#yes i've been playing this on repeat for the past hour

[thirrith]

不知道爲什麽但是在微博上看到有人聽完很簡單地説了一句“不怕了”我好想哭出來啊

Siu-Kiann, or Shōu Jīng, is a rite of recalling a frightened soul. It is believed that one's soul can flee after experiencing a scare. This traditional folk ritual is performed in Taiwanese temples as a remedy that dispels the fright and restores the soul.

可以把我的魂給順帶收了

[evie-sturns]

ignore - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you've been in a mood all day, ignoring matt and giving him little attention, you won't tell him what's wrong so he has to fuck the answers out of you.

contains: smut, arguing, crying, swearing, rough!matt, slight overstimulation.

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i've been pissed and emotional all day, i'm not even sure what for anymore, everything that people do is pushing me to my limits, especially my boyfriend, matt.

3:39pm

"c'mon we've gotta go." matt says, tapping my arm as i sit with my arms folded on the edge of matts bed. "i'm not going!" i raise my voice at matt, my eyebrows raised as i roll my eyes.

"chris and nick are waiting for us, we've booked the top golf session, we are going its for the celebration of nicks brand come on." matt says with a dad like tone.

i shake my head, "i don't want to, my head hurts." i say in a whiny tone, somehow on the verge of tears, matt lets out an exhausted sigh, tears start to fall down my cheek as i rub my eyes.

"why are you crying." matt says in a calm tone with a sigh. "go away!" i groan, matt walks out of the room shaking his head, he closes the door behind him.

"i don't know whats going on with her, im sorry nick." i hear him say to his brothers outside the door, i sniffle as i flop down on the bed behind me.

6:12pm

i've been enjoying the empty house by myself for the past few hours, i hear the triplets pull into the driveway before knocking on the door, i unlock the door and they all walk in, i give nick a hug, before asking chris how it went. he instantly starts to yap about his golf shots.

after a handful of minutes chris decides we should all watch a movie, matt tries saying something to me but i simply ignore him,

"y/n." matt repeats himself, i shoot him a side eye before continuing to speak to chris.

nick and chris pile onto the couch, matt sits down on the other side of the plush couch, i walk over to matt, sitting down on his lap and laying down against him, my back pressed against his torso and the back of my head resting on his shoulder.

matts chest rises and falls with each breath, lifting me up and down subtly.

9:29

the movie has been playing for over 3 hours, i've shifted around slightly against matt a couple of times, but haven't said anything to him.

i let out a heavy sigh matt taps my waist before whispering in my ear "please talk to me, you've been acting very off today."

i scoff "i've been acting off?" i whisper back, an attitude clear in my voice.

"yes you have, been acting like that, bratty." matt replies, i stay silent after that.

"talk to me about it." he says again, i shake my head no.

the closing scene of the movie finishes, chris and nick get up, "im headed to bed, see you guys in the morning." chris says with a yawn, "bye chris!" i say chirpily.

nick stands up, "see you!" he says running over and hugging me before leaving the living room.

matt and i sit in silence for a minute or so before matt pushes me off his lap, "come with me." matt says, i stare straight into his eyes, not moving nor speaking.

"come. with. me." matt raises his voice, grabbing my wrist and dragging me to his bedroom. he slams the door and locks it vigourously.

i sit down on the edge of his bed, fiddling with my nails. matt storms over to me, picking me up then throwing me back down on the bed, i fall straight on my back, my head landing in his pillows, one specific pillow having a stupid pug on it.

matt rips off his cute crewneck sweater, my eyes drawn to his tattooed arms.

his two hands firmly grip the waistband of my sweatpants, before yanking them and my panties down in one go. he unbuttons his jeans before pulling me by my ankles towards the edge of the bed.

"matt-" i start, he cuts me off, "dont start."

his boxers drop to the floor before he stands at the edge of the bed, i wrap my legs around his waist. matt stares into my eyes, asking for permission, i stay silent, just staring into his eyes.

"use your words and tell me what the fuck you want." he almost demands, his right hand now firmly gripping my waist.

i can't deny the fact i need him, the sudden switch in mood turns me on, along side matt being angry which he is never like, hes never fucked me while hes mad.

"just fuck me then if your so desperate." i mumble, matt lets out an exasperated laugh before lining himself up with me, slamming into me, his tip bruising my cervix.

i let out a yelp, "fuck!" matt starts to pound in and out of me, not showing signs of slowing down.

he grips my waist with both hands, his fingers digging into my skin as small grunts fall from matts lips.

the sounds coming out of me echo throughout the room, resulting in matt slamming a hand over my mouth, the cold metal of his rings pressing against my cheek.

"gonna act like this whole day? think you can act like that?" matt breathes out, his left hand which is still firmly placed on my waist tightens. matts breathing picks up,

im starting to consider always acting like 'this' so that matt fucks me like this again, i dont think ive ever had better sex in my life.

he repeatedly hits a spot inside of me which is driving me closer, and closer to my orgasm.

"awnser. me." matt says, staring into my squinted eyes, he removes his hand from my mouth, reaching down and brushing my clit.

"i- i didn't mean to" i say cluelessly, my mind completely fogged as i clench around him.

the pit in my stomach realeases as i orgasm, matts thrusts stop, after all this not wanting to overstimulate me.

"gonna talk to me now sweetheart?" matt says his voice soft but his breaths heavy.

i scoff with an eye roll, matt raises his eyebrows before thrusting into me again, i wince, "sensitive.." i say as matt presses on my clit, he starts to thrust again, waiting for me to speak.

i let out loud moans as matt starts to pick up his thrusts "please-" i groan, "matt-"

"i'm sorry- fuck" i say, my thighs dropping from his waist and squeezing together, matt pulls out, finishing with a whimper and painting my stomach with white streaks.

"oh my god-.." i groan, covering my forehead with my arms as i wipe away the few tears that fell from intensity.

"are you okay?" matt says, picking me up off the bed and carrying me towards the bathroom.

i hum in response, "was it too much? did i hurt you?" matt asks, worry in his voice as he places me down on the edge of his bath.

he bends down between my thighs, dabbing a towel gently against my skin. he walks out of the room, shortly coming back now wearing sweatpants and a white wifebeater tank top.

he brings me over the shorts i was wearing previously, and one of his black shirts. he pulls them onto me gently, his cold finger tips brushing against my skin.

he picks me up again, carrying me over to his bed and flicking off the overhead light, leaving his dim lamp on which illuminates the room just enough. he lays down on the bed, i lay ontop of him.

we lay in silence for about a minute before matt breaks it "are you okay? i mean you've seemed really off today and i should've talked with ya." matt says, running a hand through his hair.

"im sorry." i sigh, "no no, don't say that." matt replies instantly, "i'm not actually sure whats going on, i think i'm just a bit hungry" i say quietly,

matt laughs, "i did all of that for you to just be hungry?" he jokes, rubbing his eyes with a smile as his ears go red.

"i don't know!!" i laugh back, matt wraps his arms around my waist as i lay on top of him.

i suddenly spring up, "i'll be right back." i say, jogging out of the room towards nicks room, i knock twice before opening the door, nicks laying on the bed on his phone,

"you okay?" nick asks, i walk over to him, giving him a hug.

"im really sorry about not coming to topgolf nick, i was in a mood and i am extremely happy about your brand."

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

[theonottsbxtch]

AMNESIA | OP81

a/n: y'all i am so sorry. i've been sitting on this baddie for ages and i just couldn't be bothered to edit it, this is top level oscar angst. it's based off of amnesia by 5sos. SORRY.

summary: one night oscar let himself think about the one who got away

wc: 4.6k

Oscar gazed out over Monaco's glittering lights, the city sprawled before him like a velvet tapestry studded with jewels. The night lay in deceptive calm; the sea mirrored the stars in a still, silken sheet, but inside him, a tempest churned. All the luxury, all the glamour that gilded his world now felt hollow—empty without her presence. His fingers brushed the cool glass of the window, tracing the outline of a city that seemed distant, belonging to another man, untroubled and free, unburdened by memories.

The places they once roamed together, the routines they’d crafted, played like a mournful melody on endless repeat. He’d passed by their café today—the quiet refuge hidden from the world’s demands, where they’d while away hours, lost in each other’s gaze. He could still catch the faint scent of fresh coffee, could almost see her across the table, her smile as warm as the dawn. Yet now, the café was just another reminder, another ghost in the shadowed gallery of what they’d been.

The memory of their last kiss lingered, a phantom warmth on his lips he couldn’t shake. He had been the one to walk away, thinking it was right, believing he needed to chase ambition. But the choice had hollowed him. Each race, each practice, each night spent alone in this lofty apartment felt empty, robbed of meaning in her absence.

Even his team had begun to notice the change—the sharpness, the fire that once defined him, had dulled, blunted by the ache lodged deep within his chest. But how could he explain it? How could he tell them it wasn’t distraction, but a haunting? That he saw her everywhere—in the empty passenger seat of his car, in the fleeting reflections of strangers, in the vast, cold expanse of a bed that was now too wide without her beside him.

Oscar clenched his eyes shut, hoping to block out the onslaught of images, the merciless surge of memories. He should have been fixed on the next race, on reclaiming his rightful place, yet his mind clung only to her—how she’d felt in his arms, how her laughter had once been the melody of his days, how he’d let it all slip away.

They’d said she was fine, her friends—moving on, happy with someone new. But the thought of her wrapped in another man's embrace twisted like a blade in his chest. Did she ever think of him? Did she lie awake at night, swallowed by the same hollow ache that now gnawed at him? Or had she truly found happiness, leaving him behind in the shadows?

He opened his eyes, gazing into the darkness beyond the window, his breath misting the glass. The city slumbered, but for Oscar, the night stretched on—a sleepless expanse, each hour chafing like a missing piece of himself. He wondered if she felt it too, this void, this yearning.

Pressing his forehead to the cold glass, he tried to silence the storm of thoughts that would not leave him be. His reflection stared back, but all he saw were the ruins of their love—cracked, scattered, yet searingly vivid in his mind. He’d tried to move forward, to focus on what lay ahead, but it was impossible when the past clung to him like a shadow he could not shake.

Sometimes, in the small hours, on nights like these when sleep eluded him, he found himself wondering if it was all some quiet fiction. If it had ever been real—how could she be at ease now? How could she smile, laugh, and carry on while he lay adrift, lost in the wreckage they’d left behind? He was the one who ended it, yes, but it made no sense—how could she be whole when he was anything but?

The memory of her leaving was burnt into his mind, sharp as a fresh wound. He could still see the tears tracing lines down her cheeks, smudging the makeup she’d so carefully applied that morning. She’d looked at him with those eyes—eyes that once overflowed with love—and told him she loved him, one last time, before stepping through the door. Her words had broken him, though he’d tried to hold steady, to let her go, thinking it was the right thing to do, for her, for himself. Only now did he realise, with an ache that sat heavy in his chest, how terribly wrong he was.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel that something precious had been left behind—something beyond recall. The dreams they’d woven together, the fragile plans they’d made for a shared tomorrow—all vanished, tossed aside as if they held no weight. But they mattered—to him, they meant everything. Every wish whispered in the dead of night, every quiet promise wrapped in the dark—they’d been the scaffolding of his life, and without them, he felt himself unravelling, thread by thread.

There were days he wished he could simply wake up with amnesia, that he could shed these small, lingering ghosts. The way it felt to drift off beside her, her warmth curled into him, the ease of knowing she was near. He longed to erase the moments that had become his prison, holding him captive in a past that no longer existed. But try as he might, he could not outrun them; they were carved deep into his soul, and the pain of them remained unyielding.

He wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. Each day was a struggle, a battle waged against the crushing weight of what he’d lost. And as much as he tried to tell himself it was for the best, that she was better off without him, the truth haunted him: he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He couldn’t stop wishing he’d done things differently, that he’d fought harder to keep his career alongside his life with her, instead of letting it all slip so easily through his fingers.

Now, all he had were memories—memories that lingered no matter how fiercely he wanted to leave them behind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, the sadness in her gaze as she walked away, the dreams they’d once shared now scattered fragments of a life that might have been. And the hardest part was knowing it had been his own undoing. He’d unravelled the best thing in his life, and now he was left alone, gathering up the broken pieces in silence.

Beside him, his phone began to buzz on the floor, its screen lighting up with a familiar name and picture: Mum. The ringing seemed louder in the stillness of the apartment, an unwelcome noise that echoed off the walls, rattling something deep inside his chest. He knew why she was calling—she’d fallen into the habit of phoning him at this hour because she knew he’d be awake. For him, it was the dead of night; for her, the garden back home would be bathed in sunlight. He loved talking to his mother, but tonight, the thought of words felt heavy, too much to bear.

He watched the phone vibrate, his thumb hovering over the screen, torn between the urge to answer and the weight of guilt that kept him frozen. It wasn’t just any call—it was his mother, the one who had stood by him through every triumph and every heartbreak, who had supported him in ways no one else ever could. But answering meant facing the truth he’d been desperately avoiding, the truth that gnawed at him in the quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts.

A minute slipped by before he finally chose to call her back.

He leaned forward, his face buried in his hands, the cool press of the bracelet she’d given him once biting into his brow. He’d turned everything into a mess, and now he sat alone, left to sort through the pieces with only his guilt and the hollow ache of knowing he’d hurt the one person who mattered most. With a trembling breath, he lifted his phone and dialled her, listening to the ring on the other end, each sound stretching the seconds to a taut and silent ache.

"Hello?" Her voice came softly through the line—gentle, patient, as if she'd been waiting, as if she knew he would find his way back. A quiet relief coloured her tone, and it twisted something deep within him.

"Hey, Mum," he managed, his voice barely a murmur. "Sorry I missed your call."

"It’s alright, love." She paused, and he could almost see her there, sitting with a slight crease of worry between her brows, waiting for him to speak, to let her in. "I just... wanted to check on you."

He forced a laugh, aiming for something light, but it fell flat, hollow. "I’m fine, really. Just… thinking, I suppose."

But she sensed it immediately—the weight in his voice, the heaviness he hadn’t managed to hide. "It’s alright if you’re not, Osc. You don’t have to pretend with me."

He swallowed, his eyes pressing shut against the sudden sting of tears. She’d always been able to see through him, to know when his heart was shadowed. "I know, Mum," he whispered, feeling his walls begin to crack. "It’s just… I- I don’t know." He stopped, the words tangling and tightening.

Her voice was soft, urging him gently. "What is it, darling?"

He opened his mouth, but the confession he’d been burying for so long felt like a lead weight on his tongue. Finally, he managed, “She seems to be doing well, Mum,” he murmured, forcing a fragile smile, one that remained unseen. “I saw some photos on her Instagram… she’s smiling, with a new lad. It appears she’s finally moved on.”

A long pause unfurled, stretching until it became almost unbearable. Oscar shifted on the floor, the weight of silence gnawing at his insides.

When his mother finally spoke, her voice, soft yet sharp, sliced through the stillness like a knife. “No, sweetheart, she’s not doing well.”

Her words struck him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, the air trapped within him as if his lungs had lost their way. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the tide of emotion threatening to engulf him.

“What do you mean?” he whispered, his voice barely escaping his lips.

A sigh escaped the line, heavy with a lilt of disappointment. “She’s just… she’s not the same anymore, Osc. She wears a brave facade, but when I look into her eyes… I see the hurt. She’s been suffering for far too long.”

Guilt, which he had desperately tried to bury for months, clawed its way to the surface, tightening around his heart like a vice. His hand trembled as it pressed to his forehead, battling to hold himself together, but the truth was a burden too great to bear.

“It’s my fault,” he choked, voice cracking. “I hurt her, Mum… I did this to her.”

Tears began to cascade down his cheeks, unbidden, and he made no move to wipe them away. Deep within, he knew that no amount of regret or self-loathing could alter the past. The girl he had loved, the one who had given him everything, lay shattered because of him. And nothing, ever, would set that right.

His breath hitched as he fought to control the tremors coursing through his body. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and relentless, and he made no effort to hide them. “I messed up, Mum. I thought I could manage it all—balance my racing and us. But I was wrong. I didn’t realise how deeply I’d hurt her until it was too late.”

His mother’s voice broke through the haze of his despair, filled with a blend of concern and compassion. “Oh, Oscar… you were so focused on your dreams. You believed that if you succeeded, everything else would fall into place. But in your pursuit, you lost sight of what truly mattered. It’s okay.”

He winced at the truth in her words, the painful reality sinking in deeper. “I thought I could make it up to her later, that she’d understand. I convinced myself it was just temporary… but now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The guilt twisted in his gut, a constant reminder of his choices. “I pushed her away. I didn’t see how much she was struggling, how lonely she felt while I was out there chasing trophies and glory. And now?” His voice cracked under the weight of his regret. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time I step into the car, all I see is her face, and it breaks me.”

“She was proud of you, Osc. She wanted you to chase your dreams, but she needed you too. You can’t forget that,” his mother said gently, offering solace amidst his turmoil.

“I should have been there for her,” he sobbed, shaking his head violently, as if trying to rid himself of the haunting memories. “Instead, I just kept pushing her further away. I thought I was doing the right thing, focusing on my career. I didn’t realise that she was suffering… that I was breaking her heart.”

His mother’s voice softened, filled with empathy. “It’s okay to make mistakes, sweetheart. What matters now is what you do next. You can’t change the past, but you can strive to make things right.”

He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “But how? How do I even begin to make it right? She deserves better than what I gave her. I don’t know if she’ll even want to talk to me.”

“She might need time, but that doesn’t mean it’s over,” she replied, her tone reassuring. “If you truly care about her, you need to show her that you’re ready to listen, to support her, and to be there. It won’t be easy, but it’s worth it.”

Oscar looked up at the ceiling, wiping the remnants of tears from his cheeks. “I’ll talk to her, Mum. “

His mother’s voice came through the phone, steady and reassuring. “That’s a brave decision, Osc. But remember, you can’t expect it to go your way. She’s been hurt, and it’ll take time for her to process everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice steadier now, but tinged with uncertainty. “But I want her to see that I’m serious about changing, about being there for her this time. I just… I don’t know how to start.”

“Just be honest with her,” she advised, her tone gentle yet firm. “Let her share her feelings without interruption. If she needs to vent or express her pain, listen to her. Don’t try to fix everything in that moment. Just let her feel heard and understood.”

Oscar nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re right. I’ve spent so long focused on what I wanted to say that I forgot about what she needs to hear. She deserves that.”

“Exactly. And keep in mind, this conversation might not go the way you hope. She may still be angry or hurt, and that’s okay. It’s part of the healing process. You have to be ready for any response,” she cautioned, her voice steady and comforting.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me at all?” The thought knotted his stomach again, a fear he couldn’t shake. “What if she’s moved on for good?”

“Then you respect her decision,” his mother replied, her tone still calm. “You can’t control how she feels or what she chooses to do. All you can do is be honest about your feelings and show her that you’re committed to making things right. If it’s meant to be, it will find a way.”

He took a deep breath, the reality of the situation washing over him. “I just want her to know that I’ve changed. That I see now what really matters. I won’t let her down again.”

“Show her, don’t just tell her,” she emphasised softly. “Actions speak louder than words, darling. If she sees that you’re genuinely trying to be better, it may help rebuild that trust. But remember, trust takes time to restore.”

“I understand,” he murmured, feeling a mix of hope and trepidation. “I just wish I could fast forward to the part where everything’s okay again.”

His mother sighed, a sound heavy with experience. “Life doesn’t work that way, my love. But taking this first step, reaching out to her, is where it all begins. Just be patient with yourself and with her.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll reach out to her today. No more waiting.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, pride shining through her voice. “And whatever happens, remember that you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you every step of the way.”

Oscar took a deep breath. “Thanks, Mum. I love you.”

“Just keep your heart open, Osc. You’re strong enough to handle whatever comes next.”

When he hung up, he looked at his phone, looking for her familiar contact. He’d never removed the heart from her name.

His thumb hovered over the text button and before he could second guess himself, he texted her.

Are you up?

He’d seen that she was in England on holiday, it was two in the morning, she probably wasn’t awake.

Then his phone buzzed.

Yes.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and without thinking, he pressed the call button, the sound of the dial tone echoing in the quiet of the night. Each ring felt like an eternity, his heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. Finally, her sleepy voice broke through the silence.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and filled with unacknowledged tension. “Hey,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you doing?”

There was a pause, a rustling on the other end as she shifted, likely pulling the blankets tighter around her. “Why are you calling, Osc? It’s three in the morning.”

His heart warmed at the sound of the nickname, a reminder of their intimacy, but it quickly sank as he realised what was happening. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to articulate his thoughts. “I just… I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw. There was another silence, and his heart skipped a beat, fearing her response. She then spoke, her voice trembling slightly. “You can’t do that to me, Osc.”

“I know,” he rushed to say, desperation creeping into his tone. “I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that I need to talk to you. That I need you to know I care.”

Her voice cracked. “You can’t just call me out of the blue and expect everything to be fine. It’s not fair.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, the weight of regret settling heavily in his chest. “I thought focusing on my racing would help us, but I see how selfish I was. I should have fought harder for us.”

There was a long silence, and he could hear her breathing unsteadily on the other end. “I’ve moved on, Oscar,” she finally said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of pain. He knew she had, but he wouldn’t tell her that. “I’m in a relationship now.”

He felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs, those words seemed like there was a finality to them. “Are you happy?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think I am,” she replied, her words soft yet resolute. “It’s been a while since you left, and I’ve built a life for myself. I’ve found someone who makes me smile.”

Oscar’s heart sank further. “And us? Did I make you happy? Can I still-?”

She took a shaky breath, and he could almost picture her struggling to hold back tears. “You don’t get to decide that now. You can’t just call me and ask me to forget everything that happened between us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice filled with desperation. “But I didn’t call to erase the past. I just wanted you to know that I care, and I’m sorry for what I did. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I can’t keep going back and forth,” she said, her voice trembling. “You can’t just pull me back in when it’s convenient for you. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“I know it’s not fair, but please—” He stopped, the reality crashing down around him. “I just want you to be happy.”

He heard her wipe her tears through the phone, and he could hear the anguish in her voice as she spoke. “It hurts too much to think about us, Osc. I thought I could just move on, but then you call, and it all comes rushing back. You can’t do this to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his heart breaking for her. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“Do you even understand what it feels like to be in love with someone and then have them walk away?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion. “I had to put myself back together. I can’t just let you waltz back into my life and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your life,” he said, anguish threading through his words. “I just wanted a chance to make things right.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s too late for us,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled with pain. “I’ve spent too long trying to heal, and I won’t go back to that place.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, desperation creeping into his tone. “Is there no part of you that wants to try again?”

“I can’t,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tears. “I have to think about myself now. I deserve to be happy, and I’m finally starting to feel that way.”

The finality in her words shattered something deep within him. “I understand,” he said, his heart heavy with defeat. “I just wish things were different.”

“Me too,” she said softly. “But this is where we are now.”

The finality in her words shattered something deep within him. “And what if I quit? Could we try then?”

There was a pause, a moment where he hoped for a glimmer of possibility, but her next words were like a cold splash of water. “Osc, your career wasn’t the only problem. There was more. We were just two kids in love who ignored all the signs.”

He felt the weight of her words press down on him, the truth of their shared past enveloping him like a fog. “I know I was blind to everything else. I thought racing was all that mattered, but it wasn’t. It never was.”

“It was part of it, but not the only thing,” she said softly, the pain evident in her tone. “We had our own issues—communication, trust, the way we handled our dreams. I can’t just pretend those things don’t exist because you’re ready to start over.”

“I wish I could change everything,” he said, feeling the reality of their situation wash over him. “But I can’t undo the past.”

“Exactly,” she replied, her voice heavy with finality. “And I can’t keep holding on to what might have been. I need to let go.”

The ache in his heart deepened, a hollow feeling that filled the silence between them. “I understand,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I just wanted one more chance.”

“Sometimes, Osc, wanting isn’t enough,” she replied gently. “I wish you all the best. Truly. But we can’t go back.”

As the silence settled between them, Oscar felt the gravity of their words hanging heavily in the air. He took a shaky breath, gathering the strength to say what he had been holding back. “I love you,” he finally confessed, the vulnerability of his admission pouring out like a lifeline into the void.

“I hope one day you find someone who loves you the same way you love me now,” she replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness but also warmth. “You deserve it, Osc.”

The sincerity in her words pierced him, both a comfort and a heartache all at once. “I wish it could have been us,” he said, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill over anew.

“Me too,” she whispered. “But sometimes love isn’t enough. Take care of yourself, Osc.”

With that, there was a final, lingering pause before she hung up. The sound of the call ending echoed in his ears, a quiet punctuation mark on the chapter of their story that had abruptly closed.

Oscar sat there on the floor, phone still in hand, the world around him fading into a blur. He let the tears flow freely, each drop a testament to the pain and regret he felt. It was as if all the walls he had built around his heart crumbled at once, leaving him exposed and raw.

He hugged his knees to his chest, letting the sobs escape his throat uncontrollably. The quiet of the night felt suffocating, amplifying the silence left in her absence. Memories of their laughter, their shared dreams, and the warmth of her embrace flooded his mind, each thought a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

He could still hear her voice, the way it had trembled when she spoke about moving on, and the way she had wished him happiness even as she let go. It felt impossibly cruel that she had found a way to be happy without him, while he remained lost in the wake of his choices.

Hours felt like minutes as he sat there on the floor, surrounded by the darkness of his room and the echo of a love that had once felt invincible. It was hard to imagine a future where he could love someone else the way he had loved her, knowing that part of his heart would always belong to the girl who had slipped through his fingers.

But it was his fault.

And there was nothing he could do now.

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @marshmummy @piastrams

[floweycidal]

i've been listening to "it's raining somewhere else" for the past two hours

funny how music works sometimes. at first, it was just another track in the game's soundtrack. pleasant. melancholic. the kind of thing you might hear in an elevator, if elevators played jazz that made you feel things you couldn't quite name.

but then you sit with it. you reaaally sit with it. and you start to realize it's telling you something.

the underground is a strange place when you think about it. what they have isn't really weather– it's more like... echoes of it. mechanical approximations. magical imitations. whatever you want to call it, it's not quite real. at least, to me, it’s not. 

waterfall's got its eternal drips, probably just groundwater finding paths through stone the way it always has, i dunno. and snowdin... somehow frozen in a permanent winter that can't possibly be natural. magic, maybe. or something else entirely. 

either way, it's all just a stand-in. a photograph of weather, caught in time and played on repeat. unchanging. nature turned into routine. 

and maybe that's the whole point.

yes, the underground’s a prison. no point pretending it isn't. but you know what else it is? it's tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

you wake up, and papyrus is out there somewhere, recalibrating his puzzles. the regulars at grillby's have worn their own shapes into their seats. even those echo flowers keep whispering the same conversations, like they're stuck in a loop they're too comfortable to break. it’s consistent. reliable.

the song plays at mtt resort, right when sans brings up the surface.

and then you get it. why it's called that.

because up there.. it's raining. really raining. maybe not right here, maybe not right now, but somewhere. it's always raining somewhere. and rain... rain means things change. rain means the open sky decides to rewrite your plans. rain means sometimes everything you built just... washes away. no warning. no apology. just change.

down here though? down here you've got what you need. friends who know your worst jokes. food that never surprises you. a small purpose, perhaps, but hey– it's yours. a place where you belong, even if it's not exactly where you'd choose to be. it's limited, but at least you know the limits.

and i think that's what the song is trying to tell us. every soft note, every gentle melody– it's sans sitting there at that restaurant table, trying to warn you in the only way he knows how.

is it worth it? is it worth leaving the underground if it’s only to be greeted by nothing but rain? sometimes the cage you know is kinder than the freedom you don't.

it never truly rains in the underground. never has, never will. but somewhere else? somewhere above all this weight monsters call home?

it rains. it pours and it pours. and once you step into that rain, you can never really come back to being dry.

[content-d3leted]

Undertale is actually the best game of all time. (Prepare yourself for some rambling lol)

Its characters are so unique and loveable, and the plot and the universe its in has so much depth, there's so many easter eggs throughout the game, all the different AUs are so creative, and the soundtrack is AMAZING-the songs are so incredibly intertwined with one another with all the motifs throughout the music, it is just an all-round immaculate franchise, and I adore it.

I can't quite remember how long my interest in it lasted, maybe 2 years? But I first discovered it in September 2019, by watching jacksepticye's playthrough he did in 2015, where I became completely hooked on it! I remember learning all the names of the songs in Undertale's soundtrack by heart in chronological order, and also drawing the characters for hours on end!! Genuinely one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life.

My favourite character is Papyrus (NYEH-HEH-HEH!!), with Mettaton coming in at a close 2nd place. But to be honest, every single one of the characters are brilliant!!

For about 4 years I've been trying to kill Sans (unsuccesfully), but I can almost get past the last stage by now, so thats progress at least..but tbh it was such a horrible feeling to murder everyone else, especially Papyrus, on the genocide route- but it had to be done I suppose.

Undertale means ALOT to me, especially since it helped me get through some super difficult times back when I was in school, due to really bad depression etc. It also helped me make an irl friend too (who is now one of my best friends)! So yeah, undertale truly means the world to me.

And deltarune is just the same, completely incredible!! The battle theme (Rude Buster) is one of the greatest game songs I've ever heard, and I often listen to it on repeat. I had a short second phase of undertale/deltarune a year after my first one, where I became obsessed with Sweet, Cap'n and K_K. They are such good characters aaaaa I love them!!! I can't wait for chapter 3 of deltarune to be released soon!!

But omg the undertale/deltarune soundtracks are so fun to play on instruments (especially piano for me), especially fallen down, home, your best friend, death by glamour...the list goes on lol.

Undertale also introduced me to my first ever gay people so I have Undyne, Alphys and Mettaton to thank for making me realise I was in the LGBT+ community!!

So in conclusion, Undertale is the best game. Yes.

Why are you reading this surely you have better things to do

[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.”

[ndostairlyrium]

Blabbering ahead about the game in my usual broken English lol

Warning: General, mildly spoiler-y stuff. But still spoilery. Dead dove, yada yada

I tried to avoid reading opinions as much as possible, so I could share my own without filters <<

...this will be a looooong post so I'm putting everything under the cut :'

I've enjoyed this game greatly.

I loved Rook, each companion, the more synthesized visual style, and the majority of the changes they did to make this game stand out among the others. In some parts, it really reminded me of Mass Effect, and those parts I truly adored in a visceral way.

I get the criticism about Rook's tone, but I didn't mind that they had a specific personality and you could work around it. They're a mess of a person, showing a great deal of immaturity in some parts, forced to call the shots, and to be a compass for others while trying to keep everything from falling from their hands. They're just not as player-nuanced (like, it's not on us?) personality-wise as Hawke, I think? Which is a bummer for some, and I get it, but I didn't mind :'D I'm one that deflects a lot with humor, that's my jam

I think I did good approaching this game blindly, and to keep going despite encountering some major disappointments along the way (y'all saw me complaining, I'm a "yes, but" hoe). In the end, I was enthusiast about playing it, I've been enthusiast while playing it, and I'm enthusiast now that it's over (in a very positive way).

Also, to me the combat system was super fun (I had a blast playing orb+dagger mage with the necromancer spec). I liked that it was more dynamic, that you were in control of your character only, and I adored the cheerleading going on within the team during the fights, also the action scenes were SO EPIC. There are a couple of cutscenes in particular that I watch on a daily and feel the tension on my shoulders as if I didn't know the results already :'D

Hate to bring out Mass Effect again, but... I felt that same kind of powerless urgency throughout Veilguard. Except that you're not Shepard, already a hero, you're a nobody in disgrace, somebody looking for a purpose, for then being hired by someone who has a history of dooming whoever he works with :'D in my head, my Rook has accepted because he needed something to go right. Very lol. Much lmao.

Again, bringing out Mass Effect. I always adored Mass Effect important NPCs outside the party, like Bakara for example. I experienced the same kind of attachment to those here, and I was truly frightened for some of them throughout the game, especially the ones I've known from Tevinter Nights.

...now, to the "Yes, but" that had me so frustrated to the point of wanting to stop playing:

I just wish a little bit more sensitivity by the team when approaching specific cultural references. These, along with stereotypes, have always been blatant throughout the games, and I was hoping that in this one we would move past them rather than the doubling down I saw. I can't talk on others behalf, but I could elaborate for hours on why the whole deal of Treviso and the romanticising of Crows (to the point of painting them as the good guys) are such a point of offense for me, even if I'm tired to explain that there's nothing romantic when organized crime takes control over an entire country and call it "patriotism". Moral code my ass. Glorification of mafia is never okay.

Don't pillage take stuff from real life if you're gonna turn them like living stereotypes and excuse that behavior by calling it "inspiration". It's cheap and disrespectful. Fandom has been repeating this for more than 10 years and nobody corrected this trajectory. That's sad, to say the least.

[tumb1rprincess]

Literally jumped into this episode yelling "Get back together pleeeeeeeeeeease!" You don't know how much the cliffhanger from the last episode has been driving me crazy these past few hours. I could barely focus on work.

Yes Arthur, let's try to pull up whatever monstrous thing is splashing below the ship, ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID!? This man is going to be the death of me.

John laughing is fucking creepy, Jesus Christ. And he's already commenting about how the line between what he does and Arthur does is very thin and they're like the scorpion and the frog in the fable, oh God.

Okay, okay, okay, reeling from the last fifteen minutes or so from this. Just...everything was fucking horrifying. Deep sea stuff freaks me the fuck out, so a dead diver and a freaking tentacle sea monster thing and one of the cops getting ripped in half had me so tense. God, this has been one of the scarier ones.

Then Arthur gets shot and I literally went "STOP GETTING SHOT ALL THE TIME!" Like Jesus Christ, can this man catch a break? (I know the answer is no, but still). And he was so scared and all John could do was try to comfort him and tell him he wasn't alone, aaaaaaaaagh, I almost cried.

Being underwater when you're blind has got to be fucking terrifying, I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating. Christ, I could barely breathe during that bit.

And then that last fucking bombshell, just, WHAT!? ARTHUR HAS A DAUGHTER!? I have so many questions. Where is she? He's never mentioned her before, or a wife for that matter. Are they both dead? Is one of them dead? That song he played in the music store was called Faroe's Song, did he write that? Aaaaaaaaagh, I'm losing my god damn mind. I need some time to digest all this.

[ch3rrywond3rland]

need more eddie roundtree fics on this website i’ll take anything from light smut to tooth-rotting fluff but please

OF COURSE DARLING!! your wishes r my commands. I've got a few requests for him, as soon as I get those out there's Eddie content for u guys!!

FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF cause my man is not happy enough tbh. (Don't worry tho, i have some smut requests i hope I get out this week!!)

ALSO, lets pretend Cami and Eddie never slept together, for the sake of their happiness. Eddie's hate for Billy simply comes from feeling like a second class citizen in a first class resort, like in the book!

Forever here, with you

Y/N Roundtree: Look, I love you. But I hated Billy. I say 'hated' because I haven't seen him in years, but, he was a proper asshole. I hope he's honest about that. You have no idea how many times I've had to keep Eddie from killing him.

Eddie Roundtree: He would be dead, probably, if it wasn't by Y/N. I think she might've been the one think that kept me grounded during the band. That kept it going for me. (Pause) Actually, no, I don't think. I know.

—————————

The band is playing in Las Vegas, for a sold out venue. It's one of their first shows for the tour, but so far, it's been going great.

The River is coming to an end, which means also is the show. As the final note plays, Billy is quick to thank the fans and leave stage, everyone following behind.

I start making my way to the back, where I'll be taken backstage. I finally reach the band once I'm out of the ocean of sweaty bodies and past security. As I make my way towards Eddie, I see Billy saying something to him and storming off. I can see Eddie's face from here, and he doesn't seem to be very happy. He is not angry, either, as he usually is after arguments with Billy.

"Hey!" I greet once I reach him, and his face lights up a little.

"Hey, gorgeous." His arms lift me up and spin me around, hugging me as tight as they can.

"Everything alright, Ed?"

He sighs deeply and rubs my arm. "Let's go back to the hotel, please?"

"Of course."

The hotel isn't that far away and the band was probably going to hang out backstage for a few more hours, so we decided to walk. It is a starry Tuesday night and the streets are not as busy. The shiny signs are enough to light the sidewalks. It's a silent walk. I know he's got things to say but I also know that any problem between him and Billy is too bad to talk about in public.

It doesn't take long to reach the Las Vegas Hilton, the receptionist greets us and I offer him a small smile. Eddie and I go into the elevator, hand in hand, and soon reach the comfort of our room.

I lay in bed and he needily cradles my body and sets himself on top of it, wrapping me in a bear hug. I run my fingers through his sweaty hair, feeling his chest rise and fall steadily.

"He didn't let me change some notes on the bass"

I sadden at the thought, knowing how sad this type of thing actually makes him feel. I try my best to comfort him with my actions as I think about something to say.

"He is an idiot."

He laughs against my neck and I smile a little.

"Okay, but actually; I know he gets to you and you have every reason to be as mad as you are. But you love the band, Eddie. And they need you. I am here for you, whenever and forever, you know that."

"I love you." He rasps onto my ear, lifting his head and pecking my lips. He holds both my arms against the headboard with a hand and keeps filling my face with quick kisses. I laugh andbfeel his lips against my teeth.

He abruptly stops and looks at me, in all seriousness.

"Marry me?"

—————————

Y/N: "What?!" (Laughs) I didn't know if he was being serious or not.

Eddie: Of course I was being serious. I knew I wanted to marry that woman the day I met her. I just had to wait for long enough to not seem a weirdo.

—————————

"Marry me?" He repeats the question with a laugh. My eyes water and I hug him. "Is that a 'yes'?"

"Of course it is a 'yes'."

"Great, let's go."

"Right now?!" He shoots me his million dollar smile.

"Of course right now, I can't wait to marry you."

I blush at the comment and make my way towards my suitcase, busting it open to look for something that may work like wedding attire.

"You do that, I'll go call Warren."

"Can you ring up Karen and Daisy for me, please?"

"Of course darling." He walks behind my body that seats on the floor. His hand grabs my neck, turning upwards my head and leaning down to give my lips a quick peck before leaving the room to look for a telephone booth.

I decide to wear a silver, long-sleeved dress. It's transparent enough you can see the outline of what's underneath, but I doubt it will matter. It reaches mid-thigh and is loose on my shoulders. I keep on the black boots I'm wearing and apply a bit of gloss to my lips. I see Eddie come back into the room in a forest green suit, no shirt underneath.

We both admire each other quietly. He clears his throat, eyes not leaving my body. I don't intend to peel mine off of his either.

"Warren was in his room, he let me borrow this so he's walking with us. Daisy and Karen are on their way to the chapel right now, they are taking Graham with them."

I thank him with a quick smile and kiss.

—————————

Warren Rojas: I don't remember much of that wedding, either. I know it didn't take us long to arrive to the chapel, tho. It was one of those classic ones in Las Vegas.

Karen Sirko: It was a beautiful chapel, very traditionally Vegas.

Graham Dunne: I remember Elvis Presley married them. (Laughs) Not actually him, you know. He'd pass a little less than a year before...great man.

Daisy Jones: I...don't remember much. (Laughs) I spent most of after the shows getting high and drunk. But I do remember that, once they said 'I do', Eddie picked her up in his arms and ran to the hotel, that was a few buildings down the street. We all ran behind them, screaming and popping champagne.

—————————

"Eddie Roundtree, do you take Y/N L/N to be your unlawfully wedded wife? To love, cherish and respect 'till the end?"

He grins at me and I do the same. "I do."

"Y/N L/N, so you take Eddie Roundtree to be your unlawfully wedded husband? To love, cherish and respect 'till the end?"

"I do."

"Then by the power given to me five minutes ago by this cheap chapel, I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Roundtree. You may kiss the bride; I've got to attend another one of this."

We laugh and then kiss, cheers erupt from our drunk friends that stand besides us.

—————————

Billy Dunne: No, I was not invited to the wedding. I also couldn't care less, honestly. I always knew Eddie had something against me, I just payed no mind. I never had anything against him, I always tried to make him happy.

Eddie: We did actually get married, by the way. After the band split up an everything.

Y/N: It was the best day of my life. After the day our daughter was born, of course. But that's a story for another time.

[worriedvision]

HII it's my first time requesting so idk but ye

I really like your "stood up thrice" fic, I'm so obsess I keep coming back to it. I've been trying to find more stood up fics but can't so

Request:

Can you do stood up w Childe, Zhongli, Al haitham and Tighnari!! Super angsty if possible!!

On my sad era rn 🙏

Tyyyyy in advance<33

Okay so this has been in my inbox for a while (I think haha) and I've been meaning to get to this! Gender neutral reader, angst. Each of these characters will have different ways of them not showing up for a date, and while Alhaitham has had one done on this blog that was the reader being a wet wipe and letting Alhaitham do that three times instead of completely passing him by after he did so.

---

Tartaglia:

He was the one who asked you out, when he was in Liyue on a mission. You accept, somehow not knowing about his job, and he makes a time and place for you to meet up. You put on your best outfit, your best fragrance, as much effort as you could to leave a good impression during the date.

As you stand at the harbor, the location he told you, you wait with baited breath. After a few minutes pass, you start to worry. fifteen minutes after, you see him walking towards you.

...Only to walk past you, onto a boat. Before you could go after him, the ship leaves. He didn't make eye contact with you, he didn't turn his head or apologise in any way when you called out for him.

You look around, seeing the people around you give you a look of empathy as they realise you were stood up. Nobody had seen you this nice before, they knew you were looking forward to this date based on how you held yourself, as well as how you shrunk when he ignored you.

Zhongli:

You asked him out, finding him interesting and Hu Tao had played matchmaker in this case. He told so many interesting stories, and he was an intelligent man. Not to mention the looks, however he was the full package for you.

Sitting at the tea room you agreed on, you start to think you've thought too much about how lovely he was. You were sitting there for an hour, only leaving when one of the staff tell you that they were closing shop for the day.

He never told you why he didn't show for the date, and Hu Tao tried her hardest to reassure you this was just a one time mistake. She tries telling you that Zhongli is a smart man, and he would never turn down the chance to date you.

But you knew better, you knew that he didn't respect you enough to date you. He played you, and when you asked him why he wasn't there, he clears his throat before looking down at his pocket. He didn't apologise, either. He didn't give you any words, actually.

Alhaitham:

When you got asked out by Alhaitham, you had to ask him to repeat himself. Being the person who delivered whatever letter needed to be sent out regarding applications for the open Sage positions, you thought he didn't return your feelings. You look away bashfully when you say yes, and he tells you the location and time.

When he didn't show up, you decide to order for yourself. Halfway through your meal, Kaveh is the one that shows up instead of Alhaitham. Turns out, Alhaitham 'changed his mind', Kaveh quoted. Kaveh decided to sit with you, knowing it would only look embarrassing for you if he walked out after saying one thing.

Kaveh tried his best to cheer you up, but nothing could work after the excitement you felt when you waited for him. After he walks you home, you thank him for making it at least look like he was who you were waiting for.

The next day, Alhaitham asks you how your night was. After seeing you glare at him, he tells you that you need to stop putting people on pedestals. He explains that he knew about your feelings - how obvious it was to everyone - and he decided it would be the best way for you to move on. As much as you wanted to quit, you knew you had to find a job to fall back on, so from that point onwards you were cold to him.

It was only fair after he toyed with your feelings to 'make you realise you were being urealistic'.

Tighnari:

When you asked him out, he said he would be happy to be there. You tell him a time and place, him nodding and noting it down before reassuring you he would be there.

When your shift ended, you changed out of your forest ranger uniform to clean yourself up before going for the date. After making sure you look good, you head off. You actually showed up a little bit late, as something came up with your work.

Ten minutes later, Tighnari is there. You thought he was there for you, only to feel humiliated when he walks over to the table with his friends. He sits down, apologising for being late as he pulls out his deck of cards. When you hear someone pull out a chair across from you, you expect it to be someone needing a spare chair for their own table.

Only to see Dehya there. She asks you if you wanted her to drag Tighnari over, knowing about the date he was talking to her about being tonight. Shaking your head, you tell her you'd rather forget about this incident. Shrugging it off, you instead treat Dehya to a meal, your heart sinking because you heard Tighnari talking as if he didn't remember you had a date.

The next day, Tighnari assigns you your duties for the day before turning to leave. You ask him if he enjoyed his night, and he brushes it off by saying he enjoyed his time with his friends. He caught your disappointment, but he didn't know why.

He didn't approach you in the days after that, and you slowly processed the fact he stood you up despite looking like he was happy to go on a date with you while working alone on your shifts.

[inspirationalucky]

Disney Princess Villain Songs

[ PART 1 / 2 ] a collection of sentence prompts / rp memes inspired by lydia the bard's disney princess villain songs. please don't add more prompts/memes to this list, definitely change pronouns, names, etc. as necessary for the situation! part two.

Tale as Old as Time (Belle's Villain Song)

"It's your final page."

"You see in this world, we're merely players."

"The truth is I'm the beauty, you're the beast"

"You thought we're a match. Sweetheart, I am far smarter than that"

"There is no one living that can challenge me"

"You're unworthy."

"What a genius plan! Truly, did you think this through?"

"I let you all believe I would go quietly while I sat and planned my hand"

"I have not spent my life reading books, my hours studying, to be some desperate prince's lonely wife"

"Wanna lock me away? Well, by all means, have your fun with that"

"I will be the author of my life"

"You're all idiots for thinking that you'd really make it out of this alive"

"You are nothing but a monster to me"

"You're not worth my pity"

"Not even one of you is a rival to what I can do"

"Don't you get it? This is my design"

"I've made all my moves"

Journey to the Past (Anastasia's Villain Song)

"Your new queen is speaking"

"A new age is finally here"

"Yes, the rumor's true!"

"Bow down now or live in fear"

"Starting now you finish last"

"You stole my family and my past"

"There's a debt that's owed. Justice to deliver."

"You'll be forced to right this wrong"

"This ghost's been here all along"

"Thought I'd found them, but then, how was I to know?"

"It's a lie, they just abandon you and go"

"I will never be complete until I find you"

"Now you understand!"

"You're the special few blessed to join my table"

"You're my brand new family now"

"Justice will be mine, I'll have vengeance for my past"

Almost There (Tiana's Villain Song)

"[ Tia! ] What have you done?"

"[ Tia ], you need to snap out of it!"

"I remember when you told me all our dreams are coming true"

"Dreams like that? They don't come for free."

"Didn't think I'd have to stand and see just what you'd turn into"

"She doesn't care who gets hurt on the way, 'cause she's almost there"

"Oh, [ Lottie ]. You're not thinking about the big picture!"

"If there's one thing Daddy taught me, it's that hard work don't get you by"

"You gotta be willing to play bad and give the cards a try"

'If a few folks get hurt on the way, well, maybe they should've learned to play"

"I'm collecting, and debts are due"

"I haven't worked this hard to stop right now!"

"You're scaring me!"

"Don't you see? There's nothing we can't do when it's just me and you."

"Do this and you'll lose me! Or don't you care?"

"Babe, if you're against it, I don't want you here!"

This Wish (Asha's Villain Song)

"You're so far from what I'd thought you'd be"

"You've taken one step too far, and hurt the ones I swore to defend"

"Well, I want my life to finally mean something"

"They say we're made of stars, but a star's more dangerous than they seem"

"If a darker path is what will free us finally, let me be the first to walk that line"

"My whole life I idolized you!"

"I followed your rules, did what I had to do"

"It seems about time you paid for your abuse"

"Shouldn't have dared to try and cross me."

"If I can be powerful, then I can provide everything we need"

"You see, I've been weak before. I won't be that anymore."

"I'd give anything to stop history repeating"

"I didn't want any of this to happen"

"You'll suffer for your crimes!"

How Far I'll Go (Moana's Villain Song)

"I had been the perfect daughter long as I can remember."

"But you laughed and you shoved me away!"

"When you push you'll soon find out how far I'll go."

"We could have fixed this so, so long ago."

"Now reap what you've sown"

"You've brought about all of our demise"

"You've spread fear to all of those around you"

"I could save them all. I could stop this curse."

"But you shut me out, you abandoned me!"

"I once thought that I had a loving father"

"Now you'll pay for all the lives that you've broken"

"You'll watch your people drown"

"All these useless and meaningless deaths? They're on your head"

"I take no pride in seeing them die"

"You won't find a savior in me, I guarantee"

I'll Make A Man Outta You (Mulan's Villain Song)

"The least we could do is give them a warning."

"I feel we could use a pep talk before leaving"

"Once you find his weakness, we are sure to win"

"This man's debts are finally due"

"Boy, was I a fool for trusting you!"

"Now, look what you've made me do! See what you've turned me into!"

"It let me know that my true calling was to see you dead."

"Most of you won't make it, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make"

"We've sacrificed too much to turn back now"

"They've been in charge too long."

[detachedminxsfics]

Teach Me

Masterlist

Characters: Cal McCarthy x F!Reader

Summary: When spending a night alone at a dive bar leaves you smitten with a particularly skilled pool player you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Word count: 2.8K

Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, repeated use of 'cowboy' bc I can, creampie, praise, dirty talk

A/N: Yes this is just an excuse to express my love for cowboy JDM. I know Cal is a deadbeat kinda asshole in the film (really sparked the daddy issues there), but I'd like to think he could be pretty affectionate with someone intimately. So that's what this is ;) P.S. I have never played pool in my entire life

The glass slid towards you, the liquor within it swirling and rippling for a moment before you stilled it with your hand. After grasping your fourth or fifth drink of the night you lifted your head to stare at the man that had captured your interest for the past hour, the undefeated master of pool, judging by the many victories and complete lack of losses he'd had the entire time you'd been watching him, and probably even before you arrived. He was handsome in that rough and rugged type of way, the way he'd lean up after taking a shot with the pool cue and his tongue would pass over his bottom lip, flashing a smile right afterwards that made your stomach flutter. And that cowboy hat? Well, he was totally your thing. You downed the last of your drink, throwing it back before placing it back down onto the counter and sliding off of the barstool. Call it liquid courage, but when you stood to your feet and started to approach him you knew you were only happy for this night to end in one way, and that was beneath him. He just got done with his latest match, his opponent grumbling something incoherent before storming off defeated whilst the man of the hour gathered his prize, a couple of twenty dollar bills sprawled across one edge of the pool table.

"Hey."

He turned to face you, folding the bills and stuffing them into his pocket.

"You looking to play?" He queried with slightly furrowed brows, the apparent confusion written all over his face as you didn't look the type to play pool.

You weren't.

"Oh no, god I'd be hopeless. Especially against the likes of you."

Your first bit of flattery draws a chuckle out of him as he leans back against the pool table, nonchalantly stuffing one hand into his pocket.

"And the name of the man whose emptied the wallets of about five guys in the past hour is?"

"Cal." He says, a smile still lingering on his lips as he took his hat off and rested it on the surround of the pool table.

You knew you were being rather forward, but he didn't seem to be refusing any of your advancements, and it only encouraged you further.

"Well, Cal," you started whilst you took slow steps towards him, "could you show me how to play?"

Despite the innocence in your eyes at your suggestion, your intention was entirely the opposite, and Cal knew it.

"Sure I can hon, just gimme a minute."

You nodded, trying not to seem overly enthusiastic about his acceptance of your impulsive offer. You watched as he set all of the balls into a triangular rack and then lifted it off to set it aside. He rounded the table back to where you stood and then chalked the pool cue, something you'd watched him do a dozen times since he'd caught your eye tonight.

"Who taught you how to play?" You asked out of pure curiosity as he placed the white cue ball down on the table and leaned over.

"My old man. Playing pool's in my blood, feel like I've been doin' it ever since I could walk." He remarked as he gave the cue ball a firm shot, and you watched as it collided with the others, breaking up the formation and scattering them out all over the table.

Cal watched them closely, like he was calculating something, and then walked to one side of the pool table.

"C'mere." He accompanied his demand by patting the wooden edge of the table, and you made your way to the space he indicated for you without the slightest hesitation.

He chalked the pool cue before passing it to you, and you took it from him, holding it rather awkwardly. It was painfully obvious that it wasn't natural to you. Cal made his way behind you, and it was hard to suppress the smug smile teasing at your lips when he carefully placed a hand on the small of your back.

"Show me your dominant hand."

You slightly raised your dominant hand, and his hand pressed over the back of yours, fingers closing around it to guide it to wherever it needed to be. He brought it to a point towards the back of the stick, then pressed it gently against your hip.

"Alright, lean over."

You did just that, bending over and feeling the way he was pressed up behind you as he moved in closer, his arms reaching around you. He peered over your shoulder as he reached for your free hand and placed it on the table.

"Spread your fingers apart."

You put some space between your fingers.

"And you're gonna wanna keep the cue here."

He moved the cue to the space between your thumb and index finger, and then moved his hands to rest on your hips. You hoped the subtle music and general ambience of the bar were enough to disguise the small hitch in your breath as he held you, as he touched you.

"Now just spread your feet apart a little, and relax. If you tighten up your grip you'll screw your shot."

You knew Cal was being serious in his advice, but you couldn't help but allow some of the words to have a double meaning. Especially since his groin was pressing into your backside, and he was practically husking every one of his demands into your ear due to the closeness. You slightly spread your feet apart, steadying yourself to prepare to take the shot, then took it. The cue ball tumbled towards a red one, hitting it at such an angle it ricocheted off the edge of the table and tumbled straight into one of the pockets. Maybe it was just beginner's luck, but the hands of the pro responsible for your newly acquired pool skills were still holding your hips, so you begged to differ.

"Oh shit!" You mumbled with a surprised giggle, and Cal's laughter mixed with your own.

"Atta girl." He praised as he pecked your cheek, his stubble pressing into your skin when he did, and then he leaned off of you.

A little flustered you straightened your back and turned to face him, passing the pool cue back to him. His fingers brushed over yours when he took it from you, and the way his eyes never tore from the gaze of your own keen irises had you weak in the knees.

"Not interrupting a game here am I?" The voice of a stranger interrupted your moment, and Cal turned to look at him with a slight tilt of his head.

"Not at all, you lookin' to play?"

"Sure as hell am." The man replied.

The stranger wandered off to retrieve a pool cue and Cal turned his attention back towards you, reaching past you to take his hat from where he'd laid it on the table and place it on your head, the odd feeling of a far too large cowboy hat sitting on your hair making you snicker.

"You stick around and we can talk some more after this game, how's that sound, doll?" He paired his words with his thumb and index finger taking hold of your chin, and you looked up at him through your lashes, tilting your head back slightly to stop the hat from obscuring your vision.

"Better yet." You drawled as you removed the hat from your head, using your free hand to smooth down your ruffled hair.

You leaned in afterwards till your lips were inches from his ear, the side of your face pressing into his stubble.

"You win this game and we'll go wherever you like, how's that sound?"

A beat passed before you leaned back to look at him, and the sense of pride you felt was instant. His eyes were glazed over with utter lust, and his top teeth were pressed into the underside of his bottom lip, though it was mostly disguised by the scruff of his beard.

"Alright, you're on." He murmured pointedly, moving to the pool table as his opponent returned, and you moved off to the side to spectate.

He never had to try all too hard to pull off a win, but if there was any sort of effort he could put in to secure his already outstanding chances, he was. Cal was making eyes at you occasionally throughout, eyes boring into yours with every perfect shot, and eventually, he'd wiped the table clean. Poor guy never stood a chance, or even took a single shot. Cal chuckled as he pocketed the last ball, turning to his slack-jawed opponent, and holding his hand out with an open palm in a self-congratulatory manner.

"Twenty dollars, right, pal?"

It was arrogant, but he had every right to be. The guy sighed as he reached into his pocket placing a twenty dollar bill into his palm and then walked off, smart enough not to attempt to win his money back in a rematch. Cal stuffed the money into his pocket with the rest of it before sauntering back towards you, and you made no attempt to disguise the admiration in your eyes. Not one bit. He took his cowboy hat back from you as you'd been holding it for him the entire short, almost one player game, and placed it back onto his head.

"So, how 'bout that bet?" Cal reminded with a shit-eating grin, like he was on cloud nine.

You laughed and placed one hand on his chest, running it down his button-up shirt.

"Lead the way, cowboy."

Cal was staying at a motel not too far, and your back was pressed against the inside of the door to his room before you knew it. His hands were all over you, caressing your waist whilst his lips moved against yours, only drawing a hand back once to toss his hat aside, and then it was on you again. He eventually pulled you from the door with the grip he had on your hips, slamming your chest against his whilst he spun you, beginning a slow walk that backed you in the direction of the bed until it hit your calves and sent you falling back onto it. After landing on the sheets you dug your fingers into the waistband of your mini skirt whilst Cal unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall down his shoulders until he shook it off, and then yanked the white tank top he'd worn beneath it over his head. As his top landed on the floor so did your panties, then his hands worked at his belt, undoing it before pulling it through the belt loops of his jeans and slinging it onto the floor to join the rest of the crumpled pile of clothing. Cal was impatient, his fingers quick to unbutton his jeans and let them carelessly fall to gather at his ankles, not even bothering to step out of them. Gazing down at you sprawled on the bed beneath him he slipped his hands beneath the underside of your thighs and pulled you towards him, the sudden jerk of your body and the way your lower half tipped over the edge of the bed before being supported with his own making you laugh.

"Eager much?" You teased as he lifted one of your legs and propped it up on his shoulder, his hand resting just above your knee to keep your leg straightened out against him, and he chuckled.

"Ain't this my reward for being such a damn good player?"

He'd shoved the waistband of his boxers down until it fell with the rest of the garments gathered at his ankles, something you hadn't noticed until you felt him sink into you, the sudden stretch around him eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips.

"Holy shit." You cursed, your hand instinctively seizing the wrist of the hand he was using to grip your hip.

It just felt like you needed something, anything to hold. Something to dig your nails into, something to ease you through the feel of his slow, intense thrusts. Every now and then, when he'd bury himself inside you and draw all the way back out again, his eyes would screw shut for a moment. His head even tipped back, and the groans that would rumble from his throat rendered the slow, punctuated roll of his hips inefficient. You needed more.

"Fuck Cal, just give it to me baby, please."

When he lifted his head to look back at you there was an eagerness to his eye that made you feel as though you should be bracing yourself. He planted a soft kiss on the inner side of your thigh before coming down closer to you, the way your leg was still propped against him allowing him to angle himself even deeper, the fullness making you whimper.

"You want it, huh?" He rasped.

All you could muster was the frantic nod of your head, the words in your mouth failing with the feel of every move he made, and he smiled. He brought your other leg up onto his shoulder and leaned down until he was practically folding you in half, the angle and the feel of your knees pressing against your chest winding you. Then, heaven. His thrusts were hard, the pace of his hips leaving you a breathless, moaning mess, eyes slightly rolling every time he buried himself inside you, over and over. It was an onslaught, something to which you succumbed to, especially when he crashed his lips against yours. He tasted like caffeine and cigarettes, a wildly fitting combination for the type of man he was. There was no way the thin walls of this motel were containing your cries, so the press of his lips would have to serve as the only way of muffling your earnest, untamed noises, every thrust drawing out a stream of euphonious, needy moans. He leaned back just to let you breathe, lips parting to speak.

"Damn, you sound so fuckin' pretty. You gonna cum, sweetheart?"

All you could do was fall into a string of curses and pleads, every one of your pretty pleases mixed in with your shaky sharp breaths bringing you both closer to release. He only fucked into you harder when he felt you clench around him, your head tipping back as your back arched and you felt the urge to squirm, but his body kept you pinned beneath him. It didn't take much longer for his relentless, undeviating thrusts to grow sloppier, the low, rough grunts flowing from his throat growing louder until he spilt inside of you. He stilled his movements and leaned up enough to allow you to move your legs, to which you languidly rested them on either side of his hips, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. When your shallow breaths eventually evened out he pecked your lips and leaned off of you, breath heavy as he straightened his back. Cal leaned down to slide his boxers back up his legs, then his loose-fitting jeans, and the space beside you dipped as he laid down at the head of the bed with a sigh.

"Well, don't think I ever had a pay-off like that before." He chuckled a little breathlessly.

You snorted your laughter, the flattery prompting you to lean up and crawl to him, his half-lidded eyes fixed on you as you moved to him and settled down on top of him, hands resting at his sides while you rested your chin on his chest.

"Lot more where that came from if you take my number, cowboy."

He grinned at the persistent pet name and used his index finger to pick your chin up from his chest, his thumb soon joining to cup your chin and tilt your head to look at him.

"I think it'd make me the stupidest man in the world if I didn't, course hon. Tell you what, you go get cleaned up and we'll grab a bite to eat."

His thumb dragged lightly across your bottom lip as he spoke, and you hardly had much to dispute when it came to the evening plans he'd sprung upon you.

"Sure." You muttered, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth as you leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips.

You sat up afterwards, turning to make your way off the bed but halting for a moment when you felt a playful hand come down on your ass, the sensation making you let out a surprised gasp.

"Cal!"

He only laughed as you continued to scramble off the bed and spun to face him when you stood to your feet, the light of gratification in his eyes not lost on you.

"Go on, I'm hungry."

You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom, excitement in your step as you did.

The night sure as hell ended the one way you wanted it to.

[quonka]

"Hey, this pretty much universally beloved video game OST actually kind of hits-- why is no one else talking about this?"

Sometime last year in September while looking for more background music to study and write to other than the Neopets: The Darkest Faerie OST, I looked up the Minecraft OST on YouTube.

Then that same December, my personal 2023 Spotify Wrapped released with C418 as my number one artist, who produced the Minecraft Volume Alpha album in 2011 and the Minecraft Volume Beta album in 2013; along with his three 2018 singles for the OST Axolotl, Dragon Fish, and Shuniji.

with a total of 2,518 minutes listened to, in the span of a little less than four months; I was put in his top 1% of listeners-- something I had definitely felt a little embarrassed about at the time.

My number three artist then was Lena Raine, who also worked on the later entries into the OST, with Minecraft: Nether Update in 2020; Minecraft: Caves and Cliffs in 2021; Minecraft: The Wild Update in 2022; and also has a fair number of tracks in the most recent addition to the OST, 2024 Minecraft: Tricky Trials.

Mine-Craft

I can't even say that the reason why I can focus so well to this soundtrack is because I have a nostalgia for the game like in my Darkest Faerie Post. While I did absolutely play the game a lot when I was younger like every other twelve-year-old with computer access; for as long as I can remember, I've specifically turned off the in-game music so I could listen to my own.

That's why for so long, I never really had any palpable attachment to the music.

However, due to that whim in September, I have discovered probably my favorite Video Game OST ever-- one that I listen to for schoolwork yes-- but also one that I often listen to when walking around my college campus between classes, or when biking around my neighborhood, or reading a book for fun-- or when I just need to calm down.

Variety Hour

I think the one of the main reasons why it's so versatile is just the number of artists that have produced songs towards its collection. There's C418 and Lena Raine, but there's also Kumi Tanioka, Samuel Åberg, and Adam Cherof.

This could have been a drawback, where so many different contributors to the same project might've lead to some discordance in the whole sound of the OST-- but none of the artist's sounds really clash with each other all too much, which is incredibly impressive considering the time gap from the release of the first album to the most current album.

Probably one of the most different songs I've heard on the soundtrack so far is Adam Cherof 's 2024 Precipice -- and honestly, I couldn't care less because this song is genuinely incredible. There's so much passion, and energy, and it really feels like you're standing atop a precipice, with the faster tempo of the song and the airy echoing of chimes and keys acting to simulate the wind whipping past your ears-- it's fun, and adventurous, and different and I adore it.

Back to the Beginning

Because Minecraft: Tricky Trials released so recently, it was not in my 2023 wrapped, but with just how many great and repeatable songs are on that album, I fully except to see both Precipice and Creator in my 2024 wrapped.

The song that did take my number one spot though was Équinoxe, off that original album, with Ancestry off of Minecraft: Caves and Cliffs taking my second spot and Moog City again from that original album taking my third spot.

While both Moog City and Équinoxe are beautiful pieces that I could go on and on about, I specifically want to talk about Ancestry.

This song is this beautiful and unnerving atmospheric piece that specifically was designed to play in the Deep Dark Biome, which as the name suggests, is a haunting little area deep underground with little to no light.

I love all the echoing in this song, the crispy static just under the pulsating higher tones, the glitchy wind instrument sounds-- it all contributes to this gorgeous "mysterious and unknown scary" ambiance that the dev team was aiming for.

There are a couple songs like this one too, full of a darker, more somber atmosphere-- another one of my favorites being from C418's Minecraft Volume Beta, The End, or from his Minecraft Volume Alpha, Thirteen.

I guess I'm a sucker for a darker soundtrack because the Minecraft OST has more than its fair share of cold and heavy ambiance.

Looking Forward

I could genuinely talk at length for at least half of this soundtrack. There are so many rich pieces, and motifs, and melodies that I've grown incredibly found of. There are still songs on the OST that I feel like I'm discovering for the first time, where they might not have caught my ear the first couple listens-- but after a while I've started to really hear the intricacies in their scores and gain a new appreciation for them.

I'm honestly considering making a tier list for the soundtrack, or maybe even doing a couple posts at the very least.

I genuinely think that if anyone hasn't listened to the Minecraft OST, they should give it a shot, whether it just be for fun, or to study and write to. You really don't need to have an overwhelming sense of nostalgia to enjoy the music-- and I'm proof.

Here is the entire, currently up-to-date Minecraft OST playlist on Spotify neatly organized in chronological order by user Darra (Everybody say thank you Darra). If you don't have Spotify though, here is the similarly organized playlist by user NightBunny8 on Youtube (Everybody say thank you NightBunny8).

To anyone who is familiar with soundtrack though, what are your favorite songs? or the opposite; if anyone hates any of the songs off the OST, I'd love to hear which ones. I can't say I really Hate any of the songs... maybe one... but that can wait for the tier list or a subsequent post.

[deans-baby-momma]

Law & Love Chapter 18

After his daughter leaves, Beau sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his mouth.

Truth be told, he often ponders if getting back together for Emily's sake was beneficial to the teenager or not?

Yes, he loves Carla and the life he has here but all he can think of is the woman who had been sneaking her way into his heart during his time as Sheriff.

Beau would be lying if he said Y/N hadn't crossed his mind at least twice a day since he'd moved back to Texas.

He could hear a song and think of her, see the sun shining and remember how it illuminated her Y/H/C hair. She was sometimes on his mind more than Carla. 

And for that, he felt terrible! He wanted things to work out with his ex-wife, he really did, but he also was slowly realizing he was no longer in love with the woman who warms his bed now.

Yes, Beau grew up in a 2-parent family who loved one another and never seemed to have a bad word to say about the other, but times had changed.

For one, Beau's Momma didn't work outside the home. Her career was taking care of the chores in the home, raising Beau and his brother and being a confidante for his father. And she did it with a smile on her face and love in her heart.

And Carla is the complete opposite. She works outside the home, sometimes long hours and most weekends. There are not many home-cooked meals to be had at the Arlen house, unless Beau himself grills something for he and his daughter; Carla's portion is always wrapped and stored in the refrigerator to be eaten later.

The more he thinks about it, the more he is certain that he is not happy with the way his life is going and as much as he hates to admit it, his ex-wife needs to stay that way; as an ex.

He sits up in his chair and turns to his computer, opening a document and begins typing up his resignation. 

After Geri drops the bomb that she'd recently fucked Cordi, he acts as if the news was just small talk, but I seem unable to get past it.

The bartender's words played on repeat in my head all through dinner. 'This is whose name slipped out when we slept together the other night?'

Even as Cordi reaches out his hand, asking to dance, I can't help but glance toward Geri to see if she's watching; to see if she is planning on laying claim to the tall Ranger.

But, Geri seems unbothered by our presence as she continues to pour liquor and pull beers for other patrons. 

As soon as we are in his truck heading back to the Walker ranch, I bring it up.

"So, how many women are you fucking?"

"What?" Cordi asks, never taking his eyes off the windshield. "What do you mean?"

"Well apparently, you get physical with Geri often. So, I want to know, his many other pussies are you banging? Because I'm pretty monogamous. There's only been you since before I moved West."

"Really?" Cordi questions as he looks over at me. "That's what has your panties all twisted? I've not been down here pining away for you; that I fucked a woman I've known for years?!"

“You act like it’s no big deal,” I explain, trying to control my disdain. “I just don’t see sex like that. I don’t go around fucking every Tom, Dick or Harry when I get the urge. It is an intimate act to me. I take pride in the fact that other than you, I’ve only been with 2 other men.”

“Like I’m going to believe that,” Cordell chuckles.

“What’s so funny about that?” I ask, letting my rage take over. 

“Nothing, I guess. But,” Cordi pauses as he turns off the main road onto the dirt lane leading to the ranch. “You and I see sex totally differently. Sex is just that, sex. It’s a means to an end. I don’t have to love the person I’m fucking. Yea, I wanna make her feel good but I want her to make me feel good too.”

As we pull up to the front of his parents’ home, Cordell shuts the engine off and we both sit still, neither of us moving to get out. This night was turning out completely opposite of what I had assumed.

After a beat, Cordell shakes his head and opens his door, stepping out of the vehicle. Before closing the door, though, he speaks. “I really thought you knew this was a casual thing for us. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

I sit in the cab of the truck long after he shuts the door and walks toward the barn with my phone in my hand as I navigate the airport website to book a 1 way ticket back to Helena; back to loneliness and missing Beau.

“Shit!” My little mini-vacation didn't turn out like I expected. 

I step out of the truck and look around for the man who lives here but am instead met with dark silence. 

Seeing as he is nowhere to be found, I begin walking down the gravelly lane toward the main road. It'll be easier for the cab to pick me up.

As the asphalt comes into view, my phone dings alerting me to a message. I pull it out of my pocket and open it to see something I'd never, ever expected.

Beau: Hey Y/N. It's Beau. Looks like I'm going to be coming back to Helena. Could we meet up and talk about some things?

Instead of texting back, I hit the call button and put the device to my ear, hearing it connect and begin ringing. 

"Y/N?" Beau answers with my name rather than a normal "Hello".

"It's me."

"How you been, sweetheart?"

'I've had better days….and some worse ones too. So, what is taking you back to Montana?"

"Wait, what do you mean taking me back?! Don't you still live there? Please don't tell me you've moved back East," he pleads. 

Not realizing what I'd said until he brought it up, I laugh.  "No, no. I still live in Helena. I'm just…..not there right now."

"Oh. Good." Beau replies and I can hear the relief in his voice. "Where are you?"

I sigh, then smile. "Uh, about that. I'm actually in Texas. Austin, in fact."

@spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam  @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @deans-spinster-witch @yvonneeeeeeee @tmb510 @globetrotter28

[nihilistikal]

12!! 14. 17. 20. 20 again. 23 because that sounds really interesting. 30!!! 34? ... 37. 38, but three times, because yes!

[ 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄:] 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝

⸻ 12. what’s some good advice you want to share? This past year I've been doing a lot of soul searching / reflecting on stuff and working on myself, so I'll list a couple of things that really helped me and stuck with me: Disclaimer - obviously this won't be helpful for everyone, but these things are highly flexible to use, so maybe someone finds them as useful as me.

: ̗̀➛ Journaling. Every morning I write down three things I am grateful for, set one goal for the day (can be anything from tiny tasks to larger stuff), and the book I use for this also gives me a little mindfulness task on every page, which varies. In the evening I assess if I managed to achieve my goal, how my energy levels are and check some pre-determined boxes (drank enough water, moved my body, ate healthy, was mindful.... etc), as well as answer one small prompt the book gives me. Additionally I started to braindump before bed (just writing down w/e comes to mind), as well as jotting down the things I do over the day in a list so I can see that I am not as inactive as my head makes me believe sometimes. : ̗̀➛ Refuse to deal with subtexts. People have a mouth / hands / ways to communicate with you. If they take issue with something they have a problem with, they should communicate it. Otherwise it's a them-problem, not a you-problem. You don't have to interpret what someone might think. You're not a mindreader. : ̗̀➛ Routines. This sounds dull, and believe me I had trouble implementing this, but once something is repeated often enough, it just sticks. Be it the time you wake up, stuff that helps your health (taking supplements, drinking water right after waking up, etc.) or stuff that helps with a better sleep hygiene (no displays one hour before going to sleep, reading more, drinking a cup of tea, mediation etc.) It was difficult to get used to, but I can absolutely see the benefits and try to stick to it most days, simply because I know it helps me have a better quality of life. : ̗̀➛ Romanticize your daily life as much as possible. This ofc depends on a lot of factors, but I try to apply this to the most mundane stuff like cleaning my apartment, going for walks, cooking, preparing my morning coffee... Sometimes life just sucks, but okay-ish days get instantly better if you romanticize them a little.

⸻ 14. what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do? Hmm... in terms of actually being too scared due to phobia: Anything to do with heights. I kind of would love to experience the adrenaline rush of skydiving or bungee jumping, but I can hardly even step on a chair without having issues :'D

⸻ 17. name 3 things that make you happy My cats, my apartment (coupled with how I decorated it), autumn - the crisp air, the colorful leafs, mist, chill weather, being able to properly layer my clothes again... Also the smell of rain, a nice cup of coffee, playing my favorite games, the rush of a hyperfixation taking off - especially when rambling to someone equally as invested, spending my saturdays doing absolutely nothing except what I want and pampering myself, blond bastard men D;

⸻ 20. favourite (2) things about the night? The stillness. Barely anyone outside, everything is a muffled and subdued, most people just want to get home, so walking outside is usually extremely peaceful. Also the sky. Not so much when it's cloudy ofc, but I often spend time just staring into the night sky and looking for shooting stars, constellations, thinking about how small and insignificant we are.

⸻ 23. say 3 things about someone you hate OKAY SO. xD Admittedly it takes a lot for me to hate someone, usually I am somewhere between pettiness, saltiness, annoyance or, best case, indifference. But if I had to pick someone it would likely be work-related. Because man. These people pulled some nasty shit. SOOOOOOO- This particular person .... I'm at least 80% sure they're bi-curious/-questioning or gay-curious/-questioning. Because why else ask me about my sexuality if we hardly have anything to do with each other. Nasty fuck. They're opportunistic and manipulative to the point that I'm very certain they stir shit up behind everyone's back just because they can. They're utterly bland, boring and uninteresting which is probably why they can't stand me. And I hope they have the life they deserve (derogatory).

⸻ 30. what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier? Pretty much what I listed in 17 - but if we're thinking in terms of having a shit day with extremely bad mood, I usually try to parent myself. Make myself a hot chocolate with vanilla, some sweet treats, order food if I don't have the energy for anything else and just all around allow myself to exist without having to do anything much. It absolutely helps to alleviate any negativity after a while. Also ofc having my cats around me to cheer me up. And putting characters in situations, if my energy levels allow.

⸻ 34. any pet peeves? Certain high pitched noises. Or generally loud, penetrant noises. Rudeness. It's not hard to show a modicum of politeness and yet I can hardly move outside one day without being upset about how utterly rude people are. Unclear instructions / constantly flipping priorities around without any sense and brain (again, very work related xD). People not knowing concert / mosh pit etiquette. And phones at concerts, beloathed.

⸻ 37. share a secret I am fairly spiritual and used to be a practicing Wicca. I am, however, not overly supersticious. The way I approach things is I like the look for a scientific explanation first, but am open to believe there is something more to life, death, etc. than that. I mostly keep my believes and practices as well as experiences to myself.

⸻ 38. fave song at the moment?

: ̗̀➛ Akira Yamaoka - Rain of Brass Petals - Three Voices Edit : ̗̀➛ The Anix - Crimson : ̗̀➛ Lady Gaga - Disease : ̗̀➛ Bonus: SHOSTA - Feuer

Thank you so much for all these!!

[theomenroom]

It's halfway through the year! Got any favorite albums/books/tv shows/whatever to recommend?

Ooo yes!

Whatevers first, I've been hyperfixated on the video game I Was a Teenage Exocolonist for the past month or so. It's very good; I found the core gameplay loop deeply engaging (maybe even hypnotic); on multiple occasions I've spent several hours longer than I intended playing it late into the dawn. The characters are very blorboable, as evidenced by the amount of meta I've been putting out. I also enjoy it as a smart commentary on game design; I think I've got a meta piece to that effect somewhere on here.

Music-wise, I don't listen to whole albums straight through that often (much more "single track on manual repeat" for me. automatic repeat wears it out but letting it wait a minute or two for me to press it again keeps me going), but when I do, my comfort album remains Within Temptation's The Unforgiving. For something that's new to me this year, Oceans of Slumber's album Starlight and Ash came out in 2022 but I didn't listen to it all the way through until February of this year; I was missing out.

I also love pretty much Sirenia's entire discography; I'm listening to Riddles, Ruins, and Revelations right now and it's a solid no-skips album (and the third track has found its way to my on-repeat plays more than I'd like to admit).

For individual tracks that have made it into my manual-repeat loop a bunch lately, Aimee Mann - Avalanche (something about her vocals and the specific lyrics give this song a strong haunting energy I can't quite place but very much enjoy) and The Gaslight Anthem - The '59 Sound have both wound up there, as have a bunch of Scarlet Dorn tracks (Queen of Broken Dreams, Heavy Beauty, and Until the Waters Run Dry just off the top of my head). also Like Matches, by Mercury Circle with the singer from Oceans of Slumber.

Books-wise, I'm super excited to read my pre-release copy of Alyson Greaves's When You Fell From Heaven, a lesbian teen romance between a cheerleader and a gymnast with gender hijinks. I didn't expect to be into it but I'll read whatever she puts out and not just because she's my friend. She's splitting it out into multiple books and has given the first book a revision pass and expansions to make it gayer after posting it chapter by chapter (which I've already read) before officially getting it up somewhere. I unfortunately haven't been as much of a long-form reader as I used to be, or else I'd have more books to rec.

I'm not a big TV-watcher, but I was recced dungeon meshi enough times to get me to watch it and it's very good.

Anyway. yeah. That's what I've been into, arts and entertainment-wise.

Thanks for asking me!