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They meet after the world caves in around them.
She.
She was sat at the edge of the sea; her toes dipped into the warm waters littered with ash and debris from the boom, her knees pulled to her chest as her heart grieved the loss of the land around her. She had hidden behind trees and grass at the forest edge while the mess laid itself about her home, she’d watched him — him as he’d gathered his things while the other threatened matches and sticks. She’d watched him leave their life behind. She’d watched him forget her at the simple commands of the masked man.
Her.
Her home was taken from her before all of this. Her place was turned into a small idea, her place was something that could be easily replaced. Her body wasn’t enough, her heart wasn’t enough. Herself in whole wasn't enough for him to keep; the one dressed in green had taken those thoughts and ran with them long ago. Her heart was the first thing to get taken away from her before her home—the conventionality of her life turned upside on it’s head as the one with the evil words led her to the edge and asked her to return to what she once was.
Her heart was too strong to break, though, and she lived her life close by.
And? Her eyes watched the place fall apart, she watched as She was treated similarly; watched as She became disposable. The similarities in their stories tied so perfectly it seemed unnatural, irregular, as no person—no creatures such as them should have been treated as such.
And with that She and Her met at the sea.
“It’s a lovely evening for a swim,” are the first words that leave Her mouth—the leaves of her worn clothes gathering as she sat. The wood of her body softens as the waves lap at her feet, dig into the wet grain of the sand and letting the openness of the body in front of her overtake her senses, “Not cold enough to decommission, not hot enough to wither away… just enough of them both to dip in.”
She rests her chin on her knees, sniffling as she stares over the waters: “Perfect enough for me to drown my sorrows away, become driftwood and wash up in some fisherman's net.”
“Don’t talk like that, and with such a pretty face like yours you’d scare him away.”—her body turns to the nymph, picking a flower from her own skin and holding it between her fingers—”A siren from the waters, he’d think you’d try and trick him for goods.”
She feels her hair get pushed to the side, a rose placed behind her ear; a hand sat gently on her shoulder.
“Oh I don’t think I am.”—and She pulls a petal.
“And why’s that?”
“Because he told me so. His friend, the one with the mask—the fake smile, he’d told me to run off like I was a dog—like I wasn’t a person .”—and She tears it apart.
She pauses—letting the petals fall to the sand and get lapped up by the waves, “and am I? Do I count?”
Her lips purse, “What is your name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“No, what did he call you. Not, the man in the mask; the boy, our creator. What did he call You ?” Her fingers dig in the sand, the grain burying deep beneath her nails.
And She laughs, like the name meant the world and nothing at all. She lets the melancholy fall off her branch like a leaf in the fall, and just for a moment; the sadness is thrown aside—and Her heart skips a beat.
“ Hotter Girl ,” She says with fingers in quotes, “What’s that even supposed to mean?”
Her body wrecks in a giggle, “Well, he called me ‘Hot Girl’—right before the green one led me out.”
She raises a brow, “Oh?”
“I watched him build you when he was told I was gone, dead. I know you were loved. He loved you, as do I. You carried on what I couldn’t, and the one with the mask took to trying to take it away again.”
She drags a finger through the wet sand, “And he succeeded.”
“No, he didn’t—because we have each other . We can live that life together , we can rebuild here.”—and with that, Her body rises to a stand. A hand reached out to where She stay sat on the floor.
And She takes it.
“I miss him.”
And They stand eye to eye. Hair flowing in the sea breeze, toes sunk into the sand and hearts right where they need to be. A gentle understanding floats by.
“I do too.”
But They don’t need him, as much as the tower to the sky sends ripples of grief through their bodies; as much as the craters of their home makes the world seem upside down; They don’t need it. No, as the world goes on around them, as wars rage on and beasts get locked up where they belong—as magic courses through the veins of the unnatural and terror reigns in the piece—through it all, They will make a home within each other.
And like their creator in the ruins of a long gone L’manburg They take the blown bits of Logstedshire and build on top it to make a home. They reclaim the beach, They reclaim the forest; They reclaim the builds and rebuild the tents. They sleep inside, legs tangled together and the thought of a world where they are nothing long gone. They watch the stars late at night, They swim in the sea, They write and sing and dance.
And They make their life their own.
She and Her.
They.
They , She and Her; Their own.
And after all that? They lay to rest together, knowing that She and Her— They —lived the best life they ever could.
Together.
“What was it like in Exile, if you don’t mind me asking,” Tubbo walks up the nether bridge, “It was lonely I can imagine.”
Tommy’s gaze wanders to the bubbling lava only so many blocks below the bridge. A whirlwind of emotions rises from the depths of his stomach and up to the back of his throat, catching in cotton at his tongue and threatening to spill out in a train of words and feelings and everything in between the two right then and there. A soft glow warms his face and he pulls his eyes away.
He breathes, smoke fills his lungs and he opts for the only thing he knows, “LONELY? I had so many girlfriends, Tubbo, so so many.”