#wils warbles

[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]

they do call him this. they also call him puppy. and good dog. and filthy mutt.

they call me laika "good at sex" starrypups on account of how I say things that make "men" desire me carnally

[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!!

[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

[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

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

/rp

tw: physical and mental abuse, torture, drowning, broken bones, body image issues, horror, manipulation, kidnapping, implied gaslighting and stalking, referenced human experimentation, disassociation, obsession, and possessive behaviour

The only illumination in the forest was the silver of the full moon, it’s light streaming gently through the autumn leaves. The only sound was the quiet rustling of leaves in the breeze, the soft footsteps of passing animals. It was… peaceful. Serene. One might not expect it to be one of TommyInnit's favourite places, but it was far away enough from the rest of the server that he felt safe, quiet enough that he’d be able to hear any intruders.

He’d barely been able to sleep lately, ever since he'd heard those sirens, barely been able to leave his house. But it’s not a Big Man thing to hide in the house, trembling in fear like a fucking pussy. He’s not sure what in his sleep deprived mind possessed him to try and get over it by spending the night in a surely monster-infested at this time of night forest, but fuck it. He was always right, anyway, there was a reason people called him Tommy Trusty, or more accurately why he and only he called himself Tommy Trusty.

(No, it had nothing to to do with the fact he was going half mad back in the embassy, losing everything and finding it just when he was about to give up, always hearing noises in the walls Tubbo and Ranboo insisted were just the pipeworks, occasionally seeings the flash of a figure in the corner of his eyes. He’d torn the entire hill apart and found no evidence of anything, but as soon as he rebuilt it started up again.)

He just about jumped out of his skin hearing the pinging of his communicator. His laughter when he realised it was just the communicator definitely wasn’t forced, though, he definitely wasn’t shaking when he opened it up, because he wasn’t a fucking bitch baby. Probably just Tubbo or Ranboo being too damn clingy, or Wilbur asking why the fuck he’s a grandfather or something, right?

His eyes widened when he read the message on his screen. The communicator fell to the floor as Tommy scrambled desperately into the trees, words still repeating in his head over and over.

Dream: Run :)

——

It could have been minutes or hours of blind running through the trees in sheer panic before he dared to take a seconds break, doubling over against a tall oak, panting. He wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten anywhere, or just ran in circles, and he wasn’t even sure if it mattered. It was Dream, he did this shit for a living. Tommy was a dead man walking. Was it even worth it running to just prolong it, instead of just sitting still and waiting to die?

A strange sound came from his mouth, a warbling combination of crying and laughter. It forced it's way from his chest, loud and painful and making him break into fits of coughing, barely holding onto the bark to keep himself upright. Prime, was he already going insane? The sun hadn’t even rose yet, and he was already barely standing on shakey legs, laughing and crying into the void.

The void laughed back.

Tommy barely had a second to react before he felt the harsh bite of the axe into his shoulder, and was pinned to the tree like a butterfly to a board, forced to stare face to face with his hunter.

Dream's mask was askew, his eyes manic (no, he realised, his eye, a sickening feeling grasping his stomach as it dawned on him one had been ripped out, leaving an empty, scarred socket). His mouth was twisted into a grin, half as manic as his eyes but half eerily familiar, reminding him of the look on Wilbur's face when they’d first met again after the two of them had moved to the SMP.

After too-long and not-long-enough, Dream yanked back the axe, causing Tommy to crumple to the floor as a new wave of pain emanated through his body. He struggled for breath, not even enough energy to scream, and barely even notice the hand ruffling through his hair brotherly.

Claws grasped tightly around his hair after a moment, yanking him back up onto his feet. He barely avoided falling back onto his knees after Dream let go, as he shakily ran as fast as he could, deeper into the forest, ignoring the eyes bored in on his every move, the wheezing laughed echoing off the trees, the sinking feeling that this too was just another part of the game.

——

Tommy took shakey breaths, curling in on himself and trying to be as quiet as possible, small as possible. He instinctively raised his hand to his shoulder for what must have been for the thousandth time. It’s still surprising when he doesn’t feel it slick with blood, just cold like marble, like a corpse.

(He really was just a dead body forced to keep walking around, wasn’t he? He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror anymore, and the confirmation it wasn’t just skin deep felt almost as sickening as the agonising pain going from his shoulder all the way down to his fingers as they lay limp and unresponsive.)

“Come 'ere, Tommy!” Dream said to himself with a clear smile in his voice. God, Tommy sweared he hadn’t shut up since he’d first found him, and he still jumped whenever he heard it. He’d collapsed into the bushes the second he’d had a moment of silence, but that couldn’t just fucking last, could it? “I know you’re here, Tommy. Come on, stop hiding,” he said, voice filled with the same condescension one would have talking to a child or a frightened animal. “I don’t want to have to burn down the forest, but I will if I have to.”

Tommy's eyes darted, frightened, through the greenery. He’d had the luck to manage to collapse away from the thorny berry bushes that surrounded him, but he’d have to crawl through them to escape. He couldn’t find it within himself to care, anyway. He was already aching everywhere, and he’d caught one of his trouser legs on a branch, ripping it awfully and letting his leg get stung over and over by nettles until it was red and inflamed. It was already his bad leg, the one that always hung a bit limp after he broke it in the Final Control Room, but mixed with what must have been hours of running from the muted sunset colours painting the plants around him and a few rough trips he wasn’t sure he could even walk anymore.

Still, he couldn’t just sit and wait to burn to death, so when he heard the sound of a spark he desperately crawled through the brambles, clawing through with one good arm and leg, scrambling as fast as he could to try and somehow get a lead. He heard Dream's fucking obnoxious tea-kettle laugh, and grit his teeth as he heard the sound of claws against dirt grow closer.

Tommy tried his best to keep quiet as the thorns dug into his skin, as he had to use his remaining working hand to pull them out as they embedded themselves in his skin. Something other than the gnawing terror grew in his chest, something warm, as he slowly, far too painfully slowly, clawed his way closer and closer to the clear ground, felt the ground turn muddier and more and more of a slog to drag himself through. He could hear the flowing water of a river up ahead, and ridiculously his first thought is relief he can finally get off the dirt and grime uncomfortably coating every inch of him.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the first in who knows how long, as he finally, finally, managed to crawl out of the foliage, clawing his hand onto the clearing. He felt a sense of relief, of finally being free from the awful feeling of the thorns tearing through his clothes and sinking into his flesh. He wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was hope, but it was the closest he could ever remember to it.

Whatever it was, Tommy quickly felt it die as something heavy came down on his hand, the feeling of his bones being crushed underneath him sending a new wave of nausea through his body, leaving him gagging, not enough in him to even be sick.

Dream pulled him into the air by the scruff of his neck, and Tommy didn’t even have the energy to fight back anymore. He just let himself hang limply from Dream's grip, eyes focused on nothing in particular as his hunter laughed and laughed and laughed hysterically.

“Oh, Prime- Tommy, you should have seen the look on your face!” Dream said in between breaths, wiping an inky black tear from his eyes. “That’s the best part of the hunt, y’know? Watching your enemies hope leave their eyes once they’re reminded who they’re dealing with. Once they know who really holds the power- well, there wasn’t really any question here, but you’re so stubborn, anyway. And all I had to do was strike a match.”

Dream forced Tommy to look at the plants behind him, completely healthy and unburnt. “I didn’t even have to set anything alight, I just had to make you think I did. It’s so easy! You never think ahead, do you, Tommy? When the fear gets to you, there’s nothing different from you and a wild animal. And wild animals can be tamed.”

“Fu-fuck off,” Tommy forced through gagging. “I’m not like- like a fucking wolf, I'm not a pet. I'd rather die.”

Tommy was pretty sure Dream was rolling his eye. “Well, if I have to do both, there’s nothing stopping me. No one knows where we are. I’ve not seen anyone else even come here but you. Even if they go looking for you, they’ll never find us, Tommy. We've got an eternity.”

“Even if? Shut up, prick. I know they’re looking for me. Tubbo's looking for me. Ranboo's looking for me. Wil- Wilbur, he has to be looking for me.” Tommy insisted.

Dream’s face softened into the false concern that pissed off Tommy more than anything. “Wilbur? Why would Wilbur be looking for you? He left you behind with just a forgetful ghost, remember? And Tubbo? Tubbo exiled you once before, what makes you think he’s gonna care now you’re gone again? Did he even try to free you when you were stuck in the prison? Did Ranboo?”

“I-“ Thinking of it, Tommy wasn’t sure if they had. They’d just got married, adopted a kid, and tried to forget about him. He wasn’t going to fucking listen to Dream, though, so he growled, half feral. “Shut up. Just kill me and get it over with, dickhead.”

Dream burst into the wheezing laughter again. “I’m not going to kill you, Tommy. Not here, not now. That’d be far too boring. I'm going to keep going up until you can’t, anymore, and then I'll take you home- to our home, I built it specifically with you in mind, and then maybe we'll get started on the experiments.”

That brought back old memories that Tommy had hoped were gone, tubes and agonising injections and scalpels and being cut open alive again and again. “I’m not being a fucking labrat again.” Tommy said, swallowing and trying to hide the shakiness of his voice.

“You don’t have a choice,” Dream said, sounding far too cheerful about that fact. He carelessly dropped Tommy back to the ground, onto his knees. He ran a hand through Tommy's hair like he was stroking a fucking dog, and Tommy hated how he automatically leant into it, some animalistic, raw sound bubbling from his throat as Dream continued. “Don’t worry, Tommy, I'll take care of you. It’s not like I’m going to lock you in a cage and ignore you or anything. You’re far too fun for that.”

Tommy looked at the ground, trying to hide the fact he could feel his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. How much had he told Dream about everything, during exi- during Logsted- during the “E” times? He yelped as Dream roughly forced his chin up with his claws, digging in harsher than the thorns. Tommy did his very best to avoid looking him in the eyes as he felt his gaze.

“Tommy. Look at me.”

“No,” he said without thinking. By the time he realised what he said, before he could even open his mouth he was being dragged by his hair. The pain was almost as bad as his hand, as he was unable to even try and take the weight onto anything but the chunkful of hair Dream had a vice grip on. Tommy bit his tongue, trying his best not to scream.

He didn’t even realise what was going on until his head was shoved under the freezing water. He took a lungful of water in with a breath, desperately flailing with what strength he had left with what limbs he could move. The cold stung at his eyes, his skin, feeling like a thousand needles stuck through every nerve on his head, and he couldn’t stop himself from hyperventilating, taking in more and more water until suddenly he just felt too tired to move, too calm to care, and his head was suddenly yanked back out into the air.

He coughed up water, taking in a few breaths, and before he could fully comprehend what was going on he was under the water again, burning his lungs and making him want to peel his skin off. He wasn’t sure how many of the horrible, repetitive cycles he went through of the drowning, under until he felt like he was going to drown, then up for a few precious breaths only to be forced back into the water again. The worst part was that he couldn’t help thinking, well, this is better than the salt water, better than the exile.

Finally, after what feels like hours he's pulled back onto the bank, curling up in on himself and gagging up mouthfuls of water. He closed his eyes and saw Log- saw the beach, opened them and saw the forest, until they started to blur together, mud and tents and fresh and salt water mixing into one.

He painfully forced himself up on one elbow after finally he didn’t feel like he was going to vomit up any more water, and he heard Dream hum. “So you can still crawl, hmm? I‘ll give you a ten minutes head start, and you better have moved by the times up.”

“But-“

“I told you, this ends when you can’t keep going anymore. Not when you won’t.” Tommy flinched away from the sternness of the voice, expecting another blow. “Maybe I'd have given you some pity, if you hadn’t defied me. Unless you liked it under the river, I’d suggest you obey.”

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice.

——

Tommy had barely managed to crawl from the river, behind a boulder, when he collapsed completely.

He couldn’t move anymore, could barely blink. It was still sunrise, the last of the stars having disappeared. The colours were pretty.

Prime, he was tired.

He felt back like when he was little, and Philza had just taken Tubbo in, and he’d stayed up all night comforting him after he’d had a nightmare, and he was so tired he’d started seeing shit, yet feeling like he couldn’t sleep yet, he needed to stay awake.

He’d never see Tubbo again. He thought he’d feel sad about that, but he just felt resigned. Sadness required energy he didn’t have.

All he could really focus on was the feeling of the breeze against his skin, the heavy feeling against his chest as he focused on breathing, in, out, in, out, the burning in his throat and his shoulder and his hand. They felt like the only things real anymore, everything else a dull snapshot that felt so distant, so far away.

He knew he should panic when he heard the sound of claws tapping on the ground, words that blurred into one big mess, but he couldn’t. He just felt tired, frozen.

He’d heard, once, that when deers stand in the headlights of an upcoming car they freeze instead of running or fighting. Tommy thought that was stupid back then. Now, dimly, it made sense. Staying still was just so much easier, and sometimes all you could do was conserve your energy.

He wanted to just close his eyes, to sleep, but something at the back of his mind screamed at him that Dream wouldn’t like it.

He feels a hand ruffle through his hair before he sees him, and for a second he thinks of Wilbur, back when Tommy was very little. He used to have nightmares back then, and he’d cry all night and wake up Wilbur and Wilbur would tell him made up stories about grand nations and heroes with cocky grins and electric blue eyes with cool brothers that wrote songs and loved the ocean.

Wilbur wasn’t here, though. It was just Tommy and Dream. Just Tommy and Dream now and forever.

“‘M tired,” he whined, leaning into Dream's touch automatically. Dream laughed.

“You must be. C'mon, let’s go home.”

Tommy didn't resist as Dream picked him up effortlessly, slung over his shoulder like a hunters prize catch. It hurt his shoulder, and he bit his tongue, vaguely remembering he didn't like showing weakness. He felt like more of a placeholder in Tommy's shell, like Tommy had fallen asleep awake and he was the replacement.

He tried to focus on Dream. Focus on something but the static of tiredness clouding his head. Being like that felt dangerous, like something he wasn’t allowed to do. But Dream was there, physically there, and Tommy focused on the feeling of his bony shoulder, the sharp claws gently holding him steady, the feeling of hair brushing against the tattered remains of his hoodie.

“Y'know,” Dream said, more to himself than to Tommy, “I've got materials for some regen potions back home. With them, your hand could be able to heal in a few weeks, and then we can do this all over again. That'd be nice.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no.”

“'T wouldn’t be fun. I don’t wanna do this ever again.”

Dream laughed to himself slightly. “I wasn’t asking. Not everything is about you, Tommy. Now, go to sleep. I want you aware when I show you our new home.”

“'Mkay.”

Dream laughed again. “You'll really do anything I say like this, won't you?”

Tommy shook his head, ignoring how dizzy it made him. “Nah, 'm just… tired.” he said, finishing with a yawn, making Dream laugh again. That was good, he thought. It was just him and Dream, right? They just had each other, now, they should try and help each other.

Tommy knew he should have been frightened, he should have been fucking terrified, but all he could think of drifting off to sleep was that he just hoped tomorrow would be less exhausting.

[cannibals-casino]

" Wil, " they warbled slightly, slowly standing up to a more upright stance. shakily, prosthetic hand reaching out he cupped the back of the others head and pressed a small and very obviously quick kiss to the others temple. " I’m gonna be safe, velvet,, when have I ever lied to your face,? "

Wilbur slipped into the bar, he needed a drink. He’s tail dragged against the floor, as he sat down at the bar, they moved their tail out of people’s ways thankfully. They didn’t plan on getting attached to anyone here. Not again. He owed himself some red wine, paid for it as he fixed up their dress, it was one of his I suppose more “older” ones. Never wore it out that much anymore. It was a very certain red dress.

-@pitiful-revival [felt like this goober needed a bit of screen time /pos /silly -🎸]

" .. well, I certainly haven’t seen you in- a hot second. "

alex murmured, slowly extending his crutches to land near, almost dying to stiffen his movements. sure, they were from different timelines,, but this lovely lad and alex himself had been through. quite a bit, hell and back to put it lightly. bowing his head, giving a soft headbutt, and finally standing normally. " how’s your country, mx pres,? " he asked, tail flicking, almost making a wagging motion back and forth. they had the utmost respect for her.

" the dress looks lovely, I forgot I even tailored that for you all those years back in all honesty. how’s it holding up?, "

[d0llb1rds]

wearing noise cancelling headphones to make my brain all fuzzy as i get aroused…. the weed has long since worn off, no hypnosis files since last night, and yet the detachment from noise has me in a stupid, dumb bunny state. i can hear my pulse in my ears

[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.

[atlasfreak]

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter two; Tumblr edition

The afterlife is a mess of time and space. Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death. Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.

Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.

ArchiveOfOurOwn link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104 or THIS

Life as a piglin isn't so bad. Tommy decided that a week or so ago.

He wakes up in their little cave. Tommy's brother will headbutt him until he gets up and plays - they chase each other around the netherrack. Sometime later the big piglin, their mother, cracks open her eyes with a tired rumble. It feels so childish, Tommy feels so childish, playing games with his brother while he knows that bad things are happening in the Overworld, in his home - that he messes around with a dumb piglin friend while Tubbo and Quackity and Sam Nook and Techno and the DreamSMP have to deal with his mess, his rivalry, his death.

Then his brother barrels into him, and he feels Dream's phantom fist in his face, and he gets up, and he runs faster.

Their mother watches with approval.

That's what she does when they play - she watches. She doesn't move, not even when Tommy is thrown too far and doesn't get up for a moment (not again not again not again I'm not going back there I don't want to die). Then she will leave them there, alone in a big red cave, and she will come back a few hours later with food. She'll watch, watch them eat, then watch them play, and then it's time to sleep and she will watch them sleep always standing guard, protecting.

Sometimes she takes them out into the forest, like the day Tommy woke up. They stick close to her side when she does.

It's not rare that, when she came back to them, she'd be bleeding. They know it's from the hoglins - Tommy remembers the bruises they left across his human body. Their mother always tried to hide the blood from their eyes, but they had seen it before. He was torn - part of himself chastises, a soldier never flinches at blood, and the other is yelling, screaming for mercy, but Dream never showed him mercy. Never.

His brother was equally as desensitized, but that's how it was as a Nether mob. Even a baby like him has seen horrors here.

Their mother brings back hoglin meat and leather and she sharpens her golden sword on a beastly tusk. It makes Tommy feel ever so slightly sick - the hoglins look like piglin brutes and Technoblade is a piglin brute and always, always the worry bubbles up that somehow, somehow Techno was killed. That Tommy will arrive in a very different DreamSMP than he knew, one with more spirits and less living, breathing bodies.

Mama piglin will notice him staring at his food oh-so-blankly. She'll nudge him with silent eyes. He shakes his head and he ignores his worst thoughts and he eats. It's usually raw and tough and chewy, but it's good. When they have a stroke of luck and hoglins step too close to lava or fire, they eat cooked pork. Very rarely does the piglin mother give them rotten flesh to eat and Tommy is glad, but god if he can't help but miss the carrots he was used to in the SMP, or the sweeter golden carrots Techno always gave him, or even the dusty potatoes of Pogtopia.

That's how it always was. He would let himself enjoy something, and then his brain would remind him of what he's seen and done and suffered, of what's waiting for him when he finally finds a way home.

(He wishes this could be home, but he was never meant for safety, he thinks. He has to go back.)

Wilbur always goes quiet when he declares that he will make it back to the DreamSMP, and yet he always whispers "I'm sorry, Tommy " when the once-human boy goes still, lost in thought, in reminiscence - when he misses what he had what feels like eons ago, but enjoys what he has now, here, in a red cave in a red forest in a red world, when he thinks it doesn't feel right, to miss a metaphorical hell but enjoy life here, in literal hell. Wilbur apologizes.

Tommy knows he's lucky. He's never been lucky before, but right now he's lucky, because- because his guardian is kind and skilled and strong. He's seen other piglins die; he's watch her kill them. And still she always brings them food, still they live as well as the Nether allows and it's all thanks to her strength. Without her, Tommy would be dead, and he knows it.

He's so very very lucky and yet he still misses his last life.

So Wilbur apologizes. Tommy doesn't know why, but part of him whispers If he hadn't come to the DreamSMP, you would still have every life. It's his fault. Of course he's apologizing. He decides that he'll never let Wilbur hear that voice

Tommy likes Wilbur now. He liked L'manburgian Wilbur and he hated Pogtopian Wilbur and he likes Ghost Wilbur and he hated Death Zone Wilbur and he likes Nether Wilbur.

Of course, he was nervous - nervous that Wilbur would go mad again, that he would put that final nail in the coffin, that Tommy would be stuck with the ghost of everything bad in Pogtopia murmuring into his ear. But Wilbur didn't - he hasn't. He's as sane as he was when they laughed together, when life was kind. Wilburs leaves when Tommy asks him to go, Wilbur jokes and he laughs and his voice is always fond now. Tommy can trust him, finally. He trusts here, somehow - despite everything, he trusts. He trusts his new mother and his new brother he trusts Wilbur. He trusts him more than he did by his right hand in a revolution built on drugs and blackstone walls, far more than he ever did as a bystander to madness in a desperate hideout, a ravine.

Wilbur Soot has been there always, through everything, but only now does Tommy trust him. Only now does Wilbur act like family does, like a brother should.

(Are they family now? Tommy hopes they are.)

One day he'll ask what happened in those long years Wilbur spent dead. How had he changed so much? But for now, he'll let Wilbur keep his secrets; he doesn't want this to be ruined.

But no matter. Tommy is grateful and he finally, finally trusts Wilbur.

Where is Wil, anyway?

Tommy lets his eyes flutter open. He glances up at the warm red roof. He's curled in on himself - he'd been ready to sleep. He waits for a quiet Tommy? or a groan from the voice in his ears, but Wilbur's gone, he's silent. Probably asleep. (Can you even sleep in the Afterlife? Tommy hadn't tried.)

He looks back down, eyes scanning the cave.

His piglin brother is snoring softly to his right, dead to the world like Technoblade always was when he slept. Tommy thinks about Techno a lot, thinks about how Techno must have done this, too; survived the Nether. He looks at his hoofed hands and he thinks of his old friend.

He's distracted again. Tommy shakes his head and turns to his left.

Mama piglin is laying there, in her spot, watching Tommy and his piglin brother. Her eyes never leave them as she licks a small, bloody gash on her shoulder, cleaning it almost like a cat. Tommy stares at the red as it drips down and stains her soft fur, and he only blinks when she presses hoglin hide to it, soaking up the rest of the crimson, waiting for it to scab. Her eyes are on him purely now, curious.

Tommy moves to lay his head back on the ground. He and his piglin brother sleep on a little patch of soft soul soil, his mother by the entrance but just out of sight of the outside. Wilbur's voice always comes from the right of him, by where the other piglin sleeps. It's cozy; it's nice.

She tilts her head as he shifts, squeaking at him. He still can't quite talk like them - he's got a piglin's body and his human memories and thoughts and those memories and thoughts are wired for English. But he understands what she says.

"Are you ok?"

Tommy grumbles back. She gets up and sniffs at his head, like she always does. Checking that he's ok.

"I fuckin'- I miss my home," he tells her. His English is improving, and he's excited to use it on a person, a player. But for now, he uses it at a piglin; a piglin who doesn't understand. She's used to it by now, her odd son. She's used to his odd speaking and his odd movement and his odd thinking and she still protects him with her life. Still, it's typically tough love, with her. She would sacrifice herself for them, yes, but she so rarely lets them curl up to her.

Right now, though? She lays her head by Tommy's, puffing air at him and quietly murmuring comfort.

"I miss the fuckin' SMP. I want to go back home, but I like it here with you, too. I don't know what I'm gonna fuckin' do."

She licks at his face with a worried warble. It's just a low grunt, and yet Tommy still understands.

"Sleep. Sleep! Worry is not good for piglets. Worry is not good for you!"

Tommy closes his eyes. "Ok. Ok, I'll- I'll sleep. On it. I'll sleep on it. Goodnight, piglin mother. Goodnight."

He hears her get up to go back to her spot, and while she doesn't understand his words, she understands his point.

She rumbles, almost purrs as she goes back to watching.

Tommy could practically hear her voice wish him "sweet dreams."

It's been two weeks since Tommy woke up with hooves; seventeen days, sixteen nights. He takes his mother's sword and cuts nicks in the wall for every day.

Piglins are odd mothers. More protective than anything Tommy's ever seen, and yet so relaxed about when their piglets live or die, whether they're safe or hurt.

Mama Piglin (as Wilbur has dubbed her) watches with an eagle's eye, but she lets him use the sword with little protest.

It's hard to count the days in the Nether. There's no sun to wake him up, and there's no moon to tell him to sleep. There's only his piglin brother to shake his shoulder, wake up, come play! and his piglin mother to croak at him, time for sleep. Wilbur has been telling him when an Overworld day is over and when an Overworld day has started.

Tommy will never admit it, but Wilbur has been his savior, his anchor in this red world. Someone who speaks like him and thinks like him and knows how he speaks and knows how he thinks. Wil's mellowed out, half the madness he had when he died, and he instructs and guides Tommy and god, most importantly, he keeps Tommy company.

And right now, Wilbur is keeping too much company.

I don't see why you want to go back. Wilbur grumbles. It's nice here. Just stay a Nether piglin, Tommy. You have Mama Piglin to keep you safe and Brother Piglin to play with. What's the DreamSMP got?

They're following Mama Piglin through the brush. Tommy fidgets with a red tendril he'd nicked hanging from a small tree while Wilbur's voice saves him from sheer boredom. "Well, it's got Tubbo," Tommy grumbles.

Wilbur sighs. His voice comes from somewhere behind Tommy. Didn't Tubbo exile you?

"Lads on tour, lads on tour," Tommy hums instead, staring at the ground. I'm not heavy enough to leave hoof tracks, he notes quietly. "Do you remember being Ghostbur, Wil?" You changed the subject, but yes. I still am Ghostbur, Wilbur mutters. How do you think I know when it's been a day?

"I dunno. Thought you like, counted."

Counted the seconds in a day?

"Seems like a you thing."

Mama Piglin pauses and Tommy nearly runs into her. She chirps quietly at him and Little Piglin as he appears on Tommy's left, then turns around.

"Stay," she's saying, Tommy decides. He sits. The other piglin glances at him and then copies. When she nods approvingly, Tommy sticks his tongue out at his brother.

Don't be rude, Tommy, Wilbur scolds as the piglin's ears flatten.

"'e's a prick."

So are you.

"Wh- hey!"

Watch Mama Piglin, Wilbur interrupts suddenly. His voice is rapt with excitement. She's gonna try and kill that hoglin.

Tommy glances around, intrigued. He catches the other piglin staring into the trees after their mother, so he follows its gaze. The big piglin is, in fact, creeping up on a grazing hoglin, golden sword unsheathed and held at her side. It's an awful beast, chewing on the red grass, facing away from Mama Piglin (Tommy and his brother, hiding in the thicket.)

"Nononono, wait." Tommy whips his head around, trying to peer through the trees aroudn them. "Wait, she's gonna get herself killed, Wilbur. Wilbur, Wilbur- Wilbur, don't hoglins come in groups?"

Wilbur is silent. Tommy is alone with his thoughts - his worries. "No, mama piglin! You're gonna die!" he screams in his painfully inhuman scream.

She glances over. Almost if understanding, her eyes are wide. Confused, almost fearful. She grumbles lowly, asking "Danger?"

The baby piglin beside him has wide eyes, as if he understood his English.

"Yes! Danger! Mama piglin, lots of danger! Lots of fuckin' danger!"

Tommy, shut up! Wilbur spits, almost frantic. Shut the fuck up! You're gonna alert the hog!

Too late.

The hoglin looks up as Tommy shuts his mouth, eyes wide. Mama piglin starts backing up slow, slowly. The hoglin looks around, searching for the source of the noise, and it locks eyes with her.

Her ears fall flat.

Oh, fuck. Wilbur whispers.

The hoglin rears with a bloodcurdling roar, slamming its front hooves into the ground. Tommy can't feel his legs; he's stapled to the ground, forced to watch the horrible swine as it grunts, as it charges.

The other baby piglin squeals as the hoglin slams its tusks into their mother - the impact sends her flying. The other child smacks at Tommy frantically - "GO! GO!" -and runs towards the hoglin.

"NO! NONONONONO! NO, COME BACK! YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! YOU'LL DIE! NO!" Tommy screams, pain lighting his throat ablaze.

Wilbur is deathly silent in his ears, but Tommy can hear his shaky breaths.

The hoglin roars as Tommy's piglin brother stumbles through the red grass. Tommy and Wilbur both know what awaits him there.

Tommy hears the thud of more hooves, and yet he still can't move. He feels panic shoot through every one of his veins like snow slush under wheels and he can't move. He feels like he's sitting beside himself, watching his hooves shake. They're alien to him - part of him knows that even if they were skin, not fur, he still wouldn't recognize them.

Wilbur's voice finally, finally cuts through the fuzziness.

THESEUS, RUN!

Tommy looks up. Soon there will be blood staining long hoglin tusks. Three more have arrived. His brother is screaming, and Tommy is broken out of his stupor as he feels himself get scruffed.

His mother - she's grabbed him, tugging him away. Her eyes shine with something distant, familiar.

It's grief.

They're leaving the other child behind.

"No, we can't!" Tommy shrieks. "No! Mama, we have to go back! We have to go get him!"

Deep down, he knows his piglin brother is already dead, crushed under dirty hog hooves. That doesn't stop him from sobbing as his mother holds him close, afraid to loosen her grip lest she lose a second son.

"Wilbur!" Tommy's voice shakes. "Wilbur! Wilbur?"

He's silent, and so is Tommy's piglin brother. There are no more heartwrenching screams, only sick silence. Tommy still feels the fear rushing through him as his mother runs, and Tommy knows if water could exist here, he would be crying harder than he had in a very long time.

Dry your tears. Soldiers don't cry.

(But he's not a soldier here, he's just a child. He's always been just a child.)

The cavern he's come to see as his home feels so fucking empty without his brother, and his ears feel so blank without Wilbur's voice, his gentle humming. Tommy hopes that he'd taken the piglin child to the afterlife, and he hopes even more that Wilbur will come back, that he won't be trapped in the dead zone. That he won't leave Tommy alone, so terribly fucking alone.

His mother doesn't place him in his spot on the soul soil today. She instead grabs him and draws him to lay by her side, and she's shaking. God, she's shaking like a leaf. She swallows her sadness down, lifts her head to shake away her pain and Tommy watches her in horror as she turns to him and she puts her effort into comforting him. Sniffing at his head as she always does, making sure he's still alive and well. Holding him close, so nothing will harm him. Reassuring him, reassuring herself. It.. it's nice, Tommy decides. If he has to be a baby piglin, he has a good mother, at least.

"Mama piglin?" he murmurs.

She doesn't respond.

He looks to his right, where his brothers used to sleep - both of them. His piglin brother and his human one - they always sat to his right. Whether soft fur or a quiet voice, they were always at his right.

"Wilbur?"

He doesn't respond.

Tommy sighs and lets his head fall. "Goodnight, mama piglin. Goodnight, Wilbur. Goodnight, Nether." His voice breaks.

"Goodnight, brother piglin."

When he dreams today, it's so much more real. So much more horrifyingly real.

He's back in the prison. His own body lays in a shaky ring of blood, looking broken as it felt to live in it. Dream is sitting against the wall, head tucked behind his knees, hidden behind his arms. He's not wearing his mask, and his knuckles bleed. Red stains the wall above his head as well. Tommy winces as it trickles down, into greasy blonde hair.

Funny. Even after dying, after being reborn as a stupid little pig, Dream still haunts his - well, dreams. Fitting. Tommy could almost laugh at the irony, but he doesn't. Tommy doesn't move at all, actually. He's standing in front of the lava, stock still. He doesn't think he could move if he wanted to; he feels like his feet are glued to the ground. He looks down, as though to check.

He takes a sharp breath. His eyes shoot up immediately, waiting for Dream to whip around and smile at him, waiting for the haunting "Tommy, welcome back!"

But no matter how long Tommy holds his breath, Dream doesn't react.

Tommy looks down again.

He doesn't have the little hooves he's used to, no soft fur. He notices now that there's no tail following him, and he's taller than he should be. Way taller.

He's human.

He's a ghost.

Tommy shakes his head. His hair flops around like his ears used to, and he hates it. Somehow, somehow, he misses being a piglin. There's no more fluff to cover up the bruises on his skin, and it's bittersweet. He doesn't like this.

The splash of water echoes in his ears. He glances up. Food is falling into the water pool at the edge of the cell. They're not raw potatoes, they're carrots.

"Hello, Sam," Dream murmurs, lifting his head out from behind his arms. "I still won't help you."

Immediately, Tommy knows he's missing something. He's an eavesdropper, listening to an old conversation he's new to.

Sam sighs. "It's not a bribe. I ran out of potatoes."

"You didn't."

"I did."

Silence stretches out before Dream yawns. He doesn't move to grab the food, just stares. "You ever gonna come get this?" he says, nodding at the body.

"They're for you."

"Not the carrots. Tommy."

Tommy jolts as Dream says his name, a spike of frantic anxiety, but Dream is glaring at his corpse. Not him, not his apparition, not his face.

"Dream," Tommy calls. Against all his better judgement - he has to know. "Dream?"

No piercing green gaze turns to bore into gray eyes. Feeling returns to Tommy's legs. Shakily, shakily, he creeps forward.

"Dream?"

He nudges his former cellmate - his hand passes through. But Dream jumps and looks around and Tommy's heart drops. Dream's eyes don't find him. He raises an eyebrow, turns away. Tommy sighs. He's safe. Dream can't touch him.

Dream is back to glaring at the carrots. "Sam?"

"Dream."

"So? Are you gonna come take his body, or..?"

"I-"

What are you doing, Theseus?

He nearly jumps out of his skin, Tommy's so startled. "Wilbur?"

Tommy! A grey hand pokes out from the wall. Ghostbur. You're not meant to be here, Tommy. Come with me! Dream can see me, we should go.

Tommy casts one last weary look at Dream, then he sighs and he shuts his eyes and he takes Wilbur's hand. Wilbur tugs.

When Tommy opens his eyes, his hands are hoofed and he sees red again. The red is comforting. Red has never been comforting before.

"Wilbur?"

Tommy! Good morning.

"I dreamt about you. And Dream. And Sam."

A pause. Oh, Tommy.

"I was- I was afraid," he whispers. He doesn't want to wake Mama Piglin, he really doesn't. "I was afraid Dream would see me, so fuckin' afraid."

Ignore it, Tommy. Wilbur's voice echoes in his ears. You weren't meant to see th- you're not meant to have nightmares here, it's safe. No Dream here. Ignore it. It'll only upset you. Ignore it. Go back to sleep.

"..okay," Tommy murmurs. "Ok, Wil."

...

"Wilbur?"

Theseus?

"Will you- nevermind."

No, it's ok. What is it?

"Uh- why don't you sing? I haven't heard you sing in awhile."

There's a moment of silence. Do y- do you want me to sing to you?

"No- no, I'm-"

Awww, Tommy! I'll sing to you, it's ok! Tommy!

Tommy grumbles, but Wilbur's voice drifts around, soft and sweet as ever. He can almost forget the thunder of hooves, the bubble of lava, the roar of explosives - all of it, he could almost forget as Wilbur hums.

Almost.

But when Tommy's eyes flutter closed and his breath evens out, Wilbur Soot frowns.

Somewhere across the map, there's a portal. Through that portal is a stone black room and stone black creeper eyes and a stone black cell and in that stone black cell, Dream could've sworn he felt a hand on his shoulder.

[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.

[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.