#this country is a fucking shitshow and i genuinely hope it burns down

[carebearcody]

uk government 2015 - present day: a summary

[crystalirises]

NPC Fundy AU

Essentially, Fundy is not part of the main canon. He's just a person living within the SMP. However, that doesn't mean he doesn't have any ties to the people within canon...

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31985884/chapters/79557208

His papa had promised him that he’d be back.

That was five years ago. Now, there was but a rotting cottage behind him and a god with an offer before him. Fundy glanced down at the god’s open hands, the paleness of their gloves reminded him of pure white snow. Their head was spherical, not quite a face but he could make out an X and D, which looked like they were perpetually joyful. He hadn’t felt that happy in a long, long time. The god had followed him from the river that he had been fishing from, whispering sweet words into his ears, promises of a better life in a better world. Fundy couldn’t trust them, couldn’t trust in promises. Promises were meant to be broken, as his papa had so demonstrated.

No. He wouldn’t trust in the god’s promises. What he wanted was a deal.

The god was surprised at the little fox’s audacity, but they let out a giggle, agreeing to the proposition. It wasn’t an issue to them anyway. So the god asked what the boy wanted, expecting the usual wish of treasure beyond any man’s wildest imagination. Yet the answer shocked them. For the boy had asked to be let into their world, in exchange for his memories. Not quite the deal. Not one that they found to be fair. But if that is what the boy wanted, then they shall agree to it.

Though Fundy did intervene before the deal was to be set. He wanted to leave a letter.

The god let him, after all, it would be the last act he’d do in this life.

Fundy had rushed back into the home that he’d known for most of his life. He had been eight when his father had left, promising a quick return and a gift for Fundy once he came back. He waited through all five springs. He waited through all five summers. He waited through all five autumns. He waited through all of the five winters, when all he could do was throw in scraps of wood and clothing into the fireplace to keep himself warm and chewed on grass to keep himself alive, but his papa never came back. So, he picked up a pen and paper, and began to write:

‘Papa… Wilbur, something interesting happened today. A god approached me today, and asked if I wanted to go with them. I think I will. I miss you, everyday. But I think it’s time for me to go. I pray that you find this letter, and that you may be happy knowing that I am in a better place.

I’ll always I love Love you Goodbye.’

He left the letter on the table, trusting that it would stay and not be lost to the wind. Fundy rushed back to the god, whose hand had reached out to hold his. And off they went to the Essempy.

---

When he first met General Wilbur Soot, his first thought was that the man was charming. Fundy had been working on one of his many inventions when someone had chanced upon his house. He opened it to find a man in a blue uniform. He need not look at the flag that was finely stitched onto the man’s jacket. Everyone within the Essempy had heard of the General of L’Manburg.

Most had called him persuasive and revolutionary. Others called him a lunatic and a hopeless dreamer. Fundy had neither opinion, for he had no care towards the coming L’Manberg-Essempian War. He knew that L’Manburg was short on supplies and on men, and the general of a losing country could only be at his doorstep for one particular purpose. Fundy had expected many promises to be made, anything to get another soldier in L’Manburg’s ranks.

He had not expected to be pulled into a nearly suffocating hug.

It took a while for him to free himself from the man’s grasp. Still, the man held onto him.

At least the promises had been proposed, like he’d expected them to be. The General promised freedom, a life away from tyranny. While the man continued on with his calculated rambling, Fundy couldn’t help but listen, a part of him wondering why this scene felt so familiar. Fundy standing before a man on the precipice of making history while continuously staring out from the safety of his den. The man laid a hand on his cheek, crocodile tears flowing past his cheeks.

The general then promised his safety, and Fundy couldn’t help but feel like the man hadn’t promised anyone else that. Yet he was not the type of person to trust in promises. This man knew the game of charm and wit, knew the proper words to sway people to his side. Fundy would not have it. He was content to live his days in the sereneness and simplicity of his home. Besides, he’d heard the rumors, heard of the masked man that ruled over the lands of the Essempy. The General of L’Manburg may not fear Dream’s retribution, but Fundy sure did fear his punishment.

In truth, the promises felt like a luren’s lure. Ones that would lead him to his own demise.

The man still stood before him, crying out to a stranger who did not know him. Fundy let him cry, for there was nothing wrong in that. The general may be a siren, but he was still a man. Fundy would give him this moment of weakness, though he knew not of what the man cried for.

It was a pity really, moving though his promises may be, Fundy did not believe in promises.

Fundy smiled, and declined to join L’Manburg’s side.

---

When he first meets President Wilbur Soot, he is genuinely surprised to find the man alive, albeit down to two lives. He hadn’t meant to go near L’Manburg, hadn’t even known where it was, but he’d spotted the president. Well, the president spotted him. The man had quickly rushed after him, the same charming smile on the man’s face while he pulled Fundy deeper into the country.

He held on tightly to the basket of pastries on his arm, forcing down his irritation while the man gave him an extensive and thorough tour of the nation. The president seemed particularly fond of the blackstone walls that surrounded L’Manburg, stating that they were built for his beloved son.

Fundy nodded along, letting the man tell him tales of the nation he and his brothers had fought so hard for, trying to quell his rising curiosity from getting the better of him. No one had ever mentioned that the president had a son, only two brothers. The president continued to pull him along, introducing him to a few residents that walked by them. A few of the people’s faces were familiar to him, and Fundy was quite surprised to find former Essempians within L’Manburg.

Their little walk finally came to a lull by the time they reached a van… with a burning hot dog on top of it. Fundy averted his gaze, coughing down a chuckle at the oddity of such a vehicle.

“How do you like our nation so far?”

Odd. The president’s wording of the question felt too personal.

“A good nation, I suppose.” Fundy glanced around, pursing his lips together. The ruler of the Essempy would not take this transgression lightly, yet these people walked around like they were finally free. He shook his head at the falsities. He glanced over at Wilbur, taking in the details that people did not wish to see so they chose not to see. This man was ambitious. A charming and ambitious man. Fundy could only hope the ambition didn’t fall into obsession. “L’Manburg seems to be thriving. I suppose congratulations are in order. You won the war, how impressive.”

“It is. We won. We have independence!” The man clasped a hand around his shoulders, nearly jostling the pastries off the basket. He tried to give the president a smile, happy for the man but he did want to get home. He would also rather not think about how the man kept wording his statements so personally. Fundy moved away from the president, taking a small step back to show that he was leaving. The man’s eyes seemed to widen. “You have a home here, Fundy.”

He nods in understanding, an awkward smile showing on his face.

Fundy declines the president's offer.

---

When he first meets the exiled ex-President Wilbur Soot, he nearly slams the door on the man’s face. The man, for lack of a better description, looked like shit. It was the dead of night when the man had come to visit him, the scent of gunpowder clinging to the man. Fundy, despite his better judgment, invited the man in for a midnight cup of tea. It felt odd to be in the man’s presence. He didn’t feel safe around him, didn’t feel like the man was the same man he’d been before. Fundy glanced up, nearly jumping once he realized that Wilbur hadn’t stopped staring at him at all.

“You hate me.” The man’s words were a surprise. His ears flicked up, his tail wrapping around his waist. Fundy hadn’t the faintest idea where the man had gotten that idea. Wilbur hadn’t made a move to grab at his teacup, glaring at it like it was poisoned. “No… you must despise me.”

“Wilbur, I don’t know you enough to hate you.”

“That’s my fault, isn’t it?” The man suddenly stood up, grabbing the tea cup before smashing it against the ground. Fundy flinched, arms wrapping around himself in fear that Wilbur might turn his attention to him. He wasn’t much of a fighter. Luckily, the man fell into a tired rant of his miserable life. Fundy couldn’t understand a single word, but he could hear the pain in Wilbur’s voice, the regret. “This whole shitshow. It’s my fucking fault. Everything I care about is gone!”

“I— Wil…” Fundy rose from his seat, mindful not to step on the shards of glass on the floor. He’d have to clean that in the morning. He laid a gentle hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, shaking him back to reality. “You were a great general once. You can get your nation back. I know you can.”

“THAT DAMNED NATION IS FUCKING GONE! IT’S BEEN GONE SINCE THAT FUCKING TRAITOR LED US TO THEIR DEATHS! … It’s been gone since you told me you wouldn’t live within our nation’s walls…” Wilbur sniffled, slamming a hand against the table. Fundy tried to ignore the last statement. He had no idea why Wilbur was stating such an accusation, but he could only imagine why. Perhaps the man wasn’t even seeing him. “L’Manburg is gone. The idea of that nation never even left my imagination. How could it when the reason I founded it for wasn’t even with me? That nation has to go, my little champion.”

He tried not to flinch when the man suddenly embraced him.

Fundy couldn’t help but lean in, wondering if this was how it felt to have a parent.

Really… He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear about Wilbur’s death a few weeks later.

Still… he couldn’t help but mourn for the man anyway.

---

When he first meets Ghostbur, the ghost insists that he stay with Fundy.

He even brought along a friend, Friend the Sheep.

The others - Wilbur’s friends and family - had glared at him in resentment, except for a few who had an understanding look in their eyes. They seemed to agree, most reluctantly, that Ghostbur should stay with him. Fundy found that quite odd, but they had insisted - some desperately and others threateningly - that Ghostbur stay with him. He couldn’t do much since the ghost had chosen to barge into his den everytime he had the chance to. Fundy found it… endearing.

Although… he wished the ghost wasn’t so… clingy. Fundy could barely breathe around him.

Ghostbur was cold, not personality-wise but physically. He had no idea of space, always inserting himself into every little detail of Fundy’s life. Worst still, the ghost treated him like he was a helpless child, even once trying to carry him up into his arms like he had the strength to do so. Fundy was eighteen. The ghost insisted on always hugging him, calling him ��his little champion’ and every other petname that he could think of. At first, it had been nice… to be wanted by someone in such a way, but overtime, it became too overbearing for him to handle.

Yet each time he looked into those broken dark eyes, he couldn’t help but sigh and let the ghost do what he wanted to do. Ghostbur was imagining him for someone else, and everyone expected him to help the ghost remember. If this was the cure, then he’d gladly go on with the charade.

It’s what he would want anyone to do for him… help him remember.

He spends most of his mornings tending to his farm with Ghostbur, the ghost either singing a little song with his guitar or telling tales of the life that he could remember. In the afternoons, they would go over to New L’Manburg and fish with Philza, Ghostbur’s dad who seemed all too guilty to be around Ghostbur. In the nighttime, he would either have tea with the ghost who would be reading in the corner of their shared home or Ghostbur would pull him outside and they would make Chinese lanterns. Fundy found that he liked those moments with Ghostbur the most.

It was an odd companionship, but Fundy found himself feeling less alone with the ghost. Though he knew that the friendship wouldn’t last long. In the end, Fundy was nothing but a stranger.

When Tommy was exiled, Ghostbur followed after him.

Huh… Maybe Tommy was Wilbur’s son?

---

He met him again. The real him. The live version.

Fundy stood at his den’s open doorway, staring up at the man who crawled his way out of hell.

He heard the rumors.

He didn’t think a man could ever cheat death. But then…

Did he expect anything less from Wilbur Soot?

The man that stood before him, frightened him.

This man didn’t have the general’s charm that made Fundy trust him.

This man didn’t have the president’s hospitality that made Fundy like him.

This man didn’t have the exile’s desperation that Fundy felt sorry for.

This man didn’t have Ghostbur’s amnesia, which Fundy sympathized with him for.

This man was…

Fundy wasn’t sure.

He was bolder. That’s how Fundy would describe him.

He had grinned widely at Fundy, pulled him close with the intent to never let go.

He called him his little champion.

He called him son.

And when the man reached for his hand and asked Fundy to go with him.

Fundy said yes.

He wasn’t sure what the man would have done…

If he’d said no.