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One of the perks of having a rich husband, in Tubbo’s opinion, is getting to send out the fanciest, most over-the-top invitations for what is, essentially, a small dinner for friends and family. The size of the dinner does not matter. The amount of invitations being set out does not matter. The fact that Tubbo can commission a calligrapher to make ten overly-decorated and horrendously fancy cards to invite people to his home is what matters.
You are cordially invited to the Underscore-Beloved’s home on Friday at sundown for Passover. Contact Tubbo or Ranboo to RSVP.
Oh, gods.
Tubbo’s never hosted a seder before.
He’s been to them, sure, he’s been to one every year since he was ten and was told the stories every year before that, but he’s never hosted. He’s never been the Responsible Adult who has to tell all the stories and make sure things go smoothly. Oh, gods, he’s only twenty-three, he’s too young to be a patriarch.
It’s fine. It’ll be fine. They’ll all just tidy up the house and make sure the dining room is fine and check they have enough nice plates. And maybe conscript some of the guests to help cook, if they accept.
Preparations start with getting all the chametz out of the house - bread, pasta, pastries, bagels. The grain they have in deep storage, Tubbo reasons, should be fine. It’s not like they’re eating it, it’s grain. Everything else, however, gets offloaded onto Tommy. He’s delighted.
By Tuesday, everyone’s who Tubbo was counting on accepting has accepted. Niki’s bringing macaroons. Eret agrees to help cook. Philza says Techno will be bringing something good, which, sure, alright, he’ll take it. He didn’t know Techno could cook.
To his surprise, Fundy accepts as well. Jack can’t make it, there’s an event at the hotel that night, but he does thank Tubbo for the invite.
Wilbur never replies. Tubbo didn’t expect him to. He’s been gone since October. Tommy said he might come back one day, but it won’t be any time soon. He sends letters, sometimes. Tommy doesn’t elaborate past that.
Tubbo buys matzah and a brisket and a couple different kinds of horseradish because gods know Ranboo’s spice tolerance is shit. Michael helps him collect fresh honey and apples for charoset. On Thursday morning, he finds a small stack of haggadahs on the front porch with a note attached.
Found these in storage. Phil thought you’d need them. - T
They’re the ones he’d inherited from L’Manberg. He’d hid them in Pogtopia - he can still see the water damage - after Schlatt was elected, but he could have sworn they were destroyed on Doomsday. Techno had… kept them. He scrubs his eye where it is certainly not tearing up and takes them inside. One less thing to worry about. Right. Good.
Friday morning, the dread starts to set in. Ohhhhhhhh, gods, he’s too young to be a patriarch. There’s responsibilities attached to that. He may be a barred lawyer and a nuclear engineer and an ex-politician and a father but he’s certainly not ready to be the head of a household.
Ranboo finds him still in bed at 10:45, just over an hour before Eret’s supposed to get there to help cook, with a pillow covering his head. The bed dips near his side as Ranboo sits down.
“You good?”
“I can’t do it, Ran,” he says, muffled into the pillow, “I’m going to be the worst host.”
“No, you’re not.”
“It’s true. I’ll be terrible. I’m too young to be a household leader.”
Ranboo snorts. “You’re too young to be a household leader, but you were the right age to found a village, get married, and bring home a child?”
“Barely twenty is a perfect age to found a settlement and become a nuclear physicist, yes. I’m surprised more people aren’t doing it.” Ranboo laughs again, taking Tubbo’s hand and rubbing the back with his thumb. After a moment, he hums thoughtfully.
“Y’know, you don’t have to lead the whole thing.” He. He hadn’t considered that. Ranboo continues, “Like, I know the stories, and I’d be surprised if Techno and Phil didn’t. Phil’s old. He’s heard things. Maybe he was even there.” That gets a snort out of him.
“Phil’s not that old, give the man some credit.” He sits up. Ranboo’s wearing what must pass as casualwear for him - eleven AM is way too early for a button down and vest, in Tubbo’s opinion - and smiling at him. He squeezes Tubbo’s hand, and Tubbo headbutts his shoulder in response.
They agree to tag-team the seder. Maybe even hand some parts off to Philza. It’ll be fine. It’ll be great, even. Ranboo reminds him that half the people coming haven’t even been to a seder before, they won’t have any expectations of how it’s “supposed” to go. It’ll be fun, and that’s what matters.
Eret arrives at noon, just as Ranboo and Michael are pouring the caramel onto what will soon become chocolate-covered matzah. She brings fresh parsley and green beans and a nice, ripe orange for the seder plate, and Tubbo starts to think things might actually work out.
The brisket goes into the slow cooker, the chocolate matzah goes into the icebox to cool. Someone turns on the radio. They chop up the apples - mostly normal, a couple golden - to make the charoset, mixing them in with the walnuts, honey, cinnamon, and sweet wine, and make sure that Michael doesn’t eat too many along the way. Ranboo takes it upon himself to make the chicken stock for the soup, and Tubbo shows Eret and Michael how to make matzah balls the way he was taught as a kid. The kitchen smells incredible, and they haven’t even started on the green bean casserole.
There’s a soft, slow song playing on the radio. In the dining room, Tubbo can hear Michael and Eret setting the table: plates set against a cloth-covered table, the clatter of cutlery arranged by a five-year-old, the warm laugh of a favorite auntie being told a story. Ranboo closes the oven, and when he turns back, he quirks an eyebrow at Tubbo, smiling.
“You’re staring at me.”
“Yeah.” Tubbo takes his hand, pulling him into a hug. “Might be ‘cause I love you or something.”
A snort and a kiss to the top of a head. A headbutt to the chest in response. Swaying in place as the radio warbles out a sweet tune. The guests will be here in a few hours. It’ll be nice.
“You feeling better?” Claws gently playing with his hair.
“Much.” The song comes to an end. Face still effectively pressed against his husband’s chest, Tubbo says, “You didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, dickhead.”
“Well, I do.” Another kiss to the top of his head, matter-of-fact. “I love you back.” Tubbo snorts. He can feel Ranboo smile against his hair. “This is gonna be fun. It’ll be a good time.”
“And if it isn’t, we’ll just burn everything down and start over, right?”
“Of course.”
Guests start arriving a little before sunset.
Puffy and Foolish arrive together, Michelle, Junior and Finley along with them. The kids immediately run to the playroom, while the adults exchange pleasantries.
Tommy is next, followed shortly by Niki. The macaroons are fresh-baked and taste incredible when Tubbo steals one from the basket. Technoblade brings a potato kugel, which, frankly, should have been expected, and Phil agrees immediately to helping run the seder.
Fundy and Yogurt arrive last. It’s a little awkward at first, right in that moment where Tubbo opens the door, but it’s good to see him. Genuinely. And he leaves the door open, just a crack.
As the sun starts to set in earnest, everyone gathers in the dining room. The plates are a little mismatched, because no one in their right mind would have enough matching tableware for fifteen people, and a few people have to share haggadahs, but that’s not a problem. Wine and juice are poured into an assortment of wine glasses and brightly colored plastic cups. Tubbo closes his eyes and lights the Shabbos candles, prayer murmured under his breath the way he always does it.
Blessed are you, Lord our G-d…
There is comfort in tradition, and in sharing tradition with friends.
After saying the prayer for the wine and - okay, well, he can’t say he’s the best at this, he’s never been, like, great at observing religion, alright? He skips the blessing over the bread because they don’t have any, and getting matzah out this early feels weird. Is that what he’s supposed to do? He doesn’t know, and neither does anyone else here - that’s when the seder actually begins.
Admittedly, a few things happen in the wrong order. He explains the seder plate and pours the extra glass of wine, and then it turns out they have to do another wine blessing after the symbolic hand-washing and it’s a whole production. He’s working on it.
“Who’s the empty seat for?” Yogurt asks, while people are still eating the karpas. Tubbo glances over to the empty chair at the end of the table, the one closest to the open door.
“It’s for the prophet Elijah,” he says, “He’s a spirit, but he isn’t here right now. We leave the door open and some wine and a chair for him if he does come, though.” Yogurt nods, taking another piece of parsley. If Elijah does come, the spot will be open for him. That’s how it works. Tubbo can’t help but think of everyone else that couldn’t make it, though. It doesn’t feel like someone is missing, necessarily. It’s the spot for Elijah.
He misses Wilbur.
Ranboo hides the afikomen while Tubbo explains the meaning of the matzah.
“Lo!” he crows, holding up the pieces, “This! Is the bread of affliction.” Tommy snorts into his cup; the lady who led the seders in L’Manberg always started like that. “This is the humble and simple bread our ancestors ate in Egypt. Let anyone who is hungry join us at this seder, and let them partake in what we have to share.”
Michelle volunteers to read the four questions, her little voice clear and high as she stumbles through the words.
Why is tonight different from all other nights?
Because they’re all together. Because they survived. People have tried to kill them, and they’ve all survived. They’ve died, they’ve been brought back, they’re here and they’re alive. They deserve to relax, after something like that. It’s felt like forty years in the desert. But that’s later in the story. They’re not there yet.
Niki reads for the wise child. Tommy reads for the simple child. They call Jack and get him, above the noise and chatter of the hotel, to read for the wicked child. He plays the role perfectly.
“Why are you calling?” he says, “Why are you making me do this? I’m busy over here!” He’s laughing as he says it, smile audible over his fake outrage. “Don’t you have a holiday to celebrate or something!?”
Tubbo promises to save him some brisket before he hangs up.
When it comes time to tell the story of the Exodus, that’s when Phil, Techno, and Foolish take over.
“I’m the Pharaoh!” Foolish declares, “Toss all the male babies into the river, so that they can never rise up against me!”
At the other end of the table, Techno, with his hair tied back with a napkin like a kerchief, clutches a giggling Michael to his chest.
“Oh no!” he cries in a falsetto, “My poor infant baby! I must hide him from the Pharaoh!” He dramatically places Michael into a large basket, covering him up with another cloth napkin. “I will now send him down the river and hope that he will survive!” He rocks the basket back and forth as he carries it over to Philza, the basket’s passenger giggling all the while. Philza, in the role of the princess, looks up.
“What’s this?” He lifts the napkin, pantomiming shock. “A sleeping baby! I will call him Moses and raise him as my own!”
Michael is released from the basket as Techno takes over the role of the adult Moses. Phil zones out for half a second, his eyes pitch black and voice otherworldly when he reopens them.
“Moses,” the Lady of Death says through Her Angel, “It is I, the G-d of your ancestors. You must free your people from the Pharaoh and lead them to the promised land!”
“But how will I do that?!”
“I will be with you.” The Lady smiles serenely. “If the Pharaoh doesn’t agree, I will… convince him.” Phil shudders and blinks a few times, back to himself. Techno turns to Foolish, pointing at him.
“Pharaoh! Let my people go!”
Foolish crosses his arms, sticking his chin up.
“And what if I don’t?”
“Then there will be… plagues!” He spreads his arms, cackling. As he counts out the plagues, Tubbo dips his pinky into his wine and counts out a dot on the edge of his plate for each. “Blood! Frogs! Lice! Wild beasts! Disease! Boils! Hail! Locusts! Darkness! And…” He pauses for tensions, lowering his voice. “Let it be known - all Hebrews must put lamb’s blood over their door, or your firstborn child will be taken by the Angel of Death!” He cackles dramatically.
Tubbo dips his finger in the wine again, smearing a little over Michael’s forehead. Fundy follows suit with Yogurt, and Puffy with Michelle. Junior looks up at his dad expectantly; Foolish whispers something in his ear, making the boy nod and giggle.
“Every time he brought a plague, the Pharaoh agreed with Moses’s demands to let the Hebrews go,” Philza narrates, making his way around the table slowly, “but every time the plague finished, the Pharaoh went back on his word. Until, finally…” He walks around the table, going up to each child at the table. When they show him the mark on their forehead, he nods and continues walking. “The Angel of Death swept over the city. He ignored all the houses with blood over the door, but when he got to the palace of the Pharaoh…” He gets to Junior, seeing no mark on his forehead. He points a finger at the boy, who dramatically faints into his father’s arms.
“Bleh!!!” he groans, “I died!!!”
“Noooo!” Foolish despairs, “My eldest son! He has died!” He glares at Techno. “Fine. you may take your people and go. Get out of my city before I change my mind again!”
“The Hebrews had to leave in haste,” Phil says, returning to his seat, “They didn’t have time for their bread to finish rising, so they brought the dough with them. As they escaped, the hot sun baked the bread on their backs, making what we know now as matzah.”
Techno finishes the narration with the parting of the Red Sea and how they escaped, how they got through.
Had G-d brought us out of Egypt and not divided the sea for us…
It would have been enough. Tubbo thinks about that often.
If he hadn’t survived Doomsday, it would have been enough. If he hadn’t survived the confrontation in the vault, it would have been enough. If he hadn’t made Snowchester, it would have been enough. If he hadn’t gotten married, it would have been enough. If he hadn’t adopted Michael, it would have been enough.
There are some things that wouldn’t have been enough, though. If his family hadn’t been kept safe, it wouldn’t have been enough. If Wilbur hadn’t apologized, it wouldn’t have been enough. If they hadn’t finally, finally killed Dream, it wouldn’t have been enough. If they hadn’t brought Ranboo back, it wouldn’t have been enough.
He deserved peace like this, after forty years in the desert.
“Dayenu,” he murmurs. Like the rest of his prayers, it is personal.
Tubbo blesses the second cup of wine and the matzah, and laughs along with everyone else when Ranboo eats the spicier maror by accident. The charoset makes up for it, he’ll survive.
The meal is excellent. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but Tubbo feels so, so unashamedly lucky to be here. To have his family here, to celebrate with them. They’ve survived. They’ve survived. He eats and laughs and lets himself feel very sappy about the whole affair. His alcohol tolerance is pretty high, and the wine is pretty low-key and sweet, but it’s probably the wine that’s making him feel so warm and fuzzy or whatever inside. Everyone is laughing and talking and celebrating, and he just.
He loves them. That’s what it is. He loves watching Niki, Puffy, and Tommy tease each other, and watching Techno, Eret, and Foolish make fun of Phil over how damn old he is while Fundy joins in, and hearing the kids talk and laugh and knowing that they’ll never have to face what their parents have. Before they pull out dessert, while Tommy and the kids run off to find the afikomen, Tubbo finds himself leaning against Ranboo, holding his hand under the table.
“Hey,” he says.
“What’s up?”
“Love you.”
Ranboo laughs and kisses his temple.
“Love you, too.”
Finley finds the afikomen, running back into the dining room as fast as her little legs can carry her to a crowd of cheering adults. She gets her first pick of dessert which is, of course, excellent. Tubbo doesn’t know where Ranboo got star-shaped sprinkles for the chocolate matzah, but he will never complain about sprinkles.
The third and fourth cups of wine are replaced with juice. The ceremony concludes. They close the door and put plates away. The hosts remind everyone that they are welcome to stay the night, the guest rooms have been set up in advance, and Yogurt complains about being put to bed at the same time as all of the littler kids. He’s, like, so much older than the rest of them, he shouldn’t have to go to bed already. He still yawns into Fundy’s shoulder as he’s carried up the stairs, though.
Here’s another thing Tubbo never thought he’d do: sit around and drink coffee after a holiday with all the other adults. Sometimes, when he was a kid, Phil would have people over for dinner. They’d all drink coffee and talk long after Tubbo was supposed to be asleep, and sometimes Techno and Wilbur would sneak down and talk, too, if Techno was home.
Out of all the things that have happened in his life, this is the one that makes him feel the most like he’s an “adult.” Hosting an event, having it go really, really well, and then sitting on the couch and drinking coffee with the other guests after. He didn’t think he’d make it this far. He leans against his husband and starts to doze off on the couch.
And it’s good.