𝐊𝐀𝑳𝑶𝑷𝑺𝐈𝐀

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓

it's super short, but i really wanted to go in depth about key characters. some hints have been dropped about the plot line and the characters themselves.

let me know your thoughts.

not edited.

𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 with flourished looks and budding lips. A soft child was born with a waving fist, blood leaking at the cracks of his skin and with curled fangs. To be born with violence and barbed features meant to understand the holiness and hellfire. To understand your dreams versus birthplace.

You imagine Tubbo understood that.

At seventeen years old, the boy knew what being chosen for the damned meant. Spiked horns curl downwards, tucking near his chin. Saxe hellfire adorning his hybrid features, the blue nearly in contrast with Schlatt's regal gold horns. Yes, if Schlatt were to be talked as the son of the heavens, then Tubbo would be compared as a child of the cruelest demons.

Nearly all of his features were sharp. Burnt sienna woven atop his head, the curled brown mane nearly brushed back almost every time he entered the glass building. He was far in his youth and merely a babe in comparison to the rest that worked here. You, being the second youngest and a year his senior.

"Tubbo," you call out, heels clicking against the marbled floor as you enter the silent meeting room, "did you receive my email about the addressment?"

Dark, abundant lashes flutter open. An oxford of blue gazing towards at you for a second, before narrowing. The reflecting sunlight, entered through the veradescent glass, forced a glint of prosperity in the eyes of the boy. Nearly having you stumble back at the faux glare. His bloodstained lips tug upwards, and had Tubbo not have such a boyish and virtuous smile, one would have mistaken him as an unlovable being dragged from the pits of the wicked.

The boy's back straightens before briefly nodding. "It's not a bad idea. Sooner or later, Schlatt will have to publicly acknowledge what occurred with Soot."

You sigh, shaking your head in disbelief at the current events. The SMP, for what it perceived, seem to stop spinning and halt any workings of society. With recent catastrophes such as the loss of lives, abandonment of the number two hero and uprisings of villains, the public was reluctant to continue on with their lives. "If anything, it'll give him a good month or two before he's forced to pick sides," you murmur quietly, "it's the best I could do but I wish we had more time."

Your lips straighten into a firm line at the thought. You could never recount a time where the public seemed distrustful of heroes, nor did a division draw between the two. As the representative of the people, the SMP Governor was forced to make a statement. As a retired hero, Schlatt could easily support his comrades. And yet, the goat hybrid seem woefully amused at the pleas of both the people and heroes. It was if the catalogue of fears and terrors of the SMP were prayers he conveniently ate up and in the weight of all such mortality, Schlatt became a Midas king sitting atop a throne of pleas.

You'd never utter the words aloud but the son of heavens held deep delight for knowing that the pillars of history were on his side.

"No biggie. I doubt anything will happen out of this, although," Tubbo hums, fingers drumming against his chin, "I'm sure Bossman will be appreciative of the time given. He always seem to hold a soft spot for you."

Your cheeks redden in response to his remark. "No, I don't think so. I'm just good at my job."

He grins as if secrets were under his tongue and lips hung of black-bodied truths. "Sure, let's go with that."

Flustered, you cough out a choked laugh. The boy merely watches with the same boyish smirk, hands reaching out to grab at his blazer. Despite the slim and weak build of his, you're sure that Tubbo will grow within a few years. The refuting characteristics of his large palms and broad shoulders were evident enough to agree with the claim.

You never met nor heard Tubbo speak of his parents, but no doubt one of them must have been large enough for his son to inherit such a broad (yet currently small) figure. Nevertheless, his current lack in strength could never be at part with his talent at intellect and snarkiness.

He was a work in progress, but the belief of growth was a baptism that continuously lurked around the boy. Awaiting for his drowning and newfound birth. And yet, the hybrid walked with a quiet prayer to those below rather than above. He seemingly trusted the cycle of fear he rode on rather the unknown familiarity of the heavens. For what reason? In what case should he find himself unable to poise the question of the gods?

"Do you think he's in his office right now?" You ask with slight hesitance, fingers fiddling with your skirt. Ridding yourself of any nosy thoughts. "I'd go on by own, however, I think I saw him with someone else so I'd hate to interrupt."

Tubbo lifts his head up quickly as if astonished at the thought of new arrivals. "Someone new? Do you know who'd it be?"

You shook your head, "I didn't seem familiar with the person. He seemed rather tall though."

The boy grins once more and for the first time you find yourself if he was a prayer himself.

ʚ  ❂  ɞ

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑. Flaxen strands brushed back, providing a clean and concise look for the nearly emerged adult. He held himself with subtle elegance, as if his body itself wrote eloquent language and spoke hidden tales of murder. The ominous scent of his gave leeway to what should have been a directed warning, but you grinned for how could you find yourself wary of a boy with soft curls and a harsh pout?

Crude warmth resided in his gaze, remnants of azure embers fostering the wounds of battle chants and songs. As if a thousand voices lingered in his wake and forged the boy himself. It proved faulty to find any hints of the stranger.

"Ah, sweetheart!" Schlatt chirps, noticing of your arrival and grinning greedily, "You came just on time."

Your head shifts to the side, evident of confusion. "Pardon?"

The blonde-haired male in front grins, and while you'd never take notice again, the azure gaze transversed into an older tawny look for a fleeting second. As if a mere vessel of the body. Bloodthirst lingered in his presence, but in replacement of what should've been the youth of a young boy, there seem to be bitter satisfaction in glory.

"Tommy here will be acting as your bodyguard for his stay here."

His lips curled upwards; the Angel of Death bowed in front of you, the same confusion of brown eyes rather than blue appearing once more: "I'll be by your side 24/7."

Your heartbeat gave way to the drums of heaven. "Please take care of me," you whispered.

The hierarchies of angels screamed in protest, however, the boy—seemingly older than his age—pressed his lips against your hand as if a fragment of prayer holding on to a saintess. No more needed to be said.

I will, this faux celestial being said, until only salvation can ruin you.