#rip l’manberg

[apollos-boyfriend]

Not good enough. Become worse.

I WANT TO SO BAD BUT I CAN BARELY PUT INTO WORDS MY THOUGHTS ON CBEDWARS

^ this is the closest way i can truly encapsulate my feelings

[wilblersrevived]

(Revivedbur time)

Phil walks around near the crator of L’manburg, looking at the hole, he’s reflecting.

Wilbur was stood under a tree close by to what used to be L’manberg as he lit his cigarette, and the scent of cigarette smoke was soon to fill the air. It fucking reeked, but it covered up the smell of old smoke that practically radiated from Wilbur’s clothing— Which, arguably, was worse. You would always know when he was near because it would fucking reek of a cigarette.

He glanced up and saw Phil in the distance, but he didn’t say anything, or (intentionally) do something to get his attention. Wilbur sat criss-cross on the ground, his long, dark brown coat engulfing his legs. With his free hand, he picked at grass, ripping it from the dirt and tossing it to the side. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he sighs, then smirks a little at the sight of the smoke emitting from his mouth.

[alienwritestoo]

Legend Reborn

Technoblade is a legend on the QSMP. His deeds are ballads sung in the festive streets of the favela, chronicle of dedication inspiring the monumental stretch of potatoes growing on the wall and tales of hard-won battles uplifting the fight against the worst government known yet.

Sometimes, an unusually large Cucurucho can be found at the shrine dedicated to his memory, fingering a singular emerald earring.

The crown before him gleamed with familiar, unfulfilled purpose.

------------

Technoblade left the DSMP when he deemed Dream’s oppressive server free from the tyranny of governments, forever meant to be more than the sums of suppressive never meant to bes and unfinished symphonies. The tundra that once shielded armies of dogs and withers soon swarmed with the metaphorical winds of adventure, melting the cold heart he developed to survive on this server with its dangerous consequences, urging him onward to his next quest.

The piglin hybrid felt comfortable moving on, like his older brother had, towards an inexplicable future. He trusted his old man Philza to look after anyone who still stayed on the server, especially those who would no longer accept his help.

Philza stood with Steve at the gate to see him off, waving softly while his eyes burned with pride and unshed tears. The older warrior promised himself that he would make the old immortal never worry about one of his sons ever again, the only remaining to make it through the harrowing experience of DSMP mostly unscathed. His father surely trusted him, and only him, to survive despite all the world could throw at him. He would not let him down.

His fur prickled as he followed the warm breeze to warmer climates, ripping away government after government in his path onwards to an unknown ultimate prize. The governments there quickly realized he was coming, hastily setting up assassinations and armies to disway him. Yet Techno persisted, striding unceremoniously into rebellious camps who quickly accepted his tutelage to overthrow sure tyranny. It was a walk in the park after the annoyance it had been L’Manberg, that had been backed by an mask-cladded Admin until it miraculously switched to his side.And besides, even if Tubbo had been a weak president, the sting of Tommy betraying him stung like nothing else. 

The king of Antarctica wasn’t meant to get so close to the desert, but Technoblade would make the world realize otherwise. His quest lay south, and then someday he could retire to own a farm. 

In his uncomfortable state, he didn’t see it coming that he would be cowardly captured on an assuming night in a desert village near the sea. The anarchist had no time to react, huffing with outraged growls towards an unseeing assailant who didn’t react to a single hit from him as his humble lodgings wavered in his vision. Another Admin had taken interest in him, not even bothering to show its face as it continued to invisibly rain down potions of harming with impassioned precision. He continued to struggle for agonizing minutes with blood pouring out of his mouth and staining his tusks.

Technoblade’s face paled at the predicament he was in as he finally collapsed, lumbering form falling to his knees as his kidnapper removed the crown from his head like they were taking a toy from a toddler.

The piglin hybrid later woke to a cell of stark, lifeless quartz, with nothing but an orange jumpsuit to his name. Soon after, he lost himself to a haze of interrogations and treatments that turned him into something else, a creature with red eyes that eventually passed all the tests except-

He could never manage to speak, in support nor against the federation. It was the only rebellion he had left, as a duck creature handed him a clipboard and gave him his first task.

------------

Philza knew there were multiple Cucuruchos. The immortal had seen Chayanne slink back into the bunker from “night school” enough times, and glimpsed more than one of the white-furred creatures poking into the islanders’ business. Not the career path he would’ve encouraged for his adventurous egg, but the once-famed Angel of Death knew they had little choice in the matter.

Other than the times he saw Cucurucho-Chayanne, there was just one other that bothered him deep down.

One of the newer Cucuruchos was especially odd in comparison to the rest. The creature appeared when Luzu logged on with his binary code messages that oozed of sudden warnings, lumbering behind a pair of regular Cucuruchos with glinting red eyes. It towered over its cousins with muscle, wielding axes and crossbows rather than the classic gun. Tubbo, who was newer to the island but had managed to typically outmaneuver the creatures, had frozen inexplicably at the fireworks lining the crossbows it handled with ease.

Etoiles had gaped when the creature had joined the battle with an arsenal of old school vanilla weapons against three fake eggs, and carried.

“What the fuck?” Cellbit exclaimed as he examined the photo Pomme had taken of the newer creature. The detective looked like he wanted to drink vodka at its looming presence in PVP, only calming with Roier’s reassuring palm on his shoulder.

“No mames!” Roier shook his head in agreement. “This fucking sucks, man.”

“Why are there more of them?” Baghera questioned with a frown. “Why would they need one so big? Is it an intimidation tactic?”

Philza let the conversations wash over him as the order deliberated over what the new creature’s presence meant. The crow hybrid held a photograph in his hand, fingering the emerald earring it wore on its ear. It was the same exact style to his, a piece of jewelry that had been a mystery to him since his arrival to the island.

The old immortal remembered much of his past in comparison to the rest of the islanders. He was the only one to willingly volunteer, able to bargain with the foreboding federation to retain most of his memories.

Philza didn’t remember what he gave up, but he had his suspicions when his memories tried to tell him he never had any family. His heart pulsed with a heart thrumming with power his soul knew had been gifted, making him never age as long as he didn't die in combat. When he first joined the island, the man found a bag of blue dye tied together with a fancy ribbon and a note saying “calm yourself, have some blue”. None of these items had an explanation, especially the emerald earring that swung on his ear-

Until now. 

“Does he want to die?” Etoiles inserted as the group gravitated around the corpse of one of the codes, pulling Philza out of his thoughts. “I can give it the gift death if Cucurucho doesn’t want to live anymore?” 

His throat hissed automatically, eyes flashing as his mind keys in on the emerald the large creature wore somehow just right.

Multiple pairs of eyes whip over to him. “Woah there, what was that Philza?” Badboyhalo asked.

Philza blinked when he realized he had reacted instinctively to a threat against flock. He swallowed uselessly to calm himself down, angry clicks echoing up into the air instead. Unable to speak, he jerked his head towards the photograph and pointed a sharped clawed hand towards the creature.

“Oh shit guys.” Jaiden spoke up, a fellow bird hybrid. “Philza’s bird instincts think that the new Cucurucho is a part of his flock. Better not hurt the guy until we actually know he’s bad, if we don’t want the case of an angry crow hybrid on our hands.”

“If that’s the case, Maybe we shouldn’t attempt to attack or harm this Cucurucho until we know more about him.” Maximus concluded, looking at Cellbit who looked very tense but gave a reluctant nod.

The group eventually decided to only observe the new federation creature. The crow hybrid’s hackles raised when he noticed Cellbit, Etoiles, and Baghera didn’t explicitly agree to not harm it, but life soon went back to normal for a few weeks when nothing unusual happened. 

They noticed the creature had an weirdly normal and routine schedule, easily trackable in how it simply sparred in the middle of the battle dome every morning and built for the Federation in the afternoons following a checklist it regularly squinted at. Philza had to shove down the urge to hand it a pair of glasses when he occasionally approached on Cellbit's behalf to see its tasklist. It never tried to spy or speak to them, content to swing its archaic sword at practice dummies and occasionally amuse the eager Etoiles. 

“It's the best monster I’ve ever fought, Philza!” Etolies praised highly one day as they ran into each other at the front of what used to be Las Sacapuntas. “Battling with him is more interesting than anything else on the island except spending time with Pomme because she is my daughter and therefore automatically makes her the best thing to ever happen to anyone and I will kill anyone who says otherwise.” The French player grinned with teeth.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Philza laughed genuinely at his friend's strange humor, watching the warrior leave as quickly as he came with a fond shake to his head before he teleported to his own base on top of the wall.

That evening, Philza blinked when he spotted the creature outside of schedule by Techno’s shrine, wiping the dirt from his eyes as he stood up from his potato farm.

The hulking Cucurucho looked up from his vigil, turning away from where a crown sat in display on an armor stand. The creature's eyes glinted with a dark red color that strangely made him feel calm and collected.

“Hey mate.” Philza greeted him, wiping the dirt from his hands with spider silk. “Do you know who that is?”

The creature nodded curtly, not speaking nor turning to write in a book.

“He was one of my best friends.” The crow hybrid stipulated as he approached. “A great warrior, much like yourself.” He stood next to the creature. “Mostly I just know him as Techno, and as one of the most compassionate people I ever knew." He craned his head up, gauging the creature's interest in their conversation. "You know why?”

The hulking mass cocked his head, grunting. Philza took that as encouragement to continue.

“Hypixel skyblock was terribly going through a famine before Techno made the potato war happen. You see Cucurucho, even though they're the top server and could've simply asked for help, not many people knew Hypixel actually had food shortages because the number one server doesn’t like people knowing they fucked up." He snorts. "So naturally, my friend took it upon himself to solve the food problem for them. Techno never liked people starving, my so-” He choked, panicking at the unconscious wording. “...Friend.”

The creature reaches towards Philza’s emerald earring with a strange chuff. The old man’s mind translates it reflexively to mean question, curiosity. 

“I don’t know what it is, mate.” Philza admitted. “Do you know where you got yours?” For a split second he wonders if the creature stole it, but the idea drains away as the creature shakes his head with an air of confusion.

Cucurucho took a few steps back. He looked at the shrine with an unreadable expression, but his red eyes were so expressive. 

“I know this is weird to ask, since you're a federation worker and all but… do I know you?” Philza couldn’t help himself. Why does his instincts see this Cucurucho, out of all of them wandering the server, as his son? 

Cucurucho huffed, turning away from him unceremoniously before hopping off the edge of the wall. 

Philza leaned back on his hoe in the potato farm for support, stopping himself from following with a panic similar to one of his eggs in danger. The old immortal wanted to talk to it again soon, chest winding up with longing to connect to this unknown creature. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Missa called in the distance from the house, likely serving something Chayanne cooked up for his family of four. Philza blinked back unexpected tears when he realized it was potato night, the memories of inexplicable pink fur and comforting chuffs raw against his chest, before collecting himself to have a quiet evening with his anticipating two eggs and husband.

[erissdoesart]

If the Empire is a literal magical winter wonderland, what does the geography of L’manberg and the other countries look like?

Empire isn't actually winter wonderland!

Empire in its nature is *vast* and contains several climates within itself. What is magical wonderland is the north, south and capital though and the action of the fic does take place in the capital mainly.

Similarly, Essempi is too large to be classified for only one climate. Their capital and most of the country does lay in "central" climate, plus some tropics to the east.

Lmanburg is sandwiched between too and has warm climate year long, especially on the south of their borders. They have rich forests and comparatively mild weather with the exception of summer storms that rip through them year to year.

Las Nevadas *pretends* to be the same. They are placed higher than Lmanburg and naturally would have much colder climate but through engineering and a lot of magical investing into the land, most of what should be frosty or cold bitter ground turned into artificial deserts or aggressively plentiful fields. They do have problems during winter when cold sleets try to rewind the land into its natural state though.

And Kinoko, as it lays close to Lmanburg, even as a province to Empire, has pretty nice climate! Kinda damp, makes for great spot for mushroom growth :D

I have a map if you'd like to see and imagine it better

[faebriel]

and you caused it: chapter 5

In which Niki has a terrible secret, Puffy just wants to move on, Tommy sneaks into casino parties and Wilbur learns to deal with anger being justified. Or - the one thing they don’t warn you of, when dropping nuclear warheads on old friends, is fallout.

in chapter 5: resolutions are made on phil's verandah, wilbur finally understands how horrible it would be to die in a ravine underground, and once-old friends are made new again. niki, again, finds herself baking a cake.

welcome to the final entry! thank you so much for reading <3

wc: 5.6k

(cw: this chapter includes discussion of suicidal ideation.)

so life in the arctic settles back into relative normality.

there are still some patches of it that are painfully awkward - tubbo and techno are still trying to find their footing as they trawl the compound’s outskirts for sight of ranboo, and tommy still has his moments where he can’t stand to be near any of them without shouting his voice out, and wilbur and niki try very hard to pretend that the other doesn’t exist whenever they cross paths at breakfast and dinner. it feels like pulling on an old coat, one that’s too tight at the shoulders and too short at the sleeves. not quite familiar, not quite right.

at some point tubbo does curtly inform niki that tommy has forgiven her, and that he appreciates what she did for them in the underground city. niki is able to see the gap between those two sentences, but even if she doesn’t have tubbo’s forgiveness yet, she recognises and appreciates the olive branch.

they’re not quite friends anymore. she and techno and phil are still close, of course - but everyone else. the hurt was a long time ago, long enough that she thought it might have healed on its own, but the explosion and the mess dream made of her city have ripped the scabs wide open and she’s not entirely sure if they’re going to heal the same way again. that they won’t heal ragged.

but she’s getting used to it.

niki has a strange relationship with mourning. fungi, wilbur, l’manberg, the untimely disappearances of jack and fundy and puffy and so many more people from her life - she’s never quite managed to get it right. it’s always too much, enough for it to feel like it’s burning her alive. this, though… she knows she’s burnt those bridges, but she’s managing. they’re managing. they’re civil, and sometimes tommy offers to help her bake still, and techno spars with her out in the snow, and even though everything fell apart she’s not lonely. she’s not on her own anymore. fucked up and distant and hurtful as they all can be, they can exist in each other’s spaces now.

and the thing about the syndicate - and by extension, the arctic - is that they’re always busy. phil, niki and techno have their duties, of course (mostly book club. especially after niki returned from the city. but there’s still dream out on the server somewhere, and even if the syndicate technically has no quarrel with him, neither of them ever argue with the bitter scowl that settles on her face whenever she’s reminded of what he did to her city). tommy tends to stick to the compound, but he still feeds the animals and mends the fences and follows phil and techno like a duckling to the occasional abandoned mansion or village. wilbur goes for… walks. tubbo gets all thin-mouthed if he stays in the arctic for too long and ends up making off for a day in snowchester, no matter the hissed arguments he and tommy keep having on the front porch of the stables about it (techno’s guest room overlooks the paddock, and she doesn’t think they know she can hear them every time).

there’s always something to do. this is good for niki - she likes to keep her hands busy, she likes to feel like she’s helping. she fixes fences and feeds the turtles and babysits michael and yes, she bakes. she’s doing pretty well with feeling content these days, she’s not often sad - and at least when she is, she has something to devote her time towards instead.

(it stings that wilbur barely even talk to her anymore. she’d rather that than have either of them get into a spat and say something they would regret, though.

even this, still, doesn’t last forever.)

—

there are some days where tubbo wants to go look for ranboo (still missing - that is something that still troubles niki, something they can all agree on) and that means techno wants to go out as well, and then tommy insists on acting as escort whenever tubbo and techno are left alone together, and phil tags along under the excuse of making sure everyone comes back with their heads intact (untrue - niki thinks he’s scouting for another build site). so, of course, someone has to look after michael.

tubbo deposits him like a small sandbag in niki’s arms.

(there’s a secret hierarchy to who gets to babysit michael, one that niki only noticed about the sixth time tubbo asked her to babysit immediately after tommy said no - phil first, then tommy, then niki, and then… tubbo still doesn’t seem to like leaving michael with wilbur or techno without some kind of supervision.)

he’s a fairly lax parent, when it comes to babysitting - and it helps that michael is apparently used to staying inside, moving from house to ravine to cabin. he has colouring books and paints and a few hardcover picture books phil donated when tubbo moved up north and even a wooden toy sword, not that he uses it often. tubbo rattles off something about how he’s starting michael on some piston miniatures - tubbo has been putting them together this week, when he found the time (niki looks at the dark violet bags beneath his eyes…) - and that michael can keep playing with those if he wants, but nothing more than a finger-scrape of redstone yet please, because he’s not entirely sure what will happen if michael decides to try eating it. niki nods, and silently resolves to keep the pistons in their chest until tubbo returns.

michael is perfectly behaved, as he tends to be, and after an evening tiring himself out explaining his puzzles to niki he’s all curled up under blankets and sleeping softly on the worn, old couch. (there is a child’s bed in the spare room now, but tubbo is remarkably hot and cold on whether he likes it actually being used.) niki keeps an eye on him while she floats through the kitchen, brewing another batch of radiation sickness treatment. it’s another large one, with all three of them living in the arctic most of the time.

it’s almost peaceful, until wilbur makes his way down the stairs.

it would seem easy for them to keep ignoring each other. they have been ignoring each other, to some degree. but that’s only when wrapped in the buffers of other people. neither of them can last long in a quiet room, and after a few awkward minutes, wilbur makes his way outside.

after a few more - just long enough to take the potions off the boil, stack them in the kitchen chests and tidy up the spilt sugar - niki follows.

He’s smoking again, she realises. The cigarette winks like a tiny amber star in his hand, fallen from the night that blankets the arctic around them. “You shouldn’t be smoking again,” she duly informs his back. If she’s startled him, if he didn’t expect her presence, he doesn’t show it. “Are they out?” he asks instead. “They are.” No point wishing for pleasantries. “Looking for Ranboo again.” “Ah.” Wilbur’s chin tips towards at that, a weight upon his shoulders – he leans heavy against the railing, as if it props up most of his weight. She creeps forward, letting her fingers find the railing beside him. The wood is cold underneath her hands, laced with frost. “You were close, weren’t you?” He doesn’t answer. Niki bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Wil.” He barks out a humourless laugh. “It’s not like I was any good for him, in the end. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went down in flames with the casino.” “The comms would have notified us if that happened. I didn’t see a message.” Is that what Wilbur’s thinking to himself now, wondering if he had somehow missed it? It wouldn’t be the first time he let himself believe something entirely untrue. “And that doesn’t mean that you didn’t care for him. That it doesn’t hurt you.” Wilbur doesn’t look at her anymore. Not since that night over the crater, when she refused to tell him where Tommy was (does he wonder about that night? Does he ask himself how he didn’t know? Would he have ever known, if it weren’t for Dream?) - no more glances exchanged in the middle of one of Tubbo’s rambling or Tommy’s rants, no cheeky smiles and inside jokes, nothing. She still can’t tell whether she prefers it or not - whether she would rather see his expression twist into dismissive disgust when he lays eyes on her, or not at all. He still doesn’t look at her now, staring into the pearl-white plain stretching before them, as far as the eye can see from left to right before nestling itself into throngs of pine - but there’s a shift in his shoulders, the slightest incline of his head. He’s listening. “Tommy told me that you two were working together,” she continues. “Briefly.” He pauses, takes another drag. Niki resists the urge to crinkle her nose up. She’s never liked the smell of cigarette smoke. “Tommy didn’t say he’d been talking to you.” “We’ve been talking quite a bit, recently.” “Apparently.” His tone is not what she expected it to be - not that, really, she knew what to expect at all. Perhaps jealous. Instead, he sounds almost impressed, if humourlessly. “You did a good thing with the ravine, Niki. They needed to be somewhere safe. It was a good thing for you to do. Selfless, really.”

Now, that makes Niki turns to face him – his ember-lit profile, silhouetted against the snowdrift glow. She narrows her eyes, though, cautious. “I didn’t do it for your approval, Wilbur,” Niki says. He doesn’t even say anything to that one, just angles his face that slightest bit towards hers - just enough to catch his eye. His gaze is too assessing. She’s always been honest with Wilbur, anyway. “Not your approval specifically,” she amends. Wilbur hums. “Maybe it was too selfless,” he says - there’s that thoughtful note in his voice, musing. “You were always the good one, you know? Even in - even in Pogtopia, yeah? It was always, what would Niki think of this. That’s what Tommy would ask, all the fucking time.” He laughs. Niki does not want to ask what he thinks is so funny. “Drove me nuts.” “Is that why it didn’t work, in the end?” she asks. The question is clumsy, but it strikes Wilbur with all the clarity it needs - laughter immediately swallowed. “No,” he tells her. “No, Niki, that had nothing to do with you.” And isn’t it pathetic, that a sentence like that still stings? “People can always change, Wilbur. People do change.” Not that Wilbur has ever had it easy grasping that. This conversation, this argument - one they never even had - is almost two years old. Wilbur is dead and buried and pulled back again through the span of it. And still, it matters to her.  She sucks in a breath. The coldness stings her lungs, as if frostbite can gnaw at her from the inside out. “I think I changed.”

“Did I ever know you, at all?” Wilbur asks. The question is immediate, as if he’s been holding it on his tongue for some time longer than the last few minutes - days, weeks, maybe even years, like her. Keeping it close to his chest, keeping it warm and alive by nestling it in flesh and blood. “Of course you did,” she tells him. “You were one of my closest friends, Wilbur.” And I was yours, she doesn’t say, because Niki knows when she’s pushing it. He looks touched, even if it’s not what he meant by the question. “You knew me. In Pogtopia.” “Wil, I know that you were sorry - ” “I am,” he interrupts her. “I - I was. I know what you’re going to say, Niki,” his voice goes half-mocking, “that I was myself in L’Manberg, and then I changed. I changed, not that I knew exactly what I was - not that I knew it the whole time.” Niki’s mouth opens to retort - but Wilbur raises a hand to stop her, as if he’s expecting it. “That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?” Niki lets her mouth fall closed, sheepish. “I know it was wrong.” “Maybe. But I was listening, then and now - I don’t think it ever mattered how long we knew each other, Niki. There was too much you didn’t know. There was too much I couldn’t bear anyone else to know, I couldn’t bear anyone else to carry, that I couldn’t - ” he waves the cigarette in her direction. “Fuck, Niki, did you even know I smoked?” She looks down her nose at the small, glowing thing. “It’s not a very attractive trait.” Wilbur snorts out a laugh. “Right.” Doesn’t stop him from taking another drag. He’s not rude enough to blow smoke in her direction, or anything like that - but she catches him sending an expectant look her way after he exhales, like he’s waiting for her to tear him a new one over it. And seeming none too displeased about it, either. She doesn’t, for the record. All she does is roll her eyes slightly, and that seems to fulfil whatever Wilbur is looking for. “Y’know, I always thought - all that. I always thought, that’s me. This shitty, in-com-prehendable mess - I mean, you saw me, Niki, I was a mess. And I always thought that was just me. But… I don’t know. I’m starting to think there’s more than a few fucked up people on this server, honestly.” And everything seems less funny. Colder. “I don’t think I ever knew you,” Wilbur says, as conversationally as if they were discussing the weather. “How - how bad did it get? After I died?” “How bad did what get?” “You. Everything. I - everything. This server.” All Niki can do is shrug helplessly, swallowing the rabbit-hop kicking of her heart in her chest, in her throat. “I don’t know what to tell you. Things were bad, Wilbur. We were all mourning, we were grieving. Grief made it worse.” She leans against the railing, letting her weight sink into it. “It wasn’t all you, of course. There was - there was the Egg, and all of that. And so many other things, probably, I wouldn’t have known about it all.” Wilbur snorts again. Quietly, he echoes it wasn’t all about you under his breath. And Niki, her heart freezes over in her chest. A cold stone, sitting in the back of her throat - it sits there, with the last of her petty secrets. What else does she have to lose? Nothing. You know what they say, her mind reminds her, about a woman that has nothing to lose.

“I was thinking about killing myself.” The laughter stops. She’s not looking at him. She’s looking down at her hands again, fingers pale against the wooden rail, imagining them frostbitten. Imagining herself as a walking woman of ice, cold and clear and unaffected by the words she finally says aloud. She can see his hand too, next to hers - the other is holding the cigarette. His grip on the railing tightens. She told him this, she thought. He doesn't act like she had. He doesn't act like he understood fully until she spelled it out plainly. “Not - I didn’t make any plans for it,” she rushes to explain. “But I just assumed, I think… I just assumed that one day I would just get too hungry, or get too sick on my own in the city, and…” The ending of the sentence, that’s the difficult bit. She traces the grain of the wood with her thumb. “And it would all be over.” “You wouldn’t,” Wilbur chokes out. “I know, I know. There’s - there’s limbo. I didn’t believe in it for a long time, though. Did you know, Perfect is an endless life server? No - no death, really. I always thought that here must be the same, until…” She pauses. “L’Manberg wasn’t itself anymore, it was eating my friends alive - it ate you alive. I had nothing to care about, I had nothing to live for left. It was just… revenge. You don’t have to like it, but that was what kept me going. I was - I was so hungry, Wil. I was so hungry, but I couldn’t even bring myself to eat. I didn’t feel like I was living.” Finally, she lifts her head. Wilbur looks almost shellshocked. “...I didn’t want you to feel like that. I never want you to feel like that. Ever.” “It wasn’t your fault.” “Yes, yes, I know, but - you know I wouldn’t want you to be in that place, ever, don’t you?” A shadow casts over his expressed - half panicked, half soured. “Even after that stupid fucking casino - never, Niki. I didn’t mean for it to come to that. You have to believe me, I didn’t.”

“It wouldn’t have,” she assures him. “There was Tommy and Tubbo,” she nods towards the door leading back inside, “and Michael, as well. I couldn’t have.” A horribly morbid thought takes over her. “I wouldn’t have had the space, for one.” Wilbur does not laugh. In fact, he looks quite stern about the whole thing. “That’s not funny.” “I wasn’t joking!” she says - not quite defensively, but almost. She takes this seriously. “The three of them, they just take up so much space. And the mess…” Wilbur looks just about ready to harrumph at her - funny how the tables turn so quickly, now that the suicidal breakdown is on the other foot - but he comes up with nothing besides a few unhappy-looking expressions. “It was just hard,” she continues, eventually. “All I cared about was killing Tommy. I didn’t think about what that would have meant, what would happened if we pulled it off…” Wilbur is quiet. Niki breathes out another disappointed laugh. “I suppose I didn’t care about much of anything at all,” she says. “If we pulled it off?” Wilbur asks. She looks up at him, and - his gaze cuts right through her, steely and dark as anything. “Hm?” “There was always someone else, wasn’t there?” he asks - no, this is closer to a demand. Not in its ferocity - Wilbur is markedly gentle, and Niki gets the feeling she is going to have to get used to the feeling of kid gloves for a while - but in its intent. “It wasn’t just you.” Niki stiffens. “That isn’t my business to tell.” “Not my business,” Wilbur echoes, voice pitching up and down in all the wrong places - “isn’t it? Isn’t this how we got here?” “I got here because Techno half-dragged me back,” Niki shoots back at him, “and because Tommy was kind enough to ask him to. Does it matter if there was someone else? Really?” He pouts, the melodramatic thing. “I guess not.” She resists the urge to sigh. She might not have felt much kinship with Jack during their brief partnership - no, what they had was darker and emptier than kinship, barely even allies - but now, she can care for him in retrospect. She doesn’t want to bring the full storm of Wilbur’s frustration and confusion down on him, especially if he’s still in the same state Niki saw him in last. Her heart twinges, not for the first time. It keeps doing that when she thinks of Jack. If it weren’t for how empty those months were, how heartless and cold, Niki would almost think that she misses him. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she glosses over it. “I still made those choices. I knew what I was doing. I wanted him dead, so badly… it was an ugly feeling.” Is that what it felt like to be Wilbur, back in that ravine? She guesses it’s the closest she’s ever felt. She hopes it’s the closest she’ll ever be to how Wilbur felt. “So now you know me,” she concludes, “properly. And I know you.” “I suppose I do.” He huffs out a sigh. Niki bites down on another definitely-unwanted comment about the smoking. “We can’t do this one over, can we.” “I don’t think we can.” “Flown too close to the sun,” Wilbur murmurs. “Are we ever going to go back to normal?”

Wilbur considers it. “...was normal ever any good? Did it ever do any good, for us?” he asks. Did it? Oh, Niki longs for normal. She longs for summer days in redwoods that never seemed to end; she longs for the smell of bread and wildflowers wrapping her in their embrace. She longs for feeling secure, for feeling comfortable and safe. She longs for the time when she knew who her friends were, and knew that list of friends was one she wouldn’t be able to count on two hands. She longs for when things were easy. Less complicated. Normal. Yes, part of her still longs for L’Manberg. The old L’Manberg, her home. But that place is long dead. She thinks of her bakery - now burned, and thinks of every second she felt unappreciated. Every time she felt hungry, every time that she let herself starve. She thinks of the safety that slipped through her fingers like sand the moment that the old day ticked over into the new. She thinks of being stolen from. She thinks of walking on glass, never knowing if her home and her things would be griefed for kicks. She thinks of how much she trusted Wilbur, and the cigarettes he must have hidden in his office - she would have known about them, otherwise. She thinks of the cracks that she couldn’t see, but were there nonetheless. “No,” she decides. She cannot tell if it feels more like a victory, or a defeat. Maybe both, maybe neither - maybe, just plain relief. “I don’t think it was.” The quiet reigns. "I'd like to get to know you," she adds, barely louder than a whisper. Being vulnerable with Wilbur has always been easy, to some degree. He thinks on it. She can tell, because he goes quiet for a moment - a long moment - and it takes him a few tries to answer, mustering up breath for nothing. The seconds drag their feet. Niki watches birds play in the distant treeline. "I think I would like that," Wilbur answers, and when Niki finally looks towards him, he looks almost content.

and that is almost peace.

they are interrupted by a flurry of shouts over the horizon, one that snaps them both to attention. a small set of figures (figurines, really) stagger through the snow - when niki squints she can see techno leading the pack, charging through the snowdrifts with purpose, tommy buzzing around him like a golden insect. tubbo trails behind both, utterly fixed on something, as phil follows with haste.

"oh, my god," niki says, a murmur trailing tall into a cry, as wilbur's hand comes to cover his mouth - 

ranboo, slung over techno's shoulder.

there is going to be a reckoning over ranboo, weeks trapped in enderwalk, exhausted and bruised - over books and puppeteers and stacks of dynamite, over why it took so long for anyone to see dream as a threat, over how he roams the hills of the server with netherite in hand and blood on his mind - the fight rolling in like bad weather as they all stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the rain.

that's later, though, and something niki has no desire to lose friends over anyway - for now she clears space on the dining table as wilbur ushers michael into a spare bedroom, sticking his head through the doorframe to watch as techno dumps the kid's worn and bloodied body on the table and tommy shoves himself forward with torn cloth in one hand and the first of many healing potions in the other. for now she hovers by the doorway, one hand on tubbo’s shoulder, and waits for the sun to rise.

—

ranboo’s recovery takes a long time. he’s not dead, thank the stars above, but when techno and tubbo dragged him back to the arctic he was worn and filthy and callused in places that niki didn’t even know could get calluses. and they’re terrified, literally terrified on their own shadow, and there are nights where ranboo traipses up the stairs and sleeps in that spare bed in techno’s house (curled up around themself, like a turtle in its shell - niki knows, she wandered in one morning while they were still asleep) and tubbo goes out to stay in the little shack he and tommy have built near her cabin and it’s nothing but tommy’s loud ramblings that breaks the silence for days. niki thinks back to the dinner they all had, descending into arguments, and thinks of tommy’s words afterwards - and for a while, she genuinely does think they’re going to divorce. love has been made a martyr for less.

but they don’t. or, if they did, it was amicable enough that niki hasn’t noticed.

she’s never seen michael happier now that both of his dads are around, and he has a way of practically forcing everyone to get along - if he wasn’t so little, niki would almost suspect him of weaponising how cute he is whenever it looks like someone is going to fall into a spat again. tubbo unwinds - some days, he even smiles like he did back in l’manberg. he and ranboo spend a lot of time with the turtles. the bags under tommy’s eyes stay stubbornly dark, but he stops holding himself like he’s constantly waiting for someone to throw a punch, and lo and behold, he starts to get - loud. he follows techno and wilbur around like a squabbling bird, a cuckoo making itself well and comfy in the nest. wilbur, for his part, tends to just roll his eyes while making some equally immature and snippy comment back at tommy, as he passes niki her mug of tea.

and finally, they can all breathe.

niki starts to feel like everything is going to be alright.

—

they don’t do proper surprises anymore - it’s not safe to walk around with a blindfold, and niki gets uneasy when one of them is wandering off on their own for too long - but tommy insists that the four of them have a surprise for niki and then immediately slams his hand over tubbo’s mouth and starts filling the air with his and wilbur’s latest adventures (tommy claims to have found shroud a wife, who chased wilbur from the pine forest to the fences around the compound for a solid half hour) before tubbo can spoil anything.

they don’t tell her where they’re going, but niki knows the pathway to her city better than anyone.

a hush falls over the five of them (god, they move in packs these days, don't they) as they descend the staircase - not quite hand in hand, with the exception of ranboo and tubbo, but certainly shoulder to shoulder. niki, tommy, tubbo and michael are almost hyperaware of the damage that's been done to this place already, and ranboo is having one of his healthy degree of suspicion, or anxiety days. it's a slow descent. halfway down the steps tommy is possessed with a sudden, jerky shudder, and niki thinks for a moment that he's going to turn back - but he steels himself, chewing ferociously on his bottom lip, and soldiers on regardless.

she still isn't sure how to feel about her city anymore. it was supposed to be a safe refuge - but sometime it had stopped being her refuge from anything, and dream has certainly proven that it wasn't safe. she stays at the arctic these days, because she's come to realise that being around people is better for her at the moment. but that doesn't mean she doesn't miss it.

until she reaches the bottom step.

the place is still chaos, mostly. the dirt is still in piles on the ground, even if it has been swept to the walls. the stone is still pockmarked with the unmistakable imprints of TNT. iron beams, bent and broken, stick out of her ceiling like the ribs of a rotting creature. but - 

there is a small patch of grass tucked into a crevice, spotted with azalea bushes and wildflowers, surrounded with a short stack of beehives. a jukebox sits on the corner, spinning to itself - she doesn't recognise the melody, something quiet and stringy and sweet. the sound is almost lost under the hum of the bees clustered around tallest flowers, watching the newcomers with dark, curious eyes.

she cries.

(niki remembers, back when they all lived under the ground together - and what a nightmare that was - tubbo never spontaneously renovated her farms or walkways or bedrooms sitting unused without asking permission first.)

they made an exception for the beehive nook, but they still do ask: would she mind, terribly, if they spent some time fixing up the place? nothing too obtrusive. just fixing up the walls, mending the shattered beacon, rebuilding the high-speed rail network tubbo constructed from her kitchens to the apartments - tubbo's been nursing some thoughts on the place ever since their impromptu stay, and ranboo's been awfully curious about the city since their return, and frankly michael's missed the novelty of the underground - 

it’s not all right. they don’t wear caution well, never have. but part of her still sings, they asked. they know how important niki’s city is to her, watched her heart be ripped out and strewn across the floor, like every handful of dirt - and they asked.

so the syndicate (and associates) find themselves a new hobby. 

techno hauls debris up the staircase, dragging out broken chunks of walkways and rails as the others carry stacks of wooden planks down them. tommy throws himself into the thick of it, helping out wherever an extra hand is needed - the two of them almost trip each other up a few times, but they make it work. tubbo is in charge of the redstoning, setting up some complex kind of security system of tripwires and lights and pistons, so that next time niki needs to lock someone out, she can. iron is embedded in the walls of the city, along with long threads of redstone, like a shield built into every cave and cavern.

he also makes a valiant effort to supercharge a furnace for niki’s bakery. it doesn’t work like that, which she politely explains to him after he and tommy almost set the place on fire with their attempt at korova cookies - but michael does snack on a few of them that least resemble chunks of charcoal, and he seems quite pleased with their efforts. she appreciates the gesture, anyway, and then very kindly and very definitively sends them out of the kitchen until it is absolutely done being rebuilt.

ranboo takes it upon themself to piece the library back together. restoring books comes strangely easily to them, as wilbur hovers over their shoulder offering both unsolicited approval and advice and as they gossip with shy in a mixture of warbles and clicks. altogether, they’ve only missed a couple - and not that niki minds, not when she sees the lovely decorations and lamps that he and phil have carved from shroomlights.

tommy's supposedly in charge of the animals, balancing bowls of water and birdseed through the newly-planted pines for meowth and stubbornly hacking at the stone until he can make a nice little slope for wobbuffet to walk down, leading right into a stable cosy with the smell of hay and sugarcubes. michael fingerpaints a mural across the side of the stable as they all work, a beautiful scene in the brightest colours of a farm and a forest and turtles sitting on a snowy shoreline. that earns him a big cuddle from niki, and when she looks over at tubbo - acting first, thinking second, like she's coming to accept that she just does - he looks almost at ease in a way she hasn't seen in a long time.

phil presses another totem of undying into her hand when the others aren’t looking. he wants to give her the chance to stretch her wings again, but he wants her to stay safe.

wilbur, doing a poor job of hiding his contribution behind his back as they loiter in phil’s cabin,  swears up and down it's not a flag (as techno, sitting at the kitchen table, loudly questions what he thinks a flag is, then) and presents a banner in pale shades of white and purple - spotted with the shaky outlines of wildflowers and ender particles for shy. he says it's a mock-up, something niki can sew up properly later if she likes. she hangs it, with all of its messy, dropped stitches, above the doorway of her bakery.

it isn't safe, not anymore. and in the state she's recovering from, niki doesn't know if she can call the city home either.

but finally, she feels like it's more than just hers.

—

and after all this happens, niki knows exactly what she has to do next. it takes a while to find him, but she manages it.

this time, she has to take an entire picnic basket with her - and it's a damn far way to lug the thing, especially when she hasn't quite gotten the hang of using a trident with finesse and speed. a veritable stack's worth of radiation treatment potions weigh her down, along with a marbled coffee-and-cinnamon cake wrapped in wax paper.

jack does not look pleased to see her. he looks like hell, to be honest – dark circles beneath his eyes, too-thin, skin pale and sallow like he hasn’t been outdoors enough in too long. but he doesn’t turn her away, either. and in a world like this, that means just as much.

he lets her in, and this time, niki does not intend to leave without him.

[stemms]

I came up with a timetravel c!Prime AU, it's called Cyclical Repossession Through Times (or CRTT) and it's my main AU right now.

After the destruction of the lands of the Dream SMP in the previous timeline, it was restarted. This change wasn’t impactful to the majority of the server; they had no clue they ever existed before, and therefore didn’t hold any memories of their past lives. c!Tommy and c!Dream were the only ones who managed to keep their memories. To c!Dream it was a benediction, and to c!Tommy - a curse. While c!Dream remembered their time in exile, prison, post-prison break, and protégé au, c!Tommy only remembered the very beginning of the server (s0), L’Manberg, and Pogtopia. Even though the boy’s mind lost all the upsetting memories tied to the man, his body didn’t. The moment c!Tommy met c!Dream for the first time, he couldn’t help but flinch, his ears were ringing, hands shaking, and every inch of his body screamed at him to get away from the man and run as fast as he possibly can. But he couldn’t comprehend why he reacted this way, if he was facing no one else but his rival, mentor, and brother figure who’d certainly do no harm to him...

The plot revolves around two timelines, both of which took place after the finale of Dream SMP:

The past:

After the restart of the server, the eight-year-old c!Tommy lived in the woods by himself, until c!Wilbur found and took him in. But before the two had the chance to bond and fully warm up to each other, the boy was kidnapped by c!Dream, and taken to exile (to his real home, where he truly belonged). After all, he was a much better candidate for the role of an older brother than c!Wilbur would ever dream of becoming, c!Tommy just didn’t know it yet… 

Because c!Dream still had his memories of exile, prison, post-prison break, and protégé au, he simply couldn’t keep himself from reclaiming what was truly his… especially now that he was the only one who remembered the boy.

Although c!Dream didn’t possess the revival book physically anymore, he knew it by heart, so there was no need in participating in any wars or choose c!Schlatt’s side later. Not to mention that he already had the key to L’Manberg in c!Tommy… 

Even though c!Dream managed to get his hands on c!Tommy with very little effort and no one was aware of his plans, he had a strong paranoia of losing the boy to the hands of the server again. Similarly to c!Tommy’s kleptomania, which directly impacted his self-worth, c!Dream depended on owning the boy (although he absolutely hated the idea of it, and denied it until the end). So, if c!Dream was c!Tommy’s God, he was nobody without him by his side… 

Upon moving to Logstedshire, c!Tommy built a tent to live in, and it stayed this way for a few weeks, until c!Dream’s paranoia worsened to the point where he decided that it wasn’t safe to keep the boy there anymore. So, he made c!Tommy build a little bunker below the tent, and compulsively checked if he still had the keys, and if c!Tommy was still in his room, every night before going to bed.

In the beginning of c!Tommy’s exile, c!Dream abused him the way he did in the past timeline; after all, he could never get enough of it… After having broken the boy’s spirit, he coerced him into seeing him as his big brother and parental figure.

Although c!Tommy was ripped out of c!Wilbur’s arms before they got a chance to become closer, he was very fond of the kid and found his sudden disappearance at night very suspicious. He was aware that he was powerless in this situation, so he established L’Manberg by himself, in hopes of creating a safe place for the boy to return to. Soon enough, more people joined L’Manberg, and it gave c!Wilbur a slight glimpse of hope that other people would join him in his mission of saving c!Tommy.

Eventually, c!Wilbur succeeded in his mission, and got the boy back to safety where he was able to finally heal, and learn what family really meant… 

XD and Drista granted c!Dream the power of reset, however it had its limitations. 

Even though c!Dream possessed divine powers and was able to achieve what simple humans could only dream to, he was still human, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise. His human body was simply far too weak for that power, so he could only use one power at a time, and couldn’t cross the boundary set by XD and Drista, otherwise his body would’ve simply exploded. And because he no longer had c!Punz, and c!Tommy wasn’t trained enough to revive him, he would’ve simply perished. It means that he could either revive c!Tommy twenty times, or reset the server once. Because the power of reset demanded was much stronger, it renewed every two years. 

Because c!Dream actively killed and revived c!Tommy in order to fasten up his training, the moment things went downhill, he simply didn’t hold enough power to reset the server. c!Tommy was taken away from him, and he was utterly helpless in this situation, and unable to retrieve his little plaything.

After two years have passed, c!Dream finally reset the server, and decided to try to get c!Tommy to himself again.

2. The present:

After the reset, c!Dream desperately wanted to earn c!Tommy’s trust and make him follow him to Logstedshire at his own will, so he was one of the first people to meet the boy. To be sure to succeed at winning him over, he made a neon green bandana with a little smiley face on it resembling c!Tubbo’s bandana to gift it to c!Tommy before c!Tubbo. But he was too late and c!Tommy already received one from c!Tubbo, so it was all for nothing. It seemed that some events kept on occurring in each new timeline, no matter how hard he tried to prevent them from happening. It’s as though destiny itself tried to protect c!Tommy from him… 

c!Dream was aware that c!Tommy didn’t remember anything of his past abuse, but he did notice how he tensed up and flinched every time he encountered something related to his traumatic past. Every time c!Tommy looked at the area of c!Ranboo’s visits, c!Dream couldn’t help but panic that the teen might retrieve a part of his memories, and if his friend showed up and tried to persuade him to leave Logstedshire, he’d be more convinced by his words and follow him.

c!Dream was so obsessed with the idea of matching with his boy in everything that he dyed his hair blond, so they really looked like brothers :) When c!Tommy saw the man with newly dyed hair, he experienced a strong feeling of déjà vu, but he couldn’t understand why… His reaction left him utterly perplexed, as he tensed up for seemingly no reason, yet also felt very relieved. Little did he know it was due to something he encountered in his past life… :) 

At some point, c!Dream’s paranoia significantly worsened and the thought of putting an enchantment on c!Tommy again crossed his mind, but he decided against it. The idea of managing to keep the boy to himself with no enchantments and his effort alone seemed more satisfying and fun to him. If he managed to do it, it’d certainly mean every single part of the boy, his body and soul, belonged to him, wouldn’t it? :)

[zero-cycle]

In death's eyes

They say beware the pale eyes.

In their worlds, pale means death. Pale is the colour of the thing that haunts their nightmares and ghost stories. Pale eyes appear in fairy tales and stories you tell little children to get them to behave. Pale is the colour of things not being quite right in the way that signals danger. Pale eyes haunt empty forests and quiet nights. Pale is the colour of the silent death that will appear behind you.

Pale is the colour of no return because once the player with the pale eyes is in your world, you will never be able to come back.

They say beware the pale eyes.

They do not know that they should fear all of them.

Grian’s eyes are normal. Really, there’s nothing more normal than his eyes. Just look at Scar, if you want an example of weird eyes. Or have you seen Mumbo’s silly mustache? Has anyone shown you Impulse’s latest shop building obsession by the way? You should really check it out, it’s as crazy as always. Did you hear he managed to become a revolutionary? Yeah, really, Impulse. It’s quite strange.

Grian’s eyes are normal and his wings are normal and everything about him is normal. He’s just a builder. He makes things and he’s bad at fighting (except sometimes) and his buildings are incredibly ordinary compared to Mumbo who makes living things out of blocks (except… sometimes). He’s fast and a good flier but it’s just practice and growing up with wings and he likes the colour purple (except he does not).

His eyes are normal.

Except when people threaten the server that gave him a home, gave him everything, they glow purple.

Grian does not like to talk about his powers. He wants to create silly things and not build the back of his castles and prank Mumbo until the other starts to chase him with end crystals again. But sometimes, the world does not let him and he will not let this life be destroyed again. He worked too hard for it.

People say pale white is the colour of death. For Grian it is the purple he glows with when he rips enemies apart as easy as Xisuma rewires a small bit of code.

Eret’s eyes are the colour of death. It tends to mislead people.

They know that the sunglasses are probably the only reason they’re still alive. People generally only have two reactions to their eyes: One of them is attacking and the other is screaming and the second one usually ends in everyone trying to kill them too. So they wear sunglasses all day every day and make sure to be extra helpful and share their building tricks and to never stay anywhere long enough so people can question.

Dream SMP is the exception. On Dream SMP, people have learned one crucial truth about Eret, the player with Herobrine’s eyes: It is not their eyes that are the death bringer.

Eret can do that well enough on their own.

L’Manberg bleeds for that discovery and Eret only feels a twinge of regret amidst the overwhelming feeling of triumph.

Scott was born with the bluest eyes any baby has ever had and he learned early to hide them. If you make blue your entire aesthetic, if you cover yourself in it and dye your hair to match and make sure to never ever appear weird, people just think you’re really committed to the bit.

And who are they to judge him for that?

They do not know of the way his eyes glow when he raises walls of ice around his kingdom to protect his people. They do not know how he shapes ice into weapons and the blue on him into armour. They do not know that they should not fear the slow death in the white of snow but instead the fury of turquoise power coming over them.

They will learn, in time, but it might be too late.

Feinberg meets Scott Smajor on the battlefield and they have the same shade of blue eyes.

Fein’s own eyes are cyan, normally, matching his jacket and helmet. But when he fights, he can feel the Universe reaching out and nudging and darkening the shades of power he can send out, the lightning crackling around his fists. When he meets Scott Smajor in the middle of a storm made of frozen crystals, their eyes are nearly the same shade and Fein has to spend a minute to wrangle back his control from his own surprise.

He has met people with strange eye colours before. He’s heard about how pale white is the colour of death.

He never thought he’d meet somebody who would prove that statement as wrong as he does.

Rad’s eyes are every colour in the world.

Sometimes they’re green, like the pine needles on the trees she’s spent hours running past, always in the hope that this run, she’ll be fast enough.

Sometimes they’re a pale pink, like concrete on village houses that she has torn apart more times than she can count.

Sometimes they’re red like the fire in the nether or orange like the lava burning her very soul.

Sometimes they’re pale yellow like the endstone crumbling to dust under her fingers as she gets ripped away for being too slow.

Sometimes they’re black as the void, as obsidian, as the dragon.

As the end of all things.

People say that pale is the colour of death.

Raddles knows that death does not have one colour.

Death is inevitable. Death is never the same. Death is running, again and again and again, hoping that one day you will be fast enough in a world where the goalposts are also running.

Illumina’s eyes are never remembered.

People remember the sword. People remember the black shape making seemingly impossible jumps. People remember the dragon exploding into a wave of purple and new numbers carving themselves into the bedrock of the end fountain. People remember the mask, the ender pearls, the blaze rods.

People do not remember Illumina’s eyes because the void stares back.

Illumina’s eyes are nothing in the sense that Raddles’ eyes are everything. Where life reflects in her eyes, absence reflects in Illumina’s because nothing is there. They are windows to the entire universe. Illumina knows, because Fruit has told him what he can see. He didn’t stop talking for an entire afternoon when he tried to list everything.

But when Illumina looks in the mirror, there is nothing to see because a mirror is not meant to look at itself.

Fruit’s eyes are incomprehensible.

Starlight is a funny thing. It has its own, firm opinions sometimes and one of them is that Fruit’s eyes should be its colour. So they are and nobody asked Fruit about it and quite frankly that was annoying because now half the people trying to look at him get sunburnt in the face.

He was only asking for things to make sense, so really, Universe sue him.

Fruit’s eyes are not what is deadly about him. He spent years making himself as deadly as possible, honing his skills in trapping and fighting and gauging potions as fast as possible. He can use a bow as well as a crossbow, a sword as well as an axe. He’s terrifically fast and he can kill you in more ways than you can greet him.

But still, all people remember are his eyes. Not pale, not the eyes of death, but full of light and joy and magic. The rest of him is stained with blood but his eyes precede his reputation and it’s so, so annoying.

They say beware the pale eyes. They do not say beware the blue eyes before lightning or ice rip you apart. They do not say beware the purple eyes since it marks watcher-born. They do not say beware the colours of everything, as you should never want too much or else you will be given more than you asked for.

They do not say beware the black eyes, for they are a mark of a vessel for something greater. They say beware the pale eyes and do not watch out for the knife in the back or the smile in the dark.

They say beware the pale eyes for they mean death. They don’t know that purple means despair, that blue means revenge, that void means inevitable and light means untouchable.

They say beware the pale eyes and they understand so frighteningly little.

[salllvester]

Quackity cockblocking himself [[pt 1]]

[[::Non proofed::]]

Wilbur Soot was an idiot.

He’d died at least four times and needed to get his ass saved every other day. It was irritating at the very least. The problem was made worse when people began to drop him on my doorstep, the blade to be specific. As if he was my problem?! It’s bad enough that I had to babysit Charlie - him I can handle - but Wilbur? He was too much - in more ways than one - he always made a nuisance of himself.

I’ve had to save his ass more times than I have to with my own. No matter how much I hated Wilbur soot I found him attractive -not that I’d ever admit that- many things made him attractive. His height being one of them -I’m a sucker for a tall man, what do you want me to say? my dating history showed as much.- His voice, oh fuck his voice. I’ve always wanted to hear him beg, hear him whimper really.

Charlie has expressed his curiosity before; “Quackity of Las Nevadas, why do you show such distaste towards Wilbur Soot of L’Manburg yet let him stay here?” “If he is as much of a nuisance as you claim him to be then why let him continue his stay?”. Shit like that. It’s getting on my nerves. Fuck, even Techno commented on it during his brief stay.

“If you hate him, make him leave. You’ve done it before.” Everyone has said something about it, I'm so over it. They weren’t wrong necessarily but it was still really annoying. 

“It's gonna be a long day,'' I sighed. I began to do what I always do when I’m working long days; think about Wilbur soot. His hair, how I love his damn hair, looked so soft, unlike the rest of his gruff and hard body. I longed to run my fingers through his hair and give it a pull so strong his hair felt like it would come out of his scalp. 

His lips; used to be so chapped back in L’Manberg and now they’re so smooth. He had an affinity for sweets, which often resulted in me rushing to the washroom because he’d suck on lollipops. - hollowing his cheeks and rubbing them in circles on his tongue -

His hands; are so big - he could cover my entire throat with just one hand - he manages to make normal-sized things look small by comparison. He manages to make Schlatt look small! - That’s quite the feat if you think about it - 

His height; oh god his height. How I love to bring a man so tall to his knees, I did it with schlatt and I’ll do it again. He’s decently taller than me, Me being 5”6’ and him 6”6’. Seeing him on his knees begging for me to skull fuck him is a recurring wet dream of mine

His lips; oh fuck. Thinking about them has my dick chubbing up in my dress slacks... They’re the slightest bit chapped. I’d love to hold him down on my dick until he’s gasping for air. Seeing him slobber all over his nice iconic mustard yellow sweater because he can’t gulp it down with my cock in his mouth.

My fantasies thoughts were interrupted by a knock at my office door, it was likely slimecicle. I shouted, “Come in!” the door opened, and low and behold it was slimecicle. “Quackity of Las Nevadas! Jschlatt of Manberg has come to see you!” Slimecicle said in his usual cheery tone. “Let him in,” I groaned. As schlatt entered I spoke,

“What the hell do you want, prick?” “Am I not allowed to visit?” He questioned in his usual drunken tone. “No. No, you’re not. I explicitly told you that if you came here I'd personally rip your dick off and feed it to you,” I declared _ my anger is showing, fuck! - “Don’t you remember that? Or were you too fucking drunk?” I was beginning to shout. He was constantly drunk throughout our entire relationship, I doubt he remembers any of it.

His eyes grew wide, and a familiar look of fear flooded them. I chuckled. “What schlatt? Scared? Don’t be,” I began. “It’s business hours, otherwise you’d be clinging to this desk for dear life while you beg me like a whore to let you cum” I finished with a chuckle. 

He stares at me in what is either lust or fear; maybe both. He has always had a thing for pain, it’s probably why he drinks so much; he gets off on the pain of the alcohol going down his throat. “Are you fucking drooling in my damn office schlatt!?” I shouted. He shook his head aggressively in a ‘no’ gesture. 

I eyed the dark spot on his dress shirt, “You sure?” I gestured towards his chest, where the dark spot was. “Fucking slob-” Before I could finish my insult, my office doors slam open; revealing wilbur fucking soot. “The hell you want?! Can’t you tell I'm in the middle of something here soot!” I shouted. 

Schlatts head turned back so fast I'm sure he got whiplash, “sorry big Q, thought I'd swing by is all,” he mumbled. He’s yet to have made eye contact with me, fuck that did something to me. “Spit it out Soot” I spat. “I was wondering if you’d be free to chat later, maybe, I don’t know” his words were almost inaudible. 

“Speak the fuck up Soot?” "Can we talk later Big Q?" I sat momentarily, thinking, "Sit." I said, leaving no room for argument. Will looked confused, Schlatt even more so. "We're talking right now!" Schlatt shouted. I laughed, "I don't care jSchlatt. We can chat with Failure Soot still here. he doesn't have any brain, so he can't do much" i saw a blush rise onto Wilburs' face.

"Now what the shit were you going on about schlatt?"

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Whumptober Day 5: Hostage and Kidnapping.

L’Manberg hostage AU. When Tommy went to trade his freedom for the discs, Dream pulled a weapon on him and abducted him as a hostage- locking him in Eret's castle in a gilded cage. Warnings for self victim blaming, kidnapping, abuse, isolation, psychological torture, severe mental health issues caused by intentional isolation, manipulation, suicidal thoughts, self harm, blood, self hatred, and dependency.

ao3 link

——

Tommy’s wings were clipped.

That belied the truth of his captivity. His cage was gilded, yes, but it was a cage nonetheless. There were no bars on the window, no locks on the door, and his room was probably larger than L’Manberg itself was, yet that felt more like a taunt than kindness.

Dream didn’t even need to fucking do it. His wings were shit anyway, far too small to fly on, but Dream had cut the feathers off regardless, a pointless act of cruelty Tommy still struggled to wrap his head around. 

He thought Dream was- yeah, a bit of a fucking prick, and absurdly weird about L’Manberg and shit, but his friend. Like, a bit of a shitty friend, but a friend. He tried to take the discs and shit, but he wasn’t cruel, just… controlling. Really fucking controlling. Yeah.

Maybe that was why he’d done it, some sort of weird mind game to get him to listen or some shit. Yeah. Yeah, that had to be it, because it’s not like Dream would be, like, actually fucking evil. Just scary and weird. He’d made sure Tommy had nice food and free roam of Eret’s stupid castle and brought him gifts every time he visited, after all. He just was a goddamn weirdo, not cruel. He didn’t like to make Tommy suffer, right?

Prime, he was going crazy locked up in here.

He hadn’t even been allowed in the courtyards, and not being able to go touch some fucking grass was maddening. He missed the feeling of the sun in his hair, bathing in the river, spending time with anyone but Dream. Even Eret avoided him nervously, and Tommy was pretty sure it wasn’t out of guilt. Honestly, at this point, Tommy didn’t even care. He’d talk to the fucking Devil if it meant not talking to the walls except for the scattered occasions Dream showed up.

It had been a week.

Impatiently, Tommy tapped his claws on the windows of his room- stained glass, painting Tommy’s cell in bright, cheerful colours like some sort of mockery. A week. Dream had never been that long before.

And, yeah, he knew why, but that didn’t make it any less agonising. Tommy wasn’t kept here as some sort of sick fucking joke. Not entirely, at least. He was here for- well, Dream called it “insurance”, but he was pretty sure he was just a hostage at this point. As long as L’Manberg “behaved” (Tommy involuntarily shuddered, remembering the way Dream said that), Tommy would remain unhurt.

Tommy didn’t like thinking about what would happen if they didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to imagine, though. The scar across his neck still ached, still made it hard to speak above a painfully quiet tone, one with an unTommylike softness that felt like another cage. He felt like a songbird with its ability to sing ripped out, except instead of singing, he’d shout swears, but that was nearly the same thing he reckoned. Wilbur swore a lot in his songs, he thought he remembered. He couldn’t entirely be sure.

He couldn’t even remember his face.

He could remember Dream’s face but not his own brothers. Sometimes, he pictured Wilbur in his head with the same pointy features and rows of lamprey-like teeth Dream had beneath his mask. Sometimes, he pictured Dream as his brother, unable to remember the difference.

But there was. Wilbur wouldn’t clip his wings. Wilbur wouldn’t lock him up for some dumb political shit. Wilbur wouldn’t hold an axe to his throat and tell him to do exactly what he said, or he’d kill him permanently.

He just wanted to see, maybe, if he could trade the discs, his freedom for L’Manberg’s, Dream would listen. Whether he was more of a control freak over him or everyone else. In hindsight, that felt fucking stupid. Of course, Dream would find a way to get both, because he was fucking scary as all Hell. That was Tommy’s fault, really.

He was fucking stupid, and the scar on his neck was a permanent branding of that fact on his skin, forever telling the world he was an idiot and a pussy. Maybe it was almost good Dream kept him locked up like a fucking prisoner, Tubbo would laugh at him so hard if he saw it. 

Apparently, L’Manberg thought he was a fucking idiot anyway and they were super fucking mad at him, anyway. That’s what Dream said, and Tommy genuinely didn’t have a clue as to why he’d lie about that. Yeah, he’d, like, captured him, but that was because of shitty ass politics, and he was a dick, but that was because he was a clingy ass control freak. But why would he want him to hate L’Manberg? If he didn’t want to be a part of L’Manberg anymore, it’d kind of defeat the whole purpose, right?

It didn’t feel right that Tubbo and Wilbur would do that. Fundy maybe, he was a right prick sometimes, but it still felt very, very wrong. Maybe they weren’t as good as Tommy thought.

Maybe it was a good thing Dream was his only friend, anymore.

No. No, fuck that! This was fucking shitty as all Hell. Tommy wanted to beat some sense into Dream, tear him a right new one as he told him exactly how much of a dick he was. Fucking asshole. He hated him.

Fuck, no, that wasn’t right either. Dream wasn’t so bad. Dream was his friend. Dream just wanted to help. Every time Dream came around, Tommy couldn’t help but follow him like a lost puppy, and even a Big Man like him cried when he left, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. He just wished Dream visited more, and that they could do more things together. He wished Dream really was his brother.

He didn’t fucking know. Being alone made his brain all wobbly, like it was trying to fill up the empty space of words and shit with its own Primes be damned nonsense. Even repeating the hymns and prayers he had memorised didn’t help, the book Dream had gotten him with like a million pages frayed and tattered and the words seared into his mind. They were almost silence themselves, a comfortable hum that certainly didn’t reach the Primes.

Or maybe they had, and They’d deemed him unfit to be free. Maybe he deserved this.

Tommy pressed his finger onto the scabby wound across his neck and rhythmically started scratching at them. It hurt, it hurt like fucking Hell, but it was better than the pain in his head. And yeah, Dream would be pissed at him, because hurting himself meant he was weak and stupid and shit, but he already knew that. If he knew what made Dream come in a bad mood, then he knew what to do to avoid it.

The last time he visited, he was pissed about something that Tommy couldn’t figure out. He’d said something wrong, and Dream had hit him. Fucking hit him, right across the face. It wasn’t hard; it didn’t leave any marks, so it wasn’t really that bad, but he’d hit him. And then he’d stormed off, and he hadn’t been back in seven days.

At first, Tommy was glad. Fucking asshole had hit him, after all. That was, like, abuse and shit. As the days passed, though, Tommy would have given anything for him to just come back. He’d have let him hit him a million times, because he must have deserved it, and he’d work so hard to make sure he never did anything wrong again. Prime, he was a fucking weepy mess around four days in. Eret had given him some sympathy and had, like, a three-minute conversation with him in hushed whispers after that, and Tommy had regained some sense of sanity, but both trains of thoughts felt both right and wrong. It was fucking confusing.

He didn’t really care if Dream hit him again right now. He’d done worse. When Tommy had met him on the Prime Path, stupid and naïve and childish, he’d held the crackling diamond of his axe against his neck, magic running through it and burning at his skin. And stupidly, Tommy had tried to fight.

It was agonising, the feeling of something razor-sharp digging its way into his skin and not stopping when it met something that hurt even more. Tommy had gone limp from pain, and the rest of the day was a blur. He remembered vaguely being physically dragged across the path- he’d had splinters in his ankles for a few days, until Dream was able to bring potions- and shouting as he entered the castle. He remembered being wrapped in blankets, and something numbing rubbed into his wounds as they were sewn shut. He remembered being tucked into his oversized bed like a little kid, and he remembered not sleeping all night.

Dream denied it was a kidnapping, and Tommy learnt to stop pushing that button quickly, but it was undoubtedly a kidnapping. He literally had a weapon held to his throat and was dragged away and locked away in a cell, even if it was one so fucking fancy it made Tommy want to puke. It was- well, it gave him even more fucking P to the TSD if he were to be honest. He woke up clawing at his bedsheets at memories of something digging through his neck until it hit bone, hands dragging him across spikes and throwing him into the darkest pit.

Tommy dug his nails in deeper, until he felt lightheaded.

Pulling away, he absently stained the windows in red, drawing little doodles with his blood-soaked fingers. A circle, two dots, and then a smile. He laughed once he realised what he’d drawn- Dream’s mask. Stupid fucking thing. Dream didn’t even really wear it when visiting, he said he thought it might freak out Tommy even more, considering how “unfortunate” his situation was. Tommy just got the vibe he was sick of the thing and had to find a way to justify it, but whatever.

Something felt less wrong with the Dream drawing beside him, somehow. Tommy relaxed, letting his head rest against the glass as he started to feel sleepy. It wasn’t too much blood loss, he unfortunately wasn’t going to die or anything, but he got tired as shit after those outbursts. Maybe when he woke up, Dream would be there, and he could stop slowly going mad in this prison made of gilded lies.

Or maybe he’d driven Dream away for good, and he’d die here with nothing but a fake doodle for company. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have deserved that fate.

[aro-throughyourchest]

Memorial

// A c!wilbur poem //

I think I left to find a detox but instead found something much more wrong with me.

I think I left to find a country and came back a worse man with a hole in my chest and a hole in the ground. (They didn’t bury me.)

I think when all the smoke cleared and all the dust settled and my body couldn’t rip itself from my skin or burn the world alive, I burned this failed state instead.

I don’t think it worked.

i begged to scrub myself from the world and be only remembered by my imprint

a star

a beacon

maybe anything, would satisfy. as long as they knew me.

President of L’Manberg, here he lays. Now with the world at his shows. Now he rests, survived by the memory of L’Manberg.

[ladyddanger]

Thinking about early L’Manberg . Thinking about how it seemed like a game at first, like a more exciting version of pretend. Thinking of that all being ripped away in the final Control room when the L’manberg soldiers watched their leader die in front of them.

[residenthesitant]

timeline shenanigans

alright so i realized that my whumptober prompts wind up skipping around the timeline a WHOLE lot so i think i should probably put an explanation of how that all goes on here!

TLDR: i see dsmp canon as being considerably longer than what we have in terms of IRL time. longer explanation under the cut

okay. so. lets talk timeline. my main dsmp canon timeline centers ctubbo and how old he is which. is kinda funny but also makes things hard to explain. so let’s try to figure this out. i also operate under the assumption that the world is filled with WAY more people than we see on stream, so keep that in mind.

5000+ years before DSMP: philza (32) dies. in her grief, trixtin (31) ascends to godhood and becomes Death, making philza her angel

1000+ years pre-DSMP: eret and foolish meet. at some point, eret dies, and foolish makes a deal with death so that they reincarnate.

~370 years pre-DSMP: eret is reincarnated as a royal

~200 years pre-DSMP: wither cult era. victorian england type vibes.

~100 years pre-DSMP: eret and foolish reunite on a train (link to a fic!)

now we get into the tubbo-centric stuff. this is how i understand the timeline which. rip. let’s see how we do with this. in terms of time, assume that like cctubbo, ctubbo’s birthday is in late december

4: tubbo is found on the side of the road by philza (5000+) and taken in

10.5: tommy (10) is found by wilbur (19-20) and taken in. elsewhere, the royal/greater SMP is founded

11: tommy (10.5), tubbo, and wilbur (20) go out into the world, meet eret (19), wind up in the territory known to us as the Dream SMP

11.5: l’manberg is founded, starts as a small commune of sorts, and people begin joining.

12.5: fundy is born, ages at a 7:1 ratio (by the time he is 1 full year old, he is the equivalent of a 7 yr old)

14: l’manberg declares independence, war begins

15: fundy’s aging slows down once he reaches adulthood (3 years of existing, equivalent to 21 human years)

16 (may/june): final control room and deal with dream happen. l’manberg gains independence

16.9 (like. november.): wilbur (26) decides to hold an election

17 (january): schlatt wins election shortly after tubbo’s 17th birthday. tommy (16.5) and wilbur (26) are exiled, form pogtopia

17.9 (december): manberg festival happens Weeks before tubbo’s 18th birthday.

18.4 (may/june): manberg vs pogtopia war. wilbur (26) names tubbo as interim president, blows up manberg city square as cleanup efforts begin, dies

18.5 (june/july): ranboo (18.7) moves to the DSMP

18.7 (october): interim president tubbo is named Real President amid chaos following wilbur’s death

19 (january): shortly after birthday, george’s house is burned down. investigation takes a month (start of february), and at the end, tommy is exiled.

19 (early early may): tommy (19) escapes exile; butcher army + techno’s execution happens. one day later, tubbo goes to visit tommy, discovers that he has “died”

19 (july): doomsday; stays in royal SMP territory for a while

19 (august): disc confrontation; dream is put in prison

20: sets out of the SMP with a number of l’manberg survivors and founds snowchester. nukes begin being built

21 (jan-april): gets married, adopts michael (3). tommy (20.9) is trapped in the prison, dies, is revived around march. nuke goes missing.

21 (may): red banquet happens

21 (june/july): wilbur (26, mentally 40) revived, las nevadas formed

22: invited to las nevadas

22 (march/april): burger arc

22 (july): prison break, ranboo (22.9) dies; revengers save michael (4.5)

edit/sidenote: ive got fics that divert from this bit specifically. within the king of kings timeline, michael is rescued from snowchester and brought to the castle, and stays there until after ranboo dies.

22 (september): wilbur apology tour

that’s as far as we have, so that’s what i’ve got in terms of timeline! hopefully this makes things make a little more sense when it comes to how much time is mentioned to have passed later on. some fun facts about this list: 1) wilbur is dead for five years instead of six months. the limbo time dilation stays the same though. 2) dream is in prison for just under two years.

okay that’s it. xoxoxo

[wilblersrevived]

Welcome to the rp blog ^^

This blog is run by an asexual minor, and is ENTIRE SFW!!! Any N$FW, K1nk or f3t1sh blogs & kn1smos DO NOT INTERACT!

BLOG INACTIVE: SUPPORT VICTIMS, NOT ABUSERS

last updated: 1/4/24, 5:47PM EST

Headcanons are to be added to this post as time goes on, as I do not have the attention span to do all of it at once.

I can do non tickle RP’s !!

Main blog: @strangleetomz

Headcanons under the cut

general hc’s🧨

if it doesn’t specify who the hc is for then it applies to all of them!

He/him pronouns, doesn’t mind they/them but ultimately prefers he/him.

He doesnt label his gender; “I am just me. That’s it.”

He tends to stay a pretty calm person, usually having a blank or cold expression on his face.

Revivedbur cannot go a damn day without a cigarette.

He burns his cigarettes out either on whatever clothes he’s wearing in the moment, or he drops it on the ground and stomps it out.

Revivedbur is naturally just a very cocky man. It’s like he’s always got something to boast about, teasing about being better in some way. He means it more lightheartedly, and tries to make it obvious but sometimes it isn’t as obvious as he thinks.

Hangs around with Tommy and Phil the most— Especially Tommy. But he’ll be around really anybody, he doesn’t care. As long as theres someone to cure his boredom.

Very clumsy.

He has such, such a soft spot for animals— Especially cats.

appearance hc’s💣

Revivedbur:

He’s always wearing that rediculously long dark brown coat, which is covered in cigarette burns. All of his clothing is, actually.

His wardrobe consists of the long brown coats, white button ups, yellow sweaters, black jeans, black ripped jeans, and he owns many pairs of boots, most of them with heels on which adds around two inches to his height. As if he’s not tall enough.

Without the boots, he is around 6’5 - 6’6. A very tall man.

Curly brown hair with a highly noticable white streak, which came with old age. His hair is somewhat messy & decently kept

He often goes quite a while without cutting his hair, making it extra fluffy & usually covers one of his eyes depending how he’s parted it. Yet somehow it never goes past his neck.

He has quite a lot of healed scars on him, which he doesn’t like to get into. He has around three on his face and quite a lot on his arms and hands, which there are multiple reasons for them.

He wears bandages on his arm, and one even on his upper arm on the outside of his coat. Every bandage has stained blood that had seeped through at one point— He never changed them because it “looks cool.”

L’manbur:

Always either in uniform or wearing a white button up paired with black dress pants and black boots, the same ones Revivedbur wears.

His wardrobe is literally just his uniform, white button ups, black dress pants and black boots.

More around 6’4 & a half in this time period. Still a tall fucker.

His hair is fluffy and curly, but it is more neat / well kept, trims his hair once every couple of months.

He smokes, but usually only when he is stressed out.. which is quite a lot, but he’s capable of going a few days or weeks without smoking.

Would rather die than ruin any clothes that aren’t his uniform.

He has some scratches around different parts of him, as he is a rather clumsy person he falls over a lot and there’s been multiple occasions he’d land in a bush.

He usually has a bandaid either on the top of his hand or around one or few of his fingers, he accidentally nicks himself on things quite frequently.

Pogbur:

Very messy and unkept hair, of course still fluffy. He uses a beanie to somewhat hide this.

A lot more scars on him, some healed some just scabbed.

This is where the brown coats come in.

He stopped wearing armor, sticking to his brown coats; He’s more loyal to the coats than he is to L’manberg. (/hj)

His wardrobe consists of, of course, the brown coats, white button ups, and he started wearing some of his old yellow sweaters again. He has black dress pants and black jeans, docs, and those same boots with the heel that added 2 inches to his height.

Very tired eyes, almost never slept. Dark circles & eyebags were quick to come.

He started smoking a lot more, like he can’t go a day without one.

A slight habit of drinking came in, as well.

He essentially looked twice his age.

More bandages on his forearms, underneath the coat.

C!Wilbur (Pre-L’manberg era, essentially everyones happy.)

Well-kept curly & fluffy hair, but he doesn’t mind it being messy occasionally.

Again, a clumsy man, he has some scratches and a few bruises from tripping or falling over.

Wardrobe consists of bright yellow sweaters, white button ups, black jeans & dress pants, docs, and black converse.

Some of his clothes have grass or dirt stains as he often gets into playful fights or chases with Tommy, sometimes Tubbo, which results in them tumbling to the ground and rolling around in the dirt. But they never care— It’s fun.

Hasn’t touched & “would never” touch a cigarette or any drug or alcoholic drink a day in his life.

Ghostbur

His hair is incredibly messy & there are a lot of blue streaks through it.

Since he always carries around blue, it gets on him a lot— His clothes have a lot of blue stains.

He only ever wears a light yellow sweater & dress pants paired with black docs. (I hc he can walk but chooses to float like 95% of the time)

His eyes look kind of like a void. They’re kind of like a dark grey, and he doesn’t have pupils.

Streaks of blue go down his face from his eyes, presumably scars from crying (Hc that water / anything wet hurts or burns him. So crying isn’t really in his favor.)

He tends to usually stay a pretty damn happy guy— He only remembers the happy parts of his life. But sometimes somebody will remind him of a negative, which will visibly upset him.

His hands leave a stain of blue on whatever they touch, so if you see trails of blue you’d know it’s him.

When he’s by himself he tends to have somewhat of a worried expression on his face. When he’s not, he’s happy.

lee hc’s 🥀

Oh he is so cute.

But he’s hard to break. Like, so much to the point his friends all thought he just wasn’t ticklish at all. But then a certain little blonde gremlin child caught him by surprise—

But still it’s difficult to break him. If you wanna break him, you gotta go for the spot where his upper ribs meet his back. Sometimes the spot just above his hips work. Sometimes.

Only Tommy, Techno, Phil & Quackity know how to get him to break. He hates that Quackity knows.

And once he does break he is just SO damn ADORABLE.

Like his hyena laugh. His high pitched giggles. He’ll be red in the face with the widest of smiles; Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever heard of?

He holds onto the ler’s wrists but doesn’t exactly move them away. He’s never too sure what to do with his hands…

…So to solve this problem, pin his arms up above his head! Then he won’t have anything to do with his hands! 😁👍

He bucks his hips around quite a lot if you’re using rough / playful tickles, so just be careful.

He’s also quite the kicker.

But with gentle tickles.. It’s like he’s 10x more adorable.

He’ll practically melt, bursting into soft giggles and barely even twitching.

He gets so flustered— Because why does it tickle so badly, when barely anything is being done?

He hides his face in his hoodie, because he is just so, damn embarrased.

Embarrased because it tickles so much, and because he just so visibly enjoys it.

His smile is so genuine when he recieves gentle tickles. It’ll melt anybody’s heart.

He can NOT take what he dishes out.

Tickle monster tease kills him. He tries to act like it doesn’t affect him but it does.

He gets incredibly shy when it comes to tickles. Even Revivedbur & Pogbur— You’ll see a side of them you never thought you’d see. A shy, giggly & blushy mess.

Revivedbur is unintentionally provocative. He is just naturally a dick, always with his snarky comments.

C!Wilbur, Pogbur, and Ghostbur are all lee leaning. Especially Ghostbur. C!Wilbur is honestly just silly and giggly, Pogbur gets incredibly embarrassed and Ghostbur is the most shy motherfucker you’ll ever see/hj.

ler hc’s 🚬

RIP.

He is the MEANEST ler you will ever come across.

He tends to immediately wreck anyone who even tries to tickle him.

He also put’s on the tickle monster role quite a lot. He loves to play this big silly “monster” that likes to make people laugh^^ (He uses this with Tommy the most because he likes to be an evil big brother./j)

He is so teasy. Yet so damn playful at the same time.

He loves to hover his fingers over his lee’s worst spot, wiggling his fingers and watching as they squirm and giggle in anticipation. It’s so hilarious to him, he can’t help but laugh a little himself.

He points out the lee’s reactions. Even better worse, he points out when they’re not doing much or anything to make him stop.

He is a very sweet ler as well, though. He won’t do anything to cross a boundary, and admist his teasing he does check up on the lee and makes sure to give breaks.

He of course gives after care; He’ll get his lee water or a snack if they want, or if they simply just want to cuddle, he’ll do that. Anything to make sure that the lee is comfortable and feels safe & happy.

L’manbur & Revivedbur are ler leaning. L’manbur is more playful, Revivedbur is more teasy.

spot hc’s 💥

these apply to every bursona i’ll rp as!!

Worst spots

These are the spots that will have him screaming, thrashing, kicking, and will produce the hyena laughter ^^

Ribs: !!!!!/10. This is his WORST spot. Especially his upper ribs & back set of ribs. He will be screaming, and if his hands are free he will have a near death grip on either your wrists or forearms. He twists and turns quite a lot with this spot, a weak attempt at evading the tickles despite not wanting to.

Hips: !!!/10. This is a really reallllyyyy bad spot. Honestly it will get the same reactions as his ribs, except he’ll also be bucking his hips a lot more. Raspberries & nibbles work very, very well here.

Knees: 100/10. He doesn’t know why. But this spot is insanely bad for him. He will kick like a madman so you should probably like sit on his shins or something because he will somehow manage to knock you in the face. It’ll be an accident, but he’ll do it.

Sides: 10/10. If you so much as squeeze this man’s sides once he will shriek, and if he’s standing he’ll collapse to the floor. He squirms a lot with this spot being tickled, very loud hyena laughter will break out. Gentle tickles here (ex; dragging your nails up and down his sides) will have him reallyyyy giggly and flustered.

Decently bad spots but not horrible

These spots will have him squirming & laughing or giggling loudly, maybe the occasional shriek depending how you do it.

Back: 9.5/10. This is damn near a worst spot but the fact that it can also be a melt spot stops that from happening. If you’re gently dragging your nails on his back, whether with the intent of tickling him or not, he’ll arch his back and giggle pretty loudly. If you blow a raspberry in the dead center on his spine, he will shriek at the top of his lungs. And, for revivedbur, the scar on his back that he got from Phil stabbing him is INSANELY ticklish. Light traces or gentle tickles on the scar will kill him. Raspberries on the scar will have him shrieking.

Underarms: 9.5/10. This spot is just as bad as his back. If you tickle here, or really so much as make it look like you’re gonna tickle him here, his arms will be tightly pressed against his sides in milliseconds.

Tummy: 9/10. For this spot it really depends but ultimately it is a bad spot. If you use gentle tickles here it’s just a melt spot but literally anything else, the hyena laugh will return! Tickly kisses/p here fluster him pretty badly. And, again for revivedbur, the scar is incredibly ticklish. Same things apply to the one on his back— They come from the same thing. Being stabbed by Phil.

Thighs: 9/10. He’s really not too big of a fan of being tickled here but he won’t stop you if you do decide to go here. Definitely gonna produce some loud laughter & some kicking.

Melt / giggle spots ^^

These spots will either make him melt or just make him incredibly giggly. Or both. :D

Shoulders: 8.9/10. He gets really giggly from this spot, it’s adorable. And he literally cannot evade the tickles here. Ever. Eventually he does melt but it’ll take a few miniutes. Raspberries on this spot will make him shriek.

Ears: 8.7/10. He honestly didn’t even know he was ticklish here, he was pretty damn surprised when he found out. Given his height, this spot usually isn’t targeted. He gets very giggly from this, and his shoulders will scrunch up. Raspberries or nibbles here will make him squeal. Tickly kisses/p will make his ears go red and his giggles will become more high pitched than they already were.

Neck: 8.5/10. At first, he’ll tense up & scrunch his shoulders, but after a miniute or so he’ll relax. Nibbles or raspberries here will make him shriek. Tickly kisses/p here get him incredibly giggly, and he loves hates when people shower him with tickly kisses on his neck.

Hands: 8/10. This spot will make him melt INSTANTLY. He becomes really, really giggly and just instantly melts against whatever surface he’s on. It’s absolutely adorable; He get’s so flustered and just stops fighting back completely.

Arms: 8/10. Same thing as his hands. ^^

[hopalongfairywren]

Whumptober2022- Burn him down

Jack Manifold was a dead man. He was dead as soon as Wilbur shot him in the chest, as soon as Tommy pushed him into the lava, and as soon as Technoblade slashed open his throat open, leaving him to choke on his own blood on the damp ground while vicious dogs tore at his body, and he let out his last gurgling pleas for help from somebody, anybody.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering. Quite the contrary actually. Every part of him was on fire. Jack screamed in agony, raking his fingers along sulphuric rock until his nails bled. He twisted and shuddered in agony. Everything was on fire.

He’d stumble around blindly, try to throw himself onto the equally hot floor of this hell, only to unsuccessfully snuff out the flames. Everything was on fire.

Jack quickly learned screaming wouldn’t get him any help. He was completely alone as far as he could tell, and Jack couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad thing. Probably good, he wasn’t sure he could stand the smell of burned flesh enough as it is, or was because he’s dead and in hell. At least that’s the only thing that makes sense. Everything was still on fire.

What he had done to deserve an afterlife like this, Jack didn’t know. Then again, his life was far from fair, so he supposed the afterlife wasn’t any different. How utterly stupid and naive of him, to assume the universe was not a cruel place? As a child Jack had been told that only evil people were in hell, those who deserved to burn for their sins. But Jack never blew up L’manberg, or ran a dictatorship, or nearly caused a war.

“What a strange, strange world we live in,” he thought. “Where the good are damned and the wicked forgiven.”

Strange indeed, how Tommy was seen as a hero, or a victim to pity, when Jack had suffered too. But he was pushed aside, ignored. Laughed at even. Tommy didn’t even take his death seriously! No, Jack wasn’t worse, Tommy was.

But that didn’t mean Jack couldn’t try. He’d get out of here somehow, some way.

His skin bubbles, it's so hot, and by now Jack’s throat is raw from screaming. At least now he had grown a little acclimated to the pain, the stinging he felt on his scalp from ripping out chunks of hair didn’t bother him.

What bothered him was how little people cared. They had thrown away his lives so carelessly, pushed him aside, ignored and forgot him. He wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t have a proper gravestone, at least one that hadn’t been destroyed already by the inhabitants of that wretched server.

But his second death, the one Tommy caused, was the one Jack dwelled on. The agonizing minute he was alive, boiling in the lava Tommy had pushed him into, felt akin to this. So was the universe trying to punish him? Tell him something?

Time passed. Jack had almost gotten used to the horrifying monotony of his existence.

Fuck Tommy. That thought came to Jack one day (could he even call it a day? He was in hell after all) while he was curled up in a slightly cooler spot on the floor, too tired to scream anymore, but unable to sleep. Those two things were really the only thing he could do here. That, and self reflection.

And the more Jack reflected, as his skin was seared from his body and he caught glimpses of his fire-blackened bones, the more hatred began to grow in him. At first it was a simple flame, but the more he burned, the more it burned. It turned into an all consuming hatred, boiling fury, an inferno of seething anger. Sure, Wilbur and Techno killed him. But Tommy burned him. He pushed him into the fire. He made Jack suffer. And for what? Trying to be a friend? Wilbur was a corrupt leader and Technoblade was a bloodthirsty anarchist.

But Tommy was Jack’s friend. They had fought together, lived together, joked and laughed with each other. That meant nothing to him, when he pushed Jack into the fire.

All Jack could smell was sulfur, and his mouth was thick with burning ash, and this was because he made the foolish mistake of trusting Tommy. It burned him. It burned until it consumed Jack, until all that he could think of was the agony and the hatred. His brain smoked, and still he was burning with hatred.

Hatred consumed every fiber of his being. From one hellish period of lucidity to another. From one mindless boiling stupor to the next.

So imagine his surprise when Jack awoke for the first time, in the bitter cold of Snowchester. The anger in his bones turned to malice. Ice cold, and patient.

He trekked down the snowy tundra, letting the steam come off his body, as he felt the crisp winter air for the first time in months

And he knew then, brushing the snow off of his undead body, right then, he promised to himself that Wilbur would pay. Technoblade and Dream would pay. They would all be consumed by the same fire as Jack. He wouldn’t rest until they did.

But most importantly, Tommy would fucking burn.

He’d smell the sulfur. His skin would melt off his body. His brain would fry. And what better way to accomplish that than by using the nukes Tubbo had built? After all, Tubbo was nice. Trusting. Unlike Tommy, he wouldn’t suspect a thing. And that was where Niki Nihachu came in.

Niki and him may not have seen eye-to-eye on every issue before, but they both shared that same fire burning inside of them. Both of their anger started as a small spark, and were fanned by everyone around them.

The smoking remains of L’mantree was a testament to that. The visions he had of Tommy burning was a testament to that. If Jack’s life was misery, and his death was pure anguish, what was stopping Jack from being worse?

[missycolorful]

🏳️‍🌈 - Give your thoughts on the Dream SMP's portrayal of queer/LGBT+ identity.

What a fun question, because beforehand, I hadn't really had much to say about the queer stuff in the DSMP. But that's a good thing, because I think that stems from how normal it is on the server.

Like, let's think about it: Most romantic relationships on the server are queer: the fiancés, Niki and Puffy, Sam and Ponk, and depending on how you view them, Tntduo and Beeduo--this isn't even including the brief flings other characters have had with one another. Heteros are basically in the minority. There is a conglomerate of characters who go by different pronouns and/or genders (Aimsey, Eret, Ponk, Punz, et cetra). The queerness is so integrated into this world. In every narrative perspective, at that!

While not every single person who has a queer character has the same sexuality/gender/pronouns as their character, I heartily accept these streamers playing into a spectrum they don’t fall into. Not only to explore different, spicy dynamics, but also for the sake of, as I said, creating a world that makes it so normal. Because even in modern day, we're not quite there yet.

But with this total normalization, there comes a caveat, but what I find to be a good caveat. It’s that the queer relationships are ones that are flawed and broken. That these people are people who do bad things, even to each other. That their relationship might not end up with a fairy tale ending. Literally every single one is/has been severely damaged at some point. Now, of course, so many friend-/familial relationships are complicated in the server, as well. But that's what makes it so good: they're not afraid to make queer couples shitty.

A good amount of queer rep in other media, specifically for younger audiences--because a big portion of the Dream SMP's viewship is teenagers (though some more adult media can be like this, too)-- prefers to give gays characters happy endings. Mostly in modern day, they’ll give gay characters flaws but still make them good guys (look at all those queer coded Disney villains in the olden days i.e. the Renaissance Era. Though they were THE BEST!!). Bury Your Gays is our beloathed. You won't see a lot of family media have queer relationships that break off permanently or be abusive/toxic or anything too negative, especially so when it's at the forefront of the story. This all gives you an idea of how we anticipate queer media to be presented in the modern era.

But the Dream SMP flips that whole idea upside down. The Fiancés had a good relationship that fell apart due to strained dynamics between one another, especially with Quackity obsessing with revenge and power. Sam literally ripped off Ponk’s arm. Tntduo... whatever the fuck’s going on there. Even the one canon wlw relationship in the server is strained due to their different stances on L’manberg, et cetra (I don’t think they ever reconciled? I don’t recall). We are watching them fall apart before our very eyes, because with these moments, they are the main characters! And none of these couples are happy. They’re all pretty fucked up.

And I fucking love that. It highlights that even queer rep can have couples that aren’t just complicated, but damaged to an irreparable degree. It makes them feel even more normalized, by recognizing that any couple can be miserable or fucked up. Having young people witness that dating your fellow gay won't be all rainbows and sunshine, and in fact it can even be heartbreaking or even toxic, is something I think young people need to see more.

[faebriel]

Spring president schlatt wearing rain boots with his suit. But the boots aren’t muddy (something something mud=l’manberg=community) Spring president schlatt who refuses to wear a rain coat so he carries around this big umbrella. (he makes someone hold it for him when he’s making speeches)

ohhh he's just so pressed and clean - and he insists on the rest of the cabinet looking the same way when quackity wants to really get his hands dirty shaping the country, when fundy and tubbo should be running around playing with worms in the mud with jack and tommy and niki. too artificial and shiny against the blooming flowers of l'manberg, ripped out from the roots. he's always making quackity stand off to the side holding that stupid ass umbrella. he holds it for another person exactly once and that is tubbo's speech at the festival right before he gets boxed up in concrete and blown to pieces