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lildevyl · 8 months

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FebuWhump Day 11: Time Loop

DAY 11: Time Loop

Summary: Time Keeper has seen the devastation the Syndicate caused. L’Manburg is nothing but a crater. If only he had gotten there sooner! If only he could have saved him! If only there was a way to prevent this from happening.

TW: Mention of a Major Character Death. Don't worry! The Character doesn't stay dead!

A/N: Okay, more of a Time Travel than a Time Loop but I had this idea stuck in my head for weeks now! Still trying to figure out the chapters for Tommy Innit's Secret Clinic but don't worry! Once I start writing again, updates will be coming!

Thank You all for your Understanding and Patience!

(L’Manburg in the Future)

Time Keeper stood there feeling numb. The destruction of L’Manburg all around him, Siren laughing maniacally commanding all the officers and riot squads to turn on each other. Erinyes the “Blood God” has taken on a Blood Lust like no other and began taking on any Hero or Vigilante down with his sword and blood energy. Orcus was no better, the once well-known Hero Archangel has now become the Angel of Death. Blacking the skies and having his crows swoop down and attack civilians and killing anyone who dared challenge him to a duel.

Time Keeper stood on top of what was left of the once pristine building that was known throughout as Hero Tower, looking out at L’Manburg, now L’Mancrator or the “Pit” the Blood God called it. When the Syndicate lost their youngest family member Theseus, they all lost it. Finally snapped. If the Heroes refused to honor the Honor Code and have no problem in getting away with murder. Then the Syndicate will have no problem in doing the same.

The only difference was the Syndicate had no problem in going out into Egopocalpse to gain even more power. Egopocalpse, the Alternate Universe where they all live from the Real World of their Creators. Yes, everyone here knows that they are “Characters,” “Alter Egos,” of their Creators. That is when their Creator and the Community behind them stop making content, whether it is Fan Art, Fan Fiction, Cosplays, Theories, Videos, Clips, Songs, Fan Games, or anything else on Social Media or other Platforms. Then they, the Characters, would “Fade.” But some Characters/Egos, like Darkiplier or AntiSepticeye, hate the idea that one day they will fade. So, they try to take over to keep that from happening.

However, grief can do a lot to someone. Even though they all know that one day they will fade from this world, just the mere fact of losing someone you love can be devastating. The Syndicate, desperate to bring their youngest son/brother back, ventured out into Egopocalpse seeking the most powerful Egos they could find. Phantom and Darkiplier were unable to bring Theseus back, his soul had already moved on to the Other Side and it wouldn’t be the same Theseus if they took a different one from another Multiverse. But what they could do, however, was to give them each a power like no other.

Siren could command anyone and there would be no limit to the amount of people, and the command would stay even if he left. But he had to be careful because he could accidentally hurt someone he loved. He didn’t need to sing for them to be under his control and he would have complete control of anyone who could hear him, even if they covered their ears. The price was a piece of Siren’s sanity.

Erinyes could cut through any building and slice through anyone with an energy wave and nothing would be able to contain him. The price would be his blood lust. The more blood that was spilled the stronger he became to the point of Demigod power and used that energy of the spilled blood to take down anyone who dared to face him. No Hero or Vigilante would be able to stop him. Pandora’s Box would never be able to hold him.

Orcus, the once beloved Hero known as the Archangel. The Guardian Angel of L’Manburg, with the power of Air Bending and Wind, had become the Angel of Death. He now has the Power of Death. Able to kill a single person just by touching them and being able to bring that person back as a Zombie completely under his control. The price was his remorse and empathy. Orcus would feel no remorse, no empathy, no guilt for anyone, not even his own family. He’ll still feel love and pride but cannot feel or show any guilt for what he’s done, said, or planned to do even if it cost them dearly.

They all said yes and days after Theseus’s Funeral, they destroyed the one thing that the Hero who killed Theseus loved more than anything else, the City the Hero had sworn to protect. Killing Millions of innocent lives in their wake. And the Syndicate true to their word did exactly that. They planned over five tons of TNT all over the City and detonated it. Leaving L’Manburg as nothing more than the Crater.

“Hehehehahahahaha! L’Manburg! You’re L’Manburg Dream! An Unfinished Symphony forever unfinished!” Siren called laughing hysterically at the destruction he caused.

“Thought I might find you here,” a voice said right next to Time Keeper, making the Hero nearly jump out of his skin.

Time Keeper turned around and was face to face with one of the Egos who was responsible for all of this, Phantom.

“What do you want?!” Time Keeper demanded.

“I can help,” Phantom said, looking at the L’Mancrater with an unreadable expression. He turned to Time Keeper. “You called, I heard, I can help.”

“Why? Why do you want to help? Why should I believe you? You’re the reason this even happened!” Time Keep lost his composure and lost it. Why now? Why does Phantom want to help now?! He was the reason this all happened. He was the one who offered the deal to the Syndicate in the first place! All he wants is Chaos and Destruction so why help?

“I’m not the one who caused all this, Time Keeper. The Hero named Dream who killed Theseus was responsible for all this! If he didn’t kill the Healer, the one who told Dream that ‘Healers don’t play God, they don’t choose who lives or who dies. And you, being a Hero, should know that!”

It was weird hearing Theseus’s exact words and cadence come from Phantom. “And what did Dream do? He’s the one who played God and lost. He killed the youngest member of the Syndicate and did it on live television when the Hero Committee couldn’t pay their way out to the News Networkers and he got caught.”

Time Keeper stayed silent. He knew. He knew there was corruption in the Hero Committee but he just kept turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to it all. Wanting to live in that ignorant life of not knowing. Believing that the Heroes weren’t killing someone unless they had to. But after Dream killed Theseus, it’s still unknown even now if it was an actual accident or if Dream did it intentionally.

Time Keeper still remembers Dream begging him to go back in time and stop him from doing this. To save Theseus! The mantra of I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t I didn’t! I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean! Bring him back, bring him back, bring him back! Kept repeating in Time Keepers mind. He was able to go back in time but not to the exact spot where he was. He goes back in time and knows what happened those minutes/hours ago before he traveled. But Time Keeper would wind up where he was before the situation happened and then has to get there in time to stop whatever happened. But he couldn’t. Time Keeper no matter how often he traveled just could never make it there in time.

When the Syndicate saw what happened Erinyes went right after Dream, determined to kill him on the spot. Siren was sobbing and cradling his baby brother. He looked at the Heroes, ripping his mask off showing everyone who was under there.

“Are you happy?! Are you finally satisfied that you finally killed a member of us? You killed a child! He just turned twenty-one! He didn’t do anything but fucking heal you all! He healed Vigilantes, Heroes, and yes us Villains. Because Healers don’t play God! Unlike you who have no problem in sending children as soldiers! Having Orphans and the ones in Foster Care on the front lines just so you can sit in your Penthouse Suites! What did he do to deserve this?!” Siren demanded.

“Do you finally believe us?! When we kept telling you what the Hero Committee was up to? That they are Corrupt? That they don’t give a shit? That they will silence anyone who tries to tell the truth about them experimenting on Hybrids just to make Heroes to control and Villains to show that the world needs Heroes? Do you finally see what they are?”

No one said a word. Too shocked by Siren’s outburst and the fact that everyone was seeing his face for the first time. But the shock soon worn off with the next thing that Siren said.

“Hehehehahahah! You all will pay! We will get our revenge and the one thing you treasured and loved more than anything in the world will be destroyed and it will never be able to bring it back. It’s all your fault Dream!”

Then Siren bent down and grabbed Theseus, scooped him up in his arms, and gave him to Orcus. Then he ran and lept off the building.

“I suppose you’re right,” Time Keeper said, coming back to reality. “But what can you do to help?”

“I can send you back. I know you keep blaming yourself for never being able to save Theseus. It’ll be before all of this happens. Years before, when the seeds were planted and Dream began to go down that path. You can save two people. Dream from losing himself and going to the Darkside and you can save Theseus from dying.” Phantom offered.

“How much time will I have to relay the message?”

“Not long. You can only go back hours in the same timeline but if I do this you will only have minutes to relay the message. You can warn someone, but I can’t guarantee who you will see. But if you want to warn the Syndicate then you better warn yourself as well. I can send you and one other person back momentarily. But we have to be careful. Creating that kind of Time Rift can and will have a lot of consequences.”

“What’s the price?”

“Your memory. You will start to lose your memories the more you travel back or forward in time, more than a few minutes.”

“What about my past self? Would there be consequences for him?”

“He will start to lose his memory too. Slowly, but it won’t be that bad. And you will be seeing parts of the future the minute you cross paths with Theseus and the member of the Syndicate you choose to go back to warn you. But I must warn you if you say yes, then your time-traveling abilities will get a jumpstart and you will become very powerful. Demigod powerful. And if your past self finds a way like your future self has. There will be a way for you two to talk in a Time Rift but only briefly.”

“What do I have to do?”

(Manifold Hotel)

Jack let out an exasperated sigh when he returned to the back of the bar in the hotel. It was nights like these that Jack contemplated his life choices. His Granddad left him, the hotel, and at the time, Jack was overjoyed! Jack loved the hotel business and always imagined himself taking over one day. But at this moment with hundreds if not thousands of fans for this “wonderful” Meet N’ Greet with the Heroes. Jack was seriously starting to see why his parents decided to duck out of the business. The “Karens,” Jack could handle but these obsessive fans over their favorite Heroes? Good Primes above!

“Yo, Casey! We need another round of your famous Chocolate Chip Brownies and another round of Punch! The fountains are getting low!” Jack called out to the Kitchen as he made his way to the back to restock the Buffet. “Casey! Did you hear me? Casey?”

When Jack looked up from his tray, his mouth hit the floor. Everyone in the Kitchen was frozen. It looked as if they became wax statues with how still everyone was standing. But what caught Jack’s attention the most was the water from the faucet froze as well. It was still water, but it didn’t move, it didn’t make a sound. Then, to Jack's utter surprise colors burst out from the corner warping everything around it, and the sound of energy crackling through the air was heard. And Jack felt a power like no other run up his spine.

The person who stepped out of the “Warp” was the last person Jack had ever expected to see. Time Keeper. Time Keeper was standing in front of Jack but he looked completely different. Time Keeper’s hair was a lot longer, nearly shoulder length, and several scars littered across his face and chest. Gone was Time Keeper’s trademark colorful hoodie, replaced by a dark Steampunk coat and shirt with Time Keeper’s trademark swirl. Time Keeper’s goggles were also different, purple and teal lenses, high tech too. But what caught Jack off guard was that one of the Time Keeper’s hands was a mechanical hand.

“Time Keeper?” Jack asked barely above a whisper.

“Boreas,” Time Keeper greeted with a nod. “Oh, wait, you don’t go by that right now. You go by? Frostbite right?”

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about Time Keeper,” Jack said, perplexed that a Hero knew his Villain Identity.

“I don’t have a lot of time, Boreas, but I need your help,” Time Keeper said with authority. Time Keeper then handed Jack/Boreas a small journal. “The future, the one I just came from, is bleak. Save him! Save the Healer! The future you went to warn my past self since I can’t do that. Hopefully, the both of you will prevent L’Manburg from being a Crater.”

“What happened?”

“The Healer died, and the Syndicate went mad with grief of losing their family member. Help him! Help my past self save the Healer as I couldn’t in the future. Maybe now, with the Time Rift, we change that.” Time Keeper said.

“Wait! Time Keeper! Save who?!” Jack demanded. And then he went after Time Keeper who stepped back into the Warp again. “Time Keeper!” Jack shouted and rushed through the double doors. Finding himself in a hallway full of guests looking at him.

Jack ignored them and tried to find Time Keeper but he was nowhere to be found. Jack then looked down at the journal that Time Keeper gave him and opened it. He froze upon seeing the picture that was in the journal. Oh no! No, no, no, no! Not the kid! The kid’s the Healer that they’re supposed to save. Jack didn’t realize that his hands were shaking and he never heard Casey calling his name several times trying to get his attention.

Jack slammed the book shut, shoved it in his pocket, whipped out his phone called the first person he could think of, and ran towards his room.

“Phil! Emergency Meeting! Tonight! ASAP!”

*****

@febuwhump, @weirdmixofweirdness, @a-humble-narcissus, @m4delin, @dezzydynamite, @isa-ghost, @ashedflower, @fangirltothefullest, @juju-on-that-yeet

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 11 #timpe loop #tommy innit's secret clinic #healer tommy #villain techno #villain wilbur #hero karl jacobs #time keeper #villain jack manifold #ficlet #tw mention of character death

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moobloom-mention · 1 year

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TommyInnit's First-Hand Guide on How to Say Goodbye

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Summary: The answer? You don't.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of death. Death. Grief. Violence. Alcoholism.

Word Count: 6021 words

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Out of all the inconveniences that could possibly arise being out on patrol, dealing with ambling crackheads had to be the worst.

Don't get him wrong, wondering the streets of New York is bound to expose a handful of drug-addicts, but holy Prime, it was as though someone had sprinkled cocaine around town.

Considering how low the temperature had dipped- which made sense, it was December -it was surprisingly to see so many addicts walking down the poorly paved streets instead of huddled along a lit fire.

Even Robert- the meth head Tommy had adopted 30 minutes ago -looks tired of it.

At least, he seems to be as far as the vigilante can tell. Sure, it's a little difficult to make out the short fellow's expression from atop a 6-story building, but Tommy doesn't mind squinting.

So long as Robert doesn't keel over and die, it's safe to say Tommy's found his patrol-buddy for the night.

A shrill noise from the vigilante's left ear slaps his focus away from Robert, fingers instinctively reaching to readjust his earpiece. He finds himself leaning against a vent atop the roof as he does so- what can he say? You stick around America for so long, you put up their tendency to lean.

It takes a well-aimed swat to the device for the shriek to grow quiet, making way for the continuous smack of gummy-worms being chewed.

"I'm just sayin'," Purpled's crackled voice pipes up from the earpiece. "If people truly cared about the environment, they wouldn't be consuming Trolli products."

Another gummy-worm is audibly popped within his best friend's mouth.

"Isn't Trolli's biggest product gummy-worms?"

"And?" Purpled snarks, unphased. "If I cared about the environment, I would've stopped making you earpieces after the back-up pair got destroyed."

Tommy playful banter dies on his tongue as his earpiece shrieks once more, words fumbling into a discontent grumble. He's painstakingly aware that the noise isn't some odd design flaw- it's intentionally, and it's his punishment.

He should've been suspicious the moment he'd pleaded for another earpiece and instead of the usual rant about being more careful, Purpled had given him a pat on the back and a genuine, "It's all good, Tommy."

"You don't see heroes struggling with getting a new fuckin' earpiece," Tommy grunts out.

"Yeah, maybe because those heroes don't go through twenty of them in the span of a month."

Tommy can't hide his abashed smile.

Alas, what can he say? The life of a vigilante is a dangerous one and earpieces were bound to get destroyed here and there.

…but maybe twenty is excessive.

"Anyway," Purpled excuses, shockingly eager to move on from the opportunity to taunt Tommy. "How's your buddy Robert doing?"

Tommy opens an eye to glance toward the streets below, scanning the lot for a dark green scarf. It's easy to pick Robert out, the man having hobbled into an alleyway between a condemned building and another working building that should've been condemned a decade ago.

"He's found himself a nice alley," the vigilante hums, disappointment striking his heart as he watches Robert nestle himself down for the night. "Seems our big-man won't be meeting his dealers tonight."

"Rough," Purpled sighs, the crumpling of a bag echoing through the speaker. "Guess it's one of those nights, huh?"

Tommy hums noncommittally. The streets are far too active for something to not happen, even if it's as simple as two addicts duking it out in the streets.

"You better hope somethin' happens," the vigilante begins, certain Purpled can hear the grin in his voice. "My dogs are itching to pick a fight."

"I swear to Prime, if your feet come anywhere near me you're getting scratched off the shipment list."

"Aw, c'mon. They aren't that bad."

"Mhm, tell that to the fungus culture growing inside your shoe," Purpled laughs.

How rude.

"My shoe does not host some shitty fungus culture! For your in-for-mat-ion, it's a-"

There's a flicker of movement from the street below.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have given it much of a thought. Crackheads were roaming the sidewalks left and right- the appearance of another silhouette is barely enough to gather his attention.

The only issue is the fact that there's nobody for the shadow to be imitating.

He faintly registers Purpled's concerned "Tommy?"

"Sorry, I just-"

The silhouette- no, he pauses, the silhouettes begin a steady pace forward.

"Something's going on?" is all the vigilante manages to sputter.

Static crackles through the earpiece.

"Wow, thank you for clarifying. I really got the picture," comes the dry response.

Tommy's mouth instinctively opens to hash out an insult, throat tightening as he watches the pair of silhouettes shuffle along the dimly-lit streets.

They seem to have a location in mind, beelining toward an old bar with a flickering "Open!" sign peering through the windows. It's a wonder how OSHA hasn't put a stop to the business already.

Two silhouettes disappear within the bar.

Prime, it sounds like a joke Phil would try to pull off.

Tommy jumps as the earpiece shrieks again.

"Tommy! For fuck's sake if I have to come get you-"

"Sorry, sorry," the vigilante rushes, unapologetic. "I just thought I saw somethin' weird."

"Goddamnit-" is the only word Tommy manages to catch before more curses pour through the device. Years of practice enables him to tune his best friend's anger out for the most part, eyes staring intently at the bar. The silhouettes don't bother to reappear- Prime knows the shit he's about to get himself into.

"Hey," Tommy interjects, Purpled's rant stilling at an instant. "I think I'm going to finish my patrol up and then head back, yeah? I guess it is one of those nights."

An irritated sigh crackles through. "Fine. Just-"

Tommy doesn't wait to sprint for the edge of the building, grasping the roof's edge as he lunges for a nearby pipeline connecting the complex to the ground.

At least, that'd been the plan.

His grip on the building disappears just in time for Purpled's, "-don't be an idiot. Wilbur would-" to crackle through, startling the vigilante as the sudden feeling of weightlessness and howl of wind greets him.

Fuck-!

Tommy reaches for his power and yanks.

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

There's a flash of light and Tommy finds himself once again perched atop the apartment building, as though he hadn't just embarrassed himself to the Universe.

"-don't be an idiot," Purpled scolds, "Wilbur would kill me."

"...you got it, boss-man."

On second thought, maybe he'll take the stairs for this one.

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

Don't get him wrong, Tommy is far from the description of "saint". He's broken more than enough bones in his life- bones of other pricks, thank you, Wilbur might call him clumsy but he's not that clumsy -to know he's not going to heaven.

Sometimes illegal crimes have to be retaliated against with more illegal shit. It's just the way life goes.

But even in spite of his ongoing quest to complete his extensive bucket list of morally-excusable crimes, he'd never once stepped foot within a bar.

That sure as hell doesn't stop him from realizing that this...restaurant isn't much of a bar in the first place. "Sorry Excuse for a Shack(c)" would make a much better name, with elegant dining options like rotting carpet and an old granite countertop Tommy prays patrons aren't expected to drink at.

In spite of the neon "OPEN" sign hanging in the window, there isn't even a bartender slouched behind the bar in wait for customers.

It's just him, the stale smell of piss, and two very well-dressed gentlemen with nice looking hair.

At least, it looks nice from an aerial view.

Tommy's grasp on the beloved ceiling joist- isn't that just the funniest word, joist -he'd chosen to hide atop tightens, thanking Prime he hadn't worn his fiery red uniform out for patrol. As much as he can appreciate shining like a disco ball, the bright outfit had never been ideal for Tommy's iconic impulsive stealth-missions.

He forces himself to lean forward in spite of the beam's groan, taking note of the semi-queasy look on the taller man's face. His far shorter partner doesn't bare the same expression, looking more irritated than anything.

"We're finding a better form of transportation," Big Guy demands, a hand pressing at his temple.

"What, did you want to take the bus?" Shorty asks, voice clipped in spite of his mild amusement. "Besides, it's just like a hangover. You should be used to those by now."

Damn, not cool Shorty.

As if in total agreement, Big Guy- oh fuck this, he might as well be Wil's best mate if he's a drinker -settles a scalding glare atop Shorty's head, who in turn pretends not to notice.

Tommy's not sure if he should feel creeped out or curious at how closely they resemble Tommy's own dynamic with Purpled.

"It's shocking you've lived this long," Purpled's voice parrots within his mind.

Wil's Mate and Shorty are acquaintances friends (?).

Shorty:

- Can turn into a shadow and/or travel by them

- > Feels like a hangover

- Does NOT like buses

- > To be explored.

Wil's Mate:

- Devastating death-glares

- Alcoholic (L)

- Possibly linked to Wilbur (??)

A soft clink of glass draws Tommy back to the scene in front of him, Wil's Mate fiddling with a stray glass that Tommy is sure is meant to be a beer stein.

His eyebrows furrow as the glass slides down the old counter and off the edge, the bar's carpet doing little to cushion the crash of broken glass.

"I'd rather you not destroy the place," Shorty comments, very-much sounding unfazed.

"Oh please," Wil's Mate grins. "If Charlie gets worked up about it, I'll buy this shithole from him."

Fuck yeah, a new player enters the game.

Charlie:

- Owns bar

- > Kinda sucks at it, ngl

- Definitely should be looked into

Wil's Mate [REVISITED]:

- Rich.

Damn, call him Velma because he is crushing this mystery.

Tommy barely makes out the lift in Shorty's eyebrows.

"Yeah? What makes you think he'll take your offer?"

Wil's Mate only laughs, deep and hearty. "Anyone with common sense would take twenty bucks and then thank me for taking this place off their hands."

"Uh-huh."

This guy's a real convincer, isn't he?

It's only then that the conversation below grows quiet, voices prey beneath the clinking of alcoholic beverages being rummaged through.

Tommy leans forward yet again, straining to hear the actual conversation taking place.

A loud groan is the only warning he receives before the wooden joist beneath him splits, sending the teenager tumbling a good ten feet to the ground.

Tommy's lungs spasm as his back greets the molding carpet, a hand flying to instinctively still his spinning vision.

He blinks just in time to stare at the shocked expressions of both Shorty and Wil's Mate.

Holy shit, Wil's Mate should not be that tall.

But it's the sheer anger radiating off Shorty that shrieks of imminent danger.

"O-Oh, would you look at that?" Tommy smiles weakly, grasping desperately for his power. "This isn't the bus stop."

Shorty lunges.

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

Tommy blinks away the blinding light from his vision, eyes wide as he stares down at the joist that'd failed him moments before. Wil's Mate and Shorty are still talking and rummaging through bottles as the vigilante carefully stands, desperately searching for a better spot to position himself.

Charlie [REVISITED]:

- Has unreliable support joists in his bar. Seriously, how the fuck is this place still running?

Shorty [REVISITED]:

- DEFINITELY does NOT like buses.

- > Do NOT explore

Only a hop away stands another joist, one directly connected to a pillar rooted at the bar's floor.

Well doll him up and call him Clementine, because it's perfect.

The conversation below grows quiet once more.

Please, please, please-Prime, PLEASE-

The sound of glass shattering does well to cover the soft groan of Tommy's newest joist supporting his weight, a quick glance proving that Wil's Mate had slammed a crystal cup a little too harshly on the bar's shitty counter.

Shorty only rolls his eyes, unamused by the other's antics.

"My fault," Wil's Mate sighs, unapologetic. "Duckie, be a dear and grab me a double Titos?"

Titos?

Oh, wait! He knows this one!

Shorty- Duckie? That's fuckin' weird, he's staying Shorty -looks natural as he makes his way behind the bar's counter, grabbing a short glass from a cabinet and a familiar clear bottle of Titos.

The bronze cap shines just as bright as it ever did beneath the lightbulb of Wilbur's room.

Tommy watches as the drink is poured with practiced ease, a splash of some red drink even added into the mix.

It must be some sort fruit-based juice; drunk Wilbur never failed to complain about the bitter warmth of straight vodka.

Prime, this guy might actually be Wil's best-mate.

"And you still remember," Wil's Mate smirks, almost looking fond. "I'm touched."

[REVISITED]: Shorty and Wil's Mate are acquaintances friends (?) definitely friends.

"Don't push it," Shorty grunts out as he moves to grab a different bottle of alcohol. The contents of the bottle is blurred by an off-shade of white, with a landscape and some odd-looking- swan? Duck? Goose? -bird on its label. Shorty's quick to pour himself a drink of it, Wil's Mate making an odd look of feigned disgust over his partner's choice. Shorty doesn't seem to mind though, taking a sip. "I didn't drag your sorry ass out here for a night of drinks."

Tommy winces as the joist beneath him squeaks.

Still, it holds firm.

"Punz's kid is cutting back on production rates."

Wil's Mate suddenly lurches forward, spitting out his snooty "~double Titos~" as Tommy silently chokes on his own saliva. "He's what?"

Tommy can't help but agree.

Cutting back on production rates? Purpled never brought something like that up- uh, not that being the guy's best friend meant he needed to know everything, it just would've been nice to be in the know before Shorty.

"I don't know," the shorter sighs, tugging angrily at his black hair. "I talked with Fundy and he insists that Purpled's shipments have stayed normal for him. If anything, it seems the kid's only interested in halting the products you want."

Wil's Mate's eyes widen. "You're saying he's-?"

"Yeah," Shorty affirms with a bitter laugh. "You've finally fucked up."

Ooo, now this is getting good.

Purpled holding grudges is nothing new, but Wil's Mate must've fucked up terribly to get booted off the shipment list.

Wil's Mate sits still, deathly quiet.

Then, "How?"

"Why are you asking me?" Shorty hisses. "Last time I checked, my orders never had Schlatt written all over them."

Okay, think think think.

Shorty and Schlatt are getting shipments, which means they have to be powerful people to be in touch with Punz's business. Purpled hasn't mentioned anything about them before, right? Just angrily ranted about gummy-worms?

It doesn't matter anyway, the most important issue the possibility of these dickheads becoming threats to his best friend.

And judging by how angry Schlatt looks-

Tommy's breath hitches.

Holy shit- holy shit! No fuckin' way.

Tommy forces his limbs to still, eyes widen as he squints toward Wil's Mate. There's no way in hell it could actually be Schlatt- one of the city's most privatized and dangerous villains of city -entirely unmasked and sitting in a dump with his supplier.

Then again, Wil's Mate does have some features that compare with what little of Schlatt's appearance has been leaked.

The same harsh, nearly-black eyes that could make a baby cry.

Similar length and style of dark brown hair.

His voice is...actually decently close to how Tommy always assumed the villain would sound. Gruff and elongated.

The alcoholism tracks pretty well too. Being a villain can't be an easy thing to think about while sober.

That only leaves Shorty's identify a mystery, then.

Mr. Duckie himself.

Oh, Tommy blinks, dumbly. It's Quackity.

It wasn't unheard of for the two villains to be stirring ruckus together, but ordering gadgets for one another? No wonder Purpled's missed, that's gotta be a new one for the books.

So is Quackity apparently hosting his own set of transportation powers.

Purpled is totally going to eat this shit up.

That is, if Tommy's stealthy enough to make it out of this goddamn rat nest.

His ever-faithful joist only bounces as the vigilante climbs to its neighbor, cautiously making his way toward the entrance wall of the bar. He'll have to drop down a few feet from the doors, Charlie apparently not having liked to keep the whole "open rafter" theme continuous throughout the building.

It also means potential contact with two notorious villains not above getting rid of some measly vigilante. Now if he was Dream, then maybe he could get away with a scratch.

But he's not Dream.

He's Tommy Danger Innit, the city's favorite vigilante goddamnit.

His eyes move rapidly as he tracks the movements of Schlatt and Quackity, rather thankful that the pair are seemingly far too engrossed within their arguments to care about him moving through the rafter.

Married couples, eugh.

He's quiet- for once, his mind laughs -as he reaches the end of the rafters and drops from the ceiling, gaze set on the doorway. It's only a couple steps if he sprints.

Easy enough, yeah?

The bar stills.

A floorboard creaks.

And Tommy chokes as something- a hand, his mind screams -grabs the backing of his uniform, yanking him with little regard to his attempts to fucking breathe.

Oh FUCK-!

"Quackity grab his-"

Hands- the aforementioned villain's, his mind helpfully supplies as well -entrap his wrists, panic flooding Tommy's system as he attempts to twist from the pair of villains.

It's all in vain, something cold entrapping his wrist with a sharp squeal of metal.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Tommy's tries not to pant audibly in spite of his struggles, eyes squeezing shut as he mentally reaches for his power. It was situations like this that made him thank Prime he'd spent plenty of years perfecting his timing and connection with his power.

Time was not an entity to be fucked with, and wouldn't it be Tommy's lucky day to be forced to poke the bear.

Lady Prime was not going to be a happy camper.

A soft beep tumbles into the air and the mental reach for his power suddenly freezes, as though his mind had been forced to back away from the thought of time traveling. Fear overtakes his previously cocky stance; of course his power chose the peachy time of now to flake on him.

"Holy shit."

Tommy snarls on instinct, throwing his head back toward the villain's voice. There's a grunt of pain that stirs pride within Tommy's stomach; he'd just head-butted one of the most feared people in the city.

Yeah, no. He's fucked.

"What the fuck did you do?" Tommy gasps, still struggling as he frantically makes a move for his powers.

Schlatt's grasp never loosens, the pair of villains seemingly too enthralled by the repetitive beeps filling the air.

The beeps signaling Tommy's failure.

Quackity moves in the corner of his eye, and the vigilante seizes the opportunity of his newly freed arms to make a swing. He only proves to jolt him and Schlatt forward, a glance amending that cuffs had been used to keep his hands occupied.

They're jagged against his skin, unrefined.

Tommy's breath hitches.

The design of it is far too familiar-

"Hey, Purpled..."

The hundreds of blueprints they'd scrolled through.

These aren't just a flimsy pair of cuffs.

It's a pair of Punz's power dampeners.

Prime, Tommy laughs humorlessly. These fuckwits were who Purpled had been searching for. The same pair who had killed the city's most notorious inventor; apparently just to get their hands on these cuffs.

But that meant Punz's design hadn't just been a hypothetical. It'd-

"-worked," Quackity finishes with an unguarded expression of shock. "Holy shit, it worked."

Tommy freezes.

He never thought there'd be a day when a dead man's invention would make his blood run cold.

"Don't tell me it's locked your joints too, kid," Schlatt laughs from above Tommy's head, giddily aware of the vigilante's plight. "Can't use your power to get out of this one, hm?"

Panicked beeping is the only response.

Tommy flinches as Quackity's hand swipes at his ear, his eyes wide once he feels his earpiece jostle. He forces his cuffed hands upward in a weak attempt to keep the device in place.

To keep his sole contact with Purpled intact.

But the earpiece lands all-the-same in the villain's grasp, before it's dumped uselessly to the floor.

"Fuck."

So long for a two-week survival streak.

Goodbye, device #21. We shall mourn you.

The villain's foot barely crunches down.

The device shrieks, loud and grating on the trio's ears.

Suddenly, the cuffs give way to Tommy's wrists.

He's free.

Schlatt barely has time to react before the vigilante spins around and lands a punch, the addicting taste of freedom on his tongue as he lunges for the bar's doors.

"Q, quick-!"

The thundering roar of blood in his ears does little to drown out the loud bang bouncing against the building's walls.

Pain flares in his knees, eyes blurring as the bar's moldy carpet floods his vision.

He faintly registers a hand ruffling through his unkempt hair, mind urging him to lean into the movement because fuck if he doesn't want Wilbur right now.

The hand pulls away.

"Nothing personal, kid. Just business."

And Tommy falls, prey to the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

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

The first thing Tommy notes as he gains awareness is how quiet everything is.

There's no panicked shouting from Schlatt or Quackity, nor the distant buzz of wailing police sirens. The only continuous sound appears to be the dizzying echo of short, labored breaths.

Oh. That was him making that noise.

He almost regrets forcing his eyes open, vision swimming as he gulps desperately for air.

His teeth feel dry like his dentist had just sucked all the saliva outta them- he isn't waking up from a dentist procedure, right?

A glance proves he's just...laying down in the dingy bar.

His fingers squeeze at the moldy carpet below him.

How embarrassing.

He can feel something sluggish makings its way down his chest, sticking to his pale skin in a way that has Tommy wondering if the villains had found it funny to dump syrup on him.

Ha, that would be such a classic villain move.

There's a dull thud in his ears as he raises his head to glance toward his chest, almost laughing at the fact that the substance is a touch too dark to be the syrup Phil had always bought at the grocery store for him.

This was probably some Great Value shit, wasn't it?

Low budget villains were ridiculous, honestly. A guy can't even get good- oh.

Pain is an easy-enough concept to understand, innit?

He gets punched, his arm says "Ow-", and then his brain says "Ow-" for several days.

So he would just love to know why the fuck his eyes are very much saying "Ow, that gaping hole looks painful" whilst his brain only sits in silence.

Prime, maybe this was just some fucked up spectator mode that occurred after death, like on that Team Fortress game Techno had always been obsessed with, when it replays the shot that'd killed him.

Or shock.

Shock would be...better than death.

No worries, no pain; just him, this trusty floor, and Purpled's-

Oh Prime.

Purpled is going to kill him.

Fuck going into shock over the very real threat of death, Purpled's spite alone could resurrect him.

Tommy stares helplessly at the squashed earpiece sitting idle a few feet away. One that his best friend had worked so hard on, had modified for Tommy's sake- even if with ill-intent.

He can't even furiously scrub at the tears threatening to escape his eyes, arms far too heavy to think of moving.

But Purpled needs to know.

He needs to know that Tommy had fucked up yet again and that he needed to:

A.) Get patched up

and

B.) Be built a new earpiece.

Maybe they could even laugh about this whole thing later whilst going over plans to get revenge on those dick'eads.

His mind still can't comprehend the idea of having met Schlatt and Quackity.

What a crazy world.

Purpled is going to love this story.

Punz would've loved this story, or at least would've loved to know that Tommy had found the man's killers.

There's a gentle buzz and he winces, a bright light snarling to his left.

For a moment, he fears it's Schlatt returning to finish the job.

The light dims.

Oh.

It's just his phone.

His earpiece lies not far from it.

Well this was going to be a fun phone call.

Tommy's stomach rolls as he leans to his left, arm shaking far too violently as he grabs for it.

A click and the bright light returns.

His eyes burn.

Fuck whoever designed this stupid fucking thing.

At least Purpled's contact is easy enough to find, despite it being in the "P" category.

Ha.

That was kinda funny.

It rings once.

Twice.

Thrice.

[Click]

Oh good, he doesn't know what comes after thrice.

"Tommy?"

A sniffle escapes him. Fuck his throat hurts.

"Wha's up, big-man?"

"What-? You called me, man. Where are you, I thought you were on your way back?"

"I-" Tommy bites his lip, wincing at the current of pain his action elicits. "You'll never guess who I just met."

"Adam Levine?"

A heaved laugh warms his chest. "Schlatt! And Big Q! They were-"

Easy breaths.

Steady breaths.

"They were- out of costume."

"Please tell me you didn't engage."

His shoulders instinctively hike up in defense, uncaring for the hiss of pain the movement causes.

Purpled's voice turns soft, almost uncharacteristically so.

"How bad is it?"

That's funny.

"It's uh, i-it's not looking good, big-man."

"How not good?"

Prime, he's always loved Purpled's almost parental concern in times of need.

"Like shot and dying in a bar not good, dick'ead."

There's a beat of silence.

"Tommy. You need to time travel."

Tommy's arms shake at the idea. So much of his energy had already been squashed into keeping his mouth moving, had already been drained with every word he attempts to comprehend.

"I-I can't. Not before...not before this happened."

"No, no. You're- you're lying. This is a prank, isn't it? It's not funny asshole."

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

There's a soft sob over the speaker, muffled behind what Tommy can assume is Purpled's hand.

"Please," Purpled begs, "Please don't apologize."

There's a beat of silence, before the echoing twist of a doorknob spooks Tommy once more into awareness.

"Wha are you doin'?"

"I'm coming to get your ass."

Purpled's voice is nothing but a shaking metronome.

"Purpled, no."

"I can't lose you too, Tommy-"

Right. The whole Punz thing.

"I just- what is Phil going to say? Techno? Hell, Wilbur?"

Tommy's eyes squeeze.

Fuck, he needs to say goodbye to everyone.

A flash-drive isn't enough for them, it won't be.

He wasn't supposed to get shot.

He isn't supposed to die.

Where the fuck did his plot armor go?

"-Tommy? Tommy, answer me!"

His eyes flutter as he desperately makes another grab for his power. Surely it won't run from him this time, yeah? Whatever the fuck Schlatt and Quackity had done couldn't last forever.

"Please, I'll make you all the earpieces you want. Please just-"

There.

Tommy's fingers wrap delicately around his power's string, eyes blurring as warmth floods him.

"-say something-!"

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

There's a soft flash of light.

Tommy seizes, gasping for air as he comes to consciousness. Panic surges him forward, barely able to conceal the whimper as he collapses to the ground, weak.

Shit shit shit-

So much for the initial benefit of shock.

At least the bar's moldly floor is still here to support him.

It's odd, to reach the revelation I'm dying at the prime age of sixteen.

He's meant to be lounging in Purpled's bean bag, toying with whatever gadget his best friend had lying around.

He's meant to be worrying about an Algebra test that's tomorrow.

School might be for nerds but Wilbur will give him that disappointed look if Tommy doesn't pass it.

His chest aches.

He supposes he doesn't have to worry about that Algebra test anymore.

There's a bullet nurturing his chest.

And Tommy isn't ready to die.

He doesn't attempt to withhold the sobs he'd been trapping within his throat during his phone call, mouth already dry once more as he lurches forward. The flash of pain that riots through him only encourages his heaves, bile splattering against the carpet.

Charlie better thank him later for decorating his bar.

Where he'd once wince at the acidic substance getting onto his hands, he only shakes violently. It'd always been this cold, right? And it was just the temperature making him shake, not the fear tickling at the back of his throat?

Prime, he's getting too distracted with how little time he has.

He has...a mission! A mission, yes!

A- uh, a family to call?

A family to grieve.

His finger trembles over Techno's caller ID.

The phone rings.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

[Click]

Tommy's heart burns.

"You've reached the Blade's inbox, I'm probably busy doing something cool right now-"

Or asleep, considering it's the middle of the night.

"-please leave a voice message after the beep. Beep."

"Uh, Techno. Hi. I'm-"

Not poggers? Wish you were here? Dying in an empty bar and you're too busy being asleep to pick up?

Tommy's lungs squeeze.

"Imma be honest Big Man, I can't do this."

His thumb taps at the call's red button.

Surely-

He coughs.

Surely if not Techno then Phil will be up, right?

His dad had always been a night owl.

Somehow, it's far easier to tap Phil's contact number than his older brother's.

The phone rings.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four

Fi-

[Click]

Oh.

"Thank you for trying to reach Phil Watson-"

Sent to voicemail.

"At the beep please record your message with your name and your-"

His thumb taps once more to end the call.

He wants to be angry.

He wants to be loud.

He feels numb.

Deep breaths.

I can do this.

You have one more person.

Just one more and this all goes away.

Tommy grabs at his power.

And yanks.

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

There's a flash of light.

And a finger that hesitates over a contact ID.

"💙 Wilbur [NOT POG] 💙"

This...it won't be hard.

A tap.

One.

Two-

[Click]

It's 1 in the morning.

But Wilbur still picks up.

"Toms?"

His brother's voice is groggy before it turns panicked.

Fuck, Tommy must've made some pained sound.

"What's wrong? Do you need me to come get you? Hold on, let me get my keys-"

"No!" Tommy jolts, hissing in pain as the gunshot flares. "I'm- sorry, sorry. No, I'm okay."

He twists the phone in his hands, the phone app abandoned in favor of pulling up his text messages with Purpled.

There isn't a notification to indicate their prior phone call with one another.

Purpled won't remember their previous conversation.

There's only a blue message with the word "porter" and animated grey bubbles that follow it.

His phone buzzes.

It's easy to ignore.

"I'm just...texting Purpled."

"Oh," Wilbur hums, thankfully dropping his mother-hen voice. "You guys are supposed to hang out tomorrow night, yeah? I can go grab some pop for you in the morning."

Tommy smiles. It's something he does anytime he's on a phone call with his brother, even whilst they're faux arguing.

For once, Tommy's glad Wilbur can't see his broken smile and glassy eyes. "You'd do that for us?" he laughs, the sound a gentle wheeze. "He'd love that."

"Pepsi for you, right?" Wilbur asks, obviously attempting to get arise out of his younger brother.

"Y'know what?"

There's the gentle shift of fabric, as though Wilbur had properly sat up on his bed in anticipation for the big reveal. "What?"

"I think I've turned a new leaf," he confesses, "Get me Pepsi."

There's silence, and for a moment, fear stabs through his lungs. So help him, if his shitty cellular service had disconnected him-

The beginning of Tommy's sob is interrupted by the fading laughter of his older brother, Wilbur demanding, "No fuckin' way, what'd you do with the real Tommy?"

The question nestled itself close to the vigilante's heart.

"He's in an alleyway bleeding out," Tommy jokes. It's dark as hell, but hey, not like Wilbur would be able to tell the difference. It won't be important until the upcoming days, that is if Schlatt doesn't decide to come back and properly dispose of his body.

That Charlie guy is definitely going to be pissed.

The phone stutters with soft laughter again, as if the joyous sound is too much for the provider to handle.

"I do," Tommy pauses, gasping for breath. "I do have a request, though."

"Shoot for it, Toms."

"Remember Henry?"

"How could I forget?" Wilbur murmurs, voice terrifyingly soft.

Tommy bites a whimper as he adjusts, ass already sore from the odd slouch he'd been subjected to for Prime knows how long. "There should be some...some fuckin' flash drives inside his plush. Could you grab them for me later?"

There's a pause from the phone. Then, "...is it blackmail?"

Tommy chokes as he laughs. "No, it isn't blackmail. It's just important that you all watch what's in them tomorrow."

"Aww, Toms. Is it an early Christmas present you're too embarrassed to show us?"

It's far too easy for him to nod in agreement. That was a much better story than, "No, no, I'm just dying here in this stupid-ass alleyway."

"Yeah, that. Can I get another request too?"

"It'll cost you a night of peace-and-quiet."

Hmm, Tommy could afford that. Still, "You bastard- fine."

Wilbur then goes quiet, as if to urge Tommy to continue with his request.

"A story?" he tries, eyes wet with exhausted tears. "Like the old days?"

"That's an odd request," Wilbur notes. Tommy can almost imagine the bewildered expression on his brother's face.

"Please?"

"...okay?

"Once upon a time there lived the most handsome prince in the world- Your Most Royal Highness Prince Wilbur-"

It's easy to fall into the soft tone of Wilbur's voice, reminiscent of the time Tommy had just moved into the house. He'd been terrified of every little thing, rarely getting a wink of sleep.

It wasn't until Tommy stumbled upon Wilbur reading a story aloud that exhaustion had truly overwhelmed him. He'd fallen asleep at the other side of Wilbur's door before even the young eight-year-old knew what he was doing.

Wilbur makes a shrill voice, drawing Tommy back to attention.

Oh, he's doing an impression of some green goblin character that Tommy is sure is named after him.

An alert flashes on his screen.

His eyelids feel heavy.

"Hey, Wil?"

Guilt gnaws for interrupting the story.

"What's up, Toms?"

"I think-" Tommy clasps a hand to his mouth, halting the sob that'd been threatening to spill from it. "I think you're breaking up."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it must be on my part," the mute button shouldn't be so easy to click as he coughs, not daring to take a second-glance at the thick substance he'd choked out.

It's blood. He knows it is.

"I must be going into a shitty area. Always told Dad to upgrade our providers," Tommy prays the tremble in his voice is disguised beneath the crackle of a speaker. "I love you, and you love me, yeah dick'ead?"

"Always, Toms."

"Good. Now go get that damn flash-drive."

"Alright, alright. See you soon?"

The blonde lurches forward as he laughs, vision already beginning to blur.

"See you soon. Hang up on me, will ya'?"

"Deal."

There's a soft beep to indicate the disconnect.

Please, Lady Prime, be kind to them.

#dream smp #mcyt #angst #fanfic #tommy innit #sbi #death cw #vigilante tommy #purpled

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kays-artstuff · 2 years

Text

I am sad still

#sorry for the tags #art #mcyt #tommyinnit fanart #tommy innit #tommy dream smp #philza and mumza #mcyt philza #philza minecraft #philza fanart #mumza as death #mumza and dadza

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 2 years

Text

What If… Tommy got to the button room before Phil?

@whumptober-archive

Blame Whumptober for this.

Enjoy.

Warnings: character death.

Read on A03

~~~

I could press it.

Wilbur stands in the small room, watching dust fall from the ceiling, collecting in small piles on the floor. It's hot in here; Wilbur feels sweat trickling down his back and beading on his brow, not helped by his pants and coat.

The button is right in front of him, mere inches away from his hands. He could press it.

Wilbur's mouth twitches. I could press it.

He reaches his hand out, slowly, agonizingly. The distant sounds of fireworks echo outside, shaking the small room he's in and raining dust atop his head.

He's been planning this. He's been planning this for so long; talking to Dream, collecting the TNT, placing the TNT, rigging the button. Everything has gone to plan, everything has been flawless.

There's only one thing left to do.

Wilbur's mouth twitches again, this time into a smile. Blow everything to smithereens.

He moves his hand closer. His fingertips graze the smooth surface of the button. He feels a chill travel down his spine.

"What are you doing?"

Wilbur's smile drops. He pulls his fingers away. He turns around

Tommy stands by the entryway, one hand balled into a fist, the other clutching an axe. "What are you doing, Wilbur?"

Wilbur stares at him for a long moment. The fireworks, louder now that Tommy has opened the door, blast all around, creating an eery and disorienting atmosphere around the two.

"You weren't supposed to be here," Wilbur says simply. Tommy blinks.

"You disappeared. I got curious." The boy's gaze hardens. "You're here to blow it all up, aren't you?"

Wilbur sighs. "We've talked about this, Tommy. We-"

"No, no, we haven't talked crap about this," Tommy snaps, swinging his axe at nothing in particular. "I told you this wasn't the right thing to do. I told you this wasn't way the way to get l'manburg back. I told you we could figure it out, the two of us, together. I told you all that, and you didn't listen to a word of it! All that's in that stupid stubborn brain of yours is the idea that destroying everything will make it right! Destroying everything, and claiming it's 'for good'."

And when Wilbur leans in to finish his statement, Tommy's breath catches in his throat.

"I don't care. I don't care about being the 'good guy'. I don't care about what happens to Tubbo, or to Fundy, or to Techno, or to you. I don't care about anyone. I don't care about anything other than blowing this bloody place to kingdom come, and if I have to bring people down with me, then so be it."

Wilbur steps back, still smiling. He relishes in Tommy's horror--at the way the color drains from his face, at the way his legs tremble, at the way his grip on the axe tightens.

Wilbur ignores the twinge in his own heart.

"Not what you expected, is it?"

The boy swallows. "You're a..."

He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together. Wilbur narrows his eyes. "A what?"

Tommy's mouth stays stubbornly closed.

"A what, Tommy?"

When Tommy still hesitates, Wilbur's tone goes sharp. "A what?! Spit it out, for crying out loud!"

"You're a monster!" Tommy's voice comes out in a strangled scream, and he changes his neutral stance to an offensive one. "You're- you've turned into a monster, Wilbur! You've changed, and I don't know why! I can't... figure out why. Why?"

His voice cracks at the end. Against his better judgement, Wilbur finds himself softening. He doesn't want Tommy to cry. He can't watch Tommy cry.

"If it's any help, it's not your fault. Anyone's fault, really; no one's fault but my own. And maybe a little Schlatt, if we're being honest. That man ruined everything." Wilbur chuckles, the sound reverberating around the room.

Tommy doesn't smile. Wilbur hadn't expected him to, but it... still feels wrong, somehow.

"L'manburg will never truly be free," Wilbur continues. "I used to think that it could be, but it won't. As soon as one ruler is dethroned, another takes its place; another ruler with a whole lot of problems that they pass onto the land, the people, and so on. Over and over again, an endless cycle. And Tommy, no one can stop that cycle. As long as l'manburg exists, no one will ever be able to put a stop to that cycle. Unless of course, l'manburg is taken out of the picture. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"But..." Tommy furrows his brows. "But you elected Tubbo. Why would you do that if he wasn't... right?"

Wilbur lets out a sad sigh. "Because, for a short time, I did think he was right. But he's... he's Tubbo, man."

Wilbur chuckles again. "He's so bent on upholding the law--whatever that is--that he's blinded to other very real, very important issues. It's only a matter of time before people revolt against him. Honestly, you could say that I'm doing him a favor; no l'manburg means no President Tubbo, and no President Tubbo means no revolts, and no revolts means no... untimely demises."

"And this isn't an untimely demise?" Tommy snaps back. "Blowing up our own home?"

Wilbur purses his lips. "I mean... some would call it that. You, for example. But I know that it has to happen, no matter what people think.

"And Tommy. l'manburg stopped being our home the day that Schlatt was elected. That very day, all ties we had to that land were-" Wilbur makes a slicing motion with his hand. "-cut. I was in denial at first, I was so convinced that I could find a way to make it mine again, but it's..."

Wilbur sighs. "It's not mine. Not anymore. It's not yours either. And soon, it won't be anyone's."

Wilbur stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Now I suggest you leave. I want a lot of things, but you dying isn't one of them."

"Oh yeah? Tell that to them!" Tommy gestures at the door, where distant shouts and explosions can be heard. "Tell that to every single one of them, tell them that you're about to destroy everything they love! Tell them, Wilbur!"

Wilbur gazes evenly at Tommy. Tommy glares furiously at Wilbur. And for a moment, there's silence.

"This is your last warning," Wilbur says in a low voice, taking slow, backwards steps towards the button. "And I mean that. Leave. If you're quick enough, maybe you can warn the others."

Tommy twitches at that, just like Wilbur knew he would. That boy would never abandon an opportunity to help people.

But to Wilbur's surprise, he doesn't leave. He pauses, then opens his mouth, then asks:

"But what about you?"

Wilbur stops walking backwards. His breath catches, hitching on the dust-filled air.

"What'll happen to you, Wilbur?" Tommy continues. His voice, which had been loud and angry just seconds before, has turned quiet and fearful. "You said you don't... you said I'll die if I stay here. But what about you?"

"Tommy..." Wilbur swallows, his throat having gone dry. "I don't... I, um..." He tilts his head to stare at his feet, biting his lip. "I'm not..."

Tommy sucks in a breath, and the entire atmosphere shifts. "You're going to die."

"Yeah. I am."

For several minutes, the only sounds to be heard are the explosions that rage outside, rocking the small room and causing parts of the ceiling to crumble. Wilbur doesn't flinch as bits of debris rain down, but he can't stop the nervousness that starts welling up inside him. Tommy's never quiet for this long. He always has something to say, someone to make fun of, or some silence he has to fill.

He's never, ever quiet.

"Tommy, you have to leave," Wilbur says finally, causing Tommy to whip his head up, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm going to press this button, and you are not going to stop me."

To prove his point, Wilbur turns around, walking towards the button. He tries to tell himself it's because he needs to press it before he runs out of time. He tries to tell himself it's because he's angry, and doesn't want Tommy to look at him anymore. He tries to tell himself it's because he's sick of all this, and he's just ready for it all to be over.

But deep down, he knows the real reason he turns around is because he can't bear to look Tommy in the eyes any longer.

"Just walk away," Tommy chokes. He takes a step, but Wilbur can't tell if it's forward or backward. "Get away from all this. We can leave this whole thing behind, just the two of us. We can run away, if you want. We never... we never have to step foot in l'manburg ever again, if that's what it takes for you to get away from that bloody button. Please."

Wilbur doesn't slow down, and soon, he's standing just in front of the button. He keeps his hands in his pockets, staring at it. Thinking about Tommy's words, but not truly thinking about them.

"There was a saying," He begins. "By a traitor."

"No no no, stop it. Stop it, Wilbur."

"Once part of l'manburg."

"I said stop it."

"A traitor I'm sure you knew. His name was Eret."

"I SAID STOP IT!" Tommy roars, his voice cracking and breaking into a million pieces.

Wilbur slowly removes one of his hands from his pocket, lifting it up and bringing it towards the button. He can hear footsteps running away, and he blows out a sigh of relief. Tommy's gone. He won't be dying today.

Wilbur's hand hovers. Centimeters away. The button shines, and Wilbur's own face is reflected in it. He looks tired. Broken.

"It was never meant to be."

Wilbur presses it.

For a moment, a brief moment, there's nothing. No sounds, no explosions, no fire. Wilbur's heart seems to freeze inside his chest, trapping all the air inside and keeping it there.

And then the world explodes.

A blast of heat slams into Wilbur's body, and he gasps sharply. This is it. I'm about to die.

Wilbur grins. I'm about to die.

He closes his eyes, spreading his arms wide, determined to take in every single second of this. Explosions begin going off, starting far away but moving rapidly closer. The floor beneath him trembles violently, causing the walls to crack. He hears people screaming outside.

And then something peculiar happens.

Wilbur feels something slam into him, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing onto the ground. But it doesn't feel like debris. It's not hard enough or painful enough to be debris. It feels... like a person. A person holding onto him for dear life, arms wrapped around his body, like a shield.

Wilbur's eyes fly open. Tommy?!

He barely has time to make out the golden hair pressed into his chest before the room explodes, filling with brilliant oranges and reds and yellows. Wilbur's vision whites out before he squeezes his eyes shut, holding his breath as smoke and fire race towards him.

He might have passed out. He might have screamed or laughed or cried. He might have yelled Tommy's name. He might have done nothing at all.

Wilbur doesn't remember.

What he does remember is blinking his eyes open, gazing into a room with no ceiling. Sunlight shines through the gaping hole the explosions had caused, casting everything with a warm glow.

Wilbur blinks. He's done it. He blew it all up. It's all gone.

And I'm still alive.

...I'm still alive?

That... that wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to happen; he was supposed to die, enveloped in the flames he'd created. He was supposed to explode along with his unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. Forever gone.

He was supposed to die.

Wilbur sucks in a breath, choking on the ash that coats his throat. Tommy. Tommy, the idiot, had saved him. He'd jumped in at the last second, throwing Wilbur out of the way and shielding him with his own...

With his own...

Wilbur's breath catches. He's supposed to be burnt. He's supposed to be covered with scars. He's supposed to have been burned alive.

But he's not. Which doesn't make sense.

Unless someone else had taken the hit instead.

"Tommy," Wilbur breathes, trying to lift his head but it's so heavy. Everything feels heavy, everything feels hazy and distant, and his chest feels constricted, and it's hard to breathe, and all he wants to do is fall asleep and never wake up, but he has to get up. He has to get up, and make sure Tommy's okay and safe and not...

Gritting his teeth, Wilbur forces his elbows to push up, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the soot coating his tongue. He lifts himself up, even as every inch of him screams in pain, begging him to lay back down and stay. Stay put, stay still, stay safe.

But Tommy.

Wilbur coughs, squinting into the smoky room and searching for golden hair, for a red and white shirt, for blue eyes, for anything. But his eyes hurt, they sting with smoke and dust, and it's hard to see anything beyond outlines and colors.

And then Wilbur realizes why he'd felt so heavy.

He gasps, unable to move for a moment, because Tommy lays across his body, curled up and so very still. Unnaturally still.

"Tommy," Wilbur whispers, reaching his arms forward and bringing Tommy into them. The boy doesn't stir. Doesn't pull away. Doesn't squirm.

His hair is covered with ashes, streaked grey.

His clothes are ripped and torn.

Cuts and gashes dot his face and arms.

His eyes are closed.

And his chest does not rise and fall.

"No."

The word is quiet. The word is soft. The word is everything it should not be.

The word is true.

"No no no, Tommy... no-" Wilbur's voice drifts into whimpers as he pulls his friend, his brother, closer. He hugs him to his chest, rocking back and forth and murmuring things he can't understand. "Why, why did you... why did you do that, Tommy? I'm the- I was- I did this, you didn't... I'm the bad guy, I was supposed to..."

Wilbur gazes at Tommy's face, brushing the hair away from his eyes and leaning closer, until their foreheads press together. His vision blurs, distorting everything into wobbly shapes.

Tommy is dead. He's dead because he'd taken the blast meant for Wilbur, meant only for Wilbur. He'd killed himself to save a man who didn't want saving, who didn't deserve saving.

Tommy is dead. Because of Wilbur.

"Why did you do this?!" Wilbur screams, feeling hot tears stream down his face. He shakes Tommy, watching as his head lolls limply. "I told you to go! I told you to go and you didn't! Why didn't you go?! Tommy!"

Tommy does not answer.

"Tommy!" Wilbur repeats, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Answer me! Answer me right now!"

Wilbur chokes on his own tears, shaking Tommy and pulling him close and shaking him again. His vision goes red, getting rid of everything that isn't the boy in his arms. The dead boy in his arms.

I did this.

His blood chills and then boils and then freezes and then burns. I did this. I did this. I did this.

And Wilbur sobs.

He sobs for a long time.

And Tommy is still.

____

He loses track of time after that.

He holds Tommy close, pressing his head into his shoulder or forehead or chest, screaming and whispering and crying and shouting and apologizing and begging until his throat goes hoarse and he can't speak anymore. He stays hunched over until his back aches, and he loses all feeling in his legs from staying in the same position for so long. He cries until he runs out of tears, the watery lines etched into his skin like forest trails.

He scolds Tommy, and yells at Tommy, and pleads for Tommy to just open his eyes or breathe or something. Tommy doesn't listen to him.

He hears voices. Not the ones in his head—those have gone silent—but the voices of real people. Concerned voices, angry voices, scared voices, heartbroken voices. All around him, some quiet, some loud.

Someone tries to put their hand on his shoulder. He pulls away, sobs starting anew at the contact. He doesn't want to be touched. He doesn't want to be acknowledged. He only wants to stay with Tommy.

Someone else tries to pull Tommy away from him. He punches them. They might've punched him back.

Eventually, the voices fade. They leave him and Tommy alone.

The moon comes out after the sun sets, and a chilling wind shakes him to the bone. Even as his body is racked with shivers, all he can think is, I have to keep Tommy warm.

He doesn't sleep that night.

By morning, he is numb. He feels nothing, not even when he looks at Tommy's still face and his still body and his dirty hair.

Wilbur feels nothing.

____

A breeze blows against his back, followed by the sound of something heavy landing behind him. Feet walking closer.

A single black feather lands by his side.

~~~

I’m honestly more sad that Ghostbur doesn’t exist in this universe than the fact that Tommy hekkin died.

But like... since Wilbur never died, Ghostbur was never... uhhhh born? Created? Spawned idk? Whatever it is, it didn't happen in this universe and I am sad :(

A little side-effect of this fic is that Wilbur goes partially blind! He kept his eyes open for part of the explosion, and as a result, his eyes are kinda screwed! Not completely, but enough to make things difficult.

As of right now, I don’t have any plans to return to this AU, but who knows? Things could change in the future.

Anyway, I hope y’all enjoyed! This is my very first whumptober fic, and though it’s not heavily edited, it’s super exciting to be able to participate! I’ll post this on A03 at some point, but for now, it’s gonna be exclusively on tumblr (gosh I feel like I’m advertising lol)

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aria-greenhoodie · 2 years

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Why is Tommyinnit alive on tumblr I though I escaped Him

#aria ramblings #this isn’t a diss to tommy btw this is entirely /neu inniters please don’t maul me to death I used to be one of yours

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apollosangel-calico · 6 months

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Tommy: Your guess is as good as mine. Cass: I'm pretty sure my guess is actually way better than yours.

#hybrid demigod angel of death loml #gremlin lil shit innit #< tommy tag

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watermelonfrog2 · 3 months

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for context behind this poll, these two fics to me are like THE fics. The one everyone knows about, the ones that mark every fic of the same genre, well this and Passerine but. we ignore that for now. Edit: If you're into DSMP and read fanfiction but neither of these, click the "don't read fanfiction" option, that was an oversight on my part. Also someone mentioned Tommy Innits Unbeatable Method of Avoiding Sudden Death and Tommyinnit's Clinic for Supervillains, and I whole heartedly agree, those two are 100% The fics of their genre.

#Butterfly Reign #This is Not an Act of Spite #dsmp #mcyt #mcytblr #dsmpblr #c!tommy #fanfiction #dsmp fanfiction

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21witnokidz · 2 months

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The Lady in My Life

Summary: 09!Ghost who lost his wife to his job meets 22!Ghost who also lost his wife to his job.

09!Ghost is green. 22!Ghost is blue.

Warning: Miscarriage, death, smut

“Sorry mate but I just don’t believe any this shite coming out your mouth”

“I can hardly bloody believe it myself gov”

Simon Riley, well the first one. The one who says he time traveled here from the past. A past where Simon accidentally walked into a time machine while securing an underground bunker.

“You said it’s 2022 yeah? Well I reckon I jumped 13 years into the future”

Simon had to take a step back. He was looking at himself from 13 years ago. And it’s been 13 years since…

“Right, my name is Simon Riley uh I used to have a brother named Tommy who passed..”

Simon’s ears immediately perked at the sound of his brother’s name. He told no one about his brother except for his ex wife. He was actively listening to Simon as he carried on.

“And I used to have a girl who loved me” Simon uncrossed his arms and slowly made his way to Simon who was visibly seen getting emotional and shifting his weight. “We had a little boy but then…”

“I know” Simon put his hand on the younger Simon’s shoulder.

“Now you know I ain’t no proper chap but the least I can do is help you adapt here until we find a way to bring you back” Simon said slamming a bottle of whiskey on the table. “You love Kentucky right?

“I fucking love Kentucky”

They began to pour each other drinks while talking about their lives.

“You know I always wondered why we were so afraid of that skull mask. It looks fucking amazing on us”

“Yea well we knew Tommy had an ugly mug under that mask so that was probably the cause of all the terror”

The Simons had gotten to a point where they were laughing at their own past traumas over some liquor in the common area of the base. But after a while it wasn’t so funny anymore.

“Do we ever get over it?”

“We do. It took some time but we did”

“I just always blame myself”

“There was nothing we could’ve done”

There was a beat of silence for a minute.

“I don’t ever think I’ll forget the look on her face”

“But it was for the best. If we hadn’t done what we did our families could’ve gotten hurt” Simon slumped in the couch and threw an arm over his eyes.

“What the hell are you on about? This is 13 years in the future innit? Our family has been dead for over a decade now!”

Even if Simon was shitfaced drunk before that sure as hell woke him up now.

“Bloody hell! Are fucking mad!? My family is completely safe in Manchester you bloke!”

Simon didn’t care if this Simon had the exact same memories as him they are not the same. He would never utter those words even while intoxicated.

“You said you lost your family too?”

“Yes I had to leave them sadly, but it was to keep them safe. What the fuck makes you think they’re dead?”

Simon shot out of his seat and was fully angry at the man he thought was him.

“You left your bloody family! You promised Y/n you loved her!”

Now it was Simon’s turn to stand up and shout.

“I do fucking love her! I loved her all the time when we were together. Even when we lost our second baby…” Simon had to stop to really focus in on what Simon was saying. “My job was putting too much stress on her. Ever since Johnny died”

Simon took a final swig of his whiskey before slamming it down. “You don’t even remember any of that do you? Sorry mate but you’re not me. Nobody has gone through what I’ve gone through”

“Johnny’s dead? But he was Y/n’s best friend”

“Yea and we promised to keep her safe remember? And you couldn’t even do that”

“I have the same name as you and everything. This is the Task Force 141 base innit? There’s no other reason why it would be that easy for me to find you”

“Well maybe you’re from a different universe or some shit I honestly lost interest in the ‘how’ at this point”

“Well I am you then. Just slightly different”

“No we’re still the same. Just two men with no families to go to”

“You just told me your family is in Manchester gov. They’re still here”

“I’m just no good for them”

“Are my words flying in one ear and out the other? I just fucking said we’re different. I failed at protecting my family and I can never take that back. But if it’s been 13 years and you’ve still been able to keep your wife and kids alive then I’d say that makes you a winner. The better Simon if you will”

Simon picked up another bottle and started heading to the door. “Hell if you don’t wanna face your family then I will. I fucking miss my wife and I just can wait to see her again. I was able to find you I can surely find them”

Simon dashed to the door filling the space between it and Simon.

“I get what you said okay? I just.. need to get myself together before seeing them. And I need to tell Price I’ll be back soon”

“Tell the bloke you need at least the weekend”

Simon pulled up to the house he bought for you and you son when y’all first got married. He’s been living in a shitty apartment ever since the divorce.

“Just remember she already lost her second child, her best friend, and you made her lose a husband so you really have to be gentle”

“Right.. you wanna come with? I’m sure we could just explain this all to her?”

Simon approached the house with younger Simon in tow and unsteadily knocked on the door already regretting his decision.

The door opened for him to see a handsome man with an underdeveloped mustache in front of him.

“Can I help you?”

Simon was ready to swing before he saw those beautiful eyes. Your eyes.

The grown man he was about to knock out was his boy. Little Tommy.

Simon could feel himself tearing up. Why did the Tommy in his universe have to look exactly like his own? How is he standing here healthy and happy instead of being buried in the dirt?

Simon could sense the uncertainty in the boy’s eyes. He didn’t recognize him. It’s been 13 years after all.

“Is your mother home?”

“Uh sure. MUM! Someone’s here to see you!” Tommy turned to Simon “Would you like to come in? We’ve got some tea on the stove”

You were always brewing tea around this time.

The Simons just nodded as they waited for the boy to let them in. As he entered the home he could hear the footsteps. The footsteps he memorized early upon first meeting you. Simon just kept his eyes on the steaming kettle to try and avoid making eye contact.

You came down and immediately recognized your guests. But it’s almost like you were seeing double. One looked like your husband when he left you all those years ago. And the other just looked terrible.

“Tommy could you go upstairs please?”

Tommy could sense the tension and made his way upstairs. When you see him enter his bedroom you turned to your ex husband.

“Love, it’s a lot to explain and I wouldn’t even know where to begin but- this is Simon Riley from another universe. A universe 13 years in the past. He says you and Tommy are dead over there”

You looked at the younger Simon’s face. You could tell he was from a different universe. He actually looked guilty for what he’s done.

“Do you wanna see him? He’s grown so much over the years”

Simon nodded. “I’ll just say I’m a cousin from out of town who used to hold him when he was a baby”

You and Simon watched him go upstairs and you turned to him when the door shut.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry”

“Why are you here? You think I need you after all these years where I had to fend for myself and raise our child alone? I get the other Simon just wanted to see his family again but I truly don’t know why you’re here”

“He made me realize that you two are the safest when you’re with me. That I’m capable of keeping you safe. He made me realize that the only thing you needed was me. Especially in those times”

Simon tried not to choke on his words but he felt the emotions crashing over him.

“I blame myself for Johnny’s death it was my fault. We lost the baby because I couldn’t be strong for you. I lost my family because I wasn’t enough”

You dropped the stern face and walked over to him. He fell to his knees as you let him cry into your stomach.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry”

He would repeat those words over and over until they were just incoherent mumbles into your abdomen.

You ran your fingers through his short blonde hair and forced him to look up at you. “What happened to Johnny wasn’t your fault. The miscarriage could’ve happened to anyone. And you didn’t lose your family because you weren’t enough. You were just scared. You didn’t fail at anything Simon”

Those were the words Simon has been waiting to hear for 13 years. Who knew all he had to do was just come back and apologize?

“I still love you. So much”

“I love you too”

To that Simon smiled.

“I’d do anything to be part of this family again”

“Anything?”

“Fuck Si baby!”

Simon continued his attack on your soaked cunt, rolling his tongue around your aching clit, having you grind on his face.

Simon missed his son but he really missed how fucking crazy you’d go whenever he had you on your back with his head stationed between your thighs.

“I missed this so fucking much lovie”

“Alright move over. I’ve spent 13 dumb fuck years without my girl on my face and it’s time for me to get that time back”

Simon backed off and allowed the older Simon to take his place.

“I’m not as young as him and it’s been years since I’ve done this so be patient love” Simon chuckled. “You know what to do anyway. Just run your hands through my hair and guide me where you want me”

It’s almost like muscle memory kicked in for him as soon as he smelled your scent he just knew what to do.

“Oh Simon you fucking liar- fuck! You know exactly what you’re doing”

Simon tongued your needy hole so deep you had to close your thighs around his face and trap him there. You knew that was his favorite thing in the world though because it meant you were about to bless him with your orgasm.

He moved from your hole and back to your clit and began sucking on it. Hearing you whine from having your hole being empty. He stuffed two thick fingers and digged them deep until he found that spongy spot in your pussy and began massaging it.

You could feel the pressure building up as you kept grinding on Simon’s mouth and fingers until.

“Well what’s this then? I’ve never been able to make the missus squirt”

“I better call Price and tell him I need more than the weekend”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod x reader

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