MCYT Oneshots And Other Random Stuff

Letter, Town, Gate

so I had a creative writing english assignment to write a story 1-2 pages long using three words from a specific list. I chose "letter" "town" and "gate".

and then I wrote fanfiction.

for class.

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Tubbo was writing a letter to his dead best friend.

Tommy had been dead for— how long, now? Three weeks? Two? One?

Tubbo had last seen him alive at the town gate, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his blue eyes glittering.

"Where are you going?" Tubbo had asked him.

Tommy just grinned back. "Heck if I know. I'm adventuring, Tubbo. Wandering. The whole point is that I don't know where I'm going."

"Tommy," Tubbo had sighed impatiently, covering up fear for his friend. "It's a warzone out there. Leaving like this— it's suicide."

"The great TommyInnit never dies," Tommy had answered, turning away from the gate. "I'm too amazing to be killed."

"Tommy."

"Oh, honestly, stop worrying! I'll be perfectly fine. The armies aren't going to go out of their way to kill a random orphaned seventeen-year-old, and I can just stay out of their way."

Tubbo was not at all reassured. Their town was safe. No one had attacked it in all the ten years the war had been going on. It had always been the rumor that their town had been blessed by the god of blood, so that all bloodshed turned away from their lands.

Tubbo had no idea if that was true or not, but he was certain that behind the gates, they were safe. Beyond the town perimeter, they could and most likely would be killed right away.

"Go back to the orphanage, Tubbo," Tommy had urged. "You can't stop me from leaving."

And then he'd left.

Just like that.

And Tubbo didn't chase after him. Didn't insist. Didn't stop him. At all.

So it was his fault, really, when Tommy's corpse was found slung over the town gate a week later, a paper pressed into his hand that read:

YOU TOWNSPEOPLE SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO PRESS YOUR LUCK. THE WARGROUNDS ARE NO PLACE FOR YOUR KIND!

And there, carved in blood on Tommy's hand:

THIS. IS. A.WARNING.

And so Tubbo was sitting here. At his desk. Writing Tommy a letter, despite his dyslexia. Wilbur, one of the older orphans at the orphanage, said that writing things down usually helped with sadness.

Tommy.

That was how Tubbo began the letter. He continued writing:

I miss you.

I'm sorry. My world is silent right now. You told me it was us against the world. I should have gone with you. Stopped you. I let you die. I'm so sorry. I suppose I'll never see you again, Wilbur I? I can imagine you there in heaven, probably cussing out angels and telling them all how amazing you are. Don't be too annoying. I doubt they'd take it as well as I do. Did. As I did. Because you're gone.

Writing this letter isn't helping. I didn't really think it would. But Wilbur said I should try. He's like our older brother, remember? Was like our older brother. Because you're gone.

This is only making things worse. I'm sorry. If you could hear me right now... that's all I'd have to tell you. I'm sorry. And I miss you.

Sincerely yours,

-Tubbo

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for the english class version their names were Thomas, Toby, and Will

and I snuck in SO MANY LETTER TO A DEAD FRIEND REFERENCES AND MY TEACHER WILL GET NONE OF THEM I FEEL SO POWERFUL