Trying to Art, Probably Failing

She/Her | Lesbian | Librarian/Archivist | Okayish Artist | Damn Good Fanfic Author | DSMP, Welcome Home, D&D, G/T, and other fandoms: https://owlwithatypewriter.tumblr.com/

[missarchivistdoodles]

Moving Tumblrs...

Since I'm branching out into other fandoms, I'm going to post any non-Undertale/Deltarune stuff (Welcome Home, DSMP, original works, etc.) on a second tumblr I made:

Feel free to follow me there if you enjoy my writing!

[missarchivistdoodles]

Currently obsessed with rereading warning: battery low!! Any idea when/if it’ll be updated anytime soon?

Uhhhhhhh....eventually? Maybe? (Perhaps?)

So here's the thing - I LOVED writing Battery Low, it sustained me through the first part of the pandemic. Having a creative outlet and seeing people enjoy it was really (and still is!) really important to me and always made me grin. Unfortunately, between grad school, working two jobs, and caring for my mom while she kicked cancers ass, I've kind of lost my spark for it? My hyperfixation on Spamton/Deltarune has faded a LOT, and currently DSMP is taking up a lot of my mind (a la Tommy and the Beanstalk, Gold Dipped Paws, the other fifty story ideas I have scribbled in a Google Doc...).

So I do want to finish it! I still have it all outlined (despite Swatch being a total drama queen and interupting my plot so he could be all 'I don't forgive you but I still care for you romantic foreshadowing plot maybe...? (づ￣ 3￣)づ ) I just...don't have the drive? I'm having to adult more now, still working two jobs (though hopefully that'll be down to one full-time job in the next few months), and don't really have the time or energy to work on my writing as much as I want to. Who knows, maybe when the next chunk of Deltarune gets released I'll have a renaissance period and finish it up! Or maybe one day I'll randomly work through this Spamton-themed writers block and post the next chapter.

So to answer your question...Yes. It will be updated. Eventually. I just have no idea when.

[missarchivistdoodles]

Tommy and the Beanstalk: Chapter 1

(AO3 Link)

Chapter 1: Once Upon A Time

Tommy crouched behind a watering can taller than himself and tried to remember how he'd come to be here, hands clasped over his mouth as his death approached with ground-shaking steps.

He could blame Henry for this whole thing, but it wasn't her fault - not really. She wasn't an old cow, but with what little they had to feed her, it was inevitable that eventually she wouldn't be able to give milk anymore. He'd thought they'd had more time before it happened, still a season more where he could sneak out to the barn and sleep against her soft stomach after another day of hard labor, and listen to her heart beat steadily beneath her white and brown hide. But no, the time had come, and he'd walked into the kitchen with an empty bucket and excuses on his lips.

Dream hadn't been impressed - hadn't been willing to listen. The knight had been sitting at the small kitchen table, pouring over one of his many thick tomes, making notes in the margins of text too cramped and small for Tommy to even imagine reading. His mask had been pushed up, resting on the top of his head so he could squint at the complex runes laid out in a diagram, and he'd barely flicked a glance to the boy as he came in from the barn.

"No milk?" There was no surprise in the question, no shock or horror at the idea of their beloved cow starving. Just acceptance. She'd been giving less and less lately, and Dream had already mentioned selling her a few times in passing, though Tommy always vehemently argued against it. Silently, the boy set the empty pail by the sink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse for the lack of milk.

"Tommy, I asked you a question." Dream's voice was still-water calm, but his actions weren't. He slammed the book shut, and the jars of ink on the table danced, one nearly falling over. The boy did his best to hide a flinch.

"Sorry, sir." He straightened his spine a bit, shoulders pulled back, and folded his hands behind himself. "Henry - I couldn't get any milk. Sir."

Dream sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back in his chair, looking exhausted. "Tommy," he said, his voice weary, "I know you care about the cow, but if it can't make milk, then we can't afford to feed it."

Tommy's shoulders crept up to his ears, and he folded in on himself a bit. "I - I know, but we can't just sell her! She's - she's Henry!" He tried to argue as Dream climbed to his feet. "She's - she's family! We ca-"

The hit shouldn't have been a surprise, but Tommy was so busy defending the cow, he didn't see it coming. Dream had always been able to move quickly, silently - it was what made him so dangerous on the battlefield and during tournaments. The backhand snapped his head to the side, cutting him off mid-word, as Dream loomed over him.

"We do not use that word," the knight reminded him, tone tight and dangerous. Tommy shrunk in on himself, one hand reaching up to cradle his cheek, which was already beginning to turn red. He fixed his gray eyes on the floor and wrapped his other hand around his stomach, making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, just how Dream liked it. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, all indignant rage on Henry's behalf gone.

"Why are you sorry?" The knight threaded his fingers through Tommy's hair, gripping it tightly.

"I'm sorry I said - I said the word."

"What word?"

Tommy swallowed, hesitated, and Dream gave his hair a yank. "What word, Tommy?" 

"Family," he whispered.

"And why don't we use that word?"

"Because family always leaves."

The grip on his head loosened, then those fingers were carding through his hair, soothing the pain it had caused. "Families always leave," Dream agreed. "You can't trust them. You can't make attachments." Once more, his golden tangles were caught in a tight grip. "Do you remember why?"

"Attachments make you weak."

"Good." Dream heaved a sigh, as though exhausted from having to hold a conversation with his ward. He released Tommy, taking a step back and folding his arms over his chest. "We can't be weak, Tommy - you can't survive in the world that way. Not with your…handicap. You're better than that, I know you are." 

"I'm sorry," Tommy kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to look his mentor in the eye and see his disappointment.

"I know you are." Another sigh, and the guilt in Tommy's gut began to squirm. He hated disappointing Dream - nothing made him feel worse. Dream stepped past him, to the coat hooks hanging beside the door, and pulled down a lead. "Here. If you leave now, you can reach the market in time to sell Henry to the butcher."

"What?!" Tommy recoiled as the woven rope was held out to him. "But - but-"

"Are you going to butcher it yourself?" Dream demanded, his annoyance returning. "It's a cow, Tommy - it's just food." When he still didn't reach for the rope, the knight's face darkened, and a noticeable edge lined his voice. "Either you take it to market and return with the gold, or I'll make you butcher it yourself." 

He would - Tommy knew he would. Dream wouldn't hesitate, not if he thought it would teach Tommy a lesson. He took the lead in numb fingers, the side of his face throbbing, and nodded as his mentor gave him instructions, including how much he expected Tommy to return with.

Because Tommy would be returning with gold, gold he earned by selling his only friend. As soon as Dream gave him permission, he fled from their small cottage, barely able to stifle his sobs. He couldn't let Dream see his attachment, not if he wanted to make sure Henry's last day was perfect.

~*~

They took the long way to the village. The cottage Dream owned was a few miles from town, on the other side of a small but thick forest. Tommy knew every inch of the woods around the path, including the small clearings full of flowers, and the babbling brook that sometimes held little wiggly minnows that flashed in the sunlight. He made sure to take his time, plodding slowly along Henry, letting her stop to nibble at the daisies that grew along the edge of the dirt path or pause to sniff at the bushes heavy with early-season berries. At one point, when the sun was at its highest, he gently tugged her towards his favorite clearing, leading her carefully through a thick copse of trees to a small, hidden glade. A brook bubbled beneath a large willow tree, and there were wildflowers and clover a plenty. He took the lead off and watched as she trundled about, taking a long drink before discovering a thick carpet of clover near the roots of the willow and setting about eating every one she could find.

He sat near her, slowly munching on the bruised apple Dream had shoved into his hands before he set off towards town. They were still about an hour away, if they didn't stop to sniff the flowers. But he fully intended on letting Henry smell whatever she wanted, so he estimated they'd reach the village by late afternoon. His stomach twisted anxiously, and with a grimace he tossed the apple aside, confident a squirrel or chipmunk would make a good meal of it eventually. 

When he returned home tonight, it would be alone, no gentle lowing or soft hoofsteps accompanying him. By the time he curled up in his small room, Henry would be gone. He would never get to spend time with her again, never seek her out after a nightmare, never brush her soft coat or laugh as she nuzzled him for attention. He could never go to her with bruised ribs and aching scrapes again, seeking comfort after his lessons with Dream. And he would never be able to speak to someone about his handicap, about the weight he carried like an albatross around his neck, about the secret he had to hide lest he endanger not only himself, but Dream and everything they had worked to build. He would be alone in his head again with the secret, with the knowing, with the damned weight on his back growing heavier every time he redid the bandages and had to hide part of himself…

A cool, velvety snout nuzzled the side of his face, pressing against the darkening bruise that was spreading along his cheek. He jerked away, but couldn't help but smile as Henry lowed at him, shoving her face into the crook of his neck, huffing against his pale skin. Wiggling beneath the ticklish touch, Tommy twisted so he could throw his arms around her large neck, pressing their foreheads together. The pair would have been content to stay like that for as long as time allowed, but a branch in the forest at the edge of the clearing cracked, and both of them whipped their heads towards the noise.

A woman was standing there, looking equally startled by the noise. She slowly lifted a booted heel from the branch she'd stepped on, giving them an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry," her voice was soft and kind, "I didn't mean to startle you two."

Tommy pushed himself to his feet, but kept one arm thrown around Henry's neck. The woman was…odd. She wasn't too tall, and didn't appear too old, but her clothing was dark, and there was a black veil attached to the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing. Flowers and gems were tucked in the band around the hat, and matched the gold stitching along the edges of her dress. Tommy was sure he was taller than her - for a fourteen-year-old, he was a bit of a beanstalk, tall and skinny - but she seemed to fill the whole clearing with her presence, the same way Dream could fill a room. Unlike Dream, however, she radiated…kindness. Softness. Something warm and comforting that had his shoulders dropping from his ears, and his grip around Henry loosening. 

"I'm Kristin," the woman introduced herself, taking a step into the clearing proper. Her skirts brushed over the bobbling wildflowers, which seemed to reach towards her as she moved. "What are your names?"

Tommy didn't hesitate the way he normally would - Dream didn't like him interacting with many others, especially adults. They only needed each other in the world, nobody else. No friends. No family. It was safer that way, easier to keep a secret and stay safe. But here in the clearing, under the gentle gaze of Kristin, he answered. "I'm Tommy," he motioned to himself, then gave the cow a gentle squeeze where he was half-hugging her, "and this is Henry."

"Hello, Tommy." Kristin moved the veil away from her face, throwing the long, sheer fabric back over the hat so she could smile at the pair properly. "Good afternoon, Henry. What are you two doing out in the woods today?"

"We're on our way to the market." Tommy reached up and fiddled with one of Henry's soft, silky ears. The cow whuffed and shoved her large head against his own in a gentle, loving headbutt.

"Oh?" Kristin asked, prompting for more. 

"We can't afford to keep her anymore." He wasn't sure why he blurted the words, the secret. The constant struggle for money was something that set Dream off more than anything else, even Tommy's smart mouth and rude comments. Whatever he won from tournaments, or gathered from his work as a knight for Lord Schlatt, went to fund his studies into enchanting. Tommy was in charge of keeping their small farm running, gathering eggs from the chickens to sell in town or eat for breakfast, and tending to the small vegetable plots in the fields. Sometimes, when there were a few coppers left and Tommy was especially good, Dream let him get some penny candies from the general store in the village. It was beyond rare, but that just made the treat all the better.

"Are you looking to sell her, then?" Kristin had kept moving forward and now stopped only a foot away. Henry made a soft noise and sniffed at the hand the woman offered, frame tensing for just a moment before relaxing. She rested her large snout in the woman's hand with a huff, dark liquid eyes falling half-closed. "Aw, what a sweetheart." 

Tommy gave the woman another quick look up and down. Her clothing was clean and made of what looked like silks and dark-dyed, evenly-woven linen, and her boots were sturdy and clear of dust and mud. She was a well-to-do woman, from a family with money. And she was looking at Henry the same way he did - with affection and care, seeing not a walking side of beef but a wonderful, beautiful friend who was the greatest comfort he knew. 

"She's really sweet," he agreed, patting Henry's head, right between her soft ears, "and smart, too. She never causes any trouble, either - except for that one time with the alfalfa, but we don't talk about that." He gave Kristin his best smile, playful and charming, eyes brightening a bit as hope flickered in his chest. If he could convince this rich woman to buy Henry, there was a good chance she'd live on, even if it was away from him. He tried to widen his eyes a bit, giving his best puppy-dog stare as the woman considered the pair of them.

"Alfalfa, hmm?" Kristin was smiling widely now, cradling Henry's bottom jaw with one hand, the other gently petting her nose. "Are you an alfalfa girl, then? Better than clover, is it?" She leaned forward, looking the cow right in the eye. "I can see it - you may look all sweet and gentle, but there's still a flame in you. A desire to survive. To grow." 

For some reason, the last word made Tommy shudder. The way she said it - grow - like it had a meaning beyond a heifer fattening up for the colder months sent a shiver down his spine. There was power in her words, the same way there was power in her presence. He glanced up and found her staring at him, not at Henry, an odd look in her eyes, though it vanished so quickly he thought he must have imagined it.

"How much?"

"Eh?" Tommy straightened abruptly at the question.

"How much for Henry?" Kristin pulled her gaze back to the cow, gently petting one of her silky ears. "I have a friend who would adore her."

"A - a friend?" That wasn't as ideal as the woman herself keeping Henry, but maybe the friend wouldn't be interested in eating her either? 

"Yes. He likes to take…damaged things in and fix them." She ran the back of her hand against Henry's cheek, cooing when the cow closed her eyes and made a low, happy noise.

Tommy, however, bristled. "She's not damaged," he bit out. "She's perfect the way she is." Kristin paused, going almost unnaturally still, and for a moment he was sure he'd just messed it all up, but after a moment she nodded.

"You're right, I apologize." She gave him that soft, sweet smile again. "I mean he enjoys helping those who need a little extra love, and Henry here would thrive in his care. She would live a long, happy life with him." 

He squinted. "Is he vegan?"

That startled a laugh from her, loud and delicate, like the chiming of bells in clear winter air. "Oh heavens no," she giggled. "He loves a good ham sandwich." He had a feeling he was missing a joke, but didn't ask. "But for a beautiful soul like this? He'd be happy to let her live her life until Lady Death comes. Besides, he owes me a favor."

At the mention of the Lady Death, Goddess of the Afterlife, Tommy had automatically drawn a rough heart shape over his chest with his pointer finger, the symbol of the lady. The motion was so ingrained he didn't notice he'd done it; he also didn't notice the amused tilt to Kristin's brow or the way her eyes flashed gold for just a moment. 

"So, how much are you asking for her?" Much to the cows disappointment, Kristin pulled her hands from Henry's head and rustled about her skirts for a moment, before pulling a small, jingling pouch from her belt.

"Fifty gold." The number felt enormous - it was more than he'd ever held in his hands at once, but it was what Dream had demanded of him. Fifty gold, and don't bother coming home until he has it. Even if that meant he had to stay in town and work odd jobs to make it.

"Oh, she's worth far more than that!" Kristin exclaimed, making a kissy face at the cow. "You're priceless, aren't you darling?" Still, she opened the clinking purse and examined it with a stern eye, before nodding to herself. "I have exactly what she's worth here." She held it out to Tommy.

He was expecting something priceless - a hundred gold, maybe, or even a gem of some kind! Dream would be singing his praises for weeks if he brought home an honest-to-goodness diamond - but when he took the bag and dumped it into an open palm, he was confused, then disappointed. 

Beans.

Five beans. 

Five small lima beans - at least, that's what he thought. Then he tilted his hand, sending them rolling, and the beans went from the usual pale green of a lima to shining with gold and something…more. They sparkled, a thin layer of purple shimmering atop them, and where they touched his skin began to grow warm. He'd seen something like this before, in Dream's study at the cottage. On a piece of armor he owned - a single pauldron made of odd dark metal he'd found in an antiques shop years ago. 

"That's…magic?" 

Kristin, who had taken Henry's lead in hand, nodded, not looking surprised by the question, or that Tommy recognized the shimmering purple sheen. "Yes. Those beans possess a life-changing magic." She leaned forward a bit, pressing a finger beneath Tommy's chin and tilting his head up, drawing his eyes away from the beans to meet her own. They flickered with something gold, something knowing and wise that made him feel calm and protected, but at the same time set his nerves on edge. It made him feel small. "There are big things in store for you, Tommy Innit," she smiled, and before he could move or ask what they were, she was pressing a kiss to his forehead and pulling away. "Don't worry, Henry will be well taken care of. I'll be seeing you soon." Then she was gone, moving swiftly - too swiftly - from the clearing, Henry trotting happily after her. 

Leaving Tommy standing in the middle of the wildflowers, five magic beans in hand, wondering when he'd told her his last name. 

~*~

He'd dilly-dallied enough that Dream wasn't suspicious when he got home, not even expecting that he hadn't reached the town proper, or sold Henry to Punz, the local butcher. The man was in his study, pouring over the same thick tome from breakfast, scribbling in the margins in bright red ink whenever something caught his eye. Tommy lingered at the cracked door for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle his nerves before knocking against the frame. 

"Dream? I'm home."

"Welcome back." Dream didn't sound particularly welcoming, and he didn't look up, just held up his empty hand expectantly. Swallowing down his nerves (which didn't work and just made a weird, lumpy feeling in his throat), Tommy dropped the bag of magic beans into his mentor's hand, grimacing when Dream's arm dipped, as though he'd been expecting more weight. 

After all, fifty gold coins weighed a decent bit, unlike five beans.

Magic beans, he reminded himself, tensing as Dream went unsettlingly still, even his pen scratching to a stop, leaving a large, red blob on the page where it hovered. 

"Tommy." It took every ounce of self-preservation and strength he had (and some he didn't) not to flee at the way Dream said his name. "What is this?"

"Payment. F-for Henry." 

"Tommy." He did flinch this time, and hoped his mentor hadn't noticed. He didn't tolerate weakness.  "Tommy, this is not fifty gold. Where is the money?"

"It's - it's better than gold!" Tommy scrambled to explain. "See, I met this woman on my way to town, in the woods, and she was interested in buying Henry-"

"Tommy." Dream carefully set his pen aside and pushed his chair back, rising to his feet, as the boy kept talking, desperate to explain.

"-and she offered me magic!" The boy gestured wildly to the bag, which was still clutched in Dream's curled fingers. "Five of them! Just look, Dream, I swear - they're gold and they look like that shoulder plate you have, the - the same weird purple sparkle thing! I promise, they're magic! "

The knight paused, eyes narrowing over his freckled cheeks at the words. They rarely discussed his focus of study aloud - after all, magic was taboo, a dangerous thing that had been taken from the world after the war five hundred years ago. Those found studying it, trying to learn about it and how to use it, were often executed without a trial, killed within the walls of their homes or libraries before the buildings were set aflame to remove any trace of the information and send a message to others foolish enough to try the same. Tommy had his secret, his albatross around his neck, but Dream had one too.

Slowly, the knight tugged the drawstring bag open and upended it over his palm. Tommy held his breath, partly in dread that the bag would be empty, it all a fever dream or a ruse, partly because he was excited to see them again, the sparkling gold seed coats and shimmering magic that danced above them. 

Out of the bag fell five small, shriveled beans, dried and dead. 

~*~

All things considered, he was lucky.

Tommy spat blood on the ground, grimacing as the yellow wildflowers were dyed a deep, ugly orange as a result. His lip, split and swollen, wouldn't stop bleeding, no matter how much pressure he put on it. Still, it wasn't his first split lip, and he doubted it would be his last. It wasn't his first bruised rib or black eye or swollen wrist either - just another series in a long list of injuries, all of them justly deserved.

And he'd be damned if he didn't deserve this one.

Dream had been sure to teach him where exactly he'd gone wrong. It was a simple lesson, but one he seemed incapable of learning.

Obey.

His head throbbed, and he paused to lean against a tree, pressing his forehead to the bark in a vain attempt to make the world stop turning. Gods above he was stupid - Dream was right. He was naive and idiotic and nothing more than a rube, falling for a pretty face and a sweet voice that promised more than he could ever hope to achieve.

Magic beans.

What a pile of shit. 

And he'd eaten it all up.

Tommy curled his uninjured hand into a fist and pressed it to his cheek, right where the bruise from that morning had blossomed, creating a dark flower along the side of his face. The pain grounded him, helped him shove his self doubts to the back of his head. He could hate himself later - first he had to figure out where to spend the night.

After educating Tommy on where he'd gone wrong, Dream had given him his punishment: exile. For two weeks. The knight was heading to the capital for a tournament (which, without the money from Henry or her milk, was more important than ever now), and Tommy wasn't allowed within a mile of home while he was gone. The boy hadn't argued - he'd expected Dream to take the cost of the loss from his hide, sure that the knight would finally give up on his incompetent squire and sell him into slavery like he'd threatened so many times before. Instead, he had to spend the weeks in the forest, something he did whenever he had free time anyway. 

Sure, he couldn't go back to the house to get food, and Dream hadn't let him grab anything to take with him, but it was fine. There would be berries to eat in the woods, and if he was lucky some fish in the brook he could catch. That was water and food, and he had trees for shelter. It wasn't winter yet, so he didn't need to worry about freezing to death during the night. He could do this - two weeks would be over before he knew it, and by the time Dream returned with another tournament win under his belt, he'd have forgotten all about Henry and the beans, and Tommy could return home and go back to training to be a squire like nothing had happened. 

The beans. God. Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet bag Dream had thrown at his head in the midst of his lecture, grimacing as they clinked and clattered together. This was all because of the beans. Because of Kristin. He thought he could trust her, but no - no, he put his trust in her, and she'd ruined him. She must have switched the bags when he wasn't looking, leaving him to give Dream a bunch of worthless withered seeds. He snarled to himself, promising that if he ever saw her again, he'd give her a piece of his mind. Crushing the velvet in a fist, he pushed away from the tree and kept going, deeper into the woods. 

Without realizing it, his feet fell along a familiar path, and he emerged in the same glade he had brought Henry to only a few short hours ago. Were they short? Or had they been long, endless, the time he spent wandering the dappled woods with his friend the best he'd spent since his childhood? He couldn't remember. He could remember her dark, liquid eyes, so full of wisdom and care, peering at him as she chewed on the clover, not understanding why they were out and about for the day, but knowing that as long as he was with her there was nothing to fear.

But there was something to fear, wasn't there? His naivety, his stupidity, his inability to think things through, to see what was right in front of his eyes. Kristin - if that was her real name - had been a scammer, a person who preyed on the foolish of the world to make themselves rich. She'd watched him be affectionate with Henry, picked up on his reluctance to continue to the town, and had played him like a fucking fiddle. And he hadn't hesitated - hadn't even asked the most basic questions, like where she was from, or what she did for a living, or how she found five fucking magic beans and why she would just willingly give them up to a kid she didn't know for a skinny cow who couldn't make milk.

Gods above, no wonder Dream had so much trouble teaching him. He really was pathetic. 

He turned his back on the glade, on the half-eaten patch of clover and the browning apple crawling with ants, and headed deeper into the trees, away from the path to the village, away from the cottage and Dream, who'd be preparing for tomorrow's trip to the capital. What sky he could see between the heavy crowns of leaves adorning the trees began to streak with reds and oranges, before darkening towards purple as the sun set. Shadows began creeping from the underbrush just as he reached a small clearing, one not nearly as impressive as the glade, but good enough for the night. 

Tommy limped over to one of the large oaks that surrounded the clearing like soldiers on watch and sunk down between its roots, grimacing as the movement pressed against his back and squished his ribs together. The bandages wrapped around his torso were tight, probably too tight, but he didn't want to unwrap them and risk having someone passing by see something they weren't supposed to, so he left them on. His stomach complained at being empty, and he pressed a hand to his gut, trying to quiet it. He'd find some food in the morning - for now he just wanted to sleep and try to forget his aches and pains. He shuffled and settled down in the space, huffing as something poked at his hip. With a growl, he yanked the bag of beans from his pocket and emptied it into his hand.

To his shock, the beans that fell into his palm were plump and gold, sparkling with that odd purple-silver sheen once again. He picked one up between his fingers and examined it closely. The bean was perfectly smooth, the size and shape of a large lima bean, and warm to the touch. Silver and purple sparks fell from it, vanishing before they landed on his skin. He couldn't believe it.

The woman had given him magical beans that were enchanted specifically to fuck him over.

He growled and, with a flick of his finger, sent the bean spiraling through the air. It landed in the middle of the clearing, disappearing into the grass with a wholly unsatisfying lack of noise. For a minute he entertained the idea of tossing the others, but restrained himself. If the beans were truly magical, he could probably find someone to take them off his hands, hopefully for a decent amount of gold. If he didn't get arrested for being in possession of a magical artifact.

Okay, maybe he wouldn't try to sell them. Still, he dropped the remaining beans back in the pouch, then dropped the pouch to the ground. He'd deal with the stupid 'fuck-over-Tommy' beans in the morning - right now he just wanted to sleep and put this awful day behind him. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he settled between the large roots of the oak, trying to make himself comfortable against the rough bark. It was a fruitless endeavor, and he fell asleep with a knot poking at his shoulder and a root digging into his ankle. 

~*~

Tommy woke to something draped over his legs, keeping away the chill of morning. He shifted a bit, blindly groping for the edge of the blanket, wanting to tug it over his head and block the early sunshine from his eyes. He didn't remember having a blanket on his bed - Dream gave him one for the colder months, but it was mid-summer right now - but he wasn't going to argue against a bit of comfort. Not after how angry Dream had been yesterday. 

He tugged the blanket again and, oddly enough, it tugged back, springing out of his hand and sprinkling him in a fine, cold mist. With a yelp he jolted upright, back and neck sore and protesting from hunching awkwardly against a tree all night, and looked around. Everywhere he could see was - green. Just green. 

Tommy rubbed his eyes, wiping away the remains of sleep, and took another look. The majority of the clearing, which had been nothing but tall grass and wildflowers the night before, was now taken up by what appeared to be a giant green tree trunk, too large for him to wrap his arms around. The 'blanket' he'd been pulling on looked like a leaf, though it was easily large enough to be a bed. Slowly, careful of his sore ribs and throbbing ankle, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to make sense of the plant.

The middle was twisted, several separate trunks spiraling upwards, seeming to vanish into the clouds far above the forest. The leaves - all as large as the first, looking thick and rubbery, some dripping with early-morning dew - sprouted from the trunks, perky and green, healthy. Some small vines curled along them, and at the sight something in his mind clicked.

Beans.

The snap-pea vines in the garden had the same kind of curly-q stems that always emerged before growing a pod. He wasn't staring at a giant tree trunk - he was staring at a giant beanstalk. Pushing the leaf he'd been holding onto earlier aside, he hobbled forward, craning his neck back to try and take in the whole thing. He couldn't see any bean pods - would it have bean pods? If this thing grew from the gold magic bean he'd flicked away earlier, would the pods be gold? Or would they be green? He pressed a hand to the stalk and an odd, shimmery feeling washed over him - the same weird warmth the beans had radiated in his hand, but stronger, all-encompassing.

If there were beans hanging higher, how big would they be? Tommy stretched his arms out to either side, comparing his reach to the leaves around him, and concluded that any beans growing on this stalk would be more than enough to feed him until Dream came back from the tournament. Hell, one pod would probably be enough for a month of food! More than that, it would be enough to sell, to make up the fifty gold he owed Dream and beyond. They could have a fully-stocked larder for the first time in forever! No more scrounging for mushrooms at the forest edge or hoping the chickens laid enough eggs to sell and eat. They would be set for at least a year, if not more!

Backing away, he pushed aside the nearest leaf and squinted up at the stalk. It looked like it went into the clouds, but that was impossible - he always had to fix stakes and lines for the snap-pea vines to cling to. The vine likely ended just past the canopy, where the tree branches blocked his vision, and that's where the beans would be. He'd just have to climb up and shake a few loose! His ribs ached at the idea, and his back groaned, but he wasn't worried - he'd gone much higher, with much worse injuries. Besides, the bandages around his chest would keep his ribs in order. As for his back - well. There was nothing he could do for that.

Wiping his hands off on his shirt, Tommy stretched his fingers and examined the stalk. The twisting, spiraling vines made for plentiful handholds, and within moments he was off the ground, climbing easily around the leaves and curly-q stems that brushed against his shoulders and bounced with his weight. His ankle protested every time he had to put weight on it to shift around another leaf, but he ignored it, keeping his eyes on the prize. Not that he could see the prize - all he could spot as he climbed higher was more leaves, more stalk. 

After ten minutes he paused, straddling a thick leaf stem and resting his front against the stalk, flexing his fingers as he caught his breath. He figured he was halfway to the top by now - he hadn't taken his eyes off the stalk, too busy looking for handholds - and near the crown of the forest. Shaking out his wrists, he glanced down, ready to see the few meters of progress he had made. 

He did not expect to see the tops of the trees nearly twenty feet below him, swaying gently in the morning breeze. Jaw dropped, he stared out at the world, the rippling sea of green that swallowed almost everything he could see. To his left, the forest dropped off to a small valley, where the peaks of the houses could barely be seen. Far, far to his right, he could see where the forest began to thin, giving way to rolling hills. Tucked near the woods was a single, slightly-crooked chimney, where Dream's cottage and small farm was. 

Tommy should not be this high. Clinging to the stalk, he peered down again at the trees, at how the branches surrounded the stalk, brushing against it. He couldn't recall climbing past them, pushing leaves and twigs out of his way as he grappled the stalk to keep his balance. The sun didn't seem any higher than when he'd first started his climb, meaning he hadn't lost track of time and zoned out (as he sometimes did during boring chores and lessons). 

As if sensing his unease, a warmth pulsed against his hand from the stalk, and the nerves in his stomach quelled. Obviously he had been too focused on the end goal to notice a few silly branches in his way. He was Big Man Tommy Innit, some twigs and leaves weren't going to stop him from his adventure up the giant beanstalk! Pulling his gaze away from the trees, he tilted back a bit, trying to see if he was near the top yet. There were no hanging pods in sight, gold or otherwise, so he supposed there was still a ways to go. Pressing his feet firmly against the swirling stalk, he resumed his climb, ignoring the heated pain in his ankle and the protesting throb of his ribs. The magic leaking off the stalk, flowing through his fingers like a warm drink on a cool night, soothed the worst of the pain, urging him every upwards.

When he came back to himself, it was because of the cold. Blinking, he pulled back his hand, staring at the water droplets clinging to it, then looked around. Clouds - though they look more like thick fog this close up - surround him, soaking his shirt and pants and tickling his feet through his tattered shoes. A quick glance down showed the forest, town, and cabin in one view, and then beyond. He could see the large river to the east, and the capital city of Manberg just a speck at its far end. Beyond them, the ocean is a mere thread of silver on the horizon. Looking the other way revealed mountains, more villages and hamlets dotted in valleys and nestled among other forests, all trailing off to a patchwork quilt of farmland.

He hasn't been this high in years, not since before his parents left.

Tommy dug his nails into the stalk at the memory, and sap leaked onto his fingers. Instead of the thin, clear-green that came from his snap peas, the ichor was gold, thick like molten metal, and warm. He almost yanked his hands away - almost overbalanced backwards and threw himself from the stalk to what would inevitably be his death - but a warm, calming pulse slid down his arms, soothing away the shock and calming his heart. 

He had nothing to worry about - nothing to think of, except getting to the top and finding the bean pods. Heights had never bothered him, and the chilly wind and embrace of the clouds was invigorating. His aches and pains were nothing but a faint memory now, the magic dripping from the stalk a balm to his bruises. Once he was at the top - once he reached his goal, had his prize - he could worry about other things. For now, all he had to do was climb. That's what the magic told him.

So he did.

~*~

Awareness snapped back as the sun bathed his face, warm and welcoming, a drastic change from the chill of the towering clouds he'd pulled himself through. He paused, curling his fist around the nearest leaf stem, and tilted his head back to enjoy the warmth. The air felt warmer, too, which was odd - this high, above the clouds, should be freezing. His father had always made him dress warmly when they went anywhere near this high, and that was only for special occasions. Shaking away the thought with another pulse from the stalk, he looked around.

And promptly fell from his perch.

Luckily, the ground was not far - in fact, the ground was only a few feet away, dark soil damp and soft. He landed on his back, which cried in protest, the air knocked from his lungs. The sun continued to shine down cheerfully from the blue sky above, only a few wisps of cloud visible as they scuttled along in the higher winds. He wanted to move - he should, he doesn't know where he is, what dangers could be lurking - but his ribs and ankle both protested the idea, the pain bleeding back into his senses without the magic of the beanstalk to soothe it away. 

Speaking of the beanstalk, it had come to an end. It burst through the earth, as though this was where it had been planted, and hadn't grown to astronomical heights. From his vantage on the ground, he could see the way it twisted upon itself, growing thinner and thinner, until finally it began to bend, the stalks separating into a flare of curly-Q vines.  For a minute, Tommy doubted himself - doubted the ache in his fingers and toes, the chill still clinging to his damp clothes, the memory of staring down at the forest far below as he touched the clouds. But when he slowly pushed himself up and glanced around, he saw nothing familiar - this wasn't the clearing where the stalk originally grew. 

It reminded him of a jungle - he'd seen them before, etched in green ink in picture books and world maps. On either side of the dark dirt path he was sitting on were towering plants, though they seemed oddly separated, the ground cover rather sparse. To his left were bushes with thick, wide leaves that hung close to the ground, thick with veins and curling along the edges. To his right were thin stalks of what almost looked like bamboo, but they split apart just above the dirt and burst into leafy ferns near the top. The roots of some looked oddly orange. Beyond them were more plants - dark purple bushes made of overlapping, frilly leaves, short green trees clustered in the center of large, wavy fronds, and beyond all that were towering trees with thin gold trunks and no branches. The path stretched out to either side, vanishing into the horizon on one end, and at an odd cliff face on the other. 

When nothing jumped out from the jungle, Tommy pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his ribs as they throbbed in protest. There were a few odd structures he could see - in the distance, partially hidden in the not-bamboo, was what looked like some strange, collapsed tent, alongside a giant metal sled. Farther down the path he'd landed on (which was strangely wide and devoid of wagon tracks and footprints) was a large, metal building with a domed room and an odd chimney curling up from the side. He'd never seen something like it - all the buildings in the village were made of stone and wood, with glass windows if the family had the money. 

Maybe there was a door or something on the other side - it couldn't hurt to take a look, see if there was somebody there who knew where they were, and how he could get home. The dirt didn't crunch beneath his feet - it was damp and loose, and clung to his shoes in crumbling clumps as he walked. Unlike the soil at home, which was mostly dust and rock and required constant watering, this was loamy, perfect gardening soil. If the ground back home was like this, he'd never need to worry about his carrots or potatoes again! Maybe he could bring some home with him - just a couple sacks, enough to cover the vegetables and give them a better chance. 

He was halfway to the house before something moved in the leaves. He jumped, staring at the strange bushes on his left as the leaves shook, then shifted, and a bright red creature marched out. It was the size of a cat and had six legs and a round body, which was a mixture of black, white, and red. There were antennas sticking out above its eyes, waving wildly as it trundled past Tommy without a passing glance. The red shell on its back was split down the middle, each side dotted with a reflection of black spots, and as it brushed past him part of the shell parted and little clear wings buzzed before settling back down. Without a sound it crossed the path, disappearing in the odd almost-bamboo. 

That…was a ladybug. 

Tommy stared at where it had disappeared, trying dazedly to get his brain to restart. That had been a ladybug, an insect that shouldn't have been half as big as his finger nail, but he could have easily picked it up and given it a hug (not that he would). So he had ended up in a jungle that had giant ladybugs. That was, uh, something. Something great! Never let it be said that Tommy wasn't anything but respectful to the ladies! His many, many wives would agree with that. And if the ladies here were bigger than normal, well, good for them. 

Shaking off his shock, he started towards the metal house again, and if he was walking a bit faster than before, well, that was his business. He'd nearly made it, veering slightly off the center of the path to approach the wall, when the ground shook. It was barely a tremble at first, just enough to make him pause before putting his foot down. There was an accompanying sound - a booming thud that seemed to roll through the jungle - and he paused, but nothing emerged from the trees. A moment later the sound repeated, and the ground shook more noticeably. He picked up his pace until he was right next to the building, ignoring the screaming of his ankle as he leaned against it, glancing at the foliage as he tried to pick out where the noise was coming from. 

It repeated again, over and over, growing louder like a fast-approaching storm, and the trembling of the earth grew with it. Tommy flattened himself against the building and moved around it slowly, until the weird bushes were at his back and he could peer down at the path that stretched into the horizon without being spotted. The sound felt like it was almost upon him, and then a shadow fell over the path and the plants, and a mountain stepped into view.

The mountain had two arms, two legs, pink hair, and was at the very least seventy feet tall. Tommy's father had taught him all about estimating heights and distances - it was important for them to understand, to avoid obstacles, so he'd learned and practiced, even after being taken in by Dream. Now, he felt a flicker of regret - maybe if he didn't have a good grasp on space and size, he wouldn't be leaning so heavily against the metal building, trying to keep his trembling legs beneath him as the mountain stepped onto the path, which was just large enough for it to stand without crushing any of the plants.

He (at least Tommy thought it was a he, the boy wasn't about to go up and ask the walking mountain for their pronouns) was looking around at the plants, hands on hips, dressed in a pair of dark trousers tucked into leather boots and a white shirt with flowing sleeves. His hair was a soft pink, tied back from his face and falling over one shoulder in a loose braid. Gold glinted in his floppy pink ears, and more shone from the tusks that curled from his mouth, which was drawn in a relaxed line as he surveyed the land. When the giant turned slightly, Tommy caught sight of a tail, long and thin with a tuft of pink fur on the end, waving slowly behind him. 

There were two reasons what Tommy was seeing was impossible. 

The first was that giants were extinct. They had been for five hundred years, their entire race brought to an end by the famous Jack the Giant Slayer. All of the kingdom knew of Jack - he'd been a young knight-in-training at the time, when the giants had begun to grow too powerful, too dangerous, to coexist with the humans in the kingdom. A war had started, and many humans had been killed by the giants. Then Jack had been gifted a pair of enchanted goggles (everyone argued about whether they had red or blue lenses) and tasked with destroying the giants by the king himself. Jack had set off into the forest with his most trusted warriors and killed the last of the giants. He'd returned alone, his friends and allies killed in the final battle, and at last the land had been safe.

The second was that hybrids were illegal and not to be seen. They had magic, the same kind as giants. At first they'd been accepted with the giants gone, them being the larger threat. Then a botched assassination attempt on the royal family by a group of hybrids had soured that relationship, and the overwhelmingly human population had turned against them. Most left, escaping through the mountains or over the seas to kinder kingdoms that welcomed their magic and odd traits. Some stayed, hiding ears and tails and other features as best they could to remain in their homeland. There were rumors of small villages, communes, of hybrids deep in forests and high atop mountains, who lived openly with their magic, unafraid of the kingdom's hatred towards them. As the generations shifted, less and less hybrids appeared, and eventually almost none were born. Those that remained hid as best they could, never touching their magic, not knowing how to light the spark that laid within them. They were still dangerous, however - still inhuman, still not meant to be among the normal good folk of the kingdom. 

That's what Dream had told him, at least - he could remember the picture books about Jack from when he went to school in the city, but everything he learned about hybrids came from the knight, after he'd taken him in. The giant standing at the end of the path stood in direct contrast to what he'd been taught - a dual contradiction to what Tommy knew was true. 

Giants were extinct, and hybrids weren't to be seen.

Yet there stood a giant, with very obvious piglin hybrid traits on full display.

While Tommy wrestled with his inner turmoil and the trembling of his legs, the giant knelt down and examined the leaves of the odd bushes. He wrapped his large hands (large enough to pick Tommy up, large enough to snatch him, large enough to crush him without a thought) around one bundle of leaves and carefully pulled them up, revealing a large brown lump dangling from the bottom. 

That was a potato.

That was a potato that was bigger than Tommy.

Tommy dug his nails into the side of the metal building (not a building, he glanced up at the chimney - the spout, it was a goddamned watering can), trying to keep himself upright. He'd never, in all his fourteen years, thought he'd be in this situation. Not outside of playing pretend with Tubbo, not outside of his own imagination.

The giant examined the potato, brushing away the dirt that clung to it, before nodding to himself and setting it aside. He dusted his hands off on his trousers and glanced around the garden (a garden, not a jungle - neat rows of plants growing eagerly beneath the summer sun in the rich soil, thriving beneath the giants' care), inspecting them all with a critical crimson eye. His gaze swept over the path and he paused. Tommy's heart leapt into his throat - had he been seen? The giant was standing now, and Tommy flattened himself against the watering can, praying that the hybrid's ears couldn't pick up on his racing heart or stuttering breath. 

Lady Death must have been watching out for him, because the giant passed without even glancing at the watering can. He cast a shadow over the path as he stomped by, steps shaking the ground enough that Tommy sunk to his knees, still leaning against the can to keep from landing on his ass. The giant stopped by the beanstalk, bending over to examine it, and the human felt his stomach fall in a sick swoop - the plant barely reached the giant's knee. 

Said giant didn't seem very pleased to see a stalk he hadn't planted growing strong and healthy from the soil. He humphed and muttered something to himself, sliding one of the leaves between his fingers and giving it a tug. A bit louder, he grunted, "Why is one of her plants here?" Another tug at the leaf and it slipped between his fingers, the whole plant snapping back before swaying into place. He ran a large hand down his face, before growling and wrapping a fist around the stalk, squishing the leaves in his way. An odd glow surrounded his fingers, a strange thrum lit the air, and in seconds the plant withered, all life drained from it, leaving only a decayed brown stem and some dried, crinkled leaves behind.

Tommy couldn't breathe.

Not only had the giant - the hybrid giant - just destroyed his only hope of returning home (probably), he'd done so with magic. Magic he'd used as easily as breathing, without an incantation or spell circle or potion. Magic that was dangerous, that was deadly. Magic that had been stamped out in the kingdom for the safety of everyone, magic that he had no defense against, magic that made something within him flicker and wake for the first time in seven years, magic that worked, unlike Dream's. 

He pressed a curled fist to his chest, trying to drag a breath into his lungs, which felt like shriveled grapes on a sun-scorched vine. They fought against the air, and he wheezed, faintly recognizing that he was panicking but unsure of how to calm down. His usual counting breaths tactic didn't seem like enough with the enormity of the situation. He shuffled back, pushing his heels against the dirt so he was better hidden around the curve of the watering can, out of sight of the giant, and grabbed his hair, tugging harshly on it. The pain was grounding, somewhat, snapping him out of the overwhelming fear. It was still there - still crawling up his throat, still cramping his empty stomach and making him nauseous, but he was able to drag in a strangled breath, and with one breath came a second, and then a third, all loud and gasping like a dry docked fish but there nonetheless. 

The giant shifted, ground trembling beneath his boots, and made a curious sound - like a 'heh?' only far too loud. Tommy pressed himself closer to the watering can, as though he could meld with the metal and vanish from sight if only he got close enough. The giant's shadow grew longer as he stood, enveloping the can and Tommy, and the ground began to quake as he stepped closer. 

Oh god, this was it. Even if he wanted to run, to try and disappear in the foliage of the potato greens ahead of him, his ankle wouldn't hold him up. His ribs were screaming in protest at his breathing, as shallow as it was, and the world was tilting a bit with the lack of oxygen. The giant would find him, no doubt, and he'd be easy pickings. Fee-fi-fuck-him, there was nothing he could do against a giant piglin hybrid that could use magic.

"Techno!"

The shout - loud enough to rattle his eardrums - startled Tommy, the back of his head crashing against the watering can as he jerked at the sudden noise. He whipped his head to the other side of the path, the one that stretched out into nothing instead of ending at a cliff (a fence, now that he could place it - a wooden plank fence that seemed to surround all of the garden but the entrance, bleached gray-white by the years in the sun). Another giant had appeared, this one blonde and wearing a stupid-looking bucket hat, and a black shirt beneath robes of gold-trimmed green. There was some weird backpack or cloak peeking over his shoulders. He had a wide smile on his scruffy face, blue eyes sparkling as he pushed his hat back and hailed the other giant.

"Phil." Giant number one - Techno, apparently? - greeted with a grunt. "There a reason your wife is growing plants in my garden again?" 

The shadow moved past his hiding spot, and Tommy watched as feet large as wagons passed him by, heading down the path to greet giant number two - Phil. What kind of terrifying giant name was Phil? Techno he could get behind - there was something sinister about the harsh sound that came in the middle, the ch, the te-CH-no. Tech-no. No. No mercy. But Phil? That was all rounded corners and soft curves, and the man looked it, too. He was shorter than Techno by a bit - Tommy squinted and remembered his fathers lessons on estimating, and figured he must be about sixty feet, maybe sixty-one. The odd outfit covered most of his frame, but his fingers were thin and delicate, his cheekbones defined. Compared to the absolute brute that was the piglin hybrid, he looked like a stick. 

Phil grinned, reaching up to pull off his hat so he could run a hand through his tangle of blonde hair. The white feathers that framed his face in place of ears fluffed up as they were freed from his horrible choice of headwear, flicking before he soothed them down. The not-a-cloak shifted, then stretched out into a truly impressive pair of large wings, the feathers a deep blue-gray, striped with thin lines of white and black. The avian hybrid - and why not, why not two giant hybrids, honestly how could it make this whole situation any worse? - shook out his feathers, then let his wings rest half-folded against his back, a relaxed pose that Tommy had once seen often on his own father.

His back strained, atrophied muscles stretching in a vain attempt to mimic what he had seen, and Tommy had to bite back a jealous warble at the sight. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rough bandages beneath the worn fabric of his shirt, reminding himself that he couldn't stretch his wings, that he hadn't been able to for a long time. The giants spoke as he battled his instincts, oblivious to the mental war happening among their potatoes.

"Phil, why do you look guilty?" 

"Mate, it's not what you think!"

"And what do I think?"

"Well it's nothing bad, I swear. It's a gift!"

"...a gift."

"From my wife. Y'know, the La-"

"I know who your wife is, Phil."

"Yeah, well, she just popped by an hour or so ago and dropped her off for you."

Techno shuffled, kicking up dirt with his heels, nearly crushing a beetle that was trundling by without a thought. The beetle seemed unbothered, but the sharp movement rattled Tommy enough that he jumped, pulling himself to his feet so he was in a better position for proper fight or flight. Shaking off his instincts, shoving them back down into the well Dream had helped him build and locking them away, he refocused on the giants and their conversation. The two seemed completely oblivious to him, so he dared to edge forward a bit, still pressed against the watering can but able to see more of the pair.

Phil was holding a rope, leading to something just out of sight behind the fenceline. Techno was leaning against said fence, staring at the avian with a truly impressive flat expression. Tommy was pretty sure he'd seen more emotion in Dream's mask. 

"Your wife stole you a cow as a gift? What anniversary is that?"

The avian sighed, a full-body affair - he rolled his eyes heavenwards and slumped his shoulders, wings ruffling with annoyance. Tommy's dad had done the same thing when he asked too many questions, or interrupted boring adult conversations. The familiar movement made him feel - fond, oddly, of the giant, though he quickly shoved the very idea into his well of feelings-we-don't-think-about alongside his instincts. What a stupid idea, feeling fond of a giant!

"The fourth," Phil's deadpan wasn't nearly as good as Techno's, but he gave it his best shot, "but it only counts if the cow jumped over the moon first." The piglin's mouth twitched at the corner, and he leaned back, still looking skeptical. "But it's not our anniversary," the avian gently tugged on the rope, pulling what was apparently a cow closer, "and Kristin bought her for you." 

Said cow clomped into sight, large head hovering at Phil's shoulder, and blinked her large, liquid eyes as she took in Techno. The piglin huffed, but raised a hand and rested it between her ears, giving her a gentle pat. She lowed, sniffing at his arm curiously, tilting her head to the side so Tommy could see the scar lining the side of her cheek, ending just beneath her left eye.

Tommy knew that scar.

He'd been there when it happened.

He could still remember the smell of blood mixed with stale hay, the dripping of the wound as Henry cried in pain, the stern expression on Dream's face as he pulled the knife back.

Standing between the two giants, now towering a near-unfathomable height herself, was Henry.

Huge thanks to Moonstone for beta-ing for me! So this started out as a crack idea and then the worldbuilding got away from me so...have some lore-heavy Dream SMP in Mother Goose Land! I already have ideas for a couple other stories (Wilbur and the Three Bears and Rapunzel starring Technoblade). I hope you enjoyed, if you did please PLEASE leave a comment! Even just an 'I like this write more!' really helps me stay motivated!

Cheers, all you lovely, lovely peeps!

[missarchivistdoodles]

hey, this is an odd question, but I used to be really in love with your bitty reader story and was recently trying to track it down again for Nostalgia. I’m really having trouble finding it, and the most I’ve got my hands on is an ao3 link saying it’s a “mystery work”. Do you know what’s going on with that?

Someone added it to a collection then hid it from everybody. Fixed, here's the updated link:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Enjoy!

[missarchivistdoodles]

A Sleepy Bois Inc Christmas

He heard the beeping before he saw the damage. A plate glass window, which had once held the name of the small store in curly, fanciful writing, lay shattered across the display table of toys within. The alarm - a high, reedy thing that sounded long past its prime - gasped into the midnight street, which was empty of all but himself. There were no indoor lights on - the sleepy little town had closed its eyes earlier that day, the broadcast of a winter blizzard sending the residents scurrying into their clapboard homes and brick apartments. Nobody should have been out.

But here was the evidence of witching hour tomfoolery - a set of footprints leading up to the shattered window, a rock sitting innocently in the middle of the holiday train display, a smear of blood on the white felt masquerading as snow. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath - there was more blood, farther in, beyond the small halo of light cast by the street lamp. Not enough to be worrying, but certainly more than a papercut or a skinned knee. It smelled human, and young.

A young human.

A child.

Only centuries of discipline kept Technoblade from groaning like a student being assigned a pop-quiz. It was well after December fifth - almost three weeks after! - which meant he was off the clock until next year. But there was no-one else on the street, and the alarm wasn't loud enough to alert anybody in the surrounding buildings. And the child was hurt. If he left a hurt child in a potentially dangerous situation, Phil would never let him hear the end of it. Running a hand down his face, the man moved to the front door.

The lock clicked beneath his magic, and the door swung open, the little silver bell above it jingling merrily. Beyond the little halo of light that fell through the door, something shuffled, then abruptly stopped. He was lucky he had near-perfect night vision - he didn't fancy turning on a light and possibly alerting more of the street to this break-in. He just had to find the kid, make sure they weren't bleeding to death, give them a bit of a scare and then send them home. No problem.

Something fell in the back of the store, where there were shelves of stuffed animals and colorful costumes. Stepping lightly, Techno approached, prepared to face a tearful child who had gotten just a bit greedy and impatient on Christmas Eve. 

He was not expecting a wiffle-ball bat to the face.

It didn't do anything, of course - he was older than the invention of plastic, a light-weight tube of it was nothing compared to flaming torches and steel pitchforks. Still, it had been a surprise, and he stumbled back a step, more to get his bearings than out of actual pain.

"TAKE THAT, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Something jumped off a stool and tried to dart past the man, and his arm snapped out, centuries of hunting instinct thrumming through his veins. He snagged the back of a shirt and easily hauled the thief off the ground, dangling him a good two feet off the ground. The child - a boy, messy blonde hair, blue eyes narrowed in rage, a thin and dirty face - began hollering swears left and right, thrashing. He dropped the wiffle-ball bat, but kept something else tucked close to his chest as he yelled.

"YOU'RE A WRONG'UN! LEMME GO! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCKYOUFUCKYOU-"

"Hush." The one word, spoken in his deep timbre with an undercurrent of threatening magic, shut the child up. His teeth clicked sharply as he closed his mouth and finally took a chance to examine the man holding him. Only, Technoblade knew, he wasn't seeing a man.

Age magic was curious. The younger someone was - such as this child, who couldn't be more than five or six - the more likely they were to believe in the supernatural, and the more likely they were to see it. Technoblade could walk through an office building and appear as no more than a tall human male with an eccentric hair color and odd fashion sense. But to children - especially misbehaving children, especially this time of year - they would see what he truly was.

A tall half-human, half-hooved creature, ebony horns curling from his hair, bare-chested, with a large woven basket strapped to his back, large enough to carry a few misbehaving children at a time. He'd use to carry a bundle of whippy birch rods as well (not that he ever used them to cause lasting harm, but a stinging hand was a good reminder to stay away from a hot stove or from sharp objects), but Phil had convinced him to ditch that part of his routine decades ago. The softy had shoved a stack of research papers about 'corporal punishment' and 'lasting psychological damage from spanking' at him, and he'd happily tossed the rods into the fire (followed by the papers, so he didn't have to read them). 

As the child took in his appearance, eyes growing large and face going pale, Technoblade took the chance to do the same to him. The kid was tiny - for a moment he wondered if his first estimate was off, that this was a toddler - but there was something in his face, in his eyes, that spoke of years of hardship. So five, maybe six, possibly slightly older. His clothes were little more than rags, and his feet were bare. There was a cut on one foot, still bleeding sluggishly from where he'd stepped through the front window. Something fluffy and white with brown spots was clutched to his chest - whatever toy he'd had time to grab before Technoblade interrupted him, he supposed.

The boy's bottom lip was beginning to tremble, and Technoblade wished for the first time that he had Phil on speed-dial. They'd upgraded to cell phones when they became popular - he was given a new one every Christmas, at Wilbur's insistence - but he rarely used them, only sending messages sparingly to check in on the yearly preparations, or to question sudden, random snowstorms that were out of season or area (which Wilbur always denied responsibility for). 

"Krampus." The boy whispered, his expression shifting into one of horror. He tucked his knees up to his chest as best he could, hugging the stolen toy - some kind of plush - close to his chest. Tears were beading along his eyes, and the man was reminded why his December fifth visits were always done with Phil by his side. 

He could not handle crying kids.

"Kid-"

"Please don't eat me!" The boy squealed, scrunching his eyes closed. "I don't taste good, I promise! I tried!"

"Kid, I'm not - you tried?"

The child sniffled, and gave a small nod. "I got hungry." He muttered, and Techno looked at the prominent elbows, the visible cheekbones, the stick-like fingers. "I don't taste good! I promise! And - and I'm skinny so I got no meat on my bones!" 

He wasn't wrong. Techno ran his free hand down his face with a heavy sigh. "Kid, where're your parents?" He asked, and a sinking feeling in his gut told him he wouldn't like the answer.

"Don't got none." The boy muttered, sniffling as some of the tears began running down his cheeks in big, fat drops. "I'm a big man, don't need anybody."

"Do you have any adults looking after you?" Techno knelt, carefully lowering the boy so he was able to balance on his uninjured foot, though he didn't release his hold on the threadbare shirt. If he did that the boy would bolt, and he really wasn't up for a chase tonight. 

"'dults are stupid." The boy muttered, wincing when he tried to put weight on his bleeding foot. The cut wasn't deep, but he bet it stung. 

"Right." For the third time, Techno ran a hand down his face, pausing to cover his mouth as he stared at the boy. The orphan. The homeless orphan boy who couldn't be more than six. Who had broken into a toy store on Christmas Eve, most likely to find at least one little thing he could call his own, so he could have a toy for the holiday like millions of other children across the world. Glancing over his shoulder at the broken window and the street beyond, he frowned. He couldn't just leave the child here, not when there was a blizzard coming in hot, not when the town was shut down. Not when he couldn't trust the human adults to properly look after an apparently abandoned child.

"Here's what we're going to do, kid. You're gonna come with me-" The boy gasped, eyes growing wide, lip wobbling as more tears fell down his cheek. He tried to protest, but Techno spoke over him. "-and we'll get you some clean clothes and food, then figure out what to do with you. My friend Phil will be happy to help you find somewhere to stay for the winter."

"But you're Krampus." The boy wailed. "You're gonna eat me!"

What he wouldn't give for Phil, or hell, Wilbur. Even Quackity would be an improvement right now, but he wasn't going to the spring spirit for anything. Not after their…misunderstanding last equinox. The child was working himself into hysterics, and he didn't know what to do.

"I'm not gonna-"

"You are! You eat bad children and I'm a bad kid!"

"No you're not, I promise-"

The boy just wailed, and he panicked.

"I'm vegan!"

His jaw clicked shut, wide blue eyes staring at the adult like he'd spoken the secrets of the universe. They quickly changed to confusion, however.

"What's vegan?"

"It means I don't eat meat." A complete and total lie - he had a freezer full of prime cuts at home, and frequently indulged in them with a glass of wine after long days of tending his farm, but the kid didn't need to know that. "I don't eat meat, or anything that would hurt something living. So I can't eat you, because I'm a vegan." 

The boy sniffled, using one hand to wipe away his tears, the other still clutched the stuffed toy to his chest. "You promise?"

"I promise." Technoblade nodded, and nearly snorted when the kid adopted a stubborn look and held out his pinky finger.

"You gots to pinkie promise!" He demanded, as serious as a heart attack.

Gods above this child was precious. With great gravity, Techno held up his own hand and carefully wrapped his pinky around the kids. God, it was skinny - all of the kid was skinny, all elbows and knees and stubbornness. The boy bobbed their hands up and down once with a firm nod, then quickly pulled his hand back, wrapping up the stuffed toy in his arms once more. Techno knew he should tell the boy to put it back, give him a lecture about how stealing was wrong, but he didn't have the heart. Besides, it was only one toy, probably no more than a couple of bucks. It'd be fine.

He just wouldn't tell Phil.

"Alright, it's a bit of a trip to Phil's house." Finally releasing the boy's shirt, he swung his basket off his back. It was taller than the child, and would hold him comfortably through the trip. The kid still looked unsure, but didn't bolt for the door as Techno undid the straps holding the lid on. "My friend lives where it's pretty cold too, but there's blankets to keep you warm." 

"And you're not gonna eat me," the boy said slowly, "because you're a vagan." 

"Vegan."

"A vegan." 

"Right. You ready?" 

The boy sucked a deep breath through his nose, as though steeling himself to face a battlefield, and nodded. He was still favoring his injured foot, and Techno made a note to get that tended to first, before anything else. Well, maybe second, after a bath. God, the kid was going to lose his mind when he saw Phils bathroom.

Moving slowly, telegraphing his movements, he scooped the boy up under his arms and lifted him to the basket. Despite looking rough on the outside, the inside was lined with soft fabric, the bottom padded with a pillow and blankets. The kid easily fit within the round walls, and even had a bit of room to stretch out. Gods he was tiny, barely weighing a thing. Once settled, the boy ran his hand over the fluffy blanket he was sitting on, awed by the softness. 

"We're going to use magic to travel," Techno warned him, "So it might feel a bit funny, but you're perfectly safe, I promise." The boy nodded, shifting to pull the fuzzy blanket free so he could wrap it around himself and his plush toy. He was still sniffling a bit, but the tears had stopped for the time being. When he didn't say anything else, Techno slid the lid back on, buckling it into place before easing it onto his back. 

The weight of the boy was barely noticeable.

Gods, Phil was gonna have a field day.

~*~*~*~*~

If Technoblade had to travel, he preferred to take his flying reindeer, Carl. The mystic animal had been a gift when he and Phil first went into business together, the horned man needing some way to keep up with his counterpart in the sky. Unlike Wilbur, who could fly using the winds, Technoblade was firmly earth-bound. But Carl wasn't here right now - he was at home, enjoying a well-deserved break after assisting around the North Pole for a few weeks in the rush that always hit between December fifth and the twenty-fourth. 

You'd think after the centuries of doing this, Phil would have the planning and time management down to a science, but no. There was always something that required a last-minute scramble before the big night. It was a good thing the man was so likable and had so many friends, or Christmas would never happen on time.

Still, no Carl, and he had to hurry, so portals it was. The magic was natural, innate - Mother Earth was happy to help them get around the planet quickly, as long as they didn't abuse it. But it still made him queasy, especially when he had to go long distances, like from this little British town of L'manberg to the pole. With a deep breath, he called forth the portal. It appeared, a swirling purple disc hanging in the air, just large enough for him to pass through. It made an odd buzzing noise, and just past the misty tunnel he could see the outline of Santa's Workshop, calm and still in the snowy landscape, the man of the hour having left for his one-night delivery run. 

Steeling himself, he stepped through, grimacing at the vwwoooooooop! that echoed in his ears and the feel of unstable ground beneath him. The mist brushed against him, clinging to his arms and horns, but he ignored it and kept walking, until the purple faded and he was standing on a field of snow, half a mile from his destination. The portal snapped shut behind him, and he stood still for a moment, letting the chill of the land wrap around him, comforting in its familiarity. Beyond the grandeur of Santa's Workshop (a hulking building of dark wood that somehow kept its cabin-like aesthetic despite the size) over a hill, he could see the speck that was his own humble cabin, and the speck that was Carl, cavorting with a few others of Santa's reindeer herd. 

Right, drop the kid off into the capable hands of the elves, and head home for a well deserved glass (bottle) of wine. He took one step forward, then froze as the sound of retching came from the basket. Grimacing, he hurried to pull it around, sliding one strap off so he could swing it to his front and pry the lid up. The boy (he should really ask for his name) looked up as light filled the space, a miserable sheen in his eyes. He'd vomited what little was in his stomach, and the sour smell of acid and something that was likely far past its expiration date soaked the blankets.

"'m sorry," the boy huddled into himself, clutching the stuffed toy (that had thankfully avoided a stomach-acid shower) tight to his chest. 

Techno bit back a heavy sigh. It wasn't ideal, but it also wasn't the first time a child had puked in his basket. The inner lining was removable for just such a reason. "It's fine, kid." He knelt, setting the basket down, and reached for the boy. He stiffened, but didn't fight as Techno scooped him up. There wasn't much vomit - which in itself was worrying, but he had to remind himself that the workshop had a giant kitchen and three fully-stocked larders, the boy would not be going hungry again - and cradled him to his chest. The man naturally ran hot, to combat the icy temperatures he lived and worked in, and after a moment of resistance the child melted against him, settling his head into the crook of Techno's neck.

"Sorry," he muttered again as Techno put the lid back onto the basket and slung it over his back. 

"'s okay kid." The man stood, shifting so the child was properly cradled, wrapped in his arms so the cold couldn't reach his tender skin. "I don't like portaling either." 

The boy made a noise of acknowledgment, his eyes falling closed, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. Gods, he was precious. Techno had a feeling he wasn't going to be leaving the pole, not once Phil and Wilbur saw him.

By the time they reached the large main entrance to the workshop, the boy was almost asleep, looking angelic as he rested against Techno's naturally dark skin. Before Techno could knock on the large oak doors, they were flung open, revealing the one person Techno loved and hated in equal measure.

"Krampus, you came!" Wilbur cheered, twirling through the air at the sight of Technoblade. "I was worried you were off sulking with your wine, but you came! You came!" The winter spirit, never one to linger with his feet on the ground, beamed. His pale blue skin flickered in the lamplight like ice (the whole workshop was wired and had some amazing fluorescent lights, the kind that mimicked sunlight and helped improve moods, but Phil had insisted on keeping some of his original lanterns around the entrances for 'aesthetic purposes'), and his curly white hair bounced as he swayed. He was wearing a truly outrageous yellow sweater that was too big, and had swapped out his usual trousers for sweatpants. 

"You missed dads send off," Wilbur turned and floated into the foyer, knowing Techno would follow. He did, shutting the door behind him. The kid in his arms stirred, but didn't move or make a noise, his eyes fixed on the blue-skinned spirit babbling ahead of them.

"-it was great. Tubbo got his hands on some fireworks somehow - I'm pretty sure he bribed some of the nian from Zhangjiajie for 'em. Spooked the younger reindeer pretty bad, and Rudolph was not impressed. Never seen her that mad - she chased Tubbo and Ranboo right up the central tree and wouldn't let them down for an hour!" Wilbur cackled as he led the way to the large lounge just off the main workshop floor. The room had high ceilings and a full two walls of windows - one that looked over the snowy landscape outside, and the other giving a showcase into the multi-story workshop that burrowed several stories into the earth. 

The kid had lifted his head from Techno's shoulder and was peering around, jaw dropped in amazement. He craned his neck to peer into the workshop through the windows, watching as colorfully-dressed elves (about his size, some bigger, depending on their age) moseyed about, cleaning up lazily, relaxing now that their job was done for the year. Phil always gave them from Christmas to the end of January off - they could relax, travel the world, enjoy themselves, until the toy-building resumed in February. The toys for this year had all been wrapped and packed, leaving the workshop with mostly bare workstations and empty bins. In a few months it would be back to a chaotically-organized mess, but for now it was resting.

Speaking of Tubbo and Ranboo - they were there, both holding brooms, an annoyed Rudolph keeping a close eye on the pair as they swept up sawdust around the wood carving stations. The elves both looked properly chagrined - one shorter, fluffy hair shoved beneath a green beanie, the other unusually tall but trying to fold in on himself as Rudolph continued to lecture them as they worked. Techno reminded himself to grab a few golden carrots for her - anyone who could make the Troublesome Two look that repentant deserved them. 

"Deer," the child muttered into his shoulder, watching the trio with wide eyes. Wilbur, who had fluttered over to the fireplace, making sure it was properly warming the room, froze. He turned slowly, chocolate brown eyes flecked with snowflakes going wide at the sight of the child resting against Techno's shoulder.

"Krampus," he whispered, clapping his hands over his mouth, "you stole a child!" 

"Jack Frost," Techno huffed, pulling out the others title as well, "it's literally my job description."

"He's so cute!" All at once the winter spirit was in their space, peering at the kid with big eyes and a huge smile. "Hello there!" 

The kid, to Techno's confusion, didn't immediately jump into the welcoming spirit's arms. He shrunk closer to the man, tucking his head back against Techno's neck, holding his stolen stuffy tightly. "H'lo."

"Awwww," Wilbur was reading far too much into this, his gaze flicking between Techno and the boy's face. "Hello sunshine, my name is Wilbur. What's yours?"

"'m Tommy." 

"Hello Tommy. Welcome to the North Pole!" Wilbur floated back a few feet, throwing his arms wide. Snowflakes burst from his hands, showering the three of them with soft, fluffy magic. The boy - Tommy - giggled as a few landed in his hair, and he shifted a bit, still resting against Techno's chest, but with the side of his face pressed to Techno's collarbone so he could fully face Wilbur. "You are just the cutest thing," the spirit cooed, pressing his hands against his cheeks as he floated closer. "Where ever did big ol' grumpy Techie find you?"

The only thing stopping said 'big ol' grumpy Techie' from throwing the spirit through the window was the child in his arms, and the work Phil would have to do to repair the window again.

For the fifth time.

"Techie?" The boy asked. His fist had come to rest against his chin, thumb nearly in his mouth, and Techno was reminded once again how truly young humans started out as. Supernaturals were usually born fully-formed, ready to fulfill their duty as part of the natural order of the world. Humans were born small, soft, vulnerable and unwise to the ways of the world. This child had already experienced far more hardship in his short time than any creature should. 

"That's his name," Wilbury chimed cheerfully, expression brightening when Techno didn't try and throttle him. "He must really like you," he said, sotto voce, "to be hugging you like that."

The boy blinked, then glanced up shyly at Technoblade, who was doing his best not to grit his teeth and set Wilbur on fire with his gaze. The thumb finally made its way properly into his mouth, and Tommy settled his head back in the crook of the man's neck, fully relaxing. "I like 'im too." He muttered around his thumb, closing his eyes.

Snow started falling outside the window, big fluffy flakes that were perfect for snowmen and snowball fights and winter strolls with family through the park. Wilbur's cheeks flushed bright pink, a delighted smile splitting his face from ear to ear, and Techno barely kept back a groan. He knew that look - hell, he'd been on the receiving end of a very similar look, way back before he'd started working with Phil. 

The kid wasn't going anywhere.

~*~*~*~*~

The kid - Tommy - slept through a bath, missing out on the extravagance of Phil's sunken tub and vast array of toys and bubbles. Wilbur found some small, comfortable clothes from the attic that had once been his, before his death and resurrection as Jack Frost. He'd also bandaged the child's foot, adding just a bit of health potion to make sure the cut didn't scar or get infected. Techno would have done it, but once the boy had started waking after being dressed, he refused to let go of him. So they sat in the lounge, Techno sprawled on one of the large sofas with a book in one hand, the other cradling the child resting against his chest, golden curls tucked beneath his chin. The stuffy he had stolen - a white cow with brown spots - was snuggled in his arms.  Wilbur had run off to prepare some food for the child - something light for his stomach, a broth of some kind, nothing like the rich foods usually on offer from the cooks. 

The doors to the hall stood open (most of the elves had retired for the night, and those who were still celebrating were tucked away in the elven break rooms and lounges scattered about the building, not daring to approach Phil's personal lounge without an invitation), so Techno heard when someone approached, heavy boots clomping across the hardwood. Wilbur floated everywhere, and didn't even own a pair of shoes any more, so it couldn't be him. Some of the other holidays visited occasionally - Cupid always dropped by after Valentine's day to drop off some chocolates, and the Easter Bunny had a long standing tradition of comparing travel times with Phil after his holiday. Phil was married to the Lady Death, who was a constant presence around, but she moved with the shadows, and warned none that she was coming, or let them know she had left. 

Tilting his head back, Techno watched as a short, scruffy man entered, shedding his red coat and stretching his arms over his head, back cracking. There was no flowing white beard, no bowl-of-jelly-belly, no perfect Coca-Cola image. Just Phil, dark circles under his eyes, straw hair a mess as he kicked off his snow-encrusted boots and lined them up by the door. He hung up his coat on the wall rack, then paused when he noted Krampus' infamous basket leaning against the wall, the lid off, the blankets and lining already handed over to a pleasant elf who promised to wash them. 

Phil ran a hand through his hair, grabbing his awful green-and-white bucket hat from the rack and dropping it on his head, covering up the bird's nest of hair. "Hey, Krampus." He said as he turned towards the couches, a tired grin spreading over his face.

"Evenin', Santa." Techno greeted, quietly closing his book and setting it to the side. On his chest Tommy stirred, blinking blearily, thumb still firmly in his mouth. Techno was fairly sure that five was too old to be sucking on thumbs, but he wasn't going to deny the child a comfort. 

When the man didn't jump up to greet him, Phil wandered over, curious as to what had his oldest friend's attention. He rounded the couch and paused, trying to figure out if he was surprised or not.

"That's…?"

"A child."

"Uh-huh. You have a child." Phil pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. "Mate, we've talked about this, in the modern age you can't just steal a child-"

"I didn't steal 'im." Techno interrupted, shifting so he was sitting up properly, making sure Tommy was still comfortably settled against his chest. The boy huffed as he was moved, snuggling closer to Techno's chest and turning his head to the side so he could see the newcomer. He stayed silent, watching as Phil shook his head.

"Well you didn't have a child last I checked, and now you do. So either you have a wife I don't know about, or you chucked a child in your basket and brought him here. I'm sure I don't have to tell you which option I'm leaning towards." Phil was frowning now, though with the flush on his cheeks from spending the night in the cold air, and the obvious exhaustion in his gaze, it wasn't very intimidating.

"Stealing refers to something that will be missed once it's taken." Techno said evenly, tightening his grip on Tommy a bit, pressing him closer. The boy huffed but didn't protest, still staring at Phil with a tired, curious eye. "This was a rescue." 

Phil squinted a bit, before realization dawned in his eyes. The scowl fled from his face, replaced by a growing grin that held just a bit of smugness. "Techno, did you save an orphan? On Christmas Eve?" 

Before he could deny it, there was a gust of cold air breezing through the room. Tommy whined and curled up closer to Techno (despite already resting on top of him and being as close as the pair could be), a grumpy expression masquing his curiosity about Phil. 

"He absolutely did!" Wilbur announced as he flew in, a bowl of soup in hand. He set it carefully down on the table beside the couch, before throwing himself as his father for a hug. "Big bad Krampus rescued little Tommy on Christmas Eve, and brought him here to Santa's Workshop at the North Pole!" 

Phil easily caught Wilbur, chuckling as he hugged his son tightly in return. "I see! I suppose that means you must be little Tommy, right?" Once his arms were free, he crouched in front of Techno so he was eye level with the child.

Who immediately raised the hand not in his mouth and flicked him off.

"Fu'k off," he growled around his thumb, "I'm a big man!"

There was a beat of silence, before Wil was howling, rolling about in the air as he laughed, clutching at his stomach as ice dripped from his eyes, scattering across the floor like fallen pearls. Phil gaped at the child, jaw hanging open, unable to grasp the insult thrown his way by a toddler. 

Technoblade just sighed, running his free hand through the child's blonde curls. "Tommy," he said in a gently chiding tone, "we don't swear at Santa Claus." 

Tommy sniffed, shifting so his back was pressed against Techno's chest, and looked Phil up and down. "Dat's not Santa Claus. Santa is big and round and has white hair and a beard."

The familiar argument snapped Phil's dazed mind back into focus. "Heh, well, that's what the cartoons make me look like, yeah." He chuckled, crossing his arms over his knees as he peered at the boy. "Tommy, do you know your last name?" He asked as a book appeared at his side. It was large and leather bound, though it looked rather thin. When it fell open, hovering in the air, the pages seemed to go on forever, each filled with lists of names and addresses and checkmarks.

Tommy squinted at him, then at the book, before cautiously answering. "Innit. Tommy Innit."

Phil twitched a finger and the pages began flipping rapidly, until at last it lay open to a page with the title 'UNFOUND'. The name Thomas Careful Danger Kraken Innit was highlighted with a golden glow, with the address noted as 'missing' and several check marks and one 'X' beside it. 

"Let's see here." Phil raised one finger to press against the checkmarks, seeing something written the others couldn't. "Hmm, yes, it seems that last spring you shared your food with a mother duck and her ducklings. That was very kind of you, Tommy."

Tommy perked up at the words, eyes shining at the simple praise.

"And in October, on Halloween, a girl dropped her bucket of candy and instead of keeping it for yourself, you brought it back to her. Clementine was very grateful, wasn't she?" 

"She ga' me a piece," Tommy muttered, a slight blush crossing his cheeks, "a tootsie roll." 

"That was very  nice of her," Phil hummed, ignoring Wil's squeal of 'cuuuute!' in the background. "And - oh. You gave your toy cat to a lady with a baby at the homeless shelter on Church Street." Phil's eyes widened. "You - the lady cried and kissed your forehead, didn't she?"

Tommy nodded, pressing his face against the cow stuffy. 

"And that was your only toy, wasn't it?" Phil asked, sympathy dousing his expression. "You gave it away because you wanted to make the baby happy."

"'e was crying," Tommy muttered, not meeting Phil's eyes. "But - but then I couldn't sleep 'cause I was all alone. So I thought," he squeezed the cow tighter, "I thought maybe I could take a little toy and nobody would notice…"

Phil's finger traced over the only 'X' beside Tommy's name, brow pinching a bit as he saw what the child had done earlier that night. With a flick of his finger, the mark vanished, leaving only check marks beside his name. "Well, Tommy, despite not having a big beard, I am Santa Claus. But you can call me Phil." He beamed at the child as the book swung shut, vanishing in a swirl of magic. "And I've just checked my list - twice - and I'm happy to say that you are firmly on the Nice List."

Tommy squinted. "You're Techie's friend?" He asked, not seeming delighted to be speaking to the Santa Claus, or at his status on the famous Nice and Naughty list.

"Yeah, mate," Phil nodded, ignoring Wil's choked noise at the nickname, "I'm Techie's friend, and Wilbur's dad."

Tommy glanced at the winter spirit, who had finally calmed himself and was hovering behind Phil, a bright grin on his face. He wiggled his fingers at Tommy, sparkling snow falling from his fingers. Techno, meanwhile, was giving his best friend a glare that could wither fields and slay dragons, one eye twitching ever so subtly as the shorter man reinforced the nickname.

"Wilby is nice," Tommy decided, tucking himself back against Techno, hugging his stuffy close. Wilbur swooned at the name, and the other adults knew there would be a light dusting of perfect playing snow across the northern hemisphere tonight. "You're nice," he told Phil, already tucking his head back under Techno's chin. "But Techie's best." With that declaration he was once more asleep, in the way that only children could be. 

"We're keeping him," Wilbur whispered, as soon as he was sure the child was fully asleep.

Phil rubbed at his chin, eyeing the pair on the couch thoughtfully. "Wil, there's certain laws we have to abide by, even if-"

"We're keeping him." Techno interrupted, shifting so both arms were wrapped around Tommy, tucking him firmly against his chest. The child curled up even closer, thin face relaxing in the warmth. 

"Mate, there might be somebody looking for him."

"L."

Phil groaned, but Wilbur was at his shoulder, tugging gently at a strand of hair. "Dad, dad," he turned on his puppy-dog eyes, an incredibly effective tactic despite him having the form of a man in his early twenties. "I've always wanted a little brother. And you said Tommy's on the nice list - he deserves the best Christmas present ever!"

"Oh?" Phil raised a brow at this son, resolve already breaking. "And what's that?"

Wilbur's smile was blinding. "A family." 

~*~*~*~*~

He heard the beeping before he saw the damage. Techno stilled, an odd feeling of deja vu washing over him, but there was another crash and he quickly shook it off and soldiered on. The rest of the workshop was quiet, the elves having turned in after the festivities of the post-launch party. That left only a handful of people who could be causing mayhem in the lounge at this time of night. Approaching the open doors slowly (he could be impressively quiet, despite his cloven hooves), he peeked into the room.

It had undergone some changes in the last decade. There were still the comfy couches, the roaring fireplace, the windows that peered both out onto the tundra and inward to the workshop. There was also a desk, covered in papers and a gaming computer, along with several large shelves stuffed with books. Pictures and photographs hung on the walls, featuring the Craft family in all their various glories and embarrassments. Fluffy blankets were draped over the couches and chairs, ready for a cold human to snatch them up and huddle in their warmth. On top of the mantle, between family portraits and favorite tchotchkes, were several stuffed cows in various states of repair, each with a ribbon around the neck and the year of their retirement noted on a little tag. 

The biggest change was the evergreen, a squat little thing that was barely taller than Techno. Tommy had found it himself and, with the help of his best friends (the Troublesome Two had become a Terrible Trio, and Wilbur did nothing to discourage it, much to Phil and Rudolph's dismay), he'd hauled it home, set it up in the lounge, and decorated it with whatever he could get his hands on. The poor thing looked like a colorblind disco ball, but Tommy had declared it was perfect, mooning cupid on top and all. The bottom of the tree was stuffed with presents, not only from Phil (who was halfway through his rounds by now, and due back in about twelve hours), but from Wilbur, Tommy, Techno, and Kristin, all wrapped and labeled for each other, waiting for the morning. There were some for Tubbo and Ranboo too, of course - the pair of elves had wormed themselves into the family dynamic that had formed, establishing themselves as Tommy's best mates and, depending on the amount of trouble they were in, brothers. 

The trio were responsible for the beeping - the smoke alarm was going off, and Tommy was rapidly waving a tin pan on a flimsy stick around, swearing as it fanned the flames. The Jiffy Pop was still popping, the kernels exploding into soft white fluff before catching fire and falling to the rug. Tubbo and Ranboo were scrambling to stomp out the embers, yelling and swearing as they did so, giving Tommy conflicting directions on how to snuff out the flames. 

"What is going on here?" Techno demanded, using his Krampus voice to catch the younglings attention. Despite being born mostly-grown, Tubbo and Ranboo were still considered adolescents by the elves, and they quailed at the magic in his voice just as Tommy did. Tommy, however, had been following Techno around for ten years, and managed to shake it off. 

"It's not our fault!" He declared, as another flaming popcorn kernel dropped to the ground. Ranboo hissed and stomped it out quickly. 

Techno took the three in, hands on his hips. The kernel embers weren't doing much damage - just smoldering on the floor, the rugs long-ago fireproofed with magic. "Uh-huh. Pray tell, how is this not your fault?" He asked, one brow raised.

"Wilbur told us to!" Tubbo blurted out. "Then he ditched!"

Ranboo wrung his hands, glancing between Tommy and Tubbo, then back at Techno. "He - he said we should get started popping the popcorn so we could string it, but he left before explaining how to do it," he offered. "The instructions said just put it in the fire…"

"Over."

"Huh?"

"Over the fire." Techno sighed, dragging a hand down his face (a move he found himself repeating frequently around his youngest brother). He stepped forward, and to their credit the three didn't flinch, just looked even more embarrassed and guilty. Taking the Jiffy Pop from Tommy, he smothered the flames with a snap of his finger, and cleared the smoke with a wave of his hand. The smoke alarm fell blissfully silent. He dropped the burnt husk of tin pan into the trash shoot beside Tommy's desk, brushing the ash off his hands, and turned to look at the three.

"So Wilbur left you three to cook something without supervision?" He clarified.

Ranboo looked like he wanted to debate, but Tubbo elbowed him sharply in the side. "Yes. Yup. That is exactly what happened."

"He left three kids alone to play with fire. What kind of responsible big brother does that?" Tommy tacked on, resting a hand over his heart.

"Truly a monster." Techno deadpanned, and the trio nodded in agreement. Shaking his head, he moved to the couch beside the tree, sitting down heavily in the plush cushions. "Well, I guess I'll just have to supervise until he gets back." 

None of them pointed out that he would be here even if Wilbur was. They didn't point out that after Tommy had been adopted by Phil, the man had moved into the Workshop proper, leaving his cabin as a retreat only used when he needed a break from the younger boys. Nobody pointed out that he'd taken to calling both Wilbur and Tommy his little brothers, or that he had let Kristin mother him on occasion (though Phil still couldn't get away with trying to be parental towards him). Nobody pointed out the cows lined up on the mantle, each a careful recreation of the one Tommy had first stolen (Henry the First).

"Tell us a story, big man!" Tommy didn't hesitate to throw himself onto the couch beside Techno, pressing himself into the large man's side, a grin lighting up his face as he begged.

"Yeah, something with explosions!" Tubbo agreed, dragging Ranboo over to sit at Techno's feet, staring up at him eagerly. "And blood!"

Ranboo didn't seem on board with that. "Or, uh, maybe something nice?" He requested. 

"Oh, I know a story full of blood and explosions and nice stuff!" Tommy chirped, wiggling so he had one of Techno's arms draped over his shoulder.

"Really?" Techno didn't push the boy away, and he certainly didn't pull him closer, and anybody who said differently was a liar.

"Yeah. Tell the story of how you found me!" Tommy beamed, eyes crinkling up in the corner.

Techno raised a brow, taking in the boy's face. Round and healthy, with a flush to his cheeks that were scrubbed clean and sprinkled with freckles. Dressed in clean, warm clothes, free of injuries (aside from a few bruises, the kind all children going through growth spurts carried around like badges of honor) and hunger. "I don't recall any explosions in that story…" He hummed.

Tommy's expression softened a bit as he turned on his puppy-dog eyes. "Please, Techie?"

"Alright," the man sighed heavily, as though it were a great burden. He glanced at the pair at his feet, then shifted his gaze to the sparkling mess of tinsel and ornaments that was their tree. Tommy melted into his side, fitting perfectly against the man's side. "It started in this little place called L'manburg. I was keeping an eye out for trouble while Phil was on his rounds, when I heard an alarm…" 

Happiest of Holidays! I've fallen head-first into a new fandom, the DSMP, and I blame Tumblr for it. Hear that? It's your fault. Thank you so much. <3

[missarchivistdoodles]

So I've started playing DnD with some friends. We're about two months and have started our big Spacejammer journey. My owlin rogue/fighter is not having a great time.

To be fair she and Fitz the fairy raided that broken ship and she stole like, a shit ton of expensive silks from the captains office so she has plenty of fabric for a new dress. She's just mad 'cause she lost her cult-robe-dress her first time wearing it out.

[missarchivistdoodles]

So I came out to my dad today...

I didn't use this video, but uh, the conversation went really well? And he said he actually had an idea that I was gay for the past few years. Still waiting to tell my mom (she's at the tail end of recovery from her radiation therapy, and while I know she'll love and support me, it's uh, yeah, I'mma give her time to get back to 100% first XD).

Sharing this video for any other lesbians who are trying to figure out how to come out to their big sisters. :3c Hi Sara!

[missarchivistdoodles]

HIHI HI!!!!! UHHHH I THINK YOURE COOL AND IM GOING INSANE OVER LOW BATTERY CAN I MAKE YOU FANART I LOVE THE FIC SO MUCH ACTUALLY!!!!

Yes please make me fanart, I adore fanart! Also sorry for taking so long to answer this, grad school is kicking my butt right now. T-T

[missarchivistdoodles]

hay I just want to say how are you doing because you haven't posted anything in a month, and I just wanted to see if you were ok :] .

p.s (have a good day)

from : Anon

Awwww thank you so much for checking in! :3 I'm okay, just overwhelmed with school! I'm in my very last semester of grad school, and there's a LOT that goes into graduating - got to finish these last two classes, AND complete and submit my capstone project. I haven't given up on Warning: Battery Low, but I wouldn't expect any updates anytime soon - just too much real life going on. But hey, maybe the anniversary stream this week will kick my writer brain into action?

Thanks for checking in, I appreciate it!

[where-you-go]

my favorite thing in the world is reading a completed fic and the author’s note on the first chapter saying “i think this’ll be like 3 chapters!”

but i already know that it’s thirteen chapters

somewhere along the way, this poor author lost control of their life and the rest of us have benefitted immensely

[ao3commentoftheday]

image id: Facebook meme proclaiming, "I'm in this photo and I don't like it."

[missarchivistdoodles]

Warning: Battery Low was only supposed to be like 5 or 6 chapters long…

[missarchivistdoodles]

[missarchivistdoodles]

Behold, my lesbians. Bida (blue) and Susurri (yellow) now have proper Cyber City forms! They are both Magic Cookie programs, and ran away to Cyber City to join the circus Illustrious Illusion Brightstart (dark blue), stage magician extraordinaire, as his assistants. Bida is an aerial acrobat (her programming lets her mess with her personal gravity), while Susurri provides lights and special effects with the flick of a wrist! Bida also has a specially-made stage prosthetic that lights up with the music used during the show!

The first pic is a bit wonky pose-wise, but Illusion is 7'6" without his hat so...yeah. It's giving me great practice with working on height differences! (He is technically a magic program, not a magic cookie, meaning he is very powerful, but he doesn't want the work that comes with that so he passes himself off as a strangely-tall magic cookie so he can just have fun with magic). They've made friends with the unfortunate Mason (owned by the lovely @rosy_matchmaker), who works with Arc at the library, and are trying to help him make friends and succeed in his love life.

I love them so much. They're such fun characters! ;3c So much cute art potential!

[missarchivistdoodles]

If you haven't read Now's Your Chance [Sad] by the amazing @xxbig-shotxx , it's definitely worth a read! Their art and story telling is awesome!

[missarchivistdoodles]

Lesbians.

[phoenix-art-official]

@missarchivistdoodles more of him <3

[missarchivistdoodles]

AHHHHHH! THE HIM! I legit squealed out loud when I saw him doing the phone symbol oh my god I LOVE it! I feel motivated to work on the next chapter now! :3c

[missarchivistdoodles]

When you accidentally summon a demon and he won't put on pants. (And the time lapse of how I drew it, 'cause they're fun to watch!)

[phoenix-art-official]

@missarchivistdoodles battery low still has a stanglehold on me and i still regularly read chapter 11 so have some doodles

[missarchivistdoodles]

Eeeeee thank you! : D Chapter 11 is my favorite (so far). These are lovely, I love the expressions you gave them!