#im not actually addressing this bullshit just. come on

[chaifootsteps]

i agree with the statement of, "we shouldn't judge creative leads who are later revealed to be bad people based on their work because its unproductive and there usually is no secret messages that reveal they were terrible the whole time and everyone was too stupid to see it except for the Smartest Bestest critical analysis enjoyers who don't trust any piece of media ever if it has even slightly problematic elements, regardless of the execution or the fact that fiction is a playground meant to explore interesting and darker topics in any way you want,"

but i feel guilty becaus i also genuinely believe there's exceptions for this rule. the guy who made the room is the first one that comes to mind, but only because his depiction of women has been compared to stella in helluva boss, which leads me to the other exception in my eyes; vivziepop.

am i crazy for thinking that though? i just feel like part of why i can never take any charitable analyzing of either series seriously is because they're unaware of what kind of person she is and even if they can still come to a conclusion of, "viv has a problem writing women, abuse, coherent plotlines, foreshadowing and rape," they never seem to wonder WHY that is. it makes me feel like an insane conspiracy theorist when the way i sincerely feel is that viv just writes whatever she wants with no care of how the trials of time will age with it and no care besides indulgence and projecting whatever message she needs viewers to think about her characters so she can sell the most merch of them, thus leading to demons in hell never being allowed to be bad people or being the worst people ever thatre also loved by the writers to a ridiculous degree, without a speck of nuance or maturity in the narrative unless you squint hard with your rose tinted headcanon glasses and copium huffings that inspires statements of, "well, she'll probably address these things and make them better in the next season!"

do you get what i mean? or am i going too far down this rabbit hole? i just want people to open their eyes to this stuff when they notice these patterns, but i feel like it'll never happen until these shows end and NDAs expire so people behind the scenes making her half baked vision a reality with their actual talent go, "yeah she was bullshitting everything on the spot and just wanted to pretend she had broadway besties so that's why these shows suck lol" but i dunno if that'll even happen either. (and im not just talking jane, i mean people like sam and skye and brandon or even the expensive VAs themselves, although the last ones last likely since they gain nothing and arguably lose more by speaking out since they have successful actually professional careers they've worked their asses off for,)

Oh no, shitty people seeding their foulness throughout their works is definitely a thing. It's just when people go retroactively and say "It's obvious they were bad all along because they wrote X, Y, and Z." Because it's perfectly possible to write X, Y, and Z and be lovely in real life.

In Viv's case, she's not a bad person because she writes certain things...she's just a bad person in general and it comes through in the way she writes.

[daemondaemon]

oh wow good for you

[ambyandony]

heres the limbo fusions with the rest of the vento aureo main protags

Limbo + Mista

Mimbo - any pronouns

"Are u lost bbygrl? :)"

(They give a weird stare if asked for a full name. They only use Mimbo, even though it’s a combination of Limbo’s forename and Mista’s surname.)

most stable Limbo fusion merely by virtue of Mista’s simple ability to just not give a fuck.

GET YOUR GUN OUT OF YOUR CLEAVAGE!

bitch gon step on my fuckin toe bitch with them fuckin cowgirl fuckin boots

VITALLY important that you know that despite being easily mistaken as fem on first glance, Mimbo also has the deepest voice of any Limbo fusion for literally no reason other than it’s funny to me. They also have sideburns

Stand: Mighty Wings - Redirects Signals. Still a colony Stand, looks like tiny little pastel fighter jets!

Limbo + Abbacchio

Lio Adkio - they/them

“Don’t say SHIT about my mascara or my eyeliner.”

“In fact, don’t fucking look at me or I’ll have to kill you or myselves.”

stable only because when Limbo started panicking in the mindspace, Abbacchio simply pointed and snapped at her to CALM THE FUCK DOWN. and she did so immediately.

nicer than Abbacchio. not by that much, though… but weirdly apologetic about it.

the eyeliner doesn’t appear to be due to crying, it seems that it just looks like that.

bazongas?

Stand: Keeping The Faith? Never Too Late? Shawty like a melody-

“rewinds” signals to previous states or connections and/or can do a “replay” of those signals’ succeeded actions (i.e. having a phone replay a prior conversation) Unfortunately, it’s pretty useless in combat.

Limbo + Giorno

Glimbo Giovadkins - she(?)/they/them

“Wouldn’t you like to hear one of my 765 fun facts about aerodynamics, animals or Air Bud?”

“I also have a few facts about botany, blood and birds.”

stable, until they’re not. they’re incredibly calm and delightful, but when they think someone’s mad at them they panic and start excessively apologising.

genuinely the softest cutest sweetest lil bitch you’ve ever seen. also traumatised with a guilty conscience and can flip on a dime in a terrifying way.

shortest Limbo fusion for no clear reason? shorter than both Limbo and Giorno.

Squalo’s worst fear.

sounds pretty much how you would expect.

Stand: Crystal Dolphin - can transform signals into life—by taking the signals out of something, typically disabling it, they can create life like Gold Experience can. The more complex the device, the bigger its potential creation.

Limbo + Buccellati

Bimbo Luno Adkellati - they/them

"...I've lost the conversation. I'm gonna go make pizza!"

Megan Thee Stallion?!

has no idea what’s going on for some reason? always looks a little confused and loses track of conversations very quickly.

very good with kids! practically unable to have a coherent conversation with Abbacchio. They don’t seem too distressed, but they just stop making much sense and seem to confuse themselves.

Stand: When Doves Cry? Perhaps Freewill? Uhm… I don’t know? Maybe it can sort of, ‘zip’ signals together, combining two or more functions into one sent signal? Bruno's ability is just so specific... I can't think of many ideas.

Limbo + Fugo

Fimbo (Pannalimbo Adkigo) - they/them

"STOP TALKING ABOUT FREUD BEFORE I KILL YOU WITH MY FUCKING BRACELETS!!!"

( Note: all currently depicted instances of Fimbo seem to be post-PHF, as Fimbo is almost always seen with the mouth scars hidden by the tattoo.)

enemy of the state. punches fascists. lovecore punk goth. in terms of authority figures they only respect Buccellati and Limbo’s dad.

AuDHD trauma poster child. Short fuse but very friendly until something sets them off and they start screaming and or burst into fucking tears.

Self-love in the sense that the fusionmates care about each other deeply and both sides are trying to look out for the other knowing the other won't look out for themself.

Stand: Cabin Fever - Terrifying deathly virus that, rather than being airborne like Purple Haze, is passed though signal transmission. Fimbo doesn’t know if the virus is the same as Purple Haze, a different strain of it, or something entirely different. It spreads most quickly through vocal communication between two people.

Limbo + Narancia

Nimbus Ghirgins - he/they/she

"tummyache... :("

Libby why does my stomach feel like it’s going to fucking collapse in on itself and why are my knuckles torn? aren’t they supposed to bruise when you punch?

bad relationship with food. Hanahaki disease, what are you doing here? (/ij)

sometimes they find Mista sitting around, sit next to him and fall asleep on him immediately

incredibly bad with emotions and doesn’t even get angry they just get overwhelmed instantly at any presence of significant emotion

Stand: Falling in Love/Hard on the Knees - who the fuck let this kid control CO2 emissions?? They can barely control themselves???

[squeakadeeks]

if i had a dollar for every time a religious missionary knocked on my door to "spread the good news" while i was actively in an acute mental health crisis i'd have 2 dollars, which isnt a lot but also. how many times does this have to happen before they stop coming.

[geddy-leesbian]

it's honestly so fucked up that we'll never get a Gaiden remake she deserves a remake glow up 😔

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

idk if this is a sex ed question, or if you're the right person to ask, sorry, but do you have any reputable sources about what testosterone *actually* does?

i see people saying it limits your emotions, that it gives you breast cancer, that it makes you malnourished, its a second more dangerous puberty, etc, and I'd like to think im good at picking out lies, but there's a lot of stuff that sounds like bullshit coming from blogs i thought were trustworthy.

if not, all good, thank you in advance!

hi anon,

I'm really glad you sent this ask, because this kind of scaremongering misinformation is deeply upsetting and I'm so happy to provide a better information.

there are tons of reputable sources as to what testosterone does; some that I'll be pulling from in this answer include Cleveland Clinic, Harvard Medical School, University of California San Francisco, Mayo Clinic, the Society for Endocrinology, and Planned Parenthood.

so, what's up testosterone?

testosterone is a hormone produced in everyone's bodies, either in the testes or the ovaries depending on which set of equipment you're working with. all bodies produce both estrogen and testosterone, usually in different levels. regardless of the genitalia you were born with, how you understand your gender, or what levels of testosterone you have in your body, testosterone affects things like your sex drive, your hair growth, muscle and bone density, and the production of red blood cells.

in people born with testes, puberty usually comes with an increase in testosterone that kicks off changes such as growth of the penis and testicles, the production of sperm, an increase in hair growth all over the body, deepening of the voice, greater production of oil on the skin, and an increase in height, weight, and muscle mass.

either an overabundance or a deficit of testosterone can have health complications, just as having more or less of any hormone that a body needs can cause complications.

people who choose to transition by taking testosterone will experience many similar effects as cisgender men going through puberty, including the increase in body hair, skin oils, and muscle mass, as well as a deepening voice. while people on testosterone are unlikely to experience significant growth in terms of height unless they start hormone replacement therapy (HRT) at a fairly young age, testosterone does frequently cause a redistribution of fat on their bodies to be more similar to that of cisgender men. bottom growth, the increased size and sensitivity of the clitoris to more closely resemble a penis, is also common; the clitoris and the penis are homologous structures (they're made out of the same goo when embryos start developing genitalia), hence why they react similarly to testosterone.

to address your specific concerns:

testosterone does not limit the range of a person's emotions. while it may impact a person's mood and the severity of their feelings, the same is true of any hormone - for instance, people also report mood changes when they take antidepressants or birth control. the sometimes drastic mood fluctuations experienced during puberty are not tied to a specific hormone; this is a turbulent time regardless of what hormones your body is producing the most. testosterone is stereotyped as making people angry and violent, but all people are people regardless of their biology and are shaped by much more than the hormones in their body.

while cisgender men and trans people on testosterone can both get breast cancer, testosterone does not pose any particular risk. several of the sources linked about don't find any significant link between taking testosterone HRT and an increased risk of breast cancer, reporting that transgender individuals who take testosterone are not at any particularly higher risk of developing breast cancer than cisgender women. for more detailed information about potential health problems affiliated with taking testosterone, I recommend the "Risks" section of the linked UCSF document. yes, there are health risks affiliated with taking testosterone; this is true of literally any medication and, more importantly, is also true of just being a person with any kind of hormones in your body. cis men and women also have health conditions affiliated with being cis men and cis women, this is the price of admission for having a human body. nobody gets out unscathed.

there is no evidence that testosterone causes someone to become malnourished. people undergoing a testosterone-based puberty, whether they're cis or trans, are likely to experience a great deal of growth and bodily changes that will use a great deal of calories, which means they may be hungry and need more food than they did previously. this is a normal effect of puberty on a body, and is only a risk for malnourishment if a person isn't able to eat in sufficient amounts to keep their body properly nourished.

there is nothing about a testosterone-based puberty that is "more dangerous" than an estrogen-based puberty, which is what I assume is the point of comparison. puberty is a completely natural process that does not pose any significant dangers unless you want to be a real dipshit about it and pull some shit like "puberty is dangerous because you grow breast tissue and then you're at risk for breast cancer," in which case sure, great job, Sherlock. you solved it, puberty is cancelled forever. I cannot emphasize enough how stupid this is, conceptually; roughly half the human population goes through this kind of puberty every day and they're fucking fine. puberty by itself is not a risk factor of anything.

I don't know what particular interest the blogs you've been following have in making testosterone-based puberty sound like it's going to turn you into an emotionally stunted skeleton with breast cancer, although I fear it's transphobia hidden unsubtly behind concern trolling and disdain for cisgender men.

if you're interested in taking testosterone and are concerned about the changes you might see in your body please, for the love of god, consult with reputable health resources and a doctor rather than whatever nematode is posting about testosterone ruining your life.

[3liza]

just saw the sleep dep/depressive episode post again and the several people in the notes (actually not that many, im just pillorying them here because it's a convenient example) saying shit like "lol the study is from 20 years ago" (the study was from 2024) and "this week's episode of fact or cap" etc etc. i mean you can just read the paper. and then at the bottom of the paper, theres a list of citations for other papers on the same subject. you dont have to debate it on tumblr, debate it with me, or sit there and mull it over in your mind palace. you have access to the documented evidence for and against the claim being made in the post right there. you can click on it. its not an insubstantial passing headline or a "this guy told me" post, which are correct to question, it's literally a link to peer-reviewed research. you can find out right now what percentage of test subjects responded to the proposed activity in which ways. you can do it. you can click and read with your big adult brain. all your doubts and questions are addressed directly in the body of the study, and if they arent, in one or more of the thousands of other studies on the same subject

this happens every single time i post a link to a research paper (on a post that gets any kind of attention). the habituated behavior is to just post "this is bullshit" to everything because everyone is so used to just seeing bullshit posts, that when a post that has actual evidence attached to it comes along, no one looks at it

[soukokumychildren]

Short stories part two in comin' guys! Idk how much I've made since the last one, so here goes-

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Chuuya: I can't fuckin' hear ya! Kunikida: Well, fine, I'll come clos- Chuuya: IM TOO BUSY NOT LISTENIN' TO YA

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Tachihara: My disguise is flawless! Chuuya: Oh yeah? does not know who this guy is What does it look like? Tachihara: brandishes his signature band-aid Chuuya: Raises brow Tachihara: puts it on Chuuya: jumps like a cat HOLY SHI--TACHIHARA?! WHERE IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK DID YOU COME FRO-

--------

(Chuuya doesn't like people touching him)

Chuuya: choking on carrots Someone random: I know the heimlich, I know how to help! Chuuya: frantically yelps NO! dies

--------

Fukuzawa: All I ask is for you to hug them. Chuuya: looks frantically at Shin (I will not give them the high and mighty title of Soukoku) Y-you're kidding. Awkward chuckle. Fukuzawa: Fatherly raise-eyebrow look. Chuuya: Eheheh…eheh…oh come on… Also Chuuya: Slowly looks to Shin and specifically looks at Akutagawa Atsushi: Awkwardly raises arms Chuuya: Stumbles over, tries to raise his arms to hug them both and pulls away last second Nope. Nope. Can't do this. I'd rather vomit. I actually can't look at his face. Jogs over to where Dazai was while watching from the side-lines Dazai: Chicken. Chuuya: Oh shut up, dumbass. You would have killed them had they touched me. Hiss.

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

Dazai: Wanna see a magic trick? Chuuya: takes a moment before he understands Oh shit- Atsushi: OOh, sure! Dazai: grabs Chuuya before the avian can escape Guys, c'mere!~ Chuuya: DAZAI NO-DON'T YOU DARE YOU SWORE TO ME- Kunikida, Ranpo, Kenji and Yosano: Wander over grudgingly except for Kenji Chuuya: Fuck fuck fuck fuck let me go- writhing and flapping his wings but iTS NO USE Dazai: Watch, guys. Scratches the back of Chuuya's ear Chuuya: Takes a few seconds of silence but then bursts into a ball of aggressive purring Yosano: Oh my god. Kenji: ✨ 0 ✨ Kunikida: O_O Ranpo: Trying so hard not to laugh Atsushi: QMQ W-w-wh-wha- Dazai: Tehdahh!! Chuuya: Fuck--purrr---you shitty--purrrrr--DAZAI--PURRR somehow gets away with wings flapping in his wake as he runs to the bathroom Also Chuuya: Oh my---purrr---fucking god. That shitass promis-purrr..purrr.. F u c k. I'ma revoke the keeping him alive policy, I--purr--swear to GOD-

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

Chuuya: "Fuuuuuck you." Dazai: "Fuck you!" Chuuya: "Fuck me, then, coward!" Dazai: "Sure thing you needy little shit!"

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

Bram: There used to be a plethora of werewolves during my time. Such things were most common.

Chuuya: …Hmmmm. I can kinda like…get you something as close to a werewolf as I can.

Bram: Please do, I'd be most grateful. It has felt like a millenia since I've last encountered such a common kind that seems so terribly uncommon in these parts.

Chuuya: Disappears, and from the distance: Yo, Atsushi!

Also Chuuya: drags Atsushi by the scruff back to Bram and throws him on the ground like a sack of potatoes Here he is. He's more of a cat though, really. But he's still got the moon shit goin' on.

Bram: This pathetic mongrel? Looks mildly disappointed

Chuuya: Yeahhh, I know. This guy sucks, but he still got the semi-werewolf going on.

Bram: Do you perhaps have anything more than this…creature?

Chuuya: Er..unfortunately….no.

Atsushi: …I have ears, you know. Still on the ground

Chuuya: Pretend you don't and let the adults keep talking.

Atsushi & Bram: …

Atsushi: Screw this. Sits up and walks away

Chuuya: grabs him by the scruff again He's just a tad stubborn. If he turns into a full tiger under the full moon, do you think that'll help?

Bram: Sigh I suppose…there's certainly only one way to find out.

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

Dazai: Addressing Chuuya’s parents your son calls me daddy too ^^ Chuuya: DAZAI WHAT THE FUCK—

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

C: Don't make this worse. D: Define worse-

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

Chuuya: You’re bullshitting me so hard right now. Dazai: …. Chuuya: claps hands great, when do we start?

-----------

Chuuya: a cowboy? Eh…I’m not big on riding horses. Dazai: but you’re big on riding me? Chuuya: huh? Dazai: Stupid shit eating mischievous look Chuuya: gets it oh—OH FUCK YOU—

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

(Opinon: This one is shit)

Chuuya: tries making a nest Dazai: not helping Chuuya: Dazai, ya ass, come here and help! Dazai: but I’m disabledddd Chuuya: oh fuck off. We’ll see how disabled ya are when I make you carry all the shit we’re gonna get from the store. Dazai: blinks since when are we going to a store? Chuuya: since now. Get the fuck moving. 20 minutes later at a department store (I think)

Dazai: Y’know, you remind me of the stereotype I heard on the internet. Chuuya: mmmm? Dazai: where women have a knack for comfort in bed, so they have an exorbanatly large amount of pillows and blankets? Chuuya: comes close and hisses Ain’t my fault that I’m half dragon and in need of a nest! Fuck off about the subject or so help me, damnit!

….so the nest was built afterward, and Dazai served timeout in the corner for 20 minutes instead of snuggling with Chuuya in his new nest

-----------

Chuuya: twittering Dazai: listens to him and knows he's saying something but doesn't know what Atsushi: joins on the conversation, growling and snarling to Chuuya Chuuya: twitters and whistles back Dazai, feeling jealous: You guys have a secret language now!? No fair!!

~~~~~

(Part 2 kinda)

C: Starts twittering to Atsushi A: Growls back to him to start the conversation A few minutes later…. C: Gasps and comes out of animal speak "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" A: "Nuh uh!" D: Quickly comes in and grabs Chuuya before he could whack the shit out of Atsushi C: "LEMME GO!" D: "Chuuya calm down-" C: "That mother fucker is going to FEEL MY WRATH-"

----------------- (This could be either counted as au or canon, but here's a funny short anyway)

D: I'm gonna fuck you, Chuuya. C: You mean fuckin' kill me, right? D: …. :) C: You…mean fuckin' kill me….right?

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

Chuuya to Dazai: Here, hold this gives him his gloves and ring Chuuya: Goes over to Clthulu HEY SQUIDDY! Clthulu: Turns around by jamming its tentacles into the earth and spinning its massive body towards Chuuya Chuuya: I hope you glued those tentacles on tight. Oh grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again. Corruption insues

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

Chuuya: I identify as an asshole. Grins and puts hands on hips Dazai: And I identify as the dick. Chuuya: … Dazai: … Chuuya: Gets it OH YOU DICK- Dazai: Case in point ;D

-- That's caught up to the most recent ones! Enjoy :))

[straighttohellbuddy]

what you love you devour {c!Wilbur Soot}

Summary: As someone who is chronically honest and the self-appointed court jester of this world, your place in any conflict or situation had always been whichever place to be amused you the most; being on the side of the grown-ass man who put time and effort into waging war against smartass kids over discs? Of course. Immediately switching sides to join the child as he and someone you've never met before start a drug empire? Of course. Except said newcomer seems to know exactly how to keep you entertained; your place becomes by his side, and you quickly come to realise that no-one else will ever compare.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: She/They Reader. Villain!Reader. Past, toxic c!Quackity/Reader, established platonic c!Dream & Reader. Set during the DSMP timeline. 

A/N: 25,323 words. this has been about 2 years in the making, which is why i haven't tagged the few people on the taglist but anyways, i finally came back and reread what i had and was like.... this actually holds up pretty well as is. so yeah, i've added and subtracted a few things here and there in the last few hours to make it all make sense overall, but holy shit im so happy to have it out there. is it possibly the wankiest/dramatic thing ive posted in a while? yes. but its also 25k so eat up. and if you wanna talk to me about it! PLEASE DO!!

Warnings: VILLAIN!READER, discussions/implied suicidal ideation, violence & blood, implied and joked about smut, heavy psychological/emotional manipulation, romantic obsession, betrayal, murder, implied torture. it gets pretty dark at times, just take care.

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

{ full playlist }

"You've created capitalism, good job," sarcasm dripped from your words as you leaned against the side of the Camarvan while Sapnap attempted to arrest Tommy and the most recent newcomer, a brunette with a way with words that you found yourself admiring.

"I didn't create capitalism," Wilbur automatically defends himself, turning on you like he had the words on the tip of his tongue, simply waiting for someone to bring it up. Though he was playing at being innocent, you could see he was holding back a smile.

"What do you mean?" Tommy, behind him, frowned, before spluttering, "you know what, who cares- Wilbur, buddy don't listen to her, she'll say anything to get a rise out of people," he grumbled, but you just talked over him, addressing the newcomer.

"I'm not implying that you, new boy -"

"Wilbur," he corrected you automatically.

"- you, Wilbur, were the theological creator of capitalism," you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help your own smile at the situation, "I'm saying that you're trying to have a monopoly on potions and the ability to brew them, so you can inflate the price to whatever you want with no competition that people would be able to buy from, all that artificial supply and demand bullshit."

"Don't know what you're on about," but Wilbur's back was to the others as he said it, lips twisting into a grin, "this is but a humble hotdog van."

"A humble hotdog van!" Tommy added resolutely for emphasis, which you yourself repeated, much quieter, turning the words over in your mind as you narrowed your eyes and looked over all of them, "oh get lost, go run back to Dream," Tommy huffed, before turning on Wilbur, "why are you even giving her the time of day? She's in his guard, she's probably here helping Sapnap."

And that's when your gaze finally flicked to the man himself in full diamond armour, who was glowering at you, bow half raised. He stays quiet.

"He doesn't seem too keen on her," Wilbur points out, looking over his shoulder, giving the faintest smile to the kitted-out guard.

"It could be a ruse!" Tommy insisted.

"I'm simply a court jester -" you tried, hands raised defensively, but Tommy cuts you off.

"You shot me!"

"What's a humble court jester doing at our humble hotdog van?" Wilbur asks, turning back to you. At this prompt, however, your whole face lit up and you stood up straight, frantically digging around your pockets, searching, until you offer a small stack of blaze rods, like it's an offering.

"Playing along," you tell him, eyes alight with mirth and mischief.

"Why?" But he takes the blaze rods and you give a shrug, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"It's the funniest option."

---

"It's not capitalism, it's a drug empire," Tommy grumbled under his breath the moment they bring you into the Camarvan and shut the door behind you, before he added, "and I still don't like that you're here."

"It's not my fault that the concept of a grown-ass man going to war with literal children over two discs is deeply funny," you raised your hands in mock surrender as you sat on the counter in the hotdog van.

"Then why were you on his side?" He demanded, and you schooled your grin into something seriously.

"Thomas, Thomas listen to me -"

"Do not call me Thomas," Tommy told you flatly, and for a moment you couldn't help your sharp smile.

"Listen, Tommy, my boy, I was on the side of the grown-ass man who was waging war over discs; you're a kid, dude, being on your side would make too much sense and would be far less funny."

"One, you're a terrible person," Tommy says flatly, and you can't help but laugh not exactly inclined to disagree with him, "two, I'm not your boy, and three, if it suddenly becomes fucking funny for you to turn on us, I will kill you a lot, okay?"

"Okay," you nod, conceding, and though he's still frowning at you, mistrustful, you can't help but follow it with, "but I think you underestimate how much I appreciate our new friend, whose first thought, after finding his way to us, was 'I'm going to build a drug empire and recruit Tommy-goddamn-Innit as my first ally'; very few things can top that, honestly."

Wilbur, who was kneeling by a chest a few feet away and had been quiet this whole time, snorts a laugh. Good.

"Does Dream trust you?" However, when he spoke, your bright mood evaporated. Then he stands, turns, and leans his hip against the chest he was just rifling through, cocking his head to one side as he regards you, "it's not bait, I'm not asking you if you're a double agent, I trust you -" though there was something behind his eyes that contradicted his words, "- just, does Dream trust you?"

"Dream and I have... an understanding," you said carefully, "I understand that he is incredibly powerful -" Tommy made a derisive noise in the back of his throat at that, "- and he understands that I am simply a court jester."

"I don't remember many jesters with enchanted netherite axes," Tommy mutters under his breath. For the barest moment, when he looks at you he sees you looking right back, something dangerous, something like a warning in your eyes that vanishes so fast he’s half concerned he imagined it. No-one else seemed to have seen it, judging by how Wilbur’s continuing on. You’ve already looked away.

"So he may expect you to turn on him?"

"Eventually," you agree, "but he also knows I'd turn back to his side with the right incentive," you knew no good could come of trying to hide your nature, especially since it could lead to others actively attempting to win your loyalty, which you couldn't deny was pretty nice. Tommy was actively glaring at you after this particular admission, however Wilbur hums thoughtfully, regarding you with an expression you can't quite read, one that makes you feel like he's evaluating you; you sit a little straighter.

"Would you steal his potion supplies for us if he had any?" And suddenly, Wilbur's tone was light, as if he were asking for you to run an errand rather than commit treason. While Tommy was flabbergasted at his bluntness, you nodded emphatically.

"Oh, absolutely."

----

"Could you be more subtle while robbing me?" Dream frowned the moment he saw you up to your elbows in a chest in what he considered to be his base of operations.

"Not my fault you're bad at hiding your stuff and good at finding me," you huffed in return, not even bothering to look up, even as Dream peered over your shoulder to see what he'd left behind that you were currently looting. Tortoise shells and empty bottles, not much, but it's something.

"I don't appreciate you stealing my shit for Tommy," Dream pointed out, and you snorted a laugh, beginning to pocket your findings. He sat beside the chest, watching you, "I'm going to stop him."

"You're going to try."

"I thought you were on my side," but even as he said it, he wore a grin that was all teeth; you both knew he was joking, "you'd tell me where the discs were if you knew, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," you agree without hesitation, sitting back on your heels and finally looking at your sort-of ally, "but we both know Tommy doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me."

"He's a smart kid," Dream's smile gets tight at the edges for just a moment, and when you look to him, he’s looking back at you with a shallow gaze - you ever take something from me like that again and I’ll fucking kill you; you hear your own voice in your head, and wonder if Dream’s thinking of that same moment, of your violent, possessiveness rearing it’s head, your axe pressed to his chest in the dead of night. Back in the present, his gaze clears and he looks at the chest you’re currently elbow deep in, pointedly, "you are robbing me." The memory passes from your mind.

"You weren't here and I'm not using actual force; this is looting at best," at your indignance, he rolls his eyes, looking away, and you open the chest again, taking the remaining items, despite their meagre value. "I'm not doing this for Tommy; Wilbur's the one who suggested it."

"The new guy?"

"The new guy," you confirmed with a nod, "the first thing he does after getting here is commit crimes; I think I'm in love," you tell Dream flatly, mostly joking.

"Sounds like a man after your own heart," Dream points out, not even trying to hide the teasing edge to his words; how deeply bizarre this interaction would be if anyone else were to walk in.

With all of the chest's contents safely in your pockets and satchel, you sit back, eyes narrowing as you give Dream and his mischievous smile a look as you finally try and figure out what this whole interaction means. However the teasing does well to hide the faint notes of apprehension in his voice.

"'s the reason I sided with you in the first place;" you said slowly, "you know how chaos gets me going," your tone was flat, clearly conveying that you hadn't deciphered the nature of this interaction, but your actual words were enough to have Dream himself laughing despite this, the air clearing. "You here to stop me?"

"Does anyone else know where my base is, and are you going to steal anything else from me?"

"No and yes," you answer bluntly; if you were anyone else that answer would be two death sentences, one right after the other, "blaze rods," you quickly elaborate, wilfully digging yourself deeper as Dream opens his mouth.

"You can't have my blaze rods," he says, though he's smiling faintly at your well-worn antics.

"Agree to disagree," you stood swiftly, trying to step over his legs to get to the next chest. Dream grabs your shin with one hand, stopping you in your track as he's sighing deeply.

"Go away, Y/N," he says firmly, letting go of you to get to his feet, beginning to push you to the entrance of the bunker, even as you whined; the fact that he let you take as much as you already had was not lost on you however, and you let yourself be nudged to the door, only putting on a show of protesting.

The timer that had started ticking the moment he'd found you in his bunker had finally run out.

"Get better security," you told him, and he gave you a wide, toothy smile.

"Love you too," he responded, "and keep me updated if you ever find those discs." At that, you give him a quick salute and head back in the general direction of the Camarvan.

----

"L'Manberg?" You said, not even trying to hide your scepticism.

"L'Manberg," both Tommy and Wilbur reiterated, sounding completely sincere in their dedication to the ridiculous name.

"L'-Man-Berg?" You said, slower, squinting at them, waiting for their sincerity to crack.

"But don't worry, Tommy himself said that 'even women can work here'," Wilbur said, corners of his mouth twitching at Tommy's various irritated exclamations, "like... in the hotdog van... with us; we're not implying that women have to work to be here, this isn't- this isn't communism -"

"You've made that abundantly clear," your scepticism broke in the face of his floundering, "I remember you brought capitalism to the Greater Dream SMP, Mr Soot," you were desperately trying not to laugh, though Tommy was fairing much worse than you at that.

"I mean- I mean- I mean-" Tommy spluttered through his laughter as it died down, trying to get himself back to being something resembling serious, "you also- you can't be on Dream's side if you're with us."

"I'm not," you answer honestly and easily.

"So you're on our side?" He clarified, though you had to hum at that.

"No..." you said carefully, before finally looking him in his eyes, "I'm on my side, I just happen to like," without breaking eye contact with Tommy or your serious facade, you pointed directly at Wilbur, to his left, "him." Tommy's outrage at your answer was predictably hilarious, hence the main reason as to why you gave it, and Wilbur's delighted 'that's good enough for me' and accompanying smile was enough to solidify your loyalty with them, at least for the time being.

----

"I knew it would be you," they've taken no chances with you when they started taking people prisoner; Tommy was the first to go, and you happened to show up right as Fundy was being lead away. Wilbur and Tommy had both sent you messages, letting you know people were being arrested, and while they probably meant for you to stay away, you had other ideas.

So now, here you were, with Sapnap's crossbow bolt between your shoulder blades as you were being unceremoniously shoved to the courthouse.

"Stop talking," he muttered, poking you probably harder than necessary, but it did little to dim your smile.

"I've barely said anything," you shrugged, the nonchalant movement only serving to remind you, as if you could forget, about the weapon at your back, "but I'm flattered, really; I knew it would be you."

"Stop. Talking."

"They've got several people escorting Tommy, and even Fundy has Eret and Tubbo," you kept chattering away, despite your guard's grumbling, "but we've fought together, you know what I'm like, and so does he," you gave a faint laugh, "they knew I'd listen to you; you're the only one besides Dream himself who could get me to go peacefully."

"Why then? If you're going to keep talking, can you explain why? Why are you going peacefully, why with me? Are you actually saying you would have put up a fight if I were anyone else?"

"Would you trust anyone else to bring me to jail on their own?" You asked simply.

"I think you overestimate how challenging you are -"

"So that's a yes, you'd trust... Tubbo to lead me to the courthouse alone?" Your tone was sly and heavy with implications, "or Ponk? Or what about Eret? I don't know him but he seems nice. I'd like to get to know him, if you're saying you'd like to swap -"

"I don't trust you," he cuts you off, words forced out through gritted teeth.

"But you trust you," you hum thoughtfully, "because you know you're the only one up for it. They're sweet kids, but they're still kids, aren't they? If the right person talked for long enough they'd believe anything. This is why I knew it'd be you taking me to court; you're better than that," you're better than them hangs in the air, unspoken but still so loud, and you're glad he can't see the way you're grinning.

Then, you give a self deprecating chuckle, shrugging again.

"Honestly I'm probably giving myself too much credit here, I'm unarmed and unarmoured, you're easily overkill as my escort, but again, I'm flattered," the pressure between your shoulder blades lessens until the sharp bolt is gone, and you hear Sapnap's footsteps fall silent. Intrigued, you turn, and you see him scowling.

"Don't do that, don't be cute, don't be coy;" he frowned at you, at how your expression had been schooled into something tamer than the delight you were feeling, "you won't trick me; I remember Dream in that warroom, you remember, we were all planning and he assured us that you were your most dangerous unarmed and unarmoured -"

"I can't believe you remember that," you huff a disbelieving laugh, hoping the delight in your eyes didn't give you away.

"Yeah, well I do; don't coy, don't be shitty, okay? I was sent here for you for a reason, me, alright Y/N? I'm the one with the crossbow," already your words were working their way into his psyche, the bestowing of compliments, building him up, only to undermine it all. Whether he realised it or not, the praise you hid amongst your teasing and self-aggrandizing felt good to hear; you're just glad he believed it.

And so you walked with a crossbow bolt nestled between your shoulders, in silence for the rest of the way, being shoved into a cell beside Tommy, who'd been sitting on the bed provided, chattering away loudly to the other guards.

"What took you so long?"

----

The jacket you're given doesn't fit quite right; it's close, but maybe the arms are a little too long, and it sits strangely when you button the front with more than one button, but you wear it with pride, grip tight on the lapels as you spin on your heel, waiting for an approval from the others.

"Looks good on you," Wilbur's voice is carefully neutral, though he nods, his slight smile betraying him.

"Now will you finally admit you're on our side?" Tommy asked, brow pinched as he looked you over.

"What do you mean? She's with us, of course she is," Tubbo voices his confusion, and you finally, finally relinquish.

"Yes, Tommy, I'm fighting for L'manburg," you inclined your head towards him, smiling faintly.

"Say it, say you're on my side," Tommy demanded, "because I wanna remember this moment when you inevitably double cross us."

"Tommy," you said carefully, trying not to show how amused you actually were.

"Don't patronise me," he warned.

"Tommy," you shifted your tone to something a touch more respectful, but the boy's mouth remained set in a firm line, "I'm on your side as long as you're on Wilbur's side."

"Of course," Tubbo pipes up brightly, "we're all on the same side, for L'manburg," and he so cheerfully misses the subtle nuance in your words that it seems to convince Tommy. Wilbur's smiling to himself, genuine, whole face scrunched up and pleased.

"Seems like an overreaction," Eret, who you were yet to get a proper read on, looked over the four of you with interest; he hadn't been here long either, "they robbed Dream for us, they got arrested too -"

"Y/N is a trickster spirit at the best of times," Tommy tells him, "you can never be too careful, trust me."

"I'm just a jester," you raised your hands in a placating gesture, gaze dipping if only to hide the spark of mischief that found its way to your eye every time you found yourself underplaying your abilities.

"A revolutionary jester," Wilbur corrects, and your gaze snaps to him, your smile growing a touch wider, a shade sharper.

"A revolutionary jester," you agreed.

----

"You should have a home here," you hear Wilbur musing as he's chopping wood with a distracted energy, "do you have a home?" He quickly follows it with, and you snort loudly.

"Christ dude, of course I have a house," though you take a moment to reconsider, "well I have a bed in the savannah," you paused, "near... near Dream's Mountain." You admitted. There's a hum, and when you look to Wilbur he's regarding you curiously.

"Still?"

"Dream doesn't operate out of there anymore," you told him candidly, "but I like it; lots of sand," you added, and Wilbur actually paused.

"Can I ask you something very frank?" He asked, leaning against the handle of his axe where it was pressing into the dirt. You nodded, "what incentive would it take for you to turn on us, and on L'manburg? If Dream offered any number of weapons or diamonds or armour, would you take it?"

"I have everything I need," you told him honestly, "and I don't think Dream could offer me enough incentive to turn against L'manburg the way it stands right now," you shrugged, but he tipped his head to the side, frowning.

"So what would it take you to turn on us individually?"

Your mouth fell open, unused to being properly listened to, properly understood.

"You listen too much," you muttered, unused to being caught out in the way you would twist words. Wilbur, seemingly surprised at your reaction, grins from ear to ear.

"You know, while you were all being arrested, I heard something; I heard someone say that you're at your most dangerous when you're unarmed and unassuming, and I think I'm starting to get it-"

"If I find Tommy's discs, I have an obligation to give them to Dream," you let the words fall from your lips in an effort to derail that train of thought, gaze on your hands as you pluck blades of grass from the ground, twisting them in your fingers. Wilbur carefully lowers himself to the ground, to your level.

"From what I understand, that seems perfectly reasonable, in your mind at least," he says with a half smile, looking to you, expression somewhat unreadable, his pause harbouring something quietly hungry; "and what about me?"

Mouth opening and closing at a sudden loss for words, you find yourself unable to look him in the eyes.

"I have no pre-existing reason to turn against you," your voice is quiet, is flat, but your forgetting fingers betray how antsy this particular shred of honesty made you.

"So, Tommy's the only one you'd throw under the bus?"

"Its up to you," you shrugged, "and I'd only steal Tommy's disc and hand them over, I wouldn't hurt him."

"Are you lying?"

"I don't lie;" your tone was harsh, looking to him with a fire in your eyes, "I will not betray them, or Tommy in any other way, so long as they are all... aligning... with... you." There's no pretty way to twist your words around it, and you can't help your faint, flustered embarrasent, "my word is my bond." Then, softer, heart in your throat, "stop looking at me, Wilbur."

"That's a lot of power you've given me there," he said with a faint laugh, "so if it's no longer in my best interest to align with them-"

"It depends on if you mean that they're no longer allies, or if they're actively hostile," you point out, "because the ways in which I would betray them if they are not my allies are... varied. If they're my active enemy, then that's more of a straightforward fight, you know?"

"And if I decided it's no longer beneficial to be allies with you?"

"You'd be smart," you tell him, knee-jerk reaction, which startles a laugh from him; you give a faint, self-conscious apology, "honestly I'd respect it, it'd be an incredibly funny move after the things I've said, you know?"

"But, no, if I betrayed you, what would you do?"

"Are you planning on betraying me?"

"Not currently," he shrugged easily, and you blinked slowly at him.

"I don't know what I'd do, not yet, but I can get planning," you said with an almost teasing air, while he splutters in protest, "yeah I know you just said you weren't planning on it, but I'm pretty sure you've lied to every single question I've asked since getting here," you paused, smile growing wider, and strangely fond, "actually I think you've lied more than you've told the truth in general since you arrived."

A second passes, then another, then finally he breaks out into laughter.

"And you accuse me of listening too much!" His expression was frankly delighted.

----

You follow them into the dark, down the stairs, listening to the way they were joking about Eret managing to come up with a nuke. The night is unassuming. Spirits are high. 

But they bring you all to a small room full of  chests. Something is wrong. You stay with Eret by the door, and he's got a hand on your shoulder - you can't run. 

"The chests are empty-" you hear Wilbur's confusion, right before Tommy asks what the button in the middle of the room does, and before he can even press it, his fingertips barely contacting the wood, you step forward -

"Easy now," Eret's voice is a gentle murmur, only for you, grip tight on your pauldron. When you look at her, a moment of silence amongst the others' confusion, his expression is… unreadable. Ice cold now, there's a sword through your chest, you can feel it where you shouldn't, followed by the searing heat of blood filling your lungs and windpipe -

"Y/N?!" Wilbur's eyes land on you as Tommy presses the button, you fall to your knees, choking on a mouthful of blood, and when your gaze locks with his, the reality of the betrayal sets in. There's horror in his eyes, and you see Tommy and Tubbo turning before you're suddenly gasping awake in your bed in L'manburg, shaking, eyes wide and goosebumps rising along your skin as you hear your comrades screaming and shouting for help, horrified at Eret's betrayal, all coming in tinny through the communicator still on your hip. You don't properly know what happened after the button was pushed, and you think that was a conscious decision.

Your first life is taken quietly, not with a bang but with a whimper.

There's something inevitable about it for you, at least in your mind, but the others didn't deserve this, didn't deserve that betrayal. You can still feel the sticky heat of the blood in your lungs, your throat, ice cold sword where it had pierced through your back, slipped between your ribs, and come out the other side. 

"It was never meant to be," Eret sounds like they’re smiling as they say it, as the others are yelling, and you realise that they're probably reviving in their own homes. You want to ask, want to demand answers, but your hands shake, and when you find your voice, all that comes out is a furious growl, low and full of venomous malice the likes of which the others had never heard from you, judging by how your voice cut through the chaotic mess of shouting.

"What the fuck did you do?" 

Eret leaves the communication channel. The silence rings in your ears.

"He betrayed us," Wilbur said, tone flat, thinly veiling his own fury at the situation, "she had us killed by Dream and his men," and then, "he killed you." Like it means something, like he's worried your apathy, or even your connection to Dream, could sway you from your anger. Like he knows betrayal of your nation means little; like he knows you well. Something about this catches in your mind; you knew it was only a matter of time before you were betrayed, but the rest of them cared - Wilbur cared enough about you to know you, and Eret had him killed too. 

Your communicator vibrates for a moment, and you look down to see a message from Wilbur himself; Where are you?

Your life was of little consequence, the same could not be said for your comrades.

"They killed me," you said softly, before you swallowed hard; home. Dig the ground by the corner of the walls near the river, you send back. "You died too; you all died. Who was there?"

"Who do you think?" Tommy cut in, loud and brimming with rage.

"It was all so fast, but I saw George, and Sap, and Dream," Tubbo cut in, voice a little shaky, bring Tommy's fury down somewhat.

"Punz was there too," Wilbur said carefully, "they have our things." And you stay quiet as they rage, as you sit in your bed, unable to get up, mind moving a thousand miles a minute as you try and figure out how to process all of this, what it all means. It doesn't take too long before there's sunlight streaming into your little, cosy hovel, followed by Wilbur climbing down the ladder provided, packing dirt into the hole he'd made to keep your location secret. 

When he gets to the bottom of the ladder, he takes a deep breath - Tommy and Tubbo are chattering away, audible over both your communicators. Making eye contact, finally, he doesn't quiet seem to know what to do, or where to go. You turn off your communicator. Everything tastes like iron. You don't move. He leans against the wall by the ladder, closing his eyes tightly for few moments, and slowly sliding down, sinking to the ground. 

"Wilb- mate are you alright? Where are you?" Tommy's voice rings out from the communicator still on Wilbur's hip, and he sighs deeply.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, just need a few moments, I'll be with you soon," and he turns off the communicator before getting a response. 

Silence. Deafening silence.

"I'm sorry," your voice is a whisper, but it's clearly audible in this little room. 

"What?" Tone immediately defensive and sharp, Wilbur's eyes snap open and he looks to you with a glare.

"No, I- I've had betrayal coming for a long time, but you- you all didn't deserve that," you clarified, hand on your chest, feeling the raised, tender scar tissue where the sword had come out - it had slid through your sternum like fucking butter, it had been so cold, even as the points where it had touched your clothes caught fire, even as it melted through the metal of your armour - your hand starts to shake. Everything tastes like iron. 

"What happened?"

"What did Eret say to you?" His question surprised you, and when you look to him, his gaze is hard and cold.

"Easy now," you remember, "held me back when I went to step forwards, and ran their sword through me before the button had even properly been pressed -"

"I saw," Wilbur's voice was softer.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you -" your lip was trembling, shake in your words as you drew your knees up to your chest. 

"You didn't know, you couldn't have-"

"I could have done more, I could have done something -" the tears start to fall.

"Dream's guard were laying in wait, and the button was their cue to ambush us," Wilbur explained carefully, "but you…" he swallowed hard, "I watched you die." He sounded furious and disgusted, looking at his own hands, twisted into claw-like shapes, ruminating on his own helplessness at the situation.

"You're the only one who noticed," you said, barely audible, "I don't think you were meant to notice."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"I wasn't meant to see what happened, and it was meant to be assumed that I died in the skirmish," you said, tone flat and bitter, before your tone grows malicious, "because Dream is a coward."

"I wasn't meant to notice?" He asks, voice weak.

"No-one was; dying in the skirmish is less targeted, but if I had glimpsed any of their team killing -" You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze, "any," you push the word to hide that it's not exactly the truth, "of you… Dream knows I am more than capable of exacting revenge." There was a dark truth to your words that Wilbur couldn’t even begin to fathom, a history he was unaware of.

"I do notice you," Wilbur says, and you're brought from your bitterness momentarily, surprised by the earnestness of his words. He stands, "and I've never heard you speak like this before." 

"There are rules," you tell him, watching him cross the room to your bed, to sit by your side, "and I don't expect the same level of honesty that I give, but I expect- I expect- I-" but you can't find the words for what you're trying to say, sitting forward scowling at your hands.

"You would have let him betray us all still if you'd know, wouldn't you? You would have even let her kill you," Wilbur's tone is alight with realisation, and your mouth drops open with surprise; yes, yes of course you would, how did he put it into words like that? He doesn't even sound particularly hurt by that realisation, more fascinated.

"I absolutely would have," you answer.

"But you had no idea," its not accusatory in the slightest, his tone matching yours, alright with bright interest, "which is why- why- why you're so- why you're reacting like this," its like he's trying to piece together how he sees you out loud, "you need to know where all the chess pieces are, what moves are being made, you're not playing as much as you are a spectator delighting in the chaos of it all, with a front row seat." But he's grinning from ear to ear. Your whole body is alight with the instinct to reach out and touch him, to prove he's real and not something you're imagining, because no one else has even cared to figure you out like this, and no one would even come close to reacting so brightly about it. 

"I'm sorry I'm like this," you say with a momentary huff of disbelieving laughter, but he reaches out and puts a hand on your knee. The contact burns. You look down at his hand like you can't quite believe it, head swimming, trying to process this all. 

"Don't be; knowledge is power and you never lie," he pointed out, "you're a good ally to have." Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. Wilbur Soot I'd die for you; the words press against your teeth until it's almost painful, and his hand is still on your knee. You grab it - he's real, he's here, the things he's said are real too!

"I won't betray you," is what you say instead, and Wilbur's expression turns to surprise in the face of your earnestness, your seriousness. You never lie; the thing he's said is playing on both of your minds at this moment, of this you're sure.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he says very carefully.

"Then you understand the full extent of what I'm saying, don't you?" You take his hand now in a handshake, palm to palm, "Wilbur Soot, I will never betray you."

"You have never lied to me," he said, voice low and serious, demanding an answer. You meet his gaze.

"I have never lied to you," you affirm, before adding, "you know me." And you're fairly certain he doesn't quite understand the importance of that, that his understanding of you is the reason for your loyalty. "You don't have to extend the same sentiment, don't worry, like I said I don't expect the same lev of honesty -"

"I will not willingly betray you, Y/N," Wilbur says, matching your earnest seriousness, "and I will attempt to only be honest with you." 

----

“What is it about you?” There was a strange quality to Dream’s voice as he voices a question that had seemingly been weighing on him for a long while. Wilbur, where he was trying to fit all of his friends’ equipment on his person to carry back to them, snaps his attention to Dream, brow furrowed. 

"What?" 

"Loyalty is the one thing Y/N covets above all else, and yet for some reason they’ve given it freely to you -” Dream’s voice was smooth and thoughtful, like he’s not quite aware he’s speaking out loud. 

“Maybe it’s because I respect them -”

“I respected them, but still...” he trailed off; again the idea of a darker shared history between you and Dream makes itself known. Wilbur's scowl deepened, "I don’t think they genuinely respected me... or anyone, before you. They get possessive, like dangerously possessive, but you’re different." 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know the thing they do, the way they can talk around people and topics without even lying, and make it look, you know, like it’s easy?” And the minute the words leave Dream's mouth, Wilbur's gaze drops; of course he'd noticed.

"They’ve got a way with words," Wilbur's agrees, slowly, eyes narrowed. At the defensive notes in Wilbur’s voice, the smile dropped from Dream’s face. He’s seen this loyalty before, but never before in someone you yourself were loyal to in turn. This is uncharted territory. This suddenly feels like a dangerous conversation to be having. 

“Everything they’ve done is to amuse themselves, so you make no sense to me; what about you is so compelling that they find entertainment in playing revolution?”

“Maybe,” Wilbur says, tone light but clearly well thought out, “someone who is used to listening to everyone else finds a certain novel charm in being heard.” His gaze is icy, but he’s not looking at Dream; he’s standing at the end of the room, gaze hard as he looks at the door, as if focusing intently on something in his mind as he spoke; “I think you assume everyone believes in the ideals that their side stands for, and I also think,” he narrows his eyes, still staring into space. Despite not being the target of his glare, Dream, for the first time in the conversation, feels a strangely familiar powerlessness, “that you underestimate an individual’s loyalty to another individual, rather than to a cause,” he paused, “or a nation.” 

“I’ll fight for you, of course, but I can’t kill any of those kids -” in Dream’s mind, he’s taken back to the moment he’d recruited you to his side after he’d stolen Tommy’s discs. You’re looking up at him from where you’re leaning over a grindstone, sharpening your axe. When he’d asked why, you blinked slowly at him, “I’ve barely spoken to them; I can’t discern if they deserve it.” There’s something cold in your eyes as you look at him, and he hears it clear as day without you needing to say it out loud; I don’t kill people I don’t know.

Something about Wilbur in this moment reminds Dream of you. He feels the faded scar on his collar bone ache faintly; the part of him that had wanted to somehow warn Wilbur of your true nature was quickly growing quiet in the back of his mind.

Then, Wilbur looks at his own hands for a moment, before digging through his bag, through the various belongings he was now carrying. He pulls out your axe, and looks back up at the space by the door. Then, to the button, before finally looking at Dream, your axe still in hand, but it rested by his side, nonthreatening. Dream can’t look away from the weapon.

“You were laying in wait for us in the name of your nation,” Wilbur says, tone strangely neutral; he looks back at the door; “you complain about a lack of respect but won’t warn them when they’re about to die.” This is where he’d watched you die; that, atop the various other insights Wilbur has shared here have Dream’s blood running cold. Dream wants to argue that you would have tipped them off, but his words die on his tongue; he at least knew you better than to interfere in a good plan, an entertaining plan, where you would be able to watch the effects of a major plot twist play out in real time, even if it meant you too had to be sacrified... And Wilbur knew this about you too.

“I see,” Dream muses, trying to hide how shaken he was by the moment that had just passed, “you’re starting to make more sense now.”

“And you know what,” Wilbur said, unsettling tension breaking as he grinned, “I think you’re making more sense too; Y/N’s willingness to still bring up their loyalty to you does at least.”

“Their loyalty to me?”

“They still look out for Tommy’s discs on your behalf,” he said candidly, “we all know, but they’re yet to find them so Tommy’s yet to have a proper go at them.”

“It’s always sunny in L’Manberg then,” Dream says, dryly. 

“It’s... amusing, to try and see the world the way you see it,” Wilbur’s chipper, but there’s something almost malicious in his bright tone, and Dream’s hair stands on end. His own words haunt him, your loyalty called into question; did you simply help him because you found him trivial and amusing? While it doesn’t exactly surprise him, it stings in a way he didn’t expect. Looking back at Wilbur, it’s clear that at least some of Dream’s feelings about this particular revelation showed on his face, despite his best efforts. Wilbur’s grin was cheshire-esque. Even his smugness somehow had an echo of yours. 

He leaves. Dream feels sick, alone in the final control room.

----

"Can I ask you something?" Wilbur asks tentatively, and you look away from the furnace you'd patiently been waiting to smelt your iron ore.

"Of course."

Another long pause; you approached him where he was sitting at the table, watching you with reservation. 

"What happened between you and Dream?"

Surprisingly, your expression dropped to something blank in an instant, gaze going glassy. 

“He’s my friend,” you say flatly, turning back to the furnace, but not before Wilbur caught a glimpse of your grimace.

“I think he was trying to warn me against you,” Wilbur huffs a faint laugh, but it’s more to test your reaction; when you turn back, your expression is wide and innocent, almost pleading.

“What did he say?”

“That I’m the first person you’ve shown actual respect to,” Wilbur says, tone light but words blunt; it surprises you, which he can read on your face, and you hesitate for a moment, not wanting to confirm or deny as much. His smile grows wider, grows endeared, “and he did say you tend to get possessive.” Your gentle, flustered nature turns into something colder at that, and you look to your hands.

“He says a lot of things,” you mutter, with an air of bitterness. It’s interesting interacting with you; half the time you still seem to try and put on an act around him, though the other half you seem to let yourself be as honest as you’re able, “he says a lot of things to the people I like, then they like me less.” Then, suddenly, you look to him, defiance in your eyes, “I don’t care what he said, I’m not using you, Wilb-”

“Hold on, he never said anything like that,” he holds up his hands, defensive, placating. Your eyes go wide and your mouth snaps shut; you can’t look at him, sitting down, hunching in on yourself. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, sighing deeply enough that your shoulders sag, “Dream is my friend, I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I thought... he’s taken things from me like this before, things I, well...” you can’t quite put it into words, but Wilbur sits back, watching you, when something in his mind clicks.

“Covet.” His voice was soft with understanding, gentle as he asks “who was it?”

You blink slowly; there was something visceral and feral burning through your veins. You’d spent so long intricately designing the way the world would see you, this single moment feels like you’re on the knife’s edge trying to figure out if having him understanding you is endearing and heartwarming, or cloying and dangerous. He promised he wouldn’t betray you, but he’s not as honest as you’ve trained yourself to be. 

But you promised not to betray him, and you’ve become someone defined by your word. All you can do is leave, if that’s what you want. You can’t lash out, you must let him live with the way he knows you, with no promise to keep it to himself. Self preservation is the way your fingers flex, aching for your axe.

“I’ve given you too much power over me,” you swallow hard, hands in fists. 

“You won’t hurt me, though.”

“We both know I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“And you do want to,” he says it like it’s a fact, all light and neutral. You keep your mouth shut; you can’t lie if you don’t speak, no matter how sweet you know it would taste to lie. “I have never felt fear or anger like I felt when I watched you die,” he breaks the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter through clenched teeth, staring intently at the floor.

“You’re not to blame,” he says easily, “none of us deserved that; you didn’t deserve that.” 

“You didn’t deserve to see that,” you corrected automatically. 

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.”

“Well I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says, tone still light. You glance a look at him, only to see him resting his chin in his hand, regarding you with a gentle smile. The distinction stings in your mind, the way he clearly understands your internal conflict, it sets your teeth on edge, “you knew what you were getting into when you offered your loyalty; Dream was confused, you know, about why you’d given it so freely when you covet it -” that word again, your expression twists into something frustrated as you drop your gaze back to your hands, “- but he doesn’t really get you, does he?”

“He likes to think he’s like me,” you mutter, “but then he acts like he’s better, like he’s building a family from this war, but he’s going to be left with people filled with resentments. I was aquiring resources, but he didn’t like my methods...”

“Who?” Softer this time, Wilbur asks.

After a very, very long time, you look to him, gaze shallow.

“I thought Quackity was like you, I thought he’d understand.”

“Understand you?”

“Understand the world, the truth,” you wet your lips for a moment, “but he clung to pretty words without question; I could see he had potential, so I kept him around, and it was easy - it was so fuckin’ easy -” You recount how you’d set your sights on loud-mouthed, brash, desperate for recognition Quackity, and how you’d made him your whole world, bombing him with affection and attention, making him feel understood, like the place he belonged was by your side. Quackity had always looked for somewhere to belong, that hadn’t changed, though you muse that you may have made it harder for him to trust it when he finally found a place where he felt like he belonged. 

“Everything I fed him was a lie I’d laced with something that sounded close enough to love and sincerity that he’d believed it,” you looked down at where you were tracing shapes on the back of Wilbur’s hand as he listened intently, “I gave him nothing, but made him believe he had everything, until... until I wanted to see how far I could go. I wanted to see if he’d die for me... and he would have, until Dream decided to grow some morals.” You stood, sudden fury burning through your veins at the memory, “he had to sew the fuckin’ seeds of doubt in Q’s mind, had to pick holes in my lies -”

“You lied that much?” This seemed to genuinely shock Wilbur, and you stopped your pacing to look to him.

“It’s why I don’t lie; it’s harder to pick holes in the truth, harder to undermine me,” your lip curled, “Q lost faith in me, stopped trusting me, and there was fucking nothing I could do about it; it was my fault, honestly, so I don’t lie anymore. I’m upfront about who I am. I only keep people around if they’re useful, or they’re entertaining, because that’s the other fucking thing I learned; nothing fucking matters more than keeping me happy, because everyone gets too serious for their own good in the end. Dream was fun before he- he- he-”

“So am I useful or entertaining?” Wilbur asks, and you freeze. Then, slowly, you take a deep breath.

“It was novel to feel understood.”

“And now it’s bloody terrifying you,” he says gently, “because as much as you want to, you can’t trust anyone as much as you trust yourself.”

“I understand people, Wilbur, and no-one I’ve ever met has understood the inherent benefit to honesty the way I have.”

“But you still promised me your loyalty.” He says. You swallowed hard, nodding once. You meet his gaze, refusing to break it, refusing to back down, waiting for him to elaborate. “And I promised you mine, as best I could,” he pauses gives you an evaluative look over, “I can’t trust people, obviously, but I know I can trust you.”

“People don’t like me when they realise I can pick them apart, that I can rewire and reprogram them like I’m an engineer,” and Wilbur regards you curiously as you say this, like he’s going to try and counter it, but you square your shoulders, “even you, Wilbur; do you think, when we met, you’d still trust me if I was upfront about this?” And he closes his mouth, thoughtful, “I wanted so desperately to keep around the first person to halfway understand me, you’re impressed rather than fucking terrified like you should be. Because you know it’s true.”

“Are you trying to push me away?”

“We both know you won’t go,” you say with the faintest, self-deprecating smile, “a stalemate of respect, of our own design.” Then, your expression turned serious, “I have never felt fear or anger like I did when I realised you watched me die.”

Then, very slowly, his gaze meets yours, hard-edged and dark.

“Do you trust me as much as I trust you?” It’s a loaded question; he’s never been given any reason to doubt you, mostly thanks to your honesty and loyalty, but you’d never been afforded that same assurance. But in this instance, it didn’t matter, you knew your answer without a shred of doubt.

“Yes, absolutely.”

----

Its said a shark can smell blood in the water from a mile away, and you, you know there's a traitor living a peaceful life up in the castle. It irritates you, sets your teeth on edge; it's not that they killed you that bothers you, it's that they were careless about it, they let the one person you never wanted to hurt watch you die. The event had shaken Wilbur; the taking of your life was not the matter you cared about. 

"You okay?" Others had noticed how distracted you were; in your mind, all you could see was the shocked horror in Wilbur's eyes, and the feeling of the blade in your back. Blinking quickly, back to the present, you smiled brightly at Tubbo, or as brightly as you could manage.

"Of course." 

You watch the others sparring and training together and your hands ball into fists, as if aching for a fight. But you've got an image to keep up; you're not the brawn here, you're a jester, you're meant to keep those who you care about smiling. 

"You ever wanna hold a sword to my neck like that..." you tone is suggestive as you trail off, grinning at Wilbur, who's got his sword poised beneath a training dummy's chin, glaring at it with ferocity. The moment you call out, however, his focus break, and you see him fighting back a smile as a flush works its way up his cheeks.

"Come test your luck then," he calls back, and you blinked quickly.

"I don't want to fight you, Wilbur," you tell him, quieter, hoping it comes off as soft, as something endeared.

"You should know how to fight," he points out, lowering his sword, digging the tip into the dirt as he leans on the pommel a little.

"I know how to fight," you counter, and a long moment of silence follows as he considers that.

"How have I never seen you with a weapon then?"

"You have, you just haven’t seen me use it as a weapon." You tell him rather pointedly, voice low, and though you’re still smiling, there’s something sharp at the edge of your voice that’s unfamiliar to him. It takes him aback, and for a long moment he’s silent as he regards you with a newfound seriousness, “I’m just a jester; what’s a jester want with a sword anyways?” You half laugh, a little louder now, gaze flicking to the others milling around nearby. Nobody outwardly acknowledges you, nobody apart from Wilbur, who just frowns. His gaze is trained on a spot just past your head, where you know the hilt of your axe sits. 

You know you need to act soon, the idea of Eret living in the lap of luxury after everything that happened has your blood boiling. It's getting out of hand. It's getting distracting. 

"You're very observant," you note, tone fond as you come back to the moment. Wilbur surfaces from his memories too, his own smile turning all kinds of fond.

"Out of necessity," he points out, making his way over to you. There's something about his tone that is fond, is knowing, and it melts your heart a little, those hints of understanding that no-one else had bothered to afford you. The person who'd betrayed the only person to understand you had been crowned king; soon, your retribution would come soon. 

"What's bothering you?" Quiet enough that no-one else could hear, Wilbur reaches out, fingertips gentle on your cheek as he tips your face, has you look him in the eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks in them, because for a brief second, for a flash, again you see the memory of silent horror as he'd watched you lose your first life. You swallow hard, and close your eyes, leaning into his touch for the briefest moment. 

"I keep thinking about what Eret did," your voice is barely more than a whisper, giving only the truth, no attempt made to obfuscate it, like you usually would. Wilbur was quiet. You didn't want to open your eyes, didn't want to witness his reaction, but he's quiet. 

You don’t tell him what you’re going to do, what you’re planning; there’s no need for him to worry unnecessarily. If you survive, you survive, and if you don’t, well you have another life to fall back on. If you wake up in bed with a new scar and one less life, that was your decision to make. No-one should worry on your behalf, but Eret needed to know that their actions would have consequences. 

So you choose a night where the moon is overshadowed by clouds, and take your axe with you. 

You’ve always been one to make an entrance, and even now you don’t disappoint, laying in wait for as long as it takes, hours spent dead silent and idle, simply waiting.

"You should be very careful if things don't go exactly to plan," finally your voice rings out through the throne room, and Eret, all dark hair and pale eyes, stops dead where they'd been passing through. Slowly, so slow its almost painful, they turn to look at you. You, draped in the throne like you own the place, axe leaning carefully against the arm of the seat. Your name escapes her mouth like a curse.

"It did go to plan," she hisses, tone guarded. 

"If it had gone to plan, I wouldn't be here," you say, shifting a little, sitting a little lower, "if your timing had been better," you paused with a shark-like smile, "I may have been the only person in L'manburg to have no issue with your betrayal," and finally you look at him, watching his face as he tries to piece together what you mean, why you're here, "on paper I admire you." You tell them callously. Their lip curls in derision.

"Dream said you'd see my side," they say carefully.

"Dream says a lot of things to a lot of people," for a moment, your expression darkens, "I'm sure he told you to kill me first."

"To avoid…" she trails off, frown deepening. Your smile returns, wide and dangerous.

"You broke something of mine, Eret," you tell him seriously, a mad glint in your eyes, "and part of your plan worked like a charm; I won't go after anyone else because I've got plausible deniability, I didn't see who killed who in that skirmish." 

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"Because you killed me, and Wilbur watched; it's all he could do. It was a cruel thing that you did, making someone feel helpless like that."

"You're not here because I killed you?"

"Why would I be? I'm a court jester," you huffed a little laugh, smile turning cruel, "but you used me to make Wilbur sad, and someone's got to take the blame for upsetting the thing I like."

"If that's true, why spend all this time talking? Why not just kill me?"

"Because I like to make sure you get my message; Dream's heard my message, he tried to tell you," this is where you stand, finally, rising, gaze shallow, picking up your axe as you go. Slowly, you descend the steps of the throne, and Eret draws his sword. There's uncertainty in his eyes; he's close to where you want him.

"You're stalling."

"The more I talk, the more you try and remember what people have said about me, don't you? But they don't talk about how I fight, it's never been the most impressive thing about me," you give a low, guttural laugh, axe low in your tight grip, "I'm most dangerous when I'm unarmed and unarmoured, right? That's what they say, right? What do you think that means, really think about it?" 

Eret swallows hard.

"It means that you're all talk," he's trying to put up a confident front, but you watch him tighten his grip on his sword. You raise your axe.

"Not quite." 

There's nothing elegant about the way you attack, movement uncharacteristically blunt with speed that surprised the King before you. Teeth bared, you slash and duck and weave, playing dirty, tripping them up. You take hits and lash out, snarling and spitting with anger until there's no mirth, only malice, and you bring your boot down on their hand, knee pressed to their throat. There's fear behind their glasses. There's a cut above your brow, blood trickling down your face, slashes along your arms, certainly a few on your chest, but Eret's on her back on the cold floor of the throne room.

"You have no fucking idea of what I'm fully capable of," you snarl, leaning in close to their face, applying pressure until they drop their sword, hissing in pain, "this is your only warning; if you hurt- if you fucking touch my things again, I'll make it stick-" and leaning back, you use your axe to separate their head from their shoulders, taking their first life. 

And you're alone, breath coming out shakily, gasping as the adrenaline courses through you. Somewhere in the castle, Eret is waking up with your words echoing in their head. You should leave. Standing slowly, you cast a derisive look to the blood stain on the floor, the only proof of the altercation. Someone else's problem. 

You leave through the front doors, still carrying your bloodstained axe. Really, he should have better security. 

At the doors to the castle, you pause, casting a derisive look over your shoulder; this all could have been avoided. You pull out your communicator, flicking through your contacts.

[keep your things on a shorter leash] you send to Dream. He should have chosen more carefully, or been more insistent. But that was his problem; if he kept up like this, you may have to start questioning your friendship with him. 

But there's something cathartic that comes as the adrenaline is depleting. It's said that revenge doesn't provide the cathartic relief that one hopes for, but you weren't looking for revenge as much as you were looking to send a message. And you're fairly certain that message was thoroughly received. Eret had been afraid, deeply and truly afraid; you'd seen it in her eyes. It made up for the fear you had seen in Wilbur's. 

You breathe a deep sigh, letting your shoulders relax for a moment; you head home.

There's static in your ears as you travel back to L'manburg, and you don't quite register that you're back on your nation's soil until you hear shouts. Tommy, Tubbo; the children, they spot you covered in blood that's both yours and not, and they're full of concern. You smile. The wound on your head starts to ache a little, the adrenaline wearing off fully.

"Don't worry about me -" you try, unable to keep the fondness from your voice.

"Wilbur!" Tommy hollers, because he knows. Everyone knows. You've staked your claim enough that even your allies know where to turn when you're acting out of character. It has you laughing, quietly at first - Dream had tried to warn Eret, how stupid must they be to ignore that, to not follow his instructions to the letter? - but your laughter only gets louder as Tubbo takes off, also calling for Wilbur ad Tommy, genuinely concerned, asks what the fuck happened to you.

"I'm a jester," you laugh, eyes a little wild as you look to the child, "I'm just a fucking jester! A messenger! Can't kill the messenger," there's something wild, something feral about you, covered in blood with a grin that's all teeth, bloody and bruised and covering a bloodstained axe. Tommy takes a step back, wary and quiet. His eyes are wide as he looks to your axe. 

"I thought you used a bow," he says quietly. Your smile grows wider.

"I'm a bad shot with a bow," you tell him seriously. He blinks slowly, processes your words.

"You shot me," there's apprehension in his voice. He's getting it. Perhaps you should take more caution here; you don't want to break the illusion of you he sees.

"I didn't know you then," is what you say, and see the confusion and vague horror as he tries to figure out what you mean by that. But he's interrupted.

"What did you do?" Wilbur doesn't see the humour in your appearance, he seems like he's barely containing rage. When all you do is grin, giving a slight shrug, he turns to Tommy, tells him he'll take care of you, that the boy should join Tubbo. Tommy looks between the two of you; he tells Wilbur to be careful. You laugh again, bright and loud, and Tommy and Wilbur both frown at you, but at least Tommy follows Wilbur's directions.

With the kid gone, Wilbur turns on his heel, making a beeline for where he knows you've hidden your living area, and you follow him without question.

In your house, his voice turns softly malevolent;

"Who did this to you?" Oh. Your heart catches in your throat, and the surprise must read on your face; despite his furious expression he's gentle when he takes hold of your wrist, leading you to your basin.

"You don't need to worry about me," you tell him softly, though you obligingly sit on the edge of the basin. You lean your axe up behind you.

"You're covered in blood," he points out, gaze flicking for a moment to meet yours as the water runs, filling the basin up. 

"Only some of its mine," you try, endeared by the care he was showing, "I just had to deliver a message, that's all."

"You look like you had to go through hell for it," he muses.

"You don't need to worry about me, Wilbur," and you reach out to take his hand where he's dousing a washcloth in the water. He goes still. 

"What message?" He asks, finally conceding, tone finally soft. He flips your hand, carefully wiping the blood from it. 

"People need to be more careful who they use me against," you say idly, and Wilbur is quiet as he works diligently away, cleaning the blood from your hands, from your arms when you offer them. 

"I kept seeing the moment you saw me die," you tell him softly, voice barely more than a whisper as he's rinsing the blood from the cloth. He gives pause; you continue, "I expect betrayal, but I can't imagine how it must feel to have to watch that and be unable to do anything; I suppose that's why Dream told them to kill me first. If their timing wasn't perfect, I'd see one of you slaughtered - I could have seen you slaughtered," you muse, looking down at your hands, at the blood beneath your nails. Carefully, Wilbur finally lifts your chin so he can gently dab at the wound on your forehead, looking as though he was holding back a fond smile. "But I think what happened was worse; I never want to be the source of your unhappiness, on purpose or not," then finally, you look to his eyes, to how he's focusing, and your heart beats hard against your ribs, "I don't want you to worry about me." It's barely more than a whisper, far more honest than the candid way you'd said as much earlier. 

"What did you do?" It's fond now, much lighter than the situation at hand called for, and for a moment he meets your gaze, smiling ever so slightly, your face still in his hands.

His eyes are so dark, you never want him to stop looking at you like this; these feelings are already becoming dangerous, on the verge of swallowing you whole. You need him closer. It had been a blood sacrifice to atone for that look in his eyes.

You will never have the words to tell him all you’re willing to do for him. 

"The king is dead," you tell him, "long live the king." 

----

"Surprised you weren't optioned as their VP," Quackity's smile was all teeth as he slid into the booth, across from you. 

"Surprised you were," you fired back, glad for his company; the two of you don't talk like you once did, but you'd always held a fondness for him.

"POG2020 here to drown their sorrows at losing?" He asked, tone edging on something almost mean, but stopping just short.

"Those of them that can drink," you'd grinned, gaze turning to the bar where Wilbur was glaring into a half drunk pint, "he promised me a drink half an hour ago," but you're tone was fond. Quackity makes a noise of sudden understanding.

"That's why you weren't his VP," he says, sitting a little lower in his seat, expression smug, but eyes alight like a tiger with his interest piqued. You make a noise like you have no idea what he's talking about, "poor form, really, looks bad if he's sleeping with his VP."

"You dirty fuckin pervert," but your grin gets wider as your tone gets flustered, "we're not fucking!"

"But you want to," his grin gets wider, "late nights at the office, just the two of you, all alone, its stressful, it's a tough job you know-" his tone is low, teasing in a way that means you can't meet his eyes, but his tone shifts as he seems to hear what he's saying, "hey do you wanna come work with me?" It's mostly a joke, smile turning to something genuine with the way it crinkles by his eyes, and the tension from mere moments ago disappears, and you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand with a sly smile.

"Depends on the benefits," you match his earlier tone, teasing and low, and he mirrors your positioning, face now close to yours, close to the middle of the table.

"I'm sure I could talk Schlatt into something reasonable for the other benefits," he's still smiling, still mostly joking, as were you, though you couldn't deny the thought of being Quackity's assistant and part of the Jschlatt Administration was deeply amusing given your recent history.

"You really in the market for an assistant?" Your tone was brighter, far less joking, and for an instant, Quackity flushed an amusing shade of pink.

"I could be- this was meant to be a bit-" 

"You here to rub my nose in it, Quackity?" Wilbur's voice, when it joined the pair of you, was accusatory, and though you don't move from your surprisingly intimate moment, Quackity's eyes slide to the side, to watch Wilbur side effortlessly into the seat beside you. 

"Former President Soot," Quackity grinned, but instead of watching Wilbur's reaction, he looked back at you, raising a single, almost challenging eyebrow. Wilbur, at the very least, ignores the comment.

"You conspiring against me?" He asks, mostly directed at you, and while Quackity tries to snort and play it off, you can feel Wilbur's hand slide down the length of your back coming to rest at your hip, arm now around you, and you lean out of your moment with Quackity and into his touch.

Something in Quackity’s gaze turns cold, like he’s awash with memories long past, like he’s quietly mad at himself for losing himself in the moment with you, for forgetting any part of what you’d put him through. 

"Not in a technical sense, but I also hadn't agreed to anything," you tell him, finally looking at him. As you settle into the space beside him, his arm moves to wrap around your shoulders, fingers resting gently on your upper arm; it's a clearly possessive gesture. Something in your heart bursts with warmth.

Looking to him, you see he's looking back at you, expression burning, question in his eyes; was I interrupting? Your grin turns sharper. If he had been interrupting, you're more than capable of telling him to fuck off, but just having him around reminds you that this is better than any alternative. 

"Oh," Quackity's voice was alight with realisation, breaking the moment, and you turn to him as Wilbur leans into you a little more, "you would have made the worst VP," he practically crows, tone more mocking than it was light, "you wouldn't have made it a week."

"Don't be a prick," Wilbur scowled, "if they'd wanted the job they of course would have been more than welcome to it -"

"Good old fashioned nepotism," Quackity, sounding especially smug, did little to brighten Wilbur's mood, who was set to mumble something else snide before Quackity's eyes fixed on you, "wait, you didn't want to be VP? I was actually right, wasn't I? You knew exactly what would happen, yet somehow he doesn't?! Have you even seen yourselves? How does he not - Ow!" You kick him in the shins under the table. Hard. 

"What the fuck are you on about?" Wilbur asks, as Quackity brings his leg up to rub at his sore shin. He's still fucking grinning. Asshole.

"Keep your dirty little mouth closed, Q," you warned. 

"Don't worry, I know its not my dirty little mouth you're interested in- fucking ow, Y/N!"

"Good," Wilbur's voice in your ear is warm and pleased and he's leaning on you now, solid and tipsy with his forehead against the side of your head, "he's being a dick, you have terrible friends you know."

"You'd be the worst," you murmur back, voice syrupy and full of affection as Wilbur actually giggles, not even bothering to try and contradict you. Quackity, across from you and still rubbing his shins, mimes gagging. 

"Go be Vice President, Quackity," Wilbur sneers.

"Don't be a salty bitch, Mister Former President," Quackity's lip curls. 

"Kick him in the shins again, my love," the nickname alone, Wilbur in your ear, it has your heart in a vice-like grip, and Quackity must see it in your eyes how eager you are to follow through because he draws his knees up to his chest with gusto, flipping you both off. You laugh.

"Love you, Q," you tell him with sincerity, out of habit. When he tells you to shut up, there’s nothing joking in his tone in that moment, gaze avoiding yours as he’s shimmying from the booth.

"You're so generous with your words," Wilbur's voice is a gentle sigh, something wanting, something almost forlorn. For a moment your breath catches in your throat, but before you can respond, before you can even think of a response, he's already talking again, "what was he on about anyways? Talking shit about you like he has any right to, you would have made a great VP, I asked, you know I asked -" he sits up, as if worried that you think he thinks less of you, but his arm is still around you.

"Will your the only one who wanted me to be VP," which isn't a lie, but in your trademark fashion, it also wasn't the whole truth. 

"They don't trust you with a nation," he sounded so bitter, and for a moment your heart stutters in your chest. 

"They shouldn't," you tell him softly. 

"Do you like Quackity more than me?"

"I think I probably like him more than you like him, yes."

"That wasn't what I was asking and you knew that," then his voice drops, something in his eyes as serious as you've ever seen, "do you like Dream more than me?"

"Wilbur…"

"I know- I know you're close, I know, I just… I need to know, you know?"

"Will…" and as you say his name, voice a hesitant murmur, he cups your face.

"You don't have to- to be worried if you do, I just need to know, for me, it's selfish but I need to know for me; I'd understand, of course of course I'd understand, you two have history-" and his gaze is boring into you, eyes wide and dark and you can't find the words for how much you want him to hold you close, hold you tight and never let go. 

You hesitate. You drop his gaze.

"You do," he sounds heartbroken, his grip on you grows slack.

"I have never lied to you, Wilbur," your tone is nervous and hesitant, "but I'm afraid of answering, I'm afraid of what it means."

"You'd… you'd betray me for him?" Drunk and emotional, he sits back, but your hands are shaking. 

"Wilbur, I'm afraid of answering because… you're wrong. It's you. Over Big Q, over Dream, over everyone… Wilbur I-" your voice caught in your throat, words too honest by half, so you swallow them, choose safer ones, "will choose you," you let out a shaky sigh, "you have my loyalty." 

His eyes were wide as saucers, shiny and overwhelmed and emotional and then he's holding you so tight it's like a vice, face pressed into the crook of your neck.

"You've always had my vote," you tell him faintly, and he holds you tighter still. 

"You," he whispers incredulously, not even your name, just, "its you." And your mind hears them said like a mirror, like he himself can't quite believe your honestly. 

----

“They’re exiling you,” you hear Quackity before you see him; they’ve got you locked away, and probably for good reason, but also probably at his insistence.

“It’s better than the death penalty,” you say, huffing a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” his tone is gentle but reserved, and when you finally look up from your hands, elbows braced on your knees, you see him leaning on the bars of your cage. It’s too dark to read his expression, but you can tell from his voice, “just play nice with Schlatt and you can stay a citizen.”

“Play nice?” You asked with the faintest of smirks, “what does that entail exactly?”

This is where he grows quiet, crouching down and looking at the floor, mouth in a thin line.

“You’re good at playing nice, it shouldn’t be hard,” you can’t mistake the bitterness in his voice, and you give pause, “just say it was an act, your loyalty to that dictator, Wilbur.”

“Lie, so I can swap out one perceived dictator for another?” You asked softly.

“Helping run a campaign for the former president only to admit that you don’t actually give a shit, and stay loyal to the man who won by forming a coalition with the two losing parties, that sounds exactly like something you’d do,” he pointed out, and there’s something in his voice you can’t identify, something akin to faint desperation, though you can’t quite understand why. But still, something catches in your throat. 

“Isn’t it funnier to stay loyal to the former president who lost after the two losing parties formed a secret coalition? To the point of exile?”

“Can’t you just play nice? Can’t you just lie?”

“You wanna keep me around that bad?” You asked, faintly teasing edge to your words, but as soon as he stands, as soon as he speaks, you can hear him growing defensive.

“I’m the Vice President trying to offer an olive branch to a potentially skilled ally,” he sniped, “don’t get it twisted.”

“I’m not going to lie to try and play nice with the dictator who stole the nation from the person I’m loyal to,” you tell him, blunt. Quackity is quiet for a very long moment. 

“Dream ‘ll be heartbroken,” his voice is suddenly strangely rough, “someone’s knocked him out as top fuckin’ dog in your little, black heart -”

“Q,” it’s finally clicked, and you don’t know what else to say. 

----

“I want you to know what I’m capable of,” you say softly, looking up at the stars. Then, slowly, you look at Wilbur, who’s regarding you with interest, “everyone ends up afraid of me,” you tell him, “and it might be self sabotage, but I want you to fear me too. I’m not used to love, I’m not used to understanding.” 

“More honest than usual tonight,” he muses with a gentle smile.

“If I’m not feared I feel like I’m being underestimated.”

“It sounds like self sabotage.”

“I feel violent today,” then, looking up at the stars you take a deep breath, “I love you. I don’t think I’ve said that before; I love you, Wilbur.”

“You love me and you want me to fear you,” he says slowly. His gaze follows the tense set of your shoulders, “not used to loving someone?” You shake your head. 

“I want to cut off your head, just so you know I could,” you tell him, hands behind your back, gaze skyward, “I think I want to fuck you, but I’m not sure, I’m really not used to loving someone, not genuinely. I don’t think I know how to love you in a way that makes sense.” 

Finally, you turn to him, expression neutral, while inside you were alight with nerves. He’s watching you, dark eyes thoughtful. You swallow hard.

“I’m trying to push you away,” you tell him without hesitation, “because I’ve given you too much power over me, and I-” you voice catches, your façade cracking, and finally you drop your gaze, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

Even your honesty was it’s own kind of dishonest mask, and there was nothing more fear inducing than genuinely letting it slip. Your image is a house of cards and you keep handing Wilbur fucking fans. 

“You know at some point I am just going to leave; I don’t want to, but if you keep pushing -” he pauses, as if expecting a rebuttal, but your mouth remains firmly closed, which causes him to frown, “- I’m going to end up leaving. Do you want me to go? I’m just going to ask, because you keep pushing, you keep doing this, I’d rather you were just honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t want you to stay around me out of some sort of moral obligation,” you tell him.

“That’s not an answer.” 

“And I can’t answer because you can’t guarantee you won’t end up fucking fearing me like everyone else! I can’t answer because I am not going to be responsible for someone else’s feelings; if you stop caring about me I don’t want you to feel like you should still be around me, and just go on to resent me!”

Squeezing your eyes closed, face scrunched up, you force the words through your lips, “I would give you the fucking world, Wilbur, but I don’t expect- I don’t want to expect anything in return,” your jaw clenches for a moment, but you relax your face, eyes still closed, “obsession,” you sigh gently, “is safer if I am sure it is not reciprocated. Especially obsession like this...”

“Like this?”

“The things I obsess over... they’re just that; things. And I want to keep them safe, but I don’t... I don’t actually love them like I love you,” your lip curls, and you look at the ground, slowly sinking into a squat as you contemplate, “it’s fucking obscene,” you spit, as if disgusted at yourself. “Love makes me feel fucking filthy; it’s always funnier when I’m the object of desire.”

“You’re still trying to push me away!”

“And yet you’re still here, so who’s the real idiot!?” You snapped, lip curled in a sneer as you shot him a venomous look; the shock of it all was plain as day on his face, but you don’t let the faint guilt you feel show on your face as you look at your hands.

“I love you,” he says faintly, still sounding surprised, like he can’t quite realise what he’s saying, “and I’m just tired to trying to fight you on that, I don’t know how to prove that what I say to you is the truth; you don’t have a patent on honesty, and I just don’t know what to do to get you to believe me.” And then, coming back to himself, anger returning, “it’s not filthy to be in love!”

“It is when it’s obsession,” your answer comes out more like a growl.

“Y/N, my drug empire turned into a nation, I think more people should be obsessed with me,” he says with surprising levity. Something protective, something jealous flares up at that suggestion, but you keep your reaction to yourself, looking up at him as something close to hope flares bright in your chest. “You act like you’re the only one here, like you’re the only one allowed to worry about me, like you’re the only one willing to- to die. You killed the King for me, you have Dream’s respect, if I was going to be afraid of you it would have settled in by now,” then, “the only reason I haven’t killed Eret for what he did to you is because you got there first yourself. Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?”

The question hangs in the air between you both; you think you can almost see it there, catching starlight. You look at your hands instead.

“I believe there’s something wrong with the type of people who fall in love with me,” you admit, barely louder than a whisper, “and part of me believes you’re better than that.” 

“Listen to yourself,” he gives an exasperated chuckle, “there’s something wrong with you.”

“I know that,” you say almost immediately. Silence lapses out between you, and finally Wilbur sighs, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around you.

“I think it might be why I love you.” 

There’s never been a more dangerous feeling in your chest than in this moment, in his arms. You want to tell him you’d kill for him, you’d die for him, but it’s more than that, more than you could explain or do justice with words alone, so you hug him back, and never want this moment to end.

“There’s something wrong with you, too.”

----

He is silent; cold and unmoving and your hands start to shake. 

"You did what you had to," your tone is flat, no distress, nothing, just flat. Phil is quiet. Neither of you move. You can hear your heart beat in your ears. "We should move his body."

"Yeah…" and then, softer, "actually, no, it won't be around for long… but we can set up a gravestone."

"What do you mean?"

"Bodies here don't stay, they move on-" and as Phil speaks, as you step towards the body on the ground, hand outstretched, it begins to fade to ash, to dust. Only his things were left behind. Your fingers curl into a fist and you lower your hand, "are you okay?" His voice has the barest shake, like he still can't believe what just happened.

"It was never meant to be," you tell him instead of answering truthfully, forcing yourself to smile as you finally look up to the father of your best friend, your- "are you okay, Phil? I'm sorry you had to do that, I'm sorry-"

"You're okay." He sounded deeply concerned by what he'd perceived to be your response. Looking out from the room to the crater, you see Withers flying overhead, and hear shouting and confusion.

"I should go," you say softly, "I'm the only one left who could take the fall for that," you muse, jaw tightening for a moment, though noone can see your expression. When you move past Phil, you pause, and tell him quietly, reassuringly, that he did what had to be done, and that you were sorry. 

"Was he just a means to an end for you, just another joke? You'd gotten better, you'd gotten kinder-" his voice finally betrayed his distress; his son was dead by his own hand and you'd just watched, "what happened?"

It takes you a long time to formulate your response, terrified of letting yourself be vulnerable; you'd been the villain too many times to not expect an opportunist to use your vulnerability against you. Phil may not be that opportunist, but you know better than anyone what dangers may lurk behind a kind face and sincere veneer.

"Whatever I may have felt is no longer relevant, to you, me, or anyone; he's gone, as is L'manburg."

"Did you even care about him?" Phil asks gently, "don't talk your way around me, please, Y/N." Your breath catches for a moment; he's giving you an imploring look, holding your wrist carefully; outside, someone, possibly Tommy, is hollering both yours and Wilbur's names with fury. 

"Care is a very weak word for how I may have felt," you tell him softly, holding his gaze. Your tone is flat, but you see it in his eyes when he catches your meaning, how you can't bring yourself to admit out loud that you loved Wilbur, "not that it matters now… not that anyone would believe you if you told them." You said, tone dismissive. Phil lets you go.

----

"Oh hello, Quackity!" You hear Ghostbur cheerfully greeting someone as he peers out the window, leaning far enough out on the sill, pushed up on his toes, that you're half worried he'll fall. You hear violently loud shushing outside your house and your blood runs cold. Why was he trying to sneak up on your house?

You’re intrigued by it all, and don’t try and put up a fight.

"I suppose the kangaroo court is now in session," you mused, peering up at the precarious contraption above you, "can you at least tell me why you're dropping an anvil on my head?"

"Because you're a threat to society," Quackity grumbles, though he can't bring himself to look at you.

"Because you drove my father to madness, helped him blow up half the land, then you killed him once he'd outlived his purpose," Fundy was unflinching as he levelled a glare at you.

“They didn’t kill me,” it’s Ghostbur’s voice that joins the foray, amid the shouting, while you’re hopping from one foot to the other, looking up at the anvil, the gentle reverb that accompanies his soft speech cuts through the din.

And suddenly the madness stops; all eyes on the Ghost.

“Don’t kill her over me, if that’s your reasoning;” he paused, nervous, “or just don’t kill them…” he trailed off.

“Don’t you get that they’ve already made up their mind?” Quackity’s rolling his eyes, standing by the lever that decides your fate, “if they wanted someone to release them, they could have convinced one of us by now-” and he looks to you, eyes dark and cold, and the moment you’d shared back at Wilbur’s grave surfaces in your mind ‘you’re getting better at hearing the truth’.

"Quackity-" you breathed, alight with intrigue at this development, unable to help yourself. There's an old, familiar flicker of misguided desire, for lack of a better word.

"Keep my fucking name out of your mouth," he muttered, only loud enough for you to hear, "and quit it with that tone." He can't look at you; you delicately wrap press your hands to the glass of your cage.

"Q, what tone, I don't-" but even you could hear the giddy notes that bleed through in your words.

"You're about to die; I'm about to kill you, but you're hear acting- talking like you did when you pretended to care about me-"

"I have cared about you from the moment I met you," you fired back defensively, "I have always cared about you, Quackity."

“God I really fuckin’ preferred it when you lied, then I didn’t have to try and figure out what the fuck you mean when you talk like that,” he snapped, before making his way from the podium, “I’m sick of them, someone else pull the lever.” He called out; he’s taking a stand, trying to block you out, keep your words out of his head. This was the Quackity you’d been so captivated by when you’d met him, the man who intrigued you, who you thought could challenge you, whose very nature excited you. Heart beating in your ears, you press your hands to the glass of the cage, looking out past him, to the others.

“I was not responsible for what happened to Wilbur,” you called, looking to Fundy, who you’re pleased to see looked conflicted, “what happened to L’Manberg wasn’t my fault- I fought with you. I fought with you all,” there’s the faintest notes of desperation in your voice. You had already made peace with your fate, now you were simply intrigued as to whose hands your blood would be on.

“Fine, Fundy if you’re conflicted because they didn’t kill your dad, you can stay out of it,” Quackity’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, but you can see the hard, tense line of his shoulders.

“It feels like our actual execution reasons... aren’t there anymore,” Tubbo points out, “and as a leader, I feel bad killing someone for being a nuisance, and not even a nuisance to me or anyone else.”

“This feels kinda personal,” Ranboo adds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “which is fine, but they don’t seem like a threat to the country.”

“Did you fucking forget she became Wilbur Soot’s right hand?!” Quackity demanded from them, stepping forward again, “ she may not have been responsible for pressing the button, but she had ample opportunity to stop him; hell, she had ample opportunity to not be a dick. How can we even believe what she says?!”

“People do some fucked up things for love,” Ranboo gives a simple shrug.

“And Y/N doesn’t lie,” Tubbo pointed out, looking to you. In this moment, time freezes; his words buzz in the back of your mind as you look to Quackity, trying to decipher how he’s reacting when you can’t see his face. Because he can’t give it away, can’t bring himself to admit the power you once had over him, the sliver of power you still have, can’t make himself look weak, and it’s killing him.

They’ve only known you to be honest, and for that you’re glad... but Quackity knew you before.

Perhaps your begging, your desperation, had worked too well.

----

“You gonna give the people a show?” Your heart is beating in your throat as you find yourself waiting in your cell, hands restrained behind your back as Dream himself paces in irate silence outside your cell.

“I gave you the option to come back, to join me to not go down this road,” he’s seething, hands balling into white-knuckled fists and unballing again and again, “I don’t understand you, I don’t fucking understand you, Y/N,” and he stops, pulls off his mask to run his hand through his hair in irritation. Then he looks to you, and you’re looking back, expression thoughtful, or at least, you hopes it comes across as thoughtful, rather than betraying the way you’re heart is hammering against your ribs.

“It’s not your fault it’s more amusing to be on the side of revolution,” you told him, lips quirking into the faintest smile, “they called it L’manberg,” your smile widens, unable to help your own laugh, and his distress becomes more evident. Then, smile slowly fading, you meet Dream’s gaze, giving a slight frown.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you tell him seriously, “you could have picked anyone else to do this, you didn’t have to volunteer.”

“If I had picked anyone else,” he swallows hard, looking at the ground and taking a deep breath, “you would have talked your way out, and it would have made them look weak, but there would be a target still on your head and you’d be hunted.”

“And you?”

“You’ve never done that thing you do with me, talk circles, trying to get me on your side -”

“You’re already on my side,” you say gently, but his expression turns pained.

“They know - everyone knows I’m the only person on the side of Pogtopia you haven’t attempted to talk your way around, but I’m also the only person who could convince you to go into exile, to not fucking let yourself be killed, and have the others not hunt you furiously when they find out.”

“Dream the Great and Powerful,” you smile, tone fond and frankly adoring, he winces again.

“You’re a pain,” he mutters, mostly to himself, before he lowers himself into a squat, as if to centre himself, gaze lifting to you finally, “you can go; join Tommy in exile, you don’t have to… to… you don’t have to die, dude.”

“If I die, in their eyes I’ve atoned for my crimes,” you try to sit back, settling in a little against the wall, “you and Tommy will never see eye to eye, but like you said, that thing I do, the way I talk my way around people, that has affected more than just you,” you took a deep breath, “the only person I really respected apart from you died, Dream, the only person who truly vouched for me apart from you is dead, Dream.” Your smile grows tight, and suddenly you can’t look him in the eyes; respect, it was so much more than that. Your heart grows warm at his memory, the mere thought of his smile, before growing cold and sad as he demanded that Phil kill him. It must show on your face.

“Wilbur protected you,” Dream said, tone knowing, but you couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that.

“Wilbur was my limiter,” you corrected, and Dream’s eyebrows rose, momentarily broken from his distress, “I respected him, I… anyways, so if he asked me not to fuck with one of our allies, I wouldn’t - except to give you Tommy’s discs,” you clarified, and for the barest moment, Dream’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smile.

“You’re kind of awful,” he says gently, “you’d fuck with your allies? Just change sides, don’t mess with the people who trust you and expect them to keep trusting you as such.”

“My ally was Wilbur, the rest of them were on his side,” you explained, “I’m on my own side before anyone else's,” you reminded, and he nodded seriously, looking to the floor, bouncing on his toes.

----

"I- I mean I'm not sorry," Quackity muses. You don't look up, but you hear him sit on the other side of Wilbur's Tombstone. 

"I don't know why you would be; you're not responsible for what happened to me."

“Oh,” Quackity frowns, giving pause, “no, I meant about him,” and he slaps the side of the tombstone with one hand.

“Not your fault either,” you shrugged.

"He did it to himself," which is right, but not in the way Quackity means it. He thinks Wilbur blew up. He doesn't know what was asked of Phil. You're quiet, and finally Quackity speaks; "did you actually love him or was it another one of your stunts?"

"Love is a strong word," you respond, tone devoid of inflection. He can't hear how badly you want to confirm, you want to holler how fucking wide the sky has gotten in Wilbur's absence. 

"Can you just teach me how to not fucking care? Because how is it so easy for you? How do you wake up and decide you're going to ruin lives and stand by while the world goes up in flames?" 

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s just a side effect of who you are as a person,” he says derisively. 

"You find what you love and let it kill you," you tell him, voice quiet. 

"You find who you love and let them kill you," he says, knowingly, "you followed Eret into the control room because of Wilbur," he said knowingly, "and we all saw who gave you that mark on your neck," he laughs humourlessly. "But you can't even entertain the idea that I could hurt you, can you?" He asks.

"Find who you love and let them kill you."

"What then?" 

"Hope your love for them dies too; severing attachments takes great personal sacrifice." 

"You sound like Dream."

"I've known him the longest, you know?"

"He's your best friend, I remember," he tells you derisively, "so did your love die?"

"My attachment to him is situational at best." 

“But does it die?” He asked quietly, “you severed the attachment, but does the love die?” His tone is hollow, and you swallowed hard. 

“You’re getting better at hearing the truth.” You give a humourless laugh, and he responds with a non-committal hum

“I liked you better when you lied," he says quietly.

"I almost got you killed," you tell him flatly, and he huffs a faint laugh.

"Correction, I almost died for you."

"What's the difference?"

"Intention," you can hear his faint smile, "find what you love and let it kill you, after all." Then, quieter, "you should finish the job."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Give me that kind of power over you," you tell him flatly. 

"You should finish what you started," he scoffs, the mood shifting more and more with each word, "you're the one who wanted me to die for you; if you're learning to be all honourable and noble and shit, you should learn to take accountability -" he huffed in frustration, "can I be perfectly fucking honest with you for a moment?"

"I'd appreciate it," you tell him. There's a few moments of silence that follow, and finally you shift, peering at him over your shoulder to where he's leaning against the headstone, legs kicked out in front of him. He looks at you, eyes dark and tired.

"I'm so tired of giving a shit about you."

You know there's something selfish in how you miss seeing his smile in this moment. But then again, did you miss his smile, or did you miss what it represented; his love and loyalty. 

----

"You're getting rained on," Ghostbur said quietly, looking at you with his wide, cloudy eyes as you held an umbrella open and aloft above him.

"I'll live," you said pointedly, and at Ghostbur's smile became faintly strained, but he accept the umbrella. You, however, didn't move, sitting beside him on the log that you'd found him on.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, shuffling a little closer, if only to try and shield you too with the little umbrella. Instead of looking to him, you look at the grey, drizzling clouds looming overhead.

"I saw it was clouding over," you told him, "and no-one I spoke to had seen you for a while..." you trailed off, shrugging, as if that was enough.

"You've always been a lovely friend, I remember that, I remember..." but his own voice trails off, dies in his throat; you look at him with interest, and after a beat he looks back at you, "I remember the good times, the happy times, and you, in the beginning you were a wonderful friend, but I don't... they say I blew up a nation, you know, and I don't remember that, but I don't remember a lot leading up to that either. It -" he hesitates before backtracking, choosing his words carefully, "did something bad happen between us?"

Your understanding of the word, of the time you spent with Wilbur, it was all shattering in your mind at once. His eyes were wide and full of concern when you look back at him, and he reaches out gently, wiping away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen; you hear the hiss of the water against his thumb and move out of his touch.

"Sorry," he says softly, genuine apology in his voice, "was it because of what I did to L'Manberg?" He asks gently. Around you, the rain was getting heavier.

"I thought we were happy," it came out barely louder than a whisper, and you quickly wiped your eyes, despite the rain now coming down hard enough to hide your tears, "I should have... I know I should have said something, but I thought we both just knew, you know? I should have..." and you turn, bottom lip trembling, "I'm sorry, Ghostbur, I know you're not him, you keep saying that, but I never got to tell Alive-You that I... you know," you swallowed hard, "that I love him. You? Him? I never actually got to tell him properly, in a way that makes sense. But I did. I do. And I thought... Fuck," the word comes out in a harsh breath, and you find yourself scowling and looking away, "probably for the best that I didn't say anything if he - you, I guess - weren't - wasn't? - happy."

"I know he cared about you, as much as I can remember, he never stopped caring," Ghostbur's voice is quiet, and finally, you look at him. His face is scrunched up with concentration, but there's small trails of steam -

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," you're genuinely apologetic, and he looks shocked when you look up, as if he hadn't even noticed.

"Just because I don't remember doesn't mean... well a lot of things were not good memories towards the end, but that's because of everything going on up here," he was wiping at his eyes quickly to dispel the tears before he taps his temple with two fingers, "and if what you're saying is true, he wasn't unhappy because of you, he was just unhappy, and it... there are months missing for me, and that's no-one's fault."

Oh... well you supposed you could understand that, still, it was difficult to process this whole conversation and all it's implications.

"How is this the most amusing option, if you don't mind me asking?" He suddenly speaks up, and you look up with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You're upset, I don't think I've ever seen you upset -"

"Well it probably wouldn't be a good memory if you had," you reminded, to which he conceded.

"But I remember clear as day when we met, and you told me and Tommy that you simply did whatever amused you the most, this... this doesn't seem particularly amusing."

"I don't operate like that anymore," you told him frankly, staring at your hands.

"Oh," he muttered softly, before asking, voice tentatively, "why did you think to come find me?"

You take a moment to deliberate, to consider your own reasoning and motivations, still looking at your hands, fingers twisting and curling and locking into inconsistent shapes.

"You used to do this near the end," you said softly, "used to run off and sit near the button and think and think and think but never do anything," you paused, "and I never cared about the land like I cared about you, so I was all for blowing it all up, but it... I could see it was doing something to you. The election, everything that was happening, it did something to you; you were spiralling, and I knew if I didn't know where you were, you were by the button. Awful and fucking beautiful, and dude, I'm- I'm so sorry I didn't tell you but, Christ, I was so in love with you, Wilb-" looking sharply at him, your voice died in your throat, and you corrected yourself, "him. Not... you're different. Right. Ghostbur." He blinked at you, a little taken aback by the sudden passion of your outburst, of your explanation. You cleared your throat. "No-one else had the balls to acknowledge that the land no longer functioned by the ideals it was built for, and I loved your passion; I could listen to you talk down there for hours. Sometimes I did. It was like a prison and a safe space all at once, and I don't know if it made things better or worse, but when he couldn't stand to see what the world had become, we'd sit in that room with the button and talk."

Finally, you looked at him, seeing him and not the man he used to be.

"And today I couldn't find you, and I knew it was going to rain, and... I know rain hurts you. There's no button, but you don't spend time in town anymore, so I looked for Friend." You looked at the little, blue sheep who'd been happily munching on some grass during your conversation. Then a faint, cold pressure in your hands, and you look down to see Ghostbur pressing a vial of a thick, blue liquid into your hands.

"Have some blue," he said softly, "it'll make you feel better." And then, much softer, he thanks you for finding him, he takes your free hand and laces your fingers with his, "thank you for talking to me."

"Thank you for talking to me." You mumble, giving his hand a squeeze, feeling a touch guilty for unloading all of this on him. No-one else would listen, or if they would, they didn't care; people had gone from not trusting you because you refused to be completely loyal to any thing but yourself, now they hated you for staying loyal to what they deemed to be the wrong thing. Allies were few and far between, and Ghostbur may see himself as separate to Wilbur, but you weren't going to stop yourself from caring about him too.

----

"You're in here," Tommy's voice is quiet where he's thumbing through a notebook you half recognise. Making a noise of interest, you look a little closer at the notebook - What I Remember. Ghostbur's notes, you feel yourself growing tongue tied.

"I don't- you shouldn't be reading that."

"You suddenly decided to grow a conscience?"

"Shut up," your lip curled, "and I'm not in it."

"Who else would be the Favourite Jester?" He asked, turning the book around, but you covered your eyes. 

"Don't be a sook," he sneered.

"Does Ghostbur know you have it?" You asked, and he grew a little antsy at that, to which you simply growled at him to give it back. But still, you catch a glimpse of it;

“Its you.” - in the notebook, in Ghostbur's neat scrawl - you chose me when no-one else did.

----

"I think Tommy trusts me," you told Dream, frowning at your brewing stand. Dream, for his part, finds the humour in your statement where he's sitting at your table, leaning back, his feet on the table.

"Tommy, I've changed!" Your tone shifts to a mocking imitation of your earlier conversation with the boy, "death has changed me!" And you dropped the act with a snort, "getting a scar doesn't make me a different person," you rolled your eyes. Dream clears his throat.

"Sorry about that, again," he muttered.

"No hard feelings, dude, obviously," you grinned over your shoulder.

"So you- you're okay with my plan; the two of you fought side by side for your nation -"

"I'll be by your side until -"

"Until something better comes along," Dream nods in resignation.

----

“I’m sorr- Ghostbur I’m so sorry,” you sniffled, angrily rubbing at your eyes, frustrated that he had even seen you get so emotional, “I’m not- you shouldn’t have seen that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, crying’s normal,” he said, voice a gentle echo of the one you loved, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Not with you, Ghostbur,” though you’re shooting for light, it doesn’t land, and instead, he looks to the floor, apologising. You wipe the tears that refuse to stop spilling from your eyes.

“You still miss him so much it moves you to tears?”

“You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of those,” he says with a faint laugh, and you look at him, see his quietly fond smile, and for a moment you see the memory of Wilbur himself, and your expression crumples. Immediately as you bury your face in your hands, you feel him by your side, apologising, trying to lay a comforting hand on your arm. The touch is cold but familiar, and you reach out instinctively and grab his hand.

“Ghostbur, my life is a fucking joke and I’m not laughing anym-” he kisses you quick when he gets the chance, his mouth on yours so close to being familiar, but not quite. It knocks the wind from you, and for a moment you let yourself fall into it, grabbing his sweater and pulling him closer. 

“Does that help?” He asks a little breathless when you part, and you can’t look him in the eyes, only at your shaking hands balled up in his perfect, yellow sweater. 

“You’re not him,” your voice is a shaky whisper.

“I...” his words get caught in his throat, “I think right now I’m close enough. Does this,” and he holds your face with one hand like it’s porcelain, like he’s afraid you’re about to shatter, “does this help?”

“Why?” You can feel how weak you are in this moment, unable to let him go, knowing the truth of the whole situation. 

“I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“It’s not your job to make me happy, give me time and I’ll be alright,” but you don’t let him go, then, “tell me you don’t love me, please.”

“It seems dangerous to even entertain the idea; I’m not Wilbur,” he says gently, and finally you look at him, meeting his gaze, leaning into his touch. 

“Do you even want any of this?” Your voice is barely a whisper, “me, or anything like this moment?” Ghostbur visibly hesitated.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” he said with a surprising firmness, “I want to do whatever makes you happy,” then, his voice goes quiet, “even now, I forget sad things, people tell me sad things and the conversation ends, and I just... lose whatever they said,” he gives a faint smile, “but even in time that aren’t... aren’t the happiest, I haven’t forgotten you; something about being around you makes me happy, happy enough to remember you. All I want is for you to be happy too.”

“Did you lie to me?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, and you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch his lips twist into something thin and unhappy, before stumbling over his words, trying to deny, “did you lie about not remembering me? About not remembering... not remembering how close we were?”

“I thought...” his expression reads apology, his hands coming to cover yours where you can’t bring yourself to let him go, still holding him close by his sweater, “it would be easier for you to let go, to move on, if you didn’t know.” 

“But you don’t care about me like he did.”

“I care about you,” his eyes go wide and concerned, “but I’m not him. You understood him better than anyone and- and- and- he needed you- uh, your company,” he correct, faint blush rising on his cheeks at his own implicit wording, “more than anything else. You’re the one who stayed.” 

You swallowed hard, huffing a humourless laugh.

“And he’s the one who got away.”

“Y/N...”

“This feels...” you look to your hands still holding him close, then to his mouth, then his eyes, taking a shakey breath, “self destructive, for us both,” and his expression reads shock, reads apology, but in that instance you cave to your need for contact, leaning into him, to find what comfort you could in him. A shiver runs down your spine as you make a snap decision, “I know you’re not him, but I still love you,” you lie; he’s not the one you promised to always be honest with, but for now he’s as close as you’ve got, and you can’t let him go, “please don’t go.” 

----

It’s been a long time, relatively since you’d seen Q when you run into him. You’re not looking for him, you’re merely roaming on an overcast day, but he looks like he’s on a mission. He seems surprised to see you, right before his expression turns dark.

“Figures I’d run into you out here sooner or later,” his words genuinely confuse you, which he seems to pick up on, because at least for a moment, he seems confused himself, before clarifying, “Dream’s in prison.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me.” His audible irritation makes your own smile grow just a touch wider, “you know you should be there too.”

“Cruel, Q, they’ve already killed me for my crimes once,” you practically sing, amused smile stretched from ear to ear, “haven’t I suffered enough?” His smile was thin and mean.

“Not even close.”

“You make me miss being a bad person,” you say with a hint of self deprecation.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Quackity snorted, “you’re still terrible.”

“I like you standing up for yourself; self confidence is a good look on you.”

“You like anyone who actually challenges you,” he rolled his eyes, “which makes me feel fucking stupid for ever caring about you like I did. You don’t give a shit about simps, I get it now.”

“You’re better than that,” you tell him, which is a metaphorical slippery-slope, a half truth, since you only half-believe it, but your tone is low, is sincere, and he blinks quickly, surprised. 

“I- yeah, I know,” he scowls, but turns away. 

“Good, it’s good you know your worth,” you tell him seriously, “you have...” and you huff a faint laugh, tone awed and gentle, “so much potential, Q.” And for the barest moment, his expression softens. Carefully, he steps up to you.

“This is how it started last time,” his tone is low as you feel the feather-light way his fingertips ghost up your arm. He’s in your space, gaze locked with yours, searching for something in you that you can’t begin to guess at, right before he grabs your chin hard enough that it hurts, “you try and  build me up so you can tear me down - I’m not doing this again.” 

God damn it, you can feel your heart beat against your ribs at the sight of the fury in his eyes. 

“Q-” you try, soft and a little helpless. For a moment, both his grip and his gaze softens, and you know that look, that faint gentleness, from a time long passed, “I never spoke poorly of you, you just lost faith in me.” 

The look in his eyes before he storms off gives him away; he hates that in a twisted way, it’s still the truth.

----

“I’ve always appreciated your honesty,” Ghostbur muses; night is falling over the snowy biome you’d decided to call home, the house Dream had built for himself that sat abandoned since he was taken prisoner. Ghostbur is sitting on a bench, looking around, ankles crossed wearing a sunny smile.

“It’s the only thing I’m consistent about,” gave a wry smile, not looking up from where you were crouched in front of you brewing stand; everything started because of these brewing stands, just look how far you’ve come. You try not to dwell on that.

“Consistently inconsistent,” his tone was bright and fond, but then he hums, “you’re consistent in a lot of ways; you’re loyal -” he points out, but you’re so quick to respond it doesn’t even register at first. 

“Only because I love you,” then, silence, and you scrunch up your whole face with regret, “him, Wilbur,” you sigh deeply, “don’t get me wrong, Ghostbur, I care about you, probably too much by my standards, but...” and you trail off, a touch apologetic.

“Everyone keeps telling me that I did, or well, he did, all these terrible things; I just... I just want to know why.”

“Why what? Why he did what he did?”

“Why you still loved him when he did all those things,” Ghostbur clarified. You freeze.

“You want me to be honest?” Your voice is soft, and when you look over, you see he’s drawn his legs up to sit cross-legged on the counter, tearing apart a loaf of bread for something to do with his hands. 

“You’re always honest,” his tone is earnest, but he can’t look at you, before you can speak, however, he goes on, tone softer, “I remember bits and pieces, more and more as time goes on. More of you is always coming back; more of us, and I thought not remembering would be the most painful part about being around you, making you sad because I can’t remember what happened to make you feel so close to me before... before I died, but I think remembering’s worse,” he looked up, “because I’m not him. Like I’m borrowing someone else’s memories even though they’re mine, because I don’t think like he did; I don’t think I understood you the way he does. I don’t...”

“Everyone’s so quick to tell me what terrible things I’ve done - my son, Fundy, I spoke to him, he’s- he’s- he’s not happy with me, you know? Nor is Tommy, I mean most people just need me to know how awful I was, but you... you speak his name with love and honey on your lips and I don’t know how or why, you make all the terrible things sound like miracles and I don’t know why.” 

Slowly, you get to your feet, stretching a little, as your words begin to fall from you and you make your way over to Ghostbur, his pale form golden in the candlelight.

“I don’t know how to put it, but I don’t... I never feel quite real, not - for lack of a better word, given the nature of everyone here - human enough, and I look around and I see Tommy and Tubbo and George and Puffy and -” you rest your hands on his knees, gently, as you watch his hands tearing apart the loaf of bread, “and they’re all effortlessly people, they’re good, they’ve got dirt beneath their nails and a sparkle in their eyes, and I tried being good and noble and honest, and the only part I liked was being honest but being too honest somehow made me the villain; no-one understood. Dream came the closest, he felt like another amalgamation of interactions pretending to be human, but he knew his power and his place and his role, and he didn’t understand that I had no interest in playing the same part over and over again; consistently inconsistent, apart from my honesty and my loyalty. He liked my honesty and loyalty, so he did his best to accept the rest of me that came with it.”

Looking him in the eyes, finally, you could see it dawning on Ghostbur. Your fingers tapped a gentle, inconsistent rhythm on his knees. 

“But Wilbur... you - he - he... he...”

“He loved you,” Ghostbur’s voice was gentle, but after all this time, the confirmation from his returning memories, it was enough for your voice to catch in your throat. Then, he nodded again like it was a confirmation, “he loved you.”

“He loved me,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper, “not despite who I was, but because of it, loved all of me, at least, that’s what it felt like... I’d never felt that before, and I... I never wanted to let it go,” he’s putting the bread to the side, slowly sliding off of the counter and into your space, “he was staying true to himself, and they hated him for it, but I never could, and I never will.” You murmur, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly in the dimly lit room. 

“It’s you,” you whispered against the fabric of his sweater, echoing your words from what feels like a lifetime ago, “above everyone else, I choose you. You have my loyalty.”

A moment of silence; he swallows hard, presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“It’s you,” he whispers back, just as Wilbur had those months ago; at the time you though they were an incredulous echo of your own thoughts, but now you know it’s an admission, a return of affection, a declaration; you have my loyalty, he’d been trying to tell you. 

You can’t tell Ghostbur you love him, you can’t tell him you love him, you cannot tell him you love him, no matter how much you want to. He’s not Wilbur. He’s not the Wilbur you fell in love with. 

You tell him anyways. Whisper it like it’s a secret. 

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

His answer comes whispered with a kiss at your temple, a small token of comfort.

“I know.”

----

The world had fallen still in a way you had only felt before natural disasters. There was quiet. There was peace. Something was wrong. Your conversation with Dream played on repeat in your mind, over and over and over.

"You will owe me a life." You can't forget the gravitas with which he'd said it, eyes dark and eerie as he sat cross-legged on the floor of his prison; you will owe me a life.

The phrasing had caught you off guard, because what in the hell did that even mean? It could mean anything, hell he could claim your first child if he wanted to, but you'd been desperate enough to not question, to just accept.

"You really do love him, don't you?" He'd said softly as you'd sat opposite him, when he'd jokingly asked if you'd take his place in the prison in exchange for Wilbur back.

"Of course," had been your serious answer to both questions. Dream had laughed, equal parts fond and weary, his gaze drifting up to the impossibly high ceiling.

"Its a nice thought, though I doubt Sam would simply let you switch with me," he mused, adding, "you know Ghostbur won't be around anymore."

"But Wilbur will be alive," you insisted, and finally he looks at you.

"You trust me," its not a question.

"I've always trusted you," its not a lie. Dream blinks at you, surprised by your honesty. He should be, somehow everyone overlooks your defining trait being brutal honestly. Moments like this remind you why you need Wilbur back so desperately; he understood you in a way no-one else did, not even Dream.

"I killed you," he says, almost to himself, like he's just remembered that fact.

"I know," you nodded, "and I trusted you then, and I trust you now. Everything happens-"

"Don't say for a reason," Dream gritted his teeth with irritation at the phrase, but you gave a faint smile.

"No, I was just going to say that everything happens. We live, we die," you shrugged.

"Then why are you asking me to bring him back?"

"I didn't realise your book of necromancy was purely for decoration," there's a slight edge to your words, lip curling in knee-jerk defensiveness. Dream looked back at you suddenly, eyebrows rising at your tone.

"Is that why you trust me?" There's something betrayed in his voice, and he sits back, away from you, something dangerous in his eyes.

"That's..." you tried to find a way to talk your way out of the situation, but your inability to lie was more of a hindrance now than anything else, "so reductive," you settle on. But you're fidgeting.

"Then complicate it for me," he's practically ordering, and if he weren't the only way to bring back Wilbur, you wouldn't be complying so easily. Then, like a bolt of lighting it hits you; you look up, gaze unwaivering as you meet his.

"Kill me."

"What?"

"Kill me. Don't bring me back," you yourself are almost ordering, tone leaving little room for argument.

"What the fuck; why?" He hissed in confusion, and you knew, in that instance, that your point would be clear.

"Why not?" Something amused and sinister curled at the edge of your lips as you regained the upper hand in the conversation, "if you'd prefer, I could kill myself; walk straight into the lava until my lives run out," and with that, you carefully get to your feet as he frowns at you. Sauntering over to the flowing, molten walls, you stick your hands in your pockets, looking pensively at the liquid rock.

"Wouldn't it kill two birds with one stone? If I'm dead, maybe I'll find my way back to Will, and you won't have to revive him. That's what the kids call a win-win, right? I won't ask you for anything, but, you know, I won't owe you anything either."

When you look to him, you get to watch in real time as it dawns on him. The way his face contorts with bitter anger makes your own, imposing, gloating stance soften, even as he looks away, refusing to look at you.

"I don't..." you sighed deeply, "I don't trust you because I know you can revive me, I trust you because you're a pragmatist, Dream, and as long as I'm useful to you, well..." you trail off, coming back to him.

"I don't understand you," he said, finally, voice terse, "you've fucking commodified your existence and sold your allegiance to the highest bidder; how do you stand it? I get it, you think I'm controlling, fucking news flash, so was Wilbur, so was fucking Techno, so is everyone. We're a bunch of cruel, self-canalising, power-hungry assholes masquerading as heroes and villains trying to make ourselves feel better for the atrocities we commit."

"And what currency am I selling myself for?" You snort, despite his serious tone; when he looks at you, as if he can't believe you're laughing at his rant, you tip your head and regard him thoughtfully, "while I appreciate that that seemed to have been weighing on you for a while, I'd advise you to not project your shit onto me; have I ever cared about having power for myself?"

That's actually a good point, he seems to realise, and finally, his expression softens, and he gets to his feet.

"Do you care about anyone other than yourself?" Surprisingly, it's not judgemental, it's intrigued, like he has a sudden understand of you that makes everything else make sense. Your smile is so soft and unguarded as you gently cup his cheek with one hand, fondly rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

"You know, you might be my best friend," you told him instead of answering, "and I trust you." He takes a deep breath, expression going serious as you can almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

"Despite... fucking everything, and who you are as a person," he said with the faintest smile, "I actually trust you too," but he hesitates, the slightest crease forming above his brow, "but I don't think I can still say that if Wilbur comes back -"

"Dude -" you're surprised by Dream's honesty in turn, but you do respect it as he clarifies himself.

"He's the one you care about, the only one besides yourself, I know, I've seen it," he gives a faint smirk, "we're still friends, of course, there's no doubt about that, but if I asked you to kill someone that Wilbur would rather have alive, or if I asked you to, say, join me on an adventure with a low survival rate, if Wilbur asked, you'd choose him, wouldn't you? You'd do whatever it takes to make him happy."

"Dream... I -"

"Your loyalty is absolute, but selective; you put yourself first, then Wilbur, and maybe I'm overestimating my place in your life, but I think I may be below him, but above most others..."

"What are you saying? What do you want?" You asked carefully.

"I'll bring back Wilbur, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I'll bring him back, but you'll owe me a life," and you can't even begin to properly process what he's saying, "not his," Dream clarifies, "I wouldn't do that to you, but in one way or another, you will owe me a life, and when I ask for it, however that may be, you need to uphold your end of the bargain, or I'll send him right back to where he is now."

I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. That's the four words he'd said that you're fixating on, that're playing through your mind on repeat, and you practically crush Dream in a hug as you agree, breathlessly thanking him. He hugs you back, and you can feel his smile against your shoulder, laughing somewhat fondly at the notes of relief in your voice as you mutter that he's your favourite.

"For now," he snorts when you step back, and you give a sheepish smile, ducking your gaze.

"For now," you agree.

----

"Who let you- does Sam know you're in here?" Quackity's voice is dangerously quiet, a strange smile on his face, like having you here is a boon rather than a terrible mistake.

"Q, what the fuck?" You rubbed at your eyes, forcing the sleep from them. Dream is already scrambling as far as he can from the newcomer, anger and fear in his eyes. He tells Quackity to fuck off.

"What are you doing here? You planning an escape for my favourite little war criminal?" He paused, "have you moved on now that your favourite little war criminal is dead?" Everything about him seems sharp, seems cruel and threatening; something about it is thrilling, like a challenge, and you find yourself standing to your full height, refusing to drop his gaze.

“Big Q,” you take some small pride in the fact that your voice doesn’t shake, “you’re looking markedly more malicious today.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been coming here for a while, looking for one simple thing, and your buddy there really hasn’t exactly been helpful,” there’s a faintly manic gleam in his eye, but your blood is hissing and spitting in your veins, conflicted and delighted in equal measure -

“He was your friend you fucking asshole!” The words burst from you, disgusted as you wear a manic grin. 

“I was your friend, you fucking piece of shit!” He hollers back, “I was more than your fr-” but his mouth snaps shut, expression one of seething rage, “don’t fucking talk like you still trust him, like you care about him;” the curl of Quackity’s lip is cruel, the look in his eyes cold as he shifts his grip on his sword; a humourless laugh escapes him, “except, of course it’s you who still cares; first Dream, then Wilbur, the only people you actually care about are just like you,” and there’s so much derision in his voice that it almost stings, almost, if he wasn’t right. How can he not see the way his cruel tone delight you? How can he not see the irony in his words in this very moment; “now fuck off, you’re in my way.” He sneers.

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” you refused to move, and his eyes widened, disbelieving laugh escaping him.

“Look at that! Did the wizard finally give you a fucking heart?” 

“Look at that!” You mirror his tone, though your own is acidic, pushing, you’re pushing him now, the way you know best, “did you finally get over your pathetic feelings? You finally getting smart enough to see me as a real threat?” And you’re in his space, in his face, refusing to back down, waiting for the moment he snaps.

“I never cared about you, I cared about the fact that you paid me attention; note the difference,” he snarled; it’s a lie, you know it’s a lie, can remember the way he’d looked at you, how he’d almost died for you, and it’s fucking intoxicating.

“You’re so good at hearing the truth, but you’re fucking shit at obfuscating it,” you tell him with a cool confidence, “I hung the stars in your sky, Quackity,” his jaw clenched tightly at your change in tone, the look in your eye, “but tell me again about how it was all an act for you, say it in a way I’ll believe this time.” It’s designed to cut him, and you can see it in his eyes when it does. Fight back, damn it! 

“Maybe I’ll give Dream the day off, kill you instead,” he tries, but you can tell his heart’s not in it. 

“This isn’t fun for him like it is for you,” Dream pipes up, and Quackity shoots him a surprisingly confused look, while your look over your shoulder, faint disappointment in your eyes. Dream, however, exhausted and paranoid with Quackity in his cell, still has enough wherewithal to understand you better than almost anyone else.  

“I wish you would,” you don’t look away from Quackity. Your voice is cold in the wake of Dream’s revelation, and when he looks back at you, Quackity looks... uncertain. A dangerous state to be in considering his opposition.

“You’re down to your last life, don’t fucking test me,” Quackity warned, but his heart’s not in it like before. As you approach him, he raises his weapon, but your confidence strides never falter, “Sam wouldn’t give a shit if I killed you, no-one would.” 

“You would,” you tell him snidely, finding yourself growing sick of the sound of his half-baked cruelty. 

“Are you just here to let what you love kill you?” He gives a mean, humourless smile. 

“Bold to assume I love you, Q.”

“Well, seeing as the only bastard you ever knew how to love was so eager to off himself, I figured I might be all you have left to get back to him,” there’s faint triumph in his eyes when he can see his malicious words touched a nerve, but he wasn’t playing your game right, and you were tired of not having fun.

“It’s not my fucking fault you look for a home in everyone who’s halfway nice to you,” something in you snaps, and your tone is cold and unwaivering, “don’t blame me for your fragile sense of self; you were so ready to believe anything I told you, but when I did what people fucking do - when I let you down - you had to go and let it shatter you,” you sneered.

“You being a shitty person is my fault?” He scoffed, and you stepped up to him, emboldened. You barely even feel his sword at your throat.

“Before breaking your cheap, little heart, I hadn’t been honest a day in my life; everyone had told you as much, you chose to ignore them; did you think you could fix me?” You gave a harsh laugh, stepping forward, crowding him into taking a step back, expression irate, trying to keep up his strong front, “Actually, I guess, wow, you did; since you, I haven’t told a lie,” and you gave him a derisive look, “because fucking you up wasn’t a challenge, making you fall in love with me wasn’t a challenge, getting you to the point where you’d die for me? Not a fucking challenge, Quackity. You offered me your life and it fucking bored me.

Talking to me makes you want to be a worse person? Good luck with that; you will always be better than you fear, better than you fucking hope or wish you were, because you couldn’t fucking stomach killing me once, you couldn’t fucking stomach being a truly terrible person.

You want my blood on your hands? Your hands were mine, and I couldn’t have given less of a shit, so no, if I have any say, you’re not gonna hurt Dream, because you’re hurting him to get the thing that’s going to bring back the person I actually fucking fell in love with. I can’t believe I ever wasted my time on you when he was out there.

I’m tired of trying to be amicable with you when you’re still - fucking still - picking up the pieces and trying to figure out who the fuck you are; God, I fucking hope you kill me, I hope it brings you peace, I hope it brings you clarity, but you better make sure it counts, you better make sure it fucking sticks!” 

----

"You do things that hurt you because you don't know what else to do, even if you don't enjoy them," Ranboo's voice is flat, and your expression twists to something derisive, though you attempt to regain your composure.

"Incredibly presumptuous of you," you respond, still alive, if burned.

----

"How many more?" Ghostbur's touch was light on your forearm, tracing the shiny, healed scar of where you'd thrown your hands up to protect your face as Quackity had shoved you into the lava waterfall that surrounded Dream's cell. It hadn’t killed you; he hadn’t been able to go through with it, and the lava curtain parted as the bridge approached the cell at Sam’s command. But it had still left it’s mark.

"What?" You surfaced from your thoughts as his cool hand stilled against the memory of the burn.

"How many more until you see him again?" He asks, and he doesn't look sad often, but he can't look you in the eyes. Then, gently, his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb brushing against the scar that stands out on your neck, a perfect circle, a perfect reminder of what you’d lost the second time you’d died.  

And you meet his gaze, can see the nerves hidden just behind his eyes - is this why you do this? Am I… not enough? What a dangerous thought, dangerous territories; how cruel you were to let him fall for you, even a little, even when both of you knew it was a terrible idea. 

Dream's voice was in your head - Ghostbur won't be around anymore - and you'd answered without flinching - but Wilbur will be alive. 

"One," your voice came out hoarse, "one life and I'll see him again." You can't look him in the eyes, even as he holds your face; he has no idea what to say to that. It's the truth, but not the one he realises. 

"You don't love me, right?" You asked, clearing your throat, moving carefully out of his reach.

"You shouldn't kill yourself for him," Ghostbur tells you with uncompromising sincerity instead of answering, "you're worth more than that."

"I need you to tell me that you don't have feelings for me, Ghostbur -"

"Seems like a very worrying thing to be asking given the circumstances," again he tries to deflect, but there's something close to guilt eating you up inside, and you stand, moving out of his space, Dream's voice in your head.

"Do you love me or not, Ghost of Wilbur Soot?" You demanded, and his expression turned hard, so unlike his usual self.

"I'm not him," he said carefully, but his gaze dropped; he couldn't look you in the eyes, "and I don't think it should matter either way, because you've made it abundantly clear that he's the one you want; I'm not going to say I don't and let you kill yourself."

"I promise I'm not going to fucking kill myself!"

Ghostbur went very quiet. 

“Any answer is dangerous, really, so it doesn’t matter either way,” he’s pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands, to fiddle with, trying to distract himself, “I love Friend,” his tone was aiming for something light-hearted, an attempt to change the topic, and it did it’s job well enough; your lips twisted into a grin.

“First a Salmon, then a Sheep, your tastes are -” but he looks at you, giving a strangely amused little smile.

“Questionable?” He finishes your sentence, and you find yourself less amused with the situation; he brings up a good point, including you all the same, though you’d been meaning to say bestial, but fuck, what does that make you? For a moment, you find yourself in crisis, wondering if you were technically in a polyamorous relationship with a ghost and an actual sheep. But you push it to the side -

“It’s selfish,” you hear his voice in your head, see him looking at you with wide, shiny eyes in the dim light of a pub, but you can’t help but repeat the words that had been said to you, “but I need to know for me -”

Ghostbur could say anything, and you see the realisation dawning on his face; he knows what you’re asking. He could be silent, he could brush you off, he could say anything else -

“It’s you,” just the way you’d said it to Wilbur, confirming what you feared; Ghostbur drops his gaze when he says those words to you, when he means to say I love you, how can you not see that?

Those two words hang in the air between you, like they always have. You should leave. You should go before you develop a conscience. But you can’t... there’s something familiar, something intoxicating about this moment, his loyalty; you’ve seen this before, you’ve craved this before. 

You step up to him, and as if on instinct, he rests his hands on your hips, leaning into your touch when you hold his cheek gently. 

“I love you,” your murmur, and his eyes fall closed, breathing deeply, “I love you.” It’s easy, it’s too easy, to fall back into this, to let him rest his forehead against yours, your arms around his neck, knowing in your heart that his loyalty, his love, was a means to an end; “I love you.”

He trusts your words, even now. 

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, pulling you close now, moving to press his lips to the crook of your neck. So you stay. Your time with him is limited, though only you know that, so you will enjoy it while you can.

----

"This was your plan," Tommy muttered, horrified, as the realisation dawned on him, "you're the one who pointed out that killing Dream in the prison didn't break any of the prison's rules," he whispered, before turning on you, eyes wide, Friend's leash still looped around his wrist, "you're the one who suggested using Ghostbur as a decoy, because no-one would suspect him."

"You set him up," Ranboo was horrified. One by one they were turning on you.

"You knew Ghostbur didn't- he didn't want to be revived!" Tubbo exclaimed, hurt and betrayed, "I thought - Y/N I thought you loved him, how could you -?!"

"Wilbur and Ghostbur are not the same person! How do you all keep forgetting that?!" You snarled in response, expression contorting to one of rage; that was enough to shock them into silence, taking a step back as they regarded you with a new kind of fear.

"We were happier with Wilbur gone, we liked Ghostbur and he liked us!" Tommy exclaimed, before his voice dropped to something soft and betrayed, hurt in his eyes, "Ghostbur didn't fucking deserve that; you're a terrible person," and your expression dropped to a smirk that didn't reach your eyes.

"I'm sorry about Ghostbur, I am, but the ends justifies the means; do you remember what I told you when L'Manburg was first forming? I told you I'm not on Dream's side, but I'm also not on yours," and you paused for a moment, before looking to the heavy remains of the button room, through which you knew Wilbur himself would finally be returning any moments now, "I'm on Wilbur's."

----

Then you see him, and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck this is real and you owe Dream a life and Wilbur is alive. You're frozen in place. He's talking to Tommy, who sounds frankly horrified that Wilbur is back, but you're frozen. Heart beating in your throat, the sunrise that’s coming brings with it a warmth, though to you it feels closer to vindication. 

And there’s yelling and horror from the others who’ve accompanied you, but you can’t hear them, approaching slowly, with measured, even steps.

Then, his eyes meet yours and something in his expression softens. When he smiles at you, every terrible thing you did was worth it for this moment. Having the others there is too much. You don't want an audience, you don't want anyone there to judge you and your choices, the things you've done to get to this moment.

"This," Tommy turns on you, "this is what you bloody well wanted; now you're acting all shy? " His lip curled, and your expression turned flat and unamused.

“Don’t mistake respect for shyness,” you tell him bluntly, with a cool confidence that was unrecognisable to the blonde, who hadn’t known you well enough before he’d begun starting conflict to know the depths to which you could sink. But he was beginning to learn. 

“She’s part of the reason I’m here at all,” Wilbur reprehends him, while Tommy physically recoils at his tone, "Dream himself said as much." And then he's offering you his hand; nothing else matters.

"I can't be here," there's disgust in Tommy's voice, but its enough that the others leave, giving you and Wilbur peace. Finally.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," you tell him, taking his hand with a sharp smile, which he mirrors.

"Thirteen years I was stuck in that train station, and you're just as stunning as when I last saw you," he muses, and you reaches out to run your fingers gently through the unfamiliar white strands of his hair. His eyes study your face, your expression, drinking you in; you'd missed how dark his eyes could be, and when you look back at him, meet his gaze, you see a hunger there.

"Don't leave me," escapes you, but it comes out as a demand, insistent, “don’t ever fucking leave me again,” and you see him swallow hard, then slowly, he smiles.

"Never again," and he's kissing you desperately, mouth on yours with an intensity you relish. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you - you can taste it on his tongue, sticky sweet and somehow sharp and you dig your nails into him, maybe trying to keep him here, keep you both in this moment. When the kiss breaks and you're breathing hard, you don't let him go, though he doesn't either.

"You lied for me," he muttered, something akin to delight on his face, which shocked you enough that you stepped back, or at least tried to, though he held you tight, "no, not-" he tried to clarify, "I won't leave, I don't plan on it, but- I love you." Your heart is beating in your throat, still not quite sure what he means, "I've loved you for a long time," he added, and reaching out, he cupped your face in his hand, "I remember this," he murmured, "Ghostbur - you're scared I didn't love you because he couldn't remember, but I loved you so much, for so long, I just knew... knew what I was going to do. I knew I was going to leave you, I loved you but I was so doomed, so he couldn't remember."

When had your vision gone cloudy, when had tears started to sting your eyes.

"Don't cry, my love," Wilbur murmured, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as your breath stuttered from your chest as he soothed the biggest fear that had been plaguing you for months.

"Were you worried that I didn't love you because of him?" He asked, like he enjoyed hearing you bare your soul. Of course he did. You remember kissing Ghostbur, his cold lips and soft apologies when you'd pulled away, and you wonder if Wilbur had those memories too.

"He's not you, no point trying to fret about your feelings based on his actions," you huff a watery laugh, finally letting go of him with one hand to wipe at your tears, “he didn’t understand me like you did, but he...” you swallowed hard, “I’m glad to have had him around in the interim.” Wilbur’s lips twist into an amused smile, and his gaze clouds over for the barest moment; you wonder if he can see your resolve cracking in Ghostbur’s memories, taking comfort in his when he’s the closest thing to Wilbur himself that you can find, the lies you’d told to keep him by your side in your moments of selfish desperation.

“I think he loved you, in his own way,” Wilbur said gently. However, as you made a vaguely guilty noise in the back of your throat, he continues thoughtfully, "though, you know, when Dream came to pick me up on that train, when Ghostbur took my place, Dream made sure we both knew, you know; she's the reason you're here, Ghostbur, he'd said, and said that makes you part of the reason that I'm coming back at all," he muses, strange quality to his voice that you couldn't quite place, though when your eyes were dry, you looked at him definitely, challengingly.

"He's not you," you reiterated, firmer this time, "I cared for him for what he was, but he's not the one I want; I love you." You said without hesitation, before you realise what you've said, and you go still, before taking his face in your hands, making sure he's looking you in the eyes, "I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, Wilbur; I love you, I fucking love you -" and he's endeared by your declaration as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face against the crook of his neck, whispering the words like you're hoping they'll find a place on his skin forever.

"I didn't tell you before and I'm never making that mistake again,” you admitted faintly; “it’s you.”

“Above all others, I choose you,” his smile is warm, and something bright lights up in your chest. Grinning, elated in this moment that you’d worked so hard to finally get to.

“You have my loyalty, my love.”

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

After seeing your beautiful new piece with the cute vignettes of team 7+team kakashi, i was wondering — how do you feel about Naruto (the boy)?

o thankyou! ;u; my feelings on narts the boy are so torn tbh so im gonna throw my ramblings under a cut bc idk if i can articulate this correctly

og naruto narts? love him. adore him. i miss that dumb little punk kid i loved him challenging the system and wanting to change it and help people. i /wanted/ him to inspire people like kakashi and gai's gen to do the same and realize how fucked up their childhoods were being weapons of the state at like 6 and 7

shippuden narts? He just rubs me the wrong way. started out good with gaara rescue arc, but then all his pizzaz left and let his obsession of sasuke be the only priority. (This isnt his fault, but kishi writing it so ONLY naruto could kill or defeat most of the enemies with his new op move was so boring to me. none of the secondary cast got to do shit) He also didnt take one second to question if his endgoal is still the same since he turned out to be exactly the opposite of "anyone can be hokage" bc he turns out to have the specialist blood of all and got revealed as a nepo baby and chosen one. He licherally became complicit and changed next to nothing as hokage in the end. the status quo remained the fucking same. Naruto rejecting the hokage position bc he recognizes neji was right is so much more interesting to me

Naruto is at his best when sasuke isnt involved imho. I adore his interactions with everyone else bc he truly loves his friends and family, but him and sakura were so delusional over sasuke but didnt actually Know him and his trauma they just loved the Idea of him. the way they talk about it, they act like sasuke was kidnapped and didnt CHOOSE to leave and even tried to kill them multiple times. shikamaru stronger than me, it'd slap the shit out of both of them

I wish they'd head on addressed the whole "sasuke's whole family was slaughtered in front of him" together and not "you have to come back so we can be a team and things can be normal again like nothing ever happened and fight me!" naruto would be the first one to offer to pull up on itachi with him lets be real lmaoo. I wanted him to offer sasuke support to BOTH tackle the injustices of the leaf. it's kinda like hiruzens passiveness with orochimaru and danzo. never holding certain loved ones accountable he was the same way with obito and even hiruzen himself. (is he even aware of hiruzen's part in the uchiha massacre or obito killing his parents?? then pardoning orochimaru?? HELLO???)

There were moments where i did see our boy shine thru, but then the god powers bullshit hit. in short, bring back my punk little man. his pure intentions were ruined by bad writing

my naruto endgame for him is not stuck at a deskjob he hates with a nuclear family he neglects and more he chooses to give up the hokage job to someone who actually can enact change and who isnt from a prestigious family. travels around helping people hands on and finally gets the peaceful life with found family he never had. advocating better for the next gen.

part one naruto, my baby boy

[butchpeace]

so ive been on testosterone for over a year now and dont currently plan on stopping- i feel better when im running off testosterone and looking more masc is always nice, i've also very recently had top surgery and am perceived as a man in daily life.. there was a period where i was identifying as a t4t gay man- since then i have excepted my identity as a butch lesbian whos into other butches,, all of this to say ive been exploring radfem spaces more and i find your blog really interesting, i wonder your opinions about masculine women using masculine pronouns and terms to address themselves with? (also being seen as a man is so ..strange? i am not a man i am a dyke- maybe i should get a badge or smth)

Using male terms is something butch women have been doing forever. Usually just for fun. Personally I don’t like it anymore but I don’t think there’s anything objectively wrong with it!

Feeling weird about people perceiving me as male was a huge part of my detransition. I got to the point where I was genuinely read as male by the majority of people, and because of that I felt out of place socially, like I was part of a world that I didn’t want to be part of. Women didn’t see me as one of their own anymore and that hurt. I wanted to be seen as male and thought I would be okay with it. Until I actually got there. I think that’s a very common experience.

Anyway, there’s a reason you feel vaguely “better” on testosterone. It’s the same reason female bodybuilders feel better on steroids. Scientifically, testosterone tends to have the effect of boosting women’s mood as well as giving us more energy and making us feel stronger. What the trans community tells you is that you feel better because you’re on the “right” hormones now. It’s bullshit.

If you really feel that you need to continue using it, consider at least dropping down to a very low dosage so you have a lower risk of the health issues that come with a high dose. Check out the Medical Research link in my pinned post.

Anyway I’m happy that you’re coming to a better understanding of yourself and what you want for your life! And I hope me sharing my story has helped you a bit 🌈

[castiellesbian]

to comment on what i said here

im one of those ppl who thinks that 1) dean's in-real-time reaction to cas's confession was very in-character and 2) both 15x19 and 15x20 were extremely out of character for like everybody involved.

jensen's acting choices notwithstanding, dean had previously been established as not necessarily emotionally stunted (because if anything HE is the one who always actually wants cas and other characters to come forward with their feelings) BUT at the same time he is very bad at dealing with other people's feelings IN REGARDS TO HIM. especially when those feelings are POSITIVE or absolving him of something he had done (<- hilarious considering how much plot armor he has in general, but that's another conversation). this is the same man who literally altered his own memory of how the purgatory escape went down just because he couldn't believe that cas would do that. like he'd rather believe it was his fault somehow.

in my perfect world where 15x19 and 15x20 were actually good and addressed the established issues and storylines instead of just creating new bullshit out of nowhere and just tossing any and all characterization and development out of the window, dean has a longer breakdown over cas's passing because in no way in hell does that actually work on him as something that makes him feel better about himself. like when dean refused to kill chuck because supposedly cas's words worked on him? i laughed! like sure. that's a good gesture, i guess. but dean was like in real time processing what cas was saying, the fact that cas was saying it, and the fact that it was cas's final words. (<- them not going to save cas is SOOOOO out of character but we've all already said it. but what is there left to do but to say it again. same abt letting dean just die in 15x20 but again. what else is there to fucking do.)

i think this is a very possible thought process for dean during/after the confession:

angry at himself for letting this happen ("i just led us into another trap [...] because i just needed something to kill, and because that's all i know how to do" <- most of castiel's confession is basically a response to this line. so if dean had not said that, cas's confession would have probably gone from a different angle imho)

resigned to their fate while still angry at himself ("everybody's gonna die, cas. everybody. i can't stop it." <- notice how he says i and not we and not sam and i and not all of us. it's literally just him. he absolves everybody else from this.)

shock at cas's news about the deal, but there is no time to really react to what cas is saying because he's saying MORE THINGS now.

processing the happiness aspect of it. processing the "one thing i want / i know i can't have" part.

"what are you talking about, man?" <- i dont think dean is actually confused about WHAT cas is saying, i think he just feels them running out of time.

NOW he has to like. process all the things cas is saying about him. and how it CHANGED cas. again, at the SAME time as he's processing that THIS IS IT. like, the final countdown.

wanna make a note abt jensen's acting here: there are a couple moments where he does that thing where his jaw clicks when he swallows because you KNOWWWWW dean wants to argue abt the things cas is saying but he isn't saying anything because of like the gravity of the situation and his respect for what cas is doing. even though he'd literally lock himself in the ma'lak box before actually internalizing any of the things he's saying. AND he's forced to keep eye contact the entire time.

"why does this sound like a goodbye?" <- it almost sounds like he's trying to make a joke because he KNOWS it's a goodbye but he wants cas to say it. no, wrong, he wants cas to say that it ISN'T but he knows that it is and he is giving him an out because hope dies last.

and he's ready to say something else before -

...

well.

cas confesses his feelings. i think it kind of clicked for dean during the monologue but actually hearing it out loud was like. the wax seal.

"don't do this, cas" <- don't do this for me, cas. i'm not worth it. we can find something else, we always do. we could die together. i can't lose you.

...CAS

.............................

and then of course dean sits on the cold ground for hours, ignores sam's call, and cries.

all that is to say. i don't think dean listened to cas say all this because he believes all of that to be true about himself, but more out of respect for cas and just letting him speak uninterrupted. he DOES believe that cas thinks this. but i don't think it's reached dean, or ever would, at least not in this show's continuity with the next two episodes.

dean is always processing the events through the reasoning of "what did i do", "what can i do", "what was my part in this". even other people's failures he considers his own, like even when he blames cas or sam for something there's an underlying note of "if only i had been better at looking after you" sentiment.

so after listening to cas spell out all the ways HE changed cas, how HE caused cas to fall (a separate shoutout to chuck in 15x17 for mentioning cas's rebelling in connection to saving dean), how HE let cas fall for him all just because of what he is... and how the happiest moment of his life, the thing that is about to trigger the deal for his DEATH, is all because of him... and even then, the fact that cas doesn't even believe he can have what he wants... like, cas believes all those good things about dean, and yet he's still not good enough for that? ("you can't even dream a whole dream, can you?" <- the holdovers 2023) either way, dean leads cas to his slaughter.

BONUS THOUGHT/STACKEDNATURAL: "i'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world. so if there's even a small chance that we can save you, i won't let you walk out of this room." / "oh, you think you have a choice"

TLDR: i think dean wouldnt internalize what cas said abt him in his confession for a long long time, but instead would actually blame himself for cas's death bc if dean hadn't changed cas then cas would still be alive bc dean thinks he ruins every single thing he touches and never actually let himself truly believe otherwise <3

YES like dean ALSO thinks the very touch of him corrupts.

I really like your point about how dean wants to argue but stops himself because he understands the gravity of the situation. he understands, even with everything else, that cas needs to say whatever he's saying. after all, cas isn't the kind of person who wastes time with no purpose. hell, he didn't even let dean say what he wanted to say in purgatory (15x09) because they were running out of time to get through the portal (funny how it always comes back around to portals with these two).

I do like dean's "that's not who I am" moment with chuck but I agree that it doesn't really work for that episode, or that timing. they didn't get cas back, he's barely been able to process cas's death (plus it's annoying given he's back to torturing in the NEXT episode, but I digress). even if they had done something with dean and jack maybe I could buy that character progression from dean, but they didn't and one episode is not long enoughhh and tbh kind of skips a few steps before dean would be able to absorb that part of cas's confession. even if we put aside the fact that they should have gone to rescue cas, dean's grief process should be like:

processing cas is dead

processing cas is in love with him

processing cas "not being able to have" happiness and what cas even means by happiness

processing cas has never been happy and the implications of THAT

processing like everything else in cas's confession lol

[sillyyprinc3ss]

Million Dollar Man

leon kennedyid! (or or di) x femreader!

tag: sugar daddy! -but he doesn't pays cause he sucks- call sex! praising! also I would say feeling used...?and I think that would be it...

wc: 4.2k

note: uhm this is my first ever try so like if it's bad don't go after me... also he is kinda a douche bag and the situation is something that actually happened to me... -not all but i got inspiration from my life events cause it is that interesting, it sucks -

03:14

“Great…” You mutter to yourself as you see the blinding red lights of your alarm clock. It shines as if it was making fun out of you. You should really pull your shit together.

You look at it slowly calculating (you weren't quite a genius) how much time you had left to go on that stupid job interview. “You should really get a job, it's not that hard.” Everybody says, but they don't really get it. Yes, you want to get a job, and everytime anyone asks you about it it just makes you want to crawl your skin off. But of course you just flash a soft smile and say: “I've been working on it.” Bullshit. But who cares? You don't and no one should either.

You breathe softly trying to fall asleep. Inhale…Exhale…Inhale… “This doesn't work.” You try some more. Inhale…Exhale… You give up and roll around the bed to go and get your phone.

03:27.You see as you turn it on, once again the numbers just look like they are mocking you, who wouldn't? You browse around your phone. Instagram, as soon as you click on it you are getting out. Twitter, aww cute cat pic, “Same bestie same” you comment under a post of a girl you don't really know but you are moots with her or whatever. Tumblr, the writer you like hasn't posted anything, you log out.

You sigh softly, as your rotting brain thinks of something entertaining to do. Right then you remember you and your supposedly best friend (she probably hates you, everyone does) logged into some sketchy local “Findmeasugardaddy.com” type of web.

You try to log in. Error, the password inserted does not match up with the email address provided.“What was the damn password…” You say talking to yourself as if it was going to help you in something. You try again, entering successfully this time. You try to figure out how to see your profile, you surprisingly do it in no time.

“sillyprinc3ss18” Wow. You think to yourself, you look at the profile picture, your friend convinced you to upload one of your selfies. “Girl, you should put one of your pics. Bet that would attract more old men.” To be fair, you were quite a cutie, not much tits but a desirable ass.

Sadly you fucked up any chance with any guy, when you opened your mouth. You were weird, creepy even, (no offense) as pretty as you were you couldn't really bag any guy. So you reluctantly accepted after she insisted on it for a little.

You decide that that's enough of examining your profile as you read your bio: “8teen girl who isn't scared of being a little naughty…” Gosh I suck, you think to yourself. “Gosh I suck.” You say out loud this time, trying to express your feelings I guess.

You click on another page, “Hm… IM’s.” You say clicking on it, slightly nervous cause you really didn't know what to expect. Well unfortunately or by surprise… 0.

“0…? I thought desperate older men were here.” You say quite hurt by it. Not even a desperate old cranky man wants you? That's pathetic, but guess what's pathetic too? Exactly, you! You are pathetic really.

As you start to have an inner monologue as if you'll ever die a virgin or you should become a nun and embrace your fate, a red dot comes up in the IM section. You look at it for at least 5 seconds, blink a few times, just making sure this wasn't an hallucination from lack of sleep. Ok, so there's probably a mildly ugly old man who wants to chat with you. You balance your options and sort them out. Option 1, you open the IM and answer the guy who could be your father. Option 2, you ignore the IM, turn off your phone and be a responsible adult and sleep to not be a zombie on your job interview. Option 3, jerk off at the thought of an older man wanting to chat with you. (Hey I don't blame you! You have a terrible dad.)

You consider your options. “Hey maybe he's cute” you think to yourself, to be honest you always had a thing for men who could barely pull a hard on. You click on the red dot. “L3onK77 wants to text you. Accept the request?”

“Yes” “No”

You stare at the two options, slightly grateful at the double questioning the page is putting you through. You take a big breath and click on “Yes”

“- Hi there sweetheart. How are you?”

Wow, “sweetheart”... You would confront him on the pet name but you know better and to be fair an old guy calling you sweetheart makes you a little a horny… More than you would like to admit.

“- uhm… hi. i'm fine a little bored tbh.”

Not more than 10 seconds pass before a text pops up on your phone screen.

“- What a pity. Maybe I could entertain you a little, what do you say angel?”

“Angel” Wow. Just wow, you dirty little whore, your panties are getting wet just by the thought of it. You stare at the message for some time, enough time to make the older man type another text.

“- Guess that was pretty straightforward, sorry if I came out that strong. Let me just take it to the point and give you a preposition.”

Some seconds pass and he sends another message.

“- Since you are on this website I'll make it straight and easy. Would you be interested in becoming a sugar baby? Mine to be exact.”

Wow, thought maybe he was going to ask for nudes but he wants to pay you for just being pretty.

“- i don't know really… why would you want to do that in the first place?”

“- Cause I think you are damn cute. And would love to have a pretty little thing under my care.”

You are blushing. Oh my god, he is smooth. Should be named L3onK007, cause he is smooth as a spy.

“- i don't know :s what would I have to do in order to become your sugar baby…”

Tried to not seem so eager, but you were 2 seconds from becoming a gymnastics gold medal athlete from how many backflips you were about to do.

“- Glad you ask. Well it's really easy, you just have to give me your attention and loyalty. Can you do that for me angel?”

“- sure, seems like a good deal.”

You answer almost instantly, gosh you were such a whore for male attention, for any attention really.

“- Good girl. I'm Leon, but you shall call me Daddy. How would you like me to call you?"

“Leon…” You say out loud as soon as you see it on your screen. That's a nice name. “Is it moanable?” You ask yourself, will have to check later if an opportunity takes place.

“- uhm my name is [ ]… but you can just call me princess ig.”

“- Nice to meet you [ ]. And how old are you if you let me ask?”

“- just turned 18 like a month ago… what about you?”

You kind of panic when he doesn't answer right away. “Gosh I should have lied about my age… He probably thinks I'm a brat and a- Oh! He answered back!”

“- 18? Well you are just a baby aren't ya’ ? Happy late birthday then sweetheart. And answering your question, I just turned 47 some days ago. On the 31 to be more exact.”

Forty-fucking-seven. Forty seven years. Four. Seven. Holy shit, if you are lucky he’ll still have some hair on his scalp.

“- oh… happy late birthday too ig! could i ask you something tho?”

“- Sure thing sweetheart, ask till your little heart's content.”

“- could i see what you look like? im really curious…”

You type nervously, could never give love to an ugly man. You could be dumb, but not stupid.

“ - Well I guess you haven't seen my profile, cause I have my photo on there.”

Shit, now he thinks you are stupid too. You quickly go to his profile, close your eyes as you wait for his profile to load up. You stay some seconds with your eyes closed, you give up and tentatively open one of them. And holy heavens! The guy is a total babe, could be an American sweetheart and everything. You look at the profile pic, a photo of him with a fish he just catched. Total dad vibe. Gosh you hit the jackpot! Rich, hot, dilf. (Could be a Lana Del Rey song really) You look at it for about a minute more, his message pops up. Okay girl, you got to lock in.

“ - you are very good looking :3”

“ - Well thank you. But you are quite a sight for sore eyes darling ;).”

Holy shit! You have it in the bag girl. Now all you have to do is sit still and be pretty. “Don't fuck it up!” You think, and oh boy, if you fumble this up you could never forgive yourself, might as well kill yourself!

“- and… how are we going to this…? i mean this website is kind of shitty :/”

“- Yeah you are right princess. Here.”

“- (XXX)XXX-XXX.

“- That's my number, add me and we will talk about it.

Yeah if you fumble this you are definitely going to kill yourself. You quickly open your messages app and insert the number he just gave you with trembling thumbs. You triple check the number just in case. You add the contact as “Leon Sugar”.

“ - hii ^w^ it's me [ ]”

After no more than two seconds he answers. He is maybe eager for this too.

“- Hi baby. Wanna call?”

Right then your world just froze. Holy fucking shit. This guy is really being serious, and you can't do anything to prevent an unhealthy attachment that is taking place right fucking now.

“- uhh, hold on…"

“- Okay baby, just tell me when.”

Not just a minute passes when you text back.

“- okay im ready!”

Just as you hit send he calls you, you panic, a stab to the heart could have got a lower squeal out of you. You pick up after a few tones.

“Hi…?”

He immediately speaks, holy fuck his voice! Cult leader type of voice, deep and smooth like the purest silk from god knows where…You remain silent for some seconds.

“You there?”

“Sweetheart?”

You almost moan to the sound of his voice. Gosh, pull it together.

“Sorry… I just panicked for a while.” You say in a soft voice. You thank the heavens above that he can't see your face right now.

“Well aren't ya’ a sweet little thing?” He lets out a deep and rich chuckle, striking directly to your heart, and from your heart to your cunt. “Do I make ya’ nervous…? Is that why?” He says in a teasing voice.

“A little…” You admit with a slight crack on your voice.

“And why is that?” He asks right back, his voice somehow lowering at least an octave.

“I-I don't know… Cause I've never done anything like this at all…” You answer, thinking before you speak for once in your life, impressive.

“How can a pretty girl like ya’ never be pampered huh…? Next thing ya’ goin’ to say is that you never kissed anyone.” He speaks in the same tone as earlier. It was making you melt, transforming your brain into a mushy pink paste with glitter (cause let's face it, you certainly do not have many brain cells.)

“Uhm…” Damn he got you, bet he thinks you are a weirdo.

“...” A long silence stumbles upon the call. “You kiddin’?” He says after a few seconds.

“No… Daddy.” You say making a big pause before you call him like he asked to be called some minutes earlier, “Gosh it feels so weird…” You think to yourself.

“Well isn't that lovely? He says with a lighthearted chuckle. “So that makes ya’ a virgin too huh…?” He teases you again.

“...” Your silence says it all.

“Well sweetheart, let me tell ya’ that you shouldn't be embarrassed of it.” He says as he could sense your emotions through the call.

“But it's still embarrassing… You probably think that I'm a weirdo. No guy ever calls me back after a first date, they think I'm weird.” You say with a deep sadness in your voice.

“Well maybe ya’ are so weird cause ya’ just the peak of beauty, darling. Let me tell ya’, I wouldn't even care if you shot me I'll still be interested in ya’,.” Gosh he sounds like a Dad. Bet you aren't the only one calling him daddy.

You stay silent for a moment, his words sinking into the back of your brain. Maybe he was right.

“Hey, I have an idea.” He says as you think about what he had just said. “What about if we do a video call…? Maybe we can both loosen up.” He asks, his voice turning into a teasing flirty tone, leaving back the lighthearted voice he just spoke with.

Yeah no shit. This is really doing a 180° on your life. Your mind tries to run with all the possibilities you can think of, like one and a half to be exact.

“Uhm… Okay. Just wait a minute…” You say with a little bit of panic in your voice. “Gotta tidy my room a little…”

“Sure honey. Just tell me when ‘kay…?” He says with a voice that could make even a dentist have cavities.

You quickly incorporate yourself and look at the clock on your nightstand. “4:02” You say just loud enough for you to hear it. You run to the bathroom and inspect yourself in the mirror. “I can't put on makeup… Who could believe I look like that at 4 A.M…”. You slip your panties down and sit on the toilet, you look at the cute pair of panties as you take a quick piss. “I should wear a push-up bra… He won't notice…”. You quickly pace to your bed once again.

“Leo-” You stop yourself ashamed. “I mean… Daddy.” You say as you try to get him to give you his attention.

“Ya’ done baby…?” He says in a silky voice, somehow making him sound even hotter.

“Uhm… Yeah…” You say quickly putting on a push-up bra and a clean skimpy tank top. The ruffling of the clothes being heard by him.

“Ya’ undressin’ for me or somethin’ baby…?” He teases with a chuckle as low as a thunder.

“Uh- N-no…” You answer immediately with a soft yelp. “I was just changing into something more comfortable…"

Right then your phone begins to ring again. “Leon Sugar wants to video call you. Accept?” You see on your phone along with a bright green button. You bite your lip nervously and finally push the button for the video call to pull through. You quickly turn off your camera as you wait for it to connect.

After some seconds you see him. A little bit rougher than the photo but still good enough to eat. He moves his phone sideways so you could see him better. Wearing a dark blue rob that did nothing to cover his chest really, he had more tits than you, ouch. “Sweetheart?” He says placing his phone somewhere so it could stand on his own. “I can't see ya’ baby…” He says furrowing his brows as he looks closer to the screen of his phone.

You look around making sure there's nothing embarrassing to be ashamed of, no panties or plushies on the camera frame, alright.

“Uhm… Just a second my wifi is kind of bad…” You say as you look last time in a mirror that was in your room. You hesitantly look at the camera button, you click it and a small loading bubble appears, the camera is now on.

A soft whistle can be heard from the other side of the line. “Wow…” He says in a soft voice, a smirk plastered on his chiseled face. “Now I'm really curious about ya’…” He says looking unashamedly at the small part of cleavage you were kindly showing just for him. “Ya’ said ya’ changed for me… huh?” He's starting to sound like a frat boy now…

While he was talking you were more focused on how you looked on the camera. “Uhm.. Yeah.” You say shyly batting unconsciously your lashes. “My pajamas weren't a great option, y’know…?” You realize how your voice becomes more high-pitched, candied almost. You realize you are smiling foolishly in the camera, you stop and lock in. “So about the money-”

“Oh yeah the money…” He looks like he just discovered the cure for cancer. “How much would ya’ want your allowance to be…?” Is he really saying this? Might as well bankrupt him just by being pretty.

“Oh…” You say with your pretty lips forming a perfect circle. “Well I don't know really…” You say with a surprised look plastered on your face. “How much would you be willing to give me…?”

“How much do ya’ want? Name it, and I'll give you… until my last penny angel.” He says with a smug grin on his face.

“Uhm… Is 500 a lot…?” You ask, biting your lip nervously. “I really don't know… I'm sure I'm asking too much for just company and loyalty-”

“Ya’ got it, 500 weekly.” He says with a cheeky smile, almost endearing if it wasn't because you just met the guy and he's literally paying for your company.

“...500…1000…1500…” You count in your airy head. “Uhm isn't that quite a lot for a month…? That's more than the average check…”

“Well princesses need a lot of money to survive don't they…? To buy frilly dresses and pretty panties-”

“That's still too much money… Daddy…” Calling that it's still so unnatural, like giving a monkey mom a kitten to care for. “I meant like per month or so…” You say to him while looking elsewhere than the phone camera.

“Don't be silly, princess…” He says giving a soft sigh to the world. “Like I said- I want to take care of ya’, provide for ya’… To pamper ya” really. Treat ya’ like the princess ya’ are!” Whilst he was saying a monologue typical of a 40’s husband when his wife wanted to have a job, you were way too busy looking at his tits-

Oh my god… He may have double D’s. “Baby…?” He says snapping you out of your titty world.

“Uh… Yeah…?” You say blinking the nasty thoughts away, you doe eyes looking even more dolly than before. “Sorry I got distracted- So it will be 2 grand a month…?” You say trying to change the topic.

“That's right. Gonna spoil ya’ rotten darlin’.” He answers with a triumphant smile.

“But that's like, a ton of money… Like a TON.” You say with a soft frown looking at the total babe, *uhum*, handsome man that was on your screen.

“Daddy works for giving his little girl what she needs baby, to pamper her and spoil her, I've already said that honey.” He says growing rather irritated by your constant questioning.

“Yes I know it's just- I can't really conceive the idea of being paid just cause I'm pretty… It's like cheating! I feel like an imposter…” Doe eyes batting through the camera making his heart stop, then the tension went to his brain and then to his cock. Oopsies!

“Princess…” He says in a soft voice, almost like he was telling her daughter there wasn't any monster under her bed. “I know this is new…” Suddenly he stops talking, presumably thinking about something, soon after he speaks again. “Well maybe ya’ can do somethin’ for me…”

Your lost gaze that wandered around your room like you've never seen it before comes back to the screen quickly. “Yeah…?” You ask rather skeptical of what he was about to propose.

“When was the last time ya’ touched your princess bits, sweetheart…?” He says without mincing words. “Uhm…” You freeze, ok didn't think he would ask that wow… You wait a little before answering his bold question. “I-I don't really remember it…” You are such a liar! You were literally humping your pillow before deciding it was time to go to sleep. You quickly look at the right corner of your phone, 4:29. “You know it's kind of late and tomorrow I have a job interview…”

“Oh it won't be long princess… I just want to guide ya’…” He coos lovingly at her with a mellow voice. “I want ya’, to touch for me darling… Let me talk ya’ through it m’kay…?” As much embarrassing this seems to you, you can't help but want to please him. “What do ya’ say angel…?” You just nod frantically as you slide your panties down. He sees you shift in your position. “Show Daddy your panties darlin’, show to the camera how cute they are, hmm…?”

As soon as you had slided them off your dripping cunnie you show them to him, light blue with a bow at the front, cute, but what caught his attention was the visible wet patch it had formed. He whistles softly. “Ya’ got wet even without doing dirty talk baby…Your kitty is so good darling… I can smell it from here.” He says with a charming frat jock smile, you could bet your soul he was one in his teen years, but anyways. “Now use your pretty fingers and circle your nub, you know where that is hmm..?” He asks you as he was asking a dog if he was a good boy. You nod softly. “I knew you would, my smart girl…” He says while slowly palming himself through the thin fabric of his pajama trousers. You start letting out soft whimpers, catching his attention every time while he was trying to focus on himself. “Can ya’ show daddy your princess parts darlin’...?” You stop your motion looking directly into your phone camera. “Ya’ didn't like that huh…” He says with a sour chuckle. “Well don't worry darlin’, ya’ don't have to show me anything ya’ aren't comfortable with, ok princess…?” You just nod shyly and kept moving your fingers.

“Fit one of them in, c’mon baby…” He says with now, his cock out, but out of view from the camera of course, he's a gentleman after all! As he sees your face contorting -your puffy lips in a soft pout and your brows furrowed while you looked shyly at him through the device- he begins to pump his length up and down, just like he knows he likes. Your soft whimpers feeding his ego, therefore making his blood pump more and more to his brain below the waist. He just closes his eyes for a moment, the next second he opens them he is cumming non-stop to your airy moans and mewls. Guess he isn't the stallion he used to be in his twenties, gosh even thirties…

He looks at the time 4:52. He grunts softly, cleaning his hand on the side of the rob he was wearing. “Baby…” He says in a husky voice, making you stop, just when you were about to reach the peak! “Y-yes Daddy…?” You say slowing down your finger pumping. “I-I gotta go sweetie… It's late and I have a big money meeting tomorrow… okay?” You completely stop, was he literally telling you to fuck off cause he already cummed…? No, but you are overreacting in your mind, feeling so used and not even getting a reward out of it. But you just softly smile and say “It's alright, I understand it…” You say with a fake soft voice. “I knew you would understand it sweetheart…” He says with a pleased smile. “I'll text you tomorrow m’kay…? Love you, bye.” He quickly says and hangs up, not even giving you a chance to object about it, maybe that's why he did it that way.

Anyways now it's almost 5 am, and you have to wake up like… in an hour maybe…? Got to dress cute, cause “firsts impressions last”, not too prudy but also not showing your bra, you decide to get your shit together and walk to the bathroom to wash your face, you change into something more formal, a tube skirt and white crisp shirt, a short heels and you are on the go. How come with even extra time you are running late…? You take the bus, yeah, people stare at you, yeah, deal with it. You finally arrive at your destination after several bus stops, a corporation building, they say they were looking for a secretary… Who knows it could be like the movie and you start having a BDSM relationship with your boss and-

“Miss, Mr.Kennedy will see you now…” The assistant says from behind her desk, giving you a soft smile,you analyze her, she is truly an american beauty, high standard chick from uptown for sure. After her fake smile disappears you walk to the door of your probably next boss office. You knock on it twice, a husky rumble saying “Come in…” traveling through the sound waves. You slowly open the door, greeted by the back of Mr.Kennedy as he looked through the windows the city at his feet, he slowly turns around, his eyes slightly opening up further as he realizes who he is, she frowns softly, her mouth opening, ready to speak.

“Oh darlin’ thought I told you I was going to be the one to reach out to you didn't I…?”

[machiten]

that's my seat! (pt 2)

academic rival scaramouche x gn!reader

warnings: scaramouche(bro is a whole warning), foul language(it's scaramouche we're talking about here so), bits of xiaoven (fuck you i love his ship), idk what else

4.2k words

❗not proofread ❗

the day after that, you didn't attend class which was quite unusual since there was never a day where you attempted to skip class (one time you did but it was so that you can study for another class) and it alarmed him, just a little bit. maybe you got sick? an urgent matter perhaps? but you didn't file an excuse letter so the teachers can excuse you. scaramouche wanted to ask your friends but his pride is a little too much for that. oh and he was also sent to the principal's office the same day. it's not the first time of course, trips to the office are basically routine now. when scaramouche entered, the principal is a bit surprised to not seeing you trail behind the purple haired achiever.

"oh? this is new. where's (last name)?"

"...don't know, i haven't seen her since this morning."

"that's a nice hit you got there." tye principal addressed the patches on his face. scaramouche clicked his tounge as he flicked his head to the side, as to hide his face from shame.

if he was to be honest to himself, he aready had his eyes on you since day one. someone is on par with him? really?? now he doesn't see that everyday. it changed his overall view on school. no more boring lectures with no one to debate with, no more being dragged alone to every bullshit quiz bee contests (you're also gettting dragged), and getting high scores are actually fun now because he gets to make fun of you.

so as the days go by... wait, days? how long has it been?! he hasn't seen a single strand of your hair. he already checked certain spots around the school everyday, hoping that maybe you were just avoiding him therefore the lack of your presence. he was calm, not until one of your friends went to him, asking for your whereabouts. him. your sworn enemy, is being asked where the fuck you are.

"hey"

scaramouche turned to the voice seeing aether with a frown. "what." scaramouche replied.

"i didn't think i was ever gonna ask you this but im gonna overlook all the shit that you did for now because this is important. have you seen (name)?" aether grimaced

"no, i haven't seen her. also, how the fuck should i know? we're not close." he crossed his arms, as if he just heard the most absurd question in his entire existence.

"fuck" aether cursed under his breath. "well, thanks i guess." aether waved and walked away. when he turned into a corner, scaramouche's facade fell. the hell? not even aether knows what happened to you? feeling guilt, scaramouche fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his contact list oh yeah he also doesn't have your number, you're not even friends on any social medias. he cursed under his breath. now he feels really bad, blaming himself for your disappearance, guilt eating him inside out.

the days go by, scaramouche ignored the prickling feeling inside his chest. you'll come back, right? he knows you would, you wouldn't abandon your education, right?? he just had to be patient. but he cant really ignore you, everything he sees reminds him of you. everytime he enters the classroom, he gets reminded by the chair he sits in, expecting you to come in a minute later to play tug of war with the chair. in lectures, he's always ready to spit out a comeback whenever you add something to the lesson but this time he kept waiting until the lecture ends until he realizes that no you weren't there at all to debate with him. when the teacher hands out test results, he always looks at the back (where you sit) to compare scores but everytime, he sees nothing but an empty chair.

you have perfectly blended yourself in scaramouche's routine. and everytime it happens, the guilt plaguing his mind feeds from it. he went home that day accepting the fact that it is entirely his fault and he should fix everything. that's the least he could do after everything that he's done.

"im home," scaramouche exclaimed as he entered his house, putting away his shoes on the side. "welcome home kuni- you okay?" his sister, which is a splitting image of their mother, said as she paused the tv. "yeah, anyways. im probably gonna regret this but can you both cook for yourselves today? i have to go somewhere. please don't burn the pan handle again, thanks." he said as he immediately ran to his room to change.

"where are you going?!" his sister shouted from downstairs. "uhh to my friend's house!" he shouted back.

"you have friends?!"

"what is that supposed to mean?!!"

"im gonna tell mom you're going somewhere!"

"ok!"

when he was out of the house, he took at his phone and looked at the picture of your address in you notebook when he sneakily stole your notes.

'damn they live far... good thing i have a motorcycle.' he took his keys, wore his helmet, and got the engine started.

after 20 minutes of trafic and searching for your apartment, he took off his helmet got off his bike. he can feel people staring at him (i mean, who wouldn't). he went to the elevator and pressed your floor number. he got out when he heard the ding and immediately went to find your door number.

'143... 143.... 143... 143... 143...' he chanted the number in his head. when he found your door, he took a really deep breath and knocked. after a few seconds, he heard shuffling from the other side, then the door opened. he expected to see you but to his surprise, he saw a dark haired boy fading to bright torquoise with two braids framing the side of his face.

...did he get the wrong place?

he stood there like an idiot for a few seconds until he heard the boy talk.

"so, need anything?" he sounds cheery, definitely the extroverted type. "uhm, do you know anyone here by the name (name)?" he held his helmet a bit tighter. "oh (name)? wait I'll call them." the braided boy then shouted inside his apartment. "(name)!! someone's looking for you!! again!!"

scaramouche winced at the noise-- you're inside??? then what the fuck is this boy doing in your house? is he your boyfriend? (is he too late?) then, as if the heavens opened up for him, he heard curses with an awfully familiar voice far inside the apartment.

"tell my brother to fuck off!!"

"it's not your brother!!"

"well then tell my teacher im fine!!"

"..well-! it's not a teacher either!!"

"...."

"what does he look like?!!"

"can you both stop yelling like mountain dwellers-"

"HE LOOKS EMO!!" scaramouche was offended.

after a moment of silence, the boy spoke to him, less volume this time. "sorry about that, im venti by the way! she hasn't been doing well for the past few weeks because something happened at her school or something, i hope you understand.." a sweat rolled down scaramouche's back. "it's ok, im--"

"venti who the hell-" a new participant has entered the conversation, you. and when scaramouche saw you, he felt relief and overbearing guilt at the same time. relieved that you look fine and healthy, guilty because of the things he has done. when you saw him on the other hand, rage has once again boiled in your heart.

"get out." you tried slamming the door close but his feet was faster, slipping in to the gap of the door and the frame. he winced a bit from the impact but that's the least of his concerns right now.

"wait, shit, can we talk-"

"what more do you want from me?! im finally gone from your life and now you got here to torment me more?!" if you were any stronger, you could've turned his feet into mush. "no, im here to apologize-!"

"i dont care! fuck off!" oh he is not giving up. fortunately for him (not for you) he is stronger and managed to keep the door from closing. "can you please just listen to me!!"

"go away!"

"no!"

this went on for like an eternity until someone inside your apartment held the back of your shirt and pulled you away from the door, making it swing open from scaramouche's force. "xiao, what the fuck let go!!" turns out venti called his boyfriend from their room while you and scaramouche were fighting. while xiao was holding you back from basically doing second degree murder, scaramouche carefully set his helmet down on the floor, avoiding your attempt at swings. (your previous hit hasn't even fully recovered yet.)

"(name) calm down, be rational. nothing will be solved when you're acting like a maniac and wont communicate." xiao said sternly. "how can i when he's the exact reason as to why im here right now!" at this statement, venti's expression became dark.

"what."

you got out of xiao's hold and stormed back inside your room, slamming the door close. xiao followed you in. scaramouche clicked his tougue, about to follow you when someone stoped him, "(name), wait-!"

"hold the fuck up." venti grabbed his shoulder. "you're the bitch that got them here?"

"yeah, so?"

"get out."

"let go of me." scaramouche shrugged venti off. "besides, that's what im here for." he looked at the room you went into with an unreadable look.

"do i have to repeat what i said? fuck, not only are you stupid but deaf too? get out." venti mocked him. 'what the fuck he was giggly just a minute ago.'

"ok listen, i just want to apologize to them. i know i fucked up and im basically ruining her life right now that's why i want to take responsibility. can you at least tell her that?" it is clear how scaramouche regrets what he did. venti's look sharpened. "how do i know you're being sincere?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

"(name)?? can you please open the door?" venti knocked on your door. after a few seconds, the door opened to xiao. "where's (name)?" xiao pointed at the bed in the corner of the room. there he sees you lying down, face buried in your pillow. "they won't talk. like at all, ive tried everything." xiao sighed.

venti has been your roommate ever since you got kicked out from your house. xiao is his boyfriend of 3 years and they're both two yeas older than you (xiao moved in a year ago). thanks to the both of them, they are basically your older siblings now. they did what your brother never could. they took care of you the past few days, even if they're both busy with their degrees. they would leave food in the fridge, remind you to take your medicine (they both have alarms of when you need to take your medicines), they bring you food in your room when you insist that you dont want to eat, saying, 'even if you don't want to eat, you need to. ' and proceeds to spoon feed you (even if it's embarrasing), and is just genuinely worried for you, especially when you came home that day with aether carrying you on his back.

"do you think they're asleep? how do they even breathe..." venti walked closer and sat down on the side of your bed. "hey (name), I know you can hear me so listen up, ok?? sca... or whatever his name is, wants to talk to you and to apologize for what he did and he wants to take responsibility. he said he's gonna get you back to school no matter what it takes and he is also sorry for being insensitive."

no answer.

"he's gonna pick you up at 6:45 tomorrow. i wasn't gonna tell you any of this because he doesn't seem sincere until he proved it to me earlier. just talk to him ok?? i know life is shit but you have to keep going to prove yourself to your parents." he pats your head. he looks around the room and lands his gaze on your desk which if filled with books and notes. it seems like you haven't given up yet which made venti smile.

"sleep well (name), goodnight."

as they both got out of your room, xiao spoke up. "what did he do to prove himself?"

venti winked. "it's a secret."

and that's how venti got a huge bite mark on his cheek.

.

.

.

.

.

.

oh you heard everything. what does he mean he's picking you up tomorrow?! prove himself? how?! what responsibility?! he's making it sound like he got you pregnant!!

and he actually DID come the next morning. venti informed that you didnt get ready like at all and you know what bro did? he waited. in the living room. the whole time. he went 'hurry up we'll be late for first period' as if there's nothing wrong with anything.

so fast forward, he managed to convince you to go with him (reluctantly). what you didn't expect though was to be met with his (motorcycle brand), infront of your apartment.

"i am not riding that."

"we are riding that, here put this on." he said as he hands you a helmet. you gave it back to him as you turned around, about to go back inside the apartment but he pulled you back by your collar. "fucking- PUT IT ON WERE LATE." he exclaimed as he gave you a frustrated look.

"you're lucky that I actually felt guilty and went all the way here for your stupid ass. now get on I don't have all day." scaramouche said as he slotted the helmet on your head and got the engine started. you reluctantly sat behind him, sitting funny. "have you ever rode a motorcycle your whole life?"

"I have but, not like this one!" there is an inch gap between you and him causing you to sit funny. then he jerked the motorcycle forward by suddenly revving the engine causing you to lose balance and slip, so now you're the closest to him than you ever were.

"hold on tight, I like driving fast."

"what. wait--WAIT I'M NOT REA- wAIT-! YOU ABSOLUTE AS-!"

----

this went on for weeks. he would appear on your doorstep, get you both to school and when classes end, he'd drive you back home. and, yes, you did talk but it was more like recounting the old days, sometimes laughing at the stupid stuff you both fought over before. and he apologized, of course. and it was a well said apology, it's as if he's been practicing (he was). you forgave him with the promise of him watching his mouth the next time because if he won't, then you wont be the only victim of his sharp words.

when you arrived at school that day, your friends immediately tackled you into a hug. they were saying about how they were so worried about you and that they miss the daily bickering you and scaramouche does. they also mentioned how scaramouche has been out of it these past few weeks (which is weird because why would he do that ahhahaha...). Aether literally went into tears when he saw you walking down the hallway saying he missed you and shit and that he has to eat lunch with his sister which was torture (his words not mine).

what irks you though is the funny look they give you everytime you and scaramouche walks through the classroom doors at the same time. so you were like;

"can you walk up first, they're looking at us funny everytime."

"stop being dramatic." and proceeds to tug you at your sleeve.

he's not gonna lie, he likes the look your friends are making. he also likes the red on your face everytime. ever since you've returned to school, he's making the effort to minimize your fights (except for the fun ones) and to actually get to know you better.

through this, you've also got to know him better. and this made you realize he actually isn't that bad (if you really think about it). you now know he prefers bitter food over sweet ones, he cooks really good, he has a sister that almost looks identical to his mother, he has a really short auntie, he has a list of future victims (you don't want to know what that means), and he's genuinely just a chill guy. you just got on his bad (playful) side the first time you met him.

though there are times where he gets a bit... unwell... but we all have that in us, right? the thoughts? well, i mean, i can hear it everyday so I hope you do too<3

"venti i am fucked."

"alright let's get you to the abortion center."

you looked at him perplexed, "what?"

"you said you got fucked, let's go."

"NOT LIKE THAT." you facepalmed. sometimes you wonder if he really is two years older than you.

"hehe im just kidding, what is it?" he giggles as he continues to stir the pot as he was making dinner. "i do not feel safe around him anymore." you muttered while nibbling at a piece of vegetable.

"who."

you shrieked after hearing a new voice. venti turned around to see what's going on. there stood behind you is xiao, who just got back from class, he got his piercings and everything looking like he will beat you up if you breathe. "you scared the fuck out of me, can you make some noise when you get home next time?" you calmed your beating heart as xiao apologized. "but yeah im talking about scaramouche. he's acting... different."

at this, venti perks up, "oh? what kind of different?"

"i do not like that look on your face."

"c'mon tell me!" venti now has his full attention to you as he passed his apron to xiao so that he can take over dinner.

"well, he's weird. i mean, he keeps doing weird stuff and im not saying im uncomfortable with it's just... unusual? did he really feel that guilty to the point where he drives me to and from school everyday?" you slumped on your chair, fiddling with a fork. venti let's out a hum, tapping his cheeks as if he's thinking. "have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, he likes you?" he adds.

"what?"

venti goes around the counter and sits beside you, "like, romantically. let's enumerate! he drives you to and from school, walks you to your class, buys you coffee when you lack sleep and he KNOWS you lack sleep, wakes you up in class, picks out your favorite flovors in a pack of gummies, shares lunch with you, lends you his notes, uhhh what else...-"

"WAIT WAIT THAT'S ENOUGH!" you flung your hands, embarrassed. "how can you even be sure! aether also do some those sometimes, and we're really great friends!"

venti stared at you, "ok first of all, aether is gay he literally has a boyfriend. second of all, i know this because xiao also did all these 'cringey' stuff before and hey, look at us!" he hugs xiao and they almost fell on the floor.

"aether has a boyfrie-?"

venti squished you cheeks, "that's besides the point! listen to me (name), i am a love expert, i know what im doing. i can even tell you what xiao did that will match with what scaramouche is doing-"

"dinner's ready." a pot filled with delicious food is placed at the counter by a blushy xiao. "venti, i love you, but please shut up." he says, embarrassed.

the next day, you payed better attention to scaramouche, hoping to prove venti wrong.

and boy were you the wrong one.

the way he holds your hand when he speeds up while driving his bike, when he stays after he's dropped you off in your apartment to ensure tour safety, the way he puts more effort in his hand writing so that you can understand better, the timing he has when you are in an uncomfortable situation, the little shapes of fruit in his lunch that he shares with you, when he brings hair clips when your hair gets in the way of work,

it goes on forever.

so then you decided to confront him one day.

"scara, do you like me?"

you both are currently outside, studying for an upcoming test. scaramouche answered without a second thought.

"yeah."

"no, like, ugh... this is embarrassing, i meant, do... do you like me, romantically?" you rephrased your question. this made scaramouche ponder. should he answer honestly? lie to your face to keep whatever is going on between you two? give tou the silent treatment, perhaps?

"actually y'know what, dont answer that i-" you were cut off by the contact you feel in your hands. he clasps your hand gently across the table. he looks at your locked hands, unease creeping into his system.

then, he finally opens his mouth, "if... if i tell you the truth, would you.. still stay by my side..?" you can feel his grip slowly tightening. "i like what's going on right now, it's basically routine to me now. i... i like going to your apartment every morning, i like making you bentos, i like sharing notes with you, i like...i like competing with you every test, i like being the first one to get to your chair but i also like the light in your eyes when you get there first...!" he's shaking now. he goes quiet for a bit then goes for a deep breath.

"...i like you, okay? its not even funny anymore, i can't get you off my mind... i know i despised you before, to the point where i would steal your notes back then-"

"so that's how you found out about my address..!"

he got red,

"that's-! that's not the point! and- LET ME TALK DAMNIT IT'S ALREADY HARD WHEN ITS EMBARRASSING!!-ahem- when you didn't come back i felt really guilty and i keep looking at the damn door whenever anyone comes in expecting it to be you and i felt really stupid that time. i hate how you make me feel stupid, i hate how stupid you are, , making me do stupid stuff... but i like you and i can't help it..." you can feel his hands getting cold and shaky.

"...and if you dont feel the same, then i will just kill mysel-"

"NO WAIT HOLD ON-!" you stood up bringing his hand with you. when he finally looks up, he's in the brink of tears. you held his hand "i just asked a question and you're out here announcing suicide..! i just wanted to clarify... so that i wouldn't look stupid confessing to... you and then getting... rejected..." you trailed off. you can already feel your whole face heating up, blood boiling in your stomach.

now there's two idiots outside in the park, blushing like no one's business, staring into each other's soul. one is in the brink of tears while the other is standing straight like a statue, unmoving.

after a good minute or two, after the thoughts processed, one of them couldn't hold it in apparently. tears streamed out of indigo eyes and he hurriedly tried to wipe it away, to hide the evidence of how fragile he actually is. you scammered into your bag to find something to wipe his tears away. when you got near him, you found yourself covered in him, he is grasping whatever he can hold of you, clammering on your clothes as if you are his life line. he is all over you, babbling nonsense. you can only make out some of his words like;

"fuck i thought i would have to fight my thoughts again-"

"you have no idea of what you're doing to me-"

"tell this to anyone and i will chase you down to childe's ass crack-"

"fuck i love you so much do not leave me please-" and

"I'll still take your seat, i don't care-"

literal nonsense and yet you can feel the love radiating off him at that moment. he is sobbing and furiously wiping his tears.

cofessing your feeling to someone that radiates as much personality as scaramouche is a win lose situation for you. but to him? it's either he dies or he lives, there is no in between.

extra;

when scaramouche got home, he is met with his mother at the door, a spatula in her hand.

"mom put that down, please-"

"you're late."

"it's 6pm."

"yeah and you're late. also, why are you wearing sunglasses? are you doing drugs?" ei kept throwing questions at scaramouche while he is desperately trying to remove the spatula out of his mother's grip. "mom, please i was just out with my lov- friend-- and please let go of the-"

"FRIEND?? who is this friend? you have a friend?! why didn't you tell me?!--"

"mom-"

"kuni, this makes me so happy! you have a friend! invite them over right now, i made dinner!" ei smiled at her proudest achievement.

scaramouche paled.

"YOU MADE WHAT?!"

*scara wearing sunglasses bc is eyes are puffy*

[ruumirmir]

𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘛𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴

Part I Part II

ੈ♡˳ Author's◇ note - Haha what if I pretended my shamelessly OCfied male reader was a character :))) Here's to me doing everything possible to build up my "reader" lore. Everything except actually drawing and naming him 😭 If you're curious about previous posts regarding my mans, you could skim over These!! Me when writing this: im gonna make up SO MUCH BULLSHIT about snezhnaya and the other harbingers.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 : ENG - Stephen Fu (Noe Archiviste from Vanitas no Carte) JP - Kento Ito (Dan Heng from Honkai Star Rail)

𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 : October 19 (Libra)

𝘈𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Northland Bank of the Fatui

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Hydro

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Cygnus Venatici (The Hunting Swan)

A senior branch manager of Snezhnaya’s Northland bank. As a fatuus, he is formally well-known as the Venator Dux, who mans the Snezhnayan Order of Gold and Exchange founded by the Ninth Harbinger. He hunts in pursuit of the Tsar's vision, but his loyalties are far removed from her.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦-𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰 Ah, the renowned traveller, in the flesh. A visitor to each of the seven nations, while your reputation has run across the continent twice over. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you've heard of the Snezhnayan Order of Gold and Exchange, that'd be me who's in charge of it. I am one of the agents within Lord Regrator's primary circle of officials, so you may address me as Venator dux.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 I've been in my respective position for over a decade now, and for the last four years, have come across choice tales surrounding your name. A big fan of your work, really! Lord Regrator has had his interest piqued for a while now... so for the sake of civilized peace and alliance, let's get along... shall we? Try not to cause any trouble and I might consider putting in a good word for you.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘋𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘴 A large bulk of my work is centered around days of scrawling pen over paper... but really, one can only digest hefty documents for so long. I've had my fill for many years on end-... now, I'd prefer to partake in more physical tasks.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 I fear the new batch of rookies are growing too lax in their combat training… perhaps it was my uninspiring teaching method today. As a Venator, it simply won’t do to disappoint them. Traveller, would you help a man out and join the session today? The trainees could do with a fresh perspective on things.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴

No shelter to be seen... here's to praying that you don't catch a cold. Oh don't worry about me, I seldom get sick.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 I've always wondered how the real clap of thunder would feel in comparison to a shock of electro. Unless you want to volunteer for that, watch your step.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐𝘵 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 Eh... I've seen it once, I've seen it a thousand times. That being said, the nights that are covered in an impossibly slow curtain of snowfall are some of the rarer times I stop to admire it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯 𝘐𝘴 𝘖𝘶𝘵 Finally. Some real warmth to my face. I am but a simple man, languishing like a wilted flower in the absence of our sun's blazing gaze.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 Actually... I think I might just prefer the miserable winter cold over this.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘴 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 What's with the aggressive breeze today? Does the Anemo archon have bills to pay?

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 Good morning. I was about to stop by the city lake on my way to the bank and feed the local geese. You can come along if you'd like. Keep your distance from Tatiana though. She bites.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 On a slow lazy day, I'd be waking up around noon. Fortunately, the weekend is right around the corner, so I can do just that.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 Although the Northland "bank" closes to the public by evening, the building itself stays open till midnight for other classified affairs. So I may as well make the most of my break time before I'm needed again.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 Oh, I must've lost track of time. It's quite late into the night, so before I go, let me walk you back to whatever establishment you're staying at... Oh, uh- I'm... not sure I heard you correctly. You said you live... inside... a teapot...?

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘚𝘯𝘦𝘻𝘩𝘯𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 It was the very first decree of order at the hands of Lord Regrator when he came into power as a Harbinger many years ago; to inaugurate a faction dedicated to rearing the potential he painstakingly carved into the foundations of the Northland bank. It is just as the name implies. An executive body responsible for developing economic policies and providing regulation, consulting, and forecasting of socioeconomic and business development, ranging from simple roadside shops to production factories-Oh, have I lost you? Haha... don't apologize, I've seen that expression a couple times before. In simple terms: we help run the nation's cycle of mora, trade system, and citizen’s businesses.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘵 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] The title bestowed upon me, Venator Dux, signifies not just leadership but mastery over a successful hunt- or in some cases, a successful business strategy. The master hunter requires a discerning eye, a mind that can decipher the intricate patterns woven by our adversaries. Information is our ammunition, and knowledge is the silent arrow that strikes before the prey even realizes the hunt has begun.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘜𝘴: 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘴 Various forms of dance and song are the lifeblood of Snezhnaya’s festivals. During fall, you’ll find multiple dance troupes and clowns passing each village, town, and city to perform. I personally look forward to the dancers.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘜𝘴: 𝘓𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] Your little companion has stuck with you since day one? Truly? That is… a highly admirable trait, one that I will always stand by. Loyalty is not a mere pledge, it anticipates the unspoken desires of another; a commitment that transcends the superficial bonds of allegiance. I keep this ideal close to my heart... for only a single person.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 I was hesitant to use a delusion in the first place, so frankly, I’m glad to have been gifted this for whatever reason I was found worthy of. However… Lord Regrator harbours an uncanny dislike for my vision. It’s not something that has been brought up, but I can read between the lines.

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 You didn’t hear it from me, but I encourage the employees at the bank to keep a list of all the infuriating and rude customers. It’s to spice up all the sparring and combat practice sessions by naming and dressing up the dummies as people they’d like to kick- Ha!

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 This wintry climate is harsh and unsustainable for various flora and fauna. The Charmomila flower doesn’t care about any of that. They’ll grow in obnoxious places if they want to. The real deal comes from the summer butterflies that feast on its nectar. After a while their wings turn a beautiful honey-yellow, which are harvested and brewed into the sweetest and most expensive nonalcoholic beverage you’ll find around here. I enjoy a glass of one semi-regularly on work mornings.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘈𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] He will have my sincere respect, always. Lord Regrator has built his empire up from a scratch in the dirt, something impossible to do were he a lesser man. His sacrifices of blood, sweat, and tears has bled into the policies that the bank stands on today. Money breeds imbalance and power, which in turn grants freedom and recognition if you are on the right side of the coin. Regrator is a utilizing man and he guards what’s his, zealously. He will take and take until his arms sag with the weight, and uphold his promise to give out the correct equivalents because he lets his value of fair exchange lead him like a vice. For as long as he stays true to his greed, I will be the hand that reaches forward to grasp what he desires.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘶𝘮 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] Lord Regrator expects a strict level of decorousness from everyone working under his name- from me to even the most forgotten grunts. It's nothing outrageous of course. You would only ever see the metaphorical boot-licking than a literal one. I find it a bit much sometimes but the public eye is nothing to scoff at. Especially to a man of his status. The Snezhnayan dvoryane make up more than a third of the Northland Bank's clientele- not to mention the stakes a couple of them have invested. And if there is anything that those feather-headed fools care about, it's posh theatrics. *Sigh* Still... I quite enjoy falling in step with Pantalone's politesse. He has a beautiful manner of speech that I've never been able to measure up to.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] …Why do I feel like you’re trying to fish for critical information...? Fine- I'll concede. It's your head on the line anyways. Lord Regrator is a big player in the system of underground businesses that connect Nathan and Snezhnaya. Technically it could be called a black market, but it’s mainly run by a small council of social elites from both nations. There are occasional hosted auctions, that my lord targets to buy out priceless artifacts from. I’m talking about lost pieces of history and endangered caged beasts over items with resell value. Now… with that being said, as long as this secret remains safe… so do you. It’s always me who’s dispatched to make sure it stays that way.

[velvetvexations]

I'd say it usually is when they're talking about things that affect everyone, unless they're talking about transmisogyny/transandrophobia/exorsexism and specifically addressing how one group is treated even if those patterns have equivalents in each other. But when it's like, reporting something bad happening that affects everyone, that's another thing.

They literally think transradfem is a slur to silence them.

detransition anon: the point is not that i agree with them, but its like self-evidently true that there are a lot of transfems who treat transmascs like subhuman scum who instead of talking should be sucking their gocks or whatever and like im not dumb enough to argue that only men could act so horrible ergo trans women are men of whatever, i can understand how you could come to that conclusion, given the described circumstances. and that its definitely not about "not looking like naruto" lmao

Yeah, like, "AMAB supremacy" is not a thing but a small minority of trans women seem bent on giving transmascs that impression to drive them out of the community and then blame them for having wanted to be TERFs all along. Thankfully most transmascs are better allies than them and recognize that the majority of trans women love them.

You surely would think so.

Sure!

They're not technically saying trans women could never do anything wrong, just that you should automatically and resolutely disbelieve anything bad anyone says about a transfem ever. Which is totally different.

And then they'll be like "I'm just anti-callout post" even though if you actually read any discussion happening around in the notes of those posts it's absolutely not at all just about callout posts.

But just in general, even aside from the abuse it runs the risk of covering, what really pisses me off is the bullshit that trans women are being targeted for callouts to the extent that TRFs say they are. People privileged enough to be proud non-voters are lounging outside their family's beach house whining on Tumblr about how they could be socially murdered at any second while other trans women are being Actually Murdered For Real.