nyoomgoboom

[nyoomgoboom]

porkchops

fun lil crack thing on techno and ranboo. enjoy!

(warning: brief violence)

~

There is no right or wrong reason to hold a barbecue. No quorum, no discussion. Sometimes, you just want to sit and grill. That’s as complicated as it has to be.

Thus, Ranboo is holding his own barbecue, all by himself.

He almost gets away with it too.

“What you got going there?” Technoblade calls from his window.

Ranboo waves. “A barbecue!”

Technoblade pauses, as if considering. “That’s a pretty small barbecue!”

Ranboo nods. “It is!”

There’s another silence, and in the distance, Technoblade starts to squint. “What are you cooking?” he asks, suspicious. Ranboo can’t be sure why, but it’s all right, because he’s already miffed that Technoblade interrupted his barbecue, and for that reason, he will not be wasting his energy on deciphering why Technoblade is acting strange. Technoblade is Technoblade after all.

“Well?”

Ranboo realizes he hasn’t answered. Techno is starting to look a lot more unnerved.

“Oh, just some meat I had lying around.” Ranboo hasn’t even finished the sentence before Technoblade disappears from the window. Huh, he thinks, I hope he isn’t planning to join me.

A door opens and slams shut. Technoblade stomps on the fresh snow, leaving deep and haphazard cavities. Dang, Ranboo thinks, so I have to do this today.

It’s only when Technoblade is dangerously close and his face twists in rage that Ranboo realizes Technoblade is also carrying a giant axe. Ranboo briefly registers that there are no trees in the vicinity.

“Whoa, whoa,” Ranboo starts to get up. “Are you—” Ranboo grunts “—Ow!”

“Is this some kind of intimidation technique?” Technoblade demands, the blunt end of the axe’s blade thrust at Ranboo’s neck. The edge of the blade just nicks his ear.

“I— What?” Ranboo sputters. “I’m not doing anything!”

Technoblade snorts, humorless and animalistic. The axe presses further into Ranboo’s throat, gently starting to block his airways. Ranboo’s head hits the walls of his house.

“Cut the crap.” It’s a command.

“You know, you’re kind of making hard to—” netherite presses further “—sorry! Sorry! Please don’t hurt me!”

Technoblade huffs. The hot air circulates around Ranboo’s shoulders. Ranboo shivers.

“Honest, I wasn’t trying to do anything!”

Technoblade squints, arm just as strong on the handle of the axe.

“I don’t— I don’t even know what I did wrong!”

Technoblade must be at least a little convinced, because the axe swings from Ranboo’s throat to the campfire, pointing.

Ranboo takes a relieved breath, filling his lungs desperately. The pressure hadn’t been that bad, but Ranboo was sure he was going to die anyway. He turns to the barbecue, not registering what Techno is implying.

Technoblade looks at him expectantly, and Ranboo only looks between him and the axe.

“What?” Ranboo finally dares to ask.

“Are you a moron?”

Certainly, sir, please don’t hurt me, is what Ranboo almost says. Instead, he sputters for innocent words.

Technoblade sighs, dropping his axe a little bit. “Yes, you are.” He shakes his head like Ranboo has just given him a headache. “You’re the biggest moron since Tommy.”

“I’m actually older than Tommy…?”

Technoblade glares at him. The anger has dissipated into exasperation, but all the same, it’s against Ranboo. Ranboo squirms.

He blinks at Technoblade for a minute, afraid to move. Gently, he starts to straighten his back. “What is it that I did to incur your wrath?”

Technoblade keeps glaring.

Ranboo opens his mouth to apologize, but Technoblade speaks, practically spitting, “I smelled pork.”

Oh. Oooooh. “Ooooooooooh.”

Technoblade shakes his head again, obviously tired of Ranboo.

Words spring back into Ranboo’s mouth, apologies diving off his tongue before Ranboo can be afraid enough to stop them. He only bites his tongue when Technoblade looks at him funny. Listening to the words that just came out of his mouth, it occurs to Ranboo that he has just apologized for his grandparents’ sexual intercourse decades ago.

“Just—” Technoblade waves his hand at the campfire, unable to look at it anymore, “—just get rid of it.”

Ranboo eagerly nods. “Yes, of course!” He scurries all four of his gangly limbs and frantic tail to the campfire, discarding the pork. “I’m so sorry, again,” he says, twisting his head around to face Technoblade with as much remorse as fit on his expression. Flames lick at Ranboo’s hands, eliciting a hiss.

Technoblade’s expression is stuck between exasperation and pained laughter. Ranboo is being ridiculous, isn’t he? Of course you are, you just! cooked pork! in front! of a piglin!

“Don’t do it again, okay?” Technoblade’s axe swings around to rest on his shoulder. Ranboo let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I won’t!” Ranboo squeaks. “Please don’t be angry with me!”

Technoblade starts to walk away, waving his hand before pressing it against his temple. “I won’t be tomorrow.”

Ranboo nods again, even though Techno’s back is to him.

“Airhead,” Technoblade mutters. At least he’s not angry anymore.

The scalding pork weighs resolutely on Ranboo’s hands as he throws them, steaming, off the fire.

Moral of the story, he thinks, there is a wrong way to hold a barbecue.

[nyoomgoboom]

RED

i'm back on my bs and i wrote a lil tommy angsty thing. not sure what timeline it fits into but i thought it was cool

tws for blood, violence, derealization

~

Red is Tommy’s colour. Red shirt, red hotel, red, red, red. Red in his cheeks, red in his hands. Even when he’s bleeding, he’s still red. He’s taken pride in it. He cannot f*cking fathom why this, of all things, had to ripped from him.

The mirror jeers at him, swirling as if teeming with ghouls. The mirror never lied to him.

Tommy closes his eyes, closes his fist. Red hot anger, red roiling rage. He is in his fists. He is not that thing in the mirror.

His mind betrays him, flashing through pictures, a catalog of every reflection. Desperately, Tommy is rifling through to the day it started, where something ugly and foreign crept in with his red, red, red. Somewhere, he loses track. Too many days when he never looked, too many days when he couldn’t. This is what he feared, he supposes. That the ugly lurching inside his mind could be visible.

His fist acts out of it’s own volition.

Shards of glass scream, the scream of gouls, dropping onto the tile like in a deluge. Tommy cannot breathe, cannot think with this thing, the ugly, ugly, lying thing.

Tommy is red. Red, red, red, pounding his fists into shards. Fine dust. He’d crush the mirror to fine dust. Pink tinged dust in clumps on the floor, red, red, red dripping from his knuckles. Red cutting through fabric and soaking through his knees. Tommy is red.

Hysteria soars in Tommy’s vains, a cruel adrenaline stopping Tommy’s breath and forcing it out all the same. Dust in his lungs, scraping the walls, pumping into the chambers of his heart, filling up with dust, red, red, red. Tiny shards pulling on tissue and staining him, painting him.

The bathroom door opens, and Tommy collapses. His eyes scream, unable to continue. Tommy’s hands are on his face, wet and hot and prickly.

Someone is saying something, but it blurs into the static in Tommy’s brain, humming so loud it rings in his ears. Crashing, crashing, something is breaking again and again. Tommy can hear every shard pulverize, one by one and all at once. Tommy’s throat is raw.

Red.

When Tommy’s eyes open, there’s a shard of glass he missed. Every shard of glass, missed, too large and too whole. All of them watching him. All of them showing him.

Tommy doesn't belong to himself. Tired and marked.

The mirror shows him green. Ugly lime green in his hair, seeped through like dried blood.

A voice cuts through the ringing in Tommy’s ears.

You’re starting to look a lot like me.

Tommy is sick, green bubbling up inside of him against his will. Tommy is turning green.

[nyoomgoboom]

tw // scars, descriptions of pain

so a little while back I was thinking about scars a lot, and minecraft a lot, and the two met in the middle with ranboo being your friendly neighborhood crying mess scarred enderperson... so I thought some more. biologically, it doesn't make sense for endermen to cry. maybe it's just a ranboo quirk, but I preferred to be poetic and surprise! I wrote it! enjoy?

~

Snook was born in the Overworld.

So he’s been told, but his memory is hazy. There’s not much he can recall before this day, but if he reaches back far enough into his mind, he thinks he remembers.

He remembers his parents, but not by much. One had burns on their feet, scathed and melted flesh up to the ankles. His parent swayed on those feet before falling to the ground, dissolving into a swath of mist. The other was dry, marked with lines, as if dried up and puckered. Snook’s parents weren’t talkative, but when he was rewarded with a story, they would be of red rocks, scalding lakes, and trees the color of fish. That’s about all Snook remembers about his past.

This is normal. Snook is an enderman. Frankly, endermen are mobs. Creatures, merely. Like animals, but… monstrous. Rather lonely ones, flicking in and out amongst the herds of sheep and bustling villages. Endermen are not very hostile either. Skeletons are pugnacious, zombies brutish. Endermen keep to themselves, defensive.

Snook, like the rest, is not far removed from an animal. Animals, it seems, do not have robust memories. They live day to day, and if pushed, might recall a face or object. They are impersonal, if left to their own devices. They act alone or they act in a pack, but there is not much else to them but the necessity of survival. They do not think.

But Snook has seen it happen before. Dogs, cats, birds, even llamas. Proximity to players, Snook has noticed, makes a difference. Companionship to a player raises an animal to a different level. Suddenly, there is a before and an after. There is a yesterday, a tomorrow. Anticipation. The desire for achievement. The desire to win with the player, to defend them, respect them. That is just not survival.

Bless dogs and birds, that’s as far as it gets for them.

But endermen?

Endermen are different.

Endermen learn to feel.

*

Snook has never met his kinsmen from the End. All he knows are from stories and snippets. Rumours have it that in the End, an enderman’s skin is smooth and clear, like the surface of water. Calm, but quietly vicious. (Sometimes Snook compares the two; water and a pure enderman. He’s never met the latter, but he’s sure water must be worse.)

Snook understands: he is just like them. They share every aspect. The dark purple pigment, the length of limbs, the mystique of the eyes. They are the same species, born identical in every physical way.

But Snook will never see his kin in the End, nor his mother dragon fly through the void. He has sky, grass, and trees he can’t see the tops of. He has endless landscapes, blocks of every color, and of course, the Players.

Players, some that fear him and some that do not mind if he watches. Players that create something out of nothing from the ground up. Players that turn trees into glowing homes. Players, fearless. Players, emptying black caves. Players, jumping from the sky. Players, slaying mob after mob and succeeding. Players that die. Players that weep for lost homes and items and companions. Players that fall and rise and fall again, only to stick their chin up. Players that scream and cheer. Players that go on forever.

Snook watches the Players. And when he does, he feels something else.

First, it’s his eyes. A sting at the base, like a tiny ember. At once, Snook can feel the wind scream against his eyes.

Then it’s his throat, as if being clawed from the inside. A string wraps itself around his voice box, tightening slowly, and then with a tug so sharp, Snook has to squeal.

He has to get away, to teleport and run, but no matter where he goes, he is strangling.

Then the burning starts.

*

It’s torturous.

Water — vicious, unremorseful water, leaking from Snook’s eyes and searing his skin. His face is on fire, waterfalls pouring from eyes, for all Snook can feel. If Snook could manage to ignore the wet fire, he couldn’t ignore the other twisting pain.

The first time it was angry. A red welt in his gut shouted, alive with writhing passion.

Another time, it was a dull purple. A throbbing ache, sunken.

Sometimes it was sky blue. Hopeless, hollow, echos on walls made of crystal.

Yellow acid. Pink affection. All kinds of wretched pain.

When it’s finally over, Snook stares at the water. He marvels at how water, clear and innocent, could torture him from the inside out. And when he looks into it, he sees a single, jagged stripe newly carved on his face. Tally marks, counting.

*

The scars all heal in due time, but never fade. They marr what might have been as smooth and clear as the water that had created them. They’re a reminder: Snook is from the Overworld.

Snook earned those scars. He survived something his kind in the End could never do. They would never scar like this and live to tell the story. They could neither tell stories about sizzling behind their eyes, nor of the Players or their adventures. They could not feel. They could not learn. They were creatures.

So Snook lets himself be scarred. He lets the wretched pain in his gut override any instinct he might have. He doesn’t run, doesn’t flicker away.

And sometimes, when the pain gets too much, Snook thinks, this is not how he is meant to be. He is an enderman, and endermen are endermen. How different is he from his brothers? Had Snook not made the choice, his skin would be just as clear, clear as the void. His eyes would be just as pristine. It’s the same biology, same species, same identical-born body.

But then Snook stands behind the trees and sees the Player skipping over lily pads. And he sees them fall over and laugh. And he’s seen the highs and lows and every little moment between. And Snook decides, he would rather burn his face until he has none.

That is because feeling has a cost. Feeling is hard. Feeling is painful.

But the only other choice is nothing.

*

Every once in a while, there’s another enderman. They reach for a block of grass, and Snook peeks from behind a tree. The sunlight filters down on the other enderman’s face, and Snook catches the thin, jagged marks.

Snook feels something.

It’s wonderful.

[nyoomgoboom]

is it bad that when ‘cars’ trends I have to remind myself that it’s not referring to the animated kids movie

[nyoomgoboom]

remember when society wasn’t a melting pot of angst and turmoil

tommy, tubbo, and ranboo got the brunt of the trauma (in my opinion at least, c’mon they’re kids) and now they’re just... running around... doing what they like... helping out sam nook, peacefully starting up snowchester, discovering all the enderboy powers... kids finally getting to be kids!

[nyoomgoboom]

SHOUTOUT TO THE ONE PERSON WHO LIKED A POST ON MY BIRTHDAY!! I HOPE YOU HAVE A GRAND YEAR!!!

[nyoomgoboom]

Reparations

I wrote a one shot that was fluffy. Nice and happy. My friend proceeds to go ‘i want to make this angsty’. I gave her a copy of the doc and she did. These are the two things that camoe out of it, yes hers is better I just wanted happiness. Anyway twenty notes and I’ll post the version where we talk on the doc while she worked and I do everything I can to make her life harder.

Mine:

“Slime, can you go get Foolish? I need advice on these blueprints,” Quackity called without looking up from the blueprints he was hunched over, hands pressed against the wood like if he applied enough pressure his energy would seep into the design. There were plans to build a new casino, and he had never been as good a builder as the totem god.

“Who’s Slime?” Quackity froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in months. He looked down to his side, where a pair of wedding rings were sitting on the table, and turned around.

Sapnap stood behind him, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He’d taken his armor off, but his sword was still sheathed at his side and his headband was in its usual place on his head. He looked around the casino appreciatively. “Nice place you got here.”

“Well, it’s not as good as a kingdom, but I tried,” Quackity said before he could stop himself. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. 

Sapnap’s smile turned into a grimace. His eyes slid down to the rings on the table. “Quackity… I came to apologize. I… we –– George and I thought… Kinoko was Karl’s idea. He said he was going to invite you. With everything that’s been happening, I should have checked. You’re always a part of anything we make.”

“Oh,” Quackity said quietly. “Wait… what’s going on with Karl?”

“I don’t know.” Sapnap frowned and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Something’s up with him and he won’t tell me what it is, but he keeps forgetting things.” It would be killing him to watch Karl hurting. The thought of it made Quackity’s heart twist painfully.

“Should we go check on him? Maybe I could try talking to him,” he offered.

“He’s been gone for a few days.”

Quackity sighed. They weren’t strangers to Karl’s disappearances, but for one to happen right when he might need help was infuriatingly inconvenient. “When he gets back, then.”

“Yeah. When he gets back.” Sapnap looked towards the casino’s skylight for a moment, then back at him. “Until then, wanna give me the tour?”

“Something in Quackity woke up. It was that feeling, that thrill he got from showing a new project that had done well to people he cared about. He wasn’t sure when it had gone away, but suddenly it was there again. He smiled. “Of course.”

Leading the way out of the casino, Quackity took a deep breath. He’d been inside too long. The sun reflecting off the sand made him blink quickly. Where to show Sapnap? He didn’t want him to see the wedding bridge, but the strip club felt stupid now that he thought of it. Then again, it was Sapnap. He’d probably think it was funny.

“Where do you wanna start?” he asked finally, turning back to his fiance.

Sapnap grinned. “How about there?” He nodded towards the strip club.

Quackity laughed, because he still knew Sapnap and from the look on his face, Sapnap still knew him. “Right this way, then.”

It didn’t take any time for things to return to the way they always were. Sapnap walked into the club, nodded approvingly, and said, “Quackity, I think the wedding’s off.” They cracked up, and the conversation flowed from there as Quackity led him around, explaining everything he’d had even a minor thought about in the design. Sapnap followed along, commenting like he was both a comedian and a reviewer with only good opinions.

“You really did an amazing job, Q,” he said as they stepped out of the elevator after looking at the tower. 

How long had it been since someone told him he did a good job? Quackity couldn’t remember, and it was making it embarrassingly hard for him to talk. He smiled his thanks, and got out, “So where next?”

“Let’s go over there.” Sapnap gestured to the bridge.

“Oh. Alright.” Quackity led the way over more slowly than he had the other ones. They ascended the steps and stopped in the middle of the bridge. “So. This is kind of. An express marriage spot?”

Sapnap’s eyes widened. “Oh. Like, for people who get really drunk and want to make a dumb decision?”

“Well, I mean, I tried to make it pretty. Anyone could get married here, it’s not just for idiots.” Quackity shoved his hands in his pockets, staring holes into the ground. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know.” Maybe only idiots got married. Prime knew he’d learned love didn’t last long enough.

“Well, I’d get married here.” Quackity looked up. Sapnap was still there, watching him, smiling like he always did when he knew Quackity was doubting himself. 

“Really?”

“Yeah! It’s gorgeous, Q.”

“Oh.” Quackity smiled.

“You wanna come back with me to Kinoko?” Sapnap asked. “I mean, I know you looked really busy working on that stuff before I came over, but ––”

“–– No, no, I’d love to go!” Quackity said quickly. 

“I –– awesome.” Sapnap smiled. He clearly hadn’t expected Quackity to say yes. “It’s not that far from here.”

“Aww, you know I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, beloved.” Quackity put an arm around Sapnap, letting himself be led out of Las Nevadas.

“You stole Tubbo’s line.”

Quackity’s smile soured for half a second. He glanced at the outpost out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe I did. Maybe he stole it from me.”

Sapnap laughed, pulling him towards the main town. “Sure, sure.”

The outpost could wait. Maybe Tubbo really hadn’t meant anything bad with it. Quackity could have another talk with him tomorrow, to see if a real compromise could be made. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand Tubbo’s need for walls. For the first time in a while, he let it fade to the back of his mind as he followed his fiance to Kinoko.

Hers: 

“Slime, can you go get Foolish? I need advice on these blueprints,” Quackity called without looking up, hands pressed against the wood like if he applied enough pressure his energy would seep into the design. There were plans to build another new casino, and he had never been as good a builder.

“Who’s Slime?” 

Quackity froze. Impossible.

The creak of floorboards gave away shifting feet, and then, “Quackity?”

A cold shiver snaked through Quackity’s spine. He hadn’t heard that voice in months. He looked at his desk, burning holes with his eyes where a pair of wedding rings sat in the drawer, still encased in plush fabric at the bottom of an ocean of plans. Quackity never mustered up the courage to fling them into the real thing. He blinked, erasing the image from his mind, and turned around.

Sapnap stood behind him, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. As nonchalant as ever.

Quackity felt the hope he didn’t know he was holding fizzle. There would be no apology today. 

Sapnap had taken his armor off, but his sword was still sheathed at his side and his headband was in its usual place on his head. He looked around the casino appreciatively. “Nice place you got here.”

“Well, it’s not as good as a kingdom ––” Quackity spat before he could think better of it. He took as steady of a breath as he could. “–– But I tried,” He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. 

Sapnap’s smile turned into a grimace. His eyes slid down to the rings on the table. “Quackity… I came to apologize.”

“Oh? How kind of you!”

Sapnap flinched. “I… we –– George and I thought…”

Sapnap stopped speaking the moment he realized Quackity wasn’t listening. The axe on the wall beckoned him. His fingers tingled with anticipation; how wonderful it would feel to put it through–– 

He shut his eyes, willing Sapnap to disappear so he could get on with his casino in his beautiful country that was all his own, now. His baby. The only love he could afford to have.

“Kinoko was Karl’s idea.”

Quackity can’t help himself. “Like that makes it any different?”

Sapnap scrambled for words. “He said he was going to invite you! With everything that’s been – er – happening, I should have checked.” 

“George told me.”

“I – what?”

“George told me. You didn’t invite me. Not even then.”

Sapnap took a step back, absorbing the information. Sputtering, practically.

“You’re trying to figure out when, right? When I knew. When you refused to show. I bet it’s making you sick.”

“Alex, that’s not how it happened, we ––” 

“Don’t call me that!” Quackity practically hollered, palms screaming with the pain of his nails digging in his fist. He lowered his voice, repeating, “you don’t get to call me that.”

Sapnap blinks a few times, gaping like a fish. If Quackity’s not mistaken, he might be about to cry. Good. (The funny thing is, Quackity doesn’t feel any better.) 

Quackity spins on his heel, pulling out his chair. “Whatever you came for, I don’t want it,” he says as he tries to focus his attention back on the blueprint. He doesn’t wait for an answer, too busy trying not to let his eyes burn. It all comes soaring back. As if Quackity could trick himself out of it.

Sapnap must still stand there, because finally, he whispers, “you’re always a part of anything we make.”

Quackity isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It simply wasn’t true. Not anymore. Quackity keeps his eyes down, hoping his voice doesn’t come out as broken as he feels. “I wish I could believe that.”

Sapnap doesn’t leave, and Quackity, despite himself, can’t make him. He replays what Sapnap said, latching on to one detail.

“What’s going on with Karl?”

That, at least, seems to get him talking. “I don’t know.” Sapnap frowned and shifted his weight from foot to foot. The floorboards creak in turn, and Quackity remembers exactly how Sapnap used to be. A child that Quackity could never hate. “Something’s up with him and he won’t tell me what it is, but he keeps forgetting things.” It would be killing him to watch Karl hurting and not know. The thought of it made Quackity’s heart twist painfully.

“Should we go check on him? Maybe I could try talking to him,” he offered. More generously than they had been. Automatically, Quackity dreads seeing Karl’s face again, if it goes anything like this interaction. 

“He’s been gone for a few days.” 

Quackity sighed. They weren’t strangers to Karl’s disappearances, but for one to happen right when he might need help was infuriatingly inconvenient. “When he gets back, then.”

“Yeah. When he gets back.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, walking on eggshells. Quackity really wishes he would leave. He suddenly cannot stand to look at his face. His deceitful, ‘forgetful,’ impossibly warm and loving and beautiful, traitorous face. He couldn’t stand this imitation of his fiance in his home. What kind of fiance did what they did? 

“Could you at least give me a tour?”

Under other circumstances, Quackity might have yelled some more. “Gladly.”

Instead, he focused on the feeling, that thrill he got from showing a new project that had done well to people he cared about. He wasn’t sure when it had gone away, but suddenly it was there again. 

Leading the way out of the casino, Quackity took a deep breath. He’d been inside too long. The sun reflecting off the sand made him blink quickly. Where to show Sapnap? He didn’t want him to see the wedding bridge, nor the tower, and the strip club felt stupid now that he thought of it. Then again, it was Sapnap. He’d probably think it was funny.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked finally, turning back to his fiance. He refused to betray any emotion.

Sapnap grinned. (At least he tried to lighten the mood.) “How about there?” He nodded towards the strip club.

Quackity laughed despite himself. He still knew Sapnap and from the look on his face, Sapnap still knew him. You’re angry at him, remember? Quackity turned around too quickly. “Right this way.”

It almost, almost felt like they had returned to the way they always were. Sapnap walked into the club, nodded approvingly, and said, “Quackity, I think the wedding’s off.” 

Quackity froze, if only for a split second. Joke or not, there it was. Sapnap must have noticed, but Quackity didn’t let him show it. He laughed, dissipating the tension as best he could. Sapnap mimicked him. Do I sound that pathetic? 

The conversation flowed –– albeit arduously –– from there, as Quackity led him around his country explaining everything he’d had even a minor thought about in the design to avoid looking at Sapnap, avoid really talking to Sapnap. Sapnap followed along, commenting like he was both a comedian and a reviewer with only good opinions. It made Quackity want to strangle him less.

“You really did an amazing job, Q,” he said as they stepped out of the elevator after looking at the tower. 

Quackity barely stopped himself from tripping on his feet. How long had it been since someone told him he did a good job? Quackity couldn’t remember, and it was making it embarrassingly hard for him to talk. He curtly smiled his thanks, and got out. “Where next?”

Sapnap gestured to the bridge. “Let’s go over there.” 

Slowly, debating whether to show him or not, Quackity nodded. “Alright.” Quackity led the way over more slowly than he had the other ones. They ascended the steps and stopped in the middle of the bridge. “So. This is kind of––” Quackity said it fast “––An express marriage spot?” 

Sapnap’s eyes widened. Quackity forced himself not to read into it. “Oh. Like, for people who get really drunk and want to make a dumb decision?”

Quackity didn’t care if he was being irrational. His anger was easier to humor than his logic. With a snappy tone, he defended, “I tried to make it pretty. Anyone could get married here –– it’s not just for idiots.” Quackity shoved his hands in his pockets, staring holes into the ground. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. Maybe only idiots got married. Prime knew Quackity had learned love didn’t last long enough. Or perhaps, it lasted too long and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Well, I’d get married here.” 

Quackity looked up. 

Sapnap was still there, watching him, smiling like he always did when he knew Quackity was doubting himself. It was becoming harder still to stay angry.

“Really?”

“Yeah! It’s gorgeous, Q.”

“Oh.” Quackity smiled. 

“You wanna come back with me to Kinoko?” Sapnap asked. 

There seemed to be no shortage of surprise for Quackity today. Maybe he had started to forget Sapnap’s tendencies.

When he didn’t answer, Sapnap filled the silence. “I mean, I know you looked really busy working on that stuff before I came over, but ––”

“–– No, no, I’d love to go!” Quackity said quickly. Love to go? Are you serious?

“I –– awesome.” Sapnap smiled. He clearly hadn’t expected Quackity to say yes. Neither had Quackity. “It’s not that far from here.”

Quackity furrowed his brow. “We’re going now?”

Sapnap shrugged. “Why not?”

“I, uh,” Quackity struggled. There was no excuse, really, except that he wasn’t quite sure if he could handle that right now.

Sapnap definitely noticed. “Please?”

Quackity sighed, burying his fear. Slowly, he tipped his head. “Lead the way, then.”

And strangely, irrationally, stupidly and for the first time in a while, Quackity felt like he was being led home.

[nyoomgoboom]

have some goldmines from the dreamsmp game chat

[nyoomgoboom]

DSMP SPOILERS FOR TOMMYS LATEST STREAM

dream experimenting with death?? taking notes on what’s happening? is this... MR. WASTAKEN MAKING A COMEBACK?? ANYONE???

[nyoomgoboom]

DSMP SPOILERS FOR TOMMYS LATEST STREAM

there’s seems to be an awful lot to do with memory in dsmp lore... since tommy had trouble remembering what happened before he died (and he was gone for 2 days!) i wonder, just a hc... what will wilbur remember when he’s brought back? will it be enough?

[nyoomgoboom]

not to intrude...

on the note of that last stream... the way everyone reacted? i might have written a lil thing at 3 am... (threw in techno too)

~

The path had never seemed so grim. It never truly belonged to anyone else, not since he walked across and made it his. Weathered from use, the boards leaned and creaked, as if welcoming their oldest friend home. He would never make it home.

The flowers crawled upward in the sky, stretching and spreading in the downpour. Not a day old, they couldn’t know the history. Perhaps it was a blessing, a closure in a new beginning. At least he would get to have that.

Ranboo looked on. There weren’t the right words. The rain poured in small rivers off the edges of his umbrella, pattering against the wood uncomfortably. Was it his own fault? Was this even real? How much did he truly remember? How much would he forget? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore, did it? Not in a long time. But so long as Ranboo had been here, so had he. It couldn’t be that he was... gone. How long would it be until his name would be unrecognizable? How long until Ranboo was? A single, steady exhale blew past his lips. This place, Ranboo thought, was too much. The prison was ever present in all their lives, dominating the skyline beyond the hotel. It was watching them, waiting for them, waiting for Ranboo. Curling in his tail, Ranboo took one last look at the home in the earth. It would make a good resting place. He would be lucky to have that. Stoic, Ranboo turned. The path murmured under his feet, and the thread between him and the prison stretched taut behind him.

Jack couldn’t win, could he? There was nothing in revenge, nothing in death. He was gone now, and Jack felt no joy. Only a strange sort of respect. He hadn’t died a hero, he had never wanted to be. He was a kid, Jack realized, seeing the burrow in the ground all over again. He was a kid who had nothing but the clothes on his back, the discs in his hand, and a sort of purpose Jack never had. He took everything from Jack, and yet never had anything much at all. Perhaps that was worth something. Jack took a step back, feeling the presence of the hotel looming behind him. But what was Jack without him?

It had been a long time since Quackity had spoken to Tommy. The whirlwind he lived, Schlatt to Karl and Sapnap, war games and politics from Manburg to El Rapids to Kinoko, all of it seemed so... fresh. Because he was what started this whole mess, wasn’t he? Drug heists like delinquent children, scamming and cheating like there was no law. And there wasn’t. Times were simpler then. And suddenly there was divide, and work to be done and justice to be served and love to be had and revenge to be enacted... and yet, their battles were ultimately the same. Would Quackity have suffered the same fate? There was guilt. There was regret. But mostly, the painful churn in his stomach that it could have been anyone, but it was just him, just the little boy who wanted to scam and play and laugh. It could have been anyone. Quackity’s eyes burned, proof the wet on his face wasn’t just the rain. He stalked away, too jerky in his movements, too much determination in his step. He raised his chin to the clouds. There was hell yet to pay.

It took a moment to slot the disc into the jukebox; his hands were so shaky, betraying the blank expression on his face. He cradled the other disc to his chest. Safekeeping. He would hold on to the disc for now, until he was back. He was coming back. It’s what he would’ve wanted. The music began to drift, scattered by the rain. It seemed to phase in and out of Tubbo’s awareness as he sat, staring out over the cliff side. The water soaked through his pants as he curled into himself on the bench, the sound of rustling leaves overhead. If he thought hard enough, he was right there beside him, as if they had won another battle, like they always did. They always would. They were always meant to. Tubbo didn’t notice when the music ended. He didn’t notice the new flowers as they lined the entrance of the house as each visitor came, lined up like soldiers in bloom. He didn’t notice the creak of the path, not the light of the sun as it peeked over the horizon, not the unusual quiet in the lands as they woke. He’d be back. And if Tubbo thought hard enough, he was already there with him. It was hard to tell, sometimes.

It was torture, the prison. Watching, just watching the inmate. Watching the blood dry, on the floor, on his knuckles, on Sam’s own hands. Why hadn’t he listened? He refused Bad’s offer to go home, Frost’s offer to take a shift off. He was the warden, and this was his prison, and he was responsible for it, and dammit there was blood on the walls and tears on his face and the inmate, sitting there, indifferent. The monster. Sam seemed to be choking on nothing, choking all the same. Why hadn’t he listened? How could he listen to the screams, trapping him in a cage with a beast... for his own safety? How stupid could Sam have been? He collapsed again, driving his palms into his eyes until he saw red and the familiar flash of twisted limbs and a cold, slack face. Gasping, he opened his eyes again. The monster smiled back at him. It was torture, this prison.

Technoblade took the news quietly. Paper burned in the fireplace, crackling as Phil poked at it, unable to do much more but ease the indomitable shock. Ranboo, for his size, took the smallest space in the room he had ever. It was hard not to, the weight of the news in the room larger than any mob, than any explosion could have caused. Techno took Steve out quietly, the two of them walking, etching a path in the snow until Techno didn’t recognize where he was. It was quiet here. Too quiet. It was quiet everywhere. Not even the voices that plagued his head had much to say, but... the kid’s voice was missing. Of course, it had been gone for a while, but now the hollow of the air seemed so profound, so profoundly wrong. There was no sound of opening chests, no rummaging raccoon, no creaking floorboards or incessant snacking. It was the most oppressive quiet Technoblade had ever felt in his life. It might have been hours until Ranboo found him, collapsed beside Steve, face buried in the fur and throat scratchy and hoarse from filling the silence. It was hard to get used to the quiet again.

This symphony, half-written and ripped; it was never meant to finish. The last notes hung on a beg for mercy and a shaky, bloodied breath. What symphony can you have when your orchestra is shattered?

~

[nyoomgoboom]

Tales of the SMP: Masquerade

~Out of Context~

To make me smiley and to dive back into the lore goodness that is Bodacious Time Traveler Karl Jacobs, I’ve just watched Tales of the SMP: Masquerade and decided to compile some of the funniest quotes from it! Please enjoy~

“I’m a Minecraft YouTuber”

“AH, a billionaire!”

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

“I liked the painting so much, I said: make me another one!”

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

“This is the LIIIIBRARY”

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

“Drew P. Weiner, first name weiner—wait”

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

“Spell economy”

“a”

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

“Names are for people, and he is poor”

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

“What does the B in ‘vitamin B’ stand for?”

“...BrOkE”

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

“I shall start the ceremony.”

“Please do.”

*stands up* “Duck, duck...”

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

“How’s the wife?”

“Divorced.”

“How’s the family?”

“Gone.”

“...you’re very hard to start a conversation with.”

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

“WHERE’S DREW P. PENIS???”

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

“Canonically I see some of his blood, on this wall!”

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

“Chug Jug himself, Mr. Mike Hard”

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

“And to think, they had such great AustinShow potential!”

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

“Question: who in this room hates women? Quick poll, raise of hands”

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

“He did medbay scan”

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

“Alright, everybody empty out your pockets”

*throws a trillion buckets of milk*

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

*drinks poison*

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

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

“I mean they did decompose and then recompose — that usually happens when you are dead”

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

“Just your first name, no need for your whole house and lineage”

“...Cumbucket”

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

“If we’re lucky Karl, they’ll both die”

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

“We should canonically go to another VC”

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

“As an added bonus, if we die here they’ll never find our bodies!”

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

“AHA! CAUGHT IN 4K”

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

“This man really signed up thinking he’d get to voice act”

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

“Butler! You get freedom of speech for thirty minutes”

“Oh thirty minutes?! I had a question then. I read something in a book: what is a union?”

“This was a bad idea — did somebody teach him to read?”

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

Bonus Round ft. ✨Chat✨

“Masquerade? More like massacre”

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

“WHO THE HELL SAID THIS WAS OURAN HIGH SCHOOL HOST CLUB”

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

“DREW IS GONE 🦀”

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

“BUTLER MY BELOVED”

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

“Make it count play it straight don’t look back don’t hesitate”

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

“DANGANROPA IN MINECRAFT”

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

“When the impostor is sus”

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

“It’s bad or fundraiser” I NEARLY SPIT OUT MY PEPSI AT THIS ONE

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

“Just homies in the closet”

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

“DO NOT EMBRACE THE EGG KARL”

“NO MEANS NO”

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

“EGG MOUTH NOM”

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

“I mean hey at least we made it to heaven”

[nyoomgoboom]

i’ve been informed that this had already been adressed. apologies. i do not pay attention to anything but twitch and youtube.

WAIT SO YOURE TELLING ME

ranboo went to the prison a while ago according to sam, right?

and you’re telling me that ranboo kept talking about how it was either a dream or ‘option 3’.

correct me if i’m wrong, but... ranboo slowly remembering all the things he’s done in his nightmares? as in, ranboo having visited dream in prison and then having a nightmare/hallucination related to it later on?

what if we get to watch the backstory behind unexplainable things in these nightmares?

[nyoomgoboom]

WAIT SO YOURE TELLING ME

ranboo went to the prison a while ago according to sam, right?

and you’re telling me that ranboo kept talking about how it was either a dream or ‘option 3’.

correct me if i’m wrong, but... ranboo slowly remembering all the things he’s done in his nightmares? as in, ranboo having visited dream in prison and then having a nightmare/hallucination related to it later on?

what if we get to watch the backstory behind unexplainable things in these nightmares?

[nyoomgoboom]

techno asking to join the mod videos (originally that was gonna be the entire clip but autotune coldplay?? had to stay in)

timestamps and transcript:

Keep reading

[nyoomgoboom]

do you ever read a line of a book and then raise the book to cover half your face and smile like you know a secret and then fan yourself with it like you’re a young women in the 50s? no? just me?

[nyoomgoboom]

i had something to say but i suppose it could just be summed up as ‘i miss ranboo and fundys friendship and i miss their dynamic’ thanks goodnight