#SO I JUST REDREW EVERYTHING BUT THE SKY & WORDS

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

Man

Edit: IF ANY1 MENTIONS THE FACT THAT I DREW THE LIGHTING ON THE WRONG SIDE I WILL BODILY HARM YOU

[crystalirises]

The Final Answer (36 Questions AU 3/13)

Third part.

OUR SWEET OLD LIFE

Fundy curled up on the farthest end of the couch, his slitted eyes tracking every movement that Dream dared make in the rundown shack he had made for himself. He watched as the blonde glanced at the cobwebs in the corners, at the dusty windows, at the tattered couch that Fundy sat on, at the grime-covered walls, and at the recently polished floor. 

The blanket was draped over his own shoulders, Dream insisting that he didn’t care much for the cold. Like how Dream didn’t care for anything except for a bunch of flimsy discs that held no significance to anyone other than Fundy’s uncle who was exiled by the very man in question. His sharp nails raked through the cloth of the couch, wincing as a small tear formed. Niki would kill him if she noticed it. Heh. He didn’t know how Dream found his way to Drywaters, but he must have done something to know. His hair bristled. Dream didn’t threaten Niki or Ranboo, did he?

He let out a low growl as Dream’s attention turned to him, their gazes piercing through each other’s soul. Fundy refused to wonder what was beyond the porcelain mask. He refused to wonder if he would see hurt in those forest green eyes he used to love so much, the eyes he woke up to every morning. Dream fumbled, mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish in a dirty pond. Fundy pulled his knees closer to himself, his sharp nails biting into the skin as he waited for whatever bullshit Dream would concoct. He didn’t know what was going on in that devious little mind, but it couldn’t be good. 

Fundy was exhausted from being fucked over by the entirety of New L’manburg and the Essempy. He hated the man before him, hated how his heart ached at the sight of him. He hated that he wanted to forgive him even if the blonde didn’t apologize. He hated how he still felt for his ex-husband, the ex-husband he thought he’d left behind.

“So… I know we can’t go back to the way we used to be. You’ve made that perfectly clear, sta― Fundy.” He doesn’t miss the way his old nickname easily slipped through Dream’s lips, the way he quickly averted from finishing it. Fundy sniffled, wiping at his nose with the edge of his jacket sleeve. He hated that nickname, anyway. So why did it hurt to be reminded of it? 

“We just have to move forward from this. The sooner we apologize to one another, the sooner we can go home… where it’s safer.” Dream walked closer, trying to pull Fundy into an embrace.

“Dream, with you… no place is safe.” Fundy winced at the bitter and harsh words that left his tongue, averting his gaze the moment those beady black eyes turned to him. He shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around him. He didn’t like being scrutinized in such a way… he couldn’t see Dream’s face. Fundy would like to give him the benefit of the doubt… but this was the masked man who took everything from him. He didn’t want to see what was behind that painted smile. 

“You can’t speedrun an apology, babe― Dream.” Shit.

“I’m sorry… I know this hasn’t been easy… for you… for us…” His ex-husband’s tone was strained, with fear or with sadness Fundy couldn’t really tell. He forced himself to look at Dream, watching as the man placed a hand inside his sweater pocket, scouring for something… Fundy leaned further into the couch, wishing that it would swallow him whole. Then he’d be free. 

“But I… I want to fix this, Funds. We can still fix this. I have a plan, trust me. Remember those… questions you forced me to answer during our date?” Dream smiled, hoping that the memory would illicit some semblance of nostalgia within the fox hybrid.

“Oh! You mean those 36 Questions that you said were stupid! Those questions that were designed to make a stranger fall in love with you! How could I forget?” Fundy wanted to remain positive. He really did. But Dream’s presence made it difficult. He wanted to forget this. He wanted it to be over. He was stupid to think he could escape. Was there any land in this land that Dream didn’t own? 

“If you think answering those questions are going to help, then you’re wrong. You probably lied about your answers, anyway.” Fundy sniffed, his nails digging into the skin of his arms.

“Funds.” He saw two glints of light emerge from Dream’s pocket, and Fundy did everything he could not to cry right then and there. Dream had their wedding rings, the large diamond gems glimmering despite the dim light of the living room. Fundy had worked hard for them. He didn’t even beg or plead with Wilbur for money nor did he steal them from some unsuspecting L’Manburgian. Now… Now he glared and sneered at them as if they were nothing but dirt. 

“We need to move forward, and I know how we can do just that.”

“And what brilliant plan is that, Dream?” He heard the thwack of metal against wood, his attention turning towards the metal bucket Dream had placed on the ground. The man turned to pick up the flint and steel Fundy had dropped before, his fingers lingering in the air for a moment before finally grabbing them. Dream walked back towards the bucket, gazing longingly at the weddings rings before tossing them in. Fundy winced, the rings clamoring against the bucket’s steel surface. 

“What… What are you doing?” Fundy glanced up into that white porcelain mask, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“If we want a new start, we’ll have to do it again, right?” Fundy curled up into himself as Dream approached him, the flint and steel in the man’s hand giving Fundy a vision of cloth burning against a blood red sky. He felt nauseous as he stood up and followed Dream towards the bucket. They stood on opposite ends, an arm’s length away but neither of them tried to reach out. Fundy felt cold, his hands trembling. 

“We could restart. A new life. A new chance. At least… this should give us closure.” Dream placed a hand on his chest, wishing that they didn’t really have to do this. But they needed to.

Fundy felt his throat constrict, a hint of what was to come forming in the back of his mind. Was this really what they needed? Was this what Fundy wanted? He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to look up into that porcelain mask, the urge to tear it off rising with each second. He didn’t make a move. He didn’t want to get a sword through the chest, thank you very much. Fundy stared, hoping that the man would start to elaborate his purpose. Of course, he had no choice but to ask the question, 

“What is this, Dream?”

“There is something to the ritual of setting some old stuff on fire.” Setting what on what? Fundy felt his heart skip a beat. He suspected, but he didn’t… His stare focused on the contents of the bucket, holding in the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Would burning what they used to have really help them in the long run? Fundy didn’t know, and he didn’t know why he still cared for two rings anyway. Fine! Yes! They should burn them. 

“A way of saying this now lives in memory. A way of saying it's only a memory.”

Dream sighed, “There's something to the ritual of setting a torch to what is gone.” The flint and steel were heavy in his hold, his knees threatening to give way as he stared at the devastation on Fundy’s face. Dream didn’t want to do this… but they needed to move forward, didn’t they? He recalled an old memory of his childhood, of a man standing before a bonfire as the crackle of burning metal rang through the air. This was how it was done. 

“The ancients did it to honor a memory, and now we do it to honor what we used to be.”

Dream held back the sob in his throat, “Let's say goodbye to our old life. It was heavenly.” Fundy wished Dream wouldn’t remind him. He didn’t need a reminder. Dream was adamant about this, and Fundy couldn’t bring himself to protest. He nodded, listening to the haze of words his ex-husband was spouting. He didn’t want to hear any of them. He couldn’t bring himself to. Besides, he already knew how this would end. He knew it since he opened the door. 

“Tonight… let's say goodbye to our old life...”

Dream smiled as he looked back, “…and the memories.” Dream recalled the first time they had met, no war hung over their heads. He remembered the hesitation in Fundy’s voice as he asked Dream out on a date. He remembered every moment they shared together. What a shame, they were coated in misery now.

“It was imaginary.” Fundy recalled the rush he felt as he prepared the perfect date for a perfect man (Hah! He was wrong about that). He remembered the fear he felt… of being rejected and mocked for even daring to try. He remembered the Dream he met. The Dream he loved. What a shame that the Dream he knew never existed.

“Which is why we say goodbye to it, and hello to this.” Dream gestured to the two of them, the short distance between them bothered him. But it was what they had. It was real. He raised his hands, ready to burn away everything they had. His chest burned with agony, the tears in his eyes hidden only by his mask.

“This is ridiculous.” Fundy reached out, grasping Dream’s right arm before he could drop the flint and steel into the bucket. Dream turned his attention to him and Fundy quickly redrew. He didn’t know why he had done that. He wanted it to be over, didn’t he? But he reached out… Why did he want to prolong the pain?

“Why?” This was the perfect way to move on. They needed to move on. Dream held back his frustration. He wanted to end it quickly, but Fundy just had to hesitate. His fingers curled tightly around the flint and steel. It needed to stop. He was that close to fixing it. Fixing them. That was how it needed to end.

“I don't see why I have to join your little cremation ceremony. You're the one who ruined us…” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Fundy took in a shallow breath of air, refusing to back away despite the aching need to immediately apologize. He wouldn’t apologize. Not to Dream of all people.

“It was a bit more collaborative than you're remembering.” Dream raised a brow at the accusation. This wasn’t entirely his fault. He hadn’t forgotten the way Fundy had mocked him during the meeting. His own fucking husband had laughed at his face and called him a bitch. He held back the seething rage he felt.

“All I want right now is the same thing I wanted two weeks ago. The truth. Did you care about me? And why did you let us continue in the first place?” Fundy let the matter drop. They didn’t need to argue right now. At least… not when Dream was holding the flint and steel. He only had two lives left after all.

“The person who I was on the day you and I met…” History would paint him as a bloodthirsty tyrant, but they forget that he too was but a child when the war began. He never wanted to go to war. He only wanted peace… but Wilbur broke the law and staged a revolution. What was he meant to do? He did what he had to… that doesn’t change the fact that he would scrub at his hands at night, willing the red that stained them to go away. 

“…was deeply ashamed of who he had become. So deeply ashamed of what he'd done…” His hand clenched into fists.

Dream’s hands began to shake, “…and when you showed him questions, the 36 questions…” Fundy scoffed, but it felt half-hearted. He remembered their date, Dream looked uncomfortable and Fundy didn’t blame him. Why would he? Dream only agreed so Fundy would stop pestering him. Still, he wanted to know who Dream was and maybe… he wanted Dream to know him too. He then brought up the list of questions his father had once used on his own date with his mother. 

“He looked ahead and saw who he wanted to be.”

Dream had loved who he was with Fundy. He didn’t feel as if he had some higher obligation, he was just… Dream. 

“We built a life. Forgot our history. ” Politics was never meant to get in the way. That was the agreement. No politics. That was their promise. Dream wouldn’t bring up the Essempy and Fundy wouldn’t bring up L’Manburg. What they did in their respective circles was never meant to seep into their lives. When did that change? When did that line get crossed? 

“Added the details that fit in our old life.”

They didn’t let the outside world ruin their life. Until now… “Let's say goodbye to our old life. It was heavenly…” Dream’s attention flickered back towards their rings, the symbols of their promise. Their wedding was an event to remember, a momentary peace between two warring factions. Dream had walked down that rose petal-covered aisle, a happiness he’d never felt before blooming inside his chest as soon as he saw his husband at the altar. He never wanted to forget that day. 

“… those old memories.”

“They were real to me…” Fundy was ecstatic with joy as he had watched his Dream walk towards the altar. He forgot about his fears, he forgot about his pain… He had Dream… and that had been enough. He wished he had known beforehand that while Dream was enough for Fundy, Fundy was not enough for Dream.

“I don't expect for you to understand perfectly.” Dream adored every moment he had shared with Fundy, he might even go so far as to call them his favorite memories. He doesn’t miss the doubting glint in his husband’s eyes. Even without this whole… dilemma, Fundy would always doubt their love. Would always doubt him. Dream tried so hard to show him that he was enough. He didn’t need validation from anyone… but Fundy never saw that. 

“I loved them, too, as much as you, and I’d want you to bury them with me.”

“Okay…” Fundy gave in. He was an idiot for that, at least that’s what he thought. He moved until their shoulders were pressed together, but he refused to look at Dream. They were here to finish… whatever it was they had. He wanted to get this over with. He needed to get this over with. All it took was one second.

“Okay what?” Dream looked down, registering the way their shoulders were grazing. He savored that small yet brief touch. It might be the last one he’ll ever get from his husband. He wished he could reach for the fox hybrid’s hand, but he knew he’d ruin the moment and probably get tossed out of the house.

“Give me the thing. There is something to the ritual…” Fundy doesn’t wait for Dream’s response, yanking the flint and steel from his hands. He needed to do this. Not Dream. He was the one who wanted to move on. He looked down at the familiar tool, the echoes of his past seeping into his mind. Thrill raced through his veins, the feeling of being free… When was the last time he had burnt something? He should fix that. 

“… of setting fire to the lie. A way of saying that's one win for honesty.” He felt nothing but sheer joy.

“What's done is done.” He heard the soft click, the flint and steel falling from his grasp as the flicker of flames began to rise from the metal bucket. He listened to the crackle of fire, soaking in the warmth. 

This was better. Fire made everything better. For a moment. For just this moment. He felt happy.

“Tonight… I say goodbye to our old life.” He could feel the satisfaction on his face. He could feel the apprehension in Dream’s gaze. Good. He drove them both to this. Fundy let out a small laugh, this was a good plan. 

“It was heavenly.”

“Tonight…” Dream’s heart ached.

“We say goodbye to our old life…” Fundy’s heart soared.

“And the memories.” This was all wrong.

“It was imaginary.” Fundy had never felt this free.

“It was heavenly.” Dream had never felt this hopeless.

They watched as the rings turned to ash.

Fundy smiled, “May it rest in peace.”

--------------------------

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[afternoonpoppy]

Your Turn Now

Intended to get something written for Thanksgiving a couple weeks ago, but I ended up going a bit off topic with that piece and also made some continuity errors that need some fixing up if I am going to put that on here.

In the meantime, Allister’s not much better than Wolfram sometimes when it comes to overeating, oops.

Allister had been surprised to find out that the topic of studying magic was not as different and otherworldly a pursuit as he’d originally imagined. In fact, it was quite familiar and reminiscent of his time spent studying in college. If only he hadn’t suffered all throughout college.

In his attempt to be of some help to Wolfram with studying magic, Wolfram had instructed Allister to begin memorizing the sigils that functioned as the written language for magic. Allister had initially assumed that to mean it would be a fairly easy step like learning an alphabet. As it had turned out, it was far more work than that.

“This particular symbol represents the concept of light, and is pronounced as ’vetru,’” Wolfram said, drawing a symbol consisting of multiple jagged lines on a stray piece of paper. “In this form, it can refer to the light given off by the sun or by fire, anything that might be considered to be ‘warm’ light. If you were to write it this way, however,” Wolfram redrew the sigil, inverting a line on top and curving it more, “- then this would refer to 'cold’ light such as the moon and stars.”

“Uh… Right,” Allister scribbled the sigil - to the best of his ability - along with some hasty notes in his notebook. He felt like he should have been using a hefty leatherbound tome and a quill pen of some sort for this, but a college-ruled composition notebook and a dollar store pen that threatened to leak ink over the pages if pressed too hard would have to do. “When you say stars are, uh, 'cold’ light…”

“Yes?”

“Uh… Never mind.” Allister thought better of derailing the conversation into the gaseous makeup of stars. Besides, maybe stars worked differently in Wolfram’s world.

“You should ask questions if you have any, it’s essential to learning new topics,” Wolfram lectured.

“No, really, it’s unrelated.” Allister shifted position in his chair and one of his feet kicked aside a book that had somehow made its way to the floor. He looked around, suddenly realizing just what a mess the study had become over the past while. Paper and books were beginning to clutter the floor as space was lost on the desk. Granted, that was bound to happen quicker than usual since both Allister and Wolfram were sharing desk space. A second chair had been dragged up the stairs from the kitchen, something Allister hadn’t realized would be more of a hassle than simply studying in the kitchen until after he’d already made it most of the way up the stairs. “Hey, Fram, should we clean some of this stuff up?”

Wolfram glanced away from the desk long enough to see the floor and say, “Oh, I had forgotten.” He paused, then looked at Allister with a raised eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be ‘Fram?’”

Allister grinned a bit. “What? I thought it sounded cute, you don’t like it?”

Wolfram thought over it for a moment. “It is… different, but I don’t dislike it.” With a hand gesture and a string of 'magic words’ as Allister had continued to dub the arcane language, a mote of light appeared in Wolfram’s hand. Wolfram gently spoke a command to it and it leaped to the ground in the form of a weasel.

Allister watched the spirit scurry over to some of the books and begin pulling them to the bookshelves. “You make that look so easy. Do they alphabetize the books, too?”

Wolfram conjured two more spirits before setting them loose into the room, then said, “No, of course not. They can’t read.”

“Oh. Well, they’re still helpful. Can you teach me to do that?”

“Eventually, yes,” Wolfram looked out the study window where the sun was beginning to lower and the sky was dimming. “Perhaps not today, if that is what you meant.”

Allister flipped through the few pages he’d filled over their study session, unsure if he should be taking more thorough notes on this. “No, I didn’t think so. We’ve been at this for a while already, though. Should we take a break?”

Wolfram looked back at Allister. “Oh. Is this still a lot for you?”

“Well, uh,” Allister fumbled with the notebook in his hands, laughing nervously. Mostly, he was just tired and not keeping up with Wolfram’s method of marathon learning, but Wolfram wasn’t wrong, either. “I just figured, maybe we should get something to eat.”

Wolfram nodded slowly, then leaned himself against Allister’s shoulder. “I understand if this is difficult for you. I will not mind or judge you if you need to slow down.”

Allister smiled and reached his arm around Wolfram’s waist. “I know I’m not the supreme sorcerer that you are. But this is important to you, so I’m going to try my best.”

“I appreciate that.” Wolfram sat up and looked Allister in the eye. “However, I will not object if you think now is a good time for a meal.”

Allister opted to place an order for pickup, rather than let a delivery driver wander the wooded backroads to the house. Wolfram had objected to the idea of food cooked by anyone other than Allister, but there was no way Allister was doing anything else on his day off other than a thirty-minute round trip for food if he was already studying magic of all things. So, dinner would be Chinese takeout instead, complete with whatever movie seemed like it would make a good change of pace to watch on TV. Allister didn’t know How It’s Made had so many seasons.

Despite Wolfram’s objections about the food, he seemed to quickly take a liking to it and had cleared his plate of dumplings and fried rice before the movie had really even gone anywhere. Allister had half a mind to suggest Wolfram not eat so fast before he realized his own plate wasn’t fairing much better, being nearly devoid of food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was before, nor how full he was starting to feel now. He placed his plate on the living room coffee table, figuring it would be a good idea to separate himself from the food before he overate. Allister leaned back on the couch, hand resting on his stuffed stomach. Maybe it was too late to avoid the overeating part.

Once Wolfram was done with his own food, he settled in closer to Allister, pressing up against him.

“I never would’ve thought you’d be so cuddly when we first met, you know,” Allister observed.

Wolfram rested his head on Allister’s shoulder. “And I hadn’t expected you would make such a good pillow.”

Allister chuckled, but he was becoming increasingly aware of Wolfram’s arm pressed up against his sensitive stomach. “Good to know, Fram, but my stomach’s not as happy about that right now.”

“Oh?” Wolfram pouted for just a moment before straightening his posture and lifting himself off of Allister. “Is that better?”

Allister had intended to answer, only to be interrupted by a loud HIC that cut him off. He clasped a hand over his mouth just in time to muffle a second hiccup into a still-loud HMPH sound. “Ugh, crap…”

Wolfram looked startled at the sudden appearance of Allister’s hiccups, but quickly switched to a more amused expression. “It’s good to see I am not the only one of us who gets them.”

“Yes, we - HIC - well you wouldn’t - HUC-UP - get them so - HUC - so mu - HIC -” Allister gave up on talking despite his intent to point out Wolfram’s poor eating habits. It was clear his hiccups weren’t going to let him make that point.

Wolfram watched Allister struggling with the nonstop chain of hiccups bouncing through his chest and stomach. “Are they always this… aggressive when you have them?”

Allister nodded. “Don’t get - HIC - get them oft - HIC-UP - often, but - HYUC - but -”

“Right, I understand,” Wolfram said, holding up a hand so Allister didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Should I get a glass of water for you?”

“M-may - HIC - maybe,” Allister said. On the one hand, it may help, but the thought of filling his stomach with anything else, especially with how his hiccups were constantly bouncing through his stomach and shuffling around everything he’d eaten, was less than an appealing idea.

Wolfram seemed to key into that same thought, seeing how Allister pressed a hand against his stomach. “Or… perhaps holding your breath would be a better option?”

Allister shook his head, knowing that was definitely a terrible idea. “Makes - HIC-UP - makes 'em wor - HIC - worse.”

Wolfram raised an eyebrow. “They have room to be worse? Love, fate is cruel to you. I’m going to fetch you a glass of water as I think you’ll suffer less if your hiccups at least stop.”

Allister grimaced but was in little position to argue with his hiccups still interrupting him every other word. When Wolfram returned from the kitchen shortly after, Allister opted to get it over with, taking the glass of water he was handed and gulping it down as quickly as his body would allow.

“Well?” Wolfram asked expectantly once Allister had finished the water.

Allister had to catch his breath at first while the sudden influx of cold water settled in his stomach. Much like he’d expected, forcing the extra liquid into his stomach had not ended well as he noticed how bloated and tight his stomach was by the end of it. On the bright side, at least, not a single hiccup had forced its way through him. “I… I think they stopped…”

Wolfram made something of a victorious “hmph” sound and smiled, sitting back down next to Allister. “Much better. Are you feeling alright?”

Allister rubbed a hand over his stomach and groaned as he became aware of the growing ache in his stomach. “Maybe I should have gone slower with the water…”

“Here, let me make it up to you. Lie down.” Wolfram gently pulled Allister closer, lying him down across his lap. “Comfortable?”

“Mm…” Allister nodded. It was as comfortable as he was going to get, anyway. “Does this mean it’s your turn to take care of me?”

“I imagine it’s only fair, isn’t it?” Wolfram traced his hands over Allister’s stomach, commenting, “I always thought you were the more restrained between us.”

“For your information, I was holding up alright before you made me drink all that water. Besides, do I hear you admitting to your own gluttony?”

“Don’t make me use your precarious position against you, Allister,” Wolfram poked a finger against the side of Allister’s stomach. Gently, though.

Allister rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a mean enough bone in your body for it, Fram. But, uh… Thanks for this.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah, but, I know you’re… probably not used to this stuff, right?”

“Hm… Not with most people, no. But you’re my lo…” The confidence in Wolfram’s voice suddenly wavered as if that last word got caught in his throat, a hesitant expression coming over his face. He cleared his throat and poorly faked some composure as he shakily whispered, “M-my lo-lover… So - so, this is the least I can do for you, isn’t it?”

The term threw Allister off a bit and brought a blush to his face. He had thought 'boyfriend’ was fine enough, but he realized terminology probably varied a bit between his and Wolfram’s worlds. Despite the more intense sound of it to Allister’s ears, though, it was wonderful to hear that. “I appreciate it, Fram. I’m really happy you’re here with me.”

Allister glanced over to the TV, realizing neither had been paying any attention to it, and reached for the remote on the coffee table to hand it to Wolfram. “Here, if you keep massaging my stomach, you can put on whatever you want.”

Wolfram’s eyes lit up at the offer. “Gladly.”