Latest Posts by muddleufflwe - Page 5

"It’s the pink and white striped savior that stills right by the park, stark and blinding in the middle of a long-scorned, scorching summer sunup, shimmering, as the sun, savored."

Hoping he can recover soon <3

why are people making angsty c!tommy headcanons about c!wilbur smoking when instead you can imagine the numerous ridiculous things that tommy must have done to get wilbur to stop

wilbur, walking in: hi t-

tommy, who has covered the place in ‘No Smoking Signs’: hi wilbur (:

one day wilbur goes to grab a cigarette and instead finds a bunch of lollipops. he goes to grab some others and finds a 64 pack of crayola crayons. tommy has replaced all of the ones he has with increasingly ridiculous items. at one point wilbur goes to grab a cigarette and instead finds an entire rubber goose.

at one point after wilbur’s revival tommy bribes everyone into putting up ‘No Smoking’ signs with anti-smoking hotlines on them

wilbur, trying to talk to techno: oh hi t- what’s that

techno, who owns like 4 of them because phil is old and he isn’t taking risks: addiction is a disease wilbur

HERE COMES

hhhello

veiled in the wilds

flavourful illustration of Lotte with her cloak that lets her shapeshift into animals.

I will mourn with you the loss of ideas, but you must learn to mourn yourself first.

At The End of The Road

—From June 8 2021

TW // mentions of injury , nukes , mentions of war, mentions of death, major character death, tubbo death

Nothing felt right. That was all right, all right, the whole left side of his body was burnt badly and he was beaten and bruised. He’d only been able to escape due to the army of totems left behind. Totems. He wondered what would happen to them in his final act, of the final act. Would they be used? Blown to smithereens? Maybe they wouldn’t even get scratched? Dropping them from the highest point of the SMP didn’t work, what was to say nukes would? He staggered over to the military base, abandoned for the war, looking worse for wear. Manifold had kicked him out long since and this was enforced via turrets, but with them gone to manifold’s inventory ‘to shift the tides of war in his favor’, there were none left to defend the base. (Everything nowadays was about the war. That was how Ranboo had gone, a small pendant safely secured around his neck with gold strings, gone to help the syndicate. For the war. For his family. For his friends.) He’d gone in guns blazing, expecting death, but even then they’d failed to kill him. (They’d failed to kill Tommy too, and in embarrassment had killed him off in the veil of night, in his own bed, in his own home.) He stopped retreating into memories of the far past, taking strut after strut into the lab he once shared. He’d considered Manifold a friend, and for a brief moment wondered if they would forgive him, if he didn’t draw the curtains. They stood before the furthest room, metal door left ajar, left unconsidered. Paper was strewn about everywhere in the corridor, covered in dirt and dust, as were the walls with vines. He ignored the papers, useless in all their redacted glory. Within the room he walked up to the rightmost wall, counting the grooves between the tiles. Made of a mixture of bone, concrete, and quartz, a powerful block that they’d invented together, pulled together by a common silicone mixture recommended by Foolish. In what felt like seconds he’d counted all the way up to twenty, and sure enough, right there, was a small ridge, that he’d marked out a long time ago. He placed the lever that he’d stolen from one of the control panels. If he was doing this, he was doing it his way. A brief image of Wilbur in his final moments appeared before him, just as Philza had described it. He wondered for a second, if they were any different at all. A button or a lever, all that it took. The stampede of feet echoed in the distance, ringing in his ears. Maybe Eret was wrong, maybe nothing does change. He felt himself smile, for the first time in a long while, as he braced himself for the inevitable. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing” J- Manifold’s voice echoed from the doorway. At this, he could only let slip one sentence. No bitter resentment in his tone, no positive delight. A simple, genuine drawl. One practiced and thought through.

“I’ll get to be the antagonist to their protagonist.”

It was said under his breath, with such conviction, such childishness he said it, but such was honesty. He leaned his back against the lever, arms having gone completely numb a little ago. The burns rushed against himself in a cold flare, darkness overtaking him. O’ sweet freedom at last; and although he wasn’t a particularly religious person, he wondered for a brief second, if they’d ever collide again in other worlds.

Adding to this:

Revivedbur smokes candy cigarettes- they look so convincing that everyone else and their relatives thrice removed 'know' that he's a heavy smoker. In reality, he just has a huge sweet tooth and bad chewing habit (he used to chew his fingernails down to the edges so he replaced that with something objectively healthier) I like to imagine that his 'smoking habits' spark some kind of conversation with Phil later who grows concerned for his health only to find out that no, his son had not been taking up heavy smoking for the past couple of months that he'd been alive (like he and everyone else had thought,) but it was in fact him enjoying some sweets.

Image credit: junquedrawerstudio . com

Crows n headcanons

Surprise meeting from the future

A frequent night terror that goes both ways

The Monkey’s Paw bookstore (Toronto) - not pictured is the book vending machine that pumps out antiquarian reads for $4 a pop

So I saw this tweet today, and I think the question this person poses is actually a very interesting jumping off point for analysis. I absolutely refuse to make a 100 tweet long thread about this though, so here I am, typing out my thoughts on a platform without a character limit.

(this is all /dsmp /rp, unless otherwise specified all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I wanna start off by saying that I am NOT what I would describe as a “Dream anti/hater.” I’m a MASSIVE enthusiast, he’s easily one of my favorite villains in any piece of media I’ve ever consumed, precisely because he is a smug, over-the-top asshole who will stop at absolutely nothing to get his way. It’s incredibly fun to see his antics in action, and immensely satisfying when he finally gets his comeuppance.

I’m going to first delve into the second question: what makes Dream different from other villains in other pieces of media?

Well, he’s not, not really. The way he acts and carries out his plans is unique to his character of course, but the role he fills in the narrative and the way he plays that role is a pretty common archetype, though one that has fallen a bit out of use as of late.

Dream is a Pure Evil Villain.

The video I’ve linked goes into WAY more depth, but the basics of the PEV archetype is that they:

Have no backstory (at least not one that’s relevant to the plot).

Have very simplistic goals (i.e. taking over the world, retribution for perceived slights, or just wreaking indiscriminate havoc).

Have motivations that are purely self-serving, and they’re having a lot of fun carrying them out. (That said, some PEVs had complex motivations once upon a time and may have been full-on good guys, but have long lost sight of their original goal.)

Have an unwavering sense of self-confidence, and a MASSIVE ego.

End their stories with a third-act breakdown (or as TvTropes refers to it, a Villainous Breakdown, which is a term I’m gonna keep using here because DSMP doesn’t have a three-act structure), where they crash and burn in spectacular fashion as the hero finally comes out on top.

Dream ticks ALL of these boxes.

He has no backstory or even a point of view, and even if he got one, it wouldn’t change much about how we perceive his character. We can glean his goals, motives and personality pretty well from his interactions with the people around him.

His goal is literally just “control the entire server through any means necessary,” which is why he goes to such lengths to crush his political rivals, break Tommy’s defiance against him, and create a giant fuckoff prison to throw major threats into.

He’s stated multiple times that he enjoyed watching L’Manburg get destroyed, was laughing and telling Lazar “this is the best part” while destroying Tommy’s armor in exile, and tells Tommy and Tubbo he’s “playing with [his] food, that’s the fun in it” after they lose the initial battle of the Final Disc War.

He’s nothing BUT self-confident. I cannot remember a single moment where he doubts himself or has a moment of introspection, and an insult I’ve never heard Tommy use for anyone except Dream is “egotistical bastard.”

His villainous breakdown happened at the end of the Final Disc War, when he was suddenly made powerless, none of his manipulation tactics worked anymore and Tommy was actively beating him to death. He ended up huddling in a corner, begging and bargaining for his life, before being thrown into his own prison.

(Sidenote ‘cause I know it’s gonna get brought up. Dream has claimed he just wants the server to be a happy family twice, but the context of the scenes make it obvious that you’re not supposed to take that line at face value.

The first time he said it, he was talking to Punz, his only ally at the time, while standing in front of the prison he commissioned, helped design and helped build. During that same conversation, he claimed the prison was only for the most dangerous people on the server… but also that it had twenty cells, and a main cell that could fit multiple people, when the server’s population at the time was about thirty. This conversation also took place right after Tommy ran away from exile, meaning Dream was saying this knowing he’d abused and wanted to continue abusing a sixteen year-old boy to the point where he attempted literal suicide.

The second time, he was talking to Tommy in prison, right after Tommy told him he wouldn’t be visiting him anymore, and Dream was desperately trying to change his mind by claiming he could change as a person if Tommy kept up his visits. Tommy’s response says it better than I could.

Dream’s actions speak louder than his words. He can claim he just wants a happy family, but when he’s cut off, abused, kidnapped, killed, tormented and blackmailed the people he’s supposed to care about into compliance, it becomes pretty obvious that if you don’t fit into HIS image of a happy family, you need to be locked up in a tiny box or dumped on a remote island and beaten until you’re so broken you will just do whatever he tells you to without question.)

Now, if you have a shitty literature teacher, they’ll tell you that villains NEED to be morally grey, have complex motivations and a chance at redemption, otherwise it’s bad writing. However, that’s not true. Some of the most iconic villains of pop culture are PEVs, like Bill Cipher, or Megatron, or Moriarty, or literally any classic Disney villain. It’s not bad writing, it’s just not fashionable right now. Just because other villains in the narrative ARE morally grey, doesn’t mean Dream needs to be.

It’s also become popular nowadays to have a PEV AND a sympathetic, redeemable villain working together, most often with the sympathetic villain serving under the PEV. Zuko is sympathetic and redeemable, Ozai is the PEV. Gideon Gleeful is sympathetic and redeemable, Bill Cipher is the PEV. Catra is sympathetic and redeemable, Hordak is the PEV. Nebula is sympathetic and redeemable, Thanos is the PEV.

This allows writers to have the best of both worlds; it allows for the emotional journey and incredible character development that comes with a really good redemption arc, while also having the flair and pizazz and unbridled charisma and catharsis at seeing them crash and burn that comes with a PEV. Some writers try to have both in one character, but that rarely ever goes right (like how Thanos’s goal of wiping out half the universe is supposedly to prevent overpopulation while keeping biodiversity, yet he also killed all the dwarves and tortured Eitri for no reason).

Whenever Dream teams up with another villain, he’s ALWAYS taking the PEV role.

When he teamed up with Wilbur for November 16th, Wilbur acted the way he did because he was mentally ill, suicidal and severely paranoid, convinced nobody wanted or needed him, that everyone secretly hated him, that betrayal was just around the corner, and that he was the villain of his own story. He destroyed his own creation in a fit of anguish, before committing suicide by proxy. While his behavior is largely unchanged after his revival, it’s clear he is still in a lot of pain, and there is a lot of setup for a redemption arc for him. Dream, meanwhile, fought on Schlatt’s side, egged Techno on through whispers as Tubbo was being sworn in, screamed the loudest “YES” I’ve ever heard when the TNT went off, then proceeded to place more TNT and attack everything in sight while Techno went on his rampage. When everything was said and done, he even ran over to Tommy’s house and blew that up too for good measure.

When Dream teamed up with Techno and Philza during Doomsday, Philza was clearly convinced L’Manburg was the cause of all the pain on the server and that destroying it would be the right thing to do, and used its destruction as an outlet for the grief he carried over the death of his son. While his target was misplaced, you can see how he came to the conclusions he did, and how his own biases, prejudices and boomer-ish “I am older and have more experiences therefore I’m always right” attitude cloud his judgement. Dream, meanwhile, outright admitted that he decided to destroy L’Manburg instead of burning the discs because it was just more fun that way, and said some DISGUSTINGLY creepy things to Tommy on the grid. We also know that, after Techno and Phil already left, Dream stayed behind and rained TNT down for days.

(I didn’t mention Techno here because I would argue that, in the context of Doomsday, Techno also classifies as a PEV. That’s a discussion for another time though.)

The Final Disc war, in my opinion, PERFECTLY illustrates Dream’s pure evilness. He describes himself and his actions as evil multiple times, acts completely in his own self-interest, is MASSIVELY overconfident until he’s thwarted by Punz and co, and he is, of course, having an absolute BLAST with his reprehensible actions.

Which leads me into the other question: what makes him irredeemable?

PEVs are irredeemable pretty much by definition. The combination of selfish motives, massive ego and lack of introspection makes for a character that’s EXTREMELY allergic to character development, and character development is pretty much the point of a redemption arc. It’s a MASSIVE shift in a character’s goals, ideals, morals and sometimes personality, brought on by massive amounts of introspection and self-doubt, and that’s just not something a self-assured, egotistical person who KNOWS their goals are selfish and evil and enjoys it would ever really do.

The only PEV I’ve ever seen get something resembling a redemption arc is Hordak from the She-Ra reboot.

(SPOILERS)

In season 3, Hordak meets Entrapta, a princess working for the Horde with a scientific mind just like his. As he bonds with and gets romantic feelings for Entrapta, he slowly starts to open up to her about his past, his struggles with his physical health, and how he just wants the approval of Horde Prime. When Prime eventually arrives however, his achievements are waved off, he’s deemed defective due to his physical illness, and has his memories erased. He’s eventually used as a replacement body by Prime, before openly defying Prime and hurling him off a cliff.

Thing is though, it’s not a redemption arc in that he’s instantly forgiven, or even that he’s a good person now. The princesses (sans Entrapta) look visibly uncomfortable or afraid of him, and Mermista even outright asks if anyone is gonna say something about Hordak being there during the big end-of-series celebration. Hordak defied Prime, but he’s not automatically a good guy, nor is he treated as one.

(END OF SPOILERS)

The most important point is: as soon as Hordak enters his redemption arc, he stops being a PEV. His backstory is suddenly integral to his character, his self-confidence turns out to be a farce, and while his motives are still self-serving, they’re much more complex than the generic take-over-the-world villain he was before. A redeemable PEV can’t exist, because as soon as they start redeeming themselves, they cannot continue being pure evil.

Dream has shown to be completely allergic to character development. No bargain with him has ever worked to his detriment, nobody can reason with him because he’s so set in his own ways, and he has never shown any kind of remorse for his own actions. The only person he’s ever apologized to is Tommy, and you can tell from his tone and the way he refuses to even mention specific events that he’s sorry for that it’s purely performative. Any redemption arc NEEDS to start with a villain examining themselves, or feeling remorse for their actions, or questioning their position. Dream never does that, HAS never done that, and it’s looking like he never will.

However, if you’re looking at specific actions that make him irredeemable, there’s one event that pushes him over the edge.

Because sure, some villains have tortured people, have killed people, have committed acts of terrorism, and still received redemption arcs (though there’s usually some level of coercion involved so they cannot be held 100% responsible, like they were brainwashed or acting on someone else’s orders).

There is, however, a line. TvTropes refers to this line as the Moral Event Horizon, as like with the event horizon of a black hole, once you pass it, there is no going back. Where that line is is kind of subjective, it depends on the narrative weight placed on the event, the cultural standards of the audience, and in part, the personal opinion of the viewer.

But I don’t think it’s a controversial statement to say that Dream passed the Moral Event Horizon with Tommy’s exile.

I don’t know if you’ve watched exile live, but as someone who has, I can tell you that it was fucking GRIM. People had to stop watching the streams entirely or wait for people to post trigger warnings and summaries on Twitter and Tumblr before watching the VOD, because it was legitimately triggering to some. AO3 was full of fics of Tommy being pulled out of Logstedshire by other people on the server (mostly Techno and Phil) a trembling, traumatized husk of his former self, and those were the OPTIMISTIC ones. There were jokes about Tommy’s chat getting traumatized with him, as they were constantly telling him to run, get away from Dream and hide his armor, and whenever “Dream joined the game” appeared in chat, everyone’s stomachs collectively DROPPED. The general mood in the fanbase was one of helpless panic and terror as we watched this kid be slowly destroyed in front of our eyes through physical, emotional and psychological abuse, gaslighting, and isolation. Hell, exile is the event that sparked the creation of the c!, cc!, /dsmp and /rp tags, because people didn’t want sentences like “what Dream is doing to Tommy is abuse, this is actually horrific” to make it to the wider internet without any kind of context.

Exile is one of the most narratively heavy events on the server. It changed Tommy and Dream’s relationship status from “friendly rivals” to “abuser and victim,” and completely destroyed any sense of friendship they had left after November 16th. It’s permanently scarred Tommy to the point where even now, nine whole months later, he still has self-esteem issues, depressive episodes, flashbacks, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, and a pervasive fear of Dream breaking out of prison. It’s one of the most realistic portrayals of abuse and trauma in fiction I’ve ever seen, and it is HARD to rewatch.

But most importantly, the vast majority of people who thought Dream was in the right at the time dropped that IMMEDIATELY as soon as it became apparent what exile was REALLY about. I have a friend who was a huge sympathiser/apologist for L’Manburg and Pogtopia era Dream, but who refuses to even CONSIDER defending anything related to exile. The points about exile not being that bad, Tommy deserving it, or Dream trying to help him somehow didn’t start cropping up until MONTHS after exile ended, when memories of the events had been warped by time, fanon had blended with canon, and the horrific details had faded in most people’s minds.

There are very few outright abusive characters who have gotten redemption arcs, and those arcs are often reviled by fans. Abuse, child abuse especially, is one of those actions that make you completely irredeemable as a villain, like torturing someone purely for fun, or killing babies, or kicking dogs. Ozai’s establishing character moment is a flashback where he burns his son’s face off and exiles him for speaking out of turn, and the show makes it clear you’re not supposed to see that as anything EXCEPT revolting.

There is nothing Dream’s POV could show us that would make what he did to Tommy acceptable. There’s nothing he could say or do that would make exile okay. Exile is as low as he could morally go, and the fact that he not only has shown no remorse for it, but even seems to remember it fondly makes redemption impossible for him. What could he do that’s worse than exile? What would prompt him to feel any semblance of guilt or shame if exile didn’t spark it?

When you isolate and abuse a sixteen year-old boy, clearly have fun doing it, and feel not a single shred of guilt in the aftermath, you’re not gonna get a redemption arc, because that’s just not the kind of character you are at that point. Redemption arcs are reserved for sympathetic villains and fallen heroes, like Zuko, like Catra, like Wilbur. Even Hordak, who got a redemption arc, wasn’t an actual PEV in the end. He was a sympathetic villain in disguise, and as he shed the mask of pure evil and got some character development, the role of PEV was passed to Horde Prime.

The reason villains like Ursula, Maleficent, Bill Cipher, Cruella De Vil and Jafar are so fun to watch is precisely BECAUSE they’re unapologetically evil. The biggest criticism the live-action adaptations of Maleficent and Cruella received is that they strip that away from the characters to make them sympathetic and redeemable, and therefore - ironically - a lot more bland.

Dream’s pure evilness is what makes his character so much fun to watch. Giving him a redemption arc now not only wouldn’t make sense narratively speaking, it would actively strip away the aspects of his character that make him such a good villain! People don’t watch a PEV to see them grapple with their morality, they watch them to see them fuck shit up! A true PEV needs to be stripped of everything that makes them cool and interesting to their audience in order to even BEGIN thinking about redemption.

You can even see this happening in the way Dream is retroactively made to be more sympathetic by his apologists. There’s this running joke in a Discord server I’m in that Fanon!Dream is a fucking pussy, and that Canon!Dream would wipe the fucking floor with him, and I can’t help but agree.

There’s an idea going around that Wilbur manipulated Dream into becoming evil, that he constantly called Dream a tyrant and a dictator, and that Dream was so upset by this that he started the L’Manburg War. Except, not only does this have no basis in canon, it kinda makes Dream look pathetic, doesn’t it? Canon!Dream is a tyrannical control freak who saw some people make an area where his rules didn’t apply and decided to beat it into the ground to once again rule undisputed, not caring who he hurt or killed in the process. Fanon!Dream started a whole war because Some Guy he’d canonically talked to maybe twice and his annoying brother called him mean names.

There’s also the idea that exile needed to happen, because Dream saw that Tommy was such a destructive asshole all the time that he posed a massive threat to the server. Except… Tommy is absolutely not the most destructive person on the server. He’s loud and annoying, sure, and he could be destructive, especially in the early days where he often vandalized people’s stuff for fun. But… it never got worse than that. Was a teenager swearing at people and doing petty vandalism really such a massive threat to the server’s apparently paper-thin integrity that he needed to be taken away for everyone else’s safety? Or was it the fact that Tommy constantly called Dream out on his bullshit, refused to concede to his terms, questioned his authority, and encouraged other people to do the same?

Making Dream heroic also warps every single character around him, making them all unreasonably cruel to Dream specifically. Wilbur made him a villain for Reasons and was always a controlling chessmaster manipulating everyone around him (honestly it’s like their entire personalities switched places here). Tommy is a rabid animal only capable of destruction who needs to be kept on a leash for everyone else’s safety. L’Manburg is a xenophobic, colonialist, other buzzword empire. Sapnap and George left him because they’re bad friends, and not because he continually betrays them, uses them, disregards their wishes completely, and does nothing to refute Sapnap’s claim that he doesn’t care about them. He doesn’t deserve to be in prison, despite the fact that he murdered a bunch of people, abused a child, committed multiple acts of terrorism, and got caught red handed trying to murder a defenseless teenager while his friend watched and having a vault with everyone’s most valued possessions for blackmail purposes. Oh and did I mention the Skeppy cage?

A redemption arc for Dream would not only open up some really uncomfortable cans of worms (like Tommy suddenly being expected by fans and other characters to forgive and be nice to the man who made his life a living hell for months), it would be an active detriment to his character, because it strips away everything that makes him interesting in the first place.

If you want to watch a complex character going through a slow, painful redemption, go follow Wilbur’s storyline. If you want to watch a morally good man get beaten down by the world over and over again until he’s willing to go to even the most heinous lengths to secure his own safety and happiness, Quackity is right there. Let Dream be the guy who fucks shit up without remorse. Wilbur and Quackity can handle the emotional conflict and slow, painful spirals and roads to recovery, Dream can give us the explosions and villain speeches and the stomach-dropping terror whenever he appears on screen.

Anyway that’s my hot take, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

c!Wilbur blasts revived every morning to disguise the sounds of his uncontrollable sobs.

TommyInnit and Tubbo_ have just earned the achivement [Teamwork]

There are moments when we have real fun because, just for the moment, we don't think about things and then--we remember--and the remembering is worse than thinking of it all the time would have been.

L.M. Montgomery, Rilla of Ingleside

The Dream SMP is a love story.

Not a traditional one by any means. There’s a lot more blood, a lot more death, a lot more broken bones.

It’s about the love between the revolutionary and his right-hand man. The one that became fraternal, that went between life and death, that demonstrates how love and hate are not opposites but counterparts. That they are fuelled by care, by fear, by the inability to let go even when it makes your hands bleed. The inability to stop following even though your feet are tired, because at least then you can tell yourself you’re not lost.

Keep reading

you know, it kind of irks me that tommy told wilbur that he didn’t get a grave. because he did.

when phil traveled the long, winding rabbit trails that led to techno’s arctic home, he left footprints in the snow that traced the frozen earth in looping cursive letters in the way a lost man wanders - and that was a grave.

when tubbo laid the stone foundations of snowchester’s nuclear storage facility, he carved a plateau out of the cliffs, which looked out over the sea from the highest point on the island. he could see birds below him tracing their dark shapes through the rolling fog - and that was a grave.

when niki wore wilbur’s old trench coat, it was muddy and torn and rusted red around the chest where he had been shot and stabbed and brutalized by explosions. she mended each hole with the careful precision with which she had sewn his flag - and that was a grave.

when fundy threw his father’s hat into the sea, he heaved a sob and fell to his knees, and he dug his fingers into the thin, dry seagrass until it fell in shredded piles at his sides. the sand was all he knew as it made raw the skin on his palms - and that was a grave.

so when tommy tore the patches from his jacket, when he sealed the entrance to pogtopia, when he set wilbur’s old guitar in the empty dockmaster’s house as finely tuned as he could make it, when he looked ghostbur in the eyes and didn’t flinch, didn’t waver, didn’t cry until he sat on his bloodied bedsheets and gripped the cloth in a white-knuckle grip and screamed until his voice gave out - that was a grave. that was wilbur’s grave.

Wednesday in Wyoming

—From July 10 2021

TW // cults , possession , murder , death of parent , confinement , sacrifice , mentions of blood , mentions of gore

Wednesday. It’s a day of the week that eliminates at least half of your primary school spelling bee competitions. It’s a day that marks the half-way point to freedom, and to Techno, it’s a hard day of the week to stay alive through.

Techno was a young boy. He was but six when he was first possessed. It was by a lesser demon, but to such a small vessel, such a tiny mortal, it didn’t seem that way. Maybe this was better, that the demon decided to possess a small boy, because if it had decided to possess a grown adult, who knew what damages it may have caused. His parents didn’t do much to help, and it wasn’t that they were clueless either. It was not even that they did not believe in the supernatural. No, they were the ones to call upon the demon, although their target wasn’t necessarily intended to be their own son.

Techno grew up in a cult. It operated in a ruined, vacant house in the middle of nowhere, in good old Wyoming. Wyoming’s a strange state. It’s very barren for how beautiful it is, and very little of it is talked about by anyone else, including it’s own inhabitants.

It’s Wednesday in Wyoming, and Techno had just been possessed in the basement of the cult’s meeting place.

It was somehow, someway, somewhat going to plan. Someone had been possessed (Though once again, the target was not meant to be the child) and the sacrifice had been planned. What was not prepared for however, was the demon’s own bloodshed. A man was killed that day, guts spilt all over the newspaper covered walls and remains burnt to dust upon the satanic circle that was only seconds ago used to call open the spirit. Claw marks that could not belong to anything of this realm littered the man, and black veins popped up across the skin, making the man look more demonic than dead. No one was called, and no one let the word get out. The body was dumped in a lake in the middle of a national park, and nothing else came of it.

It ended underwhelmingly, and Techno had just been possessed in the basement of the cult’s meeting place. No one said a thing, including any comforting words to the confused and dazed Techno. Demonic possession at a young age couldn’t go well though, the world just wouldn’t allow it, no matter how competent you were calling for the possession or no matter how well you could banish the thing. So, he was left with the Voices. He named them, not long after, Chat, as they were all but silent. He almost went insane once, and he wondered if secretly, that was what the higher people in the cult had wanted, so he, out of spite, and for his own sanity, learnt to control them. He fed them ideas and treats, gave them what they wanted so long as it was mostly harmless, and in turn, any other time that he demanded it of them, they would stay quiet and well-put, at the back of his mind, only making a small quip here and there.

So his childhood went. Demonic possessions and nothing good to come of it.

So their childhoods went, demonic possessions and nothing good to come of it.

Their name was Tubbo, years had passed and it was another Wednesday in Wyoming. He was born into the cult as was Techno, although his case was a little more unfortunate. His parents were traitors of the cult; they had demanded they be let go and live out their life in silence, but of course, such a community that killed it’s members in flocks and made such festivals out of them, strung their bodies across laundry lines to serve as party streamers and using roadkill as a table for all their festivities and feasts, of which none knew the ingredient, would never let anyone go willingly, not unless they were out of their minds- more out of their minds than usual.

So, they were killed. Not killed, not physically, but tortured until they couldn’t think of anything but pain, and could not move a muscle, left at their homes and set up as if props so it looked as if they had simply tried to commit a lover’s suicide, only to fail trying to overdose. The reason? Their son had disappeared and his room was covered in blood, which could only lead them to think of the worst. The cult had been more active recently to top it off, and his parents were old and ragged; already mad as were side effects of joining such an inhumane society, if you could call any group of anything inhumane societal at all, if being social meant being living, and sane.

Everything made sense for their neighbors, and they were carted off to mental asylums, as they screamed for mercy and the accompaniment of god.

Tubbo was left alive though. His adoptive parents were humans, but being a hybrid, adopted out of pity, he was more than valuable, especially since he had only, on his most recent birthday, grown horns, the horns of a goat- the second best thing that the cult could have.

‘Descendant of the relative’ was his title, (and of course the cult was not referring to his parents, traitors, ‘Relatives’ in any sense of the word; it was something else entirely) They never spoke a word of them anymore, and out of self-preservation, he had never asked. Being older, he didn’t bother anymore, having already tied the loose ends together. He was pale, being deemed missing then dead, but unlike how the world knew of him only until he was a boy, he knew enough of the world beyond his age of ‘boyhood’ through the newspaper clippings that were brought in every so often, helping him see what had happened without the cult knowing.

Small child, naïve child, Descendant of the Relative.

Descendant of the Relative, what words do you have for us today? Would you talk of the light, that shone through the cracks of the ceiling boards at exactly 5 am everyday, that woke you up from your place on the bed, or will you inquire of the spirit whom punished the traitor of yesterday? Will you ask for the water which keeps you alive, or will you beg for even a morsel of a crumb of a crumb, as you have starved in this ‘wretched place’ as you have christened it? Descendant of the Relative, be not foolish, for you cannot die with such holy blood in your veins.

Descendant of the Relative, the title drove him mad, and Techno watched him from his seat every meeting, the scrawny child growing and growing to only serve as another sacrifice which would fail to fulfill the prophecy that was but a fluke.

And Techno would watch, unable to offer the morsel of a crumb of a crumb, or offer the dew from the leaves from the flora that littered the paths outside, all which gathered in speckles from the rain yesterday. He would wonder if he was still sane at all if not for the glimmer of hope, of escape, of which that collected in his eyes with every news of the cult’s doings outside, recognized only by those who shared the sentiment.

Tubbo wanted to escape,

Techno did too.

Techno despised his Wednesdays, and Chat shared the same sentiment, although for wildly varying reasons. He wondered if they had a life of their own sometimes, when he was left to himself, as they talked of various jobs and resources and duties that he didn’t know a speck about. Then, he’d brush himself off, as those were the thoughts of a madman.

Madman that he was, he attended the Cult only less frequently as he did the Church. He knew the Cult knew, although he knew as sure as they that they thought it was only a cover. He stared at the empty isles of Friday, basking in the silence that came with self-employment. Flexible work hours, flexible free time. 6 am on a Friday, he’d listen to the bible readings voiced by his one and only friend.

Phil was a priest who had attended the same college as him. He initially approached him for a group project, and things had worked out from there. He decided to become a priest upon graduation, no hesitation in his voice as he spoke of his plans. It was unexpected, hearing such sureness from someone only freshly out of the education system, but with religious parents, he had support every step of the way.

Techno stared at the robed man, seeing the peek of green fabric under it. The same green collared shirt every day, which never seemed any more worn than last year. He wondered if he replaced it often, or if his clothes were simply well-maintained. The pristine priest in front of him seemed too distant from the friend he knew, although he didn’t enjoy it any less. Words upon words and verses upon verses, voice having never once cracked since he had chosen his profession. He wondered if it really was a holy calling, a gift, having experienced possession before and believing in the otherworldly. The Voices chimed in, adding their own theories and questions for the man.

They didn’t know much about him, having tuned out more often than not during his years at the boarding school. Day and night, nothing but studying, he understood why they might’ve been bored.

“Amen,”

“Amen.”

Tommy ran down the halls. It was Friday which meant that there would be no one present in prayer except Phil and Techie. He burst down the doors as they finished up their prayers, Phil looking up just in time to catch his eyes. “Ah Tommy, it’s good to see you.” “Good to see you too, old man!” He ran up to the cabinets on the sides, sneaking a few crayons into his pockets. Phil never minded. Techno grumbled, getting up from his seat in the pew, seeing his friend was back to off-duty mode.

“Want to go grab some lunch?”

“What time?”

Lunch was plain. Some tomato pasta at a family restaurant ran by one of Phil’s many friends- and a foster parent for a kid named Ranboo. He was serving them right now, parents busy finishing up orders in the kitchen. The walls were well worn and the marble tiled floor was slightly tinted, but it all came together to make a comforting atmosphere. Maybe it was only because he was used to messes bigger and nastier than this. The pasta was good, as usual. He looked at the awkward kid taking down orders, too tall for his age and fidgeting every other second. His tail was out of sight which meant that he had hid it for some of the more racist customers. It was effective, as he was a late bloomer and his horns had been completely covered by the fluffy mess that was his hair. You could only be able to tell if he told you or you tried touching it.

“A glass of lemonade, water, a kid’s meal and two breakfast specials…” He muttered as he passed by, voice quickly masked by the dull chitter chatter all about.

“He’s a good kid, helping out.”

He only bothered to nod, eyes fixed on the glint of gold in the kid’s hair.

Tubbo was a lonely kid. Fifteen and growing. His sixteenth birthday was coming up, and he had to devise a complete plan and a backup for his escape. He knew what happened to parentless cult-born kids such as himself, and he’s sure they said the word ‘sacrifice’ at least thrice the usual amount around him.

He thought he’d never see the full sun, never see the outside until a week ago when they had to move locations due to the possibility of a bust by authorities. The cult was in a panic, moving the most incriminating things first before the smaller artifacts and trinkets. Blood soaked newspapers were torn off and burnt, and the whole place was scrubbed down clean with at least fifty different chemical products. They were on the run in small groups, and him and a newer lad was paired together, disguised as brothers. They ended up taking a break at a restaurant, the other’s stomach growling like a wild beast. He was allowed a meal, a proper meal, and he met another kid his age. Today was an eventful day.

“It’s Ranboo actually,”

“Whatever Boo”

The kid had flushed, clearly not used to intimacy from strangers, and they quickly made good friends. He wasn’t able to ask about too many things, even under the gaze of the careless man on the phone. He may have some freedom now, but the man wouldn’t be too idiotic as to let him discuss ‘forbidden topics’ such as anything concerning the outside. The conversation was dull in that way, but they ended up with a friendship ring each, a small trinket made from one of those crafting wires that Ranboo had leftover from a science fair.

Ranboo’s was gold,

His was silver.

They were almost matching.

The ring was tucked away in the furthest corner of Bee’s pocket, the worn yellow jacket from childhood that no one bothered to wash except himself.

Ranboo thought a lot about that kid from a few days back, and the ring on his growing horns felt heavier each time.

Though this was only for the moment that he was thinking of him.

Only for the moment.

— checkmate

Tubbo looked up at his best friend, grinning.

“Checkmate,” Tubbo said victoriously, moving his queen to Tommy’s final piece and knocking it off the board.

“Let me win for once,” Tommy moaned, sighing heavily.

“And have you bragging in my ear for the next two months? I don’t think so,” Tubbo shook his head, setting up the pieces so that they could play again. He glanced at Tommy, and catched him looking at Tubbo whilst chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Tubbo raised an eyebrow, folding his arms and watching Tommy closely.

“We’ve been doing this all day - are you not bored?” he asks, leaning against the back of his chair and crossing his legs. Tubbo frowned again, catching his gaze and briefly admiring his enchanting grey eyes, before finally responding.

“How could I ever be bored of spending time with you?” Tubbo asked softly, making his first move on the chess board. Tommy watched Tubbo, looking pitiful, and doesn’t make his move.

“I’m glad, but…” he sighs, staying completely still whilst still looking at Tubbo. Tubbo sat upright against his chair, waiting for Tommy to continue.

“You need to remember that I am dead,”

Tubbo blinked, and when his eyes are opened, Tommy’s gone. Vanished, as if he was never there. Just like that, Tubbo was alone again, sitting in front of his chessboard playing with nobody.

// au, dsmp, rp

- mentions of death, like, a heavy existential crisis

immortal phil au where he is actually an asshole. he's been alive for thousands of years, he's seen people fall innocent or guilty, he's gotten attached and lost everything and repeat more times than he can count.

but after it happens so often - that's all people are to him. an hourglass, with its sand slowly but surely running around, a ticking bomb that could blow his heart to pieces again at any time, for he only knows the timer exists, he doesn't know what time it displays.

he meets techno, someone who's lived for a little bit longer than others - centuries are meer child’s play for phil - and techno is, well. valuable. he's a skilled fighter, and he's clever, and he's fun to be around.

and so phil indulges- but keeps his distance. goes with techno on adventures, starts empires and begins great tales, takes him on flights and resource runs and teaches him, all the while they're happy, and phil's happy, and he's occupied until inevitably techno passes and he'll be on his own again.

there's nights in the empire where techno will almost reach out, almost, almost. he holds out his hand - metaphorically - and almost begs phil to follow, to slide his hand in his and let techno lead them forward for once, to great times of wars and conquer, and phil looks away, backs out, raises his walls and leaves until it gets better, because he- he's better than this, he doesn't get attached, he doesn't need techno in his life, this is just a momentary little friendship that he can milk experience and reputation from until techno dies- that's what he tells himself.

but he's scared, somewhere deep- terrified of opening his heart once more to someone who could throw it in his face the next year, month, day, hour, if he's not careful, because he so painfully knows techno's timer exists and beeps loudly but he doesn't know when it will go silent and play out the last breaths techno will ever take.

and before he knows it, every day spent on his own, every night spent ignoring techno's hitched breath and darkened eyes glossed from nightmares, every day spent dodging techno's attempts at something more, something like a warm presence for his cold eternal heart - he can't wait to get back to techno. he always takes a step back, raises his shield and throws on a brave face, but then he's longing to be spending the nights around campfires again, craving that warm sunlight as they lay in the fresh grass and enjoy the warmth of the rare summers in the arctic.

he didn't mean for it to be this way, he didn't mean for techno to become something- something more than just a playful hot potato game with the slowly emptying hourglass techno really is, but he can't handle life without techno anymore, can't imagine himself without him, because when he wakes he thinks if techno's slept well, when he cooks their food he thinks if techno prefers salted over sweetened, and when he shivers out in the wild arctic he thinks, is technoblade cold, or is he huddled around the fireplace and cozy and everything phil longs to be at night?

and then he finds himself wasting his days away pouring over old books full of knowledge that even transcends him, the bags in his eyelids getting heavier and limbs drooping, aching with lack of sleep as he trails over every word, searching.

immortality, life expansions, revival, resurrection.

he finds nothing.

and then he screams, and screams again, and throws the books into the fireplace with as much hate as he can muster, because they're the reason techno will be dead, the reason why techno's hourglass will shatter and scatter all the precious sand for phil to try and fail to pick up and repair.

he wails and he breaks swords against walls and he cries, loud and raw and heartbreakingly open for the universe to see, because there's no denying or helping it anymore; techno's going to leave him, and he'll be alone, and the warm days will turn withering and freezingly cold, because no matter how much the sun tries to hold him together for a little more, without techno, he'll never be whole again.

he comes back, eventually, thinks it must be the world's disgusting sense of wicked humor that forces him to walk up to the empire's doors again- no, not forced. he wants to be here. he needs to.

and he's open again, back in techno's arms and throat too hoarse to talk, but techno understands and looks at him with eyes that threaten to pull phil all the way down to the bottom of the earth and leave him longing, longing to see the amusement and joy and cheer in techno's eyes instead.

and that night he dusts the old libraries, sets his bed, wipes down the windows and cooks them a meal for the night, and as he looks out into the wild arctic he feels no need to leave anymore.

that morning, he wakes next to techno, and makes breakfast with techno, and feeds their chickens with techno, and he thinks, cathartically in some fucked up way, techno will die one day. he will pass, he will close his eyes for the last time and breathe out the final breath. and phil will be okay.

phil will be okay because when that day comes he'll be there, right by his side, holding his hand and leading him to the other side, and he'll be okay because they'll have precious memories and adventures behind them, and phil will be there for them all.

he'll grieve, and he'll be alone, but he'll be okay, because he'll never leave techno's side again. he doesn't long for immortality, or to have a dance with death to drop to his knees and beg, not him, please not him, not yet, because it'll be okay in the end, whenever techno's day will be, because regardless of what happens, phil would have been there, and he would have made techno's life outweigh the pain in his burning heart.

not to be a dsmp enthusiast and romantic on main but

i really like to think about the smp in terms of a little digital world, with wild rabbits and dogs, and ox-eye daises and alliums growing scattered. and there’s forgotten stone structures strewn around, and well-worn paths lit up by lanterns. you have the ruins of a three-time ravaged nation encased in glass. you have scars on the land from explosions and wars. and there’s tunnels and places abandoned and left to rot, there’s new builds half standing, there’s a crudely made bench up on a rise with an old music box by it. and sometimes you can hear laughter coming from the nearby hill, or you see someone farming and they stop and wave. sometimes you’re invited into a young fox’s house, and he clutches his cap and offers you some berries.

Stadiums of Hypixel

—From February 4 2020

The village whispered. Hypixel was particularly lively today. The marketplace screeched, streets rumbled, the stadiums roared. The stadiums: ancient walls and seats built atop soil and stones. Skies open and closed, gates existent and non. Their bodies varied but souls did not. All had blood spilt upon, and all were enjoyed and worshiped. Legends led here, and the walls echoed them.

For Bedrock to Kiss Sky and For Sky to Kiss Bedrock

—From July 29 2021

“Here lies the memories and ashes of children long gone” A passage from a book torn to fibers in the second explosion. L’manburg was gone and where it once stood was a crater that allowed bedrock to kiss sky, and for the sky to kiss bedrock. The people in charge of this were still not caught, and yet the people who were supposed to bring a change to this touched not a thing of the case. The files lay on their desks alone, dust settling thick akin to soot on the site. Things were supposed to change, but they didn’t. Snowchester was a lonely place. It was isolated by the design, surrounded only by the snow and sea, the closest major structure Pandora’s Vault, a top-security prison across a great lake. It was home to military testing sites and acres of warehouses, and the only people you saw walking around in broad daylight were factory workers. Even in the smaller communities company was hard to come by, and very rarely did the families end up staying, fleeing the second they had the chance. Snowchester was a lonely place, but it was still a place. A place where people lived. People whom no one else would care about. But Snowchester wasn’t seen home to a lot of great people. From here hailed the greatest criminal masterminds and villains the world had known, not renowned doctors or academics. Snowchester was a place where people lived. They already had doctors, and teachers, and academics. No one went out of their way to become them. Snowchester was a place where people lived, but Snowchester wasn’t a place where people lived.

Oscar Wilde // Franz Kafka

L'manburg From Afar

The sun has barely peaked it’s head out from behind the hills when a loud bell goes off waking up the citizens and soldiers. The sky is a blue bell tinged cyclamen, and the tents a charcoal man-made backdrop. L’manburg, under it’s new lack-of-name, was being rebuilt, and the scene was everything post-war-torn weaved into a single image. Tommy watched the determined people rushing about to their stations, one leg hanging off the far cliff. There was not a thought behind his eyes but a confusing pool of emotions, and he watched the people -less than a speck from this distance- even as the sun clawed up the skies, only drudging away only once it was at it’s peak.

Hello! I'll be posting short-form/incomplete and general original works and other things here! Examples will be random sentences and paragraphs I come up with that will never be used, chapters of books I had ideas for but never completed, etc, etc! :)