If You Would Be So Kind As To Reblog This If You Feel Insecure About Your Writing Skills.

im bored and i have no shame so here have this entirely unedited draft that i’ll probably never finish

“You two don’t sit still much, do you?” 

Phil watched the two boys carefully. The taller one looks ready to bolt, or possibly attack Phil if it came to that. He’s wiry, barely an ounce of meat on him, fear poorly hidden by anger on his dirty face and a hand tucked into his friend’s. His clothes aren’t anywhere close to new or even clean. Phil took in the worn shirt and wondered if one of Wilbur’s old shirts would fit him. The little one looked a bit less world worn, if only because he’s less gaunt. By the way the taller was poised to react if Phil made some wrong move, he could guess that he must have been the protector. Phil wouldn’t be surprised if he gave most of his food to his friend when times were lean. 

The short one was looking at Phil with a politely neutral expression. It was a facade though, Phil realized. His eyes had a familiar observant intensity. Phil smiled, reminded of a boy with pink hair who’d looked at him the same way. 

“No sir,” the little one answered. 

Phil keeps his face even and lets himself be judged. The short one spares a glance at his friend, hardly taking his eyes off of Phil for more than a few seconds, and Phil watches the two boys have an entire conversation in front of him without uttering a word. He catches the head tilt of a question, and barely keeps from laughing out loud at hearing the little one mumble, “I can’t understand you when you look at me like that.”

Eventually, their conversation reaches its conclusion because now the tall one is looking at him with loaded and hesitant hope and the little one turns back to Phil with the air of a businessman. 

“Do you have anything that needs fixing at your house?” 

He doesn’t ask anything else. Not for food or shelter or even pay for the labor. And oh, Phil wants to pull them both into his arms and give them the chance to forget the ways they’ve learned to keep themselves alive. But he can’t. Not yet. They’re too wary, too tired now to accept the possibility of rest, so he pretends to look thoughtful for a moment. 

“The garden is about ready. Big harvest this year; I doubt I could pull it all in by myself. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He doesn’t mention that he has two helpers waiting at home, nor that age has never really made a dent in his ability. 

“We’re good with gardening,” the taller one says, finally speaking up now that Phil has apparently been deemed mostly harmless.

“Harvesting, at least,” the shorter one interjects.

“Yeah. Never could get anything to grow on our own, but we’ve helped with plenty of harvests.”

“That’s good. I can pay you and feed you if you’ll give me a little help.”

The boys’ eyes get a bit brighter, and the short one nods enthusiastically. 

“My house is this way. It’s a bit into the woods; can you walk that far?”

The tall one apparently takes offense to that, because he huffs and pulls on his friend's hand, speeding up and walking ahead of Phil towards the woods. The smaller one looks back at Phil, who smiles goodnaturedly, and then turns back to follow his friend. Phil follows at a distance. He won’t begrudge these two their independence. They’ve been through too much to be patronized, even by genuine concern for them. 

Soon though, they reach the edge of the woods and slow down, realizing they don’t know the way. They’re startled by Phil draping his cloak over their shoulders. He couldn’t help it; they looked so cold. And it felt better to do something instead of just wondering how often they slept outside in this weather. The shorter looked down in shock, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. The tall one looked at Phil with something between accusation and confusion. His eyes widened when Phil walked past, though. Phil smiled, a bit of mischief in his eyes as the tall one nudged his friend without looking away and suddenly there were two sets of eyes staring in awe at the large wings on Phil’s back. 

“It’s this way,” Phil said, gesturing for the boys to follow.

“You have wings!” The tall one shouted.

“Can you fly?” The other asked.

“Not here, the trees are too low. I’d have to go over.”

“You can fly!” That was the tall one again.

“Thanks mate, I noticed.”

He didn’t miss another wordless exchange between the two, but he didn’t bother wondering what it was about.

“What should I call you?” He asked, letting the conversation drift away from his wings. Surprisingly, the taller took no time to answer.

“Tommy. This is Tubbo.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo scolded, for some reason.

“Tubbo, huh?” Phil asked. 

“Sorry sir. It’s… Toby. My name is Toby.”

Tommy looked upset at that. 

“I can call you what you like. Do you prefer Tubbo?”

Tubbo looked surprised, but Tommy answered for him.

“He does.”

Tubbo looked at Phil apprehensively. Apparently deciding that Phil was being genuine, he nodded shyly.

“Tubbo it is then.” 

They walked for a while, Phil leading at little more than an amble, and the two boys trailing behind him, whispering excitedly and glancing at his wings, and sharing the cloak between them. 

They reached the house by the time the sun was almost down. The horses were missing from their small stable, which meant that techno and will were still out. That was probably good. Phil didn’t want to overwhelm the two boys. He ushered them inside, not missing how they were trying to hide their shivering, especially Tommy. 

“The garden is out back. We can work on it tomorrow,” Phil said.

“Tommy and I can work on it tonight if you want,” Tubbo offered.

“It can wait. We can have dinner for now. May as well rest while it’s dark.”

Reblog if it’s okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

here’s small town Karl!!

He has one published book and is working on a series called, and I quote, “tales of the… something. I’ll figure it out later.”

He has a free book library on his screened-in porch

He inherited his house from his great aunt, so he has no mortgage

His source of income is Jimmy renting his garage as storage

His great aunt was secretly a time traveler. She wanted him to follow in her footsteps, but died before she could tell him (cause why the heck not)

love learning about mcyts because sometimes i hear things like “dadkisser docm77 was a professional basketball player” or “sneeg ‘my cock’ snag has a degree in criminal psychology” or literally any fact i’ve ever learnt about jack manifold and i just have to accept it.

these bois are definitely sleepy

(i usually say ‘reblogs are appreciated’ but i spent over 5 hours painting this so for this one it’s required <3)

Jack, dumping out a shopping bag full of Lunchables onto the table: Tonight, we feast.

I love 1 Magic Man

Also the boys are available as stickers on my RedBubble!

And they’ll be available as button pins soon!

@taikeero-lecoredier @immabethehero

*grabs you by the shoulders*

You don’t know how long this actually took me-

ANYWAY HAPPY (BELATED) ANNIVERSARY SANDERS SIDES!!

Ooh,say,would you like to do “How can I trust you?” with Anti and Marvin? :D

TW: drug mention

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The couch faced the TV, set in the middle of the open living area with a coffee table in front of it and small stands on both sides. The TV mounted on the wall was off, the room quiet except for the buzz of electronics filling the air. Marvin glanced down at his clothes; far too big for his frame, too soft, too well taken care of.

He moved over to the couch, curling up in a corner, keeping his hands tucked into the sleeves of the sweater and into fists- just in case. The man on the opposite end of the couch looked like him- but too well kept, too clean, too kind.

Dopplegangers were the only option that made sense. Dopplegangers.

"One or two, maybe....not five of us..." Marvin muttered, staring at the other man who's eyes were too kind.

Jack pressed his lips together, nodding. "I know. But the evidence is right here...all 5 of us. I don't really get it either..." He smiled and shrugged, watching the kid in front of him. Someone so small, despite their height. So hardened, with his gaze constantly flikering around the room, looking for something Jack couldn't place. "Hey...your name is Marvin, right?"

Marvin nodded once, keeping the sleeves down on his sweater. His skin prickled, feeling like small daggers or sparks of white noise. He kept his gaze moving, trying to find the source. No one in sight except for the man in front of him. Still too kind.

"I'm Jack. I uh, met Henrik first, he's kinda weird but I love him 'cause of it, you know? He really just wants to help people, hes just brash, is all. He'd also really like to look you over, if you'd let him..."

Marvin shook his head. "No. I'll end up hurting him." These people were fucking idiots.

"I don't think so, but I won't push you, if you're uncomfortable with it. I just want you safe." He shook his head, still keeping a gentle smile. Marvin glanced at him, watching him twitch before recovering like nothing happened. Jack kept moving his hands as he talked. "You know Jackie now, he brought you home, yeah? He's really cool, I didn't think I'd meet a real live superhero." He chuckled, watching Marvin, trying to bring a smile to his face.

Marvin stared at him, rubbing his arm, the pinpricks starting to get on his nerves. "I don't care," he snapped, mouth turning into a scowl. Jack startled, jumping slightly and opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. "I don't fucking care! Why should I care about how you met?? Or who you fucking are?? I don't give a rat's ass!" Bright blue flames licked out the sides of his balled up hands and he stood, getting away from the couch. He kept his eyes fixated on Jack, though he felt the pinpricks intensify as he stood. "Are any of you drug dealers?"

"I-" Jack's eyes were wide as he pressed himself a bit into the couch. "No-"

Marvin bit the inside of his cheek then laughed, bitter. "Then how does that doctor get the fucking meds." He clicked his tongue. "No liscened doctor acts like him. Only the black market ones do that. Are you stupid? How the fuck does a man like him get medical grade drugs? Because it's fucking obvious he's not a doctor." Flames coiled up his arms, hot and ready to attack. The pinpricks settled for a moment, as if enjoying the show.

"He- I met him while he was practicing in a hospital." Jack watched the flames, entranced in their nature. They danced and sparked like normal flames, though they colored bright and dark blue, like a science experiment.

Marvin laughed again, shaking his head. "You have no idea what's out there. You're a fucking idiot."

Jack opened his mouth to speak, shell shocked. He closed his mouth a few moments later, not sure what to say to defend his friend. "I am not-"

"Shut up. Just shut up!" Flames flared around him, singing the floor black. "I was told I could trust you!" White-blue sparks flew, nearly setting the furniture on fire. "I should have known better! You're fucking lying out the gate! How could I trust you?? You're an idiot who doesn't know illegal drugs when it's in your own goddamn house!"

Jack laughed, the sound unnatural, doubled over, and piercing. "You're smart. I like you."

Flames concentrated around his hands, flaring around his fists like angry tentacles. "...don't touch me." The common signs of being manipulated.

"I don't think I can, with that kind of flame." He grinned, teeth shark-like and eyes glowing neon green. "But you're smart. No one else has asked that."

"They're fucking stupid." Marvin felt himself shaking, the pinpricks on his body attacking him like needles stabbing through fabric.

"̴T̴he͝y̸ ͏wo͞n't̷ ͢be̛ a҉s ͘fu̵n as ̶you͜." His voice had an undertoned whirr in it, like a VCR being rewound.

Marvin glared, flames growing. "Name. Now."

"̛Yo̡u ́d҉o͘n̨'́t̸ ̨carȩ ab͡out na͠m͠es.̀"

Before he could retort, Jack coughed, doubling over and holding his head. "Fuck me, mate..."

Marvin took another step back, flames rescinding to a safer level, flicking around his body like a blanket. "I'll get the doctor." He turned and stormed away, pinpricks still following in his tracks.

When I was wide awake this morning, I started thinking about what my own version of Robbie would be like. This list is the result:

Innocent boi - soft and gentle

He soft, but he attac (don’t hurt his family or anyone small and helpless)

“Mouth not make words…right”

Clumsy, but he tries (he has two left feet and his grip isn’t that great)

He’s surprisingly great at coloring and is always cautious when holding small, fragile animals

He exists because Marvin was playing around with an old spell book in a cemetery (gosh dang it Marvin). He tried to hide Robbie, but the curious zombie couldn’t help but shuffle out of his bedroom when the other egos were making so much noise.

Anti was silent and didn’t say much when they were introduced, but he was the first to offer when he needed a place to sleep (he quickly decided that the poor zombie needed a big brother mentor to teach him.

He likes soft things and small places (he hides sometimes to find comfort), but he is terrified of absolute darkness - it reminds him of being trapped underground.

He’s the shortest, but he insists that’s only because he can’t really stand without slouching (sure Jan…)

He is a SASSY bugger when he wants to be.

Marvin and Chase help him improve his communication beyond grunts and ‘yes’ and ‘no’

Anti and Schneep work with him on his motor skills (Schneep mainly helps him with his walking, while Anti plays catch and little games with him)

Jameson, bless his heart, was the one that taught Robbie how to properly use eating utensils. (”Robbie don’t need…fork” *proceeds to shovel food with his hands* Jameson about had a heart attack)

So yeah, that’s what I came up with. I might start writing about him, I don’t know