“this is checkmate”

| cal | she/her | fic writer | pfp and header by sad-ist |

[crystaltubbo]

this account is dead now lol.

-im a minor :)

-if i miss any tws on my posts please tell me!

-im a fanfiction writer on ao3!

-all my fics are tagged under #my writing

fic requests!

-i mostly write one shots (I'm pretty busy with a low attention span/motivation levels) so if you want one of them, then just ask in anons!

-requested ones will be posted on ao3

-things i will not write: anything nsfw, no ship fics (I've wrote karlnapity before but probably never will again) and no a/b/o, even if it is platonic

-anything else is fine!

[amm-amethyst]

I See The Danger, It's Written There In Your Eyes

Characters - BdoubleO100, EthosLab

Relationships - BdoubleO100/EthosLab (or BdoubleO100 & EthosLab)

Description -

After Bdubs turns red, Etho takes the initiative to split their base in half so that no harm could come to either of them. It's for the best this way. Bdubs disagrees. (This can also be read as platonic if you wish)   Whumptober day 4 Prompt: 'I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes.'

Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50567926

[moldyhay]

“The three of them completely blind in the darkness” gave me such a clear vision of this scene that I had to animate it, haha

[bebagerie]

of course he didn't build the back

[missreinarabbit]

[sar-per]

[transmascfrankiero]

[rozugold]

Tubbo said in the anniversary stream that he's had constant nightmares since the Execution, and I can't imagine this au would help that much... does Tommy know about it?

He knows and he has his own way of comforting him

[space-robinhood]

“Thank you for showing me what it’s like to be human!”

[metfell]

tfw one fiance thinks the other fiance is a murderer lol trouble in paradise

[metfell]

ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR QUACKITY

[bowenoke]

I got some headcanons about blonde tubbo

(FUCKING FINALLY. ONLY TOOK ME 11 WHOLE MONTHS)

[metfell]

colored them!!!!

[infinityuserboxes]

[simonghostrileys]

Incredibly fucking slow at it 🤧

[slagginbitch]

i fixed it

[robin-the-robo]

[theminecraftbee]

King Joel of Mezalea, Emperor of Emperors, turns around and nearly stabs his wife.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s you. Whoops.”

“You nearly killed me!” says Lizzie, offended. “And to think I was here to apologize.”

Joel blinks several times and looks over Lizzie. “…what for?” he asks. He doesn’t put down his sword. It’s bloody. He’s been stabbing a lot of things today. Like chickens. And horses. And anyone who approached within like, a meter of his person. He likes his personal space these days, as well as reminding people he can stab them. Still, Lizzie’s his wife, so he definitely, definitely shouldn’t be stabbing her.

“Well, I was going to apologize for planing to kill you,” she says, and Joel blinks.

“When?”

“Last Life,” says Lizzie.

“Oh. That’s okay then,” Joel says automatically, but his body takes three steps back and he grips his sword harder. “I mean, I definitely killed you twice two. I was pretty good at killing people, wasn’t I?”

Lizzie laughs. It’s strange, and it hurts Joel’s ears, for some reason. “You were, weren’t you?” Yeah, that sounded weird too. Lizzie’s being weird. Joel takes another step back for good measure. His knuckles are white on his sword. His teeth are still sharp here, right? Back on Last Life, his teeth had gotten very sharp. It had been one of his better traits. It made him all scary, and it meant he had a good way to fight back when he needed to.

And… oh. Joel’s being weird, too. He has to say, he’s not a fan. Normally it’s everyone else being weird.

The two of them stare at each other, Lizzie coiled, Joel with sharp teeth and a sword. He’d killed her. She’d killed him. He’d killed her again. She’d planned to kill him again, but died before she could. And now they’re both here, and Joel thinks they could probably kill each other all they wanted, but it would be just a little bit pointless, and even if Joel doesn’t care, he really doesn’t want to deal with Pixlriffs being all judge-y.

They stand a meter and a half apart and then Lizzie laughs, breathless. “Oh, Joel, we really got messed up,” she says.

“Speak for yourself. I’m as normal as always.”

“Can I come over?”

“Sure.”

Lizzie comes closer. Joel tries not to back up. She is his wife, and he loves her, and she can stand as close to him as she wants. So they can hold hands. And cuddle. And kiss. And all the good things wifes and husbands do. But it feels weird, having anyone stand that close and not wanting to kill them just a little. Joel had even wanted to kill Grian, just a little, he’d just wanted to be lonely less.

Lizzie puts her hand on Joel’s sword hand. Joel pauses. Lizzie pulls her crossbow out and tosses it on the ground, along with her axe and sword. She looks at Joel.

Then, bit by bit, they both peel Joel’s fingers from his sword. Suddenly furious, Joel tosses it as far away from himself as he can and hugs Lizzie as close as he can.

“We’re not red anymore,” Lizzie says.

“I’m not,” Joel says. “It feels weird. I don’t like it. I should like it but I don’t. I miss you. I’m sorry.”

“I am too. I know. Me too,” Lizzie says. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

They stand there, together, for quite a while. Hugs are nice, Joel thinks. He’d missed them, being red. That is something he knows for certain. He may miss the pointed teeth, and the way people had been afraid of him, and the certainty, and the haziness, but the hugs? He won’t miss the way he didn’t get hugs, back then, and he won’t have to miss Lizzie anymore, either.

“Don’t die again,” says Joel.

“Well, jeez, maybe don’t kill me?” Lizzie says, and Joel laughs.

[crystaltubbo]

last life…….waaaaaaa

[eelsonpluto-art]

crimeboys drawing ig

[sparxwrites]

“You left me,” says Scar, when he finds Grian on top of one of his wagons at several hours past midnight, a week after they– well. A week after. None of them have talked about it enough to give it a name, but it hangs in the air between them. Puts a wall up, between them and the ones who didn’t get taken, the ones who don’t understand why their friends have gone quiet and distant and cold.

Some of them have coped better than others, of course. It takes more than a nightmare sequence to dampen Rendog boundless enthusiasm, and Cleo’s half-violent and mostly-unhinged at the best of times. Tango seems more embarrassed than emotionally scarred. But Mumbo’s stopped restocking his end crystal shop, and Etho’s been trailing Bdubs like a shadow, and both of them look at Grian like they want to hurt him, and Grian–

Grian’s been avoiding just about everyone, mostly. Grian’s been avoiding Scar, especially.

Which makes it all the more strange that he’s here, now. It’s dark. It’s cold. Most everyone else is asleep, and the ones who aren’t are only awake because they’re so focused on whatever they’re building that they lost track of the passage of time entirely. Yet here is Grian, on top of one of Scar’s wagons, legs hung off the edge of the roof and wings splayed out loose behind him, awake and not building and with a distant sort of look in his eye.

“You left me,” presses Scar, when he gets no reply, because it’s late, and he’s tired, and the hurt has been sitting like a stone in his gut for a week now. Festering. “You, and all the others, just– taking my things, and moving on. Even when you signed contracts.” He winces. That just sounds pathetic, even to him. “You all did it, but– You.”

And there’s the crux of it: but you.

Keep reading

[astersandalliums]

c!clingyduo talking abt exile or cbeeduo cozy rainy autumn vibes? 👀

"talking abt exile" says tumblr user numberstati0n, and then i write them Not Talking About Exile sorry bestie but ty for the prompt i think its still on theme tbf

“What happened to your jacket?”

Tommy leans away from where Tubbo pokes at him, finger sticking into a rust colored spot on one sleeve. “Don’t fuckin’ jab me, man,” he groans. He’s got both hands occupied by needle and thread, stitching blue into white in the shape of Snowchester’s crest. Without a free hand to swat Tubbo away, he opts to brandish a needle in his direction instead. “I’ll jab you back.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Tubbo says, rolling his eyes. “Do you want to wash that while you’re here? Ranboo said he’s doing laundry this afternoon.”

“I don’t need your house husband to do my laundry for me.”

Tubbo sighs and leans back against the arm of the couch they’re both perched on. “Right, sorry. I keep forgetting, you’re too much of a big man to do things like wear clean clothes.”

“I don’t wanna smell like that grassy shit he puts in your soap.”

“It’s lavender.”

“Whatever.” In a well practiced movement, Tommy ties off the blue thread and snips it with his teeth. “Doesn’t matter, anyway,” he continues as he rethreads the needle with pale yellow. “It’s an old stain. Not comin’ out at this point.”

Tubbo tilts his head at him. Brown curls fall away from one eye. “How old?”

Not looking up from his work, Tommy shrugs. “December, I think. Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Tubbo hugs the pillow he’s been fidgeting with closer to his chest, twists its fringe between his fingers.

The word sits on the couch between them, among a basket of thread spools and fabric scraps. December, because that is a prettier word than exile. December doesn’t carry as much weight. December lets them call to mind christmas trees and snowball fights and mugs of cocoa in un-scarred hands. It’s easier on the tongue, and only makes Tommy’s hands tremble a little as he tries and fails to pull needle through cloth without pricking himself. A hissed swear, and a bead of cherry pools up on his pointer finger. He wipes it on the edge of his jacket before it can stain the patch he’s working on. It marks a twin smear to the spot on his sleeve.

“Need a bandaid?” Tubbo offers. It’s almost a laughable question, given the sheer amount of scars between the two of them. They haven’t used up bandages on things like needle pricks in ages, but offering feels like it means something anyway.

“Nah,” Tommy mutters. “It’ll stop bleeding in a second.”