#yes i used the wrong wilbur skin

[pinketine]

our venn diagrams are one circle.

[poraphia]

“PDA: Public Displays of Affection”

pairing • secret relationship!wilbur x reader 1448 words • 9.1.23 containing • secret relationship, sorry boys production, immense affection my masterlist ~! ღ mrs. mania ღ on Tumblr

“We’re about to film a new Sorry video. Want to give me a good luck kiss first?”

♡♡♡

There’s one thing about Tom Simons that everybody knows the moment you click on one of his videos.

Some viewers may find him annoying at first,

And frankly, it’s not like he’s wrong.

After Wilbur and I started dating we came to an agreement to keep our relationship a secret. There were a multitude of reasons for this. For one, we wanted to enjoy the relationship for ourselves and because of Wilbur’s music and streaming career, it would have been impossible to relish in such when there are hundreds of thousands of eyes on you. This leads to our next reason. Most of Wilbur’s friends are streamers, vloggers, gamers, you name it. That being said, most of the time we find cameras on us already. So, in order to keep up with our special secret, we tell our friends that we’re not dating so that it’s a much easier job keeping it on the down low.

So what happens when a younger boy who considers himself Wilbur’s brother constantly sees a woman constantly with Wilbur? Well, you’ll see for yourself.

I’m known to be Wilbur’s co-filmer and editor in his fanbase, meaning that even if we weren’t dating, I had to be constantly around him to help out with video planning and creating a digital diary as he was on tour. This week his friends were all coming to Brighton to shoot Chapter 2 for their Sorry! improv group.

It was the morning of, and I was met by the familiar, warming embrace of his arms slithering around my body. I scoot back a little bit, feeling his heartbeat steadily beat against my back. “Hey, are you awake?” He groggled out in a raspy morning face. I hummed in response, taking one of his hands to kiss the center of his palm. He pulled me closer to his chest as the fabric beneath us crinkled.

“I’m so sleepy…” I mumbled. With his hand, Wilbur smoothed my cheek, caressing my skin. I melted in his touch.

“I know, but we have to get up soon, darling,” He whispered. Gently, with his arm still wrapped around me, he sat us up in the bed. The morning sun peaked through the slightly open blinds, decorating our skin with streaks of light. He buried his face into the crook of my neck as the drowsiness slowly drained from me. His arms kept firmly around my torso, holding me as close as he could. Once we felt ready to get out of bed, we walked into the kitchen as I prepared a quick breakfast for the both of us.

“Do you want strawberry parfait for breakfast, my love?” I asked, looking inside the fridge.

“Yes, please.” He smiled. I nodded before grabbing the container of syrupy strawberries and Greek yogurt. Wilbur went inside the pantry to find the box of graham crackers. After he finished crushing them, he noticed me standing on my tippy toes to reach for the two glasses on the highest shelf. With a cheeky smirk, he walked behind me and lifted me up by the waist, earning a slight eep of surprise. Nonetheless, I was able to reach the glasses before he placed me back down with my feet touching the cold tile floor. I turned around, awarding him with a quick peck on the chin, before continuing on making our breakfast.

Sometimes, it was painful keeping this a secret, but I think it’s what makes moments like these more special.

Once we finished our breakfast and got dressed, we met up with the rest of the guys at a park in Brighton. Today’s film idea was to run a hotdog van of some kind, but instead, call them burgers. Honestly, don’t ask me, it was the guys’ idea. Most of the guys carpooled to the location, whereas Wilbur and I decided to take our own car. After some time walking to the park, we were both ambushed by Tommy and Charlie, who were already flopping around in hotdog costumes.

“WILBUR! (Y/N)! MY FRIENDS!” Tommy exclaimed, hugging the two of us. Wilbur pulled Tommy to the side, almost putting him in a headlock as they shared their own brotherly love. I hugged Charlie before stepping back to examine his outfit.

“You look… Meaty. You been working out?” I joked. He grinned before flexing one of his arms.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed my meaty and tender gains I see! I’ve been working on these babies just for this exact moment.” He said pridefully. Charlie flexed one of his muscles before kissing his bicep. I rolled my eyes before we both trailed back to the rest of the group. I greeted the rest of the team and even hugged Kristen to catch up with her since we last saw each other. Tommy and Wilbur then ran up to the group promptly as Russ explained exactly how the food truck was going to work. After some careful instructions, the film crew, which involved me, were told who was to record what. Per usual, I was directed to film Wilbur’s shenanigans.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Russ asked, looking up from his clipboard. Everyone exclaimed their noises of agreement. I looked over to Will, who I noticed was patting down his pockets for something.

“Will, you okay?” Phil asked as he adjusted the scarf around his neck.

“Yeah, I just— I think I left my wallet. Uhh (y/n) can you come with me? It’s probably in the car.” He said, looking over to me.

“Oh— Yeah, sure.” I handed my camera to Russ in the meantime before walking with Wilbur to the car. I kept my hands in my pockets in the meantime to resist the urge to walk with fingers intertwined. It was far too dangerous now.

Once we made it to the car, I reached into my pocket to unlock it, but in return Wilbur just stood there, smiling at me. I tilted my head, a bit confused.

“Weren’t you going to go look for your wallet?” I asked. Instead, Will leaned on the car, smiling down at me with his chef’s hat a bit lopsided and his arms crossed.

“I actually did have my wallet. I just wanted to have a good luck kiss before we started filming.” He smiled. I rolled my eyes before grabbing him by the shirt collar so that he was now at my height.

“You know you can be annoying sometimes.” I scoffed, but a wide smile was plastered all over my face.

“I know. I just miss you.”

I placed a quick peck on his lips, but before I could pull away, Wilbur held me gently by the neck to keep me in place. Slowly, I felt my body melting by the touch of his soft lips as butterflies danced on my skin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, moving me closer to him. Tiny droplets soon started to drizzle down on us, but we weren’t leaving each other's lips anytime soon. That was until someone caught us.

“Wilbur? (y/n)? Guys it’s starting to rain and— OH MY GOD!”

We both immediately pushed each other away, only to meet with the shocked face of Tommy standing paralyzed in his hot dog outfit.

“OH MY GOD YOU GUYS ARE DATING! I KNEW IT. I FUCKING KNEW IT—���

“I— Uh— Tommy—!” I was rendered speechless as the poor boy rapidly glanced at the both of us. Wilbur ended up breaking the standstill as he walked up to Tommy, placing two hands firmly at his shoulders.

“Yes, me and (y/n) are dating.” He said firmly. “You’re not going to tell anyone, my boiled hotdog boy, alright?” All Tommy could do was nod in response, his mouth still open ajar. Wilbur patted him on the back before heading in the direction of the food truck. I jogged over to Tommy, shaking his shoulder a bit to snap him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at me, a hand running through his hair. I shrugged, a half-apologetic smile on my face before we both walked back to the park.

“To be fair, the reason I was so shocked was because last month I tried to set you two up on a date.” Tommy mentioned nonchalantly, playing with his fingers as he walked.

I chuckled a little bit. “That’s kind of funny—” until the realization hit. “WAIT HUH?”

♡♡♡

a / n ~ thought this was cute so I jotted it down like a couple mins before waking up lolol. Reblogs and likes are super appreciated mwahh

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

Mildly warm take, Tommy does NOT owe his entire career to Dream

Because, YES the dream smp help propel his career as a content creator, but it does not constitute to everything you've done to make himself and his brand better

Did dream write all the jokes? The vlogs? The books? The MCC wins? The friendship formed before and after? The smp's to follow later? Origins? The comedy? Twitch con?

Because if you say That Dream did all of that for Tommy then I'm going to assume Dream Is Crawling into his skin and piloting his body

Saying dream owns Tommy's as well as other people's careers, is like saying that if I were to bake a cake it wouldn't be my cake it would be the person who made the ingredients. I still baked the cake, put the ingredients together, bought them, got the recipe and just because I didn't grow the wheat or milk the cow it doesn't make it not my cake.

The smp did objectively help his career there is no fault in that and even Tommy acknowledges it, but you can't attribute every single thing that he does now to Dream.

And you can also argue that dream was a bad person, because he was. Regardless of allegations and other people's experiences, dream intentionally seeked out a 14 year old streamer, made him sign a legal contract, took every single bit of credit, got into fights with him on a regular basis, a made him feel so bad you will slamming his head against the desk.

That's not normal. None of that's normal.

And then in an alternative perspective dream didn't do us much for the smp as he claims. The only things he did was bring the content creators together, start the server, and play as his own character.

I do not get me wrong there is credit in that and he did do those things that allow the server to operate, but those with the only things he did.

Wilbur (as much as we hate him) wrote the scripts, and alot of Tommy lore. Will stopped writing the Script after he died canonically, and then later came back because in his own words " lI had to write myself back into the narrative [...] I didn't like where it was going. Not to see dream is a bad writer, but we had different ideas". That's him putting it nicely, the worst bit for the smp realistically was when dream was writing the lore.

And I'm not saying that it was bad but what I am saying is that the majority of people found it bad, so bad in fact that they had to bring Will back.

Dream did not write his own story.

And to the other content creators, on the server they will their own lore. And they acted it out themselves, dream was no part of that yet they still had to sign contracts because it was still on the physical server.

Ranboo and Technoblade in particular had some of the best story writing and telling, and they did it all themselves.

But there's only one thing in common, that makes sense but I think we all missed, dream was in every single person story or had planned to be. And I get it it's his server but on the other hand they could have had amazing stories without his input. Ranboo could have replaced Dream with a mysterious unknown character in his lore, and the outcome and affect would have been the same story-wise. Dream didn't need to be Puffy's son, but he was. Technoblade and Philza could have skip to the side plot of saving dream and instead it needed to return a favour to someone else.

The storytelling within the server is a amazing but if you subtract dream and put someone in his place it's still would have been the same story. It's like he was made to be sandwich in everyone's story. And yes he was a great character in most stories, but in others he was unnecessary.

Put with the overall fact that he had to be in every single story obviously ties back to the server being his, but it's also a reflection of his own ego. He probably still to this day believe that every single person has a career because of him and do not because of who they are now. He definitely helped but it's not all him.

And I would say George, Sapnap and Dream, have the same issue with ego. You see the way dream behaves with over people, he dominated people's careers for many years and had it done by fear.

Sapnap, he would swear and curse every single person, to the point where Scott said he was the most difficult person to put on a team because no one wanted to play with him (I have a different post about MCC). There were many offensive and situations in which the pair of them actually ruin the game for a lot of people. If you were not a person who watched MCC back in the day then I can tell you from now they had to change so many rules, Scott had to start making applications because of the amount of times that they would bail or not communicate with him or simply people didn't want to play with him and wanted to avoid him, and due to their obsessive behaviour in needing to the practice the maps so much that when the game was chosen some people didn't even try because they knew who would win.

They're talented don't get me wrong but there is an extent in which that their Talent crosses with ego and makes the whole game unplayable. This is without mentioning the amount of people who were scared to play with this team or against this team. No one had a fun.

And even in the smp, some people purposely avoided Sapnap, because he didn't know how to manage himself.

And George you could argue also has a large ego because of the people he surrounds himself by and he's a success. He is an objectively/ conventionally attractive male, and there have been many instances including in recent times and in certain develop it situations that he used it to his advantage. He doesn't behave his age and he treats people cruelly.

And most importantly, the fans. Yes YOU. You heavily contributed to the success of the server and to the success of the creators. But the level of obsession people would have regarding these content creators is something that will always baffle me.

And alot of people asked them to speak out, especially Dream. And he didn't. Dream actually encouraged his audience by selling sketchy merchandise and a USB stick with his baby pictures on it. He enables his radical audience because they are what keeps him going. Realistically without the radical side of his audience he would not be as successful and financially well off as he is now.

Additionally those people attack literally anyone that set something bad about him, and at first he tried to downplay it, then he assured people he would manage it and tell them to start, but then along the way he must have realized that these people a Ride or Die for him and that if he drives away these people he drives away a lot of money, free advertisement and a defense system against his brand- and I say this because these people would defend him in any circumstance

So then he doesn't stop them, and now you've got a 19-20s yr old with an unfortunate amount of mental health issues, some people who continue to jab him with needles anytime he's upset.

And it's sad. Is far beyond something that his parents can protect him from, yet he hasn't found the resources to protect himself. He's not happy with himself. He used to be scared to stand with someone successful even though he's successful.

And I'm genuinely proud of how much Tommy has grown. He is and continues to be a dedicated, passionate and nice person regardless of circumstances, he continues to be real with his audience and tries not to waste thier time. And none of that was taught to him by Dream. He taught himself how to be himself. If I see one person saying that he's a clout chaser I'm gonna have to tell you that you're wrong because he's done so much for himself to the point where you can't even count it yet you can count the things dream did for him on a Post-it note.

Tommy did well

[deejayrockz]

PAIRING — dad!wilbur + daughter

SUMMARY — wilburs 3 year old gets ill, and it feels like the end of the world

NOTES — angst technically?? lots of fluff, cuddles, etc. girl dad wilbur. OC named Adelia (from my book, except aged down to 3, and his daughter instead of niece !!) mentions of illness, maybe vomiting, and headaches

EXTRA — sorry dadbur has been in my head for days now, i needed to get some drabbles out 🌷🌷

as adelia woke up, next to wilbur (as she got scared in the middle of the night and asked to cuddle with him) her head had started banging.

"daddy," her voice croaked , as she shook the brunette awake. his eyes stirred open, soon warming as he saw the scared look on your smaller girl.

"what's wrong darling?" he whispered, morning voice slightly deeper and croakier, causing him to slightly clear his throat and sit up.

"head hurts," she whines, laying down, head resting on his lap. he felt the burning hot of her forehead, as he ran a hand through her curls. his face had been twisted with worry, as he looked over to the alarm clock, seeing it was 7am. It had just officially become autumn, meaning it was still dark outside.

"let's go get you some juice, maybe it'll help you feel better," he tapped her shoulder softly, as she whined and sat up.

"daddy carry me?" adelia asked, lifting her arms up, as she stood on the edge of the bed. he smiled fondly, picking her up, and almost sobbing when he felt her head tuck into his neck.

"stay awake for me, dede," he muttered against her curls, kissing her head softly, and lightly rocking her on his hip as they walked to the kitchen. the usually talkative girl, was very quiet while being sat on the kitchen counter, watching her beloved dad pour her a small cup of orange juice.

"take a sip of this for me," he whispered lovingly, keeping his voice low as to not harm the girls head more than it already is. she took slow, almost unnoticeable sips, before placing it back on the counter, glass still almost full.

"do you want to have a little bit more for me?" will questioned, walking up to her and stroking her knee softly.

"no thank you daddy," she whispered, eyes closing softly, as her skin had grown pale, showing off the rosy cheeks that had bloomed earlier that morning.

"okay, we'll bring it with us back to bed," he kissed her cheek, picking her up, and resting her on his hip again.

"we watch movie?" adelia asked, laying her head on his shoulder, holding the sippy cup of juice in her hand.

"we can watch a movie, yeah," he smiled, walking back to his room, and placing her softly on his bed, "what movie do you want to watch?"

"hmm," she thought for a minute, making herself comfortable and watching him turn on the tv, "matilda,"

he wordlessly put on the matilda film, before laying next to her, and placing the tv remote on the bedside table.

"cuddle?" adelia said, her voice still slightly scratchy sounding, as she looked up at will, who was slightly sat against the headboard.

"of course, darling," he smiled softly, feeling the urge to cry as she sat herself on his lap, and cuddled into his chest. his heart had warmed, feeling his special girl cuddled up into his pyjama jumper, wrapping his arms around her.

he was always surprised when she had still wanted to cuddle, as most parents say it's just a stage they grow out of at around a year old, however adelia was always ready for cuddles, and so was he.

"daddy, will i feel better soon?" she asked, lifting her head up slightly, now resting on his shoulder/neck bone.

"yes darling, we'll help you get better, don't worry," he kissed her forehead, feeling it now slightly cooled down. the vitamin C had seemed to work, despite the small amount she had drank.

they two had shared small goodnights and i love yous, as they drifted back to sleep, adelia tucked under wills arm.

he has always believed true love was found in romance films on the tv, he never expected it to be found in the little 3 year old angel wrapped in his arms. he had never truly felt at home, until he got a text telling him he was a father of a baby girl. at first, he panicked, but the minute he saw her dirty blonde curls, he knew she would be the most important thing in his life.

despite her being ill, he tugged her almost impossibly closer, knowing the sore throat he'd get once he woke up would be completely worth it, as long as he got to hold her.

[itslouisan]

Some Revivebur headcanons!:

Btw some of these only exist due to @syndicatedsystem design on my man so...yep

Also shootout to @utahlive because some of these headcannons also came from some of the posts in there and @tntduopolls for answering some of my questions but also ✨ headcannon material✨

(Art by: zirzipper on twitter!! )

• Transmasc!! Either we agree C!Wilbur in general is transmasc or demiboy ot transfem, and that's it. Also bi

• This man totally tried dying his hair back to complete brown only to find out the streaks are always coming back white no matter what he did

• He started smoking on teenager years, considering how I hc Wilbur roughly as a 40 year old max (and C! Quackity as a 36 year old max) he lived through the time where smoking was seen as something "mature" and "cool" and socially even to this day many adults use smoking as a way to cope with pressure but also fit in the society and create connections in the work space, which Wilbur probably understood, picking up the habit of smoking for said reasons

• That being said, he's autistic, end of story, bye. He's also probably REALLY good at masking

• Because of tntduopolls I came to a conclusion: either Wilbur's style fluctuates between classy, rustic, OR JUST RANDOM BS FROM THRIFT STORES HE BOUGHT FOR 1.99 FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES

• Wilbur is anemic as fuuuuck, also lacks vitamin D

• His coat has a intense smell of cigarettes, whiskey, dry blood, gun powder and wet dirt, that's because he always had a problem with washing clothing, to the point he felt if he washed it, it didn't fit in his skin anymore and felt wrong, when Tommy took it, it was already completely destroyed and there was nothing he could do to repair, it was as if a mark of Wilbur was in that coat even after death

• This mf will enter in your house/office or whatever and steal anything he finds fitting, no, he won't apologize, yes, he will gaslight you to believing you just lost the item and is crazy blaming him, yes he keeps a collection of said items

• His favorite items to steal? Gold, keys, dice, cards, coins, lighters, rings, necklaces, sketchbooks (these he might give back if you draw him), history books and gems

• Quackity had to create a "code Wilbur" during Las Nevadas from how constantly that bitch forced his way into the office to steal some shit or just sit in Quackity's chair and play the president

• He did have an affair with Quackity before dying, it was secret though and both of them took it to the grave, literally

• He is rotting inside, like, he doesn't have warmth in his body, but it's not JUST that, other things that show that he's dead is the fact Wilbur has to constantly stitch himself together otherwise his limbs may stop responding and fall apart, also he feels phantom pain in the chest sometimes at night if he doesn't go to bed for far too long, but, inside his skeleton, his bones are rotting slowly, his voice is slowly becoming raspier and raspier because his vocal chords are hurting each other, maybe one day he'll end up mute and it doesn't help the fact that he smokes so much, and his teeth are permanently yellow. Not to mention the rotten and fucked up nails

• He actually has a tattoo with the L'Manberg flag on his left wrist

Tw: some of these can include the topic of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, body scars, body dysphoria

• He always HATED that he is an avian, often using unsafe binding methods on his wings, the result? He can't fly anymore, and due to death, his wings are rotting, falling apart, you can even see some of the bones in it already, birds also tend to pluck out feathers when stressed, so just like Phil, he took away multiple of his feathers from the wings, arms, armpits, neck and chest. He also clipped his wings.

• Wilbur DID self-harm when he came back to life, not because of depression this time though since in Pogtopia he used to sh from mental illness, in here, he feels ALIVE when he cuts himself, it's a reminder that he isn't just a husk, an empty cold corpse, that he feels pain again, that he isn't going to wake up in that train station again.

• In his limbo he did think of jumping in the train line a couple of times, but because the train never came he'd just be suffering in the bottom without a way to go back up

• Wilbur unsafe binding also extended to his chest, in which resulted to permanent scars in his chest and ribs, as well as breathing problems, all due to the fact he didn't want to ask for help of others for his gender but didn't want to live not feeling manly enough

• Wilbur has a massive issue with bed rotting sometimes spending half a day only in bed, and that extends to his apartment, dirty and messy and his own appearance

• In pogtopia, knowing that he'd die, every night he'd wrote song lyrics to burn them in candle light, letters saying what he wished he had the courage to say to people he cared about in person, and burnt himself with cigarettes only to feel alive (yes, yes it is a reference to Noel's lament, I'm sorry Wilbur is so Noel codded--)

• Sometimes by walking near places with water he sees the ghost of sally....he hates water now

[thenoeyebunnynobunsusmaingallery]

Dunwich Record (Fanfiction)

*This short story is a fanfiction for the Dunwich Horror by Hp Lovecraft, which is now a public domain. I must say I both love and hate Dunwich Horror, first because my beloved son is this in this story and second is because Lovecraft nerfed him… So I decided to write my own version for my own AU. There are a lot of adaptations in this fiction, so if you are interested in the original story, please go check it out. 

Warning : I'm not a professional writer. There might be some plot hole and may not make sense. And English not my first language, it would be broken, I'm sure...

Since the very beginning, apart from my mother and my grandfather, no one has ever truly loved us. As soon as I stepped out of my house, those disgusting eyes stared at me. The voices of those stupid dogs kept barking at me as if they had never made such a cry in their lives.

Of course… 

Before them was a monster born from man and something that was above all else… Wilbur Whateley, the goat boy that everyone loathed. They did that because they were afraid… Afraid of something they didn’t know and didn’t know how to deal with… Isn’t it pathetic?

Ever since I was born to this world, not only did four-legged creatures not want to get close to me, but the villagers happily gossiped about my father, who they called “stupid” for falling in love with my mother, who was unstable in their eyes.

They should be thanking her. If it weren't for my mother, perhaps the hatred and contempt they had for me would have driven me crazy and shot them with my pistol instead of those dogs. Those four-legged creatures didn't welcome me at all, and sometimes they seemed to take advantage of me when they saw that I wasn't doing anything. Once, they ran up to me and bit me directly. And yes, I always had them line up with pure lead bullets for breakfast. The sound of the trigger had become soft and familiar to me when I was learning magic. To be honest, as I got older I started to collect guns. Not for hunting or anything, I just enjoy collecting them. but when something went wrong I would always use them.

I have a twin brother. At first, he didn't have a name because when he was born, his body was invisible and couldn't be seen by the human eye. My mother once told me that only I could see him because when we both were born, I was holding my brother's hand tightly. When she touched him, she realized that there was a body there.

Later, Adam named him ‘Ortis’ after a character in Homer’s Odysseus. I’ll just call him Ortis.

Ortis’s body I saw at that time was like a cloudy jelly that looked like a soap bubble in another way. He had three bright red eyes that looked strange and contrasted sharply with the white of his skin. But with that body, he couldn't go out and meet anyone. To be honest, he looked more like a monster than me with goat legs and a tail with a mouth. This little trouble maker had a big eater. The cows that my grandfather bought for him to eat were gone very quickly. He also seemed to grow faster than me, even though they were twins. It wasn't long before he had to move into the barn that my grandfather and I had just repaired.

It sounds like he was grounded even though he did nothing wrong, but it was really necessary… otherwise he would definitely go out and eat people. On the other hand, he had his own room, and it was a whole barn. Sometimes I envied him because of that, but I still went to see him. At night, when everyone was asleep, I would bring the books out and go straight to the barn to read them to my brother. 

Even though I often heard siblings fighting, to me, Ortis is like my own reflection, he is my twin, and I don’t want to lose him. Because in this world, there might only be the two of us who are monsters, and no one can save us except ourselves. So I love and care about him very much.

My little brother was learning as fast as I was. He could read and talk very quickly, at least that helped him communicate with the people in the house, telling them where he was and what he was doing. But because he was getting bigger and bigger, we still met at the barn quite often. Many times I would fall asleep while reading with him and Mom would come in and wake me up for breakfast.

I used to wish that everything would stay the same, or sometimes I wished that something better would come into my life. For example, my father… I knew who he was even though I had never seen his face.

Yog Sothoth

The Key And The Gate

The All In One And One In All

His details came from the Necronomicon that our family had. It had been eaten by termites over time. No matter how much we repaired it, it would not be as good as getting a new one. However, whenever I asked about my father, my mother would always tell me about him without hiding anything. She would always be happy when she thought of him. Her purple eyes sparkled beautifully like the starry sky at sunset. It was so beautiful that it engraved in my heart. It must have been the reason why I wanted to bring my father back to us, hoping that being with him would allow me to see her happy like this more often. I started studying the Necronomicon that had become worn out by termites and learned from my grandfather, who was known as Old Wizard Whateley. Later on, I became skilled in magic and started performing rituals on the hill all the time. Of course, it didn’t work at all…

There are many times when thoughts have run through my mind when a ritual has failed or nothing has happened even though every step was done correctly.

“Why doesn't he come?”

“What was wrong with it?”

“Or maybe…”

“He has never cared about us at all?”

Over the years, it had all failed and failed. And it was even more hopeless when I found out that Grandpa was sick badly. I dragged Dr. Houghton into the house to try to save Grandpa's life. Mother was crying, and those whippoorwills were screeching like a banshee waiting to take his life. I didn't know how to express my feelings about this. I just looked out the window and listened to those birds. But in the end... they flew away, along with Grandpa who passed away…

“They didn’t git him,” I said with a laugh of relief, but it shattered like shards of glass.

Before grandpa had gone, he told me to take good care of Ortis and to take care of the barn after him. Of course, I accepted it even if he didn't ask me to. Who else could take better care of him than me? He also mentioned summoning my father... Page 751 of the Complete Necronomicon…

Of course I don't have it. Our books have all been eaten by termites. Let alone, even if they didn't eat them, they wouldn't even reach page 700. So the only way I can make it happen is to borrow the complete book from somewhere else.

Many letters were written one after another to many universities and libraries asking to borrow the book, but no one thought to reply. At that time, it was even utterly mystified. I tried to go out to find books in general stores, but most of them were incomplete and contained only content that an average person could read. And it wasn't that detailed. I tried going to the city library, but it wasn't what I had hoped for. Moreover, people's eyes look at me with fear and disgust... It made me crazy…

"Stop looking at me…!" I screamed in my mind as I walked home.

It was so overwhelming that even though I knew how to make my wish come true, the one thing I needed most was missing, and I couldn't find it. Every evening, I would come back to my room, filled with piles of letters trying to write all over the state to find that damn book, and then fall asleep from exhaustion.

By the time my hopes were finally answered, it was after my mother passed away. I had run out of options, from my grandfather who was no longer there to teach me, to my damaged books that I could never replace, and then… my mother… Ortis ate her when she brought him Halloween candy, but he seemed so hungry that he ate her. He had no idea what he was doing… and I, who knew everything, was going crazy.

Until now, he still doesn't know that he ate her, and I don't brave enough to tell him the truth. I tried to forget about her death, but in the end, seeing Ortis's face made me realize that she was still inside him…

A letter from Miskatonic University came to me after that. To be honest, I didn't have much of a mind to do anything else after mom passed away. But what kept me gritting my teeth and going forward was my only younger brother, Ortis. I decided to summon my father back so that we could be together in a dimension beyond human perception. Or, if possible, I would like to send my younger brother there. But if possible, I would like to open a dimensional portal to summon the other gods to Earth and create a place where Ortis can live without having to hide.

Because this is not our place, and we were not welcome here from the very beginning…

Dr. Henry Armitage was the one who replied to my letter. He looked very old and could die anytime soon, just like my grandfather who had just passed away. But in my current appearance, even though I was 15 years old, I looked as old as a middle aged man. Maybe that’s why he didn’t treat me like his students in the university. But at least he let me see the complete Necronomicon that I had been looking for a long time and yet he let me copy it. Everything would have been fine if that old geezer hadn’t stood there watching me write like a nosy old lady in the neighborhood. Do you know what privacy is?! And what’s worse is that he wouldn’t let me borrow the book or even take the copy back.

Once again, I wanted to tell him to thank my mother because if it weren't for her raising me, I would have punched him to death with my bare hand. I took a deep breath and immediately asked to leave.

On the way back, the sky gradually darkened until it was dusk. It was like me, no longer had any hope. I wanted to cry right now, but I couldn’t… No one was there to listen to me anymore. Grandpa, Mom, or Ortis who didn’t know anything. I couldn’t tell anyone anymore. But even so, my tears still flowed when I entered the village.

Father… Why?

Why does it have to be like this?

Don’t you love us?

Don’t you love Mom?

Many questions gradually came rushing in, and my knees buckled in front of the door. Then I noticed a white envelope tucked under the door.

It was very strange, apart from the letter from the university, none had been sent to this house. I carefully picked it up before being surprised by the smell of fragrant wood on the paper, along with the sweet smell of icing sugar. I paused for a moment before starting to put my nose close to sniff it again. It was a strange smell, it must be something you can't find in this area. It must be from someone from another place. Without waiting, I started tearing open the envelope to read the letter from the sender.

The cursive handwriting appeared before my eyes. It was as beautiful as a typewriter and as graceful as cursive. It was a letter from a writer named Adam Alderidge.

"Dear Wilbur Whateley, We've heard from people that you're looking for a copy of the Necronomicon. If you don't mind, we'd be happy to lend it to you."

That was the content of the letter. Without hesitation, I turned and ran out of the house immediately, heading straight to the destination the writer had mentioned, which was Adam's house, it was quite a distance away. Because of my inhuman body, I arrived at his mansion in the early morning of the next day.

Perhaps the reason I came this early is because I began to have hope. The hope that appeared when we had nothing left. It was like a miracle that the Lord of mankind often spoke of.

At the front of the Alderidge mansion, which was quite a distance from the nearby town, I walked straight to the gate, feeling exhausted. Then I pressed the doorbell before I heard an old man's voice calling back from the answering machine, his voice not very pleasant.

"Who's that?"

"Greetings, I'm here to see Mr. Adam."

"I asked ‘Who is that?’"

"... I'm... Wilbur Whateley. Mr. Adam wrote me a letter."

I replied, just as irritated as the old man himself. Maybe it was because of that geezer Armitage? But he let me in anyway. I opened the gate softly before walking inside, arriving at the door in no time.

The old man who had spoken opened the door for me before he was startled when he saw my face, which looked no different from a beast in human skin. He immediately moved away from the door. I looked at him without feeling anything towards his rude behavior, just sighed and looked away. I was used to this kind of thing anyway… 

"Where's Mr. Adam?" I asked.

"He's in his gallery. Go to the right and then turn left. He's at the end of the hall."

That was all the old geezer said, and he led me, seemingly reluctantly, because he didn't even want to get close to me. As we walked through the halls of the luxurious mansion, I caught a glimpse of the paintings hanging on the walls of his house. It wasn't often that I saw such paintings, and it excited me and made me feel hypnotized.

I used to draw before, but it was charcoal drawings that I had collected from the stove, and they weren't that pretty. It was strange to me to see such colorful paintings.

"Do you like it?"

A soft voice of a man asked, as if to wake me from my deep thoughts. When I turned to look at the owner of the voice, I saw a rainbow of light reflecting in my eyes. He was a small, albino man, dressed neatly and formal, but he looked  comfortable. His body was slightly stained with those colors. I guessed that he was an artist and had just come out from his working room. He gave me the same feeling as the paintings hanging there when I looked at him. He looked more elegant than a human being. Especially his eyes, which were white and sparkling with rainbows like opal.

"You... Mr. Adam?" I asked him after I came to my senses.

"You don’t have to be formal with us, Wilbur. We're all brothers. Just call us Adam."

"B-brother? What do you mean?" I asked, and the young man giggled innocently. 

"Oh... that's right. We just met. How about we talk in our room? We'll explain everything."

"U-um..."

Mr. Adam smiled at me as he invited me to his room to talk. He had already prepared tea. I had never done anything like this before, and I felt really nervous. But looking at Mr. Adam made me feel like I was in a trance again, just like before.

"Here," he handed me a cup of tea.

"... Actually, there's no need to be formal. I just want to borrow your Necronomicon."

"We know, but it's our first time meeting our blood brothers. That's why we want you to stay and talk."

"So what do you mean by that?" I asked, but he just smiled and said, "Oh, son of Yog Sothoth. Go on and try to guess what it means. It's not beyond your ability."

How did he know I was the son of Yog Sothoth? 

Brother? 

Don't tell me…

he's… 

"Son of Yog Sothoth too?  Are you asking that?"

He could read my mind?

"We were created from a part of his knowledge, but now we're using the body of our friend Adam as our vessel." Adam explained with a smile as he slowly sipped his tea.

“So… is that why you could send me a letter even though we didn’t know each other…”

“Hmm, we’ve known you for a long time.”

“Then why… Did you just send it now?!”

As soon as I shouted like that, Adam fell silent, and his hair and eyes turned gray immediately.

“We can explain that, but will you accept it?”

“…”

“No? Isn’t it?” He smiled sadly.

“Please… tell me. I want to know…”

Adam was silent for a while before he started to explain everything.

“In human language, it’s a fate that has already been determined, and we, who are just his children, have no right to change it unless it’s himself…”

“Wait a minute… If that’s the case… Grandpa and Mom’ dead… It was all determined by our father?”

He nodded sadly and continued.

“We know you’ll be angry. ‘Why? Even though you could have made things better, you just ignored it and let it happen?’ If we had to make an excuse, no matter which way, if it was clearly determined, It will always be like that. There is no solution. And to speak ill of him, he didn't care about this from the very beginning and didn't want to do anything about it either."

"... Then... All these years I've done it... What was it...?" I asked.

"Even though I'm sure that I've done the ritual correctly, he never replied... Is it because he didn't love us from the beginning?"

When I learned the cold truth, I started to cry. It was true that the old ones saw humans as just dust in the universe, but... When that perspective came from my own father, it felt like the whole world was falling apart.

"We can't tell either. Even though we are a part of him, sometimes we can't understand his thoughts..."

Adam explained, taking a sip of his tea. While I was lost in my thoughts, I took a sip of the tea in the beautiful glass. But then it was like I was pulled back to reality. My eyes widened slightly in surprise. It made the pale-skinned young man smile.

"Do you like it?"

"I've never drunk anything like this before."

"Margaret bought it for us. You can take it back."

"No..."

I put the cup down and looked at him.

"I'll say it again. I want that Necronomicon... "

"Even if you know the whole truth?" he asked back.

"It's not for him to come back now," I replied.

"Since I can't call my father back, then I'll send my younger brother to live with him instead. I have no one left but him. My grandfather is dead, so is my mother. And he's the only one I won't let anything bad happen to him."

I replied in a firm and serious tone. That made the albino man in front of me go silent for a long time.

"We're sorry. Adam stole it once and we returned it. Plus, the one we had is no longer here."

"What did you say?"

"We know you want it, but it's no longer with us."

Then why did you call me here in the first place...?!

"Watch your language, Wilbur."

"... Sorry..." He answered what I was thinking in my mind, so I couldn't continue. Then I cleared my throat to relieve embarrassment a little, and continued,

"... Then I came for nothing, didn't I?"

"No, we can help you."

"Don't tell me you remember it?"

"Of course we remember its details, but you have to do something for us."

"Of course, what is it?"

"Talk to us."

It was like he was provoking me. If all the gods were this difficult to understand, I couldn't even imagine what my father would be like. I frowned slightly in annoyance before slowly regaining my composure and accepting his request.

"How's your brother?"

"He's fine, but he's eating a lot these days. And after he ate your mom, I didn't dare look at him anymore."

"But you never left him."

"That's true, because he's my only brother right now."

"What about us?"

"... Is it okay to call you like that?"

"You don’t like us?"

"You're a god..."

"Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

"...No... But I..."

"Wilbur, listen."

Adam got up from the couch and walked closer. It made me jolts. I've never looked at anyone this close before, except for my family. Once again, the rainbow light reflected in my eyes. Adam knelt down and stroked my cheek with both hands.

"If you've studied, you'll know. We treat everyone in this dream as a friend. But you're different. You're our sibling, which isn't very common. That's why you're important to us. The reason we want to talk to you is because we want you to know how much we care about you."

I didn't reply to him, but slowly raised my hand to touch Adam's hand and stroked it gently.

"Your hand is soft... like my mother's..."

"Is that so?"

"... She's stroked my cheek like this before. I remember it..."

Adam gave a faint smile before standing up and walking to a nearby bookshelf to get the Necronomicon.

"Wait a minute... You said..."

"It's not the one we're talking about. This one was written by Adam when he called us. The other one isn't really with us anymore."

I widened my eyes when I saw him holding the book I wanted. My body trembled with eagerness. I wanted to take it right away, but I had to control my emotions when I slowly took it from Adam’s hand. But I was shocked.

"No... It's... It's not complete..."

"Let me see." He took it out of my hand and looked at it page by page.

"We haven't opened it for a long time, so we  haven't reviewed it. Let us add more details."

"... Why are you helping me?"

"Siblings should help each other. That's all."

After he finished speaking, the young man walked over to pick up a pen to add to his writing. I just stood there, staring at him silently, without saying anything, but my heart was beating so fast that it was going to explode from my chest. After a while, Adam handed it to me, which I humbly accepted and opened to check the details before looking up at the young man in surprise.

"Is it complete?" He asked.

"It's... complete. How did you remember it? When I copied it, it was so much!"

"We are part of Father's knowledge, have you forgotten?" He smiled and cocked his head slightly as if to show his pride. It made me smile. Finally... it came true…!

"I'm relieved." He smiled and rubbed my shoulder when he saw that I was starting to tear up.

"Thank you... Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, Wilbur. You can come here anytime."

"I think I'll come to you all the time... yeah... bring him with me… My brother, that gremlin would be happy to know that we have another brother."

"Great, we'll wait."

I smiled back at him as he giggled, then excused myself from the room, feeling much better than before. Maybe it was the first time I didn’t feel so alone. That geezer who was standing outside the room jumped when he saw me rushing out of the room. I shouted goodbye to him and jumped out of the building through the open window.

This is amazing!

I’ve never felt this good in my life.

It was like a whole mess had been lifted off my chest.

It was like my body had never weighed anything before.

Can this be called “high”?

Since childhood until now, I never thought that God really existed, and he was my brother.

Adam! Thank you!! Thank you very much!!

My vision started to blur as I ran back to Dunwich with all my might. It was because the tears streaming down my face were not of sadness, but of joy. I got the Necronomicon I wanted! I could call my father! Now, Ortis and I could finally get out of here!! Or even if that geezer didn't care about us like Adam said, I still had my brother like him who would be with us.

Goodbye to this world, the world that called us a monster, the world that didn't accept both of us. We could finally get out of here!! I jumped around and laughed like a maniac the whole way. It was a good thing that no one was around, or else people would have looked at me strangely. But who care?! It didn't matter anymore. If I could, I would have shouted at those idiots!!

The distance between Adam’s mansion and Dunwich was quite far, but with my strength that was greater than a human's, it would only take a day to get there. But when night came, I saw lights shining from the valley of Dunwich.

It's impossible.

Why did a village so far away from civilization have such lights shining out?

Or is it-

"Ortis!!"

It was as I thought. At the end of the village, the house in my memory was burning. The smoke was thick and the sky was dark with ashes that fell like snow. In front of them, there were many people holding torches. I tried to break through the path to go straight to the house.

"Wilbur! That's Wilbur!!" The villagers shouted before trying to grab me.

What happened?! Don't tell me it's because I borrowed the Necronomicon?! It was that old Armitage's work?! How did he know?! Because of what I copied?! How could you know that much?! I pulled out my gun and shot anyone who tried to get to me. I finally made it to the house. No one tried to follow me, which was good. I ran up to the second floor, which was rapidly collapsing. I saw Ortis sweeping things onto himself. He cried out, but when he saw me, he ran over to me.

"Brother!!" He shouted.

"What happened?! Why did they do this!!" He asked.

"There's no time to explain. We need to get out!!"

In addition to the burning sound, I could hear the barking of dogs outside. It made me shiver, but there was no time to be scared. The safety of my only brother came first! I picked up Ortis and rushed out the window. Then I jumped into the deep forest behind the house and stepped on a branch. It seemed that someone had noticed that we had escaped. We had to race against time!

I jumped from one branch to another. At least those stupid dogs wouldn't be able to hurt me if I didn't step on the ground. The branches broke off one by one. The villagers' voices and the bullets chased after me. I tried to quicken my pace. The hill was getting closer and closer, but I noticed that there was a light on the hill itself. It wasn't a torch, but a flashlight. The full moon shone down on the hill. I saw a man in formal clothes standing there. It was that old geezer Armitage and his group.

I stopped in front of them. In their hands were a shotgun. My pistol definitely wouldn't be enough. They also had magic powder and Necronomicon. Don't tell me they knew how to get rid of the old one?! And then there were the villagers who were chasing after me along with the dogs. We were cornered... We were cornered.

"Old bastard..." I gritted my teeth in anger. I didn't think that an old man close to death like you would be able to stop me.

I couldn't open the book because I was holding Ortis. Even if I used my tail, it wouldn't be in time. It would take only a split second to deal with them before they shot me with a shotgun. But if I could deal with them, the approaching dogs would definitely get the chance to attack me. And if I ran, we wouldn't have a chance to perform the ritual. This place would be destroyed when they found out our entire plan! Either way, we'd die or turn into jelly.

This is bad!!

This is bad!!

"B-Brother, these people are-"

"Ortis..." I hugged him tightly, trying to hold back the tears, but I couldn't. Thinking that this would be our last moment, I couldn't accept it anymore.

"I love you... I'm sorry we didn't get to see our father together."

"What did you say?!"

I threw Ortis away from me as far as possible, then picked up the Necronomicon to summon my father. At least if I died, Ortis would be with him. As soon as I opened the book, it was at the same moment that the librarian's group aimed to shoot me. The book was pierced with many holes by the bullets. And at such a close range, my body must have been torn apart. I saw my own blood splattering and everything gradually darkened.

Humans are afraid of death because they cannot escape it. Ortis and I, being creatures that never aged, were curious about that. Until the day my grandfather and mother passed away, I understood how scary it was.

I was scared...

I never thought that darkness could be this scary.

I tried to open my eyes.

I tried to move my body.

But it didn't work.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't control my body.

This must be the same as the day my grandfather passed away. He was lying lifeless and motionless on the bed. Am I going to be like that too? I don't hear any whippoorwills around here. Does that mean they won't get my soul?

Ortis...

What about Ortis?

Will he…

"..."

"You're awake now?"

That voice is…

"A-Adam?"

"Good morning, my dear brother."

The first light of dawn should be the sun, but I see Adam's light shining in. At first, I thought I was dead, but when my sight was clearer, I found myself in a clean bedroom. It was definitely not mine, and this wasn't my house either.

"What happened? This is..."

"Our mansion."

"H-huh? W-how is that? Ortis? What about Ortis?!"

Adam pointed to me with a smile. When I looked back, I saw Ortis lying next to me, but his body had shrunk to the size of a child, and my body had also been healed. What happened? I turned to Adam in confusion.

"Ortis helped you escape."

"H-huh?"

"Last night, he held your body and successfully escaped. His body got smaller because he spat out what he ate to buy time. And as you can see, he brought you here and waited until you woke up."

"How long did I sleep?"

"Two days."

"..."

This is a miracle.

A complete miracle!

We both survived and were rescued!

I found myself smiling. How long has it been since I smiled like this? It must have been after my grandfather passed away and my mother... Adam slowly got up and hugged me while lightly stroking my back. It made me cry.

How long has it been since I felt this tenderness?

Adam let go of me and said he would prepare food for me and Ortis to rest comfortably and I did that because it was the first time I felt safe and warm after it was just me and Ortis. I lay down and lightly stroked his hair before saying goodnight to him and falling asleep.

After that day, news about Dunwich Village appeared in the newspapers, saying that someone had attempted to perform some ritual in the high valley of Dunwich, which was the rural village of Arkham. The culprit escaped, but Dr. Henry Armitage had gone insane and had to be admitted to the asylum. The others in the village had fled the area, thinking it was a curse. I think the reason that old geezer went insane was because he saw the real form of Ortis after using the magic powder. It serves him right because he puts himself into this mess in the first place.

We continued to live with Adam after that. Everything was fine until that old man,Graham, passed away, and Adam decided to sell the mansion to travel. Of course, I had no problem with this. As long as I was with him and Ortis, I am ready to follow him anywhere.

[bonesandthebees]

Have I mention I love the Sandduo in this? I am getting FED. it almost feels like Phil is just keeping busy while waiting for Wilbur to get to him. It could also be that Wilbur’s intel is more important than whatever he was doing.

And they get straight to business. It goes: how was the tour -> to Ranboo cut it short, but they will be useful -> Tomys has trouble keeping his mouth shot -> to the specific intel that Tomys does not know why he’s at the palace. It’s very efficient to the point it becomes clear that Wilbur has probably done this a lot, if not about info he gather somewhere then because Phil probably drilled him in learning to observe and made him recall and analyse everything he saw at certain occasions.

I love the scheming though. And Phil is so proud. He’s also laugh at his son for being offended (which, kinda bad parenting since it invalidates Wilbur’s feelings, whether or not he’s correct to be offended). Phil does get past how funny it is to because Wilbur is reacting very strongly to how annoying is (which is because of the subconscious jealousy and the fact Phil would have probably scolded him to hell and back if he’d said that to someone at 13).

Side note: I am totally not looking at Phil’s hypocrisy with [“I think you’re judging him a bit harshly. He’s thirteen.”] when we know his son was already observing council meetings at that age. Like double standard much. (Yes, I’m getting very defensive of Rose!Wilbur, he has issues and I’m here for it, but man poor kid.)

[A beat passed. Phil sighed and moved his shoulder away. / “You’ll have to learn to put up with it, because I want you to try and befriend him.”] again, disappointment when Wilbur get too stuck in his own feelings about Tomys to do what Phil wants a realise the opportunity presented to him and befriend the kid.

And it’s so interesting to see the relationship flip like that. To see how fast it goes from warm and a proud father to cold and disappointment. It once again emphasises how much Wilbur will do for his father’s approval. And it will be very interesting to see how far he’s really willing to go and how much a blind eye he will turn. He knows befriending Tomys to use his is wrong, but he’ll still do it, even though he’d rather have someone else do the dirty work and not think about the moral implications.

[Another thing they both knew: Phil said he couldn’t force him to do this, but there was no real choice here. He was his father’s son, after all.] I don’t know how long ago this chapter came out, but just know I have been losing my mind about this sentence since the chapter came out. The implications, Bee. The implications! On one side it’s the unspoken truth that Phil always gets his way and Wilbur will do anything for his father’s approval. On the other it’s the fact that, just like his father, Wilbur wants to be good at the game and get every advantage. So he will play dirty to get what he wants and show down his own emotions to do it.

2 more lines: [You have an advantage here, and you’d be a fool not to use it,” Phil said, his eyes like chips of ice as he stared Wilbur down.] Harsh and manipulative and getting exactly the result Phil wanted.

[“I’ll play nice with Tomys.”] This makes my skin crawl. And Phil going back to approval, but Wilbur still feeling cold because it’s not something he wants to do is so good. He’s still just a pawn in the game to his father, even if he’s his favourite pawn and the horse he’s banked all his money on.

That concludes chapter 2. I will be back another time for chapter 3.

(5/5)

-🌲

I'm so glad you're loving the sandduo there's so much of it coming your way

oh phil does have plenty to do believe me, but he's just eager to know what wilbur found out about the new potential heir as soon as possible.

I'll confirm they've done this before. phil has been training wilbur in intel gathering since he was a kid. after all, when you're hosting a ball where you get to ply a bunch of very important nobles with fine wine, it's much easier to get information out of them once they're sufficiently drunk if you're an innocent looking 12 year old kid compared to, say, the right hand to the king.

in total fairness, wilbur is being dramatic and way overreacting to tommy's comment. niki and quackity have both made jokes about his height before and he doesn't mind them, it's just that he specifically is annoyed by tommy doing it because he wants to be petty and phil can tell.

there's definitely some subconscious jealousy there though. god knows wilbur would've gotten an earful if he did half the things tommy did in that first day at his age. phil's very much being a hypocrite with the "he's only thirteen" argument but at the same time phil is thinking of it more in the sense of tommy is thirteen and wasn't raised for this lifestyle, as opposed to wilbur who he's been mentoring in these kinds of political games since he was old enough to first understand them.

wilbur's morality in this is very interesting because while he's plenty aware of certain things being wrong, he doesn't actually... care all that much? of course you could argue he just doesn't want to disappoint his father, which is very true, but even though he can see the moral issue with befriending tommy just to use him he doesn't actually have a real problem with it. there's a lot of things you'll see that wilbur knows logically are wrong, but he doesn't actually care all that much about.

so glad that line made you insane I wrote it and was like ohhhhh that's it there we are. wilbur is his father's son. he's going to do what his father asks. he's doing everything he can to become a mirror image of his father. he's already more like phil than he realizes.

:))) so glad you enjoyed!! these were very fun for me to read thank you

[syn4k]

Established Ideas For Writing Projects That Will Probably Also Be Quite Large And Time Consuming That Ive Been Idly Rotating for Months While Working On Ashes

That one play that the theatre kids in the Emhec Café universe are working on (untitled)

Formatted as a script for a play; will need to do additional research on how plays are created and formatted

Because I'm me, will also include some metadata (i.e annotations, scribble marks as allowed by ao3 formatting, might have to make a whole work skin for it dear lord i hope it doesn't come to that) from the three authors (Ren, Sausage, and also Wilbur Soot because he's here too)

Play is about a werewolf knight who receives an order from the king to hunt down and kill a werewolf that has been spotted in a nearby forest, which also happens to be the werewolf.

Sausage and Ren are writing the play as a comedy/drama with a healthy bit of gay subtext interjected because why on earth would they not; Wilbur is using it as an outlet to vent about his recent divorce and mostly just adds dramatic angsty monologues that are NOT in line with the tone of the rest of the play at all but the other two let him keep helping because 1. it's funny and 2. nobody knows how or where wilbur lives and they're worried that if he doesnt come to these meetings anymore rhen he might just straight up die.

none of my ideas for this are actually written down anywhere, all of them were brainstormed on a call with a friend like five months ago

immensely ambitious project but would also be fun as hell to write

The Odyssey but make it a modern day roadtrip AU- working title atm is "Took a Wrong Turn at a 7-11 (The Modyssey)"

(original idea by @ wolfythewitch here on Tumblr)

yes, i am going to attempt to interpret a millennia old classic work that has become a part of western literary canon. no, i have not actually read the odyssey before.

everyone has the same name and im like 90% sure that nobody dies. dunno how anything will work again i havent read the odyssey

instead of the argo being a ship, it is a camper van.

i literally have no idea how this is going to work but trust me okay i will do it eventually and it will be glorious and it will be posted to ao3.

Writing Projects That I Need To Actually Complete Before Starting Anything Else Mentioned Above

Echoes in the Halls of the Deeps

YOU HAVE ABANDONED IT FOR LITERAL FUCKING MONTHS GET BACK TO THIS PROJECT IT IS TFC CENTRIC YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING

Arsenic Tea (or Death and her Angel)

this one's been shoved way down the priority list i'll get to it someday but i started it for nanowrimo 2022 and burnt out so bad that i had to just scrap it and do something else to get a grade because i did it for a grade. it's a great concept! i was just in the trenches at the time

[poured-my-past-down-the-drain]

TOMMY!!! PRETTY BOY!!!

Is there any metal you can't wear? In terms of jewelry stuff? I'm totally not buying gifts I promise :]

Also, you are NOTTT normal

– tubbo.

YES HI I AM PRETTY 😇😇

Ummmmm 🤔🤔 I used to not be able to have certain kinds of silver but I think after the Vault thing the book kiiind of built my skin back wrong 🤔 so I lost that allergy. Now I can wear whatever 😌

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ☹️ I don’t meow or wriggle like Wilbur though ☹️

[dragooned-speaks]

Down Into The Empty Pit of H*ll

Hello ppl! My first attempt at an actual fandom fic, and since I never watched the streams, I did my best but some details may be off. Also, this applies to personality. I did my best to write them in character, but when you’re relying on fanfics to do this… yeah. Also, Tommy was exiled on an island.. right? I tried not to cuss for Tommy so… Also, this might be stretching the timeline (I’m not that up to date on Dream SMP), and this probably didn’t happen, but I wrote this. Now it’s my headcanon (my first!) Also, fair warning, I didn’t read through this after writing it. Whelp, gotta pray on my life for it I guess.

TWs: Death, Temporary Death, Major Character Death, Permanent Deaths, Limbo, Dead People, Bleeped Out Cusses, Angst Without A Happy Ending, Spoilers for Dsmp, Killing, Slight gore? (Aka dead body right after dying), This Is Kinda An Ambiguous Ending, Possession, Illusions, Limbo, Emotional Damage, characters that are (probably) ooc.

“Why don’t you go see him then.”

With those words, the moldy, brown green potato hit him for the last time, and-

THUD

Cold concrete pressed against his skin as the freezing temperature jump started him once more. He had definitely broken something, and he could practically hear his wings screaming in pain. He brought his hands up to push away the dirty, grimy blond hair before freezing. His hands were calloused from exile, but he swore he had at least dunked his hair in water once or twice in the cold, briny water of the sea that surrounded his island.

“Tommy?”

The voice trembled in the air, as if it might fall flat of its target. It was quiet, somber, and yet… it was familiar to him.

Turning, he found himself faced with his.. his brother. But there was something wrong with him. His once peachy, vibrant skin had dulled to an ashy gray, worse than Pogtopia, borderline monotone. His wings were no longer brown, rather ragged and gray not unlike Ghostbur’s. Bright warm brown eyes were empty like the void and dark like the corners of this strange hall.

His brown, fluffy hair he loved to spend so long caring for was limp and dull, sporting a white streak. The beanie he loved so much was tattered and worn, and it looked years older than when Tommy had last seen it.

“You died?” Wilbur asked, without beating around a bush as he would have before.

Confused, the young avian tilted his head.

“I… didn’t die?”

Wilbur smiled, but it looked sad, and tears that used to flow stained his face.

“That’s what they all say, don’t they?”

Dying… suddenly, a light brown blob flashed before his eyes, being swung straight towards him as he closed his eyes, waiting, as he heard the sadistic laugh of the one named-

“Tommy?”

A cry of agonizing pain shook the halls, and Tommy jumped as his reddish brown wings ruffled in panic. He turned over to see… Wilbur, flickering as he fell to the floor. Without knowing it, Tommy was instantly at his side, easing him back to his feet.

“What happened W- what happened?”

He wasn’t ready to say the name just yet.

Again, Wilbur flashed him that same sad smile he had before.

“It’s Dream, Tommy.”

Confusion must have been clear on his face, as Wilbur took in a deep breath before speaking.

“The wielder of the Revival Book controls limbo-“

“The Revival Book?!” Tommy interrupted. “It’s real?”

“Yes, Tommy,” Wilbur said, smile somehow even sadder. “It’s real, and its wielder controls limbo, whether it’s pleasant or terrible, or if it feeds off your fear.”

“Dream…”

“Yes, and I was chosen for this position.”

“What position?”

“I have to show people the way and send them on to their limbo.”

Tommy’s blue eyes quickly snapped towards Wilbur’s face from where they were straying away.

“Wait what?!”

Wilbur’s eyebrows bent in a u shape, as if sympathetic.

“The limbo knows all I want is to keep people safe, so now I have to send people off knowing that they’ll be suffering.”

“Why can’t I just stay here though?” Tommy asked, head tilting in the bird like way he tended to. “What’s stopping me?”

“Oh, Tommy, I would keep every spirit here if I could, but I can’t.”

“Well- that’s- that’s stupid!” Tommy spat, turning his head away before Wilbur could see his watery eyes.

Suddenly, Wilbur’s eyes shot open, and his body stiffened.

“Wilbur?” Tommy tried.

“Glad to see you two have been getting along,” Wilbur sneered.

Immediately, Tommy stiffened, recognizing the sadist’s voice.

“Oh, come on Tommy,” Wilbur grinned. “Playtime’s over now.”

“Get the f*ck away b*tch!” Tommy cried, scrambling backwards, tears evaporating in his fear.

“Come on, that’s no way to treat your only friend, is it now?”

Tommy flinched, and slowly glanced up, feeling the feathers on his head poof as he saw Wilbur’s eyes glowing that hateful shade of green as strings held his brother up like a puppet. Before he registered what was happening, “Wilbur” grabbed his arm and dragged him into a subway train that had come without him noticing.

As “Wilbur” threw him into the train car, he saw tears glistening in the dark eyes of his once brother.

“Goodbye Wilby.” He whispered, and by magic, which was probably true, Wilbur heard him.

As the train doors began to close, Tommy saw Wilbur’s eyes no longer glowing as he ran toward the shutting doors, full on crying. As the train began to move, he barely caught the whisper of sound that left his brother’s lips.

“Goodbye Toms.”

Tommy didn’t know how long it was until the train doors opened, only that it felt like months had passed in the small, compact compartment he was shut in. He grew used to the hard, plastic chairs and the shade of green that ruined his life striped against the gray iron of the walls. He knew where everything was, so there was no need to open his eyes. It hurt when he kept them open too long. Finally, when he felt like he was going stir crazy, the doors finally opened.

Slowly, Tommy’s eyes peeled open, and all he saw was a hazy version of the hall he had left Wilbur in. Wilbur…

As he focused his eyes, he jumped when he saw Wilbur’s sad, somber face appear in the mist. But something was wrong… his eyes glistened like a mad man, and he held his hands near a- Tommy’s heart dropped. He held his hand near a button.

The Button.

“It was never meant to be!” Wilbur shouted at the sky.

Tommy sprung at him, muscles coiled tight as his wings beat to help him travel towards his avian brother.

“No!”

Wilbur slammed his hand on the button, and everything burned a bright color. Tommy braced himself, wings instinctively covering his head and body with the soft feathers. When the painful glare dimmed and his eyes weren’t killing him, he opened his eyes. There it was, L’manberg, in all its unfinished glory.

“Do it Philza, kill me!”

“Yo-you-re- You’re my son!”

“They all want you to, look at them!”

Tommy ran towards the pair, already knowing what had happened on November 16th. He tackled towards Phil, only to fall straight through, landing hard and skidding on the cold concrete flooring.

“Do it, Killza kill me!”

Tommy heard a gut wrenching scream, and as he turned, he froze at the body of his brother, cradled in the hands of his killer.

As he turned, the mist filled the empty space as he curled into a small ball in that empty, green fog filling his senses. How long had it been since he entered his limbo? It felt like years, ticking by as voices spoke seemingly in his ear to gain his attention and force him to live through another scene that he runs from.

“We have a traitor here in our midst.”

The execution.

“You wanna be a hero Tommy?”

Technoblade’s betrayal.

“It’s for the peace, Tommy.”

The betrayal of Tubbo, his best friend.

“Tommy. You f*cked up.”

Scared, Tommy’s wings poofed out again, and he subconciously jerked his head towards the voice. As he focused, bright green eyes shone in the darkening mist. The unnaturally pale fingers grabbed at his arm once more and tugged him upwards.

“F*CK!” Tommy screamed, and no, he did not scream like a little girl.

He screamed like the big man he was. The ceiling rushed towards him, closing in as he reached the roof of his limbo- and passed straight through. For another eternity he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think, as he hurtled through dark void after dark void.

He glimpsed a broken man, bottles littering the floor and ram horns jutting into his eyes. A short, squat man wearing a mustache and a brightly colored sombrero patterned with red, green and white sticking out his tongue while crying out of his left eye at the sight of hundreds of dead bodies. So many others flashed by, limbo after limbo as Tommy shot upwards, dragged by the hand of his “friend”.

Finally, he broke through the surface, appearing in a small obsidian box with lava for a wall. He gasped for breath as he lay, heaving on the mix of crying and normal obsidian.

“How long were you down there Tommy?”

Tommy ignored him.

“I said.”

Fingers grabbed harshly at Tommy’s face, pulling it to look up at the face of the liar, the psycho, the crazy manipulator who ruined his life. His supposed friend smirked down at him, green eyes glowing maniacally.

“How long. Were you down there?”

“I- I don’t know,” Tommy rambled. “A- a week- a month? Ph-Phil, where’s Phil? Where’s Fundy? Where’s Jack? Anybody?!”

At the final sentence, he looked around the cell desperately.

“Tommy-“

“L- let me go you b*stard.”

“TOMMY!”

Silence followed the loud yell that Dream had emitted as Tommy cowered beneath the older man.

“You were down there for two days.”

“Wha- what?”

“Two days, Tommy, no more, no less.”

Tommy, however, wasn’t listening as he looked at his back. Or rather, his wings. They were gray, twisted masses that, instead of Wilbur’s new bright blue like Ghostbur’s when he hands out his blue, it was a dark, leafy green that leered at him.

“Tommy. Are. You. Listening.”

Each and every syllable was an angry breath. Tommy slowly cranked his head upwards, as he say Dream readying another starch filled punch.

“Maybe now you’ll learn to listen.”

As the fist charged towards his face, a new but prominent instinct in Tommy took hold, and he phased through the punch. He wanted to laugh at Dream’s shocked face, but he was too scared.

He had finally cracked, and he yelled with all his might, “SAM! HELP! HE’S KILLING ME!”

Dream flinched away from the yell and another voice was heard in the distance.

“I’m coming Tommy! Just hang on!”

The lava slowly stopped dripping downwards and Tommy stepped onto the platform.

“Suck it, green boy.”

As he was leaving he brought his hands up once more to brush away the blonde locks- but once again he froze. A huge chunk of his hair had a white streak, just like the one he saw in Wilbur’s hair.

[milqueandsugar]

Hello may I request some Vilbur, Techno or Fundy who has absolutely no sense of personal space and an easily flustered s/o? 😔👌🏼👌🏼 Thank youu

🏵 Your Tea Is Ready 🏵

Warnings: slight nsfw

Genre: fluff

| Technoblade |

When techno is comfortable with someone all sense of boundaries are lost

In piglin culture it's normal for packs to be incredibly close, and you Ranboo and Philza are his pack

You had been living with him for a while and got used to his surprisingly touchy ways

Resting his head on yours when hes tired, playing with your hair, braiding it even if you let him, hell he even asks you to help put on his corset from time to time

But when you guys started dating? Yeah absolutely no boundaries with him

Walking around in only a towel after showers, sleeping far less clothes then he used to, holding your hand when doing chores with you

With phil in his own home he could be as free as he liked with you, well, that's what he thought until you sat him down one day

"Tech we need to talk"

" Is there something wrong, Aphrodite?"

"Y-yes its.. just for the love of the gods put some clothes on "

You gesture to his shirtless state and he looks down then back at you

"Would that make you more comfortable to talk to me"

"No! No that's it the that's the conversation, I love you tech, and this is your home as much as it is mine, but when I'm doing chores or doing something, itd be nice of you weren't a uh.. distraction"

"Am I distracting you, Y/N?"

"..no"

Needless to say you got railed that night

| Vilbur |

Wilbur wasnt always like this

You weren't sure exactly when this started but you had two Main theories

1) that between the abuse of training and isolation of pogtopia he would take any soft touches and love he could get

2) he finally realized how bad his touch and affected you

You were currently laying in your shared bed, his head resting on your chest as he left the occasional kiss, almost to signify that he was still awake

His hands wandered up and down your clothed sides, occasionally pulling st the hem of your shirt or Jeans

"Wilbur?"

"Hmm?"

"This is kind of a weird question...".

"I'm kind of a weird guy, hit me with it"

Taking in a deep breath you continue,

"Why are you so... touchy all of a sudden? I'm not complaining, but I'd like to know"

Chuckling wilbur sat up, legs either side of your own as he leaned forward to caress our cheek

"Because I love seeing how red you can get"

The words alone brought heat to your cheeks

Turning your head Wilbur left a few fleeting kisses across the scarlet skin before leaning down to your ear

"So pretty"

| Fundy |

Fundy is the king of clingyness

If you're anywhere within a ten mile radius expect him to have him holding you

Fundy has never had anything that was his, and anything that was wasnt around for too long

He couldn't bare losing anything else, let alone you

Unfortunately this tends to lead to him startling you with unexpected hugs

One time you were chopping veggies for dinner when a sudden warmth poked at your back

"AHH-"

"Dont scream! It's just me!"

"Jesus Fundy! I was cutting stuff! I could have cut you!"

"You're... you're facing away from me"

That earned him a pickle to the fore head

Though his sudden affection has led to several accidents, you wouldn't have it any other way

Okay maybe you'd like him to stop coming after you from behind but the rest is okay!

"Arent I supposed to e the skittish one?"

"You regularly attack me!"

"With what, love?"

[toiletwipes]

Dude imagine oblivious roommate eventually just getting absolutely railed by wilbur after a date gone wrong, him just leaning over them telling him he's the only one for them, that they never should've went on that date, see how it worked out? He can make you feel so good baby, just let him show you. Also we doing kin assignments?? Let's gooo -clover

Hi yes you've got the same vibe as Mumbo and Deadlox mixed together no I will not elaborate-

Simpbur had watched you get ready, from clipping that stud in and talking your ear off about this guy, "you hardly even know him!" But you don't mind the nagging and the overprotective roommate, you'd much rather he care about your well-being than give fuck all.

Well, he also watched just over an hour later when he revealed to be a huge asshole, your eyes threatening to spill tears that he knew were all his fault. If you'd just listen to him-

No, he breathed in, as you buried yourself in his arms on his bed, you made the right choice, coming home and coming to him. He cooed to you, telling you how much you're worth, telling you you're better than whatever garbage had taken you out to dinner.

"If only someone as amazing as you liked me," you nearly sobbed, and then as you dry your eyes and went to go looking for ice cream, he realizes this his chance. So when you come back, you bring the tub, spoon and a fork, he's leaning against his bed and he lets you put it down before he's cupping your cheek and kissing your forehead, wrapping a single arm around you as he whispers just how much he cares about you.

And when one thing leads to another and you're gripping his wrinkled bedsheets as he works you open on his fingers, crying at the feeling of his long fingers brushing against your walls and him using his other hand to rub up and down your skin, down your back and down your front, feeling you everywhere. And when he pulls his fingers out and sticks them inside your mouth, he groans at your compliance, pushing his cock inside at the same time. Pulling your back up so it's against his body, he fucks into you, muffling all of your noises as he lets out unfiltered, filthy thoughts into your ear.

"My baby, you've been thinking of me, I bet, on that date with that bastard, reckon he couldn't do this to you? He would never make you feel this good, only I can, right? Tell me how good I'm making you feel, tell me, baby."

With all of his intoxicating words and the way his voice vibrates against your body, and the way he's hitting all the rights spots, when you cum, you cry, for how could you have thought that anyone else besides Simpbur give you what you want, give you what you need?

[wrenqueenisboss]

DSMP Angsty Imagines - React to Your Death pt. 2 --- Bench Trio

Part 2 to my series of “dsmp boys react to your death”: Pronouns used: they/them (if mentioned) Warnings: cursing, fight scene (implied), description of wounds, death, grief, threatening, weapons  Note: this is strictly platonic as the bench trio members are all minors Words: 1.1+

The list: c!George c!Bench Trio - (you are currently on this post) c!Wilbur c!Dream c!Technoblade - (coming soon!)

Y/n, Tommy, Ranboo, and Tubbo had always been inseparable. Never was there a moment when any of the four weren’t together. Just a chill day around the server? You bet they were walking around and causing chaos, mischievous smiles upon their faces. One of them had some mental shit to deal with? You’d bet the other three were right there, soothing and distracting. There was a war? Hell yes. The four would be fighting side by side, back to back. If one member of their team stumbled, the others would pick up the slack. That’s just how they were. Until they couldn’t be.

You see, the world doesn’t wait. It doesn’t pause the chaos and cruelty and destruction just so four teenagers can grow up with a proper childhood. No one puts away their swords, lowers their fists, or settles arguments. That just isn’t how life works. Yeah, it’s fucking unfair. 

It’s unfair that Tubbo became president at such a young age, that Tommy had been manipulated and exiled, that Ranboo’s own mind had been taken over, that Y/n had been put through so much over the course of their life. It’s unfair that the best friends were forced to fight in a war. A war that shouldn’t have been going on in the first place.

They gathered their gear together, helped one another don their enchanted armor, polished their weapons as a team, flashed fake smiles in an effort to lighten the god-awful situation.

“Ya know,” Y/n said as they ran the whittling stone across the blade of their diamond sword. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been through worse.”

Ranboo barked a laugh, his smile brightening both his green and red eyes. “Nah, I’m pretty sure this is the worst.”

Tubbo gave Y/n a sympathetic smile as he placed his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder. The enderman hybrid paused for a moment. “Give Y/n a break. They’re trying to lighten the mood.”

“Thanks, Tub.”

Tommy looked up from his own sword with a frown. “There isn’t any fucking point in lightening the point. We’re in a really shitty situation and that’s that.”

It was true. None of them had any real experience with combat. Well- that isn’t exactly true. All four of them had lost at least one life to violence. They’d all tried to fight back, but they were too weak for it to have any effect. They still were. Against people like Dream and Technoblade - anybody,  really - they were at a huge disadvantage.

Tubbo did what he could to break the grim atmosphere. “The only way we can have any hope of making it out of this alive is if we stick together. We fight side by side and no one gets left behind.”

Y/n scoffed, even as their heart dropped to the pit of their stomach. “You all have a much greater chance of surviving. Remember, I'm on my last life.”

Everyone went silent. It wasn’t as if that was a surprise. They were all there when their friend had been pushed into the lava, when they’d lost their second life to blood loss a few years later. Everyone knew that Y/n was on their last life, but it was still scary to be reminded.

“We're not going to let you die, Y/n. And I’ll be damned if you give up and let yourself die,” Tommy’s words were forceful. Yes, they held a kind sentiment, but his tone was all business. That’s what happens when you’re forced into war way before you should.

Ranboo nodded. “We live together. We fight together. And if we have to, we’ll die together.”

Tubbo threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Goddammit! No one is dying!”

Oh, how wrong he would soon be.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Tommy, Ranboo, and Tubbo were right there when Y/n was struck down. Right there as the arrow pierced their chest, the tip sparkling red with their blood.

Tubbo let out a shrill scream of anguish, Ranboo froze and then dove to catch their body, Tommy’s gaze darkened to murderous malice as he let a whispered swear fall from his lips.

Y/n’s body was carried to a cave a few blocks away from the fighting. The three boys sitting around their still form, assessing the wound. Honestly, what was there to assess? Y/n had taken an arrow to the chest and died. That was it. It was cruel how simple their death was.

Ranboo squeezed their hand, heart breaking as he realized their warmth was steadily fading. “I can’t believe they’re actually dead,” he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking with emotion. He couldn’t cry though. Another one of the universe’s cruel curses.

Tubbo was already crying. His shoulders already shaking. “We were supposed to live together. We still had so much time. They still had so much time. And now... I guess they don’t.”

Tommy was pacing the cave anxiously. His blond hair, already messed up from the fighting, had been even more wrecked by him fervently running his fingers through it. 

Everyone looked like a mess. Clothes and uniforms were ripped and dirty. There were more than a few bloodstains. Skin was bruised (badly, in some places) and   sported a tapestry of cuts and scrapes that would later heal into thin scars. Not that anyone was new to scars.

The speed of Tommy’s pacing increased before he froze completely, only looking his friends in the eye for a fleeting heartbeat. His gaze returned to Y/n’s still body before flitting about again. “They’re not dead,” he muttered.

“What?” Tubbo’s voice shook as his tears fell.

“Y/n isn’t dead. They can’t be.”

Ranboo rose from his spot at the body’s side to comfort his distraught friend. “Tommy, you’re in denial. Y/n’s dead. They were killed-”

Tommy swatted away Ranboo’s hand before it could even connect with his shoulder. “They aren’t fucking dead!” he shouted. His head dropped forward as he stared at the ground. “Y/n promised. They wouldn’t break a promise like that.”

“Y/n didn’t have a choice.” 

Tommy was too busy forming some stupidly reckless plan in his head to actually hear what one of his friends had said. But Tubbo and Ranboo recognized that look in Tommy’s eyes. Recognized the gleam of mischief, the flash of lividity, the sparkle of determination.

And deep down they knew it would be useless to try and stop him, but they tried anyway.

“Tommy,” Tubbo began. “What you’re feeling is perfectly normal, Big man. It’s, like, the five stages of grief.”

“I don’t want to hear that therapy bullshit.” 

Ranboo tagged on, not letting Tommy protest more. “You’re already going through some of them right now. Denial and anger. Now you just-”

Tommy silenced them with a hand. “Fine. I’ve passed denial, I sure as hell am still angry, but they really should add another stage to that list.” He began walking towards the entrance of the cave, back to the fighting.

“Revenge.”

[maddenleftchat]

Hmm... In a yan!Wilbur mood. How do you think he'd react to a darling who hated him and kept trying to escape getting access to their comfort item/activity somehow and becoming cheerful and compliant shortly afterwards? (Ace Anon)

Nice to see you again Ace! It's be a while.

:)

Triggers: Fighting, mention of being kidnapped, possessive behaviors, obsessive behaviors, Wilby being angry boi, and yandere like behaviors. Please be careful when reading.

Enjoy.

Wilbur

Wilbur was fed up to say the least.

He would just be sitting in his office, minding his own business..and BANG.

There goes your door for the third time today.

Reluctantly Wilbur sits up and begins to walk into the hallway of your room.

You're gone. Of course you are…

Wilbur caught you fairly quickly by the arm.

As you were in the middle of a full sprint your arm was aggressively yanked back, causing the rest of you to fly back.

But Wilbur wasn't invincible either, along with you.

But you weren't given much time to stand up before you had the curly headed man on top of you.

Both of you were fed up at this point.

You just wanted your bee plushy, and Wilbur just wanted you to behave.

And before you could say anything, he was going off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! I've given you so many chances, and you just keep trying! I can't even sleep comfortably without worrying about losing you! What have you not learned yet?! Do you hate me that much?!"

As Wilbur's words pierced through you, tears streamed down your face.

It wasn't until Wilbur heard your soft sobs that made him shut up almost immediately.

What did he do wrong?

Why were you the one crying?

Shouldn't you be the one screaming?

Why weren't you fighting?

Why did you always go in the same direction?

Didn't you learn that this way wouldn't work?

Similar questions will race through his thoughts until he finally asks you.

"(Name)...what do you want?!"

"My bee plushy goddamn it!" You'll scream in return.

This will leave Wilbur speechless.

That's ..that's it?

All their trouble for a fucking stuffed animal?

All this fighting?

All this screaming?

All the crying...for a bee…

"That's it?..." He'll ask.

His voice won't be happy or pleased.

It will be cold, and pissed.

"If I get your bee, you'll stop running?..."

"Yes!"

And with that, Wilbur will stand up.

Throw you back into your room.

Lock you in.

And leave the house in the woods to travel all the way to the smp, to get your fucking bee.

Wilbur won't talk to you for a few days after this.

He'll just drop off your food and water three times a day.

Unless you have to use the bathroom, forget going out of the room.

Is this a punishment?

Yes.

Why?

Well, why didn't you just ask?

Wilbur will keep you locked up for your own safety.

He doesn't want to do anything to leave scars on your pretty skin.

~

I would highly recommend apologizing to Wilbur after he does decide to talk to you again.

Trust me...it's for the best.

If you refuse to apologize...well …

A punishment might be in order for you….

~

Inshort: It honestly just seems better to ask Willbur for your little comfort items instead of just running off to go and get it.

Word count: 495

_________________________________________

Thanks for reading!

[celestialking]

Skittle Bomb

Word count: 1k

Warnings: death, implied death, jealousy, mentions of alcohol

Mob boss Wilbur? Being protective of the reader when other people hit on her perhaps?

Somebody was about to lose a finger, or an eye, Wilbur hadn't decided yet. He ground his teeth together as he watched you con a free drink out of an older gentlemen. A skittle bomb. Wilbur should have been used to it, you did it all the time. But with the way that man was looking at you it made Wilbur want to tear his throat out. Actually. That wouldn't be such a bad idea if he could just- "Wilbur?" A soft voice made him look up. 

"My angel," he purred. 

You had recognized the look in his face. More than likely he had already come up with twenty-seven different ways to kill the man you flirted with. One way including setting him ablaze with a molotov, you were sure of it. Wilbur grasped your hand kissing your knuckles gently. His lips warm against your cool skin. "I wish you would stop flirting with others, i could have bought you anything you wanted," he murmured dropping your hand. "But that takes the fun out if it," you giggle sitting in his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist. 

He sipped his own drink slowly. Still thinking about how satisfying it would be to end that man. "Can we leave yet?" You asked softly. He hummed in response beginning to shift to get up. You left his lap and grapped his hand. As you were about to cross the doorway a familiar voice boomed "Wilbur," you both turned to see Techno an allied mafia boss. The friendship between the two was complicated, but they tended to get the work done. "Techno, my good friend," they embraced each other. "Say how busy are you?" Wilbur tilted his head slightly at the question. 

"For an old friend never," "Mm, and how busy would you say to do a favor for an old friend," Wilbir cross his arms slightly "what kind of favor?" The favor in question was that Techno was supposed to meet a rival mafia boss across the river to get something important. Wilbur agreed to go in his place. "They're late," Wilbur mumbled pulling a cigar out of his pocket. You were both leaning against the hood of his car. "I'm never late Soot, just selectively in the wrong place," a voice said. A masked face filled your face. 

"Dream," 

"Wilbur," 

Wilbur's lip curled into a sneer. "Of course, this is why Techno wouldn't tell me who I was meeting," by Dream's side was none other than Sapnap of course. They went everywhere together. Then an extra man stood with them. "Where is Techno by the way?" Wilbur took a long drag of his cigar. Breathing out the smoke into the cold air. "Busy," he shrugged. "What do you want Dream?" "I set up this meeting to talk to the blade. Not you," Dream adjusted his shoulders, seeming a bit tense. "Wilbur," you muttered quietly. He glanced down at you, hardened eyes softening. 

"Yes angel?" You made a motion to his cigar which he gladly handed you. Wilbur turned back to the other 3 men. "Nice eye candy you got there," the mystery man said. That's it. Wilbur pulled out a pistol and shot him down before anyone realized he moved. The body fell to the ground with a thump.  Just as you breathed in some of the smoke Wilbur grabbed your shirt slamming his lips on yours.    He held you to him the smoke being exhaled into his mouth.  When you both pulled away he grinned. "You could have waited til later," you mumbled shoving the cigar back in his hands. 

"I was going to get high," he chuckled. 

"Then I'll do it again," 

his attention was back upon the masked individual a few feet away. You watched Dream lazily look over to the dead man, you, then Wilbur. "Noted," "Now Dream," "I'm not speaking to you," you watched the brunette and masked individual argue. Both of them getting into each other's faces. You huffed getting off the car, you made your way to Sapnap stepping carefully over the deceased man. "You got a pistol?" "Yep," you held your hand out, Sapnap set weapon in your hand. Aiming it at the sky you shot. The argument immediately stopped, two pairs of eyes on you. You handed the gun back to Sapnap. 

"Thanks Sappy," 

you patted his cheek causing them to tint a light pink. "Now that we aren't acting like two year olds. Dream give us what we came for. Wilbur shut the fuck up," you saw a slight smirk pull on Dream’s lips. The mask high enough to reveal them. "Of course," he purred grabbing something from Sapnap. A folder was pressed into your hand. Dream grasped your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. 

You rolled your eyes. God these men would do anything to spite each other. Wilbur's blood was boiling, he grabbed you away from Dream and pulled you back to his car. "What was so important about that folder that Techno couldn't have received it himself?" He grumbled. You peaked inside of it slightly. "Just some usual info," they pulled up to Techno's, Wilbur with the folder in hand. Techno himself was sitting in his office, book in hand. 

"You couldn't have gone yourself?" Wilbur snapped throwing it on the table. "Chapter 37 was calling my name," Techno hummed, eyes never leaving the book. He flipped to the next page. "Thanks Wilbur," the brunette rolled his eyes

[onecanonlife]

Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

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

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.