#wils warbles

[d0llb1rds]

(to the tune of party rock anthem by LMFAO) tboy cock is in my mouth tonight

[youshouldhavepaidattentiondad]

He wasn’t going to cry. That’s what John kept telling himself as he laid bedside Wilbur in bed. He wasn’t going to cry, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Tears rolled down John’s face, landing on Wilbur’s neck.

Wilbur shifted, pulling back so he could look down at John. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked as he wiped tears from John’s cheeks.

He was a soldier, dammit. John tried to compose himself to no avail.

He took a shuddering breath. Eyes turned down, he managed to warble out, “I’m scared for you.”

“Johnny…” Wilbur brushed John’s hair back from his face before he pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to be okay. You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it.”

John forced himself to look up into Wilbur’s dark, warm eyes. “We don’t know enough about it, Wil. We need to research more-”

Shushing him, Wilbur pulled John closer. “All of our tests have come back basically perfect. I’m sure it’s not dangerous. We wouldn’t be sending someone in if we were uncertain.”

The twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach made John certain Wilbur was wrong. He didn’t say anything. He just leaned in to kiss Wilbur.

John’s eyes opened slowly, staring at the empty space next to him in bed. He lies there for several minutes.

He hates today. He’s hated it for the past fifteen years.

When he makes it to work, he doesn’t go to his office. Instead, he takes the elevator down to the lab that houses the portal.

He walks through the double doors, eyes locked firmly on the portal.

John can still see that day clearly in his mind: Wilbur’s reassuring grin before he went through, listening to him relay what he was seeing, and finally seeing Wilbur when he returned.

The desperation in his own voice rings in his ears, like his echo has been preserved in this chamber still bouncing around.

His hands clenched into fists. He wants nothing more than to obliterate the very thing that destroyed his life.

“What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout, Johnny?”

John whirls around to see Wiley. Instinctively, he reaches for one of his guns.

Smirking, Wiley warns, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Johnny.”

John reholsters the firearm. “What are you doing here?” he demands firmly.

“Oh, just visiting. It’s almost like my birthday if you think about it,” Wiley muses, looking past John to gaze at the portal.

“More like your death day,” John snaps, his anger rising suddenly.

Wiley grins darkly, holding his arms out. “What are you talking about, Johnny? I’m right here. You can see I’m not dead.”

Gritting his teeth, John doesn’t respond.

A green apple suddenly appears in Wiley’s hand and he takes a bite as he begins walking forward. “Is it easier, if you just act like I’m dead?” he mocks, “Pretend like you don’t have a choice so you can stick by your morals and sense of justice? You could have everything you want, Johnny, you’re just afraid to take it.”

“I don’t want to join you in the Black and White,” John replies, his voice quiet, vulnerable. “I want the life I had before you went through the portal.”

Silence hangs in the air for several moments.

Wiley’s sharp laughter breaks it. He doubles over, slapping his knee before standing upright. “Oh, Johnny… sweet, stupid, hopeless romantic Johnny.”

Heart dropping, John reaches for his gun once more.

“It’s all part of a healthy relationship, y’know, growing together.” Wiley takes another bite of apple. “I’ve grown, Johnny. You’ve stayed stagnant.”

“What, I’m supposed to believe worshiping the Lords in Black is the next step?” John draws his gun, aiming at Wiley before taking a shot.

Wiley staggers backwards, hand coming up to cover the new bullet hole in his denim shirt. He pulls his hand away, green blood smeared across his palm and fingers. His eyes glint dangerously. “Oh, that was a mistake, Johnny.”

In a flash, Wiley has the gun out of John’s hand, he tosses it aside. It clatters as it bounces across the floor.

John stands his ground. “I’m not giving in to your tricks,” he declares, “And I’m not giving up on getting you back.”

“And I’m not going to give up on getting you to see things my way.” Wiley’s hand comes up to cup John’s cheek. John feels the slick wetness of blood on his skin as Wiley pulls him into a kiss.

When the kiss breaks, Wiley is gone, leaving John with verdant blood on his face and the taste of sour apple on his lips.

[official-big-q]

Heyyy papa idk why I am invading ur inbox rn DNFNFNFB I just wanted to say stuff about how for some reason I like hearing your memories maybe cuz I never had like those kind myself just the feelings of things that happened in cannon

So I like you talking about them or your wings and your HUGE nest in las nevadas I think I would have liked to be there just us sleeping and you wrapping your wings around me and me wishing to be able to fly around with you

I think I always liked the idea

Of being a big dragon and fly around with my wings and have fun and spend time with my family

I didn't make the entire revived AU for nothing dnfbfjr

If you want to ramble abt your memories idm I love hearing them :]]

-tilin⭑

I ALWAYS LOVE RECEIVING EXTRA MESSAGES FROM YOU KIDS - ITS OK !!!

AND THATS VERY VERY SWEET HBSJDBD

That’s heartwarminngg hhhhh<3

I WOULD HAVE LOVED FOR YOU TO BE THERE IN MY NEST AS WELL - that nest was so cozy it made me feel so safe and it was SO MUCH BETTER THAN WHAT I HAVE NOW SOB

BUT I TOTALLY WILL RAMBLE - ILL ALWAYS RAMBLE VIA REQUEST >:D

I was so very very vocal around you kids - dsmp and qsmp,, im just full of bird noises :]!! Coos, chirps, quacks, squawks, you name it !!! I had a large variety of bird noises I made towards you and your siblings <3 !!

In the dsmp i had a bad track record with love and was verY traumatized so the way I showed love at first was through gifts !!! I used to spoil Tommy rotten :]. (Tubbo wouldnt let me - he refused to take my gifts)

And then after I healed and realized I didnt need to hide my affection for others - I gave out words of affirmation and physical touch !!!

I WAS LIKE. PRETTY FUCKED UP ???? In the dsmp, after I got my injury to my eye/face, I had to take a couple weeks at least to be able to properly navigate again. Karl and Sapnap forced me into using a cane, which was something I very much needed if I didn’t want to walk into something or just fall over-

And just the eye thing in general messed me up permanently ??? Like I stopped using my cane and was okay most of the time without it - but my vision was really fucked and I couldn’t read cursive at all and needed bigger writing on documents to be able to read them, but the dsmp wasn’t a very accessible space so I just sucked it up and dealt with it.

I even learned braille because of it !!! Sam taught me braille !!! Sam also taught me some basic ASL and Foolish taught me more in depth ASL.

I remember Wil getting bad back pains and just aches after they got revived. I think it was just a side effect they had to deal with after it all. We couldn’t do much to help it, but I always made sure to give them a heating pad and some good pillows !!

Speaking of - I believe both me and Wil had chronic fatigue ? I think I just had it while Wil got it as a side effect from getting revived - either way it SUCKED

I remember playing with Fundy during Pogtopia and making sure he stayed fed and kept him company when I could :]

This isn’t a memory but in my head I always refer to Ranboo as the weird stray cat my kids decided to start feeding that never left lmao /lh /aff

Phil took care of me once ???????? I’m pretty sure I was grieving Wilbur and dealing with a whole bunch of feelings about that entire situation when he died - and I ended up on Phils doorstep basically completely shut down and he took me in and just started fully taking care of me. It was a weird experience- I don’t like the man for my own personal grudges but he’s still a kind soul.

Wilbur had a tendency to work himself or keep himself busy until he passed out - he hated sleeping after revival.

Schlatt but the bi in bitch - and other than that fantastic line I don’t want to talk about him lmao

OH I once panicked after I couldn’t find Tommy in the penthouse thing we stayed in in Las Nevadas and made various chirps and warbles while searching for them- they were simply in another room and I was panicked for no reason , Tommy did end up responding with quiet confused chirps hhdjdbd

I HAD SHARP FANGS AND TALONS >:D!!!! I think I also wore fingerless gloves too - sometimes just wearing plain gloves to hide the burn scars that I had on my hands

AND I DONT HAVE AS MANY QSMP MEMS BUT I remember feeling uneasy around Bad ????? He was a friend of mine n all but I remember avoiding him for a bit and feeling unsafe around him annnd I don’t quite know why

OH AND I DEFINITELY PERCHED ON ETOILES SHOULDERS !!! He was THE friend ever actually :3

Jaiden and Baghera were / are like siblings to me, almost !!! I remember we were pretty close :D !! Jaiden and I were close friends and Baghera and I had more of a sibling relationship !!

I vaguely remember Maximus introducing me to his daughter !!! She was pretty cool and it was an awesome experience

THATS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW- I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS !!!!!

[dapper-comedy]

actually im sad!! im sad actually!! and it is so funny bc i wil still say "its fine" outloud to myself and my voice makes that stupid warbly sound. like when u shake flexible metal. wblbwlbwlblw <- sound of me lying to myself while i cry!!

[moobloom-mention]

Day 6 | Betrayal (Ignorance Is Bliss)

Summary: Phil teaches Wilbur an important lesson in patience. And in white lies.

Content Warning(s): The Brighton Biter's Dream SMP character

Word Count: 1131

First of all, fuck Wilbur Soot. Second of all, enjoy some Philza Minecraft content.

----------

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Wil?"

“Will I ever grow wings like you?” 

The Angel of Death spares a loving glance toward his son, attention turning away from the soup he’d previously been attempting to create. The mentioned soot grey feathers fluff in fondness over the child’s doe-like eyes, gaze wide as though Phil had gifted him a puppy. 

It prompts Phil to ruffle the curly brown locks of hair that sit atop his son’s head, an amused smile lining both of their faces. “Of course, Wil. One day, after you’re all grown up and adventuring through the world, the gods will gift you a pair of wings.” 

He sends a wink down to the young child. “I’ve already set you up with a good track-record.” 

The cheerful giggle that tumbles from Wilbur’s lips is enough to melt the avian’s heart, Phil more than happy to spoil his son with sweet words and promises of luxury. The ball of sunlight ensured that there was never a dull moment, Wilbur’s smile capable of igniting a protective flame within the hearts of those he met. The eight-year-old's innocence is a gift that deserves to be preserved and cherished. 

This is his son. 

His pride and joy. 

His little sparrow... 

“Alright, mate,” Phil begins, noting how his son had continued to lurk around the kitchen. “I know that isn’t why you came over here, what do you want?” 

Wilbur appears to fake a hurt expression, his eyebrows furrowing and mouth agape to display his ‘offense’. It isn’t until the boy’s frown is enforced with emotion that he reveals whatever he’s upset about. “The soup’s taking too long,” he grumbles, hands clutched dramatically at his stomach. “I’m starving!” 

Gods has Phil raised an impatient child. 

The sigh that slips free from Phil’s lips holds not an ounce of disappointment, only an exhausted amusement that children have zero concept of cooking. 

Wilbur is definitely going to put up a fight even if Phil insists that he’ll have to wait. 

“It’s done,” he declares with a feigned look of defeat. 

The soup- even to an untrained eye –is very clearly unfinished. 

But Wilbur doesn't appear to mind, the atmosphere gifted with a joyous squeal over dinners ‘official’ readiness. “Gimme, gimme!” 

With a roll of the eyes, Philza lifts his hand to grasp at a bowl and its spoon, swiftly making a minuscule portion for his son. They’ve done this little dramatic display at least once in the past few months, so it’s common knowledge that Wilbur will only take a few bites before realizing his mistake of rushing food. 

Ever the naïve child, the fluff of brown hair eagerly reaches for the food, a frown conquering his expression when the bowl is moved out of his reach. 

“It’s gonna taste like shit,” Phil warns carefully, “Just like all the other times. Do you still want it?” 

Who is he kidding? Of course Wilbur’s still going to want it. 

The excited nod the Angel of Death receives only solidifies such a claim. 

“If you insist.” 

Philza watches with a faked expression of boredom as his son takes the bowl and spoon, practically launching a piece of rabbit and potato into his mouth. He additionally pretends not to notice how Wilbur’s nose scrunches up in distaste, Phil surprisingly able to stifle his laughter. 

“So how is it?” 

“Good.” 

His son’s pride will be the death of him. 

But there’s a way this exchange goes and Phil can’t get out of it, no matter how hard he tries. Wilbur isn’t one to admit defeat and accept that he was wrong. 

The Angel of Death lets out a sad warble, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, mate, it isn’t my best work.” 

“I think you should let it cook for another thirty minutes...” 

Despite his fake admittance of the stew not being an image of perfection, Phil still gasps in offense. His soot grey wings even flare to solidify the idea that he’s upset within the younger’s mind. “I thought you said it tasted fine!” 

“It does!” Wilbur exclaims defensively, arms outstretching to make himself look bigger and hopefully combat his father’s wing-size. “I just think it could use some more time by the fire!” 

“Mm-hmm,” suspicion leaks into the avian’s tone, hints of thoughtfulness tracing the hum. “I suppose you’re right; the rabbit does look a little pink.” 

“RABBIT?!” 

Laughter swirls around the kitchen’s air over Wilbur’s shocked expression, the eight-year-old clearly disgusted that he’d taken a bite of rabbit. The variety of stew is actually an extremely normal meal in Wilbur’s life, but the kid had recently grown fond of such fluffy creatures. 

He’d even spent a few hours in their pen of bunnies, just petting at their soft coats the other day. 

“You hurt a bunny?"

Oh, Wil’s upset about it. 

Phil kneels to his son’s level before scooping him into his grasp. His grey wings instantly bundle the two together once Wilbur begins to kick in frustration, Philza carefully maneuvering the bowl of raw soup onto the ground. 

Wilbur’s arms are still crossed with a frown and furrowed eyebrows, brown gaze refusing to meet his father’s pair of sapphire. 

“Aw, mate. You know I’d never hurt them,” the avian gently reassures, hugging his son tightly to his chest. 

“But you’re cooking one!” 

“I’m cooking a bad bunny,” Phil corrects with a comically wide smile. It almost hurts to keep up such an exaggerated expression, but Wilbur will surely remain mad if there isn’t faux happiness surrounding him. “I would never hurt a good bunny.” 

“But they’re too cute to be bad,” Wilbur complains, clearly unconvinced. 

Phil quiets for a second, unsure quite how to twist his excuse into a child’s perspective. “Well...I saw him stealing carrots from another bunny.” 

The excuse evokes a shocked gasp from Wilbur. “From a little bunny?” 

“From a little bunny,” the older confirms. 

“That’s mean!” Wilbur growls, shuffling so he could press his head into his father’s shoulder. “That’s not allowed either!” 

“It isn’t,” Phil agrees, running a few fingers through the messy fluff of his son’s hair. It seems like everyday Wilbur grows more and more into the image of his mother. “That’s why he volunteered to hop his way into the kitchen.” 

The Angel of Death uses his fingers to replicate the rabbit’s hypothetical movement, fingers jumping around before landing on Wilbur’s nose with a soft ‘boop’. 

The eight-year-old's nose scrunches as he laughs, the rabbit’s true fate having been long been forgiven by now.

If he had to admit, Phil had merely plucked the plumpest rabbit of the pen to butcher for tonight's stew. Though he didn't doubt it'd stolen food from the others before- rabbits were pretty damn ruthless when they wanted to be.

But what Wilbur didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

[natalieironside]

My favorite fantasist is definitely Professor Tolkien. I've obsessively read and re-read most of the available corpus (most of; some of the Histories are a bit much even for me) and I think about it pretty much all the time. I myself primarily write really weird and dark fantasy where people swear pacts with Lovecraftian space devils and have freaky monster sex with giant spider goddesses and become peasant communards. Some ppl see these two things as contradictory, but here's one thing you gotta understand: Tolkien wrote plenty of darkness and weirdness.

The Professor's influence looms over speculative fiction like the shadow of a dead god and most fantasists end up cribbing from him at least a little bit whether they realize it or not, but imo that influence is primarily in aesthetics rather than substance. The works of, for example, Terry Brooks (who I pick on lovingly; the Shannara books are not "good" by any means but Wil Omsford is still my son) resemble Tolkien in terms of all the fancypants elves and resplendent white cities and grumpy aloof wizards and Dark Lords and what have you, but it's all superficial, like a coat of paint. We talk a lot about the Professor's obsessive worldbuilding, but imo one of the major yet little-discussed things that sets him apart is that he did not hesitate to be a freak.

I like Tom Bombadil; he's one of the most inexplicable characters I've encountered in fiction and from an editorial standpoint I don't think he belongs here, but it works. And it works precisely because it's so fucking weird. And if you ever pick up the Book of Lost Tales, you'll find in innavigable wasteland of Toms Bombadil and be forced to deal with people like Tinfang Warble and Tuvildo, Prince of Cats.

Galadriel lives in a fairy court from a Middle English epic or a Breton lay. People are terrified of her, and they should be.

My favorite bit in The Silmarillion is when Beren and Luthien kill a werewolf and a dracula and skin them and wear the werewolf and dracula skins as disguises.

And, of course, a lot of readers miss these elements b/c everything is so seamlessly naturalized that you could read, enjoy, and appreciate the whole Lord of the Rings without really picking up on how, for instance, Gandalf is an immortal space alien.

[tntduocore]

Ok so I'm gonna talk about the arranged marriage au because the vigilante one isn't super well developed

Basis of this is that both wilbur and Q are nobility. Wilbur is a prince, son of King Philza of Lmanburg. Quackity is the adopted son of lord Sam, who is a retired General from the badlands. Sam is well connected with the royal family of the badlands so philza reaches out to him to arrange something to tie the two countries together.

They decide a political marriage would make sense. Philza offers up Wilbur, his second oldest [while im not a huge fan of techno being oldest sibling, it exists for plot reasons] and Sam asks his adopted children, Hannah, Quackity, and Boomer, who would be willing [Wilburs bi in this so gender doesnt matter]. Hannah is mortified by the idea and boomer is very uncomfortable. Quackity also isn't a huge fan of the idea but he agrees, because as an adopted noble, he feels it necessary to validate his spot.

So they do a bunch of preparations, and 2 weeks before the ceremony, quackity and his family go to lmanburgs palace. Quackity is nervous to meet his fiance but pushes through it. When quackity finally gets to talk to Wilbur, Wil is a huge fucking bitch. He's really bossy and criticizes every aspect of quackity. After introductions, Wilbur leaves abruptly. Quackity is angry, to say the least. Techno looks at Wilbur going very confused, he then apologizes for his brother.

So quackity goes back to the suite he and his house are staying in. He vents his frustrations and confusion about his betrothed to his family. Everyone dismisses it as wedding nerves, since that's known to make people act different. Quackity starts to get anxious because he doesn't know if Wilbur is gonna be this insufferable this entire time.

Next day comes, there's more preparations. I'm gonna do a small timeskip because this part isn't super developed but just know Wilbur continues being a bitch and quackity doesn't fight back because he is trying to be a good son. He continues to tell his siblings about wilburs insufferability and both Hannah and boomer start to grow a distaste for their future brother in law.

Anyways, one day, Hannah goes out to the forest. Did I mention there's magic in this au? Yeah there's fae and shit. Magical creatures and such as well as humans with magical abilities. [Wilburs got a sort of sirens song thing in this and philza can fly, stuff like that]

So Hannah's out in the forest, she's a potion style witch and has a large magic radar. In the middle of the woods she feels the dimension shift slightly. She scans her surroundings and prepares for a fight. She finds a ghostly figure, it approaches her. She inquires as to what it is, and it tries to talk, but it comes out all warbled.

Hannah does some magic stuff to sort of like,, analyze? The ghost thing. She concludes that it's not a harmful spirit and sets up a sort of spell circle that will restore the creature to its original form.

The ghost steps inside and there's a light. Suddenly there is a man standing before Hannah and he looks exactly like her brothers bitchy prince fiance but with a white streak in his brown hair.

News flash bitch! Quackity actually hasn't met Wilbur! It's an imposter! changeling! It trapped Wilbur in a pocket dimension and took his place, planning to kill the entire wedding party during the reception.

Hannah loses her mind a tad but agrees to help the real Wilbur with destroying the imposter. They get back to the palace with only a couple hours to the wedding.

Hannah gets ready for the wedding like she would usually but packs her weapons.

They get into the marriage hall and everyone is tense, quackify is upset and trying to hide it. The priest says the whole "object or forever hold your peace" bit and Hannah stands up and objects. Everyone is shocked but she continues. She says that the man up there isn't Wilbur and she won't allow her brother to get married to someone else.

People dismiss her as crazy and just wanting to hold onto her brother but then Wilbur walks in and is like "no listen to the mean fairy lady. That bitch is an among us imposter."

He beheads the motherfucker and they cancel the wedding. Quackity is relieved and very confused. Wilbur starts to explain but kinda drifts off. He then passes out because apparently not sleeping for 3 days and running on pure adrenaline like him makes you a bit exhausted.

Then because of that whole fiasco, Q and fam stay at the palace for a couple more months. wilbur and Q have plenty of time to truly get to know each other this time. And while they both started off apprehensive, they truly do fall in love. Then they get married! Its a bjt more in depth than that but im tired and this is lokg enough. But otheriwse, that's all I got rn

Also can you tell I was listening to this day aria

-🪶

BRO I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT THAT MLP EPISODE WHILE READING THIS AND THEN I GOT TO THE LAST LINE JSRNWJRJD

THAT'S SO COOL THOUGH :000000 I LOVE THAT

[d0llb1rds]

the rumors are confirmed. i am, in fact, an omega. how utterly surprising. how scandalous

INTRODUCTION

NAME - Trevor/Trinity

AGE - 21

PRONOUNS - any (genderfluid bitch)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS - taken and open

ORIENTATION - pan

NSFW BLOG

MINORS DNI

Part of an osdd system, partnered with another system but polyamorous.

My omega bitch is Wilbur and I’m the only one allowed to degrade him

[d0llb1rds]

what’s a man got to do to get freaks in his ask box. what’s a man got to do to get horny mutuals.

[d0llb1rds]

HOW DID I NOT SEE THIS UNTIL NOW

i want wil i want him so bad :((( he's so pretty I want him soooooooooooooooo bad dont tell him though

[moonlite-drabbles]

Sbi Mafia AU ft. Ranboo Prompt/Oneshot

The SBI is mafia and has a habit of adopting the kids who (try) to mess with them. Ranboo is no exception.

Sbi was far too powerful. A monopoly covering trade, drug, dealing gun through this and many other cities.

The Essempi, veterans who came much before the two immortal seeming beings and their family settled, was not happy about it.

Ranboo worked jobs like this before. Nothing was new to him, but each new mission sent waves of anxiety through his body, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be found, vomiting into a toilet over events he never seemed to remember by morning.

Dream liked him and his work for practical uses. Issues remembering things and reliance on muscle memory for things like codes and passwords kept his mouth shut when compromised, and they could clean up the mess.

His Enderman roots also left him with a few advantages. They typical, teleportation, a beastly alternate form with sharp talons for fingers and jaws with the bit force of an alligator. But the vitiligo that marked his skin, unseen in the dark where he operated, but obvious for the world to see under the bright police interrogation room lights. He never matched the descriptions of an enderman hybrid’s silhouette in a window, and glowing purple eyes the result of colored contacts.

The plan was simple. That’s probably why it didn’t work. Gunshots, yelling, blood in his mouth (his) and the body of another lanky teenager’s (his target’s son) used as a shield as he growled out threats and flashed his teeth. Cornered like an animal.

The eldest son (the warrior, a piglin hybrid, nicknamed “the undying,” not someone he could take,) blocked the doorway, eyes narrowed. “There’s no need for that.”

He warbled out a laugh. Pressure built in his chest, preparing for a teleportation. The cameras had to have seen him (blaring alarms, swears whispered under his breath).

“Come on, his like, twelve” (“hey!” More struggling from his hostage,) “And what are you? You look like you have math homework to finish. Jesus.”

He knew the brute was stalling. (Footsteps of backup running down the halls.) So was he. He would take the blond teen with him. Dream would want something if he couldn’t take Philza out. And the writhing boy (just younger than him, the file said) would probably be enough to get away with failure.

He’d failed his savior so many times.

The pressure in his chest finally peaked, and then snapped. He hissed as he began to slip, taking the boy with him-

The man bolted forward, tackling him to the hardwood floor, which turned to grass seconds later.

The blond slipped out of his grasp, and then it was him and the warrior son of Philza. The Undying.

Ranboo went limp seconds later. Giving up as his feet left the ground and his back slammed against the wall. Suitably losing consciousness as his half mask was pulled off and the white of his face (young and scarred under the eyes and scared) was revealed.

He was out seconds later, a heavy hand coming down hard and then something like sleeping.

The next day, the entirety of the family sat around the dinner table, Tubbo absently scrolling through deep web hitman and assassin networks, trying to find someone like their mystery attacker, whilst the rest discussed

“He’s got the Essempi mark on his shoulder. He has to be one of theirs.” Technoblade aaid.

“I’m more concerned about his age than where he came from, Techno. Can’t be older than eighteen.” Phil replied with that determined fatherly look that everyone just knew the meaning of immediately.

“Phil no.”

Phil just smiled.

“Phil we already picked up those fucks please.” Wil said with a sense of panic. Tubbo and Tommy both glared.

They got Tubbo when tracking down an info leek, and were mildly surprised to find the fifteen year old behind the computer in a crappy apartment trying to get through college early. Tommy they just found (it was a weird week) and kept.

“Op, found him. Guys I found him!” Tubbo's face was written with some sense of pride, but fell after he read a bit more. He flipped the laptop around and showed off Ranboo’s file.

No possible info leeks, no family to complicate things should he die, willing to take on any paid request, great track record-

This kid reeked of “hybrid picked up off the street.” Of survival and hopelessness and hybrid only alive because someone looked at him and thought “useful”. Technoblade gave up then, because Phil had that look and Tubbo looked concerned and Wilbur (who was still half asleep) just rolled his eyes with a smile.

“We’re keeping him.”

[null-icon]

a solitary life scaled beasts like you lived even from young, but when you became one with shadows during the day, the moon was your best friend. it guided you through the night, accompanied you when you were alone, hid away when you hunted as to not see you at your worst, smiled at you when it left to let it's sister take it's place.

and so it always had been your best friend from the moment you left your nest twenty winters ago right to the very second you found a crying babe cradled in skillfully woven eucalyptus that night drifting down the very river you bathed in. the babe was swathed in a smooth textile you had hardly seen before, though when unraveled with hastily dried claws, he was painfully ordinary. no gift from a water nymph, nor the spawn of a faun; no child trickster fox and not carrying the scent of a natureborne or turned. a simple human infant had drifted down to you with hair as dark and shiny as your scales and skin fair like the moonlight cast upon the rocky bank.

his cry has ceased the moment his ashen eyes met yours though still watery and small paws reached for yours curiously, tiny strange hands dwarfed in the palms of your claws. helplessly soft, protected only with a cloth, the child warbles nonsensically. when his hands leave the leather of your palms and land gently on your snout, pet up your spines, and rest on your horn in exploratory light, you fall in love.

ever since then, everything has changed. sunny ages much faster than you do, and on the fourth summer marked since you first found him, he runs off more times than you can count. so much in fact that you've had to abandon waiting for night to fall, and therefore hide abandon your true form for one similar to his.

woodland residents are often attracted to his presence, it puts you on edge. you managed previously to protect sunny from them with snarls and warning flames, but the first time you spot him with his head in the lap of a tanned faun, you nearly reverted to run it off your charge. quickly you learned that the faun had been treating a small cut sunny was rewarded with for tripping over a rock, and the young human thus introduced you to hero.

hero calls you and sunny siblings, another title you quickly enact, and he leads the both of you to the hollow he and his family lived in; a cozy den hidden underneath the roots of an ancient oak. the two elder faun welcome you warmly while the youngest finds interest in sunny who had been tucked behind you previously. you learn this one's name is kel, hero's younger brother. it's something the both of you bond over.

kel chances upon aubrey moons after, a lost daughter of the sea. she bears the tears sunny once did, too pretty to have them. she's quickly welcomed into this family you've gained.

basil is the last to join, a druid with blooming brambles in his hair. he had been accompanying aubrey with the promise of helping her home, though finding her having settled with the strange assortment of creatures you're connected with, he smiled and turned to leave. sunny was the one that kept him from doing so, coaxing him to stay. it came to the surprise of you and hero and the glee of kel, sunny was quieter, shyer, often reliant on you to bring him forward despite how ironic you found that about him.

sunny was the one who made way for this, after all. you don't mind it at all when you watch kel and aubrey run circles around each other bickering with hero between them always, sunny and basil sitting close by with the druid whispering the forest's secrets in his ear. you're always certain to thank the moon when it rises.

---

so like, i was thinking about it in school, not sure if/where i'll take this idea, i was just thinking like "hmmb. if sunny and co. were creachurs, what wil they be?"

so i came up with black dragon, faun, merfolk, druid, and regular ol human bc it just seemed fitting.

[n64thstreet]

Wil warbles in Shadowgate 64, by Infinite Ventures/Kemco.

[inkribbon796]

Twin Swap

EGOTOBER  2019: DAY 11

Prompt: Swap

Word Count: 1027

Summary: In a world of heroes and villains there are the pieces and the chess masters. The Host and Dark are playing a game, and the Host makes another move. Roman wakes up in Remus’s body and frantically needs to not out himself enough to get back home.

    “Hey!”

    “Hmmm,” Roman mumbled out, he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the Heroes’ Coalition lounge room, and he really needed that name. “Sleeping.”

    “Not anymore,” the vaguely familiar voice.

    “What?” Roman grumbled and opened his eyes to see one of the villain apprentices standing across a table. Which is new because that the Coalition’s main table was a flat coffee table that would sooner take your knees off, before being extremely flashy. Roman himself had tripped over it when he first entered the lounge.

    So the table, mixed with the apprentice let him know one thing: he wasn’t in the longue.

    “What are you doing here?” Roman demanded, sitting up quickly.

    Anxiety was standing across the table, his black hood drawn up almost completely over his eyes. Roman could still see the dark eyeshadow under his eyes despite the covering.

    “Ha ha,” Anxiety spat at Roman. “You completely forgot didn’t you?”

    Roman looked down to realize that he was wearing Remus’s clothes, and reaching up to check his face he had his mustache. Which meant one of two things:

    A- Someone had kidnapped him and dressed him up as Remus for a laugh.

    B- Something else equally screwy had happened.

    So, if he wanted to get out of this meeting, he had to act like Remus, and fast.

    “Hey, I got here didn’t I?” Roman boasted, and even he was surprised about how much he sounded like Remus. Maybe he was Remus with a change of heart?

    “Please tell me you have it,” Anxiety asked.

    “No, why?” Roman asked, hoping it wasn’t important. Maybe if he acted on impulse enough he could pull it off.

    “Great, you stupid trash goblin, you completely blew Dee off, thanks,” he glared at “Remus”.

    “Not my fault, I didn’t want to do it,” Roman decided to answer.

    “Dark is going to kill us,” Anxiety decided. “We’re going to die because I didn’t drill you enough, and that’s going to be it. Or worse, he’s going to kick us out, and I’m going to have to rot in jail for the rest of my life.”

    Internally Roman was panicking but he tried his best to keep it off his face. “What were we doing here again?”

    “Unbelievable!” Anxiety had his hand to his forehead as he walked around the table.

    “What happened this time?” Deceit demanded as he walked in, and Roman realized how bad this was going to be be Googleplier walked in behind him. The android was too robotic and seemed to have a glassy, menacing look that creeped Roman out.

    “It appears that your apprentices lack the camera,” Googleplier chimed out.

    “I have my half,” Virgil corrected angrily. “I just didn’t want to break it all by porting it in.”

    Roman, looking to save his own skin, and his brother’s, as well as stop the arguing, summoned up the most powerful filming camera he could. All he could do was hope it wasn’t coming from somewhere important.

    “Alright, alright,” Roman groaned. “Can’t a guy get some sleep and dream about naked mannequins?”

    Anxiety shuttered, “Just when I thought you couldn’t get worse.”

    Deceit approached the camera, “Excellent, Dark can’t complain about this.”

    “Inconsistent with his behavior until this point,” Google warned, before he gave an inhumanely wide and eerie smile.

    “What’s that?” Anxiety demanded. “You look like you’ve killed someone.”

    Google didn’t stop smiling, “Not the intended effect, but I accept the compliment all the same.”

    Anxiety sat down, leaving a spot in between him and Remus. He wrinkled his nose. “Do you have to be so disgusting?”

    “Thank you,” Roman grinned at him. “You don’t have to try so hard, sweetie, I’m free after six.”

    Anxiety glared at him, “I’m going to throw up.”

    “You’re being absurd, Wil!” Dark’s voice violently echoed through the halls.

    “Let me give him his own show,” Wilford shouted back as they stormed in, a knife in his hands already. The villain was gesturing with it.

    “He’ll be ready when I say he’s ready,” Dark snarled. “He’d be in jail already if we listened to you.”

    “He’ll never be ready if you coddle him,” Wilford scoffed, the two storming into the room in the middle of an argument.

    “Get that thing away from me,” Dark spat, slapping Wilford’s knife-wielding hand away from his face.

    “If you two don’t start, I’m just walking in,” another voice announced from the hallway.

    Wilford’s knife vanished and Dark audibly cracked his neck. The room around him seemed to contort in on him when the pops echoed out.

    “Yes,” Dark finally commented. “Come on in. Everyone, Wil and I would like to formally introduce our apprentice.”

    Finally a man who looked in his young twenties walked into the room and Roman didn’t know how they hadn’t found him, he looked just like Wilford except for the dark jet-black hair and square framed glasses.

    And Roman, since he’d worked himself into acting like Remus and acting on impulse, did perhaps the worst, and stupidest thing he’d ever done in his life. He whistled, and not some quiet warbling that could be passed off for some random bird. No it was full belted cat-calling.

    Remus would have been proud.

    Roman was absolutely horrified with himself.

    The room seemed to go in slow motion as everyone turned to stare at in in either horror or shock. Dark turned to glare at him, and in an instant a spike of malicious shadow slammed into him.

    In the time it took to snap your fingers, Roman blacked out and woke up tied to a wall with Patton and Logan staring at him. Logan had one of Chase’s blasters trained on him.

    “Am I dead?” Roman asked, it took a second or to realize he was talking like him. He tried to reach his face but he was tied up.

    “No, yah’ll wish you were,” Jackie spat, coming back into the room and brushing his teeth like something vile had been in his mouth.

    “What did I do?” Roman asked; and then realization hit him. “Oh no! What did he do?”

    “Jackieboy Man, Logan.” A forced calm reverberated through the room and then they heard the narrations. Everyone turned to see the Host enter the room.

    “The Host beckons the heroes to calm themselves,” the Host suggested, but in that way that was never a suggestion, and a thinly-veiled order. “The Good Prince has returned and the villains are none-the-wiser.”

    “What did happen?” Logan asked.

    The Host motioned to Roman, his constant barrage of narrations going off under his breath. “The Host merely, did what he could. Since the Author transformed, the Host has been restricted in many ways, and in others he has been empowered. Darkiplier has plans that the Host has been restricted from commenting on.”

    “Like what?” Patton asked, his cat mask in his hands.

    The Host gestured to Roman, “Untie the Prince and listen. That is all the Host can comment on. Now, the Host is hungry and does not wish Dr. Iplier to interrupt his meal.”

    “There you are!” Dr. Iplier threw open the door, the Host muttering about the doctor finally catching up with the seer. “Your bandages need changing, we’ll grab something from the mess and then you’re coming back with me.

    Logan and Patton were helping to untie Roman, Logan demanding information as they worked. Jackie threatening to beat Remus’s head in as he was informed of all the things Remus had been up to in the very short time he’d been in Roman’s body.

[d0llb1rds]

good bunnies get bred

good bunnies get fucked

good bunnies get bred

good bunnies get fucked

good bunnies get bred

good bunnies get fucked

good bunnies get bred

good bunnies breed

good bunny

good bunny

good bun

[uk-news-talking-politics]

Week in Review: When will Labour get real about how screwed it is?

By Ian Dunt

There's a weird tone to the Labour leadership contest. They're in a moment of existential collapse, but most of the candidates don't show any real sense of urgency. It's like they've been given a cancer diagnosis and decided to drink some Lemsip and get an early night.

This weekend will see a final frantic spasm of campaigning before voting kicks off on Monday. There's still several weeks more of this to go after that, but in previous contests many members cast their votes early. So we're set for a strange - but perfectly fitting - slumping finale, with five weeks of candidates campaigning despite the race probably having already been decided.

Of all the candidates, Lisa Nandy is the only one who has really demonstrated the kind of passionate energy you might expect from a party which is staring into the abyss. She's been charismatic, thoughtful and authentic throughout and a credit to her party. She is very unlikely to find the numbers to win it, but she's done more than enough to secure herself a prominent position on the front bench from now on.

Rebecca Long-Bailey is precisely what you would expect. She's shown not a smidgen of understanding, or even that much interest, in the national difficulties Labour faces. One of her first policy announcements was open selections of candidates at an election. It was the kind of proposal someone would come up with if their intention was to run as far away from reality as possible at the greatest speed available.

Unless something changes, Keir Starmer looks like he will be the next leader. He's a smart, principled and impressive political figure, but there's not been much imagination or clarity in his campaign.

The strategy is plain. He feels he can bank Labour Remain votes for his record during the last few years. And he deserves them. He was the man, more than anyone, who tried to steer the Labour leadership into a sensible position on Brexit - or indeed towards any position at all. That left a vulnerability on the left-wing of the party. He had built credibility here, sticking in the shadow Cabinet when others left and largely refraining from criticising the leader. And he has been careful to let left-wingers know he shares their values.

It all makes perfect strategic sense. But it leaves us with a very vague and indecipherable candidacy. Is this just a way of winning an election? Or will this also be the way he leads the Labour party? If the latter, it will be a disaster. This period of politics demands firm, easily-understood positions, an immediate sense of who someone is. Trying to be a little bit of this and a little bit of that on issues which voters are perceived to care about will not work. It'll repeat the Miliband years.

Labour has just been handed a very robust beating by the British electorate. It is important that the party shows that it heard them. At the moment, that is not the case. Starmer is too nervous of the Corbyn lobby to be explicit about what happened. And that creates a sense of a party which does not have the honesty with itself that it needs to ever be able to win again.

There is a problem with the morality of it as well. This week, shadow chancellor John McDonnell paid a two hour visit to Wikileaks founder Julian Assange and decided it was suitable to compare his plight to that of Alfred Dreyfus, the Jewish officer who was the subject of a deranged outbreak of nationalist anti-semitism in turn of the century France.

But that was clearly not the lesson McDonnell took from this incident. He said Assange was "the Dreyfus case of our age, the way in which a person is being persecuted for political reasons for simply exposing the truth of what went on in relation to recent wars".

To say it is a misreading of history is to put it in its kindest possible light. It's nonsense of the highest order. Dreyfus didn't 'expose the truths' about wars. He was simply fitted up for a crime because he was Jewish. And Assange is not persecuted for recent wars. He is a self-serving amoral catastrophe.

McDonnell took an anti-semitic incident and wallpapered it into one of his standard anti-war conspiracy theory warbles. It's not just wrong on the facts. It's worse than that. It's further evidence of precisely the kind of wilful blindness and utter lack of interest which allowed anti-semitism to take root in the Labour party in the first place.

The Corbyn period of Labour will be remembered with shame. You can understand - grudgingly - why a leadership candidate might need to take it easy on the criticism when running to replace him. But they shouldn't mistake that for what is required once the contest is over. Labour needs to make massive, honest, hard-headed changes. It needs to face the reality of what has happened - tactically, politically, electorally and morally. Or else it won't just be five years in the wilderness, or even ten. It'll be game over.