Jul 12, 2025
button room half-assed.
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button room half-assed.
c!Wilbur blorbo haver pleaseee tag me in posts featuring him.
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Check out #my meta tag. I talk about c!Wilbur. A lot.
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Years-long interest in plants, ecology, linguistics, storytelling, anthropology, psychology, overlaps between these, and other things.
If you're just here for fandom block the tags #experiencing symptoms and #personal.
This blog is SFW but I have rb'd posts featuring, and have made references to, things such as drugs, alcohol, suicidality, etc. I generally tag for: #drug mention, #spiders, #insects, #blood, #injury, #gore (including written/described), #violence, #suicide mention, #abuse, and #suggestive. I might also use the tags #caps and #trauma. I might neglect to put filter tags on a post if it's about my personal misery, but generally I have tagged those, too.
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Tag list: @keyriingz @sheepwilbur @blueyedgrass
god fucking DAMMIT kris where the FUCK are we
History Repeats?
Tommy was beside Tubbo. He wasn’t even involved in this conflict, but he was there because they were always in it together. He stood next to him, blond hair flattened to his head by the rain, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword as the two boys watched their former mentors fight.
Quackity was angry. Wilbur was laughing. Someone was going to die, and Tubbo didn’t care.
“We have to find Ranboo!” he yelled to Tommy, fighting to be heard over thunder and steel. “Wilbur planned something!”
Tommy jolted. He’d been staring at Wilbur in horrified fascination. The man was grinning and fighting like it was a dance, almost pirate-like in his attacks. But Tubbo’s words stirred old memories. Plans meant something was getting destroyed.
“Did you see where he went?” Tommy yelled back. They started running backwards together, unsheathing their swords in case a mob came at them.
Tubbo had seen where he went. When Wilbur had drawn his blade and yelled some kind of code word, Ranboo had bolted, nearly invisible in the dark with his ender half facing Tubbo. Oh Prime, he’d be burning in the rain. Tubbo had to check on him. He had to protect Las Nevadas. But he had to check on Ranboo first. “The burger van,” he said, leading the way.
Their feet skidded in the sand as they tore down the hill. Tommy gave Tubbo a boost over the wall Wilbur had built up over the past month, and they burst into the van.
It was empty. Tubbo decided to take that as bullshit.
“Look for a lever,” he said, frantically pushing aside chests. “He’s got a vault at his house, that’s how he gets in. It might still be open.”
Tommy nodded and joined him, using the light from his sword to look behind furnaces. Tubbo was throwing loaves of bread out of cabinets in his search, getting more and more desperate. It felt like he was hyper aware, waiting for a vibration by his feet or for sparks to hit the side of his face.
“Tubbo.” Tommy had gotten better at hiding the tremor in his voice. “Found it.”
The doorway was hidden behind the sign. Tommy had lifted it off the wall and put it down too hard; one corner was crumpled. Lantern light shone out of it.
Tubbo sheathed his sword, and at a glance, Tommy did the same before he followed him. They walked loudly enough that Ranboo wouldn’t be surprised when they appeared.
Steam still rose from Ranboo’s hands and face. He was standing in front of a stone button, mounted on a wall in a tiny room reinforced with obsidian, both normal and crying. Tubbo fought the urge to cover his ears against the wailing. Tommy’s breath grew shallow behind him.
“Ranboo,” Tubbo said calmly –– he had long since taught himself to sound calm –– , “Please don’t.”
Only a week ago, he was positive that that would be all it would take. Ranboo would have stepped away. He’d have apologized for scaring Tubbo, and they would have gone to deal with the fight above together.
But Ranboo only turned around, arm halfway raised. He looked unbelievably sad. “Tubbo… I just want it to be over.”
The button called to Tubbo. He wanted to cross the room, rip it off the wall and smash it to pieces before he could watch another home, another purpose, be blown away. But his best friend was standing in front of him and tears were falling down his cheeks.
He stepped forwards a little, holding his arms out and ignoring the way his brain told him to flinch back. Schlatt used to clap him on the shoulder when he wasn’t expecting, just a little too hard, grip a little too tight. “It can be. But you don’t have to blow it up.”
“No, no, no no I have to.” Ranboo sounded choked as he looked back and forth between Tubbo and the button. Purple particles were appearing around him, fizzing and jumping. They always seemed happy to see Tubbo, but tonight they kept close to Ranboo like they could hug him. “If I let it stay it’ll come back, Tubbo. It always comes back worse,” he said, almost to himself.
“Come on, man.” Tommy moved to stand beside Tubbo, his voice pleading. “Don’t do this. We’ve done it before, we saw how it turned out. You see those guys up there? They might care about us, but they’re focused on whatever issues they have. We could leave and we’d be fine. Here, take this.” He untied his bandana and passed it to Ranboo so he could dry himself off.
“We can’t go back to normal.” Ranboo’s gaze was imploring, like he was sure they would drag him with them back to the way they’d always been.
Tubbo glanced at Tommy. “Then we won’t.” Both of his friends stared at him. They both looked terrified, but there was a spark in there somewhere. They could see it. “We’ll run.”
“Where?” Ranboo asked.
“Far away,” Tommy said. He was still watching Tubbo, but he was nodding too. “Where no one’s ever heard of the Dream SMP.”
“They won’t find us,” Tubbo said. “We’ll be free.”
A month ago, Ranboo would have said no. He would have wanted to stay and help, to watch Wilbur prove himself and see Dream truly stopped. A month ago, Tubbo would have never suggested it. There would have been no point. A meaningless existence was still meaningless if you changed the place. A month ago, Tommy might have stayed for Wilbur. Tubbo didn’t know. He wasn’t sure Tommy himself knew.
But today, in a button room that reminded Tubbo did suggest it, and Ranboo and Tommy nodded.
“Okay.” Ranboo let his hand fall to his side. He walked back to Tubbo, accepting the hug that was offered. It didn’t make Tubbo’s skin crawl. “Okay.”
Then Tommy was adding to the pile, throwing his arms around both of them as reality hit him. “Yeah!” he crowed. “Let’s fucking leave this shithole!”
And they did. Three boys, one with his suit jacket held above his head like a makeshift umbrella, one with ram horns poking out from beneath his mop of hair, one with bruises on his neck that had never faded like they should have. They snuck away from the battle scene that raged on without them. It had never been their fault, anyway. They left it all behind.
I'll be making this into a long fic, but for now I chose to keep it short. Hermitcraft x Dream SMP crossover
Title: button
Grian sat down at the oak wood table, brow furrowed. Another day, another failed attempt to reconnect to Hermitcraft. The strange glitch that had caused the border to fall in the first place must have been repaired, for the world border was back up and running. His communicator didn’t work outside of his home server, and Phil’s crows (who insisted on following the man everywhere, and who Phil had put up to the task of flying between the severs, trying to gather intel on the border glitch and if people were trying to find him) haven’t delivered any news.
The builder glanced out the window as the sun set over the horizon. Past that was Hermitcraft. His home. What was Mumbo doing? Scar? Iskall? Xisuma? How was the war progressing without him? Did anyone notice his absence? No, Grian, don’t get sad. Happy thoughts only...Happy thoughts.
“Grain!”
Torn away from his thoughts, Grian looked up to see Philza, his dark grey wings fluffed up in distress. “Wil’s sent a letter.” The avian said, holding up a piece of paper.
“Well, that’s good!” Phil had been under extreme stress these past couple of days since Wilbur hadn’t sent a letter in weeks and the past few he had sent were...concerning, to say the least. “What’s it say?”
Another letter should have been a relief, but from the look on Phil’s face, Grian concluded that this letter was everything except relief.
“It’s just a date, time, and coordinates. November 16th, noon, with a set of coords in L’Manberg…” Phil’s voice trailed off as his dark emerald eyes scanned the page, over and over, as if he were looking for more writing than just a simple date.
“That’s tomorrow, innit?” Grian questioned, trying to distract the man from his distress. That’s how Grian ignored his. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. “I mean, you’ll be able to see your sons, check up on Wil?”
“Something doesn’t feel right about this, Grain.” Even after all this time together, Phil still called him Grain. Grian stifled a laugh, as it wasn’t the appropriate time to giggle. “His last few letters concerned me. He mentioned something in his last one about 11 and a half stacks of TNT.” Phil looked Grian dead in the eye and whispered, “Grain, I think Wilbur is going to blow L’Manberg!”
“But why?” Grian attempted to rationalize with the distraught Phil, who was now pacing across the room making stressed-out bird noises. “He won the election, shouldn’t he be content with that?” This type of stuff never happened on Hermitcraft. There were never serious talks of blowing up anyone’s builds, much less an entire country! The only time TNT is used is in pranks, and they always helped clean up after.
“You clearly don’t know Wilbur...He’s a force of chaos, I’ll tell you that. A creative little shit who always comes up with new ways to get what he wants. If he wants L’Manberg gone, then he’ll go to crazy lengths to achieve that goal.”
Silence fell.
“We need to get to L’Manberg. Now. It’s about a day’s flight from here, and we need to leave now if we want to get there as fast as fucking possible.” Phil tucked the letter into the pocket of his dark green kimono and flexed his wings. Unlike Grian, who used the sleek and slim elytra to fly about, Philza had a pair of actual feathery wings. Upon arrival, Phil explained that he was a bird hybrid, also known as an avian. He had feathers on the sides of his face and neck with elfish ears. Back on Hermitcraft, every member of the server was human.
Grian and Phil started out on their journey north, towards the world border of Dream SMP. The sun had risen, and the world border was in sight. Phil stated that Dream, the apparent Admin of the server, had agreed to let up the border for a few seconds to let Phil and Grian inside. Phil took a rest on a tree, breathing heavily after hours of non-stop flight.
“You alright, Big P?” If Phil could nickname him Grain, Grian would nickname him as well. A smile twinged across Phil’s face.
“Ahh...You sound so much like my youngest, Tommy. He says that to people too. You remind me of him so much. Right down to your red shirt and the aura of pure, unbridled chaos you emit.”
Both men laughed. Grian really enjoyed Phil’s laugh, and despite how giggly and giddy the avian usually was, it had been a few days since he had last heard him laugh. Wilbur’s lack of letters had really spooked him.
“Will you stay?”
“Hmm?”
“In L’Manberg. I mean, it’s closer to your sons.”
Phil shrugged and drank a potion of strength, and stood.
“I might, depending on what happens. If my theory is correct, and Wilbur is going to blow the place up, then I’ll probably stay. Just to help him out and help clean up y’know? Maybe I’ll be able to convince him to come home. Before you got here, I was...really lonely.”
“Well, you won’t be lonely anymore! Since I can’t return home yet, I’ll be your friend so you don’t have to be lonely!”
“Thanks, Grain.”
“You’re welcome, Big P!”
The two rose and started to fly towards the world border. Maybe Grian could make a new home on Dream SMP. The builder already started making plans for an epic build, having a vague idea in his head. However, he would have to inspect the landscapes available to see what his block palette would be and what style his build would be. Grian thought of his mansion back home and wanted to build something similar to remember it.
“Oi! Grain! You there mate?”
Grian shook his head as he was, again, dragged from his daydreams by Phil. They had arrived at the world border. “I’ve sent word to Dream, he should be letting us in soon.”
“Alrighty! What kind of base do you want to build if you stay?”
Phil just shrugged. “Eh. Don’t know just yet. Don’t want to start anything too ambitious, like a Hardcore project.”
Grian kept forgetting that this man held the world record for the longest Hardcore run. Phil was only 5”4 and didn’t look that intimidating. He looked loving and fatherly, and Grian considered Phil to be like a father to him. But the man was a dedicated Hardcore player, and could easily take Grian down in a fight. It scared him, sometimes, about how little he actually knew about Phil.
“Alright, mate, let’s go.” The blue striped border had been removed by the mysterious admin, and the two flew into Dream SMP. Grian felt a buzz from his communicator and pulled it from his pocket.
<Grian joined the game>
<Ph1LzA joined the game>
Unlike in Hermitcraft, when a member joins the server (especially a new member), the entire chat would be flooded with ‘hello!’ messages. However, on the Dream SMP, there were one or two directed at Phil. How peculiar. Phil went silent as they flew over the woods and forest. In the distance, Grian could see what appeared to be a city. That must be L’Manberg. It wasn’t as big or as grand as some builds on Hermitcraft, heck his own base would have taken up over half of the area if he lived there. On a tall pole lay what Grian assumed was the flag of L’Manberg, inky black, with a fiery red arch and X. Interesting design. Phil didn’t go into the city, however, he flew towards the coordinates that Wilbur had written in his letter, his brow furrowed. Fireworks crackled and popped throughout L’Manberg.
Grian landed with Phil, in front of a small tunnel that bore deep into a hill that was just outside the country.
“It’s now or never. Grain, stay behind me.” Phil tucked the letter away and led Grian through the tunnel, and into a compact stone room. Carved into the wall were words. No, not just words. Lyrics.
I heard there was a special place,
where men could go and emancipate.
From the brutality and tyranny of their rulers.
Well, this place was real, you needn’t fret,
With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret.
It’s a very big place, not blown up L’Manberg.
MY L’MANBERG
MY L’MANBERG
MY L’MANBERG…
Those lyrics were carved all over the stone walls, and in the middle, was a stone button. In front of that button, was Philza’s eldest son, Wilbur.
Grian had never actually seen Wilbur before, only in an old picture of when Phil, Wilbur, and Phil’s other two sons, Tommy and Technoblade, won MCC 4. In that picture, Wilbur wore a cute yellow sweater with a brown beanie, with a shimmering smile on his face.
The man that stood before them now was not that person. It couldn’t be. Wilbur stood, hunched over a stone button, whispering to himself. He donned a brown trenchcoat and ditched the beanie.
“What are you doing?” Phil asked.
Wilbur turned to face them. His eyes had no emotion in them, his smile no longer shimmered. Standing before them was an insane man.
“I will admit,” Wilbur said. His voice sent a chill down Grian’s spine, “Do you know what this is? What this button is?” Phil’s speculations appeared to be true. Wilbur was trying to destroy L’Manberg.
“Uh huh. I do.” How, how could Phil be so calm?
“Have you heard the song? The song on the walls?” Wilbur’s fingers gently ran over the words ‘MY L’MANBERG’. His eye twitched, “I was just making a big point you know? About how there was a special place, it was a special place. But that's not there anymore.” Wil’s voice lowered to a hush.
“It is there, Wil, it's out there.”
“PHIL I’M ALWAYS SO CLOSE TO PRESSING THIS BUTTON! I’VE BEEN HERE LIKE SEVEN OR EIGHT TIMES--” Voices from above cut Wilbur off. Grian could hear footsteps above them. Wilbur turned his eyes to the stone ceiling and lowered his voice. “Oh they're going to come…I need to block this off.” Wilbur hastily piled blackstone bricks in the doorway, which not only sealed whoever “they” were out, but also sealed Grian, Phil, and Wilbur in.
“Oh Phil...I’ve been here so many times.”
Numerous fireworks exploded outside.
<Tubbo_ went off with a bang due to a firework fired from [Rocket Launcher] by Technoblade>
“Oh they’re fighting, they’re fighting…” WIlbur whispered, sounding tired.
“And you just want to...to blow it all up? You fought so hard for this land, Wilbur, and you just want to...destroy it all?” Phil tried to reason.
“I don’t even know if the button works anymore, Phil, I could press it, and it might--”
“Do you want to risk it? There is a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button.”
Wilbur seemed to hear him. His breathing got heavier as he returned to that hunched over position over the stone button. What was this place? Nothing serious ever happened on Hermitcraft. There were no seriously high stakes, there were no serious threats, no serious danger. It was all in good fun.
“There...there was a saying, Phil...by, uh, by a traitor. Once part of L’Manberg, don’t know if you ever heard of Eret, but he had a saying.”
Wilbur looked up at Phil. Grian could see the familiar resemblance between the two, they shared emerald green eyes.
“It was never meant to be.” Wilbur whispered that phrase, and pressed the stone button.
I just noticed that there was a chair in the button room, but no one ever draws it.
Like there can be so much done with that chair, but no one draws it.
someone please save me i cannot hear the words “button” and “room” in the same sentence without my heart restarting