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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

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A Different Path

In which Crys goes absolutely feral because apparently Wilbur got mad originally at Schlatt because Schlatt was supposed to say that Fundy was like a son to him.

That is in this fic but I am also in a “L’Manburg gets turned into an empire” and a “Fundy does not participate in the November 16 war” and a “Fundy doesn’t join Pogtopia” mood. So here is the culmination of that.

TW: First two halves of the fic are in Schlatt’s pov (so, the narrative outlook is not to be trusted cause he is still very much an asshole), Cursing, Alcoholism, Abusive Behavior, Implied Character Death, and Blood

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36153817/chapters/92530720

Wilbur Soot wouldn’t understand the goddamn meaning of “rebellious teenage phase.”

His hands tightly grasped the leather-bound journal, fingers sticky with alcohol and grease - from the small burger that Fundy had given him.

“You can’t just drink alcohol. It’s not healthy, Schlatt.” That was what he had said. And Schlatt, a part of him scared to drive away the last person who gave a shit about him in this hellhole, ate the offered meal. A grunt of gratitude was all Fundy received from him.

It’s been a few days since Quackity left.

The ache in his chest still remains, and he doesn’t understand what the fuck it means.

Now, here he was, somehow sober despite the three bottles of alcohol he’d consumed. He chalked it up to divine intervention that he passed out cold at some point, and was now waking up in the middle of the night, his head throbbing and his stomach queasy.

He’d left the lights on in the office, knowing that it would alert Fundy.

They both haven’t slept in a while.

Schlatt, he only ever slept when the alcohol had finally done him in for the day. Fundy, well…

He glanced down at the journal once more. The golden lettering sent a wave of anger in his chest, which quickly died down.

A Spy’s Journal

“Schlatt, you shouldn’t be awake.” Fundy’s voice was soft, barely perceptible as he slipped into the office. Schlatt forced down the snort of laughter that was bubbling in his throat. Fundy was one to talk. He didn’t look like he had been sleeping at all. “The battle’s tomorrow…”

Fuck, Schlatt has never been good with kids.

He’s sure Tubbo would heavily agree with that.

But here and now, he looks at Fundy, his ears pressed flat against his head and his tail tucked in between his legs. He didn’t miss the shake in his hands, the way there was just the hint of tears in his eyes. Fuck… how could Schlatt ever ask him to fight for him tomorrow?

“You know… You’re quite the liar.”

The fox hybrid looked up, eyes wide but other than that, his face revealed nothing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“Shut the fuck up, Fundy.”

In his rage, that dark and all-consuming rage, he threw an alcohol bottle right at Fundy. Well, he’d nearly thrown a bottle of Fundy. One quick change of the wrist had it smashing onto the wall beside Fundy instead.

It doesn’t change the fact that the fox hybrid flinches anyway. And it definitely does nothing to soothe the pain Schlatt feels. The pain he knows he doesn’t deserve to have. Not about Fundy.

“I’ll ask you again. What’s the relationship between you and Wilbur, Fundy?”

The fox coolly tilts his head, his line already rehearsed. This time, he is much more confident. “I told you. Wilbur is just the founder—”

“STOP FUCKING LYING TO ME, FUNDY.” He slams the journal on the desk, the familiar scrawl at the front of it made Fundy turn a ghostly pale. Fundy may have forgotten about it, but Schlatt… he could never really fucking forget. “I know. I’ve known since the festival.”

“Schlatt, I—"

He isn’t sure what Fundy wants to say or ask. Was he going to beg for forgiveness? Was he going to tell Schlatt that he’d turned over a new leaf and was vehemently on his side? Was he going to drop the fucking act and leave like everyone else?!

Schlatt didn’t care. He felt too numb to care. No, he’d be lying.

Despite himself, he felt his body rise from the seat, the journal held in one hand and an alcohol bottle in the other. A guilty part of him feels somewhat happy when Fundy doesn’t back away, only looks up at him with eyes that look too innocent for a soldier of war. And, shit, Fundy was… had been a soldier, hadn’t he? Wilbur had dragged them all into that godforsaken war. Standing up against tyranny, what a fucking joke. What the hell did Wilbur know anyway?

“I don’t want to see you anywhere near Manburg tomorrow, do you fucking understand?” He doesn’t give the journal to Fundy, his hand refusing to move. The hand with the bottle twitches, but only because he needed something to dull the pain. Fundy looked down, face filled with shame and the tears came then.

Schlatt felt sorry for him. He really did. At the end of the day, Fundy was just a kid looking for a father. In a better world, maybe. But well, in a better world Fundy wouldn’t need Schlatt. He would have Wilbur Soot. Because Wilbur would be perfect in that better world. Not here though. Here? They were both nothing but sinners, except one looked like an angel.

He puts the bottle down, the journal falling from his hands. He clasps Fundy by the shoulder. One part of him - a part that knows his beginning to crack, that he’s on the last step of his fall down the fucking stairs of life - wants to do good, to save one soul in this shitty hell.

“I’m not mad, kid.” Fundy glances up at him, eyes wide with disbelief and hope, and Schlatt wonders how much Wilbur fucked this kid up that an admission of just that would have him clamoring for attention once again. “But you need to go. You need to pack your shit, and run as far as you can from here. I don’t want to see you in the battle tomorrow, you hear me? You know what Wilbur would do if he sees you tomorrow. If he sees his traitor son. He’ll despise you even more.”

Schlatt was lying out of his ass, maybe… maybe not. He doesn’t know how Wilbur is, how he’ll react to seeing Fundy tomorrow. But he knows that he’ll hurt, just like Schlatt does know. Hurt for a son who they both cared about so much. Schlatt had no anger in him anymore. He doesn’t know about Wilbur.

“Where will I go?”

The fox hybrid’s voice was soft, scared.

“I don’t know, kid. Go see the world! Anything’s better than this dump.”

He ushers Fundy towards the door, wanting him to leave before the sun comes up and the trumpets of war begin to play in the distance, but Fundy pauses. He looks up at Schlatt, his fear no longer his own.

“What will happen to you?”

Schlatt doesn’t answer, only gives Fundy a smile and closes the door and locks it.

Fundy stands there for a while, but soon his footsteps fade down the hall.

—

Like he said, he was a sinner, and despite himself, maybe he did have a little rage in him left after all.

He could hear the final toll of the bell, taste the stench of toast in the air, but he felt a smirk play on his face even as blood dripped into his eyes.

He had been right to assume that Wilbur had anger left inside him.

And the part of him that was still alive wanted to rub salt against that wound.

“Come on, Wilbur. You don’t think I’d keep a traitor alive, do you? I-I mean just look at Tubbo!” He gestured to the kid behind Wilbur, guilty that Tubbo does flinch away from him, but he’d already expected that. “One traitor is bad enough, but two? I don’t take too kindly to traitors, Wilbur Soot.”

“What are you talking about, Schlatt?” The crossbow was still aimed at his chest. Not that it mattered. Wilbur had already smashed Schlatt’s own alcohol bottle onto his head, his anger rising each time Schlatt had refused to explain Fundy’s lack of appearance in the battle. “I want my son.”

“You know I liked the kid. He was smart, really fucking clever. Would have gotten away with it but… Ahh, Tubbo’s execution caused him to slip.” He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out the spy journal before tossing it at Wilbur’s feet. The man stiffened, his eyes scanning the words written at the front. Schlatt forced out a chuckle, teeth bared and bloody. “I left it at that, but when Quackity left me to join you fuckers, I thought to myself… Well, Tubbo’s gone. With a bang, of course. Quackity left me too. Now who is next in line? You tell me, Wilbur.”

The crossbow was no longer aimed at him, Wilbur was busy holding onto the journal. Eyes cold, but they were darker than Schlatt had ever seen them be. “Where is Fundy, Schlatt?”

“A public execution for the first traitor, one insignificant life for all the piss-poor lying he tried to trick me into believing. No hard feelings Tubbo but you were fucking terrible, man.” He was sorry, he really was. He shouldn’t be saying these things, but who fucking cared he was dying anyway. He gave one quick glance at Tubbo, but his view was blocked by that bratty blonde boy that… Schlatt had been friends with once. That felt like another lifetime.

“You see, Wil. Nobody was going to go to a second festival after what happened.” Wilbur’s face had gone pale, as pale as Schlatt’s now that he was reaching death’s door. “Besides, I was pissed. One traitor was bad enough… but two… Fundy was clever, so so clever. I didn’t want to give him the recognition of that. So, I killed him. Twice. How was I supposed to know the kid only had two lives left? And who fucking cares? I was angry with him! He got me to believe in him… Got me to fucking care about him. I should have fucking known that he was like Tubbo and Quackity. He would have left me.”

Wilbur was shaking, unshed tears in his eyes. “Where the fuck is my son?!”

“Son… son…” Schlatt mused, almost to himself. “Fundy was a good kid. He was almost like a son to me…”

His head slams against the floor, a sword pressed to his neck. He felt tears on his cheek.

He wasn’t sure if it was his or Wilbur’s.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SON, SCHLATT?!”

And he couldn’t help himself.

Schlatt smiled, whispering softly so that just the two of them could hear.

“Good luck digging.”

In the end, it wasn’t a heart attack that killed him.

—

The walls were taller than he remembered.

His hands itched towards the shclatt sword, but Fundy didn’t know why he would need it.

The L’Manburg flag waved peacefully in front of a clear blue sky.

It was a different flag, not the first, no… that one had burned to the ground. His burnt fingertips were a painful reminder of that.

He shouldn’t be there… but he had hoped that Schlatt was around, that Wilbur would let him see him.

He had traveled a little bit, but Fundy could never really find himself in any of the places he came across.

He moved closer to the walled… empire.

It’s only been two years. How could it have turned into an empire so quickly?

As he got closer, he noticed patches of dirt overturned on the ground, random holes just scattering the path. They looked new.

He shook his head. He was only here to visit Schlatt.

Fundy took a deep breath, composing himself. He’d rehearsed this so many times in his head.

It’s okay, Wilbur… Wilbur wouldn’t care if he appeared out of nowhere, out of the blue… He would be furious if Fundy asked to visit Schlatt but… Fundy had to try.

It wasn’t like Wilbur was going to imprison him or anything.

He walked deeper into the empire, a faux mimicry of what he’d once called home.

Within a few minutes, rumors of his return had reached the emperor’s ear.

#jschlatt #wilbur soot #fundy #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

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Damned All the Same (Dark One-Shot)

So.

Vampire AU time :)

*smiles knowing I have to update Curse of Blood*

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36153817/chapters/91782670

‘A common thief, perhaps. But certainly too young to be associated with… those miscreants.’

Fundy startled, eyes darting through the darkness. The moon was hidden underneath the veil of night clouds, the courtyard they’d left him in was nothing but a garden of shadows. He whimpered, tucking himself deeper into the small crevice that kept him from a view. The flap of wings spooked him, but it was only the large bat that he’d befriended come back from its hunt.

‘They left you, poor thing.’

He cowered, arms wrapped around his knees. The bat dropped closer to him.

“Nuisances as they were, they made excellent dinner… guests.” The voice was closer, no longer within his mind. The bat squeaked at him, wings wrapping around itself as the shadows trembled. His throat dried up as the bat grew bigger and bigger, towering over his small frame and the statue he had hidden himself behind for the past few hours. It was supposed to be an easy job. They told him it was an easy job! He let out a small whimper, dark wings cracking as they disappeared underneath a velvet cloak. White fangs shone in the darkness. “Hello, little fox.”

Cold hands reached down for him, and he closed his eyes. When he’d been younger, the village elders had mentioned ancient monsters that lived within faraway castles on cold mountaintops. He had cried when the thieves had chosen to steal from Castle Craft. He didn’t want to die yet.

Instead of sharp claws digging into skin and blood, he felt himself gently pulled closer to the monster’s chest. A hand reached up, tucking a stray curl of ginger hair behind his ear. The vampire hummed, a melodic tune that made his head fuzzy. His eyes fluttered close, and as soon as his eyes opened once again, they were no longer in the courtyard. Warm light brightened the dark room, the vampire’s footsteps echoing against the stone floor as he was placed in the middle of a soft bed. Fundy glanced up, but the monster had walked away, turning towards the fireplace.

“Please don’t kill me… I didn’t take anything! I didn’t want anything!” His voice sounded too small, swallowed by the crackling of the fire and the roar of the approaching blizzard outside. The vampire crouched close to the fire, hands outstretched in front of him, as though he were warming them. Fundy whimpered, moving off of the bed. “Mister? Please… I want to go home!”

“Humans are fond of stories, are they not? If so, will you not listen to my tale.” The voice left no room for argument, and Fundy found himself sitting on a plush chair, mind fuzzy and confused. He didn’t remember ever walking up to the fireplace, the vampire by his side. Through the glow of the fire, he saw chocolate brown curls framing a pale face. Pools of murky black stared down at him as the vampire recounted his story. “This castle was not as grim and lonely as you find it to be now. Once, I had a father and a brother. We were happy here for the longest of times. But you see, my father had… a rather irritating hobby. He was fond of death, fond of the thrill of it.”

A dark spark of anger crossed the monster’s face, but there was a longing in there too, a profound sadness that he knew he’d never understand as a mortal. His head was heavier now, and before he knew it, he was curled up to the vampire’s side, his head resting on the beast’s lap. His survival instincts screamed at him to flee, to fight against the enchantment, but he was tired.

“He told us once of how we came to be. Humans have strange and fantastical tales of how vampires were born, but I doubt their tales began with a simple man… who fell in love with Lady Death herself. Their love was eternal, but despite what she’d made him into, despite the family they’d swore to raise together, it went beyond the oath of the gods.” The vampire’s voice trembled, and he felt a trickle of cold fall against his cheek. “It was never destined to be, and my father, foolish in his love, did everything he could to be with her again. He became her angel.”

The vampire took a shaky breath, “And my brother. My twin, my other half, of course he would have given the world to our father on a silver platter if he could. When my father had gained the insane idea of pursuing wars and death’s door, my brother went with him, shedding blood in his wake. I had doubted them, for I thought it impossible, but I had made my mistake. My father ascended back to her side, and my brother ascended to the ranks of the gods themselves. And me? What became of me?” A hand ran through his hair, fingers shaking with rage. “They left me to rot in an empty castle, doomed to eternal loneliness as they all bask in the blessing of the sun.”

Fundy whimpered, the vampire moving him so that his head was resting on an unmoving chest.

“It has been terribly lonely inside this castle. I could hardly remember how long it has been since I have spoken to someone whose blood did not end as my meal.” He whimpered, but the vampire shushed him, cold hand pressed to his cheek. His head was moved against his will, neck bared to a monster who no longer needed to feast for the night. “I am so terribly lonely. You see, children are too terrified to come to the castle of their own accord. You are a precious find, little fox.”

He was pulled closer, and those fangs glinted underneath the warmth of the fireplace. Fundy had never felt so small. He hadn’t felt so helpless since those thieves had taken him from his home when he was only learning to talk. Children were good distractions for thieves. Always useful…

The vampire leaned down, fangs nearly piercing his throat. “Stay with me, little champion.”

—

“Fundy, the sun will be rising soon…”

“A little longer, papa, please!”

“No, little champion.” His voice was soft, but final all the same. He was scooped up into his sire’s cold arms, pressed to the crook of his neck as he was brought back inside the dark castle hall, the doors to the balcony slamming shut just as the smallest ray of sunlight began to peak through the mountains. Fundy whined softly, struggling against his sire, but the older vampire did not react at all. He huffed, kicking uselessly at air, too scared to ever kick his sire in the chest. He didn’t want to be coffined. His dad ran a gentle hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his curls. “I told you, little fox. The sun would take you from me, and I can’t have that, can I?”

“I want to see the sun again.”

“I’d rather you live in shadow than allow you to be lost to the light.”

“But you never give me the chance to choose!”

They entered the bedroom, the windows covered in heavy velvet curtains that Fundy would never be able to lift if he so much as tried - and he had. His sire placed him down on the soft bed, stroking his cheek fondly before he left to get their sleeping attires. Fundy was still restless.

When Wilbur returned, Fundy immediately clung to his hand.

“We’ll get to dinner in a little bit, Fundy. Let me place down the clothes first—”

“I’m not sleepy, and I’m not hungry!” Despite… Fundy doesn’t know how long it’s been… everything, he’s never gotten used to the change of sleep nor to the feeding. His sire had warned him that he could never leave Wilbur, that he had been turned too young that he could only rely on his sire’s blood, but he never liked the feeling of blood trickling down his throat as his mind grew hazy with hunger. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like being a monster. “I want to see the sun!”

“No. Fundy, we’ve had this conversation—”

“It’s not fair! I want the sun!” He hadn’t sounded this childish in a long time, but he couldn’t help the tears that flooded his eyes, their chill doing nothing against his forever cold cheek. When he’d been taken by the thieves, they always brought him along on every job. Fundy was never trusted to steal, he was only the distraction, which meant he’d be alone for some time until they came to collect him again. Sometimes, they would take so long that Fundy would be awake when the sun rose in the distance, wondering if this time they wouldn’t come back for him again.

“Shh, shh, Fundy. No need to cry, little champion. You have papa now. Who cares about the sun?” He was pulled back into his sire’s arms, fists beating fruitlessly at the man’s bright yellow sweater. He hated it. He hated him. The admission in his mind made him freeze, tears running dry as he suddenly collapsed further into his sire’s hold. “Shh, you don’t hate me, love. Not me.”

He hummed, agreeing. Fundy didn’t want his sire to leave him. Ever.

“Now, no more sun talk for at least another week, Fundy.”

“Sorry, papa.” He buried his face in his sire’s sweater, attention captured by the color of it. Despite the chill of eternity his sire had blessed him with, he felt a trickle of warmth as he leaned into the sweater. A few seconds later, and he was in his sleeping clothes, his own sweater bright with the color of orange. His sire had used to wear dark brown clothes, but after he had taken Fundy as his son, he had added a splash of color to everything. Now, the castle didn’t look as terrifying as it had before. He was placed down on the bed, but the nervous energy of the night was still in his veins, and he playfully tried to jump off of the bed. His sire easily caught him.

“Fundy, little one, no more playing. You can play tonight, once the moon returns.”

A kiss was pressed to his cheek, and they settled back on the edge of the bed. Fundy’s gaze snapped immediately to his sire’s wrist, his growing hunger suddenly taking over his thoughts.

His sire smiled, “Go on, love. I already had my meal.”

Fundy grinned, and lunged, fangs digging into skin. Despite the coldness of the undead, his sire’s blood remained warm as though it were living. Fundy didn’t think further of it. He was starving.

For what felt like only a short amount of time, his sire’s wrist was pulled away, a gentle hand gripping the back of his head to keep him from following. He whined, but his sire had busied himself with wiping away the blood on Fundy’s face. His sire was very careful about there not being a single drop on Fundy’s clothes, his own clothes, or the bed. After he had calmed from his whining, and the handkerchief had been carefully tucked away, Fundy snapped back, the apologetic haze in his mind lifting once again. He growled, but Wilbur only held onto him.

“I did warn you what happens if you lie to yourself and think that you hate me.”

“Not a lie.” He mumbled, but refused to think of that thought again. His sire only sighed, pressing another kiss to his forehead before settling him back on the bed, tucking him into the fluffy blankets. Fundy couldn’t help but melt a little, happy at the comfort. “Angry at you…”

“I know. I know. But now is the time for sleep.” His sire cuddled closer to him.

“I’m not sleepy.” And he wasn’t. He wasn’t. But his sire smiled down at him, and he began to hum. Energy was zapped from his body, head heavy as he settled down into the pillow. He felt warm, somehow, and he cuddled closer to his dad. His dad held him close, keeping him safe. As sleep tried to claim him, his thoughts turned hateful for just one moment, and then he was falling.

He sighed, content. “I love you, papa.” And then he fell into a peaceful slumber.

#fundy #wilbur soot #vampire au

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

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The Scarred Man and His City of Lights [Chapter 2 of A Fox and His Son (or, The Curious Case of Yogurt Dy)]

Summary of the Story: In which Fundy and Yogurt are just trying to live their lives

But the entire SMP is in chaos and everything goes wrong

While everyone also wonders where the hell did Yogurt come from.

Chapter Notes: Warning for canon divergence. I think you'll understand once you read this chapter.

Anyway, hope you guys like this!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36437299/chapters/91656784

prev / next

“No offense, amigo, but you look like shit.”

“Last I checked, you pay me to look like shit.” Fundy settled down on the leather seat across from Quackity’s desk, his heavy head resting against the soft cushion. “Dream is killing people.”

The duck hybrid paused, the large scar at his eye burning. He swallowed the fear that he felt, embarrassed that he was scared of a man who not one week ago was wallowing pitifully at his feet. Quackity leaned against his own chair, tapping at the table absentmindedly. “Go on.”

“Last night, I woke up in some… house? I don’t know, I’ve never seen it before. There were four men, I couldn’t see them clearly but I know one of them was Dream. They were shadows, really, not men, but one shadow had Dream’s mask.” He watched the fox hybrid lick his lips, cracked and bloody after a night of nightmares. Fundy had hunched over, hands wringing together in between his knees. “The world kept… changing. Flashes of light, one moment there would be four people, and then there would be two, and then there would be four again. The whole time they were screaming and the scent of blood was everywhere… And… they were dying and…”

“The floor. Y-you know it was wood. It was wood, and I didn’t even fucking notice it change. The screams were all I could focus on… I didn’t even notice I was drowning.” Fundy rubbed a hand across his face, dark bags underneath his eyes. He would feel guilty, but he’d paid Fundy for these dreams. Surely Fundy would say it if he didn’t want to do it. He rolled his eyes at his own conflicted conscience. Now wasn’t the time to wonder if it was wrong. They had a fucking city to run and Fundy was only doing his job, like how Quackity was doing his. Gods know they were short-staffed right now, with Guy… He blocked out his mind, focusing on Fundy. “The blood was everywhere, Quackity. It swallowed up the whole world, and then I was awake again.”

“Fundy, I don’t know what any of that means, man. You’re going to have to explain… calmly.” It was more for Fundy’s sake than his own, Quackity knows that. He knew exactly what the dream meant, what exactly Dream was doing. The fucker didn’t learn shit during his imprisonment. Bitter guilt climbed inside his chest. Two people died because they couldn’t keep Dream inside, because Dream couldn’t learn his fucking lesson. Once Dream was in prison again, he’ll kill h—

“He killed them just to revive them again, didn’t he?” The fox hybrid fidgeted in his seat, eyes flicking to the window as though Dream would be standing right outside. Quackity looked at where Fundy was staring, almost willing Dream to show up, to appear in his city. He wanted to teach him a lesson. If Dream thinks that prison was the only thing giving Quackity power over him, then he’d be mistaken. There was nothing outside, fucking obviously. He tore his gaze away, turning to look at Fundy instead. The fox hybrid didn’t notice, gaze frozen at nothing. Fundy lived far away from Las Nevadas, but Quackity knew that in the span of a few days, he’d be seeing the fox hybrid more often in the city. They didn’t know who died, and nobody had reported anyone missing yet. It was dangerous to be living alone, unprotected in the woods. He smirked a little bit. Dream’s escape did have a benefit. More people would flock to Las Nevadas.

“You don’t know who these people are?”

“No, I only knew one of them was Dream. The others were blurs.” The tricky thing about Fundy’s dreams was that it hadn’t happened yet. Those people weren’t dead yet. Dream wasn’t killing yet. But what the fuck could they do? Fundy didn’t know who was dying, and it wasn’t like they could help anyone who lived outside Las Nevadas. These people were fucked by fate. Quackity pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He knows Dream wouldn’t kill anyone who lived within Las Nevadas so soon. “We have to do something. Send Sam to warn people?”

“If someone doesn’t know that Dream is out of prison then it’s their fucking fault if they’re unprepared for any of his attacks.” Everyone had heard the sirens. They had rung out for the entire night. How could anyone not know? How could anyone not lock their doors in fear?

“What happened that night, Quackity? What the fuck happened?” He watched Fundy run a hand through his hair, those streaks of white hair sending a flurry of bitter anger in his chest. Quackity liked Fundy. He was resourceful, and he listened, and he was useful. But he looked too much like Wilbur for Quackity to be comfortable around him. He pushed down his cold fury, knowing that he had nothing to be angry about. Especially not when Fundy was asking him that question. “I didn’t have a single dream that night, Quackity… I… I don’t know how I slept through all that.”

Because you didn’t. The thought crossed Quackity’s mind, but he kept it to himself. He’d paid Fundy that night for a dream, and… they all got it, literally. Whatever the fuck happened to Fundy that night, it wasn’t Quackity’s business. He sat back up, hands reaching towards the papers on his desk. He picked them up, aligning them with a clear thump against the wood. A clear sign to the fox hybrid that their little meeting was officially over. “You should move closer. No one can protect you out in the wilderness. Think about Yogurt. Think about yourself, Fundy.”

“We’ll be fine.” He doesn’t like that tone, that arrogant and dismissive tone that reminds him too much of someone else. Fundy’s eyes had hardened, hands clenched in his lap. It wasn’t the first time that he’d spoken to Fundy about moving closer to Las Nevadas, and he had nearly convinced Fundy, but he had chosen to stay in the cabin that Quackity had found him in so many months ago. He knew there was an unfinished yacht somewhere at Las Nevadas’ docks. He didn’t fucking know why Fundy wasn’t moving in with his son. He glanced down at his papers, ignoring Fundy who was standing up. He had thought with Dream out of prison, the fox hybrid would be eager to move in, but he didn’t look like he cared at all. He didn’t know why Fundy felt that he was above this, or maybe he was just too tired to care. And that’s why Quackity had to care for him. Fundy moved to leave the office, and Quackity watched him every step of the way.

—

“Hello, Quackity. Care for some company?”

“Are you giving me a choice or is this another hostage situation?” He rolled his eyes, the bench creaking underneath Wilbur’s weight as he draped himself along 3/4ths of the seat. He glanced towards the direction of one of the buildings, willing Foolish to appear and scare off Wilbur with the warning of an oncoming storm. But as fucking as usual, nobody has come to help him, leaving him alone with this fucker. Wilbur had a pack of cigarettes in his hand, eyes darting to Quackity’s hand as though a lighter would appear in his hold. He grumbled, reaching for the inside of his jacket. If he got Wilbur his fix, maybe the man would leave him. “Buy your own damn lighter, else you’ll owe me a lot of cash. And I don’t leave debts unpaid, Wilbur Soot.”

“It’s a bribe.” Indignation rose in him as Wilbur tossed the packet towards him, watching as Quackity fumbled to catch it. He didn’t use cigarettes. He glanced down at the box, disgusted, but he placed it inside one of his pockets anyway. Quackity didn’t take bribes, but he took payment. He leaned back against the bench, ignoring the heat of Wilbur’s arm behind his head. The man clearly wanted something from him. “Fundy works for you. I heard he has a son now.”

“You should talk to him yourself.”

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.” If Fundy had been there, Wilbur would have gotten his face punched. Quackity couldn’t care less, but he rolled his eyes anyway. Who the fuck knew what Wilbur was planning? Fundy was just another card in his hand for him, like everyone else. Quackity, however, refused to be played. “He won’t come to see me… I want information. Y-you know, a grandfather should know about his grandson. A father should know about his son…”

The last part was whispered, but he ignored it. He straightened, his right leg resting on the top of his knee. Maybe Wilbur had no information because he wasn’t approaching Fundy himself, but their family drama was not Quackity’s. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if he talked about it, and Wilbur didn’t even know where Fundy lived. He buried his anger, putting on a playful smirk. “Wilbur, Wilbur, do you think one box of cigarettes is going to be enough? You’re asking for information about one of my most trusted employees. I have to ask, what are you getting out of this, hm?”

“Can’t a man know how his son is doing?” There was a dangerous tone in Wilbur’s voice, a reminder of the man he used to be. “I want to hear about Fundy, and my grandson, Big Q. Now.”

“You know what, Wilbur Soot? Fuck you and fuck your cigarettes. I don’t fucking need you right now. H-have you not been around these past couple of days? Do you know what the fuck just happened a few nights ago? Dream is out of prison, and I have to keep Las Nevadas up and running for the influx of people that are going to come here while at the same time I have to deal with that shitty green teletubby who definitely wants me dead!” He stood up, hands fumbling around in his pockets until he found the cigarette. He didn’t care that his fingers looked like they were shaking, he tossed the pack right at Wilbur’s face. “Get the fuck out of my city, Wilbur!”

“Aww, Quackity, don’t run away. It was just a harmless demand.” He hadn’t even realized but he was walking away, Wilbur hot in his heels. The man was directly behind him, then there was a hand around his arm, holding him still. His feet couldn’t move, Wilbur’s presence somehow rendering them useless. He gritted his teeth, wings fluttering behind him nervously despite himself. Quackity waited for Wilbur to let him go, but then a hand reached out towards his feathers, petting them gently, and he fucking lost it. He spun around, free arm slamming into Wilbur’s chest, shocking him enough that he let go of Quackity’s arm. He pushed Wilbur on the shoulder, the man falling gracelessly to the ground. Quackity’s boot on his chest kept him still.

The moment he leaned down to whisper threats in Wilbur’s ear, Foolish and Fundy appeared from the casino, both of them mid-conversation when they stumbled upon the scene. Wilbur’s smirk disappeared, face pale when his eyes met Fundy’s. The fox hybrid’s face was as pale, but slowly his face began to redden with anger or embarrassment, Quackity wasn’t sure. They were all frozen to the spot. Quackity, unsure whether he should continue his threats or if he should step back. Wilbur, fumbling with words that never formed into a coherent sentence. Foolish, whose eyes were wide and focused on Fundy. Fundy, who looked like he was on the verge of tears or on the verge of an angry breakdown. When Fundy let out a low confused whine, Foolish finally sprang into action, his trident appearing in his hand. Quackity quickly stepped off Wilbur.

“Get him out of here.” Foolish nodded, pulling Wilbur by his arm before heading towards the exit. Wilbur didn’t fight. He watched as they disappeared around the corner, eyes flicking to Fundy. The fox hybrid’s face had completely shut down, his gold-flecked brown eyes half-lidded. He met Quackity’s gaze, before turning to leave, muttering something about needing a drink.

—

“Want give back! Not Yogi’s!”

It would have been a cute sight if Quackity hadn’t had his night ruined by Wilbur. He stumbled closer to the Warden’s outpost, gaze slightly softening as he took in the arctic fox hybrid holding out a… chicken plushie. He swallowed down his nervousness, stepping closer to the two. Sam had crouched down, gently pushing the plushie towards Yogurt, his words whispered that Quackity couldn’t hear it from his distance. The arctic fox hybrid looked upset, shaking his head again and again as Sam kept pushing the plushie. After a few seconds, Yogurt had enough and had thrown the plushie at Sam’s head, the chicken hanging on one of the points of the creeper hybrid’s crown. Quackity laughed, loud enough that the two quickly stopped their fighting. He went closer, plucking the plushie with his thumb and forefinger. “Arguing with a child, Sam?”

His tone was light, but his eyes glinted with the harsh glare of the sunset as he kneeled down next to Yogurt, pressing the plushie to the kit’s arms without further argument. The child pouted, glancing at the two of them with wide icy blue eyes. He reached out, patting the fox hybrid’s head, scratching behind the kit’s ears. It reminded him of two things. One, when Fundy had been a kit himself and Quackity was just a naive duck who’d looked like he had just learned how to fly. His wings fluttered at the old memory of meeting President Wilbur Soot and his son for the first time. Of course, that was a long time ago, and his pinioned wings had long since forgotten the feeling of the wind against its feathers. Two, if he didn’t know where Yogurt had come from, he would have thought that he had his great grandfather’s eyes. Icy, yet filled with warmth. He pulled himself away, standing up abruptly, his shadow towering easily over Yogurt’s small frame.

“Your dad’s waiting for you, pequeño copo de nieve.” He patted Yogurt on the head once again, keeping his eyes focused on those icy blue eyes. Quackity didn’t want to look at the plushie for another minute. He turned to talk to Sam, expecting Yogurt - innocent and obedient Yogurt - to quickly dart away now that the adults were talking, but he felt a tug at his finger. He pushed down his irritation and gave Yogurt a tense smile. “Yogurt, I have to talk to Uncle Sam, please.”

“Give back! It’s Chicky! Give back to MicMic!” At that, Quackity tossed Sam another heated glare. This time, the Warden met his gaze head on, refusing to apologize for what clearly was his mistake. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, feathers ruffling behind him. He sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t want to scare Yogurt. He was just a kit who was on the precipice of a cliff, and Quackity had no intention of pushing him off. He dropped his hand from his face, kneeling back down and taking the soft plushie from Yogurt’s hands. The kit wagged his tail, a smile blooming across his face. His heart twinged with guilt. Yogurt didn’t deserve to be in the middle of this. But Sam fucked it up for the both of them. “Take back to MicMic… plea…se?”

“It’s yours now, pequeño. He wanted you to have it.” The lie tasted wrong across his tongue, but what else could he do but fix Sam’s mistake? He kept his smile on his face, pressing rough fingers through the soft yet dirty cloth of the plushie. It was clearly loved, and he understood why Sam had given it to Yogurt. In case of… something going wrong, at least someone should benefit from what was left behind. Yogurt’s eyes narrowed, his tail bristling. With him being so young, his fox instincts hadn’t been tamed with years of humanity. He could sense the lie, but he wouldn’t be able to understand. Fundy had to shed his fox instincts at a young age, like everyone else in the L’Manburg army. Tubbo had told him that once when Schlatt was passed out drunk and they had gotten the chance to actually talk to each other. The thought of Tubbo made him freeze, and he quickly shoved the plushie towards Yogurt. “He doesn’t need it anymore, Yogurt.”

“But MicMic loves Chicky!” Yogurt clutched plushie closer, pouting. His eyes had flicked to the ground, not because he was upset but because he was thinking. He knew there was something wrong, but he didn’t know what. Quackity could only let out a sigh of relief that Fundy hadn’t come with him to the prison. He had gone back to the casino, downing what Quackity could only hope was one drink. The walk to their cabin was too far, and he didn’t trust a drunk Fundy to walk back with Yogurt to their home. That would mean he’d have to drag Fundy home himself, and that was a waste of his precious time. “Pwomise? MicMic said Yogi can have Chicky?”

“I promise.” He stood up, dusting his pants with his hands. Yogurt seemed content with the answer, hugging the chicken plushie with the same amount of love he would give to anyone he hugged. Any previous irritation of having his time with Sam interrupted quickly disappeared. Yogurt was a kit, an innocent that Quackity wanted to protect. He just wanted to protect them.

He’d already lost Guy…

“Now hurry along, pequeño copo de nieve. We wouldn’t want your dad to worry about you, and I have to talk to Uncle Sam about something important, okay?” Yogurt nodded, moving before Quackity could back away. The kit latched onto his leg, his way of hugging him before letting go. He chuckled, running a hand across white curls. Somehow, the sight of them didn’t make him sick with the thought of Wilbur. He leaned down, mouth close to Yogurt’s ear. “If your dad asks where you got the plushie, or if anyone else asks, don’t tell them, okay? MicMic might not want people finding out he gave away Chicky. It’ll be our, you, me, and Uncle Sam’s, secret. Okay?”

—

“Did you have fun at Sam’s, Yogurt?”

He felt the kit nod, little feet kicking up slightly. Fundy chuckled, keeping a gentle grip on his son as he carried him on his shoulders. His feet were unbalanced, his walk too slow that the sun had officially dipped in the horizon and they were walking home with only the candlelight of the lantern guiding them. If it weren’t for the tiny bit of alcohol in his system, he might have been terrified of walking in the woods at night, but as it was, it was fine. He was fine. They were fine.

“What did you and Uncle Sam do?”

“Nothing!” He furrowed his brows at that, raising his eyes to Yogurt who was too busy playing with the chicken plushie. It was nice of Sam to give him that… “Uncle Sam too busy to play.”

“Oh… Would you like to play with Foolish Jr. and Finley tomorrow?” When he’d asked Sam to babysit Yogurt for him, the creeper hybrid hadn’t minded… but… maybe Fundy had missed an undertone of disagreement? With Dream free, Sam probably had his hands full. Shit, how could he have not noticed? Sam must be angry… “I’ll call Uncle Foolish later and arrange a playdate.”

“Hmmmm, no!” Yogurt rested his head on Fundy’s head, pressing his cheek to ginger curls, little ears flicking up with each noise that came from somewhere among the trees. Now that he’d been told about Sam being busy, the haze in his mind was beginning to rise. He shouldn’t have tried to walk home when he was drunk. His hands would be too shaky to hold a sword, and what would he do if they got surrounded? Fundy paused, panic rising as his eyes took in the darkness that surrounded them. Despite the start of night… the forest was eerily calm. “Want Uncle Sam!”

Fundy nodded along, keeping one hand on Yogurt’s left knee as he placed down the lantern on the grass. The lantern was not necessary really, not with his and Yogurt’s fox eyes, but it kept the monsters away. With his free hand, he reached inside his jacket for his communicator. They were deep into the forest, enough so that he couldn’t see the twinkling lights of Las Nevadas anymore, and he grumbled to himself that for a city that wanted so much attention, nobody could fucking see it in the wilderness. He grabbed at metal, pulling the comms from his pocket before sending a quick message to Foolish. He doubted Quackity would see his message until it was too late, not with the man too busy watching the patrons of what was, no doubt, a fully packed casino tonight. Sam might be too mad at him to respond, what with Fundy leaving Yogurt with him for an entire fucking day, and if he so much as sniffed the alcohol on Fundy’s breath, he would be furious.

As he waited for a response, he cautiously turned his gaze to the forest. Dark as it was, he could see the moving shadows of the monsters. If he narrowed his eyes, he could see the small pinpricks of glowing eyes staring back at him from the gloom, though he couldn’t tell if those were the eyes of monsters of the forest critters coming to investigate the two foc hybrids. His ears raised, and he could hear the groans and hisses they made, most of them kept at bay by the light of the lantern. His panic subsided. Still, he shouldn’t try to walk the rest of the way home.

The comms buzzed as Foolish replied, ‘Will be there soon.’

He breathed a sigh of relief, sending a quick message of thanks before shoving the comms back inside his pocket. Fundy leaned down to pick up the lantern, Yogurt giggling at the tilt, gripping tightly to Fundy’s ears. He winced, for a moment, his hearing had turned muffled at the action.

“I thought Uncle Sam was busy?” He gently reached up to pry Yogurt’s hands off of his ears, the kit releasing them when Fundy tapped him with a finger. “I don’t want you to be lonely all day.”

“Yogi don’ wan’ MicMic to be lonely too!” He didn’t have time to process his kit’s words, a more pressing matter taking up his full attention. The forest was deathly silent. The groans and hisses of stalking mobs had given way to nothing. The critters of the night didn’t make a single noise. All he could hear now was his quickening breath of panic. He gestured wildly with his lantern, swinging it around them, but all he could see were trees and shrubbery. No strange or humanoid shadows. No glowing eyes. Nothing. Yogurt must have sensed his growing fear because the kit had wrapped his arms around Fundy’s head, his little body trembling. “Papa?”

Slowly, he reached up to grab Yogurt, keeping the kit in his arms. His son buried his face in his chest, little claws gripping at the cloth and biting into his skin. Fundy took a step back, and as he did, the lantern light caught something moving through the treeline. A tall shadow emerged from the undergrowth, and as it got closer, he could smell the stench of undead blood and creeper dust.

The loud snap of a branch finally broke him out of his frozen fear. He tightened his hold on Yogurt, and turned to flee. As he did so, he heard the figure give chase. Yogurt started to scream.

Fundy didn’t stop running, not even as the lantern slipped from his hands. He ran and ran, the ghost of a hand reaching for the back of his jacket—

The light of Las Nevadas left him gasping out a sigh of relief, and as he slammed right into Foolish, the god jumping back in surprise, he collapsed onto the ground. His hold on Yogurt never wavering.

He glanced back, and he and Foolish watched as the shadow disappeared back into the forest.

=============================================================

Canon divergence because I am pretty sure c!Sam is about to get murdered at the next lore stream and I'm pretty sure that c!Quackity isn't aware of what c!Sam is doing. Also sorry, Quackity is probably gonna be a villain here...

Also, imagine you haven't seen your newly revived dad and your first meeting with him involves seeing him and your boss in a comprising position. Yeah, I'd get drunk too tbh /j

Also just a disclaimer, this isn't me shipping Quackity and Wilbur (mostly cause I am not sure if Quackity doesn't like shipping, and if I check the boundary list it states he doesn't like to read shipping fanfic so I imagine he is uncomfortable with shipping in general, so I will respect that and I won't write Quackity ships even if they are technically "canon," yes even Karlnapity because of the boundary specified). The whole scenario is just cause... I don't know it seems to be their dynamic from what Tumblr has taught me, but I am not writing it here as a ship.

Also... 👉👈 I fucked up the geography and made the prison much closer to Las Nevadas because I am a FOOL and I don't know where the prison is and where Las Nevadas is so now this is the geography of this fanfic because I FORGOT. (And I checked once I finished the chapter, and yes the prison is like so far away. F U C K.) But yeah, moving the prison so it's closer to Las Nevadas instead of Snowchester cause let's give Tubbo a break). And yes, I promise to now look at the dsmp map (because ngl, I think the reason I thought the prison was near Las Nevadas was cause I thought Snowchester was near Las Nevadas even though there is a body of water and Eret's pyramid in between them.

#fundy #quackity #wilbur soot #foolish #yogurt dy #awesamdude #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

Text

The Carriage (Chapter II of Curse of Blood)

Jonah only cared about his plants and his work.

When his boss sends him to a remote village to investigate a string of disappearances, he finds himself within the castle that looms over the village and with hosts that seem too odd to be of this world.

The closer he gets to discovering the truth, the more he wishes he’d never left home in the first place.

He might not get out of this alive.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34783219/chapters/90975223

TW: This fic will contain future violence, blood, vampires, and is generally darker and more horror-eque.

Chapter 1

=============================================================

Just an explanation beforehand:

Yes, I am starting a Vampire AU story because I cannot control myself. Also, a reminder that this about the characters and not real life people.

Also

Jonah = Fundy

You’ll understand soon.

“You must hate this weather, huh?”

He glanced down at Yogurt, pretending that one of the leaves moved in some sort of nod.

Jonah shook his head, placing the plant beside him on the rusting metal bench. He eyed the abandoned station, throat clogging at the thought of being stuck here overnight. When he’d given his train ticket to the conductor, the man had given him a perplexed look, even going so far as to ask why he wanted to be dropped off at the last station. Jonah had shown him his work I.D., the golden letters that spelled out ‘Las Nevadas Times’ were enough to let the conductor know why. He’d stared out the windows for the rest of the train ride, taking in the slow transition from tall city skyscrapers to large oak trees. The large oak trees had then given way to large rolling fields of wheat and corn. The fields then turned into cold snow, the windows turning white with frost.

When he’d gotten to the last station, he had had half the mind to go back inside the train.

The station was in a state of disrepair, the wooden platform caked with snow and ice. Some pieces of wood had rotted off, leaving small dark chasms in their wake. Jonah had been careful with his steps, gripping his luggage, almost like the ground would give way beneath their weight.

The train had left without him. The doors had seemed to take a while to close, but as Jonah stayed where he was, they finally slid close and the train turned to leave him at the empty station.

At least he wasn’t alone. He had Yogurt.

“You don’t think it’s a scam, do you?” He murmured underneath his breath, white smoke flitting past his lips. Jonah shivered, pulling his scarf closer to his neck. Quackity had winced when they’d said goodbye at the station, his boss seeing him off. Jonah hadn’t bothered to bring any warm clothing with him, thinking that his black leather jacket would be enough to ward the cold. That was a big mistake. He wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering, the noise echoing in his ears. He glanced over at Yogurt, worried that his little plant wouldn’t survive this harsh cold. Maybe he should have left Yogurt at home… “Sorry, little guy. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Jonah sighed, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He gently held the potted plant in his hands, pressing it close to his chest as though he could share his body heat with it. He must look ridiculous now. He groaned, leaning his head against the back of the bench. The roof of the station must have rotted away, giving him an excellent view of the mountains. They were as treacherous as he’d been told, jagged black rocks slicing through the white veils of fog and snow. Faintly, he could see the outline of a castle spire across the gray sky, disappearing quickly behind the mists. The village must be close to it. An excitement bubbled in his chest, fingers trembling, but not from the cold. He had wanted to see a castle before. He silently thanked Quackity in his head, happy to know that this assignment had its perks. Maybe he could even enter the castle…

The sharp whinny of horses broke through his thoughts. He jumped from his seat, eyes narrowing towards the only opening he could see that led into the mountain. A dark silhouette was emerging from the corner, darting quickly past the rocks and trees. The sound of jangling metal reached his ears, accompanied by the huff of two horses that seemed to know where they were going. He could see that someone was holding onto the reins, a tall figure who wore a red cloak that hid their face. Jonah swallowed down his fear. Maybe this was his transportation?

“What do you think, Yogurt? Think we’ll get out of this alive?”

The plant didn’t answer him. Jonah looked up, watching the carriage grow closer until it was at the bottom of the wooden platform, hooves banging against the metal railway. He wrinkled his nose, staring down at the nearly gothic carriage ride, if it weren’t for traces of gold and blue, he would have assumed that his host had a penchant for all things dark and mysterious. He gripped the handle of his luggage, taking a deep breath before ascending the steps. He clutched Yogurt’s pot, carefully stepping on the creaking stairs, worried that they’d snap once he fully stepped on them. The process was slow. He wanted to take his time, he didn’t want to accidentally drop his luggage, or worse, Yogurt. Much to his surprise, “Hey! I don’t have fucking time to wait here!”

He startled, foot nearly slipping against a patch of ice. He looked over at the coachman, sky blue eyes meeting his own. The coachman had short blonde hair, and his face was twisted in irritation. He quickly walked down the stairs, his luggage banging against the wooden steps behind him.

Jonah moved towards the carriage, standing by the door but hesitating to open it. The window was blocked off by a thick velvet curtain, and from the small glimpses he could see each time the curtains billowed from the wind, the inside looked as dark as the black paint of the carriage. He gave the coachman a narrowed look. He looked younger than Jonah would have expected. After a few seconds, Jonah came to the conclusion that the coachman was actually a teenager. If it weren’t for the simple garb that he wore, Jonah would have worried about the red velvet cloak that the coachman was wearing. It looked expensive, probably something he couldn’t afford no matter how much he earned from writing articles everyday. The teenager sneered at him, gesturing to the carriage with a wave of his hand. “You open the door, then you enter it. Simple.”

“I know how carriages work.” He snapped back, regretting it when a dark look crossed the teenager’s eyes. The air felt heavier, the previous silence distorting until he was sure that his ears were ringing. He blinked, but it was the same as it had been before. The coachman was glaring down at him, still gesturing towards the carriage. Jonah took a deep breath, before heading inside, carrying his luggage in before he could enter. As soon as he was inside the space, he closed the door, the latch clicking into place. He settled on the back of the carriage, his luggage by his feet. There was a small window that would allow him to see the coachman, but no matter how hard he tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge. He heard the teenager snicker, hearing him struggle with the window. Jonah chose not to comment. He grumbled, settling into his seat just as he felt the world move around him. The horses’ gave out a loud neigh, and then they were off.

Jonah clutched the sides of the carriage, shrieking as his head nearly hit the back of the chair. This time, the teenager let out a sharp laugh, loud and piercing. He had wanted to scream for him to slow down, but from their brief conversation, he knew he’d only incite him to go faster. Jonah settled on one corner of the carriage, clinging to the seats as he reached for the curtain. It was billowing in the wind, but he couldn’t pull the curtain to one side, the cloth somehow bolted.

“You’re the reporter Phil found, right?” He stopped trying to pull at the curtain, turning his attention to the closed window. Jonah wondered what to reply. This Phil person must be Quackity’s friend from the village, but had Quackity told Phil about him? He’d been given the assignment but Jonah hadn’t been introduced to Phil and Quackity couldn’t have told Phil about him. He still found it weird how Quackity had a friend in a remote village, but… the man had his ways of getting all sorts of connections. It was scary sometimes. “Did you knock yourself out?”

“No—! Uh, yes! No! Ah, fuck. Yes, I’m the reporter and no, I did not knock myself out!”

“Well, you’re the shittiest reporter I’ve ever met! I’ve been up and down the mountains for fucking days now—” Jonah rolled his eyes, tuning out the teenager’s rant. Quackity had given him the exact date of when he was expected to arrive. He remembered the date. He did! Jonah cared a lot for his job to actually remember, so the teenager’s angry words meant nothing to him. Thinking about it, he was kind of glad that he couldn’t see the back of the coachman's head.

“What’s your name?” He pulled out a small notepad from his pants pocket, hoping that the question would stop the teenager. Much to his relief, there was a small bit of silence. He took the moment to write the small details. He’d arrived at the station after lunch, the carriage arrived an hour after he’d arrived, and the coachman was a young blonde teenager with sky blue eyes.

“Tommy. Tommy Innit.” He wrote down the name, staring at it for a second. He swore that the name was familiar, or maybe it wasn’t. Jonah drew a small line between the word ‘coachman’ and Tommy’s name. He opened his mouth to ask Tommy about the disappearances, but the teenager was already speaking again, “Phil said you’re here to investigate the disappearances… pssh, yeah right you will… Also, I am not sharing my room with you no matter what Phil says!”

“I… Are you Phil’s son?” He heard a scoff, followed by a sharp chuckle. Jonah thought about it, and it did make sense. From the accounts, a lot of families have lost their children to… whatever it was that was skulking about in that village. It would make sense why Phil requested Quackity to send a journalist to document the events. Tommy could be next. Tommy was probably next.

“Phil is an old man.”

“So, is he your grandfather then?” That made Tommy laugh, and Jonah took a bit of pride in knowing that he’d made the teenager less tense and angry. Though, he had a feeling that Tommy wasn’t always so… loud. He hoped he wasn’t. If he was going to stay with Phil and Tommy the entire time, he didn’t want to share a room with someone who screams constantly. His neighbors back home were noisy enough as it is. “How long until we reach the village? Is the path safe?”

“Is the path safe?” Tommy mocked, the carriage rattling as a wheel struck a random rock.

“Yet you drive this thing like a black hole is chasing after you.” Jonah felt the back of his head hit the back of the carriage. He grumbled, rubbing the sore spot with one hand. He’d seen reckless drivers but this was a bit too much. His hand reached for the curtain, lifting the velvet cloth for the briefest of moments. The snow was picking up outside, and he grew worried as the wintery landscape continued to be drowned out by the white haze of an approaching blizzard. His jacket would not be able to keep him warm at all. “How long until we reach your village?”

“We’ll get there a little bit past nightfall, maybe. Hope you like potato soup for dinner… and breakfast… and lunch…” There was a shudder in Tommy’s voice, disgust lacing his words. Jonah had no idea, but it felt like Tommy did not like potatoes at all. He wrote that down on the notepad, as just a small note to remember for himself. He leaned back against his seat, head resting on the soft cloth. For a remote village, the carriage felt like it was… sophisticated. Maybe they had been wrong? Maybe the village wasn’t an isolated one but one of those ancient-royal-tourist attracting places. “My brother insists on the stuff, it’s shit if you ask me—”

Tommy continued to ramble about his hatred for potato soup, not that Jonah was listening.

Instead, he thought of the case that was in front of him. Missing children. An isolated village. A helpless plea from a stranger. He’d seen a lot of crime stories where it felt like they couldn’t possibly be reality, but this one took the cake. Jonah felt his eyes flutter close the more he thought about it, and soon, he fell asleep to the rumble of the carriage and the falling of the snow.

—

It must be a dream.

It was the only explanation for what he saw, or perhaps his sleepless nights of before had finally taken over his mind. Jonah was lying on the carriage seat, a fluffy blanket draped over him, the cloth soft against his cheek. His notepad had fallen to the floor, the pen on the other side of the carriage, having probably rolled away during the trip. He let out a muffled yawn, eyes hazy with sleep and mind still muddled with dreams. The velvet curtains were billowing in the wind, the howl of the blizzard seeping into the carriage and drowning out the thoughts in his sleepy head.

His eyes fluttered close, but the next howl of wind woke him once again. His eyes opened, and through the small gap between the window and the curtain, he saw them. Pools of darkness stared at him from the snowy landscape as large shadows darted in and out of his view. Another howl ripped through the land, the carriage shuddering underneath its fury. Jonah’s throat dried, his eyes impossibly wide as he pressed himself further against the seat of the carriage. Wolves.

It was only then that he’d realized that the carriage wasn’t moving. It was still and dark. He could not hear Tommy, no screams and no cries. Utter silence. His mind raced with the possibilities. Two thoughts. Tommy had seen the wolves and decided better Jonah than him, and had left him to die in exchange for his own life. Or well, Tommy was… But Jonah would have heard the screams, wouldn’t he? He took a deep breath, pulling himself to a sit before reaching a hand out to the door. The handle was cold against his fingers, and as he tried to push the carriage door open, he felt it budge… before stopping. He knitted his eyebrows together, pushing against the door again. It didn’t budge this time. He put his whole weight into it. The door didn’t open.

“Tommy? Are you out there?” He knocked at the door, but it remained unmoving. Jonah pushed, but it felt like he was moving a mountain. He peeked out of the small carriage window again, but he could only see the moving shadows against the white backdrop of snow. The roaring of the blizzard blocked out any noise, even if Tommy had left to fight off the wolves and was injured somewhere, he wouldn’t be able to hear him. He kicked at the door, hoping that the wood would splinter. The carriage didn’t even shudder. He took a deep breath, praying to the gods as he pulled the curtains up again. He slid his arm out of the carriage, the cold biting into his skin as he desperately tried to reach for the door handle. “Tommy! Where the fuck are you, man? Tommy!”

As his fingers brushed against the cool silver of the handle, a sharp pain bloomed in his arm, flowing down to his shoulders and then to his head. He tried to pull his hand away, but a heavy weight had settled on his arm, crushing it against the side of the carriage. His fingers grew numb, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold. Sharp claws dug into his forearm, keeping him from trashing against what he now knew were teeth biting into his flesh. His head grew fuzzy, throat dry, and only then did he realize he’d been screaming himself raw. The billowing blizzard outside grew dim, the world turning into a haze of shadow. Jonah closed his eyes, readying himself for the inevitable flash of agony. It was going to rip his arm out of his socket. He was going to bleed out in a carriage in the middle of nowhere… Somehow, that didn’t seem so bad—

He had lived a good life anyway.

He didn’t know when his knees gave up, but then the weight against his arm disappeared, and the pain turned into a cotton-soft numbness. Jonah slumped against the door, his arm sliding back inside. It was dark and sticky, drenched in liquid that seeped into the sleeves of his coat. His mind was hazy, as he tried to pull himself to consciousness, it almost felt like he was swimming through a whirlpool. His head felt heavy, then it was resting on the floor. His numb arm was tucked close to his chest, staining his shirt even more.

Despite the lull of unconsciousness that was pulling him under, Jonah moved his arm closer to his face. It was intact, and the blood only came from near his elbow. His eyes narrowed, controlling himself from fully shutting them as he looked over at the injury. There was a long gash that started from two small pinpricks, like something had bit him and dragged its teeth through his flesh. It should hurt, but he couldn’t feel anything but the heaviness in his arm. Jonah whimpered, looking away and turning to the window.

It was billowing in the air, but no snow entered the carriage. Jonah pulled himself to a sit, resting his uninjured arm against the door. He took a moment to breathe, stilling when the earth beneath him started to tremble. With as much energy as he could muster, he pulled himself to stand, peering out the window. The wolves had gotten closer, but he couldn’t hear their growls. Their eyes glinted with the warm glow of lantern light, and as Jonah looked closely, he saw a dark cloaked figure standing in front of the wolves.

The stranger held a large wooden staff in their hand, a small lantern hanging by its curved end. It swung with the wind, illuminating the pack of wolves. The wolves snarled at the figure, but they only moved forward, a hand outstretched in front of them. His throat clogged, unsure if he should call out or scream in fear. Death didn’t scare him, but he never liked seeing someone die in front of him. He tapped his knuckle against the wood of the carriage, but the stranger didn’t glance over at him. Then suddenly, the wind was gone, and there was complete and utter silence.

He didn’t know what happened next. One moment he was staring out at the stranger, dread growing in his gut when a wolf leaped into the air, teeth glinting underneath yellow light. Jonah might have thought he had let out a panicked shriek, he didn’t know. The silence had turned into a deafening roar, like the mountains had remembered to scream. His ears were painfully ringing.

Jonah didn’t know if he had fainted, but then he was on the ground, blinking up at the ceiling of the carriage. The ground was shaking, and suddenly he remembered where they were. If not the wolves, his death would be because he’d been buried by an avalanche. Fear spiked in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to suffocate to death. He tried to move, but his body was crumpled to the ground, exhaustion seeping deeper into his bones. Maybe… Maybe if he closed his eyes…

“I’m back! I remembered the old man told me to get firewood… Are you still asleep?” The door to the carriage opened, and he could see Tommy standing over him. He thought of his arm, of the wolves, and of the stranger that had… What happened to them? He moved his head, eyes blearily gazing at Tommy who stared at him with an emotionless look. He didn’t have any firewood in his arms, and Jonah could have sworn that he didn’t feel the carriage rattle with the extra weight. He gripped at the ground, hoping that Tommy would help him up, or better yet, get them the fuck out of there before the avalanche came and killed them both. Yet, the longer he stared at Tommy, the more annoyed he looked. He felt something settle over him, the blanket. The door slammed close, and he heard Tommy’s footsteps trail away. “God— shit, fuck that hurt. Damn fuckers—”

The carriage shook as Tommy got on again, and his cursing died down once he was seated. Jonah clawed at the ground, tearing the blanket off of him. He rarely ever listened to his self-preservation instincts, but now they were screaming, a cacophony of muted screams and the growls of wolves no longer there. Tommy didn’t stop for firewood, why the fuck would he? Why right now? And why the fuck would he stop here when there were clearly wolves in the forest?

He reached up, clinging to the handle of the door. This time, there was no weight against the door. It budged against him, but it didn’t open. He blinked, and the ground was jolting beneath him. The horses whinnied, and the carriage shook again before taking off. To his surprise, Tommy was keeping the carriage’s pace at a snail’s crawl. Guilt bubbled up in his chest. Maybe he had been too judgmental. Maybe this was where the village got their firewood and… maybe they weren’t afraid of wolves. He swallowed down the fear and ignored his instincts. Tommy was just a teenager, what did Jonah expect him to do? He probably didn’t even know what to do when someone’s injured. Still, he wished Tommy would quicken the pace, he’ll bleed out if not.

“Tommy… c-can you… can you please move faster?” He groaned out, hoping that his voice could be heard over the horses and the carriage’s wheels. There was no response, not at first, but then the carriage began to move a little faster. Soon enough, they were back at the same pace they had been before Jonah had fallen asleep. His hand clenched around the blanket, and from the little he could see in the darkness, he felt sorry for the bloodstains he would undoubtedly leave on the fabric. It looked like it was freshly made, and it was completely white. He buried his face in it, no longer fighting against sleep. “S-sorry… for the blanket. I… I-I’ll pay you back…”

“Go to sleep, Fundy.” Tommy’s voice sounded close, but that was probably him focusing on it. The warmth of the blanket soothed him, and somehow, he’d never been so comfortable in his life. He sighed, closing his eyes, forgetting dreams of wolves, of blizzards, and of blood. All that mattered was that he was safe, and hopefully someone in the village would be able to fix his arm.

“I-I’m glad the wolves didn’t take you…” He could hear Tommy snort underneath his breath. While sleep slowly claimed his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder about the case he’d been assigned. If he could actually get to the village in one piece, that is. Were the wolves the reason why so many of the village children were missing? But… no… why would Phil send his son to a wolf-infested area to gather firewood… why even send Tommy to pick him up all on his own…

He didn’t know when, but his thoughts had turned to nightmares. Flashes of pain, wolves, and that swinging lantern light going through his mind as he was lost to the haze of a blizzard. He found himself no longer in the carriage, instead he was on the snow, red blossoming underneath him and tainting the pure white snow beneath. He felt cold, unbearably cold. The wind had taken his breath, and he couldn’t feel anything but agony. In the distance, the gloom of a castle loomed over him, a beacon of safety through the mist of snow. Yet, he couldn’t feel his legs, couldn’t feel his hands no matter how hard he tried to move them. As he looked around, he realized the wolves were not moving towards him… they weren’t moving at all. His gaze flicked over to his hands, covered in crimson that was not his own. The pain he felt was from the cold, and his body was merely exhausted after… he didn’t know what he’d done. Suddenly, two shadows loomed above—

“Wake up time, bitch!”

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Also sorry, Yogurt is just a plant here.

#fundy #tommyinnit #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp #georgebur #because they will appear in the future #again I am very sorry but they might not appear for like three more chapters but the remaining ten they're very much part of the story #yogurt dy #I am also sorry because he doesn't really appear here other than being a plan named yogurt #the plant named Yogurt is just very important to Fundy in this story

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

Text

Excuse me, just moving this to the side blog.

Chapter 2

The Job (Chapter I of Curse of Blood)

Jonah only cared about his plants and his work.

The closer he gets to discovering the truth, the more he wishes he’d never left home in the first place.

He might not get out of this alive.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34783219/chapters/86608984

TW: This fic will contain future violence, blood, vampires, and is generally darker and more horror-eque.

=============================================================

Just an explanation beforehand:

Yes, I am starting a Vampire AU story because I cannot control myself. Also, a reminder that this about the characters and not real life people.

Also

Jonah = Fundy

You’ll understand soon

Keep reading

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

Text

Baked Treats and Dangerous Loyalties [Chapter 1 of A Fox and His Son (or, The Curious Case of Yogurt Dy)]

Summary of the Story: In which Fundy and Yogurt are just trying to live their lives

But the entire SMP is in chaos and everything goes wrong

While everyone also wonders where the hell did Yogurt come from.

Chapter Notes: So, just gonna explain it now. This is a story about a prompt that was done in the one-shots book. It was about people finding out about Yogurt being Fundy's son, and they don't know who the other parent is. I just want to say now, while this is tagged as Underage Parenthood, that is not the case.

Fundy adopted Yogurt here, and the underage parenthood is there because everyone assumes that Fundy had a biological child. Yogurt is 5 in the story and Fundy is 21.

For timeline's sake: Fundy was 16 during the Manburg Era (nearing the end) Fundy was 17-18 during the New L'Manburg arc Fundy was 19 when he canonically disappeared for one year Fundy was 20 during the year he spent having the nightmares and being alone in his not-so-secret base And currently, he is 21.

Do not ask about the other characters because heaven knows how old these characters are at this point lmao, and Fundy's age is just confusing idek.

But yeah, hope you guys like this!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36437299/chapters/90853537

“Hi, Fundy! T-This must be Yogurt!”

She watched as Fundy nearly hit his head on the counter. When Quackity had directed her to where Fundy was, his cabin in the woods, she didn’t find him there. Instead, she had wandered the vast city of Las Nevadas until she caught a glimpse of bright orange within the dimly lit Las Nevadas Casino. It was devoid of people, other than Fundy and the little white fluff ball that was sitting on a bar stool, playing with a fish plushie and a fox plushie. Niki was hesitant to enter at first, but she didn’t want to waste the bread and sweets she’d worked so hard to make last night. She sat down next to Yogurt, the small kit’s icy blue eyes staring up at her and then at the basket.

“Niki!” Fundy rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and Niki couldn’t help but wonder why he was even at the casino bar so early in the morning. “Can I get you— No, you’re not here for a drink.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”

“I don’t drink on the job, or in front of…” Fundy gave a glance towards Yogurt, the kit too busy staring at the basket to notice his look. She gave an indifferent hum. Niki didn’t drink, unless Phil or Techno offered during one of their Syndicate meetings, and even then she drank only one glass. To drink more would only remind her of Schlatt. She moved the basket towards Fundy, an olive branch, even if she did still feel bitter about the apology that Fundy owed her. After everything, she couldn’t bring herself to hold a grudge anymore. “Oh, you started baking again?”

“I did. Yeah!” She smiled then, despite herself.

“Is this for me and Yogurt?” Hesitation crossed Fundy’s eyes, even as his hand was poised to grab the handle. The kit turned to Niki, eyes pleading. Even if she intended for the basket to be for someone else, Niki wouldn’t have had the heart to say no to Yogurt. She nodded, feeling weak against the child’s gaze. Almost as soon as she had nodded, the kit reached up to snatch a cookie from the basket, no chocolate because she didn’t want to commit a homicide today. The kit was biting into it by the time Fundy finally spoke again. “Yogurt! What do you say to Niki?”

“Thank you, nice Basket Lady!”

She giggled, running a hand through the child’s fluffy hair. Fundy groaned, putting his head in his hands, but clearly he was trying to hold back a grin. After finishing the cookie, Yogurt’s face was covered in crumbs which she quickly wiped away with her handkerchief. Niki had debated with herself last night, whether she should bring the basket of baked treats to Fundy and Yogurt, but she was glad she decided to do so. It was nice to see Yogurt smiling. It was nice to see any child smiling after recent happenings. Yogurt was reaching once again for a cookie, but Fundy pulled the basket away before the kit could snatch another one. The kit whined, but he didn’t complain as Fundy placed the basket closer towards him. “Thank you, Niki… Thank you.”

“You should let him have another cookie. You… You probably haven’t eaten breakfast.” She didn’t mean to gesture at the bar, but she did. Fundy caught the accusatory look in her eye, but he didn’t flinch away from it. Yogurt hadn’t made a move towards the basket, only complaining when Niki had stopped petting his hair. She scratched behind the kit’s ears, remembering when she used to do it with Fundy. Those were simpler times, when she used to go to sleep with only peace in her mind instead of anger. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, no. This looks shady as fu— I get it.” Fundy spared a glance at the rainbow mixture of bottles behind him. She wasn’t sure of any of their names, but she knew which ones were the wines and which ones were the whiskeys. “We ate breakfast this morning before we got here. It’s not as busy during the day but we do get the early customers here and there… I would have left Yogurt with Foolish or Sam but… I think there’s an emergency. Quackity would have been my last choice but he hasn’t left his office s-since Guy.”

Fundy looked nauseous at the mention of “Guy,” a sickness passing over his face as a hand moved to clutch at his stomach. Niki reached over and plucked a cookie from the basket, handing it over to Fundy who took a hesitant bite out of it. She didn’t know who “Guy” was, but she took of the name all the same. Her eyes glanced over at Yogurt, if only she knew what this “Guy” looked like. “I could always look after Yogurt… I could teach him how to bake. You could help me out too… Maybe we can even reopen the bakery together!”

The words were out before she could stop them.

The fox hybrid registered the words that hung in the air between them, appetite gone as he gave the cookie over to Yogurt who was all too happy to take it from his dad. Niki didn’t really know what she was saying, maybe it was the nostalgia. Maybe it was the stress of what had happened. Maybe she just wanted to go back to when everything was alright. “Do you want to talk, Niki?”

“Yes.” She took a nervous glance towards the bar and the bottles, “Not here.”

Fundy stepped from behind the bar, basket in one arm as he reached over to carry Yogurt. The kit nuzzled his face against Fundy’s neck, purring happily at being carried. “I’ll go look for Foolish. Might take a while, but I’ll be back. Then… we can talk anywhere you want. I promise.”

She watched him walk away, telling herself that yes, he will be back. He promised.

---

“I’m sorry.”

“That isn’t why I looked for you.” He scoffed at her reply. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. Did she look for him because she wanted an apology? Maybe. She doesn’t know. There were many reasons why she wanted to find Fundy. “W-Why are you working for Quackity?”

“Why not?” Fundy answered, reaching for the inside of his jacket, before pulling away. They’d found themselves walking over to the Essempy, the empty shops looming over them as they sat down on the Prime Path. A long time ago, they’d met on the very same path. Both of them lost to anger and insanity at the indignation, at the injustice they’d both gone through. Niki kept her gaze ahead, refusing to see the ice cream shop and the flower shop nearby. “He looked for me.”

“W-what do you mean?” Somehow, she already knew what he meant, and so Fundy didn’t answer. She hadn’t seen Fundy in over a year now, and as far as Eret had told her, he had left the Essempy. But then, she didn’t go looking for him. And he didn’t go looking for anyone else. But Quackity… he had looked for Fundy. “Phil and Techno took me in. I’m part of the Syndicate.”

“... Are we going to fight or something? I don’t have a weapon, this wouldn’t be a fair fight, yeah?” Fundy glanced over at her, eyes weary like he genuinely expected her to jump at him with a sword. While the Syndicate wanted Las Nevadas gone, Fundy wasn’t on the list of people that needed to be taught a lesson. Everyone had agreed not to include the fox hybrid in any fight that may occur in the future. She nervously giggled instead, pulling the collar of her coat closer to her neck. She buried her face in the cloth, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The soot stench that had previously clung to the coat had been replaced with vanilla, drowning out the past memories that had once been the coat’s story. “This isn’t about Las Nevadas or the Syndicate.”

“You don’t have to work for Quackity. I’ve started baking again and… it’s an idea, but we could reopen the bakery. Not here, it’s too… dead here. We could make a bakery near Techno and Phil’s house. Techno’s been helping me bake and… we could all start a bakery. You could stay close, maybe even build a house there. You and Yogurt could move in… I-it’s an idea. But think about it, Fundy, we could start the bakery again. You wouldn’t have to work for Quackity! You wouldn’t have to worry about Yogurt!” The question wasn’t among the words she’d nervously said, but she hoped that it would be enough to show her concern. Niki didn’t like Las Nevadas, and not because she was in the Syndicate. It reminded her too much of Manburg. The drinking. The money. Even Quackity was beginning to sound more like Schlatt. When she’d asked for Fundy, he had answered her roughly and told her to get out of his office. Too much like Schlatt.

“I… I like Las Nevadas. I do.” Fundy nodded to himself, like he wasn’t entirely convinced at his own statement. He wrapped his arms around himself, tail stilling behind him. “I’m not leaving.”

“Why? W-what can Quackity offer you that you’d be willing to stay?” She thought that the offer of starting anew might change Fundy’s mind, but he still wanted to remain in Las Nevadas. She didn’t understand, everything about Las Nevadas was… soooo… Okay, gambling and deceit was very Fundy, but the way the city looked, its people… She wondered how Fundy’s sensitive fox instincts could bear to be in such a loud city, she could hardly stand it herself! If she went to ask Techno, she knows the piglin hybrid would tell her that he wouldn’t be able to stand Las Nevadas. It was too bright, too obnoxious in it’s message of being alive. “Think about Yogurt.”

“Fuck you, Yogurt is completely fine!” A growl tore through Fundy’s throat, quickly dying down the moment it began. A look of pain and regret crossed Fundy’s face, before exhaustion clouded his eyes again. He turned away, tail wrapping around his waist. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“No. No. I… I’m sorry for insulting you. I didn’t mean it like that, Fundy.” They fell into a small silence after that, tension still hanging in the air, and neither one of them was willing to break it.

Niki hadn’t wanted to fight, but she was nervous, no, she was scared for her friends. She knew Eret was fine, and they were fine, they had a palace and guards to protect them. Fundy was in a foreign land with people who no one in the Syndicate could trust. He was all alone, and with a child that no one even knew about until last week. Had he always had that child? But that would mean he had Yogurt during the Manburg Era and Niki was right there so why didn’t she know?

She just wanted her friends to be close, to be where she could find them. Eret was fine. Phil and Techno were fine. Fundy was far away and Ranboo was… She couldn’t help the small sob that rose from her throat, and soon the tears were falling past her cheeks before she could stop them. Fundy jolted at the sound, and she could feel his hand on her shoulder, sharp claws biting into the cloth. He moved so that he was crouching in front of her. The sun was directly behind him, turning his ginger hair bright with the colors of a sunset, but it basked her into complete shadow. He frowned, eyes furrowed in worry. “Niki… why were you looking for me? The truth, please.”

“Oh gods, Fundy…” She sighed deeply.

“I just need to know where everyone is, I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

---

“I spoke with Fundy.”

It was not a proper greeting, but with the dimness of the cabin, Niki found it more appropriate to say what she wanted. Phil was seated by the fireplace, a cup of tea in hand. Techno was nowhere in sight, and she didn’t expect to see him for quite some time. She stood by the doorway, the snow piling up behind her as a blizzard settled in. Niki didn’t waste anymore time getting inside.

She would have waited for Phil to let her in himself, but he hadn’t spoken a word in days. He’d been like this when Wilbur had died, and while he had been forced to move on then, she wasn’t sure he could move on now. Not that anyone would ask him to be strong at such a sad tragedy.

Niki placed her coat on the coatrack by the door, kicking off her boots before stepping onto the carpet floor of the cabin. She moved to sit on an alcove near the window, pulling a blanket around her shoulders to keep out the cold of the arctic. Phil didn’t offer her a cup of tea, but she knew there was a kettle on in the kitchen if she wanted some. Any other day, she might have loved a cup of tea, but after talking with Fundy and making the long trek back to Phil and Techno’s house, she couldn’t muster the strength to walk any further. After some time, the avian hybrid turned to finally look at her, eyes wet with tears and feathers rumpled with a few days’ worth of no preening. “I didn’t learn anything about Yogurt. What I do know is that Las Nevadas has an emergency, and I think it has something to do with someone called Guy? I don’t know…”

“Sam is part of Las Nevadas.” Phil croaked out, tea left forgotten on the table. It looked untouched. She swallowed down her nervousness. She knew Sam was part of Las Nevadas, Fundy had mentioned leaving Yogurt with him as a potential babysitter. She didn’t understand why he would trust him with any child, much less Yogurt, his own son. A small smile appeared on her face then. Maybe he won’t now. Not after what she’d told him. He couldn’t trust someone like that with Yogurt, nor with himself. What if Sam decided to take on the role of Warden too seriously? People could get hurt! She shivered at her and Fundy’s conversation. She had tried to get him to move away, hoping that what happened to Ranboo would be enough to scare him closer to where the Syndicate lived, but he refused. He said… He said that he owed it to Quackity to stay. “Niki, I don’t know if I should tell you… but he was there that night. Fundy.”

“That isn’t… That isn’t true.” It couldn’t be, Fundy wouldn’t have reacted the way he did. Fundy was a trickster, but he wouldn’t pretend to be upset over Ranboo. And what did he have to gain by lying to her about it? She shook her head, eyebrows furrowing together as her hands turned into fists, clinging onto the soft cotton of the blanket. It was the reason why Fundy had quickly wanted to leave… or did he want to leave because he didn’t want her to know he was tricking her? She shook her head again. No. No. No. He wouldn’t lie about being upset. Not about Ranboo. “I told him. He was sad! H-he wanted to go home after I told him! He couldn’t have been there that night! That’s not possible. I was there that night too! I would have seen him too!”

“Now, hold on, mate. I’m not finished. I… I can’t be sure it was Fundy, but I think I saw him with Quackity and Foolish. It’s hard to say but, um… You saw them too, didn’t you? The cloaked figures on horses? Well, I know Quackity and Foolish were two of those cloaked figures but I swear I saw Fundy too… except, something was different about him. He felt different too. I don’t know what it is, but he didn’t feel right. Didn’t look right, either.” She leaned closer, Phil’s voice had lowered to a whisper, as if he was scared to speak out loud. Niki thought back to that night, and it was… a blur. All she could faintly remember were the skulls in her arms, the roar of the wither as it came to life inside the obsidian walls of the prison. It all had happened so quickly, and then Ranboo… She didn’t remember much of that night. “I know my grandson. I know his eyes. And whatever it was that stared at me that night, it wasn’t… it wasn’t our Fundy.”

“W-what do you mean?” She pulled the blanket closer to herself, rubbing it against her face. It smelled of strawberries, which meant that it was Techno’s. He had a few blankets all over the house, in case anyone got cold and wanted to curl up somewhere. Niki thought back to her brief meeting with Fundy, the way he had looked like he was sleeping when she’d first entered the bar. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, but Niki thought… she thought that was just what happened when you get a child to care for. “The cloaked figure looked like Fundy, but… what?”

“Fundy has brown eyes, with gold flecks. The brown he mostly got from Wilbur and his grandmother, but the gold… I would assume that’s it from his mother. Wilbur never introduced her and… his tastes are fucked up.” Niki giggled at that. They both knew Wilbur’s type, weird as it may be… and… impossible because a fish and a human couldn’t possibly… She didn’t want to think about it anymore. “I saw Fundy that night, but his eyes were completely gold!”

She blinked, but his eyes had been the same… “That is… That is very weird.”

---

He looked down at the diamonds in his hands, throat sick with nausea.

After he had gone back to Las Nevadas, nearly getting yelled at by Quackity for leaving his post, his boss had only sighed and shoved a few diamonds in his hands. Payment for another vision.

At least Quackity hadn’t made him go back to the bar again. It was the deal. Fundy told Quackity of his dreams, and he got paid to stay at home. He’d walked past the still-grieving duck hybrid to go pick up Yogurt for the day. He’d left him with Sam, and despite Niki’s warnings of… what had happened, he trusted Sam. When he got to the Warden’s guardhouse, Yogurt was playing outside, drawing a messy version of the prison with a few crayons that Sam must have given to him. He’d even given Yogurt a chicken plushie that he swore looked familiar, not that Fundy had had the time to think about it. Sam looked like shit, and bad as it was, Fundy felt happy that he wasn’t the only one losing sleep recently. Even Quackity looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Papa?” He shoved the diamonds inside a chest, reaching down to pick up Yogurt. He was holding three plushies in his arms now, and he looked really proud of that too. “Papa feel icky?”

“No. Papa isn’t sick. If papa was sick, he wouldn’t be able to kiss his cute little fluffy boy, right?” He nuzzled his face on Yogurt’s hair, the kit giggling as he tried to push Fundy’s face away. Yogurt liked the affection though, nuzzling into the crook of his neck once Fundy stopped burying his face in his hair. He looked at the clock by the door, taking note of Yogurt’s approaching bedtime… and his own too. His feet quietly padded through the orange carpeted cabin, entering the only closed room in the house. He would have built Yogurt his own bedroom, but the kit was clingy, refusing to sleep anywhere but next to Fundy. That was his own fault, he’d spoiled his kit. Not that Fundy was complaining, not against his beautiful little boy. “Sleep time.”

“Berry pancakes ‘morrow?” Yogurt yawned, jumping out of Fundy’s arms and landing in the middle of the bed, plushies scattering across the sheets. The kit disappeared underneath the blankets, head popping up a few seconds later as he got comfortable. He sighed, grabbing all the plushies before placing them beside Yogurt. He sat down at the edge, hands clenching on his knees as exhaustion panged in his mind. The bed looked cozy and warm, but all he felt was the urge to run outside and wait until the sun rose in the distance again. “Want more sweet berries!”

“Niki already gave us a basket of sweets.”

“For snack! Papa said Yogi can only eat for snack!” The kit huffed, and Fundy couldn’t help but smile. After a while, he was resting on the bed, the lamp turned off. The moon’s silver beam was the only source of light left in the room, creeping from the window as though it was the watchful eye of a god. Yogurt already had his fair share of baked treats, having eaten at least five cookies during the day. He’d given the basket to Sam, and Sam must have let Yogurt take three more cookies while Fundy was talking to Niki. Not that Fundy was one to talk, having a sweet tooth himself, but he didn’t want Yogurt eating too much sugar. The kit was more energetic than he had ever been as a child! He sighed, pulling Yogurt closer to himself, the kit cuddling into his arms and purring. Fundy winced as the kit’s eyes fluttered close, sleep already taking him. Still, his kit still had one thing to say to him. “Papa promise berry pancakes… ‘morrow… plea… se?”

The kit was already snoring by the time Fundy had made up his mind.

With only the sound of Yogurt’s snoring and the crickets outside, Fundy was left to his thoughts. He thinks about the diamonds stashed away in his chest, the price that he’d placed on his nightmares. Quackity wasn’t an asshole, but it still sickened him to think that he had let the man convince him to sell his dreams and sanity. He thinks that no payment could ever fix the trauma.

Niki had offered him a way out, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to live near Phil and Techno again. The bakery had been an olive branch, an offer to leave Las Nevadas. It was… a nice offer, but did Niki even want him there, or was she pitying him? Quackity… Foolish… Sam… they wanted him in Las Nevadas. And, Quackity needed him. Needed his dreams. Unlike Niki and everyone else, Quackity had actually looked for him. Quackity had been there for him.

His own fucking dad didn’t look for him. But Quackity had. And… And Fundy had friends in Las Nevadas. Foolish was nice, and Sam was… nice. Guy had been strange and… Fundy did miss him. Quackity was rude, but he cared. He did. Fundy shook his head, moving to lay on his side, an arm reaching out to hold Yogurt closer to himself. For a year, he had been so alone, lost within his nightmares in that lonely base-tower of his. Phil had looked for him, but he didn’t see what was wrong and had left him to suffer. Quackity had looked for him, and he had been persistent. Fundy thinks back to those diamonds again, and his resolve is strengthened. Quackity had given him and Yogurt a home, a chance at a better life. It was the least he could do to stay.

No one had ever stayed for him. Fundy sighed, letting his eyes finally close. He thinks of Yogurt sleeping beside him, knowing that soon the kit would wake up to Fundy’s terrified screaming.

Through the haze of exhaustion, his mind slipping into that small boundary of awareness and sleep, he could hear muted screams, the stench of metal filling his nose. Already, the dreams were claiming him, and soon the black shadows behind his eyes turned to a lime green and to a wicked smile painted on white porcelain. He only had one last thought before he finally slipped.

‘Yogurt deserves some berry pancakes if I’m going to wake him with my screaming tonight.’

=============================================================

End Notes: Also, just a question, do y'all want me to mention the fwt wedding thing that happened?

Dream will eventually be in the story, and I currently have two scenarios planned out for his chapter. While fwt will not actually be focused on in this story, it will be mentioned if you guys want it to exist. Either way, if fwt is gonna be mentioned here, Fundy and him have broken up a long time ago.

Same question with 5undy. I want to have a 5up chapter, and I already have it planned, just need to know if people want 5undy here. If 5undy, then they'll be an actual couple.

#fundy #yogurt dy #niki nihachu #philza #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

Text

Something something

Quackity and Fundy with this song:

https://youtu.be/PMFWFaSauVU

youtube

Well…

Ngl any “villain” from the dsmp and Fundy could work well with this, asides maybe from Dream.

In my defense, Fundy’s father figures are like: Wilbur, Jschlatt, and Eret.

Wilbur is technically a “villain,” at least he’s acting like one even if he does need therapy more than chaos, and works well because they are literally father and son.

Jschlatt and Fundy because Jschlatt is really an actual villain and Fundy on numerous times was starting to actually like Schlatt.

Eret, while not really a villain - at least not anymore, and Fundy have a sorta parent-child relationship because of whole adoption thing, even if it never happened. Though with this song, I imagine more Traitor!Eret singing it instead.

Quackity because I have a feeling Fundy is gonna go down another route of getting a parental figure lmao.

Anyway, yeah. Ignore my ramblings. I just really want Fundy to go feral.

#Fundy #Quackity #Wilbur soot #Jschlatt #Eret #Dream smp #dsmp #Youtube

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

Text

What Comes After Madness and Fear?

Just a short fic really, because I’m supposed to be asleep and I am tired, but like I just got new prescription glasses, and they have made me v dizzy. Like, it’s being tired but not. Idk. This is like a mess, so yeah...

Anyway, just an exploration of Fundy, especially adding with the idea that he doesn’t have Yogurt here because this is supposed to be a villain Fundy fic. Because I just want him to go feral, pls.

Sorry also if this feels not “my vibe” or something. I was tired when I wrote this, and my brain is essentially mush if I’m tired and we just got back from a long trip and again with the whole prescription glasses (I have had the same prescription for like two to three years so adjusting to the new ones gave me a bad headache).

But yeah, trigger warning: apathy, comparisons with Wilbur and his death, and character slowly becoming a villain... er, okay, I do not feel comfortable really calling this a villain fic because quite frankly, Fundy needs therapy. So not exactly a villain fic... but he is becoming apathetic... so...

Also, note, this is written under the POV of c!Fundy. So if Wilbur is painted in a bad light here, that’s because it’s in a character POV.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36360613

Fundy feels the warmth, and thinks that Wilbur had been right all those years ago.

When Wilbur had asked his own father to kill him, maybe he had been right, at least Fundy saw why now.

He thought he could be better.

But now, standing in the wreckage of his home, burning to ash right before his very eyes, he thinks that he never really moved away from his father’s shadow after all.

So, yes, Wilbur had been right.

He thinks of his dad now, as he stands before the crater of his home, and wonders if this was supposed to feel euphoric.

Wilbur had been happy those last few moments, he thinks.

Then again, he’d lost his mind a long time ago. It was Doomsday when he’d given into the madness and taken the so few items that New L’Manburg had.

He’d had his fit, he was done with madness.

But what came after madness?

Fear.

His nightmares had haunted him. They still do, in a way.

He holds out his hands to the fire, feels their warmth against his skin.

All he can think about now is sleep.

What comes after fear?

Apathy?

Maybe.

His dad had been right to leave when he had.

Why stick around for emptiness to come in?

To seep away any trace of manic joy or panicked realization that had filled the heavy emptiness in their heart?

Fundy feels empty now.

No.

All Fundy wants to do right now is to curl up near his home, and hope the flames spared him another day.

And so, he does.

---

He thinks he should feel something when he sees Wilbur.

Fundy is aware it’s too late to feel anything other than envy.

It was the second emotion he’d felt after he’d burned his own house down.

The first had been gratitude that Quackity had found him, taken him in when he had been lost, unaware of what to do after what he’d done. He had given a home in a land filled with light. Had given him a role that he had gladly taken on.

At least the nightmares had grown to be useful.

He didn’t care for them anymore, they’d long since sucked away any fear that he could feel.

Besides, the pay was worth a few hours of dreams.

Seeing Wilbur now though, he was envious of how happy Wilbur seemed to be.

He’d touched Fundy’s shoulders, a wide grin on his face that Fundy just wanted to burn right off.

Wouldn’t be the first time he’d burned something of Wilbur’s.

His dad holds him, tells him he’s sorry.

He feels a third emotion bubble up in him.

Amusement? Pity?

He can’t say.

Instead, Fundy pushes Wilbur away. This time, sure of himself.

And for the first time, he feels the sun on his face. Wilbur’s shadow no longer shielded him.

The smile falls from his dad’s face.

He lets one form on his.

He tugs the black hood over his face, eyes glowing yellow despite the warm sunlight that illuminated them both.

This purpose, an Oracle’s purpose, was his own.

Not one paved by Wilbur.

No, this was his path.

He mimics Wilbur’s movements, placing his hands upon the man’s shoulders.

Fundy leans closely, words a whisper against the wind.

“I am free of you and your choices.” He pauses, “As you have been freed from mine a long time ago.”

He should feel something.

But then again, what was there to feel that he hadn’t felt before?

They’d been in this dance before.

With Wilbur letting his hand go no matter how desperate he’d tried to reach for him.

Now Wilbur was reaching for him.

Fundy felt nothing.

He let the man’s shoulders go, breathing at last.

“Goodbye.”

But maybe

Maybe he’d severed himself just a little bit too late.

Oh, well.

At least he was free.

Unaware of the new chains that bound him to the city of greed and to a man who thought he could have everything, but really gained nothing.

Or maybe.

He was just too tired to care anymore.

#fundy #wilbur soot #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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crystaldahlias · 3 years ago

Text

In a Place Where No One Can Find You

In which Crys decided to write one-shots about Georgebur and Sondy... but in a Hogwarts AU.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36153817/chapters/90121375

One-shot Summary: In which destroying a Horcrux goes terribly wrong. (Dark Lords!Georgebur AU)

I'm sorry but I am unfortunately a sucker for villain parent tropes.

Fundy had no clue why there was a horcrux inside his house, but he would not call Dream a liar. After the incident at Craft Manor, Fundy was not in the mood for deceit, and Dream would never ever lie to him. Besides, it wasn’t like Dream was planning to strand him in the Muggle world.

There was nothing for him there anyway. Even so, when they’d gotten to his old home - abandoned now because he’d infused his parents memories with the life-long dream of moving to another country - he was shocked when Dream immediately raced inside his old bedroom, emerging later with a bracelet. His baby bracelet. His parents must have left it during the move.

He didn’t doubt Dream, but seeing the bracelet confused him. It was a simple thing, really. A small silver band with little and sparkly light blue and yellow jewels that spelled out his name. His parents probably gave it to him when he was younger. Obviously, he hasn’t worn it in years.

Fundy would have laughed, if the circumstances were different. Instead, he stepped aside, nearly bumping into Sapnap who had decided it would be best to stay outside and keep watch, and let Dream out the front door of the house. There was a field nearby - he used to run around there when he was younger - where they could destroy the Horcrux without attracting any attention.

“I don’t understand.”

The next few minutes were a blur, leaving his parent’s home, walking through the grass of the field which reached just above his waist, and placing the Horcrux down on the muddy earth.

“Are you sure you’re Muggleborn, Fundy?”

“Of course I am!” It was not like him to shout or snap, unless he was talking to Sapnap then that's another story, but he didn’t like the look in Dream’s eyes. He felt like he was being accused of a crime, one that he clearly did not commit. Fundy couldn’t help it. He raised his chin up, neck exposed to the cold and harsh wind of the afternoon. “I didn’t get this for nothing, Dream.”

Dream’s face reddened, and he muttered, “I mean, are you sure both your parents are muggles?”

“I think Fundy would know.” Sapnap answers for him, uncharacteristically nice for a change. He’d been that way for a while now. Fundy wasn’t sure when was the last time they’d had a petty argument. “If either of his mum or dad were wizards then he would have known, and you would have been told about it, Dream. I don’t know. Maybe those freaks just hate the Salmon family?”

“The dark lords hate a random Muggle family for no good reason and so they decided one day to sneak here into the Muggle world to put a Horcrux on Fundy’s baby bracelet?” There was an incredulous tone in Dream’s voice, one that made sense. Fundy couldn’t believe the idea either. During… During his time with George Lore, the dark lord had never once said a word about him or his family… then again, the man didn’t speak at all during the whole… thing. “That’s insane.”

“It’s an idea.” Sapnap rolled his eyes. “I don’t know— Just destroy it already!”

The question still hung in the air, but neither of them wanted to think of it any further. Most of all, Fundy, who didn’t want to wonder why a damned Horcrux was inside his fucking baby bracelet. He and Sapnap took a step back, Dream unsheathing Godric Gryffindor's Sword. They all held their breath, Fundy’s hand taking Sapnap’s, before Dream stabbed down at the bracelet.

The jewels cracked and sputtered, an inky darkness pooling out of their shattered surfaces.

A scream tore through the air, sending a shiver down their spines, and soon billowing dark smoke began to fill the entire area. He felt Sapnap pull at his hand, and then they were running.

A memory came to mind, as the grass tickled his bare ankles and as Sapnap continued to pull him along, Dream right beside them. He remembered when he was younger, barely six at the time, when the grass had been mowed down, when the sun still shone bright with the promise of a beautiful future, and when his parents were around to watch him run around the large field…

It was a distant memory, really, hazy. He had been running around the field, his mum watching over him when he’d noticed shadows move past one of the windows in their house. Then, a face.

A familiar one now that he thought about it.

His hand felt cold. Fundy staggered to a stop, breath coming out in puffs of gray as he searched for Sapnap. Dream had stopped too, and was reaching down towards a slumped figure on the grass. He felt his heart race, and he quickly ran back, not caring for the footsteps that were headed towards them. Sapnap was unconscious, breathing. Even though he knew what spell had hit his friend - and there could only be one spell the dark lord would use - Fundy was relieved.

Better the Cruciatus Curse than the Killing Curse. Fundy made a move to help Dream carry Sapnap, but he noticed a look in Dream’s eye. Despite being friends, Fundy was suddenly wary.

“How fucking dare you?!” Both of them froze as the Dark Lord appeared, the dark smoke parting for him like he was its master. Dream quickly picked up Sapnap, an arm around Dream’s shoulder as they both backed away from Wilbur. The man was quick, not unlike the previous encounter. Sure, he’d been angry when they’d destroyed the first three horcruxes, but now he was absolutely furious. “And to destroy it here in all places?! In the wretched Muggle world?!”

“We found it here.” Dream muttered, “But you didn’t leave it here, did you?”

The harsh glare that his friend received was enough of an answer. They all took a step backward, Wilbur’s wand pointed at the two of them. He hadn’t killed them yet, hasn’t tried to. Unlike the other times. Fundy was confused until he finally gained the courage to look into Wilbur’s eyes. There was a hint of hope within those pools of darkness, like a secret being unravelled to him.

“Why would I ever leave it here, Wastaken?!” Dream winced as the man hissed out his name. It always felt strange to Fundy, and he was sure it was strange to Dream, each time Wilbur uttered his last name. It felt like a taunt, him forever gloating of the deeds he’d done to get them all here.

“You didn’t.” Fundy looked over at his friend, forest green eyes meeting his own heterochromatic ones. There was a clear look on Dream’s face now, a revelation that had just occurred to him but was still unshared to him or the world. Fundy felt a growing fear in his chest. He didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly was not what Dream said. “You had a child. His name was Fundy. My friend’s name is Fundy… and that… that was his bracelet I destroyed.”

He didn’t even get the chance to scream before cold fingers were wrapping around his upper arm and pulling him away from his friends. He saw Dream’s eyes as he was yanked forward, the guilt and the hope in them. Like he was fucking unsure of what he’d just said. His face slammed against the cloak of the dark lord, his throat seizing up. He wasn’t sure if he could even scream.

Then, he felt a hand on his right shoulder, clutching the cloth of his shirt.

He heard the tear before his mind finally processed what was happening. Fundy made a move to kick the dark lord on the knee, a part of him lighting up when he felt Wilbur hunch over in pain. The grip on his shoulder tightened, nearly bruising. No matter what, he wasn’t being let go of.

The wind was cold against his bare shoulder.

There was a brief moment of utter silence, the dark lord's hand still on his shoulder, though it had relaxed in its hold. Fundy was stunned too, and all he could do was look over at his friends.

Dream looked relieved, and a little bit regretful. His mouth opened, like he was about to apologize, but then there was a shift in the air. Fundy screamed then. He felt like he was being squeezed through a small tube. He had closed his eyes at some point during the apparition…

Maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a dimly lit hallway, and for a moment he was scared that he was back in the Craft Manor again. The hand on his shoulder was still there, gently patting him like the Wilbur Soot was calming him down. It sickened him. It sickened him more that Dream had sold him out for… for what, a coincidence?

Wilbur was pulling him along now, deeper into whoever’s manor they’d apparated to.

The name Fundy wasn’t that rare. Did Dream just sacrifice him because he thought— They were standing in front of a door now, and he heard it creak open as warm sunlight spilled onto the hallway. If he didn’t feel sick during the apparition, he did feel sick now. The door slammed close behind him, his final bell. Wilbur let go of him, slowly walking up to George Lore who had looked up from the large map he had been looking at on the table. A map of Hogwarts, no doubt.

The man pressed a soft kiss to George’s cheek, and if Fundy didn’t know who they were, he might have thought that they looked good together. As it were, he huddled against the door, shaking violently as Wilbur whispered something into George’s ear and the man’s heterochromatic eyes turned to pierce at him. To his horror, George began to walk towards him.

He had nightmares of the man. Terrible, deep-inside-your-skin nightmares. Ones you could never really wake from. The man was in front of him now, eyes flickering over to his shoulder. The indifference and coldness in that gaze melted away, guilt and grief gripping the dark lord’s eyes.

A hand moved to cup the back of his head, and he couldn’t bring himself to run. If it had been Wilbur Soot, maybe. But he was terrified of Lore. He let the man pull him into a warm embrace.

“I didn’t know.” The man whispered into his ear, not that Fundy could really register the sort-of apology. His knees grew weak, and he didn’t know he was falling until his face was pressed tightly against George Lore’s shoulder, a gentle hand petting his head as the man comforted him.

“You’re home.”

He managed to move his head, gaze focused on the view outside the window. Past Wilbur Soot who was standing nearby, watching them, was a large window that gave a view of an orchard.

From afar, he couldn’t really tell, but it looked like an apple orchard. The bright green leaves of the tree swayed in the wind, sunlight filtering through the gaps. He couldn’t help but think of the field, how dark and gray it had been. Why was this place blessed with sunlight when it contained so much sorrow and darkness? Underneath the apple trees, dotting the bright green grass that shimmered underneath the sun like emeralds, were dots of red and black. Poppy flowers.

The used poppy heads in Potions Class once. They’d had to pick them out of the flowers themselves. The professor had warned them to be careful. Poppies were notoriously poisonous. Looking at them now, he felt a bit faint, or maybe that was just the fear finally claiming him.

He slumped into George Lore’s arms, a part of him feeling betrayed as his body shut down.

“I think he’s tired.” He hears one of them whisper from somewhere above. Even if his mind had come to realize that Dream had been correct, that he had known the moment he saw that bracelet, his heart ached for it not to be true. He struggled when he felt arms wrap around him, pulling him up, his head resting against someone’s chest. “I’ll take him… I’ll take him to his bedroom.”

He was carried away from the office.

His eyes fluttered close then.

And he hoped, with all his will, that it would be the last time he ever woke.

#fundy #dreamwastaken dsmp #sapnap #wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #hogwarts AU

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