4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw (for the artist ask meme)
Absolutely adore Azul. Can't draw the guy for love or money. For some reason, his hair just doesn't wanna play nice for me!! I can't get it to the proper level of fluffiness without losing its shape entirely. And he has very delicate features that I either run all over like a bulldozer, or lean too lightly into and don't get his expressions right. And he makes a LOT of great sleazy and screwball expressions!! Once I learn how to get him right, it'll be Cephalopod City all over this place.
tubbo has always found the stars lovely, but they’re especially pretty out here, with no pollution to cover them up.
his mornings are full of excitement, of shouts and laughter, of half-hearted orders and prep.
but right now he has these stars all to himself.
he can trace a few shapes in the sky, following them with his eyes and trying to make patterns. those three, there— they look connected, right? what is that, a dipper? orion’s belt?
tubbo doesn’t actually know anything about constellations at all. but the sky is so huge, and so gorgeous, he has to look at it.
the grass is slightly damp on the back of his jacket, but he doesn’t care. his hands are folded neatly behind his head as he rests on the ground.
the night air isn’t silent (the sounds of animals and crickets and the occasional distant mob are prominent) but it’s quiet and peaceful in that way only night air can be.
the muffled sounds of people talking suddenly get much crisper as the door to the van behind tubbo is opened and someone jumps out. it gets quiet again as they shut it.
tubbo doesn’t take his eyes away from the galaxies above him, but he hears when tommy asks “‘ow do?”
“I’m alright,” tubbo replies amiably. “you?”
tommy crouches down next to tubbo on the grass, feeling the dampness before signing and sitting anyway. (of course tommy’s annoyed about the grass, he’s always so prissy about stains on his uniform.)
“oh! that’s lovely, innit?” tommy realizes, gazing up at the vast skies. they’re both quiet for a second, hearing the charming sounds of the other two people in the van behind them trying to coax a young fox to sleep. they’ve been telling him jokes to get him to sleep for almost an hour now, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea.
“it’s beautiful,” tubbo agrees softly. tommy is... he’s a character. at first, tubbo merely tolerated him, but tommy has since helped him out of a great many scrapes.
it turns out someone with the type of fire in their eyes such as tommy had were valuable allies.
tommy turns to tubbo with a sharp grin, showing his braces.
(it turns out people such as tommy were also valuable friends.)
“makes me think of things,” tubbo continues, blowing a thoughtful puff of air into the cool night. the cloud it makes is not visible: summer nights are much warmer here.
“what kinds of ‘things’?” tommy asks, looking down at his mildly damp pants with annoyance.
“deep things,” tubbo says in a low voice, grinning into the darkness.
“oh no!” tommy exclaims, and then he laughs. “like what?”
“love.”
tommy ‘hah!’s out loud, and then he starts wheezing. tommy’s laugh has a high volume, but it warms tubbo’s heart.
the door to the van behind them opens with a squeal of the hinges, and someone steps out into the grass. tubbo and tommy both turn their heads around to see their commander and general, wilbur soot, put his hands on his hips and tilt his head backward to look at the sky.
“fundy’s finally gone to sleep, i’ve left eret watching over him. you enjoying the stars, lads?”
tommy wheezes and leans back, apparently resigned to the stained pants. “tubbo’s thinking ‘bout love,” he accuses.
“oh no!” wilbur joins in immediately, smiling down cheekily at the boy in the grass. “who’s caught young tubbo’s heart?! shall we go out and beat them up, tommy?”
“nobody!” tubbo laughs, sitting up and waving his hands, “no, nobody. i was thinking of love in the more vague sense.”
(he can’t believe he’s talking about something like that with these two. he means this affectionately, but wilbur and tommy can only take things seriously when war’s involved.)
wilbur puts his hand on his chin and pretends to be thinking hard. “mhm, mhm, do go on,” he drawls in a fancy voice.
tubbo rolls his eyes and sits back, digging his fingers into the l’manberg soil. (well, it’s not technically l’manberg soil yet. they haven’t gotten independence. but they will, when dream responds to their letter.) tubbo feels safer within these redwood trees than he ever has anywhere else, even when he’s being openly dug at by his fellow soldiers.
“like, the definition of love.”
wilbur squints at him. tubbo sighs dramatically and pretends he’s been wounded, falling to the grass.
“what’s the definition of love, wilbur, i can’t seem to figure it out!” tubbo is only half-joking.
wilbur’s eyes go unfocused as he stares somewhere above tubbo’s head into the redwood trees.
“women!” tommy scoffs from beside tubbo. “duh!”
tubbo wrinkles his nose at this. he appreciates tommy’s input, he really does, but he can’t find himself quite agreeing.
wilbur slides down with his back against the van, lowering himself atop a cinder block resting in the grass as he tilts his head up to the stars. tommy and tubbo both grow quiet, seeing the look on the man’s face.
“well, that’s an interesting question,” starts wilbur, and he doesn’t sound like he’s mocking the boys anymore. “i suppose it depends who you asked.”
“well he asked you, wilbur.” tommy objects, and tubbo hums in affirmative.
wilbur’s eyes cross over the two of them with something different to their usual brightness.
“well,” wilbur surmises, looking back at the sky. “everything’s love.”
tommy cackles aloud... and then realizes wilbur is serious.
“what d’you mean?” tommy protests, and tubbo finds himself sitting up and pulling his knees towards his chest as he listens closely.
“yeah, general soot, explain yourself!” tubbo urges.
wilbur laughs softly, but doesn’t look at them.
“well, listen. you take care of your comrades because you care for them, yes?”
tommy and tubbo nod.
“then that’s love. love can be the obvious— a beautiful woman entering your life only to leave again, for example— but love can also be in anything else.”
tubbo finds himself watching the stars again. he picks out a few that remind him of the shape of tommy’s braces.
“when you grow your own food, that’s love for yourself and the environment. when you share an orange with your friends, when you hold open a door for a stranger— that’s love! it’s all love.”
tommy is looking down at his open palm. tubbo turns toward wilbur, who is wistfully watching the sky.
“humans are just so full of love, i think, that it’s just in everything we do. well... not everything. like you found, tubbo, love is hard to define. when you’re feeling love, you’ll know.”
“oh,” says tubbo, who doesn’t know what else to say.
“wow, wilbur,” begins tommy, and his voice is incredibly mischievous. “so deep and intelligent.”
wilbur snickers, and just like that the atmosphere is broken as the three men start laughing among themselves.
tommy stops his wheezing to sit upright and make a pretentious face. “that’s rather shakes-spearean, i would say,” tommy mocks, rolling the r’s.
the door behind them screeches as eret steps into the night, illuminating their little group with light from the van.
“what’s going on out here?” they ask, trying to seem annoyed. “fundy’s sleeping.”
this only makes the other three men laugh harder.
-
“that boy—!“ wilbur cries aloud, his fists clenching in frustration. his voice cracks just enough for tubbo to hear the fear he’s covering up. but tubbo would’ve been able to tell, anyway. he’s never felt so cold.
wilbur and tubbo work together to pull tommy’s body out of the water.
it’s freezing, they’re in the middle of a flowing river (although it’s mercifully shallow) and tommy himself is no help at all.
he’s not moving.
because he’s dead.
the icy currents pull the feelings out of tubbo’s fingers, out of everything, as he drags his fellow soldier to shore.
tommy’s handmade uniform is soaked through with blood.
he’ll be so mad about that.
wilbur makes a screeching sound of pure agony when he catches sight of tommy’s face (perfectly slack, relaxed, resting) and pulls the teen into his chest.
tubbo is left to stand on the side, unsure of what to do. unsure of what to even think.
what is right to think, in situations such as these? tubbo doesn’t know. he can’t find the energy in himself to think much of anything at all.
his clothes drip into the grass below him, and his fingertips don’t have any feeling in them.
when wilbur lifts tommy’s body up, bridal-carry, and stomps back towards what is left of l’manberg, tubbo follows behind him like a lost duckling.
fundy follows behind tubbo, grasping onto the back of his wet jacket with one paw. his small eyes are large and wide, and tubbo suddenly feels horrible for letting fundy see a dead body. fundy is not old enough to see a dead body.
(fundy isn’t old enough to watch his father and fellow soldiers be murdered around him, trapped in a room and unable to escape—)
tubbo takes a shaky breath and pulls fundy’s paw off of his clothing, clasping the little fox’s hand in his instead.
he’s cold, and wet, and his fingers can’t feel anything, but fundy squeezes back.
wilbur stumbles along in front of them, carrying tommy with his jaw set in determination.
“this boy,” wilbur mutters furiously.
tommy’s only got one life left now, tubbo thinks to himself. tommy is further dead then any of us.
sure, he’ll come back from this. but one more death and it’s over for tommy. he’s now the most vulnerable person in their whole nation.
coughing suddenly comes from the dead body in wilbur’s arms, and the man jerks, half-dropping tommy so that he’s standing upright.
tubbo cannot speak. his voice had left him since wilbur’s count reached seven.
tommy, now conscious as his final life has taken hold, blindly shoves wilbur roughly away, still coughing.
“are you alright—“
“dream,” tommy says hoarsely. “i need to talk to dream.”
fundy’s grip on tubbo’s hand becomes very tight, and general wilbur soot clenches his own fists as well. tubbo knows how they feel.
we just watched dream take tommy’s first and second life, tubbo thinks. i don’t want him anywhere near tommy.
(tubbo just died to them, too. but he doesn’t want to think about that.)
“you called?” asks a voice. a very unwelcome voice.
“dream,” tommy says before any of them can stop him. “can i have a chat with you in private?”
he hobbles over towards the green man standing to the side of them. his injuries from the fight still haven’t fully fixed themselves. tommy is injured.
“tommy—“ tubbo starts, feeling his eyes go glassy.
“sure,” replies dream, and then it seems he and tommy disappear out of thin air; dream whisked him away somehow.
the forest is then quiet.
“how did he do that?” whispers fundy, so small and scared. and wilbur turns around to look at the fox boy, on the edge of tears. without a word he reaches down and lifts the child into his arms, turning and walking towards l’manberg.
tubbo follows after the father and son in silence.
we can’t worry about tommy, tubbo thinks to himself. he’s not here, so it’s no use.
wilbur publicly denounces eret, proclaiming that he’s no longer allowed on their land. he also draws fundy into his lap to read a poem with him (something they often do when fundy has a nightmare).
tubbo grabs onto a nearby tree branch and pulls himself up, finding a good perch to sit and stare at the scarred lands of l’manberg. had he really been sleeping and eating and living here like nothing was wrong just a week ago?
had he really lived innocent of the horrors of war?
tubbo looks at fundy, too. also innocent until today. currently reciting passages from a school-assigned poem as wilbur stroked his head.
oh.
there’s a commotion at what used to be their front gates, and they look up.
tommy’s back. he’s been escorted by eret, who wilbur shouts at, but he’s back.
he’s got a bit of a limp as he walks himself into l’manberg, looking around at the damage with a strange look in his eye.
“wilbur,” tommy says. “i’ve secured our independence.”
“you— you what?!” wilbur cracks.
there’s a moment of silence, of confusion, of — how — what?!
but then suddenly there’s cheering. and people are dancing, and tommy is smiling even if he looks like he may cry.
oh, tubbo realizes. that’s love alright. love for his country, and for his friends.
tommy catches sight of tubbo staring and grabs him into a side-hug. besides his problems getting around, and his bloodstained uniform, you wouldn’t guess tommy had died twice today.
wilbur is spinning fundy around in circles and asking for a book. there’s cheering, there’s crying— maybe that’s tubbo?
he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he grabs tommy, digging his fingers into the jacket, and hugs onto him tightly.
and despite the injuries, tommy hugs back just as tight.
-
the sun is shining, and it’s so hot tubbo’s beginning to sweat, so he pulls off his jacket and ties it around his waist.
across from him, on the ground, tommy is sitting cross-legged with his chin in one hand, squinting intensely and the wooden board between them.
“i don’t get this game,” says tommy, sitting backwards in defeat.
“it’d only be a few moves until i put you in checkmate anyway,” says tubbo with a toothy grin. “don’t take it too hard.”
tommy scoffs, leaning back on his hands and tilting his face up towards the sun.
you can’t even tell he’d died twice a few weeks ago anymore. tubbo suspects there’s likely a scar under his shirt to prove that it happened, but tommy never lets him know about it, anyhow.
“you hungry?” asks tommy, sitting up and fishing an orange out of his pocket. tubbo laughs, startled.
“where did you get that?”
they aren’t native to the dream smp, and they are also very expensive.
“stole it,” tommy proclaims proudly, sticking his nails into the side and peeling it expertly. “you want some?”
“yes, i want some!”
tommy splits the orange imperfectly, squints at the two parts he held, and then presses the larger half into tubbo’s hands.
“try it, it’s really good.”
tubbo pulls a part of the orange off, sticking it into his mouth and biting down, almost surprised by the soury sweetness that erupts. tommy laughs at his expression.
“good, aye?” he teases, popping his own slices into his mouth and chewing much slower. he’s a lot cleaner then tubbo, who’s got juice on his face.
“so good!” agrees tubbo, and he presses another slice onto his tongue, biting down and enjoying the tangy juice.
“this is living, my friend,” says tommy, and he lifts up one of his orange slices to the walls of l’manberg as if toasting.
tubbo giggles and copies the movement.
-
“wha’s the matter, tubbo?” asks schlatt, and despite his delirious state, his eyes and piercing when they meet his.
tubbo’s shoulders tighten up, the suit jacket he’s wearing becoming hot and uncomfortable. he longs greatly to tug at the collar and pull it away from his neck, but schlatt will see. and he won’t like it.
tubbo doesn’t answer the question, only folding in on himself as if he’s trying to grow smaller. quackity, who’s next to him at the round table, looks between the two before laughing.
“he’s just nervous! never been to a party before!” quackity slaps tubbo’s back amiably, and the boy shrinks further.
jschlatt buys this instantly. “oh! well, then, why don’t we loosen him up?”
he begins to pour three (fundy isn’t here; “that fox fuck is never around when i need him” schlatt had said) shot-glasses of whatever long bottle he’s been drinking out of since they sat down for their... “company dinner”. tubbo has no clue what’s in that bottle, but it certainly smells rancid to him.
(he’s not stupid, and he knows it’s alcohol of some sort. schlatt was definitely drunk off his ass. but it makes tubbo feel better to ignore it sometimes.)
“here you are, my right-hand man!” says jschlatt cheerfully, pushing the glass across the small table to tubbo.
he stares down at it, at the unidentifiable liquid, and feels his heart rate only seize up more. not that he’s been relaxed at all for this conversation of course.
“are you sure about this?” quackity teases, grabbing the other glass and sipping from it easily.
schlatt carefully lifts his, squinting into it. tubbo tries to weigh his options before realizing he has none. schlatt is drunk, sure, but he’ll notice if tubbo doesn’t drink or if he refuses.
(he always notices when tubbo refuses to do things for him.)
“well,” says schlatt, and he turns toward the window to lift his glass up. “a toast! to manberg!”
“to manberg!” quackity agrees loudly, and then quick as a fish, he grabs tubbo’s glass out of his hands and switches it with his while schlatt’s back is turned. he downs tubbo’s shot immediately, making a face as he does so.
tubbo looks down at the new glass in his hand. quackity has already drank whatever had been poured into it.
“well tubbo?” asks schlatt impatiently, startling the boy so bad he almost drops the glass. “you joining us?”
“of... course, schlatt,” tubbo whispers, so confused that he can’t even disagree.
tubbo tilts the empty glass into his mouth, making a sipping sound on the air and swallowing.
“atta boy!” laughs schlatt, and he claps tubbo’s shoulder hard.
he and quackity continue to talk, seeming to forget about tubbo’s presence at the table in an instance as they dissolve into murmurs and occasional spanish.
tubbo looks at his hands, folded in his lap, and then up again at quackity.
the vice president’s face is unreadable, but he gives a barely noticeable nod.
thanks, tubbo thinks.
he’s still too lost to really do anything else.
-
“what are you doing?” drawls the low, low voice of a pigman.
tubbo freezes, and he stares.
technoblade is... scary. he’s large. he’s a pigman. that’s a lot to get over so quickly, and tubbo already was wary of him based on the reputation, and.
“i’m training,” tubbo responds, and he hands over his sword. “see?”
technoblade looks down at tubbo’s shaking hands. he doesn’t take the sword.
after an awkward second, tubbo lowers it, sheathing it back into his belt.
there’s silence for a few moments, as technoblade stares into tubbo’s eyes and tubbo tries to stare into his. the pigman is intimidating and huge, but tommy loves him. and he’s here to help them overthrow schlatt.
he’s tubbo’s ally, even if he’s scary-looking.
(it’s not actually completely silent in the ravine tubbo’s training in— up in one of the higher caves, he can barely hear the echo of a guitar.)
“when was the last time you’ve eaten?” techno asks, and the speaking startles tubbo so badly he would’ve dropped his sword had he still been holding it.
“i, uh, i... there’s not much food in manberg at the moment, sir,” tubbo clarifies. he’s defaults to saying sir even if he doesn’t know how technoblade prefers to be addressed.
the pigman makes a sound deep in his throat, and then he produces two potatoes seemingly out of his pockets.
“here,” he says, handing them to tubbo.
tubbo looks down at the vegetables, then back up at techno, towering above him.
“...huh?” is all he can manage to say.
“you got ovens in manberg?”
tubbo nods.
“baked potatoes are a hell of meal with some butter, some salt, and chives,” technoblade shrugs.
tubbo looks down at the potatoes again, trying to remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal. he barely remembered what niki had taught him and tommy from her baking days.
“thank you,” tubbo mumbles, but the pig waves him off.
“it’s from pogtopia’s farm. no thanks needed.”
and then he walks away as if they’d never spoken at all.
in the distance, someone is singing about putting their roots down.
-
tommy curls up beside tubbo against a wall. what wall? he doesn’t even know anymore.
it’s a wall of something, that’s for sure.
it’s a wall left standing.
not much is left standing anymore.
least of all tubbo.
“tubbo,” tommy starts into the quiet. “remember what wilbur said about love?”
“what. that love’s in everything?” tubbo asks, poking a hole into the dust by his feet. he’s thinking very hard about rebuilding. about responsibilities. he has no idea how he’s going to do any of those things, really, but. he’s in charge now.
“yeah,” tommy says. “the beginnings of the buildings you’ve put up,” and here he points to the frames of houses they’ve started— fundy and quackity who’ve already been erecting logs for the shapes of homes. “those have a lot of that love in them.”
tubbo suddenly feels quite warm, realizing that tommy was complimenting him on the job.
“thank you. but they’re not quite lived in enough yet to be homely.”
“oh, they will be,” tommy says with full confidence. he presses his back against the wall, falling silent again.
tubbo turns to looks over the crater of destruction. the sun is setting over it, the sky turning purple over the wreckage.
“...tubbo,” tommy asks quietly, “everything’s got love in it, right?”
“right,” tubbo agrees, recalling. “the good things do, anyway. like oranges.”
“and double-sticks.”
“and strangers’ smiles.”
“and primes.”
“and helping hands.”
“and music discs.”
“and people,” tubbo affirms, watching as the stars begin to come out at the top of the sky.
tommy sits up straighter. “i reckon i have the most love in me out of anyone. i have so many wives, tubbo, you’ve got no idea.”
“really?” tubbo responds in amusement.
“yeah. but you’ve got love in you too, tub-zo,” tommy says unexpectedly, poking tubbo in the side. “you did all that spying and shit for your friends. and now you’re president.”
“i’m president,” tubbo remembers, sinking lower into the earth.
“right,” tommy continues, “so now you love everyone in l’manberg. because they’re all your people. especially us, we’re your family. and you don’t give up on family.”
“no.”
tubbo stares off into the galaxies, feeling the weight of a whole country resting on his shoulders. he shudders.
tommy then punches his arm, grinning. “but i’ll be there for you when you find some lady-love, as well.”
“ew, tommy.”
tommy starts cackling, and then he flips himself dramatically onto the floor, lying across tubbo.
this is the most physically affectionate he’s been in a while.
tubbo pretends not to notice, if only for dignity’s sake.
-
“yep. i’m high as balls right now,” tubbo says, swinging his arms back and forth as he gazes over new l’manberg from his perch on the platform behind it. the whole world is swirling around in ways not possible according to physics. he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this with tommy not here. he doesn’t know how he’s going to do anything without tommy here. “...that’s a joke by the way.”
“o-oh, um,” says the new guy next to him, and tubbo can’t quite remember his name right now. he’s very tall, though, and apparently part enderman. he looks like something from an alien novel, that’s for sure.
“or like a handsome prince from a sci-fi flick,” tubbo mumbles to himself. the world is swimming in and out of focus.
the new guy’s face is suddenly very up close, and tubbo is acquainted with his mis-matched eyes. hands grip the shoulders of his jacket, and someone straightens him out so he doesn’t fall over the edge.
“are you... alright, mr. president?” ranboo asks, doing his best to keep them both standing straight up. he sounds genuinely worried. genuinely worried about a guy he doesn’t even know.
“this is exactly like what wilbur said.” tubbo proclaims, looking up at the very blurry sky.
he points angrily at the enderman, having the very strong feeling he will remember exactly none of this tomorrow.
“YOU,” he accuses, tipping over slightly. “are exactly what love is like.”
It has again come to my attention that i have no idea when "gross" things are ok and when not,, my mom's going to the store and she put on shoes without socks. I pointed it out to her and she just brushed it off like ok i guess
Doing it on a first date would be kinda tricky cause you would already have to have a bit of sexual relationship with someone before you go out. Let's say it was first date you thought, then most definitely 😚. As for location, we'd go for a walk somewhere or on a picnic. Public but not too close anyone just incase you go over the edge. I know you said you can't control your face when you cum. If we had fun maybe we'd try a restaurant next, with vegan options of course
Oh my gosh 🥺🤭 what's appealing to you about this? Would you wanna tease the other person and edge them the whole time or would you want to oversyimulate them?
