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cryingtulips · 2 months

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i’ll ruin us all my dear

Written for @dsmp-eras. March 9-12 marking L'Manburg for the event, and I chose to write about c!Tommy and c!Dream's duel but in the perspective of c!Wilbur

Watching as Tommy loses his second life because of his actions, Wilbur can't help but wonder if he's destined to ruin everything he cares for.

ao3 link

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If there’s one thing Wilbur regrets never teaching Tommy, it was how to aim.

The younger boy was a good soldier, determined and fierce. Sometimes, as Wilbur watched Tommy train the other soldiers, he wondered if Techno would like him. If he would admire Tommy’s fire and skills, impressive for being self taught. Techno has always admired loyalty, and Tommy’s has always been unmatched.

But Tommy was young and impulsive. Reckless, Techno would scold if he was here. Techno always believed emotions were a weakness, they cloud judgment and can be the reason you die in battle. But Wilbur, still naive and cocky, always argued otherwise. He wanted to believe in the good of others, that conflict can be resolved not through violence, but through compassion—words .

And look where it got L’Manburg: betrayed, weakened, a failed ideal. Wilbur was an idiot to ever think he could be different from his family, that he could change the order of how life operated. He failed everyone, and everyone knows this now, except for Tommy.

Sweet, brave, idiotic Tommy. Tommy who challenged Dream to a duel, all because he can’t admit defeat, all because he wants to make Wilbur proud.

Now, Wilbur watches as red and green walk away from each other with every count that comes out of his mouth. He hopes Tommy wins, for L’Manburg—one last “fuck you” to Dream—but also because if he dies, Wilbur won’t be able to live past the guilt. All two lives taken because of Wilbur, because he can’t be a good leader. He created L’Manburg to protect everyone, and it backfired tremendously.

But Wilbur knows Tommy, knows his strengths and weaknesses. He knows Tommy has never learned how to use a bow, at least not properly. In terms of combat, archery has always been Tommy’s weakest technique. It doesn’t help that Dream has been known for cheating, and Wilbur wasn’t sure who to watch. Dream or Tommy, his eyes kept flickering between the two; the former for any suspicious movement, the latter in fear of the worst happening. Dream was taunting Tommy, and Wilbur felt his anxiety spike as Tommy’s temper rose. He was becoming too emotional, not attentive— he’s not going to be ready.

—

Wilbur sees the moment Tommy realizes his arrow is going to miss its target. Dream shot his early, but not that it mattered because Tommy has always been quick on his feet and was already in the process of jumping in the water, the arrow ripping a piece of blue fabric. But that didn’t matter, because Tommy missed his shot, and just put himself at a disadvantage.

Tommy lost, Wilbur knows this the moment his body hits the water. He blinks, and Dream is drawing his bow again, another blink, and the water is transforming into red. Wilbur screams, Dream’s laughter muffled as he doesn’t hesitate to jump in the water. He reaches blindly until he snags onto heavy material, and struggles to kick as Tommy continues to bleed out into the water that once provided the younger boy comfort, onto the same bridge he and Tubbo were once playing on earlier that day.

It’s tainted now, is Wilbur’s only thought as he’s powerless to save Tommy. He’s numb as Tommy’s chest stops moving, blood marring his own clothing and hands. Someone has to drag him away, even after Tommy’s body has already respawned.

This is Wilbur’s fault. If only he was better; a better leader, a better fighter, a better strategist. He’s tainted, everything he touches is bound to come to ruins, and he was an idiot to think L’Manburg would be different.

#dsmperas #dream smp #dsmp #c!crimeboys #crimeboys #crime boys #c!wilbur #dsmp wilbur #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp writing #cryingtulips.writes

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cryingtulips · 28 days

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Final piece written for @dsmp-eras! This event was really fun and I'm glad I was able to participate :D

SUMMARY:

It haunts his dreams, the tears marking a young face as Tommy lets out guttural sobs while Wilbur rows away. Hearing them, at the time, almost made Wilbur turn back. Because Wilbur said he wasn’t going to hurt Tommy anymore, his baby brother, and that he would keep him safe. But he can’t do that if he stays. He knew if he stayed, Tommy would get hurt again. And Wilbur promised he wouldn’t hurt Tommy anymore. - Or, after leaving the server, c!Wilbur has no choice but to confront the consequences of his decision

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cryingtulips · 2 months

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to be a villain, a c!Wilbur poem

My second piece for @dsmp-eras. It's been so long since I thought about Pogtopia :(

#dsmperas #dream smp #dsmp #c!wilbur #dsmp wilbur #pogtopia #dsmp poem #dsmp poetry #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #cryingtulips.writes #suicidal ideation #self destruction

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cryingtulips · 7 months

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cPrimetober day 5 (drowning) and day 16 (death)

This marks my first work for October events! I'm sorry it's late- too many unexpected things happened yesterday and with midterms...ANYWAY. This event really made me want to expand on this au, and I hope to do so once I have more free time :)

Summary

With a combination of Wilbur’s fights, Tommy’s new norm consisted of nightmares. Dreams of wandering the forest, moonlight and a light harmonizing voice guiding him through the dark terrain. He’s barefoot in these dreams, and the forest floor always manages to cut his feet into a bloody mess. Not that it matters in the end, when gentle green eyes and sharp hands cradle him close to a waters edge. He dies in these dreams, and it’s not always gentle. Sometimes the creature that holds him cradles him as he goes under water, other times his body is a mangled mess of torn limbs and blood bathing the wildlife around them–Tommy fighting with all he has to reach land one more time. - Or, Wilbur has always talked about the 'Death Bringer', hoping it would keep Tommy safe. Tommy never believed him, and that was his first and final mistake

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cryingtulips · 4 months

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My gift for @mumza-superiority for the @mcytblrholidayexchange!

So much changed from my first initial draft, but it's done! I hope you enjoy Nain :D

Summary

Techno watches as Tommy storms across the room, boots crushing an apple without remorse, a sickening crunch ringing to Techno’s sensitive ears. He can only watch as Tommy fumes, a repetitive tune to them both. Nothing changes between them it seems. Techno says the wrong things, moves the wrong way, and Tommy backs up like a cornered animal. Sometimes he responds in an appeasing way that resembles nothing like the boy Techno saw grow up. Often, he responds in anger, in violence. Techno stays in that exact spot, even hours after Tommy has left. - Or, the server changes people. Techno isn’t prepared at all for how the server changes Tommy, or himself

#mcytblr holiday exchange #mcytblr holiday exchange 2023 #dream smp #dsmp #c!bedrock bros #bedrock bros #c!techno #c!technoblade #c!tommy #dsmp techno #dsmp technoblade #dsmp tommy #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp writing #cryingtulips.writes

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cryingtulips · 6 months

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i love you, but i hate this version of you

SBIWhumptober n.7 (marked by death) + n.18 (nightmares) + n.22 (grief)

Tommy never got a moment to grieve for Wilbur after his death, and now with both resurrected, Puffy notices how Tommy's paranoia stops Tommy from learning how to forgive his brother.

ao3 link

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It’s no surprise when Tommy says death changed him.

Of course it did, Dream had done the unnatural and defied the natural order of things. Tommy had no choice but to partake the revolting experience.

He still dreams of it, his death. Of obsidian walls and consuming heat and the pain of having your head crush into itself. Of freezing darkness and needles stabbing into him, taking apart his soul, stitch by stitch, only then to ruthlessly put it back together again. He dreams of oranges bleeding into green, and of crazed eyes as a pale mask is stained with his blood. Even through the cracks of Dream’s mask, Tommy sees his face. Dream’s always smiling as he crushes Tommy’s head into the wall.

Tommy remembers how red grew on the floor and how red splattered around them and onto that stupid fucking mask. He hates how easily the red blended into the obsidian, as if it was always meant to be there.

When Tommy told Puffy this, she had asked what was the worst part of these dreams.

Tommy knew she was expecting a certain answer; that the worst part was seeing Dream himself, experiencing his death all over again, about how he couldn’t move on like everyone else has.

But if Tommy had to be honest, it wasn't any of that.

It was Wilbur.

Always Wilbur.

After all, who was Tommy without clinging to his big brother, forever chasing the remnants of a dead star that’s long given up.

Puffy had asked him to expand on that, but Tommy doesn't know how to explain it. About how after his death, Tommy felt empty without Wilbur by his side, guiding him with a gentle smile and loving eyes. About how awful Pogtopia was, about how Wilbur acted then and now, how limbo didn’t change his brother at all, not for the better and not for the worst.

He didn’t know how to explain that sometimes in his sleep, it isn’t Dream laughing as he dies, but his brother. Wilbur who prattled that Tommy’s death was for the good of the server, Wilbur who rambled on about "Let’s be the bad guys Tommy" and "What good has that serve ever done for us?!"

The Wilbur he met in limbo was not the same Wilbur he grew up with. Wilbur in limbo was apathetic at best, mocking at worst. There may have been grief in his eyes, when Tommy finally met them, but there was no comfort found in his words.

There are not enough words or time for Tommy to explain that while yes, Wilbur is his brother, and has always cared for him and tried to protect him—at the end of the day, Wilbur hurt him. And still hurts him, even if it’s unintentional. It’s an endless cycle, their dynamic.

And Tommy doesn’t know how to break it, or if he even wants it too.

Tommy is afraid, and Puffy knows this, but when it comes to Wilbur, it’s for the wrong reasons.

He’s afraid of Wilbur getting worse again, that his attempts of redemption are lies, that everything Wilbur does now is a cruel game of deception. Out of everything else, he’s more afraid of the possibility Wilbur is helping Dream; giving him intel, doing his bidding, tricking Tommy. Wilbur says he would never even dream of doing so, but it wouldn’t be the first time Wilbur went back on his word. How does Tommy know this is no different? Everyone who has sworn to protect him always stabs him in the back, and Tommy is tired.

“I miss my brother”, he admits shamefully one afternoon. He misses Wilbur, but he doesn't think he’ll ever return.

“Your brother is still here”, Puffy says back. She’s known about Tommy’s growing paranoia for a while now, has been tracking it the first time Tommy mentioned its alluring whispers. It’s been getting worse, promising him safety and comfort, and Puffy worries her help will not be enough.

“You just need to give him a chance,” she begs him to see beyond this growing fear.

Tommy never does.

#sbi whumptober #dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #dsmp tommy #crime boys #crimeboys #c!crimeboys #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp writing #cryingtulips.writes

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cryingtulips · 6 months

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@flufftober 2023 n.22 (picking) + n.23 (trinket)

Summary

Ranboo’s crown means a lot to them. It’s the only thing she has left from the Ender, from her kingdom. Forged from end crystals and obsidian made from their mother’s breath, it holds a lot of value in the Overworld. Despite this, Ranboo knows nobody from the Pub(e) would ever dare to touch their crown. Well, except for Tommy. - Or, Ranboo, being new to the Overworld, takes a while to get used to all the new cultures and ways of life. This includes the act of giving and what it means to be family.

#flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #day 22 #day 23 #origins smp #osmp #o!ranboo #o!tommy #origins ranboo #origins tommy #allium duo #o!allium duo #osmp fic #osmp fanfic #osmp fanfiction #cryingtulips.writes

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cryingtulips · 6 months

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Gift from below

A drabble I wrote for @cprimetober

Day 25: Bugs and Worms and Day 31: Suicidal Thoughts

CW: Implied suicide; implied child abuse

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When Tommy was a child, he was always dirty. Playing in mud, twigs and bugs in matted curls, scraps marring bloodied knees as he played with the animals found in the woods. He was a child born to be wild, Dream would tell him, and wild things are meant to be tamed.

At the time Tommy didn't understand what he meant. He always saw beauty in wild things, finding comfort in their fierce ways.

But maybe that was the problem.

Tommy was a feral thing, and everyone knew it. Dream was just trying to help. Dream wanted Tommy to be better, to be the perfect child.

But Tommy isn’t, and he can't take it anymore–the punishments, the cruel words, the fear that courses throughout his entire body.

He’s tired. He doesn’t want to be wild or tame, feral or calm. He just wants to be gone. Six feet under, beneath the very soil that he used to play in. He wants rest, some peace and quiet.

If it means having worms between his ribs and maggots eating his heart, he’ll gladly rest underground.

#cprimetober #dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #dsmp tommy #disc duo #discduo #c!discduo #primeboys #c!primeboys #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp writing #cryingtulips.writes #suicidal ideation #implied child abuse

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cryingtulips · 2 years

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There's a Ghost Haunting These Woods: Tommy is dead and Technoblade is in denial

Prompt 6: Cold

#bedrockbros week 2022 #dream smp #bedrock bros #technoblade #tommyinnit #dsmp #dsmp technoblade #dsmp tommy #dsmp poem #dsmp poetry #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp writing #ghostinnit #ghost tommy #cryingtulips.writes #poetry

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cryingtulips · 10 months

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Tommy-centric clingy duo angel-demon au anyone?

This is a short multi-chapter story I wrote for @mcytblraufest where I explore the concepts of the scapegoat and the lost child in dysfunctional environments, but made it religious.

Edit: Crosspost posted!

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cryingtulips · 2 years

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Tommy didn’t shift as light filled his room from the door being cracked open.

He was buried under his blankets, face itchy from dried tear marks. His hair was disheveled and it ached from where he pulled on it earlier.

His binder was thrown on the ground.

He never left his binder on the ground.

“Hey Tommy”, Wilbur said softly, “you doing ok?”

There was a sniffle and silence.

Wilbur closed the door and picked the binder up and put it in the closet. He sat on the foot of the bed, and stared as Tommy stayed quiet. With a sigh, he laid down to stare at the ceiling, Tommy right against his side.

“What’s bothering you bud,” he muttered to himself.

He felt a shift on the bed and felt Tommy fidget with his sleeve. “Why can’t I just be normal,” Tommy’s wobbly voice whispered.

Wilbur turned to stare at him. “Oh Toms, you are normal,” he grasped Tommy’s hands, rubbing the back of them.

“Not only are you normal, but you are my amazing little brother,” he moved his arm to shift Tommy closer to him. Tommy laid his head on Wilbur’s shoulder, burying his face into the yellow sweater as Wilbur hugged him, wanting to protect him from a pain he couldn’t understand.

He stayed silent after this, knowing that no matter how much he reassured Tommy, this was just not something words alone can fix.

“How about this,” he nudged Tommy to get his attention, “when you’re feeling up for it later today, we’ll make a pillow fort, yeah? We can steal Techno’s blankets, and binge watch crappy old films and make fun of them,” Wilbur offered. They’ve always done this on bad days, desperate for distractions and a compromise to not be alone.

Wilbur’s eyes softened with relief when Tommy nodded.

Wilbur hummed as he ran his hand through Tommy’s hair, content to lay there in the dark room and his brother grew closer to sleeping.

He hoped Tommy knew how loved he was.

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cryingtulips · 4 days

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My gift for @teethkid67 for the @mcythorrorgiftexchange!

I'm sorry about the long wait, but I hope you enjoy it! I tried my absolute best on this fic, and I hope it meets your expectations :D

CW: abuse; manipulation; suicidal ideation and implied attempts; implied dehumanization

Summary

That night Tommy didn’t do anything but sit on his colt, knuckles white from his grip on the chain. The moment Dream stepped through the humming portal, Tommy scrambled to beg him to put it on, crying that he was scared. Scared of himself, scared of things getting worse, scared of not knowing what was and wasn’t real. He wasn’t in control, hadn’t been in a long time. But that’s fine, as long as Tommy had Dream, because Dream would help him, he would keep him safe. Dream cared for Tommy, he told Tommy directly that he wouldn’t abandon him, not when they’ve made so much progress. - Or, c!Tommy's mental state during exile takes a dive for the worst and Dream takes advantage of this

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cryingtulips · 9 months

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This Place is Not a Home

Tommy meets Puffy, and a deal is made between the two. In exchange for shelter and protection, Tommy will need to do a little farm work.

CW: Religious themes, religious trauma

crossposted to ao3 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 4

~+~

Ch 3: A Promising Deal

When Tommy awoke, it was a slow process. He was warm for once, the midnight chill never once reaching where he laid. There was something messing with his hair, he noticed with a blink, tugging on matted curls. It was wet, but gentle, and strange deep breaths moved the strands. It was strange, the soft interaction. He wasn't used to it, but he wasn't going to complain.

He made himself comfortable in the warm atmosphere, so comfortable he was content to let himself fall asleep again, huffing as he turned to bury himself against the hot-running body next to him, small form curling underneath the cover of his wings. Tommy wasn’t sure how much time passed. It could have been twenty minutes or hours, Tommy didn't care. All that mattered was the warmth surrounding him and the noises of strange animals lulling him to sleep.

The next time Tommy wakes, it’s to the animals excited snorts and calls as the wooden door opens, sunlight close to blinding him from where he was hidden. “Good morning you absolute menaces,” a voice greeted the animals. Based on the sound of something being poured and the ruckus as animals either rushed to eat or went to graze somewhere else—probably the meadow based on the sounds of gates being open, Tommy was able to clue in it was feeding time.

Despite this, the animal that was keeping Tommy hidden refused to get up, choosing to shuffle around as Tommy stayed tensed. Tommy prayed that the animal was big enough that he wouldn’t be noticed, or that maybe the owner wouldn’t question why its creature was still laying down.

Tommy couldn’t afford to be found. It would resort to disaster; he could be captured and treated as a pet but live in a cruel and inhumane cage, he could be sent to the government to be experimented on, he could be sold through the black market, he could be killed—or worse, his wings…his precious wings, despite their damage, could be taken away from him. After all, fallen or not, banished or adored– an angel's wings would cost a fortune. If not for the proof of the existence of divine and mystical beings, then for their magical properties they might still possess.

All these possibilities were Hell to be waiting, but the last one terrified Tommy for there was no predicting what it would mean for him. Best case scenario, he would be put in a cage while the human took his feathers and sold them for millions. Maybe it would blend in with the exotic pet road, maybe he would be treated like a circus animal, put on display and forced to perform tricks. Worst case scenario, he’s killed and has his wings stolen from him.

He couldn't afford to be found, and so he stayed curled against the animal, shuffling bedding over him, hoping the noise was muffled over the animal's noises. He stayed silent, and still. He watched as a woman moved about, grabbing buckets and a shovel, greeting animals and caring for them.

When she approached the stall he was in, he heard her let out a fond breath, “you still sleeping Duffle?” Tommy didn't dare to breathe, hoping that if he stayed low, she would pass him off as just a simple strange lump made by the animal.

But then there was a gasp, sharper this time, and he froze as she banished the shovel as a weapon. “What do you think you’re doing,” she demanded. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. All he could do was watch as the animal–a cow– got up, and nuzzled his head, a soft moo making the women hesitate her approach.

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Oh, I see.” She slowly approached him now, gently rushing the bedding off until she could make eye contact with him. He didn't move as her eyes swapped over his face, studying him for something . Her eyes raked over to his wings, and he tensed even more, not knowing what to expect. He couldn't run, he was already done and she was looming over him, and the entrance was too far. He could fight, but in his weakened state…

Before he could panic more, she stepped back, and sat down in front of him. The shovel was tossed aside, and she had her hands facing Tommy, palms upright and flat. She was trying to seem less of a threat, and Tommy’s head titled in confusion.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she promised. “I know that’s hard to believe, but I'm not. How about we go inside, yeah?” Tommy knew he couldn't say no, he wasn't in a position to protest. He nodded reluctantly, and followed her to the house he saw earlier, wings poofed and fluttering the whole time.

(He noticed her questioning stares. Despite knowing the risks of having them out in the open, he couldn't…he didn't really care. He was so tired, and he didn't feel like fighting anymore. If she took his wings, then that just a sign that Tommy never was redeemable, not anymore.)

=+=

The lady led him to her living room, a small beige room whose space was taken up by the couches and boxes and bags scattered about, pictures here and there with books. There was a yellow carpet with orange designs, it reminded him of the sun.

With a mutter, she said she was going to be back with something called hot chocolate. Tommy watched her leave before roaming his eyes around the room, at one point eyeing the picture frames. From where he was sitting, the window casted a glare that made it hard to distinguish what was in the photos, but whoever was in it must be loved. There were a lot of photos, and Tommy vaguely remembers from his past life how much he loved photos for the reason that they would capture joyous moments with those he called family.

(Tommy wondered if the woman had a scrapbook, full of little moments with her animals and those she loves. She looked like the type to keep one.)

His train of thought was interrupted as the women came back into the living room, handing him a red mug with a soft “Be careful it’s hot” before sighing as she sat on a couch in the corner of the room. A window was behind her, and the rising morning sun painted her in such a soft light that, briefly, Tommy had the urge to ask if she was an angel herself. But that was impossible. Heaven would not have sent him anywhere remotely close to another Fallen—if she was one—and one living without their wings was unheard of.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, the women still as she stared down at her hands, deep in thought. Tommy, when he finally took a sip from the drink, was surprised by how sweet it was. It was soothing in a way he wasn’t familiar with, and he liked the white masses that were in it. Marshmallows, he thinks they were called.

“Thank you for the drink”, Tommy told the women when he was done. “You didn’t– you didn’t need to do that for me.”

The woman looked up at last, clearly mulling over something despite her friendly smile. “It’s no problem.” She paused, hesitating with her next sentence. “You look…you look like you need help,” she made an abrupt gesture to Tommy’s wings before quickly dropping her hands again when Tommy tensed, wings curling further behind him in an attempt to keep the extra appendages hidden. “It would be cruel of me not to help,” she softly continued. She didn’t mention the wings, and Tommy wasn’t sure if he wanted her to or not.

“I have an offer for you. You can stay here, free of charge, free of–” a glance to his wings before focusing back to him ”–well, you know. I live alone, far away from the city. You wouldn’t have to worry about people coming for you, or have to live in a life constantly worried about what danger is lurking around the corner. All I ask is that you help out with the animals and contribute to the workload,” she explained. “For now you won’t do any heavy lifting, but it's just something to keep you occupied.”

Tommy looked down at his hands as he fidgeted in his seat, wings rumpled from where he was sitting, white and gold feathers gliding down to the floor. It was a tempting offer, but he was still cautious. He didn’t think she would harm him, already having enough opportunities to do so, but haven’t. If she was right about being far from civilization, he wouldn’t have to worry about hiding his wings or staying hidden. Maybe, and this was a big if, maybe she would even let him fly from time to time. Well. If his wings ever recovered enough to take flight again.

Tommy was tired, but he couldn’t deny how perfect her offer was. But that was part of the problem: it was too perfect. Not even Heaven was this perfect, nobody was this kind, especially down at Earth.

There had to be a catch, but what? “What do you want from me?” Tommy asked her, making direct eye contact in hopes that will allow him to detect any lies.

The women looked taken aback, sitting up straighter at Tommy’s words. “What? What do–” a tense laugh– “what do you mean by that?” If it weren’t for the alarm in her voice, Tommy would have thought he caught her in an attempt at an obvious lie. But the fear in her eyes, it wasn’t for herself, but for Tommy.

“Well I just,” he waved his hands around, eyes flickering around as his anxiety started to take further root, “I just thought there was a catch. There has to be a catch right, I mean, no one is—there’s no way you’re that kind. Nobody is like that.”

And I mean, look at me,” his feathers raised up, “I know these don’t look that appealing, but they,” his voice stuttered, not sure if he wanted to point out the potential his wings hold, “well I mean—surely you know what these are right?”

The woman stayed silent, an unrecognizable look in her face. Tommy couldn’t help but to tense at this, already sure of the worst possible outcomes. He had hoped that maybe she was kind, that maybe she was different, but he was wrong. He was wrong, and oh , did he just ruin his chances of survival.

Tommy’s thoughts were interrupted when the woman sighed, wood creaking as she shifts on the couch as her face turned more serious, more stern. “Listen kid, I know what those wings are, I know what you are, but I don’t... Even if I had ill intent towards you–which I don’t–those wings don’t hold much value.” Tommy stared down at his hands at her words, thoughts freezing. They don’t hold value? That’s, that’s impossible. Sure they’re mangled and don’t look amazing, but they were angle wings. Fallen, sure, but at the end of the day they were proof the divine existed. That Lady Clara existed.

“I don’t understand,” Tommy muttered, wings circling around him. “How could—why would they value so little?”

“Times have changed,” the woman explained. Tommy wasn’t sure how much time has changed since he last set foot on Earth, but it couldn’t have been that much time. At most, maybe a century, but even then, surely a lot hasn’t changed…right? The woman continued, “it’s so easy to fake contraptions that look like wings. Sure, maybe some people would take your wings as proof of supernatural beings, others would just call me a fake.”

So, I have a proposal for you. I live alone out here, which isn’t a bad thing. I need the space for all the animals, and the outskirts of L’Manburg is a perfect distance for us out here,” Tommy assumed ‘us’ was the animals. He wondered how many she had, if he already met all of them last night when he took shelter, or if she had more.

“I could always appreciate a helping hand,” the woman proposed again. “I wouldn’t expect much from you, just help me around the house, maybe take care of a few animals here and there. In exchange, you can live here for as long as you want.”

Tommy was tempted to take the offer. The lady seemed empathetic, and if she wanted to harm him, she would've already. He needed a place to recover, and the idea of having shelter and a constant source of food was undoubtedly better than where he was hiding previously. “You promise you won’t hurt me? Swear it on Lady Clara and your soul no harm will come to me?”

“I promise, as long as you stay within the fences of the farm, not a single feather of yours will be harmed.”

Tommy nodded, wings relaxing at the words. Call him naive, but he believed in promises, believed that people would stay true to their word. The other angels said this was the reason he died in his past life, he had allowed others to take advantage of him until they couldn’t anymore. Tommy refused to view this as a weakness however. He refused to believe that compassion was something to second guess, refused to see kindness as a flaw.

(Maybe this was just another thing that separated him from the other angels)

“Ok”, Tommy mumbled. “I would..I would like that. Staying, I mean.”

The woman just smiled at him gently, relief in her eyes. “That’s good,” she hummed.

#mcytblr au fest #mcytblraufest23 #this place is not a home #dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #dsmp tommy #c!puffy #dsmp puffy #cryingtulips.writes

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