#areus drabble

[mayz1er]

HIII MAY!!! :DDD

I'm vibing, gonna work on learning a music piece and then probably go back to drawing cause I decided I needed to start another comic its bedrock bros because what would it be if not that. :] probably gonna write a drabble for tubboforyourthoughts since I'm in a write-y mood from writing that eret thing earlier!

how are you doing???

HIIII HI AREUS!!!!! :D

YOOOO that sounds sick i always thought music things were cool but they seem so complicated to me i’m not sure why!!! OOOO COMICCC that sounds so cool bedrock bros,,,.. they’re so great. tubboforyourthoughts my little overworked little guy. eret thing? :0 i’m gonna look for it in a sec i’m interested

i’m doing math rn!!!!! i asked my mom for help and she did it SO QUICKLY and IN HER HEAD it was so embarassing bc i was just staring at the question for so long. in my defence she used to be a math professor. so i might be at a disadvantage. CHATTY MOOD if u didn’t kno ahaha gonna try and finish my work quick so i can read and work on a friends present ^_^ BUT my day was pretty alr!!

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

gibe. c!prime.

Exile c!prime for you as a treat

-

Throughout his life, Tommy had never even come close to drowning. He'd never floundered, he's never struggled, he'd never even swallowed water on accident. In a sea, a lake, a river, and whatever other body of water he could find himself in, Tommy excelled. He was good enough to teach people, experience and Wilbur said as much.

In that regard, water had been a friend to Tommy for his entire life.

Something had changed when he'd died.

Tommy had been shot in a rather fatal way; a heavy hunting arrow through the neck would kill a man quicker than he could stupidly pull it out, but Tommy had been unfortunate enough to live for a few more seconds.

His body, less him in that moment, had fallen off the bridge and into the lake.

For some reason, one he now grumbled about to himself whenever he sorted through his chests or went for a walk, his last thought as he died hadn't been about Dream, or the arrow, or the bow, or even L'Manberg. It had just been about the water.

It was safe to say that lakes had been spoiled for him. Rivers, too. And pools seemed reminiscent of bleeding out in the cold, wet, sinking pit of darkness, so he kept his distance. It was smart! And safe! And Tommy, obviously, prided himself on being at least one of those half the time.

But the oceans had never stopped being his friend. Fuck lakes. Fuck rivers. The oceans were always going to be different.

Tommy wasn't sure which one lapped against the shores of his beach in Logstedshire. Maybe the Lucian; it was the same one that fed into the SMP. Or maybe it was the Baddon sea, the sister sea of the Lucian.

Whatever. Tommy was shit at geography, that was Wilbur's thing. That was why Ghostbur cared about doing things like making compasses.

It didn't matter which sea it was, it was—it was just wrong. It wasn't an ocean, not to Tommy.

The waves were always grey, and the bottom was always growing closer and darker.

Sure, Ghostbur or Dream or whoever would say, it's because the sky is grey and the sea just reflected it, but it didn't matter. There was just something wrong with that ocean.

Tommy woke up drowning on the third day of his exile.

The second his mind registered the freezing water that had swallowed him sometime in his sleep, Tommy gasped awake and froze. His throat burned as he breathed in nothing but water, and he sputtered and panicked, clawing at himself for something to grip onto.

Tommy watched his own lungs work against, breathing in more and more water as he panicked, a pounding growing in his head. He grabbed as his own throat like that would help, like there were hands tightening and tightening that he could pull off.

His eyes blurred, and darkness swirled all around. Floating senselessly, the pressure of the depths tempting him to a quick and painful last death, Tommy could barely struggle.

When something grabbed him, and carried him away, he didn't fight back. If the sea wanted him, then he was already hers.

Somehow, Tommy's skin grated against sand and his body worked with him. He coughed and rolled onto his knees and forearms, his vision slowly coming back to watch him slam him own fist against his chest to cough up more water.

He panted and sputtered, digging his fingers into the sand each time his eyes started to blur the world and his head grew heavy.

Finally, it stopped, and he stared down at the now wet sand. His hair hung heavy in front of his eyes.

Dream was beside him, panting as well and just as soaked in sea water.

Tommy grinned weakly. "Bit cold for a swim, inn—"

Tommy cut himself off with a cough, hacking up his lungs as he pressed his forehead to the sand. He wheezed harshly, coughing more as he breathed in bits of sand.

Dream let himself fall back against the beach. "At least you're not filthy anymore."

"I'm plenty grimey, look at my fingernails."

A few more minutes passed until Tommy could finally breathe properly again. Once he followed in Dream's steps and rolled onto his back, Dream stood.

"I was going to suggest that we go fishing, but I guess you ruined that for yourself, so I'll go find something for us to eat."

Tommy sighed, scrambling his weak hands into the pockets of his wet shorts and grabbing whatever he had on it. He tossed it at Dream's feet, too exhausted to care about 'disrespecting authority', or whatever.

"What's this for?" Dream asked.

Tommy paused. Had Dream not asked him for...

That was weird.

Tommy forced a smirk. "Resources, since you're so damn poor. Find something expensive to eat, y'know, I'm starving, man."

Dream just looked at him without a word. Fucking weirdo, Tommy couldn't decide if his stupid silent stares would be better or worse without the mask.

"Okay."

Dream left with Tommy's things, and Tommy didn't dare look away from the cloudy sky. Once he felt the water come in in a weak wave, he stood and turned back to walk to his tent.

No friends in exile, he supposed.

No old friends, at least.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

for the fic thingy: bedrock bros era, techno giving tommy a prothestic leg?

hope you have a great day <33

ask game! send me a summary of a fic you wish I'd write and I'll write a snippet :]

"I still think it was unnecessary."

"Heh? You were limping around my basement with a dead foot!"

Tommy rolled his eyes, sitting up on the bed. "Oh, oh, I'm Technoblade, I like cutting off limbs and—and not using potions and—"

"Sit down." Techno groaned, pushing Tommy's chest back towards the bed. "I'm trying to get this on your leg."

"Wouldn't need it if you hadn't mutilated me."

Techno sighed and pressed his hands into his face, a thing Tommy only saw as he sat up once more.

"Why am I even doing this?" Techno whined.

"Because you mutilated me."

"Bruh—you walked around in calf-deep snow barefoot!" Techno gestured to the window, the barren and white landscape stretching on into the mountains. "For, like, two hours! You're lucky you only lost the one foot!"

"Yeah, that's 'cause I still had a shoe on, Tech-no-blade. Oh, you think you're so smart—"

"—you agreed to the surgery!—"

"—and chat thinks you're so cool and you're actually just a fucking loser who sucks like ass and—stinks like a fucking pig house."

"It's called a pigsty, you should know that."

"Shut up, man."

The cabin fell silent for a mintue, the two residents glaring at each other.

Eventually, Techno huffed. "Can I please, please just put the leg on so we can go eat?"

Tommy sighed but didn't fight back, laying back down on the bed and letting Techno do whatever he had to with his leg. Tommy supposed he was grateful—he was—and it was good that he didn't lose the entire lower half of his leg, still able to bend and move like before, just with a new part halfway down his calf.

Still.

Still, Tommy didn't exactly like it—having a new foot. Bullshit, that was what it was. He'd have to learn to walk again, run again, jump again.

Stupid fucking Dream. This was all his damn fault.

Sort of.

Tommy supposed he wasn't clear of blame either. He'd chosen to run away from his 'legal requirement', his exile. He'd been stupid enough to not think about even trying to make another shoe. Stupid enough to not gather materials. Stupid enough to not make tools.

Stupid enough to keep tools.

Tommy shook his head, looking down at Techno. "Are you done?"

Techno waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. There."

Tommy perked up and rushed to his feet, much to the audible dismay of Technoblade.

He managed to stand, not at all used to the feeling that one of his legs seemed to reach the floor much earlier than the other, but it wasn't too unbelievable.

"Kinda like wearing high heels, innit?"

Techno stood, looking at him warily. "Uh, sure."

With that, he stepped away, and Tommy took a few steps, watching his prosthesis move with his body and press into the wood floor before he felt it do so against his stump leg.

"I feel like I'm gonna fall a lot." Tommy mumbled.

"That's what this 's for."

Tommy turned, spotting Techno handing an item out to him, a wood cane with a black handle.

"It's one of Phil's, figure it might do you some good." Techno explained.

Tommy took it with a smile, taking a step with it. "Thanks, man."

Techno's expression contorted and Tommy was pretty sure it was a smile. He still couldn't exactly read him.

"Lunch?" Techno said after a moment.

"Yeah, let's go eat, big T."

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

For the drabble requests:

SMP Earth techno and phil deciding to create the empire and the early beginnings of it :]

Congrats my guy ahhh so proud

This probably went a bit away from the prompt but :] I still think it fits! Anyway I hope you like it :D and thank you so much!! ember my beloved <3 <3

-----

The snow is something of a temptress.

It's beautiful, no one can doubt that. The way it shines in the sun, how it turns the once dim world an almost blinding white; nights are not as dark. It gets caught in your hair, it chills the air and offers relief from an otherwise burning world. It is soft on skin, akin to a kiss.

Snow tells a story, more than anything. It tells tales of wintertime, beautifully depicted in cards, and tales of travels as the ground beneath shapes around a man's boot.

Much like a siren, everyone is too caught up in the beauty to realize the ever present danger. They like to see the freshly fallen blanket on the plains around them, and never the cracking ice beneath leading to an unforgiving ocean.

Snow gives kisses that are welcome and gentle, but in just a shift of the wind, it is nothing short of ice shards tearing through one's cheeks. The once welcomed cold will cut deeper than the waters of cocytus, and there will be nothing that can be done once the sun is gone.

All that will remain the same will be the empty and endless plains, barren with only dead plants to comfort you as you march for hours in hope of finding warmth. Your own breath will betray you in the end, leaving you as your body grows to be colder than the dirt under your soles.

Without a light, a beacon of warmth, snow is death.

Philza loves the snow. He loves how it lands on his feathers, how it seemingly never touches him until he steps inside and removes his hat to be met with a pleasant surprise.

Phil loves the snow because it is beautiful and he isn't an idiot. He knows better than to stay out too late, to tempt fate. He knows that the worst thing you can do out into the snow is lose your warmth—whenever passing through somewhere frozen, Phil always either carries or makes someone else carry a waterproof box of matches; there’s usually something that can be burned.

It's very fortunate that most people aren't experienced with the cold. With their limited knowledge of it, they're smart enough to stay away—or they're stupid enough to die.

And when building an empire, that's very, very useful. What better a force to keep enemies away than nature itself?

Through his travels, Phil found himself somewhere interesting, somewhere barren and frozen and endless.

Beneath the topsoil, who knows what grew? What ore lay deep underground? What use such an untapped place could hold?

The Antarctic is something to behold.

And Phil spent weeks there with his friend by his side, cutting trees and burning wood, scraping by on whatever food they could find in such a barren place. It’s surviving, and though most would probably say it wasn’t living, Phil would disagree. Even if they’re cold and hungry, he’d never felt quite so alive as he had simply sitting in a half built cottage with Techno as they barely kept a fire stoked.

It took many long nights of fighting the biting cold, but Phil staked his claim to the land there with Techno by his side. Techno made sure to take each opportunity to whine about the cold—he's lying, of course; Phil shakes worse than him each day. He claims to do it for comedic effect, and to be fair, his quips do make the nights shorter.

With effort—sweat, blood, and tears—there's a home set up in the antarctic. A warm and man-made shelter for two emperors, crowning themselves as the sun set over the empty plains.

But they'll spread word of their new empire in the morning. They'll tell people of the land they can travel to to find home once they've slept their exhaustion off. Phil's far too tired to do anything as he practically collapses into the pile of blankets and pillows he and Technoblade had set up.

"It's basically a nest," Techno had teased.

Phil laughed. "Shut."

Somewhere lost in the blankets is Techno, and Phil finds himself a little comforted in knowing his friend is close by. He’s glad that through this all, Techno’s been there. He could have left to find any other land for himself, but he stayed with Phil to claim a wasteland—and Phil’s never going to be able to express his gratitude. 

Phil hears a soft snore and reaches a hand out from where he lies on his belly under the blankets, blindly smacking his hand around until he feels his fingers tangle in thick hair.

Techno laughs softly as Phil struggles to pull his hand away. “Goodnight, Phil.”

"G'night, mate." Phil chirps, his voice muffled as his face is pressed into a pillow. 

He lifts his wings up, shimming them through the blankets, and sets them over top of the two of them—he’s a little more comfortable without his feathers being suffocated.

Simply too tired, Phil lets his hand remain in Techno's hair, idly playing with it as he feels sleep beckoning him.

He's nearly out before he hears something—something low.

It starts off quiet, enough so for Phil to mistake it for the wind, but grows steadily.

Phil realizes what it is after a moment, lifting his face from the pillow to look across the pile of blankets.

A purr.

Techno is purring.

Technoblade—chosen champion of the blood god, an immortal powerful enough to rival literal gods, Phil’s closest friend and the only person he could see running the world with him—is purring.

Phil smiles before he starts laughing, and it’s clearly loud enough as Techno begins to sit up and look at him. Even in the dark of their shared cottage, Phil can see the confused look on Techno’s face.

Between laughs, Phil manages a few words.

“You—you can purr?”

Like a shot to the heart, Techno’s expression drops. Phil watches slowly as Techno grits his teeth and chuckles, visibly fighting several emotions all at once. 

Prior to that very moment, Phil didn’t even know Techno could blush beneath his fur, but right then and there he sees Techno’s entire face go red. Phil laughs again.

“Phil—Phil—you gotta listen—please Phil, you’re embarrassing me in front of chat.”

Even as Techno desperately tries to bring up the nest in some attempt to sidestep his embarrassment, Phil continues to poke a little fun at Techno.

For their first night as emperors, Phil doesn’t feel all high and mighty. No, teasing his friend as they both struggle to stay awake does not feel like the actions of a ruler.

But they’re Phil’s actions, and for his first night as an emperor, he finds comfort. He finds his beacon of warmth.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

wrote a c!viceduo poem in like 10 minutes about the two of them as vice presidents and what their vices were (the poem is basically how many times can I use the word vice and still sound coherent) and I don’t love it but here’s one part I did like

Placed next to you, what vices does he carry?

There are two Vices for one country

And not enough vices to share.

full poem under the cut :]

Vice.

What is a vice?

Vice president. That was your vice.

Before you gained a new one

And lost yourself to your vice

For vice in that casino.

Perhaps your vices are your bad habits

Or characteristics or your gambling

But you never had those vices before you were Vice

So are they really yours to have?

Perhaps it was the name that ruined you.

Vice.

What is a vice?

Vice versa there was another Vice.

What were his vices?

He was loud and arrogant and begged to be heard.

Is that really a vice?

Placed next to you, what vices does he carry?

There are two Vices for one country

And not enough vices to share.

You hold them all in a self-maintained heart

Right next to the other Vice

Who you call viceless.

You are the deciding factor,

Vice.

What is a vice? 

Vitium. Indulgence in a fault.

What about your time as Vice screamed indulgence?

Did you indulge?

Did he?

But if being a Vice gave you your vices,

Are Vices still Vices 

if they’re starving for vices?

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

hello! for the drabbles thing, how about ctubbo playing with michael? or osmp!scott and sparklez getting into some mischief (intentionally or unintentionally, up to you)

Alright second prompt done :D I went with the c!tubbo and michael one, and it went over 1k by uh. well. well I hope you like it :D!!

---

For the Arctic, Tubbo had expected it to be a lot colder. Even as the wind bellowed against the windows and snow piled in front of the door, the inside was a burning haven of peace.

Things were very different from Snowchester. The snow fell heavy, for one, and was continuous. There were few hours in the day where it wasn't at least slightly snowing—and even then, the wind would be kicking it off the ground. Aside from that, the closest body of water was a river. Watching an oceanside sunset was no longer a possible pastime, not that Tubbo frequently did so.

But some things were still the same. Tubbo was still able to eat a hearty meal and tuck his son into bed. He was still able to fall asleep in his own soft bed, knowing he was safe for another night.

Alone, but safe.

It was enough, and Tubbo had always scraped by on enough. 

He tried not to think about it. With the syndicate helping him settle, he wasn't in the mood for complaining. Like most mornings, Tubbo stomached his doubts and grit his teeth, ready to bear it for another day.

But unlike most mornings, Tubbo was greeted by a front door that wouldn't open.

He tried the button and—figuring the thing had simply broken as the door whined but didn't move—went to force it open. He'd be sure to thank Ghostboo for deciding that an iron door that opened outwards was perfect for below freezing temperatures and definitely didn’t sting like a bitch to press against.

The door didn’t budge an inch despite his best efforts, and as Tubbo noticed that his curtains were doing a surprisingly good job at keeping light out, the reality of the situation revealed itself to him. Tubbo ran upstairs as fast as he could, rushing over to his bedroom windows.

Much like he thought, and to his dismay, there was snow blocking the door.

At second glance, as his eyes adapted to the light of the morning sun, Tubbo realized it wasn’t just his door. Around his house all the way across the field to Phil and Techno’s cabins was a layer of snow at least six feet tall.

Ah.

That certainly soured his plans for the day.

Tubbo was quick to hurry over to his bedside table and grab his comm. He sent a message to Phil. Thankfully, the man was punctual enough that day, responding in just a moment.

Ph1lza - Hi m8

Tubbo_Beloved - o/

Ph1lza - o/

Tubbo_Beloved - I'm stuck in my house

Tubbo_Beloved - there's too much snow

Ph1lza - can't dig out?

Tubbo_Beloved - doors jammed

Ph1lza - K. In basement, probably have to dig out

Ph1lza - I’ll get you after

Tubbo sighed. As much as he trusted Phil to follow through, chances were it would take at least an hour for him to dig himself out, and even if he flew over the snow and just focused on giving Tubbo’s door enough room to open, it would likely still take most of the day. At least the hours with sunlight.

With reluctant acceptance of how things were going to go today, Tubbo set his comm down and made his way back to the stairs. It wasn’t the first time his plans had been thrown to the wind, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

His first priority was breakfast and waking up Michael. There were still things to do inside.

Michael's room wasn't very big and neither was the house, but all things considered, Tubbo thought it was for the best. Though the house in the commune was built for just one person, Tubbo had had no choice but to live there. With Dream free from prison, Sam and however many others looking for ways to control people—well, suffice to say that living around the blood god and the angel of death made people less likely to target Tubbo.

Besides, Snowchester felt far too empty to properly live in. Jack had run off, Foolish was back to work in the desert, Puffy was just never around. It wasn't a thriving commune anymore, and with everything going on, the last thing Tubbo needed was to have less access to people.

And the mansion itself was too empty. That home made for three would've been so much worse than a tiny house in the snow.

So Michael had a small room, something Tubbo had hastily dug out and decorated. It was warm at least, with a comfy bed and plenty of pillows. Michael didn’t seem to mind that it was dug into the mountainside that was the back wall of their house, as much like all mornings, Tubbo found the little guy peacefully resting.

Tubbo approached his son quietly, resting a hand on Michael's shoulder and gently shaking him awake. The boy blinked once then twice, slowly coming to as Tubbo gave him a soft smile.

"Morning, buddy."

Michael yawned softly and stretched, curling up in the warm red blanket.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

Michael didn't reply, simply grunting and burying his face in the soft fabric.

Tubbo ruffled the kid's hair. "Come on, it's a snow day. We can make something together."

At that, Michael shot up, tiredly doing his best to sign back a question.

"Snow day?"

Tubbo nodded. "Yeah, uh—we're not really going anywhere."

Michael smiled after a moment, sleepily giggling as he hopped out of bed, grabbing his dad's hand and dragging him out into the hall.

"Oh—okay! Okay!" Tubbo laughed, letting Michael drag him along to the kitchen. "We'll just make some pancakes, alright?"

Once the two were fed, and both fully awake, Tubbo stepped away from the table.

Even though they were trapped inside, that didn't mean the world would stop turning. There were farms in the basement that needed upgrades, and it had been a while since Tubbo had gone mining. Some new resources could certainly be helpful considering the state of most of his items. Not to mention that there were redstone machines Tubbo was considering making that needed to be planned out.

Tubbo began to clean up quickly, washing off plates and setting them back into the cupboards before turning for the stairs.

There was still a lot to do, even—

At the sound of knocking against wood, Tubbo turned again. At his spot at the table, Michael titled his head, his brow furrowed.

"I thought it was a snow day." Michael signed.

Tubbo nodded. "Yeah, there's too much snow to go out."

Michael only looked more confused. "Why are you going upstairs?"

Tubbo paused for a second, his hand lightly pressed to the railing, trying to understand what was bothering Michael. It wasn't like Tubbo never left the house to do work, he certainly wouldn't say the five year old had attachment issues. Even back at the mansion, back in Snowchester, Michael never complained when Tubbo left home.

Of course, snow days happened there every so often and Tubbo always liked to stay home with Michael during them, but…

Oh.

Michael didn't want Tubbo to leave since he always played games with his dad on snow days.

Tubbo took a step back from the stairs, letting his hand drop to his side.

Could he spend the day with Michael? It would be nice to relax but there were a lot of things that had to be done.

Granted, none of the chores or house maintenance needed to be immediately taken care of, but with his free time, Tubbo could easily get it all done.

But the world had basically forced him inside. It had forced him to slow down.

Maybe… maybe Tubbo could just relax for a day. It wouldn't be the end of the world, after all. And it would make Michael happy.

Tubbo forced a soft smile. "Well, I was just gonna get dressed. We can play hide and go seek after."

Michael smiled as well, quickly scoffing down the rest of his pancake and rushing out of his seat.

As ridiculous as it felt to spend the entire day playing games with a five year old, Tubbo couldn't find it in himself to dislike the decision. Michael was smiling, and the chores could wait.

Tubbo dressed quickly and hurried back downstairs to help Michael get dressed as well. Once they were both ready for their day, Michael tapped Tubbo on the face and gave a quick sign of "you're hunting!" before running off into the hall.

Tubbo sighed softly, covering his eyes as he counted to thirty. From elsewhere in the house, he could hear a sharp clattering, and he cringed as he could simply hope that wasn't any of his work-in-progress projects.

When he reached thirty, Tubbo stood and hurried off into the main room of the house. Michael had obviously gone into the workroom upstairs, if that noise was any indication, so Tubbo hurried up. He reached the room in seconds, looking around the small space.

There wasn't much there in the first place, mostly a desk, work table, and a few sliding drawers against the wall. Only a few places to hide.

Tubbo marched around slowly, putting just a little bit of extra weight down with each step on the quartz.

"Now," he hummed, "where is Michael?"

From just behind Tubbo, there was a little laugh, just enough air slipping through one's nose for him to hear.

Tubbo turned slowly, continuing to step sideways across the room. He eyed the work table and the sheet covering the sides with a barely contained smirk.

Tubbo approached the cupboards, bending down and opening one.

"Is he here?!" Tubbo loudly exclaimed, sighing dejectedly at the emptiness.

He waited a moment before continuing, repeating the search as he heard yet another giggle from the table.

Taking another minute to pace the room, Tubbo walked over to the door, letting out a loud groan.

"Guess he's downstairs." He mumbled, opening the door and shutting it.

After a few seconds, the table broke out in a fit of giggles. Tubbo wasted no time stepping as lightly as he could right over to it.

He let Michael think he'd succeed for just one more sweet second before he threw the cloth up, starling the boy underneath.

Michael yelped as Tubbo grabbed him, pulling him out from under the table and up into his arms.

"Hey!"

"I guess I found you." Tubbo laughed, ever so slightly pleased by the overdramatic frown on his son's face.

"You cheated!"

Tubbo chuckled as he lifted Michael up higher, setting the young piglin down on his shoulders. "Oh, I'm just so evil."

In some form of protest, Michael leaned back, letting himself fall against Tubbo's back. Thank Prime for Tubbo holding Michael by the legs when he did so, only straining for a moment to not drop the boy.

Michael huffed softly, earning another little laugh from Tubbo as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Do you want to be the hunter this time?"

Michael seemed to light up at the idea, and Tubbo set the boy down carefully.

Nearly instantly, Michael covered his face and Tubbo took a moment to realize he was meant to be running.

He was gonna do his very best, for sure.

A few knocks rang out against the metal door as the sun was just beginning to dim on the horizon, starling Tubbo from where he sat in Michael's bed.

He stood, setting down his book and hot chocolate with the promise he'd be back in just one moment.

Outside the door was Phil, who offered a gentle smile underneath his scarf and patterned toque. In one hand was a large rectangular shovel, and every part of him from his coat to his wing covers looked like they'd been dusted in snow. But there was a large gap in the snow that allowed Tubbo to open the door.

"Phil!" Tubbo cheered, looking at the snow wall. "Thank you boss man, really."

"Yeah, 'course mate. You two doing alright in there?"

Tubbo nodded.

"Glad to hear it." Phil glanced at the snow, reaching out to tap it with his knuckles. "This is really why you need a roof that isn't flat and actually goes over the front of your house."

Tubbo chuckled awkwardly, shrugging a little. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Need any help with resources or planning?”

Tubbo paused for a moment, considering his options before shaking his head. “No, I’m reading with Michael right now. I’ll get to it later.”

Phil nodded and headed off, leaving Tubbo standing in his cold doorway for a few moments. He closed the door with a sigh, turning and walking back to Michael’s little bedroom.

The boy was all curled up in his blankets, shyly sipping on the steaming cup of cocoa. He smiled softly when Tubbo entered, and Tubbo smiled back, crawling up in the small bed next to him and picking the book back up.

“Alright, where were we?”

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

brainrot got the best of me okay here’s a very rough poem about tubbo being related to dream, schlatt, and puffy because well why not

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

okay okay for the sentence ask game thing you reblogged uhhhhhh

Tommy brushes a hand delicately over the dusty guitar, small tracks of fingers across the wood being the first disturbance of time's reclamation; the instrument sounds the same as when it was last played when his fingers catch on the strings, that warm reverberation and the high twang of a slightly too loose B string.

Tommy whinces at the sound, but keeps working his hand up and down the strings. His left hand awkwardly slides across the fretboard, and he can't blame the guitar for the way it shutters when he picks the low G string just a little too hard.

His hands are shaking. He's never played for an audience before and Prime knows he's never practiced for one.

Tommy's fingers falter for a moment and slip from their frets. He isn't sure why that thought crossed his mind; it isn't like he's playing for anyone now. Graves aren't people.

But Wilbur liked guitar, and Tommy liked Wilbur, so he sighs and strums a few more notes. They're not good.

Frowning with a groan, Tommy stands up and drops the instrument into the grass. He turns and figures that Ghostbur will find it sooner or later.

Tommy supposes that, should that be his final act of defiance in New L'Manberg, it wasn't terrible. A theft made against his older brother's ghost isn't much in the grand scheme of things.

Tommy leaves the guitar in the grass and walks silently to his trial.

----

ask game!

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

Re-wrote Schlatt and Tubbo's argument from Chapter three of When was the last time you saw the sky? :] It's also now like 900 words longer as a result agag

With that and the beeduo scene dealt with, I think those are the most ooc scenes fixed to be more in-character :D!! They have always bothered me so I'm glad that they're better now

Here's the scene under the cut btw so you do not have to go looking if you've already read the chapter and only want to read the new bits

Word of the incident at the prison spread through the government quickly, having already reached Schlatt before Tubbo could even make it home. While he was glad that he wouldn’t have to explain everything that had happened, it was a bit of a hindrance. Tubbo didn’t know just how much Schlatt knew, and he had a feeling that whatever would be through that door would be highly dependent on that.

Of course, regardless of if it was up to Tubbo to inform his father of what had transpired, Schlatt would eventually find out everything through Quackity. No matter how much they disagreed on topics and how Quackity spoke about Schlatt with such loathing in his voice when it was just him and Tubbo, Quackity was still his vice. And a strange dynamic existed there, one Tubbo wasn’t fond of spending too long thinking about.

Surprisingly, when Tubbo entered the white house, he was greeted by a rather worried looking Schlatt. With a sigh and a knit brow, he rested a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder and looked him over.

"How you feelin', kid?"

Tubbo shrugged. "Fine."

"How's your neck, you bruised?" Schlatt sounded genuinely concerned, which was an interesting but not unwelcome change of pace. Tubbo was glad for any sign of—well, anything good from Schlatt. He didn’t seem currently drunk and he was worried about Tubbo; these were good things.

"Sam gave me a potion, and it doesn't hurt anymore."

Schlatt sighed once more with a little nod, releasing Tubbo and turning out of the entrance way. Tubbo followed him to the kitchen, a nice room with marble countertops and wooden cupboards. The floor was dark and tiled, and there was a window reflecting the setting sun in from just over the sink.

"Now, look." Schlatt said abruptly, spinning around on his heel. "I get that it was a shit situation, but did you really have to free his wings?"

Ah, that was what it was really about. Tubbo wasn’t really sure why he was expecting much else.

“He was scared more than anything, and I just thought that if I helped him instead of attacking him he might calm down.”

Schlatt paused for a moment, crossing his arms pensively before throwing one hand up with a shrug. “Or you could'a just stabbed him.”

"He threw my sword away."

Schlatt hesitated at that, a baffled sound from his throat escaping him. "He had your sword and he still went to choke you? The man’s a sicko, Tubbo."

Tubbo paused. Maybe Schlatt was right; Phil had tried to kill him, to take one of his lives. Not only that but he’d been conscious of it, he’d spoken to Tubbo; he knew he was attacking a guard.

A guard in the prison that was holding him against his will and had been for six years and kept him sedated.

Maybe it would have been stranger if he hadn’t fought back.

"I think he was just scared."

Schlatt barked a laugh, turning towards the cupboards. "Trust me, I knew Phil before he went in. Don't go feeling sorry for him, he's not worth your time."

Tubbo just nodded. This wasn't exactly something he felt like starting an argument about. His own thoughts on Phil were muddled, confusing and a bit too vague to do something serious without much consideration for the consequences.

Well, to do another serious thing without much consideration.

Besides, he’d had one too many arguments with Schlatt lately. Whether it was the longer hours Tubbo was working or the fact that Schlatt was nearly never not hung over, or the fact that the election season was just a few months away, tensions had definitely been lower.

Tubbo watched the president pour himself a drink.

Starting to walk towards the hall, Tubbo spoke up. "I'll finish up some paperwork and head to bed a little early, I don't have a shift tomorrow. I think Sam put me on leave for a few days."

"Wait, wait, wait." Schlatt sputtered out. "You're still working at the prison?!"

Tubbo nodded, a bit confused.

"What the hell, kid? You could'a died today and you're going back?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on quitting." Tubbo tried to explain that it wasn’t a big problem, that he really hadn’t been hurt at all, but Schlatt cut him off, sounding significantly more angry than before.

"It's fucking dangerous! You could have died, Tub!"

“But—”

Schlatt shook his head. “No! Absolutely not. You cannot go back to work at that place. I mean, Tubbo, c’mon! What would’ve happened if you had died? D’you have any idea how that’d look?”

Tubbo fought back a grimace at the words. Unlike before, these words didn’t feel concerned, they were just angry. And more importantly, they stressed one fact, one Tubbo wasn’t exactly happy about.

Schlatt was an enigma. Tubbo was never sure what he wanted from him. Some days he’d let Tubbo disappear without a care in the world as to where he was or who he was with, and the other half of the time he was just overbearing and judgemental. Tubbo would be fine with either the ignorance or the arguing, but Schlatt just couldn't pick a side. It was frustrating to never know what to expect.

If Tubbo’s suit was ruffled he’d get all pissy or if Tubbo left without telling anyone, he’d tear the kid a new one about responsibilities and the importance of his jobs, or if Quackity took Tubbo to get a haircut, Schlatt wouldn’t notice for a few days.

Schlatt seemed to care more about images when it came down to it. This really was nothing out of the ordinary. It was just about how Pandora would look if a guard died at the hands of a prisoner, or how Schlatt would look if his son died at a job he allowed him to work at.

Tubbo wanted to keep his job, though. He wanted to still have the option to investigate more into Philza’s life, there was clearly something amiss.

“I know it’d be bad, but I lived. I’m—perfectly fine.”

"Jesus, Tubbo.” Schlatt groaned into his hand, setting down his drink. “That's not how this shit works. You’re not fucking stupid, are you?”

The frustration grew, against Tubbo’s wishes. A deep part of him whispered a question, asking who Schlatt was to decide these things for him? After all, it wasn’t like he wanted to be Tubbo’s father; he’d abandoned him for all those years for a reason.

Tubbo pushed that thought back down, very deep.

“I—I won’t get hurt just doing a—”

“—And what if you do? Huh?” Schlatt exclaimed, stepping close. Tubbo fought back the urge to shrink as he approached.

“What then? You think it’s gonna look nice? You think it’s gonna feel nice having everyone breathing down your neck? They’ll be calling us incompetent.”

Tubbo squeezed his hands. “I can deal with that.”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Tubbo.”

Tubbo bit the inside of his cheek.

He didn’t like arguing, especially with Schlatt. There was always this point—like a sled pushed right onto the peak of a mountain just waiting to slip down, for something to push it—where Tubbo’s jaw just didn’t comply and words did not want to come out.

It was less than ideal, especially while arguing.

Talking hurt, in some sense. It was like suddenly, Tubbo had some kind of link between his mouth and his exhaustion, like a fuel tank that sprung another leak with each word.

Tubbo did his best, despite how dry his throat felt.

“I’m not—gonna quit. It’s… my job, I can still do it.”

Schlatt paused, staring down Tubbo with narrowed eyes before he raised his hand slowly, let it in front of Tubbo’s forehead, and flicked him. It didn’t hurt.

“Oh, it’s not hollow.” Schlatt mused.

With a satisfied smile, Schlatt stood up straight, walking right back over to his drink.

The frustration simmered.

“Why do you care where I work? You know that Sam would never let my life be in genuine risk. Even if—” Tubbo choked for half a second, his jaw fighting him as he managed airy words. “Even if I didn’t get out, Quackity was right there. He was coming.”

Schlatt shook his head with a sound, half between a laugh and a sigh. “What, you think I’m just gonna look away? I’m your father, Tubbo. I have to care.”

Tubbo bit his lip.

The frustration bubbled, and before he could slam the lid on that pot of way too many emotions to keep it from splashing, a few little droplets made their way off his tongue.

“You certainly didn’t want to be.”

It was no more than a whisper, but in a dead silent, now very tense kitchen, it was louder than a firework.

Tubbo went too far, he knew it as soon as he spoke. It was the one thing that consistently pissed off Schlatt.

Like always, the reminder of what he’d done, that he left Tubbo behind for years and only returned once he was rich, made Schlatt’s expression darken. His hand tightened around the glass and his lip pulled into a snarl.

Tubbo didn’t want to have this argument with Schlatt again, because he already could barely speak. It would just be a haranguing.

By some luck, Schlatt simply pointed at the entranceway to the room and snapped his fingers.

"Out."

"I'm—"

"Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry." Schlatt sipped his drink. "Take a fucking walk."

Tubbo left the kitchen in a hurry.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

NOW WAIT WAIT WAIT. WHY AM I COMING UP ON 500 FOLLOWERS. IT HASN’T EVEN BEEN A MONTH SINCE I HIT 400. who are you all

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

I am still in post limit but you should go read this post ah ha

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

🥀 Eret

omg ded I'm sorry this took so long okay HMMMM c!eret my beloved

Fake fic premise is what if c!Eret betrayed L'Manberg but the SMP never followed through and Eret actually led them to safety.

--

Eret had suggested lighting a fire, but it seemed that the bright glow of their burning city was enough to keep them all warm. Wilbur and Tommy had settled for setting up a few tents along the edge of the forest as Niki and Fundy set out in search of some food. Tubbo had taken to organzining what they'd made it out with, passing out rations of potions and medicine to injured soliders.

It's been bad, but they'd made it out. They still had their lives, which was more than they would've gotten away with if it weren't for the tunnel. A tunnel they should've never made it through.

Tommy had pressed the button, and nothing had happened. No walls had fallen, no soldiers burst out, and no traitors were exposed. Fearing the punishment of being caught trying to trap their allies, Eret had fumbled through an excuse about why the chests were empty, saying that they'd believed they had more time to collect resources and thus hadn't filled them yet. Only Tubbo and Niki had given it a second thought, if how they'd stared down Eret as they lead the army through the tunnel was any sign, but they hadn't said anything.

To think Eret had offered that information up, given the SMP such an advantage, and they hadn't taken it.

Why? What did it give them to skip this opportunity? L'Manberg was burned, still burning, and the tunnel was of no use to either party now. Why did they not take the chance?

Eret had unknowingly trapped themselves, it seemed. Dream could at any point expose Eret's attempt at treason and create instability within L'Manberg's troops. The greater SMP had managed well enough in this battle without using their traitor, perhaps they just wanted to wait for a better day to tear their enemies apart from the inside.

Eret was nothing more than a safety waiting to be clicked off, a bomb that could explode at any point. They were being forced into playing both sides.

"Drink?"

Eret glanced up from where they'd let their eyes wander, spotting Wilbur standing just next to the log they were sitting on. He was holding out a canteen, which Eret gratefully took.

Wilbur gave a thin lipped smile, a weary tiredness in his movements as he sat down.

"Are you alright?" He asked, leaning to rest his elbows on his legs.

"Fine. You?"

"Not sure," he chuckled airly, pressing his hands together and resting his chin on them. He sighed after a moment, running one hand through a soot-filled head of hair. "We've lost so much."

Eret sipped on the canteen, following Wilbur's eyeline to where Tommy was still pitching another tent.

"We could've lost more. We haven't lost ourselves."

Wilbur nodded remorsefully. "That's true, I suppose. We still have each other. And our dignity."

Eret sealed the lip of the canteen and passed it back to Wilbur, but he didn't notice. His gaze had shifted up to the burning city in the distance hidden behind dark walls.

"Hell is other people, right? Though that's a misinterpreted quote." Wilbur muttered.

After another moment, sitting in the dark of the night, Wilbur stood and brushed his uniform off. From his side, he unclipped his hat and placed it high on his head, a heavy but prepared calmness in his movements as he looked ahead.

"Thank you, Eret."

"For?"

"The tunnel; it was quick thinking and good planning."

It was. For the view of all but Eret and those waiting to expose them, it was good, clean work. The dirty lie and self-made trap were nothing but the fraying ends behind the tapestry, ready to fall apart and break the beauty at a single tug.

Eret stood as well, no taller than their president as the two stared across the hills.

"We're still among friends, and we're going to make the SMP pay for what they've done." Wilbur furrowed his brow, a familiar fire in his words and determination in his eyes.

Eret raised a hand, placing it on Wilbur's shoulder. The lie slipped out with ease as they raised up the canteen. "To allies."

Wilbur raised his hat with a more affectionate smile than before. "To trust."

And Eret was sure, somewhere by the burning homes, Dream was smiling as well.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

For ten years, Techno did not believe himself. He did not trust his own eyes or his own recount. He would’ve be stupid to do so.

“It was a moose,” a doctor would say, and he’d nod along. Techno was sure that what he’d seen was a moose. Physically.

“You were young, it could’ve just appear to be that tall to you.” A therapist would offer like an answer, and Techno would bite back his retort. He did not say that there were still marks on the trees from where it had touched.

“And the human face, it was a stress response,” Phil would say, and Techno would agree to having been stressed. Being in a car accident, watching his mother die; pretty traumatic and stressful, he’d say.

Technoblade did not see an eight foot tall thing in the woods that night. He did not see the human face it was wearing like a bad halloween mask. He did not see its hooves and its antlers as it stood back on two legs and watched.

Technoblade did not see anything but a moose that they’d swerved to avoid.

Tonight, Tubbo saw something. Tonight, Techno’s belief faltered for the first time.

Tonight, Wilbur Soot’s body was found in the woods.

I want to write a horror fic so bad!!!! this is the prompt I came up with today like 2 hours ago and I am fighting against opening a google doc

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

7

Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase!

7. silent fury

I feel like writing emerald duo soooo

Something was bothering Techno, Phil just didn't know what. It'd been stuffy in the cabin since they'd gotten back, ash long since soaked out of their clothes, but instead of celebrating razing that country to the ground, it was just quiet. A heavy silence that left little room to flutter wings or flick tails. They were stiff.

Phil wanted to know. He wanted to know why Techno didn't seem pleased with what he'd done, what they'd done. Sure, it hadn't been for joy, but they'd done what they'd needed to. No more L'Manberg, no more tyranny. Did Techno not find solace in that?

He lingered, Phil noticed, at the cupboard each time they went to eat as if he didn't know how many plates to grab. It was strange, unlike him.

Phil knew a lot. But he didn't know the look that crossed his friend's face each time Techno tended to the turtle farm. If he had to place it, it was anger.

Techno didn't say anything, and if Phil so much as inquired, all he would get would be a smile and a forced hightened mood, so he kept his mouth shut. Techno was angry, as far as he knew. He just didn't know who it was directed towards.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

//ask gane ^_^// 49 for nightfall :D

Tommy sat down silently, his shoes dragging on the dirt as he crossed his legs. The rocks under him were rough, but his thick jeans and the hoodie tied around his waist were enough to keep them from hurting.

Distantly, the sun dimmed from a fiery orange to a soft and heavy purple. The wind breathed against him, and Tommy held this arms close as he leaned forward.

The sunsets in L'Manberg always were the nicest, especially in the spring. Never not quiet.

Tommy breathed with the wind for a few minutes, looking down at the crater that remained. Home was a strange name for it, a hole in the ground filled to the brim with plants and flowers, but the flag that rested at the very bottom was enough of a reminder that that was what it was—a home.

The grass behind him shuffled and Tommy snapped himself out of his mind, turning back. Drenched in the growing moonlight, glowing as it reflected off his dark armour, was Sapnap. His lips struggled from a moment, as if stuck between trying to smile and speak.

"C'mon," he said as he reached Tommy's side, gently tapping his back with his foot. "It's dark, we should get back."

Tommy sighed but nodded, ready to return to Tubbo's house and wait another night to see if Dream would finally take another home from him.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

📥 🖊 🥇? -River

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

I love getting comments on all my fics butttttttttt hmmmm fields of flowers comments are always pretty cool since its a smaller fic with a less important character in canon as the protag so people tend to be a lot more insightful in the comments? its a smaller target audience

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

“Are you a religious man?” Ran asks, getting a little chuckle out of his friend.

“I can’t say. Prime is either out there or she’s not.”

A fair answer, he supposes. Neither of them are the devout type.

Ran lowers his head slightly, gently pulling the brush through a knot in the foal’s coat. “Sir Billiam believes, doesn’t he? That she’s still out there, waiting for the right people?”

There’s a rather pregnant pause before Dre speaks, and it leaves Ran feeling tenser than he should have been.

“Sir Billiam is the whole nine yards. He doesn’t just believe that there are prophets of Prime waiting in the wings, he thinks he is one.”

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

Hmm recently I've been writing a lot of the oneshot above and been doing a lot of research into biological stuff so that's been fun and I guess I'm proud since its working out :D