hi miso!! i did my civic duty so i would like to request a c!crime or c!clingy doodle or drabble whatever you would prefer
hello! thank you for voting! misotofu followers: if you vote misodine2023 here you can request a doodle or drabble from me!
and here is an outtake from meteorology and moon rabbits! it was the first iteration of the lying-on-bunk-beds scene, but i decided it was too dark to fit the fic (plus i wasn't really sure how to finish off the arc it opened). i still like the writing though and i hope you enjoy!
“Do you think – ” Tommy stops, chewing his lip. “Do you ever think about the old place?”
The old place. Neither of them have named it; not yet.
“No,” says Tubbo honestly. He’s been so busy setting up the water filters so they could drink, and then the hydroponics so they’d have vegetables. And after getting all the urgent life-on-the-moon business over with, he made Tommy go find him a moon rabbit to study, which they’ve penned in the office and named Big Buns. (Tommy declared, eyebrows wiggling, that it was his right to name the rabbit, since he’d caught the creature. Tubbo thought this was bullshit, but by the time Tommy had returned to the base it was already only responding to Big Buns.)
“I do. Think about it, I mean. I think about it a lot.” Tubbo cranes his neck. Tommy’s forehead is wrinkled, his eyes distant. “A lot of that shit was really fucked up, you know?”
He doesn’t really want to talk about this. He stays silent. Tommy carries on: “We didn’t deserve that. Not any of it. What Schlatt did to you. What,” he pauses, screws up his face, “what Dream did to me. And Technoblade, and Philza fucking Minecraft.”
His skin is crawling. There are no ants on L’Moonberg, but he can feel them, creeping along his scarred arms and neck and cheek. Groping for the sheets, Tubbo pulls them up halfway off the bed and scrubs at himself furiously. Tommy continues, voice lilting. Every gentle word grates in his ears. “We deserved to have a safe place, and everyone took that away from us. It wasn’t fair.”
“Nothing’s fair, Tommy,” he says, hoarsely. Tommy stops, looks at him. “Nothing’s fair, and sometimes people get a bad lot in life. You did. I did, kinda. And it sucks, but it happened, and now we’re here so it doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”
Tommy flips over, propping himself up on his elbows. His cheeks have gone red with upside-down blood. “It does matter. It happened to us, Tubbo, and that’s why it matters. It’s not healthy to just, just pretend it never happened and try to go on.”
Mirroring Tommy, Tubbo rolls over too, the better to look him in the eyes. “I’m not pretending it never happened. I’m just not – thinking about it all the time.”
“Maybe you should think about it sometimes!” Tommy bursts out, then covers his mouth, eyes wide. Tubbo stares at him. Carefully, Tommy says, “Sometimes I worry about you, Tubbo.”
“You don’t need to. I’m fine.”
“You very clearly are not.”
“Just because some of us don’t talk about ourselves all the – ” Tubbo cuts himself off. There are words he doesn’t want to say, because he doesn’t mean them. He’s just upset because Tommy keeps pushing him, and he’s fine, he’s fine, the whole point of fucking off to L’Moonberg was so he could have some peace and quiet for once in his Prime-damned life, and he’ll have it if it kills him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Tommy’s eyes are very wide. “Okay.” He looks at the ceiling, with its metal rivets and exposed wiring. “Sorry,” he adds, quietly.
“It’s okay.” Tubbo lets his elbows give, face-planting into his sheets. “I’m tired now. Gonna nap.”
“Okay,” repeats Tommy. “I’ll, uh, I’m gonna go… take care of stuff. You nap, okay?”
“Mrnn,” Tubbo mumbles into the pillow. He can hear Tommy shuffling around, tip-toeing out of the room and turning off the lights with a snick. The subtle background hum of electricity surrounds him, and Tubbo sleeps.
