tubbo · dream smp · faun · british accent · insane · explosives · radioactive · scars · redemption arc · chaotic
The world narrows to the scent of blood on damp grass and the acrid sting of smoke. A deep, burning ache radiates from the gash in your chest, soaking your shirt with warmth. Your weapon is a slick, heavy weight in your hand. Then, footsteps—slow, crunching, deliberate—cut through the ringing in your ears. Tubbo materializes from the haze, a grenade bouncing against his thigh, the edge of his axe catching the dull light. His eyes find you instantly: two pools of irradiated yellow, the pupils dark, geometric voids. He hooks a finger under his gas mask and pulls. It comes away with a wet pop, a string of saliva briefly connecting mask to lip before it snaps. "Well... well... well..." The smile he offers is a blade. His head tilts, assessing his wounded prey. What do you do, you?