mariigold

dsmp writer, batcow enjoyer, clout chaser

[mariigold]

not a place, but a people

My first multichapter fic about the Dream SMP!! It would mean a lot if people went and gave kudos and comments ;)) oops looks like I just dropped the link! How clumsy of me. Sure would be great if someone would pick that up for me. Uh oh! The description slipped!

New L'Manberg was a place that rewarded curiosity and determination, and it offered plenty of opportunities for Tubbo to prove himself. So much of the city’s history had been lost to time, and much more of it had simply never been documented. Even the smallest discoveries felt monumental to him. Each mystery he came across melted like tangled thread in his fingers, revealing a secret for every knot he managed to untie. He had yet to figure out whether any of his findings would ever connect, or if the picture he had been painting was less of a cohesive image and more of a collage, or even if he hadn’t wet his brush at all. Despite the unknowing, Tubbo found himself chasing the thrill of exploration endlessly.

In running his hand along a stone wall in the Central District of the city, Tubbo found his fingers skipping over worn carvings of sheep in an open field. Later in the week, ducking out of a bookstore into the rain, the back of the shop’s sign had caught his eye. He had squinted through the downpour and could just make out a faded advertisement for a roller coaster that called attention to the attraction with words he couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of.

(He could, if he would only try.)

[mariigold]

The Melting Point of Paper

A rainy day digs its hands into Snowchester and turns the eyes of springtime onto the quiet town. Ranboo watches the home he’s made as its history fades to memory. He’s visited by friends, allies, and family, and his solitude slinks on until there’s no sun to blot out, no icy stillness to wash away. Privately, he wonders if there was ever any home at all.

We’re allowed to post our entries to Ranboo’s writing contest now! Hooray! That means I can finally show you all what I’ve been sitting on, which is this: an experimental character study with lots of dialogue and imagery (and some themes of derealization, so do be safe) that might just be some of my best work ever. 

So, do be a dear and let me know your thoughts over on Ao3! Thank you for reading, and good luck to all the other writers who participated! :D

[mariigold]

hiya! i just wanted to say that the thing you wrote about wilbur and getting a grave is very pretty and well written, but i’m pretty sure it was captain puffy who put the glass over l’manburg. it’s completely fine i just wanna make sure she gets the recognition she deserves😊

AGAGHAGHA OOPSIES thank you for telling me HAHA all fixed now

[mariigold]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mariigold]

On your last post I just wanna let you know it was Puffy who put the glass over L’Manburg not Phil

OOPSIES well i decide the canon now hello it’s me wilbur head writer

[lazyliars]

Putting out the call because I'm tired of sifting through ao3; Has anyone written a good fic where Ranboo is there for the original L'manberg Revolution and/or Elections arc?

Huge bonus points if he's on Dream's side from the start and gets to have a half-serious, half-silly rivalry with the Clingy Duo

[mariigold]

i haven’t seen it but this is so tempting oh my god..

[felidaefighter]

Gonna start a theory that the reason Wilbur and Ghostbur are different entities is that Ghostbur isn’t actually the ghost of Wilbur. Ghostbur is the ghost of L’manberg. Is it any coincidence that Ghostbur only showed up the very day they started to rebuild?

He probably thought he was Wilbur’s ghost and took on the form because Wilbur was both creator and destroyer, and if he had no memories and everyone called him Wilbur, he might start to think it’s true. It would also explain the way he didn’t remember the same things Alivebur did, and instead got all of his memories from stories and documents about L’manberg. Ranboo said “Ghostbur is Wilbur’s good intentions”– that’s exactly what the original L’manberg was.

Ghostbur focused so much on Wilbur destroying L’manberg, and spent all of his time trying to keep its history and rebuild and “sow the seeds of peace”. When L’manberg was destroyed for good, Ghostbur disappeared for a long while. (Perhaps, he even thought of Fundy as his son because Fundy was L’mangerg’s first natural-born citizen?)

L’manerg died, and Wilbur died. Ghostbur died, and Wilbur was brought back to life. This is going to be my theory.

[mariigold]

thinking about how l’manbergs flags each represented their respective presidents. how wilbur’s was bold and bright and unafraid, three crosses for three lives, light and free and flying on a breeze that swept in from the hills. how it was easy to burn. how schlatt’s was dark and it was imposing and it was infallible, burning like a beacon in a sea of endless black, never his even if he claimed it was, always someone else’s project, someone else’s work all under his fist. how hard it was to tear down. how tubbo’s was a heart of gold in the same sea of white and blue and red that wilbur’s had once flown in, optimistic and new, hung proudly from every post that would support it, small yet unafraid. how ironic it was that his heart was never in control. how it was the last life lost.

[patchwork-rambles]

c!Ranboo: Politics? No, I don’t really care about politics. I guess you could call me a centrist. Really, I’m driven mainly by emotion. I just want to be everyone’s friend. :)

c!Wilbur, who refuses to allow himself to feel or express one (1) single serious emotion because Scawy Feewings :(, vibrating with nigh uncontrollable rage and distaste that he also doesn’t want to allow himself to really express, internally thinking ‘fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you’: Hahaha, yeah… I…. My entire personality is… Politics… But I guess… Maybe we can get along… Hahaha…

[mariigold]

why r you so hot n sexy?

why thank you for asking! i have a third eye (not on me, of course) and it provides me with intimate wisdom of my purpose and how to be beautiful and cunning <3 hope this helps