Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So yeah.

I’m bored and to cope with that boredom, I’m taking some requests for a Dream SMP actor AU.  For this AU, the DSMP show can be seen like Game of Thrones or Harry Potter in a sense of how its filmed.  

You can request bloopers, behind the scenes, the actors all chilling together off camera, or going to conventions and award ceremonies.  Those are just some examples, really, be creative.

I’ll do implied ships but no excessively romantic/sexual ships.  I’d rather keep it Gen for now; especially no NSFW, please.  Angst and fluff are fine as usual.  Be mindful of CCs’ boundaries when requesting, I will turn down requests or ask for a second if I feel that a CC would be uncomfortable with it being written or I feel uncomfortable writing it.  

This is primarily going to be within the Dream SMP timeline, but I can do flashbacks or backstories or implications of past servers (SMPLive being similar to how the Office was filmed, and SMPEarth sort of like a Risk show.)  EpicSMP will be ongoing alongside the Dream SMP show, so I don’t mind cameos of EpicSMP characters with those who are starring in both DSMP and ESMP.  

Just to clarify: this takes place in a realistic Minecraft setting, but a lot of the magical aspects of Minecraft are considered ‘myth’, such as the idea of teleporting with ender pearls, the life-regen from totems, and the End itself. Because of this, they’ll be added into the “show” using props and CGI. Many characters with animalistic features will also be edited using CGI, unless the character is an actual mob.

Requests aren’t limited to one per person! Requests asked by those who haven’t asked yet will be my priority, but I’ll definitely take any other requests that you have.

Update: requests will take a bit longer than liked to get done; writer’s block has hit and I have over 50 requests to get through.

Thanks :D

Chapter Text

“Please be safe,” were the last words Tommy had heard from anyone besides Tubbo before the two departed for their supposed last journey.

Please be safe seemed impossible now.  

Elevated thousands of feet into the sky, Dream was clad out in netherite armor, mercilessly swinging a familiar axe against Tubbo’s weakening shield.  Shouts and grunts came from the teenage boy, also dressed in netherite, deflecting some hits but being unable to parry all of them.  He shouted for his best friend to run, run as far as he possibly could, now that they secured the item they came here for.  

An armored Tommy had Mellohi tucked neatly under his arm, the prop kept there for the viewer’s sake.  Having it being stored in the protagonist’s inventory would have had less of an effect.  The blond had towered up so high his ears were ringing, ignoring the small drone that flew over the view.  

The ground swam underneath Tommy’s feet.  His head was in the clouds—literally.  He could see for miles and miles if it weren’t for the thick fog that obscured his vision; he’d have to descend from his oak tower if he wanted to see.  

It wasn’t everyday that the famed GoodTimesWithScar had enough free time to build the show’s, or anyone’s, unique landscape.  The Hermit was usually found with his kind, busied with their own building competitions.  But, it paid to have connections to other people within the world of Minecraft, and after some talking (and bargaining), Scar had agreed to fully geobuild the scene of which the finale of Dream SMP season 2 would take place.  

It was expertly made; breathtaking waterfalls and blazing lava spills spewed out on the mountain that grazed the cloud level, so high that the casts’ ears popped when they first arrived at scene.  The acacia trees grown in with the tall grass added to the natural look, making it appear so authentic so that it wasn’t just a green screen. 

The filming had gone on without a hitch.  Only the filming crew, the mandatory nurse, the needed actors and the kids’ stunt doubles were up at the top of the mountain.  The other actors needed for this episode were all ready, standby near the other end of the ender portal’s secret entrance down below.  A few of them were still getting the finishing touches on their makeup and cosmetics.

Callahan, the director, was aiming for a few-try recording, with another filming crew down in the secret cavern below, set up and ready to go the moment the floating elevator began to descend.  Though, it looked as though Callahan wouldn’t get his wish.  

Tommy threw an ender pearl prop towards the other side of the mountain, letting his stunt double get into place where the prop landed.  He quickly deescalated the wooden tower he had created, holding Mellohi tighter to his chest.  

The cameras were trained on Dream and Tubbo’s fighting scene, giving Tommy the perfect moment to sneak by and get into place.  The double slinked off of the scene, hanging behind the filming crew; instantly back in character, Tommy pants heavily and scrabbles to his feet when he feels the camera return to him, messily running up the mountainside to reach some sort of high ground where Dream couldn’t touch him—or the disk.  

Pulling out a shovel from his inventory, the boy runs it across a bit of the terrain for extra blocks.  “Hold on, Tubbo, give me a moment!” Tommy shouts, desperately trying to remember his script as sweat beaded down his forehead.  Callahan was never too strict about improv, thankfully.   

“Tommy!” Tubbo screams back after hearing the other boy yell, ducking a swing from the axehead before turning his head around to spot Tommy; just as the script had him do.  “Tommy.. Tommy, run!”

The two best friends make eye contact, the cameras narrowing in on both of their profiles.  It was tense, held for a minimum of three seconds before Tubbo drops out of frame.  

Holding up his arm that had the shield, Tubbo braces for an attack with realistic pain coursing through his ankle.  His.. ankle?  Did Dream trip him?  Dream was standing over him, yes, the smiley-face a thing that haunted Tubbo’s nightmares, on and off camera.  

“Tubbo!” Tommy cries, voice lost to white noise when the axe comes from above Dream’s head to slam headfirst into Tubbo’s glistening shield.   

The shield shatters upon impact, chunks of enchanted wood spraying out around the boy and digging into Dream’s green sweatshirt.  The wood falls to the ground harmlessly.  The metal frame, however, breaks into fragments and falls down not too far from the scene.  A piece narrowly misses Tubbo’s head, but the boy’s mind was elsewhere.

Tommy sobs out Tubbo’s name once more, the camera’s quality catches the few tears that just barely managed to fall down his face.  Tommy, despite being so young, portrayed his character on the show with a great deal of raw emotion.  Admirable.

Dream raises his axe again, wondering to himself if this, killing Tubbo’s character for the final time, was in the script or not.  He didn’t remember it being.  Looking down from behind the prop mask, Dream studies Tubbo’s face.  He looks like he’s about to cry.  Tubbo’s character wasn’t meant to cry.  He’s in pain.  That’s not-

Dream forgets about the axe instantly, the metal head leading the fall down to the grassy ground.  Dropping to his knees, Dream waves over the standby medic before removing the boy’s hands that covered his face.  Someone yells cut.  

“Hey, hey, Tub, calm down.  Scene’s cut, what’s wrong?  What’s wrong?  Did I hurt you?” Dream frets, seeing Tommy sprint over and crouch down on Tubbo’s other side.  He takes one of Tubbo’s hands in his and rub his thumb over the older boy’s knuckles.  Their close bond wasn’t all an act.  

Tubbo hiccups, propping himself up with his elbows to point at his ankle.  “I.. I think I rolled it,” Tubbo manages to get out, biting his lower lip.  “I-I’ll be fine.  Please, can we go back to recording?”

The medic gets to work with assessing the injury.  Callahan reclines back in his chair, rubbing tiredly at his forehead.  He couldn’t afford another injured actor, especially a kid.

“No, no, I think you need a break,” Tommy takes a cautious look over his shoulder to where Scar had constructed a small overhang specifically for the crew—his eyes find Alyssa, the producer.  Alyssa’s nose was in the script packet, trying to busy herself as Callahan sighed silently in his chair.  

Looking back down at Tubbo with an uneasy smile, Tommy takes his best friend from Dream’s arms and hugs him.  “You did so good!”

“Thanks, To-om,” Tubbo whispers back, his voice cracking when the medic applies pressure to the side of his ankle.  

Tommy holds Tubbo tighter, the former looking up at Dream with a frown.  “Sorry, Dream.  He didn’t mean for that to happen.” The blond doesn’t meet Dream’s eyes, who by now was sitting on the ground, pulling up grass anxiously.  

“It’s okay, Tommy.  Callahan nor Alyssa will get mad, it was an accident.  If anything, it’s my fault.  My fighting skills are much more advanced that Tubbo’s, he couldn’t keep up.  You did well though, kid.” Dream reaches out to ruffle Tubbo’s brown hair.  The boy in question nods against Tommy’s shoulder, sighing when the medic wraps an ice pack around his ankle.  

Finally, the medic leaves the three actors; Tommy helps Tubbo to his feet, slouching to help Tubbo stand without putting weight on his foot.  “Break time?” Tubbo asks Dream hopefully.  

“If you give me fifteen minutes to breathe, I’ll be able to finish this scene.  Please,” Tubbo adds on, trying to be persuasive, glancing back at the mess of a fight scene: wooden towers courtesy of Tommy’s frantic escape, the obsidian box that once held Mellohi, the netherite axe.

Dream heaves the chestplate over his head, keeping the other armor pieces on.  “Thirty, and we’ll see how you are afterwards.  I’m going to go speak with Callahan,” Dream counters, brushing off his knees after he stands up and stalking over to Callahan to speak with the director.  The mute man huffs, already speaking in ASL; Dream replies easily, hands and fingers flying into different signs.  

Dream had previously objected to this episode’s location, saying it was too much of a safety risk for the two young boys who had to star in it.  Callahan was reluctant to give in, but after Alyssa said she got in contact with Scar, Callahan made up his mind.  It wasn’t a surprise Dream was now proceeding to blow a gasket at the director, who looked guilty but would never say sorry.

The viewers wanted emotion and thrill; in showbiz, you can’t always put that behind safety.  

Tommy helps Tubbo over to a small hill that didn’t have too much grass, sitting down.  Tubbo tests out his foot, wincing, before joining Tommy with a soft sigh.  

“Sorry, Tommy,” Tubbo whispers, toying with his hands.  His fingers mess with the beads on his red bracelet.  

Tommy wipes at his forehead, choosing to ignore Dream’s yelling.  “It’s not our fault, Tubs.  Just think, after we get this scene done, we’ll get a whole break until the next season!” Tommy tries to be optimistic, though his exhaustion from acting all day was catching up to him.  It was only four pm, but he and Tubbo had both been acting since dawn, been up earlier to get ready.  

“We could’ve gotten that whole break sooner had I not’ve fallen,” Tubbo mumbles.  

Tommy sighs, knocking his shoulder into Tubbo’s and holding his hand to ground the other.  “It’s not our fault,” he repeats.  He had nothing else to help Tubbo’s guilt besides those words and the growing pile of torn-up grass on the other boy’s shoe.  Tubbo giggles at the sight, brushing the grass away before leaning against Tommy, exhaling pain from his ankle.  

Dream was still yelling to Callahan, stopping the ASL to gesticulate instead.  Callahan signs one last time before turning away to speak to Alyssa, a prompt conclusion to the conversation.  

The actor stalks off to retrieve his axe, no doubt scowling underneath the mask.  Holding it tight in his hands, Dream throws it tomahawk-style at the nearest acacia tree.  It digs into the bark; it doesn’t budge.  

Tubbo flinches at the sight.  Tommy holds Tubbo’s hand tighter, their matching friendship bracelets clinking against each other. 

Tommy receives a comm ping, letting it open in front of the two teenagers.  Tubbo looks at it expectingly, seeing Sam’s face pop up in the contact information.  

Awesamdude: what’s taking you so long?

/msg Awesamdude: Tubbo hurt his ankle and Dream’s upset at Callahan rn.  sorry

Awesamdude: don’t apologize.  Dream gets mad at Cal all the time.  tell Tubbo i say hi and hope he feels better soon.  we’re almost done!! :D

Tubbo chuckles at the sight of the emoticon.  Opening up his own comms, Tubbo sends Sam a heart before closing it with a smile after he received one back.  Tommy types back a reply, closing his after thanking the older man.  

“What do you want for dinner?” Tommy asks, seeing the sun begin to fall towards the horizon.  

“Can we have McDonalds?”

“Whatever you want, Tubs.”

Chapter Text

Ted Nivision gulps, holding onto his vest tighter.  “Are you positively, absolutely, unmistakably sure this is safe?”

Matt Watson gives the tall man a crooked grin, holding a megaphone as he crossed his legs in his chair.  “What are you, pussy?”

Charlie Slimecicle lets out a long wheeze from behind the filming crew, leaning against Travis for balance.  The shorter man was laughing soundlessly, watching Ted be hoisted higher and higher into the air via the fly system.  The ropes were being cranked onto a coil, causing the six foot four man to be lifted into the air higher, and higher, and higher, and hi-

“I would never associate myself with being a pussy, Matt,” Ted snarks back at the director, who was still grinning.  “But I can’t say I’m too fond of heights, either, especially when this thing can snap at any fucking moment!” Ted wiggles around in the vest, which ends up swinging him more than he already was.

“Grow a few, man!” SwaggerSouls hollers, standing next to JSchlatt.  The man still had his cosmetic horns attached to the sides of his head from a previous scene, not bothering to take them off yet.  Swagger’s helmet rested over his head, a constant for the short actor.  “You’re whining over nothing!”

“Yeah, because you’re the one who’s going to get dropped thirty feet up in the air!” Ted retorts, attempting to steady himself.  One of the crewhands snickers at the sight, the man now practically spinning midair with only thin wires connecting him to anything.  

Other actors were littered around the set or in the break rooms.  Ted could see Weston Koury just behind JSchlatt, looking like he was about to jump on the older man.  Their newfound friendship was sweet.  He could see Cscoop hanging around Travis; Cooper wasn’t yet a part of the script, but Travis probably just yanked his roommate along to the first few days of filming.  

Jaiden Animations was deep in conversation with Fitz and Meowriza, their voices carrying out of a break room.  Minx stood against the wall, silent as she scrolled through her phone.  Finnster eventually left that breakroom, closing the wall behind him and greeting the Irishwoman.  

It was heartwarming to see people getting along to early into production; Epic SMP’s debut hadn’t even been released yet, hell, not even a mention of it has been announced to the public.  Matt had wanted an episode or two already in the works before saying anything.  The trailer was all ready to be published, but Matt always wanted to wait until the Dream SMP finished their ongoing season before putting it out.  

Ted smiles to himself, hoping that this went in a better direction than SMPLive had.  Well, he was smiling until a megaphone’s blast shook his brains around in his head.  Scrambling to find a source, Ted looks around wildly, only adding to his little spin.  JSchlatt bursts into his signature laughter, Weston hanging around the man’s neck in a side hug, also laughing.  

“Alright!  Ted, get up on that ledge and be ready!” Matt directs, pointing to a shaky platform that rested just behind the flying man.  A crewhand stood on it already, ready to stabilize Ted when he touched down.  The fly system moves across its track.  

Ted nods towards the crewhand once he found balance.  The idea for this scene was for Ted to just- fall.  

There wasn’t anything else special to it.  

Make it believable, but it was supposed to be a peaceful succumbing, so no screaming.  Ted was never one to be embarrassed by much, but screaming as he was lowered toward the ground at a constant speed wasn’t something he’d look forward to do.  

Clearing his throat, Matt waves for the few conversations that were happening offset to end.  They could start back up once the scene was finished, but now, the studio needed silence.

It was only a small drop.  It’s not even more than thirty feet.  

You’re fine.  

“Take one, action!”

“Well,” Ted exhales through his nose, feeling the camera train in on his person.  Several eyes were ok him, eyes of coworkers and friends.  This would be the first big project he’d be taking on since the CallMeCarson controversy, and Ted wanted to prove himself that he didn’t need a bigger star to bring him attention.  

The man reaches up to fix his suit’s bow tie, wearing his milkman outfit.  “Here goes nothing,” Ted finishes, closing his eyes as he takes a step forward and finds nothing.

Panic.

Ted’s eyes clenched close, torso facing the ground with his arms and legs out spreadeagle, ready to fall.  As the fly system spent, Ted’s body falls towards the floor; his limbs weren’t flailing.  He wasn’t screaming.  It was-

peaceful.  

Why did falling take so long?

Ted felt free.  He couldn’t feel the vest around his torso.  

It was only supposed to be thirty feet.  

It was only sup-

“I think he broke it.”

“What?!” Ted screams, opening up his eyes and breaking character.  Matt had his head in his hands, shaking it side to side, as other crewhands and actors tried their best to not laugh.  JSchlatt, though, shamelessly howled his laughter, clutching at his stomach as he began to wipe tears from his eyes.  

“It’s fine!  It’s fine!  Everything’s fine!  Don’t call your lawyers!” ModestCube bursts into the main set area from a breakroom, his gelled-back hair ruffled.  He was waving his hands frantically to calm down Ted and Matt, who got up from his chair to take a breather, holding back laughter poorly.  “Just- just unclip yourself, Ted!  It’s just a mechanical error!”

“Just unclip myself?!  Twenty fucking feet in the air?!” Ted shouts back, incredulous.  Charlie falls to his knees beside Travis, wheezing heavily as he tried to get a grip on himself from laughing too hard.  Swagger was chuckling lowly at the sight of Ted struggling in his vest twenty up.  

“Do you want to stay up there for god knows how long?!” Cube cups his hands over his mouth to make the shout go further.  At this point, most people in the studio were having trouble keeping their laughter to a minimum.  

Ted lets out a dramatic huff, kicking his legs around like a toddler before trying to mess with the clips that held him inside the vest.  “Fuck you, Matt!” The man curses, knowing very well the cameras were cut by now and he could say whatever the hell he wanted.  Said man was already off set, leaning against a wall as he cried from laughing too hard.  

Cube rubs at his face with his hands, ignoring the snicker from Weston as the young man walked past him, presumably off to find his sister or Ethan.  “Just- just unclip it one at a time, nice and ea- sy.”

Ted’s back hit the soft embrace of a crash pad first, his body bouncing a few times before he laid like a starfish on the black surface.  Laughter still rang in his ears from those on set, and he chose to be stubborn about it, not yet joining in on those who found his suffering amusing.  

It’s only when new weights are thrown onto the crash pad, man-children attacking it with laughter of their own, does Ted finally cave in with loud laughter.  Charlie grapples Ted into a hug, giving him a tease as Travis rams into the golden blond’s back.  

Swagger stands nearby as JSchlatt crawls onto the pad, flopping onto his back near Ted’s feet.  The businessman slapped Ted’s knee, yelling a compliment similar to Charlie’s; he capped it off with a laugh.  

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Cube teases, leaning against the crash pad.  Cooper was seated on the end of it near Travis and Charlie, smiling softly to himself as he fell backwards on it as well.  Had Noah Hugbox been here, he probably would’ve (albeit reluctantly) given in and joined his old friends on the pad as well.  

Ted wipes tears from laughter from his eyes, facing the producer with a goofy smile.  “Well, I still have to redo that scene, so I’ll give you my answer after that if everything goes well!”

“We’ll do a test with a dummy to make sure the cords run smoothly before we get you back in it,” Cube chimes before walking away from the pad, a clipboard tucked underneath his arm as he waved over a few crewhands to find a dummy and reel down the fly system.  

Ted sits up on the crash pad, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.  He heaved a sigh before beginning to unclip the vest.  “Schlag?”

“Yep?” JSchlatt rolls over to face the taller man, resting his chin on a hand as he gave a little smirk.  

“Don’t ever laugh at me like that again.”

“You’re wishing on dead stars, Ted.  Dead stars.”

Chapter Text

“I’m absolutely convinced that he’s more socially awkward than you are.”

“I’m scared to say that you’re right.”

BadBoyHalo tilts his head with a sigh, scratching at his chin as he watched the livestream on the 68” over-the-top flat-screen television that Skeppy supposedly insisted on.  The man was tucked under a light pink blanket, hugging his biceps with an empty bowl of chicken pot pie on the coffee table.  He was watching the livestream with worried eyes, wincing when Cellibi makes a jab at the other contestants while she was on the cutting block.  

“I don’t like the British girl,” Bad mumbles, looking up when he hears soft padding from behind the L-shaped couch.  Technoblade grunts in acknowledgment, holding a spoon of his own food up to his mouth.  “She’s going after Niki and Minx.”

“You’ll have to specify which British girl, Bad.  We know too many British girls,” Techno hums before shoving the food into his mouth, the metal chinking against his tusks.  Bad sighs, turning back to the television as Minx defends herself and Nihachu.  

“You really only talk to Niki, and even then she’s not from a British home server.  It’s Cellibi,” Bad responds, gesturing for Techno to come sit down.  The other man refuses, going back to cleaning up the kitchen and saving the food away for their other roommate to eat later.  

Off in another room of their shared house, Skeppy sat anxiously fuming with his fingers as he bore witness to that same British woman give a passive-aggressive response to Minx’s defensive stance.  

“Minx put her in her place, at least,” Bad says to the open air, pulling the blanket up so it reached his shoulders.  His dog was curled up around his feet, her chest rising and falling every few seconds.  Floof was trotting behind Technoblade, tail wagging out of control.  

The piglin glances back towards the man, watching him curling up on the couch and clutch his phone.  Technoblade’s left ear twitches as he studied Bad’s body language, feeling a heavy wave of chat incoming.  He opens the fridge to shelf away the food, closing it once Floof moved out of the way.  

Bad receives a text, hurriedly replying to the contact.  He closes his comms after checking the rest of them very briefly, seeing activity on the Dream SMP server.  He doesn’t bother to check who it is, knowing already that Ranboo was filming with Dream.  

It was nice to recline and relax in the home servers that dotted the universe of Minecraft.  Dream had created a special home server just for the actors in the Dream SMP, saying it was easier to have everyone within the same server even when not actively filming the show.  Everyone had their own houses to live in, built by Sam, Fundy, and Tubbo (and a little help with the decoration from Grian), but after Bad had offhandedly mentioned his house was too lonely for him, Skeppy offered for him to move in with himself—and Technoblade.  

Upon seeing the human enter their shared residence with bags in hand and a leash, Technoblade proceeded to drop his cake for Quackity’s birthday onto the floor out of sheer surprise.  

“Austin wants me to go on,” Bad runs his hand through Technoblade’s hair, pulling it out of its braid.  Thin fingers wrapped in a few bandaids card through Technoblade’s mane, working out knots and kinks.  The piglin was laying the chin on BadBoyHalo’s thigh, his claws grazing gently over Rat’s back.  Floof was shoving her nose into her owner’s hand, demanding attention.   

Technoblade snorts, zoning out the livestream in the background as he got distracted by the dogs.  He closes his eyes when Bad’s fingers leave behind his hair to scratch behind his ears.  He doesn’t audibly reply to Bad’s comment, just pushing his head into the man’s hand.  

“I think Puffy will go on too.”

Technoblade exhales through his nostrils, blowing hot steam on the pink blanket (originally his, but his two roommates hogged it.)  Bad’s fingers play with the golden earrings and scars on Technoblade’s ears, letting him calm down as he opens his comms again.  

The livestream continues with another elimination with a girl whom neither of the men bothered to care about.  She chose host; Bad didn’t look up.  Austin had reached out to him, in fact, wanting an appearance within the next thirty minutes.  

Puffy already said she would only go on if BadBoyHalo did.  Bad sighs, scratching at the top of Technoblade’s head.  “I think I’m going to have to go in my room to call.  I don’t want the dogs’ barking to ruin the show,” Bad informs the piglin currently resting on his lap.  Technoblade was drawing patterns on Floof’s leg with a claw, trying to be as delicate as possible.  

“Are you alright with that?” Bad asks gently, removing his hand from Techno’s hand to angle his chin up to make eye contact.  Technoblade originally dodges the look, blowing steam into Bad’s hand.  

“Yeah, sure,” the piglin replies after a moment of consideration.  “I’ll be here with the dogs.  I may get changed for bed.”

“You’re already changed.”

Technoblade sits up, his fingers bouncing on his knee as he looks down at his state.  Shirtless, loose sweatpants, and special hoof slippers.  Light pink fur that felt like barbed wire when matted but silk when not covered his body, though muscles could be made out against his chest because of various scars littering his body.  A few golden chains were hung around his neck, along with a golden septum piercing.  

“Oh,” Technoblade whispers to himself.  Bad chuckles, reaching out to scratch at Technoblade’s cheek.  The piglin leans into the hand, a low hum elicited from the mob.  “‘m sorry.  I’m tired.  Chat’s really loud tonight.”

Technoblade would’ve liked to say that his chat was just an act when he played out his anarchist role on the DSMP show.  Unfortunately, most piglin brutes were born with their own “chats” because of their relentless aggression.  Technoblade, being a piglin brute himself, got one of his own upon birth.  It didn’t help when his early career at Hypixel strengthened his chat and its influence over the man.  

“It’s alright, Techie,” Bad replies with a sympathetic smile, giving the blanket to Technoblade as he stands up and stretches.  He hands the remote to Techno, who takes it and runs his fingers within the crevices of it as he watches Bad return his dishes to the dishwasher.  Bad looks over his shoulder worriedly when he reaches the stairs to go up to his personal room.  “Change the channel if you want.  Take some of your medications, and if you go to bed, text me.”

Technoblade grunts, laying his head on the edge of the couch as Bad climbs up the stairs, his shadowy form mixing with the dark upstairs corridor.  

The piglin curls up underneath the blanket, making a hushing movement to the dogs as he picks Rat and Floof up and sits them on his lap.  Rat curls up fairly easily, but Floof jumps up on his collarbone to lick at his ear.  Technoblade cringes, though he gives in within a few seconds and pats the small dog’s back.  

The livestream fell upon a deaf audience.  

Bad nor Skeppy left their rooms when the LoH stream ended, and then until Skeppy’s live stream did.  

Skeppy was the first to exit his room, throwing off his headphones.  He had sat in his chair for a while after his stream officially ended, contemplating what he just went through.  He didn’t like being mean, a.k.a. cutting off the girls on the gameshow—but that’s what it was, a gameshow, and it went on for over five hours.  His own stream after he won was around an hour and a half; Madi was a kind girl. 

After shaking his head like a dog, the ore mite paws at his eyes as he reaches his door.  Pieces of raw diamond ore protruded from his right cheekbone and other bits of diamond were plated along the rest of his body.  His raven-colored hair glittered with crushed diamond bits, and his jacket was left behind, shoved in his closet, with the tie unloosened.  

Rocco padded after him before eventually turning around to slink back into Skeppy’s room.  Skeppy’s hand hovers over Bad’s doorknob, noticing that the door was closed.  It usually stayed open, even when everyone was sleeping.  He purses his lips before twisting it, squinting to get his eyes used to the red lights that Bad and he had messily set up when Bad first moved into the empty room; Technoblade had sat on the floor, messing with the cords with an ever-confused pout on his face.  

The human actor was on his chair, scrolling through the LoH hashtag on Twitter.  His free arm was circled around his legs that were pulled up to his chest, chin resting on the top of his knees.  He had changed into pajamas since earlier, a red Hypixel merch nightshirt and black cotton shorts that had seen better days.  His headphones rested around his neck, face illuminated by his computer screen.  

“Heyy..” Skeppy trails off, standing awkwardly in the doorway.  He shifts his weight between his legs, looking up when Bad’s chair rolls across the room.  It was still rolling by the time Bad was wrapping his arms around Skeppy’s shoulders, hugging him tightly.  Skeppy relaxes into the familiar greeting, leaning his forehead down against Bad’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Bad mumbles softly.  “I’m sorry for being a bit rude.”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” Bad hugs Skeppy tighter, relishing in the embrace of his best friend after several hours of being unable to even see him.  Skeppy scratches at Bad’s back gently, causing a soft giggle to come from the human.  

“Congratulations, though!  Madi seems really nice, I watched a bit of your stream afterwards!” Bad chuckles, pulling away to study Skeppy’s face, though his hands remained on Skeppy’s shoulders.

Skeppy chuckles with a shake of his head, looking down at his feet before up at the human.  “She is, but I’m not sure if I want to go much further.  I’m getting included more into the script, so I don’t want to load my plate with a girlfriend on top of that.  Besides, most of the viewers kept spamming for updates on DSMP, so I think I’m better off focusing on that.”

“Understandable.  Any of those girls would do for you, so if you find your role waning a bit, maybe give them a call!”

“Yeah, maybe.” Skeppy smiles back at his best friend, the pair still standing in the door.   “Oh, and uh, thanks for some comical relief,” Skeppy laughs, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck with a sheepish grin on his face.  

“Hey, Puffy egged me on and I wasn’t just going to stand by and take it all!  The chat was going wild when you voted me off, I think they liked the bit,” Bad laughs good-naturally before his caramel-colored eyes widen as a thought strikes him.  “Chat.”

“Uh, yeah?  What about chat?” Skeppy asks with a confused look in his own eyes, tilting his head to the side.  “I didn’t think it was so unnatural for a Love or Host chat- Bad, where are you going?”

Bad had ran past Skeppy, making an absolute beeline for the stairs.  He struggled to run down the stairs safely, making it to the ground and changing direction to speedwalk into the living room.  Skeppy skids across the floor after the man, jogging down the stairs.  He pulls his tie loose, letting it hang around his neck as he follows Bad.  

Technoblade was cradling his head on the couch, hunched over, with Rat and Floof both in their respective cages.  Both dogs were laying down and uninjured.  Rat’s tail wagged upon seeing Bad enter, as did Floof with Skeppy, though thankfully, neither dogs barked as the two hurried towards Technoblade.  

The Love or Host symbol was rotating in the middle of the screen, not yet turned off.  The remote along with an orange capsule rested on the coffee table, the top not screwed on correctly.  Techno’s blanket was around his shoulders, which were still.  

“Techie?” Bad asks hesitantly, making it the piglin first.  After the mob didn’t make a move, Bad reaches out his hand to touch Technoblade’s shoulder tentatively.  No movement.  The human looks up at Skeppy, who had vaulted the couch to end up next to Technoblade.  The mob clicks his tongue in his daze at the couch’s movement, swaying his head side to side.  

Though the house was relatively quiet, the voices in Technoblade’s head were louder than a whole Hypixel stadium—and Technoblade had experience with those.  

“Ready for sleep, big guy?” Skeppy asks with a chuckle, cupping Technoblade’s face and gently lifting it up to run a hand down his best friend’s snout.  The piglin in question lets out a low hum, leaning into Skeppy’s familiar touch.  

“I don’t think we’ll be able to lift him.” Bad looks between Technoblade and then himself and Skeppy.  

“We’re not,” Skeppy looks over at Bad with a sigh.  “He can sleep on the couch tonight.  I think it’ll be better if he’s not in the basement like usual anyway, and we’ll be close if he wakes up too,” Skeppy explains, rubbing his thumbs over Technoblade’s cheekbones.  The piglin hums once again, leaning forward and into Skeppy’s embrace.  It wasn’t long until Technoblade was pulled up to rest his head against Skeppy’s chest, diamond-plated fingers toying with silky pink hair.  

“I’m already really tired from the streams.  I’m just going to stay with Tech, Bad.  I don’t want him getting up alone and feeling sick again.  We have to work tomorrow, so a whole night’s sleep is best.” The ore mite looks up, catching Bad’s awkward gaze.  “You can stay if you want, but your bed might be more comfortable.”

Bad opens his mouth before closing it.  He hurries away out the living room and out of sight, mumbling a ‘be right back.’

Skeppy focuses on Technoblade, playing with the piglin’s hair before moving his hands to scratch lightly at Techno’s stomach.  It instantly causes a reaction out of him, Technoblade’s head falling limp against Skeppy’s chest with the rest of his body laid out on the couch.  A snort sneaks through his mouth, his leg twitching and kicking out every so often.  

Skeppy smiles into Technoblade’s hair, continuing the scratching until Techno reached out a hand to remove Skeppy’s.  “Didja win?” The mob’s usual monotone voice was raspy and a slur accompanied his words, causing him to clear his throat with a cough.  

“Yeah.”

“She nice?”

“Yeah.”

Technoblade flips around so his forehead leaned against Skeppy’s chest.  One of his arms circles Skeppy’s waist, holding the pair flush.  “Don’t leave,” the piglin whispers, sniffing at the scent of raw, untouched ore on the other mob.  Not quite gold, but valuable nonetheless.  

The ore mite leans back against the couch, letting his heavy eyelids fall.  “Yeah,” is his last repeat for the night.  Technoblade pulls his legs up to his chest, his knees hitting the back cushions, letting the mental dam against Chat crack and fail his senses before passing out.  

When Bad returned with Skeppy’s excessively thick, 8-foot blanket, both of the males on the couch were already out like lights.  He drapes the blanket over Skeppy and Technoblade, maunvering it so it didn’t cover the piglin’s head.  Smiling warmly at the sight and taking a picture with the camera feature on his comms, Bad finally navigates himself to Skeppy’s free side, tucking himself against it.  

“Night,” Bad whispers to the quiet room, resting his chin on Skeppy’s shoulder as he closed his eyes.  

Chapter Text

Charlie Slimecicle, to be frank, still didn’t know what he was doing here.  

One day he was having a leisurely conversation with Ranboo about bees and making puns along the way.  The next, he was shaking hands with Dream Wastaken himself, a contract signing on the table between them with a pleased Callahan standing nearby.  

Now, Charlie was an extrovert.  That was a well known fact of the SMPLive actor, leading it as one of that show’s main comedians and always conjuring up trouble.  Regardless, that was his role, his bit.  He was the jokester on screen, but he also liked to have fun off of it.  

Anyone who has been around Charlie when he was with his friends could tell you how loud and excitable the man got.  It was like opening a can of worms whenever Charlie was hanging out with his best buds.  Smiles never seemed to disappear for more than two minutes, and there were horrible yet laughter-inducing puns around every corner.  

Even when he was near people he wouldn’t consider close friends, Charlie tried to make everyone feel included and have an airy break from their busy lives.  The actor’s life easily got hectic, so having fun was a necessity to maintain some happiness in this field of work.  Charlie did just that for other people.  

As Charlie stood in the middle of a spruce forest, gripping one of the slime props that would eventually turn into little slime blobs (since the humans couldn’t handle real slime babies because of ethic reasons), he had to make up his mind as to how he was going to make these people—the DSMP actors—be happy as well.  

A prank never hurt anyone, did it?

“Where.. hello?” Charlie calls out, his voice echoing in the empty forest.  He seemed to be in a messily made box, different blocks creating four walls that had holes and breaks in it.  Charlie gulps, facing the camera until he looks one way to lock eyes with a young teenager that had black and white makeup covering his face, neck, hands.  

Ranboo flinches, ducking his bicolored eyes downward to avoid eye contact.  The teenager smiles nonetheless, waving wordlessly at the newcomer.  “Hi, Slimecicle!  It’s nice of you to join us!”

Charlie grins; the slime blob would’ve jumped with joy.  

The rest of the production went smoothly; Ranboo gave Charlie a tour of the DSMP, introducing him to scarred characters and the red mucus that covered the world.  Nihachu and Fundy could be seen eating lunch in the distance, Sapnap dancing with Karl Jacobs on their dance floor.  Punz and Ponk were sitting on the steps of Punz’s walled-in property, red mucus covering the sides of it.  

Background life helped the scene feel more alive so it wasn’t dull.  BadBoyHalo soared around in the backdrop with Quackity on his tail, the two avians being lifted up in fly systems and wooden props attached to their backs that would eventually turn into wings with special effects.  Their movements were fluid, spinning and diving every so often until they were out of the camera’s view.  

Ranboo kept within his character perfectly; he never once made eye contact.  He avoided loose puddles, and took his hoes to the red mucus if it crossed the Prime Path.  Charlie followed in awe of how well the kid’s acting was; sure, he had been young on SMPLive, but Ranboo had raw talent.  

As the pair made their way across the Snowchester bridge, Charlie casts a look over to the gigantic prison.  He felt woozy, and Ranboo’s tail flicks worriedly at the sight of Charlie stumbling away from the creation.  “Are you alright?” Ranboo hisses with a frown, ducking underneath another overhang.  

“Yes,” Charlie quickly replies, shifting his gaze from Ranboo’s tail to his feet.  “It’s all really, really cool,” Charlie laughs uneasily.  

This felt way too real.  The DSMP’s plot line was so sophisticated, unlike anything Charlie had ever worked on—or even saw—before. 

It was over with soon, thankfully.  

Callahan comments on Charlie’s performance with a thumbs up, the man scratching at the back of his neck with a laugh.  “Aw, thanks.”

The few other interactions Charlie had were short-lived.  Tommy came over to excitedly ask for Charlie’s autograph, Tubbo standing right behind the boy.  Charlie gave in after a look of thought, a look Tubbo caught onto quickly.  

While signing the Startooz figurine of himself for Tommy, Charlie meets Tubbo’s skeptical eye.  The man smiles, taking Tubbo’s Startooz and signing it as well.  “See you two around!” Charlie waves goodbye, speed-walking off towards ConnorEatsPants.  Tubbo watches Charlie greet the shorter man with a big hug.  

“He seems very..” Tubbo trails off, unable to put his finger on it.  Or rather, he couldn’t think of an applicable word.  He looks over at Tommy for help, but the taller boy was transfixed on the Startooz, holding it with a look of pride in his eyes.   “JSchlatt, then Slimecicle!  Who do you think we’ll get next, Tubbo?”

Tommy drags Tubbo off towards Philza, Vikkstar, and Sam, the three older men engaged in conversation.  Had Wilbur been on set, Tommy would’ve stayed near him, but Wilbur wasn’t needed for today’s filming.  “Phil, Sam, Vikk, look!” Tommy shoves the Startooz in Sam’s face, his other hand holding onto Tubbo’s empty wrist.  

Tubbo’s eyes linger back on Charlie’s back, frowning.  His ears tone out Tommy’s chatter, wondering what was Charlie’s deal.

The next day, Tommy’s Startooz was missing.  He looked like he was about to cry, so Tubbo gave him his.  Tommy sniffled, hugging Tubbo tight with a thank you.  

To the brunet boy, Charlie seemed.. off.  Yes, people had different personalities on and off camera; Tubbo knew that well enough with just himself.  Still, Charlie had always seen very.. the word was lost to him.  

Antfrost sneezes, wiping at his nose, interrupting Tubbo’s train of thought.  The boy sat in a lonesome chair, waiting for his turn to go back on scene.  He wouldn’t be needed until the next Snowchester scene, which wasn’t going to be filmed until a while.  The second season’s finale had already been aired, and all that was happening now were the beginnings of the next season’s filming.  It was slow, since there were long gaps between seasons.  

Tommy was currently doing an important segment by visiting Dream in Pandora’s Vault, which would be included in season three’s trailer.  Charlie’s arrival would also be in the trailer, the reason behind why it had to be recorded yesterday.  

That man was currently sitting near an exit, his nose in his comms and texting someone.  Tubbo hums, getting up to stand next to Fundy and Jack Manifold.  The latter greets Tubbo with a smile, Fundy ruffling Tubbo’s hair affectionately.  

The two adults were talking about Cogchamp, Fundy’s side project that was still gaining a viewership.  It wasn’t a show, per say, but a vlog.  Tubbo was on it, along with Ranboo and Sam.  Tubbo and Ranboo’s friend Cuptoast was invited to be in it too, along with Fundy’s friend-boyfriend-something, 5up.  

“.. and then Crumb wanted me to make it yellow, but I made it all orange by accident, and I reaaally don’t want to redo it all,” Fundy draws out the vowel, pawing at his eyes to wipe sleep from them.  Manifold snickers, offhandedly commenting that yellow was a better color to make Fundy feel even worse.  

Tubbo chuckles at the two friends’ bickering, playing with his friendship bracelet.  Nihachu passes him, Puffy walking beside the German woman, the two talking in hushed whispers as they entered a breakroom.  The door shutters closed.  

“I’ll fix it for you if you want, Fundy,” Tubbo offers, looking up at the man.  Fundy tilts his head to the side before shrugging.  

“That’s up to you, Tubbo, but thanks.  The help would be appreciated.”

Tubbo nods, his gaze flitting to the side when he sees Tommy exit scene.  Oh thank gods, he was getting bored.  Tubbo moves to greet and compliment his friend’s acting, but his path is crossed by two pairs of feet.  

“Where is my man?!” Wilbur shouts, having already gotten the cue from Callahan that the scene was drawn close.  JSchlatt smirks next to the British man, gesturing off to an exit—to Charlie.  

Tubbo watches the two men suspiciously.  This couldn’t be good; Wilbur and JSchlatt were the absolute worst when it came to making trouble behind the scenes.  His mind is drawn out of its trace when Tommy slams into the younger boy, knocking the boy on the head with a knuckle.  “Yo, you good?” Tommy asks after panting, wiping his forehead with a cloth.  “You’re acting weird.”

Curse Tommy for being so blunt.  Tubbo swallows a lump in his throat, clearing it before going to speak.  He’d cut off once again when all heads turn towards where Wilbur and JSchlatt had headed off in.

Fireflies by Owl City was playing at an ear-shattering volume.  Wilbur was pushing fingers into his ears, silent laughter coming out of his mouth as the song muted everything but itself.  JSchlatt was holding a small speaker up to Charlie’s ear, backing up as the man went absolutely berserk.  

Tubbo raised his eyebrows at the sight with his hands over his ears.  Other people took similar stances, Technoblade disappearing into a different room to try and save his extrasensitive hearing from the experience.  

JSchlatt was in hysterics by the time Wilbur manually paused the song on his own phone, the British man down on the ground and leaning against Charlie’s abandoned chair for some sort of grip.  JSchlatt drops the hand holding the speak, it still twitching from the sheer vibrations.

“- know I hate that goddamn song, oh you fucking idiot, you never change!  And Wilbur too!  You’re teaming up on me, I’m calling my mom, I’m going to have to call Ted at this rate!  Ted’s gonna be out of control when he gets in here, let me tell you, you fucking son of a -“

The kids on set were quickly moved out of earshot as a flurry of worse words dropped out of Charlie’s mouth like bombs, though by the time they left the studio, Charlie and JSchlatt were hugging each other tight—regardless of the threats Charlie whispered into the businessman’s ear.  

JSchlatt and Wilbur later apologized to Callahan for disrupting the peace.  Their explanation: getting Charlie out of his shell.

The next day, day three of Charlie being on the DSMP cast list, Tommy’s Startooz reappeared along with two limited edition Slimecicle merch shirts.  A note was attached to the front of the shirts.  

   Sorry!  Tubbo, stop looking at me funny.  Tommy, if you don’t want your things stolen in the near future, zip up your backpack.  

Tommy seemed confused as to whom the note came from.  Tubbo shook his head in disappointment, taking one of the shirts for himself with a small smile.  

Someone took Technoblade’s Hypixel crown off of his head when he was taking a nap only a few hours later.  It reappears an hour later, resting on a stool with a slime prop seated inside of it.  Even Technoblade laughed at the sight of it.  

Chapter Text

Tommy knew he wasn’t feeling well the moment he sat up in bed.  

Today was going to be rough.  

It’s one of those feelings you get deep in your chest where you know you’re going to be sick at some point of the day, but you don’t know when.  It starts with a scratch at the back of your throat, and then runs down into your stomach, gurgling and groaning.  Your head spins every so often, leaving you dazed and confused as to where you were.  It’d only be a matter of time until you’re kneeling over a toilet, gasping for breath.  

So he took two Advils, called it fine, grabbed a piece of toast and walked with Tubbo to the link between the home server and the DSMP one.  

The portal jump left Tommy stumbling, blackstone bricks floating in front of his eyes.  He reaches out to lean against the portal’s obsidian, shaking his head to clear it.  Tubbo looks at his best friend with a frown, pulling him along towards where they were filming today.  

Today was Ghostbur’s resurrection.

Wilbur Soot greeted the two teenagers with a wave, blue paint trickling down from his mouth as makeup artists finished with the dusty color on his skin.  He wore a yellow sweater with a slash of blue paint across it, and his hands were splashed with blue paint as well.  The paint was all accented with values, an expert job done.  The rest of Wilbur’s appearance was normal; a gray beanie, black skinny jeans, and socks. 

The outfit reminded Tommy of when he was younger, watching SMPLive’s episodes be broadcasted on his television back home; Wilbur was the soft boy of the show who had a taste for trickery, always being dragged into shenanigans by JSchlatt and Connor.  Their skits were always hilarious.  

The thought of home made Tommy’s stomach churn ever more.  He leans against Tubbo for balance, nodding towards Wilbur to acknowledge him.  

The resurrection was an event that had been preluded for a while.  The good thing was that Tommy only had a small role; he was supposed to peek in, act regretful when Ghostbur spoke to him, and then disappear.  Tommy reaches up to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead.  He could do that.  

No, he couldn’t.

By the time Tommy was set to go on, the makeup used on his face was threatening to clump because of how much he was sweating.  His thin red-white t-shirt seemed too much for him to bear, but he couldn’t exactly strip it in the middle of production and in the middle of the studio.  

He swallows, focusing on the scene in front of him.

Fundy was crouched behind Eret, the king holding a book in their hands.  The royal mantel suited the tall person well, Eret’s sunglasses covering their eyes; a golden crown with multicolored gems rested on their head.  They were speaking a language that Tommy couldn’t even make sense of; it was probably English, but the words sounded faint and whiny to him.  

Philza stood before Ghostbur, gripping an enchanted diamond sword in his hands.  The sides of it were dulled for safety reasons; all items used on set were props, and those that had any sort of dangerous edge to it were sanded down.  

Philza was dressed in his character’s regular wear, a long coat with an inverted haori design and traditional Japanese wooden sandals.  He wore a light green kimono underneath and a striped bucket hat.  In the actual episode, large dark gray wings with a haori design would be folded up against his back.  For now, wooden planks mimicked the wings.  

“Are you sure about this?” Philza holds out a free hand towards Ghostbur, skepticism coating the old man’s face.  His stubble was slowly turning more so into a beard.  

Ghostbur looks over towards Eret, who was still mumbling enchantments underneath his breath.  The ghost looks back towards Philza, smiling bitterly.  Ghostbur’s eyes were a startling blue, and his image would be semi-transparent after special effects.  “Yeah.  Phil, kill me.  Kill me, Phil.  Please!-“

“W-what?” Tommy forces out, cursing himself mentally for the stutter.  That wasn’t in the script, but it worked.. maybe.  Where the resurrection shrine was tucked into a tunnel that lead to L’Manberg’s crater, Tommy was standing up on one of the stone overhangings, connecting to the mountain just behind L’Manberg.  The teenager wore a turtle hat that glimmered with enchantments, holding a golden apple.  

Tommy makes his way to the ground, stumbling up the steps of the shrine to gaze up at Ghostbur.  His face prickled with sweat, panting lightly from the movement.  “Ghostbur, what are you doing?” Tommy demands, eyebrows furrowing.  Ghostbur smiles nervously, looking over at Philza for help.  

“Tommy,” Phil steps up to pull the boy away from the lapis-and-gold shrine.  Friend bleats from behind Ghostbur, the sheep harmlessly dyed blue and leashed to a nearby pole.  “Tommy, stand back,” Philza says sterner this time when Tommy is reluctant to move, holding his ground.  

“No.. no, Ghostbur, I can’t lose you.  I can’t lose you too,” Tommy’s voice cracks mid-sentence from emotion, slipping into perfect character portrayal.  Fundy steps out from behind Eret, sighing as he helped Philza drag Tommy away from Ghostbur.  

“It’s okay, Tommy!  Alivebur will be back in a little bit!  Don’t you want Alivebur back?” Ghostbur smiles warmly at the teenager, who was scrambling to reach the ghost.  He was going nowhere but backwards as Fundy led him away from the shrine.  “I have to go so Alivebur can come back!”

“Ghostbur, G-Ghostbur- Phil, stop!  Don’t do it!” Tommy calls for the ghost before seeing Phil raise the sword.  “Phil!” Tommy screams.  Fundy places a firm hand over Tommy’s eyes, effectively blocking out his vision.

He can’t breathe.  

Tommy’s breath hitches in his throat, stuck.  There’s a sickening noise played via tape (that would be edited out later) followed by a hollow scream that resonates through the tarnished landscape.  Tommy sobs, gripping onto Fundy’s arm to keep him standing—for the acting and literally.  His legs felt so weak.  

The diamond sword falls to the stone ground with a loud clatter.  Phil falls to his knees with a stricken facial expression, facing Friend and the lapis-and-gold shrine.  Friend bleats, walking forward to push his head against Philza’s chest.  The man scratches behind the sheep’s ear softly as the old man heaves heavily, noticeably holding back a sob.  

Tommy pushes Fundy away from him, spinning around and running away from the shrine.  He parkours over the few blocks that covered the lake, running towards Party Island and out of sight, breathing hard.  The main camera narrows in on Philza after trailing after Tommy briefly, a black hand resting on Phil’s shoulder.

Ranboo steps out of the shadows, his tail tucked between his legs.  It was fully mechanical, acting with Ranboo’s thoughts just as a mechanical hand did.  The teenager’s makeup would be accented in CGI, but it’d due for now.  

“We have to wait to see if it works,” Eret pulls themself out of the enchantments, standing still before taking a step away from the shrine.  “It’s not going to happen right now.”

It better not happen right fucking now, Tommy strings his scrambled thoughts messily into a sentence, pushing past Lazarbeam and Skeppy to find the bathroom.  Purpled watched the other teenager go with a stare before falling back into comfortable silence with Nihachu.  

Tubbo found Tommy hours later, the sun setting and filming drawn to a close.  Tubbo frowns at Tommy’s state, the older teen blinking blearily.  His steps looked drunken, and he couldn’t form a single sentence that made sense, and that was rich considering Tubbo was evaluating him.  

Tubbo opens his comms, taping onto two contacts.  He types two messages, hitting send without bothering to look over errors.  Closing it with a wave of his hand, Tubbo pats Tommy’s back.  “Do you want dinner or sleep?”

Tommy holds out a shaky two fingers.  Tubbo purses his lips, leading Tommy back towards the home server portal.  

Back in their shared house, which sat next to Ranboo’s, Tommy was back in his bed, back facing the door.  He and Tubbo shared a room, Tubbo’s empty bed pushed against the other wall.  Tommy was tossing and turning in his bed, unable to get comfortable.  

Finally, he sits up, lifting the back of his hand against his forehead.  He was burning up.   Not good.. not good.  

“Tubbo!” Tommy shouts for his best friend, leaning against his knees as his feet dug into the frame of his bed.  His vision swims, and he has half a mind to fall back into bed.  Pulling himself to stand up, Tommy stumbles over to the door, messing with the knob to open the door and face two concerned-looking men.  

Tommy closes the door in their faces, walking back to his bed and flopping down in it.  

“Tommy?” Wilbur knocks his hand against the door, wanting permission but he entered, but Phil seemed like he could care less.  The older man pushes the door open, making a face at Tommy’s state.  “Oh, Toms,” Wilbur pushes past Philza, helping the boy roll over and holding a hand to Tommy’s forehead.  

“What you doin’ ‘ere?” Tommy slurs, batting Wilbur’s hand away with a scowl.  

“Tubbo messaged us.  You’re sick, Toms.”

“No, ‘m not,” Tommy grumbles, taking his pillow and covers his face with it.  

Wilbur sighs, looking over his shoulder at Phil.  “Can you ask Tubbo where he keeps the medicine?  He has a fever.” As he spoke, Wilbur pulled the blankets over Tommy and sat on the edge of Tommy’s bed.  

Philza nods, sparing Tommy a sympathetic look akin to a father’s before walking back out of the room.  

Wilbur looks down at the teenager, studying the facial expressions that crossed his face.  A grimace, wince, neutral, repeat.  Tommy sneezes, rolling onto his back to face the ceiling.  

“You worked today and didn’t tell us you were sick?” Wilbur questions the blond, clearing notifications on his comms.  JSchlatt had sent him a GamePigeon proposal, though he held it off.  “Tommy, I get that you’re dedicated to this all but you need to care for yourself.”

“I felt fine,” Tommy snaps back, curling in on himself.  His knees graze the small of Wilbur’s back, one hand running through his bangs.  “I didn’ know I was gonna end up ‘n the bathroom..”

“So you threw up?”

Tommy avoids eye contact.  Wilbur sighs, moving hair out of his face.  “I’ll call your parents.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I will-“

“Boys,” Philza interrupts the bickering, holding a cup of water and a few pills.  Tommy sits up immediately, his head hanging and swaying as his world spun again.  Had it not been for his state, Wilbur would’ve backhanded Tommy for his stupidity.  

Tommy takes the medicine without much eye contact to either of the men, falling back down on the bed soon after.  “Alright, leave now,” Tommy commands, flipping onto his side so he didn’t face the two adults.  Wilbur reclines back on Tommy’s bed, fishing for the remote that sat on the bedside dresser he and Tubbo shared for casual clothes.  

“Nah, I’m pretty fucking tired.  We’re off tomorrow, I may just fall asleep here.” Wilbur stretches his arms to accent his words, licking his lips afterwards.  Wilbur leans up against the wall, turning on the TV that sat snug on the wall.  “Phil, got any good show recommendations?”

The man sits down on the floor, laying his head against the mattress.  He hums in thought before shrugging.  “What about Live?”

Wilbur originally cringes, chuckling lowly at the mention of his old show.  “I’ll cry, but sure,” Wilbur laughs, redirecting the menu to find SMPLive.  He purses his lips, scrolling through the episodes for finding one of the better ones, at least, in his opinion.  Clicking play, Wilbur tosses the remote to the side as he sighs.  Phil crosses his legs Indian-style.  

Tommy looks up over his shoulder when he hears the opening song.  The intro cut between different characters, snippets of old episodes and the famed foolishness that the show got famous on.  A segment shows Wilbur smashing a guitar against a cobblestone tower with IAmTy in the near distance drinking a margarita.  

Tommy looks at the wall, stomach groaning from the medicine.  Phil laughs at something on the show as it finally cuts into the actual episode.  Wilbur smiles at the memories, reminiscing silently.  

When Tommy rolled over onto his other side to watch the show, he didn’t think of how he used to watch these episodes back home with his mom and dad.  Sure, part of his mind was still on the pain his body felt, but he had his two other family members right next to him.  

Tommy exhales through his nose.  The signed Wilbur Soot Startooz rested on one of the floating shelves on the wall, standing next to a Philza one.  

Chapter Text

“Dream!  Dream, my friend!  It’s been so long, how are you?” Tommy exclaims, bursting out of tnret with his arms out wide and a smile.  

Dream steps out of the nether portal, wearing all of his netherite armor and gripping Nightmare tight.  The man looks behind him when he hears his name called.  He greets the boy with a thin smile, but didn’t return the hug that Tommy attempts to initiate.  

Tommy looked worse for wear; his clothes were all raggedy, eyebags heavy on his face.  There was dirt and ash all over his face from being out in nature for so long; knots in his hair, there was even some unshaven fuzz on his chin.  He was missing a shoe.  Tommy awkwardly stops his hug, letting his hands fall to his sides.  “It’s been so long!” Tommy repeats, smiling towards the older man.  

Dream hums, letting Tommy lead the way towards Logstedshire.  The oak trees Tommy had planted a few days ago were growing in nicely, Dream muses, ducking underneath Logstedshire’s archway and into the small hamlet’s territory.  

Tommy eagerly heads over to the barrels, whipping out a few bowls that looked handcrafted.  He holds a bowl out for Dream, hiding a frown when Dream ignored the gesture.  Tommy holds both bowls to his chest, walking off towards the corner where Mushroom Henry stood.  In reality, it was a regular cow with a few pints of strawberry milk sitting next to its feet.  

“Look at this, Dream!  Remember how Antfrost brought him here for me?  Yeah, I just figured out he gives pink milk and he spins!” Tommy shares the news, circling his finger up above Mushroom Henry’s head.  

“Put your things in the-“

The cow spins a few times, following the finger and dizzying itself when Tommy stopped the motion.  The teenager picks up one of the pints of milk, holding it up for Dream to see.  “Do you want some, Dream?” Tommy laughs before looking up to find the man in question.  “Dream?”

“Down here, Tommy.”

Tommy peers down the little hole that Dream had dug right under Ghostbur’s house.  The light blue-and-birch house was the only proof of Ghostbur’s presence here after he disappeared and left Tommy alone in exile.  Tommy didn’t cry too much when Ghostbur left; he still had Dream!

“What are you doing, Dream?” Tommy calls down the hole, seeing Dream rifle through some chests—his chests.  Those chests that held all his valuables, his items, his pictures.  Dream pulls something from his inventory: TNT.  

“Dream, wa-!”

The chests blow up with ease, leaving Tommy’s ears ringing.  He held a few photos to his chest, shirt ragged and stained.  Tubbo was on the first one he could see when he looked down at his possessions.  Tommy smiles bittersweetly at the sight of the brunet until the photos are all snatched from his hands.  

Dream makes eye contact with the boy before ripping the papers apart at an antagonizing slow pace.  Dream was frowning.  Why was he frowning?  Did Tommy do something?  Was he disappointed?  Wha-

“Tommy, why were you hiding those things from me.”

“W-what?” Tommy stammers, watching Dream climb out of the secret bunker.  Dream doesn’t offer a hand for Tommy to help him up as he walks towards the Prime log.  The dynamite was still in Dream’s hand.  “Dream, no, stop!” Tommy yells, scrambling out of the hole and running over to the wall, throwing out his arms to stop Dream from placing any explosives.  He wouldn’t kill Tommy, right?

Right?

He places the dynamite anyway, igniting it with a flaming arrow.  Tommy hides behind the log, covering his ears as the explosives go off.  His ears ring with church bells, and a hand darts out to grab the broken Prime bell.  The log sits on its side, and when Dream turns around, Tommy pockets that too in his inventory.  He keeps the bell prop out in his hands.  

“Dream, Dream, please, that’s Ghostbur’s house.  He didn’t do anything!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Dream, what did I do-“

The TNT goes off once again, and Tommy watches with tears already in his eyes as his brother’s ghost’s creation fall into rumble before him.  He swallows the sob that was caught in his throat, turning around to catch up with Dream.  “Please, Dream, stop, please!” He grabs onto Dream’s forearm.  

“Stop begging, Tommy.” Dream rips his arm away with a scowl.  He wipes it clean with his free hand, plodding away from the teenager.  “You did this to yourself!”

Exasperated, Tommy catches up and throws himself in front of Dream’s path, hands trying to make Dream stop his path of destruction.  Incoherent words fall from his mouth until he’s pushed to the side with as much as ease as a butterfly could muster.  Tommy stumbles, weak, as he watches Dream place dynamite in tnret.  It goes up in flames a moment later.  

Tommy starts to cry.  

“This is your fault, Tommy.” Dream approaches the teenager, yanking him up to his feet by gripping the collar of his shirt.  Tommy closes his mouth with a deep frown, pushing away from the abusive man.  “I did nothing that you didn’t deserve.”

Tommy is dropped onto the coarse sandy dirt a moment later, watching Dream as tears fall from his eyes.  “You broke my trust, Tommy!  You were hiding secrets from me, you were hiding secrets that could hurt me!  Tommy, why would you ever want to hurt me?  I’ve done nothing but help you,” Dream laments, a hand against his forehead after he removes his helmet.  It does nothing to quell the fear Tommy felt deep within when he stared into the emotionless eyes of Dream’s mask.  

“Nobody else has helped you, Tommy.  I’m the only one who cares about you.” Dream squats, lifting Tommy’s chin up with a hand, studying the boy’s dirtied, tearful face.  Tommy hiccups, covering his head with his thin arms when Dream drops him.  

The man frowns, though you couldn’t see any of it because of the mask.  Tutting, Dream reaches forward to encompass Tommy in a tight hug.  Tommy’s hands struggle for ground against the slick netherite, the thorns on it burning into Tommy’s skin.  “I’m sorry, Tommy.  I don’t want to be mean, I want to be your friend, but you’re making this very hard on me.  Promise me you won’t do anything like that again.”

“I- I-“

“Promise me, Tommy.  I don’t want to be mean,” Dream repeats.  Tommy blabbers, tears dropping down onto the chestplate.  

Dream lets his hold on Tommy drop, standing up.  The teenager grovels, reaching after Dream as he walks away from him.  “D-Dream- no, please!  I’m sorry!  I promise!”

Dream ignores him as a pickaxe enters Tommy’s tunnel vision.  Tommy screams out of agony, his voice hoarse from how much he was crying.  He screams again when the pickaxe meets obsidian, the block cracking upon impact.  A few more blows, and the single block causing the whole portal to falter and die.  The familiar hum it gave off that soothed Tommy on his sleepless nights was silenced.  

Dream lets the rest of the obsidian frame stay.  One piece was gone—so close to a full portal, yet so far.  He smirks to himself at his handiwork before looking back to the crawling Tommy, the boy gripping dirt underneath his hands as tears fell to the earth.  Tommy bites his lower lip, willing the tears to stop.  They were out of control.  

Dream saunters over, seeing the boy finally break under a simple action.  He kneels in front of Tommy, gesturing for the boy to look up and meet his gaze, cloudy blue eyes stricken with grief and tears meeting beady black ones that were scribbled in with Sharpie.  

“What do you promise, Tommy?” Dream asks sweetly, reaching out to pet Tommy’s hair.  “What do you want to say to me?”

“I-“ Tommy chokes on his words as another sob forces itself through his throat.  He swallows against his will, gasping afterwards.  He had subconsciously leaned into Dream’s hand, so deadly yet so.. loving.  

“I promise not to hide anything from you anymore.” Tommy wipes tears from his eyes, the water turning the dirt on his face and fingers into mud.  

“Good,” Dream hums, standing up and helping Tommy to his feet as well.  He forces the boy to stand, face the horizon, towards where his old home used to be.  “I exiled you, Tubbo, exiled you for a reason, Tommy.  You’re out of control, you’re rebellious.  We thought you being out here would help that side of you, but obviously, we were wrong.”

Dream looks to the side, seeing that Tommy just wanted to fall to the ground and curl up and cry harder.  Good acting, Dream thinks, facing the ocean again.  Tommy pushes against Dream’s hold on him, but gives in when Dream hugs him once again.  “You’re not going home any time soon, Tommy.  It was a mistake for me letting you have a pass to go back to L’Manberg yesterday.  You won’t be going back there for a while.”

Tommy’s eyes find the broken nether portal.  “But my friends-“

“Will not be visiting you anymore too.  But, let’s be honest here, Tommy.  Nobody ever came to see you anyway.”

“Ranboo..” Tommy whispers, unable to hide anywhere to hug Dream back that didn’t burn him.  He stood there, arms slack at his sides, whispering and crying into Dream’s ear.  

“Doesn’t care for you like I do.  He doesn’t come visit you because you’re his friend, Tommy.  He visits you because he pities you,” Dream sneers, fingers gripping into the skin between Tommy’s shoulder blades.  The boy’s musky eyes widen from momentary pain, trying to make it all believable though the pain was real.  

“You don’t want pity, do you?  Don’t pity yourself, Tommy.  It’s not your turn to die yet.  You have to live for me if not yourself, because what will I do if you’re dead?” Dream smiles into Tommy’s ear, fingers digging deeper into Tommy’s skin.  

Tommy bawls, face a masterpiece of affliction.  This felt too real.. way too real. He buries his face into Dream’s shoulder, ignoring the burn; he prayed to whatever fucking god out there that was sparing him a look took him out of his misery.  Thank the gods they were on his side.  

“And.. scene!” Alyssa yells, Callahan slamming close the slateboard with a satisfactory smile on his face. 

Nobody on the set moves.  The only sound was Tommy’s hollow sobs that refused to cease even when he heard the signal for the end of recording.  

Awkward crewhands begin to pack up the cameras and stands and extra lighting, since this was the last remote scene that needed to be filmed.  It was the last scene of the day, thankfully.  Callahan spares the two blonds a look before dismounting his chair, letting the two be.  

Dream was frozen, feeling uncomfortable now that his acting was over and Tommy was still crying.  Tommy usually zipped up right when the scene cut.  This wasn’t like him.  Holding the boy to his chest in a kinder hug, Dream brings a hand up to card through Tommy’s hair, an attempt to calm him down.

“The mask,” Tommy croaks out, still unable to hug Dream properly because of the thorns on his armor.  “Dream, the mask,” Tommy whimpers, looking at the ground behind Dream as he tried to steady his breathing; it wasn’t working out too well.

The birch mask clatters before stilling on the ground, ripped off.  The straps on it were loose; it was soon joined by Dream’s other armor pieces.  Once all the armor was thrown off, Dream shies Tommy away from the film crew’s eyes by blocking the view with his own body, running a hand up and down Tommy’s back to calm him.  

Something that could be labeled as guilty swirled in Dream’s gut as he held the sobbing boy, the child.  It ate away at his conscience knowing he did go a bit too far with how much he could bend the script.  He could feel Tommy’s nails digging through the green sweatshirt, finally able to hold onto the other man.  Tommy ducks his forehead against Dream’s neck, his breathing ragged but slowly calming down from its high.  

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Dream whispers, running his thumb over Tommy’s shoulderblade.  The boy whimpers in acknowledgment, pulling away to rub at his drying eyes.  Tommy sniffles before blinking, moving tears away from his cheek.  “I’m sorry,” Dream repeats.  

“‘s fine,” Tommy mumbles, not able to meet Dream’s gaze.  The teenager pulls away from the hug, the two of them facing each other awkwardly.  “I can’t keep getting upset like this.”

“No, no, it’s okay.  This is a really hard arc for you, even when out of character.” Dream reaches out to place a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, noticing how there was thought of flinching before Tommy sighed in acceptance.  “Just know that if I ever go overboard, tell me off.”

“Well,” Tommy sniffles again with a shake in his voice, “You kinda just did.” 

Dream’s chest aches at those words.  He sighs before gesturing with a hand for Tommy for another hug.  There wasn’t much else he could offer the other at this time.  They were so far away from the main area of the DSMP server, none of the other actors were nearby to possibly calm Tommy down better than Dream could.  

Tommy drags a hand across his eyes, wiping more tears away, as he leans into the hug.  It’s a loose one, very weak; Dream pats Tommy’s back comfortingly, seeing as there wasn’t much else he could do.  

“Ready to go back?”

Tommy clears his throat, resting his forehead down on Dream’s shoulder.  He nods into the sweatshirt, sighing softly.  Taking it as a yes, Dream pulls away and matches pace with Tommy as the group starts to ferry into the boats taken to this spot in the server.  The green man punches Tommy lightly in the shoulder, a brotherly act.  Tommy shoves Dream away, a sneak peek of a smile crossing his face, though it didn’t meet his eyes.   

They don’t speak for the rest of the trip home.

Chapter Text

5up knew that Fundy’s real job was demanding, but he never expected it to be this demanding.. and chaotic.

The short man held hands with a young girl, standing on a wooden path that faced an open crater.  The air smelt of ashes and gunpowder.  A large, five-color flag swayed lazily with a weak wind in the middle of the crater, tied up to a pole.  Bits of the flag were burned and holes littered the old thing; 5up ached to patch it up, nurture it, hands itching to work.  

Fundy shifts on his feet, fixing his striped jacket.  He was supposed to go on set in a while, with his tail attached in a similar fashion to Ranboo’s and felt ears pushed back under his newsboy hat.  For now, though, he had a few moments to stay with 5up and Cuptoast.  

The young girl was staring out at the crater, the box that covered her head hiding a shaky frown.  She holds tighter onto 5up’s hand, who looks over at Fundy.  “Y’know, Fundy, I sometimes can’t seem to remind myself every time that this is a show and not an actual server.  This reminds me of 2b2t.”

Fundy inhales, looking over at the vegetable-hybrid.  A small sprout rested on the top of the man’s head, a reminder of his ancestry.  While almost every actor in the DSMP show was human, there were still hybrids around Minecraft, hiding in crooks and nannies.  5up was one of those few hybrids; there was reason as to why he typically stayed in the Among Us servers to escape prying eyes.

“Sometimes it feels like I actually lived it, like I lived here.  I did live here,” Fundy begins before reaching out to take 5up’s other hand.  “Not anymore now, and y’know what?”

“What?”

“I’m fine with that.”

Awesamdude pulled 5up and Cuptoast into a tight hug after the two Cogchamp members followed Fundy into a breakroom.  Fundy had disappeared because he had to go on and work, leaving the vegetable-hybrid and the girl with a box over her head in the care of Sam.  Sam was worthy company, in 5up’s opinion, so he made small talk with the tinkerer.  Cuptoast slipped out from under his watchful eye after a few minutes, peeking out of the breakroom before sneaking out.  

Fundy was acting with Ranboo, the two yelling at each other in the scene that followed the collapse of L’Manberg about choosing sides.  When Cuptoast passed behind the cameras, Ranboo was holding his head and turning away from Fundy, tail lashing behind his long legs.  Fundy was gesturing out towards the teenager, desperately trying to get the other to see his points of view.  Cuptoast noted the sour mood of the scene and made a face before carrying on.  

Scurrying away from the film set, Cuptoast crouches under a table as she looks for a familiar face.  She knew that Tubbo was an actor here; where was Tubbo?  The girl frowns, reaching up to scratch at her box.  The table above her moves when someone walks near it, feet dangling in front of her face; were.. were they sitting on the table?

Cuptoast crawls from out under the table, staring up into the dark eyes of a man with cosmetic horns plastered to the sides of his head.  The girl waves, and JSchlatt mimics the action with a small smile.

“Oh my fucking gods I’ve lost the child,” 5up breathes, looking around the breakroom after calling Cuptoast’s name a few times.  Sam hesitates before opening the door to the breakroom, sticking his head out and looking both ways.  The vegetable-hybrid was looking underneath tables and chairs, in the cupboards, anywhere a young girl could fit, 5up searched—no luck.

Fundy was reclined back in a plastic chair, his head back and pointed up to the ceiling.  The man was drained from acting for more than an hour, with different distractions or reasons to redo the scene making it drag on further than it should have.  Ranboo apologized profusely afterwards to the Dutch man, saying he got too in-character.  

That same boy was hunched in the corner, makeup dripping down to reveal tan skin underneath.  His wig was lopsided with amber-colored hair peeking through, the boy eating a frosted sugar cookie in silence as he watched 5up run around like a headless chicken.  “Sam, any luck out there?” Ranboo calls, swallowing the cookie before making a face at how stale it was.  

Sam gestures for Ranboo to walk over to him, a finger over his lips when 5up turned his back to the door.  Ranboo swallows the remainder of his cookie, sliding up against the wall to look over Sam’s head and out the door.  He smiles at the sight, elbowing Sam roughly before clearing his throat in 5up and Fundy’s direction.  

The vegetable-hybrid looks up instantly, his sprout shaking with the motion.  “What?” 5up questions, tilting his head as he walked around tables to reach the door.  Fundy startles awake, his hat falling off of his head and gently to the floor.  5up elbows Sam as well, the poor man now bent over and giggling quietly.

Breaching the door, 5up would’ve laughed had he not been so stressed just a second ago.

Cuptoast was lifted up onto JSchlatt’s shoulders, who was standing next to Sapnap and HBomb.  Leave it to the small girl to end up in the company of probably the most aggressive (-ly protective) actors on site.  Cuptoast was holding a JSchlatt Startooz, a signature in gold Sharpie scribbled across the chestpiece.  She was waving it around, making noise effects as it danced on JSchlatt’s head.  

5up groans out of relief, pressing a hand to his chest with an exhale as he leaned back against the door.  Fundy smiles, a hand around 5up’s shoulders to keep him from tumbling over.  

“Did you have fun, Crumb?”

Cuptoast holds the Startooz in her hands, studying the figurine.  She trailed after 5up, who was holding hands with Fundy, as the three of them made it back to Fundy’s house on the DSMP home server.  5up and Cuptoast would stay there until Fundy had a break from acting and could go back with them to the Cogchamp server.  

The girl looks up when 5up speaks; she was still wearing her box, but 5up could tell she was smiling: “Schlatt’s nice!”

“Oh gods, the kid’s been brainwashed,” Fundy jokes, 5up pushing the man playfully.  Fundy gasps, pushing 5up back until it turned into a play fight.  5up laughs, finally pulling Fundy into a side hug so they did’t trip one another on the pathway through the spruce forest the home server laid in.  

Cuptoast keeps the Startooz hugged close to her chest, a reminder of the kind ram-man she met.  

Chapter Text

Now, Sapnap was a man of many things, but the one thing he wasn’t, was a coward.  

As the disgruntled-looking man watching from where he leaned against the fridge in Dream’s house, he rolls his eyes when Charlie Slimecicle lets out a whoop of victory when the back of Tommy’s palm slams into the tabletop.  Tommy pulls his arm back, rubbing it with his pride tarnished by the amber blond.  

Tubbo snickers, pushing Tommy out of his seat and off to grab him an ice pack since the boy would no doubt start complaining soon.  Charlie leans back in the fold-up chair, letting the two front legs leave the ground as he balanced.  That cocky grin seemed permanently slapped onto his face, accepting the beer Wilbur handed him.  Taking a small sip, Charlie chuckles when Jack Manifold sits down in the seat Tommy used to occupy.  

“Hold my beer, Wil,” Charlie asks, holding out the can once again.  The older actor laughs, taking it from Charlie before walking off to talk with Nihachu.  

Charlie focuses on Manifold’s intense glare, rubbing his bicep a few times before planting his elbow down on the tabletop.  It was uncomfortable, but the man played it off with a smile.  “Ready, Jackie boy?” Charlie teases, taking Manifold’s hand into his own.  

Manifold grits his teeth, way too serious for the foe party Dream decided to throw to celebrate the ending of season two.  “Bring it on, you country b-“

Manifold’s hand nearly grazes the table, the British man’s eyes widening with panic as he pushes up against Charlie’s hand.  Charlie was already talking to George off to the side, not even looking at Manifold; the latter scowls, wanting Charlie to put attention to their fight, but it doesn’t last much longer until Manifold falls under the pressure Charlie relentlessly applied on his arm.  

Manifold stands up, his pride similarly hurt to Tommy’s.  He shakes Charlie’s hand with his better arm, mumbling ‘good game’ before disappearing to go complain to Quackity and Karl Jacobs.  

Charlie laughs, flexing his arm.  “Anyone else?” Charlie asks the small group that surrounded the table, his smile bright until it faltered when someone planted himself down in the chair across form him.  

Dream’s green eyes twinkle with an undying competitiveness Charlie had only seen a few times before: in the hit movie series Championship, where different social media stars all competed in physical and talent games, and in the standalone Coliseum, the famed fight between Dream Wastaken and Technoblade.  

Championship was currently taking a break to reschedule its second season’s recordings, and while Technoblade had officially won Coliseum, the two shared the prize money.  Speaking of the piglin, Technoblade didn’t seem to be present.  He was never fond of crowds, anyway.  

Charlie accepts the challenger nonetheless, nodding towards Dream before taking his hand in his own.  Charlie’s hand was sweaty compared to Dream’s cool one, thanks to how much arm wrestling fights he’s done in the past twenty minutes.  Someone knocks the table after a few seconds of an eye staring contest, and the two men push their arms forward in a fight.  

BadBoyHalo covers his eyes, turning to hide behind a hollering Skeppy.  Eret was holding a stack of cash in one of their hands, standing next to Sam, who held a similar amount.  Philza and Lazarbeam stood behind Dream, both watching the fight with matching smirks.  Antfrost floated around the table, looking for the perfect place to watch it commence.  

Dream watches a bead of sweat fall down the side of Charlie’s face, and saves a chortle when a towel comes flying into Charlie’s cheek.  The man tears his eyes away from Dream momentarily, glaring at a whistling JSchlatt. 

Charlie’s grip fell, Dream applying more pressure, but when Charlie focuses back on the wrestling match, he forces his arm against Dream’s.  Dream himself was sweating by now, the fight going on for longer than it needed to be.  The green man grits his teeth, tightening his grip on Charlie’s hand before giving out.  His bicep was flexing from exertion as it fell back against the table, leaving him wincing.

Dream looks up to see Charlie’s arms up in the air in a victorious pose.  The two men make eye contact, causing Charlie to throw out a hand to shake.  Dream smiles good-naturally before taking it into his own, shaking it before standing up from the table.

Eret takes Sam’s money off of him, laughing wholeheartedly.  

“Who would’ve expected Mr Slimecicle to have so much upper body strength, huh?” Dream teases, leaning against the table on Charlie’s side as he took his drink back from George.  The man in the goggles takes his leave, walking off towards Wilbur and Nihachu.  

Charlie laughs, elbowing Dream lightly.  “Hey, I used to be on a parkour team, y’know!”

Dream raises his eyebrows as his interest piqued.  “Seriously?  I would’ve never guessed,” Dream says with a surprised tone.  “We should race each other one time.”

Charlie smiles with a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively.  “Maybe.  I don’t feel like spraining my ankle when I have everything pointed up for me- oh, hey Sapnap,” Charlie began to excuse himself before watching the Texan-raised man seat himself in the competitor’s chair.  Dream’s eyes remain risen at the sight of his best friend’s arm extending towards the undefeated man.  

“You sure, Sap?” Dream asks, standing up to drink from his beer.  

Sapnap huffs, not giving an audible answer as Charlie meets his offer in a handhold.  Sam had more cash out in an instant, Eret still betting on Charlie.  

Sapnap’s never been a coward, he’d never be, but he’s also not the best at arm-wrestling.  Lesson learned.

Charlie slams Sapnap’s arm after a solid twenty seconds of staring into each other’s souls.  Sapnap whines, throwing up his arms as he stands up.  “Man, I thought I had it too!” He complains, nudging Dream away as the older man begins to tease him for losing.  

The victor smiles after Sapnap’s retreating form, having already shaken hands and given the other a compliment for having the guts to verse him right after beating Dream.  Charlie sighs heavily, slapping the table with his two hands before standing up.  “Alrighty, I think I’m g-“

“May I have a turn?” 

Charlie’s gaze hits a chest—his head was on parallel with a chest.  His eyes flick upwards to red eyes, a ruby color that could eat away Charlie’s entire being with just a semi-harsh look.  The human gulps.  

Technoblade was a force to be reckoned with.  Being that he was a pureblood piglin brute, his muscles were more defined than a regular piglin, the only type that most people came in contact with.  They were only sought for trading purposes, and those brave enough to venture into the nether prayed that they didn’t find a brute horde.  It was every man’s worst nightmare.  

Technoblade, surprisingly, had made his way to the surface to establish himself as a “friendly” nether mob—friendly being in quotations because he was notorious for a bloodstained reign in Hypixel’s fighting ring.  It was there he first earned a reputation, eventually getting pulled out by a rich sponsor and took up residency in the smooth life of an actor and ambassador to nether life.  

He still took up residency in the megacity, as his jobs for acting came and went. SMPEarth was his first big project after his sponsor saved him from more bloodshed in Hypixel’s fighting ring, but since then, he’s done several cameos in movies and Coliseum with Dream; obviously, he’s been doing Dream SMP for a while too.

Regardless of his backstory, his appearance didn’t justice the piglin’s neutral, even cordial and punctuated personality.  

Scars littered his body, bits of his floppy ears missing from various fights in Hypixel.  Earrings hang from his ears, with a thick golden septum piercing striking Charlie’s eyes.  A golden Hypixelian crown was sat lopsided on his head, the highest reward anyone could receive from that hellhole.  Golden chains hung around his neck with different ornaments and jewels attached.  With his body covered with pink fur, he looked almost fluffy, but anyone who spent seconds near the behemoth knew he was quite the opposite of that.  

As Charlie studied the piglin, Technoblade flexed a bicep out of instinct to being observed.  Charlie felt his mouth dry up.  

“Y’know, no offense, Technoblade, but I’m honestly loving life with two arms and not one.  I’d- I’d rather keep it that way for at least a few more months,” Charlie tries to joke his way out of the situation, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly.  

Technoblade frowns, or did the best he could with the facial structure he had.  “Oh.  I just wanted to participate..”

“Ah!  No!  No, I’m sorry, I don’t- please don’t feel bad, I’m just-“

Technoblade snorts, shaking his head before a low chuckle falls out of his mouth.  “I’m only kidding.  I’ve beaten Dream so many times -“ 

Said man yells out of indignation from where he was in the kitchen.  

“- You may have beaten him just then, but he’s drunk right now. -“

Dream shouts again, now approaching the table.  

“- I’d crush you like a can,” Technoblade finishes, speaking with such a nice and understanding tone, but his words were.. uh.. something else.  

Charlie freezes up before nervously laughing.  “Yeah.. yeah, totally.  I’m not even gonna question that-“

A chorus of laughs rose up from the table, Charlie standing up from his chair and bowing towards the piglin brute.  “Behold, the de facto winner of the arm wrestling competition!” More laughter sounds, even Dream joining in.  

Technoblade smiles, squeezing his eyes shut.  

Chapter Text

There are some bonds that can stand the test of time, unwavering even though some of the sickest trials.  They remain strong through gauntlets and hurricanes, and while they’re a bit rougher around the edges, it’s still intact.  

Such bond was that of the former LunchClub members, minus one.  

Cscoop wipes sweat away from his forehead, lifting his shovel over his head and onto his shoulder.  The man looks around the mountain range, ignoring the one cameraman that followed him.  He wasn’t sure how big he wanted his semi-permanent residency to be, but he had already begun work on the basement.  Dirt covered the man’s hands and sweater.  

Epic SMP, while the lore bits would eventually turn the series into more of a scripted episode like DSMP was, was a show that followed each character on their own little missions.  Everyone from day one was partnered with a cameraman and set off on their ways; the only times anything was recorded by a main crew was during big events or lore segments.  Those came once in a blue moon, though.  

The episodes were aired with cuts between different characters.  It was still all a fictional portrayal, with pranks being pulled and the uh, rated M humor commonly used by the characters, but it gave a realistic feel to it, something DSMP lacked and something that lulled people in to have a good laugh.  

Cooper was still apprehensive about it all.  Traves had pulled him along to the first few days of recording to watch the possibilities of lore and an actual plotline for this show.  Cooper met up with the friends he hadn’t talked to in a while, but now that he was on his own, Cooper wasn’t all too happy.  

Throwing his shovel into a dirt pile in front of him, Cooper pulls out a water bottle from his inventory before falling back on the grassy mountaintop.  The blond drinks some of the water before pouring it over his head, his bangs dripping water into his eyes and down his face.  Grass crunches up ahead; Cooper swings his head around, glaring at the source of the noise.  

“Hey, Cscoop!” Jaiden Animations greets the blond, an iron helmet lopsided on her head and covering over of her eyes.  Her profound bangs gave away her name, Cooper remembering the animation YouTuber from a collab she did with, eh hem, him.  

The animator holds out a folded envelope, the camera narrowing down on the paper.  “It’s an invitation, we’re holding a party in a little bit!” Jaiden explains with a smile, holding her hands behind her back.  “We’d love to have you.”

Cooper opens the envelope, pulling out the postcard.  Glitter pours from the envelope, the postcard covered with blue sequins.  He would’ve made a face had it not been for Jaiden’s thoughtfulness, so he reads the invitation quickly before forcing a thin smile towards the woman before him.  “Yeah, I’ll do my best to get there.”

Jaiden smiles brightly, leaning up on her tippy toes before falling flatfoot.  “Great!  I’ll see you then!”

The woman skipped away, opening up her comms while speaking and almost falling down the mountainside.  Cooper hears her mutter a curse as she safely went down the mountain, and he couldn’t contain a sharp bark of a laugh.  Tossing the letter and glitter-ridden envelope into the pile of dirt, Cooper retrieves the shovel before staring deep into the camera.  “Guess we’re going partying.”

“I hate parties.” Cooper takes another sip of his drink, listening to RubberRoss complain next to him.  Cooper’s glasses flashed all sorts of colors as the LED lights on the dance floor cycled through them, people casting shadows into the ceiling as they tried out the stripper pole or danced with one another, albeit poorly.  

Turns out no one on the ESMP cast was a good dancer.  No surprise there.  

While it’d be great for recording, and it was, seeing as the crew was running around the studio outside of the borders of the party area, Cooper could already feel a headache forming.  Groaning, Cooper rubs at his temple with a few fingers.  Choosing to ignore Ross, it isn’t long until the other man takes the hint and walks off to go make smalltalk with someone else.  

The blond man leans into the table he was sitting out, holding his drink loosely in his hand.  He pulls down his glasses, pushing his sweater’s hood down from covering his hair.  Cooper heaves, taking another sip of his drink and almost spitting it all over the table when a hand collides into his back.  

“Where have you been, Cooper?!  We’ve been looking everywhere for you, you fucking rat!”

The cameras were instantly on the blond man, who was wiping at a few dribbles of his drink that slipped through out of panic from the original hit.  Cooper swallows first before looking over his shoulder, eyes brightening drastically as he pulled Ted Nivision into a bear hug.  

Cooper spies three other faces just behind the tall man dressed in a dandelion yellow sweater and somewhat familiar black skinny jeans, a certain wardrobe change from his milkman costume.  Ted hugs back tightly, grinning into Cooper’s hair; he lets go when Cooper pulls away to hop off his chair, wrapping Charlie and JSchlatt in a hug at the same time.

Charlie laughs, hugging Cooper back with ease, small slime probs stuck to his head and hip; he was wearing his gamer shirt with thick-rimmed glasses, another outfit change.  With Cooper having also changed from his Hawaiian shirts and skater boy looks, it seemed everyone was turning a new leaf—well, almost everyone.  

JSchlatt had his Yankees cap sat snug on his hair, cosmetic horns back on his head.  Most viewers at this point thought that JSchlatt actually was a ram-hybrid, as he never appeared without them on, but it was just a running bit; they added to JSchlatt’s condescending appearance anyway.. in this show, it just added to the sheer confusion JSchlatt’s character brought onto the show. 

Otherwise dressed in a dirtied suit, the businessman seemed like his usual self.  The mutton chops were still intact—if anything, they grow out more.  The man slaps Cooper’s back a few times in the hug, eventually drawing back.  Charlie follows suit a moment later, saying something that was lost to the booming music from the DJ.  

Cooper glances over to Traves, the shortest man in the group only smiling up at the blond.  It was public knowledge he, Travis, and Noah Hugbox were all roommates, but Cooper throws it to the wind when he yanks Travis into a hug as well.  Cooper clenches his eyes shut, exhaling softly at the familiar embrace of his friend.  Might as well do it for the views and publicity.  

“Fucking missed you, man!  It’s been way too long, Jesus Christ.. when was the last time we were all together, huh?  March?  February?”

“Not long enough.  I’m already getting a headache from you four idiots.”

“Take that back right now, Ted!  You were the one that drags us over to this party in the first place!”

”I’m just glad I was invited!” Travis chimes in with his dumb little smirk to end the play-arguing, knowing Charlie was not afraid to throw hands when Noah wasn’t around, and Ted and JSchlatt would be at each other’s throats for the whole night, if he didn’t put a stop to it soon.  

There’d be highlights and compilations of ‘LunchClub Reunion’ plastered everywhere when this episode airs; the cameras were soaking every second of this up.  

Cooper picks up his drink, taking a sip as his four friends gathered around his table, talking loudly to be heard over the music.  Another voice eventually joined the conversation over a joint comm call, only adding to the chaos already present at the table.  

The blond leans his elbows into the tabletop, a relaxed position as a smile made itself home on his face.  He ignored the cameras that occasionally angled over to the table; this moment felt so real, regardless of the fact that this whole.. situation was an act.  

It was real; Cooper was with his best friends.  His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles broadly, barking out a laugh once again.   

Chapter Text

Tommy gripped the Axe of Peace in his hands, gazing up at the beast before him with a prideful smile.  His knuckles grow white around the wooden handle, his smile turning into a smirk seconds after.  “I’ll make you proud, Technoblade,” Tommy vows, turtle helmet lopsided on his head.  It just barely reached his eyes, almost covering them, but Technoblade could see the slivers of blue electric staring up at him.  

Technoblade grins.  

“I’ll.. make you proud, Tubbo.”

The grin fell as soon as it came, washed away by a tsunami of emotions that had no right being this difficult to manage.  The waves battered against Technoblade’s mental wall, the only thing keeping his inner psyche sane.  It bore the weight of tidal waves that repeatedly sloshed against it, as well as the onslaught of screaming voices in another realm.

Technoblade’s left eye twitches.  This wasn’t good.  

The two best friends were holding each other’s hand, glaring at the green man before them.  Dream’s mask was on, as per usual, and in his hand was the purple gleam of Mellohi.  Dream’s shoulders shook soundlessly with laughter that didn’t quite reach his vocal cords, stepping backwards into the waterfall created by the broken community house.  

People stared down from the roof, holding weapons and dressed in netherite.  The only few that weren’t armored were Ponk and George, the two of them seen attempting to rebuild the community house with Sapnap at the moment.  It was useless; the whole thing was in ruins, unfixable.  Sapnap had fat tears rolling down his face, Dream’s proclamation from earlier going in one ear and out the other.  

Technoblade takes a step forward, a hand outstretched towards Tommy with a confused look in his eyes.  “Tom- Tommy, we have to go,” Technoblade breathes, looking up at the maybe twelve people gathered around him with weapons drawn.  It was all netherite, all enchanted, all fatal.  Technoblade was an acclaimed warrior, but even he could possibly fall against an army like that.  

Tommy snatches his arm away from the hand, causing Technoblade to whip his head around in confusion.  “Tommy, let’s go, c’mon.”  Tommy stares at the ground, tightening his hold on the Axe of Peace, before he looks up with stone-cold eyes.  

“I’m sorry, Technoblade, but I’m going to stay here.  With Tubbo.”

Feast.

Said boy raised their locked hands into the air so everyone could see the agreement.  Quackity looks away with a fist raised to his mouth, acting as though he tasted vomit.  The man had a firm grip on Ranboo’s shoulder, not letting him escape; the teenager was shaking like a leaf.   

“Heh?  You’re what?” Technoblade questions with a tilt of his head, feeling like he totally misheard what Tommy said.  Technoblade raises Toothpick higher in his hand in an unspoken threat, eyes darting around to calculate the chances of survival he had and where to escape through.  

Dream was no longer his focus; Tommy holds his ground, meeting Technoblade’s gaze head on.  “I said, I’m staying here with Tubbo.” Tommy’s words were harsh, confident.  

HBomb takes a look around at the gathered before whistling, leaving the scene as scripted.  

“What?” Technoblade whispers, taking a step closer to Tommy as his slouch slowly faded.  The beast’s height seemed to grow twofold, now casting a long shadow over the two teenage boys.  A few people’s attentions’ snap towards the piglin, weapons drawn, props or not.  “Did you just say?”

The walls were failing-

“You’re.. leaving me?  After I took you in from your abuser!-“ Technoblade throws an accusatory hand out towards Dream, the green man taking a step back from where he was slowly approaching the piglin.  Dream holds up his arms, Nightmare strapped into his sheath on his back.  “After I offered you sanctuary when Tubbo, your supposed-to-be best friend, kicked you out!?”

Tubbo flinches at the roar that capped off the sentence, not looking up to meet the snarling piglin in the eyes.  

Technoblade pulls back, standing at his full height of just above seven feet.  The piglin’s eyes were partially covered by the pink hair that hangs in front of his face; his head hung, grunting and humming as he stared towards the ground.  Tommy pales, taking a step, and another, towards Technoblade.  “Oi, calm down, Technoblade.  Just leave, mate, nobody will hold you back from going.”

Feast.

A laugh bubbles out of the piglin.  It was hollow, shaky, emotionless.  Dream steps forward in front of Tubbo, shielding the teenager, but Tommy was fast approaching Technoblade.  

“Do you think I care about who I have to fight to get out of here alive, Tommy?  I’ll fight for what I believe in until the day I no longer breathe, and the thing I want to destroy most because it goes against my beliefs is the one place you’re running right back to like a crying child.” 

It was hard to tell if what was happening on scene was an act or not.  The gushing water from the little aquarium atop the community house blocked a lot of external vision, a must-have to make sure everything was running smoothly and according to script from outside of scene.  Technoblade, in himself, was an enigma, and sometimes acted a bit too dramatic during his monologues.  It was blamed on his adoration for being quoted, typically finding it amusing when mortals quoted his own words.  

Though, you could never be so sure as to how to manage an actual mob in any sort of situation.  He may be civilized, but he was far from domestication.

Technoblade throws out a hand, claws glinting in the sunshine that seeped through the flowing water.  “Give me my axe back, Tommy.”

“No.”

“Tommy, the axe.” is accompanied with a blast of steam.

“No!  You gave it to me!”

“Only because I trusted you!”

Tommy stares into the widened jaws of death itself, and raises his arms up to defend his face.  

Feast.

A prop is stuffed into Technoblade’s opened mouth, pushing against his cheeks and forcing the piglin to rear up in surprise.  Someone was yelling cut.  A lot of people were yelling cut.  

What was wrong?

You’re doing everything right!  Feast!  More!  Feast!!

Technoblade snaps the prop with a crushing bite, spitting splinters out of his mouth.  His pupils were dilated into slivers, eyes slitted with his snout wrinkled into a snarl as he looked for his target.  It was as though the piglin had gone feral.  He made brief eye contact with two worried eyes of the darkest color, but that wasn’t what Technoblade was focusing on.

Tommy was swimming up one of the water spills, being helped to his feet by Fundy.  Tubbo swims up after him, being trailed by Ranboo and Quackity.  The five males fall out of Technoblade’s view, hurrying to leave unscathed.  Losing his interest once he couldn’t see his target, Technoblade swings his head to stalk off somewhere only for it to go swinging back the other way when a fist collides with his head.  Warmth trickles down from the floppy ear.

BLO-

“Stop it!!  Dream, stop!  Don’t hurt him!” Skeppy shouts, dragging the blond man away from the dazed piglin.  “You’ll make it worse!”  Dream fought against the ore mite’s arms, struggling.  Sapnap drops down from above, helping to wrangle Dream away from the reeling mob.  Sapnap scolds into Dream’s ear, holding the other man against his chest and trying to get him to calm down.  The taller man couldn’t take his eyes off of Technoblade, scowling deep, until Sapnap put a hand over his eyes.  

Kill it.  Kill it.  It hurt you.  Kill it.

Technoblade grips his head, humming lowly as he closed his eyes.  His head was caught in the midst of the storm, uprooted, wind blowing over his morals and common sense; all of the knowledge he’s learned about surface customs and the notes he made for manners were gone to the wind.  Howling, the wind cried, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.  

He can’t-

Technoblade’s hands shake against the side of his head, hands shake in front of his eyes.  One of them is bloody.  They’re weak, he can’t feel them.  Why can’t he feel his hands?

Why can’t he move?

e e e e Blood for e the Blood God e e

The studio was evacuated.  Technoblade stood in the ever-pouring waterfalls, unmoving.  When Skeppy entered the vicinity an hour later, the only one who trusted Technoblade enough to know he wouldn’t harm him, his hand was licked clean of blood.  A line of the red substance ran down the side of his head from his ear, a smear of it covering his snout.  Skeppy tried to be strong, but he could only hold up a façade for so long as Technoblade looked at him with terrified eyes, humming weakly.  

Skeppy sobbed.  The retake was postponed until next week. 

Chapter Text

“Tubbo?  Wha’ are you doin’ up so early?” Tommy drawls, rubbing at his eyes with his fists as he stumbles into the kitchen area.  The blond boy’s slouch was more apparent thanks to him just waking up to clattering and mild cursing come from their kitchenette.  

The boys weren’t trusted with a whole kitchen since Tommy proved he could make anything into a fire, and Tubbo and an oven equaled danger.  Instead, it looked like a college dorm’s kitchen, with just a microwave, fridge, and a small table to prepare meals on.  A small lunchbox was thrown onto the table, opened and piled with food.  

Tubbo’s hair was messily done, his purple sweatshirt’s hood twisted.  His hand was fidgeting as he packed a water bottle into the box, finally zipping it up before looking up to meet Tommy’s look.  “Oh, Schlatt’s taking me off server for the day.”

That immediately made the other teenager pout.  “That’s not fair!  Why do you get to go on a trip with the JSchlatt?” Tommy complains with a grumble as his morning slur grows out, pushing past Tubbo to dip into the fridge and fish out two eggs and some cheese.  

“Don’t you have to work today?” Tubbo questions with a small smirk.  “Damn, it must suck being a main character.” The boy is cuffed playfully on the head, Tommy chuckling at the fist that hits his side in retaliation.  

“I’ll be back before you come home, probably,” Tubbo continues on, fixing himself up in the mirror.  He tastes his breath, nodding to himself before turning towards Tommy stare down at the eggs before he pulls out a single burner to start cooking them.  The blond boy was frowning as he finds a bowl to whisk the eggs in.  

“Don’t be late for dinner,” is all Tommy replies, reaching up to scratch at his head.  “Tell Schlatt not to be shy in inviting me next time, eh?”

Tubbo nods with a hesitate smile, giving Tommy a quick hug before wishing him good luck on set and leaving the house, lunchbox in hand.  

JSchlatt was standing next the portal area, typing away on his comms.  From what Tubbo could see through the transparent program, he was messaging Quackity.  The comms are whisked away a moment later, the boy locking eyes with the grinning man.  

JSchlatt ruffles Tubbo’s hair without any idea of how Tubbo had actually put in some time to make it presentable this morning.  The teenager doesn’t mention it either, smiling up at JSchlatt before following him into the portal.  

“If I get called off for a bit, I’ll try to tell you, but a man’s gotta work,” JSchlatt explains, sitting on one of the train’s seats.  Tubbo sat across from him, hands pressed onto the glass window and excitedly looking out.  JSchlatt reclines in the seat, scratching at his chin hair.  

Tubbo was from the largest British home server on Minecraft.  He was used to city life, and after hitting it big with his partner-in-crime with Mr Wastaken, he never left the so-called ‘city life.’ 

It was quite the opposite with JSchlatt.  He was born into a popular American home server, but after SMPLive and becoming a self-proclaimed businessman with his SchlattCoin investments, JSchlatt found himself visiting the untamed servers of Minecraft—Epic was just that, where Dream SMP was rather urban, even the set, Epic relied heavily on the landscape and working around it.  

Tubbo’s eyes trace the mountain range in the distance.  Just behind it was the spawnpoint of the  Epic SMP server.  The pair had taken a train from Mojang, the capital of Minecraft which had fast express to every server in creation, except dead ones.  Private servers required passes to get in, but it didn’t take long for the two to get through with JSchlatt’s card.  

Tubbo tumbles back into the chair, exhaling through his mouth with a silly smile on his face.  “It’s so cool,” Tubbo remarks, looking at the man across from him.  “Tommy loves the country, but I never understood his love for it.  I guess you have to see it to really enjoy it.”

“Isn’t he from a rural British server?” JSchlatt tries to start a conversation, even if it was about the boy that wasn’t there with them.  

Tubbo nods in affirmation, surprised but secondhand-touched that JSchlatt remembered.  “Yeah!  When we’re done with the SMP, if we ever are, we want to get a house together in a rural server with a few friends and just.. I don’t know, chill?  Maybe do something like what Fundy’s doing with Cogchamp.”

JSchlatt hums, nodding his head as the boy spoke.  “Y’know, Epic has a few modpacks added.  I think Cogchamp and Epic have the same one.”

Tubbo’s face brightens, interest dancing in his eyes.  “Seriously?”

JSchlatt chuckles, looking out of the window.  “Seriously, kid.”

It takes a few minutes for Tubbo’s eyes widen, pupils blow wide as he presses his face to the window.  Something definitely caught his eye, leaving him basking in its glory.  He pulls away, still in awe.  “I..” Tubbo trails off, at a loss of words.  

JSchlatt stands up, heading a train whistle in the near distance.  “Come on, Tubbo.  We’re here.”  The train shudders to a stop, whistling again as an automated voice read ‘EPIC SMP’ over the loudspeaker system.  

The Palcove had to be one of Epic’s coolest builds.. so far, anyway.  Tubbo runs a hand over the fancy scoria entrance, mumbling the name of the block.  It reminded him of chocolate, but it probably tasted horrible.  The boy holds his lunchbox closer to his chest, following JSchlatt into the alcove, the latter strutting inside without a care in the world.  

Tubbo looks over his shoulder, spotting a man with a camera raising it after the pair.  Tubbo’s mouth presses into a line and he walks a bit closer to JSchlatt’s side.  JSchlatt pats Tubbo’s shoulder a few times before dropping his hand, raising a hand as a person walks into the main corridor from a gaping hole that sat at the back of it.  

“Nivision!” JSchlatt calls, waving towards the taller man as he brought his pickaxe above his head.  Ted Nivision looks up; the pickaxe disappears into Ted’s inventory with a silent glitter of diamond-colored particles as the man brushes off his sweater before meeting JSchlatt halfway for a handshake and bro-hug.  

“Good to see you, man!  Oh, and is this Tubbo?” Ted greets JSchlatt before looking past his friend and at the short boy.  Compared to the two men, Tubbo was the size of an ant.  Tubbo nods for himself, holding out a hand similarly to how JSchlatt had.  

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr, uh.. sorry, but who are you?”

Ted smiles, pointing a thumb at himself narcissistically.  JSchlatt rolls his eyes at the action.  “I’m Ted Nivision, lord of the Palcove!”

“Co-lord!”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie, I’m having a moment here!” Ted barks with no bite, looking over his shoulder to glare at his friend.  Charlie Slimecicle pushes the iron helmet out of his eyes, running over towards Tubbo to give him a smile and a high five.  By now, Charlie was already a regular around the Dream SMP; Tubbo returns it with a big smile of his own, laughing.  

Ted crosses his arms at Charlie, who grins back before lightly punching Ted’s shoulder.  “We signed a contract, Ted.  We’re co-lords, remember?”

“I only remember what I want to remember,” Ted counters stubbornly, shaking his head to disagree with the other man.  “You’ll be out of here one day.”

“No fighting in front of the kid,” JSchlatt butts in, wrinkling his nose at his two friends.  Charlie might seem like a sweetheart on the DSMP, but he was ruthless (in a good way) with his friends, especially on Epic.  Had he let the arguing continue, Charlie’s favorite sword would’ve been out fairly soon.  

Everything’s legal on Epic.  

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Charlie waves the businessman off, focusing towards Tubbo now.  “Yo, want to come help me and Ted finish up with these rooms?  We use the Create mod, and frankly, neither of us are good with machinery,” Charlie pulls at the collar of his shirt, chuckling nervously.  “We’re both oldies when it comes to mods, we’re better, if better’s even the right word..” Charlie stops for a moment.  “Experienced at vanilla.”

Tubbo seemed intrigued at the proposition, but a heavy hand in his shoulder causes that energetic look in those eyes to stutter.  He looks up at the profile of JSchlatt, who was studying Charlie and Ted.  Ted raises an eyebrow while Charlie just frowns.  “C’mon, Schlatt, we’ll pay him fair wages for the labor,” Ted pokes at the man’s chest, daring him to take the bait.  “It won’t be for long.  We’re just really fucking stupid with cogs and wheels and electricity.”

Instead of making a decision, JSchlatt looks down at his watch with a sigh before at Tubbo.  “What do you want, kid?”

Tubbo shifts on his head, holding his lunchbox in front of his lap.  “I don’t mind helping Charlie and Ted, Schlatt.  You said you had to work today away.”

“That was-“ JSchlatt begins before sighing, looking towards his two friends with a hardened look in his eyes.  “He’s yours now.  I’ll be back before lunch, don’t kill him or I’ll kill you.  Wilbur leased him to me for the day and I can’t give back parts.”

Tubbo visibly paled at the words, swallowing nothing, though the two other adults only laughed at the joke.  Everyone within the former LunchClub knew Wilbur from their time on SMPLive together, and the British man’s friendship with JSchlatt was one that was long as theirs.  

Charlie waves JSchlatt off after the latter patted Tubbo’s back gently, the man running off, or briskly walking in his case.  Surprisingly, he had worn his swirled cosmetic horns the entire time, even since being on the DSMP home server.  Tubbo purses his lips at the thought.  Maybe JSchlatt really was a ram-hybrid.  

Ted stretches once JSchlatt was out of sight, being trailed by a cameraman.  There were others nearby, Tubbo could feel it in his actor senses, but he wasn’t sure where.  Charlie snickers, rubbing his hands together before a cogwheel appears in his hold from his inventory.  “So, Tubbo, ready to make a windmill.. I think?”

Tubbo looks over at the man with slime props in his hair and on his hip.  Ted looks between the two, waiting for Tubbo’s answer.  He smiles once the boy answers with a gleeful ‘yes!’

“Come on, then!  We got an hour or so until lunch, so let’s get to work!”

Work that wasn’t acting was.. refreshing.

Tubbo laughs, dancing around under the outside shower that was next to the chicken coop.  Charlie shakes his head with a smile at the fact that Tubbo simply wanted to try the shower out, still in clothes that were now soaking wet.  When Tubbo flips off the water—now heated courtesy of the medium-sized windmill that rested up on the mountaintop—, Charlie holds a towel out for him.

Tubbo wraps it around his shoulders, water causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes like bangs.  Brushing it out of the way, Tubbo grabs his lunchbox before turning towards the adult near him.  “Uh.. where do you guys go for lunch?”

Charlie smiles, gesturing for Tubbo to follow him.  The boy walks alongside the man, beginning to talk incessantly about future projects Charlie and Ted should start, and those Tubbo himself was working on in the Cogchamp server.  It made the walk seem shorter than usual.

Ted was already at the small picnic table, which rested in the spruce forest that Epic’s spawnpoint sat in.  The table was near spawn, but the trees surrounded it were so dense that a newcomer wouldn’t see it unless they searched for it.  Tubbo’s eyes widen in awe at the little piece of paradise, smiling to himself at the fact that JSchlatt wanted to bring him here since the start of the day.  

Said man was already at the table, wearing a Yankees cap and bickering with Cscoop, the sweater-wearing man sat next to him.  It appeared that they were arguing over.. shirtwaist factories?  Not knowing what those were, Tubbo picks up his pace to reach the table before Charlie did.  

Traves moves to the side to let Tubbo sit between himself and Ted, the tallest man at the table already halfway into a sandwich.  Ted nudges Tubbo in acknowledgment when he sits down and opens up his lunchbox, grabbing a fruit snack and ripping it open greedily.  

JSchlatt smiles at the boy, but Cooper’s continuous rant about why he was right brought him away from the boy.  Charlie plops himself down next to Cooper, nonchalantly smacking the blond man on the back of the head to silence him.  

JSchlatt bursts into his laugh, a hand on his stomach as he pointed a finger into Cooper’s head.  A vein pops out of his forehead, turning his arguing away from the horned man and towards Charlie instead.

“They do this every time,” Traves leans over to Tubbo to whisper; although he’s only known Tubbo for less than an hour, Travis could already tell he was the second most sensible at the table.  

The first being Noah, of course.  Travis was probably fourth, just behind Ted.  

Noah Hugbox was eating out of a thermos on a video call, shaking his head in disappointment as he hears Charlie and Cooper escalate their arguing into horrible puns made about food.  Putting his head into his hands, he says something about Ted ending the call out of mercy; said man only laughs loudly, wiping mustard away from his chin with a napkin.  

Tubbo smiles at the sight of the six friends all getting along, though some showed their love for each other in.. questionable ways.  JSchlatt, at some point in the last ten minutes, had crept around the other side of the table to squeeze in between Travis and Tubbo.  The man steals one of Travis’s chips before turning towards Tubbo, swallowing what he had in his mouth before speaking.

“Having fun?”

“Oh, oh yeah!” Tubbo replies with a slight stutter from the overwhelming emotion at the table.  

Noah and Ted were talking leisurely about the best way to cook a filet.  Charlie and Cooper had calmed down, shoving their food into their faces to see who could fit the most in their mouths at one time.  Travis was judging the two, declaring Charlie the winner when the golden blond adds half an Oreo.  Cooper throws his hands up in the air, unable to make any sort of noise of anger because of how much food was in his mouth.  

Tubbo looks down at his fruit snacks, offering them towards JSchlatt.  “Lots of fun,” Tubbo’s eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles thoughtfully.  JSchlatt takes one of the gummies with a smile of his own, popping it in his mouth and chewing.  

“Oh, hey Tubbo!  Just tell us what you want for payment, alright?  We have to compensate for your help somehow!” Charlie randomly bursts into the soft moment between the adult and boy, causing Tubbo to jolt out of surprise.  

The brunet looks at the golden brown, seeing eyes now on him.  The only one who didn’t look at him was Noah, who was still ranting about how people who liked well-done steak deserves to rot in hell.

Tubbo frowns, furrowing his eyebrows together.  They spring up with an idea after a semi-deep thought, raising a finger up when a lightbulb goes off in his head.  “Hey, I do have one thing in mind..”

“Well, shoot!” Charlie laughs.  

•

“Tubbo?  You home yet?”

“In the kitchen, Tommy!”

Tommy dumps his bag at the door, rubbing circles on his face with his whole hands.  He pats his cheeks a few times, trying to get them to relax after laughing at one of Manifold’s jokes for too long.  Making his way towards the kitchenette with as much balance as a drunkard, Tommy leans against the wall when he finally makes it. 

Tubbo was leaning against the table with a smug grin on his face.  His head was sat between his hands, elbows placed on the tabletop.  Four Startooz stood in front of the boy, along with two plushies.  

Each of the Startooz figurines were signed.  Ted Nivision, Noah Hugbox, Cscoop, and Traves.  The plushies were the six-inch ones, one of a smiling slime and the other of a ram wearing a blue hoodie.  

“I hope this makes up for ditching you all day, sorry about that again!”

Tommy almost passed out on the spot.

Chapter Text

Tommy stares into familiar green eyes, but the face that accompanied them was different.  Their voice was different.  Their hair was different.  Even their little smirk was different.  

The eyes were the same. 

“Drista, meet Tommy.  Tommy, meet my sister, Drista,” Dream gestures between the two teenagers, forcing them to shake hands.  Drista grins evilly, as though she had a scheme up her sleeve.  Tommy scowls, shaking her hand firmly.  

“Play nice,” Dream orders, flicking down his sunglasses over his mask before grabbing a beer.  Cracking it open, the man awkwardly walks away from the two teenagers—awkwardly, in the fact he was wearing flippers.  Dream collapsed in a beach chair, not wearing a shirt as he reclined to tan.  Healed scars and stitch marks ran up and around his torso, but they were not as frequent as others’ scar count on set.  

Today was a special occasion: being that Dream’s mother was currently away on a work trip, she had left her daughter in the hands of her son.  Dismissing the fact that her son was a successful yet busy actor with an ongoing job, Drista stood in front of Dream with a suitcase at the train station to let her through to the private server.  

Neither sibling was too happy about it, but Callahan took the opportunity by the reins.

Tommy’s outfit was still matted, dirtied and a bit bloody from a few cuts the boy accumulated from his stay in exile.  His hair was knotty, cut shorter than usual in an effort to salvage it.  Tommy had his arms crossed in front of his chest as he made eye contact with the girl in front of him.

Drista was dressed in a pink sweatshirt that was identical to her older brother’s.  Her mask was the same, save the small bow that was Sharpied on in red on the top left.  Drista almost vomited at the sight of pink when Callahan held it out to her, smiling behind his mask.  Unfortunately, the blue and orange alternatives wouldn’t be arriving until a few days, and pink was better than tangerine orange and electric blue.  

The girl’s hands rested on her hip in a superhero pose, smirking; unlike Dream’s, the mask only covered Drista’s nose and up.  Her mouth was visible, a few freckles that she got from her genes peeking underneath.  

“I already dislike you,” Tommy grumbles, turning away from Drista with a scowl set on his face.  

“Well, too bad, loser, but I’m right in front of ya and it’ll going to be a hot second until I go home.  Trust me, I don’t want to be here with the likes of you either,” Drista sticks out her tongue playfully, walking around the other teenager and studying him.  Tommy lifts his chin up in a silent action, scrunching his nose.  “For someone who, from what I’ve heard, talks a lot of smack, you’re.. pretty scrawny.”

“Hey!” Tommy shouts, hands immediately flying in all directions to hide his body.  It was, obviously, no use.  “I haven’t- haven’t had a growth spurt yet!  Shut up!” Tommy’s cheeks dusted red with embarrassment, ducking into tnret to find a coat.  

“It’s not a bad thing,” Drista drags out the vowel with a small eye roll that went unseen.  “You’re tall, anyway.  I guess Dream’s tall and buff but he’s also Dream.  Such a cheater.”

“Dream,” Tommy scoffs, looking over his shoulder.  Cameras zoomed on his person as he shoved on a jacket he stole from the nearby village.  Shrugging it on, Tommy hugs himself while glaring off towards where Dream was relaxing.  “Is an absolute bitch.”

“Imagine having to live with him up until three years ago,” Drista yawns while she speaks as though that fact personally bored her.  She checks her nails before tossing hair out of her face, following Tommy’s gaze to her brother.  “He’s always been an absolute bitch.”

“He’s trauma-inducing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far..”

“Drista,” Tommy calls, bending down in his chest and pulling out an iron sword.  He runs a hand over the prop, ignoring the thumbs up that Wilbur gave the boy from behind the line of cameras.  This wasn’t even going in the main season; it was probably going to be shoved into a blooper disc to vie for more sales, or bonus clip at the end of an episode.  

The girl makes a noise of acknowledgment, taking the prop from Tommy to twirl it around in her hands.  Despite having not nearly as much practice as her brother or Tommy, she was able to spin it before it fell to the ground.  Her huff makes her mask move a bit, but when Tommy speaks again, she pays attention.

“Dream gave you admin abilities of the actual server, right?”

Tommy may be playing a character, but it was still a legitimate Minecraft server.  Definitely bonus clip quality, though.  Callahan slumped in his chair at Tommy’s words, but Alyssa had said prior it couldn’t be its own episode, so he wasn’t too annoyed.  

Drista’s eyes twinkle with danger, not visible through the mesh that covered the eyeholes of the mask, but she gave off a corresponding aura.  Tommy gulps, noting that she and Dream were, no doubt, siblings.  

The sun evenly tanned Dream’s chest and legs, the man sipping lazily from his second beer.  It was a wonder how long an adult could last by themselves in peace when the kids were entertaining each other.  

Up until Drista had been found hiding in a closet, Dream and Tommy had been in the midst of recording another scene for the exile arc.  Everyone had been on break when Drista tumbled out of the closet, shyly smiling as eyes flew to the girl.  Dream just about chewed her ear off from scolding her; it was then Callahan decided to propose his idea of Drista making a cameo.  

Drista had made previous appearances in Dream’s personal content, a movie series called Minecraft Manhunt that starred him, his three best friends, Sapnap, GeorgeNotFound, and BadBoyHalo, and in the recent one, Antfrost.  All five were filmed in the high-action movies, which occasionally had bits with other famous creators.  

Drista appeared for a millisecond after Dream fell through the roof of her house before running out of it with four men in pursuit; since then, fans have begged for more Drista content, and well, Callahan would never turn down easy views.  

Dream didn’t feel to babysitting the two teenagers, knowing the two would butt heads from their similar personalities and keep each other busy.  Dream tilts his head back to take another sip from the beer, ignoring the glare he got from George off to the side.  The cameras weren’t even watching him, they were busy off trailing the kids, or whatever they were doing.

Dream looks from over his sunglasses, peering through the mesh holes that were drilled into the eyes of his mask.  It was hard to tell, but one camera was staring right at him.  Why?

Shrugging, the green man leans back into his beach chair, folding his legs casually with a sigh.  Man, this was the life.  The water in front of him was quiet, the sand was warm under his toes, and the sun was gone.  

Wait.  The sun was gone?

Drista smiles down at her brother, head blocking the sun.  Dream wrinkles his nose in annoyance, kicking a leg out to move his sister away.  Drista almost loses balance, but grabs hold of the man’s leg instead.  Dream furrows his eyebrows, shaking Drista’s hands off of him with a grunt.  “Fuck off..” The man retorts with another kick.  This was most definitely going into bloopers or shit, Dream wasn’t afraid of using violence against his sister with cameras watching them at the moment.  

Drista whistles, tossing sand onto Dream’s leg to get him annoyed.  The man kicks at his sister again, but Drista skirts out of the way with a laugh.  Dream huffs, putting his beer down in the sand before going to stand up.  Just a little push and she was in the wa-

Wow that’s cold.  

-ter.

Dream plops back down in his beach chair, spitting water out of his mouth.  More only poured down from above him, an endless torrent of water that seemingly came from an infinite water source.  The water dripped down Dream’s head, almost pushing his mask away from his face, and soaked into his shorts.  The beach chair was dripping wet.  

Tommy was scooping water out of, you guessed it, an infinite source before pouring it over Dream.  Laughing, Tommy uses up a few more buckets full of water before slamming the bucket on over Dream’s head.  Gesturing for Drista to run, the two teenagers laugh hysterically as Dream screams bloody murder after them, standing up and trying to wrestle the bucket off of his head.  

After being caught, Drista’s admin privileges were revoked and she was kicked off the set.  She left it with a new friend, sharing one last smirk before slipping behind the row of cameras.  Ranboo wipes tears out of his eyes, most of the cast that had been present during this ordeal (and there was a lot since today had been a busy day) in similar states.  

Dream grumbles something along the lines of annoying siblings as he went back to the bank to retrieve his fallen beer and throw it out.  When the green man had turned his back, Tommy ducked down to the chest that rested underneath his bed.  

He checked it quickly, shoving the half stack of diamonds and a few blocks of bedrock deeper under the bamboo sticks Ranboo left in there during their last exchange.  Tommy jumps up, a bit nervous even though no cameras were rolling, when Dream turns back around.  He waves at the man before running over to help the other clean up for the next scene.  

Chapter Text

“Get out the way!  Get out the way!” Fundy shouts, holding the camera up out in front of him as he sat inside of the automated tractor.  His knees were pulled up to his chest to fix in the small seat, criss-crossed.  The man was dressed in a steampunkish outfit, goggles rested up on his hat.  

5up was standing next to the few beds that were lined up on a small platform; the vegetable hybrid was laughing, watching Fundy sit back and relax—and yell at Sam—in the tractor.  Ranboo was playing with a few cogs behind him, trying to harness more of the windmill’s energy.  

Sam, dear fucking lord bless his soul, was running in front of the machine.  The tractor would gain on the man only for him to walk across the wheat fields to cheat the race.  He was smiling brightly, covering his entire face, up until he grabbed onto the ladder that hung off of the back.  

Fundy screams out of play when the other human forces himself inside the small compartment for riders, the two hugging each other as the tractor rises with a spin before coming to a full stop.  The gas that fumed out of the tractor’s exhaust pipe ceased, the engine groaning.  

“I won!” Sam yells, his hands shooting upward in victory before recoiling them as they hit the ceiling.  “Ow!!” He adds in the same tone of voice, glaring up at the roof.  Fundy squeaks out a laugh, pushing against the tall man to let him out.  

5up looks over his shoulder, spotting Cuptoast running up to Ranboo and offering him a flower.  The boy took it with a big smile, but it fell instantly when Tubbo takes a scissor to it a moment later.  Cuptoast gasps, a hand flying to her box where her mouth would’ve been.  

Fundy kicks Sam out of the tractor to climb down only for Sam to climb back in.  Well, er, on.  The man with the gas mask over his facial features stands on the roof of the tractor, holding his arms out to his sides for balance.  “Yippee kay-yay, motherfucker!” Sam shouts down at Fundy, who held up the camera to catch the video.  

“Yippee kay-yay this!” Fundy counters before stepping onto the button that made the tractor go vroom.  The tractor revs up, the engine starting back up again; Sam lets out a scream that was way too high-pitched for a man his age and build, yelling “Catch me!” before jumping off of the roof.  

Lesson learned: Fundy was not a good crash pad.  

As the two friends tussled with each other on the grass, Fundy with a large bruise on his chest now, 5up sighs as the three children behind him chase each other around with scissors that turned into daggers, daggers that turned into swords, and swords that turned into scissors again.  Surprisingly, the scissors were the most scary of the three weapon choices.  

Digging his chin deeper into the red scarf 5up always wore, the vegetable hybrid watches as the tractor runs over the farm without collecting much wheat.  A few seeds were left behind in its wake since its storage was most likely full.  Sighing, 5up skips away from the beds and over to where the tractor would stop to start the bread-making process.  

The silo was not even halfway filled up, ready to store more seeds, wheat, and produce more bread.  Fundy and him worked for countless nights to make the whole operation worth it; now, the six Cogchamp friends were fit for life with unlimited bread.  

Not the most appetizing after a while, but it’ll do.  

“I hope you didn’t break anything,” 5up reminds Fundy and Sam as they laid on the ground, out of breath.  He takes Fundy’s camera, angling it so it focused on 5up opening up the barrels that were fitted underneath the tractor.  Out pour wheat seeds and grain, the conveyor belt spinning to life below as Ranboo helpfully switched on the power from the windmill.  

Well, it had power, until the conveyor belts sputtered to a stop. 

Tubbo looked like a deer in headlights, holding a pair of scissors with a severed wire still stuck between the blades.  Cuptoast gasps again, pointing at the British boy when she catches 5up’s searching eyes.  Ranboo ducks behind Cuptoast, covering his face. 

Sam rolls over, snickering, as 5up hands him back the camera.  The vegetable hybrid rolls up one of his sleeves on his light pink jacket, stomping over to underneath the windmill where the children were.  Cuptoast shrieks, climbing up the windmill’s ladder with Ranboo in tow to escape 5up’s unforgiving wrath.  

Tubbo looked like he was going to shit himself before breaking into a run, dropping the scissors onto the ground.  A dagger had appeared in 5up’s hand, who sprinted after the boy; with 5up’s imposter practice on the Among Us lobbies, Tubbo better run like the fucking wind to escape the man.

“Tubbo’s not going to live to see his 18th,” Fundy teases, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulder as he only sat up partially.  Sam nods before roughly pushing the other off of him, resulting in a gawk.  Sam laughs wholeheartedly, falling back into the grass with the camera pointed upwards.  It doesn’t catch the movement that occurs in the direction of the windmill.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Crumb?”

“Can I drive the toyota now?”

Sam wheezed, turning onto his side as he punches the ground a few times.  Fundy covers his eyes with his palms, laughing at the girl’s innocent sentence.  Cuptoast tilts her head, confused, though she too was smiling underneath her box.  “I just want to try!”

Chapter Text

“Let me tell you, viewers at home.. I hope you’re home and watching this and not in prison.  Won’t be the first time I’ve heard someone do that,” SwaggerSouls inhales for comedic effect before exhaling with a breaky laugh, facing the camera held by his cameraman.  “But this train system is going to be so fucking hot, you won’t even need porn!”

Selma winces at the bad joke, shaking her head.  She flips her black hair out of the way when she bends down to place another track.

The train construction was going smoothly, but slow.  While the automatic placers definitely sped up the process in creating the smooth stone platform for it, the redstone blocks and individual rails still needed to be placed by hand.  Selma was holding stacks of rails in her inventory, occasionally feeding one to Swagger so they didn’t need to make multiple trips back to the base.  

They still had yet to make even the literal train cars.  Swagger sighs at the thought, reaching up to wipe his forearm across his helmet, regretting it when the hot metal burns his skin.  The sun was high in the sky, and even though Swagger and Selma were both from Australian home servers, heat was heat.  

“Swagger, remember, diagonal!” Someone calls, followed by the noisy sip of a drink.  Eddy Burback tilts his head back to drink from his root beer some more, currently chilling in a chair from the second story in his wooden and stone house.  Boomer Island’s occupants elsewhere littered the banks, making sure Swagger kept to his word about rounding out the train tracks.

Boomer Island didn’t take well to the whole mechanical package that came with the Create modpack.  They didn’t mind the new blocks that were simply for decor, but there were no machines on that island.  Swagger didn’t quite get it; the whole idea about Epic was the Create modpack.. and the living rainbow rat thing that currently sat atop his head.  Selma insulted it once and Swagger debated kicking her out.

CrankGamePlays was working on the docks with Critchy, the two occasionally sending looks over to the mechanic and assistant.  Selma looks right back, waving at Critchy; there were barely any females on the show, hell, most of the acting world was dominated by males.  Females had to stay friendly with each other.  

Swagger ignores Eddy’s continuous taunts, looking back at Selma with an exasperated sigh.  “They really push my buttons.  This isn’t vanilla, go back to vanilla if you don’t want machines.”

Selma chuckles, handing another rail stack to the masked man.  “I guess.  They’re still nice, though, and they didn’t throw much of a fit about the train track.  It could’ve been worse.”

“Remind me next time not to work with a woman,” Swagger jokes, mining a smooth stone block to substitute it for a redstone one.  Placing down more tracks in a diagonal format, he and Selma continue working for another thirty minutes before deciding to take a break from the heat.  

Sitting on one of the pillars that held up the tracks, Swagger stretches with his feet dunked into the water.  Selma pulled off her dry clothes to reveal a bathing suit, the woman jumping into the water for a cool-off seconds later.  She rested her folded arms up on the pillar’s platform, kicking her legs underneath her to stay afloat.  

“I think it’s coming along nicely,” Selma notes with a smile, pointing up to the diagonal portion of the train tracks.  “It still looks pretty, and hey, now our neighbors won’t throw a piss party!”

“I heard that!” Eddy shouts, nose stuck in a newspaper up in a floatie in his pool.  Ethan was visible through the glass walls of it, seemingly scuba-diving and pointing down at Swagger and Selma.  

Swagger points back, snickering as the blue-haired man continues to wildly point at the two.  Dropping his hand, Swagger kicks the water before standing up to dry.  “We shouldn’t stand around for too long, we don’t have much left to do,” he stretches, yawning underneath his helmet.

“Uh, Swagger..?”

“Yep?” Swagger responds, looking at the woman still in the water.  Selma had a hand over her mouth, smiling and even laughing; what was so funny?  Swagger follows her gaze as his ears catch onto music.  

Music?  In the middle of the sea?

“Oh shit, there he go!” Ethan yells from the pool, pointing down at the boat that sailed right past Swagger and Selma.  Ethan gripped his own camera, but his cameraman was already zooming in on its target on dry land.  

JSchlatt was seated at the helm, his suit splattered with salt water.  His Yankees cap was on his head, sat between his horns; he looked like a man on a mission, face a neutral slate that contrasted the abhorrent music that blasted from an old-fashioned jukebox in the second spot of the boat.  A small sombrero, for some unknown reason, rested on the jukebox’s top.  

JSchlatt rams his boat into the platform Selma and Swagger were at, meeting Swagger’s gaze with his neutral look still present.  Selma raises an eyebrow, ignoring the splash that came from behind them as Ethan jumps into the sea from the pool; Eddy had yelled out, but again, ignored.  

“What are you doing, Schlatt?” Swagger sighs, gesturing towards the horned man and the sombrero-wearing jukebox as the music emitting from it threatened to leave Swagger and Selma deaf.  He wouldn’t be surprised if JSchlatt was already deaf from the sheer volume it had been playing at all this time.  

JSchlatt clears his throat, but he didn’t open his mouth to say anything.  The music—a sea shanty—faltered with bad connection when water is splashed on it from Ethan’s swimming.  The man, still wearing goggles and a snorkel, heaves himself into the boat.  Hugging JSchlatt from behind, Ethan was drenched from being in the pool and then swimming in the sea, but the horned man didn’t seem too upset by it.  

JSchlatt nods towards Swagger in farewell before paddling away from the platform, splashing Selma in his wake.  Eddy watches the two ride off into the sunset, still blasting a sea shanty from the sombrero-wearing jukebox.

“And that’s your business partner!” Selma exclaims after a long silence, laughing as she pushes herself up from the water.

“I hate that man so fucking much,” Swagger curses with a shake of his head, pulling his socks off after deeming his feet dry.  “C’mon, Selma, let’s finish this project.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t take the jukebox off of JSchlatt’s hands of his own use when JSchlatt returned from his adventure.  Swagger’s cameraman caught the whole thing on tape.  

Chapter Text

Wilbur looks up from his book when he feels a rap of his shoulder, almost falling out of the chair he sat in.  Thin-rim glasses were perched on the end of his nose, which he pushed up further his face with an index finger against the side.  Closing the book, Wilbur places it on the small counter in front of him in the tollbooth. 

“Oh, hey, Phil!” Wilbur greets, shaking the older man’s hand kindly after recognizing him.  Philza returns the action with a kind smile, his Antarctic garments making him look like a light blue-and-white fluffball, save for his striped bucket hat that was still a tint of green. 

Despite the airy and large garments Philza wore, it did absolutely nothing to hide the beast that slouched just behind him.  Technoblade looked like a fish out of water, his head on a swivel.  Funny, considering the two were on peaceful territory now that they stood in Wilbur’s trans-Atlantic bridge. 

Technoblade bore similar clothes to Philza, a light blue color palette.  The only outlier was the long red cap that swept around the piglin’s figure, a spotted mantle present against his neck and wool lining the bottom of it.  The cape seemed to be stained red, but that could just be inequalities in the original dyeing process.  Wilbur shakes it off with a minor shrug.  

“So, back to Europe, huh?” Wilbur asks, typing away at two tickets as Philza fishes out a few emerald bits from a pouch.  “I’d watch it.  I was just speaking to Sophie earlier.  I think the Business Boys are coming over here to America for some.. business,” Wilbur finishes with lack for a better word, tipping his head to the side with an inhale through his teeth.  

“Well, they can’t attack us on the bridge since it’s peaceful land, correct?” Philza hums nonchalantly, dropping a few pill-sized emeralds into Wilbur’s awaiting hand.  “I think we’ll be fine.”

Wilbur counts the emeralds before nodding to himself, exchanging the payment for two tickets.  Philza double checks the tickets before smiling, reaching out to shake Wilbur’s hand again.  In a world that was riddled with risky business and war, one could never be so sure when there was a scam lurking around the corner.

SMPEarth was unlike any other preceding servers turned shows in Minecraft.  It had a plot, yes, but it wasn’t a comedy.  It wasn’t action, either.  It was adventure; more specifically, war.  

Kingdoms and countries dotted the map of artificial continents that everyone knew were fake.  A lot of the names used for the regions were names of the home servers that everyone was born into, but besides that, there were no other similarities with the outside Minecraft world.  The inhabitants of this world fought tooth and nail to conquer as much land as possible.

The winner would be the person who conquer the entire map.  So far, the Antarctic Empire was in the lead as they steadily encroached on Australia and Southeast Asia.  

That meant that there were neon red signs over Technoblade’s and Philza’s head that screamed ‘I’m here, come kill me!’

Chip sat in the director’s chair, pursing his lips as he watched three acclaimed actors continue with the scene.  It was a wonder how many actors one popular one can draw in; Wilbur Soot only reached out to maybe twenty people, who all told their friends and came running to the auditions.  Chip had been so buried under applications, he had been tempted to reinstate Wilbur’s position as co-director to help him go through them all.  

A camera zooms in on the back of Wilbur’s head, which was turning slowly as the two Antarticans carried on their way across the bridge.  It seemed like the railway system was being used at the moment, so the two would have walk.  Philza replied to the news, saying it was no problem.  Technoblade only nodded his head in agreement, offering select words to calm Wilbur’s apologies. 

“Come on, Phil,” Technoblade gestures his head further down the cobblestone bridge.  “I’m hungry,” he adds with a sigh.  He was, actually; the sooner the scene was over, the sooner he could take a five minute break to scarf down some golden carrots.  

Philza looks over his shoulder at the behemoth before turning to Wilbur with a shaky smile.  “Alright, we best be off.  We’ll see you in the near future, Wilbur!” Philza waves farewell to the man, leaving him behind at the booth as Philza joins Technoblade in striding down the cobblestone.  

Wilbur watches the two until they’re out of earshot, sighing.  He lounges in his chair, expecting the two of them to walk off and for Chip to call scene.  It never comes; Wilbur had been on SMPLive before this, he wasn’t new to how filming working.  

He opens up an eye from where he closed both of them.  It looks down the bridge, spotting an empty minecart roll down the tracks.  It was a single; Wilbur’s bridge wasn’t advanced enough for a real minetrain, but most people took double carts in duos since it was cheaper.  Who was traveling single from the Business Boys?

Oh.  Oh god.

Wilbur felt like leaning back in his chair and plummeting into the ocean below the bridge when he heard arguing.  Of course this just had to be in the script.  It had been almost a full two days since Wilbur had slept, stressing over that exact script and rushing to get it done.  He must’ve forgotten what he had written, since the Antarticans were bound to cross paths with the Boys soon enough.  

“.. fuck right off with you, then!  I came from Europe, I have the right of way, now get off the fucking tracks!”

“Tommy, we moved out of the way.  Your cart rolled over a rock and knocked you around.  You’re the one looking for excuses.  Techno, stand back.”

“No I didn’t- don’t you look at me like that- hey, hey Wilbur!  Wilbur Soot!  Tell this Philza guy he’s fucking wrong!”

Wilbur buried his head into his hands, wanting to ignore the footsteps that trudged his way on the cobble.  Three sets of them, two more reluctant than the other.  Wilbur finally looks up, fixing his glasses with a forced smile on his face.  He hoped the fans would catch the evident strain he gained from that—this wasn’t even acting.  Wilbur simply wanted to curl up and sleep.  Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so, whenever you were dealing with TommyInnit.

Tommy runs into Wilbur’s view, pretty much forcing Wilbur into the conversation.  Immediately, he bursts into a tirade against the two older men standing in front of him, one hand gripping the stilled minecart.  His other hand was using to gesticulate his words, waving around in different directions to drive his point home.  

Wilbur looked about to pass out.  Philza blinks slowly, stifling a yawn because Tommy would only burst further to flames if he did so.  Technoblade grunts, glaring at the boy in front of him.  It’s him that speaks up.  

“Don’t call us stupid cause you made a mistake, Tommy,” Technoblade exhales, his hands fidgeting in front of his midsection before he forcefully shoved them into pockets in his winter coat.  “Why aren’t you with Deo and your lot?  Aren’t they supposed to be babysitting you?”

Tommy makes a face that looked strangely like the red-hot angry emoji.  He points a finger up at Technoblade’s face; he could’ve probably touched the piglin’s forehead thanks to his height, which was around six foot one at the time this had been recorded.  Tall for a kid his age.  “I do not need a babysitter!  I am fifteen years old, the big one five!  Big number, I’m a big kid, no babysitters for me!”

Technoblade raises an eyebrow, unamused.  “Oh yeah?  Then where are your ‘friends’?” The piglin makes bunny ears the best he could with his three fingers. 

Philza sends Technoblade a worried look, putting out a hand in front of the piglin’s chest.  Technoblade looks down at the hand with a snort, pushing it down with a side-eye towards the man.  Wilbur catches Technoblade mouthing a few words, but he couldn’t make out what they were in his tired state.  

Tommy closes his mouth moments after he had opened it to shout some more.  He looks down at his dress shoes, subconsciously fixing the bright red tie he wore.  “I uh, I fell out of the plane.  They told me to walk.”

Philza snorts, unable to contain his amusement at that.  He raises a fist to his face to hide a grin.  Wilbur gently smacks himself in the face with his book, mumbling curses under his breath.  At himself, at Chip for carrying this one record for too long, or at Tommy, who knew.  

Technoblade stares into Tommy’s fiery blue eyes.  The teenager holds the look for as long as Technoblade does.  The two were silent, one judging the other, the other confused but wouldn’t back down for his pride.  

It takes Tommy just over a minute to blink several times to wet his eyes, reaching up to rub at them.  “Jesus Christ, man.  Your eyes are fucking hydrated!”

Wilbur slaps himself in the face with his book for laughing at that.  Philza covers his mouth with a palm, wheezing with an occasional cackle.  Tommy looks at the two with a quizzical look, glad that he got some sort of positive reaction out of the two of them.  Tommy’s character, though he had some moments, was definitely for comical relief—that’s what this scene needed, so he delivered after remembering his line.  

The edge of Technoblade’s mouth quirks up, chuckling lightly.  “What can I say?  I’m just a different breed.”

“Wow, I would’ve never guessed!” Tommy counters with a laugh, eyes squinting as he smiled.  Something swelled inside of his chest at the fact he managed to get a positive reaction out of Technoblade as well.  

He’d later label that emotion as happiness, but as he parted ways from the three adults, seated in the minecart with his legs pulled up to his chin, Tommy sighed.  He’d have to speak out those three while on break to get to know them a bit more, because that emotion felt more genuine than an act ever did for the young actor.. though, preferably at a time Wilbur wasn’t sleep-deprived.  

Chapter Text

The lava fell over his eyes, and the only light in the cell came from the single glowstone block wedged into the upper left corner.  

Well, at least Ranboo wasn’t claustrophobic.  

The teenager stood on weak legs, staring down at a man who knelt before him.  The man’s dirty blond hair was let loose from its hood and had overgrown since the time he walked free; the mask was still there, chipped in places and a break running across the middle of it.  Something dark stained the edge of it.  

He was dressed in an eyesore of a color, a tangerine orange that had water stains on it.  The sleeves were mangled and ripped apart, probably a cause of picking at the fabric.  Metal cuffs that glinted with enchantments encircled the man’s wrists, keeping him from widening his arms too far.  

Dream could’ve stood if he wanted, but he knelt before Ranboo instead, hands held together in a silent prayer.  

The man chose to ignore the tail that waved behind Ranboo’s legs before sliding in between his shaking legs.  Ranboo was back in his regular makeup, the glowstone leaving patterns on his white skin.  He clears his throat, holding a white hand up to his mouth.  

Dream inclines his head.  There’s no other movement.  

“You finally came.”

Ranboo’s palms felt sweaty.  “Yeah,” he replies casually, holding his memory book closer to his chest.  The prop made the scene feel more realistic.  

Dim-lit cameras were set up all around the scene; this was one of the episodes for season three.  Both Ranboo and Dream knew there was going to be a snippet included in the trailer, but this scene was going to be particularly hard on Ranboo, so he wanted to get it done with.  Dream obliged.  There were other actors, friends of the two actors, that stood by on deck in case the scene didn’t go right and they needed to calm down before trying again.

Dream laughs, a hoarse sound that shook Ranboo’s soul.  He lifts his head up, the mask angled to see Ranboo’s.  Ranboo didn’t look back, his gaze off to the side.  “Why won’t you look at me, my friend?  It’s been so long since we last talked, I expected a warmer reaction.”

“We.. we barely spoke.”

“Huh?” Dream exclaims with a tilt of his head.  Another laugh followed the noise.  “Ranboo, he doesn’t know what you’re thinking right now, but he’s just so pleased at the fact that someone close to Dream came to visit him!”

Ranboo’s blood runs cold.  He stops the anxious tapping off his foot to stare down at Dream’s knees.  His tongue felt too large.  He couldn’t speak.  

“Cat got your tongue?  Enderchest is cute, isn’t he?” Dream whistles as he reminisces, leaning his head back so he was sitting up against the wall.  “He hasn’t seen your pets in so long!  How are they?”

Dream’s gone insane.  Excellent acting.  Why was he speaking in third person..?  Ranboo thought that was only a Technoblade thing, but even when Technoblade did it, it was always a joke.  His head reels, hugging his book closer.  Dream takes notice of the movement.  

“Oh Ranboo!  Guess what, you inspired him to start writing too!” Dream is suddenly on his feet, shuffling over to the single chest that was shoved into the corner.  Dream’s feet were shackled as well.  Ranboo stares up Dream’s legs to his shoulders, watching the man dig through the chest before pulling out a book.  There were only books in the chest.  A quill and a bottle of ink rested on the top of the crafting table that was next to the chest.  

Dream skims through the book before handing it out towards the teenager. “This is one of his favorites,” Dream explains, the chain between his cuffs chinking when he opened his arms to far.  He would’ve frowned, but his mask kept smiling.  

Ranboo takes the book when it was offered to him, holding his memory book under his arm.  Sighing to himself, Ranboo looks down at the book and feels the leather cover.  It was familiar, but there weren’t much types of leather around.  He opens it up, seeing a single smile facing up at him.  

.. What?

Ranboo turns the page, doing his best not to rip it with the claw extensions on his fingers.  His breath clouds in front of his mouth despite the lava surrounded the cell making it unbearable hot for the teenager.  He tugs on his suit’s tie. 

Friends: Technoblade.  Philza.  Tubbo.

Unsure: Niha..

Ranboo throws the book onto the floor, pushing past Dream and throwing open the chest.  Frantically searching inside, sweat dribbles down the back of his neck.  The CGI crew was going to have a field day once they got this footage.  Ranboo kneels on the ground, opening book after book after book after book.  Books pile onto the ground, discarded.  

He was met with the same smile.  

:)

“I..” Ranboo trails off when a hand is placed on his shoulder.  It felt like a hundred pounds.  He couldn’t remember his next line.  The room felt so big, Ranboo was so small.  The smile that looked down at him was everywhere: on the walls, on the floor, in the books, on his hands.  It was all over his hands.

The ink dripped down and past his fingers, bleeding into Ranboo’s suit and dripping down onto his suit pants.  Dream shakes the bottle a bit more, making sure every last bit was poured into the teenager’s hands.  He tosses the bottle over his shoulder by moving both of his arms around the chains, it hitting the ground and shattering.  Dream ignores it, bending down to rub Ranboo’s back. 

Whether it was in the act or the actual Dream making sure Ranboo didn’t get too panicked, Ranboo couldn’t tell.  He was staring at the ink on his hands.  The ink wasn’t black anymore.  It was red.

“You did it,” Dream whispers with a snicker. “That’s blood on your hands, Ranboo.  Blood of your friends, blood of your country.  You hurt them all, Ranboo.  You’re the one to blame.”

Ranboo shakes his head, pushing his bloody hands into Dream’s chest and pushing him away from himself.  Dream falls onto the ground after tripping over the chains on his feet, two large red handprints on his chest.  The man didn’t even seem troubled by the weak attack as Ranboo stood up, feeling the wall for support.

“You blew it all up, Ranboo.  Ranboo, you’re the one to blame.  You do remember, Ranboo.  Ranboo, make yourself remember.  Ranboo.  Ranboo.  Ranboo.” The name was a mantra sung only by Dream’s tongue, who stood up with minor difficulty and made his way towards the teenager.  

The boy’s hands were on the side of his head, staining the white part of his wig pink with the ink on his hands.  He drags his hands down, mindful of the makeup, creating streaks of red down the side of his head.  Something falls off his head.  Dream was repeating his name again.  Stop it.  Oh my gods, stop it.  

Shut up.

What were his next lines?

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shu-

“Ranboo.  Ranboo, look up.”

I can’t remember.

A hand grips his chin, forcing it to tilt down to face the shorter man.  Ranboo gasps dryly, hands clenching onto his hair and tugging lightly when his mismatched eyes met two black ones.  They were drawn in marker, though at this angle, Ranboo could see the glimmer of green behind mesh.  Hopefully the cameras were catching this.  It didn’t even feel like an act anymore.  Ranboo’s heart was engulfed with fear.  

And it wasn’t just because he was making eye contact.

His eyes were watery.  His skin was crawling underneath the makeup, underneath his clothes.  He wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in his stomach.  Everything around him was red or green.  There was no more blue, no more yellow; Dream’s prisoner jumpsuit was now bright green.

Green.

His red eye blinks with the green remaining open, watering with strain.  Dream snorts behind his mask, studying Ranboo’s face; the boy was still forced to make eye contact with the smiling mask.  

:)

“Do you want to know a secret, Ranboo?”

What.

“I’m not even here.  I’m you.  Dream’s not even here, Ranboo.”

:)

Dream was gone when Ranboo blinked his green eye.  There were tears running down his face, tears that weren’t planned nor were acknowledged.  Ranboo looks both ways.  No chains.  No orange jumpsuit, no birch mask.  No hollow laughter that rang in his eyes like it had done so many times before in the panic room.  Books were scattered around the room, opened and ripped and pages loose.  When were they ripped?  There were piercings in the papers.  His fallen crown laid in the middle of the mess.

Ranboo looks down at his stained hands.  Red.  No.  It was gray.

Everything was gray.

The lava felt so close.  Everything felt so hot.  Ranboo was so hot.  His skin was dripping off of his bones, melting into his burnt clothes and into the ink, absorbed into the paper and written in his memory book.

He didn’t know which book was his.  His memory book was gone.  

Who was he?  What was his name?

“Just make something up!” Ranboo cackles, watching his once colorful world drain to monotone.  The room was spinning, screaming, noise was everywhere.  His world was floating, mixing together, nothing was defined.  He could hear voices from the other realm.  Ranboo looks up, looking for the disembodied voices.  Where were they?  He stumbles, his legs as sturdy as baby trees.  White noise fills Ranboo’s ears.  Everything is on fire.  There’s monotone-colored flames everywhere.  Why was everything burning?

:)

Ranboo’s head makes a dull thump when it hits the ground.  The voices were still yelling.  There were metal chains around his hands and his feet.  The flames run up the redstone trails that held up the obsidian ceiling.  The redstone burns to ash.  The obsidian falls.

A mirror image of his real self—golden hair, sunglasses, a hawaiian shirt, a shining crown—stands on a crafting table floor, a flint in one hand and steel in the other.  He was smiling.  Ranboo falls to his knees, blood on his hands.  It’s all red.  It’s the blood of his friends.  

Crying, he watches the community house burn to the ground.  

Chapter Text

Charlie was a master of stupidity, Ted knew that very much, but Ted didn’t realize that Charlie could go this far.  

It wasn’t even a bad idea, it was just plain stupid.  

The Palcove was decorated in its fullest, vines falling from the ceiling and moss growing on the stone.  Small puddles littered the floor, the single hallway leading into a large open-air area that was similar to a split-level house.  Bookcases that had cobwebs growing in them lined the walls, furnaces glowing with burning embers in the kitchen.  

On most nights, since the Palcove was seated in the side of a mountain that reached below freezing, cold air drafted down the hole that rested above the rooms.  It wasn’t a small hole either; it was gaping, not nearly as large as the Pit that was off somewhere to the east (a hole Charlie claimed he couldn’t see, but Ted called bullshit), but it was large enough to be a bother.

So, Charlie came up with his idea over breakfast one day it had snowed directly into their kitchen.  Ted pulled his knitted hat further over his ears, sighing as he watches Charlie run out; he left a plate of unfinished pancakes that would remain unfinished.  

Even Charlie’s cameraman had enough common sense to not climb up to where Charlie was.  The man leans over to Ted, whispering, “If he falls, will I lose my job for not stopping him?”

Ted whispers back, “No.  I’m pretty sure Matt knows how batshit crazy Charlie is at this point.”

Charlie was crawling across a glass dome, gripping more glass blocks in his hand.   The cameraman zooms on the sight, wincing when Charlie almost loses his balance with a gust of wind.  The man chuckles to himself as a slime prop slides down the side of his face.  It falls onto the glass in front of him, rolling off the edge.  

It plummets to its death, landing with a clatter as the wooden thing laid face down.  Ted stares down at it, raising his eyebrows with a worried-but-not-surprised face on.  You know what kind of face that is.  

“Charlie, I’m really starting to think that you should come down when you’re ahead!  We don’t have respawn beds here, if you fall, you’re dead!” Ted cups his hands over his mouth to shout, facing the sky.  

Charlie looks down, having heard something, but couldn’t make out any words.  He smiles in the camera’s screen, waving down at the two men who stood watching worriedly.  Ted’s cameraman called it quits when Charlie got up there in the first place.  Maybe he was the smart one.  

Charlie’s cameraman hands Ted his camera, frowning as he moved towards the Palcove hallway.  “Sorry Mr Nivision, but I seriously don’t feel like losing my job today.”

Gripping the camera tight, Ted winces with an uneasy smile when Charlie places down more glass blocks, moving closer and closer to the edge.  The man’s glasses were perched on the tip of nose, looking about to fall off.  If they fell, Ted probably couldn’t save them.  Even if he caught them, they’d break upon impact from that height.  

“Hey.. hey Charlie!  Charlie, man, look who’s here!” Ted exclaims, placing the camera onto its back so it still recorder Charlie up on the slowly-forming ceiling.  Ted waves his arms wildly to make himself a distraction for Charlie, trying to get his attention away from his project and maybe—maybe!—even climb down.  “It’s- it’s your girl!  Grace is here, Charlie, come say hi!  Hi Grace!”

“Grace?!” Charlie shouts down to the ground, his head looking over the edge of the glass.  He hangs a hand over the edge, waving with a silly smile on his face.  “Where is she?” It was more of an exclamation than a question.  

Ted doubles back, shaking his head and gesturing for Charlie to back up.  Charlie squints down at the jumping man.  He makes a confused face, mumbling something along the lines of “typical Ted” under his breath as Charlie places another glass block down.  He crawls further before placing another in a line to try and get a better angle of the Palcove to see Grace.  

“Oh my gods, he’s going to fall.  Oh my fucking gods,” Ted whispers to himself as he looks around for anything to stop the man.  He opens his comms with a wave of his hand, directly calling Charlie since yelling obviously wasn’t working too well.  

“Ted, where’s Grace?”

“Charlie, stop moving!!”

“Oh, oka-“

Charlie had been halfway through the action of placing another block, his feet dangling off the bridge of glass he created.  The block had manifested itself momentarily, causing Charlie’s legs to lay on it, but it disappears within a second and Charlie’s lower body falls off of nothing.  The man screams into the comm call, Ted still running around like a headless chicken on the ground when he heard the fearful scream.  

His fingers pry and rack across the glass to pull himself up, but the one flaw about glass is that there’s nowhere to grab onto for a hold.  

“Do not fall right now, Charlie, you’re going to die!” Ted shouts into the comm, looking around for something, anything, to cushion Charlie if he fell.  Wincing at the thought of what could happen, Ted shoves a few seats into his inventory from a chest before placing them underneath the man.  “You’re coming down right now, that’s too dangerous for either of us to do.”

Pillows, blankets, cushions from the couch, join the seats.  It soon turned into a mountain of soft objects; it was so fucking stupid, something out of a goddamn cartoon.  It may work, though.  

“Ted- Ted, my grip-“

“Charlie, let go.”

“I don’t think that’s a viable option!” Charlie shouts into his comm, hugging the glass bridge with himself dangling underneath it.  Sure, he was muscular, but he couldn’t hold himself there forever.  It felt more like a pull-up than a push-up now, and everyone hates those.  

“Charlie, you have to trust me.  There’s cushioning underneath you.  I have no other way of getting you down.”

“How are you so calm?” Charlie laughs weakly, looking up so his nose pressed into the glass.  His eyes threaten to water, but he swallows down the emotion.  He wasn’t scared—Charlie Slimecicle doesn’t get scared.  His fingers hurt.  

“I’m bluffing.  C’mon, Charlie, grow some, right now, let go.  I’m right here.”

Charlie inhales, blowing hot steam into the glass.  It fogs up.  He has half a mind to let go of the bridge right now in favor to draw a little smiley face in it.  He knows that’ll end poorly, but in this predicament—which certainly wasn’t an act despite the still-rolling camera—, any option would end poorly.

The smiley face follows the man as he falls to the cushion below.  He hugs himself, squeezing his eyes shut as his hair flies behind him.  It wasn’t a graceful fall; it was anything but that, an uneven scream coming from the man as he fell through the air.

Ted stood next to the cushion, waiting to help Charlie out of the makeshift crash pad when he landed.  It seemed to take way too long for a drop, but hey, that’s how he felt about the first Pit recording.  

Well, at least Charlie hit the ground eventually and wasn’t held up by some invisible cord.  

There’s a snap that most probably- definitely- didn’t come from one of the seats underneath everything.  Charlie stares up at his half-finished glass dome, his eyes glossed over with delayed pain by the time Ted had reached his friend’s side with a penguin icepack.  

“Where’s Grace?”

Ted sighs, holding the icepack out for the other man.  “Sorry man, but that stunt you just pulled was kinda uncool.  You scared her off.”

Charlie chuckles woozily, high off of the air rush from falling and the pain that was slowly seeping into the rest of his body from his leg.  “God fucking damn it.” He takes the icepack, laying it on his forehead.  The two were silent.

“Call the ambulance, please.”

“Already dialing.”

Chapter Text

There’s a footstep from behind the man.  Another footstep, wood against stone.  Wilbur Soot knew that sound all too well.  He scowls.  

Sandals hit the ground a few more times before stopping dead in their track.  There’s no more noise in the small room, but outside of it, a war raged.  People were screaming, fighting, dancing in their choreographies around each other to play out the scenes correctly. 

Today was the day the world turned upside down.  Everyone was at the brink of insanity—everyone.. Wilbur especially.  

“What are you doing.”

Wilbur could see it now.  They’d bring in young actors, doubles to reenact a flashback or two.  A young boy holding up a messy crayon picture, three figures drawn in pop colors and in circles and squares.  The boy would be missing a tooth, but that wouldn’t stop him from smiling as bright as the stars.

The dad would return the smile softly, taking the picture into his hands and scooping up his son.  They’d walk over to the fridge and hang it with the use of magnetic letters that spelt out the word “Wilbur”.  The boy would laugh, point at his other past creations before demanding to be put down to go back to coloring.  

The dad would oblige with a single reminder about the approaching bedtime, watching his son run off to let his creativity run free with imaginary friends and pages filled with words to create a symphony known by heart.  He’d laugh, leaning against the fridge while he fingered the ring on his hand.  The camera would focus on that ring’s twin that sat on a small tin box on a shelf behind the man.  

Why must his characters always be so flawed?  Wilbur remembered not once when he was cast for a role that involved a happy backstory and a happy closure.  

It wasn’t like he was not to blame for that, though.  

“Philza,” Wilbur breathes, hunched over to cover a small wooden thing that would cause so much destruction.  He straightens his posture to turn around, meeting stormy blue eyes.  His own chocolate ones looked dead.  

Philza’s black haori cape was adorned, his trademark clothing choice.  His blond hair was pulled back, tied with a green ribbon.  The bucket hat was tipped back to expose Philza’s face, to show his emotion to the cameras that crouched in each corner of this final room.  Callahan watched closely from his chair, choosing to monitor this specifically.  

“Wilbur,” Philza replies with a small incline of his head.  “What are you doing?” He repeats, more sterner this time.

The other man gives the camera a small back step.  Good.  He gulps, ducking his gaze away from Philza.  “What are you doing here?” Wilbur counters, looking up to meet Philza’s awaiting gaze.  His curly bangs covered one of his eyes, tangled and unwashed.  Wilbur probably looked like a mess, an abandoned mess, in need of a fix-up not even the kindest man would give him.  

“I’m here to stop you, Wilbur.”

“Oh, typical, because that’s all that you’ve ever done to me.” Wilbur’s hands clench into fists at his sides, one reaching out to rest on the back of the flimsy chair that he had stood up from before some time before.  He grits his teeth so hard it hurt.  “Why can’t you just let me live my own life?”

“Because what you’re doing is going to end so many others,” Philza takes a single step further into the room.  A sword in at his neck an instant later, diamond-colored particles twinkling weakly in the air.  Philza doesn’t react, his face stuck in its neutral look as he stared at Wilbur.  

Wilbur pants heavily, his breath ragged and coming out in chunks.  When Philza presses on the blade to push it away from his throat, it twitches into the old man’s gloved hand; a threat.  Philza drops his hand, letting the sword stay where it is.  

“Everyone out there right now means nothing to me,” Wilbur spits, his one visible eye aflame with turmoil and rage.  “They have done nothing but cause my suffering for the past several months.  Had you been out there, fighting with the lot of them, I’d still stand by that statement.”

“But what about To-“

“Don’t you fucking say his name!” Wilbur commands with a shout, taking a step towards Philza to push the tip of his sword closer to his father.  Philza steps back into the hallway, now standing outside of the room.  “You lost all of your qualifications to even speak to him the moment you turned your back on me!  He is not your son, but he is still my brother, and I will not let you near him.”

“Wil, I-“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Wilbur,” Philza suffices with a solemn undertone in his voice.  “I’m not the one who is going to hurt him if that button gets pushed.”

The sword against Philza’s neck loses its ferocity.  It’s limp, flaccid.  Philza pushes it away from himself like it was a jelly stick, it falling to the ground with a loud clatter.  Wilbur was looking off to the side, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing.  Philza doesn’t walk into the room.  

A frostburnt hand pushes curls out of his face, pushing into the beanie that rested on the back of Wilbur’s head.  The ends of his fingers were made to look dead from frostburn, a sickening blackish color that made poor Nihachu almost sick when she glanced at them while Wilbur first flaunted the new look.  

“D- Phil, do you know what these signs mean?” Wilbur reaches out, lifting one of the signs off of its hook and holding it to read its line.  “Do you?  Be honest.”

“No,” Philza complies, looking at the three walls he could see.  More signs decorated them, all with messily-done grooves of what seemed to be song lyrics.   

“It was our anthem.  L’Manberg’s anthem.  You know about L’Manberg, don’t you?  I sent you all those letters, even though you didn’t reply to a single one of them!” Wilbur explains with a hysterical giggle at the end of his words.  “Tommy told me to stop writing to you since the first day I joined this goddamned server.  I only stopped when everything went to shit, and for once, it wasn’t because of you.”

“Wilbur, stop blaming everything that went wrong in your life on me.  I tried to be the best father I could have been for you.” Philza widens out his arms with an apologetic look on his face.  “I truly did.  Wilbur, I lost her as well.  It was hard on you, but imagine it for me.  You can’t hold me guilty when I was just as troubled as you.”

“You tried,” Wilbur echoes, hair falling in front of his face.  He chuckles, looking down at the sign in his hands.  “You sure did, but you didn’t try hard enough.”

The sign is thrown against the wall, followed by angry pacing in front of a simple oak button.  

There’s an explosion from outside the final room.  Philza gasps wetly, looking around with a panicked look in his eyes.  Wilbur didn’t react, a bent finger against his finger.  Come on, remember your lines.

“I have been here so many goddamn times, Phil.  I can’t even count them all on my own two hands.” He holds them up for show, Philza’s eyes only darkening with sorrow at the sight of them up close.  “It’s so hard,” Wilbur cries, his voice choking up in his throat.  “I never wanted to be like this.  I never wanted to turn into this!” He gestures to himself, a dirtied mess with an evenly messed-up brain, closing his eyes as he inhales sharply.  

“But no!  Gods above, don’t you dare give Wilbur Soot an ounce of fresh air in his fucking life.  Once I get my hands on something that I genuinely cherish, something that makes me truly happy, it’s ripped from my hands.  A wife, a son, a brother, an old friend.  A country.  A childhood.”

Philza winces at the last one.  

Wilbur wipes at his eyes with the palms of his hands, similar to what a child would do.  He gasps, trying to catch his breath as he vented his last emotions to his failure of a father.  

“You will never feel my pain, Phil.”

“I lost my wife as well.”

“Notice how you don’t mention your lost son,” Wilbur whispers, staring down at his feet before whipping his head up to look at Philza.  Philza looked just about to cry, but about to cry in a heroic way.  He held his head up, meeting Wilbur’s eyes.  

Wilbur smiles bittersweetly.  

The teenage actor of his character would shout, scream, cry, shout some more, curse and swear and slur and say things he’d one day regret in the face of the man who raised him.  A few bags were hoisted over his shoulder with a guitar case, the only possessions he would take with him as the teenager stormed out of the quaint cottage in the cherry blossom forest.  

The man, with a scruffier beard and tired eyes, would stand there and take every beating and every punch.  He wouldn’t even meet his son’s gaze, wouldn’t acknowledge his pain, his loathe, his disgust.  

Once the teenager was out of earshot with the front door slammed close behind him, the man would lean against that small fridge, looking over old crayon-colored papers that had by now wrinkled and aged.  He’d cry some.  

“There was once a person who I considered a friend, Phil.  They.. they did some fucked up things, yes, but they said something that’s stuck with me since that fateful day.”

“Wilbur, Wilbur, think before you act, please-“

“It was never meant to be.” A single tear finally rolls down from Wilbur’s eye.  The smile was still on his face as he gently presses the oak button, the resounding tick of a redstone dust trail being activated behind the stone wall. 

“Oh my gods,” Philza breathes, eyes wide with horror as the world around him crumbles into rumble.  

People flew into all different directions, crashing into buildings and tumbling to the ground.  Debris bursts out of the pit that appeared within seconds underneath the Manberg Plaza.  Dynamite blows up in chains, undermining all the hard work done by the Schlatt Administration to decorate it all for the old festival.  It hadn’t changed since then, the only notable differences being a cleanup and the removal of the White House.  

People were screaming out in agony, in horror, in grief as Manberg goes up in flames and in an explosion.  Quackity had gone flying into the air, his wires not working to keep him airborne; that’d be fun to special effect.  

Technoblade stood panting in the midst of everything, a bloody netherite sword gripped in a hand.  Blood stained his royal outfit—nobody could be sure if it was fake blood or not, but by the idea that he wasn’t going berserk, it was probably fake.  That, or he took his chat pills.  

Tommy held a sword of his own, diamond, his considerably less bloody but still nicked with some splashes.  He was near the piglin, his red-white shirt stained with fake blood and dust and everything else that was disgusting to smell.  

The two, as well as everyone else who had been in the aggressive quarrel before this, turned their heads to the opened final room.  Wilbur widens his arm, smiling handsomely.  “L’Manberg, my unfinished sympho- ny.”

A blade pierces through Wilbur’s torso, stuttering his speech.  Blood explodes from his chest.  This wasn’t a part of the-

Callahan was sat reclined in his chair, quiet, as all fucking hell broke loose—raw emotion.

Tommy was screaming, sobbing, fighting.  The only thing holding him back from running to see if his brother’s okay was Technoblade’s hold on his shirt.  They needed to finish the filming.  Whatever this was could be sorted out later.  Technoblade sniffs the air, waiting for the blood to reach him.  

President Tubbo was leaning into Fundy’s side, his eyes closed.  He couldn’t look at the scene before him.  Fundy had gone rigid, his jaw tight.  

Quackity was paler than he usually was.  Dream was silent, unable to tear his eyes away from the image of the two men.  Sapnap lowered his sword, letting it drop to the ground without care.  Punz and Purpled stood nearby, stunned.  

Nihachu had her hands over her mouth, unable to stop the tears that pooled in her eyes.  It wasn’t even an act—her best friend was getting murdered before her eyes.  Eret was behind her, a hand on her shoulder, as they too watched in silence.  

The rest of those gathered were in similar states, frozen in shock.  

This.. was not in the script.  

“Forever, my L’Manberg, or no one else’s.”

Wilbur sinks to his knees, his own diamond sword still stuck in his chest.   The blade pokes out through his shirt, ripping through his jacket from the back.  Blood was absorbed into that white shirt, the previous blood stain darkening.   His view of Tommy and Technoblade as they were sucked right back into the script, unable to part from it for long even though they were still completely terrified of what just happened, was obscured by a black fabric.  

The cameras’ focus stays on Philza as he kneels before Wilbur, hugging his son during his last breaths.  Philza rubs his back through the jacket, mindful not to touch the sword in fear of irritating it.  He was humming a song, a quiet, mild-tempo one, under his breath, as tears leaked from his eyes and into Wilbur’s curls.

“I’m sorry.”

Which one of them was the sorry one, though?

Wilbur’s frostburnt fingers grasp weakly on Philza’s wrist, angling his hand behind his back to the hilt of the sword.  He guides his father’s hand to remove the sword from his chest, ignoring the ugly sobs that came from Philza and the squelching noises from the withdrawal.  

The blood—real blood—seeps from the chest wound uncontrollably, irreversibly.  Wilbur falls onto his side, eyes rolled up into his head as his soul exited through his mouth with his last breath.  His body disappeared with a flash of white, leaving behind an old jacket and the smell of coffee grounds and old books.  Of course, the viewers couldn’t smell it, but his father did.  

Philza holds the diamond sword to his chest, crying for the camera as the fight behind him escalated with the summoning of twin withers led by a piglin brute who did take his pills fought against a young boy who didn’t deserve this fate.  

Wilbur would wake up in a bed with runes scratched into its post.  The runes hummed, glowing a canary yellow, as Wilbur opened up his chocolate eyes, a small light dancing inside of them. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a teenage boy says, eyes rubbed raw from mourning all night long.

Chapter Text

Bringing JSchlatt back onto the cast after originally booting him was probably the worst mistake Callahan and Alyssa had ever made.

JSchlatt tried to give Tubbo a taste of alcohol at age sixteen, or Tommy’s.  He has repeatedly broken several of the computer keyboards in almost everyone’s houses despite warnings of consequences, but is completely and utterly overprotective of his retro mechanical one that glowed up.  He made GeorgeNotFound cry not once but two times.  He’s showed up to set drunk a few times, sent home only after he was told Sapnap was already at his house to break his keyboard.  

He’ll bring people onto set that shouldn’t be: his friends, some random guy off of the street in Mojang, even a hawk once.  JSchlatt has almost died three times on set as well: he fell off of Eret’s tower during the final reckoning recording, another time when he snorted too much phantom membrane grinds, and lastly when he fell off of a nether ledge and into lava; had it not been for the fire resistance potion in his inventory, he would’ve died then.   

He crawled out of the lava, ignoring the fear-stricken camera crew, and accepted new clothes from Quackity with an evil little chuckle at the fact that he just cheated death.  

Despite the original decision to keep JSchlatt out of the future episodes of the Dream SMP being the easiest to choose because the businessman was considered problematic by some, Callahan and Alyssa were bribed by none other but their scriptwriter to bring him back.

JSchlatt had played an important role throughout the first season and turned into a fan favorite, but his favoritism didn’t drop just on the screen.  Around the set and in the home server, JSchlatt was a thing of chaos that never failed to make even the most bothered people smile.  

Wilbur Soot was his usual accomplice.

“Wilbur, what the actual fuck are you doing?”

“Connor, what do you mean?  Do you- do you need glasses, kid?” An absolutely horrendous Brooklyn accent replies, the man before the brunet crossing his arms in front of his suit.  “I’m not Wilbur.”

ConnorEatsPants blinks a few times at the man, his jaw falling open slightly.  He was looking over the man’s face, tracing the poorly-applied makeup that made mutton chops and a mustache.  A navy blue hat that had a post-it slapped onto the front of it, a scribbled Yankee logo, was rested between two obviously fake ram horns that curled around his ears.  His hair was straightened, gelled back underneath the hat.  A pristine suit with a red tie hugged the man’s figure tightly.  

Connor felt like he was about to gag.

“You good?” Fake JSchlatt asks, tilting his head to the side.  The horns shift on the sides of his head.  The accent was cursed, a British twinge to it not quite disappearing with the Brooklyn accent too forced.  Connor shakes his head to clear it, waving fake JSchlatt away from him as he held his head with one hand.  

“Wil, please, get out of the suit right now.  I will cry, you look so uncomfortable,” Connor whines, covering his eyes with a hand.  Fake JSchlatt makes a confused face, acting as though he didn’t know what was wrong.  “Leave,” Connor adds with a small squeak that was paired with a laugh. 

Fake JSchlatt nods his head a few times, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “Fine!  Fine, I get it.  You just- what would he- you just don’t want to be near my fucking excellence!”

“For someone who is supposedly an extremely successful actor, you’re shit when imitating your best friend.”

“You,” Wilbur points a finger at Connor, the British accent shining through in full glory.  Connor barks a laugh.  “Have lost all your speaking privileges.  Say another word and I’ll punt your scrawny Sonic ass into the stratosphere.”

Connor mock-salutes the older actor, letting him stalk off until he laughed, shaking with head out of disbelief.

If Wilbur wasn’t getting by easily, JSchlatt was getting by even worse.

The businessman avoids Fundy’s judgmental gaze as he fidgeted with the cuff of his yellow sweater.  It smelled of fresh detergent; JSchlatt stated to Wilbur that if he wore Wilbur’s sweater before washing it, it’d be gay.  Wilbur didn’t quite understand his logic, but let his best friend wash his sweater regardless.

Thin-rim glasses were perched on the edge of fake Wilbur’s nose, running a hand through his curly bangs to move them out of the way.  His hair would never recover from the curling.  His Yankee cap was missing, along with the usual monotone look he bore; instead, there was a small quirk-up of his lips.

“Schlatt.”

“Again, Fundy, you have the wrong person.”

Puffy rolls her eyes sarcastically from her place up against a wall, munching on a donut.  The three people were near Church Prime, one of the few places close to the portal home that wasn’t currently being used for recording.  They could’ve easily been in a breakroom closer to where production was happening, but fake JSchlatt was there, and having both of the fakes side by side would foil their whole plans.

Wilbur and JSchlatt were never the brightest when it came to pranks.  To give an example, fake Wilbur had large mutton chops on the sides of his face, something he reached up to scratch at when they got itchy.  

Fundy ignores the woman for the time being, instead taking a seat next to his friend.  On fake Wilbur’s lap sat a guitar that was embezzled with stickers.  One had the Union Jack, the flag so commonly associated with British home servers.  Another a was the SMPLive logo, the SMPEarth logo, his past best works.  Others were print-out photos of friends and memorable moments.

The talent show on SMPLive, and then the reunion of such show.  The SootHouse vlog house, all of the Soot friends gathered around for a picture.  Wilbur on JSchlatt’s back, the two running around the Dream SMP set when JSchlatt returned to it for the first time.  A picture of Wilbur and his mom, of his cat, of him and Tommy back in his original home server.

Fake Wilbur’s hand rested over a photo of himself and real Wilbur in matching suits, the two caught mid-laugh at an awards ceremony.  Wilbur held in his hands “Best Scriptwriter” while JSchlatt had “Best Villain,” and a toy one that Connor himself had given the horned man, “Most Homoerotic Villain.”

“You do know you’re not fooling anyone, right?” Fundy whispers, looking at Puffy out of the corner of his eye.  The man was dressed in his striped jacket, playing with the zipper of it.  He looks over at fake Wilbur with a purse of his lips.  “Your.. horns aren’t gone.”

“Fundy,” the word was spoken in a high-pitched British voice, so far off from Wilbur’s real one.  The pronunciation was gruff.  

Fundy raises an eyebrow, waiting for fake Wilbur to continue.

“I miss my straight hair,” JSchlatt snickers halfheartedly, moving the curls out of his face.  He stares down at the guitar with a little snicker.  “I can’t even play this.”

“Was this another drunk idea with Wil?”

JSchlatt nods.  Puffy smiles softly, swallowing the last piece of her donut before walking over to sit in front of the two men.  She was quiet, reaching up to run a hand through her waves.  “Well, you fooled me,” she tries, nudging at the converse JSchlatt wore on his feet.

JSchlatt breathes out before smiling, knocking his foot against Puffy’s in retaliation.  “Thanks.”

Fundy rests the back of his head on Church Prime’s exterior, sighing.  JSchlatt looks over through his glasses, furrowing his large eyebrows deep in thought.  “You going to keep this up all day?” Fundy questions, blowing hair out of his eyes.  

“Probably.  I’m not needed on set anymore until, y’know, my resurrection, so I have nothing better do to.”

“I will say, though, you look different with the curls,” Puffy interjects, wiping at her cheek with her index finger and she laughs.  “You seem kinder.”

JSchlatt laughs bitterly, “Ain’t that the whole point?”

The two friends, predictably, forgot that their own friends knew each of them like an open book—and knew of these poorly thought-out pranks, too.  

Chapter Text

“One.. two, three, action!”

“Son..” JSchlatt drawls, an alcohol bottle held loosely between his fingers.  He was slouched over, his suit unbuttoned and tie loosened.  His shoes were scuffed, their old polished look long gone.  A trail of alcohol dribbles down from the corner of his mouth.  

A man with a red-colored tail stares down at his president, stone-cold eyes that held no forgiveness.  The only thing that was similar between the two characters were their animalistic features: Fundy, with his perky ears and tail, and JSchlatt with the disgustingly long ram horns that curled towards his eyes, threatening to poke into his odd eyes.  

“I’m not your son,” Fundy growls, holding his sword close to his side.  Wilbur stood nearby, his smirking profile facing JSchlatt.  

The Camarvan was packed with people, all similarly dressed in gleaming armor.  Weapons were drawn, but they were all slack against thighs and hips as eyes looked over the pitiful excuse of a man before them.  Dream looks around, knuckles raised to the smile on his mask.  

He swayed on his feet towards the redhead, lifting up the alcohol bottle so he gripped its neck.  “You.. you left me,” JSchlatt’s voices cracks when he speaks, eyes wide with a swirl of insanity lingering in them.  

Fundy meets the drunkard’s eyes with a fierceness he could only pull off while acting.  “And I hold no regret for doing so.”

JSchlatt whines from the back of his throat, looking both ways to make sure no one was too close before he brought the beer bottle down on a chest’s lid.  The glass shatters, bits flying in different directions and falling to the ground with clings and clangs.  Nihachu pulls Tubbo out of the splash zone, keeping the boy away from the mess.  

The president holds the bottle out towards Fundy, brandishing the makeshift weapon.  Fundy gasps, holding up his arm in anticipation for a glassing.  It doesn’t come—the bottle is just held out to him in a burly hand.  

That same hand once shook Fundy’s, a smug smile once on the man’s face before him.  

“You left me!” JSchlatt screams, stumbling forward and leaning against a crafting table.  Tommy raises his hands to his ears to cover them, waiting for more screaming.  “You were my son!  And you left me!”

“I’m not your son!  You’re drunk!” Fundy shouts back, raising his sword to counter JSchlatt’s bottle.  

JSchlatt bubbles out a laugh, ignoring the looks he was getting from the rest of the gathered characters; this was all a part of the act.  “Do you think a little sword is going to stop me?!  Fundy, look at the engraved name on that damn thing!  Who does it belong to?!”

Fundy pauses his offensive stance to run his finger along the edge of the blade.  A name in enchantment language glimmers underneath his hand, a blue-red gaussian.  J. Schlatt. 

“You took everything from me!” -

The bottle is thrown onto the ground, cracking under a heavy stomp.  

- “You all took everything from me!” -

Manic eyes glaze over the people surrounding him, who all offered no pain relief for his suffering.  

- “You took even my own fucking husband!”

Quackity quickly covers his left hand, avoiding JSchlatt’s stare.  The man’s head was laid back between his shoulders and past his back, leaning back in a backwards slouch.  His body convulses with laughter, curling in on himself as villainous laughter rang through the silent air.  

“Oh, how high and mighty you all are!  You had to stage an illegal coup to bring me down, and there’s no one left to stand by my side and hold my hand as I go down sinking with the ship.” JSchlatt throws his hands up into the air, glancing at his former cabinet members.  Even Fundy didn’t look back.  

“You’re not, though.” Tommy steps into the spotlight, a scowl plastered onto his face as he stared at his former idol.  “L’Manberg will still live after you’re gone!”

Technoblade growls underneath his breath, his snout wrinkling from where he stood up on the roof between Dream and Punz.  Punz side-eyes the piglin, but looks away when Dream lightly elbows Technoblade’s arm, a quiet reminder to remain docile, even when acting.  

JSchlatt smiles widely at Tommy, leaning over the teenager as his eyes seemed to look in different directions in front of Tommy.  The horns in his head looked like tentacles, ready to stretch out and choke the life out of Tommy—JSchlatt’s eyes held rectangular pupils, supposed contacts to make the whole ‘ram-hybrid’ thing come together.   

Tommy furrows his eyebrows, waiting for the drunk man to answer him. 

“If you think anyone will be able to lead this fucking waste of a country better than I did, you’re as insane as I am.”

“Schlatt, that’s enough!” Wilbur shouts, roughly pushing JSchlatt away from his younger brother.  The ram-hybrid lets out a guttural noise that sounded similar to a bleat when he hits the floor, scrambling back away from Wilbur.  He reaches out for a bottle, finding none, so he just wipes the alcohol dribbles away from his mouth instead. 

Manifold and Purpled exchange looks at the noise, but stick to the script and don’t say anything.  

JSchlatt giggles, eyes about to roll back into his head from his drunken haze when his head in tilted upward by a tight hand on his chin.  Wilbur scowls deeply, tossing JSchlatt’s head away from him after getting a look in the eyes.  The rebel leader stands in front of Tommy, Fundy, Tubbo, everyone JSchlatt had hurt over the past months.  

“You’re done, Schlatt.  You’re over,” Wilbur finalizes in a steady voice, not letting the overwhelming emotion in the scene get to him.  “Resign, and you can go freely.  We’ll throw you into jail if you don’t.”

JSchlatt sniffs, dragging a hand up to his forehead to glance up at Wilbur.  He smiles, a sickening action that had Wilbur almost gagging out of character.  Half of his smile fell, as though his face couldn’t carry out the action.  A few people look away as red-tinted alcohol bubbles spews out his mouth.  Soapy water stuffed in a pill, probably.  

“Wilbur, will.. will you take me out to breakfast one more time?”

Wilbur struggles for his words, supposed to act appalled by the other’s line.  The ram-hybrid slumps back on the Camarvan’s wall, saluting the pure-black flag he could see out the window.   His hand falls onto his lap, letting his head bang against the wall. 

“The scent of toast always makes me hungry.. does.. does anyone else smell toast?” His words were slurred.  

Quackity’s breathing fastens its pace, and he breaks formation to dive down next to the ram-hybrid, tears wetting his cheeks.  Wilbur reached out to yank Quackity away from his husband, ignoring the screech that came from the man to fit with his avian character. 

JSchlatt’s eyes close, half of his face unresponsive.  Dream looks over his shoulder, towards where Callahan was sitting to be sure this was acting.  JSchlatt, even out of character, had a history of alcohol.. Callahan waves him off, forcing Dream to replay his few lines over and over in his head.  

The ram-hybrid attempts to lift an arm after Quackity, but the arm flops down to the floor of the Camarvan a moment later.  Tubbo squeaks out a cry, turning away from the camera for effect.  

JSchlatt’s breathing was evening out when one of his horns was gripped within a rough hand.  Tommy was standing in front of the president, one foot on either side of his legs to stand before him.  JSchlatt’s breathing hitches in his throat despite his best acting, letting the hold around his horn tighten before something cool presses into it.

And chafes.  

Don’t open your eyes.  

And chafes.

The pressure is relieved after a few strokes of the cool thing chaffing it; JSchlatt lets his person sag, signaling to Wilbur for the man to begin his victory proclamation and for the celebration to.. commence.  He’d pass the baton to Tommy, who’d give a speech for handing it right back.  Wilbur’d turn to Tubbo with a large smile, congratulating him on being the new president; Tubbo’d give a speech of his own, overwhelming, while Wilbur slipped off and then Tec-

The side of the sword plunged into JSchlatt’s horn. The first layer of the cosmetic horn cracks easily without much fight.  It’s the second heave that leaves a stub of something bleeding.  It’s bleeding.  How-

Tommy gasps, dropping the sword immediately.  

“Cut!!” JSchlatt screams as his opened eyes fill with pain, instantly out of character and scaring a few of the people near him who were expecting Tommy to step away and let Wilbur wrap up the scene.  Said man was pushing Tommy away from the man on the ground, reaching out a hand too late to grab JSchlatt as he ran out of the Camarvan.  

Callahan covers his face with his hands and a heavy sigh.  They’d be able to salvage most of the recording, but it’d all have to be redone after Tommy’s movement to the president.  Alyssa closes her eyes before exhaling through her nose, signaling a break.  

It wasn’t for anyone else but JSchlatt.  

/msg jschlatt Where are you

jschlatt: Wil tell them. i have to go home

/msg jschlatt That’s not my secret to tell

jschlatt: just fucking tell them

/msg jschlatt Okay

/msg jschlatt I’ll be home after this

He’s left unanswered.  Wilbur gulps, running a hand through his curls.  He turns to face the group still in the Camarvan, unsure of what happened and why JSchlatt was bleeding.. from cosmetic horns?  A signal pops up on the server’s log when Wilbur opens his mouth to speak.  

jschlatt left the server.  

Chapter Text

“Woah.. so this is..?”

“Pogtopia.”

“Yeah.  Wow, I’ve actually never really been here before.  Was it always this dark?”

Ranboo looks down the ravine, marveling at how there was signs of humanity though it was scarce of any now.  Stone blocks were traded out for andesite and gravel, stone stairs placed beneath ledges to make it less of a hazard.  Little puddles littered the ground, Ranboo minded his step as he walked around.  

There was an abandoned fireplace.  Wood for a campfire was still set up properly, and a stake nearby with dried blood on it showed evidence for an old kill.  Perhaps a spider or something stole it since then.  It was pitiful in a way that stabs you right through the heart, as though roasting meat over the campfire was a nightly routine.  It never continued since the night before these logs were placed.  

“No,” a raspy, deep voice said.  

Old redstone blocks, humming lowly with dying energy, were shoved into random holes in the wall and floor.  Bits of redstone dust laid nearby, with pistons pushed out by force.  Ranboo had half a mind to take them.  He shoves his pickaxe deep into his inventory, keeping his hot bar clear as he wandered down Pogtopia’s main ravine.  

Creaky old ladders were placed up to an enchantment table.  The table’s book floated just centimeters above the tablecloth, dust coated the pages.  Ranboo reaches out a hand and flips the pages with an invisible force.  Dust shoots out of the book upon impact, and the half enderman sneezes.  

In the center of the ravine was a little groove.  A few furnaces, double chests, and a crafting table.  The chests were bare, except for a few less than half stacks of raw potatoes and three poisonous ones.  Ranboo’s nose wrinkles at the smell; the other items within the chests were miscellaneous, though none had any marketable value.  

Adjacent to the groove was a hallway that led to a semi-automated farm, by the looks of it.  All of the farmland was still wet, looking like it was used just yesterday.  Ranboo checks one of the droppers; it was licked clean.  He closes the lid, standing up.  He has to bend and shy from the low hanging roof.  Ranboo doesn’t step on the hoed dirt.  

“It used to be so alive.”

“Wilbur, let me out now!” Tommy shouts indignantly from where he was trapped beneath three pistons, the redstone blocks that surrounded him vibrating with raw power.  Wilbur was leaning against a nearby wall, wiping eyes from his eyes as he gripped at his stomach while laughing.  His fingertips were obsidian black.  Tubbo was making faces at his trapped best friend, his suit all dusty and dirty.  Technoblade chuckled nearby as he sharpened his diamond sword, clad in iron armor, as Philza joined in Wilbur’s laughter over a collective comm call.  

Wilbur wrapping a bandage a wound on Tubbo’s bicep, bags underneath his eyes, though he still managed to force a smile on his face.  “Be careful next time, you two,” he had lightly scolded, no anger behind his words.  Tommy sat next to Tubbo, waiting to be patched up as well, after the two took a tumble while building Tommy’s atrocious tower.  The two teenagers were talking animatedly to each other after acknowledging the older, Tommy’s lanky fingers loosely circled around Tubbo’s wrist.  

Technoblade eating one of his baked potatoes with a sleeping Tommy pushed up into his side closest to the fireplace.  The flames licked and leapt towards the piglin and the human boy.  Those same flames danced untamed in Wilbur’s eyes, who sat across from his two companions.  Sat on a thin plate next to his brown, wool coat was a cold baked potato.  It was quiet, late, and peaceful, as a low breeze blew through the ravines.  

“Oh yeah?” Ranboo calls back, ducking to enter the main ravine again.  Technoblade was down staring into a six by six hole off towards the left, and the piglin grips his sword tighter.  “Used to?” Ranboo adds, peeking over Technoblade’s shoulders to see the pit.  There didn’t seem to be anything special. 

“Fuck you!” Tommy screamed, thick tears rolling from his eyes as he held a bloody nose.  The teenager was pressed up against one of the pit’s walls, his white-red shirt now largely red.  The rest of his outfit was dusty, bloody, bits of human shit sticking to the bottom of his shoes after he stormed the stage.  

Technoblade’s ears rung from past firework explosions still.  He brandished a snarl as he looked down upon Tommy, the piglin’s ears flat against his head.  No words were exchanged as Wilbur clapped his hands, watching from aside a horrified Nihachu.  Tubbo was leaning against the back wall behind the two adults, grinding his teeth together with a gloss over his eyes.  The lower right side of his face was a bubbling landscape of burnt skin thanks to CGI.   

Wilbur reaches out a blackened hand towards Technoblade, helping the behemoth out of the pit with a yank.  Technoblade turns around, facing the frail human boy with an ego too big for his own good.  There was an exchange of some award-worthy lines, underlined with a grunt.  Wilbur smiled sinisterly behind the piglin, as though he had been planning for this long before the event that morning had commenced.  

Technoblade swept his cape away from the rebels, a sea of unparting red as he escaped from the ravine, off to his own base.  Wilbur watched him go, ignoring the fact that Tommy still laid in a defensive position in the pit; ignoring the fact that Tubbo was still whimpering and whining from pure agony; ignoring the look that Nihachu gave him, one of horror and conflicting anger.  

Wilbur’s hands grew colder, the color of charcoal by moon’s high. 

Technoblade casts his eyes down at his own hands, burly large things that were scarred from holding the blades of knives and chains of the past.  He shakes them out of impulse, clenching and unclenching his three fingers as he studied the muscle movements.  The raw muscle he possessed as a piglin brute flexed in the barely ample light that came from the stairway down.  

Two new hands, each a different color than the other, enter his vision.  Ranboo wiggles his thin fingers around, his thin claws a severe contrast to the stubby, sharp ones Technoblade possessed.  One of his hands was a quartz white with blemishes of gray while the other was obsidian black.  

Technoblade’s fingers ghost over the black hand, reminiscent of the color.  They fade away as swiftly as they came, Technoblade dropping his hands and swiveling his head away from the half enderman.  “We should go try that spawner.”

“O-oh, alright,” Ranboo stumbles over his words, reaching up to scratch at his neck.  That was the real reason why they were in Pogtopia to begin with; it was silly of them to loiter too long, with creepers and spiders lurking right around the corner.  

Technoblade grabs his axe from his inventory, using it to dig into the perpendicular ravine’s side to help him down.  Ranboo tosses an enderpearl down, shoving the rest of his supply to his offhand.  The two friends dip below an overhang, heading straight for a small tunnel Technoblade easily spotted.

A hollow laugh echoed through the main ravine.  Obsidian black hands, plural, grip the enchantment book and force it wide open.  Dust doesn’t fly up as it did for Ranboo when those hands pass through the material.  The laughter continues, gliding up the stairs and up to the small base that resided within a hill of dirt.  The wall of dirt that once blocked escape was gone.  The laughter carried out of Pogtopia, making a beeline for the only other place he knew people would be.  

Ranboo ignored the fact that two diamonds and a stick were missing from one of the chests on the top level when the pair readied to leave the rebel outpost.   

Chapter Text

“Ranboo, get back in the train.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Ranboo, I am an adult and you are not.  Back in the train, young man,” Fundy says jokingly, but he meant the latter bit of his statement.  The man held his camera up to the window, speaking to the boy that walked alongside the Liliac, calmly strolling; he reaches up to fix his glasses.

In the Cogchamp vlogs, the actors didn’t really care to dress up with makeup and such.  Fundy and Ranboo had no tails, no pointy ears.  Ranboo’s black-and-white makeup was all gone, his peachy skin in the camera’s screen with his golden hair.  Fundy was missing his usual hat, his red hair with its unusual white streak in it hanging in front of his eyes.

The same went for the other four Cogchamp members; 5up couldn’t help his appearance, but wasn’t constantly applying makeup to make his cheeks rosier.  Tubbo didn’t have his burn scar makeup.  Awesamdude still wore his gas mask for privacy reasons, but his green wig was gone.  His outfit was no longer a hideous yellow-green color pallet, too.  Cuptoast still had the box over her head—that didn’t change.  

If Fundy had his tail on, though, it’d be swaying out of nervousness.  

Liliac, as any semi-automated machine, was dangerous.  Her drills were constantly sharpened in order to power through stone and ore, a deadly front to the drill’s already powerful design.  Sam had gotten caught in front of the drills before when the train was offline; he injured his hand pretty badly, and 5up had to swing by the mine to wrap him up.  

Fundy wasn’t taking any more chances, but Ranboo still seemed oblivious.  

“Ranboo, get back in the train.  We can get the leftover ores after,” Fundy attempts to compromise, hanging out of the train’s window and tilting the camera so it caught Ranboo’s tall person.  The teenager heaves his diamond pickaxe over his shoulder, stashing a few blocks of silk touched redstone into his inventory.  

Ranboo waves at the redhead before bringing the pickaxe down again.  Fundy rolls his eyes, walking up to pull the brakes on Liliac.  

Stepping out of the drill’s cart and sliding against the wall, Fundy pops out when Ranboo was itching closer to the drill’s front.  The taller male looks over his shoulder, sensing Fundy’s approach.  “Hey, man, I’m going to try and sneak past the drills, there’s diamond in there I can silk-“

“And I’m gonna stop you there.” Fundy clips his camera to his goggles so he could wrangle Ranboo’s pickaxe away from him with both hands.. err, try to, anyway.  Ranboo furrows his eyebrows, simply holding the pickaxe high above both of their heads.  

Fundy may be tall, but Ranboo was still taller, and had longer arms.  After pitifully jumping without avail, Fundy pouts at the teenager before him.  “Now that’s just fucking rude.”

Ranboo giggles, his bicep shaking from the strain of holding up the heavy tool.  “I know,” he smiles down at the redhead.  “Turn on Liliac.  I’ll leave the diamonds be.”

Fundy purses his lips in thought, looking over Ranboo’s hidden face for any sort of a telling lie.  Unfortunately, between the glasses and the mask, there wasn’t much facial expression to go off of.  Fundy eventually sighs, waving for Ranboo to lower his arm before turning around.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Fundy advises, going back around the Liliac’s other side to climb back in.

Ranboo watches Fundy slip out of his view before turning his head to the dull twinkle of diamonds. 

Fundy takes the camera off of his goggles, flipping it around to face his own face.  “That kid’s going to get it one day, I’m telling ya,” Fundy grumbles, flicking on some switches to activate silk touch on a few of the drills.  He too had spotted the diamond ore, so he had some rough idea of which drills to enchant.  If he missed one or two, it wasn’t much of a big deal.  They already had a lot of diamonds.  

“Alright, turning it on!” Fundy hollers, waiting for a reply with his hand on the lever to engage the engine.  He doesn’t push it forward when he doesn’t receive an answer.

A clunk sounds, diamond hitting stone.  Fundy tilts his head, trying to pinpoint the sound, but alas, he didn’t have as expert hearing as a fox did.  “You ready?” Fundy calls again, looking over his shoulder at the train door.  Ranboo wasn’t climbing it, so he was probably picking up scraps.  “What an idiot, we could just run back and then grab them..” Fundy trails off with a shake of his head.  

He pushes forth the lever, waiting to hear the grinding of stone again metal.  Instead, he hears a blood-curdling scream.  

The lever is pulled back so quickly it almost breaks.  The camera is back on Fundy’s goggles, but a lot of the footage would probably have to be blurred as Fundy darted out of the Liliac and collected the drill with use of his wrench.  

Ranboo was leaning up against the partially-broken wall of stone and diamond ore, his pickaxe gone into his inventory.  He was clutching his stomach, his white sweatshirt now staining red and punctured.  Ranboo was looking down at the wound, panting heavily, when Fundy collected the Liliac.  

Ranboo whimpers, not making eye contact out of embarrassment.  

Fundy rushes forward, removing Ranboo’s hands from hiding the wound so he could inspect it.  He winced at the sight of it; it wasn’t too deep, not deep enough to be life-threatening, but 5up may have to give it some stitches.  He looks around before shrugging, tugging off his jacket and holding it to the wound.  

Ranboo whimpers again, looking anywhere but Fundy.  “Do you think you can walk?” Fundy asks, moving hair out of Ranboo’s face as he started to sweat.  

Ranboo opens his mouth to speak before feeling a wave of nausea hit him.  He closes his mouth, shaking his head before waving open his comms.  He types something in quickly with one hand, surprising Fundy, but now wasn’t the time to be surprised.  

Ranboo: carry me

“No, I’m calling 5up and he’ll stitch you up right here,” Fundy barks out the first word sternly, turning his back to the wall of stone.  He leans against it, standing up when Ranboo began to slide down it.  “Stand up somewhat straight.  If you roll your stomach, you’ll bleed.”

Ranboo stands up straight after that, mulling over another groan slash whimper, ducking his head down to look at the black jacket that covered his wound.  Ranboo raises a hand to his mouth, another wave of nausea washing over him.

“You’re not going to be acting for Callahan any time soon,” Fundy whispers, holding Ranboo’s other hand and rubbing it to ground the teenager.  

Ranboo: oh hell yeah vacay

Fundy chuckles, finding 5up’s contact and replying to a message for directions.  Closing it with a wave of his hand, Fundy sighs.  

“Did you even get the diamonds?”

Ranboo holds out six diamonds in a weak hold.  Fundy rolls his eyes, but knocks his head against Ranboo’s regardless.  “Y’know, I would’ve done the same thing.”

Ranboo: i know :)

Chapter Text

“Technoblade!”

A cloak of red spins around in the direction that his name was called in.  The hulking brute held a sword with his name engraved on the side of it, dripping with fake blood and staining his royal clothing.  His blouse would need to be washed tenfold when this recording was done; it looked the same color of his fur, even deeper.  

He locks eyes with a teenage boy that he knew too well.  Electric blue clashes against ruby red, and Technoblade stumbles across the decimated land known as New L’Manberg.  It was a warzone, literally.  It was as if a nuclear bomb had gone off.

Everything, everything, was gone.  Dynamite blew out jagged chasms that led to bedrock, the explosives still being churned out by automatic repeaters Dream constructed before moving onto a different location.  Philza walked after Dream, having already done his job.  Withers flew around, blowing up any person that they saw; most were stunt doubles, given the dangerousness of this one scene; the Withers were as real as any of them were.  Philza would clean them up after the recording was over, considering his experience with them, but until then, Philza dropped their leashes.

Tommy stood confidently with Tubbo next to him, the best friends holding hands.  Tommy had a smear of blood tricking down his nose, his face covered with dust from the broken stone and gunpowder.  His clothing was almost as dirty as it had been when he first arrived at Technoblade’s house.  

Tubbo’s suit had slashes in it, hanging around his short form in ribbons.  His tie was missing and the buttons on the cuffs of his jacket were lost.  Tubbo had blood falling from a wound on his headache, not deep enough to be fatal, but it blinded him in one eye.  Tubbo still looked out at the behemoth in front of him, sharing his cold look with Tommy.  

“Technoblade, stop this now!” Tommy shouts again, spitting out blood out to the side as the pair’s ledge fell away.  They stood on what was left of the path that led into New L’Manberg’s raised platforms, facing Technoblade up on his little mountainside.  The piglin headed up further to get the higher ground, only looking around behind him when Tommy shouted his name again. 

Traitor.

Shut up, Technoblade thinks, silencing the nulled voices in his head momentarily.  He had been required to take his pills in front of Skeppy and Philza, and sometimes BadBoyHalo, ever since the incident at the community house a few weeks ago.  

It was embarrassing to think that even after so many years of being conscious of the voices, he had no more of a grip over the voices than a brute piglet did; Philza always looked at him with a neutrality that shook Technoblade to his core, knowing very well that Philza had killed brutes before because of their aggressiveness towards anyone not their kind.

Technoblade wasn’t Philza’s kind.  

Technoblade usually ducked his head away, towards Skeppy and Bad, letting the ore mite scratch behind his ears and Bad distract him with a joke or two as he waited for the pills to hit his stomach.  That ore mite stood behind a camera, being as he wasn’t needed for this scene, but had mandatory attendance whenever Technoblade was acting out a mentally-taxing or triggering scene.  Bad stood nearby, a neutral look behind his glasses.  Again, nobody wanted a repeat of the community house.

Still, though, the voices could never disappear completely, even with medication.

“Why!?” Tommy screams, forcing emotion into his voice.  “Technoblade, why are you doing this!” It should’ve been a question, but the shout Tommy said it in raised its volume.  Tommy tightens his grip on Tubbo’s hand, their friendship bracelets on both of their wrists.  “I thought we had a deal!”

“A deal?” Technoblade echoes, narrowing his eyes as he looked out over the destruction.  Dream was staring down at him, his sweatshirt’s hood catching some of the air that billowing over the land.  There was a slim view of Dream’s face, allowing for one emerald eye to pierce into Technoblade’s.  Dream was watching, waiting, for Technoblade to get out of the area.  The dynamite duplicator was finished; it just needed its energy source.  

Tommy goes to answer Technoblade’s question, but doesn’t get a chance to speak when Technoblade’s volume rises into a loud growl.

e

“Tommy, I had always been honest with you.  I hate the government!  I hate L’Manberg!  They had it coming!”

They, meaning Quackity, who laid limp in Sapnap’s arms. unresponsive even as Sapnap cried for his fiancé to wake up.

They, meaning Fundy, who stood by and watched Nihachu burn down the L’Mantree with a coldness in his eyes.

They, meaning Ranboo, who was nowhere to be seen, mourning his lost home with his book ironically forgotten.

They, meaning Tubbo, who could never catch a break from puppet masters tugging at his strings.

“And you succeeded!” Tubbo sobs, breaking away from Tommy’s side to step in front of his best friend.  He didn’t dare let go of the blond’s hand.  “You ruined my- you ruined our home, Techno!  What else do you want from else, please let us be!  We won’t make another government!”

Technoblade bares his teeth, hoping that the camera soaked that up with pleasure.  He whips around, facing the two teenage boys.  “Isn’t that what you said in the last war, Tubbo?  And look at where you are now, a president!  A president of the country I helped you overthrow with the idea that it’d stay overthrown!”

“But we-“ Tubbo begins before trailing off.  He closes his mouth, not meeting Technoblade’s red eyes.

“But you what, Tubbo?  Did just that?  Made the presidency even stronger than before?  Allied with the people who wanted you dead since the beginning!?” Technoblade gestures blindly out the Dream SMP that surrounded L’Manberg.  He didn’t gesture towards the ringleader himself, knowing Dream was trying to hide in plain sight right now.  

e e ee ee e

Tommy pushes Tubbo back, letting the boy hide behind his taller frame.  He scowls towards the piglin, receiving a snarl.  “Just go back to your fucking cottage, Technoblade!  We did nothing wrong.” Tommy’s other hand tightens around the hilt of his netherite sword, ready to jump out and engage Technoblade if so needed.

“Oh, ooh no, Tommy, we both know that’s a blatant lie.”

Tubbo tugs on Tommy’s arm, whispering to run while he could.  Technoblade seemed to be growing in size by the minute, his aura only becoming more and more fearful.  Tommy doesn’t budge, ready for the on-slaught of words awaiting him from the piglin.

It came in the form of a monologue.

“I took you in when you had nobody.  Nobody, Tommy!  You ran right to my house after escaping exile and when you were at your lowest, I helped you up onto your feet.  I let you stay in my house, my items were your items!  I fed you, I clothed you, you were my friend!  I never hid anything from you, Tommy, not even my intention with L’Manberg all along.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you about this.”

Tommy couldn’t rebut that.

“But when given the chance to return to the country that cast you out, you take it!  To a country that doesn’t even want you.  Tommy, they exiled you!  Tubbo, he exiled you!  Look where you stand right now.  You were supposed to be on my side, Tommy!  What happened!  What did I do!?  Was I nothing but a mere weapon in your hands, replaceable once I was past my use!?” Technoblade’s throat felt raw after crying out his emotions, desperate for an answer.  

ee e

Tommy glares at the ground that was crumbled down below his feet.  Their little platform sways in the wind, Tubbo stepping closer to Tommy so he doesn’t slip off.  The blond grits his teeth before looking up, ready to shout.  

“I returned to the people of L’Manberg!  I will always stand for the people!  You’re a killer, Technoblade!  People are more important to me than the goddamn government!” Tommy proclaims, feeling a tight blue coat hug his waist and shoulders.  The linen scarf itches at his chin, but the buttons were still shiny and reflected a smiling face with brown curls.  

He had founded this country with Wilbur.  He’d go down with it, just as JSchlatt had said he would.  Thing was, L’Manberg would truly fall if Tommy did.  It was already-

“I’m a person!!”

Technoblade rears up, the behemoth’s size rivaling a titan’s in front of the two teenage boys and their wild imagination of what the CGI would do for the scene.  Tommy’s mouth runs dry and Tubbo’s face pales out of fear.  Their grip on each other was impossibly tight, almost cutting off blood circulation.  They’d go down together if Technoblade did anything.  

“No, you’re a monster!!” Tommy bellowed, shutting his eyes closed as he spoke brashly.  

The world stopped.  

Technoblade’s eyes shone with unshed tears as he raises his rocket launcher, loaded, at the two best friends.  

ee e e e e ee e

“I’m nothing but a monster, huh, TommyInnit?  I then hope to see you in your nightmares.”

He pulls the trigger with one claw; Tubbo jumps in front to take the initial hit, but the explosives go off upon hitting their target and hits both of them regardless.  They fall off of the platform, towards the ground with paired screams, still holding each other. 

Technoblade tilts his head back and forth, humming lowly before gazing up at Dream, still holding his launcher.  Dream smirks behind the mask, just a thin quirk of his lip visible.  

Technoblade strides away from the mountainside, letting it explode behind his back as he looked for his next victims.  Tommy didn’t care about him.  Nobody cared about him.

Should he not return to his winter cottage, it didn’t matter.  He’d fight God Himself if it meant driving this goddamn country into its grave.  

Chapter Text

“Tommy, give me my glasses back right now before I call your parents.”

“You’re just bluffing.” Tommy pulls down the skin under his eye, sticking out his tongue in a taunt.  The teenager was passing Wilbur’s glasses between his hands behind his back, not allowing the older man to grab them.  It led to Wilbur growing increasingly annoyed, scowling as he wrangled with the boy, Tommy laughing loudly.  

Tubbo watches from a distance, sipping a Dr Pepper casually by the time he hears heavy footsteps behind him.  “Hey Schlatt,” Tubbo welcomes the ram-hybrid, noisily sipping his soda again before sighing.  

“They’re at it again?” JSchlatt scratches at his mutton chops, studying the two fighting like, well, brothers. 

“You know it,” Tubbo replies cheekily, tipping his head back to finish his soda.  “Anywho, I’m out.  I promised Fundy we’d record some Cog tonight so I best be off.”

It came as no surprise that the teenage boys were loitering in JSchlatt and Wilbur’s shared house.  Well, it was really two houses that were very close to each other, and after some bribing, they managed to get Sam to construct a hallway that connected their houses; JSchlatt was less than enthusiastic about the initial addition that led the bane of his existence into his house at any hour of the fucking day, but it’s been months since construction and he wouldn’t say he didn’t appreciate the company.  

As much as JSchlatt pulled on Wilbur’s ear and vice versa, he couldn’t help but feel a tad bit bad for the British man.  Watching him fish his glasses out of Tommy’s hands after catching the boy in a headlock, he sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Tubbo, take the gremlin.  Schlatt, I’ll be in my room, I have to finish up my work.”

With that, Wilbur had left through the hallway, a rarity, being that he had a office in JSchlatt’s part of the house.  

Tubbo hugged JSchlatt goodbye before pulling Tommy out of the small spruce house, talking eagerly about his plans for Cogchamp when the door had shut.  JSchlatt was left standing in his living room, the television still playing some Spanish romcom that Quackity was probably eating up right now in his own house.  

JSchlatt changes the channel to the news, sitting down on the couch and trying not to look towards the empty doorway of the hall to Wilbur’s house.  The news was droning on about some depressing shit, causing him to change the channel again, and again, and a-

“He’s not going to have a stroke when he sees me.  If he does, sue me and I’ll pay for his medical bills.”

“You’re wearing a fucking bikini.”

“And I look good, don’t lie.” Sneegsnag blows an air kiss out to AntVenom, who mimics a gag.  The hooded man was, in fact, wearing a light blue bikini.  AntVenom was seated at the desk in his house, watching the man in front of him strike some poses.  He waves open his comms, typing in something quickly.

A large text message in gray pops up on the television: 

Ok i’ll sell my eyes now

A green message bubbles into reality seconds after.  

WilburSoot: Great!  Always nice to add to my collection!

JSchlatt watches the remainder of the SMPLive episode in silence.  He was typing away on his comms the entire time, dialing up the few friends he could think off the top of his head.  

The next day during choreography lessons, Wilbur had ended up talking a leave with his hands clenched.  Tommy drops his hands, annoyed, as Technoblade and Connor turn to each other to talk quietly.  

The vibe in the studio today was off.  Wilbur was getting upset by every little bit, gritting his teeth like the world was out to get him in every way possible and Wilbur couldn’t say a damn thing about his troubles.  To make matters worse, JSchlatt had been absent all day, one of the only people on set today that could’ve calmed him down.  

Philza was out with his wife for the day, Technoblade was acting along with Tommy, and Tommy usually wasn’t much help anyway.  Fundy was elsewhere, probably Cogchamp with Tubbo.

Connor looks over his shoulder towards the door that Wilbur had run out of, frowning.  He gestures towards Technoblade to head off in the other direction kindly, the piglin not questioning it as he plodded towards Sapnap.  The hothead welcomes Technoblade into the conversation he was having with Dream over their upcoming Manhunt movie.  

Connor excuses himself politely to Callahan, receiving a nod before continuing towards the door.  He opens it and closes it behind him, making sure it was really closed before looking around.  

The studio was off in a different part in the Dream SMP, since the actual studio was really only used for practicing scenes and choreography lessons.  It was stationary and away from any action in case a wither got loose.  It wasn’t too far from the portals either, so that was a plus.  

“Wilbur?” Connor calls out to the man whose back was turned to him.  Connor pushes the hood of his onesie down, walking over to Wilbur hesitantly with a tilt of his head.  “Hey, you good, man?”

“Do you think I’m good?  I’m- ugh,” Wilbur groans, throwing his head away from Connor and avoiding any confrontation, regardless of Connor’s intentions to help his friend.  “I thought once my arc ended I’d get a break, but no, you win one Crafty and suddenly you’re not allowed to stop writing the goddamn script.”

“Imagine winning a Crafty.. I mean, must be stressful,” Connor mumbles, choosing to stare between Wilbur’s shoulder blades after facing him properly wasn’t an option.  Wilbur replies with a noise of frustration, Connor nodding insightfully.  “I see.”

“Do you know where Schlatt is?” Wilbur questions out of the blue, ducking his head to the side to look at Connor from the corner of his eye.  “He wasn’t home this morning, I supposed he was out and about, but it’s rather late for him to be gone.”

“Well, you know Schlatt,” Connor laughs uneasily with a shake of his head.  “He’s a businessman, he’s got to do shit outside of here, y’know?”

After a few seconds of thought, Wilbur mumbles, “I guess.”  He looks up at the sun, shielding his eyes with a hand.  “Connor, why are you out here?”

Connor chuckles, toying with the zipper on his onesie.  “Checking on you, really.”

“You didn’t have to do that.  I’m not a kid.”

“Well, you act like one sometimes,” Connor snarks a reply with a cheap laugh.  “Come back inside, alright?  We can stop work for the day and pick it up tomorrow, it’s almost four.”

“We go until dinner time usually,” Wilbur thinks back to yesterday, and the day before that, and the week and the month and so on before that.  His mind spins from thinking about time.  A hand placed on his shoulder grounds him.

“Well, I don’t mind ending so early.  I was thinking about cooking a nice dinner tonight.  Do you want to come by?”

“I’ll have to ask Schlatt..”

“I already messaged him.  He said he’s coming.”

“Oh?” Wilbur’s interest piques, tilting his head to the side as he pondered his options.  He sighs through his mouth, a small smile wiggling its way onto his face.  “Alright, then.  I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while.”

“Great!” Connor smiles, “then let’s go back inside.”

“Let’s,” Wilbur replies, walking alongside the man in a Sonic onesie as they approached the camouflaged building—just in case anything did happen near here, though it was unlikely, there wasn’t some weird building in the way.  Connor pushes out open the door, Wilbur ducking through the doorway with a soft smile on his voice, opening his mouth to apologize for his little tantrum earlier before it drops into what could only be described as horror.

“Surprise, shawty!” Sneegsnag dressed in his bikini greets the British man.  AntVenom elbows the man right in the gut.  

Junky Janker stood next to Technoblade, the young cat-hybrid actor smiling at Wilbur.  24 Frames of Nick had an arm around Cscoop, the two both sporting forced smiles as they lightly pinched each other’s shoulders.  

Beefstew stood between Charlie Slimecicle and GrizzlyPlays, the old actor smiling softly at his SMPLive character’s son with a smile.  Charlie waves at the British man while Grizzly runs forward to hug Wilbur tightly.  Condifiction stood nearby, his hands folded behind his back. 

Dinkster Daily and Grunk were standing on either side of Asasi, all smiling at the British man with mischievous twinkles in their eyes.  Krinios, Burren, MichaelMcChill, and Altrive were in their own quartet, Krinios holding out a microphone with the words Fallen Kingdom etched into the side of it.

Speaking of the nostalgic song, its creator stood off to the side with Tubbo—when did he get back?—under one his arms and Cuptoast under his other.  CaptainSparklez still had his signature glasses on, his “children” soaking in as much time as they could with their fake father.  

Philza and Pokay stood off to the side with Mrs Minecraft, the three all talking before Wilbur had entered.  Philza looks up, waving over to the British man before returning to the conversation without a care for Wilbur’s stunned silence.

There were the other Dream SMP actors littered amongst the group, talking to the other actors and idols.  A few of them, even the adults, had Startoozes in their hands, getting them signed by some of the most talented people in their field of work.  Dream got his Sparklez Startooz signed, bragging to Sapnap afterwards under his breath.  

IAmTy stood on one side of the man facing Wilbur forefront with Tommy peeking out the other side.  The albino boy waves a small hand at Wilbur, smiling sheepishly.  Tommy wheezes a laugh, dodging a swipe from JSchlatt’s hand.  

“So uh, I may have invited a few other people over for dinner.  Hope you don’t mind,” Connor explains with an awkward giggle, waiting for Wilbur’s response.  Connor makes a face towards JSchlatt, desperately looking for help.  

JSchlatt winces with a smile, raising his eyelids as he takes a step towards Wilbur.  Unsurprisingly, the already-running Grizzly reaches Wilbur first, attacking the British man in a tight hug and a loud laugh.  “It’s been so long, Wilbur Soot!”

Wilbur stood stunned for a few moments after being hugged, everyone waiting for his reaction, before turning the hug and burying his nose into Grizzly’s hair with a large smile.  A stampede races towards Wilbur, encompassing him and each other in hugs and a few tears.  Laughter rang true with the small reunion, Alyssa eventually having to step in after things got a bit too reckless with the older, more mature-rated actors, especially with children in the area.  

As the group of twenty or so headed towards the portal, already all granted access to the home server by Dream for the night, Wilbur matched his steps with JSchlatt, looking at the ram-hybrid with an awed look that was accompanied with confusion in his eyes.  He whispers the question that was stuck under his tongue to his best friend, who only shrugs. 

“The first reunion was more than a year ago.  I’d like to make an annual occurrence until we’re all dead, eh?  I probably should’ve asked you before offering up our house to twenty middle-aged men for the night, but you were busy and I had to wrangle all of these fuckers from their jobs all day.” JSchlatt offers up nonchalantly, trying to play off the underlining ‘You were stressed out of your mind and need a night with friends to recoup,’ vibe off with his cheeky smile. 

Wilbur throws his arm over JSchlatt, giving him a squeeze and a genuine laugh.  “What did I do to deserve you?”

JSchlatt shakes his head, butting heads gently with the British man.  Wilbur laughs once again, navigating around the horns to knock back, a sign of camaraderie before they untangled themselves from each other and stepped into the portal to go home.  

Chapter Text

Dream read over the script once, twice, thrice before actually making sense of it.  After doing so, he held it back out to Wilbur with a scowl set on his face.  “You want me to play a fucking child abuser?  On my own show?”

“Well, we need one bad guy..” Wilbur trails off with a weak smile on his face, as though writing Dream’s character caused him literal pain.  

Dream looks down at the paper and then up at the British man before him.  He crumples up the paper in his fist, tossing it back to Wilbur.  “Sorry, Wilbur, but I’m not doing that.”

You said you wouldn’t do it.

Dream stares down at the crouched, crying, boy before in front of him.  Tommy was on his hands and knees, shoulders silently shaking as Tubbo and Ranboo stood on either of his sides, their backs turned to the blond.  Tommy kept crying, tears hitting the grassy floor; Tubbo and Ranboo stay still, statues.  

“You’re nothing but a bother, Tommy,” Dream forces the words out of his mouth, unable to meet Tommy’s dreadfully emotional eyes while he spoke.  Even if the mask was pointed downward, Dream had his eyes closed or was looking up into the back of the mask.  “Remember that.”

Ranboo looks over his shoulder at that moment, seeing Technoblade and Philza in the distance.  Dream, Tommy, and Tubbo were all gone, replaced by spruce trees.  Technoblade had his replacement axe over his shoulder while Philza held nothing, both calling out for the young boy that lived with them.  

Ranboo smiles, taking a step forward for his foot to crunch into the snow.  It crunches, but other crunches sound from behind the tall boy.  Ranboo freezes when two hands are placed on his shoulders, a masked face peering over Ranboo’s arm to look at the two Antarticans.  

“You don’t think they really care for you, do you?” Dream drawls, tracing up a hand so it cupped one of Ranboo’s ears.  The boy underneath his gloves shivers when Dream leans in real close: “Ranboo, I know you’re forgetful but you can’t be making up scenarios in your head.”

Tubbo blinks, facing the icy port of Snowchester.  Foolish G sat in his boat, fishing as per usual.  Jack Manifold was somewhere within Snowchester’s spruce walls, probably in the factory working away.  Tubbo himself stood on his house’s porch, blowing on a piece of steak before taking a bite.

Snowchester was calm, no distractions and no loud noises.  Of course, that meant no Tommy.  Tubbo exhales at the thought of his best friend, knowing very well they both had their own lives to tend to now, both very different lives.

“He’s replacing you, you know,” Dream comments, leaning against the porch’s walls with a piece of steak his own in his hands.  His green sweatshirt ruffles in the soft wind, the masked man looking at Tubbo’s profile.  “I don’t even remember the last time you two hung out together because you wanted to, not because you were in the same area and doing the same task.”

Tasks.  Tommy stares up at his hotel, a smug smile on his face as Sam Nook checked off boxes from his clipboard.  The raccoon-hybrid chitters his approval, flipping the page to the next set of tasks Tommy would have to complete to finish the hotel.  The blond listens to the list of tasks told by the NPC-like man, grinning with a thumbs up once it was done.  

The hotel was in perfect position to hide the massive prison that sat just behind in.  

Dream watches silently as Tommy moves on to build his hotel without Tubbo; as Tubbo continues to grow Snowchester without fear for his own safety; as Ranboo disappears off into the far corners of the server, accompanied by the two men Dream himself couldn’t defeat.  

He reaches behind his head, unclipping the bitch mask.  It falls to the obsidian-laden ground, soundless.  

“And scene!”

Dream stands up to stretch out his joints, letting a few stagehands swarm forward to take off his trademark green sweatshirt carefully and to retrieve the mask.  He scratches at the bit of dark fuzz on his chin, eyes gliding across familiar faces until they landed on three huddled bodies.  

Tubbo looks down at his feet upon making eye contact, frowning slightly in his Snowchester outfit.  Tommy grunts a hello, offering no sort of verbal acknowledgement to the man in front of him.  Ranboo slouches behind the two others, scratching with one finger behind his ear.  

Dream walks over to the three kids, ignoring Callahan’s sign to walk over to him.  The green man opens his arms out without noise, a frown of his own etched into his face.  Tommy is the first one to move into the embrace, resting his chin on Dream’s shoulder and hugging from underneath the other’s arms.  

“I hate that mask so mu-ch,” Tommy’s voice breaks as he bites his lower lip, scowling into the side of Dream’s neck to keep his emotions together.  Dream closes the hug in on the blond, patting his head quietly.  He sways slightly, trying to help Tommy calm down as his own chest flipped and squeezed from guilt.  

They were kids.  Regardless of the fact that they were actors, such heavy angst was sure to affect them out of character.  

Ranboo wrings his hands together, looking from side to side before at Dream.  He itches to move forward but he knew that Dream and Tommy had a bond unshared by anyone within the show; he didn’t want to interrupt anything.  Dream notices, though, and opens up his other arm to let Ranboo into the hug.  

Ranboo lays his forehead against the top of Dream’s head, sighing softly as he steadied his breathing.  Ranboo reaches a hand out behind him towards Tubbo, waiting for the shorter boy to take it.  

Tubbo sniffles, wiping at his eyes before accepting the outstretched hand.  Dream leans his head against the side of Tommy’s once Tubbo was in the hug, letting the boys calm themselves down with the fact that Dream wasn’t all the mask, err, at least, out of character Dream.  

Wilbur watches from beside Awesamdude, frowning against his best intentions to remain positive while on set.  Nobody stood near the four males, letting them have a bit of privacy.  Wilbur’s frown deepens when he senses Sam on his side, he too watching the four.  

“I hate what I did to them four so much,” Wilbur sighs, “but you have to have a villain.”

“At least Dream acknowledges the fact that the boys are scared of that fucking mask,” Sam curses, gritting his teeth together.  Despite it all still being an act for the screen, Tommy had grown considerably close to the American man, eventually warming up to him enough to call him during the middle of the night if he woke up from nightmares of smiley faces, discs, and fire.  At least two nights a week, Sam was stopping by the best friends’ house with food in one hand and ready for a hug with the other.  

Wilbur hums, watching Ranboo tug Tubbo away into a breakroom.  Tommy stayed glued to Dream, quiet.  Sam looks over at the British man before striding forward, sidestepping around other people and a mob before reaching Dream and Tommy.  Sam places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, guiding him away from his friend and to cling to Sam inside.  

Tommy waves goodbye to Dream, avoiding eye contact, as Sam trailed after the two other boys.  

Dream stood motionless in the corner of the prison, dressed in a plain white shirt and black pants.  For that previous scene, he wasn’t meant to be in his jumpsuit.  Dream lifts a hand to his face, shielding his eyes as the crewhands clean up set and pack up their cameras to leave the prison. 

Dream exhales through his mouth slowly, dropping his hand to see a weak smile facing him.  The green man chokes up on his words, his dirty blond hair covering his watery eyes as he nods towards the person before him.

Puffy wraps her arms around Dream’s torso, hugging the man as he leaned into the embrace and did his best to not cry.

Dream wasn’t perfect, quaking after a few minutes of holding everything in.  Puffy took it all, letting Dream use her just as Dream let the boys use him.  Comfort.

This job sucked sometimes.

Chapter Text

“Tubbo!”

“Tommy!” Tubbo calls back, not looking up from his book, though he held it upside down.  He flips the page, nodding at the flipped words.  His shoulders are roughly shaken by two large hands, grabbing the boy’s attention finally.

Tommy had light eyebags under his eyes, his hair not brushed through and sleep still in the corners of his eyes.  Tubbo makes a disgusted noise, pushing Tommy away from him to go back to the upside down book.  Tommy groans, dropping into a squat to talk in hushed voice.

Tubbo raises an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the boy to go off.

“Why did you turn off my alarm!?”

There it is.

“I have no clue what you mean by that,” Tubbo replies smoothly, finally flipping his book to its right side.  “Don’t you remember?  You unplugged your alarm clock to charge your phone but never plugged it back in.  I told you to but you didn’t listen.” His words had bits of sass attached to them, not too much to be rude but enough for Tommy to frown at himself.  

“Yeah, well, you got up at the sa-“

“Tom.”

Tommy freezes.  Tubbo chuckles evilly, wiping close his comms when he spots a tall form standing in the breakroom’s doorway.  The man had his arms crossed in front of his torso, disappointment covering his face.  Had his mouth not been a flat line, he probably would’ve looked pissed.  

Tommy looks over his shoulder, hanging his head as he waves halfheartedly towards Tubbo.  “If I die, all my Startoozes go to you.”

Tubbo lets the door close before answering: “Don’t actually die.”

Tommy may not have a say over that fate.

The teenager grapples with Wilbur’s hand on his ear, tugging him towards a group of older men all talking amongst each other.  Wilbur was not in a good mood, and Tommy didn’t really know why that concerned him.  Sure, Tommy slept in, but other people sleep in and it’s not such a big dea-

“Tommy, you do remember that you had a interview this morning, right?” Philza greets the boy, turning around with his own face of anger facing the boy.  Tommy opens his mouth to speak, but Philza cuts him off early, “You have responsibilities, Tommy, you have a job.  You can’t be flaking out on this sort of things.”

Manifold exhales heavily from behind the blond man, stepping out.  “Phil’s got a point,” he relents, closing his eyes behind his glasses before opening them with a glare.  “Any one of us would gladly be in your shoes if you don’t want this job, Tommy.  You sometimes act like you don’t want it.”

GeorgeNotFound looked over from behind Dream, the green man regarding Tommy without any placeable emotion on his face.  The British man behind him held a small snarl.  

Wilbur, first and foremost, simply looked disappointed.  

Tommy looks down at his sneakers, battered, letting the adults wash him over with comments of envy and condescension.  Philza and Manifold led the scolding, George eventually jumping in for snarks.  Philza seemed to try and be teaching the boy what was expected of him now, but jealously fell out of Manifold’s mouth like a waterfall while George just liked to stir the pot. 

Wilbur judged Tommy silently, his hold on the boy’s ear forgotten.  His silence hurt as much as Dream’s did, Tommy unable to even look at either of their shoes.  His slouch had become more profound with each comment, curling in himself.  By the time Dream had neared the small group to stand next to Wilbur, Tommy’s hands covered his ears as he grimaced with each voice that violated his ears.  

“You can’t act like a child anymore.”

“Anyone would kill to be as successful as you.”

“The interview can be rescheduled but it looks bad on you.”

“What will happen when you get older and this behavior doesn’t change?”

“You should’ve let literally anyone else handle the interview.  We’re accomplished too.”

“Just go home, Tommy.”

“I think that’s enough, George.” 

Tommy’s eyes widen from where they were slowly squinting close, his hands floating just above his ears.  An arm had fallen loosely around his shoulders, a grounder to a protective force.  He looks up, seeing only pink.  

Technoblade blows out steam from his nostrils, the breath curling below his chin.  Manifold backs up, scowling at the mob.  “This conversation doesn’t concern you, Techno,” the sharp-tongued British man hisses, clenching and unclenching his hands.  

Technoblade notices the tension the other man was feeling, doing his best to smile around his pig-built head.  “Is someone upset that a piglin and a child have more clout than you?  Also, mind laying off the guilt-tripping and everything?  He’s still a child, regardless of his occupation.  I don’t think you’d appreciate it very much if a bunch of adults decided to badmouth your teenage self, Jack.” Manifold struggles for words, but Philza bit his tongue once his old friend entered the conversation.  George had taken the initial comment from Technoblade and stepped behind Dream, huffing.

“Come on, Tommy.  We don’t speak to poor people,” Technoblade snickers as he says his line for an upcoming special episode, rubbing his hand along Tommy’s back as he navigated the quiet boy away from the other humans.  Hearing a footstep behind him, Technoblade looks over his shoulder with a look that could kill.

Wilbur stops moving, looking down at the hand that held Tommy’s ear not too long ago.  He closes it into a fist, looking up to see Technoblade lead Tommy out of the studio.

“Fresh air always help me calm down,” Technoblade explains, sitting underneath a tall spruce tree.  Tommy laid on his back nearby, a hand outstretched out to the sky.  Rays of sunlight peek through his fingers, painting his face in golden stripes before he let his hand fall to the ground.  

Tommy is silent, pulling up grass from the ground and tossing it away from him.

“None of that was your fault, you know,” Technoblade attempts to converse again.  Why was he, the socially-awkward piglin brute, the one trying to talk to a human teenager with an attitude?  Technoblade senses movement in the forest, but continues anyway.  “You’re just a kid.”

“But Phil, Jack, even George, they’re-“

“Tommy, I know a thing or two about self-doubt.  I got voices in my head that embody that, and no, I don’t mean my chat,” Technoblade grunts, turning his head to the left to see a light green hoodie moving in the dark green and brown spruce forest.  For someone who was a prize-winning speedrunner before becoming an actor, Dream fucking sucked at camouflage.  “Phil’s looking out for you, Jack’s annoying, and George is a little shit.” Technoblade ignored the very obvious scoff to the left. 

“The last thing you need on your plate is self-doubt.  If anyone, even Wilbur, gets upset at you again, just message me,” Technoblade offers, moving his legs away from their straddle and close to each other.  Tommy doesn’t look up when dry grass is crushed underneath feet, seeing a head of dirty blond hair bobbing in his peripheral before disappearing as Dream sat down near Technoblade’s left side.  Dream pulls his legs up to his chest, not quite leaning into the piglin, but being there for company.

“Wilbur yelling doesn’t scare me,” Tommy mumbles in a weak-willed voice.  “He just gets disappointed.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him then, for not understanding that everything will not go like how he wants it to go,” Technoblade replies, drawing a claw through the dirt near his thigh.  Dream watches the earth fall apart under Technoblade’s hand, marveling all the strength of such a small motion.

Tommy flips onto his side, facing Technoblade and Dream with a sigh.  He turns onto his stomach, folding his arms underneath his head as a makeshift pillow before closing his eyes.  Tommy inhales heavily, exhaling after a few seconds.

“I think he’ll need a few hours off,” Technoblade stage-whispers to Dream as the green man worked on pulling Technoblade’s loose hair into a ponytail.  Dream nods silently, running a hand from the top of Technoblade’s head and down to the ends of his hair.  The action elicits a soft hum from the piglin, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders relax.

“The day’ll have to do,” Dream supplies.

Chapter Text

“Are.. are you sure he lives here?”

“Well, that’s what his address was last time I checked.”

“I thought piglins didn’t like heights,” Dream whispers to his companion, staring up at a skyscraper that faded the further it poked into the sky.  It seemed to go on forever, or really, fifty levels.  The entire thing was shaped out of metal and glass by Minecraft’s finest builders; it wasn’t uncommon to see Hermits or hardcore builders floating around popular cities, such as this one, busying themselves to help their fellow citizens.

Hypixel, of course, was one of the most advanced cities in Minecraft.  

The city known for its battlegames, between Bedwars and Skywars being broadcasted live to every chunk of Minecraft, and the underground fighting pits that happened adjacent to the -war games.  Hypixel was extremely versatile and accepting to warriors of all shapes and sizes and species.  

The city in itself, away from what bizarre entertainment it offered, had been built upon for so long it had a population of several million.  Apartment buildings created a dense city, full of people flying in elytra, traversing in minetrains, and driving down the street to their favorite coffee shops in minecarts.  It had every aspect of a city that many Minecrafters grew up in from their home servers, but Hypixel was just so— Minecraft, that it was preferred over other home servers.  

Besides, Hypixel had some very daunting residents, especially in the specially-designed buildings for their best fighters.  

A man with a stem and a leaf attached to it growing out of his head regards Dream and Wilbur with a raised eyebrow as he stood in conversation with a bicolor-haired man.  Both were rather short, different in complexion but similar in the looks they gave the two passing visitors.  

Wilbur stops at the front desk, showing the receptionist an address.  After receiving a stink eye and a question of who he was, Wilbur introduced himself and his companion.  The receptionist, flustered, immediately made the connection.

“Very sorry, sirs.  I hope you find him in a good mood!” She waves off the two men, who take the number card and start off towards one of the bubble elevators.  The receptionist, unnamed, waves herself with a hand.  

The higher the pair swam up, the more familiar faces Dream spotted; Wilbur, not so much, but he never held a career in competitive games.  Dream waves out towards Purpled, seeing the teenager strolling towards the down elevator with a tanned girl on one side of him and a short boy, also tanned, on his other.  

Purpled looks up at the sudden movement, seeing Dream’s feet before the man swims up the elevator further.  Wilbur was holding his breath, following at a slower pace; Purpled chuckles, shaking his head as the curly-haired actor did his best to catch up to the green man.

“Was that the Dream?” Wallibear whispers, albeit loudly, to Purpled as Astelic opened the door up.  

“And Wilbur Soot, I think,” the girl added before heading down the elevator, her purple-streaked hair billowing behind her head. 

Purpled rolls his eyes with a smug smile, as though the fact he knew the two famed actors wasn’t something to brag out.  “Yeah, we’re kind of best friends.” But Purpled would never give up the chance to brag.  

Wallibear makes a noise of amazement, looking up the upward bubble elevator before being roughly pushed into the downward elevator.  

Wilbur smiles sheepishly at TimeDeo and Clxvxn, seeing the two go down the elevator just as they were still heading upward.  Deo makes a confused face while Calvin waves energetically, bubbles floating up from his mouth as he screamed a hello.  Deo bats at his friend’s foot, swimming further down the elevator.  

Dream chuckles, feeling the last of his air leave his lungs just when he saw the end of the elevator.  Thanking in his mind, Dream pulls himself over the edge and throws himself into the movement sensor that triggered a heat fan to insta-dry their person and clothes.  

Wilbur kicks Dream out of the fan, the man tumbling to the floor and landing on his ass.  Running a hand through his drying curls, Wilbur laughs as Dream stands up and brushes himself off.  The green man turns around to face the hallway—or what he thought would be a hallway.  

Dream faces a single door, surrounded by an iron wall.  The door was iron.  

“Is it a prison or an apartment?” Dream mumbles under his breath, taking a step forward to knock on the door.  The iron hurts his knuckles, his hand falling after three single knocks.  

Wilbur stands behind Dream, the pair staring at the iron door with no movement or even noise sounding from behind it.  The two exchange uneasy looks over Dream knocks again.  

The door opens up slowly, quiet curses coming out from the little gap.  Barking erupts, and both men cringe at the high-pitched noise.  It’s silenced to little yips after some clattering of metal locking, and the door widens fully.  Ruby red eyes fitted behind rectangular glasses look over the two visitors before recognition floods into them.

“Wilbur?  Dream?  What are you doing here?”

“.. so you’re not here for a rematch?” Technoblade clarifies, crossing a leg over his thigh as he sat on the loveseat in his living room.  Wilbur was playing with Floof while Dream did most of the talking at the moment, seated on the couch; the former jumped in to only add comments and explanations.  

Technoblade’s apartment was a weird mix of modesty and egotistical.  It had very simply designed furniture with stainless steel appliances visible in the kitchen; the dining table sat four, and candles glowed a dim yellow from their trays.  

Yet, contrasting the monotone palette, there were splashes of red, pink, and gold everywhere.  The utensils were all engraved with gold accents.  There was a red blanket on the back of the gray sofa, pink and white cushions accompanying it.  The gold decorative pieces were all reflective.  

Dream gawks at the piglin before shaking his head wildly.  “Techno, you won that fair and square, and it really wasn’t all just a movie.  I don’t think I’ll be able to live past the ripe age of twenty one if I challenge you again,” Dream jokes, rolling his arm around to loosen it.  

Technoblade joins in with his own guttural chuckle, leaning his chin into a fist.  The chuckling ceases as he begins to speak again, “But seriously, you two.  I just came home from Skywars, I’m tired.  What is it that you want without the whole avoiding the creeper in the room?”

Dream looks over at his companion, elbowing the British man when Wilbur didn’t look up from Floof.  The white dog was sat on Wilbur’s lap, tongue lolling, when Wilbur looks over with raised eyebrows at the other two males expectantly.  He hums a question, tilting his head before realizing they were waiting on him.  The man flushes, clearing his throat before dropping into a more serious tone.  

“You know of the Dream SMP, of course.”

“It’s boring,” Technoblade yawns, revealing canines that were smaller than his large tusks that sat on either side of his snout.  

“Thank you, I’ve done the entire scriptwriting so far,” Wilbur sasses, knowing Technoblade could detect the sarcasm in his voice.  As expected, Technoblade laughs lowly, fixing his position in his chair.  “But we wanted to come talk to you about it.”

“And why does it concern me?” Technoblade returns, eyes lidded with exhaustion.  

“We want you to join the cast and act.. professionally.”

Technoblade’s eyes fly open so fast that Dream felt the whiplash.  The piglin raises his eyebrows, looking between the door and then the two men sat on the couch before him.  He stands up, brushing his blouse and pants before clapping his hands.  “Well, it’s been.. nice, you two, but I think the joke’s run its course and you should head on home now..”

Dream stands up.  Their height difference, his and Technoblade, was unearthly.  Technoblade’s pierced ears just barely grazed the ceiling of the apartment, while Dream, standing flatfoot at six foot three, was still a foot plus away from it.  Dream walks past the piglin, standing in front of the doorway to keep Technoblade from leaving or the two humans being forced out.  

Technoblade frowns at the sight.  “I’ve beaten you once, Dream.  Kidnapping me isn’t going to go well for you.”

“It’s not kidnapping!  We wouldn’t make the trek all the way to the middle of Hypixel just to joke around about this, Techno.” Wilbur too stands up, Floof jumping down from his arms and running over to Technoblade, promptly sitting in between the piglin’s feet.  

“The next episodes call for a character that has battle experience, as well, even though you’ve had limited acting experience in the past, you’ve had plenty of battle experience.  Usually, we’d just bring in any other actor to do their best, but we, me, the director, and Dream, all feel like you’d play the role of a fierce general the best!” Wilbur explains, making little jazz hands in the air after speaking.

Technoblade blows steam out of his nose.  “It’s because I’m a piglin, isn’t it?”

Wilbur’s smile drops immediately, facing Technoblade’s back as the latter walked into his kitchen; Floof trailed after his hooves.  “Sorry, I don’t feel like being put on display like a collectible to get Hypixelians to watch your show, Wilbur, Dream,” Technoblade nods towards the two men before looking into his fridge before slamming it closed.  He’s silent.

Dream looks at Wilbur with a finger raised to his lips.  Wilbur ignores it, taking a tentative step forward.  

Technoblade’s right ear swivels to hear behind him like an owl.  The piglin rolls his shoulders, flexing muscles visible through the white blouse.  Ironic, that such a creature of destruction and anger could wear such regal clothing.  Wilbur swallows nervously.  

“Go find Deo.  I think he’ll enjoy acting again.  He liked Earth enough.”

“Deo isn’t right for the position, just cause.”

“Fine, TapL, then.  The kid’s got a kick in him I don’t.”

“TapL, not him either, too energetic.”

“You already have Purpled, don’t you?”

“Purpled’s a teenager, it doesn’t work out.”

“Get Pigicial.  He’s not a piglin or even a hybrid, but he’ll do, won’t he?”

“No.”

“And you excuse them all because why?” Technoblade grumbles, tossing a load of bread onto his kitchen counter.  He untwists the tie absentmindedly with one finger, listening as Wilbur and Dream took turns justifying why all of Technoblade’s choices wouldn’t work.  

“Techno, in acting, not everyone can play every role,” Wilbur sighs, rubbing at his forehead.  “I get that your experience with Earth was.. unique.”

“Wilbur, do you know how much shit I got from that show simply because I won?” Technoblade curses, furrowing his eyebrows towards the British man.  “Or even Coliseum, Dream,” he turns his focus to the green man with a scowl.  “You have millions of fangirls and boys and others gushing over you to win, and when you didn’t win, and mind you it was a movie so it all came in at once, my socials blew up so much I couldn’t touch my laptop for at least two weeks because of what kept popping up the second I opened it.”

Dream winces at the thought of Technoblade cowering in his room, covering his ears with his laptop vibrating nonstop nearby.  Technoblade whimpers, pulling his knees to his chest as he throws out a pillow to cover the laptop.  It does nothing to stop the incessant messages of hate pouring in.  

“Go find an actor that can deal with the heat of being one, you two,” Technoblade squeezes the piece of bread in one hand before realizing what he was doing.  Technoblade’s ears flatten to his head, rolling the ball of bread away from him.  “I don’t think I’ll be good for me.”

“But the clout,” Dream chimes, a last resort.

Technoblade’s ears perk up, but his body doesn’t react just as his ears did.  “I don’t really care, Dream.”

Dream watches the ears to see if they’ll react to the piglin’s words.  They don’t, staying upright at attention.  Dream fakes a sigh, gesturing for Wilbur to follow h.  “Fine, fine, Techno.  Be with it as you well.  You have both of our comm numbers if you change your mind,” Dream relents, pulling Wilbur out by the wrist when the British man tried to say goodbye to Floof.  

Wilbur casts a frown after Technoblade when the iron door blocks their view of each other.  Wilbur’s mouth upturns into a smile seconds after, looking at Dream, who was smiling similarly.  “He can’t turn down clout.”

“Clout is like gold for that guy,” Dream replies.  “It’s irresistible.”

Sure enough, a week later, Dream woke up to a single photo in his comms of a red suitcase with a crown sticker and a blur of a white dog running nearby with a leash attached to a collar.  The caption ‘do you have a room’ was attached.

/msg Technoblade: Of course :)

Technoblade: this isn’t for you.  some friends convinced me.  I’m risking my entire Hypixelian career for this.

/msg Technoblade: ofc they did, I owe you

Technoblade: damn right you do.

Chapter Text

A smiling man turns to the camera, clapping his hands together with the crowd that sat behind it.  He’s done this for so many years it seemed like second nature to Ssundee; he tilts his head to the side slightly to really sell the smile since his glasses covered his eyes.  

“Hey, what’s going on, Minecraft?” Ssundee greets with his millionaire dollar smile after getting the cue to start.  The crowd behind him claps politely as signs told them to do.  “Welcome back to Ssundee’s Friday Night Live, we have some very special guests with us, ain’t that right?” He continues on, reading from no script after he’s memorized his lines over the past years.  

Ssundee swivels in his chair so the camera was catching a three quarters view of his face, the camera angling to welcome in the guests on the show.  It was six of them all seated in cushioned chairs, the crowd clapping and cheering as Tommy waves his hands wildly towards the camera.  “Hi Mom and Dad!”

“Tommy, stop it,” Wilbur scolds next to the boy, lightly slapping at the teenager to settle down.  He doesn’t go down without an eye roll, leading to more laughs from the crowd and a laugh from Ssundee as well.  

“These are some of the main actors from the hit show, Dream SMP!  Do you guys want to introduce yourselves to the people watching?”Ssundee offers, leaning back in his chair and fiddling with a pen.  

“Well, since I already spoke, I’ll go!  Hey boys!.. and everyone else, I’m TommyInnit, and I play, well, TommyInnit on the Dream SMP!” Tommy, dressed in his signature red-white shirt and jeans, smiles brightly at the camera while pointing to himself.  “I’m sixteen years old and from a British home server!”

Next to him sat Wilbur, who, after receiving a small gesture from Tommy to go next, sighs before looking up at the camera with a professional comfortability.  “Hey, I’m Wilbur Soot.  I am the lead scriptwriter for the Dream SMP, and act as my own character by the same name, as well as his ghost.  I’m also from a British home server, but I’m not a child,” Tommy slaps out towards the man, causing laughter, “Instead, I’m twenty four.” Wilbur waves politely once he’s done, smiling with no teeth.  He wore a familiar yellow sweater with black skinny jeans, his hair caught in a maroon beanie.  

Above Wilbur sat with his legs crossed in front of him was JSchlatt.  Dressed in a blue sweater otherwise identical to Wilbur’s, JSchlatt wore dark ripped jeans and a bomber jacket hung over the side of his chair.  The ram-hybrid pulls his Yankee hat off of his head when it’s his turn to go, letting it still on his lap.  “What’s up?  I’m JSchlatt, the best villain of all time, says the Craftys,” with a smirk, JSchlatt gets a few whoops of agreement from the crowd.  “I’m an actual hybrid, the only one on the Dream SMP cast, and play the dictator JSchlatt!” JSchlatt’s blinding smile flashes.  “I’m twenty one and from an American home server.”

Passing the baton, Technoblade clears his throat and shakes himself from his tense position.  He raises his eyebrows at a few claps from the crowd, guessing that they were Hypixel fans or natives.  “Hallo, I’m Technoblade, a.. uhm, a piglin brute from the eh.. the nether.  You may know me from Coliseum or Hypixel, but I play King Technoblade on the Dream SMP.  Oh, and also I’m twenty one,” Technoblade introduces himself with a little wave, avoiding eye contact with the camera for long and instead focusing on the ground before it.  He wore his usual formal attire, a white blouse, dull black braies, his royal cape and a crown on his head.  

The last in the top row was Quackity, who was lounging back in his chair and flicks up his hair in hello.  “Hola!” Quackity begins with his drawn-out Mexican accent, relishing in laughs and claps from the crowd.  “I’m Alex Quackity!  I play the duck-hybrid Quackity on the Dream SMP, but like Schlatt said earlier, I’m no hybrid.” He fakes a pout, drawing awws from the crowd.  “I’m from a Mexican home server, and I just turned twenty like, two months ago!” He caps off his introduction with a shit-eating grin, his beanie and navy jacket present with his look.  

Last but not least, Dream sits up in his chair to greet the camera with a white face mask on, hiding the lower part of his face.  A mic was in his hands.  “Hi everybody!  I’m Dream Wastaken, the namesake behind the Dream SMP.  I’ve been in various shows and movies beforehand, and I’m also a retired speedrunner.  I play my character Dream!  I’m from an American home server, and I’m also twenty one.” Dream was dressed in a green sweatshirt with a shoulder strap and light ripped jeans.  

Ssundee smiles back at the camera once all the introductions are done, shuffling a few cards in his hands.  “Well, there they are, folks!  Six actors from the Dream SMP.” All six males smile to some degree.  

“Well, some of our viewers have submitted questions for you men to answer,” Tommy seems to buff out his chest at being called a man.  “And I have a few of my own, so let’s get right on, shall we?” Receiving nods, Ssundee smiles before flipping over the first index card to read the question.   

“Here’s an easy one.  When did you all join the server, i.e., join the show?”

Dream takes it first: “Well, I created the server before it was really even a show, so I’ve been on it since the beginning with was in.. April, May-ish of last year.”

Tommy was bouncing his chair, but let Wilbur go next.  “I joined in late July,” Wilbur says without any more details than needed.  

Tommy took the details over for him, “Well, I want to point out that in the Dream SMP timeline, there’s a Before Tommy era and an After Tommy era!” Tommy laughs, joined by Ssundee and the crowd.  “So I’m special!  I did join, though, July 4th!  Big day for all those loser Americans-“ the Americans sitting near him all make faces, “- but while they were celebrating happiness or shit, wait, can I curse?  Oops,” Tommy carries on without getting an answer, “I was breaking rules and being a crime boy!”

“Stealing my bit,” Wilbur rolls his eyes.  

“Your bit was old!” Tommy counters.

Technoblade interrupts his two friends, his leg bobbing on the riser his chair was on from nerves.  “I joined late September after Dream and Wilbur pulled me out of peaceful Hypixel,” he says sarcastically, earning laughs.

“Ooh, peaceful Hypixel, yeah,” Ssundee himself laughs, having to jump in sometimes as he was the host of the show.  “I have a follow up question for you, Technoblade, but Schlatt, Quackity, your answers?”

“I joined after the War of Independance for L’Manberg, which is maybe halfway through season one.  L’Manberg didn’t want Quackity’s luxurious piece of ass, though,” Quackity wipes a fake tear from his eye, ignoring gawks from Tommy and Wilbur.

“But I did!” JSchlatt laughs loudly, reaching over the slightly-shaking piglin to high-five Quackity.  Falling back into his own chair, JSchlatt folds his hands over his chest.  “I joined a bit after Wilbur did,” JSchlatt teases his words by nudging the back of Wilbur’s head.  The British man whips around with a hand to shove the leg away, but the ram-hybrid continues.  “But someone banned me from the server within mere hours!”

“I didn’t know you!” Dream rebuts the other, throwing his hands up into the air.  “You appeared out of thin air, I’m still convinced you hacked in!”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” JSchlatt snickers.

Ssundee looks towards Dream with interest dancing behind his sunglasses.  “Did you actually ban him, Dream?”

The green man sheepishly scratches at his neck.  “I did, only temporarily, though.  Wilbur convinced me to whitelist him when he realized Schlatt would be useful to the plot.” Said man smiles smugly, resting his head between JSchlatt’s Timms.  

Ssundee nods, letting the crowd laugh before turning towards Technoblade, patiently waiting.  The piglin was drawing on the back of his gloved hand with a claw, zoned out, until Quackity gently nudged his elbow and gestures towards Ssundee.  Technoblade looks up, snapping back to reality.  

“How did you come to fame, Technoblade?  In all seriousness, yes I know you from Hypixel, but I didn’t think you acted too much,” Ssundee tries, resting his chin against a hand as he waited for an answer.

“Uh,” Technoblade replies, humming before figuring out what he had to say.  “I came straight from the nether and into Hypixel, pretty much.  I’m.. I’m a brute, so we have advanced fighting techniques that I used in Hypixel to further myself up the ranks.  Now, I have the Hypixelian crown,” he points up towards the golden crown that sat comfortably on his head.  

“And as for acting.. ehh.. I did SMPEarth with Wilbur, I’ve done Championships, do those count?” Ssundee shrugs, letting the piglin continue.  “Coliseum, I think that one counts, and that’s about it for acting-wise.”

Ssundee nods his head, happy with his answer.  “Do you like acting?”

Technoblade doesn’t reply verbally, only nodding his head a few times.  

Not pressing the matter, Ssundee flips another card, leaving Technoblade to fall back in his chair with a relieved sigh.  The action sparks some laughs from his colleagues and the crowd.  Ssundee purses his lips at the question, looking up at the six actors before reading it.  

“Has there ever been a time where you’ve legitimately cried while acting?”

“Make time plural and you have your answer,” Quackity quips easily, knowing very well the question would make Tommy and Dream uncomfortable.  “It’s an emotional show, y’know?  The emotion is real sometimes.  If crying does happen and it gets to the point where the person is unable to continue acting because of their emotions, we do take a break.”

Ssundee looks at Wilbur expectantly, wanting him to answer some questions too, but the latter just gestures towards Quackity with a nod.  Tommy sinks in his chair, trying to play it all off by focusing on the veins in his wrists.  

Ssundee takes it, flipping the next card with a smile still on his face.  

“What are the plans for season three?” A wave of chatter rises from the crowd as they gossiped about their own theories.  

Wilbur, seeing as he was the scriptwriter, waits for silence before speaking.  “Well, we can’t say anything quite yet, but the trailer is supposed to be out soon!” Wilbur reveals with a pleasant smile.  “We’ve been working hard on the first episode of season three, and the script is being finalized for the rest of the season now.”

“It’s going to be epic!” Tommy jumps in, laughing.  “You guys are gonna love it!”

“I bet we will!” Ssundee entertains the young man with a laugh of his own.  “How do you like acting at such a young age, Mr Innit?” He pokes, chuckling as Tommy scrambled to sit up properly.

“It’s a dream come true!” Tommy bursts into his blinding smile.  “I’ve looked up to every single one of the men I’m sitting next to right now since I was in still in secondary, honest, so the reality that I get to wake up every day and work with them is really something!” He laughs, turning away from Wilbur’s tickling hand with a shriek.  

“The bond even off-set is really family-like,” Dream explains as Tommy runs around and ducks behind Dream’s chair to escape Wilbur.  “Everyone gets along better than we could’ve asked for, and despite some bumps, we haven’t had too much problems!”

“It’s interesting,” Ssundee begins, letting Tommy return to his seat first with a glare towards Wilbur.  JSchlatt snickers, kicking at Wilbur’s head again.  “How you all get along so great together, yes.”

He looks down to flip another card.  

“Oh, has anyone ever gotten hurt while on set?”

“Mentally or physically?” JSchlatt chuckles to himself with a shake of his head.  “Just kidding.  I myself have almost died three times.” The crowd gasps loudly at the information, but the ram-hybrid settles them down by gesturing to himself.  “Hey, I’m still here!  I’m no Glatt yet!” He shouts the name as he did in an episode or two of the show, causing a ripple effect of laughter.

“But yeah, Ssundee, there’s been some accidents, but never anything life-threatening since my little swim in some lava, thankfully,” JSchlatt closes the question, not letting anyone else speak on that matter.  

Technoblade looked thankful, to say the least.

“Let’s get one more in before a quick commercial break, and then we’ll be back just to take,” Ssundee proposes, the six males nodding at the deal.  Ssundee flips and reads the next card, smiling to himself before looking up.  

“Are bloopers coming out any time soon?”

“You do not want to see the bloopers,” Wilbur breaks out of his character to clarify with an awkward laugh, Tommy laughing hysterically in his chair next to him.  “They’re.. they’re rough, let’s say,” Wilbur tries.  

“You’re just embarrassed over the fact you forgot your lines like a million times,” Quackity teases, smirking at the crowd when they laugh.

“I had the most lines out of everyone in the first season!” Wilbur tries to excuse himself, cheeks flushing red from embarrassment.  JSchlatt knocks against Wilbur’s shoulder, getting him back in line.

“And who’s fault is that?” The ram-hybrid counters.  Wilbur blabbers, unable to form a proper sentence as he hurtled the crowd further into laughter.  

“Well, I have some bloopers but they’re not that funny,” Technoblade chuckles weakly, looking off towards Dream to hopefully continue his thought so he wasn’t silent.  

Dream takes the hint, perhaps in the wrong way.  “Techno fell off the first take of the mountain scene between us two during the Manberg-Pogtopia arc.”

“I did not!” Technoblade roars, glaring towards the green man and the rest of the people gathered as they fell into unison laughter.  Had his fur not already been pink, he would’ve been blushing.  Technoblade covers his face with his hands, giving Dream a slight middle finger when Dream pats Technoblade’s calf a few times.  

“Did he really?” Ssundee coaxes the answer out of Dream by continuous poking, smirking at the mental image of Technoblade falling off the thin mountain and into the water below.

Dream nods, holding a finger to his lips.  The crowd bursts once again into laughter, joined by Ssundee, Tommy, and JSchlatt.  Dream wraps an arm around Technoblade’s calf, holding on to the pant leg as a sort of hug.  Only when Ssundee turns back to the camera did Dream let go.  

“We’re going to take a small break, everyone!  Let these guys get used to the environment before throwing them into the deep end,” Ssundee grins wickedly while the six actors flash smiles, trying to hide a bit of uneasiness at the idea of what was to come.  “See y’all in five!”

The cameraman signals for the cut after the crowd clapped as a sign commanded.  Ssundee, without missing a beat, turns towards the actors with a host-worthy smile.  “Not so bad, ain’t it?”

“You’re still signing my Ssundee Startooz regardless,” Tommy replies with a little smirk, trying to find a place in his chair to get comfortable before settling down.  Dream covers his face with his hands while JSchlatt barks a laugh at Tommy’s determination.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you want, kid,” Ssundee chuckles, running a hand through his hair.  “I have to give some sort of compensation for you guys carrying the entertainment since the old generation’s retirement, y’know?”

Chapter Text

Philza didn’t sign up to be the babysitter for today’s adventure.  It just sort of.. happened.

Maybe committing arson near children wasn’t a good idea.

Maybe Philza wasn’t a good babysitter.

“Tubbo, Ranboo, come on!” Philza shouts into the burning wooden mansion, cupping his hands around his mouth.  Eret stood nearby, their glasses reflecting the flames that danced higher and higher into the sky.  They hadn’t even set a lot of wood on fire; this was spreading abnormally fast, and the two teenagers they had arrived with were still inside.

Philza receives no answer, not even a comm message.  Running a hand through his hair, he looks back to the camera before at Eret.  “If they don’t get out in the next minute, we’ll go in.”

Eret nods, wringing their hands worriedly in front of their lap.  “Tubbo and Ranboo are.. resourceful, they should be finding their way out now,” Eret reasons to themself and Philza, reaching up to run a hand through their curls.  “Surely they are.”

Philza looks at the other British man.  He could feel anxious gazes of crewhands and Alyssa staring into his neck; none of them had experience with house fires, regardless of the size.  Philza himself had very little experience, but he did used to be a hardcore crafter.  He had some idea on how to approach the burning mansion, but Tubbo and Ranboo could be anywhere in there.

Dark smoke billows into the clear sky, mucking it so densely Eret couldn’t see the sun.  Eret waves open their comms, typing away as their anxiety caused their breathing to speed up.

/msg Tubbo_ Ranboo where are you!?  the building is BURNING

Eret receives no answer.

“Shit,” Philza whispers, opening up his own comms to contact Callahan back in the main area of the Dream SMP.  Them four actors and a small camera crew with Alyssa had trekked across the nether roof to find non-ransacked woodland mansions in hopes of finding totems of undying.  It had been a very nice trip up until that point with karaoke and a little family dynamic.  Finally reaching the mansion, the totems, props, were found, but after Philza flicked some flint and steel together to reveal hidden chests, everything went backwards.  

Eret pulls out a bucket of water, staring down at it before up at the raging fire that was engulfing the mansion.  “Phil, I think we just need to let it burn down.”

“Are you crazy!?” Philza spits rabidly out of panic, hitting send before opening up Dream’s contact to see if he could fix some things with the engineering of the server around temporarily, perhaps stop fire from spreading or to slash out all active fire.  “Eret, they’re children!  They won’t survive, if the smoke doesn’t get them, the mansion is going to-“

“It’s falling.” Eret’s heart shatters on the ground when it hits it, the British man holding a hand over their chest.  “Phil, they’re- oh no, Phil, the roof-“

A deafening crack fills the air once Alyssa got on call with Dream.  Dream surely heard the noise, which was following by muffled screams.  Philza looks between Eret and the camera crew, reaching down to twist his robes’ belt tighter around his waist.  Philza hands Eret the props for the totems of undying he had on his person, hiding the fact he had real ones tucked in his inventory.  

“You may want to cut the tape,” Philza calls over his shoulder, using his robe as a makeshift mask over his nose and mouth before running towards the building.  He and Eret had escaped through a two block opening, which is where he ducks through to enter.  Eret watches worriedly, unable to form words of protest against the old man’s stupidity and risk.

The wall bursts into flames after the retired hardcore legend.

“Tubbo!!” Philza shouts, squinting his eyes through the thick smoke.  It was worse inside than outside, but that was with every building fire.  Taking his axe and driving it through a wall, Philza winces at the heat the wall gives off when he nears it.  “Ranboo!!”

Nobody replied as the roof creaks up above.

Philza chants a chorus of curses in his brain, pushing further into the mansion.  He forces open a door with a shoulder, his cloak sizzling from small burns.  The library was aflame, books burning; a sight from a nightmare as history was lost.  Philza’s breath hitches as smoke floods down his throat, sending him into a spiral of coughs.

“Tubbo!!  Ranboo!” Philza screams, hoping his voice echoed in the room and out.  He could only scream for so long, breathing in smoke with every single breath.  

“Help!”

Philza sticks his head up in the direction of the cry, stumbling out of the library and into the hall.  The red carpet was disintegrating before his eyes.  Philza could only run so far until the floor in front of him was missing as well.  He looks up, seeing a bedroom up ahead.  There’s movement; Philza pants out a cough of smoke, spitting out what was in his mouth before letting the fabric above his face finally drop.  

Philza pulls his sword into his offhand, twirling it to get its feel before backing up.  With his axe in his dominant hand, Philza takes a running start before leaping across the gape.  

The axe embeds itself in the floorboard, cracking it.  Philza’s sword vaporizes back into his inventory to pull himself up, rolling out of the way as wood planks collapse where the axe used to be.  Philza keeps the axe in his hand, slipping under a burning arch before reaching the bedroom.  He looks inside; the bed was ablaze.  

There’s a scream, and he sees a gray head; Philza brings the axe across his body, burying its head into the illager’s neck.  The illager falls to the ground, disappearing into a fit of black smoke with a moan.  An unloaded crossbow laid on the ground in its wake.

Two figures were crouched in the corner, one’s face covered by a suit jacket.  The other was slumped back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing on reflex.  The one with the jacket had brown hair and the other had bicolored.  Blood teased Philza’s nose, mixed with smoke.  

“Phil!” Tubbo cries, eyes streaming tears from the smoke exposure and definitely nothing else.  Tubbo looks back at Ranboo, trying to pull the other boy to his feat, but Ranboo was dead weight.  “Phil, help, please!” Tubbo adds desperately, looking back as the jacket that Philza could see now was tied around Tubbo’s head threatened to slip off.  

Philza spurs forward, dipping down near Ranboo’s side.  He hands Tubbo his axe, gesturing to the door as flames lapped at the tail of his robes.  “Go!” Philza orders, pointing to the door before coughing.  Tubbo strains a toothy frown, not wanting to seem so weak, but takes the weapon and brings it against the wall.  

Philza loops an arm underneath Ranboo’s shoulders, contemplating if he could carry the boy given his height.  Grimacing at the weight, Philza slips his other arm underneath Ranboo’s knees and does his best to lift up the other bridal-style.  Philza’s arms screamed protest; maybe Kristin was right about going back to working out.  

But then again, Philza didn’t spend five years and then some without contact from the civilized world for nothing.  

Tubbo collapses outside in the green after running ten or so blocks away from the mansion.  He tore the jacket away from his face, heaving and crying and coughing up smoke.  Eret, having been patrolling the perimeter, waiting for the three males to exit, saw the ashy boy to the side and ran over. 

Tubbo scratches at his burnt-red throat, voice hoarse as he tried to call Eret’s name.  The king falls to their knees next to the younger boy, using the inside of their cape to wipe soot off of Tubbo’s face and offering a water bucket for him to dump himself with.  The fire had melted the scar makeup on his cheek, his skin bright red from exposure.  

“Where’s Phil and Ranboo?” Eret asks the boy, not wanting to pressure him too much but they had to get an answer.

A choked sob escapes Tubbo as he gestures back into the building that once held Philza’s axe.  “Ranboo’s hurt.” That axe laid on the ground nearby, near the Tubbo-made entrance.  

“Phil!” Eret shouts, standing up from Tubbo to step cautiously towards the building.  

A green-white striped bucket hat is tossed out of the mansion.  A man falls out, crumbling to the ground with a figure held against his chest.  Philza huffs out smoke like he was an exhaust pipe, ash covering his clothing and face.  The tips of his hair were singed from the flames, his eyes watering and tears falling involuntarily.  

Eret takes the unconscious Ranboo from the old man, holding the slightly-taller teenager against their chest as Eret settled back down next to Tubbo.  Tubbo paws at Ranboo, using Eret’s wet cape to brush at Ranboo’s face; the makeup comes off in clumps, patches of peach skin revealed under black and white paint and blush.  The white undershirt on the teenager was stained red, a crossbow’s bolt sticking out of his chest; Eret minds not to irritate it.  

Philza pulls out a water bucket from his own inventory, pouring it over his head as he coughed some more.  The water flattens his hair to his head, soot dripping from water and onto his cloak and grass below.  Philza wipes the toxic water away from his eyes, covering them with a forearm.  

“Dream’s coming,” Eret whispers, running a hand through Ranboo’s golden hair after Tubbo peeled off the boy’s wig.  There were shouts from behind them, Alyssa running over frantically.  “We’re done fil-ming today.” Their voice cracks from anxiety.  

Philza collapses into a crewhand’s arms when he reached the old man, still coughing up smoke.  Eret keeps the two boys close to them, not letting crewhands or Alyssa pry the two away from their hands.  Philza’s body shakes in the crewhand’s arms, being laid down to be cared for where he sat.  

Eret closes their eyes—rocking Ranboo’s limp body back and forth on their lap and holding Tubbo to their side with an arm—as they let the noise of cackling fire, labored and struggling breathing, and hushed voices fill their ears.  

Chapter Text

Eret brandishes the sparkly, spiked platform boots in either hand with a smile, eyes closed as they faced the teenager.  “You came to the right place, Ranboo!” Eret smiles. 

Ranboo flashes an awkward smile.  “I should probably say now that my balance really isn’t too great..”

“No biggy!  I’ll teach you!”

Teaching couldn’t gone worse.

Tubbo had knocked Ranboo’s legs out from under him the second he saw his friend wobbling around on nine-inch platforms.  The golden blond had hit the grass with a dull thud, laying there with a dazed look in his eyes.  Tommy snorted so hard from laughing that his soda came up his nose, and it’s only been an hour since Eret started to help Ranboo get used to his new extensions.  

“Tubbo, let Ranboo be.” Eret waves off the shorter brunet dismissively, pulling Ranboo to his feet and then some.  They were at the entrance of Eret’s castle on the Dream SMP server, Tubbo dragging Tommy along for the ride after Ranboo asked for a friend to go with him.  Tubbo, the man of the hour as usual, stuck his tongue out at Eret and mimicked their words with his hand.  

“I don’t listen to people over the average national height,” Tubbo stinks with a small laugh.

“And I don’t usually make best friends out of those under the average national height, but here we are,” Tommy comments from near the bridge, sipping on his soda nonchalantly.  The boy shrieked out a yell when Tubbo threw a spoiled egg at him.  “Watch it!” Tommy shouts, peeking his head out from behind the rail before hiding when another egg went sailing past his head.  

Ranboo chuckles at his two friends, holding his arms out in a t-pose style as he tried to regain balance.  Eret holds their own hands up around Ranboo in case he fell again.  With Tubbo distracted, Ranboo was able to take a few more steps than usual before being back down on his ass, a cracked egg laying at the boy’s feet.

Eret looks up with a light glare behind their sunglasses, pointing to the opened chest that held all the eggs.  “Tubbo,” Eret says sternly, furrowing their eyebrows.  “Ranboo is trying to learn how to walk in platforms for his job,” Eret accents the word for emphasis, “and you’re being a very bad friend for stopping him.”

Tubbo grumbles, watching Ranboo scramble back to his feet.  “Eret, Ranboo’s now over a foot and a half taller than me.  I have a right and a duty as a citizen of Minecraft to bully him into submission.”

“No you don’t,” Eret snaps.

It was true; the nine-inch platforms gave Ranboo a boost to seven foot three, a height that could rival Technoblade, give or take a few inches.  Everything felt like looking from an eagle’s view for Ranboo; he could see the whole top of Tubbo’s head, and the latter had to angle his head to at least sixty degrees to look at Ranboo in the eyes.  

Tommy noisily slurps his soda, watching his two friends engage in a staring contest.  “Y’know, for a guy who plays a half enderman, you love eye contact.”

“Tommy, you suck,” Ranboo looks away to meet Tommy’s eyes before keeling over when Tubbo punched him in the stomach.  

Eret waves the mischievous boy away, waiting for Ranboo to stand up before stepping away.  Walking over to where Tubbo stood, Eret keeps a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to cement him in place.  “Alright, Ranboo, try walking towards us.” The distance was maybe ten blocks.

Ranboo nods, holding his arms out to keep balance.  Not only were the platforms heavy, but they probably weren’t built to carry around a six foot six (and still growing) teenager who already had balance problems.  He wobbles, teetering back and forth as he placed one foot in front of the other.  Eret smiles, holding Tubbo back as Ranboo takes another step.  

He almost falls two blocks away from Eret and Tubbo, Tommy watching from his bridge; fear washes over the boy’s face immediately, but someone catches him before he topples.  Ranboo blinks up at Eret, the king unmoving from their spot.

“You’re so fucking clumsy..” Tubbo complains, letting Ranboo use him as a makeshift cane.  He ducks away from the hold once Ranboo stood up straight again, mumbling about how he’d do better with the platforms that Ranboo would ever.  

Ranboo reaches out to Eret once he crosses the ten blocks, still not used to it but slowly but surely getting the hang of it.  Eret offers out their arm as a perch, the pair spotting Tubbo steal Tommy’s soda from him.  Eret snorts, amused, as Ranboo chuckles, “He’s a being of chaos.”

“At least he cares.. they both care, if they’re here,” Eret replies with a soft smile.  “They’re good boys.  I’m glad that you made friends out of them.”

Tubbo looks over, tongue darting out to wipe the mustache of soda off of his top lip.  The can is out of his hands seconds later, Tommy flashing his best friend the middle finger as he finished the can.  

Ranboo smiles.  He was still new to the cast, but at least those two (and Eret) made smiling a bit more of an easier feat to do.  

Chapter Text

“If you respect it,”

An empty scream shatters through the peace of the underground lairs.  Dull banging sounds, a desperate attempt for someone, anyone, to hear.  

“If you care for it,”

Cries ring through the air, a young boy choking on sobs as he was held in a hug by his friend.  Two pairs of eyes, one red, one white, stare down at them.  

“If you love it,”

Pure white tears roll down ashen gray cheeks, a gray hand pressed to a crimson surface.  A black hood rimmed with a white stripe mimicked a halo.

“It will protect you.”

BadBoyHalo opens his eyes, words flying through his vision as he clung to bits and pieces of his lines.  He could feel the cameras burning into his back, where wooden posts would evolve into pathetically small wings.  BadBoyHalo couldn’t fly very well.  

The lair was covered with vines and tentacles and veins, pulsing with a collective, harmonious hum that came from the redstone blocks that were dying out as their energy was absorbed by the incased entity.  BadBoyHalo could feel himself grow tired just being in its presence, rocking in his feet to sell the point.  

“Bad, we should go.  The Egg will be upset if you touch them for too long.”

Antfrost’s mechanical tail swipes with anticipating behind his legs.  His red eyes, contacts, dart around at any sight of threat.  One of his hands lingered around a sword.  It gently clinked against Punz’s every so often when Punz moved his hand.  Punz’s eyes were purple.  The Egg was getting to him.  

Bad looks back up at the Egg, caressing it with a parental touch.  Bad smiles softly, canines showing, when he pictures a young boy missing teeth.  Messy black hair and big brown eyes, so innocent and so young.  Bad giggles, wiping dirt off of the young Sapnap’s cheek.  

“Bad,” Punz repeats louder, this time sounding more like a command than a request.  Punz steps forward, avoiding a thin vine that twitched incessantly.  

The crimson clashed against Bad’s pure white eyes, reflecting like a mirror.  BadBoyHalo sniffs the air, turning around to face his soldiers.  “The Egg wishes for a moment alone,” Bad translates through his line, hoping Antfrost remembered his. 

Antfrost’s tail lashes.  “Bad, you’ll upset them.”

The ceiling rumbles.  Punz’s eyes flash with real fear, one hand reaching out to grip at Antfrost’s bicep for balance.  The latter man, with cat ears sticking up from his head so similar to Fundy’s, looks back at Punz with an alarmed look.  The pair look back towards the Egg and its prophet, who stood unmoving.  

Bad smiles, his mouth a pitch black hole with pearly white teeth.  “Alone,” Bad speaks, his voice echoing.  

The lights cut out.  Bad’s eyes glow up, blinking before closing.  When the lights go back on, Antfrost and Punz are gone, their footprints on the vines disappearing as the red flesh bounces back into its original form.  Bad looks up at the catalyst of this phenomenon, blinking slowly.  

“You miss him.”

Bad doesn’t reply.

“You miss them.”

Bad turns his head to the side.

“I know you do.  You should have gone with them.”

“Skeppy is-“ Bad begins, his words catching up in his throat.  

Bad sees himself in his shadow that came with the shroomlights dotted around the lair.  The shadow was laughing at Bad, clapping his hands together and dancing around the demon.  The shadow disappears playfully when the ceiling rumbles again, speaking.

“Skeppy is no more than a sacrifice.  You miss your son.”

Bad’s hands clench into fists at his side.  That wasn’t a part of the script, but it didn’t matter.  They wouldn’t cut a whole scene just for a minuscule physical action.  Bad squints his eyes, not closed, yet not wide enough to see anything but the shadow that laughed in his eyes. 

“I want you to find him for me, and I want you to feed him to me.”

Bad drops to a knee, placing both of his hands up on the crimson surface.  He bites his lower lip, fighting with a subconscious that reminded him that this was an act, it was an act, it was just an-

“BadBoyHalo, do you understand your assignment?” The Egg groans within the demon’s mind and all throughout the lair, dust falling from the ceiling and shaking its foundation.  

Bad ducks his chin to his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the voices that swam in Bad’s mind to keep him grounded.  The Egg moans out in protest at the wait, impatient.  

“I do,” BadBoyHalo complies, opening his eyes to look up at the Egg.  “I do.”

Sam Nook screams, drowning out into a far cry for rescue as the shroomlights exhaust out their fumes, the light fading as they were supposed to do.  

The slap of a slateboard has Bad blinking back to reality, lights flicked on to illuminate the lair.  People were speaking, Punz and Antfrost were there, standing side by side with the smallest of smiles on either of their faces.  People were going to retrieve Sam from inside the egg.  

The egg wasn’t alive.  The egg wasn’t real.  

Sapnap was running over to him with wide arms, a proud smile on his face.  “You did it!” Sapnap celebrates, his big brown eyes enchanting BadBoyHalo.  The man—not a demon, but a man—sniffles, waiting until Sapnap made his way through the crimson vines before letting himself get scooped up into a tight hug.  

Bad leans his forehead against Sapnap’s shoulder, gnawing on his lower lip as he kept a sob deep within his chest.  He lets out a feeble hiccup, wrapping his arms around Sapnap’s neck in response to Sapnap’s arms around his torso.  

“You did great, Bad,” Sapnap whispers the compliment like it was a secret, snickering.  “I’m so proud!  You’ve got a knack for acting, I always knew you were going to be the best at this!” When he smiles, he was missing one of his teeth.  It came from an incident on a past Manhunt recording.  

Bad’s shoulders shake silently, holding Sapnap flush to him.  His nails with the claw extensions on them scrap against the other’s thin shirt, grappling for a hold as Bad leans into Sapnap, so much so he was practically falling dead weight against Sapnap.  

“Bad?” Sapnap murmurs worriedly, patting the other’s back and he heard footsteps approaching behind his back.  

Bad looks up with eyes unable to cry yet because of the white contacts in his eyes.  Skeppy was heading over with a jubilant smile of his own, coming to congratulate Bad for the final recording of his episode.  Technoblade was trailing behind albeit struggling, finding it hard to navigate through the mess of crimson vines and veins because of his height and size.  

Bad runs a hand through Sapnap’s bangs, hiccuping.  “Sorry,” he whispers, sniffling.  

Sapnap smiles softly, leaning into the familiar touch of his good friend.  “You did nothing wrong, Bad.  It’s all an act.  It’s just an act.”

The redstone blocks hum listlessly in the background.  

Chapter Text

“Techno?  I’m home,” Philza calls into a silent house, the creaky door opening up to let the old man shuffle inside, snow falling off of his clothes and hat.  

“May I come inside?” Ranboo questions softly, standing in the doorway with his head looking into the wall.  When Philza looked back, all he saw below Ranboo’s neck and nothing else.  Chuckling, Philza gestures for Ranboo to enter; the boy complies eagerly, shaking snow from his bicolored hair.  “Is Technoblade home?” Ranboo asks cautiously, looking over at the two dogs sat near the fire.  They were fast asleep.  

“Beats me,” Philza says back, pulling off his Antartican cloak and setting the custom shield down near the door. 

The two had been off to another woodland mansion in pursuit of totems.  While those were still filmed in case anything eventful did happen, whenever Philza went with the traveling group, they were honest Minecraft play.  They faced real mobs, real threats, that could easily kill anyone.  Ranboo had been at Hypixel before being recruited to acting, but his skills still weren’t fit for mob fighting; Philza took over then.  

The old man had a bandage wrapped around his thigh after an illager caught him by surprise.  His hands were wrapped in them as well because of blistering from his axe’s leather grip.  Otherwise, the two had them had emerged from the mansion unscathed, no burns from the arson.  

After last time, Philza made sure Ranboo was out of the mansion before setting the thing ablaze.

They had retuned him with three totems; after striking a deal, Ranboo agreed to keep the one he found while Philza took the others for himself and Technoblade.  The props were held in their satchels that were kept around their shoulders, but the actual items would be stored for.. safe keepings.  

Thing is, Philza couldn’t give Technoblade his rightful totem if he was nowhere to be seen.  

“Techno?” Philza calls out his friend’s name again, setting down the totem props onto a crafting table.  Ranboo collapses into a chair, leaning his head back and groaning from exhaustion.  “He’s probably up in his loft.  I’m going to go check real quick,” Philza tells Ranboo, slinging his satchel around and off of him before grabbing up onto the ladder to the homeowner’s loft.  Ranboo nods, eyes already closing.  There was only one cameraman following them, standing near the chests, but most of this footage back at the cabin would probably be scrapped in favor of other clips.

Philza peeks into the loft, turning his head around to see a lump on the bed.  Chuckling, the old man pushes himself up onto the upstairs floor, brushing his robes clean of dirt before sitting on the edge of the bed.  He took notice of the spilt bottle of pills on the bedside table.  “Sleeping, pal?” Philza reaches out to pat what he could see as Technoblade’s shoulder.  “Why are your pills all.. out.”

Technoblade had looked over his shoulder, the whites of his eyes so bloodshot his red irises blended with them.  There were damp clumps of fur under his eyes, proof of past tears.  He had hands over his floppy ears—as if that did anything to calm his chat—, humming softly when he recognized Philza.  

Philza blinks a few times, pulling his hand away from the piglin.  Technoblade watches the hand leave, his humming climbing to a higher pitch.  He drops his ears to grab at the other man, but once his ears were released, a sob forced its way out of the piglin’s mouth.  

He promptly turned back over in bed, back facing Philza.  

Don’t get Philza wrong.  Technoblade was one of his closest friends, especially on the Dream SMP cast.  But, after spending so many years in a hardcore server, creating a farm to automatically slay the type of mob that laid in front of him now, there was some stigma of ‘do not help it.’  It didn’t mix well with the reminder that Technoblade’s chat was very similar to all of the brutes’ chats he’s faced before, creating an uneasy feeling in his bottom of his stomach.  

Technoblade hears the soft whirl of Philza’s comms opening up.  There’s air typing, no noise, but the piglin could sense the air moving, until Philza closes the comms.  “I messaged Skeppy.  I think he’s already done recording for today, but we’re far from the portals.  I don’t know how long he’ll be.”

Technoblade brings the blanket up above his head, covering his body with only his hooves peeking out at the bottom.  Philza stares at the piglin with a mixed look in his eyes, finally sighing.  

“C’mere.” The old man opens his arms, looking away at the floorboards bashfully.  

Technoblade grunts, not looking from out of the pink blanket he dragged away from his house whenever he came to his winter cottage.  It smelt like Skeppy and Bad.  

“Techno,” Philza calls.  Technoblade’s ears perk up and the piglin turns onto his back, pulling his blanket down to his eyes.  Red eyes search Philza’s face and body language for any sort of sign of a threat; there was a lot of reluctance, but it seemed.. sincere.  No knives, no axes, no swords, no eminent death.  

Technoblade sits up in bed, his head reeling from the sudden movement.  He slumps forward into Philza’s arms, laying his temple against the other’s shoulder and his snout brushing against Philza’s chest, staring into the man’s center.  The old man holds Technoblade there like he did with anyone else he’s hugged.  

“It’s not.. angry?” Philza uses the softer word, as he was trying to calm Technoblade down, not ruffle him up.  

Technoblade hums, drawing squiggly lines on Philza’s robes delicately, making sure not to rip the fabric.  

“Techno?”

“‘m sorry,” Technoblade drops his head, his ears drooping.  “Distracted.  Chat.. chat gets mean sometimes.  You guys were out and it was loud and I was just getting wood, and.. and I came back and..” Technoblade’s unable to finish his sentence, his eyes drifting towards the split bottle of medication.  “Why.. why are you doing this, Phil?  You don’t like me when chat’s loud.”

“You’re an exception,” Philza tries, one hand finding its way to Technoblade’s untied hair and combing through it.  “And I’m still human, you’re a brute.  You could crush me like a bug underneath your foot when you’re.. eh, upset.  I don’t not like you, but if anything were to happen, I just don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

A chuckle forces its way out of Technoblade’s throat, “Like you could beat.. beat?  Beat me in a fight.”

“Hey, I could probably land some hits.”

“Old man,” Ranboo comments, the only bits of him visible being his nose and up.  Philza looks over at the teenager with a surprised look, but Technoblade only flaps an ear at the new voice.  Embarrassed, Ranboo laughs softly.  “Sorry.  You guys talk loud.  I.. uh, I cleaned up your pills, Techno.  You should probably refill them soon.”

Technoblade nods, pulling away from Philza to slump forward into his own lap, blanket wrapped around his waist from moving around.  “I know,” he sighs, unable to meet either human in the eye.  “I’m clumsy.  Big fingers.” The piglin moves his three fingers on each hand out and into a fist, flexing them.  

“Why don’t we go get them right after this episode passes, okay?” Philza reassures the mob, tucking a lock of pink mane behind Technoblade’s ear.  “And, um, I’ll get you a better capsule to keep them in so you can access them easier.”

Technoblade looks up, eyes still bloodshot, but the glossy look of tears in them had calmed down.  “Really?” Technoblade whispers like it was a secret.  Ranboo holds back an answer of his own, sitting on the floor next to the bed.  

Philza nods silently, brushing more mane hair out of Technoblade’s hair.  “Yeah.”

Technoblade nods as well, slower.  “Yeah,” he murmurs before humming, looking out the window before back at his bed’s pillow.  “Tell me when they come?”

Ranboo looks at Philza for clarification of who they was, but he’s ignored momentarily.  Philza rubs Technoblade’s bicep as the piglin lays back down, the man pulling the pink blanket up to Technoblade’s chin like a father would.  “I will, don’t worry.  We’ll get you home once Skeppy and Bad come here.”

Technoblade hums in response, looking up at Philza with thankful eyes before turning away slightly and exhaling.

“Down you go, kid,” Philza orders in a low voice, kicking Ranboo’s thigh teasingly.  “Give the big guy his space.” Ranboo complains about the kicking, but slides down the ladder within a few seconds without protest.  Philza follows after closing the window’s blinds and blowing out the lantern that kept the room lit.  Technoblade hums to himself a quiet song, counting down the seconds before losing count and restarting again until his friends showed up.

It didn’t matter if they came within the next two minutes or an hour, though, since he knew the two people downstairs would help as best as they could if Technoblade needed them.  

Chapter Text

“Fundy!” 5up laughs, greeting the man with a hug after running over to him.  “Hey!  How’s it going?” He’s met with a sniffle against his shoulder.  5up tilts his head, his sprout shaking with the movement.  “Fundy?”

5up pulls out of the hug, but he leaves his hands on Fundy’s shoulders to stare at the taller man in the eyes.  Fundy’s OL hat was pulled down to cover his eyes, something 5up corrects.  He inhales sharply when he sees tears in Fundy’s eyes, cooing lightly out of sympathy.  “Oh, Fundy, what’s wrong?”

“You are so, so stupid, Fundy!  Have you not understood a single word of what I’ve been saying this entire time!?” Ranboo screams, the first time Fundy had really heard the teenager scream out of anger, on or off set.  The fox-hybrid takes a wary step back, nostrils flaring out of the strong emotion that washed over him.  “No wonder everyone turns against you!  You understand nothing!!”

“Hi..” Fundy’s voice dies out, cracking at the end.  He looks anywhere but 5up’s face, blinking a few tears out of his eyes before bringing his arm up to cover them.  “Sorry, um, work was hard today.”

“I am trying to be on your side, Ranboo!” Fundy cried, feeling tears behind his eyes threaten to fall.  His hands ball into fists at his sides, adding desperation to his voice.  “Why won’t anyone ever let me on their side!?  I just want to be something, I want to help!” Fundy shakes his head side to side before looking towards Ranboo, who is unable to make eye contact.  

5up brushes Fundy’s hair out of his face, cooing softly.  “I’m sorry,” 5up apologizes for something he didn’t do, reaching down to hold Fundy’s hands and bring them to his chest.  “But hey, you’re done now, right?  You don’t have to worry about that.” The two stood in Fundy’s house in the Dream SMP home server.  It was rather quiet for the most part.  

Fundy dips his chin down, leaning his forehead against 5up’s tenderly.  5up chuckles, one hand around Fundy’s two as the other navigates to scratch gently behind his ear.  “I was baking a cake for us, actually.  I was hoping we could bring it back to Cog to share.  Do you want to help me decorate it?” 5up whispers, giggling when a little spark of excitement sparks in the eyes he adored so much.

Fundy pulls 5up into the kitchen, walking into the modern room and seeing a mess of the kitchen.  Fundy lets go of 5up to squat in front of the oven, staring patiently at the cake that was tucked inside.  5up cleans up his workspace just a bit, waiting in silence until the timer went off.  

When it does, Fundy grabs an oven mitt and grabs the cake before 5up could even grab a mitt for himself.  Dumping the cake tray on the table, Fundy shakes his mitted hand with a light whine.  “Hot,” Fundy complains, pulling off the mitt and tossing it near the toaster.  5up comes up from behind, sticking a toothpick into the cake to check its bake.  When it comes out clean, 5up smiles.  

The two worked together in silence, Fundy carving the cake out of the tray and 5up dumping it out onto a cutting board afterward.  The two look down at the cake before at each other; Fundy’s tongue was running up the sides of the knife, licking off the loose crumbs from prying the cake away from its tray.  5up raises a hand to his mouth, wheezing out a giggle as he pushes Fundy playfully.

The vegetable-hybrid finds a few pints of vanilla frosting out of the sweets cupboard.  All the sweets were kept individually because of prime suspects, Fundy and Cuptoast, after 5up caught them binging an entire bag of candy at four am in the morning.  The two had stomach aches for the rest of the day and 5up only felt some remorse.

Speaking of the girl, Cuptoast had made her way into the kitchen and was seated at the kitchen isle.  Her legs kick underneath the stool she sat on, her hands braiding together a flower crown as she let the two men handle the cake decorating.  5up was Cuptoast’s unofficial babysitter; the young girl had followed around the vegetable-hybrid long enough for Sparklez to reach out and get his number in case Sparklez was off doing his own thing.  With a life as busy as Sparklez’s, Cuptoast spent most of her time with 5up.  

“Crumb,” 5up mentions her name, causing her to look up and tilt her head in question.  “What color frosting?” 5up finishes, holding up little vials of food dye.  Fundy had a spoon of frosting in his mouth, licking it clean as he looked for knives to spread the frosting.  

Cuptoast holds up the flower crown in her hands, a gift for Tubbo, full of marigolds.  “Yellow!” Cuptoast giggles, placing the crown on her box, which already had at least three crowns.  One of them wasn’t even a flower crown; it was Eret’s old tiara.  

5up chuckles, twisting off the yellow vial’s top to shake it into a pint of frosting.  After deeming it enough, the vegetable-hybrid gets to mixing.  Fundy steals a dollop or two through the process, shying away with a laugh after 5up shot him glares.  Fundy crouches behind Cuptoast, using the girl as a human shield.  Unable to do anything without Cuptoast getting mad at him, 5up rolls his eyes endearingly and dumps the yellow frosting onto the cake.

It was an atrocity, Fundy decided, as Cuptoast put the last twizzler on to make a smiley face.  It reminded him a lot of Dream (Fundy took a picture and sent it to the man.  He received a middle finger selfie of the dirty blond.) Cuptoast gnaws on her own twizzler underneath her box, standing up on a stool so she towered over the counter.  

5up was seated at the dinner table, watching them with a sappy smile hidden by a red scarf.  He had handprints, big and small, of flour and yellow frosting covering his clothing and one large print on his ass, but Fundy had a matching one.  5up chuckles at the recent memory.

Fundy holds up a smiling cake on a plate that had hair made out of rainbow sprinkles, a cherry as a nose, twizzlers as a smile and jolly ranchers as eyes.  Other candies were stuck to the side of the cake.  Cuptoast makes jazz hands, laughing alongside Fundy as the man places the dessert down.  Cuptoast jumps down from her stool, running away from the kitchen as quickly as her legs could carry her.  

Fundy strolls over to the table, taking a seat adjacent to 5up’s.  Yellow frosting and sprinkles coated his face like warpaint, Cuptoast having had a fun time “face painting” the redhead.  The man giggles when 5up reaches out to swipe the frosting off of Fundy’s nose and stick it in his mouth with a smug smile.  “Delicious.”

Canines peek through Fundy’s smile when he brightens up like the sun, 5up’s sun.  

Chapter Text

Everything was burning.  Everything was exploding.  It cast a cloud into the air, a tear-jerking, nauseating, vile thing, that hid the contraptions of mass destruction from those on the ground.  People were screaming.  People were crying.  

Nihachu lit the match in between a thumb and index, letting the little match fall from her dainty little fingers.  The match ignited the last bit of purity left on L’Manberg’s land, the curtains closing on an act that had been dragged on for hours too long.

Nihachu should’ve felt.. guilty.  

Tubbo and Tommy, holding each other tight, watched the last leaf burn before their very own eyes.  A wither screeches murder.  

Nihachu should’ve felt.. angry.

Technoblade’s cape was trailed by a sea of bloody masterpieces, corpses and casualties of the innocent his own handiwork.  

Nihachu should’ve felt.. heartbroken.  

Wilbur’s symphony was out of tune, played upon broken instruments and led by an amateur conductor.  The conductor had a crossbow bolt through his shoulder.  

Nihachu should’ve felt anything at all.  

Ghostbur cried tears of lapis, falling into his eyes and holding a flag in his arms.  Gold, black, red, white, and blue.  Beautiful blue tears roll slick off of the tarnished old thing, a pitiful sight with its rips and its stains and its scorch marks.  The ghost screamed to the heaven about inequality and deceit and false realities that were mere imagination.  

But she didn’t.  

Her hair bled into the horizon, a gradient of hues that gave way to a rising sun.  She holds out a hand, covering one of her eyes with a shadow.  The last time she had watched a sunrise this beautiful was with Pogtopia.  Pogtopia.  Pogtopia.  

Where did it all go wrong?

Tommy was a machine of destruction and pulled bad luck around him by a leash.  That thin grin of his welcomed Death into his home, that mischievous look in his eyes told of consequence.  Those electric blue eyes brought upon cyclones and hurricanes and torrents that left those in his wake incapacitated.  

Tubbo was pent up in the north, insanity forcing the boy’s body to its last peg on the ladder.  There were explosions and whistles and failures coming from the north.  Tubbo waves off all curious looks with a thin smile that crinkled his scar.  It was safer not to know what was happening than to.  

Technoblade ruled the south with an golden fist, yet he had said so sincerely to Nihachu that he only now focused on abolishing government after government; he bore no remorse for those he made corpses out of, those he made cry relentlessly, those he made ache for months.  Technoblade carried the weight of a thousand men on his shoulders, lost souls cycling in his mind.  

Quackity had a scar from his chin to his cheekbone.  He had a golden tooth now, a sight that made him look like a familiar tyrant.  Suits and ties were back in his closet, and he acted like he never knew nobody—the scent of alcohol and smoke followed the duck-hybrid’s way.  A golden ring dangled from a necklace around his neck which bore bruises of a hand.  

Fundy hadn’t been seen in weeks.  He was off to nobody knows where, a sly figure who only came out of hiding to poke at a sleeping bear before running like the coward he is.  The orange of his fur should be red by now from how much spilt blood he’s been the cause of.  

And Nihachu?

“I hold no regrets.  They left me.  I owe them nothing of mine, no shelter, no supplies, no life!  They took mine from me, why should I stay by and let them trample others’?” Nihachu screams into her ravine, one so alike the last one she lived in.  Campfires crackled, torch flames shivering back and forth.  

Nihachu whirls around at the wall length mirror.  A wool jacket was thrown over her shoulders, cloaking her small figure.  Hot pink hair topples down from her head, free from restraining pretty bows like girls were supposed to wear.  Her outfits were shoved in the back of her closet now, outfits that were excepted of a girl. 

Nihachu was no girl.

She pulls on gloves that covered blackening fingers, an oh-too-familiar obsidian black running up into her veins.  She scowls at her reflection, walking like a drunkard over to it.  Snarling, Nihachu struggles to free a knife from its sheath.  Holding it in a hand, she tosses hair out of her face before turning away from the mirror.

Glass fractures and splinters, bursting into a firework of mirrors.  Nihachu’s face was distorted in a way that showed the true monster that prowled around her subconscious.  

Alcohol bottles laid by her bedside.  It reeked of whiskey in the ravine.  Weights sat in the corner, an attempt to up her strength without leaving her paradise.  Her escape, her oasis.  Mirrors covered every wall Nihachu looked at, broken glass littered on the ground, left there, hazardous.  

The ghost that hung around her watched idly, a smirk coating the phantom’s lips.  “You’re quite a specimen, Niki.  I didn’t realize you had this in you.”

An empty bottle is flung through the ghost’s chest.  He moves out of the way in a fluid motion, tossing curls out of his face to saunter over to the woman.  Nihachu bares her teeth, staring at where the alcohol bottle laid broken on the ground.  

Wilbur Soot trails an obsidian finger from Nihachu’s left shoulder to her right.  He laughs maniacally, a crazed look in his transparent eyes only brought about by a psychopathic psyche.   The woman shivers under his touch, evening out her breathing before straightening her posture.  

She held a knife in her hand.  The name WilburSoot was engraved on the side of it, though it had a line running through it.  A new name read Nihachu.  

“You’re tied to me no matter how far you run, Niki Nihachu,” Wilbur drawls, saluting the woman.  “Let’s see how long you last.”

Last what, Nihachu thinks, seeing black dots fly in front of her vision.

“Insanity is a concept that works wonders when you have nothing left to live for besides the obliteration of another,” Wilbur whispers, his words a mere breeze that blows out a nearby torch.  Nihachu’s eyes look over, seeing smoke trail up from the wick. 

Wilbur spins, his essence disappearing without another word.  Where his soul flew off to, nobody could even guess; Ghostbur had been missing in action since another ghost ran rampant, making home in the worst biome—and dimension—possible.  Nihachu saw the raw-hybrid from a distance briefly.  

The desire to drive a crossbow bolt through his forehead was great.  The bolt would’ve passed straight through his head; it would’ve done absolutely nothing. 

Nihachu’s shoulders shake with laughter, a hand flying to her face as she curled in on herself.  Psychotic laughter echoes through the ravines she’s carved out singlehandedly, a desperate attempt to create something that she could remember but couldn’t have anymore.  

Clear tears pile in her eyes, sliding down the spaces between her fingers and down her hand, dribbling to the ground and shattering like crystals.  The tears run over a golden ring, a gift from someone she could remember but couldn’t have anymore.

The wool coat on her shoulders, too large for her but a keepsake regardless.  The knife in her hand, a token of trust from its past owner.  The tarnished flag that was buried in one of these useless, unsorted chests.  A photograph salvaged from the depths of Pogtopia of six people during a moment of serenity turned to face the wall on a stone shelf.  

She could remember so much.  None of it was hers to have anymore.  She couldn’t forget their imprints on her life, curving her into the person she was today like she was a block of clay and they the artisans.  Little cracks here and there from immaturity and stupidity, weak support from the beginning.  

When the lights would cut out, she’d be attacked from behind in a hug from a tall man with brown curls, dressed in a wool coat identical to hers.  

Nihachu looked at the painting of a fake sunrise she never dared, or even wanted, to see again.  That’s fine.  It’s fine.  

“I take what they all took from me.. their fucking lives.”

She was irreversibly cracked through her chest, dividing a softly beating heart into two.  The woman would learn everything over again.  

The lights flicker once, twice, before cutting off with a slateboard’s signal.  

Chapter Text

God rumbled angrily from above, and Bizly looked just about done with this whole situation.  GrizzlyPlays was trying to hide his face in his leather cap, Condifiction hovering near his friend.  Charlie Slimceicle stood out in the downpour, arms wide and open as he faced the sky.  

“Charlie, don’t-“ Bizly began, reaching out an arm before it falls.

“Strike me down, God!” Charlie screams, reaching up to pull off his glasses.  “Strike us down!”

“Don’t drag us into it, Slime!” Grizzly cries, lowering his cap.  Condifiction opens an umbrella, holding it over himself and Grizzly.  The man dressed in a war uniform sighs to no one in particular, a hand on Grizzly’s shoulder as the latter continues to yell at their friend.  “Get back under the house!”

Bizly ducks out of sight into the dirt shack they had made with barely any resources.  If they ever collected anything, a tornado stormed on it and ruined all of their process, littering their items around the world, never to be seen again.  Bizly hugs himself, pulling the hood over his head.  

“Sorry Grizz, but I’m not a coward!” Charlie shouts into the sky, his three friends almost not hearing the other man.  The rain kept pouring.

Cameras circled around the scene, trying to catch all possible perspectives.  A camera was placed above Charlie, facing downward to catch the eagle’s eye view.  The Slimecicle Cinematic Universe, or the SCU for short, was a single, short season of different challenges within a server.  It was Slimecicle’s original idea, later reaching out to some friends to make the idea a possibility.  It set into motion shortly afterward, and have a fairly invested fanbase.  

This was the second to last episode to be recorded: unexpected weather catastrophes, natural disasters, occurring at random times.  The four friends had only managed to survive this long by using boats during floods, falling into lakes after being swept off their feet by powerful winds, and heading underground when acid rain poured down above head.

God was really out of their necks this recording.

Charlie raises up to hands, his fingers out wide.  He had a confident expression on his face, something Condifiction picked up on.  The man runs out, forgetting the umbrella that blew away briskly in the speeding wind.  Condifiction reaches out a hand, caught mid-shout in the scene as he lunged at Charlie.  GrizzlyPlays had Bizly over his shoulder, the two tucked into the entrance of their dirt shack.  

Condifiction didn’t make it in time to stop the middle fingers from forming.  

The set changed quickly with the help of stagehands and a quick minetrain trip.  When the cameras began rolling again, Condifiction was laying on the ground, faceplanted onto pure quartz.  

Charlie, Grizzly, and Bizly stood nearby, all lined up in a row.  Only Charlie had handcuffs holding his hands behind his back.  The man with small slime props sticking to his body struggles, a slew of curses falling out of his mouth as he turns around towards Grizzly.  

Grizzly pales at the sight of the chains, grappling with them but he’s unable to do anything about them.  “Slime, what the hell did you do that?” Grizzly chastises with a whimper, the man’s mechanical bear ears flattening against his head.  “Where are we?”

Bizly helps Condifiction to his feet, the two turning around in a circle with Grizzly.  The room they stood in was made out of quartz and glass, and clouds seemed to peak through the building just so slightly.  Grizzly reaches out a hand, which goes straight through a passing cloud.  Charlie was scowling at the ground, going through his next lines as the handcuffs dangle when he moves his hands.

“You’re in my house,” a vaguely-familiar voice grumbles.  The four men’s heads snap up to the front of the room; it was a perfect square.  Sat on an pure white chair was a male in a contrasting pitch black suit.  His eyes had a red tint to them, but they were otherwise honey brown.  Spiraling horns were stuck to the sides of his heads, gold chains falling from them and attaching to a halo that sat above the male’s head.  He had a septum piercing, pure gold, which made him look more bull than ram.  

In his hands was a golden apple with a few bites taken out of it.  A basket of bright red apples sat on one of the throne’s arms.  The male brings the golden apple up to his mouth, taking a large bite in the silence.  

Bizly blinks a few times before dipping his head downward with his upper body in a tense stance.  “.. God?”

The god looks up at the name, the chains clanging with the movement.  He smiles, revealing pearly white teeth and a single gold one.  “Schlatt,” JSchlatt replies with the single word, biting the apple once again and munching again.  His pupils were rectangular and horizontal.  

Condifiction pushes Bizly and Charlie behind him, Grizzly already standing behind his friend.  The warlord furrows his eyebrows at JSchlatt, cautious.  “Why.. why are we here?”

JSchlatt spits out a seed to the side.  It disappears from sight, even though all four men trailed its arc.  It just.. disappeared.  Their heads turn back to JSchlatt when his chains jiggle and jangle from telltale movement.  A red apple, untouched by a mouth, is held out to Condifiction.  

“Apple?” JSchlatt asks childishly.  

“No!” Charlie shouts, shoving Condifiction away from the fruit and turning his back to the god.  JSchlatt mocks the slimed man behind his back, making a face before he munched closer to his apple’s core.  “Condi, no!  He tried to kill us earlier, with the storms, the storms, remember?!  Condi- Condi, Condi-“

Condifiction walks past the begging man, Bizly pulling Charlie into a hug to get him to calm down.  The warlord walks up to close the distance between him and the throne, holding out cupped hands up at the god.  There was a dull trance in his eyes, unfocused; all a part of the script, as he was told to act.  

JSchlatt smirks, an evil sight, before he plants the red apple in Condifiction’s awaiting hands.  The man nods, turning towards his three friends.

Slimecicle was fighting in Bizly’s hold, screaming and hissing, desperate to break free and tear the apple away from Condifiction’s possession.  His eyes will with fear when his friend brings the apple to his lips.  Grizzly winces when the noise of crunching fills the air.

“It’s not poisonous or something, Charlie.” The warlord rolls his eyes with a chuckle.  Condifiction bites down, chewing the apple a few times before he swallows.  Finally, he hums an approval and a nod of his head.  He goes to take another bite of the apple, but it’s dropped.  

Charlie shrieks and Grizzly sobs once again.  Bizly stares at the place that Condifiction once stood.  

There was no warning, no scream, no noise.  Condifiction was just.. gone.  

“Apple?” JSchlatt repeats with a nod of his head towards Bizly.  Charlie shields his eyes, but he was too late for Bizly.  The slimed man rushes over to Grizzly, hugging the other man for dear life as Bizly seemingly floated over to JSchlatt’s throne, his hands out in a similar fashion to Condifiction’s.  The god smirks once again, handing the apple to Bizly.

The blue-wearing man turns to Charlie and GrizzlyPlays, eyes unable to focus on their two forms for longer than three seconds.  “Just eat it,” Bizly states plainly, his teeth piercing the skin of the fruit.  After he swallowed, he smiled; Grizzly faked a gag, but remembered the horror the scene was required to have when Bizly too dropped out of frame (he squat-ran out from the camera’s view, joining Condifiction on the sideline, who waited with a proud smile.)

Grizzly cling to Charlie, burying his face into Charlie’s shoulder.  His shoulders shake silently, fingers clutching fabric.  The cursed fruit’s name is uttered again; Grizzly wasn’t facing JSchlatt, but Charlie was.  

The bear-hybrid stumbles when Charlie pushes him away, calmly walking up to the throne with his hands out, his own chains clinking around his wrists.  Charlie had gone eerily silent, a vast contrast from his previous struggling and protest.  Grizzly sniffles, wiping underneath his nose when Charlie turns towards him, apple in his hand.  JSchlatt rests his chin in the palm of his hand, still smirking.

“Come on, Grizz.  Don’t be such a baby,” Charlie teases in his normal voice, biting into the apple with vigor and a smile.  Grizzly’s nostrils flare from emotion, letting himself wobble on his feet.  “Eat the apple.” The man’s eyelids flutter, the camera in front of him zoning in on Grizzly’s dazed state before he fell back onto the quartz, unconscious—play.  

Charlie looks back towards JSchlatt, taking another bite of the apple.  He spits out a seed or two, licking the juices from his lips.  “It’s very sweet,” Charlie complains.  

JSchlatt’s evil smirk falls into a scowl.  His fingers, hairy, nails painted black, snap once.  Charlie takes another bite of his apple, savoring the taste of it on his tongue before he too fell out of frame; the camera focuses on the apple that rolls onto the floor before stilling, a limp hand in the side view.  

When the director calls for scene, the ram-hybrid’s golden chains jingle like sleigh bells from how much he laughed at the sheer comedic-horror of the scene they just recorded.  

Chapter Text

“So, I think you know why we’re here.”

“5up, you’re the one that called me here randomly.  I thought we were going on another date.. why is Tubbo glaring at Ranboo and why is Sam in handcuffs?” Fundy sighs, slumping forward in his arms.  Ranboo uses the redhead as a shield from Tubbo’s eyes, poking into him rudely.  

“Fundy, you’re not helping,” Awesamdude whines, shaking the chain around his hands weakly.  “I didn’t even do anything!  I was at my base!”

“Silence, prisoner,” 5up laughs, holding up a key that matched the one on the cuffs.  “You’re under arrest.”

“For what!?” Sam cries, glaring at the vegetable-hybrid.  Said man only holds up a finger to his lips, looking back at Fundy with a sly smirk.  

“Well, since I don’t think Ranboo told you, he stole mine and Tubbo’s drill,” 5up explains, twirling the key around a finger.  “Ranboo, what do you have anything to say for yourself?” 5up and Fundy look at the golden blond.  

Ranboo’s eyes crinkle from a smile hidden by his mask.  “Uh.. it was funny?”

“I worked hard on that, you tall piece of shit!” Tubbo complains from behind 5up, the other thing keeping him from running at Ranboo being Cuptoast holding the boy back.  Cuptoast was tying knots of flower stems up and down Tubbo’s metal gauntlet, and though Tubbo liked to fool around with the girl, he wouldn’t ruin her hard work this far into the project.  

“Ranboo,” Fundy sighs with a shake of his head, holding out a hand.  Ranboo groans, shaking his head a few times before handing over a pocket-sized chest.  Holding the contraption in his hands, Fundy turns back to a 5up with hands out at the ready.  The vegetable-hybrid blinks a few times when Fundy doesn’t give it back.  

“I think I want a trade,” Fundy chuckles, scratching at his chin.  “You don’t mind handing over Sam, do you?”

5up taps his own chin thoughtfully, humming.  “I mean, I was going to force him to work, but that drill is more important than him..”

“I am right here!” Sam shouts, the tall man stepping on 5up’s foot.  5up yelps, jumping, and almost dropping the key.  Tubbo catches it when it goes flying, holding the golden item in his free hand.  Cuptoast looks up momentarily before going back to her work.  

Grumbling something profane at Sam, 5up turns back to Fundy when the redhead speaks again: “I totally agree.”

“You fucking suck, man..” Sam huffs towards Fundy, earning a cackle.  Sam crosses his arms the best he could with his handcuffs.  Cuptoast looks over at the masked man, giggling at his predicament.  

“Well?” 5up holds out the key towards Fundy expectantly.  “Here’s Sammy Sam.  I’d like the drill.”

Fundy moves the hand that held the contraption forward, but it didn’t drop the compact drill.  While Fundy had a thin smile on his face, 5up made a face.  The vegetable-hybrid pulls the key back, frowning towards Fundy.  

“Sam for the drill seems kind of unfair, though.  Do you have anything else to offer in addition to him?” Fundy proposes, pursing his lips as he looked Sam over.  

The masked man covers his face with his eyes, exhaling slowly, “I’m being bullied.”

“Get used to it,” Ranboo chirps, “I get bullied every day I’m here.” His statement causes Tubbo to bark out a laugh, the brunet almost messing up Cuptoast’s work; Tubbo apologizes after, Cuptoast looking back down from previously glaring from her box.  

“I’ll call Dream,” Sam threatens, but it goes ignored.  

5up was scrolling through his inventory, the transparent menu appearing in front of his torso, slanted.  All of the inventory slots were empty, a privacy measure that could easily be turned off by the holder.  5up hums while in thought, pulling out a single thing from his inventory.   A blaze rod.  Sam looked like he was going to cry from the sight of it.  

“That and Sam?” Fundy clarifies, sticking up his nose.  Ranboo snickers, ignoring Sam’s glare at the pair.  “Hm.. seems fair.  Anything else or is that your final offer?” Fundy holds up the drill teasingly.

5up moves his fingers around the blaze rod, revealing a second.  Fundy’s eyebrows raise at the heightened deal, making a disbelieving sound.  “You drive a hard bargain, babe,” the redhead uses the pet name as a pure tease, 5up wrinkles his nose at it.

“You’re so corny.”

The drill is taken into china white hands.  Burning hot blaze rods are dropped into a gloved hand, a golden key in the other.  

“Mm, but you still keep me around.”

“I feel like livestock,” Sam complains, holding out his hands when Fundy waves him over.  5up turns around to hand the drill to Tubbo, who, since Cuptoast was done decorating his gauntlet, sprinted off towards his mine with Ranboo and Cuptoast trailing, Ranboo carrying the girl since his legs were longer.  

5up walks up, draping his arms around Fundy’s neck when the click of a lock sounds.  A handcuff falls from Sam’s left hand, the right not long after it.  The masked man rubs at his wrists, glaring at the two men in front of them before narrowing in on Fundy.  

“Seriously?  Two blaze rods are more valuable than me?”

Fundy laughs like a fox, knocking the side of his head against 5up’s.  “Sorry, Sam, but I’m a simp and can’t turn down Five for long when he talks so demandingly like that,” Fundy purrs, 5up covering his mouth with a palm as he giggles.  

“Ew,” Sam deadpans before following up with a good-natured laugh of his own.  

Chapter Text

Tommy flinches when Dream smiles at him, though he couldn’t see the smile.  A mask hid it all, hid his eyes, his smile, his face.  The fucking mask.  Tommy puffs his chest out, the heat of the lava behind him burning his back.  

“Dream,” Tommy greets with a scowl.

“I didn’t realize you had the balls to visit me,” Dream drawls, holding up the handcuffs that hung around his wrists.  Dressed in apricot, it looked awkward for the other man, who Tommy was so used seeing in green.  Dream turns his head to the side with a sigh, “What do you want, Tommy?  Am I not the last person you’d like to see right now.”

“Ooh, someone lost all their bite, huh?” Tommy teases with a laugh.  His red-white shirt was pristine, back to its crisp and clean look.  His hair returned to its fluffy blond style.  Tommy looked.. young.  It was beautiful to see the young boy rebound so quickly after the final confrontation of season two.

Cameras were placed around the prison cell, eager to record the first episode of the third season.  Callahan sat in his chair, Alyssa nearby.  A few actors were lying around, either standing on deck to act after this scene or just watching the premiere recording.  Awesamdude scratches his chin next to Wilbur Soot, who was done up in his Ghostbur outfit and makeup.  

Season two ended with a bang with the confrontation episode and the public absolutely ran with it.  Their fanbase blew up within a few hours of the season finale being aired, and the cast’s socials were flooded with congratulations, compliments, and theories.  Dream SMP had been trending in three different headings on Twitter.  

Dream cackles, hanging his head between his shoulders.  His shoulders shake a little bit from his laughter.  Tommy raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, unimpressed.  He pales a bit when Dream stands up from his sitting position, where his hands dangled on his knees.  Despite the fact that Dream was still a criminal, still a prisoner, still guilty-

He still frightened Tommy to his core.  

“I can’t do much now, after all, you did kill me two times,” Dream begins, twisting a lock of his hair between his fingers.  Tommy steps away from the man with a scowl.  “Why’d you come here, Tommy?  You know I am nothing of use to you anymore.  What a shame.. I liked our time together, didn’t you?”

Tommy furrows his eyebrows, stomping his foot once towards the green man; he doesn’t even bat an eye.  “I want to know how to resurrect someone,” Tommy explains simply, hands now on his hips in a dominant position.  “And you’re going to tell to me, or else.”

“To get Wilbur back?”

Tommy nods once.  He had a stone wall of confidence up over his mind, a shield.  

“Oh, Tommy.” Dream looks to the ceiling as he laughs, insanity radiating from the man in an aura.  “Wilbur wanted to die.  Wilbur’s dead, and he wants to stay dead.”

Tommy fumbles for his words he was supposed to.  “You’re wrong!  Wilbur loves me, I’m his brother, I’m his right hand man!  He’ll come back if I ask him!” Wilbur nods his head slowly behind the cameras at Tommy’s showing emotions; the boy was really a natural.  

“Stop speaking of him in the present tense, Wilbur’s dead, Tommy!!  He left you, he left you without a second thought, he told me!” Dream shouts while cackling, a wheeze following his words.  “Nobody gives two shits if they leave you, Tommy!  Wilbur, Tubbo!  Tubbo only took you back because you showed some brave persona back at the community house.  Otherwise, you’d still be in what is left of Logstedshire.

“Technoblade?  Well, you left him, and if Doomsday is any teller, I don’t think he’s looking to repair any connections with you.  Nihachu hates your guts, Fundy’s missing, and Philza killed Wilbur and sided with Technoblade.” The chains around Dream’s wrists and ankles should’ve given Tommy peace of mind, but the clinging and clanking they made rattled Tommy’s brain in his skull.  

Dream looks back towards Tommy, the smile on his mask seeming fake.  The camera narrows in as Dream approaches the teenager, who doesn’t move since all that was left to go was back first into the lava.  “Tommy, you had no one but me, and look what you reduced me to,” Dream laments lowly, tilting Tommy’s chin up with a single finger.  “I’m nothing but a big bad ol’ meanie, hm?  That’s what you managed to get everyone to think, after all.  My own best friends think I’m some psychopath.  Tommy, I just wanted to save you from the inevitable..”

Tommy was scowling deeply, but with each passing second, the façade he kept up against his former abuser was cracking.  The stone wall was being chipped away by Dream’s pickaxe, a desperate and final attempt to tug at Tommy’s pure psyche and bring the boy back under his spell.  

“You really push everyone away, don’t you, TommyInnit?” Dream uttered with a tone that screamed pity to everyone in the world.  The pickaxe slams into the rock, letting it crack and burst into pebbles.  

A prison alarm goes off in the distance, and Dream’s hand is pulled back to in front of his lap when iron bars fall into place.  The camera zooms out, Tommy’s back facing it with no sight of his face.  Dream’s head nods towards Tommy, looking him once over, before sitting down on the floor Indian-style.  The chains on his feet pull at the length they’re sat at, and the ones around his ankles jangle when Dream brings his hands together in a prayer.  

“You’ll come back soon enough, Tommy.  I only want what’s best for you.. I’d hate for you to get hurt by something you could’ve avoided being by my side,” Dream whispers before the lights in the studio go out as the lava drains out, the floating elevator coming across.  

The bars are lifted after the signal of a slateboard, Dream standing up once hearing it.  He stretches the best he could with the chains around his limbs, stumbling towards Tommy and nudging the boy’s shoulder with his.  “Nice acting,” the green man compliments, holding his arms up above his head when Tommy moves to wrap his arms around Dream’s torso.  The latter’s arms sit on Tommy’s shoulder because of the handcuffs.  

Tommy pulled away first, no evident tears in his eyes, as the two walked down stairs that were usually covered by lava.  When they hit the obsidian floor, Wilbur and Sam were waiting for them behind their of cameras that were set up below the lava in case one of the being-used ones fell in the searing-hot liquid.  

Dream holds his hands out towards Sam, who held the key for the locks.  The handcuffs fall to the floor, the ankle cuffs following shortly.  Rubbing his wrist, the two make small talk between compliments and thoughts on the finished scene.  

Tommy inhales before exhaling slowly, brushing hair out of his face.  Wilbur smiles softly, patting the boy’s shoulder lightly.  “Hey, you did good!” Wilbur tries to wake up Tommy’s usual enthusiasm.  

Tommy startles with the voice, blinking a few times before looking up and smiling at the older man.  The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Wilbur boils it down to him being tired.  He’s been acting all day, between him helping out Tubbo with the beginnings of Snowchester and the first preparations of the Innit Hotel.  Wilbur himself had one short scene with Philza before the end of the day, the older man talking hushed with Callahan.  

Fixing his sweater, Wilbur loosely hugs Tommy and tells him to head on home before weaving over to his other friend and director.  Tommy watches him go before bidding goodbye to Sam and Dream; the latter catches the sleeve of his shirt, mask in his hands.  

“You good?” Dream asks with a brotherly sense of worry underlining his words.  Tommy snorts at the protectiveness, waving off the other and smiling; he didn’t give a verbal answer, instead repeating his goodbyes to the two older men before heading off.  

Dream watches the blond go before looking at Sam; Sam’s eyes were trailing after Tommy, clinging to the tail of his shirt when Tommy turned a corner, almost knocking into Ponk.  The African man jumps out the way, but Tommy kept going without an apology or even a look back.  

Dream sighs, reaching up to rub at his forehead.  “I didn’t do anything, right?  Was that hug really that awkward?  Gods, Drista was never this complicated, and I always thought girls were worse.”

“No..” Sam draws out, scratching at the beginnings of a beard on his chin.  “I think he’s just hormonal.”

“You think?” Dream raises an eyebrow.  

Sam purses his lips, silent.  

The silence breaks with a crash of ceramic, pieces shattering on a tile floor that Tubbo picked up because it was the easiest to see crumbs and dust.  The tiles were a dark gray, almost black but in the light they were lighter.  The lights were all off.  Tommy felt like he was drowning in a sea of black.  

Hopefully when Tubbo got back from Cog, he didn’t ask for that plate.  

Tommy sinks to the ground, his head in his hands and fingers running and tugging through his hair.  Ragged breathing fell out of his mouth sporadically, no obvious pattern as he tried his best to calm down with no avail.  The plate’s pieces dig into his socked feet, but he sat away from the mess of dust of where the initial hit happened.  

You really push everyone away, don’t you, TommyInnit?

Tommy didn’t like being referred to his full name.  Maybe it was a mistake his character shared the same one.  

The bags under his eyes were more profound as sleep lazily tugged at his arm, begging him to come back to bed.  Tommy didn’t listen.  The clock was going to strike ten soon, and Tubbo wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.  

He could clean up the plate later.  

Tommy knocks his head back against the fridge, doing his best to regulate his breathing as he cracked himself a can of soda.  The only breathing classes he took were to how to breathe while playing dead for acting, never to calm yourself down.  

He chokes down a sob by gulping down the soda, placing the can with a small clink on the kitchen island when he couldn’t hold anymore in his mouth.  Swallowing roughly, Tommy gasps afterwards and rubs at his eyes.  Ghostly hands tug his own away from his face, the boy letting them drop with his eyes.  His chest stutters with a trapped breathe, struggling to rise up and leave.  

One of his hands slams into his chest, the ghost’s hands trying to pry it away and back to his side.  Tommy closes his eyes, coughing a few times with each bang against his chest before finally feeling air fill his lungs.  His forehead falls forward against a warm surface, letting the unknown hands card through his hair in an effort to calm him down.  Maybe it was Ghostbur.

“I got you, shh..”

Ghostbur wasn’t real.  

Tommy opens his eyes to see a yellow sweatshirt that reminded him of his best friend.  Exhaling at the familiar sight, he wraps his arms under the other’s arms and his hands cling into the comfortable fabric.  

Tommy breathes out slowly, a hand rubbing against his back, similar to how Dream would whenever he panicked too much during a recording and they had to cut it because Tommy wouldn’t stop crying or he’d freeze up.  Why Dream dealt with him, Tommy didn’t know.  He’s known the man for little over a year; why did Dream care?

Why did Wilbur- Tubbo- anyone-

“We care.  You’re okay, Tommy, shh, just sleep.”

Tommy followed the softly spoken order, his lungs working properly and no longer feeling like they were being stuffed up in his throat.  The soda on the kitchen isle was warm, the tiny air bubbles in it that made Tommy’s tongue feel like pins and needles no longer surfacing.  The boy’s hold on the sweatshirt weakens but doesn’t drop.  

When Tommy first let out a snore is when Sam opened his eyes again.  He could feel tears pricking in them at how guilty and irresponsible he felt; this poor boy probably would’ve told none of them of this, or hasn’t, if it’s happened before.  The man sits on the floor with Tommy, rubbing his back slowly to keep him asleep and in a peaceful state, away from the real world.  

The plate would have to be cleaned up later.

Chapter Text

“Sorry, Dream, but you didn’t pay me enough.”

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

Noises form into colors and colors went dull before once sparkling, now dull, emerald-colored eyes.  

The people scraped the ceiling of the cavern, standing as tall as titans and giants and gods.  Their weapons hummed with blood thirst, thirst for his blood.  

His blood fell gold.  Ichor.  The ichor splattered on the ground, blow after blow, splash of paint after one another to paint a crime scene on the floor, a crime scene that would be cleaned up within minutes and whistled about by the people.  

His body felt light with no armor, no glistening armor that gave him protection from enemies and rebels, confidence to do as he pleased.  Reassurance that he was untouchable.  

The untouchable aren’t meant to be touched, but here Dream knelt, cradling a makeup-job of a wound around his throat.  Nightmare was held in a hand not his, judgmental eyes staring down at him like the earth itself.  Dream was no Altas; he was crumbling, gasping wetly as golden paint dribbles from his neck and slips past his fingers.  

His green sweatshirt was stained gold, a decorative piece of war.  His mask, one half was still on his face.  The other was on the ground before him, chopped in half by his own axe but by not his will.  

Dream sobs uglily, a heart-wrenching yet empowering noise for those gathered.  He did his best to hide the half of his face that was exposed, but in order to keep the throat wound believable, one hand hovered over it.  He sobs again, tears welting in those dull emerald eyes.  

Electric blue ones held a sense of victory, spinning Nightmare in his hands before turning to the crowd.  “This was your hero!  This was the one you followed!” Tommy steps back to stand next to the knelt Dream, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of hair.  Dream screams unholily when Tommy yanks him up by his hair, the teenager smiling wildly.  

Sapnap had dried tears down his cheeks, BadBoyHalo standing next to him with fear in his eyes.  

Punz stood between Purpled and Antfrost, all three looking evenly betrayed.

Quackity and Eret stood on either side of Tubbo, protecting their younger friend from any more harm that anyone would bring him in this moment.  

Callahan was beside Ponk and Awesamdude; the latter was stolid, standing near the flying elevator that first brought Dream, Tommy, and Tubbo into this lair.  Callahan, making a cameo appearance (as he was still a server admin and occasionally appeared.  The fans loved him, so having him appear made this scene ever more powerful.)

Nihachu was beside Jack Manifold, who was next to HBomb.  The three looked evenly disgusted by Dream in full, Nihachu dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.  Manifold huffs, wrinkling his nose.  

Behind the group, Ranboo stood, mumbling something unearthly under his breath as he looked at the wall, memory book grasped in his arms.  

Before them all was Captain Puffy.  The woman’s sunglasses hid disappointed eyes.

Tommy holds out Dream to his character’s mother, dropping him finally by the hair.  Dream gasps loudly when Tommy kicks at the back of his knees, now leaning forward with his hands on the ground before his legs.  Dream’s eyes threatened to break their dams.  

Puffy squats in front of her son, one hand moving out to push dirty blond hair out of his face.  The woman with cosmetic sheep horns coming out of her head sighs softly, running her fingers through the lock of hair in her hand.  It was too much of an innocent touch for Dream, too pure, too forgiving, too sincere.  

“I thought I raised you better, duckling.” There was no anger and no accusation in her voice.  Just.. disappointment.  

Dream felt like crying right then and there, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t for the camera that faced him behind Puffy’s back.  

“You’re going someplace you’ll never escape from, Dream,” Tommy spits rudely, yanking his former abuser to his feet.  Dream’s world spins before his eyes, limping over with help from Tommy over to where Sam stood with his two companions.  Ponk huddles himself closer to Sam’s side upon seeing the party of two approaching; the mechanic holds his arm out in front of the African man.  

Dumping Dream to the ground in front of Sam, Tommy looks up at Sam, Callahan.  The look that burned in Tommy was unlike anything he’d every shown before: accomplishment.  Callahan was impressed; he never saw the boy’s acting from this perspective.  He was incredible.  No wonder the fans loved him, his character and his person, so much.  

“Come on, Dream.” Sam kicks the green man’s side lightly, not enough to hurt him but a warning.  “We’re going.”

BadBoyHalo keeps a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder as the two walk up to the flying elevator, standing idly there to wait for Sam and Dream.  Ponk and Callahan mix in with the ground of bystanders, Punz stepping up beside Puffy.  Callahan disappears off set.  

Dream grovels, reaching a hand to Tommy’s ankle.  “Tom.. Tommy, please, please, kill me now,” Dream pleads, but his hand is batted away by the butt of Nightmare.  Dream squeezes his eyes shut, willing his breathing to become more exaggerated.  

“If we killed you now, Dream, none of us that have been hurt by you would feel any sort of victory for this.  We had to cheat death at your hands.  You aren’t given a choice to cheat because you’ve been caught.  You’re done, Dream.  Cheaters lose, like Tubbo said earlier with chess.  Cheaters lose, and they don’t get to play again.”

Dream finally lets his dams break on cue, tears falling to the blackstone ground.  He cries, curling his hands into fists, when he’s pulled up to his feet.  He cries when handcuffs are placed around his wrists and around his ankles, clicking into place.  He cries when Puffy giving him one last long look before she turns her back on her duckling.  He cries when Sapnap doesn’t even turn to look at him, nor BadBoyHalo, when he and Sam joined the father and son on the flying elevator.  He cries when the people below him move on with the scene without him, without their god.  

He cries when the flying elevator reaches its peak, where there are no cameras and no scripts and no acting.  He still cries.  

He cries into Sapnap’s shoulder, his best friend instantly around him and holding him tight.  Bad hugs him from the other side, and Sam reaches over the shorter brunet to tuck down Dream’s hood and unclasp the broken mask.  The other half was left on the ground down below; it’d be grabbed later.  

Bad runs a hand through Dream’s hair, forcing out knots that were key to his character’s appearance.  Making soft coos and trying his best to calm down his friend, Bad wiping the tears out of Dream’s eyes with his thumbs.  “You did so well, Dream.  You did it, you finished season two.”

Dream blinks through his tears, his hands caught in Sapnap’s hair.  He manages to make eye contact with Bad, saddened amber eyes meeting emerald ones.  Dream sniffles, resting his forehead against Bad as a silent thank you.  

Sapnap buries his own forehead against Dream’s neck, breathing in the scent of his best friend.  It smelled of dirt and deodorant and metallic paint but also firewood and marshmallows.  He, Dream, and George had all roasted marshmallows the night before to celebrate the ending of the season.  

Sam watches from the side, waiting his turn to comfort Dream.  He was well aware of the quote of quote Dream Team’s bond, and being that three of the members were here, Sam let them have their space. 

Dream’s tough guy façade had cracked the second he had been able to cry, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of it being repaired.  BadBoyHalo pulls away after a few more minutes to standing there, tilting his head up to Dream, but Sapnap still hangs around.  

Dream gestures for Sam with a tilt of his head, welcoming Sam into the hug with one arm.  His other remained around Sapnap’s shoulders.  Sam sighs, mumbling a congratulations of his own to Dream before stepping back.  He’d have later to comfort Dream more, instead joining Bad in conversation with their backs turning to Dream and Sapnap, giving the two the best privacy they could offer until they were collected by the rest of their crew to go home.  

Dream presses his nose into Sapnap’s hair, exhaling through his nose as his other arm wraps around the younger’s neck.  The two stand like that for a little bit more until Sapnap stands up from his slouch against Dream, rubbing his eyes with a fist.  Dream chuckles at the childish action, gently moving Sapnap’s bangs out of his face.  The green man had a few loose tears still sliding down his cheeks.

“You did it, Dream.  You did it,” Sapnap whispers, his own eyes glossy with unshed tears.  “You made it.”

Dream smiles with no teeth, drawing Sapnap into a tighter hug.  Sapnap sighs happily, exhaling softly against his childhood best friend’s hair.  

“We did it, Sap.”

Chapter Text

There was something so sickeningly satisfying about someone regarding you with so much fear as you stole their life right in front of their eyes that had Technoblade coming back to the pit night after night.  

Hypixel was anything but acting; everything that happened within the damn city was real.  Those who died really died, suffering from mortal wounds.  If they entered any sort of game without grinding in their person-specific rune into a respawn bed, they wouldn’t wake up from death.  Those hurt the worst for Technoblade, when the body just laid there and didn’t disappear in a white flash, but Technoblade always had high pain tolerance.

Scars decorated his body like tattoos.  Someone tried to paint Technoblade once, for a portrait to be hung in Hypixel Hall, but even he was unable to truly master the mangled mess called his body.  

Just to name a few, he had one that ran from his left bicep to his lower abdomen from a nasty duel with Cxlvxn.  There were no hard feelings that followed that fight, but gods, Calvin could put up one.  

Another tore a chunk out of his right ear.  That was from a pesky kid who was quick with a knife but dumb in the head.  Technoblade had watched the body slump to the ground, unmoving.  A small part of him wanted to give that boy a proper burial, but the stadium-sized crowd in his head demanded for more bloodshed. 

One came across his back in a wide swipe, one from his earliest days on Hypixel.  Technoblade had almost bled out from that wound, but he had managed to place his sword in the right place at the right time to declare him winner of the duel and whisk him off to a medic.  

Duels were nasty.  Unlike the duels that could be participated by the public (with respawn beds, as usual.  Those beds were present in every game that Hypixel offered.), the duels that happened within the pit were bloody, dirty, and gambled on.  

People with no money and people with the world’s worth flocked to the pit after sun’s set every night to bet and gamble on the pit fights that happened beneath the center of Hypixel. 

Supposedly, the feds knew what was up.  They did nothing to stop the blood loss.  

A man with slicked-back hair swirls his cup of whiskey in a hand, a mustache slightly damp from drinking.  Dressed in fine attire, a sweater with a scarf and straight pants, Ludwig Ahgren was the poster child of a casual millionaire.  He takes another sip from his whiskey, watching pictures fly across the megascreen of a placement bracket.  

Today was the championship.  It hadn’t been a fair match.  

The fight had already ceased by the time Ludwig cast his focus to the ring.  The pit was a sand-filled, well, pit, some twenty feet below the first line of seats.  That precaution was taken for the sake of fans not reaching out to the competitors, but also for the competitors not turning against the fans in a fury.. it’s happened before, and it isn’t pretty.

The pit tonight was a beautiful image of crimson red blood on a ram backdrop.  A body that eventually disappeared in a cloud of white was crushed beneath a hoof.  The hoof slams into the earth below when the body disappears. 

The underground stadium roars their excitement for King Technoblade of Hypixel.  A golden crown sat on his head, undefeated but not untested.  Technoblade holds his arms up to the crowd, doing a once spin to get his cape flying.  The action causes more cheers and chants of his name.  Technoblade raises a fist that clenched a diamond sword to the sky.  

Ludwig watches unamused as an associate pads over amidst the screaming of fans.  Sykkuno watches, on the contrary, with an amused look in his eyes as a large gate is opened for Technoblade to exit out of.  The piglin brute follows the path, leaving the pit with one last deep bow for his fans.  It leaves some people swooning and others screaming for more.  

“Interesting, huh?” Sykkuno comments with a small chuckle.  “I told you you’d like him.  He’s right up your alley, isn’t he, Ludwig?”

Ludwig hums his agreement, taking another sip of his whiskey.  He accents his refreshment with the alcohol before sliding the glass onto a table nearby for a waiter to clean up.  “He’s a winner, that’s for sure.”

Sykkuno giggles, covering his mouth with a hand.  A little leaf sprung out from the top of his head, a sapling-hybrid.  “I have a friend that can get you behind the scenes, or better yet, Technoblade’s address.  Which would you prefer?”

“Now,” Mr Ahgren replies without hesitation.  “I don’t want to do this sober.”

“Pass me a mead, come on,” Technoblade complains, shaking out his mane as his companions laugh at his crankiness.  xNestorio chugs down the rest of his own mason jar of beer, slamming it down on the counter near Huahwi.  The man in glasses adjusts them when they slide down his nose after looking down at his comms. 

Skeppy throws an arm around Technoblade’s neck, pulling the piglin down for a well-meant nuggie.  Technoblade whines, pushing Skeppy off of him, but it doesn’t stop the ore mite from attempting to climb up his back.  Technoblade looks towards BadBoyHalo for help, the man only shrugging. 

“I lost control of him a long time ago, Techie!” Bad comments with a laugh, seated next to TapL.  The apple-hybrid was showing Bad something on his comms, looking up at the perfect moment to see Skeppy go flying into a nearby chair after being thrown off of the monstrous piglin.  

Skeppy laughs drunkily, causing the group of seasoned Hypixel fighters to laugh as well.  Even Technoblade chuckles a little, while in his element.  

“But seriously, pass me some mead.  Eighty fights mean,” Technoblade resumes his begging, holding out a hand towards Calvin.  The man complies with a low chuckle, sliding a filled-to-the-brim mason jar of mead to the piglin.  

Calvin leans on the counter, sat between Nestorio and Huahwi.  “Seriously, man, how do you drink that stuff?  It’s putrid!”

Technoblade licks his upper lip after taking a long sip.  He places down the jar to fix his crown, looking smug as he faced Calvin.  “What can I say?  I’m just a different breed.”

“Oh, fuck off, man!” TapL yells, booing from his spot.  “You’re no more special than Skeppy over that, and that loser can’t hold alcohol for his life!”

Skeppy points a finger out in TapL’s direction, narrowing his eyes; he’s unable to concentrate for long when everything swims before him.  “You’re lucky tonight, Harvey.  I would’ve beaten your ass if I was sober.”

“You are not sleeping with me tonight, Skeppy,” BadBoyHalo decides with a nod of his head before paling at his own words.  His companions had all raised their eyebrows and were making rather suggestive comments now, causing Bad to cover his blushing face in his hands.  

Skeppy leans over to Nestorio, “I didn’t know we were fucking.”

“You’re not.  I’m pretty sure Bad meant as roommates,” Nestorio whispers back.  Skeppy frowns.  

Technoblade looked like he was about to say something when Huahwi cut him off completely by speaking himself.  “Don’t look behind you, Techno.  Your favorite person’s here.”

Well, if you tell someone not to look behind them, they’ll do it.  Being that the voices in his head were not yet fully suppressed by the emergency medication he had taken directly after the championship, Technoblade’s chat was still very much looking for a fight.  Looking over his shoulder, Technoblade grumbles out of annoyance when he spots a tall man that had half of his face taken over by a dark-furred, mangled rabbit.  A rabbit-hybrid. 

Corpse Husband.  What a fitting name.. and he was heading straight towards Technoblade and his lot.  

Technoblade turns around on his seat on top of a table, holding his mead jar in one hand loosely.  Skeppy was resting his arms on his best friend’s thigh, arms crossed underneath his chin.  The rest of the group watched Corpse head on over while still, being trailed by a shorter man.  One of the piglin’s hands rested on Skeppy’s shoulders like he was a cat.  Technoblade wrinkles his snout when Corpse finally reaches them, greeting them with a small nod.  

Corpse Husband wasn’t a fighter.  He hasn’t fought once in Hypixel, in any sort of game.  Yet, because he was a musician, an occasional actor, an Among Us vet, was a hybrid, and had a deep voice, he rivaled Technoblade in popularity among Hypixelians.  It was disturbing, to say the least, for those who fought in Hypixel to raise ranks, when this douchebag shows up with some edgy music and instantly becomes the best thing since Technoblade.  

It hurt every Hypixelian fighter to their core to stare down Corpse Husband; even Technoblade’s pride ached just hearing the guy’s name.

“Technoblade,” Corpse rumbles, staring at the piglin with his one working eye.  The other, attached to the rabbit side of his face, was missing.  

Technoblade nods his head in return with a welcome grunt, a usual piglin greet.  “Corpse.” 

“My friend here would like to speak with you briefly.” Corpse moves out of the way to let the spotlight switch from him to the man behind him.  He looked just about to piss his pants when all seven men turned to look and stare and judge him silently and gossip about him on their socials and say he’s-

“His name is Ludwig Ahgren.  He only wants a few minutes of your time,” Corpse adds with a clarification, his rabbit ear flicking out of boredom.  “Don’t be rude.”

Technoblade huffs, gently pushing Skeppy off him, a drastic change from the piglin’s rambunctious nature with his best friend earlier.  Bad watches Technoblade plod off with Ludwig in tow to a secluded area, not letting his companions talk him out of the talk.  

“He’s fine,” TapL waves off his friends’ nerves nonchalantly, still scrolling through his socials.  “It’s not like he has social anxiety or anything.”

Oh ee gods it’s a millionaire e.  Kill it and e e ee run, no one will know ee eee.

No, Technoblade scolds his chat tiredly, reaching up to scratch behind his ear as he faced Ludwig.  The height difference was disgusting.  Technoblade had almost a two foot difference over Ludwig, something the other man didn’t seem to happy about.  

“You’re taller than I thought,” Ludwig begins the conversation off with a bitten back accusation.  

“You’re shorter than.. I thought,” Technoblade replies with a spin on the other’s words, exhaling steam through his nostril.  “Sorry, ah, sir, but if it’s no problem to you, can we hurry this conversation or whatever.. up?  I just won a championship, I want to celebrate with my friends.  

Ludwig raises an eyebrow in surprise.  “For someone who has been in the city’s spotlight for the past year or so, you’d think you’d be better at speaking to strangers.”

Technoblade looked personally offended by that.  “I don’t spend my days speaking to strangers..?  Sorry..?”

“No, no, it’s fine.  Say, Technoblade,” Technoblade hides a wince at how Ludwig pronounced his name.  “Have you ever taken a public speaking course in school?” Ludwig asks a question that seemed so off topic that Technoblade considered walking out of the locked bathroom right then and there.  One of the toilets flooded lazily as they spoke.  “Have you?”

“I can’t say I have, sir.  I haven’t been to school up on the.. surface yet,” Technoblade responds honestly, seeing as there was no point in lying.  It would be obvious he was if he did. 

Ludwig purses his lips, thinking.  “How long have you been on the.. surface?”

Technoblade does a bit of math inside his head with help of his fingers.  Ludwig grimaces at the sight that Technoblade needed his fingers for very basic math.  “Uh.. since I was ten?”

“Ten,” Ludwig repeats out of disbelief.  Technoblade nods with a hum. 

“I will say, though, uh, I hope that’s the end of the questions.  Can I leave?” Technoblade interrupts Ludwig’s train of thought by swinging his head towards the door.  “I want to get drunk and go play some late night Bedwars soon.”

“That’s not going to happen, Technoblade,” Ludwig says with a small smirk that the piglin didn’t like.

“Who’s to stop me?”

“Technoblade, do you like Hypixel?”

Red alarms blare in his mind, but he ignores them for the time being.  Nodding slowly, unsure of what prompted that question, Technoblade turns back to Ludwig.  The man was still smiling.. it seemed genuine.  Technoblade didn’t like it.  

“Well, I was just thinking.  Do you plan on being a fighter all your life?  What happened when you plateau?  When you die a few times?  Your reputation is gone.” Ludwig steps towards Technoblade slowly.  The piglin steps back in response.  “Do you have a life plan?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t know yo-“ Technoblade is cut off a moment later.

“I think you’d like to get to know me, Technoblade, because I have a business offer for you,” Ludwig teases, pulling out a thin wallet and holding up a small card between his index and middle.  Technoblade squints at it, leaving Ludwig puzzled.

“I need glasses.”

“Oh,” Ludwig responses intelligently before shaking his head to contiune.  “This, my friend-“

“I’m not your friend.”

“- is,” Ludwig hides a face at the interruption, “a free pass to studying at Hypixel High, one of the best universities in the city of Hypixel.  I have a few friends that are a part of the administration over there, and I’d like for you to attend their school to educate yourself and perhaps further any interests in niches that don’t include blood and swords and death.”

“But that’s fun though.. wait.. what’s the catch?” Technoblade whines before his guard is up seconds later.  He narrows his eyes towards Ludwig, but the man seemed to expect that reaction.  

“You have to take a course about acting.”

“About what?” Technoblade questions, thinking he hears Ludwig wrong.

“Acting!” Ludwig smiles.  

“You see, Technoblade.” The more Ludwig said his name, the less the piglin was irked by its pronunciation.  “I have another friend, Septic.  He’s currently in a deal with this speedrunner.  Septic thinks this speedrunner’s going to be the next DanTDM or something.” Ludwig makes jazz hands to accent the crazy thoughts of his friend.  

Technoblade snorts a laugh with a shake of his head.  “Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.”

“It will.”

Technoblade freezes his laughter.

“Technoblade, you have promise.  You’re a literal king here in Hypixel, the people love you.  As long as whatever you do caters to them, they’ll still love you!  That gives you so much leeway.. you know how Hypixel gets a bad rep for all the fighting.  Don’t you want to bring glory to this city?”

It wasn’t uncommon to see Hypixel in Minecraft headlines about street fights or games gone wrong.  Technoblade himself has been in a few of those stories, though he didn’t like to admit it.  It did hurt to see his city get badmouthed by the rest of Minecraft, but there was only so much one piglin could do.  

“If you take up acting, I will fund you for the rest of your Hypixel career for anything you could ever need, and throw your name around to the biggest names in the business.  Consider it a sponsorship.  I help you get an education, acting lessons, and jobs, and you help me by, y’know, occasional payments here and there and throwing my name to other prospecting actors who need sponsors too!” Ludwig explains without much being hidden, his words too good to be true for Technoblade.  

“I don’t trust you,” Technoblade mumbles, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh, you don’t have to trust me about anything, Technoblade.  I know for a fact that this will benefit us both, though.  I haven’t made a deal that has gotten bad reviews from other side, and I don’t plan on you being the first,” Ludwig chuckles, scratching at his beard.  

“I like gambling, Technoblade.  That’s how I saw you out there today, making a fool out of your competitor and dragging him around like a ragdoll.  That’s promising, Technoblade, but you can go so much further than a sandy pit underneath a city with a bad reputation.”

Technoblade is silent, his ears pressed to the sides of his head as he thought about his choices.  

“I doubt you’ll get another opportunity like this.  Take it or leave it, Technoblade, I’m not forcing anything on you.  You can back out of the deal whenever you please if you feel I’m not doing you justice or you’re not happy, no strings attached.”

Technoblade hums lowly.  A pale hand shakes a pink-furred one, and comm numbers are exchanged for further talk.  

“I’ll be seeing you soon, King Technoblade.”

“As you too, sir.”

His mead was warm when Technoblade picked it back up, but he drank it anyway.

Ludwig called up Septic minutes after striking the deal, immediately bragging about how he made the partnership of the century.  

Technoblade stepped into Hypixel High first thing that following Monday, glasses perched on his snout.  Ludwig stood beside him with a way-too confident smirk on his features. 

“You’ll going to be greater than you ever imagined, King.”

As Mr Ahgren stared at the news over his breakfast coffee, watching his faux-son give a heavyweighted monologue in front of the best actors in the game in some fantasy show, he smiled.  Those public speaking classes most definitely paid off in the long run.  

Chapter Text

The bottle shatters against a surface, glass flying in different directions.  They clatter to the ground like chimes in the wind, a cascade of reflective rainbows.  It would’ve been beautiful, a direct contrast between the enraged ram and the rainbow-colored glass, had it not been for the red paint on the glass.  

Quackity was on the floor, holding his arm against his chest as he tried his best not the cry.  The duck-hybrid’s dark brown eyes skirt up at his husband before him; Quackity chokes on his spit as he was supposed to.  

JSchlatt bends down to grab Quackity by his tie, yanking the younger man to his feet with bared teeth facing him.  Quackity coughs dryly against the tight tie around his neck, clawing at it with painted red hands.  JSchlatt tugs Quackity’s face closer to his, smiling at the fear in Quackity’s eyes.  

“Bad boys don’t get off with no broken bones, Quackity,” the ram-hybrid whispers to Quackity’s face, the latter grimacing at the scent of alcohol.  His breathing was slowing down from the choking JSchlatt continued to put him through; to this extreme couldn’t be scripted..

JSchlatt reaches behind Quackity’s back, grabbing at the wooden planks that would later turn into CGI wings, dandelion colored with rare white flight feathers.  There’s a snap when JSchlatt cracks the plank in his bare grasp.

Tears spill over Quackity’s cheeks.  

“Bet you liked that, huh?  You fucking..” JSchlatt makes a disgusted face, letting the silence fill with possible words he could’ve called the duck-hybrid before him.  They floated around the air, filling Quackity’s ears with lies that the real JSchlatt didn’t mean but the acting one, the one before him, did.  

His neck is yanked forward, his nose almost knocked against JSchlatt’s pierced one.  Quackity’s lower lip wobbles before it’s taken between teeth not his; JSchlatt bites down.  

Quackity cries out pathetically, his beanie threatening to slip off his hair.  The makeup paint on his arm, the fabric of his suit arm ripped, dribbles down and splats on the floor.  Quackity could taste blood in his mouth.. this wasn’t.  

JSchlatt whispers something into his ear that the camera doesn’t pick up on.  The other man’s eyes widen.  The duck-hybrid is dropped roughly from the hand around his tie, Quackity stumbling backwards and gasping loudly to get his breath back.  He bends over his knees, ignoring how JSchlatt trailed a finger down his spine and carried himself out of the room.  

“Maybe next time, don’t consort with the enemy.” JSchlatt holds up a note between his fingers.  It was signed by a certain masked man.  The ram-hybrid crinkles it in his burly hand, opening the door of his vice president’s office and exiting.  

There were no cameras behind the door.  He was supposed to wait.  JSchlatt wasn’t good at being patient.

Quackity’s blood, his real blood, was on his teeth, on his lips, on his tongue.  The ram-hybrid raises a shaking hand to his mouth, eyes widening as he realized what he did.  His mind was swimming in bourbon.  He would’ve liked to remind sober while on set, but Callahan insisted that as long as JSchlatt didn’t get vulgar with his actions or words, he should be drunk while acting.  It pushed the realness of the scene.

JSchlatt didn’t like it one bit.  

Everyone watched with judging eyes whenever he downed another bottle before fixing his red tie.  Tubbo usually couldn’t meet his eyes when he had a bottle in his hands.  Even Quackity kept his distance, which hurt, being that the Mexican was one of JSchlatt’s closer friends within the cast.  

He sniffles.  The slap of a slateboard sounds, but he didn’t go to walk back inside to check up on Quackity like he usually did.  

The drunk male trudged out of the White House, ignoring the idle look from Karl Jacobs as he made his way towards the portal home.  His house back on the home server would have to do for ‘home’ now, since his real home was back on a Texan server with Connor, lost in the abstracts of the Minecraft universe.  

Bottles had been cracking over and over in his mind, a broken record, going on for over twenty minutes by the time JSchlatt plunged his key into his door and twisted it open.  He pulls at his tie, but drops his hand an instant later with a lost look in his eyes.  His head hurt.  

Quackity cries in his mind as he clawed at the choking tie around his neck, the Mexican’s face a mess of tears and red paint and a tiny shard of glass on his cheekbone.  His eyelashes had droplets on them.  

JSchlatt’s throat felt as tight as Quackity’s must’ve.  

His coat is pulled off by another, and his tie is loosened to hang before a white dress shirt.  JSchlatt sighs, accepting the pills of headache relief and the glass of water.  Not alcohol.  

“Lock the cabinet,” the ram-hybrid whispers.  The other hurries away, socks padding on the floor out of earshot.  

Leaving his jacket near the door, JSchlatt struggles over to one of the couches to sit down.  His stomach churns after the water sloshes with the bourbon, a burning sensation running up from the pit inside of him, engulfing his heart with guilt, before up his throat.  

Wilbur found the ram-hybrid not in the living room as he expected, but hunched over a toilet, wiping his mouth with a page of toilet paper and sighing heavily.  Frowning, Wilbur kneels down next to his friend and rubs his back when JSchlatt turns back to the toilet.  

“Tell Cal I can’t-“

The rest of his sentence is caught off with another dry gag.  Tears fall into the dirty toilet bowl; Wilbur holds the male’s hair back with his hands, sitting on the heels of his feet and pressing his nose into the back of JSchlatt’s neck.  When the latter finally slumps away from the toilet and back against the bathroom wall, Wilbur lets the other take his hand while he opened up his comms.  

JSchlatt closes his eyes, exhaling heavily.  Wilbur reaches over to flush the toilet when he deems JSchlatt’s stomach empty, closing his comms before turning to the ram-hybrid.  

There was empathy in the British man’s eyes as he moved to start up the bath.  “Come on, J, let’s get you cleaned up in bed.”

“I hurt.. I hurt Alex.”

“He’ll be okay.  You didn’t mean it, J.”

“I’m-“

“Done with the alcohol.” JSchlatt didn’t say that, but he didn’t fight it.  He leans into the hand on his forehead, sighing again.  

Wilbur whispers, “Thank you,” before turning the faucet to a shower setting.

Chapter Text

“Ranboo, if I asked you if you could keep a secret that could wind us both up getting fired and possibly out of any future jobs, would you keep it?”

“Charlie, I want to trust you but you prefaced that so shadily that I’m tempted to say no,” Ranboo whispers back, barely audible through Charlie’s hand over his mouth.  Charlie Slimecicle had yanked the boy into the reconstructed community house, shutting the trapdoor windows and locking the doors; Punz had huffed out of annoyance when Charlie smiled awkwardly before pulling the door closed with a slam before turning around to walk away.

Ranboo hadn’t been so lucky.

The community house, as it was during its reconstruction stages, had barely any light.  The only light was through the holes in the roof still not yet repaired.  Ranboo looks up at the sky through those holes before back at Charlie, furrowing his eyebrows.  

The teenager had just finished a Snowchester scene with Manifold and had been on his way to the portal back to his home server.  Tommy and Tubbo were waiting for him before starting movie night with special guest Purpled, but it seemed that they would have to wait a bit longer.  

Ranboo yawns against Charlie’s hand, the man finally dropping it.  The boy had washed off his makeup and his wig was missing, replaced with tanned skin and amber-colored hair.  The boy still had his sunglasses on, along with a black and white mask he usually wore out of the house.  Charlie himself was wearing his gamer shirt and regular jeans, the shirt not tucked into his pants like usual, and his slime props were noticeably missing.

“What is it, Charlie?” Ranboo asks tiredly, his eyelids heavy over his eyes.  

“Well uh,” Charlie stumbles over his words as he swallows nervously.  “I made some new friends.” His arms wrap around his midsection like he was having period cramps.  

Ranboo blinks expectantly, raising his eyebrows just a touch.  “Can I meet them?”

A thing plops onto Ranboo’s lap, jiggling around like a blob of jelly.  It pivots around so beady black eyes stared into Ranboo’s sunglasses, and a small gurgle of a giggle announces its hello.  It left a small puddle of goop on Ranboo’s suit pant legs, a light green substance that seemed to glow in the dark.  

Another follows shortly afterwards, smaller.  A larger hits its siblings when it falls too, and the smallest, maybe the size of a tennis ball, falls on the biggest’s head.  

“Surprise!..” Charlie waves his hands weakly, slime covering his chest, shirt, and hands.  “Meet Condy, Bear Bear, Bits, and Charlie Jr!”

Ranboo looked like he was on the verge of tears.  

Foolish wipes away some of his own after receiving a hilarious comm from Dream, an image consisting of the dirty blond whip-creaming a sleeping George.  Foolish sighs happily, spamming a shit ton of laughing emoticons before waving closed his comms after checking his socials briefly.

He was new to the Dream SMP cast, yes, but he had grown up knowing Dream like Sapnap did.  Perhaps not as close as the other two were, but Foolish still knew Dream in and out and vice versa; it was a breath of fresh air when Dream popped in to check on him and offer a position on the cast.  Foolish had been struggling with university at the time and was looking for a way to not continue university but still keep himself afloat and out of his parents’ basement.

Dream SMP was a rather odd choice to escape such reality, but hey, it worked.

The man stretches, sandstone piled in his inventory, ready to be used.  His builds were coming along beautifully; a few more days of construction and they’d be ready to use for the Dream SMP filming.  It was ironic that his character would be a shark-totem-hybrid, given that his base was in the middle of a desert.  Maybe it was a land shark-hybrid.

Could land sharks even go on land?  Foolish didn’t know, but really, he didn’t care.  

Humming a song to himself as he made his way up his gigantic hall, Foolish fails to see the two heads that peek out from behind a waterfall.  The man does a little dance as he continues on, shaking his hands back and forth with the rhythm of the song; Wilbur gave him the artist’s name, and his music taste was unnatural—in a good way.  

Climbing up the scaffolding he had placed earlier, Foolish rests his hands on his hip as he looks out at the sphinx and the pyramid he was working on.  The sphinx was pretty much done, save for some small decoration and inside work, and the pyramid only needed to be lit up to save it from mob spawns.  After he was done with the columns, one of which he stood on now, Foolish would only be left to terraform and then he’d be done.  

If only it was as easily said than done.  

Foolish shakes his head to clear his mind, pulling out a stack of sandstone before turning around to start on finishing this column.  He raises a hand, ready to place the block, before stopping himself.  Foolish blinks a few times, his mouth dropped.  He closes it when he straightens his posture, staring down at the jiggly little mob before him.  

Bits jumps around, trying to latch onto Foolish’s shoe.  The man pulls out his sword, “Free slime balls?  Don’t mind if I d-“

Another slime baby attacks his leg from behind, and unfortunate for Foolish, Bear Bear was rather big for a slime baby.  Foolish’s arms fly out, his sword almost falling from his hands as he desperately clings to any sort of balance he could muster.  Fear etched its way onto his face; a fall from this height could incapacitate him, and this early into a job, Foolish couldn’t afford that.

A slime is placed onto his head, sagging down his face and clinging to the fabric of his shirt.  Condy looks up with emotionless black dots for eyes.  Foolish feels his eyes roll back in his head, losing his battle with balance as he takes the three slimes on him down with him.  

Ranboo was quick to place some water to stop the man’s fall, but upon investigating, Foolish was out cold out of probably either surprise, fear, disbelief, or a mixture of all three.  Slimes were rather rare encounters to begin with, so them being in the middle of the desert was unheard of.  Ranboo didn’t blame the man; if three slime babies appeared at his base in Antarctica, Ranboo probably would’ve passed out too.  

Charlie was keeled over at a ninety degrees angle from laughing to hard, Charlie Jr jumping around on his head out of excitement of its siblings returning.  The three slimes were currently drowning in the water Ranboo had placed, and upon seeing the children’s struggle, the teenager quickly removed its source by scooping it back up, and picked up the three into an empty bucket the pair originally used to transport the children.  

Holding the bucket of slimes on his hip, Ranboo watches with an amused look in his eyes as Charlie struggles to his feet, leaning against one of the other columns for support.  Charlie Jr jiggles around on its friend’s head, Charlie sighing loudly with a little chuckle. 

“Sorry about that, Foolish,” Charlie apologizes to the slowly rousing man, who was drenched in water.  His sandstone was sloppy in his hands, but it was nothing an hour or so in the desert sun couldn’t fix.  Ranboo helps pull Foolish up to his feet with a free hand, the other man rubbing his head out of instinct.

“What the actual..?” Foolish trails off, looking between the two friends.  Ranboo was silently laughing, his shoulder shaking a telltale sign, while Charlie didn’t even try to hide his excitement.  “Don’t- don’t do it to me again,” Foolish warns weakly with a smile of his own.  “You’re lucky you were nearby, I was about to make myself some new sticky pistons.”

Ranboo gasps loudly as Charlie places his hands around Charlie Jr’s head, where ears should’ve been.  “Don’t you dare say that around my child!” Charlie squeaks in a high-pitched voice, possibly imitating an overprotective mother.  A snort passes through his fake anger, him starting to walk towards the desert hall’s large entrance.  Ranboo looks between the two men before following his friend, making small noises neither man could understand to the children in his bucket.  

“Don’t do anything too stupid!” Foolish shouts after the two scheming friends, watching them dip down the sandstone slabs with twinning laughs.  The man laughs with a small smile of his own.  “Those two.. damn.  They have way too much fun.”

Foolish swipes water off of his sandstone with a halfhearted sigh, staring up at his column.  “Maybe I need to start having some, too..”

Chapter Text

JSchlatt could sense the storm that was brewing right up against his side, but he chose to ignore it, stupidly.  

It wasn’t often Wilbur Soot got irritable enough to blow a fuse over who picked the movie for their weekly movie night Thursdays.  It wasn’t often Wilbur Soot didn’t want to sit next to JSchlatt on their weekly movie night Thursdays.  It wasn’t often Wilbur Soot stormed out of their weekly movie night Thursdays, saying he had work to do.

It wasn’t often JSchlatt carried out weekly movie night Thursday by himself, alone, on their couch, but it was happening.

The ram-hybrid fumbles with his fingers, staring down at them.  By now, the movie was going in one ear and out the other.  He could hear clattering and cursing and stomping coming through the hallway that led to Wilbur’s side of the house, but JSchlatt knew that his presence would only make the British man more upset.. over whatever he was upset with.  

He sighs; he didn’t even know why his best friend was upset.  What best friend he was.  

Waving close his comms, Jschlatt waits for a few hot seconds before the doorbell rings.  He doesn’t bother getting up, hearing the jingle of keys behind the door at the front of his house.  It opens after a minute of struggling, feet stamping on the doormat before the door is closed.  JSchlatt sinks further into the couch, curled up under a Yankee blanket with his hat discarded on the living room coffee table. 

A weight falls next to the ram-hybrid on the couch, grumbling before finding a comfortable position against JSchlatt’s side.  Connor takes the remote from his best friend, instantly clicking off of the movie before navigating to a Sonic one.  

Tossing the remote onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, Connor allows JSchlatt to lean into him and sigh heavily.  The shorter man pushes the other’s hair out of his face, pulling the blanket further up his shoulders.  “Your movie taste is horrible.”

They both fall asleep not even halfway into the movie.  When JSchlatt woke up the next day with a crick in his back and Connor missing, Wilbur was already out of the house.  

The ram-hybrid put his hands into his face and tried not to cry.  

“Don’t you dare threaten Clementine like that again, Wilbur, or I don’t give a damn about our friendship and I’m beating your stuck-up ass to a plump.”

“Tommy, there’s a rule on set about no pets!  Lay off already!”

“Charlie gets his fucking slimes, Ranboo has like, three cats that he’s almost killed, and Technoblade has a million dogs!  Why can’t I have Clementine?!”

“Because your pet moth is a fucking distraction for all of us!”

“It’s a moth, Wilbur!”

“Calm down, guys,” Sapnap pushes his hands against the two’s chests, pushing them away from each other and from a possible fist fight.  Wilbur held a clipboard in his hands with a copy of the script with written notes all over it, and Tommy held a jar with holes through the lid and a pretty little moth perched on a branch inside.  

Both Brits considered to glare each other down even when Purpled pulled Tommy away towards the other minors, trying to get the blond to cool off by complimenting Clementine’s appearance; it brought Tommy into a rant thankfully unrelated to Wilbur, walking off with the purple-wearing boy.  

Sapnap turns to Wilbur once the two boys were out of earshot.  “What has gotten into you, man?  Almost everyone is needed today, everything is stressed!  The moth helps Tommy calm down, usually you’re good about this,” Sapnap tries to reason with the other man by laying down facts, GeorgeNotFound hovering nearby with a protective look in his eyes. 

Wilbur’s teeth grit together, poking his finger into his clipboard.  “We have a tight schedule today, Sapnap, and Tommy’s moth keeps distracting him from actually working.”

“The kid already has a hard time concentrating, leave him alone.” Sapnap throws up his hands out of annoyance.  

“Can’t he do it without the moth?” Wilbur seethes, a vein popping out of his forehead.  Sapnap could see heavy eyebags under the other’s eyes.  

“If he needs the moth, let him keep the moth.  Personally, I say burn it, but if it keeps Tommy quiet, keep it around,” George shares his two cents from behind the American man, an arm around his younger friend.  The two British men exchange eye contact, George’s lazy flame nothing compared to the wildfire in Wilbur’s.  “Where’s your babysitter at, Wil, huh?  Go get a pacifier.”

Wilbur flashes George the middle finger with no shame, ignoring Alyssa’s angered look, before walking off towards a secluded area near Fundy’s not a secret base.  

George wrinkles his nose after the other Brit, ruffling Sapnap’s hair dotingly before letting go of the other.  “Don’t stoke the flame, Sap,” George warns.  “Someone’ll put him in his place.”

Wilbur was about to beat Quackity with his own maracas if the Mexican didn’t stop shaking them incessantly in his goddamn ear.  

It’s been happening for the past ten minutes, leaving Wilbur with a splitting headache and an anger that was boiling over with each shake.  Karl Jacobs was laughing like a madman in his chair, Fundy wheezing nearby.  Dream was covering his mouth with his hands, bent over and trying his best to calm himself down before anyone got a picture of the star dying over some instrument.  

Wilbur plugs fingers into his ears, staring down at the script he worked so hard on last night to finalize and have ready for today’s various recordings.  Almost everyone in the cast had a role for today in different places at different times; this episode would be a filler of sorts with some plot, but Wilbur still needed to work out the kinks in the script so it was ready to go for today.

Quackity was doing his best to lighten the mood of those who had hefty workloads today, Wilbur included, but despite his good intentions, Wilbur just wasn’t having it today.  The Mexican continued to shake the maracas to the tune of an old song that played from a scratchy radio.  

“Ay, mi amigo, ¡sonríe!” Quackity pokes at the grumpy British man, shaking the maracas dangerously close to Wilbur’s ears.  His Mexican Dream gag was out to show, fit with an obviously fake mustache from one of those sticker packs.  Dream falls to his knees, leaning his head back with his hands over his face as he laughed.  

Quackity shakes the maracas teasingly again when he doesn’t receive a reply, the radio still blasting old mariachi music from Mexican home servers.  “Someone didn’t get their beauty sleep, huh?” Quackity chuckles, turning away from Wilbur to entertain Fundy and Karl.  “These Brits, man!  Acting as shit as their weather!”

Wilbur scowls, standing up.  The clipboard with the script that had sat on his lap falls to the floor with a clatter, stilling seconds before a maraca is thrown nearby.  A second follows, and Quackity yelps when his mustache is ripped clean off.  

The British man offers no explanation as he stalked out of Fundy’s base, leaving the four men inside staring after him with mariachi music playing on loop behind them.  Fundy narrows his eyes, waving goodbye to his three friends before chasing after Wilbur.  

“Fundy, not now.”

“Wil, what the actual fuck has gotten into you today?” Fundy hisses, cornering the taller man near Tubbo’s original base on the server.  Wilbur avoids eye contact, tilting his chin up with a dusting of a frown on his face.  The redhead was baring his teeth into a snarl, upset at the other’s irritation at very much nothing.  

“I’m not in the mood to talk right now,” Wilbur replies, sliding past the subject and trying to do the same with around Fundy’s person.  The other man steps in his way, causing Wilbur to sigh.  “Not now, I said.”

“Your character may be mine’s dad but you can’t speak down to me like that, Wilbur.” Wilbur rolls his eyes at Fundy’s words, still trying to pass by him.  “Did something happen?  Was it Tommy again?  Schlatt?” Fundy tries, seeing Wilbur grimace at the mention of the two.  “You rarely act like this.”

“It’s not of your business, Fundy,” Wilbur clarifies, looking side to side for any sign of an escape.  “I’m an adult, I can handle yourself.” Wilbur goes to walk to the side, leaving Fundy in the dust.

The redhead grabs into Wilbur’s hand.  Wilbur doesn’t pull away.  

“Go home, Wilbur,” Fundy orders, eyebrows furrowed.  

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Wilbur growls, how the tables turned.  

Fundy holds up a clipboard, his thumb pressing over pencil notes that made absolutely no sense, probably even to Wilbur.  The British man reaches out on reflex to the script, scowling when Fundy hides it behind his back.  “You’re working yourself dead.”

“I’m perfectly fi-“

“Wilbur,” Fundy states, an ounce of desperation in his voice.  “Production only works smoothly if everyone is on the same page.  You’re way too far ahead of everyone.. slow down, and let everyone catch up.  I’ll give the script to Callahan, but since you’re not acting today, you should head on home.  Drink, for all I care, just.. just leave.”

Wilbur feels an arrow pierce through his heart, seeing Fundy looked dejected but also annoyed.  Had he had his tail on right now, it’d probably be swaying side to side between his legs; anxious, uncomfortable, desperate.  

The redhead watches Wilbur burn a line through the Dream SMP as he swarmed out of the server, the logout message reading on those on the server’s comms.  Fundy opens them to refresh the messages, seeing a public one follow Wilbur’s logout.

TommyInnit: so Clementine can stay?

Wilbur slams the door closed to his house, a menacing presence, unmoving.  His house was quiet, there were no birds chirping, no coffee machine spewing fresh brew, no welcome from his roommate.  

Throwing off his shoes and tossing his glasses onto a nearby dresser, Wilbur was scowling at the air in front of him.  He tears his eyes away from the various mirrors that hung up in his house as decoration, going as far to drape his coat over a larger one to hide the mess of himself from his own eyes.

His curls were all oily, too tight, but also too straight.  It was strange, running a hand through them left his hand soggy.  His eyes were bloodshot, red capillaries showing through easily.  It’d only be a matter of time until acne started to reappear on his face if he didn’t take care of himself within the next day or two.  

His socks left damp imprints on the hardwood floors as Wilbur walked through the hallway, closing each window and shutting the blinds as he went.  The hallway was engulfed with darkness by the time Wilbur had reached the end, a hand on the hallway’s archway and his head peeking through.  

A Yankee blanket was folded nicely on the couch, a cap laying on the coffee table with a tv remote.  There was no movement from the living room, no noise either.  It was deserted.  

Wilbur pads over, picking up the tv remote and leaving it to play some random station he couldn’t give a damn again.  Pulling his knees up to his chest after sitting on the edge of the couch, Wilbur watched the tv through blurred eyes.  

He should’ve just gone and showered, but he didn’t.  The couch was comfortable enough.  

JSchlatt shrugged off his suit’s jacket hours later, stepping into his house with a low whistle.  He looks out towards the still playing tv, knowing very well he had turned it off before leaving the house, before spotting the slouched-over figure of a man on his couch.  

JSchlatt drapes the Yankee blanket over Wilbur, leaving the room silent.  

Chapter Text

“Tubbo, I don’t think this is in the Create mod-“

“Oh, no, it isn’t!  It’s a separate modpack I had Dream add onto the server just for the plot!” Tubbo exclaims with a giddy little laugh.  He claps his hands, his ID card fitted neatly into his lanyard.  “Now, be careful, though.  My factory isn’t in the best spot here in Snowchester.. a creeper blew up earlier and if I tread over any loose gunpowder and bring it near the explosives, it could trigger everything to go up out of nowhere!”

“Duly noted,” SwaggerSouls breathes out anxiously over the comm call.  

Tubbo was in the midst of a video call to a few people over on Epic, giving them a tour of his own builds in Dream SMP.  Since Dream refuses to give the lot of them access to the server, even for the day (which Tubbo found hypocritical, since he allowed Wilbur’s SMPLive friends to the DSMP and the home server, but whatever.), Tubbo was forced to call his friends on the other server to show them everything.

JSchlatt hovered near the boy, checking the bottoms of his shoes after what he had said.  The ram-hybrid was all dressed up in his Glatt wear, being that they would have to film a scene where Glatt floats in the distance of a Tubbo scene to draw in fan focus.  Until Callahan and the rest of the camera crew showed up, though, the pair could do as they pleased.

Charlie Slimecicle peers into the screen; he was in Epic currently for a recording with Ted Nivision, who was currently lounging in a couch within Swagger’s base in the background.  Also nearby were Fitz and Weston, the latter was up next to Charlie to see the nukes (and JSchlatt, but shh.)

The nukes, of which, Tubbo was holding the camera up to see the whole picture.  JSchlatt gulps at the sight of them.  Deadly things, with radioactive stickers slapped onto the sides carelessly and danger signs plastered on nearby.  Most of them weren’t even as tall as half the factory, but there were two that threatened to touch the ceiling.  

Each was colorcoded to fit with a different keycard that hung around a key ring.  It was a precaution taken by Tubbo after in-character Tommy, of all people, noted that anyone with access to a factory ID card could set off any nuke at any given time without specific correspondent cards for each of them.  Tubbo went the extra mile to code the keycards to each nuke immediately, more out of paranoia than anything else.  The boy has been through some shit, his character-wise and out of it.  

They all had their own names too.  JSchlatt could see one was labeled Nightmare with an orange top.  The ram-hybrid shivers, seeing the one next to it was green and called Shamrock.  A blue one was called Mars, for whatever reason, and the purple one nearby was Mellohi.  JSchlatt understand that one; the red one was named Warlord, and a pink one was named Peace.  

Rather odd names, but when leaving the naming process to the likes of Tubbo, who infamously named his bees after their noises and movements, and Tommy, who named a fucking llama Clarencio and his pet moth Clementine, the bar was on the floor and the boys were doing their best to limbo under it.  

“So these are our biggest ones!” Tubbo introduces the six that were on display currently, smiling behind his camera that broadcasted live to the video call.  JSchlatt shakes his head in disbelief, whistling lowly as he looks up Warlord.  

“You.. you have others?” Charlie asks nervously, laughing afterwards.  “Remind me to run as far as possible if my character does anything stupid in the script against Snowchester, haha!” 

“Wow, no need to flex on us, Charlie.” Fitz looks up from his joint to speak, speaking lazily; the man was probably, definitely, high, but as they were all in Swagger’s base, he was free to do as he pleased.  He blows out a breath of smoke, smiling smugly when he was done.  “We all get that you’re on the kids’ show now.”

Charlie flashes a middle finger to his friend, who laughs in return; Fitz bursts into laughter while Ted chuckles at the sight.  Despite the man’s usual happy-go-lucky personality, he still very much shared the mature humor that most people on Epic had.  

“Well, I’m currently making more in my basement,” Tubbo explains, leading JSchlatt around the warheads and towards the other side of the factory.  “But those are all under construction, and I don’t want to finalize anything until me and Tommy test out Shamrock.”

“Shamrock?” Weston echoes, his chin rested on his hands.  JSchlatt peers over Tubbo’s shoulder at the younger man, chuckling at the curiosity in his eyes.

“Yeah!  That’s our biggest one right now,” Tubbo replies, pointing up at the green warhead.  “When me and Tommy were naming them, my character wanted to name it Dream but Tommy’s character had to say no so we just chose some random plant,” Tubbo explains easily.  “We’re testing Shamrock during tomorrow’s recording.  If everything goes right, there’ll be no casualties.”

“And if it doesn’t go right..?” Weston trails off with Swagger looking on from behind his helmet with a sharp inhale, knowing what was coming.

“Well, I hope you guys come attend my funeral!”

“Tubbo!” JSchlatt scolds, lightly tapping the boy’s shoulder as a form of punishment that had no ill meaning behind it.  Tubbo laughs, punching JSchlatt back in retaliation.

“They’re.. not props?” Charlie trails off with his eyes wide in a ‘what did you say?’ expression.  

“Nope!” Tubbo says cheerfully, leading JSchlatt further away from the warheads.  “That’s why we have to be careful!  One slip up and kaboom!”

JSchlatt makes a face at the boy’s awfully optimistic attitude while being so closed to things that could end the both of them within seconds of being ignited.  Regardless, he lets himself be pulled along around the warheads and towards one of the exits.  

“You guys haven’t even seen the laboratory yet!” Tubbo laughs, opening up the door by swiping his ID card.  

JSchlatt pales, hearing the intrigued voice of Swagger chime and Weston start laughing at JSchlatt’s face when the camera is pivoted to face the ram-hybrid.  Charlie falls out of frame as laughter fills the two actors’ ears.  Tubbo squints his eyes at the daylight and JSchlatt sighs at the fresh air.

“Come on, guys!  To the laboratory we go, we don’t have that long!” Tubbo leads the march to the right, tugging JSchlatt along by the cuff of his shirt. 

The ram-hybrid lets out an unenthusiastic yay, dragging his feet through the snow.  

Chapter Text

“It speaks to you, if you listen closely.. if you let it into your mind, Technoblade, you’ll be able to know the answers to questions even the most intelligent still ponder over..”

The Egg moaned in agreement, hissing out words that made no sense.  It was belted out noises and pitches that made the piglin wince, wince because of the vocals and because of what influence it had on him.  

He should’ve never explained to Callahan what chat was, and how every piglin brute had one.  It hadn’t been long until a lightbulb had gone off in the mute’s head, realizing something.  He should’ve never given Callahan the name of the only other piglin that roamed the surface as freely as he did. 

Sure, Wildcat’s chat was different than his, but it still -

Technoblade’s right ear flaps after a particular groan from the Egg.  BadBoyHalo turns towards the red thing with a slow nod of his head, acting as though he understood.  He did; he knew the Egg’s lines already, and though they were jumbled up into a hodgepodge, it still made some sense to Technoblade.  

rewoP.

Wildcat was older than he, he lived in the nether longer; he had a better control over his chat.  

Technoblade’s chat wasn’t taken lightly to the interloper.  They crashed back, wave after wave of relentless attacks on the Egg, insulting it and challenging Technoblade to fry it and eat it.  He even took his pills—he considered taking an extra dose, but Skeppy stopped him—; he had never felt chat this aggravated while under the pill’s suppression.  

BadBoyHalo was continuing with the script as he was supposed to; Technoblade was meant to carry it on, arguing back about how he already had power, how he already had control, how he alre-

Here’s comes Captain Puffy.   

e Omelet.

Technoblade may have power, but he didn’t have control.  

He leans his head into a hand, letting Puffy give her opening accusation towards Bad.  His head felt like it was being split open with an axe, chopped open like a log.  It hurt.  Technoblade hums softly, his eyes moving to look at Bad for help.  

The in-character demon-hybrid doesn’t see it, retorting back to Puffy that he wasn’t doing anything malicious to the piglin.  Puffy scrunches up her nose, “Yeah, right!  You’re trying to brainwash him!”

“I am not, Puffy!  Leave, you’re disrupting the peace,” BadBoyHalo barks back, his sword tight in his grip.  “I’ll use force if I have to.  Leave now.”

“Well, I’m taking Technoblade with me then!” Puffy replies defiantly, matching over to Technoblade to stand between him and Bad.  “Besides, I want to speak with him over a.. business deal.  I think Technoblade can get back to you about your little cult here, eh?”

e Omelet ee e.

“It is not a cult!” Bad fires, holding his sword up.  The scowl that had settled over the other’s face, the emotionless look in pure-white eyes, rocked Puffy to her core, but she had to keep the act up.  “Step away from Technoblade, Puffy.”

Puffy brings out her own sword, the enchantments on it glimmering.  All three people gathered were in full netherite currently, though Bad’s cloak hid his chestplate and leggings.  Puffy’s wig, a long, rainbow with curls one, cascaded down her back, and most of her chestplate save the front was hidden by her captain’s cloak.  

Technoblade’s own armor was covered partially by his red cape, but it rested over his royal-esque clothes.  Speaking of the piglin, Technoblade was zoning out of the world around him, his mind trying with no avail to focus on anything happening around him.  His chat was hollering all the way down to the nether from how loud they were, a ringing rendering his hearing paralyzed.  

Technoblade hums again, turning away from the two acting humans.  Bad narrows his eyes at the sight, but there’s a growl of something that causes all three people to stop whatever they were doing.  

keaw er’uoY.

“What?” Bad asks hollowly, looking up at the ceiling of the tavern they all stood in, overgrown by red weeds.  “What.. no.. not me.  Them!” Bad tries to reason with himself, pointing a sword at Puffy’s chest.  The woman backs up into Technoblade’s front defensively, holding up her sword as well.  

Technoblade doesn’t move from his point behind Puffy, instead curling in on himself and cradling his head.  Puffy looks over her shoulder and back at Bad, making a straight line with her free hand over her throat before jutting her head towards Bad.  Cut.  

e e ee Omelet.  

BadBoyHalo answers by pulling out his bow, stringing an arrow within a blink of an eye, and firing over Puffy’s and Technoblade’s heads—straight at a different target.  

Ranboo cries out in anguish when the arrow hits his shoulder; albeit protected by his netherite, it was still a sting.  

Technoblade’s hands grip at his mane, stumbling backwards over his own feet.  Puffy tosses her sword to the floor, forgetting the scene as a motherly instinct overwhelmed the older woman.  The netherite falls against a vine, snapping it.  BadBoyHalo pales behind his makeup.  

The prerecorded message for when anything harmful came to the Egg in its lair played immediately.  

thaeD!

Death, the chat called for.  Death to e e them all e. 

Puffy is thrown away from the piglin as he reared up at the slightest touch.  She crashed into a red vine prop, crumpling to the ground.  Ranboo hops over the vines he was crouching behind, running to help the woman get to her feet.  

Technoblade escaped through the exit, his cape flying behind him.  The item that was held in Philza’s hands, who had been standing on standby this entire time, was missing within a millisecond of being in his possession.  

Puffy grimaces, pain running up and down her spine.  Ranboo lifts her up to her feet, spotting the end of a royal cape leave the lair.  Bad was running over along with Ponk, who brandished a medical kit.  The real medic was not far behind him, ready to assess the situation.

Puffy’s hand tightens his grip on Ranboo’s suit sleeve, avoiding the thorns iii armor.  Bad hugged her when reaching her, and Puffy returned it weakly.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers to the man, who had wiped a streak of gray makeup off of his cheek in the midst of the panic.  

“He took his pills, I saw him, I don’t understand..” Bad trails off, helping her over to the medic and Ponk.  “It’s not your fault.”

The two hold each other’s hands as Puffy is assessed.  Bad looks over his shoulders to where the other people in the lair stood.  Philza stood near Alyssa, who had shut down the egg.  

Ranboo was missing, along with Skeppy.  

The latter of whom found Technoblade standing in the community house, unmoving.  It brought dejá vù to his mind, remembering another time when Technoblade had panicked because of his chat.  It felt so long ago, when in reality, it was maybe a month or so, not even.  Skeppy holds an arm out to stop Ranboo from running to the piglin, the teenager’s make-up wiped off and most of his armor peeled off.  

“Tech?” Skeppy calls cautiously, not stepping onto the crafting table flooring that had been reappeared since the explosion.  “Techno?  It’s me, Skeppy, and Ranboo.  Say something if we can come closer,” Skeppy instructs, closing his eyes as he inhaled.  “We won’t come closer if you don’t want us to.”

Technoblade shakes his head side to side, humming.  

“What’s wrong?” Ranboo whispers; Technoblade’s left ear flicks up at the noise.  His heavy leather boots thud against the table flooring as the piglin turns around, holding his cape in one hand like a tired child would.  

Skeppy looks down at his feet after seeing Technoblade’s head.  Ranboo prolongs eye contact, the piglin the first to look away and snort, as though he was saying “Yeah, me too.”

A metal muzzle captured Technoblade’s snout, the only thing saving all those around him from any homicidal intentions his chat conjured on.  

Restraint e.  

Tears threaten Technoblade’s eyes, but he blinks them away.  He’s unable to talk, and instead shakes his head sadly before opening up his arms in a silent invitation.  

Neither of his friends accept it, standing just beyond the ruined community house’s borders.  Technoblade drops his arms.  He didn’t expect either of them in their right minds to run towards a murderous piglin brute with no self-restraint, anyway.  

Technoblade: I think I’ll go home for a little bit.  How does that sound?

Chapter Text

Oddly enough, the room was peaceful.  Solemn, even.

There was a single large tv playing the fourteenth episode of season one of the Dream SMP, Legacy of the Father.  It was the episode in where L’Manberg originally blew up in, the first one, that ended the Manberg-Pogtopia War.  While there were a few people in the room actually paying attention to it, it was still interesting to see how the new generation of television differed from the older.

“It’s.. weird,” StampyLongHead breaks the silence, save for the occasional scream from the television.  The man was petting one of the pugs that the homeowner had, watching a few Manbergians dive out of the way as arrows rained from the sky.  “I’m used to seeing my own show on the tv, but I guess they don’t air our series much anymore.”

“Stampy, I haven’t seen a single Lucky Block Challenge episode in over five years be aired,” PopularMMOs yawns from his spot on the couch opposite from the long-haired man, sitting next to LDShadowLady and on her side, GamingWithJen.  

“Those were the days, huh, Pat?” Jen reminisces quietly, scrolling through her comm messages with her boyfriend.  Pat doesn’t answer.  

“Can relate, dudes,” iBallisticSquad pipes up from a loveseat, his legs crossed underneath him.  “I haven’t heard myself talk to some youngins in so long.  Part of me is thankful ‘cause damn, some shit I got up to was crazy, but it’s hard to leave that large part of your life back in the past.” He looks towards Stampy with a soft smile.  “My prime went out with you, man.”

Stampy reaches over the couch’s arm, clapping Squid on the shoulder gently.  “We had some memories on that world, eh?” The Englishman laughs, tossing some curls out of his face.

“We all had our own memories,” Aphmau chuckles sadly, clicking her heels together from her spot beside Stampy.  “I miss MyStreet, but hey, I have a family now.  We have to leave it all behind at some point,” Aphmau smiles at the thought of her kids and husband back at her home.  

“And hey!  It’s not like we’re all in retirement!” Pat pipes up, trying to be optimistic about the whole thing as Technoblade brings his sword down on Karl Jacobs in the background.  “Bajan and Jerome are still around and kicking!”

“Pat, that was back during the Monday Warrior.  I haven’t spoken to Bajan in gods know how long, and Jerome has only appeared on a few Championships since then,” Stampy deflates in his spot, tugging at the collar on his sweater.  

“It’s sad to see TeamCrafted’s cast slowly fade out.  Deadlox dropped off the map, who know where Husky is.  Caveman left a long time ago, and Sky..” ShadowLady trails off, pursing her lips at the thought of their old friend.  “Well, I hope he’s enjoying life.”

“He’s probably high, Minecraft, Minecraft, butter, all that shit,” Squid laughs, falling back in his seat.  “He really fell off the shelf.  He could’ve lived peacefully after going dark, but no, he just had to have that cameo on Live!”

Jen giggles, remembering the episode where Sky appeared out of thin air, clearly blazed and leaning against JSchlatt and ConnorEatsPants for support to even stand up.  “The man’s got goals even we can’t comprehend!”

“Live was good,” Aphmau interjects with a smile of her own.  “Very comedy based, I still watch it with Jason every so often.  Not yet with the kids, though.  They’re still a bit too young for their humor.”

“Do they watch the real kids’ show, then?” Stampy replies to the woman on his right with a crooked smile.  

“If I caught any of them watching the Dream SMP, I’d beat the living daylights out of them!” Aphmau promises, drawing laughter from her friends. 

“What’s this about the Dream SMP?” A voice from behind crows, and heads turn in surprise before faces light up.  Ssundee flashes his blinding smile, shrugging off his red coat before stepping into the living room.  Another man follows soon after, both of them sporting similar glasses, yet Captain Sparklez kept his robes on.  

A little girl runs out of view behind Sparklez, a box a telltale sign of Cuptoast’s arrival.  A boy runs in quickly afterwards, waving wildly to the adults in the room before Tubbo walks after her.  Sparklez pays them no mind, collapsing in the chair next to Squid and sparing the other man a cheeky smile.  “Parenting, am I right?”

“Old man,” Pat teases, leaning up and reaching over to shake the older’s hand.  Ssundee walks straight through the embrace, choosing to sit on the floor instead of the other side of the couch that was free, save another pug.  

“But seriously, what were you saying about Dream’s show?  I think it’s pretty decent, and plotwise, their scriptwriter?  Wilbur Soot?  Unlike any I’ve ever seen,” Sparklez comments, reaching up to prop his glasses in his hair.  Ssundee rests his chin in the palm of his hand, the late night host unusually quiet near his friends.  

“No, no, nothing bad.” Stampy shakes his hands apologetically with a sheepish smile.  “You know how everyone makes fun of the kids of that show, that’s all.”

“Well, one of those kids is my boy,” Sparklez shares the obvious, shaking his head with a laugh.  “Drives me insane with the stunts he pulls.”

“Bet you’re proud,” Aphmau comments, smiling.  “I don’t think my kids’ll go into acting.  I’d prefer them not too, too stressful.  I’m not even thirty yet and I’m already graying!”

“Oh honey, just dye your hair,” ShadowLady raises a hand out to her to calm her down.  “Joel’s been begging me to go natural but I’m still rocking the pink!” The woman thinks of her husband with a fond smile.  

“Hell yeah you are, Shadow,” Jen punches the woman’s arm to hype her up.  ShadowLady punches her right back, the two laughing women.  

“Y’all are sleeping on Epic, though!” Squid exclaims, almost scaring Stampy.  “Or, fuck, even the movies like Coliseum!”

“You just love Technoblade, admit it, Squid,” Ssundee teases good-naturally.  “One Monday Warrior with him and you’re his number one fan!”

“His number one fan is and always will be Ludwig, but go on,” Sparklez cuts into the conversation with a snicker.  

“Okay, okay, maybe the Monday Warrior win was a plus to get me on his side,” Squid waves down the laughter that rose up from the old actors gathered in the room.  “But I’ve been following Technoblade since his earlier Hypixel days, I mean, the kid’s got so much potential in him!”

As if on cue, Technoblade appeared on the screen, a red glow emitting from him as he gave the Theseus monologue to TommyInnit.  Squid glances up at the screen briefly, a hint of his smile crossing his face.  That kid really did have potential.

“Still,” ShadowLady yawns, leaning back against the couch.  “I prefer our shows and movies over these new ones any day.  Like, c’mon, you can’t beat the oldies.  Everyone likes the oldies!”

Those gathered pause to think for a moment until Sparklez speaks up.  “I guess you’re right.  What I do now is fine, but I do miss my old modded series and whatnot.”

“I miss our daily adventures,” Stampy reaches out to grip Squid’s hand tightly with a bittersweet smile on his face.  

“I miss my ma-“ Pat raises his voice before Jen cuts him off with a glare.  “.. my gameshow.” Jen nods slowly after Pat finished his sentence, the latter only glaring back playfully.  Jen hides a snicker, looking away from her ex.  

“I miss messing around with Jason and everyone else,” Aphmau sighs.  “And when I didn’t have kids.”

“Shadowcraft will be missed dearly,” ShadowLady bangs her chest twice in salute as she speaks, eyes closed.  

“My old gameshow will be remembered too.. and fresh avocado,” Ssundee pronounces the old meme correctly, drawing another chorus of laughter.  “Man.. the days.”

“I miss Doctor Trayaurus and Grim!”

Captain Sparklez’s head flies up at the new voice that’s accompanied with a signature little laugh.  The others look up to the doorway where it came from, and their host brandishes a tray of cupcakes with diamond symbols on them.  Sparklez smiles to himself, seeing that there were two already missing.

DanTDM’s eyes twinkle with happiness, placing the cupcakes on the living room table.  “You’re all remembering our old shows without me?  I’m hurt, oh, it’s fatal!”

Chapter Text

“Frankly, I think this is a really bad idea,” Ranboo states, staring up at the anvil that sat maybe twenty feet above his chair.  The teenager gulps, stuffing another cracker into his mouth to take his mind off the inevitable.  

“Frankly, I think you are stupid,” Tubbo shoots back with a snicker, climbing up a ladder to reach the top of the bell tower, or as Tubbo called it, the experimentation chamber.  Ranboo gestures for the camera to look upward so it caught not just him eating food to pass the time, but the actual madman in this scene.  

Tubbo reaches out to the iron bars that held up trapdoor with an anvil over it.  He hooks his feet between the bars, climbing up further before sitting on the top of the bars, patting the anvil comfortably.  “Well, I’m ready whenever you are, Ranboo!” Tubbo shouts down, swinging his feet back and forth.  

The two (and a camera crew) were once again in Snowchester, this time conducting one of the earliest pieces of evidence of Tubbo’s character descending into madness— er, one of the earliest experiments Tubbo would conduct.  Ranboo had been complaining of memory issues for the longest time, and Tubbo was finally up to the challenge to turn everything onto its side.  

It was a foolproof plan; release the trapdoor, which drops the anvil just above Ranboo’s head.  The electromagnetic waves that carried in from the anvil had such a high point to it being charged downward would jumpstart Ranboo’s brain, giving him the ability to remember things just how everyone else in the world did.  

It was supposed to be a foolproof plan, in theory.  Everything works in theory.  

Ranboo chews on his saltine crackers, wiping crumbs off of his chest before looking up.  He swallows the cracker, feeling it go down his throat and lump up.  He clears his throat with a cough, looking away from Tubbo and the anvil.  “Yeah, uh, let me just-“ Ranboo opens his inventory, throwing the crackers deep inside for later use—if there would be a later use.  

For all Ranboo knew, Wilbur’s scriptwriting and this whole shitshow could wind him up six feet down in a grave.  Ranboo was young; he didn’t really feel like dying today.  Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.  

“Ready?!” Tubbo shouts down again, more impatient this time.  He stands up for balance purposes, bending down to have one hand on the trapdoor, ready to unhinge it from its lock and let the anvil fall.  It’d crash against a pure iron block, and if it all went well, Ranboo would blink and could be able to remember everything that’s happened since he joined this server.  

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo stammers, holding up a thumbs up above his head.  He was sat snug in his chair, the iron block only a few inches from the golden crown on his head.  

“Okay!” Tubbo shouts, a smile evident in his voice.  His fingers circle around the hook, pulling it upward and out of its little hoop lock.  He drops the hook, and the trapdoor swings open.  The anvil plummets.

The camera crew winces with the ringing clang that came from the collision of iron against iron.  The iron bars shake with the vibrations.  

“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls down, parkouring off of the iron bars and onto the ladder.  He slides down it quickly, looking over his shoulder at the hunched-over teenager in the chair.  “Ranboo!” Tubbo shouts, alarm surfacing in his voice when his friend doesn’t originally reply, physically or verbally. 

Jumping down the last few pegs of the ladder and onto the floor, Tubbo runs past the few cameras that were focusing on Ranboo to dive to his friend’s side.  Tubbo grimaces at the nagging thought that he hurt his friend, especially with the fact it could very well be out of character as well.  

The brunet places a hand on Ranboo’s forehead, light enough to not wipe at his makeup but still a grounding factor.  “Ranboo?” Tubbo asks again, his voice softer given he was crouched before the other now.  

Ranboo’s bicolored eyes were open, unfocused at anything.  They blink at the boy’s name, conscious, but still not focused. 

Tubbo makes a worried face, brushing the wig out of his friend’s eyes and cupping his face to turn it side to side.  Ranboo blinks a few more times, his face twitching back and forth when Tubbo moves it.  After one particular gesture, Ranboo hisses in pain, a crack coming from the boy’s neck.  

Tubbo blinks rapidly at the noise, uneasily smiling.  Ranboo brings a hand up to his ears, which had been ringing incessantly since the anvil fell to crash just above him.  He pulls his fingers away, a red substance lightly coating the black makeup.  

“Oops,” Ranboo just barely makes out in a whisper.  

Tubbo paled, looking just about to faint at the sight of the very real, not fake, not makeup, blood.  

“Hey.. hey big man, where are your crackers?” Tubbo mumbles, pushing more hair out of Ranboo’s face.  The camera was to Tubbo’s back on a three-fourths angle, capturing the woozy expression that gently washed over Ranboo’s face every so often.  

The other boy opens his inventory after a minor mental struggle, pulling out the plastic packaging.  His hands shake while holding it as though his whole body was ringing, shaking.  

Tubbo pulls out a cracker for the other, letting Ranboo take it from his fingers and into his mouth.  Ranboo focuses on eating it, blood still trickling from his ear cavity and down the side of his face.  Tubbo inhales sharply at the sight, wiping the blood away to try and hide it from Ranboo seeing it.  

“I don’t think.. no, I’m not going to try that again,” Tubbo lets put a hoarse chuckle, trying his best to lightly the mood as he stood up, his legs trapping Ranboo’s bent ones between them.  

Ranboo lays his forehead on Tubbo’s beige winter coat, mumbling something incoherently and not English, but Tubbo got the gist of it.  He agreed.  

“Sorry, big man,” Tubbo says.  

Ranboo hums, swallowing the cracker before whirring.  

Chapter Text

Fundy was late, and if he knew how everyone else reacted when anyone else was late, this was not good.

Fundy could slip into the binary code that created the entire world around him easily, rearranging zeros and ones into however pattern he pleased; he could add in modpacks to whatever server he wanted, or even create his own if he put his mind to it.  Everything was putty under his fingertips if Fundy so wanted it to be.  

But even he couldn’t squeeze his way out of trouble with Wilbur.  

Fundy lets out a silly little giggle when he sees the British man’s annoyed stare awaiting him when he first slipped into the studio.  Today was pure choreography; it wasn’t a whole problem that he was late (it really wasn’t even that late, only forty five minutes or so.. other people in the cast have been hours late.)

He waves shyly at Wilbur, running a hand through his hair.  “Hey, Wilbur..” he trails off when Wilbur looks away with a huff, going back to showing Philza the next movements.  Ranboo was squatting while breathing heavily, Tommy unhelpfully wringing a drenched towel over the amber blond’s hair.  Technoblade stood nearby, heavily breathing but not sweating.  There was a fight scene coming up.  No spoilers, though.  

Fundy awkwardly smiles, going to turn towards Ranboo to fraternize with his younger friend.  He wasn’t needed until later today; his character was returning to the Dream SMP, so he would be working later.  Until then, Fundy’d have some time to chat.  

Ranboo looks up at the footsteps, smiling at the redhead.  “Hey, Fundy,” Ranboo greets with a wave of his hand, causing Tommy to look up from wringing the towel dry to focus on Fundy.  While Fundy was still looking down at Ranboo, Tommy slid over and elbowed Fundy roughly.  

“So.. why are you late?” Tommy pokes, a crooked grin covering his face.  Ranboo rolls his eyes, taking the towel from his friend to hang it around his shoulders.  Choreography was hard.  

Fundy hums, rubbing his side where Tommy elbowed him.  “No important reason.. just slept in,” Fundy replies, messaging someone on his comms before waving it away to look up when Tommy spoke.

The boy was still grinning, though it turned from a mischievous one from a shit-eating one.  “Just slept in?” Tommy echoes with a raise of his eyebrows.  

Fundy nods; Ranboo slips off to return to Wilbur, looking over the two Brits’ shoulders.  The redhead looks towards the tall American boy with a look that screamed ‘help’.  Ranboo only chortled when he saw it, but did nothing to help his friend’s predicament.

“Hey, Fundy, everyone here will understand if you just fess up and say you were making out with Five and lost track of time.  It’s maybe not in the script yet but you can probably ask Wilbur to sneak your boyfriend in for a scene or two.  We won’t judge.. too much,” Tommy explains before ending with his maniacal laughter.  

Wilbur looked up at the noise of his younger friend laughing, but only saw the top of Tommy’s head as he keeled over from a quick slap from Fundy.  Fundy’s cheeks were bright red, stomping away from the teenager to go hide behind Nihachu.  The woman giggles when Fundy begins to whine and complain about Tommy teasing him.  

The blond snickers after Fundy, only looking away and scuttling off to the side when Wilbur yelled at him to get off the stage.  

Chapter Text

Dream grits his teeth together, unable to meet the eyes of those before him as the iron bars fell into place.  His hands were chained together before him, sitting awkwardly on the cell’s ground in the same position he was thrown down in.  He had tripped over his ankle chains.  

BadBoyHalo didn’t look disappointed, mad, anything.  He was emotionless, a rock, to the man who stood next to him.  Bad was gripping nothing, but his hands were clenched as though he was holding something like his life depended on it.  His eyes were ice cold, no emotion visible.  

Sapnap’s eyes burned with an undying flame, a spark of redemption.  His mouth was contorted into a snarl, unable to meet the one eye that was visible to him; Dream’s mask was cracked in half.  The other was left somewhere off scene, and would stay in the abandoned cavern on that damned mountain for plot purposes.  

Awesamdude had a collective look on his face, the lower half covered by his gas mask.  Though his eyebrows were relaxed, as were his cheeks, his eyes were storms of emotion.  Unlike Sapnap’s, which showed nothing but revenge, Sam’s were just sad.  It was such a weak word, but there were no other words to label it: they were downcast, miserable, sad.  

Probably, the hardest eyes to stare into, were the ones that were usually behind black glasses.  Those glasses were propped up into a rainbow wig with curls cascading down the woman’s back, framing her face beautifully.  If it weren’t for the light downward tug of her lips and the still-damp track of tears that ran down her cheeks, she’d be an angel.

Dream still saw his mother as an angel, but he was the devil and those two don’t mix.

“May.. may we have a moment?” Captain Puffy asks the three men who stood next to her.  Sam looks up, hesitate, being that Puffy was still wearing all of her gear and her inventory was no doubt still full.  The Warden looks at the defeated form of Dream on the floor, dejected-looking, before finally sighing and nodding.  

Bad tugs on Sapnap’s arm as the flying elevator came closer and closer through the shallow lava.  The three men boarded the contraption, Sam hitting a button on a control to let the elevator return to the other side of the lava pit.  Dream winces when he hears hollow sobs from his childhood best friend, his mind urging him to go comfort him; he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t, not now.  Sapnap was such a good actor when he wanted to be.  

Dream blinks slowly, willing his wetting eyes to remain dry enough not to cry as the lava flows once again—lava he once oversaw be put into this fucking prison, this inescapable hellhole Dream had masterminded since the beginning; how ironic that he, the Daedalus was the one stuck in it.  

The Minotaur originally meant for it still ran rampant, and Theseus trailed after him with the Minotaur’s own horn.  There was no Icarus in this story.  Dream, if anything, was the Icarus.  

Puffy stared down at her fallen-from-grace son through the iron bars.  They didn’t retract; they probably wouldn’t, being that Puffy still had all her items on her, and Sam couldn’t afford the chance of the prisoner being injured.  

Dream sighs, looking away from Puffy to scowl up at the clock up on the wall.  “What is it?” Dream asks, sass underlining his voice.  

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Puffy returns, furrowing her eyebrows.  “Have you some respect to your mother.”

“Puffy, you renounced me.  If anything, I should be spitting in your face.  Family sticks together, do they not?  You certainly didn’t get that memo,” Dream growls, his visible eye narrowing at the clock.  It ticked listlessly.  “What is it?”

“I..” Puffy trails off, struggling to figure out how to word her next line.  A camera stared into her eyes, sat right in the front wall of Dream’s cell.  This would be one of the last scenes in the fifteenth episode of season two, or the season finale.  

“Do you.. do you reject any of it?”

“I want to see white flags, white flags at dawn, or you are dead!!” Dream screams into the camera, snarling.  One of his hands was held loosely around Sapnap’s wrist, a promise to remain together through the thick and thin.  

“It’s been a pleasure,” Dream muses, accepting the green and purple discs from the injured boy before him.  Tubbo was holding up Tommy, who had a bandage on his forehead.  The arrow had gone right through his head, a fatal blow.  Tommy scowls before turning to Tubbo and breaking down in a sob.  A five-colored flag billowed proudly in the distance.  

“You have yourself a deal,” Dream smiles at the dictator before him, shaking the ram-hybrid’s hand.  JSchlatt smirks, alcohol reeking from his breath as he laughed.  A glowing book prop was tucked neatly underneath Dream’s unused arm.  

“You’re all just plain stupid, aren’t you?!  Wilbur was never the villain!!  Wilbur wasn’t the mole!!” Dream screams at the two boys and the crowd before him.  He had a hand up in his hair, pulling at it as he laughed manically.  A muscular thing of a piglin stood behind with a sword poised to strike anyone who neared the two, a contrast from Dream’s lanky firm. 

“I don’t give a fuck about Spirit!” Dream shouted, shaking Tommy as he lifted the boy off his feet just a bit.  Tommy scowled down at Dream, the leather hind scrunched in his fist before it falls to the floor, weightless to gravity and the two arguing males.  

“Thank you for your service, King Eret,” Dream smirks behind his mask, dipping his head low to the king seated correctly on his golden throne.  Eret waves his specter towards the green man with a handsome smile.  Dream ignores the burning, betrayed looks of his best friends just behind him.  Karl was tucked into Sapnap’s chest, the hothead holding George’s and Quackity’s hands.  Quackity’s gaze was hardening over.  

“I am the only one who truly cares, Tommy,” Dream drawls, twirling a piece of matted blond hair in between his fingers.  “I’m sorry no one came to your party.” Tommy just sniffles, drawing a house in the dirt with a stick.  Five figures were drawn in front of it, but four of them were scribbled out by Dream.  A smile was scratched in next to Tommy’s little stick figure.  

“He is the reason we are all here!  TommyInnit is tearing this entire world apart, and you are doing nothing to stop him!” Dream points an accusatory finger at Tubbo, who took the looks from those gathered with a confident look on his face.  He held Tommy’s hand tightly.  Tommy was busy looked into red ruby eyes, the piglin standing next to Dream’s side like usual. 

“Thank you,” Dream whispers, holding one of Technoblade’s dyed red hands in his own two.  Dream was smiling behind his mask, smiling at the fact the recording had gone smooth and that this arc was over with.  Technoblade replied with a hum, nudging Dream’s head softly with the side of his snout before exiting frame.  Sapnap stood nearby with Quackity’s limp body in his arms, jaw clenched.  

“Mercy!  Tommy, everyone, please, mer-!” Dream was cut off from his howling with an axe piercing straight through his chest, leaving the man laying on his back on the ground, red paint splattered on his own axe’s head.  

“Do you?” Puffy whispers, eyes glimmering with unshed tears as the scenes previously recorded flashed behind Dream’s eyes.  They’d be added into the episode most definitely, in black and white to resemble the past.  

Dream rotates around into a more comfortable position, sitting Indian-style.  He thinks for a moment before clasping his hands together in a prayer style, letting out a low hum from concentration.  Puffy is silent, awaiting her answer.  

“Mama, there is an answer you want to hear, and one you don’t.  I don’t wish to disappoint you a second time, so I’m not going to say anything.”

Puffy sobbed, calling the elevator back with a push of a send button on her comms to Sam immediately.  She didn’t dare look back at the man she once thought of as her child as she bordered the flying elevator, disappearing behind a wall of lava.  

Dream looked down at the chains around his wrists and his ankles.  Then, he laughed.  

Chapter Text

Tommy stares down at the script in his hands.  The packet felt like fifty pounds.  Wilbur was staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer to come from the boy.  

“I.. I thought I was done.”

“What do you mean?” Wilbur tilts his head in question, stepping towards Tommy to look at the script he wrote.  “Tommy, you’re the main character.  What do you mean by you thought you were done?”

Wilbur notices how the paper crumples in his younger friend’s hands.  He frowns.  “Tommy?” Wilbur calls, knocking a knuckle against Tommy’s head.  

The boy snaps awake as though he was in some sort of trace, blinking a few times before he looked up at Wilbur.  “No.. no, I just thought I’d have a little bit of time away from being in the spotlight, y’know, like a break,” Tommy explains, reading over the plot.  

It was a mess of words, some typed, some pencil-drawn.  It was very obviously the original script, one Wilbur’s been slaving over nights on end.  The eyebags under the man’s eyes were enough proof of his work, though Tommy matched with his.  Wilbur bites his lower lip at the sight, but turns his attention back to the script.

He points a finger at the line Tommy was probably worried about the most.  “Is this it?” Wilbur asks, resting his other hand on Tommy’s shoulder.  Tommy pulls away from the embrace.  

Tommy: Tubbo, it.. it doesn’t- it can’t hurt me.  

“Yeah..” Tommy mumbles, handing the slightly crinkled paper back to Wilbur.  “I uh.. Wilbur, I don’t think I want to continue with being the main character.”

The kitchenette-dining room area in Tommy and Tubbo’s condo went still.  Tubbo looks up from his game of goldfish with JSchlatt and Ranboo, making a grimace at the souring conversation.  Ranboo asks for an ace, drawing a scowl from Tubbo and bringing him back into the game.  Tommy ignores the look, letting his hands drop to his sides.  He scratches at his forearm lightly.  

“What.. hold on,” Wilbur grabs Tommy’s wrist, dragging him to privacy.  JSchlatt shoots him a worried look, golden chains hanging from his horns.  He’s been hanging out with Technoblade recently, trying out new jewelry for the SCU.  Wilbur waves him off, sending him a private comm message to lessen his best friend’s worry.  Wilbur turns back to Tommy, closing the door on the boys’ bedroom.  

Tommy sits down on his bed, playing with his fingers.  Wilbur walks to stand in front of him, the script in his hands.  The blond looks up to meet Wilbur’s eyes briefly before they drop.  “I, uh, yeah.” He had no other words to say.  

“Tommy, did something happen?  Did Schlatt say something again, because you know he doesn’t mean anything,” Wilbur frets, pushing the curls back up his forehead before letting them drop.  “You- you haven’t said anything before this, where did this come from?  You’re one of the stars of the show, you can’t just, I don’t know, drop out!”

“Wilbur, it’s not like that-“

“You can’t just drop this bomb on me.  I’ve planned the script out for half of the third season, yeah, you’re not in every scene like other times, but you’re still a key character.  Tommy, what are you thinking?  How irresponsible can you be?” Wilbur spits, pacing the room back and forth as he gesticulated.  “I know you’re still a teenager but you can’t just make decisions up that affect others on the spot, Tommy- Tommy?”

Tommy was rubbing at his eyes with a hand, sniffling quietly.  His eyes were cast down to his lap, where his other hand shook slightly.  Wilbur stares at the boy; his cheeks looked sunken in, and his hair had lost its usual bounce.  His eyes no longer twinkled with enthusiasm to get back into the studio and work until he was teetering and tottering back and forth from exhaustion, and even then, he wanted to work some more.  Memorize lines, dances during fight scenes, fool around with Tubbo and Dream and Ranboo and Technoblade and Philza and Wilbur and laugh with them all-

Wilbur didn’t remember the last time Tommy had laughed wholeheartedly on set when he was working.  Sure, with others off set, but not while working.  

The script falls from Wilbur’s hand, floating to the ground.  Tommy’s eyes chase after it, and he makes a movement to bend down from the bed and pick it up, but Wilbur steps closer to the bed before pivoting and sitting down next to Tommy.  He takes a similar position to the boy, his hands dangling in the gap he created between his thighs.  Tommy purses his lips before looking down at his own hands, sniffling again.  

“Are you.. nervous?” Tommy shakes his head at the question.  

“Tired?  You look like you haven’t slept in days, Tom..” Tommy looks away from Wilbur’s prying eyes, which were trying to pull apart his face like a surgeon.  

“Tommy, you have to talk to me, or I won’t know what’s wrong.  Look, it’s me, out of character Wilbur.  Calm Wilbur.  Maybe I’m not your biological big brother but I sure feel like it.”

“We’re like brothers, Wilbur,” Tommy responses with a little giggle.  Wilbur smiles; there was some energy in the kid.  

“Maybe I won’t cry this time,” Wilbur repeats with a laugh of his own before the mood turns somber again.  “But seriously.  Talk to me.  If you’d like to talk to Tubbo or hell, even Schlatt, over me.. as long as you talk, Tommy, this isn’t like you.  You love acting.”

“No, no, I.. I’d prefer you, Wil,” Tommy responds, looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table he’s broken a few times.  The red lights flash in his eyes, causing him blink and look away.  “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Tom,” Wilbur rushes to speak, eyebrows furrowing in worry.  He didn’t want to reach out and touch the boy unless the other initiated a hug or sorts.  

“I’m just.” His hands fidget on his lap. “I saw some comments on Twitter.”

“Those- those mean nothing, they’re just haters.  Everyone deals with them, To-“

“But they hurt,” Tommy’s voice cracks as he speaks.  “You.. Wil, you’ve been acting for so long.  You’ve been on Live, and then Earth, and on Monday Warrior and Championships and shit like that longer than I even started my career.  You don’t- you don’t get it.”

Wilbur is silent.  

“They all say that my role should’ve been given to.. fuck, anyone but me.  A child,” Tommy spits the word out of his mouth like it was poison.  “Shouldn’t have this important of a role in the hottest tv show around right now.  I’m too- you’re right.  I’m irresponsible, I don’t realize the impact my decisions have others, I’m brash, loud, annoying, I’m-“

“You.”

Tommy pauses his angry rubbing at his eyes.  He turns his head to look at Wilbur, sniffling.  Wilbur smiles softly, an empathetic gesture.  “You’re you, Tom.  Nobody else is you, and that’s why you’re best for your role.”

“Yeah, but-“ Tommy tries to say something, anything, but nothing comes up his throat to justify his own words.  He gnaws on his lower lip before closing his eyes.  He leans towards Wilbur, who welcomes the boy with open arms and a soft reassurance.  

“Yeah, I’ve been doing this so much longer than you, Tommy, but do you really think it’s always been an easy ride for me?” Wilbur begins, rubbing his hand in a circle on Tommy’s back to calm him down from the small whimpers that came from the stressed boy.  “I had my moments, but on Live, I was Schlatt and Connor’s lackey.  Hell, even Ty’s.  I just followed them around and when they weren’t around, I did my own shit.  Most of the stunts I pulled never even got into the final product you saw on tv.”

“But-“

“And Earth?  Shit, I may have been one of the directors but I got stripped of that title once I became one of the actors.. and even then, I didn’t have a major role.  I was up in little Newfoundland with Sophie and Charlie and Peedog and the occasional visitors, but otherwise, I didn’t do much.  I wasn’t- I wasn’t the right character to be the main one.. does that make sense?”

Tommy nods his head slowly against Wilbur’s shoulder before propping his chin up on his shoulder.  He sighs, closing his eyes.  His head faced the back wall.  Wilbur’s faced the door.  “I’m sorry.  I’m being childish.”

“Tommy, you’re fucking sixteen.  You’re not even old enough to legally drink in your home server.  You should be in rigid college right now, not attending it once a week and only if you’re free on that week’s Wednesday.  You should be out playing games with friends and basketball and shit, not learning the choreography for a fight scene that’ll mean nothing in an episode or two,” Wilbur spews, patting Tommy’s back a few times before pulling away to look at Tommy’s eyes.  

“You’re talented in your own ways.  Sure, maybe you’re not the most conventional main character, but that’s a good thing.  You were never meant to be conventional, Tommy, anyone could tell you that.  That’s why you’re the best person for your role.” Wilbur pushes a finger into Tommy’s chest, right above his heart.  “Nobody that I’ve ever known could fit your role, not even Dream.”

“Not even Dream?” Tommy echoes the proclamation as a question.  

“Not even Dream,” Wilbur repeats, affirmative.  

Tommy nods a few times, letting his head return to hanging between his shoulders.  Wilbur lets the other close down for a minute or two, unmoving on his side of the bed.  When Tommy looks back up, it’s after he had retrieved the fallen script.  Tommy fingers the packet’s pages, sighing softly before handing it to Wilbur.  “Sorry for crumpling it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wilbur replies, tossing the script onto the bedside table.  It crashes against the annoying alarm clock.  “You know you can always talk to me, right?  Whether it’s still this issue of people on your socials, or something else.  I know I seem like an angry guy when I’m stressed, but I’ll calm down to listen to you.  You come before any production, Tom.”

Tommy nods a few times, sniffling before a shaky smile crosses his face.  “Thanks, Wil,” Tommy murmurs, picking up his head to look at Wilbur with a small raise of his eyebrows before they fall back into place.  “Really.  You know I’m an only child, I never really had an older brother to help me with this shit.”

Wilbur chuckles, reaching up to ruffle Tommy’s head.  The boy originally fights against it before laughing with Wilbur, falling into the British man’s side and smiling into the other’s American-presidential crewneck arm.  Wilbur holds Tommy in a side hug, sighing contently.  “I’ll see if I can lessen your role for another episode or two.  You’ll have to come back in eventually.”

“I- I know.  Thanks.”

Wilbur hums his reply, knocking the side of his head against the top of Tommy’s.  It was an old habit.  

Chapter Text

Things were still exploding.  The recording had closed, and things were still exploding.  

Philza stood beside Technoblade, watching dynamite still go off as the last bits of explosives were found and lit on site.  If the crew brought in any dynamite that was opened and left it laying around in some storage closet, anyone who treaded gunpowder into it would cause it all to go up in a blast.  So, it was smarter to just set them all off.  It accented the newly made L’Canyon anyway.  

Every so often, Technoblade’s ears flicked when another explosion was set off.  His eyes were squinting, staring down at his netherite sword.  Philza’s own sword was sheathed into his inventory, holding a journal in his hands.  He tucks the quill into the page he was working on, closing the book with a quiet slam before stuffing it into his inventory as well.  

“I think I’m going to head off, Techno,” Philza informs the piglin, looking over.  He had a small braid hiding just behind his hair, something Technoblade shared the same braid, mixed into his mane.  “That’s it for us for a while, aye, mate?” Philza sighs outward, thinking about the next few episodes.  There was only maybe three or so before the end of the season, and Philza himself only had one more large scene to do with Ranboo; Technoblade was otherwise practically done.  

Technoblade hums in reply, closing his eyes as he slouches over in his spot, sitting on a plank of wood that was leftover of one of the L’Manberg houses Ghostbur had made.  His ears were ringing slightly from the stimulation of the explosions, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.  Chat prepared him with overstimulation.  

Waving goodbye to his friend, Technoblade stands up as he watches Philza jump down to the rim of L’Canyon.  Wilbur stood waiting, L’Manberg’s flag over his dirtied yellow sweater.  He had wiped off some of the gray makeup to complete the look for Ghostbur.  The younger greets the older with a handshake and a hug, the two walking off towards the Prime Path.  

Technoblade stares out at L’Canyon.  They’d probably all drop the name soon enough, go back to calling it L’Manberg in due time.  

The recording was an absolute shitshow, but it still went well.  Everyone stuck to their parts, their lines, their choreographies.  It went surprisingly well, Technoblade reminisces, as another explosion goes off.  

He grabs his cape, clips it back around his neck, before he leaves the ruins of Philza’s house.  

Water spilled into the canyon despite the best efforts of those who tried to block off the ruined lakes and streams from bleeding into it.  They wanted to preserve the canyon for later use and recording, since the Egg was supposed to move in at some point, but there were some parts the cleanup crew didn’t get.  

Technoblade navigates around the ruins of L’Manberg the opposite way that Philza and Wilbur went.  He was quiet, humming softly to himself as he dragged his sword behind him in the dirt, occasionally stopping to stomp out a spark or two that lingered in the wreckage.  

Another dynamite goes off not far from him, blowing earth into the sky.  Someone yelps, and Technoblade looks up, sword drawn.  

It was his piglin instinct and Hypixel training to remain armed when hearing an unknown person.  His head swivels on an axis, ears peeking up to hear another noise.  There isn’t much, just the quieting sizzling of fire burning off.  Technoblade frowns, stomping his foot down on a fire before looking back up when his ear catches movement.  

“Who’s there?” Technoblade calls.  He knew it was going to end up being someone he knew, but the paranoia that came from not knowing who this person was left his guard up.  

A head of dirty blond hair peeks over a fallen wall.  A mask hid the man’s face, hiding any familiar features Technoblade was used to seeing when Dream’s mask was off.  Regardless, he drops his sword back into its inventory, gesturing for Dream to walk over.  “I’m heading back, I didn’t realize you were still here.  We’re done, you know.”

Dream looks over the wall, looking for a place to safely walk around it when a dynamite blew up not too far from the green man.  He immediately bent out of view, Technoblade seeing hands flying to his ears with a broken scream.  

Technoblade blinks a few times, a shiver passing through his body in response to the explosion.  His hands itch at his sides before he takes a hesitate step forward, tilting his head.  “Dream?” He asks, his voice unusually soft.  Was his friend injured?  Was this PTSD?

Dream pops up a moment later, hands still over his ears.  He looks down, his mask hiding any emotion.  Technoblade doesn’t move any further, “You may want to back up a bit.”

Dream does as told, his arms falling to hug at his biceps.  He turns away, grimacing when he hears a sword slice and melt the fallen wall trapping him in like butter.  Dream looks back when the piglin pushes one of the walls to the side like it weighed nothing, his muscles flexing from the exertion.  

Technoblade angles with his head for Dream to follow him out of what was left of L’Manberg.  The green man follows, ducking his head away from the piglin’s questioning eyes as the two walked side by side.  

They walked in silence; when the path narrowed out to the other side of the canyon, Technoblade offered to carry Dream, but he shimmied out of grasp’s way.  Instead, they walked single file, but Dream lagged behind climbing up the small cliff while Technoblade easily scaled it.  When the two reached the other side of L’Manberg, a dynamite stick went off behind them.  Dream flinched very obviously, turning his back to the increasingly-worried Technoblade.  

“Just go,” Dream orders the piglin, but his voice was weak-willed.  “Fucking- I hate explosions.”

Technoblade hums, studying the green man, but he doesn’t move.  “But we’ve done a lot of explosion scenes before..?” Technoblade questions, leaving the ending empty for Dream to answer.  He shakes his head on reflex while waiting, reaching up to scratch behind his ear.  

“I-“ Dream begins before shaking his head.  “Can we just go back to the home server?  I’m.. I’m really tired.”

“You barely had any lines compared to me.  I had a whole monologue,” Technoblade chirps, i fastening his cape to hang it around his shoulders.  He was a bit too warm to wear it, his body itching against the velvety fabric.  He gestures for Dream to follow him, walking slower than before.  

Dream scoffs with a shake of his head, his hands slowly falling away from his arms to his sides.  He reaches up to unclasp his mask from his head, holding it.  Technoblade looks down before holding out his own hand all while silent.

“I’m not holding your ha-and, Techno,” his voice breaks with a little laugh, shaking his head a few times as the ringing in his ears slowly faded out.  The further they walked up the Prime Path (minding the new holes), the further they were from any possible explosions.  The rest of the Dream SMP had no other distractions or noises, save the occasional clatter from a skeleton or a bird tweeting.  

Technoblade stares down at his hand, wondering where the fuck it said he wanted to hold Dream’s hand.  He sighs, his two top fingers maneuvering to pluck Dream’s mask from his own hand.  The latter’s mouth morphs into an ‘o’ when he realizes, his face flushing lightly from embarrassment.  

“Sorry,” Dream mumbles, kicking a stone out of the path. 

“You’re really off your groove, Dream.  Is everything alright?  Bit much?” Technoblade asks, tucking the mask into his inventory.  He’d toss it to someone on his way out to the portal home, if he remembered.  If not, he was sure Bad could drop it off to Wilbur or Callahan.  

Dream sighs, his hand twitching as it was held out for Technoblade’s.  The piglin lightly places his own in Dream’s, letting the other decide how much contact he wanted.  His ears perk up happily when Dream lets out a sigh.  “Yeah, just- thanks.  Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I know, it’s just hard being vulnerable.”

“Take it from me, Dream.  Even the toughest beings have to let their walls down every so often,” Technoblade replies, chuckling when Dream swings their hands back and forth in between them before letting go a moment later as though he realized what he was doing.  

The piglin holds onto the mask for the rest of the quiet walk back to the home portal.  He leaves the mask with Alyssa, Dream already disappearing into the portal’s violet mist.  When Alyssa gives him a weird look, since it was weird that Technoblade had Dream’s mask, the piglin brushes it off with a shrug.  

“I’ll never be human, but there’s a few similarities between mine and your kind.  He needed a crutch, so I was there.”

Alyssa smiled softly, “Thanks, Techno.”

The Hypixelian king disappears into the portal’s mist.

Chapter Text

“This was such a bad idea,” GeorgeNotFound groaned, covering his face with a hand as he slumped back on the kitchen isle.  

“This was such a great idea!!” Sapnap bellows before downing another shot by throwing his head back.  

Dream sighed softly, sipping from his own beer.  “I’m with Sap on this one, George.”

“I’m going to go raid your bedroom and steal all your blankets if you keep this up,” George threatens weakly as he watched Tommy get up on Wilbur’s shoulders, facing Tubbo on JSchlatt’s.  The two boys held duct-taped staffs of beer cans, courtesy of Punz, attempting to joist one another as the two men beneath them could hardly stop laughing.

Punz was currently in the corner of the house with Antfrost and his boyfriend RedVelvet, the three engaged in a conversation with BadBoyHalo and Awesamdude.  The four were talking about an upcoming PP Saturday, a gameshow in which their friend group (and others) moved on over to other worlds to play on other games.  Pummel Party was the namesake of the show, but they’ve expanded to Monopoly and Hypixel since then.  

Ranboo was standing behind a makeshift bar, with Quackity and Karl Jacobs standing nearby.  Ranboo was whipping up the non-alcoholic and alcoholic beverages for everyone, very obviously bored, while the two men kept calling him ‘John John’, a tease from a recent Tales From The Dream SMP recording.  

Skeppy was hanging around with Nihachu and Fundy, the ore mite talking profusely about his time in Hypixel to the two humans.  Nihachu was eating it up entirely; Fundy tried not to look impressed, but he was listening keenly on it all.  

Connor was standing off to the side with Technoblade and Eret, the odd trio making small talk.  It was all hushed, so you’d have to be standing nearby to hear them, but from what Philza, LazarBeam, and Vikkstar could hear (all three elders stood a few feet away), it was about gold and pyramid schemes.  Huh.  

Manifold and HBomb were with Foolish and Hannah, the four not talking much, but were all drinking from their own beers.  Manifold had a mocktail, complaining about Dream’s ‘American home server rules.’ Hannah just laughed before crushing a beer can between her hands.  She wasn’t even of age, but for Americans, most already drank by twenty.  

A few other stranglers were spread throughout Dream’s house; why it was always him, well, it was the largest.  The place felt like a mansion compared to everyone else’s residences, yet it wasn’t that much bigger than Skeppy, Technoblade, and Bad’s one.  

It was unfortunately very uncommon for everyone to be able to relax during a party; though, when they did, it got wild.

Fundy looks up from Skeppy’s story, looking around in the crowd to see Charlie Slimecicle stumbling away from a karaoke machine.  The golden blond had a sick smile on his face, making his way towards Connor, where he promptly draped himself over the shorter man.  Connor acted indifferently, offering Charlie his beer. 

Technoblade chuckles at the exchange, glancing over at Eret to see the other be dragged off towards the karaoke machine by Fundy.  A small blush was on Eret’s cheeks, caused by the few beers they’ve had tonight.  Maybe that was a good thing, because Eret might’ve been a little bit too embarrassed to pick up the mic and start singing to Dear Maria, Count Me In with Fundy.  

The redhead does a little dance with his mic in one hand, singing along to the empty lyrics as the music played.  Eret did a few headbangs, their thin flower crown threatening to fall off; people notice the pair singing, and laughter and applause rises from their friends

On the other side of the first floor, George presses a finger against one of his eardrums.  Dream snickers next to him, making room for Bad as the shorter man clambered over.  Bad’s glasses were lopsided on his nose, something Dream reached over to fix instinctively.  Bad smiles over at the green man, slumping back against the countertop.  

“You’re going to have fun cleaning this all up,” Bad comments as he watches Sapnap and Punz both shotgun two cans.  He scratches his chin; he probably could’ve done one faster.  

Dream looks away from the sight of his two friends with a shake of his head and a little wheeze.  “I usually have Tommy come over and clean up a lot of it.”

“That’s child labor,” George mumbles as he leans over, resting his temple against Dream’s shoulder.  

“Not if I pay him,” Dream snickers.  

“He’s already rolling in filth, what could you possibly pay him in?” Bad asks in a curious tone.  “I don’t even think Wilbur or Phil manage to get him to do anything they ask of him, even with bribes.”

Dream smirks to himself, “That kid will do anything for his Startooz, and I have a very expansive comm catalog.”

“You’re cruel,” George spits with a small laugh, pushing Dream away from him even though he was the one to lean against Dream in the first place.  Dream wheezes, one hand on his stomach as he leaned over.  Bad shakes his head with a chuckle, looking up through his glasses at the crowd of his friends before him.  

Tommy falls backwards, bringing himself and Wilbur done to the sweaty floor.  Tubbo raises up his arms in victory, his staff reaching up and smashing into a hanging lightbulb.  

The light goes out on impact and all sort of partying ends, save Eret’s drunken slurring they called singing.

Tommy looks up from underneath Wilbur’s torso, hair messed up; he points a finger at Dream with a hard look.  Dream immediately sighs, pulling open his comms.  George looks away from the mess, which most people totally disregarded save Connor and Technoblade (both of which stated at the empty hole where the lightbulb broke), to look over Dream’s arm and at his comms.

/msg MumboJumbo i think i need a favor

MumboJumbo: If it’s the Startooz, everyone and their brother on Hermitcraft already told me :) I’ll send one now

George hides a bark of a laugh.  Dream sighs, defeated.

/msg MumboJumbo lifesaver

Chapter Text

“Quackity!!  You’re supposed to be on five minutes ago, what the fuck are you wearing?!”

Definitely not his proper suit and tie.  

Tommy was scrolling through his socials, bored, as he sat on a small hill in the middle of Manberg.  He was supposed to be recording a scene with Quackity concerning a possible espionage, but Quackity hadn’t.. shown up, yet.  The camera crew had all rested down their mounts and cameras, waiting for the Mexican to show up.  

This is why Callahan had a strict no tardiness policy in place.  One person being late slowed down the whole process.  

Tommy messages Tubbo what he wanted for dinner (though it probably wouldn’t mean anything since the two were probably going to have sandwiches anyway) before he closes his comms with a sigh.  The sun was beating down on the top of his head and his neck; it was only October.  Hissing at the idea, he raises a hand over his eyes.  

It stays there until he hears footsteps crunching the grass in front of him; finally, Tommy lets out a scoff with a small smile.  “Only took you ten mi- what the shit.”

Quackity flashes a cheeky smile, blinking a few times to make it look very awkward.  “Hola, niño-“

Tommy bursts out into laughter, folding like a beach chair before falling to the ground, still laughing.  Quackity stomps his foot, more embarrassed than upset, but he couldn’t blame Tommy.

The man was currently in a clown cosplay—or, something like that.  He didn’t quite have the whole facepaint thing going for him, but his outfit was similar to one’s; it was red, yellow, and white, and though it seemed more like a work uniform than a clown’s, that’s all Tommy could think off when he looked at Quackity.

His black baseball cap was connected to an earpiece that swung around his face and in front of his mouth, almost like the ones Tommy remembered fast food workers having in his home server or in Mojang.  He also had a fanny pack hanging around his hips, resting against his side limply.  A dollar or two was sticking out of the unzipped pouch.  

“It’s not- stop laughing, oh my gods, it’s really not that funny,” Quackity orders with a shaky laugh of his own, watching Tommy roll around on the ground, trying to catch his breath.  Quackity was trying to catch his own too, from laughing and from running all the way from the main portal to Manberg.  It wasn’t a short trip, and not an easy one, for a man who wasn’t in perfect shape.  His stunt double usually carried out a lot of his demanding movements.  

“But- but it is!” Tommy manages to get out before wheezing out another laugh.

Noticeably, the cameras were still recording, though their workers had fallen off and were laughing as well.  Quackity was known as a jokester, but this was a bit much.  Nobody even knew the context for it, but they didn’t need it.  

“This is going in the bloopers, or I swear-“ Quackity points a finger at Callahan, whose shoulders were shaking silently with his own amusement.  The mute man nods a few times, his eyes squeezing shut as he smiled underneath his mask.  

Quackity kicks at Tommy’s side lightly, chasing him to only laugh more.  “I hate you.”

“You’re the one dressed up like you’re about to serve me a fucking hamburger!” Tommy shouted back in the midst of a laugh.  

Chapter Text

It was all too much for the poor demon-hybrid.

Skeppy’s usual smile was gone, replicated by a thin line of his lips pressed together.  His hair, which he usually left all fluffy and soft, was slicked back.  His signature blue hoodie was drenched in red, a sight that made BadBoyHalo’s chest ache; the two of them always had their respective colors, blue and red, and never crossed.  

They never should’ve ever crossed.

The diamonds that jutted out of Skeppy’s skin, making him shine like a star, had red cores.  It made Bad’s throat itch with vomit.  He didn’t like Skeppy like this, regardless if this was his character or not.  

Skeppy stood still next to the young Egg, a blank look in his eyes.  He was brainwashed, reduced to a simple-minded being, making Bad feel more tears claw their way up his throat.  Bad’s wooden planks on his back fold behind, landing on the ground quietly from a high jump that was aided by a few thin wires that let go of him upon impact.  He takes a tentative step forward before throwing all caution to the wind, running forward and throwing himself over Skeppy.  

The demon-hybrid cups Skeppy’s face in his hands, pure white eyes unable to show the desperation he felt back of the contacts.  He was mumbling something, words of plea for his best friend to come back, over and over again, yet Skeppy didn’t budge.  He didn’t even reaction.  He stood, unmoving, like a robot, as hollow sobs filled the cleared out lair of the Egg.  

The Egg rumbles.  Dust falls from the ceiling.  “Leave, BadBoyHalo,” Skeppy commands, finally stepping away from the other.  Bad was latched onto him, however, his arms wrapped tight around Skeppy’s neck as he held on tight.  Skeppy furrows his eyebrows when the Egg moans.  “Get off me, BadBoyHalo.”

“Skeppy- Skeppy, please!  Wake up!” Bad’s hoodie was rimmed with red, his clawed fingers slowly being pried off by diamond-plated ones.  Bad cries out, struggling for a grip before he’s roughly pushed onto the floor.  He brings up a hand to his face, his hand shaking with anxiety.

Skeppy stares down at Bad before looking away.  “Leave.”

“Skeppy, no!” BadBoyHalo shouts, his voice wavering with emotion.  “No, I won’t, no!  Tell the Egg that it can fudge right off, I want you back!  The real you!”

The ore mite makes eye contact with the male in front of him.  Even his eyes were red.  “I am the real Skeppy.  The Egg is not going anywhere.  You, on the other hand, are.” Skeppy steps forward, one hand grabbing tightly around Bad’s left bicep.  It wasn’t tight enough to hurt him, but it was enough to draw a squeak of surprise from the demon-hybrid.

Clawing at the floor, Bad forces himself up to his feet to pull back against Skeppy dragging him.  Despite the height differences that would eventually be exaggerated with CGI later, Bad was unable to do much; Skeppy’s grip was as tough as diamond—well, it is—, but still.  The emotion that was welling up on Bad’s face was slowly becoming a bit too raw to be acting.  

The red-bathed other continues to pull BadBoyHalo towards the single entrance/exit, disregarding the shouting and crying that came from his former friend.  Skeppy truly felt extremely horrible that Wilbur even ever wrote this into his character, but acting was acting and friendships were left behind with his blue sweatshirt.  Skeppy grits his teeth in an effort to slip back into character, tossing Bad away from him and into the one-block hallway.  “Leave.”

Bad was supposed to get up and storm right back into the lair, demanding Skeppy be set free.

Bad was supposed to get up and sacrifice himself for Skeppy, leaving the lights to cut once the incantations were finished.

Bad was supposed to get up and carry out the rest of the scene’s script.

BadBoyHalo did none of these expectations; instead, he curled up into a ball of himself and continued to cry.  It took at least one minutes of awkward waiting from the camera crew and Skeppy himself before he realized that Bad wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.  He raises up a cut symbol over to Callahan, ignoring the exasperated throw of his arms the mute gave in response, before Skeppy knelt down next to Bad and took his friend into his arms.

It was a very anticlimactic end to the otherwise seamless recording the pair had been doing all day.  The Crimson Arc was just started, and while everyone outside of the Badlands was worrying about the next mass terroristic feat to pounce upon L’Manberg, Wilbur was already propelling the Badlands back into the script after keeping them in the lowlight for so long.  Recording since the Egg’s emergence had gone smoothly, but their track record would have to be shattered at some point.

Skeppy tosses Bad’s hood off of his head, reaching behind to slide off the pointed ear extensions he wore while in character, since it didn’t seem they’d be able to finish the recording tonight.  The CGI guys had a better time special effecting them if there was a base already in place.  Hushing the human, the ore mite brushes Bad’s black wig out of his eyes.

He could see a medic standing nearby, but he waves him away with a single hand.  Skeppy was sitting on the floor by now, opposite direction as Bad, holding the other man close as though they were children.  Bad leans into Skeppy’s shoulder, doing his best to try and calm his crying.  

“You’re okay, Bad.  Just breathe.. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Skeppy whispers, patting Bad’s knee reassuringly with a strained smile on his face.  

Bad shakes his head, wiping tears out of his eyes before exhaling slowly.  He nods a few times, sniffling a bit more before he goes in and rubs away a few last tears.  “No, no- sorry, it was just-“ Bad struggles for words to describe his emotions before letting his hands fall to his lap.  “Sorry.”

Skeppy chuckles halfheartedly, his hand still resting on his best friend’s knee.  “Well, we’re down for the night, I think!  That’s a positive, right?  We get to go home and eat whatever Tech made us!”

“Tomorrow’s.. tomorrow’s movie night, right?” Bad mumbles, tugging at his sweatshirt’s ties.  “And yeah, it’s a- it’s a positive.”

Skeppy laughs, reaching up to ruffle Bad’s wig dotingly.  “Yep!  Come on, Bad, smile for me,” Skeppy mimics the action, placing fingers on the corners of his own smile.  

Bad blinks a few times to get the last of his tears out without disturbing his contacts before weakly smiling as well.  “Can you take off the uh.. the sweatshirt and the red and everything, please?” Skeppy pulls Bad to his feet while the other talks, BadBoyHalo’s shoulders slouched just slightly from a bit of embarrassment for bursting out in tears on the floor. 

Skeppy gives a little shrug before seeing the look from Bad; he then nods several times, giving the other a cheeky little grin.  “Yeah, yeah, sure.  I thought I was rocking this shade well though!” Skeppy gestures to his outfit.  “I even gave my spikes some color!” He points to the spiking reddish-blue diamonds that forced their way out of his right forearm, sharp to touch.  

Bad shakes his head, walking slowly with the ore mite out the exit as the camera crew was coming up behind him.  “Stick to your blue, Skeppy.  Leave the red to me.”

All that Skeppy did was smile, nod, and give a thumbs up.  

Chapter Text

“Well, personally, I think they’d be a great one-time addition to the server!  They all share my sense of humor, so it shouldn’t be a problem controversy-wise!” Charlie Slimecicle explains, sitting across a small table from Dream.  The two green men were sitting in the remnants of Niki and Puffy’s flower shop, which now had a giant hole in the wall from Doomsday.

Dream taps his finger to his chin a few times before sighing.  “I guess.. I usually don’t allow this but I can see why you want them here for a bit..”

Charlie’s face lit up, and he claps his hands together to accent that emotion.  “Wow, thanks Dream!  You won’t regret it!!”

What the fuck.  Of course Dream regretted it.  

Condifiction was definitely the lesser of the three evils.  At least he had a sort of a leash on the other two, keeping them tame enough not to maul anyone on sight.  The warlord didn’t even look bothered when Bizly ran by him with Fundy in his arms, or when GrizzlyPlays found Technoblade’s dogs.  He let them have their fun, as long as it didn’t include knives, gods, or polar bears.  

Bizly himself was having an absolute blast.  Today was an off day for most of the actors, so Bizly had his pick of the litter of whom to torment today.  Of course, he picked the one who looked least ready to be tormented, i.e., Fundy.  The redhead was being carried around like a trophy with Cuptoast running after the pair.  5up was watching from the sidelines with Punz, a sigh exiting his lips as he watched his partner be carried off into the sunset.  

Grizzly was probably having the most fun out of the three outsiders.  He had been taken on a journey to the northern part of the Dream SMP with Philza, and upon seeing Technoblade’s cottage and the abomination filled with dogs next to it, Grizzly hadn’t left.  Charlie wasn’t so sure where Grizzly was at this point since even he hadn’t been out that far; the tattooed man was playing with over fifty dogs with Philza and Technoblade on standby, but neither of them seemed to care on whether or not Grizzly came out of the dog pen alive.  

Dream was practically pulling out his hair, opening a map to see what had happened with everyone’s whereabouts since he added Charlie’s friends.  Most people were in the local area of the portal, but Bizly and Fundy were off near Pogtopia at this point, and Philza, Technoblade, and Grizzly weren’t even on the map’s area; they were hanging off the edge.  Condifiction was with Wilbur, it seemed, though the two were at the ruins of L’Manberg.  

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Wilbur replies, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.  “That’s.. most people’s reactions to seeing it.”

Condifiction wipes sleep away from his eyes to see the crater clearer.  Condifiction had seen an explosive’s wake before, many more times than he’d like to admit with what the SCU got up to, but this was the consequence of multiple explosives upon more.  The warlord looks over at Wilbur with a wary look.  “Pretty extreme for a roleplay-styled tv show?” He leaves it off as a question.

Wilbur merely shrugged, “We have to make it realistic.”

“You’re acting like this is Earth.” Condifiction looks away from the crater and back up the Prime Path.  “I never thought you could hold a feather nowadays to your past works, Wilbur, but you’re doing pretty well,” Condifiction admits, following the taller man up the path and towards the tunnel near Tommy’s base.  

Wilbur looks over his shoulder with a small smile.  “Thanks.  I do my best, that’s all I can do.”

Condifiction casts one long look over his shoulders at the fallen country before jogging after the British man.  

On the other side of the SMP, in the ruins of another fallen country, Fundy was leading Bizly through the ruins of Pogtopia.  Fundy was holding hands with Cuptoast, making sure the girl didn’t wander off (she was usually very quiet, so if she got lost, Fundy nor Bizly would be able to hear where she went.)  The redhead hadn’t been here since planting all the buttons and the Day of Reckoning, so seeing it so bare was a chill to his core.  Bizly hung around Fundy’s side, looking side to side at the empty ravine.

“You all lived here?” Bizly asks a bit too loudly, his voice echoing done the ravines.  He grimaced at the noise, raising a hand to his ear to try and lessen the noise.  

“Not all of us, no,” Fundy clarifies, digging through the few chests in the center of Pogtopia’s floor level.  He closes the chest with a soft thud when he’s done searching through it, handing something red to Cuptoast.  He turns back to Bizly, leaning back against the furnaces.  

Bizly waits for Fundy to elaborate on that.  It takes a look from the blue-wearing man for Fundy to take the hint: “Oh- ohh.. it was, uh, Wilbur, Tommy, Technoblade all founded Pogtopia.  Then, Tubbo came along with Nihachu, Quackity appeared at some point, and I came in last.  It was cozy, but it was still acting so there wasn’t as much connection out of character than in, y’know?”

“You all seem fairly close though,” Bizly mumbles, avoiding his eyes as Fundy takes a bite from an apple.  Cuptoast was already working on hers, looking around at the abandoned ravine from behind her box.  

Fundy swallows the fruit.  “We act like a family in and out of character, what can I say?  Can’t you relate?”

Bizly is silent for a moment too long to be called hesitation.  He purses his lips.  “I- yeah.  I think I can.” Cuptoast bobs her head side to side, thinking about the last SCU episode.  

Fundy smiles afterwards before holding out another red fruit to the other man.  “Apple?” Fundy offers with a small snicker.  “I know you love ‘em.”

“You’re an asshole,” Bizly laughs, but he takes the fruit anyway before biting into it.  

Speaking of biting, Grizzly was getting mauled, and Technoblade was doing nothing about it.  “Should we help him?” Philza asks the piglin, who only straightens his newspaper with a sip from his mead.  

Technoblade looks up from behind his thin glasses that had tape around the arms.  His eyes dart towards the window, where he could catch a view of a man underneath a dogpile of, well, dogs.  Philza had just finished reconstruction on Wilbur and Tommy’s mess of a house, so there was a small bridge connecting Technoblade’s cottage and Philza’s house slash the dog pen.  Still, there was an exit for the dogs to run out, and once Technoblade opened the gate, they jumped Grizzly immediately.

“Nah, I think he’s fine,” Technoblade drawls, raising his mead to his snout again.  

Philza rubs his forehead with a few fingers, scowling out of worry for his friend.  “Techno, it’s only eleven am.  Stop drinking, for fuck’s sake.”

“And I thought I could trust you,” Technoblade droned before taking a long sip of his mead.  “I am a simple piglin, Phil.  All I do is drink mead, horde gold, and eat hot chip.  Oh, and blood.  Blood is nice, sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Philza reiterates, exasperated.  

Grizzly lets out a muffled scream from outside and Philza looks out the spruce doors worriedly.  Apparently, Technochan had sat herself on Grizzly’s face without a damn for the poor man.  Technoblade looks out the window, seeing the stupid dog loll its tongue.  It was nothing compared to Floof, but Technoblade still smiled.  “That’s my favorite,” the piglin tells Philza in a matter-of-fact voice.  

Philza deflates, pinching at the bridge of his nose.  “I’ll be back,” Philza says, trudging out of the doors and jogging off to help Grizzly.  Technoblade only lowly chuckled before looking back at his newspaper.  

Dream heaves a sigh, closing the map with a tired look in his eyes.  Charlie grins at the man across from him, the man’s hands folded over his lap.  Nearby, a ram-hybrid stood with a small scowl, but it wasn’t enough to push Dream to ask what was wrong with JSchlatt; he tended to wear a scowl.  

Dream points a finger at the other green man, causing a little laugh from Charlie.  “Never am I listening to another one of your ideas.  You’ve struck out, Charlie.”

Charlie laughs some more, wiping tears from his eyes.  “C’mon, though, they’re fun!  You have to love them!”

Dream only grumbles in annoyance, but even he didn’t refute that fact.  

Chapter Text

Oh gods, why did he agree to such an angsty character role?

Ranboo grits his teeth, turning his back to the throbbing Egg in its seat.  “I’m going to figure out how to kill you.. mark my words, I’ll be the one to do it,” Ranboo forces out, his tail slashing behind his legs.  “You hurt Technoblade and so many other people.”

Ranboo takes his sword, swiping it across a few vines to clear a path towards the exit.  The place, despite it being dark outside (today was a late-night recording), was lit up by the shroomlights that occasionally puffed out glowdust.  The dust tickled Ranboo’s nose as he moves through the lair, kicking tentacles out of his way and brushing away vines.  

Yes, he was a peaceful spirit.  Yes, he didn’t like bringing harm to others—but the Egg was no person.  It had hosts, but in itself was no person.. that he knew of, of course.  Because of such thought, Ranboo felt no guilt as he trampled the overgrown weed underneath his feet.  

He sheathes his sword into his inventory, pulling out a lantern as he reaches the exit.  He’d need it when he leaves the underground lair.  Though, they’d probably end filming to change location quickly, or just to stop for the day.  There was only one or two other actors still prowling along with the camera crew, waiting for Ranboo to wrap up his acting scenes before going home with him.  It was a mandatory rule put in place after Tommy and Tubbo, very early on in the server, got caught up with some aggressive phantoms without any adults nearby to help.  The injuries they acquired by the time they ran through the portal home were traumatic in class.  

That’s the reason phantoms were removed from the server.   

Ranboo rolls his neck around, letting the camera catch its cracking noises as he jumped past a few last bits of Egg shit.  He manages to get out a grimace before reaching the edge of the Egg’s spread—that’s when he stops.

Rotiart.  

Ranboo is silent for a few moments before turning around, holding the lantern out in front of him.  His face was set into one of disbelief before it falls to angry confusion.  “What did you just call me?” Ranboo sasses, his tail ducking between his legs briefly.  

The Egg repeats its groan, shaking the ground.  Ranboo stumbles a little bit, reaching out to the wall to help him approach the lair’s large xavern again.  He stands in the entrance, his lantern in his off hand as he stared at the Egg.  

The Egg wasn’t even moving; it had no eyes to glare at, no limbs to injure it, no mouth that upturned in a smirk like other classic villains, no-

Injury.  

Ranboo draws his sword, navigating through the red overgrowth.  It had seemed as though his previous path had already grown it; he could feel himself grow a bit woozy the closer he approached the Egg, and prayed it was just his exhaustion catching up to him.  Shaking his head to clear his brain fog, Ranboo holds the lantern up at the Egg to shine at its front.  He scowls before raising his sword.

It’s dropped almost as soon as it’s brought down.  The lantern clatters to the ground, the candle inside knocking against the glass walls and extinguishing on itself.  An anguished cry echoed through the chambers, cameras not focusing on the knelt boy who was cradling a burnt hand.  

The blow had seared straight through his gloves, down to his skin where there was already an awaiting makeup job of a burn.  Ranboo gasps wetly, shutting his eyes tight as the recoil on the sword died down against the wound.  It was a shock recoil, just used to give, well, a shock—it wasn’t meant to be not enough to hurt someone unless they used it repeatedly.  

Ranboo covers his eyes with his wig thanks to a down tip of his head.  Unfortunately for him, he had to use it repeatedly.  

When the sword fell to the ground at least the fourth time, Ranboo stares up at the ceiling as he blinked away truthful tears.  Of course, with acting came uncomfortable situations, but the recoil was burning through his makeup and into his real flesh.  That may leave a scar, and honestly, Ranboo had a bit too much already from Hypixel and other causes.  He didn’t need-

Ranboo warbles, a startled sound from the back of his throat that came on instinct.  He raises his healthy hand to his mouth after making the sound, eyes wide before looking up at the Egg.  It seemed so large, and Ranboo felt so- so- so small.. sma-

He remembers a smiley face drenched in apricot before him before everything is engulfed in flames.  He remembers the community house aflame at his own hands, a steel ingot falling from his hands and into the water below.  He remembers that the water did nothing to quell the fire.  He remembers everyone laughing, pointing fingers, looking- the flames burnt everywhere.  

Ranboo remembers pain.  

The lantern and sword were later collected by a cleanup crew, whose job was to make sure all props returned to the inventory closets or were repaired before being stored.  The Egg’s lair wouldn’t be needed for future scenes as the camera crew moved out.  Callahan seemed pleased at Ranboo’s storm-out, but where the boy went, the mute man didn’t know.

Where was he?

Ranboo stumbles on the Prime Path, heading north- was it even north?  There was a large uwu in the sky- he had passed a rainbow flag-

Where was he?

He gasps for breath, slowing down his sprint to as far away from the lair as possible- the opposite side of the server was ideal, but Ranboo couldn’t get there without a boat-

Where was he?

Ranboo couldn’t see any evidence of humans being near him anymore.  The only noises he heard were his own, his wobbling warbles and whirls that made him want to puke because he’s been trying so hard-

Purple eyes of a sympathizer glance towards him, but don’t make eye contact.  The enderman passes relatively quickly, but they place a grass block to the out-of-breath teenager before looking around.  Seeing no one, the enderman twitters before carrying on.  It wasn’t their business to take in a lonesome child.  

Ranboo rubs at his face, wiping makeup off of his hands and onto the grass.  It stained the plants white and black, but the paint soon washes out as a few raindrops turn into a steady rain.  Ranboo hugs himself before raising his hands to his ears, willing the mild (mild, he told himself) stings of the drops to fade out of his wild mind.

It wasn’t that it was in overdrive.  There was nothing there, letting his mind concentrate on every little sensation his body felt from the elements.  It raises the volume on the little crunches of twigs underneath a creeper’s paw, or the squeak of a low-flying bat.  It was as loud as a megaphone in Ranboo’s brain, and it was too much.  

The tail behind him twitches in the rain, its mechanics slowing down.  He reaches down to his waist, unclipping the belt that secured the tail tightly to his person.  It falls with a thump onto the green grass below it, flattening a poppy.

Along with the rain, Ranboo weeps.

Even when a solid hand is placed on his shoulder, he doesn’t stop crying.  Empathetic red ruby eyes stare at the boy, who was mumbling out loose tweets and chirps amongst his pitiful cries.  Ranboo lets the red cape be draped over his head and lets himself be led to underneath a tree and lets himself grow accustomed to the natural warmth of a nether creature next to him.  He lets another weight settle against his other side, a still-warm sweatshirt thrown over his legs to keep them awake since the suit pants were thin and he lets a careful hand wipe off the last of the makeup on his face he couldn’t reach or find.  

Ranboo lets it all happen because he knows Dream and Technoblade will care for him.  He knows, he believes, he trusts the two will do what is right for him.  Ranboo feels safe with them near as the rain turned into a downpour forty five past midnight.  

Gauze is tight around his burnt hand.  Ranboo stares down at the wrapped wound, throbbing with pain with each beat of his heart.  He leans his head back against the tree, trying to remind himself that it’s all acting- to forget what happened down in the lair- please forget-

But it’s oh so hard for the descendant of the End creature, especially when the character he plays writes a story so eerily familiar.    

When the skies clear and the three males go to leave, the bystanding enderman warbles a goodbye.  Ranboo ignores them.  

Chapter Text

JSchlatt glances up behind him when the volcano growls, magma splurging up into the ashy sky.  It was like a firework, yet one more aggressive, deadly, and not multi-colored.  JSchlatt could feel his golden chains practically melting off of his face as he stared at the overflowing volcano.  Maybe he shouldn’t be so close, but he was currently being held up by invisible wires.  He only moved when the stagehands up on a high platform moved him.

Four friends were huddled up on a tree that had lava fast approaching.  They were all dirtied, burned, soaking wet.  The makeup jobs done for their wounds had to be excruciatingly detailed for them not to run with the torrents of rain that poured down from the sky.  The makeup was done, though.  

“Schlatt, stop it!” Charlie Slimecicle screams, a hand up above his glasses to shield his eyes from the rain.  He glared up at the god, who only took another bite of his golden apple.  “Schlatt!!” Charlie screams high-pitched, his hand at his side curling into a fist.  

“Sl-ime,” GrizzlyPlays’s voice cracks halfway through calling his friend’s name.  The tattooed man was holding loosely on Charlie’s shirt sleeve, standing between the amber blond and Condifiction.  Bizly stood behind the three, watching their backs in case a tornado decided to kick up randomly.  

Charlie looks back at Grizzly, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder with a bittersweet smile that met his two other friends as well.  “I’m sorry, guys,” Charlie croaks, tilting his head to the side slightly as his smile only turned more remorseful.  “I didn’t realize this would be the end of the road for us.”

Condifiction makes eye contact with the other man before a dagger shimmers to life in his hand.  Bizly shouts out in alarm, his back digging into Grizzly’s back, his arm pointed up behind the four. 

Condifiction brings his arm, closing his left eye before snapping his arm forward.  Grizzly bumps into Charlie from Bizly’s push, the two friends almost slipping off on the edge of the tree branch they stood on for platform.  Bizly backs up again, and Grizzly screams when Charlie brings the two of them off the branch when he lost balance.  

The dagger’s blade is caught between two fingers.  JSchlatt studies the weapon lazily.  It disappears in a glimmer of particles to his inventory before he takes another bite of his apple, twisting his wrist around in a circle.  Condifiction pales as his weapon is taken from him, but it turns into pure panic when the tree they stood on is uprooted.  

Charlie’s back just grazed the floor before he’s lifted up by an invisible blanket of air.  He opens his eyes, when he had clenched them closed with true fear—in the SCU, except for flying (since everyone knew the so-called creative mode was a myth saved for the deities of the world), most of the stunts pulled were real.  Though any minor injuries were all makeup or play, if anyone twisted an ankle or injured their back, they’d keep going if the actor could.

Labor unions who?  Nobody in Minecraft acting knew ‘em.  

Grizzly grips white, stained fabric in his hands, holding on tight to Charlie as the two are picked up in the tornado’s grasp.  Condifiction was doing his best to swim through it, trying to reach JSchlatt, with a new golden sword in his hands; Bizly was nowhere to be seen, spinning around and narrowly avoiding debris that the camera thankfully captured occasionally.  

The spinning tumbled his stomach around like a washing machine.  Charlie feels nausea stir in his gut, but the reminder of keeping with the act was more powerful than focusing on the pain right now.  Grizzly digs his forehead into Charlie’s neck, whispering, before his hands let go on Charlie’s shirt.  

“Get him, Slime.”

The amber blond hollers for the bear-hybrid as Grizzly was thrown into the tornado’s cycling wind.  The tattooed disappeared with the tornado’s dark brown color, wind almost creating white streaks through the air with oxeye daisies.  

Charlie felt his inventory fill involuntarily with such daisies as he looks around randomly for any sort of way to escape the natural disaster.  There was nothing, nothing, to be done.  

Tears fly, lost into the whirlwind.  Hopefully, the camera’s quality was good enough to see the pure look of strain on the man’s face.  

He isn’t the first one to hit the ground when the tornado begins to calm down.  

Curse the modpack that created these terrible disasters by a small little timer, there was no controller on it.  It had to be real—if it wasn’t real, even the feeling of it, nobody would watch it.  It was a pathetic and dangerous mindset, but it’s paid off— 

JSchlatt watches with his chains jingling, scrambling desperately in his invisible fly wires as Bizly, the one man who seemed indifferent and causal about this whole production so far, plunged out of the sky.

And straight into the fucking volcano.  

JSchlatt cried out in horror when Bizly screamed out of such pure agony that the cameras had to cut when Bizly’s head went under the magma.  

The blue-wearing man woke up three days later in a respawn bed with royal blue runes carved into the bed’s leg.  All four of his coworkers were nearby when he woken up, a new burn scar claiming his left arm.  Bizly, though he wouldn’t admit it, cried.  JSchlatt did too.  Charlie held a bouquet of flowers the crew had treasured during their bits, thin, dainty things that sagged towards the man in the bed.  

So when Wilbur Soot held up a oxeye daisy for Charlie Slimecicle, a childish smile on his face, he let JSchlatt handle the British man.    

It was an innocent action, honest.  They were in Tommy’s recording server, recording the first episodes of Tommy’s own series called Modpack Mayhem.  It was just a fun little side work, originally taken up by the teenager when he realized that his following had grown in numbers and there was a lot of people asking for content from him outside of the Dream SMP.  So, he delivered, but kept his closer friends along for the ride.

Such friends included Wilbur Soot, Tubbo, Philza, and Jack Manifold.  Tubbo was unfortunately busy with Cog a lot of days, and those days he wasn’t away in Cog, he was working on the Dream SMP, so there were episodes that lacked a man or too.  Manifold too skipped out on a few episodes.  

Tommy then brought in JSchlatt and Charlie, the first just because (and partially on Wilbur’s good words), and Charlie because he had been growing close with the amber blond outside of the Dream SMP ever since his arrival to the show.  The two older actors were interested in Tommy’s.. very peculiar choices on modpacks.

For today, there was a giant ravine that was filled almost to the brim with magma.  It had been steadily subsiding since the modpack was turned off, but there was still a lot of magma present.  Charlie stared at the red-orange-yellow liquid, an indescribable look on his face as his glasses reflected the glow of the magma.  

The episode had been a good one; a long and tiring recording, but it was fun for all those who participated.  This was the perk on Tommy’s series; it had a heavy factor of comedy.  And, unlike SCU, safety was up there in priorities.  It made Charlie feel safe.  

Still, the magma irked him.  

“You okay, man?” Wilbur butts into his thoughts, letting them fall into the ravine as Charlie looks up at the brunet.  Wilbur was smiling softly at him, his eyes squinting.  “Tired?”

Charlie blinks a few times before nodding.  “Y-yeah,” he clears his throat after he stuttered.  Wilbur chuckles, but let the other continue.  “Today was fun, y’know?”

“Nope!” A voice from behind croons, and an elbow in placed on Charlie’s shoulder.  The amber blond almost fell from the weight before recognizing JSchlatt’s laugh, and preceded to punch his arm lightly.  JSchlatt pushed him away playfully with a laugh, his Yankees cap snug between his horns. 

“And I’m sorta glad, this looked fucking weird when I first entered the server.” JSchlatt looks over the edge, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise.  Wilbur yanks the man back, worried he’d fall and die; JSchlatt didn’t have a respawn bed set.   

The ram-hybrid shrugs Wilbur off, exchanging words with Charlie for a hot second before looking back at the British man when Wilbur asked for attention.  Snorting in amusement, JSchlatt and Charlie watch Wilbur dig through his inventory, rearranging stuff in his slots; neither of the other men could see what was in his inventory.. privacy was on. 

“Me and Charlie collected flowers for a seed safe for a bit!” Wilbur prefaces, looking up at JSchlatt.  Charlie purses his lips, not liking this direction.  JSchlatt didn’t notice, only tipping his head in acknowledgment to the curly brunet.  

A white-petaled flower enters his vision, being held right up to Charlie’s face as a little tease.  “I love the oxeye daisies, though!  We couldn’t find mu- you did not just do that.”

JSchlatt smacks his hands together to wipe them clean of flower petals.  Wilbur watches the flower in his hand flutter through the air, falling slowly to the magma below.  Upon touching it, it dissolved into dust.  Wilbur looks up at the ram-hybrid, his eyebrows furrowed.  “What the hell was that for?”

JSchlatt was directly Charlie away from Wilbur, leaving his roommate in the dust for his other best friend.  Charlie was silent, playing with an oxeye daisy he held in his own hands before crumpling it up in his hands.  JSchlatt looks down at Charlie’s hands with a minor worry lining his eyes, drifting up to meet the amber blond’s face. 

“He’s going to be upset now,” Charlie huffs, already hearing Wilbur running to catch up with them after standing still for a little bit.  

JSchlatt rolls his eyes playfully.  “Eh, fuck him.  You know when we’ll finish that episode, by the way?  I think Biz is healed nicely since.”

Charlie doesn’t answer.  JSchlatt takes it for what it is.  They’d get around to it eventually, but with the traumatic event so fresh in their minds, it was best to step back and let the idea of returning to set burn in the magma with the daisy and Bizly.  

Chapter Text

The final cut for the pit was seamless.  It showed the raw anger on Tommy’s bloody and bruised face, his hands gripping absolutely nothing but his own blood that seeped between his fingers.  His knuckles were punched raw.  The boy laid defeated against the pit’s wall, unmoving, but his nostrils flared as he glared up at the piglin whose shadow cast a long wash out above Tommy.  

Tommy didn’t let himself cry for the camera that scene, not until he and Tubbo were alone in Tommy’s room.  The cameras didn’t catch the image; it was only the audio of ugly sobbing, quiet comforting words, the occasional shriiiing of a sword being sharpened, and the crackle of a fireplace.  

The previous recordings for the pit were rocky, but that’s how every recording went.  

The scene had changed from the Manberg Plaza to the depths of Pogtopia.  Wilbur prowled along the edges of the pit, his lanky form keeping Nihachu and Tubbo back.  Wilbur’s cold, his calculating eyes studied Tommy and Technoblade as they stood in the pit, stolid. 

That is, until Tommy lifted a foot forward, slouching tauntingly towards the piglin before him.  

“You think you’re all high and mighty, huh, Technoblade?  Think just because you’re the victim, you can immediately excuse yourself from any situation you find yourself in?” Tommy grumbles, wiping sweat away from his cheek.  The boy’s face and attire were all covered in dirt and grim and red paint and ash.  It was a piece crafted by the festival’s events and the smallest works of makeup artists.  

Technoblade’s attire was in a similar state, but had considerably more red on it.  His hooves were muddied from running across the land back to Pogtopia after fleeing the murder scene.  In his inventory was the weapon of choice he used to obliterate the entire Schlatt Administration cabinet and the festival’s participants.  There was paint across his snout.  It was supposed to be Tubbo’s blood after the boy’s body exploded from the blast of the fireworks into his chest.  

Said boy was cowering near Nihachu, holding onto the woman’s hand as he shook in his dress suits.  Makeup covered the lower left part of his face, creating a burn that still looked festered.  Tubbo was watching Tommy intensely, but occasionally, he’d glance towards Wilbur with worried eyes.

Nihachu held Tubbo back, her eyes filled with horror as she stared up at Wilbur, silently begging him to do something to stop the two supposed allies from fighting each other.  Wilbur ignored it entirely if he even saw it, a psychotic smirk growing on his face as Technoblade snorted in protest.

“You know I’m not good under the eyes of tens,” Technoblade huffs, turning his head to the side to avoid Tommy’s intense look.  He stomps the ground a few times, clenching the fists at his sides.  “Anyone in my spot would’ve done it.”

The unspoken “killed them” hung in the atmosphere.  Tubbo felt like crying. 

“Technoblade, you’re the strongest person in this fucking war!” Tommy spits loudly, tossing a hand out to the three bystanders.  “We needed you and what did you go do?  You killed Tubbo!!  Technoblade, he died at your hands and you didn’t even help him afterwards!  I carried my best fucking friend from his bed to here while you ran off after slaughtering everyone!” Tommy finished, his voice escalating throughout from a growl to a scream.  

Technoblade tosses his head the other way, still not making eye contact.  Tommy was growing more frustrated by the second.  

“Tommy, please- I’m oka-“ Tubbo tries, but Wilbur puts an arm out in front of the former secretary of state.  

Wilbur giggles, catching the electric blue of Tommy’s in his gaze.  “Teach him a lesson, won’t you, Tommy?”

Tommy looks back at Technoblade, his chest heaving heavily.  His eyelids felt like a thousand pounds each, threatening to close at any moment.  The exhaustion he felt after spending all day acting, especially after doing the festival scene entirely, was hot on his heels.  Tommy rolls his neck around his shoulders, spinning his arm in its socket.  

“You goin’ to say anything, pig?” Tommy hisses.  

Technoblade tilts his head downwards, his red ruby eyes flashing with indignation.  He snarls, his tusks not the only sharp teeth he had.  Tommy gulps down the dry feeling in his tongue, falling into a battle-ready crouch, his hands up in fists.  Tommy made up his mind already.  Yelling did no good.  

“You’re going to regret this, Tommy,” Technoblade promises, rearing up and pushing out his chest to make himself seem bigger.  Anyone who has gone to high school in Minecraft could easily label that move as an aggressive piglin stance.  Technoblade puffs out steam from his snout.  “I warned you.”

“Yeah, and I warned you not to touch Tubbo, but here we are,” Tommy manages to get out before throwing the first punch.  

Tubbo averted his gaze, Nihachu placing a small hand over his eyes to amplify the gruesomeness of the two decking it out.  The odds were in Technoblade’s favor by hundreds of points.  An adult piglin brute against a scrawny teenage boy with anger issues?  It wasn’t even a competition.

Wilbur laughs manically, watching with a sadistic smirk as Technoblade brought his fist up to collide with Tommy’s chin.  It didn’t really hit, but in order to make it believable and let the CGI professionals get their work done, Tommy danced in his moves and his chin went flying up.  A nosebleed from earlier tracks back down once his head falls, gently reddened chin almost knocking against his chest.  

Tommy brings up a hand to wipe at his nosebleed instinctively, forgetting the fact that he had to dodge an incoming blow.  The fist came like a truck into his right shoulder, knocking Tommy down to the ground with a verbal cry of pain mixed with a curse.  

Technoblade didn’t register the truthful reaction originally, but after seeing the pain that glossed over Tommy’s eyes, he knew he fucked up.  Come on, Wil, finish the scene—

Technoblade stood over Tommy by now, reeling his arm back to prepare for another hit.  Tommy cowers away, his left arm raising up to cover his face from another real blow.  Callahan may not be the happiest that they fell off of the script and shortened the pit fight, but it made the scene more realistic in consideration to the two fighters’ strengths against each other.  

“You’re done, Tommy.  Stand down.  I have told you time and time again that there is no peaceful way for you to take Manberg done, there is no way to do so without causality.  Causality is fair in war, and that is what I believe we are in right now.” Technoblade’s eyes seem to glow red.  “You have fought me in honorary battle and have lost.  Stand down.  Violence is the only language every person speaks.. we will still go on to a new day, a new day to destroy Manberg.  This is what you want, is it not, TommyInnit?”

The psychopath in their midst claps his hands happily, his eyes closing contently as he butt into the end of Technoblade’s monologue.  “Well, what an interesting turn of events!  I was right, Tommy, you are really not fit for much, hm!” Wilbur finishes his like with a noise of happiness.  He turns away from the heaving piglin and injured boy, knowing that Tommy was injured to some extent, but the sooner he closed the scene, the sooner he could reach the boy.

There was so much work already put into this single scene; it’s be absolutely devastating to have to redo it all.  

“Come on, Niki, I’ll show you the medbay so I can help you and Tubbo.  It’s really not the far,” Wilbur begins, gesturing for Nihachu and Tubbo to follow him as he started down the bottom path of Pogtopia.

“Wil- Wil, but Tommy!” Nihachu cries, holding Tubbo to her chest protectively, as though Wilbur would beat Tubbo just as Technoblade did to Tommy.  She shivers when Wilbur looks over his shoulder with paranoid eyes. 

Wilbur scowls, “If Tommy is the adult he proclaims he is, he can take care of himself.  Now, follow me, or I’ll send you back to face Schlatt.. and I’d hate to do that.. I love you two so much, don’t make me throw you out for the ram to find you.”

Technoblade’s ear flicks at the threat.  Though it was all a line, Wilbur’s character was definitely becoming extremely worrisome.  Nihachu and Tubbo exchange looks before Nihachu guides an unbalanced Tubbo after Wilbur.  Their footsteps disappear along with any sort of dialogue. 

One of the cameramen gave Technoblade the closure signal without making noise, since there were still cameras chasing after Wilbur and company.  Technoblade exhales at the notice, beginning to stretch before realizing that there was still a broken boy laying in front of him, covering himself.  

Tommy was sniffling oh so quietly, pawing at his face pitifully as he tried to stop his tears.  He looks up with wobbling eyes as Technoblade crouches down, falling into a kneel moments later.  Tommy originally flinched back, covering his head with his arms before feeling two strong ones bring him closer to the piglin.  Technoblade drags Tommy into a loose yet well-meant hug, pushing Tommy’s head into his fabric-covered shoulder.  

Tommy grapples with Technoblade, rearranging his position across from him so he was standing on his knees, his arms up and around Technoblade’s neck as he leaned into the behemoth.  Technoblade held the other back, soothing down the boy’s hair as it itched the side of his neck.  “I’m sorry, Tommy,” Technoblade rumbles, the boy hearing the guttural vibrations through the other’s body.

The blond grips tighter into Technoblade’s clothes before his shoulders fall with a sob.  It wasn’t even outright from the pain, but that added to the snowball of exhaustion and the weights on the boy’s shoulders.  The piglin whines, pushing his snout against the side of Tommy’s head before sighing.  Technoblade eventually pulled the young boy into his lap, letting him cry until he couldn’t anymore.  

Technoblade never had much exposure to human emotion before acting.  In Hypixel, vulnerability could leave you up dead in a ditch or back in a bed.  There was no in between, and both outcomes were shitty.  Piglins, while yes, they had similarities between expressing emotion, still had their own ways of presenting emotion.  Aggression was a regular sight in piglin packs, especially brute clusters.  Crying was a rarity, and only done in vigil mourning.  

It had taken the piglin a while to get used to seeing humans cry or scream or be frustrated just by the snap of their fingers, but it was even harder to see it be not an act; Technoblade wasn’t sure if this was sympathy, pity, or simple understanding.  Still, he continued to card his three fingers through Tommy’s hair and rubbing his back comfortingly, holding the boy like a piglin young.  

Humans were complex creatures.  

Technoblade looked up from the bottom of the pit as footsteps sounded at the mouth of the little man-dug cave.  Wilbur quickly hopped down the ledge, steadying himself before reaching the human and piglin.  When Wilbur attempted to bring Tommy into his own arms, Tommy tore away and clung to Technoblade tighter with a small whimper.  The British man looked hurt, but a look from Technoblade made him erase the guilty look on his face.  

“We’re done for the night, Callahan said,” Wilbur relays the message, hearing more footsteps from behind as Tubbo and Nihachu reached the pit.  Unlike the two, Wilbur had sprinted back once the scene was done.  Tubbo had washed off a bit of his burn makeup with help from Nihachu before beginning to make their way to the pit.  

Technoblade grunts in agreement, wondering how’d he would get Tommy home when he was like this: holding onto the piglin like a lifeline, still crying.. falling limp.  The piglin makes a small face when he realizes the boy was legitimately falling asleep in his arms, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t carry Tommy.  The boy weighed nothing compared to the barbells Technoblade used to bench daily.  

“He’s out like a light,” Technoblade responds, feeling Tubbo’s presence behind him as he inspected his best friend.  Tubbo places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, squatting at head level so he could smudge away some dirt off of Tommy’s forehead.  Wilbur had stood up during the small action, standing next to Nihachu, both sporting tired expressions.  “We should head home soon.”

“The nether might be quic-“ Tubbo begins before Technoblade shook his head.  “Or not.”

“If we run into a cluster and I have a human in my literal arms, I won’t be able to negotiate passage.  It’s one thing if I’m with humans, but another if I’m sssn amiable with them.  Some piglins still hold me to my old Hypixel standards,” Technoblade explains.  “Even then, clusters this far from Mojang or Hypixel may not have caught wind of me being up here on the surface.  I don’t want to risk anything.”

“We still have horses,” Nihachu points out helpfully.  “You could take a horse with Tommy to get him home quicker, us three can walk with the camera crew.”

Technoblade looks at the three other actors before down at Tommy’s sleeping form, still wet tears sliding down his cheeks.  He sighs, rising to his feet with little trouble as an arm slipped underneath Tommy’s thighs, holding him up like an infant.  “Yeah, yeah, let’s just get moving.” Wilbur dug out a small staircase for the piglin, letting him go up first before the three humans followed.  

Tommy shifts in Technoblade’s hold slightly, resting the side of his head against the other’s chest with a content exhale, the hitched sobs slowing down in number.  The behemoth feels protectiveness swirl in his chest, tightening his hold on the boy just a bit more.  Tommy trusted him; he really did.  Pride tried to get to his brain, but all that was there was euphoria.

Humans were complex creatures, but Technoblade was slowly figuring them out.   

Chapter Text

It hurt more than it should’ve.  

It hurt so much more than it should’ve.

Eret watched without a single emotion in their stone-cold eyes as they watched their friends, their allies, their family, be massacred right before them by their number one enemies.  Eret stood by, compliant, a hand still rested on a wooden button that initiated the ambush.  It was still, yet everything around the king was chaos.  

When all the bodies of their fallen comrades disappeared after a small cleanup, all that was left of their ever presences in the final control room were their revolutionary coats and splattered paint.  Wilbur’s tri-horned hat rested on the ground, untouched.  One of the coats had a little bee patch sewn in on it, another had a purple and green disc, and the other had a fox tail.  The second to last had a peace symbol, while the last had a quill and book.  Each coat bore the L’Manberg colors.  

Eret looks up from the abandoned coats.  In their closet back home in their castle hung a coat similar to those on the ground, with a small crown patch.  Erasing the memory from his brain, Eret looks up when their name is called.

Dream’s mask met him, holding a beige sack in his hands.  “Immediate payment, as promised,” Dream croons, passing the sack over to the king.  “Oh, and I almost forgot,” Dream taps his chin when he pulls something out of his inventory, the item glimmering to life when it’s held in Dream’s hand.  

Eret sucks in a breath.  It was beyond perfect.  

They bow, bending one of his legs towards the green man.  Their shoulders square up when a pure gold crown with rainbow jewels is sat on their curls, and waits patiently as a diamond sword’s blade lightly touches both of his shoulders.  

“I crown thee, Eret, the official and undisputed king of the Dream SMP.  May your reign be one be of prosperity, equality, and peace.”

How ironic was it to be coronated this way, in the middle of a room filled with your former family’s remnants.  

Dream left the final control room, Sapnap waiting for him with a victorious grin highlighting his face.  Sapnap didn’t acknowledge the brunet that followed Dream out of the room, breaking the surface and climbing out.  Dream and Sapnap quickly left from inside L’Manberg’s walls, running off to the west.  Eret watched the two best friends disappear out of their sight, their bodies obscured by the black and yellow walls.  

Eret looks behind them up at the sky before around L’Manberg.  It was eerily quiet.  Eret gulps.

There was no friendly arguing between Fundy and Tommy as the two constructed those walls.  Fundy wasn’t throwing concrete dust down at the blond, laughing his ass off when the British boy only got angrier.  

There was no familiar bubbling of potions in the Camarvan; Tubbo wouldn’t refute against Nihachu’s worried words, saying they were drugs but not drugs at the same time.  Wilbur wouldn’t be watched from the front of the van, a truthful smile ghosting his lips.  

There was no more campfires cracking, a few voices rising in unison with sticks in their hands.  Jack Manifold wouldn’t be there this time, seated between Tommy and Wilbur.  Tommy and Tubbo wouldn’t be hugging, Fundy wouldn’t be singing along to Wilbur’s guitar with Nihachu and Manifold.  

There would be no more memories.  

When Eret remembered each of these, they purposefully pulled themself out of the situation.  It was best not to hang on the past, anyway.  

Their red cape bit at their ankles as they walked out of L’Manberg for the final time.  They may have helped built this nation, their name in the declaration of independance, but they would not watch this nation grow anymore as a founding father.  

They would never be welcome back to their home again.  But that’s okay; a true crown rested on their head, and that’s all that mattered, right?

“We’ll meet again,” Eret drawls, dipping their head in respect before turning their back to L’Manberg.  “Please know my own greed should not sway your passion.  I will still love you, even if you cease to do so to me as well.  Your L’Manberg, my family.  Raise your glasses tonight and do not mourn in the shadow of defeat.”

Eret reaches a head up to their eyes, pulling off his shades with one fluid motion.  Pure white eyes traced up the Prime Path, Eret’s legs stopping their forward match away from L’Manberg when they reached the top of the path.  They still didn’t turn away.  

They toss the sunglasses into the river below.  “Forgive me one day.  Until that day, though, burn with the rage of a thousand soldiers, and then a million more.”

Tubbo fishes the glasses out of the river a day later, staring at the grimy things with disgust written all his face as he shook water off of the shades.  Tommy peers over from his own fishing spot, making a similar face at the state of the glasses.  “The fuck are those doing in the bottom of the river?” Tommy asks, reeling in his hook with nothing but weeds.  

Tubbo purses his lips, looking over the shades and swiping at the grime that coated the lenses.  The slime on his fingerpads was a dark green, sticky to the touch, but Tubbo just brushed it off on his pants.  Tommy gagged, tossing the seaweed back into the river.  The brunet ignored him.

The cameras were all down right now.  After such a painstakingly long and heavy recording yesterday, Dream and Wilbur were able to convince Callahan to give everyone a day or two break to recoup.  Instead of staying on the home server with most of the cast, Tubbo and Tommy had ran right out of their house with fishing rods and a tackle box.  

The boys hadn’t been down by the shoreline for long, but had gotten sidetracked upon finding the shades.  Tubbo had walked off, saying they were Eret’s and he’d be right back.  Tommy watched him go, struggling halfheartedly before responding to a comm from a friend back home on his home server.  

Tubbo did his best to clean the glasses free of the slimy grime it collected on the bottom of the river overnight.  He walked down the Prime Path, guessing that Eret would either be on the home server or in their castle.  Since the home server would take more effort on the boy by himself, Tubbo decided to head to the castle first before going through the portal.  

Passing through the community house, he notices Awesamdude and Ponk walking arm in arm from Lemon City.  Tubbo hurries his steps, his walk turning into an small jog as the two were walking on the water bridge.  

Tubbo had yet to have much interaction with either man; Sam was usually on the other side of the server, not paying mind to the acting aspect of it and focusing on a future role.  Ponk was a casual; he was one of George’s friends, invited to the server by him.  He usually didn’t interfere with the actors’ work, but was friends with the original Dream SMP members.  It was no odd sight to see Ponk hanging near them all during their off hours.  

“Eret?” Tubbo calls, holding the shades delicately in his hands as he neared the entrance of his friend’s castle.  He hurries across the bridge, having briefly checked Eret’s chest tower with no luck there.  His fingers and pants had streaks of river slime on them, dried by now.  “Eret!” Tubbo calls again, entering the premises of the castle.

He received no answer, so he kept on forward.  Ducking through the open entrance (Eret should probably get a door), Tubbo looks both ways before seeing a figure lounging on the cushioned golden throne, messing on their comms.  Tubbo looked elated to see the king, but when Eret saw him, they froze.  Their comms disappeared in a blink.

“I found- I found your sunglasses in the river just now, Eret!  Did you lose them?” Tubbo asks with a small pant, walking through the castle all while holding out the shades and maintaining eye contact.  The iris-less eyes of Eret’s didn’t scare him; he was used to the other’s pure white eyes.  It was cool to Tubbo.  BadBoyHalo always needed contacts to get his eyes to look like that.  

Eret clambers up, rearranging themself on the throne after their legs had been hanging over an arm.  They clear their throat, looking anywhere but Tubbo’s eyes as they accepted the shades with a little nod.  “Oh, uh- thanks.”

“No problem!” Tubbo chimes with a small smile.  It falls when Eret doesn’t return it; they usually did.  Cocking his head to the side, Tubbo furrows his eyebrows.  “Is everything alright?”

Eret raises a hand to their forehead, not putting on the glasses before they had a chance to clean them.  “No, no, I’m.. I’m fine, Tubbo.  Thanks for asking.”

“You’re not, though,” Tubbo returns, frowning.  “What’s wrong?”

“How did you-“ Eret begins before being cut off almost immediately.

“When you’re best friends with the infamously stubborn and cheating TommyInnit, you pick up a thing or two,” explains Tubbo with a nonchalant shrug.  “It’s a blessing and a curse.  But seriously, Eret, is everything okay?  We can talk if you want.”

“It’s really nothing,” Eret laughs uneasily, running a hand through their curls.  “It’s just silly, honest.”

“But it’s bothering you.”

Eret is silent, their fingers fidgeting on his lap.  He didn’t like being under this sort of pressure; he hated peer pressure.  They blink a few times, looking down at the spruce flooring.  “No, it’s just-“ they try before failing with their words.  “I-“  They fall silent again.  Tubbo is patient, bless his soul.  

“You’re not.. you seem fine.  Wasn’t- wasn’t yesterday hard on you?  And Tommy, and Wilbur and Fundy and Niki-“ Eret blabbers, words immediately spilling out of their mouth once they realized Tubbo would listen for as long as they needed Tubbo to be there.  “Like what if one of the swords wasn’t a prop and someone got hurt?  What if something happened- how do you.. how do you change so quickly out of that mindset of ‘okay, this is all acting’ to ‘now i’m fine because I’m not acting’?  Because I’m- I feel guilty and I don’t know why because I know it’s acting but it’s all so much and I don’t thi-“

“Eret, calm down.  You’re making yourself anxious.” Tubbo was up near the throne, a hand on Eret’s shoulder to ground them.  “A few deep breaths, okay?  Calm down.. everyone gets panicked, calm down.”

Eret follows the instructions, holding their breath for three before exhaling for seven.  They repeat it a few times before collapsing back on the throne, a hand coming up to cover their white eyes.  “Sorry,” Eret whispers.  “It’s a lot.  I barely acted on Earth and this was a big role and I feel like everyone was a bit off after the recording and I felt bad.”

“Nobody, and I mean it, felt anything towards you that wasn’t pride, Eret.  You did amazing yesterday, you should be happy!” Tubbo celebrates, shaking his hands in excitement.  “You did so well!!  This whole thing only just started but that was amazing!  The fans are going to love it!”

Eret chuckles halfheartedly, looking down at their lap bashfully.  Tubbo had stepped away from Eret, now standing nearby.  The king blows curls out of their face before looking back up.  “You’re positive?”

“A hundred percent.” Tubbo smiles.

Eret swallows the lump in their throat.  “Nobody’s.. angry?  I didn’t want to be the villain..” 

“You took the job nobody wanted, Eret.  That takes guts,” replies Tubbo, who was still smiling.  “And you did an awesome job.  Wilbur was over at me and Tommy’s yesterday for dinner, he was raving about you and how well you portrayed your character’s emotions.  It was so impressive, brillant, even!!”

Eret looks up, looking out towards the entrance of the castle.  They had come here in the first place because they didn’t want to see anyone walking around on the home server and face everyone.. everyone was.. everyone was all proud of them?

“Dream too, and even George!  George was surprised that you remained so composed the entire time, but you did!  Everyone else is probably really proud too.  See, Eret, I know acting is sometimes anxious, but everyone on the server has been in your shoes before,” Tubbo explains, looking out at the entrance of the castle as well.  “Surely, nobody is angry, I promise to the aethers.”

“That’s a big promise,” Eret points out with a little giggle.  Tubbo returns a laugh before relaxing his posture, gesturing for Eret to come down from the throne.  “I’m fishing with Tommy right now.  Do you want to join us?  We can steal Wilbur’s rod.”

Eret feels sweat on the back of their throat. and reaches up to rub it away, biting their lower lip.  “Uh-“

Tubbo sighs before stepping up and pulling Eret gently away from the throne.  “Tommy won’t be mad, he hasn’t been at all, and if Wilbur asks where his rod is, I’ll say a shark ate it.  Foolproof,” Tubbo cracks a grin.  Eret couldn’t help but copy it.

“Ooh.. oh, okay, Tubbo.  Whatever you say.”

“Yeah, so let’s go!” Tubbo jumps with a little bolt of energy, pulling Eret along by the hand.  “Tommy sucks at fishing.  Me, on the other hand, I’m a natural fisher!  In my home server, my dad and I would go..”

The conversation droned out in Eret’s ears, nodding to the boy’s ramble and humming at some points.  It didn’t mean much to the king, but they smiled to themself at Tubbo’s eagerness to include them in him and his best friend’s bonding time.  

I was wrong, Eret thought.  They still do love me.  

Chapter Text

In short, Dream was seriously regretting trading chores with Quackity this week.  It was either grocery shopping or walking everyone’s dogs, and in hindsight, the dogs would’ve been so much better to deal with.  

Grocery shopping was an unfortunate affair.  Being that the Dream SMP home server had no stores for any need, the actors took turns going to Mojang to any trips needed for supplies and food.  Quackity was due to go this week, but the man was, quote on quote, ‘fond of’ Technoblade’s (at least) favorite eight dogs that he deemed good enough to go on walks.  The dogs were all larger breeds except for Floof, whom Quackity loved with his whole heart.

When Dream told the piglin that he switched chores with Quackity (dog walking for grocery shopping), Technoblade stared at Dream as though he just said he was pregnant.  Whether it was the fact that Quackity was now in sole charge of his dogs for the day, or that Dream really just took grocery shopping in a trade.. well, either was a possibility.  

This week’s group that was supposed to aid Quackity on his trip to Mojang was his personal pick, or those who were kind enough to go with him.  Dream sighed to himself as he tapped his chin in the shopping center, wondering how he ended up with BadBoyHalo, Karl Jacobs, JSchlatt, and Ranboo, everyone but Bad now lost in the store.  

Bad looks down at the grocery list in his hands, one that spanned across at least three pages of food items.  It probably would’ve been easier if everyone just went to go buy their own food separately when they needed it, but this was more practical and saved any awkward moments if a single person was recognized in public with no one else there to help them out of the situation. 

Ah, another thing: the public.

Dream pushed his own cart out of the way as a mother with a crying child in her cart sped towards the frozen aisle.  He sighed, pushing in an eardrum to tune out the noise the people of Mojang made around him.  Back on the Dream SMP servers, the real one and home, there were no unwelcomed visitors, no fans, nobody that Dream himself didn’t allow into the servers.  

Here, it was the run of the bulls and Dream nor Bad were having it.  

“I really wish Schlatt didn’t come.. not because I don’t like him, but he’s just a sore thumb,” Bad sighs, looking up from his list.  “He’s a beacon of attraction.”

To prove his point, the ram-hybrid was currently signing shirts, napkins, the back of hands, shoes, you name it, for a swarm of fans that surrounded him.  His cheeks were probably hurting from how much he was smiling, pausing every so often to take a picture or give a younger fan a hug.  JSchlatt had always been a fan favorite wherever he went; Wilbur was going to riot when he heard his roommate stole the spotlight at the fucking grocery store in Mojang’s main shopping center, Buildmart.  

Bad looks at Dream with a little chuckle, “Maybe it’s good that you wore a mask.” The brunet himself wasn’t spotted yet; to a blind eye, he looked like your average brown-haired man.  Most of their fans knew him in the makeup, so recognition was a bit harder.  

Dream reaches up to subconsciously fix the white face mask that covered half of his face.  It had a small smile on the corner, his own brand line.  He had opted for a green hoodie, risking it, but hey, everyone could wear green hoodie and have dirty blond hair and green eyes and not be Dream, a renowned retired speedrunner and famous actor—

Dream blinks a few times at how much weight his titles held.  Oops.  Maybe he should’ve been more careful: security was going to get upset with JSchlatt alone; Dream would be a catastrophe with no bodyguards.

Bad guides the cart down another aisle, leaving JSchlatt’s sight as they navigated towards the pasta section.  Almost everyone requested pasta, so Bad just ended up dumping at least fifteen boxes of assorted pastas into the cart.  The other guys at the store had their own lists for their own food.   Ranboo was also picking up Tommy, Tubbo, and Purpled’s food, and some of the others were grabbing their closer friends’ food too.  

Dream himself was buying for GeorgeNotFound and Sapnap.  Thankfully, both of them were rather easy eaters, so Dream ended up grabbing a few snacks before tripling his own food items.  It was easy enough.  Dream plays with his mask, pushing the cart after Bad as the man kept moving.  

“Now.. the vegetables,” Bad points down at the vegetable section.  There wasn’t too much, which was a bit alarming, but nobody had any personal nutritionists ordering them to eat healthy.  Bad purses his lips; his house demanded the most vegetables with Technoblade eating them for the majority of his meals.  

BadBoyHalo slides past an older man, apologizing to him after nudging his cart a bit before carrying on.  Dream follows behind, ignoring the man as Bad headed into the middle of the vegetable aisle.  He made a beeline towards the back row towards the golden carrots.  Dream yawns behind his mask, ignoring a long glance in the back of his neck from a wandering teenager.  

As Bad shoveled in at least eight bags of golden carrots, knotting the plastic bags when he was done.  He tosses them into Dream’s cart without much mind for keeping his house and Dream’s and company’s food separate; nobody but Technoblade ate golden carrots on the server, and Bad doubted anyone would willfully even try the nutrient-infused rock crystals that he had picked up from the hybrid section of the store.  

Dream grabs a few heads of broccoli and some lettuce heads for his own, tossing them into plastic bags and into the cart.  They’d take out their reusable bags from their inventory after paying, but couldn’t use them now to stop shoplifters; the flimsy plastic bags couldn’t easily be put into inventory.  

The green man sighs, pushing his hair out of his face before being groped into a hug.  His head snapped up in alarm, worrying it was a fan, before seeing Karl’s sweater and calming down.  The brunet was wearing pastel yellow, easily identifying him.  Dream settles into Karl’s arms, returning the hug with one arm as Bad moved on towards the fruit section.  He pushed the cart slowly behind him.  

Karl held a shopping basket in his hands, filled with his food for the week.  It was a variety of food, most of it rather healthy, but some sweets.  Dream chuckles, letting Karl slide the basket on the lower rack of the cart.  There were already two matching beer packages underneath.  

“Got everything?” Dream asks, tilting his head towards BadBoyHalo as the man squeezed an apple in his hands.  Karl chuckles at the sight before nodding his head in response.  

“Mhm!  I got some stuff for Quackity, but he can starve for all I care.  That dork left me with you,” Karl sassed playfully, wiggling out of Dream’s embrace when the green man tickled him.  “Hey!!  We were going to go to a comic store after grocery shopping, but no, he just had to watch a dozen dogs!” Karl complained, inspecting Dream’s food.  “That’s a lot.”

“I’m bringing for three grown men and then a few treats for myself,” Dream explains, leaning against the cart’s pushrail.  “So I need a lot of food.”

Karl raises an eyebrow.  “It still seems like.. a lot a lot.  I didn’t think you ate golden carrots.  Aren’t they, like, really hard to bite?  And.. rocks?” 

“Oh, Bad’s sharing my cart,” Dream fills in, looking up as Bad looked behind him with a few bags of fruit.  “We’ll have to make another trip or like, five, for everyone else, but this is just for me, Sap, George, and then Bad,” Dream gestures towards the man.  “Has him, Skeppy, and Techno.”

“Oh?  Ohh- oh, right!” Karl paused for a moment before nodding his head with a smile.  “I keep forgetting you moved in with the two.  I don’t have a roommate, how do you deal with them two?  Aren’t they like.. loud?”

“Loud.  Karl, please, he’s not a third wheel-“ Dream began before wheezing, keeling over the pushrail.  That same teenager from before, tagging behind their mother, looked over again.  Bad’s face was flushed, fanning it with a small laugh.  

Karl furrows his eyebrows in confusion before realizing the hidden innuendo.  “Oh!” He exclaims, a hand over his mouth as he laughed uneasily.  “Oh my god, no- no, not like that, Dream, stop!” Karl cries, slapping Dream’s arm in play.  “I meant like.. oh my gods, now I can’t- I’m so sorry, Bad, I didn’t-“

Bad shakes his head, waving his hands towards the embarrassed man with a laugh of his own.  “It’s okay!  I didn’t take it that way first, but Dream’s mind is in a literal gutter.” Bad rolls his eyes before looking back at Karl.  “But no, Techie is actually very quiet at home, and Skeppy knows both me and Techie don’t like loud noises.  It’s our home, so we respect each other, yeah?”

Karl scratches at the back of his neck with an awkward giggle.  Dream was still leaning over the cart, wheezing quietly.  “Yeah- yeah, I get it,” Karl chuckles, avoiding eye contact.  

After finally going through the meat and dairy section, navigating through the crowds, and waiting for at least twenty minutes in one line, Bad and Dream were at a register to cash out their personal items.  They’d have to take the plunge back into the store for a few more trips to get everyone’s food.  That was the only reason Bad and Dream barely had any personal items in their inventory, just food and water and a bit of self-protection.  

Dream scrolls through his socials as Bad pays for his portion of the food.  Everyone handed in their money before sending Dream off, which he would use to pay for everyone else’s food who didn’t come.  Dream fingers his credit card as Bad fills his reusable bags with items, the bags disappearing into his inventory when they were full.

The green man watches the bored cashier swipe his food across the scanner, letting them slide down the ramp.  Dream sighs, the conveyor belt pushing more food closer to the register.  Pushing in his credit card to the insert hole, Dream avoids eye contact as Bad fishes up packing up his bags.  He takes the empty cart from Dream, leaving him temporarily.  

The employee glances up, raising an eyebrow at Dream’s mask.  “Sir, I’m afraid we’re not in a pandemic right now,” the cashier mumbles, not wanting to make small talk nor offend the other, but it came out on impulse.  She ducked her head almost immediately as though in embarrassment for speaking.

The dirty blond chuckles, taking the comment lightly.  “Privacy reasons,” Dream says, pulling out his own bags.  They were pure black except for a few smiley faces decorating it.  The employee looked surprised at the choice of bags.  Dream catches the look.  “You know the brand?”

“That’s Dream,” the cashier replies.  “You’re a fan?”

“A fan?” Dream echoes before letting out a little wheeze, looking down at the short girl.  He raises a hand to his hair, pushing it back before letting his hair spring back into place.  “I mean, I love his work, yeah.”

The employee blinks a few times before her eyes shoot open when she makes eye contact with Dream.  Her brown eyes clashed against Dream’s green, and her mouth fell opened slightly.  Dream only laughed, pulling his card out of the insert.  The conveyor belt was still moving, pushing food into the scanner that was still at the cashier’s hands.  

“I actually have a few friends that need to check out too.. how much longer do you think you’ll be on your shift?” Dream asks, filling his bags as the cashier got back to her job, but the man noticed how the girl’s hands shook slightly.  

The cashier gulps, looking up at the clock that hung on a wall.  “An hour or so?”

“Great!  I’ll send them your way, alright?  You’ll probably recognize them,” Dream smiles, sliding the bag in his hands into his inventory.  He looks both ways before bringing a finger to above his mask.  “Keep it on the low until we leave, though.  Schlatt already had a crowd around him, I don’t want a larger one around me.”

All the employee did was nod her head furiously, going back to her work with her cheeks flushed. 

She went home with an authentic Dream Coin that day.  

Dream sat next to Ranboo on the minetrain ride home, the two taking the two seats behind Karl, Bad, and JSchlatt.  The three in front of them were talking about the best cereal brand, something JSchlatt seemed.. oddly adamant about.  

The grocery shopping trip had been a success.  Dream’s and Bad’s inventories, and a bit of the other males’, were filled with food and a few other items from their trip to Mojang.  Karl had gotten a few new trinkets from a roadside shop, holding an old watch in his hands he could use in an upcoming special episode.  He was leaning his head on Bad’s shoulder, fighting to stay awake after a busy day of walking and cracking jokes.  It was almost seven in the evening; they had spent all day in Mojang, and still had a little under of an hour until they returned to the Dream SMP home server.  

Ranboo was holding an H20 Delirious Startooz in his hands, something he grabbed at the center’s comic store with Karl.  Most comic stores nowadays only had older Startoozes, but Ranboo didn’t recall Tommy having a Delirious one yet.  A small bee plush rested on his lap, another to add to Tubbo’s collection.  There was a little keychain with a netherite sword charm hooked around his index, something for Purpled.  

Dream smiled softly at the gifts, the teenager bouncing his legs from excitement.  He and the three other teenagers of the cast were meeting at Tommy and Tubbo’s house for another movie night, so he’d be able to give them all their gifts and food then.  The gifts only felt right, as he had left all day when those three hung out.  

Ranboo catches Dream looking over at him, and returns a small chuckle.  He too was wearing a mask, black and white.  Ranboo was never the most public person.  “What is it?” Ranboo asks, fidgeting with the keychain.  “You okay?”

Dream shrugs, “Perfect.  I just think it’s nice you got the boys something.”

Ranboo brightens up.  “Oh, yeah!  I thought they’d like something, since they probably don’t go to Mojang a lot and I missed hanging out with them today for chores, y’know?”

Dream understands, nodding his head a few times.  “No, I totally get it,” he laughs.  

Ranboo nods as well before looking back out the window.  He pauses, turning back to Dream.  “By the way, how did the cashier recognize me?  You were right there and acted so casual about it.  I was about to faint, my self-confidence faded out of existence within a heartbeat!”

Dream raises his eyebrows, smiling underneath his mask.  “She was a fan.”

That was the only answer the amber blond received; Ranboo didn’t push any further.  Ranboo hums contently, looking back out the window.  He holds his gifts closer to his chest.  

Chapter Text

It’s ironic, isn’t it?

Though he ran and he ran and he ran as far as possible, going as far to join a rebellious group of nobodies to escape the grasping hands of someone who harmed him, he ended right back in his old cage.  Hands that once petted his wings, that once broke and crippled them, held up the cage with such a victorious sneer that it made the man want to vomit just looking into those chocolate colored eyes.  

A small picture frame of the crowned emperor sat at his gravesite.  There was a single crack running across the frame, straight through JSchlatt’s sneering face.  

Quackity picked up the photo before flipping it onto its face.  It didn’t move.  

JSchlatt’s grave was poorly kept.  There were overgrown weeds everywhere, a few flies buzzing around.  Long dead flowers were sat in front of the headstone, an old respect towards the late president of Manberg.  The epitaph had been specifically tailored to the late male. 

J. Schlatt
A husband, son, friend, and a president.
May you forever sleep with Satan in bed.
1999-2020

Quackity brushes his fingers over the engravements, moss covering the stone.  He had been the one to request Awesamdude to leave out the ‘loving’ part in front of husband.  Though JSchlatt was anything but loving, a golden ring still hung around a chain necklace.  It rivaled the two golden rings on his left hand, but Quackity tried to avert the conversation whenever his fiancés brought up the older ring.  

It was ironic that Quackity out of all people was visiting his ex’s grave.  His ex-president, his ex-friend, his ex-husband.  Though, it was truth.  Quackity held nothing in his hands.  He had nothing to offer up to the ghost of JSchlatt, none in the slightest.  If anyone saw any morsel of food at the grave, they’d be suspicious.  It may be rude to bring nothing for the dead, but Quackity didn’t care.  It wasn’t like it was written into the script anyway.  

“I hate you.”

Quackity’s hands squeeze into fists on his lap, kneeling before the grave.  

“I hate you.  I hate you so much that I’d let my whole fucking world burn down again before I even give the thought of forgiving you life.  I hate you so much that I’d rather die for the final time at Technoblade’s hands than stand by your side for a second time.  For a third, a fourth, a fifth.  Death is sweeter than what we had, and I hate that you made me believe that what we had was.” Quackity’s monologue cracks, tears already dripping down his cheek.  

“That what we had was love.”

Karl Jacobs and Sapnap were by Quackity’s sides after a minor break, the two hugging Quackity from either side but not looking at the grave.  After another break, they were gone.  The miracle of cameras.  

“I hate you.  I hate you, I hate what you did, I hate how you cheated me out of every single ounce of trust I ever had for a single person.  I can’t even trust myself anymore because of you.  How am I to trust another when you stomped all over our bond so carelessly, like it was nothing but an inconvenience to you?!” Quackity finishes with a scream, his eyes glaring at the grave.  

Quackity slides onto his behind, pushing himself away from the grave.  Nothing rose from it, but Quackity still seemed scared; enraged, maybe.  

“I hate you!  I don’t even know a stronger word to use than hatred, because I’ve never felt this way before!  I tried so fucking hard to understand you!  I saw you decline, I wanted to help, but you threw everything we had away!” Quackity was on his feet.  His hands were balled at his sides, shouting down at a fucking stone that didn’t have the corpse of his former beloved in.  JSchlatt’s corpse fell into bones and a heart.  

The bones were buried at the gravesite.  The heart wasn’t.  

“I-“ Quackity began before stopping.  There was no one near him.  L’Manberg was a crater.  L’Manberg was no more.  El Rapids broke apart after a failure of establishing itself as a legitimate nation.  His fiancés had run off with his ex-running partner to some far off land, leaving him behind without a second thought.  Tubbo and company were all in the north, creating their own little fallout shelter.  Tommy was building a hotel, but he hadn’t even seen Tommy for some time.  

Wilbur was dead.  His grave sat not even fifteen feet from JSchlatt’s, a beautiful quartz headstone that had bouquets of flowers laid in front of it.  A smiling picture of Wilbur in his revolutionary coat sat in a picture frame next to the headstone.  It had its own epitaph on it.  Quackity knew it too by heart.  

Wilbur Soot
A beloved husband, father, brother, friend, musician, and a president.  
May you rest in peace.  Thank you.
1996-2020

Quackity knew that Tommy came to that grave almost every week with flowers or a story or silence.  Quackity knew that Tubbo would sit at the grave and rant about how his plans in Snowchester were going.  Quackity knew that Fundy would appear out of the woods, stare down the grave, pat it, and then leave again.  Quackity knew how Philza would always stop by the grave when he was in town, and he too would only stare at the grave before leaving.  

Quackity knew how everyone visited Wilbur Soot.  Wilbur Soot this, Wilbur Soot that.  

He bares his teeth.  Wilbur Soot destroyed everything he ever loved.

JSchlatt was fine before he got caught up in politics, which Wilbur started.  JSchlatt had been sober for five months before running against Wilbur and himself and Fundy.  JSchlatt had been happy, he had laughed, he had truly lov-

Quackity walks over to Wilbur’s grave and kicks the photo onto its back.  He walks back to JSchlatt and stares down at the face-down photograph.  

“I hate you so much, but I hate Wilbur Soot just more.  If it weren’t for him, you’d be here right now and we’d be happy, even if we weren’t married.”

The camera breaks, and JSchlatt is standing next to Quackity with his hand on the shorter’s shoulder.  His face is solemn, staring down at his own grave.  He didn’t look like a ghost, no transparency or gray skin, but he wore a comfortable baby blue sweater almost identical to Ghostbur’s yellow one.  His horns curled around his ears.  

JSchlatt squeezes Quackity’s shoulder, leaning into the duck-hybrid with a crippled wing.  He rests his forehead into Quackity’s neck, hugging him from the side and behind.  The camera cuts again, and when it returns to Quackity’s back, JSchlatt is gone.  There are a few unnoticeable blue fuzzies on Quackity’s black matte suit.  

He finally unclenches his hands, bending down to prop up JSchlatt’s photo.  Quackity leaves a golden coin with an engraved Q in it in front of the photo, a minor offering that meant nothing to anyone, not even Quackity.  It just felt right.  

“I’ll never be like you, but I’ll be what you wanted to be,” Quackity says to the grave.  “This server’s going gold.”

His golden feathers shake with eagerness.  Quackity could smell the scent of fresh diamonds and emeralds and gold now.  All there was left was to enact his plan.  

He left the gravesite by walking.  Quackity couldn’t fly anymore, a fate caused by the man he promised so much to but broke every single one.  In turn, JSchlatt had broken Quackity.  

But that’s fine, because when you hate everything, even living, all there is to do is thrive out of spite; Quackity could do that.  He’s been doing that.  

The cameras cut moments after Quackity left the lousy graveyard.  JSchlatt was right there for them, ready for a hug with Karl and Sapnap waiting their turn.  Quackity collapsed into the ram-hybrid’s awaiting arms, drying his wet cheeks into the baby blue sweater.  

Chapter Text

“Frankly, we can’t just into another plotline, regardless of how.. unique, it is.”

“Are you kidding?  We have so many things going on right now.. this will be fun too!  And we can tie it back into the plot in the future, right, Dream?” Tubbo pleaded with the man before him before turning towards the dirty blond.  

Dream nods enthusiastically, acting like a child (along with the other two men standing before Wilbur.) “I’m all on board with this idea!  I think it helps with my characterization!” Dream tries, leaning over to shake Wilbur’s shoulder gently.  “Come on, now, loosen up!  Let us have a bit of creativity too!”

Wilbur pinches the bridge of his nose, staring down at the makeshift script in his hands.  The males already had their own outfits; he didn’t want to turn them away after getting those all finished, but this didn’t make sense.

What the hell was a Dreamon?

Fundy had this childish smile on his face, his cheeks rising from the strain.  If his tail was on, it’d be wagging incessantly right now.  Next to him was Sapnap, the young man practically vibrating from excitement.  The two were wearing matching outfits, along with Tubbo.  Dream was in regular attire; they were all near the home portal, having waited for Wilbur to come through for work the day.  

It had been an idea Tubbo and Fundy came up with originally to get them both back into relevance.  While Tubbo had his role with the Schlatt Administration and the Manberg festival, after that scene, he was back to being another side character who was Tommy’s yes-man.  Tubbo wanted his own little arc; Fundy himself has yet to have his character’s arc, which still wouldn’t be for a couple days worth of recording.  In that timespan, they could film several scenes for the Dreamon Hunters.  

Sapnap himself just wanted back into relevancy entirely.  He’s had nothing going for him since the War for L’Manberg.  And Dream, well, he thought it was a cute idea.

Wilbur didn’t seem to be having it, but Dream could also fire him in a snap of his fingers, so..

Passing the papers back to Tubbo, Wilbur passes through the group of four.  “Fine!  Take some camera guys, go off to wherever you need to go, and record!  I obviously don’t control the filming, so if your bits don’t make the final cut, don’t blame me,” Wilbur explains with a sigh.  “I’m honestly very confused by the.. lore.  You’ll have to work it into the already moving script.  Have fun!”

The British man walked down the blackstone stairway, heading towards the community house with another look back.

Tubbo looks down at the papers, furrowing his eyebrows in thought before a wide smile breaks out across his face when Wilbur’s words register.  “He gave us an okay!” Tubbo exclaims, launching himself towards Fundy to hug the redhead.

Sapnap’s arms shot up into the arm with a whoop of victory while Dream just wheezed out a laugh.  Fundy returned the hug, but determination clouded over his eyes seconds later.  

“We have to get started!” declared Fundy, agreement voiced by his three companions.  “We have so much to do!”

Not even a week later, Tubbo was sheepishly standing in front of Wilbur again, unable to make eye contact.  Today was Tubbo’s day off, why was he here?

“Hey, Wilbur, the uh- the Dreamon thing didn’t really work out,” Tubbo began with a little giggle.  “Sorry about stealing some of your cameras.  We didn’t realize how hard scriptwriting into a pre-existing script is.”

The British man pursed his lips before crouching down to Tubbo’s height, patting the boy on the shoulder.  Tubbo usually would’ve felt small at the fact Wilbur bent down to speak to him like a child, but the hint of that reaction in his mind disappeared when Wilbur simply hugged him.  Tubbo grappled with Wilbur back, pushing his nose into Wilbur’s black turtleneck. 

“It’s okay, Tubs.  I bet your next idea will be even better than your Dreamons,” Wilbur whispers, patting Tubbo’s back a few times.  “Practice makes perfect.  Even I had to start out drawing up dead ends.  That’s a reason why Chip kicked me off of the crew at Earth and just kept me to cast.. I was kinda shit,” Wilbur laughed, pulling out of the hug shortly after.  

He ruffles Tubbo’s hair dotingly, spotting Tommy sauntering over, trying to play off his desire to get the same treatment as his best friend by acting all relaxed.  Clingy, much?

“Yeah!  The next idea is going to be so much better,” Tubbo replied with a tough smile.  The second Tommy entered his vision, though, he was off, dragging Tommy towards a different area of the Dream SMP (Tommy only letting him do so after he got an obligatory hug from Wilbur as well.)

Wilbur watched the best friends go with a little happy sigh.  Well, that shaved off some stress for him.  

That stress was thrown right back to him in the form of a curveball months later, when Tubbo first asked Wilbur if he could “ask Dream to download a nuclear bomb modpack!”

The British man was going to end up with gray hairs from this fucking fiasco.  

Chapter Text

“Ranboo, I’ve been calling your name for at least two minutes by now.. are you even awake?” Dream sighs with a dry sigh, looking up at the teenager.  “Is everything alright?  You’re never this jittery when not in act,” Dream notes, furrowing his eyebrows.  A birch mask covered the action.  

The amber blond looked like he was a deer caught in headlights when he stared down at Dream.  His hands fiddled nervously in front of his lap, bony fingers wringing each other back and forth.  He gulps, unable to make eye contact with Dream’s dot eyes.  Dream frowns beneath the mask.  “I- I-,” Ranboo attempts before gulping down his words.  

He spots something out of the corner of his eye, maybe one of the other boys on the main server right now.  Ranboo makes a noise, gesturing over to the left before almost tripping over his feet to hustle over there.  

Dream huffs; he didn’t even get an answer.

Tubbo had acted a similar way with him earlier, seemingly paralyzed and only pulled out of his state when JSchlatt strolled up and put a hand on the younger’s shoulder.  The ram-hybrid had pushed Tubbo off towards Technoblade, the piglin ushering Tubbo towards where maybe Tommy was.  JSchlatt had stared at Dream with a sad look, but when Dream met it with a blank stare and no words, JSchlatt tilted his head to the side.

“You don’t know?” The businessman asked with no preface.  

“Know what?” Dream replied, wanting to know but he didn’t know what to know.  JSchlatt had only bleated under his breath, a curse, maybe, bobbing his head a few times.  Dream watched it happen in silence.  

“Schlatt!  Come help, you ass!” Connor called to summon the male, the short man making a rare appearance onto the server for today.  “I’m too lazy to move this,” he gestures to a kitchen oven- what the fuck was that doing in the main server?  JSchlatt shakes his head clear of the question, giving Dream one last look before walking over to help his unofficial roommate.  It was probably a part of Connor’s move into JSchlatt’s house, anyway.  

Dream watched him go still in silence, but it shatters with a sigh after a few seconds of standing alone.

He hadn’t seen Tommy all day; come to think of it, he hadn’t seen a lot of people.  Dream wasn’t even in a rural part of the server.. he was in the community house.  He could see people going around the lake to reach the other sides, launching themselves out of the general area with a trident.  Dream exhales against the birch, sitting slouched over on a crafting table.  

With nothing else to do, the green man whisked open his comms.  After clearing the notification on his regular comm messages, texting Illumina back over something about breaking another speedrun record, Dream tabbed into Twitter.  

The trailer for season three had dropped just a few hours ago.  The episodes were already recorded up until the death of TommyInnit.  Hell, today was the recording for the aftermath and repercussions suffered by other characters, and the Crimson Celebration.  Dream was only needed for a small scene with Awesamdude in the prison.

His timeline exploded with tweets, Dream scrolling lazily through each one.  He only really followed his coworkers, friends he’s made through acting, old speedrunning buddies, and the occasional superstar.  Still, when he clicked onto the trending tab, he grimaced when he saw that the twitter guy had written a few blurbs for new hashtags.  

#PANDORASVAULT
  Fans of the popular TV show, Dream SMP, share their excitement for several scenes shown in the season trailer, including Pandora’s Vault, a high-security prison built by builder Awesamdude.

#TOMMYINNIT
  Fans celebrate the return of TommyInnit after dormancy from social media, tweeting that he is excited for the third season of the Dream SMP.

#DSMPSEASON3
  The official CubeTube channel for the DSMP has released the trailer for the third season of the popular TV show, Dream SMP.  Fans react to what is shown in the trailer, along with theories and speculation on a few new characters. 

Dream tapped onto the last tag, aimlessly scrolling through the tweets of his fans.  There were screenshots taken from the trailer, lines drawn over some for half-assed analysis or cunning eyes catching easter eggs here and there.  Freeze frames captured the perfect moment where Dream’s figure shadowed the Dream SMP, red strings tied around his fingers and connecting to wooden puppets painted to look like his costars.  There was another screenshot from the prison scene, question marks around Dream’s praying stance.  

Ghostbur, caught mid-sob, as he hugged friend, the small sheep in his arms.  It had been ‘recovered’ during the confrontation in Dream’s lair.  Just behind Ghostbur’s left shoulder was a man who stood up straight, wearing a baby blue sweater with a red tie.  His face was covered with a glitch effect, but in the trailer, the image passed by within two seconds of slowly gliding over the pair.  

Ranboo was shown in arms with Technoblade and Philza, their backs facing the camera as the canyon of L’Manberg sat before them.  Philza stood nonchalantly, large things folded behind his back.  That was one thing fans were catching onto; Technoblade stood with his axe in hand, cape slowly blowing in a breeze.  Ranboo’s tail was tucked behind his legs professionally, his arms folded behind his back and holding a book with a note on it.  The note had a smiley face.  

Screenshots similar to those cluttered the hashtag’s posts, making it almost impossible for Dream to find any actual reviews.  Sighing, he contemplates closing it as he brushes his finger upwards, the page flying down.  His eyes read a single tweet.  

kaitlin_innit
 why is dream so fine playing a child abuser, like i can’t watch those scenes anymore it’s too triggering /srs

Dream closed Twitter and covered his mask with his hands, plugging fingers into his ears.  He didn’t leave the community house.  

When he did, it was midday and Dream had been asked to get ready for his scene.  With the excessive scar makeup and a few bruises all over his body where his apricot jumpsuit was ripped, it took the makeup artists to get it all done, but it had to be perfect or it wouldn’t make the cut.  CGI could only do so much on a moving surface.  

Stretching out his limbs and rolling his shoulders, the green man headed towards Pandora’s Vault.  It wasn’t a long scene.  He was only supposed to stay quiet as Sam screamed at him before bursting out in laughter after a little while of yelling.  It would probably take an hour maximum to record it all.  Dream smirked to himself at the thought, his mask hiding it all with an eerie smile.  

Ponk watched him pass, pressed up behind one of the trident launch platforms.  He inhales heavily once Dream passes, a bit of guilt eating at him.  

The recording had gone smoothly, or so Dream thought.  

He had been waiting, with half a mask on, for the lava to recede from the other side of the lava fall, kicking his feet into the wall lazily.  It wasn’t like he was stuck in here; there was an emergency button for Dream to use if something happened to the mechanics on the regular lava-go-away button.  But, the regular one was still faster.  Dream stares up at the lava, his skin bubbling from the heat exposure.  

“Sam?” Dream calls.  As expected, if everything today lines up, he doesn’t receive a response.  The green man rolls his eyes, shuffling up to his feet and over to the cauldron.  The handcuffs and ankle cuffs made the effort more difficult, but the cauldron was pushed out of the way after a minute of struggle.  Pressing his knee into the hidden button, Dream sighs when he hears redstone click knowingly.  

It takes the lava at least seven minutes to collect enough for Dream to see out of the cell.  The main platform of the prison was empty; Sam and the camera guys on that side to catch his perspective were gone.  He didn’t blame the other; Sam was used to very neutral acts.  Today was a new stance of his, including screaming, cursing, crying, the works.  

The lava collects into the droppers below, deep enough for Dream to hop down the stairs that were usually covered and hidden the lava.  The stairs led to an underground area beneath the prison, which held spare equipment and people.  It usually had a few of Dream’s friends loitering around, waiting for him and whomever was visiting him to wrap up their act.  Prison scenes tended to be very emotional..

Nobody was there.

Dream stares down with one visible eye at the still-locked handcuffs and ankle cuffs.  He curses underneath his breath, whipping open his comms over to the main server chat.  

Dream: Where the fuck is everyone?  I’m at the prison, Sam’s missing, still in chains.  

Dream: What is with you guys today?  Did I do something?

He waits for a reply.  

He doesn’t receive one.

Dream: Guys.

Quackity: guys please

TommyInnit: get him big Q

Tubbo_: OOHHH

Dream: Guys someone send Sam back to the prison he didn’t unchain me.

Dream waits a few minutes before receiving a reply.  

Callahan: he didn’t unlock?  Sam just left

Dream: Okay, no.  Meeting at the community house in fifteen.  Now.  

Dream whisks close the comms, stumbling towards the basement exit through his ankle chains.  

It takes him more than fifteen minutes to reach the partially-broken community house, tripping over his chains and cursing them out a few times.  Dream saw no one as he headed towards the house, so it seemed they got his message.  Dream grits his teeth in frustration, seeing the community house dead ahead with only Callahan inside.  

There had been no leave server messages since his order in server chat.  

Dream lets the mute unchain him, the other having a spare copy of the keys in case the original was lost.  After freeing Dream, Callahan signed a few words of reassurance that it was probably just a mistake.  Dream rolls his eye with a grimace.

Dream: What did I do?

Callahan stares at the server message with hesitation in his eyes.  He looks up at Dream, reading his frustration easily.  Callahan sighs silently with a shake of his head, walking with Dream to the portal home.  Dream couldn’t tell if it was pity or reluctance in the other that made him accompany him home; maybe the bruise and scar makeup that covered the visible half of his face looked too real.  

Dream’s stomach rolled.  The second they stood in the home server, their comms dinging with the incoming messages, Dream ran for his own house.  Callahan watched silently, ignoring how people flooded through the portal minutes after the server admin.  

The admin seemed to ignore the incessant knocking on his bedroom door as well; Sapnap could smell vomit from the bathroom’s open door, the scent making his own gag reflex kick momentarily.  At the hothead’s side stood Purpled, the teenager looking sunken, hands in his hoodie’s pocket.  Sapnap knocks again; yes, they were already in his house, but the bedroom was always private territory for the resident.  

“Dream?” Sapnap calls, knocking again before dropping his hand.  Purpled blows hair out of his face, figuring he may need it cut soon.  Sapnap, annoyed, bangs the back of his head on the wooden door.  “Open up, you ass.”

“Go away,” a hollow voice grumbles from inside the room.  “Isn’t that just what everyone is doing today?”

Purpled’s left eye twitches at the words, looking down at his shoes.  Sapnap inhales a breath before opening the door, knowing it was already unlocked.  Dream never locked any door beside his front—a subconscious thing from his speedrunning days.  

The comforter was curled up into a lump, keeping Dream sitting upright in the bed.  He was leaning into the ball of blanket, another one with a picture of Wilbur’s and George’s faces on it over his legs.  It had been a gag gift for the past Christmas during Secret Santa.  A bowl sat on the bed nearby.  

Dream looks up when the door opens, scowling at his two younger friends.  He tosses a throw pillow at them, curling back under the Wilbur-George blanket.  “Fuck off, won’t you?  I’m fine.”

Purpled looks between the Modpack Mayhem episode playing absently on the screen to Dream’s pale figure on the back, to the Wilbur-George blanket and the bowl, before going back to Dream’s face.  There were dried tears in his cheeks.  Purpled sighs, “Yeah.  Fine my ass.”

“I’ll tell your mother on you for that language,” Dream warns with a grunt.

“You literally just said fuck.  I think if I told Mrs Wastaken that her son was currently cuddling underneath a blanket with his two British friends on it, she’d be angrier than mine would over a curse,” Purpled shoots back without missing a beat, clicking his tongue.  

He stood by the door as Sapnap had made his way over to the bed, sitting on it tentatively.  Sapnap reaches over to bring Dream in for a hug, but the green man leans back.  The hothead stares down at his lap.  “What happened, Mr Dramatic?”

“‘m not dramatic,” refutes Dream with a huff.  “I’m just-“

“Just what, Dream?” Sapnap interjects.

Dream throws a hand up to the screen at Mayhem.  “Enjoying Tommy’s content.”

“Yeah, even I hate that shit sometimes,” Purpled butts in, snatching the remote from the edge of the bed and flicking it off.  Dream glared at him, but there was no bite.  “You know me, I’m never on the Dream SMP anymore.  Care to fill me in on what’s got your shit in a twist?  Everyone seemed pissed off today.  I just got back from Hypixel, expecting a whole party, and everyone’s throwing themselves a pity one.  Unacceptable.  What did you do?”

“You say that as if I know what I did,” Dream retorts, wrinkling his nose at the purple-wearing boy.  “As anyone else.  I’ve been ignored and avoided all day.  Hell, after acting in Pandora, Sam left before letting me out of the cuffs.  He made me walk all the way from there to the community house, where Cal unlocked me.  Fucking humiliating,” Dream sighs off to the side, his eyes flicking down at the bowl.  “I got sick after leaving the real server.”

“Did you even clean up?  The bathroom smells horrible,” Sapnap notes.  Dream looks over with just his eyes, and the other drops the topic, jumping into a new one.  “Seriously, though.  Do you have any idea why they’re upset?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now,” Dream grumbles, seeing Purpled typing away on his comms.  Ignoring it for the time being, he looks back at Sapnap.  “I’d think you’d be upset at me too.  I haven’t seen George or Bad all day.”

“Why would I..” Sapnap trails off when Purpled sits down on the bed, his chest facing the wall but his face turned to the older males.  The face on Purpled’s face was knowing, but tired.  “What?” Sapnap asks the teenager.  

Purpled clears his throat before waving over his comms over to the other two.  “I just spoke to Tommy.  He’s uh-“

Purpled: yo question

TommyInnit: fuck off

Purpled: ok thanks anyway why is everyone pissy at Dream i want a return party

TommyInnit: you don’t deserve one

TommyInnit: idk it’s just

TommyInnit: idk

Purpled: very informative thank you

TommyInnit: he’s been wearing the mask sometimes off set

TommyInnit: it’s not fun

Purpled looks up and around Dream’s room.  Sitting on his dresser was a birch mask with a marker smiley face.  Purpled looks back at Dream with a disapproving frown.  Sapnap exhaled slowly at the sight.  

/msg TommyInnit oh, i’m sorry

Three waiting bubbles appear on the other side of the comm log.  They disappear with two dings.  

TommyInnit: you’re fine, not your fault, it’s never your fault unless i say so

TommyInnit: movie tonight?  feeling tired :/ Tub’s same way, and boobs

TommyInnit: those asses are all fucking cuddled up, watching Live again and i can only rewatch these episodes so much

Purpled shies the comms away, typing back a quick reply.  Sapnap and Dream wait, watching the boy squeeze out a small giggle before he closed it.  The smile that made its way across his face disappeared, his blank slate back.  He raises an eyebrow before shaking his head.  “I- I think you’re.. you’re scaring people, Dream.”

“Me?  Scaring people?” Dream echoes, narrowing his eyes.  “I know the boys don’t like the mask, but nobody else really minds it, right?” Dream asks with a hint of caution in his voice.  “Right?”

Sapnap looks down at his lap, silent.  Purpled shrugs, “I personally have no vendetta against it, but I’m not ever acting.  I don’t think I’ve acted with you since the Disc Saga, and even though I had a stint with the Crimson, my character didn’t interact with you.  A lot of people, though..” Purpled looks at Sapnap, reaching out a hand to pat Sapnap’s shoulder.  

“Maybe- maybe you have to stop wearing it.. isolate yourself from the character.  It’s hard enough for the fans to do it, as I’ve seen it from Twitter.  I-“ Purpled begins before seeing the spark in Dream’s eyes die out.  “You wearing that,” Purpled points out towards the mask.  “Blends those lines you’ve already tried to establish.”

“But we’re actors- you have to learn that there’s difference between an actor and a character-“ Dream tries, his hands falling to his lap.  Sapnap reaches out for one of them, and the green man lets his best friend toy with his fingers to keep himself distracted for the time being.  Sapnap didn’t seem like he wanted to talk.  

Purpled grimaces before standing up from the bed.  He reaches up to push down his hood.  Purpled’s blond hair had bits of dirt in it, oily.  He really wasn’t kidding when he said he came straight from Hypixel.  Dream frowns at the thought.  Sapnap probably pulled Purpled here within seconds of the younger entering the home server.  

Dream flashes out of his daze when his mask is tossed onto his lap.  Beady black eyes stare up at him, unblinking, smiling.  Even Dream winced at the initial sight.  

“See?” Purpled says pointedly.  

Dream opens his mouth to say something before closing it.  He stares down at his lap, where Sapnap’s fingers were threading in between his.  The mask laid not too far from their hands, but Sapnap was making an effort to keep the mask untouched.  

The green man hangs his head, furrowing his eyebrows together.  “Why didn’t they.. tell.. me?” Dream struggles to get out, trying to piece together a manageable sentence.  His stomach had calmed down, but his mind was far from it.  

Purpled plays with a drawstring on his hoodie, tugging on it absentmindedly.  “You kind of are the unofficial boss here.. no one wants to talk up to the boss.  I don’t think anyone wanted you to feel hurt.  Uh, what else, you’re stubborn so you’d probably pick an argument- hell, you tried to argue with us, but I’m more stubborn so it canceled out and the variable was left in my fa-“

“Do not bring math into this,” Dream says sharply, though his tone held laughter.  “I’m too spread thin to think in numbers.  Just- ugh,” Dream began before shaking his head.  “What do I do, Purp.. Sap?”

Sapnap looks up, his bangs hanging in front of his face.  He tilts his head in thought, moving his lips around before shrugging.  “Just stop wearing the mask around anyone out of character.  Stop acting like a creep-“

“I’m not a creep.”

“- and maybe don’t cut people off,” Sapnap finishes with a small chuckle.  “No one will be mad for long, Dream.  It’s just a psychological thing.”

“Yeah, serious.” Purpled sits down on the bed, wringing his hands between his thighs.  “No one here holds grudges for long.. well, maybe George, but George is also your best friend, so,” he laughs softly.  

Dream detangles one of his hands from Sapnap, picking up the mask.  Without much of a delay, he tosses it back over to his dresser where it landed with a clunk.  The green man reclines into his comforter ball, motioning for Sapnap to curl up next to him underneath the Wilbur-George blanket.  He sighs, the pair settling down before Purpled stood up.  

“Movie night with your besties?” Sapnap pokes with a tease, laughing at Purpled’s expense.  The teenager flips him a middle finger, flicking his hood back over his head.  “Don’t get drunk,” Sapnap calls after the boy, Purpled slipping out of the bedroom and closing the door with a click.  

Sapnap’s gaze darts over to the mask before back at Dream’s face.  The dirty blond was staring at the off TV, his head tilted onto Sapnap’s shoulder.  The hothead sighs, lighter this time, before hugging Dream from the side.  Dream raises a hand up to Sapnap’s hair, carding it slowly. 

“I’ll try to be better,” Dream whispers.  “I didn’t realize.  Sorry.”

“Thanks,” croaks Sapnap, unable to get that damned smiley face out of his mind.  

Chapter Text

“You know, Charlie, I think you’re one of the most sensible people on the server!” Ranboo claims out of the blue, munching on a packed ham and cheese sandwich.  He chews for a little bit before taking another bite.  “Yeah, I can say that with certain!  Granted, it’s not such an esteemed role given the people here, but I think you and me are pretty good!”

Charlie had paused mid-bite in his PB&J, blinking a few times with his mouth opened around the sandwich.  He pushes it away from his mouth, raising his eyebrows towards the teenager.  The two were sharing a lunch break next to Eret’s museum, near the Church of Prime.  It was a rather quiet area despite being in the middle of the main area of the server.  

Ranboo looks over with a raised eyebrow of his own, licking up crumbs on his lips.  He was done for the day, only needed for a quick scene with Tubbo.  Tomorrow was his busy day; his makeup was all washed off, only small bits of paint still in his eyebrows.  He was sunglasses and a black dinosaur hoodie, casual clothes to signal that he was off camera.  

Charlie himself was wearing a Ted Nivison MILK shirt with jeans, his sneakers dirtied with mud.  He reaches up to fix his rectangular glasses, clearing his throat.  “Sensible..?  Man, what did I do to achieve that honor?”

“How dare you speak that way to your gods, fool?!” Charlie Slimecicle had screamed, shaking the mortal in his grip mercilessly.  GrizzlyPlays cried out, pushing the seething god back.  Rage flashed in Slimecicle’s eyes, but a harsh look from Condifiction sent him back to his green-themed throne.  

Ranboo lowers his sandwich to hold it over his lap, tilting his head back and forth as he thought.  “Well, you have your moments, but you aren’t as batshit crazy as some people are.  Like.. like Sapnap?  Mans burning things faster than Tommy can get a girlfriend!” Ranboo laughs.  “Or- or Quackity when he’s acting as Mexican Dream!  Like, what?!”

Charlie laughed alongside the boy at his examples before humbly shrugging, his laughter dying down.  “I take it you’ve never seen me in Live?” He questions with a little chuckle.

“Oh, no, I have!  Me and Tubbo still watch it when we’re bored!” Ranboo exclaims with a large smile on his face.  “But you’re a funny crazy, not an,” Ranboo makes a spinning motion around the side of his head, “kind of crazy.”  Charlie smiles at the physical explanation before shaking his head slowly.  “You- you’re crazy, if that’s what you’re looking for!-“ Ranboo tried, wincing almost.  

“Calm down, dude!” Charlie reaches out to slap Ranboo’s shoulder playfully.  “I don’t mind, seriously.  Live wasn’t my proudest work anyway.”

Slimecicle clutched Grizzly’s and Bizly’s hands in his own, glaring up at JSchlatt.  The god held a golden apple in his hand, offering a red apple towards the four men before him.  The green man looks between his three men before reaching out and taking it, tears falling down his face and mixing with rainwater.  “You command us, but you shall never control us.”  The apple is crunched underneath Slimecicle’s foot.  The rain falls harder.  

Ranboo looks intrigued at that, taking another bite of his sandwich.  Charlie’s PB&J was forgotten by now as he cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch at his head.  “Well, I won’t be doing much on this show since I still have other stuff out of here to do.. it’s all concurrent, unfortunately.  I’d like to act here.”

“Why can’t you?” Ranboo questions innocently, ignoring a ding from his comms.  

“Ran, I have five other jobs!” Charlie says bluntly, laying his sandwich on its saran wrap.  He wrings his fingers together as he tries to think of how to explain them all.  “Well, for starters, I’m on two special series.  One’s with Schlatt and Ted, it’s just a gag show where we fool around and perform silly bits on a shared server.  The other is called Just Roll With It.  That’s a specially modded server to make it similar to.. you know the Dungeons and Dragons universe, right?  Just past Little Nightmares, taking the left at Warzone?”

Ranboo nods a few times; he hasn’t left Minecraft once, but he knew of the interconnected universes of different people who weren’t living in a world of cubes.  

“Yeah, it’s based off of that.  Condi’s father is from DnD, he moved here when he met his mother.  Condi’s always loved the world, and he got me and a few of our other friends into it.  Our modded server isn’t nowhere near as complicated as the real DnD universe, but it’s still very fucking fun,” Charlie smiles to himself at the memories from the JRWI show.  There were a lot of golden moments.  

Ranboo shifts around to face Charlie as he continues.  “I’m also on Epic SMP, as you know.  I don’t think it’s going to survive a single season, too much focus is on Dream.” Charlie waves around the two.  “But eh.  It’s still fun to act with my old friends again.”

“Aw, I was looking forward to more episodes,” Ranboo whines quietly, but lets Charlie go on. 

“Hm.. oh, I’m also in Tommy’s Mayhem series.  It’s super fun, I’ll ask him if you can get in one episode,” Charlie winks at the other.  “I think that’s- oh!  And SCU.  Heh.”

“SCU- that’s Slimecicle Cinematic Universe, right?” Ranboo asks with a tilt of his head.  “I’ve heard of it from friends at school.  They ask about you sometimes, but I don’t really have an answer for everything since I’ll forget sometimes.. at least I only see them all once a week.”

“When do you see them?” Charlie pokes.

“Saw them yesterday,” Ranboo replies glumly.  “I have a test next week.”

“Ah,” Charlie winces.  “Erm.. and yeah, Slimecicle Cinematic.  Those guys are all my close friends, so it’s really fun for me to work on, but they take so long, you don’t even know,” he laughs weakly.  “And they’re so fucking dangerous.”

“Puddi,” JSchlatt coos, holding a jiggling mass of vanilla pudding out to Slimecicle.  The ram-hybrid had no golden chains hanging from his horns, but there was still a golden septum piercing.  It glints with the reflection of the jiggly pudding.  Slimecicle grabs it and squishes it in his fist before launching it at Condifiction.  JSchlatt promptly stomped on Slimecicle’s foot.  

Ranboo’s eyes dim at the danger, gulping.  “Nothing’s happened that’s been really bad, right?” He asks, amber blond hair shaking when Ranboo shakes his head no.  “No, that’s not safe at all.”

The god amongst men breaks character to scream.  Bizly’s face dips under a lake of magma.  Slimecicle didn’t stop crying for a whole sixteen hours after that; it left him dehydrated.  Grizzly hugged him as the man dryly cried, unable to shed anymore tears because he had none left to spare.  

Charlie’s shaken from his daze when Ranboo sneezes abruptly, pausing for a moment before sneezing again.  The teenager sniffles, apologizing to Charlie before taking another bite of his sandwich.  

Ranboo doesn’t expect an answer after Charlie’s silence.  He gestures for Charlie to pick up his PB&J, munching on his own.  “Eat, man.  You’re probably starving.”

Charlie picks up the floppy sandwich halfheartedly before taking a bite.  They eat in relative silence, broken by a few more sneezes.  Ranboo boils it out down to the shroomlight dust that floated nearby with each exhale.  The other blond doesn’t comment on it, only saying “bless you,” before taking another bite.  

Chapter Text

It had seemed like a normal night.

It should’ve been a normal night, in hindsight.  

Tommy rubs at his eyes, blinking at the game board in front of him.  His battleship was steadily moving across the navy-green lane, but Ranboo was dominating that side of the board.  Ranboo’s cat was behind him, standing on Purpled’s yellow spaces, with Purpled’s shoe ahead of both of them in brown.  Tubbo’s top hat sat in jail glumly, the boy sporting a pout as he leaned into Ranboo as a crunch.

It was weekly game night for the four kids, usually taking place on Saturday so none of them had to worry about school and there were less people on the home server.  Punz and his lot usually left Purpled unsupervised (if he wasn’t on Hypixel) on their side of the neighborhood to go to a different server for PP Saturday.  

Purpled was sat next to Tommy, one of Tommy’s arms around Purpled’s waist.  Though the taller blond would never admit it to anyone’s face outside of his and Tubbo’s shared house, the boy was rather clingy in a relaxed environment.  Purpled’s foot was twisted to sit between Tommy’s two, the older blond leaning over to roll the dice.  

Ranboo’s mouth moved, a simple one-lined.  Tubbo laughed loudly at the taller, a deafening noise that was soon joined by Purpled’s and Ranboo’s laughter as well.  Tommy let out a little snicker, wincing slightly at the loud noise, but he let it slide when Purpled’s shoe passed Ranboo’s cat, a space behind Tommy on a community chest.

Purpled reached over to pick up a card, reading it aloud by the tell of his lips.  Tommy’s blue eyes watched his mouth move, but his words were a bit muffled, like Tommy was wearing earmuffs.  Again, Tommy rubbed at his eyes tiredly before lightly rubbing circles at his eardrums.  He was just too tired to hear much, voices swimming.  

Right?

Tommy was up next, the boy had memorized the turns.  Purpled passed the dice to him; Tommy shook them around with only little jingles sounding before letting them fall from his hand.  An eight.  He moved his battleship accordingly, collecting the go money from Tubbo.

Tubbo met his eyes for a moment, and the brunet said something incredibly muffled before smiling.  He sounded like a parent from that old comic show, Peanuts, just quieter.  

Tommy had stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, before he spoke: “What?”

Tubbo’s smile falls slightly, but his mouth moves to repeat what he said.  Tommy blinks a few times before raising an index to his ear, tapping at it lightly in a signal.  Tubbo furrows his eyebrows.  Ranboo looks over from where he had been counting his dice role, frowning.  

Purpled’s head turns to his right, watching Tommy repeat his word again.  Tubbo repeats his, but Tommy makes another face.  Purpled’s heart thumped in his chest; Tommy couldn’t hear it.  

The blond stares down at his lap, tapping at his eardrum listlessly.  Tubbo was up from his spot next to Ranboo on their beanbag, kneeling in front of Tommy on the couch and pushing the blond’s hair back.  Tubbo was saying something frantically, shooing Ranboo off to do something; to do what?  

Purpled was still there, still wrapped under his arm.  The older teen was turned towards him, saying something.

Saying what?

Tommy could feel his breath coming out in pants, but he couldn’t hear it.  He could see Ranboo grabbing his winter coat before running out of the front door, but he couldn’t hear the footsteps or slam of the door.  He could feel Tubbo bringing his hand to his mouth, trying to get his best friend to lipread through touch, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

Tommy couldn’t-

“I can’t- I can’t hear you, Tubbo,” Tommy’s voice cracks, his breathing quickening.  Purpled’s comms were opened, desperately typing away as Tubbo’s large eyes filled with fear.  Fear of what?  

Tommy brings his free hand up from his lap and places it against his chest, where his heart should be.  His chest was beating so fucking fast—too fast to be normal, but he couldn’t hear the rush of blood in his ears or his heavy panting or the thumps of his heart.  

Tubbo rushes forward, trapping Tommy’s legs between his own and pushing Tommy’s head into his chest.  He was speaking surprisingly calmly to Purpled, the latter teen falling from Tommy’s hold.  Tubbo turns his attention to Tommy, carding his fingers through his blond hair.  

Tommy gripped into Tubbo’s sweatshirt tightly, clenching his eyes.  He was flexing his jaw, trying to pop his ears.  It was working, he could feel it, but he still couldn’t- he couldn’t-

Tommy saw a figure dressed in orange burst into the house, breathing heavily but still making a beeline for the two best friends.  Ranboo stumbled in afterwards, gasping for breath and leaning down against his knees.  Tubbo looked at Ranboo anxiously, but he only stepped to the side when Wilbur ducked down in front of Tommy’s face, angling it to make eye contact with panicked eyes.  

Strong arms embraced the boy, grounding him to reality and keeping him still.  Tommy jerked momentarily at the hug before crumpling into Wilbur, silent sobs escaping him.  He could feel the cool tears on his flushed face, he could feel Wilbur’s rising and falling chest, he could feel it rumbling with words.  

But there was nothing to be heard.  

“I’m sorry,” Tommy cried.  Something was rising up in his ears, an incessant ringing the more Wilbur talked.  He raised his hands to his ears, a pitiful attempt to calm the ringing.  Tommy pushed his nose into Wilbur’s orange sweater, begging over and over again to “make it stop.”

Purpled came back with Tommy’s red blanket, a gift from Sapnap for Secret Santa.  Wilbur waved him over, letting Purpled drape the blanket over Tommy’s shaking figure before looking up at the boy.  He says something, but everything around Tommy was this stupidly annoying ringing, like Technoblade was ringing a Prime bell right up to his ears.  Tommy clutched at the blanket, watching Purpled until the older teen looked down at him.  

Purpled looked scared.

Purpled was never scared.  

He looks over to the side.  Tubbo was facing into Ranboo’s chest, looking up at the taller boy with a gloss over his eyes.  Ranboo was holding the other, his face angling down to Tubbo’s before looking up and meeting Tommy’s eyes.  

Ranboo looked scared too.

Ranboo was always scared too.

The Monopoly board sat forgotten on the living room table.  Wilbur eventually cleaned it up before he left, sending Philza a message about where’s the easiest place to get a doctor’s appointment before leaving the four boys.  He’d be back in the morning, maybe with JSchlatt and Connor, maybe not.  

The man had pressed his nose into Tommy’s hair, hugging the boy just so slightly tighter after guiding him to his bed.  Ranboo’s and Purpled’s sleeping bags were already pulled out, but Ranboo rarely ever used his anyway.  Wilbur stepped around the bags as he left, messaging Tommy a small goodnight since he couldn’t hear him say it.  

Tommy laid in his bed under the covers, staring at the ceiling.  Tubbo and Ranboo were speaking on Tubbo’s bed; it had been an hour and a half since the initial hearing loss.  He had stayed on the couch mostly the entire time with Wilbur, the other three teenagers trying to stay nearby, but it was hard when there was nothing they could do.  

Tommy rolls over in his bed, covering his ears with his pillow.  He groans lowly, causing Purpled to look up.  The older blond frowns, laying in his sleeping bag.  He sits up, staring at Tommy silently.  Tommy looked back; Ranboo and Tubbo were slowly winding down, the amber blond hiding the smaller boy with his back to the two.  

Purpled opens his comms, typing something.  Tommy feels his own ding with a notification.

Purpled: what do you need

Tommy frowns before opening up his arms, or, raising one arm with his other laying on the bed.  Purpled seemed to grimace before falling neutral, closing his comms before struggling out of his sleeping bag.  The older grumbles something about moving over, but it sounded like wonky sounds to Tommy.  Regardless, he got the hint by Purpled’s pushing, letting him settle down before flopping over Purpled’s chest and hugging him around the torso.

Purpled’s hands settled just behind his head, resting on his shoulderblades.  He stared up at the ceiling again, letting Tommy use him as an impromptu pillow.  The blond was slowing down his breathing with each passing blink of the alarm clock on the bedside table.  

Purpled sighs, resting the side of his face against the cool pillow.  This was fine.  Tommy would get better.  Tommy had to get better.  

Purpled could imagine the hidden dynamite underneath L’Manberg’s lake, going off in the element of surprise.  He could think back to the two explosions of L’Manberg, seeing them both behind his eyes and roaring in his ears.  Purpled could hear the withers’ howling, their bombs blowing up prior debris into further dust.  

He could imagine everything that could’ve potentially caused this.  

He turned his head away from the clock and faced the darkness.  Purpled held Tommy just a bit tighter underneath his red blanket as he drifted to sleep.  

Chapter Text

Connor wasn’t big on the Dream SMP.

He was there for shits and giggles.  He was only originally whitelisted because of something Karl and JSchlatt had in mind for the future, and Wilbur and JSchlatt both wanted their friend on it.  JSchlatt more so, but Wilbur is harder to deny requests to.  Dream had stared Connor in the eyes the day the shorter man had stepped foot into the Dream SMP official server.  

Connor greeted him with a handshake and a witty one-liner.  Dream didn’t smile; he exhaled sharply through his nose though, shaking Connor’s hand back.  

Besides all odds, Connor ended up in a few episodes.  He was key during the effort to secure Technoblade’s weapons back from L’Manberg, in the episode for the larger half.  He was back in a few scenes with Tommy specifically, and a small one with Ghostbur.  Connor found it easy to act with Tommy; the boy had a bright future.  Tommy was ecstatic to work alongside the former SMPLive actor.  They didn’t act too much together, though.  

But that was fine to Connor, who busied himself on Little Penis Land, who kept to himself and tweeted out his very boring adventures on the DSMP even while not acting.  His fans got a kick out of it all.  Sometimes JSchlatt appeared and they’d do a quick remote livestream from their communicators.  Other times, Connor stood by himself in Little Penis Land, looking across the river at the lively L’Manberg.  

Connor was fine by himself, he told himself.  He didn’t do people much anymore.  He wasn’t an entirely active actor anymore, only here and there for cameos and gag characters.  He wasn’t a needed part of the Dream SMP.  

Connor hung the sign over his front door, stepping back to stare up at it with a rare proud smile.  His house, though shabby, was complete.  A weirdly-shaped quartz building with grass as the floor.  The sign read ‘Connor’s House.’

Pride, Connor felt, when he opened the door to his few acquaintances on the server.  Joy, when Charlie Slimecicle passed by to crash the party and rush over to Connor with widened arms.  Welcomeness, when every one of his guests gave him a little hug or a gift.  It was cute.  

Tommy was holding loosely onto Tubbo’s wrist, egging the older boy on to snort a line of cocaine, or a little package of sugar they stole from a coffee station back at the studio.  Ranboo was hunched over nearby, laughing at something that Charlie said.  Punz was sat between Antfrost and Awesamdude, all with beers in hand, the latter talking excitedly to FoolishG about building.  

It was all going.. just fine.  

These people were all so very stressed.  Connor watched them all go about their days with little to no breaks, their only off time being sleep or meals.  Even meals sometimes got skipped in favor of cramming in the last scene for a segment.  

Acting was supposed to be fun.  SMPLive had been so much fun; despite its fanbase being toxic and less than noteworthy (Connor still shivered at the shipping that happened, and people asking what color pee he had), SMPLive had still been so entertaining for him, an actor in the show.  He made bonds he’d never forget not at the expense of his health, but at the expense of how long his lungs could go without air while laughing nonstop.  

These DSMP actors came home every day from acting with bandages and icepacks and medicine in their system.  They went into their houses with little care for anyone else besides themselves and or roommates.  Even then, their roommates were at the back of their mind when the actors stumbled into their houses only to pass out from a long day of working.  

Connor stood on his Little Penis Land and he watched silently, pickaxe in hand with a frown on his face.  He went back to work building his quartz house, warping through his nether portal.  

Tubbo was out like a light, sugar all over his face.  Tommy was snickering next to him, Tubbo resting his head against Ranboo’s chest.  The amber blond was looking for an escape, exhaustion evidently on his face.  He didn’t seem to like much social outings.  Connor pursed his lips at the kids in the corner, but his attention drifted to the ceiling when quartz block was removed.  

Wilbur peeks his head in, painted up in his Ghostbur makeup.  His eyes had a twinge of mischief in them, and he waved at Connor.  The man in the Sonic onesie waves back, holding his hands out for the few fireworks that are dropped from the hole.  Wilbur places the quartz back, running off.  

“What’s that?!” Charlie points at the fireworks, which Connor wasted no time in placing on the ground and striking.  Antfrost curled in on himself, a hand going up to his ears when Connor lit the fireworks with a strike of his flint and steel.  

Punz screamed out of excitement when the fireworks squeal and whistle before flying up.  Sam claps his hands together with a whoop, holding his beer between his teeth.  Foolish smiles, a small thing that completed his shark hood’s smile.  Ranboo covered his ears as well while Tommy cheered loudly.  

Connor only stared up at the fireworks that didn’t explode with a frown.  Eh, they came from Wilbur, it couldn’t be the best.  

It wasn’t long after the failed fireworks did Sam’s alcohol tolerance fail him.  Dynamite claimed his pitiful quartz house, and while he was minimally upset over the loss of something he’s spent weeks building on (weeks where he spent maybe one day of the week working), it was still minimal.  Connor let himself be dragged outside by the new arrival of the day before watching JSchlatt run off away from his side and start beating Tommy.  

Punz was watching the two carefully, but Ranboo seemed to have loosened up a little bit.  Tubbo was missing.. Connor just hoped that the kid was alive still and didn’t actually overdose on sugar.  Eh, problems for later.  

Connor walked leisurely alongside Foolish, Antfrost bouncing ahead, as the group headed closer to the shoreline near BadBoyHalo and Skeppy’s mansion.  JSchlatt landed another blow, a lazy one, on Tommy’s shoulder, knocking the lanky boy off balance and onto his back.  JSchlatt burst into laughter as he looted the fallen boy’s inventory of a few items.  

“Fuck off!” Tommy yells after him, scrambling to his feet after realizing his inventory was barer.  The blond ran after JSchlatt, but the ram-hybrid threatened him each time with his own axe.  

Ranboo chuckled, hiding behind Charlie as JSchlatt sauntered closer.  The latter tossed his axe over to the tall blond, wrapping Charlie in a side hug and smiling smugly at the raging British teenager.  Ranboo holds the axe weirdly, holding it back out to Tommy when he stomped over.  

“Ehh, suck it, Chommy!” JSchlatt mocks the other’s name, knocking heads against Charlie comfortably.  The human chuckles, pushing playfully against the ram-hybrid while he did it.  He was used to the other’s hybrid tendencies, but that didn’t mean he was accustomed to the strong horns.  

Tommy brandishes a knife of his own, but Punz steps between the two with a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.  Sam was stumbling nearby, clearly intoxicated, as he planted more dynamite with his flint and steel in his other hand.  Antfrost watched amidst laughter, covering his mouth with a hand.  

Punz looked at JSchlatt with an expectant look and a toy smile, and the ram-hybrid sighed before handing over the last few items he had.  Punz smirked, handing them all back to Tommy before jogging over to Sam.

Ranboo had placed a bucket of water on the dynamite in an attempt to cancel out the exploding dynamite, covering his ears with Antfrost when they went off.  Foolish didn’t even seem affected by the loud noise, laughing gleefully, while Connor only winced slightly.  He turned away from the drunkard to see Charlie drop into a small hole that JSchlatt was in.  

Tommy placed a pile of dirt over the hole’s top, covering all places to see into the hole.  The blond made a face when suggestive noises came from inside of it, and he ran away from the hole and over to Sam and a nervously-laughing Ranboo.  Sam had set off more dynamite, this time Ranboo not so quick with the water.  It left a small crater to stone in the ground, one Sam promptly tumbled into with Punz hot on his heels with a soft laugh.  Foolish was making his way down the hole, sitting at Punz’s head and pulling his knees to his chest.  Antfrost was chuckling, his tail flicking happily behind his legs with Tommy complain-yelling at Sam’s immaturity and the rest still calling him a child.  

That summed up the party perfectly, and it was still was going accordingly.  

Connor brushed gunpowder off of his onesie, a broom in his hands.  Alyssa had showed up with a complaint about the noise of the explosions being too loud, heard in the nearby L’Manberg and stalling filming.  The impromptu party broke apart soon after that, leaving Connor to clean up Little Penis Land before he could go home.  

JSchlatt picked dirt out from under his nails, sitting down on a lone block of quartz.  His house was unrepairable in its current state, something the ram-hybrid voiced with a laugh.  Charlie looked over from where he had a beer can raised to his lips before lowering it, a smile on his lips.  

“I think the house looks lovely!”

All that was left of it was a few chests of random shit, a single glass pane, and random quartz blocks.  The floor was blown up completely, leaving it an empty hole.  

JSchlatt rolls his eyes, clapping dust off of his hands before he stood up.  He had been wearing his suit for the party (none of it had even been recorded or given the thought of bringing a camera), but his suit jacket was now tied around his waist.  

Connor tosses the broom into a chest, leaving it stick out slightly before stretching.  “The party went well, at least,” Connor tried to remain optimistic, though optimism and ConnorEatsPants don’t always go hand in hand.  Charlie chuckled at the attempt, jumping up to lead the way up to the Prime Path, seeing as cleanup was done for now.  

JSchlatt follows them from behind, twisting his hair in his fingers before dropping them to match pace with his two other friends.  “What was the point of the party, anyway?” As they headed underneath the small tunnel, the sun was setting in the distance.  

Connor looks up at the ram-hybrid before facing the sunset, covering his eyes with a hand.  “Ehh.. mostly to destress some people.  Those lot don’t know how to relax.”

“Well, you got that right.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen gray hairs in a sixteen year old, but Tommy’s about to prove me wrong!” Charlie laughs, folding his arms behind his head casually.  “Pretty rad party.  Schlatt did me good.”

“Hell yeah I did!” JSchlatt reaches over Connor to give the golden blond a five high, the two cackling like two kids who just heard the funniest joke.  Connor rolls his eyes playfully, carrying down the Prime Path.

“Whatever.  I had fun, and that’s rare for me on the Dream SMP.”

No, Connor wasn’t big on the Dream SMP, but his occasional presence still came with a promised laugh.  

Chapter Text

Wilbur was about to fall over his own two feet by the time he stepped foot into his house.  Sighing loudly and dramatically, he fished his scarf off of him after running around all day to get his workload for today done.  His blue-orange sweater fell out and bounced once released from his coat, hung on a hook.  Wilbur stretches, yawning before scratching at his neck, making a beeline for his house’s hallway.  

The clocks on the wall, various ones that Wilbur loved, all read something within the minute of 11:32pm.  Not the best time to come home given he had to wake up at seven am, but it’s better than some other days this week.  The brunet reaches up to scratch at his scalp next, sighing when he reached his roommates’ section of the house.  

“Evening,” he greets with another yawn, waving at Connor on the couch.  The man was curled up with an orange tabby on his lap, eyes squinting at the tv, which played The Price Is Right.  Connor answered Wilbur, looking over the top of the couch.  Connor waved with one hand, petting the cat on his lap lazily.  Wilbur saunters over, leaning on the couch’s top and sighing at the TV.  “This again?”

“It’s a great show,” Connor replies monotonously, stifling a yawn.  “Work stressful?  Or was it a good day?”

Wilbur stood up at the mention of work, stretching his arms up over his head.  He groans, licking his lips before smacking them once he was done.  “It could’ve been worse, but still so fucking tiring.  Phil’s wings got caught in his cape, so that added another hour to my stay.”

“How’s he doing?” Connor asks absentmindedly.  Wilbur grunted in reply, a silent ‘okay’ that the shorter brunet got.  “Cool.”

A comfortable silence settled in the living room until Wilbur’s stomach tumbled.  The British man’s face flushes, and he excused himself for the kitchen to find scraps and leftovers for a makeshift dinner.  Both of his roommates usually ate earlier than him, being that they didn’t work nearly as much as Wilbur did.  It left Wilbur with a cold meal or premade one that needed to be nuked.  

As he watched the hot pocket spin around in its tray, dancing in the microwave, he looked up with tired eyes at the sound of footsteps.  A greeting smile made its way across his face at the noise, ready to greet his best friend with open arms before dropping them with a dramatic sigh.  “Schlatt, we just tossed out those cans yesterday, they’re expired.”

JSchlatt continued to chew on the glued-on paper sticking out of his mouth, a tin can with paper streams left on it in his hand.  In his other he held a half eaten hot pocket, obviously alternating between the two items.  He raised an eyebrow at Wilbur, wrinkling his nose after he swallowed the paper-hot pocket mash in his mouth.  “I don’t critic your fucking food, Virgo.  You’re eating my hot pocket anyway, have some respect.”

“Oh, sure, because I’m going to respect the guy eating a piece of shitting paper in my house.”

“My house, actually.  This is my side,” JSchlatt clarifies, tossing the can into the trash can.  There was a bite taken over out it, but the ram-hybrid evidently decided that metal wasn’t a formidable snack.  Wilbur rolled his eyes at the fact that he even tried to attempt eating it.  “Hey, I saw that!” JSchlatt barked, digging into the fridge as he stuffed the end of his hot pocket into his mouth.

“Good,” Wilbur chimed.

The microwave beeps finish.  Wilbur lifts the hot pocket out, tossing it onto the countertop to let it cool down enough to be touched.  In the meantime, he watched JSchlatt from behind thrift through the fridge for whatever he wanted.  

It wasn’t an unfamiliar (or unwelcomed) sight to see the ram-hybrid from the back.  He was a well-built guy, not lanky like Wilbur or short like Connor.  It wasn’t often, like now, that he wore clothes that complimented his figure.  He was currently wearing a SootHouse crew neck, a limited edition merchandise from an old reality TV show Wilbur used to cohost on.  

(JSchlatt hadn’t bought it himself.  Wilbur gave it to him.  JSchlatt laughed at the merch, but it turned into the man’s usual pajama top.  Wilbur still teased him about it.)

Overly hairy thighs, thanks to his genes, were regularly hidden by longer pants, now being sweatpants.  Wilbur had only ever seen JSchlatt in shorts in two occasions.  Once, during the SMPLive reunion, where the ram-hybrid stripped to his boxers to swim in the ocean.  Twice, when he had strutted around the DSMP home server in a white American crewneck and cut-off jean shorts.  

His ever-growing horns curled around pale floppy ears that occasionally twitched from noises or ticks.  The ears were something JSchlatt was a bit more self-conscious of; he did his best to not alienate himself from humankind, but the ears added to the whole ram genetics problem.  JSchlatt called it a problem.  His friends would argue, but the ram-hybrid was headstrong.  

The ears were a mere nuisance compared to the small off-white tail that peeked out from underneath the SootHouse crewneck.  It looked more like a white-tailed deer’s than a ram, but bighorn sheep tended to have stubby tails.  It didn’t do much but embarrass the poor male, a telltale sign of emotion by wagging or still.  The tail was off-limits to everyone, and JSchlatt tried to hide in a suit’s tail, but it’d show itself sometimes regardless.  

Wilbur remembered clearly one day on SMPLive where the tail made such an appearance.  JSchlatt had been trying to scam Dinkster, the younger man skeptical from the beginning, but JSchlatt had always been a convincing fellow.  Right when the two were about to shake heads, Traves had passed in a minecart and hollered, “Look at that tail go!”

JSchlatt’s tail had been wagging incessantly behind his tail, peeking out underneath it.  Wilbur had never seen JSchlatt turn that shade of red nor run that fast in his life; poor Dinkster just looked confused.  

Chuckling to himself at the fond memory, he failed to notice JSchlatt turn around in front of him with two cans in his hands.  His hot pocket had shortened in size, now chewing on the stump.  He furrows his eyebrows with ears pulled back against his head as he held up the two cans to Wilbur for help.  

One was a Pepsi, the other alcoholic.  

Wilbur sighed, taking the alcoholic one from JSchlatt and putting it back in the fridge.  He closed it after gently pushing the ram-hybrid out of the way with his hip, his back turning to face the fridge as JSchlatt shimmied around the kitchen to open up the can over a sink in case his finger hooves pierced the thin top.  

The two men made eye contact to a split second before being interrupted by a shorter strolling through the kitchen.  Connor grabbed Wilbur’s hot pocket with little care for its temperature, ripping it in half before starting to eat his half.  

“Connor!!” Wilbur shouts, picking up the hot pocket tray with his half still in tact.  “That’s my fucking dinner!  You already ate!” Wilbur yells, making a face as Connor continued to simply eat his hot pocket.  If anything, Connor laughed a bit.  JSchlatt was bent over the countertop, wheezing quickly as his two best friends began to bicker back and forth over who bought the hot pocket and who was the one starving.  

Eventually, after Connor offered to give the eaten hot pocket back the old-fashioned way, Wilbur profusely declined and Connor smiled softly.  He exited the kitchen, heading straight back to his spot on the couch where JSchlatt’s cat waited for him.  

Wilbur held back a bark, his momentarily anger calming down when he picked up his own hot pocket.  He sighs to himself when an arm was thrown over his shoulders, the two standing aimlessly in the doorway that gave them a perfect view of The Price Is Right. 

“That show is actually shit,” JSchlatt shares, ducking his head down to take a bite out of Wilbur’s hot pocket.  He pulls his head up, turning it towards Wilbur’s to knock heads together softly before leaving the British man’s side.  He headed over to Connor on the couch, tail wagging happily, as he hopped over it to land on the middle cushion.  His legs kick out in front of him and his hands fold over his lap.

His cat greeted him by pawing at his hands; Connor laughed.  

Wilbur, who had been staring down at his assaulted hot pocket, looked back up at the sound of his roommates laughing.  He grins to himself, biting into the pretzel hot pocket and ripping a mouthful away as he sat down next to JSchlatt.  The ram-hybrid slung another shoulder over the British man’s shoulder, tugging him closer into his chest as he took a sip of his soda.  Connor leaned on JSchlatt’s other shoulder.  

“No joke, this show is shit, though,” JSchlatt repeats seriously with a chuckle.

“Take the remote, then, you ungrateful son of a sheep.”

“That’s racist.”

“Speciesist, Schlatt.  Speciesist.”

“Shut up, Wilbur.”

It was all sickeningly domestic.  The three break into laughter, JSchlatt flipping through the channels with no goal in mind.  His tabby cat curls up on his lap, tail flicking against a partially eaten soda can that shared a place on the ram-hybrid’s lap.  

Chapter Text

“I lost the fucking kid- how did I lose the fucking kid?”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Schlatt,” Charlie sighs, tugging at the collar on his shirt.  

“Wilbur’s going to strangle me.” JSchlatt’s hands pull at his hair out of stress, the two standing in the middle of the Epic SMP.  SwaggerSouls was out looking for the boy as JSchlatt fretted about where he was.  

To put it short, Tubbo had disappeared out from JSchlatt’s nose.  The ram-hybrid had been talking to Ted Nivison at the Palcove with Tubbo playing nearby with different portal connections when the boy didn’t respond to his calls to leave.  It’s been almost four hours since then, and Tubbo still wasn’t answering his comms.  

JSchlatt couldn’t go home without the kid.  If Wilbur didn’t kill him first, Tommy and Ranboo would most definitely get to him.  Even though they were both still teenagers, something about Ranboo rubbed the ram-hybrid the wrong way.  He wasn’t risking anything.  

“I’m such a horrible person,” JSchlatt whines, walking back and forth in from of Charlie.  Ted had logged off for the night, wishing the two good luck before retreating to his home server.  

Charlie picks at his teeth before humming, tapping his finger to his chin.  “Swagger should be back soon from scouting with his gadgets or whatever.  If he doesn’t pick up Tubbo then, I’ll get Matt and he can use his admin abilities to teleport Tubbo back here.”

“Why can’t we just do that in the first place?!” JSchlatt exclaims before bleating against his own will.  His ears flatten back against his head, a subconscious thing.  

Charlie sighs, ignoring the bleat to spare JSchlatt.  “Because it abuses the admin powers, we’ve been over this, Schlatt.. look, there’s Swagger coming in hot now.”  The golden blond was evidently tired from a long day of working, having a bit of loose energy to pull the ram-hybrid out of the walkway.  JSchlatt looks up, seeing a man wearing a knight helmet strapped into a jetpack come flying down, a map in his hands.  

The jetpack blows up loose leaves and grass, causing the two men on the ground to cover their ears as Swagger landed.  The jetpack was turned off, and Seagger pulls off his helmet to just his chao mail.  He sighs, looking at the two men before holding out the map.  “Throw this into a regular portal and it’ll take you right to where he is.  He didn’t go very far, which is surprising.”

JSchlatt grabbed the map upon hearing Swagger’s words, running off to go find obsidian and flint and steel.  Charlie looked at the mechanic with a tired look in his eyes, but a smile nonetheless.  “Hey, thanks man.  Schlatt’s been crazed since Tubbo dropped off the map.”

“If that kid was the only way to avoid death at the hands of angry British and a teenager almost twice my height, I’d go fucking coocoo too!”

JSchlatt stepped through the lit portal, the warping only added to his headache.  He grimaces, leaning against the obsidian frame as his eyes adjusted to the quick teleport.  It was nothing fancy, no nether travel needed.  Just as Swagger said, JSchlatt found himself in a random small clearing, stumbling out of the portal in a daze at what he saw.

Tubbo brightened instantly upon seeing the ram-hybrid, petting a large bee with a jar of honey in his other hand.  “Schlatt!  Look what I made!”

The thing was a monstrosity.  It had pipes coming out of it in all different directions, two small windmills and one water-powered generator.  Conveyor builds spun blocks into grinders and heaters and coolers, chests underneath hoppers collecting them all.  Underneath the contraction was the rumbling of a drill, seemingly self-powered.  

JSchlatt looks between the machine, to back to Tubbo and his bee, to back at the machine and back again.  JSchlatt looked paler than he did before entering the portal.  “Tubbo, what the fuck?” He asked rudely, though there was confusion in his voice.  “You’ve been missing for four fucking hours and you’re out here in godfuck nowhere, building machinery?”

“Apparently!” Tubbo smiles with a laugh.  “But!  But, really, it’s really so cool!  You can make any material with it as long as you have the original material it came from!  Like, you want smoothstone?  No need for smelting cobblestone separately!  You just put cobblestone into the feeder and it’ll smelt and grind everything down to whatever mate..”

The boy droned on and on, going through examples of what his machine could do.  He jumped around it, his bee lazily following him with pollen falling from its ass.  JSchlatt followed as well with an amazed look on his face, trying to understand Tubbo’s thought process of “Wow, I’m lost!  Guess I should make a furnace-crafting table-chest-thingy-majig in my spare time!”

The ram-hybrid hid him taking pictures of it very well, spamming them to the group chat with his old Lunch Club friends.  Charlie replied with a spam of thumbs up emojis.  

Tubbo suddenly turned to him as the moon began to crawl up, a pleased smile on his face.  JSchlatt looks at him expectantly, knowing the boy was going to ask something.

“Do you like it?”

There it is.

He snorts happily with a shake of his head, smiling as he ruffled Tubbo’s hair brotherly.  “Yeah, yeah.  I bet I could do better, though.”

“How much SchlattCoin stock are you willing to bet, big man?”

JSchlatt makes a face.  “None.”

Tubbo bursts out into victorious laughter, mindful of his bee as he did a small dance.  “I beat you at something, finally!  Not Tekkit, not business, but machinery like this!  Finally, surely this should’ve been easier!”

JSchlatt rolls his eyes as he pulled down a lead (his inventory was full of random shit while on Epic), giving it to Tubbo for his bee.  The boy seemed awfully attached to it already, and being that it had been Tubbo’s only companion for the better of his time on Epic SMP today, JSchlatt wouldn’t mind dragging the thing home to the home server.  As long as it didn’t get lost in Mojang..

Tubbo gently ties the lead in a bow around the bee’s abdomen, patting its head with a little giggle.  “Should I dismantle this, or turn it off?” He asks the ram-hybrid, gesturing to the machine.

The male pauses for a moment before shrugging.  “Nah, leave it.  Who cares, I don’t think anyone will find it anytime soon, so it won’t hurt anyone.”

“Okay, Schlatt!” Tubbo replied happily, pulling his bee off to the portal.  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!  Can we get McDonalds in Mojang?  You kind of did abandon me on some random ass server and I’d hate for Wilbur or Tommy to find out.”. The boy makes puppy eyes up at the other with a little smirk, something JSchlatt grumbled at.  

“That’s blackmail.”

“Learned from the best,” Tubbo snarked.  JSchlatt couldn’t disagree.  

Chapter Text

Awesamdude regarded Tommy with a hesitate look in his eyes.  “Are you sure you want to do this, Tommy?  You’ve been healing.. Dream is still himself, he hasn’t changed.”

Tommy met the older with a blazing gaze, hardened over with confidence.  He smirks, “Sam, this is my healing.  I need to come to terms with everything.  This is my last battle before my own retirement.  And-“ Tommy stops suddenly, a bit of his confidence wavering momentarily.  “And if anything happens, you’re here.”

Tommy looks up at Sam with that same gaze, but his confidence was partially broken.  “I trust you, Sam.”

The warden couldn’t express emotion.  He places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes lightly.  He doesn’t push Tommy away from him when the boy hugs his torso suddenly, tightening quickly before pulling away just as fast.  Tommy exhales, shaking out his wrists as Sam walked over to the pillar which held the key.  He swipes his card through it.  

“Remember, when you’re done, holler.  All of your items are in that chest.” Sam gestures behind the two, where a chest sat filled to the brim of shit.  A gleaming book, signed, rested in a glass box behind it.  “You signed that book.  You’re set, Tommy.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Tommy growled, anticipation making anxiety churn in his stomach.  

Dream looked poor.  

His hair was knotted, unbelievably oily.  Once dirty blond, now all there was dirt.  His waves had kinked into curls from the stress on them.  It reminded Tommy of Wilbur.  

His apricot uniform was dirtied and soaking wet from the cauldron.  It was half full, with water pooled on the floor.  Unlike last time, the clock no longer hung from its place on the wall.  It was broken in the corner of the cell, near the lava, its hands ripped from the gears.  

Dream’s eyes were crazed when he looked up at Tommy with a broken smile.  They darted side to side, paranoid, before he cleared his throat; it was severely disused.  Dream couldn’t sing; the warden shouted at him to be quiet.  He laughed sometimes.  The warden couldn’t do much to stop that.  

Dream was a psychopath.  

“And here I was beginning to think you were done with me.  Miss me, Toms?” Dream sneers, his smile changing from a smirk.  “I’ve missed you, if it makes you feel better.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tommy says right away with a mild bark.  “And it actually makes me feel worse.  You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?”

Dream hangs his head, bobbing it up and down a few times.  “I’m aware.  Why are you here, Tommy?  Last time we talked, you ran out like a scared toddler.  Did someone finally grow some balls?”

Wilbur’s script was unbelievably perfect for their respective characters.  Tommy remained snappy through most of the exchange, biting back at Dream’s slurred remarks and drawls.  Throughout the dialogue, Dream was slowly rising from his spot on the ground.  Since Ranboo’s visit, chains kept him within the first six feet of the cell from the back wall.  He couldn’t reach the lava.  Something about suicide watch.  

Dream groans against his restraints, tugging at them.  They clank louder; Tommy winces beside himself.  Hopefully it fit character, as cameras zoomed on him.  Dream swings his head around slowly, smiling with a bash of his eyelashes.  “Mind helping me?”

“Helping you with that?  No shit.  Fuck off,” Tommy rolls his eyes, stepping closer to the lava behind himself.  “I’m not stepping anywhere near your side of the room.  I’m leaving soon, anyway.”

“Why don’t you just leave now?  You’re hurting me, Tommy, being here.  You only remind me of our times together and all the fun we had..” Dream whines, puckering up his lips.  He was missing half of his mask, one half of his face obscured by that smiley face.  

Tommy rears back, disgusted by the action, a scowl settling on his face.  “I’m hurting you?  Dream, you ruined me!!”

Dream bites his lower lip.  

“You’re done for, Dream!  You’re never leaving this goddamn prison!  Get fucking used to it, accept it, bloody hell, you’re stuck!  You’re serving life here!!” Tommy shouts, trying so desperately to get it through the other’s brain.  “I hope you have fun rotting here, because you’re never going upstairs.  You’re going so far south that you’ll never see the sun ever fucking again.”

The last sentence came out so sinisterly that Dream saw a head full of brown curls and insanity engulfing brown eyes in front of him.  He blinked once.  Tommy stood before him, heaving heavily.  Dream smiles sweetly.  

“I missed this, Tommy.  Come on, unchain me, I know you want to,” he purrs, hitting his head to the side and down, to the chains.  “You can stomp these off the wall, can’t you?”

“Shut up,” Tommy demands, his hands raising to his ears.  “I don’t listen to you anymore.  Get out of my head.  You’re the fucking worst— I- I hate you so much.  You make me want to do things that Wilbur would do, and that-“

“That what, Tommy?” Dream spurred on.

“That makes me fear myself,” Tommy responds.  “Because I’m supposed to be the only person I can trust, but you stand before me and the only thing I can think of is how I could kill you in the most painful way possible.  You make me a horrible person.” 

“Oh,” Dream replies, the air chilling despite the bubbling lava.  “Oh, Tommy.. I did no such thing.  You’ve been this way all along, I just bring this side out of you.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m proud of myself, actually.  Wilbur already broke by the time I got to him, but you?  You’re the oyster I couldn’t crack, and the pearl is you losing it!” Dream laughs at his own words.  “How amazing is that?!”

“Shut up..”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Tommy.  We both know that you’re no leader, you’re all bark and no bite.  All you do is follow orders.  You say Tubbo’s a yes man?”

“Keep him out of this-“

“You’re a yes man more so than he is!  At least Tubbo had the guts to stand up to Schlatt and his administration, knowing he was getting himself into trouble the second he reached out to Pogtopia!  Tubbo’s independent now even!  But you?  Oh, Tommy, when you have no one at the reins, you’re a loose cannon.  The second Wilbur upped and left, why, it was only a month before you had gone off to cause more trouble!”

“Shu-ut up,” Tommy repeats, but his voice cracks.  

Dream pauses, his monologue halted.  His head cranes over to where Tommy was, after staring off into space while speaking.  The blond had his hands over his ears, trying to block out the words that were being spoonfed to him.  Dream coos softly, his chains crashing against the obsidian floor as he moved.

“Are you upset, Tommy?” Dream whispers with a little giggle.  “Did I upset you?”

“No,” Tommy spits, clenching his eyes shut as he backed up into the corner with the broken clock.  “No- I’m not afraid of you.  Stay on your side!” He orders, his eyebrows furrowing.

Dream pulls on the chains again, his body angled out towards the boy.  “You’re pathetic.. I’m right!  I’m always right, but no one believes me!  I didn’t want to be the bad guy, I didn’t want to be the one in these chains, these were for someone so much more dangerous than I.. do you.. do you want to know who?”

Tommy is silent.  

“Two options, Toms.  You spent an exile with both of them.”

Tommy steps back on the clock out of shock, the weak gold denting underneath his foot.  He opens his mouth to shout something, probably for Sam, before the prison shakes on its foundation—it was made of obsidian.  It couldn’t- it shouldn’t.

The cell vibrates, and Dream, in his weakened state (or as per the script), falls to the ground.  He curls up, laughing psychotically as the prison continued to shake.  It was like an earthquake.  Things were blowing up, explosion after explosion.  It was a whole line of dynamite going off one after the other.

Tommy’s ears were ringing.  He couldn’t hear Dream’s laughter.  The explosives were so far off.  

He falls to the ground, on his hands and knees as he tried to keep upright and not tumble straight into the lava.  “Sam!!” Tommy cries, fingers looking for any grip on the cool obsidian.  “Sam!!” Tommy shouts again, tucking his chin to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut.

Dream continues to laugh, a soundless thing to Tommy’s ears.  

“Philza!  Phil!!” Tommy screams to the aethers.  “Help me- help, please!” 

Nobody answered his cries as the explosives calmed down.  Tommy couldn’t even hear himself whimper once the obsidian underneath him stopping shaking, once the lava stopped threatening to pour into the tiny cell.  The lava continued on its regular path.  It wasn’t parting.  

“Sam!  Let me out!  Sam, I’m done!!” Tommy shouts, scrambling up to his feet before almost toppling over from the pounding in his head.  His shouts didn’t register in his head, one hand coming up to cup an ear.  “Please!!”

“He’s not coming.”

“Sam, I’m begging you, please let me out!  Sam, I know you’re hearing this!!”

“You signed that book.”

“Sam— shit, Phil!!  Phil, Philza, Dadza, please, please, someone-“

“You’re stuck in here with me.”

“Someone!— anyone, please!  Ple-ease!!” 

“What a lovely turn of events,” Dream smiles.  Tommy doesn’t look behind him.  He couldn’t hear the green man.  His ears were ringing like church bells but higher pitched.  

“I missed you, TommyInnit.”

The two stay in their spots.  Tommy, with his arms pulled into a feeble hug around himself, staring at the wall of lava before him with crying obsidian droplets and dust on his face.  His hands were sooty.  Dream was still on the ground, lounging as comfortably in his chains as he could.  His apricot was already stained.  

Dream blinks a few times.  That was the last line.

Why wasn’t the lava going down?

“Tommy,” Dream waits another minute before speaking.  Surely the cameras had to be cut by now.  “I don’t know where Sam went, but go behind the cauldron and press the button to let the lava down.  We’re done.”

The said boy doesn’t move, he doesn’t even turn around to face the other.  He flinched at the voice, though.  Dream winced beside himself, and glances back at the chain clamps that were attached to the wall.  Experimentally, he tugs roughly on the chains once.  The clamps whine from the stress.  

It only takes four stomps from Dream’s foot after he stood up for the clamps to fall off of the wall.  Thank god they weren’t actual clamps, or they’d be stuck for a while.  The clamps didn’t do anything to help the chains around Dream’s wrists and ankles, but at least now he could move around the cell freely.  Throwing overgrown hair out of his face with a flick of his head, he stumbles over to Tommy, who was still facing the lava.  

“Toms, step back,” Dream says, more of a plea than a demand.  The green man slowly takes hold on one of Tommy’s arms, pulling him a step back after a heavy breath came from the teenager.  It took to crossing behind the netherite block row for Tommy to come back to the present, his head spinning; the ringing in his ears was slowly quieting.  

“Tommy,” Dream asks anxiously, gaze flicking to the side at the cauldron.  “Tommy, can you hear me?  Say something.”

Tommy reaches up with a shaking head, and pushes the half mask out of Dream’s face.  When the dirty blond’s face was fully revealed, Tommy heaved a sob.  The boy all but collapsed on Dream, arms circling around his neck as he shook with more dry cries.  Dream was partially expecting it, doing his best to hold Tommy close despite the chains still around his wrists.

“I couldn’t hear anything again— oh, why did Wilbur write that in?  My ears hurt, Dream, fuck, they really hurt-“

The man is quick to hush the boy, eyes still returning to the cauldron every so often.  As Tommy spilled out curses at the older British male, Dream back stepped slowly towards the cauldron, Tommy still attached to his front.  By the time he made it near the cauldron, Tommy was blinking away tears, simply holding onto Dream for comfort.

When he sees Dream try to pitifully drag away the cauldron with his foot, the idea of what the other was doing clicked.  Tommy sniffles, slipping away from Dream to finish the job and kick his knee into the button.  “That should be it,” Tommy says afterwards, bringing up an arm to wipe at his eyes.  

“Tommy,” Dream begins, mouth dry.  

“What?” He asks, exhausted from acting.  

“There was no redstone noise.”

The pair were quiet.  Tommy looks down at the button, and he kicks his knee into it again.  Again, there’s no click or hiss of redstone being activated.  Tommy furrows his eyebrows, bending down to press repeatedly on the button with his hand.  Surely it was just because of his knee-

“The explosions felt less controlled than they should’ve been..” Dream trails off, standing near the crafting table as he watched Tommy’s breath speed up.  Fearing the worst, Dream crouches down next to the boy and taps his fingers methodically on his shoulder.  “Hey- hey, look at me.”

Tommy looks up, fear swallowing his eyes whole.  It was such a contrast from the boy who entered the cell; yes, it had all been an act, but Tommy looked so confident then.  Now, he looked like someone who needed a good meal and a whole day’s rest.  It was upsetting.  Dream’s heart clenched.  

The dirty blond sits down on the dirty obsidian floor, his back leaning against the cauldron.  Tommy was hesitant to join him, but after a gesture, the boy slowly makes his way into a seating position next to Dream.  The boy leaned the side of his head on Dream’s shoulder, doing his best to calm his breathing to match Dream’s, as the other directed him to.  

Tommy played with his fingers as Dream looked out at the lava, the latter wringing his hands in his chains.  The lava was not going down.  It wasn’t going-

“Toms,” Dream begins.  Said boy hums an answer, head heavy with sleep.  His eyes blink slowly, sitting upright.  “I think we’re going to be here for a while.”

Tommy lets another sob crawl up his throat.  That’s the last noise the two share for at least the next hour.  Tommy drifts off to sleep twenty minutes later on Dream’s shoulder, loosely holding onto the other man for an anchor.  He dreams of big gray wings and dinner. 

The lava is hot.  The clock is still broken in the corner; Dream didn’t know what time it was.  

Chapter Text

“Dream, don’t do it or so help you gods,” GeorgeNotFound hisses, a vein popping out of his face. Sapnap was leaning against the British man, wheezing lowly.

Dream holds a proud thumbs up at his best friends, smirking cockily. “The gods love me,” Dream counters with a laugh. “And what’s going to happen? There’s a pool below me, I’ll be fine!”

The pool, of which, was one block deep.

The Dream Team was currently standing up on El Rapids’ platform, with a few other actors standing around at the bottom pool. Quackity was standing nearby in his casino outfit, finishing up his eye scar makeup. He had been working on acting out his episode (the entire thing being just his arc’s first few chapters), but with El Rapids’ lay down, the other actors wanted to send off the dirt monstrosity the old fashion way.

That meant, in Dream’s mind, jumping off of it in swim trunks and a snorkel. 

Technoblade was face up underneath El Rapids, floating with his hands folded over his midsection in the deeper bits of the pool. Skeppy was swimming nearby, pouring water over the piglin’s face at random times and causing him to snort, losing his balance. The pair were absolutely drenched after the ore mite (pulling Technoblade along with him) barreled into the water the second he was told they could.  

Wilbur had unfortunately been in the splash zone.  

Philza’s feathers had puffed up initially at the splash, but they calmed down when Philza laughed at the soaked Wilbur. The brunet wiped water off of his face with a scowl.

Ranboo was sitting on the edge of the pool, a natural one, with Tubbo and Tommy pushing each other in the one block shallow end. Purpled was away at Bedwars, so Ranboo was playing with the shore’s sand by himself, occasionally looking up and laughing at his best friends in the water.

Karl Jacobs was standing down at the ground, his hands cupped around his mouth and jeering for Dream to jump. BadBoyHalo was next to him, his gaze looking between the Dream Team (mostly making sure Sapnap didn’t push George off of the platform) and Technoblade and Skeppy.

BadBoyHalo winces when he sees Sapnap grab tighter on George’s arm, the three men standing very close to the edge. “Sapnap, be careful!” He calls, not because he cared that much for Sapnap’s safety - that boy was so fucking reckless -, but of George’s. The man hated the water, like a cat. Bad wasn’t even sure if George could swim.

“Bad, Karl! Watch me!” Dream shouts, looking down at his two friends down before disappearing out of their view to back up. George’s upper lip curls in distaste, folding his arms in front of his chest. Sapnap giggles some more when Dream stinks his snorkel into his mouth, screaming through it to create an echoy, low note. 

Bad covers his face in disappointment. Karl whoops, his arms flying up to the sky in cheer. Wilbur looks up from where he was wringing out his crewneck, tilting his head in mild curiosity as to what kind of jump Dream would do.

He makes a face when Dream bolts forward on a count of three from Sapnap, and planks vertically into a pencil. So fucking dumb, Wilbur thinks before turning his attention back to his crewneck.

Karl gasps under his breath, physically shaking from anticipation as Dream switches from a pencil and into a cannonball once he gets some sense into his brain - and realizes he’s legitimately about to fall into a one block shallow pool.

Tommy and Tubbo had waded out of the way, oblivious, with the rest of the actors collected now watching him - except Technoblade. The piglin, given the peace of Skeppy too focused to annoy him, closed his eyes with a content sigh as he floated.  

Dream splashed like an angel falling from heaven and then some. Karl’s hands were covering his eyes, and he cringes when he hears Dream yell out after the splash. He peers out behind fingers to see Bad darting forward, forgetting about his own dry clothes as he began to make his way to the curled up Dream, who was hugging a leg to his chest.

George and Sapnap peered down over the edge from the top of El Rapids before looking back at each other. Sapnap most probably said something funny, because the British man slapped him lightly before turning his attention back down to Dream. George pulls Sapnap up to his feet a few moments later, tugging him along to get to the ground.

Ranboo cringed as well at the yell, but Tubbo looked ready to dry off. Tommy was acting as though he didn’t hear it at all, whipping his curls around with droplets flying. He was turned away from Dream, oblivious to the hearing world; Ranboo furrows his eyebrows, knowing the other was probably hearing only ringing right now, but that might be better for the situation at hand.

Dream looks up at Bad when the human reaches him, bending down in the water and inspecting his leg with a dad-like nature. Bad hides a wince when Dream flinches at pressure applied to his ankle, and clicks his tongue sadly afterwards. “And why did you think that was a good idea again?” Bad chastises, hearing Dream let out a shaky breath.

“Techie! Come help Dream out of the water!” Bad looks over Dream’s shoulder, spotting his two roommates still annoying each other. Skeppy was standing on Technoblade’s back like a surfer and surfboard, but the ore mite was roughly thrown off of his mount when the piglin heard his name be called.

“We’ll go see Ponk, he knows how to better deal with more serious injuries than I do. You don’t mind Techie carrying you, right?” Seeing Dream shake his head, Bad reaches out to lightly pat his head, waiting for Technoblade to stalk over.

Dream looks over his own shoulder to the piglin. They lock eyes for a moment, green against red, and Technoblade is trudging through the water on a mission a moment later. Skeppy is pulled along, arms around Technoblade’s leg and water splashing into his face. 

“What an idiot,” Technoblade grumbles, ducking down to slip his arms under Dream’s knees and behind his back. 

Dream makes a face when his injured ankle (probably broken) swings in the open air. “Shut up, bacon bits,” Dream orders weakly, grimacing at the smell of wet fur. “You could use a bath.”

“You could use a doctor,” Technoblade returns without missing a beat, shaking Skeppy off of him to step out of the water. “And now I have to carry you, and leave the water behind. I love the water. You’re a nuisance.”

Dream knew the words were all sarcastic, but when he saw George, Sapnap, and Karl all running from behind Technoblade’s bicep, he sighs before pressing his forehead against Technoblade’s bare, scarred shoulder. He hums, “Sorry, I guess.”

Bad looks back at the two worriedly. Technoblade exhales slowly, lifting Dream higher and into a more comfortable position against his chest. The sound of arguing voices fills Dream’s ears and he closes his eyes against pink fur. 

Tommy still hadn’t come around. Tubbo and Ranboo exchanged glances before offering Tommy his towel once the group heading for Ponk and his MD were out of sight behind the rocky hill behind them. Tommy looks at the red thing and takes it after hesitating. “Did you say something? Can’t hear you.”

He felt Wilbur’s gaze on his neck, but he didn’t know why. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Tommy sits down on the other side of Tubbo, wringing his hands between his legs and looking over at his two friends with a perplexed look. 

“Where’d Dream and his lot fuck off to?”

Chapter Text

Foolish makes a face at the man in front of him, raising a bored eyebrow. “Clay, I’m literally older than you.”

Dream wrinkles his nose at the other, mask missing. “Noah, I don’t care. You’re not taking my alcohol from me.”

Foolish groans, throwing his hands up into the air before crossing them. He glared playfully towards the man in green, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “Why? What did I ever do to you?” He asks in an accusatory tone before holding up a finger. “Don’t answer that.”

Dream swats at the finger, biting his tongue with massive amounts of blackmail hiding behind it. “Because I am also now an adult. Just because you’re my big brother doesn’t mean you can freeload off of me!”

Foolish smirks, “I think that means I can.”

“Can you two hurry it up? I’m fuckin’ bored and just want to go to school,” Tommy whines, kicking at the doorframe at the front of Dream’s house. A backpack was slung over a shoulder and he was wearing his favorite blue jacket with a red hoodie underneath, with signature denim jeans.

Dream and Foolish stare the teenager, receiving a stare back. “What? Alcohol tastes weird anyway.”

Dream’s eyes almost bug out of his skull, almost like a comic. “Who the fuck gave you have alcohol?!”

“Schlatt,” Tommy says smugly.

It isn’t supposed to be Dream taking Tommy to his weekly high school trip. It’s almost always Wilbur, then Philza, then George, and then - only then! - did it land on Dream. Somehow, all three of those men had been unavailable to take Tommy today. 

Wilbur was off of the server, working on a new project outside of the Dream SMP called Origin; it’s a new series that’ll feature some of the DSMP actors along with new faces, but he forgot about Tommy’s school and couldn’t get back from the Origin server back to the Dream one in time. 

Phil was with Kristin on their home server, being that it’s been a while since he’s been able to recline and relax. George too had gone to his own home server, pledging to be back within a week. There was still five days to go before he returned.

And now it was Wednesday, and Tommy had to go to school, and Dream was the next in line to take him to school.

“Noah, you are not doing a shotgun in the back of my cart, I will call mom and have her come pick you up.”

“Mom’s busy with sis, I think I’m fine.”

Dream shoves his face into a hand, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. Tommy snickers in the passenger seat, looking eagerly out the window as Dream signaled to change lanes. The minecart rails trail above those who walked below, so there was little stop-and-go with driving.

A couple people that obviously watched the Dream SMP had pointed out of their own carts, yelling “Oh my god, Dream!” or “TommyInnit!” as they passed in the midst of their excitement. Unlike Dream, Tommy always waved them farewell, or even talked to a younger fan as they were side by side at a red light. 

Foolish was in the back of the cart, sipping a can of beer with a smile on his lips. His part in the DSMP had yet to become relevant, and with how much CGI was done on his gigantic totem-shark character, Foolish could really only be recognized by his voice, and even that was a stretch since the effects echoed his lines regularly. 

Tommy’s school was coming up by the time the cart rails ran down an incline, and Dream fishes around for a mask and sunglasses in the center console. Tommy shoves the glasses onto the dirty blond’s face, letting him put on the white face mask himself, with a snicker.

“So you go to school in Mojang?” Foolish muses, leaning forward in his seat with his hands between his legs.

“Well, it’s just easier for me. Ran still goes to school in his home server,” explains Tommy, hiking up his bag over his arm as his school came into view. People flew around with elytra strapped to their backs with the occasional avian-hybrid or insect-hybrid. The school wasn’t incredibly large, but with the amount of kids walking up the entrance steps, it had a decent student body.

Tommy smiles as Dream finds a parking slot in the front drive-in area in front of the entrance. Reaching over, Dream gives Tommy a quick hug and tousles his hair with a smile, “I’ll be here at six to pick you up, alright?”

“Make that seven!” Tommy exclaims, already unbuckling and pulling anxiously on the car door. “I have to stay behind to help with Eryn’s project. It’s something with engineering, I have no clue how to do it but I’m moral support!”

Dream chuckles, making that mental note to add to the rest of the bulletin in his brain, as he unlocks the cart’s half-doors. The door falls open and Tommy slips out of it, waving Dream and Foolish goodbye before turning his backs to them to run up the stairs. He disappears in the crowd. 

A few other students watch the well-known actor pull away with some white guy in the back seat with a beer in his hand. One takes a picture and posts it on Twitter. 

“Seriously, Noah, can you lay off? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I only have a lot of beer at my house ‘cause I have people over, I’m twenty one, dude,” Dream grumbles, tapping his finger against his cheek as they made their way back through the rails and towards the private garage Dream kept his kart in. 

Foolish kicks his feet up on the center console with an outwards sigh. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re still my little brother. It’s weird seeing you drink.”

Dream looks over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “You took me to so many parties back home, you’ve dragged me home with fireball over my shirt,” he deadpans.

Foolish snorts, bringing a hand up to his face to hide his smile. “I still have pictures.”

“You fucking what?!”

“I haven’t shown them to anyone, of course! Holding on them until the right time comes!” Foolish shakes one hand in front of him, batting away Dream’s searching hand with a dolphin-like laugh. “Mercy! Mercy, I won’t show them! Haven’t, I swear!”

Dream retracts his hand with a toying eye-roll, eyes back on the rails as he signaled left. “Fuck you, Noah. You’re such a shit older brother.”

“Love you too,” Foolish replies in a sing-song voice. “By the way, I am taking that pack of beers I got this one from. Expensive Mojang beer is damn good.”

“I’m going to have to dump a pool over you to wake you up from your hangovers.”

“The alcohol’s only for Pummel Party, it’s bring your own beer, calm down!!” Foolish laughs.

Dream smiles ahead of him. Another fan waves at him when they pass, a girl the age of Tommy. He gives her the liberty of a look. Foolish teases him good-naturally as the girl practically swoons, falling down in the back seat. Dream, despite his own self-control, lets a smile peek through.