Chapters: 10/?
Fandom: Minecraft (Video Game), Dream SMP, QSMP | Quackity SMP, Video Blogging RPF
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza, Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson | Philza, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza, FitMC & Phil Watson | Philza
Characters: Phil Watson | Philza, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), FitMC (Video Blogging RPF)
Additional Tags: Crow Father Phil Watson | Philza, Angel of Death Phil Watson | Philza, Blood God Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Siren Wilbur Soot, Hero Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Former Hero Phil Watson | Philza, Villain Phil Watson | Philza, Villain Wilbur Soot, Supervillain Wilbur Soot, Supervillain Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Supervillain Phil Watson | Philza, Mind Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, fanasy, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Enemies to Friends, Mind Control, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Psychological Warfare, Brainwashing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, The Syndicate - Freeform, Found Family, Angst, Fluff, BAMF Phil Watson | Philza, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Avian Phil Watson | Philza, BAMF Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), BAMF Wilbur Soot, Human Experimentation, the second half of the story is softens up a bit i promise
Summary:
In a dystopian society ruled by the corrupt Hero Commission, heroes aren’t born—they’re built. Mass-produced, programmed, and deployed like weapons, they’re praised as saviors while secretly stripped of identity and control. At the center of it all stands the Hero Tower, once a sanctuary founded by the city’s first hero, Phil—known as the Crowfather. A visionary of sharp mind and deep compassion, Phil built the Tower to protect both civilians and heroes. To shield them from the mental toll of heroism, he created a neural safeguard system rooted in trust, memory, and recovery.
But after his betrayal and exile, the Commission twisted everything. Phil’s system became a leash. The Tower, a prison.
Now branded a villain, Phil has returned with his two sons—forming the Syndicate. Their goal: dismantle the Commission, free every stolen hero, and restore the Tower’s original purpose. But standing in their way is the Commission’s greatest weapon: Hero Unit 01—Dream, the number one hero and final product of their control. Can the Syndicate bring him home? Or will Dream fall before he ever remembers who he truly is?
(Slow Updates)
CHARACTERS NOT CC's. I DON'T CONDONE ACTIONS THAT CC's MIGHT HAVE DONE IRL.
Tdlr; Tommy was born into a crime family and is forced into their ideals and pursuits since a young age. Aged 14, he finally goes to therapy without his brother and father knowing. Technoblade is a therapist, purely because he understands the human mind very well and not because of his terrible comforting skills.
Tommy: i have trauma oh and my family is like the most well known crime organisation the police havent been able to catch
Techno: chill, don’t worry man i’m here for you
Or; i listened to music again. And ‘Bust your kneecaps’ came on. And i kind of accidentally made it bedrock bros.
-- // weapons, trauma, blood mention, murder mention, death mention, terrible parents (bad parent Phil, i know, who have i become), arguing
Tommy wasn’t sure when his first heist was. He didn’t remember much of it, that much he was sure of. But he did remember the gut wrenching fear mixed with a determination only caused by the want for a father’s approval.
Wilbur had said he was 7, his mask didn’t fit perfectly but his gun fit fantastically between his fingers, and simply his presence was enough for news of The Syndicate’s newest and youngest member to spread faster than wildfire, and it was news stations’ top story for over three weeks.
Theories of who he was, how old he was, why he seemed to confident despite his young age and questions of why The Syndicate would take in a recruit so young.
“You were our ray of sunshine, Toms,” Wilbur told him with a grin that Tommy couldn’t help but return, accepting the hair ruffles whole-heartedly, “Simply you being there made the entire mission so much easier, I’m so proud of you.”
Maybe those words weighed too much for Tommy to let go, maybe he knew that if he told them how much he was truly against their actions he would never hear them again, and that fear was enough for him to keep his head high for the next seven years of his life. His name made it onto the villain rankings within a matter of months, dubbed number 15 aged 8. It was when Tommy was 11 he reached number 4, and aged 13 when he was number 3, just below his brother.
It had always been that way, Tommy being one of the best but never the best. Phil had always made sure he knew it, assuring him he was amazing at what he did, correcting his hold on the knife until it was perfect for flicking at his opponents, a smile on his face the whole time as he congratulated him. But the way he looked at Wilbur, with a brighter smile, with more pride radiating from his glistening blue eyes as his son burned down entire streets without a single fingerprint to lead it back to him.
Wilbur had always been better than him, and Tommy had come to accept that.
Well, he thought he had.
It was on Tommy’s 14th birthday that he went downstairs to find Wilbur muttering something into his phone, an angry lilt to the way he spoke that made the kid pause.
“No, not today,” he huffed, and Tommy could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose, rubbing the corners of his eyes and slightly lifting the glasses off his face in the process, “No, it’s my brother’s birthday, I’m not- dad.”
Oh, it seemed Phil wasn’t there that morning, how strange.
“Well one of us has to be here, he deserves a proper birthday and to be surrounded by people who love him, I’ll help you on fucking Christmas if it means I get to stay home today.”
There was such a firmness to his voice that made Tommy shiver, cupping a hand over his mouth to mask his shaky breaths.
“Fine, but you better be home for dinner.” Wilbur scowled, and the ringing sound of someone hanging up could be heard.
After a moment of deathly silence, Tommy finally walked out, forcing his face into a smile as he peeked his head around the doorframe. The moment Wilbur saw him, his smile widened, and he was rushing right up to him, lifting him up and spinning him.
“Happy birthday sunshine!” He cheered with a bright smile, and Tommy smiled back, knowing his grin could never rival the sun that was his brother’s. “Would you like presents or breakfast first?” He asked, gently landing Tommy’s feet on the carpeted ground and crouching down to his level, ruffling his hair as he giggled, attempting to swat the hand away.
They opened presents first, and despite the fact Tommy wanted to state just how much he adored each gift, thoughts kept swimming around his brain.
Why was Phil working that day? Why did Wilbur seem so off? Why was Wilbur better than him? Why, no matter how hard he tried, was he never enough for his family?
These thoughts led him to Google, seeing as no one else had the answers he assumed Google would (he’d asked Tubbo a random question once, and he’d replied with ‘just ask Google, Google knows everything’). The Google search led Tommy to something called ‘therapy’, which led him to standing outside of a random building two weeks later, taking shaky breaths as he thought everything over.
Everything in therapy, apparently, was confidential. Unless of course it put you or others in danger, but therapists were forced by law to keep everything else in the room within the hour slot given.
As long as Tommy was extremely careful and didn’t mention anything about evil plots and how his father and brother were the top two villains of L’Manberg, he himself being number three, then he could get away with it.
The doors swung open with his forceful confidence, and he flashed a smile at the receptionist as he sauntered over to her, leaning against a wall that was provided. “Here for therapy.” He stated, as if it wasn’t completely obvious. The woman looked him up and down, sighing before smiling, clicking a few times on her computer.
“Name?”
“Tommy Craft.”
“Age?”
“14.”
She looked at him in a strange way, raising an eyebrow that he only returned.
“Do you have parental consent?”
Oh, Google had told him about this too. Lying was never off his agenda, you learn from the very best in fact.
“Well my doctor permitted it, said I was aware enough of my treatment to understand I need it, my Mum dropped me off.” He explained, pointing out front to the car park. Only then did the woman sigh again, clicking again a few times before smiling back at him.
“You can go right in, down the hall and the second door on the left.” She pointed, and Tommy nodded, giving her a short bow.
“Appreciate you,” he told her, before strolling down the hall, keeping his head high and his shoulders lax, humming a melody his brother had played him on his birthday evening when their father still hadn’t gotten home (he got home at 2am, Wilbur was absolutely infuriated, Tommy was surprised to find he didn’t really care). Eventually, he found the door, reading the name plate on the door before knocking.
“Come in.” A deep voice called back to him, and Tommy turned the handle, smiling at the man behind the desk.
A buff man with pink hair wouldn’t be his first guess at a therapist; however, Tommy was a villain, not a horrible person. The man’s hands were crossed across his chest, his legs propped onto the desk showing how his boots didn’t have a speck of dirt, and a pair of reading glasses were perched on his nose.
In one aspect, he looked terrifying. His very small smile matched with his horribly white and completely uncreased frilled shirt painting a strange image, his folded hands too calloused to be anything normal.
In another aspect, Tommy could kick him square in the face and he’d immediately pass out.
“You must be Tommy,” he greeted, and he expected a handshake or something, but instead he just received a small gesture to a w chair with wheels opposite himself. “Take a seat.”
“What’s your name, Dr Blade?” Tommy teased with a grin, falling into the chair and leaning his ankle on top of his knee, sinking into the plush as the wheels rolled it slightly backwards. The man rolled his eyes, flicking a coin between his fingers - when in hells name did he pick up a coin?
“Techno. My name is Techno Blade, you can call me whatever.” He said with a shrugged, chucking the coin into the air and letting it land in his shirt pocket, smiling slightly with pride at his little trick. “How are you today, Tommy?”
It was in that moment that Tommy decided therapy was extremely strange and not for him at all. This man looked completely indifferent, he looked like he would rather be at home reading a book as he threw raw meat at his wolves, not sitting and asking how people’s days are going.
“Technoblade, today I am absolutely fantastic, I woke up, got breakfast, and came here.” He explained, bringing his arms out in a wide gesture. “Pretty remarkable day.”
The man huffed, seemingly amused by the sarcasm.
“Hate to ask such a blunt question kiddo,” Tommy frowned at the name, but decided against commenting on it for now. Didn’t want to upset the man on his first day meeting him. Totally wasn’t a choice made completely out of the rising fear in his chest. “But why are you in therapy? We ask this too all of our patients.”
“Patients? You make it sound like a hospital.” He scoffed, clearly avoiding the question in such a slick way only he and his brother were able to master. But Techno stayed quiet, watching him with a careful eye. Tommy frowned. “What are you doing in therapy? Huh? Technoblade?”
He still didn’t reply.
Strange.
“You’re creeping me out man, your eyes are practically red- oh my god you have red eyes, that’s so cool!”
Silence.
Tommy frowned further, sinking into his chair.
Why was he in therapy?
Google told him to be here, was his first thought. But then he remembered his English lessons, how the teachers always asked why, how they never took anything at face value. Techno seemed like an English teacher, he didn’t seem like someone who would take kindly to the answer ‘Google told me to be here’.
“Family stuff, I guess.” He replied, not one bit pleased, his face quite the contrary to the satisfied hum Techno gave him, picking up a pen and post-it-note, scribbling a few words before looking back up.
“Wanna draw?”
“I’m sorry?”
“This is the first session,” he started, folding his hands in front of him, “We don’t need to get emotional on the first day, it’s about building trust. Speaking of which,” Techno started, and Tommy already knew what he was about to say, “Everything you say in this room is confidential, I only take notes of things I need to remember for future sessions, however if you say something that could put you or others in danger I am legally meant to pass it on, do you understand?”
“No revealing my villain schemes to you, got it.” He replied, half seriously and half jokingly, but the man didn’t seem to hear the former part of the tone, huffing again.
“Well, if they include burying bodies, I know a guy.” He replied just as quickly, and Tommy couldn’t help his laughter, stealing a pen and a post-it-note, immediately sitting it to the arm of his spinning chair and doodling the first thing that came to mind.
The first session went… better than Tommy first thought it would.
There wasn’t any stress when be talked to Techno, and for just that hour he felt a strange safety in the chair as he listened to his therapist talk about polar bears. Tommy found himself rambling about moths half way through, paused to realise the man was listening so carefully that he involuntarily continued, smiling all the while.
After the hour of serenity, the house of chaos he walked into wasn’t exactly what he expected.
“Maybe my grades would be better if I wasn’t out fucking shooting up buildings!” Wilbur yelled way too loudly, and Tommy was glad he’d shut the door as quickly as he had, kicking his shoes off at the door. “Be so fucking glad I respect this organisation and my reputation, or I would be booting it into the sewers.”
“Tommy’s grades are great and he does more shit than you do!” Phil yelled back, and Tommy immediately grimaced, walking into the room with furrowed brows. Neither spared him a glance. “What happened to you, Wil? You used to be so good.” He finished almost wistfully, lifting a hand to touch his cheek, but the brunette immediately slapped it away, ignoring the pained look on Phil’s face as he did so.
“I can’t fucking believe you.”
Tommy didn’t like hearing his brother swear, flinching as he took a careful step back, not entirely sure who to side with.
“Never compare your children! It’s fucking disgusting!”
“I don’t compare you guys, I love you both equally-“
“Equally my arse-“
“Stop!” Tommy shouted over them, and that finally made them pause, staring at him as he stood in the doorway, struggling to hold down his shivers at the icy glares sent his way. “Both of you are acting so fucking childish it’s pathetic!”
“But-“
“You’re just proving my point, Phil.” Tommy never called his dad by his first name out loud, mainly out of pure respect, reserving his first name only for his thoughts or times when Phil wasn’t showing him the same respect back. It seemed to hit a sore spot, because the man flinched, confusion and hurt written over his face. “Whatever you’re both arguing about, you should shut up and get over it! You chose to create this organisation, you chose to have no spare time to study or be at your children’s birthdays, so get over it and get on with stabbing whatever orphans you chose this weekend.”
And without waiting for an answer, Tommy rushed upstairs, leaving behind a stale silence that he didn’t bothering acknowledging, falling onto his bed with a sigh.
Apparently, Tubbo cried when he was angry; that’s what he’d said anyways.
Tommy wasn’t sure what he did when he was angry, but he sure knew what the emotion itself felt like, and he knew most people didn’t simply brush it off as a normal Friday evening and fall off to sleep with ease, letting the emotion simmer until it ultimately gave up.
For a moment, he wondered what Techno did when he was angry, but he pushed the thought away before he could entertain it, forcing his eyes shut until his mind drifted into the abyss.
—
Tommy knocked on the door, the same low voice calling him in as last time forcing him to turn the doorknob. After a moment, he slipped into the chair, keeping a frown on his face as Techno waited expectantly, clearly not a fan of starting emotional conversations despite his job.
“How-“ he started, biting his lip as he tried to push the question away. And yet, he’d been trying it all week, dodging past the longing stares and the tired eyes in favour of going on walks or calling Tubbo. The thought kept returning as the anger simmered away. Phil had never liked stupid questions, constantly scolding him when he asked something he should know the answer to.
But how would he know the answer to this? He didn’t know Techno, not enough anyways.
Was it a stupid question? He knew Phil would say so.
“How do you deal with anger?” He asked anyways, fighting away the anxiety sitting in his head with a sigh to release any tension in his shoulders, keeping his legs still and his face even.
Tommy expected many things in reply; maybe a laugh and a ‘I don’t feel anger, you’re on your own kiddo’, or maybe a ‘don’t be stupid you should know’.
However, he never would’ve guessed the man would genuinely reply. “I do fencing in my spare time, helps release any pent up emotions, a friend recommended it when I was still in school.” He explained, and Tommy forced his face to stay apathetic, keeping just how baffled he was in his nagging mind. When Techno looked up at him, plucking his glasses from his face and twisting them in his hands, that strange sense of safety returned. “Why do you ask?”
Now, Tommy had many options.
He could lie; say he was angry at his friend Tubbo who stole his sandwich at lunch that day.
He could stay silent; a safe option, it would risk not leaking any information about anything.
He could go on a ramble about moths again; now that one was certainly tempting, moths were certainly interesting.
However, he did none of these things, and did one thing that was so foreign to his tongue it made his fingers twitch.
“My brother and Dad had a fight on Friday and brought me into it, it just pissed me off I guess.”
He told the truth.
Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he’d told the truth so easily and without an ounce of consideration, telling the truth wasn’t in his plans at all! And yet, the words were forced out of him as easily as a river flows. And Techno simply hummed, writing something down on a post-it-note.
“How do you usually deal with strong emotions?” He asked slowly, raising an eyebrow at the kid who frowned, looking at the ground in thought.
“I don’t feel strong emotions.” Was what he finally decided on, and that seemed to shock the other a little more than expected.
“What about that anger you were just on about?” He asked, a little baffled and clearly a little joking, yet there was a genuineness to his tone that made Tommy falter. Now that was where he drew the line. Tommy didn’t falter, he didn’t stumble amidst a fight or shake when he he held a gun, and he certainly didn’t start to like the idea of being listened to for once by someone who seemed horrendously trust-worthy.
“That-“ he started, shaking his head as he tried to force his mouth firmly shut, but it seemed his brain had other plans, “That feels normal at this point, that anger that I felt is just how I always feel, it’s natural I guess.”
The room fell into a strange silence, with Tommy clamping his hand over his mouth and Techno thinking in a quiet consideration.
“Do I have your permission to ask a possibly sensitive question?” Techno asked after the moment stretched on too long, and Tommy found himself blinking in confusion, pulling his hand away from his mouth as he slowly nodded. Techno cleared his throat, “What was your childhood like?”
The way Tommy froze was likely answer enough.
Tommy remembers the joy he felt as Phil gave him his first knife for Christmas when he was 5, and Wilbur’s giddy chuckles were enough to make him treasure it. Phil had also bought him a dummy to practice on, and he made sure to spend any spare time he had on mastering the arts of wielding a knife.
He remembers hearing a muttered promise as he drifted off to sleep, he was four at the time and had woken from a nightmare.
‘Whatever the cost, I will always protect you.’ Phil had whispered when he assumed Tommy had fallen asleep; but a four-year-old who’d just witnessed a murder because of an attempt on his own life never drifted off easily.
And that was… it. Anything else from before he was seven, he didn’t have any recollection of it.
However, he felt the dread in his stomach, the feeling of blood on his fingertips and noticed how his legs had started to shake despite no pressure being applied to them at all.
Those sweet memories apparently didn’t mean much to Tommy’s mind, despite how much joy he looked back on them with.
“Honestly?” He asked, Techno nodding encouragingly. “I don’t know.”
“You froze when I mentioned it.” The man pointed out, and Tommy frowned, forcing his leg to stop bouncing before the other noticed that too. “It can’t have been great.”
“I remember that I was loved, and I was safe, and I remember about two memories before the age of 7.” He confessed, his attempts at stopping the words flowing almost completely gone already with the knowledge he couldn’t stop. Maybe it was the calm atmosphere, maybe it was the genuinely interested expression on Techno’s face, or maybe it was the painting of a polar bear that was hung on the wall staring into his soul and commanding he let out all his secrets. Whatever it was, Tommy couldn’t manage to fight it no matter how hard he tried.
“Why before 7?” He asked, and Tommy paused, staring into his eyes with something uncertain. This time, not even his body willed him to speak, which Tommy was ever thankful for. “You don’t have to tell me, you’re not obliged to.”
“Why do you speak like that?”
“Speak like what?”
“Obliged,” he mocked, trying and failing to mimic the man’s extremely small smile, “Permission.” He expressed, and the man’s hands moved in front of his mouth, a questioning look on his face, “They are very strange words.”
“Would you rather me say ‘need’ and ‘allowed’?” He asked cautiously, clearly asking a question that Tommy somehow didn’t catch, sighing with a soft smile that said ‘you are so fucking dumb it hurts me’.
“I would rather you talk to me like the child I am,” he explained, deciding that this was a lesson well worth teaching the other, “I don’t get a chance to choose, you don’t need ‘permission’ from me, and I am obliged, that’s my entire point of being here, to listen to what adults tell me to do without a second thought.”
The room was silent, and Tommy sighed, frowning at the strange expression on the man’s face.
“What? The honest truth too much for you to handle?”
“Tommy.” He started, the boy humming, partially keen to hear how he’d learned his lesson. “Tommy you-“ he paused, thinking over his words carefully and making Tommy pause with him, fear returning ever so slightly. “Who told you that?”
“I-“ he started, clamping his mouth shut in favour of glaring at Techno. The man sounded and looked a little insane, thought Tommy would be lying if he said he didn’t consider dying his hair pink after their first session (he ultimately decided it wouldn’t look good for his villain brand).
“As a human, you’re entitled to respect, do you know what that means?” He asked, and the question seemed… foreign, in a way. Usually, questioned worded as such were said with such malice and scolding he was forced to say yes and agree; but Techno asked it so honestly, genuine concern written beneath his words.
“No?”
Tubbo had probably said it once, but then again Tubbo said many things.
“Respect means to regard other people’s feelings, opinions, emotions, and so on,” he explained, and Tommy frowned, tilting his head to the side in questioning. “For example, if you told me you didn’t want to eat mint ice cream, I wouldn’t force you to eat it, because i’m taking your feelings into regard, does that make sense?”
The concept made sense, but that wasn’t how the world worked.
Wilbur had explained it as such; the world doesn’t give you love, so why love it? Why, if the world was going to destroy you, should you not destroy it first?
“I- kind of?” He tried, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on top of them, pulling his arms around his legs. “But who respects people? Do you respect people?”
“I do, I respect everyone who respects me,” Techno explained, “And sometimes even those who don’t respect me.”
Tommy frowned even further.
“Why?”
Techno hummed for a moment, tapping his pen on his desk in thought.
“Who’s your closest friend?”
“Tubbo.” Tommy replied immediately, no hesitation, and Techno smiled as if he’d won the lottery (in the Technoblade smile books anyhow).
“Okay, so imagine if Tubbo did something terrible, and he made you feel really sad.” It sounded as if he was a toddler, but again Tommy didn’t comment. “But then he apologised and showed he was really regretful of his actions, what would you do?”
After a quick moment of thought, Tommy replied, “Forgive him.”
“Right. But would you have to forgive him?”
“Yes.” Tommy replied just as quickly and just as confidently, and was only confused when Techno paused, his onslaught of questions coming to a halt. So, he decided to explain his opinion, maybe he would finally agree with something he said. “It’s not good to hold grudges, and if I forgive them it makes them happier, and I want Tubbo to be happy.”
The room stayed silent, and Tommy decided it would be best to stay quiet, watching the other closely as he looked across the room, a lost look in his eyes.
“Can I give you some homework, Tommy?”
At the prospect, he scoffed. “Therapy homework? Seriously Technoblade, you’ve fallen to a new low big man.”
“Your therapy homework this week is to not do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Techno said it with such seriousness he couldn’t argue, slowly nodding. “Set boundaries, and if Tubbo comes and says he’s murdered your cousin don’t immediately forgive him.”
“If Tubbo committed murder he would have a damn good reason to do so.”
Techno leaned back in his chair, and despite it all, Tommy found himself doing the same, enjoying the calm environment far more than he probably should.
Maybe he could get used to this.
They spoke about raccoons for the rest of the session, and Tommy felt a determination burning in his chest as he strolled down the hallway, waving goodbye to the receptionist lady.
The determination was a foreign feeling; it wasn’t the determination to make his father proud of him, or to be better than his brother, but rather to make him proud of himself.
And maybe, it all started with Technoblade.
//////——————////////
There was so much more i wanted to write but this shit was getting long and my heart is playing up again, so uh, bedrock bros :D
Hope yall enjoyed, yknow if you somehow managed to read the entire thing I sure hope you didn’t waste your time LMAO
"Just like that... just.. just like that" Moans fell passed your boyfriends lips as you worked your way down the shaft of his cock. Pulling off of him with a soft popping noise you wrapped your hand around the base of his dick pumping it up and down, pressing your lips to the tip to leave a few fluttering kisses against the sensitive skin.
"Fuck... fuck I'm gonna cum.. I gonna cum." A growl sounded through the room as the hand he kept nestled in your hair pulled tight on your hair. "Can I swallow it?" You mumbled again his skin, sticking your tongue out to lick stripes up the underside of his cock. "I dont.. fuck I dont care, just don't stop please dont stop" He whined, pulling you back down onto him as he began to thrust down your throat.
He wasn't usually this rough with you, at least without making it clear what his intentions are. It wasn't much to surprising however, the day was a rough one for him and fuck it, he deserved it. You weren't allowed to contemplate your boyfriends actions for long however before the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, soon to be followed by the warm white ropes of his cum. Swallowing around him you feel his nails scrape hard against your scalp as he rides out his high, his back arching slightly as he ran a hand through his hair.
Once more pulling off you clean the left overs with your tongue. "Y/n.. god that was good.." Wilbur chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm glad, I'd rather you not be grumpy all day" you snicker, your voice hoarse from the previous abuse. "Oh funny, I was gonna return the favour but maybe not.."
Tommy: Wilbur lost his mind, pogtopia is in shambles, and technoblade only cares about his potato farm , so we’re watching a couple break up across the street
a nice lil learning-experience-painting (my favourite kind) of revivebur! i’m intrigued by the idea of conflict between his like,, DESTRUCTIVE NATURE and also his residue brotherly love for tommy
Okay I need to say this (feel free to disagree, it’s just my opinion!!)
Philza isn’t a bad dad. He’s a misguided one.
Think about it. Wilbur died? A few months ago? Which is not nearly enough time to grieve properly? Phil is probably only at about he anger stage at best.
So imagine your son snapping. You do your best to save him but it’s just to late, and then he begs you to kill him. His blood is on your hands, and you have to live with that.
You have to see his literal ghost. On the daily. And this ghost of your child, your pride and joy, says that he can only remember happy memories. And one of those memories is his death, and the fact that it was you who killed him. And you have to live with that.
And then there’s your youngest son. Who’s always had hope in his eyes and a fire in his heart, who’s always had this amazing ability to fight back and speak up.
And then one day that all changes.
You don’t know what happens, but you watch as your youngest son is banished from a nation he built with his barehands which is also one of the only things left of your dead son.
Something happens to him in that exile, and by the time he makes it to your home he’s subdued and paranoid and afraid.
He’s not who he used to be. But he gets better, maybe. He learns to trust your closest friend (or eldest son, if you wanna include Techno in the family dynamic) again. He gets some of his spark back.
So you send them off to complete a mission. To get the discs back, the one thing that might fully bring back your youngest child.
And then Technoblade comes home alone. Angry and defensive. Heart bleeding from the inside out because he’s a person, god damn it, and why can’t Tommy understand that?
Technoblade tells you that Tommy has once again sided with a government. Not just any government, but the government that exiled him. The government that drove your older son to madness and death.
Tommy has sided with the reason you have blood on your hands in the first place.
Technoblade asks you to destroy the government beyond repair.
And who are you to deny that opportunity?
The way you see it, destroying L’Manburg might be the only way to save Tommy. It already corrupted Wilbur, what’s to keep it from doing the same to your other child? You can’t stand the thought of having any more family blood on your hands.
So you team with two of the most powerful people on the server and you destroy it.
Your youngest child is resigned, but your dead child screams at you. He wails and cries, he tells you to be quiet and shames you for what you’ve done to the nation.
The nation that killed him.
All you can do is apologize, and say that he might understand one day. A few minutes later the ghost talks to you again, completely forgetting the disagreement. He asks you to bring him back to life.
You can do it, you know you can. You’ve been studying the ancient scriptures since the literal day after his death. Nothing, not even the impossibility of resurrection, is going to stop you from saving your child. Not this time.
(In the mean time, you rescue another scared child from emotional ruin, leading him out of a small dark room with writing on the walls. You couldn’t save Wilbur from that. Maybe you can save Ranboo.)
The day of the resurrection comes. You’re forced to relive the worst day of your life, twice. The ghost of your child is scared and hesitant. You put down your weapons and comfort him in a soft voice until he feels like he’s ready for the ritual.
And it doesn’t work. (Your youngest son is watching you fail.) But you won’t stop. (You’ve read the scriptures, you have one last plan.) You can save him. (Please, god, you just want to save him.)
You hunt down one of the rarest items in the world, a Totem. It reeks of death and dark magic, but if it can bring back your son than it will have been worth it.
You pray that it’s worth it. Because you don’t know what you’ll do if you can never hold your son again. You don’t know what you’ll do if one day your youngest son begs for you to kill him.
Those aren’t options you’re willing to let happen. Not on your watch.
Philza’s actions are misguided. He’s in unimaginable amounts of grief, and that sometimes makes it hard for him to understand what others need and want.
Everything he’s done has been to get Wilbur back, keep Tommy from following Wilbur’s path, and help Techno (either his oldest friend or eldest child) feel like something more than a weapon to be used.
He’s gone out of his way to give advice to and care for children that he reasonably shouldn’t feel the need to. (Tubbo, Ranboo, Fundy.)
He’s not perfect. Not by any means. Should he have destroyed L’Manburg? From an outward position, maybe not. But to him? It’s nothing more than a leech that took his children away from him, multiple times over. (Wilbur died three times due to L’Manburg and Tommy died twice.)
All he wants is to never have to hurt anyone he cares about ever again. This want has made him resistant to any ideas other than his own. It’s his guilt to bear and therefore his problem to fix.
Just because his labors are mostly off screen (Researching resurrection, planning L’Manburg’s destruction, etc.) doesn’t mean they aren’t there, or that they don’t have reasoning behind them.
He’s a parent that’s lost his family. Wouldn’t you do horrible things to avenge that? Wouldn’t you burn down the world just to give your children a bit of warmth?
(Again, these are just my thoughts!! I just wanted to explain why I’m a Philza apologist on one place :D you’re welcome to disagree!
This is also just about their characters on the Dream SMP, not the real life Content Creators.)
