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Beautiful snowflakes slowly fell from the grey sky, joining the pile of white on the ground. The spruce trees sway slightly as the chilly breeze passes through them. Michael found the weather in Snowchester mystical. He’d stare out his window intensely to watch the snowfall. He only knew of the blistering hot and dangerous environment of his old home- the Nether. This thing called snow, winter, and frost was nothing that existed in the Nether.
Michael also knew of violence, but up here in the Overworld, it was different. In Snowchester, it was quieter and safer than it ever was in his old realm. Up here in this home, he’s ironically warmer. He’s found a new home where he felt loved and secure. It’s why he finds it almost magical. It’s nothing he experienced before.
As Michael continues to watch the snow drift down, he hears the creaking of the front door. Michael’s ear twitches slightly at the sound. It had to be his dads- the ones who brought him here who he grew to love with his whole undead heart. Michael quickly rushed to wait by the trapdoor that his dads would open to come in.
Michael strains his ears to listen to their voices, but he hears nothing. He leans closer to the trapdoor, trying to hear something- anything, then suddenly he hears the creaking of the floorboards. Soon he hears the creaking of the ladders too. When the trapdoor swiftly opens to show one white and one black hand, Michael squeals in excitement. The mismatched colored hands pull themselves up, but Michael only sees the backside of one of his dads.
Despite only seeing the back, Michael instantly knows who it is. Their split black and white hair, skin, and tall figure are dead giveaways. Michael spreads his arms wide and rushes to hug his dad from behind. He gently bumps his head against his dad’s back like he’s seen his other dad do before. In doing so, the snow on his dad’s shoulder and hair landed on him and the floor.
Michael looks up to see his dad’s face, but instead of gazing at his father’s mismatched eyes, he still faces his hair. Abruptly, he turns to glare down at him. Michael steps back slightly, frightened by the quick movement. His dad’s green and red eyes don’t help in the sudden tension in the room. They aren’t welcoming or staring at him lovingly. No, they seemed like voids with no emotions behind them.
As his dad fully stands and stalks closer towards him, Michael notices how his purple particles aren’t as abundant as they usually are. His dad says nothing and only watches him. It’s unsettling. He wonders if he’s feeling sick, but deep down, Michael knows something is very wrong.
Whenever Michael takes a step back, his dad takes two. Soon his back meets the wall behind him. His dad is now only inches away from him. He looms a clawed arm towards his face. It looms closer and closer to his face until...
***
Tubbo shivers as a cold breeze hits his small frame. He groans, his fingers aching from the freezing temperature. He curses under his breath for forgetting his gloves. He also wished he brought a scarf too. His nose and cheeks kept being hit by the unforgiving chilly winds and his face felt almost numb. He tightens his grip on the logs in his arms. He curses under his breath for forgetting the essentials.
Earlier in the day, Tubbo noticed how low they were in supply, so he decided to go out and collect some. Times like these, he wished he could teleport like how Ranboo did. He wouldn’t have to deal with all the walking anymore. Tubbo sighs but smiles as he finally spots his home not too far away.
As he walks closer, something catches his eyes. It’s something bright red staining the white snow. Tubbo feels dread fill his bones. Something is off . Without much thought, Tubbo drops the wooden logs and sprints towards his house. He stops when he’s close to the red stains, and his heart stops. It’s most definitely bloody footprints. Tubbo follows the path of the footprints leading to the door of his house. That’s when his heart sinks . The dread in his body grows as immediate intrusive thoughts begin to cloud his mind.
Tubbo rushes inside, still following the footprints. When Tubbo realizes that they stop at the ladders leading to his son’s room is when he grows pale. His breathing becomes slightly irregular as he slowly climbs up. Tubbo hesitates as he touches the trapdoor. He closes his eyes as he slams it wide open. His eyes remain closed as he pushes himself up to the attic. Suddenly, he feels his hands touch something wet. That’s when Tubbo opens his eyes wide and finds his worst nightmare.
Instead of finding his son in his cozy, decorated room, he finds blood plastered on the far end wall in a messy stroke. There are slight splatters of dark crimson on the bed, table, and floorboards. What Tubbo can’t take his eyes off is the beheaded, limp body of his now-dead son. Immediately, Tubbo gags and flings his hand to his mouth. Upon doing so, Tubbo feels something wet touch his face as he makes contact. He jerks his hand off and stares at it, mortified. He sees that it’s not crimson but clear like water because it is water. Tubbo can’t fathom what or how there’s water up here unless it’s snow that has melted.
Tubbo shakingly pulls himself up the ladder into the attic. He quickly wipes his wet hand on his trousers and approaches his son’s body. It takes every single fiber of his being not to throw up as the sickening smell fills his nose. Tubbo’s eyes stay glued to the beheaded body as his legs shakingly lead him towards it. His body struggles to stay standing as it shakes violently. His mind races with many thoughts:
Who or what did this? How long ago? Why wasn’t he here? He could’ve stopped this. Why, why, WHY, WHY, WHY-
Soon he hears a squish under his boot. He glances down as he lifts his foot. Oozing from the bottom of his boot is moist blood. Gagging, Tubbo tumbles backward, tripping over his legs. He lands hard on his back with a loud slam against the floorboards. Tubbo’s eyes wander back to whatever he stepped on, noticing a pile of glistening, chunky brain matter (or what he assumes it is). It reminds him of greyish scrambled eggs that someone threw on the carpet. This time he can’t help but throw up his lunch. His heart beats loudly in his ears as if it jumped straight into his head, joining his brain.
Tubbo’s throat burns with his head throbbing painfully. He tries to push away the thoughts of him stepping into his son’s brain matter or what’s left of it. He backs away from his throw-up, but his eyes stray back to the limp body against the wall. He can’t help but weep as he involuntarily launches himself into Michael’s body. Tubbo hangs onto his body tightly as he sobs.
He can’t tell for how long he cried for but eventually, he stops. Tubbo’s face is a bright red, his hair a tangled mess, and his eyes bloodshot. His skin twitches and jerks to the gross touch of his son’s dead body. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. As he sits there, the longer he stirs in anger. The longer he thinks, the more spiteful he gets. He feels his blood boil as he grits his teeth.
He will find them, and he will dismember and torture them.
And he will enjoy every part of it .
All this anger in him boiled to the brim, and it finally exploded. Tubbo had no more tears to shed, but he had his voice.
He screamed and screamed and screamed until his vocal cords ached as much as his heart did.