#c!ghostbur x reader

[heartofwritiing]

c!wilbur is a tits man.

L’manbur: adores to plant soft kisses all along your mounds. Suck your nipples into his mouth. Grope them a little, worshipping them to his hearts content.

Ghostbur: loves to nuzzle his face in between them. laying on your back he uses them as a pillow. just shoves his face in there whenever he feels like it. Ghostbur just loves being clingy and grabby with you.

Revivebur: can’t get enough of, sucking hickies all over them, slapping them, pinching your nipples while you ride him. his eyes fucking bungle like a cartoon when he sees the way they bounce when you ride/when he’s pounding you.

here i go to hide again after i post this… 🫣 (jk)

tagging: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et

[justpuppylove]

thinking about Ghostbur being a little painslut & he’s just begging his partner to hurt him, squirming on the bed and he’s begging them to bite him, scratch him, fuck him harder, and he’s so sweet and innocent normally that even like this, his partner’s reluctant to hurt him, bc they’d be hurting Ghostbur.

but fuck bc the way he’s begging for it is addictive, and the way he gasps and whimpers and begs for more after they slap him— fuck. & he’s such a little fucking painslut too, they almost wonder how much pain he can take and enjoy.

bc every time they bite him, he begs them to bite harder, and he looks so fucking blissed out like this right now, teeth sinking into his skin, neck straining with how hard his hair is getting pulled, and nipples getting pinched.

tears are rolling down his face even as he begs for more, his voice high pitched and shaky between his sobs, and fuck the way he begs “please, more” is just so fucking pretty they can’t resist

Ghostbur smut

Sub!Ghostbur with g/n Dom!reader

Kinks: pain kink, spit, slight degrading/praising

Ghostbur is such a sweet boy, the complete opposite of Alivebur. Ghostbur is so gentle with you and he loves bottoming for you, he’s just such a wholesome soul that it’s hard to see yourself being too rough with him.

You’re sat reading a book as ghostbur approaches you, looking down at you and your book. He sits down beside you and you move over onto his lap and continue reading. He places his chin onto your neck and you can feel his heavy breath on your skin, he kisses your neck which sends shivers up your body. “What do you think you’re doing?” You say turning around to face the taller boy. “Nothing..” the curly haired boy responds avoiding eye contact. “If you needed me you just had to say so pretty boy” you say as you guide your hand up his thigh and unbutton his pants, making him whine. You take his pants off but keep his underwear on as you grind on his lap fully clothed. You could feel his length through your clothes as you leave hickeys on his neck. Although the boy was much taller than you, you could feel him shrink under you as he whined your name. “What’s wrong baby?” You say in a teasing tone while continuing to grind on him, “please be rough with me” he said whimpering. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t shock you, Ghostbur wanted you to be rough with him? Your ghostbur? “I don’t want to hurt you darling” you said genuinely concerned, until he started begging. “Please~ I need it so bad, please make me feel good” he whined, looking in your eyes. Of course you’d make your boy feel good.

You bit into his neck while bouncing up and down on his length. You barely bit down, “harder please~” he moaned out. “Is this really what you want?” You asked to make sure, he violently nods his head yes. You bite into his neck just enough to draw blood and you feel him buck his hips into you while letting out a load moan. “Fuck darling” he says as he fucks into you. You pull on his hair, “open your mouth slut”. He immediately does as he’s told and opens his mouth for you. You spit into his mouth and watch as he swallows, you could feel him speed up his pace and this was your signal he was going to cum soon. You slap his face before continuing to bite and suck at his neck. “Such a good boy for me” you whisper into his ear before pulling roughly at his hair, that was the last thing he needed “Can I please cum for you baby” he begs while holding onto your waist. “Mmm~~” you say teasingly like your thinking about his question, this was clearly not the reaction he wanted because he immediately started begging for you to let him cum. “Please, please, please, I’ve been so good” he says with tears swelling up in his eyes. “Okay love, cum with me.” You say finally giving in, he did not waste any time to do as he was told. He slammed into you a few more times before he came inside of you. You pulled his hair roughly as you reached your climax as well.

You both were panting for a while, trying to catch your breath while coming down from your highs. Afterwards, you cleaned each other up and you littered soft kisses over all of the marks you made. You both whispered ‘I love you’s into each other’s ears as you both continued reading your book together.

[may be a bit different than the request but I hope it’s still good :D ]

[lillyspeakz]

Ghostbur Wilbur gives you blue when your sad on the dsmp. You both end up having a deep discussion and start to feel better. Hurt comfort fic? Canon lore?? All platonic. :)

Some context: your grieving your best friends death and the exile dream put Tommy in as you and Tom are siblings :) (just imagine wil and Tom are best friends)

-

“Fuck this, fuck life, what the fuck!” You screamed out to no one in particular as you threw rocks at the lake behind your house.

You hadn’t been handling it well, your brother in exile while you were here, wasting away with the ghost of your best friend since birth. How fucked up is that? The cherry on fucking top of all of this. You didn’t mind, but it hurt that he only remembered bits and pieces. You wanted to yell at him, scream at him about how he left you and how selfish he was.

But you didn’t. He’d already dealt with too much from others, stuff he didn’t understand since Wilbur was the one to create it all. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t do anything. His ghost is just the happy Wilbur that got lost.

“Dear? Are you ok?” You heard a voice ask from behind you as fuzzy fur was felt on your hand. You looked down and saw friend nuzzling into you, Wilbur holding the lead and looking at you with a concerned expression.

You signed out as you turned back. “Yeah, just thinking too much.”

Sitting down on the grass, Ghostbur came on the other side of you and sat down, both of you looking at the sunset that had just begun.

“I know how much alive me hated it when you overthought. I still have those memories. So I’m guessing he doesn’t want you too.” Ghost said with a soft voice as you smiled at the words, tears marking your water line.

“Yeah no, he hated it. So did Tommy. It’s why I’ve been doing it so much lately, I don’t have them to keep me in check.” You said as you brought your knees up to your chest, lying your head on your knees.

“What have you been thinking about?” The ghost beside you asked as you turned your head to look at him. His skin cold and blue in every way, the yellow sweater now ruined and a brown sheen from everything that’s happened. He looks different yet so familiar.

“How I could’ve been better. How I could’ve saved Tommy from being exiled by Tubbo, how he’s being tortured by the dream right now , how he’s just a kid and he doesn’t know any better. You have to be that petty to send a kid to prison on another island away from his only family? And then Wilbur- alive you- how selfish he was to just leave like that after destroying something we all worked hard to defend for months. How he left me alone to deal with all of his shit. Jesus I fucking hate him.” You whispered out the last part at you wiped the stray tears that fell. Your hatred for the man was short lived as a cold hand met yours and squeezed them together.

“I’m sorry I can’t help. But Toms doing fine, I saw him today. And for alive me, I know he loved you very much. And he wanted you safe and happy, so I’ll try my best to do that for you. I wish I could understand why everyone hates me, but all I know is I can’t fix it.” The statement was a sad one, but a true one. He couldn’t fix it, it was Wil’s problem to fix, but he was getting the short end of the stick.

You leaned over and placed your head on his shoulder, getting closer to him than before. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve it. We have each other yeah? Until Tom comes back?” You asked, looking you at him as he nodded, the sunset warming his face a bit, unless it was you.

“Yeah. I like that.” Ghostbur said as he relaxed into your touch, a smile on his face as he leaned to his head against yours.

You only needed each other in the end. You had your Wilbur, and that’s all you needed.

And your annoying brother.

[calmthefuckdownalright]

Hello! It's the swan!reader anon! I learned a thing about rabbits, they flop over onto the floor when they feel safe. Could I have Different Burs reacting to Rabbit hybrid!Reader flopping over next to them?

Greetings again my dear, this is absolutely adorable than you 🤍

I hope you don't mind but I would like you to be my first Anon, perhaps a feather for you given your first request of the swan. These are so creative and educational at the same time. I truly enjoy them

<><><><><><><><><><><>

Pog!Bur

"Ehm...what are you doing?" Wilbur looked down at his feet where you had flopped onto your stomach. The delicate ears of your hybrid trait spread out like a rug beside your head.

"I don't know...it just felt right." You mumbled and shut your eyes.

"I-" Wilbur stared at you, his pickaxe still in his hands. "You're going to get rocks all in your ears darling, let's go back." He sighed and lifted you up from the stony floor. Being a rabbit hybrid also came with the perk of being exceptionally small when curled up and extremely light as well.

L'man!Bur

Wilbur stroked your ear softly, careful to avoid going too far down lest he disturb you from your focus point of the feathery quill in your hands.

"Mmmm..." You hummed and flopped back into his lap, closing your eyes with a smile up at him.

"Darling? Darling what are you doing?" Wilbur chuckled and put his hand on the top of your head.

"It's so nice here, just with you. Its been a while since we were safe." You opened an eye and grinned with a light chuckle.

"Do you feel safe then? With me?" Wilbur smirked mischieviously.

"Of course." You didn't know the irony those words held, or the pain this memory would bring you later on.

Phantom!Bur

It was just him in The Pub(e) and you came in looking weary from the climb up to the parlor. When you came in he smiled absently and continued to sort through the loose loot left in the meeting place.

"Good, its just you." You sighed and fell right to the floor. The words alone had made Wilbur uneasy but then your body thunked agianst the wood and he jumped into his vanish form.

"Y/N?!" He poked his head out from the floor he had phased through and climbed on top the planks till he stood by your laying form.

"Are you alright?" He laughed and sat down by your head, gentle knuckles caressed your fluffy hair.

"So tired..." You huffed and leaned into his careful touch. His cheeks flushed a dark blue and he didn't dare move.

Ghost!Bur

You sighed and huffed and Ghost paused his potion watching in opting to watch you on his sewer floor.

"What's wrong?" He asked slowly and stared confused at you.

"I forget how quiet things can be." You sat up and got to your feet, your usually curled short legs extending to much greater lengths fit for running.

"Would you like me to talk?" Ghostbur was excited. Most people told him to shut up.

"Yes please." Your eyes lit up and you sat back onto the damp floor, patiently awaiting the ghost's story of the day.

"Well, once I had a dream that-" Ghostbur began his ramble of conversations he never got to have, or that he had with himself. Thoughts poured from his mouth and you absorbed it like a sponge.

He finished a story and you flopped into his lap, your soft ears sprawling onto his legs. You smiled and looked up at him like a lost puppy.

"What's wrong?" Ghostbur cupped your face with his blue stained hands. You smiled and relaxed into his palms.

"This is so nice." You said and closed your eyes. He kissed your head with a smile and continued with his stories, but quieter in case you fell to sleep.

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

Ugh...i make myself sick with how much i want from my partners because of these kinds of things.

[listenheresweaty]

uhhh for the hc requests limbobur cos he makes he go feral and i just want hime to have some comfort

Someone made a fangame of Limbobur, btw! It's called "Limbo: The Saddest story in the World" (i think. there is a playthrough on youtube. about 42 minutes).

Since he's receiving comfort, I'll assume that the reader has died and joined him in limbo

His reaction is going to depend on how long he's been there, and how much he knew you before he died.

If you were dating/close and you die during the late beginning (2-3 year) of his time in Limbo, you've stumbled upon the worst of Limbobur. It's when he's screaming himself hoarse, clawing at the walls, trying again and again to board the train no matter how many times that invisible force knocks him back. He's a mess. He doesn't want to return to life, exactly, but he really, really wants out of the train station. When the train rolls in with your soul in tow, he runs towards it, thinking that it's for his escape. Instead, it pushes him back again--- and pushes you in as well. You stumble into him, and he clasps his arms around you by instinct, staring at you uncomprehendingly.

Wilbur's almost disappointed. But no matter. At least he isn't alone anymore, as he cradles your face and bombards you with questions--- what do you see? are you really dead? are you with him? can you see him? hear him?

He obligates you to help with his escape attempts. Maybe if there are two people running at the doors, it'll work. Don't bother trying to argue. He isn't going to miss out on an opportunity to escape this hellhole just because you are acting all apprehensive.

Early Limbobur has so many breakdowns. He doesn't react when you hug him, only muttering, rambling on about how much he wants to leave, all his thoughts and theories on limbo so far--- but when you try and pull away, he sits up so quick it startles you half to death. He grabs your arm and looks at you with wild, pleading eyes, terrified you were about to disappear.

Please hold Wilbur's face, bring him to sit sideways in your lap as you cradle him. Let him cry and scream. He won't hug back, but trust me--- your actions will be appreciated later on. On the downside, he's never letting go. not for a couple years.

It's only towards the middle of his time in limbo, when he begins to give up, he's a little more attentive: closing his eyes in bliss when you stroke his hair, brushing his thumb across your knuckles, looping an arm around your waist. It's then that he starts holding conversations with you. It's then when he finally asks how you died.

Wilbur doesn't smile-- not even a fake one. He's withdrawn, distant. You both failed to get out, even with your combined efforts. Wilbur will never, ever believe it to be your fault.... but he can't help feeling bitter.

----------

If you visit him around the time Tommy did, he's calmed down. Cheerfully, he welcomes you, bringing you over to a deck of cards and encourages you to play with him. Wilbur notices you staring at the old, bloody scratch marks on the wall, laughs and waves it off. "Pay no mind to that. The me from 6-7 years ago was a mess." (i think he canonically said something similar to tommy).

Wilbur still hates Limbo, but still believes he deserves to be there. He talks about his death with morbid ease, regardless of how uncomfortable about the topic you seem.

Actually, if you are particularly panicked about your new situation, he'll just keep talking about whatever's on his mind, not wanting to face your mental state-- it reminds him too much of his experience 6-7 years ago. rants about philosophy, politics, and random ideas. you don't want to talk? That's alright! You can just listen. It's been years since he's had anyone, he'll take what he can get

Act more composed though, and you might make a more meaningful connection. Talk about your previous lives with solemnity, and he will join you in your speculation, nodding along and occasionally giving his quiet input.

Ask him if he's alright, he will blink in surprise and confusion. "...I'm good." he says, but only because he didn't know what else to say. Did you really just ask him that? Have you seen where the two of you are trapped?

Ask him if he needs a hug, he will fall silent. ".. It's--- it's fine." He says, blinking as if he's having trouble remembering what one is.

Ask him if he wants a hug, and he will have nearly the same reaction. But instead of brushing you off, he will nod and say, "Sure", in a choked voice.

holds you so tight you fear your ribs will crack

pet his hair or scratch his scalp and he might actually whine.

He won't cry though. He wants to, but the pressure just builds up in his throat at chest cavity instead of leaking out of his eyes, which stay stubbornly dry. It's incredibly frustrating.

Give 👏 wilbur👏  back👏  massages

any kind of massage. rub his shoulders, jaw, back, scalp. anything to calm the tension and frustration of being unable to get his emotions out.

You offer him to sit in your lap one day, and although he's confused, he complies. as soon as you start rubbing circles into his shoulderblades, he melts like butter.

completely limp. he almost knocks you down by just falling back against you

it's not a perfect remedy, but it's the best you can do.

you better not let him go >:(

Will give faint, tired smiles if you give him physical or verbal affection.

Whenever you are holding him from behind, he will always turn his head to the side as if trying to get a look at you-- wanting to be as close as possible.

trembles when you hold him. he can't control it

------

visiting at the very end of his limbo

By the 13th year though, Wilbur is catatonic. He doesn't care about whether he deserves to be there or not--- what determines who deserves punishment, anyway? What moral code exists for a dead man?

He wants out. Tommy has already visited and left him (he screamed when tommy disappeared, for the first time in years)

As soon as Wilbur sees you roll in, he's rushing over, tugging you onto the platform

He's almost the same as if you had visited him towards the middle of his limbo, but with key differences

1. He is a lot quieter, ranting much less

2. He doesn't let you out of his sight. This is post Tommy's revival, so he's tense and half-expecting you to disappear, leaving him alone again.

3. Because he no longer believes (or cares) that he deserves to be in Limbo, he avoids the topic of his death. it's not as easy to talk about anymore.

If you hug him, he'll just hold you tight, silently.

You can't hug him from behind though. You have to be facing him, so he's able to wrap his arms around you and ensure that no one will take you away.

hope these were satisfactory :)

[listenheresweaty]

Guys. Guys. Guys.

ROUND 4 MATCH 12: C!WILBUR VS. STAN

c!Wilbur Soot from the DSMP faces Stanley Pines from Gravity Falls. Who do you like more? obligatory @10piecechickenmcnugget tag because your man is RUNNING THE GAUNTLET

c!Wilbur Propaganda:

"Accurate depiction of mental health and spiral, handled delicately and deliberately, every piece of his story was thought and planned and in the end he went home to Utah. Thank you lord."

"Please don’t let the name dream smp effect how you feel about this submission, this character is completely unrelated to dream and I’m pretty sure the person who played him has nothing to do with dream anymore. This man single handedly got me through a horrible patch filled with extreme paranoia by also being extremely paranoid. Genuinely really helped me feel seen and I coped a lot by getting invested in this character. I almost cried when he died :("

"He’s so fucking stupid. I could infodump for hours this man transed my gender. Everything has gone wrong in his life. He’s the definition of a bisexual disaster."

"I didn’t fail 10th grade math bc I was thinking about c!wilbur for him to lose round one"

"I mean look at him!! his Minecraft skin is adorable!!!"

"if you people vote for cwilbur i'll draw him in a bikini."

"A VOTE FOR C!WILBUR IS A VOTE FOR GIRLBOYS EVERYWHERE"

"i should not have underestimated minecraft fans they came together"

64.media.tumblr.com

"Season 1 changed me. I didn’t know minecraft videos could have good acting, dramatic plots, etc. Wilbur was one of the best there. His plot was so interesting with the L’Manburg and the unfinished symphony arcs. He was funny, dramatic, sad… I fondly remember my dsmp days (though I only saw up to like part of Tommy’s exile)"

Stan Propaganda:

"from the same creature that submitted ford and was too tired for actual propaganda. they’re pretty cool huh"

"That propaganda is disgraceful but I'm also too tired to write up any big things for it"

"Hi that lack of propaganda for Stan Pines is offensive to me personally so here's some fun stuff:

He's punched zombies AND an all-powerful demon to death for the sake of protecting his family. He spent thirty years trying to turn on a portal to the Multiverse to get his twin brother back. He still thinks sacrificing his entire being is all that he's good for, and that makes my heart so sad. He loves his family and his family loves him. He's a silver fox. He also punched a pterodactyl in the face because he felt so bad about lying to his niece and getting her pet pig kidnapped that he had to fix his mistake (and yes, he did get the pig back). His nemesis was a ten-year-old child psychic whom he knew was a fraud because the kid didn't even realize his name wasn't actually Stanford.

Man of all time. Character of all time."

[mysticalsoot]

someone to live with

part 2 to someone to (not) die with

➸ note; i know i said id post this at 8- but I was watching heartland with my mom and like.. sobbed like a baby anyways, hope you enjoy!!

➸ pairing; revivebur x gn!reader // c!wilbur x gn!reader

➸ summary; after wilbur's death and a too long to think, you ask your sister to help you. she does but maybe her methods work a bit too well.

➸ warning; slight hurt/big comfort, suicide mentions, kissing, easily forgiving reader, ghostbur goes to a happy limbo, probably swearing

➸ age-rating; 15+

➸ wordcount; 3.1k

main masterlist // part 1

wilbur's funeral was quicker than most, and not many people showed up. if anything, it was mostly you and his father and brothers. Niki came by, your sister Grace did too. but in all honesty, not many people bothered to pay their respects.

you also kept it quiet, taking a few days before the funeral to really let everything sink in, to let the fact he left the bouquet you gave him on the spot he wanted to be buried. it was just by the hill he used to sit on, the one he took you to and told you all about his dreams for the future. for lmanburg and for the future you both hoped to share.

you wouldn't be sharing that future now.

despite that; the time since wilbur's death went by slowly, and was utterly agonizing. your home felt colder, although it could've been winter slowly creeping up, you chalked it up to the lack of your partner. or maybe it was his ghost that wandered your halls that emanated that cold. or maybe he just contributed to it. whatever it was, you found yourself spending more time out in the snow sitting by his grave than sitting by the fire in your living room.

you'd talk to him, or rather the corpse of his that was buried a few feet down in a hand built coffin that his older brother forged through anger. Techno wasn't known for tears.

but you were. you wouldn't be surprised if your tears eventually froze over whenever you spoke to his grave, as the days were getting colder and the chill of the wind started to burn your cheeks.

ghostbur was nice, you thought. a nice distraction. he was kind and sweet and he was all the good of Wilbur and more. he wasn't Wilbur, he made that clear, but you knew that the moment you met him. he caught you on a less than good day, wandering around your house, mindlessly walking the halls and dissociating to the point you weren't sure what was going on or where you were.

but he came knocking on your doorstep, friend behind him. you took him in, since he had nowhere else to go. you helped him stable up friend, put him in the pen and set him up in the fields while you brought ghost in and helped him warm up. you kept him away from the snow and cold, helping him become afloat again. he stayed back with you, keeping an eye on you and giving you blue any time he could. he loved spending time with you, caring for you.

he was a good friend, and he hoped that's what he always would be.

no matter how many times you'd tell him how wonderful of a friend he was, he wouldn't believe it. even when you brought up the time he saved you a week after he walked into your life. you were so close to ending it all, jumping off the edge and joining your wilbur. but he stopped you, he managed to talk you down and he held you and promised to protect you, and that he did. he protected you, he cared for you and even if your relationship was platonic at best, he was a wonderful partner.

meanwhile, wilbur was pent up in limbo. pacing the platform, listening to the sounds of the train passing by not once stopping for him. he was going crazy, mind you he already was, but this was a whole new level.

there wasn't much to do up there, time passed so much more slowly. there weren't any books to busy him with, all he could do was sit and listen to the screeching and taunting of the train. the sounds drove him mad, a constant reminder of what he can never reach, what he can't get back. what he destroyed with his selfish ways.

he nearly ripped his hair out, with the way regret and stress was eating at his dead form. he was tired, lost and he couldn't get it out of his mind what mistakes he'd made. the long list of things he'd ruined with his own presence.

sometimes he'd wonder if it's better that he's dead. maybe he shouldn't bother with troubling thoughts of how to get back. you must be thriving, he hopes you're thriving.

you weren't. it's crawling up to the two month anniversary, and to say the least, you were losing it. you were good at pretending, pretending that you were okay and healing but in reality; you weren't. you were staying up at night, clinging to his old trench coat and shutting your eyes in hopes you could pretend he was there and would materialize into his coat at any moment. it felt stupid to do this, but it kept you from being pushed onto the ledge.

"Grace?" you whisper, holding your cup of tea close to your chest, sitting behind her counter at her flower shop. your sister was always a safe place for you, especially when you couldn't sift through your thoughts on your own. she helped.

"mm?" she hums, turning to face you with a smile before returning to the flowers she was working on. a small winter themed display for the Christmas festival she was preparing for. as for every other shop owner in L'manburg.

"have you.. have you learnt anything about revival?" you managed to mumble out, eyes casted down on the floor as you set aside your tea.

"I've done some research," you didn't catch the way she froze for a moment, as if she was buffering. and you especially didn't know that her research pertained to reviving the same person you wished to.

"how much?"

"enough." she sighs out, tying a ribbon around the bunch of stems, placing the bouquet on display before cleaning up her workstation.

"how hard is it? to revive someone, I mean." you bit your lip, nearly drawing blood before you quit, looking away again but this time outside the front windows.

"is this about wilbur?"

she didn't need to ask, she already knew. it's always about wilbur. you fidget with your fingers, wringing your hands together as you shrug, "maybe."

"if.. and I mean, if. if you revive him, he may not be the same," Grace frowns, walking over to you and bringing you into a hug. for a younger sister, she acted like an older, doting sister occasionally.

"at least I'll have him back, y'know?" you shrug again, raising your shoulders before dropping them in defeat, leaning deeper into her hug.

"I'll help," she draws in a breath, calculating her next words as she steps back to look at you, "if you promise to not blame anyone but him if he comes back an ass, okay?" she cracks a smile, chuckling softly at her own words as your own lips curl up and you roll your eyes.

"fine-" you pause, mind reeling as you remember ghostbur. how could you hurt him?

"what will happen to ghostbur?"

Grace shrugs, pulling away and turning to grab some more flowers to put together, "he'll be sent to limbo."

"so he'll die?" regret bubbles up in your throat like bile, and your eyes widen at the thought.

"no, no," she starts before stopping, biting her bottom lip, "he'll go to his own limbo."

"is that good?"

her shoulders lift, mouth curled in a frown and uncertainty paints on her face, "in theory, yes. I'm sure he'll be fine. it's- he'll be okay."

"if.. if getting back wil hurts ghost- i- I can't do that to him, Grace," your lips curl downwards and you step into the main area of the shop, grabbing some baby's breath and setting it on the counter by your sister.

"it won't hurt him. i promise," she rests her hand on yours, shooting you a soft and sympathetic gaze.

you take in a breath and nod, "okay, when can we start?"

you were sure that the rivival process was long and tedious, and maybe it was but-- grace liked to work alone. she'd update you when you showed up at her shop every morning, reassuring you that everything was fine.

it was a few days before ghostbur disappeared, which grace warned you about. you just hoped he was okay. despite the lack of the beloved ghost, you still hadn't found wilbur, and Grace was becoming more suspicious.

she avoided your questions, choosing short answers and it seemed like she was pulling herself at both ends, spreading herself thin. you were worried but Tom didn't know anything, and Grace wasn't letting you in on it anytime soon.

"why can't I see them, grace?" wilbur pried, sitting on the bench in the back of Grace's shop.

"I don't trust you yet. you haven't proved to me that you won't hurt them," she toyed with the ribbon she held, melting the ends to keep it from freying.

"you've threatened me enough, I think that's plenty of reason-"

"no, wilbur, you killed yourself and left them off on their own. threatening isn't enough for you to get it through your head that your fucking existence could hurt them! sometimes that's all you do," she scoffs, placing down the ribbon and picking up the next one, sealing the ends again. she takes a moment, listening to the silence of the room, the silence that's fallen on wilbur. she rolls her eyes, huffing before she continues, "I'm sorry, okay? but I've had to watch my sibling suffer because of your decisions, and they suffered longer than you've been dead," she pauses, shutting her eyes and taking a breath before continuing, "I'm not trying to be hard on you, I promise but- just, please understand, wil."

"I know, I know I've hurt them but I promise, I can make it better. weren't they the one that asked to revive me?" he counters, standing up and making his way to stand beside grace, towering over her and resting his hand on her shoulder.

"yes, they were but- I warned them and I just don't want them hurt."

"I won't hurt them," he starts, resting his hands on both her shoulders, "I promise."

she pulls back, "fine, but remember the second I catch wind that you've hurt them, say goodbye to living. and your reproductive organs."

"I think killing me is good enough," he laughs softly, pulling grace into a hug and mumbling, "thank you, so much,"

"yeah, sure."

"I'll see you later, yeah?" wilbur's lips curl into a smile as he practically bounces towards the door. he hurries out of the flower shop, determination taking over and hope filling his veins.

all the while you're out by his grave, again. maybe you should build something in honor of ghostbur, you think. he's not here anymore, hopefully in a better place so surely you should do something to honor his memory. just like you did with wilbur. like you always did.

you sifted your fingers through the grass, tugging at it gently, trying not to fully rip it but just mess with it. your mind runs miles an hour, wandering through thoughts and feelings that haven't quite healed yet.

moss has begun to grow on his headstone, flowers grace planted around it now blooming up around the stone. it's heavily weathered, the words.

'wilbur soot. beloved son, friend, partner, brother and president. 1996-2020.'

they're painted on and the snow and sleet has worn it down, its barely visible. the words ghost on the stone. but you have it memorized, by reading it over before you had it made, and then reading it over and over again for hours every day since his death. like a mantra, even if it has no purpose other than to hurt you.

you'd been sitting there for who knows how long, your fingers felt like icicles but you barely noticed the pricking cold. you weren't sure what you were hoping for, praying for by sitting alone but it was something.

the sound of fabric waving in the wind, and footsteps crunching on the grass, and then the scent hits you; cigarettes and cologne. mixed together and hitting your nose sharply. you bite your lip, letting your breath catch in your throat, not bothering to look behind you.

"wilbur?" you mumble, and then you hear his smile form, a little puff of air let out with it.

"hello, my love," he stands beside you, waiting for you to invite him to sit with you. you glance up at him, mouth slightly agape.

"you're alive."

"yeah, I am. thank god grace let me go. finally-" he chuckles, and for the first time in a while, you smile. a genuine smile.

"what? she kept you cooped up?" you pat the spot beside you, keeping your eyes up on you.

"yes, she did. and she threatened my livelihood," he follows your guide, sitting beside you and letting his legs stretch out before him. you finally catch a glance at the discoloration on his face, the bruises and patches of skin too pale or too tan.

"oh? so she threatened to neuter you?" you meet his eyes finally, smile soft but clear on your face.

"that's her favorite threat," he chuckles softly, fingers twitching as if he was going to reach for you. he takes a sharp breath, looking forward and out on the horizon over the hill. he takes a moment before pulling something out of his trench coat pocket, but you stop him short.

"you grabbed the coat?" you frown, fingers reaching out to play with the fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. you glance up at him and he finally reaches forward, hand on your cheek and thumb rubbing your skin.

"it wasn't the only thing I grabbed," he sucks in a breath, pulling his hand away and taking out two rings, the rings he left for you, "i found them, on the mantle and i- I wanted to do what I didn't before."

"so you've been in our house?"

"is that what you take from this?" he chuckles, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. to his surprise, you don't flinch away but rather lean into it and sigh.

"maybe, but- are you.."

"proposing? if you're okay with it," he starts, pulling the rings off the string and putting his hand out for yours. you nod and give him your hand. he slips the ring on and begins again, "will you marry me?"

"mmm.. I don't know- will I?" you crack a smile before chuckling softly, "yes, yes I will. idiot."

he pulls you into a hug, your right leg tossed over his lap as you both pull one another closer. and then you pull back and reach your hand out, palm up.

"what?"

"the ring, it's only fair."

"oh?" wilbur smiles, handing you the wedding band he intended on wearing. you slip it on his ring finger before kissing each of his finger tips.

"I missed you,"

"I missed you too," he leans closer, resting his hand on your cheek again and stroking the skin.

"mm, I'm sure you've had plenty of time to miss me," the corner of your mouth twitches upwards into a smirk. you stand up, reaching your hand down for him to take as you help him up to stand. he rests his hands on your hips, squeezing gently before leaving a kiss on your cheek.

"too much time," he mumbles, holding you close and hugging you, "I'm sorry, for all I've done. I know that no words can account for all that I've put you through but I- I hope you can find a way to put up with me."

"don't worry, I forgave you a while ago. you were stupid but, dream is dead and it's because of what you pulled. we have you to thank for that."

"I'm still sorry," he winces, and you grab his hand, leading him back to the cabin as you shrug.

"I know, and you're going to have to do a lot more than say sorry for other people. but for me, you're lucky I missed you so much. otherwise, I probably wouldn't have asked to have you revived."

"I know but-" you shoot him a warning look, silently telling him to shut his trap before he starts whining again, "okay, okay, I get it."

"good, now- let's go enjoy ourselves yeah? get you a shower and go to bed. because, love you, darling but you reek." you chuckle, tugging him by his hand up the stairs of your porch, hurrying in and shutting the door behind you.

he pulls you to him by your hips, swaying you gently before he leans down to pull you into a kiss, lips licking together in a way they haven't in over six months, you think. much longer than he's been dead.

you reach your arms up, wrapping them around his neck as you both tug one another together, your bodies now pressed up. the warmth he spreads wraps around you and you've never felt more at home.

the kiss doesn't end until you both have to gasp for air, and you drop your head to press against his chest. he rubs your back with his hands, gentle circles spun over your shirt.

"do I really reek?" he croons, looking up at the ceiling as your fingers grasp at his shirt.

"yes you do,"

he attempts to get out of it, poking out a gentle pout and you pull back. folding your arms over your chest as you shake your head, smirking at the way he tries to beg like a puppy.

"wilbur- you do realize I was going to make brownies while you showered, right?" you knew the moment you mentioned baked goods, he'd do whatever you asked. he'd do whatever you asked anyway, but a little bribe never hurt anyone.

"wait really?" his eyes light up and his pout falls off and is replaced with an excited grin. you nod and he lunges down to press thankful kisses all over your face, giggling happily as he holds you by your sides, fingers curling over your waist.

"yes- god, you only love me for my baking?"

"no, but it is a plus," he pulls back, placing a quick peck to your lips before sprinting up the stairs for him to shower. you shake your head, smile clear as day on your lips as you venture into the kitchen to begin baking.

despite everything, the pain and turmoil and living without him, you're glad you asked to have him revived, even if it meant some sacrifice. yet the more you think of it, you're gonna have to thank grace for holding your fiance hostage tomorrow.

taglist; @lcvejoy @lillylvjy @ella-fella-bo-bella @lotusanonymouse @willgoldszn @whos-nicooo @zebonos

honorable tags (asked for part 2); @babybabygrogu @tacomumun3r

[oneglass-zinfandel]

My Masterlist

Last updated: 17.12.2023 (day.month.year)

Games:

Call of duty

Ghost/Simon Riley

König

Horangi

Soap

Price

Gaz

Ships i will do:

Soap x Ghost

Horangi x König

Movies:

Scream:

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

I won't do any ships but i will do Polyamory or you dating both of them

(I apologize for the following)

DSMP:

C!Sapnap

C!Wilbur

C!Dream

Lmanbur, Pogtopia arc, Ghostbur, Revivebur, Simpbur

Tommyinnit / C!Tommy (platonic)

Quackity / C!Quackity

Karl Jacobs / C!Karl

Philza / C!Philza (platonic)

Ranboo / C!Ranboo (platonic)

Tubbo / C!Tubbo (platonic)

Technoblade / C!Technoblade (platonic)

I won't do any ships only x reader

If it says "(platonic)" i feel uncomfortable writing anything to do with kissing or romantic and especially NSFW, but handholding or small sighs on love are fine

Otome games:

Obey me:

Lucifer

Mammon

Leviathan

Satan

Asmodeous

Beelzebub

Beelphie

Diavolo

Simeon

Solomon

Ships i will do:

Asmodeous x Solomon

Diavolo x Lucifer

Twisted Wonderland

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Tray clover

Cater Diamond

Leona Kingscholar

Jack Howel

Ruggi Bucchi

Kalim Al-Asim

Jamil Viper

Idia Shroud

Malleus Draconia

Cruel

Ships i will do:

Ace x Deuce

Tray x Cater

Malleus x Leona

Kalim x Jamil

You can request other characters as well i would just prefer doing these,the ships i dont care just make it legal

Arcana:

Nadia

Asra

Julian

Muriel

I wont do any ships only x reader

Nu: Carnival:

Eiden

Aster

Morvay

Yakumo

Edmond

Olivine

Quincy

Kuya

Garu

Blade

Dante

I won't do any ships only x reader

Dating simulators/Visual Novels:

Error143

14 days with you

John Doe

Jester

Homegrown Pet

Blooming Panic

Please don't hate Christmas

GAVRIL

Your Boyfriend (+ Teenage Peter)

YOU and HIM

My dear Hatchet Man

Broken colors

Glass Mind

Duality

Video games:

Stardew Valley:

Sebastian

Sam

Magnus

Elliott

Penny

Leah

Halley

I wont do any ships just x reader

Genshin Impact:

Kaeya

Lisa

Diluc

Razor

Venti

Albedo

Rosaria

Xiao

Aether

Lumine

Beidou

Tartaglia

Zhongli

Hu Tao

Xinyan

Yelan

Kazuha

Thoma

Ayato

Arataki Itto

Gorou

Heizou

Tighnari

Cyno

Alhaitham

Kaveh

Baizhu

Dottore

Pantalone

Scaramouche/Wanderer

Eremites

Lyney

Ayato

Ships i will do:

Lisa x Jean

Razor x Bennett

Xiao x Aether

Diluc x Tartaglia

Diluc x Venti

Venti x Zhongli

Gotovu x Kazuha

Beidou x Ningguang

Xingqiu x Chongyun

Tartaglia x Zhongli

Kazuha x Scaramouche

Kazuha x Heizou

Kazuha x Heizou x Scaramouche

Reiden Shogun x Yae Miko

Thoma x Ayato

Arataki Itto x Gorou

Tighnari x Cyno

Alhaitham x Kaveh

Scaramouche x Tartaglia

Dottore x Pantalone

Capitano x Tartaglia

Dottore x Tartaglia

Pantalone x Dottore x Capitano x Tartaglia

You can request other characters as well i would just prefer doing these,the ships i dont care just make it legal, also gay cuz i legit CANT

Other:

Creepypasta:

BEN Drowned/Ben drowned

Jeff The Killer

Ticci Toby

Eyeless Jack

Jane the Killer

Slenderman

Masky

Hoodie

Jason the toymaker

The Puppeteer

Bloody painter

Homicidal Liu

Jane the killer

Splendorman (angst to comfort)

I wont do any ships just x reader

V-tubers:

Mysta

Luca

Shu

Ike

Vox

Shoto

ships i will do:

Vox x Shoto

Mysta x Shoto

Luxiem x Shoto

Vox x Ike

Anime:

Bungou stray drogs:

Atsushi

Dazai

Ranpo

Kunikida

Tanizaki

Yosano

Fukuzawa

Akutagawa

Chuuya

Tachihara

Gin

Oda

Ango

Poe

Fyodor

Nikolai

Sigma

Tetcho Suehiro

Ships i will write:

Dazai x Chuuya

Dazai x Kunikida

Dazai x Atsushi (only platonic)

Dazai x Akutagawa (only angst)

Dazai x Chuuya

Oda x Ango

Poe x Ranpo

If you have any characters i didnt mention or ships you would like to see you can still ask but i would prefer these<3

My hero academia:

Midoriya

Bakugou

Kirishima

Mina

Denki

Todoroki

Momo

Tamaki

Midnight

Hawks

Shigaraki

Dabi

Toga

Twice

Mr. Compress

Ships i will do:

Kirishima x Bakugo

Toga x Twice (platonic)

Blue lock:

Isagi

Nagi

Bachira

Chigiri

Niko

Kunigami

Aryu

Sae Itoshi

Ships i will do:

Nagi x Reo

Bachira x Isagi

Chigiri x Kunigami

Mob psycho 100:

Reigen Arataka

Ships i will do:

Serizawa x Reigen

Chainsaw man:

Denji

Power

Aki

Angel Devil

Yoshida (maybe)

Ships i will do:

Aki x Angel Devil

Please dont ask for Denji x Makima or Makima in general,that stuff is just gross and i dont want to write for Makima,i said i dont like any minors x adults

TDLOSK:

Saiki Kusuou

Kaidou Shun

Toritsuka (maybe)

Aren

Ships i will do:

Aren x Kaidou

Danganronpa:

Nagito

Soda

Gundham

Ships i will write:

Soda x Gundham

Im sorry i didnt really watch the show or play the games but just some gameplay with these three characters.

Buddy Daddies:

Kokhi Uchiyama

Kazuki Kurusu

Rei Suwa

I wont do any ships just x reader

SK8 The Infinity:

Reki

Langa

Joe

Cherry

Miya

Ships i will write:

Reki x Langa

Joe x Cherry

Hunter x Hunter:

Gon

Killua

Kurapika

Leorio

Feitan

Chrollo

Shizuki

Kite

Meruem

Ships i will write:

Gon x Killua (platonic)

Kurapika x Leorio

Moriarty the Patriot:

Sherlock Holmes

William James Moriarty

Louis James Moriarty

Albert James Moriarty

Sebastian Moran

James Bond

Ships i will write:

Sherlock x William

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Gojo

Geto

Yuuji

Megumi

Toge

Choso

Sukuna

Ships i will write:

Gojo x Geto

Yuuji x Megumi

Death Note:

Misa

L

Light

Mello

I wont do any ships just x reader

[simping-on-the-daily]

Imagine just being chill. Hunting some mobs, going to Niki's bakery, etc, and then you see the famliar figure of Ghostbur catch up to you. You smile, excited to see the ghost, but something's off. Ghostbur's normally red hoodie is now a pearly white, along with the sword wound that trails over his sweater, which is now purple. You realize someone's truly wrong when Ghostbur speaks.

"Hey, have some red!"

[sodadrabbles]

WILBUR SOOT MASTERLIST

-MCYT MASTERLIST

wilbur with a little sibling

[supernatural-bias]

Wilbur's right hand man is Tommy right? But his left hand man is Y/N, like when Tommy is there helping Wilbur directly, you were behind the scenes getting info from the other side to Wilbur.

Your letters would always start by, 'Dear General, your left hand man is reporting for duty. Here are the information that I have gathered:...' Though the thing is, he didn't know you were his left hand man, he didn't even know that he had a left hand man so of course he suspicious of the letters and files always sent in a box placed on top of the table in the camarvan and it's always signed as ~𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℒℯ𝒻𝓉 ℋ𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℳ𝒶𝓃 ~. But after double fact checking with his official spies from the couple of times you sent the boxes of info, he trusted you a bit but he still double fact checked and tbh, you respect him for being cautious. When he won the war, you sent him one last letter that contained two words, 'Congrats, General,' with your usual signature below it. Then he never saw your letters again though he was desperate about it and tried to search for the mystery writer but came up empty. You voted for POG2020 though. So wehn you start to send letters with the same starting and info about Manberg, he was ecstatic because he knew you would never betray him and it gave him a sense of peace to know that. You never revealed yourself to him even during Pogtopia. The only time he ever got to know you as person rather than an informant when you signed as your first letter of your first name. He knew it was his 'Left Hand Man' because the handwriting was the same. It was one time and it was the only time. This made Wilbur research every single of person in the server who even has that letter in any of their names so it frustrated him to no end before he gave up. So when Wilbur died, you did the same for Tubbo and Tommy. You passed by Ghostbur multiple times but every time, he would stop and look at you like he knew you but he couldn't place his finger on it. He can remember the letters but not you. It didn't hurt you when Ghostbur didn't know you because you didn't give your identity to him. After a day of being revived by Dream. Wilbur received a letter from an old friend. He recognized the handwriting. Only 3 words were in that letter with the coordinates underneath it. 'Welcome Home, General.' signed by, ~𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℒℯ𝒻𝓉 ℋ𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℳ𝒶𝓃 ~. So he found the place of the coordinates and saw you playing guitar while sitting on the edge of the crater. You stopped and without looking, "It's good to have you back, General. I believe we haven't introduced each other properly." You placed your guitar beside you as you stood up and looked at Revivebur and saluted lazily. "Name's Y/N L/N, General, your left hand man reporting for duty." Reaction of Revivebur's please.

-✨Spoiled Anon✨ ((imma add sparkles because I'm spoiled 🙄 😂))

Oh my GODDDDD

Rev is completely just astounded

Tunnel vision much?

And you. You

Just sitting by that empty hole and looking up at him with a calm smile. As if you had planned all this. Which you probably have, granted your cunning nature

Wilbur brought a hand up to his hair and just grabbed at his curls. Tightly gripping them as a big smile filled with unbelievable laughter spread across his face

"You?! You're my right hand man?" He would say with an incredulous voice

Pursing your lips with a barely concealed smile was all it took for him to get his long awaited answer

He had spent many a nights as a younger and niave president thinking long and hard about who this mysterious person could be. Many a hours as a ghost trying to pinpoint who that stranger was and why they felt familiar. And it all never clicked

Not untill today

He pointed a finger in your direction with a hearty laugh, your reaction being a small chuckle

"We have much to discuss."

"Indeed we do Soot."

Part two anyone?

[iwantblacktea]

Old Companion

"Old Companion" c!Technoblade x Goddess!reader (fem)

Summary: After visiting the abandoned temple of the gods, you find yourself meeting an old companion.

Warnings: Y/N is just being gloomy tbh

Notes: I have no idea where this fits in lore but I wrote this imagining that Philza and Techno used to stay in this Olympus-like place with other gods before they went off and ventured the SMP. Soooo basically reader and Techno used to be friends or acquaintances back then.

Marble ruins are scattered throughout the tall grass, the stone-like pale hands extended towards the heavens. She took a stroll among the wreckage. The ancient marble and quartz were all cracked, the gods are long forgotten, and all this is now just a place of worship for the humans — at least for some who remained truthful. The sun was above the clouds, and it was in her eyes.

No one has visited this place, at least for a long time. Yet, even so, a single temple stands there. As if the gods themselves didn’t want this place to fade, this place to be forgotten.

She strode every step of the land, analyzing every crack and moss that tainted the place. Grazing her fingers on the leftover marble walls of the temple, counting each misshape and bend. Slowly memorizing every speck of dust that rested on the temple.

It was a pitiful thing, she thought. How this once grandiose place fell to ruin. With every step, she thinks about how truly lonely and abandoned the land was. No gods. No nymphs. No divine beings. No life.

She has arrived at her destination.

She took a deep breath, taking in her surroundings. It was a grand room, thrones seated in the middle. This was where the gods lived. It used to be filled with beautiful beings, all prideful and powerful, sitting on thrones of the purest stone. But now? All remains a barren chamber of the past.

She walked closer, her bare feet walking on the cold tiles. It was so…empty. Her hand finds itself dusting the dust on one of the thrones — her throne. Her heart was heavy with sentimentality.

This had once been her home.

It was where she dwelled. Where she was welcomed. Where she lived. Where she made her place. It was a grand place, with beautiful artwork, and grand marble. She was always there. But now, the temple was cold and abandoned.

She recalls how she danced in these very halls, drank the ambrosia, and laughed with the fellow deities. She was the goddess of youth and beauty. But now? She was just a shadow of her former self, a forgotten statue.

The lone god hadn’t made a home, for years now. Perhaps, this is what she deserved.

It has been eons since she had abandoned her kin. It has been a long time since she told them she would venture and explore the mortal world, that her life in the Olympus-like shrine didn’t give her happiness.

She could recall the confused faces of her fellow gods. Who in their right mind would trade a life of wine, riches, and worship for living with vermin mortals?

Oh, what a shallow and foolish god was she. And now she sat upon her throne, tears streaming down her eyes. And for once she felt vulnerable. She felt humane.

“You stupid naive child,” She cursed herself, her hands gripping the edges of her robe. It was true in a sense, she was naive and she did have a face that would not age. But her heart. It grew old. Resentful.

She laughed bitterly, not in a happy way. She laughed in an old, jaded, and jaded way. She laughed because she felt a longing for her old life. She came all this way back to the temple to ask for forgiveness from her fellow immortals, but it had seemed that they abandoned their home as she did.

She thought they would be waiting for her.

That’s what she wanted to believe.

But now, as she stood on her stone throne, and looked around at the chamber — there were no signs of her fellow immortals. It was just her and the ruins.

“And now you have come to here, to the temple, empty and forsaken. Not the gods nor humans want you,” she chortled at herself.

She stood in front of the thrones, her long fingers gripping the edges of the fabric of her robe. She lifted herself, almost dancing with anger, frustration, and longing.

The goddess of youth and beauty stomped on the floor, the wind ruffling the dust. She took a deep breath and then released it in and exhale. Then, she did her own little dance in front of her thrones. She swayed to and fro, her arms out wide like a waltz.

Then she stopped her dance as small drops of water find themselves through the cracks of the temple.

She stood there, motionless and still for an age, listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain. “And now I come all the way to do nothing.”

How would the other gods think of her state? Surely they would scold her for wanting to be with mortals, wanting adventure when she could dine at the gods’ table with her brethren. She would still have her old life as the goddess of youth and beauty who danced with the nymphs.

But no matter how much she reminisced, she would not get back what she had lost.

In the distance, she heard a sound that brought her back to the present. It was the sound of someone’s footsteps on the loose stones. She turned her attention towards the doors leading to the thrones. To see who it was.

“Who is there?” She called out in a whisper. She was alone, and in a place where no one visited. “Show yourself.”

She heard something on the other side of the temple ruins. A loud, angry snort. A sudden movement, like something that was startled. The shadow drew nearer. She stood there, waiting, wondering who this person was.

She knew that this person was no mere mortal. Whoever it was, they were far too close. She could see it all too well. Her heart was pounding as if she had just been out in the elements and her body was ready to burst from too much cold.

“Who is there?” She whispered, a tremor of fear and worry in her voice. She stood there for a few more moments.

The shadow was moving towards her, but she wasn’t sure whether the shadow was friend or foe. She stood still, awaiting the shadow to draw closer.

“Who are you? What do you want?” She called out. She was terrified that whoever it was might hear her.

The shadow continued to move towards her. Her eyes were beginning to widen as the shadow became larger and larger and looming.

Suddenly, it came to her. The figure was that of a god.

The shadow stopped, moving from the marble ruins and into the light.

The shadow revealed a man, standing in a shadow of his own. She could see his ears, his nose, his mouth, his crimson eyes, and the pink hair he adorned.

Then the goddess found herself breathless, eyes wide, and mouth agape.

A sense of familiarity filled the space between her and the intruder. She knew his face. She knew his eyes. She knew his mouth. She knew his ears. An old companion, that was what he was.

She couldn’t believe it for a moment, that she might have hallucinated it all.

Her old friend wore a ragged cloak, ash burns on the edges, and small tears along the hem. He wore more common clothes compared to the gods, yet even under the ragged cloth, she could peak that he wore garments from mortal kings and rulers.

“Y/N.” He spoke.

That was her name. A name she abandoned millennia ago when she chose to flee the temple. It had been long since she heard of that godforsaken name, she never would’ve imagined hearing it again.

She cast her face away from him. “Don’t say my name.”

The old friend snorted, amused. And the lone goddess looked back at him in bewilderment. She blinked her eyes and stared at him, finding any reason as to why he was so entertained.

“Gods, I didn't remember you being so angsty,” He teased, putting his hands inside his pockets. “Why have you come here in the first place? No soul has ever visited this place for years.”

“Why have you come here?” She countered back.

“Well, if I could only tell you,” He began, looking around at the ruins, “I didn’t plan to visit but is it a sin for me to check on what happened to our dear home?”

Y/N stood in her position, gaze focused on her companion. He was strolling around the chamber like she was minutes ago.

Technoblade.

That was his name. It was an odd name, it wasn’t fancy or otherworldly. You could recall how the other gods would tell him his name was ridiculous but he would always respond by putting an ax under their chins. The others weren’t too fond of him now that you remembered, perhaps it was hard to make friends being the blood god.

He didn’t look like the same god she knew in her youth, he was more mature in a way. She wasn’t quite sure if she was still the same person she knew back then, but then again if the temple had changed so much, who is to say the people who lived in it didn’t.

They didn’t speak for a few moments. Y/N’s old friend stood still, leaning against a throne — his throne. “The other gods. They left slowly after you did. I did too along with Philza. The other gods knew there was nothing left to do but stay in a loop of wine, riches, and power. So they went separate ways.”

“Separate ways?” She asked, looking over at him. “You and Philza? Where is he now?”

“That old man? He’s fine. A family man now too,” Technoblade paused and thought for a while, “Not the best in that job though.” He laughed a little at his own comment, the temple crumbling a little from the sound.

Y/N tilted her head in confusion. Since her arrival at the temple, she had believed that the gods have died or disappeared but that wasn’t the case. They just left. Like she did.

The wind whistled throughout the chambers. Her friend did not seem to be the least bit concerned as he was just standing there, looking up at the columns of the ancient temple.

As she looked over to her past companion, a frown etched itself on her face. “When would you be going back? To Philza and your new home?”

Technoblade raised a brow. Why was she so gloom? The blood god was not used to her being so… this. Technoblade had chosen to forget most of his time when he lived in the temple but even so, Y/N was always known to be the life of the party. The flower among many.

A voice in his head pitied her. Bring her. A voice spoke and Technoblade shook his head in disapproval. We should take her to the SMP! Yes, yes, she would be wonderful. Another replied. Then not too long more voices flood in a chorus demanding to take the goddess with Techno.

It was soon getting dark, the temple would be soon filled with mobs as the sunset slowly waits for its slumber. Technoblade would need to journey back to the syndicate.

Technoblade sighed as he decided to comply with the voices’ wishes. “Do you want to come back with me?” he asked the goddess.

The blood god found it amusing how the goddess's eyes grew wide. This whole ordeal was amusing. The way the usual blood-thirsty voices begged to invite her and not kill her instead. This was new.

“What’s this all about? Why would I come back with you?”

“The gods aren’t around anymore. What else would you do here?” he asked. “I won’t be forcing you either.”

Y/N was silent for a while. She didn’t know what to say or if she should even agree. She wasn’t sure if her old companion meant to help her or to hurt her.

Technoblade moves from his previous position and starts walking back to the entrance of the temple.

“Wait, bring me with you,” She said finally. Technoblade nodded as he began to walk ahead. She followed him, leaving the temple as she once did except she had someone with her. A friend, if the word could be said.

As they walked through the corridors of the temple. Technoblade thought of how much he’d have to explain to Philza when he’d get back to the SMP but he’d worry about that when it happens. A lot was going to change.

“You’d fit right in.” He said.

That brought a smile to the goddess’s face as she looked at him.

“I hope so.”

[calmthefuckdownalright]

I learned that swans can die from a broken heart. I have idea for a fiction with this information. What about a revivedbur x swan hybrid!reader fic where he comes back to her, expecting to pick up where the relationship left off, only to find her dead. Like she died of a broken heart because she got attached to ghostbur. I also have an idea for a line you could implement "A heart guarded for so long is so very delicate."

Title: The Swan Song

Tw: Death, grief

><><><><><><><><><><><>

It was beautiful, what Ghostbur had cultivated with you. Every brush of your lame wings against icy skin was heaven and every stolen kiss a fragment of the love that blossomed from the dead and living.

"I'll be right back, it's just a small favor. Tommy promises it'll be fine.” Ghostbur swore and pressed his head to yours with a smile. 

“Please be careful ‘Bur.” You muttered and pulled him close. The black that masked over your eyes shone in the setting sun and soon the party would set out to kill Dream. The man who had taken everything from your loved one and condemned him to a hellish afterlife.

“Always my love.” Ghostbur said cheerfully and tucked a cornflower behind your ear as a parting gift. A promise to return to your arms.

| Afterwards |

“Y/N?” Tommy’s voice was sullen and water dripped from his hair, no doubt from swimming in the lagoon that surrounded the awful prison.

“Tommy?” You looked up at his sorrowful eyes. They were red from tears that still ran down his cheeks. It worried you and the downy feathers that clung to your flightless wings drooped.

“I-I’m sorry.” Tommy broke down and avoided your eyes.

“Why?” You asked and your brow furrowed. “Why, Tommy?! Where’s Ghostbur?” 

Silence followed your question.

“Where is he Tommy?!” You shouted and a bleating sound of a sheep answered you from outside. 

“Dream...he killed him.” Tommy sobbed and pulled Friend close. Even the sheep looked pitiful with it’s wool soaked and eyes saddened without it’s owner to pet and hug him.

“He’s dead, Y/N. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” Tommy cried and your heart broke. Physically in your chest something shattered open and your breath caught in your throat as tears sprang up.

Darkness closed in quickly and nothing came to stop you from sobbing and screaming of your lost love. Someone you’d lost twice now. It was too much. Wilbur wasn’t coming back...

| Later On |

The sunrise was glorious. It painted everything as beautifully as he remembered and now it was just a matter of time before he saw you. He ran every step to your house. Ever leap of his feet drew him closer to the love of his life, his death, and now his resurrection.

He would never be alone again. It was time he kept you at his side. Long after it even.

“Y/N! I’m back!” He burst through your door with overjoyed excitement to only be met with darkness. No candles lit your bookshelves and the smell of dust had already accumulated in your home.

“Y/N?”  Wilbur called out and found a decaying cornflower laying in the middle of your entry way. It was surrounded by the downy feathers he had always loved and as he picked up each one, along with the flower, something pricked in his chest. A worrisome emotion.

So he ran again. He searched and searched and searched again until he found the bravest man he knew, and the only one he thought that might know where you had ran off to.

“Wil, mate...” Phil’s eyes clouded with sorrow and Wilbur’s heart dropped. He clutched the feathers desperately in hope that was sure to plummet.

“She died...” His father finally spoke out and Wilbur’s world crashed down. “She loved you so much Wil, but a heart guarded for so long is so very delicate.”

Philza lowered his son into a chair and took the limp cornflower from his loosened grip. 

“She couldn’t take losing you a second time with Ghostbur.” Phil said slowly and crouched before him. The dark broken wings on his back stretched towards his son and Wilbur fell into his father’s chest with heaving breaths and sobbing eyes.

“I loved her, Phil. I never got to tell her I was back. She could’ve been fine, if I’d just been faster.” Wilbur sobbed and Phil wrapped dark feathers around him.

“It’s not your fault Wil,” Philza promised and shushed his son gently. “There was nothing you could’ve done. She’s gone, and I’m so sorry.”

Legend paints the story that Wilbur cried for two days straight in his father’s arms and dedicated his life to eradicating Dream’s plans and his life was pulled apart little by little. Stories say that the once mighty general, turned ghost, turned man alive again, mourned the loss of his love long after her death.

He traveled all of The Greater Dream SMP with feathers tucked behind his ears and made into a necklace with a single blue petal preserved against his chest. He fought alongside his brother and protected his home. He played music and amended his wrong doings all in her memory. Wilbur inhabited the former house of Y/N L/N and even tended to the sheep that formerly belonged to his spirited form. 

Wilbur mourned and loved. He left for Utah with those feathers and necklace of down and a single petal. Legend says he will be buried in them and rejoice only when he is reunited in the afterlife with his love where he will protect her heart from ever breaking again.

<><><><><><><><><><>

[listenheresweaty]

MASTERLIST

image ain't mine

THIS BLOG WRITES FOR C!WILBUR BUT DOES NOT SUPPORT CC!WILL GOLD OR HIS ACTIONS.

if you want to read my works and avoid Wilbur content, here are your options:

(link to be added)

WHAT I WILL AND WON’T WRITE:

all content is SFW and usually with a gender neutral reader (I can’t think of anything I’ve written without a gn reader but idk there may be one)

*I accept xreader headcanon requests for Mandela Catalogue Characters: Mark, Cesar, Adam, Jonah. If any such are sent to me I’ll make a separate master list for them*

Dsmp:

C!Quackity (romantic or platonic)

c!technoblade (preferably platonic but I can add romantic undertones ig)

C!purpled (PLATONIC!!!!)

c!tommy (PLATONIC!!!!!)

c!wilbur (Lmanbur, Pogbur, limbobur, revivebur, utahbur)

Clinic!bur (supervillain siren)

Sirenbur (literal siren 🧜‍♀️)

Faebur

Passerinebur

vampirebur

Spook!bur (bur that is a ghost, not ghostbur from the DSMP)

cryptidbur

piratebur

wingedbur

if there are any more burs you’d like to add, let me know.

QPR’s for platonic characters are accepted, as long as they have no sexual or explicit romantic themes. I will NOT write: cc!wilbur, simpbur/incelbur, ghostbur, q!wilbur, c!dream, any NSFW content, pregnancy/parenthood (I might make small exceptions but I will be the judge of what I write— keep parenting stuff out of any asks you send me), yandere stuff, ongoing self harm or abuse (allusions to past experiences is okay but let’s be respectful).

ANON ASKS:

Limbobur general headcanons

Revivebur angst

Pogbur Alphabet

MY WORKS:

That one revivebur thing that turned into a series:

Part one

Part two

Part Three

Part four

Part five (coming (?) soon (?))

Revivebur with a magma cube hybrid reader: part one, part two

Siren/Clinicbur x reader: coming soon!(?)

Dead as Disco (Revivebur x reader): here

Revivebur fic from 2021: here

Food For thought/ Chefbur au:

Part One

Part Two (kind of)

credit for the divider goes to @firefly-graphics

[straighttohellbuddy]

obsessive sounds worse than intrigued {c!Ghostbur}

Summary: Yandere!Ghostbur. He'd invited you to the destruction of L'Manberg and then you'd watched him die. Now post-mortem, he finds one of the few things that feels familiar is keeping an eye on you, even if you aren't exactly aware of it.

Need to Know: They/Them. Yandere!Ghostbur / Enabler!Reader. please heed the warnings.

A/N: 2894 words. i really don't know how i feel about this one, was meant to be longer and include revivebur but idk man. tell me what ya think thanx, this is probs all over the place lmfao. this is much softer compared to the others i think. but either q or techno will be up next

Warnings: Romanticisation/Rationalisation of Yandere Behaviour; stalking, mutual obsession, nonsexual voyeurism??, canon wilbur death scene with more angst, mentions of hamilton

Citrus Scale: 🧡 ORANGE 🧡

{ yandere!dsmp masterpost }

When Ghostbur starts to write down all he remembers, he finds its usually moments or sensations, a fleeting blur of both, and the warmth of friendship that goes without saying. But your name sits alone in the list, without explanation, because how can he explain how much of you he remembers when it feels like everything. Your favourite food, how you'd sway along if he started singing, what triggered your protectiveness, your favourite pyjamas, how much of your time you had dedicated to L'manburg, how hard you'd worked to keep his and Tommy's spirits up in exile - you had been the one consistent bright light until the very end. The one thing that had slowed his spiral was seeing you safe and happy, even if you didn't know it.

But as others began to demand your time more, as you began to seemingly prioritise those who had betrayed the ideals of the nation they fought to build, something angry and jealous began to gnaw at Wilbur's heart. He was building up speed with his spiral, graceful and tragic, leaning further into it as he watched you treat Tommy and Tubbo and Fundy like family. Mine, mine, mine! Seeing red from the shadows, he knew he had to destroy what he'd built so it couldn't be tainted further, and there's only one thing he can think of to alleviate his now downright painful jealousy without hurting you; he'd remove himself from the equation.

But he needs you to know, and he needs to know what he means to you.

So he sits with his thoughts in the room with the button, and sends you a message. You ask where he is, say shit is going down, he simply tells you he's at the button. You don't respond. He waits. Waits longer than he'd intended, until he feels like he has his answer.

Phil appears but it's too late; his land and his love have been poisoned against him, so it seems.

"I'm sorry, I got lost-" your voice echoes in the tiny room right as Wilbur's palm lands on the button that detonates L'manburg. There's unimaginable gratification that comes feeling the rumble of the explosives destroying his land on his command, and seeing you, breathless, frantic, meeting his gaze with loving concern, watching that concern turn to horror as you realise what's happening.

You ran to him, even with everyone else you love dealing with Techno and Withers on the surface, you'd run to him. But he can't trust you to love him the way he wants you to, and he's tired of fighting, tired of everything, tired of the idea that you'd end up resenting him. In this moment, he knows you'd chosen him, and that's enough for him to die happy.

So he asks Phil to kill him, begs with a wide smile and desperate eyes, even as you stagger forward, pleading for him not to. The one consistent bright light, even until the end, you put yourself between Phil and Wilbur, taking Wilbur's face in your hands as Phil stands uncertainly with his sword.

Eyes squeezed closed, you pull Wilbur close, to rest your forehead against his, begging him not to do this. If you are not mine, I cannot be yours, his mind murmurs, but you're close to tears and would agree to about anything to get him to stop this. It wouldn't be real.

"Phil, you have to kill me," Wilbur says firmly, and you're sobbing now; his demise had moved you to tears, to begging and pleading for him to see rationaliaty. He's almost sick with elation. So he steps out of your embrace, steps around you, demanding the unthinkable from his father. Phil strikes him and you scream, the sound echoing through the hole in the wall. Pulling Wilbur away, he avoids the second strike, but turns to you, taking your hands.

This is the peak, this is the moment where he knows that to die would be to ascend, the one moment he can believe that you are completely his, without interruption or opposition. All he wants is to die believing that.

"My love, take your time," he says gently, smiling at you with a serenity you hadnt thought him capable of, "I'll see you on the-" but the second strike lands, and he's gone before he even hits the ground.

But he hadn't realised he'd exist beyond that, hadn't realised he'd be a ghost and have to deal with the understanding that he'd broken your heart.

Or so he'd thought.

You'd felt abandoned, and Phil had taken you in to show that you weren't. You sat at his kitchen table, wallowing amid cups of chamomile for days on end, which Ghostbur knew because he'd come to find Phil, but had seen you through the window and panicked.

He says he has to work up the courage to speak to you again after what happened, but if he's being honest, it's more that watching you from places unseen is a familiar comfort. It helps him feel a bit more like his old self, helps him feel a bit more normal. He doesn't think too hard about that.

Phil tells him that you miss him. Ghostbur's got his nose buried in his own journal, what he remembers, but smiles at that.

The day he finally speaks to you again is the day he caves and adds you to his journal.

The world seems to stop in the moment that you come face to face with him. You're seeing the ghost of Wilbur for the first time, but he's seen that expression on you before. A memory flashes to the forefront of his mind, of that same expression when you'd found him by the button, and the cathartic sense of joy as his land was torn asunder out of spite, and he knew you'd chosen him in the end.

There's no words for a very long time. At first it's just a hug, but then you're touching his face, his arm, his chest, your fingers running through his hair. Your touch is feather light but persistent, as if to make sure he's real while being afraid to break him at the same time, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief. Finally, you're holding his hands tenderly, looking at them, silent. Then, head snapping up and gaze meeting his, he's surprised by the tears in your eyes.

"My love, take your time-" rings through his head loud and clear in this mirror of a moment. You must hear it too, your grip got tighter. He remembers this too, that phrase, how you'd begged for his life; even as a ghost there's a sickly sense of triumph, of joy, curled tight in his chest at the memory. He feels it now as you hold his hands tightly and lean forward enough to rest your forehead by his shoulder, sniffling. Once again you are distraught by his death, and once again he quietly delights in that fact, even if he doesn't quite want to.

He lets go if your hands and wraps his arms around you, holds you close as you cry against his sweater.

"Don't ever do that to me again," you demand tearfully, muffled by soft, yellow wool, "don't ever leave me like that again, you dramatic asshole, don't you fucking dare!" And you're holding him tight, clutching his sweater in a white knuckled grip, shaking. It reads as possessive, even unintentionally, and Ghostbur feels selfish for how wide he's smiling as he rubs gentle circles against your back.

But he doesn't know where to go for him; there was something final about dying, like adding a clean bow on his unhealthy obsession with you, so now what? He finds himself falling back into old routines, spending free time sitting with his back pressed to the wall in the flower garden beneath your kitchen window, listening when he's not sure what else to do with himself. He's not used to hearing you talk about him when you think he's not there; you wonder about him, where he is, how he is. Maybe it's worry, maybe it's curiosity, but he can't bring himself to soothe your concerns and knock on your door. It's bewildering; isn't this exactly what he wanted? Why does it sit strangely in his chest? Is it guilt? Is it cruel to continue gathering information that you might not necessarily want to share with him? Couldn't he just ask?

But there's something about how your concern grows audible in your voice with each day that passes, with each person who assures you that he's fine, that they spoke to him. It's the way you get teary and sniffle after a week, doubt and worry spilling from you. You worry that he's pulling away like before, voicing regrets over not being with him more, showing how much you cared, at least until it was too late. His love for you grows in a way that's almost grotesque, sitting beneath your kitchen window, doing little to alleviate your worry. He basks in your concern, in your blatant, overwhelming love, and he decides that tomorrow he'll reward you for it.

Ghostbur's knock is insistent and loud, and when you open the door, he's all over you, wrapping you up in a hug, holding you tight, apologising for being away.

"I never want to be far from you," he holds your face in his hands, speaking truer words than you realise.

"You don't have to be," you speak without really thinking, hands gentle on his, expression so open and wanting. You don't correct yourself, logistic thoughts far from your mind as you offer a space in your life, in your home, freely. There's something thrilling about the idea of being gifted a front row seat to your life, a ticket to every conversation he'd had to listen to from the peripheries. But there was fear too, that the conversations would change if you knew he might always be listening, and how would he know you worried for him if you always knew where to find him? You wouldn't be moved to something so visceral as panic or tears with him just down the hall, or worse, you may take him for granted.

"I never will be," he angles your face to kiss your forehead, "if I need you I'll always know where to find you."

"You promise? You better mean that," your try to make your tone demanding and stern, but he's simply endeared by the interaction. After a moment, your voice drops to something hesitant, "and- and if I need you?" And you press your face into his hands, squishing your own cheeks with faint embarrassment.

"We both know your heart is made of sterner stuff, love," he laughs gentle, laughs fond, but your frown deepens.

"Don't laugh, I'm being honest here; I didn't do that enough before, and now-" you rest your hand against his cold one. You can't look him in the eyes. The words caught in your throat are so loudly unspoken. He kisses you in lui of a proper answer, selfish and tender, enough to placate your precious heart. With you all but melting in the moment, leaning into the kiss and wrapping your arms around him, he finds a familiar warmth, a familiar contentment building in him. Just as he found himself surprised and delighted each time he heard you enquire about him to someone else, finally getting to kiss you was it's own kindly of joy, it's own kind of security.

He's around more often after that, or well, to you its as if he's around more often. He still spends arguably too much time listening to you go about your afternoons, lamenting the ever growing roses beneath your kitchen window. But if the thorn-pricks are penance for his behaviour, he's willing to pay. His notebook has annotations, moments where what you say to his face differs to what he hears you say to others, and though you're actually more honest when it's just the two of you, he finds you fascinating in a way he's not yet willing to articulate.

Something about how you still ask your friends about him if it's been a few days since you've seen each other, it still means the world to him every time hears it, or the sentiment is passed along. At least at first.

"Can I ask you something?" Conversations between you and Philza were always a coin flip when it came to their content. Judging by Phil's carefully neutral tone, this conversation wasn't about to be one of the slice-of-life, small talk conversations.

"Always," you, cheerful to the point of being almost saccharine, answered.

"He asked you to the button, didn't he?"

The air in Ghostbur's lungs turns to ice in the few moments you spend deliberating on your answer.

"I just keep remembering you saying that you'd gotten lost, like you knew he'd be waiting," Phil continues as you remain quiet, "did you know...?"

"About what?" The words seem to almost catch in your throat, raw as you relive Wilbur's last moments alive.

"Wil, I guess," Phil admits after a moment, sounding a little helpless, "what he was going to do, why he- why you-"

"I had no idea what he was going to do," you sigh softly, "I knew he was going through some stuff but I didn't know how to ask, but I know I should have?" There was faint, honest regret in your voice as you thought back, "I was being selfish," you admitted, almost too quiet for Ghostbur to hear, but still he caught it, seemingly just as confused as Phil.

"I know you know, Phil," you said flatly when he asked for clarification, "I know because you make this face every time I ask about Ghostbur, like you pity me, like you think I'm not aware of what went on -" Ghostbur, sitting in your garden, feels ice cold fear slither down his spine, at least until you huff a deep sigh, "I just don't understand why you're so judgemental about it."

"It's stalking," after a long moment, Phil answered, sounding altogether exasperated by the situation, "you knew?!"

"I have decent situational awareness you know," you're clearly not thrilled by his continued judgement, "and I'm capable of pattern recognition -"

"How- you shouldn't be okay with that, he was getting obsessive," Phil implored.

"No, he- no he wasn't," but you sound flustered and flattered, and Ghostbur has no idea how to feel about this influx of information.

"That's why you showed up at the button when everything else was going to hell topside with Techno," there was notes of horror amid Phil's sudden realisation, but you didn't seem to pay it much mind.

"What do you want me to say, Phil?"

"Something rational," Phil groaned, half muffled like his face was in his hands, "something like you weren't actively aware and okay with my son stalking you as his mental health spiralled before he blew up his nation."

"He watched out for me, over everyone," your voice was warm and fond, "despite what he was going through, despite how the world he'd helped build turned hostile around him, and he asked for so little in return. Of course I showed up for him," you said, tone honest and level.

"Is he listening now?" Phil asks, and if Ghostbur had a pulse it would be spiking about now. There is a very long silence that follows, punctuated only by soft footsteps, followed by the sound of your sink turning on for a few brief moments. Looking up, Ghostbur's just waiting, adrenaline building, prepared to see either yourself or Phil peering out the window to see him.

But neither of you do.

"There's a part of my garden where nothing seems to grow," you said instead of a straightforward answer, "and I stopped trying, stopped being sad about it once I realised why, but then the situation changed," and Phil is quiet; perhaps he's confused, but you're still standing by your sink, judging by the volume of your voice, "I thought the spot would be perfect for roses, and for a while it was," tone warm and nonchalant. In this moment, Phil is not your intended audience, "but something keeps destroying my roses," you mused, smile clear in your voice, "but I'd rather have whatever's destroying them feel welcome in my garden."

Phil leaves shortly thereafter, thoroughly exhausted by you and your continued, mutual obsession with his now-dead son.

When Ghostbur finally finds it in his to stand, what feels like an hour later, he knows he has to actually speak to you. When you open the door to him, you're smiling so fondly, like you had been waiting for him.

"You heard?"

He doesn't quite know how to answer, so he just follows you inside.

"I love you," he says faintly, sitting at your kitchen table, looking at the window he'd just been sitting beneath, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," you, warm and far more knowing than he'd given you credit for, set a drink down in front of him; you had been waiting for him, "I love you too," you lean in and kiss him oftly, before pulling back with a grin, "why do you think that window's always open?"

[stuckonscenarios]

Best Girl

"you're my best girl," he said with a sigh, placing a kiss to the top of her head. she didn't know how to take that. "thank you, Wilbur." "of course..." that was before...

"you're my best girl..." he said with a shaking breath after it had been won. "thank you, Wilbur." she still didn't know how to take that. "Of course." that was during.

"My best girl... it was never meant to be," he said, then explosions sounded. he was dead with one stab of the sword... she squawled, sobbed, screamed till her lungs gave out, till her throat was raw. she yelled at Phil for killing him, yelled at everyone who tried to rationalize it, tried to make her see what he did was wrong. she knew, but it would kill her if she acknowledged it. so, she pretended it wasn't true, pretended he was good when he died. pretended he was who he was before L'Manberg... her general, she and Tommy his right-hand men.. even though he was deranged, delusional, and insane when he died. even though he scared her... there was something about that phrase... "You're my best girl..." something she held onto. best girl... that was after.

Before she knew it, he was there. this imposter, this ghost of a man. nothing like her Wilbur. he tried to bring her back to him, he conveyed to everyone that she was the one he loved, the one he loved when he was alive, but nothing would bring her back.... so when he died, it didn't make a difference in her life... but then someone showed up in his place... her Wilbur.

"where is she, Tommy?! Where is my best girl?!" "Wilbur?" oh what a relief.. everything she ever wanted was back. her Wilbur. she was the best girl again. really, she always was, but to hear it from her lover again... that was something in and of itself. he was back. "Ohh! There she is!!!" he ran up to her and picked her up, swinging her around and kissing her. "My best girl...." this is a new beginning.

-v