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acne scars and sunkissed freckles

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Snowchester was always cold, and that was fact. But days particular to this one, when the snow was melting into the cold topsoil and the sun was out from it’s usual spot behind the clouds, it was quite warm.

The founder of the commune was sat atop one of his facilities for nuclear research, as was his partner. Now, his partner didn’t know all too much about nuclear physics, but was more than willing to learn all the knowledge known to man if it meant joy were to be felt by his dear husband.

“What’s up?” Called the aforementioned boy from his place on Ranboo’s lap, his head lay cast upon their lap, overgrown hair framing his scarred face, not unlike a halo.

Except a messier, way messier version of a halo. Though, even with the addition of his faults, Tubbo was perfect, and Ranboo was spellbound in coordination.

Ranboo hummed noncommittally “Nothing,” they replied.

The love they felt for the brunet in that moment lived unparalleled, and Tubbo felt the same for them. Every moment shared between the two felt as though they were the only ones in the world, whispering a lonesome secret locked away in a city of stars somewhere far, far away.

Through the orange glow of the setting sun, Ranboo could see faded acne scars and light freckles pinpricked across the cheek free from scar tissue, not unlike kisses on his skin gifted from the gods themselves.
Tubbo may gaze upon them as faults but Ranboo both saw and knew otherwise.

No matter how torn or disoriented, no matter how many blemishes lay scattered across on his shallow pores; Ranboo still thought of him to be the most beautiful being he had ever had the honour of laying his eyes upon. And nothing could ever change that.

The sun sat low in the sky, a hue of saturated pink filling in the outline of clouds as confined daylight remained spread throughout them as they turned colours.

The slight burst of smoke emitting from a chimney belonging to a nearby home reminded Ranboo of New L’manburg in a way, all of their best memories with the president had been lit up by kerosene lanterns coated with a chipped greyish blue paint. Rickety old park benches that have been repaired one too many times and old libraries located in the catacombs of the - now gone - city on stilts were some of the memories Ranboo had held close to her heart during cold nights in the arctic commune when laying in a cold bed had been too much to bare alone.

Whether it was in the office of the president he had grown a certain fondness to, or the field in which they would watch the stars, throughout days of agony and days of joy, they would always find happiness in midst of the dying earth, finding serenity in the gentle scenery.

Some days Ranboo would watch in awe as Tubbo huffed out whiffs of blue smoke up into the night, only to be greeted by Tubbo glancing at him with a tender smile, and then handing him the joint for a turn of his own.

Of course, Ranboo would almost always cough out their goddamn lungs at the slightest hint of smoke flowing through their tired lungs, but still tried nonetheless. Some nights they would stay up late on the bench, passing it between the two while Tubbo told stories of their past.

“Can i have a try?” Ranboo would ask after gaining the courage to do so under the cold blanket of stars.

The first time he asked, Tubbo had looked a bit surprised - his presidential suit ill-fitting as per usual “Well if you wanna try, who am i to stop you?” He had remarked in a joking tone, his voice especially nasally due to the early December chill accompanied by the herb slowly filling up his lungs, taking the slowly burning joint back from his lips with a delicate hold in cold, calloused fingers and passing it to his minutes man, who would awkwardly hold it in his slender paws, ‘Piano hands’ as Tubbo would grow to call them.

She tried to mimic the way the president had done it, which backfired miserably as she ended off in a coughing fit. Tubbo rubbed her back reassuringly, attempting to comfort the boy, then taking it out from her paws to demonstrate how to properly do so without doubling over in a coughing fit.

Some days they would result to shotgunning, in which Tubbo would gently cup the face of the two-toned boy he had grown familiar to in the past weeks and carefully breathe the smoke out into her mouth.

Now, for Ranboo, this was, well - an action that made them quite emotionally conflicted. Feeling the president’s warm breath on their face, the temperature causing his breath to turn into a fog only known by chilly autumn nights.

No matter the circumstance or occasion, Tubbo’s voice was always alike honey to Ranboo’s ears. Sweet and falsetto, he would wake up to the boy sitting up next to him in bed, usually sketching blueprints in a tattered composition notebook, planning for future projects of his.

‘Mornin’ bossman, how’d you sleep?’ They would ask, and Ranboo would shrug through a yawn, voicing his reply in turn.

Some days Ranboo would make his husband come back into bed with him, and Ranboo would tuck their head on top of Tubbo’s, muttering sweet nothings and occasionally littering light kisses into the boy’s hair. Some other days, they would crawl up onto Tubbo’s chest and bury their head in the crook of his neck, a loud purr of content forming in their own chest as they laid there.

And some days would be just like this one, sat atop a random rooftop in Snowchester doing what could be rightfully compared to nothing at all.

And that was alright with them, as long as they were at peace, that’s all that mattered.

Tubbo hummed a tune, breaking Ranboo out of his trance, his eyes shimmering in the setting sun like swirling pools of honey as he spoke “Do you prefer sunset or sunrise?”

The former minutes man moved his paws back into Tubbo’s hair “Hm, both are nice, i like waking up early for sunrises. What about you?” He spoke in a quiet, calm voice, nearly a whisper.

“I reckon sunsets are better, the clouds are pretty. The morning dew feels nice though.” Tubbo replied, tilting his head up more to face the clouds, feeling his husband’s paws gently sift through his messy hair.

“Fair point.” Ranboo laughed, his hair coloured a ghastly hue of white due to his revival - nearly all the black in his hair had vanished along with the excerption of his final daunting breath, with the exception of one remaining strand of obsidian black that lay starkly on his fluffy bangs.

Tubbo had crafted solutions to lesser the pain on days Ranboo’s bones flared up due to her time in limbo, permanently leaving metaphorical and physical scars on her body.

Their memory was better now, they barely needed the memory book nowadays! Though on some occasions they looked back on it fondly, resting on the loveseat in the east wing library of the mansion they now resided in with their family.

Ranboo now sports a totem of undying around his neck - a winged golden charm garmented by those who wish to have another chance at life. If Lady Death were to arrive waltzing upon their doorstep, they would be prepared.

Though for now, Ranboo suspected things would be alright. Michael was growing and so were the pink camellias that lay planted in the greenhouse he and Tubbo had built together. Dream had perished - his own faults coming back for vengeance, Lady Death taking her chance once more, dancing upon his grave in an everlasting taunt of his own hubris.

She was a merciful goddess to those with humble pursuits, but those who decided to act upon harmful ones would not be dawned with the same mercy.

Tommy was healing, flowers grow through the cracks of the splintered planks that made up the prime path. A sullen old tyrant, liquor and gin being the only things whom had stuck by him until the end, now replaced with his son - almost a perfect opposite of what his father had once been, but still holding a select few resemblances.

In the past, Tubbo only remembers being regarded as a pushover. He was never regarded as the hero, he was the sidekick. A deuteragonist, if you will. He was unimportant in comparison to his peers, even though he had been one of the leading generals in the wars, his wits were constantly undermined in a matter of strategy. Which albeit, did come in handy sometimes.

And of course, having Ranboo by his side didn’t automatically fix all his issues, but he did help with how Tubbo dealt with them, resulting to unhealthy coping mechanisms less and less.

When Tubbo suffered long nights, ridden with a reoccurring nightmare he’s had the absolute pleasure of experiencing for the past few years following his execution, Ranboo would lead him into the kitchen and dance with him. Their dances were nothing short from messy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t enjoyable.

Tubbo would repay Ranboo for their help in the little things - such as giving them little reminders, or making breakfast on days where their bones flared up in pain. He would repay it in bigger things aswell, trying his best to help Ranboo out emotionally when she needed it most.

Tubbo wasn’t the biggest fan of physical touch, neither was Tommy. But even Tubbo, the touch-averse boy ridden with nearly no skin free from scar tissue who had led legions at the mere age of 15. Even Tubbo, who had killed his first civillian at 13. Even Tubbo, who had shot dozens of men dead before he even turned 18 during all the wars he had endured, needed a hug sometimes.
And Ranboo would always provide one, after all, she was surprisingly warm for an enderman hybrid.

The sun was now in it’s final stage of setting, and the former president was laughing fondly at a joke his partner had told the moment before.

He fished a box of matches from his pocket “Did you bring the lantern with you?” Tubbo asked through a laugh, no longer laying on his partner as he was now sitting beside him, two sets of legs hanging off the roof, one hoof-like, the other padded with smooth paws.

Ranboo nodded his head, reaching over in his bag to retrieve it “Yep,” he muttered, passing it over to Tubbo so he could light it.

Tubbo took the lantern and set the wick aflame, pulling a joint out of his pocket and placing it in his mouth, lighting it aswell.

Tubbo held out the object with a questioning gaze, wordlessly asking if he wanted a try.

Ranboo nodded from his place beside him, taking the joint from Tubbo’s cold fingers with a practiced hold, the action basically being muscle memory at this point, breathing in the drug and letting it settle in his lungs, passing it back to Tubbo after doing so.

Tubbo did the same, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling the herb, coughing a bit afterwards.

“Y’know,” Tubbo said, his words slurring together “back in New L’manburg I liked you.”

“Really?” Ranboo laughed

He giggled a bit “Mhm,”

“God, I used to draw you instead of transcripting the cabinet meetings.” They admitted

Tubbo laughed, a loud, nasally bark of laughter pronounced loudly “Sorry bossman, that’s just - god - you were fuckin’ down bad!” He cut himself off with another bark of laughter, his husband’s cheeks dusted a bright purple at the remark.

“I - I was not! Prime, you are insufferable”

“Sure you weren’t, boo boy.” Tubbo said, still giggling.

“At least I didn’t admit to liking you.”

Tubbo stared at him blankly “‘Boo, we are - literally married, we have a son and a literal fucking mansion. Even your goddamn particles agree with me.” He leaned closer to the taller boy, the scent of marijuana heavily present on his breath “You literally bring me flowers and hot chocolate if I have a tiny headache, you don’t get a say in this.”

Ranboo shut up at that, and to be completely fair, Tubbo was entirely right, but you wouldn’t catch her dead admitting that.

Tubbo gave him a knowing look, a look that said ‘I won this and you know it’.

“Oh, shut up,” Ranboo said, reaching out to hold the boy’s hand, Tubbo’s hands covered by fingerless gloves and pen doodles, Ranboo’s covered in small freckles.

The aforementioned kerosene lantern illuminating Tubbo’s face perfectly, light falling upon all his features in a way Ranboo could only describe as ethereal, eyes wide studying his face.

Tubbo laughed fondly “You’re just gonna stare at me now?” And in this very moment, Ranboo realized how very adamant he was in his decision to marry Tubbo

The taller hummed in reply, continuing to gaze at the boy sitting parallel to him fondly in the evening shade, it’s gotten dark now, the moon peaking out from behind the dark clouds, moving onto litter a few dozen kisses to Tubbo’s head, watching his face turn a pale red, returning the favour by pressing a light peck to his former minutes man’s cheek.

They continued to talk - mainly bicker - for hours on end, bringing up random topics with no correlation to the current and spewing nonsense about it, Tubbo sporadically pointing to random stars and rambling about constellations, slurred speech and light kisses filling the night sky up with joy, a calm suspense of bittersweetness remains present, but barely.

They both have heavy faults on their shoulders, bound to break any second from fatigue on the structure of their fragile minds; and being together doesn’t necessarily mean those issues get relieved, only lessened. Though ultimately, I believe they’ll be alright. They may have their faults, but at least they have eachother, and sometimes being loved is all you can afford during cold days where the empty field ahead of you is too empty to bare.