#and that Fundy remembers more of his nightmares than he lets on

[tjodity]

GOD IF YOU HAVE ANY COCONUT WINS IDEAS I WOULD LOVE TO BEAR TJEM SO BADLY I WOULD KILL SOMEONE

UM. YES. I have so many fics to try and write in the month of march but i've got writers block so im not really procrastinating so I will talk abt this!!! Some ideas:

-Okay so the big important first change is that Fundy's voter fraud can't be proven. The numbers are still suspicious, but nobody can prove that they were tampered with. COCONUT2020 beats POG2020 and SCHLATT2020+SWAG2020 in a massive landslide.

-Schlatt never lets this go from the second he hears it. he knows in his bones that he was cheated. Niki is on an edge of not being able to make a sure decision about it. Quackity, George, Tubbo, and Tommy are all fairly pissed about it.

-Losing the election to his son and his first lady fully fucks up Wilbur. He mumbles congratulations and then fully leaves L'Manberg to go off into the woods and build like. a house. imagine how he was in pogtopia but he has no one to fight and no one to talk to and no justifiable reasons to himself to be upset at all.

-Fundy and Niki become co-presidents. Niki appoints Tommy as L'Manberg's scout so he has an excuse to try and find Wilbur. With no exiles, no dictatorship, and no underground rebellion L'Manberg has a lot of people who don't see eye to eye and can say what they want.

-opposing political parties form pretty soon after. Schlatt, Quackity, and Tubbo form a party on the basis of preserving L'Manberg's integrity, making it a better place to live, and integrating more with the SMP. This is referred to as the Opposing Party but I'm sure if it was real lore it would have a very stupid name. Niki, Fundy, George, and Karl end up in a looser party focused on getting an upper hand in ongoing external conflicts and maintaining L'Manberg as a cohesive unit. This is referred to as the Presidential Party. Hbomb stays relatively neutral and Tommy tries to play negotiator. I'm not sure which side Ponk would be swayed towards.

-Niki and Schlatt sort of come up as the biggest political figures. Fundy gets increasingly weird and reclusive as time goes on and Quackity handles a lot of the actual logistics of running L'Manberg. Fighting an uphill battle with a team of people keeps Schlatt a lot more grounded than he was in Manberg. Niki on the other hand is fucking panicking because she feels like she's been dragged into a set of beliefs she doesn't really agree with but she doesn't really know how to keep everything moving. She tends to go towards fairly straightforward and firm answers to problems which keeps pushing her towards militarization.

-Dream doesn't really get a chance to be a villain, at least to the extent he is in the main story. The result of 2nd Era L'Manberg politics is that the country is expanding quickly and acting with sporadic violence with no predictable diplomatic policy, which is a nightmare for him. He ends up resolving that L'Manberg is a much more pressing issue than the disc conflict and devotes a lot of his time to normal diplomacy. Also due to the different position of Schlatt he never hears about the Revival Book.

-Tommy and Dream could actually resolve their issues a little here. Tommy is the only L'Manbergian trying to soften conflicts between the parties and also spends a lot of his time out in the SMP as a scout. He's also lost a lot of confidence in most of his friends and mostly wants everything to calm down. There wants align enough for them to partially work together and I think that at this point they could reasonably figure out their shit.

-Sapnap becomes a much bigger threat. Coconut winning basically resulted in the country of L'Manberg becoming his enemy. I don't think he'd get as fucked up as Dream did but he was also a pretty violent person to begin with and I could see him both escalating and broadening the conflict.

-I don't have a lot more ideas I can remember than that! Some more may come to me but I think it's fascinating! Take some very quick drawings

[justarandomsideblog]

This is thrown together on the page with zero editing so there's probably many glaring mistakes but I wanted to get it out there so here ya go

oOo

Fundy falls in love with the piano when he is very young and L’Manburg is nothing more than a van, and it’s just a small keyboard he can play with on the floor while his father makes war plans but it’s how it begins. He plays it in the months it takes him to grow up, maturing faster than it takes for Tommy and Tubbo to reach adulthood.

He plays it until he’s old enough for his father to replace the keyboard in his hands with a sword.

He’s seven months yet thirteen years old when he’s allowed into the war room, fidgeting hands folded tightly in his lap. There is no time to play keyboard anymore, and it’s left forgotten in his nest of blankets and pillows when the whole thing goes up in a devastating blast.

The war ends and he plays again on a makeshift piano, given to him by his uncles who teach him to play more complex melodies in the quiet moments when they’re not working. Yet those moments become few and far between in the months it takes Fundy to age to sixteen, the same age his young uncles had turned before Fundy was even born barely ten months before.

He cherishes the moments before everything falls apart once more. Yet another war begins and he sets aside the keyboard again to fight. His fingers are calloused in ways soft paw pads like his should never be, raw and bleeding from the sword he holds the second time he watches his home go up in smoke.

Eret gifts him a piano one year after he was born, when he turns seventeen and his aging has finally begun to slow. They help him set it up in his home, way too large for the orphaned teenage hybrid, and it gleams beautifully in the flickering torchlight. His passion, lost with his father, flares up once more and he plays for Eret and Phil, a moment of peace. Finally peace. Finally, he thinks, the swords will be hung up on the wall and peace will reign at last- swords have no place in peace, as art has no place in war.

The moment shatters; Eret, having never received Fundy’s message, doesn’t make it to the adoption, and Phil leaves- the Butcher Army, Fundy and Tubbo’s subsequent disownment and Tommy’s exile leaving the angel nothing to stay in L’Manburg for. So now he plays for the silence, not even the music filling the emptiness he has always relied on, and there he realizes the truth that will always weigh heavily in his gut.

There will always be another war.

Doomsday carries with it the weight of this realization, and he grins painfully through the tears pouring down his face as his house is blown away, piano keys withering into nothingness, and he says to no one in particular, “There’s no place for art in war.”

And so, even though L’Manburg is gone, even though everything is over and done with, Fundy knows it’s not. He knows the next war is waiting around the corner, and so he quietly stays prepared- his sword always on his hip, a bow strapped to his back, armour settled into his holding bag ready to be pulled on at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t own a piano anymore.

Phil doesn’t speak to him for a long time, except when Fundy forces him to. He forgives Tubbo- tentatively so, with a lack of trust- long before he’s even willing to acknowledge him and Fundy are related, and even when they’re speaking again- awkward, stilted, not natural like before- Phil doesn’t ask about the scars on Fundy’s hands. He doesn’t ask if Fundy is eighteen or twenty now, though Fundy no longer knows himself.

His grandfather asks only once if Fundy has learned any new songs.

“I don’t play the piano anymore,” Fundy answers, short and more broken than he sounds. Phil doesn’t press for more, and Fundy goes home to silence once more.

Then the nightmares start, and the silence is even worse than before- because now he wakes up and never knows if he’s awake, the song in his soul having died out long ago. He remembers bits and pieces, forgets others, and he tries to run away. He pulls the TNT he has ready for the next inevitable war and rigs his home- big and empty and echoing loneliness- with as much as he can fit up the stairs, in the walls, on and under the floor. He takes only what he needs most and puts it into a wagon, pulls out an arrow and sets it alight-

His grandfather messages him. Wants to meet up. Fundy is in no state to walk on eggshells but he goes anyway, because he wants his family back, and learns his father is alive. They search for him but by the end Fundy is ready to give everything up. He leaves Phil, mind made up, and waits until he knows Phil is through the portal.

This time when he watches his home go up, it’s by his own hand.

He leaves and speaks to no one for months, but the nightmares stay. He finds a kit. He takes the kit in, considering briefly calling Phil to let him know he’s now a great grandfather, but he decides not to- Phil hasn’t reached out at all, no one has, even though his home is no more than a crater in the ground... again.

So he says nothing and focuses on being a father, now. His kit doesn’t like being indoors, running out to play in the woods whenever he wants, and Fundy learns to keep up and keep him safe. He builds a nest on the porch, under the awning, a nice, dry and warm place where his kit likes to curl up and sleep at night, white fur standing out against the reds and oranges of Fundy’s once-favourite blankets.

He names the kit Yogurt, after arguing with the foxes that like to hang around.

Between the nightmares and the crippling loneliness, with no one but a child too young to understand speech and a rowdy skulk of foxes who come and go as they please, Fundy finds himself.

He doesn’t remember much of the nightmares but he does remember one big, important thing.

Quackity can’t be trusted.

Quackity appears to him just as he had in the nightmare, and Fundy already knows their conversation as it happens. Knows every little thing as they walk across the remains of L’Manburg. He knows what the next war will be.

This time, Fundy decides, he will pull the strings. Early the next day, while his skulk is out who knows where and Yogurt is bundled up, safe at home, Fundy dons his armour and grabs his sword and axe, and he makes his way to the place he knows Las Nevadas to be.

He arrives and stands on the hill overlooking the beautiful, daunting city, and he watches Quackity disappear into the casino while below him a totem god looks around.

In those few seconds, when Fundy sees the harsh gleam in Foolish’s eyes, a new plan forms.

They speak briefly, over the dune and out of sight of the casino, and they come to an agreement. With no witnesses, they shake hands and Fundy goes back home, and Foolish does not tell Quackity of his visit.

Later, when Fundy finally joins Las Nevadas with his skulk a few steps behind, he mixes truth in with the lies and hopes the skulk will not out him.

To gain the trust of one who doesn’t trust, it takes someone who also doesn’t trust.

Yet Fundy, who at his heart and soul is a fox- a trickster- a spy- knows how to play the part of one who does. One who doesn’t know that he will always be left alone.

When Quackity asks him about his war experience, he answers truthfully- “I have been in every army and every war.”

He is a soldier to Quackity, first and foremost, and so when Quackity presents to him the piano inside the casino polished to perfection, he looks on it with silent discontent.

“I don’t play piano anymore.”

There is no place for art in war.

-

“Your hands are made to create, not destroy.”

Fundy looks up from the dagger he is playing with, seeing Foolish standing in front of him. Purpled is off to the side, on guard for Quackity and pretending he isn’t listening.

It isn’t the first time they’re meeting like this and it won’t be the last. Plans have to be made. Escape routes planned. Snowchester and Las Nevadas will tear each other- and themselves- apart long before Fundy and Foolish could ever put their plan into action. Playing nice and trying to keep everything from blowing up too early is getting exhausting, but it has to be done. After all, Fundy’s family is in the crossfire now- he silently curses Tubbo and Ranboo for building the mountain outpost, and he outwardly curses Tommy and Wilbur for making their ‘country’ right across the river.

“A lot of things are made to do what they’re not supposed to,” Fundy says to the god, putting the knife down. Tonight he has messaged Phil, pleading with him to stay away from Las Nevadas- but it has remained unread, and similar messages sent to Niki and Tommy and Ranboo are all the same. “What are you even talking about, anyway?”

“Tubbo said you used to play piano,” Foolish says, gaze drifting past Fundy to the piano left, abandoned, against the wall. “He asked me to put one in the mansion big enough so you guys could play together.”

“I haven’t played piano in a long fucking time,” Fundy scoffs, drumming his fingers anxiously against his legs. As much as he wants to... “But I guess Tubbo wouldn’t know that. We haven’t had a proper conversation since L’Manburg.”

Tubbo isn’t much like his uncle anymore. Tommy, neither. They don’t come around or check on him, they haven’t since long before L’Manburg fell. Tubbo feels more like... that neighbor kid you play with because there’s no other neighbor kids your age. They mess around and talk and joke when Quackity sends Fundy to investigate the outpost but it’s only because they don’t want to fight anymore. They don’t want to be on opposite sides, anymore.

Fundy can’t even tell him that they aren’t on opposite sides.

Ranboo says to choose people, and they all play the part easily enough, him and Tubbo and Fundy, but Fundy has always chosen people. He chose his family in the past, every time, regardless of what side they were on, until suddenly the family was split. What did sides matter, when it came to love, to friends, to family, to acceptance? How do you choose between the uncle who raised you and the grandfather who was there when you needed him?

Well, it no longer really matters.

This time he chooses Foolish and Purpled, the two who care about and accept him without question, whether he needs them or not.

Purpled, who respects that he doesn’t want salmon to be eaten even when he isn’t here. Purpled, who knows how it feels to be forgotten, who knows how it feels to have nothing to his name.

Foolish, who understands his need for symmetry. Foolish, who knows how it feels to want to leave the past behind, who knows how hard it is to feel worthy of forgiveness and redemption.

No, Fundy still loves his legal-and-blood family very much, but he supposes Foolish and Purpled have become the family he had always wanted to have.

Laughing and talking with them never feels forced, or awkward, or like walking on eggshells. He never feels like he is one misstep from being banished.

It’s nice.

“There’s no place for art in war,” Fundy finally says, filling the space growing between the trio they’ve formed.

They fall into silence, none of them trying to protest- none of them saying what they are in now is not a war. Maybe in another life this beautiful city that they’ve poured themselves into building up in order to build trust with the president could have been home, but in this life it was one thing alone-

The way to end the war, to stop Quackity in his tracks.

“After the war is over, will you play for us?” Purpled asks now.

And he will, though Fundy doesn’t know it yet. Once the war is over and the nuke has been dismantled, torn to pieces by its own creator’s hands, and Quackity and Fundy have both been reduced to one last life each, Fundy will sit at a piano at Foolish’s Summer Home, with the friends and family he has left- with Foolish and Purpled, Tubbo and Tommy and even Wilbur, with Techno and Phil and Niki and Ranboo, with Slime and Yogurt, every person he has ever loved and cared about and will one day save- and he will play a melody Tubbo taught him when he was a kit, still playing on a clumsy piano thrown together from scrapwood and busted strings in the living room of a house long since rotted and burned away.

For now, though, not knowing what the future has in store, Fundy only smiles and says, “There will always be another war.”

[griffintail]

Listen!! SBI with a teen reader who has a soft spot for animals? Like animals are just attracted to them and they’re so kind and gentle with them.

This was just adorable to write

The Animals’ Keeper

In-Game

Pairings: SBI x GN! Sibling! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of the Pet War, Mentions of Injuries

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let’s be honest here, it started with Phil’s crows in their younger childhood.

Phil had three other kids to look after and the birds always helped Phil where they could with the youngest of the family.

The little thing got attached to the crows that often played with them and the rest is history.

From there, (Y/N) loved all kinds of animals and animals tended to be naturally attracted to the gentle soul.

The pet wars were a nightmare for them as they had moved to the DreamSMP land with Tommy.

Not only were their own pets at risk but so were others! They set up a safe haven for all animals, theirs and for everyone that wanted to hide their pets. People tried to pay them; they didn’t take it. As long as the animals were safe.

Tommy took it for them though—

(Y/N) watched over people’s animals after that as they just had an affinity with them. Be it fox, cow, or fish, they had it covered and they loved being able to take care of so many different animals.

Pets and just general animals were safe if (Y/N) was close by.

When (Y/N) heard their brother’s cow got kidnapped, they were fucking livid. It was their brother and it was an animal!

Dream actually got scared when they rocked up in full netherite, ready to go to get the cow back, a fire burning in their eyes.

After that incident, (Y/N) was a more frequent guard for Tommy’s pet and he was delighted to hear that they made Quackity nearly wet himself when he tried to kidnap the cow himself.

Sapnap never got that cow. He instead got a broken arm and a black eye. Tommy rewarded them for that one.

It was much of the same after, (Y/N) the rightful caretaker of all animals, adding a few of their own into their safe haven often. Even through disaster, they stuck to their haven no matter their side.

When Techno decided to use a hound army, he was sweating a few bullets when his sibling was in his face, threatening him with a slow death if even one of those dogs died or got hurt. He was debating taking the hounds to the fight…

And when they found out the Butcher Army threatened Carl…

        “TUBBO! QUACKITY! FUNDY!” (Y/N) shouted, in full armor, Tubbo going pale before hiding behind Ranboo as both Quackity and Fundy just booked it out of L’Manberg for the day. “YOU GET OVER HERE AND ANSWER FOR YOURSELVES!”

(Y/N) wasn’t supposed to have favorites in their sanctuary…but they really loved Friend.

Ghostbur had brought Friend over to them when Phil was most certainly not the best caretaker for the cute thing. (Y/N) was more than happy to take care of Friend for their deceased brother.

Friend was a very cuddly thing and (Y/N) was absolutely in love with the blue sheep, vowing to Ghostbur no harm would EVER come to the darling creature.

        “I told you to bring Friend to (Y/N) in the first place,” Tommy told Ghostbur as he went with the ghost to get the sheep from their sibling.

        “I didn’t want to bother them! They already have so many wonderful animals.”

        “They’ve always had a lot of animals to take care of.” Tommy reminded him, remembering the time (Y/N) had smuggled in a family of ocelots when they were both younger.

        “Yes, but I wanted to make sure Friend wouldn’t be forg—”

        Ghostbur went quiet as he had simply let himself into their sibling’s house to find the said person sleeping on the floor with their head on Friend’s side as Friend sat comfortably.

        “Yeah, I wouldn’t have to worry about Friend being forgotten,” Tommy muttered as Ghostbur squealed at how cute they were.

…Techno had to make sure (Y/N) didn’t steal Steve.

        “I see you out there (Y/N)!” Techno called next to the window.

        “Damn it!” They swore instead just sat next to the polar bear, pouting as they pet the bear.

[vien0w0]

my c!Slimecicle headcanons part 2 let's go!!

i have more hc for c!Slime and i wanted to share, hopefully they aren't too stupid didhdggxxsjdjv

Slime hates being alone too much, now that he can talk to people

that's why he's constantly hanging around the people of Las Nevadas when he's not on a mission Quackity assigned him

he doesn't really understand why, but it seems to fill a void (that three people left behind–)

he mostly hangs around Fundy, Quackity and Foolish

the few times that he copied some of Fundy's fox bits, Fundy told him to give himself dog ears and tail (specifically golden retriever) and to go see Quackity

when he did, Quackity nearly spat out his coffee, sputtering for an explanation and wondering wtf is going on

when Slime explains, Quackity starts to wonder what else Slime's – slime, can do

Foolish taught him to do the dog ears whenever he's asking Quackity or Sam for something

also puppy dog eyes

it does critical dmg to Quackity, and he becomes flustered and gives in immediately

Sam is affected by it, but does and he sometimes gives in after some more asking

Foolish uses it to his advantage and makes Slime ask for stuff for him

Slime once had a panic attack after Purpled gave him a poppy

luckily Quackity was there and calmed him down, but all parties involved were confused

"Slime, buddy, are you ok? what happened?"

"I– I don't know, Quackity..."

Slime's voice was so small and so soft that Quackity didn't press for more, but made sure than all citizens of Las Nevadas knew not to give Slime a poppy

Slime does keep the poppy with him, when Quackity asked why, he just responded: "It's a reminder, I think"

Slime sometimes forces Quackity to stop working and give him attention

he once just grabbed Quackity by his waist, picked him up bridal style and walked him to the Needle and to Quackity's room

Quackity was shouting and blushing and very much in awe of Slime effortlessly carrying him around and he DEFINITELY didn't have less than platonic feelings rn–

Slime just takes them to Quackity's bed, and flops down on his back and forces Quackity to also lay there, on top of him

Force Quackity to cuddles: MISSION SUCCESSFUL

Quackity was absolutely not gay panicking, whaaaaat?

when Sam went looking for Q, he found him sound asleep on Slimecicle's chest, seemingly comfortably cuddled up to him. Slime simply waved at Sam with a bright smile and told him to be quiet

Sam simply let Quackity rest and left

cuddles between Slime and Quackity became a regular thing afterwards

almost everyone who has hugged Slime agrees that he gives the best hugs

Slime enjoys trippy and disturbing music, but he also really likes the music Quackity listens to

once he sang along to a song with Quackity and now Quackity tries to get him to sing as often as possible

the citizens of Las Nevadas have terrible sleeping schedules, so Slime – as a guy who doesn't need any sleep – decided to make it his job to get people to their beds. whenever they fall asleep at random places at ungodly times, he just picks them up with his inhuman strength and takes to their rooms

he has woken Fundy up from a nightmare by doing this a couple times, Fundy is the only other person that knows that this is happening

Quackity does have an inkling that that is what's happening, because he distinctly remembers falling asleep at his desk, but he woke up cuddled up to Slime in his bed

Q ain't complaining, but he's kinda confused

one time Slime was actually able to fall asleep

he had a nightmare

Foolish was the only one to witness the aftermath

Slime was laying down in the sand, clearly deep in a nightmare. Foolish was just about to waje him up when a surge of energy shot out and knocked the demigod away. he recognized that type of power, it wasn't one mortals could wield

Foolish didn't bring it up with anyone, he thought he hallucinated it from lack of sleep

Slime's nightmare was vague, but he talked to Fundy about it when the fox couldn't sleep

he remembered seeing that one poppy being handed to him and to another person, by a figure in red. he remembered a man who looked similar to a ram, he remembered a storm, he remembered an apple.

he remembered a palace in the sky

Fundy was pretty confused, but tried to understand it. Slime was his friend niw after all

Fundy once convinced Slime to wear a corset and show it off to Quackity, he recorded tge entire thing and caught Quackity in 4k

the duck man was very flustered when he saw Slime in the corset, he was smiling at him and Quackity was a stuttering mess. and by Fundy's suggestion (devious fucker), Slime pulled Quackity flush against himself and Quackity was spiritually dead at that point, steam was basically coming out of his ears at that point and he was smiling dumbly and just resigned to his faith

Fundy definitely didn't use the the video ask blackmail to get better pay.

ajhzjhshsb that's all i have rn, if you want more then ask me for some and i'll provide

my brain is mush, please check in later i am in quackcicle brainrot hell rn, i might do separate hc for their relationship (platonic and romantic)

anyway, bye

[appleflavoredkitkats]

Notable Angsty Fundy Quotes From his Stream “My Curse”

Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I replaced the bed, of course I did! I tried everything!

I saw Ghostbur… but… but… you know, he was different. It was not- It- I don’t know.

I wanna move, I wanna get the hell out of here, I don’t wanna be here anymore. I set up a little cart and I’m just gonna leave. I am done with this place. I AM DONE. WITH WHATEVER IS HAUNTING ME. I wanna take what matters and leave.

*looking at L'Manhole* Oh my god. Why? What has happened, man? What has happened to this place, what happened to anything? What ha- why? Why must everything have gone the way that it had?

*referencing L'Manberg* It used to be beautiful. I used to not have nightmares about this place, I had dreams, I had hopes. I was following in their footsteps trying to… be the best that I could.

Phil, can I be honest with you? There’s this thing alright? There’s this thing that has been happening to me for, I don’t know, the past six, seven days where I- I just haven’t been able to close an eye because- not because I’m bad at sleeping, but because every time I fall asleep, Phil, I- I- *sigh* I don’t know what I’m experiencing man. I need help. I’ve been seeing people, I’ve been talking to people that I don’t know- I’ve been seeing stuff that- it’s gonna sound fucking stupid but- but- I’ve been- I…

The first time it happened, I was in this wasteland. I was- I was- I saw the van, Phil, I saw the van. Like, three, four times! Every time I left, it kept appearing in front of me again. And- and, Wil- He was in the van. He was there. I SAW MYSELF, PHIL.

I saw him in the van, Phil, I saw him in the van and I passed it once, twice, three times, and then he wasn’t there. The last time, it was continuously the same van and then it was gone! He’s just always been there, then he vanished! They’re so SURREAL, Phil! I literally, just, it stressed me the FUCK out!

He died, no. No no no! No no no no, I wasn’t there, but I know what happened! Don’t fuck with me.

HOW THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN? WHAT HAPPENED? HOW CAN YOU JUST REVIVE? HE JUST- WHAT HAPPENED, HOW?

*slams table while sobbing* WHY? *more sobbing* He should NOT BE REVIVEd? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE’S DONE? LOOK AT THE PLACE. HE’S BLOWN IT- HE STARTED EVERYTHING. EVERYONE WAS FRIENDLY, HE STARTED L'MANBERG, I WAS BORN THERE. I WAS BORN IN A PLACE THAT HE BLEW UP HIMSELF… why is he back? WHY? WHY?!

WHAT THE FUCK DOES DREAM HAVE TO DO WITH IT? WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE DO THAT?

*insert sobbing here, and maybe a sniffle, and another sob, another sniffle*

HE IS MY FATHER! And- *incoherent sobbing*

I’m scared, Phil.

What if he’s just completely different? What if he was not the same… dad that used to, you know, care about me? The same person that raised me on the grounds of L'Manberg when it still stood mighty and glorious. What if he’s… I don’t know what- Thirteen years… he can be completely different.

I need him to be, you know… *laughs bitterly* I don’t wanna see him but I really do! It’s… *sobbing* I want him to be gone, but at the same time, I just really just…  I want him to be there for me again…

Schlatt died. Wil… got killed. And Wil was writing you messages, uhm, but leaving out… Why would he leave them out? Why would he specific- there’s no reason to do that- why would you-

He’s the man who likes to make as much fun in life as possible, and what is more fun than lying to his own father?

Why would he leave out such a giant part in history?

Phil, listen to me, I don’t think Wil is telling you the truth at all. I’m afraid he’s leaving out HUGE parts.

I don’t know- I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE! There’s so many questions and Wil just doesn’t show up? We have like 20, 000 questions Phil, and this is not even about just you and me. This is about everything! He lied to you. Dream revived him for… whatever reason. He’s not showing up, why is he not showing up?

Phil I- I’m scared.

I don’t know what’s gonna happen when we see him. I don’t know what he’s gonna be like. I don’t know- I don’t know, I just want it to be Wil. I just want it to be the person that I remembered. The person I have good memories of. Not the… Not… Not the other… not the other person.

Thirteen years- he’s been pranking, he’s been having some fun. Maybe he’s had time to think as well, and he’s been able to write letters… Surely he’s just going to be the… good ol’ Wil… surely… right?

Well, stay strong, I guess?

Take care, Phil.

Considering my dreams, considering what I’ve seen, days ago, I saw Wil in the van, in the desert. The dreams that I’ve had on my own- they’ve been terrifying, and every single time I see him, and last time it wasn’t him, and now we have Phil telling me Wilbur’s back?

Chat, at the start of the day I wanted to say “Let’s start a new chapter!” but… I don’t think this one has ended. *shoots an arrow at TNT*

This is gonna be a fuck fest, this is gonna be insane.

[sun-5h1ne]

C!Foolish is running Las Nevadas

(im just talking about the characters btw)

You maybe wondering "Sun, what the hell? Quackity made the damn place and has been seen running it in all the lore streams what do you mean??"

Well you see remember that stream where Las Nevadas lost two of its main citizens, one that, may i remind you, Quackity dubbed his heir. At the end of that stream did Quackity look remotely okay to run a fucking country? The answer is no.

Now you maybe wondering "Why Foolish of all people?? What experience does he have! why would quacity trust him more than sam or fundy!"

First what is Sam's main job? Prison Warden. Where is the prison? Not Las Nevadas. Not even to mention him being thrown in said prison and being manipulated and then killed by dream. Not a good mental state to be running a country.

Fundy? That man is the most sleep deprived soul on the smp. He has been having terrible nightmares for so long. My man has to be hallucinating every other day. He cant run a country's let alone get off of S.S. Sally without almost drowning

Foolish? My man is just become god's fucking pet and favorite mortal. He is finally back to his former glory. The Limited Edition Golden Shark Boy is on a role. He is out here living his best life. Sure things just became a lot more complicated with Sapnap finding the book and all but it is okay. He can run a country better than every single one of his peers out here.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 6,297)

——————–

Part Seventeen: Tubbo III

He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It’s impossible for him not to, these days. And he knows that if he said it out loud, people would either think he’s crazy or they’d misinterpret what he means. He’s not talking about Dream. And he’s not talking about what happened today, either. Dream is—a shoe, for sure, and he’s dropped, and he’s probably going to drop again, because he feels like Dream owns an unreasonable amount of shoes and has an unreasonable liking for dropping them, to round out that metaphor, but. Not what he’s waiting for. Not what has him most on edge. Which is a little bit fucked up, frankly.

He’s talking about Tommy.

He finds Tommy. He talks him down from—whatever that was. He barely knows. Barely remembers what he says. Barely remembers what Tommy says, over the way his heart roars in his ears, the way his eyes are drawn again and again to the blood sheeting from Tommy’s shoulder and the way Tommy is ignoring it like it isn’t anything at all.

He gets Tommy back to everyone else. To Eret, who’s still waiting, whose presence seems to help. To everyone else, when they return, Jack and Quackity empty-handed and Niki and Wilbur a moment later, Wilbur himself standing tall even if he’s moving gingerly, his eyes shadowed. Finally, Tommy lets himself be treated, if only after all but throwing himself at Wilbur, checking him over as if he’s expecting there to be lingering signs of his death, demanding to know whether he’s alright while at the same time Wilbur tries to ask Tommy the same thing. But then, that’s just how those two are.

They make a few plans. They set a watch. Fundy’s out late, which clearly worries Wilbur, but Fundy can handle himself. And they can hardly stop him from going to stay in his own house, even if Wilbur would obviously prefer otherwise.

Tubbo waits for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn’t take long.

Night sets in well and truly. Wilbur’s out there on the wall somewhere, standing guard; he’d insisted, even if he probably should be resting after what, according to Niki’s hushed whisper, was a relatively rough respawn. Jack’s up there too, just in case. And the darkness gets deeper, and Tubbo stays awake, so he hears it when Tommy goes to sneak out.

He wonders if this is exactly how Tommy did it those weeks and months ago. When Tommy went to give up the discs for L’Manberg. When he was too tired and confused to question what Tommy was doing, or to even begin to figure out what was going on.

He’s still tired. He’s still confused. He still has no idea what’s happening. No idea why sometimes he looks at Tommy and sees—

But that’s the thing. He doesn’t know. And for all that Tommy was letting him in, letting him a little closer, he still only knows that something is terribly wrong, and feels no closer to the what.

He is getting accustomed to the new Tommy, though. Which means he’s able to guess that the other shoe’s going to drop, somehow. And he’s right.

As soon as he hears Tommy’s footsteps pass by his door, he slips out of bed and follows him.

He’s not trying to be particularly subtle about it, so he’s not surprised when Tommy turns, just under the shadow of the walls, and sees him.

“Tubbo,” Tommy says, voice a quiet croak. “Tubbo, what the—what the fuck are you doing?”

“Following you,” he supplies, with a glance up at the battlements. There’s no one at this exact spot right now. They’ve got a good shot at being able to sneak out, if need be. It might be getting back in that proves to be an issue. But maybe Tommy’s thought of that. Maybe Tommy does this more often than he thought. It would hardly surprise him, at this point.

“The hell you are,” Tommy says. He, too, casts a wary glance at the wall, as if expecting Wilbur to appear from nowhere to demand they go back to bed. Which, honestly, Tubbo is sort of hoping for. “Go back home, Tubbo. You can’t come.”

“I’m not letting you go off by yourself,” he answers, plainly, and lets his gaze drift to the bandages still peeking out from under Tommy’s shirt. The use of a couple of pots means that the wound itself is almost fully healed, the bandages more a precaution than anything, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten that not even six hours ago, he had Tommy’s blood all over his hands in the most literal sense possible.

And also the figurative sense. Because Tommy stepped in the way of an arrow aimed at him. He doesn’t think he’s quite processed that yet. Maybe he’s not going to. Maybe he’s just going to be angry about it.

“You don’t get a fucking say,” Tommy hisses. “I’ve got something I need to do. Just, just fuck off, I mean it.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it too,” he says. “Either you let me come with you, or I shout really loud, and Wilbur and Jack will know that you’re trying to sneak off at night.” Wilbur’s the only name that’s really a threat. Jack would care, of course, but Tommy doesn’t look at Jack like Tommy looks at Wilbur. Even if the way Tommy looks at Wilbur has changed a little bit, too, in recent days.

It doesn’t matter right now. The threat’s still effective.

Tommy glares at him. He glares right back, to show that he means business.

“Fine,” Tommy says eventually, sounding a little choked. “Fine. But you have to—you have to stay close to me, and if I tell you to go, or, or something, you have to, and you can’t let him get you, alright? This isn’t—this is dead serious. I don’t want you to—but I have to, so if you’re coming, that means you have to let me take the lead, and you let me go in front.”

“Now who’s clingy?” he says, mostly to cover up his unease.

Judging by the words and tone, he thinks he can guess what Tommy’s going to go see. Or rather, who. Which makes it all the more important that he not go alone. Which makes it all the more important that Tubbo stay angry, instead of something else. Like frightened.

Tommy lets out a huff of breath, the familiar irritation comforting.

“Shut the fuck up and stay close, Tubs,” he says, and together, they creep out from the safety of L’Manberg, climbing over the walls when Jack’s—and it is Jack, guarding this side, because no offense to him of course but Wilbur would be infinitely harder to get past—back is turned. And then into the forest, or what’s left of it, and down a familiar route, and Tubbo does what Tommy insists and stays close.

Probably not for the reasons that Tommy wants, but he’s not about to say so.

This whole thing is a choice between two evils. The first option is to let Tommy go alone, trust that he knows what he’s doing and that he’ll come back. Which, considering today, Tubbo is not inclined to do. But then there’s the other option, where he goes, like he’s doing, and risks Tommy getting hurt because of him. Risks being used against Tommy. Again. Which puts a sour taste in his mouth.

Out of the two evils, he knows which one is lesser. That’s why he’s here.

So he just has to make sure he doesn’t let it happen again. He still flounders, still struggles to know exactly what help he can give Tommy when Tommy himself barely tells him anything, so he’ll just have to be better. Stronger.

It’s been a good while since he’s been to Dream’s base. But he still remembers the way. And so does Tommy.

They enter to an argument of some kind, Tommy drawing up short. Tubbo stops too, not needing Tommy’s outstretched hand to tell him not to move forward. They’ve walked in on something. Potentially a bad situation. But honestly, any situation where they’re here and not at home is a bad situation. Bad is relative.

“—aying it was uncalled for,” Sapnap is saying, loud and angry. There’s a lot of flames crackling in here, and not just from torches; sparks fly with every word that leaves Sapnap’s mouth. They’re gathered around a table—Dream, George, Sapnap, Punz. There’s a few papers between the lot of them—blueprints? plans?—but the surface is otherwise clear. Dream and Punz are wearing armor, everything but helmets, and George and Sapnap are not. George looks bored. Punz—well, it’s always hard to read Punz, and at the moment, Tubbo looks at him and sees Wilbur writhing on the ground, so that doesn’t offer much insight. Sapnap is clearly upset about something.

Dream’s wearing the mask. It fully covers his face. But his posture is relaxed.

“Okay,” Dream says, “I mean, I get it, Sapnap, I get what you’re saying. It escalated, and you’re upset about that. But I didn’t know that it was gonna go that far. How was I supposed to know Tommy wouldn’t be reasonable? I mean, come on, it’s just some obsidian. But no, he refused, and everything spiraled from there, and I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me you weren’t planning it?” Sapnap demands. Sparks again. A crackle, like a forest fire. “I know you, Dream. You can’t just lie to my face. And look, if you—if you wanted to go to war with L’Manberg again, then fine, whatever, but why couldn’t you just say that? Why go through all of—and during a festival? That they invited us all to? That wasn’t cool, man, and you know it. You have to know it.”

Dream makes a sharp gesture. Tommy, standing just a little bit in front of him, flinches, shoulders hunching. Tubbo wonders if Tommy would accept it if he grabbed his hand, or if he wants to remind Tommy that he’s here at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dream says. “It’s done, it’s over, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Whether you like it or not, they’re gonna come after us.”

“Yeah, because we killed somebody,” Sapnap says. “It’s a three-life server, dude, it’s not like there’s not consequences—”

“Wilbur got in the way,” Punz says quietly. “He should’ve known better than to involve himself in a fight he couldn’t handle.”

“We’ve been talking about this for ages,” George cuts in. “Can’t we just go and blow them up or something? I don’t see the point in going in circles over and over again.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Dream says. “You’ve gotta stay with me on this one. And I know you will, because I trust you, Sapnap. But we’ve got to stick together, because we are going to war again. And this time, we need to—”

Tommy steps forward, and Tubbo regrets not grabbing his hand when he could.

“No you’re not,” Tommy says, and there is a loud crackle, the shing of several drawn swords, and the eyes of the Dream Team are on them. Punz’s eyebrows have climbed up his face, and even George looks a little surprised. Sapnap, for some reason, looks vaguely ill. But maybe the guy is growing morals or something. Tubbo doesn’t know; it’s none of his business.

For a moment, no one moves.

“Tommy,” Dream says, and then a full two seconds later, “Tubbo. What brings you two here?”

The threat is implicit, and Tubbo realizes he didn’t think to grab his armor. He’s fallen out of the habit of getting it when he gets out of bed. It was peacetime. And there’s no armor in L’Manberg. L’Manberg is safe and free.

But he does have his sword. And an axe. He knows how to use both. He’s just got to figure out a way to get both himself and Tommy out of here, if it comes down to it. He’d be perfectly willing to serve as a distraction while Tommy escaped, but he knows better than to think that Tommy would go for it. If that happened, Tommy would stay, and Tommy would get hurt. Because of him. Again. So that makes the whole idea rather pointless.

“Well, it’s not because I like looking at your ugly mug,” Tommy says. A second later, he tacks on, “Bitch.”

Dream makes a gesture. After a moment of hesitation, Sapnap comes round the table, and then positions himself behind them. At the exit. Cutting them off. Shit. He should’ve figured they would do that.

“So get to the point,” Punz drawls. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, and you’re gonna clean up my place after all.”

“It’s not your place, and you said you were fucking fine with it,” Tommy says, “so you’re a liar and a pussy and I hate you.”

“Are we gonna just let him come in here and talk to us like that?” George asks.

“No,” Dream says. “No, we’re not. I’ll tell you what, Tommy, because I’m feeling nice, I’ll let you guys leave right now. Or, you can stay here, and we can talk about—whatever it is you wanna talk about, I don’t know, and then I’ll explain exactly what I want L’Manberg to do, and either you agree to go along with it, or we’ll kill you. Simple as that.”

Tommy breathes in. And out. Shuddering.

“No,” he says, and his voice wavers. “No, you’re not going to. And I’m gonna tell you why.”

“Okay, sure,” Dream says. “Why? Who’s gonna stop me?”

Me, Tubbo almost, almost says. It’s on the tip of his tongue. But he’s got a feeling, and the feeling is telling him to stay quiet. That it’ll be better if everyone sort of forgets he’s here. Better for Tommy, and better for him. Because maybe someone’s about to let something slip, and people just love to underestimate him.

“I mean, I guess no one, really,” Tommy says. “We’d beat you up, but you’d probably be able to four-vee-two us. But then I’ll never ever tell you what I know.”

Dream tilts his head. “What you know,” he repeats. “What could you possibly know that you think I’d be interested in?”

“Oh, I know so much,” Tommy says. “So much information. If I told you all of it, it would blow your puny little mind. But you know, there’s rather a lot I can’t tell you, because I know you, and I know you’re dumb and terrible, so if I tell you too much, you’ll go poking around and that will end so very not well at all.”

Dream leans forward. Just slightly. Imperceptibly. He’s interested. Maybe despite himself, or maybe he can’t even tell. But he’s interested. And Tommy, Tubbo realizes all of a sudden, is playing him like a fiddle. If the fiddle player was standing on the edge of a cliff, unable to move back.

“Poke around?” Dream asks. “Poke around where?”

“See, I just said that I wasn’t going to tell you that,” Tommy says.

“Okay, well, in that case, I don’t see why what you have to say is useful—”

“Keep going like this, and you die, Dream,” Tommy says.

For a moment, that shuts him up. Behind them, Tubbo hears Sapnap hold his breath for a moment, before exhaling unsteadily. It’s a bit odd, since Sapnap is generally pretty hard to shake up, but he seemed a bit unstable to begin with. And Tubbo starts to wonder if maybe that could give them an advantage. Maybe he could wheel around, try to incapacitate him in one motion, and then he and Tommy could scramble away and manage to escape before everyone else recovered from their shock.

It’s not likely, maybe, but it could be worth a shot.

“Is that a threat?” George asks. Punz shifts, posture deceptively laid back. “That’s a threat, right? Can we kill them now?”

“It’s not a threat,” Tommy says. “I don’t—look, Dream, and I am being completely honest here, I would like it very much if you simply went away and I never, ever had to see you again. So it’s not a threat. I’m not threatening you, even though if you touch Tubbo or Wilbur or anyone else I will simply come for your head, and I’ll kill you. It’s just—it’s a fact. Keep going like this, and you die.”

“Yeah?” Dream says. “And why is that?”

“There’s worse monsters out there than you, Dream,” Tommy says, and Dream stills.

“You’ve told me that before,” Dream says. “I’m not a monster, and there’s no one around more powerful than me.”

“I can name five people off the top of my head who are more powerful than you,” Tommy says. “But that’s not even my point. There’s monsters and there’s monsters, and maybe one’s not exactly worse than the other but I can still tell you which one wins.”

“Okay, literally what are you even talking about,” George says. “He’s not making any sense. Hey, Tubbo, how about you talk to us? Translate, maybe? Your stupid friend’s talking nonsense.”

He would, if he knew where Tommy was going with this, literally at all. So instead, he just says, “I think you should listen to him, George,” and tries not to feel irritated when Tommy shifts a little, to be even more in front of him. He really, really wishes Tommy wouldn’t do that, because it almost feels as though Tommy’s forgotten that he can take care of himself. And that he doesn’t want Tommy to get hurt for his sake.

“Your power’s worth shit,” Tommy says. “You and your plans and your b—I mean, your knowledge and what have you, that’s all useless. Because where it ends up is, is one last try to get some kind of power over m—over this server, and it doesn’t even work because you die right in the middle of it. You die, and you’re all alone except for people that hate you, because you’ve chased everyone who loved you away by being such a shit person. And even the people who hate you don’t have time to bury your body, so you’re food for the vines. You get it? That’s where you’ll be. Dying alone and weak. All because you decide you’re better off without friends.”

Dream is silent. Tubbo wishes he’d move the mask, if only above his mouth; he used to wear it further up on his face, back when things were good between them and the fight didn’t feel entirely serious. As things stand, he can’t tell how Dream’s reacting. And he himself doesn’t know how to react.

Tommy sounds so sure, is the thing. More sure than bluster, or guesswork.

“I know how it ends, Dream,” Tommy says. “You’re not going to like how it ends.”

“Okay,” Dream says at length. “Say you’re even—say literally any of what you just said makes sense. Let’s just—pretend you’re not talking nonsense right now. Say that’s the case, why should I even believe you? What’s to stop me from taking a life from you and Tubbo right here, right now? You haven’t convinced me not to.”

He’ll have an axe in his hand in less than a second. He could go for Sapnap, or, worst comes to worst, for Dream if Dream goes for Tommy. But that leaves Punz and George to contend with, and Punz will do whatever Dream tells him, and George generally just wants a bit of chaos.

Something bumps the back of his foot. He stiffens.

“I’ll tell you why,” Tommy says. “If you kill Tubbo, I’ll kill you. And if you kill me, then—I mean, Dream. This is—you want war, I know you want war, we all know you fucking want war, because you can’t fucking let it alone. But if there’s war, either we beat you, or you beat us, and either way, maybe you get your, your happy little server, you get all your control, but you’ll never, ever get to know—” Tommy stops. Takes a breath. “You’ll never get to know what’s going on with me, yeah? Why I’m changing the rules. What else I know. You’ll never get any of that, and if you can’t get it, you can’t control it, and you hate that. You hate not knowing shit. And if you start a war now, I’ll die before I let you know any of it. So you can’t—you won’t have that. You’ll never have it. Or—or me.”

What the fuck is this tactic? Nausea rises in the back of his throat at the way Tommy just seems to—offer himself up so easily. Offer himself, or dangle himself out on a string, or dangle—

Something. Something, and Tubbo hasn’t been told what, and still hasn’t managed to figure it out.

He looks down and behind him, hoping that it’s subtle enough that no one really notices. Odds are good; people underestimate him, and he likes it that way.

There’s a pair of enderpearls resting on the floor just behind him. Slowly, his gaze travels up, and meets Sapnap’s.

Sapnap looks back. There are sparks at his fingertips, but not in his eyes.

“You’re banking a lot on the idea that I want to know,” Dream says. “That I even care.”

“You do,” Tommy says.

Slowly, Tubbo bends over and picks up the pearls, slipping them into his inventory. He holds eye contact with Sapnap for just another second, and then faces forward again, scanning Punz and George. George is staring at Tommy, but Punz is looking at him, so he sets his jaw. A challenge.

Punz killed Wilbur. The whole thing was Dream’s fault in the first place, but Punz killed Wilbur. And Wilbur’s alright now, but a death is a death, and he doesn’t consider himself an eye for an eye kind of person, but he’s not going to back down, either.

Punz raises an eyebrow. But he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s not being paid enough to.

“Okay,” Dream says, “but what’s in it for me? I just get to know what you know? That’s not a whole lot.”

“Oh, you’ll know what I know,” Tommy says. “But see, the thing is that it is a whole lot. You leave L’Manberg alone, and you’ll know what I know someday, and maybe you’ll even live. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? And then—I mean, then you can do whatever you want, really.”

There is a ghost in Tommy’s voice. A phantom of—that something, again. Tommy won’t tell him what it is. He’s beginning to understand that he never will. Not just through asking. If he wants to know, he’s going to have to put the pieces together himself, and that’s hard, because he has some of them already but none of them fit in a way that forms a picture.

It has to do with the way his voice shakes when he talks to Dream, and the way he knows exactly how to get what he wants from him at the same time. It has to do with the way Tommy will flinch one second and be shouting the next, and the way he’ll look at common, everyday things like they’re the worst shock he’s received in his life. It has to do with the way he went so blank when Wilbur died. It has to do with the way he throws himself in front of every danger like the world will end if he doesn’t, if he so much as sees anyone else get hurt in front of him.

And it has to do with that night. Tubbo is sure of it. That night, all those weeks ago.

The night everything changed.

“You sure this is how you wanna do it, Tommy?” Dream asks.

“Stop pretending that you’re not interested,” Tommy says. “I know you’re fucking interested. And you know if you go along with it now, you can do whatever the fuck you want later.” He pauses. “And it’s not really about the knowing, is it? And you know that, too.”

There’s a pause.

“I mean,” Dream says, “I can do whatever the fuck I want right now.”

“Dream,” Sapnap says, quietly, “come on.”

“But sure,” Dream says, easily as breathing. “That’d save me some trouble. It’s not like I want to go to war. You’re the one who turned that whole thing into a big deal. So if you’re saying L’Manberg isn’t gonna try to come after us, then sure, I’ll go along.”

Dream is lying, and everyone in the room knows it. Dream is lying, and Dream wants nothing more than to wage war, than to find the excuse that he can use to get rid of L’Manberg once and for all, to end up on top, holding all the cards, discs and server and all. But for some reason, he’s putting that aside for the moment, on the hope of learning about Tommy’s—something.

Tubbo’s not really sure what that means. But it scares him.

“Okay,” Tommy says, and breathes out. Still shaky. “Okay, great. Fine. No war. Wilbur’ll agree. He’s still—he hasn’t—he still doesn’t want to fight. He’s still—yeah. No war. And sometime I’ll—okay, it’s been really good talking to you, Dream. Should also tell you I’ve invited someone else to the server, don’t fucking, go after him or some shit when he gets here, he’s fine. Um, we’re gonna go.”

“Wait,” Dream says. “What? Only I can let people on the server.”

“Went around you, dickhead,” Tommy says, backing up a step. His hands are twitching at his sides, like he wants a weapon. Or like he just wants to raise them, to put them between him and Dream. “Callahan’s not a little bitch. Like you.”

“What?” Dream is sputtering, now, and Tubbo doesn’t have to see behind the mask to see his indignation. And Dream takes a step forward, his own hand coming up, though empty for now, and Tommy takes a full three steps backward, almost tripping over himself, and it’s definitely time for them to go.

So he steps forward, finally, meeting Tommy’s eyes—and Prime, he looks awful, all shocked and anxious and not all there at all—and presses an enderpearl into his hand.

It’s a blink of an eye to throw them. He’s got good aim, and Tommy does, too. Dream’s shout rings in his ears, and there is one last sight of Sapnap stepping aside to let the pearls fly out, and then Dream striding forward, but then there’s the familiar tilt and lurch and they’re standing in the grass, night sky twinkling above them.

He grabs Tommy’s hand. And he runs.

He doesn’t stop until they’re within sight of L’Manberg. There’s a vague silhouette on the wall; Wilbur, he thinks, based on the height and the hair. They’re still too far away to be spotted unless they make some effort to be seen, but they’re safe. Safer. Within a stone’s throw of home, at the very least.

Tommy’s wheezing for breath. Tubbo waits for him to catch it. It takes longer than it should.

“So,” he says, once he thinks Tommy’s listening to him. “What the hell was that, then?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy says. “Just a chat. I told you, I didn’t need you to come.”

There is too much to say. There is the fact that Tommy doesn’t want L’Manberg to go to war, even after what happened to Wilbur, which means—it has to be because of that something again, because it doesn’t make any sense. There is the fact that whatever happened in there, Tommy knew exactly how to get Dream to do what he wanted. There is the fact that Tommy knows something—that something. He should ask what it is, and how he knows it, and why it’s making him act this way, and why can’t he just tell him so that he can help, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask.

Because Tommy won’t tell him. And all of the other questions get stuck in his throat, so what comes out is, “You invited someone else to the server? That’s what you were talking to Callahan about?”

Tommy visibly relaxes. He tries not to feel hurt. He tries very hard.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Just a guy. Kind of a builder, think he might come in handy. No big deal.”

The thing about that is that he’s fairly sure that everything Tommy’s done is a big deal. Bigger than he thought. Because Tommy is working toward something, that is increasingly apparent. And Tommy knows something, or has seen something, or—

Tommy’s not going to let him in. He thought he would. He hoped he would. He thought they were getting somewhere, even, that Tommy would stop trying to take everything on his shoulders. But either the festival set them back, or Tommy’s been lying to him all along, and he doesn’t know which is worse.

“Okay,” he says, and it tastes like ashes.

“Okay,” Tommy answers. “Good move, with the, uh, the pearls there.”

“Thanks,” he says.

“C’mon,” Tommy says. “Let’s get back in.”

“Right,” he says. “Are we—telling Wilbur that war might not be happening, or—?”

Tommy has, he thinks, forgotten about the fact that Wilbur might very well want to go to war, at this point, after what Dream did to Tommy. But Tommy doesn’t think about stuff like that. Tommy doesn’t seem to realize that he affects the people around him, and Tubbo doesn’t know what to do to make him understand.

Tommy grimaces. “We’ll do it in the morning,” he says. “Less likely for him to get all pissy at us, that way.”

He nods, mute. They creep back into L’Manberg the same way they left, sneaking back over to Jack Manifold’s side of the walls and clambering over when he’s looking the other way. It’s not quite fair to Jack, really; it’s just that they’re very good at getting in and out of places unseen, when they want to be. Mischief relies on not getting caught. He misses the days when they only used these skills for mischief.

They go back home. Tommy moves as if to go back to his own room, his own bed; his room here, that is, and not the one in the Embassy, in his home in the hill, because at least he has enough sense to know he should not be sleeping outside of L’Manberg right now.

There’s so much unsaid. There’s so much that’s going to keep on being unsaid, because Tommy’s not going to tell him any thing at all. If he wants to know, he has to put the pieces together. If he wants to know, he’s on his own. He’s finally come to that understanding, and it feels a bit like sinking and a little like drowning and a little like he never had air at all.

And Tommy is looking at him in a way that he barely recognizes. Like there’s a perfect stranger behind his eyes.

So he reaches out, and grabs Tommy’s sleeve. Gently.

“Tommy?” he asks, and falters. “You are—I mean, you are Tommy, aren’t you?”

Even he’s not sure what he means by that. But Tommy’s expression falls into a momentary look of complete devastation before smoothing over again, blank as can be.

“Course I am,” Tommy says. “Who the fuck else would I be?”

Someone I can’t reach, Tubbo doesn’t say.

“I dunno,” he says. “You’re just being weird, ‘s all. Goodnight, Tommy.”

He goes into his room, shuts the door. Waits there, as Tommy stands still, breathing. It’s a long time before he hears his footsteps retreating down the hallway, and then the distant sound of a shutting door. He gives it another few seconds, and then a minute, and then two. And then, as silently as he can, he opens his door, and creeps back out again.

He goes to find Wilbur.

Wilbur looks tired, but that’s to be expected; he probably shouldn’t be on the watch at all tonight, but there was no one about to tell him no. Wilbur cares, so much, and sometimes, Tubbo thinks he cares a little too much. He could stand to delegate a little more, maybe. But despite it all, despite the exhaustion, Wilbur is straight-backed and alert, someone that Tubbo knows he can go to with anything, when he can’t go to Tommy. And when it’s about Tommy.

And Tommy didn’t explicitly tell him to not go tell Wilbur. Not this time.

“You might want to know that Tommy went to talk to Dream tonight,” he starts, and as Wilbur wheels on him, face going even paler in the dim moonlight, he goes on, spilling everything, even a lot of his own doubts, in hopes that Wilbur might know what to do with them. Because he’s tried, and for a while, he thought they were getting close, that Tommy would trust him with the something, but tonight made it obvious that that’s not going to happen. So maybe he can pass it off to Wilbur again. Or they can be a tag team.

Or maybe Wilbur will at least have an idea. Wilbur always seems to have an idea. Wilbur knows what he’s doing better than any of the rest of them.

“Fuck,” Wilbur says, when he’s finished.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Okay,” Wilbur says, “okay, you’re—you’re both alright, though? You didn’t get hurt?”

There is real fear in his tone. Tubbo is quick to nod.

“Yeah, we got out,” he says. “Sapnap seemed to sort of be on our side.”

Wilbur shakes his head, huffing out a disbelieving breath. “I’m going to strangle him,” he mutters. “What the fuck was he—and you didn’t stop him?”

He winces. “I didn’t think I could,” he says. “Not forever. Sorry, boss man.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Wilbur says, “you’re right, of course. Once Tommy gets an idea in his head—” He breaks off, shaking his head again. His eyes are shadowed, distant, and for a second, they flick to the right. But there’s nothing there. “I wish neither of you had gone, but you did the right thing, giving him some fucking backup. I’m glad he wasn’t being a dumbass by himself, at least. Fuck.”

“What do we do, Wilbur?” he asks. “I thought—I mean, I thought we were getting somewhere. But the festival—I dunno, I can’t even tell what he’s thinking, most of the time.”

“We’ll keep watch,” Wilbur says. “You and me, we’ll keep watch. If he’s not gonna talk about it—but he has to, doesn’t he? You said he said to Dream—” He frowns, looking vaguely ill. “Obviously, that’s not good. Dream—Dream can, with all due respect, which is none, suck it. But—he has to say something eventually. This can’t go on forever. And it’s—it’s Tommy, you know, he can’t sit on something indefinitely. So we keep watch, and when we finally figure it out, we’ll be ready for—whatever he needs. Or whatever we need to do. You and I, we’re together on this.”

He nods. “Together,” he agrees. It’s not exactly a concrete plan. But there’s something reassuring in it anyway, knowing that Wilbur is still behind him.

“And something else, Tubbo,” Wilbur says, voice suddenly growing stronger, more sure, a little more commanding. “Whether there’s war or not, times are about to be a little more difficult. I’d like to keep you close. Show you some of the ropes, if you will. I think our nation could benefit from you taking a bit more of a central role. Can I count on you?”

He isn’t entirely sure what Wilbur’s asking of him, but he nods.

“Of course, boss man,” he says, and hesitates. “Though isn’t that the sort of thing that you do with a vice president?”

Wilbur grimaces, and he doesn’t have to say anything for Tubbo to read the reluctance, and the reason why. They’ve just had a whole discussion about it, so it was a stupid question, really. Whatever responsibility Wilbur’s about to ask him to take on, Tommy’s in no place to handle it. Not that he would tell Tommy as much. But facts are facts. And Tommy, at the moment, is—

Something. Something unspoken. But something there, and something real, and something that neither he nor Wilbur have any idea how to help. Something.

“You can count on me,” he says. “Teach me your ways.”

Wilbur smiles at him. He looks a little tired. But he’s got reason for it.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m glad to hear it.”

It’s nice to be trusted. Nice to have faith placed in him. Tommy hasn’t done that in a long time. And outside of L’Manberg, the shadows are growing deeper.

He stays on the wall for a little while longer before going to bed. He and Wilbur don’t speak much more, just watch. And there’s nothing at all to see, which is the best case scenario. Maybe Dream will keep to his word, no matter what future problems that will bring. Maybe Tommy will get what he wants, or what he needs, and everything will go back to normal again. Maybe everything will be alright in the end.

But in the darkness, the silence and the stillness feel like another shoe. Somewhere out there, waiting to drop.

[dreamsclock]

Philza being the only one home and defending Syndicate Dream when his ver of the "Butcher Army" decideds that his release was a mistake and theyre gonna take his final life to rid the sever of him for good. Phil is sick and tired of seeing this cycle repeat, and while he doesn't seek out conflicts to partake in its once again been brought to him directly. (He manages to scare them off after a bit of fighting, reminding them that the Angle of Death is a title earned, how they all make the same mistakes twice and how he wont do the same, how they all have such low lives he has more ability, how Techno escaped death anf he can easily do the same (Perhaps a bluff but it works), how they brought L'manburg to its knees, etc.)

“Have any of you forgotten,” Phil asks, calmly despite his growing rage and sadness, “why I’m called the Angel of Death?”

The Nightmare Army glance at each other uncertainly. Three of them wield a different one of Dream’s weapons: Tubbo a pickaxe, Quackity an axe, Tommy clutching a sword. Fundy looks like he wants to be anywhere else and Ranboo doesn’t even look like he’s part of them: he slouches in the doorway, assessing the situation.

Ranboo whispers to you: did i come home at the wrong time?

You whisper to Ranboo: i’ve got this

Because the Nightmare Army is a poor excuse for an army. They’re kids: a bunch of traumatised kids who only understand violence. Phil knows this: he sees violence carved into them, etched into them since long before he’d arrived on the server. That doesn’t mean he’s going to let the bloodshed continue. Not here, not now.

Tommy steps forwards, all bluster, all false arrogance in front of his friends. “Angel of— of ‘Dying From Old Age’, more like,” he quips, but Phil doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, and Tommy frowns, “come on, Phil, you’re being annoying on purpose.”

“You break down my door and tell me I’m being annoying for stopping you from killing my guest?” Phil asks in disbelief. “Tommy, mate, you’re better than this.”

“We’re all better than this,” Quackity says, voice smooth, deliberate, “but hey, sometimes you have to reach low to get what’s best.”

“What’s best?— Quackity, you’re talking about murder.”

“It’s technically in self defence.” Phil whirls to Tubbo, who looks incredibly uneasy and reluctant, but grim. “It’s necessary, Phil. We can’t let him go back to his old ways.”

Although he wishes Techno had been here, Phil just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Can I remind you of my old ways?” He asks, and doesn’t wait for agreement. “It was barely six months ago I destroyed L’Manburg with Dream and Techno. Do you remember that?”

Fundy’s ears flatten against his head; anger and misery crosses Tommy’s face.

“I didn’t stop until that fucking place was gone because of what it tried to do to the person I cared about,” he continues, voice calm, tightly controlled, “because of what it made me do to my son. Because of what it turned my son — and my son’s best friends — into.”

Tubbo looks uneasy. “What do you mean?”

“Take a look at our positions, Tubbo.” Phil gestures, tension hanging heavy in the air. “Tell me you would have done this four years ago before the wars and I’ll stand aside and let you kill him.”

Silence. Quackity opens his mouth to begin and formulate a response, but Phil interrupts him, wings brittle with anger.

“I love at least three of you. I like the four of you. But I’m not going to stand by and watch the system in this world manipulate you into killing someone else.”

He pauses, before forcing the next part out while looking at Tommy.

“I destroyed L’Manburg because of what you all tried to do to Techno and what it did to Wil. If you touch a hair on Dream’s head, I’ll make what I did to L’Manburg look like nothing.”

“Philza, Philza,” Quackity rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the uneasiness he’s exuding, “look, buddy, you don’t have much of a choice. You’re a good fighter, but it’s four of us against you.”

“How many lives do you have, Quackity.”

Quackity blinks. “Why does that—”

“Quackity. How many lives do you have?”

The silence hanging in the air is telling enough. Phil smiles, cold, assessing.

“Get out of here now and you can keep that life. If you stay....” He lets the promise hang.

Tommy looks betrayed — wide eyes, stunned by the implication, before Tubbo tugs at his arm, uncertain. Without a word, Tommy turns and strides out the door, almost hitting into Ranboo as he does so. Tubbo follows, shooting a miserable look back at Phil, while Fundy looks incredibly relieved, waving at his grandfather as he leaves. Only Quackity lingers for a moment, a dark look in his eyes.

“He deserves to die for what he’s done,” he says quietly, and sounds so unlike the old Quackity that Phil is almost spooked.

Almost. Instead, he just pulls out his sword, calm, intentional. “Goodbye, Quackity,” he replies, and watches as the other finally leaves. He doesn’t sigh in relief until he can see them walking away through his window, Tommy’s miserably betrayed words echoing through the air. Only then does he dare relax and put away his sword, torn between guarding the house and going to look for Dream.

Ranboo picks up on this. “Go see him,” he says, quietly, “I’ll make sure they don’t come back.”

Phil smiles at him in utter relief, heading downstairs of Techno’s house to check for Dream.

He finds him in the centre of the room, resignation and fear written all over his face. “Is it time?” Dream asks quietly, and Phil’s chest knots.

“Nah, don’t be stupid,” he says, as easily as he can, “they’re gone. I wasn’t about to let them kill you. Techno would be pretty fucking pissed if you used that totem thanks to them.”

Surprise crossed Dream’s face; shock, mingling with a cautious sort of hope. “...You didn’t hand me over to them.” His voice wobbles. “Why?”

Phil crosses his arms. “You’re part of the Syndicate, Dream. We don’t give up on each other. And we don’t let each other die, either. You got that?”

“...Got it,” Dream agrees, quiet, so quiet it’s almost inaudible. Phil turns to leave, beginning to climb up the ladder, before a message flashes through.

Dream whispers to you: thank you i won’t ever forget that

And Phil smiles.

[hatzuikhaz-art]

Wip of a Fundy centric oneshot Im writing, if he had been a child during the early DSMP days

If he was being honest, Fundy didnt remember much of his "father". At least, not the version of his father everyone talked about in tranquil mourning.

For the world, Wilbur Soot had been a hero. An idealist who started a whole country to keep his son and younger brother safe. A president with strong ideals who never gave up on his country, even after being exiled.

The mad man who blew up said country acted more like his father than any other version of Wilbur the public talked about.

Fox hybrids didn't grow up as humans did. By the time he was two, Fundy had grown up the equivalent of eight human years, and the clock was ticking. It came to logic that any human parent would have chosen to spend the short time they had to enjoy their child's childhood by spending time with them and cherishing the small moments. Wilbur rarely spent time alone with Fundy, too busy building a country and fighting his wars, too obsessed with his legacy on the SMP to remember he had a child to care for.

Instead, when Fundy tried to think of memories with his dad, Tommy was always the person who came to mind.

Tommy playing with him because Wilbur was too busy, building Blackstone walls and lying to his own father about his grand creations.

Tommy teaching him how to write his name because Wilbur was writing a declaration of independence for a country that still didn't have a name.

Tommy holding his hand as they walked to the final control room, reassuring Fundy who had always feared the dark that everything would be ok.

Tommy consoling Fundy after a nightmare, inviting him to sleep with him even though his room was on the other side of the white house.

Tommy hearing Schlatt exiling Wilbur and him and immediately handing Fundy over to Nikki, hugging him one last time before bolting. Fundy was sure if Wilbur were holding him during the speech, he would have ended up on the floor or worse.

They spent a year in that Prime forsaken ravine, and by the time he followed Niki down, Fundy was almost the same age as Tommy. He couldn't help but notice the grimace his uncle made when he realized how much time of Fundy's life he and Wilbur had lost. The president couldn't give half a fuck.

Even though Fundy was twelve now, Tommy still let him move to his bed at night when the noises of the ravine became too scary to handle. His uncle still hugged him tightly and let him steal all the blankets even though Fundy had his own fur as extra protection against the ravine's cold air.

When L'manburg was blown to smithereens and Fund cried for his dad out of fear, it wasn't Wilbur the one he was calling for. It wasn't Wilbur the one who found him in the middle of the chaos and picked him up before running away from the TNT for dear life. It wasn't Wilbur who, after making sure the explosions had stopped, lowered Fundy to the ground to check him over for injuries.

Wilbur may have been his biological father, but he was not his dad. That silent title would always go to the guy who raised him, even though he was still a kid himself. Because Tommy had only been twelve years old himself when Fundy was born, but he still was the only one who cared for him first and foremost.

When Dream called for Tommy's exile, Fundy was fifteen. He could see history repeating itself, and on that final night before the negotiations, he once again held onto his uncle for dear life, letting the silent tears say everything he couldn't. Tommy said nothing as he rubbed his back, the familiar motion soothing Fundy in a way Wilbur would have never accomplished.

When Tommy was escorted out of Lmanburg, Fundy was finally old enough to live by himself. A part of him was all too aware his uncle had been the same age as him when Wilbur started a revolutionary war and roped him in as his right-hand man.

Maybe that's why he didn't hesitate before joining the butcher army. Maybe that's why, when faced with someone who looked just like his deceased father, Fundy didn't waver as he guided Technoblade to the execution cage. Maybe in another life, Techno would have had a similar role in his life as Tommy, but this wasn't that life, and Fundy just wanted to forget.

It was a year after the foiled execution that Fundy could finally see Tommy again.

Down in the community house's ruins, Tommy looked so small and scared, terrified of the man in green in front of him. Fundy was twenty years old, and his dad uncle was so much younger than him it made him wince. Tommy looked around, and when his eye's laid upon Fundy's, the wight of the world seemed to roll off the teen's shoulders. Only for a grimace to take its place when he realized Fundy was no longer the teen he left behind.

For a moment the Fox wanted to correct that, to tell Tommy that he was still Fundy, that he still needed him. Deep down, Fundy knew that was a lie. A year did a lot to change a person, and now Fundy was not a kid anymore.

[blufox234isadumbname]

dream (XD, maybe?) visits fundy in his dreams. it's the only thing making them bearable, and keeping him sane

:)

Nobody [inspired by a mitski song]

Many make mistakes, Fundy was one of them. He just wanted to make sure Yoghurt was safe that night, what with more mobs emerging from the south. He just wanted to tuck his kid and make sure he slept better than him. With kiddish purrs becoming white noise, he should've stopped himself when he felt his lids flutter, when his bed dipped and he saw the house go black.

The fox-hybrid opened his eyes, already letting the horror sink in before opening the damn door. It was all over again, he thought he was getting better. No. He was a fool, still a foolish fox. Yoghurt was no longer by his side, and he already started to feel sweltering heat entering the home. Fundy's heart already ached, already sore. His breaths were heavy, weighted over him as he laid in the dreaded empty bed. Tears were beginning to form but he blinked and rubbed them harshly away. Just close your eyes, he thought. But he knew better, wishes could never be reality. He just wanted it to be over, so he had to do it himself. Fundy always had to do everything himself anyways, this was no different.

He got up and readjusted his black breton cap. Steady and stalwart, steps crept towards and stopped in front of the door. Twisting the knob, a final breath was heaved before the same scenery greeted the displeasured fox. He became familiar with the barren land, covered by only hot dry sand and tall cacti. The winds seemed to be strong that dream, dust clouds were choking the poor dreamer. He closed the door behind him, noticing his red tail hung low. First thing was first, he left the area of his house to find anything out of place. It was instinct to try and spot something that stuck out like a sore thumb, besides his little spruce wood cottage.

Fundy sank his naked feet into the sand, burning his padded paws. He trudged along in a random direction, which was wherever the barest clouds were drifting opposite from. That's all he did for a couple of minutes, maybe more than half an hour to him. Prime, he hated how the sun was bright, how the sunshine was a glaring spot above him. He hated to stare at the dull sky for any second longer. He hated winds dusting the sand into his eyes. All of it was n eyesore, metaphorically and litterally.

He just continued onward, awaiting any subtle and not-so-subtle ghostly remnants of his history coming back to haunt. To be reminded of why his life sucked, that was surely fun, right? He wanted a break, a detour from the disaster that was him. For not the first time, he wanted to be elsewhere. Not just in the dream but in reality. Yes, Las Nevadas was the haven he wanted it to be. But that came with the cost of having his dreadfully undead father closer to him. As if he wanted a chance to be mocked and haunted. Even more so, Tubbo and Ranboo causing a commotion with Quackity already had set him at unease. Threats towards a nation he called a home, a lovely return to the cycle. Like dirty water from the sea to acid rain in the clouds, it's become the same horrid cycle.

Speaking of clouds, the fox-hybrid looked up. The smallest gathering of clouds became a crowd of them all across a brighter baby blue canvas. The yucky yellow sand turned a grassier green. If he squinted, he could maybe see the blooms of other than cactus flowers. Finally, a reason for the feet under him to pick up their pace. Fundy kept running towards the green, faster and faster as he could taste them with his fingers. As soon as he was near enough, he dived right into the fresh field. A little mistake, per usual, as he began rolling down a knoll all of a sudden. Through the short wild grass into a taller field of lavender and peonies, the fox finally took a deep breath. A clean and relaxed breath-

"Hello, Fundy."

- before it hitched.

Fundy lifted his head up above the flowers to spot a cleared spot. In the patch of cornflowers and poppies, a naked area of just grass lay, with a figure. He knew it well, with the dirty blonde hair - though he never remembered it being at scruffy and shoulder length - and deadly smile-painted mask adorned. In a lime, white and black letterman jacket over a starkingly orange jumpsuit. He knew that man well, even by the soft humming. The blank eyes of the mask and the man behind to stared at the fox-hybrid. If it weren't a nightmare yet, Fundy figured it just started.

"How are you here?" The hoodied man asked

"Don't...don't even talk to me..." The overcoated fox snarled with teeth bared and tail puffed.

Dream huffed, toying with something in his hands.

"I just asked. The dreamscape is not normally so free reign. For you, you're the least I expected to be able to cross barriers of mind."

"What the fuck are you talking about. Why are you here? What, to haunt me? To mock me? To tell me I'm useless?"

"...To make flower crowns"

He held up said piece of rope strung with flower blooms. His was a cornflower and daisy crown.

"That...that's it?"

"Can you control your dreams?"

"That...it's none of your business, Dream."

"I'm assuming no. But you are willingly seeing me. So in that case, I suppose I can tell you. You know I was imprisoned, in that big ol' prison? Anyway, a being gave me a wish, or rather a gift. I could control my own dreams, I could lucid dream whenever I wanted to. So I could stay in prison while still feeling the grassy field. So I'm here."

"You don't...get nightmares? NOS Cary reminders of your past? Nothing scary?" *And while I do?*, Fundy doesn't add on. Dream pauses for a break. before he answers

"How could I? I control every aspect of my dream. Though you are certainly not part of it. I appreciate the company, kinda? But I'd rather not keep it. It's be nice if I just asked that dream being to remove you-"

"NO!"

"Excuse me?"

"P-Please...I-I don't wanna go back..."

He hated how his voice became frail at the drop of a hat, how his ears flattens and how shaky his hands became. Already begging to a tyrant, the same one who's destroyed everything in his life. What Fundy had begged was true, however, he didn't not want to go back to nightmares. This was the only time the dreams felt good. Albeit muddled by a lime menace, it was better than the frightening things ahead did him. The fox heard the man sigh.

"Sure, sure you can stay."

"Thank you..."

Fundy sat down in front of Dream, criss-cross legged. And the two were silent. The dreamer kept weaving in the flowers in the rope while the intruder simply watched. His clawed hands picked at the grass blades. Admittedly he enjoyed the scenery, if it weren't for the horror of a man in front of him. He noticed the excess rope tossed aside and something in Fundy urged him to use it too. He could tell eyes were on him again even from behind the unmoving mask.

"Yes, you can make flower crowns too. You know how to make one?"

"Y-yeah. Niki taught me how to make one with rope. I made hers with alliums. She gave me one made out to tulips" Fundy chuckled at the memory fondly.

Dream paid no mind just gave Fundy the extra rope and returned to his own project. After that, the quietness continued for much longer. But Fundy was never a fan of long silences.

"...Why a field? Out of flowers? I didn't know you were into this kind of stuff."

Dream paused for a minute, seemingly deliberating. He room a breath and spoke;

"It's just me wanting to relive old memories. Before settling in the SMP, me and George went to a flower field. We just spent half the say there doing jack all."

"It's always George is it?"

"... he's my friend. I'd do anything for him."

"Even terrorising a nation? Even threatening a kid? Even dethroning him?"

"..."

The silence spoke volumes. Fundy knew he overstepped, but it was hard for him to be sympathetic over it. He swore the surroundings looked dimmer for a second.

"I miss him. I'm no longer allowed visitors and even then, he never came by to visit."

"Who did?"

"Sapnap. Bad. Tommy, surely you know. Then Technoblade."

"Wait Techno visited you?"

"Less visit and more just made a new space in my jail cell. It's like a vacation to him. I'm not mad but...I like here better anyway."

"What's it like? In the jail cell."

"Tight. Closed. Hot. And I mean scorching. It's surrounded by lava. Barely much room to move around, not much there. I do have books to write in but so far I have started writing none."

"Someone hasn't been productive, I see?"

"I liked to write stuff. Just random things. But in a cramped space...I can't. I see why people are claustrophobic. It's feel like hell in there...for more than just the lava."

Fundy started to feel a twinge of a heat wave on his back as he stuck a flower into the rope. It died down shortly after.

"Since you're asking me questions. It should be fair I ask you."

"That's...yeah, that's fair."

"What were you doing, before you slept?"

"In bed. Just...alone in my cottage. Far away with no one else." Fundy lied, no matter the somewhat friendly tone, he wasn't ever going to risk Yoghurt.

"I thought you had Eret? Or Niki? I thought maybe you guys stay in at Least a neighbourhood."

"I...I haven't spoken to either in so long. I think they forgot about me. That's...fair"

"Hmm..."

Before I slept I was just building m stuff in Las Nevadas. It's...it's a thing Quackity built. I can't say more than that-"

A roar of something, not too loud but enough to be noticeable, came through. It spooked Fundy well enough.

"Dream what-"

"Let's...not talk about that."

"Well, what else is there to talk about me? I have nothing else. That...that palace is all I got going for me honestly."

"I thought you had more."

"No. After L'manburg, all of it gone, I don't have much else. By who, I wonder?I didn't care, that was fine by me until I did something different. I'm making sure I have a place, at least."

"Like a house?"

Fundy twisted the stalk gently, silently.

"Like a place of belonging. Where I can be remembered and people know where I am."

"I get that..."

"Of course you do, you tyrant. Your name is sure to be famous."

"Not the being remembered part. The belonging part."

The clouds seemed heavier at that moment.

"Find it hard to believe coming from the same guy that he cares for no one but a kid's discs."

"I know what I said, Fundy. But I don't care about the discs. I care about having control. Having everything in my hands. To take strings of the marionette and play them by my fingers. That's what I aim for, not just useless material discs."

"What does this have to do with belonging?"

The roar came back, a roar of thunder.

"The puppet master is not a puppet. He cannot be a puppet. When the puppets go free, he is left for dead..."

Dream's scarred hands clutch the half done green tulip crown. Down a drop goes from the petal. Then another, then another. Fundy looks up, to see the trickles. Down the drops of precipitation go to his face. Fundy's chest felt heavy, clebtched by something in a grip. He saw Dream looking up as well. From the angle he could partially see the bottom features under the mask. A pursed mouth with scars on his lips. Dottings of freckles across his cheeks. Streaks of not raindrops reaching down his chin. He heard the hiccups, the struggle to compose oneself. He knew that too well. Fundy found the part to care about as he stroked Dream's forearm carefully.

"I-I'm sorry, It's...I-I'm never like this. I'll just change-" the masked man's voice was breakable, cusp of falling apart.

"No. I like the rain."

Dream looked back to Fundy. It was true, the fox-hybrid liked rain. He used to play in the puddles as it drizzled even into adulthood, before more important things occupied his time. Like getting weapons for war or spying on a president. Fundy had on a solemn smile, a weak one in the likeable weather. His hair and fur became bristled whislt his tail wrapped unconsciously around him.

"I feel alone too. Everyone has left me

The people that I care about always hate me or leave. They leave me frightened in a place where everything so to survive. I'm barely staying alive as is. I don't have anyone."

"I don't have anyone either. I'm heartless, I pushed them away. Techno is with me, yeah. But what happens then? I'm too scared to find out. All I want is to just be free..."

Fundy laughed a bit. He tossed aside the half-effort flower crown and stood up. He opened his arms wide, further than his shoulders. He kept laughing, giggling, wheezing over. He raked a hand through ginger and snow white locks of his, knocking back his black breton cap.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, one, it's already crazy you're telling me all of this. This all feels like stuff you'd suppressed hard. Even in your dreams. And secondly...god, I wish we talked more sooner."

"What?"

"You and me, both alone in this world. We're unlovable. Reckless bastards we are. I'm not the worst like you but by Prime, I'm just as lonely as you. I can't excuse reving Wilbur and the 16th...but maybe we could've been friends."

He knew dream was smiling, not from the mask but from the small line of daylight peeking through the clouds.

"Fundy, I could never be friends with you. I'd push you away too."

"Then don't push me away now. I'm desperate, man."

"...I wouldn't."

Fundy smiled a glint of the sun right back at Dream. For once in a dream, he was at ease. The pouring rain slowed s little down to a drizzle, enough fro him to avoid smelling of dog water. The clouds journeyed away from the meadow, and let the sun's smile through. He loved the rays of sunshine gracing his face above him. He loved he could stare at the cloud-scattered sky for almost hours. He loved the winnow through the grass that made them dance. He loved it there.

"Sorry about the rain. In my dreams, I rarely can talk to anyone. And techno is not exactly the most relatable with what I have. Outside, I keep it in. But where I am, where we are, is inside me already."

"Fun to know this is the inner machinations of the terror Dream."

"Hehehah"

"...I probably won't remember this happend. When I wake I won't have a clear thought of events. Just so you'd know."

"It's fine. I knew you wouldn't anyway. That's why I let most of it out. That and because, I feel like I can trust you. I can't leave my cell but maybe someday I'll find you again. And maybe-"

A click from behind Dream's head could be heard. He moved his hand latched onto the mask and pulled it down. There he was, gentle scarred smile with even gentler eyes, covered by dirty blonde turning silver white to the tips. Irises coloured almost like emerald and aqua ender eyes looked back to the fox. Finally, his black tipped ears lifted and twitched, and his tail was wagging slightly.

"-we could be alone together again?"

Fundy's heart ached, sore already.

"I'd like to. For now, let's just depend on dreams."

"I can work with that."

Dream tossed his mask aside, uncaring and apathetic to the piece of porcelain disguise. He gently pushed Fundy by the tip of his finger, to which the former feign to be toppled. He fell in the middle of the tall peonies and lavenders and tulips. Dream joined a second after, right next to Fundy. Bliss, this is what he Fundy would call it. He felt less tensed, less mangled on fear. He had spent sleeping hours just shaken, because his fears conquered him alone. Taunting him because he was alone. Preyed on every part of him alone. But now he had a chance, to dwell int eh shrot grass, be crowned royalty in a field of flowers and feel less on his own. Fundy closed his eyes, as the smell of morning dew hit him.

And he woke up, lied curled up next to Yoghurt. And with a flower in his palm. A rose. He already wants to sleep, no matter the chance of being in the desert again. He wants to see the sunshine in the field of flowers more than anything.

[yeahimpat]

*slams table*

Things are going to get really bad really soon on the Dream SMP

(this is not really a theory since most of the things I’m talking about has been already figured out, but I needed to put my thoughts down)

So Fundy’s lore and Quackity’s lore are now linked. That’s amazing but the implications of it worry me quite a lot.

Let’s talk about the books “Fundy” wrote to himself. We can suspect that these somehow carry the information from the future hence the “predicting certain events”.

I go with the theory that this dream realm shows certain events that have happened and WILL happen (the things that happened would be for example the three stages of the drug van – Wilbur and little Fundy/Fundy/crater). And I think that this isn’t the last time we’re seeing this place.

Back to the books – we can assume that the “Fundy” writing it is somehow a Fundy that already knows what will happen in the future (”I’m you. Well, not you, but me. I’m you, but different”). This Fundy warns present Fundy about certain someone.

I believe that this someone is Quackity. Not now though, but Quackity in the near future. Because one day Quackity will succeed. One day he will actually get the reviewal knowledge from Dream and things are going to go to literal hell from there. Because Dream might have been hungry for control but Quackity is going for power. And once he’ll get the book, he’ll be even more dangerous than Dream since he’s planning on actually using it. And I don’t think this will stay at just reviewing Schlatt. I saw theories about betting on canon lives and I absolutely love the idea of it. It would bring Quackity power and would also finally bring some sense to the three-life system and impermanency of death.

So this “He” is Quackity, possibly in the future where he played with the life and death too much that the whole server became an absolute mess.

Now you know what’s the problem? No one will realize that Quackity is going down a dangerous road before things will actually get into motion. No one except Sam and Dream (And maybe Bad) knows that Quackity wants the book. And people like Fundy just see him as an ambitious friend. No real danger.

Now imagine: Fundy, lonely person who never felt like he belongs anywhere is approached by an old friend. And this friend will show him this great thing he’s building and offers him to be a part of it. And Fundy might be a bit resistant because every time he joined something he ended up hurt and alone. But this friend has his way with words, he knows Fundy and soon he convinces him, the same way he convinced Sam.

And suddenly Quackity has Fundy wrapped around his finger. And things are getting into motion, except now Fundy can’t escape.

Back to Fundy’s dream – specifically to the black figure that was chasing him. I haven’t come up with something that would exactly explain it but I have idea that I think can get pretty close – the figure, as many guessed, is supposed to be a grim reaper or just simply symbolize death. And do you remember the part of the book that was talking about future events and that says “while this might be case for dreams this also is the case for nightmares”? This might be one of the first things that “links” with the reality and that will predict the future. And if we come back to Quackity playing with the fragile line between life and death it’s suddenly starting to make sense.

But since Fundy doesn’t know what Quackity’s doing, there’s no way he’ll be able to prevent it.

And that’s why Fundy from the dream realm urges present Fundy to wake up. That he “doesn’t want to know the truth”. The “things” that will be able to predict the future will be too vague to actually help and will only make sense once it actually happens. And Fundy will have to live with the knowledge that he could have stopped it, that he could have done something.

And it’s also why the dream realm Fundy wants present Fundy to “go and enjoy his life”. Because there’s no way to prevent what is going to happen. Because the server will very soon descend into chaos and darkness and there’s so little time left. And the dream realm Fundy just wants present Fundy to have some fun while he can. It’s the last desperate try to avoid Fundy getting hurt again.

[karlnapity]

(tw: derealization, panic attack)

Fundy hasn’t been doing well for a long time. That much is obvious.

It’s rather common knowledge, really. Poor Fundy, poor kid who’s lost his dad, poor kid who hasn’t recovered since, all that.

Poor kid who was given a wide berth, and has since then lost his friends from lack of attention.

Niki will be the first to admit she’s neglected her friendship, and it eats her alive. She abandoned him, when he needed her, and he still needs her, but he still scares her, just a bit, still sets her on edge.

She can remember when he first told her about Ghostbur. He was near hysterical, still unchanged from the clothes destroyed by the explosion on the Sixteenth. He burst into her home, shaking, telling her with a frightening little laugh that he’d seen him, and she thought he’d lost it, for lack of a better term.

But she let him indulge in his fantasy, because he looked terrible, and she was worried about what he’d do if he knew it wasn’t real.

So she let him rant about the arguments he had with this “ghost,” let him talk in circles about it, offered meaningless insight here and there.

But there was only so much she could take. She couldn’t tell him, but she still couldn’t just listen to him talk all day long about a man she’d rather forget.

So yes, maybe she did abandon him.

She ran far, started her own path, her own journey. Forgot about Wilbur, forgot about L’Manburg, focused on Tommy, and Jack, and tried her very, very best to ignore the nagging voice in the back of her head that told her to check up on him.

And then she met Ghostbur, and everything came crashing down.

Was Fundy right all along? Because she couldn’t have gotten it wrong, he was out of it, he was worrying her, he was fucking crazy. Did Ghostbur being real change anything?

And she knew she needed to see him again. It had been long enough, she’d gotten it together, she’d gone through her own damn breakdown, and she had to see whether he was ok, too.

So here she stands, in front of his house. When she asked around, it seems it’s been radio silent, but she won’t be deterred. She's determined when she wants to be.

She knocks, hesitantly, but when there’s no response she grows impatient, bangs harder. Still nothing. Is he not home, or something?

After yet more silence, she tries the door. Unlocked. She pushes in.

It’s a mess. Everything is scattered, furniture knocked over and paper lying on every available surface. She can smell ink in the air, almost hovering over the room.

And in the middle of it all, in bed, lies Fundy. The covers lay over him haphazardly, and a blanket sits on the ground next to the bed.

She feels an awful lot like she’s intruding, as she watches him twist and turn in a seeming nightmare. She sighs, and goes to get a mug of water for him, submitting the fact she’ll have to wait for him to wake up.

He looks terrible, she thinks, as she peers at him out of the corner of her eye. He seems to have lost weight since she last saw him, and she can’t ignore the dark circles under his eyes. His fur seems unkempt, something she’s never seen before. He’s always taken pride in it before.

She looks around the house. The papers she sees have ‘diary’ scribbled across the top, and even if she’s concerned, she won’t invade his privacy like that. Instead, she simply leaves them alone, opting to instead tidy what she can.

She throws open a window, hoping to air out the fumes and brighten up the place. It feels oppressive.

He makes a noise in his sleep, and she turns to see him curled in a ball, ears pressed flat to his head. She sympathizes.

When he lets out a whimper, she considers, briefly, waking him, but remembers how she almost lost a hand the last time, and sighs, pulls a broom from a closet.

She accidentally knocks over a pile of paper, and quickly goes to right it. The writing isn’t legible, so she doesn’t worry about reading it, but the scribbling in the margins and the vicious crossing out sets her heart pattering anxiously.

This is worse than she had feared. Anxiety creeps up her spine, leaves her biting a nail, peeking at the bed.

And he starts awake.

He’s breathing heavy, the rasps and gasps the only noise in the house.

He lifts a clawed hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath. She doesn’t dare move as he puts his hands over his face, brushing fur out of his face. His breathing slows, after what feels like hours.

She clears her throat, gently, and he jumps. They catch eyes.

Guilt settles heavy in her chest. He looks half-dead, the crazed look in his eyes incomparable to what she worried about months ago.

“Hi,” she says carefully. He tenses as she leans the broom against a wall, and yet more as she pulls a chair up to his bed and settles. “How’s it going?”

His eyes flit desperately over her face, seemingly searching for something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it, and he instead shifts to sit straighter. “I’m ok. Just a dream.”

She nods. Trust is a two-way street, and it’s worth being a little vulnerable. “I used to have these nightmares where I’d have to lock myself up so I didn’t do anything. I get it.”

His face pinches, and she has a feeling he didn’t absorb any of what she said. He stands, practically sprints to the doorway, peers out. He lets out an audible sigh of relief, leans against the door as he closes it.

He fixes her in the eye. “Can you go now? I need to write stuff down.”

She can’t stop a frown from appearing. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you go now?” He repeats, slower, as if she hadn’t understood.

“I, uh. I wanted to talk to you. Catch up. It’s been a while.” She stands, watches him.

“Ok, well, I need you to go. I have shit to do,” he says, gathering a quill and a few sheets of paper. He scribbles something down.

“What are you writing?” She asks. He grits his teeth.

“It’s important. I can’t tell you.” His voice grows higher with desperation.

“Fundy,” she says, quietly, pleadingly.

He whirls to face her. He’s squeezing his quill in his hand, and ink is already coating his hands and arms. He drops it, raises his hands to his hand and lets out a keen. “Stop...”

Any doubts she had have been erased. He needs help.

She steps forward, envelops him in a careful hug. He clings to her, hands roaming over her back and shoulders as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear.

“Are you really here?” He whispers, and her heart hurts.

“Yes, yes,” she murmurs in response. They sink to the floor. Fundy hiccups.

He starts to laugh. It’s broken, angry, upset, devastated, but he laughs, and he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop, even when he starts to sob, even when he coats Niki’s shirt with tears, even when his voice is growing rough from overuse, even when she begs him, silently, to stop, to be quiet, because he does still scare her.

But eventually, he seems to give up. He lays limply in her arms, his breath still hitching from crying. She pets his fur, working out the small mats with her fingers.

“Please talk to me,” she begs for what seems to be the hundredth time.

“I have. These dreams.” His voice stops and starts, as if he’s not sure if he should say anything, but she nods, encouraging him to continue. “I saw Wilbur, and I saw me, and these stupid fucking books keep telling me I’m in danger, and they’re from me, and there’s this person trying to get me, and. And. I don’t think I’m real, anymore.”

She shushes him as he starts to cry again. She wishes they were fucking qualified for this.

What right did this world ever have to break them this much?

“You’re real,” she promises. “They’re just dreams, ok?”

He shakes his head, desperately. His voice is hysterical. “They’re not just dreams, Niki, you have no idea what they can do, what they’ve done, you don’t know. They’re so much more than that.”

She pulls back, takes his face in her hands. His fur is wet, stained from tears, and his eyes are crazed, and she can tell he isn’t completely there. She holds his snout gently, rubs circles with her thumbs, and his eyes close a bit in comfort.

“They’re just dreams, I promise.” She presses a kiss, gently, on his forehead. “They trick you like that.”

He shakes his head. “The desert-”

“Shh. Come on.” She pulls him to his feet, looping an arm around his shoulders. She guides him to the door, and they peer out together. “There’s no desert, ok?”

He nods, hesitantly. She grins, and they drags him out on a walk.

He looks pale in the sunlight, desaturated, somehow even more unhealthy. The weather is wonderful, but he’s still almost crouched, flinching at every noise. She tells herself it’s good for him.

They walk to her new base, and he protests every step of the way. He tells her he needs to write down the dreams, he tells her that someone is still coming for him, he tells her about Wilbur and a younger Fundy and books written by him, and she tries very, very hard to convince herself he’s ok, just upset.

Grieving is an easy excuse, but it’s the only excuse she’s got.

Once inside her base, HBomb greets them, and Niki shakes her head, just a little, when he turns to Fundy. HBomb purses his lip, a concerned look already on his face at simply the sight of their friend, but lets them pass.

She’s showing him around when it happens. He’s finally relaxing a bit, his claws no longer clenched, his ears no longer flat, when he makes a sort of gasp behind her.

She turns to see him with a hand to his head, stumbling for support against the wall.

He fixes her with the most terrified look she’s seen in her life, and her blood goes cold. He reaches for her, and she grasps him.

“It’s happening,” he hisses, and his legs give out. She follows him to the ground, holds him close.

“What is?” She asks, concern tinting her voice.

“He’s coming,” he murmurs, and passes out cold.

She reminds herself, steadfast, as she and HBomb help him to a bed, that it’s just a dream, even as he twists and turns and whimpers.

It’s just a dream.

[thesmpisonfire]

Eret wokes up with an explosion.

They don't even think before jumping from his bed and grabbing the sword and the sunglasses, running in the cold halls. "They came back." Her mind is shouting. "George wants the castle again." The ex-monarch takes a turn, heading to one of the castle's guest room. George gave him time to move out! This was not fair, especially without a goddamn warning!

She shakes her head, focusing on a more important topic for now. Fundy. His newly adopted son-but-in-fact-more-like-a-younger-brother was with him for almost a week now, and Eret promissed him that he would be safe there, no more wars or damage.

They storm into Fundy's bedroom, just to find it empty. They can feel panic running on their body just like cold water as they start to run again. No. No. No. He promised Fundy that nothing bad would happen, and he was dead serious with that promise. She runs to the entrance of the castle, armor on and sword in hand, ready to fight for Fundy's safety...

There's no attack.

Well, there's a big hole in one of the walls, the debris scattered around after the explosion. There's still small fires on the burned grass, but nothing serious.

Sitting right on front of it, was Fundy.

The fox was with a flint n' steel in hand, lighting it up and then closing it, just to repeat the cycle. He wasn't moving, his stare lost in someplace beyond the hole. He kept that loop, the fire cackling and the flint n' steel noises completing each other in a strange melody.

Eret approached him, putting a hand on Fundy's shoulder. That seemed to 'woke up' the fox, who stared at the ex-monarch with fear before looking back at the destruction. Eret couldn't stop noticing another tnt, unlighted, right in front of Fundy.

"Eret!" He sounded so scared, getting up and trying to keep his friend far from the fire that was slowly dying out. "I-I'm... I'm sorry!" His voice was shaking, and Eret could tell that he had been crying that night.

"I didn't mean to explode your home!" But that was exactly what Fundy did. He destroyed it. Without any good explanation besides his own fear. Fundy tried to hold the tears, the hands that were pushing Eret away were now gripping his shirt, not wanting him to leave. "I was... I was..." Fundy started to cry again, fear consuming him with the realization that Eret was about to kick him out because of his actions.

"Fundy, what's happened?" Eret used a serious tone, but held Fundy's arms carefully, hoping that it'd wouldn't scare him.

Fundy blinked twice or thrice, cleaning his face with his hands. "I had a nightmare..." He choked out, his face wet. "I- I was here... At the garden." He gestures towards the small flower camp that Niki and Puffy had started a couple of days ago. "And... Techno came in..."

Fundy was running from his own uncle since people said Techno would hunt him down. Their paths hadn't cross since Wilbur's death, and Fundy wasn't looking forward to it. Techno must be on the hunt for him, right? He was a fucking orphan now.

"A-and... Wilbur was with him." Fundy started to shake, not even feeling Eret holding him. "He was alive and..." He whimpered, gripping on Eret's shirt. "He blew everything up again." He cried. "The castle was all gone. Everything was gone. He destroyed everything again, Eret!"

Fundy started to hyperventilate, his eyes unfocused and the image of his nightmare clear in his mind.

Wilbur holding him by his collar, looking at his own son with a maniac smile. 'I despise you, Fundy.' He could hear the whisper. 'Do you really thought that the stupid diary could make what you have done to me?' Wilbur let Fundy go, dropping him on the ground. 'You don't deserve a home, Fundy. Not a traitor like you.' He let out a dry laugh, turning his back and walking away from the destruction. 'Techno, you can do the honors.' The fox only stared at the anarchist, who pointed a crossbow right at his face.

Eret only could listen to Fundy, sometimes changing his look to the hole on his way before going back to the fox. How the two things were connected?

"When I woke up..." Fundy whispered, his voice sounding more tired than seconds before. "I needed to make sure the walls were strong enough to protect us..." He laughed, looking up to Eret. "And they aren't." Fundy looked at the hole, showing it to his friend. "They went down with a single tnt!" He laughed again, tears falling even more.

"Fucking Ghostbur can come here and explode it all!" Fundy now was with both hands in his ginger hair, tugging it. "Techno can burst through the entrance and kill us!" His laugh was desperate, looking back at Eret, who only stared at Fundy. "They'll destroy my home again, Eret! Wilbur used to fucking hate me!" He sobbed again, all his repressed feelings coming out at once. "Ghostbur certainly hates me too! He doesn't even remember me!" He kept shouting his worries, the flint n' steel back to his hand. When did it got there again?

"He will take it all down again and he'll hurt you and you'll hate me because its all my fault and..." His words started to merge together, not even having time to breathe again. All he could think is that Eret was going to leave him too, everyone did. Wilbur, Schlatt.... Philza hated him, didn't he? The same with Techno.

Fundy could almost hear someone calling for him, two soft hands holding his face, but the fox wasn't listening. There was no safe place for him. No. Wilbur would always find him. Wilbur would find him and take it all down again. And then no one would care. Because no one ever did-

"FUNDY!" The shout made Fundy almost scream, suddenly back to the present. Eret was holding his face, the glow in their eyes brighter due to their worry. Fundy sobbed, holding one of Eret's hand and leaning his face against the soft palm. Even if it was temporary, Fundy wanted to enjoy it. Enjoy being part of a family again.

Eret hugs him tightly, and Fundy finds himself hiding in the curve of their neck, quickly returning the hug. All his panic and paranoia slowed down, giving place to the warm comfort Eret was giving to him, securing the fox in their arms.

"I'll never leave you, Fundy. And I'm no capable to hate you. I adopt you, remember?" The ex-monarch whispered, trying to calm his friend... His scared and hurt brother. "I won't let anyone hurt you ever again, not even Techno will be able to pass through me." Eret looks at Fundy's face, smiling a little and cleaning his tears. Fundy chuckled, now looking at the mess he had done.

"We can fix these walls tomorrow... Okay?" Eret reassured him, now hugging Fundy by his side. "For now... We can try to call Niki and Puffy! Try to cook some stuff, what about that?"

The fox was smiling again, joining with jokes while they walked back into the castle. He was grateful to have Eret in his life, someone who still loved him, no matter what.

Outside of the hole, there was a shadow wearing a yellow sweater. He was attracted by the explosion sound just like a moth towards the light. He heard it all and, when he started to make his way back to his sewer, only one thing was stuck in his mind.

"What I've done to my son?"

[stellocchia]

Anyone remembers my Platonic Soulmates AU?

Well, I decided I wanted to write something in it for Wilbur as well because he's just perfect for angst... (also it's technically the second part of This One, but you don't need to read it for this one)

The Anchor

-

Wilbur had always been what his father liked to call “an artistic soul”. He learned how to play guitar and sing at a young age and he’d been very averse to violence ever since. His father was not one to voice his concern, but Wilbur knew that he had disappointed him when he called out his cruel practices in leading the Antarctic Empire. It was fine though because Wilbur didn’t need him.

He set out to adventure, a guitar on his back and a name proudly displayed on his wrist for everyone to see. He deserved to meet his soulmate and of that, he was certain like of nothing else.

Things don’t always go according to plan however and soon enough he found himself broke and raising the son of a fish he stared at longer than it was strictly appropriate. That was not ideal per se, but he knew he could manage somehow. He was the son of the Angel of Death, after all, giving up wasn’t in his blood.

The next couple of years had been hard, what with the low funds and Fundy growing faster than expected, which meant he needed new clothing more often and more food than other babies. Fundy also absolutely hated Wilbur’s cooking and he never held back from letting him know with shrill cries and incessant pouting. Wilbur wished someone would have told him how exhausting being a parent would be, no wonder Phil avoided it like the plague…

Something good did happen however when one day at a market he met a very young teen named Tommy. The boy successfully stole from him, but, upon seeing him break down when he realized he couldn’t afford a meal for him and his child, he came back with a mortified expression and an apology. Wilbur understood though. They were both leading a miserable life so, instead of calling the guards asthe teen expected, he invited him over for a meal.

It took Tommy one try of Wilbur’s culinary expertise before declaring him a lost cause and inviting himself over for supper as well so that he could make something decent. Wilbur didn’t comment on his inability to taste the food when asked how much better their dinner was, but Fundy was full of praise for the first time in his existence, the little shit…

It took a couple more encounters before Wilbur noticed the name on Tommy’s wrist and they were already brothers by then. It seemed perfect like it was meant to be. And, according to the Universe, it was.

Years passed and they got invited to a moderately new Server apparently owned by Dream, renowned all over the System for his hunting challenges.

The news was the best thing that happened to Wilbur in a while. The desire to prove himself had been buzzing under his skin since forever, almost turning into an unbearable scorching fire in recent times. And that was his opportunity to upheld his father’s legacy, he would not let it go to waste.

Tommy was the first to join, though Wilbur was very reluctant to let him go alone. He was still so young and reckless and so painfully kind. Wilbur’s heart ached knowing him alone where couldn’t be easily reached, but he had to deal with the legal procedures regarding the Server transferal, so he’d have to suck it up this time.

Still, his brother and son were there waiting for him when he joined. Tommy had made friends with another teen and, somehow, had a war with the Server’s Admin. Nothing less than what Wilbur expected.

It was fine though, they were finally getting their life in order.

The first thing Wilbur tried was to get a monopoly on potions, which lead to the impromptu formation of a police force, which then lead to the formation of a country and war.

Before he knew it he was one life down, holding his little brother while his second life bled out of him, choking on his tears while the jubilant screams of his enemies resounded behind him.

It had taken no time for him to lose so much, and Tommy coming back from a meeting with the Admin saying how he’d won them independence was not enough to bring back his sense of safety and control. He was lost. It dawned on him then that he had no idea of what he was doing, only moving forward because he had to. It gave him such a sense of dread that he’d often end up crying alone in his office, the comfort of his soulmate feeling too far with a door between them, yet not far enough to hide his shame.

In a desperate attempt of reigning his life back in he proposed an election. It should have been an easy way to consolidate his power and possibly to give him some peace of mind. He’d planned it perfectly, so of course, nothing could go wrong. Turns out he was mistaken.

His second death was from an arrow piercing his heart while he screamed for Tommy, who was already on his last life, to run for his life. In retrospect, he should have expected things to go wrong as that’s what usually happens.

From then his life just turned into a never-ending spiral. There was no one he could trust, no one who hadn’t betrayed him, aside from his soulmate. And, even then, where he once found comfort in it, Tommy’s presence now felt blinding. Like staring directly at the sun after days spent in a cave. Oh, Tommy was as tainted as him, he knew that much, but the boy was so stubborn in his pathetic desire for peace. He refused to understand how that wasn’t an option anymore. L’Manburg, the country they founded and fought for, was now nothing but a corrupted husk of its former self. It was far beyond saving, destruction being the only remaining option. But Tommy refused to understand and, after a while, Wilbur stopped trying to make him. He’d come around to it eventually…

And then came the grand day, his final act! The stage was set and everything was perfect down to the most minuscule of details. Even Philza showed up for the heartbreaking reunion of the century, where he could pretend he’d been a father to Wilbur while stabbing him through the heart. It was perfect and wonderful and he could finally have peace.

Only death was not what he imagined. It wasn’t nothingness and it wasn’t peaceful. Instead, he was trapped at a station, trains passing but never stopping, and lost souls of those who came before him roaming the platform, unresponsive shadows of their former selves.

And it was such a cruel trick, wasn’t it? Showing him what he was to become while letting him keep the mind of who he was. Of course, he did his best not to succumb to the numbness and fade in that state of non-existence, but he was about to give up when Schlatt fell into an eternal slumber. But then something happened, something wonderful, the veil of death retracted for just a moment and he saw his little brother finally succeeding in defeating Dream once and for all. They talked like they hadn’t in a long time and with the reunion came the constant dull pain of a broken bond interrupted too soon.

It was grounding in a way. There weren’t many sensations in Limbo and of course the one breaking him away from his crushing loneliness would be Tommy once more. His one constant. His one anchor to retain himself.

An even better event was when Tommy himself joined him in Limbo. Wilbur couldn’t be more ecstatic! He mostly ignored his brother’s newfound constant fidgeting and shakey breaths he would take from time to time. They weren’t important, what was important was that Wilbur wasn’t alone and his bond stopped hurting. They were together now and nothing could change that! Well… he thought so, until one day a hand appeared grabbing Tommy’s neck and dragging him away, towards the tracks. Wilbur screamed and tried to take a hold of Tommy’s hand, but it was too late and the boy disappeared with the passing of another train.

After that Wilbur almost faded. He almost gave in. Why holding so desperately onto his mind when he was condemned to an eternity of loneliness? His soulmate too far out of reach once more… this time perhaps forever.

But eventually, a train stopped at his station, with Dream as the conductor. Dream, his hero! Taking him away from that nightmare and gifting him life once more!

He’d been grateful at the time. Truly grateful. Even after receiving Ghostbur’s obviously incomplete memories and having seen some of what the Admin had done to Tommy he still was grateful. And then he noticed something on Tommy’s wrist, a scratched-out name that appeared to have once been carved into the skin, and suddenly the desire to rip Dream apart with his bare hands reappeared stronger than ever.

He’d have to wait of course. Gain allies first, strengthen his bond once more, and play his cards right. He’d have to get the Admin to let his guard down with him and then… well then he would find out what happened when you tried taking Wilbur’s lifeline away from him...

[chaolie]

Home is where your heart is [1/3] - Accidental adoption

So, for the Yogurt Days @fundyfiles organized I decided to kind of... just make a fic? Each chapter will show Yogurt slowly growing up, and they can be read separately but together, they create an entire story! Also this ended up super long but hey, that's fine! And you can also read it on my Ao3!

Characters: Fundy, Yogurt

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Injury (not described closely but still)

Chapter 2: Tumblr / Ao3

The sun was beginning to set, and with each minute the forest was growing more dangerous, so Fundy didn’t pay too much mind to anything that wasn’t a monster or a tree in his way. He spent the day walking around, trying to remember any places worth visiting later, he was fairly new to the area after all. He found a few clearings with berries, a couple of promising-looking caves, and a nice, cool stream he could start getting his water from sometime soon, so he considered this trip to be rather successful. He wasn’t too far from his newly-built cottage when he heard a surprisingly loud cry. It didn’t sound like any monster he knew, it was worryingly human-like instead, and whatever was making it seemed to be distressed.

“H- Hello?” he called out into the forest. Rather than answering, the same sound reached his ears again. “Who’s there?!” he demanded, and the noise that followed was somewhat muffled.

He cautiously looked around, nothing seemed to be approaching him, the sun still offered a few more minutes of some light, and he figured it couldn’t be a trap… who would try to trap him of all people? He was the only one living nearby, and even that was new. Another cry came, and each time he heard it, it resembled someone screaming as if they were getting murdered. Slowly, he reached for his sword before taking the first cautious steps in the direction the noise was coming from. Then, silently cursing himself for not doing the more rational thing, he sped up. Whoever was yelling, they’d probably die the second the sun fully sets, and if he ever finds out it was someone he knew… he’d never forgive himself.

“Where are you?” he called out, trying to sound less demanding than previously. Still, the cries seemed to be growing closer yet quieter, as if whoever was hurting was trying to hide. “I want to help, I-” he tried to explain, but as he entered a small clearing, he stopped. “...Oh.”

He found the source of the cries. In the dark green grass, surrounded by deep-brown tree trunks and the night’s shadow, there it was. A small, snow-white fox kit staring back at him with wide eyes, frozen in its place. After a moment of just watching him, it let out the all-too-familiar-now cry and took a tiny step back. Fundy’s heart sank when he noticed the wound on one of the animal’s legs, but all the doubt about following the cries left his mind. Even if it’d mean staying out for the entire night, he would still want to help.

“...Hey there,” he muttered as softly as he could, trying to step forward. The kit took a few more clumsy steps before losing its balance and almost tripping, all while its eyes seemed to widen even more.

Oh, right. Of course. It was a wild fox after all. Fundy shouldn’t expect it to trust a human. Even if the human in question had fox ears and a tail, he was far from being trustworthy in this situation. This, however, brought him to a new idea. He closed his eyes and it took a little effort and energy, it always did, but when he reopened them after a moment, he was a bit shorter, and much more fox-like. He didn’t shapeshift too often, staying in the more animalistic form usually earned him nothing but stares and mean jokes, but it did make at least some animals trust him faster. Hoping that this would be the case this time as well, he took another step forward.

“It’s alright, see?” he said, and while the fox seemed to stay tense, it didn’t try to run again, just watching him curiously this time.

He finally got close enough to crouch down right in front of it. It still stayed in its place, so he took this opportunity to take a better look at its leg. There was some blood, and the wound seemed fresh but, to his relief, not too serious. The kit was probably more shocked and disoriented than in pain, which he figured was a better option. Still, he didn’t think leaving it alone and unattended was something he should do. No matter how non-lethal, the wound should still be taken care of. With a sigh, he carefully reached forward. Oh, he was so ready for the fox to bite him, and if it did, he couldn’t even blame it.

“I’ll help you, okay? I- I’ll take you somewhere safe and we’ll fix up your leg,” he explained despite knowing that the fox probably didn’t understand a word. “I’ll have to carry you there, I think. Please stay calm…”

He reached forward and carefully put his hands on the fox’s sides. It didn’t react by trying to run again, perhaps a bit too surprised to do that, but he didn’t waste his opportunity and picked it up. Only when he was back to his feet and ready to start walking home, the animal yelped and started to squirm in his arms, trying to paw at his hand rather than biting it. Confused and alarmed by its reaction, he tried to hold it in a more comfortable way only to notice a small scratch on its side. It was even less serious than the wound on its leg, it wasn’t even bleeding, but if he accidentally put his hand over it…

“Sorry, sorry,” he hushed, changing the way he held the fox to make sure he doesn’t touch any of its wounds. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he assured and for some unexplainable reason, the kit seemed to calm down at that. Who was he to question that, though?

***

The next morning, Fundy woke up in his giant bed with no memory of a nightmare nor any signs of having one. The best way to start a day, in his humble opinion. He did, however, have a fox kit curled up in one of the bed’s corners, still asleep without a care in the world. Its wounds were covered and it was on a great way to full recovery, Fundy could probably let it go back into the forest in a day, or even earlier, without feeling guilty about doing so. Carefully, he got to his feet, put on his jacket, and snuck over to one of the chests. He wanted the animal to rest some more, it must’ve been very tired the night before. Because how else could he explain how calm it stayed while he fixed its wounds?

He opened the chest, briefly searched through it, pulled out a few berries he put away the day before so he could have them for breakfast, and looked back at his bed. The white fox was already looking back at him, rather curious that alarmed, still curled into a ball. Fundy slowly looked between his little guest and the food in his hand before sighing and approaching it.

“Hungry?” he asked, and the fox seemed to perk up at the question. Once again writing it off as a coincidence, he held out a few berries for the animal to take. “Of course you are,” he sighed while the kit ate all he handed to it and looked at him as if asking for more. Without a word, he placed a few more berries on his bed. “...How are you feeling?”

The fox paused from eating and looked directly at him. Then, its tail wagged slightly and it let out a cheerful little yip before returning to the food. Not an answer Fundy expected, but he expected to get nothing, and this was much better than that. With a muffled chuckle, he placed the last few berries in front of the animal, figuring his guest deserved them for being such a smart little fox.

“That’s good to hear. Eat all of them, buddy. I’m sure I’ll find some more for myself,” he assured. Just before taking the last one, the fox paused, looking between the food and Fundy a couple of times. For a moment, the fox hybrid stayed silent, but when it became apparent that his guest was sharing with him, he finally reached for the berry. “How gracious of you,” he sighed. A single berry wasn’t too much, but it was the thought that counted, wasn't it?

Fundy decided to ignore the fact that normal, wild foxes usually don’t have too many thoughts.

***

A little short of a week passed, and Fundy once again woke up in his bed with no hint of a nightmare. The fox kit, now fully recovered, was sleeping on the pillow right next to his head and he could swear every morning it seemed to be getting closer. He figured it was a sign of growing trust rather than an attempt to suffocate him in his sleep one night, and he preferred that option. It surely seemed to grow more attached to him each day, or maybe it just liked free food? Regardless, it rarely wanted to leave the cottage, and if it did, it was quick to return.

He took a moment to look over the fox, or Yogurt, as he decided to call it, before sitting up in his bed with a fond smile. He couldn’t quite explain it, but having it by his side was strangely comforting. Sure, he might’ve moved to the middle of nowhere strictly to avoid anyone and everyone, but he’d still pick his new companion over full solitude any day. It was a delight to be around, really, even if he now had to gather almost two times as many berries to keep both of them fed. Speaking of, he left the bed and approached the chest now designated to hold food. He opened it and looked at the bed only to see the fox wake up and swiftly raise its head at the sound.

“Good morning,” he chuckled to himself as the animal got to its feet and jumped off the bed to join him by his side. “Looks like someone’s hungry?”

He held out a few berries in his hand and Yogurt didn’t even hesitate before taking them and starting his breakfast. The fox hybrid reached back into the chest and got some more food for himself before going to sit on the edge of his bed. He still hadn’t shifted back into his humanlike form, at first it was to keep his guest more comfortable, then out of worry, he really didn’t want to scare the kit, even if he was suspecting it wouldn’t leave him even if he tried to chase it off. He watched it finish the food and jump back onto the bed, curling up by his side and leaning its head against him, and he was convinced it felt at home around him. Surely it wouldn’t run off if he shifted back…

There was one way to check.

“Hey, Yogurt?” he started, and the kit raised its head back up. “I want to show you something,” he announced, getting off the bed and stretching briefly. When he looked back, the fox was already sitting up, watching him curiously. He always admired how smart his companion appeared to be, it was as if it understood everything he said. “It’s a bit of a trick, okay? And please don’t… panic? It’s not something bad.”

The fox kit continued to stare at him, which was as much of a response as he expected. If it got scared of a more human version of him, he’d just change back and not try that again, it was as simple as that. After taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and with just a bit of effort shapeshifted back into a human-with-fox-features. He looked back at Yogurt, fully expecting to see the animal backing away in fright, but instead it stayed in its place. It looked at this version of him with something similar to amazement or excitement in its eyes for a moment before closing its eyes to, trying to mimic what Fundy did to change into it.

“Aw, Yogurt,” he chuckled quietly, crouching down by the bed. “I don’t think it’ll work for you, buddy,” he informed. How could he not be fond of this little fox kit if that’s the first idea that came to its mind?

His smile faded into a mix of surprise and confusion when within a blink of an eye, the fox was gone. Well, gone might’ve been the wrong word to use, it was still there, just… not a fox. Instead of an animal, there was a human child sitting on Fundy’s bed. Mostly human, at least. A little boy looking up at him with a gleeful expression, wearing an old, oversized shirt, with a white, puffy tail behind his back and fox-like ears on his head. He had white, curly hair, blue eyes, and despite looking so awfully pale didn’t show any signs of being cold or sick.

“...Huh?” was all Fundy managed to say, looking over the child and trying to figure out how that happened.

The boy didn’t answer, but let out a happy-sounding noise and puffed out his chest in pride. Then, he looked up at the still-speechless man in front of him as if expecting praise, and when he noticed how shocked the man seemed, his grin slowly fell. He curled up slightly, keeping his hands close to himself, and the way he was looking at Fundy now made it seem like he wondered if he did something wrong. Just then the man finally shook off the surprise and found himself smiling. Who cares how this happened? All that mattered was that- Holy shit.

“H-hey, Yogurt!” he said, getting the little kid’s attention. “This is- Did you do that before? This is- good job!” he assured, and with relief watched the happy grin return to his guest’s face.

The child reached forward to him, leaving him lost as to how to respond to the gesture. He hesitantly reached forward too, and the second he was within the Yogurt’s reach, the boy grabbed his hand and impatiently pulled it closer. Then, he moved it up to reach for his hair, and Fundy had to admit that the curls were surprisingly soft for those belonging to a kid who probably didn’t know the meaning of “shower”. He absentmindedly petted Yogurt’s head, causing the boy to let out another joyful noise, and the situation slowly dawned on him.

This was a kid. In his house. In the middle of nowhere. With no parent in sight- who was he kidding, possibly no parent at all. A child holding onto his hand. A little boy he’s been taking care of for a little short of a week. A tiny shapeshifter he couldn’t possibly throw back into the forest, no, he’d never forgive himself if he even tried that… Was he ready for parenthood, though? Well, it’s not like he had too much of a choice in this situation.

With a soft smile, he ruffled Yogurt’s hair before taking his hand back, watching the boy look at him with confusion as to what just happened. Chuckling quietly, he got back up and carefully reached for the boy to pick him up, and he wasn’t met with any resistance. Instead, the kid gently clutched at the back of his jacket the second it was within his reach, pulling himself closer.

“Looks like I have a son,” Fundy muttered to himself, and the boy in his arms let out yet another happy squeal. And somehow, the man had a feeling it’d go okay.

***

Things did go okay. Relatively okay, at least. He managed to get his hands on some clothes that fit his new son, he made sure what foods he could eat, and he even managed to teach him a few words! Yogurt was a bright kid and a fast learner, that much became apparent early on, and it made some things easier. He was also very curious and would get almost-overly energetic, and while it led to some… less fun events, Fundy figured this was just the case with kids.

There was this one time Yogurt got hungry and went through the chests in search of food while Fundy was busy fixing his axe, which broke a few hours prior. He was just about done sharpening it again when he heard his son spitting loudly, a spider eye in hand, and this must’ve been the closest he was to a heart attack in his life. It didn’t end in an absolute disaster, he had some milk somewhere nearby and it didn’t take too much convincing to get Yogurt to drink it, easing the poison’s effects. And sure, the kid might’ve been bummed out for a couple of hours and complained about the bitter taste on his tongue no matter how much water he drank, but he was fine. He was okay.

Fundy threw out any spider eyes he had left in his house after that. No matter how much he liked to occasionally snack on them, they looked too much like berries, and he never wanted to see his son like that again.

Save for that accident, things were seriously going well. Yogurt started joining Fundy on his walks through the forest and could easily lead his dad to well-hidden clearings with the best berries either of them ever tasted. He also occasionally came along when the man was going caving, proudly holding the torch he was handed and bravely informing Fundy whenever he heard a suspicious noise coming from the darkness. They worked well when they were working together, Fundy figured. No matter how tiny, he now had two extra hands wherever he went. And if most of the time his son held onto his tail to make sure he didn’t get lost rather than "helping", so what? At least he wasn’t alone.

Despite moving here for some solitude, he hated the idea of it now.

Eventually, his nightmares returned. They always would, it didn’t take him long to realize that. He could now tell when they happened even before looking outside to find a desert, the empty spot in the bed said it all. And when he unavoidably woke up screaming, he didn’t have to wake up alone. The first time it happened, Yogurt was more confused than anything, the next few just made the boy look more and more concerned, but every time he was quick to give his dad the biggest hug he possibly could and refused to go back to sleep until the man was completely calm. Words could not express how much Fundy appreciated that.

***

The day Fundy decided to break the news to his son, Yogurt seemed to already sense that something was wrong. They sat down by the bed, two fully-packed bags by Fundy's side as he tried to pick his words right. The kid watched him with curiosity, and he was worried that no matter how he said what he had to, it’d upset the boy. But he had to tell him today.

“So, Yogurt…” he started nervously. “We’re moving?”

“...Mo… ving?” the boy repeated, tilting his head in confusion. Any other day, Fundy would be proud of him for learning to pronounce a new word, but he had something else to focus on this time.

“Yeah, moving. We’ll go live somewhere else. It’s a nice place, it’s not too hot there, and there are good people there,” he explained, but it didn’t seem to convince the kid, who now held his hands close to himself and watched the man with a small frown on his face.

“Why…?” he asked slowly.

“Well, I have a… friend there. He said we can move there. It’s good to live with other people, it’s safer,” he explained. Yogurt frowned and looked around the house they were in.

“Safe,” he stated finally, a word he learned well while keeping a lookout for monsters when caving.

“...Well, yeah, it’s safe here. It’s safer there, though. Imagine what would happen if a horde of monsters appeared here overnight. We would struggle to chase them off, right? And if we lived with more people, we could join forces. We’ll be safer there,” he explained in a way he figured the boy would understand. He apparently did, because his confusion was soon replaced by a saddened expression.

“...But.... home?” he asked, and Fundy couldn’t help but sigh.

“I know,” he nodded. “But look, this wasn’t always our home. I lived far, far away from here and you lived in the forest. It’s our home now and it’s nice, but… sometimes we have to go somewhere new. And it’s still home. Home is… where you feel safe and comfortable, yeah? And we’ll both feel like that in Las Nevadas,” he assured. The boy still seemed upset, but nodded along.

“...Okay,” he muttered. After a moment of hesitance, Fundy gently poked his son’s chest.

“You know what someone once told me when I didn’t want to move? That home is wherever your heart is. If you love the new place, it’ll be your home. If you love this house more, it’ll still be your home. Even if we won’t live here, we can always visit.”

If the fact that the man himself wasn’t sure how his explanation went from “Las Nevadas will be our home because it’s good” to “This cottage can still be our home if you like it, we just won't live here” was anything to go off of, it was a bad explanation. Though, after a moment of thought, his son took a step forward and trapped him in a hug. For a moment, the man thought he was just looking for comfort, and that maybe he should’ve put more thought into his words… But then he heard the boy mutter “Home” quietly, and suddenly he was the one doing his best not to cry.

From that day forward, Yogurt decided that no matter where he went, it would be his home. The berry patches, the caves, the cottage, and the new place. With his dad, it was a home.

[crystalirises]

Harry Potter AU

Listen.

One day I ended up on the Harry Potter side of Ao3 and I consumed every Bellatrix is Hermione's mum fic that I could find.

So, have this.

Essentially, Wilbur and George are dark lords (Voldemort and Bellatrix, respectively) except George is passive and cold unlike Bellatrix who is crazy and Wilbur is somehow more successful than Voldemort. Dream is Harry, Fundy is Hermione, and Sapnap is Ron.

Beware, this had dark themes considering George is Bellatrix and uh... we all know what Bellatrix did to Hermione. Also blood purity, since Wilbur and George are the dark lords and still have the whole death eats thing going on for them.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31985884/chapters/81863542

“Are you okay?”

“Does he look okay to you, Dream?” Sapnap huffed, inspecting Fundy’s arm like the scar would somehow appear once more. Fundy couldn’t even try to answer, his throat unnaturally dry, or maybe he was too scared to speak. He remembered the taste of blood on his lips, as it clogged its throat and stole the air from his lungs. While Dream and Sapnap spoke quietly to one another, he reached up a hand to the scar on his neck. He could still feel the wand against his skin, digging deep until blood began to pour. “This is so fucked. I’m going to kill that asshole once I see him.”

“Well, you only have to survive the hoards of death eaters to be able to do that, no big deal.” Dream rolled his eyes, pacing at the foot of the bed where they’d placed Fundy in. “Fundy—”

“I’m not okay. But I’m not abandoning both of you either.”

“But it’s safer in the muggle world. Think of your parents!”

“Please, like you two would survive without me.”

His hands curled around the blankets, taking a deep breath before standing up. A hand immediately reached for his arm, and he didn’t need to look over to know that it was Sapnap. Usually, Sapnap would let him fall. Fundy chuckled, shaking his head. “I can walk, Sapnap.”

“Yeah, but… after… you know.” It was Fundy’s turn to huff, but he patted Sapnap’s hand instead. It was horrific for both of them too, to see their friend bleeding out. “You should rest.”

“It’s worse if I sit around doing nothing. It gives me more time to think about…”

Dream was already handing him a book, “You go… read.”

A hand hesitantly patted him on the shoulder, forest green eyes wincing in fear that he’d cause Fundy harm. The bruises and wounds were gone, but that didn’t mean the scars were gone. He forced a weary smile on his face, and eventually, Sapnap let his arm go. They both gave him worried glances, but they let him walk out of the tent and into the fresh night air. He grabbed a wand on his way out, knowing that it wasn’t his, nor was it Sapnap or Dream’s. He knew whose wand it was, but he dared not to remember those heterochromatic eyes. The chill in their glare.

Fundy shook his head, hugging the book against his chest.

“Lumos…” He expected the wand to backfire instantly, to scorch his hand as punishment for a… mudblood daring to use it. Instead, the wand merely accomplished the spell, a bright white light breaking through the dark. He sighed, opening the book to the first page, but the words would not come to him like they used to. Instead, they danced in front of him, his mind going back to the memory of that man. He had never met anyone so cold and ruthless. How could any human torture a person while still holding a passive look on their face? No, George Soot was not human.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced over to see Sapnap. His cheeks felt cold.

He didn’t even realize that he’d been crying.

 ---

“I thought he was dead.”

George pressed the bloodied torn cloth closer to his chest.

Wilbur watched him from across the table, eyes creased in concern, but he made no move to walk closer to him. Perhaps he thought George to be mad, he wouldn’t blame his husband for the assumption, George had been in Azkaban after all. He’d been apathetic since the day he broke out, but that didn’t mean Wilbur wasn’t worried that he would snap. Anytime, he might snap.

“I saw the fox birthmark, it was there. It was the same birthmark our child had. He’s alive, Wil. He’s alive.” But George wasn’t mad, no, he’d never been so sure of something in all his life.

“George, I miss our child. There hasn’t been a day where I don’t think of… Are you sure?”

“I am. The… I thought he was a mudblood. I didn’t know who he really was. I didn’t know!”

He thought back to the boy, shorter than what a child his age should be. He’d dragged him from the cells, his blood burning with anger then. Mudbloods and Halfbloods had no place in the wizarding world, and George had been irked to find a mere mudblood within their home. He’d left the Taken child and the Halo child in the dungeon, choosing to hurt the mudblood first. He could still hear the screams, the pleas, the begging cries. He could still feel the heat of the petrificus totalus spell that had hit him, the Taken child and the Halo child bursting into the room to save their unconscious friend. They had torn off a sleeve of his shirt to stop the bleeding.

That’s when George saw the birthmark, but he couldn’t do anything but watch as they escaped.

“I nearly killed him… I don’t… Did I kill him?” There was blood on one of the window sills. Their son’s blood. He could feel his breath come out in huge gasps, and that was when Wilbur came near, resting a hand against his shoulder. Their son was alive… but did he survive the blood loss? “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. If I had known then I wouldn’t have hurt him, Wilbur.”

“I know, love.” Wilbur gave him a reassuring smile, “He’s alive, I know it in my heart.”

“We’ll get him back… won’t we?”

Everything they were doing, it was for the child they’d lost. George wanted him back.

He remembered the day it all fell apart. News of his husband’s death had reached him, but it had been too late. The Order was already at their front door. They had arrested him on the spot for his “crimes” against the Wizarding World. He had hoped that they’d leave their child alone, but the headmaster - that Dumbledore - had taken the child into his arms. George had screamed, louder than he’s ever had before, but the Order had no mercy for him. The Order had stolen their crying and upset baby right from the crib, telling him coldly that the child could not live in their world.

Wizarding World… Muggle World… those fucking bastards.

“We’ll get him back, George. And nothing, nothing, will stop us this time.”

---

“What’s your plan? You know… after the war and all.”

They were both out of breath, the empty room providing them safety from the raging battle outside. Death eaters had been after them, but they’d managed to hide away, but it wouldn’t be long before they would be on the run again. Fundy glanced at the cracked stone walls, his heart heavy in his chest. When he’d been younger, Hogwarts felt like a dream, a place of fairytale and magic. If only his eleven-year-old self had known the bloodshed and carnage that hid behind the veil of fantasy. This was why he’d wanted to stay with his mum and dad. He never wanted this.

“You know what I’d do? For starters, I’m going to burn a big tree down.” His attention moved back to Sapnap, his best friend having laid down on a broken wooden table that was somehow still standing despite its three legs. There was a relaxed smirk on Sapnap’s face, “Then… huh…”

They’d miss their last year at Hogwarts. If anything, the three of them were drop outs. Fundy leaned against the wall, going through what he planned to do. Well, he definitely knew one thing.

“I’m going home.” Dark blue eyes looked up at him, Sapnap’s mouth open in shock. Fundy scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “I never wanted to be a wizard, remember? I just want to go home to my parents. Maybe go to college and get a real job in the real world. That’s my plan.”

“A real job? What does that mean? But come on, Fundy. You’d make a great professor. You’re like the smartest guy here.” Sapnap sat up, crossing his legs together. “You could even have a position in the Ministry if you wanted to, I’d support you… But seriously, you’re not gonna let Innit work in the ministry before you do, right? You can totally beat him! You just have to stay.”

“I don’t want to be a minister. I want to go home. I want to be back in the Muggle World.”

“Now why would anyone wish to be in the Muggle World.” A voice broke through their conversation, one that sent chills down Fundy’s spine. His breath quickened, his hand raising for his wand as George Soot appeared at the doorway. Sapnap jumped from the table, putting himself in between Fundy and George. The man looked at Sapnap coldly. “You’re a Halo.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Sapnap scowled, pulling out his wand. They both knew that George was wandless, after all, Fundy was currently in possession of George’s wand. “You—”

“I’m not here for you. You’re a Halo, go back to that hole of a house your family comes from.” Even though he could barely see Sapnap’s face, he knew that had struck a nerve. George’s cold gaze moved from Sapnap to him, a kind smile appearing on the dark lord’s face. “Hello, Fundy.”

“Hey! Eyes here, asshole!” Sapnap moved until Fundy was hidden right behind him, it helped that Sapnap was taller. Despite his friend’s bravado, Fundy couldn’t stop the tremors that raced through his fingers. George was right in front of them. The man who haunted his nightmares and every second he closed his eyes. He swallowed down the cry that was rising in his throat. He couldn’t leave Sapnap to battle George on his own. His fear begged for him to stay behind Sapnap, but he couldn’t do that. He moved to stand beside his friend. “Fundy, get behind me.”

“We’re fighting him together.” His hand curled around his wand. George couldn’t possibly beat them. They both had wands, and he was wandless. For the first time, Fundy saw George smirk.

They woke up a few minutes later. Fundy groaned, holding his head in his hands. Surprisingly, his body didn’t hurt, and they were still in the room where George had cornered them in. He glanced around the room, following the string of loud curses that could only belong to Sapnap. He found his friend at the far corner of the room, Sapnap curled around himself, his face creased with pain. George had somehow bested them, even without his wand. He reached out a hand towards Sapnap’s shoulders, flinching when his friend let out a pained shout. Sapnap caught his eye, a weary smile appearing on his face. “Crucio… He took his wand back after you fainted.”

He leaned on the wall next to Sapnap, wishing he could do something to help his friend. Sapnap hadn’t pulled out his wand to heal himself yet, and Fundy didn’t need to ask to know that George had probably broken Sapnap’s wand. He let Sapnap relax for a bit, his poor friend still weak from the curse. He reached out to hold Sapnap’s hand, rubbing his knuckles for a bit. Sapnap weakly smiled, his eyes turning down towards Fundy’s neck, a puzzled look crossing his face.

“Where’d you get that scarf?”

---

The door clicked open behind him.

He pulled the knitted scarf closer to his face. He knew why they were in his room.

A pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from the window that he’d been glaring out of for the past few hours. They mocked him with the blue sky, like he could be free when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Wilbur carried him towards the sofa, placing him among the soft cushions that Fundy couldn’t help but sink into. He refused to look at either of them, his vow of silence holding his tongue from cursing out at them. After a moment, he heard George sigh, the scarf pulled down so that he had no choice but to glare at them. He wouldn’t give them anything but his silent anger. They’d killed Dream, and they wouldn’t tell him of Sapnap’s fate.

“You can’t stay angry forever.” Couldn’t he? Fundy scowled, turning around on the couch so that he wouldn’t have to look at them. It only lasted a second before George had a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him around to face them again. He didn’t know what game they were playing at, this whole, pretending he was their son. How long would this game of pretend stop? He wasn’t their son. To him, George would always be the man who tortured him without mercy and Wilbur would always be the man who’d killed his best friend. “Please, talk to us, sweetie.”

If he could, he’d have a string of curses waiting for him. And no, not the spells. But if he could… 

“You won’t talk to us. You won’t even look at us unless we force you to. You insist on escaping every few days.” Wilbur crouched down beside the couch, and despite Fundy’s hatred for them, he couldn’t help but shudder anyway. Perhaps today would be the day they’d finally stop toying with him. They were dark lords, they were the monsters that brought both the Wizarding World and the Muggle World to their knees. Wilbur could kill him immediately with a spell, but George would make his death slow and painful. “You hate us. Will you not forgive your dear old dads?”

Fundy rolled his eyes, keeping his mouth shut.

Wilbur sighed, casting George a disappointed look. “I told you. There’s only one choice left.”

He scooted away as George sat down beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Wilbur sat on the other end of the sofa, pulling out his wand. “Fundy, my son…  we’ll have to obliviate you—”

“No.” His voice was tired and rough, unrecognizable even to his own ears. George’s hold on him seemed to only tighten, resting his chin against the top of Fundy’s head. He scowled, trying to pry himself away from the man’s grasp, but George held on too tightly, like he didn’t wish to let go. It only served to spike his rising anger. “You two are insane. Let fucking go of me. Kill me. Torture me. Stop playing this fucking game with me. You killed Dream! You hurt Sapnap! You’re killing muggles, muggleborns, halfbloods, and squibs. I don’t give a damn about what you do to me! I hate both of you! I hate you and I’d rather fucking die than let you obliviate me!”

“You don’t mean that.” He flinched, George’s voice was too close to his ears. He still had nightmares of their first encounter. How could he forget when the scar on his neck served as a reminder. Which is why… George adjusted the scarf around his neck. “You don’t wish to die.”

“You don’t understand, Fundy. The Order took you away from us. We just want our son back, but you hate us. You won’t even give us a chance.” Maybe he would if they weren’t murderers and tyrants. A hand cupped his cheek, Wilbur’s kind gaze made Fundy sick. This was the last face Dream had seen… but it had been creased with anger. “You’ll be happy with us. We promise.”

“That’s because I wouldn’t even be me. I’ll be happy because I wouldn’t be me!”

He struggled fruitlessly in George’s hold, but it was useless. George was rubbing gentle circles on his arms, whispering words of “comfort” into his ear. He shook his head, hot tears streaming past his cheeks. This was worse than death. He didn’t want to forget. He wanted to remember his parents, even if they weren’t really his parents. He wanted to remember his best friends. He wanted to remember who he was. Wilbur shushed him, wiping away his tears. He cried louder. He’d be a blank slate the next time he was aware. He wouldn’t remember… He wouldn’t remember anything at all. “It won’t hurt, I promise.” Wilbur pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Obliviate!”

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Unfortunately, Georgebur won and Fundy got obliviated

And yeah George knitted Fundy a scarf <3

Also, ah yes, the names:

Dark Lord Wilbur Soot Dark Lord George Soot (Lore) Dream Taken Fundy Salmon (Soot, actually) Sapnap Halo

(Also don't ask why Dumbledore is still Dumbledore here XDDD, I don't want to put any character in his role XDDD)