Work Text:
Tubbo has an ear tag.
It has been there for ages. Yellow, with black letters and numbers. It dangles from his left ear, an eyesore that he never has to see because it's just barely out of his sight. He has to grab his ear and keep it still as he turns his head, if he ever wants to see it.
"Why the fuck don't you get rid of it?" Tommy had asked once, concern hidden under bristling annoyance, blue eyes narrowed into sharp points as he poked at Tubbo's ear.
"I dunno," Tubbo had replied, and that had led to a rant that in the end didn't do shit.
The ear tag stayed.
It stayed through L'manburg and Manburg, Wilbur claiming it was a sign of strength, Schlatt's eyes stained with mock pity in the same way wine stained his shirt. It stayed through New L'manburg, Ranboo's eyes lingering curiously and no one asking. It stayed and stayed, and Tubbo never got rid of it.
It was a thing that he had worn since forever, a thing he could barely remember the reason for. A sharp prick of pain, a reminder of where he grew up, where livestock hybrids were seen as less than people. He barely even remembered it.
Memories were weird and hazy, and besides, why the fuck would he want to remember that shit, anyway? Better to focus on the present.
And it was easy to ignore it.
He never had to see the thing.
So it stayed, and Tommy grumbled and Ranboo wondered and no one else ever asked.
It stayed.
One day, Michael touches it.
A simple thing. A curious brush of fingers against it, his one eye big and curious, and Tubbo looks at him and remembers pain and being shuffled around, merchandise first, never a person.
"It's temporary," he tells his son, who is a piglin, half a step from a livestock hybrid, with unmarked pink velvet ears and a little snout that wrinkles up when he smiles.
"Is what?" Michael asks, stumbling over new words, and Tubbo grins.
"I'm gonna put in a gold earring," he tells him, whispering it like a secret.
Michael's eyes light up.