#lando2020

[mihidecet]

Tibi's MCYT WritingTober, Day 15

In honour of tomorrow's festival and of this headcanon that me and @whatimevendoinhere have been thinking about for oh so long.

This is HEAVILY inspired by Lando's comic, which you can find here. If you haven't already go reblog it, it is stunning and it hurts real good!!! (Also they're running for president of mcyttumblr so ...)

From @the-only-gamer-gost 's list of prompts, here is "Male Streamer" (or "Fundy reconsiders")

At first, he was supposed to be a double agent. 

Play pretend, follow orders. 

Prove his loyalty, burn the flag, tear down the walls, forsake his father, erase history-

He would hide in plain sight, act as if he did belong, while he waited for the right moment. The moment to strike. 

All to take down Schlatt from the inside. 

But lately, things have been happening. 

Weird, peculiar things that Fundy is not proud to admit are unusual. 

Unusual for him at least. 

One day, some time after he's rebuilt the flag in his name - hours of mining obsidian paid off in the man's appreciation - Schlatt calls for him in the middle of the day. 

He takes him to Manburg, where the grass has just started growing again after they tore down the walls, and simply … walks with him. Side by side, on the path of wooden planks that somebody - probably either Bad or Eret - took the time to build. 

Schlatt talks about the future, but not of his own: he explains what he plans on doing for what is left of the nation. 

An office building, so that they can have a nice place to work in when (not if) there'll be more people living in their wonderful nation. 

A set of apartments, because you can't have people living in the streets or in ugly houses. 

Restaurants and fast food places, because "have you noticed how there's literally no food around? God bless that Bad guy, running around giving chicken to everyone, but imagine how better it would be if we were the ones selling!"

And then, once they've reached the end of the walkway, Schlatt puts an arm around his shoulder and turns them both around, so that they're staring at what is left of L'Manburg. For a moment, Fundy doesn't see the missing pieces, but the potential for what there could be- how could he not when he's spent the past fifteen minutes listening to plans and projects.

"So, what do you think? Do you have anything to add? Any suggestions?" Schlatt asks, and Fundy's brain struggles to comprehend the question. As he struggles with coming up with an answer and the realisation of how bad it is that such a simple question threw him for such a loop, he manages to stutter out a simple:

"I- uh- I don't know?"

Schlatt sighs, almost exasperated, but instead of letting go, he just squeezes his shoulders tighter for a moment and waves his hand towards the space in front of them.

"Come on, Fundy, don't give me that bull! I know you've got a good brain in your head, I'm asking for ideas, not self doubt!"

And it sticks to Fundy, like a gum to the shoe. It sticks to him, and he doesn't forget, even as he lets himself be swept up in the enthusiasm of thinking up new plans. 

A couple of days later, they have a meeting scheduled to talk about plans for the future and … recent events. There have been some incursions lately, things disappearing, paths being broken, questionable wooden signs being placed, and everyone’s a little on edge.

As everyone presents their pieces of information, Fundy stands to Schlatt’s right.

Tubbo is his right hand man, Quackity is his second in command, but the president himself had insisted on him staying close. 

“You're a good fighter, I trust you to keep me safe" he'd flippantly explained, waving a hand towards him as he fixed some papers, missing Fundy's shocked and awed expression. Responsibility. It’s all he’d ever wanted, so he’d quickly made his way towards him and stood a little straighter. 

And nobody had batted an eye, so there Fundy stands, one hand on his netherite sword, listening to the meeting while his eyes keep scanning their surroundings. 

It’s not like Pogtopia is going to attack them in broad daylight, they’re not that desperate yet. So Fundy can focus on his job, keep the president safe and make him proud- gain his trust. Gain his trust, of course. He already trusts him enough to keep him as his own personal guard, Fundy is doing really well.

With a small tap on his side, Schlatt catches his attention and gestures to the blueprints for a newly acquired project, waiting for approval.

Lately, Fundy's been thinking.

He’s left Manburg for an afternoon, told nobody where he was going, and just walked through the forest for a while. He felt like a bit of time away would clear his head. 

That was definitely what he needed: time to think. 

Instead, as he walks and listens to the sound of the world around him, his head is simply empty. Not a bothersome kind of empty, just a simplicity, an easiness, like a burden leaving his shoulders. 

Not like the burden in his backpack, resting like a stone ready to be cast against himself if anyone were to find it. 

His heart would want him to remember a simpler time, when he didn't spend every day of his life fearing for the moment that will give him away and reveal him as a traitor- and at the same time, he's hoping to be found out to be one, so that he can stop pretending, stop living a lie that has started to fit too well, too perfectly, too comfortably for his own good.

Maybe Wilbur was right to take away his options, maybe he shouldn't be allowed to work for Schlatt anymore, maybe that would stop the thunderstorm in his mind and heart. 

To be fair, there hasn't been a time of peace on the server since … since the beginning. Or maybe just since he was born. Should that make a difference to him?

A rustle of leaves makes him jump in his skin, but it's just the chestnut coloured nose of a fox to peek through the overgrown grass and dark pines. His heart aches for Fungi.

Maybe it did make a difference, how all he's known since he was born is war and conflict. 

Maybe he deserves some rest, some quietness. Some stability. 

An authoritative figure that doesn't dismiss his ideas - no, now is not the time for remorse. Not when he's about to cut all of these feelings loose. 

The forest around him gives way to an endless field, and in the distance he sees the ocean. 

Fundy doesn’t know if he should, if what he’s about to do is the right choice, but he knows he’s going to do it anyway. 

He stares at the brown tint of his spy diary as it sinks into the ocean, words being lost forever, and he thinks. 

Maybe Schlatt is not half as bad.