91.

"Everything in our universe is either a disc or not a disc."

Wilbur bolted upright in his bed, head snapping around. "Tommy?" he called.

"No one ever specified that Humpty Dumpty was an egg."

Wilbur paused, then slowly looked down. Tommy lay flat on his floor, the upper half of his body sticking out from under Wilbur's bed. His spectral form glowed dimly in the darkness.

"Surgery is just stabbing someone to life," he said.

Wilbur stared. "What?"

The ghost stared back, unblinking. "If you take care of chickens, that makes you a chicken tender."

". . . Okay," Wilbur said. "Why are you lying on my floor at four in the morning?"

"Reading is just looking at a piece of paper and hallucinating."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The best liar you know isn't the best liar you know."

"That's-- unfortunately true, but what--"

"The bigger your bed is, the more bed room and less bedroom you have."

Wilbur nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Tommy, what the fuck are you doing?"

The ghost paused and tilted his head, face unnervingly blank. "Anxiety is just our brain sending us fake news."

"You're messing with me, aren't you."

"You are forever trapped inside your skull. Except for me, because I'm dead, but now I'm trapped in my ghostly skull."

Wilbur breathed in through his nose, held for five, and exhaled. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Sleep is a free trial of death," the ghost whispered before he sunk into the floor. Wilbur stared at the spot where he'd been for a long, long time, then laid back down and tried to go back to sleep.

Needless to say, he failed.

92. remix, pt. 5 

"And stay inside."

"I can fight," Dream protested as Technoblade pulled open another chest. "You know how good I am at PvP--"

"--and you're still recoverin' from malnutrition, burns, and a bruised rib," Technoblade deadpanned. "You're not fightin'."

"It's four versus one! You can't fight them off by yourself!"

The chest slammed shut. Dream took a step back as Technoblade turned to him, hands full of potions.

"Dream," he said. "You know you can't fight off either. You'd be dead weight."

"I can handle it--"

"I don't have time for this," Technoblade muttered, brushing past him. "Dream, I'm serious. Stay inside. Hide. If they're here to kill me, chances are they'll want to kill you too. I can't defend both of us."

Dream hesitated. "But. . ."

"The invis potions are in the chests on the far right, middle row," Technoblade called. "Grab some and get down to the basement. I'll call you up when it's safe."

The door slammed shut behind him. Dream was left standing alone in the room, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

They were switching roles, but they were only loosely following each others' scripts. Tommy wouldn't help Technoblade escape. Which meant that if Dream didn't interfere--

He set his shoulders and turned towards the chests. Where did Technoblade keep his weapons again. . .?

~~~

"TECHNOBLADE! STOP! I HAVE CARL!"

The piglin hybrid whipped around. His fingers curled tighter around his axe when his gaze landed on Quackity, who was sitting astride Carl and holding an axe to the horse's neck.

"You get away from that horse, Quackity," he snarled.

"Move away from the others," Quackity snapped back. "Move away, or I'm gonna kill him."

"Leave the horse out of this!" Quackity shifted the axe an inch closer to Carl's neck and Technoblade instantly complied, eyes wide with panic. "Fine! Okay! Just-- leave Carl alone!"

"And drop your weapons."

Technoblade hesitated. Dream inhaled, exhaled, and moved.

An arrow sprouted from Quackity's hand. The duck hybrid reeled back, howling, the axe tumbling from his spasming fingers and landing in the snow. In that same moment, invisible fingers hooked around the back of his shirt and yanked him off of Carl. Quackity landed on his back in the snow and lashed out with his axe, but Dream had already danced out of range, grabbing hold of Carl's reins and vaulting onto the horse. Carl reared, startled, then dashed off in Technoblade's direction. Dream yanked hard and managed to slow the horse down, just in time to avoid running the piglin hybrid over. Technoblade wasted no time sliding in front of them, sword drawn and wary gaze fixed on the Butcher Army.

"I thought I told you to stay inside," he hissed.

"You were going to lose," Dream retorted. "Who's gonna feed me if you die?"

"Who's there?!" Quackity shouted, gaze darting back and forth. He spun in a circle, axe slashing wildly. "Who?!"

Dream gritted his teeth and dismounted from Carl, drawing his own axe. Technoblade's eyes darted to it.

"Where's your armor?" he muttered.

"Don't have any," Dream muttered back. "Just a lot of invis."

Fundy's fox ears flicked up. "Dream?!"

Tubbo's head snapped towards him. "Dream?!"

"I--" Fundy's eyes narrowed. "I heard his voice."

Dream hesitated. He probably only had twenty or so seconds left of invisibility - either he could try hitting everyone in the area with a potion and escape in the confusion. . . or he could stay and try talking the Butcher Army down.

"Dream," Tubbo said. "He's the invisible one, isn't he?"

Quackity stilled. "Dream's here?"

Dream's stomach sunk. He took a step back, bumping into Carl. Before his eyes, his hands were reentering the visible spectrum, washed-out and faded like a ghost's.

"Wait, that's--" Fundy stared at him. "Where's his mask?!"

Quackity was smiling, gleeful and full of teeth. "Tubbo," he breathed. "Tubbo, both of them are here. We can--"

Technoblade brandished his sword, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip. "Leave," he snarled, "Or I'll kill you."

Dream swallowed as adrenaline flooded through his veins. He was fully visible now and completely armor-less. Quackity took a step forward, clearly rearing for a fight, and Dream tensed, sliding into a defensive stance. Fundy followed suit, wary gaze fixed on Technoblade.

Only Tubbo remained still, eyes dark. "Wait," he ordered, pointing his axe at Dream. "Tell me-- what did you do to Tommy?"

Dream went still, his axe dipping. "T. . . Tommy?"

"Yes," Tubbo said. "Tommy. What did you do to him?"

"What. . ." Dream shifted, a slow, burning rage flaring in his eyes. "What did I do to him? You think-- you think I did something to him? "

Tubbo's lips thinned. He said nothing.

Dream let out a sardonic laugh that was more akin to a huff. "Well," he ground out, "Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't do anything to him."

Tubbo narrowed his eyes. ". . . Then what happened during exile?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I--"

"What did he blackmail you with?"

All eyes turned to Fundy, who raised his chin and stood his ground. "Blackmail?" Tubbo asked.

"What did he blackmail you with?" Fundy repeated, his eyes fixed on Dream. "I saw the Enchantment on the picture. He threatened you to get you to exile yourself, didn't he?"

Dream stared at him. "You--"

"Fundy," Quackity interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "Fundy, what the hell are you talking about?"

"The-- the picture," Fundy said. "That Tommy submitted as evidence in court. There was a note on it in Enchantment - 'play along, or else'. What did he say to you?"

Dream took a step back, skin paling to paper-white. "I. . ."

"Hold on," Technoblade interrupted. "What's this I'm hearin' about blackmail?"

Quackity huffed. "Okay, you know what-- shut the fuck up. Dream, Technoblade, surrender or--"

"Wait," Tubbo said. He lowered his axe, ignoring the noise of protest Quackity made. "You're saying. . . Tommy blackmailed you into exiling yourself?"

"And he damn well deserved it," Quackity muttered.

Tubbo took a deep breath. "I went to find Tommy two weeks ago," he said. "The place you were staying-- it was-- gone. Destroyed. Tommy was wearing your mask. He-- he brushed me off, basically abandoned L'Manberg so he could look for you-- he changed. What happened during exile, Dream?"

Dream's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. His gaze darted back and forth. He took another step back, nearly bumping into Technoblade. Tubbo stepped forward, only to freeze when Technoblade raised his sword in warning.

"Personal space," the piglin hybrid warned. "Back up, Mister President."

"I need to know," Tubbo protested. "What happened, Dream? Why did Tommy change?"

Dream chewed on the inside of his cheek. "If. . . if I tell you about exile, will you leave us alone?"

Tubbo hesitated. Quackity's head snapped towards him. "Tubbo," he said. "You can't be serious."

"I. . . I need to know," Tubbo repeated. His axe disappeared with a flash of light. "Fine. I'll call off the Butcher Army if you tell me what happened in exile."

"Tubbo," Quackity snapped. "Think about this for one damn second--"

"I am thinking about this," Tubbo said. "And I think that at the moment, I'm more worried about Tommy than revenge."

"It's not just revenge, it's L'Manberg!"

"Techno's in retirement," Fundy pointed out. "He still has three lives. If we drag him out and kill him, he'd probably just come back and destroy L'Manberg."

Quackity sneered. "Since when were you all buddy-buddy with Technoblade?"

"I'm not buddy-buddy with Technoblade, I just don't think killing him is a good idea anymore." Fundy's tail lashed nervously, but he met Quackity's gaze. "Executing Techno and Dream won't help, Quackity. If anything, it'll make things worse. "

Technoblade huffed. "That's what I've been tellin' you all along!"

Quackity gritted his teeth, whirling around to glare at Tubbo. "You're just gonna give up on revenge?" He demanded. "Just like that? He needs to pay!"

Tubbo let out a tired sigh. "Quackity-- I'm not forgiving Technoblade. This isn't-- this isn't me giving up. I just. . . want to focus on the present, not the past. I'm tired of thinking about what-ifs. Something's wrong with Tommy right here, right now, and-- and I don't want him to become another what-if."

Quackity stared at him.

"So no," Tubbo continued. "I'm not giving up. I'm not forgiving Technoblade. But what happened-- it's in the past. Tommy is still here. And I'm sorry if you disagree, but I think he's more important."

There was a moment of tense silence. Slowly, Quackity lowered his axe.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I'll hear Dream out, but only because of Tommy."

Dream cleared his throat. "R-right," he said. "Um--"

"Dream," Technoblade cut in, "I'm not gonna stop you if you want to spill your tragic backstory to the guys tryin' to kill us, but could you not do it on my front lawn?"

"At least I'm not inviting them into your house."

"Don't even try that trick with me," Technoblade deadpanned. "They're not welcome on my property, that's nonnegotiable. You can talk somewhere else."

"It's fine," Tubbo said before Quackity could protest. "We can-- would the forest over there work?"

Technoblade hesitated, then inclined his head. "I'm comin' with you," he warned.

Dream grimaced. "Techno--"

"No. Followin' a bunch of people in bloody aprons into the woods is just askin' to get killed, Dream."

"If you come with us, you'll be doing the same thing--"

"I'm in full netherite, you're not. I'm goin' with you. End of story."

Dream opened his mouth, grasping for an argument and coming up empty. He slumped. "That's-- okay. Fine."

"Now that you're done, " Quackity drawled, "Can we get going?"

Technoblade fixed him with an unimpressed stare before turning to Tubbo. "Well, Mister President? Lead the way."

"Don't call me that," Tubbo muttered. He turned away and began moving towards the forest.

Quackity, Fundy, Technoblade, and Dream glanced at each other. Technoblade cleared his throat. "Well? Go on ahead."

Quackity scowled. "I'm not leaving you at my back."

Dream sighed. "Techno, you can go in front of him. I'll stay back and stab him if he tries anything."

"Look, Dream, I appreciate the offer, but knowing that you're like five seconds away from droppin' your weapon does not fill me with confidence."

Dream looked down at his hands. Indeed, they were shaking, fingers spasming unevenly around the axe handle. "Ah," he muttered. "I might have pushed myself too hard."

(All it had taken was two months of exile for his body to deteriorate so much. Was this how Tommy felt after--?)

"W-we could just walk in a row?"

All four men startled violently, whipping around. "Where did you come from?!" Technoblade demanded, his axe out and pointed straight at Ranboo. The enderman hybrid yelped and rapidly backpedaled, his tail fluffing out in alarm.

"I've been here the entire time!" he cried. "On the sidelines! I swear I didn't want to be here please don't kill me--"

"It's okay," Dream said tiredly. He pushed Technoblade's axe down. "He's not going to hurt us. Good suggestion, by the way-- we can just walk in a row. Nobody has to be behind anyone else."

"Are you all coming?" Tubbo called from the treeline.

Quackity and Technoblade engaged in an intense staredown. Dream glanced at Fundy and Ranboo.

"Do you want to just go?" he asked.

Fundy snorted and headed off towards Tubbo, Ranboo trailing after him. Dream brought up the rear, leaving Technoblade and Quackity at the back of the group.

Tubbo was waiting for them in a snowy clearing, arms crossed over his bloody apron. "Alright," he said once they had arranged themselves, both factions split on either side of the clearing. The determined glint in his eyes made something in Dream's chest ache. "Tell me. What happened during exile?"

Dream took a fortifying breath, reviewing the story he and Tommy had constructed. He'd have to pull some of his own experience from Loop Zero into the lie. Tommy wanted this, he reminded himself. He wanted to be the villain this loop, so don't hold back.

With that in mind, he set his shoulders and started talking.

93.

"How have they not figured it out yet?!"

Callahan shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

"No, seriously," Connor snapped, sweeping an arm towards the window, through which the Greater SMP was visible. "It's so obvious, how has no one figured it out?!"

Most people think they snapped, Callahan offered, his hands flitting through the air. All the conflict and chaos finally got to their heads.

"That's not--" Connor made a noise of frustration. "To explain this?!"

As if on cue, something exploded in the distance. Both men turned to watch as a plume of rainbow-colored glitter rose in the sky, forming a mushroom cloud.

You have a point, Callahan admitted.

"Yes! Thank you! Exactly!"

Though time loops aren't the first thing most people think of when their friends-- Callahan paused, considering, then made a gesture towards the glitter cloud hovering over the horizon. I actually didn't figure it out until I saw the server logs.

Connor blinked. "Server logs?"

Logs marking actions, deaths, the times they occurred, things like that-- they were overloaded. I pulled them up about a week ago, and-- you remember when the glitter war started?

"4th of January," Connor deadpanned. "You know how people remember traumatic events really well? Dream and Tommy setting off glitter-rigged TNT launchers all over the server definitely counts as a traumatic event."

. . . Right, January 4th, Callahan agreed. And the server logs, starting from January 4th, basically became so long that it took me an hour to scroll through one day. It was like someone took a century's worth of logs and compressed them into a month.

Connor squinted. "And lemme guess, the logs made no sense?"

Yes. Callahan's face twisted into a slight frown. The logs said that Dream died multiple times on January 21st, but. . . he was out and about that day, and he never died once. And then I saw T-O-M-M-Y cackling over the glittering ruins of L'Manberg with Dream. Helped me put things together.

Connor snorted. "Yeah, well--"

There was another explosion, closer this time. The shack they were sitting in shook dangerously, dust raining from the ceiling. When the tremors subsided, Callahan sighed and pushed away his dust-infused drink.

We should probably move somewhere safer.

"Nowhere is safe on this server," Connor protested. "There isn't a place they can't reach."

The Church. T-O-M-M-Y is a devout follower of Prime, he'd never touch the Church.

Another explosion, even closer this time, followed by the sound of two people cackling in unison. Connor went pale, head whipping towards the entrance of the shack.

"Oh no," he whispered. Callahan rolled his eyes, pulling a splash potion of invisibility from his inventory and smashing it against the floor. Connor yelped as the tingling sensation raced up his arms, flailing until he realized what it was. "A little warning next time!"

Callahan fixed him with a dead-eyed stare, realized he couldn't see it, and settled for swatting him on the arm instead.

94.

The door slammed open. "PHIL!"

Philza took a sip of his coffee. "Hey mate."

"Phil," Technoblade repeated, wild-eyed and looking five seconds away from committing murder. His hair was in a mess, his cape and crown were missing, and his hands were stained with splotches of pink. "Someone snuck in and dyed my pets pink."

Philza took another sip of his coffee. "Oh?"

"All of them, Phil," Technoblade hissed. "Every. Single. One."

"Edward?"

Technoblade threw his hands up his hands. "He's bleached! And dyed! Without water! I have no idea how!"

"It's better just to not wonder about these things," Philza consoled, patting him on the shoulder. "Just let it go, Techno. It'll be better for your sanity."

Technoblade turned to him for the first time since he'd barged into Philza's house, mouth opening to protest-- only to freeze in place. Philza maintained eye contact even as he raised his mug to his face and took another long sip.

"You." Technoblade said at last.

"Me," Philza agreed.

"You're pink."

Philza glanced down at himself. "So I am."

Technoblade stared at him for a long, long moment. Philza watched with well-hidden amusement as his eyes flitted over Philza's now-pink hair, his palette-swapped clothes, and his iconic bucket hat. When the silence dragged on, he took a sip of his coffee. "So what do you need?"

Technoblade's eye twitched. "Why," he ground out.

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"The-- the pink! What-- who even did this?!" Technoblade rounded on him. "You know, don't you?!"

"No," Philza said. Like a liar.

Technoblade gaped at him. "Phil," he choked out, his words laced with betrayal. "Why won't you tell me? Why would anyone do this?"

Philza shrugged. "Why would they not?"

"But why?!" Technoblade insisted. He looked very tempted to grab Philza by his shoulders and shake him. "Why-- for what reason--"

"To match your brand, of course." At Technoblade's uncomprehending stare, Philza reached up and tugged at a lock of his pink hair. "Pink," he said.

". . . Pink," the piglin hybrid repeated numbly.

"Yes, Techno. Pink."

Technoblade visibly stalled, gaze drifting into a thousand-yard stare even as his brain achieved lightspeed behind his skull. The more clinical part of Philza's mind noted that this was probably what dying inside looked like. The rest just cackled like a hyena.

He fished his communicator from his inventory and snapped a picture, then flipped to the messages function and sent the pictures to Dream (this was the man's handiwork, after all). Ah, blackmail material. He didn't have much on Techno, so any and all embarrassing photos were treasured.

When Technoblade had been staring at the wall for a solid minute, Philza decided that it was probably time to snap him out of it. He stepped in front of the piglin hybrid, coffee mug in hand. "Techno? Anyone home?"

Technoblade continued to stare ahead blankly. Philza snapped his fingers in front of his face, and when that failed to garner a reaction, he sighed.

"Look on the bright side," he consoled. "At least your weapons are untouched."

"My. . . weapons," Technoblade parroted. He abruptly whirled around and stalked towards the door. Philza started in surprise, rising to his feet.

"Techno, mate-- what--"

Technoblade ignored him. He was already ten feet away from the house by the time Philza had stepped outside, booted feet crunching in the snow. Philza huffed and tugged his thin (pink) cloak a bit tighter before he set off after him.

They went past the stables and into the hills. Philza shuffled along carefully, trying not to slip on the snow - one misstep, and he'd be sliding straight into the river below. Technoblade, meanwhile, strode onwards, completely unbothered. They circled around a mountainous area and eventually came to a stop in a snowy area surrounded by sheer cliffs.

"Technoblade," Philza said. "What is this?"

Technoblade ignored him, making a beeline for one of the walls. He aggressively swiped the snow aside, revealing a button.

"Techno--"

Philza was cut off by the rumbling of redstone. He gaped as the side of the mountain retracted, revealing a hollowed-out vault, lined with chests. Wither skulls covered the walls-- all painted a soft pink, the shade of Technoblade's hair.

". . . I am going to murder whoever did this."

Philza blinked slowly, torn between hysterical laughter and gaping at the vault. He distantly realized he was still clutching his coffee mug and raised it to his mouth on autopilot, taking a moment to reorient himself.

(Technoblade had been hiding this from him. Why?

. . . Did he not trust him?)

"I'd rather you not," he said carefully. "See, he's actually a pretty good friend of mine--"

"So you do know who it is!"

"Maybe."

"Tell me."

Philza hummed. "Oh, would you look at the time--"

"Phil--"

"I got a lot of things to get through today," Philza continued, turning on his heel and ambling away. "Horses to feed, mining to do, you know how it is--"

"Phil, you can't just ignore me--"

"--if I have time, I might even take a scenic flight over the ocean, go see how L'Manberg's doing--"

"--you can't even fly anymore--"

"See you later!"

95. (for the previous part of this loop, see 90. in Chapter 18)

Breathe in. Breathe out. Tommy was wrong. Tommy was wrong.

("YOU BEAT ME TO DEATH FOR YOUR OWN SICK SATISFACTION!")

He did it because he was angry. Tommy killed his cat, the one thing he'd formed an attachment to. The one thing on the server that still cared about him. That still loved him.

("You killed me so you could-- so you could prove a point! You took my THIRD CANON LIFE to PROVE A FUCKING POINT!")

Tommy had called him a liar. So he'd offered proof. What else was he supposed to do?

("You a-abused me in exile--")

It wasn't abuse. He'd been teaching Tommy a lesson. Making him better. Because Tommy caused problems. All he did was cause problems. He was spoiled. Immature. He thought he owned the world. So Dream had taken it away from him, shown him how powerless he was--

("You're a fucking control freak with a god complex!")

Tommy locked him in the prison. Tommy let Quackity hurt him. Tommy had no idea what it felt like to be trapped in those obsidian walls, cowering in the corner and praying that Quackity wouldn't appear.

Tommy didn't know what it felt like to be tortured.

("You don't know what Limbo feels like. The fucking-- emptiness, the pain-- and you-- you left me in there for two fucking days.")

Tommy didn't know what it felt like to lose everything.

("Dream! DREAM! NO! STOP, PLEASE! I'M SORRY-- PLEASE, NO! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN, PLEASE!")

Tommy didn't know what it felt like to look into a bubbling wall of lava and-- and imagine--

("It's never my time to die.")

Dream tore his mask off and vomited into the sand.

~~~

"I'm not Quackity," he whispered to the ocean. His words disappeared into the sea breeze. He raised his voice. "I'm not."

Funny, a voice in his mind replied. It sounded a lot like George. Have you noticed how everyone sounds the same when they're begging for their lives?

"It's different," Dream muttered, pulling his knees closer to his chest. "Quackity hurt me because he could. He said it was for the book, but-- but we both knew I would never give it up. He kept visiting anyway. He-- he tortured me because he could."

And you hurt Tommy because you could?

"No!"

Then why?

"He needed to learn, " Dream snapped. "He's done nothing but cause problems since he joined the server. He tore everyone apart. He turned them against me."

You turned them against yourself.

"He turned them against me," Dream repeated.

You hurt him.

"I was fixing him."

You killed him.

"It was to prove a point."

Then why did you enjoy it?

Dream's jaw twitched. It was true. He'd smiled as Tommy begged for his life, laughed as he stood over the corpse, his hands dripping with blood. He'd felt exhilarated.

Powerful. You felt powerful, and that made you happy.

"Maybe I did," he agreed. "But I was trapped. Powerless. Being able to fight back after months in that prison--"

Don't make excuses. The voice turned sharp. Angry. It didn't sound like George anymore. Exile made you happy too. You weren't trapped, then.

Dream gritted his teeth. "I didn't--"

You hurt Tommy because it made you feel powerful. Just like Quackity hurt you because he wanted to feel powerful.

"No, that's--"

The voice continued, ruthless. Who wouldn't want to hurt the monster of the server? Who wouldn't want to hurt the person responsible for this mess? Tommy was the only one who defied your rules, who turned your server into this--

"I'm not Quackity," he protested, but it sounded weak to his own ears.

No, the voice agreed. You're worse. Much, much worse. Because you deserved it, and Tommy didn't.

Dream stared at the setting sun and said nothing. There was something like recognition hovering in the back of his mind, a slow, stomach-curling awareness that what he'd done was wrong. He didn't want to acknowledge it. Didn't want to think about it.

You know I'm right.

"Shut up," he whispered. He could feel the realization rising over him like a tidal wave, hanging in the throes of gravity.

You abused him. You tortured him.

"I'm not. . . I didn't. . ."

You destroyed everything he cared about and took him and broke him.

He dug his nails into his skull and remained silent.

He begged you, Dream. Like you begged Quackity. Do you remember? Do you remember his voice?

". . . Yes," he whispered. The word came out as a fragile, broken thing. "I do."

Say it. Say the fucking truth, for once in your life.

"I. . ." his voice cracked. "I was wrong. I-- I hurt him because I could. I manipulated him, destroyed his country, abu. . . abused him--"

He stopped. Blinked back the burning in his eyes. He was shaking and he couldn't stop.

"I abused him," he repeated. Saying it out loud made it worse, in a way, because admitting it to the sea meant he was acknowledging it as a truth. His own voice echoed in his ears, sickly sweet and laced with poison.

Quackity had talked the same way.

("I'm your friend, Tommy.")

("You did this to yourself, Dream. It doesn't have to be this way-- just give me the book.")

The tsunami loomed ever closer, a torrent of terror and guilt and self-hatred. Dream took a shuddering inhale. "I'm. . ." he croaked. "I'm worse than Quackity. I'm a monster."

You are. There was no vindictive pleasure at his acknowledgement, only a quiet fury. And you'll live as one for the rest of eternity.

The wave came crashing down, dragging Dream under.

~~~

Private Messaging: TommyInnit

<Dream>: im sorry

<Dream>: illeave you alone

[3:49 AM]

<TommyInnit>: fuck you.

Loop Notes
91. Shower thoughts at 4 in the morning, courtesy of one (1) dead Tommy. When Wilbur questioned him the next day, he acted like he had no idea what Wilbur was talking about.
94. Technoblade's villagers got a makeover too. Each one got a fluffy pink mustache to top it off.