ones get drowned out by “TUBBO IS GONE CRABRAVE” and “E”. That’s not even mentioning that the chat lies constantly. Even if Techno heard one of them say that Tommy isn’t dead, why would he believe them?

[indigopurple]

If I see a tommy is dead crabrave post I'm going to go feral and rip your knees out and gnaw on them like dog toys /j

[a-selkie-abroad]

“POG! Alright, Tommy dead, crabrave, yeah? Good shit.”

mr minecraft that is your son

[eggs-and-shells]

Honestly, thinking about Tommy's death is just so /sad/.

Like everyone who had their final canon death taken away was just so climactic as a way.

Jschlatt - heart attack, but nonetheless his death was a mark in history that would be remembered (also had people around him)

Wilbur - stabbed, his death had a domino affect that marked L'manburg as a curse symphony never meant to be finished (he also had people watching him in a way)

Now, Tommy - /beat/ to death by the his abuser cause he was locked in an inescapable prison (died alone). His death was so anti-climactic that the people in the server didn't even care or mourn in anyway; it wasn't even remarkable, it wasn't a death that we the audience would expect the 'main' character to die from. No build-up, nothing that would even imply that Tommy would get his final life taken away - he just died.

Anyways, TOMMY'S DEAD, 🦀CRABRAVE🦀

[newjenns]

wilbur and tommy trying to finish and wrap up their lore… smpupdates gone… c!fundy dead… quackitys mc account possibly gone forever so he can’t play c!quackity… dsmp is truly dead crabrave

so close to freedom forever this feels like a cw cancellation

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Hmm. People seems to be sad about tommy's dead but walked it off.

There's two type of reaction to this.

-Rip Tommy o7

I aint this kind, im the other.

-🦀🦀TOMMY IS GONE CRABRAVE🦀🦀

What bout cha?

cry for 10 minutes and then after make multiple jokes and metas about the future of the smp LOL

[shieldcats]

tommys dead crabrave