my varied-canon-compliance dreamsmp works
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The kid tsks and takes a step toward him, eyes searching. "Yeah," he says, taking a slow few steps to the left, "I can see why he'd like you."
Tubbo's not sure he's ever been more lost. He lowers his hands from in front of him as the boy starts in a slow, slow circle. Like an inspection, or something. "Sorry?"
"Schlatt," he clarifies. "He's got a knack for - for vulnerable youths."
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It's the night before the festival. Tubbo has a dream.
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"You haven't slept," Tommy says first. Tubbo's still muttering under his breath, quiet affirmations that ultimately won't make a dent in the darkness behind Tommy's eyes. He goes silent instead. His hands dig into Tommy's shoulders.
"You were having a nightmare," he says.
"No shit," Tommy says. There's no room for conversation. There's no room for much of anything at all.
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(a small collection of character studies with an,,,, alternate ending)
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Phil breathes, and Techno can practically see the paternal animal reawaken in his chest when he inhales. “What in the ever-loving fuck were you thinking?”
He could be honest. He could say efficiency or tact or you, you, you - and he’s not sure if Phil would ever forgive him for it.
“They’re still kids,” Phil continues. “You - you’re all still kids, really. But they’re both just boys.”
“It’s not like I didn’t warn them,” Techno says.
Phil winces. “I know. I just - Christ, mate.”
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Wilbur blows L'manburg to shreds in one simple push. Techno gets rid of the rest. Phil finds him after to see if there's anything left worth salvaging.
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love, and be silent (and make these hard hearts) by spaghettoi for WreakingHavok
Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF, Dream SMP
05 Jan 2021
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“I’ll be honest, I’m not even sure what a president does,” Tubbo says with a shrill, nervous giggle, and it’s just not fair.
Wilbur stares up at the new podium with a smile like a saint and a holy, handsome glimmer in his eye. His laughter the angel’s chorus, his clapping the beat of wings. There isn’t a shred of madness in his posture; every bit of him is carved with divine intention. Fundy’s dread sinks like a stone in his stomach as he realizes that the choice of Tubbo was as stupid as it was purposed.
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L'manburg is dead. Each and every one of its killers is left to pick up its pieces.
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“I keep waking up—like—drowning, again.” Tommy swallows. “Or at least feeling like it.”
Tubbo freezes, staglike. Not for the first time, he can’t think of what to say. He stares at his best friend in the low lamplight as he toys with the white streak in his age-darkened hair.
“Everything feels like water,” he continues when Tubbo stays silent. “Like I’m fuckin’—treading.”
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A year after the Community House was destroyed, Tommy (accidentally) walks off a pier. Tubbo didn’t realize that was something he had to watch out for.
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