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nerdiestnerdtoevernerd · 3 years ago

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Dreams really do come true

This is a prompt from for @pinchhitsfromthevoid

"DREAM! We found a kid!" "You found a kid?" He meets the kid's eyes and freezes, the tall teen doing the same, a shocked look on his face and heartbreak in his eyes. Dream studies the other in shocked astonishment, noting the familiar features. He opens his arms and the tall teen flings himself forward, burying his face in the older’s (well, is he really older now? Dream hasn’t aged in, well, ages) shoulder and sending them flying (literally) backward. “Ranboo?” he whispers, an incredulous wonder filling his tone. “Dream,” the other sobs in response. --- Peter Pan AU where Dream is Peter Pan and Ranboo is his brother who just arrived in Neverland

Word count: 2090

All children grow up.

This is a story about the few that don’t.

────────── ⋆ ✧ ⋆ ──────────

“DREAM!”

A tall, blond teenager pivots in the air and swoops toward the sound. He weaves through the trees, whooping with joy when he successfully pulls off a particularly hard move. Arriving at a clearing, he shoots up into the air, twirling as a way to slow down. “Sapnap?” He hovers over the boy.

“We found a kid!” Sapnap replies, glancing up at the other and brushing his messy black hair out of his eyes.

“You found a kid?” Dream repeats, brow furrowing. Where had the kid come from? The only way off (and thus to) this island was to catch a ride with him or with—

Hook.

“Sapnap,” he demands. “Where did the kid come from?”

“Well, you see…” Sapnap trails off, glancing behind him.

Dream follows his gaze and sees several people running through the trees heading toward them. Loud shouting follows them and Dream groans. Pirates.

“Sapnap… Where did the kid come from?” he drawls warningly, his question sounding more like a statement.

Sapnap glances down, fiddling with one of the holes in his shirt. “So… we may have decided to play a prank— which you know is not a bad thing! You like pranks,” he rambles.

That’s true. He does. He even played a particularly good one on— he shakes his head, determined to not get off track. “Sapnap. Get to the point.”

“Well… George had the great idea of messing with Hook— also not-”

“Not a bad thing, I know,” Dream interrupts. “Get to the point.”

“So we climbed on the boat—Karl checked first to make sure they were all gone—and headed toward the captain’s quarters. You know it really was a genius prank,” Sapnap nervously derails the conversation, hoping to change the subject. “We were going to-”

“Sapnap, I don’t care what you were going to do right now. I need to know what’s going on,” Dream urgently says. Is this kid an ally? A threat? What is the level of trouble that will result from this? Don’t get him wrong, he loves trouble! But with trouble comes the problem of getting out of said trouble, and he needs to know what’s going on so he can hopefully do that. “Please just tell me what happened?”

Sapnap sighs. “Fine. We were really close to the captain’s quarters when we heard yelling coming from a neighboring room. So Karl yelled back and asked what was going on and we found out that Hook had kidnapped a kid and was intending to use him against you,” he rambles. “Which is funny ‘cause the kid doesn’t know who you are. He only knew you as ‘the flying menace,’” Sapnap laughed.

Dream snorted. Evidently, this kid wasn’t an enemy. He was just an innocent person caught in the middle of his and Hook’s feud. He does wonder though, who is this kid that Hook thought he could use against him?

Three people burst into the clearing, skidding to a stop and bending over, hands on their knees, panting. A tiny figure darts out of the trees after them, flitting over to Dream.

Bells chime, and Dream listens closer, the sound turning into a small voice. “Stupid boys,” it curses.

“Hello George,” Dream greets, a smile sliding onto his face.

“Dream.” George scowls, his tiny face scrunching up as a sign of his displeasure.

“Why so grumpy?”

“They kidnapped a child and angered the pirates and now I’m not going to get my afternoon nap!” George yells, his displeasure obvious.

“Oh heavens forbid you not get your afternoon nap,” Dream rolls his eyes. “How long do we have?”

“The pirates passed Mermaid Rock a minute ago,” George informs him as he flies up and settles in Dream’s hair.

“Oh. So we’ve got time.” He turns toward the three figures. He flies down and crosses his legs, floating around eye level. The three glance up and he raises an eyebrow, staring down his lost boys.

“Cause some trouble?” he asks, lips twitching.

“You know it!” Quackity chimes, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah,” Karl sheepishly admits.

“And you?” he asks, turning to the figure in the middle. He meets the other’s eyes and freezes, the tall teen doing the same, a shocked look on his face and heartbreak in his eyes. Dream studies the other in shocked astonishment, noting the familiar features. Heterochromatic eyes stare back, doing the same. The split-dyed hair is new, half black and half white instead of the usual light brown. The teen is wearing a comfortable black sweatshirt, jeans, and a sturdy pair of sneakers. Dream notices the familiar fingerless gloves on his hands, and cracks a smile. So he didn’t forget about Dream.

He opens his arms and the tall teen flings himself forward, burying his face in the older’s (well, is he really older now? Dream hasn’t aged in, well, ages) shoulder and sending them flying (literally) backward. Dream tumbles back, almost doing a complete somersault in the air, but manages to catch himself, instead hovering above the ground and running his fingers through the taller’s hair.

“Ranboo?” he whispers, an incredulous wonder filling his tone.

“Dream,” the other sobs in response, clinging to the (technically) older, deep gasping breaths the only sound coming from him. The others watch on in heartwarmed confusion.

“Ranboo,” Dream sighs, tugging the teen closer and burying his face in the other’s hair.

“Dream?” Sapnap hesitantly pipes up. “What in Neverland is going on? Who is this?”

Dream lifts his head and sniffs, discreetly wiping the tears from his eyes. “This is my little brother, Ranboo.”

“Your brother?!”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah,” Dream smiles down at the teary eyes now looking up at him. He hasn’t been too sad about leaving his life before Neverland (it wasn’t the greatest life after all), but the one thing he has missed is now right here. This now teenager standing in front of him is the only reason he leaves Neverland. Every month he leaves and spends a few days looking for him.

At first he thought it would be easy, show up at their old house, talk to him, and leave with him. But when he finally arrives at the house and knocks on the window, he gets no response. He spends the night in a cold, dirty alley, but wakes up in the morning determined to try again. He knocks on the window and then front door, once again not getting a response. So he goes around to the back and sneaks in. The house is dark and empty as he sneaks upstairs. He freezes once he reaches the top. The room where he and his brother had stayed is emtpy, completely devoid of anything familiar. New paint covers the walls, hiding any sign of previous use. His brother is gone.

He stays there for who knows how long, staring at the empty room. The sound of the door opening finally startles him out of his daze and he darts into the room, easing the window open and escaping to the roof.

“Honey?” a woman’s voice calls from inside the house.

“Yes?” echoes up the stairs.

“Did you leave the window open in this room?”

“Which room? The nursery?”

The nursery? They don’t have a nurs—

Oh. They mean his and Ranboo’s old room. He snorts a bitter laugh. When one foster child disappears, why not throw out the other one and start anew?

“Yeah! That one.”

Dream leaves, not wanting to hear any more, the hurt and anger too fresh to feel anything but hatred for the people who had taken care of him for a time.

He returns to Neverland, his anger and sadness still burning fiercely, and immediately threw himself into setting up a hide out for him and his lost boys and pranking Hook and his crew, trying to forget all about his brother.

It doesn’t work.

A month later he leaves again, flying off into the night and searching for his brother. He has absolutely no results. Several days later he returns again, discouraged, and throws himself at anything that could distract him.

But now that was over. His brother is here now! Right in front of him!

“Ranboo,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to his little brother’s forhead.

“Dream,” he whispers in reply. Then he pulls away and straightens up, hurt flashing through his eyes. “Where did you go? Why did you leave?” The pain in his voice breaks Dream’s heart. The exclamations and demands for answers from the other lost boys stop, their attention focusing on the developing drama. “I woke up one morning and you were gone. They said you’d run away, but I knew you hadn’t. I told them you wouldn’t run away and leave me behind. So I waited. I waited and waited for you to come back. But you didn’t. So why?” his voice breaks. “Why did you leave me?”

Dream sighs and reaches out to his brother. Ranboo pulls away and Dream flinches back, pain filling him. Then he bitterly smiles. He deserves that. “I didn’t have a choice,” he whispers. “The same person that kidnapped you kidnapped me. I was stuck for a while. And then I couldn’t leave. I had other responsibilities.” He gestures to his lost boys, missing the hurt that is gone from Ranboo’s face as quickly as it appears. (Dream had other responsibilities? Wasn’t Ranboo one of his responsibilities?) “But I came as soon as I could. I showed up at the house and you were gone. They’d turned our room into a nursery,” he snorts.

“Yeah,” Ranboo rolls his eyes. “That’s what happens when the kid you’re fostering loseshis brother and tries to kill himself. You kick him out because you’re not ‘qualified’ to ‘deal with it.’ You send him to an asylum and completely forget about him.”

Dream freezes and stares at Ranboo. He— oh pixie dust. “Ranboo…” he trails off, tears filling his eyes.

“No. I don’t want to talk about it. You weren’t there for me.” Dream pulls him into a hug, ignoring Ranboo as he starts hitting his chest, tears streaming down his face. “You left me,” he sobs, burying his face in his brother’s chest, still weakly hitting him. “Everyone leaves me. Why does everyone always leave me?”

“Oh Ranboo… I’m so sorry. I tried to find you. I promise I did. I spent so many days trying to fing you. I looked everywhere. I checked every alley and street I could, hoping you weren’t homeless. I tried so many things to find you. I” —he chuckles wetly, deciding to lighten the mood— “I even got recognized one time and completely freaked the poor guy out. He thought he was seeing ghosts.” Ranboo snorts a laugh, getting snot all over Dream’s shirt. “I love you, Ranboo, okay?” He takes hold of Ranboo’s chin and forces him to meet Dream’s eyes. “I love you,” he says with feeling.

Ranboo stares into his eyes, studying him and determining the truthfulness of his words. Satisfied, he responds. “I love you too,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry I left,” Dream says, a pained expression on his face. “I—”

“It’s okay,” Ranboo whispers again, burying his face in his brother’s chest one last time before pulling away. “I understand.” He sniffles and wipes his eyes.

“Good,” Dream says, discreetly doing the same.

George suddenly zooms into the clearing, bells chiming, and interrupting the moment. Dream suddenly realizes that George, in fact, was not in his hair that whole time and he has no clue when the fairy left.

“We’ve got two minutes,” he yells.

Dream perks up. “We gotta go,” he tells Ranboo. “The pirates are going to be here soon.”

“More running?” Ranboo groans, beginning to bounce back to his usual self.

“Yeah,” Dream laughs. “More—”

A tall, willowy figure bursts into the clearing, curly brown hair swept across his forehead. Light reflects off of the hook in place of his hand, drawing attention. “Dream!” he yells, brandishing said hook.

“Dream…” Ranboo nervously starts.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers, floating up into the air.

“Welcome to Neverland,” Sapnap claps Ranboo on the back, and then takes off, the other lost boys following after him.

“RUN!” Dream yells as he swoops away, his excitement infectious. A small glowing ball flits after him.

Ranboo takes off after him, the sound of the flying teen’s laughter echoing behind them.

Yeah. Dream’s got his brother now. Everything will be okay.

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #ranboo #georgenotfound #sapnap #quackity #karl jacobs #mcytblr #dsmp fanfic #also on ao3 #peter pan au #tw sui attempt #siblings ranboo and dream #ranboo has abandonment issues #dream is peter pan

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nerdiestnerdtoevernerd · 3 years ago

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Can you please use a read more on your longer posts!

Yes of course! I don't know why I never added them before but I just did!

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nerdiestnerdtoevernerd · 3 years ago

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The Monday Blues

Chapter 3: A Clock Only Turns One Direction

Word count: 2,223

The 1st Monday

It’s when Ranboo finally gets his first break from Tommy and Tubbo that disaster strikes. (And, of all the horrible times for something to happen, it’s, of course, at lunchtime when he’s walking down the hall towards his locker. The most wonderful time of the day: the time when Ranboo’s left alone, both on weekends and weekdays, and finally has a moment of peace to actually do something—usually eat—with no stress at all.)

“Hey! It’s two eyes!” Ranboo barely has a moment to think about how stupid that name is (like really! Everybody has two eyes!) before he’s getting slammed to the ground. As if this day didn’t suck already, what with the confusing new kids who wouldn’t. Leave. Him. Alone. At this point, he just wants to go home and lay on his bed and cry. His day started off fine, just like any other day, but it has steadily gone downhill from there. There was the whole thing with the new kids who keep talking to him and interacting with him (and the only reason he was able to escape them was because he ducked into a bathroom when they weren’t paying attention to him—he thinks they were arguing, but he honestly wasn’t focusing on their conversation, too busy trying to plot his escape—and then managed to leave and make it to his locker without them even noticing he was gone. He’s honestly half expecting them to come around the corner any moment, looking for him), and him having to actually socialize. Ugh! The horror! And now here he is, getting beat up, yet again, for something he doesn’t remember doing.

At least he thinks he did something. It’s entirely possible he’s being bullied for his looks or some slight that’s been either imagined or grossly exaggerated, but he prefers the thought that he deserves it. Then it gives them some reason to do it and allows him to still think the somewhat best of humanity.

Luckily for him, they seem to quickly tire of kicking him, and after one last hissed threat that he doesn’t even hear, let alone process, they leave, leaving him curled up on the cold, hard floor in pain. He struggles to sit up, wincing at the pain it causes. Once he is finally in a somewhat upright position, he leans back against the lockers, eyes closed, and presses a hand to his ribs, wincing again when they twinge. He’s probably bruised them or something. Joy! He is sooooo excited for the next 6 weeks of healing time! He slowly and carefully stands up, using the lockers for support, and absentmindedly notes the slight twinge in his ankle and how shallow his breathing sounds. He takes a step, ignoring the flare of pain from his ankle, his hand still on the lockers, and is surprised when he is able to walk just fine. (Well, minus the pain from his ribs in every movement, but at least this time his legs are untouched and he can get around! It’s the little things in life, Ranboo. It’s the little things in life.)

Keeping one hand on the lockers for balance, he shuffles his way down the hall towards his locker, ignoring the ache in his ankle. As he goes, black spots start filling his vision. Crap. That’s not good. He tunes into his body, trying to figure out the problem. It’s at this moment that he notices his breathing is still shallow and it feels like he’s not getting enough air. His gasping breaths echo loudly in the quiet hallway, his panic at the noise only causing him to struggle more. He slowly slides down against the lockers and thunks his head back to rest against them. He lets out a dark chuckle—of course this is how his day is going, of course—but then his breath hitches in pain. Breathing exercises. Right. Need to prevent that pneumonia! He mentally gives an awkward thumbs up, his physical hands wrapped around his stomach. Deep breaths Ranboo, deep breaths. He slowly breathes in and out, fighting against the pain. He lightly coughs a couple of times (which doesn’t help with the pain, but he really really does not want to get pneumonia because that would just make his already pitiful existence so much worse). He sits there for a while, just breathing. Finally, he manages to convince himself to get up and he slowly shuffles his way towards his locker, one hand wrapped around his middle and the other on the lockers, supporting him and taking half his weight as he stumbles down the hall, praying that he has Tylenol in his locker.

It seems the universe is not all determined to just completely ruin Ranboo's day because, in a turn of luck he didn't see coming, he does indeed have Tylenol in his locker! He gulps it down, quickly following it with a few grapes from his lunch, and then slides down the lockers to again sit on the ground. And that's where he spends his lunch period. Sitting on the floor, eyes closed, leaning his head against the lockers. He's sure he makes a pitiful picture.

He's so close to falling asleep when the shrill sound of the bell echoes through the school, footsteps and chatter increasing in volume as people head Ranboo's direction.

He groans and forces himself up, replacing everything in his locker and grabbing the needed items for the second half of the day.

The rest of said day passes in a hazy, pain-filled blur. He manages to go to all of his classes (he’s not sure if he actually learned anything, but at least he was there! That’s got to count for something, right?), and he’s vaguely aware of his interactions with Tommy and Tubbo, but other than that he remembers nothing. Not a single thing. Which just goes along with his crappy day. Really the only good thing that happened was that he was able to read a little bit of his book to help distract him from the pain.

The walk home is miserable, his ankle and ribs hurt, and it’s all he can do not to just lay down on the sidewalk and let the world pass on by.

He finally, finally makes it to the orphanage without giving up life and, after calling out a quick “Hello” to the inhabitants of the building, hobbles his way upstairs to his room. Upon making it, he drops his bag on the floor and immediately goes to the small nightstand beside his bed to dig through the drawer for some ibuprofen. After eating some crackers he keeps on hand for situations such as this, he swallows the pills and collapses on his bed for a short, well-deserved nap.

…One that doesn’t end up happening.

The door is flung open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang as a small child bursts into the room and clambers up on the bed next to him to poke at his face.

He elects to ignore the finger.

Poke.

The weather was rather nice today.

Poke.

And he actually at least somewhat understood his math teacher’s lecture today! For once.

Poke.

Oh! He’s enjoying his book a lot more than he thought he would. Even though it wouldn’t usually be his type of thing.

Poke.

Ignore it.

Poke.

Just ignore it.

Poke.

Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react.

Poke. Poke. Poke

He groans. Child please, please go away. Leave him to wallow in his misery.

Said child doesn’t obey his thoughts and instead continues poking him.

He groans again. “Alright, alright! I’m up!” He drags himself away from his bed and turns to meet the face of his torturer. The face of a grinning child greets him.

“C’mon! C’mon!” Alex exclaims, tugging on his hand and bouncing in place. “You’ve gotta get up! Miss Lettie says she’s gonna teach us how to make popsicles! You’ve gotta come, you’ve gotta!” they say as they drag Ranboo off his bed and towards his door.

Ranboo huffs out a laugh, Alex’s infectious energy getting to him, and follows the child down the stairs to the kitchen to aid in the attempt, trying to force the pain from his mind.

He ends up doing more cleaning up and corralling of children than actual popsicle making. By the end, he ends up splattered with flavored water and food coloring, and he somehow has gotten peanut butter all over his hands from the PB&J sandwiches a few of the kids were eating—despite the fact that he didn’t go anywhere near them. They finally manage to get the popsicles in the freezer and, much to their disappointment, inform the kids that they will have to wait a few hours to have them. Quick to prevent the tears, Ms. Lettie offers them as dessert for later. Cheering up at the promise of popsicles after dinner, and the suggestion of turning on a show, the children manage to, again, drag Ranboo into the play/TV/game/really-anything-it-needs-to-be room, begging him to turn on a show. At his agreement, squabbling breaks out, no one being able to agree on what to watch.

“Alright! Alright!” he yells, throwing his hands up and bringing them down, physically signaling the kids to settle down. “Calm down. I’m sure we can find a way to agree on what to watch. What are our options?” He points at random at one of the children.

“Bluey!”

“Alright, everyone hear that?” Several of them nod. “Our first option is Bluey. What else?” He points at another kid.

“Wild Kratts!”

“Okay, and….” He points at a third.

“Mickey!”

“Okay! Three options: Bluey, Wild Kratts, and Mickey Mouse. Everybody's gonna vote. Majority wins.” A small hand goes up. “Yes?”

“Ranboo? What does ma- ma- ma-jor-it-y mean?”

“Uh…” He takes a minute to think. “The highest number of people?” he attempts to explain, being met with confused looks. “Um.. the most people?” Semi-understanding looks follow his statement.

“Alright! Let’s vote. Raise your hand if you want Mickey.” Several hands go up. “Remember you only get one vote!” A hand drops. “Alright, that’s… ten, twelve,” he whispers. “Fifteen!” And so it goes, the show they ultimately decide on being Bluey. The second he puts it on, they are captivated by the screen. Finally able to escape, Ranboo limps his way upstairs and, once again, collapses on his bed to take a nap.

One that, yet again, doesn’t end up happening.

He’s so close to falling asleep (so close) when he’s disturbed by someone jumping on his bed.

He groans. Please! Just let him take his nap!

The child on his bed bounces again, jostling him and causing him to grunt in pain.

“It’s dinner time! You’ve gotta get up! You’ve gotta!” the kid giggles.

Oh…

Maybe he did get a nap then.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

The giggling child leaves, leaving Ranboo to drag himself out of his bed. It takes several tries, but he finally manages to do it much to the displeasure of his ribs.

He stumbles downstairs and finds a spot to sit, running his hand through his sleep-rumpled hair to try to tame it.

“You just wake up or something, Ranboo?” Ms. Blake asks, laughing and leaning over to fix his hair as he’s somehow made it worse.

“Yeah,” Ranboo sighs and lets out a laugh. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

Though she wears a concerned look, she smiles and asks, “You going to head to bed after then?”

“No,” Ranboo sighs. “Unfortunately not. I’ve still got homework.” He grimaces and Ms. Blake winces in sympathy before lunging to the side to catch one of the littles as they almost fall, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

After that, he’s left alone to enjoy his food and try not to fall asleep. He barely manages, his eyes nearly drifting closed a few times, but he’s able to slap himself awake and carry on with dinner. It’s not until later that night that Ranboo finally sits down to work on his schoolwork with drooping eyes. All the little kids are in bed either reading or asleep, allowing him to sit at the kitchen table instead of the small table in his room to work. The matrons join him, all doing their own things, finally taking a moment for themselves.

“Oh my goodness,” Ms. Alyssa gasps, some time later, staring down at her phone in horror. “That’s awful!”

“What?” Ms. Lettie asks, the rest of the matrons echoing her. “What happened?”

“A high school kid was killed by a car just outside of Craze Ice a few hours ago. Isn’t that horrible? It says here he’d just moved to town and was a sophomore at Loman High. Ranboo, isn’t that your school? Did you know him?”

“There’s a lot of kids at my school, Ms. Alyssa, and I don’t know many of them. So probably not?” Ranboo said, feeling mostly indifferent. He did feel sad and a bit horrified (I mean someone just died! He wasn’t a psychopath!) and the realization of his own mortality had briefly overcome him, but it wasn’t someone close to him so there wouldn’t be that big of a loss or change in his life. “What’s his name?”

“Tommy.”

#mcytblr #ranboo #tommyinnit #tubbo #time loop #high school au #also on ao3 #dsmp fanfic #bench trio #tw death #main character death

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nerdiestnerdtoevernerd · 3 years ago

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I don’t mind too much if the Twitter users immigrate to tumblr.

However I will start Biting if tumblr becomes the standard social media site everyone uses.

My employers don’t need to know that I am a clown and this is the circus I frequent. They don’t need to learn about the chainsaws I juggle or the jokes I yell while entering a tiny car with a bunch of other clowns.

#Oh that would not be fun #my parents don’t even know I’m on tumblr #any possible employer finding out would be awful #but honestly probably better than if my parents did

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nerdiestnerdtoevernerd · 3 years ago

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Which Brother Will Witch Wil Will Into Being

This is a prompt from @ed-writes-fanfiction for @pinchhitsfromthevoid

5 times they should have known Wilbur was a witch and could tell the future and 1 time they realized it

Chapter 1: My Protector

Word count: 2090

It’s a calm morning in the Minecraft household. Kristin’s standing at the stove, preparing a roast for dinner; Phil is sitting at the bar behind her, several papers spread around him; and Wilbur’s puttering around, playing with his toys and occasionally asking to be lifted up onto the counter to watch Kristin.

“Mama?” Wilbur suddenly tugs on the end of her shirt.

“Yes Wilbur?” she distractedly hums back, measuring out ingredients and dumping them into a pot.

“I want a brother.”

Kristin freezes in shock as Phil sputters at their son’s sudden declaration.

“Oh. Uh… Hm. Um. That’s nice honey. Uh… That…” How in the world is she supposed to respond to this?

Wilbur continues on, undeterred. “He’s gonna like swords! And we are gonna spend lots of time together! And we’ll fight sometimes but he won’t ever be mean to me. He’ll be my bestest friend!”

“He sounds like he’ll be a good brother,” Kristin hesitantly says, ignoring the choking sound still coming from her husband. Wilbur’s probably just talking about an imaginary friend, right? She hopes that’s the case.

“He will!” Wilbur exclaims and then walks away, leaving his confused and startled parents behind.

And that’s it. It’s forgotten (except as a funny story to tell in the far-distant future) and they move on. They think nothing more about the situation.

In retrospect, they really should have suspected something was going on. He was pretty confident in his declaration after all. But, in their defense, children are often confident about subjects they know nothing about.

⛥⛥⛥

They find him in the woods. Thinking back on it, it was weird that Wilbur dragged them out to the forest that day. Though he did like to run around and spend time outside, he was more of a homebody. He liked to sit inside and play with his toys or dance to music or read books with his parents. It wasn’t like he never went outside, but he tended to prefer activities inside the house, and Phil and Kristin did not discourage this. Kristin like to keep him where she could keep an eye on him (the memories of the several times when he had disappeared for days and was found in perilous situations were too recent in her mind) and Phil preferred not having to chase his child through the trees outside when it was time for dinner.

But it was Wilbur’s birthday. And he wanted a picnic. So they agreed.

They pack a delicious lunch with all of Wilbur’s favorites (and, for some reason, the bacon that their vegetarian son demands they add) and set off. Wilbur leads the way, flitting from flower to flower and interesting rock to fascinating leaf. His parents follow him, smiling and indulging in his activities, their pockets very quickly filling up with “the coolest” rocks.

“Look Dad, this rock has red in it! Let’s keep it!” Phil’s pocket gains another rock.

“Mama, this is a pretty leaf. And it’s soft too! Can you put it in your pocket?” Kristin gets out of this one by telling Wilbur to leave the leaf for other people to enjoy.

“Here Dad. Here’s another rock.”

“I don’t know that I have room for another one,” Phil says, gesturing to his bulging pockets.

“Hm,” Wilbur hums, face twisted up in a thoughtful expression before quickly lighting up. “Here, Mama!” He hands her the rock. “Put it in your pocket!”

After Phil and Kristin cram more rocks into their pockets than should be physically possible, Wilbur finally stops in a clearing and looks up at the surrounding trees. He spins around taking it all in.

“We’re here!” he declares, running back to his mother. He grabs her hand and tugs her to the middle of the clearing.

“Oh really?” she asks, attempting to stifle her laugh.

“Yeah! This is where we’re going to eat!”

“Alright,” Kristin agrees, letting out a laugh.

They get started on getting the site set up. Kristin and Phil work on clearing an area of rocks and twigs, Wilbur attempting to help but getting distracted by said rocks and twigs and deciding to build a house out of them.

“Look at my house, Mama! Look at my house!” he exclaims, pointing at a pile of rocks and sticks that doesn’t look even remotely close to a house.

“Looks great Wilbur,” Kristin responds, a smile on her face. “Do you want to come eat now? It’s lunchtime,” she gestures to the blanket and all the food spread out on it.

“No,” he says, giggling as a taken-aback look crosses his mother’s face. “It’s not time. He’s not here yet!”

“Who’s not here yet?” Phil pipes up, a confused and hesitant look on his face.

“My new brother!”

“What?” the blond exclaims, sending a baffled look at his wife. He’s relieved slightly by the equally confused look on her face. At least she’s not hiding anything from him.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be here soon,” Wilbur explains, knocking over his “house.”

“Who will be?” Kristin finally says.

“My brother!” Wilbur giggles. The sound so sweet it melts his parent’s hearts, though the confusion and worry quickly overtakes it.

“Yeah, sweetheart, you already said that. But what do you mean?” Kristin asks. She’s suddenly reminded of the conversation they’d had, which seems like forever ago. Was… was he talking about his imaginary friend?

“You’ll see!” he responds, continuing to play with rocks and sticks.

They watch him for a moment and then Phil speaks up. “Well kiddo, why don’t we eat until ‘your brother’ gets here?”

“But he needs to eat with us,” Wilbur says looking up from his sticks, a confused look now on his face. “He’s hungry. And we have food for him.”

“We do?” Phil says, furrowing his brow.

“Oh!” his wife exclaims, realization lighting her face. “The bacon! You wanted that for him.” A smile spreads across her face, the sweet consideration her son has for others (even if it’s just an imaginary friend) touching her heart.

“Yeah,” Wilbur responds in that way children do when what they’re doing makes sense to them and they’re not sure why it’s confusing those around them. “What else would it be for?”

“Well—” Phil starts.

“Exactly that,” Kristin interrupts, putting a hand on his arm to silence him. She gives him a look, the “Don’t discourage this. He doesn’t have any actual friends, so let him enjoy this imaginary one.” perfectly clear.

“Alright,” Phil mutters, raising his hands in surrender.

“Wil? As sweet as it is that you want to wait, we do need to hurry and eat. We’ve got other things planned, so we’ll have to go back home soon. Besides, soon the lemonade won’t have any ice. You don’t want lemonade without ice do you?” she wheedles.

“No,” Wilbur admits. He glances up at them, a longing expression on his face. It quickly clears, a joyful expression taking his place as he glances towards the trees. “Oh it’s okay. We can eat now. He’s here.” Wilbur abandons his playing and skips over to plop on the blanket next to his mother. He grabs a sandwich from the plate and takes a bite. Kristin and Phil watch him in confused amusement.

“Well alright,” the blond says, sharing a glance with his wife. Then he too grabs a sandwich and takes a bite, Kristin doing the same.

They eat in peace, the only sound is the munching of food and quiet conversation. But not too long after, Wilbur suddenly puts his sandwich down on the blanket and stands up, staring into the trees.

“Wilbur?” Kristin hesitantly questions.

The boy ignores her, simply continuing to stare at the trees.

“Wilbur?” Phil tries this time, but the only response he gets is the boy raising an arm to wave at a spot at the edge of the clearing. This only confuses them further.

“Wilbur, sweetheart, what’s going on?” Kristin places her hand on Wilbur’s arm, concern emanating from her.

“It’s okay Mama, I’m just waving to him,” he points to the trees.

Kristin squints in that direction, trying to see what her son is pointing to. Something moves. She gasps. “Phil! Phil!” she hisses, slapping her husband on the arm.

“I don’t— by Jove.” Something moves again, and they watch, astonished, as a little head pokes out around a tree, staring at them with wide eyes.

“Hi!” Wilbur exclaims, waving frantically at them. Their eyes, if possible, seem to widen even further and they duck back behind the tree.

“Wilbur,” Kristin gently scolds. “You’re scaring them. Maybe calm down a little bit okay?” The boy nods, properly chastened. “But Mama, he’s hungry.”

“Alright. I’ll take care of it, okay?” She chucks him under the chin, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“Okay Mama. You’re the bestest at things like this!” He settles on the blanket next to his father, picking up his sandwich again and chowing away.

Kristin stands up and takes several steps toward the tree the child is hiding behind. Once she deems herself close enough to be able to easily converse with him, she sits down on the grass. “Hey there,” she says.

No response. That’s okay. It takes time, she reminds herself.

“I’m Kristin.”

Nothing.

“It’s my son, Wilbur’s birthday, so we’re out here having a picnic to celebrate.”

A red (and isn’t that alarming) eye peers around the trunk at her. Progress! She internally cheers.

“Are you hungry?”

The rest of the little head pokes out and studies her before hesitantly nodding, his brown hair, sticks and leaves tangled in the dirty, greasy strands, shaking over his eyes and hiding his face from view.

“Do you want some celery?” she asks, mentally running through what food they brought.

His nose scrunches up, disgust obvious. She laughs.

“Yeah, Wilbur doesn’t like celery either. We’ve got some bacon?” she offers.

She gets a more enthusiastic nod this time.

“Great!” she says enthusiastically, maybe too enthusiastically. The child draws back, his tiny (too tiny Kristin thinks) body hiding behind the tree again. She winces.

“Sorry,” she apologizes and glances back at her family. Phil is watching her with a raised eyebrow and Wilbur is eating. He briefly turns to look at her, an expectant and bright smile on his face, and waves at her and the boy. Her heart melts. Her little baby is getting so big! She turns back around to the tree and is grateful to see that the child has taken a small step away from it.

“Come on,” she stands up and holds out her hand. The child shies away and she immediately drops it, instead turning around and taking a step toward the blanket. She glances back, relieved and somewhat surprised when she sees that the child has taken a step forward as well. She kindly smiles at him, her heart filling with sadness when she takes in the little details. His clothes are tattered and stained. There’s a large bruise that wraps around one of his thin wrists that she knows can only be from someone’s hand. His body is littered with scars, and there are several cuts that haven’t healed yet. His bare feet are a bruised purplish-blue color and are littered with scratches. And, the worst sign of all, he shies away from any possible touch. This boy needs a lot of love, and she is determined to give it.

“Hey,” Phil greets as they approach. “This is Wilbur and I’m his dad Phil. What’s your name?”

“His name is Techno,” Wilbur informs them, not noticing the other boy’s startled look. “And he’s my new brother!” He wraps the dirty boy in his arms, giving him a big hug. The boy flinches away at first but then freezes, staring at Wilbur with wide eyes.

“Wilbur,” Kristin starts, intending to inform the boy of asking before giving a hug, but then decides not to discuss such a heavy topic (that will surely lead into her suspicions of the boy’s trauma) over lunch on her son’s birthday. “He’s probably hungry. Why don’t we get him some food?”

Wilbur beams and let’s go of th— Techno instead latching onto his hand and tugging the boy onto the blanket next to him. He launches into conversation the second they are both sitting as he hands Techno one of everything, not minding when the other doesn’t say a word.

Kristin watches them, a smile on her face. Phil looks at his wife and sighs, resigned to having another child. “I guess he’s coming home with us.”

#wilbur soot #kristin minecraft #mumza minecraft #philza minecraft #mumza and dadza #kid au #technoblade #child technoblade #child wilbur soot #adoption #wilbur is collecting siblings #wilbur mcyt #mcytblr #also on ao3 #chapter 1 #5+1 things #5+1 fic

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nerdiestnerdtoevernerd · 3 years ago

Text

The Monday Blues

Chapter 2: In the Blink of an Eye

Word count: 4471

The 1st Monday

Time freezes, stills.

It goes quiet, nothing moves. The only sound is the roaring of Ranboo’s thoughts, the tumultuous mess of words and sounds and images being processed and categorized to be made sense of later. The only thing Ranboo truly processes, truly recognizes is the bright blue color of the new kid’s eyes. The warm blue of the sky on a warm sunny day when you’re laying on the green grass, staring up at the sky, a cool breeze tousling your hair, whisking away the heat. The deep blue of the ocean: both fun and playful on a good day, but loud and earthshaking on a bad. The color of smoothly flowing, never stopping water. The color of cold ice added to a refreshing drink. The playful color of bluebells swaying in the breeze. The bright, piercing color of those eyes still looking, staring, watching-

Everything starts again, quickly moving, catching up. Colors, sounds, smells, feelings quickly rushing through, distracting, eye-catching, never-ending, stifling-

Stopping. It slows, and… settles. Everything is fixed. It feels exactly the same, and yet, now slightly…

Off.

Nothing too noticeable, and not a bad kind of off. It’s like the world was always a little wrong, a puzzle piece forced into a spot, but then it shifted, the puzzle piece was fixed and now it’s all in the right place. Weird and odd because it’s different, but good and normal because it feels right. Sounds seem a little louder, colors a little brighter, time feels a little quicker, and Ranboo feels at home, feels settled into his own skin.

And then Ranboo realizes he’s still looking at the new kid. He hurriedly tears his eyes away, worried he’d been caught staring (and wouldn’t that be awkward? Being caught staring at the new kid on his very first day. Awkward with a capital A. Being caught staring in and of itself is already embarrassing, but 1. The new kid, and 2. On his first day? Instant mortification. Embarrassment for life. Never-ending torment). He switches to studying the other, shorter student. Tubbo? Tommy? Whichever one this one is has dark brown hair that’s getting a little too long in the front, hanging down and almost hiding his sparkling green eyes. It also succeeds in slightly hiding the rather large birthmark on the side of his face. His bright, secretive smile, like he knows something you don’t and if you listen closely enough you’ll hear, causes Ranboo to mark him down as trouble. He’s wearing a nice, green, button-down shirt with jeans and slightly scuffed-up shoes, but the shirt seems slightly rumpled and the buttons might be one off, making it look like he tried to look nice, but then just gave up. He certainly looks like he put more effort in than… oh what’s his name? It started with a T right? Or was it the other guy? Or did they both start with T? He’ll just call the shorter guy…. Green.

The taller guy (who he’s decided to call Red) is wearing a red (hence his name) and white T-shirt and jeans. He looks like he put in no further effort than he would on a normal school day. His curly blond hair looks like a carefully organized yet somehow still chaotic mess that has probably been brushed at some point in the last century (if Ranboo’s being honest, Red probably has brushed his hair today, he just has the kind of hair that looks messy no matter how much you try to tame it). His bright blue eyes have a mischievous spark in them, and they pair nicely with the smirk on his face. If he thought Green was trouble, then Red looks like he would be ten times the amount of trouble. He wishes whoever raises them Good Luck.

Finished studying the new kids, he looks back down at his desk, quickly returning to calculating the answer to his math problems and chipping away at his to-do list. He’s in the middle of one of his problems. (3 squared is 9, 2 times 4 times -5 is -40, but it’s being subtracted so it’s +40, and- wait.) He’s startled when he spies movement out of the corner of his eye, snapping his head up to see-

Wait a merry moment.

The two new kids?

Oh! Of course. He mentally slaps himself. He’s an idiot! The only open seats that are next to each other are by him.

Red cocks an eyebrow and, realizing he’s staring, Ranboo whips his head back around to look at the worksheet on his desk, his cheeks flushing with heat. Well, that was embarrassing. Being caught staring once is embarrassing enough, but being caught twice? Forget embarrassment for life. Try embarrassment for all eternity. Jeez, Ranboo really does NOT have good luck. Not even a drop! And really, that’s really unfair. Like honestly? He’s already got a crappy life, why does he have to have crappy luck too? Or maybe it’s just his crappy life having an effect on his luck? Or is it his crappy luck causing his crappy life? Or do they just compound each other? Well, whatever it is, Ranboo could really do with some good luck thrown in there.

After several minutes of ignoring the teacher and continuing to scribble down calculations (Wait, is that a 4? Squinting to try to see it better really doesn’t help. His handwriting looks horrible. It looks like a squirrel tried to write with its non-dominant foot while doing a handstand on a teeter-totter in the middle of an earthquake. Okay. So he might be exaggerating a little bit, but really. His handwriting is not the cleanest. He’s got the whole half cursive, half printed, half absolute chaos down, and no matter how much he tries to fix it, he still fails. He’s surprised that there are people out there (*cough* his teachers *cough*) that can actually read it.), Ranboo is interrupted mid-problem by a quiet “Pssst.”

He ignores it, thinking it’s directed at someone else, but then it’s followed up by a whisper-yelled “Hey! Big man!” and a pencil poking him in the arm. He jumps and turns his head to face the blond sitting next to him. He furrows his brow and brings up a finger to point at himself, confused.

“Me?” he squeaks incredulously, sparing a glance to make sure the teacher isn’t paying any attention to the whispers coming from their corner. Why in prime’s name is this guy talking to him? It’s fairly obvious he’s not popular, let alone very well-liked. Sitting in the back corner all by yourself with two empty seats next to you, where you spend most of your time working on assignments, is about the equivalent of having “Hey! Look at me! I’m a loser!” tattooed in bright, colorful ink on his forehead!

Red apparently does not realize this important, fairly obvious, information because he snorts like Ranboo was the crazy one! Which, fair—Ranboo’s hair and loner status don’t lend much help in proving he’s not crazy (his hair alone makes him look like a mad scientist)—but still! Rude! He could be (and is!) perfectly sane, and asking a question about something that seems pretty self-explanatory should not be the thing that causes people to decide he is insane.

“Yeah, big man. You,” Red says slowly. “Who else would I be talking to? The wall?”

Yeah, that’s fair. One point to Red.

Here he begins to quietly chuckle to himself but continues. “There’s like literally no one else back here.”

Which was a bit of an exaggeration, because the row in front of them was full, and there were people in the seats next to Green. But Ranboo doesn’t point that out. He’s too busy staring at the blond with his mouth hanging open in shock. He… he actually was talking to Ranboo? What in the world?

Red’s still laughing to himself and it’s slowly growing louder, drawing a few looks and raised eyebrows from the surrounding people. Well, except for Green, who just rolls his eyes and turns his gaze back to the teacher as if this was a completely normal occurrence—which, based on his reaction and body language and what he’s seen from Red so far, is entirely possible. Ranboo lowers his gaze, trying to avoid the eyes now looking his way.

In an effort to shut the other up and get people to stop looking at him please, he forces out a “Sorry. Uh, what… what do you need?” His fellow teen seems to come to his senses—thank prime—as he finally stops laughing, though the relative silence left in the wake of the teacher’s lecture is punctuated by the occasional quiet chuckle from Red. Ranboo watches him hesitantly, waiting for a response. What does this new kid need? Prime, he hopes it’s nothing bad. He tries not to remember what happened the last time one of his peers sought out contact with him, or, prime forbid, tried to talk to him in class. Let’s just say it didn’t end well for Ranboo (or really anyone involved, but most especially Ranboo. Flashes of cold-dark-pain-laughter flash through his mind and he pushes them away). When his answer finally comes, he is, once again, shocked.

“Just wanted to know your name, big man.” He smiles at Ranboo, fingers absentmindedly tapping a pattern on his desk. “And to see if this class was usually this boring, or if it’s a one-time thing in my honor.” He smirks and it’s a fairly good impression of a trickster trying to be pleasant: self-satisfaction and mischief apparent, but a thread of amusement woven into the tapestry of the mask of false innocence on his face.

Ranboo nearly snorts at the expression on his face as well as the comment (this kid is too funny and brash for his own good—not that he’d ever tell him that; his ego seems big enough as is) but manages to get his facial expression under control. The teacher, after a moment of silence to allow the class time to answer the relevant question in the packet, has gone back to lecturing (but now there’s a picture of a monkey up on the board? What on earth does that have to do with anything? There’s not some kind of monkey war that he should know about, right? What do monkeys have to do with history?). Ranboo looks up at the board, looking for all the world as if he were paying attention and being a perfect student, but his left pointer finger taps the name written at the top of his math worksheet. Ranboo Devole is written out in his slightly messy, partially cursive, entirely illegible handwriting. He glances over at Red in time to see the raised eyebrows. Oh great. What jokes are going to be made about his name this time? Look. He knows his name is weird, okay? He’s been told that many times. In fact, he’s probably heard every insult under the sun, as well as several others people have somehow found hidden in the shadows. But what do you want him to do about it? It’s not like he can legally change it! At least not yet—he’s got a few years before he can do that. But for now, it’s still Ranboo B. Devole. A nightmare of a name really. What were his parents thinking?

“Ranbo? What kind of name is Ranbo?” Red asks, completely butchering his name. His volume has raised slightly (probably unknowingly), drawing several more Looks.

“It’s, it’s Rahn-boo actual- actually,” Ranboo hesitantly corrects, gaze returning to his math problems. He doesn’t want to see the eyes on them, and he definitely doesn’t want to see the look on the other's face—though he hopes that it’s not anger at being corrected.

“Ranboob? That’s even worse!” This was said much too loudly, gaining several more glances and now glares from several students directed at Ranboo—as if he were the one being loud!

Green finally tears his attention away from the notebook he’s been doodling in, turning to glare at his friend. “Shut up Tommy! Pay attention!” he hisses.

Ah. So Red’s name was Tommy. That’s good to know. But what was the name of the other kid? Ranboo remembers Green’s name being said, but he can’t for the life of him remember what it was. Something that started with an R maybe? Or maybe it was a T? B? Or S? Who knows? Certainly not Ranboo!

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but Ranboo interrupts him. “Uh, he’s- he’s right you, uh, you know? You should be, should be paying attention,” he stammers out, wary of the blond’s reaction to being interrupted and argued with. Then he figures in for a penny, in for a pound. That’s the saying, right? Though that doesn’t make much sense unless you’re in England. Which he’s not. Unless it’s not talking about money? But then why include the penny? Or maybe the saying just originated in England? Do they have pennies? You’re getting sidetracked Ranboo, focus!

Weirdly enough, the words seem to spark a light in Tommy’s eyes. He straightens up and a small smirk appears on his face, his mouth opening to argue before Ranboo continues.

“And- and it- it’s Ranboo. Not, uh, not- not what you, um, uh, said.”

“Well Ranboob,” Tommy drawls, yet again horribly mispronouncing Ranboo’s name. “What if I don’t want to pay attention?” His eyebrow lifts in challenge, a smirk on his face.

Ranboo has no clue what response the teen is looking for, so he stays quiet, hoping someone (or something! He’s not picky!) will come to his rescue. Luckily for him, the universe appears to be listening in at this moment (because it sure had not been listening at any point earlier, what with the utter terrifying chaos the day has been so far), because Green decides to speak up and be his hero. Ranboo decides right then and there that he would die for the brunette.

“Doesn’t matter if you want to or not bossman. You still have to. Now leave the poor man alone and pay attention.” He pauses and narrows his eyes, glaring at the blond, and then threatens, “Or you won’t be able to remember your own name, much less anyone else’s.”

Okaayyy! This guy is scary. Ranboo would probably end up dying for the brunette just out of fear of what he could do, even if he didn’t feel like he was eternally indebted to the teen. (Which, now that he thinks back on it, is kind of stupid and feels highly dangerous.) Any sign of him narrowing his eyes, or flashing a falsely pleasant smile with just enough edge and Ranboo would lay down his life, no questions asked.

He makes a mental note (that he hopefully won’t forget) to write a memo in his journal to stay away from Green. He thinks about pulling it out and writing in it right here and now, but then he runs the risk of Tommy “Chatty Kathy Who Really Really Needs to Shut Up for the Sake of Ranboo’s Sanity” Last-Name-Placeholder-Here seeing it and asking about it. And that’s a can of worms Ranboo’d really rather not open up right now. Or ever. Ever’s good. He’d probably end up burning the worms somehow. Despite the fact that there (hopefully) will not be any worms there. He would somehow make it happen. Just by the horrible sheer dumb luck that seems to rule his life.

In response, Tommy wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out, but ultimately does as ordered. (Though with no small amount of quiet grumblings, and a big show of reluctance. How the teacher has somehow missed this entire exchange is beyond Ranboo, because they have a pretty fascinated audience that is openly staring at them and not even remotely trying to pay attention to the teacher.)

Ranboo does the same, deciding not to risk invoking the wrath of Green. He’ll have to finish his math work (that he’s pretty sure is like 76% incorrect) later. Luckily he only has 2 pages left! (He elects to ignore the fact that the whole assignment is 3 pages long, so in the grand scheme of things he has done pretty much next to nothing.) He slips his worksheet back into his backpack, cringing at the surely rumpled state it will be in later, and turns his attention to the front for another, hopefully not boring (though with his teacher’s track record chances aren’t looking too good) lecture.

Many extremely boring moments later (Ranboo tried to count as that was somehow more entertaining than this class, but ultimately gave up in favor of actually working on the assignment, and when that failed—he only got like 2 questions in before completely giving up on life—doodling on the corner of the paper. He’s got to admit, the winding dragon he’s drawn does look pretty cool) the bell rings and noise begins to fill the classroom, students packing up and chatting with their friends as they leave. Ranboo does the same—well, not the talking part as he doesn’t have any friends, but the packing up and leaving part. It’s as he’s heading towards the door that he gets yet another surprise-that-the-universe-must-assume-is-a-gift-but-really-really-isn’t when he’s startled by his name being called. He turns around in confusion and almost slips on a loose sheet of paper. His arms shoot out and awkwardly pinwheel, attempting to keep him up. Luckily he manages, but the snickers and looks really don’t make it feel like staying up was a good thing. He feels heat rise to his cheeks and he glances down at his shoes before he realizes the reason he almost fell (and thanks for that, universe), and glances up to see Green speed walking towards him, Red— no, Tommy on his heels stuffing papers into his bag.

Are they…. Are they walking towards him? Oh prime. What do they want? They don’t seem like the type of people to beat him up in the hallways. Maybe he forgot something? Yeah! Maybe that was it!

“Wait up boob boy!” Tommy shouts, earning a smack on the arm and a “Be nice to him Tommy!” from his friend- or, brother? What’s their relationship? They’re either really close friends or brothers and Ranboo has no clue which it is. He’ll stick with friend for now. At least until he figures it out.

Ranboo watches in confusion as Green finally manages to weave through the crowd of leaving students (Tommy getting stuck talking to said students) to make it to where he stands, still frozen in fear and shock (they were actually talking to him. What in the world?).

“Hey, bossman! I’m Tubbo! Nice to meet you!” Green says, sticking out his hand to shake. (So that’s his name! Tubbo!)

“R-Ranboo,” he stutters in return, quickly shaking his hand. Then he gives a small smile and ducks his head in a weird sort of nod as he turns on his heel to leave. (Surely they only wanted to exchange names, right? Hopefully, that’s all they wanted.)

Unfortunately, he’s wrong. He hears laughter and a hand grabs his arm and spins him back around to face them. He flinches back, tugging his arm out of their grasp, preparing for the punch to the face. Gree— Tubbo seems to notice this and with an apologetic look on his face says, “Sorry about that bossman,” returning his hand to his side. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Sorensen’s math class is? Or just the general direction? Tommy and I”—he gestures to his friend. Really, what is their relationship?—“have that class next. And we have no clue where to go. If you don’t know that’s fine! You’re just the only person we’ve actually talked to,” he says with a smile on his face.

Really? Really? Does the universe hate him or something? They have math next, and not just math, but Sorensen? Is he doomed to have the same class schedule as both of them? Wait, no. Don’t say that. Maybe saying it will bring it to fruition. Knock on wood! Knock on wood!

“Ranboo?” Tubbo interrupts Ranboo’s internal rant, a hesitant look on his face. “You okay?” “Y-yeah! Uh, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I, um, I’m actually heading there right- right now. If you… wanted to come with me?” he stutters out.

Tubbo’s face lights up. “Yeah! Awesome! Hey, Tommy!” he calls his friend over from the small group of people he was talking to. As the teen approaches, Tubbo continues. “Ranboo here has Sorensen next! He offered to walk us there.” Wow. This kid sure talks in a lot of exclamation points. Ranboo makes a note to add enthusiastic next to Tubbo’s name in his journal.

“How kind of you boob boy.” Ranboo’s “That— that’s not my name,” either goes unheard or ignored as the blond continues. “Lead the way,” he says with a fancy flourish.

As they’re making their way towards the math classroom, Ranboo pointing out the occasional landmarks and important areas along the way, Tommy and Tubbo chatter non-stop, continuously pulling Ranboo into their conversations. Finally, after way too many confusing conversation topics, they reach the classroom. Ranboo stops right outside and gestures to the door. “Here— here’s Sorensen’s classroom. Uh, word of— word of advice,” he laughs awkwardly, hunching his shoulders even more and shrinking down until he is almost the height of R— er, Tommy. “Don’t, uh, don’t… don’t talk in class,” he quickly says, gaze darting up to look for any sign of annoyance on their faces, but only finding acceptance and interest.

Tubbo laughs. “Good luck with that Tommy,” he teases, poking the other in the arm. “You’ll end up getting in trouble the second we walk into the classroom!” he quickly dodges the hand flung his way, darting into the room, a squawking Tommy following him, leaving a startled and confused Ranboo frozen, hovering in the doorway, staring after them.

A throat is cleared behind him and he realizes he’s blocking the way into the classroom. With a quickly muttered apology, he follows the other two into the room and… wow. Tubbo was right. There’s Mr. Sorensen already yelling at the blond teenager standing in front of him, who, once again shocking Ranboo, is yelling back at him! Ranboo quickly and quietly finds his way to his seat, head ducked down, praying that nobody will notice him and that Tubbo and Tommy will find somewhere else to sit that isn’t near him.

Of course, the universe seems to hate him today, so when he sees out of the corner of his eye two blobs of color—one green and one red—plop down on either side of him, he simply groans and rests his head on his desk.

“You good boob boy? Sounds like you’re against the awesomeness that is me,” Tommy says, offended.

Ranboo’s head quickly shoots up and he looks wide-eyed and nervous at the other teen. “No! No! Of— of course not. It’s… it’s just— just been— been a long day,” he stutters. And it’s not like he’s lying. This day is taking forever. He’s still just in second period!

Luckily, whatever Tommy intends to say next is interrupted by the teacher drawing the class’s attention to the front of the room. Throughout the rest of the lesson, he seems to just be floating through the motions. He feels only slightly aware of everything going on around him. He passes forward the homework (thankfully he had just barely finished it in time) when he’s supposed to, solves the problems (probably incorrectly) when he’s told, answers the question (somehow his answer was right? At least he thinks it was. Considering he’s not out in the hallway or being lectured at the moment—he’s not being lectured right? No. No, he’s not—he probably got the answer correct) when asked, and ignores Tommy and Tubbo’s attempts to converse with him. He’s gotten this far this year without getting in trouble and he doesn’t want to change that. Luckily the class seems to fly by, and soon the teacher is wrapping up his lesson. Ranboo slowly packs up his stuff, hoping that the other two teens will leave before him (trying to leave before them didn’t seem to work). Unfortunately, when they finish packing up, they stand and wait. Are they seriously waiting for him? Why? What do they want? Ranboo wants to cry. Why can’t they just leave him alone? Or just do what they want and get it over with? He wants them to stop dragging the torture out.

“You ready to go?” Tommy asks, raising an impatient eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” Ranboo says, quickly throwing his stuff into his backpack. He winces at the thought that he’ll have to reorganize his backpack later, but he’d rather have to do that than deal with their judgment and anger at having to wait. He stands up and trails after them to the door, almost running into Tubbo when he pauses in the doorway, having run into Tommy, before realizing that he, and they, have no clue where they’re going. Ranboo hesitantly speaks up, interrupting whatever glaring fest is currently going on in front of him. “Uh…. I just— I j-just wanted to, uh, to know? If, uh, if you, uh, knew where you were going? Or, uh just— just what class you— you have next?”

“Oh!” Tubbo laughs. “Yeah that would probably be pretty important, wouldn’t it?” And he pulls out his schedule to check. After an elbow to the side, Tommy does the same. “I have English with Peters,” he says cheerfully, turning expectantly toward Tommy.

The blond groans. “I have Spanish with Jones.” Tubbo pulls a face, disappointed.

“Oh! Uh, um, T-Tommy? You, uh, your class is, uh, that, it’s that one. Uh, right there,” Ranboo says as he points towards the doorway of a classroom not too far down the hall. “And, uh, Tubbo? You, uh… I, uh, I also have, uh, have that class. And it’s uh, it’s this way.” He points in the opposite direction of Tommy’s classroom.

It’s quite amusing to watch as Tubbo shoves Tommy in the direction of his classroom, ignoring the pouting, whining, and (after a comment from Tubbo) shouts that he’s, “NOT CLINGY!” When Tommy’s eventually in his class, Tubbo bustles back over and starts down the hallway Ranboo pointed down, Ranboo slowly trailing in his wake.

And that’s how the rest of the day goes. He has at least one of the two in almost every one of his classes, and he ends up pointing them in the right direction of their classes and trailing behind them like a lost and lonely duckling.

#ranboo #tommyinnit #tubbo #time loop #high school au #first day of school #also on ao3 #dsmp fanfic #bench trio

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