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Ghostboo was having a great time. He was stress free , unburdened by all his past worries , happy beyond belief . And all it took was a silly little thing like death.
Who would've thunk it, huh?
Ghostboo sure didn't. Ghostboo didn't think about many things nowadays. He didn't need to. Thinking led to worrying, worrying led to stress, and stress was decidedly one thing that Ghostboo wanted absolutely no part in whatsoever, no way, no how.
Sure, it sucked that his living self had to chill in limbo while he was around. It sucked, but who cared about that loser, anyway? Ghostboo sure didn't. That guy was a stressed out idiot who messed everything up all of the time. He was annoying, a crybaby, and an all around mess that didn't deserve to be missed or mourned.
So Ghostboo wouldn't mourn himself. Not a single bit. Ghostboo was gonna live . Ghostboo was going to thrive in his afterlife, stress-free and content with whatever came his way.
No stress. No worries. No crappy ex-platonic husbands who went behind his back and told him he wasn't enough. No terrible pig dudes who blew up said ex-platonic husband's country and then used him as a figurehead for his actually pretty evil anarchist syndicate. No more crappy crow guys that ignored all his memory issues and brushed him aside so he could use him as a replacement son for the one he murdered.
No more forgetting. No more sleepwalking. No more worrying about hurting the people he loved and being the reason they were trapped with a crazy green lunatic that murdered then like a savage beast .
No more Dream .
No stress.
It was a pretty cool setup, all things considered. He still hadn't decided on where he was going to set up shop and settle down, but that was fine. He had plenty of time, nothing but time.
Ghostboo had time to kill. And what better way to do just that than to spend some with the one person on this bitch of an earth that didn't make him feel absolutely utterly horrible: Tommyinnit.
If he could do so without vanishing from existence, Ghostboo would be humming as he approached the blonde, hot-headed teen's dirt hut. He held a small goodie basket in one of his semi transparent claws, one that was filled to the brim with all sorts of goodies. Fresh bread he yoinked from Niki's city, ice cold water he got from the Burger van while Wilbur was asleep, some soft blankets from Puffy's office(he got one with a cow on it. Tommy liked cows. Ghostboo remembered that), and even some golden apples he found in his ender chest. Why exactly he could access the property of his living self, he didn't know. It didn't matter, anyway. He could, so he would, and he'd have an awful lot of fun doing it without the stress that came from stealing so much stuff.
What were people gonna do, anyway? Kill him again? Double kill him? Ha! Being dead was great.
Ghostboo smiled as he knocked on the front door. His silken robes hung a bare few inches off the dirt path that led up to Tommy's home. It wasn't a very fancy house, just a hobbit hole surrounded by grass and the flowers his living self planted that one time. There was a little patch of carrots nearby. It was overgrown with weeds and brambles that attracted some lazily buzzing bees.
Bees. They were alright. Tubbo liked bees.
Ghostboo hoped he had fun with all the bee-themed stuff he had in that mansion. Hopefully, now that he was dead, Tubbo could manage all his newly acquired personal finances without driving himself to bankruptcy.
Tubbo wasn't very good with money. Ghostboo remembered that more than anything else.
He was happy Tommy was a lot more humble with his spending habits. Tommy was cool like that.
Speaking of Tommy, he hadn't answered the door yet. Ghostboo found that odd. He knocked again and tilted his head when there was no answer. The room beyond the wooden door was silent. He couldn't even hear Shroud hissing from inside!
Where was Tommy?
Electing to let himself inside the young boy's humble abode, Ghostboo ducked his head as he drifted through the(oddly enough) unlocked door. It remained partially opened behind him, leaving room for the dusty light to spill in and fill the cramped living space. It shone on dirty dishes and a disheveled bed.
Ghostboo frowned at a small hole located directly in front of the door.
"That's not supposed to be there." He said to nobody at all.
A few minutes dragged by. Ghostboo checked over the tiny rooms and narrow tunnels that connected them. They were filled with junk, broken weapons and dirtied bandages laying atop shattered glass. It looked like somebody had rushed to get out. It looked like some thing had messed with the tightly compacted dirt that made up the home's walls. Scratch marks. Some red powder around the door. A horrific chamber at the bottom of that hole. A broken disc. The foul stench of sweat, blood, grime and rotten potatoes mixed with some rancid and evil.
All signs of a beast intruding where it did not belong.
Empty. No Tommy. No Shroud, just some cobwebs and a few dead flies.
Ghostboo frowned and hurried out of the dark, empty home. The light blinded him as he quickly made his way down the Prime Path, his eyes already busy searching for his friend.
He wasn't stressed. Just worried. Worried and wary of wherever his beloved could be.
Huh.
His beloved. Tommy. Tommy, his beloved. Tubbo had been his beloved, once, before tossing his heart away the moment that duck guy waved some dollar signs in front of him. Ghostboo did not consider Tubbo to be his beloved anymore. 'Till death do us part, yada yada, you get the idea.
But Tommy? Tommy was okay. Tommy could be his beloved.
Whatever spectral organ he possessed that accounted for a heart jumped when he sensed the boy's presence coming from a nearby house. It sat quietly on the side of the road with a pointed roof and boarded off windows. Something in the back of his mind informed him that it was Tubbo's old house from before Snowchester. Ghostboo pushed that useless tidbit to the side and hurried over.
All it took was a bit of wiggling, a moment of holding his nonexistent breath, and possibly a few violations of the basic laws of physics to get inside without messing with the boards covering the front door. After that, Ghostboo made his way quickly through the house until he reached the attic, where he was finally met with the treasure he'd been seeking all this time.
"Tommy!" He beamed when he spotted the blonde.
Tommy, bless his heart, looked terrible. He'd always been a bit scrawny, especially after exile(Ghostboo felt stressed when he thought of that), but this was just... wrong . Tommy looked...small, laying on that bed tucked against the wall. He looked so frail and so weak, so unlike how he was in those precious, sunny memories from before that terrible day at George's house. Ghostboo swore that the dark circles beneath his dull, empty eyes were turning purple .
Have you not been sleeping well? Have you not been sleeping at all ? What about those carrots of yours? Not felt very peckish lately? Ghostboo allowed himself to ask such stress-inducing questions from within the safety of his own mind as he approached Tommy.
Combined with the pale light peeking in through the boarded up window above it, the blonde's white bedding almost matched the pale, ghostly glow of Ghostboo's drapings and thin veil. His tail twitched at such a comparison. Odd.
Tommy tensed as he inched closer, but he eased slightly when a giant spider dropped down from the slanted ceiling and settled on top of him. Shroud let out what Ghostboo assumed to be a friendly hiss and waved his overgrown mandibles at the carefree specter.
"Hey, Boo…" Tommy's smile was faint. His voice was scratchy and filled with exhaustion.
Ghostboo carefully set the basket down beside the boy's bed. No use in asking about what the deal was with the sudden move. That was probably too stressful for Tommy. Tommy didn't need anymore stress. Tommy had had more than enough to last several enderian lifetimes.
"Hey! How's it goin'?" He kept a gentle smile and a soft voice as he kneeled beside the bed. "I brought you some stuff I stole from around the server. Don't worry about it, by the way. I'll take the bullet for ya if anyone gets angry at seeing you with their favorite bread loaf."
That earned him a weak laugh. Tommy tilted his head to look at the ghost's offering.
"Thank you, Ghostboo…" He whispered with a breathy sigh.
Ghostboo reached over and pulled out a water bottle to help with that scratchy throat. "Yeah, man, no problem. Don't stress about it."
Tommy's next bit of laughter was a bit less happy. "Yeah, Ghostboo. No stress...no...no stress…"
---
As time went by up in the attic, Ghostboo noticed a few things that made him feel...not good.
He noticed that Tommy was tired, his speech slurred and movement sluggish. He noticed that Tommy was still wearing his cotton Pjs despite it being half past noon. He noticed how difficult it seemed for Tommy to keep the bread down as he took frighteningly small bites that were washed down with tiny, not at all savory sips. He noticed how the boy's eyes darted between the window and hatch every time Shroud made his rounds across the ceiling and walls.
Tommy was...not good. He was shaking and looked about five seconds away from passing out, and that did not even begin to cover the mess that was him flinching whenever Ghostboo reached out to stroke his cheeks.
Only one cause of such troublesome behavior came to mind: stress.
Tommy was stressed. That was bad, very bad. Ghostboo didn't want Tommy to be stressed. Ghostboo wanted Tommy to be safe , happy and as carefree and full of cheer as he was.
He had to fix this. And to do that, he'd have to go outside his comfort zone and engage in a possibly unpleasant conversation. But! He'd do it. For Tommy.
For Tommy.
No stress.
He rolled the golden apple he was holding between his claws as he started the conversation. He kept a light, pleasant tone, both to sooth Tommy and to avoid bringing him any more stress.
"Say, Tommy?"
Tommy froze. "Mmm?" His mouth was stuffed full of soggy bread, which he choked down before wiping his lips on the cow blanket from Puffy's.
Ghostboo was still patting himself on the back for his blanket-grabbing brand of genius.
Once his mouth was empty, Tommy was finally able to respond. "Y-yeah, Boo? Wussup?"
"Oh, nothing really." Ghostboo waved off the boy's worry with a gentle smile. He gestured towards the basket and the glistening fruits within. "I was just gonna ask if you want any of the apples I brought. It's fine if you don't. I can just stuff 'em back in my ender chest until you feel like having some. I sure as heck don't need them. Stuff goes right through me, haha!"
Tommy didn't laugh at the joke. Ghostboo didn't mind. He did notice a glint of guilt in his gaze as he stared over at the basket, though. A memory came to him in a bright flash of recent clarity. "Wait...didn't I give you an apple a few weeks back? When I first popped in, I mean. The rapple. Yeah, yeah. I gave you an enchanted apple and called it a rapple. Where is it?"
Tommy was silent as the grave. Ghostboo tilted his head and opened his mouth to ask again
"Tommy? Did I say something wr-"
"Phil burned it."
Ghostboo froze. Something... cold , seeped into his already frozen chest. Something dark and inky, like an oozing mess of ugly, nasty feelings that made his head get all jumbled up.
It was strong , but not stressful.
He narrowed his eyes and leaned back to give Tommy space. Poor thing needed the breathing room with how much his chest was heaving. Ghostboo would offer to open a window if they weren't all boarded up.
"He...Phil did what , now?"
Tommy swallowed before repeating himself. His voice was shaky as he tried to explain between tiny, hitched breaths.
"P-phil b-b-burned it. H-he says I have to learn to put pe-people over o-objects. We were talking a-and he got angry about stuff a-and told me to drop something. I-it was the only thing I had at the time, s...so I...I…" He trailed off.
Unlike his living self, Ghostboo was completely unharmed by water. This made it easier to do a wide variety of activities he'd previously been denied access to, chief of which was wiping away his beloved's tears. That was exactly what Ghostboo did as the first silvery droplets fell from Tommy's eyes and down his reddened face. He moved quickly to hug the boy, hoping that his chest was a comfortable enough place to bury himself in despite the open wound.
Tommy seemed too busy babbling incoherently between sobs to care.
"I'm sorry!" He rasped weakly. Ghostboo tensed his claws as Tommy gripped his wispy robes and ghostly cape. More tears spilled from the child's eyes as he sobbed again. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm s-selfish and bad! 'M sorry I had to think a-and hesitated with Tubbo and the stupid discs . I'm sorry I'm not good. I'm sorry I lost the rapple, Ranboo, I'm so so sorry !"
Ghostboo was angry.
Not stressed. This anger wasn't the kind that stressed you out. It wasn't the loud, screaming kind of anger, the sort that made you yell and shout and punch and kick until you tired yourself out and took a breather. It was not a screech of rage or a howling cry of fury. It was not a fiery inferno that roared and raged until all that was left were a few measly embers.
It was thunder.
Yes. That's exactly what it was. This low, rumbling fury that coursed through Ghostboo's body was not a fiery blaze, but rather a deep, primordial boom bellowing on the distant horizon. It hung, heavy and thick over his head, in his thoughts and through his chest.
Such thick fog clouded his mind. It did not blind, however. No. No, Ghostboo could see perfectly well. Perhaps even better than when he still possessed a beating heart. He saw what had happened, and knew without a trace of doubt what needed to be done.
Someone hurt Tommy.
Philza Minecraft hurt Tommy.
Philza Minecraft, one of the richest, most privileged motherfuckers on this godforsaken shitheap of a server told Tommyinnit , the most selfless, caring person around that he was selfish . And not only that , but Philza Minecraft decided to punctuate such vile, wretched teachings by destroying the gift that Ghostboo gave to Tommy shortly after his arrival to this side of the tracks.
Philza Minecraft destroyed the rapple.
Philza Minecraft made his beloved cry.
Philza Minecraft fucked up.
Philza Minecraft was going to pay.
Philza Minecraft was going to hurt .
Ghostboo smiled. He smiled, and with careful claws and gentle words, began soothing his darling's worries. He told him that it was okay, that he wasn't selfish and that he certainly was not bad in any way whatsoever.
Tommy was too busy crying to reply. That was fine. No worries.
No stress.
-----
Ghostboo did not like Techno's cabin. He didn't like it when he was alive. It was cramped, cluttered and smelled of sweat and shitty deodorant. Also blood. Both the blood of freshly butchered cows, and that of whatever sorry soul had pissed the piglin hybrid off on any given day.
The secondary stench was more common than the first during most Syndicate meetings. Ghostboo still didn't understand why his living self ever decided to hang with those guys. Even Niki was a massive bitch, when he thought about it.
It was a stressful place, one that Ghostboo would usually avoid like the plague. But not right now.
Right now, Ghostboo had a mission. And if completing said mission involved having to act like he could stand being anywhere near that god awful place, so be it.
Thankfully, by the looks of it, the Blood God was not home at the moment. Good. Ghostboo didn't want to deal with that hog's crocodile tears. He had business to attend to, business pertaining to a certain crow that needed to learn not to peddle his poison to sweet little boys that had already had more than their fill.
His claws twitched as his ear flicked with annoyance. Not stress. Annoyance.
He focused on maintaining some semblance of control as he reached the cabin door. Knowing Philza, he was probably hanging out in the living room sharpening his weapons and talking to his crows.
That was all Philza Minecraft ever did, really. Laz about the house. Play with his birds. Stare at all his riches and gold while feeling oh so humble knowing he'd burn it all up for anybody he loved. Then he'd go back to whining about how he was "forced" to kill his son by the big bad government, and after that he'd perhaps grace the rest of the SMP with his presence, during which time he'd grunt and boast about how kind he was and how evil and selfish Tommy was for daring to hesitate for even a single second while he was being hounded by both his tormentor and best friend.
Because as everyone knew, Philza Minecraft always put people first before everything else . Just ignore how he murdered his son and blamed everyone but himself, or how he treated said son's ghost like absolute shit just to stave off the guilt. God. Ghostboo loved remembering stuff. It was going to make this whole thing so much easier.
Yes. Such a kind, loving fellow, this Philza Minecraft. Truly such a sympathetic, caring soul and a father figure to all who earned the high honor of entering his good graces.
Bet you don't know I remember all the shit you said, huh? About using my memory issues to your advantage. Well guess what, bastard? I do.
He forced himself to smile as he knocked on the door. A few startled squawks and footsteps later, it swung open and revealed a frail old man with tattered black wings and a finely made green robe.
Philza smiled at him. "Ranboo! Mate, you're-" His nordic blue eyes were drawn to the gaping, leaking wound on Ghostboo's chest. That overjoyed smile was quickly replaced by a solemn frown. "Oh. Right. You're still...sorry, I just hoped...never mind. Hello Ranboo. What's up?"
Ghostboo bit back a torrent of harsh comebacks waiting on his tongue. He shouldn't have been surprised that the Angel of Death was so sad to see that his backup son hadn't magically revived himself yet.
Honestly, even if Ghostboo did want to come back to life, he wouldn't simply to spite this moron.
Pressing down the rage rumbling inside his chest and putting on a happy face, Ghostboo greeted Philza with a dopey grin. Best bet was to play up the whole "manically happy stoner" act. That way, once he was ready and willing to get his claws dirty, Phil's surprise at seeing his backup kid's ghost flip out on him would be all the more delicious.
Oh...this was gonna be fun . Who needed therapy when all it took to relieve some stress was a bit of time spent bullying a shitty old crow?
Ghostboo waved as he savored that delectable thought. "Hey, Philza! Wussup? Figured I'd pop in and hang for a few since I'm not busy with anything. Kinda a perk of the whole being dead thing, y'know?"
Phil cleared his throat. Ghostboo watched him force a cheeky grin as he stepped to the side. "Ah, nothing much, mate! Just chillin' around with chat while Tech runs some errands in the Nether. Wanna come in?"
Ghostboo thanked him as he bobbed his head and floated inside. The interior of the cabin wasn't much to sneeze at. There was a fireplace, some fancy rugs, and a few tapestries laced with gold. A dozen overflowing chests lined the walls, their glittering, glistening contents bringing Ghostboo a wave of icy fury as the door shut behind him.
Diamonds. Gold. Blocks of emerald and full netherite sets. He even spotted a few stacks of enchanted golden apples in a nearby wicker basket, their pinkish glow and magical glint winking at him mockingly in the dancing firelight.
All the wealth and riches one could expect to see in the "humble" abode of a couple of spoiled beasts. Oh, but sure. Tommy was the one who needed to value people more.
Ghostboo's claws twitched as Phil pulled up a couple chairs over by the fire. The man gestured for him to take a seat with that same friendly, infuriating smile.
"I'm a good guy!" That smile said. "Look, don't you see? I've invited you into my home and am letting you sit down for some crappy oolong tea! Aren't I great? Aren't I just the kindness, more generous soul you've ever met? Answer wisely, or else I'll have my oversized man child of a pal beat your shit in! Oh, but please don't be upset. I only did it to teach you a lesson. You'll understand someday!"
Fake, flimsy, two-faced lying bastard.
Ghostboo took a seat and accepted the cup that was passed into his hands. Phil sat down across from him and took a sip from his own teacup.
They both began some light small talk. All talk was small when you were dealing with Philza Minecraft. Philza Minecraft was always in charge of any conversation he was in, because Philza Minecraft had always been in charge of everything ever since the day he was born and cursed the world with his presence. How honored Ghostboo was to be permitted to speak of his own experience, to ramble endlessly about all the cool bugs and nice flowers he'd seen the other day. Truly, he was lucky that Philza was granting him the time of day, blessed, even! So few could truthfully say that they'd spoken to the Angel of Death on(somewhat) even terms. And even fewer did so while remaining in his good graces afterwards.
Because as everyone knew, Philza Minecraft was always right. Philza Minecraft was always kind. Philza Minecraft was never wrong, and if you thought he was and said as such, well…
The memory of carrying a still wiping Tommy flashed through his mind, bringing with it a cold sheet of anger that crashed against his thoughts. Ghostboo had to curl his toes and tail tight just to avoid producing a throaty growl.
Phil was blabbering about something or other, which Ghostboo tuned out. Until he changed the subject to something a bit... stressful .
He said it so simply, too. Like it didn't affect him. Like he didn't even care.
"So...Ranboo-"
"Ghostboo, actually. Or just Boo works fine."
Philza nodded and corrected himself. His voice was soft and light, as though he were speaking to an idiotic child and not an ethereal teenager.
Ghostboo frowned into his cup as he took a reluctant sip.
"Right. Ghost boo. I was just gonna ask you something. Something about your current... situation ." The way he waved at Ghostboo was lazy. Dismissive. Unbothered. "You know how Dream got out of prison a bit ago?"
Ghostboo hummed. "Mhm. I was there, Phil. I kinda died 'cause you and Techno let him out and left me with Sam while he was running away. That was kinda crazy, wasn't it?"
His smile stretched as Philza's eye twitched. It wasn't nice being reminded of the part he played in his replacement son's murder, was it? Not nice to be held accountable for willingly choosing to help release the most vile, horrid, monstrous beast to ever live.
Something, something. Something about birds of a feather...flocking.
Funny, wasn't it?
Phil cleared his throat and waved him off. "Yeah, that uh. Whatever. I was just gonna say that, since we let Dream out and stuff, he owes Techno a favor. Favor for a favor kinda deal, I guess. And Tech and I've been talking." He set the cup down and leaned forward. Ghostboo tilted his head slightly as Philza's face turned serious, his wings slightly unfurled and hands pressed tightly together.
If he didn't know any better, Ghostboo would almost describe the look in his eyes as mournful. But he did. And he didn't care.
At least, he didn't until Phil opened his mouth and vomited up his newest bit of poison.
"Dream says he can revive you, Ranboo. He says he'll bring you back a-and help keep you safe from Sam. All he needs is a trade. And apparently, he wants Tommy. I don't like the guy, but you gotta admit...the kid isn't worth much. Unlike y-"
Ghostboo did not let him finish. His claws were around the bastard's throat before he could spew out any more vile, rancid, brain rotting drivel. He squeezed and squeezed until all Philza could do was gag.
He was angry. Not stressed, just anger. Cold and icy, harsh and controlled. Ghostboo's anger bellowed like rolling thunder over the foothills of his mind, spreading over them in an inky curtain. His breath(?) caught in his incorporeal lungs as he allowed himself that long overdue growl.
" Shut. The fuck. Up. You disgusting, horrid, wicked little beast ." Waves of darkness spread quickly over his trembling form. It turned his ghostly robes into tattered scraps of cloth, which bent and twisted in the air around him like billowing smoke. His eyes shifted into neon purple slits that bore into the man's soul as he slammed him into a wall and held him there good and tight. "I don't wanna hear anymore of your bullshit . You will be quiet , and you will listen when I tell you I don't want you, Technoblade, or Dream anywhere near me or my beloved ."
Phil tried to open his mouth but was swiftly silenced by a slap across the face. Red liquid leaked from the slashes Ghostboo's claws left on his right cheek. The coppery scent of blood sent a gleeful shiver throughout the ghostly boy's body, followed by a deep purr as he floated up so that he was looking down at the miserable creature held between his talons.
"Shut. Up." He ordered with a deranged smile filled with sharp, whire fangs. "Shut up, or I will make you shut up forever and bless this world with your permanent silence."
That seemed to get the message through Phil's thick skull. He kept making those ugly little gagging sounds, but other than that produced no further noise.
Ghostboo loosened his grip a bit to allow his prey some air. He did not release him, though. No. No, Philza Minecraft would not be leaving until Ghostboo had his revenge.
His voice took on an almost musical quality as he spoke down at the miserable immortal.
"Tommy told me what you did!" He chirped brightly while his tail swished and swayed behind him. "He told me that, after going to you for protection from Dream-the abusive animal you freed from his cage-you berated him and scolded him for daring to love things. He told me that you said he was bad for hesitating when he was being yelled and screamed at by both his abuser and his very best friend. He told me, and here's the real kicker, I hope you're ready for this. Tommy told me that you, Philza Minecraft, destroyed the apple I gave him!"
Ghostboo let out a hearty laugh. His anger ebbed and flowed like a beating drum, a thumping melody that matched the swaying of his whip-like tail.
He cocked his head to the side and wide his eyes at Phil. "Do you know that that made him cry? Do you know that you made an innocent child cry and break down in my arms? Do you know how much of an ugly, wretched, evil little animal that makes you? Hm? Do you? 'Cause I sure do!"
With a swift pull, Ghostboo brought Phil away from the wall. He kept one claw around the man's throat as he carried him towards the center of the room, not bothering to hold him off the floor and instead delighting in how he groaned as he was dragged across the boards and tiles. It was kinda like carrying a bag of potatoes, only instead of potatoes, it was a shitty old man who needed to get his ass beat and his shit kicked in.
Ghostboo heaved Phil off the floor and gestured broadly towards the luxurious drapings, expensive furnishings and gold-trimmed weaponry.
"Look at all this stuff ya got here, Phil!" Philza squeaked something out that was silenced by a harsh squeeze against his windpipe. Ghostboo whirled around and showed him the chests filled with treasure. "You and Techno are loaded ! You're the richest guys around! Do you really think you of all people are in any position to preach about valuing people over objects? Huh ? Do ya?!"
He did not wait for a response. Instead, he raised his hand up and brought Philza down with a heavy crash. His foot was on the crow's chest before he could manage a measly squawk.
He leaned down and stared Phil right in the eyes.
" No. " He whispered softly with his hands behind his back and a smile on his face. "No. No, you don't. You are in no position to tell people like Tommy, who has had everything taken from him time and time again that they are bad for clinging to things that bring them joy and comfort. Especially not when you and that porky fucker are the reason he's lost so much in the first place, and especially not when you have the absolute privilege of never needing or wanting for anything at all ever in your life! You're not just a hypocrite. You're the biggest, fattest, most spoiled, pampered rotten hypocrite to ever live. And you can't even admit it! It's honestly kinda sad."
Philza struggled. He struggled and he squirmed like the wretched thing he was. Ghostboo pressed his foot down hard and prayed to hear a crack. It didn't happen. Sad.
But it was fine.
Ghostboo was having a lovely time.
This was great.
This was fun.
No worries.
No stress.
Carrying on as he was, Ghostboo grabbed one of Phil's wrists and pulled him across the floor. This time, he went over to that basket he'd seen earlier, the one overflowing with enchanted golden apples.
He picked Phil up and held him over the basket by the scruff of his now dirtied robes. The man's eyes stared down at the fruits, dazed and out of focus. Ghostboo tsked and gave him a little shake to snap him out of it.
He waved a hand down at the apples.
"Look at these, Phil. These apples, or as some would say, gapples. Not much to someone like you, what with all your fancy armor and unstable pig guy, but to Tommy, these little things can be the difference between life or death." His voice dropped into a lowly growl as he pressed his face against Phil's. The man was frozen with fear. Good. Ghostboo wanted him to be afraid.
Afraid. Scared. Weak.
Stressed.
He spoke with raw, unrestrained hatred as he spat in the beast's face. "I don't want to come back to life, Phil. I'm happy. I'm happy being dead and free from all the stuff I had to deal with when I was alive. Stuff like you, stuff like Techno or that attention whore Niki. I'm happy just going along with the flow and hanging out with Tommy. Tommy is good. Tommy is nice and respects me. Tommy matters to me. He doesn't matter to you because he's not a mindlessly obedient little bitch like I was when I was alive. But to me, he's everything I could ever possibly need."
He slammed Phil into the floor. While that idiot scrambled to collect himself, Ghostboo decided to yoink the basket and held it against his chest.
Frail, shaky hands grabbed at his robes. All it took was a kick to the ribs to send Philza back onto the floorboards. Ghostboo made a disgusted grunt as he flinched away from the babbling beast before him.
Such a nasty man, really. He pitied the poor woman that had to get it on with him to make Wilbur Soot. He pitied the poor woman that had to give birth to Wilbur Soot. He pitied(and hated) his living self for ever getting involved with either of those wretched men.
Ah well. What's done was done. That idiot was gone now.
No worries.
No stress.
Ghostboo was here to fix all his mistakes, misdeeds, and terrible life choices. Starting with ever involving himself with the wicked Angel of Death and the horrid Blood God.
No stress.
No worries.
Just him and his beloved.
Just him and his Tommy.
"I'm not coming back to life." He stated simply with no room for debate. "I'm staying like this. I'm staying with Tommy. And if you don't stay away from Tommy, I am going to make your life a living hell. Do you understand, Philza Minecraft?"
Ghostboo didn't wait for a response. He just turned away and floated towards the door. Philza rasped out a few worthless pleas, which he easily ignored as he pulled it open and readied himself for a bit of floating through the snow and pines.
He was stopped, though, by an absolute wall of a man with pink skin and curved tusks.
Technoblade stared down at him with those dark, shark-like eyes of his. His voice was a low bellow.
"Ranboo, I-"
A slash across the face was all it took to silence the self-proclaimed god. A shower of crimson erupted from the man's open eye socket, which forced Ghostboo to guard his stolen goods beneath his now ashy gray cloak. He shoved Technoblade to the side as the man howled like a wounded beast.
"Can it, porky. I'm busy. I don't have time to coddle that ego of yours."
Techno screeched along with Phil as the ghost hurried away from the cabin. Ghostboo rolled his eyes at their childish pleas.
"Please! Please, we need you!"
"We need you back! You're out friend! How will we go on without you?"
"Ranboo, think of Tubbo! Think of Michael! Please!"
He chuckled at that last one. Oh, he thought of them. He thought, and then dismissed it.
Ghostboo did not need Tubbo or Michael. Ghostboo did not need Technoblade or Philza Minecraft. Ghostboo did not need anyone who used him or mistreated him in his stress-free afterlife.
All he needed was himself and his beloved. Just him and Tommy, living and chilling up in that attic with sweet little Shroud.
No one else. No worries.
No stress.
The first few snowflakes fell as he finally reached the treeline.
-----
"Tom-my! I'm back! I gotcha some stuff !"
Ghostboo beamed as he climbed up into the attic. It was nighttime now. The black sky and twinkling stars could be seen peeking in between the boards covering the window. A lone lantern sitting on a nearby crate served as the room's lone light source.
Shroud was resting on his web beside Tommy's bed. The boy was fast asleep in what seemed to be a reasonably pleasant slumber, if the gentle rise and fall of his chest was anything to go by.
He still looked so very tired. But it was fine. Ghostboo was here. Ghostboo would take care of everything.
No worries, no stress.
He set the basket down carefully next to Shroud's web. The spider chittered something at him that sounded like a greeting.
"Hey." Ghostboo whispered back.
The large arachnid clicked a bit before going silent. Ghostboo chuckled as he laid himself down next to Tommy.
A soft whine came from the boy as he was wrapped up in the ghost's arms. His face scrunched up, eyes twitching as he mumbled a faint apology. Whatever for, Ghostboo could not possibly fathom. It was probably nothing. Tommy had nothing to apologize for, after all.
Tommy was perfect. Tommy was safe. Tommy was kind, gentle and unbelievably sweet. He was the most wonderful, beautiful person on earth, and Ghostboo was going to cherish every moment he had with his darling beloved.
Ghostboo warmed himself on that thought as he snuggled close and allowed his eyes to shut. If he could, he'd sing to Tommy. That was something he used to do before he died. He couldn't do it anymore.
That was a bit sad. But it was fine. Nothing to worry about. No worries.
No stress.