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nomsfaultau · 3 months

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The Lambs Wolves Wear part 5

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

“Do you really love us?”

“No.” “Wilbur” ripped the answer out of Philza’s throat before he had time to lie. Philza swallowed roughly, throat burning with the traces of fae magic used against him. He’s fairly confident he could win in a fight between the two of them, but “Wilbur” was still at times the most dangerous out of all of them. Sly where “Technoblade” was straightforward, subtle where “Tommy” was obvious. Both the most suited to uphold the illusion of their perfect, normal, happy family, and the most determined to tear it to shreds. Only barely had Philza salvaged “Wilbur” revealing he knew the monsters had replaced his real children. And yet he was determined to destroy that lie, too.

Only, Philza didn’t understand why “Wilbur” didn’t do this in front of the others if he really wanted Philza to be ripped to shreds. No, apparently this was to be a private affair, “Wilbur” locking Philza’s bedroom door behind him. Philza couldn’t tell if the tears in his eyes were from hearing the truth, the burn of the iron knob against his spindly changeling claws, or simply an illusion designed to manipulate Philza.

But if he had the truth of how Philza felt about them, why would he bother?

“I’m not going to kill you,” “Wilbur” drawled, stalking towards where Philza sits very still at the foot of his bed. “I know that’s what you think, why you’ve been pretending to love us like this. You’re a smart guy, if nothing else.” The tears streaked through his borrowed face, clawing imperfections through the mask of the real, human Wilbur. “But you know the other two would obliterate me if I killed you. There. That’s all the logic a survivalist like you needs. So now you can stop pretending,” “Wilbur” hissed, voice rippling with fae magic.

“I don’t know how you could expect me to really love any of you.”

“I didn’t! I’m not stupid like the others, I knew going in your love was never going to be for the real me. For the kid I stole the face of, maybe, but in what world would you have ever cared about the monsters that took them from you?! You were always going to hate me when you found out!” Philza couldn’t imagine why the changeling would force his ears to think his voice cracked with betrayal. He looked up to the creature looming over him, watching the way he glared through heavy tears. Why was he still being manipulated if “Wilbur” was claiming he wanted an end to the illusion?

“Actually, it’s because love takes far more time than a few weeks. But I don’t have to love you to be kind,” Philza continued. “And what you boys need is kindness. You wouldn’t stay if there wasn’t some part of you that yearned for a soft life.” Not that the fact softened his heart to them. His manipulation of that yearning was the only thing that kept him alive and would save his real sons.

“That’s not a life I’m ever getting, though. I was never going to be a worthwhile replacement. Never. Your real son is gone, alright!? I’m never going to be perfect, wonderful Wilbur!” The features of his son washed away to reveal the truth of the changeling. Uncanny ivory skin drained of the colors and features “Wilbur” wore like a mask. The creature was almost skeletal, sharp and bony, and yet at the same time melted like candle wax. It felt wrong to watch a monster weep. “Look at me. This is the real me. No one wants this. Not me, not you, not her.”

And it was a little easier to take his claws in his own hands than it usually was, Philza careful not to brush against the faeling with his iron wedding band. He couldn’t say he wanted “Wilbur” because he never wanted any of this. But for the first time Philza realized that “Wilbur” never wanted to replace his child in the first place. “Who is ‘her’? Why would she tell you such awful things?”

“Wilbur’s” claws dug into him, the changeling’s head dropping in shame. “The Fae Queen. She tried so hard to make me Wilbur, and I just wasn’t good enough. Not for her, not for you. That’s why she stole him, she deserves better than me.”

“Wilbur” didn’t catch the spark flash in Philza’s eyes as he finally got a hint as to where one of his boys was. The taste of hope was nearly suffocating. “Trying to be someone you’re not is horrible. She never should have forced you to try.”

“I wanted to be Wilbur. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s perfect,” he spat with a voice of venom and longing in equal measure. “I can’t blame her for hating a worthless copy like me.”

“I don’t think you’re worthless–”

“You hate me. You were my one chance and I ruined it.” The changeling choked on his own words. His legs trembled and gave out, collapsing to his knees before Philza, still clutching his hands like a lifeline. Philza said nothing as he nudged “Wilbur’s” head to rest in his lap, stroking the strange silver strands so unlike the texture of his child’s dark hair. Thin locks of it wrapped around his fingers, reaching to entangle him. “I’m sorry. I knew I was going to ruin your life and still I came into it anyway.”

The changeling wept in his lap, apologizing for ever being made. Quietly, Philza drew out information from him, how the Fae Queen raised “Wilbur” to replace his child and why and when and what she’s like. Anything to help him find and save his real child. Glamours danced about the room, the dark veiled figure of the Fae Queen, the way Wilbur struggled and screamed for him as he was replaced, the thick illusion “Wilbur” had put upon the rest of his household so they wouldn’t hear Wilbur’s pleas. The cold and lonely castle that the changeling was raised in, the cruel Fae Queen trying to shape him into the child that caught his eye only to discard him. Philza gently soothed him, telling him how soul destroying it could be to pretend something was real, especially when you wanted it to be. Swearing that “Wilbur” didn’t have to pretend to be his child in order to be loved. Assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

Seeing the true form of the changeling wasn’t terrifying compared to Philza realizing there was a shred of truth to his comforting lies.

Next>

Art for this part

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fernlessbastard · 2 days

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im the psychotic wilbur anon (forgot to note im paranoid schitzo and i see myself so much in him ANYWAYS) BUT CWILBUR BPD FOR THE WORLD. (< ALSO BPD.) hottest take is that him and quackity are bpd4bpd and a huge part of their relationship is a learning curve figuring out how to navigate communication with each other and each others splits and such. i also think that wilbur tends to black split on HIMSELF more often, and quackity tends to black split on OTHERS more often. i also think that wilbur white splitting on quackity would be a whole nother thing they have to deal with, with wilbur suddenly being like "you are literally god to me and the only person who loves and cares about and understands me you are the greatest human being alive please let me worship you i love you so much" and quackity just being like "woag dude" LIKE. also im so so so for real wilbur has so much paranoid schitzo swag i dont know how to explain that this man is fucking TEXTBOOK paranoia and he has so many paranoid anxiety habits that make me feel insane. i think he always makes sure to lock the door and check the lock like six times when he comes home and he cant sleep at night if hes alone in the house so he barely slept in paradise and didnt sleep right until he moved in with quackity, i think he has really severe paranoia about imposters and intruders and also barely slept and was constantly on high alert in pogtopia and he could only really sleep when quackity visited or if tommy or technoblade shared a mat with him, i think he also has delusions of grandeur that he has to deal with a lot and reality checking him can be really dangerous especially coupled with his bpd because he then SNAPS to black splitting on himself so hard he makes himself sick, ohhhh cwilbur my sickly man i adore you so sorry for being insane in your inbox

The first ask in question

(Ok so as a disclaimer obviously headcanons are personal and there's no wrong ones and you're valid for reading it this way)

With Wilbur I very much agree, but I don't see bpd in Quackity tbh. It more so looks like ADHD alongside shit like abandonment issues, being invalidated his entire life, being generally overworked and having no healthy outlet for his feelings, having trouble identifying said feelings in the first place, etc - all of which are very common in/characteristic of ADHD. I don't remember him ever splitting. His shitty love life makes sense with ADHD too - deficiency of dopamine makes it very easy to mistake the dopamine boost from "new person to talk to" for a crush (believe me). Hypersexuality is also common in ADHD, as well as emotional dysregulation, alexithymia (difficulty/inability to identify one's own emotions), overstimulation, shutdowns, etc, which can occasionally resemble splitting, but is very different, and works through exhaustion and frustration rather than delusions. Various types of paranoia as well as heightened irritability are also very common, especially when your senses are clouded by sensory/information/emotional overstimulation. And especially the splitting outwards part just doesn't sit right with me - maybe i missed a stream or sth but I haven't seen anything like that in him. Furthermore I'd actually say he generally points negative feelings/breakdowns etc inwards for the most part - and when ADHD is being pointed inwards it usually leads exactly to developing/heightening shit like paranoia, rejection sensitivity, hypersexuality, emotional dysregulation, alexithymia, etc. He can snap and isolate himself, but it's very different to splitting. ALSO - very important part - Quackity doesn't exhibit mania episodes. He occasionally exhibits the type of hyperactivity and excitement representative of ADHD, but it's never this state of delirium with feelings of grandeur, delusions, etc. Wilbur does exhibit mania episodes - pretty heavily at that - and the contrast makes it pretty apparent that Quackity's case is different.

THAT BEING SAID I don't have bpd, so for a perspective from someone who does, here's a rant from @octobre-ackedia: <<On so many levels, Quackity doesn't show bpd symptoms. Not all abandonment issues are borderline personality disorder. I don't think I need to say it, but bpd takes over the entire life of a person, it's not just trauma. And I don't really have much to elaborate on with the ask, mostly showing Wilbur's bpd traits but that's for an entirely different rant, and I need to chill out. Quackity doesn't black split on others. It was not shown a single time. He slowly loses trust in people, he builds walls, but that's not splitting. He doesn't start to irrationally hate everyone around himself, think that people are just cruel and bad, and more importantly don't care about him, suddenly becoming aggressive towards them. He backs off a little bit more with each disappointment in people around him, ending up not so much hating, as avoiding human relationships. And he doesn't have a favourite person, not even Slime who was just so perfectly there to be an example of that. Quackity learnt how to trust the guy, building a friendship, but never became truly "obsessed" with him. He grieved his death, tried to save him, but FFS, that's not a favourite person, that's how human relationships work (or more so, hybrid relationships haha). He doesn't get manic. You could say he becomes strongly confident, hypersexual or overworking himself, but the important part in it is the reasoning. He doesn't start believing he is some sort of a saviour for the world and can build a perfect country, or that he doesn't need anyone for that. He starts a project and might go overboard with it, but it's never this... aggressive as with bpd. With the 9 most visible symptoms, he has maybe 3 of them, which are all clear reactions to specific situations. Unstable relationships? Schlatt became an abuser, Karl and Sapnap abandoned him, he never really influenced any of that happening. The abandonment issues and feeling of emptiness are simple reactions to that trauma. His moves are calculated, he doesn't really show any mood swings, he has a quite clear image of himself, he doesn't experience any suicide ideation or shows extreme examples of self harm/putting himself in danger. And what about the part of splitting when he pushes people away after getting scared of becoming too close? He always stays, in the end. Even when he tried so hard not to get attached to Slime. Where's the white splitting? Where's anything, really. I still stand with the headcanon of them having to navigate a hard relationship, with both of them experiencing severe mental issues, but it's not bpd4bpd. Q is my depressed ADHD bitch, who struggles with trauma.>>

Also I'd say Wilbur's heavily autism coded too - as a bonus it does frequently "strengthen" bpd cause of the type of trauma autistic people experience. Q I see as very much ADHD but I also low-key hc him as somewhere on the spectrum too, though I'm not as heavily set on that

Tldr while Wilbur absolutely clearly has some severe mental issues, Quackity's seem (to me at least) to be more easily and consistently explainable by a combination of ADHD (maybe low support needs autism) and some (pretty damn severe (canonically - looking mainly at all the abandonment + sa hints)) trauma

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crystalsandbubbletea · 2 months

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You know you're a very shitty person when even DREAM calls you out for it.

And apparently he also INTENTIONALLY hurt Technoblade during his last months of living!?

For those wondering if the Wilbur intentionally hurting Technoblade was real or not:

#cw wilbur #tw wilbur #cw wilbur soot #tw wilbur soot #cw dream #tw dream #wilbur soot #wilbur situation #wilbur has dug his grave through the center of the earth and made it reach hell

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the-govern · 3 months

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Crickets chirp out into the open air and it is the first thing Dream senses when he comes to. He groans softly, waking from his slumber. “Wilbur?” He slurs, the other man's name muffled as he sits up. He sniffles, breathing in harshly as he rubs his eyes.

“Wilbur?” He repeats again, clearer this time though still drowsy. Wilbur is sitting near the campfire, out of his sleeping bag. His figure is illuminated by the orange glow of the flames. It sparks and crackles, as alive as when they made it the afternoon before. Dream stares a little longer. “Wil?” He gets up, pulling himself out of his sleeping bag and resists the urge to slip back in to avoid the cold nip of the air.

“Are you okay?” Dream sits next to Wilbur onto the cool sand, feeling the grains stick to his clothes and fingers.

Nothing.

Dream frowns deeply and places a hand onto Wilbur's shoulder. He waits for one heart beat, and then two.

“Do you regret it?” Wilbur finally speaks. His voice is barely louder than the sparks of amber in front of them or the noise of their horses’ hooves when they shuffle to get more comfortable during the nights. Dream makes a face at that– a sort of grimace, but not just quite.

“Regret what?” Dream prompts, pulling his hand away only to lean his body weight onto Wilbur. The other man lets him and takes a deep breath. Letting the desert air soak into his lungs.

“I mean– this, all of this,” he says vaguely. It doesn't really help Dream understand anymore than he already knows. Wilbur catches onto this but doesn't take the time to elaborate further. He's lucky that Dream is one patient man otherwise he would've left a hell of a long time ago.

“Running away?” The blonde takes a random guess in the dark. It's the only thing he can think of. Apparently he seems to manage to shoot the target right in the bullseye because Wilbur nods.

Ah. So this is what this is about. Dream has to ponder for a second, because he hasn't thought much about it, not really. But ends up shrugging. “I dunno, maybe. But I prefer living this life than the one I had before, don't you?” Wilbur shrugs back in response and keeps staring at the fire. Dream stares at it too. The silence is long and drawn out as he waits for the brunette to say something, anything. It has to be about five minutes before he continues.

“I guess,” Wilbur starts, but trails off quickly. Dream nudges him to keep him from going off track. “I miss my family,” he sighs and this time Dream lets out a verbal ‘ah’.

“They were awful to me, I don't know why I miss them all that much, I reckon they're better off without another mouth to feed.”

Dream doesn't know the proper way to comfort Wilbur. He was a man who was all actions, no words. So instead he slips his warm hand into Wilbur's cold one, giving it a firm squeeze.

#dreambur #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #my writing #cowboy au #random drabble i started at 3am #might make something more out of it but im not sssure 100 yet #maybe a slice of life if i do

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denrukatheblogger · 4 months

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QSMP Rambling (Tallulah and Chayenne)

(Main context: QSMP is a multilingual minecraft multiplayer server with streamers playing and I specifically follow Philza but watch clips and read happenings from other streamers)

Good god help me I was going to just enjoy philza's qsmp portion of the stream but then apparently lore stuff happened and now the eggs are clashing. (I rambled way too much, so I'm putting it below oops)

Though the lore stuff is not something I dislike, my mind immediately honed in more on how the two eggs I watched QSMP for mostly ended up. Tbh, I started watching QSMP because I saw clips and animatics connecting Chayenne to Techno and then I think I started officially watching Wilbur's streams when Tallulah happened. Not immediately, but it was either the 2nd or 3rd stream with her.

Chayenne was one of the outgoing eggs, picking fights and jumping off of the wall his dads made a home on. Tallulah was the youngest at the time, I think, and was mostly sweet, gentle, loved flowers and music. Chayenne was one of the first eggs and iirc only 4 of the og batch remain. Wilbur left after making sure Philza could care for Tallulah, and Chayenne ended up needing to do the same considering he was the older kid that had more experience.

And then things got worse for the eggs. The code monsters, the kidnapping as people or groups organized shit, and then the eggs left thinking they would be protecting their parents after being threatened.

Chayenne ends up as one of, if not the main, leader of the eggs. Tallulah was known by most as "not a fighter". Needed to protect and needed to be protected respectively. Their dynamic was almost always like this. Chayenne was cared for by his dads of course, but Missa has irl stuff to do and Philza needed to give Tallulah more attention since she needed help. Tallulah has been missing her father for months now- even if the server cared for her, she wasn't their special person. She felt like someone that needed pity and was given it- not like as if they would've cared otherwise...

I'm going all over the place but despite it somewhat feeling sudden how they acted in the recent stream, I feel like I can understand mostly what was going on with them switching in choices. Tallulah used to want love and peace- she's tired of being "useless" and a "burden" for not being able to fight. Chayenne used to be one of the reckless eggs- he's exhausted from being given most of the responsibility whenever they're in danger.

He's tired from all of the action. She's tired from all the inaction.

Chayenne wants to fucking rest for once in his life, meanwhile Tallulah wants to actually help fighting for once in her life.

They got separated before/during Purgatory.

Tallulah had to survive with Dapper and Ramon who seemed to be closer friends with each other and Tallulah maybe envied their bond. But they're still siblings and so she cares deeply about Dapper being kept hostage right now. She frustrated over bonds people get to have because she can't connect with them when she doesn't even have a real pillar to stand on. Missed her dad so much that even with the family he left her with, she doesn't feel like she belongs. She just wants her dad back with her but she's changed. She's scared. She wants to be useful and actually do something so that people don't see her as a weakling anymore.

Chayenne was perceived as one of the stronger eggs. He had to keep calm and focus on keeping everyone safe. He was stuck for however long without even knowing if Tallulah was still alive. He was cared for by Phil and Missa and then Missa needed to leave while Phil had to figure out how to take care of Tallulah with Chayenne. He wouldn't necessarily blame his dads, but a kid wants attention. A kid would love to feel special care from their parents more. But no, Chayenne needed to push aside his wants because others need more care and protection. Maybe not intentionally forced by others into the leader role, but he got into the role and people listened, so people started perceiving him as the one in charge if things happened to the eggs. But it's not like he's immune from all the bullshit they've been going through just because he's not acting out like some others. He's been carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders by staying in the protector role. He loves his siblings and wants them safe, but he's tired and wants to be cared for back instead of simply being looked up to as a leader. He doesn't want pure idolization or criticisms in doing his "job"- he just. He needs a break.

Philza, god bless him, the man's gotta deal with all this bullshit happening on the island while still caring for his eggs. The kids say he's a wonderful dad while Phil says he's been shit at it if he didn't notice them feeling this way or not caring sooner. He does care, but Rose told him he needed to recover his lost courage for a reason. He's understandably terrified of everything that could kill the eggs, that could kill or take him away from being able to be with his kids again, but he needs to regain the confidence he once had in himself to be able to face things stronger too. But that's... It feels bad saying things like that.

Like father like son, I guess. They both just want to rest. But Tallulah's tired of being given rest. That's what most people seem to tell her to do while everyone else goes off to do all the important shit. She can't do the important things because she "can't" fight. She's changed. Chayenne's change. God, Philza's changed from what the Ender King and Rose saw of him before QSMP.

I don't know a solution for this, I don't think a solution could be easily made when there are factors outside of this family's control affecting them. I know they talked it out by the end, but I'm still worried yet intrigued by how things might continue on. The dynamic between the two eggs just tickles my brain in the fun way. I don't think I tend to focus so hard on things that aren't my own OCs- usually I take what happens in a thing and use it as inspiration for my own stuff. But these two are just... I want them to be okay in the end. I want to see Tallulah being allowed to be the strong badass she wants to prove herself to be while still accepting that people care for her in a way that they'd be willing to risk a lot for her too. I want to see Chayenne being allowed to relax, to take the backseat and have fun while not needing to worry about shit messing up their entire lives. I want to see Philza being able to take the kids on adventures and just being able to have a good time with them without the terror of everything threatening their damn lives.

I want for them to be okay and they're trying. Damn it, they're trying as much as they can to be okay for everyone else too.

#qsmp #qsmp philza #qsmp tallulah #qsmp chayenne #unrelated yet somewhat related man do i want to ramble about my own OCs now too #I said that I was focusing more on the QSMP characters sure but some of the feelings really could resonate with some of my OCs #my mind be spinning them around haha #rambling

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brick-a-doodle-do · 10 months

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i know myself so well DVFEWJRS

HERE IT IS!! LAST CHAPTER IN MAIN SERIES! i started this doc on halloween and finished it around fourth of july! good god!

also i forgot to add bht thank you to xyz for help with this chapter !! part of the last scene was completely their idea :D

the egg scene will forever haunt me. i was stuck on that for at least three months.

not quite ready (iii; final)

(i, ii)

words: 4515 (😱😱😱)

cw: vore mention, dehumanization, mentions of depression, descriptions of questioning reality ? idk the word for that :I

—–—

The following morning, Wilbur sits with himself in silence. The apartment was quiet, broken only by the quiet whooshes of cars rushing in the busy streets down below and the occasional hum from the air conditioner.

By the time the bedroom door that had sat undisturbed for hours creaked open with practiced silence, he didn't know how much time had passed.

That feeling was familiar.

He hates to circle back to the very thing he’s so luckily escaped from, but every little thing he did would remind him of it. Wilbur doesn’t know Tommy very well yet, and he can’t say he’s drawn to doing so, but it’s nice to be able to gaze at the chocolate bag without looking at the walls he only saw as one great big endless void.

He can hear Tommy’s weight shift onto the floorboards softly as he makes his way through the apartment. Wilbur tossed to his side, eyes staring at the cloth of the couch. Familiarity washes over him and drowns him. He had spent too long staring at a dark, blank slate. Why does his freedom entail the very same thing?

Wilbur frowns, shifting back up to the ceiling, where Tommy just barely looms over the edge of the couch. A shiver runs through his body at the startle, but ultimately it’s nice to see him, because it was grounding to see another living and breathing something.

“Oh, fuck, sorry—” Tommy murmurs, his hands resting on the back of the couch and pushing the cushion down just slightly to see the tiny better. Wilbur shrugs, looking deeply into the eyes that blink without a rhythm. Tommy is alive.

Wilbur is too.

Tommy’s chest rises and falls and his hair shifts as his head moves just barely so their eye-contact could disperse. Wilbur’s chest rises and falls too, and he can hear his heartbeat that thumps softly against his ears as they sit in utter silence.

“Well, um, I’m gonna go, yeah? You alright here?”

He considered it, and he should’ve said he was. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he’d apparently lost control of his response and blurted out an extremely abrupt: “No, please stay with me. I–I can’t sleep and I really can’t have it be quiet any longer.”

“Oh,” Tommy murmurs, “okay. Yeah, I can do that for sure. Do you want me to sit down?” he asks, already making his way over to the tiny.

The borrower nods, trying not to listen to the voice in his head. Tommy obliges and walks around the edge of the couch, a certain slowness to his movements, and sits down just inches away from the pillow he was on.

Wilbur sits up, sinking slightly in the middle of the feathers, but his next-to-nothing weight, for the most part, keeps him still. Tommy keeps his hands in his lap, nails picking softly at his skin. It’s quiet for a moment, but Tommy speaks up with the inevitable question, “Did you sleep last night?”

Wilbur shakes his head, “No, I couldn’t. Did you?”

“A little bit,” Tommy replies, and Wilbur notices how the hem of the human’s shirt has been caught between his fingers. “Hey, um, Wilbur?” Tommy asks. Wilbur looks up. “Are you feeling alright after that whole, uh…thing?”

Wilbur shrugs, the phantom feeling of being in the bag already fading from his memory, but in the same way never uprooting. He swallows. “I can't say I feel the best, but I'm getting better. Thank you for what you've done, I don't know where I'd be right now.”

“Oh, nah man, you didn't deserve to be there in the first place! Just helpin’ a guy out, y’know?” Tommy flashes him a fond smile, and the human’s humor wafts into his face, the sweet scent of underlying pity burning his throat. He laughs dryly, unsure of where to lead the conversation so that the suffering sound of nothing can’t bother him any longer, because so many of his days had been spent with little but the occasional muffled chime from the store’s door or the hushed chatter from city-goers as they pass in and out.

Tommy looks like he wants to say something, his lips parting with every passing second Wilbur sits with the reminisce of the past. He considers pointing the fact out, but instead he lets them sit in the shared silence before the teenager’s inevitable saving grace would show.

Half a minute has passed and they haven't broken eye-contact.

The gesture might’ve scared past-Wilbur, though post-incident-Wilbur has never felt more thrilled at the contact of another being. And when his eyes drift down to the fingers that still fidget with the cloth anxiously, he can't help but imagine how grounding it would feel for fingers to close over him.

He shudders at the thought, however, because it’s an entirely other scenario to be trapped by a human. It’s a conflicting battle that leaves him absentmindedly shifting closer.

Tommy is quiet.

Wilbur is quiet.

A car honks down on the streets below, startling Wilbur.

Tommy, awkwardly, clears his throat. “I’m going back to London in a few weeks, can’t be long now, uhm, do you want to come with me? I don’t want to force you, but you don’t seem like the typa’ fella to just pick life back up, respectfully ‘n all.” Wilbur considers it, and the silence draws taut.

“That’s a bit last-minute, don’t you agree?” he asks.

“Right, like I said you’re not, like, fuckin’ obligated to or whatever. Just thought it might be nice, givin’ you a heads up ‘n all,” Tommy reassures him. It’s not exactly convincing; Wilbur finds himself wondering how much of Tommy is really okay with him staying here.

Wilbur swallows, running his fingers through the flap of his hair. “I don’t know, and don’t expect an answer. Not anytime soon.”

“Right, yeah, don’t decide right now,” Tommy chirps, leaning against the couch and sighing. “Are you hungry? I could fuckin’ eat right now,” he adds.

Wilbur stares right at him.

Tommy sits, oblivious with his leg bouncing as he awaits Wilbur’s response. Eventually, his eyes shifted in realization when the silence had drawn on too long. “Oh, oh fuck—I didn’t mean it like that, I don’t want anything like that—” Tommy rushes, the words coming out a warp. Wilbur shakes his head, the beginning of laughter escaping him, though drying up at the edge of his throat.

“You’re fine, king, you’re all good. Just a bit jumpy after everything, you get it,” he replies simply.

“I actually don’t really get it,” Tommy argues. There’s another beat of silence, Wilbur staring at Tommy’s hands. “Well, uh, seriously then, do you want food?”

Wilbur nods eagerly.

Food, real food sounded extravagant; his teeth had rotten away over all the times he’d filled up on chocolate.

The taste of something savory over the weeks had often been his imagination while he bit into the bud of candy, pretending easily that it was something different, like, a rather pleasant portion of fruit he’d scored while a human was away or something he managed to buy in his short time of freedom.

Tommy nods, shuffling up off of the couch and leaving him in the lonely living room again, back to sitting with his own thoughts, only this time with a newfound light after the human had flicked it on.

Suddenly, Tommy comes back into view as he gently leans over the back of the couch. So close. Like how he had been when he’d peered into the candy bag—

“Wilbur,” Tommy urges. When Wilbur seems to have blinked out of his memory, the human continues. “What do you want? You allergic to anything?”

He blinks. Alurgic?

“Uh….I don’t think I know what that means,” Wilbur admits.

“Oh, uh, I’ll take that as a no. I don’t have it in me to explain,” Tommy says, smiling at him like Wilbur is supposed to know what that means.

When Tommy takes his expression that grows even more confused by the following silence as a response, he tries to shake it off with a swift: “Can I take you over to the kitchen, then? Or do you think you still could fall asleep?”

“I can’t fall asleep,” Wilbur responds quickly.

Tommy nods. “I’m gonna put my hand down on the pillow,” the human announces. He does—though irritatingly slow. He was unsure about humans, and it seemed both of them recognized that, but Wilbur wasn’t glass.

When Tommy had stopped moving and instead kept his eyes glued to the borrower, he moved with his shoulders slicked back to hide the anxiety of being watched so intensely.

Tommy’s skin was rough under his own as he got situated on his palm.

Memories of being held by other (more resentful) humans fought their way through his archives, but he felt oddly soothed for how loud his head was.

Almost immediately after he had settled in the center of Tommy’s hand, gravity shifted and he watched as the world grew further from him. He wasn’t startled (Prime knows he’s been through worse) as his world shifted with each of Tommy’s movements, in fact he was still as at ease as he could be.

The rest of the apartment wasn’t anything special.

Ahead of them was a kitchen, to the right was the front door, and to the left there were two other closed doors. He couldn’t take the house for anything personalized, so he probably hadn’t been here for longer than a few months. Still, it wasn’t the cleanest thing ever, but he couldn’t expect anything different from a kid Tommy’s age.

(He’s seen it first-hand from the walls)

(*)

Tommy’s muscle memory kept him from wandering into the kitchen counter as his eyes kept a strong stare onto Wilbur.

It wasn't anything particularly different than the other times he had talked or even seen a tiny, but even despite how little they've known each other it still felt more personal. Wilbur had been through a lot and Tommy was getting to help him.

And he’s already cracked the ice, he noted as Wilbur barely reacts when he gently tilts him off of his hand and onto the kitchen island.

He turns his back to him to search the fridge.

There was barely anything there, just a cool-lighted wasteland with a few leftovers that he can't remember packaging in the first place.

An egg carton was nestled between two takeout boxes (had he tried organizing?) and it caught his gaze the second look around the fridge.

“Uhh, we have eggs,” Tommy suggests.

There's silence for a moment, then, barely distinguished from behind him, “That sounds fine.”

Wilbur sounded distracted, if somehow that was possible.

“Great, because I don’t actually think I can make anything except that,” Tommy deadpans, chuckling to himself at his own joke. He watches Wilbur crack a smile and a quiet laugh on his way to the stove with the egg carton in hand.

He flicks on the dial against the back of the stove, turning it to a medium heat before opening a cabinet to pull out a bowl.

Tommy follows the routine of whisking the eggs then pouring them in and waiting. For a minute, Tommy’s attention lingers on what’s stood behind him, but he doesn’t voice his curiosity, nor his concern or sociable desires.

He just stands over the stove, watching the eggs, prodding at them with a spatula as they form into something edible. When they’re decidedly done, he sprinkles salt over them and calls it quits. He figures Wilbur won’t be particular about his culinary abilities when his past appetite consisted of chocolate.

The idea makes his head hurt, thinking about how someone so human, even despite their sharp, obvious difference, could be locked away like how Wilbur had been.

Tommy could only imagine how dark it could’ve been—completely isolated from any kind of outside contact and intended to be thrown away, eaten like a piece of candy.

Must have been difficult.

“Pardon?” a small voice from behind him asks, and Tommy tenses. Had he said that out loud?

Tommy blinks, and suddenly his hand is moving on its own and folding the eggs into themselves to finish the dish.

Prime, he was tired as shit.

He moves to turn the stove off and sets the pan aside on another burner, then opens a cabinet and pulls a plate off of the lower shelf, the ceramic noises like nails on a chalkboard to him. The plate clinks as it’s set down, then Tommy retrieves the pan of eggs and stares at them, long and hard. Not his best work.

Discouragement aside, he pulls a fork out of a drawer and spoons on the helping of eggs onto the plate. Good enough for government work, huh? Wilbur won’t care, anyway.

He takes a fork from a nearby drawer, then spins around, (blinking away the throb in his eyes when the lights hit his face), and sets the plate down on the kitchen island, just a few respectable inches from Wilbur, who stood with his hand on his arm, standing noticeably awkward.

(*)

Food. Actual, real food. Albeit made in no time at all and served by a teenager in a New York apartment, but still something that was an honest, feasible replacement from his past diet.

He stares at it. Tommy’s attention turns away from him, and he still stares at the plate of eggs.

As Tommy was still distracted pulling up a chair from the other side of the counter, Wilbur steps forward cautiously and crouches down, peeling a small portion off of the eggs and stuffing it in his mouth. He swears to Prime that if Tommy were not nearly staring directly at him, Wilbur very well might have considered melting.

The eggs were not seasoned and they were not slow-cooked, but they were heaven. Were he a functioning member of society, (And assuming he was still very much mentally troubled after certain events), and Tommy was his waiter, he would give it a five out of five.

Carefully, Wilbur takes another piece off of the egg and gnaws at it, savoring the unadorned flavor with every aspect of his senses. The feeling of rubber, (Almost), which clashes with his usual expectation of soft-then-syrupy, the bland flavor that was absolutely new to him, and the bright yellow color that contrasted with the black that he always just imagined as color. His void always had been a playground for imagination.

“Thank you,” Wilbur says through a mouthful, to which Tommy smiles weakly and sits down—after much delay, as if Tommy could’ve felt as awkward as Wilbur did right now.

Tommy grabs a fork and grabs a tentative bite, then through a mouthful, mumbles: “No problem, mate.” Through the corner of his eye, Wilbur watches Tommy and tries not to snicker at the forced face the blond makes to push through his disapproval of the meal.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, this shit takes like heaven,” he says, smally but still loud enough for Tommy to hear.

“I think I’ll throw up if I have one more bite of this, It’s completely yours, then,” Tommy says, pushing the plate a little closer to Wilbur for emphasis. Wilbur shifts back on instinct, looking up anxiously at Tommy before calming down. Sorry,” Tommy adds quickly. Wilbur waves him off and takes a smaller piece of egg to chew on absentmindedly.

“The fucking chocolate has been making my teeth rot,” Wilbur says, huffing a bit like it’s a joke. Like one of those things to look back on and laugh at.

Tommy doesn’t seem amused, though. “That sounds awful, man,” he adds.

“It’s not anymore, ‘cause now someone’s gone and saved me,” Wilbur reassures, gesturing mildly to Tommy.

“You’re welcome!” Tommy says, smiling like a child who’s helped with a chore unprompted. His mood changes are unmatched, Wilbur notes duly.

After that, time passed slowly, and for once, there wasn’t dread that followed. Tommy had cleaned breakfast up, and Wilbur kept the silence away while talking about this and that, until Tommy announced he needed to get groceries for his last couple of weeks in New York. Tommy’s plan was to have Wilbur stay back, but he declined, and instead asked to tag along.

For that reason, he rested carefully on Tommy’s shoulder, back resting against Tommy’s neck, completely vulnerable.The thought of that concerned him; to think about how any one of these people could work for that god-awful facility he was sent to, or any one of them could be holding a borrower captive, or how any of these people could absolutely hate his kind, and here he was, out in the open for any of those people to see. It was worrisome, and that had him tightening the grip of the hem of his sweater.

Tommy was pleasingly quiet, though, and it was just the two of them listening to music. (Or as much music as he could hear from sitting under the human’s earbud.)

He would’ve thought it to be harder to stay on someone’s shoulder, but even from the start he was persistent on that spot, only because it would’ve been incredibly difficult for Tommy to reach him without Wilbur noticing first—although he had gotten a little bit on edge when Tommy reached up to fix his hair or adjust his earbud. Sure, the human made him food and had gotten him out of that wretched bag, and had seemed pretty genuine about not eating him, he still wasn’t ready to be hand-held or in his pocket where he couldn't see everything.

Also, it was warmer here. Tommy and his need to linger around chilled foods.

Wilbur looks around, through Tommy’s curls, staring at the variety of foods. They were too far for him to recognize, (Not that he would know any of them by heart, considering he grew up on things he could score on the counter), but it was still so refreshing to see something real.

Suddenly, as his eyes graze over something on a high shelf, someone walks past and locks eyes with him. Wilbur tenses. The lady tenses, stopping abruptly. Unfortunately for him, Tommy also stops to look at something.

The lady gives a curious, almost disgusted look, and Wilbur, not knowing what to do, proceeds to flip her off.

It was not until that motion Wilbur realized he was just caught doing something to absolutely draw attention to himself until he was much too late.

“You!” the lady says, rather loudly—definitely enough for Tommy to turn his attention to her. “Control that thing,” she finishes, a certain type of offensive dripping from her tongue that makes even Tommy tense. Wilbur flinches at her voice, somehow moving closer to Tommy despite being right up against his neck. He crosses his arms, some kind of half-frustrated-half-ready-to-cry feeling washing over him which leaves him stone-faced and unmoving.

Thing. A single word and suddenly he’s back at the factory, being manhandled and thrown into a container with other borrowers, some panicked, some angry, and some oddly accepting. Wilbur was angry, pissed. He had been granted freedom from being cooped up in the walls with nothing to do except get food whenever he ran out. And he finally got a chance to see the world, to walk on pavement made for people his size and be social. And he had, for a week, and then he had made a lucky call when trusting someone and gotten thrown into a bag not a day later, sealed in darkness.

When Tommy had found him, however-long later, he couldn’t say he saw someone with the intent to capture him again. He saw a savior, and maybe that’s why he was so relaxed. Reality felt there again. He felt like he existed, and he didn’t pinch himself every five minutes to check he was really there. His limbs weren’t numb, and he could hum to himself without it feeling like the only thing to do.

Back at the supermarket, blinking his way out of memories, he realizes Tommy hasn’t said anything back, he just scoffs and mutter’s a whispered ‘fucking bitch’, and walks off, right past the woman who murmurs something incoherent to Wilbur. (He still knows it was about him.)

At the very least, Wilbur has walked away from that situation now knowing words can’t hurt anymore in comparison to his situation just barely a few days ago.

“People are awful,” Tommy whispers under his breath.

Wilbur just pats Tommy’s shoulder.

“Aren’t you fucking revenge-seeking or some shit?”

“No. I’m not a child,” Wilbur explains, and Tommy hides his laughter at a low snicker.

“You’re a bitch,” Tommy whispers, turning away immediately at the look he got from a stranger in the aisle. Wilbur laughs whole-heartedly, the sound escaping despite how hard he tried not.

(*)

His head hurts, with thoughts going a mile a fucking minute. The scent of chocolate undoubtedly drifting from Wilbur on his shoulder was making a repetitive thought resurface no matter how much he wanted to shut it up.

Wilbur smelled appetizing. He knew he would taste even better.

But he knows he can’t act on his urges because even if swallowing a borrower was safe, he couldn’t. Not for Wilbur, because he just got off a near-death experience, and he can’t fuck up freedom even more for Wilbur by giving him essentially the exact same experience, no matter how reassuring he thought he could be.

So, instead, he chose comedy over a very real and threatening problem.

(*)

“You reek of chocolate,” Tommy murmurs, opening the door to the apartment and letting it shut loudly behind him. Wilbur flinches, but calms down just as quickly.

“I don’t remember seeing a mini-flat in the, uh, bag,” Wilbur retaliates.

Tommy, playfully, scoffs. “Well, like I think I could fill up a sink or something and you could get the grime off of you,” the blond offers.

Wilbur pauses for a moment. “I guess ..?” he says, slow and uncertain.The idea was more than pleasing, but at the same time, it felt like an awful offer to take up. He would be vulnerable in water, arguably something that he rarely had experience with outside of an unfortunately occasional shower whenever he could score it.

At his approval, Tommy guided the two of them to a bathroom, and carefully drew his hand up to where Wilbur was, not grabbing at him, but letting Wilbur carefully pad is way off of Tommy’s shoulder and onto his laid-out hand, where Wilbur got himself comfortable—while at the same time leaving time to sprint off if he needed to—and waited for Tommy to set him down onto the bathroom counter.

Shifting over to be in front of the sink, Tommy then pushes something inside the sink down, then pulls both handles to the sink forward, and leaves the flowing water gushing for a few seconds before shutting it off and stepping aside.

“That water will either be fucking freezing or room-temperature but I can’t exactly change that, so, uhm, just sit through it, I guess,” Tommy says. Wilbur can’t exactly tell if he was apologizing or not, but he appreciated the warning.

“Don’t have much of a choice,” Wilbur shrugs.

“That’s the spirit!” Tommy laughs, then grabs something off of a shelf, folding it over the counter but letting a corner of it fall into the sink, which Wilbur considers relieving; the sink seemed too deep for his liking.

But, even with the advantage of the towel, he still wasn’t convinced this was something he was looking forward to. From afar, he can feel Tommy’s stare on him. He turns his head that way, and catches Tommy’s strong gaze. Snapping out of some kind of pseudo-trance, Tommy moves closer to him and sets something in the sink.

“I can’t really portion out soap yet, but here’s a spare bar I haven’t opened yet. Should help; you smell so sweet I swear to fuck if you don’t take a bath I’m going swallow you on accident,” Tommy says, yawning. He fucking yawns, meanwhile Wilbur’s whole world halts. He stares up at Tommy, who he had just an hour ago been raving about his trust with.

He had heard Tommy right, no doubt.

“What?” Wilbur asks through his shock.

Tommy wrinkles his brows, then unwrinkles them as they raise high and his face goes more shocked than Wilbur’s.

“Oh—nononononono, Wilbur, fuck. Wil, I’m so tired, I fucking—I didn’t mean to say that,” Tommy backtracks immediately. Wilbur can’t say he buys it. “I didn’t fucking— I wasn’t thinking, fuck, I swear to Prime I don’t want to do that, I’d never—” Tommy makes a choked noise and cuts himself off.

Wilbur swallows, unsure of how to respond. Clearly, he has some kind of high-ground here despite being…well, him.

“I–uh,” Wilbur’s voice runs almost dry. “There’s no reason to lie,” Wilbur says.

Tommy’s face falls. “I’m not lying, I—I didn’t think about what I was saying, I’m a fucking idiot, I am not a..a thinker or whatever the fuck it’s called,” Tommy tries. Still. Persistent motherfucker.

“You’re thinking about that,though, aren’t you?”

“Uhh….well,” Tommy pauses. “As a joke..obv—obviously, you actually think I’d…want to hurt you like that?”

“Swallowing me isn’t going to hurt me.”

Tommy seemed a little taken-aback by that. “Mentally. It will mentally.” Wilbur shrugs at that, staring into the pool of water that’s gotten a little foamy the longer the soap bar floats around in it. “I, uh, think I’ll go. Put away groceries and shit.”

Wilbur watches intently Tommy pick his pace up and walk past him, (Where Wilbur’s attention was nowhere but Tommy’s hands, which remained eerily still), then out of the bathroom with a solemn click of the door.

And now, Wilbur has been left alone, after a particularly jarring comment that leaves him wondering just how much longer Tommy will go playing the good guy. He did have to be thinking about swallowing him to have said it, accidentally or not. It was an intentional thought. He wasn’t that stupid.

Trying to drive his attention away from his inevitable fate, he turns his attention to the sink. The water’s temperature has probably dropped already, so with slight hesitation, he undresses and finds a way into the sink, (Which in the end was trying-to-inch-his-way-down-then-falling-in), then rests with the feeling of water against him. It was an alien feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. He waved his hand around the soapy water and heard it whoosh around him. That was real. The sink bowl that towered above him was real, and as he touched it, it felt cold and slippery against his touch.

Wilbur looks up, and the light fixture above him burns into his eyes. That was real.

He pinches himself. That was real, and he was still alive, through the world of darkness for only a lonely period of his life that’s over now.

—–—

#mw #brickfic #wilbur chocolate au #cw vore mention #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #dream smp g/t #dream smp gt #t!wilbur #tiny!wilbur #g!tommy #giant!tommy #WOOHOOoo!!!!! eight months later ^_^#thanks for breaking 100 notes on the other 2 chapters btw !! i am so hype about that :D

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tobi-smp · 2 years

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I'm sorry I'm confused who is Even and did he do something like that we shouldn't like him for

Context: [Link]

I honestly didn’t think I’d ever get a question like this tbh, evan is certainly more popular in this fandom than I am.

that said! the “evan” here is evanmcgaming. he’s a fan and creator on youtube that’s made a name for himself making lore videos, namely lore recap videos for the dream smp.

he’s gotten very popular, in part because most people trying to get into the dream smp don’t know where to start and videos promising to summarize all of the major arcs in the series are an enticing way to catch up quickly and jump in to the newest streams.

and in part because he’s heavily endorsed by the streamers on the dream smp. with some of the newer streamers not only explicitly using his videos to catch up on the lore, but streaming this process live to their audience.

you would hope, then, that these summaries would be as accurate as possible, or at least Competent. they are not.

I’ve gotten into more detail about this Plenty of times [Link 1, Link 2, Link 3, Link 4]

but essentially, evan doesn’t make summaries of the dream smp, he makes Retellings of the dream smp and fills in those details as he likes. he makes his videos primarily for entertainment value, and what he views as “entertainment” is his version of the story.

this means:

- he will cut out entire characters from arcs that they have active roles in if he thinks they’re too boring (like fundy being completely missing from the manberg arc After evan calls him a traitor for burning the flag, meaning that detail is never clarified).

- when he Decides characters are suddenly interesting he’ll start introducing them to his recaps, but without the context of everything that came before (quackity’s butcher army and las nevadas arcs without the context of l’manberg or the abuse he faced during manberg or without the fiances. or sam’s prison arc without the context of literally everything about him that came before that, without the context of his kindness or his friendships).

- he’ll deliberately misrepresent a situation, either for “dramatic effect” that never pays off or to make the writing “more entertaining” (he presented the griefs that dream framed tommy for as if tommy had actually done them and left out Several Details in the lead up to the trial to imply that tommy was just outright guilty and that dream was innocent in the lead up to tommy’s exile. he then softened the exile itself to “tommy was sad,” not mentioning anything about the physical or emotional abuse. and then Didn’t tell his audience that tommy nearly attempted to commit suicide at the end of it. this was Apparently to make the fact that dream was a villain a big twist during the disc war finale despite the fact that it’s. literally lying to your audience).

- he’ll just make up what characters Must be thinking and present it entirely as fact along side the rest of his summaries when it’s. not canon. when it is him straight up (often times Wildly) speculating about information that he Couldn’t Know. this is, again, justified by him insisting that it’s for His Storytelling. (remember when I said that he covered up tommy trying to commit suicide? he did this by saying that dream knew that tommy built the tower to try to trick him into thinking he was dead, but that He knew he was still alive. which is evanmcgaming writing fanfic about something that happened off screen instead of describing anything about tommy’s actual character arc during the summary of Tommy’s Character Arc).

- he’ll just straight up ignore fundamental details about characters and arcs for seemingly no reason. (fundy being wilbur’s son doesn’t come up during his summary of the l’manberg arc, and I genuinely can’t understand why.)

this isn’t even a comprehensive list.

I don’t hate evanmcgaming Personally. he’s a teenager making content because he wants to, simple as that.

I hate that he’s popular. I hate that he’s endorsed by the cc’s. I hate that we can trace back tons upon tons of misinformation, both in the fandom and among the cc’s, back to this One Guy because he thought it was more fun to tell his own version of the narrative that he thought was Cooler while still presenting his videos as honest Accurate summaries. and I hate that his editing is sleek enough that A: most people assume that his videos must be of Some quality since they look nice and B: that quackity apparently brought him in to put his hands on canon and expose him to even more fans.

#evanmcgaming #neg #long post

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starpirateee · 1 month

Text

oh god. okayyy

so, after a rather lengthy conversation with @scripted-downfall, we came up with this self indulgent ass fic... Because we decided that Wilbur Cross could, in fact, cook, and old habits die hard :)

so.... pasta!

and i swear to god this was supposed to be a bit. a bit! you wouldn't believe that after it turned out to be... 3100 words and 90% of it didn't even involve pasta

Not many people had a second chance at life. PEIP had done enough investigating to be able to at least assume that, if there ever had been… Others. People who had been affected by the entities within the Black and White… Then they were no longer alive. Wilbur- Wiley- was enough of an exception in just that factor alone, but there was something else that set them apart from the potential endless number of others.

They had escaped.

John didn't know how it had happened. Apparently, his agents didn't know about them either. Not their escape or what had happened to them afterwards. He couldn't exactly do much better for himself, but Wiley had appeared on his doorstep in the middle of the night- a mess of blood, erratic breath, and shot nerves -and he had to forge an explanation for himself.

It was close to three am when he opened the door, under the impression that nobody in their right mind would come to him at that time in the morning unless it was an emergency. And an emergency, it was. The moment he opened the door, his eyes darted over the mess that was once his mentor, his friend… Frankly, he couldn't help the grimace that followed.

"Jesus, Wil… What the- What the hell happened to you?"

He had been aware for years that Wilbur Cross was dead. It still took a level of restraint to remember that, especially on days like today, when there was such an obvious reminder that the truth was anything but. Not dead. Not at all. Changed. In appearance, they were almost exactly the same.

Almost being the operative word, of course.

The same tall, thin frame, the same dark hair that grazed their shoulders, just as it always had… But that was about where the similarities stopped. It was still hard to get used to the dead stare, the flicker of green that crackled like lightning, or the way that everything about them was just a little… Off.

Too bright. Too sharp. Too far gone. That was always the problem with them. Always just a little bit too far away from being human… Never quite close enough to pass.

At the moment, they were struggling to keep themself upright. They were shaking, forcing themself to stay in check, or to stay present.

They stumbled forwards, and John held out a hand to catch them. "Woah, shit-"

"Didn't know where else to go…" They muttered in a broken whisper, swiping the back of their hand over their face, and collecting a loose trickle of blood that was running down their cheek.

John frowned, looping his arm around their waist and leading them inside. "No, it's okay. It's okay…" The need to express his reluctance to let them go again felt redundant. Right now, there wasn't much of an option otherwise, he wasn't just going to let them try and find someplace else, no matter what they'd done in the past. "What happened?"

The two of them sat down on the couch. Wiley immediately sank into it, feeling the stiff leather underneath their hands, cool and unfamiliar and… and…

Safe.

They were… Safe here. It was way too quiet, and that was never good- not from their experience- but for once, they had no doubt that this quiet was different. They breathed, felt the way their chest heaved like this was the first time they'd ever done it.

"… Got out."

Why was it that something so simple as getting their mind to coordinate was such a hard task?

They stretched out their fingers, digging them into the fabric of their jeans, acknowledging and desperately appreciating the way their fingernails felt as they dug in just enough to make it noticeable. This- whatever coincidence had landed them on the doorstep of John McNamara of all people- was real. Some insane luck, or a game of chance that they didn't want to think about, had forced them into remembering directions, an address…

Maybe this wasn't chance. Maybe there was something left in the back of their mind that said this was what they had to do.

The thought of that made breathing a little easier. If this wasn't coincidence- if they had meant to find John all along- then maybe they were meant to break the cycle, to escape…

"You got out?" John echoed, making sure to keep his voice soft. Wiley just nodded, and John turned a little to face them. "Out of what? Out of the Black?"

Another nod. "It broke. It- it shattered. Like fuckin' glass, John! And I- I saw a way out, so I started runnin'. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I'm clear, John, it's quiet, it's so, so quiet…"

Saying his name felt good. It filled the quiet with something that wasn't that daunting static. Any second now, the voices would come back, carrying with them the painful sparks of colour that set fire to their mind… They'd be dragged back into the unknown, and then all this blood- the injuries they'd sustained from trying to force themself out- would get worse. They knew that much.

For now, though… For this very second in this very location… They were a little safer than they could ever remember being.

John tried to wrap his head around that. What they'd said didn't make a whole lot of sense, sure, but there was something in there that did. Maybe it wouldn't explain why they were so afraid, or what they were running from, but maybe it explained that they'd been nothing but a prisoner for all this time.

He had to forgive himself for not being able to think this through. It was barely three in the morning, he'd never had to be this alert this early before…

"And the blood?" The tesselation of scratches leaving jagged lines in their skin; their face, the back of their hands…

"They weren't gonna make it easy,"

"What d'you mean?"

"I hadta fight." The brown in their eyes that John didn't even notice was there started to shine through. They heaved a sigh, the most sturdy they'd sounded since they'd gotten here. "Doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"Wil, you're bleeding on my couch, you can't say that…"

"I'm fine." They insisted. And that was true, for the time being. They were fine here. Fine with John. All of that would change when they had to leave, and it was extremely late, so that was going to be sooner than they thought… What then? What happened when they exposed themself again, made it known exactly where they were?

John nodded. He wasn't certain that he believed them, but it was a start, he supposed. If they thought they were going to be fine, then there was no reason why he shouldn't believe them. "You said it was… Quiet. Can I take it that's a good thing?"

"I dunno. Never been this quiet before. I dunno what to make of it."

"Why's it so quiet?"

"I can't hear 'em in my head."

That needed no explanation, of course. John knew exactly what they were referring to, and that they knew more about those entities than he or anyone at PEIP ever would. He found he had nothing to say- perhaps a direct result of that gaping hole in his knowledge. Nobody knew anything about the Black and White for sure, and the one who did refused to elaborate. Not like he could blame them in the slightest for any of that…

Wiley forced a sigh. "That won't last long. They'll be back… Always are."

Whether it was his tiredness talking, or that hopeful part of him that had never believed in Wilbur's death, John didn't know. But he briefly let his impulses take over the cloud of thoughts in his mind, and spoke the first words that settled.

"You can stay, if you want."

"Huh?"

"Look, it's some ungodly hour of the morning, and sure, you might be fine in a couple hours, but you're not now…"

Right.

Now…

The passage of time was so fast here, but that was only because it worked in the first place. They still hadn't so much as comprehended that yet. There was a ‘now’, the present moment. Exactly as things stood in this second, this moment. And in that now, John was making them an offer.

But offers didn't exist. They weren't real. It was always a bargain, something both parties could benefit from, or a deal, where they would have to exchange something. What was he getting from this?

Did that even matter? There must've been a reason why they'd gone to him first, and they doubted it was because he was the only person they knew…

Their eyes met his. They were searching for something, any kind of indication that he was going to say something else- the other half of the deal. Nothing came. John's gaze was soft, almost expectant. He was waiting for them.

"I'd be gone before you can think about it." Was that a promise? If it was, they certainly meant it. Either in that they were going to make sure of it themself, or that they were going to get found out.

John hummed. "I know… I'm not offering for my benefit."

This wasn't a bargain at all. John was seriously just offering his hospitality for as long as it lasted. They faltered, then nodded slowly "… Th- thank you, John."

John seemed rather satisfied that they'd decided to take him up on the offer. That, or… Relieved, maybe? Either way, he only lasted another half hour or so before he bade Wiley goodnight and turned in, leaving them alone with the strange tangibility of the world.

The silence of the night settled in fast. Wiley decided the immediate course of action was to take care of that which John was so concerned about. All things considered, it wasn't so bad. They could definitely remember being in more pain, that was for sure.

They closed one hand over the top of the other, pressing down a little. They were about as real as anything else that belonged in the Black, and the rules of this dimension applied to them just as little. That seemed especially true when they were in it, and that made this particular job a lot easier.

When they lifted their hand again, the scratch was just another jagged white line to add to the others that already littered their skin. It was a little raised, and red around the edges, but such were the messes associated with fresh scars.

Though, getting rid of the feeling of their own freezing cold blood running down their face was always a relief, they had to admit. One by one they sorted he remaining remnants of their escape, until there was nothing left but the old ghosts of what once was, and the memory associated with them.

Suddenly they were so much more bothered about the time. Being here had never done that to them before, but they'd gained a certain vigilance to it out of nowhere. With the time they'd spent getting to John, and with the conversation that followed, they'd already been out of the Black for well over an hour.

Those hours just kept multiplying, adding onto each other until they started to doubt that they would ever be found. John came and went at some point in the early morning, surprised to see them still there, but arguably even more surprised to see that they'd made a full recovery since he'd last seen them.

Seven and a half hours, and nothing. This was by far the best of their luck, which had never been so bountiful before today. They had a sneaking suspicion that they couldn't be this lucky forever.

Nine hours, ten, eleven… They were still startlingly alone. With the need to keep that particular string of thoughts out of their mind, they started to zone out, loosening their grip on the world a little. Frankly, they couldn't remember the last time this was a safe bet, but it had been so long already… Surely if they wanted to chase them down or reappear from the confines of their mind, then they would've done so already.

Unless they were waiting until they thought for certain that they were alone to strike.

Before that could settle, before they started to believe that as a possibility, they faded out. John's space- the four walls they'd been getting used to for the last stretch of time- started to blur off into the vast expanse of nothing.

There was something in the back of their mind that told them they needed to move, to get away from this scene. This was becoming too familiar. They needed to move and they needed to do so quickly.

Feeling the weight of unknowable dread settling in their chest, they rose from their position on the couch and started to wander.

Their footsteps were completely silent against the hardwood floor. That would never do… Something needed to pull them out of this ever changing void, and remind them that they could be so lucky, that they weren't going to have their luck run out on them.

They'd passed into another room. The silence was washed out by the sound of a tiny clock, and several things humming to preserve the life in them. At once, they recalled purposes, a multitude of functions for a multitude of things. Their vision started to clear ever so slightly. This felt blissful. Their singular track mind felt a little more at ease here.

I know what I'm doing here. A purpose. Everything else has one, and so do I. What?

They felt themself reach out. In that moment, clarity was restored. Static faded out, the thoughts subsided, and they had drawn themself back enough to see what was going on.

Their hand was about three inches from John's knife block.

Eyes widened, they flinched violently and forced themself back until they hit the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Falling out of touch with the world was a bad call and always had been a bad call. There was danger in fading out, in becoming what they feared.

Don't let it take over.

Once, they had remembered a name. It used to be theirs, it was the one John remembered. Even if they could never reclaim it, bits of their past were locked in that name, no more than magazine cutouts, worn and faded with age. Those cutouts were often the only thing keeping them from cracking once and for all. The first passage of a song, or the way someone's voice used to sound. With that came instinct. It was never enough, the broken pieces, but they pretty much knew how to keep themself alive.

Boredom and a desperate need to drown out the silence were not… Always included in that instinct, but at the moment they had tools at their disposal, and at least enough in their memory to find something to do.

The knives were an immediate no. It didn't matter what they did, that was going to be readily avoided, if they could help it. Too close to slipping… Way too much of a dangerous call in this situation.

John had ingredients. Funny, there was some passing flicker in the back of their mind that recalled him admitting to not being a particularly strong cook…

They let their conscience take a backseat while those strange instincts took over. Sure, they knew what they were doing- they were fully aware- but there was something telling them they'd only ruin it if they had full control. Everything they touched was destroyed in some way. This was no different.

If they were fully in control right now, the way this instinct was slowly building some old dish they clearly knew would be destroyed too. The worst part of them had a habit of rearing it's head when it wasn't wanted, who knew how far they'd be able to send the ingredients into a state of rot and disrepair?

So, they made themself relax. The constant repetition and apparently ingrained knowledge of these steps made that a little easier. It was almost… Therapeutic. And the longer they stayed at it, the more they found themself capable of neglecting the thought that they'd put a huge target on their back.

There was something about this freedom that was almost blissful, in it's own way.

That's why they were so shaken when that bliss was interrupted from an outside source. The door. Footsteps that stopped all too rapidly. A voice, quiet and confused. A familiar voice.

"… What the hell?"

John.

John had had a weird few hours since Wiley showed up at his doorstep. First, he'd woken up that morning to find they'd made a full recovery from the number of scratches drawing their blood, and then he came home a little early, and had been immediately struck with the unmistakeable smell of cooking.

Domestic bliss wasn't on the cards for him. At a job like that, coming home to someone else- forcing himself into secrecy for the sake of something bigger than himself- didn't seem like his scene at all.

Of course, he hadn't forgotten about Wiley, but he certainly hadn't been expecting… That.

"What the hell?"

Vaguely amused and very confused, he followed the scent down to its source, and found the result to be even more surprising than the idea alone.

"Uh, Wil?"

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. A single moment had taken him back some eleven or twelve years. The two of them shared a space, then. For convenience, Wilbur had said, and John agreed. It had been convenient, and had definitely saved them many a midnight phonecall over the ideas they just couldn't shake.

And the only thing that made it even more worthwhile was the fact that Wilbur just casually demonstrated in the early days that he was a fantastic cook. John found the thought of it amusing, but Wilbur had proven as much, and after that, he stopped ever doubting his friend's talents.

Now it was happening again. There were spice pots haphazardly collected on the countertop, and the air was filled with the fresh aroma of tomato sauce. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

Wiley glanced at the tiny clock their lost mind had picked up on earlier, and then dared to turn around momentarily. "John… Didn't expect ya…"

Wiley huffed a breath of laughter that curled back their lips and brought about just another reminder that this wasn't the past it once had been. Too white. Too sharp. Too many.

John wanted to follow that with some comment about being early, but he was completely fixated on the fact that the thing closest to being Wilbur was back in his kitchen making fucking pasta of all things. He blinked, trying to ignore how nostalgic that all felt. "I… Wasn't exactly expecting you to be in my kitchen making pasta… What's going on there?"

Not human.

Not Wilbur.

"Got restless. This was… Instinct, I guess."

"Instinct?"

They shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

#starkid #void offering #am i sorry about this? am i?#no #this is a bit and i am committing to it #getting people on discord excited about pasta 101 #hi :) take my self indulgent pasta fic :)#tw blood #tw injury

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lillylvjy · 1 year

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Dancing through our house (with the ghost of you)

A/n: yes the title doesn’t really go with the fic but who cares! Um I sobbed making this but also I just let out all my emotions into a fic and put Wilbur through hell. I hope you like it tho:) also yes I do know that reader is a ghost but shush… this is my fic, I make the rules.

Warnings: major character death, swearing, kissing(once), angst with a little tiny bit of fluff.

What’s happening?

Why is he here?

What is he doing?!

It’s one of those nights apparently. Wilbur wanted to see you but he knew it wasn’t that easy.

He wanted to hold you and just tell you how much he loved and cared for you as he looked in your eyes but it was not easy at all.

He knew what he had to do. He had to go to that place he hates, get drunk, and then he can finally see you again.

He didn’t hate it as much as you did. But it was the only way. The only way he could be happy. The only way he could feel alive!

You hated it. Hated every time he came here just to see you, sitting in the same place. You’ve told him this before but he never listens. Hated how he abused his body almost everyday just to get relieved from the real world and be with his love.

You always knew when he was coming. You kept a very close eye on him. I mean. You had to didn’t you? Had to make sure he’s ok and make sure he can do this without you.

From the looks of it, he can’t. And it hurts you. So much.

You try to hide from him. But seeing as he gets drunk just to see you, you had to give him that relief. But tonight had to be the last time. It’s been a year.

“Hello darling.” He said, his words already a little slurred as he sat down in front of the stone. He had a half empty six pack of beer with him.

“Already drunk I see?” You asked him, leaning up against the stone. You couldn’t bear to look at him. Especially with what you’re about to tell him.

He laughs. “Of course I am darling. How would I be seeing you otherwise?” He asked. It was a rhetorical question but you still answered it.

“You don’t. You stop doing this all together and live life without me.” You said, blatantly. You heard him sigh and before he could say anything you turned to him. “Will. It’s been a year. You have to let me go dear. I know it hurts. Trust me. But I’m happy and I’m doing fine. I want you to grow old, find a beautiful wife, have a beautiful family, and have the life you want. Do not waste it on getting drunk just to see me. You’ll see me again. I’ll promise you that. I’ll watch you, not in a creepy way,” he laughs, but continues to cry as you cradle his face, “I’ll protect you as much as I can my love. But you have to Let. Me. Go.” You said, crying as well.

You hated it. Hated breaking his heart, but it was the truth. He needed to move on. He knew that. But how can he move on when you were the person he wanted by his side his whole life? The person he planned on marrying. The person he planned on having a family with. You were his person. And he was yours! But of course you decided to use a Uber that day to the studio. And the goddamn truck driver didn’t stop! He just kept going, like there wasn’t a care in the fucking world! They took away his love. They took away his person.

Wilbur continued to cry. “I- I can’t. You k-know that. I-I’ve tried s-so fucking hard.” He sobbed as you brought him into your chest.

You couldn’t help but let out a sob too. “I know my love, I know. But you can’t keep doing this. You have a whole music career in front of you. A whole bunch of people waiting for you to preform in front of them and give them something to live for. But they won’t get that, if you’re here. On your ass, looking like a crazy person, talking to a grave.” You said, laughing with him. “You don’t have to forget me. Please don’t forget me. But just remember me in good ways. When you play music. When you stream. When you talk about me to anyone. Anything. Smile and think ‘yeah. I knew her. I loved her once.’ Ok?” You asked him, now sobbing.

Wilbur nodding. He could barely talk. He knew you were right, but it hurt him so much. He had to let the one thing in his life that made him whole, go. He knew it was out of good intentions, but why did it feel like you wanted him gone?

“I p-promise darling. Please tell me you’re not doing this to get rid of me?” He said squeezing your hand, hard. Almost like your were slipping away.

“Will. If I could I would see you everyday. And share a life with you. But life apparently said it has fulfilled enough. I don’t want you gone Will. But I don’t like seeing you like this. You deserve more. You deserve a life full of memories. That’s why I’m letting you go my love.” You said looking into his eyes. You both were still crying seas, but it was a mutual understanding that what you said was truthful.

“I love you. So much. And I will never. Ever. Forget you. Every sunset, thunderstorm, every latte I get, every poetry book I see, literally anything! I will think about you. No matter what, my hearts all yours darling. Always has been. Always will be.” Wilbur says, looking into your eyes.

“I love you so much too Will. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. But now it’s time for you to refresh. And when it gets hard, just remember that you’re doing it for me.” You said, running your hands through his hair.

Wilbur nodded and leaned into your touch. You cupped his face, looked into his eyes and kissed him one last time. You didn’t make it last long because you knew that would just make it harder for both of you.

“You should probably go lover boy. You have a big day tomorrow. First gig right?” You asked.

“Yeah. You’re gonna be there right? Next to me?” He asked, tearing up again.

“Always. Every time. no matter where it is. I’ll be there.” You said in a genuine tone.

Wilbur nodded and kisses your palm. You smiled weakly at him and slowly got up with him. “Bye love. I love you. So much.” Wilbur said to you one last time. His voice cracking during the sentence.

You smiled at him, teary eyed.. “I love you more music man. Never forget that. No matter what. No matter where. I’m there with you. I’ll make sure of it.” You said, looking up at him. Tears streaming down your face.

He nodded and sobbed. You smiled and sighed shakily. You saluted to him and started to walk away. You sobbed the whole way to the woods.

Wilbur sobbed as he watched you. This was happening. He was no longer drunk. He was no longer in denial. He knew what he needed to do.

You turned back to look at him. You smiled, nodded and disappeared into the woods.

Wilbur sobbed all the way back to his apartment. But it was happy. He knew things were going to be ok now.

When he got back to his apartment,everything looked the same, except a letter and a flower on his dining table.

Daisies.

Wilbur smiled as he opened the letter.

‘Stop crying like a baby and take this flower. In a way you could say we’re star-crossed lovers, but in our own fucked up way.

Love, your darling.’

Wilbur laughed at the note and smiled.

Yeah. Fucked up star-crossed lovers sounded right, my love.

Taglist: @deadphantomsociety (if you want to be added, all you have to do is send me a lovely ask:))

#wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #dsmp wilbur #wilbur mcyt #wilbur x y/n #wilbur dream smp #wilburfromlvjy #lilly writes #angst #x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n

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rainydaystudios · 9 months

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Sorry theory

So, you all know the Sorry channel with Ranboo, Wilbur, Phil, Charlie and Tommy right? Well, I have a theory abt it. We’ve only seen season one, the trailer for season two and the first video for season two so I could be very wrong rn.

All the videos follow the common theme of criminal activity or law in general, except for the painting video which I’ll talk about later.

From robbing a bank, from going to court, from starting a cult, to just being lethal they present it in a funny haha way so that we don’t make theories on it. Welp, what I think we are seeing is a funny interpretation of criminal activity and how saying “sorry” can’t fix everything or a retelling of a group of criminals. Even Phil said that everything is connected.

before we get into it, I just wanna say that in both theories everyone plays multiple characters across the timeline. So, if there’s a character I don’t address like Ranboo playing the cult leader it’s a separate character.

In the first “episode” where they go to court, they are there because Tommy apparently ate Phil’s sausage roll, and this might just be a metaphor for cannibalism. It’s stretch but it’s there. There’s also the fact that at the end it gives a conclusion for what happened to everyone, which in our “time line” this would be the end of it with the jail video being the epilogue of some sort.

The second “episode” where they go to prison is like previously said, the epilogue for what happened to everyone. Not much to really say about it.

In the third “episode” where they rob a bank, this is the crime that they commit. The group of criminals get together after painting to rob a bank, starting their slow decent into this criminal life for all of them. (Note: Gretchen and Wilma didn’t join the heist, or Wilma is a trans guy and later became Wilbur.)

In the fourth “episode” right before they actually rob a bank, Charlie is still a cop but soon quits it to join the bank heist. (we see implications at the end) in this one we see some back story and how they found Tommy and Wilbur and added him to the “gang” (unless Wilma is a trans guy and later became Wilbur.) Phil is the one to get Tommy and allegedly Wilbur to join the cult, after the situation Charlie quits his job and joins the gang full time.

In the fifth “episode” where they become painters I think this is where they kinda decide to become criminals, Gretchen and Wilma don’t join the heist, unless Wilma is a trans guy and became Wilbur later.

in the “sixth” episode where they see who is the most lethal is right after they all rob a bank together, they now are wanted and have a urge to get high on adrenaline again so they take it to the extreme and kill/torture people, Charlie takes it to the next level.

in the first “episode” of the second season, they bury Tommy alive. In the canon theory, Tommy isn’t being Tommy. This is just another one of their victims.

of course, this theory could be extremely wrong and I’m wrong as fuck, but it’s still something to think abt :)

edit 1: ep 2 season 2 is abt them running a scam and treating employees terribly Lmaooo

#Sorry boys #ranboo #philza #wilbursoot #tommyinnit #charlieslimecicle #theory

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alpinefrsh · 8 months

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Tommy in LMK crossover ideas

Ahem... Below the cut, you'll find yourself faced with eight different concepts for Tommyinnit in the universe of Lego Monkie Kid. Most of which I'd like to write something for in the future, but honestly, who knows if I'll actually get around to it. If any of these happen to be up your alley, feel free to take as much or as little inspiration from them as you'd like.

1 - Amnesiac c!Tommy: c!Tommy wakes up in a city (Megapolis) with no memories aside from the innate knowledge that his name is Tommy. Lives in a cardboard box he named L’Boxberg for no apparent reason until he befriends Bai He, who, upon figuring out that he’s homeless, drags him to Macaque’s place and doesn’t accept criticism. Tommy occasionally gets fucked up by things triggering his memories from dsmp. Sometimes they’re positive memories, but mostly they’re just traumatic and upsetting.

2 - Fae!Macaque and village child TommyInnit: Tommy, MK, Mei, and possibly Bai He are all children in a rural village on the outskirts of a forest. Whenever there’s no one else around to snitch, MK tells Tommy and Mei (and Bai He, depending on if she’s there or not) about the Fae who’s been teaching him magic (Monkey King). This is great, except it fills Tommy’s head with all the wrong kinds of ideas and he decides to venture out into the forest to meet the Monkey King for himself. Spoiler alert, the fae he encounters is not Monkey King (Tommy’s persistence earns him a fae older brother/father figure out of Macaque anyway).

3 - Ghost!Macaque and Tommy: Tommy moves out into a shitty cheap flat all on his own, only to discover it’s already occupied by a pessimistic ghost named Macaque. Also, he doesn’t believe in ghosts.

4 - Vigilante Tommy, Villain Macaque: SBI is family, all of them, excluding Tommy (who’s too young) are heroes. When a villain called Macaque hurts Wilbur badly enough to put him in a coma, Tommy becomes a vigilante for the sole purpose of getting revenge by putting Macaque behind bars.

5 - Raccoonification Station: In a classic case of ‘wrong place, wrong time’ Tommy gets hit by a mystic artifact Jin and Yin were messing with that turns him into a Raccoon. Now stuck as a raccoon with no idea of how to change back and no way of asking for help, Tommy befriends the first person who feeds him- presumably Bai He, but could hypothetically work as someone else- who eventually realizes that- one, there shouldn’t be any raccoons in China, and two, this raccoon does not act like a raccoon. And then brings him to Macaque (or Wukong, depending on who it is) to see if there’s any mystic shenanigans going on.

6 - Tommy and MK roommates AU: Everything is the same, except Tommy is MK’s roommate. Ongoing joke of one of them hitting the other with “We need to have a serious discussion” and then that ‘discussion’ being things like “MK, you have to stop facing your Monkey King toy in my direction. He stares at me all day long and I am beginning to fear for my life.” (Until of course Tommy gets sick of watching MK’s mental health collapse and has a genuinely serious discussion with his roomie) 7 - Sorry!Tommy in LMK: After being buried alive by the people he thought were his friends, Tommy digs his way back to the surface with a new fear of tight spaces. Except now Tommy finds himself on a mountainous island in the middle of an ocean (Flower Fruit Mountain). He befriends a local troop of monkeys and Wukong is entirely unaware of the random human living on his mountain until he overhears some monkeys chatting about the weird boy who came from the earth.

8 - Noodle Thief AU: Tommy’s part human, part raccoon demon, and a literal child, who lives in the bushes of a local park. One day he smells something particularly tasty and follows the scent to an unguarded vehicle with several containers of noodles. This starts a cycle that will take several years off of Pigsy’s lifespan in which Tommy makes a habit of stealing noodles whenever MK’s not looking. Post season 4 special.

These are all fairly slimmed down to the bare bones premises, so if you'd like more elaboration or plot details for any of these ideas, let me know. (I also have a written scene for both the Ghostcaque AU and the Vigilante & Villain AU if anyone wants to see either of those)

#tommyinnit #lego monkie kid #fic ideas #crossover

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pan-ic-at-the-homehome · 2 years

Note

Ok so like hear me out Fundy biting the reader for no reason like yk how some people bite others theyre close to just because idk i just think its cute when they suddenly go ᶜʰᵒᵐᵖ on someones neck or shoulder or something and its not even sexual and yk Fundys a fox so hed probably have lil fangs and omg im down bad

Regarding the recent news, should I keep writing C!Techno as a romantic interest? I don't want to be disrespectful, but Techno content is basically what this blog runs on at this point and I have so many drafts for him, and I also just want to keep his memory alive as much as possible. I definitely won't be writing any smut for him even though all I write is the character but I'm not sure if I should keep on with romance stuff. Please let me know what you guys think.

May the madlad rest in peace.

I wrote the majority of this quite a while ago but only just recently felt the motivation to occupy my mind and start writing again. This was originally going to include a bit of nsfw but it felt weird including that with the stuff listed above. I might make another part with the nsfw if this gets enough love. Enjoy :]

Fundy Bites His S/O

-Ok so I did some research and apparently foxes don't actually have fangs???? It's actually just their canine teeth that get mistaken for fangs a lot??? -But they still have sharp teeth so I'm gonna say that Fundy has fang-like teeth in the area of fangs boom problem solved

-He's probably insecure about his teeth, specifically his fangs -I imagine he does that cute thing where he covers his mouth with his hand when he smiles or laughs -So being able to see his teeth in general shows just how comfortable he is with you -Imagine the comfort level he's at when he willingly gives you a love bite

-Oneshot-

It's never a surprise when Fundy comes home tired and ready to pass out in your arms. Whether it be a run-in with his father, people overworking him, him overworking himself, or just being tired, you had grown to be ready to cuddle him soon as he got home. Even if he wasn't super tired, it's nice to cuddle with your lover so he never complains too much.

Today was one of the bad days for Fundy. Soon as he walked into the house you could tell. Ears down, tail practically tucked between his legs, eyes watery and ready to spill at any moment.

As much as you loved cuddling with him, you always hoped he'd come in lively and excited. You could handle going without cuddles if it meant he was happy, but the poor boy was anything but that at the moment and was in dire need of comfort.

You speed walked over to him as quickly as possible, gently putting a hand on his back and guiding him to your shared bedroom. You pulled a blanket aside just enough to fit the two of you and gently bring him to a laying position facing you and you wrap your arms around him.

You run a hand through his hair, "Do you want to talk about it baby?"

He lets out a soft whimper but nods his head nonetheless.

"Work?" He shakes his head. "A person in specific?" He hums. "Schlatt?" "no..." "Tubbo? Tommy?"

"Wilbur?" He whimpers again, the indication that you needed.

It was always awful when he bumped into Wilbur in one of his moods. Your words didn't have as much of an affect as Wilbur's words did no matter how much more true they were. All you could to was repeat constant validations and play with his hair until he fell asleep and he woke up in a better mindset.

He nuzzled into your neck, sighing in content as his tears seemed to calm down for the moment.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want to watch a movie? I can help out with work if you w- Ow!" Fundy immediately recoiled as soon as the exclamation left you mouth, "Sorry!" The guilty look on his flushed face wasn't one you could possibly be upset at though.

You chuckled, "If you wanted me to shut up you could have just asked, but I'm not complaining. It didn't hurt, it was just surprising" You pull him back against your body and his ears perk up a bit. He bites down onto your shoulder again. Surprisingly there was very little pain as he tried to not break skin.

"You're so cute Fundy, you really deserve the world." You sigh out as you continue playing with his hair, his tail starting to wag softly.

He probably was too nervous until that day to bite you because from that day on, no matter his mood, he always tried to sneak up on you and bite your shoulder. In fact, catching you off guard usually brightened his mood so you couldn't be mad about it.

And every morning if he was awake before he thought you were awake he would bite your shoulder in an attempt to gently wake you up.

God you hated his father for what he's done, but man did he contribute into an amazing part of your relationship.

#fundy x you #fundy x y/n #fundy x reader #fundy dsmp #dsmp x reader #dsmp x y/n #dsmp fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #technoblade

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2-sleepy-for-this · 1 year

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That Squeezing Feeling

And just like that, it’s finally done! This was for the 2022 MCYT G/T Secret Santa ‘winter wonderland’ and my assignment was 🥁🥁

@deathemo !! :)

I hope you like it! The prompt was: g!naga tommy and surprise tinies are out in the snow, tommy has to carry them and gets some intrustive thoughts, especially about how fragile the tinies and just how easy it would be for him just to squish them. It ends with them comforting tommy and it turns into a big fluf

Tw: intrusive thoughts, squeezing, dehumanization, slight fear (I think that’s it?)

word count: 1.5k

Cold. That was what led to this. Tommy’s tail slithered over the fresh snow as his human family trailed next to him. As a Naga, you’d think he would be freezing right now, with stiff limbs and a slowed heart while he slept in his brumation period. But Tommy wasn’t like most Nagas. As the biggest man alive, he was able to block out the cold with his thick scales and stay nice and warm from his human half.

The snowstorm took them completely by surprise while the misfit family spent a day in a nice field Tommy had found. It was sunny and warm earlier in the day as Tommy basked in the sun, Tubbo convincing Ranboo to join him in climbing Tommy’s tail while Wilbur watched from a few feet away. The weather changed quickly after that and as the clouds rolled in and the wind picked up; they tried leaving to beat the storm home. This didn’t work as planned. Now all of them were stuck walking in the forest as more snow drifted down to taunt them.

“Guys, I’m tired,” Tubbo groaned. “Can you carry me the rest of the way, Toms?”

When Tommy looked over to make a snarky comment about laziness, he was met with the one thing he couldn’t say no to: Tubbo’s puppy eyes at full force. Tommy had to take a stuttering second to collect his thoughts from the sudden look. Tubbo used his puppy eyes occasionally, whenever he wanted something fast, or just to mess with people, but it caught Tommy off guard every time.

Finally, he gave in with a sigh and scooped up Tubbo with no warning, earning a startled noise.

The four continued on their way through the Forest, one now getting a reluctant, free ride. Eventually, as Tommy was in a deep focus on moving forward, and the small life in his hands that felt so small, so fragile-

There was a sudden weight on his tail, and he stopped. Tommy’s first instinct was to curl around the thing and squeeze.

But Tommy’s a big man and big men don’t live off of their instincts, not anymore, so he instead turned to look at it. There, sitting like a king on a scaled throne, was his older brother, Wilbur. He let out a sigh of relief, still riled up from the scare.

“Hey, warn a guy next time, why don’t ya,” Tommy scoffed, slightly annoyed, “and get off my tail!”

“If Tubbo gets a free ride, then I’m not walking. "

“…fine”

Tommy gave in. It made sense to just carry all of them, really. He was faster, after all. Besides, even an idiot could see the side eyes Ranboo was giving him, it’d be a lot easier if he just asked to be picked up though.

“What are you waiting for, Ranboo? Get up here,”

With only a small hesitation, Ranboo made his way up, claiming a spot next to Wilbur on Tommy’s red scales. Tommy started hopefully the way they came earlier, now with two more added passengers. But for some reason, that instinct of squeezing something stayed, even after calming down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few minutes of Tommy slithering on the fresh snow when Wilbur and Ranboo moved from his tail to his hands, where Tubbo was sitting. Apparently, his human hands were much warmer than his scaled tail and none of them were dressed right for the cold weather to begin with.

With his friends held gently to his chest, blocking out the cold, the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence, letting their minds wander. Tommy’s mind especially had the tendency to wander far.

Every so often he would get this feeling, a sense of dread. It would only grow as his small family got closer to him. Most of the time it just stayed in the back of his mind, but right now he had nothing but the forest in front of him to concentrate on.

Tommy could feel the slight shivers of his family against his chest as he tried his best to protect them from the cold. How do they survive anything being this small? He could hold all of them in his hands, no problem, he could do anything to them with ease.

Suddenly, those instincts were back with one simple thought: squeeze them.

Tommy felt horrified when he heard that, doing his best to shake the thought out of his head, but it wasn’t working.

A human is just so so fragile, it wouldn’t take much for it to break.

Them. His family aren’t ‘it’s. What was he thinking?

But imagine how satisfying it would be, the fear in their eyes. It’s been so long since he saw them like that. Their first meeting was so long ago and since then, they’d gotten used to him quickly.

Just a bit of fear wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s a naga, he’s made to do a lot worse than scare these little creatures.

“Uh…toms?”

Wilbur’s voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance. What was happening again? They were going home, right? And he’s holding them- he’s holding them too tight-

Looking down at his family, he could see some uncertainty in their eyes. They would look much more worried if they could read his thoughts. But what he was petrified of was feeling his hold on them loosen as they took a collective gasp of air.

He was squeezing them. He was squeezing them. Not hard enough to hurt or even bruise, but it could have been if he zoned out any longer.

“What’s going on?” Ranboo said, concerned, but Tommy couldn’t miss the edges of fear in his voice. “A-Are you ok Tommy?”

“I.. yea, yea, I-I’m fine. Just tired from having to carry my lazy friends. "

He tried joking to change the subject. It mostly worked, as they gave him a few offended remarks before starting a new conversation. But Tommy couldn’t focus on what was being said. He had almost hurt his family.

He couldn’t help it when he stared at the surrounding snow, breaths coming in short and shaking.

They trust him so much and he wants to scare them..wants to hurt them.

No, he doesn’t want that. It’s his stupid instincts that want him to throw away all the trust he knows he doesn’t deserve. He’s better than this!

Looking in the distance, he can see a familiar cave opening and rushes the rest of the way inside, wanting to put the fragile lives in his hands down before something else happens.

“Finally, I thought we’d be stuck out there all night!”

Tommy tried to laugh at Tubbo’s joke, but it came out forced. He had to get away from them.

He jumped as something cold stroked his scales

squeeze it

No!

He looked to see Ranboo petting the side of his tail. He looked concerned. He found his other family members had similar expressions.

“Tommy, you can tell us if something’s bothering you,” Ranboo said. “You know that, right?”

“Yea! We’re family, and that means you can tell us all your secrets. "

“What Tubbo means to say is, we care about you and if something’s wrong, we want to know. "

Wilbur sounded so sincere, they all did. Maybe he was just overreacting. With a sigh, Tommy tried opening up about everything that had happened that night.

“W-well, it’s nothing really, I mean not nothing nothing but also nothing to worry about, I promise. I'm just overreacting… it’s nothing serious but, ..every once in a while I get, uh. I-I getthesethoghtstohurtyouguyseventhoughIwouldntdothatbecauseyourmyfamilyand- “

“Woah, woah, woah calm down toms, it’s alright.” Wilbur tried reassuring, “just breath and try this again, slowly”

“… Sometimes I get thoughts that tell me to hurt you guys. I-I wouldn’t ever do it though! They just show up when I don’t want them to. And sometimes I get these instincts in the back of my mind telling me what to do… they just got really bad. I’m so sorry, please don’t leave. I promise I can learn to stop.”

The three humans on the floor seemed shocked as Tommy rambled. How had they never realized, of course, Tommy would have instincts like this. He’s a naga. Even though they’re close, it’s still ingrained in his head.

It must be so hard for him to deal with all this alone.

They weren’t gonna let that happen anymore.

It took some time, but eventually, the humans got Tommy to calm down and told him they had no plans of leaving him. Never.

And as the commotion from the inside of the cave grew quiet, if a hiking human were to wander in past the brush hiding the entrance, they would see not a fearsome naga with its helpless victims, but a family held close together with trust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ta-da! Hope you all enjoyed and I may start writing more after this ;)

#mcyt gt secret santa 2022 #mcyt g/t #dream smp g/t #dsmp g/t #giant!tommy #g!tommy #tiny!wilbur #t!wilbur #tiny!tubbo #t!tubbo #tiny!ranboo #t!ranboo #That Squeezing Feeling au #giant/tiny #g/t #g/t community #i actually really like this one #turned out great #hope you liked it!

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potatonugget7 · 11 months

Text

Something Worse Than A Spider, A Child.

The sequel to OH MY GODS THEY WERE ROOMMATES?! also posted on AO3. It’s been like two years but here we goooooo!

TWs: Fear of death, Spiders. 3.8 Words

Wilbur is having an absolute *field day*. He tripped and dropped a whole bundle of firewood, got stuck in a spiderweb and nearly eaten, oh and then he was also captured by a human. IT WAS FANTASTIC! Then he met his soulmate who APPARENTLY defies the laws of the universe because rules are meant to be broken I guess!

Soulmates; for some they’re lovers, for some they’re best friends. Either way they are meant to be inseparable pairs. Everyone’s got one; that one person with whom you’re supposed to spend your life with. They’re tied together with a metaphorical string, fate pulling them closer and closer together until the day they finally meet. Both bear matching marks on their wrists and have the ability to message each other by writing on their arm.

---

Wilbur considered himself a very skilled borrower, a very well-educated borrower. With this information you may be wondering, how exactly did he find himself trapped in the sticky web of a garden spider? It’s a very short story. Unfortunately, this house was not the most ideal for a borrower, but it was his home, and moving was a lot of work. The biggest flaw was that it had children.

A very loud, rambunctious teenager with an unfortunate fascination with bugs, insects, and mud. Meaning it spent most of its time running around the yard. The yard that Wilbur had to traverse during his day-to-day life.

Now how does this tie in (ha, tie) to him getting stuck in a spider’s web? Unfortunately, the child had just gotten home, yelling at the top of its lungs of course, about its latest school project. Involving insects. And usually said child did all its bug hunting in the backyard. So he knew he had to hurry if he wanted to make it home alive.

But hurrying when you’re in the process of carrying a stack of firewood in your arms usually tends to cause accidents, which is exactly what happened. The brunet borrower couldn’t see where he was going over the pile of sticks in his arms, and ended up tripping over a few rocks and was sent stumbling right into the sticky webbing strapped to the tall gnarled roots of the oak tree in the backyard. Wilbur had been trying very hard to avoid the webs whenever he went outside, knowing the orb weaver it belonged to was not one to be crossed. It wasn’t a particularly massive spider, not bigger than him, not like ones he’d heard stories of. But it was much bigger than any ants or bees he’d seen in the garden. And he knew how bad their venomous bites were.

His little brother had had a run-in with it once, before they’d gotten separated. It had left him unable to move for a few days, and the nausea and fever that followed was awful. Wilbur had tended to him the entire time, and thankfully Tubbo had recovered.

The tall borrower wondered where he was these days, and prayed to Prime that he was safe. Though currently, he was praying for his own safety. Death by an orb weaver was not swift and painless. He’d be paralysed by its painful bite, and then wrapped up in the silky webbing to be eaten later… just like the moth he’d seen tied up in its web the week prior.

‘Oh here it comes now.’ he thought fatalistically as the webbing vibrated, and the bright yellow marked spider started climbing down the large web, its beady eyes trained on the brunet. Wilbur stared up at it with a frown, trying not to let his fear show. It wasn’t like he wanted to die. Quite the opposite. He was actually absolutely terrified, but struggling didn’t work. He’d tried at least a dozen times. The borrower looked down at his chest, glaring down at his ugly yellow sweater before closing his eyes, waiting for paralysis to take him.

Damn. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to his soulmate…

He opened his eyes again and stared down at his arm, his trench coat sleeve covering the pictogram on his wrist. It was a picture of a music note, a sword down the centre of the treble clef. Wilbur sighed sadly and looked up at his impending doom with a fierce glare.

“I hope you get indigestion, you yellow menace.” he spat as venomously as the orb weaver’s own poison. The spider hissed in response, pinching its venomous pincers. So apparently, spiders can speak English. Cool. Unless this spider was secretly his soulmate. But Wilbur sincerely doubted that. Never in a million years had he heard of cross-species soulmates. The idea was just absurd.

“Oh go shove a moth in it won’t you? We both know you’d never beat me in a fair fight.” Wilbur snarled out, glaring into the spider’s beady eyes.

Suddenly he felt the web vibrating more, continuously, but the garden spider wasn’t moving. The orb weaver seemed to pause, going still. If spiders were intelligent, he’d say he could see the gears turning in its head.

“What? Calling your mate are you? Am I a lunch date for the two of you or something??”

Then the spider ran away.

“...Uh… okay… bye then?”

Anxiety pooled in his stomach as the webbing vibrated more and more, but it wasn’t a spider. The ugly yellow bastard was already scuttling off into the tall grass. Wilbur could feel the tremors travel from the ground to the webbing, he could see the ground shaking. Thunder roared under the earth as something big stomped closer and closer, and before he knew it, he found himself engulfed in an impossibly massive shadow, a pair of giant shoes planted centimetres in front of him. Well, bigger spider could definitely be crossed off the list!

“Where’s that yellow spider… I know it’s around here. It’d be perfect!” a loud voice rumbled overhead, and the brunet hesitantly looked up, and up, worried that his greatest fears were about to smack him right in the face.

And he was proven right as he saw the creature casting the shadow, was none other than that giant blond menace of a human, standing over him, a glass jar in hand. It wasn’t looking at him… yet, instead scanning the tree branches for… the spider apparently. You know what? Wilbur was fine with this. The death traps could deal with each other. The human would probably win but at least it’d be putting the orb weaver out of his misery.

The borrower squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a small startled gasp as the blond suddenly stepped over him obliviously, still looking around the tree for the bright yellow spider. While that was scary… he wasn’t dead! Wilbur slowly reopened his eyes, shuddering as he felt the tremors still. Now was his chance to get free while the giant was distracted and the spider was elsewhere!

Wilbur focused on one arm to start, trying to rip his right arm free from the sticky silk. Then once he got it free, he could pull his knife out of his bag and-

“Woah… what’re you supposed to be?” a voice cut through his thoughts, and the borrower felt his heart skip a beat. Looking down, the shadow had changed. Slowly he looked up, and up, and met the gaze of the massive human. It was tall and lanky, taller than most humans he’d seen in his lifetime, yet had a child-likeness to its face. Massive icy blue orbs bore into his own, and Wilbur felt a shiver travel down his spine, only one word going through his head.

Fuck.

“Well? You can talk, can’t you little man?” the human crouched down in front of him, and the brunet gave it the most venomous glare he could muster despite the fact that he was trembling. The borrower rules, AKA his way of life, said under no circumstances should you talk to a human. It usually ended in getting dissected or something painful like that. But also, fuck the rules, this kid just had such an insultable face.

“So what if I can? What's it to you, big man?” he spat mockingly.

“Well, truth be told, you’re pretty unusual, and I just happen to be looking for something unique. You’re far more interesting than some garden spider that’s for sure.” the borrower tensed, trying not to show his nervousness as anxiety flooded into his mind like a tidal wave.

“I wouldn’t call myself particularly interesting actually. I’m a bit tied up right now, physically and metaphorically. So how about you help me out and we can just forget we ever met, yeah?” Wilbur tried, starting to sweat a bit.

“Hmmmmmm, nah,” the human gave him a toothy grin. “It’s not every day you find a tiny person in your backyard.” in all honesty, yeah that was understandable. But also fucking shit piss hell fuck shit-

The borrower let out a startled noise and visibly recoiled as a giant hand suddenly reached over and wrapped around his small frame, easily ripping him from the spider web and carrying him into the air.

“This- okay how about we make a deal?” he tried nervously, and the human raised an eyebrow.

“What sort of deal? I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent businessman and not easily persuaded.” Wilbur swallowed nervously as he was lifted higher up, held in front of the giant face, the kid nearly going cross-eyed to stare at him.

“Well, I’ll tell you the truth. I’m actually an alien.” he whispered.

“What.”

“That's right, I come from the planet of-... L’manburg…” the borrower said slowly.

“Sounds like bullshit but alright.” the human didn’t look convinced, but Wilbur continued the act.

“Wh- excuse me?? How dare you!”

“Look pal, I know aliens aren’t real. You’re coming with me, and that's that.” Wilbur’s stomach lurched as the human stood to its full height, and he was stuffed into it’s shirt pocket.

“Just a sec-” the colour drained from his face as the giant started fiddling with the mason jar it’d brought outside with it, and started unscrewing the lid. Wilbur had a feeling he knew exactly what it was for, and his anxiety was suddenly heightened. His heart rate went from one to a hundred in less than a second as giant fingers pinched the back of his trenchcoat and carried him into the air, before unceremoniously dropping him into the glass prison.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He slowly scooted back until his coat pressed against the cold, hard wall. The brunet crossed his arms over his chest, hiding how they shook as he continued glaring up at the child.

“Are you aware kidnapping is a crime?”

“I’d hardly call it kidnapping when you’re the size of a mouse.” the human chuckled in response. Wilbur was knocked onto his hands and knees as the container jolted suddenly, and everything started moving. He took one look at the ground far below before yanking his head back and glaring up at the giant once again.

“N-not even going to ask for my name?”

“Would you tell me if I asked?” blondie raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Wilbur crossed his arms. “Will you tell me yours so I can stop mentally referring to you as ‘child’?”

The human stopped in its tracks, sputtering out an offended string of noises.

“How fucking dare you! I am not a child you tiny bitch! If anything you’re the child!”

“And how exactly does that logic track?”

“Cos’ you’re short an’ shit.” the borrower raised an eyebrow this time.

“Yes well I think it’s been established I’m not a human. So you can’t hold me to human standards.”

"What are you then? Some weird mutated rat man? Or are you a faerie?" the jar was lifted higher, and Wilbur nearly fell flat on his face.

“Are you going to tell me your name or not?”

“Fineeeeeeeeeeeeee,” the blond rolled its eyes. “It’s Tommy, TommyInnit, the biggest man.”

“Uhuh…”

“What's yours then?” ‘Tommy’ questioned, staring holes into his head with his massive eyeballs. “Wilbur. No title.”

“Got any friends, Wilbur no title?” the human asked teasingly, and Wilbur scowled.

“Not that I can think of…”

“So no one to miss you? Well don’t worry, you and I can be the best of friends.” suddenly the jostling worsened tenfold, and the poor borrower was beginning to feel motion sick.

Fucking hell…

He tried his best to stay upright, sitting back against the glass with his palms pressed to the curved walls.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to pass.” he bit out.

“Wha- why?! I’m probably- no definitely, the coolest and greatest man you’ve ever met!” Wilbur crossed his arms.

“You put me in a jar, and you’re annoy-ing.” he enunciated the last word. The blond human obviously wasn’t happy with this answer. The stupid child sputtered and scoffed.

“Well- y’know- I- I might seem a little annoying at first- but I promise it’ll grow on you!”

“...I don’t care.” he wasn’t exactly scared of the human anymore… it was more like… a fear for his safety.

Tommy’s face scrunched up in anger, going bright red, Wilbur thought he looked like a tomato- He yelped as he was thrown against the glass again, and he realised the human was swinging the jar through the air… again.

"Can you not??" he grumbled out, but Tommy didn't stop swinging his arm back and fourth as he walked.

"What was that little man? You're so quiet I can't hear you!" the blond replied loudly in an exasperated tone.

"Oh my Prime you are such a fucking child-" he grunted in pain as he was slammed against the glass wall again.

"ALRIGHT FUCK! I'M SORRY!" his stomach lurched and he fell onto his back, but the jar finally stopped swinging.

"Apology accepted."

"Prime, do you humans really feel no shred of guilt?? Empathy??" Wilbur demanded.

"I do but you're being a bit of a dick right now if I'm being honest." Tommy stated firmly, and Wilbur clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. He paused, and stared down at his arm. That's right… he had a chance to tell him soulmate his goodbyes now! The only blessing the human boy unknowingly gave him. Quickly he rolled up his sleeve,

'Techno are you there?' he wrote quietly, trying his best to remain inconspicuous so as to not get interrupted by the blond human.

'Hi. I just got home.' an answer appeared on his arm, causing it to tingle.

'I have some…' Wilbur paused, dread pooling in his stomach as he thought about what he was writing.

'Bad news.' he finished.

'Ok. What is it?' his soulmate responded, the message didn't look all too urgent, but Wilbur knew that was just how Technoblade was sometimes.

'I'm… I'm kind of in troubl-' he started to write, when the jar gave another violent shake, and smooth wood appeared below his feet. Looking around, Wilbur realised it was a table, the big one in the kitchen where all the humans ate. An intrusive thought wormed it's way into his mind at the implications of that.

Tommy sat down in front of him, just staring him down with those big blue orbs. Why did blue-eyed people always look scarier than everyone else?

"Well you got awfully quiet." Tommy started, and the borrower gave him a frown of malcontent.

"Apologies, contrary to what you might think,most people don't enjoy making conversation with their kidnapper." he bit out, pausing to look down at his arm as it tingled again.

"Alright, kidnapping is a strong word pal." Tommy interrupted, only to get ignored.

'With the police?' the message read, and he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him, despite everything going on. The human stared at him like a madman.

"The fuck are you laughing about??"

"Something my friend said! Is it a crime to want to laugh now?!" Wilbur snapped, giving him a venomous glare. Tommy looked like he was going to yell or something unnecessarily aggressive again, but stopped, a new emotion crossed his features; guilt.

"You mean… your soulmate?" the blond asked slowly, in a surprisingly gentle tone.

"...Yes."

"Even… tiny people have soulmates?" Tommy asked, as if it was some wildly impossible concept. The brunet stopped himself from glaring, and instead swallowed down his anger and worry.

"Yes… of course we do. Everyone does."

"Actually, I don't." the blond replied bitterly, and Wilbur gave him a confused look.

"What? Don't humans have them?"

"Yes, but I don't," Tommy held his arm up to show the lack of a pictogram on his wrist. "Dadza said I'll get one eventually, but I don't think that's how it works…"

"Yeah… you look far too old to not have one…" Wilbur mumbled. He'd had his for as long as his memory dated back, and Tubbo's had appeared when he was only two or three. Wait- right Techno!

'No not the police! I mean a human Techno! This isn't the time to joke!' he scribbled quickly, ignoring how he could feel the human child's eyes burning a hole in his head. The silence that followed while Wilbur waited for a response was painful, but eventually it came.

'Oh. I'm sorry… I don’t know what to do. I hope they're nice.'

'Techno. Human trouble. Obviously they're not nice!' he wrote back quickly.

'So… is this a last words kind of situation?' the message appeared across his arm in slow motion, and a few tears began beading down his cheeks.

'Yes…'

"Are you… crying?" a voice rumbled above him, and Wilbur remembered exactly where he was. He scrubbed away the tears and glared up at the blond.

"No! Fuck off!" the brunet snapped, despite the fact that Tommy sounded genuinely concerned. His tone had completely shifted, and the look on his face was sympathetic as he laid his head on the tabletop, staring into Wilbur's glass prison.

"Alright, suit yourself. I'm just trying to help." the borrower's brain wasn't paying attention to whatever Tommy said as he watched another human enter the room. A red-eyed man with pink hair, his dark roots stealthily showing his natural colour. The pinket looked nervous, staring down at his arm as he walked behind Tommy towards the cabinet where the cups were kept. Wilbur felt his heart beating rapidly, anxiety and panic pooling in his stomach and spreading through his core once again.

"Hm?" Tommy looked between him and the pinket a few times before he realised what must be going on. Suddenly giant hands wrapped around the jar again and Wilbur felt his stomach lurch once more. Tommy held the jar in his lap and turned slightly, blocking his brother's view of it's contents, but not before the brunet caught a glance of his arm.

Technoblade's arm.

"Heyyyyy Blade." Tommy drawled out in the most suspicious tone ever.

"Hi…" he replied monotonously.

Wilbur's entire world had just come crashing down.

"So uh… what's going on with you? Why are you out here?"

"I'm making tea… and this is the kitchen." Techno deadpanned.

Techno was a human. His only friend, who made him feel safe and hopeful- and think that there were still other borrowers out there!

"You look kind of stressed." the blond pointed out obviously.

"Yeah… m' just worried about ny soulmate… he said some worryin' things and hasn't got back to me yet…" Wilbur hadn't even noticed the new message tickling his arm. He stared down at it in wide-eyed shock.

'I guess I should tell you something then.' the borrower swallowed nervously.

'That you're a human?' he wrote shakily.

Technoblade let out a small gasp, before looking around in confusion and worry.

"Hello?" the pinket asked aloud, and Tommy looked at him like an absolute lunatic.

'Help me. Techno I'm here. I'm trapped. Your little brother caught me.' he wrote desperately, panic bleeding into his writing.

There was a silence, before footsteps started thudding against the floor.

"Tommy." the pinket started, and held out his hand.

"What? What do you want?" the teen asked defensively, hugging the jar tighter to his person with a defiant glare on his face.

"Give me the borrower." Techno demanded calmly, though his aura radiated an intimidating strength. Tommy looked shocked for a minute, before he sneered and shook his head.

"Leave my tiny friend alone and go find your own."

Wilbur scoffed. Friendship was not what they had, that's for sure.

"Tommy. Give me my soulmate." the pinket tried again, sounding less patient. The borrower felt his mouth go dry and his heart clench. It really was Techno… and… he… actually wanted to help?

"Your soulmate?!" Tommy exclaimed in pure shock.

"Yes. His name is Wilbur."

"I know what his name is! But what do you mean soulmate?!" Tommy demanded, haphazardly setting the jar down on the table so he could make wild motions his hands.

"Hes tiny! How can you guys be soulmates when hes not even human?!"

"Don't know, don’t care." Techno stated dismissively before picking the jar up off the table, accidentally knocking Wilbur over….. again. The brunet pushed himself up and scooted back, a nervous look on his face as he pressed his back against the glass. So big… even bigger than Tommy… scary.

He met Techno's harsh, red-brown eyes, and swallowed nervously. Quickly they softened, but it did nothing to quell the poor borrower's anxiety.

"Well let's get you outta' here." Techno said before he started unscrewing the lid. Wilbur didn't have time to process anything as he was gently slid out of the jar and into the human's awaiting hand. The borrower immediately tensed up and braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the fingers to close around him like vicious claws. But it never happened.

Slowly he opened his eyes again and looked around, hugging himself. Techno was just staring at him.

"Um…-"

"Sorry- I didn't mean to stare… this is just really weird." the pinket put the jar down and took several steps away from the counter, moving his free hand underneath the other for support.

"You… you knew I was a borrower?" Wilbur asked finally.

"Mhm."

"A-and you never thought to mention you were a human??" Techno looked conflicted, before nodding.

"I figured it might complicate things so I kept it to myself."

"You- I- AHG!" he yelled, tugging at his hair.

"...So mind explaining exactly what's going on? I'm still confused" Tommy interjected.

"Nah. The big kids are busy." Techno replied unapologetically before walking out of the kitchen, and headed upstairs, taking Wilbur with him. Nervousness tugged at his gut, and after a minute, Wilbur worked up the courage to ask.

“Um… Technoblade… what exactly are you… going to do... with me?” the tall human sighed, pushing his bedroom door open with a creak.

“I’m gonna put you down, an’ you can do whatever you want after. I’d like for you to stay and talk… face to face, but I can understand if you don’t wanna do that.” he said in an honest voice.

The borrower mulled over the words as Techno walked across the room to his desk. He gently set Wilbur down on top of it, before sitting down in front of him.

“Well… I suppose I could stay for a little bit…” the brunet started hesitantly.

“Sounds good. Why don’t we start with how the little gremlin caught you?” Wilbur scoffed.

“I’d hardly call him little, but sure. It involves a web and the world’s worst garden spider.”

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