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Tubbo has bad days, according to Ranboo.
Though to Tubbo they’re just plain old days. Days where his hands shake as he dishes out food, unable to keep the nerves from singing. Days where his fingers are halfway through a familiar knot, suit jacket wrinkled and half shrugged on. Days that leave him with an itch under his skin, the desire to route through abandoned barrels for forgotten booze. Days where he leaps out of bed, sword in his hands as he rushes to Michael, only to see their young one sleeping soundly. He stays vigil anyway, eyes watching and sword raised.
They’re not “bad days”, they’re just reality. The cold harsh reality he’s lived in since Doomsday, the Election, hell, since the first fucking war.
Ranboo can be as concerned as he wants; he can travel thousands of blocks for golden totems, and try to force Tubbo to sleep with cuddles and kisses. But Tubbo’s aware of the times Ranboo stumbles into their bed in the middle of the night, covered in coal dust and snow, dazed and confused. Or when Ranboo’s eyes glow purple, Enderian on his tongue.
Ranboo doesn’t mention those incidents, so Tubbo thinks it’s fairly hypocritical for his own husband to be so worried about Tubbo’s own “bad days”.
When Ranboo’s got just as many, even if they’re not as prominent as his own. It's not like they talk about it anyway. Tubbo’s not one to be vulnerable, and he knows that Ranboo’s as secretive as they come. Which isn’t to say that Tubbo doesn’t have his own secrets as well.
It’s an unspoken agreement that some things are theirs alone. That they don’t need to share every little thing, and the other won’t judge them for it.
So Tubbo doesn’t mention the nights where he wakes up to a cold bed, Ranboo walking in with water on his clothes. Just like Ranboo doesn’t ask about the events that led to the scars that adorn Tubbo’s covered arms and half of his face.
Their relationship is built off of unspoken observations, underlying agreements that neither have the guts to speak out loud. Tubbo’s grateful for it, that he’s found himself a husband who he can trust and be trusted in return, without unnecessary communication.
He’s grateful that his husband cares enough to take care of him after his “really bad days”.
The days where Tubbo lays unmoored, jumping off of too high cliffs with no water bucket, or fighting mobs with no armor. Ranboo gets especially protective after days like those, going off to lands distant for golden totems, or smothering Tubbo in kisses and blankets in their shared bed; no matter how often he reassures the taller one that he’s fine.
Actions speak louder than words after all,
and Tubbo’s actions don’t quite fit with the reassurances he spits out. Tubbo still doesn’t quite see how it’s a problem.
It hadn’t been before Ranboo came into his life, and it’ll continue to not be a problem after Ranboo leaves (because he will leave).
But he lets himself be taken care of, let’s Ranboo get chests and chests full of totems, whatever makes his husband feel better. And they’ve never talked about it sure, but that doesn’t stop Ranboo from being the overbearing care bear that he is.
When Tubbo says small things, like the amount of escape routes he had to use back in the first wars because of how often he was chased, or the days he worked for L'manberg that lasted over 10 hours. Ranboo does his absolute best to convince his husband that his experiences weren’t something normal, but Tubbo’s not an idiot.
He knows that being an ex child soldier, ex child president, who lost two of his lives at 16 isn’t normal.
But Tubbo has thick skin, and this has been his reality for so long, that he doesn’t think he remembers how to feel differently about it all. But Tubbo’s content with ignoring that, he’s fine, everything is fine (maybe if he says it enough it’ll be true).
~~~
He wakes in his husband’s arms, after one aforementioned bad day. It’s warm here, almost safe in arms that encompass his entire body, safer than it normally is at least.
Taking an extra thirty minutes to study his husband isn’t even a question. Ranboo… Ranboo is beautiful. Ethereal and handsome like his distant kin. Tubbo watches his love’s face. Peaceful and calm like it never is when he’s awake. He traces a finger over the delicate features. Tall cheekbones, a strong jaw, soft furred skin, broken by scars that showcase the times when Ranboo’s pain overcomes him. Handsome, and his.
It makes something dark and ugly rear it’s head in Tubbo’s chest. Remnants of the emotions from yesterday. He never could understand how Ranboo could settle for someone like him.
Broken and damaged inside and out. Ranboo deserves better. Deserves someone who doesn’t throw their life away, who isn’t an apathetic mess of repressed emotions. Someone who doesn’t flinch at thunderstorms, who doesn’t crave the sweet embrace of whiskey when things become too much.
Someone who’s not damaged goods.
He’s so deep in thought he misses the green and red eyes blinking up at him, “Good morning sweetheart”.
Ranboo’s voice rasps in the early morning, making Tubbo jump in his place, pulling his hand away from where it had been resting on Ranboo’s cheek. Only to be stopped as Ranboo grabs it with his own, bringing it back up to his face, laying a kiss to Tubbo’s palm, right across his scars.
With one small gesture, full of love and adoration, Ranboo brings down the walls built up in Tubbo’s chest. He can feel himself freeze, face burning but not looking away. Ranboo’s smile becomes impossibly more fond.
If Tubbo wasn’t blue screening before, he definitely is now.
“H-hey sexy” he stutters out with a cough, face still flushed and hand still trapped under Ranboo’s.
“You feeling any better?” Ranboo’s voice is still deep from sleep, and Tubbo can hear the care in it.
It makes him want to curl up and hide.
He doesn’t want to worry the other, especially with how dark his thoughts had been only moments before. So he softens his eyes as he smiles back, ignoring the voice in the back of his head.
You don’t deserve this.
“Now that you’re awake? Loads.”, he replies equally as adored, caressing Ranboo’s cheek with his thumb.
The ender hybrid leans into it, eyes closed as he purrs softly, “I’m glad”.
Tubbo smiles at the vibrations coming from his husband’s chest, resisting the urge to kiss him softly, if only because he doesn’t want the sound to stop. They lay like that for far longer than Tubbo would like to admit, his hand nestled on Ranboo’s face as he purrs in delight.
“We should really get up soon” he’s hesitant to break the peace, but it has to be done.
Ranboo grunts in affirmation, but makes no move to leave their cocoon. Tubbo sighs, “Michael’s going to be waking up any minute Boo”.
That get’s Ranboo to open his eyes, though he doesn’t stop purring, nor does he relinquish Tubbo’s trapped hand. He tugs at it slowly, if Ranboo refuses to get up than Tubbo’s going to have to be the responsible one.
He tugs at his hand again, but Ranboo just tightens his hold even further. Tubbo pulls harder, laughing quietly under his breath. Ranboo doesn’t let him go, in fact, instead of a free hand, Tubbo gets a very long ender boy laying on top of him.
He laughs, “C’mon Boo I gotta get up”, he pushes at the taller’s chest, only for the hybrid to flop right back down.
He giggles again, “Boo, babe please, Michael needs us-”.
Ranboo’s purring picks up even more at the pet names as he starts to plant small kisses all over the smaller’s face, never hesitating at the scars,
“-babe c’mon I need to get up-” he breaks into giggles, Ranboo’s tail wags at the sound, which only succeeds in making Tubbo laugh more.
Ranboo finally takes pity on the boy, letting him up, but not before landing two more soft kisses on damaged cheeks.
“I’ll go take care of Michael if you get started on food?” Ranboo’s voice still holds a slight purr, his pupils large as he looks at Tubbo with a goofy smile.
Tubbo sighs resigned, his love’ll be the death of him. Ranboo takes his sigh as confirmation, kissing him once more before jumping out of bed to head to Michael’s room.
Tubbo can’t help but smile as Ranboo hops out of their room, suit thrown on haphazardly and pawed hands swinging all the way. They have something good here, Tubbo thinks, he hasn’t had something good on the SMP in a while.
And the last one, well, it blew up in his face, quite literally. He can only hope this one’s here to stay.
~~~
Meals in the Beloved_ household are always a hectic affair.
So they take turns, Tubbo preparing the food while Ranboo brings their son to the kitchen. It’s a lot of chatter, while also trying to balance the varying diets of an enderman hybrid and a zombified piglin child.
Tubbo likes filling the space with his own rants, talking about a new topic that piqued his interest, or his newest project, or what Tommy’s getting up to in the general SMP area...Tubbo does quite a bit of talking.
Ranboo’ll pipe up to mention something interesting he’s seen on one of his travels, or an abandoned structure he found while mining. They, of course, take their time cooing over Michael, who has a solid grasp on Enderian and Nether-speak, and is working to master Common.
Which means Ranboo and their son can communicate just fine, leaving Ranboo as Tubbo’s glorified translator. It’s not like he cares that he can’t really talk with his son (he does), or that he’s jealous that Ranboo can (he definitely is),
but one look from Michael followed by a squealed, “Papa!” washes all of his negative feelings away.
How can he feel upset when his son is as perfect as can be?
“So are you heading up north today?” Tubbo questions in between cleaning up Michael.
Ranboo gives a short nod watching their interaction with fond eyes, “Yep. I want to check in on all my things. I hear Tommy’s been snooping, and Phil messaged me as well so he must need my help for something”.
“Alright, I’m heading over to Tommy’s quarry later. Foolish is already on the way with his son. It’ll be like a play date for Michael, and I’m sure it’ll be a nice break from whatever monstrous build Foolish is working on now”.
Ranboo lets out a sigh, moving to try and make eye contact with his husband, which Tubbo successfully dodges. Tubbo knows that sigh, intimately. It’s the sigh Ranboo made when he found Tubbo yesterday, when he’d been mining in Tommy’s quarry, armorless and on half health, but not slowing down one bit.
It’s a sigh that says “I’m worried about you. Can’t you take a break? Can’t you talk to me? Why are you so insistent on doing yourself harm?”.
That sigh means Tubbo’s worried Ranboo again, that he hasn’t kept his emotions as close to his heart as he should’ve, let too many slip through the cracks, and now his wonderful amazing husband is worried. Tubbo’s always been more trouble than he’s been worth, and each sigh reminds him that Ranboo’s getting closer and closer to that realization. He knows one day Ranboo’s gonna figure it out, that a spouse who doesn’t care for their own wellbeing isn’t worth it, so he’ll leave.
Tubbo keeps his gaze on the floor, it’s only a matter of time, but it’s not like he can stop. Tommy needs his help, so he’ll be there. Even if it means Ranboo finally gives up on him.
He hears more than sees Ranboo approach behind him, making sure to keep his gaze firmly planted on the ground. Ranboo wraps his arms around Tubbo’s waist, pulling the smaller into his chest while planting his chin on Tubbo’s head. Tubbo leans into it, letting Ranboo carry his weight as he sighs.
“You know… you don’t have to mine for Tommy right? You’ve been going every day for a week now, and after last night…” he trails off after seeing Tubbo’s stiff shoulders and bowed head,
“I just worry about you. I get that he’s your best friend, and I wanna help him too, but it’s dangerous. And… I don’t want you to… get hurt” he finishes lamely.
Tubbo pretends not to hear the “I don’t want you to hurt yourself” that’s buried in the pauses.
“I’ll be fine babe, you don’t need to worry about me, I'll be careful. Pinkie promise”, Tubbo smiles up at his caring husband, his caring husband who worries about him when he could easily choose not to.
Ranboo smiles in relief, leaning down to kiss Tubbo’s head softly while enveloping Michael in a hug, and Tubbo’s reminded of just how good he is at lying.
Even though he’s hesitant to even call it lying, he will be fine.
The only reason yesterday was so bad is because Ranboo came to get him early, and then freaked out because he was in danger. Tubbo hates making Ranboo upset, even if the reason why he was so angry doesn’t nearly affect Tubbo as much.
He just doesn’t quite care as much as Ranboo does about his health. And he still doesn’t truly understand why Ranboo chooses to care about him. It’s just as confusing and complex as the documents Schlatt used to make him read.
Ranboo straightens back up, sending Tubbo a look filled with so much relief and care that Tubbo can feel the shame rolling around in his stomach.
He returns the smile anyway, “I’ll be back later love, say hi to Tommy for me!” Ranboo calls out from the door.
Tubbo yells out his own goodbye before turning to his communicator, typing in a message to Foolish before leaning down to meet his son’s eye level, “You ready to say hi to Uncle Foolish baby?”.
~~~
Tubbo likes mining. Mining is simple. It doesn’t require complex thoughts or introspective monologues. There’s no plans being thrown together haphazardly, or moral dilemmas that leave him abandoned and alone. Just him, his pickaxe, and the stone.
It reminds him of better times. When he used to spend his nights running between a ravine that could never be home, and a home that could never feel safe again.
He’d mined for Tommy then too.
Before everything had gone to complete shit, courtesy of one ex president gone mad, and one anarchist who listened to authority. Tubbo snorts to himself, he must be really losing it if he’s thinking of Pogtopia as “the good ol days' ”.
The mining is similar though. It lets him retreat into his own head, nothing but the rhythm of his pickaxe against stone. He doesn’t know how long he’s been mining like this, following the thunk, thunk, thunk, of his pickaxe.
He used to focus like this back in his Manburg days, when it was necessary for him to go days without really sleeping, or eating for that matter. He’d had too much paperwork, too many tasks, too many dictators whose faces were starting to blur together.
It was a useful skill, honed by isolation, guilt, and intense paranoia. He could get a week's worth of work done in three days, and it only cost his peace of mind.
Quackity had been the one to find him back in the day. When they were part of Schlatt’s cabinet, and eventually Tubbo’s own. Quackity had been the one to force Tubbo to stop running around documents, and instead get some sleep. Tubbo very rarely took the advice, too scared of what Schlatt might do if Tubbo failed in his duties, but he appreciated the concern nonetheless.
The pattern had continued when Tubbo had become president himself, albeit, to a much greater degree. Quackity would find him passed out at the president’s desk (it never did stop smelling like a mix of alcohol and smoke), before dragging him to the cot that Tubbo had made his home (rebuilding New L’manberg was hard enough, he didn’t have time for something as inconsequential as a house).
Quackity always looked concerned, but he had his own pressing problems, so Tubbo waved off his concerns with half-hearted reassurances.
Ranboo didn’t take it nearly as well, though in his defense, Quackity had months of experience dealing with Tubbo depriving himself of his basic needs.
Ranboo had stumbled on Tubbo half buried in snow and very very asleep in front of the nuke factory. He’d been an inconsolable mess, until Tubbo had woken up, confused and dazed, and smothered in about 20 different blankets, with a giant distressed enderman wrapped around him.
Ranboo had started to lecture him, before dissolving into tears.
It’d been the first time Ranboo cried in front of Tubbo, and it’s something Tubbo would gladly never experience again. Tears eroding at his husband’s skin as he curled even tighter around Tubbo, whispers of his fears being said in between each sob.
Tubbo’d felt absolutely awful, promising to take better care of himself and dragging Ranboo’s head to his palms, wiping away the acidic tears. He’d held his husband there all day, reassuring him of his presence, anything to keep his lovely husband from crying out in pain.
He still remained adamant that it was a helpful skill. It’d gotten him through enough hard days during his presidency and before. It made him feel useful.
He’s tried to cut back on it anyway, for Ranboo’s benefit if not his own.
So he tries not to pull multiple all-nighters in a row because his wonderful husband cares so much, and Tubbo would be one selfish asshole if he took advantage of that. He still remembers the fact that Ranboo didn’t get mad at him, he’d been sad, concerned for him, but not mad.
Never mad.
It makes Tubbo more grateful than he could ever admit.
So Tubbo keeps an eye on the sun as he mines, making sure that it never crests over that horizon line, darkening the sky. He lets himself go to the thunk, thunk, thunk, of his pickaxe. It’s only been a few hours anyway, no need to tire himself out by being introspective.
~~~
It’s some time later that the ding of his communicator cuts the mining session short. He jolts at the sound, finally feeling the repercussions of a multi-hour mining session.
He drops his pickaxe, rolling back his throbbing shoulders, and depositing the many stacks of cobble and stone he’d gathered. It buzzes once more, so he brings it to his face, wiping the sweat from his brow as he opens the device.
The messages aren’t from Foolish as he’d originally thought, or Tommy who was his second best guess. No, they’re from Ranboo, which is odd, since they rarely use messages, preferring to call instead. And Ranboo’s supposed to be up near the Syndicate today, which means he’s much much more careful about interacting with Tubbo.
After the first Syndicate visit, Ranboo had made sure to keep their interactions far away from Techno’s prying eyes, in case he changed his mind and decided that Snowchester needed eradicating.
So the fact that he’s messaging him, while hanging with Philza- it’s concerning to say the least. He shakes off the mounting worry, better to just look at the messages rather than speculate.
Ranboo: Hey I know you’re mining but do you think you could head up towards me? Phil said there’s something he wants to talk about and he wants us both present.
The first message is confusing, very confusing. Especially with how Ranboo’s aware of the fact that Tubbo doesn’t like heading up North when Techno and Phil are active. Whatever this conversation is, it must be important enough that the hostility from the Butcher Army can be put to the side. He’s about to reply when another message comes through,
Ranboo: On second thought, we’re going to head down to the mansion, looks like this is going to be serious and I want you to be comfortable. We’ll see you in a bit <3
Ranboo’s caring nature never ceases to amaze Tubbo, that being said, he really wants to get to the mansion first so he forgoes responding.
Instead he launches himself out of the quarry, running along the prime path as he makes his way to the hyperloop. He glides through the tunnel, skidding to a stop at the other end. He takes a quick look around, and when he sees no half enderman or crow hybrid, he sighs in relief. Glad to have beaten them here.
The anxiety from hearing that Phil wants to talk is bubbling back up again, making Tubbo’s hands shake and his breaths quicken. He takes a detour into his small cottage, where most of the things that he hasn’t moved into the mansion rest.
He opens one of his many chests, dragging out the Bane O’ Bees as well as Checkmate. He doesn’t want to do this unarmed, no matter how much Ranboo trusts Philza.
He wishes he could see Michael, if only to appease the nerves singing through his body. He knows it’s better for Michael to be far away, there’s not many things further than Foolish’s summer home, besides Tubbo’s old jungle base and guardian farm. And it’s better for Michael to be safe than helping Tubbo’s own anxiety.
Being armed is going to have to be enough for this, so Tubbo squares his shoulders and heads towards the mansion, best to get this over with.
~~~
He’s standing by the front door when he hears the familiar woosh of the hyperloop. Ranboo comes up to him first, a confused look in his eyes, but nonetheless he stands at Tubbo’s side, hand on his shoulder in silent support. Tubbo’s grateful for the back up, he knows he’s not going into a fight, but a united front is going to be helpful no matter the situation.
“Hi Philza. Boo told me you had something delicate to talk about? Something you needed us both here for?” Tubbo’s voice is cold, not hostile, but he wants to make his discomfort clear.
Phil’s wings twitch nervously at the tone, “Yeah mate, uh, I recently found out that most of what I knew about uh, L’manberg isn’t true, and… do you think we could take this inside?”.
Tubbo debates it.
On the one hand, he doesn’t quite want to have a serious talk out here either, but the open space could give him an advantage if this goes to shit and he’s forced to fight, plus he’s petty enough to want Phil to be uncomfortable.
He looks back at his husband though, who looks quite uncomfortable, and Tubbo might be willing to be uncomfortable himself, but he doesn’t want to put Ranboo at risk.
So he sighs, “Don’t call me mate. I’m not your mate. We can go inside though, follow me”.
He leads the way in, replaying Phil’s response in his head. He sounds genuinely… distressed…off.
This isn’t the self assured confident Philza that blew up Tubbo’s country. No this is a man who's been shaken up, badly, and come to the only place he could think of for answers. Even if it’s answers from Tubbo.
Ranboo’s hand encircles his own, getting Tubbo’s attention as he looks to his husband. His tense, confused, and worried husband who hasn’t left his side since they showed up in Snowchester.
He sends him a smile, he tries to make it as reassuring as possible, though he probably failed with how strained the one Ranboo sent back was. Tubbo wants to wipe the tension off of his love’s face, wants the atmosphere of comfort they’d had this morning, tucked into their bed where nothing could harm them.
Tubbo asks him a question instead, “Did something happen?”, he asks quietly enough that Phil won’t hear.
Ranboo’s face remains unchanged, though his tail lashes in nervous agitation, “I was just organizing my vault when Phil knocked on my door, he’s been nervous the entire time, even when he approached me initially, it almost looks like guilt”.
Tubbo nods slightly, a barely there acknowledgement of Ranboo’s observations.
He turns back to Phil, opening the door to one of their many living rooms, “Well?”.
Phil jumps, not expecting the address and mumbles a short apology before heading into the room, Ranboo following as Tubbo closes the door behind them.
Phil takes a seat on one of the armchairs, wings twitching in the tense air, “Lovely place you got here”. Phil’s voice sounds wrong in their house, an invasion that shouldn’t be occurring.
Tubbo joins Ranboo on the couch, back straight and eyes directly locked on to Philza, he wonders if maybe this conversation would be more appropriate in his interrogation room, but he shoves the thought away.
No use showing all his cards immediately, “Why are you here Philza? We’re not on the best of terms to put it lightly, why risk Techno’s wrath to talk to the embodiment of government in these lands?”.
Philza flinches back at his words, and Ranboo peers at Tubbo curiously. Ranboo may have been the minutes man, but he’d never seen Tubbo in his true presidential glory. Tubbo’s hand is on his sword and his face is lined with stone, steel in his eyes as he gazes at his opponent.
Before it all he’d been good at debates, during it all he was good at being observant, and after it all, well he wouldn’t hesitate to strike if the situation calls for it. He’s done with being pushed.
“Techno-” Phil breaks eye contact first, Tubbo narrows his eyes at this, “Techno doesn’t know I’m here”.
Tubbo takes it all in, the twitching wings, hesitant eyes, the feeling of wrongness permeating his voice, he’s not surprised Techno’s unaware. He is surprised that Philza didn’t lie.
“Are you aware of what you’re risking then? For yourself and my family?” Phil flinches again, he looks properly guilty this time, but he nods.
Tubbo hums in acknowledgement, hand still with a death grip on his sword, if Phil wants to talk that's fine.
But he better be aware of the consequences that could come from it.
Ranboo’s hand moves to cover the one around Tubbo’s sword. It’s gentle, and encompasses Tubbo’s hand completely. He pulls at Tubbo’s fingers, forcing them to release their death grip on the weapon, and instead entwines their fingers together. Tubbo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he inhales, and reopening them as he exhales.
He’s not president here, no matter what Technoblade thinks, he’s not just the government, but he does need to protect his family. Ranboo’s hand is grounding, he needs to remember that, that he’s not alone in this now, united front and all.
“I wasn’t aware of it before but-but now, now I think I understand a bit better” Phil’s response is good enough for him, it’ll have to be.
“Than why are you here Mr. Craft? If you think you understand”.
Phil prepares himself, he can see in the way his wings fluff out, his back straightens, “I owe you an apology-” Tubbo stiffens in surprise.
Of all things he’d expected to hear from Philza, it definitely wasn’t an apology.
Phil continues, eyes shut as if the next words cause him physical pain, “-Wil sent me letters, telling me about your adventures here. I didn’t-” Phil’s voice breaks but he soldiers on, “-I didn’t expect him to lie!”.
It’s the most anger Phil’s shown the entire time, and it’s not directed at Tubbo, but he still feels himself stiffen. Ranboo brings him closer, lets Tubbo’s full weight rest against him. Tubbo’ll need the support, he has a feeling that this conversation is going to be much more than he bargained for.
“He told me he won the election. That he gave you the L’manberg presidency, and he left voluntarily to start Pogtopia. I didn’t-” Philza pauses again, collecting himself, “I didn’t even know about Schlatt. Had to hear about Manburg from Fundy for fuck’s sake-” he stops once more, looking straight into Tubbo’s eyes.
“I know nothing about Pogtopia, nothing about Manburg. I assumed that you were the reason for Wilbur’s descent into instability. Which is why I’m apologizing. I didn’t know about your execution, or that Schlatt even existed. And, and I need to know, you-you’ve got firsthand experience, and I don’t think you’d lie” Tubbo ignores the stiffening of the boy beside him and sighs, this is much more than he bargained for.
He looks to Phil, sees the betrayal, the pain, but mostly the resolve in his eyes.
“Give me a moment Phil, if I’m about to be in charge of your makeshift history lesson, I need to get a drink”.
~~~
Tubbo hurries out of the room, heading through the labryinthe of corridors to reach their kitchen. He wants to scavenge through their cabinets for a bottle of whiskey, but Ranboo’s never seen him drink, and Phil seems like enough of a responsible adult to get upset about underage drinking.
Instead, he moves to put on a kettle of water, he doesn’t even like tea, but it gives him an excuse to stay here longer.
He’s going to have to treat this as if they’ve got no prior history, as if they know nothing of what this server was like. And maybe they don’t, not really, not like Tubbo and Tommy and Fundy and so many others.
He splits the timeline in his head, pre-Lmanberg, Lmanberg, post-final control room, the election, Manburg, post-festival, Wilbur’s death, New L’manberg, Tommy’s exile, Doomsday, the final disc war.
God, how much does Phil actually know? Does he know about the final control room? Eret’s betrayal? That L’manberg started as something beautiful?
Tommy doesn’t like thinking about the past, he’s started talking about triggers and traumatic responses and PTSD. Fancy words that Tubbo doesn’t understand, Tubbo knows he’s not okay. Doesn’t mean he needs some therapist to psychoanalyze his experiences.
Not that he’s upset that Tommy’s talking to someone, far from it.
It’s just that, Tommy doesn’t like thinking of the past. Tubbo is aware that he needs to think of the past.
When he was a spy, when he was a president, history was everything.
Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it; history doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.
He’d kept detailed archives of the past events, and when they were destroyed, he told Eret everything he could remember to help with their museum.
Tubbo knows the past affects the present, his hands shake because of past nerve damage, Tommy gets finicky in plains biomes because of the past, Ranboo doesn’t like obsidian because of the p a s t.
Tubbo leans hard on the counter, this is alot.
A man who helped doom his country with no remorse, is sitting in his living room with an apology, asking for help. He wants to learn, and who is Tubbo to deny that.
He closes his eyes, leaning more of his weight onto the counter.
He’s tired, and stressed, and he doesn’t want to talk about this, or think about this.
But he’s not Tommy, who can spout fancy words and ignore it, or Ranboo who just forgets.
No, Tubbo is burdened with the responsibility of remembering.
He remembers where his scars came from, he remembers what it feels like to hold the world on his shoulders, he remembers scalding insults and broken bottles.
He knows why he’s broken, knows why Ranboo deserves better, why Tommy deserves better, why Michael deserves better.
He knows because he remembers.
And now there is an enemy in his house who wishes to try and understand. He’s been holding this burden on his shoulders alone, he doesn’t know how to relinquish it to somebody else.
He hears the door open from his spot bent over the counter. He’s too overwhelmed to look up, he feels upset, and guilty, and angry. Angry that Phil came here with apologies on his tongue and questions in his eyes. Angry that he’d gotten this far keeping it all to himself, for some waylaid terrorist to knock on his walls. Angry that he’s going to tell Phil, and Ranboo because history is important.
Even if it’s his history.
Ranboo slides in behind him, tucking Tubbo into his chest. He almost wants to fight it, to rage and scream and shove the other off. To poison him with the knowledge that lays in Tubbo’s chest.
He doesn’t,
doesn’t want to hurt Ranboo like that. So he goes limp, lets the taller nuzzle into his neck.
“The kettle’s been going for about 5 minutes love”, Tubbo hums in acknowledgment, he hadn’t even realized it’d been whistling, but it feels deathly quiet without the sound.
He lets Ranboo hold him, because he can feel the desperation in his touch. There’s a slight tremble in Ranboo’s touch, and Tubbo’s reminded of precisely why he doesn’t want to talk about the past.
“Phil said you were executed”, Ranboo’s voice is muffled by Tubbo’s hair, “It’s true isn’t it?”.
Tubbo doesn’t bother denying it, his husbands going to hear the full story soon enough anyway.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to know”, is what Tubbo replies with, it’s a weak excuse and they both know it.
“When, when were you going to tell me Tubbo? Were you ever going to tell me? How am I supposed to help you when you won’t ever tell me what’s wrong?”, Ranboo’s voice is tinged with desperation, he doesn’t move away and he doesn’t sound angry, hurt and confused maybe, but not angry.
Tubbo locks his jaw, pulling away, “I wasn’t going to tell you. It wasn’t important enough, you didn’t need to know”.
He can see the anger in Ranboo’s posture as his words settle, “What do you mean it wasn’t important enough. You- You- You got fucking executed Tubbo!”.
Tubbo flinches away as Ranboo’s voice raises, anger in the stark line of his shoulders.
“We’ll talk about it later, our guest is waiting”, Tubbo moves to slip out into the hallway,
but not before he picks up on the slight waver in Ranboo’s voice as he leaves, “There’s never a later with you Tubbo”.
Tubbo ignores it,
it’s not like he’s wrong anyway.
~~~
“Sorry Phil, didn’t mean to take so long” Tubbo sits back down on the couch again, he doesn’t have a drink.
“It’s fine ma- Tubbo. I didn’t mind”, Phil replies with a strained smile.
Tubbo nods, waiting for Ranboo to come back, no point in telling it twice. For a moment Tubbo’s scared that he won’t return, figuring out once and for all that Tubbo’s not worth it.
However, the enderman hybrid slips in a few moments later, and Tubbo lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. Ranboo sits beside him, not touching but close enough that Tubbo can feel his presence.
They’re together for now, and that’ll have to be enough.
He draws himself up, the harsh protectiveness of a father, the eyes of a spy, the voice of a president. He wraps himself in his titles old and new, and he begins, “The first thing you need to understand is that we believed in Wilbur. He was our president, a revolutionary! Fighting against tyranny and giving us hope where there was none. L’manberg was our home.
When L’manberg was at it’s peak, it was beautiful. I can’t count the number of nights we spent by a campfire, surrounded by construction with Wilbur leading songs. And after my house got burned down for the second time by Dream, it was clear that L’manberg was about being together.
Before the election, you never saw a L’manbergian fighting alone-'', Tubbo smiles small, despite the pain L’manberg brought them, he still held some leftover pride.
It dies again slowly as he prepares his next words, “-I think. Looking back at it all, there’s one singular moment that pinpoints the fall of L’manberg. I’m sure you’ve heard of the final control room-”
Philza nods in response, “-four of us died there. Me first, to Sapnap. Then Tommy to Dream, WIlbur to Punz, and finally Fundy to George”.
Tubbo smiles again, strained and weak, “Wilbur never really recovered from Eret’s betrayal. Even after when Niki and Jack Manifold arrived, when L’manberg was at it’s strongest, I don’t think he ever stopped looking over his shoulder”.
Tubbo sighs, a long heavy exhale.
How long had Wilbur been spiraling? How long had they been turning a blind eye to his suffering?
Tubbo doesn’t know; he’s not sure he wants to.
“We loved Wilbur. I want you to remember that. He was your son, I know, but he was everything to L’manberg. Tommy wanted to make him proud so badly-”, Tubbo scoffs, “-it makes what happened later even more ironic in a way”.
He has to stop himself from getting too angry, wraps himself tight in the apathy of a president and continues again, “The election was the first real downfall. It was supposed to be Pog2020 versus Swag2020. Wilbur and Tommy versus Quackity and George-”.
He’s interrupted by Phil, “Wait, I thought Schlatt won the election?”.
Tubbo almost wants to laugh. He looks to his husband, to the man across from him. He’s reminded of just how little they know about it all.
“You ever wondered why we make so many jokes about George being the source of all our problems?”, Tubbo’s smile is crooked.
He keeps going anyway, “Schlatt was originally an endorsement for Pog2020, except George never showed up for Quackity. So Quackity and Schlatt created a coalition party, it was a joke. We laughed about it, Tommy and me. There was no way Wilbur was losing to Quackity...we laughed. And then they fucking won”.
He laughs, ugly and bitter, he can feel how Ranboo wants to reach out, only to pull his hand away at the last second.
He looks to Phil, the bitterness dying away as he locks his emotions up tight, he can’t afford to show more, “Wilbur lost. We hadn’t even considered the possibility. Then Schlatt was standing on stage, declaring himself Emperor and exiling them from the country-”.
He looks over to Ranboo, the hybrid stiff in his attempt to appear unaffected.
His tail doesn’t stop thrashing, “-I’d planned to join them. Did you know that?”.
Nonchalant, he needs to be nonchalant,
“It was my bunker that they’d escaped to, only after Wilbur lost his second life. They grabbed as many supplies as they could, and then they ran”.
Shrug, casual, nonchalant. This doesn’t bother you, don't let them see,
“I’d already swallowed an invis pot, ready to follow in their footsteps. That was when Schlatt called me up to his podium. I had to stall while the potion ran out, when I finally got up there, it was clear what I was. A pawn, a trophy, something to dangle over Tommy’s head. I had to do whatever he asked, if I didn’t, well-”, Tubbo shrugs again,
-this doesn’t bother him this doesn’t bother him this doesn’t bother him-
“-there’s a reason I was executed. Quackity, Fundy, and I, we were Schlatt’s cabinet, we did all the work while he sat drunk on his ass. We were in it together”.
He stops again, evaluating the others in the room, Ranboo’s still upset, less mad now and more concerned.
Philza looks like his feelings are eating him alive, “Then I became a spy for Wilbur and Tommy. I spent most of my nights running from Manburg to Pogtopia, giving updates and information and trying not to be found out in the morning. I was terrified of Schlatt, but I was terrified of leaving Tommy alone with Wilbur more.
He was becoming more unstable by the day. And then Techno arrived...I was spending my days following orders from Schlatt, and my nights following orders from Wilbur. I don’t think anyone slept more than 8 hours that entire month to be honest with you”.
A throw away line, try for humor, distract them from the fact that his breathing is getting shaky and his hands are clenched tight into fists,
“I was walking on eggshells no matter where I went. Wilbur didn’t trust me, I was too good a spy, too untrustworthy, and Schlatt never liked me, I had to dodge thrown bottles quite a bit under his administration. I spent the entire time prepared to be found out; I was betraying Schlatt, and I knew what I was risking”.
He looks pointedly at Phil, “And then a few weeks in, I was put in charge of a festival, the first festival on the server. To celebrate Schlatt’s administration and democracy. I was in charge of it all. I brainstormed stalls, helped set up games, decorated the entire place, I even wrote a speech. Didn’t expect a single fucking thing”, he didn’t expect- didn’t expect it.
How? How could he be so fucking naïve-so fucking clueless.
“Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur showed, though Tommy and Will had been banned, which left Techno alone in the crowd. And it was fine- fun even! Until it was time for my speech. I talked about the importance of democracy, about cutting away unlawful traitors”, he shakes his head,
it’s fine he’s in control-he’s in control,
“Schlatt thanked me, he told me he was proud”.
He can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of his chest, “He told me he was proud”, he looks dead into Phil’s eyes, “He told me he was proud, and then he had Quackity box me in with yellow concrete”.
Tubbo sees their barely concealed horror, he wants to laugh, “Do you know what happens to traitors Phil? They die.
Painfully.
Publicly.
Beautifully”.
He points to his left arm, “The first hit was from a pickaxe, trying to lower my health-”
then the center of his chest, “-the first rocket hit me dead in the chest. I was thrown back into the concrete, but I wasn’t dead”
the left side of his face, his damaged ear and eye. He ignores the shaking of his hands, “The second one hit me straight in the face. I got my right arm up in time-”
another point, “-but my left was too injured, hence the extensive scarring on my left side”.
He focuses on the wall just slightly to the right of Phil, he doesn’t want to see their expressions, “The rockets were beautiful, red and blue and white were the last things I saw. And then I was back in Pogtopia, in that ravine, newly respawned with the scars to match”.
calm down calm down, it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine,
“That’s when I knew Wilbur had really lost it. He’d dug a pit in the cave, and he was encouraging Tommy and Techno to fight. I remember picking Tommy up off the floor with Niki, he was beat half to death by the time Techno was done-”.
“Wait-” Phil interjects, honestly Tubbo’s surprised it took this long, “-why were they fighting? Shouldn’t Tommy have gone after Schlatt?”.
If Tubbo wasn’t so unstable, he’s sure he’d be laughing at the bitter irony of Philza’s question, “Schlatt kill me himself? I wasn’t worth it, a trophy that lost it’s shine”.
pretend it doesn’t hurt pretend pretend pretend pretend,
“Techno was the executioner, Schlatt just ordered it to happen. Tommy was angry; I couldn’t afford to be, so I forgave Techno, and Tommy fought him.
I’m not surprised Techno didn’t mention it to you, it wasn’t really important in the grand scheme of it all.
After my death, it was quiet for a few weeks, and then we were fighting to get L’manberg back. And well, Schlatt died alone in the Camarvan, I became president, Wilbur blew up the nation, and Techno slammed it with Withers. That’s about everything that happened during the era right before you both joined”.
He finishes and all he can feel is relief, he’s never talked about his execution, and hopefully he never has to again. It’s an uncomfortable experience for everyone involved.
He looks to Phil and sees proper horror, his wings are drawn around him as if he can keep the knowledge out, “That’s why I asked if you knew the risks. Techno’s killed me before, he probably won’t mind doing it again. You’re risking my life, my family’s life by being here, and you’re risking your own”.
Tubbo hopes that if Phil takes anything away from the conversation it’s that. He looks over to his husband, his deathly still husband, not even a twitch of the tail. It looks like he won’t be getting out of their talk then.
“I think it’s best if you leave Phil, I can escort you out”, Phil doesn’t hesitate, rushing out of the room followed by Tubbo.
~~~
Once Phil’s properly out, Tubbo heads back to the room, unsurprised to see that Ranboo hasn’t moved an inch. If they hadn’t gotten angry at each other, this is when he’d normally place a small kiss on his forehead, pull him up by his hands and then they’d go and make dinner together.
Instead, he sits next to his husband, the physical space just makes it all feel much more tangible, “I don’t regret not telling you. We both have our secrets, things that are for us alone. So I’m not sorry for keeping this from you, I am sorry that it hurt you though.
It’s something that I don’t like talking about, and I effectively kept you in the dark about my emotions. I’m not good at communicating, I don’t like talking about how I feel. But I dislike upsetting you even more, so here I am, apologizing”.
Tubbo doesn’t look up once during his speech, letting himself focus on the floorboards instead of the boy next to him. He hears a deep sigh from above him, and he feels like running away, but he stands his ground,
Ranboo deserves that much at least, “Tubbo...love...look at me”.
Tubbo stubbornly refuses. Ranboo’s hand gently reaches for Tubbo’s chin, slowly lifting it so that they’re face to face. Neither of them like eye contact, but Ranboo’s staring straight into Tubbo’s eyes despite it, and he can’t look away.
“Did you think I was angry at you? Because you didn’t tell me?”, Tubbo shrugs, looking away.
Ranboo sighs again, planting a kiss on Tubbo’s forehead, “I’m angry because you feel the need to lock all your emotions away. You don’t let anyone know when you’re hurting, and you try and convince yourself that everything’s okay. I’m angry because you let me live with you executioner for months Tubbo, months!”.
Tubbo can hear the desperation and anger seeping back into Ranboo’s voice, it hurts like a physical wound to Tubbo’s chest.
“You said-”, Ranboo’s voice breaks and he pauses, clearing his throat to start again, “You said that your own death didn’t matter, how-how can you think that? You matter so much, so so much to- to me. And to Tommy, and to Michael. I know-I know that you’re reckless with yourself, but-but to truly think that you don’t matter, it-”.
Ranboo’s crying in earnest now, it feels like Tubbo’s being shot all over again, and he moves. He closes the distance between them, shushing his husband’s cries, toweling at the acidic tears with his sleeves.
Ranboo leans into the touch, but the sobs don’t stop, “You make me so happy Tubbo-I never-I didn’t think I could have anything like this. I don’t know how I got this lucky. You’re-you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Your laughs take my breath away; I co- could listen to you talk forever. I love you so much Tubbo.
I love you-and, and the fact that this happened to you and you- you don’t care! You don’t care because you think you no one else does, but I do! I care! And-and I’m so angry so angry that this even happened to you I don’t-”.
Ranboo buries his face into Tubbo’s shoulder, his arms clutching at Tubbo’s jacket. His shoulders shake with the force of his cries, it’s almost enough to make Tubbo cry with him. Instead he cards his fingers through Ranboo’s hair, wrapping the taller in his embrace as much as he physically can.
He whispers small reassurances, “I’m okay, I love you, I love you, I love you, It's alright”, repeated over and over.
When Ranboo’s sobs finally subside he prepares himself to speak.
His throat suddenly feels very very dry, but he starts anyway, “Sometimes I wake up in the morning, and I feel like I don’t deserve you. You’re so beautiful and kind, and you take care of Michael better than I ever could. I think that you deserve better than a scarred and broken husband who can’t even take care of himself. Sometimes I catch myself waiting for you to realize that I’m not worth it, that you can do so much better, and then you’ll leave”.
Tubbo can feel the heat behind his eyes, the way his throat contracts as if trying to force him back into silence, “I love you and Michael more than I thought I could love anyone, and it hurts that I can’t believe that you could ever love me like that. I want to, I want to believe it with my whole body and soul, but-but I can’t and I’m sorry, you deserve better”.
It’s Ranboo’s turn to shush him, putting a finger up to Tubbo’s lips.
He makes eye contact again, and Tubbo can see the unshed tears glistening there, “I don’t deserve better sweetheart, I don’t want anyone else, I want you. I love you and only you, and I will personally shower you with praises and affection until you believe it wholeheartedly okay?”.
Tubbo nods slowly, he kind of just wants to sleep for a thousand years, today has felt way longer than it had any right to.
Ranboo must see it in his face because his eyes soften, “Why don’t you go up to bed, I’ll pick Michael up from Foolish’s okay?”.
His tone is gentle and understanding, and for some reason this is what brings him closer to tears than he’s been all day.
He nods mutely, leaning into Ranboo’s chest as the other wipes away his unshed tears. The ender hybrid slowly picks them both up, Tubbo would struggle normally, but instead he lets his husband carry him to their shared bed.
Lulled into a state of half consciousness by the gentle swaying back and forth. He’s aware enough that he feels when Ranboo lays him in their bed, departing with a kiss to his head. He lays there in a limbo of sleep and consciousness, not quite aware but not quite asleep.
It’s some time later that he hears the door creak open, and he feels a weight dip into the bed beside him. Ranboo brings him tight to his chest, curling around him with his freakishly large limbs; Tubbo feels himself finally relax.
They’ll be okay, he knows they will, eventually.
They’re a united front after all, he should do his best to remember that.