#brickquiries
Note
Story idea! Which will contain tiny!tubbo tiny!baby michael and giant!ranboo
Tubbo lives alone in the tundra lands of snowchester with his son Michael, tubbo is known for studying and hunting mythical creatures, but after a harsh snowstorm and lack of food he ventures out one night and ends up meeting one of the mythical creatures he has been desperately searching for.
Noms are up to you, btw
yay no more creative slump! thanks anon :D
i kinda switched this around s little bit but i think it's still alright? i mean i didn't read it but eh
(bonus points if you know what the title's from! :3)
agony drips from me, poisonous remedy
wc: 2519
cw: sfw vore (unwilling prey + miscommunication/no communication), panic
—–—
Call him an idiot, call him insane, call his work useless, but he prefers ‘over it’. Because in the depths of all of his pinned up papers, half-finished sketches littering the floors and a thousand theories blurring his head, he has a son, who’s obvious struggles haven't gone unnoticed from Tubbo, and he is over his weird hobby.
He does try, he keeps up with Micheal’s schedule, making sure he’s clean and well-fed and gets to sleep on time, (Although he can't be positive on that because unless his frenzy has kicked up hallucinations, he’s fairly positive he’s heard Micheal’s muffled snorts from just outside his office.)
Tubbo knew about that. He knew his son was distressed and isolated and tired and curious, yet he still persisted with the thing he couldn't even call work, it was just a hobby he clung onto desperately like it was pumping air into his lungs.
So, the recent storm was rather eye-opening. At the first crack of thunder and blast of lighting, Tubbo found it mildly distracting, while Micheal’s panicked squeals had traveled through the mansion and right to Tubbo's office, where the boy then threw himself at his father, burying his face into Tubbo’s chest with panicked breath. Tubbo had jumped at the contact and shuffled his papers around before scooting back to tend to his son.
“Hey, hey, it’s just a storm, the thunder can’t hurt us,” Tubbo reassures, rubbing circles into the kid’s back. Micheal squeals as another clap of thunder echoes from the sky and rattles the windows of the office. Micheal’s grip on Tubbo’s vest tightens and he has to suppress the urge to wince under the pressure of his forming claws. “It's just passing over us,” Tubbo says, although he can't be sure about that, the weather has been showing signs of storms all week.
Another flash of lightning leaves Tubbo jumping at the way the windows light up at the streak, just a mile too close for his word to stay true. Presumably having felt Tubbo’s jolt of fear, Micheal sobs a little, still huddling close to his father for comfort. Tubbo sighs, tearing his wary attention away from the window and turning to focus on his papers, bullet points about a deity blurring together even more than usual at his worry. He moves his attention from his work and focuses on his son, still shaking with sobs. A wet spot has formed on his jumper from the kid’s tears, meanwhile Tubbo is stunned at what to say. He’s never been the most emotionally available, or if he was he wasted it all on useless attempts at humor to try and calm down Tommy.
This was his son, and this was not a laughing matter. He stands, his chair sliding back along the wooden floor with a wince-inducing scrape, to which he ignores and focuses on supporting his son. “We haven't had thunder for a while, so, you know what that means?” Tubbo asks, using old techniques Schlatt had used when Tubbo wouldn't be quiet.
“What?” Micheal asks, smally, voice broken from his tears.
Another clap of thunder. Micheal gasps softly at the sound.
“When there's a clap of thunder, you count the seconds between it, and that's how many miles away it is,” Tubbo informs him, still rubbing along his back as he navigates through the mansion.
The hybrid pulls away from his chest, still secure in Tubbo’s grasp but now facing him eye-to-eye, looking a little suspicious of Tubbo's claim. “Not true?” Micheal inquires. Tubbo cracks a smile and shakes his head.
“It's true! Listen, let's wait for the next one,” he says, heading down the grand staircase to find their way to the family room.
Micheal’s eyes avert his gaze and instead move beyond him to watch the windows, spirit enlightened. Tubbo finds the lift in demeanor satisfying, though without a problem to worry about he finds his mind traveling back to the creature studies sat in his office. Supposedly considered deity amongst the End and the Nether, and the very last creature he has in an old book of monsters he found as a kid.
He’s never been so riled up over finding something, but Ranboo proved so important that Tubbo would forget his own son in their time of panic.
Tubbo plops on the couch, Micheal falling with him, just in time for another clap of thunder. “Alright! One, two, three—” Tubbo is cut off as Micheal takes over.
“Four, five—” Boom! The windows rattle and a few pieces of lopsided furniture shudder. That’s odd. It hadn't been so close before…boom!
Micheal squeals. That was loud.
“Hey, hey, bossman, you're alright! It's just thunder,” Tubbo says, holding his boy tight while keeping his eyes glued to the pitch-black windows.
“Too close!” Micheal squeals out, his hybrid coming out in a fit of snorts and whines that make Tubbo’s heart ache. Why did he tell him about the distance method?
He considers calling Phil, but he doubts his communicator will work in this storm. The loud rush of rain hitting the window becomes apparent to him the more it picks up, rapidly thumping on the glass panes. Micheal’s crying again, his body quivering with every hiccup.
“Hey, baby, you're okay,” Tubbo whispers. He can't handle this. Boom! “Bud, how about a special trip to old man Phil? I bet he and Technoblade can help, huh?” He asks, bouncing the hybrid on his knee. All that Michael responds with is a childish sob.
His heart twists. Tubbo pulls him close, picking the kid up. He can make it to Phil and Technoblade's cabin, and then he can just…pick up where he left off with his work. You know, unless he dies.
Tubbo’s footsteps softly echo around the high ceilings, just barely audible against Micheal’s crying. “We’re going to go out to uncle Technoblade and old man Phil’s cabin, alright Micheal? They’ll know what to do,” Tubbo informs, sliding into his shoes and setting the kid down by the door. “Which coat do you want, bossman?”
Micheal hiccups, staring up at Tubbo with confusion in his eyes. For the most part, it goes unnoticed while he opens up the chest of their jackets and shoes.
“I don't want to be in storm,” Micheal says, frowning. Tubbo pulls a coat from the chest and pulls it around himself, grabbing another one for extra good measure. He zips the two up then crouches down to eye level with the piglin.
“I know, I know. We just need to get somewhere a little safer, okay? Their houses are more prepared for this,” he lies, knowing full well that while he knows the storm is coming closer, he really was orchestrating this so he could just get some quiet work time, no matter how bad he felt about it.
Micheal, at the very least, seems to buy it. “Okay…I want red, Techno color!” the piglin says, squealing in delight at his own mention of Technoblade.
“Ah, what did I expect,” he chuckles, pulling out a red raincoat from the chest and carefully pulling Micheal’s arms through each sleeve, then buttoning it up gently. Micheal flaps his hand as Tubbo pats his chest to let him know he’s ready to go. Tubbo pulls out his wellies, a blue pair to take after Tommy, (Who he’s quite sure took after Ghostbur), then hands them to micheal to fit on. In the end, Tubbo is fighting down his overwhelming guilt of letting Micheal go for the storm.
He's adorable, already abandoning fear because he looks like his uncles, (And his flaunting his excitement of the fact). Techno’s old raincoat almost pools at Micheal’s feet, the faded thing barely fitting yet somehow keeping Micheal in complete bliss.
“You look dapper,” Tubbo compliments, one last time reaching into the chest and grabbing out an umbrella before closing it. “Ready to go visit Philza, bossman?”
Ultimately, Micheal looks a little uncomfortable at the thought of going out into the storm, although the thunder has been distant recently and Tubbo can tell Micheal has registered that.
“I think!” he responds, voice wavering before gaining confidence near the end. He smiles shallowly.
With one arm, Tubbo lifts Micheal up into his hold again, the piglin snorting at the quick movement. He switches the umbrella to the hand holding Micheal and opens the front door, pulling at it until it finally opens with a pop!, leaving him stumbling at the sudden jerk. He keeps it open with his foot and steps out, shielded from the pouring rain under the thin awning. The door slams shut behind him, nearly causing him to drop the umbrella as Micheal jumps at the sound and digs his fingers into Tubbo’s already-sore sides.
He huffs out his pain and slides open the umbrella, which clicks as it locks. Tubbo raises it above their heads and steps out into the storm. Immediately, the constant stream of rain against the material above their heads pounds in Tubbo’s ears, even as damaged as they are.
Boom!
Immediately, Tubbo hears Micheal whisper under his breath: “One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—” Boom!
“Ten miles is pretty far,” Tubbo comments, trudging through the thin layer of snow that he’d just shoveled earlier today. It mixes into a sludge with the rain, crunching under his boots in a pleasing manner, something to distract him from his desire to study and his worry of making it through the path to Techno’s cabin. It also distracts him from the impending feeling like he’s being watched.
He tries to convince himself that isn't true, for the most part, even though he does give in with a quick look around his surroundings. The only thing he’s ever met with is the comfort of being alone with just him and his boy.
Wind laps around them, the thunder and lightning seemingly having passed already, the only applicable features of the storm remaining being the strong rain and the surprisingly aggressive winds. He can barely see anything, let alone hear anything outside of the wind in his ears, Micheal’s hushed shivers and whimpers, and the rain on the umbrella. All the mobs have taken a rest for the night, thankfully, but it only leaves him in suspense.
Who had eyes on him if not a zombie or a creeper?
Who was watching him from above, threatening the security of him and his son?
About halfway through the forest to Techno’s cabin, he pauses at the sound of something shuffling. Micheal hums at the motion, his attention also caught on the noise. Perhaps he would've passed it off as a victim of the storm, but it seemed too orchestrated, like something running into a bush. He tries putting it behind him, whispering a reassurance to both himself and the boy.
Tubbo makes it two steps before there's another rustle. Now, he stops. Full-fledged freezes, subconsciously holding Micheal a little closer. His grip on the umbrella handle tightens until his knuckles run pale while he spins around against the wind to look around.
The hue of something red and green catches his eye. Too large to be anyone's communicator or any of the server’s eyes. Too vibrant for a coat or anything of the sorts, too colorful for an animal, no, this was the watchful gaze of Ranboo.
It fit the description of their eyes, the giant creature often hunched low to the forest floor, said to be a nod to their connection with the Nether.
Tubbo can’t help the excitement that flares up against the fear. Ranboo was feet from him. He has been searching for so long—he finally can care about his son the way he needed to.
“Papa?” Micheal inquires, presumably noticing the way Tubbo has stopped in his tracks again.
Tubbo shushes the piglin. “Hold on for a second, bud,” he says, hiking up the kid before he slips out of his hold. Micheal seems to relax, resting his head on Tubbo’s shoulder while he waits.
Meanwhile, Tubbo stands, staring at the vibrant eyes in the foliage ahead.
“Ranboo,” he whispers. The eyes lift up a bit, like the mention of their name intrigued them. Tubbo’s spirit lightens immensely.
A crack of lightning charges through the sky, lighting it up enough for him to make out a rough outline of the crouching monster. “Woah..yeah, that's you, Ranboo!” He says slowly, more of a reassurance to himself than anything.
“You're Ranboo, right?” Tubbo calls out to the forest. The eyes disappear for a moment before reappearing as the creature blinks.
There's a small vwoop! that echoes through the forest. Micheal perks up at that, turning his head in the direction of Ranboo. Against his fingertips, even through the raincoat, Tubbo's feels as Micheal tenses up.
“What's that?!” the kid demands, fear inflicted in his voice. His pink fur has risen at the fear he emits.
“It's nothing to be afraid of, just an important thing I've been looking for,” he informs the kid. Micheal doesn't seem to relax.
Ranvoo releases another vwoop! which is shadowed with a glk! that echoes from their throat.
Suddenly, a thick tail with a furry, split-colored tuft is extending from the forest and into the clearing, rising high above them before, strangely prehensile as it curls around Micheal’s small form, somehow breaking the boy's contact with Tubbo. Micheal squeals at it, crying out for his dad. Before he has the time to react, Micheal is plucked from his grasp and swept up in Ranboo's tail, becoming a speck of pink amongst a sea of black and white.
“Hey! What the fuck?!” Tubbo yells, immediately dropping the umbrella to run after the retracting tail. The rain pours into him immediately, wind rushing in his ears and pushing him as he trails after Micheal quickly. He stumbles over his feet, ankles rolling at his attempts to stay sturdy in snow.
Tubbo can just barely hear Micheal’s panicked squeals and snorts while re-entering the forest, quickly behind the tail as he runs uselessly towards his son. “Ran-Ranboo! Sir–um, oh my god, surely you doing need to do that!” Tubbo calls up, watching from the shadows as Micheal is lifted effortlessly into Ranboo's two-finger hold, dangling him in open air, infuriatingly oblivious to his panic and sobs.
Tubbo’s heart sinks when he watches through another streak of lightning illumates the forest around them, as his son is drawn to Ranboo’s open maw, a fit of sobs and garbled calls for his dad and screams to stop.
Immediately, he runs closer to the giant, who’s still crouched over the clearing.
“Oh god, oh my god, what the—RANBOO!” Tubbo yells, hands cupped over his mouth desperately. Rain pours down into him as he runs, causing him to stumble in the mud. As he approaches, he realizes quickly he can barely reach the edge of Ranboo's leg despite his immediate attempts to jump at it, and at another clap of thunder and bolt of lightning, he’s craning his neck in horror as he watches a lump in the deity’s throat travel down.
—–—
taglist: @i-am-beckyu, @skullsnbruises, @nobodywritingao3, @krazycat49, @da3dm, @a-xyz-s // taglist request
#brickquiries#anon brickling#mw#brickfic#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#t!micheal#t!tubbo#g!ranboo#tw vore#safe vore
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You say you want prompts….
What if the giant who used to be quiet (maybe for not so good reasons) but came out of their shell with the help of their tiny has a short relapse where they completely don’t talk and the tiny is just there to help
Perhaps g!Ranboo with t!Tommy or t!Tubbo (or whoever I just want fluff—)
speedwriting on vacation? speedwriting on vacation.
i was gonna wait for you
wc: 1849
cw: swearing, panic, brief mutism (is that the right word? the internet gave me it), mention of (sfw) vore/mouthplay
—–—
Ranboo is going to murder him.
Tommy stumbles against the lapping wind, which pushes at his cheeks and makes them like ice. Rain patters onto him, each drop like a bucket being dropped on his head.
Shivering, he pulls his coat around him, trying to act like it wasn’t already drenched. He stumbles again, adjusting his footing right before toppling over. A blurry light shines in the distance, through an array of trees with branches that clash loudly with one another. With each of his steps, above the sounds of the wind and pouring rain, there’s a faint clicking noise. Prior to going out into the belly of the storm, Tommy had been occupied shoveling handfuls of rocks into his pocket to assure he wouldn’t get swept into the night by the gale.
The tiny made his way through the clearing, the light of the house growing nearer at an agitating pace, and by the time he finds footing on the pathway to his hole in the wall, the rain has seemed to disperse a little. He scrunches his hair up and water seeps from it, the same as he pinches the fabric of his coat.
For the most part, the house seemed sleepy enough. Maybe he could get to bed before Ranboo confronts him. He treks the path, his soaked and muddy shoes sliding along the floor and nearly having him fall over enough times for him to discard them at their third murder attempt at him.
The rest of the way was quick, until he finally reached his nook. The lights were out, just as he had left them. He squints in the darkness, feeling his way through the area before collapsing on a makeshift couch. He sighs, pulling his coat off and tossing it to the side with a squelch. He cringes at it, then decides he should probably do something about the wet mess he could call himself.
He gets off the couch and flicks his lights on, which flicker for a moment before lighting the space up in warm lighting while projecting star-shaped shadows on the wall. He grabs his jacket from the floor and hangs it up, positioning a portion of a towel, (courtesy of Ranboo), underneath it to collect the fallen raindrops.
Doing the same with his shirt, he then hovers over a basket of clean and dry clothes.
Tommy is mid-way through struggling on a makeshift hoodie before a soft sob carries through into the walls.
He—not before adjusting the shirt on him—pauses, interest piquing at the sound. Ranboo?, his mind supplies, thoughts of the human’s reaction to his disappearance already filtering through his thoughts. At another sob, Tommy promptly replaces his pants and hurries down the hall to the opening in the kitchen.
Stepping out onto the counter, it wasn't hard to spot Ranboo, curled up on his couch, staring blankly out onto the floor, shuddering occasionally as the post-cry hiccups settled in.
Tommy’s seen that gaze before.
Guilt bubbles in his gut, the feeling in him as he remembers seeing Ranboo look like that, quiet and still after events regarding another borrower they had scared off. Tommy had gone to talk them out of the demeanor and in the process befriended them, and now months down the line they stare at the floor the same way they had back then. It didn't take much for Tommy to recognize that the trance he’d put the human in traced back to none other than himself.
He sighs, arms crossing instinctually as he begins to adjust to a plan. Water drips inaudibly from his soaked hair, tracing down his face and dripping down his bare arms, a small puddle forming at his feet before he takes off again, along the length of the counter, (While clambering through stray things on its surface), until he reaches the edge of it, then steps off to an installed plank for him to walk along, the thing narrow and uneven although plentifully useful.
Tommy passes through Ranboo’s excuse of a dining area and then into the living room, silent as he can as to not disturb Ranboo into panicking further. The human’s head rests on the couch with their hands folded solemnly over the edge of the couch.
While sturdily inching his way down the pathway, Tommy debates on calling out to his friend, his mouth opening and closing with ‘Ranboo!’ stuck on the tip of his tongue.
He sucks it up and stops in his tracks momentarily, cupping his water-wrinkled hands over his mouth and yelling out a fond: “Ranboo! My guy!”
Ranboo’s still for a moment, Tommy narrowing his eyes at the scene before opening them up again as he human shuffles up from the couch and looks around for the borrower. He waves, attracting their attention towards Tommy. Ranboo’s eyes soften instantly, though they make no move for their little friend.
Tommy, not knowing what to do with such a distance recognition as Ranboo’s, fills the silence.
“Oh, man, Ranboo, that storm out there,” Tommy starts, groaning for emphasis while continuing down the path to the, (still half-frozen), human, “I fucking went across the clearing for acorns, they're in season and I figured …. uh, well, I didn't really have s plan, but then it became fucking dark as shit and only at sundown, so I filled my pockets with rocks so I wouldn't blow away, I—”
“Were you leaving me?” Ranboo says, cutting Tommy off purely in relief. His voice is quiet, nearly cracking had he spent any more time crying.
“What?” Tommy asks, dumbfounded at the question. By now, he’s halfway across the floor of Ranboo’s floor; halfway to the couch.
“You left, and I have to ask if it was because of me,” Ranboo repeats, more emphasis and his voice a little louder, though Tommy doubts any lift in Ranboo’s demeanor.
Tommy shakes his head, knowing well Ranboo couldn't see it but perhaps as a reassurance to himself.
“No, no! Dickhead do you really think I’d do that? Ranboo, I wouldn't have came back if I was leaving you,” Tommy says, scoffing half-heartedly before adding a swift: “which I wasn't.”
Ranboo hums, still making no move to welcome home the borrower, who stands below his outstretched hands awaiting any kind of movement.
“Jack was a one time thing, he just got scared, like the ass he is,” Tommy continued on. He stands, folding his arms over his torso impatiently despite knowing he shouldn't be worried about the status of his stance.
At the most, Tommy can barely reach the tip of Ranboo’s finger no matter how much he extends his height.
Falling back down onto his heels, Tommy huffs. “One time, I walked in on Jack borrowing food and he thought I was a human. Scared the shit out of him for sure, like a human could come from the other side of the cabinet.”
Ranboo stays quiet.
“...can you let me up?” Tommy asks, finally. Much to his dismay, he’s met with an immediate response that almost seems mindless. Ranboo’s hand inches down barely, though enough for Tommy to cling onto him. Secure, Ranboo says nothing as he brings the borrower up to the couch, resting on the unoccupied side of the pillow that he had been resting on.
Tommy then adjusts to the uneven surface and looks up at Ranboo, who's face is covered, the strap of their seeming mask the only thing he can make out. They put the mask back on.
(Regarding the incident of Jack, Ranboo had sulked around the house in a mask. He never understood why and never cared to question it after he took it off, and now he doesn't have the gut to ask now.)
“I'm back, aren't I? I still touched your abnormally long fingers,” Tommy points out, partially because he wanted out of his thoughts. Ranboo doesn't crack a smile at his thrown-together humor. Or, at least he assumes they don't as the mask obscures the one prominent indicator.
Tommy pulls his lips to the side in thought, eyes narrow at the quiet human. “If I took the mask off and climbed inside your mouth would you move enough to spit me out?”
Ranboo’s brows crease through strands of their hair. Tommy considers this progress.
“Ranboo,” Tommy starts, something of a distant phrase stuck in his throat. His voice runs dry and his pride pulls at him to Shut The Fuck Up, but his heart doesn't care.“I'm sorry,” he says, a weight lifted from him even though he knows he shouldn't be the one being relieved, “I knew you were awake, or whatever you were doing, and I left during a storm and even then I hadn't came back and I guess it was shitty on my end. Sorry.”
There's a pause, and a longer pause, and …. it doesn't take long for Tommy to realize the pause was simply Ranboo ignoring the borrower.
He doesn't know why, although that silence hit him graver than any other. Like months of tangling has been undone by a simple stroke. An apology from him has been left to disperse into only a fine memory of Tommy’s that leaves him remembering how kind he had been and how passive Ranboo had been. (Even so, he still has the emotions to amplify that he was more than hurt at the absence of a response.)
“Fine. Dick.” It's back to wit. “I'm going to jump off the couch since you don't want to fucking talk to me,” Tommy murmurs, turning on his heel and making less than a grand exit than he would've liked. (Not as if Ranboo's attention was on him.)
He slides off of the pillow, then close to the cliff that was the edge of the couch. Staring down at it, he considers the fall. Couldn't result in death, therefore leading him further and further until he decides to quip out a curious: “Oh, goodbye ole’ Ranboo, he-who-won't-talk-to-me.”
At his last syllable he steps from the couch, praying to Prime as the ground comes closer that he comes out of this with no less than an injury. Before he could hit the ground, just as he had presumed, he’s caught as lengthy cold fingers trap him and he’s stopped from the fall. Ranboo’s grip on him tightens ever-so-gently and he can make out his return to the couch.
Ranboo hums, the smallest of noises he’s heard all evening.
Instead of being let out, Tommy body pulses with warmth all around him as he’s engulfed in a darkness, a beating heart just moments away from him. He groans at their grip, yet makes no move away from the crease in his friend's neck, which radiates warmth and vibrates softly, almost silent had he not been pressed against their throat.
“Thank you, for not leaving me,” Ranboo whispers. It echoes from where he sat against their throat.
Through his urge of wit and of sarcasm, Tommy only has the mind to respond, loud and clear and in full honesty, with: “I wouldn't do that.”
—–—
#brickquiries#sloth brickling#sloth my beloved \o/#mw#brickfic#short prompt series#<- well it kinda turned into a long fic#cw vore mention#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#t!tommy#tiny!tommy#g!ranboo#giant!ranboo
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"they frantically shoved another handful of swedish fish in their mouth"
rhhrhrhrh i had trouble with this but now i got it all figured out! i also switched the characters so many times and we eventually ended up with bedrockbros so yippeee ! ?
blinded by imperfect form
wc: 589
cw: intrusive thoughts, uninvited vore-related instincts, swearing
—–—
Light from the television hung lowly over Tommy's face, which Techno had only noticed because....well, because he was watching Tommy. Not stalking him, or plotting his murder, just, Tommy was in eyeshot, and he was small, and Techno happened to have rather entitled voices holding Tommy and his fragile form captive, and he found it soothing to watch the way the tiny moved.
The tiny was propped on a pillow supported by Techno's legs, who laid along the couch with a blanket keeping him warm from the winter air. The rest of the blanket had ended up around Tommy, who leant into it like he owned it.
And that was partially true, because some part of him had picked apart a sewing hobby over a boring coarse of life and decided it was worth it to present the boy with a gift.
Only, again, because of his voices.
Normally he wouldn't indulge in the activities his voices prompted, but this seemed harmless enough; it's not like Tommy was bothered by giant gifts and the occasional prowl.
Speaking of which, Tommy had seemed to tear his attention from the screen (which was playing Moana on a very convincing three-step plan that Techno had ended up giving into on account of his own pity of Tommy) to ask Techno for another piece of food.
Instead of asking, he stopped short and tensed at the intent eye-contact from Techno.
"Uh, Techno?" Tommy asks.
Techno's eyes never falter around Tommy as he responds. "Hh, yep?"
"Any reason you've decided to stare at me 'n shit?"
Techno shrugs. "You're unusually small, if you haven't noticed. Don't wanna lose you, Phil'd have something strong to say about that," he says. Okay, it had been made up on the spot, but it's not as if Tommy was anything unfamiliar with his voices, although admitting of his instincts only dug an opportunity for embarrassment.
Tommy blinks. "Wh– Techno I'm not gonna fall or something! I'm not fucking stupid," Tommy says, defensively.
It would be much easier for him to not fall if he was somewhere safer, a voice muses as his eyes drift onto the floor; more importantly the tumbling fall that'd injure the tiny without a second thought.
"Whatever, 'Creep-no-blade', I want food," Tommy demands, just as Techno had assumed.
"Yeah? And what food would that be?" he asks, eyes finding the various bags of snacks that had accumulated near Techno.
"Uh..." Tommy trails off as he gazes over his options: popcorn, Swedish Fish, M&M's, chip's, and... oh, well, there was a bag of donuts.
As Tommy decides, a voice chimes in with an peskily persuasive reminder as to what he wants for a snack.
"Techno? You with me, big man?" Tommy asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. He swallows, for the first time in a long time feeling genuine uncertainty.
"Ah, I hope so. What'd you say?"
"Popcorn," Tommy repeats.
He obliges, digging into the bag of popcorn and grabbing a piece, then handing it over to Tommy. The tiny's hands grab at it, two needed to support the almost air-like weight of it.
How easy it would be to grab Tommy right there and put him where he needs to be.
Techno's throat swallows impulsively as he imagines Tommy travelling down his gullet and finding a soft spot in his storage.
Instantly, upon his now-troubled self, he ignores his impulsivities and grabs at a bag beside him, frantically shoving a handful of Swedish Fish into his mouth to try and dampen his urges.
—–—
#brickquiries#brickfic#drabbles#anon brickling#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#t!tommy#g!techno#cw vore mention#ahhhh i love some instinct-ridden technoblade <3#thanks for the prompt! :3
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Oo, oh, I've got one! This is a sentence I thought of a while back for like a g/t scenario, but I've never used it. Go nuts, dude.
"I don't eat people. It's bad for the digestion."
(you pick the characters, ig? I don't have any in mind, other than the giant being Dream)
-Bat
hi bat :D thank you for the prompt, sorry it took so long eueue
(THIS IS NOT FATAL VORE ITS JUST MY LAZY TITLE)
digestion
wc: 678
cw: mention of vore, mention of harassment, slight panic
—–—
George, the first time he took to cleaning the East wing of the prison, had felt a true infliction of fear. There had been a constant of eyes on him from the towering felon's who's predatory features had seemed most prominent in the moonlight, which had filtered through the little amount of natural light in their cells, illuminating their giant bodies and sharp fangs and claws. It was hard not to shudder at the constant string of loud, echoing curses, begs, and catcalls.
The longer he did it, the easier he found it to tune out the voices, sometimes simply looking the other way and refusing to respond, while other times he'd bring headphones and play music as loud as it went. Over time, the giants chimed down too, still sitting up at George's arrival, but they stopped calling his name, (Not that they knew it, they mainly called him 'little guy' or 'human'), and they, for the most part, just wanted to partake in conversation with him.
He promptly ignored it.
Then, a new prisoner was presented to the East wing, placed in the cell at the far end of the hallway, locked away with one of the more persistent giants. He kept lingering his gaze down the hallway as he mopped at the floors, and by the time he reached it, there was something of relief in him, though shadowing behind it was uncertainty.
He picked up his work, parking the cart with water in it and squishing down the mop onto the floor. The movement strains his arms, especially after a three hour's work of the same constant back-and-forth pattern.
The strain didn't bother him, not as he was more interested in the cell than anything. This one wasn't cut off at the bottom with a stone wall, it was just blocked with ceiling-to-floor bars. George usually stayed away from getting close to the door for fear of the giant grabbing him. But now, it offered a plentiful good view of the entirety of the small room. There were two beds as opposed to the previous one, a toilet, and two organizers at the end of each bed. In the left bed, the original giant was asleep, leg falling off one end of the bed and long black hair an absolute mess.
Though, as he searches the other bed, he finds it empty. It wasn't until he heard a loud, scratchy voice that he realized the new guy was sitting right by the cell door.
"Do you think I could, like, have that water when you're done?"
George shrieks, jumping, nearly losing grip on the mop as he spins around to meet the too-close-for-comfort giant.
He can hear as the giant struggles down a lose laugh at George's fear. "Sorry—what do you want?"
"Your water," the giant reiterates, pointing vaguely in the vicinity of the parked cart of soapy, dirty water. George grimaces.
"Why?"
The giant shrugs, the action barely visible in the low light. "My hands are sticky from dinner, they're gross."
"Why didn't you just wash your hands?" George asks, dipping the mop back into the water and pulling it out again to start on a new patch of flooring.
The giant doesn't respond, something of an amused huff leaving their lips instead. George shudders uncomfortably.
"Look-can I have the water or not?"
The mop squeaks on the tile while George decides on his response. "I mean, if I bring it to you, how do I know you won't, like, try to eat me?"
The giant makes a weird noise at that. "I don't eat people, it's bad for the digestion."
George returns the weird noise. "Uhm—" he cuts himself off, looking at the water. He sighs, shrugs, then reaches over to roll it closer to the cell. It skids against the wet floor, but George manages to get it to the bars, then carefully pushes it through the bars to avoid being easily accessible to the giants' hands. "There, I guess," he says, holding the mop awkwardly in both of his hands.
#brickquiries#bat brickling#mw#brickfic#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#t!george#g!dream#unmentioned g!sapnap#short prompt series
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Little bird hybrid Tommy and cat hybrid Wilbur but Wilbur loves his little son :)
(don't worry lol it's fine)
hi sorry this took years and years and years and years something in the air made me want to write so i finally did :D
also wilbur is a catshifter cause it fit better mmmgfmds
but they say it came out of a small thing
cw: panic ?
wc: 874
—–—
His brain is working, it's letting him shift and letting him pounce to the forest floor, it’s letting him pick sticks up, but he doesn't think that anything about what his brain is telling him to do is logical nor sustainable. In short: Wilbur doesn’t know what he’s doing.
One rule set in place, no attachments, (Perhaps a common one amongst his kind), and the only thing to have ever gone wrong. Tommy hadn't been anywhere near him when he had gotten the urge to drift to the scent of a bobcat, which he had been eager to avoid at the time. He had managed to save Tommy, a tiny avian nearly tangled in the grasp of the feline. He himself had been a cat at the rescue of the tiny, one that conjured up a fight from the little bird.
Days later, (And many more intentional meetings), Wilbur had a strange string in his chest pulling at his feline body, not the one that controls his shifts but another one, just as personal yet undefined.
It made him feel strangely inclined to collect twigs.
Tommy had no problem with such a thing, instead welcoming at the offering of help from his newfound friend. Wilbur just had to get used to the feeling of being a cat for longer than an hour. He never used the form for much other than exploration, the rest of his time he assumed the profile of Wilbur Soot, a local musician in the bustling city he lived in.
His cat form offered much more adventure, albeit ones that ended in enforcement of the things he preferred to not participate in.
Like Tommy. Especially making Tommy a nest.
Perhaps Wilbur had been a little too caught up in his debate to notice as the avian steps closer to the edge of the branch, murmuring about every other thing that comes to his mind. Wilbur had been half-listening, chirping smally in response but mainly occupied with the precision of his nest job.
With each satisfying twine of said nest, he’d leap from the branch and land on his paws, then pad off to colllect more sticks and scale the trunk of the tree, adjusting the positions of the twines and repeating the process, leaving Tommy to his own devices.
In what world would (wary) Wilbur have ever considered doing that? It only results in the same outcome:
Tommy’s rambles are cut off with a loud yelp which draws out into a scream, a sound of terror that makes the fur on Wilbur’s neck stand. He turns his head back, carefully balancing his way over to the branch in search of Tommy, eyes as wide as they could be and an unsure whine in the back of his throat. Below him, a miniature splash spills into his ears and suddenly his paws are walking for him, right off the edge of the branch and into open air, panic rising in him that causes a shift mid-air, his form lengthening and causing more of a splash than his cat-self would have.
Through kicking his feet in a panic, he quickly— while still submerged in the river— shifts back and paddles back up to the top. The feeling of water soaking into his fur makes him internally cringe, the extra weight nearly dragging him down.
He spots Tommy easily, (Giant red wings couldn't have made it hard), the tiny looking around for what Wilbur could only assume to be either Wilbur or the culprit of the splash, (Also Wilbur). His wings flutter wildly the longer Tommy fights to stay above the surface. Wilbur paddles closer to the avian, meowing in concern, (And irritation), at the way he flails.
“Oh—fuck, come here, uh, cat, I completely think there's a human here and I don't think I'm the most skilled swimmer,” Tommy pleads, swirling his fingers together to attract Wilbur as if he wasn't swimming directly Tommy’s way.
He approached, ducking his head so he can get a grip of the back of Tommy’s shirt, picking him up gently and continuing to paddle his way to shore.
“Thanks big man,” Tommy applauds, out of breath. Suddenly, he’s reaching back to stroke Wilbur’s nose. He purrs at the action.
Finally, the depths of the water seem to disperse and he finds his footing on the river bed, then up onto the grassy forest floor. Tommy murmurs something about being let down, but Wilbur promptly ignores it and scouts out their tree, an easy find considering the bark of it had claw marks from Wilbur’s failed attempts at agility.
Wilbur pounces, latching onto the trunk and carefully climbing up it, tail out for balance and his ears pulled back as he concentrates. He strays to the side as a familiar branch catches his attention, a bundle of twines and leaves settled midway along the branch.
The avian struggles out of his bite and falls into the cushioned nest. Wilbur sits beside the boy and considers doing something, but only stares at Tommy as he situates himself.
Wilbur jumps from the branch and lands on his paws. and without a glance back he finds his way back to his home. He has got to stop seeing this tiny.
—–—
#brickquiries#squishy brickling#squishy my beloved ^^#mw#short prompt series#brickfic#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#t!tommy#tiny!tommy#g!wilbur#giant!wilbur
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BRICK HAVE YOU SEEN RISE OF YHE GUARDIANS
NEIN I HAVE NOT!
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Favorite Dsmp duo and favorite trope
my favorite dsmp duo changes depending on what it’s for, but, for g/t, my favorite duo is easily t!george or g!dream (or vice versa,,,)
my favorite trope changes so often !! right now, though, i think it's a giant seeming eerie and terrifying, despite them trying to be funny/playful. and they've got no idea the tiny is scared shitless :)
(unintentional fearplay lol)
i saw a video about manhunt in george's pov and it was super cool so obviously i gotta make it g/t 😎 (this video should definitely be watched beforehand cause my descriptions are slacking lol)
soooo have this lil thing :D
(also have the tiktok cause damn it’s awesome)
oh george~
tw: vore, un/intentional fearplay (kinda both), panic/hyperventilation
wc: 1614
—–—
First hunter, first to die. That seemed like a false statement, but, after having been through this very thing innumerable times, George can only stand face-to-face with agreement. While he may have had more experience with Dream as a person, he has had no change in his agility or stamina since the very first time they’d tried this rather irritating game. To go against a giant, for him, would be welcoming his demise with open arms. And while he’s done it before, he is not looking for a second death when they’re only less than half an hour into the hunt. So, he’s taken a shortcut.
Water splashed around him as his boots collided with the ground under the river rushing harshly downstream. A subtle wave of pain traveled through his body as he took a hint of damage. He steadied himself, keeping himself from falling directly into the strong water.
“Geoorge~”
George froze at the calling of his name, a flutter in his stomach erupting instantly. His hands inches to his pathetic excuse of a weapon: a dull wooden sword that he was lucky enough to craft in the short time span he was given. His breathing picked up, creating an eerie echo. George’s eyes couldn’t seem to find a resting place as they looked every-which-way, darting from cavern to crevice to wildlife as he tried to find even a clue that Dream was nearby. He’d not expected to be followed after his death. In fact, he wasn’t aware that Dream knew where he was at all, especially considering the fact that he’d looked rather busy with the other four members of his party.
“I’m gonna kill you, George!” Dream laughed softly. He sounded delighted to speak these words, like it was a pleasure to create pain for the hunter. George panted, finally pulling the weapon from where it rested on his side. His knuckles became white from the intense grip he had on the handle, but, despite the pain, he stuck to the grasp. George’s mind begged him to crouch in the small indent in the stone ‘wall’, however he knew there would be no use in hiding from Dream. It’ll simply be taunt, after taunt, after taunt, until he forces George out. That being through mental manipulation or Earthly damage. He stayed put. As if any kind of defense he attempted would truly wound the giant enough to disable him.
George looked up, taking in the scenery before he’d be momentarily visiting the afterlife. The tip of the ravine was littered in green trees, a sign of early Spring. George looked down when a branch snapped from the water, startling him out of his gaze. “George,” Dream drawled. He sounded like a child calling for a cat, or perhaps a cat calling for a mouse. George’s panicked respires returned once more, and fear laced his body once again.
He aimlessly spun at a slow speed, eyeing the rock formations above him. He exhaled shakily.
“Where, oh where, is Georgenotfound?~” Dream said in a sing-songy tone of voice, his words soft, taunting. It sounded far too close to a doll with a whiny old voice box.
George continued his mindless movements and uncontrollable hyperventilation as he stood there in nothing but anticipation. Dream’s mask, his voice, any sign of him, really. Or, just simply his demise. Perhaps a boulder or a tree. George shuddered, then exhaled shakily at the thought of being in such a vulnerable position, and still, although he told himself otherwise, kept drifting towards the only thing that could really be called safety.
George was startled into looking elsewhere for the second time, as the subtle sound of stone hitting stone resonated in the thin space. He caught sight of it instantly, watching as little more than a pebble drifted downwards from the very top of the ravine. George’s heart sunk, and somehow his deathly grip on the weapon became significantly stronger. He inhaled, trying to gather what little confidence he had remaining.
Dream laughed. And, it wasn’t a lighthearted, amused laugh. It was a taunt, with a tone so similar to the last sentence he spoke. If nothing else made him frightened, it would now be this. It echoed around the canyon a hundredfold, adding to the eeriness his repeated pants created. A string of swears flowed through his mind, just as the water did. The sound rang in his mind, efficiently giving him more goosebumps than he could grasp. Every time he thought the wretched echoes of a laugh had finally taken their leave, he’d just shudder again. Until, eventually, it did stop. As the very last, unfortunately loud, vibration of Dream’s voice bounced back and forth from stone wall to stone wall, Dream spoke up again, “Come here, George!”
A shadow fell over where he stood. George knew painfully well what was to come. He directed his worried eyes upwards, instantly dropping the wooden sword as he stared with intense eyes at the hand coming at him at a speed far too quick. “No!” George yelped, screamed, as skin was all he could see. He had yet to properly register what was happening, until four fingers were closing over him like a cage, with Dream’s thumb securing him to the palm, as if somehow he could attempt, or even successfully, make an escape.
George huffed, freeing one of his arms from the gentle, yet firm, grip Dream had on him. He drew his hand to his face, pulling up the goggles that cover his eyes. And, right as he did so, sunlight drifted back onto his tiny form, welcoming him with a ripple of fresh air. He gasped, struggling against the thumb. “Hi, George,” Dream undoubtedly grinned behind the awful mask that covered his face. “Dream, you are so annoying, put me down,” He didn’t have it in him to be scared. George’s memory was not awful, he knew that Dream had four other human’s to be worried about. He knew that, when he died, he was paying attention to them. But, now, he’s here, distracting both himself and George.
Dream tilted his hand so that it was laying flat, then positioned his fingers so he was able to give George free room to move, while still creating somewhat of a barrier against him. “Why are you bothering me? Shouldn’t you be like…hiding?”
“You were…far easier to get to.”
George rolled his eyes, shifting upwards.
Dream rose a hand to his face, gripping onto the edge of the mask to pull it upwards, only to where his mouth was visible. George scrambled back into the fingers, instantly knowing exactly what was happening. “Dream, seriously, you are so annoying. Put me down,” He muttered, trying unfortunately hard to cover the shake in his voice.
“Why? You’re just going to die if I do. I’m just keeping you safe, George,” Dream hummed, opening his maw and drawing George closer to it. He titled his hand, and even though he tried his utmost hardest to avoid falling into Dream’s open mouth, he failed, and gravity did its terrible job of making George tumble past a row of too-sharp teeth and right onto his friend’s tongue with a small groan of protest.
“Dream!” He called out, watching with a frown as he saw he now was covered in darkness. He sat up, then slowly rose to his feet. The surface under him, or rather the wet muscle under him, twitched as he tried his share at walking along it. Instead of making it more than five steps, however, he instead stumbled back down.
George yelped as he was tossed to the side of Dream’s mouth; his cheek. The very same tongue he was on just a moment before prodded at him, coating him in a disgusting layer of saliva. He groaned, “Dream, you’re actually disgusting–” George stood there, at a total loss for words as he felt a familiar feeling of revulsion circulating inside of him. Then, after a short second, his body was unwillingly being moved to a different area. He somehow ended up situated atop Dream’s tongue again, more saliva pooling under him. He nearly gagged at the sticky feeling. “Dream, please, let me out of here, it’s disgusting,” he tried.
Technically, he was met with a response. Just, not the one he particularly wanted.
Instead of being spat back out into the outside world, into a space where spit wasn’t actively dripping down onto him, he found himself tilting down again. He yelped again, trying to dig his nails into the muscle. However, he realized a moment too late that they were too dull to do anything useful. So, instead of saving himself from a very uncomfortable few hours, he fell effortlessly down into Dream’s throat, where only one swallow was what it took to send him traveling down a tight gullet, where he could hear the sounds of his friend’s body echoing around him just as the very same friends’ voice had echoed around the ravine.
And, like that, he was in the place he absolutely despised.
George landed in Dream’s storage quickly, where he found that there still was an uncomfortable humidity in the room, along with the usual sticky-ness of the ‘walls’ around him. George huffed, folding his arms tightly as he found a place to rest for the rest of the evening. “I hate you.” George murmured quietly, breaking his annoyed facade (that only he could really see,) to prop himself up against the wall. His hands slid down as he tried to pull himself upwards. He nearly gagged again, shuddering at the uncomfortable feeling.
George can’t help but hope the hunters win.
_________ ׂׂ
gross, i used ‘~’ /j
^^ i rarely use that. today is a special occasion :)
i love this i this love this
i speedwrote it while waiting for the dteam vlog but STILL >:D
also dream’s dialogue up until when dre catches george is not mine and is from the video !!!! ⚠️⚠️
#mw#brickfic#oh george#cw vore#g!dream#t!george#mm i was so excited for this i just love the plot sm#the writing isnt even that good i just love the fact that i wrote myself a comfort fic lol#brickquiries#orchid-harmony#prompt ask game#brickquiries games#mcyt g/t#g/t#dsmp g/t#dream smp g/t#gt#dsmp gt#i gotta fix the way i write george#i don't think he would be too scared for some of this#i tried my best 😒#orchiddd thank you for the ask :D
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Just Giant!Wilbur seeing Tiny!Tommy and getting the urge to grab him
*ahem* what better way to answer this than with tiny workers?
YEAH. tw drabbles!!!! i craaave them and then i went...oh...i can make this canon! i OWN the au! :D
don't talk so much
cw: nothing? i think. slight impulsive thoughts n swearing,,,,
wc: 324 (not very lengthy. sorry eueu)
—–—
Tommy was basically asking for it at this point.
As Wilbur scrolled through the park's app with his hand hung over the top of his phone to block the sun from making it unreadable, Tommy paces along the stone slab they'd taken a seat on, arms flailing wildly as he talks about some recent life event that Wilbur had accidentally let him talk about while he'd been distracted.
It plays with the corner of his vision, distracting him every two seconds as he's trying to find wait times.
"Wilbur!" Tommy calls up, his pacing form having slowed and is now staring up at him, hands cupped at his face to gain volume. Wilbur startles, looking down at the tiny.
"What?"
"Have you heard of the bunker yet?" Tommy asks, presumably not for the first time.
Wilbur shrugs. "I don't believe I have," he murmurs, turning his attention back to his screen, which is now his messages with his brother as he tries to get Techno off his case about needing so many car rides to and from the park.
"Oh. Well, it..." Tommy's voice fades into the background as Wilbur taps at his screen to respond.
After a passing minute, he's being dragged out of his phone again. The movement from the corner of his eye has been overbearing for a while now, but finally, he's tired of it.
On a whim, he sets his phone down and makes a move for the tiny, hands swiping him off of the stone and into a loose fist, (although Tommy yells like it is), staring at him, unimpressed.
"Oi! Dickhead," Tommy whines.
"You were fucking with my vision, I had to do something," Wilbur complains, stuffing the tiny boy into his front pocket and shuffling up from the bench.
Despite Wilbur making an effort to push him down into the pocket, he pops right back up, his blond curls appearing from the corner of his vision.
—–—
#brickquiries#orchid brickling#orchid my belovedd#brickfic#drabbles#short prompt series#tiny workers au#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#t!tommy#g!wilbur
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Story time! Ranboo and tubbo adopt tiny!Michael after finding him in the streets on their way home. Soon, it becomes obvious that Michael had been abused the last time he was adopted, now ranboo and tubbo, make it their mission to help Michael and be the best parents.
Bonus if there's noms involved, but only if you want
AHHH this is really cute! i have so so so so so so SOOOO many beeduo/bee n boo family prompts so i'm just gonna respond to this in bullet points!
tubbo and ranboo had been lingering around a human neighborhood just to make sure one of their human friends (tommy) got home safely
after they watched tommy get home, they make their way back to their own giant neighborhood.
on the walk back, ranboo picks up a scent but thinks nothing of it. that is, until tubbo speaks up about the very same thing.
so they're not really panicking cause yk they were just near humans, but even as they finally got back to their neighborhood, they still picked up on the smell.
the two look around, then after a while they find a tiny micheal, who had been struggling to keep up with the giants' footsteps but finally got the attention of the two giants and immediately started motioning to be picked up.
the two were unsure at first, but it seemed harmless so tubbo picks the kid up. the very first thing they notice is the bruises, cuts, and scars covering his skin. and the little sobs and bloodshot eyes from the kid aren't anything to help the obvious hypothesis that the kid had been less than lucky with a family.
despite their hesitance and general lack of knowledge about children, especially young humans, they take the kid back to their house and try to patch him up. it goes well, except for the fact that the kid barely talks, even though he looks the age where he should.
a few days later and the pair have made a little progress. they've adorned the kid with a name and have seen improvement in the injuries.
then, one day, tommy comes over unprompted. it was a startling discovery considering that tubbo and ranboo always make an effort to save tommy the trouble and danger of walking through giant territory. but, tommy seemed persistent with his dire need to come over. apparently, some adult had been parading the streets yelling out for a kid and proceeding to knock on every door in search of them. tommy decided to leave before the "obviously drunk, and really loud drugged up dude" got to his place.
anyone feel free to use this! i WOULD write but i just have been soo out of it and just never want to touch google docs for a good few days. thank you for the idea tho! maybe i'll attempt some art, no promises tho cause the creative juices are really scarce 😓
#brickquiries#anon brickling#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#t!micheal#t!tommy#g!tubbo#g!ranboo#i didn't really touch on any of micheal's responses to being abused cause idk it didn't strike my mind. i'm SO tired AAAAA
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I will def be sending more but a lil tied up atm so here is the first one I thought of.
Why is it that Humans always end up with odd socks?
Could it be that perhaps a small tiny finds humour in watching the Human bend over backwards trying to find the missing sock?
(You can do any characters but I think a tiny Tommy stealing socks to prank people would be hilarious! Or maybe even tiny bench trio stealing everyones socks :3 go wild Brick!!!)
ahhh becky thank you! this is a very cute idea :D i'm tackling all the fluffy ideas first because it's easy to keep those short dsfjfsfjd
(might make this a multi-parter or an au because i think i jumped the gun with how quick tommy was found. lmk!)
i'll be unclean, i'll be obscene
cw: swearing, brief panic
wc: 784
—–—
One, two, three, four, five, ah, so on—he's bored now.
Point is: he's doing good. While his little sock-stealing hobby had begun when he'd simply needed the material, he had lived through the humans' frantic responses to when he took only one, and he found the scene to be rather amusing, which immediately struck up an urge to do it just purely for the hysteria it caused.
Now, five months down the line, he's got a healthy stash of mitch-matched socks that sit in unused hallways until he's ready to give them back. His decision to is always spiritic; one day he may decide to toss it somewhere, another day he'll return it to it's exact place, and occasionally he'll keep it to give into his greedy urges.
Tommy usually only does it because a human pisses him off. He can't say he particularly knows the human he's housing with, and he can't say that he can tell them apart all of the time, and technically, he doesn't really know their names apart from an occasional yell that's too incoherent for him to make out, (Techno? That couldn't be right), but he does know who irritates him: all of them.
Living in a house with a middle-aged man and two young adults drew a tough situation; things were either too messy to be considered his time, (Seriously, how is he meant to make a beeline to the thing he wants if it's blocked off by fucking mountains of clothing and trash? Gross as shit.), or too tidy to be able to be hidden in case of an emergency.
Which is why they get on his nerves, hence why he doesn't find it harmless to steal a few socks every now and then!
As of late, a human had obscured his view of the house with a shopping bag, (Which he used for safety), , but not for food—for clothing. The tall one. Wil? Wilba?
So, off he went, down the ramp leading to his spot in the walls and straight through the dim walls, where he followed the path from muscle memory, (The brown-haired human pissed him off a lot), until he saw an opening.
He steps out, smothered by half-darkness and half-light. The hole in the wall was under Wilbur's bed, hidden behind where Wilbur usually kept his guitar.
It was risky, but the stand was enough to keep it hidden, and plus, it was easy to scale up it and find footing on Wilbur's nightstand, which led to the windowsill, which led to a series of shelves, which led to his dresser.
So, he follows that path, digging his nails into the foamy texture of the guitar stand and making a determined move to the nightstand.
He traces the length of the tabletop, then pulls a hook from his cloak and gathers the rope attached to it, winding it carefully and making sure his shot would be easy.
Tommy moves his arm back, then throws the hook overhand. It catches onto the end of the windowsill and he tugs, before moving closer so he can start climbing. His arms lack good strength,(Although at this point they really shouldn't), and he struggles to get up.
He curses out as he slips, but catches onto the windowsill before falling any further. Tommy pulls himself up and gathers his hook from it's spot in the wood, then continues on. He climbs up to a shelf with practiced ease, then jumps down to the dresser.
Sock drawer, next stop. Fortunately, it was the highest drawer in the thing, next to another one that he had little interest in. Socks were his expertise.
He shifts to kneeling down, where he peers over the edge at the handle, which is positioned down, as it often is. Ah, well, he can pry it open.
Tommy does simply that, putting a hand in the crease of the drawer and using all of his strength to creak it open. It's a slow and agonizing process that leaves his arm screaming from the usage, but it gets him what he needs.
Fucking prick will think next time before leaving clothing in the kitchen.
He climbs in, making a quick glance to the door as he does.
Unfortunately for him, as he makes the gesture, a large and impending shadow is bestowed upon his thievery, and he's left gazing up, and up, and up, and...
Ohfuckingfucktheresahandcomingrightforhim—
He yells out as two fingers pinch at the back of him, holding him up by the hood of his cloak as the brown-haired human stares at him in mild disgust, brief curiosity and seeping amusement.
"Ah, you're a pesky fucking thing, then, aren't you?"
—–—
#brickquiries#becky brickling#beckyu my beloved <33#brickfic#drabbles#short prompt series#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmpt gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#t!tommy#g!wilbur
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Please just give me anything from your tiny workers au!! Literally anything and I will absolutely cherish it :D
*ahem*
would you like the first chapter? would you cherish that?
(also fuck scheduling, have it now. >:D its not proofread tho fyi)
tiny workers (i)
words: 4069
cw: vague description of depression, swearing
—–—
Knocking wakes him up. Loud and repetitive knocking.
Wilbur blinks, trying to adjust to the golden sun that filters through his blinds, even as closed as they are.
The knocking still hasn’t stopped. His nerves flare up at the continuous noise and he sits up, blinking a few more times to adjust to being awake before he finds his way out of bed. The hardwood under his floor has never felt more neutral, which makes him unusually aware of the surrounding air that feels so invisible that it’s suffocating.
Knocking.
He tries to ignore it and leaves his room, traces the length of the hallway and continues the beeline to the door, where he can faintly hear a muffled conversation from behind.
Wilbur stops, standing at the front door. Through the agitating knocking sound, he holds his head in his hands for a moment before swiping his hands through his bed-ruined hair.
“Wil, mate!” Phil says, loud and clear through the door. Wilbur groans.
Quietly, he listens as Phil murmurs something to Techno, who in return whispers an ingenuine apology.
Right there, he considers walking away. They can’t knock forever.
But, his conscience figures he owes it to his family to at least make an effort. And so, taking the cool doorknob in his hand, he opens the door and puts on a fake, strained smile. “Yes?”
“Good mornin’,” Techno butts in before Phil can. Wilbur raises his eyebrows at him tiredly.
“D’ya mind if we come in, Wil? We have something for you,” Phil explains, and Wilbur tries to find the courage to decline. And despite how much he told himself to promptly shut the door on his father and brother’s face, he found himself instead nodding along.
“Yeah, go for it,” Wilbur agrees and steps aside.
Phil leads, brushing past him, where Techno lingers in the doorway for a moment. “I’ll admit, he’s stretchin’ this a little bit,” Techno warns, and before Wilbur can question what he meant, his vision is obscured as Techno walks past him.
He shuts the door and settles in on an armchair, which sits across from the couch Phil and Techno have found a seat on.
“Are you here for what I think you’re here for?” Wilbur asks, an explanation hung between them.
“It depends on what you’re thinking, Wil,” Phil hums, laughing to try and break the tension. It doesn’t work, and in the end it’s only him finding amusement. His father sighs. “We don’t care about you not replying to us, or making an effort to be social, we just care about you actually getting outside,” Phil starts, glancing at Techno, whose expression is nothing but curious at Phil’s particular wording, “so, see, we found something.”
He can’t say he enjoys the sound of that, and especially not as Phil pulls his phone out and taps at his screen, only to hand it to Wilbur. A long article catches his vision as he’s handed the phone. “Here ya’ go,” his fathers says, trying his best to smile.
Wilbur stares, face wooden as his finger slowly scrolls down his father’s phone.
Impending outlines of familiar figures and silenced commotion of bated breath keeps his flat quiet.
His eyes are hung heavy as he scrolls, skimming impatiently through the articles’ pre-advertisements. Something unintelligible of promised family fun and worthy relaxation flies past his eyes until he finally reaches it, an overdue title with a cheesy caption.
COLONY PARKS
“Tiny adventures await! Explore small worlds of wonder with tiny people, big fun!”
Wilbur squints at the screen, his doomful eyes blending in with his uncertain frown. “An amusement park? Are you fucking— fucking come again?” he scoffs. He had to ask; lingering in the back of his mind is hope that he isn’t sent to this hellhole.
His father lets out a sad sigh. “It’s for a few hours, Wil, that’s nothing compared to the things we could do.”
Handing the phone back, he shakes his head. “I think anything could be better than this. I thought your goal was to get me out of the house to have a good time. This is just—fucking childish!”
“I think one could pretty easily argue that you’re being childish right now,” Techno remarks. Phil elbows him, but Wilbur see’s the way he struggles to keep a smile down. “Heh? You know I’m right, but excuse me for putting a mark on your ‘good-parent’ facade.”
Phil stares at Techno, struggling down a smile. Wilbur shrinks into himself.
Eventually, Phil sighs. “He’s right,” Phil starts, and he watches as Techno smiles, “Wil, you gotta give it a try. One shot. If you don’t like it you know we won’t force you into it and we’ll find something better for you,” he finishes, and Wilbur solemnly nods. He knows better than to pick a fight with his father or Techno.
“Fine,” he murmurs.
–
When a day had passed after the conversation, Wilbur couldn’t say the passing time with the absence of people had let him think, because he honestly had to answer and say he had continued with his musty routine. The only thing different was he was wallowing with slight agitation with his father.
The sudden announcement had been a spring that he wasn’t exactly ready to release. He’d much prefer to ease into a “recovery”, but he can’t get everything he wants.
And now, with his phone vibrating loudly under his hand, he found his sore eyes opening, unadjusted to the sunlight that strung into his room, the sun high in the sky. He’d nearly drifted off again when his phone disturbed him.
He pulled himself up, propping his upper body up with his arm and unlocking his phone. Rushing notifications from Techno continuously layered until he had the decency to open them.
A long string of “urgent” messages.
From what he could gather with his five-hours-of-sleep brain, Techno was parked outside.
Begrudgingly, he tapped at Techno’s contact until the phone was ringing. Techno picked up immediately.
“You wakin’ up at twelve now?” Techno asks.
Wilbur sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, what little energy he has murmuring out a quiet response. “Techno what are you doing downstairs?”
“I recall Phil ‘n you coming to an agreement with the theme park.”
Wilbur groans. “Now? Today? He never told me that,” Wilbur complains. Groggily, he pulls himself up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. The air is uncomfortably warm, but somehow the feeling of the heavy blanket over him still felt lovely.
“I’m only waitin’ ten more minutes before I go up ‘n get you myself, just so you know, Will-I-am,” Techno says.
“I’ll be down.”
And he was, with a fresh set of clothes and tamed hair, more than anything he’d been able to put together the past few days. He tried not to pay attention to how gross he felt, considering the greasy streaks of hair he felt just by trying to make it look presentable.
And his laundry was growing scarce, it was only a matter of time before he’d start rewearing things from his pile of filth in the corner.
Never mind that, though, he had one free day of being outdoors where everything was covered for him. But the thought of it still made him feel unnerved. Alone in an unfamiliar place that was probably packed with people. He’d heard of the place, probably one too many times over the years.
It was unconventional for Phil to think he would come out of his shell there of all places.
But, he did, and Techno was there, already walking around his car to seemingly come and find him. “That took you so long,” Techno murmured, turning back around at the sight of Wilbur. The brunet hummed in response, trying to sound amused. He got in the car, feeling out of place in such a tidy and unusually vibrant place. But he’d been in Techno’s car year after year, so he couldn’t say it didn’t feel familiar.
Techno drove off quickly without a word, and Wilbur buckled his seatbelt in and slumped against the window. “How far is it?” he asks on a whim.
“Nothin’ convenient,” Techno mutters, glancing at the GPS on his phone. “But it can’t be longer than two hours,” he quickly reassures.
Wilbur groans. “He wants me to be happy but can’t pick a convenient place for me to be happy at.”
“At least he’s trying,” Techno quickly butts in. “Not a lot of parents do that, bad parents ‘n all. That’s why there’s a lot of orphans.”
“I don’t think that’s what orphan means, Techno,” Wilbur muses.
“Don’t avoid the topic. And orphan can mean what I want it to mean ‘cause I’m the one killin’ them.”
“I’m not fuc—that’s still not how it works!” Wilbur argues, smiling ever-so-slightly.
It was like that the rest of the ride, brotherly banter between them while Techno still tried to drill into his head that Phil meant good. And Wilbur considered it, which was pointless because he knows Techno is right.
He watched as the time on the GPS went down slowly, until eventually it announced that they’d arrived. Which wasn’t entirely true, because even as Techno made a right-hand turn, down onto the path with a road sign announcing the park in big black letters: “COLONY PARKS”. A thick arrow pointed right, down the road that they were currently pulling onto.
In the distance, Wilbur spotted an overhead bridge with a big overhanging sign that decorates the entire side of said bridge. A dull brown background, the name of the park in what he recognizes as oversized shoelaces, suitably on-brand.
There’s strands of large, fake grass that obscures some of the words, and other giant versions of everyday things: buttons, bugs, probably other things had he been paying attention. It was interesting how all-out they went, but it didn’t excuse the fact that he wanted no part in this.
Fucking Phil and his need for him to be fine.
From that point forward, the scenery had changed drastically—there were towering blades of glass that gave the intended shrunken effect (where, if he was being honest, it made his mood lighten a bit). Certain sculptures of oversized shoes or again, bugs and old trinkets of the “nearby humans” lay in the “fields of grass”. He could certainly see the appeal, speaking for the children he knows passing by this very place with a much more exasperated and fulfilled face, while his dull and unamused; trying to hide how eager he was to look at the detail in everything.
“Honestly, I can see why you don’t wanna go here,” Techno chimes in after a moment, himself looking around at the scenery.
“Don’t say that unless you’re turning us around,” Wilbur deadpans. When Techno huffs, he shrinks deeper into the seat and tightens his arms around his torso.
(*)
“Woah—fucking shit!” Tubbo chants from afar, where Tommy can just barely hear him over the gust of air as a golf ball flies past him, narrowly missing his body. He thought he had that.
The human above him chuckles, and Tommy holds back a rant with a sour “I’ll fucking sue you”.
“Yeah, yeah,” the human murmurs, walking past him with ease to the next hole.
Tommy stays put, looking back at Tubbo, who’s sitting in the crevice of one of the fake rocks. “I’ve lost my pep, Tubbo,” he starts, and Tubbo’s already giving him a knowing look, but Tommy continues, “I’ll steal you a free thing—just please cover for me, my lungs are dying and I think if this person fuckin’ taunts me one more time I’ll probably get fired.”
Tubbo hums and shuffles up from his spot on the ledge. “I got you, bossman. Cut yourself off, or whatever. Go take a break,” he agrees.
Tommy’s offer slipped through Tubbo’s finger and he hurried off before he could remember. He bids a ‘thank you’ and speeds across the fake grass of the course, following along the left-hand side of the previous hole then hoisting over the low bricks that line the sides.
As he lands in the dirt, Tommy slows his pace and basks in his unofficial break.
He approaches the small hut for mini-golf booking, where Karl was leant against the counter with his phone in front of him. Lucky bastard, getting to use a phone with such ease.
Briefly, the worker noticed the tiny and Tommy nodded at him solemnly, and Karl offered a small smile and returned to the device.
Tommy ignores his jealousy (and his impulsive desire to steal it) and carries on, ducking under the tiny-worker entrance and slumping his shoulders as a gust of air-conditioned room hits him instantly..
Quiet feedback from his earpiece-turned-radio breaks the quiet silence, and Karl looks down at him. Tommy in return pauses, looking up at him.
There’s only a beat of passing silence before Karl chimes in with, “Hey, Tommy.”
“Hi Karl,” Tommy greets, wavering his previous path to cut across the floor; closer to the human. “You giving me a boost up? All the newcomers that are gonna have their mind fuckin’ blown when they come in here,” Tommy grins, “You know I just gotta see that.”
“Why should I help you?” Karl asks, and Tommy scowls at the question. “Will you put in a good word for me?”
“Oi! Come on Karl, don’t be a dick,” he yells up, scoffing.
Karl stares down at him, hand cupping his chin.
Fuck this. “Fine, dickhead. Who to, fuckin’ Big Q again?”
“Actually–yeah.”
Tommy makes a gagging noise, shaking his head. “You fucking romantic,” Tommy jokes—though he can’t say there wasn’t sincerity to it; he never saw the appeal of romance. But, the longer Karl stares at him with an expression even Tommy can quite literally not say no to, he shrugs. “I’ll try again, then, but I won’t accept assholery against me when he rejects you. Again.”
Karl nods, satisfied, then crouches down with his hand extended. With practised ease, Tommy steps on and adjusts his footing.
The human stands, and Tommy watches greedily as a view of the opening-hour crowds start fumbling in. Amusingly enough, Tommy also has a view of the human he was up against earlier.
He steps off of Karl’s hand and rushes across the counter. Karl returns to his phone, and Tommy takes a seat near the edge closest to the crowd.
There are the usual: families of three or four with giddy smiles as they ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at the decor as they try to ignore the inconvenient rush of people, and the couples that look too happy to be there. There’re grandparents with their kids, large groups of teenagers and large groups of adults, kids—everything.
But, one person in particular stands out to Tommy. There’s no kid clung to his side or running off, not a partner at his shoulder. He doesn’t look particularly invested; his shoulders are shrunk in on himself and his lanky torso, and frankly Tommy can’t say anyone has stood out quite like that in such an unordinary way.
Usually, the people who catch his attention are those with colourful clothes or boisterous voices and laughter. This guy is making himself small, and he looks quiet at best. It’s funny—someone so tall and dull couldn’t blend in with a familial crowd, but he attempted it anyway, and it was amusing to watch. Simple as that.
(*)
Kill him. Right here, right now, kill him.
Phil’s interpretation of fun and relaxation is still puzzling to him, because as eager people run from every direction and pay no mind as they brush against his still form, it doesn’t feel relaxing. He can only imagine the park stretching out for miles, and he can’t say that trudging any deeper would make this jungle of people any more coherent.
So, he looks to his left and makes a beeline over to the least crowded place he can find.
He goes sideways against the crowd, keeping his eyes narrowed to try and keep his vision straight ahead. He stumbles as he catches himself before he trips over a stroller, and just manages to find his footing on the path leading up to the attraction.
It’s a simplistic design, holding nothing special against the initial drive up, with towering flowers that cast a shadow over some areas, fake rocks that seem to fit in like pebbles against the flowers.
Wilbur takes a habitual look around, noticing the layout of a golf course.
Lucky find, he muses.
The path cuts short and opens to a wider area, where a wooden (yet somehow still posh-looking) stand is built. Behind the counter, a worker who couldn’t have been older than twenty five was scrolling idly through his phone. As Wilbur approaches awkwardly, he seems to catch the worker’s attention. He looks up, flashing a genuine smile as he sets his phone down.
“Hello,” Wilbur greets.
“Hey!” The worker greets back, and Wilbur tries to compose himself to talk. “Look, let me be honest with you, I’ve never been here before and I just—I think I need something to pass the time.”
Karl (if his nameplate had a say in it) nods along, looking fairly interested for any theme park worker. “Uh, do you want to try a few rounds on the course?”
“Yeah, that might be a better start than sitting around,” Wilbur agrees. Out of the corner of his eye, something shifts, but he can’t pay attention to it for long before Karl’s talking to him again.
“Okay, and have you been introduced to the rent-a-tiny feature?”
“Uh—oh, they may have mentioned it. I can’t say I was listening,” Wilbur explains. Karl nods.
“Oh. Well, newer members get it free,” Karl begins, ducking behind the counter, “but that is specifically for attractions. To take them around the park it would be extra,” Karl pops back up. “And there’s a new-member discount for that as well, usually for if it was paid online. But it’s totally optional!” Karl finishes, finally, and Wilbur takes it in.
“I—my dad set this up, I wouldn’t know what features he got. Again, I wasn’t exactly listening when they read it over.”
The conversation continued, back-and-forth for another five minutes until it was squared away that Phil had opted for the rent-a-tiny feature, which he hadn’t been thrilled to discover. But it was valuable money to Phil, and in one angle it was for a good cause. And so, again, his conscience won.
Karl had fitted him for the club and left him to choose a ball, while the worker set off to find a tiny. It was startling to know he was going to see one, purely because of his uncertainty that he would manage to handle such a small thing—person—whatever. It was unnerving.
And that’s why his heart ran nervously when Karl finally emerged, something wedged between his forefinger and thumb.
A borrower. A real fucking borrower. Wilbur tries to hide his suddenly piqued interest in the being, watching as calmly as possible as the two approached and the borrower was set down onto the counter. He looked irritated, but still put on a fake, flashy smile for customer-him.
“Hello, you’ve interrupted my break time but I can take a break for you, I saw you over there,” the borrower points to the crowd to Wilbur’s left of them, “and you looked all sad as shit,” the borrower finishes. His voice was so loud, so clear, no stutter in sight and swearing proudly. It was hard not to seem impressed.
“Good luck with him, and have a good game!”
Wilbur tucks the club under his arm and pockets the golf ball, then stares at the borrower.
“Uh—” Wilbur’s voice ran dry. Karl had disappeared out of sight, and that left the two standing there.
“Dy’a want me to walk then, dick?”
“Ah—no, I can just pick you up?”
“You’re one of those people?” The borrower asks, raising an eyebrow at him in plain frustration. Wilbur feels guilty, but he does feel an underlying irritation of his own. “Look, set your hand down. I won’t bite you,” the borrower instructs. Wilbur obliges reluctantly, slowly approaching his hand to the counter. “And while I’m at it, since you’re a bitch and got me for a day, I’m Tommy. Big T.”
Wilbur rests his hand on the surface and responds “Wilbur”.
Tommy nods and turns his attention to his transportation, which Wilbur has been focussed on excruciatingly long to keep steady. As tiny skin brushes onto his, Wilbur’s entire body freezes. In that moment, his strength is kept in keeping his hand still. It was also at this contact that Wilbur remembered how touch starved he had been as of lately, with days of laying in bed with nothing but a blanket and his clothes stuck to him.
And now, there was a borrower climbing into the palm of his hand, settling right in the crevice where his fingers couldn’t help but curl at the touch.
Wilbur tries to shake away the feeling of contact against his hand and turns away, Tommy kept carefully in his palm.
“It’s fucking stupid to be scared of something smaller than you, pussy,” Tommy says, looking up at him through Wilbur’s curled fingers.
Wilbur furrows his brows and looks down in return, shaking his head. “I’m not scared of you, I never implied that,” he argues.
“Uhuh. You seem to be going the wrong way, I recall the first hole being back there,” Tommy says, grinning like he’s already known.
Wilbur turns on his heel and starts off in the right direction. “And you didn’t want to tell me?”
“Well, you don’t seem like the most talkative fella’,” Tommy points out. Wilbur furrows his brows.
He laughs half-heartedly. “That’s fair.”
(*)
So much for a break.
He watches as Tubbo grins at him from the last hole, while he’s sat in a palm at the very first one. Tommy wrinkles his face and flips the other off, who in return follows suit.
Then Tubbo is distracted by the other human, leaving Tommy alone again.
Might as well be worth it to pry Wilbur out of his shell if their day was going to have any confirmation of a good ending.
“Alright,” Tommy announces, shuffling up from his spot on Wilbur’s palm and pushing his fingers away. The human obliges, standing scarily still. “How—how uh, how do you want to play?”
“I have no fucking clue what that means,” Wilbur says.
Tommy frowns. “Okay, well, I can help you, or I can, well, not help you—which I’ll be fair, either way ends in me not helping you, unless you're really lucky. And I don’t think you’ll be lucky enough, even though you are a sad, sad guy."
“I’m not sad!”
Tommy stares at him.
“Okay, whatever, you caught me,” Wilbur says sarcastically. “And do whatever you fucking want, I’m sure I could punt you no matter you’re advantage,” the human says, chortling. Tommy gasps.
“Fucking try me. Bitch.”
Wilbur hums and crouches down carefully, an irritating slowness to his movements that makes Tommy’s world go by in slow-motion. He’s scrambling for purchase on the fake grass as soon as he knows he can, which happens to instantly trigger a reaction from Wilbur, who’s other hand moves to catch him.
Tommy lands on more skin, the softness of the landing being both comforting and infuriating.
“Oi! I can handle myself,” Tommy yells as Wilbur takes the initiative to let him down. “I value my safety, I wouldn't've jumped if I didn’t, dickhead.”
The gentle-ness continued for the remainder of the game. And despite Tommy’s request for a stronger hit, (which he did execute a couple times, until it dispersed into small and lazy hits), he never seemed to take it to heart.
But, the game did eventually end.
There wasn’t any winner that got to celebrate, it was just a little bit of a lighter mood. Tommy, hesitant as he would be to ever admit it to the human, had taken a liking. It was rewarding to watch a more violent part of him come out the more Tommy kept pushing him.
The rest of the day was ahead of them, and Wilbur had already seemed more eager than he had been to interact with the tiny.
—–—
EUEUEUEUEUUE IT'S REEEEEEEAAAAAL !!!!!!!!!
#brickquiries#mw#brickfic#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#g/t#gt#t!tommy#g!wilbur#tiny workers au#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHGHG
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Drawing prompt
The tiny found the sugar stash….
Oh no
ouch this is so old ,,, uNmMm i hopped on the c!beckyu train just for the hell of it , except i did not add much detail </3
#brickquiries#becky brickling#beckyu my beloved#mw#brick-a-doodles#c!beckyu#cause she's a sizeshifter. imagine being a sizeshifter and getting your hands on CANDY!
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ok ok I know this isn’t really that good of a title but I’m very bad at coming up with them and I’m kinda proud of this one—
Somewhere in the deep blue sea there will be a place for me
Of course you can shorten it, change it around, play with it a bit etc. but I’m proud of the premise
i'm 88% sure i am allowed to answer this as a fake fic and not just 'ooh' and 'ahh' at it. sorry if that was your intention 👉👈🙏
also getting an idea in the middle of a lake is really annoying because for 4 hours all i wanted to do was write, but, alas, i could not, for i would have crashed into a rock. SO.
somewhere in the deep blue sea, there will be a place for me
wilbur knew that mers liked to trade. generally, (mainly the larger species'), they'd be hostile until offered a gift, and they'd stop trying to bite your head off.
so, whenever he went to the ocean or the rivers to try and spot one, (and if he could, have it spot him), he brought gifts. jewelry, stuff from the human world, food, clothes, all kinds of stuff. and in return, they'd answer the questions wilbur had for his studies.
one day, while he was trudging along the beach by his home, collecting shells and keeping a keen eye out for nearby mers, he spotted one. a small one. the oddity was rare enough, and this time it was only less of a lucky find, as it wasn't splashing in the water like they normally did; it was dried up on a rock, their tail barely twitching as they dried out in the sun half-dead, cuts and bruises littered across their skin.
wilbur, of course, acts instantly and helps the red-tailed mer back into the water as gently as he could, keeping an eye out for nearby pod members of the mer's.
when his efforts were a deemed a lost cause, wilbur left the mer against the rocks and ran off to get a first aid kit. without any proper help, and with the spare time he'd accumulated now that this mer appeared abandoned for the time being, he decided it'd be worth it to patch them up.
he does just that, and by the time the tiny mer has stirred, he's already on the path back to health.
with a little bit of gained trust on tommy's, (the mer), end, wilbur helps him find where his pod normally hung around by wading through the water next to him to make sure he didn't topple over.
now, what he did expect, was for tiny pod embers to thank him and take tommy, then wilbur would go back to his daily life with maybe an occasional interview from tommy or his pod members.
what he did not expect, however, was for tommy's pod to be giant, and not only that, but the rulers of an underwater kingdom. and that discovery was only made as he was dragged deeper and deeper into the water, his breath held while he struggled profusely to try as a mer dragged him to a supposed prison.
so much for a thank you.
ee the "place for me" for NOW is his prison cell. but eventually it will be found family. ANYWAY, this is NOT a fake fic, so WELCOME THE NEW MER AU TO THE AU FAMILY !!! questions? maybe? pspsp?
#brickquiries#fake fic titles#sloth brickling#sloth my beloved \o/#a place for me au#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#g/t#t!tommy#g!wilbur#implied g!phil/g!techno#unmentioned g!phil/g!techno#this was non g/t but then i didn't know how to tag it and then i thought nobody would see it so i changed it rq#eueue#ANYWAYS I CAN FIANLLY USE THE MER DESIGNS
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Dream gets shrunk somehow, escapes prison soner and while lost is found by tommy who (after some well needed therapy with puffy) honestly can't bring himself to hurt or return dream after seeing his state
im not sure if this is a prompt but i won't take it as such cause i feel bad for keeping it in my askbox for so long eueue
anyway i really like this! i came up with the idea that when tommy finds dream, even though he doesn't explicitly hurt dream, he still doesn't want to give dream paradise. so he kind of recreates exile for dream, just posing exactly as possessive and unfair as dream was to tommy in exile :) so dream just trails behind tommy doing day-to-day stuff :0!!!
then i guess slowly it just becomes like Old Times >:)
#brickquiries#anon brickling#anon ideas#if you did want me to write this lmk and ill givce it a shot but no promises lmao i have a long list of fics to get done this year eueueu
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vore thoughts you say, hm? 👀
beeduo noms?? maybe just a fluffy unaware scenario if you’re up for that?
I have a soft spot for prank noms, so maybe Tubbo just hiding in Ranboo’s food and Ranboo accidentally noms him. Bonus points if Tommy’s there too and helps Tubbo with said prank.
aha i'm finally getting to the asks i've been letting marinate! all but one because one of them is for tiny workers and i want to at least post a first chapter before i branch off. anyways! this is a really cute idea, ty for it !! :]
ps. sorry i leaned into clingy a bit too much sdjfsd
feeble disguise
words: 1499
cw: sfw vore, swearing, brief panic
—–—
“Open your mouth!” Tommy instructed, still struggling through giggles initiated by Tubbo’s aimless struggles from when he’d initially asked.
In the blond’s hand, a small piece of diced apple was turning dingier shades of brown by every passing second it spent in Tommy's hand, and not in Tubbo’s mouth, like Tommy was trying to accomplish. But, Tubbo was stubborn, thus his continuation of dramatic protests.
“No! Fuck you, I’m not a fucking pig, Tommy! I am going to kill you when I’m back!” Tubbo complained, struggling gently against the Alfredo noodles the two of them had managed to score while Ranboo was momentarily distracted in the other room.
He was careful not to break it, but it put enough emphasis on what he wanted to get through to his friend. Tommy snickered and cocked his head to the side, “But it’s funnier this way! Please, Tubbo?”
“No! Alfredo is not even a food you’d put a pig it” He frowned, shaking his head and looking at Tommy with a dull glare.
Tubbo’s mouth quivered as he fought the muscles tugging his lips up.
There was a beat, and another, and Tommy was then yelling and launching himself at the defenseless borrower, using the most of his upper hand—definitely not his strength, or lack thereof—to knock Tubbo down and have him narrowly miss hitting his head on the spot of bare-floor where carpet met the dusty interior of the walls.
Tubbo cried out and tried moving his arms, desperately trying to get his arms free to stop Tommy from getting victory. The heap of noodles that Tommy had tied impossibly tight around him stayed secure, and Tubbo resorted to something else.
When the moment struck, Tubbo snapped his head forward and sunk his teeth into Tommy’s wrist. The blond yelled and dropped the apple immediately, right onto the dirty floor, where it would become decidedly unusable.
He grinned and watched Tommy’s pained expression shift into a playfully irked one.
Tubbo smiled. “I’m literally wrapped in Alfredo and I won.” he laughs.
Tommy gawks, “Oi! Fuck you, that’s because you bit me! Who does that?”
“It was my way of defense!” he claims, then grunts in distress. “Please help me up, boss man, I don’t want Ranboo eating dust.”
Tommy complies and maneuvers around their room to push Tubbo up. He hears Tommy straining and murmuring to himself, and he can’t help but laugh.
His friend smacks him on the head but gets him upright all the same, studying his mummified-esque outfit, which is more or less intact after the sudden attack from Tommy.
It’s quiet for a brief moment as they both listen out for Ranboo. It's quiet, but Ranboo is always quiet, so it's unbelievably difficult to tell whether or not the human is out in the kitchen or still distracted in another room.
“...Can we go?” Tommy asks, noticing how focused Tubbo is. Tubbo assumes the problem is mutual.
“I can't tell,” he says, pursing his lips to the side, deep in concentration, “but, I'm ... eighty percent sure we can.”
Tommy nods and takes the easy lead, only looking back once to see if Tubbo’s struggling to walk before blending in with the dim part of the walls.
Tubbo follows at a considerable pace, and that's saying a lot given his condition.
When the two of them reached the narrow and crooked cutout Tommy had made months prior, Tubbo jumps ahead of Tommy to get a look into the kitchen, where Ranboo stood with a plate in hand, dishing a portion of the Alfredo.
He looks tired, and Tubbo considers this idea for just a moment.
But, before he can do much, his brain shifts to autopilot and he watches with devious eyes as Ranboo sets the nearly-full dish down and bends over to attend to their chirping feline.
He looks back briefly and Tommy gives him an eager look and a thumbs up.
While the human is still distracted, Tubbo slips from within the walls and treads across the kitchen counter as fast as his loosely-tied legs would let him.
The dish’s lip makes it extremely difficult for him to actually get into the bowl, and he swears he can hear Tommy’s annoying-ass laughter from the walls at his awkward maneuvering.
He bites his tongue to suppress a cry out when he falls into the food finally, sputtering when sauce gets in his mouth.
After a moment, can hear Ranboo bid a soft, high-pitched goodbye to their cat, to which he spits out a curse and finds his way deeper down into the noodle dish, the warm food surrounding him until it’s nearly pitch-black and he’s overly positive that Ranboo would never spot him.
In just one more short moment, his stomach shifts excitedly—and admittedly, the scare has left his heart beating in a pace more rapid than usual—as he feels the bowl shift up at a quick rate.
It’s quiet, save for Ranboo’s muffled footsteps and the soft sound of their breathing. Tubbo is pretty sure he can hear the Alfredo noodles shift around and create squelching noises.
But, other than that, he almost feels awkward with how quiet it is.
His heart flurries again when the bowl is set down with a defined clink.
It’s become noticeably darker than when he’d been in the kitchen, so dark it nearly reminded him of Tommy and his room in the walls, but he knew Ranboo bathed in darkness, so it didn’t feel out of place. It must be his anxious brain making him over-analyze things as an attempt to get him to back out last-minute.
He didn’t, though.
Tubbo just sat and waited, tugging a bit at the wrapping on him.
Ranboo had taken three forkfuls of Alfredo by the time he’d touched the area by Tubbo.
He crossed his fingers—or, attempted to, anyway—and hoped that the human would be distracted enough to miss Tubbo.
And, surprisingly, though Ranboo glanced down at the bowl for a brief moment and lingered their gaze, he just picked at the noodles around him and eventually the ones under him.
Tubbo’s gut churned.
Fear wasn’t prominent, if it was there at all.
There was just … something about what was happening.
Yes, his mind was chanting for this to go well so the prank would be fulfilled and he’d be satisfied, but then again, Ranboo’s comfort in this scenario was non-existent, and he was really overstepping his bounds by doing this.
Something about the future toyed with him.
Images of him and Tommy laughing it over or Ranboo becoming more comfortable with swallowing Tubbo and hopefully Tommy passed in his mind, and his smile widened as Ranboo drew his fork near his mouth and pushed the mouthful of food in.
Tubbo rolled off easily, feeling the spacious and certainly humid maw of Ranboo’s.
Their jaw snaps shut with an echoing click! and Tubbo is sealed in darkness, where he nearly yells out as Ranboo bites down right near him. The bones graze at the noodles wrapping him and thankfully cut them off, sending Tubbo tumbling to the side. He uses his now-free hands to gently brace himself, laughing out softly when he realizes Ranboo is still chewing and otherwise oblivious to himself.
He had done it!
Something about it is so rewarding he has to clamp excited hands over his mouth to avoid his glee.
Ranboo swallows, sending Tubbo to the back of his throat, which Tubbo hates.
It feels distant to be so out of control. But again, he’s not afraid; the gesture had only caught him off guard.
He’s pulled down into Ranboo’s gullet, where an arrangement of churns and gurgles, and the loudest, thumps from Ranboo’s heartbeat, fill his ears.
Wilbur had done this once with him, when they’d suggested this plan and their need for the human’s help.
It’s not terribly dissimilar to when Wilbur did it, but then again it’s not exactly something he’s familiar with. Yet, his mind supplies hopefully.
—
When Ranboo swallows, his heartbeat picks up as a lump in his throat—maybe a noodle or a spare piece of chicken he’d forgotten to chew all the way through pushes through his throat.
He holds two fingers to it, swallowing again to ensure he wasn’t choking.
It slid down with ease, and he relaxed.
But a thing of equal size falls into a spot in his body that doesn’t feel like his stomach, if anything it felt further up.
Their mind jumps to Tubbo, but the thoughts die down as they dismiss it.
Tubbo would not attempt something like that– actually, that’s a lie, he totally, totally, would.
Ranboo’s thoughts return and spiral further when he can, yes, feel definitive movement within his gut—upper, gut. His heartbeat picks at his ears when he curiously places a hand to his gut and presses incredulously at it, which is almost immediately returned with a hand—smaller in size, just further confirming his terrible, but painfully correct, theory.
“Ranboo!” Tubbo's voice chirps.
“Tubbo…?”
───────────────────────────────────────────
#brickfic#mw#brickquiries#anon brickling#cw vore#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#g/t#gt#giant/tiny#tiny!tubbo#t!tubbo#tiny!tommy#t!tommy#giant!ranboo#g!ranboo#!!! ty for the ask :D#it's gonna be so sad seeing these asks leave my askbox 😭
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I finally have thought bc mermay
How about something with a giant mer in an aquarium
You see tiny mer in fishbowls/tanks but how about the giant one...
MERMAY!!! i totally forgot about that. so now i gotta write for it today which was not rlly planned but ehhhh :D this is my first time writing on tumblr so let's see how it goes. also for this i'm making the titles a line from whatever song im listening to because im lazyyy
you live life above me, and i just can't get any higher
words: 846
cw: description of sharp teeth & claws? other than that it's neutral,,
—–—
Despite his fathers’ obvious attempts to drag him along the hallway, Sapnap stayed put, with his arms crossed tightly over his torso and a grimace on his face. He was not going to the small fish, he wanted the big fish; he sees small fish all the time, so what if these are a little more human than the last?
Bad and Skeppy looked back at him, already several feet down the hallway before they realized that Sapnap’s little pitter-pattered footsteps weren’t following them.
Sapnap stayed put, against Bad’s words of encouragement and Skeppy’s already-tired-of-him gaze.
“I don’t want the small fish!” Sapnap whines.
His parent’s share a worried look.
“Sap, we think you might not like the big fish,” Bad reasons, walking to him and crouching by his side. Sapnap looks into Bad’s eyes and frowns. His brows furrow and he tries to compose his anger. Why didn’t they listen to him?
“But why not? I can handle anything, and I don’t want the stupid smaller fish,” he explains, reluctantly letting Bad undo his angry arms to hold Sapnap’s hands in his own. The touch is warming, and it cools him down almost instantly.
“We’re saying we don’t want you to be scared of them. Do you remember the sharks last year?” Skeppy adds from afar. Bad nods quickly in agreement, but it only causes Sapnap to huff, half-scoffing and half-groaning.
“I was five last year, and I liked the sharks, I never said I was scared of them. And these are real mermaids,” he tries. He doesn’t want his efforts to be lost, but that’s what it’s looking like.
Bad, after a moment of consideration and a look back at Skeppy, sighs. “We can take you, but if you get scared, you tell us, okay?”
Sapnap’s eyes light up, nodding eagerly, his raven-colored hair falling over his eyes with the motion.
Easily, he leads the way and his parent’s follow close behind him, all the way to the end of the hall, then left into a much larger hallway with tanks that seemed to run all around them in one big pool. Everywhere he looks there’s deeply colored and isolated waters.
Sapnap is much more at ease here, with eyes eagerly looking around the giant tunnel-like tank to try and spot a mer.
The waters seemed quiet, for a while, where Sapnap grew easily disappointed at the silence, like somehow he wasn’t worthy of seeing something.
Bad and Skeppy talked quietly amongst themselves, and if it wasn’t for his divided attention, perhaps he would’ve heard about how supposedly aggressive these beings were.
He was halfway across the hallway before a shadow stretched over him from above, smothering him in darkness and a newfound hope. Eagerly, he looked up over him, a tail easily fivefold his size. And the top half of the mer slightly smaller but somehow the intimidation never leveling out, it was huge.
Another thing for certain was that his parents were foolishly wrong. Because as soon as the mer had come down over the side of the tank and settled in by watching the three in the tunnel, Sapnap was running to it, something of relief in him.
“Hello!” Sapnap greets it from behind the glass, putting a hand onto the exterior of the tank. It’s cold underneath his touch, but it somehow disperses when the mer behind the glass is returning the gesture with five harsh taps against the glass tank; it’s almost like touching the mer entirely with how warm it gets.
And easily, it obscures his view to where Sapnap has to move around the hand to look at it again. Its tail was almost glowing from the deeper waters, neon-green lacing the bottom of emerald scales. His ears were a similar color, with fins flicking as Sapnap smiles at it.
It looks young, probably just a bit older than him. As it smiles at Sapnap, it bares its sharp teeth which almost glow the same green as his scales. His eyes are neon, just like everything else. And although he can’t really tell, his hair looks both blond and brunet. It’s fluffy, even from under the water as it drifts around him.
His jaw nearly drops. It’s entrancing to watch how a creature could look so human, but so massive and alien.
The two stare at each other for a while, before the mer swims to where Sapnap stood.
Sapnap takes a step to the left so his worldview isn’t a predator. Because even though he wasn’t scared, it was nevertheless unsettling to see sets of predatory teeth grinning at him with neon eyes to accompany him.
But, as he moves, the mer follows him.
He frowns, shaking his head while taking several steps to the left to try and keep it away.
But, almost as suspected, it follows after him.
‘Stop,’ he mouths, running in the opposite direction.
Sure enough, the mer follows him, cutting through the water to chase after the little human who couldn’t help but smile as his new friend trailed after him.
—–—
#brickquiries#3d brickling#3d my beloved 🤗#mw#brickfic#drabbles#mcyt g/t#mcyt gt#dsmp g/t#dsmp gt#dream smp g/t#dream smp gt#t!sapnap#g!dream#mermay#the last scene is based off of something that happened to me irl. but instead of a mer it was a cougar :D#the pacing in this is very wonky to me so i hope it's not like that while reading 🙏#happy mermay btw!!! and thank u 3d for the prompt :3
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