#tnret

[clembian]

does anyone else remember exile ?what was that

[crimeboys]

Ghostbur: And I decided, right? Right, I thought, TommyInnit, what does he like? And I thought, he likes, women. He likes, uh-

Tommy: Have you brought me a woman?

Ghostbur: No, I tried, but they don't- they're not as keen on you as you are on them. So I- I- I-

Tommy: That's not true.

Ghostbur: I left them where I found them, I left them where I found them. Uh, but what I did think was like what else- what else does Tommy like, he likes the discs. I couldn't get you the discs I'm afraid. I did try. Uh, and I thought, what else does Tommy like? He likes, uh, pasta. I assume you like pasta, I- I wasn't entirely sure but I wrote it down. Uh, I have a list, now, of things that you like and I'm just trying to remember them so it was pasta-

Tommy: Well, what is it you brought me? I'm here, Wilbur, where are you?

Ghostbur: Yeah, I'm- I'm- I'm coming, I'm coming to the- I'm coming to Logstedshire, right.

Tommy: What, are you getting through the nether? I'm at the Bastion.

Ghostbur: No, no, Logsteshire! Logstedshire!

Tommy: Shall I just go to the Logstedshire?

Ghostbur: Yeah, yeah, yeah!

Tommy: Okay [Jumps into lava]

Ghostbur: That's where I am now, that's where I just got to. [Tommy dies to lava] Oh. [Ghostbur laughs a little] That's an easy way of getting around. You're a bit of a fast traveler.

Tommy: [Shouts] Hello!

Ghostbur: Hi! Where are you? Oh! Come here, come here.

Tommy: I haven't looked you dead in the eyes today.

Ghostbur: Come here, come here, look, look, look! So I thought, what else does Tommy like? Right. What does TommyInnit- What's he a fan of, okay? He likes- he likes democracy. That's another thing I had down- your shirt's lookin' a bit-

Tommy: Yeah.

Ghostbur: You're looking a bit worse for wear.

Tommy: I've had a rough few nights.

Ghostbur: It's okay, come in here, right. Stand here, right. I want you to get ready for this because you're gonna like this gift.

Tommy: I'm ready.

Ghostbur: So I thought, what does Tommy like? His favorite thing in the whole wide world [Ghostbur throws something to Tommy. Tommy hovers over the gift and sees it is a compass named Your Tubbo] is Tubbo! Tommy, I know you really, really like Tubbo. And I know you really, really miss him. So I went out of my way and I made you this. It cost me, like, one netherite, and, like, loads of iron and stone and it basically points you in the direction of Tubbo! At all times. More specifically, L'manburg, Tubbo's White House. It points you right towards it at all times so no matter where you are on this bitch of an earth, you'll know exactly where Tubbo is. And I thought you'd really, really appreciate that.

Tommy: [Stares in silence for a few seconds] Thank you.

Ghostbur: No problem! Anyway, have fun ending your stream, buh-bye!

[Tommy walks silently back to Tnret, making happy/emotional faces at the gift he has just received. He opens his Enderchest and puts the compass inside]

Tommy: Right next to the discs [He lets out a sigh as he closes the Enderchest and smiles]

[moondragon618]

I have been neglecting my main blog a bit so have a hc lol

During exile, there wasn't really a consistent time of day when c!Dream would show up. Like he'd just show up whenever basically, in part so that the unpredictability would discourage c!Tommy from trying anything while he wasn't around. Occasionally he'd stay the night sometimes whenever he'd visit later in the day.

Another thing is that Tommy would have developed an absolutely abysmal sleep schedule during exile, both from nightmares and just being unable to sleep because Logstedshire is too quiet and his thoughts are too loud. This would end up leading to a pattern where the only time he would sleep even remotely well was when Dream would stay the night, because it was the only time he didn't feel so utterly alone.

After a while he'd even start getting sleepy directly in response to Dream being around after a certain time of night, often to the point of being barely able to stay awake due to his exhaustion, which would lead to a lot of situations where he'd just fall asleep suddenly while spending time with Dream.

Dream didn't mind, of course- there was something so very satisfying about the idea that Tommy only felt comfortable and safe enough to sleep when he was around- so he would just carry Tommy to his bed in Tnret, sometimes waking him a bit in the process. And Tommy's already ingrained habit of thanking Dream for everything would kick in, and he'd mumble a little half-asleep "Thank you, Dream." To which Dream would always softly respond, "You're welcome, Tommy :)"

This would carry over after exile too, and while the lack of overwhelming loneliness would help, his habits would stick for a lot longer. He'd only fall asleep easily if someone he trusted was around- in exile that was Dream, but soon after he started doing it with Techno.

And that would lead to a few situations where Techno would end up carrying him to bed, and a few times where Tommy would stir a little and mumble a quiet "Thank you, Dream" to him, before falling asleep again :)

Tommy's little habit would also come back to haunt him again in the prison, where he'd constantly be fighting that little part of himself that instinctively feels safe falling asleep around Dream. More than a few times he'd doze off only to suddenly startle awake again, not knowing how long he'd been out. And Dream, fully aware of his little habit, would taunt him constantly about how tired he must be :) Until eventually, after a whole week, a death and revival, and another few days, Tommy just couldn't do it anymore.

After breaking down from the stress, he fell asleep in Dream's arms. And afterwards, to his horror, he felt more well rested than he had in a long time :)

[waitingawhile]

lord help me finish this oil painting I started of tnret a year ago (she abandoned it after one week and has now forgotten how to use oils)

[blissfali]

Ive always thought about how, since the first time i eevr experienced and watched exile, that c!tommy never specifically built a houise in logsted. he built a tent, and when he built that tent, he built it specifically with the idea in mind that this would be temporary (i cant remember the exact words but i know for sure there is a quote about him saying something like this before he builds it).

in ctommy's mind, exile was never supposed to last forever. if he had to think about it as an indefinite amount of time, it wouldnt really make sense to him. instead of accepting cdream's "you leave when i say you can leave", he builds this hope throughout the entirety of it that he will be going home to l'manberg, at some point, whether it be in one day or one year. he held onto that hope that there would be a foreseeable end in sight, and thats why he only built a tent. he did not build a house or a shack, and he did not move into the house/van that ghostbur built for him, because moving into an actual home in logsted would mean it lasting "forever". he needed some kind of date in his mind that would mark the end of it, and by building tnret he kind of had a symbol for the fact that he would be leaving at some point.

there was no idea in his mind that ctommy would be barred from l'manberg FORever. he would go back even if he was in his 30's by then. it didn't matter when or how, it just mattered that that date Existed.

[httprezz]

the exilebeach being cold. That's it thats the post i cant get over how beaches are typically seen as warm and sunny and fun but exile is deathly cold and how sometimes if you squint in the distance you can see fog rolling over the treetops and the ashes and debris from dream constantly using tnt create a thin layer of smog over the tnret and ohohoghoh

[ccbeeduo]

TNRET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Whumptober Day 2: Insomnia and Crying to Sleep.

Canon compliant. In exile, Tommy's insomnia is bad enough to the point he’s severely sleep deprived. Initially angry at Tommy's inability to do much, Dream softens when Tommy starts crying. Warnings for sleep deprivation, delusions and hallucinations (both from insomnia and a long lasting psychotic disorder), religious delusions/hallucinations, religious guilt, some graphic (hallucinated) violence, abuse, self hatred, self victim blaming, and some internalised ableism.

ao3 link

—— The sun rose from outside the Tnret, painfully bright even with the canvas dulling the overwhelming light. Birds chirped a cheerful warning, a cue that Dream would arrive soon.

Dream, who would blow up everything Tommy had made the past day. Dream, who’d expect him to put in the hard effort to get it back and would, undoubtedly, punish him for failure.

Tommy wasn’t being lazy- that wasn’t the issue. If he was being a fucking leech, Dream would have every right to beat him half to death and tell him how much of a fuck-up and a failure he was, who no one would ever tolerate. And Tommy had accepted the truth now- that he was such a horrible brat that even Tubbo hated him, and Dream, saintly as he was, was the only person who’d ever want to be his friend ever again if he didn’t shape up.

No, Tommy wasn’t being a self-pitying, obnoxious nuisance. The thing was, he hadn’t slept properly in a week. He’d had a handful of minutes, a blissful hour, maybe, of course. You couldn’t stay up that long without a few grasps at unconsciousness without dying, and the universe wasn’t merciful enough to allow Tommy that. And he’d- he’d tried so hard to be good despite seeing shit and feeling like he was gonna vomit and his head being all hurty as fuck. He did everything Dream said like a good kid would.

But he’d just crashed completely once Dream had gone last night. Woozily, he’d managed to limp back to his bed before collapsing straight onto the floor, but after that, he just… couldn’t move an inch. The bed suffocated him, but when he closed his eyes to sleep, he felt phantom hands nipping at his skin, heard voices indistinguishable but loud, saw colours dancing in front of him with such a bright intensity he couldn’t keep his eyes shut. What little sleep he’d been able to snatch from Life’s cruel grasp had been awoken by horrific visages, loud screams that came from nowhere, agony like a sword through the chest.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to seeing shit. It was normal, he reckoned- he’d been dealing with it since he was little, and no one told him you weren’t meant to do it, so everyone must do it- and so it was his responsibility to deal with. But his exhausted state made it so hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

Prime, he would be in so much trouble. He wasn’t sure of much, but that he was sure of. Dream would have his hide if he just flopped around all day and could barely recall his own fucking name.

He was barely even startled when he heard a “Tommy?”. Usually, he didn’t hear shit; that was fucking weird, but he’d started doing so about a day into his insomnia nightmare experience, and it was strange how quick you got used to that shit. He just buried his head deeper into the pillow, the scratchy, dried blood feeling like ants digging into his cheeks and through his bones. He could have sworn he heard them digging into him, too, puncturing flesh.

That was as real, and as fake, as the sound of Dream calling his name.

The canvas sliding open made a kaleidoscope of painfully bright colours cover Tommy’s vision: blue-yellow and pink-green, and other shades that didn’t exist. He groaned, the words straining against his throat- he couldn’t remember the last time he drank, and he felt like devils were poking at his tongue when he tried to make even the tiniest of noises. Dimly, he thought it might have been a punishment from the Gods, for not honouring the Primes enough.

The figure that entered he vaguely recognised as Dream, yet seemed more like a divine servant, sent to punish him for his sins, the way the light refracted on him leaving a halo, the air humming around him with the faintest sound of church bells. Tommy couldn’t help but stare, unable to focus on the words out of his mouth and instead on the shifting lights obscuring Dream’s mask from view. Like it was too sacred for Tommy to see, censored from a sinner’s eyes.

Prayers formed in Tommy’s throat, malformed and scratchy. The holy words came out distorted in his mouth, the energy it took to say them enough he couldn’t keep his eyes open. It took such an effort to try he didn’t even see the slap coming.

His cheek stung, as if impacted by holy flame, and Tommy yelped, his own voice sounding harsh and heretical. He could barely tell the location of the impact, his whole body aching, as he tried to listen. He was a good follower, and he’d do as Dream taught, or as much of it as he could remember through the confusing hazy fog of his mind.

“Tommy.” Dream’s voice was a low growl. “Are you trying to hide from me?”

Tommy took a slow blink, unsure of what Dream was even talking about. “I- I, the Primes, didn’t I pray? Did- was it wrong? What was the- what? I’m sorry.”

“Tommy, what the fuck are you talking about?” Dream shook his head, iridescent shine through his hair making him harder and harder to look at. “I- are you screwing around? Tommy, do you want a punishment?”

“I- it’s been, there’s been, it’s all been digging in, y’know?” Tommy could not communicate the depths of his damnation, and it became clear to him as he spoke that that was the cause. “I’m sorry, the light, the- the things in my skin and shit, it’s been- I haven’t prayed, haven’t slept, it’s been- are you here to send me away? I don’t…” He trailed off a frustrated huff, tears pricking at his eyes.

Tommy wasn’t sure if the noise following was an amused chuckle or the bells of the Primes. “Tommy, how much sleep have you gotten?”

“Um, like, two hours over the past week, I think? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m just so, I’m just so tired, I can’t even- I’m sorry, I’m-“Tommy cut himself off with a sob, one he wasn’t sure if it came from frustration, sadness, or fear. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe it was love.

“Well, then. No wonder you’re like this.” There was a softness to Dream’s voice like an aura of light, and being unworthy in that presence made Tommy cry harder, so confused and feeling sick with himself. “Aww, you don’t have to cry. You’re not in trouble for being unable to sleep or whatever. You should have just told me.”

A gentle hand ran through his hair, lifting him into sitting as the other wiped away his tears as much as possible- a fruitless task, since Tommy was still wailing, but wasn’t that what toiling for the Gods and the Primes was, really? The touch felt like it was draining Tommy’s sin away, taking away the weight that left him awake and leaving him floating in his own brain, finally able to sleep after the tears broke through.

As Tommy drifted off in the arms of the Primes, he vaguely heard a soft “I should do this more often, really.” The words only sounded like hymns in his head, a promise that his holy status had been restored and he was once again in the Primes light.

What was he without that, after all?

[boygirlctommy]

i miss exile arc i miss drop your items in the pit i miss is it worth it i miss staring over the lava i miss do a flip i miss it isnt your time to die yet i miss its never my time i miss flying with the trident i miss waking up drowning i miss your tubbo i miss tnret i miss clara the astronaut

[bigmansbigbigblog]

i'm sure dream would give you a "weird mask face thing" if you wanted one . like another friendship thing since he already gave you one of his capes

oh but hes gave me that because iNearly froze to death like a PUSSY :/ I did the Stupid thing where I Drown myself in mysleep and when I crawled out, ist really fucking cold in the nights ESPECIALLY if you’re all wet and shit and I couldn’t get the cold out with the blankets inthe Tnret and I closed my eyes and everything was all Blurry and then Dream came and he was all shouty because he was scared I died :(

i got a few Reminders to not scare him after that. I don’t like Dreems reminders very much :( but he also gave me his cape and it fells like. A BIGBIGBIG HUG. and it makes me feel less alone 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

[higuy258]

Broken Toys 1: Prologue

Content warnings: manipulation, exile arc

Preview:

Tommy had just slapped himself in the face to wake up.

That, of course, could only mean one thing: Dream had decided to start early this morning. The exiled teen groans loudly as the realization dawns on him.

He slumps back over and falls onto the thin mattress, waiting for what he knows will soon happen. Dream had spent the past three days making a routine out of it, after all.

Three weeks ago

TommyInnit wakes suddenly, jolting up from a painful sting on his right cheek. His night so far has consisted of only several hours of sleep, something that’s been happening upsettingly often.

Immediately, he attempts to will himself upright in his plain white covers. Even in his groggy state, he instinctively knows to be ready for any surprise attack. It was a reflex which had been drilled into his skull ever since the first revolution for L’Manburg, and reinforced throughout his traumatic time in Pogtopia.

But he wasn’t in either of those places anymore. He was in Logsteadshire, under Tnret’s white canvas, and he was already sitting up. Once he notices a dull tingling sensation in the palm of his right hand, his slow brain, still clinging desperately to the sleep it was deprived of, finally puts the pieces together.

Tommy had just slapped himself in the face to wake up.

That, of course, could only mean one thing: Dream had decided to start early this morning. The exiled teen groans loudly as the realization dawns on him.

He slumps back over and falls onto the thin mattress, waiting for what he knows will soon happen. Dream had spent the past three days making a routine out of it, after all.

Sure enough, after a short ten seconds, Tommy rises back out of bed, tosses his legs over the edge, then mechanically stands up and steps out of the tent. As he walks along the simple path of pressed grass, Tommy takes in the surroundings through tired eyes.

It’s a perfectly fine day in the exile lands, dubbed by Ghostbur, and later himself, as Logsteadshire. The temperature was mild, the birds were chirping, and the slight wind was rustling through the grass and rhythmically pushing the shoreline back and forth along the sandy beaches. The sun had barely risen past the curved horizon, annoying Tommy greatly. Its low position meant that Dream’s rude awakening was hours before the bright light streaming into his tent would naturally wake him.

Unfortunately, he isn’t able to stop and watch the landscape for much longer, as Tommy’s legs still walk themselves towards the log complex lying at the end of that short path, past the Nether portal. The tall walls had been built primarily by Ghostbur, the ghost of his dead brother Wilbur. All things considered, it was a rather cozy place to stay, containing its own tent the same color as his blue handouts, and a small kitchenette tucked against the barkless oak and birch logs. The campsite as a whole was nestled perfectly between a relatively small hill and equally small grove of oak trees.

In short, Tommy had very conflicted feelings about Logsteadshire as a whole. He appreciated that Ghostbur had taken the time to make him as comfortable as possible during his “vacation”, but he was keenly aware of how utterly trapped and powerless Tommy was, all thanks to Dream. Thoughts like those would often warp the scenery around him into a bleaker and more depressing variant, possibly a reflection of his own mental state.

As he turns the corner with stiff joints in his knees, through the simple entryway into the tall walls of lumber, the first thing he notices is Dream. The perfectly polished white mask is stood expectantly along the assorted pathway of cobblestone and gravel, and in his right hand he holds a pair of thin, softly glowing wooden sticks, leveled parallel with the ground.

The porcelain smile doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, good morning, Tommy! You’re up awfully early, what’s the occasion?” he remarks, lacing a certain faux affection into his words with a tilt of his head.

What an absolute prick, Tommy thinks. There is no special occasion, Dream is the sole reason he’s up as early as he is. Tommy knows it, and he knows for a fact that Dream does too.

So, to preserve what defiance he has left, Tommy refuses to acknowledge the man’s words. They’re nothing but lies either way.

Dream is all too happy to continue reminding Tommy of his current situation. “Say, why is your face red?” he asks kindly, gesturing to the right side of his own spotless facade.

“Fuck you.” Tommy utters in a low growl, unable to hold back the unbridled hatred he felt towards the man who had just forced him into the circular logged area. He can just hear the sadistic grin in his voice, hidden under that damned smile.

Still holding the wooden rods, Dream places both hands on his sides and berates the boy with a patient tone. “Now Tommy, is that any way to talk to your best friend?”

“Fuck. You.” he repeats, voice growing ever harsher. Dream always knew exactly how to rile him up, it’s like Tommy was forced to be mad at him.

Forced. How ironic.

Dream lets out an over-dramatic sigh. “It seems I’ll just have to correct that, then.” he says with a resigned tone. He promptly reaches into his inventory and puts away the sticks, then extracts a playful sock which resembles something a child would fashion with arts and crafts.

Tommy starts to gripe. “Come on Dream, not the sock again...” he groans, and quickly, aware that speaking won’t be an option in only a few seconds.

As expected, his mouth starts to move and the words spill from his lips. “I’m- so rye... sorry, Dream.” Tommy’s voice is painfully slow and without inflection, parsing out every syllable and doubling back on misspoken words. “It was... inconsiderate, of me, to reject your... genuine concern, form. For me.” At some point in the speech—which has been moving at a crawl—he’d crossed his arms in indignation and tried his best to level Dream with a hard glare. “I should not act, in such away... such a way, to my only... friend.”

With Tommy’s speech—which belonged to him only by voice alone—now finished, Dream places the sock back in his inventory.

“Thank you, Tommy. I accept your apology.”

Tommy tries to stay angry at his oppressor. He really does. But he simply doesn’t think he has the strength to hold on to such emotions anymore. It feels like his anger is literally leaking through his skin like body heat, or like spoken words that aren’t his own.

Tommy’s rebellious front crumbles to dust. His arms fall slack to his sides, his spine sags into a much smaller posture, and his partially dulled blue eyes relax and look away. A feeling of hopelessness overwhelms him.

He breathes a deep, tired sigh of defeat. “Yeah...” he finally responds.

The former vice president weakly plucks the lone wooden bowl from his inventory—the only item found within it—and lumbers over to Mushroom Henry. The animal gives off a low moo as Tommy fills the crudely crafted bowl with the signature stew, quickly slurps down its contents, and returns to Dream to begin the day.

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

Now

Across the sea, in the formally recognized independent country of New L'Manburg, the current president also starts his day.

Tubbo woke in his bedroom inside the white house a few hours after the majority of his nation did, and glancing at the gold clock mounted on the wall, it was only one or two hours before noon. The too-young head of state is fully aware that he should wake up at a much more reasonable hour, given how important his position is in the newly rebuilt city, but he just can’t find the will to do so.

Not without his best friend and brother by his side to give him a push and keep his spirits up. 

Just as he’s done first thing every day for almost an entire month, President Tubbo grabs the small compass-watch off his nightstand and affixes the hardy leather strap around his wrist by muscle memory. Finished, he stares at the leather binding for a few seconds and reads the familiar etching on the strap itself, wearing a sad, nostalgic smile filled with regret.

Your Tommy

Standing up from the edge of his bed, Tubbo turns his wrist back over and inspects the purple glowing face of the watch, tapping it a few times with his fingernail to ensure it still shows the proper direction. The needle inside the compass itself vigilantly points the way to Tommy, yet taunts at the seemingly impossible distance between the once inseparable teenagers.

The precious item allows Tubbo to feel like a piece of Tommy is still there, walking right along with him and following him everywhere. It’s for that reason alone that Tubbo feels the need to take it off before he showers each morning, including right now.

He puts his watch back on once he leaves the bathroom, clean and dressed in full presidential uniform. A navy blue suit and similar slacks, with a red tie tucked under it and dual golden epaulets with tassels to show his prestige. Even if Tubbo knows how large his shortcomings have been as the president, he can still wear the outfit of a successful one.

As for food, he prepares a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs. For some reason, Quackity has been butchering a number of pigs lately, so the cabinet has a sizable surplus of the raw meat. They find any way they can to put it to good use, such as frying thin strips of it for an early meal. The eggs were easy enough to get ahold of, and he ate the meal with a refreshing glass of orange juice, the latter being a luxury that only the wealthier populace of New L’Manburg could afford.

Tubbo’s ready to travel around the relatively small nation and greet people once he finishes his food. While the official population count was barely cresting three hundred, most people he knew personally could be found in the downtown area. That’s where the last legs of the Manburg-Pogtopia War took place, where Wilbur detonated his massive cache of explosives, and where the rebuilding efforts were concentrated as a direct result of it.

At around noon, Tubbo bursts through the heavy front double doors of the white house, filling his lungs with a deep breath. As the president, he has a duty to keep up with the issues and wellbeing of the country’s citizens, and if he can do that in person with his friends, that’s all the better.

He rubs his compass a bit with his thumb. No amount of interaction with his good friends could replace his best friend, but it had to do.

Tubbo’s first stop is Niki’s bakery. On occasion, he buys a bread roll to finish off breakfast, depending on how hungry he still was that day.

As he steps through the entrance close to the docks he helped build all those months ago, he sees Niki within, tending to the shop. There’s only several people eating there, none of which he recognizes.

She looks up from the cooking utensils she’d been cleaning and gives a warm smile. “Good... afternoon, Tubbo!” she says with a pause, closely checking the clock on the wall. “Will it be the usual again?”

“Yes, please.” Tubbo sits on a vacant stool close to Niki’s counter. “Is it really the afternoon already? I just left the white house.” he asks with a pang of disbelief.

The baker leans on the counter, meeting her president at eye level. “Tubbo... are you getting enough sleep? And be honest. We’re all aware of how late you’ve been waking up recently.”

“That’s not it, Niki.” he responds, carrying his forehead in one hand, sighing. “The problem isn’t sleeping, it’s... the waking up part is what gets me, y’know?”

Niki hums with understanding. “You don’t feel like you have a reason to get out of bed in the morning.” she assumes, and Tubbo nods in agreement. “Well, how do you think I felt, living in Manburg? Under him?”

Understandably, she spit out the name with hatred in her voice. Schlatt’s “very own right hand man” was there when the man decided to make Niki’s life hell, raising her taxes for no reason other than her hate for his guts. Niki and Tubbo didn’t have much opportunity to chat discreetly until they both defected to Pogtopia, and by then, they were facing the whole new problem of war on the horizon.

He must’ve been deep in thought, because Niki resumes talking like Tubbo had gone quiet for an awkwardly long time. “Think of it like a project, it gets easier once you start.” she says, granting the advice with a kind voice. “And, if you really need help, then just go see Puffy! I’m sure she’ll love to talk to you, she’s practically a therapist.”

Tubbo smiles warmly. “Thanks, Niki. Could I... get that roll now?” he asks.

“Right, of course.” she says simply, ducking under the counter. “I’m sure you’re very busy and all. Here you go, Mr. President.” She hands the baked good to Tubbo while using his official title with a friendly grin, proud of him for earning the rank.

He drops a few emeralds onto the counter as payment before exiting. If he’s being honest with himself, Tubbo doesn’t think he’ll be able to speak with Puffy any time soon. As the president of L’Manburg, and the Greater Dream SMP as her enemy, it wouldn’t exactly be good for publicity if he was seen on a regular basis with such a high rank of the royal guard. He’s the leader of an entire country, issues like that are the kind of thing he needs to be conscious of.

Without a military presence apart from several lookouts along the border, New L’Manburg is the objectively weaker power. Tubbo had miraculously managed to forge an era of peace between the two factions, but with Dream overseeing the relations, he knew precisely how fragile it was.

For Tubbo, the long sought-after promise of peace, allowing an age of prosperity to take shape, was the very textbook definition of bittersweet. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it had come at the steep price of Tommy’s friendship.

Next on the list is Philza, Tubbo’s father for nearly his whole life, ever since he was found in a box on the side of a cobbled road in his infancy. Phil’s house was also situated downtown, closer to the central plaza of the city. It was a far cry from the isolated farmstead where they grew up, many miles away from where they now reside.

Tubbo is greeted by none other than Ghostbur as his incorporeal brother phases right through the closed front door. It was a common sight, considering the late president kept his blue pet sheep within Phil’s home rather than the grungy sewer. Tubbo still had no clue why he’d ever want to live in a place like that.

“Hello, Tubbo! Would you like some blue?” he asks cheerily, wearing a simple, happy smile. The spirit doesn’t hesitate to offer his gifts of the colored dye with that wispy voice of his.

Now would be a great time to soak up some sadness. He wasn’t sure if the stuff actually did anything, or if it was simply Ghostbur’s ever-cheerful mood making him feel more at ease, but either way, Tubbo always felt marginally better after receiving some. “Hi, Ghostbur. Yes, I’d love some blue.” he holds out a hand to receive the color, letting it absorb some negativity before stowing it in his inventory. “Is Phil home?” he asks as he steps up to the door.

Ghostbur answers the question with his usual bubbly personality. “Oh, yes. He’s looking after Friend for me! I just popped in to check up on them both, we’ve been chatting.” It was so jarring the first few days, seeing Wilbur with such a different state of mind, but Tubbo and others eventually grew accustomed to the floating remains of his brother. It helped that he actively separated himself from Wilbur by politely correcting anyone who used the name.

Tubbo walks through the doorway as Ghostbur passes through the adjacent wall. He immediately sees Phil standing in the first room, wearing his signature bucket hat with green robes and sandals. “Hey, mate.” he greets, letting the drawl of his accent take over. Ghostbur excuses himself, tending to Friend for the time being.

They both gravitate towards each other and share a hug for a few moments. “Hi, Dad. How have you been?” He tries—and largely fails—to sound positive, his question leaving his mouth with a certain exhausted tone to it. The two of them find nearby chairs to sit in.

It seems his father feels a similar way. “Oh, I’ve been... better.” he hesitates. “One step at a time, yeah?”

Tubbo sighs deeply. “...yeah.”

He knows precisely what his father is referring to. After all, the very reason he traveled to the city in the first place was to mend their shattered family. It was a rather uphill battle for the single parent, considering that their family included the busy president and the hybridized piglin who took one of his own two remaining lives.

‘One step at a time’ was quite the understatement. Philza had an incredibly daunting task before him.

Tubbo thought it right to help him along his way. “So... how’s- ah, Techno doing?” he pushes out nervously.

Phil is visibly taken aback by the sudden question. That was a fair reaction, Tubbo doesn’t remember a single time where he asked about his father’s interactions with anyone but Ghostbur. Phil’s expression quickly shifts to a solemn happiness. “Well... he’s been living alone in a cabin, ever since... that day.” he vaguely explains. “It’s way out in the northern tundra. The isolation, it’s... it’s good for him.”

A long, awkward pause.

“He’s... sorry, you know?” says Phil. It isn’t a question, and he doesn’t expect an answer.

Tubbo cringes from the memories. “Dad, I... I don’t think I believe that. I’m n-not sure I know how to.”

The older man understands, nodding sadly. “I promise you Tubbo, he never truly wanted to do any of what he did. Not to you, not to anyone else. He just...”

His voice starts to drown out once Tubbo starts reliving that day, on the podium, surrounded by yellow, everyone shouting at him, screaming at him-

Tubbo can’t take it. He quickly stands from his seat. “Phil, I’m... this was a mistake. I’m sorry, I-I think I should leave now.”

Now it’s Philza’s turn to let out a sigh. “Right. No, it’s me who’s sorry. Let’s talk later, yeah?”

As he quickly leaves through the front door, Tubbo doesn’t look back, holding in tears behind eyes shut tight. “Yeah.”

Closing the door and leaning against the outside of it, he quickly dries his watery eyes. It could and would harm his administration if the citizens saw their president crying. For the good of the country—which should come before all else—he must display an air of professionalism whenever he may be spotted in public.

Sobbing on his father’s stoop is far from professional. 

—o—

The third and final stop for Tubbo had been dictated by which members of his cabinet were present in L’Manburg that day, which in this case, was none of them. Fundy and Ranboo were out running the ice cream shop for the day, and Quackity had given Tubbo advanced notice the day prior that he would be busy with whatever the hell El Rapids did. If he was being honest, Tubbo has half a mind to believe that Quackity’s nation never existed in the first place, he used it as an excuse that often. He hadn’t seen any evidence of it personally, and the only people who ever acknowledged it were Quackity and his friends.

Unfortunately, the parlor was found much closer to the Greater SMP, likely to attract a wider audience of customers. It was built past even the suburbs of New L’Manburg, where the large majority of citizens lived, so it would take just under an hour by foot. On the bright side, a railway system full of single-use train cars had been designed by Sam, running directly from downtown through the residential district and into Dream’s territory. If that wasn’t good enough, being the president granted him his own personal lane of track for his convenience. He’ll have to thank the creeper again for overseeing the project when they meet again.

The station of refurbished minecarts was past the historic L’Park, a large open space which Tubbo is currently wandering by. The exceptionally silly name was created by Quackity months ago during the Manburg era, and while Tubbo pushed to get it changed early in his administration, he failed. The name had already stuck.

It was a very significant plot of land as well, containing the well protected L’Mantree, recently rebuilt Camarvan, and sprawling fields of green everywhere in between. In its center was a quaint pond with a beautiful fountain of blackstone and yellow accents, proudly echoing the great walls which stood during the first revolutionary age, the birth of the country itself.

The public park has been used by virtually everyone who had the time to enjoy it, and indeed, Tubbo had spotted everyone he knew at least once. From Niki and Puffy sharing picnic sandwiches together on the grass, to... Connor. Yes, just Connor. Tubbo had only seen him once, eating all alone on a picnic table. Sure, he was rather eccentric, wearing that unusual getup depicting some sort of blue animal, but extraordinary as it might seem, Tubbo could’ve sworn he was actually talking to someone the whole time. Connor would gesture and turn his head constantly, like there was someone sitting right next to him, yet Tubbo simply saw nothing. He never really felt the need to bring it up to the hoodie-wearing man, who never mentioned it himself, and Connor was already strange enough as is.

Tubbo, unfortunately, doesn’t have time to stop and appreciate the scenic park. There’s one very specific place he wants to take time to stop and admire, and it’s near the other end of the railway. So, he climbs into the train car on the private rail, the one made to be used only by the president and anyone else he may allow. The vehicle itself is essentially a glorified metal box, with its own small engine and a set of rudimentary controls. Pulling the clutch back pushed the vehicle forward, and squeezing the end of the handle was it’s brake.

After only eight minutes or so through grassy hills and past sparse homes, Tubbo reaches his destination. He exits the station, placed at the very edge of the residential zone, but immediately turns away from it. He knows exactly where he wants to visit before he ends up at the ice cream shop.

The dividing line of the living district is drawn by the oak wooden path that snakes its way throughout nearly the entire SMP. On one side lay rows of houses with cobbled roads running along them, and on the other were fewer homes belonging to those who had been a citizen for much longer. Wilbur’s wooden ball could be seen hanging in the distance, long since abandoned. Karl’s bamboo-covered house overlooked a sheer drop, only a few steps from the main path. And finally...

Tommy’s dirt hut.

It was little more than several rooms dug out into the side of a mound, itself also on its own hill. Tubbo stands before it, the solemn president holding back the familiar feeling of heartache. He remembers vainly trying to hide his laughter upon hearing Tommy say that he wanted to revert the stone-lined build back to simple dirt. At the time, it seemed wholly absurd. Why would you ever willingly want to live under a roof that practically crumbles around you? Tubbo recalls wondering to himself through poorly stifled laughs.

But now? He understands completely. His brother wanted a return to far simpler days. Tommy wanted his home to remind him of the good times they all once had, mere days after himself, Tubbo, and Wilbur all arrived in the area. This had been his living space throughout everything, even when they all belonged to L’Manburg officially.

Even now, the indelible mark he made on the area shone through the unkempt grass roof. Walking up to the entrance—which he dare not step through—Tubbo glances up at the sign held above the open space. TommyInnit Enterprise, it read, passionately announcing “This is my home!” to the world. His voice still lies ingrained deep in the memory of anyone who’d listened.

Tommy’s land claims were almost as loud as he was.

It breaks his heart, but with the responsibility of a country hanging over his head, Tubbo knows he can’t spend hours reminiscing over a distant past that’s likely to never return. He doesn’t have the luxury to waste more than even ten minutes in the throes of nostalgia.

Before he leaves the plot of land, he sees it, over by the edge of the cliff to his right.

The bench. Their bench.

Tubbo just can’t help himself. He walks over to the oaken bench—Tommy’s favorite wood—and sits on the right end of the seat. The bench itself is rickety from months of disuse, and it’s covered in leaves that have fallen from the tree rising above it. The music box is incredibly worn and weathered, Tubbo guessing that even if it did still work, it would sound tired and scratchy. Nature has been trying to reclaim both items, and given enough years, it will eventually succeed.

As he sits on the old thing in silence, head hung low, Tubbo turns to face the left-hand side. Looking past the empty spot where Tommy always sat, for just a moment, Tubbo thinks he actually sees his best friend and brother sitting next to him, talking with him, laughing with him-

Tubbo quickly rips his gaze away, noticing it grow blurry, then stands up off the seat. He really can’t handle emotions like these right now, not when his day has barely started. He still has work to do, and if he kept thinking of the bench, Tubbo knows he wouldn’t ever want to leave.

Breathe in, breathe out. He composes himself before exiting the area, walking past the modestly tall blackstone tower. Down the hill and along the path lies his destination, Ranboo and Fundy’s ice cream parlor. After around fifteen more minutes of walking, past the shopping district with several large homes strewn around—where one particularly brave chain store from a far-off country even decided to expand to—Tubbo arrives at the double glass doors of the frozen treat shop.

Breathe in, breathe out. He hears the familiar jingle of the bell above the door, chiming whenever someone opens the front entrance. Fundy, working the front desk, looks past the line of customers and immediately greets his good friend. “Hey, Tubbo!” he calls with a wave of his stubby paw.

The suited teen president looks him in the eyes and waves back with a half-hearted smile. Scanning the establishment, he instantly notes that the place is actually rather busy today, with what must be over twenty people, sitting and enjoying their various assortments of ice cream. He only recognizes several faces, and none of them by name.

That’s when he sees them, the only four he definitely does recognize. In the far left corner of the room, sitting in a semi-circular booth around an equally circular table, are George, Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity. Tubbo lets out an exasperated sigh.

The so-called ‘important El Rapids business’ was apparently eating ice cream.

When the beanie-wearing young adult turns to glance at the door, his eyes bulge a bit, and he instantly whips back around, putting all his attention on George in an obvious attempt to hide from the kid who’s essentially his boss.

But Tubbo isn’t having any of it. The other three only notice when he steps over to the booth, leveling Quackity alone with a disapproving glare. The Vice President still has his back turned, pretending like he didn’t know Tubbo was there. He clears his throat, calling for attention. “Ah-hem.”

The remaining trio of patrons quickly realize what’s going on, and share a quick glance at each other, grinning impishly. Sapnap is the one who decides to speak for all three of them. He plays a note with his voice, its tone steadily rising. “Looks like somebody’s in trou-uble~” he teases, placing singsong emphasis on the last word and looking directly at Quackity.

The native Spanish speaker finally turns to face Tubbo, plastering a look of mock surprise onto his face. “Hey-y, Turbo!” he says, leaning into his accent. “Didn’t- I didn’t see ya there!”

Tubbo remains silent, raising just one eyebrow in response.

The caught Quackity scrambles to find his words, laughing nervously. “So... how is, er- L’Manburg doing?” he asks, his awkward smile begging Tubbo to accept his apology.

Instead, he rubs several fingers on his forehead in annoyance. “Quackity, is this ‘El Rapids’ place even real?”

Quackity tries to act insulted, fanning his fingers across his chest dramatically. “Wha- of course it’s real! Back me up here, guys, c’mon!” he claims with a look to his friends.

The three provide a chorus of “Oh, it’s so real.” “Realer than you’d ever believe.” “I heard Q actually gave birth to it.” from George, Sapnap, and Karl, respectively. The third claim causes them all to burst out in laughter, but Quackity just looks on, embarrassed.

Tubbo is not impressed.

The vice president excuses the four of them to leave. “O-kay guys, time’s up, let’s go.”

“Busted.” Sapnap remarks with a shrug as he stands to follow his friends out the door, ice creams and milkshakes in tow.

Tubbo releases a sigh of relief as the bell dings several times, signaling their exit. It was a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, and his expression relaxes.

Finally able to do what he truly came here for, he walks up to the counter and sits at it, leaning on the flimsy, metal-edged surface. Fundy moves to greet him, the line to order having thinned out considerably, a second cashier he doesn’t recognize attending to the remaining customers. He also catches a glimpse of Ranboo in the back room, working the milkshake dispenser.

“Hey, Tubbo. What can I get for you?” Fundy greets, ready to serve him like any other customer.

The gesture makes him feel like just another ordinary citizen, breaking the chains of this damned presidency, if only for a brief moment. “Nothing. I just stopped by to say hi, see how you two are doing, that’s all.” he answers tiredly.

“Well, we’re doing just fine, don’t worry.” Fundy tells the president, who smiles. “Business is booming today, this is the most people we’ve seen in weeks.” That much is surprising given the current colder season, Tubbo assumes it was simply because today was unreasonably warm.

Tubbo can admit how good for business that was. “Well, that does sound nice.”

Fundy nods. “Yeah, we even added three more flavors recently! Cherry, banana, and butter pecan, wanna try ’em?”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

Fundy pauses to inspect the president’s face. “Okay Tubbo, I think I know what’ll cheer you up.” he says, and leans in. “Dream came by the shop earlier this morning, couple hours ago.”

Dream? How’s that meant to cheer him up? The man stopped by numerous places all the time, New L’Manburg most of all. Tubbo throws a questioning look. “Uh... okay? What’s that got to do with me?” He lets out a nervous laugh. “He try one of those new flavors you mentioned?”

Fundy smiles. “That’s just it, he didn’t want anything from us. Just waltzed in and asked where you were.”

That’s enough to grab his attention. “Me?” Tubbo asks rhetorically, “Surely he could’ve spoken with you or Ranboo about L’Manburg?”

“Nope, none of that. Dream only wanted to talk to you,” Fundy points at his friend, “and you alone. He was very insistent about it, actually.”

Any other day, Tubbo wouldn’t have thought much of it. The masked man often kept tabs on the relations between country and kingdom, but this felt different. Why would he need to speak so specifically to Tubbo, and not about New L’Manburg? What would he know that needed to be kept hidden between the two? Could it be...

Could it be about Tommy?

The thought wakes him right up. He quickly launches himself off the stool. “Well- why didn’t you say so earlier!?” exclaims Tubbo, brimming with excitement over the possibility of hearing about his best friend.

Fundy grins again. “Wanted it to be like a surprise, you looked like you needed some good news today.” he says. “He told me he’ll meet you in the city center.”

“Well, thank you! He’s probably waiting for me right now, I-I’ve gotta go!” Tubbo excuses himself, anxious to get going back to L’Manburg as soon as possible.

“Certainly. You get on outta here, Mr. President!” says the hybrid, playfully using Tubbo’s official title.

With a small wave goodbye, he flies through the front entrance, heading back to the railcar station as quickly as possible. He even takes out and chucks a few ender pearls in the same direction to cut the travel time down considerably. Each teleport takes a fair bit of energy out of Tubbo, but if Dream wishes to discuss his closest friend, it’s well worth it.

This could turn out to be a very good day for him.

[crimeboys]

taking the scene where they are dogging tommy about tnret so personally bc of the sun was sinking and also bc IT’S ALL HE HAS YOU FUCKING DICKS

[moondragon618]

Just remembered something I experience occasionally that I could project onto c!Tommy lol

So I'm pretty sure this thing that I'm referring to is hypnagogic hallucinations, which are hallucinations that happen as you're falling asleep (there's also hypnopompic hallucinations which happen as you're waking up, which I also get but not nearly as often lol). They can be visual, auditory, or somatic (feeling or sensing something that isn't there), and usually only last like a minute.

Basically it's like your brain activates dream mode a little too early and you end up awake but partially dreaming (and with hypnopompic ones it's like you wake up but your brain forgets to turn off dream mode).

Also apparently it's a pretty common thing but I never see anyone talk about it (outside of like, sleep paralysis) so enjoy my over-explanation ig lol

Anyway now for what I'm getting at with this: hc that c!Tommy also has them. This will be very much based on my own personal experience ofc (but like. with added angst lol).

/rp

I'm thinking if Tommy's had them his whole life like I have, he probably assumes it's just a weird sleep thing that happens sometimes, and figures it's just his brain still dreaming after waking up or smth (basically how I thought of it before looking into it lol).

They're probably not all that distressing at first; just stuff like seeing some unidentifiable shape in the dark or briefly hearing the sound of voices nearby. Like at worst, maybe he panics for a moment bc those furnaces in his house look a lot like a creeper that somehow got inside while he was sleeping. But after a few moments of staring intensely and trying not to be noticed, he realizes it's not moving. And is fading out the longer he looks at it. And he definitely just woke up seeing shit again lmao.

But here's where it gets interesting:

It gets worse over time, especially during and after exile (and I imagine as the trauma piles up his sleep quality just gets progressively worse which definitely wouldn't help at all). You can probably figure out where this is going lmao

Imagine; Tommy trying to get some actual sleep for once during exile. He's finally slipping into unconsciousness when he hears it.

"Drop your stuff in the hole, Tommy."

Suddenly he startles awake, instinctively getting up and running out of Tnret (fuck he must have slept in or something-), mumbling apologies as he drops all his stuff in the hole-

But there is no hole. He just dropped all his stuff on the ground. He looks around in confusion as the anxiety fades, only to find that there's no one around, and it's like the middle of the night, and what the fuck was that about-

Sometimes he hears his voice, and sometimes he'll catch a glimpse of green and a white, smiling mask in the dark. It's very nerve wracking in the moment when he can't be sure if it's real or not.

It scares the shit out of him a couple times when he's hiding out at Techno's, enough that it takes him a bit to calm down even after he realizes it's not real. (There was also that small part of him that was happy to see Dream again, but he prefers not to think about that.)

He especially hates it after Dream is put in prison, and it gets even worse after his death and revival. It's like Dream is still haunting him, even when he's locked away. It makes him even more scared to sleep, as if the nightmares weren't bad enough.

It's a million times worse after the prison break because there's a non-zero percent chance that Dream is actually there.

He usually isn't. But there were a couple times it really was him and Tommy assumed (desperately hoped) that he was just seeing things again :)

You could also easily throw some sleep paralysis in here too, I just really liked that exile scenario I mentioned earlier lol. I could go on about the possibilities with this but this is getting long so I'll leave it at this for now lmao <3

[asimpforthedreamteamsmpers]

Tnret

[undeadishness]

Local exiled teen discovers Mr. Brightside for the first time.

(MAJOR FLASH WARNING FOR THIS VIDEO)

[beaglesfoundindumpsters]

...i forgot about tnret...